[Illustration: Covent Garden Market.--"Here to-day, and gone
to-morrow."--Tristram Shandy.]
I know some of the ugliest men who are the most agreeable fellows in the
world. The ladies may doubt this remark; but if they compel me to produce
an example, I shall waive all modesty, and prove my veracity by quoting
_myself_. I have often thought how it is that ugliness contrives to
invest itself with a "_certain something_," that not only destroys its
disagreeable properties, but actually commands an interest--(by the by,
this is referring _generally_, and nothing personal to myself.) I
philosophically refer it all to the _balance of nature_. Now I know some
very ugly places that have a degree of interest, and here again I fancy a
lady's sceptical ejaculation, "Indeed!" Ay, but it is so; and let us go
no further than Covent Garden. Enter it from Russell-street. What can be
more unsightly,--with its piles of cabbages in the street, and
basket-measures on the roofs of the shops--narrow alleys, wooden
buildings, rotting vegetables "undique," and swarms of Irish
basket-women, who wander about like the ghosts on this side of the Styx,
and who, in habits, features, and dialect, appear as if belonging to
another world. Yet the Garden, like every garden, has its charms. I have
lounged through it on a summer's day, mixing with pretty women, looking
upon choice fruit, smelling delicious roses, with now and then an
admixture of sundry disagreeables, such as a vigorous puff out of an ugly
old woman's doodeen, just as you are about to make a pretty speech to a
much prettier lady--to say nothing of the unpleasant odours arising from
heaps of putrescent vegetables, or your hat being suddenly knocked off by
a contact with some unlucky Irish basket-woman, with cabbages piled on
her head sufficient for a month's consumption at Williams's boiled beef
and cabbage warehouse, in the Old Bailey. The narrow passages through
this mart remind me of the Chinese streets, where all is shop, bustle,
squeeze, and commerce. The lips of the fair promenaders I collate (in my
mind's eye, gentle reader) with the delicious cherry, and match their
complexions with the peach, the nectarine, the rose, red or white, and
even sometimes with the russet apple. Then again I lounge amidst chests
of oranges, baskets of nuts, and other _et cetera_, which, as boys, we
relished in the play-ground, or, in maturer years, have enjoyed at the
wine feast. Here I can saunter in a green-house among plants and heaths,
studying botany and beauty. Facing me is a herb-shop, where old nurses,
like Medeas of the day, obtain herbs for the sick and dying; and within a
door or two flourishes a vender of the choicest fruits, with a rich
display of every luxury to delight the living and the healthy.
I know of no spot where such variety may be seen in so small a compass.
Rich and poor, from the almost naked to the almost naked lady (of
fashion, of course.) "Oh crikey, Bill," roared a chimney-sweep in high
glee. The villain turned a pirouette in his rags, and in the centre mall
of the Garden too; he finished it awkwardly, made a stagger, and
recovered himself against--what?--"_Animus meminisse horret_"--against a
lady's white gown! But he apologized. Oh, ye gods! his apology was so
sincere, his manner was so sincere, that the true and thorough gentleman
was in his every act and word. (Mem. merely as a corroboration, the lady
forgave him.) What a lesson would this act of the man of high callings
(from the chimney-tops) have been to our mustachioed and be-whiskered
dandies, who, instead of apologizing to a female after they may have
splashed her from head to foot, trod on her heel, or nearly carried away
her bonnet, feathers, cap, and wig, only add to her confusion by an
unmanly, impudent stare or sneer!
But to the Garden again. I like it much; it is replete with humour, fun,
and drollery; it contributes a handsome revenue to the pocket of his
Grace the Duke of Bedford, besides supplying half the town with cabbages
and melons, (the richest Melon on record came from Covent-Garden, and was
graciously presented to our gracious sovereign.)
The south side appears to be devoted to potatoes, a useful esculent, and
of greater use to the poor than all the melons in christendom. Here
kidneys and champions are to be seen from Scotland, York, and Kent; and
here have I observed the haggard forms of withered women
"In rags and tatters, friendless and forlorn,"
creeping from shop to shop, bargaining for "a good pen'orth of the best
boilers;" and here have I often watched the sturdy Irishman walking with
a regular connoisseur's eye, peeping out _above_ a short pipe, and
_below_ a narrow-brimmed hat,--a perfect, keen, twinkling, connoisseur's
eye, critically examining every basket for the best lot of his _own
peculiar_.
