Loe raamatut: «The Parent's Assistant; Or, Stories for Children», lehekülg 13
ETON MONTEM
[Extracted from the 'Courier' of May 1799.]
'Yesterday this triennial ceremony took place, with which the public are too well acquainted to require a particular description. A collection, called Salt, is taken from the public, which forms a purse, to support the Captain of the School in his studies at Cambridge. This collection is made by the Scholars, dressed in fancy dresses, all round the country.
'At eleven o'clock, the youths being assembled in their habiliments at the College, the Royal Family set off from the Castle to see them, and, after walking round the Courtyard, they proceeded to Salt Hill in the following order: —
'His Majesty, his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, and the Earl of Uxbridge.
'Their Royal Highnesses the Dukes of Kent and Cumberland, Earl Morton, and General Gwynne, all on horseback, dressed in the Windsor uniform, except the Prince of Wales, who wore a suit of dark blue, and a brown surtout over.
'Then followed the Scholars, preceded by the Marechal Serjeant, the Musicians of the Staffordshire Band, and Mr. Ford, Captain of the Seminary, the Serjeant-Major, Serjeants, Colonels, Corporals, Musicians, Ensign, Lieutenant, Steward, Salt-Bearers, Polemen, and Runners.
'The cavalcade was brought up by Her Majesty and her amiable daughters in two carriages, and a numerous company of equestrians and pedestrians, all eager to behold their Sovereign and his family. Among the former, Lady Lade was foremost in the throng; only two others dared venture their persons on horseback in such a multitude.
'The King and Royal Family were stopped on Eton Bridge by Messrs. Young and Mansfield, the Salt-Bearers, to whom their Majesties delivered their customary donation of fifty guineas each.
'At Salt Hill, His Majesty, with his usual affability, took upon himself to arrange the procession round the Royal carriages; and even when the horses were taken off, with the assistance of the Duke of Kent, fastened the traces round the pole of the coaches, to prevent any inconvenience.
'An exceeding heavy shower of rain coming on, the Prince took leave, and went to the "Windmill Inn" till it subsided. The King and his attendants weathered it out in their greatcoats.
'After the young gentlemen walked round the carriage, Ensign Vince and the Salt-Bearers proceeded to the summit of the hill; but the wind being boisterous, he could not exhibit his dexterity in displaying his flag, and the space being too small before the carriages, from the concourse of spectators, the King kindly acquiesced in not having it displayed under such inconvenience.
'Their Majesties and the Princesses then returned home, the King occasionally stopping to converse with the Dean of Windsor, the Earl of Harrington, and other noblemen.
'The Scholars partook of an elegant dinner at the "Windmill Inn," and in the evening walked on Windsor Terrace.
'Their Royal Highnesses the Prince of Wales and Duke of Cumberland, after taking leave of their Majesties, set off for town, and honoured the Opera House with their presence in the evening.
'The profit arising from the Salt collected, according to account, amounted to £800.
'The Stadtholder, the Duke of Gordon, Lord and Lady Melbourne, Viscount Brome, and a numerous train of fashionable nobility were present.
