CHAPTER XII

HISTORICAL GARDENS

_History is philosophy teaching by examples._

--BOLINGBROKE.

Although their number has sadly diminished of late years, London still has a few spaces remaining which may be classed as gardens. Often they are merely green patches of a formal type, which are better suited to the present climate than attempts at flowers; but a few regular gardens still exist, bringing dreams of a former period. In St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, the oldest of all such institutions, the square, with a handsome fountain in the centre, is more what one expects to find in Italy than in Smithfield. It is this sort of surprise that makes the charm of London, and renders a wander through its mazes so attractive. What a contrast the walk of a few minutes can bring in the heart of London! but of all these changes none is more impressive than the hush of the Charterhouse after the rush of Aldermanbury or the noise of Clerkenwell. There is still lingering there the touch of the old monastery; a breath of a bygone age seems to pervade the courtyards and gateways, and something in the silence speaks of another world. The first indication of its hidden green courts are the mulberry leaves peeping over the worn stone wall, near the gateway which leads to the weathered archway, the entrance of the old Carthusian monastery. This is the very spot where, with the brutal severity of Tudor times, the arm of the last Prior was exposed after his cruel execution at Tyburn. The monastery, founded in 1371, was dissolved with unusual barbarity, and passed into secular hands. The possession of it by the Duke of Norfolk has left its mark in many of the existing buildings, as he converted it from a cloister to a palace, but its palatial days did not last long. It was bought by the benevolent Thomas Sutton, a portion of whose large fortune, amassed from profitably working coal mines, was bestowed in founding “a hospital for poor brethren and scholars.” The scholars have been taken away from the historical associations, to the purer air of Godalming, and the parts of the buildings devoted to their accommodation were in 1872 bought by the Merchants Taylors’ Company for their school. The playing field of the boys is the ample space which was enclosed by the cloister of the monastery. Part of the land to the north has been built over, and a tall warehouse overlooks the burying-ground of the monks, which is still a large green sward of hallowed ground, with a row of mulberries. This lies so far below the level of Clerkenwell Road that a flight of steps leads to the postern gate in the high wall, overhung with climbing plants. This “God’s acre” is covered with smooth turf, and some day the two walnut trees planted by the master in 1901 may afford grateful shade. It is in keeping with the spirit of the place to plant trees of such slow and stately growth. The Preachers’ Court and the smaller Pensioners’ Court are like college quadrangles, with that perfect turf that England alone produces. The smooth surface is broken only by the regular intersecting gravel paths, and one row of mulberry trees some seventy years old. The red-brick buildings have a venerable appearance, although they do not carry the weight of centuries with dignity, like the “Wash-house Court,” the hall, the library, or the brick cloister, and the delightful old walls with their deliciously-scented fig-trees. The whole place has a mediæval look and feeling, and teems with ghosts and recollections of the monks of the early peaceful days, and their courageous successors at the Dissolution. The pious founder, as the chorus of the old Carthusian melody says, must not be forgotten:--

“Then blessed be the memory Of good old Thomas Sutton, Who gave us lodging, learning, As well as beef and mutton.”

Of the shades which surround these peaceful green courts none appear more real than that of Colonel Newcome. The guardian will point out the room in which he died, or his pew in the chapel, as if he belonged to history as much as Wray, who bequeathed the old books in the “Officers’ Library,” or any of the well-known pensioners. With such true and pathetic touches has Thackeray drawn the character of Colonel Newcome that fiction has here become entwined round the walls almost as closely as fact.

Further eastward is an open piece of ground, which is hardly a garden; but as it is green, and took the place of what was known as the Artillery Garden, it may claim a moment’s consideration. Push open a door in the modern-looking castellated building in the City Road near Bunhill Fields, and a large, quiet, open space is discovered. Old guns look inoffensively down on a wide square of green turf. This is the home of the Honourable Artillery Company, the descendants of the “Trained Bands” of citizens, first enrolled in 1585 in the fear of a Spanish invasion. They have been here since 1622, when they moved from near Bishopsgate Without. “Artillery Garden,” or Teazel Close or Garden, was the name of the older place, from the teazel grown there for the cloth workers.

“Teazel of ground we enlarge St. Mary’s Spittle, Trees cut down, and gardens added to it, Thanks to the lords that gave us leave to do it,”

says an old poem. The existing Artillery Ground was a great place for cricket matches, where county met county in the eighteenth century. It was here that a vast crowd witnessed the first balloon ever launched into the air in England, sent up by Count Zambeccari in 1783. The next year, from the same place, Lunardi was more ambitious, and actually went up in his balloon. It proved too small for the friend who was ready to risk his life in his company, so he took a dog, a cat, and a pigeon with him instead.

Passing on into the City, the remains of the once extensive Drapers’ Garden is met with.[10] Only a small piece, seen from the street through iron railings, and approached through the hall, has been retained; a few trees and bright flowers survive of what was once a fashionable and much sought after resort.

