Knole in the Nineteenth Century
§ i
The new Duke of Dorset was only five years old when his father’s
dignities descended so prematurely on to his small yellow head, but he
had a capable mentor in the person of his mother, and before two years
had elapsed her authority was reinforced by that of a stepfather. This
was Lord Whitworth, recently Ambassador to the Courts of Catherine II.
and Paul I. The circumstances of Lord Whitworth’s recall had been in the
least degree mysterious. Various rumours were current; amongst others,
that he had offended the Czar in the following somewhat ludicrous
manner: the Czar having forbidden that any empty carriage should pass
before a certain part of his palace, Lord Whitworth, uninformed of the
regulation, ordered his coach to meet him at a point which would entail
passing over the forbidden area. The sentry held up the coach; the
servants persisted in driving on; they came to blows; and the Czar, when
the affair came to his ears, ordered Lord Whitworth’s servants to be
beaten, the horses to be beaten, and the coach to be beaten too. Lord
Whitworth, in a fit of rage and petulance, dismissed his servants,
ordered the horses to be shot, and the coach to be broken into pieces
and thrown into the Neva.
He appears to have had at least one trait in common with the Sackvilles
themselves, at any rate in early life, for it was said of him that he
was “more distinguished during this period of his career by success in
gallantries than by any professional merits or brilliant services.” Even
at the time of his marriage, when, returning from Russia to England, he
found available the wealthy and desirable relict of his friend the late
Dorset, he was heavily entangled with a lady named Countess Gerbetzow,
whose partiality for the English Ambassador had been such that she had
placed her own fortune at his disposal for the purpose of clothing
himself and defraying the expenses of his household. In return for this
affection and assistance Lord Whitworth promised her marriage as soon as
she could divorce her husband; but during the course of the divorce
proceedings the Ambassador was recalled, and left for England on the
understanding that Countess Gerbetzow would follow him there as soon as
she conveniently could. Meanwhile he made the acquaintance of the more
eligible duchess, became engaged to her, and lost no time in marrying
her. Countess Gerbetzow had, however, by now obtained her divorce, and
was travelling across Europe on her way to England: at Leipzic she
learnt from a newspaper that Lord Whitworth in London was engaged to the
Duchess of Dorset. Indignant and outraged, she flew post-haste to
London. Too late: she arrived only to find that the marriage had already
been celebrated. But she would not allow the matter to rest there, and
“her reclamations, which were of too delicate and serious a nature to be
despised, at length compelled the duchess, most reluctantly, to pay her
Muscovite rival no less a sum than ten thousand pounds.” Whether the
duchess continued to think Lord Whitworth worth the price is not
recorded. If he was an expensive husband, he was certainly from the
worldly standpoint a very successful one, and that was a standpoint the
duchess was not likely to despise. He became successively Ambassador to
the French Republic, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and an earl, but “we
may nevertheless be allowed to doubt,” observes Wraxall, who claims Lord
Whitworth’s personal friendship,
whether a humbler matrimonial alliance might not have been attended
with more felicity ... united to a woman of inferior fortune and
condition ... he would certainly have presented an object of more
rational envy and respect than as the second husband of a duchess,
elevated by her connections to dignities and offices, subsisting on
her possessions, and who will probably ere long inter him with an
earl’s coronet on his coffin.—I return [_says Wraxall, having thus
dismissed the pair_] to Marie Antoinette.
I doubt whether the little duke was allowed a very exuberant enjoyment
of his boyhood with this couple in authority over him. Children were
strictly brought up in that generation, and it is clear that the duchess
was by nature a severe and not very sympathetic woman. The little boy
and his sisters must have been docile and well behaved in the great
house and gardens which belonged to him in name only, but which in
practice were entirely under his mother’s control, for her to alter the
windows as she pleased, and to put Lord Whitworth’s cognizance in the
stained glass beside the Sackville arms. I visualize—I scarcely know
why—the duchess and Lord Whitworth almost as the jailers of the small
inheritor. There is nothing to justify such a theory; and, indeed, very
little record remains of that short life: there is his rocking-horse—an
angular, long-necked, maneless animal, which in due course became my
property, after passing through the two intervening generations—his
brief friendship with Byron as a schoolboy, and his portrait as a tall,
fair young man in dark blue academical robes. There is very little else
to mark his passage across the stage of Knole. He came, late in time, of
a race never remarkable for strength of character, and the obituary
notice which described him as having possessed gentle and engaging
manners, tinctured by shyness, and of amiable temper, probably came
nearer to the truth than the generality of such eulogies. Byron has told
us nothing in the least illuminating of his friend. He has left a long
address in verse, included in _Hours of Idleness_, in which he is
careful to explain that the duke was his fag at Harrow,
_Whom still affection taught me to defend,
And made me less a tyrant than a friend,
Though the harsh custom of our youthful band
Bade_ thee _obey, and gave me to command_,
and equally careful to remind him that they might in later years meet in
the House of Lords,
_Since chance has thrown us in the self-same sphere,
Since the same senate, nay, the same debate,
May one day claim our suffrage for the state._
The rest of the poem is an exhortation to the duke, whose “passive
tutors, fearful to dispraise,” may
_View ducal errors with indulgent eyes,
And wink at faults they tremble to chastise_,
to be worthy of the record his ancestors have left him; of he who
“called, proud boast! the British drama forth,” and of that other one,
Charles, “The pride of princes, and the boast of song”—to become, in
fine, “Not Fortune’s minion, but her noblest son.” One suspects, in
fact, that Byron himself viewed the errors of his ducal fag with an
indulgent eye, and the depth of the friendship, on Byron’s part at
least, is easily measured by the letters he wrote on hearing of the
duke’s death—letters whose cynicism is perhaps atoned for by their
frankness:
[Illustration:
GEORGE JOHN FREDERICK SACKVILLE, 4TH DUKE OF DORSET
LADY MARY SACKVILLE LADY ELIZABETH SACKVILLE
_From the portrait at Knole by_ HOPPNER
]
I have just been—or, rather, ought to be—very much shocked by the
death of the Duke of Dorset [_he wrote to Tom Moore_]. We were at
school together, and then I was passionately attached to him. Since,
we have never met—but once, I think, in 1805—and it would be a paltry
affectation to pretend that I had any feeling for him worth the name.
But there was a time in my life when this event would have broken my
heart; and all I can say for it now is that—it is not worth breaking.
Adieu—it is all a farce.
And he alludes to it once more, a fortnight later, again writing to
Moore, to say that “the death of poor Dorset—and the recollection of
what I once felt, and ought to have felt now, but could not,” has set
him pondering.
