_Legendary Anecdote of Cromwell and the Body of Charles
I.—The Funeral—Cromwell at the Cockpit—Removes to
Whitehall—Great State—Illness and Death—Richard
Cromwell—Pepys on Whitehall—Lodgings in the
Palace—Evelyn—St. George’s Eve—Death of
Charles II.—William and Mary—Royal Apartments
Burnt—Conclusion._
It is very probable that, among the colonels and generals who lodged
themselves, or were lodged, in Whitehall after the death of Charles
I., Oliver Cromwell was one. Five years elapsed before he came into
residence as Lord Protector, but, whether as a military commander or as
a minister of state, there were several capacities in which he could
have claimed chambers in the great straggling congeries of separate
sets of apartments which were comprised in the palace. The amount of
his guilt in the King’s murder it is difficult to assess. He may have
been no more involved than any other member of the Regicide party,
except, of course, Bradshaw. Cromwell’s subsequent prominence made him
the subject of every rumour, every fable. When any one heard a story
against a member of Parliament or an officer of the Roundheads, if no
name was put to it, that of Cromwell was ready to hand. Jesse reports
one which is more than usually improbable:—
After the decapitation of Charles, he is said to have paid a visit to
the corpse, and, putting his finger to the neck, to have made some
remarks on the soundness of the body and the promise which it presented
of longevity. According to another account, on entering the chamber,
he found the coffin closed, and, being unable to raise the lid with
his staff, he took the sword of one Bowtell, a private soldier, who
was standing by, and opened it with the hilt. Bowtell, asking him what
government they should have now, he said the same that then was.
How an officer, even though he may have been on duty, could penetrate
to the chamber of death in such a way must remain a mystery. The body
of Charles was conveyed from the scaffold by the faithful Herbert, with
Juxon’s assistance. It was placed in one of the King’s apartments,
that nearest, we learn, to the back-stairs. Topham, private surgeon
to Fairfax, was employed to sew on the head and to embalm the body.
Permission was asked to bury it in the chapel of Henry VII., but this
the republican authorities refused, though they provided five hundred
pounds for the funeral expenses. A coffin covered with black velvet
had been ready on the scaffold. In this the body was removed to St.
James’s Palace, and placed in a leaden coffin. There it remained
more than a week, and was seen by many visitors. The execution had
taken place on Tuesday, the 30th of January. On Wednesday, the 7th
of February, a little procession was formed, consisting, besides the
hearse, of four mourning coaches, in which were Bishop Juxon, the Duke
of Richmond, Lords Hertford, Southampton and Lindsay, with Mildmay and
Herbert. At Windsor the first halt was at the Deanery, but the coffin
was afterwards removed to the King’s apartments in the Upper Ward.
Meanwhile a search was made in St. George’s Chapel for a suitable
vault, and, that which contained the remains of Henry VIII. and Jane
Seymour having been discovered, the body of King Charles was carried
by the Roundhead soldiers to the chapel, the snow falling thick on the
coffin of the White King.
Many believed that his burial really took place within the precincts of
Whitehall, but an examination of the grave of Henry VIII. in the reign
of George III. revealed the decapitated corpse of Charles I., which,
after a careful examination by Sir Henry Halford, was restored once
more to its resting-place.
Oliver Cromwell appears to have had lodgings within the precincts of
the palace, but at a great distance from the state apartments. A kind
of village clustered round the Tennis Court, a little to the southward
of the tilt-yard and the Horse Guards. A green lawn, and perhaps a
garden, existed here, and here General Monk subsequently had his
lodgings. A narrow passage or lane, known as the “Entrance to the
Cockpit,” led to them. It is as nearly as possible the modern Downing
Street.
It was almost five years after the King’s death before Cromwell was
formally installed Protector. This was in December, 1653, a few days
only before the end of the year, as we should reckon it, because
in those days 1653 went on till the 25th of March, 1654. About one
o’clock “his Highness” left the Cockpit in a coach of state. Before
him went the judges, the members of the Council, the Lord Mayor, and
the aldermen. The procession passed through King Street to Westminster
Hall. There he accepted the articles which had been prepared, and
the procession returned. In the Banqueting House a minister made an
exhortation to the new Lord Protector, the Lord Mayor sitting by, and
so the proceedings concluded.
