Hyde Park, Its History and Romance. Mrs. Alec-Tweedie
The charter of 1537 granting the Manor to the King is printed in the Calendars of State Papers and Letters of Henry VIII. It describes the area surrendered to the Sovereign by the Abbot of Westminster, as “the manor of Neyte within the precinct of the water called the mote … the site of the manor of Hyde, Midd. and all lands etc. belonging to the said manor … the Manor of Eybery, Midd. with all lands etc. reputed parts or parcels thereof. …” Three years later the Monastery at Westminster was itself surrendered to the Crown, and the Abbey converted into a Cathedral church under the governance of a Dean and twelve Prebendaries.
So Hyde Park by successive bargainings, in which no doubt the monarch, and not the monks, had much the best of the deal, became a personal possession of the King, and in a measure has remained so ever since, though the public have the free enjoyment of its glorious spaces. It was far otherwise at the outset. Once in possession of his new domain, now extended by successive additions from Whitehall to the modern Kensington Gardens, Henry VIII. took effective steps to secure its privacy. A wooden paling was raised to keep in the deer and keep out intruders, thereby making it a park. The cotters who had tilled patches of land amidst the swamps and woodland while it belonged to the Church were turned adrift. The whole area was given over to the chase. Officials were appointed to the estates of Hide and Neyte. The cruel laws of the time were applied with uncompromising vigour to preserve the game.
In his soaring ambitions, flattered by the growth of absolute power, Henry contemplated a great Royal hunting-ground, encircling the capital away to Hampstead. It would have gratified his selfish craving for enjoyment, at whatever expense to others, and at the same time served the yet more important purpose of curtailing the growth of the capital to dimensions he could rule by his personal will. But this gigantic encroachment on the rights of the people proved too much even for Henry VIII. and his self-willed daughter Elizabeth to accomplish.
Hyde Park and the adjoining lands, denuded of their few human inhabitants, must rapidly have returned to the condition of primeval forest. The streams feeding the numerous marshes doubtless attracted numbers of wild fowl, and hawking was a popular sport. It was practised on foot with a long hawking pole. King Henry loved the sport, which required even more energy than following the falcon’s course on horseback. He was addicted, in spite of his size, to taking immense leaps on his pole, and there is a quaint record of an accident on one of these occasions when following the hawk over swampy ground. His pole broke, and, failing to clear a muddy brook, the king fell headlong into the oozy slush, where he would have been suffocated but for the aid of his attendants. What an amusing spectacle this pompous monarch must have made, mud-besmeared, being hauled out of the mire by his servants.
More cheerful things than hunting and death appear in the days of Henry VIII. Sometimes romance steps in. May Day games begun in early Plantagenet times were a national festival.
One can only hope that May Day in the sixteenth century was warmer than it is in the twentieth, for light muslin frocks with bare arms, and flower head-dresses, to say nothing of dancing-shoes, would be somewhat cold on modern English May Days, when we sit huddled over fires in Mayfair.
These May Day festivals were more like the Carnivals des Fleurs now annually held in the south of France. Cars almost smothered in flowers were drawn by white horses. According to an account of May Day in 1517, the Royal party had gone to Greenwich Palace to join the festivities. The entertainment finished with the first recorded English horse-race. The King raced his brother-in-law, the Duke of Suffolk, who—respecting his head—wisely allowed his opponent to win: their steeds were not thoroughbreds, oh dear, no! they were Flemish dray-horses. Queen Katharine was much chagrined that she lost £2 over her wager, as she had backed the Duke of Suffolk.
Bluff King Hal and his beautiful spouse Anne Boleyn passed many hours in Hyde Park. There, they disported themselves in the sunshine, and enjoyed freedom from public show and conventionality. There, they played at boy and girl, forgot affairs of State, and enjoyed themselves as heartily, romping along the sylvan glades, as Napoleon I. and the beautiful Josephine on the sands at Biarritz.
Anne Boleyn appears to have been a somewhat extravagant lady, for, in spite of all the gorgeous presents he showered upon her, the King paid her debts, and in 1531 still had to redeem the jewels which she had pawned. Her betting propensities were enormous, and gambling parties were her chief joy; but, after lavishing wealth upon her, Henry tired of her as he did of others.
These few words give some idea of the gorgeousness of the time, from which we can picture the scenes in Hyde Park:
“The Queen went to the Abbey,” says Hall, “in a chariot upholstered in white and gold, and drawn by white palfreys. Her long black hair streamed down her back and was wreathed with a diadem of rubies. She wore a surtout of silver tissue, and a mantle of the same lined with ermine. A canopy of cloth-of-gold was borne over her by four knights on foot. After came seven great ladies, riding on palfreys, in crimson velvet trimmed with cloth-of-gold. In the first of these was the old Duchess of Norfolk and the Dowager Marchioness of Dorset, and in the other chariot were four Ladies of the Bedchamber. Fourteen other Court ladies followed, with thirty of their waiting-maids on horseback.”
In order that he might refresh himself when tired with the chase, Henry VIII. had a banqueting-house built at Hyde. A family supper party was once given there, of which some scant particulars are contained in a MS. preserved at Belvoir Castle.
“The Royal Household.
“An ordinance for the kynges Majesty my lorde Princes grace, the Ladies Mary and Elizabethe with divers other lordes and ladies … Thursdaye the xxvj the daye … (xx )xv° regis Henrici VIIJᵛⁱ with the Duke of … of Lynes before his going to Bullen. List of dishes for five courses and ‘the voyde.’
“Sooper at Hyde Parke the same daie. List of dishes for five courses.
“Supper ibidem. List of dishes.”
In contemplating the luxury of these banquets, one must try to realise the incongruities of the functions of that time. Our British mind is apt, when we read of such events, to conjure up a vision of spotless damask, glittering plate, and shining glass; beautiful flowers, set in harmonious surroundings, crowned by the advent of a well-cooked dinner; of guests with dainty manners and charming personalities.
A rough, hand-woven cloth in the early sixteenth century was certainly forthcoming, and was laid on the wooden board, while the first thing that was placed upon it was the salt-cellar—this in accordance with a prevailing superstition. Plate abounded on the Royal tables, and pewter on those of the nobility. Knives and spoons were used. The guests arrived in gorgeous array. The greatest delicacies appeared in wild extravagance. The walls were sometimes hung with tapestry; but instead of velvet pile carpets the shoes of these gentlefolk rested on rushes, often not too clean. And, alas! there were no forks.
Although several forks were given to Queen Elizabeth, it is an accepted fact that she ate with her fingers. The introduction of these pronged articles was looked on as a great innovation, and one clergyman preached against them as “an insult to Providence not to touch one’s meat with one’s fingers.” Forks were brought from Italy, and the prejudice seems to have arisen from the word “furcifer” having been applied to slaves who bore a fork, or cross of torture.
Writers of the day, Ben Jonson included, held up these new-fangled implements to ridicule, and they did not come into general use for well-nigh a hundred years. As fingers were so much in favour the Ewerer attended to the provision of water and towels before and after each meal. The office came into prominence in the reign of Edward IV., and so important had it become in that of Elizabeth that she employed a sergeant, three yeomen, two grooms, two pages, and three clerks in her Ewrie. The custom was kept up to the middle of the seventeenth century.
In his curious Essays On Behaviour at Meals, Erasmus reminds his readers that it is “very rude to blow your nose on the table-cloth,” or “to wipe your fingers on your neighbour’s coat.” And then he goes on to remark:
“Never praise the results of your cook’s labours or press your guests to eat whether they like or not. Never criticise your