CHAPTER VIII.THE VANISHED PALACE.

CAXTON’S HOUSE IN THE ALMONRY, WESTMINSTER.

and strong upon the point that this Gutenberg, and none other, was the inventor of the art. The first partnership was speedily broken up. A second was formed with Fust or Faust, a goldsmith, and one Peter Schöffer, who seems to have been the working partner. Certainly he improved and carried the art to a high state of perfection.

That it should spread was certain; the work was simple; the press was not a machine which could be kept secret. Before long printers were setting up their presses everywhere. At Bruges the first printer was one Colard Mansion, a native of the place. He was a member of that Fraternity or Guild of St. John already mentioned. He was himself a writer, or at least a translator, as well as a printer. Caxton followed him in this respect. He printed and published twenty-two works, of which one, called “The Garden of Devotion,” was in Latin, the others were all in French except two, which were in English. These two were printed for Caxton. The use of French shows that the court and the nobles did not use Flemish. One of his books, the cost of which seems to have ruined the unfortunate printer, was a splendid edition in folio of Ovid’s “Metamorphoses,” translated into French and illustrated with numerous woodcuts. It is worthy of note that Colard’s workshop was the chamber over the north porch of the Church of St. Donatus. The first “chapel” of printers may have been begun in the modest room over a church porch. When troubles fell upon poor Colard he was fain to run away; he left the city, and—he disappeared. History knows nothing more about Colard Mansion.

That he printed these two books for Caxton there seems no reason to doubt. Wynkyn de Werde, Caxton’s successor, certainly says that they were printed at Cologne; but contemporary evidence is not always to be trusted. The character of the type alone is held to prove that they are the work of Colard.

These are the earliest English-printed books. The first is a “Recuyell of the Historyes of Troie”; the second is “The Game and Playe of the Chesse.” The second is dedicated to the unfortunate Duke of Clarence: “To the righte noble, righte excellent and vertuous Prince George, Duc of Clarence, Earle of Warwicke and Salisburye, Grete Chamberlayne of Englonde and Lieutenant of Ireland, Oldest Brother of Kynge Edwarde, by the Grace of God Kynge of Englonde and of France, your most humble servant William Caxton amonge other of youre servantes sendes unto you Peas, Helthe, Joye and Victorye upon your Enemies.”

The “Recuyell,” a translation, was completed in 1471. It was not printed until 1474. The conclusion is that Caxton found so great a demand for it that he could not get the book copied quickly enough to meet the demand; that his attention was drawn to the newly invented art, and that he perceived something of the enormous possibilities which it presented. About this time he resigned the post he had held so long; he left the claustralDomusover which he had presided; he married a wife, and he entered into the service of the Duchess of Burgundy. It has been asked in what capacity he served. In no capacity at all; he was one of the “following”; he wore the livery of the Duchess; he was attached to the court; he had rooms and rations and some allowance of money; he was in the service and at the orders of the Duchess; he was a secretary or an interpreter; heswelled the pageant by his presence; he conducted the Duchess’s trade ventures; he was Usher of the White Rod, Chamberlain, Gentleman-in-waiting—anything. Do not let us be deceived by the word “service” and its modern meaning.

FACSIMILE OF THE “RECUYELL OF THE HISTORYES OF TROIE.”

This “service” lasted a very short time. He left the court—one knows not why—and he returned, after this long absence, to his native land. Then began the third, the last, the most important chapter of his life. This was in the year 1476. He brought over his presses and his workmen with him. And he settled in Westminster.

Why did he choose Westminster?

This point is elaborately discussed by Blades. He suggests that Caxton went to Westminster on account of the wool staple, with which he may have had

FACSIMILE OF THE “GAME AND PLAYE OF THE CHESSE.”

correspondence while at Bruges. Hemayhave had; perhaps did have—though it is not at all likely, because, as is most certain, he was in constant correspondence with the Merchant Adventurers of London, and with his own company of Mercers, whose representative hewas; and it is also certain that, as a citizen of London, he could not regard the Staple of Westminster with any favor. That reason, therefore, may be disregarded.

Or, Blades suggests, the Mercers rented of the Abbey a tavern called the Greyhound, where they feasted once a year, and where they did business with the merchants of the Wool Staple.ThereforeCaxton came here. This, again, is a reason that is no reason; for, surely, the fact that there was this tavern in Westminster could not influence Caxton in the least. One might as well make him go to Gravesend because the Mercers had a farm not far from the town.

