CHAPTER L.
THE MONUMENT AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD.
The Monument— How shall it be fashioned?—Commemorative Inscriptions—The Monument's Place in History— Suicides and the Monument—
he Great Fire of London— On the Top of the Monument by Night—The Source of the Fire—A Terrible Description—Miles Coverdale—St.
Magnus, London Bridge.
MILES COVERDALE (see page 574).
The Monument, a fluted Doric column, raised to
commemorate the Great Fire of London, was designed by Wren, who, as usual, was thwarted in
his original intentions. It stands 202 feet from
the site of the baker's house in Pudding Lane
where the fire first broke out. Wren's son, in his
"Parentalia," thus describes the difficulties which
his father met with in carrying out his design. Says
Wren, Junior: "In the place of the brass urn on the
top (which is not artfully performed, and was set
up contrary to his opinion) was originally intended
a colossal statue in brass gilt of King Charles II.,
as founder of the new City, in the manner of the
Roman pillars, which terminated with the statues
of their Cæsars; or else a figure erect of a woman
crown'd with turrets, holding a sword and cap of
maintenance, with other ensigns of the City's
grandeur and re-erection. The altitude from the
pavement is 202 feet; the diameter of the shaft (or
body) of the column is 15 feet; the ground bounded
by the plinth or lowest part of the pedestal is 28
feet square, and the pedestal in height is 40 feet.
Within is a large staircase of black marble, containing 345 steps 10½ inches broad and 6 inches
risers. Over the capital is an iron balcony encompassing a cippus, or meta, 32 feet high, supporting
a blazing urn of brass gilt. Prior to this the surveyor (às it appears by an original drawing) had
made a design of a pillar of somewhat less proportion—viz., 14 feet in diameter, and after a
peculiar device; for as the Romans expressed by
relievo on the pedestals and round the shafts of
their columns the history of such actions and incidents as were intended to be thereby commemorated, so this monument of the conflagration and
resurrection of the City of London was represented
by a pillar in flames. The flames, blazing from the
loopholes of the shaft (which were to give light to
the stairs within), were figured in brass-work gilt;
and on the top was a phœnix rising from her ashes,
of brass gilt likewise."
The following are, or rather were, the inscriptions
on the four sides of the Monument:—
SOUTH SIDE.
"Charles the Second, son of Charles the Martyr, King
of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, Defender of the
Faith, a most generous prince, commiserating the deplorable
state of things, whilst the ruins were yet smoking, provided
for the comfort of his citizens and the ornament of his city,
remitted their taxes, and referred the petitions of the magistrates and inhabitants to the Parliament, who immediately
passed an Act that public works should be restored to greater
beauty with public money, to be raised by an imposition on
coals; that churches, and the Cathedral of Saint Paul, should
be rebuilt from their foundations, with all magnificence; that
bridges, gates, and prisons should be new made, the sewers
cleansed, the streets made straight and regular, such as were
steep levelled, and those too narrow made wider; markets
and shambles removed to separate places. They also enacted
that every house should be built with party-walls, and all in
front raised of equal height, and those walls all of square
stone or brick, and that no man should delay building beyond
the space of seven years. Moreover, care was taken by law
to prevent all suits about their bounds. Also anniversary
prayers were enjoined; and to perpetuate the memory hereof
to posterity, they caused this column to be erected. The
work was carried on with diligence, and London is restored,
but whether with greater speed or beauty may be made a
question. At three years' time the world saw that finished
which was supposed to be the business of an age."
NORTH SIDE.
"In the year of Christ 1666, the second day of September,
eastward from hence, at the distance of two hundred and two
feet (the height of this column), about midnight, a most terrible fire broke out, which, driven on by a high wind, not
only wasted the adjacent parts, but also places very remote,
with incredible noise and fury. It consumed eighty-nine
churches, the City gates, Guildhall, many public structures,
hospitals, schools, libraries, a vast number of stately edifices,
thirteen thousand two hundred dwelling-houses, four hundred
streets. Of the six-and-twenty wards it utterly destroyed
fifteen, and left eight others shattered and half burnt. The
ruins of the City were four hundred and thirty-six acres, from
the Tower by the Thames side to the Temple Church, and
from the north-east along the City wall to Holborn Bridge.
