When William IV. Was King :: CHAPTER III. 1830

CHAPTER III. 1830

The King as "bon bourgeois" — Mobbed — Street song about him — A sailor in Guildhall — Behaviour of the public at Windsor — Charles X. in England — The "New Police" — A modest advertisement.

The King affected the bon bourgeois, which, after the regal etiquette of the late King, rather astonished the lieges. The Magazine of Fashions for August, says—

"He comes unexpectedly and unattended, as they are trooping the guard at St. James's, attired like a private gentleman, and nods graciously to the people, passes jokes with the officers, and tells the privates 'they shall rise by their own merits.'

"He comes to town on the dickey of his own chariot.

"He goes to Somerset House in a pair-horse carriage without a lancer, dragoon, or policeman to attend him, because he says, 'his guards are his people;' and he stops purposely in the streets that the people may say 'they have seen a King!'

"He employs a hairdresser in Water Lane, Fleet Street, to make his coachman's white and curled wigs; because the poor fellow, when he knew better days, lived at the West End, and was employed by the then Duke of Clarence. We have seen these wigs being made.

"He has all the members of his family, as a family, about him, and 'harmony and affection' is his favourite toast.

"He neither likes moustaches nor foreign servants; because the one disguises an Englishman's face, and the other dupes an Englishman's pocket. "He observes an old sailor upon the lamp-post, near Somerset House, who gets aloft 'to look out for his captain' (old blue trouser's own words), and he sends him enough to rum it for a week.

"He overhauls the documents of the Navy Pay Office, to ascertain if any arrears of pay or prize-money are due to the seamen; and he orders refreshments to the poor recruits, to encourage them to become soldiers.

"He meets two ladies (by character as well as title) in St. James's, one of whom solicits the honour to kiss his hand. 'Madam,' says the gallant monarch, 'my glove for courtiers, but my cheek for ladies; may I be permitted to touch yours?' Lady M—— 'wore her blushing honours thick about her.'

"He asks people to dinner in the style of a friend, rather than a command, and does not require their presence if they have 'a better engagement.'

"Above all things, he impresses upon those who pay their respects to him officially, or visit him familiarly, that his friends are the Queen's.

"He proceeds in person, and in a style becoming the splendour of the Crown, to dissolve Parliament, appearing himself in the costume of a thorough-paced sailor; thus practising in his own person the precepts he command—thus giving countenance to his fellow-tars appearing in his presence in the dress which they can afford to procure, and in which they have conquered.

"His Majesty, we hear, paid great attention to Sir Robert Wilson at the levÉe, and, after conversing with him familiarly for some time, said, in conclusion, 'Meet me to-night at Sussex's, and bring your daughters with you.'

"A female servant of Mr. Brown, of Northampton, being in town with her mistress, was permitted to go to the review on Monday last, and, having obtained liberty from one of the soldiers to pass in front of the ranks, she approached the Royal carriage without knowing it, and asked one of the Ladies of Honour, 'Which is the Queen?' The Queen, hearing the inquiry, immediately answered, 'I am the Queen!' 'Oh, do show me the King, then!' The King, hearing the request, instantly turned round, and said with a smile, 'I am the King!' evidently enjoying her amazement and delight. The Queen permitted the woman to hold her hand, which she had seized in the hurry of the moment, for several minutes."

Greville gives us a sketch of his bourgeoisie and its consequences—

"All this was very well; no great harm in it; more affable, less dignified than the late King; but, when this (a Privy Council) was over, and he might very well have sat himself quietly down and rested, he must needs put on his plainer clothes, and start on a ramble about the streets, alone, too. In Pall Mall he met Watson Taylor, and took his arm, and went up St. James's Street. There he was followed by a mob, making an uproar, and when he got near White's, a woman came up and kissed him. Belfast (who had been sworn in Privy Councillor in the morning), who saw this from White's, and Clinton, thought it time to interfere, and came out to attend him. The mob increased, and, always holding Mr. Taylor's arm, and flanked by Clinton and Belfast, who got shoved and kicked about, to their inexpressible wrath, he got back to the Palace, amid shouting and bawling and applause. When he got home, he asked them to go in and take a quiet walk in the garden, and said, 'Oh, never mind all this; when I have walked about a few times they will get used to it, and take no notice.'

"They even sang songs about him in the streets, of which the following is one:—

"The King and the Sailor.

"In Portsmouth town, at the sign of the Ship,
A jolly Jack Tar sat drinking flip;
A messmate was there, who spun him a yarn
That we'd a new King, he'd soon give him to larn.

"Says sailor Ben to sailor Jim,
'He's a King and a sailor trim,
And 'bout him there's no palaver or fuss,
A cause, don't you know, he is one of us.' "Says sailor Ben to his messmate Jim,
'He knows that I've sailed under him;
And when our ship's paid off at Chatham,
I'll go and have a good stare at 'em.'

"Now Ben Block he arriv'd at the park,
And soon the King and Queen did mark;
Says Ben, says he, 'I'll bet you a tanner,
He hails you in a King-like manner.'

