CHAPTER V.
ST. JAMES'S PARK.
"A spark
That less admires the Palace than the Park."—Pope.
Storey's Gate—Origin of "Birdcage Walk"—The Wellington Barracks—Origin of the Guards—Mr. Harrington's House—Office of the Duchy of
Lancaster—St. James's Park in the Reign of Henry VIII.—Rosamond's Pond—Charles II. and his Feathered Pets—Duck Island—Le
Notre employed in Laying out and Improving the Park—The Decoy—The King and his Spaniels—William III.'s Summer-house—St.
James's as a Deer-park—Le Serre's Description of the Park—Pepys' Account of the Works carried out here by Charles II.—The "Physicke
Garden"—Waller's Poetic Description of the Park—The Canal—The Ornithological Society—The Waterfowl—Woodcocks and Snipes—Historical Associations of St. James's Park—Cromwell and Whitelock—Oliver Goldsmith—Peace Rejoicings after the Battle of Waterloo—Albert Smith's Description of St. James's Park and its Frequenters—The Mohawks—The Chinese Bridge—Skating on the "Ornamental
Water"—Improvements in the Park by George IV.—The Horse Guards' Parade—Funeral of the Duke of Wellington—Robert Walpole
and the Countryman—Dover House.
At the western end of Great George Street, which
we have already described, we find ourselves at
Storey's Gate, the entrance of St. James's Park.
This gate was so called from one Master Edward
Storey, the "keeper of the king's birds," whose
house stood on the spot. This fact has been
doubted; but that Storey's Gate was so named after
a real personage is proved by the entry in the
registers of Knightsbridge Chapel, in the reign of
Charles II., of the marriage of one Thomas Fenwick, "of St. Margaret's, servant to Storey, at ye
Park Gate, and Mary Gregory, of ye same."
The birds, which were among the most innocent
toys and amusements of the "merry monarch,"
were kept in aviaries ranged in order along the
road which bounds the south side of the Park,
and extends to Buckingham Palace, and which is
still known by the significative name of "Birdcage Walk." To corroborate this derivation, we
may mention here that the carriage-road between
Storey's Gate and Buckingham Gate was, until
1828, open only to the Royal Family and to the
Hereditary Grand Falconer, the Duke of St.
Albans.
About one-half of the south side of Birdcage
Walk, extending from Queen Anne's Gate to
Buckingham Gate, is occupied by the Wellington
Barracks, which consist of lofty and commodious
ranges of buildings, for the use of the household
troops. The barracks were first occupied by troops
in the year before the battle of Waterloo. In the
Military Chapel, which was opened in 1838, are preserved the tattered flags and standards which were
taken by Marlborough at Blenheim, and formerly
hung in the Chapel Royal at Whitehall.
As there were no barracks during the reign of
Charles II., and as by the Petition of Right it
was declared unlawful to billet soldiers on private
families, the alehouses and smaller inns of Westminster were always filled with privates of the regiments of Guards, which, from the first establishment
of a standing army have been generally stationed
on duty near Whitehall and St. James's. Macaulay
thus gives us the history of the origin of the
Guards:—"The little army formed by Charles II.
was the germ of that great and renowned army which
has in the present century marched triumphant
into Madrid and Paris, into Canton and Candahar.
The Life Guards, who now form two regiments,
were then distributed into three troops, each of
which consisted of two hundred carabineers, exclusive of officers. This corps, to which the safety
of the king and royal family was confided, had a
very peculiar character. Even the privates were
designated as 'Gentlemen of the Guard.' Many
of them were of good families, and had held commissions in the Civil War. Their pay was far
higher than that of the most favoured regiment
of our time, and would in that age have been
thought a respectable provision for the younger
son of a country squire. Their fine horses, their
rich houses, their cuirasses, and their buff coats,
adorned with ribbons, velvet, and gold lace, made
a splendid appearance in St. James's Park. A
small body of grenadier dragoons, who came from a
lower class, and received lower pay, was attached
to each troop. Another body of household cavalry
distinguished by blue coats and cloaks, and still
called the Blues, was generally quartered in the
neighbourhood of the capital. Near the capital
lay also the corps which is now designated as the
First Regiment of Dragoons, but which was then
the only regiment of dragoons on the English
establishment."
At the commencement of the present century
a handsome building of one storey high, in the
Chinese style, was, by order of Government, erected
on the left angle of the recruiting-house, in the
Birdcage Walk, for the purpose of serving as the
armoury for the whole brigade of Guards. It consisted of four archways on the basement for the
field-pieces, the room over it being for the small
arms, and a range of rooms in the back, for
cleaning. The two front angles had each a small
house, one for a serjeant-major, and the other for a
guard-room. This, we may infer, was the beginning
of the barracks on this spot.
Near this part, as Aubrey tells us, a Mr. James
Harrington had a "versatile timber house." He
describes it as "built in Mr. Hart's garden, opposite
to St. James's Park." "This eccentric individual,"
says Aubrey, "fancied that his perspiration turned
to flies and bees, ad cætera sobrius. To try the
experiment, he would turn this house to the sun
and sit towards it; then he had fox-tayles there,
to chase away and massacre all the flies and bees."
Mr. Harrington is said to have spent the last
twenty years of his life in a house in the Little
Almonry, near Dean's Yard, of which Aubrey gives
us a curious description. "In the upper storey
he had a pretty gallery, which looked into the
yard, over a court, where he commonly dined and
meditated, and smoked his tobacco."
WESTMINSTER ABBEY FROM ST. JAMES'S PARK, ABOUT 1740.
At the western end of Birdcage Walk is the
Duchy of Lancaster office, where all business relative to the revenues of the Prince of Wales, in right
of that duchy, is transacted.
St. James's Park itself, which we now enter,
was originally a low and swampy meadow, belonging to the Hospital for Lepers, which in due
course of time was converted, by the royal will and
pleasure of "Bluff King Hal," into "our Palace of
St. James's."
