Part 2

The excuse for postponing the party to Hampton Court, was a summons from the king to dine at Windsor, a command of this sort superseding all other engagements. He kindly begged me to name another day for the excursion, but, between bad health and business, it was not in my power to do so. Your aunt, too, who was completely excluded from society by her mourning, and who was now in London for the first time, had too just a claim on my time, to be set aside for other persons. She wished to go to Windsor and Richmond, and into Hertfordshire, and these considerations compelled me to forego the rare pleasure of making a third in a party composed of Walter Scott and Samuel Rogers.

I have just missed seeing Mr. Wadsworth too, in consequence of ill health. He dined with Mr. Rogers, and I was asked to meet him, but my old enemy the headache and a severe nervous attack, obliged me to send excuses, though I put them off as long as I could, and drank hot tea all the morning to get myself in trim. Mr. Rogers sent to press me to join them in the evening, but I was then in bed. As country air will now be useful, we have determined to go to Windsor at once.

LETTER XVI.

TO RICHARD COOPER, ESQ., COOPERSTOWN, N. Y.

Whatever may be said of the beauty of the country in England, in particular parts, it scarcely merits its reputation as a whole. I have seen no portion of it that is positively ugly, a heath or two excepted, and yet I have seen more that is below mediocrity, than above it. I am told, however, I have not seen its finest portions. There is certainly little to admire, in the way of landscape, immediately in the vicinity of London, so far as I have become acquainted with its environs, and we have now entered and left the town in nearly every direction.

Taking our own village as a centre, and describing a circle, with a radius of fifty miles, I greatly question if all England could supply the same field of natural beauty. Our landscapes have much the effect of English park scenery, too, aided by the isolated and graceful woods that belong to every farm, and the negligent accidents of clearing, of which the celebrated art of landscape gardening is merely an imitation. But this country has a great advantage, both in its higher finish and in its numerous and interesting artificial accessories. It is only when viewed at the distance of a mile or two, that the scenery of our country, for instance, has the park-like character at all; the foreground of the picture commonly wanting the necessary polish. Still I can recall a portion of the road between Cooperstown and Utica, that comes almost up to the level of what would be thought fine rural scenery even in England, surpassing it in outline and foliage, and perhaps falling as much short of it, by the want of country houses and picturesque dwellings, bridges, churches, and other similar objects. I mention these places, because they are familiar to you, and not because the country has no more; for I think it may be taken as a rule, that the frequency and negligent appearance of our woods, bring the American landscapes, seen in the distance, much nearer to the level of the English, than is commonly believed.

There is a limit, which associates with the ordinary English rural scene, the idea of comfort and snugness, that is in marked contrast to the naked, comfortless aspect of the broad, unrelieved fields of France. This feature makes the great distinction between the landscapes of the two countries. The nature of the continent appears to have been cast in a larger mould than that of this island, and when, to this circumstance, you add the fact of the enclosures by means of hedges, on the one side, and their total absence on the other, you may form a tolerable idea of the different characters of the scenery of the two countries.

I am led out of London, and tempted to these remarks, in consequence of our having profited by the fine weather, to make several excursions into the country, after all of which I am half inclined to say that the town itself, possesses in its very bosom, finer rural beauties than are to be met any where in its neighbourhood. I have great pleasure, as the season advances, in studying the varying aspects of the parks, which, at moments, present singularly beautiful glimpses. The _chiaroscuro_ of these pictures is not remarkable, it is true; the darks predominating rather too much. This is a bold criticism, considering that nature is the artist; but what I mean is, that the play of light and shade is not as sweet or as soft, as in milder climates. Still it is more poetical than that of a fierce sun, unrelieved by vapour.

The groupings in the parks contribute largely to their beauty. The mixture of cows and of deer grazing, with children at their sports, horsemen dashing across the view, and stately coaches rolling along the even and winding roads, add the charm of a moving panorama, to the beauties of verdure, trees, flowers, paths, and water. I do not, now, allude to the Sunday exhibitions; for they are cockney, and rather mar the scene; but to the more regular life of the week. You can hardly imagine the beauty of two or three scarlet coats, passing athwart the broad beds of verdure. I have seen battalions parading, but the formalities of lines rather injure than help the effect, though half a dozen soldiers, scattered about the grass, are like so many fine touches of light in a good picture.

