Part 2 (1/2)
These are the pages that bow to the ladies that 'tend on the queen that lives in the Castle of Windsor.
These are the lackeys that wait on the pages that bow to the ladies that 'tend on the queen that lives in the Castle of Windsor.
These are the soldiers, tried and sworn, that guard the crown from the unicorn, that stand by the lackeys that wait on the pages that bow to the ladies that 'tend on the queen that lives in the Castle of Windsor.
These are the ”military knights” forlorn, founded by Edward before you were born, that outrank the soldiers, tried and sworn, that guard the crown from the unicorn, that stand by the lackeys that wait on the pages that bow to the ladies that 'tend on the queen that lives in the Castle of Windsor.
These are the knights that the garter have worn, with armorial banners tattered and torn, that look down on the military knights forlorn, founded by Edward before you were born, that outrank the soldiers, tried and sworn, that guard the crown from the unicorn, that stand by the lackeys that wait on the pages that bow to the ladies that 'tend on the queen that lives in the Castle of Windsor.
This is the dean, all shaven and shorn, with the canons and clerks that doze in the morn, that install the knights that the garter have worn, with armorial banners tattered and torn, that look down on the military knights forlorn, founded by Edward before you were born, that outrank the soldiers, tried and sworn, that guard the crown from the unicorn, that stand by the lackeys that wait on the pages that bow to the ladies that 'tend on the queen that lives in the Castle of Windsor.
And so on. The train within the castle walls that follows the queen is endless.
We pa.s.sed through the great, grand, state apartments, refurnished at the time of the marriage of the Prince of Wales, for the use of the Danish family. We mounted to the battlements of the Round Tower by the hundred steps, the grim cannon gazing down upon us from the top. Half a dozen visitors were already there, gathered as closely as possible about the angular guide, listening to his geography lesson, and looking off upon the wonderful panorama of park, and wood, and winding river. Away to the right rose the spire of Stoke Pogis Church, where the curfew still ”tolls the knell of parting day.” To the left, in the great park below, lay Frogmore, where sleeps Prince Albert the Good. Eton College, too, peeped out from among the trees, its gardens touching the Thames, and in the distance,--beyond the sleeping villages tucked in among the trees,--the shadowy blue hills held up the sky.
St. George's Chapel is in the quadrangle below. It is the chapel of the Knights of the Garter. And now, when you read of the chapels, or churches, or cathedrals in the old world,--and they are all in a sense alike,--pray don't imagine a New England meeting-house with a double row of stiff pews and a choir in the gallery singing ”Antioch”! The body of the chapel was a great, bare s.p.a.ce, with tablets and elaborate monuments against the walls. Opening from this were alcoves,--also called chapels,--each one containing the tombs and monuments of some family. As many of the inscriptions are dated centuries back, you can imagine they are often quaintly expressed. One old knight, who died in Catholic times, desired an open Breviary to remain always in the niche before his tomb, that pa.s.sers might read to their comfort, and say for him an orison. Of course this would never do in the days when the chapel fell into Protestant hands. A Bible was subst.i.tuted, chained into its place; but the old inscription, cut deep in the stone, still remains, beginning ”Who leyde thys book here?” with a startling appropriateness of which the author never dreamed. Over another of these chapels is rudely cut an ox, an N, and a bow,--the owner having, in an antic manner, hardly befitting the place, thus written his name--Oxenbow.
You enter the choir, where the installations take place, by steps, pa.s.sing under the organ. In the chancel is a fine memorial window to Prince Albert. On either side are the stalls or seats for the knights, with the armorial banner of each hanging over his place. Projecting over the chancel, upon one side, is what appears to be a bay-window. This is the queen's gallery, a little room with blue silk hangings,--for blue is the color worn by Knights of the Garter,--where she sits during the service. Through these curtains she looked down upon the marriage of the Prince of Wales. Think of being thus put away from everybody, as though one were plague-stricken. A private station awaits her when she steps from the train at the castle gates. A private room is attached to the green-houses, to the riding-school in the park, and even to the private chapel. A private photograph-room, for the taking of the royal pictures, adjoins her apartments. It must be a fine thing to be a queen,--and so tiresome! Even the gold spoon in one's mouth could not offset the weariness of it all, and of gold spoons she has an unbounded supply; from ten to fifteen millions of dollars worth of gold plate for her majesty's table being guarded within the castle! Think of it, little women who set up house-keeping with half a dozen silver teaspoons and a salt-spoon!
We waited before a great gate until the striking of some forgotten hour, to visit the royal mews. You may walk through all these stables in slippers and in your daintiest gown, without fear. A stiff young man in black--a cross between an undertaker and an incipient clergyman in manner--acted as guide. Other parties, led by other stiff young men, followed or crossed our path. There were stalls and stalls, upon either side, in room after room,--for one could not think of calling them stables,--filled by sleek bays for carriage or saddle. And the ponies!--the dear little s.h.a.ggy browns, with sweeping tails, and wonderful eyes peeping out from beneath moppy manes, the milk-white, tiny steeds, with hair like softest silk,--they won our hearts. Curled up on the back of one, fast asleep, lay a Maltese kitten; the ”royal mew” some one called it. The carriages were all plain and dark, for the ordinary use of the court. In one corner a prim row of little yellow, wicker, baby-wagons attracted our attention, like those used by the poorest mother in the land. In these the royal babies have taken their first airings.