It was by the order of Henry that the meadow
was drained and enclosed, formed into a "nurscry
for deer," and made also "an appendage to the
Tilt-yard at Whitehall." At first this was but a
small enclosure inside four brick walls; but in
course of time Henry VIII. added a "chase,"
which he threw out, like a wide open noose, from
his palace at Westminster, forming, where the line
of it fell, a large circle, which ran from St. Giles-inthe-Fields, up to Islington, round Highgate and
Hornsey and Hampstead Heath, and so back
again by Marylebone to St. Giles's and Westminster; and he forbade all his subjects of every
degree either to hawk or hunt within those boundaries. Though little more than three centuries
and a half have passed away since this royal
proclamation was issued, yet almost every mark of
it has long since been blotted out. Edward VI.
and Mary possessed no share of their "bluff"
father's destructiveness, and the whole chase was
gradually "disafforested."
Still, however, St. James's Park retains its verdant and rural character, and in it there are spots
where the visitor may sit or walk with every trace
of the great city around him shut out from his
gaze, except the grey old Abbey, against the tall
roof of which the trees seem to rest, half burying
it in their foliage, just as they must have done
three centuries ago.
In the south-west corner, near Birdcage Walk,
and opposite to James Street and Buckingham
Gate, was formerly a small sheet of water, known
as "Rosamond's Pond," to which reference is constantly made in the comedies of the time as a place
of assignation for married ladies with fashionable
roués. The pond was made to receive the water
of a small stream which trickled down from Hyde
Park, and it is shown in one or two very scarce
prints by Hogarth. It was filled up in 1770, soon
after the purchase of Buckingham House by the
Crown.
"ROSAMOND'S POND" IN 1758.
It is to its character as recorded above, and as
being, in the words of Bishop Warburton to Hurd.
"long consecrated to disastrous love and elegiac
poetry," that Pope thus mentions it in the Rape
of the Lock:—
"This the blest lover shall for Venus take,
And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake."
The same is the drift of a dialogue in Southerne's
comedy, The Maid's Last Prayer.
"Rosamond's Pond," writes the author of "A
New Critical Review of the Public Buildings," &c.,
"is another scene where fancy and judgment might
be employed to the greatest advantage; there is
something wild and romantic round the sides of
it, of which a genius could make a fine use, if he
had the liberty to improve it as he pleased." He
adds, "The banks of it ought to be kept in better
repair; and if a Venus in the act of rising from
the sea with the Graces round her were raised in
the midst of it, it would be neither an improper
nor an useless decoration." From the same essay
we gather that at this date the vineyard close by
was in a most scandalously neglected state, and
required much labour and art to make it a tasteful
addition to the park. As to the Birdcage Walk,
the writer calls it "exceeding pleasant, the swell
of the ground in the middle having an admirable
effect on the vista," and commanding a "simple
and agreeable view down to the canal." He urges,
however, that variety should be studied in its
arrangement, and that the circle of trees should be
made the "centre of a beautiful scene;" in which
case it would become "one of the most delightful
arbours in the world." "Its romantic aspect, the
irregularity of the ground, the trees which overshadowed it, and the view of the venerable Abbey,
not only rendered it," writes Mr. Jesse, "a favourite
resort of the contemplative, but its secluded situation is said to have tempted a greater number of
persons, and especially of 'unfortunate' females, to
commit suicide than any other place in London."
St. James's Park must have been a rural and
pleasant enclosure in the reign of Charles II.,
when the avenues of trees were first planted along
the northern side of the park, where now is the
gravel walk known as "The Mall," under the
direction of Le Notre, the French landscape gardener, who was also commissioned to lay out and
improve the whole; and when the south side was
really, as its name still implies, a walk hung with
the cages of the king's feathered pets. Its rural
character, at that time, may be inferred from the
title of Wycherley's successful comedy, Love in a
Wood, or St. James's Park, which was first acted
in 1672. Close by, at the west end of the water,
which was in those days straight, and generally
known as the "Canal," was a small decoy and an
island, called "Duck Island," over which the celebrated St. Evremond was set as "governor" with a
small salary. To this we find Horace Walpole
alludes in a tone of pleasant banter when, recording in 1751 the appointment of Lord Pomfret as
ranger of St. James's Park, he adds, "By consequence, my Lady [Pomfret] is queen of the Duck
Island."
As to the island in the canal, the writer of the
"New Critical Review" (1736) speaks of it—with
some exaggeration, no doubt—as being on the one
side a wilderness and a desert, and on the other
"like a paradise in miniature;" he complains that
"the water is allowed to grow stagnant and putrid,
and that the trees, shrubs, and banks all wanted
attention"—remarks which show that whoever at
that time was the "ranger" of the park must have
had little eye for either beauty or taste. The
canal itself appears to have been 100 feet in
breadth and 2,800 feet long.
Duck Island was abolished and made into terra
firma towards the close of the last century. In
fact, "the island," says Pennant in 1790, "is lost
in the new improvements."
Pope, who did not approve of Le Notre's stiff
and formal style, censures him for the want of
good sense—in company, it may be observed,
with no less a master than Inigo Jones:—
"Something there is more needful than expense,
And something previous e'en to taste—'tis sense;
Good sense, which only is the gift of Heaven,
And, though no science, fairly worth the seven;
A light which in yourself you must perceive,
Jones and Le Notre have it not to give."
It is difficult to say to what omission Pope here
makes special allusion. Le Notre was largely
employed by Le Grand Monarque, Louis XIV.,
who also ennobled him. He died at Paris in the
year 1700.
The "decoy" above mentioned consisted of five
or six straight pieces of water all running parallel
to each other and to the canal itself, with which
they communicated by narrow openings.
King Charles appears to have been particularly
fond of St. James's Park. We are told he would
sit for hours on the benches in the walk, amusing
himself with some tame ducks and his dogs,
amidst a crowd of people, with whom he would
talk and joke. It is fancied by some persons that
no dogs are now left of the breed popularly called
King Charles's breed, except a few very beautiful
black-and-tan spaniels belonging to the late Duke of
Norfolk, and which used to run riot over Arundel
Castle much in the same way that their canine
forefathers were formerly allowed to range about
the palace at Whitehall. Charles was foolishly
fond of these dogs; he had always many of them
in his bedroom and his other apartments; as also
so great a number of these pets lounging about
the place, that Evelyn declares in his "Diary" that
the whole court was made offensive and disagreeable by them.
