The last Number of the _London Magazine_ contains an article of
considerable graphic interest, under the above title. It is written by
one "born within a stone's throw of the castle," and, _ni fallor_, by
the author of the picturesque description of Virginia Water, in the
Magazine for September, last. As the whole article is much too long for
our space, we have abridged it, taking care to retain the most
characteristic portion of the writer's very pleasing reminiscences:--
My earliest recollections of Windsor are exceedingly delightful. I was
born within a stone's throw of the Castle-gates; and my whole boyhood
was passed in the most unrestrained enjoyment of the venerable and
beautiful objects by which I was surrounded, as if they had been my own
peculiar and proper inheritance. The king and his family lived in a
plain, barrack-looking lodge at his castle foot, which, in its external
appearance and its interior arrangements, exactly corresponded with the
humble taste and the quiet, domestic habits of George III. The whole
range of the castle, its terrace, and its park, were places dedicated
to the especial pleasures of a school-boy.
The Park! what a glory was that for cricket and kite-flying. No one
molested us. The beautiful plain immediately under the eastern terrace
was called the Bowling Green;--and, truly, it was as level as the
smoothest of those appendages to suburban inns. We took excellent care
that the grass should not grow too fast beneath our feet. No one
molested us. The king, indeed, would sometimes stand alone for half an
hour to see the boys at cricket; and heartily would he laugh when the
wicket of some confident urchin went down at the first ball. But we did
not heed his majesty. He was a quiet, good-humoured gentleman, in a
long blue coat, whose face was as familiar to us as that of our
writing-master; and many a time had that gracious gentleman bidden us
good morning, when we were hunting for mushrooms in the early dew, and
had crossed his path as he was returning from his dairy, to his eight
o'clock breakfast. Every one knew that most respectable and amiable of
country squires, called His Majesty; and truly there was no inequality
in the matter, for his majesty knew every one.
I have now no recollection of having, when a child, seen the king with
any of the appendages of royalty, except when he went to town, once a
week, to hold a levee; and then ten dragoons rode before, and ten after
his carriage, and the tradesmen in the streets through which he passed
duly stood at their doors, to make the most profound reverences, as in
duty bound, when their monarch looked "every inch a king." But the bows
were less profound, and the wonderment none at all, when twice a week,
as was his wont during the summer months, his majesty, with all his
family, and a considerable bevy of ancient maids of honour and half-pay
generals, walked through the town, or rode at a slow pace in an open
carriage, to the Windsor theatre, which was then in the High-street.
Reader, it is impossible that you can form an idea of the smallness of
that theatre; unless you have by chance lived in a country town, when
the assembly-room of the head inn has been fitted up with the aid of
brown paper and ochre, for the exhibition of some heroes of the sock
and buskin, vulgarly called strollers. At the old Windsor Theatre, her
majesty's apothecary in the lower boxes might have almost felt her
pulse across the pit. My knowledge of the drama commenced at the early
age of seven years, amidst this royal fellowship in fun; and most
loyally did I laugh when his majesty, leaning back in his capacious
arm-chair in the stage-box, shook the house with his genuine peals of
hearty merriment. Well do I remember the whole course of these royal
play-goings. The theatre was of an inconvenient form, with very sharp
angles at the junctions of the centre with the sides. The stage-box,
and the whole of the left or O.P. side of the lower tier, were
appropriated to royalty. The house would fill at about half-past six.
At seven, precisely, Mr. Thornton, the manager, made his entrance
backwards, through a little door, into the stage-box, with a plated
candlestick in each hand, bowing with all the grace that his gout would
permit. The six fiddles struck up God save the King; the audience rose;
the king nodded round and took his seat next the stage; the queen
curtsied, and took her arm-chair also. The satin bills of their
majesties and the princesses were then duly displayed--and the dingy
green curtain drew up. The performances were invariably either a comedy
and farce, or more frequently three farces, with a plentiful
interlarding of comic songs. Quick, Suett, and Mrs. Mattocks were the
reigning favourites; and, about 1800, Elliston and Fawcett became
occasional stars. But Quick and Suett were the king's especial delight.
When Lovegold, in the "Miser," drawled out "a pin a day's a groat a
year," the laugh of the royal circle was somewhat loud; but when Dicky
Gossip exhibited in his vocation, and accompanied the burden of his
song, "Dicky Gossip, Dicky Gossip is the man," with the blasts of his
powder-puff, the cachinnation was loud and long, and the gods prolonged
the chorus of laughter, till the echo died away in the royal box. At
the end of the third act, coffee was handed round to the court circle;
and precisely at eleven the performances finished,--and the flambeaux
gleamed through the dimly-lighted streets of Windsor, as the happy
family returned to their tranquil home.
