scene-painters, plumbers, glaziers, gardeners,
town-travellers for ironmongers, wine-merchants, and
drapers, held high carnival in the place. By-and-by came
dukes and duchesses, warriors and statesmen, ambassadors,
actors, artists, authors, quack-doctors, ballet-dancers,
journalists, Indian princes, Irish members, nearly all that
was odd and all that was distinguished, native or foreign,
in London town. They wandered up and down the staircases,
and in and out of the saloons, quizzing, and talking, and
laughing, and flirting sometimes in sly corners. They
signed their names in a big book, blazing with gold and
morocco, which lay among shavings on a carpenter's bench in
the library. Where is that wondrous collection of
autographs, that _Libro d'Oro_, now? Mr. Keeley's signature
followed suit to that of Lord Carlisle. Fanny Cerito
inscribed her pretty name, with that of 'St. Leon' added,
next to the signature of the magnificent Duchess of
Sutherland. I was at work with the whitewashers on the
stairs, and saw Semiramis sweep past. Baron Brunnow met
Prof. Holloway on the neutral ground of a page of
autographs. Jules Janin's name came close to the laborious
_paraphe_ of an eminent pugilist. Members of the American
Congress found themselves in juxtaposition with Frederick
Douglas and the dark gentleman who came as ambassador from
Hayti. I remember one Sunday, during that strange time,
seeing Mr. Disraeli, Madame Doche, the Author of _Vanity
Fair_, a privy councillor, a Sardinian attaché, the Marquis
of Normanby, the late Mr. Flexmore the clown, the Editor of
_Punch_, and the Wizard of the North, all pressing to enter
the whilom boudoir of the Blessington.
"Meanwhile, I and the whitewashers were hard at work. We
summoned upholsterers, carvers and gilders to our aid.
Troops of men in white caps and jackets began to flit about
the lower regions. The gardeners were smothering themselves
with roses in the adjacent parterres. Marvellous erections
began to rear their heads in the grounds of Gore House. The
wilderness had become, not exactly a paradise, but a kind of
Garden of Epicurus, in which some of the features of that
classical bower of bliss were blended with those of the
kingdom of Cockaigne, where pigs are said to run about ready
roasted with silver knives and forks stuck in them, and
crying, 'Come, eat us; our crackling is delicious, and the
sage-and-onions with which we are stuffed distils an odour
as sweet as that of freshly gathered violets.' Vans laden
with wines, with groceries, with plates and dishes, with
glasses and candelabra, and with bales of calico, and still
more calico, were perpetually arriving at Gore House. The
carriages of the nobility and gentry were blocked up among
railway goods-vans and Parcels Delivery carts. The
authorities of the place were obliged to send for a
detective policeman to mount permanent guard at the Gore,
for the swell-mob had found us out, and flying squadrons of
felonry hung on the skirts of our distinguished visitors,
and harassed their fobs fearfully. Then we sent forth
advertisements to the daily papers, and legions of mothers,
grandmothers, and aunts brought myriads of newly-washed
boys; some chubby and curly-haired, some lanky and
straight-locked, from whom we selected the comelier youths,
and put them into picturesque garbs, confected for us by Mr.
Nicoll. Then we held a competitive examination of pretty
girls; and from those who obtained the largest number of
marks (of respect and admiration) we chose a bevy of Hebes,
whose rosy lips, black eyes and blue eyes, fair hair and
dark hair, very nearly drove me crazy in the spring days of
1851.
"And by the end of April we had completely metamorphosed
Gore House. I am sure that poor Lady Blessington would not
have known her coquettish villa again had she visited it;
and I am afraid she would not have been much gratified to
see that which the upholsterers, the whitewashers, the
hangers of calico, and your humble servant, had wrought. As
for the venerable Mr. Wilberforce, who, I believe, occupied
Gore House some years before Lady Blessington's tenancy, he
would have held up his hands in pious horror to see the
changes we had made. A madcap masquerade of bizarre taste
and queer fancies had turned Gore House completely inside
out. In honest truth, we had played the very dickens with
it. The gardens were certainly magnificent; and there was a
sloping terrace of flowers in the form of a gigantic shell,
and literally crammed with the choicest roses, which has
seldom, I believe, been rivalled in ornamental gardening.
But the house itself! The library had been kindly dealt by,
save that from the ceiling were suspended a crowd of
quicksilvered glass globes, which bobbed about like the
pendent ostrich-eggs in an Eastern mosque. There was a room
called the 'Floriana,' with walls and ceiling fluted with
blue and white calico, and stuck all over with spangles.