Hard by, in a grove which rose round and
between the miniature canals, a little later was a
"tea-house" or rather summer-house, erected by
order of William III.; a place where that saturnine
king would sometimes spend a summer evening
with those of his friends whom he admitted into
his confidence.
Although the park comprises less than ninety
acres, Charles II. made a strict enclosure of the
centre portion, which he surrounded with a ring
fence for deer. "This day," writes Samuel Pepys,
in his "Diary," under date August 11, 1664, "for
a wager before the King, my Lord of Castlehaven,
and Lord Arran, a son of my Lord Ormond's, they
two alone did run down a stout buck in St. James's
Park." During the reigns of Elizabeth and the
first two Stuarts, the park was little more than a
nursery for deer, and an appendage to the Tilt-yard
of Whitehall. In the reign of Charles I. a sort of
royal menagerie took the place of the deer with
which the "inward park" was stocked in the days
of Henry and Elizabeth. It was often called the
Inner or Inward Park, and apparently was not
freely accessible to the public at large. At all
events, Pepys tells us on one occasion in 1660
that when he went to walk there, he "could not
get in," and saw "one man basted by the keeper
for carrying some people over on his back through
the water."
Le Serre, a French writer, in his account of the
visit of the Queen-Mother, Mary de Medicis, to
her daughter, Henrietta Maria, and Charles I., in
the year 1633, mentions several particulars of St.
James's Palace, as well as of the park, and the
then state of the neighbourhood. The palace he
calls the "Castle" of St. James's; and describes it
as embattled, or surmounted by crenelles on the
outside, and containing several courts within, surrounded by buildings, the apartments of which
(at least, those which he saw) were hung with
superb tapestry, and royally furnished. "Near its
avenue," says he, "is a large meadow, continually
green, in which the ladies always walk in the
summer. Its great gate has a long street in front,
reaching almost out of sight, seemingly joining to
the fields, although on one side it is bounded by
houses, and on the other by the Royal Tennis
Court;" then, after noticing the gardens, and the
numerous fine statues in them, he adds, "These
are bounded by a great park, with many walks, all
covered by the shade of an infinite number of
oaks, whose antiquity is extremely agreeable, as
they are thereby rendered the more impervious to
the rays of the sun. This park is filled with wild
animals; but, as it is the ordinary walk of the
ladies of the court, their [viz., the ladies'] gentleness has so tamed them, that they all yield to the
force of their attractions rather than the pursuit of
the hounds."
Pepys, in his gossiping manner, records from time
to time the progress of the works carried out here
by Charles II. Thus, in his "Diary," September
16, 1660, he writes:—"To the park, where I saw
how far they had proceeded in the Pell Mell, and
in making a river through the park, which I had
never seen before since it was began." Again, a
month later, October 11: "To walk in St. James's
Park, where we observed the several engines to
draw up water, with which sight I was very much
pleased. Above all the rest, I liked that which
Mr. Greatorex brought, which do carry up the
water with a great deal of ease." Further, under
date July 27, 1662, we find this entry:—"I to
walk in the park, which is now every day more and
more pleasant, by the new water upon it."
Evelyn, in his "Diary," in April, 1664, tells us
how that he went "to the Physicke Garden in St.
James's Parke," and there "first saw orange-trees
and other fine trees." The exact position of these
gardens is not known now; and as allusions to
them are of rare occurrence, in all probability they
were allowed to pass away and be forgotten, when
a botanic garden on a larger scale was commenced
under the highest auspices at Chelsea.
In 1661 we find the courtly Waller thus commemorating the improvements which had then
been recently made in the park:—
"For future shade, young trees upon the banks
Of the new stream appear, in even ranks;
The voice of Orpheus, or Amphion's hand,
In better order could not make them stand.
* * * * * *
All that can, living, feed the greedy eye,
Or dead the palate, here you may descry;
The choicest things that furnish'd Noah's ark,
Or Peter's sheet, inhabiting this park,
All with a border of rich fruit-trees crown'd,
Whose lofty branches hide the lofty mound.
Such spacious ways the various valleys lead,
My doubtful Muse knows not what path to tread.
Yonder the harvest of cold months laid up,
Gives a fresh coolness to the royal cup;
There ice, like crystal, firm and never lost,
Tempers hot July with December's frost;
* * * * * *
Here a well-polished Mall gives us the joy,
To see our Prince his matchless force employ."
The most beautiful parts of St. James's Park are
the walks beside the Ornamental Water, which is
still called "the canal," in memory of its former
unsightly shape. The water is alive with waterfowl, for whose comfort and protection a quiet and
secluded island, with the Swiss cottage of the
Ornithological Society, is reserved, at the southeastern extremity, nearly on the site of the old
"decoy." The waterfowl here are natives of
almost every climate in the world, and the Zoological Society itself has scarcely a finer or more
varied collection. Those which are not foreign are
mostly descendants of the ducks which Charles II.
took such pleasure in feeding with his own royal
hands. Around the "canal" stand many fine
trees, which throw their green shadows into the
water, "broken at times by a hundred tiny ripples
which have been raised by the paddles of some
strange-looking duck, or thrown up by the silverbreasted swans," as Mr. Thomas Miller quaintly
remarks in his "Picturesque Sketches of London."
It is almost needless to add that the banks of the
"canal," and the bridge which spans it, are the
haunt of children and their nurses, and the pieces
of bread and biscuit which are given daily to the
ducks, geese, and swans would well-nigh feed the
inmates of a workhouse. At the western end of
the lake there is a small island richly clothed
with verdure, and also a fountain. The "Swiss
cottage" above mentioned was erected in 1841,
by means of a grant of £300 from the Lords of
the Treasury. It contains a council-room, keeper's
apartments, and steam-hatching apparatus; contiguous are feeding-places and decoys, and the
aquatic fowl breed on the island, making their own
nests among the shrubs and grasses. The waterfowl of the park can, at all events, boast that they
have held undisturbed possession of the lake for
more than two centuries. Pepys writes, under
date of August, 1661:—"To walk in St. James's
Park, and saw a great variety of fowls which I
never saw before."
