Kenna's Kingdom: a Ramble Though Kingly Kensington
Brown, R. Weir
1881
CHAPTER II. KENSINGTON PALACE.
CHAPTER II. KENSINGTON PALACE.
We are going to-day among kings and princes. Surely this announcement should be sufficient to arouse our readers' attention. We may talk and write democratically if we like, but we are worshippers of royalty none the less for all our prating and scribbling. The staunchest democrat from the other side of the Atlantic feels never so proud as when he attends a royal levee. The burgomaster of Winkelheim talks slightingly of kings and queens to his neighbours in private, and professes that they are no better, nay rather worse than other folk. But the worthy theorist will turn hot and cold and feel his heart in a flutter when his majesty condescendingly | |
28 | addresses a few words to him, on the unveiling of the great War Denkmal. People affect to grumble because history deals so much with royalty, but when history takes up other matters and styles itself sociology, they style it dry. The chroniclers, indeed, have left us full accounts of what the great people did, and very little at all of what the common people (who indeed as is well known, were only invented to support the former) did. The court life is the only life of which in many centuries we have any accurate idea, and it is better that the annalists should have described it than have left no description at all, though we would willingly barter half the banquets and "tourneys" in Froissart, Monstrelet, Fabian or Hall, for a glimpse into the home life of Gobin Agace or of Wat the Tyler. This long digression, however, is apropos of the fact that to-day we purpose rambling about the "regal glory" of Kenna's Kingdom, Kensington Palace, and so without more ado let us leave our seat in the Flower Walk and wend our way along the Broad Walk thronged with nursemaids and perambulators until we are opposite the Palace. Now we must ask you to close your eyes for a second. You can |
29 | imagine us saying "Hi, presto, change!" Open your eyes again. What a transformation! The Broad Walk is still under our feet, it is true, but the Round Pond has vanished. In its place is a straight avenue of trees, and a formal carriage drive, cutting the Broad Walk at right angles, and leading towards London. Turn your eyes in the direction of Bayswater. Between the spot where the Palace now stands and the High Street of Notting Hill, is a wild, untidy gravel pit. Now look toward Kensington. Just behind us a building is in course of erection; a substantial red brick mansion, at present veiled in scaffolding. Do you not ask, like the awakened sleeper in the Eastern tale. "Where am I?" Fellow Rambler, you are in Kensington Gardens, as they appeared in the year , and the unfinished building behind you is the Earl of Nottingham's house, recently purchased as a royal palace, by our Dutch monarch and deliverer, King William the Third. But our fancy has carried us too far. We must return to sober facts, and trace the history of the Palace to its commencement. |
We have already alluded to the tradition of the nursery that Henry VIII. established in Kensington | |
30 | for his children. Perhaps the little Prince Edward may have passed some of his childish hours in the Old Court Suburb, playing with his sister, afterwards the good Queen Bess. Henry's eldest daughter, too, may have spent here some portion of her childhood; unfortunate and unhappy even then, we may be sure, and swayed doubtless by that weakmindedness and by that bigotry which afterwards earned her, somewhat unjustly, the fearful title of the Bloody Queen. We know not when the baby-house was broken up. But there were no baby princes or princesses for more than half-a-century, so the nursery became useless. The ground on which it stood was most likely granted on leases from one courtier to another, and, about the middle of the seventeenth century, came into the possession of the Finches, Earls of Nottingham. |
The Finches are well known in history. One of their ancestors had been amongst the most servile instruments of the despotic Charles the First. But the Finches who lived at Kensington were much more honourable than their kinsman. The first of them, Heneage Finch, had become successively Attorney General, Lord Keeper, Lord Chancellor, Baron Finch, | |
31 | and Earl of Nottingham. These dignities descended to his son Daniel. The second Earl of Nottingham inherited not only the dignities but also the talents of his father. Like him he pleaded eloquently. Like him he was distinguished as a statesman. Like him too, he was a Tory and a High Churchman. His younger brother, who bore the name of his father, Heneage Finch, and who afterwards became the third Earl, possessed the family qualities and the family predilections and prejudices in an equal, if not in a greater degree. His conduct as counsel for the Crown at the trial of Lord Russell, had shown that he was not deficient in that hereditary oratory which had distinguished his father and his brother, but he displayed at the same time too much of party rancour. His defence of the seven bishops in the following reign was equally eloquent and more honourable. He was, in fact, one of the first of those ministers whom James, in his mad attempt to force the Roman Catholic religion on the country, thought fit to dismiss from his service. |