There was the 'Doriana,' also in calico, pink and white, and
approached by a portal called the 'door of the dungeon of
mystery,' which was studded with huge nails, and garnished
with fetters in the well-known Newgate fashion. Looking
towards the garden were the Alhambra Terrace and the
Venetian Bridge. The back drawing-room was the Night of
Stars, or the _Rêverie de l'Etoile polaire_; the night
being represented by a cerulean ceiling painted over with
fleecy clouds, and the firmament by hangings of blue gauze
spangled with stars cut out of silver-foil paper! Then there
was the vestibule of Jupiter Tonans, the walls covered with
a salmagundi of the architecture of all nations, from the
Acropolis to the Pyramids of Egypt, from Temple Bar to the
Tower of Babel. The dining-room became the Hall of Jewels,
or the _Salon des Larmes de Danaë_, and the 'Shower of
Gems,' with a grand arabesque perforated ceiling, gaudy in
gilding and distemper colours. Upstairs there was a room
fitted up as a Chinese pagoda, another as an Italian cottage
overlooking a vineyard and the Lake of Como; another as a
cavern of ice in the Arctic regions, with sham columns
imitating icebergs, and a stuffed white fox--bought cheap at
a sale--in the chimney. The grand staircase belonged to me,
and I painted its walls with a grotesque nightmare of
portraits of people I had never seen, and hundreds more upon
whom I had never set eyes save in the print-shops, till I
saw the originals grinning, or scowling, or planted in blank
amazement before the pictorial libels on the walls.
"In the gardens Sir Charles Fox built for us a huge barrack
of wood, glass, and iron, which we called the 'Baronial
Hall,' and which we filled with pictures and lithographs,
and flags and calico, in our own peculiar fashion. We hired
a large grazing-meadow at the back of the gardens, from a
worthy Kensington cowkeeper, and having fitted up another
barrack at one end of it, called it the 'Pré D'Orsay.' We
memorialized the Middlesex magistrates, and, after a great
deal of trouble, got a licence enabling us to sell wines and
spirits, and to have music and dancing if we so chose. We
sprinkled tents and alcoves all over our gardens, and built
a gipsies' cavern, and a stalactite pagoda with double
windows, in which gold and silver fish floated. And finally,
having engaged an army of pages, cooks, scullions, waiters,
barmaids, and clerks of the kitchen, we opened this
monstrous place on the first of May, 1851, and bade all the
world come and dine at SOYER'S SYMPOSIUM."
However, the ungrateful public disregarded the invitation, and poor
Alexis Soyer is believed to have lost 4000_l._ by this enterprise. He
died a few years after, at the early age of fifty. His friend Mr.
Sala has said of him with true pathos:--"He was a vain man; but he was
good and kind and charitable. There are paupers and beggars _even
among French cooks_, and Alexis always had his pensioners and his
alms-duns, to whom his hand was ever open. He was but a cook, but he
was my dear and good friend."
We remember to have heard Soyer say of the writer of these truthful
words, in reply to an inquiry as to the artist of the figures upon the
staircase-walls, "He is a very clever fellow, of whom you will hear
much,"--a prediction which has been fully verified.
Brompton, with its two centuries of Nursery fame, lasted to our time;
southward, among "the Groves," were the Florida, Hoop and Toy, and
other tea-garden taverns; there remains the Swan, with its
bowling-green.
KNIGHTSBRIDGE TAVERNS.
Knightsbridge was formerly a noted "Spring-Garden," with several
taverns, of gay and questionable character. Some of the older houses
have historical interest. The Rose and Crown, formerly the Oliver
Cromwell, has been licensed above three hundred years. It is said to
be the house which sheltered Wyat, while his unfortunate Kentish
followers rested on the adjacent green. A tradition of the locality
also is that Cromwell's body-guard was once quartered here, the
probability of which is carefully examined in Davis's _Memorials of
Knightsbridge_. The house has been much modernized of late years;
"but," says Mr. Davis, "enough still remains in its peculiar chimneys,
oval-shaped windows, the low rooms, large yard, and extensive
stabling, with the galleries above, and office-like places beneath, to
testify to its antiquity and former importance." The Rising Sun, hard
by, is a seventeenth century red-brick house, which formerly had much
carved work in the rooms, and a good staircase remains.
The Fox and Bull is the third house that has existed under the same
sign. The first was Elizabethan with carved and panelled rooms,
ornamented ceiling; and it was not until 1799, that the immense
fireplaces and dog-irons were removed for stove-grates. This house was
pulled down about 1836, and the second immediately built upon its
site; this stood till the Albert-gate improvements made the removal of
the tavern business to its present situation.[48]
The original Fox and Bull is traditionally said to have been used by
Queen Elizabeth on her visits to Lord Burghley, at Brompton. Its
curious sign is said to be the only one of the kind existing. Here for
a long time was maintained that Queen Anne style of society, where
persons of parts and reputation were to be met with in public rooms.