That, then, is all which the boy could leave behind him—that he should
set Byron, for a moment, pondering. From such slight traces—the English
little boy of the Hoppner, the old-fashioned rocking-horse, and the
portrait of the fair young man—we have to reconstruct as best we can an
entire personality. We have to figure him running about the garden at
Knole; kissing his mother’s hand—surely never throwing his arms about
her—his grave little bow to Lord Whitworth; the “your Grace” of his
nurse’s behests; the brief contact with the dazzling personality of
Byron at Harrow; the stir with which he cannot have failed to anticipate
the advantages of his life and his emancipation. We have the account of
him playing tennis, when a ball hit him in the eye, and obliged him to
be for ever after “continually applying leeches and blisters and
ointments and other disagreeable remedies,” and to be “very moderate in
all exercises that heat or agitate the frame.” We have, finally, his
tragic end at the age of twenty-one, to which additional poignancy is
lent by the fact that he had recently become engaged.
He had gone to Ireland, where his stepfather was then Viceroy, to stay
with his friend and quondam school-fellow Lord Powerscourt. On the day
after his arrival the two young men, with Lord Powerscourt’s brother,
Mr. Wingfield, went out hunting, and after a fruitless morning they were
about to return home when they put up a hare:
The hare made for the inclosures on Kilkenny Hill. They had gone but a
short distance, when the Duke, who was an excellent forward horseman,
rode at a wall, which was in fact a more dangerous obstacle than it
appeared to be.... The Duke’s mare attempted to cover all at one
spring, and cleared the wall, but, alighting among the stones on the
other side, threw herself headlong, and, turning in the air, came with
great violence upon her rider, who had not lost his seat; he
undermost, with his back on one of the large stones, and she crushing
him with all her weight on his chest, and struggling with all her
might to recover her legs. The mare at length disentangled herself and
galloped away. The Duke sprang upon his feet, and attempted to follow
her, but soon found himself unable to stand, and fell into the arms of
Mr. Farrel, who had run to his succour, and to whose house he was
conveyed. Lord Powerscourt, in the utmost anxiety and alarm, rode full
speed for medical assistance, leaving his brother, Mr. Wingfield, to
pay every possible attention to the Duke. But, unfortunately, the
injury was too severe to be counteracted by human skill; life was
extinct before any surgeon arrived. Such was the melancholy
catastrophe that caused the untimely death of this young nobleman. He
had been of age only three months, and had not taken his seat in the
House of Lords [1815].
The author of this obituary notice was at great pains to clear the young
man of any charge of “unseasonable levity”:
It has been said [_he observes_] that the Duke, in his dying moments,
made use of the expression “I am off.” He did so; but not, as has been
very erroneously supposed, by way of heroic bravado, or in a temper of
unseasonable levity; but simply to signify to his attendants, who, in
pulling off his boots, had drawn him too forward on the mattress, and
jogged one of the chairs out of its place, that he was _slipping off_,
and wanted their aid to help him up into his former position. He was
the last person in the world to be guilty of anything like levity upon
any solemn occasion, much less in his dying moments. The fact was,
when he used the expression “I am off” he had become very faint and
weak, and was glad to save himself the trouble of further
utterance....
Now suppose a stranger to the real character of this excellent youth
to have heard no more of him than what he would be most likely to hear
of one whose constitutional modesty concealed his virtues, namely,
that he was very fond of cricket, that he hurt his eye with a
tennis-ball, that he lost his life hunting, that his last words were
“I am off”; would not a person possessed of this information, and no
more, naturally conclude that the Duke was a young man of trivial
mind, addicted to idle games and field sports, and apt to make light
of serious things? How false a notion would such a person form of the
late Duke of Dorset! As to the four circumstances above alluded to, if
he was fond of cricket, it was in the evening generally that he
played. When he hurt his eye [it was on the 7th of December] he had
been at his books all the morning, and went between dinner and dusk to
take one set at tennis. When he lost his life hunting, he had not
hunted ten times the whole season. And what have been represented as
his last words were not his last words; and, even if they were, they
had no other meaning than “Pray prevent a helpless man from slipping
down out of his place.” That he was not a mere sportsman, a mere
idler, or a mere trifler, witness the wet eyes that streamed at every
window in the streets of Dublin as his hearse was passing by; witness
the train of carriages that composed his funeral procession; witness
the throng of Nobility and Gentlemen that attended his remains to the
sea-shore; witness the families he had visited in Ireland; witness the
reception of his corpse in England; witness the amazing concourse of
friends, tenantry, and neighbours, that came to hear the last rites
performed, and to see him deposited in the tomb; witness the more
endeared set of persons who still mean to hover round the vault where
he is laid!
§ ii
It now became apparent how exceedingly wise had been the precautionary
measures taken by the duchess in regard to her husband’s will. A distant
cousin, the son of Lord George, succeeded to the title as fifth and last
duke—this part of the succession was beyond the reach of her control—but
under the terms of the will Knole became her property for life, and she
received in addition, on the death of her son, an increase in her income
of nine thousand a year. She must certainly have been one of the richest
women in England. Lord Whitworth, meanwhile (till 1817), continued as
Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and as the originals of the following
letters written to him by Sir Robert Peel, with enclosures in Peel’s
handwriting, are at Knole, I think it not wholly irrelevant to print
them here, with a few other notes, in view of their interest as being
written immediately after the battle of Waterloo, and having, so far as
I know, never before been published.
IRISH OFFICE.
_June 22nd, 1815._
_Private_
DEAR LORD WHITWORTH,
You will receive by this express the official accounts of the most
desperate and most important action in which the British arms have
ever been engaged. The Gazette details all the leading particulars—I
have just been at the War and Foreign Offices to collect any further
information that may be interesting to you. It is evident that the
attack was in a great degree a surprise upon the Allies, Bonaparte
collected his troops and advanced with much greater rapidity than
could have been expected. It was supposed that it would have required
three days to bring the British force into line for a general
engagement—but the suddenness of the attack gave them a much shorter
time for preparation. It is said that on the 16th the Prussians lost
fourteen thousand men.
[Illustration:
ROCKING HORSE
ONCE THE PROPERTY OF THE 4TH DUKE OF DORSET
]
[Illustration:
A RECEIPT FROM GAINSBOROUGH
]
All the private accounts attribute the success of the day to the Duke
of Wellington’s personal courage and extraordinary exertions. Flint
will send you some interesting particulars on this point.
