named Richard Wilson, popularly called Dick, having been to Paris, and
not knowing a word of French, praised French cookery, and said that its
utmost perfection was seen in the way in which they dished up a
'rendezvous'; he meant a _ris de veau_. Being asked if he ate partridge
in France, Dick said 'Yes,' but he could not bear them served up in
'shoes'; he meant _perdrix aux choux_. William Taylor, another member,
believed firmly that Stonehenge was formed by an extraordinary shower of
immense hailstones which fell two thousand years ago. The society, we
know, claimed to be a literary society, and had actually offered a prize
of L400 for the best comedy. It had many dramatic authors among its
members. One of them was Cobb, who, among other plays, wrote 'Ramah
Drug'--drug or droog meaning in India, where the scene was laid, a
hill-fort;[#] he was complimented by his fellow-members on the happy
titles he always chose for his pieces. 'What could be better for your
last attempt to ram a drug down the public throat than "Ramah Drug"?'
said one of the Beefsteakers. But Arnold, a rival dramatist, disputed
Cobb's claim to admiration on this account. 'What worse title,' said
he, 'could he have chosen for his "Haunted Tower"? Why, there is no
spirit in it from beginning to end!'
[#] The tower known as Severndroog on Shooter's Hill commemorates the
taking of the fort of that name on the coast of Malabar.
When the Beefsteak Society was broken up in 1869, the pictures of the
former members, mostly copies, were sold for only about L70. The plate,
however, brought high prices; the forks and table-spoons, all bearing
the emblem of the club, a gridiron, fetched about a sovereign apiece;
the punch-ladle realized L14 5s.; a cheese-toaster brought L12 6s.; an
Oriental punch-bowl, L11 15s. Wine-glasses, engraved with the gridiron,
sold for from 27s. to 34s. a pair. The actual gridiron, plain as it
was, fetched 5-1/2 guineas. Eulogies have been written on the society,
as if it had been a really meritorious institution, and endless
anecdotes are told, chiefly illustrating the gluttony of the members;
but such details are neither attractive in themselves nor profitable to
the reader, and we will not enter into them. We agree with Thackeray's
estimate of the club-life of the last century: 'It was too hard, too
coarse a life.... All that fuddling and punch-drinking, that club and
coffee-house boozing, reduced the lives and enlarged the waistcoats of
the men of that age.' But such were the convivial clubs of the past; it
is as well to see the other side of things.
Addison, in support of his assertion that all clubs were founded on
eating and drinking, says that the Kit-Kat Club itself is said to have
taken its original from mutton-pies. If he means its name, he is, as
far as can now be known, right; but if he means that its object was the
consumption of pies, as the consumption of steaks was that of the
'Sublime' Beefsteaks, he was wrong. The Kit-Kat was the great Whig club
of Queen Anne's time; it consisted of the principal noblemen and
gentlemen who had opposed the arbitrary measures of James II., and was
instituted about the year 1700 for the purpose ostensibly of encouraging
literature and the fine arts, but really for promoting loyalty and
allegiance to the Protestant succession in the House of Hanover. Among
the forty-eight members were the Dukes of Marlborough and Newcastle; the
Earls of Halifax, Dorset, and Wharton; Sirs Robert Walpole, John
Vanbrugh, Richard Steele, Samuel Garth, Godfrey Kneller; Addison,
Congreve, Pulteney, Walsh, and other persons, illustrious for rank or
talent.
The real founder of the club is said to have been Jacob Tonson, the
bookseller; he was for many years their secretary, and, in fact, the
very pivot upon which the society revolved. Their meetings were
originally held at a house in Shire Lane, close to Temple Bar, a lane
which in time became infamous as the resort of thieves, rogues, and
ruffians of every kind, though in previous years it had been
fashionable. The house where they met was kept by one Christopher Katt,
a pastrycook, famous for his mutton pies, which immortalized his name,
since they became known by it, Kit being then a vulgar abbreviation of
Christopher, and Katt being his surname, and from these pies the club
took its name, the pies always forming part of its bill of fare. It
seems strange that with so simple a derivation the origin of the name
Kit-Kat should have been unknown even to Pope or Arbuthnot--it is
uncertain to whom the lines are attributable--who wrote:
'Whence deathless Kit-Kat took his name
Few critics can unriddle:
Some say from pastrycook it came,
And some from Cat and Piddle.
From no trim beans its name it boasts,
Grey statesmen or green wits,
But from this pell-mell pack of toasts,
Of old Cats and young Kits.'
Surely the name is simply that of the pastrycook, Kit (Christopher)
Katt, given to his pies, and has no reference to old cats or young kits
or kittens.
As regards the pies, Dr. King, in his 'Art of Cookery,' wrote:
'Immortal made as Kit-Kat by his pies;'
and in the prologue to 'The Reformed Wife,' a comedy, 1700, is the line:
'A Kit-Kat is a supper for a lord.'
Tonson had his own and the portraits of all the members painted by Sir
Godfrey Kneller; each member gave him his.[#] The canvas was 36 inches
by 28 inches, sufficiently long to show a hand, and the size is still
known as the Kit-Kat. There were forty-two of those portraits, and they
were first hung up in the club-room, but Tonson in time removed them to
his country-house at Barn Elms, where he built a handsome room for their
reception, and where the club frequently met. At his death in 1736,
Tonson left them to his great-nephew, also an eminent bookseller, who
died in 1767. The paintings were then removed to the house of his
brother at Water-Oakley, near Windsor, and on his death to the house of
Mr. Baker, one of the sons of Sir William Baker, who had married the
elder of the two daughters of old Tonson; the house of this Mr. Baker is
called the Park, situate at Hertingfordbury, where they still remain.
[#] They were all engraved in mezzotinto by the younger Faber.
As regards the room at Barn Elms referred to above, Sir Richard
Phillips, in his 'Morning Walk from London to Kew,' in 1816, gives an
account of his visit to it.
'A lane,' he says, 'brought me to Barn Elms, where now resides a Mr.
Hoare, a banker, of London. The family were not at home, but on asking
the servants if that was the house of Mr. Tonson, they assured me, with
great naivete, that no such gentleman lived there. I named the Kit-Kat
Club as accustomed to assemble here, but the oddity of the name excited
their ridicule, and I was told that no such club was held there; but
perhaps, said one to the other, the gentleman means the club that
assembles at the public-house on the common.... One of them exclaimed:
"I should not wonder if the gentleman means the philosopher's room."
"Aye," rejoined his comrade, "I remember somebody coming once before to
see something of this sort, and my master sent him there." I requested,
then, to be shown to this room, distinguished by so high an appellation,
when I was conducted across a detached garden and brought to a handsome
erection in the architectural style of the early part of the last
century, evidently the establishment of the Kit-Kat Club! ... The man
unfastened the decayed door of the building, and showed me the once
elegant hall filled with cobwebs, a fallen ceiling, and accumulated
rubbish. On the right the present proprietor had erected a copper, and
converted one of the parlours into a wash-house. The door on the left
led to a spacious and once superb staircase, now in ruins, presenting
pendant cobwebs that hung from the lofty ceiling, and which seemed to be
deserted even by the spiders.... I ascended the staircase; here I found
the Kit-Kat Club-room nearly as it existed in its days of service. It
was about 18 feet high, 40 feet long, and 20 wide. The mouldings and
ornaments were in the most superb fashion of the day, but the whole was
tumbling to pieces from the effects of the dry rot.... The marks and
sizes [of the portraits] were still visible, and the numbers and names
remained as written in chalk for the guide of the hanger.... On
rejoining Mr. Hoare's man in the hall below ... he told me that his
master intended to pull [the room] down.... Mr. Tonson's house had a
few years since been taken down.'
In 'A Pilgrimage from London to Woolstrope,' communicated to the
_Monthly Magazine_ of June, 1818, the then home of the Kit-Kat Club
pictures is thus referred to: 'I reached Hartingfordbury, and the
magnificent seat of Wm. Baker, Esq.... Here I paid my homage to the
forty-two portraits of the Kit Kat Club, and found myself in a splendid
apartment. They [the portraits] are all in as fine a condition as though
they had been painted but last year. I regretted, however, that the
characteristic features are lost or disguised by the enormous perukes
which disfigured the human countenance in their age. The whole looked
like a wiggery, and the portrait of Tonson in his velvet cap was the
only relief afforded by the entire assemblage.'
But even the Kit-Kat Club in time
'Descended from its high politic flavour,
Down to a sentimental toasting savour.'
_Byron improved_.
The club was invaded by a spirit of gallantry. When a number of
fashionable gentlemen meet, politics are all very well for a time;
horses will afford the next subject of entertainment, but the women must
come in in the end. And so the members of the Kit-Kat Club established
the custom of every year electing some reigning beauty as a toast. To
the queen of the year the members wrote epigrammatic verses, which were
etched with a diamond on the club glasses, or a separate bowl was
dedicated to her worship, and the lines engraved thereon. Some of the
most celebrated of the toasts had their pictures hung up in the
club-room. How Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, when only eight years old, was
introduced and declared the beauty of the year, has often been told. Of
course, to our more refined ideas of propriety the conduct of her
father, the Duke of Kingston, in thus thrusting his infant daughter into
the society of his roistering boon-companions, cannot but appear as
highly reprehensible. Among the more celebrated of the toasts were the
four daughters of the Duke of Marlborough: Lady Godolphin, Lady
Sunderland, generally known as the Little Whig, Lady Bridgewater, and
Lady Monthermer. Swift's friend, Mrs. Long, and the niece of Sir Isaac
Newton were two others. Others were the Duchesses of Bolton, St.
Albans, Richmond and Beaufort; also Lady Molyneux, who, Walpole says,
died smoking a pipe.
We will conclude our account of this club with a few stray notes.
Three o'clock in the morning seems to have been no uncommon hour for the
club to break up. Addison and Steele usually got drunk, so did Dr.
Garth, the poet laureate of the club, wherefore a Tory lampooner said
that at this club the youth of Anne's reign learned
'To sleep away the days, and drink away the nights.'
When Tonson had gone to live at Barn Elms, the members generally held
their meetings at his house. In the summer they would resort to the
Upper Flask tavern, near Hampstead Heath; but this practice did not
continue long: there was too much difficulty in getting home after
strong potations. The Upper Flask eventually became a private house,
and was occupied by George Steevens, the celebrated critic and
antiquary, till his death. The Kit-Kat Club died out before the year
1727, and we now take leave of it.
We have given accounts of a purely convivial, of a literary and
artistic, and now will shortly describe a purely political club, of
which, however, but little is known, namely, the Rota. It took its name
from its object, namely, to promote the changing of certain Members of
Parliament annually by rotation. It held its meetings at the Turk's
Head, otherwise known as Miles' Coffee-house, in New Palace Yard, not
far from the residence of James Harrington, which was in the Little
Ambry (Almonry), looking into the Dean's yard. It was founded in 1659
for the dissemination of republican ideas, which Harrington had
glorified in his 'Oceana,' and for resisting Cromwell's attempt to do
without a Parliament and to establish an undisguised military despotism.
The republicans took the alarm, and formed themselves into a debating
society, says the Royalist Anthony Wood, to discuss the best form of
government. Their discourses, according to this author, of ordering a
commonwealth were the most ingenious and smart ever heard, for the
arguments in the Parliament House were flat to these. This gang had a
balloting box ... the room was every evening very full. Beside James
Harrington and Henry Nevil, who were the prime men of the club, were
Cyriac Skinner, Major Wildman, Roger Coke, author of the 'Detection of
the Four Last Reigns,' William Petty and Maximilian Petty, and a great
many others. The doctrines were very taking, and the more so because to
human foresight there was no possibility of the King's return. The
greatest of the Parliament men hated this rotation and balloting, as
being against their power. Henry Nevil proposed it to the House; the
third part of the House should vote out by ballot every year, and not be
re-eligible for three years to come, so that every ninth year the Senate
would be wholly changed. No magistrate was to continue above three
years, and all were to be chosen by a sort of ballot. It is probable
that Milton was a member of the Rota; Aubrey belonged to it in 1659.
After the death of Cromwell the Rota gave great publicity to its
proceedings, and acquired a high reputation for learning, talent, and
eloquence, so that it became a question whether it were more honourable
to belong to the Rota or the Society of Virtuosi, which had been
designated by Boyle in 1646 'the Invisible or Philosophical Society.'
The members of the Rota threw into the teeth of their rivals that they
had an excellent faculty of magnifying a louse and diminishing a
commonwealth. Charles II., who was a virtuoso himself, avenged this
taunt by erecting, in 1664, the Virtuosi into the Royal Society, by
dispersing the members of the Rota, and exiling Harrington for life to
the island of St. Nicholas, near Plymouth; but he was afterwards
released on bail, and died at his house in the Almonry in 1677. The
statement that the Royal Society was established for political reasons,
though it has often been contradicted, would thus seem not to be without
foundation. In the third canto of the second part of 'Hudibras,'
Sidrophel is said to be
'... as full of tricks,
As Rota-men of politicks.'
*XIX.*
*HAMPTON COURT PALACE AND ITS MASTERS.*
*I.--HAMPTON COURT PALACE.*
The environs of London are very beautiful, and full of scenic and
architectural contrasts. Let us render our exact meaning clear by
taking two of the most striking contrasts. To the north of London lies
the vast expanse of Hampstead Heath, a locality famous for charms due to
Nature alone, whilst to the south of London we have Hampton Court, which
all the arts of the highest civilization and noblest genius have for
centuries striven to invest with a grandeur and loveliness found in few
other spots. Painting and sculpture, architecture and horticulture,
have here found their grandest exponents, and Time, which alone could do
it, has added thereto the dignity of historic interest and the
fascination of romantic associations. Not only are the rooms and halls,
the corridors and courtyards of the palace, artistic caskets in
themselves, they are filled with treasures of art. And how easily can
imagination re-people these now usually deserted chambers and passages,
and with the mind's eye see again the famous--and sometimes
infamous--men who here disported themselves, the charming lovely--and
sometimes the reverse--women, whose dazzling beauty, lofty demeanour,
dangerous and bewitching glances, led those men to fortune or the
scaffold. But that imagination may do this, not only is an accurate
knowledge of the localities needed, but also of the historic occurrences
which have taken place therein, wherefore our account of Hampton Court
Palace, which we have undertaken to give in a necessarily condensed
form, will after describing the structure architecturally record,
briefly also, the events it has been the scene of.
We assume the local position of the Palace to be sufficiently well
known, and therefore not necessary to be described. It has, not
inappropriately, been called the St. Cloud of Londoners. In the time of
Edward the Confessor Hampton Manor belonged to Earl Algar, a powerful
Saxon nobleman, and its value then was estimated at L40 per annum.
After the Norman Conquest it is mentioned in Doomsday Book as held by
Walter de St. Valeri, who probably gave the advowson of the living to
the Priory of Takeley, in Essex, which was a cell to the Abbey of St.
Valeri, in Picardy; from the port adjoining it William the Conqueror
sailed for England. Hampton Manor subsequently became the property of
Sir Robert Gray, whose widow in 1211 left by her will the whole manor
and the manor-house of Hampton, the site of the present Hampton Court
Palace, to the Knights Hospitallers of St. John of Jerusalem, whose
chief residence in England was the Hospital of St. John, Clerkenwell,
and of which now nothing but the gate remains. The manor thus
bequeathed was of enormous extent. It comprised within its boundaries
the lesser manors of Kingston-on-Thames, Walton Legh, Byflete,
Weybridge, East and West Moulsey, Sandon, Weston, Innworth, Esher,
Oatlands, together with the manors of Hampton, Hanworth, Feltham,
Teddington, and even Hounslow Heath.
Tradition says that Cardinal Wolsey, at the summit of his power, was
desirous of building a palace suitable to his rank; but he was equally
desirous of enjoying health and long life, and employed the most eminent
physicians in England, and even called in the aid of learned doctors
from Padua, to select the most healthy spot within twenty miles of
London. They agreed that the parish of Hampton was the most healthy
soil, and the springs in Coombe Wood, south of Richmond Park, the purest
water within the limits assigned to their researches. Upon this report
the Cardinal bargained for a lease with the prior of St. John of
Jerusalem, and the following is a precis of the lease as still extant in
the Cottonian MS. in the British Museum, and first published in the
_Gentleman's Magazine_ for January, 1834.
The indenture was made between Sir Thomas Docwra, prior of the Hospital
of St. John of Jerusalem and his brethren knights of the one part, and
Cardinal Wolsey, Primate of England, of the other part. It granted a
lease of ninety-nine years, to date from January 12, 1514, to Cardinal
Wolsey at a yearly rent of L50, the lessee agreeing to the usual
covenants of a repairing lease. If the rent should remain unpaid during
two whole years, the lessors to have the right of re-entry, and a new
lease to be granted for another ninety-nine years should such be desired
by the lessee. The lessors did not foresee the future, which would, by
_force majeure_, put an end to all their lease-granting.
As soon as Wolsey had obtained the lease, he pulled down the old
manor-house, in which hitherto a prior and a few knights had been
accommodated, and began erecting in a style of grandeur, heretofore
unsurpassed in this country, a mansion of unparalleled magnificence. But
who was this Wolsey?
A most unmitigated villain, on a par with that other villain, Henry
VIII., whose master, through being his pimp, he was for a time, till, in
perfect accordance with his character, he became his abject whining
slave. I am well aware that it is not usual to apply such a term as
villain to a King or his chief adviser--courtly historians have flowery
terms for the crimes of Kings by the 'grace of God,' and holy
'Fathers-in-God,' who misuse the powers foolish nations have entrusted
them with to the vilest purposes--but the spirit of justice, which
directs thinking and logical minds, rejects the flimsy arguments of
sycophantic apologists; it will not have Nero whitewashed.