But these three " Finches of the Grove" were distinguished in more ways than one. They are termed, | |
32 | somewhat happily, by a writer of George the Second's reign, the " black funeral Finches." |
The epithet needs some explanation. Finch number one suffered from hypochondriasis. Finch number two was almost as black as a nigger, and the general expression of his countenance was that of chief mourner at a funeral. He was nick-named Dismal, or Don Dismallo. He was
| |
His son, whom we have not mentioned above, because he holds no place in the annals of Kensington, so much resembled his father that he was appropriately called the Chimney Sweep. | |
Such were the first inhabitants of , or rather of that portion of it which was then standing; the original edifice consisting only of the north-west part of the present building. There were only about 15 acres of grounds belonging to the estate, in the time of the first earl; but these were increased by a grant afterwards made to his second son, Heneage, out of Hyde Park. Hyde Park, we may mention, incidentally, then extended as far as the Broad Walk. | |
33 | Before we take leave of the Earl, however, we think we ought to mention that it was he who during the reign of , in a debate in the House of Peers at which the Queen was present, suggested that she might live long enough to lose the use of her faculties, and not know what she did, and the consequent necessity of some one to look after her. |
Adieu then, ungallant earl, nick-named Dismal; we have no longer need of you. To quote a vile pun of the period, and which deserves to be quoted only on account of its exceeding vileness, you are "Not in the game." | |
Turn we now to Kensington's first kingly inhabitant. This was the Dutchman, William the Third. King James had been driven from the country, because he was no longer fit to govern a free nation. King William had been sent for to take his place; and had accordingly installed himself at Whitehall. But the smoke of London aggravated his constitutional asthma. He grew so ill that it was thought he could scarcely survive the year. At first he took up his residence at Hampton Court. But in that age of no-trains, and bad roads, Hampton Court was inconveniently | |
34 | remote from London. The King turned his eyes towards Kensington. caught his fancy, and he took up his abode there for a few weeks. But for some reason, was deemed more suitable, and, in , the substantial birdcage of the Finches was sold by " Dismal " to his sovereign for eighteen thousand pounds. Then the Dutch king commenced to turn the suburban villa of the English nobleman into the Dutch idea of what a palace should be. The gardens were laid out as if they had been designed by a citizen of Laputa, and as if the eccentricities of compass and rule afforded a finer pattern than nature could offer. Old holly and yew trees assumed the forms of lions and unicorns, ducks and drakes, cocks and hens, dragons, tigers, and basilisks. The building, the enlargements of which are said to have been made from designs by Sir Christopher Wren, progressed, too, though not with such rapidity as the king desired. The names of two of the workmen have been handed down to us; for they lost their lives while employed on it. The parish books tell us how "Richard Yates, carpenter," was killed by the falling of part of the king's new building at Nottingham |
35 | House; and how" Robert Haynes, a plumber," fell off a scaffold while at work on the same edifice. Yet, after all, the new palace presented, as indeed it still presents, anything but a palatial appearance. Evelyn, in his diary, says he went to see it, and tells us that it was "but yet a patch'd building," though he adds, "but with the garden, however, it is a very sweete villa, having to it the Park, and a straightway through the Park." Before the alterations were finished, William set out for Ireland, and the work of superintending them was left to his wife, Mary. William seems to have dreaded the thoughts of spending another winter in London, and was well aware that his subjects would be greatly disappointed if he left the capital and resided permanently at Hampton Court. In all his letters, he urges the necessity of haste. Mary, loving wife as she was, did what she could to comply with his wishes, but in vain. Paint will smell, even though it adorn the walls of a royal bedroom. The queen was continually begging for pardon, because the paint would not dry, or the plastering would not be ready. This correspondence presents us with a quaint view of how king and queen got on together. She always ex |
36 | cusing delays which she could not prevent, he roughly blaming her for the faults of others. We subjoin one letter as a specimen. We are aware that reading epistolary documents is fearfully boring, but as we have had to bear it ourselves, we think it but right to inflict just a taste of it on our fellow pilgrims. The letter too, is amusing, remembering that it was written by a Queen of England to her sovereign lord. It is also curious as a specimen of a lady's orthography in those days. |
