Rollo in London

The part A, as you see from the plan, is separated from the main portion of the south transept by a range of columns. These columns rise to a vast height in reaching the ceiling above. Of course only the places where the columns stand, and the forms of the bases of them, are marked on the plan. In other parts of the floor of the church, as, for example, in the north transept, and along each side of the nave and choir, are other ranges of columns, some square at the base, and others round. You will observe, too, that the rows of columns which stand on each side of the nave and choir separate the central part of the church from what are called the aisles; for the word aisle, as applied to a European cathedral, does not denote, as in America, a passage way between two rows of seats, or pews, but the spaces outside of the ranges of columns, which extend up and down the body of the church, on each side of the nave and choir.

The aisles, as may be seen by the plan, are not so wide as the nave and choir. There is another thing also to be noted respecting them that is quite important, though it cannot be seen in the plan—and that is, that they are not so high, the roof being carried up to a greater height in the centre of the church—that is, over the nave and choir—than it is at the sides over the aisles. Thus these ranges of columns not only divide different portions of the floor from each other below, but they also separate roofs of different altitudes above.

But let us return to Mr. George and Rollo. We left them in the Poet's Corner, at A. As they looked through the columns near them, they saw the congregation filling the whole central part of the church.

"Let us go up and find a seat," said Mr. George.

So Mr. George led the way between the columns into the south transept. You can see exactly where they went by looking at the plan. This transept was filled with settees, which were placed in two ranges, with a passage way in the middle between them. The front settees were filled with people, and over the heads of them Mr. George could see that there were other ranges of settees in the north transept and the choir. There were various desks, and pulpits, and oratories, and carved stalls, and canopies to be seen in the interior, and many separate compartments of seats, some enclosed by ancient carved oak railings, and others with large worsted ropes, of a dark-brown color, drawn across the entrance to them. Above, clusters of columns and tall pinnacles, rising from canopies and screens, ascended high into the air; and between and beyond them were to be seen gorgeous windows of colored glass, of the most antique and timeworn appearance, and of enormous size. Over the heads, too, of the congregation of living worshippers, and mingled with them in various recesses and corners, were to be seen numberless groups and statues of marble. These statues were, in fact, so mingled with the worshippers, that, in surveying the assemblage, it seemed, in some cases, difficult for a moment to distinguish the living forms of the real men from cold and lifeless effigies of the dead.

Rollo and Mr. George advanced up the passage way as far as they could; and then, Mr. George making a signal for Rollo to follow him, they sat down on one of the benches where there was a vacancy, and began to listen to the music. This music came from an immense organ which was placed over the screen marked S on the plan, which, as you see, separates the nave from the choir. The tones of the organ were very deep and loud, and the sound reverberated from the arches and columns, and from the vaulted roofs above, in a very sublime and impressive manner.

"Can't we go up a little nearer?" said Rollo.

"We cannot get seats any nearer," said Mr. George.

The seats, in fact, that were in front appeared to be entirely full, and several persons were standing in the passage way. Just then a gentleman and lady came up the passage way to the end of the seat where Mr. George and Rollo were sitting. Mr. George and Rollo moved in to make room. They sat down in the space which was thus made for them, without, however, acknowledging Mr. George's politeness even by a look.

"Cannot we go up a little nearer?" said the lady.

"We cannot get seats any nearer," said the gentleman. "The seats above here seem to be all full."

The lady did not appear, however, to be satisfied, but began to look anxiously about among the benches nearer to the choir in search of some vacant seat. The choir itself appeared to be full, and the entrance to it was closed by one of the worsted ropes above referred to, and was guarded, moreover, by two vergers, dressed in an antique and picturesque costume.

"Edward," said the lady in a moment to the gentleman by her side, who appeared to be her husband, "I see a place where I can get a seat."

