on a day chosen by the Master, in the accustomed manner in which they
go to collect nuts in September, the boys go ad montem. The hill is
a sacred spot according to the boyish religion of the Etonians; on
account of the beauty of the countryside, the delicious grass, the
cool shade of bowers, and the melodious chorus of birds, they make it
a holy shrine for Apollo and the Muses, celebrate it in songs, call
it Tempe, and extol it above Helicon. Here the novices or new boys,
who have not yet submitted to blows in the Eton ranks, manfully and
stoutly, for a whole year, are first seasoned with salt and then
separately described in little poems which must be as salted and
graceful as possible. Next, they make epigrams against the new boys,
one vying with another to surpass in all elegance of speech and in
witticisms. Whatever comes to the lips may be uttered freely so long
as it is in Latin, courteous, and free from scurrility. Finally they
wet their faces and cheeks with salt tears, and then at last they are
initiated in the rites of the veterans. Ovations follow, and little
triumphs, and they rejoice in good earnest, because their labours are
past, and because they are admitted to the society of such pleasant
comrades. These things finished they turn home at five o’clock and
after dinner play till eight.
In the days of Elizabeth, and during the turbulent time of the Civil
War, Montem seems to have assumed a more regular and ceremonious
form. Only, however, at the beginning of the eighteenth century did
it acquire those military characteristics which it retained with
little modification till its abolition in 1847. Till the middle of the
eighteenth century (1759) it was held in the last week in January,
but at that date Whitsun-Tuesday was appointed as the great day. Dr.
Barnard it was who altered the dresses and formed the boys into a
regular collegiate regiment.
In ancient times the collectors, that is to say the boys who scoured
the roads for miles round Eton to collect contributions, carried
large bags which actually contained salt, a pinch of which they gave
to every contributor as a receipt. In the rough old times, when any
boorish-looking countryman after having contributed a trifle asked for
salt, it used to be a favourite pleasantry to fill his mouth with it.
The last Montem at which salt was actually used seems to have been
that of 1793. The cry of “Salt! Salt!” lasted long after tickets had
taken the place of the condiment, and, indeed, endured to the end,
embroidered bags being proffered to travellers along the roads, who, in
return for contributions which varied from fifty pounds to sixpence,
were presented with little blue tickets inscribed with one of the Latin
Montem mottoes. In the years preceding the abolition of the ceremony,
_Mos pro Lege_ and _Pro More et Monte_ were used in alternate years.
Not infrequently people who had never heard of the ancient custom were
very much astonished at being asked for salt. William the Third, it
is said, soon after his accession, had his carriage stopped by Montem
runners on the Bath road, and his Dutch guards, being not unnaturally
indignant at their monarch being waylaid in such unceremonious fashion,
were only prevented from cutting down the boys, whom they took for some
kind of highwaymen, by the King himself, who good-naturedly gave the
salt-bearers a liberal contribution.
In 1706 Montem would seem to have evolved into something of the same
form which it retained till its abolition, the organisation being of
a military kind. In that year Stephen Poyntz was captain, Berkeley
Seymour lieutenant, Theophilus Thompson ensign, and Anthony Allen
marshal, or, as the Montem List always termed it, “mareschal.”
[SN: THE MARCH TO SALT HILL]
In connection with the ceremony, Poyntz composed the following lines:--
Allen pandit iter, Poyntz instruit agmen,
Cogit iter Seymour Thompsonque insignia vibrat.
I think I am right in saying that it has hitherto escaped notice that
the great Duke of Wellington took part in an “ad Montem.” An old list
in my possession shows that at the Montem of June 5th, 1781, Mr.
Wesley, as he is termed, marched to Salt Hill as one of the attendants
of an Upper boy named Lomax. An appended note adds, “His Grace’s first
appearance in arms.” His sons, Lord Douro and Lord Charles Wellesley,
marched in the processions of 1820 and 1823.
At the Montem of 1826 Gladstone, in order evidently to express that
sympathy for downtrodden nations for which he was so celebrated in
after life, went to Salt Hill in Greek costume wearing the fustanella
and embroidered cap. This was Pickering’s Montem, and owing to
Gladstone and others repressing a good deal of wanton damage, the sum
obtained for him was one of the largest on record.
