Parliament is sitting, and every body is in town. How strangely
they arrange, or rather dis-arrange, the order of nature, here in
England! Come to town in May, for the winter season, and go into the
country in December, to spend Christmas! Yes, if you wish to see
London in all its glory, come here in the blooming month of May. The
queen of cities then puts on her gayest attire, and all her thousand
attractions and amusements are ready to draw on your purse. First,
if you like _paintings_, there is the Royal Academy exhibition in
Somerset House, which, by the way, is soon to be removed to a part
of the New National Gallery at Charing-Cross, which is now nearly
completed, and is to receive the collection of old masters belonging
to the nation, which have been exhibiting in Pall-Mall. Then there
is the Society of British Artists, in the latter street, and two
Societies of Painters, in water-colors; all of whose exhibitions
are crowded with fashionables. They seem to pay special attention
to this water-color department, and the present collections are
really brilliant. In books, sculpture, natural curiosities, etc.,
there is that immense repository, the British Museum, freely open
to all visitors. The Benevolent Society Anniversaries take place,
this month, at Exeter Hall; and there is always a great musical
treat at St. Paul's for the charity children, and also for the sons
of the clergy. Speaking of music, I was thriftless enough to go to
Exeter Hall, last evening, to the great musical festival, where
six hundred performers, beside the organ and big drum, concerted
together a 'concord of sweet sounds.' I wonder what a Connecticut
singing-master, fortified, with a pine pitch-pipe and a 'Musica
Sacra,' would have said to it! The Duchess of Kent and the Princess
Victoria were to be there; and when they appeared in the front
gallery-seat, the whole audience rose, and gave them three cheers,
which were, of course, 'graciously acknowledged' by their highnesses,
with sundry bows. The Princess is now seventeen, very unnecessarily
pretty, and dresses with a neatness and simplicity which would be a
pattern for New-York belles. She looks intelligent and dignified,
without affectation, and is, no doubt, well educated, and highly
accomplished. She is evidently the darling of the people, and, I
hope, deservedly so; but she must be a _very_ fine girl, if she can
wear all her honors, and sip all the flattery which is paid to her,
and yet not be spoiled. Her mother, the Duchess, seemed to be a
restless, bustling sort of person, and I set her down as being, at
least, no more than a woman.
Among the singers, Philips stands highest. He has a rich and
highly-cultivated bass voice. He sang some fine airs in Balfé's new
opera of 'The Maid of Artois,' a few weeks after this. In this, I
had the good fortune to hear that wonderful vocalist, MALIBRAN.
Those who saw her when she visited New-York, some years since, would
scarcely recognise the present brilliant tones, and great compass of
her voice, so much has it improved: and not only does she astonish
and delight you, by such singing as you never heard before, but her
manners and acting are equally extraordinary and fascinating. She is
rather small and short in figure, and her face, though not handsome,
is peculiarly expressive and intelligent. I saw her several times in
this opera, and also in 'La Somnambula,' and Beethoven's opera of
Fidelio, which is her _chef d'oeuvre_.
The only female vocalist who is named in the same breath with
Malibran, is JULIA GRISI, of the Italian Opera. Grisi is tall, very
pretty, and lady-like, sings sweetly, and is evidently a great
favorite. The queen attended her benefit the other evening, beside
many a 'bright particular star.' I had a good chance to stare at
her majesty, who is tall and slim, and looks very like a queen. The
popular feeling seems to have changed in her favor; and I heard her
styled 'an excellent and exemplary woman.' I saw her a few days
since, with the king, riding out to Windsor, after the levee at St.
James' Palace. But to the singers.
La Blache, a portly, good-looking personage, has the most tremendous
bass voice I ever heard. Tamburini and Rubini are the tenors. The
King's Theatre, or Opera-House, is one of the most extensive and
elegant, certainly the most expensive, in Europe. * * *
I have had the good luck to hear BRAHAM, too, who yet looks youthful,
although now about sixty, and whose singing seems as much prized as
ever. But time fails me to tell you of Liston, Macready, Charles
Matthews, Jr., and other lions of the day, who figure where the
Siddons and Garricks have 'held the mirror up to nature.'
