HYDE PARK
_The Park shone brighter than the skyes,
Sing tan-tara-rara-tantivee,
With jewels and gold, and Ladies’ eyes,
That sparkled and cry’d come see me:
Of all parts of England, Hide Park hath the name,
For coaches and Horses and Persons of fame,
It looked at first sight, like a field full of flame,
Which made me ride up tan-tivee._
--NEWS FROM HIDE PARK, an old ballad, _c._ 1670.
In writing about London Parks the obvious starting-point seems to
be the group comprising Hyde, Green, and St. James’s Parks, which
are so intimately connected with London life to-day, and have a past
teeming with interest. What changes some of those elms have witnessed!
Generation after generation of the world of fashion have passed beneath
their shades. Dainty ladies with powder and patches have smiled at
their beaux, perhaps concealing aching hearts by a light and careless
gaiety. Stately coaches and prancing horsemen have passed along. Crowds
of enthusiasts for various causes have aired their grievances on the
green turf. Brilliant reviews and endless parades have taken place
on the wide open spaces; games and races have amused thousands of
spectators. In still earlier times there was many a day’s good sport
after the deer, or many a busy hour’s ploughing the abbey lands of
the then Manor of Hyde. Scene after scene can be pictured down to the
present time, when, after centuries of change, the enjoyment of these
Parks remains perhaps one of the most treasured privileges of the
Londoner.
In tracing the history of their various phases, the survival of many
features is as remarkable as the disappearance of others. The present
limits on the north and east, Bayswater Road and Park Lane, have
suffered no substantial alteration since the roads were known as the
Via Trimobantina and the Watling Street in Roman times. The Watling
Street divided, and one section followed the course of the present
Oxford Street to the City; the other, passing down the line of Park
Lane, crossed St. James’s Park, and so to the ford over the Thames at
Westminster. The Park was never common or waste land, but must have
been cleared and cultivated in very early times. In Domesday Survey
the Manor was in plough and pasture land, with various “villains” and
peasants living on it. The Thames was the southern boundary of the
Manor of “Eia,” which was divided into three parts, one being Hyde, the
site of the existing Hyde Park, the other two Ebury and Neate. Although
now forgotten, the latter name was familiar for many centuries. When
owned by the Abbots of Westminster, the Manor House by the riverside
was of some importance, and John of Gaunt stayed there. Famous
nurseries and a tea garden, “the Neate houses,” marked the spot in the
eighteenth century.
Until the stormy days of the Reformation these lands remained much
the same. Owned by the Abbey of Westminster, they were probably well
cultivated by their tenants, and doubtless the game with which they
abounded from early times afforded the Abbot some pleasant days’ sport
and tasty meals. The first time any of the Manor became part of the
royal demesne, was when the Abbot Islip exchanged 100 acres of what
is now St. James’s Park, adjoining the royal lands, for Poughley in
Berkshire, with Henry VIII. in 1531–2. This Abbot, who had an ingenious
device to represent his name--a human eye and a cutting or “slip” of a
tree--died in the Manor House of Neate or Neyte the same year. He gave
up the lands from Charing Cross “unto the Hospital of St. James in the
fields” (now St. James’s Palace), and the meadows between the Hospital
and Westminster. Five years later, when the upheaval of the dissolution
of the monasteries was taking place, the monks of Westminster were
forced to take the lands of the Priory of Hurley--one of their own
cells just dissolved--in exchange for the rest of the manor. Henry
VIII., who loved sport, found these lands first-rate hunting-ground.
From his palace at Westminster, through Hyde Park, right away to
Hampstead, he had an almost uninterrupted stretch of country, where
hares and herons, pheasants and partridges, could be pursued and
preserved “for his own disport and pastime.” Hyde Park was enclosed, or
“substancially empayled,” as an old writer states, and a large herd of
deer kept there, and various proclamations show that the right of sport
had to be jealously guarded.
What a gay scene must Hyde Park have often witnessed in Elizabeth’s
reign. The Queen, when not actually joining in the chase, watched
the proceedings from the hunting pavilion, or “princelye standes
therein,” and feasted the guests in the banqueting-house. There were
brilliantly caparisoned horses, men and women in costly velvets and
brocades, stiff frills, plumed hats and embroidered gloves. Picture the
_cortège_ entering by the old lodge, where now is Hyde Park Corner, the
honoured guest, for whom the day’s sport was inaugurated--such as John
Casimir, son of the Elector Palatine, who showed his skill by killing a
particular deer out of a herd of 300--surrounded by some of his foreign
attendants, and escorted by all the court gallants of the day.
The Park must then have been as wild as the New or Sherwood Forests of
to-day. The tall trees, with their sturdy stems, were then untouched by
smoky air, the sylvan glades and pasture lands had no distant vistas
of houses and chimneys to spoil their rural aspect, while far off the
pile of the buildings of Westminster Abbey--without the conspicuous
towers, which were not finished till 1714--might be seen rising beyond
the swamps and fens of St. James’s Park. Hyde Park on a May evening
even now is still beautiful, if looked at from the eastern side across
a golden mist, against which the dark trees stand up mysteriously, when
a glow of sunset light seems to transform even ragged little Cockney
children into fairies. It wants but little imagination to see that same
golden haze peopled with huntsmen, and to hear the sound of the horn
instead of the roar of carriages.
The next scene which can be brought vividly before the mind’s eye is
very different from the last pageant. These are troublous times. The
monarch and his courtiers are occupied in far other pursuits than
hunting deer. Charles I. was fighting in the vain endeavour to keep his
throne, and Londoners were preparing to defend the city. Hyde Park and
Green Park became the theatre of warlike operations. Forts were raised
and trenches were dug. Two small forts, one on Constitution Hill and
one near the present Mount Street in Hyde Park, were made, but the more
important were those on the present sites of the Marble Arch and of
Hamilton Place. The energy displayed on the occasion is described by
Butler in “Hudibras,” and the part taken by women in the work. Like the
“sans culottes” of the French Revolution, they helped with their own
hands.
