Читать книгу Picturesque London - Fitzgerald Percy Hetherington - Страница 8

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PASSING from Dean’s Yard, through a Gothic arch which leads through the Canons’ houses, we find ourselves in a large court, round which run the old buildings of the Westminster School and its familiar dormitory. Facing the school is a low building, within an inclosure, known as Ashburnham House, an old Tudor structure of much interest, which a few years ago was in serious peril. The valuable ground was coveted, and it was proposed to level it and erect large modern buildings in its stead. Happily public interest was aroused, pictures and sketches appeared in the illustrated papers, and the plan was arrested. The interest lay in the beautiful and elegant design of its interior, which though of modest scale is so exquisitely laid out and designed as to suggest an air of spaciousness. There is no doubt that it is the work of Inigo Jones, who is also credited with having designed the older dormitory of the school. On entering, a low hall presents itself, with a door facing us, through which can be seen a glimpse of the old garden behind.

Standing in the airy hall, which though of small size yet appears spacious, and is panelled round with delicately indicated mouldings, we see on the left a low arch over a slightly inclined stair of three or four steps, and beyond which the regular stair with its balustrade is seen. This of itself offers a highly original effect. The staircase itself has the most gentle ascent. The walls, generally white, are broken up by delicate mouldings and pilasters crowned at the top by an oval lantern of elegant shape, and there is a general architectural effect produced of the most pleasing kind. Neither is there anything elaborate, nor are the surfaces too much loaded. We feel that the groundwork is panelling, and therefore only suited to the lightest treatment. With the mouldings are combined stucco tracery of the best school.

In the same spirit are the two beautifully proportioned rooms treated, door cases presenting rich borderings and the ceilings rich embroideries of stucco. Even the shape of the windows is worthy of study, as they let in the proper amount of light, and no more, and are exactly proportioned.

From a Drawing by Herbert Railton.

The exquisite proportion of the lines, and the general air of space and room, the rich, elaborate stucco and carving, all displayed in its proper place, and yet not too rich, will give delight to the trained architectural mind. One feature is the simple, unadorned panelling exhibited near the ground, and which contrasts with the decoration on the higher portions. The rich swelling stucco border of the oval lantern at once recalls that of the room in the Barbers’ Hall, which is confessedly from the same hand. The whole is really a gem, and again suggests the strange failing of modern architects, who, in our day, seem to neglect the laws of classical proportion which lent such a grace to works of architecture at so late a period as one hundred years ago. As for stucco, it seems hopeless to look for any comprehension of its principle. The latest elaborate expression is seen on the ceilings of the new Constitutional Club, which offers a mass of heavy details, suggesting such contours as the familiar “porridge” assumes on cooling.

The charming way in which the few remaining rooms—all that are left—open off the landing, is another of the attractions of this gem, about whose future one feels a little anxious. There is no doubt it is in a precarious state, if not rickety, and is unsuited for the requirements of the school which is carried on there. The landing might be a room itself, so airily is it treated; quite in keeping, too, is the view from the windows, original in its way, unsuspected perhaps by those familiar with the ordinary aspect of the old Abbey; for there rises before us the grim old and much-neglected flank of the fane, with its mouldering buttresses and decayed windows, which the restorers have, fortunately, not thought worthy of their attention, as being too retired to meet the public eye. Some judicious restoring, cleaning, and repairing might be expended on the old house, which has an air of slight dilapidation. The present general tone of white certainly adds to the effect of lightness, and it is questionable whether the effect would be improved by exposing the old oak panelling.

On passing out at the other end of Dean’s Yard, we find ourselves in a tranquil, old-fashioned street, College Street. This might be a portion of a close in an old cathedral, so placid and silent is it; the houses being of that small, unpretending order in which canons and choristers might reside. There are carved doorways, there is cheerful red brick, while a few houses are overgrown from top to bottom with a rich clothing of greenery. At the end we have a glimpse of the river and barges passing lazily by. In front stretches the old cobble wall of the Abbey gardens, full of old trees: the iron-grey walls of the schoolhouse, capped with the old richly-cut cornice, are seen within, Lord Burlington’s work—while over all rises the huge and solemn tower, the great Victoria—offering quite a suggestion of Canterbury Cathedral. In the wall are little unassuming portals, with the name of a canon or two inscribed on them, and cart or carriage rarely disturbs the solitude. In short there is scarcely anything in town more grateful, or more in tone with the Abbey itself than this little street, or indeed the region in which it is. Taken with the Cloisters, the old houses and little courts in the Dean’s Yard, and the School Square and Ashburnham House, all is perfectly in keeping.

