Homes of Noble Poverty
By the Author of "England's Youth at Worship."
To be miserably poor throughout life is a burden sufficiently hard; to sink from riches to poverty is a tragedy. Yet it is a tragedy that we see constantly occurring around us. To struggle with despairing pride to preserve that outward show which is falsely termed respectability; to see fair-weather friends slink one by one away; to surrender the little luxuries, innocent enough in themselves, that have grown to become a part of life itself—that is what it means to slip down the hill of fortune. "Give me neither poverty nor riches," says the Book of Proverbs, the embodiment of wisdom for all time.
(Photo: J. G. Williams, East Molesey.)
NOBLE POVERTY AT HAMPTON COURT.
In poverty, as in all things else, there are degrees. What may be wealth to one may be destitution to another. It depends upon what the previous habits of life have been. Take, for instance, the gentlemen and ladies, many of them bearing the noblest English names, to whom the Queen grants apartments in the old Palace of Hampton Court. They are not without small incomes themselves, and the rates and taxes they have to pay amount to no inconsiderable sum. Yet to live rent free is a boon that enables them to live comfortably.
Shortly after the commencement of his reign George III. closed the Palace as a royal residence, and from that time private families commenced to occupy its innumerable rooms. These "royal squatters," as they have been called, at first behaved in doubtful fashion. Many had been granted leave to stay for a few weeks, and quietly proceeded to make it a permanent residence. Worse still, they seized additional rooms when they thought they could do so in safety, and sometimes let them out at a substantial rent to their friends. News of these strange doings was carried to the king, who became very angry, as an existing letter that he wrote shows to us. It was proclaimed that no one would in future be allowed to occupy a suite of apartments save under the Lord Chamberlain's warrant. Gradually the thousand rooms of the great building were divided up into, firstly, the State apartments, and, secondly, fifty-three private suites, varying in size from ten to forty chambers. At the present time these suites are granted, as a general rule, to the widows of men who have distinguished themselves in the service of their country. To no more worthy use could the Palace have been placed; indeed, the tact and discrimination which have been exhibited by our Queen and her advisers in the distribution of these benefits cannot be too highly praised.
About the royal pensioners of Hampton Court many interesting and amusing stories are told. When debt brought imprisonment as its punishment, a certain gentleman retired to the rooms of a relation in the Palace, and claimed the immunity of a royal residence. The bailiffs knew that they could not arrest him there, and hung about at the gates, while he took his daily exercise upon the roof. One day he incautiously ventured out and was arrested; but he escaped from his enemies, swam the river, and got back into safety again. Red-tape rules supreme in the management of the royal buildings, as the pensioners know to their cost. Certain windows, for instance, are never properly cleaned, owing to the fact that the Woods and Forests Department washes the outside of the panes and the Lord Steward's Department the inside. As the two departments rarely manage to do their cleaning on the same day, the windows are usually in a state of semi-obscurity. To obtain the use of an old staircase that led from her rooms to the gardens, a lady had to successively petition the Lord Chamberlain of Her Majesty's Household, the Lord Steward and Board of Green Cloth, the First Commissioner of Her Majesty's Works, and, finally, the Woods and Forests!
Photo Cassell and Co., Ltd.)
HOUSES OF THE MILITARY KNIGHTS, WINDSOR CASTLE.
While chronicling the movements of the Queen, reference is now and again made in the daily press to the Military Knights of Windsor. Nevertheless, but few who read about their doings know of what that order consists. They are officers who have distinguished themselves in some of our innumerable little wars, and yet in their old age find themselves solely dependent on a very diminutive pension. From the Queen they served so faithfully and well they receive an annuity and a lodging in that vast palace, Windsor Castle. The order is, indeed, a pendant to that better-known home for the veterans of the rank and file, Chelsea Hospital. Its history is peculiarly interesting. When that gallant warrior, King Edward III., founded the Order of the Garter, he ordained that each of the twenty-six companions should be allowed to present an "alms-knight" to the provision made for them by the king. According to the original grant, these veterans were to be "such as through adverse fortune were brought to that extremity that they had not of their own wherewith to sustain them nor to live so genteely as became a military condition." That they might live "genteely" they were given a lump sum of forty shillings a year, and twelve pence each day they attended the royal chapel—a small pension, it seems to us, but it must be remembered that money has vastly decreased in purchasing power since those early days.
A MILITARY KNIGHT OF WINDSOR.