To the estates and fortunes of the citizens it was merciless,
but to their lives very favourable, that it might in all things
resemble the last conflagration of the world. The destruction was sudden, for in a small space of time the City was
seen most flourishing, and reduced to nothing. Three days
after, when this fatal fire had baffled all human counsels and
endeavours in the opinion of all, it stopped as it were by a
command from Heaven, and was on every side extinguished."
EAST Side.
"This pillar was begun,
Sir Richard Ford, Knight, being Lord Mayor of London,
In the year 1671,
Carried on
In the Mayoralties of
Sir George Waterman, Kt. Lord Mayors,
Sir Robert Hanson, Kt.
Sir William Hooker, Kt.
Sir Robert Viner, Kt.
Sir Joseph Sheldon, Kt.
And finished,
Sir Thomas Davies being Lord Mayor, in the year 1677."
WEST SIDE.
"This pillar was set up in perpetual remembrance of the
most dreadful burning of this Protestant city, begun and
carried on by the treachery and malice of the Popish faction,
in the beginning of September, in the year of our Lord
MDCLXVI., in order to the effecting their horrid plot for
the extirpating the Protestant religion and English liberties,
and to introduce Popery and slavery."
"The basis of the monument," says Strype, "on
that side toward the street, hath a representation of
the destruction of the City by the Fire, and the
restitution of it, by several curiously engraven figures
in full proportion. First is the figure of a woman
representing London, sitting on ruins, in a most
disconsolate posture, her head hanging down, and
her hair all loose about her; the sword lying by
her, and her left hand carefully laid upon it. A
second figure is Time, with his wings and bald
head, coming behind her and gently lifting her up.
Another female figure on the side of her, laying her
hand upon her, and with a sceptre winged in her
other hand, directing her to look upwards, for it
points up to two beautiful goddesses sitting in the
clouds, one leaning upon a cornucopia, denoting
Plenty, the other having a palm-branch in her
left hand, signifying Victory, or Triumph. Underneath this figure of London in the midst of the
ruins is a dragon with his paw upon the shield of
a red cross, London's arms. Over her head is the
description of houses burning, and flames breaking
out through the windows. Behind her are citizens
looking on, and some lifting up their hands.
"Opposite against these figures is a pavement
of stone raised, with three or four steps, on which
appears King Charles II., in Roman habit, with a
truncheon in his right hand and a laurel about his
head, coming towards the woman in the foresaid
despairing posture, and giving orders to three
others to descend the steps towards her. The
first hath wings on her head, and in her hand something resembling a harp. Then another figure of
one going down the steps following her. resembling
Architecture, showing a scheme or model for building of the City, held in the right hand, and the
left holding a square and compasses. Behind these
two stands another figure, more obscure, holding up
an hat, denoting Liberty. Next behind the king
is the Duke of York, holding a garland, ready to
crown the rising City, and a sword lifted up in the
other hand to defend her. Behind this a third
figure, with an earl's coronet on his head. A fourth
figure behind all, holding a lion with a bridle in his
mouth. Over these figures is represented an house
in building, and a labourer going up a ladder with
an hodd upon his back. Lastly, underneath the
stone pavement whereon the king stands is a good
figure of Envy peeping forth, gnawing a heart."
The bas-relief on the pediment of the Monument
was carved by a Danish sculptor, Caius Gabriel
Cibber, the father of the celebrated comedian and
comedy writer Colley Cibber; the four dragons
at the four angles are by Edward Pierce. The
Latin inscriptions were written by Dr. Gale, Dean
of York, and the whole structure was erected in six
years, for the sum of £13,700. The paragraphs
denouncing Popish incendiaries were not written
by Gale, but were added in 1681, during the madness of the Popish plot. They were obliterated by
James II., but cut again deeper than before in the
reign of William III., and finally erased in 1831,
to the great credit of the Common Council.
Wren at first intended to have had flames of
gilt brass coming out of every loop-hole of the
Monument, and on the top a phœnix rising from
the flames, also in brass gilt. He eventually
abandoned this idea, partly on account of the expense, and also because the spread wings of the
phœnix would present too much resistance to the
wind. Moreover, the fabulous bird at that height
would not have been understood. Charles II.
preferred a gilt ball, and the present vase of flames
was then decided on. Defoe compares the Monument to a lighted candle.
The Monument is loftier than the pillars of
Trajan and Antoninus, at Rome, or that of Theodosius at Constantinople; and it is not only the
loftiest, but also the finest isolated column in the
world.