There was occasionally a good deal of merriment going forward at
Windsor in these olden days. I have a dim recollection of having danced
in the little garden which was once the moat of the Round Tower, and
which Washington Irving has been pleased to imagine existed in the time
of James I. of Scotland. I have a perfect remembrance of a fête at
Frogmore, about the beginning of the present century, where there was a
Dutch fair,--and haymaking very agreeably performed in white kid gloves
by the belles of the town,--and the buck-basket scene of the "Merry
Wives of Windsor" represented by Fawcett and Mrs. Mattocks, and I think
Mrs. Gibbs, under the colonnade of the house in the open day--and
variegated lamps--and transparencies--and tea served out in tents, with
a magnificent scramble for the bread and butter. There was great good
humour and freedom on all these occasions; and if the grass was damp
and the young ladies caught cold, and the sandwiches were scarce, and
the gentlemen went home hungry--I am sure these little drawbacks were
not to be imputed to the royal entertainers, who delighted to see their
neighbours and dependants happy and joyous.
A few years passed over my head, and the scene was somewhat changed.
The king and his family migrated from their little lodge into the old
and spacious castle. This was about 1804. The lath and plaster of Sir
William Chambers was abandoned to the equerries and chance visiters of
the court; and the low rooms and dark passages that had scarcely been
tenanted since the days of Anne, were made tolerably habitable by the
aid of diligent upholstery. Upon the whole, the change was not one
which conduced to comfort; and I have heard that the princesses wept
when they quitted their snug boudoirs in the Queen's Lodge. Windsor
Castle, as it was, was a sad patchwork affair.
The late king and his family had lived at Windsor nearly thirty years,
before it occurred to him to inhabit his own castle. The period at
which he took possession was one of extraordinary excitement. It was
the period of the threatened invasion of England by Napoleon, when, as
was the case with France, upon the manifesto of the Duke of Brunswick,
"the land bristled."
The doings at Windsor were certainly more than commonly interesting at
that period; and I was just of an age to understand something of their
meaning, and partake the excitement. Sunday was especially a glorious
day; and the description of one Sunday will furnish an adequate picture
of these of two or three years.
At nine o'clock the sound of martial music was heard in the streets.
The Blues and the Stafford Militia then did duty at Windsor; and though
the one had seen no service since Minden, and most undeservedly bore
the stigma of a past generation; and the other was composed of men who
had never faced any danger but the ignition of a coal-pit;--they were
each a remarkably fine body of soldiers, and the king did well to
countenance them. Of the former regiment George III. had a troop of his
own, and he delighted to wear the regimentals of a captain of the
Blues; and well did his burly form become the cocked hat and heavy
jack-boots which were the fashion of that fine corps in 1805. At nine
o'clock, as I have said, of a Sunday morning, the noise of trumpet and
of drum was heard in the streets of Windsor; for the regiments paraded
in the castle quadrangle. The troops occupied the whole square. At
about ten the king appeared with his family. He passed round the lines,
while the salute was performed; and many a rapid word of inquiry had he
to offer to the colonels who accompanied him. Not always did he wait
for an answer--but that was after the fashion of royalty in general. He
passed onwards towards St. George's Chapel. But the military pomp did
not end in what is called the upper quadrangle. In the lower ward, at a
very humble distance from the regular troops, were drawn up a splendid
body of men, ycleped the Windsor Volunteers; and most gracious were the
nods of royalty to the well-known drapers, and hatters, and
booksellers, who had the honour to hold commissions in that
distinguished regiment. The salutations, however, were short, and
onwards went the cortege, for the chapel bell was tolling in, and the
king was always punctual.
Great was the crowd to see the king and his family return from chapel;
for by this time London had poured forth its chaises and one, and the
astonished inmates of Cheapside and St. Mary Axe were elbowing each
other to see how a monarch smiled. They saw him well; and often have I
heard the disappointed exclamation, "Is _that_ the king?" They saw a
portly man, in a plain suit of regimentals, and no crown upon his
head. What a fearful falling off from the king of the story-books!
The terrace, however, was the great Sunday attraction; and though
Bishop Porteus remonstrated with his majesty for suffering people to
crowd together, and bands to play on these occasions, I cannot think
that the good-tempered monarch committed any mortal sin in walking
amongst his people in their holiday attire. This terrace was a motley
scene.
The peasant's toe did gall the courtier's gibe.
The barber from Eton and his seven daughters elbowed the dean who
rented his back parlour, when he was in the sixth form,--and who now
was crowding to the front rank for a smile of majesty, having heard
that the Bishop of Chester was seriously indisposed. The prime minister
waited quietly amidst the crush, till the royal party should descend
from their dining-room,--smiling at, if not unheeding, the anxious
inquiries of the stock-broker from Change Alley, who wondered if Mr.
Pitt would carry a gold stick before the king. The only time I saw that
minister was under these circumstances. It was the year before he died.
He stood firmly and proudly amongst the crowd for some half-hour till
the king should arrive. The monarch, of course, immediately recognised
him; the contrast in the demeanour of the two personages made a
remarkable impression upon me--and that of the minister first showed me
an example of the perfect self-possession of men of great abilities.
After a year or two of this soil of excitement the king became blind;
and painful was the exhibition of the led horse of the good old man, as
he took his accustomed ride. In a few more years a still heavier
calamity fell upon him--and from that time Windsor Castle became,
comparatively, a mournful place. The terrace was shut up--the ancient
pathway through the park, and under the castle walls, was diverted--and
a somewhat Asiatic state and stillness seemed to usurp the reign of the
old free and familiar intercourse of the sovereign with the people.
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