Captain Corbet was for a long time its head; Mr. Shaw, of the War
Office, supplied the _London Gazette_; and Mr. Harris, of Covent
Garden, his play-bills. Sir Joshua Reynolds is said to have been
occasionally a visitor; as also Sir W. Wynn, the patron of Ryland.
George Morland, too, was frequently here. The sign was once painted by
Sir Joshua, and hung till 1807, when it was blown down and destroyed
in a storm. The house is referred to in the _Tatler_, No. 259.
At about where William-street joins Lowndes-square was "an excellent
Spring Garden." Among the entries of the Virtuosi, or St. Luke's Club,
established by Vandyke, is the following: "Paid and spent at Spring
Gardens, by Knightsbridge, forfeiture, 3_l._ 15_s._" Pepys being at
Kensington, "on a frolic," June 16, 1664, "lay in his drawers, and
stockings, and waistcoat, till five of the clock, and so up, walked to
Knightsbridge, and there eat a mess of cream, and so to St. James's,"
etc. And, April 24, 1665, the King being in the Park, and sly Pepys
being doubtful of being seen in any pleasure, stepped out of the Park
to Knightsbridge, and there ate and drank in the coach.
Pepys also speaks of "the World's End," at Knightsbridge, which Mr.
Davis thinks could only have been the sign adopted for the Garden; and
Pepys, being too soon to go into Hyde Park, went on to Knightsbridge,
and there ate and drank at the World's End; and elsewhere the road
going "to the World's End, a drinking-house by the Park, and there
merry, and so home late." Congreve, in his _Love for Love_, alludes,
in a woman's quarrel, to the place, between Mrs. Frail and Mrs.
Foresight, in which the former says: "I don't doubt but you have
thought yourself happy in a hackney-coach before now. If I had gone to
Knightsbridge, or to Chelsea, or to Spring Garden, or Barn Elms, with
a man alone, something might have been said." The house belonging to
this Garden stood till about 1826.
Knightsbridge Grove, approached through a stately avenue of trees from
the road, was a sporting-house. Here the noted Mrs. Cornelys
endeavoured to retrieve her fortunes, after her failure at Carlisle
House. In 1785, she gave up her precarious trade. "Ten years after,"
says Davis's _Memorials of Knightsbridge_, "to the great surprise of
the public, she re-appeared at Knightsbridge as Mrs. Smith, a retailer
of asses' milk. A suite of breakfast-rooms was opened; but her former
influence could not be recovered. The speculation utterly failed; and
at length she was confined to the Fleet Prison. There she ended her
shallow career, dying August 19, 1797."
A once notorious house, the Swan, still exists on the
Knightsbridge-road, a little beyond the Green. It is celebrated by Tom
Brown. In Otway's _Soldier's Fortune_, 1681, Sir Davy Dunce says:--
"I have surely lost, and ne'er shall find her more. She
promised me strictly to stay at home till I came back again;
for ought I know, she may be up three pair of stairs in the
Temple now, or, it may be, taking the air as far as
Knightsbridge, with some smooth-faced rogue or another;
'tis a damned house that Swan,--that Swan at Knightsbridge
is a confounded house."
To the Feathers, which stood to the south of Grosvenor-row, an odd
anecdote is attached. A Lodge of Odd Fellows, or some similar society,
was in the habit of holding its meetings in a room at the Feathers;
and on one occasion, when a new member was being initiated in the
mysteries thereof, in rushed two persons, whose abrupt and
unauthorized entrance threw the whole assemblage into an uproar.
Summary punishment was proposed by an expeditious kick into the
street; but, just as it was about to be bestowed, the secretary
recognized one of the intruders as George, Prince of Wales, afterwards
George IV. Circumstances instantly changed: it indeed was he, out on a
nocturnal excursion; and accordingly it was proposed and carried that
the Prince and his companion should be admitted members. The Prince
was chairman the remainder of the evening; and the chair in which he
sat, ornamented, in consequence, with the plume, is still preserved in
the parlour of the modern inn in Grosvenor-street West, and over it
hangs a coarsely-executed portrait of the Prince in the robes of the
order. The inn, the hospital, and various small tenements were removed
in 1851, when the present stately erections were immediately
commenced. On the ground being cleared away, various coins, old
horse-shoes, a few implements of warfare, and some human remains were
discovered.[49]
Jenny's Whim, another celebrated place of entertainment, has only just
entirely disappeared; it was on the site of St. George's-row. Mr.