There are, however, two reasons which seem to me very plain and sufficient. The first shows why he did not set up his press in the City of London. The next shows why he did set it up in the town—not yet a city—of Westminster. The first reason is that he did not take a workshop in London because he could not. The thing was impossible; he would not be allowed to work under the jurisdiction of the Lord Mayor. By this time every trade or craft carried on in the City had been formed into a company or attached to some company; every craftsman belonged to a company; every merchant and every retailer belonged to a company. There was, however, no trade of printing; therefore no company; therefore, as yet, and until the point was raised and settled, no power of settling within the City.

Where, then, could he find a proper place? Southwark was within the City jurisdiction. Without the walls there were hardly any suburbs. The Strand, which might be considered a suburb, was a long line of palaces built upon the river bank, noble of aspect from the river; on the other side their gates openedupon a muddy road, on the north side of which were fields. Caxton wanted, however, not a suburb, but a town; he wanted, also, patrons and customers for the new trade. Westminster was, in fact, the only place to which he could go. Doubtless he bore letters and recommendations from the Duchess of Burgundy to her brother Edward IV. He wanted court favor, a thing which everybody wanted at that time; he wanted the patronage of great lords and ladies; and he wanted to attract the attention of colleges, monasteries, and places where they wanted books and used books. In short, like every man in trade, Caxton wanted a place which would be convenient for advertising, showing, and proclaiming his business. For all purposes Westminster was admirably suited for the setting up of his press.

Where was his house?

Long afterward, until exactly fifty years ago, when it fell down, there was shown a house traditionally assigned to Caxton. The representation certainly indicates a later origin, but there may have been alterations. There have been discussions and disputes over the site of the first printing press: it has been placed on the site of Henry the Seventh’s Chapel; one is told that the monument in front of St. Margaret’s stands on the site. For my own part I cannot understand how there can be any doubt at all. Stow, writing a hundred years later, states with the greatest clearness where the house stood. He says, speaking of the “Gate House,”—that is, the gate at the east end of Tothill Street: “On the South side of this Gate King Henry VII. founded an Almshouse for thirteen poor men ... near unto this house westward was an old chapel of St. Anne, over against whichthe Lady Margaret, mother to King Henry VII., erected an almshouse for poor women, which is now turned into lodgings for the singing men of the College. The place wherein this Chapel and Almshouse stand was called the Eleemosynary or Almonry; now, corruptly, the Ambry; for that the alms of the Abbey were here distributed to the poor.

“And therein Islip, Abbot of Westminster, first practised and erected the first press of Book printing that ever was in England about the year of Christ 1471; W. Caxton, Citizen of London, Mercer, brought it into England, and was the first that practised it in the said Abbey.”

Islip was not Abbot at that time, but Prior and afterward Abbot. As Prior, the details of the government of the Abbey were in his hands. If now we look at the map we shall see that the place corresponds with what was called the Great Almonry until a few years ago, when Victoria Street was cut though the slums of Westminster, and the Westminster Palace Hotel was built, either covering the site or effectually hiding it. The thing does not seem to admit of doubt or dispute. Observe that Stow speaks of the “Ambry” as being “in” the Abbey, though it was outside the gate. So Caxton speaks of his presses as set up “in” the Abbey—an expression which has led many to think that he carried on his work within the church. The mistake was natural so long as men had forgotten the meaning of the word “Abbey,” and thought that Westminster Abbey meant the Church of St. Peter. How many are there, even now, who have examined the remains lying south of the church, and who understand that these were buildings which, with the church, constituted the Abbey?

The house was known by the sign of the Red Pale. It was a common sign among printers in Holland, some of whom, however, had a Black Pale.

It is not necessary to enumerate the books which Caxton printed; and the questions of type, process, binding, and illustrating must be left for the biographer. But about the trade of printer and publisher? On this point hear Caxton himself. He speaks in a Prologue (hitherto undiscovered).