“Women, who were our first apostles,
Without whose aid w’ had all been lost else;
* * * * *
March’d rank and file, with drum and ensign,
T’ entrench the city for defence in;
Rais’d rampires with their own soft hands,
To put the enemy to stands;
From ladies down to oyster-wenches
Labour’d like pioneers in trenches,
Fell to their pickaxes and tools,
And helped the men to dig like moles.”
--BUTLER’S “_Hudibras_.”
The picture of their sombre garments, neat-fitting caps, and severe
faces, the close-cropped hair and stern looks of the men, working with
business-like determination, stands out a striking contrast to the gay
colours and cheerful looks of the company engaged in the chase.
The darker trees and sheltered corners of Hyde Park afforded covert
for the wary “Roundhead” to lie in ambush for the imprudent Loyalist
carrying letters to the King. On more than one occasion the success was
on his side, and the bearer of news to his royal master was waylaid,
and the papers secured. The culminating scene of this period must
have been when Fairfax and the Parliamentary army marched through Hyde
Park in 1647, and were met by the solemn procession of the Mayor and
Sheriffs of the City of London.
Dismal days for the Parks followed. Although the Parks had been
declared the property of the Commonwealth, it was from no wish to
use them for sport or recreation. During the latter years of Charles
the First’s reign Hyde Park had become somewhat of a fashionable
resort. People came to enjoy the air and meet their friends, and it
was less exclusively reserved for hunting. Races took place, both
foot and horse; crowds collected to witness them, and ladies, with
their attendant cavaliers, drove there in coaches, and refreshed
themselves at the “Cake House” with syllabubs. This latter was the
favourite drink, made of milk or cream whipped up with sugar and
wine or cider. But the Puritan spirit, which was rapidly asserting
itself, soon interfered with such harmless amusements. In 1645 the
Parks were ordered to be shut on the Lord’s Day, also on fast and
thanksgiving days. In 1649 the Parks, together with Windsor, Hampton
Court, Greenwich, and Richmond, were declared to be the property of
the Commonwealth, and thrown open to the public. But this did not lead
to greater public enjoyment of Hyde Park. Far from it, for only three
years later it was put up to auction in three lots. The first lot was
the part bounded on one side by the present Bayswater Road, and is
described as well wooded; the second, the Kensington side, was chiefly
pasture; the third, another well-wooded division, included the lodge
and banqueting-house and the Ring where the races took place. This part
was valued at more than double the two others, and was purchased by
Anthony Dean, a ship-builder, for £9020, 8s. 2d. This business-like
gentleman presumably reserved the use of the timber for his ships,
and let out the pasture. His tenant proceeded to make as much as he
could, and levied a toll on all carriages coming into the Park. On some
occasions he extorted 2s. 6d. from each coach. In 1653 John Evelyn in
his diary complains on April 11 that he “went to take the aire in Hide
Park, when every coach was made to pay a shilling, and every horse
sixpence, by the sordid fellow who had purchas’d it of the State, as
they were call’d.” Cromwell himself was fond of riding in the Park, and
crowds thronged him as he galloped round the Ring. More than one plot
was made against the life of Cromwell, and the Park was considered a
likely place in which to succeed. On one occasion the would-be assassin
joined the crowd, which pursued the Protector during his ride, ready,
if at any moment he galloped beyond the people, to dash at him with
a fatal blow. The plotter had carefully filed the Park gate off its
hinges so as to make good his own escape. It is a curious fact that
Cromwell more nearly met his death in Hyde Park by accident than by
design. He was presented with some fine grey Friesland horses, by the
Duke of Holstein, and insisted on driving the spirited animals himself.
They bolted, he was thrown from the box, and his pistol went off in his
pocket, “though without any hurt to himself”!
The Ring, where all these performances took place, was situated to the
north-east of where the Humane Society’s house, built in 1834, now
stands, near the Serpentine. There are a few remains of very large
elm trees still to be seen, which probably shaded some of the company
assembled to watch the coaches driving round and round the Ring, or
cheer the winner of a hotly-contested race. Even during the sombre
days of the Commonwealth sports took place in the Park, but with the
Restoration it became much more the resort of all the fashionable
world and the scene of many more amusements. The parks were still in
those days for the Court and the wealthy or well-to-do citizens only.
Probably to many of the rabble and poorer Londoners the nearest view
obtained of Hyde Park would be the tall trees within its fence or
wall, which formed a background to the revolting but most engrossing
of popular sights, the horrors of the gallows at Tyburn. The idea of
giving parks as recreation grounds for the poor is such a novel one
that no old writer would think of noticing their absence in an age when
bull-baiting and cock fights were their highest form of amusement.
The Ring was an enclosure with a railing round it and a wide road. It
is described as “a ring railed in, round w^{ch} a gravel way, yt would
admitt of twelve if not more rowes of Coaches, w^{ch} the Gentry to
take the aire and see each other Comes and drives round and round; one
row going Contrary to each other affords a pleaseing diversion.”
The gay companies who assembled to drive round and round the Ring, or
watch races, sometimes met with unusual excitement. On one occasion
Hind, a famous highwayman, for a wager rode into the Ring and robbed a
coach of a bag of money. He was hotly pursued across the Park, but made
his escape, “riding by St. James’s,” which then, and until a much later
date, was a sanctuary, and no one except a traitor could be arrested
within it. So narrow an escape from justice did he have that he is said
to have exclaimed, “I never earned £100 so dear in all my life!”