So she rose and walked up the passage way, followed by the gentleman. She went to one of the forward settees, where there were some ladies sitting who were not very close together, and asked them to move in, so as to make room for her. She then crowded into the space which was thus made, and looked up to her husband with an expression of great satisfaction on her countenance.

"Yes," said Mr. George, "now she is satisfied. A woman never cares how long her husband stands in aisles and passages, so long as she has a good seat herself."

Mr. George was not a great admirer of the ladies, and he often expressed his opinion of them in a very ungallant and in quite too summary a manner. What he said in this case is undoubtedly true of some ladies, as every one who has had occasion to witness their demeanor in public places must have observed. But it is by no means true of all.

In this particular instance, however, it must be confessed that Mr. George was in the right. The gentleman looked round, when he found his wife was seated, to see whether the place he had left was still vacant; but it was occupied; and so he remained standing in the passage way, by the side of his wife, during all the service. It was very plain, however, that this circumstance gave his wife no concern whatever. She seemed to consider it a matter of course that, provided the lady in such cases was seated, the gentleman might stand.

In the mean time, Mr. George and Rollo remained in the seat they had taken. The service appeared to them very complicated. The different portions of it were performed by different clergymen, who were dressed in white robes, and adorned with the various other insignia of sacerdotal rank. The places, too, in which they stood, in performing their ministrations, were continually changed, each clergyman being escorted with great ceremony to the desk or pulpit at which he was to perform his part by a verger, who was clothed in an antique dress, and bore an ornamented rod in his hand—the emblem of his office.

In one place there was a choir of singing boys, all dressed in white, who chanted the responses and anthems. The other parts of the service were cantilated, or intoned, as it is called, in a manner which seemed to Mr. George and Rollo very extraordinary. In fact, the whole scene produced upon the minds of our travellers the effect, not of a religious service for the worship of God, but of a gorgeous, though solemn, dramatic spectacle.

When, at length, the service was ended and the benediction was pronounced, the congregation rose; but Mr. George perceived that those who were in the part of the church near them did not turn and go back towards the Poet's Corner, where they had come in, but stood and looked forward towards the choir, as if they were expecting to advance in that direction.

"Let us wait a minute," said Mr. George, "and see what they will do."

In a few minutes the verger removed the worsted cords by which the passage ways in and through the choirs had been closed, and then there commenced a general movement of the congregation in that direction. The people, as they walked along, paused to look at the monuments that were built in the walls; at the statues and groups of allegorical figures that were placed here and there in niches and recesses; at the oak carvings in the screens; the canopies and the stalls; at the stained-glass windows, with the gorgeous representations which they contained of apostles and saints; and at all the other architectural and sculptured wonders of the place.

The congregation passed out from the choir into the nave through a sort of gateway in the screen beneath the organ, at the place marked O in the plan; and then, spreading out on each side, they passed between the columns into the aisles, and thus moved slowly down the nave and the aisles, surveying the monuments and sculptures as they proceeded. They did not stop long at any place, but moved on continually, though slowly, as if it were not the custom to walk about much for the purpose of viewing the abbey on Sunday.

All this part of the church was entirely open, there being no pews or seats, nor any fixtures of any kind, except the sepulchral monuments at the sides. The floor was of stone, the pavement being composed, in a great measure, of slabs carved with obituary inscriptions, some of which were very ancient, while others were quite modern. The whole atmosphere of the church seemed cold and damp, as if it were a tomb.

Rollo's attention was strongly attracted by the monuments that they passed by in their walk. Many of the sculptures were larger than life, and they were represented in various attitudes, and with various accompanying symbols, according to the character or position in life of the men whose exploits were commemorated by them. There were effigies of modern men, studying books, or working with mathematical instruments, or looking attentively at globes. There were rude sculptures of crusaders, lying upon their backs on slabs of stone, their faces and forms blackened by time, their noses and ears broken off, and sometimes with an arm or a foot wanting. Then, as a contrast to these, there were beautiful representations of ships and sea fights, all exquisitely chiselled in the whitest of marble. There were angels and cherubs in every imaginable form and position, and countless other varieties of statues, bas reliefs, and inscriptions, which excited in Rollo, as he walked among them, a perpetual sentiment of wonder.