“When,” he says, “I resolved upon setting up a press in Westminster, I knew full well that it was an enterprise full of danger. For I had seen my friend Colard, printer of Bruges, fain to fly from the city in poverty and debt; and I had seen Melchior of Augsburg dying a bankrupt; and I had heard how Sweynheim and Pannarts in Rome had petitioned the Pope for help. Yet I hoped, by the favour and countenance of His Highness the King, to succeed. This have I done: yet not as I hoped to do. For I thought that the quick production and the cheapness of books would cause many to buy them who hitherto had been content to live without the solace of poetry and romance, and without the instruction of Cato and Boethius. Again, I thought that there are schools and colleges where books must be studied, and I hoped that they would find it better to print than to copy. And there are Religious Houses where they are forever engaged in copying Psalters and Service Books. Surely, I thought, it will be better for the good Monks to print than to copy. I forgot, moreover, that there was a great stock in hand of written books; in every Monastery a store which must first be used up, and in every College there were written books for the student which must first be worn out before there

FACSIMILE OF THE “DICTES OR SAYINGS OF THE PHILOSOPHERS.’”

would be question of replacing them with printed books. Also I forgot the great company of copyists, illuminators, limners, and those who make and sell vellum and fine parchment for the copyists. And I found, moreover, to my surprise, that there were many, great lords to wit, who cared nothing for cheapness, and who scoffed at my woodcuts compared with the illuminations in red and blue and gold which adorned their written books. He who would embark upon a new trade must reckon with those who make their livelihood in the old trade. Wherefore my Art of Printing had many enemies at the outset, and few friends. So that the demand for my books has not yet been found equal to the number which I have put forth, and I should have been ruined like Colard andbankrupt like Melchior were it not for the help of my Lord of Arundel and others, who protected me against the certain loss which threatened.”

There are many points connected with the first English printing press on which one would like to dwell: the mechanism of it, the forms of type, the paper used, the binding, the price. These things belong to a biography, and not to a chapter. It must suffice here to say that the form of the press was simple, being little more than such a screw press as is used now for copying letters.

As to the books themselves, Caxton, in the true spirit of trade, gave the world not what he himself may have wanted, but what the world wanted. Books of romance, chivalry, and great achievements were demanded by the knights and nobles. Books of service were wanted by the Church. Caxton provided these. These things illustrate the character of the man—cautious, businesslike, anxious to run his press at a profit, so that he tried no experiments, and was content to be a servant rather than a teacher.

Those who will take the trouble to visit the British Museum and there examine for themselves the treasures which the nation possesses of early printing—the case full of Caxtons in the King’s Library, the shelf filled with Caxtons in the vast Library, which the general visitor is not allowed to see—will be astonished to observe the rapid advances already made in the Art of Printing when Caxton undertook its practice. Printing was first invented some time in the first half of the fifteenth century.[6]The type is clear and strong—clearer type we have never made since; the

CAXTON MEMORIAL WINDOW IN ST. MARGARET’S, WESTMINSTER.

ink is perfectly black to this day; the lines are even and in perfect order; the binding, when an ancient binding has been preserved, is like any binding of later times. But the shape of the book was not newly invented, nor the binding, nor the form of the type; in these matters the printer followed the copyist. In the earlier examples the illuminator was called in to adorn the book, copy by copy, with his art-initials, colored letters, pictures delicately and beautifully drawn, colored and gilt in the printed page. The illuminator, however, very soon gave way to the engraver. The wood engravings of the late fifteenth century, rough though they are, and coarse in drawing and outline, are yet vigorous and direct; they illustrate what they desire to illustrate. One can believe that those who could afford the illuminations continued to order and to buy the manuscripts, for the sake of their delicacy and beauty. But the printed book, with its rough engraving, was within the reach of student, priest, and squire, to whose slender means the illuminated work was forbidden.

FACSIMILE OF CAXTON’S HANDWRITING, FROM THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY.

The more one considers this figure of the fifteenth-century workman, the more clearly he stands out before us, grave, anxious, resolute of face—the more hebecomes admirable and wonderful. For thirty years engaged in protecting English interests in the Netherlands—patient, tenacious, conciliatory; the friend and servant of the most powerful lady in Europe; the friend of all those at home who regarded literature; himself a lover of poetry and of romance, and at the mature age of sixty-five engaged in translating the latter; a good linguist; a good scholar; and, most certainly, one who could look into the future, and could foretell something of the influence which the press was destined to have upon the world. And all this in a simple liveryman of the Mercers’ Company, without education other than that enjoyed by all lads of his position, without wealth and without family influence other than that derived from the long connection with the City in various trades of his kith and kin. Admirable and wonderful is the life of this great man; admirable and wonderful are his achievements.

