John and Betty's History Visit Part 5

Betty had been looking eagerly, even while she listened to what Mrs.

Pitt was saying. Her eyes now rested upon an old church, over the door of which stood a queer, blackened statue of a queen.

"The church is St. Dunstan's," responded Mrs. Pitt again. "That old statue of Queen Elizabeth is one of the few things which escaped the great fire in the reign of Charles II. The figure once stood on the ancient Lud Gate of the city. They say that it was in the church-yard of St. Dunstan's that John Milton sold his wonderful poem of 'Paradise Lost' for five pounds."

"Let's see,--that would be twenty-five dollars, wouldn't it? I haven't your English money clear in my mind yet," John confided to Philip. "I can't somehow feel that it's real money unless it's in dollars and cents."

Philip soon pointed to a little alley-way on their left, and said, "The Ches.h.i.+re Cheese is in a little court back of there. You can't think how many buildings, courts, and alleys are hidden in behind all of these shops. Some of the old inns, or coffee-houses, which were famous are (or were) there. Now, here's Ludgate Hill, and in a minute you'll have a view of St. Paul's."

St. Paul's Cathedral stands on a hill, and because of its position and huge dome it is the most conspicuous of London's landmarks. But, because of the closely surrounding buildings, it is much hidden from near view. As the bus mounted Ludgate Hill, having pa.s.sed under the railroad-bridge, they suddenly saw the tremendous cathedral looming up before them.

They paused for a moment by the statue of Queen Anne, in front of the main entrance, while Mrs. Pitt, following her delightful habit, reminded them of certain notable facts.

"No one knows exactly how long there has been a church upon this site," she began, beckoning them closer to her, as the noise of the traffic was so great, "but Bede, the oldest historian, says that a chapel was built here by a Saxon king, before the time of the Romans.

When Sir Christopher Wren, the architect, built this present edifice, after the great fire of 1666, he found relics of three periods,--the Saxon, the British, and the Roman. St. Paul's has been burned five times. The last fire (the one of which I just spoke) destroyed the church which we know as 'old St. Paul's.' Now, let's go in, for there is much to be seen."

Next to St. Peter's at Rome, St. Paul's in London is the largest church, in the world. The first impression a person gets is one of great vastness and bareness, for, unlike Westminster Abbey, here one does not encounter at every step famous statues, memorials, and graves. The nave is tremendous in width and in length. Chapels open from both sides, but they seem far off and shadowy. Way in the distance is the choir, the altar, and the group of chairs used at services. Everything is quiet, empty, and bare.

"I never imagined such a huge church!" said Betty, much impressed. "I feel lost and cold, somehow. What are you thinking, Mrs. Pitt? I'm sure we'd all like to hear."

"I was just picturing, as I always do when I come here, the scenes the nave of old St. Paul's presented in Henry VIII's time. Would you like to hear? Well, in the sixteenth century, this nave was called 'Paul's Walke,' and it was a place of business. Yes," she a.s.sured them, as John and Betty exclaimed, "down these aisles were booths where merchants of all kinds sold their wares. Counters were built around the pillars, and even the font was used by the vendors. Pack-horses laden with merchandise streamed always in and out, and crowds of people elbowed their way about, shouting and gesticulating excitedly."

"But didn't they have any services at all in St. Paul's Cathedral?"

asked Betty wonderingly.

"Oh, yes!" continued Mrs. Pitt, "the services went on just the same.

The people were used to the noise and confusion. Here came the tailors to look at the fine new clothes which the young dandies wore when they took their morning promenades. All the latest books and poems were always to be found on sale here. Bishop Earle wrote 'Paul's Walke--you may cal--the lesser Ile of Great Brittaine. The noyse in it is like that of Bees, in strange hummings, or buzze, mixt of walking, tongues, and feet; it is a kind of still roare, or loud whisper.'

"I am glad to be able to say, however," she continued, "that before that dreadful period, there was a time when the cathedral was not so dishonored. Once these walls were covered with valuable shrines, pictures, and tapestries, and costly jewels glittered everywhere.