The state equipages we saw another day at Buckingham Palace,--the cream-colored horses, the carriages and harnesses all crimson and gold.
There they stand, weeks and months together, waiting for an occasion.
The effect upon a fine day, under favoring auspices,--the sun s.h.i.+ning, the bands playing, the crowd of gazers, the prancing horses, the gilded chariots,--must almost equal the triumphal entry of a first cla.s.s circus into a New England town!
CHAPTER IV.
SIGHT-SEEING IN LONDON.
The Tower.--The tall Yankee of inquiring mind.--Our guide in gorgeous array.--War trophies.--Knights in armor.--A professional joke.--The crown jewels.--The house where the little princes were smothered.--The ”Traitor's Gate.”--The Houses of Parliament.--What a throne is like.--The ”woolsack.”--The Peeping Gallery for ladies.--Westminster Hall and the law courts.--The three drowsy old women.--The Great Panjandrum himself.--Johnson and the pump.--St.
Paul's.--Wellington's funeral car.--The Whispering Gallery.--The bell.
THE TOWER.
IT is not a tower at all, as we reckon towers, you must know, but a walled town upon the banks of the Thames, in the very heart of London.
Hundreds of years ago, when what is now this great city was only moor and marsh, the Romans built here--a castle, perhaps. Only a bit of crumbling wall, of mouldering pavement, remain to tell the story. When the Normans came in to possess the land, William the Conqueror erected upon this spot a square fortress, with towers rising from its four corners. Every succeeding monarch added a castle, a tower, a moat, to strengthen its strength and extend its limits, until, in time, it covered twelve acres of land, as it does to this day. Here the kings and queens of England lived in comfortless state, until the time of Queen Elizabeth, having need to be hedged about with something more than royalty to insure safety. Times have changed; swords have been beaten into ploughshares; and where the moat once encircled the tower wall, flowers blossom now. The dungeons that for centuries held prisoners of state do not confine any one to-day; and the strongholds that guarded the person of England's sovereign keep in safety now the jewels and the crown. There are round towers, and square towers, and, for anything I know, three-cornered towers, each with its own history of horrors. There are windows from which people were thrown, bridges over which they were dragged, and dark holes in which they were incarcerated.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”A dozen umbrellas were tipped up; the rain fell fast upon a dozen upturned, expectant faces.” Page 57.]
To appreciate all this, you should see it--as we did one chilly May morning. We huddled about the stove in the waiting-room upon the site of the old royal menagerie, our companions a round man, with a limp gingham cravat and shabby coat, a little old woman in a poke bonnet, and half a dozen or more schoolboys from the country. A tall Yankee of inquiring mind joined us as we sallied from the door, led by a guide gorgeous in ruff and buckles, cotton velvet and gilt lace, and with all these glories surmounted by a black hat, that swelled out at the top in a wonderful manner. Down the narrow street within the gates, over the slippery cobble-stones, under considerable mental excitement, and our alpaca umbrella, we followed our guide to an archway, before which he paused, and struck an att.i.tude. The long Yankee darted forward. ”Stand back, my friends, stand back,” said the guide. ”You will please form a circle.” Immediately a dozen umbrellas surrounded him. He pointed to a narrow window over our heads; a dozen umbrellas were tipped up; the rain fell fast upon a dozen upturned, expectant faces. ”In that room, Sir ----” (I could not catch the name) ”spent the night before his execution, in solemn meditation and prayer.” There was a circular groan of sympathy and approval from a dozen lips, the re-cant of a dozen dripping umbrellas, and we pattered on to the next point of interest, following our leader through pools of blood, figuratively speaking,--literally, through pools of water,--our eyes distended, our cheeks pale with horror. Ah, what treasures of credulity we must have been to the guides in those days! Time brought unbelief and hardness of heart.
We mounted stairs narrow and dark; we descended stairs dark and narrow; we entered chambers gloomy and grim. The half I could not tell--of the rooms filled with war trophies--scalps in the belt of the nation--from the Spanish Armada down to the Sepoy rebellion; the long hall, with its double row of lumbering old warriors encased in steel, as though they had stepped into a steel tower and walked off, tower and all, some fine morning; the armory, with its stacked arms for thirty thousand men. ”We may have occasion to use them,” said the guide, facetiously, making some reference to the speech of Mr. Sumner, just then acting the part of a stick to stir up the British lion. The Yankee chuckled complacently, and we, too, refused to quake. There was a room filled with instruments of torture, diabolical inventions, recalling the days of the Inquisition.
The Yankee expressed a desire to ”see how some o' them things worked.”