'The following is an account of their dresses, made as usual, very handsomely, by Mrs. Snow, milliner, of Windsor: —
'Mr. Ford, Captain, with eight Gentlemen to attend him as servitors
'Mr. Sarjeant, Marechal
'Mr. Bradith, Colonel
'Mr. Plumtree, Lieutenant
'Mr. Vince, Ensign
'Mr. Young, College Salt-Bearer; white and gold dress, rich satin bag, covered with gold netting
'Mr. Mansfield, Oppidin, white, purple, and orange dress, trimmed with silver; rich satin bag, purple and silver: each carrying elegant poles, with gold and silver cord
'Mr. Keity, yellow and black velvet; helmet trimmed with silver
'Mr. Bartelot, plain mantle and sandals, Scotch bonnet, a very Douglas
'Mr. Knapp, flesh-colour and blue; Spanish hat and feathers
'Mr. Ripley, rose-colour; helmet
'Mr. Islip (being in mourning), a scarf; helmet, black velvet; and white satin
'Mr. Tomkins, violet and silver; helmet
'Mr. Thackery, lilac and silver; Roman cap
'Mr. Drury, mazarin blue; fancy cap
'Mr. Davis, slate-colour and straw
'Mr. Routh, pink and silver; Spanish hat
'Mr. Curtis, purple; fancy cap
'Mr. Lloyd, blue; ditto
'At the conclusion of the ceremony the Royal Family returned to Windsor, and the boys were all sumptuously entertained at the tavern at Salt Hill. About six in the evening all the boys returned in the order of procession, and, marching round the great square of Eton, were dismissed. The Captain then paid his respects to the Royal Family, at the Queen's Lodge, Windsor, previously to his departure for King's College, Cambridge, to defray which expense the produce of the Montem was presented to him.
'The day concluded by a brilliant promenade of beauty, rank, and fashion on Windsor Terrace, enlivened by the performance of several bands of music.
'The origin of the procession is from the custom by which the Manor was held.
'The custom of hunting the Ram belonged to Eton College, as well as the custom of Salt; but it was discontinued by Dr. Cook, late Dean of Ely. Now this custom we know to have been entered on the register of the Royal Abbey of Bee, in Normandy, as one belonging to the Manor of East or Great Wrotham, in Norfolk, given by Ralph de Toni to the Abbey of Bee, and was as follows: – When the harvest was finished, the tenants were to have half an acre of barley, and a ram let loose; and if they caught him he was their own to make merry with, but if he escaped from them he was the Lord's. The Etonians, in order to secure the ram, houghed him in the Irish fashion, and then attacked him with great clubs. The cruelty of this proceeding brought it into disuse, and now it exists no longer. —See Register of the Royal Abbey of Bee, folio 58.
'After the dissolution of the alien priories, in 1414, by the Parliament of Leicester, they remained in the Crown till Henry VI., who gave Wrotham Manor to Eton College; and if the Eton Fellows would search, they would perhaps find the Manor in their possession, that was held by the custom of Salt.'
Men
Alderman Bursal, Father of young Bursal.
Mr. Newington, Landlord of the Inn at Salt Hill.
Farmer Hearty.
A Waiter and crowd of Eton Lads.
Women
The Marchioness of Piercefield, Mother of Lord John.
Lady Violetta – her Daughter, a Child of six or seven years old.
Mrs. Talbot.
Louisa Talbot, her Daughter.
Miss Bursal, Daughter to the Alderman.
Mrs. Newington, Landlady of the Inn at Salt Hill.
Sally, a Chambermaid.
Patty, a Country Girl.
Pipe and Tabor, and Dance of Peasants
ACT THE FIRST
SCENE I
The Bar of the 'Windmill Inn' at Salt Hill
Mr. and Mrs. Newington, the Landlord and Landlady
Landlady. 'Tis an unpossibility, Mr. Newington; and that's enough. Say no more about it; 'tis an unpossibility in the natur of things. (She ranges jellies, etc., in the Bar.) And pray, do you take your great old-fashioned tankard, Mr. Newington, from among my jellies and confectioneries.
Landlord (takes his tankard and drinks). Anything for a quiet life. If it is an unpossibility, I've no more to say; only, for the soul of me, I can't see the great unpossibility, wife.
Landlady. Wife, indeed! – wife! – wife! wife every minute.
Landlord. Heyday! Why, what a plague would you have me call you? The other day you quarrelled with me for calling you Mrs. Landlady.
Landlady. To be sure I did, and very proper in me I should. I've turned off three waiters and five chambermaids already, for screaming after me Mrs. Landlady! Mrs. Landlady! But 'tis all your ill manners.