The march to Salt Hill was, of course, always somewhat tumultuous, and
much licence prevailed. As time went on efforts were made to purge the
fête of its disorderly features, but up to the very end there was a
good deal of horseplay and rowdiness amongst the boys; indeed, at the
last Montem but one, in 1841, they did great damage to the inns at
Salt Hill, whilst it was rare that the gardens of these hostelries
came unscathed through the eventful day, owing to the boys slashing
the plants and bushes with their swords. If the Captain of Montem
happened to be unpopular, much damage was often done, the boys being
well aware that on him would fall the burden of compensation, which
had to be paid out of the Montem money; and it is said that on one
occasion an unfortunate Captain was actually out of pocket owing to the
compensation he had to pay.
Montem commenced by a number of the senior boys taking post upon the
bridges or other leading places of all the avenues around Windsor and
Eton soon after the dawn of day. These runners (or “servitors,” as
the Montem List calls them) were indefatigable in collecting salt or
money from every one whom they came across, and for seven or eight
miles around Eton travellers were liable to be accosted. The runners
who worked in outlying districts generally drove in a gig, being
accompanied by an attendant dressed in white--well able to protect the
runners against violence or robbery. The total of the sums collected
was afterwards given to the two salt-bearers--one Colleger and one
Oppidan--Upper boys who marched in the rear of the procession. In the
earlier part of the day these functionaries remained in the precincts
of College. The twelve runners were gorgeously attired in fancy dresses
of various kinds, bright colours predominating; they wore plumed hats
and buff boots, and carried silken bags strengthened with netting to
hold the “salt”--that is the money which they obtained. Their peculiar
badges of office were painted staves emblazoned with mottoes at the
top, which in most cases consisted of short quotations from Virgil
or Horace. “Quando ita majores” was a favourite one. Occasionally,
however, the motto was modern, “Nullum jus sine sale,” for instance.
Contributors of “salt” received in return a small dated ticket
inscribed _Pro More et Monte_ or _Mos pro Lege_. This, placed in a hat
or pinned on to a coat, would pass any one free with all runners for
the rest of the day.
[SN: MONTEM MORNING]
Nothing could have been prettier or more animated than the old
school-yard the morning of a Montem, filled as it was with the boys in
their military uniforms of blue and red, or in fancy dresses, for the
most part of a rich and tasteful kind. Fantastically attired Turks,
Albanians, and Highlanders mingled with courtiers and pages of every
age, an additional note of colour being furnished by the bright dresses
of numerous female relatives and friends who had come down to Eton
to see the show. In addition to the boys in uniform and fancy dress,
a considerable number of Lower School who followed at the end of the
procession wore the old Eton costume of blue jacket and white trousers,
only abandoned after the death of George III. Such boys carried long
thin wands about five feet long, which after the ceremonial were,
according to immemorial usage, cut in two by the corporals with their
swords. Occasionally, however, some of the “polemen,” as they were
called, contrived to keep their wands intact to the end of the day--a
rare and difficult feat.
At the close of the eighteenth century Montem was often attended
by Royalty. The College flag, of rich crimson silk emblazoned with
the Eton arms and the motto _Mos pro Lege_ within a wreath of oak
and laurel, would on the great day be displayed at one of the Long
Chamber windows early in the morning, and at eleven o’clock George
III. would generally appear with his family, and be received by the
boys with a long-continued roar of huzzas. The King would then be met
by the Headmaster at the entrance to the school-yard and conducted to
an elaborate breakfast, after which the Royal party would move with
the procession towards Salt Hill, the principal scene of the day’s
display. A breakfast given by the Captain of Montem in the College Hall
continued to be one of the features of the day right up to the last
celebration in 1844. In the _Illustrated London News_ of that year can
be seen, amongst other interesting pictures of the last Montem, a cut
of this banquet. The unrestored Hall is filled with guests, the College
flag being suspended above the High Table. After the feast general
exhilaration prevailed. My cousin, Sir Algernon West--a survivor of the
last Montem, which he attended as a “poleman”--tells me that he has an
unpleasant memory of a schoolfellow, who had partaken of the pleasures
of the table too freely, prodding him with a sword.
[Illustration: The Montem of 1841--The March round the School-Yard.
_Engraved by C. G. Lewis after a drawing by W. Evans._ _Print lent by
D. Jay, Esq._]
The procession always commenced in the Great Quadrangle at Eton, and
proceeded through Eton to Slough, and round to Salt Hill, where the
boys all passed before the King or Queen and ascended the Montem; here
an oration was delivered, and the Grand Standard was displayed with
much grace and activity by the Standard-bearer, selected from among the
senior boys.
