the uncommercial traveller-第50章

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CHAPTER　XXIII　…　THE　CITY　OF　THE　ABSENT







When　I　think　I　deserve　particularly　well　of　myself；　and　have　earned

the　right　to　enjoy　a　little　treat；　I　stroll　from　Covent…garden　into

the　City　of　London；　after　business…hours　there；　on　a　Saturday；　or　…

better　yet　…　on　a　Sunday；　and　roam　about　its　deserted　nooks　and

corners。　　It　is　necessary　to　the　full　enjoyment　of　these　journeys

that　they　should　be　made　in　summer…time；　for　then　the　retired　spots

that　I　love　to　haunt；　are　at　their　idlest　and　dullest。　　A　gentle

fall　of　rain　is　not　objectionable；　and　a　warm　mist　sets　off　my

favourite　retreats　to　decided　advantage。



Among　these；　City　Churchyards　hold　a　high　place。　　Such　strange

churchyards　hide　in　the　City　of　London；　churchyards　sometimes　so

entirely　detached　from　churches；　always　so　pressed　upon　by　houses；

so　small；　so　rank；　so　silent；　so　forgotten；　except　by　the　few

people　who　ever　look　down　into　them　from　their　smoky　windows。　　As　I

stand　peeping　in　through　the　iron　gates　and　rails；　I　can　peel　the

rusty　metal　off；　like　bark　from　an　old　tree。　　The　illegible

tombstones　are　all　lop…sided；　the　grave…mounds　lost　their　shape　in

the　rains　of　a　hundred　years　ago；　the　Lombardy　Poplar　or　Plane…Tree

that　was　once　a　drysalter's　daughter　and　several　common…councilmen；

has　withered　like　those　worthies；　and　its　departed　leaves　are　dust

beneath　it。　　Contagion　of　slow　ruin　overhangs　the　place。　　The

discoloured　tiled　roofs　of　the　environing　buildings　stand　so　awry；

that　they　can　hardly　be　proof　against　any　stress　of　weather。　　Old

crazy　stacks　of　chimneys　seem　to　look　down　as　they　overhang；

dubiously　calculating　how　far　they　will　have　to　fall。　　In　an　angle

of　the　walls；　what　was　once　the　tool…house　of　the　grave…digger　rots

away；　encrusted　with　toadstools。　　Pipes　and　spouts　for　carrying　off

the　rain　from　the　encompassing　gables；　broken　or　feloniously　cut

for　old　lead　long　ago；　now　let　the　rain　drip　and　splash　as　it　list；

upon　the　weedy　earth。　　Sometimes　there　is　a　rusty　pump　somewhere

near；　and；　as　I　look　in　at　the　rails　and　meditate；　I　hear　it

working　under　an　unknown　hand　with　a　creaking　protest：　　as　though

the　departed　in　the　churchyard　urged；　'Let　us　lie　here　in　peace；

don't　suck　us　up　and　drink　us！'



