The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 17, No. 486, April 23, 1831

GEORGE THE FOURTH’S GATEWAY, FROM THE INTERIOR OF THE QUADRANGLE

We wish the reader to consider this Engraving as the first of a Series of Illustrations of Windsor Castle, in which it will be our aim to show how far the renovations lately completed or now in progress are likely to improve the olden splendour of this stupendous pile. This, we are persuaded, would be matter of interest at any time, but will be especially so during the coming summer and autumn, when, it is reasonable enough to expect that Windsor will double its number of curious visiters. During the late King’s reign, the Castle more resembled one wide, vast solitude than the abode of a numerous court. An occasional banquet enlivened its halls, though it only rendered more painful the solitariness by which it was succeeded. Affliction too broke in upon the life of the Royal tenant, and stripped regal state of all its mimic joys, till pain and long protracted suffering welcomed the happy sleep of death. An occupant of different tastes and habits has succeeded; domestic enjoyment has once more become the characteristic of the British court, and the Sovereign has cherished the affections of his people by admitting them to the enjoyment of certain privileges, which, though unimportant in themselves, have a grateful effect in identifying interests and considerations which were commonly considered as very remote. The terrace and slopes of the Castle have been thrown open to the public, the park grounds are no longer kept clear of visiters, and access to the Castle itself may be much more freely enjoyed than during the late reign. The King and the Queen may be seen daily in the real luxury of conjugal and domestic comfort. Plainness of purpose, and affectionate amiability of manners, have done much towards their popularity; and the love of a good and wise people cannot be better secured than by such fostering consideration from their rulers; nay, its paternal influence is but part and parcel of the grand scheme of civilization and society.

Proceeding to the details of the Print, we may observe that in our eleventh volume we gave three engravings illustrative of the Castle improvements; one of which represented the gateway named after the late Sovereign, and seen from the Long Walk. The present Engraving is the other side of the gateway, as seen from the interior of the square or quadrangle. This new gate was externally completed in 1826. The natural application of the fine avenue, called the Long Walk, was thus realized. The gateway consists of two towers the York and Lancaster. The foundations and walls of the York Tower were part of the old building—the Lancaster is entirely new. These towers which have machiolated battlements, are about 100 feet high; the gateway between them is 24 feet high. In our former Engraving, the gateway was in the distance, but the present being a near view, shows the solidity, largeness of proportions, and the boldness of the building, to greater advantage. The appearance of the whole is extremely beautiful, although its newness and cleanness remind us of Mr. Bowles’s eccentric observation, that “it looks as if it was washed every morning with soap and water.”

Here it may be as well to state that Windsor Castle is divided into the upper and lower wards. The lower contains the ecclesiastical portions of the edifice, including St. George’s Chapel. The upper ward is formed by the celebrated Round Tower on the west; the state apartments, including St. George’s Hall, on the north; and a range of domestic apartments on the east and south, which communicate with the state apartments. The whole building is thus a hollow square, of which the three outer sides on the north, east, and south, are surrounded with a magnificent terrace. The Inner Court, or Quadrangle, is a connected building of three sides, the fourth being formed by the Round Tower, or Keep.

The improvements of the interior of the Quadrangle having been already detailed by us,1 we pass on to observe, that the low French windows of St. George’s Hall, which faces the side in our Engraving, have been replaced by long pointed arch windows, of elegant proportions. Nothing can exceed the splendour of the look-out from these windows through the arched entrance to the “lengthened vista,” or Long Walk, as shown in the Engraving. The interior of the Hall is nearly completed; “the length, 200 feet, is too great for the width;”2 the carved ceiling, and the arms of the Knights of the Garter, from the first institution of the order, are exquisitely emblazoned on shields or escutcheons. Beautifully as they are executed, we scarcely like their whole effect, which is undoubtedly marred by the proportions of the hall itself. Perhaps they are too near a blaze of chivalric splendour for these days of cold calculation. The ball-room, adjoining in St. George’s Hall, is nearly completed. The decorations are gold and white, in the florid style of the time of Louis the Fourteenth, superb and showy; four pieces of tapestry are let into the walls, which, observes the Athenæum, really look like some of Rubens’s stupendous works now in the Grosvenor collection. We have not seen these apartments since last summer, when the decorations were in a forward state. We were surprised at the coarseness of the gilding, when examined closely; we saw, too, that where one of the entrances to the Ball-room had been heightened, the original, door had been pieced, which was a work of economy we did not look for in the repairs of a palace.

It is gratifying to learn that the erection of a colossal statue of George III. on Snow Hill, in the Long Walk, is in progress. This is a testimony of the filial affection of the late King, and should not be overlooked in his character.

STERNE’S ELIZA

Though a perusal of your pages evidently shows that you wish more for original communications than to copy from any one, yet the extreme beauty of the following article (which I exactly copy as it appeared translated in the European Magazine for March, 1784) makes one hope to see it revived or preserved in the Mirror.

A CONSTANT READER.

“Mrs. DRAPER, the lady who has been so celebrated as the correspondent of Mr. STERNE, under the name of ELIZA, will naturally attract the notice of the Public. That she was deserving of the encomiums bestowed upon her by that admirable writer will appear from the following eulogium, written by the excellent Abbe RAYNAL, which I transmit to you for publication in your next Magazine.—I am yours, &c. A.T.