There was one huge emerald which was said to cure diseases of the eyes. Here came John Wycliffe, the great reformer, at the summons of the Archbishop of Canterbury, to answer for the publication of his new doctrines. Here, Henry of Bolingbroke prayed for his successful seizure of the throne, and here he also wept over the grave of his father, John of Gaunt. Sir Philip Sidney was buried here, and his father-in-law, Sir Francis Walsingham, Queen Elizabeth's secretary; and there was a magnificent monument to Sir Christopher Hatton, Lord Chancellor, but these were all destroyed by the Great Fire."

About the aisles and nave are many monuments to great soldiers, sailors, painters, statesmen, literary men, and others. Most of them are very ugly, and our party did not linger long over these. After walking under the dome, and looking up into its tremendous heights, they went down into the crypt, which is really the most interesting part of the cathedral.

The crypt is vast, dark, and gloomy. Other parties may be heard walking about and talking in the distance, without being seen, and their voices echo strangely. In the "Painters' Corner," Sir Joshua Reynolds, West, Lawrence, Landseer, and Turner, all famous artists, lie buried beneath the pavement. Sir Christopher Wren, surrounded by members of his family, lies under the dome, as was his wish. Lord Nelson and the Duke of Wellington both have splendid tombs there.

"These are all we now have of the monuments of the old cathedral,"

remarked Mrs. Pitt, pointing to where in a corner some mutilated figures, heads, and broken monuments lay, all in a heap.

John was delighted when it was proposed to climb up into the dome, and to test the "Whispering Gallery," on the way. It seemed an endless climb up the spiral stairs, and Mrs. Pitt, Barbara, and Betty lagged behind. When they finally came out into the great round gallery, the two boys were over on the opposite side. Betty, after waving to them, sat down on a bench against the wall, and suddenly she heard John's voice, saying "Glad to see you at last!" She put her lips to the wall and whispering an answer, found that John could hear her, too. They were having quite a lengthy conversation, holding first their lips to the wall to speak, and then their ears to listen, when Mrs. Pitt interrupted them.

"That's great fun, but we have still a hard climb before us," she reminded them. "I think we had better go on."

The remainder of the way was much more difficult, as the steps were steeper and narrower than ever, but they at last emerged on the little platform, running around the top of the dome.

"My, what a view!" they cried.

"Yes, you're the first visitors in many a day who could see so far,"

the man in charge told them.

If the terrible black smoke which comes from the hundreds of chimneys, and the fog permit one to see it all, the view is truly fine. It is especially interesting to trace the river in its various curves, and to pick out the many bridges which span it. Another striking feature is the immense number of spires. The guide pointed out the churches to them, and also the different parts of the city.

"If you thought it was windy on the bus, Betty, I wonder what you call this," exclaimed Barbara, grasping her hat with both hands. "I'm going down now."

The others were quite ready to follow, and they wound their way down, down, down, until they stood again on the main floor, under the dome.

"This is called St. Paul's Church-yard," said Mrs. Pitt, leading the way around back of the cathedral. "This used to be a very busy place.

St. Paul's School was here, within the yard, as well as many shops.

The first printer who produced books for children had his shop in this corner. In the days when the interior of the building was put to such dreadful uses, the outside was treated quite as badly. Shops of all kinds were built up against the cathedral, and sometimes the noise which the carpenters made greatly disturbed those at the service within. It must have been shocking indeed! It is said that for a very small sum, the s.e.xton would allow boys to climb up and ring the bells as much as they liked; and, on the day of Queen Mary's coronation, she saw a Dutchman standing on the weather-vane, waving a flag."

"My! I'd like to have seen that!" cried John, to whom such gymnastic feats appealed.

While they walked back to the Ches.h.i.+re Cheese, Mrs. Pitt explained to them what St. Paul's Cathedral once comprised.

"In the London of the Middle Ages, the Church ruled supreme," she told them. "At least one-fourth of the entire city was owned by the churches and the religious houses. To carry on the monasteries and churches, a tremendous number of people were necessary. At St. Paul's, in 1450, there were:

The bishop, Four archdeacons, The treasurer, The precentor, The chancellor, Thirty greater canons, Twelve lesser canons, Fifty chaplains, and Thirty vicars.

These were of the higher rank; there were innumerable others of lower rank, such as the master of the singing-school, the binder, and the translator. The brewer, in 1286, brewed 67,814 gallons, and the baker baked about 40,000 loaves. This gives one a little idea of what it meant to conduct a cathedral in those days of the all-powerful Church."