One　of　my　best　beloved　churchyards；　I　call　the　churchyard　of　Saint

Ghastly　Grim；　touching　what　men　in　general　call　it；　I　have　no

information。　　It　lies　at　the　heart　of　the　City；　and　the　Blackwall

Railway　shrieks　at　it　daily。　　It　is　a　small　small　churchyard；　with

a　ferocious；　strong；　spiked　iron　gate；　like　a　jail。　　This　gate　is

ornamented　with　skulls　and　cross…bones；　larger　than　the　life；

wrought　in　stone；　but　it　likewise　came　into　the　mind　of　Saint

Ghastly　Grim；　that　to　stick　iron　spikes　a…top　of　the　stone　skulls；

as　though　they　were　impaled；　would　be　a　pleasant　device。　　Therefore

the　skulls　grin　aloft　horribly；　thrust　through　and　through　with

iron　spears。　　Hence；　there　is　attraction　of　repulsion　for　me　in

Saint　Ghastly　Grim；　and；　having　often　contemplated　it　in　the

daylight　and　the　dark；　I　once　felt　drawn　towards　it　in　a

thunderstorm　at　midnight。　　'Why　not？'　I　said；　in　self…excuse。　　'I

have　been　to　see　the　Colosseum　by　the　light　of　the　moon；　is　it

worse　to　go　to　see　Saint　Ghastly　Grim　by　the　light　of　the

lightning？'　　I　repaired　to　the　Saint　in　a　hackney　cab；　and　found

the　skulls　most　effective；　having　the　air　of　a　public　execution；

and　seeming；　as　the　lightning　flashed；　to　wink　and　grin　with　the

pain　of　the　spikes。　　Having　no　other　person　to　whom　to　impart　my

satisfaction；　I　communicated　it　to　the　driver。　　So　far　from　being

responsive；　he　surveyed　me　…　he　was　naturally　a　bottled…nosed；　red…

faced　man　…　with　a　blanched　countenance。　　And　as　he　drove　me　back；

he　ever　and　again　glanced　in　over　his　shoulder　through　the　little

front　window　of　his　carriage；　as　mistrusting　that　I　was　a　fare

originally　from　a　grave　in　the　churchyard　of　Saint　Ghastly　Grim；

who　might　have　flitted　home　again　without　paying。



Sometimes；　the　queer　Hall　of　some　queer　Company　gives　upon　a

churchyard　such　as　this；　and；　when　the　Livery　dine；　you　may　hear

them　（if　you　are　looking　in　through　the　iron　rails；　which　you　never

are　when　I　am）　toasting　their　own　Worshipful　prosperity。

Sometimes；　a　wholesale　house　of　business；　requiring　much　room　for

stowage；　will　occupy　one　or　two　or　even　all　three　sides　of　the

enclosing　space；　and　the　backs　of　bales　of　goods　will　lumber　up　the

windows；　as　if　they　were　holding　some　crowded　trade…meeting　of

themselves　within。　　Sometimes；　the　commanding　windows　are　all

blank；　and　show　no　more　sign　of　life　than　the　graves　below　…　not　so

much；　for　THEY　tell　of　what　once　upon　a　time　was　life　undoubtedly。

Such　was　the　surrounding　of　one　City　churchyard　that　I　saw　last

summer；　on　a　Volunteering　Saturday　evening　towards　eight　of　the

clock；　when　with　astonishment　I　beheld　an　old　old　man　and　an　old

old　woman　in　it；　making　hay。　　Yes；　of　all　occupations　in　this

world；　making　hay！　　It　was　a　very　confined　patch　of　churchyard

lying　between　Gracechurch…street　and　the　Tower；　capable　of

yielding；　say　an　apronful　of　hay。　　By　what　means　the　old　old　man

and　woman　had　got　into　it；　with　an　almost　toothless　hay…making

rake；　I　could　not　fathom。　　No　open　window　was　within　view；　no

window　at　all　was　within　view；　sufficiently　near　the　ground　to　have

enabled　their　old　legs　to　descend　from　it；　the　rusty　churchyard…

gate　was　locked；　the　mouldy　church　was　locked。　　Gravely　among　the

graves；　they　made　hay；　all　alone　by　themselves。　　They　looked　like

Time　and　his　wife。　　There　was　but　the　one　rake　between　them；　and

they　both　had　hold　of　it　in　a　pastorally…loving　manner；　and　there

was　hay　on　the　old　woman's　black　bonnet；　as　if　the　old　man　had

recently　been　playful。　　The　old　man　was　quite　an　obsolete　old　man；

in　knee…breeches　and　coarse　grey　stockings；　and　the　old　woman　wore

mittens　like　unto　his　stockings　in　texture　and　in　colour。　　They

took　no　heed　of　me　as　I　looked　on；　unable　to　account　for　them。　　The

old　woman　was　much　too　bright　for　a　pew…opener；　the　old　man　much

too　meek　for　a　beadle。　　On　an　old　tombstone　in　the　foreground

between　me　and　them；　were　two　cherubim；　but　for　those　celestial

embellishments　being　represented　as　having　no　possible　use　for

knee…breeches；　stockings；　or　mittens；　I　should　have　compared　them

with　the　hay…makers；　and　sought　a　likeness。　　I　coughed　and　awoke

the　echoes；　but　the　hay…makers　never　looked　at　me。　　They　used　the

rake　with　a　measured　action；　drawing　the　scanty　crop　towards　them；

and　so　I　was　fain　to　leave　them　under　three　yards　and　a　half　of