Numberless entries in Pepys’ Diary describe visits to Hyde Park. His
drives there in fine and wet weather, the company he met, whether his
wife looked well or was in a good or ill temper, and the latest gossip
the outing afforded, are all noted. Many times he regrets not having a
coach of his own, and does not conceal the feelings of wounded pride
it occasioned. Once he naïvely explains that having taken his wife and
a friend to the Park “in a hackney,” and they not in smart clothes,
he “was ashamed to go into the tour [Ring], but went round the Park,
and so, with pleasure, home.” His delight when he possessed a coach is
unbounded. He made frequent visits to the coach-builder, and watched
the final coat of varnish to “make it more and more yellow,” and at
last on May Day, 1669, he describes his first appearance in his own
carriage: “At noon home to dinner, and there find my wife extraordinary
fine with her flowered tabby gown that she made two years ago, now
laced exceeding pretty, and indeed was fine all over, and mighty
earnest to go; though the day was very lowering; and she would have me
put on my fine suit, which I did. And so anon, we went alone through
the town with our new liveries of serge and the horses’ manes and tails
tied with red ribbons, and the standards gilt with varnish, and all
clean, and green reines, that people did mightily look upon us; and
the truth is I did not see any coach more pretty, though more gay than
ours, all that day ... the day being unpleasing though the Park full
of Coaches, but dusty, and windy, and cold, and now and then a little
dribbling of rain; and what made it worse, there were so many hackney
coaches as spoiled the sight of the gentlemen’s, and so we had little
pleasure. But here was Mr. Batelier and his sister in a borrowed coach
by themselves, and I took them and we to the lodge: and at the door
did give them a syllabub and other things, cost me 12s. and pretty
merry.”
What an amusing picture, not only of Hyde Park in 1669 but of human
nature of all time!--the start, the pride and delight with their
new acquisition, the little annoyances, the marred pleasures, the
ungenerous dislike of the less fortunate who could not afford coaches
of their own, whose ranks he had swelled the very last drive he had
taken. Then the little kindness and the refreshment, so that the story
ends merrily.
The “Lodge” is but another name for the “Cheese-cake House” or “Cake
House,” or as it was sometimes called from the proprietor, the Gunter
of those days, “Price’s Lodge.” This house, which was a picturesque
feature, stood near the Ring, on the site of the present building
of the Humane Society, and must have been the scene of many amusing
incidents in the lives of those who graced the Ring, in the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries. A little stream ran in front of it, and the
door was approached over planks. White with beams of timber, latticed
windows, and gabled roof, a few flowers clustering near, with the
water flowing by its walls, the old house gave a special charm and
rural flavour to the tarts and cheesecakes and syllabub with which the
company regaled themselves.
The gay sights and sounds in Hyde Park were silenced during those
terrible weeks, when the Great Plague spread death and destruction
through London. As the summer advanced, and the havoc became more
and more appalling, many of the soldiers quartered in the city, were
marched out to encamp in Hyde Park. At first it seemed as if they would
escape the deadly scourge, but the men were not accustomed to the
rough quarters, and soon succumbed.
“Our men (ere long) began to droop and quail,
Our lodgings cold, and some not us’d thereto,
Fell sick, and dy’d, and made us more adoe.
At length the Plague amongst us ’gan to spread,
When ev’ry morning some were found stark dead;
Down to another field the sick we t’ane,
But few went down that e’er came up again.”
Thus all through the autumn of that terrible year the Park was one of
the fields of battle against the relentless foe. The contemporary poet,
whose lines have been quoted, describes the return of the few saddened
survivors to the “doleful” city. They had lingered through the cold and
wet until December, and surely the Park has no passage in its history
more piteous and depressing than the advent of those frightened men who
came with “heavy hearts,” “fearing the Almighty’s arrows,” only to be
overtaken by the terror in their plague-stricken camp.
Hyde Park has witnessed other gloomy pictures from time to time.
Although the colouring of fashion and romance has endeavoured to
make these incidents less repulsive, duels cannot be otherwise than
distressing to the modern sense. For generations Hyde Park was a
favourite place in which to settle affairs of honour. The usual
spot is described by Fielding in “Amelia.” The combatants walked up
Constitution Hill and into Hyde Park “to that place which may properly
be called the Field of Blood, being that part a little to the left of
the Ring, which Heroes have chosen for the scene of their exit out of
this World.” One of the most famous duels was that fought between Lord
Mohun and the Duke of Hamilton on November 15, 1712, which resulted
in the death of both the combatants--the Duke, whose loss was a great
blow to the Jacobite cause in Scotland, and the Whig opponent. All
through the eighteenth century Hyde Park was frequently the place in
which disputes were settled, and one of the last duels recorded, which
resulted in the death of Captain Macnamara (his antagonist, Colonel
Montgomery, being tried for manslaughter, but acquitted), although
fought on Primrose Hill, originated in Hyde Park. The cause of quarrel
was that the dogs of these two gentlemen fought while out with them in
the Park, whereupon the respective masters used such abusive language
to each other that the affair had to be settled by a duel.
Military displays, for which Hyde Park is still famous, have taken
place there from early times. The works of defence were thrown up,
and Fairfax and the Parliamentary army arrived there in the times of
civil strife, but soon after the Restoration Charles II. had a peaceful
demonstration, and there reviewed his Life Guards. Again, in September
1668, there was a more brilliant review, when the Duke of Monmouth took
command of the Life Guards, and the King and Duke of York were both
present. Pepys was there, and wrote, “It was mighty noble, and their
firing mighty fine, and the Duke of Monmouth in mighty rich clothes;
but the well ordering of the men I understand not.”