He died in harness. Thus sayeth Wynkyn de Worde in the “Vitæ Patrum”: “Thus endyth the most vertuouse hystorye of the devoute and righte renowned lyves of holy faders lyuynge in deserte, worthy of remembrance to all wel dysposed persons, which hath ben translated oute of French into English by William Caxton of Westmynstre late deed and fynyshed at the laste daye of hys lyff.” He died in the year 1491, and was buried at St. Margaret’s, where his wife, Maude, and perhaps his father, were also buried. He left one child, a daughter. He left a will, which is lost; but one clause was a bequest of fifteen copies of the “Golden Legend” to the parish church. These were afterward sold at prices varying from 5s. 4d. to 6s. 8d. If money was then worth eight times its present value, we can understand that books, althoughthey were greatly cheapened by being printed instead of written, had not yet become cheap.

Many of the books which he published were romances, as has been said, and tales of chivalry. He loved these tales himself, as much as the noble ladies and gallant knights for whom he published them. Let us end this notice with his own words on the excellence and the usefulness of romance. He is speaking of the “History of King Blanchardine and Queen Eglantine his Wife,” translated by order of the Lady Margaret:

“I know full well that the story of it was honest and joyful to all virtuous young noble gentlemen and women for to read therein as for their pastime. For under correction, in my judgment, the stories of noble feats and valiant acts of arms and war ... which have been actioned in old time by many noble princes, lords, and knights, are as well for to see and know their valiantness, for to stand in the special grace and love of their ladies, and in likewise for gentle young ladies and demoiselles for to learn to be steadfast and constant in their part to them, that they once have promised and agreed to such as have put their lives oft in jeopardy for to please them to stand in grace, as it is to occupy the ken and study overmuch in books of contemplation.”

Westminsteris the City of Kings’ Houses. It contains, or has contained, five of them. Of these we have already considered one—the earliest and the most interesting. Of the four others, Buckingham Palace belongs to the present; it is, in a way, part of ourselves, since it is the House of the Sovereign. Therefore we need not dwell upon it. There remain the Houses of Whitehall, of St. James’s, and of Kensington. Of these three the two latter Palaces have apparently failed to impress the popular imagination with any sense of royal splendor or mystery. This sense belongs both to Westminster and to Whitehall; but not to St. James’s or to Kensington. It is hard to say why this is so. As regards St. James’s, the buildings are certainly not externally majestic; nor does one who walks within its courts become immediately conscious of ancient associations and the atmosphere of Court Functions. Yet nearly all the Court Functions were held there for a hundred and fifty years. Again, there are personal associations, if one looks for them, clinging to St. James’s, as there were at Whitehall; but either we do not look for them, or they do not awaken any enthusiasm. Pilgrims do not journey to the Palace to visit its haunted chambers, as they do to Holyrood or to Windsor. Queen Mary, for instance, died in the Palace—Froude has told us in what mournful manner and in which room.Does anyone ever ask or care for the room in which the most unhappy of all English Queens or Princesses breathed her last? King Charles spent his last night in this Palace. The Royal martyr has still admirers, but they do not flock to St. James’s to weep over the unspeakable sadness of that night. The elder Pretender was born here, but we have almost forgotten his life, to say nothing of his birth, in spite of the romantic warming-pan. There are stories of love and intrigue, of jealousy, of ambition and disappointment, connected with St. James’s; yet, with all this wealth of material, it is not a place of romance: at Whitehall, when we think of that vanished House, the face, the eyes, the voice of Louise de Querouaille light up the courts; the Count de Grammont fills the rooms for us with lovely ladies and gallant courtiers; outside, from her windows looking into the Park, fair Nelly greets the King with mirthful eyes and saucy tongue as he crosses from Whitehall. Well, Miss Brett was perhaps quite as beautiful as Nelly or Louise, but we do not in the least desire to read about her. The book of the French courtier treats entirely of the world, the flesh, and the devil—we read it with rapture; the Chronicles of St. James’s might be written so as to treat of exactly the same subjects—yet we turn from them. Why? Because it is impossible to throw over the Georges the luminous halo of romance. George the First, the Second, and the son of the Second, were perhaps as immoral as Charles and James; yet between them all they could not produce a single romance. The first romantic episode in the history of the house of Hanover is that simple little legend of Hannah Lightfoot. Perhaps another reason why St. James’s has never become to the imagination a successor toWhitehall and Westminster is that from the year 1714 to the year 1837 the old kind of loyalty to the sovereign no longer existed. Compare the personal loyalty displayed to Henry V., to Henry VIII., to Elizabeth, with that felt for William III., who saved the country from Catholic rule, and for George I., who carried on the Protestant succession. The country accepted these kings, not because they had any personal love for them, but because they enabled the nation to have what it wanted. The new kings did not try to become personally popular; but they were ready to lead the people in war for religious freedom, and they represented a principle. But as for personal loyalty of the ancient kind, that no longer existed.

