that Montem had become a thing of the past, but, as has been said,
remonstrance and protest were alike unavailing to make the Eton
authorities realise that entire abolition was too drastic a measure.
[SN: THE BONE FOR THE MARROW]
The truth is that at that period all over England old-fashioned
merrymaking was beginning to be checked by the chilling force of that
utilitarian commercialism which has since dominated the country.
The modern spirit, ever prone to exchange happiness for success,
was already making its influence felt, whilst many, under the false
impression that romance, tradition, and fancy counted for nothing, were
straining every nerve to secure the bone whilst entirely failing to
obtain its marrow.
The passing of Montem, besides causing some severe pangs of grief to
many an old Etonian, greatly perturbed a number of humbler folk, and
its abolition was bitterly lamented by a host of tradesmen, cabmen,
omnibus drivers, innkeepers, and the like. Numbers of people derived
either pleasure or profit from the triennial celebration. The most
sincere mourners were the cab and omnibus drivers, who bitterly
regretted their lost harvest, and on the anniversary of the great
festival wore black crape upon their arms.
An interesting and curious exhibition of Montem relics and costumes,
it may be mentioned, was shown at Eton in the Upper School during the
celebration of the 450th anniversary of the foundation of the College.
Of the three great Eton festivals, Montem, Election Saturday, and the
4th of June, the last and most modern of the three alone survives. The
proceedings on Election Saturday, it should be added, were of a similar
kind to those which still take place on the birthday of King George the
Third--that is to say, the boats’ crews wore gala dresses and dined at
Surly, after which there were fireworks, whilst the bells of Windsor
pealed and the crews cheered.
[SN: MONTEM ODES]
Before leaving the subject of Montem a few words may not be out of
place as to a quaint character who was known to many generations of
Etonians as the Montem poet. This was Herbert Stockhore, who, dressed
in quaint attire in a donkey-cart, was a prominent feature at all
Montem celebrations from 1784 to 1835, when he was ninety. Before
being chosen Montem poet Stockhore was a Windsor bricklayer living in
a little house built by himself, which he called Mount Pleasant, in a
lane leading from Windsor to the meadows.
On the 4th of June good old George III. always presented Stockhore
with a present of gold, and George IV. continued the kindly practice.
At other times Stockhore subsisted entirely upon the bounty of the
Etonians and the inhabitants of Windsor and Eton, who never failed
to administer to his wants and liberally supply him with many little
comforts in return for his harmless pleasantries.
Stockhore had a time-honoured method of composing his odes well
calculated to ensure their favourable reception. The quality of his
versification was, of course, very moderate. It may be judged from the
following, culled from the Montem Ode of 1826 (Pickering’s year):--
I, Herbert Stockhore, once more,
In spite of age and pains rheumatic,
Hop down to “Montem” with verses Attic,
To make the Muse as have done before.
For why should I lie a-bed groaning and bickering
When I ought to be up to sing Captain Pickering.
A happier effort, perhaps, was his greeting to George III.:--
And now we’ll sing
God save the king,
And send him long to reign,
That he may come
To have some fun
At Montem once again.
It is not, however, on account of his rhymes that Stockhore deserves to
be remembered, but on account of the fact that he was one of the last
of those lowly-born characters who by their native wit, good-humour,
and kindly eccentricity secured a unique place in the affections of
many far above them in rank, intellect, and wealth. The Board School
has now rendered all such humble types extinct.
[SN: HERBERT STOCKHORE]
Stockhore had originally been a sailor, and some said also a soldier.
At any rate on “Montem” day he wore a fancy robe of various colours
thrown over his old military coat, with trimmings of divers cotton
ribbons. An extemporised coronet, encircled with bay and crowned with
feathers, completed a costume which astounded visitors unaware of the
bard’s identity. His eccentric though harmless habits rendered him a
popular character with the Eton boys, and his recitation of a Montem
Ode was always warmly applauded, and owing to the sale of his doggerel
and the contributions he received the old man led a fairly comfortable
existence. His way was first of all to set down upon paper the names of
those about to take part in “Montem” and other details furnished to him
by some one in a position to know, after which he would compose a rough
jumble of rhyming lines. This was then submitted to some Colleger, who
undertook its revision, and was printed for the author to vend, which
he did at a very remunerative price; it also formed an excuse for the
extraction of coins from old friends and visitors to Eton. Stockhore,
though in his latter years, like his rhymes, much given to limping, was
able to attend the Montem of 1835, at which time he had reached the
great age of ninety.
