A CHAPTER XVI LONDON BRIDGE UTHORS, poets, statesmen, soldiers, painters, mer chants, civilians, cut-throats, and other nimble fingered gentlemen have, from time to time, been either identified with London Bridge itself, or with some of its nearby features. No less a person than the immortal John Bunyan, that worthy chronicler of the progress of the pilgrim, had his lodgings at one time on the Bridge itself—when it was a sort of Ponte Vecchio of the period. Philip Massinger, the author of "The British Theatre," is buried in the Churchyard of St. Mary Overy, afterward St. Saviour's, Southwark, "at the end of London Bridge." Sir Thomas More, having lost his head on Tower Hill, had that portion of his body "putt upon London Bridge where as trayter's heads are sett upon poles, and having remained some moneths, there being to be cast into the Thames, because roome should be made for diverse others who in plentiful sorte suffered martyrdome for the same supremacie; shortly after it was brought by his daughter Margarett, lease - as she stoutly affirmed before the Councill, being called before them for the same matter it should be foode for fishes which she buried where she thought fittest." Samuel Pepys, after regaling himself at The Cock in Fleet with Mrs. Knipp and other ladies of his acquaintance would betake himself to "the Beare Inn, Southwark at the foote of London Bridge." The divine William lived as late as 1609, says Knight in his "London," in the street known as Clink Street, Southwark, during which time he was associated with the Globe Theatre on the Bank side, which was built in 1594, and was under the management of the same Company as the Blackfriar's, but on the other side of the Thames, and not far from the southern end of Old London Bridge. John Suckling, whom Aubrey described as "an extraordinary accomplished gentleman who grew famous at Court for his readie sparkling witt, as being uncomparably readie at repartying, and as the greatest gallant of his time," and who "died a bachelor in Paris, and of poyson," was also a frequenter at the Bear-at-theBridge-Foot. "One of the best bowlers of his time in England," continues Aubrey. "He play'd at Cards rarely well and did use to practise by himself abed, and there studyed the best way of managing the Cards. I remember his Sisters comeing to the Piccadillo, Bowling Green, crying for feare he should lose all their portions." With all these memories, traditions and historical happenings, linked with its very existence, it is impossible to believe that Mr. Thackeray was not as fully conversant with its associations and surroundings as he was with St. Paul's, or Fleet Street. And yet, I can find only the most casual reference to it in his books. This is more remarkable because many of his brother authors had sought inspiration in and about these same blackened nooks and corners, and had proved their value as settings for fiction. Mr. Dickens, who both glorified and made real many of its forgotten and overlooked quarters, had in the beginning of his career, revived for his readers in the "Pickwick Papers," "that queer old tavern, the 'George,' with its quaint courtyard"—but ten minutes' walk from the far end of the Bridge, and which I am glad to say still exists, for I visited it the day I made the sketch accompanying this chapter. It will be remembered that it was in the courtyard of the George that Sam Weller, being at the time "boots" of the hostelry, first met Mr. Pickwick when on his way to catch Jingle and Miss Wardle a bit of information current at the time the "Pickwick Papers" were being issued, and which, if it reached Mr. Thackeray's ears at all (and it must have done so), would have sent him post-haste to look the spot over, he being particularly anxious, as we all know, to illustrate the book. It may be that he felt that Mr. Dickens had preëmpted the locality, so to speak, and had thus avoided it. Then, again, this was an open air background, and not a closed drawing-room, or cozy tavern - places almost always used by him when in search of "local colour." But that he loved the great, gray mass, standing waistdeep in the waters, its strong arms held out to either bank, I have no shadow of doubt. For a great Bridge it was in his time and still is in ours: |