When the French Cavalry charged—the Duke placed himself in the centre
of the square of infantry—a barrier that was impenetrable. Nothing
could exceed the desperation with which the Cuirassiers fought. When
they found they could make no impression on the solid mass of
infantry—they halted in front and deliberately charged their pistols
and shot at individuals of course without a chance of surviving. Lord
Bathurst showed me a letter which he had received from Apsley. He says
that Bonaparte had a scaffolding erected out of cannon shot from the
top of which he saw the field of battle and the progress of the fight.
When he found that success was almost hopeless he put himself at the
head of the Imperial Guard—and charged in person. They were met by the
first foot guards who overthrew them completely. The conduct of all
the British infantry was beyond praise—Lord Wellington had about
sixty-five thousand men in the field. Castlereagh told me that he
thought Bonaparte must have lost the fourth of his army. This is of
course mere conjecture.
Of the Regiments of Cavalry which distinguished themselves the Life
Guards, the 10th, and the 18th are particularly mentioned. The field
of battle after the action presented a most extraordinary sight. The
panic of the French army after their failure—and the fruitlessness of
the desperate courage they had shewn—was very great when the attack on
our part commenced. They threw away their arms—knapsacks, etc., etc.,
in the greatest confusion. The Prussians gave no quarter in the
pursuit.
The Duke and Blucher met for a moment after the action—in the village
of _La heureuse Alliance_ [sic].
The Belgian Cavalry and some of the British did not much distinguish
themselves. I hear that the 7th, Lord Uxbridge’s own regiment, have
not added much to their reputation—but do not quote me for this piece
of intelligence. General Picton was shot through the head. He behaved
with the greatest possible gallantry.
Schartzenburg [_sic_] is supposed to have crossed the Rhine with an
immense force—perhaps 200,000 men on or about the 20th. I should
rather say it was expected that he would cross about that time. There
is no account from Paris—or from the French army.
I have sent you a strange mixture of detached and unconnected
particulars. I heard them one by one—in such a hurry—and am now
obliged to write to you in such a hurry that I may not detain the
express that I cannot reduce them into any shape.
The consequence of our success must infallibly lead to a reduction of
our regular force in Ireland—forthwith I apprehend. The Duke entreats
in the strongest manner that reinforcements of infantry may be sent to
him.
Believe me ever dear Lord Whitworth, Yours most truly
_The Lord Lieutenant_. ROBERT PEEL.
PARIS
Rue de la Paix—Hotel du Montblanc—
_July 15th, 1815_.
DEAR LORD WHITWORTH,
As I owe my trip to Paris in great measure to the kindness and
readiness with which you dispensed with my services in Ireland—it is
but just that I should give you some account of my proceedings—Croker,
Fitzgerald and myself left Town on Saturday Morning last [8th] arrived
at Dover that night. I was a little disappointed to hear that the
Tricolor Flag was flying at Calais—However we were determined, perhaps
rather rashly—to make an attempt to land, and sailed the next morning
in an armed schooner—putting the guns below and hoisting a flag of
truce when we got into Calais roads. The Governor however was
inexorable—and positively refused us permission to land. We heard that
the white flag was flying at Dunkirk and at Boulogne and the wind
favoured for the latter—we made for it. As we passed Vimereux and
Ambleteuse we saw the white flag flying there and indeed at every
intervening village between Calais and Boulogne. It was late in the
evening when we arrived off Boulogne—we could discern that there was a
flag hoisted, and on standing in close into the harbour we found it
was the Tricolor.
Fitzgerald and I were so sick and heartily tired of our voyage, that
we resisted most strenuously Croker’s proposition to make for
Dieppe—we wrote a very civil note to the Commandant—hoisted our flag
of Truce and despatched a messenger. He was detained about three
hours—he said that our arrival in the roads had caused great alarm in
the garrison—that he had been placed under arrest on his landing—had
been taken to the Commandant who was holding a sort of Council of
war—that the flag of truce was mistaken for the white
flag—particularly as the Schooner was armed—and unfortunately for us
three or four English Brigs were in the offing.
However he brought with him a civil answer from the Commandant
informing us that “une mesure de sureté militaire l’occupoit à le
moment,” but when he was at leisure he would send a boat for us.
We were half afraid to trust ourselves to him, particularly as he told
our envoy that he could not recognize a flag of truce in an armed
vessel, but the apprehension of a sail to Dieppe with a contrary wind
overcame the apprehension of a day or two’s confinement at Boulogne.
The boat arrived—and we landed at Boulogne about 3 o’clock on Monday
morning. The Commandant was civil to us but did not conceal from us
that he was a furious Bonapartist. He said he had no soldiers—if he
had 30 that white flag in the next village should not be hoisted—or
there should be a massacre if it was. We proceeded on our journey
about 7 o’clock on the morning of Monday—nothing could exceed the
apparent devotion of all the inhabitants of the country through which
we passed to the cause of Louis—the white flag was hanging from every
window. Vive le Roi was in every mouth. We met with no interruption
until we arrived at Montreuil—where there was a strong garrison—the
Commandant like the officers—determined Bonapartists. We had nothing
but Castlereagh’s passport except La Chatre’s which was worse than
nothing, but the Commandant allowed us after some parley to proceed.
The presence of the military was hardly sufficient to keep down the
popular feeling in favour of the King—among the inhabitants it was
universal here as every where else, there was not a single exception.
At Abbeville we were again stopped. Here there was a very strong
garrison—2000 men. Party spirit was running very high. The inhabitants
were armed—the military seemed disposed to resist the order which they
expected to receive on the day of our arrival, to lay down their arms
and leave the town.
Every precaution was taken as if the town was besieged. There were
soldiers at every drawbridge. The Commandant however allowed us to
proceed—and we arrived safely at Paris on the evening of Tuesday.
_Sunday, 16th._
Paris is surrounded by the troops of the allies and nothing can
be more interesting than the present situation of it. The
streets are crowded with officers and soldiers of all nations.
Cossacks—Russians—Prussians, Austrians, Hungarians, etc. The
English are great favourites. The Prussians held in the greatest
detestation. If they had entered Paris alone—or if the Crowned
Heads had delayed their entry—they, the Prussians would probably
have pillaged Paris. They have taken some pictures from the
Louvre—a very few, however, and none to which they had not some
claim. They have demanded the payment of one hundred millions of
francs from the city and at this moment—there are Prussian
guards in the houses of Perigaux and some of the other principal
bankers who are held as a sort of hostage—for the payment of the
contribution.
We drove to-day to the Depot d’Artillerie, and were told by the
sentry—one of the national guards, that we were welcome to see the
salon—but that the Prussians had removed everything which it
contained—the sword of Joan of Arc—the knife of Ravaillac—Turenne’s
sword. I am sorry for this—not on account of the mortification which
it will inflict on French vanity—but because I fear the return of the
King will be less popular—than it would have been if he could have
preserved entire at least those national monuments and relics which
are exclusively French.