At the next one, held in 1838, though still alive, being too feeble
to go, he was represented at the great festival by a man named Ryder.
Three years later, in 1841, Stockhore passed away, aged ninety-six
years. The boys then chose Edward Irvine by vote, but though he or
some other claimant was still hanging about Eton half a century ago,
the office really died with Stockhore, for his successors had no trace
of the quaint and simple individuality which had been known to many
generations of Etonians, one of whom, a few years before the famous
Montem poet’s death, composed the following lines:--
Be Herbert Stockhore all my theme,
The laureate’s praises I indite;
He erst who sung in Montem’s praise,
And Thespis like, from out his cart
Recited his extempore lays
On Eton’s sons, in costume smart,
Who told of captains bold and grand,
Lieutenants, marshals, seeking salt;
Of colonels, majors, cap in hand,
Who bade e’en majesty to halt;
Told how the ensign nobly waved
The colours on the famous hill;
And names from dull oblivion saved,
Who ne’er the niche of fame can fill;
Who, like to Campbell, lends his name
To many a whim he ne’er did write;
When witty scholars, to their shame,
’Gainst masters hurl a satire trite.
But fare thee well, Ad Montem’s bard,
Farewell, my mem’ry’s early friend;
May misery never press thee hard,
Ne’er may disease thy steps attend;
Be all thy wants by those supply’d,
Whom charity ne’er fail’d to move;
Etona’s motto, crest, and pride,
Is feeling, courage, friendship, love.
Poor harmless soul, thy merry stave
Shall live when nobler poets bend;
And when Atropos to the grave
Thy silvery locks of grey shall send,
Etona’s sons shall sing thy fame,
Ad Montem still thy verse resound,
Still live an ever-cherished name,
As long as salt and sock abound.
The “famous hill” alluded to in these verses now presents a most
melancholy appearance, its summit being vulgarised by a _châlet_ of
miserable design, whilst, as has been said, the glory of the Inns
close by has long departed. For some time after Montem days, however,
the Windmill (Botham’s) seems to have been an occasional resort of
Etonians, for an interesting oak table (saved from the fire), which
is now in the possession of the popular Master--Mr. Edward Littleton
Vaughan--has carved upon it the names of some seventy well-known
Etonians, besides initials, and dates, mostly ranging from 1845
to 1857. It would therefore seem that, contrary to tradition, the
names were not carved after Montem, but are rather those of boys who
frequented Botham’s, as their predecessors had frequented the old
Christopher.
VI THE COLLEGE BUILDINGS
In the course of the various changes which Eton has undergone, the old
Quadrangle (till 1706 not paved but grass), which in old Montem days
was gay with a riot of high-spirited youth, has, on the whole, escaped
disfiguring alteration. The original intention of the founder was to
have a cloister in the Quadrangle; and a line of lead running beneath
the windows, together with some foundations discovered in 1876, lead
one to suppose that such a scheme was actually begun. On the whole, the
general aspect of the school-yard, which enthusiastic Etonians regard
as a sort of “rose-red city half as old as time,” remains unaltered.
New, however, are the pinnacles of the Chapel and the Gothic window of
the Hall.
Within the last hundred years almost the only drastic changes have
been those in its exterior, the western end of which was remodelled
at the restoration of 1858, and the construction of a bow window for
the master residing in College, whose rooms are on the left-hand side
of the Quadrangle, at the end of what was formerly the ancient Long
Chamber. Otherwise there is small evidence of change. The brickwork
retains its old mellowed colouring, and the founder’s statue remains
as grimy as ever, though perhaps a trifle less black than in the days
when its sable hue convinced the small child of one of the College
officials that Henry VI. had been a black man. The infant in question,
as a loyal son of Eton, had been taught to salute this statue (which,
according to old custom, should always be passed on the right-hand
side) whenever he went through the school-yard. Out for an airing with
its nurse in Windsor one day, the child, perceiving a private of one of
the West India Regiments, became convinced that it was Henry VI. in the
flesh. Solemnly rising in its perambulator and reverently exclaiming
“Founder,” the astounded soldier was accorded a salute which filled him
with amazement.