"'Ye ho!' says Ben, and he soon brought-to,
And his boatswain's whistle out he drew;
When the King turn'd round with pride and joy,
'Halloo!' says he 'what ship ahoy?'

"Now Ben, he answered with a grin,
'The Royal Charlotte I've sailed in;
She was nam'd arter your royal mother,
Whose great and glorious son you are!'

The King the hand of Ben he shook,
And said, 'At that time I was a Mid;'
Then Ben lugged out his 'bacca box,
And said to the King, 'Come, take a quid.' "'If you won't, the Queen may like a bit,
Mayhap, like one of the Indian squaws;'
So he scrap'd up to her, and offered his box,
'No, thank ye,' says she, 'I never chaws.'

"The King, he gave promotion to Ben,
So he thought that he'd steer back again;
But the Queen, he thought he first would tell her,
'That her husband, the King, was a d—d good fellow'!"

Par parenthÈse, here is a story of a sailor (Times, August 9th)—

"Guildhall. Before Alderman Ansley.—An old tar, the very beau ideal of a 'true British sailor,' who gave his name as Will Robinson, his dark visage surmounted with a quantity of black hair, twisted and matted like so many ropes' ends, was charged with being drunk and assaulting the patrol of Aldgate Ward.

"Bunce, the complainant, stated that between three and four o'clock the preceding evening, he found the tar stretched keel uppermost upon the footway in Aldersgate Street, exposed, not altogether decently, to the gaze of a crowd of idle boys. Bunce roused him, and advised him to move on; but, instead of obeying, Will ordered him to sheer off, or he'd pour a broadside into him; and, suiting the action to the word, commenced pummelling complainant most furiously. Bunce would have had no chance against the heavy metal of Will Robinson, but Hawkins, the marshal-man, came up, and with his aid the tar was secured in the Compter. While they were on the way, the tar contrived to get his pocket-knife open in his hand, but Hawkins perceived it and took it from him.

"'You hear what the officer says?' observed the alderman, addressing the prisoner.

"'Yes; but it is a d—d lie,' roared out Will Robinson, enforcing his assertion by a loud thump of his clenched fist upon the bar.

"'He says you drew a knife upon him,' said the alderman.

"'Your honour knows I can't spin a long yarn like this here chap,' replied the old tar, 'but I never hurted man, woman, or child in my life, barring 'twas a frog-eater; but I was a lad then, and it was in the cause of old England; and d—e, I don't think I'd hurt him neither, after a glass of grog or two.'

"Alderman. 'How long have you been in England?'

"'Only two hours ashore, your honour,' replied Will. 'I'd just come from China, and got taking a glass with one messmate and a glass with another.'

"Alderman. 'The sure way to get drunk. You should have taken a glass with but one messmate.'

"'Your honour is an excellent preacher, and it's all very true; but if an old sailor, after a long voyage, when all hands are piped ashore, refused to drink with every mate who asked him, he'd be called a scaly fellow, and you know I should not like that.'

"Bunce. 'I did not mind the assault, but I thought it was better to put him in a place of safety for his own sake.'

"'D—e, you're an honest fellow, after all,' exclaimed the tar, seizing the officer's hand and squeezing it till the tears started into Bunce's eyes. 'Come, and we'll make it right over a glass of grog, old boy.'

"Alderman. 'I doubt whether you have any money left.'

"Will felt in his pockets, and could not find a copper. 'All gone! all gone!' exclaimed the tar, mournfully.

"'It's all right—I've got his money safe,' said Bunce, drawing forth an ample handful of silver and gold.

"'Huzza! huzza! Old England for ever!' vociferated the delighted tar, when he saw the money; and, seizing Bunce by the collar, 'Come along, come along, old boy; I'm as dry as a dolphin.'

"Bunce refused till he counted the money, shilling by shilling, in the presence of the alderman; but, when he began to do so, Will found the operation too slow for the current of his feelings; and, catching up the officer by the waist, he carried him off in triumph, exclaiming, 'Keep it, my boy, keep it; we'll drink every penny of it; and maybe his honour there' (turning to the alderman), 'would take a drop of summut.'

"The alderman could not contain his gravity, but he declined the offer; and Will set off with the officer still firmly held in his grip."

As a specimen of the manners of the age (and I cannot see that they have greatly improved now), we may take the following extract from a private letter, dated Windsor, August 15th:—

"You would perceive, from the newspapers, that the Grand Terrace was thrown open to the public yesterday week. From the walk immediately under the castle you may see portions of the magnificent rooms—the splendid ceilings, window drapery, and chandeliers. I was delighted with the sight, and again visited the terrace on Sunday. The terrace was then crowded, and I am sorry to add, English-like, some of the people, (of the lower class, certainly) had behaved so ill, that the public were excluded from that part adjoining the building. Some of the creatures who abused the privilege thus extended to the public, not only ascended the steps leading to the state apartments, but actually climbed up into the windows to look into the rooms, thus intruding their rudeness on the King. It is said that his Majesty himself, from a window, saw a person writing his name on one of the statues, and observed on the occasion, 'I shall be compelled to do as my brother did, exclude the public from this part, if such conduct is continued.' The grass was all trampled and injured, the people would not confine themselves to the gravel walks."