But evil fortune awaited the alms-knights. They had been placed under the supervision of the canons of St. George's Chapel, and these priests seem to have bullied them unmercifully. Under Edward IV. the quarrel had grown to such a pitch that the king interfered. Monks carried long tales to the monarch of the insubordination shown by the stout old warriors to the rules that had been made for their government. The alms-knights replied, but in cunning they were no match for their adversaries; "deeds not words" might have been their motto. In the end they were shut off from the royal bounty, and, as an old chronicler of the times remarks, "how they next subsisted doth not fully appear." Bluff King Hal, however, took pity on the poor old gentlemen that yet remained in the land of the living, and set apart certain lands for their maintenance. Queen Bess added to their lodgings, but issued a series of strict regulations as to their behaviour, which well became the maiden Queen, however distasteful they were to the alms-knights themselves. Their old enemies, the canons of St. George's Chapel, were informed that they were to consider themselves responsible for their behaviour, and severe penalties awaited a "haunter of taverns" or a "keeper of late hours." When the Queen visited Windsor they were to be ready to salute her; lastly, it was ordained that no married man could be admitted to the order, bachelors and widowers being alone eligible.
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A BROTHER OF ST. CROSS.
(Of the Order of Noble Poverty.)
Until the reign of William IV. their uniform was more ornamental than comfortable. Indeed, during hot weather it must have been well-nigh intolerable, consisting as it did of a flowing red mantle, decked with a "scutcheon of St. George" upon the shoulder. Since the reform instituted by that king, however, it has consisted of a red swallow-tail coat, dark blue trousers, cocked-hat with red and white plume, crimson silk sash and a leather belt for a sword. Of course, it is only on full-dress occasions that the veterans thus gaily bedeck themselves. Remarkably well they then look, with their kind old faces beaming above the rows of medals that proclaim their past achievements. They still mourn the discontinuance of their famous banquet on St. George's Day; but presents of game from the royal preserves doubtless reconcile them to the loss of their annual feast.
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THE HOSPICE OF ST CROSS, WINCHESTER.
From the old fortress of Windsor Castle, fit residence for veteran soldiers, to the quiet Hampshire country in which the Hospice of St. Cross lies is a change indeed. So cool and quiet does St. Cross seem that it might be likened to some pleasant bower left by the side of the great highway of life, along which we jostle in the heat and dust of a summer's day. It lies little more than a mile from sleepy Winchester, and the River Itchen wanders through its meadows. It was in 1136 that Henry de Blois, the famous bishop and statesman, founded St. Cross as a hospital for thirteen old men. So good a deed stood out in strong relief against the cruelty and savagery of the times. From north to south, from east to west, England was desolated by all the horrors of civil war. As the Saxon Chronicle tells us in its dying wail, "Men openly said that Christ and His saints slept." Yet Bishop Henry, in the midst of his fighting and scheming, found time to ensure comparative happiness to thirteen poor traders whom the raiding barons had reduced from prosperity to poverty. Faults the great churchman may have had in plenty; but that he had a kind and generous heart he has left sufficient proof behind him. No finer monument than St. Cross could man erect to keep his memory green.
On the death of its founder, St. Cross fell into evil times. It passed under the protection of the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, a military order then more powerful than scrupulous. The Jerusalem Cross which is prominent in the church of the Hospice comes from that source. After a long struggle the Bishops of Winchester triumphed over the knights, but abuses still prevailed, and the money that should have found its way into the pockets of the poor brethren was quietly appropriated by fat ecclesiastics. At last, under Henry VI., Cardinal Beaufort set to work to remedy these evils. So noble were his efforts that he almost deserves to be coupled with Bishop Henry as joint-founder of "The Hospital of Noble Poverty," as he renamed the institution. From his time St. Cross has never been in danger of destruction.
An avenue of shady trees leads to a fine gate-house, for which St. Cross is indebted to Cardinal Beaufort. Above the arch kneels the effigy of the great churchman himself. Once within the doors we almost feel as if we had shaken off the nineteenth century and dropped back into the days of the Tudors. "Wayfarers' dole," a little horn mug of beer and a slip of bread, is presented as refreshment for the weary traveller. This may seem strange enough to us, but there was a time when the custom was by no means uncommon in hospitable England. Those were the days when wayfarers were few, roads half-mud or half-dust, and inns far between. Passing on, we next find ourselves in a spacious quadrangle, having for centre a smooth lawn of that exquisite turf for which our country is deservedly famous. Round it lie the chapel, hall, cloisters, and brethren's houses. The chapel is a fine building in the Norman style. Perhaps the most interesting features of its interior are the designs that adorn the walls. During the "whitewash" period of past generations they were covered up, but now they have been restored to something like their original form and colour. In this more than one of the brethren, where they were able to do so, lent a helping hand. The little burial ground is to the south of the chapel. It would be difficult to imagine a more peaceful spot for the last resting-place of the veterans who have fought and lost in the great battle of life.