Cromwell apparently returned for the time being to his lodgings in
the Cockpit, and the state apartments were got ready for him. He went
over to the Banqueting House to receive foreign ambassadors, which he
did seated on something very like a royal throne. The whole palace was
granted to him, and, as we have seen, it was at about this date when
the sale of the royal collection of pictures ceased.
As the spring drew on he thought it was time to move. Jesse supplies us
with the following notes on this event. The contemporary notices of the
removal of the Protector to the stately apartments of Whitehall are not
without interest:—
“April 13, 1654. This day the bed-chamber, and the rest of the lodgings
and rooms appointed for the Lord Protector in Whitehall, were prepared
for his Highness to remove from the Cockpit on the morrow.”—“His
Highness the Lord Protector, with his lady and family, this day (April
14) dined at Whitehall, whither his Highness and family are removed,
and did this night lie there, and do there continue.”—“April 15. His
Highness went this day to Hampton Court, and returned again at night.”
Hampton Court and Windsor Castle had been granted to him as well as
Whitehall. Poor Mrs. Cromwell, who seems to have been of a simple
and unostentatious character, can hardly have relished the change.
She became “Her Highness the Protectress,” and had more servants and
attendants than she can have known what to do with. The exact part of
the palace in which the new state apartments were placed is unknown. It
was probably not where the late King lived, nor, on the other hand, can
it have been far from the Banqueting House and the picture gallery. In
addition to the Lord Protector and the Lady Protectress, room had to
be found for their august family and for sons-in-law and children. It
is not uninteresting to read this contemporary notice from the _Weekly
Intelligencer_:—
“The Privy Lodgings for his Highness the Lord Protector in Whitehall
are now in readiness, as also the lodgings for his Lady Protectress;
and likewise the privy kitchen, and other kitchens, butteries and
offices; and it is conceived the whole family will be settled there
before Easter. The tables for diet prepared are these:—
“A table for his Highness.
“A table for the Protectress.
“A table for Chaplains and Strangers.
“A table for the Steward and Gentlemen.
“A table for the Gentleman.
“A table for coachmen, grooms, and other domestic servants.
“A table for Inferiors, or sub-servants.”
Nothing can be more curious than to observe the change which seems
to have come over the plain Huntingdonshire squire. He arrogated to
himself and received all the deference previously paid to a sovereign.
He allowed nothing to be omitted, and many of his contemporaries,
English as well as foreign, have noticed the magnificence and
stateliness of the ceremonious observances at his court. Jesse has
summarised a few of these notes, and it is well worth while to quote
some of his expressions. A few weeks after his elevation, we find
the Protector entertained by the citizens of London with all the
honours which, for centuries, they had been accustomed to pay to their
sovereigns on their accession. Monsieur De Bordeaux writes to De
Brienne, 23rd of February, 1654:—“On his solemn entry into the City he
was received like a king: the Mayor went before him with the sword in
his hand about him nothing but officers, who do not trouble themselves
much as to fineness of apparel; behind him the members of the Council
in State coaches, furnished by certain lords. The concourse of people
was great; wheresoever Cromwell came a great silence; the greater
part did not even move their hats. At the Guildhall was a great feast
prepared for him, and at the table sat the Mayor, the Councillors, the
Deputies of the Army, as well as Cromwell’s son and son-in-law. Towards
the Foreign Ambassadors, the Protector deports himself as a king, for
the power of kings is not greater than his.”
Again, De Bordeaux writes a few weeks afterwards:—“Some say he will
assume the title and prerogatives of a Roman emperor. In order to
strengthen his party, he deals out promises to all parties. It is
here, however, as everywhere else; no government was or is right in
the people’s eyes, and Cromwell, once their idol, is now the object of
their blame, perhaps their hate.”
There is a record of May Day in the same year, 1654. The writer is much
shocked at the licence that prevailed. There was “much sin committed by
wicked meetings, with fiddlers, drunkenness, ribaldry, and the like.”
Cromwell kept open house at Whitehall on Mondays. In 1657, the Speaker
announced to the House of Commons that the Lord Protector invited the
whole House to dinner in the Banqueting House, and he had similarly
received them the year before.