The district round seems to partake of this conventual and retiring character. Going on a little farther we come to the massive, curious church which stands in Smith Square, the houses running round being of an odd, old fashion, unlike anything in London. It might be in a country town. This quarter, too, is one of those which has a distinct character, even in its squalor. But it is still pervaded by the ecclesiastical, cathedral flavour of the Abbey adjoining.

We scarcely expect to find lessons in art among the slums and squalid streets of Westminster, nor could we hope to light on much in

GARDEN OF ASHBURNHAM HOUSE (page 18)

the way of antique survival. Yet here we come on at least three interesting old edifices—almshouses and schools—which in their aspect and surroundings offer a charming sort of surprise. Passing out of Victoria Street, where there is much crush and noise at “The Stores,” and down a small alley, we come to a little gem of its kind, as it will seem to the true artist, a small charity school, standing in its walled inclosure. It is of Queen Anne date and pattern, and is no more than a simple square little hall. But how quaint and varied is it! how admirably are its surfaces broken! while every side offers a different pattern. The honest brick is of a fine plum colour; the wall is daintily divided by pilasters; delicate, unobtrusive cornices run around; the windows are shaped in proportion, and the four doorways are of such varied elegance that it is difficult to decide between them. The whole approach in front, the gateway and its piers, iron work, the flight of steps, the door itself—all strike one as being the work of a tasteful artist. Over the door is the pleasantly rococo figure of “The Blew Coat Boy” in his niche. There is a little garden behind, with steps leading down, and a sort of dédendance attached, similar in style, but acting as a kind of foil. There is a charm about the little unpretentious building that is extraordinary. Unhappily it needs repair and restoration, though it is not dilapidated. No one, however, seems to care for it, and a builder has been allowed to construct a sort of “lean to shed” beside it. By-and-by it is likely enough to pass away and to be swept off so coveted a piece of ground. All who appreciate the grace and charm of architecture must admire it.

Passing by this interesting structure and walking down a little farther in the direction of James Street, we come to a bit of almost rural life—a perfect picture, which few would suspect could be found so close to the busy haunts of men. This is a group of old almshouses known as Lady Dacre’s—a large square, covered on three sides by the buildings. They are exactly of the pattern that would have delighted the late Frederick Walker, and might be found in the outskirts of some old country town. In front there is a high railing of good old florid iron, with a handsome gateway in the middle. Through the rails we can see the forlorn garden, offering an air of “large desolation” and neglect, with a look of tranquil abandonment. In the centre there is a low block of buildings with a quaint cupola, or lantern, rising over a pediment filled with decayed sculptures. At the side are two pretty little gates by which you can enter and walk round, and play “the contemplative man,” past the low doorways, over each of which are faint characters with the name of a parish. A dim-faced clock gives hoarse and wheezy note of time; but there is no one to be seen.

Retracing our steps and crossing Victoria Street by “The Stores,” we pass into Rochester Row. Near the Westminster end we come to a large old house of a delightful pattern, with vast inclosed gardens or grounds behind. This is the “Grey Coat” School, with its fine tiled roof, central block, and wings. Nothing can be better than the rare solid brick-work and the air of solidity and comfort. Some directing Goths have, however, erected a barbarous sort of colonnade or passage exactly before the door of entrance, thus spoiling the effect of the façade. Everything is in excellent keeping, even to the high substantial wall round it. But the fair expanse of ground behind is coveted, and already a slice has been taken off for a large factory.

In front there used to stand, not long since, another group of almshouses, which the worthy Palmer and Emery Hill, erst citizens of Westminster, had erected. These were pulled down, and an attempt has been made to erect something of the same genre, but with indifferent success.

As we survey the so-called improvements of London, the thought often recurs—how much a little more taste would have beautified the changes! But we seem helpless in this matter. No one appears to have a conception of what the requirements or opportunities are of a particular situation. There is, for instance, a statue of Cœur de Lion, by Marochetti, before the House of Lords—which is flamboyant enough to be effective—yet how feebly disposed is it! It seems to shrink, or to be huddled away in a corner. We have so few equestrian statues, we ought to make the most display we can with them. Note the poorish pedestal, only a few feet high. This statue ought to be in the centre of a place, on a high commanding pedestal; and there, would really have effect.