" , (O.S.) | |
"The outside of the house () is the fiddling work, which takes up more time than one can imagine; and while the schafolds are up, the windows must be boarded up, but as soon as this is done your own apartment may be finished; and though mine cannot possibly be ready yet awhile, I have found a way, if you please, which is, that I may make use of lord Portland's, and he ly in some other rooms; we may ly in your chamber, and I go throw the coucill room down, or els dress me there; and as I suppose your business will bring you often to town, so I must take such time to see company here; and | |
37 | that part of the family which can't come there, must stay here; for its no matter what inconvenience any els suffers for your dear sake. I think this way the only one yourself will have, will be my lying in your chamber, which you know I can make as easy to you as may be. |
Our being there will certainly forward the work My greatest fear is for your closets here; but if you consider how much sooner you come back (from Ireland) than one durst have hoped you will forgive me, and I can't but be extreme glad to be deceived." | |
To this dutiful letter, William, who, says a pasquinade of the time, was "a churle to his wife," made a savage reply. With what a strange picture of regal domestic economy does it not present us. Instead of king and queen we can more easily imagine the correspondents to be some city merchant and his wife, his having " business in town," for instance, and the necessity of looking after the workmen. The king returned in September, and received at Kensington the thanks of the capital, for the victory of the Boyne. | |
The characters of the new master and mistress of have been very differently drawn. | |
38 | There are, in fact, two sides to that of William. Regarded from the sphere of European politics, he was the youthful hero who had saved his own country from the might of France, and had rescued England from the tyranny, folly, and bigotry of James; who was a very Cid on the battle field, a very Richelieu at the council table, the soul of a vast European coalition against the grasping Louis the Fourteenth, who, even when worn out with failure and sickness, never gave in, who with a weak body, harassed by mental anxiety and by physical pain, was more self-possessed on the battle field than in the drawing room, who was the assertor of religious toleration and the deadly opponent of tyranny. |
He was patient, long-suffering, and forgave the traitors who conspired against him as frequently as they forgot his forgiveness, and repeated the offence. His mind was immense, his views wide and far-seeing; too extensive and anticipatory indeed for our insular prejudices. To him defeat meant necessity for increased action. Like Charles XII. of Sweden, he would not know when he was beaten. He towers in intellectual superiority above the other monarchs of his | |
39 | age, and England was better governed and happier under his rule than she had been for centuries, while if any little hitches arose between king and people, it was in consequence of his ignorance of our peculiar British idiosyncracies, rather than from any fault of character. |
Great men frequently appear less favourably in their domestic than in their public life. The poet who writes so charmingly of love and conjugal happiness, may storm at his wife because the beef is overdone, and the Parson may descend from the pulpit, where he has so eloquently discoursed on forbearance and brotherly love, to blow up the old verger for leaving the vestry door open and causing a draught. As yet we have spoken of as the liberator of our country from bigoted tyranny, the scourge of France, the wisest of statesmen. | |
Such is the William of history, the William whom has portrayed for us. "Little Will," says Prior, "no godhead, but the first of men." | |
Such, however, was not the William of whom we have to speak as the possessor of . He was a small, thin man, ghastly pale, troubled with a continual cough, with a beak-like nose, and sharp | |
40 | piercing eye; a man who spoke but seldom, and who when he did speak, usually said something unpleasant, who was apparently unkind, unfaithful and rude to his wife, who quarrelled with her relations, who could find nothing better to amuse him in England than to endeavour to make his residences as un-English as possible; who cared for no one unless they were Dutchmen, who had probably never read a line of Dryden, who used to sit up late at night drinking gin, and who wasted British lands on foreign favourites and mistresses. |
The character of his wife has been painted with no less diversity, and fortunately it is the brighter side of that character which belongs to . In history, we find her spoken of as a daughter who helped to turn her father from the throne, who was harsh to her sister, and who attempted to cover the birth of her brother with unfounded disgrace. But as we see her at Kensington she is the true loving wife, adoring a husband who was, to say the least of it, ungracious, forgiving him, or rather, scarcely conscious that he had faults to forgive, watching his every movement, studious to attend to his slightest wish, | |
