Chapter V: Part 5

The flag was always solemnly waved in the school-yard before the procession started, and on arriving at Salt Hill it was waved a second time at the top of the mount, the boys all clustering round like a swarm of bees and cheering with great vigour. Great importance was always attached to the waving of the College standard in a proper manner, and for a long time previous to Montem day the Ensign practised for hours in Long Chamber. The old traditional way of manipulating the banner was as far as possible followed, the custom being to wave it round in every direction and conclude by one triumphant final flourish which was the grand climax of the whole celebration.

[SN: AN ETON REGIMENT]

A complete military organisation with regular uniforms was adopted by the school on Montem day, and Eton became a collegiate regiment. The senior Colleger ranked as captain, the second salt-bearer as marshal, the other Sixth-Form Collegers becoming ensign, lieutenant, sergeant-major, and steward; any other Sixth-Form Collegers not acting as runners were sergeants. The captain of the Oppidans was always a salt-bearer by right, whilst the next to him on the school list was colonel; the other Sixth-Form Oppidans ranked as sergeants. All the Fifth-Form Oppidans were corporals and wore red tail-coats with gilt buttons and white trousers. They had also crimson sashes round their waists, black leather sword-belts, and swords hanging by their sides. A cocked hat and plume of feathers exactly like that worn by field-officers completed this martial attire. The Fifth-Form Collegers’ dress was like that of the Fifth-Form Oppidans, insomuch as they donned sash, sword, cocked hat, and plume; but their coats were blue instead of red, so that they resembled naval officers more than military men. The coats of the Sixth Form, both Collegers and Oppidans, had distinctive details of uniform denoting rank, which could be at once distinguished from the various forms of epaulet and great or little prevalence of gilt. The steward wore the ordinary full dress of the period. The Lower boys who acted as polemen wore the old Eton costume--blue coats with gilt buttons, white waistcoats and trousers, silk stockings and pumps. The pages of the Sixth Form and others were attired in fancy dresses, often of a rich description. A feature of the last Montem uniforms were the buttons. These bore the Eton arms, Royal crown, and motto, _Mos pro Lege_, together with the date of the foundation of the College.

Montem coats were allowed to be worn after the great day was over, but the boys suffered for this privilege, most masters generally selecting them to construe in preference to their more soberly clad schoolmates. One master, indeed, became so notorious for this that eventually his whole division appeared in red coats, so as to prevent any particular boys from being singled out. The last Montem coat worn at Eton is said to have been observed in 1847.

As a general rule pretty good order seems to have been preserved in connection with Montem, and this is the more wonderful when one remembers that a large number of the boys wore real swords and indulged in liberal potations at the inns at Salt Hill. In 1796, it is true, some disorder did occur near the historic mount, a large crowd surging around the carriage in which sat the Queen and the Princesses. George III., however, soon put matters to rights by calling out to some of the worst offenders, “Surely you are not Etonians?” adding that he did not remember their faces, and felt sure Eton boys would be better behaved. Three years later, at the Montem of 1799, an Eton boy made a mistake of which he was afterwards much ashamed. As the procession was moving along, a visitor on a spirited and fiery horse kept pressing closer to it than was pleasant, and one of the sergeants, a youth named Beckett, putting one hand significantly upon his sword-hilt and the other on the rider’s knee, exclaimed in a bold manner, “I should recommend you, my friend, not to let your horse tread upon Me.” In reply to this the horseman merely smiled, bowed, and drew his horse away. It was afterwards discovered that the stranger was the King of Hanover. Altogether Montem was a day of great enjoyment for those who were present at it, much jollity and fun of the old English sort being one of its chief characteristics. Most of the visitors were well acquainted with its traditions and entered thoroughly into its spirit. A favourite joke was to make a pretence of refusing to contribute whilst concealing the little blue paper receipt previously received as quittance for salt paid.