* * * * *
WE have passed a leisure hour in finding out some of the antiquities
and literary curiosities of the metropolis; such as Boar's Head
Tavern, (Mrs. Quickly's), where Falstaff, Poins, and 'Hal' called
for their cups of sack. In Buckingham-street, near us, is the house
where Peter the Great lodged, when in London. 43 Lombard-street was
the residence of Jane Shore. In the Old Bailey, Jonathan Wild and
Oliver Goldsmith lodged. Chapter Coffee-House, where Dr. Johnson
and his coterie frequented, is yet the resort of penny-a-liners and
newspaper-readers. In Bolt Court, Fleet-street, we saw the literary
leviathan's residence, and we found also those of Byron, Blackstone,
Cowley, Hogarth, Pope, Lord Bacon, Garrick, Gibbon, Handel, Hans
Holbein, Hume, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Sir Thomas Lawrence, West,
Sheridan, Sterne, Spenser, etc.
* * * * *
YORK MINSTER.--I did not repent varying my route a little to visit
the ancient city of York, and its noble cathedral, unquestionably the
finest Gothic structure in Great Britain, if not in the world. This
grand edifice is five hundred and twenty-four feet in length, and,
of course, exceeds St. Paul's on this score; but in other respects,
they can scarcely be compared, as the style of architecture is
entirely different. It stands in bold relief above all the rest
of the town, albeit not on a rising ground. To use the words of
the book, it is like 'a mountain starting out of a plain, and thus
attracting all the attention of the spectator. The petty, humble
dwellings of men appear to crouch at its feet, while its own vastness
and beauty impress the observer with awe and sublimity.' It dates
its origin as far back as A. D. 642;[5] but the present walls seem
to have been erected in the thirteenth or fourteenth century. The
screen and the choir, particularly, are elaborate and exquisite
specimens of the Gothic style. It seems strange to us, who make the
most of our _room_, that they should only use so small a portion
of these cathedrals for what one would suppose was their chief
purpose--divine worship. Service can only be held in what is called
the 'choir,' an enclosure near the centre of the church, which has
seats for perhaps from one hundred to two hundred persons. I went in,
during the evening prayers, and had an opportunity of hearing the
gigantic organ, accompanied by the choir, in some fine anthems. The
whole of the east wing of the cathedral was fired in 1829, by Martin,
the lunatic, who secreted himself behind the organ, during service,
and so thoroughly effected his purpose, that the whole interior,
including the choir, was destroyed. The great painted glass window,
seventy-five feet by thirty-two, (capable of admitting a large
three-story house,) was saved as if by miracle. It is remarkable,
that the whole of this wing has been restored, so precisely in the
original form, as scarcely to be suspected for a modern work. The
architect was Robert Smirke, Esq. It is asserted, by the knowing
ones, that a work of equal magnitude to York Cathedral could not be
performed, at the present day, for ten millions of dollars, nor in
less time than fifty or even a hundred years.
* * * * *
HOUSE OF LORDS.--There is no admittance for plebeians to this 'august
assembly,' without a written order from a peer; but we were not to be
daunted on this wise. We wrote a billet to some of the great 'uns, as
follows:
'_To His Grace the Duke of Wellington_:
'MY LORD DUKE: The undersigned, a stranger from the United
States, presumes to solicit your Grace's permission to visit
the House of Lords this evening.
'I am, my Lord Duke,
'Your Grace's Humble Servant,
---- ----.'
This circular was addressed also to the Duke of Buccleugh, Viscount
Melbourne, Marquis of Londonderry, etc., for the Lords; and to
O'Connell, Hume, Spring Rice, and Sergeant Talfourd, for the
Commons. To insure success, I took a cab, and called on their graces
and lordships in person. At Whitehall-Gardens, the powdered and
gold-laced footman, gracefully bowing for a sixpence 'to drink my
health,' presented me with a note, neatly sealed with the duke's
arms, which purported thus:
'The Duke of Buccleugh presents his compliments to Mr. ----,
and has the honor to enclose an order for the House of Lords.'
* * * This for my friend. Now to the premier's for myself. The
viscount's house is certainly not more ostentatious than his
neighbors.
'On business?' asked the porter, as I presented my 'little affair.'
'Yes,' said I, stoutly.
'Then you must take it to the office, in Downing-street. His lordship
transacts no business at home.'
'Oh! it is _private_ business--_very_ special, and requires an
_immediate_ answer,' returned I, remembering the advantage of an air
of consequence, with these 'gentlemen's gentlemen.'