For exactly a similar reason Kensington has never been a palace in which the world is interested. William III. chose the house for his residence; he died here. An excellent king, a most useful king, but hardly possessed of the nation’s love. George II. died here; the Duke of Sussex died here; yet there is no curiosity or enthusiasm about the place.

With Whitehall the case is quite different. It was the Palace of Henry VIII., of Elizabeth, of the Tudors and the Stuarts; the Palace of sovereigns who ruled as well as reigned, who were English and not Germans, who lived in the open light and air for all to behold; if they did not hide their vices, they openly displayed their virtues: there is more interest attaching to the Whitehall of Charles II. alone than there is to the St. James’s of all those who came after him. Since, then, we can here consider one palace only out of the remaining four, let us turn to the Palace of Whitehall.

We have seen that, of all the buildings which once clustered round the Painted Chamber and formed the

Inigo Jones 1614.

King’s House of Westminster, there now remain nothing more than a single hall much changed, a crypt much restored, a cloister, and a tower. But this is autumnal opulence compared with the Palace of Whitehall. Of that broad, rambling place, as taken over and enlarged by Henry VIII., there now remains nothing at all—not a single chamber, not a tower, not a gateway, not a fragment; everything is gone: even the disposition of its courts and lanes, generally the last thing to be lost, can no longer be traced. And of the Stuart Whitehall which succeeded there remains but one chamber, the Banqueting Hall of Inigo Jones. Perhaps no royal palace of recent times, in any country, has been so lost and forgotten as that of the Tudor Whitehall. Even the Ivory House of Ahab, or the Golden House of Nero, has not been more completely swept away. I wonder how many living men—even of the few who have seriously studied the Westminster of the past—could draw from memory a plan of Whitehall Palace, or describe in general terms its courts and buildings. Yet it was a very great house; certainly not venerable or picturesque, such as that which stood beside the Abbey: there were no sculptured fronts, no tall gables, no tourelles, no gray walls, no narrow windows, no carved cloisters; there was hardly any suggestion of a fortress; it was a modern house from the first, the house of an ecclesiastic, built, like all the older houses, in a succession of courts. One who wishes to understand Whitehall must visit Hampton, and walk about the courts of St. James’s.

The first mention of the House is in the year 1221, when it was bequeathed by Hubert de Burgh, Henry III.’s Justiciary, to the Dominicans of his foundation. The original home of the Black Friars in London wasin Holborn, exactly north of Lincoln’s Inn; whence, fifty years later, they removed to the corner where the Fleet runs into the Thames, just outside the ancient City wall. Here their name still survives. The monks kept Hubert’s house till 1276, when they sold it to the Archbishop of York. For two hundred and fifty years it was the town house of the Archbishop. Wolsey, the last Archbishop who held it, greatly enlarged and beautified the house. Concerning the magnificence with which he lived here—such magnificence as surpassed that of the King his master, such splendor as no king of England, not even Richard the Second, had ever shown at his court—we are informed by his biographer, Cavendish. Wolsey’s following of eight hundred men, including ten peers of the realm and fifteen knights who were not too proud to enter the service of the Cardinal, was greater even than that of Warwick, the King-maker of the preceding century.

When one reads of the entertainments, the banquetings, the mumming, the music, the gold and silver plate, the cloth of gold, the blaze of color everywhere,—in the hangings, in the coats of arms, in the costumes, in the trappings of the horses,—we must remember that this magnificence was not in those days regarded as ostentation. So to speak of it betrays nineteenth-century prejudice. It is only in this present century that the rich man has been expected to live, to travel, to dress, to entertain, very much like the men who are not so rich. Dives now drives in a carriage little better than that of the physician who attends him. He gives dinners little better than those of the lawyer who conducts his affairs. If he lives in a great house, it is in the country, unseen. To parade and flaunt and exhibit your wealth is, as we now understand

HOLBEIN’S GATE AND THE BANQUETING HALL.From the original Picture by Samuel Scott, in possession of Mr. Andrew Chatto.

HOLBEIN’S GATE AND THE BANQUETING HALL.