Now let us take a retrospective view of this our noble theme, and our
interest will be the more strengthened thereon. All the world knows that
a convent stood in this neighbourhood, and the present market was the
garden, _undè_ Convent Garden; would that all etymologists were as
distinct. Of course the monastic institution was abolished in the time of
Henry VIII., when he plundered convents and monasteries with as much
_gusto_ as boys abolish wasps-nests. After this it was given to Edmund
Seymour, Duke of Somerset, brother-in-law to Henry VIII., afterwards the
protector of his country, but not of himself for he was beheaded in
1552. The estate then became, by royal grant, the property of the Bedford
family; and in the Privy Council Records for March, 1552, is the
following entry of the transfer:--"A patent granted to John, Earl of
Bedford, of the gifts of the Convent Garden, lying in the parish of St.
Martin's-in-the-Fields, near Charing Cross, with seven acres, called Long
Acre, of the yearly value of 6l. 6s. 8d. parcel of the possessions of the
late Duke of Somerset, to have to him and his heirs, reserving a tenure
to the king's majesty in socage, and not in capite." In 1634, Francis,
Earl of Bedford, began to clear away the old buildings, and form the
present square; and in 1671, a patent was granted for a market, which
shows the rapid state of improvement in this neighbourhood, because in
the Harleian MSS., No. 5,900, British Museum, is a letter, written in the
early part of Charles II., by an observing foreigner to his friend
abroad, who notices Bloomsbury, Hungerford, Newport, and other markets,
but never hints of the likelihood or prospect of one being established in
Covent Garden; yet before Charles's death the patent was obtained. It is
a market, _sui generis_, confined mostly to vegetables and fruits; and
the plan reflects much credit upon the speculative powers of the noble
earl who founded it.
Thus far goes the public history; now let us turn to the private
memoranda. In 1690, the parish, being very loyal, gave a grand display of
fire-works on the happy return of William the Third from Ireland; and in
the parish books appear the following entries on the subject, which will
give some idea of the moderate charges of parish festivities in those
"_dark ages_."
"Sept. 23, 1690. £. s. d.
Paid to Mr. Brown for 200
ffaggotts and 30 brushes for
bonefire for the parish ---- 01 02 06
Sept. 25.--Paid Mr. Stockes
for a barrell of ale for bonefire ---- 01 00 00
Given to the watchmen to
drincke att the king's returne
from Ireland ---- 00 02 06
1691.--Given to Stockes and
ye watchmen to drincke att
the bonefire and fire workes
att the king's returne from
Ireland ---- 00 10 00
Oct. 12.--Paid the labourers
and carters for four dayes'
worke in laying and spreading
the gravell ---- 01 06 00
Making a grand total of £4. 1s. 0d. for a St. Paul's parish fête; but
this was in 1690. This festival was of sufficient note to engage the
artist's attention, and an engraving of it was sold by "B. Lens, between
Bridewell and Fleet Bridge in Blackfryers."
Convent Garden has been the abode of talented and noble men. Richardson's
Hotel was the residence of Dr. Hunter, the anatomical lecturer; and in
1724, Sir James Thornhill, who painted the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral,
resided in this garden and opened a school for drawing in his house.
Moreover, for the honour of the Garden, be it known, that at Sir Francis
Kynaston's house therein situated, Charles the First established an
academy called "_Museum Minervæ_," for the instruction of gentlemen in
arts and sciences, knowledge of medals, antiquities, painting,
architecture, and foreign languages. Not a vestige remains of the museum
establishment now-a-days, or the subjects it embraced, unless it be
_foreign languages_, including wild Irish, and very low English. Even as
late as 1722, Lord Ferrers lived in Convent Garden; but this is trifling
compared with the list of nobles who have lived around about this
attractive spot, where nuns wandered in cloistered innocence, and now,
oh! for sentimentality, what a relief to a fine, sensitive mind, or a
sickly milliner!
In the front of the church quacks used to harangue the mob and give
advice gratis. Westminster elections are held also on the same
spot--that's a coincidence.