[Illustration: TRINITY ALMSHOUSES, MILE END ROAD]

Most of the other patches of green in the City are disused burial-grounds, and are considered in a chapter by themselves. Beyond the City, on the east, in the Mile End Road, is the quiet old Trinity Hospital. It stands on the north of that wide road, which might be made one of the most beautiful entrances to the City. The simple good taste of these delightful old almshouses is a great contrast to some of the surroundings. They were probably designed by John Evelyn, with the assistance of Wren. His father-in-law, Sir Richard Browne, founded and built very similar almshouses at Deptford, long since swept away. Of these Evelyn writes, “It was a good and charitable work and gift, but would have been better bestowed on the poor of that parish than on seamen’s widows, the Trinity Company being very rich, and the rest of the poor of the parish exceedingly indigent.” In spite of these sentiments, he is believed to have had a hand in the Mile End Almshouses, which were founded by Captain Henry Mudd of Ratcliffe, Captain Sandes or Sanders, and Captain Maples. The two last are remembered by statues still standing in the little formal gardens. Maples, who appears in the dress of a naval officer of the period, left a fortune for the use of the guild in diamonds, collected in India, where he was an early pioneer, and where he died in 1680. A similar endowment in Hull is described in a poem in 1662:--

“It is a comely built, well-ordered place, But that which most of all the house doth grace Are rooms for widowes, who are old and poore, And have been wives to mariners before.”

Certainly Trinity Hospital, Mile End, is comely and well ordered. The pensioners take a pride in keeping every nook and corner scrupulously clean. Everything is, in fact, in “ship-shape” order. The grass is neatly mown, the trees on either side well trimmed and clipped. Outside each little house a few plants are carefully tended, the pots arranged with precision, and every flower looked after with pride. It is indeed a peaceful place for these old people to pass their declining years in, and the sight makes the regret for St. Katharine’s and the other vanished charitable buildings all the more keen.

The site of another benevolent institution near is fulfilling a useful and delightful task, although the old houses attached to it have disappeared. It was a row of almshouses founded by a member of the Brewers’ Company, named Baker, about 150 years ago, for widows. The garden was much too large for these decrepid old women to cultivate, so the place was taken in hand some twenty-five years ago by the Rev. Sidney Vatcher, who built the beautiful church of St. Philip, Stepney, hard by, and he became the tenant of the Brewers’ Company. This charming garden was at first more or less opened by him to the parish, but lately it has been put to the most suitable use of giving a quiet place for rest and recreation to the nurses of the London Hospital. The almshouses were pulled down about four years ago, to make way for the laundries of the Hospital. Here, indeed, is one of those sudden and surprising contrasts to be found in London. A high brick wall encloses this oasis, and the nurses and some privileged people have keys to the door, which opens, from a side street close to the noise of the Mile End Road, suddenly into a peaceful, picturesque garden. The idea in the formation was a willow-pattern plate, and the little bridge over a miniature stream is reproduced. Plane trees in a formal array are kept trimmed to give a dense shade, and the hammocks hung from them in summer provide the most ideal resting-places for the worn-out nurses. At one time animals were kept here in cages, as a kind of small “Zoo” for Whitechapel; but since the last alterations the animals have been relinquished, and the bear-pit makes a delightful rock garden, and the various other cages form summer-houses. One thoughtful addition of the vicar was placing a small stove in one of these shelters, with an array of kettles, teapots, cups and saucers, so that any of the nurses resting can have their _al fresco_ cup of tea--and what could be more grateful and comforting? A French writer who recently gave her impressions of L’Ile Inconnue was charmed with the peace and repose of this little East End Paradise. After seeing the Hospital and all its wonderful appliances, “You will now see our Eden,” said the guide. “Ici! l’Eden! m’écriai-je, après le péché alors!” Then, when she had for a moment looked within those mysterious high walls, “N’avais-je pas raison d’appeler ce jardin l’Eden?” said the friend. “Oui, repondis-je, c’est l’Eden après la Rédemption.” Certainly any one who sees this little garden, and realises the devoted lives of those who made it and those who enjoy it, must agree with this writer.

It is not often that, when the old almshouses vanish, the neighbourhood benefits to such an extent. What will be the fate of the Ironmongers’ Almshouses in Kingsland Road, between Shoreditch and Dalston? A large board in the garden that fronts the street announces the site is for sale!

The Foundling Hospital has large green courts, on which the merry but sombrely-clad little children are seen running about, through the fine iron gates which face Guildford Street. This was founded in 1739 by Captain Thomas Coram, who gave so much of his wealth to objects of charity and philanthropy that a subscription had to be raised to support him in his old age. Theodore Jacobson (died 1772) was the architect of the building. A colonnade runs round the whole length of the forecourt up to the gates, part of which is used as laundries, or other things necessary to the institution. A writer in 1773 describes the “large area between the gates and the hospital” as “adorned with grass plats, gravel walks, and lamps erected upon handsome posts: beside which there are two convenient gardens,” and exactly the same description holds good to-day. Brunswick Square lies to the west, and Mecklenburgh Square to the east, so the Hospital grounds are still airy. There is a small garden at the back of the building in front of the Infirmary; on the east is the Treasurer’s Garden, a fair-si