MUSIC HALL, ROYAL SURREY GARDENS
THE SURREY GARDENS MUSIC HALL MINISTRY
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By this time Spurgeon had grown immune to cruel criticism, attacks and outmoded traditionalism. He well realized, as he said, “The tears of affliction are often needed to keep the eye of faith bright.”132 Along with the Deacon Olney, he surveyed the building and his eye of faith beamed brightly—he thought it ideal for his purposes. The deacons agreed and the decision came down: to the Music Hall they would go. The news immediately spread all over London. Surrey Gardens Music Hall would become host to Spurgeon and his New Park Street Baptist Church! That was as rash a move as London could grapple with. As one put it, “In the squares, the streets, the lanes, the alleys, as well as in the workshops and country houses, and all the chief places of concourse, it has been, through each successive day, the one great object of thought and converse.”133 The veining of Sunday, October 19, 1856 would see the first service. To sense how revolutionary this idea was for Victorian London, Spurgeon’s friend Dr. Campbell remarked:
Unfortunately, it became a day of infamy.
THE TRAGEDY Before the opening day at the Music Hall, Spurgeon had a strange, subtle uneasiness. He said, “I felt over-weighted with a sense of responsibility, and filled with a mysterious premonition of some great trial shortly to befall me.” When Sunday afternoon came, the streets near the Surrey Gardens Music Hall soon filled with people. Ten to twelve thousand eager worshipers squeezed into the Hall when the doors opened at 6:00 p.m. Another ten thousand milled about outside unable to get in. The entire area looked like a surging sea of faces. When Spurgeon arrived, the sight of the mass of humanity at first unnerved him. Campbell was right, the largest crowd ever gathered under a roof to hear a Nonconformist preacher had assembled. Spurgeon took the pulpit ten minutes before the stated hour, composed himself, and began the service. After a few words of greeting came a prayer and a hymn. Then, in his usual style, Spurgeon read the Scriptures with a running commentary. He always did this in his New Park Street services; it was a common procedure in many Nonconformist churches. The congregation sang another hymn and Spurgeon began his long prayer. After the “Amen” it happened. “Fire! Fire! Fire! The galleries are giving way! The place is falling! The place is falling!” came shouts from several areas in the vast crowd. Pandemonium broke loose. A terrible panic ensued as people fled from all over the building. They trod upon each other, crushed one another, jumped over the rail of the galleries, while the banisters of one of the stairs gave way and many were trampled over. An eye witness described the mad scene:
As people in panic exploded from the Hall, the thousands outside struggled to get in. A wild scene erupted. Spurgeon sprang to his feet attempting to quell the crowds. There was no fire, no collapsing galleries, or any real problem at all. “Please be seated,” he Cried. “ There is no cause for alarm! Please be seated!” His resonant voice boomed over the din and almost miraculously the people composed themselves and began to settle down as they sang a hymn. Spurgeon wanted to dismiss the service immediately, even though he did not know that a real tragedy had occurred. The remaining people shouted, “Preach! Preach!” Charles attempted to do so; he did not realize anyone had been seriously injured in the pandemonium. Then a second series of cries went up. This time order was restored quickly and Charles took his text from Proverbs 3:33, “The curse of the Lord is in the house of the wicked: but he blesseth the habitation of the just.” He probably thought the new text would help the general situation and speak directly to it. But it proved to be a blunder, for now some panicked anew at the thought of judgment and joined the mob at the rear still fighting to get out, or in. He spoke a few words, the hymn “His Sovereign Power Without Our Aid” was sung, and he dismissed the crowd. There were shouts until the service concluded. Charles said to the crowd, “My brain is in a whirl, and I scarcely know where I am, so great are my apprehensions that many persons must have been injured by rushing out. I would rather that you retired gradually and may God Almighty dismiss you with His blessings and carry you in safety to your home!” Sensing now that something serious must have happened, although he knew nothing of the extent of the tragedy, Charles was hurried out by friends almost in a faint. Something truly terrible had happened. Seven people were dead and twenty-eight had been taken to a local hospital seriously injured. With care, friends led Charles out through a back passage so he would not see the seven corpses laid out on the ground. He did not realize anyone had died. He was graciously ushered to a friend’s house in Croydon, south London, that he might escape the volcanic furor bound to erupt over him. The papers had already virtually crucified him—what would they say now? Later the grisly facts were revealed to Charles and upon hearing the devastating news, he virtually collapsed. It looked like a permanent collapse. Emotionally prostrated, he pined away in deep depression. The next day, a man saw Spurgeon being helped from a carnage at Croydon and said, “It’s Mr. Spurgeon, isn’t it? It must be his ghost, for last night I saw him carried out dead from The Surrey Gardens Music Hall.” Rumors of that nature spread all over London. Charles became so seriously depressed over the tragedy that he almost wished himself dead. The thought that he had in some sense occasioned the death and injury of several people absolutely devastated him. In Spurgeon’s first book, The Saint and His Saviour, he described his agony:
Yet he was alive, but what the tragedy itself did not do to prostrate him emotionally, as he himself said, the press finished. The newspapers went after him unmercifully. And his new twin boys were only one month old. The next morning, October 20, 1856, Daily Telegraph, perhaps the bitterest of all, reported:
"Spurgeon, Prince of
Preachers",
Lewis Drummond |
1856 FAITH 1857 A MIGHTY SAVIOUR 1858
GOD,
THE ALL-SEEING ONE 1859 FAITH IN PERFECTION
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A new concert hail had just been built in
the Royal Surrey Gardens, a public park south of the Thames River that boasted spacious
lawns, a zoo, picnic areas, a lake, and similar amenities. Large fireworks displays
delighted the visitors; even a huge sea turtle that children could ride lumbered about the
grounds. The new Hall, the Surrey Gardens Music Hall, could
accommodate more than ten thousand people. It was the most commodious and beautiful
building for public amusement in the city, save the Crystal Palace. Mr. M. Jullian, the
musical conductor of the Hall, on one occasion attracted as many as thirteen thousand for
a concert. Someone conceived the idea that Spurgeon could use it for preaching. Objections
by the traditional Victorians were, of course, raised from every corner. That would be
“worldly,” some criticized. Others cautioned it might be dangerous for such a
large crowd to gather for a religious service. One of Charles’ own deacons pleaded
with him not to preach in “that devil’s house.” But Spurgeon replied,
“We did not go to the music-hall because we thought it was a good thing to worship in
a building usually devoted to amusement, but because we had no other place to go 131 Some
even thought Spurgeon could not fill it. Being a place of secular amusement, many said it
would never be suited for divine worship. “Preposterous,” cried some
people.