"Cannot we walk about here a little while," said Rollo, "and look at these images more?"

"No," said Mr. George, "not to-day. It seems not to be the usage."

"I do not see any harm in it," said Rollo. "It is just like walking in a burying ground."

"True," said Mr. George; "but it seems not to be the usage. We will come some other day."

Rollo and Mr. George did come another day, and then they walked about entirely at their ease, and examined as many of the monuments, and deciphered as many of the ancient inscriptions, as they pleased. They also walked about to visit what are called the chapels. The chapels in a European cathedral are small recesses, opening from the main church, and separated from it by an iron railing, or a screen, or something of that sort. They are ornamented in various ways, and contain various monuments, and in Catholic cathedrals are used often for special services of religious worship. You will see the places of the chapels in Westminster Abbey by referring again to the plan on page 82. Most of them are built around the head of the cross. There are six small ones,—three on each side,—marked B, C, D, F, G, I, and another at the head—the largest and most splendid of all. This last is called Henry VII.'s Chapel. The tombs of Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth are in this chapel, one on each side of it, as marked in the plan. The names of the other chapels are as follows: B, St. Benedict's; C, St. Edmond's; D, St. Nicholas's; F, St. Paul's; G, St. John the Baptist's.

There is also another chapel in the centre, which is, in some respects, the most interesting of all. It is marked H on the plan. Here the bodies of a great number of the ancient kings of England are interred.

As Rollo and Mr. George walked about among these monuments and tombstones, now that there was no congregation of worshippers present to give a living character to the scene, the whole aspect and feeling of the chapels and aisles through which they wandered seemed cold, and damp, and subterranean, so as to impress them continually with the idea that they were in chambers consecrated, not to the living, but to the dead. In fact, Westminster Abbey, whatever may have been its original design, is now little else than a tomb—a grand and imposing, but damp and gloomy, tomb. It is so completely filled in every part with funeral monuments that the whole aspect and character of it are entirely changed; so that, from being a temple consecrated to the service of God, it has become a vast sepulchre, devoted almost wholly to commemorating the glory of man.

Mr. George did not go to St. Paul's that afternoon to church, as he had at first intended. He said that one such display as he had witnessed at Westminster Abbey was spectacle enough for one Sunday. He accordingly determined to postpone his visit to the great cathedral of the city till the next day; and on that afternoon he took Rollo to a small dissenting chapel in the vicinity of their lodgings, where the service consisted of simple prayers offered by the pastor as the organ of the assembled worshippers, of hymns sung in concert by all the congregation, and of a plain and practical sermon, urging upon the hearers the duty of penitence for sin, and of seeking pardon and salvation through a spiritual union with Jesus the Redeemer.

"Well," said Mr. George to Rollo, as he came out of the chapel when the congregation was dismissed, "the service at the abbey, with all those chantings and intonations of the performers, and all the ceremonies, and dresses, and solemn paradings, makes a more imposing spectacle, I grant; but it seems to me that the service that we have heard this afternoon is modelled much more closely after the pattern of the meeting which Jesus held with his disciples the night before he was betrayed. At any rate, it satisfies much more fully, as it seems to me, the spiritual hungerings and thirstings of the human soul."

Chapter VIII.

Calculations

"Now, Rollo," said Mr. George, after breakfast Monday morning, "we will go into the city and see St. Paul's this morning. I suppose it is nearly two miles from here," he continued. "We can go down in one of the steamers on the river for sixpence, or we can go in an omnibus for eightpence, or in a cab for a shilling. Which do you vote for?"

"I vote for going on the river," said Rollo.

"Now I think of it," said Mr. George, "I must stop on the way, just below Temple Bar; so we shall have to take a cab."