[SN: THE PLEASURES OF MONTEM]

“I will not attempt to reason with you about the pleasures of Montem,” said an old Etonian, who was defending the old festival against the attacks of one of those hawk-eyed commercial gamblers who, calling themselves “business men,” dominate the modern world; “but to an Etonian it is enough that it brought pure and ennobling recollections--evoked associations of hope and happiness--and made even the wise feel that there was something better than wisdom, and the rich something nobler than wealth. I like to think of the faces I saw round the old mount, recalling school friendships and generous rivalries. At the last Montem I attended, it is true I saw fifty fellows of whom I remember only the nicknames--not a few degenerated into scheming M.P.’s, cunning lawyers, or speculators--but at Montem one forgot all that. Leaving the plodding world of reality for one day, such men regained the dignity of Sixth-Form Etonians.”

The last celebration of Montem took place on Whitsun-Tuesday in 1844, on which occasion some of its ancient features were altered. The dinner, for instance, took place on Fellow’s Eyot, within the College precincts, instead of at Salt Hill, the boys having also to answer to their names in the playing fields. An ominous sign, which seemed to forebode that the ancient ceremony was soon to be discontinued for ever, was that in the last year of Montem the famous cry of “Montem Sure” was not heard to ring out of the Long Chamber windows, no bedsteads crashed, and no shutters banged. Montem, it is true, still lived, but it seemed to be felt that its end was near. Nevertheless, the procession took place according to immemorial usage, and the fancifully attired throng of boys, accompanied by a crowd of carriages, foot and horse, wended its way to the classic mount where the ceremonial which countless generations of Etonians had gone through was duly performed. Prince Albert, for instance, was stopped on Windsor Bridge, and in compliance with a request for salt, gave £100. At Salt Hill the bands played merrily, and the crowd of boys and old Etonians cheered as of yore when, for the last time on the summit of the mount the Ensign waved the historic College banner, inscribed with the quaint old motto, _Pro More et Monte_. Not a few, however, amongst the throng gathered there had a presentiment that they were assisting at the obsequies of the time-honoured ceremony, and as they wended their way back to town felt that Montem was now to be numbered with the many other old-world festivals which so-called progress was sweeping away.

These gloomy forebodings proved to be only too well founded. Montem, indeed, had become somewhat incongruous with the changed spirit which was producing a purely utilitarian age. The facilities afforded by the then newly constructed railway also flooded Eton and Slough with hordes of visitors, many of them highly undesirable, besides which the Press was none too tender in the attitude which it adopted towards the old festival.

[SN: THE “HOLBORN MONTEM”]

In June 1844, for instance, _Punch_ published an amusing, if rather malicious, illustrated attack upon the Eton festival, entitled “The Holborn Montem,” in which it pictured the effect which would be produced were a number of London ragamuffins permitted to hold up foot-passengers and omnibuses whilst making demands for salt. Dr. Hawtrey, the Headmaster, was bitterly opposed to the continuance of the old ceremony, and to him and to the Provost it owed its abolition. The remainder of the College authorities were about equally divided in their opinions. When Provost Hodgson put the matter before them they voted as follows:--

_For abolishing Montem._ _For preserving Montem._

Hodgson, Provost. Plumtre.
Grover, Vice-Provost. Carter.
Bethell. Dupuis.
Green. Wilder.

Queen Victoria personally is known to have been opposed to the abolition; nevertheless she did not care to interfere, and in 1847 it was announced that no celebration of Montem would take place, and though many earnest representations were made by old Etonians to Dr. Hawtrey, the decision to abolish Montem was maintained. Had the Provost been of the same type as Dr. Goodall, some semblance at least of the ancient ceremony would have been preserved, but the post happened to be held by Provost Hodgson, the friend of Byron, who, though a man of poetical turn of mind, was a great reformer. He made many changes in College, and abolished the horrors of Long Chamber, which is much to his credit. On the other hand, he was perhaps too thorough-going in doing away with the ancient festival of Montem, which might have been preserved in an altered form. _Per se_ it was, in many respects, indefensible, being full of absurdities; nevertheless it might have been continued in some reformed and improved shape.