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A VIEW OF THE CHARTERHOUSE.
"Have you many visitors from London itself?" I once inquired of the gate porter of the Charterhouse. "No, sir," said he. "We get a lot from the country, along with the Americans and foreigners; but precious few Londoners ever come here." It is strange how absolutely ignorant the average Londoner is concerning all that is quaint and interesting in the old buildings of the great city in which he lives. The case of the Charterhouse offers an excellent example. About it the broad streams of traffic pour unceasingly day after day; yet, though the little backwater wherein the grey old houses lie is but a few dozen yards away, few of the busy crowds can either spare the time or take the trouble to visit it.
The history of the Charterhouse is a strange one. In 1348 all London was trembling in the grasp of the Black Death. The grave-diggers did not know what to do with the bodies, and finally buried them in any pit or ditch that seemed convenient. Famous Sir Walter Manny, the favourite of all the fighting heroes of Froissart, was horrified at this grave scandal. He, together with the Bishop of London, procured certain lands, which were consecrated and handed over to the city that the dead might at least receive decent burial. It is said that fifty thousand bodies were there interred in a few years. Some time later, the plague abating, the same two philanthropists commenced to build a Carthusian monastery on part of the ground. For three centuries the Charterhouse, under the rigour of that stern order, pursued its quiet path. But with Henry VIII. came evil times for the monks. There were searching examinations, and finality executions. The monastery was dissolved and the building tossed from hand to hand. Twice it was held by Dukes of Norfolk, and for a time was known as Norfolk House. Two of its ducal owners passed from it to the block on Tower Hill. Queen Elizabeth took refuge there in the reign of Mary. There were revels there while James I. was king, eighty gentlemen being knighted at one time after a banquet which had been to the royal satisfaction. Finally it was bought by a certain Thomas Sutton, and shortly afterwards we find him petitioning Parliament for licence to endow it as a home for aged men and a school for poor children.
Let us take a day in the life of one of the "old gentlemen," as the attendants always call them. About eight o'clock a "nurse" comes bustling into his sitting-room, lights his fire, and sees that his breakfast is laid ready. At nine o'clock a bell goes for chapel. Each of the brethren must attend one chapel a day on pain of a shilling fine stopped out of his allowance; but he may choose the morning or evening service as he likes. The morning service is the more popular, and to chapel we will now bend our steps. It is a venerable old building, and now that the schoolboys have left their old home and retired to Godalming there is plenty of room. On the right of the altar is a heavy carved pulpit; on the left the tomb of the founder, good Thomas Sutton, with its elaborate carving and gold-tipped railings.
ST. KATHARINE'S HOSPITAL, REGENT'S PARK.
After chapel the old gentlemen are at liberty to do what they like until dinner is served at three, an hour in itself the survival of a custom long passed away. The hall, with its carved woodwork, is a most interesting spot. Wearing their gowns, the brothers file in and take their seats at the mahogany tables. Above the fireplace the Sutton arms are blazoned, and from his frame on the wall the picture of the good merchant himself smiles down upon the recipients of his bounty.
After dinner, in the summer weather, the brothers usually chat or doze in the pleasant shade of the buildings in the largest court. There are few of them that have not something out of the common about their faces, and none of them but have a hard story to tell, if they chose. They are of all ranks, but mainly drawn from the classes described in the old regulations as "poor gentlemen, old soldiers, merchants decayed by piracy or shipwreck, and household servants of the sovereign." "We get a lot of literary men here now," said an attendant, looking knowingly at me; but I did not pursue the conversation.
Evening service is at six, and at eleven the gates are shut for the night.
With the institution known as St. Katharine's Hospital the queens of England have always been closely connected. It was founded as long ago as 1148 by Matilda, wife of King Stephen; but to Queen Eleanor the hospital owed its first charter. By it the English queens were always to be considered perpetual patronesses, and the institution was to be part of their dower. Eleanor added further revenues "for the health of the soul of her late husband and of the souls of the preceding and succeeding kings and queens."
WILLIAM THE FOURTH'S NAVAL ASYLUM, PENGE.