One of our first excursions was to Richmond Hill. We were disappointed in the view, which owes its reputation more to the vicinity of a great town, I suspect, than to its intrinsic merits. The best of a capital, is pretty certain to get a name by the mere force of tongues, and the English have a failing in common with ourselves, which may be attributed to the same cause—an insulated position. This precious circumstance is quite certain to breed cockneys. The failing is that of thinking their own best, better than every one else’s best. Travelling, however, is making great innovations on this patriotic vice, and Richmond, I think, is losing its parish fame.

The terrace of Richmond overlooks an exquisite bit of foreground, however, in which the Thames makes an admirable sweep, but the nearly boundless back-ground is crowded, confused, and totally without relief. When Mr. Mathews, the comedian, was in America, I took him to the belfry of the capitol at Albany, that he might get an accurate notion of the localities. He stood gazing at the view a minute, and then exclaimed: “I don’t know why they make so much fuss about Richmond; now, to my notion, this is far better than Richmond Hill.” Mr. Mathews did not recollect that they who _do_ make the fuss, scarcely ever saw any other hill.

We were told the view was better from an upper window in the inn, than from the terrace; but I cannot think fifteen or twenty feet in elevation, can make any decided difference in this respect. We went into the park, but were not particularly struck by it. There was a large herd of deer, or I ought to say a drove, for they had a calm and _sheepish_ appearance. It is an animal that loses its characteristic charm, in losing its sensitive, listening, bounding wildness, and its elasticity.

We passed Kew and Twickenham, varying the road a little in order to do both. The palace at the former place is to come down, being an old German-looking house that, as a palace, is unworthy of the kingdom, and which has not sufficient historical interest to preserve it. The gardens are valuable for their botanical treasures.

Twickenham is an irregular old village, along the banks of the Thames, whose beauties form its charms. We saw the exterior of the house of Pope, which is very much such a dwelling as would belong to a man of moderate means and habits, in America. Strawberry Hill was our object, here, however, but we were denied admission. The road, which is narrow and winding, like a lane, a beauty in itself, runs close to the building, but a high wall protects the grounds. In arrangements of this sort, the English, or rather the Europeans, much excel us. To the great houses there is space, but they understand the means of obtaining privacy and rural quiet, in situations that we should abandon in despair, on account of their publicity. Indeed few men with us would consent to “hide their light under a bushel,” by building a plain rear on the road, shutting in their grounds by walls, and reserving their elegance for themselves and their friends. I am not quite sure the public would not treat a man’s turning his back on it, in this manner, as an affront, and take its revenge in biting _his_ back, in return. Such, notwithstanding, is the situation of Strawberry Hill, little being visible from the road it touches, but a rear that has no particular merit.

We were much disappointed with the house, seen as we saw it, for it appeared to me to be composed of lath and stucco; in part at least. It is a tiny castle, and altogether it struck me as a sort of architectural toy. And yet the English, who understand these matters well, speak of it with respect, though there is no people with whom “a saint in crape, is twice a saint in lawn,” more than with these grave islanders, and it may be possible they see the wit of Horace Walpole, where I saw nothing but his folly. Lady ——, who has so good a house of her own, assures me the interior is quite a jewel, and the grounds, to use an Anglicism, delicious; and that she is in the habit of making a pilgrimage to the place twice a year. I’ll engage she don’t walk on peas to do it.

We took another day to go to Windsor, which is twenty miles from town. Here the Thames is scarcely larger than the Susquehannah at Cooperstown, flowing quite near the castle. The town is neat but irregular, and as unlike Versailles as England is unlike France. This is a snug, compact, beef-and-beer sort of a place, in which one might enjoy a sea-coal fire and a warm dinner, while waiting for a stage coach; the other awakens the recollections of Burgundy and made dishes, and of polite life. One may expect a royal _cortège_ to come sweeping down the stately avenues of Versailles at any moment, whereas the appearance of style in the streets of Windsor excites a sense of unfitness. One leaves an impression of a monarch who deems a kingdom erected for his use, who forces nature and triumphs over difficulties to attain the magnificent; the other, of the head of a state, profiting by accident to obtain an abode, in which his comforts are blended with a long chain of historical images.