41 | never faltering a moment where he was concerned, undesirous of the richest bauble that earth can offer, a crown, unless he too might share it with her; always loving, always longing for that love to be fully returned. Surely truer, better, more loveable character is not to be found among England's queens. Her life, indeed, was one of those romances so often to be met with in history. There are materials for any number of three volume novels in it. Ay, and the true history would be more exciting, and more readable than all the novels. If it were known how much of romance there is in history, we should have boarding school misses hiding under their pillows instead of Miss Braddon, while Ouida would be voted as dull as ditch water when compared with Froude, and "Pascarel" would be set by stern governesses for pupils to copy when they had been unusually troublesome. But there; we have been exercising our rambling propensities too freely, and must return to the household at the Palace. |
Mary used to have her nephew, the little Duke of , the only surviving son of the princess Anne, over sometimes from Campden House. He | |
42 | took much pleasure in watching the workmen engaged at the alterations. The Queen had a little tool chest made for him, which cost £20. But she and her sister Anne never met. Mary seems to have filled the Palace with nick-nacks of all sorts. It was she who set the fashion of china-mania, which has had its revival in the present day. With the state-life of the Queen, Kensington has no connection. |
On the , Mary, who had been greatly shocked by the sudden death of her favourite, Archbishop Tillotson, a month previously, became ill. Dr. Radcliffe, the same who had attended the Duke of at Campden House, pronounced the disease to be small-pox. The Queen, with a thoughtfulness that did her honour, at once ordered every one who had not had that fearful malady to leave the Palace. She sat up all that night destroying papers. The next day she was worse. At length it became evident that there was no hope of her recovery. Then, at last, her husband felt the worth of the treasure he must inevitably lose. His fortitude gave way. "There is no hope," he said, "I was the happiest man on earth; and I am the | |
43 | most miserable. She had no fault, none; you knew her well, but you could not know, nobody but myself could know, her goodness." Mary received the communion. She tried to take a last farewell of him whose life was bound up in her own, but in vain. William was led from the room in a paroxysm of anguish. A few hours later and the Palace had become a house of mourning. |
Greenwich Hospital remains: a noble memorial of the love and reverence with which William ever afterwards regarded her name. | |
After the death of Mary, the Palace must have become dull indeed. William cared but little for society; and for English society least of all. The English murmured at the manner in which their monarch chose the company of his Bentincks and Keppels, in preference to that of their Earls of Dorset and of Devonshire. But in most cases the Dutch were faithful, and loved their Stadtholder, and the English were traitors, and hated their king. , too, was not the most desirable place for holding evening parties and balls. The road from it to town, which lay through the park, was infested with highwaymen. | |
44 | Some of William's visitors, returning from his card parties, found that there were other modes, besides loo and basset, by which money was rapidly transferred from one pocket to another. In consequence of these occurrences, the road between the Palace and London was hung with lamps, and bodies of soldiers patrolled the park on the evenings when the king entertained company at Kensington. |
About a year after the death of the Queen, an event took place which, though it belongs rather to general history than to our pages, demands a slight notice. This was the celebrated Assassination Plot of . The exiled James still looked with longing eyes on the crown he had lost by his own folly. Always much under the influence of the Jesuits, he seems to have been thoroughly imbued with their maxim that "the end justifies the means." It was doubtless a good thing for himself, and for the Roman Catholic religion, that he should again rule over Great Britain. While William was on the throne, it was evident that this was impossible. The inference was plain-William must be put out of the way. An agent was found to conduct the affair. This agent was a Scotchman | |
45 | Sir George Barclay. He was furnished with a proper commission from James, and was soon at the head of thirty-nine other ruffians as bold and as desperate as himself. |