The feature of the Quadrangle, of course, is the fine tower of Provost
Lupton, under which at Election time, up to 1871, the Provost of Eton
was wont to greet the Provost of King’s with a kiss of peace, and the
Captain of the school to deliver his Latin Cloister Speech. The gates
here are closed on the death of a Provost, and not opened till his
successor is appointed. Carved above the window of Election Chamber,
over the gateway, is a representation of the Assumption of the Virgin,
to which in pre-Reformation days Collegers reverently raised their hats.
[SN: THE GREEN YARD]
Passing through this arch one reaches the cloisters, about which
linger so many old-world memories. Once known as the “tower cloister,”
this appellation seems in the eighteenth century to have been discarded
for that of “the Green Yard.” The railings here, of Sussex iron, were
put up in 1724-25.
[Illustration: The Cloisters of Eton College. _From a coloured print
dated 1816._]
[SN: CHANGES IN CLOISTERS]
A good many alterations have recently been carried out in this part
of the College, some of which have of necessity rather impaired its
old-world charm.
On the cloister side of Lupton’s Tower a strengthening arch and support
have been built to guard against possible subsidence, some signs of
which had begun to appear. In the cloisters also certain expedient
changes and renovations have also been made.
During the middle of the eighteenth century an additional storey
was added to the cloister buildings, and, owing to the narrowness
of the structure, communication between the new storey and the old
was eventually effected by affixing a staircase to the outside wall,
in which a hole was made to give entrance to the staircase. This
staircase has now been entirely removed, and a new staircase between
the first and second floors fitted in two flights, each stretching the
whole breadth of the building. Election Hall now occupies practically
the whole of the space between Lupton’s Tower and the north side of
school-yard. Formerly there was a small room at the tower end, and a
passage past this room communicating with Election Chamber on the
lowest floor of the tower. This room is now part of Election Hall, most
of the passage having disappeared, whilst the beautiful oak panelling
has been removed to the new staircase. The roof of Election Hall is
now higher than of yore, the increased size of the room and the bad
state of the roof having called for such an alteration. The room over
Election Chamber has been converted into a sitting-room, and the
partitions in it have been removed, so that it is now the same size as
Election Chamber and looks out both ways. The clock remains unchanged.
In the remoter part of the house the passage has been widened, and the
walls have been stripped of the plaster and now show the old timber.
A new door has also been made under the tower, giving access to a
staircase which leads straight up to the first floor.
The Provost’s Lodge has also undergone some change. The dining-room
here--the Magna Parlura--which contains portraits of various kings
and provosts and occupies the centre of the Lodge, has undergone
considerable renovation at certain periods, especially in the middle of
the last century, when it was decorated with considerable care by Dr.
Hawtrey. The ceiling was then painted and the panelling, reaching to
the top of the room, finished with a dado of deal, which has now been
removed, and the oak, which before was grained, scraped. The panelling
has also been lowered and now rests on the floor, the old timbers
above being visible. Two stone windows have been opened up in this
room, which had formerly been blocked by the Georgian staircase. At
the other end of the room an interesting discovery was made of another
Tudor door opening into the gallery just opposite the stairs. On each
side of the door are Tudor windows with wooden frames. Most of the
doors opening into the gallery are of Tudor workmanship, but these are
the only two Tudor windows that have been discovered in the College.
The woodwork half-way down the staircase is of good Gothic workmanship,
whereas the staircase is of much later date. The servants’ hall, on the
ground floor, was formerly divided by partitions, but these have been
removed. The panelling here is of the seventeenth century, the panels
large and tall in design. At one end of the room there is an alcove
faced with the original mirrors and containing a basin set in beautiful
inlaid work of black and white marble. This, however, is covered up
with a wooden plate, which conceals the marble.