When, in 1715, the fear of a general Jacobite rising induced the Whigs
to take serious precautions, Hyde Park became a camp from July till
November. During a similar scare in 1722 troops were again quartered
there, and the camp became the centre of popular attraction; gaiety
and frivolity were the order of the day, rather than business or
watchfulness. The Park was also used as a camp for six regiments of
militia at the time of the Gordon Riots in 1780. All through George
III.’s long reign reviews were frequent, and one of the most popular
was that held by the Prince Regent before the allied sovereigns, the
Emperor of Russia and King of Prussia, in June 1814. Blücher was the
popular hero on the occasion, and when he afterwards appeared in the
Park he was so mobbed by the crowd, enthusiastic to see something of
“Forwärts,” as he was familiarly named, that he had to defend himself
against their rough treatment.
When the Park was again in the King’s hands after the Restoration,
a Keeper was once more appointed, who was responsible for its
maintenance. From the time of Henry VIII. various well-known people had
filled the office of Keeper. The first in Henry VIII.’s time was George
Roper, succeeded in 1553 by Francis Nevill, and in 1574 by Henry Carey,
first Lord Hunsdon, while in 1607 Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury, was
appointed, and Sir Walter Cope held the office conjointly with him
from 1610. The name of the first Keeper after the Restoration, James
Hamilton, is well remembered by the site of his house and ground,
which are still known as Hamilton Place and Gardens. He was allowed to
enclose 55 acres of park, and to use it as an orchard on the condition
that he sent a certain quantity of the cider produced from it to the
King. In his time a brick wall was built round the Park, and it was
re-stocked with deer. The wall was rebuilt in 1726, and not replaced by
railings until a hundred years later. These iron railings were pulled
down by the mob in 1866, after which the present ones were set up.
The deer, which formerly ranged all over the Park, were in course of
time confined to a small area on the north-west side, called Buckdean
Hill. They were kept for sport during the first half of the eighteenth
century, and the last time royalty took part in killing deer in the
Park was probably in 1768. The exact date of the disappearance of all
the deer is difficult to ascertain. They are remembered by some who saw
them towards the end of the thirties, but by 1840 or soon after they
were done away with.
The roads in Hyde Park must have been rather like South African tracks
at the present day, and driving at night was not free from danger
even at a comparatively late date. Attacks from highwaymen were to be
feared. Horace Walpole was robbed in November 1749, and the pistol shot
was near enough to stun though not otherwise to injure him. The Duke
of Grafton had his collar bone broken, and his coachman his leg, some
ten years earlier, when, on his way from Kensington to “the New Gate
to make some visits towards Grosvenor Square, the Chariot through the
darkness of the Night was overset in driving along the Road and” fell
“into a large deep pit.”
Soon after William III. purchased Kensington Palace from the Earl of
Nottingham in 1691, he commenced making a new road through the Park.
This became known as the King’s Road, or “Route du Roi”: a corruption
of the latter is Rotten Row, the name now given to King William’s
Drive. In the eighteenth century it was called the King’s Old Road, and
the one which George II. made to the south of it was called the King’s
New Road. When this was finished in 1737, it was intended to turf the
older “Rotten Row,” but this plan was never carried out. The old road
was much thought of at the time it was made, and the lighting of it up
at night with 300 lamps caused wonder to all beholders.
A young lady, Celia Fiennes, describes the road in her diary about
1695. “Y^e whole length of this parke there is a high Causey of a good
breadth, 3 Coaches may pass, and on each side are Rowes of posts on
w^{ch} are glasses--Cases for Lamps w^{ch} are Lighted in y^e Evening
and appeares very fine as well as safe for y^e passenger. This is
only a private roade y^e King had w^{ch} reaches to Kensington, where
for aire our Great King W^{m.} bought a house and filled it for a
Retirement w^{th} pretty gardens.”
The road was in bad repair before the new one was in good order, and
Lord Hervey, writing in 1736, says it had grown “so infamously bad” as
to form “a great impassable gulf of mud” between London and Kensington
Palace. “There are two ways through the Park, but the new one is so
convex, and the old one is so concave, that by this extreme of faults
they agree in the common of being, like the high road, impassable.”
One of the most striking features of Hyde Park to-day is the long sheet
of water known as the “Serpentine,” but this was a comparatively late
addition to the attractions of the Park. From earliest times there was
water. The deer came down to drink at pools supplied by fresh springs.
The stream of the West Bourne flowed across the Park from north to
south, leaving it near the present Albert Gate. Near there it was
spanned by a bridge, from which the hamlet of Knightsbridge derived its
name. The water in the Park was used to supply the West End of London
as houses began to be built further from the City, and Chelsea was also
supplied from it. The Dean and Chapter of Westminster had a right to
the use of the water from the springs in the Park, and the history of
their privilege is recorded on a stone which stands above “the Dell”
on the north-east of the bridge across the end of the Serpentine. The
inscription states that a supply of water by a conduit was granted
to the Abbey of Westminster by Edward the Confessor, and the further
history of the lands, which passed into Henry VIII.’s hands at a time
when all church property was in peril of seizure, is neatly glossed
over as the “manor was resumed by the Crown in 1536.” The use of the
springs, however, was retained by the Abbey, and confirmed to them by
a charter of Elizabeth in 1560. Later on the privilege was withdrawn,
and in 1663 the Chelsea Waterworks were granted the use of all the
streams and springs of Hyde Park. They made in 1725 a reservoir on the
east side of the Park, opposite Mount Street. The sunk garden, with
the Dolphin Fountain, the statue in Carrara marble, and the basin of
Sicilian marble, by A. Munro, was made in 1861 on the site of this
reservoir, which was abandoned two years earlier. It has been stated
that this sunk garden was a remnant of the forts of Cromwell’s time,
one small one having been near here, but the history of the Chelsea
Waterworks reservoir must have been unknown to those who believed the
tradition. It contained a million and a half gallons of water, and
was protected by a wall and railings, as suicides were once said to
have been frequent. When the Serpentine was made by Queen Caroline,
considerable compensation had to be paid to the Waterworks Company.
