Part 25 (1/2)
[Ill.u.s.tration: _Rotten Row._]
”The Ring,” in Stuart times, was the scene of frequent duels, the most noted of which was that between Lord Mohun and the Duke of Hamilton (made use of in Thackeray's _Esmond_), in 1712, when both combatants were killed. And one of the saddest modern a.s.sociations of this circular drive is connected with Mrs. Carlyle's death here on April 21, 1866. The poor lady, to whom a brougham and an afternoon drive were luxuries of her later and invalid years, died quietly and silently in her carriage from heart failure caused by shock at a trivial accident to her small dog, which she had put out to run at Victoria Gate, near the Marble Arch; the coachman, knowing nothing of the fatality, driving on for some time before discovering the sad truth.
The Tyburnia end of Hyde Park is that most frequented by the populace.
If the smart world monopolises the vicinity of Hyde Park Corner, the green s.p.a.ces fringing the Bayswater Road, and near the Marble Arch, are generally appropriated by tired workmen and idle loafers, who lie about on the gra.s.s, in enviable bliss, on hot days in summer, looking like nothing so much as an army of soldiers mown down by a Maxim gun, and contentedly appreciating the fact that here in London, for once, they have found free and undisputed possession--a place where:
”no price is set on the lavish summer, June may be had by the poorest comer.”
In the s.p.a.ce opposite the Marble Arch is the so-called ”Reformers'
Tree,” where political meetings sometimes take place on Sundays, and where preachers, lecturers, and ”cranks” of every possible denomination, hold their respective courts. Visitors to London should make a point of witnessing this curious and well-known phase of London life; the outcome, M. Taine seems to suggest, of the latent seriousness of the British mind; ”an intense conviction, which for lack of an outlet, would degenerate into madness, melancholy, or sedition.” Mr. Anstey in the pages of _Punch_, has, in his own inimitable way, described these scenes, which are familiar to the readers of ”Voces Populi.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: _The Serpentine, Hyde Park._]
The ”Serpentine,” a large sheet of water mainly artificial, certainly cannot be said to ”serpent,” for it has but a very slight bend. Originating, however, at a period when all garden walks and ponds were of painful Dutch regularity, it owes its name to this trifling deviation. This prettily devised and wooded piece of water is due mainly to Queen Caroline, wife to George II., an energetic lady with gardening tastes. Very charming is the view to be obtained from the five-arched stone bridge over the Serpentine, ”a view,” says Mr.
Henry James, ”of extraordinary n.o.bleness.” Yet the Serpentine, too, has its tragic a.s.sociations. Perhaps it suggests, in its beauty, the haunting lines:
”When Life hangs heavy, Death remains the door To endless rest beside the Stygian sh.o.r.e.”
Always a noted spot for suicides, it was the place chosen by Harriet Westbrook, the unfortunate first wife of Sh.e.l.ley, for the ending of the many troubles of her short life; ”a rash act,” says Professor Dowden with praiseworthy partisans.h.i.+p, which it ”seems certain that no act of Sh.e.l.ley's, during the two years which immediately preceded her death, tended to cause.” ”Sh.e.l.ley,” comments Matthew Arnold drily, ”had been living with another woman all the time; only that!”
The charm of Kensington Gardens--detached from Hyde Park in later times--is, perhaps, its greater seclusion and air of guarded calm, as befits the gardens surrounding a royal palace. No carriages are allowed to profane its sacred shades; no rude sounds of the outer world penetrate its leafy bowers. In one pleasant spot of greenery a welcome innovation has lately been introduced in the summer months, in the shape of afternoon tea _al fresco_, provided by an enterprising club, and of late much frequented by the fas.h.i.+onable world. Kensington Gardens are always very select in their _coterie_; on their western side stands the old Dutch palace of solid red-brick, built for William and Mary,--sorrowed in by desolate Queen Anne,--birthplace of Queen Victoria, worthiest, n.o.blest, and most lamented of her line. With her, most of all, are the a.s.sociations of Kensington Gardens now bound up. In these pretty walks crowded still by the children and nurses of the wealthy and n.o.ble, the little royal girl used to play, regardless alike of her coming doom--or glory.
Yet, with all the nursery din of Kensington Gardens--an English _Tuileries_--there yet are spots so secluded and so quiet as still to justify Matthew Arnold's lovely lines:
”In this lone, open glade I lie, Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand; And at its end, to stay the eye, Those black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees stand!
”Birds here make song, each bird has his, Across the girding city's hum.
How green under the boughs it is!
How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come!
”Here at my feet what wonders pa.s.s, What endless, active life is here!
What blowing daisies, fragrant gra.s.s!
An air-stirred forest, fresh and clear.
”In the huge world, which roars hard by, Be others happy if they can!
But in my helpless cradle I Was breathed on by the rural Pan.
”Yet here is peace for ever new!
When I who watch them am away, Still all things in this glade go through The changes of their quiet day.”
Poor Haydon, the painter, whose fitful genius went out so sadly in lurid gloom, said of Kensington Gardens that ”here are some of the most poetical bits of tree and stump, and sunny brown and green glens and tawny earth.” Disraeli, also, wrote of it as follows in his most ”cla.s.sically-flowery” manner:--
”The inhabitants of London are scarcely sufficiently sensible of the beauty of its environs. On every side the most charming retreats open to them.... In exactly ten minutes it is in the power of every man to free himself from all the tumult of the world; the pangs of love, the throbs of ambition, the wear and tear of play, the recriminating boudoir, the conspiring club, the rattling h.e.l.l, and find himself in a sublime sylvan solitude superior to the cedars of Lebanon, and inferior only in extent to the chestnut forests of Anatolia. It is Kensington Gardens that is almost the only place that has realised his idea of the forests of Spenser and Ariosto.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: _Tea in Kensington Gardens._]
What havoc, truly, the Great Exhibition of 1851, the Prince Consort's darling scheme, must have wrought in Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens!
And what would the bright particular spirits of the present day now think of such irreverent, such high-handed proceedings? Even the Kensington Museum now eschews the too close neighbourhood of ephemeral Exhibitions; they are relegated to the more distant shades of Olympia and of Earl's Court; the immense Crystal Palace--the Exhibition building--now flourishes at Sydenham, and the site of the great show is commemorated in Hyde Park by the Albert Memorial, an edifice about the merits of which much difference of opinion rages. Yet, even its detractors must own the magnificence of the monument, and admire the eastern opulence of its mosaics, its gilding, its bronzes and marbles.
But St. James's Park is really, in some ways, quite the prettiest of the London parks, and though sufficiently aristocratic, it is yet much frequented by the populace. ”A genuine piece of country, and of English country,” Taine says of it. Round it are situated royal palaces and beautiful mansions, standing amidst their s.p.a.cious gardens. North of St. James's Park stretches the Mall, so named from the ancient game of ”Paille Maille,” played here by the gay court of Charles II. The game consisted in striking a ball, with a mallet, through an iron ring, down a straight walk powdered with c.o.c.kle-sh.e.l.ls. Here, in later Stuart and Hanoverian times, was to be seen the very height of London fas.h.i.+on, the ladies in ”full dress,”