The abolition was keenly resented by the boys, and on the Whit-Tuesday, when the ceremony should have taken place, the old red flag, which had figured at many Montems, was hung out of one of the windows of Upper School as a signal of revolt, and something like a riot ensued. This was, however, in the main confined to the Lower boys, who, after smashing a few windows (for the repair of which their parents afterwards grumblingly paid), were soon reduced to order.

Numbers of old Etonians sadly shook their heads when they heard that Montem had become a thing of the past, but, as has been said, remonstrance and protest were alike unavailing to make the Eton authorities realise that entire abolition was too drastic a measure.

[SN: THE BONE FOR THE MARROW]

The truth is that at that period all over England old-fashioned merrymaking was beginning to be checked by the chilling force of that utilitarian commercialism which has since dominated the country. The modern spirit, ever prone to exchange happiness for success, was already making its influence felt, whilst many, under the false impression that romance, tradition, and fancy counted for nothing, were straining every nerve to secure the bone whilst entirely failing to obtain its marrow.

The passing of Montem, besides causing some severe pangs of grief to many an old Etonian, greatly perturbed a number of humbler folk, and its abolition was bitterly lamented by a host of tradesmen, cabmen, omnibus drivers, innkeepers, and the like. Numbers of people derived either pleasure or profit from the triennial celebration. The most sincere mourners were the cab and omnibus drivers, who bitterly regretted their lost harvest, and on the anniversary of the great festival wore black crape upon their arms.

An interesting and curious exhibition of Montem relics and costumes, it may be mentioned, was shown at Eton in the Upper School during the celebration of the 450th anniversary of the foundation of the College. Of the three great Eton festivals, Montem, Election Saturday, and the 4th of June, the last and most modern of the three alone survives. The proceedings on Election Saturday, it should be added, were of a similar kind to those which still take place on the birthday of King George the Third--that is to say, the boats’ crews wore gala dresses and dined at Surly, after which there were fireworks, whilst the bells of Windsor pealed and the crews cheered.

[SN: MONTEM ODES]

Before leaving the subject of Montem a few words may not be out of place as to a quaint character who was known to many generations of Etonians as the Montem poet. This was Herbert Stockhore, who, dressed in quaint attire in a donkey-cart, was a prominent feature at all Montem celebrations from 1784 to 1835, when he was ninety. Before being chosen Montem poet Stockhore was a Windsor bricklayer living in a little house built by himself, which he called Mount Pleasant, in a lane leading from Windsor to the meadows.

On the 4th of June good old George III. always presented Stockhore with a present of gold, and George IV. continued the kindly practice. At other times Stockhore subsisted entirely upon the bounty of the Etonians and the inhabitants of Windsor and Eton, who never failed to administer to his wants and liberally supply him with many little comforts in return for his harmless pleasantries.

Stockhore had a time-honoured method of composing his odes well calculated to ensure their favourable reception. The quality of his versification was, of course, very moderate. It may be judged from the following, culled from the Montem Ode of 1826 (Pickering’s year):--

I, Herbert Stockhore, once more,
In spite of age and pains rheumatic,
Hop down to “Montem” with verses Attic,
To make the Muse as have done before.
For why should I lie a-bed groaning and bickering
When I ought to be up to sing Captain Pickering.

A happier effort, perhaps, was his greeting to George III.:--

And now we’ll sing
God save the king,
And send him long to reign,
That he may come
To have some fun
At Montem once again.

It is not, however, on account of his rhymes that Stockhore deserves to be remembered, but on account of the fact that he was one of the last of those lowly-born characters who by their native wit, good-humour, and kindly eccentricity secured a unique place in the affections of many far above them in rank, intellect, and wealth. The Board School has now rendered all such humble types extinct.

