THE CHARTERHOUSE.--THE NEW RIVER.
Within a few hundred yards of Smithfield will be found the Charterhouse,
a visit to which “soothes” the mind with all manner of antiquarian
associations. The old square in which it stands--Charterhouse
Square--has quite an antique flavour; and here is to be seen many a
quaint old house devoted to “boarding,” or to unpretending hotel life,
and which looks snug and comfortable. We can fancy simple folk from the
rural districts coming to town and putting up there. These places seem
to belong to a mode of society now antiquated or gone by, or to the
manners and customs such as are described in “Pickwick” and “Nickleby.”
It must be pleasant for the stranger to look across at the old, quaint
lantern of the Charterhouse and hear the recurring chimes. Unhappily,
the old square, which is so suitable an introduction, has been already
nibbled at by the builders and “jobbers.” A visitor, writing to the
_World_, touches “the key” of the place: “Anyone going any day to Grey
Friars will always find the monastery gates swing wide, a courteous
guide at his post in the lodge, and a delightful treat in store in the
shape of sundry shadowy grey quadrangles, some beautiful panelled
tapestried rooms where Princess Elizabeth, journeying from Hatfield _en
route_ for her coronation, tarried five days, and a preserved Jacobean
chapel full of interesting monuments. The bell rings at six, just as it
did when Lovelace jotted rhyme on the covers of his exercise books; and
as the tolling ceases the stray visitor sees creeping in old gentlemen
(with _chapeaux bras_ of spreckled straw, slouched cavalier, or decorous
chimney-pot), so like Codd Ajax, Codd Soldier, and true Codd
Gentlemen--so like that surely they must be the same! In Wash-house
Court, the last remnant of the monastery, the porter shows the windows
of the rooms supposed to be occupied by Colonel Newcome, and he declares
that dozens of questions are asked referring to Thackeray’s creations.”
There has been a prodigious deal of building and restoration in the
Charterhouse, with much of what is styled Churchwardens’ Gothic. The old
church has been so well panelled and painted in this sense, that it
offers little that is ancient--though the porter throws open a cupboard
to show the stones of the venerable old wall. The old dining-hall, with
its gallery and scutcheons, is more potent. After all, the most
effective portion is the old, quiet, deserted courtyard, all rusted,
with its two mullioned windows and moss-grown pavements. It seems like
one of the old colleges at Cambridge. This institution is in the
balance, as it were. There are schemes in the air for removal to the
country, for reforms, and pensioning off.
One of the most satisfactory monuments in London is the sad-looking old
gateway in Lincoln’s Inn. The restorers were slowly working their way
down, clearing away and rebuilding in view of increased rents, and the
old gate would probably have been swept off, but that some one has
raised the cry of alarm. We can ill spare this fine old piece, which
dates from 1518. The effect of entering under the archway--the decayed
old timbers of the massive door, the highly-picturesque little towers,
the corners and crannies on the left, the glimpse of the winding stair,
and the old Inigo Jones chapel on the right, make this a pleasant bit of
antiquity.
There are many turns and corners in the City which forcibly suggest
“bits” of foreign towns. One of the most effective is a narrow alley
which leads out of Newgate Street to the entrance of Christ’s Hospital,
where the white tower of the church rises with picturesque effect close
to the old copper-red archway that leads into the hospital. Here is an
old churchyard, on which looks the effective brick building, with its
high roof and eaves of the time of Wren, while the quaint statue of King
Edward, arrayed in old-fashioned garb, is perched in a niche. This
little corner and alley wears quite a calm and peaceful air of
retirement. Contrast between different styles is always welcome and
original.
As the busy pedestrian hurries through Newgate Street, he has perhaps
often paused to note the quaintly-attired, half-monastic, Christchurch
lads enjoying their football, their fine hall and arcades rising behind.
There are said to be over eight hundred of these lads on the foundation,
which dates from the time of King Edward the Sixth. It is curious to
note how the old monastic tone and ritual of the foundation has lingered
on to this hour. On each Thursday in Lent this is strikingly shown by an
antique and interesting ceremonial, when hundreds of City folks,
burghers, and others, flock to see “the public supping” of the lads,
conducted with much obsolete observance and character. The hour named is
half-past six, but long before the time the company crowds the
picturesque corridors and cloister. Entering by the tall Wren steeple
through the rubicund brick gateway, crossing the court, the great Hall
is seen with its huge emblazoned windows illuminated from within. This
vast chamber, of extraordinary length and loftiness, is a modern work,
but a signal success. The dimensions and spaciousness are really
extraordinary, and it will readily hold several thousand persons. It
has its music gallery at one end, with an organ large enough for a
cathedral, and at the other end rows of raised seats for eager
spectators. Down the room are set out the rows of long oaken tables to
accommodate the eight hundred lads, or it may be a thousand. Very soon
the spectators are settled in their places, and the boys begin to defile
in regular divisions, seating themselves with their backs to the tables,
until the wished-for moment arrives. There is a conventual simplicity in
the fare--a bowl of milk with a plain “hunch” of bread. Each table is
provided with two long candles, profusely garnished with flowers, so as
completely to hide them. This is a traditional custom, and a pretty
effect is produced when, on a signal being given, all are lit at the
same moment.
[Illustration: OLD CHARTERHOUSE.]
The last Thursday night in Lent had a special attraction, as a Royal
Duke, who is working President of the School, was to visit the place. He
made his solemn entry, attended by various of the civic fathers in
robes, with wand-holding governors following. A particularly gorgeous
beadle, in a yellow robe, led the way, while the organ struck up the
National hymn. Down the side of the room was hung what is probably one
of the largest pictures in the world, being about seventy feet long by
some fifteen high. This portrays the foundation of the establishment,
and exhibits the King, surrounded by innumerable figures, possibly
representing the professors and their scholars, of his time. On these he
is conferring the honour of the foundation. A young collegian ascended
the pulpit, and began a series of prayers of antique fashion, in which
every class according to their degree, was duly prayed for. He was
careful to include members of the “Most Honourable Privy Council,” the
Sheriffs, Town Councillors, Aldermen; while profoundest gratitude was
expressed to the founders, and to all those kind friends, governors,
masters, and others who devoted their time to the school. So many had to
be “remembered” in these prayers that considerable time elapsed, during
which the eight hundred were anxiously and voraciously contemplating the
_cates_ which they dare not profane. But there was the “Old Hundredth”
to be gone through, and very melodious were the tones of the lads; and
yet another hymn, and finally a prayer, when with picturesque effect all
those little monks went on their knees, each in his place.
There was a simplicity in all this which was very pleasing. After about
twenty minutes of devout suspense, during which time Justice Greedy’s
“clapper” must have been noisily heard at work in the clamorous stomachs
of the lads, the welcome signal was given, and they were permitted to
fall on the victuals. Later the signal was given to break off, by sharp
blows on the table, when there followed a fresh series of old
observances which showed the monastic origin of the place.
The lads who had waited on each other now brought huge baskets to carry
away the fragments of bread, etc., the tables were cleared, and the long
white cloths carefully folded, which led on to the last and most
interesting part of the exhibition, when each division of the eight
hundred passed in its turn before the President. Every two advanced
together and made him a low bow, or “bob,” which was carefully returned;
each division closed up with the servitors, one carrying the basket on
his shoulder, another the knife-box, a third the cloth, while a small
monk not unpicturesquely wound up the procession, bearing the two
garlanded lights.