Cromwell’s last illness seized him at Hampton Court. He was removed
to Whitehall. There, while a tremendous tempest howled round the old
walls, he breathed his last on the afternoon of the 3rd of September,
1658. The concourse of fanatical preachers which disturbed his last
moments seems to have been doubled at his death, and Tillotson, the
future Archbishop, describes Richard Cromwell as seated at one side of
a table with six divines at the other. Cromwell’s funeral took place
from Somerset House, not from Whitehall, so it does not specially
concern us. Suffice it to say here, that no king or queen has ever been
interred at so much cost or so magnificently.
There is little except Tillotson’s note quoted above to connect
Richard Cromwell with Whitehall; but a meeting of discontented
officers which he permitted at Wallingford House, over the way,
precipitated his fall. It has always been asserted, apparently with
truth, that Oliver’s wife had been inclined to Royalism, and that she
pressed her husband to bring in the late King’s son. This did not,
however, prevent her from an endeavour to secure some of the royal
effects at Whitehall, when she, in her turn, received notice to quit.
Early in 1660 they were taken possession of by a Commission.
For the next few years the name of Whitehall is chiefly to be found
in the delightful pages of Pepys, and those of that sanctimonious
prig, Evelyn. Mr. Wheatly, who has made a special study of Pepys,
tells us, in his _London, Past and Present_, that the chief apartments
of Whitehall mentioned in the _Diary_ are as follows:—The Matted
Gallery, the Gallery of Henry VIII., the Boarded Gallery, the Shield
Gallery, the Stone Gallery, and the Vane Room. We may identify some
of these. The Gallery of Henry VIII. was probably that which led over
Holbein’s Gate to the park. The Shield Gallery must be that spoken
of by Manningham, about the end of the reign of Queen Elizabeth, as
being decorated with scutcheons. There was a Guardroom, mentioned by
Lilly, the astrologer. The Adam and Eve Gallery was so called from a
picture attributed to Mabuse, now at Hampton Court. The Stone Gallery
looked on the Sundial Lawn in the Privy Garden. Pepys also mentions
the Banqueting House, where in April, 1661, he “saw the King create my
Lord Chancellor, and several others, Earls, and Mr. Crew, and several
others, Barons: the first being led up by Heralds and five old Earls to
the King, and there the patent is read, and the King puts on his vest,
and sword and coronet, and gives him the patent. And then he kisseth
the King’s hand, and rises and stands covered before the King. And the
same for the Barons, only he is led up but by three of the old Barons,
and are girt with swords before they go to the King.” In the Banqueting
House, also, the King touched “people for the King’s evil” (June
23, 1660). There was a service “At the Healing” in Books of Common
Prayer. It was omitted, I think, about 1709. There was a “balcone” in
the Shield Gallery. In this room Pepys saw the King bid farewell to
Montagu, who was going to sea. “I saw with what kindness the King did
hug my lord at his parting.” We have a topographical note in July,
1660. Pepys walked all the afternoon in Whitehall Court. We know where
the Court was, and now we learn that the Council Chamber looked into
it. “It was strange to see how all the people flocked together bare,
to see the King looking out of the Council window.” There are many
references to the Chapel. It stood near the river, in the eastern part
of the palace, and had two vestries. Inigo Jones designed a beautiful
reredos of coloured marbles for it. This reredos was saved when the
palace was burnt, and was given by Queen Anne to Westminster Abbey.
There is a view in Dart’s _Westminster Abbey_ which shows it—the only
representation of it I have met with. It was destroyed in the early
days of the so-called Gothic revival, and a piece of stucco-work by
Bernasconi took its place. That again was “restored” away in favour
of a very poverty-stricken piece of mosaic, which by some blunder was
made too small for its place, and had to be eked out with a meaningless
border. A small fragment of Inigo’s altar-piece is in the triforium.
[Illustration: _Pyramidal Dial in Privy Garden, set up in 1669_.
_From an Engraving by_ H. STEEL, _1673_.]