At the time of these alterations there was some talk of removing the
railings in the cloisters, which are of Sussex iron, and reviving an
inner walk, traces of which have been discovered round the edge of the
grass. On the tower side the railings have already gone--the remainder,
let us hope, will be left untouched. A great feature of the cloisters
is the old Cloister Pump, which, as in the days when a less luxurious
race of Collegers washed at its spout, continues to yield the best
water in Eton. This old pump is associated with the cry of “Cloister
P!” at which the lowest boy present had to fetch a canful of the sacred
water, the cry which sent every fag in Long Chamber tearing down
Sixth-Form passage. Not very far away is the well-worn stone staircase
up which so many generations of Collegers have made their way into the
Hall, which, in spite of renovation, still retains a certain amount of
interest for those fond of relics of another age.
A considerable portion of the existing structure dates from about 1450,
and to some extent follows the design favoured by King Henry VI. The
founder’s original idea, however, was that a northern bay window should
face the southern one. He also contemplated a porch with a tower over
it. One must be thankful that at the restoration of 1858 the College
authorities did not attempt to carry out these plans.
The early architectural history of the Hall is somewhat puzzling.
For some undiscovered reason it was begun in stone and finished in
brick, whilst three large fireplaces were constructed but never used,
being covered with panelling till the so-called restoration of the
last century. In 1721 some alterations were carried out according
to the plan of a Mr. Rowland, but from that time till 1858 the Hall
remained as it is shown in the illustration facing page 164. At that
date, however, the Rev. Mr. Wilder, the Fellow who had contributed so
liberally to the modernisation of the interior of the College Chapel,
turned his attention to the old building, which was restored at his
expense. It is to be regretted that a good deal of Renaissance work of
historical interest then disappeared, retaining some features of the
original design constructed in its place.
For some unexplained reason (apparently it was in fair repair) the old
roof was destroyed, and a new one substituted. The simple three-light
Renaissance west window, with a curious ornamented ledge beneath,
gave way to an elaborate Gothic window, filled with stained glass
representing the very “apocryphal” story of Henry VII.’s Eton days.
Beneath this was erected an elaborate screen of panelling, decorated
with the arms of successive provosts. The rest of the old panelling
was allowed to remain, though, owing to a very thorough process of
renovation, a great proportion of the present woodwork is modern. Along
the top of the panelling may still be seen a number of old nails. From
these, according to an old Eton custom, Collegers at Shrovetide used
to hang scrolls of Bacchus verses which were suspended by coloured
ribbons. These Bacchus verses, written in praise or abuse of the jovial
deity, continued to be written in the earlier portion of the last
century, though by that time their character had changed.
[SN: BACCHUS VERSES]
The art of verse-writing was held in the highest esteem at Eton, and
was, together with accurate prosody, the road to distinction. False
quantities were considered crimes. In the _Etonian_ Praed had some
clever lines as to this in his poem, “The Eve of Battle”:--
And still in spite of all thy care,
False quantities will haunt thee there,
For thou wilt make amidst the throng
Or ζωή short or κλέος long.
A copy of Bacchus verses composed by Porson on the subject of Cyrus
exulting over captive Babylon is preserved in the library. Pepys noted
these Bacchus verses in 1666:--
To the Hall, and there find the boys’ verses, “De Peste,” it being
their custom to make verses at Shrovetide. I read several, and very
good they were, better, I think, than ever I made when I was a boy,
and in rolls as long, or longer, than the whole Hall by much. Here is
a picture of Venice hung up, and a monument made by Sir H. Wotton’s
giving it to the College.
This picture was moved many years ago, and now hangs in Election Hall.
Beneath it is the following inscription:--
Henricus Wottonius post tres apud Venetos Legationes ordinarias in
Etonensis Collegii beato sinu senescens, eiusque cum suavissima inter
Se Sociosque concordia annos iam XII. Praefectus Hanc miram Vrbis
quasi natantis effigiem in aliquam sui memoriam iuxta Socialem Mensam
affixit, 1636.
On the picture itself may be seen the words, “Opus Odoardus Fialettus,
1611.”
Near the oriel window there still stands the iron reading-desk from
which in old times a scholar used to read out passages of Holy Writ. In
early days he appears to have been known as “the Bibler.”