[SN: HERBERT STOCKHORE]

Stockhore had originally been a sailor, and some said also a soldier. At any rate on “Montem” day he wore a fancy robe of various colours thrown over his old military coat, with trimmings of divers cotton ribbons. An extemporised coronet, encircled with bay and crowned with feathers, completed a costume which astounded visitors unaware of the bard’s identity. His eccentric though harmless habits rendered him a popular character with the Eton boys, and his recitation of a Montem Ode was always warmly applauded, and owing to the sale of his doggerel and the contributions he received the old man led a fairly comfortable existence. His way was first of all to set down upon paper the names of those about to take part in “Montem” and other details furnished to him by some one in a position to know, after which he would compose a rough jumble of rhyming lines. This was then submitted to some Colleger, who undertook its revision, and was printed for the author to vend, which he did at a very remunerative price; it also formed an excuse for the extraction of coins from old friends and visitors to Eton. Stockhore, though in his latter years, like his rhymes, much given to limping, was able to attend the Montem of 1835, at which time he had reached the great age of ninety.

At the next one, held in 1838, though still alive, being too feeble to go, he was represented at the great festival by a man named Ryder. Three years later, in 1841, Stockhore passed away, aged ninety-six years. The boys then chose Edward Irvine by vote, but though he or some other claimant was still hanging about Eton half a century ago, the office really died with Stockhore, for his successors had no trace of the quaint and simple individuality which had been known to many generations of Etonians, one of whom, a few years before the famous Montem poet’s death, composed the following lines:--

Be Herbert Stockhore all my theme,
The laureate’s praises I indite;
He erst who sung in Montem’s praise,
And Thespis like, from out his cart
Recited his extempore lays
On Eton’s sons, in costume smart,
Who told of captains bold and grand,
Lieutenants, marshals, seeking salt;
Of colonels, majors, cap in hand,
Who bade e’en majesty to halt;
Told how the ensign nobly waved
The colours on the famous hill;
And names from dull oblivion saved,
Who ne’er the niche of fame can fill;
Who, like to Campbell, lends his name
To many a whim he ne’er did write;
When witty scholars, to their shame,
’Gainst masters hurl a satire trite.
But fare thee well, Ad Montem’s bard,
Farewell, my mem’ry’s early friend;
May misery never press thee hard,
Ne’er may disease thy steps attend;
Be all thy wants by those supply’d,
Whom charity ne’er fail’d to move;
Etona’s motto, crest, and pride,
Is feeling, courage, friendship, love.
Poor harmless soul, thy merry stave
Shall live when nobler poets bend;
And when Atropos to the grave
Thy silvery locks of grey shall send,
Etona’s sons shall sing thy fame,
Ad Montem still thy verse resound,
Still live an ever-cherished name,
As long as salt and sock abound.

The “famous hill” alluded to in these verses now presents a most melancholy appearance, its summit being vulgarised by a _châlet_ of miserable design, whilst, as has been said, the glory of the Inns close by has long departed. For some time after Montem days, however, the Windmill (Botham’s) seems to have been an occasional resort of Etonians, for an interesting oak table (saved from the fire), which is now in the possession of the popular Master--Mr. Edward Littleton Vaughan--has carved upon it the names of some seventy well-known Etonians, besides initials, and dates, mostly ranging from 1845 to 1857. It would therefore seem that, contrary to tradition, the names were not carved after Montem, but are rather those of boys who frequented Botham’s, as their predecessors had frequented the old Christopher.

VI THE COLLEGE BUILDINGS

In the course of the various changes which Eton has undergone, the old Quadrangle (till 1706 not paved but grass), which in old Montem days was gay with a riot of high-spirited youth, has, on the whole, escaped disfiguring alteration. The original intention of the founder was to have a cloister in the Quadrangle; and a line of lead running beneath the windows, together with some foundations discovered in 1876, lead one to suppose that such a scheme was actually begun. On the whole, the general aspect of the school-yard, which enthusiastic Etonians regard as a sort of “rose-red city half as old as time,” remains unaltered. New, however, are the pinnacles of the Chapel and the Gothic window of the Hall.