The official disappeared, and soon brought me a roughly-folded note,
addressed in true great men's hieroglyphics:
+---------------------------------------------+
| |
| '---- ---- ESQ., |
| |
| '18 Norfolk-street, Strand.' |
| |
| 'MELBOURNE.' |
| |
+---------------------------------------------+
It enclosed the order. Next, to Apsley House: 'The duke will
send an answer.' To Piccadilly: 'The Marquis not in town.' To
Cavendish-Square: 'The duke will be at home shortly; an answer at two
o'clock.' To Langham-Place: Answer written on back of request:
'Finding Mr. ---- is not a resident of a _slave-holding state_,
Mr. O'Connell has the honor to comply with his request.'
'_Admit the bearer to the gallery._'
DANIEL O'CONNELL.'
To Guildhall: Mr. Talfourd, the author of 'Ion,' to whom I had a
letter, is in court, examining a witness. Asked the constable to give
him my note, when he was disengaged; but he pushed inside, before
judge and jury, thinking I had something touching the case in hand.
Luckily the sergeant was busy, and I escaped. A brace of orders came
from him in season, so I supplied my friends; for no member can give
an order for more than one person at a time.
We went to the House of Lords at five P. M. The room is about the
same size as that of the Commons, but looks, of course, a little
more 'genteel.' The throne is a large arm-chair, under a crimson
canopy, not particularly splendid. The members' seats are elevated
on each side, and covered with red moreen. The 'ministerial bench'
is in front, near the woolsack and the bishops; and their party (at
present whigs) all sit on the same side, while the opposition, or
tories, occupy the other, facing their opponents. In _this_ house,
the tories, or _conservatives_, of course predominate. The members
were in plain citizen's dress, except the bishops, the chancellor,
and the clerks, who all wear a black gown and big wigs. When we
entered, a witness was being examined in an election-bribery case:
Presently the house was called to order, and the chancellor (Lord
Cottenham) took his seat on the _woolsack_, which is nothing more
than a good-sized red ottoman. An ordinary-looking man, who it
appeared was the Earl of Wicklow, then rose, and made a studied
speech, in which there were far more words than ideas, against
appropriations for a charity-school in Ireland, which he alleged
was under Catholic influence. Some one at the door announced, 'My
luds! a message from the House of Commons!' and on each repetition
of this, the chancellor, poor man, had to leave his seat and come
down the hall with a bag, which they call the _purse_, to receive
the 'message.' One of the prelates (the Bishop of Exeter) rose and
supported the Earl of Wicklow's motion; and then presented petitions
from manufacturing districts, praying for interference in behalf of
the children employed in factories, who were often required to work
twenty hours out of the twenty-four, and were otherwise ill-treated.
The bishop made some remarkable statements in the course of his
appeal, which was manly and sensible; and I observed Melbourne,
the minister, who is a full-sized, elderly man, leave his seat and
whisper somebody, and then return with a point-blank contradiction to
one of the bishop's assertions, which of course produced a rejoinder.
When I re-visited the house on the 17th, the Marquis of Londonderry
had the floor. My object was to see Wellington. 'Pray is he here?'
'Yes; don't you see his nose?' Ah, there's no mistaking the duke.
There he sits, between the dandy-exquisite-moustached-tory-Duke of
Cumberland (the king's brother) and Lord Lyndhurst, the intellectual
giant of the house, the ablest peer of them all, and the best orator,
perhaps the only orator, among them. 'He is an extraordinary man,
that,' said my neighbor. 'No doubt,' thought I. 'His father was a
native of our own Boston.' 'That tall man, with a short neck, and
black hair, is Lord Ellenborough, and he in the rear, the Earl of
Devon, all tories--'birds of a feather.' 'Brougham is not here; he
appears to have retired of late from public life. But hush! The duke
is going to speak! Lo! the great captain, who is at once two dukes,
(Spanish and English,) a prince, (of Belgium,) two marquisses, three
generals, a 'field-marshal, four or five ex-premiers, knight of the
garter, Chancellor of the University of Oxford, Constable of the
Tower, and filling I know not how many other stations; the conqueror
of Napoleon; the commander of three great armies; the leader at the
ball of Brussels, when
'There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry;'
this famous great-little man rose to speak. And he spoke 'pretty
well, considering.' He hesitates and stutters at times, but when he
gets warm with his subject, as he is now, he waxes quite eloquent. He
is evidently listened to with much deference and attention. They have
not forgotten Waterloo.