[Illustration: DOLPHIN FOUNTAIN, HYDE PARK]
In this age of experiments in plant growing, when American writers glow
with enthusiasm on the wonders of the “New Earth,” and when science
has transformed the dullest operations of farming and gardening
into fields for enterprise and treasuries of possible discoveries,
it is humiliating to find the water in Hyde Park being used for like
experiments as long ago as 1691–92. Stephen Switzer, a gardener,
who would have been described by his contemporaries as a “lover of
ingenuities,” was fond of indulging in speculations, and studied
the effect of water on plants. He quotes a series of experiments
made by Dr. Woodward on growing plants entirely in water, or with
certain mixtures. For fifty-two days during the summer of 1692 he
carefully watched some plants of spearmint, which were all “the most
kindly, fresh, sprightly Shoots I could chuse,” and were set in water
previously weighed. For this trial he selected “Hyde Park Conduit
water”--one pure, another had an ounce and a half of common garden
earth added to it, a third was given an equal quantity of garden mould,
and a fourth was kept on “Hyde Park water distilled.” The results in
growth, and the quantity of water absorbed, were carefully noted at the
end of the time.
[Illustration: DOLPHIN FOUNTAIN IN HYDE PARK]
When Queen Caroline conceived the idea of throwing the ponds in Hyde
Park into one, and making a sheet of water, the school of “natural” or
“landscape” gardening was becoming the rage. Bridgeman, a well-known
garden designer, who had charge of the royal gardens, has the credit
of having invented the “ha-ha” or sunk fence, and thus led the way for
merging gardens into parks. Kent, who followed him, went still further.
He, Horace Walpole said, “leaped the fence, and saw that all Nature was
a garden.” The fashions in garden design soon change, and the work of
a former generation is quickly obliterated. William III. brought with
him the fashion of Dutch gardening, and laid out Kensington Gardens in
that style. Switzer, writing twenty-five years later, says the fault of
the Dutch gardeners was “the Pleasure Gardens being stuffed too thick
with Box”; they “used it to a fault, especially in England, where we
abound in so much good Grass and Gravel.” London and Wise, very famous
nursery gardeners, who made considerable changes at Hampton Court,
and laid out the grounds of half the country seats in England, had
charge of Kensington Palace Gardens, and housed the “tender greens”
during the winter in their nurseries hard by. These celebrated Brompton
nurseries were so vast that the Kensington plants took up “but little
room in comparison with” those belonging to the firm. Queen Mary took
great interest in the new gardens. “This active Princess lost no time,
but was either measuring, directing, or ordering her Buildings, but
in Gard’ning, especially Exoticks, she was particularly skill’d, and
allowed Dr. Pluknet £200 per ann. for his Assistance therein.” After
his queen’s death William III. did no more to the gardens, but they
were completed by Queen Anne. She appointed Wise to the chief care
of the gardens, and when in 1712 rules for the “better keeping Hyde
Park in good Order” were drawn up, and people were forbidden to leap
the fences or ditches, or to ride over the grass, a special exception
was made in favour of Henry Wise. Switzer, in tracing the history of
gardening to his day (1715), praises the “late pious Queen, whose love
to Gardening was not a little,” for “Rooting up the _Box_, and giving
an _English_ Model to the old-made Gardens at _Kensington_; and in 1704
made that new garden behind the Green-House, that is esteemed amongst
the most valuable Pieces of Work that has been done any where....
The place where that beautiful Hollow now is, was a large irregular
Gravel-pit, which, according to several Designs given in, was to
have been filled, but that Mr. Wise prevailed, and has given it that
surprizing Model it now appears in. As great a Piece of Work as that
whole Ground is, ’twas near all completed in one Season, (viz.) between
Michaelmas and Lady Day, which demonstrates to what a pitch Gard’ning
is arrived within these twenty or thirty years.”
When William III. purchased Kensington Palace, the grounds covered less
than thirty acres. Under the management of Wise, in Queen Anne’s time,
more was added, and the Orangery was built in 1705. Few people know the
charms of this old building, which stands to the north of the original
garden, and which future alterations may once more bring more into
sight. As the taste for gardening changed from the shut-in gardens of
the Dutch style to the more extended plans of Wise, the garden grew
in size. Again, when Bridgeman was gardener, Queen Caroline, wife of
George II., wished to emulate the splendour of Versailles, and 300
acres were taken from Hyde Park to add to the Palace Garden. Bridgeman
made the sunk fence which is still the division between Kensington
Gardens and the Park; and with the earth which was taken out a mount
was made, on which a summer-house was erected. This stood nearly
opposite the present end of Rotten Row, and though it has long since
ceased to exist, the gate into the Gardens is still known as the Mount
Gate. Kent, who succeeded Bridgeman, continued the planting of the
avenues and laying out of the Gardens, and the greater part of his
work still remains. The Gardens were reduced in size when the road was
made from Kensington to Bayswater, and the houses along it built about
seventy years ago, and the exact size is now 274 acres. Queen Caroline
would have liked to take still more of the Parks for her private use;
but when she hinted as much to Walpole, and asked the cost, he voiced
public opinion when he replied, “Three crowns.”