It was at first used by the members of the Royal
Society for astronomical purposes, but was abandoned on account of its vibration being too great
for the nicety required in their observations. Hence
the report that the Monument is unsafe, which has
been revived in our time; "but," says Elwes, "its
scientific construction may bid defiance to the
attacks of all but earthquakes for centuries to
come."
A large print of the Monument represents the
statue of Charles placed, for comparative effect,
beside a sectional view of the apex, as constructed.
Wren's autograph report on the designs for the
summit were added to the MSS. in the British
Museum in 1852. A model, scale one-eighth of an
inch to the foot, of the scaffolding used in building
the Monument is preserved. It formerly belonged
to Sir William Chambers, and was presented by
Heathcote Russell, C. E., to the late Sir Isambard
Brunel, who left it to his son, Mr. I. K. Brunel.
The ladders were of the rude construction of
Wren's time—two uprights, with treads or rounds
nailed on the face.
On June 15, 1825, the Monument was illuminated with portable gas, in commemoration of
laying the first stone of New London Bridge. A
lamp was placed at each of the loop-holes of
the column, to give the idea of its being wreathed
with flame; whilst two other series were placed on
the edges of the gallery, to which the public were
admitted during the evening.
Certain spots in London have become popular
with suicides, yet apparently without any special
reason, except that even suicides are vain and like
to die with éclat. Waterloo Bridge is chosen for
its privacy; the Monument used to be chosen,
we presume, for its height and quietude. Five
persons have destroyed themselves by leaps from
the Monument. The first of these unhappy creatures was William Green, a weaver, in 1750. On
June 25 this man, wearing a green apron, the sign
of his craft, came to the Monument door, and left
his watch with the doorkeeper. A few minutes
after he was heard to fall. Eighteen guineas were
found in his pocket. The next man who fell from
the Monument was Thomas Craddock, a baker.
He was not a suicide; but, in reaching over to see
an eagle which was hung in a cage from the bars,
he overbalanced himself, and was killed. The next
victim was Lyon Levi, a Jew diamond merchant in
embarrassed circumstances, who destroyed himself
on the 18th of January, 1810. The third suicide
(September II, 1839) was a young woman named
Margaret Meyer. This poor girl was the daughter
of a baker in Hemming's Row, St. Martin's-inthe-Fields. Her mother was dead, her father
bed-ridden, and there being a large family, it had
become necessary for her to go out to service,
which preyed upon her mind. The October following, a boy named Hawes, who had been that
morning discharged by his master, a surgeon,
threw himself from the same place. He was of
unsound mind, and his father had killed himself.
The last suicide was in August, 1842, when a
servant-girl from Hoxton, named Jane Cooper,
while the watchman had his head turned, nimbly
climbed over the iron railing, tucked her clothes
tight between her knees, and dived head-foremost downwards. In her fall she struck the
griffin on the right side of the base of the Monument, and, rebounding into the road, cleared a
cart in the fall. The cause of this act was not
discovered. Suicides being now fashionable here,
the City of London (not a moment too soon)
caged in the top of the Monument in the present
ugly way.
The Rev. Samuel Rolle, writing of the Great Fire
in 1667, says—" If London its self be not the doleful
monument of its own destruction, by always lying
in ashes (which God forbid it should), it is provided
for by Act of Parliament, that after its restauration,
a pillar, either of brass or stone, should be erected,
in perpetual memory of its late most dismall conflagration."
"Where the fire began, there, or as near as may
be to that place, must the pillar be erected (if ever
there be any such). If we commemorate the places
where our miseries began, surely the causes whence
they sprang (the meritorious causes, or sins, are
those I now intend) should be thought of much
more. If such a Lane burnt London, sin first burnt
that Lane; causa, causa est causa causatio; affliction
springs not out of the dust; not but that it may
spring thence immediately (as if the dust of the
earth should be turned into lice), but primarily and
originally it springs up elsewhere.
"As for the inscription that ought to be upon
that pillar (whether of brass or stone), I must leave
it to their piety and prudence, to whom the wisdom
of the Parliament hath left it; only three things I
both wish and hope concerning it. The first is,
that it may be very humble, giving God the glory
of his righteous judgments, and taking to ourselves
the shame of our great demerits. Secondly, that
the confession which shall be there engraven may
be as impartial as the judgement itself was; not
charging the guilt for which that fire came upon a
few only, but acknowledging that all have sinned,
as all have been punished. Far be it from any man
to say that his sins did not help to burn London,
that cannot say also (and who that is I know not)
that neither he nor any of his either is, or are ever
like to be, anything the worse for that dreadful fire.