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Henry VIII. seems to have intended at one time to quietly appropriate the revenues, but Anne Boleyn, the reigning favourite, prevented this iniquitous deed. From the Stuarts to 1824 there is little of importance to recount; the handful of royal pensioners lived in comfort, and a school for poor children was also maintained. Quiet garments were the rule, though the strict order passed by the queen of Edward III. against "striped clothes" as "tending to dissoluteness" had long been abolished. In 1824, however, came the proposal to dig out a huge dock on the ground whereon the hospital stood. After great debate Parliament granted the necessary powers. St. Katharine's Docks were begun, and at the same time the walls of a new St. Katharine's Hospital commenced to rise in Regent's Park. The present buildings can scarcely be called beautiful, the chapel being a poor imitation of the one at King's College, Cambridge. The offices of master and brethren are now practically sinecures of considerable value presented by the Crown; a large number of non-resident "bedesmen and bedeswomen" are also supported out of the funds. The Queen Victoria Jubilee Nurses' Fund has of late years been connected with the Hospital.
In the year 1847 Adelaide, Queen Dowager of England, determined to found and endow an asylum for widows and orphan daughters of the officers of the Royal Navy. Penge was the spot selected, and there twelve pretty little houses were built and called "King William the Fourth's Naval Asylum." It was a graceful act of the queen, for far too little had been previously done for the destitute relatives of those to whom the country owed nine-tenths of its power and security. From its foundation the governors and trustees have all been in some way connected with the Navy, and can be relied upon to appreciate the position and look after the interests of the pensioners.
MORDEN'S COLLEGE, BLACKHEATH.
Connected also with the sea is that old and famous institution, Morden's College, Blackheath. In the middle of the seventeenth century Sir John Morden was a member of the great Turkey Company, trading in the Mediterranean. He had a "fair estate," numerous ships, and all things that in his day made up the prosperous trader. In the City of London his name stood high. But the tenure of riches and prosperity was more precarious in those days than in our own. The whole of his fleet perished on one voyage, either by pirates or storm. But honest Sir John did not relax his energy because he found fortune his foe. Steadily plodding on, he again commenced to rise in the world, until at last, like the patriarch Job, he was even greater and wealthier than before. Misfortune had taught him a lesson in charity which he never forgot. When at the lowest depths of his calamity he had vowed that if ever the Almighty again crowned his efforts with success he would provide a shelter for merchants who, like himself, had fallen upon hard times and lost their estates "by accidents, dangers, and perils of the seas."
The College is a spacious red-brick building, with two wings that form a central quadrangle, which is surrounded by piazzas. It was built according to the designs of Sir Christopher Wren. At the present day it houses within its hospitable walls forty pensioners, while one hundred out-pensioners receive sums varying in amount up to £80 per annum. The inmates, with £120 each, are very comfortably off. In 1844 a fine dining-hall was added, in which hang the portraits of the baronet and his lady, painted by Sir Peter Lely. The new library was bequeathed by the will of a son of a former inmate of the College. With the increasing value of property, the income of Morden's College is now little short of £18,000 a year. The generous action of the founder well merited the praise of an old member of the institution, who wrote in his gratitude a poetic effusion thus concluding:
"What need is there of monument or bust,
With gift so noble and a cause so just?
It seeks no aid from meretricious art,
It lives enshrined in every member's heart!"
(Photo: Cassell and Co., Ltd.)
HUGGENS' COLLEGE, NORTHFLEET.
John Huggens, who founded the College at Northfleet which bears his name, was a fine type of the business man of the early part of this century, a time when the commerce of England commenced to advance by leaps and bounds. A letter which the Rev. M. M. Ffinch, Chaplain of the College, has kindly lent me describes him as a tall, well-made man in "nankeen breeches, blue dress coat, with large gilt buttons, and a white beaver hat with the nap fully an inch long." Like many other founders of charitable institutions, he had seen that the hardest poverty of all is the poverty that will not beg and cannot, through age, infirmity, or misfortune, make enough to keep body and soul together. A hard worker all his life, he would have been the last man in the world to encourage the sloth that comes by indiscriminate charity. In 1847 he opened a small building of sufficient size to house eight pensioners who had sunk from comparative comfort into evil times through no fault of their own. "Having run our little bark into the smooth and tranquil waters of the summer evening of life," said the founder in his opening speech, "may we sail on happily to the end of our voyage here below!" Before and after his death fresh houses were added, and since the foundation of the home two hundred and twenty-nine residents have been received within its walls.