Within the last hundred years almost the only drastic changes have been those in its exterior, the western end of which was remodelled at the restoration of 1858, and the construction of a bow window for the master residing in College, whose rooms are on the left-hand side of the Quadrangle, at the end of what was formerly the ancient Long Chamber. Otherwise there is small evidence of change. The brickwork retains its old mellowed colouring, and the founder’s statue remains as grimy as ever, though perhaps a trifle less black than in the days when its sable hue convinced the small child of one of the College officials that Henry VI. had been a black man. The infant in question, as a loyal son of Eton, had been taught to salute this statue (which, according to old custom, should always be passed on the right-hand side) whenever he went through the school-yard. Out for an airing with its nurse in Windsor one day, the child, perceiving a private of one of the West India Regiments, became convinced that it was Henry VI. in the flesh. Solemnly rising in its perambulator and reverently exclaiming “Founder,” the astounded soldier was accorded a salute which filled him with amazement.

The feature of the Quadrangle, of course, is the fine tower of Provost Lupton, under which at Election time, up to 1871, the Provost of Eton was wont to greet the Provost of King’s with a kiss of peace, and the Captain of the school to deliver his Latin Cloister Speech. The gates here are closed on the death of a Provost, and not opened till his successor is appointed. Carved above the window of Election Chamber, over the gateway, is a representation of the Assumption of the Virgin, to which in pre-Reformation days Collegers reverently raised their hats.

[SN: THE GREEN YARD]

Passing through this arch one reaches the cloisters, about which linger so many old-world memories. Once known as the “tower cloister,” this appellation seems in the eighteenth century to have been discarded for that of “the Green Yard.” The railings here, of Sussex iron, were put up in 1724-25.

[SN: CHANGES IN CLOISTERS]

A good many alterations have recently been carried out in this part of the College, some of which have of necessity rather impaired its old-world charm.

On the cloister side of Lupton’s Tower a strengthening arch and support have been built to guard against possible subsidence, some signs of which had begun to appear. In the cloisters also certain expedient changes and renovations have also been made.

During the middle of the eighteenth century an additional storey was added to the cloister buildings, and, owing to the narrowness of the structure, communication between the new storey and the old was eventually effected by affixing a staircase to the outside wall, in which a hole was made to give entrance to the staircase. This staircase has now been entirely removed, and a new staircase between the first and second floors fitted in two flights, each stretching the whole breadth of the building. Election Hall now occupies practically the whole of the space between Lupton’s Tower and the north side of school-yard. Formerly there was a small room at the tower end, and a passage past this room communicating with Election Chamber on the lowest floor of the tower. This room is now part of Election Hall, most of the passage having disappeared, whilst the beautiful oak panelling has been removed to the new staircase. The roof of Election Hall is now higher than of yore, the increased size of the room and the bad state of the roof having called for such an alteration. The room over Election Chamber has been converted into a sitting-room, and the partitions in it have been removed, so that it is now the same size as Election Chamber and looks out both ways. The clock remains unchanged. In the remoter part of the house the passage has been widened, and the walls have been stripped of the plaster and now show the old timber. A new door has also been made under the tower, giving access to a staircase which leads straight up to the first floor.

The Provost’s Lodge has also undergone some change. The dining-room here--the Magna Parlura--which contains portraits of various kings and provosts and occupies the centre of the Lodge, has undergone considerable renovation at certain periods, especially in the middle of the last century, when it was decorated with considerable care by Dr. Hawtrey. The ceiling was then painted and the panelling, reaching to the top of the room, finished with a dado of deal, which has now been removed, and the oak, which before was grained, scraped. The panelling has also been lowered and now rests on the floor, the old timbers above being visible. Two stone windows have been opened up in this room, which had formerly been blocked by the Georgian staircase. At the other end of the room an interesting discovery was made of another Tudor door opening into the gallery just opposite the stairs. On each side of the door are Tudor windows with wooden frames. Most of the doors opening into the gallery are of Tudor workmanship, but these are the only two Tudor windows that have been discovered in the College. The woodwork half-way down the staircase is of good Gothic workmanship, whereas the staircase is of much later date. The servants’ hall, on the ground floor, was formerly divided by partitions, but these have been removed. The panelling here is of the seventeenth century, the panels large and tall in design. At one end of the room there is an alcove faced with the original mirrors and containing a basin set in beautiful inlaid work of black and white marble. This, however, is covered up with a wooden plate, which conceals the marble.

At the time of these alterations there was some talk of removing the railings in the cloisters, which are of Sussex iron, and reviving an inner walk, traces of which have been discovered round the edge of the grass. On the tower side the railings have already gone--the remainder, let us hope, will be left untouched. A great feature of the cloisters is the old Cloister Pump, which, as in the days when a less luxurious race of Collegers washed at its spout, continues to yield the best water in Eton. This old pump is associated with the cry of “Cloister P!” at which the lowest boy present had to fetch a canful of the sacred water, the cry which sent every fag in Long Chamber tearing down Sixth-Form passage. Not very far away is the well-worn stone staircase up which so many generations of Collegers have made their way into the Hall, which, in spite of renovation, still retains a certain amount of interest for those fond of relics of another age.

A considerable portion of the existing structure dates from about 1450, and to some extent follows the design favoured by King Henry VI. The founder’s original idea, however, was that a northern bay window should face the southern one. He also contemplated a porch with a tower over it. One must be thankful that at the restoration of 1858 the College authorities did not attempt to carry out these plans.

The early architectural history of the Hall is somewhat puzzling. For some undiscovered reason it was begun in stone and finished in brick, whilst three large fireplaces were constructed but never used, being covered with panelling till the so-called restoration of the last century. In 1721 some alterations were carried out according to the plan of a Mr. Rowland, but from that time till 1858 the Hall remained as it is shown in the illustration facing page 164. At that date, however, the Rev. Mr. Wilder, the Fellow who had contributed so liberally to the modernisation of the interior of the College Chapel, turned his attention to the old building, which was restored at his expense. It is to be regretted that a good deal of Renaissance work of historical interest then disappeared, retaining some features of the original design constructed in its place.

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]

The interior of the Chapel as it appeared before 1700 in no wise resembled that which we at present see. Mural monuments abounded about the chancel; these, after being concealed by the wainscoting put up in 1700, were ruthlessly torn from their places by those responsible for the restoration of 1847. Some of them are in the Ante-Chapel, others were totally swept away. In the original Chapel there were probably only benches at the east end, whilst low wooden stalls with miserere seats occupied the place of the present seats crowned by canopies. The only remnants of the ancient woodwork appear to be some old wooden forms in the Ante-Chapel, on which boys now leave their hats. It is recorded that in 1625 Thomas Weaver, a “Fellow,” gave “four strong forms to stand in the aisles of the Church for the townsmen to sit on.” The seats in question, it should be added, seem originally to have been intended for the townspeople of Eton, who then attended the Chapel as their parish church.

Above the low stalls were paintings, and these in 1560 the College barber was ordered to wash out; his account for the work (6s. 8d.) is still extant. The barber, however, merely covered up the designs with white paint or whitewash, and when the fine old stalls were removed the paintings could be clearly seen upon the wall behind. In 1847, however, in order to produce a surface capable of showing up the canopies of the new stalls then in course of erection, the workmen proceeded to scrape out all trace of the ancient designs, and they had already finished this work of destruction at the top of the walls beneath the string-courses when a Fellow of the College, chancing to stroll in to inspect the work, saved the rest, some of which still remains behind the modern panelling, of which the Eton authorities have certainly very little reason to be proud. After the discovery there was for a time some idea of leaving the paintings exposed to view, or at least contriving an arrangement of sliding panels. Provost Hodgson, however, objected to them as being “superstitious,” and they were consequently permanently covered by the present panelling. The designs, which were fortunately sketched before being covered up, have been described as the finest of the kind ever discovered in England. They were in all probability the work of some Florentine artist of the fifteenth century. Each row of paintings was divided longitudinally into seventeen compartments, alternately wide and narrow. Concerning these Sir Maxwell Lyte, in his excellent history of the College, writes:--