In Land and Water of November 6th, 1869,
Lord Lansdowne mentions having picked up a
snipe, on the 26th of the previous month, under
the wall of the Treasury Gardens, on the Horse
Guards' Parade. It lay at the foot of a lamp,
among some leaves, which had prevented the
attention of passers-by being attracted. The spot
was out of the line which any one carrying dead
game could have taken, and the position in which
the bird lay was that in which it might have fallen
rather than been dropped. The lamp spoken of
is opposite the end of the piece of water in St.
James's Park. On examination at the office of
Land and Water it was found to be a common
jack-snipe. Its bill was fractured across, just at the
point where it unites with the skull. It was probably flying at a great pace, and, attracted by the
light of the lamp, flew against the iron post, when
the force of the concussion killed it on the spot.
In the same publication, in March, 1873, a
correspondent writes:—"As I was walking through
St. James's Park, about ten a.m. on the 21st inst.,
a woodcock crossed me, flying rapidly and low,
from the direction of the barracks towards Marlborough House. It was well within gun-shot when
I first saw it, and as my view of it as it crossed the
water was quite unimpeded, I cannot for a moment
question the accuracy of my observation, though in
the case of such a rara avis I regret that I cannot
produce a witness. In sending you this notice
I am induced to add a list of the birds which I
have noticed in St. James's Park during the past
twelvemonth, as likely to interest those who think
there are no birds but sparrows in London. They
are:—1, sparrow-hawk, seen once flying from the
east, in early morning; 2, great tit; 3, cole-tit; 4,
blue tit, all occasionally seen; 5, fly-catcher, constant in summer; 6, rook; 7, jackdaw; 8, starling
in small flocks when not breeding; 9, missel-thrush,
once; 10, fieldfare, a small flock once in late
autumn, one foggy morning; 11, song-thrush, constant; 12, blackbird, constant, the males seeming
much more numerous than the females; 13, swallow; 14, martin; 15, swift, only once or twice;
16, pied wagtail, not unfrequent, but not apparently constant; 17, skylark, rare, generally flying
high, and apparently moving on; 18, chaffinch,
not common; 19, sparrow (passer, passim); 20,
greenfinch, not common; 21, hedge-sparrow, constant; 22, robin-redbreast, constant; 23, whitethroat, constant in summer on the eastern island,
where its song is unmistakable; 24, wren, probably constant; 25, golden-crested wren, once
only; 26, wood-pigeon, flying over in flocks in early
morning, also once or twice birds probably strayed
from Kensington Gardens, where they are common;
27, peewit, once, a flock flying north one foggy
morning; 28, woodcock, once. Besides these I
may mention the linnet, blackcap, willow-warbler,
and wryneck, of which I cannot be quite positive,
and last, not least, the Guards' raven, constant
while his battalion is in town, on the trees near
Buckingham Gate. Perhaps some other Cockney
ornithologist will be able to verify and add to the
above list."
A good story is told by Mr. W. C. Hazlitt respecting the waterfowl in this park and a young
gentleman, a clerk in the Treasury, not over-gifted
with brains, who used to feed the ducks with bread
as he went daily from his home in Pimlico to the
office. One day, having called the birds, as usual,
he found that he had no bread in his pockets, and
so threw a sixpence into the water, telling them to
buy some. On reaching the office, he told the
story with perfect simplicity to his fellow-clerks,
with one of whom he was engaged to dine the
next day. His friend accordingly ordered ducks
for dinner, telling the cook to put a sixpence in
the stuffing of one of them. The next day came,
and with it the dinner, in the course of which the
sixpence was found inside one of the birds, and
the young man vowed that he would have the
poulterer prosecuted for robbing the king, "for,"
said he, "I assure you, on my honour, that only
yesterday I gave this very sixpence to one of the
ducks in the park!"
St. James's Park is replete with historical associations, not the least interesting of which is the
fact of Charles I. having passed through it on
foot on the morning of his execution, from his bedchamber in St. James's Palace to the scaffold at
Whitehall. The king, as he passed along on that
fatal morning, is said to have pointed to a tree
which had been planted by his brother, Prince
Henry, near Spring Gardens.
Strype, the historian, gives us a picture of the
Princess Elizabeth's life during the reign of her
brother, Edward VI., under date March 17th,
1551:—"The Lady Elizabeth, the King's sister,
rode through London into St. James's, the King's
Palace, with a great company of lords, knights, and
gentlemen; and after her a great company of ladies
and gentlemen on horseback, about two hundred.
On the 19th she came from St. James's through the
Park unto the Court (at Whitehall), the way from
the Park gate unto the Court being spread with fine
sand. She was attended with a very honourable
confluence of noble and worshipful persons of both
sexes, and received with much ceremony at the
Court gate." What would one not have given to
have seen the young princess, thus gaily caparisoned,
and in all her pride and beauty, before time had
ploughed wrinkles on her brow, and ere the strong
passions of middle life had stamped her countenance with their tell-tale marks!
Here Cromwell, as he walked with Whitelock,
asked the latter, "What if a man should take upon
him to be a king?" To which the memorialist
replied, "I think that the remedy would be worse
than the disease."
It is said that late in life Milton met James II.,
then Duke of York, whilst taking the air in the
park. The duke, addressing him, asked whether
the poet's blindness was not to be regarded as
a judgment from Heaven upon him for daring to
take up his pen against Charles I., his (the duke's)
father, and his "own sovereign?" "Be it so, sir,"
replied Milton; "but what then must we think of
the execution of your Royal Highness's father upon
a scaffold?" The story may be true or false: at
all events it has been often told, and told as
having happened here: we may say of it certainly,
"Si non e vero, e ben trovato."
It may be added that the Princess Anne escaped
twice from Whitehall through St. James's Park,
once when she joined her husband and the Prince
of Orange, and again when the palace was in
flames.
This park was a favourite resort of Oliver Goldsmith. In his "Essays" we read that, "If a man
be splenetic, he may every day meet companions
on the seats in St. James's Park, with whose groans
he may mix his own, and pathetically talk of the
weather." The strolling player takes a walk in St.
James's Park, "about the hour at which company
leave it to go to dinner. There were but few in
the walks, and those who stayed seemed by their
looks rather more willing to forget that they had an
appetite than to gain one."