By the way, about this time, the King gave the Zoological Society the whole of the collection of beasts and birds belonging to the late King, amounting to 150.

England has frequently afforded shelter to unfortunate princes—notably, in late times, to Louis XVIII., who resided at Hartwell, in Buckinghamshire—and now another French King, Charles X., sought her protection, arriving at Portsmouth on August 17th, and proceeding to Lulworth in Dorsetshire, where he was welcomed at the castle, which was placed at his disposal by Joseph Weld, Esq., a relative of the cardinal of that name. Here he remained some time, afterwards residing at Holyrood Palace, and finally retired to Austria, where he died.

On June 19, 1829, the King said "Le Roi le veult" to an Act of Parliament (10 Geo. IV. c. 44) entitled "An Act for improving the Police in and near the Metropolis"—the present Police Act—introduced by Sir Robert Peel, from which fact the policemen were called "Bobbies" and "Peelers." They commenced duty on September 29, 1829, and were, at first, extremely unpopular, because of their strictness, compared to the Bow Street runners, patrols, and night watchmen. The parishes complained bitterly of the increased expense, but they forgot how much better they were guarded. It was also alleged that there were too few policemen distributed over certain districts, and too many in others; but that was a defect in administration almost certain to occur at first start, which experience afterwards rectified. Perhaps, also, the best men were not chosen, as the force was not so popular as now, when none but men of unblemished character are admitted, whilst as to the present physique of the over fifteen thousand Metropolitan Police, any general would be proud of such a division, which is utterly unattainable in any army.

Here is a sketch of the uniform of the "New Police" as they were called, copied from a satirical print of Sir Robert Peel, by the celebrated H. B. (John Doyle, father of Richard Doyle, to whom Punch owed so much). The hats were worn until a comparatively recent period, and in summer-time they wore white trousers.

The following extract from the Times of September 16th gives an account of the police as they were at the expiration of twelve months from their inauguration:—

"There are 16 divisions of the police, and each division contains, on an average, 200 men, except the K division, which contains 32; there are also, in each division, six inspectors and one superintendent. The whole number of privates and sergeants alone amounts to 3600, without reckoning the inspectors and superintendents. The greater part of this large body of men were necessarily taken from the lower classes of the people, and it can readily be believed that the Commissioners were unable to make strict inquiry into every individual case, and yet there have been very few bona fide cases of improper behaviour on the part of the men. In each division there is a defaulter-book, in which the names of the men considered unfit for duty are written down and shown to the Commissioners, and they are immediately discharged."

The subjoined advertisement, which is singular, from the modesty of its diction, appeared in the Times of September 15th, and, as in the scheme of this book there is no special place set apart for such, it may as well come in here in order of chronology.

"A youth who has completed his 18th year within 100 hours of his writing this advertisement, wishing to make head against the res angusta domi, hereby TENDERS his CAPACITIES to any honourable patronage which the chapter of accidents may raise up in his behoof. Born to better hopes, his bringing up has not been wholly neglected, and he would fain apply some of the little items of his unpretending culture towards honest advancement in a life which even his short experience has proved to be not altogether unchequered—the mind's eye irresistably glancing at an example which recent events have revived and made too memorable to be overlooked by such a votary to fortune as the advertiser; to wit, the august example of King Philip the first,[6] who when, in "the turns of chance below," even his star was dimmed, did not disdain to extract independent maintenance from knowledge which, in his early days, he had learnt as mere ornament. Far from aiming, like the variously accomplished Duke of Orleans, at geometry, or the sublimer sciences, the humble advertiser ventures to hope that his tolerable, hourly improving fluency in French, Italian, and modern Greek (the latter language now become of increased English interest from the increase of English colonization in the Mediterranean), would enable him to give lessons, and materially conduce to perfect pupils in each of these branches, at most moderate remuneration. That same Mediterranean has been the sad cause of this advertisement. Nearly 1900 years after the prince of Latian poets wrote his description of the storm which, all but, engulfed Æneas and his followers—that description which, from Homer to Shakespeare, from Shakespeare to the present hour, the universe of poetry has never equalled—even in that very part of that very sea, a sudden springing up of that wind, which, though the desire and delight of northern regions, is proverbial for storms (creber procellis Africus) not confined to illustrating the poet's text, in abruptly shrouding a shipful of 'noble creatures' from the sight of the clouds, from the face of heaven and the light of day, not confined to a presentiment of instant death to all on shipboard, but in rending reality, depriving every soul of clouds, of light and life, by sinking the whole in fell ocean, without a single survivor—the advertiser's dear father (an English functionary in the Ionian Islands) being one of the sufferers—leaving his son a burden, where he would be an alleviator, to the most affectionate of mothers. A statement of other capabilities, penmanship, arithmetic, etc., is forborne, because they may be implied. Indeed, friends, too partial, no doubt, imagine that to any mission, especially southward, the advertiser might be a not ineligible appendage. At all events, he thus adventures his speculation, trusting its result to 'the caterer for the sparrow.'"

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