We paid a visit to Denon the other day. He had some Prussians
quartered upon him, and was very loud in his exclamations against _ce_
[sic] _bête féroce_ as he called Blucher. He expressed his sentiments
very freely on political subjects—said the King was not destined to
govern France in times like these—and predicted a short duration to
his dynasty. He spoke in terms of great and apparently sincere
affection towards Bonaparte—he was the last person who saw him before
he quitted Paris. Denon observed that he had committed a great error
after the battle of Waterloo in quitting the army—that he had by that
step lost its confidence—that he ought either to have remained with
it—or to have returned to it immediately. If he had summoned the two
chambers, informed them without reserve of his disasters and concluded
by stating that his travelling carriage was at the door and that he
was going to resume the command of the army, that even still he need
not have despaired of ultimate success.
At the Tuileries after mass there was a great collection of
Marshals—Peers of France—and other rogues of the higher order. We saw
Marmont—Macdonald—Masséna—St. Cyr—Dupont, etc., and almost all the
General officers of the French army who are in Paris—and did not take
a decided part against the King. The garden of the Tuileries was
absolutely full of people, and nothing can exceed or describe the
enthusiasm of the women and children in favour of the King. If
shouts—and applause and Vive le Roi—and white handkerchiefs could
contribute to his strength—his throne would be established on solid
foundations, but I do not see that men—fighting men—partake so much of
the general joy—I confess I think the King has been ill advised in
making Fouché his chief confidant and minister. It seems to me that it
must preclude him from punishing treason in others—if he rewards so
notorious a traitor as Fouché so highly. Fouché betrayed the King—then
he betrayed Bonaparte—then he betrayed the Provisional Government of
which he was the head and now he is minister. In fact he betrayed the
Provisional Government deliberately—and on condition that he should be
the King’s adviser. The virulence of French traitors—owing to the
impunity of Treason—is beyond conception. Grouchy has written a letter
to the Emperor of Russia requesting him to intercede in his favour
with the King—and to procure for him permission to retain his rank as
Marshal in the French army or, if that cannot be granted, that the
Emperor will allow him to enter the Russian army retaining his present
rank. The Emperor’s answer was not amiss. He had nothing to say to his
first Proposition—and with respect to his second—it was an
indispensable qualification in a Russian officer that he should be a
man of honour.
Pray remember me very kindly to the Duchess of Dorset and believe me
ever
Dear Lord Whitworth,
Yours most truly
ROBERT PEEL.
_His Excellency_
_The Lord Lieutenant._
PARIS, _Monday, July 17th_.
Arbuthnot saw Mr. Lane about an hour since I had this account from
him—½ past 3.
Mr. Lane of No. 5 Essex Court in the Temple states himself to have
arrived to-day from France; and he gives the following account:
That on the 20th he left Paris, and notwithstanding there were firing
of guns and other marks of rejoicing, there was a general feeling in
the town that all was not going well; that at Boulogne Mr. Lane saw
the _Moniteur_ of the 22nd which gives a long account of what is
called the battle of Marennart, stating that the British were 90,000
men and the French not so many, that until four in the Evening the
French had completely won the battle, but that about that hour the
English Cavalry had attacked the Cuirassiers and routed them, that the
young guards coming to their assistance got entangled in their
confusion, and the old guard was likewise “_entrainée_.” At this
moment some _Malveillant_ in the army cried “Sauve qui peut” and a
general flight commenced; the whole left wing of the army _dispersed_:
He lost all his cannon caissons etc. Buonaparte had ordered the wreck
of his army to be collected near Phillipville, and he had issued
directions calling on the Northern provinces to rise in mass. This,
says the _Moniteur_, ended a battle so glorious yet so fatal to the
French arms. Buonaparte has arrived in Paris on the morning of the
21st. The Council of Ministers and the two chambers had been placed in
a state of permanency and it was declared high treason to vote an
adjournment.
Extract of a letter from the DUKE _of_ WELLINGTON
to SIR CHARLES FLINT.
dated BRUSSELS.
_19 June 1815._
What do you think of the total defeat of Bonaparte by the British
Army?
Never was there in the annals of the World so desperate or so hard
fought an action, or such a defeat. It was really the battle of the
Giants.
My heart is broken by the terrible loss I have sustained of my old
friends and companions and my poor Soldiers; and I shall not be
satisfied with this Battle however glorious, if it does not of itself
put an end to Bonaparte.
[I have been asked for so many Copies of this (all of which I have
refused) that I am glad to return it.]
_19 June 1815._
On the 16th to the very great astonishment of everyone the French
attacked us or rather the Prussians, Lord Wellington came up with a
very few Troops including the 7 Divisions and succeeded in stopping
them, the next day was passed in partial Cavalry actions and yesterday
was fought the severest battle that I believe ever has been known, the
disproportion was immense so much so that altho’ we constantly
repulsed them yet had not the Prussians come up at 7 (altho’ in fact
they might have been up long before) we perhaps might ultimately have
been annihilated. Trotter and I was on the field at the beginning and
I count it as the best day of my life—I was there also to-day—the
French have abandoned everything—In point of Artillery it is a second
Vittoria.
Our loss is so great that our Army will not I fear be in a state to
act efficiently—but as we have done the material thing, the Allies may
do the rest—the French Cavalry which was very fine suffered beyond
expression—For a mile the road is actually strewed with Cuirasses—when
I say this, I do not exaggerate. The Prussians are pursuing as fast as
they can and with a large body of Troops. There will not be a stop by
possibility till we get over the Frontier, after that time I dare not
prophesy, but I do not think they will like to attack us again.
The Action was fought in front of _Waterloo_ where two Roads
separate—the one going to Nivelle, the other to Genappe—the position
which was a very beautiful one was in front of the junction of the two
roads. [_unsigned._]
NIVELLE. _19 June 1815._
The great action of yesterday was the severest contest either
Frenchmen or Englishmen ever witnessed—it was the most obstinate
struggle of two brave and rival Nations each firm in its cause—The
gallantry of the French could only be exceeded by the resolution and
intrepidity of John Bull. It raged from 11 till 9 and was once nearly
lost. The Duke seconded by his Troops repaired every momentary
disaster.
Buonaparte placed himself at the head of his guards and led them on.