Lastly, whereas some of the same religion with
those that did hatch the Powder-Plot are, and have
been, vehemently suspected to have been the incendiaries, by whose means London was burned, I
earnestly desire that if time and further discovery
be able to acquit them from any such guilt, that
pillar may record their innocency, and may make
themselves as an iron pillar or brazen wall (as I
may allude to Jer. i. 18) against all the accusations
of those that suspect them; but if, in deed and in
truth, that fire either came or was carried on and
continued by their treachery, that the inscription of
the pillar may consigne over their names to perpetual hatred and infamy."
"Then was God to his people as a shadow from
the heat of the rage of their enemies, as a wall of
fire for their protection; but this pillar calls that
time to remembrance, in which God covered himself,
as with a cloud, that the prayers of Londoners
should not passe unto him, and came forth, not as
a conserving, but as a consuming fire, not for, but
against, poor London."
Roger North, in his Life of Sir Dudley, mentions the Monument when still in its first bloom.
"He (Sir Dudley North)," he says, "took pleasure
in surveying the Monument, and comparing it with
mosque-towers, and what of that kind he had seen
abroad. We mounted up to the top, and one after
another crept up the hollow iron frame that carries
the copper head and flames above. We went out
at a rising plate of iron that hinged, and there
found convenient irons to hold by. We made use
of them, and raised our bodies entirely above the
flames, having only our legs to the knees within;
and there we stood till we were satisfied with the
prospect from thence. I cannot describe how hard
it was to persuade ourselves we stood safe, so likely
did our weight seem to throw down the whole
fabric."
Addison takes care to show his Tory foxhunter the famed Monument. "We repaired,"
says the amiable essayist, "to the Monument,
where my fellow-traveller (the Tory fox-hunter),
being a well-breathed man, mounted the ascent
with much speed and activity. I was forced to
halt so often in this particular march, that, upon
my joining him on the top of the pillar, I found
he had counted all the steeples and towers which
were discernible from this advantageous situation,
and was endeavouring to compute the number of
acres they stood on. We were both of us very
well pleased with this part of the prospect; but I
found he cast an evil eye upon several warehouses
and other buildings, which looked like barns, and
seemed capable of receiving great multitudes of
people. His heart misgave him that these were so
many meeting-houses; but, upon communicating
his suspicions to me, I soon made him easy in that
particular. We then turned our eyes upon the
river, which gave me an occasion to inspire him
with some favourable thoughts of trade and merchandise, that had filled the Thames with such
crowds of ships, and covered the shore with such
swarms of people. We descended very leisurely,
my friend being careful to count the steps, which
he registered in a blank leaf of his new almanack.
Upon our coming to the bottom, observing an
English inscription upon the basis, he read it over
several times, and told me he could scarce believe
his own eyes, for he had often heard from an old
attorney who lived near him in the country that it
was the Presbyterians who burnt down the City,
'whereas,' says he, 'the pillar positively affirms,
in so many words, that the burning of this antient
city was begun and carried on by the treachery
and malice of the Popish faction, in order to the
carrying on their horrid plot for extirpating the
Protestant religion and old English liberty, and
introducing Popery and slavery.' This account,
which he looked upon to be more authentic than
if it had been in print, I found, made a very great
impression upon him."
Ned Ward is very severe on the Monument.
"As you say, this edifice," he says, "as well as
some others, was projected as a memorandum of
the Fire, or an ornament to the City, but gave
those corrupted magistrates that had the power
in their hands the opportunity of putting two thousand pounds into their own pockets, whilst they paid
one towards the building. I must confess, all I think
can be spoke in praise of it is, 'tis a monument to
the City's shame, the orphan's grief, the Protestant's
pride, and the Papist's scandal; and only serves as
a high-crowned hat, to cover the head of the old
fellow that shows it."
Pope, as a Catholic, looked with horror on the
Monument, and wrote bitterly of it—
"Where London's Column, pointing at the skies,
Like a tall bully, lifts the head and lies,
There dwelt a citizen of sober fame,
A plain good man, and Balaam was his name."
"At the end of Littleton's Dictionary," says
Southey, "is an inscription for the Monument,
wherein this very learned scholar proposes a name
for it worthy, for its length, of a Sanscrit legend.