Landlord. Ill manners! Why, if I may be so bold, if you are not Mrs. Landlady, in the name of wonder what are you?
Landlady. Mrs. Newington, Mr. Newington.
Landlord (drinks). Mrs. Newington, Mr. Newington drinks your health; for I suppose I must not be landlord any more in my own house (shrugs).
Landlady. Oh, as to that, I have no objections nor impediments to your being called Landlord. You look it, and become it very proper.
Landlord. Why, yes, indeed, thank my tankard, I do look it, and become it, and am nowise ashamed of it; but every one to their mind, as you, wife, don't fancy the being called Mrs. Landlady.
Landlady. To be sure I don't. Why, when folks hear the old-fashioned cry of Mrs. Landlady! Mrs. Landlady! who do they expect, think you, to see, but an overgrown, fat, featherbed of a woman coming waddling along with her thumbs sticking on each side of her apron, o' this fashion? Now, to see me coming, nobody would take me to be a landlady.
Landlord. Very true, indeed, wife – Mrs. Newington, I mean – I ask pardon; but now to go on with what we were saying about the unpossibility of letting that old lady and the civil-spoken young lady there above have them there rooms for another day.
Landlady. Now, Mr. Newington, let me hear no more about that old gentlewoman and that civil-spoken young lady. Fair words cost nothing; and I've a notion that's the cause they are so plenty with the young lady. Neither o' them, I take it, by what they've ordered since their coming into the house, are such grand folk that one need be so petticular about them.
Landlord. Why, they came only in a chaise and pair, to be sure; I can't deny that.
Landlady. But, bless my stars! what signifies talking? Don't you know, as well as I do, Mr. Newington, that to-morrow is Eton Montem, and that if we had twenty times as many rooms and as many more to the back of them, it would not be one too many for all the company we've a right to expect, and those the highest quality of the land? Nay, what do I talk of to-morrow? isn't my Lady Piercefield and suite expected? and, moreover, Mr. and Miss Bursal's to be here, and will call for as much in an hour as your civil-spoken young lady in a twelvemonth, I reckon. So, Mr. Newington, if you don't think proper to go up and inform the ladies above that the Dolphin rooms are not for them, I must speak myself, though 'tis a thing I never do when I can help it.
Landlord (aside). She not like to speak! (Aloud.) My dear, you can speak a power better than I can; so take it all upon yourself, if you please; for, old-fashioned as I and my tankard here be, I can't make a speech that borders on the uncivil order, to a lady like, for the life and lungs of me. So, in the name of goodness, do you go up, Mrs. Newington.
Landlady. And so I will, Mr. Newington. Help ye! Civilities and rarities are out o' season for them that can't pay for them in this world; and very proper.
(Exit Landlady.)
Landlord. And very proper! Ha! who comes yonder? The Eton chap who wheedled me into lending him my best hunter last year, and was the ruination of him; but that must be paid for, wheedle or no wheedle; and, for the matter of wheedling, I'd stake this here Mr. Wheeler, that is making up to me, do you see, against e'er a boy, or hobbledehoy, in all Eton, London, or Christendom, let the other be who he will.
Enter Wheeler
Wheeler. A fine day, Mr. Newington.
Landlord. A fine day, Mr. Wheeler.
Wheel. And I hope, for your sake, we may have as fine a day for the Montem to-morrow. It will be a pretty penny in your pocket! Why, all the world will be here; and (looking round at the jellies, etc.) so much the better for them; for here are good things enough, and enough for them. And here's the best thing of all, the good old tankard still; not empty, I hope.
Landlord. Not empty, I hope. Here's to you, Mr. Wheeler.
Wheel. Mr. Wheeler! —Captain Wheeler, if you please.
Landlord. You, Captain Wheeler! – Why, I thought in former times it was always the oldest scholar at Eton that was Captain at the Montems; and didn't Mr. Talbot come afore you?
