RICHMOND AND HAMPTON COURT PALACE
“Well, I really don’t care much how long the boat is in coming,” exclaimed Betty delightedly. “It’s such fun to watch all the other boats going up and down the river, and to look up at busy Westminster Bridge!”
Our friends were at the little landing in the shadow of the above-mentioned bridge, awaiting the arrival of the steamer which was to carry them to Kew Gardens. It was early morning, and the distant roar of the traffic from the great bridge above reached them together with the shrill whistles of all the different river craft.
“Hey! There goes Sir Walter Raleigh under the bridge there! I can see the name just as plainly! And,—well I never!—there come Lady Jane Grey and Sir Thomas More! Do all the boats have names like that? Wonder how the great people would like it if they knew! Sir Thomas is an express; he’s on official business this morning, and isn’t going to stop! Now! here comes Queen Elizabeth herself! Nothing less than a queen for me! I hope we’ll take her!” John cried excitedly.
The Queen Elizabeth did prove to be the Kew and Hampton Court boat, so when the gangway was put across, the five went on board and took some comfortable seats in the bow.
“Now, there are a number of things which I wish to point out to you right away,” remarked Mrs. Pitt, “so please be very attentive for a few moments. Just as soon as we are started and go under Westminster Bridge here, you will have the most beautiful view of the Houses of Parliament, on your right. There! See if the great building isn’t graceful from here! And isn’t its river-front imposing with all the statues of the sovereigns!
“Now! Quickly! Look to the left, and see the building with the gateway and square, blackened towers and battlements. That’s Lambeth Palace,” she added, “which has been the residence of the Archbishops of Canterbury (or the ‘Primates of England,’ as they are called) for six hundred years. It’s a delightful old place, with its fine library, and its several court-yards! It’s very historic as well, for in one of those towers, according to some people, the Lollards or followers of the religious reformer, Wycliffe, are said to have been tortured. Queen Elizabeth’s favorite, the unfortunate Earl of Essex, was imprisoned there, too.
“Here on our left was the famous amusement-park, Vauxhall, which was so popular in the eighteenth century. Some day when you read Thackeray’s novels you will find it mentioned. There on the right is Chelsea, where was Sir Thomas More’s home. I think his grounds bordered on the river, and he used to walk down to the bank, step into his boat, and his son would row him to the city. At his house there he was often visited by Henry VIII, Holbein, and the great Dutch scholar, Erasmus. Just behind those trees is Cheyne Walk, where Thomas Carlyle’s house still stands. (There’s the old Chelsea Church, which is most interesting, and Chelsea Hospital for old pensioners.) There have been many famous residents of Chelsea in more recent days; among them George Eliot, the great novelist, who died there; Edward Burne-Jones, the artist; Rossetti, the poet; Swinburne, Meredith, and Whistler. There! now I’ll leave you in peace to enjoy your boat-ride, and the music.”
They now came to a part of the river which is neither especially historic nor attractive, and the young people amused themselves for a while in talking, or listening to the rather crude music of some old musicians on the boat. It was not long, however, before the banks again became green and beautiful, and they passed odd little villages, and comfortable country-houses, whose smooth terraces slope down to the river. On the arrival of the boat at Kew, they went on shore and walked towards the celebrated Gardens.
“Have Kew Gardens any story or history to them, or are they just famous because of their flowers?” inquired Betty, as they passed through the gateway, and caught glimpses of bright blossoms within.
“Oh, rather!” replied Mrs. Pitt. “You’ll find plenty of history about here, Betty. Let’s look at the flowers first, though.”
Kew Gardens are most immaculately cared for. Wide gravel-paths stretch between the wonderful lawns, which are dotted with flower-beds of all shapes. There are hot-houses containing tropical plants, and in the “Rock Garden” is a pond where there are pelicans and other strange water birds. The party spent an hour very happily in wandering about, admiring the beautiful views as they went. Best of all were the rhododendrons, which were glorious at this season in their riot of pink, deep rose color, and lavender. Betty, who dearly loved flowers, could hardly be enticed away from that fascinating spot, and was only persuaded at mention of the old palace, which she had not yet seen.
When she reached it, she was rather disappointed. Kew Palace is not large, and altogether, is quite unlike a palace, although it was the favorite residence of George III and his queen, who died there in 1818.
“It just looks like any old red-brick Tudor house, which hasn’t any history at all. Even its rooms are all empty, and it isn’t the kind of a palace I like!” Betty declared in injured tones.
“Well, cheer up, Betty; we’re going to Hampton Court Palace soon, and I guess that’ll suit you all right. Is this where we take the tram, Mrs. Pitt? There’s one coming now!” John ran out into the road and gesticulated frantically, so that the motorman would be sure to stop. That dignified English personage looked rather surprised, but John did not care. He liked to take the lead, and to make himself useful whenever it was possible.