* * * * *
I USUALLY attend church on Sunday afternoons at Westminster Abbey. I
love to go there. One can read sermons on the walls. The very tombs
discourse history, poetry, and philosophy. The verbal preachers are
usually sufficiently dull. Among others, I have heard the Bishops
of Hereford, Chester, and Exeter; and (in his own church) the
Rev. George Croly, the poet, author of 'Salathiel.' Croly is a man
of fifty, or thereabout, a high tory, and distinguished for his
eloquence; but according to my humble opinion, neither of these
great guns will compare with our Dr. H---- as pulpit orators. But
there is something impressive in the church service in such a
place as this venerable abbey. Here you may sit within a few steps
of the spot where sleep the mortal remains of the royal Edwards,
Henrys, Richards, of old; the knights of chivalry repose at your
feet; from the valiant deeds of the Black Prince, the bloody career
of the monster Gloucester, the mad pranks of Falstaff's dearly
beloved 'Hal,' the brilliant court of Elizabeth, and the woes of the
unfortunate Mary Stuart, your thoughts turn, on a glance at other
tablets, to the lofty strains of him who sung of
'Things invisible to mortal sight,'
and to the splendid creations of the Bard of Avon; the epitaphs of
the time-honored Chaucer; 'O Rare Ben Johnson;' and the whole host of
poets, statesmen, and philosophers--stars of the first magnitude in
English literature--meet your eye on every side; and while you are so
forcibly reminded that
'The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth ere gave,
Await alike the inevitable hour--
The paths of glory lead but to the grave;'
the rich, full notes of the organ, softened by the voices of the
juvenile choir, are echoed through the lofty and venerable arches, as
they chant in harmonious chorus:
'Glory be to God on high!--on earth peace, and good will toward
men!'
* * * * *
WINDSOR CASTLE, JULY 11.--At the 'White Horse Cellar,' Piccadilly,
I perched myself on a Windsor coach, and off we rattled by Apsley
House, Hyde-Park, and Kensington Gardens, our coachee skilfully
threading his way between the innumerable omnibuses and other
vehicles which ply between the modern Babel and the hundred-and-one
villages in its environs. We passed through Kensington, Kingsbridge,
Hounslow, Brentford, Hammersmith, Kew, Turnham Green, and a series
of gardens between. The castle is first seen from the road, crowning
an elevation about three miles distant, on the left; the coach makes
a short turn through the town of _Eton_, where is the celebrated
school, or college, in which noblemen are proud to have been
educated; and with a glance at its curious Gothic chapel, we crossed
a bridge over the Thames, and were at once in the respectable old
town of Windsor, where there are no doubt as many 'merry wives' as
in the days of Shakspeare and sweet Anne Page. There are several
approaches to the castle, the chief one being from the Great Park;
but the public are admitted only on the side of the town, through
the two 'outer walls,' each of which are well flanked with towers of
stone. The castle itself covers as much space as a small village, and
a novice is somewhat puzzled in its labyrinths of arches, donjons,
inner and outer walls, towers, and gate-ways. It is indeed a
magnificent and kingly structure, or rather assemblage of structures,
for the various parts have been built at widely different periods,
and in every variety of form; but the whole seems most happily
combined in one vast and imposing edifice, in which the strength,
grandeur, and castellated style of the old baronial strong holds,
is as remarkable, as the elegance, splendor, and _comfort_ of a
modern palace. It is well described by Von Raumer, in his letters.
His majesty, it appeared, had not been advised of my visit, and had
gone to take his _déjeuner_ at Kew; but I found that a couple of his
representatives, in the shape of shilling-pieces, would introduce me
at once into the state apartments; and I can conscientiously give my
full approval of the audience-chambers, the throne room, ball-room,
and St. George's Hall, as being magnificent, in the highest degree.
This part of the castle has been recently renovated and modernized,
at great expense. All the rooms are adorned with fine paintings
and tapestries, of which latter, the 'History of Esther' series
is particularly beautiful. At the Hampton-Court Palace I saw the
duplicate original of those tapestries from Raphael, which we had
in New-York. From the terraces of the castle, you have a thoroughly
English landscape; green meadows, winding streams, and gentle
elevations. St. George's Chapel, adjoining the castle, is considered
a gem of Gothic architecture. It contains the twenty-four stalls of
the knights of the garter, with their banners suspended above. In
the park, adjoining the castle, I looked for Hearne's oak, and sure
enough, there was the tree where tradition says Falstaff was enticed
and pinched by the fairies; and near it is the foot-path to Dachet
Mead, where they ducked him in the buck-basket.
The approach to the castle from the Great Park, and the sweet little
lake called Virginia Water, is through a noble avenue, extending
three miles in a perfectly strait and level line, shaded by rows of
stately elms. One of the best views of the castle is from the hill,
at the end of this avenue. I have made up my mind, that Windsor and
Warwick cannot be equalled, 'in their way,' as Mr. Cooper says, in
all Europe.