Wheel. Not at all; we came on the same day. Some say I came first; some say Talbot. So the choice of which of us is to be captain is to be put to the vote amongst the lads – most votes carry it; and I have most votes, I fancy; so I shall be captain, to-morrow, and a pretty deal of salt8 I reckon I shall pocket. Why, the collection at the last Montem, they say, came to a plump thousand! No bad thing for a young fellow to set out with for Oxford or Cambridge – hey?
Landlord. And no bad thing, before he sets out for Cambridge or Oxford, 'twould be for a young gentleman to pay his debts.
Wheel. Debts! Oh, time enough for that. I've a little account with you in horses, I know; but that's between you and me, you know – mum.
Landlord. Mum me no mums, Mr. Wheeler. Between you and me, my best hunter has been ruinationed; and I can't afford to be mum. So you'll take no offence if I speak; and as you'll set off to-morrow, as soon as the Montem's over, you'll be pleased to settle with me some way or other to-day, as we've no other time.
Wheel. No time so proper, certainly. Where's the little account? – I have money sent me for my Montem dress, and I can squeeze that much out of it. I came home from Eton on purpose to settle with you. But as to the hunter, you must call upon Talbot – do you understand? to pay for him; for though Talbot and I had him the same day, 'twas Talbot did for him, and Talbot must pay. I spoke to him about it, and charged him to remember you; for I never forget to speak a good word for my friends.
Landlord. So I perceive.
Wheel. I'll make bold just to give you my opinion of these jellies whilst you are getting my account, Mr. Newington.
(He swallows down a jelly or two – Landlord is going.)
Enter Talbot
Talbot. Hallo, Landlord! where are you making off so fast? Here, your jellies are all going as fast as yourself.
Wheel. (aside). Talbot! – I wish I was a hundred miles off.
Landlord. You are heartily welcome, Mr. Talbot. A good morning to you, sir; I'm glad to see you – very glad to see you, Mr. Talbot.
Talb. Then shake hands, my honest landlord.
(Talbot, in shaking hands with him, puts a purse into the Landlord's hands.)
Landlord. What's here? Guineas?
Talb. The hunter, you know; since Wheeler won't pay, I must – that's all. Good morning.
Wheel. (aside.) What a fool!
(Landlord, as Talbot is going catches hold of his coat.)
Landlord. Hold, Mr. Talbot, this won't do!
Talb. Won't it? Well, then, my watch must go.
Landlord. Nay, nay! but you are in such a hurry to pay – you won't hear a man. Half this is enough for your share o' the mischief, in all conscience. Mr. Wheeler, there, had the horse on the same day.
Wheel. But Bursal's my witness —
Talb. Oh, say no more about witnesses; a man's conscience is always his best witness, or his worst. Landlord, take your money, and no more words.
Wheel. This is very genteel of you, Talbot. I always thought you would do the genteel thing, as I knew you to be so generous and considerate.
Talb. Don't waste your fine speeches, Wheeler, I advise you, this election time. Keep them for Bursal or Lord John, or some of those who like them. They won't go down with me. Good morning to you. I give you notice, I'm going back to Eton as fast as I can gallop; and who knows what plain speaking may do with the Eton lads? I may be captain yet, Wheeler. Have a care! Is my horse ready there?
Landlord. Mr. Talbot's horse, there! Mr. Talbot's horse, I say.
Talbot sings
He carries weight – he rides a race —
'Tis for a thousand pound!
(Exit Talbot.)
Wheel. And, dear me! I shall be left behind. A horse for me, pray; a horse for Mr. Wheeler!
(Exit Wheeler.)
Landlord (calls very loud). Mr. Talbot's horse! Hang the hostler! I'll saddle him myself.
(Exit Landlord.)
SCENE II
A Dining-room in the Inn at Salt Hill
Mrs. Talbot and Louisa
Louisa (laughing). With what an air Mrs. Landlady made her exit!