The ride was not quite as enjoyable as they had hoped, because of a very high wind. Upon their perch at the top of the tram, it required about all their attention to keep their hats and other belongings from blowing away. On the whole, they were quite content to get off at the bridge at Richmond, and walk up the long hill to the famous Star and Garter Inn.
“This hill seems longer than ever to-day, Mother,” Barbara complained. “When we reach that lovely surprise view (you know where I mean), let’s sit down and admire it while we rest a bit.”
“Very well, we will,” her mother panted; “we’re nearly there now.”
The view to which Barbara and her mother referred proved to be really very beautiful. On one side of the hill is a little park from which a precipice descends to the river. Looking through an opening in the luxuriant foliage of the trees (an opening which takes the place of a picture-frame), one sees a glorious view of the green valley below, through which the lazy Thames winds dreamily; and if the day is clear, Windsor Castle may just be discerned in the distance.
“Philip, you and John go and engage one of those drivers over opposite the hotel, to take us for a little drive in the Park; as soon as I order our luncheon, I’ll be out again to go along.” With that, Mrs. Pitt disappeared for a few moments into the Star and Garter.
Richmond Park is a favorite resort for tourists, and driving and bicycle parties. It contains some fine old trees, and a great many deer which add to its attractiveness. Mrs. Pitt directed the coachman not to drive about much, however, but to show them two points of interest.
“This is the ‘King’s Mound,’” she observed, as the horses slowed down. “Yes, that little low mound of earth just this side of the clump of trees. I’ll admit that it looks uninteresting enough; but it is known as the spot where Henry VIII stood while listening for the sound of the gun at the Tower, which told him of the execution of Anne Boleyn.”
“Ugh!” Betty interposed, in disgusted tones, giving a little shudder. “Think how he must have felt! Horrid old thing!”
“Don’t be silly, Betty!” retorted John. “I guess a little thing like that wouldn’t trouble him!”
Almost in the center of the Park is a house called White Lodge, which has long been a royal residence. It is approached by an avenue, which was the scene of Jeanie Deans’s interview with Queen Caroline, as Scott describes it in his “Heart of Midlothian.”
Their lunch was quickly over, and they were again on their way down the long hill. In the town of Richmond, they mounted another tram for the forty-minute ride to Hampton Court.
“If we only had had a bit more time,” Mrs. Pitt apologized, “I should have shown you what still remains of the famous old palace of Richmond. Henry VIII and Elizabeth both held their courts there often, and there the latter died in 1603. The palace was destroyed by order of Parliament in 1649; only a small part of it was spared, and in that the widow of Charles I, poor Queen Henrietta Maria, was allowed to live. Are you getting plenty of history, Betty, my dear?”
“Oh, yes, but I’m always ready for more,” smiled that young lady in response.
The tram set them down very near the great palace of Hampton Court. They went quickly through the entrance-gates of wrought iron, and walked towards the building itself. This West Front is as Wolsey left it, and is made of the old crimson bricks, with here and there a black one. Passing under the gatehouse, they came into the Green or Base Court, and here they paused to look about them.
“You’ll remember that the great and powerful Cardinal Wolsey built Hampton Court,” suggested Mrs. Pitt. “He lived in regal state, and had almost as large a retinue of servants and followers as the King himself. To gratify his great love for splendor and luxury, he built this magnificent residence for himself. He was in need of a home a little removed from the city, where he could rest and enjoy the fresh air. Yet it was also accessible to London, for he could be rowed up the river in his barge. Wolsey’s two great ambitions—wealth and power—were both gratified, and for a while all went well; but time brought the King’s displeasure, and it was he who took possession at Hampton Court after the complete disgrace which led to the death of the Cardinal. Henry VIII tore down some of Wolsey’s buildings, and put up new ones in their stead; and other monarchs added portions also; for instance, the huge State Apartments were erected under the supervision of Sir Christopher Wren, and by order of King William III. We shall see all these later on. Have you noticed those little oriel windows of the gatehouse? They are the originals of Wolsey’s palace, and I think this court here is also much the same as he built it. In his day there were pretty latticed windows in these surrounding buildings, a grass plot in the center, and around these narrow passages Wolsey probably rode on his ass.”
“Ass!” cried John. “What for? With all his money, couldn’t he even have a horse?”
“Oh, rather!” Mrs. Pitt laughed. “No doubt Wolsey would have liked one, but he was wise enough to always follow custom in such matters as had to do with his outward appearance and attitude. All religious men rode on asses; it was the habit of the day. Now, come this way, and see the Great Hall. Oh, Philip! Please fetch me my umbrella; I left it on the step in the court, there!”
