through Paternoster Row, now. The little bookshops are so old and
quaint! For centuries the booksellers have been loyal to this
locality, but I hear that they are beginning to move elsewhere now.
Here's Amen Corner, and Ave Maria Lane is not far away. In London,
there's a reason for the name of almost every street. The monks, in
walking from the river to St. Paul's, used to be telling their beads
and reciting their prayers all the while. You see, the Ave Maria was
said at this point, and back at the corner came an Amen. In olden
days, the makers of rosaries and paternosters had their shops in the
little street we have just left, as well as the booksellers. The
streets leading off Cheapside show what business was carried on there;
for instance, on the south side are Bread, Candles, Soap, Fish, and
Money-changing; and on the north side are Wood, Milk, Iron, Honey, and
Poultry. By the by, the poet Milton was born in Bread Street. The
ironmongers congregated in Ironmongers Lane; the vintners or
wine-merchants were in the Vintry; and the makers of hosiery in
Hosiery Lane. Now we'll go to Chancery Lane, and pay a short visit to
the Record Office, for there are some things there which I want you to
see."
The Public Record Office is a modern building, constructed for the
purpose of keeping the valuable State documents and archives, which,
during the present reign, have been moved from the Tower and the
Chapter House of Westminster Abbey. The different departments of
government are continually handing over to the Record Office papers
which are no longer needed for daily use. Among the intensely
interesting treasures of this museum are the logbooks of the Royal
Navy, and dispatches from Marlborough, Wellington, and others. There
are State papers of Wolsey, and Thomas Cromwell, and letters of all
the kings and queens, as well as of Chaucer, the Black Prince, Raleigh
at the Tower, Lady Jane Grey as Queen, Sir Philip Sidney on his
death-bed, and many, many others of equal interest.
"Why, you'd need a whole week to see all these!" exclaimed Betty,
looking up from her examination of a paper containing the confessions
of Guy Fawkes.
Mrs. Pitt glanced at her quickly. She was excited, and her face was
flushed.
"Yes, and we must not stay any longer, for we have seen enough for one
day. I want to show you just one more thing before we go, however, and
this is more wonderful than all the rest. See, it is the great
Doomsday Book!"
Carefully kept under glass, in cases furnished with dark shades to
pull over when the books are not being examined, are the two large
volumes of what is known as the "Doomsday Book." On the ancient,
yellowed parchment pages, and in strange old characters, are the
records, made at the time of William the Conqueror, of the disposal of
the lands of England among his Norman nobles. It is simply impossible
to believe that it is authentic,--that such a very ancient relic
really can exist!
They soon felt tired and ready to leave any further examination of the
papers until another visit, however. There are times when all
sight-seers, no matter how enthusiastic, come to a point where for
that day they can appreciate no more. So our party adjourned to a
little tea-shop in Regent Street, and afterwards, to make a few
purchases at that fascinating shop,--Liberty's.
CHAPTER TEN
RICHMOND AND HAMPTON COURT PALACE
"Well, I really don't care much how long the boat is in coming,"
exclaimed Betty delightedly. "It's such fun to watch all the other
boats going up and down the river, and to look up at busy Westminster
Bridge!"
Our friends were at the little landing in the shadow of the
above-mentioned bridge, awaiting the arrival of the steamer which was
to carry them to Kew Gardens. It was early morning, and the distant
roar of the traffic from the great bridge above reached them together
with the shrill whistles of all the different river craft.
"Hey! There goes _Sir Walter Raleigh_ under the bridge there! I can
see the name just as plainly! And,--well I never!--there come _Lady
Jane Grey_ and _Sir Thomas More_! Do all the boats have names like
that? Wonder how the great people would like it if they knew! _Sir
Thomas_ is an express; he's on official business this morning, and
isn't going to stop! Now! here comes _Queen Elizabeth_ herself!
Nothing less than a queen for me! I hope we'll take her!" John cried
excitedly.
The _Queen Elizabeth_ did prove to be the Kew and Hampton Court boat,
so when the gangway was put across, the five went on board and took
some comfortable seats in the bow.
"Now, there are a number of things which I wish to point out to you
right away," remarked Mrs. Pitt, "so please be very attentive for a
few moments. Just as soon as we are started and go under Westminster
Bridge here, you will have the most beautiful view of the Houses of
Parliament, on your right. There! See if the great building isn't
graceful from here! And isn't its river-front imposing with all the
statues of the sovereigns!
