Part 11

For some unexplained reason (apparently it was in fair repair) the old roof was destroyed, and a new one substituted. The simple three-light Renaissance west window, with a curious ornamented ledge beneath, gave way to an elaborate Gothic window, filled with stained glass representing the very “apocryphal” story of Henry VII.’s Eton days. Beneath this was erected an elaborate screen of panelling, decorated with the arms of successive provosts. The rest of the old panelling was allowed to remain, though, owing to a very thorough process of renovation, a great proportion of the present woodwork is modern. Along the top of the panelling may still be seen a number of old nails. From these, according to an old Eton custom, Collegers at Shrovetide used to hang scrolls of Bacchus verses which were suspended by coloured ribbons. These Bacchus verses, written in praise or abuse of the jovial deity, continued to be written in the earlier portion of the last century, though by that time their character had changed.

[SN: BACCHUS VERSES]

The art of verse-writing was held in the highest esteem at Eton, and was, together with accurate prosody, the road to distinction. False quantities were considered crimes. In the _Etonian_ Praed had some clever lines as to this in his poem, “The Eve of Battle”:--

And still in spite of all thy care, False quantities will haunt thee there, For thou wilt make amidst the throng Or ζωή short or κλέος long.

A copy of Bacchus verses composed by Porson on the subject of Cyrus exulting over captive Babylon is preserved in the library. Pepys noted these Bacchus verses in 1666:--

To the Hall, and there find the boys’ verses, “De Peste,” it being their custom to make verses at Shrovetide. I read several, and very good they were, better, I think, than ever I made when I was a boy, and in rolls as long, or longer, than the whole Hall by much. Here is a picture of Venice hung up, and a monument made by Sir H. Wotton’s giving it to the College.

This picture was moved many years ago, and now hangs in Election Hall. Beneath it is the following inscription:--

Henricus Wottonius post tres apud Venetos Legationes ordinarias in Etonensis Collegii beato sinu senescens, eiusque cum suavissima inter Se Sociosque concordia annos iam XII. Praefectus Hanc miram Vrbis quasi natantis effigiem in aliquam sui memoriam iuxta Socialem Mensam affixit, 1636.

On the picture itself may be seen the words, “Opus Odoardus Fialettus, 1611.”

Near the oriel window there still stands the iron reading-desk from which in old times a scholar used to read out passages of Holy Writ. In early days he appears to have been known as “the Bibler.”

[SN: BURNT TAPESTRY]

Before the restoration of the Hall two pieces of tapestry given by a Fellow--Adam Robyns--in 1613 used to be hung beneath the west window at Election time. They represented the flight into Egypt and Christ teaching in the Temple. When the Hall had been restored and the ornate modern panelling or screen set up where this tapestry used to hang, it was relegated to the bake-house. This was burnt in 1875, and the tapestry, together with the green rugs given to the Collegers by the Duke of Cumberland in 1735, were utterly destroyed in the conflagration. These rugs or coverlets were edged with gold braid and embroidered with the College arms.

Up to the period of the modern alterations the Hall was warmed by a circular charcoal brazier standing beneath the louvre or opening in the roof. In 1858, however, the three large fireplaces discovered behind the panelling were taken into use; they had never had chimneys before. Hot-water pipes now also assist to warm the Hall.

On the walls hang some eighteen portraits, all of Collegers except two, representing George III. and Sir Thomas Smith. The Rev. John Wilder, the well-meaning Fellow who spent such large sums of money in altering and restoring Hall and Chapel, is commemorated by a brass in the south-west corner.

On the right in the Hall is a small table called the “Servitor’s Desk.” The duty attached to the old office of Servitor consists in noting down in a book the commons allowed for each day’s dinner according to the number actually dining in Hall. He counts by “messes” and “half-messes,” a mess consisting of four boys. It is the practice of most Servitors to carve their name on the desk, and among the names carved are those of A. C. Benson, author and poet, and J. K. Stephen.

A few of the old customs are retained, the authorities still sitting at the high table at the west end. The Sixth Form sit at the first table on the left side, carving their own joint; one of them says Grace, shouting “Surgite! Benedicat Deus” at the beginning of the meal, and “Surgite! Benedicatur Deo” at the end, when the others reply, “Deo Gratias.” On Sundays a Latin Grace is chanted. The fare of Collegers formerly consisted almost[4] exclusively of mutton, from which arose the term “Tug-mutton,” and “Tug” applied to a King’s scholar.