Pepys was much pleased (8th July, 1660) to hear the organ in Whitehall
Chapel. The old organs had been destroyed under the Commonwealth all
over the country, but now the diarist writes:—“Here I heard very good
music, the first time that ever I remember to have heard the organs and
singing men in surplices in my life.” There are many other mentions of
the chapel, and, on one occasion, Mr. Hill took him up to the King’s
Closet, a kind of gallery looking into the chapel, the King being
away—“and there we did stay all service-time, which I did think a great
honour.”
He has something to say about the works of art at Whitehall. On one
occasion he admired “a great many fine antique heads of marble that
my lord Northumberland had given the King.” Next he inspected the
pictures. They consisted (1) of those sold by the Commonwealth and
recovered; (2) those retained by Cromwell; and (3) a collection which,
having been bought by a Dutchman from Whitehall, was obtained by the
States of Holland from his widow, and presented to Charles II. on
his restoration. The gallery which, as we shall see, is mentioned by
Evelyn, appears to have been used as a kind of drawing-room in the
evening.
Pepys and his wife were present on one occasion when the Queen dined
at Whitehall. This Queen was Henrietta Maria, the widow of Charles
I. He describes her as in her Presence Chamber, and says she was a
very little, plain old woman, and nothing in her presence or her garb
different from any ordinary person. He goes on: “The Princess of Orange
I had often seen before. The Princess Henrietta is very pretty, but
much below my expectation; and her dressing of herself with her hair
frizzed short up to her ears, did make her seem so much the less to
me.” A little further on he tells of being locked by accident into
“Henry the Eighth’s Gallery,” and being unable to get into the Boarded
Gallery. In 1666, he mentions a dining-room, but where it was he does
not tell us. There are many other notices of Whitehall in the _Diary_,
but the foregoing are probably the most important.
[Illustration: _Whitehall in 1724._]
When we look at Vertue’s plan already mentioned, nothing is more
striking than the number of separate residences the palace contained.
The plan purports to have been made in the reign of Charles II., and is
dated 1680. There are, however, apparently, two or three anachronisms.
At least a score of dukes and other nobles had their quarters in the
palace, including Monk, now Duke of Albemarle, who, with his awful
Duchess, has the pleasant house by the Cockpit, occupied by Cromwell
before he became Protector. It is said to have been from this house
that the Princess Anne set off on her famous ride with the Bishop of
London, to meet William of Orange, in 1688. Lady Castlemaine, the
Duke of Monmouth, the Duke of Ormonde, and Captain Cooke, of whom
Pepys sometimes speaks in disparaging terms, and who was master of the
singing boys in the King’s Chapel, or something of the kind—all these
were close to the Cockpit. In the other part of Whitehall—east, that
is, of the “street”—were apartments for the King himself, the Queen,
the Maids of Honour, for Lord Bath, Lord Peterborough, the Duke of
Richmond, a Mrs. Kirk, a Lady Sears, and a vast number of people of
whom history has recorded but little, including “Mr. Chiffinch.” There
are, besides, a number of officials, such as the Cofferer, the Queen’s
Secretary and Waiters, the Treasurer, the Chamberlain, the Doctor,
and the pages of the back-stairs. A few years later an apartment
adjoining the Stone Gallery was granted to Louise Renée de Penancoet de
Keroualle, duchess of Portsmouth, whom Evelyn describes as having “a
childish, simple, and baby face.”
Evelyn, like Pepys, makes occasional mention of Whitehall Chapel and of
the other buildings. We need not quote more than one or two. In April,
1667, he writes:—
“22nd.—Saw the sumptuous supper in the banqueting house at Whitehall,
on the eve of St. George’s Day, where were all the companions of the
Order of the Garter.
