AT WINDSOR CASTLE.
FROM Windsor Castle the view is one of the finest in England. A vast
panorama extending as far as the eye can reach. All flat--the faint,
bare, blue horizontal line, scarcely discernible from the clouds, so
distant is it, as straight as the boundary of a calm sea--and yet how
infinitely varied! What would such an expanse of land be in any other
country but England, which is, in itself, a huge landscape garden?
A lovely river, to which the hackneyed illustration of "a stream
of molten gold" might well be applied, from the silent roll of its
glittering waters, as if impeded by their own rich weight, now flashing
like a strip of the sun's self, through broad meadows, whose green
is scarcely less dazzling--now lost in shady nooks of wondrous and
refreshing coolness.
Trees of various species and growth, singly, in clumps, and in rows,
are everywhere. Little bright-looking villages, with their white
spires, or grey towers, are dotted all over the scene. Beyond where
I stand, on the ramparts of the Castle, I can see the Gothic turrets
and spires of Eton College, founded by Henry of Lancaster, flanked by
oak and birch trees, and above us, on this delightful day in autumn,
the banner of St. George is floating right saucily, denoting that this
Martial Keep is a royal fortress and a hereditary residence of the
Sovereigns of England.
[Sidenote: THE DEMON HUNTSMAN.]
Everything seems in perfect harmony around us, as the sun falls in
slanting and roseate beams on grass, tree, flower, castle, and river.
There are not many hours, in one's life, such as I enjoyed that
pleasant evening in September. The gentle hum of human life reaching me
from the distance, is no more injurious to the effect than the rustling
of the trees, or the chirping of the birds. The quiet bustle down at
the stone bridge, the shouts of the bargemen--heard several seconds
after their utterance,--the plashing of the oars of stray boats, the
cricketers over there in their play-ground, where reposes some of the
dust of Arthur's blood; all these have a charm for the drowsy senses.
The sleepy-looking chimneys of the old, royal town, immediately beneath
me, fill up their place in the picture famously; even steam--that most
implacable enemy of romance--appears on the scene without injuring
it. The little toy-house-looking railway station, which I can see
from where I stand, on the battlements, is a harmless, nay a pleasing
object; and to watch the lilliputian train that has just left it,
disappearing fussily among the old trees, is a perfect delight.
Windsor Castle has been the abode of royalty from the time of the
Saxon Kings. It was while King John lived at Windsor, that the barons
obtained from him Magna Charta. Cromwell has held his republican courts
in Windsor, and Charles I lies buried in its Chapel Royal.
James, the Royal poet and King of Scotland, has visited here, and
David, another Scottish monarch, was a prisoner in its gloomy towers.
Here was instituted the Order of the Garter by Edward, who was "every
inch a King," and some of the most splendid pageantries and courtly
ceremonies of history have been enacted within the walls of Windsor
Castle. In its vast forests, Herne, the Diabolical Hunter, has chased
the Phantom Deer to the tally-ho of unearthly horns. This forest, or,
as it was called, "Windsor Great Forest," was of enormous extent, and
comprehended a circumference of one hundred and twenty miles. In the
time of James I, this great area had been reduced to seventy-seven and
a half miles. There were then three thousand head of deer, and fifteen
walks, in the forest, each about three miles long. The next reduction
of its size left the Forest only fifty-six miles in circumference, and
in 1814 an act of Parliament was passed to enclose its boundaries.
Since then villages, and detached buildings, and private residences,
have encroached upon this once magnificent demesne, until but 6,000
acres of wood and dell have been left of all the great medieval acreage.
Edward, the Confessor, held a court here, and assigned the Manor of
Windsor to the Abbot and Monks of Westminster. William de Wykeham, the
great philanthropist and scholar, who founded Winchester School and the
New College at Oxford, was appointed Clerk of the Works at Windsor to
superintend the reconstruction of the Castle, in 1356, and his fee from
Edward III for the service was one shilling a day while he remained in
the town, and two shillings a day when he went elsewhere upon business.