There were two extraordinary salt-bearers appointed to attend the
Royalties; these salt-bearers were always attired in fanciful habits,
generally costly and sometimes superb, and each carried an embroidered
bag, which not only received the royal salt, but also whatever was
collected by the out-stationed runners.
The donation of the King or Queen, or, as it was called, “the royal
salt,” was always fifty guineas each; the Prince of Wales thirty
guineas; all the other Princes and Princesses twenty guineas each.
[SN: THE WINDMILL]
As soon as the ceremony “ad Montem” was over the Royal Family returned
to Windsor. The boys then dined in detachments--seniors separated
from juniors--in the taverns at Salt Hill, the gardens at that place
being laid out for such ladies and gentlemen as chose to take any
refreshment, whilst several bands of music played. The “Windmill
Inn,” the garden of which was on the other side of the road, was then
often the scene of much riotous festivity, as was a rival house--the
“Castle.” The abolition of Montem was, of course, a severe blow to both
hostelries. About twenty-five years ago the “Windmill” was about to
be converted into a school when a fire broke out and the old building
was destroyed. A noticeable feature of the exterior had been some
magnificent wistaria, the stems of which were twisted into agonised
shapes by the flames. The “Castle” actually did become a school. A
large part of the original house was pulled down in 1887 and the rest
of the place converted into a compact country residence. The “Windmill”
was known to many as “Botham’s,” from the name of its proprietor, who
in the palmy days of Montem during the last century divided what was a
profitable monopoly with the host of the “Castle,” Partridge by name.
The latter’s charges were so high that Foote, after partaking of some
refreshment in his hostelry, once told him that he ought to change his
name to Woodcock--“on account of the length of his bill.”
[Illustration: Ad Montem, 1838. _From a scarce coloured print in the
possession of Messrs. & Robson Co., Coventry Street, W._]
[SN: FINANCIAL RESULTS]
After having dined at these inns all the boys returned in the same
order of procession as in the morning, and, marching round the Great
Quadrangle in Eton School, were dismissed. In the eighteenth century
the Captain would then go and pay his respects to the Royal Family
at the Queen’s Lodge, Windsor, previous to his departure for King’s
College, Cambridge; to defray which expense the produce of the Montem
was presented to him. Upon Whit-Tuesday in the year 1796 it amounted
to over one thousand guineas. The sum, however, varied considerably
in amount, its magnitude being in a great manner determined by his
popularity or unpopularity in the school. In the latter case, as has
been said, the result of the collection would sometimes be a good deal
diminished by damage done in the gardens of the inns at Salt Hill,
where ill-disposed boys would destroy the shrubs and flowers with their
swords in order to run up the bill. All the other expenses of the day
were paid for out of the Salt, and in the latter years of Montem the
total collected generally amounted to something between a thousand and
eight hundred pounds; but when all disbursements had been made the
Captain was very lucky if he got three or four hundred pounds. A proof
of this is that when Montem was discontinued in 1847, Dr. Hawtrey gave
the boy who would have been Captain two hundred pounds contributed by
himself and a few friends out of their own pockets as compensation.
This sum the Headmaster had ascertained was a fair equivalent for the
net amount usually pocketed by the Captain after all expenses had been
paid. These outgoings, it must be remembered, were large, including as
they did a breakfast to the whole of the Fifth and Sixth Forms and a
dinner to personal friends in the evening, in addition to which there
were numerous other disbursements which amounted to a considerable sum.
In an early account of Montem _circa_ 1560 there is a reference to the
new boys, termed “recentes,” being seasoned with salt, meaning probably
that they had to make some small monetary contribution; for up to the
last Montem celebration, by reason of a curious usage, the origin of
which was unknown, boys who had come to Eton within the preceding year
were expected to pay the Captain a small sum called “recent-money.”
At the last celebrations of Montem the order of procession differed
somewhat from that observed in olden days. It was then headed by
the marshal, followed by six attendants; band; captain, followed by
eight attendants; sergeant-major, followed by two attendants; twelve
sergeants, two and two, each followed by an attendant; colonel,
followed by six attendants and four polemen; corporals, two and two,
followed by two polemen apiece; second band; ensign with flag, followed
by six attendants and four polemen; corporals, two and two, followed
by one or two polemen apiece; lieutenant, followed by four attendants;
salt-bearers, runners, and stewards; and a poleman brought up the rear
of the procession.