From the original Picture by Samuel Scott, in possession of Mr. Andrew Chatto.

things, bad form. In the time of Cardinal Wolsey it was not bad form: it was the right and proper use of wealth to entertain royally; it was the part of a rich man to dress splendidly, to have a troop of gentlemen and valets in his service, to exhibit tables covered with gold and silver plate, to hang the walls with beautiful and costly arras. All this was right and proper. In this way the successful man showed his success to the world; he invited the world to judge how successful he was—how rich, how powerful. A great deal of Wolsey’s authority and power depended upon this outward and visible show. Perhaps he overdid the splendor and created jealousies. Yet kings delighted in seeing the splendor of their subjects. Had the divorce business gone on smoothly, the King might have continued to rejoice in possessing a subject so great and powerful. We have ceased so long from open splendor that we find it difficult to understand it. Imagination refuses to restore the glory of York House, when its walls were hung with tapestry of many colors; when, here and there, in place of tapestry, the walls were hung with cloth of gold, cloth of silver, and cloth of tissue. Where, let me ask, can we find now a single piece of this fine cloth of gold? There were long tables spread with rich stuffs—satin, silk, velvet, damask: where can we find a table now spread with these lovely things? There were sideboards set with the most splendid gold and silver plate: where now can we see gold and silver plate—save at a Lord Mayor’s Dinner? A following of eight hundred people rode with the Cardinal: what noble in the land has such a following now? Alas! the richest and greatest lord that we can produce has nothing but a couple of varlets behind his carriage, and two orthree more in his hall, with never a knight or squire or armiger among them. As for the Cardinal himself, when he went abroad he was all scarlet and red and gold and silver gilt. His saddle was of crimson velvet, his shoes were set with gleaming diamonds, his stirrups were silver gilt; before him rode two monks carrying silver crosses. Every day he entertained a multitude with a noble feast and fine wines, with the singing of men and children, and with the music of all kinds of instruments. And afterward there were masques and mummeries, and dances with noble dames and gentle damsels.

What have we to show in comparison with this magnificence? Nothing. The richest man, the most noble and the most powerful, is no more splendid than a simple gentleman. The King-maker, if he existed in the present day, would walk to his club in Pall Mall; and you would not distinguish him from the briefless barrister taking his dinner—the same dinner, mind—at the next table. The decay of magnificence accompanies the decay of rank, the decay of individual authority, and the decay of territorial power.

Wolsey fell. Great and powerful must have been that dread sovereign, that Occidental Star, that King who could overthrow by a single word so mighty a Lord as the Cardinal. And the king took over for his own use the town house of the Archbishops of York.

At this time the old Palace of Westminster was in a melancholy condition. A fire in 1512 destroyed a great part of it, including the principal offices and many of the chambers. The central part—the King’s House—however, escaped, and here the King remained. Rooms for visitors were found at Baynard’s Castle, Bridewell, and St. James’s (which was built by Henryon the site of St. James’s Hospital). Norden, who wrote in the year 1592, says that the old Palace at that time lay in ruins, but that the vaults, cellars, and walls still remaining showed how extensive had been the buildings in former times.

In converting York House into a Palace Henry added a tennis court, a cockpit, a bowling alley, and a tilt yard. He built a gateway after Holbein’s designs across the main street; and besides these, according to the Act of Parliament which annexed Whitehall to the Palace of Westminster, he “most sumptuously and curiously builded and edified many beautiful, costly, and pleasant lodgings.” He laid out the Park, and he began a collection of pictures, which Charles I. afterward enlarged. James I. designed to erect a new and very costly Palace on the spot. He intrusted the work to Inigo Jones, but the design never got beyond the Banqueting Hall. Had the Palace been completed it would have shown a front of 1152 feet in length from north to south, and 874 feet from east to west.

The plan of the Palace, as it was in the reign of Charles II., exists. It is here reproduced from the Crace collection in the British Museum. It will be seen that the place was much less in area and contained fewer buildings than the Westminster Palace. The chief reason for these diminished proportions was the separation for the first time in English history of the High Courts of Justice from the King’s Court, and the change from the army,—King Cnut’s huscarles,—which the kings had always led about with them, to a small bodyguard. The place is rambling, as we should expect from the manner in which it grew.

On the south side the Palace began with the Bowling Green; next to this was the Privy Garden, a large

THE WATERSIDE ELEVATION OF INIGO JONES’ PALACE.[Larger view (439kb)]

THE WATERSIDE ELEVATION OF INIGO JONES’ PALACE.