“23rd.—In the morning, his Majesty went to chapel with the Knights of
the Garter, all in their habits and robes, ushered by the heralds;
after the first service, they went in procession, the youngest first,
the Sovereign last, with the Prelate of the Order and Dean, who had
about his neck the book of the Statutes of the Order; and then the
Chancellor of the Order (old Sir Henry de Vic), who wore the purse
about his neck; then the Heralds and Garter-King-at-Arms, Clarencieux,
Black Rod. But before the Prelate and Dean of Windsor went the
gentlemen of the chapel and choristers, singing as they marched; behind
them two doctors of music in damask robes; this procession was about
the courts at Whitehall. Then, returning to their stalls and seats in
the chapel, placed under each knight’s coat-armour and titles, the
second service began. Then, the King offered at the altar, an anthem
was sung; then, the rest of the Knights offered, and lastly proceeded
to the banqueting house to a great feast. The King sat on an elevated
throne at the upper end at a table alone; the Knights at a table on
the right hand, reaching all the length of the room; over-against them
a cupboard of rich gilded plate; at the lower end, the music; on the
balusters above, wind music, trumpets, and kettle-drums. The King was
served by the lords and pensioners who brought up the dishes. About the
middle of the dinner, the Knights drank the King’s health, then the
King theirs, when the trumpets and music played and sounded, the guns
going off at the Tower. At the Banquet, came in the Queen, and stood by
the King’s left hand, but did not sit. Then was the banqueting-stuff
flung about the room profusely. In truth, the crowd was so great,
that though I stayed all the supper the day before, I now stayed no
longer than this sport began, for fear of disorder. The cheer was
extraordinary, each Knight having forty dishes to his mess, piled up
five or six high; the room hung with the richest tapestry.”
Then comes the end in a well-known and oft-quoted passage. It was in
the winter of 1685. Why Evelyn visited Whitehall that particular Sunday
we do not know. His description of the scene at Whitehall the last
Sunday but one of the life of Charles II. is not new to any one, but
must come in here: “I can never forget,” he says, “the inexpressible
luxury and profaneness, gaming and all dissoluteness, and as it were
total forgetfulness of God (it being Sunday evening) which this day
se’nnight I was witness of, the King sitting and toying with his
concubines, Portsmouth, Cleveland, and Mazarine, etc.; a French boy
singing love-songs in that glorious gallery, whilst about twenty of
the great courtiers and other dissolute persons were at Basset round a
large table, a bank of at least 2000 in gold before them; upon which
two gentlemen who were with me made reflections with astonishment. Six
days after was all in the dust.”
[Illustration: _Funeral of Queen Mary, 1694_.
_From an Engraving by_ P. PERSOY.]
James II. seems to have preferred St. James’s to Whitehall as a
residence during his brief and stormy reign. All his children were
born there, and there is an account of his Queen, Mary of Modena,
hastening from Whitehall just before the birth of the prince who became
subsequently the Old Pretender.
William and Mary were hardly settled at Whitehall when they began
to look about for a house which would suit the King’s health. At
Whitehall he was constantly ill. The low, foggy, damp situation was
not calculated for a man who suffered daily from asthma and often from
ague or low fever. One day he looked at Holland House, and we read in
the Kensington parochial accounts of the church bells being rung as
he went through the suburban village. Holland House was perhaps too
far away; but William next visited what was really the old manor house
of Neyte, in Westminster, which was then called Nottingham House. It
was purchased for him, and renamed Kensington Palace, and henceforth
neither Whitehall nor St. James’s saw much of him or of Queen Mary,
except on state occasions. We gather from Evelyn that Charles II. had
given suites of apartments to the Duchess of Portsmouth, whom the
people called Madam Carwell, and others. The Duchess of Cleveland had a
house near St. James’s, and afterwards lived in Arlington Street. Nell
Gwynne lived in Pall Mall: so that of all those “curses of the nation,”
as Evelyn calls them, only this Frenchwoman remained. If we look at
Vertue’s map, though we shall not see any mention of the lodgings
of the Duchess, we do see an entry which, as it turns out, is more
important. It points out the room of the King’s laundress.
She was a Dutchwoman at this time, and made a charcoal fire to dry a
shirt belonging to a Colonel Stanley. The situation of the room, if it
was the same as that of the laundress of King Charles, is precisely
that in which a fire, once set going, might spread in all directions,
as it was surrounded with small chambers, probably with wooden
partitions, and then again by chapels, libraries, galleries, halls, and
other inflammable buildings. The unhappy Dutchwoman set her room on
fire and perished in the flames. “The tapestry, bedding, the wainscotes
were soon in a blaze,” says Macaulay. “Before midnight, the King’s
apartments, the Queen’s apartments, the wardrobe, the treasury, the
office of the Privy Council, the office of the Secretary of State, had
been destroyed.” Evelyn mentions a second chapel as having been fitted
up for James II.: both perished. The guardroom also, and the glorious
gallery of which Evelyn speaks. The Banqueting House was saved, but
some pictures by Holbein in the Matted Gallery were burnt out, and
there was said to be considerable loss of life. We shall see presently
why so many valuable pieces of furniture and pictures were saved. Some
of them found their way across the park to St. James’s. Others went as
far out as Kensington, and are now to be found partly at Windsor and
partly at Hampton Court.