The flag was always solemnly waved in the school-yard before the
procession started, and on arriving at Salt Hill it was waved a second
time at the top of the mount, the boys all clustering round like a
swarm of bees and cheering with great vigour. Great importance was
always attached to the waving of the College standard in a proper
manner, and for a long time previous to Montem day the Ensign practised
for hours in Long Chamber. The old traditional way of manipulating
the banner was as far as possible followed, the custom being to wave
it round in every direction and conclude by one triumphant final
flourish which was the grand climax of the whole celebration.
[SN: AN ETON REGIMENT]
A complete military organisation with regular uniforms was adopted
by the school on Montem day, and Eton became a collegiate regiment.
The senior Colleger ranked as captain, the second salt-bearer as
marshal, the other Sixth-Form Collegers becoming ensign, lieutenant,
sergeant-major, and steward; any other Sixth-Form Collegers not
acting as runners were sergeants. The captain of the Oppidans was
always a salt-bearer by right, whilst the next to him on the school
list was colonel; the other Sixth-Form Oppidans ranked as sergeants.
All the Fifth-Form Oppidans were corporals and wore red tail-coats
with gilt buttons and white trousers. They had also crimson sashes
round their waists, black leather sword-belts, and swords hanging by
their sides. A cocked hat and plume of feathers exactly like that
worn by field-officers completed this martial attire. The Fifth-Form
Collegers’ dress was like that of the Fifth-Form Oppidans, insomuch
as they donned sash, sword, cocked hat, and plume; but their coats
were blue instead of red, so that they resembled naval officers more
than military men. The coats of the Sixth Form, both Collegers and
Oppidans, had distinctive details of uniform denoting rank, which could
be at once distinguished from the various forms of epaulet and great
or little prevalence of gilt. The steward wore the ordinary full dress
of the period. The Lower boys who acted as polemen wore the old Eton
costume--blue coats with gilt buttons, white waistcoats and trousers,
silk stockings and pumps. The pages of the Sixth Form and others were
attired in fancy dresses, often of a rich description. A feature of
the last Montem uniforms were the buttons. These bore the Eton arms,
Royal crown, and motto, _Mos pro Lege_, together with the date of the
foundation of the College.
Montem coats were allowed to be worn after the great day was over, but
the boys suffered for this privilege, most masters generally selecting
them to construe in preference to their more soberly clad schoolmates.
One master, indeed, became so notorious for this that eventually his
whole division appeared in red coats, so as to prevent any particular
boys from being singled out. The last Montem coat worn at Eton is said
to have been observed in 1847.
As a general rule pretty good order seems to have been preserved
in connection with Montem, and this is the more wonderful when one
remembers that a large number of the boys wore real swords and indulged
in liberal potations at the inns at Salt Hill. In 1796, it is true,
some disorder did occur near the historic mount, a large crowd surging
around the carriage in which sat the Queen and the Princesses. George
III., however, soon put matters to rights by calling out to some of the
worst offenders, “Surely you are not Etonians?” adding that he did not
remember their faces, and felt sure Eton boys would be better behaved.
Three years later, at the Montem of 1799, an Eton boy made a mistake
of which he was afterwards much ashamed. As the procession was moving
along, a visitor on a spirited and fiery horse kept pressing closer to
it than was pleasant, and one of the sergeants, a youth named Beckett,
putting one hand significantly upon his sword-hilt and the other on
the rider’s knee, exclaimed in a bold manner, “I should recommend
you, my friend, not to let your horse tread upon Me.” In reply to
this the horseman merely smiled, bowed, and drew his horse away. It
was afterwards discovered that the stranger was the King of Hanover.
Altogether Montem was a day of great enjoyment for those who were
present at it, much jollity and fun of the old English sort being one
of its chief characteristics. Most of the visitors were well acquainted
with its traditions and entered thoroughly into its spirit. A favourite
joke was to make a pretence of refusing to contribute whilst concealing
the little blue paper receipt previously received as quittance for salt
paid.