[Larger view (439kb)]

piece of ground laid out formally. The front of the Palace consisted of the Banqueting Hall, the present Whitehall, the Gate and Gate Tower, neither stately nor in any way remarkable, and a row of low gabled houses almost mean in appearance. The Gate opened upon a series of three courts or quadrangles. The first and most important, called “The Court,” had on its west side the Banqueting House; on the south there was a row of offices or chambers; on the north a low covered way connected the Banqueting Hall with the other chambers; on the east side was the Great Hall or Presence Chamber, the Chapel, and the privaterooms of the King and Queen. This part of the Palace contained what was left of the old York House. The second court, that into which the principal gate opened, was called the “Courtyard.” By this court was the way to the Audience and Council Chambers, the Chapel, the offices of the Palace, and the Water Gate. The Art Collections and Library were placed in the “Stone Gallery,” which ran along the east side of the Privy Garden. A third court was called Scotland Yard; in this court was the Guard House. The old custom of having everything made in the Palace that could be made, and everything stored under responsible officers, was continued at Whitehall as it had been at Westminster. Thus we find cellars, pastry house, pantry, cyder house, spicery, bakehouse, charcoal house, scalding house, chandlery, poulterers’ house, master glazier’s, confectionery—and the rest, each office with its responsible officer, and each officer with his own quarters in the Palace. One long building on the right hand of the picture was the “Small Beer Buttery.” The length shows its importance; its situation among the offices indicates for whom it was erected. Remember that the common sort of Englishman has never at any time used water as a beverage unless there was nothing else to be had; that as yet he had no tea; that his habitual beverage was small beer; and that in all great houses small beer was to be had for the asking in the intervals of work.

Beyond the Banqueting Hall and the Gate House there is a broad street, now Parliament Street, then a portion of the Palace. On the other side, where in King Henry’s reign were the Tilt Yard and the Cockpit, are the old Horse Guards and Wallingford House, afterward the Admiralty. Beyond these buildings is St. James’s Park, with fine broad roads, which remain to the present day; on the left is Rosamond’s Pond in its setting of trees, to which reference is constantly made in the literature of the seventeenth century.

At the south end of the open space stood the beautiful gate erected by Holbein. It was removed in 1759.

The appearance of the Palace from the river has been preserved in several views, in none of which do the details all agree. The one produced here is taken from Wilkinson’s “Londina Illustrata,” and shows the Palace in the time of James II. The general aspect of

ST. JAMES’S PALACE.

the Palace is that of a great collection of chambers and offices built as they were required, for convenience and comfort, rather than for beauty or picturesqueness. There are no towers, cloisters, gables, or carved work. It is essentially—like St. James’s, like Hampton—a palace of brick.

The greater part of Whitehall Palace was destroyed by fire in 1691 and 1697. After the deposition of James II. it ceased to be a royal residence. Then the site of the Palace was gradually built over by private persons. The Banqueting Hall was for a long time a Chapel Royal; it has now become the house for the collections of the United Service Institute. One could wish that some of the Palace had been preserved: from the marriage of Anne Boleyn to the deposition of James II. is a period which contains a great many events of interest and importance, all of which are associated with this Palace. The destruction of the ancient Faith, the dissolution of the Religious Houses, the re-birth of Classical learning, the vast development of trade, the widening of the world, the beginning of the Empireoutre mer, the humbling of Spain, the successful resistance of the nation against the king, the growth of a most glorious literature, the revival of the national spirit—all these things belong to Whitehall Palace. Other memories it had, not so pleasing: the self-will of Henry, the misery of his elder daughter, the execution of Charles I., the licentious Court of Charles II.—one wishes that the place had been spared.

We have copied the plan of the Palace. It is, however, impossible to fill in the plan with the innumerable offices, private rooms, galleries, and chambers mentioned by one writer and another. We must becontent to know that it was a vast nest of chambers and offices; there were hundreds of them; the courts were crowded with people; there was a common thoroughfare through the middle of the Palace from Charing Cross to Westminster; so many funerals, for instance, were conducted along this road to St. Margaret’s, that Henry VIII. constructed a new burial ground at St. Martin’s. The Palace was accessible to all; the Guard stood at the gate, but everybody was admitted as to a town; the King moved freely about the Courts, in the Mall, in the Park, sometimes unattended. The people drove their pack horses or their wagons up and down the road, and hardly noticed the swarthy-faced man who stood under the shade of a tree watching the players along the Mall. This easy and fearless familiarity vanished with the Stuarts.

KENSINGTON PALACE.