Between the years 1770 and 1775 some extensive repairs and improvements were made in
the park; but notwithstanding this fact, the "rough
and intolerable" manner in which the walks were
still kept caused much discontent and grumbling
among its more fashionable habitués. Thus, for
instance, in October, 1775, a letter appeared in the
Middlesex Journal, addressed to Lord Orford, the
ranger of the park, complaining bitterly of the disgraceful state of the walks. After some sarcastic
remarks upon the delays of the workmen's wages,
the writer plainly says that the public intend to
petition his Majesty "on the subject of this unbearable grievance," and to "sign their real names;
which," he adds, "my lord, if all the complainants
should do, I presume their number would far
exceed that of any address ever presented." The
writer finally proceeds to give vent to his feelings,
and to entreat his Majesty for some instalment of
reform, in the following lines, which he heads with
the words—
AN ADDRESS TO THE KING.
"'Tis yours, great George, to bless our safe retreats,
And call the Muses to their native seats,
To deck anew the flow'ry sylvan places,
And crown the forest with immortal graces.
Though barb'rous monarchs act a servile strain,
Be thine the blessings of a peaceful reign;
Make James's Park in lofty numbers rise,
And lift her palace nearer to the skies.'
The park, in 1780, was occupied as a camp by
several regiments of militia, during the alarm and
panic caused by the Gordon riots. A print is
extant which shows the long line of tents extending
from east to west, from the "decoy" to "Rosamond's Pond," and to the south of the canal, and
the king paying to the camp his daily visit.
On the occasion of the visit of the Allied Sovereigns, in 1814, Mr. Redding writes in his "Fifty
Years' Recollections," "I stood without the iron
palisades of Buckingham Old House. It was a
childish affair there. But the illumination of the
streets was really fine. Every window was lit up,
and the blaze of light, from so great a mass of
buildings, was thrown grandly upon the heavens.
The park of St. James was prettily arranged with
lamps in the trees, like another Vauxhall. A
wooden bridge with a sort of tower, over the canal
in St. James's Park, was illuminated too brightly.
The edifice took fire, and the tower was consumed.
One or two persons were killed."
The grand fête, which had long been in preparation, took place on the 1st of August, and an
official programme was issued, in which the public
were informed that a beautiful Chinese bridge had
been thrown over the canal, upon the centre of
which had been constructed an elegant and lofty
pagoda, consisting of seven pyramidal storeys.
"The pagoda to be illuminated with gas lights;
and brilliant fireworks, both fixed and missile, to
be displayed from every division of the lofty
Chinese structure. Copious and splendid girandoles of rockets to be occasionally displayed from
the summit, and from other parts of this towering
edifice, so covered with squibs. Roman candles,
and pots de brin, as to become in appearance one
column of brilliant fire. Various smaller temples
and columns on the bridge to be vividly illuminated;
and fixed fireworks of different devices on the
balustrade of the bridge to contribute to heighten
the general effect." The fireworks set light to the
pagoda and burnt its three upper storeys. The
canal was well provided with handsomely decorated boats at the disposal of those who wished
to avail themselves of this amusement. The whole
margin of the lawn was surrounded with booths
for refreshment, open marquees with seats, &c.
The Mall and the Birdcage Walk were illuminated
with Chinese lanterns.
PLAN OF ST. JAMES'S PALACE AND PARK IN THE TIME OF CHARLES II. (From a large Plate by Kuyff.)
A. Cleveland House.
B. St. James's Palace.
C. The Spring Garden.
D. The Mall.
E. The Canal.
F. Rosamond's Pond.
G. Birdcage Walk.
H. Duck Island and the Decoy.
Among the residents in St. James's Park was the
eccentric Duke of Montagu, whose name is still
remembered in connection with humorous frolics.
In passing daily along the Mall he noticed a careworn-looking man, with threadbare clothes, whom
he discovered to be an officer on half-pay, with a
wife and a large family, whom, for the sake of
economy, he had been obliged to send down into
Yorkshire. One day the duke sent a message
asking him to dine with him next Sunday, and
when his guest arrived he told him that he had
asked a lady to meet him who had a most tender
regard for him. On entering his grace's diningroom he found his wife and children, whom the
duke had brought up to London from Yorkshire; and before he left the house the duke's
solicitor brought out, and the duke signed, a deed
settling on him an annuity of £200 a year. It is
a pity that such practical jokes are not more ofter
played by wealthy dukes and noble lords.
Here, at one time, used to take his daily walk
the jovial and genial wit and poet, Matthew Prior,
whom Gay calls, "Dear Prior, beloved by every
muse." Swift and Prior were very intimate, and
the latter is frequently mentioned in the "Journal
to Stella." "Mr. Prior," writes Swift, "walks to
make himself fat, and I to keep myself down:
we often walk round the park together."
TWO OLD VIEWS IN ST. JAMES'S PARK, ABOUT 1680. (From Engravings by S. Rawle published in 1804 by F. T. Smith.)
Englishmen, as a rule, are not fond of out-door
lounging, and, except in the extreme heat of the
summer, they prefer taking the air on horseback or
on a river steamer, or even on a railway, to sitting
still on chairs and gazing leisurely on a green lawn
and green trees, as they do in Paris by thousands.
But in spite of this national tendency to in-door
comforts, the Park of St. James's asserts its attractions so strongly, that at whatever time of the day
we visit it, the seats have no lack of occupants;
and in the hot days of July and August, when
the West-End is emptied of all rank and fashion,
thousands of "roughs" and idlers may be seen
lying sound asleep on the grass under the shade.
Albert Smith has left us a graphic description
of the scenes witnessed daily in the park, both in
our own day and in days long gone by, which we
here take the liberty of quoting:—"Although we
do not find such crowds of idlers in the park at the
present day, possibly the types encountered are
more distinct. We say at the present day, because
formerly the gayest of the gay thronged the walks,
including royalty itself, with its attendant suite.
Dear old Pepys has left us a mass of little mems
thereanent. See where he says, on the 16th of
March, 1662, that, while idling there in the park,
'which is now very pleasant,' he 'saw the King
and Duke come to see their fowle play.' In 1661,
in April, he says, 'To St. James's Park, where I
saw the Duke of York playing at pall-mall, the
first time that ever I saw the sport.' And later,
which is quaintly interesting, he writes: 'Dec. 15.