It is a word which extends through seven degrees
of longitude, being designed to commemorate the
names of the seven Lord Mayors of London under
whose respective mayoralties the Monument was
begun, continued, and completed:—
"'Quam non una aliqua ac simplici voce, uti istam
quondam Duilianam;
Sed, ut vero eam nomine indigites, vocabulo constructiliter Heptastico,
Fordo—Watermanno—Hansono—Hookero—
Vinero—Sheldono—Davisianam
Appellare opportebit.'
"Well might Adam Littleton call this an heptastic vocable, rather than a word." (Southey,
"Omniana.")
Mr. John Hollingshead, an admirable modern
essayist, in a chapter in "Under Bow Bells," entitled "A Night on the Monument,"has given a
most powerful sketch of night, moonlight, and daybreak from the top of the Monument. "The
puppet men," he says, "now hurry to and fro,
lighting up the puppet shops, which cast a warm,
rich glow upon the pavement. A cross of dotted
lamps springs into light, the four arms of which
are the four great thoroughfares from the City.
Red lines of fire come out behind black, solid,
sullen masses of building; and spires of churches
stand out in strong, dark relief at the side of busy
streets. Up in the housetops, under green-shaded
lamps, you may see the puppet clerks turning
quickly over the clean, white, fluttering pages of
puppet day-books and ledgers; and from east to
west you see the long, silent river, glistening here
and there with patches of reddish light, even
through the looped steeple of the Church of St.
Magnus the Martyr. Then, in a white circle of
light round the City, dart out little nebulous
clusters of houses, some of them high up in the
air, mingling, in appearance, with the stars of
heaven; some with one lamp, some with two or
more; some yellow, and some red; and some
looking like bunches of fiery grapes in the congress of twinkling suburbs. Then the bridges
throw up their arched lines of lamps, like the
illuminated garden-walks at Cremorne. . . .
"The moon has now increased in power, and,
acting on the mist, brings out the surrounding
churches one by one. There they stand in the
soft light, a noble army of temples thickly sprinkled amongst the money-changers. Any taste may
be suited in structural design. There are high
churches, low churches; flat churches; broad
churches, narrow churches; square, round, and
pointed churches; churches with towers like
cubical slabs sunk deeply in between the roofs of
houses; towers like toothpicks, like three-pronged
forks, like pepper-casters, like factory chimneys,
like limekilns, like a sailor's trousers hung up to
dry, like bottles of fish-sauce, and like St. Paul's—
a balloon turned topsy-turvy. There they stand,
like giant spectral watchmen guarding the silent
city, whose beating heart still murmurs in its sleep.
At the hour of midnight they proclaim, with iron
tongue, the advent of a New Year, mingling a song
of joy with a wail for the departed. . . .
"The dark grey churches and houses spring
into existence one by one. The streets come up
out of the land, and the bridges come up out of
the water. The bustle of commerce, and the roar
of the great human ocean—which has never been
altogether silent—revive. The distant turrets of
the Tower, and the long line of shipping on the
river, become visible. Clear smoke still flows over
the housetops, softening their outlines, and turning
them into a forest of frosted trees.
WREN'S ORIGINAL DESIGN FOR THE SUMMIT OF THE MONUMENT (see page 565).
"Above all this is a long black mountain-ridge
of cloud, tipped with glittering gold; beyond float
deep orange and light yellow ridges, bathed in a
faint purple sea. Through the black ridge struggles
a full, rich, purple sun, the lower half of his disc
tinted with grey. Gradually, like blood-red wine
running into a round bottle, the purple overcomes
the grey; and at the same time the black cloud
divides the face of the sun into two sections, like
the visor of a harlequin."
THE MONUMENT AND THE CHURCH OF ST. MAGNUS, ABOUT 1800. (From an Old View.)
In 1732 a sailor is recorded to have slid down a
rope from the gallery to the "Three Tuns" tavern,
Gracechurch Street; as did also, next day, a waterman's boy. In the Timesnewspaper of August 22,
1827, there appeared the following hoaxing advertisement: "Incredible as it may appear, a person
will attend at the Monument, and will, for the sum
of £2,500, undertake to jump clear off the said
Monument; and in coming down will drink some
beer and eat a cake, act some trades, shorten and
make sail, and bring ship safe to anchor. As soon
as the sum stated is collected, the performance will
take place; and if not performed, the money subscribed to be returned to the subscribers."