On the way back, there was an amusing dispute on the top of the
coach between a tory, a moderate reformer, and a fiery radical. I
was astonished to observe the freedom and boldness with which they
settled the affairs of the nation, and railed at each other's party,
or individuals composing it. John Bull certainly allows his children
_some_ liberties--those of speech, the press, and conscience--(though
perhaps scarcely the last,) and a stranger may gain more insight into
the character and opinions of the people, in a mixed company, like
that of a stage-coach, than from all the books in the museum.
* * * * *
THE police of London is, perhaps, more efficient, without being
oppressive, than any other in the world. In Paris, the agents of the
police are very numerous; but they act in _secret service_; they are
_spies_ on the people; and though I am not aware of having seen a
policeman there, it is extremely probable that I met them daily at
the _cafês_ and dining-rooms. But in London, they are in no disguise.
They are distinguished by a uniform suit of blue and a cockade, and
are to be seen at every turn and corner, day and night, always on the
watch for the least show of disturbance. There must be, at least, two
or three thousand of these men constantly employed for the seemingly
idle purpose of walking the streets. Disorder is consequently rare,
and is always checked in the bud; and drunken vagrants, if ever seen,
are soon disposed of, for a policeman is always within call. There
is, also, a night horse-patrol for the environs. Each of the public
buildings is sentinelled by one or more of the 'Life Guards,' who are
richly dressed in scarlet, with tremendous black, bushy caps, _à la
grenadier Francaise_. These valiant troops also attend the members
of the royal family, when they visit public places. A part of them
are mounted, and have their head-quarters at the 'Horse Guards' in
Whitehall and St. James' Park.
The working classes, and even the 'tradesmen' of England, as well as
I could judge, are far from being so well informed as those of the
United States. One of the most obvious reasons is, the comparatively
high price of books and newspapers in England, which places these
luxuries beyond the reach of such as gain the scanty pittance of
their daily bread by the sweat of their brow. Many, even those
who may be said to belong to the _middle_ classes, appear to have
access to newspapers only at the public dining-rooms; and as to the
publications of the day, they are well content with the loan of them
from a circulating-library, for nearly as much as the whole book may
be bought for in New York. How many of the thousands among us who get
the last novel of Bulwer, James, or Marryat, for the trifling sum of
fifty cents, would make the purchase, if they had to pay one pound
eleven shillings and sixpence, or seven dollars, as in London? New
novels can only be afforded _there_ by the librarian, the nobility,
or the millionaire. But with us, _all_ classes have books; and the
mechanic's apprentice, with the penny paper in his hand, may discuss
the politics of the day as wisely, perhaps, as his master, or the
president himself.
* * * * *
I WOULD not assume a critical nicety in matters which belong to more
learned heads, but I must say, that the vulgar _pronunciation_ of
many words, not only among the cockney tribe, but, according to Mr.
Cooper,[6] reaching even to the bishops, was continually grating
on my ear, in London. I inquired for Holborn, which seemed to be a
place unknown, until I learned that the _English_ of it was _Hobun_.
Lombard, you must call _Lumbud_; Warwick, _Warrick_; Thames, _Tems_;
Pall Mall, _Pell-Mell_, and so on. We have even the high authority
of Lord Brougham, or rather Lord _Broom_, for calling Birmingham
_Brummagem_. I really think that we yankee rebels are far more loyal
to the king's English, than his majesty's liege subjects.
There are many words which the English use in quite a different sense
from ourselves, and many _articles_ which they call by a different,
and often more appropriate, name. Every body knows that by a _clever_
man, they mean a man of genius and talent; and a _very_ clever man
would be with them a person of extraordinary celebrity; whereas we
only apply the word to a good-natured 'hale fellow well met.' The
coachman would feel his dignity insulted, if you called him _driver_;
and you should also be careful to say _luggage_ instead of _baggage_,
or there may be a whisper of scandal. _Nice_ is peculiarly an English
word. Several of our own coining have been endorsed in England, such
as _talented_, _dutiable_, etc.
The peasantry, and others of the lowest classes in England, are a
robust and hardy, but certainly an ignorant and boorish race. Their
highest enjoyment would seem to be a horse-race, a mug of ale, or
'pot o' 'alf-and-'alf;' and they drink these brain-muddling beverages
in prodigious quantities. With their ale and roast beef, it is no
wonder that the English are not of the lean kind!
* * * * *