“Territory of Anjengo,3 thou art nothing; but thou hast given birth to Eliza. A day will come, when these staples of commerce, founded by the Europeans on the coasts of Asia, will exist no more. Before a few centuries are elapsed, the grass will cover them, or the Indians, avenged, will have built upon their ruins. But if my works be destined to have any duration, the name of Anjengo will not be obliterated from the memory of man. Those who shall read my works, or those whom the winds shall drive towards these shores, will say—There it is that Eliza Draper was born; and if there be a Briton among them, he will immediately add, with the spirit of conscious pride—And there it was that she was born of English parents.

“Let me be permitted to indulge my grief, and to give a free course to my tears! Eliza was my friend. Reader, whosoe’er thou art, forgive me this involuntary motion;—let my mind dwell upon Eliza. If I have sometimes moved thee to compassionate the calamities of the human race, let me now prevail upon thee to commiserate my own misfortune. I was thy friend without knowing thee; be for a moment mine. Thy gentle pity shall be my reward.

“Eliza ended her days in the land of her forefathers, at the age of three-and-thirty. A celestial soul was separated from a heavenly body. Ye who visit the spot on which her sacred ashes rest, write upon the marble that covers them: In such a year, in such a month, on such a day, at such an hour, God withdrew his spirit, and Eliza died.

“And thou, original writer, her admirer and her friend, it was Eliza who inspired thy works, and dictated to thee the most affecting pages of them. Fortunate Sterne, thou art no more, and I am left behind. I wept over thee with Eliza; thou wouldst weep over her with me: and had it been the will of Heaven, that you had both survived me, your tears would have fallen together upon my grave.

“The men were used to say, that no woman had so many graces as Eliza: the women said so too. They all praised her candour; they all extolled her sensibility; they were all ambitious of the honour of her acquaintance. The stings of envy were never pointed against unconscious merit.

“Anjengo, it is to the influence of thy happy climate that she certainly was indebted for that almost incompatible harmony of voluptuousness and decency which diffused itself over all her person, and accompanied all her motions. A statuary who would have wished to represent Voluptuousness, would have taken her for his model; and she would equally have served for him who might have had a figure of Modesty to display. Even the gloomy and clouded sky of England had not been able to obscure the brightness of that aërial kind of soul, unknown in our climates. In every thing that Eliza did, an irresistible charm was diffused around her. Desire, but of a timid and bashful cast, followed her steps in silence. Any man of courteousness alone must have loved her, but would not have dared to own his passion.

“I search for Eliza every where; I discover, I discern, some of her features, some of her charms, scattered among those women whose figure is most interesting. But what is become of her who united them all? Nature, who hast exhausted thy gifts to form an Eliza, didst thou create her only for one moment? Didst thou make her to be admired for one instant, and to be for ever regretted?

“All who have seen Eliza regret her. As for myself, my tears will never cease to flow for her all the time I have to live. But is this sufficient! Those who have known her tenderness for me, the confidence she had bestowed upon me, will they not say to me—She is no more, and yet thou livest.

“Eliza intended to quit her country, her relations, her friends, to take up her residence along with me, and spend her days in the midst of mine. What happiness had I not promised to myself? What joy did I not expect, from seeing her sought after by men of genius, and beloved by women of the nicest taste? I said to myself, Eliza is young, and thou art near thy latter end. It is she who will close thine eyes. Vain hope! Fatal reverse of all human probabilities! My old age has been prolonged beyond the days of her youth. There is now no person in the world existing for me. Fate has condemned me to live, and die alone.

“Eliza’s mind was cultivated, but the effects of this art were never perceived. It had done nothing more than embellish nature; it served in her, only to make the charm more lasting. Every instant increased the delight she inspired; every instant rendered her more interesting. Such is the impression she had left in India; such is the impression she made in Europe. Eliza, then, was very beautiful? No, she was simply beautiful; but there was no beauty she did not eclipse, because she was the only one that was like herself.

“Eliza has written; and the men of her nation, whose works have been the most abounding in elegance and taste, would not have disavowed the small number of pages she has left behind her.

“When I saw Eliza, I experienced a sensation unknown to me. It was too warm to be no more than friendship; it was too pure to be love. Had it been a passion, Eliza would have pitied me; she would have endeavoured to bring me back to my reason, and I should have completely lost it.

“Eliza used frequently to say, that she had a greater esteem for me than any one else. At present I may believe it.

“In her last moments Eliza’s thoughts were fixed upon her friend; and I cannot write a line without having before me the monument she has left me. Oh! that she could also have endowed my pen with her graces and her virtue!—Methinks, at least, I hear her say—‘That stern muse that looks at you, is History, whose awful duty it is to determine the opinion of posterity. That fickle deity that hovers o’er the globe, is Fame, who condescended to entertain us a moment about you; she brought me thy works, and paved the way for our connection by esteem. Behold that phoenix immortal amidst the flames: it is the symbol of Genius, which never dies. Let these emblems perpetually incite thee to shew thyself the defender of humanity, of truth, and of liberty.’

“Eliza, from the highest Heaven, thy first, and last country, receive my oath: “I swear not to write one line in which thy friend may not be recognised.”