The English say that Windsor is the only real palace in the country, and yet it struck me as scarcely being a palace at all. We were disappointed with its appearance at a distance, and almost as much with its appearance within. Like most old castles, it is an irregular collection of buildings erected on the edge of a declivity, so as to enclose different wards, or courts. I believe, including its terraces, it embraces twelve acres. The Tuileries and Louvre, together, must embrace forty. I should think the buildings of Versailles, without reference to the courts, cover more ground than are included within the walls of Windsor, and with reference to the courts, twice or thrice as much. A comparison between Vincennes and Windsor would be more true, than one between the latter and Versailles, after allowing for the fact that Windsor is still a royal residence. The round tower of Windsor, or its ancient keep, will not sustain a comparison with the _donjon_ of Vincennes, while the chapel and royal apartments of the latter, will not compare with those of the former.

Windsor is a picturesque and quaint, rather than a magnificent place. It has a character of progressive power and civilization, which leads the mind to the associations of history, and which imparts to it an interest greater than that of mere grandeur, perhaps, but it has little pretension to be considered, on the score of taste and splendour, the principal residence of one of the greatest monarchs of the age; great, in connexion with the power of the nation, if not in connexion with his own. It would be an admirable accessory to the state of a king; venerable by time, and eloquent by association; but it is defective as a principal. While it has great discrepancies as a structure, there was a poetical imagery about it, that insensibly led me to see a resemblance between it and the history and institutions of the country; for, like them, it was the pretension of a palace reared on a foundation of feudal usages, aristocratical rather than royal in details, and among which the church has managed to thrust itself with great advantage, for the chapel, in magnificence and extent, is, out of all proportion, the finest and most important part of the edifices.

I have given you this comparative summary, because minute accounts of this venerable castle abound, and because these accounts do not leave accurate notions of the respective merits of things, without details that are fatiguing, and which are understood only by the initiated. Still Windsor has parts that merit particular mention, and which are peculiar to itself as a royal residence. The first of these is its situation, which may be classed among the most beautiful known. The view struck me, as far finer than that from Richmond Hill, though not as extensive. It is not the site that would be apt to be selected for a palace; but, as you can easily understand, when you remember that the Conqueror first established a hold at the place, it has rather the features of boldness and abruptness that belong to a fortress. These have been softened by modern improvements, and a good terrace now lines the brow of the hill on three of its faces.

The entrance is on the side of the town, and Windsor, like Strawberry Hill, turns its worst side to the public. The approach is abrupt and somewhat rude, but not without gothic grandeur. When within the gate, one is in an irregular court, of no great beauty, though large, but which contains the chapel, the pride of Windsor. The courts are not on the same level, the natural formation of the hill still existing, one lying a little above another.

We were shown through the state apartments, which greatly disappointed us, being altogether inferior to those of almost every French palace I have entered. There were a few rooms of a good size, but they all had a cold German air; and their ornaments, in general, were clumsy and in bad taste. In nothing is the superiority of the French taste more apparent than in their upholstery, and in their manner of fitting up apartments, and nowhere is this superiority more obvious than in comparing St. Cloud with Windsor. At the latter we had some ponderous magnificence, it is true, which exhibited itself in such vulgarisms as silver andirons and other puerilities; but of graceful and classic taste, there was surprisingly little. Even the hues of things were generally cold and chilling.

The castle is now undergoing very costly and extensive repairs, however, and as George the Fourth is allowed to have taste, if he has nothing else, and he is openly accused of having sent to Paris for furniture, it is probable that this description of Windsor will soon become untrue. We saw a few of the improvements which promise well, and, one room in particular, a hall in which the Knights of the Garter hold their banquets, bids fair to be one of the finest things in its way, in Christendom. It is to be fitted up in a gothic taste, to correspond with the old style of the architecture, and, seemingly in unison with the original design. In its present condition, I could not tell how far it had been changed.

The general impression of the state apartments, as I have just mentioned, was not favourable. They had a stiffness and a poverty of grace, if one can use such a term, that was obvious from the first. There were some fine pictures, and many that were indifferent. Sir Peter Lely flourishes here, and the state bedchamber of the Queen, for a lady as exemplary as Charlotte of Mecklenburgh, contains a droll collection of female worthies, by that Corydon of artists. Among them were Mrs. Middleton, Lady Denham, and the Duchess of Cleveland! The misers of Quintin Matsys are here. But you can get better descriptions of paintings from the regular books, than my limits, or my knowledge can help you to.