The 1st Guards defeated them and put them to the rout and then the
dismay became general—The Guards and generally the Infantry were the
mainstay of the Action. Our Brigade had the defence of a Post which if
lost, lost all. Our Light Company under Colonel Macdonnell were there,
the Coldstreams then went down and we held it to the last, tho’ the
Houses were in Flames. The loss has been immense—The French are
totally defeated.
There never was a more severe Battle than that of the 18th. I enclose
a little Sketch of it. The dotted Line from Braine la Leud to above La
Haye is the brow of the Hills occupied by the Duke of Wellington. The
Troops had bivouaced just in the rear. The other dotted line near La
Belle Alliance marks the brow of the Hills from where the French
attack was made. There are two small Hedges in the Rear of this one.
The Attack on Hougomont was very severe from a little before 12 to
half past one. Bonaparte then moved a strong Force (continuing however
his first Attack for several hours) to attack the left of the Centre
where Picton and Ponsonby were killed. He drove our people from the
Hedges a short distance but they soon returned and drove him
considerably beyond those Hedges. In the Evening he collected a very
great force near La Haye Sainte and attacked the Right of the Centre.
This was done repeatedly by Infantry and Cavalry but though they
frequently got through the Line they could never drive them from their
position. The British Artillery was a little in front. The Duke
several times left the Guns taking away the Horses and Ammunition, but
his Fire was too heavy for the Enemy to bring up Horses to take them
off and he as often regained them. At about 7 o’clock the French were
heartily sick of it and retired rapidly. The Duke immediately changed
his Defensive operations to that of Attack and at the same time Bulow
brought up about 30,000 fresh Troops on the right flank of the Enemy
near the Village of La Haye. Blucher was also near at hand.
The Rout at this time was complete. The Pursuit was rapid and I really
believe that the following morning the French Army had not 50 Guns out
of 300 and no Baggage of any sort.
The latter part of this Account I take from others and from seeing the
Field of Battle two days afterwards. The first and second attacks I
was present at.
The Returns are arrived of Killed and Wounded. The British and
Hanoverians lost on the 16th, 17th and 18th 845 Officers and 13,000
Men. The French lost much more. The Method in which the Duke received
the united Charges of Cavalry and attacks of Infantry is not common.
He formed two Regiments in Squares and united them by a Regt. in Line
four deep making a Sort of Curtain between two Bastions. [_unsigned._]
§ iii
After Lord Whitworth’s term of office had come to an end he and the
duchess returned to live at Knole, and to make such improvements there
as were agreeable to the taste of the early nineteenth century. Such
were the Gothic windows of the Orangery, which replaced the Tudor ones
and were inscribed with the date 1823, and further changes were
projected, such as a design which was to sweep away the symmetry of the
lawns on the garden front and bring a curving path up to the house. This
scheme, however, was never carried out. The bowling-green still rises,
square and formal, backed by the two great tulip trees and the more
distant woods of the park. The long perspective of the herbaceous
borders was left undisturbed. The apple-trees in the little square
orchards, that bear their blossom and their fruit from year to year with
such countrified simplicity in the heart of all that magnificence, were
not uprooted. Consequently the garden, save for one small section where
the paths curve in meaningless scollops among the rhododendrons, remains
to-day very much as Anne Clifford knew it. It has, of course, matured.
The white rose which was planted under James I’s room has climbed until
it now reaches beyond his windows on the first floor; the great lime has
drooped its branches until they have layered themselves in the ground of
their own accord and grown up again with fresh roots into three complete
circles all sprung from the parent tree, a cloister of limes, which in
summer murmurs like one enormous bee-hive; the magnolia outside the
Poets’ Parlour has grown nearly to the roof, and bears its mass of
flame-shaped blossoms like a giant candelabrum; the beech hedge is
twenty feet high; four centuries have winnowed the faultless turf. In
spring the wisteria drips its fountains over the top of the wall into
the park. The soil is rich and deep and old. The garden has been a
garden for four hundred years.
And here, save for a few very brief notes to bring the history of the
house down to the present day, these sketches must cease. The duchess
Arabella Diana dying in 1825, her estate devolved upon her two
daughters, Mary and Elizabeth. Elizabeth, my great-grandmother, who
married John West, Lord de la Warr, and who died in 1870, left Buckhurst
to her elder sons and Knole to her younger sons, one of whom was my
grandfather. He was, as I remember him, a queer and silent old man. He
knew nothing whatever about the works of art in the house; he spent
hours gazing at the flowers, followed about the garden by two grave
demoiselle cranes; he turned his back on all visitors, but sized them up
after they had gone in one shrewd and sarcastic phrase; he bore a really
remarkable resemblance to the portraits of the old Lord Treasurer, and
he seemed to me, with his taciturnity and the never-mentioned background
of his own not unromantic past, to stand conformably at the end of the
long line of his ancestors. He and I, who so often shared the house
alone between us, were companions in a shy and undemonstrative way.
Although he had nothing to say to his unfortunate guests, he could
understand a child. He told me that there were underground caves in the
Wilderness, and I believed him to the extent of digging pits among the
laurels in the hope of chancing upon the entrance; he made over a tall
tree to me for my own, and I mounted a wooden cannon among its branches
to keep away intruders. When I was away, which was seldom, he would
write me harlequin letters in different coloured chalks. When I was at
home he would put after dinner a plate of fruit for my breakfast into a
drawer of his writing-table labelled with my name, and this he never
once failed to do, even though there might have been thirty people to
dinner in the Great Hall, who watched, no doubt with great surprise, the
old man who had been so rude to his neighbours at dinner going
unconcernedly round with a plate, picking out the reddest cherries, the
bluest grapes, and the ripest peach.
When we were at Knole alone together I used to go down to his
sitting-room in the evening to play draughts with him—and never knew
whether I played to please him, or he played to please me—and sometimes,
very rarely, he told me stories of when he was a small boy, and played
with the rocking-horse, and of the journeys by coach with his father and
mother from Buckhurst to Knole or from Knole to London; of their taking
the silver with them under the seat; of their having outriders with
pistols; and of his father and mother never addressing each other, in
their children’s presence, as anything but “my Lord” and “my Lady.” I
clasped my knees and stared at him when he told me these stories of an
age which already seemed so remote, and his pale blue eyes gazed away
into the past, and suddenly his shyness would return to him and the
clock in the corner would begin to wheeze in preparation to striking the
hour, and he would say that it was time for me to go to bed. But
although our understanding of one another was, I am sure, so excellent,
our rare conversations remained always on similar fantastic subjects,
nor ever approached the intimate or the personal.
Then he fell ill and died when he was over eighty, and became a name
like the others, and his portrait took its place among the rest, with a
label recording the dates of his birth and death.