The Castle is divided into a great number of apartments, many of which
are memorable for their historical recollections, and among them are
St. George's Chapel, Beaufort Chapel, the Round Tower, the North
Terrace, the Audience Chamber, the Vandyck Gallery, the Queen's Drawing
Room, the State Ante-Room, the Grand Vestibule, the Waterloo Chamber,
the Grand Ball Room, St. George's Hall, the Guard Chamber, the Queen's
Presence Chamber, the King's Closet, the Queen's Private Closet, the
King's Drawing Room, the Throne Room, the State Apartments, and the
Private Apartments. The Home Park attached to the Castle is a private
garden in which the Queen walks or rides while residing at Windsor. The
Queen seldom rides on horseback of late years, as she has become so fat
and pursy that she is in constant dread that she will have to take any
such exercise as walking in the open air, or even promenading upon the
Grand Terrace of Windsor.
In St. George's Chapel, a beautiful little edifice, are hung the
banners of the Knights of the Order of the Garter, and under each
banner is the carved stall, made of wood, on which each Knight of the
Chapter sits, at the installation of a new member, or when any grand
ceremony may make their presence necessary. In the groined roof above
the banners, are worked the arms of Edward the Black Prince, Henry
VI, Edward IV, Henry VII, and the succeeding English Sovereigns. The
helmets, swords, and mantles of the Knights, together with the brass
plates, recording their titles, are also to be seen here. In this
Chapel is buried the crumbled dust of poor Jane Seymour, one of Henry
VIII's unfortunate wives and the mother of Edward VI, who reformed the
Prayer Book and Liturgy of the Church of England. The body of Charles
I also lies here, but he was more fortunate than Jane Seymour, whose
memory is almost forgotten.
In the Beaufort Chapel is the family tomb of that perverse old idiot
of a king, George III, in which repose the ashes of his children and
Queen; the Duke of Kent, father of Queen Victoria, Princess Charlotte,
William IV, uncle to Queen Victoria, the royal blackguard and scoundrel
George IV, the Princess Augusta, who was believed to have been insane,
and Queen Adelaide.
It is in the Beaufort Chapel that the Poor or Military Knights of St.
George's College, assemble to pray and beseech the Almighty for the
health and welfare of the Queen of England, and for the Most Noble
Companions of the Order of the Garter, to whom the Poor Knights cling
as a species of indigent parasites. The Order of Poor Knights was
established by act of Parliament of Edward IV, in the name of the
"Poor Knights of St. George's College," and was to consist of a Dean,
12 Secular Canons, 13 Priests, 4 Clerks, 6 Choristers, and 24 "Alms
Knights."
[Sidenote: PRAYING FOR CHEESE AND BEER.]
At divine service in the Beaufort Chapel, these old, broken-down
looking men may be seen, on every festival, and on all occasions when
services are held, praying for the reigning Sovereign of England. For
this service they receive bread, cheese, beer, and meat, ten times a
week. I saw these worn, meek-looking men, who seemed to glide rather
than walk during service, but it seemed to me that very little prayers
were uttered by them for the Sovereign, as they all had a vacant,
absent look, with the exception of one or two who had the regular fixed
John Bull stare, and were evidently awaiting the hour when bread,
cheese, and beer, were to be announced.
[Illustration: WINDSOR CASTLE.]
In the Round Tower, which is 295 feet high, there were confined nearly
all the State prisoners whom despotism found it necessary to secure
in its dungeons, from Edward III to Charles II, and in the "Audience
Chamber," which is hung with Gobelin Tapestry, representing the story
of Queen Esther, are paintings of Mary, Queen of Scots, and William,
Prince of Orange. This is an "Audience Chamber" only in name, for the
Queen very seldom holds levees in this big, desolate-looking room.
The "Waterloo Chamber" is 47 feet in length and 45 in height, and has
a gallery of magnificent portraits, by Lawrence, all of whom were, in
some fashion, connected either in the closets of diplomacy, or the
fields of strife, with the downfall of Napoleon; hence the name of
"Waterloo Gallery." Here are life-size portraits of Wellington, Lord
Castlereagh, Humboldt, Alexander I, Count Nesselrode, Capo d'Istria,
Prince Schwartzenburg, Archduke Charles, Blucher, Platoff, the Marquis
of Anglesea, Francis II, of Austria, Pope Pius VII, and others equally
famous.