The Great Fire of 1666 broke out at the shop
of one Farryner, the king's baker, 25, Pudding
Lane. The following inscription was placed by
some zealous Protestants over the house, when
rebuilt:—"Here, by the permission of Heaven,
Hell broke loose upon this Protestant city, from
the malicious hearts of barbarous priests, by the
hand of their agent, Hubert, who confessed and
on the ruins of this place declared the fact for
which he was hanged—viz., that here begun that
dreadful fire which is described on and perpetuated
by the neighbouring pillar, erected anno 1681, in
the mayoralty of Sir Patience Ward, Kt."
This celebrated inscription (says Cunningham),
set up pursuant to an order of the Court of Common Council, June 17th, 1681, was removed in
the reign of James II., replaced in the reign of
William III., and finally taken down, "on account
of the stoppage of passengers to read it."Entick,
who made additions to Maitland in 1756, speaks
of it as "lately taken away."
The Fire was for a long time attributed to
Hubert, a crazed French Papist of five or six and
twenty years of age, the son of a watchmaker at
Rouen, in Normandy. He was seized in Essex,
confessed he had begun the fire, and persisting in
his confession to his death, was hanged, upon no
other evidence than that of his own confession.
He stated in his examination that he had been
"suborned at Paris to this action," and that there
were three more combined to do the same thing.
They asked him if he knew the place where he
had first put fire. He answered that he "knew
it very well, and would show it to anybody."He
was then ordered to be blindfolded and carried to
several places of the City, that he might point
out the house. They first led him to a place at
some distance from it, opened his eyes, and asked
him if that was it, to which he answered, "No, it
was lower, nearer to the Thames." "The house
and all which were near it," says Clarendon, "were
so covered and buried in ruins, that the owners
themselves, without some infallible mark, could
very hardly have said where their own houses had
stood; but this man led them directly to the place,
described how it stood, the shape of the little yard,
the fashion of the doors and windows, and where
he first put the fire, and all this with such exactness, that they who had dwelt long near it could
not so perfectly have described all particulars."
Tillotson told Burnet that Howell, the then recorder of London, accompanied Hubert on this
occasion, "was with him, and had much discourse
with him; and that he concluded it was impossible
it could be a melancholy dream."This, however,
was not the opinion of the judges who tried him.
"Neither the judges," says Clarendon, "nor any
present at the trial, did believe him guilty, but that
he was a poor distracted wretch, weary of his life,
and chose to part with it this way."
A few notes about the Great Fire will here be
interesting. Pepys gives a graphic account of its
horrors. In one place he writes—"Everybody
endeavouring to remove their goods, and flinging
into the river, or bringing them into lighters that
lay off; poor people staying in their houses as long
as till the very fire touched them, and then running
into boats, or clambering from one pair of stairs
by the waterside to another. And, among other
things, the poor pigeons, I perceive, were loth to
leave their houses, but hovered about the windows
and balconys till they burned their wings and fell
down. Having staid, and in an hour's time seen
the fire rage every way, and nobody, to my sight,
endeavouring to quench it, but to remove their
goods and leave all to the fire."
But by far the most vivid conception of the Fire
is to be found in a religious book written by the
Rev. Samuel Vincent, who expresses the feelings of
the moment with a singular force. Says the writer:
"It was the 2nd of September, 1666, that the
anger of the Lord was kindled against London,
and the fire began. It began in a baker's house
in Pudding Lane, by Fish Street Hill; and now
the Lord is making London like a fiery oven in the
time of his anger (Psalm xxi. 9), and in his wrath
doth devour and swallow up our habitations. It
was in the depth and dead of the night, when
most doors and senses were lockt up in the City,
that the fire doth break forth and appear abroad,
and like a mighty giant refresht with wine doth
awake and arm itself, quickly gathers strength,
when it had made havoc of some houses, rusheth
down the hill towards the bridge, crosseth Thames
Street, invadeth Magnus Church at the bridge foot,
and, though that church were so great, yet it was
not a sufficient barricade against this conqueror;
but having scaled and taken this fort, it shooteth
flames with so much the greater advantage into all
places round about, and a great building of houses
upon the bridge is quickly thrown to the ground.
Then the conqueror, being stayed in his course at
the bridge, marcheth back towards the City again,
and runs along with great noise and violence
through Thames Street westward, where, having
such combustible matter in its teeth, and such a
fierce wind upon its back, it prevails with little resistance, unto the astonishment of the beholders.