[SN: “HARPY-PIES”]

Within the last three decades three ancient usages have been abandoned. The first of these was “Bever,” which was abolished in 1890. “Bever” consisted in a modest collation of bread and salt and beer in “after fours” in the summer; Collegers might partake of this if they wished, and were allowed to invite guests. A second old usage which disappeared about the same time was that of certain boys receiving a double allowance of bread. Though most of the old oak panelling of Hall was replaced by new in 1858, amongst the old panels was one which for more than three hundred years had proclaimed the privilege of the mess of four boys which dined nearest to the door on the north side of the Hall, “Queen Elizabethe ad nos gave October x 2 loves in a mes 1596,” being roughly inscribed upon it. Commemorating the munificence of the virgin Queen for more than three hundred years, two loaves, instead of the customary one loaf, were set before the four boys sitting near the panel. This practice has now been ended. The third old custom was of a far less pleasant character, and its disappearance is not to be deplored. Formerly, after the Collegers had dined, a number of old almswomen were allowed to collect the remains, and in consequence the Hall was at certain times thronged with a mass of old women thrusting chunks of bread and scraps of broken meat into bags. The whole thing was a somewhat unseemly scramble. The boys were often not very well disposed to the harpies, as they called the old ladies, and would wickedly make them what were known as “hag-traps” and “harpy-pies.” The composition of these was a masterpiece of diabolical ingenuity. A large square piece of bread or quarter loaf having had its centre hollowed out by means of a hole in the side, the interior was cunningly filled with an unsavoury mixture of mustard, pepper, cayenne, and whatever else came to hand, after which the opening was cleverly closed so that the bread might present a totally unsuspicious appearance and then left lying about amongst genuine loaves. Though the old ladies had considerable experience of various disagreeable forms of College humour, this wicked device always secured a certain amount of success. At the present time the female pensioners are given a small monetary allowance in place of being allowed to enter the Hall.

[SN: AN UNAPPRECIATED POET]

The Upper School occupies the whole of the west side of the school-yard, with the exception of the space covered by the headmaster’s room at the north end. It was originally built by Provost Allestree, but so faultily that it had to be rebuilt under his successor, Provost Cradock, in 1694. Though by some attributed to him, the architect was probably not Sir Christopher Wren; yet the style adopted, very different from that of the other buildings in the school-yard, is that associated with his name. Though now only rarely used, Upper School was formerly the principal class-room of Eton, and at the beginning of the nineteenth century no less than 400 boys were taught there at the same time. The ground floor beneath is now occupied by rooms which in the last century were considered quite good enough to accommodate large “divisions,” but have now been turned into a “school office,” a porter’s lodge, and store-rooms of various kinds. On the floor above is the “Upper School” itself, approached at the south end by a fine staircase--a well-proportioned room, lined with oak panelling which has served for the recording of many Eton names, and adorned with the busts of Etonians who have served their country. The first of these busts was put up in 1840, when the Marquess Wellesley presented his to the school--his brother, the Duke of Wellington, shortly afterwards following his example. Most of the great Etonians are here, including Shelley. It is said that when the idea of erecting the poet’s bust was first mooted, Dr. Hornby objected, saying that Shelley was a bad man, and he only wished he had been educated at Harrow. The memory of this poet--in former days, at least--was not held in any particular respect by the vast majority of Etonians, most of whom held much the same views about him as have been attributed to Dr. Hornby.

Some thirty years ago, when the subject of the amenities of Eton was being discussed by a House Debating Society, an Upper boy--now a well-known Peer--brought the debate to a close with a breezy speech. Eton, he said, was in his opinion a very good place; all boys were happy there, or ought to be. As far as he could make out, all boys always had been happy there, and he had only heard of one who wasn’t, and that was “a boy called Shelley, who was a mad fool.” He then sat down amidst applause.

An immense quantity of names are cut on the woodwork of Upper School. Most of these are those of boys who became famous in after life. The name of Charles James Fox, for instance, is to be seen beneath his bust. Gladstone’s may easily be recognised among a number of other names of the same family by the fact that there was not sufficient room left for the whole name, and consequently the last three letters are cut much smaller than the rest. Lord Roberts’s name is on the large south door, and Shelley’s under Lord Wellesley’s bust, to the right, and again high up, to the left, beneath his own bust. Gladstone’s name, it should be added, is on the upper right-hand panel of the door which stands to the left as you face the Headmaster’s desk in the Upper School. His sons have their names cut on the same door close by. This carving was not done by Gladstone himself, but by Dr. Keate’s servant in requital for a fee. Originally boys, before leaving, cut their names where they liked in Upper School. Later on, as in the writer’s time, it was the custom on leaving to present the Headmaster’s servant with a guinea to have this done. The present practice seems to be that for half a guinea a specially appointed official cuts a boy’s name. Close to Upper School, on the top of the staircase leading to the Headmaster’s room, may be seen the name Lord Dalmeny cut twice on the left, opposite the door; the older is that of Lord Rosebery, the newer that of his son.