[Illustration: FOUNTAINS AT THE END OF THE SERPENTINE]
The fashion of making sheets of artificial water with curves and
twists, instead of a straight, canal-like shape, was just taking the
public fancy, when Queen Caroline began the work of converting the
rather marshy ponds in Hyde Park into a “Serpentine River.” The ponds
were of considerable size, and in James I.’s time there were as many
as eleven large and small. Celia Fiennes, the young lady who kept a
diary in the time of William and Mary, which has been already quoted,
after describing the Ring, says, “The rest of the park is green, and
full of deer; there are large ponds with fish and fowle.” The work
of draining the ponds and forming a river was begun in October 1730,
under the direction of Charles Withers, Surveyor-General of the Woods
and Forests. The cost of the large undertaking was supposed to come
out of the Queen’s privy purse, and it was not until after her death
that it was found that Walpole had supplemented it out of the public
funds. The West Bourne supplied the new river with sufficient water
for some hundred years, after which new arrangements had to be made,
as the stream had become too foul. The water supply now comes from two
sources--one a well 400 feet deep at the west end of the Serpentine,
where the formal fountains and basins were made, about 1861, in front
of the building of Italian design covering the well. The sculptured
vases and balustrade with sea-horses are by John Thomas. The water
in the well stands 172 feet below the ground level, and the depth
is continually increasing. It is pumped up to the “Round Pond,” and
descends by gravity. The second supply comes from a well 28 feet deep
in the gravel on “Duck Island,” in St. James’s Park. The water, which
is 19 feet below the surface, remains constant, that level being the
same as the water-bearing stratum of the Thames valley in London.
It is pumped up to the Serpentine, and returns to the lake in St.
James’s Park, supplying the lake in the gardens of Buckingham Palace
on the way. The deep well provides about 120,000 gallons, and the
shallow about 100,000 a day. The “Round Pond”--which, by the way, is
not round--affords the greatest delight to the owners, of all ages,
of miniature yachts of all sizes. There are the large boats with
skilful masters, which sail triumphantly across the placid waters, and
there are the small craft that spend days on the weeds, or founder
amid “waves that run inches high,” like the good steamship _Puffin_
in Anstey’s amusing poem. When the weeds are cut twice every summer,
many pathetic little wrecks are raised to the surface, perchance to be
restored to the expectant owners.
Skating was an amusement in Hyde Park even before the Serpentine
existed, and the older ponds often presented a gay scene in winter,
although it was on the canal in St. James’s Park that the use of the
modern skate is first recorded in Charles II.’s time.
During the last hundred years Hyde Park has frequently been disturbed
by mobs and rioters, until it has become the recognised place in which
to air popular discontent in any form, or to ventilate any grievance.
The first serious riot took place at the funeral of Queen Caroline, in
1821. To avoid any popular demonstration of feeling, it was arranged
that the funeral procession should not pass through the City. The Queen
had died at Brandenburgh House, and was to be interred at Brunswick.
Instead of going straight by way of Knightsbridge and Piccadilly, a
circuitous route by Kensington, Bayswater, Islington, and Mile End
was planned. On reaching Kensington Church, the mob prevented the
turn towards Bayswater being taken. Hyde Park was thronged with an
excited crowd, trying to force the escort to go the way it wished.
At Cumberland Gate quite a severe encounter took place, in which the
Life Guards twice charged the mob. Further down Oxford Street were
barricades, and to avoid further rioting the procession eventually had
to take the people’s route, passing quietly down to the Strand and
through the City.
The occasion of the Reform Bill riot in 1831, when the windows were
smashed in Apsley House, is well known, and from 1855 to 1866 Hyde Park
witnessed many turbulent demonstrations. The first occasion was in July
1855 against Lord Robert Grosvenor’s “Sunday Trading Bill,” when some
150,000 people assembled, and various scenes of disturbance took place.
More or less serious riots were of frequent occurrence, until they
culminated in the Reform League riot in July 1866, when the railings
between Marble Arch and Grosvenor Gate “were entirely demolished, and
the flower-beds were ruined.” The flower-beds had not been long in
existence when they were wantonly damaged by the mob.
[Illustration: AUTUMN BEDS, HYDE PARK]
The idea of introducing flowers into the Park began about 1860, and the
long rows of beds between Stanhope Gate and Marble Arch were made about
that time, when Mr. Cowper Temple was First Commissioner of Works.
They were made when “bedding out” was at the height of its fashion,
when the one idea was to have large, glaring patches of bright flowers
as dazzling as possible, or minute and intricate patterns carried
out in carpet bedding. Now this plan has been considerably modified.
The process of alteration has been slow, and the differences in some
cases subtle, but the old stiffness and crudeness has been banished
for ever. The harmony of colours, and variety of plants used, are the
principal features in the present bedding out. It seems right that
the Royal Parks should lead the way in originality and beauty, and
undoubted success is frequently achieved, although even the style of
to-day has its opponents. The chief objection from the more practical
gardeners is the putting out of comparatively tender plants in
the summer months, when the same general effect could be got with
a less expenditure both of money and plants. But on the other hand
numbers of people come to study the beds, note the combinations, and
examine the use of certain plants which they would not otherwise have
the opportunity of testing. The public who enjoy the results, and
often those who most severely criticise, do not know the system on
which the gardening is carried out. Many are even ignorant enough to
suppose that the whole bedding out is contracted for, and few know the
hidden recesses of Hyde Park, which produces everything for all the
display, both there and in St. James’s Park. The old place in which all
necessary plants were raised was a series of green-houses and frames
in front of Kensington Palace. The erection of these pits and glass
houses completely destroyed the design of the old garden, although even
now the slope reveals the lines of the old terraces; and they entirely
obscure the beauty of the Orangery. A few years ago three acres in
the centre of Hyde Park were taken, on which to form fresh nurseries.