Temple Bar is an old gateway which stands at the entrance of the city. It was originally a part of the wall that surrounded the city. The rest of the wall has long since been removed; but this gateway was left standing, as an ancient and venerable relic. The principal street leading from the West End to the city passes through it under an archway; and the sidewalks, through smaller arches, are at the sides. The great gates are still there, and are sometimes shut. The whole building is very much in the way, and it will probably, before long, be pulled down. In America it would be down in a week; but in England there is so much reverence felt for such remains of antiquity that the inconvenience which they produce must become very great before they can be removed.

Mr. George and Rollo took a cab and rode towards the city. Just after passing Temple Bar, Mr. George got out of the cab and went into an office. Rollo got out too, and amused himself walking up and down the sidewalk, looking in at the shop windows, while Mr. George was doing his business.

When Mr. George came out Rollo had got into the cab again, and was just at that moment giving a woman a penny, who stood at the window of the cab on the street side. The woman had a child in her arms.

When Rollo first saw the woman, she came up to the window of the cab—where he had taken his seat after he had looked at the shop windows as much as he pleased—and held up a bunch of violets towards him, as if she wished him to buy them. Rollo shook his head. The woman did not offer the violets again, but looked down towards her babe with an expression of great sadness in her face, and then looked imploringly again towards Rollo, without, however, speaking a word.

Rollo put his hand in his pocket and took out a penny and gave it to her. The woman said "Thank you," in a faint tone of voice, and went away.

It was just at this moment that Mr. George came out to the cab.

"Rollo," said Mr. George, "did not you know it was wrong to give money to beggars in the streets?"

"Yes," said Rollo; "but this time I could not resist the temptation, she looked so piteously at her poor little baby."

Mr. George said no more, but took his seat, and the cab drove on.

"Uncle George," said Rollo, after a little pause, "I saw some very pretty gold chains in a window near here; there was one just long enough for my watch. Do you think I had better buy it?"

"What was the price of it?" asked Mr. George.

"It was marked one pound fifteen shillings," said Rollo; "that is about eight dollars and a half."

"It must be a very small chain," said Mr. George.

"It was small," said Rollo; "just right for my watch and me."

"Well, I don't know," said Mr. George, in a hesitating tone, as if he were considering whether the purchase would be wise or not. "You have got money enough."

"Yes," said Rollo; "besides my credit on your book, I have got in my pocket two sovereigns and two pennies, and, besides that, your due bill for four shillings."

"Yes," said Mr. George, "I must pay that due bill."

What Rollo meant by a due bill was this: Mr. George was accustomed to keep his general account with Rollo in a book which he carried with him for this purpose, and from time to time he would pay Rollo such sums as he required in sovereigns, charging the amount in the book. It often happened, however, in the course of their travels, that Mr. George would have occasion to borrow some of this money of Rollo for the purpose of making change, or Rollo would borrow small sums of Mr. George. In such cases the borrower would give to the lender what he called a due bill, which was simply a small piece of paper with the sum of money borrowed written upon it, and the name of the borrower, or his initials, underneath. When Mr. George gave Rollo such a due bill for change which he had borrowed of him, Rollo would keep the due bill in his purse with his money until Mr. George, having received a supply of change, found it convenient to pay it.

The due bill which Rollo referred to in the above conversation was as follows:—

Mr. George adopted the plan of giving or receiving a due bill in all cases where he borrowed money of Rollo or lent money to him, in order to accustom Rollo to transact all his business in a regular and methodical manner, and to avoid the possibility of any mistake or any difference of opinion between them in respect to the question whether the money was actually borrowed, or whether it had not been repaid. I strongly recommend to all the readers of this book to adopt some such plan as this in all their pecuniary transactions with others, whether they are great or small, and to adhere to it very rigidly. This rule is especially important when the parties having pecuniary transactions with each other are friends; and the more intimate their friendship is, the more important is this rule.

