Piquant, also, is the little projecting _loggia_ with its mullions, whence old Abbot Bolton--his cipher, “a bolt,” is to be seen--used to look down on the devotions below. In short, there is nothing wanting in this interesting building that can attract. If objection may be taken, it is to the oak-work of the gallery and stalls, which is not bold enough to harmonize with the rest, and the same may be said of what Lamb would have called the rather “pimping” character of the leaded panes over the apse. These should have been bolder and even ruder. Such is this venerable old fane, to which the wholesale restorers and “trouble tombs” should repair to learn how to carry out their duty.
It is a strange effect, the looking down near London Bridge Station into the low-lying graveyard below, out of which rises the venerable old church of St. Saviour’s, Southwark. It is cathedral-like in its proportions, and grim and stark in its flint-built walls. Though well preserved, it has the usual air of solitariness and desolation common to most City churches.[21] It is really a grand, cathedral-like, old place. Inside it is “boxed up” and partitioned off in a curious way enough; but its tombs are full of touching interest. There is a simple stone in the floor inscribed with a name familiar to all, “Philip Massinger, a stranger.” “John Fletcher, died August, 1625,” is on a second stone; and “Edmond Shakespeare, died December, 1607,” says the stone under which the poet’s brother rests. And then we step across the piece of old Roman mosaic in the floor to that part of the church where John Gower’s memory is kept fresh by an imposing monument. A thorough restoration of this old fane is now in progress.
The old churches in the desolate portions of London, by Shoreditch and Whitechapel, Wapping and Southwark, though many were built by Wren, seem blighted by the squalid districts in which they stand. We may commiserate the fate of the vicars in charge, who pursue their calling under cheerless conditions. The old forlorn and disused Rolls Chapel, which always suggests some maltreated Dutch church, contains an artistic gem which is worthy of a special visit. “It is little known,” says the judicious Mr. Hare, “that within its walls is one of the noblest pieces of sculpture that England possesses--a tomb which may be compared for beauty with the famous monuments of Albergati at Bologna, and of Guigni at the Badia at Florence.” This praise is not a whit too extravagant; for elegance and beauty of design nothing can approach it. It is in memory of Dr. John Young, Master of the Rolls in the time of Henry VIII. A plain arch incloses a casket-shaped sarcophagus on which the figure reposes. On the surface within the arch is a representation of Our Saviour, flanked by cherubs wrought in delicate relief, after the fashion of Donatello, with exquisite pictorical effect. The graceful original design of the sarcophagus suggests one of those Florentine chests intended to hold _trousseaux_, and along the bottom runs an airy scroll as if carelessly cast down, and without the usual formality of such things. Much of the effect is due to the beautiful sense or instinct of proportion, and to the simple lines of the inclosing arch, which is not elaborated in any way: it is supported by short pillars and their capitals according to the usual form. This severity and reserve produce the happiest result in giving effect; while the beauty and mellowed richness of the tones of colouring and the air of gentle repose are extraordinary. The whole is the work of Torrigiano, Henry VII.th’s Italian artist, whose _chef-d’œuvre_ is in Westminster Abbey.