Guildford
In England one is constantly coming upon manifestations only to be observed in a land whose civilisation and habits of life were long ago settled and have continued stable. One of the most interesting of these is the different methods adopted for perpetuating one’s memory by a benevolent act toward the public—making it worth the public’s while to act as trustee for the preservation of the said memory, so to speak! A very charming instance thereof is afforded by the buildings erected in Guildford by Archbishop Abbott in 1619 as a permanent home for ten elderly men and eight elderly women, all presided over by a Master: according to the fashion of the times it was styled Bishop Abbott’s Hospital. Built on North Street in the quadrangular form so reminiscent of an Oxford or Cambridge college, the rich plum-colour which age has lent to the brick needs only the primly demure assistance of the formal flower beds to make the altogether charming enclosure which we see to-day. Entering this tranquil and ancient quadrangle one seems suddenly whisked by some magic wand far from the twentieth century world outside. The elderly resident of the establishment who escorts one about the premises descants upon each admirable detail in measured phrase that is pleasantly appropriate to the ancient flavour of the scene. One is shown the old dining-room below and the library above, both of which retain their Elizabethan panelling on the walls and the carved overmantels, together with much of the original furniture. The large table in the library is an interesting piece, the lumpy adornment of its legs reminding one of the puffed sleeves and trunk hose then affected by gentlemen, while the rail running along the floor and connecting the legs prevents us from forgetting that rushes then strewed the floor, and that these rails were used to provide a convenient place to put the feet. The most interesting part of the building is the small square chapel which forms the north-east corner of the quadrangle. It is lighted by two large windows dating from the end of the Renaissance period (1621) and contemporary with the chapel they adorn. They are unusually agreeable examples of the day when colour was applied to glass by enamelled painting. The serious technical defect of that method (the tendency of the enamel to peel off) is here noticeable in several spots, but not to such an extent as to impair seriously their decorative value. Of these two ample embrasures, the easterly one is the larger, having five lancets surmounted by elaborate tracery lights, while its neighbour in the north wall has but four lancets with traceries of more modest design. All these lancets contain scenes taken from the life of Jacob, the four to the north show Rachel’s subterfuge to obtain for Jacob the parental blessing that should have been Esau’s, while the five easterly ones set forth Jacob’s dream, and the trick played upon him by Laban in substituting Leah for Rebecca, together with Jacob’s retaliation by marking the cattle. Remark Esau shaking his fist at Jacob for stealing his blessing; the solidity of the stairway in Jacob’s dream; the unusual number of animals shown in all the scenes. There should also be observed the very elaborate treatment of the eastern traceries. An examination of the outside of these windows indicates that they were probably brought from some other edifice, for the wall seems to have been cut away to provide sufficient room for them.
Charming and complete glazing of a small chapel. Renaissance glass coloured by the process of enamelling, often unsatisfactory because bits are apt to peel off