APPENDIX
A Note on Thieves’ Cant
The vocabulary given on page 135 contributes no word which may not be
found in any cant dictionary, and therefore may appear undeserving of
inclusion. But I put it in because I think few people, apart from
students of philology, realize the existence of that large section of
our language in use among the vagabond classes. Cant and slang, to most
people’s minds, are synonymous, but this is an error of belief: slang
creeps from many sources into the river of language, and so mingles with
it that in course of time many use it without knowing that they do so;
cant, on the other hand, remains definite and obscure of origin. Slang
is loose, expressive, and metaphorical; cant is tight and correct: it
has even a literature of its own, broad and racy, incomprehensible to
the ordinary reader without the help of a glossary. Its words, for the
most part, bear no resemblance to English words; unlike slang, they are
not words adapted, for the sake of vividness, to a use for which they
were not originally intended, but are applied strictly to their peculiar
meaning.
Although the origin of cant as a separate jargon or language is
obscure—it does not appear in England till the second half of the
sixteenth century—the origin of certain of its words may be traced. Of
those included in the vocabulary on page 135, for example, _ken_, for
house, comes from _khan_ (gipsy and Oriental); _fogus_, for tobacco,
comes from _fogo_, an old word for stench; _maund_, or _maunder_, to
beg, does not derive, as might be thought, from _maung_, to beg, a gipsy
word taken from the Hindu, but from the Anglo-Saxon _mand_, a basket;
_bouse_, to drink (which, of course, has given us booze, with the same
meaning, and which in the fourteenth century was perfectly good
English), comes from the Dutch _buyzen_, to tipple. _Abram_, naked, is
found as _abrannoi_, with the same meaning, in Hungarian gipsy;
_cassan_, cheese, is _cas_ in English gipsy; _dimber_ survives for
“pretty” in Worcestershire. _Cheat_ appears frequently in cant as a
common affix.
As for _autem mort_, I find it in an early authority thus defined:
“These _autem morts_ be married women, as there be but a few. For
_autem_ in their language is a church, so she is a wife married at the
church, and they be as chaste as a cow I have, that goeth to bull every
moon, with what bull she careth not.”
INDEX
ANNE, Queen, as Princess Anne, 138
her death, 160
ARMISTEAD, Mrs. Elizabeth, mistress of 3rd Duke of Dorset, 179
BEAUMONT, Francis, his friendship with 3rd Earl of Dorset, 55
BACELLI, Giannetta, mistress of 3rd Duke of Dorset, 188–192
BERKELEY, Lady Betty. _See_ GERMAINE, Lady Betty
Berkeley Castle, 169
BLACKMORE, his poem _Prince Arthur_ quoted, 148
BOURCHIER, Archbishop of Canterbury, buys Knole from Lord Say & Sele, 5
Builds on to Knole, 6, 7
Encloses the park, 21
Allows glass-making in the park, 24
BOWRA, a cricketer, 182
BRUCE, Lord, his duel with Edward Sackville, 84–90
BUCKHURST, Lord. _See_ SACKVILLE, Thomas
house at Withyham, 18; and mentioned _passim_
BUCKINGHAM, Duke of, his opinion of Charles, Earl of Dorset, 144
BUTLER, Samuel, his opinion of Charles, Earl of Dorset, 144
his portrait at Knole, 151
BURKE, Edmund, letter from, 197–198
his portrait at Knole, 197
BYRON, Lord, quoted, 28, 204
friendship with 4th Duke of Dorset, 203–204
his letters to Thomas Moore, 204–205
CARTWRIGHT, William, his portrait at Knole, 151
CHAMPCENETZ, Comte de, a French fugitive, 188
CHARLES I, verses on the death of, 106–107
CHARLES II, anecdote of his childhood, 98
at Edgehill, 107
Chapter VI _passim_
CLIFFORD, Lady Anne, 3rd Countess of Dorset, description of herself,
49–50
marries Richard Sackville, 52
her children, 53
her diary quoted, 59–72
her later years, 73–78
COLIGNY, Odet de, Cardinal of Chatillon, entertained by Thomas
Sackville at Shene, 36 _seq._
COLYEAR, Elizabeth, marries 1st Duke of Dorset, 153
CONGREVE, William, his opinion of Charles, Earl of Dorset, 141
his portrait at Knole, 151
COPE, Arabella Diana, marries 3rd Duke of Dorset, 192
her character, 192–194
marries Lord Whitworth, 202
living at Knole, 217–218
death of, 219
COPE, Eliza, letter from, 97
Copt Hall, 111, 128
COURTHOPE, History of English Literature quoted, 45
COWLEY, Abraham, his portrait at Knole, 151
CRANFIELD, Lady Frances, marries 5th Earl of Dorset, 111
CRANMER, Archbishop of Canterbury, gives Knole to Henry VIII, 8
Cricket, 155, 181–183
CUMBERLAND, Francis, Earl of, 55
George, Earl of, Queen Elizabeth’s champion, 48
his adventures, 49
his death, 51
his will, 55
Margaret, Countess of, 52–59 _passim_
her death, 62
CURZON, Mary, 4th Countess of Dorset, 84
governess to the children of Charles I, 97–98
DESMOND, Catherine Fitzgerald, Countess of, 14
DEVONSHIRE, Duchess of, her opinion of 3rd Duke of Dorset, 176
his letters to her, 183, 184, 188
her letter about a black page, 191
DERBY, Countess of. _See_ HAMILTON, Lady Betty
Diamond necklace, affair of the, 3rd Duke of Dorset’s dispatches on,
184–185
half the diamonds bought by him, 185
DIGBY, Sir Kenelm, marries Venetia Stanley, 58
friendship with 4th Earl of Dorset, 104–106
his portrait at Knole, 105, 151
Venetia Stanley, Lady, mistress of 3rd Earl of Dorset, 58
DORSET, Earls and Dukes of. _See_ SACKVILLE
1st Duchess of. _See_ COLYEAR, Elizabeth
2nd Duchess of, 173
3rd Duchess of. _See_ COPE, Arabella Diana
House, London, 31
3rd Countess of. _See_ CLIFFORD, Lady Anne
4th Countess of. _See_ CURZON, Mary
5th Countess of. _See_ CRANFIELD, Lady Frances
6th Countess of, 128, 150
Drayton House, 169
bequeathed to Lord George Sackville by Lady Betty Germaine, 172
DRAYTON, Michael, his friendship with 3rd Earl of Dorset, 59
DRYDEN, John, his debt to 6th Earl of Dorset, 145, 147, 148
letter from, 149
at Knole, 149
his enmity with Shadwell, 150
his portrait at Knole, 151
satirized by Blackmore, 148
his works dedicated to Dorset, 148
DURFEY, Tom, a pensioner at Knole, 150, 154
verses quoted, 150
his portraits, 150, 151
EVELYN’S Diary, quoted, 123
ELIZABETH, Queen, gives Knole to Thomas Sackville, 34–38
her death, 50
FARREN, Elizabeth, marries the Earl of Derby, 180
FLATTMANN, Thomas, his portrait at Knole, 151
FLETCHER, his friendship with 3rd Earl of Dorset, 59
FOOTE, Samuel, his portrait at Knole, 198
GAINSBOROUGH, Thomas, draws Mme. Baccelli, 189
his receipt for painting, 189, ccviii.