darkening　sky；　gravely　making　hay　among　the　graves；　all　alone　by

themselves。　　Perhaps　they　were　Spectres；　and　I　wanted　a　Medium。



In　another　City　churchyard　of　similar　cramped　dimensions；　I　saw；

that　selfsame　summer；　two　comfortable　charity　children。　　They　were

making　love　…　tremendous　proof　of　the　vigour　of　that　immortal

article；　for　they　were　in　the　graceful　uniform　under　which　English

Charity　delights　to　hide　herself　…　and　they　were　overgrown；　and

their　legs　（his　legs　at　least；　for　I　am　modestly　incompetent　to

speak　of　hers）　were　as　much　in　the　wrong　as　mere　passive　weakness

of　character　can　render　legs。　　O　it　was　a　leaden　churchyard；　but　no

doubt　a　golden　ground　to　those　young　persons！　　I　first　saw　them　on

a　Saturday　evening；　and；　perceiving　from　their　occupation　that

Saturday　evening　was　their　trysting…time；　I　returned　that　evening

se'nnight；　and　renewed　the　contemplation　of　them。　　They　came　there

to　shake　the　bits　of　matting　which　were　spread　in　the　church

aisles；　and　they　afterwards　rolled　them　up；　he　rolling　his　end；　she

rolling　hers；　until　they　met；　and　over　the　two　once　divided　now

united　rolls　…　sweet　emblem！　…　gave　and　received　a　chaste　salute。

It　was　so　refreshing　to　find　one　of　my　faded　churchyards　blooming

into　flower　thus；　that　I　returned　a　second　time；　and　a　third；　and

ultimately　this　befell：…　They　had　left　the　church　door　open；　in

their　dusting　and　arranging。　　Walking　in　to　look　at　the　church；　I

became　aware；　by　the　dim　light；　of　him　in　the　pulpit；　of　her　in　the

reading…desk；　of　him　looking　down；　of　her　looking　up；　exchanging

tender　discourse。　　Immediately　both　dived；　and　became　as　it　were

non…existent　on　this　sphere。　　With　an　assumption　of　innocence　I

turned　to　leave　the　sacred　edifice；　when　an　obese　form　stood　in　the

portal；　puffily　demanding　Joseph；　or　in　default　of　Joseph；　Celia。

Taking　this　monster　by　the　sleeve；　and　luring　him　forth　on　pretence

of　showing　him　whom　he　sought；　I　gave　time　for　the　emergence　of

Joseph　and　Celia；　who　presently　came　towards　us　in　the　churchyard；

bending　under　dusty　matting；　a　picture　of　thriving　and　unconscious

industry。　　It　would　be　superfluous　to　hint　that　I　have　ever　since

deemed　this　the　proudest　passage　in　my　life。



But　such　instances；　or　any　tokens　of　vitality；　are　rare　indeed　in

my　City　churchyards。　　A　few　sparrows　occasionally　try　to　raise　a

lively　chirrup　in　their　solitary　tree　…　perhaps；　as　taking　a

different　view　of　worms　from　that　entertained　by　humanity　…　but

they　are　flat　and　hoarse　of　voice；　like　the　clerk；　the　organ；　the

bell；　the　clergyman；　and　all　the　rest　of　the　Church…works　when　they

are　wound　up　for　Sunday。　　Caged　larks；　thrushes；　or　blackbirds；

hanging　in　neighbouring　courts；　pour　forth　their　strains

passionately；　as　scenting　the　tree；　trying　to　break　out；　and　see

leaves　again　before　they　die；　but　their　song　is　Willow；　Willow　…　of

a　churchyard　cast。　　So　little　light　lives　inside　the　churches　of　my

churchyards；　when　the　two　are　co…existent；　that　it　is　often　only　by

an　accident　and　after　long　acquaintance　that　I　discover　their

having　stained　glass　in　some　odd　window。　　The　westering　sun　slants

into　the　churchyard　by　some　unwonted　entry；　a　few　prismatic　tears

drop　on　an　old　tombstone；　and　a　window　that　I　thought　was　only

dirty；　is　for　the　moment　all　bejewelled。　　Then　the　light　passes　and

the　colours　die。　　Though　even　then；　if　there　be　room　enough　for　me

to　fall　back　so　far　as　that　I　can　gaze　up　to　the　top　of　the　Church

Tower；　I　see　the　rusty　vane　new　burnished；　and　seeming　to　look　out

with　a　joyful　flash　over　the　sea　of　smoke　at　the　distant　shore　of

country。



Blinking　old　men　who　are　let　out　of　workhouses　by　the　hour；　have　a

tendency　to　sit　on　bits　of　coping　stone　in　these　churchyards；

leaning　with　both　hands　on　their　sticks　and　asthmatically　gasping。

The　more　depressed　class　of　beggars　too；　bring　hither　broken　meats；

and　munch。　　I　am　on　nodding　terms　with　a　meditative　turncock　who

lingers　in　one　of　them；　and　whom　I　suspect　of　a　turn　for　poetry；

the　rather；　as　he　looks　out　of　temper　when　he　gives　the　fire…plug　a

disparaging　wrench　with　that　large　tuning…fork　of　his　which　would

wear　out　the　shoulder　of　his　coat；　but　for　a　precautionary　piece　of

inlaid　leather。　　Fire…ladders；　which　I　am　satisfied　nobody　knows

anything　about；　and　the　keys　of　which　w