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PLAN, PARTLY CONJECTURAL, OF THE MONASTIC BUILDINGS AT THE DISSOLUTION

The work of demolition commenced immediately after the transfer of the property to Henry VIII, when the nave was destroyed; and as soon as Sir Richard Rich came into possession, he started pulling down the buildings for the sake of the materials, which were used in the erection of new houses where the old had formerly stood, as well as on the gardens and orchards around them. By the time of Queen Elizabeth the district had become a favourite residential quarter for great people, who gradually disappeared with the growth of London, and the migration of gentry westwards, when the houses vacated in Smithfield were let off in tenements to the same sort of poor people who now share the neighbourhood with merchants and shopkeepers.

During Elizabeth's reign the church had been allowed to get into a very dilapidated state, and that it was in some danger of total destruction appears from a letter written by Edmund Grindal in 1563, while he was Bishop of London, to Sir William Cecil, proposing to take the lead from the roof, and transfer it to St. Paul's Cathedral:

Lord Rich thought favourably of the proposal; but that fears were entertained elsewhere would seem probable from a second letter, in which Grindal writes as follows:

The long period of neglect and desecration which follows is rather to be inferred from the condition of the buildings in the early part of the nineteenth century than from any actual records respecting them. What that condition was in 1809 is described in two letters which appeared in "The Gentleman's Magazine" for March and April in that year. They were written in a spirit of indignation at the behaviour of "a powerful junto" which had been formed in the parish to sweep the whole structure away, church included, on the pretext that part of the choir was in danger of tumbling down. It had, however, been saved by the exertions and judicious repairs of Mr. Hardwick, to whom the writer pays a just compliment for his timely action against the particular committee. He then goes on with a lamentable picture of what met his eyes on a "recent survey" of the Priory, which he had previously examined in 1791, when it was pretty much in the same state.[14] The Lady Chapel was still in existence, but wholly filled up with modern tenements; the north transept was more or less destroyed, and the arch bricked up to reduce that side of the church to a level, while the south transept—a ruin without a roof—was walled off from the church, and used as a burial-ground. The eastern side of the cloister was all that remained of the quadrangle, and was turned to account as a "comfortable eight-stall stable" for horses. The site of the north cloister was occupied by a blacksmith's forge, a public house, and certain private offices; the south and west being covered with store-rooms and coach-houses. Of the Chapter House the remaining walls were "no higher than a dado," and under them the timber was stored after treatment in the sawpit of the enclosure. The dormitory to the south of the Chapter House had been demolished, and the crypt beneath it bricked off into divisions for stores, with a common thoroughfare open between them. It may here be mentioned that a close examination of the ground has shown that there was formerly the usual "slype," or open pathway, running from the cloister-garth, between the south transept and the Chapter House, to the canons' cemetery on the southern side of the Lady Chapel.

The building against the south wall of the choir (probably the sacristy, though called a chapel) is described as a magnificent structure, of about the time of Edward III, with windows on the eastern and southern sides, and a grand arch (then latticed up) which formerly connected it with the south transept. It was being used as a store-room for hops. The chapel to the east of this was destroyed in its upper part, and the windows had lost their arched heads, though the columns and architraves to the jambs remained, showing some very delicate and beautiful work, which was also remarkably fine in the dado mouldings. The ceiling of the church—the wreck of the Tudor open-worked timber roof—had been "pared down to a common pediment covering," supported on the heads of cherubim as corbels. The Doric altar-piece is contemptuously referred to as "a painted theatrical scene of architecture."[15]

While the subordinate buildings were dropping into ruin, the church, besides having suffered from fire and neglect, had been disfigured by a long series of repairs and embellishments, the character of which may be inferred from the glaring instances pointed out in the letters just quoted. The other alterations made in the interior may be briefly summarized as follows: The level of the floor was raised by a thick deposit of earth; the walls were enveloped in whitewash, to the concealment of the ancient mural paintings and certain delicate sculptured ornament; and high pews were erected, which reached almost to the capitals of the piers. The openings of the triforium were bricked up—in some cases entirely obliterated—and at the east end, above the altar-piece just mentioned, there rose a brick wall, pierced with two ugly round-headed windows, filled with square panes of glass, and destitute of mullions and tracery. The space between the termination thus formed and the original apse went by the name of "Purgatory," as a receptacle for human bones, some thousands of which were found to have accumulated when it was cleared out in 1836.