Between the poor shops of Fleet Street, open many little pa.s.sages, and these lead into tiny courts and winding alleys. The entrance to one of them is marked with the sign, "Wine Office Court." Directly off from this narrow, dark alley stands the famous Ches.h.i.+re Cheese, the only genuine old-time tavern or "coffee-house" which still exists unchanged. It is a little, low building, with quaint bow-window of square panes.

"Why, we can't all get in there, can we?" laughed John, as Mrs. Pitt stepped inside. The door is very small, and the hallway was so crowded by curious visitors, and by jostling, pus.h.i.+ng waiters, that it did not seem possible for another person to enter. They managed, however, to elbow their way through the crowd into the celebrated "coffee-room"

itself.

That "coffee-room" is splendid! The ceiling is very low, and the walls are wainscoted in dark wood. Although the room is so small, there are numerous long tables, and old-fas.h.i.+oned, high-backed settles. One seat, in the corner farthest from the door, is marked with a little tablet, telling us that there was Dr. Johnson's chosen place. Several pictures of that noted gentleman adorn the walls. It always seems very much out of keeping with the quaintness of the room, to find it full of laughing, chattering Americans. A few quiet English clerks come there for their noon meal, but the majority of the patrons of the Ches.h.i.+re Cheese are the tourists.

"There's nothing to do but to wait here until we can get seats," said Mrs. Pitt; so they all remained standing in the middle of the floor, directly in the path of the waiters, until finally some seats were free, and they slid into one of the long benches which extend down each side of the tables, placed endwise to the wall.

"Are you sorry you proposed coming here?" Mrs. Pitt asked Betty, watching with amus.e.m.e.nt her crest-fallen face as she saw the soiled linen, and untidy look of the entire table.

"Oh, no," Betty answered doubtfully, "only I guess people come here more because Dr. Johnson did, than because they like it."

Mrs. Pitt laughed. "That's very true," she said. "The service isn't exactly prompt, either. We've already waited quite fifteen minutes, I am sure. I ordered lark pie and Ches.h.i.+re cheese for you, of course.

Every one takes them on his first visit here."

The lark pie was Dr. Johnson's favorite dish, but that fact does not suffice to make it very enjoyable. Betty frankly confessed that she could not manage to eat hers, but John pretended to be very industrious over his, although he did a good deal of looking about the room and commenting upon things he saw.

"There's even sawdust on the floor," he announced jubilantly. "Did you ever! My! How hot and stuffy it is here! Were all old inns just like this, Mrs. Pitt?"

"Yes, pretty much so, I think," was the response. "There were ever so many of them, you know, and each was frequented by a certain cla.s.s of men. For instance, there was the 'British Coffee-house,' where all the Scotch visitors went; there was 'Robin's,' which was noted for its foreign bankers and amba.s.sadors; and there was 'Dolly's Chophouse,'

where the wits congregated. Most of the famous clubs held their meetings at one or another of the 'coffee-houses,' too. The 'Spectator Club' met at 'b.u.t.ton's Coffee-house,' and there the 'Spectator Papers'

had their beginnings. There Addison, Steele, Pope, and others, spent their leisure hours. Some of the London clubs of the eighteenth century had very queer names!" she continued. "There was the 'Ugly Club,' the 'Quack Club,' the 'Beefsteak Club,' the 'Split-Farthing Club,' and the 'Small Coalmen's Music Club,' for example. Here, at the Ches.h.i.+re Cheese, Goldsmith often came with Dr. Johnson. Can't you imagine the two sitting over at that table, with Boswell not far away, patiently listening, quill in hand? Dr. Johnson was very careless and untidy, you know, and invariably spilled his soup. It was he who used to walk up and down Fleet Street touching every post he pa.s.sed!"

All this time they had been waiting for their cheese. When it finally came, it proved to be much better than the lark pie. The cheese is served in little three-cornered tins, and is poured hot over crisp pieces of toast.

When they had finished, they went up the winding stairs to see the room where the famous "Literary Club" used to meet. Dr. Johnson's chair is preserved there.

"Didn't Dr. Johnson live near here, too, Mother?" asked Barbara, as they came out again into the court.

"Yes, I believe he lived in both Johnson and Bolt Courts," Mrs. Pitt told them. "His haunts were all about here. In number six, over there, Goldsmith is said to have written 'The Vicar of Wakefield.'"