[SN: LOWER SCHOOL]

The original Eton schoolroom was the present Lower School, which happily remains practically in its original state. The exact date of its erection is uncertain, but it would appear to have been built somewhere about the end of the fourteenth century. According to an old tradition Lower School was once the College stables, and it was Sir Henry Wotton who, when Provost, fitted it up with pillars, on which he is supposed to have painted pictures of Greek and Roman authors for the instruction of the boys. This quaint old room was formerly open for its full length, and looked very picturesque with its double row of oaken pillars supporting the floor of the chamber above, and deeply recessed windows, the oaken shutters, as well as the pillars, graven with the names of former Etonians. For two centuries it was the only schoolroom. In recent times, for convenience of teaching, it has been turned into three rooms by means of deal partitions. These, however, being merely temporary erections, have not injured the ancient fabric of the room. Many generations of boys have amused themselves by poking pens and knives into the deep chinks of the pillars and spearing out bits of paper that had been thrust in there by boys of bygone times. Mr. Brinsley Richards has described how, as a boy at Eton, he extracted the fragment of a play-bill, issued by a strolling troupe who performed at Windsor Fair in 1769. In the writer’s day many a boy, unconsciously imbued with that love of sending messages to posterity which is such a characteristic of youth, would write his name upon a scrap of paper and poke it deep into a hole or cranny.

Numerous names carved on the shutters and pillars of this room are striking links with the remote past. The names in question, it would appear, are in the vast majority of instances those of Collegers elected from Eton to King’s. They begin on the westernmost window on the north side, the earliest name discoverable being that of Kemp, 1577, somewhere about the middle of the shutter. On the first shutter on the left-hand side of the third room is the mark of a name which has been erased. This is supposed to have been that of Greenhall, who, leaving King’s College, became a highwayman and was captured, hanged, and dissected.

Samuel Pepys, who visited Eton in 1666, was very pleased with Lower School. This favourable impression is recorded in his diary:--

All mighty fine. The School good, and the custom pretty of boys cutting their names in the shuts of the window when they go to Cambridge, by which many a one hath lived to see himself a Provost and Fellow, that hath his name in the window standing.

Over Lower School was the ancient “Long Chamber,” now turned into the junior Collegers’ dormitory. It once extended the whole length of the school-yard, with the exception of the space occupied by the Headmaster’s chamber at the west end, and that of the Lower Master at the east. Its length was considerably lessened in 1844, and since that time it has been divided by partitions into “stalls” or “cubicles,” so that little of the original appearance of the interior remains.

When Long Chamber was broken up into cubicles, old Plumtre, one of the Fellows, preached a sermon on the text, “And Elisha said, Let every man take unto himself a beam, for the place we have made is too strait for us.” Plumtre was a staunch old Tory, who hated the Reform Bill. For one whole night he walked round and round the Eton cloisters, praying and waiting for the expected news of its defeat.

[SN: THE CHAPEL]

The Eton College Chapel was built in 1441, the foundation-stone being laid by King Henry VI. in person on Passion Sunday of that year. It was finished by Waynflete, who was Eton’s benefactor till his death in 1484. Owing no doubt to lack of means, the latter curtailed the original design, which provided for a nave 168 feet long stretching down what is now Keate’s Lane and finished the building with the Ante-Chapel, which still remains. A wooden rood-loft was erected over the chancel arch, with a crucifix between wooden figures of St. Mary and St. John, whilst stalls and frescoes, ordered to be wiped out in 1560, completed an interior which must have been beautiful and picturesque. Lupton’s Chapel, in which is Provost Lupton’s brass, was built by him in 1515. Here is now the tablet giving the names of those who fell in the South African War.

At the time of the Reformation there was naturally a good deal of iconoclastic destruction, and at the end of the seventeenth century the Chapel had suffered severely from dilapidation and neglect. In 1699-1700, under Provost Godolphin, however, a general remodelling of the Chapel had been undertaken, it would seem probable, under the direction of Wren. In the course of the alterations the floor would appear to have been raised, whilst the walls were covered nearly up to the windows with panelling of simple though good design. A classical organ-loft with fine decorative carving was at that time placed across the choir near the second window from the west end.

During the eighteenth century the interior of the Eton Chapel evoked nothing but praise, but with the mania for restoration which characterised the Victorian era, some desire for drastic alterations began to make itself felt. Whilst the general appearance of the Chapel was dignified and stately, there were undoubtedly certain disfigurements, the chief amongst them two great box-like pews at the east end, specially allotted to the male and female College servants. An elaborate altar-piece of inlaid wood, entirely concealing the east end, though good of its kind, was somewhat heavy and out of place. Good or bad, however, all the woodwork was soon to disappear.