The chapel is a noble structure. It is as old as the reign of Edward the Fourth and it has a nave worthy of a cathedral, with a superb window. The roof is of stone, supported by ribs and groins of beautiful proportions. This chapel is called St. George’s, and it is appropriated to the religious ceremonies of the Garter. The knights are installed in the choir, which contains the banners, stalls, and arms of the present members of the order, as Henry the Seventh’s chapel in Westminster, contains those of the members of the order of the Bath.

The emblems of the Garter, like those of the Golden Fleece, carry the mind back to the days of chivalry, and to scenes of historical interest; but they awakened in me no feelings of respect, like those of the Bath. Personal rank is almost an indispensable requisite to belong to the order, and this, with personal or ministerial interest, generally suffices. The names of the sovereigns of Austria, Spain, Denmark, France, Prussia, and the Netherlands, were over as many stalls. There were also those of the Dukes of Dorset, Newcastle, Montrose, Beaufort, Rutland, Northumberland, and Wellington. With the exception of the last, did you ever hear of these knights?

There are many monuments in this chapel, one of which, to the Princess Charlotte, is remarkable by the design, and I think imposing, though it is not a favourite. West appears here, also, in a new character, having sketched the designs for some of the windows.

Eton College stands under the hill, beneath the castle, and on the margin of the river. It is a venerable and quaint pile, and I confess it interested me quite as much as its more celebrated neighbour. It was not a bad thought in Henry, to establish a seminary like this, for the early education of the youth of his kingdom, as it were within the shadow of his throne. At Windsor the king is every thing, and boys that imbibe their earliest impressions in such an atmosphere, will be apt to feel a lasting reverence for monarchy. But none of the English schools, I believe, can be reproached with disloyalty, for the English cultivate a reverence for the throne that would seem to be pretty accurately proportioned to their systematic intention to allow no one fairly to fill it. They honour the king, and feed him, very much as the Egyptians treated their Apis. After all, is there no analogy between the various mystifications of different and remote nations?

There are said to be near five hundred oppidans, or boys who pay for their instruction, in the school, and near a hundred on the foundation.

We strolled in the Long Walk, which is an avenue lined by trees a league in length. This is royal in extent, but it is scarcely in keeping with the rest of the establishment. The park, I believe, is very extensive, and I presume beautiful, but we had not time to enter it. After taking a light repast, we returned to London, by a road different from that by which we had come.

We left Windsor much disappointed in many respects, and highly gratified in others. I had figured to myself a castle that should possess the usual finish which belongs to the English structures of this nature, while it was as much larger and nobler as a king is thought to be greater than a peer, and which was seated in the midst of such gardens and parks as I have been accustomed to see appropriated to royalty elsewhere. Instead of this, the edifices occupied by the family were scarcely better than a first-rate Paris hotel, if indeed any better. In the place of grandeur and state, however, we found quaintness and historical interest, and some of the most lovely rural scenery imaginable brought close to the walls, to supply the places of a broad park and formal alleys. Windsor Great Park is detached from the castle, and, as a part of the scene, it belongs as much to any one else as to the king.

In short, Windsor struck me as being a noble feudal residence; in this sense, relatively royal; but scarcely as magnificent and regal, as a palace.

We passed some very pretty houses on our way back to London. They were not generally larger than our own better sort of country residences, but had fewer incongruities, a better disposition of the grounds, and every thing was much better kept. One in particular attracted our attention, by its shrubbery and wood. A small lawn resembled velvet, and a stream from the setting sun bathed half of it in light, leaving the rest in shadow, producing an effect like the glow of a well-toned painting. It was the noblest colouring I had seen in England.

LETTER XVII.

TO MRS. COMSTOCK, COMSTOCK, MICHIGAN.

Although Paris has so much the most reputation for skill in the art, the English certainly do know how to dance, whatever rumour on your side of the Atlantic may say to the contrary. I remember the sensation made in New York, by the circumstance of the wife of an officer of some rank in the British service, not knowing how to join in the quadrilles, or cotillions rather, as far back as the year 1815. This lady, who, by the way, was a distant relative of your own, had been cooped up in the island of Great Britain for twenty years, by the war, and, either through sheer patriotism, or because London and Paris then lay so far asunder, her knowledge in the mysteries of Terpsichore did not extend beyond the minuet and the country dance, although, unlike most of those who then came among us from Europe, she was of gentle blood, herself, and her husband was the son of a lord. When this lady made her first appearance at a New York ball, to adopt a form of expression a good deal in vogue here, and which it is quite fair to use in the way of retaliation, she had been just _caught_, so far at least as dancing was concerned.