Mrs. Talbot. When I was young, they say, I was proud; but I am humble enough now: these petty mortifications do not vex me.
Louisa. It is well my brother was gone before Mrs. Landlady made her entrée; for if he had heard her rude speech, he would at least have given her the retort courteous.
Mrs. Talb. Now tell me honestly, my Louisa – You were, a few days ago, at Bursal House. Since you have left it and have felt something of the difference that is made in this world between splendour and no splendour, you have never regretted that you did not stay there, and that you did not bear more patiently with Miss Bursal's little airs?
Louisa. Never for a moment. At first Miss Bursal paid me a vast deal of attention; but, for what reason I know not, she suddenly changed her manner, grew first strangely cold, then condescendingly familiar, and at last downright rude. I could not guess the cause of these variations.
Mrs. Talb. (aside). I guess the cause too well.
Louisa. But as I perceived the lady was out of tune, I was in haste to leave her. I should make a very bad, and, I am sure, a miserable toad eater. I had much rather, if I were obliged to choose, earn my own bread, than live as toad eater with anybody.
Mrs. Talb. Fine talking, dear Louisa!
Louisa. Don't you believe me to be in earnest, mother? To be sure, you cannot know what I would do, unless I were put to the trial.
Mrs. Talb. Nor you either, my dear.
(She sighs, and is silent.)
Louisa (takes her mother's hand). What is the matter, dear mother? You used to say that seeing my brother always made you feel ten years younger; yet even while he was here, you had, in spite of all your efforts to conceal them, those sudden fits of sadness.
Mrs. Talb. The Montem – is not it to-morrow? Ay, but my boy is not sure of being captain.
Louisa. No; there is one Wheeler, who, as he says, is most likely to be chosen captain. He has taken prodigious pains to flatter and win over many to his interest. My brother does not so much care about it; he is not avaricious.
Mrs. Talb. I love your generous spirit and his! but, alas! my dear, people may live to want, and wish for money, without being avaricious. I would not say a word to Talbot; full of spirits as he was this morning, I would not say a word to him, till after the Montem, of what has happened.
Louisa. And what has happened, dear mother? Sit down, – you tremble.
Mrs. Talb. (sits down and puts a letter into Louisa's hand). Read that, love. A messenger brought me that from town a few hours ago.
Louisa (reads). 'By an express from Portsmouth, we hear the Bombay Castle East Indiaman is lost, with all your fortune on board.' All! I hope there is something left for you to live upon.
Mrs. Talb. About £150 a year for us all.
Louisa. That is enough, is it not, for you?
Mrs. Talb. For me, love? I am an old woman, and want but little in this world, and shall be soon out of it.
Louisa (kneels down beside her). Do not speak so, dearest mother.
Mrs. Talb. Enough for me, love! Yes, enough, and too much for me. I am not thinking of myself.
Louisa. Then, as to my brother, he has such abilities, and such industry, he will make a fortune at the bar for himself, most certainly.
Mrs. Talb. But his education is not completed. How shall we provide him with money at Cambridge?
Louisa. This Montem. The last time the captain had eight hundred, the time before a thousand, pounds. Oh, I hope – I fear! Now, indeed, I know that, without being avaricious, we may want, and wish for money.
(Landlady's voice heard behind the scenes.)
Landlady. Waiter! – Miss Bursal's curricle, and Mr. Bursal's vis-à-vis. Run! see that the Dolphin's empty. I say run! – run!
Mrs. Talb. I will rest for a few moments upon the sofa, in this bedchamber, before we set off.
Louisa (goes to open the door). They have bolted or locked it. How unlucky!
(She turns the key, and tries to unlock the door.)
Enter Waiter
Waiter. Ladies, I'm sorry – Miss Bursal and Mr. Bursal are come – just coming upstairs.
Mrs. Talb. Then, will you be so good, sir, as to unlock this door?
(Waiter tries to unlock the door.)