[SN: “NOBS”]

In 1842, when the so-called Gothic revival first began to sweep over England, destroying much worthy to be preserved and creating comparatively little of artistic merit, it was determined to restore the Chapel. At first this was limited to tearing down the classical altar-piece, pews, and panelling at the east end and erecting ponderous so-called Gothic altar rails, pulpit, and the like, all of stone. These, however, were discarded a few years later, when, in 1847, a regular scheme of destruction and innovation was undertaken by Deeson, one of whose chief artistic crimes was tearing down the noblemen’s stalls, then standing against the walls at the western end. Up to the so-called restoration of 1847, boys who were noblemen or baronets used to occupy special seats of honour ranged along the Chapel walls. When one of these privileged youths--known as “Nobs”--first took his seat in one of these stalls he would, according to immemorial custom, distribute amongst his neighbours small packets of almonds and raisins, called “Chapel sock,” which were eaten in the Chapel itself. These seats, finely designed with carving at the top, were ruthlessly torn down, whilst no exact record of their appearance was preserved. A considerable portion of the panelling, which formerly covered the east end, adorns the hall at Frampton Park, Dorchester, but the writer has been unable to trace the noblemen’s seats which were swept away to make room for the present stalls.

The behaviour of the College authorities in having discarded work of high artistic interest, probably designed by Wren, is much to be deplored. The evidence as to Wren having designed the panelling is not absolutely conclusive, but much leads one to think that he was concerned in its design. The Mr. Banks, “surveyor,” whose name has been preserved as the designer of the costly woodwork, is probably identical with Matthew Bankes, “master carpenter,” who, under Wren’s direction, carried out the interior decoration and fitting of Kensington Palace, Hampton Court, and other historical buildings.

[SN: THE OLD ORGAN CASE]

The huge organ-loft, about twenty-five feet in depth, was approached by a flight of steps, which Provost Godolphin placed across the church within the choir. This loft or screen was a very fine piece of work, with fluted columns of oak, two of which are preserved in the Victoria and Albert Museum, and elaborate carving, by Grinling Gibbons, much resembling the one which still remains at Trinity College, Cambridge. The organ-case, which, curiously enough, has hitherto escaped all detailed notice in books about Eton, was of oak, and consisted of four towers and three flats of pipes--the pipe shades, lower frieze scrolls, side brackets and centre shield of arms being beautifully carved and well designed, while characteristically English in style. Above was a scroll ending in a point, for the carving of which Bird (who executed much fine woodwork under the direction of Sir Christopher Wren) was paid £24 in 1703. The organ itself, built by either William Smith or Father Smith, was erected in 1700, and cost a large sum of money for that day. This organ and its beautiful case is specially mentioned in _Organ-Cases and Organs of the Middle Ages and Renaissance_, the erudite and artistic work written and illustrated by the greatest English authority on the subject, Mr. A. G. Hill, who speaks of the old Eton College organ as being perhaps the best of all similar organs still remaining in England. It may be mentioned that the example formerly at Whitehall, and now in St. Peter’s Church at the Tower of London, much resembles it. After the Eton Chapel restoration of 1844-1847 this old organ, with its beautiful case, was discarded in order to make way for a new one which was placed half-way up the choir on the south side. No one seems to have thought the old organ worth preserving, and the case was eventually found by a member of the famous organ-building firm of Hill, lying about in bits in the yard of those who had taken it down. Mr. Hill at once recognised the high artistic value of the magnificent woodwork, and, after the various portions of the case had been fitted together, adapted it to a new organ, which passed into the possession of the late Mr. Josiah Spode, of Hawkesyard Park, Rugeley, who put it up in his hall. Mr. Spode left his property to his niece, with a proviso that at her death a certain portion should be applied to founding a monastery. This lady, however, preferred to carry out this wish during her own lifetime, and, expending a far larger sum than was stipulated by the will, founded at Rugeley the Dominican Monastery of St. Thomas, in the beautiful chapel of which the old Eton organ-case was put up. In connection with its history it is curious to recall that this splendid specimen of Jacobean woodwork was thrown out of the Eton Chapel because it was supposed to be “out of place” in a Gothic building. The Chapel at Rugeley is a singularly successful example of modern Gothic at its best, and the organ-case accords perfectly with its surroundings. A feature of the old case, adorned with scrolls and carvings lovingly wrought by the hand of a master craftsman of a past age, is its heraldic embellishment, the ornamentation including three shields bearing coats of arms. The large central one at the top shows the Royal arms of England, enriched by the legend “Honi soit qui mal y pense.” The smaller left-hand shield in the hands of an angel at the bottom of the case bears the familiar arms of Eton, whilst another on the right-hand side shows those of the sister foundation of King’s.

After the Eton authorities had cleared their Chapel of all the old Jacobean woodwork, they turned their attention to the roof, it being at first proposed to construct a new one of stone. Happily, however, fear of the Chapel collapsing checked such a scheme, and the architect, Deeson, merely stripped the paint and plaster from the roof, whilst adding some pseudo-Gothic cusping.

[SN: A RUTHLESS RESTORATION]