To the duke, and followed him into the park,
where, though the ice was broken, he would go
slide upon his skaits, which I did not like, but he
slides very well.' We can imagine that Pepys was
not strong upon skates. The first tumble—and
nobody learns to skate without being sorely contused—would have been quite sufficient to have
disgusted him with this then novel amusement.
We find, however, that the love of feeding the
ducks and skating in the park has not diminished.
Afterwards, he tells us how he saw the King and
Queen, with Lady Castlemaine and Mrs. Stuart
cum multis aliis, walking about. He adds: 'All
the ladies walked, talking and fiddling with their
hats and feathers, and changing and trying one
another's heads, and laughing. But it was the
finest sight to see, considering their great beauties
and dress, that ever I did see in all my life.'
"Evelyn is a little more scandalous. He says,
on March 1, 1671:—'I once walked with the King
through St. James's Park to the garden, where I
both saw and heard a very familiar discourse
between Mrs. Nellie, as they called an impudent
comedian; she looking out of her garden on a
terrace at the top of the wall, and——standing
on the green walk under it. I was heartily sorry
at this scene. Thence the King walked to the
Duchess of Cleveland' (the Lady Castlemaine of
Pepys), 'another lady of pleasure, and curse of our
nation.' Horace Walpole, eighty years afterwards,
speaks of receiving a card from Lady Caroline
Petersham to go with her to Vauxhall. 'And the
party that sailed up the park, "with all our colours
flying,"' he says, 'consisted of the Duke of Kingston, Lady Caroline, Lord March, Mr. Whitehead,
'a pretty Miss Beauclerc, and a very foolish Miss
Sparre.' He adds, that 'Lady Caroline and little
Ashe—or the Pollard Ashe, as they called her—had just finished their last layer of red, and looked
as handsome as crimson could make them, and
that they marched to their barge with a boat of
French horns attending, and little Ashe singing.'
"Now-a-days the idlers in the park remind us
but little of the personages in the above extracts.
Poverty is far more frequently encountered there
than wealth; and more, we fear, walk there to dine
with 'Duke Humfrey' than to get an appetite for
a meal elsewhere. At early morning, when the air
is clearest, you encounter few persons; nor, somewhat later, do you find the crowds assembled to
read the papers and discuss the politics after breakfast, as in Paris. You may, perhaps, encounter a
student reading hard at some uninviting-looking
book, and stumbling over the withies bent into the
shuffled-out grass, as he moves along; or, perchance, an actor, as he threatens the lower boughs
of the larger trees with his stick (most actors carry
sticks), while he is rehearsing his part in some
forthcoming play. And yet, lonely as the park is
at this time, and half deserted, it is seldom chosen
for the purpose of tender declarations, avowals,
promises, oaths, quarrels, and all the other usual
accompaniments of courtship. No: in this respect,
perhaps, those chiefly concerned show their wit.
The world—with its broad daylight, its tumultuous
noise, and its distracted eyes—is far more adapted
for secrecy than the shade and the retreat; and
more than this, society will always lend itself as an
accomplice of things which are not sought to be
concealed.
"Towards noon, a movement of laughing mirth
and noise commences by the arrival of the children
and their nursery-maids; and in the children lies,
in our opinion, the greatest attraction here offered—even beyond the ducks—the real zoological
ducks. Not that we think slightingly of feeding
them. We have heard, by the way, that it was one
of the great O'Connell's favourite délassemens, and
that he enjoyed it as much as the smallest fellow
capable of tossing a bit of biscuit. It is great fun
to see the rush made after a morsel: how the
birds flash through the water to obtain it, and how,
as in every community, the strongest always gets
it. But if you want to enjoy the sport to perfection, throw in one of the small round rolls you
get at evening-party supper-tables, and a fearful
tumult is created. The prize is much too large
for them to get hold of, as it is too valuable to be
relinquished; and so it is pushed and floated
about, and vainly pecked at, surrounded by the
whole tribe, squabbling, splashing, and fluttering—swayed, like large crowds, here and there—until it
gets sufficiently soft to be accessible to their bills,
when its consumption is speedily achieved.
"But to return to the children. We mean
especially those who have not yet numbered eight
years, and whose limbs have still all the smooth
roundness of infancy. There is something very
pleasing in their graceful movements, their fresh
cheeks, and their beautiful hair, and a perfect
charm in their gaiety; in the innocent joy sparkling in their eyes, and the pure and living blood
colouring their cheeks, which our brightest belles
would give so much to imitate. This attraction,
perhaps, belongs only to those who run about;
albeit it takes a great deal to beat the saucy
beauty of an English baby. It is almost enough to
make one a convert in favour of matrimony, even
in these 'fast' times. The only pity is that these
little people should ever be destined to become
men."
The parks, though nominally they belong to
royalty, are yet always regarded as somehow or
other the property of the people. It was but an
assertion of this principle that was uttered by
Walpole, when, in reference to a design that was at
one time entertained by one of the early Georges,
of shutting up St. James's Park and converting it
into a royal garden, and in answer to the question
as its probable cost, he answered, "May it please
your Majesty, only three crowns."
Since the time of Charles II., succeeding kings
have given the people the privilege of walking in
the park, and William III. granted to the public an
entrance through the Spring Garden. The walks
in the enclosure and the seats scattered about in
such profusion beneath the shade of its trees have
been a celebrated spot for love-making ever since
the days of Charles II., and the park itself is often
mentioned in this association in the works of the
comic dramatists of the Stuart times. Horace
Walpole tells us that "pretty ladies" who walked
in the park were sometimes "mobbed" by the
crowd—a proof, if proof be needed, that other ages
were not less marked by vulgarity than our own.
Like other parts of town, the park appears to
have been frequented by those lawless rascals, the
Mohocks, or Mohawks, of whom we have already
made mention. Swift, for instance, writes under
date of March, 1712, that he "walked in the park,
and came home early to avoid the Mohocks;"
and apparently not without good reason, for, a day
or two afterwards, a party of these armed ruffians
assaulted a female servant of Lady Winchilsea's,
at her mistress's garden-gate, "cutting her face and
beating her without provocation."
It had been for many previous years the favourite
amusement of dissolute young men to form themselves into clubs and associations for the cowardly
pleasure of fighting and sometimes maiming harmless foot-passengers, and even defenceless women.