The first plan was a night attack on . The Palace was indeed but slightly defended, and might easily be carried by assault; or, more easily still, be set on fire, while the forty conspirators remained in the garden to see that the game did not escape. Had this plan been put into execution and succeeded, a dark stain might have sunk deep into the walls of , similar to that which colours the floor of the ante-room at Holyrood. Kensingtonians, out for a Sunday's airing, would have looked up at the old building with the same feelings with which country cousins now look up at the Tower of London. But such things were not to be. Fortunately for England, the stigma of having murdered the man who had been the salvation of her rights and liberty was not to rest upon her. The night attack on Kensington was abandoned, and another scheme was proposed, to which the preference was given. William's sole relaxation was hunting. | |
46 | Every Saturday he was accustomed to set out by coach from Kensington to Turnham-green, cross the river by boat at that point, and enjoy his favourite exercise in Richmond Park. The conspirators decided to attack him on his return. The day following the festival of St. Valentine, Saturday, the 15th of February, was fixed for the deed, and all the preparations were completed. Louis the Fourteenth ordered the French fleet to be in readiness at Calais, where James was waiting to embark, the moment the wishedfor tidings should arrive. But among the conspirators was a Roman Catholic gentleman, named Pendergrass. Pendergrass was horrified at the aspect which the plot had assumed. Much as he wished for the return of James, he was not prepared to turn assassin to procure it. But neither did he wish to betray his comrades. He hinted, however, to Lord Portland, William's greatest friend, that the king would do wisely to remain at home on the 15th; and when Saturday arrived, the usual cavalcade did not assemble at the gates of Kensington. The day was cold, and it was given out that the king would not hunt on account of the weather. The plotters resolved to wait |
47 | for another week. On the evening of the following Friday Pendergrass had an interview with William in his closet at Kensington, and, on certain conditions, consented to disclose the whole plot. It may be imagined that no hunting party left the Palace on the morrow. The band became alarmed, and indeed they had good reason. Before many days had elapsed most of them were in custody, and in little more than a month the principal conspirators had been tried, condemned and executed. |
The closet at Kensington was the scene of another interview. It was here that Sir John Fenwick, who also had been concerned in the plot, underwent an examination. Fenwick, in the hopes of pardon, accused many of William's own Ministers of treason, but William was by no means inclined to be lenient, and forgave the courtiers in preference to pardoning their betrayer. On a former occasion Sir John had refused to take off his hat in the presence of the Queen. The King had neither forgotten nor forgiven this dastardly piece of petty impertinence to a woman and his wife. Fenwick left Kensington for Newgate, and | |
48 | when he again left Newgate, it was for the scaffold on Tower Hill. |
We are glad to turn to another visitor to the Palace, whose doings were of a less sanguinary nature. This was no less a personage than Peter the Great, Czar of Russia, a man who, barbarian as he was himself, was anxious to reclaim his country from barbarism-a man who, Czar as he was, was not ashamed to labour as a common shipwright in the dockyards of Holland. The Czar's visit in , produced almost as much excitement as that of the Shah in . Peter, however, was not so fond of appearing in public. He visited William secretly at Kensington, and was let in by a back door. The collection of valuable pictures with which the Palace was adorned did not excite his attention. But he went into raptures with a plate which stood over the chimney-piece in one of the rooms, and which, by means of some mechanical arrangement, exhibited the direction of the wind. He seems to have constantly visited Kensington during his stay; he dined there; he supped there; and on one occasion, was present at a ball on the Princess Anne's birthday, when, too shy to appear publicly, | |
49 | he hid himself in a closet, where he could scrutinize the company, without being quizzed himself. The same plan was adopted that he might listen to a de bate in the House of Lords. When he left England, he presented King William with a magnificent ruby, wrapped in brown paper! |
We have mentioned a ball given on the Princess Anne's birthday. On the death of Mary, she had become reconciled to her brother-in-law. The first interview took place at Kensington. Anne, suffering from recent indisposition, and too fat to walk, was conveyed there in a sedan chair. The bearers did not set down their burden until they had reached the royal presence chamber. The door of the sedan was then opened, and the Princess, assisted by Lewis Jenkins (who, as we shall see later on, was usher to her little son), managed to alight. The interview was an affecting one. William afterwards presented Anne with the greater part of her sister's jewels. The King, when he was not conducting his cam paigns abroad, divided his time between Hampton Court and Kensington. We know but little of his private life. He was fond of architecture and garden | |