[SN: BURNT TAPESTRY]
Before the restoration of the Hall two pieces of tapestry given by a
Fellow--Adam Robyns--in 1613 used to be hung beneath the west window
at Election time. They represented the flight into Egypt and Christ
teaching in the Temple. When the Hall had been restored and the
ornate modern panelling or screen set up where this tapestry used to
hang, it was relegated to the bake-house. This was burnt in 1875, and
the tapestry, together with the green rugs given to the Collegers
by the Duke of Cumberland in 1735, were utterly destroyed in the
conflagration. These rugs or coverlets were edged with gold braid and
embroidered with the College arms.
[Illustration: The College Hall before Restoration. _From an old
print._]
Up to the period of the modern alterations the Hall was warmed by a
circular charcoal brazier standing beneath the louvre or opening in the
roof. In 1858, however, the three large fireplaces discovered behind
the panelling were taken into use; they had never had chimneys before.
Hot-water pipes now also assist to warm the Hall.
On the walls hang some eighteen portraits, all of Collegers except two,
representing George III. and Sir Thomas Smith. The Rev. John Wilder,
the well-meaning Fellow who spent such large sums of money in altering
and restoring Hall and Chapel, is commemorated by a brass in the
south-west corner.
On the right in the Hall is a small table called the “Servitor’s Desk.”
The duty attached to the old office of Servitor consists in noting
down in a book the commons allowed for each day’s dinner according
to the number actually dining in Hall. He counts by “messes” and
“half-messes,” a mess consisting of four boys. It is the practice of
most Servitors to carve their name on the desk, and among the names
carved are those of A. C. Benson, author and poet, and J. K. Stephen.
A few of the old customs are retained, the authorities still sitting at
the high table at the west end. The Sixth Form sit at the first table
on the left side, carving their own joint; one of them says Grace,
shouting “Surgite! Benedicat Deus” at the beginning of the meal, and
“Surgite! Benedicatur Deo” at the end, when the others reply, “Deo
Gratias.” On Sundays a Latin Grace is chanted. The fare of Collegers
formerly consisted almost[4] exclusively of mutton, from which arose
the term “Tug-mutton,” and “Tug” applied to a King’s scholar.
[SN: “HARPY-PIES”]
Within the last three decades three ancient usages have been abandoned.
The first of these was “Bever,” which was abolished in 1890. “Bever”
consisted in a modest collation of bread and salt and beer in “after
fours” in the summer; Collegers might partake of this if they wished,
and were allowed to invite guests. A second old usage which disappeared
about the same time was that of certain boys receiving a double
allowance of bread. Though most of the old oak panelling of Hall was
replaced by new in 1858, amongst the old panels was one which for
more than three hundred years had proclaimed the privilege of the mess
of four boys which dined nearest to the door on the north side of the
Hall, “Queen Elizabethe ad nos gave October x 2 loves in a mes 1596,”
being roughly inscribed upon it. Commemorating the munificence of the
virgin Queen for more than three hundred years, two loaves, instead
of the customary one loaf, were set before the four boys sitting near
the panel. This practice has now been ended. The third old custom was
of a far less pleasant character, and its disappearance is not to be
deplored. Formerly, after the Collegers had dined, a number of old
almswomen were allowed to collect the remains, and in consequence the
Hall was at certain times thronged with a mass of old women thrusting
chunks of bread and scraps of broken meat into bags. The whole thing
was a somewhat unseemly scramble. The boys were often not very well
disposed to the harpies, as they called the old ladies, and would
wickedly make them what were known as “hag-traps” and “harpy-pies.”
The composition of these was a masterpiece of diabolical ingenuity.
A large square piece of bread or quarter loaf having had its centre
hollowed out by means of a hole in the side, the interior was cunningly
filled with an unsavoury mixture of mustard, pepper, cayenne, and
whatever else came to hand, after which the opening was cleverly closed
so that the bread might present a totally unsuspicious appearance and
then left lying about amongst genuine loaves. Though the old ladies
had considerable experience of various disagreeable forms of College
humour, this wicked device always secured a certain amount of success.
At the present time the female pensioners are given a small monetary
allowance in place of being allowed to enter the Hall.
[SN: AN UNAPPRECIATED POET]