Leading into the second or Clock Court, is Anne Boleyn’s gateway. Under this is a broad flight of stairs which takes one to the Great Hall, erected by Henry VIII, probably on the site of Wolsey’s earlier hall. It is a grand old room with a fine timber roof, and complete with its daïs or raised platform at the end, its minstrels’ gallery over the entrance doors, its old tapestries, stags’ heads, and suits of armor, and its windows mostly filled with modern stained-glass. Out of the hall are two smaller apartments, which also contain good tapestries. From here, the visitor again descends to Anne Boleyn’s gateway.
“What a funny old clock!” exclaimed Betty, spying it, up above on the tower under which they had just passed. “It seems to be so mixed up, somehow, that I can’t tell the time by it.”
“It is curious! It’s Henry VIII’s Astronomical Clock; it has all sorts of appliances and strange attachments. That’s why you can’t read it. It was recently repaired and set going again.”
“The King’s Grand Staircase” is broad, stately, and quite as impressive as its name, and this leads to the pompous State Apartments. These great square rooms, one opening out of another, seemed endless to the young people, and contained no attractions for them. The walls are covered with pictures, some of which are fine, but there are so many which are very similar that even Sir Peter Lely, Holbein, and Van Dyck become hopelessly tiresome. These rooms also contain some old furniture which is interesting, but on the whole, the best thing about them is the ever charming view of the gardens from the windows. The visitor may enter one tiny room called “Wolsey’s Closet,” which is deeply impressive with its paneled walls and ancient ceiling. The very atmosphere of the sixteenth century still seems to linger here, and one can easily believe that nothing herein has been changed since the great Cardinal used it daily. Near this is a long gallery which is supposed to be haunted by the ghost of Queen Catharine Howard. After the dullness of the State Apartments, this possessed great interest for the boys, and they lingered here as long as Mrs. Pitt would allow. They were forced to come away disappointed, however, without having heard even one little scream.
“You’d better spend the night here, John,” remarked Philip, in teasing tones. “That’s the proper time to see and hear ghosts.” John decided not to wait, however.
Of all the one thousand rooms of the great palace, they saw only one more, and that was Henry VIII’s Gothic Chapel, gorgeous in its fine carving and gilding, and in which the magnificent ceremony of the baptism of Prince Edward, afterwards Edward VI, was held.
The gardens of Hampton Court are perhaps better known and enjoyed than the palace itself. They are very extensive, and are laid out in the French style. Directly before the long front of William III’s addition, is a great round basin with a fountain, and beyond stretches the “Long Canal,”—a straight and narrow artificial pond, bordered by very beautiful trees. Then there is the “Home Park” on either side of the canal; here Henry VIII and Catharine Howard probably wandered often during their long honeymoon at Hampton Court; and here William III was riding on the day when he was thrown from his horse and killed.
There is what is called the “Wilderness,”—in reality a maze—which was greatly enjoyed by the party; and nearer the palace, again, is the tennis-court, where that game has been played for three centuries and a half. Some of the players here have been Henry VIII, the Earl of Leicester, Charles I, Charles II, and the present King, Edward VII, when he was Prince of Wales.
“And didn’t that American, Pettitt, play here?” inquired John. “He won the World’s Championship in England, you know. Yes, I thought it was here, though the word Hampton Court never meant much to me before to-day.”
There is still the remarkable Hampton Court Vine, the fame of which has spread so far. The vine fills a whole greenhouse, and one of its branches is a hundred and fourteen feet long. The attendant told Betty that the crop consists of about eight hundred bunches, each one weighing a pound. Having duly marveled at this, they explored Queen Mary’s lovely bower or arbor, where that Queen used to sit with her ladies at the tapestry-frames.
“Dear me, let’s go back now!” said Betty. “I’m sure we’ve been miles over these grounds.”
So they walked along the paths where Henry VIII made love to Anne Boleyn and Catharine Howard, where Queen Elizabeth took her morning walks, and where Pope, Swift, Addison, and Walpole wandered in more recent days.
“I think I haven’t mentioned Cromwell to you in connection with Hampton Court, but he must not be forgotten, for he came here after he was made Protector, and lived with as much pomp and splendor as any king. Every time I visit this palace I marvel at the amount of history with which it is connected, and at the number of scenes for which it was the setting!”
As she spoke, Mrs. Pitt was leading the way to the railroad-station. A London train came along very soon, fortunately, but they ran up and down in vain looking for seats in their customary third-class compartment. These were all crowded, the following day being a “bank holiday,” so when the guard at last came to their rescue, he put them in a first-class compartment. This greatly interested John and Betty, as they had not seen one before.
“Every time I visit the palace I marvel at the amount of history with which it is connected.”—Page [136].
“It isn’t so very different, after all,” commented Betty. “The cushions are a little nicer, and there’s carpet on the floor, but that’s the only change from an ordinary third-class carriage.”
“I know it,” said Philip. “And most English people never think of traveling first-class except on a long journey; for it really is very little better, and the price is so ruinously dear!”