[Illustration: _Scotland Yard._]
[Illustration: _Part of the Old Palace of Whitehall_.
_From an Etching by_ J. T. SMITH, _1805_.]
[Illustration: _View in Privy Garden_.
_From an Engraving by_ J. MALCOLM, _1807_.]
The fire occurred on the night of the 4th January, 1698, and the King
returning from one of his expeditions to Holland, found his palace,
as he came up the river, in ruins. William himself acknowledges in a
letter to a foreign friend that the accident, as he calls it, affected
him less than it might another, because Whitehall was a place in which
he could not live. Several fires had occurred within a short time at
Whitehall, the most destructive being that by which in April, 1691, the
Duchess of Portsmouth was burnt out, after having had her house three
times rebuilt, a subject on which Evelyn enlarges in his usual pious
manner. The Duchess went to live in Kensington, and survived until far
on in the reign of George II. All these fires did damage, but that of
the 4th January, 1698, seems to have been almost or altogether confined
to the royal apartments. Macaulay’s account of the fire is enormously
exaggerated. The whole palace, on both sides of the “street of
Whitehall” was mainly intact still—a vast region stretching up beyond
Scotland Yard, and almost to Charing Cross. Abundant remains of the
Tudor period were still to be seen twenty years ago by those who sought
for them. I remember a pointed window in a basement as lately as 1877.
The fact is, this part of the palace was never destroyed by fire, but
perished gradually, being pulled down piecemeal, to make way for other
buildings, or falling into decay.
The first fire destroyed the Stone Gallery and the rooms between it
and the river. This Stone Gallery, as already mentioned, ran along the
east side of the Privy Garden. It was not rebuilt, and the Duchess of
Portsmouth lost her house. After the second fire the ground was leased
out, and Pembroke House was built on it. I think it is now part of the
Board of Trade. The rest of the row is now called Whitehall Gardens,
a place in which many eminent people have lived, including Sir Robert
Peel, one of the Queen’s Premiers. Beyond, further south, was the
Bowling Green. Here Montagu House now stands. We may feel sure, when we
see how little was burnt, that William and Mary, if they had liked the
place, might easily have reinstated the royal lodgings.
There is a curious print in Smith’s _Sixty-two Additional Plates_,
which seems to have puzzled some people. It represents Whitehall in a
bird’s-eye view in outline, and must have been drawn after the second
fire, as Pembroke House has been built. The original drawing was in
Crowle’s collection. Smith stumbles over it when he says, “The dotted
lines show the parts that were not penned in ‘by the artist.’” He
does not perceive that they mark places which had been burnt and had
not been rebuilt. For us this print is interesting, as showing what a
comparatively small part of the whole perished in the fire of 1698, and
it shows us also what is the true answer to a question often asked: Why
were not the pictures consumed? We can see now that they may have been
taken down, all but the Holbeins, which were painted on the walls and
ceiling of a chamber, and leisurely stored, probably in the Banqueting
House, to be removed to St. James’s and Kensington as convenient.
In the same way there was time to remove anything of value from the
chapel, including Inigo’s great marble reredos. Indeed, it may be
doubted if the chapel was burnt.
[Illustration: _Privy Garden_.
_From an Engraving by_ T. MALTON, _1795_.]