"Now! Quickly! Look to the left, and see the building with the gateway
and square, blackened towers and battlements. That's Lambeth Palace,"
she added, "which has been the residence of the Archbishops of
Canterbury (or the 'Primates of England,' as they are called) for six
hundred years. It's a delightful old place, with its fine library, and
its several court-yards! It's very historic as well, for in one of
those towers, according to some people, the Lollards or followers of
the religious reformer, Wycliffe, are said to have been tortured.
Queen Elizabeth's favorite, the unfortunate Earl of Essex, was
imprisoned there, too.
"Here on our left was the famous amusement-park, Vauxhall, which was
so popular in the eighteenth century. Some day when you read
Thackeray's novels you will find it mentioned. There on the right is
Chelsea, where was Sir Thomas More's home. I think his grounds
bordered on the river, and he used to walk down to the bank, step into
his boat, and his son would row him to the city. At his house there he
was often visited by Henry VIII, Holbein, and the great Dutch scholar,
Erasmus. Just behind those trees is Cheyne Walk, where Thomas
Carlyle's house still stands. (There's the old Chelsea Church, which
is most interesting, and Chelsea Hospital for old pensioners.) There
have been many famous residents of Chelsea in more recent days; among
them George Eliot, the great novelist, who died there; Edward
Burne-Jones, the artist; Rossetti, the poet; Swinburne, Meredith, and
Whistler. There! now I'll leave you in peace to enjoy your boat-ride,
and the music."
They now came to a part of the river which is neither especially
historic nor attractive, and the young people amused themselves for a
while in talking, or listening to the rather crude music of some old
musicians on the boat. It was not long, however, before the banks
again became green and beautiful, and they passed odd little villages,
and comfortable country-houses, whose smooth terraces slope down to
the river. On the arrival of the boat at Kew, they went on shore and
walked towards the celebrated Gardens.
"Have Kew Gardens any story or history to them, or are they just
famous because of their flowers?" inquired Betty, as they passed
through the gateway, and caught glimpses of bright blossoms within.
"Oh, rather!" replied Mrs. Pitt. "You'll find plenty of history about
here, Betty. Let's look at the flowers first, though."
Kew Gardens are most immaculately cared for. Wide gravel-paths stretch
between the wonderful lawns, which are dotted with flower-beds of all
shapes. There are hot-houses containing tropical plants, and in the
"Rock Garden" is a pond where there are pelicans and other strange
water birds. The party spent an hour very happily in wandering about,
admiring the beautiful views as they went. Best of all were the
rhododendrons, which were glorious at this season in their riot of
pink, deep rose color, and lavender. Betty, who dearly loved flowers,
could hardly be enticed away from that fascinating spot, and was only
persuaded at mention of the old palace, which she had not yet seen.
When she reached it, she was rather disappointed. Kew Palace is not
large, and altogether, is quite unlike a palace, although it was the
favorite residence of George III and his queen, who died there in
1818.
"It just looks like any old red-brick Tudor house, which hasn't any
history at all. Even its rooms are all empty, and it isn't the kind of
a palace I like!" Betty declared in injured tones.
"Well, cheer up, Betty; we're going to Hampton Court Palace soon, and
I guess that'll suit you all right. Is this where we take the tram,
Mrs. Pitt? There's one coming now!" John ran out into the road and
gesticulated frantically, so that the motorman would be sure to stop.
That dignified English personage looked rather surprised, but John did
not care. He liked to take the lead, and to make himself useful
whenever it was possible.
The ride was not quite as enjoyable as they had hoped, because of a
very high wind. Upon their perch at the top of the tram, it required
about all their attention to keep their hats and other belongings from
blowing away. On the whole, they were quite content to get off at the
bridge at Richmond, and walk up the long hill to the famous Star and
Garter Inn.
"This hill seems longer than ever to-day, Mother," Barbara complained.
"When we reach that lovely surprise view (you know where I mean),
let's sit down and admire it while we rest a bit."
"Very well, we will," her mother panted; "we're nearly there now."
The view to which Barbara and her mother referred proved to be really
very beautiful. On one side of the hill is a little park from which a
precipice descends to the river. Looking through an opening in the
luxuriant foliage of the trees (an opening which takes the place of a
picture-frame), one sees a glorious view of the green valley below,
through which the lazy Thames winds dreamily; and if the day is clear,
Windsor Castle may just be discerned in the distance.
