[Picture: Theobalds, formerly the favourite residence of King James I.]
With the Abbey, the Cross, and the Four Swans Inn we leave behind us, it may be said, associations with and monuments of mediæval times, and enter upon the later, but no less stirring epoch of English history which is marked by the Tudor, Jacobean, and Commonwealth periods, by a visit to the historic seat of Theobalds, or Tibbles, as it is locally called. The entrance to the park is from the high road, close to Theobalds Grove Station on the Great Eastern Railway branch line to Cheshunt. As one saunters through the long leafy aisle, there comes to mind the reference to this famous seat and its locality in old Izaak Walton’s famous classic, the “Complete Angler,” wherein the angler, the hunter, and the falconer, each commends his recreation; Piscator avows his intention of going “this fine, fresh May morning,” as far as Ware, whereupon Venator says his purpose is to “drink my morning draught at the Thatched House, Hoddesdon,” and Anceps rejoins: “Sir, I shall, by your favour, bear you company as far as Theobalds, and there leave you; for then I turn up to a friend’s house, who mews a hawk for me, which I now long to see.” The present house of Theobalds, which is the seat of Lady Meux, is modern, having been erected in 1768, and, though large, is not beautiful. A view of the house and gardens can be obtained by taking the footpath on the left, running along the bank of the New River, the stream being widened into a lake here, and creating a very pretty feature of the Park lands.
[Picture: Temple Bar. In its new home, at the main entrance to Theobalds Park]
The main entrance to the house is by the famous Temple Bar, which stands a little further along the drive from which the path has been taken. A more beautiful setting for Wren’s wonderful gateway it would scarcely be possible to conceive or create, and I know not another gateway entrance to a private park or domain throughout the country that is more beautiful than this. The nobility of its lines, the grandeur of the design, and the beauty of the stone are here all thrown into wonderful relief by the rich green of the foliage which forms the setting of the gate. One cannot help wondering what Dr. Johnson, or Sir Joshua Reynolds, or Charles Lamb, to all of whom the old gate that marked the western boundary of the city was familiar, would have said if they could have seen it transported to its present position. They were all ardent lovers of the town, and would certainly have lamented its loss from their Fleet Street. The Doctor would probably have said, “Sir! it is a vile outrage upon the City of London.” Yet I think their artistic perceptions would have compelled them to admit that its new home endowed it with a grandeur that it never before possessed.