Between this palace and that of Westminster there were certain important points of difference. One, the absence of the law courts, has already been noticed. At Whitehall there was a Guard House; it stood, as has been said, in Scotland Yard; no doubt the Gate was guarded; in 1641 the old “Horse Guards” was built for the Gentlemen Pensioners who formed the Guard; but there was no wall round the Palace, therewas no suggestion of a fortress, there was no suggestion of a camp. Next, the Palace of Westminster was always, as had been intended by Edward the Confessor, connected with the Abbey. It had, to be sure, its own chapel—that of St. Stephen’s; but it was connected by historical associations of every kind with the Abbey. The ringing of the Abbey bells, the rolling of the organ, the chanting of the monks could be heard by day and by night above the music and the minstrelsy, the blare of trumpet and the clash of arms. At Whitehall there was a chapel, but the Abbey was out of hearing. When Henry removed his Palace from Thorney Island to York House, it was a warning or a sign that he would shortly remove himself from the domination of the Church.

BUCKINGHAM PALACE.

As for the Court in the reigns of Elizabeth and James, we have full details. The Yeomen of the Guard, who were the bodyguard, wore red cloth roses on back and breast. When the Court moved from

THE HORSE GUARDS.

Whitehall to Greenwich or to Theobalds, a vast quantity of baggage went with it. Three hundred carts were required to carry all that was wanted. What did these carts contain? Not furniture, certainly. Table-linen, gold and silver plate, wine, and stores of all kinds, tapestry, dresses, and bedding, kitchen vessels. As for furniture, there were as yet no tables such as we now use, but boards on trestles, which were put up for every meal; there were chairs and stools; there was tapestry on the walls; there were beds; there were cabinets and sideboards; except in the Presence Chamber or the Banqueting Hall there were no carpets. All who write of England at this time speak with admiration of the chambers strewn with sweet herbs, the crushing of which by their feet brought outtheir fragrance; the nosegays of flowers placed in the bedrooms, and the parlors trimmed with vine leaves, green boughs, and fresh herbs. It is a pleasant picture.

Of treasures such as exist at the present day in Buckingham Palace, Windsor, and other royal residences, there were few. Hentzner, a traveler, in the year 1598, found a library in Whitehall well stored with Greek, Latin, Italian, and French books; he says nothing of English books. They were all bound in red velvet, with clasps of gold and silver; some had pearls and precious stones in the bindings. He also found some pictures, including portraits of “Henry, Richard, and Edward.” There were a few other curious things: a cabinet of silver, daintily worked, in which the Queen kept letter-paper; a jewel-box set with pearls; toys and curiosities in clockwork. A few years later, in 1613, the pictures in Whitehall are enumerated. There were then portraits of Henry VII., Henry VIII., Edward VI., Elizabeth, and Mary Queen of Scots. There were also portraits of French and Spanish kings and queens, and of the great ladies of Court. It is curious to remark that no portrait then existed in Whitehall either of Mary or of Philip. The list includes the portraits in the other palaces. There is not one of Mary.

Let us assist at a royal banquet. It is an entertainment offered to Juan Fernandez de Velasco, Duke de Frias, Constable of Castile, on Sunday, August 10, 1604, in which the King opened his mind without reserve as to peace with Spain. The Audience Chamber was furnished with a buffet of several stages, filled with gold and silver plate. People were freely admitted to look on, but a railing was put up on either sideof the room to keep them from crowding or pressing. The table was fifteen feet long and three feet broad. The dishes were brought in by the King’s gentlemen and servants, accompanied by the Lord Chamberlain. The Earls of Pembroke and Southampton were gentlemen-ushers. The King and Queen, with Prince Henry, entered after the arrival of the Constable and his suite. After washing of hands,—the Lord Treasurer handing the bowl to the King and the Lord High Admiral to the Queen,—grace was said, and they took their seats. The King and Queen occupied thrones at the head of the table under a canopy of state on chairs of brocade, with cushions. On the Queen’s side sat the Constable on a tabouret of brocade, and on the King’s side sat the Prince. The other guests were four gentlemen forming part of the Ambassador’s suite. There was also at the table, says a historian, a large company of the principal noblemen in the realm. He enumerates twenty-one, and says there were others. How they were all placed at a table fifteen feet long and three feet broad, he does not explain. Perhaps there was a second table. A band of instruments discoursed music during the banquet. The speeches and toasts went on during the course of the dinner. First the King rose, and, taking off his crown, he drank to the health of their Spanish Majesties. Next the Constable drank to the Health of the Queen “out of the lid of a cup of agate of extraordinary beauty.” He then passed the cup to the King, asking him to drink out of it; and then to the Prince. He then directed that the cup should remain on his Majesty’s buffet. At this point the people present shouted out: “Peace! peace! peace! God save the King! God save the King!”

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