"Philip, you and John go and engage one of those drivers over opposite
the hotel, to take us for a little drive in the Park; as soon as I
order our luncheon, I'll be out again to go along." With that, Mrs.
Pitt disappeared for a few moments into the Star and Garter.
Richmond Park is a favorite resort for tourists, and driving and
bicycle parties. It contains some fine old trees, and a great many
deer which add to its attractiveness. Mrs. Pitt directed the coachman
not to drive about much, however, but to show them two points of
interest.
"This is the 'King's Mound,'" she observed, as the horses slowed down.
"Yes, that little low mound of earth just this side of the clump of
trees. I'll admit that it looks uninteresting enough; but it is known
as the spot where Henry VIII stood while listening for the sound of
the gun at the Tower, which told him of the execution of Anne Boleyn."
"Ugh!" Betty interposed, in disgusted tones, giving a little shudder.
"Think how he must have felt! Horrid old thing!"
"Don't be silly, Betty!" retorted John. "I guess a little thing like
that wouldn't trouble him!"
Almost in the center of the Park is a house called White Lodge, which
has long been a royal residence. It is approached by an avenue, which
was the scene of Jeanie Deans's interview with Queen Caroline, as
Scott describes it in his "Heart of Midlothian."
Their lunch was quickly over, and they were again on their way down
the long hill. In the town of Richmond, they mounted another tram for
the forty-minute ride to Hampton Court.
"If we only had had a bit more time," Mrs. Pitt apologized, "I should
have shown you what still remains of the famous old palace of
Richmond. Henry VIII and Elizabeth both held their courts there often,
and there the latter died in 1603. The palace was destroyed by order
of Parliament in 1649; only a small part of it was spared, and in that
the widow of Charles I, poor Queen Henrietta Maria, was allowed to
live. Are you getting plenty of history, Betty, my dear?"
"Oh, yes, but I'm always ready for more," smiled that young lady in
response.
The tram set them down very near the great palace of Hampton Court.
They went quickly through the entrance-gates of wrought iron, and
walked towards the building itself. This West Front is as Wolsey left
it, and is made of the old crimson bricks, with here and there a black
one. Passing under the gatehouse, they came into the Green or Base
Court, and here they paused to look about them.
"You'll remember that the great and powerful Cardinal Wolsey built
Hampton Court," suggested Mrs. Pitt. "He lived in regal state, and had
almost as large a retinue of servants and followers as the King
himself. To gratify his great love for splendor and luxury, he built
this magnificent residence for himself. He was in need of a home a
little removed from the city, where he could rest and enjoy the fresh
air. Yet it was also accessible to London, for he could be rowed up
the river in his barge. Wolsey's two great ambitions--wealth and
power--were both gratified, and for a while all went well; but time
brought the King's displeasure, and it was he who took possession at
Hampton Court after the complete disgrace which led to the death of
the Cardinal. Henry VIII tore down some of Wolsey's buildings, and put
up new ones in their stead; and other monarchs added portions also;
for instance, the huge State Apartments were erected under the
supervision of Sir Christopher Wren, and by order of King William III.
We shall see all these later on. Have you noticed those little oriel
windows of the gatehouse? They are the originals of Wolsey's palace,
and I think this court here is also much the same as he built it. In
his day there were pretty latticed windows in these surrounding
buildings, a grass plot in the center, and around these narrow
passages Wolsey probably rode on his ass."
"Ass!" cried John. "What for? With all his money, couldn't he even
have a horse?"
"Oh, rather!" Mrs. Pitt laughed. "No doubt Wolsey would have liked
one, but he was wise enough to always follow custom in such matters as
had to do with his outward appearance and attitude. All religious men
rode on asses; it was the habit of the day. Now, come this way, and
see the Great Hall. Oh, Philip! Please fetch me my umbrella; I left it
on the step in the court, there!"
Leading into the second or Clock Court, is Anne Boleyn's gateway.
Under this is a broad flight of stairs which takes one to the Great
Hall, erected by Henry VIII, probably on the site of Wolsey's earlier
hall. It is a grand old room with a fine timber roof, and complete
with its dais or raised platform at the end, its minstrels' gallery
over the entrance doors, its old tapestries, stags' heads, and suits
of armor, and its windows mostly filled with modern stained-glass. Out
of the hall are two smaller apartments, which also contain good
tapestries. From here, the visitor again descends to Anne Boleyn's
gateway.