They took various slang designations. At the
Restoration they were Muns and Tityre-Tus; then
Hectors and Scourers; later still, Nickers (whose
delight it was to smash windows with showers
of halfpence), Hawkabites, and lastly Mohocks.
These last, as we learn from No. 324 of the
Spectator, took their title from "a sort of cannibals
in India, who subsist by plundering and devouring
all the nations about them." Nor was the designation inapt; for if there was one sort of brutality on
which they prided themselves more than another,
it was in tattooing, or slashing people's faces with,
as Gay wrote, "new invented wounds." They
began the evening at their clubs, by drinking to
excess in order to inflame what little courage they
possessed; they then sallied forth, sword in hand.
Some enacted the part of "dancing masters," by
thrusting their rapiers between the legs of sober
citizens in such a fashion as to make them cut the
most grotesque capers. The hunt spoken of by
Sir Roger de Coverley was commenced by a
"view hallo!" and as soon as the savage pack had
run down their victim, they surrounded him, and
formed a circle with the points of their swords.
One gave him a puncture in the rear, which very
naturally made him wheel about; then came a
prick from another; and so they kept him spinning
like a top till in their mercy they chose to let him
go free. An adventure of this kind, in which the
savages figure under the name of "Sweaters," is
narrated in No. 332 of the Spectator.
Mr. John Timbs, in his "Curiosities of London,"
tells us that the park, as well as the palace, sheltered persons from arrest; for, in 1632, one John
Perkins, a constable, was imprisoned for serving the
Lord Chief Justice's warrant upon John Beard in
St. James's Park. To draw a sword in the park
was also a very serious offence. Congreve, in his
Old Bachelor, makes Bluffe say, "My blood rises at
that fellow. I can't stay where he is; and I must
not draw in the park." Traitorous expressions,
when uttered in St. James's Park, were punished
very severely. Thus, Francis Heat was whipped,
in 1771, from Charing Cross to the upper end of
the Haymarket, fined ten groats, and ordered a
month's imprisonment, for here saying aloud, "God
save King James III., and send him a long and
prosperous reign!" and in the following year a
soldier was whipped in the park for drinking a
health to the Duke of Ormond and Dr. Sacheverel,
and for saying he "hoped soon to wear his right
master's cloth." The Duke of Wharton, too, was
seized by the guard in St. James's Park for singing
the Jacobite air, "The king shall have his own
again."
Fairthorne's plan of St. James's, taken shortly
after the Restoration, shows the north half of the
parade occupied by a square enclosure, surrounded
by trees, with one tree in the centre; and in the
lower part of the parade broad running water, with
a bridge of two arches in the middle. Later views
show the park with long rows of young elm and
lime trees, fenced with palings, and occasionally
relieved by some fine old trees. A view of this
park is worked in as a background to one of
Hollar's charming and well-known etchings of the
"Four Seasons."
Over the canal in this park during the Regency,
when a taste for Eastern monstrosities of the kind
was so prevalent, was built a little Chinese bridge,
mainly of wood; but already, in 1823, it was
beginning to fall to decay. Canova, when asked
what struck him most forcibly during his visit to
England in the year 1815, is said to have replied,
"that the trumpery Chinese bridge in St. James's
Park should be the production of the Government,
whilst that of Waterloo was the work of a private
company."
During the winter months, when the "ornamental water" is frozen over, this spot is much
resorted to for the purposes of skating and sliding;
but the scene presented is doubtless very different
now-a-days to what it was two centuries ago, when,
as Pepys tells us in his "Diary" (December 1, 1662),
he went "to my Lord Sandwich's, … and then
over the parke, where I first in my life, it being a
great frost, did see people sliding with their skates,
which is a pretty art." Evelyn, too, has the following entry under the same date:—"Having seene
the strange and wonderful dexterity of the sliders
in the new canal in St. James's Park, performed
before their Majesties by divers gentlemen and
others, with scheets, after the manner of the
Hollanders, with what swiftness as they pass, how
suddenly they stop in full career on the ice, I
went home."
The park appears soon to have become a resort
for all classes, for under date December 4, 1683
(when there was a very hard frost), the Duke of
York records—"This morning the boys began to
slide upon the canal in the park."
St. James's Park, much as we now see it, was laid
out by George IV. between the years 1827 and
1829. In form, the enclosure takes somewhat the
shape of a boy's kite, the head or broad part of
which, towards Whitehall, is bordered by some of
the principal Government offices—the Admiralty,
the Horse Guards, the Treasury, and the India
and Foreign Offices; at the opposite end is Buckingham Palace. In 1857, a suspension bridge for
foot-passengers was thrown across the water, so as
to form a direct communication between Queen
Square and St. James's Street; and the bed of the
lake was at the same time cleared out and raised,
so that its greatest depth of water does not exceed
four feet.
"Amongst the many improvements which have
contributed to the convenience and ornament of
the metropolis," writes Walker, in his "Original,"
in 1835, "none are more striking than those in the
parks. The state in which they are kept does
great credit to those who have the management of
them. The right-lined formalities of St. James's
Park seemed almost to defy the efforts of taste;
and I could not have conceived that without any
advantages of ground the straight 'canal' and
unpromising cow-pasture could have been metamorphosed into so graceful a piece of water, and
so beautiful a shrubbery. In walking round the
water, almost at every step there is a new and
striking point of view of buildings and foliage.
Buckingham Palace, Carlton Terrace, the Duke of
York's Column, St. Martin's Church, the Horse
Guards, Westminster Abbey, and other inferior
objects, seen between and over the trees, form a
combination and a variety I have never before
seen equalled. … What a pity it is that the
original design of making a gradual descent from
Waterloo Place into St. James's Park was not
allowed to be carried into execution! Besides
the beauty of the plan, a horse-entrance there
would have been an immense convenience to a
numerous class. As that, however, is now out of
the question, the nearest practical approach to it
seems to be by the macadamisation of Pall Mall,
with an entrance into the Park, if that could be
permitted, between Marlborough House and the
Palace. I know not how that would affect the
Palace, but if it would be no inconvenience to
royalty, it certainly would be a great boon to the
equestrian public."