GEORGE I, accession of, 160–161
GEORGE II, accession of, 161–162
GERMAINE, Lady Betty, her rooms at Knole, 12–13
as a guest at Knole, 167–172
Sir John, 169–171
GERBETZOW, Countess, her affair with Lord Whitworth, 202
GOLDSMITH, Oliver, his portrait at Knole, 198
GORBODUC, 33, 41–42, 43
GOSSE, Edmund, quoted, 32
GWYNN, Nell, 122–127
HAMILTON, Lady Betty (Countess of Derby), in love with 3rd Duke of
Dorset, 179
married off to Lord Derby, 179–180, 188
HENRY VIII obtains Knole from Cranmer, 8
makes a garden there, 21
HEYWOOD, Jasper, quoted, 32
HOBBS, Thomas, his portrait at Knole, 151
HOPPNER, John, his portrait of the 3rd Duchess of Dorset, 192
stays at Knole to paint the three children, 193
his portrait of the children, 196
asked for his own portrait by the 3rd Duke of Dorset, 198
HUMPHREY, Ozias, quarrels with 3rd Duke of Dorset, 194
receipts for pictures, 197
JAMES I, interviews with Lady Anne Clifford, 65–66
JAMES II at Edgehill, 107
JONSON, Ben, his friendship with 3rd Earl of Dorset, 59
poem on his death by 5th Earl of Dorset, 112
JOHNSON, Dr., quoted, 116, 119
KNELLER, Sir Godfrey, portraits by him at Knole, 29, 153
KNOLE described, 1–19
early history of the house, 5
becomes the palace of the Archbishop of Canterbury, 5
repairs and expenses, 6–8
acquired by Henry VIII, 8
acquired by Thomas Sackville, 34, 38
lead-work at, 39
list of servants at, 78–81
raided by Cromwell’s soldiers, 82–83, 101–104
expenses at, in time of Charles I, 91
banquet and menus, 93–94
household stuff at, 95–96
arms at, 99–100
acquisitions from Copt Hall, 101
the Cellars at, 133, 178
Horace Walpole’s opinion on, 181, 190
the Green Court, 3
the Stone Court, 3, iii
the Water Court, 4
Great Hall, built, 6;
altered, 39
Great Staircase, built, 6, 39
the Ball-room, 6;
frieze in, 11
Bourchier’s Tower, 7
Bourchier’s Oriel, 8
Queen’s Court and Slaughter-house, 7
the Brown Gallery, built, 7;
described, 13
the Cartoon Gallery, described, 10–11
Lady Betty Germaine’s Rooms, described, 12, 13
the Leicester Gallery, described, 13–14
the King’s Bedroom, described, 15
the Venetian Ambassador’s Bedroom, described, 15–16
the Chapel, described, 16–17
the Garden, described, 20, 218
Garden Accounts, 21–24
the Park, 24–26;
additions to, 92
LEBRUN, Mme. Vigée, stays at Knole, 197
LEICESTER, Robert Dudley, Earl of, his brief ownership of Knole, 13
LENNOX, Lady Sarah, her letters quoted, 180
LOCKE, John, his portrait at Knole, 151
MACAULAY, quoted, 138, 143–145, 147–148
MANN, Sir Horace, a cricketer, 182
MARIE ANTOINETTE, her friendship with the 3rd Duke of Dorset, 184, 187
MILLER, a cricketer, 182
MINSKULL, a cricketer, 182
Mirror for Magistrates, 33, 43;
quoted, 44
Professor Saintsbury on, 45–47
MONTGOLFIER, his aeronautical projects, 185–187
MORETON, Archbishop of Canterbury, makes alterations at Knole, 8
MOTTE, Mme. de la, 185
MUSCOVITA, Mme., 173
NORFOLK, Duchess of, marries Sir John Germaine, 170
OPIE, John, his portrait at Knole, 197
“ORANGE MOLL,” 123, 125
OTWAY, Thomas, his portrait at Knole, 151
PARSONS, Nancy, taken abroad by 3rd Duke of Dorset, 178
abandoned by him, 179
PEEL, Sir Robert, letters to Lord Whitworth, 208–214
PEPYS, Samuel, quoted, 116, 117, 124, 125
POPE, Alexander, his epitaph on 6th Earl of Dorset, 151
his portrait at Knole, 151
Pot-pourri, 12;
Lady Betty Germaine’s receipt for, 172
POWERSCOURT, Lord, friend of 4th Duke of Dorset, 206
PRIOR, Matthew, visits 6th Earl of Dorset, 140
educated at Lord Dorset’s expense, 147
verses quoted, 147
mentioned by Macaulay, 145
RADCLIFFE, Mrs. Ann, visits Knole, 24
_Religio Medici_, Sir Kenelm Digby on, 105–106
REYNOLDS, Sir Joshua, his portrait of Mlle. Bacelli, 189
his portrait of the Chinese page, 191
his portrait of himself, 196–197
his portrait of the Duke of Dorset, 198
ROCHE, Mrs. Ann, marries 6th Earl of Dorset, 140, 141
ROCHESTER, John Wilmot, Earl of, 117
his opinion of Charles, Earl of Dorset, 145
his portrait of Knole, 150
ROWE, Nicholas, his portrait at Knole, 151
Rye House Plot, letter referring to the, 134–135
ROHAN, Cardinal de, 184
SACKVILLES, the, described, 28–29
their origin, 29–30
SACKVILLE, Herbrand de, comes into England with William the Conqueror,
30
Sir Richard, suggests _The Scholemaster_ to Ascham, 30
his London property, 31
Thomas, 1st Earl of Dorset, makes alterations at Knole, 6, 39
his early life, 32
his political career, 34–41
his literary works, 41–47
his armour described, 99
Richard, 3rd Earl of Dorset, marries Lady Anne Clifford, 52
description of, 57
his character, 57–59
mentioned in Lady Anne Clifford’s diary, 54–72 _passim_
his death, 72
Edward, 4th Earl of Dorset, 29, 82
his duel with Lord Bruce, 84–90
his income and expenses, 91–92, 93
his possessions in America, 92–93
during the Civil War, 106–110
Hon. Edward, murdered by the Roundheads, 106
poem on his death, _ibid._
Richard, 5th Earl of Dorset, 111
his marriage settlement with Lady Frances Cranfield, 111–112
his memorandum books, 112–114
Hon. Thomas, epitaph on, 114
Charles, 6th Earl of Dorset; his silver at Knole, 15–29
described, 115
his youth, 116–127
goes abroad, 127
marries; his love-letter, 128
his finances, 129–133
his later years, 137–143
his melancholia and death, 141
his character, 143–145
his literary merit, 145;
and songs quoted, 119, 137, 146
his patronage of poets, 147–151