"My business is not to speak of the hand of
man, which was made use of in the beginning and
carrying on of this fire. The beginning of the
tfire at such a time, when there had been so much
hot weather, which had dried the houses and made
them more fit for fuel; the beginning of it in such
a place, where there were so many timber houses,
and the shops filled with so much combustible
matter; and the beginning of it just when the wind
did blow so fiercely upon that corner towards the
rest of the City, which then was like tinder to the
spark; this doth smell of a Popish design, hatcht
in the same place where the Gunpowder Plot was
contrived, only that this was more successful.
"Then, then the City did shake indeed, and the
inhabitants flew away in great amazement from their
houses, lest the flame should devour them. Rattle,
rattle, rattle, was the noise which the fire struck
upon the ear round about, as if there had been a
thousand iron chariots beating upon the stones;
and if you opened your eye to the opening of the
streets where the fire was come, you might see in
some places whole streets at once in flames, that
issued forth as if they had been so many great
forges from the opposite windows, which, folding
together, were united into one great flame throughout the whole street; and then you might see the
houses tumble, tumble, tumble, from one end of
the street to the other, with a great crash, leaving
the foundations open to the view of the heavens."
The original Church of St. Magnus, London
Bridge, was of great antiquity; for we learn that
in 1302 Hugh Pourt, sheriff of London, and his
wife Margaret, founded a charity here; and the
first rector mentioned by Newcourt is Robert de
St. Albano, who resigned his living in 1323. It
stood almost at the foot of Old London Bridge;
and the incumbent of the chapel on the bridge
paid an annual sum to the rector of St. Magnus
for the diminution of the fees which the chapel
might draw away. Three Lord Mayors are known
to have been buried in St. Magnus'; and here, in
the chapel of St. Mary, was interred Henry Yevele,
a freemason to Edward III., Richard II., and
Henry IV. This Yevele had assisted to erect
the bust of Richard II. at Westminster Abbey
between the years 1395-97, and also assisted
in restoring Westminster Hall. He founded a
charity in this church, and died in 1401. In old
times the patronage of St. Magnus' was exercised
alternately by the Abbots of Westminster and Bermondsey; but after the dissolution it fell to the
Crown, and Queen Mary, in 1553, bestowed it on
the Bishop of London. In Arnold's "Chronicles"
(end of the fifteenth century) the church is noted
as much neglected, and the services insufficiently
performed. The ordinary remarks that divers of
the priests and clerks spent the time of Divine
service in taverns and ale-houses, and in fishing
and "other trifles."
The church was destroyed at an early period of
the Great Fire. It was rebuilt by Wren in 1676.
The parish was then united with that of St. Margaret, New Fish Street Hill; and at a later period
St. Michael's, Crooked Lane, has also been annexed. On the top of the square tower, which
is terminated with an open parapet, Wren has
introduced an octagon lantern of very simple and
pleasing design, crowned by a cupola and short
spire. We must here, once for all, remark on the
fertility of invention displayed by Wren in varying
constantly the form of his steeples.
The interior of the church is divided into a nave
and side aisles by Doric columns, that support an
entablature from which rises the camerated ceiling.
"The general proportions of the church," says
Mr. Godwin, "are pleasing; but the columns are
too slight, the space between them too wide, and
the result is a disagreeable feeling of insecurity."
The altar-piece, adorned with the figure of a pelican
feeding her young, is richly carved and gilded.
The large organ, built by Jordan in 1712, was presented by Sir Charles Duncomb, who gave the clock
in remembrance of having himself, when a boy,
been detained on this spot, ignorant of the time.
Stow gives a curious account of a religious
service attached to this church. The following
deed is still extant:—
"That Rauf Capelyn du Bailiff, Will. Double, fishmonger, Roger Lowher, chancellor, Henry Boseworth,
vintner, Steven Lucas, stock fishmonger, and other of the
better of the parish of St. Magnus', near the Bridge of
London, of their great devotion, and to the honour of God
and the glorious Mother our Lady Mary the Virgin, began
and caused to be made a chauntry, to sing an anthem of our
Lady, called Salve Regina, every evening; and thereupon
ordained five burning wax lights at the time of the said
anthem, in the honour and reverence of the five principal
joys of our Lady aforesaid, and for exciting the people to
devotion at such an hour, the more to merit to their souls.
And thereupon many other good people of the same parish,
seeing the great honesty of the said service and devotion,
proffered to be aiders and partners to support the said lights
and the said anthem to be continually sung, paying to every
person every week an halfpenny; and so that hereafter, with
the gift that the people shall give to the sustentation of the
said light and anthem, there shall be to find a chaplain
singing in the said church for all the benefactors of the said
light and anthem."
Miles Coverdale, the great reformer, was a
rector of St. Magnus'. Coverdale was in early
life an Augustinian monk, but being converted
to Protestantism, he exerted his best faculties and
influence in defending the cause. In August, 1551,
he was advanced to the see of Exeter, and availed
himself of that station to preach frequently in
the cathedral and in other churches of Exeter.
Thomas Lord Cromwell patronised him; and
Queen Catherine Parr appointed him her almoner.
At the funeral of that ill-fated lady he preached a
sermon at Sudeley Castle. When Mary came to
the throne, she soon exerted her authority in tyrannically ejecting and persecuting this amiable and
learned prelate. By an Act of Council (1554–55)
he was allowed to "passe towards Denmarche
with two servants, his bagges and baggage,"where
he remained till the death of the queen. On
returning home, he declined to be reinstated in
his see, but repeatedly preached at Paul's Cross,
and, from conscientious scruples, continued to live
in obscurity and indigence till 1563, when he was
presented to the rectory of St. Magnus', London
Bridge, which he resigned in two years. Dying
in the year 1568, at the age of eighty-one, he was
interred in this church.
Coverdale's labours in Bible translation are
worth notice. In 1532 Coverdale appears to have
been abroad assisting Tyndale in his translation of
the Bible; and in 1535 his own folio translation of
the Bible (printed, it is supposed, at Zurich), with
a dedication to Henry VIII., was published. This
was the first English Bible allowed by royal
authority, and the first translation of the whole
Bible printed in our language. The Psalms in it
are those we now use in the Book of Common
Prayer. About 1538 Coverdale went to Paris to
superintend a new edition of the Bible printing in
Paris by permission of Francis I. The Inquisition,
however, seized nearly all the 2,500 copies (only a
few books escaping), and committed them to the
flames. The rescued copies enabled Grafton and
Whitchurch, in 1539, to print what is called
Cranmer's, or the Great Bible, which Coverdale
collated with the Hebrew. This great Bible
scholar was thrown into prison by Queen Mary,
and on his release went to Geneva, where he
assisted in producing the Geneva translation of
the Bible, which was completed in 1560. Coverdale, like Wickliffe, was a Yorkshireman.
Against the east wall, on the south side of the
communion-table, is a handsome Gothic panel of
statuary marble, on a black slab, with a representation of an open Bible above it, and thus
inscribed:—
"To the memory of Miles Coverdale, who, convinced
that the pure Word of God ought to be the sole rule of our
faith and guide of our practice, laboured earnestly for its
diffusion; and with the view of affording the means of
reading and hearing in their own tongue the wonderful
works of God not only to his own country, but to the
nations that sit in darkness, and to every creature wheresoever the English language might be spoken, he spent
many years of his life in preparing a translation of the
Scriptures. On the 4th of October, 1535, the first complete
printed English version of The Bible was published under
his direction. The parishioners of St. Magnus the Martyr,
desirous of acknowledging the mercy of God, and calling to
mind that Miles Coverdale was once rector of their parish,
erected this monument to his memory, A.D. 1837.
"'How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the
gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of good things.'—
Isaiah lii. 7."
In the vestry-room, which is now at the southwest corner of the church, there is a curious
drawing of the interior of Old Fishmongers' Hall
on the occasion of the presentation of a pair of
colours to the Military Association of Bridge
Ward by Mrs. Hibbert. Many of the figures are
portraits. There is also a painting of Old London
Bridge, and a clever portrait of the late Mr. R.
Hazard, who was attached to the church as sexton,
clerk, and ward beadle for nearly fifty years.
The church was much injured in 1760 by a fire
which broke out in an adjoining oil-shop. The
roof was destroyed, and the vestry-room entirely
consumed. The repairs cost £1,200. The vestryroom was scarcely completed before it had to be
taken down, with part of the church, in order to
make a passage-way under the steeple to the old
bridge, the road having been found dangerously
narrow. It was proposed to cut an archway out of
the two side walls of the tower to form a thoroughfare; and when the buildings were removed, it was
discovered that Wren, foreseeing the probability
of such a want arising, had arranged everything
to their hands, and that the alteration was effected
with the utmost ease.