In the Grand Chamber is a piece of ordnance, taken from Tippo Saib,
at Seringapatam, a table made from the wreck of the Royal George, and
an elaborately worked shield of silver, inlaid with gold, made by
Benvenuto Cellini, which was presented by Francis I, of France, to
Henry VIII, of England, at the Field of the Cloth of Gold.
The Throne Room has a fine ceiling, ornamented with the different
emblems of the Order of the Garter. Here the Queen sits enthroned on
occasions of State, and receives her guests habited in a scarlet velvet
mantle, trimmed with miniver. On one occasion, when her Majesty took
her seat here, her costume, including the jewels and Crown, was valued
at £150,000, a vast sum to be thrown away on such heartless vanities,
when it is recollected that myriads of people were dying of want and
starvation in her Kingdom at the time.
The Throne is a very fine piece of work, and is covered with heavy
hangings of red velvet, and is ornamented with the rose, shamrock and
thistle.
[Sidenote: IN THE QUEEN'S CHAMBER.]
By special permission I had the pleasure of beholding the Queen's
bed-room, or Private Closet. This is a favor seldom shown to any
but foreign noblemen, or Embassadors, but by diligent efforts I had
succeeded in getting permission to look at this sacred place.
On the day that I visited Windsor Castle, it luckily happened that
very few visitors had called, and as I had a note from a most high
personage, with permission to see the private apartments of Her
Majesty, I was glad that there was not a crowd to witness the result of
my mission. As a point of honor, I find it impossible to mention the
name of the great personage who gave me permission to visit the Queen's
Chamber, as I fear it might give him trouble, and perhaps deprive him
of his lofty position.
Even the attendant, to whom I showed the note, was afraid to allow me
to enter the apartments, as the Queen had only left them early that
same morning to take a drive, and was expected back during the evening.
It was now two o'clock in the afternoon, and I began to fear that I
would not see the private saloons of her Majesty.
The attendant said, in answer to my request:
"I tell you, Sir, I'll lose my place and perkisites if I show the
hapartments to you. I dare not do it."
"But," said I, "there is an order from Lord ----, will not that be
sufficient?"
"Yes," said he, "his Lordship is a great friend of the Queen, but
I'm afraid this order is a mistake, and only refers to the public
apartments, which I have no hobjection, Sir, to your seeing."
I began to think I would fail if I did not find a weak spot in the
gorgeous flunkey.
Suddenly a thought struck me. I asked myself "who has been the most
popular and best loved American in England?"
Echo answered, "George Peabody."
And "why," the inward monitor asked.
Echo answered again, "because he gave so much money away," for I was
positive that the English (servants at least) did not care for any of
his less showy virtues, in comparison with that of bestowing millions
from his private purse! Why, the Queen herself give him her portrait.
Did she not?
The flunkey seemed to read my soul the while that I communed with
myself.
I felt that I must throw myself in the breach. Suddenly I slipped a
bright new sovereign into the man's hand. His fingers closed on the
shining gold coin like the teeth of a vise and his eyes glistened. I
knew then from his look that I would have to pistol the flunkey on the
spot before I could get back my sovereign. We were going toward the
private apartments of her Britannic Majesty, who is also Defender of
the Faith.
A long corridor lay before us, and the flunkey stopped and said to me:
[Sidenote: THE SECRETS OF ROYALTY.]
"I'll try it, Sir. You are indeed very generous, and I honor you for
it, but I don't know whether we can pass the Yeoman of the Guard. They
are always about here guarding Her Majesty's private apartments. This
is the Queen's Closet."
He pointed to a lofty doorway, and I saw a big, bloated Britisher,
walking up and down with something on his shoulder that looked like a
meat-axe fastened upon a clothes-pole. He had a red tunic, and wore a
round flat hat, and his legs which were very noble and imposing, were
clad in red hose.
The flunkey, who was also in tights, went up to him and spoke, and I
assumed a business-like air. He was telling the red-faced Beef-Eater,
as I afterwards ascertained, that I came to make some repairs in the
closet, but the Beef-Eater did not seem willing to admit any one; but
by some moral suasion he obviated his scruples, and I was allowed to
enter. I think he divided the sovereign with him.