Gradually better ranges have been built, and soon the old unsightly
frames at Kensington will disappear. The new garden is so completely
hidden that few have discovered its whereabouts. The ground selected
lies to the north-west of the Ranger’s Lodge. There, a series of
glass houses on the most approved plan, and rows of frames, have been
erected. The unemployed have found work by excavating the ground to the
depth of some eight feet, and the gravel taken out has made the wide
walk across the Green Park and the alterations in the “Mall.” A wall
and bank of shrubs and trees so completely hides even the highest house
in which the palms--such as those outside the National Gallery--are
stored, that it is quite invisible from the outside. There are
storehouses for the bulbs, and nurseries where masses of wall-flowers,
delphiniums, and all the hardier bedding plants, and those for the
herbaceous borders, are grown. Of late years the number of beds in
the Park has been considerably reduced, without any diminution of the
effect. In 1903 as many as ninety were done away with between Grosvenor
Gate and Marble Arch. There is now a single row of long beds instead
of three rows with round ones at intervals. But even after all these
reductions the area of flower beds and borders is very considerable, as
the following table will show:--
+-----------------------------+----------------+----------------+
| | Area of Flower | Area of Flower |
| | Beds. | Borders. |
+-----------------------------+----------------+----------------+
| | Sq. Yds. | Sq. Yds. |
| Hyde Park | 1742 | 2975 |
| Kensington Gardens | 345 | 3564 |
| St. James’s Park | 30 | 2642 |
| Queen Victoria Memorial in | 1270 | ... |
| front of Buckingham Palace | | |
+-----------------------------+----------------+----------------+
| Total | 3687 | 9181 |
+-----------------------------+----------------+----------------+
An event of historic importance which took place in Hyde Park was the
Great Exhibition of 1851. Various sites, such as Battersea, Regent’s
Park, Somerset House, and Leicester Square, were suggested, and the one
chosen met with some opposition, but finally the space between Rotten
Row and Knightsbridge Barracks was decided on. Plans were submitted
for competition, and though 245 were sent in not one satisfied the
committee, so, assisted by three well-known architects, they evolved a
plan of their own. This was to be carried out in brick; the labour of
removing it after the Exhibition would have been stupendous. It was
when this plan was under consideration that Paxton showed his idea for
the building of iron and glass so well known as the Crystal Palace. It
was 1851 feet long and 408 wide, with a projection on the north 936
feet by 48, and the building covered about 19 acres.
One stipulation was made before the design was accepted, and that was
that three great elm trees growing on the site should not be removed,
but included in the building. To effect this, some alterations were
made, and the trees were successfully encased in this Crystal Palace,
and the old trunk of one of them is still standing in Hyde Park. There
is a railing round it, but no tablet to record this strange chapter in
its history. Some smaller trees were cut down, which led to a cartoon
in _Punch_ and lines on the Prince Consort, who was the prime mover in
all pertaining to the Great Exhibition.
“Albert! spare those trees,
Mind where you fix your show;
For mercy’s sake, don’t, please,
Go spoiling Rotten Row.”
The Exhibition was opened by the Queen on May 1st. The enthusiasm it
created in all sections of the population has known no parallel, and in
the success and excitement the few small elm trees were soon forgotten
by the delighted people, who raised cheers and shouted--
“Huzza for the Crystal Palace,
And the world’s great National Fair.”
Hyde Park never saw more people than during the time it was open from
the 1st of May to the 11th of October, as 6,063,986 persons visited the
Exhibition, an average of 43,000 daily. Its success was phenomenal
also from a financial point of view, as after all expenses were
deducted there was a surplus of £150,000, with which the land from the
Park to South Kensington was purchased, on which the Albert Hall and
museums have been built.
It seems to have been the complete originality of the whole structure
that captivated all beholders. In his memoirs the eighth Duke of Argyll
refers to the opening as the most beautiful spectacle he had ever seen.
“Merely,” he writes, “as a spectacle of joy and of supreme beauty,
the opening of the Great Exhibition of 1851 stands in my memory as a
thing unapproachable and alone. This supreme beauty was mainly in the
building, not in its contents, nor even in the brilliant and happy
throng that filled it. The sight was a new sensation, as if Fancy had
been suddenly unveiled. Nothing like it had ever been seen before--its
light-someness, its loftiness, its interminable vistas, its aisles and
domes of shining and brilliant colouring.”
It was with the recollection of this world-famous Exhibition fresh in
men’s minds that the site for the Albert Memorial was chosen. The idea
conceived by Sir Gilbert Scott was the reproduction on a large scale of
a mediæval shrine or reliquary. When it was erected an alteration was
made in some of the avenues in Kensington Gardens, so as to bring one
into line with the Memorial. A fresh avenue of elms and planes straight
to the monument was planted, which joined into the original one, and a
few trees were dotted about to break the old line. As first planned,
the avenue must have commanded a view of Paddington Church steeple in
the vista.