[SN: THE PLEASURES OF MONTEM]
“I will not attempt to reason with you about the pleasures of
Montem,” said an old Etonian, who was defending the old festival
against the attacks of one of those hawk-eyed commercial gamblers
who, calling themselves “business men,” dominate the modern world;
“but to an Etonian it is enough that it brought pure and ennobling
recollections--evoked associations of hope and happiness--and made
even the wise feel that there was something better than wisdom, and
the rich something nobler than wealth. I like to think of the faces
I saw round the old mount, recalling school friendships and generous
rivalries. At the last Montem I attended, it is true I saw fifty
fellows of whom I remember only the nicknames--not a few degenerated
into scheming M.P.’s, cunning lawyers, or speculators--but at Montem
one forgot all that. Leaving the plodding world of reality for one day,
such men regained the dignity of Sixth-Form Etonians.”
The last celebration of Montem took place on Whitsun-Tuesday in
1844, on which occasion some of its ancient features were altered.
The dinner, for instance, took place on Fellow’s Eyot, within the
College precincts, instead of at Salt Hill, the boys having also
to answer to their names in the playing fields. An ominous sign,
which seemed to forebode that the ancient ceremony was soon to be
discontinued for ever, was that in the last year of Montem the famous
cry of “Montem Sure” was not heard to ring out of the Long Chamber
windows, no bedsteads crashed, and no shutters banged. Montem, it is
true, still lived, but it seemed to be felt that its end was near.
Nevertheless, the procession took place according to immemorial usage,
and the fancifully attired throng of boys, accompanied by a crowd of
carriages, foot and horse, wended its way to the classic mount where
the ceremonial which countless generations of Etonians had gone through
was duly performed. Prince Albert, for instance, was stopped on
Windsor Bridge, and in compliance with a request for salt, gave £100.
At Salt Hill the bands played merrily, and the crowd of boys and old
Etonians cheered as of yore when, for the last time on the summit of
the mount the Ensign waved the historic College banner, inscribed with
the quaint old motto, _Pro More et Monte_. Not a few, however, amongst
the throng gathered there had a presentiment that they were assisting
at the obsequies of the time-honoured ceremony, and as they wended
their way back to town felt that Montem was now to be numbered with the
many other old-world festivals which so-called progress was sweeping
away.
These gloomy forebodings proved to be only too well founded. Montem,
indeed, had become somewhat incongruous with the changed spirit which
was producing a purely utilitarian age. The facilities afforded by the
then newly constructed railway also flooded Eton and Slough with hordes
of visitors, many of them highly undesirable, besides which the Press
was none too tender in the attitude which it adopted towards the old
festival.
[SN: THE “HOLBORN MONTEM”]
In June 1844, for instance, _Punch_ published an amusing, if rather
malicious, illustrated attack upon the Eton festival, entitled “The
Holborn Montem,” in which it pictured the effect which would be
produced were a number of London ragamuffins permitted to hold up
foot-passengers and omnibuses whilst making demands for salt. Dr.
Hawtrey, the Headmaster, was bitterly opposed to the continuance of
the old ceremony, and to him and to the Provost it owed its abolition.
The remainder of the College authorities were about equally divided in
their opinions. When Provost Hodgson put the matter before them they
voted as follows:--
_For abolishing Montem._ _For preserving Montem._
Hodgson, Provost. Plumtre.
Grover, Vice-Provost. Carter.
Bethell. Dupuis.
Green. Wilder.
Queen Victoria personally is known to have been opposed to the
abolition; nevertheless she did not care to interfere, and in 1847
it was announced that no celebration of Montem would take place, and
though many earnest representations were made by old Etonians to Dr.
Hawtrey, the decision to abolish Montem was maintained. Had the Provost
been of the same type as Dr. Goodall, some semblance at least of the
ancient ceremony would have been preserved, but the post happened to
be held by Provost Hodgson, the friend of Byron, who, though a man
of poetical turn of mind, was a great reformer. He made many changes
in College, and abolished the horrors of Long Chamber, which is much
to his credit. On the other hand, he was perhaps too thorough-going
in doing away with the ancient festival of Montem, which might have
been preserved in an altered form. _Per se_ it was, in many respects,
indefensible, being full of absurdities; nevertheless it might have
been continued in some reformed and improved shape.
The abolition was keenly resented by the boys, and on the Whit-Tuesday,
when the ceremony should have taken place, the old red flag, which
had figured at many Montems, was hung out of one of the windows of
Upper School as a signal of revolt, and something like a riot ensued.
This was, however, in the main confined to the Lower boys, who,
after smashing a few windows (for the repair of which their parents
afterwards grumblingly paid), were soon reduced to order.