The flunkey beckoned to me, and I approached. The Beef-Eater--noble
fellow--looked the other way, as I entered the imposing apartment.
The flunkey stood in silent awe, as I looked around on the splendors of
the lofty room.
A magnificent bed stood in a corner of the apartment, hung with red
velvet and yellow silk. The arms of Great Britain were emblazoned on
the heavy red velvet, and the Lions and Unicorns, disported playfully
all over the room in their usual attitudes. There were large oil
paintings of George IV, King William IV, the Duke of Kent, father of
Queen Victoria, the Prince of Wales as a Colonel of the British army,
and the Princess Louise, a marriageable daughter of Queen Victoria.
The bed was large and would have held three persons of the size
of Queen Victoria. Elegant lounges were arranged around the lofty
apartment, covered with damask satin. A faint and delicious odor filled
the room, and I seemed to sink in the soft and luxuriant carpets.
Mystery, silence, and enchantment prevailed, and I trembled to think
that I stood in the presence of Royalty unbidden, and without the
permission of the Queen.
There was a sideboard of most intricate carving at one end of the
room, with some green Venetian glasses on one of its shelves, but I saw
no decanters. The room was filled with a glory and power, reflected
in the possessor of three Kingdoms. From without, through the deeply
embayed windows, also hung with satin of the color of a morning sky,
I could hear the tramp of the sentinels on the battlements, and
the hoarse cry of the warders, going their rounds, demanding the
counter-sign of strangers.
The charmed silence was broken by the voice of the flunkey in answer to
my enquiry as to how the aromatic odors of the chamber were procured.
"Her Majesty is werry fond of perfumes, Sir," said he. "The carpets has
Cologne shook on them every morning, and if you will come here to the
bed, you will also get the smell of Patshooly."
I walked to the bed and I found that there was an odor of cologne,
otter of roses, and musk, proceeding from the counterpane, which
was bordered with purple velvet and gold lace, and had the royal
arms embroidered in the centre. The pillow slips had trimmings of
Valenciennes lace, half a yard wide, hanging from their open ends.
The counterpane was of quilted blue and pink satin, and inside of the
velvet canopy that covered the bed, was a lining of blue and white
satin, from which hung down heavy folds of Mechlin lace.
A little table of ivory, inlaid with gold and lapis lazuli, stood a
few feet from the bed, supported by a tripod elegantly worked in solid
silver.
The flunkey explained to me the use of this table. "Sometimes Her
Majesty takes her breakfast in bed," said he, "when she is indisposed.
Her Majesty is werry fond of coffee, and often takes two cups of a
morning when she is stopping at Windsor. She is fond of veal cutlets,
well done, and sweet breads, for breakfast. Yes, Sir, I have heard
that Her Majesty, God bless her, when she had a good appetite, before
Prince Albert died, would eat a pound of veal at breakfast. The lady in
waiting places her coffee on that small table, and after handing Her
Majesty her breakfast in bed, she stands off at a respectful distance,
and waits until she is called again to offer Her Majesty a favorite
dish. The Duchess of Athole, who is a relation of Lady Mordaunt, is
greatly liked by Her Majesty, and when she waits on the Queen, Her
Majesty allows her to sit down, but all the other ladies in waiting,
excepting Lady Dianna Beauclerk, has to stand up. Sometimes, when
the Prince of Wales comes here, God bless him, he is awfully screwed
(drunk), and then the Queen makes a preshis row, and she wont speak to
him for a week after.
[Sidenote: "WOT A PEOPLE THE HAMERICANS ARE."]
"You are the only American ever was allowed to enter this ere room,
Sir; but I have heard that one of your countrymen once strayed in here,
and was astonished to find that there was no 'spittoons,' I think he
called them, in the Queen's bed-room. A preshis thing that would be,
to have sich things as 'spittoons' in the Queen's bed-room," said the
indignant and loyal flunkey.
I informed the man that the story was incredible, and that my
countrymen were not such savages as he believed them to be. When I
informed him that in the old times in America, any free and unwashed
citizen might have inspected the President's bed-room at the White
House at Washington, he was greatly astonished, and said:
"My God, what a strange people the Hamericans are! And they allowed
them to look at his bed, did they? My heyes, wot a people!"
[Illustration]