There is no better refutation of the theory that only plane trees will
live in London, than an examination of the trees in Hyde Park and
Kensington Gardens. An appendix to this volume gives a list of the
trees and shrubs which have been planted there, and notes those which
are not in existence, having proved unsuitable to London, or been
removed from some other cause. Many people will doubtless be surprised
at the length of the list. A large number of the trees are really fine
specimens, and would do credit to any park in the kingdom. Take, for
instance, some of the ash trees. There is a very fine group not very
far from the Mount Gate inside Kensington Gardens. Two specimens with
light feathery foliage, _Fraxinus lentiscifolia_ and _F. excelsior
angustifolia_, when seen like lace against the sky, are remarkably
pretty trees. Not far from them stand a good tulip tree and the last
remaining of the old Scotch firs. The Ailanthus Avenue from the
Serpentine Bridge towards Rotten Row, planted in 1876, is looking most
prosperous. There are a few magnificent ancient sweet chestnuts above
the bastion near the Magazine. The trees planted from time to time have
wisely been grouped together according to species. Near the Ranger’s
Lodge, outside the new frame-ground, some birches grow well, and their
white stems are washed every year. The collection of pavias, which
flower delightfully in the small three-cornered enclosure where the
road divides at the Magazine, are most flourishing. To the south-west
of the fountains at the end of the Serpentine, some very good Turkey
and American oaks are growing into large trees. Several really old
thorns are dotted about. In a walk from the “Round Pond,” by the stone
which marks the boundary of three parishes, towards Bayswater, grand
specimens of oak, ash, lime, elm, sweet and horse-chestnuts are met
with. The avenue of horse-chestnuts is just as flourishing as those
of planes or elms. In fact the whole Park shows how well trees will
succeed if sufficient care is taken of them. One feature of the Park in
old days was the Walnut Avenue, which grew nearly on the lines of the
present trees between Grosvenor Gate and the Achilles Statue. They were
decayed and were cut down in 1811, and the best of the wood was used
for gunstocks for the army. It is a pity no walnut avenue was planted
instead, as by now it would have been a fine shady walk. The old elms,
which are of such great beauty in Hyde Park, have, alas! often to be
sacrificed for the safety of passers-by, so that the recent severe
lopping was necessary. Their great branches are the first to fall in
a gale. Yet when one has to be removed there is an outcry, though
people tamely submit to a whole row of trees being ruined by tram lines
along the Embankment, so inconsistent is public opinion. It is almost
incredible what narrow escapes from destruction even the beauty of Hyde
Park has had. In 1884 a Metropolitan and Parks Railway Bill was before
Parliament, which actually proposed to cross the Park by tunnels and
cuttings which would have completely disfigured “The Dell” and other
parts of the Park. In this utilitarian age nothing is sacred.
The Dell had not been ten years in its present form when the proposal
was made. The site of the Dell was a receiving lake, about 200 yards
by 70, which had been made in 1734. This was done away with in 1844,
and the overflow of the Serpentine allowed to pass over the artificial
rocks which still remain. It was enveloped in a dark and dirty
shrubbery, the haunt of all the ruffians and the worst characters who
frequented the Park at night. The place was not safe to pass after
dark, neither had it any beauty to recommend it. It was in this state
when the present Lord Redesdale became Secretary of the Office of
Works in 1874. He conceived the idea of turning it into a sub-tropical
garden, designed the banks of the little stream, and introduced
suitable planting, banishing the old shrubs, and merely using the best
to form a background to the spireas, iris, giant coltsfoot, osmundas,
day lilies, and such-like, which adorned the water’s edge in front. The
dark history of the Dell is quite forgotten, and watching the ducks and
rabbits playing about this pretty spot is one of the chief delights of
Hyde Park.
The monolith which stands near was brought from Liskeard in Cornwall
by Mr. Cowper Temple, when First Commissioner of Works, and set up in
its present place as a drinking-fountain in 1862. In 1887 the water was
cut off it, the railings altered, and the turf laid round it, joining
it on to the rest of the Dell. To Lord Redesdale are due also the
rhododendrons which make such a glorious show on either side of Rotten
Row. He contracted with Messrs. Anthony Waterer for a yearly supply, as
they only look their best for a short time exposed to London air. In
his time, too, many of the small flower-beds which were dotted about
without much rhyme or reason were done away with, and the borders at
the edge of the shrubs substituted.
The latest addition to Hyde Park is the fountain presented by Sir
Walter Palmer and put up near the end of the “Row” in 1906. The
sculpture and design are the work of Countess Feodore Gleichen. The
graceful figure of Artemis, with bow and arrow, and the supporting
cariatides, are of bronze, the upper basin of Saravezza marble, and the
lower of Tecovertino stone. The whole is most light and elegant, and
shows up well against the dark trees.
[Illustration: FOUNTAIN BY COUNTESS FEODOR GLEICHEN, HYDE PARK]
It has only been possible to glance at the history and beauties of
Hyde Park; many more pages could be written without touching on half
of the incidents connected with it, between the days when it was
monastic lands to the days of the modern Sunday “Church Parade.” It
is interesting to trace the origin of the little customs with which
every one is now familiar, but which once were new and original. For
instance, the naming of trees and flowers in the Parks was first done
about 1842, the idea having been suggested by Loudon, and carried out
by Nash the architect, and George Don the botanist. Then the system
of paying a penny for a seat began in 1820, but when some of the free
seats were removed in 1859 there was a great outcry, and they were
immediately put back. Then the meets of the Four-in-hand and Coaching
Clubs, which are quite an institution in Hyde Park, only continue the
tradition of the “Whip Club,” which first met in 1808. The history of
the various gates calls for notice. The Marble Arch, designed by Nash,
with ornaments by Flaxman, Westmacott, and Rossi, in Carrara marble,
was moved from Buckingham Palace to its present position in 1851.
Over £4000 was expended on the removal, while the original sum spent
was £75,000. The statue of George IV. by Chantrey, now in Pall Mall
East, was intended for the top, and cost 9000 guineas, and the bronze
gates are by Samuel Parker. Near that corner of the Park was a stone
where soldiers were shot, and one of the historians of the Park
states that it is still there, only covered over with earth when the
new Cumberland Gate was made in 1822. Apsley Gate at Hyde Park Corner
was designed by Decimus Burton, and put up in 1827, and he planned the
arch forming the entrance to Constitution Hill the following year. The
stags, by Bartolozzi, on Albert Gate, came from the Ranger’s Lodge in
Green Park. Grosvenor Gate was opened about 1724, and Stanhope Gate
some twenty-five years later. All the others are more modern.
Those who wish to pursue the subject further will find such details
more or less accessible in various guide-books. But to every one the
Park, with all its charms, its beauties, and its memories, is open,
and it is certain that the better it is known the more it will be
appreciated.