At the beginning of the last century there remained the two gates. The
queer old Gothic King Street Gate was taken down in 1723. In 1759,
Holbein’s Gate was also removed, including, of course, the stairs and
gallery by which Charles I. entered the palace on that fatal 30th
January. The terra-cotta heads of the Cæsars eventually went to Hampton
Court. They are said to have been made by an Italian named Maiano. The
brick and stone-work were removed by the Duke of Cumberland to make a
triumphal arch at Windsor. They form now a green mound near the Long
Walk. Toby Rustat’s leaden statue of James II. still stands behind
the hall, and is popularly supposed to point to the spot on which
James’s father was beheaded. We have seen that this tragedy took place
at the other side of the hall. There was an immediate talk of a new
palace on this site, but it never came to anything. The second plan of
Inigo Jones, that of 1639, is sometimes said to have been consulted
by the authorities. Colen Campbell obtained it for his _Vitruvius
Britannicus_, as he says, “from that ingenious gentleman, William
Emmet, of Bromley, in the county of Kent, Esq., from whose original
drawings the following five plates are published, whereby he has made
a most valuable present to the sons of Art.” Was Mr. Emmet, that
ingenious gentleman, who seems otherwise unknown to fame, the architect
consulted by William’s Government?
[Illustration: _Bird’s-eye View of Whitehall and St. James’s Park_.
_From_ SMITH’S _“Views of Westminster.”_]
INDEX
PAGE
Allowance, daily, 50
Anne of Cleves, 18
” Princess, 69
Banqueting House, the, 15, 16, 27, 28, 30, 32,
36, 38, 43, 48, 55, 56,
57, 58, 63, 65, 66, 69,
70, 75
Bishop Senhouse’s sermon, 60
Burgh, Hubert de, 7, 8
Cales, Little, 10
Campbell’s _Vitruvius_, 43
Castlemaine, Countess of, 69
Chambers’s remarks, 38
Chapel, the design for, 36
Chapman’s mask, 24
Charing, 5, 6
Charles I., his accession, 44
” his burial, 62
” his coronation, 44
” the ill omens, 44, 45
Charles II. at dinner, 70
” death of, 71
Chiffinch, 69
Conway, Lord, 46, 47
Cost, probable, of palace, 38
Cromwell at the Cockpit, 63
” at Whitehall, 48, 61
” his death, 65
” Thomas, 18
Edward I., 6
” VI., 18, 20
” the Confessor, 5
Elizabeth, Queen, 9, 16, 18, 20, 21, 22, 66
Evelyn, 66, 68, 69, 70, 72, 74
Fergusson’s criticisms, 36
Fire of 1681, 74
” 1698, 73, 74
Gallery of Henry VIII., 66
” The Matted, 66
” ” Shield, 66
” ” Stone, 66, 69
Gate, Holbein’s, 9, 55, 66, 75
” King Street, 75
Grey, Walter, 8
Henrietta Maria, her anger, 51
” her French train, 47
Henry VIII., 6, 8, 9, 10, 13, 16, 20
Henry, prince of Wales, 24, 45
Hentzner, Paul, 9, 16
James II., his statue, 76
Jones, Inigo, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 30, 34, 36,
38, 43, 47, 56, 67, 68, 76
” ” design of 1639, 38, 76
” ” reredos, 67
King Street, 7, 9, 12, 13, 15, 22
Laud, Archbishop, 51, 52
Laurence, Abbot, of Westminster 5, 6, 7
Monk, duke of Albemarle, 69
Northumberland House, 22
Odo the Goldsmith, 7
Palaces, dimensions of, 27, 28
Pepys, 56, 66, 68, 69
Persian Court, 34, 38
Pictures at Whitehall, 47
” sale of, 48
Portsmouth, Duchess of, 72, 74
Richmond Terrace, 5, 6, 22
Rubens, Sir Peter Paul, 30
St. Bride’s, Fleet Street, 7
St. James’s Palace, 13, 20, 24, 62
St. Margaret’s, Westminster, 6, 8, 10, 13
Savoy, 7, 10
Scaffold for the King’s death, 56, 57
Spenser, Edmund, 22
Stone, Nicholas, 29, 30
Strafford, Earl of, 51, 52
Thames, 5, 6, 7, 22, 24, 27, 32
Tyburn, 5, 6, 45
Wallingford House, 23, 55, 56, 66
Ware, Roger, 7
Whitehall Chapel, 68, 69
” Court, 67
” Gardens, 15
” first so-called, 8
” street of, 36, 43, 56, 74
” White King,” the, 45, 60, 62
William and Mary, 71
Windows of Banqueting House, 57
Windsor, Lord, 9, 10
Wolsey, Thomas, 8, 9, 10, 15, 16, 27