Waiter. It must be bolted on the inside. Chambermaid! Sally! Are you within there? Unbolt this door.
Mr. Bursal's voice behind the scenes. Let me have a basin of good soup directly.
Waiter. I'll go round and have the door unbolted immediately, ladies.
(Exit Waiter.)
Enter Miss Bursal, in a riding dress, and with a long whip
Miss Bursal. Those creatures, the ponies, have a'most pulled my 'and off. Who 'ave we 'ere? Ha! Mrs. Talbot! Louisa, 'ow are ye? I'm so vastly glad to see you; but I'm so shocked to 'ear of the loss of the Bombay Castle. Mrs. Talbot, you look but poorly; but this Montem will put everybody in spirits. I 'ear everybody's to be 'ere; and my brother tells me, 'twill be the finest ever seen at HEton. Louisa, my dear, I'm sorry I've not a seat for you in my curricle for to-morrow; but I've promised Lady Betty; so, you know, 'tis impossible for me.
Louisa. Certainly; and it would be impossible for me to leave my mother at present.
Chambermaid (opens the bedchamber door). The room's ready now, ladies.
Mrs. Talb. Miss Bursal, we intrude upon you no longer.
Miss Burs. Nay, why do you decamp, Mrs. Talbot? I 'ad a thousand things to say to you, Louisa; but am so tired and so annoyed —
(Seats herself. Exeunt Mrs. Talbot, Louisa, and Chambermaid.)
Enter Mr. Bursal, with a basin of soup in his hand
Mr. Burs. Well, thank my stars the Airly Castle is safe in the Downs.
Miss Burs. Mr. Bursal, can you inform me why Joe, my groom, does not make his appearance?
Mr. Burs. (eating and speaking). Yes, that I can, child; because he is with his 'orses, where he ought to be. 'Tis fit they should be looked after well; for they cost me a pretty penny – more than their heads are worth, and yours into the bargain; but I was resolved, as we were to come to this Montem, to come in style.
Miss Burs. In style, to be sure; for all the world's to be here – the King, the Prince of Whales, and Duke o' York, and all the first people; and we shall cut a dash! Dash! dash! will be the word to-morrow! – (playing with her whip).
Mr. Burs. (aside). Dash! dash! ay, just like her brother. He'll pay away finely, I warrant, by the time he's her age. Well, well, he can afford it; and I do love to see my children make a figure for their money. As Jack Bursal says, what's money for, if it e'nt to make a figure? (Aloud.) There's your brother Jack, now. The extravagant dog! he'll have such a dress as never was seen, I suppose, at this here Montem. Why, now, Jack Bursal spends more money at Eton, and has more to spend, than my Lord John, though my Lord John's the son of a marchioness.
Miss Burs. Oh, that makes no difference nowadays. I wonder whether her ladyship is to be at this Montem. The only good I ever got out of these stupid Talbots was an introduction to their friend Lady Piercefield. What she could find to like in the Talbots, heaven knows. I've a notion she'll drop them, when she hears of the loss of the Bombay Castle.
Enter a Waiter, with a note
Waiter. A note from my Lady Piercefield, sir.
Miss B. Charming woman! Is she here, pray, sir?
Waiter. Just come. Yes, ma'am.
(Exit Waiter.)
Miss B. Well, Mr. Bursal, what is it?
Mr. B. (reads). 'Business of importance to communicate – ' Hum! what can it be? – (going).
Miss B. (aside). Perhaps some match to propose for me! (Aloud.) Mr. Bursal, pray before you go to her ladyship, do send my ooman to me to make me presentable.
(Exit Miss Bursal at one door.)
Mr. B. (at the opposite door). 'Business of importance!' Hum! I'm glad I'm prepared with a good basin of soup. There's no doing business well upon an empty stomach. Perhaps the business is to lend cash; and I've no great stomach for that. But it will be an honour, to be sure.
(Exit.)
