Shrewsbury
“High the vanes of Shrewsbury gleam
Islanded in Severn stream;
The bridges from the steepled crest
Cross the water east and west.
The flag of morn in conqueror’s state
Enters at the English gate;
The vanquished eve, as night prevails,
Bleeds upon the road to Wales.”
So sang the “Shropshire Lad” (A. E. Housman) concerning that fair city of the Welsh Marches, high-perched Shrewsbury. Most picturesque is the fashion in which the river Severn knots itself about the foot of the high peninsula upon which the town has been built, and to which access is given by the two ancient bridges, named English and Welsh from the direction in which they lead. The Kirkland Bridge is an addition of modern times. Thoroughly mediæval is the impression one receives as he approaches and enters Shrewsbury. In the first place, the passage of a bridge always affords an excellent adjustment of the traveller’s mental attitude; it lends a certain aloofness to the town on the other side. It seems to say, “We are letting you across the natural barrier established for us by this river; but remember, it is a privilege, and not a right!” Directly we are arrived on the other side, there commences the ascent of the steep streets, and on the way up there is unfolded before us a series of old white and black half-timbered houses, which will serve to complete the mental picture of those distant days when protecting rivers and steep streets were not eschewed on the grounds of inconveniencing the city’s prospective growth. Safety was then vastly more important than commercial convenience. That features hampering to modern commerce were exactly suited to a border stronghold was proved by the way this town withstood shock after shock of warring tribes, or nations, or factions. In his play of Henry IV., Shakespeare tells how the Prince of Wales here made his sudden transformation from dissolute youth to resolute manhood by defeating and slaying Harry Hotspur, thus in one day quelling the mutinous combination of the Scotch, the Welsh under Owen Glendower, and the rebellious English Archbishop Scrope of York. Quaint and ancient to the last degree is the flavour of this old city, which has owned, first and last, thirty-one charters. Those interested in half-timbered dwellings will do well to come here and inspect their number, variety, and excellent state of preservation. Perhaps the best are around Wye Cop, passed on the way up the steep streets. The remains of the ancient castle and walls add still other picturesque features to this artistically noteworthy town. An inspection of St. Mary’s Church brings home to us the fact that as this was a fortress city, ground could not be spared to provide the usual Close which so pleasantly surrounds most English churches; in fact, this modest sanctuary is so set upon by other buildings that it seems almost to shrink from public gaze. An outpost occupying a strategic position on an embattled frontier required every foot of ground within its walls, and could devote no space to artistic surroundings, even for a church. St. Mary’s is very rich in glass, and that, too, of varied epochs and styles. Fortunately alike for that church and for us, the Rev. W. G. Rowlands (Vicar from 1825 to 1850), was a discriminating collector of stained glass. He secured not only the great St. Bernard window (of which we will speak later), but also much of the other glass that decorates the interior. We will begin our examination by inspecting the large east window, which displays a fourteenth century Tree of Jesse in the usual Decorated manner, of which we shall see prototypes at Ludlow, Bristol, and Wells. Jesse is reclining across the bottom of three of the lancets, the convolutions of the vine arising from him forming series of oval enclosures in which appear his descendants. Note the skilful use of the leads in providing the black outlines needed to draw the figure of Jesse. In the row of panels below appear small figures of the donors. The fine reds and blues are hurt by the use of too much green—a common fault at that time. We must look to the nave windows (all of three lancets) for the other glazing of that period. The middle embrasure on the northerly side is beautified by the tasteful use of written scrolls, which wind about the figures and the columns of simulated architecture. Scrolls are also used in the next one to the east, but there they are not so important a part of the decoration. On the southerly side of the nave the embrasures nearest to the west and to the east have single figures in canopy. That to the east displays shields below the figures, a decoration which is absent in the western one. The central window on this side dates from the sixteenth century, and is the best of that period here. It contains three subjects in each side lancet, and two in the central one. Such intelligent use has been made of the leads that one concludes that the men who made the designs, and they who constructed the window, were either identical or else worked side by side. The result forms a pleasing contrast to the usual disregard during the Renaissance for the decorative and useful purposes of the leads. The most interesting and pleasing of all the windows is the large one of three lancets on the north side of the choir showing fourteen scenes from the life of St. Bernard, six in the central lancet, and four in each of the side ones. Four more episodes from the same life are to be seen in the middle one of the south aisle. This glass, originally in the German Abbey of Altenberg, and then for many years in the vaults of St. Severin at Cologne, was finally brought to London, where it was secured for St. Mary’s by the Rev. Mr. Rowlands. The designs are attributed to Albrecht Dürer, but this is a common claim for German glass of that time. The perspective throughout is good, and the colouring very satisfactory. An unusual charm is added to the little figures by the use of Latin labels issuing from their mouths. There are also inscriptions below most of them, but these are frequently mutilated and misplaced. If proof were needed that this glass was not specially constructed for its present location, it is provided by the fact that the scenes do not follow in their proper order. A field-glass can be had on application to the clerk, and the use of it reveals many interesting and amusing details. The second window on the east in the chapel, south of the choir, has in its tracery-lights written music carried by angels. The pilgrim will later observe a great deal of this in the Beauchamp Chapel at Warwick. Although rare in England, it is rarer still in France. A fine sixteenth-century Crucifixion scene, covering three lancets, decorates the north window just off the north transept. In the modest-sized east window of this transept are twelve small sixteenth-century enamel panels placed on white, a demonstration of yet another style of that later period. The rest of the glazing in St. Mary’s is either modern or so completely repaired with new glass as to have lost all its ancient feeling. An inspection of this church would not be complete without observing the fine wooden ceilings of both the nave and the choir.
Devotees of the Ingoldsby Legends will remember that when the Great Dog in the castle of “Bloudie Jacke of Shrewsberrie” was about to seize upon Mary Anne, she vicariously appeased him with:
“A Shrewsbury cake, of Pallin’s own make,
Which she happened to take
Ere her run she begun,
She’d been used to a luncheon at One.”
Mindful of this dainty’s historic existence, the traveller will doubtless regale himself therewith, that product of the town being as excellent and famous to-day as ever it was of yore.
From Shrewsbury our route lies southward over that centuries-old battle-ground, the Welsh Marches. We shall find not only much architectural beauty and fine glass, but also many inspiring memories of the border warfare whose bitterness lasted so many centuries.