Davis thinks it to have been named from the fantastic way in which
Jenny, the first landlady, laid out the garden. Angelo says, it was
established by a firework-maker, in the reign of George I. There was a
large breakfast-room, and the grounds comprised a bowling-green,
alcoves, arbours, and flower-beds; a fish-pond, a cock-pit, and a pond
for duck-hunting. In the _Connoisseur_, May 15, 1775, we read: "The
lower sort of people had their Ranelaghs and their Vauxhalls as well
as the quality. Perrot's inimitable grotto may be seen, for only
calling for a pint of beer; and the royal diversion of duck-hunting
may be had into the bargain, together with a decanter of Dorchester,
for your sixpence, at Jenny's Whim." The large garden here had some
amusing deceptions; as by treading on a spring--taking you by
surprise--up started different figures, some ugly enough to frighten
you--a harlequin, a Mother Shipton, or some terrific animal. In a
large piece of water facing the tea-alcoves, large fish or mermaids
were showing themselves above the surface. Horace Walpole, in his
Letters, occasionally alludes to Jenny's Whim; in one to Montagu he
spitefully says--"Here (at Vauxhall) we picked up Lord Granby, arrived
very drunk from Jenny's Whim."
Towards the close of the last century, Jenny's Whim began to decline;
its morning visitors were not so numerous, and opposition was also
powerful. It gradually became forgotten, and at last sank to the
condition of a beer-house, and about 1804 the business altogether
ceased.[50]
Jenny's Whim has more than once served the novelist for an
illustration; as in _Maids of Honour, a Tale of the Times of George
the First_:--"There were gardens," says the writer, mentioning the
place, "attached to it, and a bowling-green; and parties were
frequently made, composed of ladies and gentlemen, to enjoy a day's
amusement there in eating strawberries and cream, syllabubs, cake, and
taking other refreshments, of which a great variety could be procured,
with cider, perry, ale, wine, and other liquors in abundance. The
gentlemen played at bowls--some employed themselves at skittles;
whilst the ladies amused themselves at a swing, or walked about the
garden, admiring the sunflowers, hollyhocks, the Duke of Marlborough
cut out of a filbert-tree, and the roses and daisies, currants and
gooseberries, that spread their alluring charms in every path.
"This was a favourite rendezvous for lovers in courting time--a day's
pleasure at Jenny's Whim being considered by the fair one the most
enticing enjoyment that could be offered her; and often the hearts of
the most obdurate have given way beneath the influence of its
attractions. Jenny's Whim, therefore, had always, during the season,
plenty of pleasant parties of young people of both sexes. Sometimes
all its chambers were filled, and its gardens thronged by gay and
sentimental visitors."[51]
FOOTNOTES:
[48] Stolen Marriages were the source of the old Knightsbridge tavern
success; and ten books of marriages and baptisms solemnized here, 1658
to 1752, are preserved. Trinity Chapel, the old edifice, was one of
the places where these irregular marriages were solemnized. Thus, in
Shadwell's _Sullen Lovers_, Lovell is made to say, "Let's dally no
longer; there is a person at Knightsbridge that yokes all stray people
together; we'll to him, he'll dispatch us presently, and send us away
as lovingly as any two fools that ever yet were condemned to
marriage." Some of the entries in this marriage register are
suspicious enough--"secrecy for life," or "great secrecy," or "secret
for fourteen years" being appended to the names. Mr. Davis, in his
_Memorials of Knightsbridge_, was the first to exhume from this
document the name of the adventuress "Mrs. Mary Aylif," whom Sir
Samuel Morland married as his fourth wife, in 1697. Readers of Pepys
will remember how pathetically Morland wrote, eighteen days after the
wedding, that when he had expected to marry an heiress, "I was, about
a fortnight since, led as a fool to the stocks, and married a
coachman's daughter not worth a shilling."
[49] Davis's _Memorials of Knightsbridge_.
[50] The last relic of "Jenny's Whim" was removed in November, 1865.
[51] In 1755, a quarto satirical tract was published, entitled
"Jenny's Whim; or, a Sure Guide to the Nobility, Gentry, and other
Eminent Persons in this Metropolis."
RANELAGH GARDENS.