"What a funny old clock!" exclaimed Betty, spying it, up above on the
tower under which they had just passed. "It seems to be so mixed up,
somehow, that I can't tell the time by it."
"It is curious! It's Henry VIII's Astronomical Clock; it has all sorts
of appliances and strange attachments. That's why you can't read it.
It was recently repaired and set going again."
"The King's Grand Staircase" is broad, stately, and quite as
impressive as its name, and this leads to the pompous State
Apartments. These great square rooms, one opening out of another,
seemed endless to the young people, and contained no attractions for
them. The walls are covered with pictures, some of which are fine, but
there are so many which are very similar that even Sir Peter Lely,
Holbein, and Van Dyck become hopelessly tiresome. These rooms also
contain some old furniture which is interesting, but on the whole, the
best thing about them is the ever charming view of the gardens from
the windows. The visitor may enter one tiny room called "Wolsey's
Closet," which is deeply impressive with its paneled walls and ancient
ceiling. The very atmosphere of the sixteenth century still seems to
linger here, and one can easily believe that nothing herein has been
changed since the great Cardinal used it daily. Near this is a long
gallery which is supposed to be haunted by the ghost of Queen
Catharine Howard. After the dullness of the State Apartments, this
possessed great interest for the boys, and they lingered here as long
as Mrs. Pitt would allow. They were forced to come away disappointed,
however, without having heard even one little scream.
"You'd better spend the night here, John," remarked Philip, in teasing
tones. "That's the proper time to see and hear ghosts." John decided
not to wait, however.
Of all the one thousand rooms of the great palace, they saw only one
more, and that was Henry VIII's Gothic Chapel, gorgeous in its fine
carving and gilding, and in which the magnificent ceremony of the
baptism of Prince Edward, afterwards Edward VI, was held.
The gardens of Hampton Court are perhaps better known and enjoyed than
the palace itself. They are very extensive, and are laid out in the
French style. Directly before the long front of William III's
addition, is a great round basin with a fountain, and beyond stretches
the "Long Canal,"--a straight and narrow artificial pond, bordered by
very beautiful trees. Then there is the "Home Park" on either side of
the canal; here Henry VIII and Catharine Howard probably wandered
often during their long honeymoon at Hampton Court; and here William
III was riding on the day when he was thrown from his horse and
killed.
There is what is called the "Wilderness,"--in reality a maze--which
was greatly enjoyed by the party; and nearer the palace, again, is the
tennis-court, where that game has been played for three centuries and
a half. Some of the players here have been Henry VIII, the Earl of
Leicester, Charles I, Charles II, and the present King, Edward VII,
when he was Prince of Wales.
"And didn't that American, Pettitt, play here?" inquired John. "He won
the World's Championship in England, you know. Yes, I thought it was
here, though the word Hampton Court never meant much to me before
to-day."
There is still the remarkable Hampton Court Vine, the fame of which
has spread so far. The vine fills a whole greenhouse, and one of its
branches is a hundred and fourteen feet long. The attendant told Betty
that the crop consists of about eight hundred bunches, each one
weighing a pound. Having duly marveled at this, they explored Queen
Mary's lovely bower or arbor, where that Queen used to sit with her
ladies at the tapestry-frames.
"Dear me, let's go back now!" said Betty. "I'm sure we've been miles
over these grounds."
So they walked along the paths where Henry VIII made love to Anne
Boleyn and Catharine Howard, where Queen Elizabeth took her morning
walks, and where Pope, Swift, Addison, and Walpole wandered in more
recent days.
"I think I haven't mentioned Cromwell to you in connection with
Hampton Court, but he must not be forgotten, for he came here after he
was made Protector, and lived with as much pomp and splendor as any
king. Every time I visit this palace I marvel at the amount of history
with which it is connected, and at the number of scenes for which it
was the setting!"
As she spoke, Mrs. Pitt was leading the way to the railroad-station. A
London train came along very soon, fortunately, but they ran up and
down in vain looking for seats in their customary third-class
compartment. These were all crowded, the following day being a "bank
holiday," so when the guard at last came to their rescue, he put them
in a first-class compartment. This greatly interested John and Betty,
as they had not seen one before.
[Illustration: "EVERY TIME I VISIT THE PALACE I MARVEL AT THE AMOUNT
OF HISTORY WITH WHICH IT IS CONNECTED."--_Page 136._]
"It isn't so very different, after all," commented Betty. "The
cushions are a little nicer, and there's carpet on the floor, but
that's the only change from an ordinary third-class carriage."
"I know it," said Philip. "And most English people never think of
traveling first-class except on a long journey; for it really is very
little better, and the price is so ruinously dear!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
STRATFORD-ON-AVON
"We're going to stay in a really, truly old inn at last, aren't we!"
Betty gave a sigh of satisfaction and walked rapidly along by Mrs.
Pitt's side, as that lady led the way from the station at Stratford to
the famous Red Horse Hotel.
"Stratford is exactly like any other little English town," John was
commenting to Philip. "There are plenty of new houses made of shiny,
red bricks, and all put close together in blocks, with their tiny
lawns and gardens in front. I suppose they build that way even in the
small towns, because you haven't as much room to spread out as we have
in America. Too bad, though, I say! Makes a little town look just like
a big city, only smaller. I thought Stratford would be different!" His
tones betrayed not a little disappointment.
As they came into the central and older part of the town, however,
even John was forced to admit that it was "different," after all.
Along Stratford's narrow, clean little streets stand many old houses
adorned with great oak timbers, quaint inscriptions, and carvings; and
quicker than all else, the sight of these, remaining here and there
between the more modern structures, makes one feel the antiquity of
the place. These houses totter a little, and lean their upper stories
over the street,--perhaps with a kind of curiosity to see better the
strange and more and more startling scenes which the centuries bring
forth. For instance, what must these ancient houses, which perchance
witnessed the passing of some splendid pageant of the "spacious times
of Queen Elizabeth," think of the bustle and prosperous commercial air
which the town has gradually taken on? What of the sight-seers whose
automobiles go tearing along, uttering weird and frightful sounds? No
wonder the old houses stand on tiptoe and bend farther and farther
over the street in their amazement and horror!
The young people were delighted with the odd little Red Horse Hotel.
As it was market-day, the wide street before it was crowded with
people, and down the middle was a row of queer, covered wagons, in
which the farmers bring their produce, and which are used as stalls on
arrival at the market-place. The little hotel is severely plain and
square, and has a passage leading into an old-time court-yard. Inside,
it has quaint little rooms filled with antique furniture, narrow
corridors, and uneven floors, with here a step up, and there two steps
down. Leaving their luggage in the rooms assigned to them, the party
immediately set out for "the Birthplace," as all Stratford people
invariably call the famous Shakespeare house on Henley Street.
"Is that it!" gasped John, as they stood on the opposite side of the
way and gazed across at the first home of the great Poet. "Why, I
didn't suppose it was as big as that! And it doesn't look old a bit!"
Shakespeare's birthplace has been too often pictured, and is far too
familiar to all to need any description given it here. Perhaps it does
seem rather larger than we imagined, and the outside certainly looks
surprisingly strong and new.
[Illustration: "WHY I DIDN'T SUPPOSE IT WAS AS BIG AS THAT!"--_Page
140._]
"But you know it now belongs to the nation," Mrs. Pitt explained,
"and is always kept in perfect condition. The last restoration was
finished only about fifty or sixty years ago. Although the house was
so completely renewed, the greatest care was used to make it look as
nearly as possible as it did at the time of Shakespeare's birth in
1564. That window above the entrance, with the little diamond panes,
is the original, and is in the room in which the Poet was born."
Going under the old porch and through the door with its high
threshold, our friends found themselves in the family living-room of
the house. It is low and rather dark, and has whitewashed walls and an
earthen floor. This was in all probability the kitchen and dining-room
as well, and one is reminded of the fact by a huge fireplace which
juts out into the room. In olden times this would have been filled
with great pots and kettles hanging over the fire on cranes. The
chimney is deep enough and wide enough to have two little seats within
it--one on either side. John quickly bent down and seated himself
where he could look straight up the chimney and see a square patch of
blue sky.
When Mrs. Pitt saw him, she smiled and said, "No doubt, Shakespeare
himself, when he was a small boy, often sat right there with his
brothers and sisters. It must have been very pleasant on cold winter
evenings, to creep into these 'inglenooks,' as they were called,
beside the great blazing fire, and tell stories. I think the children
should have felt themselves very lucky to have such delightfully warm
quarters!"