50 | ing, and imported as far as possible the stiff, formal, Dutch style into our country. We are told that a wooden model of Castle Howard was once sent to him at Kensington for his inspection. One little anecdote, probably belonging to this period, has been preserved to us, and we are happy to say that it is one which shows the saturnine King in his most favourable light. It is thus given by Horace Walpole. |
One of the King's secretaries was with William rather later than usual in the King's private closet at Kensington. A tap was heard at the door. "Who is there ?" asked the King. "Lord Buck," was the answer. The King rose, opened the door, and there' stood a little child of four years of age. It was young Lord Buckhurst, the son and heir of Lord Dorset, the lord high chamberlain. "And what does Lord Buck want ?" asked the King. | |
" You to be a horse to my coach; I've wanted you a long time." With a more amiable smile than the secretary had ever supposed he could wear, his majesty took the string of the toy, and dragged it up and down the long gallery till his little playfellow was satisfied. | |
51 | It was supposed that this was not the first game of play he had had with little Lord Buckhurst. |
The King's physicians were continually prophesying that he could not last much longer, yet William, in , had reached the age of fifty-two. Towards the middle of February of that year, he had ridden one morning into the Home Park, at Hampton Court, to look at a new canal which was being excavated under his instructions. He had just urged his favourite pony, Sorrel, into a gallop, when the animal suddenly stumbled on a mole hill, and fell. The King was thrown, and fractured his collar bone in the fall. The bone was set, and, regardless of the advice of his medical attendants, he insisted on travelling to Kensington that night. The jolting of the carriage displaced the fractured bones again, causing him great pain. At Kensington, the injured member was once more re-set, and the daily papers announced that the King was doing well. But it was soon known that the accident had been productive of more serious consequences than had at first been imagined. At one time the King grew better, and was able to take exercise in the gallery of the Palace. Here he sat down | |
52 | on a couch near an open window, and fell asleep for two hours. When he awoke he was much worse. At last his critical state became evident; he was supported merely by stimulants. |
His favourite, Albermarle, had been sent for from the Hague, and arrived at Kensington, travel-stained and exhausted with his long journey. Before the King heard the Continental news, he kindly bade Albermarle snatch a few hours rest. A great war was on the eve of breaking out. Once again, after little more than four years of peace, it was to be England and Holland against France. Albermarle brought news that all was in readiness. Had William lived, the annals of his reign might have been brightened by the victories which afterwards crowned the efforts of Marlborough. But for once he listened with a cold car to the details of military arrangements. All his answer was, "I draw towards my end." He bade farewell to his Dutch courtiers, his only friends; and, when he could no longer speak, pressed the hand of Bentinck tenderly to his heart. The bishops knelt and prayed. At that moment the clock struck eight. | |
53 | Almost before the concluding stroke, William had ceased to breathe. |
As soon as the lords-in-waiting perceived that he was dead, they told the surgeon to unloose from his wrist a small piece of black ribbon. It was found to contain a lock of his wife's hair. | |
The Jacobites made merry over the King's death. " The gentleman in black velvet," as they nick-named the mole that had been the innocent cause of it, became a favourite toast with them. The morning after the event rose bright and sunny. Such a morning, said the people, had not been seen for years. A Scotch peasant, as soon as he perceived the change, exclaimed that he was certain the wicked king must be dead at last. Such were the opinions which the majority, perhaps, of Englishmen pronounced on the great warrior and statesman who lay dead at . "It may," says Earl Stanhope, "be doubted whether, at the time of his decease, there was a single Englishman who entertained for him a feeling of personal attachment." Posterity, however, has not ratified the harsh judgment] of his contemporaries. We are mindful of his faults; but we consider them as | |
54 | outweighed by his virtues. He was no Englishman; but he was a man; a great, good man, for all that; and if we cannot regard him, as perhaps we cannot, with feelings of affection, we must at least look back to him with sentiments of gratitude. |
Our rambling has taken us to higher subjects than usual, but we hope the lessons we gain may be the better, and the interest none the less. | |
We have not hesitated to occasionally assume a graver tone, where we were speaking of graver things, and well deserves such respect; but we need not scruple to deal more lightly with his successor, Anne, and cannot do her successor, George of Hanover, better service than by speaking of him as lightly as possible. | |