It is true, it would not be polite and proper for you to ask for such a memorandum of a friend to whom you casually lend some small sum, but you can always offer it when you borrow; and in all cases, where you have frequent dealings of this kind with any person, you can agree upon this plan beforehand, as a general rule.

But let us return to Rollo and the watch chain.

"Well," said Mr. George, after some hesitation, "I am by no means sure that it would not be a good plan for you to buy the watch chain. A gold chain is an article of permanent and intrinsic value. It will last a very long time. Perhaps you would get as much enjoyment from it as from any thing you could buy with that money. At any rate, the money is your own; you have saved it from your travelling expenses by your prudence and economy; and it is right for you to expend it as you take a fancy. If you take a fancy to the chain, I do not know why it would not be a good purchase."

"I think I should like the chain very much," said Rollo.

"Let us see," said Mr. George, in a musing sort of tone; "there is another way to look at these questions. What is the interest of eight dollars and a half?"

"I don't know," said Rollo. "How much is it?"

"Let me see," said Mr. George; "seven times six are forty-two—say fifty; and then we must add something for wear, and tear, and depreciation. I should think," he added, after a moment's reflection, "that the chain would cost you about sixty cents a year, as long as you keep it."

"How so?" said Rollo.

"Why, the money that you will pay for it will produce about fifty cents a year, if you keep it at interest; and of course, if you buy a chain with the money, you stop all that income."

"Yes," said Rollo, "I understand that for the fifty cents: and now for the other ten. You said sixty cents."

"Why, the chain will be gradually wearing out all the time, while you use it," said Mr. George, "and I estimated that it would lose about ten cents a year. That makes up the sixty."

"Yes," said Rollo, "I suppose it would."

"You see," continued Mr. George, "that the little links and rings, where the chief wear comes, will gradually become thinner and thinner, and at last the time would come when you could not use it for a chain any longer. You would then have to sell it for old gold; and for that purpose it would not be worth, probably, more than half what you now give for it.

"So you see," continued Mr. George, "you would lose the interest on the money you pay for the chain every year; and besides that, you would lose a portion of the chain itself. When you have money safely invested at interest, you have the interest every year, and at the end of the term you have your capital restored to you entire. But in such a purchase as this, you are sure, in the end, to sink a portion of it by wear, and tear, and depreciation; and this circumstance ought always to be taken into account."

"Yes," said Rollo; "that is very true."

"Making such a calculation as this," continued Mr. George, "will often help us determine whether it is wise or not to make a purchase. The question is, whether you would get as much pleasure from the possession and use of this chain as sixty cents a year would come to."

"Yes," said Rollo; "I think I should."

"That would be five cents a month," said Mr. George.

"Yes," repeated Rollo; "I think I should."

"And one cent and a quarter a week," added Mr. George. "Do you think you would get pleasure enough out of your chain to come to a cent and a quarter a week?"

"Yes," said Rollo, confidently; "I am sure I should."

"I think it very likely you would," said Mr. George; "and if so, it would be a wise purchase."

It was not necessary absolutely that Rollo should obtain his uncle George's approval of any plan which he might form for the expenditure of his surplus funds, since it was Mr. Holiday's plan that Rollo should spend his money as he chose, provided only that he did not buy any thing that would either be injurious or dangerous to himself, or a source of annoyance to others. Now, in respect to the chain, Rollo knew very well himself that it was not liable to either of these objections, and that he was consequently at liberty to purchase it if he thought best. In the conversation, therefore, described above, his object was not so much to obtain his uncle's consent that he should make the purchase as to avail himself of his uncle's opinion and judgment in the case, in order to enable him to judge wisely himself.

"I think," said he, at length, in announcing to his uncle his decision, "that it will be a good plan for me to buy the chain; but I will not be in haste about it. I will wait a day or two. I may possibly see something else that I shall like better."