ST. JAMES'S PALACE
The old red-brick palace which stands at the foot of St. James's
Street, looking up towards the busy throng of Piccadilly, still gives
the diplomatic title to the Court of Great Britain, though it has long
been neglected by royalty. It stands serene amid the traffic of Pall
Mall, having gained with the passing of ages some of that dignity with
which it was said to be lacking in the eighteenth century, when Sir
John Fielding wrote "it reflects no honour on the kingdom, and is
the jest of foreigners." Certainly less romantic in its history than
Westminster or Whitehall, it yet remains to-day a Tudor palace, while
its more picturesque rivals have crumbled away.
Long before the palace was erected, a small hospital stood upon its
site, its inmates being fourteen chaste maidens, victims of the deadly
malady of leprosy. The position had been chosen carefully, owing to
its extreme loneliness, it being then completely surrounded by fields.
In course of time eight brothers had been added to the hospital,
which was known as St. James the Less, and the whole property had been
granted by Henry VI. to his new foundation, Eton College. When Henry
VIII. took possession of Wolsey's palace in Whitehall, he purchased
the hospital and all the green fields round it, in order to obtain a
park for his new residence. One is glad to learn that the unfortunate
leprous maidens were pensioned off for the rest of their lives.
King Henry immediately set to work to build a sort of country
manor-house for himself, surrounding the park with a brick wall, and
at the same time draining it, for originally it was a somewhat dreary
marsh. It is said that Holbein, the artist, drew up the plans for the
palace, which were carried out by Thomas Cromwell, Wolsey's secretary,
who rose in Henry's favour upon his master's fall. But whoever was the
architect, the palace is essentially Tudor, and remains so in spite of
the various additions made by the later monarchs. The gatehouse, with
its four octagon towers and its clock, is the most familiar feature of
the palace. Unfortunately, from a sentimental point of view, the clock
is a new one; an older one, bearing the date 1731, was removed in
1831, and is now at Hampton Court Palace. Perhaps the most interesting
part of the interior is the Old Presence Chamber, now known as the
Tapestry Room, from the fine tapestry representing Venus and Mars,
which had been made for Charles I., but had been put away in a chest
and apparently forgotten, till it was discovered and hung up for the
wedding of George IV. The stone Tudor fireplace in this room bears
the initials H. and A. for Henry and Anne Boleyn, united most
inappropriately, considering their later history, by a true lover's
knot.
[Illustration: The Gate Tower of St. James's Palace.]
In spite of Henry's early enthusiasm, he was not often at the palace,
which, indeed, was seldom used for any length of time, till after the
fire at Whitehall, and even then Kensington Palace was preferred. It
was more usually occupied by the heir to the throne, or some of the
younger members of the royal family. Unhappy Queen Mary, soured by
her early misfortunes, neglected by her husband, and despairing of the
restoration of her Church, died after a weary illness on November 17,
1558, in the palace which she had always loved. Her successors did not
reside there, Queen Elizabeth only coming for brief periods, and James
I. giving it to his son, Prince Henry, who died there of a malignant
fever, imputed, as was customary at that time, to poison.
On the death of his brother, Charles I., as Prince of Wales, took up
his residence in St. James's Palace, spending the early years of his
married life there, most of his children being born within its walls.
Associated with the hopeful time of his young manhood, the palace also
recalls his last days upon earth, before the final scene at Whitehall.
Arriving on January 19, 1649, Charles spent the remainder of his life
there, with the exception of the few days of his trial when he was
lodged in the precincts of the old palace of Westminster. However much
we may denounce the method by which Charles attempted to govern his
kingdom, we can accord him nothing but a respectful and sympathetic
admiration for the manner in which he passed to his death. He was
still a young and vigorous man, to whom life must have held much that
was good, and yet he left it with no whinings at fate, but with a calm
dignity and full of trust in God. The day before his execution his two
young children, Princess Elizabeth and the Duke of Gloucester, came to
say farewell. Holding the little Princess in his arms, he told her
she must not grieve for him, for he was going to die a glorious death,
"for the laws and religion of the land." With the Duke of Gloucester
on his knee, the father told the children to love and obey their
mother, and then looking sadly at his little daughter he said, "But,
sweetheart, thou wilt forget what I tell thee." The child promised
to write down what he had told her, and then, after they had received
some jewels and a last kiss from their royal father, they were led
away by Bishop Juxon.
Waking early on the fateful morning, the King roused his faithful
attendant, Sir Thomas Herbert, saying that he would get up, "having
a great work to do this day." Bishop Juxon came and administered the
Sacrament, after which Charles was persuaded to take a little food, as
the day was so bitterly cold. A few hours later the dread sentence had
been fulfilled; but St. James's Palace was to witness one more scene,
for the body was brought back on February 1, remaining there for many
people to see it. A story, unsupported by evidence, though we would
gladly give it credence, runs that a man, hidden in a cloak, visited
the coffin, and as he walked round it was heard to mutter, "Dreadful
necessity"--the man being said to be Oliver Cromwell.
After the Restoration, Charles II. did not reside in the palace, but
lent it to his brother, the Duke of York, afterwards James II., who
maintained a lesser Court there, while remaining in perfect amity
with his royal brother. King Charles took a tremendous interest in
the park, which he altered under the superintendance of Le Nôtre, the
famous French gardener, changing it from mere rural simplicity into
long straight avenues, and confining the water of various ponds into
one formal canal. Bird-cage Walk owes its name to the aviary which was
created at this time in part of the park. Much of the popularity which
the Merry Monarch enjoyed was the way in which he wandered about
among the public, unattended by the courtiers. He was often to be seen
walking about with his dogs in the park, which had been made public
eight years after he had come to the throne. James, Duke of York, once
ventured to suggest greater caution, but Charles, with sly humour,
replied: "Brother James, take care of yourself, for no one would kill
me to make _you_ King!"
On his accession, James II. left St. James's for Whitehall, though his
Queen much preferred the palace in which she had lived as the Duchess
of York. His only son, the unfortunate Old Pretender, was born in St.
James's in a room whose proximity to some back stairs allowed ground
for the absurd belief that the child was smuggled into the palace in a
warming pan. Bitter disappointment at the prospect of the continuance
of the Roman Catholic dynasty was responsible for the story.
From this time St. James's was never very popular. When William of
Orange had driven away his father-in-law, he allowed the Princess Anne
to reside in the palace, he himself retiring to Kensington, which he
built for his own use. The succeeding monarchs all delighted in the
rural charms of Kensington, and only came to St. James's when State
ceremonies rendered their presence absolutely necessary.
Since the fire in 1809, which destroyed a very picturesque part of the
palace, no monarch has resided there, though the proclamation of the
succession to the throne is still announced from the balcony leading
from the Tapestry Room.