It is a pleasant task to record here the fact that
in little more than a quarter of a century after the
above-quoted words were written the entrance to
St. James's Park between Marlborough House and
St. James's Palace was thrown open, by permission
of Her Majesty and the Ranger, not only to the
"equestrian public," but to the commonalty who
employ cabs and hired carriages, and that for such
vehicles a right of way has been granted by the
Queen to Pimlico and South Belgravia, across
the once sacred precinct of the Royal Mall in St.
James's Park, and under the very windows of
Buckingham Palace.
It has always been the tradition of the Court
to grant as little as possible to the public a right
of way through St. James's Park. The following
story, told of George I., shows that the privilege
was not always allowed even to the children of a
Stuart sovereign:—"Soon after his accession to
the throne, the Duchess of Buckingham, a natural
daughter of James II., asked for a passage for her
carriage through the park, but was met with a
polite refusal. She at once wrote off a letter to
the king, abusing him in the grossest terms compatible with her character as a lady, affirming that
he was an usurper, and that she had a better right
to go through the park than a Hanoverian upstart.
The king, instead of being offended, laughed, saying,
'The poor woman is mad, let her pass;' and thereupon gave an order that both her Grace and any
other mad daughter of a Stuart king, who cared to
obtain the privilege, might use it freely."
The park is still regularly patrolled at night by
two of the horse guards whenever Her Majesty is
in town—a standing proof of the old feeling of
the insecurity of retired parts of London when
entrusted to the old watchmen, or "Charlies." It
was not till 1822 that St. James's Park was lighted
with gas, although Pall Mall, adjoining, had been
so lit fifteen years before.
The large open space laid down with gravel in
front of the Horse Guards is popularly called the
Parade, from the fact that the household troops
are paraded here almost every day. Here, too,
reviews of the troops occasionally take place; as,
also, such ceremonies as the presentation of medals
to those of our "brave defenders" who may have
taken part in foreign campaigns.
Here are two military trophies, curious pieces of
foreign ordnance: the one is a large Turkish gun,
captured by the English troops in Egypt, under
Sir Ralph Abercromby; the other is an immense
mortar, cast at Seville by command of the great
Napoleon; it was used by the French under
Marshal Soult at the siege of Cadiz, in 1812, but
abandoned by them subsequently at Salamanca.
Mr. Larwood, in his amusing book on the "London
Parks," states that the carriage of the mortar was
made at Woolwich under the direction of the Earl
of Mulgrave: its ornamentation is said to bear
reference to King Geryon, a monster with three
bodies and three heads, whom Hercules slew at
Cadiz, after "lifting" his anthropophagous cattle.
Jekyll, the famous punster, however, explained it
differently, and said that the dogs' heads were
merely placed on it in order to justify the Latin
inscription, which is certainly of a somewhat canine
species.
As to the "Parade," a writer calls it (in the
reign of George II.) a "grand and spacious area,"
and capable of being made one of the chief
beauties "about the town," if surrounded by
"noble and august buildings," and adorned with
an equestrian statue to the memory of some departed hero. He suggests that it would be a fit
place for the erection of one in particular to "the
great and immortal Nassau"—meaning King
William III.—and adds, "It is true that he has
once been denied this piece of justice, but they
were not soldiers who were guilty of so great an
indignity." It is not, however, clear to what
abortive attempt at doing justice to the "pious
and immortal memory" of King William the writer
means to allude.
Upon the Parade was marshalled the state
funeral procession of the great Duke of Wellington,
on the 18th of November, 1852. The body was
removed from Chelsea Hospital on the previous
midnight, and deposited in the audience-chamber
at the Horse Guards. Beneath a tent erected on
the parade-ground was stationed the funeral car,
whereon the coffin being placed, and the command
given, the cortége, in a slow and solemn manner,
moved down the Mall, past Buckingham Palace,
whence the procession was seen by Her Majesty
and the Royal Family, before it made its way to
St. Paul's.
We have already mentioned the fact that Sir
Robert Walpole, when Prime Minister, lived constantly at the Treasury, at the corner of Downing
Street. In the last century there was a carriage
entrance to his house on the side of the park. A
good story is told of a scene which occurred here.
A countryman from Norfolk, having failed to obtain
a post under Government, though recommended
by one of Sir Robert Walpole's supporters in Parliament, resolved to trudge up to London, and to
push his own request in person. Accordingly, he
took up his quarters at the "Axe and Crown," an
hostelry close by the Premier's house, and knocked
at Sir Robert's door, but without success. The
servants, however, told him that if he could speak
to Sir Robert in person as he stepped into his
chariot, he would be sure to get what he wanted.
Accordingly, for two or three days he watched the
Premier go out, and at last waylaid him in the act
of entering his chariot, and came out plump with
his demand, adding that the post had been asked
for him by his friend the M.P. for—."Well,
my good man," said Sir Robert, "call on me
another morning." "Yes, an please your honour,
I'll be here and call on you every morning until I
get the place." The man was as good as his word,
and every day for at least a fortnight was at the
same spot at the same hour, and made his bow to
the Premier, who was either so amused or wearied
with his blunt importunity, that he sent him back
to Norfolk the richer and, it may be hoped, the
happier, by the gift of a tide-waitership.
THE INDIA FOREIGN OFFICE, FROM ST. JAMES'S PARK.
Between the Treasury and the Horse Guards is
seen the back of Dover House (already mentioned
in a former chapter), where the late Lord Dover
made a very choice gallery of paintings. His early
death, which took place in July, 1833, was much
regretted by society at large. He was the author
of a "Life of Frederick the Great;" "The True
History of the State Prisoner, the Man in the Iron
Mask;" "Historical Enquiries respecting the
Character of Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon."
He also edited "Horace Walpole's Correspondence" and "The Ellis Correspondence."
In the reign of the two first Georges, and perhaps even more recently, the situation of Dover
House was quite rural; so much so indeed that
the author of "A New Critical Review of the
Public Buildings," in 1736, thus expresses himself
about it:—"We will now step into the park, where
we shall see a house in the finest situation, with
the whole canal and park in prospect, yet so ob
scured with trees that, except in the garrets, it
cannot have the advantage of either. Surely there
can be no excuse for so egregious a mistake but
that the house itself is in so wrong a taste that it
was the owner's interest to hide it."