compared to 3rd Duke of Dorset, 200
Lionel, 1st Duke of Dorset; his character and relations with his
sons, 152–157
as a child, 157–158
his early years, 158
announces their accession to George I and George II, 160–163
becomes Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, 163–167
Lord George, quoted, 140, 157, 161
his relations with his father, 155
his political career, 156–157
inherits Drayton from Lady Betty Germaine, 172
his portrait at Knole, 198
Lord John, a cricketer, 155, 181
his melancholia and death, 177
Charles, 2nd Duke of Dorset, a wastrel, 155
reputed mad, 173
his poems quoted, 173–174
John Frederick, 3rd Duke of Dorset, described, 29, 176–177
his youth and love-affairs, 177–180
as a patron of cricket, 181–183
as Ambassador in Paris, 183–188
at Knole with the Baccelli, 189–192
his marriage and later years, 192–199
his melancholia and death, 199–200
George John Frederick, 4th Duke of Dorset, 29
his childhood, 193, 203
his friendship with Byron, 204–205
killed out hunting, 206–208
Lord Lionel; his unsociability, 11
at Knole, 83
his anecdote of Hoppner’s picture, 196
at Knole, 219–220
Lady Margaret (afterwards Countess of Thanet), mentioned in Lady Anne
Clifford’s Diary, 21, 53, 54, 61, 64, 67, 70
her portrait at Knole, 68
Lady Elizabeth (Countess de la Warr), in Hoppner’s portrait, 196
succeeds to Knole, 219
at Knowsley, 180
SAINTSBURY, Professor, quoted, 41, 45–47
SEDLEY, Sir Charles, 117
SHADWELL, Thomas, patronized by 6th Earl of Dorset, 145–150
SMITH, Captain Robert, builds sham ruins in Knole Park, 26
SPENSER, Edmund, sonnet to Thomas Sackville, 43
STANLEY, Venetia. _See_ DIGBY, Lady
STUART, Mary, Queen of Scots, her altar at Knole, 16, 35
SWIFT, Jonathan, quoted, 141
letter from, 153, 168
Theatres in the reign of Charles II, 118, 122–124
Thieves’ cant in the reign of Charles II, 135, _and Appendix_ 221
Tobacco, 40
WALLER, Edmund, his portrait at Knole, 151
WALPOLE, Horace, quoted, 119;
on Knole, 17, 150, 181, 190
Waterloo, Sir Robert Peel’s letters relating to battle of, 208–214;
other accounts of, 214–217
WELLINGTON, Duke of, letter from, about Waterloo, 215
WHITWORTH, Lord, marries Arabella Diana, Duchess of Dorset, 202
recalled from St. Petersburg, 201
his entanglement with Countess Gerbetzow, 202
Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, 203
letters to him from Peel, 208–214
WILLIAM III, 158
WITHYHAM, Sackville vault at, 18
Lady Anne Clifford’s visit to, 71
epitaphs at, 114
WOFFINGTON, Margaret, her relations with 1st Duke of Dorset, 165–167
her portrait at Knole, 198
WRAXALL, Sir Nathaniel, quoted, 184, 192, 203
WYCHERLEY, William, his opinion of 6th Earl of Dorset, 144
his portrait at Knole, 151
-----
Footnote 1:
State papers of Henry VIII.
Footnote 2:
Slea = unravelled.
Footnote 3:
The original of this curious paper is now at Appleby, dated April 1st,
1616, and runs as follows: “A memoranda that I, Anne, Countess of
Dorset, sole daughter and heir to George, late Earl of Cumberland, do
take witness of all these gentlemen present, that I both desire and
offer myself to go up to London with my men and horses, but they,
having received a contrary commandment from my Lord, my husband, will
by no means consent nor permit me to go with them. Now my desire is
that all the world may know that this stay of mine proceeds only from
my husband’s command, contrary to my consent or agreement, whereof I
have gotten these names underwritten to testify the same.”
Footnote 4:
Night-gown, of course, has not the modern meaning, as at that date
people slept naked.
Footnote 5:
_Glecko_, or _Gleck_: a three-handed game played with 44 cards (eight
left in stock). The gleck consisted in three of a kind.
Footnote 6:
Joistment: the feeding of cattle in a common pasture for a stipulated
fee.
Footnote 7:
Runts: young ox or cow.
Footnote 8:
The following account is abridged from the _Mercurius Publicus_ of the
day: “Charles Lord Buckhurst; Edward Sackville, his brother; Sir Henry
Belasyse, eldest son of Lord Belasyse; John Belasyse, brother of Lord
Faulconberg; and Thomas Wentworth, only son of Sir G. Wentworth,
whilst in pursuit of thieves near Waltham Cross, mortally wounded an
innocent tanner named Hoppy, and ... were soon after apprehended on
charges of robbery and murder, but the Grand Jury found a bill for
manslaughter only.”
Footnote 9:
This refers to the frequent flooding of Whitehall Palace by an
unusually high tide.
Footnote 10:
_See_ Appendix.
Footnote 11:
The butler, not the biographer.
Footnote 12:
The powdered dried root of Sweet Sedge (_Acorus Calamus_).
Printed in England at the CLOISTER PRESS, Heaton Mersey, near Manchester
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. P. vii, changed “1556 KNOLE resold by Warwick to EDWARD VI” to “1552
KNOLE resold by Warwick to EDWARD VI”.
2. P. ix, changed “1552 Succeeded his father, EDWARD” to “1662
Succeeded his father, EDWARD”.
3. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
4. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.
5. Footnotes were re-indexed using numbers and collected together at
the end of the last chapter.
6. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
7. Superscripts are denoted by a caret before a single superscript
character or a series of superscripted characters enclosed in
curly braces, e.g. M^r. or M^{ister}.