This famous place of entertainment was opened in 1742, on the site of
the gardens of Ranelagh House, eastward of Chelsea Hospital. It was
originally projected by Lacy, the patentee of Drury Lane Theatre, as
a sort of Winter Vauxhall. There was a Rotunda, with a Doric portico,
and arcade and gallery; a Venetian pavilion in a lake, to which the
company were rowed in boats; and the grounds were planted with trees
and _allées vertes_. The several buildings were designed by Capon, the
eminent scene-painter. There were boxes for refreshments, and in each
was a painting: in the centre was a heating apparatus, concealed by
arches, porticoes and niches, paintings, etc.; and supporting the
ceiling, which was decorated with celestial figures, festoons of
flowers, and arabesques, and lighted by circles of chandeliers. The
Rotunda was opened with a public breakfast, April 5, 1742. Walpole
describes the high fashion of Ranelagh: "The prince, princess, duke,
much nobility, and much mob besides, were there." "My Lord
Chesterfield is so fond of it, that he says he has ordered all his
letters to be directed thither." The admission was one shilling; but
the ridottos, with supper and music, were one guinea. Concerts were
also given here: Dr. Arne composed the music, Tenducci and Mara sang;
and here were first publicly performed the compositions of the Catch
Club. Fireworks and a mimic Etna were next introduced; and lastly
masquerades, described in Fielding's _Amelia_, and satirized in the
_Connoisseur_, No. 66, May 1, 1755; wherein the Sunday-evening's
tea-drinkings at Ranelagh being laid aside, it is proposed to exhibit
"the story of the Fall of Man in a Masquerade."
But the promenade of the Rotunda, to the music of the orchestra and
organ, soon declined. "There's your famous Ranelagh, that you make
such a fuss about; why, what a dull place is that!" says Miss Burney's
_Evelina_. In 1802, the Installation Ball of the Knights of the Bath
was given here; and the Pic-nic Society gave here a breakfast to 2000
persons, when Garnerin ascended in his balloon. After the Peace Fête,
in 1803, for which allegorical scenes were painted by Capon, Ranelagh
was deserted, and in 1804, the buildings were removed.
There was subsequently opened in the neighbourhood a New Ranelagh.
CREMORNE TAVERN AND GARDENS.
This property was formerly known as Chelsea Farm, and in 1803,
devolved to the Viscount Cremorne, after whom it was named, and who
employed Wyatt to build the elegant and commodious mansion. In the
early part of the present century, Cremorne was often visited by
George III., and Queen Charlotte, and the Prince of Wales. In 1825,
the house and grounds devolved to Mr. Granville Penn, by whom they
were much improved. Next, the beauty of the spot, and its fitness for
a pleasure-garden, led to its being opened to the public as "the
Stadium." After this, the estate fell into other hands, and was
appropriated to a very different object. At length, under the
proprietorship of Mr. T. B. Simpson, the grounds were laid out with
taste, and the tavern enlarged; and the place has prospered for many
years as a sort of Vauxhall, with multitudinous amusements, in variety
far outnumbering the old proto-gardens.
THE MULBERRY GARDEN,
Upon the site of which is built the northern portion of Buckingham
Palace, was planted by order of James I., in 1609, and in the next two
reigns became a public garden. Evelyn describes it in 1654 as "ye
only place of refreshment about ye towne for persons of ye best
quality to be exceedingly cheated at;" and Pepys refers to it as "a
silly place," but with "a wilderness somewhat pretty." It is a
favourite locality in the gay comedies of Charles II.'s reign.
Dryden frequented the Mulberry Garden; and according to a
contemporary, the poet ate tarts there with Mrs. Anne Reeve, his
mistress. The company sat in arbours, and were regaled with
cheesecakes, syllabubs, and sweetened wine; wine-and-water at dinner,
and a dish of tea afterwards. Sometimes the ladies wore masks. "The
country ladys, for the first month, take up their places in the
Mulberry Garden as early as a citizen's wife at a new play."--Sir
Charles Sedley's _Mulberry Garden_, 1668.
"A princely palace on that space does rise,
Where Sedley's noble muse found mulberries."--_Dr. King._
Upon the above part of the garden site was built _Goring House_, let
to the Earl of Arlington in 1666, and thence named _Arlington House_:
in this year the Earl brought from Holland, for 60_s._, the first
pound of tea received in England; so that, in all probability, _the
first cup of tea made in England was drunk upon the site of Buckingham
Palace_.
PIMLICO TAVERNS.
Pimlico is a name of gardens of public entertainment, often mentioned
by our early dramatists, and in this respect resembles "Spring
Garden." In a rare tract, _Newes from Hogsdon_, 1598, is: "Have at
thee, then, my merrie boys, and hey for old Ben Pimlico's nut-browne!"
and the place, in or near Hoxton, was afterwards named from him. Ben
Jonson has:
"A second Hogsden,
In days of Pimlico and eye-bright."--_The Alchemist._
"Pimlico-path" is a gay resort of his _Bartholomew Fair_; and
Meercraft, in _The Devil is an Ass_, says: