Vauxhall Gardens: A Chapter in the Social History of England 9780231899185

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ady Caroline stewed over a l a m p with three parts of butter and a flagon of water, stirring, and rattling, and laughing, and we every m i n u t e expecting to have the dish fly about our ears." Most of the visitors were, of course, content to take 2 Jenny's W h i m , formerly on the site of St. George's R o w , near Ebury Bridge, was a tavern and pleasure garden popular in the eighteenth century. People of rank and fashion occasionally visited it, but a writer in the Connoisseur, when comparing it in 1755 with Ranelagh and Vauxhall, described it as a resort of "the lower order of people." For a more detailed description see Wroth's The London Pleasure Gardens, pp. 222-224.

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the edibles provided by the management, but to be considered really elegant much ostentation was necessary in the preparation for supper. It is no wonder, then, that with the disturbance inevitably following such preparations, the vocalists had to be powerful of voice to be heard at all. Lydia Melford told Miss Laetetia Willis that on the evening she visited Vauxhall she had the happiness to hear the celebrated Mrs. whose voice was so loud and so shrill that it made her head ache through excess of pleasure. But to return to Lady Petersham. She had brought Betty, the fruit girl, with hampers of strawberries and cherries from Rogers's, and made her wait upon her guests, afterwards having her sup near-by at a little table. Walpole assures us that the conversation was no less lively than the whole transaction. Walpole lacked Boswell's genius at recreating the background for reported conversation, and a fragment of the repartee of 150 years ago is as cold as if someone had spoiled the story, as "the Pollard" said might be done, if when repeating it " I won't, you Jade!" had been substituted for " I won't, you Hussey!" But lest the reader feel deprived, here is the anecdote which moved Walpole to remark "You may imagine the laugh this reply occasioned!" "There was a Mr. O'Brien arrived from Ireland, who would get the Duchess of Manchester from Mr. Hussey, if she were still at liberty. I took up the biggest hautboy in the dish, and said to Lady Caroline, 'Madame, Miss Ashe desires you will eat this O'Brien strawberry;' she replied immediately, 'I won't, you hussey!' " Whether or not we appreciate such obvious punning, Lady Petersham and her guests did, and the whole air of the party "was sufficient . . . to take up the whole attention of the garden; so much so that from

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eleven o'clock till half an hour after one" they had the whole concourse round their booth; and at last, continues Walpole, "they came into the little gardens of each booth on the sides of ours, till Harry Vane took up a bumper and drank their healths, and was proceeding to treat them with still greater freedom. It was three o'clock before we got home." When the Prince of Wales visited the gardens, his practice was to walk about them with the lords and ladies attending him, later retiring to the pavilion for supper and dancing. The King of Denmark on his visit to London in 1768 did likewise. Attended by the Prince of Saxe-Gotha, Lady Harrington, and several other ladies and gentlemen of distinction, he walked round the gardens, during which time the orchestra returned from the rotunda and played for him; the cascade was played off again for his entertainment, after which his Majesty came up to the orchestra and heard a fine piece of music by the celebrated performer upon the hautboy, and a trio by Mrs. Pinto, Mrs. Weichsell, and Mr. Vernon. Afterwards he supped in the great room behind the pavilion, where the band of music played during his stay. The annals of Vauxhall also contain some accounts, as an eighteenth-century writer might say, of the gentler emotions. They range from the purest to the most blatant. In the love letters of Mary Hays and Mr. Eccles much tenderness of sentiment is interspersed with not a little of the sententiousness of a prig. Mr. Eccles informed Mary that he purposed joining the navy. The unwelcome news awakened pleasant memories of their visits to the gardens. With a sigh she wrote him: "I shall never walk in the grove (as I used to call it), without

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f e e l i n g a p a i n f u l sensation—a

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remembrances

w i l l recur—each object will r e m i n d me of past conversations—conversations that will never r e t u r n — o u r V a u x h a l l , o u r G r e e n w i c h scheme all g o n e — a n d like the baseless f a b r i c of a vision, leaves not a wrack b e h i n d . " Days passed, the time f o r parting drew

near;

they

p l a n n e d one more visit to V a u x h a l l . One can see M r . Eccles biting his truant pen in his search f o r the right phrase a n d picturing to himself his lot as a hard one, as he wrote in anticipation of their last night together at the gardens. Though oppressed with adverse fortune [he began (August 1 1 , 1779)], I promise myself much pleasure on Saturday; I shall endeavor to please the company as far as it is in my power; cheerfulness will contribute as much to that, as any quality whatever,—and in your company why should I not be cheerful, even now? T h e evening is appointed for pleasure, to pleasure then let it be consigned. I would not wish either Mr. or Mrs. -—— should see any difference in me; let me then forget myself. Besides, if pleasure is ever to fall to my lot, it must, it shall be with you, or it is only a name. T h e evening arrived and passed. T h e f o l l o w i n g m o r n i n g M r . Eccles wrote his reflections on what they had seen. M a n y a pleasant evening is spoiled by the reflections of the m o r n i n g after. M r . Eccles's musings were, to say the least, sententious. How few amongst the gay whom we last night saw [he wrote] can this morning reflect with the pleasure of a rational being on the different characters they exhibited! In such a motley collection we may suppose every virtue as well as every vice to have made a part.—Virtue in public places is not so conspicuous as her opposite, consequently it is less in our power to learn to practice virtue, than to shun the snares of vice there. Those who go with minds open to instruction, unbiased, and capable of discernment, may find improvement as well as amusement; others at best can only be amused. . . .

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Yet these kinds of entertainments much of our attention; we ought, time, without letting them disturb wards; for this reason, to frequent as it begets an inclination which is anxiety.

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ought not to engross too I think, to enjoy for the us either before or afterthem is generally hurtful, often attended with much

M a r y was i n l o v e , saw o n l y the b e a u t y of a n o b l e soul i n the f o r e g o i n g c o m m e n t s , a n d a n s w e r e d in all sincerity: Your reflections on our Saturday night's amusement pleased m e , — m y heart assented to the justice of them; the pleasure that arises from those scenes of gaiety and dissipation is not really satisfying; it is an intoxication of the senses. T h e music, the lights, and the succession of objects that passed before us kept the spirits in a giddiness and agitation that cannot please on reflection,—" 'twas worse, 'twas madness." How different were the sensations I experienced when I came home to those I have often felt after returning from an evening walk,—the shades, the fields, the stillness, and perhaps the society of an amiable friend diffused a delightful serenity through my mind, which the gay and dissipated never felt, and which soothes the soul to peace and harmony. F o r t u n a t e l y f o r us the spirit of festivity created b y t h e crowds, " f o u r t e e n t h o u s a n d a d d i t i o n a l lights," and music had a d i f f e r e n t effect o n s o m e of the o t h e r susceptible visitors. Class d i s t i n c t i o n s w e r e f o r g o t t e n w h e n there was n o n e e d f o r t h e m to b e r e m e m b e r e d , a n d accepted

part

of

the

evening's

flirtations

were an

entertainment.

Young

bloods strolled a b o u t s c r u t i n i z i n g a n d staring the ladies o u t of c o u n t e n a n c e — n o t always, h o w e v e r , w i t h o u t disastrous results, as w e shall l a t e r see in the case of the V a u x hall affray. If, as o f t e n h a p p e n e d , a y o u n g m a n was so u n f o r t u n a t e as to fall i n love w i t h a n u n k n o w n beauty a c c o m p a n i e d by o t h e r y o u n g m e n , the case was difficult. A c u r i o u s notice a p p e a r e d i n t h e Daily

Advertiser

for A u g u s t ,

1750,

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as the outcome of such a predicament. T h e admirer in this case, having n o means of formally meeting the vision that had entranced him, did not intend to let such a trifle stand in his way. H e would advertise his honorable designs in the hope of success 1 T h e notice was as follows: A young lady who was at Vauxhall on Thursday night last in company with two gentlemen could not but observe a young gentleman in blue and a gold-laced hat who, being near her by the orchestra during the performance, especially the last song, gazed upon her with the utmost attention. He earnestly hopes (if unmarried) she will favor him with a line directed to A.D. at the bar of the Temple-Exchange Coffeehouse, Temple Bar, to inform him whether fortune, family, and character may not entitle him, upon a further knowledge, to hope an interest in her heart. He begs she will pardon the method he has taken to let her know the situation of his mind, as, being a stranger, he despaired of doing it any other way, or even of seeing her more. As his views are founded upon the most honorable principles, he presumes to hope the occasion will justify it if she generously breaks through this trifling formality of the sex rather than by a cruel silence render unhappy one who must ever expect to continue so if debarred from a nearer acquaintance with her in whose power alone it is to complete his felicity. I regret that I cannot add that the young lady, whose virtues must have been very great to excite such a heartb u r n i n g passion at sight, did break through the trifling formality of the sex, did grant her admirer an interview, and was eventually led to the altar by him. But the chronicles of Vauxhall are redolent with similar incidents, although none quite so naive as this one. W h e n the admirer happened to be a poet—and a young susceptible poet like J o h n Keats—the effect was different, and found expression not in an advertisement in a paper, b u t in the Sonnet to a Lady Seen for a Few Moments at Vauxhall:

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Time's sea hath been five years at its slow ebb, Long hours have to and fro let creep the sand, Since I was tangled in thy beauty's web, And snared by the ungloving of thine hand. And yet I never look on midnight sky, But I behold thine eyes' well memory'd light; I cannot look upon the rose's dye, But to thy cheek my soul doth take its flight. I cannot look on any budding flower. But my fond ear, in fancy at thy lips And hearkening for a love-sound, doth devour Its sweets in the wrong sense:—Thou dost eclipse Every delight with sweet remembering, And grief unto my darling joys dost bring. Or if the young man were like Pendennis, who said to himself when sitting in the dark with Fanny Bolton in the fireworks gallery after the pyrotechnic display had ended: " I will not play with this girl's heart and forget my own or her honor," because she did have " a great deal of dangerous and rather contagious sensibility," then there never would have been any reason for the yearly complaints against the gardens when the managers sought the renewal of their license. But conditions were not that way, and Fanny Burney did not have to tax the credulity of her readers when she laid one incident in the dark walks. In fact, the dark walks always appealed to the reporters. In 1753 the notice of the opening of the gardens contained such an allusion, hinting that a certain citizen took his mistress into that part of the gardens in order to break his mind to her, but that heart failed him and he could only muster up courage enough to say that it was a fine place for lovers to walk. A year later—doubtless a stock allusion—"private advice from the bye-walk" gave it out "that the celebrated prude Leonora was observed tête-à-tête with that exhausted Rake ——-."

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Sir Roger, we remember, when leaving the gardens advised the master to have more nightingales and fewer wenches. Tyers was able for a time to follow Sir Roger's suggestion by placing guards to prevent the prostitution of those pleasant groves. Such an innocent state could not long endure, and a writer in the London Chronicle (June 7-9, 1759) lamented that the songs of the nightingales in those dark recesses of the grove had given way to shrieks and midnight hallooing, surpassing the imagined horrors of Cavalcanti's bloodhounds—to say nothing of sights unholy. He claimed that a few nights previous "a lady with her daughters was attacked so rudely by a set of wild ruffians, that the mother, seeing her children torn from her, and forced into the thickest of the wood, and there treated with the greatest indecency, fell into a fit, and it is said is not yet recovered from the illness which this fright and vile treatment occasioned.—Surely if the male accomplices of this villainous action (be they who they will)," he continued, "are suffered to go on, Spring Gardens will return to its former disreputation." Evelina's experiences at the gardens were neither so bad as the foregoing nor were they as idyllic as those of Mary Hays. When her party had finished supper, the Branghton sisters took Miss Burney's unsuspecting heroine into the dark walks. "By the time we came near the end," Evelina wrote afterwards, "a large party of gentlemen, apparently very riotous, and who were hallooing, leaning on one another, and laughing immoderately, seemed to rush suddenly from behind some trees, and, meeting us face to face, put their arms at their sides, and formed a kind of circle, which first stopped our proceeding, and then retreating, for we were presently entirely

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enclosed. T h e Miss Branghtons screamed aloud, and I was frightened exceedingly." Many will recall how Evelina disengaged herself, ran up the walk only to encounter another party of men, from whom she was saved by Sir Willoughby, who, thinking the worst of a young girl alone in the walk and willing to profit thereby, led her into another dark lane until Evelina, now thoroughly alarmed, cried, "Good God! where am I?—What way are you going?" and Sir Willoughby's reply, "Where we shall be least observed." Miss Burney did not have to fabricate this scene out of whole cloth. Similar incidents were constantly reported in the daily papers. But the results were often different. One Friday evening (July 26, 1762) as several persons of character were innocently entertaining their wives and relatives, three young persons, well-dressed, attempted to carry off by force a young gentlewoman in their company; but instead of gaining their point, each received a severe chastisement for his rude behavior. In 1764 Mr. Tyers very prudently shut up the dark walks, in order to prevent the recurrence of the indecency so much complained of during the preceding season. T h i s was little more than an invitation for a display of rowdyism. On May 21 about fifty young fellows tore up the railing he had placed there and did other damage. T h e only alternative was the lighting of the secluded walks, a step not taken until the managers were forced to do so by the council. T h e quality of patronage had declined. Many will recall that Becky Sharp and Joseph Sedley went for a solitary walk, where they were anticipated by not above five score more couples similarly straying.

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T h e thing that surprised Carl Moritz when he supped in one of the small boxes with Mr. Splittgerber, the secretary of the Prussian ambassador, and a few other gentlemen from Berlin, was the boldness of the women of the town, who, along with their pimps, often rushed in upon them by half dozens, and in the most shameless manner importuned them for wine for themselves and their followers. T h e gentlemen thought it either unwise, unkind, or unsafe to refuse them so small a boon altogether. Humorous complaints were made against these women. One newspaper (August 12, 1801), remarking that inasmuch as it seemed to be their practice to enter soon after twelve, advocated the need of some radical reform respecting women of this description frequenting places that swarmed with boys and young men, as well as because of the consequent disturbance of the peace and tranquillity of the neighborhood. Mr. Tibbs, the second-rate beau, whose one ambition was to be thought genteel, also animadverted on the women. "As for virgins," he said, "it is true they are a fruit that do not much abound in our gardens here; but if ladies, as plenty as apples in autumn, and as complying as any Houri of them all, can content you, I fancy we have no need to go to heaven for Paradise." From year to year objections on the score of morality were made to the magistrates. From the foregoing there is sufficient evidence that these objections were not illfounded. In 1808, however, a visitor again announced that the judicious arrangements adopted by the proprietors rendered void all such complaints. T h e disturbance of Vauxhall that reverberated the loudest and longest was the episode, or series of episodes

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really, that came to be known as the Vauxhall Affray. Horace Walpole mentioned the incident, but was inaccurate in the details. On August 24, 1773, he wrote: "We hear a duel was fought yesterday morning between Mr. F[itzgerald], lately concerned in the idle affair at Vauxhall, and Captain S[cawen] of the Guards, in consequence of the latter reflecting on the behavior of the former. Mr. F was shot through the hat, and, as we are informed, the captain slightly wounded in the hand, on which the seconds interfered and the matter subsided." T h e shot through Fitzgerald's hat was a pure fabrication, and Mr. Scawen was not injured. The facts of the case were as follows: In July the Rev. M. H. Bate was at Vauxhall, where he joined Mrs. Hartley, the actress, and others of her party. During the course of the evening's entertainment Captain Croftes, Lord Lyttleton, George Robert Fitzgerald, Esq. (nephew of the Earl of Bristol), and others in their party by most impudently staring at Mrs. Hartley rendered her situation very uncomfortable; whereby Mr. Bate very justifiably reprimanded them for their ungentlemanly behavior. A scuffle, a quarrel, and finally a challenge passed between Mr. Bate and Captain Croftes. The next day they met at a tavern and happily adjusted the matter. Just then Mr. Fitzgerald rushed into the room demanding satisfaction for his friend Mr. Miles, who, he declared, had been grossly insulted by Mr. Bate. Although Mr. Bate declared that he had never seen Mr. Miles, the latter was firm in his challenge and demanded satisfaction by a boxing match. Mr. Bate urged in vain that the vulgarity of the satisfaction demanded would not permit him to give it him, since he never boxed with a gentleman.

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Miles was obdurate. T h e n , in order to prevent Lyttleton, Croftes, and Fitzgerald from enjoying the shadow of a triumph, Bate consented. In fifteen minutes he had beaten Miles in such a manner that the latter was unable to see his way home. Shortly afterwards Mr. Bate discovered that the so-called Mr. Miles was no other than Mr. Fitzgerald's footman, who, having the reputation of being an "expert bruiser," had been dressed u p for the purpose of thrashing the "parson" soundly. Mr. Bate, discovering the hoax that had been played upon him, published a narrative of the whole transaction in the Morning Post. Mr. Bate's account evoked a series of letters in which the behavior of the Messrs. Lyttleton, Croftes, and Fitzgerald was treated with great and deserved severity. Captain Scawen treated Fitzgerald's character so severely that a duel ensued between them. They settled the matter without accident. R u m o r has it that Captain Croftes was forced to resign his commission as a consequence of this unwished for b u t wellearned notoriety. 3 On another evening six or eight dashing bucks from the east of T e m p l e Bar, so we are told by several different reporters, went to Vauxhall possessed of the laudable ambition of rivaling their West-End contemporaries; for this purpose they determined to make a row, and, to bring themselves into notice, insulted every person who did not give way to them. Among others they ran down a young lady under the protection of her father. T h e peace officers were called, but the first who approached the young bucks 3 T h e letters, papers, squibs, and all matter published on both sides were gathered together and published at one shilling sixpence. An appendix—called the Macaroni Sacrifice—was later published at one shilling. Several editions of b o t h were called for.

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soon measured his length on the ground. Another officer arrived and soon one of the young ones took his place on the ground near the first officer. In due time the whole party was arrested and conducted to the cage, where they had time to reflect on the proper conduct for a gentleman. Since the young men were of good families, the magistrates took no cognizance of the affair when the culprits were brought before them. A similar disturbance occurred on J u n e 25, 1787. Mendoza, "the noted J e w bruiser," scoured the gardens with a large party behaving with much insolence. Some gentlemen very spiritedly interfered, and the "impertinent Israelite" with his companions was taken into custody. Visitors not infrequently took precautions against just such rowdyism as the foregoing. Henry Angelo tells an anecdote about Lord Barrymore that illustrates one of the preventive measures adopted. One evening Lord Barrymore invited a party of friends to go with him to Vauxhall. Not long after their arrival he called to a young clergyman who was at some distance from him. When the clergyman approached, he was asked if he had had any supper. "Vy, as how, my Lord, I have not as yet had none." A passing waiter was told by his lordship to feed the clergyman at his expense, and he then told him to fall to and drink as much arrack punch as he pleased. " T h a n k ye, my Lord," he said, " f o r I begins to be hungry and I don't care how soon I pecks a bit." Lord Barrymore then revealed to his guests that the man was no other than Hooper, the pugilist, who in clergyman's attire—black clothes, formal hat, powdered and curled hair—took the place of a lacquey and was constantly in attendance behind the carriage.

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Hooper followed Lord Barrymore's instructions relative to the drink. The difficulty lay in the fact that as much as he pleased was much more than he could stand. T h e arrack had an insidious effect. Suddenly the whole garden was in confusion. Everybody ran toward the orchestra. Too much punch had aroused the pugilist's fistic propensities, and he was trying to fight everyone. A large ring formed. He advanced in a boxing attitude, threatening to fight anyone; but all retired before him. A tall handsome Irishman seized Hooper by the collar and told him that unless he left the gardens immediately he would kick him out. The crowd, seeing Hooper safe in hand, became courageous, approached nearer, and cried "Kick him out." Hooper beat a very hasty retreat. When the party left at five in the morning, he was found behind Lord Barrymore's carriage wearing the coachman's greatcoat. On still another evening (1778) some bloods from the box in which they were sitting threw a glass at some company passing by. The glass struck a married lady on the head and "broke all to pieces." Fortunately for the lady, her hair was dressed "pretty high," and she was unharmed. How vastly amusing the bloods must have thought themselves! In 1788 party politics were at a high pitch. Although brawls and skirmishes constantly occurred between the different factions, the proprietors of Vauxhall prevented these political disturbances in the gardens by requesting that the company would not wear their party cockades. The uninterrupted canvass being carried on hurt the attendance, because the many who, from a knowledge that party differences were forgotten there, "occasionally went

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with their families to unbend, could not equal those who allowed no interval to their exertions." One quixotic visitor deserves mention. In 1825 a man who called himself the Aerial made his first public appearance at Vauxhall. He seems to have been filled with the idea of his more-than-earthly physical perfection. Among various of his practices was his habit of calling upon eminent professional men, surgeons and artists, and offering them permission for their several purposes to study his body as a model of perfection. The Times (July 2) thus described his actions: An individual in a splendid dress of Spanish costume has excited much attention at Vauxhall Gardens. Having walked or raiher skipped around the promenade with a great air of consequence, saluting the company as he passed along, he at length mingled amongst the audience in the front of the orchestra and distributed a number of cards on each which was vritten: "The Aerial challenges the whole world to find a man that can in any way compete with him as such." After having served about three or four hundred of these challenges he dirted off like lightning, taking the whole circuit of the gardens in his career, and made his exit through the general entrance into the road, where a carriage was in waiting for him, into which he sprang and was driven off. Among other frequenters of the gardens were the eccentric Sir Henry Bate Dudley and (toward the close of the eighteenth century) Sir John Dinely, Bart., well-known for his matrimonial advertisements. Sir John's habit was to attend two or three times a season, when he would parade up and down the most public parts. Whenever it was known that he was coming, the ladies flocked in shoals to the gardens. He wore his wig fastened in a curious manner by a piece of stay-tape under his chin and was always dressed in a cloak with long flowing folds and a

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broad hat which looked as if it had started out of a picture by Vandyke. In spite, however, of his persistent efforts to gain a rich wife by advertising, he died a bachelor, in 1808, an inmate of the poor knights' quarters in Windsor Castle. How could any fair one resist his advertisements, such as the following from the Ipswich Journal (August 21, 1802): To the angelic fair of the true English breed, Worthy notice. Sir John Dinely, of Windsor Castle, recommends himself and his ample fortune to any angelic beauty of a good breed, fit to become and willing to be the mother of a noble heir, and keep up the name of an ancient family ennobled by deed of arms and ancestral renown. Ladies at a certain period of life need not apply. Fortune favors the bold. Such ladies as this advertisement may induce to apply or send their agents (but no servants or matrons) may direct to me at the Castle, Windsor. Happiness and pleasure are agreeable objects, and should be regarded as well as honor. The lady who shall thus become my wife will be a baroness, and rank accordingly as Lady Dinely, of Windsor. Goodwill and favor to all ladies of Great Britain! pull no caps on his account, but favor him with your smiles, and palaces of pleasure await your steps. Sir John's ample fortune was pure moonshine. Pickpockets frequented the gardens, of course, because in what heterogeneous crowd are they not? But the management did what it could to prevent their activities. T w o gentlemen of the profession who despaired of getting into the gardens by the regular means of entrance—being too well-known—were apprehended when climbing over the pales of the gardens. It seems strange that some of them should be satisfied with handkerchiefs alone. That species of thievery lies more within the province of Old Fagan's pupils. One man, however, genteelly dressed and wearing a gold-laced waistcoat, upon being searched when caught

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picking a gentleman's pocket, was found to have several handkerchiefs upon him. For this he was committed to Bridewell. One Henry Herring, who picked the pocket of the Earl of Norman ton, was put on board the convict ship at Portsmouth; whereas a clergyman, George Woodward, for a similar offense, went free because the court decided he was laboring under mental derangement. One Tuesday during the summer of 1790 a beautiful young woman about twenty years of age and elegantly dressed was seen going to Vauxhall in the company of an officer much older than herself. The following morning she was found murdered in a ditch at the back of the Black Prince, in Vauxhall Road. The body was rifled of all its ornaments, consisting of gold earrings, neck chain, watch, and other valuables. The coachman was traced and taken into custody. The young woman's identity was unknown, and, read the notice, "she lies to be owned at the Black Prince public-house." Other annoyances were also frequent. A gentleman who signed himself " B . K . " (August 29, 1780) complained in an open letter that one night he was in the gardens with a large party, and, as they were accidentally walking near the orchestra, "a fat, greasy Jew-looking fellow of a fiddler" threw the remnants of a lobster over the balustrade on the heads of some of the ladies of the party. T h e gentleman said: "Sir, you should not do so." "You might have stood out of the way," was the retort. It was during the cascade and the gentleman threatened to go up into the orchestra and chastise the offender but was finally dissuaded from doing so. A young boy I once knew, who was trying to earn a prize by selling tickets to a concert, was told: "What! a

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dollar for a ticket to a concertl Why I can get a good dinner for a dollar!" T h e psychology of the woman making that statement, combined with an observation made by Ferenc Molnar through one of his characters that an audience always loves to see actors eat, accounts for the following detailed treatment of the Vauxhall suppers. Lady Petersham spared no expense the evening she entertained at the gardens. She could afford not to be concerned with prices. Nor was Joseph Sedley mindful of them many years later when he took Becky Sharp there, and honest William Dobbin was so attentive to Amelia. All went well; the two couples were happy in their box, and Joseph, especially, was in his glory "ordering about the waiters with great majesty. He made the salad; and uncorked the champagne; and carved the chicken; and ate and drank the greater part of the refreshments on the table." Later, he mixed the punch which he alone drank; became boisterous, noisy, attracted scores of listeners to his box, and caused a general commotion until Dobbin got the party out of the gardens. T h e punch of Vauxhall was famous for its potency; so famous, in fact, that George Cruikshank did not scruple to let a charming correspondent suggest it to her dearest friend as a means of enticing her cousin to a party she was giving. T h e letter, in verse, from the Comic Almanack, 1835, is its own justification for insertion at this point: Dear Jane, will you go to Vauxhall? We want just to make up a dozen; Papa will stand treat for us all, And, be sure, give a hint to your cousin. There's something so charming about him, (I've got a new bonnet and shawl)—

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I should be quite unhappy without him, And careless of even Vauxhall. My confession you'll never betray, For I'm sure you can manage it all; When you ask him, don't tell what I say, But speak of the charms of Vauxhall. You can talk of the songs and the singers. T h e orchestra, ballet, and ball; I shall think that time spitefully lingers, Till when we all meet at Vauxhall. Say, there's Simpson the brave, who commanded Our troops in the year forty-five; Who killed Count de Grasse single-handed, And took the French army alive. And remember the lamps,—how they've clustered By thousands and thousands of dozens; And then the dark walks—how I'm fluster'd, T o think of your dearest cousins. You can talk of the fireworks so gay, And just mention the ham and the chicken— We'll contrive to get out of the way. While papa makes an end of his picking. I should grieve to think drinking could charm him, But ere all my project should fall; If nothing in nature can warm him, Then speak of the punch at Vauxhall. If all that you say don't avail, I must die with vexation and anguish; But I'm sure that your friendship won't fail Your affectionate, Lydia Languish.

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T o the majority of visitors the prices were high, if not exorbitant. A shilling for a dish of ham was an excessive price to pay, especially if we consider the thinness of the slices—a thinness which became proverbial. Throughout the century references to the ham were numerous. One carver was reputed to be so efficient that he could cover the entire surface of the gardens with one ham. W e are not told that he regularly sacrificed hecatombs to Dido, his patron goddess. A story that first appeared in the Connoisseur (1775) about the muslin slices was often reprinted. T h e chief characters were Mr. Rose, his w i f e — a woman somewhat after the fashion of Mrs. T i b b s — a n d his two daughters. T h e women, having looked forward with the greatest enthusiasm and expectation to their visit to the gardens, were determined that everything should be done in a genteel and generous manner, regardless of cost. Much to their chagrin Mr. Rose insisted upon remarking about the food. T h e following conversation took place at supper: " D o let us have a chick, papa," said one of the misses with affected casualness. "Zounds!" exclaimed the father scrutinizing the menu, and turning to look at the collation at the next booth, "they are half-a-crown a piece and no bigger than a sparrow." "You are so stingy, Mr. Rose," said his wife irately, "there is no bearing you. When one is out upon pleasure I love to appear like somebody; and what signifies a few shillings once and always when a body is about it?" Mr. Rose, effectively silenced, ordered a chicken and a dish of ham. When it arrived he could not refrain from twirling the dish about, surveying it the while. T h e n tak-

VAUXHALL

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ing up a slice of ham and dangling it to and fro on the end of his fork, he asked the waiter how much there was of it. " A shilling's worth, Sir." "Prithee," continued the father, "how much dost think it weighs?—An ounce?—A shilling an ounce! T h a t is sixteen shilling per poundl a reasonable profit truly!—Let me see—suppose now the whole ham weighs thirty pounds:—at a shilling per ounce, that is sixteen shillings per pound. Why your master makes exactly twenty-four pounds of every ham; and if he buys them at the best hand, and salts them and cures them himself, they don't stand him in ten shillings a piece!" T h e old lady bade him hold his nonsense, declared herself ashamed for him, and asked him if people must not live; then taking a colored handkerchief from her own neck, she tucked it into his shirt-collar, whence it hung like a bib, and helped him to a leg of the chicken. T h e old gentleman at every bite he put in his mouth, amused himself with saying,—"there goes two-pence,—there goes three-pence,—there goes a groat.—Zoundsl a man at these places should not have a swallow so wide as a tom tit." T h e foregoing repast soon dispatched, the old don was prevailed upon to order a dish of beef. This was no less admired and suffered the same comments as the ham; at length when only a very small bit was left, he took a piece of old newspaper from his pocket, gravely wrapped the meat in it, and placed it carefully in his letter-case. "I'll keep this as a curiosity to my dying day; and I'll show thee to my neighbor Horseman and ask him if he can make as much of his steaks." T h e n rubbing his hands and shrugging up his shoulders—"Why now," he said,

136

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"To-morrow night I may eat as much cold beef as I can stuff in any tavern in London, and pay nothing for it." A dish of tarts, cheese-cakes, and custards then appeared at the request of the young ladies who paid no regard whatever to their father's remonstrance "that they were four times as dear as at the pastry-cook's." Supper being ended, madam reminded her husband to order wine. " W e must have some wine, my dear," she said, "or we shall not be looked upon you know." "Well," answered her husband, "that's right enough. But do they sell their liquor too by the ounce?" When asked about the wines the waiter suggested a French vintage. " W o u l d your honor," he asked, "have a bottle of champagne, or burgundy, or claret, or " "No, no, none of your wishy-washy outlandish rot-gut for me," he interrupted. " A tankard of the Alderman beats all the red claret wine in the French king's cellar.— But come, bring us a bottle of sound old port; and d'ye hear, let it be good." While the waiter was gone the old don lamented that he could not smoke his pipe which his wife would by no means allow, "because," she said, "it was ungenteel to smoke where there were any ladies in company." W h e n the wine came the don gravely took up the bottle, and held it above his head. "Aye, aye," he said, "the bottom has had a good k i c k — and mind how confoundly it is warped on the sides.—Not above five gills, I warrant.—But let us see how it is brew'd." After two bumpers he pronounced it drinkable, and the ladies too affirmed that it was very good. T h e bottle finished, the old gentleman of his own free will

VAUXHALL

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called for another pint, but charged the waiter "to pick out an honest one." W h e n the reckoning came only Mrs. Rose had the hardiness to squint at the sum total, and declared that "it was pretty reasonable considering." A t length when Mr. Rose had carefully summed up every figure, he bade the waiter bring him change for sixpence: then pulling out a leathern purse from an inside pocket, he counted out slowly, one by one, thirteen shillings which he arranged in two rows upon the table. W h e n the change was brought, after counting it very carefully, he laid down four half-pence in the same exact order; then calling the waiter,—"there," he said, "there's your damage—thirteen and two-pence. And hearkye, there's three-pence over for yourself." T h e remaining penny he put into his coat pocket—"this," he said, "will serve me to-morrow to buy a paper of tobacco." Mr. Rose, we have seen, found the chickens "no bigger than a sparrow." T h i s was not an unusual complaint. In the Vauxhall Papers, edited by Alfred Crowquill, there is the following animadversion upon them: A chicken at best, is not a big bird— Id est—if it's bought at Vauxhall; Because, notwithstanding whatever you've heard, They run there remarkably smalll But as, in that spot of romantic fame, They all of them know how to charge, It must not be forgot, that the bill for the same Is always remarkably large! Moral So let people imagine whatever they will, One fact the attention must strike,

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That the size of the bird, and the size of the bill Are certainly very unlikel T h e most cruel allusion to the Vauxhall chickens is one that doubted their very reality. T h e carving knife, it was said, would bring without much effort from three to four moderately sized slices from the pectoral region of this so-called chicken; but the bird, if a bird it was, obstinately refused to yield any further carnal sustenance either from back, or wings, or legs; "and the hypothesis was that the Vauxhall chicken was a carved and graven image made of willow or some light wood cunningly painted, to the breast of which were affixed carefully adjusted slices of cold boiled veal. T h e veal came off on the slightest application of the knife; but the ligneous fowl survived to be carved another night." T h e price list for 1762 was as follows: Burgundy, a bottle Champagne Frontiniac Claret Old hock, with or without sugar Two pounds ice Rhenish and sugar Mountain Red port Sherry Cider Table beer (quart mug) A chicken A dish of ham A dish of beef Salad Cruet of oil Orange or lemon Sugar for bottle Ditto for one pint

6 s. 8 6 5 5 2 2 2 2 1 2 1 1

6 d. 6 6

4 6 6 4 3 6 3

VAUXHALL

MANNERS

Slice of bread " " butter cheese Tart Custard A cheese cake A heart cake A Shrewsbury cake A quart of arrack

*39 l s s l 4 4

2

8

S

In 1782 Moritz found the expense at Ranelagh "nothing near so great" as at Vauxhall "if you consider the refreshments; for any one who sups at Vauxhall, which most people do, is likely for a very moderate supper to pay at least half-a-guinea." Prices varied somewhat from season to season. In 1787 the prices of wines were reduced at Vauxhall, a fact, prophesied one observer, that was likely "speedily to be followed by most tavern-keepers." T h e Literary Gazette in 1817 referred to the "muslin slices of ham, tiny chickens, confectionery, wines, and arrack punch" and gave the prices as follows: A quart of arrack T w o small chickens and a small quantity of ham A lettuce "under the denomination of a salad" Six or eight cheese-cakes and biscuits W a x lights Bread and beer for a party of four or five

7 s. 11 1 4 2 4

6 d. 6

T h e writer remarked that "though extravagant, they are perhaps not so much so as is commonly apprehended since the notorious story of the citizen in the Connoisseur."

Ob-

viously, however, the prices in 1817, except for the punch, were much higher than fifty years earlier. But it is only fair to remark that another visitor about this time found the slices of ham no thinner than at any other place. T h e foregoing prices remained about standard until

140

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1822, when a chicken became four shillings, claret ten and sixpence, frontiniac the same as claret, and arrack punch, twelve shillings a quart. At the time of the closing of the gardens arrack had been reduced to ten shillings a bowl, and rum, whiskey, Guinness, and Bass had taken their places on the menu. The prices were comparable to those charged at the better restaurants and inns for food of a superior quality and more generous portions. Some idea of the crowds at a Vauxhall masquerade can be gleaned from a list of items furnished by Mr. Ward, of New Bond Street, for a celebration on July 20, 1812: 150 150 200 300 100 200 250 300 400 500 300

dozen fowls dishes of lamb tongues and hams, ornamented lobsters raised pies Savoy cakes dishes of pastry jellies quarts of ice cream pottles of strawberries cwt. of cherries, besides a vast variety of other fruits which formed the dessert.

The wines were of the rarest vintages. At the fete given Wellington (1813) to commemorate the battle of Vittoria the gardens were taxed to their utmost. T h e dinner furnished by the City of London Tavern consisted of 250 large tureens of turtle 150 dishes of chickens, 2 and 3 on a dish 59 turkey poults and pullets 30 pigeon pies 10 sirloins of beef 6 rounds of beef 15 hams 30 neats' tongues, besides pastry, shell fish, and fruit.

VAUXHALL

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141

Thirteen hundred and fifty persons sat down to dinner. The story of the citizen and his family was so often reprinted during the eighteenth century that it is quite possible—and even probable—that Fanny Burney remembered it when she described Evelina's evening at the gardens. Prior to the incidents already related, she had been rushed from one sight to another and was finally led to the supper-box, where "much fault was found with everything that was ordered . . . and the dearness of the provisions, with conjectures upon what profit was made by them, supplied the discourse during the whole meal." Dickens (October 30, 1836) when deriding the opening of Vauxhall in the daytime—he likened it to a "porter pot without porter, the House of Commons without the speaker, a gas-lamp without the gas"—portrays for us [Sketches by 'Boz'] the secret and hidden experiments rumored to have constantly taken place in the gardens by day. "There," he tells us, "carvers were exercised in the mystic art of cutting a moderate sized ham into slices thin enough to pave the whole of the grounds; that beneath the shade of the tall trees studious men were constantly engaged in chemical experiments with the view of discovering how much water a bowl of negus could possibly bear; and that in some retired nooks appropriated to the study of ornithology, other sage and learned men were, by a process known only to themselves, incessantly employed in reducing fowls to a mere combination of skin and bone." A waiter at Vauxhall, when complimented upon the dexterity with which he poured out lemonade, confessed {Harry Lorrequer) that he spent his mornings "practising with vater." The approach of the last night of the season must have

142

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brought many misgivings to the proprietors. Young Branghton remarked to Evelina during supper that she should stay in town until the last night, and then, he said, "It's my belief she'd say something to itl Why, Lord, it's the best night of any; there's always a riot,—and then the folks run about, and then there's such squealing and squalling!—and there all the lamps are broke,—and the women skimper scamper—I declare I would not take five guineas to miss the last nightl" The proprietors did what they could to prevent any disturbance, but no amount of precaution was wholly effective. In 1780 there were about eight thousand persons present, the generality being of the middling and inferior classes. In consequence of the prudence exercised by the managers, no riot happened until about three o'clock in the morning, when between thirty and forty lamps were broken by three blades, "two of whom were a hair-dresser and an attorney's clerk." Except for a few boxing matches, which naturally resulted from the above affray, no further disturbance arose to destroy the conviviality of the night or morning. T w o years later (August 3 1 , 1782) the Vauxhall campaign for the season ended with fewer broken lamps and broken heads than was customary. " T h e Cyprian 4 and pick-pocket corps" was very numerous, but on the whole there was much more genteel company than usually attended "this annual upshot." The latter quitted the gardens as soon as the "tribe of City Bucks, Haberdashers, etc., began to exert their valor against the harmless lamps." In 1783, because of their inability to cope with the "bad behaviour of riotous young persons who 4

Cyprian—lewd or lascivious, probably referring to the harlots.

VAUXHALL

MANNERS

143

take no warning from their examples of punishment or forgiveness," the proprietors closed the gardens without giving notice of a last night. The foregoing pages have aimed at presenting not only the high lights of Vauxhall manners, but have wished to suggest the shadows and ordinary occurrences as well. Additional instances could be cited, but they would add little to our understanding of the visitors and might even lead the reader to believe that the gardens were a place solely of riot and disorder. Such would obviously be an erroneous impression, and one which I earnestly wish to avoid. In spite of its commonness, its superficiality, its tireless repetitions, Vauxhall managed to maintain much of its affection in the hearts of the English people.

(9) SOME

SINGERS

AND

COMPOSERS

O H I S T O R Y of Vauxhall would be complete without some account of those who helped to make the Grand Concert a success. Until the latter part of the eighteenth century this was the most important phase of the entertainment. T h e singers were of England's best; but the individual biography of every singer would be of little value. A couplet from the epitaph of John Beard, one of the most popular of the early singers at V a u x h a l l — Satire be dumbl nor dream the scenic art Must spoil the morals, and corrupt the heart.— might be taken as the text of the present chapter on the entertainers at the gardens—assuming a text necessary. Since exceptions have the reputation of proving the rule, exceptions there will be. But in the majority of cases there is little doubt but that the morals of the singers were equal to those of the bourgeoisie who visited the Royal Gardens only on festive occasions, better than those of many of the noble frequenters of the gardens, and not to be compared to the "ladies" of the town who crowded the place at midnight. T h e morals of an artist make no differ-

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AND COMPOSERS

145

ence as long as his particular vices do not sap the vitality of his art. Before citing the idiosyncrasies of an Incledon or a Vernon, let us consider the exemplary life of John Beard (1716-91). "Here lies John Beard," his epitaph tells us, and we are exhorted to "confess with pensive pause" that "his modesty was great as our applause." It further informs us that his voice controlled so much magic because it was the "echo of a well-tun'd soul" and that throughout his life "his morals and his music ran in symphony, and spoke the virtuous man." The final hortatory outburst of the epitaphist must be quoted in its entirety. It is too complex to paraphrase, if not too unintelligible. Go, he says, Go, gentle harmonist! our hopes approve, To meet, and hear the sacred songs above; When taught by thee, the stage of life well trod, We rise in raptures round the throne of God. May it have been emotion that robbed the writer of his poetic powers? Beard had been one of the children of the Chapel Royal, a station which he forfeited when he connected himself with the theater. It is fortunate that this happened. Handel was so pleased with Beard's performances at Covent Garden that he composed some of his greatest tenor parts expressly for him, among which were the tenor roles in Israel in Egypt, The Messiah, Judas Maccabeus, Samson, and Jephthah. Knowledge of this helps us to understand the quality of Beard's voice. It must have been clear, flexible, and liquid, with a solidity of tone, or he could not have done justice to arias as lovely as "Every Valley

146

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Shall Be Exalted," "Behold! and See If There Be Any Sorrow," and " T h o u Shalt Break T h e m . " Beard, when about twenty-two, married Lady Henrietta Herbert, the widow of Lord Edward Herbert and only daughter of the first Earl of Waldegrave. It was a love match, and they lived happily together until her death fifteen years later. After six years, still a comparatively young man, he married Charlotte Rich, the daughter of the manager of Covent Garden. A t the death of his fatherin-law, he found himself in affluent circumstances and the proprietor and manager of Covent Garden. Not long after his rise to affluence he sold his share in the theater and retired from the stage on account of his increasing deafness. Beard's success had been the role of Macheath in The Beggar's Opera, which had enjoyed the unusual run for that time of thirty-seven nights. But he made his farewell in one of his favorite roles—that of Hawthorn in Love in a Village. W e can readily envisage the audience that greeted him at his final performance. His high social position, a fine reputation for integrity, and a sense of humor, which, with his gift for recitation, had elevated him to the presidency of the Beefsteak Club, assured its brilliance. In spite of this it must have been a sad one. For several summers during his earlier years, after his regular season at Covent Garden had ended, Beard sang at Vauxhall. Beard is typical of the singers at Vauxhall during the proprietorship of Tyers and his descendants. Not only did England's best sing there, but occasionally a famous singer from the Continent came for an engagement. T h e concert party was frequently augmented by young singers who had their first public engagement at the gardens. T h e singers at Vauxhall often sang songs un-

SINGERS

AND COMPOSERS

147

worthy of themselves—sentimental ballads, catches, and glees—but some of Arne's and Hook's best songs were first introduced there. Thomas Lowe, in fact, one of Vauxhall's favorites, had the distinction of introducing (December 20, 1740) Arne's beautiful songs "Under the Greenwood Tree" and "Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind." Lowe made his first important appearance at Drury Lane in the autumn of 1740 as Sir John Loverule in The Devil to Pay, where also he often sang the role of Macheath in The Beggar's Opera. After Beard returned to Drury Lane, Lowe went to Covent Garden, where he repeated his success as Macheath. Like Beard, he also sang the tenor roles in many of Handel's oratorios. Dibdin felt that Lowe's voice was more even and mellow than Beard's, and in love songs when little more than mere utterance was necessary he even exceeded him. But in more serious work Lowe lost himself, whereas Beard was at home anywhere. In Thomas Lowe we have the common phenomenon of the actor meeting disaster when seeking the managerial golden fleece. Only in Lowe's case the fault was not entirely his. In 1763 he became the lessee and manager of Marylebone Gardens, which he ran with more or less success through the summer of 1768. Then in 1769, in spite of the support of Anne Catley's singing and Miss Trusler's plum pudding, the exceptionally wet weather kept the crowds away. Financially ruined, he had recourse to the practice of actor-managers; he returned to the stage. After various engagements he began at Sadlers Wells in 1772, twenty-eight years after his first appearance at Vauxhall. It is not a case of the farmer in the dell, in which song

148

SINGERS

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COMPOSERS

the farmer takes his wife and the wife takes the child, that I have considered Beard first, then Lowe, to be followed by Joseph Vernon; although Vernon did succeed Lowe at Vauxhall in 1764. But Vernon provides an exception—and an interesting one. As a youth he possessed an exceptionally fine soprano voice, the beauty of which was enhanced by the training he received under Savage, at that time master of the children in the choir of St. Paul's Cathedral. When about thirteen he sang a soprano role at Drury Lane in Arne's Alfred. Three years later, while singing tenor parts at the same theater, he lost his heart, at least temporarily, to a fellow singer, Miss Poitiers. Ordinarily one does not look to marriage for the unusual in a man's life; in Vernon's case, however, lies the exception. He was married at the Savoy Chapel. In order to understand the difficulties caused by a marriage contracted in a place which on the surface seems proper enough, we must briefly review the state of the English marriage laws existent until the middle of the eighteenth century. Every student of this period is familiar with the notorious Fleet marriages. In order for the marriage to be binding, no banns had to be published, no license granted, nor was it necessary for the service to be performed in a church or public chapel. T h e possible abuses under such a code were innumerable. Many an innocent girl had been forcefully abducted, married by a man simulating the cloth, ravished, and then abandoned, while others were married in the same way for their money. Today it is unbelievable that such a state of affairs could have existed during the "classical" eighteenth century. The number of complaints from upright people

SINGERS

AND

COMPOSERS

149

against such abuses were, of course, many, but the wheels of government moved then as now—slowly. T h e Marriage Act was finally passed in 1753. "Any person," read the Act, "solemnizing matrimony in any other than a church or public chapel, without banns or license, should on conviction be adjudged guilty of felony, and be transported for fourteen years, and that all such marriages should be void." T h e wife of such a marriage was looked upon as a ruined woman. With the passage of the salutary Marriage Act of 1753 Savoy Chapel, and not in gorgeous pall, enters the scene. The chapel was a place of pretended privileges, although there appear to have been no clandestine marriages there until after the passage of the Act. The Rev. John Wilkinson, incumbent of the chapel, aware of the opportunity for increasing his annual stipend, found—with the same ingenuity exercised by the elder brother Peter when examining his father's will pertaining to the cloaks inherited by him and his two brothers—that since the chapel was extraparochial, he was authorized to grant licenses as a privilege annexed to it. Little time passed before the Savoy became known as an easy place for matrimony. Vernon, undoubtedly well aware when he conducted Miss Poitiers to this place (as she perhaps was too) that marriages were more easily performed at the chapel than any place else, chose it for that reason. This choice led them into difficulties. Wilkinson occasionally had hints from the government of the consequences of his practices but he paid no heed to them. Proceedings were finally taken against him. Being more of a sharper than a virtuous man of the cloth, he managed to evade those sent to watch him by making his escape

150

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COMPOSERS

over the leads of the Savoy and through the kitchen of the prison (which was then there). One Sunday morning an alarm was given that the officers had entered the chapel. A general panic arose in his family, and Wilkinson used the age-old dodge of sending word that he was taken suddenly ill and could not read prayers. With all possible haste he made his way down the garden to a gate that opened on the Thames, reached Somerset stairs, where he took a boat, and escaped into Kent. One would think such a narrow escape would have taught Wilkinson a lesson. And had it done so we would not be speaking of the incident now, because as yet Vernon and Miss Poitiers had not entered the picture. Once safe in Kent, Wilkinson engaged a Mr. Grierson to perform the marriages as his curate; the licenses, however, he continued to grant himself. He thought that Grierson could not suffer for what he as pastor was responsible. Not long after this adjustment in procedure Vernon and Miss Poitiers were married by Grierson. Garrick insisted on seeing the certificate. Vernon obtained it from Grierson and handed it over to Garrick, who in turn passed it on to Mr. Carrington, the King's Messenger. Grierson was apprehended, tried, convicted, and transported. Mr. Brooks then succeeded Grierson as curate. Soon afterwards, feeling certain of acquittal, Wilkinson returned to the city, surrendered himself, was tried, convicted, and transported. I might add that on the sea a great storm arose which drove the transport ship into Plymouth, where the Rev. Mr. Wilkinson died of an attack of the gout in 1757. How did this affect Vernon? Simply in this way. Of all the technically irregular weddings "solemnized" at the

SINGERS

AND

COMPOSERS

i5i

Savoy, Vernon's was chosen as the test case. Vernon and his bride both hailed a declaration of illegality with great joy and both immediately sought other partners, but not before Mrs. Vernon had appeared in 1757 as Ceres in The

Tempest.

Vernon

was

suspected—I

think

erroneously

so—of

having inspired the legal action which led to the ruin of a woman and the fourteen years' transportation of two "well-meaning" clergymen, and the public resented his employment upon the stage. Unfortunately Vernon's affairs were aired in the one year out of seven when British morality was shocked. Lady Byron, we remember, happened also to have left Lord Byron in the fatal year of the mysterious cycle. Vernon's enforced retirement from Drury Lane lasted but a few years. H e had become during his exile a favorite in D u b l i n and at Vauxhall. In 1762 he entered upon a series of Shakespearian parts where his technically perfect singing was joined to an admirably natural style of acting. T h e song in Act III of The

School for Scandal was ex-

pressly written for him by Linley. Contemporary critics were unanimous in their praise of his acting, but not of his singing. His voice, though weak and of not too good a quality, sufficed to convey the effect of both the words and music. H e possessed a sort of exhilaration peculiar to him. His look, it is said, was an invitation to be happy. H u g h Kelly could not find praise great enough for Vernon's merits. His singing, he said, was not only able to absorb "the melting soul in ecstasy,

but it could also

"almost pluck a planet from its orb." Singing must be of a high caliber to accomplish that. Kelly did regret, however, that by such songs as " T h e T o m b T a l e " or " T h e

¡52

SINGERS

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COMPOSERS

London Cries" Vernon "meanly pimp'd for prostituted fame." But he could pardon him because even in his flimsiest characters his work was always "nerv'd with thought" and "spirited and free." Vernon died in 1782, about sixteen years after Kelly had given him a certain modicum of immortality. The statement was made in connection with Lowe that even in spite of Anne Catley's singing the season of 1769 at Marylebone Gardens was a failure. Anne Catley also sang at Vauxhall, but not as regularly as Mrs. Weichsell, Miss Stevenson, or Miss Tunstall. But whereas these latter women offer little material of interest, Anne Catley's life was in many ways unusual—or at least unconventional. She was so popular that a biography was written by an enemy of hers in which the beautiful young singer was grossly maligned. Her parents were such as the most romantic scenario writer might have created for her: her father was a hackney coachman and her mother took in washing. Anne possessed such great natural beauty, such a charming voice, and such a natural talent for singing that when only ten years old she was earning her own living by singing in the public-houses of the neighborhood, as well as affording diversion to the officers quartered in the Tower. At fifteen her father apprenticed her to William Bates for the purpose of receiving regular instruction in singing. Her progress was very rapid and two years later she made her first public appearance at Vauxhall. The following year she sang at Marylebone Gardens, but not until after some litigation by which Sir Francis Blake Delaval attempted to put an end to her apprenticeship with Bates. Sir Francis, having become enamored of the beautiful

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Anne, found numerous pretexts for visiting the house of Mr. Bates, where he managed to see the young lady, secured her affections, and, as one biographer tells us, "obtained a promise of her person." The promise was kept; the gallant baronet took her to live with him. Mr. Bates, who had secured numerous engagements for her, was irate. Nor could he be blamed. He was to receive two hundred pounds and the guarantee of the benefit of all engagements which he had made for her at the time. The litigation was soon dropped because of a compromise effected out of court. How faithful Sir Francis remained is not known. But it is certain that soon after the Bates matter was dropped Anne became the pupil of Macklin and later secured engagements in Dublin, where she became a great favorite. In 1770 she returned to England and reappeared as Rosetta in Love in a Village. She retired early, having amassed a sizable fortune and being indifferent to the applause of her audience. The truth probably is that she lost respect for it because she was always received with rapturous adoration, even when she took the most liberties with it. In oratorios she was unable to subdue her levity (what an ebullient personality she must have hadl), but in the staccato style of singing she was without a rival. She died at the house of her husband, General Lascelles, with whom rumor has it she lived some years as his mistress. Mrs. Wrighten, another of the singers at Vauxhall during the period when the concert in the Grand Orchestra was almost the sole entertainment of the gardens, was a favorite from 1776 to 1788 or 1789. She excelled in ballads and the hunting songs of the period, which demanded a

¡54 SINGERS AND COMPOSERS voice of great range and power. Even above the heavy accompaniment usual in these songs her voice was able to soar with ease. Ten years after she made her debut in The Recruiting Officer, at the age of nineteen, she introduced the famous ballad "Within a Mile of Edinburgh Town." In her early years she contracted a marriage with a prompter in one of the London theaters which turned out unfortunately. Later she went to America to try her fortunes there, joined John Henry's New York Company, and soon after married Mr. Powsnall. She was only fortyfive when she died. Mrs. Weichsell also sang ballads during this period, but she is chiefly remembered as the mother of Mrs. Billington, one of the most popular of the Vauxhall contingent, but about whom there is unfortunately little available biographical material. One of the most prolific, as well as one of the best writers of songs for Vauxhall was Michael Arne, son of the composer Thomas Arne, nephew of Mrs. Cibber, and one might almost say a direct descendant of Abel Drugger. 1 His father cherished the ambition of making his son an illustrious singer; his aunt entertained hopes for him as a great actor and to this end introduced him on the stage while he was still very young. His chief talent was as an instrumentalist—he performed publicly on the harpsichord when only eleven—but his greatest love was alchemy. He began to publish volumes of his songs as early as 1763, as a member of the Madrigal Society. Three years later he married Elizabeth Wright, who sang in a spectacular drama by Garrick set to music by her husband. Cymon was successful—partly, no doubt, on account of l

S e e Jonson's The

Alchemist.

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the songs "Yet, Awhile, Sweet Sleep" and " T h e Passion of Love." Arne was on the road to success and would have achieved it had he not become passionately imbued with the desire to discover the philosopher's stone. Nor was it a desire which he suppressed. Today we find it difficult to credit that serious interest in alchemy existed almost 150 years after Ben Jonson's picture of the cheats perpetrated by the alchemist of his day. Arne gave up the writing of music, built himself a laboratory in Chelsea in order to carry out his attempts, and prosecuted his researches with untiring energy. Instead of the philosopher's stone he found bankruptcy. One thing remained to do, and he did it; he returned to music. But he returned to music under strange conditions. His pursuits in alchemy had not only brought him ruin, but had also thrown him into a "spunging-house." 2 At the time of his confinement he was under articles to compose an opera for Covent Garden. Hugh Kelly tells us that his father, aware of this, sent him a piano and supplied him with wine and other small luxuries. While in this "durance vile" he composed some beautiful music. A woman—even one with artistic leanings—is often so much more practical than a man that it is impossible not to wonder what Mrs. Arne's attitude must have been toward her husband while he was wasting his best years in an absurd pursuit and afterwards when he was in prison. She sang at Vauxhall and contributed toward his support both while he was in prison and afterwards when he was living "at Mr. Doron's facing the Vine, near Vaux2 Sponging house: A house, usually the bailiff's, in which debtors were formerly kept f o r a day to afford opportunity to compromise with their creditors; so named from the extortionate charges for food, lodging, and so forth.

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hall." Although Arne published several volumes of his songs that had been sung at the gardens, he was supported by his wife's singing until her death in 1775. Between the time of the death of his first wife and his own, eleven years later, his experiences were many, but never very successful. He had an engagement in Dublin, but shortly returned to London. He married again, but on his death left his wife in great destitution. A contemporary epitomized Arne's private life when he said of him that "he was always in debt, and often in prison; he sung his first wife to death and starved the second, leaving her in absolute beggary." The facts of his life point to an absolute lack of good sense, and yet this trait of good sense is everywhere evident in his music. A critic in the European Magazine (September, 1784) remarked that had Arne been less "complex" his songs would have been "more natural." But this same writer added that Arne's taste in ballads was such that the nation was much indebted to him for "the improvement of that style." I have said that Arne was prolific; James Hook, another of the Vauxhall composers, was more so. He is supposed to have composed over two thousand songs as well as to have written music for organ and piano, oratorios, catches and glees, dramatic pieces, and an instruction book —Guida di Musica. The charges of plagiarism constantly brought against him by his contemporaries were probably well-founded. The originality of his most famous songs does not, however, appear to have been questioned. In private life Hook was very different from Arne. Born at Norwich, the only son of John Hook, minister of Norwich Tabernacle, he showed an early talent for com-

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position. He migrated to London as a more fertile field of activity, where he published at the age of twenty-one his Collection of New English Songs Sung at the New Richmond Theater. Not many years after his arrival in London he became the official organist and composer at Marylebone Gardens, where he remained until the close of the season of 1773. The following season found him installed at Vauxhall, giving an organ concerto ever} night. Hook was twice married. By his first wife he had two sons: James, who afterwards became Dean of Worcester, and Theodore, the humorist. After the death of his first wife in 1795 he chose a young woman to make him happy for the balance of his life. He died at the ripe age of eighty-one; his wife survived him forty-six years. Hook and William Shield, who lived to be seventy-five, form a connecting link between the two chief groups of Vauxhall singers—the one formed by those whom we have already considered and the other in which Dignum, Incledon, and Mrs. Bland are the most important figures. Shield was the son of a singing master who took a great interest in the musical education of his son. At the age of six he began the study of the violin and later the harpsichord. T h e death of his father cut short—at least temporarily—his musical education. The choice of three "professions" was open to him. He could become a barber, a sailor, or a boat builder. With childish instinct he chose the latter—a most fortunate choice. He was apprenticed to Edward Davison, who encouraged him in music, in which subject he attained that degree of proficiency which made him sought after for the music meetings of the place as well as at the parties of the principal families. His apprenticeship served, he gave up his trade as boat builder

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in order to make his avocation his vocation. A Mr. Avison gave him instruction in thorough bass which greatly helped him. When a new church was built at Sunderland, Shield contributed an original anthem, which extended his reputation over the whole neighborhood. I have not seen the anthem, but I would venture to say that the publicity was greater than the actual merit of the piece warranted. His fame spread and he was invited to conduct the fashionable concerts at Scarborough. Shield's reputation was not a matter of public caprice. He did possess sterling merit. From conductor of the concerts to the conductor of the theater was an easy step, but an important one, because at the theater he met the celebrated Borghi and Fischer, upon whose recommendation he was engaged as one of the second violinists at the opera under Giardini. T h e following year Cramer gave him a chair with the first violins, a position which he held for eighteen years. His first dramatic composition, The Flitch of Bacon (1778), warranted his engagement as composer to Covent Garden. Because of a dispute over money matters he relinquished his post after some years. Shield's best work was written after 1790. In that year he met Haydn. He later said of the fruit of this acquaintanceship that he gained more important information in four days' communion with that founder of a style than he ever did from the most carefully supervised studies of any part of his life. His musical education might be said to have been completed after his tour through France and Italy. Unlike so many musicians, he read extensively in order to remedy the defects of his earlier education. When Shield attempted to thank the Prince of Wales for the position of master of the band of musicians in ordinary

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to the king, an honor which had come to him unsought, the Prince is said to have replied: "My dear Shield, the place is your due. Your merits, independently of my regard, entitle you to it." A few years later he composed the musical part of George IV's coronation ceremony. Shield was always popular; he was reported to have been "highly amiable and respectable." Although not exactly lionized, his society was courted by some of the most distinguished of his contemporaries. O n one occasion, when visiting at a friend's in the country, he declined to go shooting with one of the other guests, a most excellent shot, but instead went out by himself with his gun. He returned soon with a brace of partridges, whereas the marksman returned empty-handed. Shield boasted of his superior skill and finally had to produce the brace. Upon examination no shot marks were found, and his host remarked: "These birds were killed with silver shot!" Shield confessed he had bought them. He was so fond of eating that he also sought the reputation for killing game. Shield tried his hand at several kinds of composition. His instrumental pieces were inferior to his vocal; and his operatic inferior to his songs. " A Sigh Best Expresses the Passion of Love," " T h e Thorn," " O Bring Me Wine," and "Down the Bourne and through the Mead" were only a few of his more popular songs that revealed his placid and flowing melody, his pathos, and his sweetness. Like Henry Lawes, he very admirably adapted the music to the sentiment of his songs. His music was a perfect reflection of the man himself—there is little depth of passion or boisterous expression, but in the plaintive and tender he was rivaled by few if any of his contemporaries. Charles Dignum has been mentioned as one of the

160

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most important of the later group of Vauxhall singers. Dignum's success was due solely to his ability as a singer and not to any particular personal charm. In fact, he was a clumsy person and not entirely free from the charge of stupidity. His good nature was a saving grace. One of his most popular songs was a duet which he sang with Mrs. Bland at the gardens in 1807, "Long Time I've Courted You, Miss." The argument—a dialogue between a sailor and a vivacious flirt—admirably suited his clumsiness. T h e effect of simulated rage by a man naturally awkward could not have failed to please the audience when he sang: 'Tis useless to contend, ma'am, So let the storm subside; Our courtship's at an end, ma'am, You ne'er shall be my bride. and she coquettishly replied: My nonsense pray excuse, sir, 0 bid me not adieul Although, I did refuse, sir, 1 meant to marry you. Such songs have never failed to captivate the kind of audience that gathered at the gardens. Dignum was the son of a tailor. In his early youth he wished to become a priest but poverty prevented him. As a child he sang in the Sardinian Chapel, where his beautiful voice attracted Samuel Webbe, who undertook his musical education. For some unexplained reason he passed from the tutelage of Webbe to that of Linley, who persuaded him to adopt music as his profession and to whom he articled himself for seven years. During the first two the master devoted a great deal of time to his young

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pupil, wisely restraining him from singing in public until his voice was ready. In 1783 Dignum made his debut in Love in a Village. Because of his clumsiness he did not make a hit as an actor, and his greatest success was attained in oratorios and in songs at Vauxhall, where his fine voice alone was sufficient. Although Dignum was a popular singer, his salary in 1798 was only £ 4 a week, besides the additional from benefits. But since he had married, soon after his debut, the coheiress to a very considerable property in Hampshire, the daughter of an attorney, he did not have to depend exclusively on his salary for his livelihood. At his wife's death in 1799 Dignum's fortune was estimated at approximately £30,000. Of his many children all died in infancy except one daughter. Parke tells an anecdote about Dignum and his daughter which might be used to illustrate a number of his idiosyncrasies. One day during passion week Dignum and his daughter were dining with Parke. The daughter ate scarcely anything, whereas her father ate with as much appetite as if he had just returned from following the hounds. "How comes it," said Parke, "that you enjoy the good things of this table, while your daughter is not permitted to taste of them?" "Oh," he answered smiling, "I have got a dispensation." "Why did you not procure for your daughter a similar indulgence?" "Oh, my dear boy, that would never have done, for it would have cost me half-a-crown."

Critics were unanimous in their praise of Dignum's fine tenor voice, but as much cannot be said of their praise of

i6s

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his own songs. T h e tunes were not bad, but his harmonies were poor. 8 Maria Theresa Bland's bright and vivacious manner was intensified when she sang with the ponderous Dignum. She had a pleasant mezzo-soprano voice of sweet quality which was at its best in the English ballads, where her style of singing was, according to one critic who granted her only limited powers, singularly perfect and free from any blemish of style or taste. Another critic praised her more unreservedly. Whereas the "cadences" of other performers generally appeared like extraneous ornaments, hers were all essential to the air. " H e r enunciation was as distinct," said this second critic, "as if she were repeating dialogue; and she never sacrificed sense to sound." She had a method peculiar to herself in introducing into her comic ballads a word or two of speaking, and then instantly recurring to the air, in a manner that was said to be bewitching. Mrs. Bland was the daughter of Italian Jews named Romanzini, who through the influence of a hairdresser named Cady obtained an engagement for their child at Hughes's Riding School. 4 Her vocal talents developed quickly. Whether it was purely on account of her ability or whether because her beauty struck fire in the heart of Daly—it was rumored that he had designs upon her virtue—that she was engaged by * Years later Ned Ward spoke of Dignum in an ubi sunt strain. " A n d Dignum too! yet where is he? "Shakes he no more his locks at me? "Charms he no more night's ear? " H e who bless'd breakfast, dinner, rout, " W i t h 'linked sweetness long drawn out/ " W h y is not Dignum here?" 4 H e r biographer gives her birth year as 1769 and the date of her first engagement as 1773. when she was only four. I believe there is a discrepancy in one of these dates, probably in the first one.

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him for the Dublin Theater it is difficult to say. But she was engaged. When Mrs. Wrighten retired in 1782, the soubrette parts, known as "singing Chambermaids," were given to this charming young singer. Her first appearance was in 1786 as Antonio in the English version of Gretry's Richard Coeur de Lion, the year in which she first sang at Vauxhall. A reporter spoke of her (May 3, 1786) as "the musical phenomenon . . . a young Jewess whose voice is of uncommon extent." In 1789 her success at Liverpool was so great that she refused to return to Drury Lane without an increase in salary. The increase was not granted, but, as so often happens, she returned anyway. The following year she married Bland, an actor of no importance. Her life for the succeeding years was uneventful. She was popular; and she was happy with her husband and three children. One day when she was in a nervous state her youngest child annoyed her until she lost all patience. She boxed his ears, shoved him out of the room, and slammed the door. A little later when she opened the door her child lay dead before her. The shock of this episode unsettled her mind. In 1824 she began to show signs of imbecility, which developed into a kind of melancholy madness. Her friends and admirers gave a benefit for her, which with a public subscription gave her about £800. The money was handed over to Lord Egremont, who allowed her an annuity of £80. She lived for fourteen years in this state, until a stroke of apoplexy caused her death in 1838. One hot sultry day three men sat in a stagecoach driving along a dusty highway. Everywhere was absolute quiet save for the steady beat of the horses' hoofs, the occasional buzzing of wasps flying lazily in one window and out the

164

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other, and the spasmodic swearing of one of the passengers. A grave taciturn man sitting opposite shot dark glances whenever the other swore. He recognized the man with the coarse voice, with "seven rings on his fingers, five seals on his watch ribbon, and a gold snuff box," and his more reserved companion as actors. When a wasp flew in the window Incledon 5 —for the man with the rings was none other than he—muttered "there's that cursed wasp again," tried to destroy it and swore the while. And so the day passed until the taciturn man fell asleep. The expression of disgust which had clouded his face whenever Incledon swore vanished, and his steady breathing harmonized with the droning of the wasps and intensified the rural quality of the scene. Charles Mathews—the other actor—settled himself comfortably in his corner, leaving his brother actor fretting at the wasps. They became an obsession with him; his attention became so engrossed that he was totally oblivious of everything except the movements of a wasp which had reentered the coach. After an apparently aimless zigzag course the wasp settled on the face of the sleeping stranger. Incledon saw his opportunity, slapped his hand on the face of the sleeper, and said to the wasp: "Ha, damn you, I've done for you nowl" The startled stranger took the words as meant for him and was in a fury. It was difficult for Incledon to right himself. Mathews, in fact, became the mediator. T h e fore8 Incledon first sang at Vauxhall in 1786. T h e following notice is taken from the Town and Country Magazine for 1786:

"Vauxhall

Jubilee

". . . Mrs. Kennedy and Mr. Arrowsmith have been discharged, and in their room a young man named Inclcdon, from Bath, and Mrs. Martyr of Covent Garden Theater, a young woman named O'Leary, and a very young Jewess have been engaged, which, with Mrs. Wrighten, are sufficient to fill the vocal parts of the orchestra."

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going anecdote is typical of Charles Incledon, the last of the singers we shall consider. On another provincial tour when crossing from Ireland, he and his wife were shipwrecked and narrowly escaped drowning. Incledon—he always pronounced his name Ingledon—had been christened Benjamin, but he discarded the Benjamin in preference for Charles. At the age of eight he left Cornwall, where his father was a physician, and was sent to Exeter to sing in the cathedral choir under Langdon and Jackson. Usual reports are that after a few years he ran off to sea. Some contemporary authorities tell a different story. They say he was taken aboard ship to prevent him from giving evidence against the son of one of the dignitaries, who had been indicted "for some disgraceful offence." Some of his idiosyncrasies of maturity tend to corroborate the reports of contemporary authority. But, true or not, the encouragement to seek a stage career came to him from the ship officers, who had noticed the fine quality of his voice. It is said that Admiral Pigot, commander of the fleet, often sent for him to join him and Admiral Hughes in the performance of glees and catches. They provided him with letters of introduction to Colman and Sheridan, but if he presented them he failed to make any impression. He gained his first public hearing at the age of twenty-one at Southampton, with the Collins Company, as Alphonso in Arnold's Castle of Andalusia. He sang for several seasons at Vauxhall in the summer and at Bath in the winter, before he was able to make his first appearance on the London stage at Covent Garden. In spite of the handicap of a vulgar accent and unskillful acting, his excellent tenor voice, perfect pitch, and finished "shake" won him the popular favor. Admirers also said

i66

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that he sang "like a true Englishman," by which they meant a manner of singing not very evident then as at the present time. Incledon had a bold and manly way of singing, full of feeling, which went to the hearts of his countrymen. He sang at Covent Garden for almost twenty-five years, not only in Shield's and Arne's operas but also in oratorios. He was one of the soloists at the première of Haydn's Creation on March 28, 1800, but his forte was always the ballad, not, however, the whining, sentimental type. In his favorite songs, such as Stevens's " T h e Storm," Gay's "Black-Ey'd Susan," and "My Bonny, Bonny Bet, Sweet Blossom," the marvelous sweetness and forcible simplicity of his style were best heard, and in the latter song he used a falsetto with great effect. H e was inclined, as almost every singer with a good one is, to overuse it. His natural voice had a range of fourteen notes (A to G) and his falsetto about nine (D to E). A vulgar person like Incledon—his vulgarity is attested to by Crabb Robinson, Leigh Hunt, and Charles Mathews — w i t h a voice that brought him great popularity would naturally have his head turned by public applause; and being of a self-indulgent, vain, and weak nature, although good-natured and witty, he often acted as if he disregarded everything but his own wishes. He was his own worst enemy. A t heart he was kind and liberal. His vanity is best illustrated by an anecdote related by Mathews. One day Mathews and Liston were in a perfumery shop in Bond Street looking at some amulets of a black composition intended for brooches. T h e substance was a mass of perfume like a highly scented pastille, nauseating to the palate. T h e head of George III was stamped upon each one to commemorate his jubilee. Incledon,

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passing by, saw his friends in the shop and was immediately attracted to the amulets. Before the proprietor could answer his inquiry as to their purpose, Liston told him they were of a wonderful medicinal quality for the improvement of the voice and on that account were quite large. Liston assured Incledon that nothing was the matter with his voice. Anyone who knows singers realizes that this was wonderful bait. Rare is the singer who is in voice except when you do not happen to hear him. Incledon was of the brotherhood. "Oh isn't there, my dear boy," he answered, "that's all you know of the matter! I've been as hoarse as a raven this fortnight; in fact I've not a note left in my voice." "Well, if that's the case," answered Liston, "the Jubilee Lozenge is the very thing." Incledon paid ten shillings sixpence for the lozenge, put it into his mouth, and followed Liston's directions. He must keep it in his mouth all day. He did. Liston prompted the people at the theater to ask Incledon about the wonderful remedy. Incledon fell for the hoax, assuring each one that his voice was certainly clearer since he had had the lozenge in his mouth but also admitted that sucking it had made him feel exceedingly sick. Kemble then entered, and, aware of the trick, remarked: " I t will not be wholly effective, my dear Incledon, unless you keep it in your mouth all night." Incledon, pleased at the notice of the great Kemble, answered: "But, my dear Mr. Kemble, may it not choke me in my sleep?" Kemble: "Oh, nol—Oh, no! It is scarcely large enough for that. Besides Mrs. Incledon will be aware of your struggles and attend you should it get into your throat."

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Poor benighted fool! T h e next m o r n i n g he appeared pale from want of rest and from the nauseating quality of the lozenge. His friends practiced one more trick before enlightening him as to the joke. T h e y arranged to have a notice of the Jubilee Lozenge put in the Chronicle.

Morning

W h e n Incledon arrived Mr. Farwell holding

open the paper seemed much perturbed. " W a s it possible!" he said bitterly, " W h a t a monster! W h o could divine such an instance of hatred to the English n a t i o n ! — Poor

Incledon!—Has

anybody

seen

him

to-day? . . .

W h a t will be the consequence?" T h i s was too much for Incledon. H e strode forward, demanded to see the article, and read as follows: Jubilee Lozenge T h e public are cautioned against a specious but most injurious artifice which has of late been practiced by some unprincipled quacks. A trinket in the form of a shirt-brooch adorned with the miniature likeness of the king, is said to be impregnated with a certain mineral property that can expel all disorders from the stomach of the wearer, who, to stimulate and call forth the essential virtue of the ornament is desired to keep it in his mouth and suck it. T h e truth is that an adventitious property has been infused into the metal of which the trinket is formed; but, so far from being of a salutary nature, its deleterious qualities are invariably experienced in subtle and slow, but infallible operation, by all the unhappy dupes of the imposture. T h e poison peculiarly attaches itself to the lungs, producing insensibly an incurable hoarseness. Incledon dropped to his chair and exclaimed: " I ' m a murdered m a n ! " It is because of some other quality than good nature that he was not offended when the hoax was explained to him. T h e irregular course of his life greatly impaired his

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i6g

voice, a n d p r i o r to his r e t i r e m e n t f r o m the stage his p u b l i c had largely turned

from him.

This

he

attributed

his o w n d e c l i n e b u t to the caprice of the p u b l i c . was

fond

of

good

living

and

through

his

not

Incledon

extravagance

often f o u n d himself in pecuniary embarrassment. H e r i e d t h r e e t i m e s . H i s first w i f e d i e d i n 1 8 1 1 , a n d h e w a s s u r v i v e d b y his The

stories

Vauxhall

are

of not

the

lives

of

sufficiently

to

mar-

1800, his s e c o n d

in

third.

other

popular

different

or

w a r r a n t their i n c l u s i o n here. C o n t e m p o r a r y

singers8

at

important

to

report has

it

• " T h e principal female singers w e r e Mrs. Baddeley (about 1768), Mrs. Weichsell (1769-84), Miss Jameson (1770-74), Miss Wewitzer (c. 1773), M r s . H u d s o n (1773-76), Mrs. W r i g h t e n (1773-86), Mrs. Martyr, the actress (17868g)." W r o t h , The London Pleasure Gardens. A m o n g the o t h e r singers were Mrs. Billington, B l a n d , C h a m b e r s , C i b ber. C r o u c h , F r a n k l i n , K e n n e d y , Pinto, Sherborn, WaiTal, Iliff; Misses B r e n t , Daniels, Howells, Stevenson, W e l l e r , W r i g h t , B u r c h e l l , L e a r y , M i l n e , N e w m a n , Bertles, W a r e , T h o r n t o n , Poole, G r a d d o n ; M m e . Vestris; Messrs. A r r o w s m i t h , Boyce, Darley, D i b d e n , D i g n u m , H o w a r d , I n c l e d o n , L o w e , T a y l o r , V e r n o n , W o r g e n , T o w n s h e n d , Yates, Gibson, Jagger, W e b ster, a n d B r a h a m . François H i p p o l i t e B a r t h é l é m o n (1741-1808), first violinist at V a u x h a l l a n d composer of " A w a k e M y Soul," probably " t h e most p o p u l a r m o r n i n g h y m n - t u n e ever w r i t t e n , " interested H a r d y . His sonnet, Barthélémon at Vauxhall, pictures the tired musician w a l k i n g home across Westminster B r i d g e a f t e r the concert a n d p a u s i n g to watch the rising sun: " H e said: ' A w a k e my soul, a n d with the sun,' . . . " A n d paused u p o n the bridge, his eyes d u e east, " W h e r e was e m e r g i n g like a full-robed priest " T h e irradiate g l o b e that v o u c h e d the dark as done. " I t lit his f a c e — t h e weary face of one " W h o in the a d j a c e n t gardens charged his string, " N i g h t l y , with many a t u n e f u l tender thing, " T i l l stars were w e a k , a n d dancing hours outrun. " A n d then were threads of matin music spun " I n trial tones as he pursued his way: " ' T h i s is the morn,' he m u r m u r e d , 'well begun: " T h i s strain to K e n will count when I a m clayl' " A n d c o u n t it d i d ; till, c a u g h t by e c h o i n g lyres, " I t spread to galleried naves a n d m i g h t y quires."

tyo

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that Miss Leary's "voluminous and musical" voice and charming person assured her the "approbation of an admiring audience," and that Mrs. Martyr's "performance, like her face, tho' not what a musician or painter would call perfect, has almost the power of fascination."

(V) DISSOLUTION

/ 7 T IS a disheartening task to chronicle the final years C±s of Vauxhall. The dissolution which hung over the gardens like the sword of Damocles was not actually consummated until 1859, but after 1840 the gardens were only a shadow of their former self. Even the traditional English summer—"three days of fine weather and then a thunder-storm"—had changed for the worse. The proportion of thunderstorms increased, the crowds diminished; the fight was a hopeless one. In 1841 John Andrews, John Mitchell, and Alfred Bunn rented the gardens for six nights (June 28-July 9) for £400 with the option of taking them for the rest of the summer at an additional £800. Masquerades under their supervision proved successful enough to warrant the continuance of the entertainments until September. The listening public had somewhat the taste of Jeremy in Love for Love: it had a reasonable ear for a jig, but found that the solos and the sonatas gave it the spleen. A definite recession in the quality of the entertainments occurred. Old favorites such as "Jockey and Jenny," "Did You See a Shepherd?" "The Lass of the Mill," "Woman,"

172

DISSOLUTION

"Robin's Description," "Sweet William," and "Rural Beauty" were supplanted by songs of an even sicklier hue. On September 8 the last "final close" was heralded, when Vauxhall "as a place of public amusement will close forever I" The performance consisted of promenade music a la militaire, Ramo Samee, the juggler and sword swallower, Passwan Oglou, the Lancashire bell ringers, Mr. Buckingham in imitations of eminent actors, a ballet, comic songs, a quadrille band, Joel with his imitations of birds and beasts, and fireworks by Mr. D'Ernst. At the special fetes Ducrow with his stud of horses, the Ravel family, and Mr. Green, still making his flights in his Grand Nassau Balloon, were the principal attractions. The rotunda, the scene of so much past elegance, was converted into an amphitheater in order to accommodate Ducrow as a Chinese Enchanter, a Russian Cossack, a doughty Arab Chieftain, or other of his representations, the difference between which was little more than a change of costume. Colin's Account, on his supposed resuscitation, of the pleasures of the Royal Gardens, Vauxhall, in 1841, although aware of the changes that had taken place there, still reveals some delight in the almost age-old pleasure grounds: Oh Maryl could you rise up And once more see Vauxhall, You'd turn your precious eyes up At changes great and small I Of hoops, that spread your dresses, Now bustles take the place. And wigs give way to tresses, And powder pales the face I

DISSOLUTION T h e waists, so very taper— T h e limbs, of softest hue, Seem clothed in silver paper So thin, you see them through! So much do fashions vary, That any gown you wore, If tried on modern girls, Mary, Would clothe, at least, a scorel Here, Mr. Ducrow, love, Who played that famed Courier, 1 Who stood with but one toe, love, Upon a horse's earl Takes still a greater pride in T h e fetes at dear Vauxhall— By on his courser riding, Not touching him at alll Where there was but one statue2 Clothed modestly to please, They've fifty, 3 looking at you, Half naked, through the trees: T h e rockets are so blended With glitter and with din; And people's mouths distended Enough to take them in. T h e walks that once were brightest, Are now as dark as pitch; Where love, with wings the lightest, His captives doth bewitch: One side, a hermit, praying, On calm seclusion bent; Here Neptune's horses neighing. And there, a gypsies tent I T h e famous Courier of St. Petersburgh. Mr. Handel's statue. Diana, Venus, and so forth.

DISSOLUTION

'74

The Concert4 and the Ravels, And the Quadrilles between, Make up the many marvels Which here are to be seen: The Punch, the brain which thickens, The iced Champagne at call! The HamI the Beef! the Chickens! Are emblems of Vauxhall! But Punch

(No. 1, July 17, 1841) could not view the

changes at Vauxhall with pleasure. We have been permitted once again to breathe your oily atmosphere [sighed the reporter], to partake of an imaginary repast of unpalatable ham and invisible chicken—to join in the eruption of exclamations at the pyrotechnic glories—to swallow thy mysterious arrack and Punch a la Romaine. We have seen Julien, the elegant pantomimic Julien, exhibit his six-inch wristbands and exquisitely dressed head—we have roved again amid those bowers where, with Araminta Smith, years ago, "We met the daylight after seven hours sitting." But we were not happy—there was something that told us it was not Vauxhall—the G R's were V R's—the cocked hats were round hats—the fiddlers were foreigners—the rotunda was Astley's. And Punch was right. Vauxhall was not the same, and no amount of thinking could make it so. T h e performances varied so greatly during the season that it was necessary for the master of ceremonies to announce daily the evening's attractions. In 1842 the gardens did not open; nor in 1843, nor in 1844. In 1844 a prospectus was issued for the building of the South London Polytechnic Institution on the site. T h e capital was to be in three funds of £50,000 each, and it was intended to pay good dividends since it was based "by the Projector on a Manufac* Under the direction of Monsieur Julien, Baton en Chef to France and Great Britain, and Ireland into the bargain!

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turing Principle." A sufficient number of subscribers did not appear, and the proposition fell through. On May 12, 1845, being Whit-Monday, the one-hundred-and-thirteenth season began. The gardens were opened every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. The program included the Yager Brass Band, a vocal and instrumental concert, a new ballet in the rotunda, an eruption of Mt. Etna, and a "specimen of scenic art of the Villa D'Este at Tivoli." Twelve masters of ceremony were introduced to do what one Simpson could easily have accomplished. The juvenile fetes were continued, forty thousand lamps were advertised, large posters blazoned forth the charms of Vauxhall, but in spite of everything that could be done, the rival upstart crow, Cremorne Gardens was beginning to win the public favor. And no wonder. At Cremorne prices were very reasonable. The admission was but one shilling, the buildings were new and as attractive in the daytime as at night, and a table d'hôte supper was served for two shillings sixpence at which the visitor could eat all that he wished. T h e patronage of Vauxhall was steadily changing. T h e species of entertainments offered the public alienated the nobility, and their places were taken by honest people of the middle class, cheerful but vulgar. In 1846 the Licensed Victuallers gave their Annual Fete and Fancy Fair at the gardens; the following year a "numerous and respectable company" supported the Butchers' Charitable Institution at a fete, and every year saw a repetition of such galas. The twelve masters of ceremonies, in their costumes of the seventeenth century, under the guidance of Mr. Lewis helped to make the masquerades of 1846 at least a partial success. Gentlemen paid ten shillings admission, ladies

iy€

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seven and six. The Times praised the masquerade of July 13, at which upwards of 7,000 people were present. "Under the present management," wrote the reporter, "these gardens are so conducted, that people of respectability can attend without the annoyance of indecency or the ribaldry of intoxication and vulgarity. . . . It was not till daybreak that the fete was terminated, nor was it till late into this morning that the gardens were totally abandoned by the company." Three bands provided music for the company. T h e "hermit" transparency was provided with a real hermit, Joel still made his terrific descent on a fiery dragon from the "monster tower" (now advertised as being 120 feet high), and a Grand Chinese Pageant undoubtedly made the visitors realize that they were in London and not China. At the third masquerade of the season a new platform for dancing was laid in front of the Prince's Pavilion. During the season of 1847 admission was two shillings sixpence. T h e balloon ascent (by Mr. Gypson in place of Garnerin), the equestrians, including the Bedouin Arabs, the Turner family, the Lejair family from Franconi's in Paris (equestrians), and fireworks by Darl e y — " a concentration of talent"—helped while away the evening. Bell's Ethiopian Singers featuring Juba was the stellar attraction for 1848. Advertisements for the gardens invariably hailed Juba as that extraordinary dancer immortalized by Dickens. 5 A description of his performance would suggest that it was the "buck and wing" 6 or some 8 1 have been unable to find any mention of Juba by Dickens. In the American Notes there is a description of a Negro dancer, but he is not mentioned by name. • T h e prototype of modern " t a p " dancing.

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similar dance which he was introducing. At a private exhibition Juba was a great attraction. One of those present described his performance. " T h e style as well as the execution is unlike anything ever seen in this country. T h e manner in which he beats time with his feet, and the extraordinary command he possesses over them, can only be believed by those who have been present at his exhibition. . . . He is quite young, being only in his seventeenth year." Alfred Crowquill described Juba's feat in a different manner: Juba's talent consists in walking around the stage with an air of satisfaction and with his toes turned in; in jumping backwards in a less graceful manner than we should have conceived possible; and in shaking his thighs like a man afflicted with palsy. He makes a terrible clatter with his feet, not owing so much to activity on his part as to stupidity on the part of the boot-maker, who has furnished him with a set of clumsy Wellingtons sufficiently large for the feet and legs of all the Ethiopians in London: besides this, he sometimes moves about the stage on his knees, as if he was praying to be endowed with intelligence, and had unlimited credit with his tailor. As a last resource, he falls back on the floor. On August 7 the equestrienne Marie Macarte joined the ranks of the Vauxhall performers. "Her riding," said the Cincinnati (Ohio) Gazette, "is a little melodrama, and though at intervals daring beyond description, it never inspires a feeling of dread." On August 28 Van Amburgh, the lion king, made his first appearance with his lions, tigers, and other beasts of the jungle. A series of shilling nights closed the season. In addition to the "100,000 variegated lamps," Vauxhall, in 1849, boasted of a Grand American Bowling Saloon, a shooting gallery, and an archery ground. Before

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the season closed "marble groupings" and chariot races brought the entertainment one step nearer that of the modern circus. T h e conduct of the crowds at a masquerade during the 1850's was similar to that during the 1780's, but with one difference. The disturbers of the peace were not the young gallants of the town. Albert Smith described one of these masquerades in his Comic Tales. There were certainly amongst them [he said when describing the crowd], persons of rare and undoubted talent, who assumed the dress and manners of the lower classes with such exquisite truth, that you could hardly believe they had paid their half guinea for admittance. . . . As far as eating and drinking went, it is but justice to say that every one performed admirably; but we observed that, with the generality of the parties, jugs of stout and dishes of cold beef had the preference in point of popularity over champagne and cold fowls. But the end was answered just the same, for it had the effect of making the company exceedingly bacchanalian after supper, when their wit broke into full play. We perceived that the most favorite humor consisted in running very fast along the walks, and yelling loudly,—certainly a facetious performance; and it was esteemed an excellent conceit to bolt through the middle of the quadrilles which were being perpetrated beneath the orchestra, and jostle the dancers one over the other. It was evident that assumption of character was never once thought about. The only instance we remarked occurred whilst we were discussing some cold ham, when a young gentleman, habited as Jack Sheppard, walked into our box, and presenting a sixpenny pistol, shot a pea in our face, and walked out again. A large crowd stood outside the gardens, cheered each fresh costume, and made humorous allusion to the characters assumed. From 1850 to 1854 the price of admission was reduced

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to two shillings sixpence, with a series of shilling nights toward the close of the season. T h e entertainments differed little from those of former years. T h e gardens did not open in 1855. ^ 5 6 they opened on June 21 with a two weeks' engagement of the Cirque Imperial Company in the rotunda and Monsieur Leopold's acrobatic troupe "in front of the Fairy Lake and the Basaltic Cavern." In 1857 Vauxhall again remained closed, and Cremorne Gardens became known as the Royal Gardens, Cremorne. What a pang the ghosts of Vauxhall must have felt! At Cremorne all the best novelties of Vauxhall could be found and vice versa, save for the table d'hôte dinner at six o'clock. One phase of this dinner that appealed to all the visitors was that the food was very attractively displayed for the guests to choose whatever they wished. In 1858 Vauxhall again opened, this time at a shilling admission charge. Mr. Duffell presented Sam Cowell "the Muse of Comedy" with "other eminent stars," equestrians, clowns, rope descents, and the usual run of numbers. After the closing on September 25 the gardens were sold as building property. The following year, before the actual clearance of the grounds began, the owner gave permission for a series of farewells. T h e first announcements appeared in The Times on Monday, J u n e 25, and the first fete was given Monday, J u l y 18. After seven fetes, the gardens closed forever on July 25, 1859. T h e next morning The Times contained the following account of Vauxhall: Farewell to Vauxhall The pathetic ceremony of leave-taking that has been going on for the last week between the public and the old-fashioned

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gardens, situated near the Surrey end of V a u x h a l l bridge, is more like a good-bye addressed to the ghost of some friend w h o has been dead for some years than a farewell uttered to the friend himself. Vauxhall is indeed hallowed by old associations, but they are so very old that the present generation has nothing at all to do with them. T h a t brilliant dissolute Vauxhall, which was the scene of so many ebullitions of aristocratic vice and folly, described by the novelists and essayists of the last century, is to us and even to our fathers as much a matter of history as the "Wars of the Roses." T h e aristocracy of Vauxhall and the royalty of Crosby-hall are equally remote from our personal knowledge and sympathies. A V a u x h a l l of a more recent date exists in the memories of elderly people, w h o connect it in their minds with arrack punch that invariably produced a headache; with hams carved into slices ridiculously thin; and with the belief that a certain quality of "bucket lamps" produced a resemblance to fairy land. Y o u n g ladies, if they turn over their grandmother's music, will find specimens of a certain article called a "Vauxhall" song, and distinguished by the simple characteristic that the music and words are unredeemed rubbish, the latter being usually written in a Scottish dialect prevalent on the south of the Thames. T h e young ladies will perhaps be informed that the most gifted vocalists were proud of singing in the " R o y a l Gardens," but they will refuse to believe the fact, although it is perfectly true. By the people of the present day V a u x h a l l will merely be remembered as an old, worn-out property, that from time to time incurred the chance of being forgotten altogether, but occasionally started into notice by attempting an unsuccessful competition with Cremorne, or by disturbing the neighborhood of Lambeth with the blackguardism of a bal masque. T h e ceremony of parting came to an end last night, w h e n the gardens, venerable from their association with all the vices that flourished vigorously under some of the Stuarts, and not feebly after the Hanoverian succession, were opened for the last time. T h e y were brilliantly lighted, and attended by a crowd so dense that, though there was no lack of miscellaneous amusements elbowing and pushing formed the chief occupations of the evening. In a few days will begin the

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work of destruction that will level to the ground the fall trees and the wooden edifices that look like spectres of dead " f u n " to the travelers by the South-Western Railway, and, therefore, people probably screwed themselves u p into the fancy that they were about to incur a loss. W e can only wonder that Vauxhall has lasted so long. Constructed for night revels only, and therefore so different from Cremorne, which is equally attractive as an afternoon promenade and as a place of nocturnal hilarity, it had long lost all chance of rivaling the "Chelsea Elysium." It has received the honor of a merry funeral, is supported by a very mixed body of mourners, and as no living soul can, on reflection, lament its decease, the solemnity may be deemed perfectly appropriate. T h e words "Farewell forever," formed by lamps, blazed from a conspicuous part of the premises, and Lambeth might have responded with the motto "Sina grief at our parting." O n A u g u s t 22, a t n o o n , the a u c t i o n e e r m o u n t e d

his

r o s t r u m i n the g a r d e n s and a n n o u n c e d that t h e site h a d b e e n let for b u i l d i n g purposes a n d that a l l t h e p r o p e r t y o n t h e p r e m i s e s h a d to b e sold. T h e d a n c i n g p l a t f o r m was k n o c k e d d o w n f o r 50 guineas, the b a l l e t theater

17

guineas, a n d t h e orchestra £ 9 9 . T h e pictures that w e r e l e f t w e r e p u r c h a s e d b y E d w a r d T y r e l l S m i t h f o r the Banq u e t i n g H a l l at C r e m o r n e . T h e w h o l e sale realized little m o r e t h a n £800. T h e total d i s s o l u t i o n p r o p h e s i e d c a m e to pass: T h e cloud-capp'd trees, the gorgeous avenues, T h e brilliant lamps, the blazing fireworks, T h e gilded saloons, the slender sandwiches. Yea, the great R o t u n d a itself, Shall dissolve— A n d leave not arrack behind. T o d a y n o t h i n g r e m a i n s to r e m i n d us of e v e n the f a d e d g l o r y of V a u x h a l l .

In

1864 t h e

Church

of

St.

Peter,

V a u x h a l l , was consecrated a n d n u m e r o u s streets of s m a l l

i8z

DISSOLUTION

houses, now practically slums, have for many years completely obliterated all traces of the gardens. It is still possible to trace on a map the boundaries of the gardens. Leopold Street and a small portion of Vauxhall Walk define their northern limit, and Upper Kennington Lane their southern, St. Oswald's Place extends along the eastern boundary, and the western boundary is indicated by Goding Street. The space within these boundaries is occupied by Gye Street, Italian Walk, Burnett Street, Auckland Street, Glynn Street, and part of Tyers Street, and also by St. Peter's Church. As late as 1869 the supper colonnade of Vauxhall was advertised to be sold cheap. And with such a prosaic detail our history of the gardens must close. A walk through the streets now occupying the site, with their hordes of dirty children, smudgy houses, and noisy traffic brings back no memories of the gardens. T o recapture any of their spirit one must examine the glowing accounts of the reporters, the playbills, and the novels of the period. And then only does a faint perfume of the earlier Vauxhall strike one.

APPENDICES

A:

The Site of Vauxhall

WE GAIN a better idea of the site if we consider Vauxhall (spelt variously as Fawkeshall, Foukeshall, Fox-hall, or Vauxhall) in conjunction with its neighbor, the manor of Kennington. Tradition has it that Kennington had been a royal palace before the Norman Conquest. Hardicanute is said to have died there in 1041, during an entertainment which he had given in celebration of the marriage of one of his nobles. We are not told, as we are of King John, that a surfeit of peaches and green beer, or of Henry I, that a surfeit of lampreys, was the cause. A t Kennington Harold II is reputed to have placed on his own head that crown of which, with his life, William the Norman later deprived him. Henry III assembled one of his parliaments at Kennington, and Edward III kept his Christmas there in 1342. Later he annexed it as a member of the Duchy of Cornwall and bestowed it on his son Edward, the Black Prince, who frequently resided there. It remained a royal residence until taken from the "right owners" in the reign of Charles I. In the parliamentary survey of 1656 it is described as a "small and old low timber building, situated on part of the foundation of the ancient mansion-house of the Black Prince and other Dukes of Cornwall after him, which was long since utterly ruined, and nothing thereof remaining but the stable, one hundred eighty feet long, built of flint and stone, and now used as a barn."

Vauxhall appears to have nearly as ancient a date as its

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APPENDICES

neighbor Kennington. In a record in the reign of Edward I it is declared to contain twenty-nine acres of meadow land valued at three shillings per acre, and eighty acres of arable land at fourpence per acre. Margaret de Ripariis (or De Rivers) held the manor in dower from Baldwin de Insula, her late husband, of the inheritance of Isabella de Fortibus, Countess of Albemarle, sister and coheir of Baldwin, Archbishop of Canterbury. Upon Margaret's marriage with Faukes de Brent, this was part of her jointure, as well as the adjoining manor of South Lambeth which she held; and it is probably from the circumstances of this marriage that Foukeshall received its denomination, and not because of any association with Guy Fawkes, as some have imagined. It next belonged to Roger D'Amorie by grant from Edward II, but when Roger joined the disaffected barons against their sovereign, the king gave Foukeshall to his favorite, Hugh L e Despenser. After Le Despenser's execution in 1326, Roger's widow regained the manor and exchanged it with Edward I I I for lands in the county of Suffolk. Edward in turn gave it to his son, the Black Prince, and at this point the two manors have a mutual bond of interest. But the bond was not to last long. T h e Black Prince gave Foukeshall to the church and monastery of Canterbury. 1 This fraternity held it until the dissolution under Henry V I I I , who, when the fraternity changed its establishment of prior and monks to that of dean and chapter, transferred the estate to them. T h e manor fell into decay at a very early period. In 1 6 1 5 Copped (Copt) Hall being situated opposite to the site of the ancient Fawkeshall, which had either gone to decay or been pulled down, resumed the name of that structure and was recognized in a survey of Charles I as a "capital messuage called Vauxhall, alias Copped-Hall, bounded by the Thames, being a fair dwelling house, strongly built of three stories high and a fair staircase breaking out from it nineteen feet square." At this time it was the property of J a n e Vaux, who lr T h e gift is recorded in the Monasticon Anglicanum (i, 18, ed. 1655) as follows: " D o m i n u s Edwardus Princeps filius regis Ed. 3 dedit monachis Ecclesiae Cantuar. manerium de Fawkeshall eodem rege Eilwardo idem donum confirmante, ad sustentationem d u o r u m capellanorum in cadem Ecclesia celcbraturorura."

APPENDICES

185

upon her death left to each of her two daughters a moiety of this estate.2 B:

Water Contestants at Vauxhall

IN 1786, as a means of increasing the patronage of and more general interest in the gardens, the proprietors instituted two water contests: a sailing match for "gentlemen's pleasure sailing boats" under ten tons, and a "rowing match" for the watermen under forty. The prize for the former was a silver cup, and for the latter, a wherry. The races were so arranged that they finished at the Cumberland barge at the foot of Vauxhall stairs and so timed that by the end of the second or third heat the doors of the gardens were opened for the evening. T h e races generally began at four o'clock. These races, which annually attracted thousands of spectators, were continued well into the nineteenth century. C:

Dioramas

are still in use. They played an important part in the Hall of Science at the Century of Progress Exhibition held at Chicago (1933-4), as well as at the World's Fair in New York (1939-40). The following account of their construction is from a description by E. J . Ashenden, in the Chicago Sunday Tribune, April 2, 1933, in an interview with Virginia Gardner: "In each diorama the foreground is modeled in perspective, so that it is difficult to tell where the sculpturing leaves off and the painted background begins," he explained. "Obtaining this perspective is a mathematical science. As we are working largely for scientists, we make sure our perspective is exact. If we are making a model of a room, the original room could be worked out from the diorama to the square inch with exactness." Not only is the minutest care made in creating the diorama in the studio, but to insure authenticity cross country trips are DIORAMAS

2 It was sold in 1652, but reverted to the Crown at the Restoration. A f t e r passing through various hands, Sir Samuel Morland obtained a lease of Vauxhall House, made it his residence, and considerably improved the premises.

APPENDICES made when necessary. One of the scientists in charge of the fair's basic sciences exhibit wanted a diorama of Dr. T . W. Richards' laboratory in Harvard university showing his atomic weight apparatus. Ashenden went to Boston, interviewed the professor, saw his laboratory, obtained blue prints and photographs of the laboratory, studied the apparatus he was to reproduce in miniature, and returned to set his staff members upon the laborious work of making the model. The photograph of the diorama cannot be distinguished from one of the original now. "This is the way we work," explained Ashenden. "One of the professors in charge of the science exhibits decides he wants a diorama of a rubber plantation. T h e fair then gets some rubber or tire company to pay for it and induces the company to lend it to the fair. "Next a small sketch model is made, one we can move about. If we don't want a tree in one place, we change it to another. The client then approves it. "The figures in the diorama are first made of clay, then a plaster or wax mold is made of them. Then a plaster cast is made, and they are painted. Several girls are engaged in making trees, flowers and other vegetation. The rubber trees were not difficult. Some are more so. Usually we take a branch of a real tree, make sure it is dry, and wire smaller branches on it, covering the whole with gesso, a combination of plaster and glue, such as Leonardo da Vinci and other old masters used as a foundation for their painting. Then the whole is painted. Leaves are made of paper or cloth." All the painting is done with flat oil paint, which has no shine to it. A gleaming surface would destroy the effect of distance, it was explained. This sense of distance and reality were evident in the Bay of Nice exhibition now under construction, so that the blue water catching a glint of warm sunlight apparently was endless. In the foreground a peasant woman, sculptured from a painting, carried a basket of olives.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

T h e bibliographical material (or a study of V a u x h a l l Gardens is extensive. T h e present bibliography does not aim at completeness because I d o not think the nature of the material warrants it, just as I do not think that complete documentation by footnotes is either necessary or desirable. T o o often a writer attempts to give weight to fragile matter by excessive documentation, and I do not wish to be a party to the continuance of such a practice. T h e present bibliography will be of value to those w h o are interested in the L o n d o n of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries; it is for that possible value that it is as long as it is. I should like to add, however, that every statement could have been documented had I thought the subject worth the trouble.

Ackerman, R. Microcosm of London, after original edition of R. Ackerman. 3 vols., London (Methuen and Co.), 1904. Ambulator, The; or The Stranger's Companion in a Tour round London. London, 1774; 4th edition, 1792; 9th edition, 1800. Angelo, H. Reminiscences. 2 vols., London (Kegan Paul, Trench, Triibner and Co.), 1904. Antiquities in Middlesex and Surrey. 2 vols., London (J. Nichols), 1790. Boswell, J. Life of Samuel Johnson. 2 vols., London (Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent and Co. Ltd.), n.d. Brayley, E. W. A Topographical History of Surrey. 5 vols., London (Tilt and Bogue) and Dorking (Robert Best Ede), 1841-48. Burn, J. S. The Fleet Registers. Comprising the history of Fleet marriages, and some account of the parsons and marriage-house keepers; with extracts from the registers: to

i88

BIBLIOGRAPHY

which are added notices of the May Fair, Mint, and Savoy Chapels, etc., etc. London (Rivingtons, H. Butterworth, E. Suter), 1833. Burney, F. Evelina. New York (Macmillan Co.), 1935. Dickens, C. American Notes. New York (Belford, Clarke and Co.), n.d. Sketches by Boz. New York (Belford, Clarke and Co.), n.d. Dictionary of National Biography. 24 vols., London (Oxford University Press), 1921-27. Evelyn, J . Diary. London (Macmillan Co.), 1908. Franklin, B. Autobiography. San Francisco (Printed for Limited Editions Club by John Nash), 1931. Georgian Era, The. 4 vols., London (Vizetelly, Branston and Co.), 1832-34. Goldsmith, O. Citizen of the World. London and Toronto (J. M. Dent), 1934. Gray, T . The Letters of Thomas Gray. Edited by D. C. Tovey. 3 vols., London (George M. Bell and Sons), 1900. Grove, J . Dictionary of Music and Musicians. 4 vols., London (Macmillan Co.), 1880-89. Hays, M. The Love-Letters of Mary Hays (iyyg-iy8o). Edited by A. F. Wedd. London (Methuen and Co.), 1925. Kearsley, C., and G. Kearsley. Kearsley's Stranger's Guide, or Companion through London and Westminster, and the Country Round. . . . London (C. and G. Kearsley), n.d. [>793?]Kelly, H. Thespis; or, A Critical Examination into the Merits of All the Principal Performers Belonging to Drury-Lane Theater. London (G. Kearsley), 1766. Thespis; or, A Critical Examination into the Merits of All the Principal Performers Belonging to Covent-Garden Theater. London (G. Kearsley), 1766 [Book the Second]. Lysons, D. Environs of London. 6 vols., London (T. Cadell), 1792-1811. Manning, O., and W. Bray. History and Antiquities of the County of Surrey. 3 vols., London (G. White), 1804-14. Mathews, Mrs. Memoirs of Charles Mathews. 4 vols., London (Richard Bentley, New Burlington Street), 1838.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

189

Moritz, C. Travels of Carl Philipp Moritz in England in i8j2. London (Humphrey Milford), 1924. Nichols, J . Literary Anecdotes of the Eighteenth Century. 9 vols., London (Printed for the Author), 1812-16. Particulars and Conditions of Sale. Royal Gardens, Vauxhall (To Be Sold by Mr. Leifchild), 1841. Pepys, S. Diary. Edited by H. B. Wheatley. 3 vols., New York (Harcourt, Brace and Co.), 1924. Rogers, S. Recollections of the Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers. London (Edward Moxon), 1856. Royal Gardens, Vauxhall [Bodleian Library, Oxford, G. A. Surrey, c. 21-25]. This is invaluable for the student of Vauxhall. The collection contains five volumes of clippings, playbills, illustrations, and so forth. Royal Gardens, Vauxhall [Harvard University Library, Theater Collection, 9 vols.]. This is an even more valuable collection than that in the Bodleian. It contains much of the same material, in addition to the holograph letters and manuscripts of Simpson, contracts with the various performers, Vauxhall music, colored plates, several of which were originally issued to be sold for one penny each, and practically a complete set of the Vauxhall Papers. Either this or the Bodleian collection undoubtedly belonged to Warwick Wroth. Smith, A. Comic Tales and Pictures of Life. London (David Bryce), 1852. Smollett, T . The Expedition of Humphry Clinker. London (Hutchinson and Co.), n.d. Swift, J . Journal to Stella. Edited by F. Ryland. London (George Bell and Sons), 1897. Thackeray, W. M. Pendennis. New York (A. L. Burt Co.), n.d. Timbs, J., Curiosities of London. London (David Bogue) 1855; a new edition, corrected and enlarged, 2 vols. (Virtue and Co.), 1867; a new edition (Longmans, Green, Reader, and Dyer), 1868. Walpole, H. Letters. Edited by Mrs. Paget Toynbee. 16 vols., Oxford (Clarendon Press), 1903-05. [Supplement. Edited by Paget Toynbee. 3 vols., Oxford (Clarendon Press), 1918, 25.] Wroth, W. The London Pleasure Gardens. London (Macmillan Co.), 1896.

igo

BIBLIOGRAPHY

T h e following newspapers and magazines have proved of value: London Connoisseur (1754-5 6 ; »757= J 793) Daily Advertiser (1730-98) Daily Journal (1720-37) European Magazine (1782-1826) Gentleman's Magazine (1731-1907) London Chronicle (1757-1823) London Times (1785- ) Spectator (1711-12) Spectator (1741) Westminster Magazine (1750-51) Edinburgh Scot's Magazine

INDEX

Acrobatic troupes, 93, 179 Addison, Joseph, quoted, 15; visit to gardens with Sir Roger, 14, 15, Admission fees, 76, 77, 84; included refreshments, 77, 85; schedule, 78, 105 Aerial, the, physical perfection, 129 "Aerial Traveller," 85 Alfred (Arne), 148 "Altonian Siffleur," 106 Amelia, 132 American Bowling Saloon, 177 Andrews, John, 22, 171 Angelo, Henry, 127 Approach. 24-31, 75 Arc de l'Etoile, 66 Archer, Edward, 82 Arne, Elizabeth Wright, 79, 154, 155 Arne, Michael, song writer, 147, 154; Alfred, 148; interest in alchemy, '54. '55 Arne, Thomas, composer, 154 Arnold, Castle of Andalusia, 165 Arrowsmith, i64n Artist, morals of, 144 Ashe, Elizabeth, 26 Ashenden, E. J., quoted, 185, 186 Aubrey, John, 8 Auction, 22, 181 Audience, see Crowds Ault, Norman, vii Avison, Mr., 158 "Awake My Soul" (BartMlimon), 16971 Ballets, 95 ff. Ballet theater, 61; auction price, 181

Balloons, ascent, 85, 176; races, 108; Grand Nassau Balloon flights, 172 Balne, G., 21 Baltimore, Lady, 30 Band, invisible, 81 Banks, Peggy, 26n, 29 Barges, 26 Barnett, Miss, 80 Barrett, Bryant, manager, 21 Barrett, George Rogers, manager, î i Barrett, John Tyers, manager, 21, 61, 92 Barrymore, Lord, measure adopted against rowdyism, 127 Barthélémon, François Hippolite, "Awake My Soul," i6gn Bate, M. H., quarrel with Captain Croftes, 125; boxing match with Miles, 126 Bates, William, 152 Battle of Waterloo, 65, 100 ff. Bay of Naples, representation of, 64 Beard, John, 144 If.; Handel composed some of his greatest tenor parts for, 145; marriages: career, 146 Bedouin Arabs, 176 Beggar's Opera, The (Gay), Beard in role of Macheath, 146; Lowe in the role, 147 Bellinck, Juan, 93 Bell's Ethiopian Singers, 176 Billington, Mrs. Elizabeth, 154 Birds, nightingales, 10, 122; concert of, 78; imitations, 106, 172 Bish, Thomas, manager, 21 Bish and Gye, management of, 61,

igs

INDEX

Bish and Gye—(Continued) 6g, 92, 95; decline under proprietorship o f , 105 Bish, Gye, and Hughes, management of, 21 Black-Ey'd Susan, 40 Blackmore, descent à ¡a Saqui, 85» Black Prince murder, 131 Bland, Maria Theresa, 157, 160; career as singer, 162; tragedy: madness, 163 "Blow, Blow, T h o u Winter W i n d " (Ame), 147 Boai, Michael, "chin-chopping," 106 Boleyn, Anne, portrait, 47 Bolton, Fanny, 9 1 , 1 2 1 Boz, 63, 141 Bramble. Mathew, 54, 55 Branghton sisters, 122 Brawls, 30 Brent, Charlotte, see Pinto, Mrs. Thomas Brooks, curate, 150 "Buck and wing," 176 Bunn, Alfred, 1 7 1 ; and " A l f r e d Crowquill," Vauxhall Papers, 22 Burney, Fanny, Evelina, 29, 1 4 1 ; incident in dark walk, 1 2 1 ; quoted, 122 Butchers' Charitable Institution, '75 Byron, L o r d and L a d y , 1 5 1 Candide, 52 Canterbury, Foukeshall given to, 184 Carillon, 78 Carrington, Mr., 150 Carver, Robert, 5 m Cascade, 48 Cathcart, Lord, 28 Catley, Anne, 147, 152: as Rosetta in Love in a Village. 153 Caucasien, Paris, 16 Centenary Jubilee, see Vauxhall Jubilee Century of Progress Exhibition, diorama, 185 Champion, excerpt, 37 Chandelier in rotunda, 45

Chariot races, 178 Charles II in Morland's garden, 9 Chicago Sunday Tribune, excerpt, 185 Chickens, cruel allusions to, 134 ff. Child, H „ 93 Children's fete, 94, 102 f.; ballets, 95 "Chin-chopping," 106 Chinese Pageant, 176 Chinese Walk, 64 "Chin melodist," 106 Church of St. Peter, Vauxhall, 181 Cibber, Colley, quoted, 15 Cibber, Mrs. Colley, 154 Cincinnati (Ohio) Gazette, excerpt, 177 Cirque Imperial Company, 179 City of London T a v e r n , dinner furnished by, for Wellington fete, 1.40 Class distinctions forgotten, 119 Clergymen transported, 150 Cocking, parachute jump, 86 Colin Clout, 33; quoted, 172 Colonnades, 53 Cornic Almanack, excerpt, 132 Composers, 144-70 Concert, see Grand Concert Connoisseur, excerpt, 49, 134 if. Cooke's equestrians, 102, 103 Copped (Copt) Hall, 184 Coronation Fete, 103; illumination, 68 Coronation Gala, 72 Cosmoramas, 62, 63, 64, 65, 93 Costumes, 82; at Ridotto, 75 Covent Garden, Beard the proprietor and manager of, 146; Shield as composer to, 158 Cowell, Sam, 179 Cremorne Gardens, 175, 179: Vauxhall pictures purchased for Banqueting Hall, 181 Croftes, Captain, quarrel with Rev. Mr. Bate, 125; forced to resign commission, 126 Cross Walk, 37, 40 Crowds, 3, 1 1 2 ; on gala nights, 30, 3 1 ; change in patronage, 105, 175;

INDEX at masquerade, 140; see also Rowdyism Crowquill, Alfred, 137; quoted, 177 Cruikshank, George, 132 Cumberland, D u k e of, 26, 28, 114 Cunningham, Allan, quoted, 47 Curriculum, 66 Daily Advertiser, 76; excerpt, 53; notice to an unknown beauty, n g Daily Courant, 74 Daily Journal, 74 Daly, Richard, 162 Dancers, professional, 95; Juba, 176 Dancing platform, auction price, 181 Dark W a l k , see Walks Darley, fireworks, 176 Darmstadt, Grand Duke of, military band, 107 Davison, Edward, 157 Delaval, Sir Francis Blake, 15« Denmark, King of, 117 Derby, Lord, 57 Devonshire, Duchess of, 87 Dibdin, Charles, 147 Dickens, Charles, 176; Sketches by Boz, 63, 141 Dignum, Charles, 157: career as singer, 159; debut in Love in a Village: salary, 161 Dincly, Sir John, matrimonial advertisements, 129 Dinner, to commemorate battle of Vittoria, 140; table d'hôte, at Cremorne, 179 Dioramas, 65, 185; how made, 186 Dobbin, William, 132 Doddington, George, 17 Dorking, Tyers' house at, 17 " D o w n the Bourne and through the M e a d " (Shield), 159 Drugger, Abel, 154 Druids' Walk, 36 Drury Lane, reproduction of orchestra in gardens given at, 48 Ducrow, Andrew, equestrian, 109, 172 Dudley, Sir Henry Bate, 129

'93

Eccles, Mr., love letters of Mary Hays and, 117 if. English characteristics of V a u x h a l l , 7* English temperament, eighteenthcentury V a u x h a l l a phase of, 111 Entertainments, 70-110; copied on Continent, 105: return to earlier style, 106; recession in quality, 171 Equestrians, 176, 177 Ethiopian Singers, 176 Etna, Mt., eruption, 175 European Magazine, 156 Evelina, 29, 79, 122, 141 Evelyn, John, Diary, 9 Eve on banks of the bath, 66 Examiner, 87 Expenses and receipts, 98, 99 Fancy dress, 82 Fantoccini, 88 "Farewell to V a u x h a l l , " 179 Fawkeshall, 183 Fetes, D u k e of Wellington's Battle of Vittoria, 31, 77, 87, 140; Coronation Fete, 68, 103; public, given by government, 87; Fete of Versailles, 108 Fire-balloon, 85 Fires, 60, 66, 67 Fireworks, 84, 85, 86, 91, 92, 102, 176 Fitzgerald, George Robert, duel with Captain Scawen, 125, 126; hoax played upon Bate, 126 Fleet marriages, 148 Flute-cymbol, 81 Footpads, 31 Fortress, Moorish, 62 Fort St. Elmo, 64 Foukeshall, 183, 184 Fountain, 93 Fowler, T h o m a s , gardens bought by, 22 Fox-Hall, 9, 11 ff., 183; see also Vauxhall Gardens Franklin, Benjamin, Autobiography, excerpt, 67

INDEX Frederick, Prince of Wales, 30, 4*, 47«, 75, 78; portraits, 47; tee also Prince's Pavilion Galas, honoring Prince of Wales' birthday, 60; birthdays of Regent and D u k e of York, 68; on recovery of king, 68; coronation, 72; martial music: fireworks, 84; see also V a u x h a l l Jubilee Gallants, rudeness, 13 Carnerin, Madame, ascent in balloon, 86 Garrick, David, 150; reproduction of orchestra in gardens given at Drury Lane, 48; Cymon, 154 Gay, John, Sweet William's Farewell to Black-Ey'd Susan, 4on George I V , transparent portrait in coronation robes, 93; musical part of coronation ceremony composed by Shield, 159 Goldsmith, O., Chinese philosopher at gardens, 30; quoted, 50 Gothic, use of term, 60 Gothic building, 65 Gothic Obelisk, 52 Gothic orchestra, 43 Gothic temples, 42, 43, 60 Granby, Lord, 114 Grand American Bowling Saloon, 177 Grand Chinese Pageant, 176 Grand Concert, 78 ff., 144; sole form of amusement, 78, 81 Grand Coronation Gala, 72 Grand Cross W a l k , 37 Grand Gothic Obelisk. 52 Grand orchestra, 43, 81 Grand T e m p l e and Ball Room, 56 Grand T u r k i s h Procession, 103 Grand W a l k , 36, 37, 40, 54 Gray, Thomas, quoted, 111, 114 Great Room, 44 Gretry, Richard Coeur de Lion, 163 Grierson, marriage performed by, 150 Gye, Frederick, manager, 21; optical illusions invented by, 65; see also Bish and G y e

Ham, proverbial thinness, 134 Hamilton, transparent picture

by,

47 Handel, statue by Roubiliac, 41, 59: composed some of greatest tenor parts for Beard, 145; Lowe in tenor roles of oratorios, 147 Hardy, Thomas, Barthelemon at Vauxhall, i6gn Harry Lorrequer, 141 Haus Vaterland, Berlin, 16 Haydn, influence on Shield, 158; Creation, 166 Hayman, Francis, sale of pictures by, 23; paintings, 38, 40, 46, 47; pictures from plays of Shakespeare, 42 Hays, Mary, love letters of M r . Eccles and, 117 ff. Henry VIII, portrait, 47 Henry, John, New York Company,

'54 Heptaplasiestron, 93 Herbert, Lady Henrietta, 146 Hermit's W a l k , 36, 37n; illumination, 69 " H e r m i t " transparency, 176 Herring, Henry, 131 Hogarth, William, sale of pictures by, 23; designs for Hayman's paintings, 38, 47; plans for a Ridotto al fresco, 74 ff.: silver tickets designed by, 78; presented with gold ticket, 78 Hoggart, auctioneer, 22 Hook, James, 17, 147: Guida di Musica, 156; Collection of New English Songs, 157 Hook, James, Jr., 157 Hook, John, 156 Hook, Theodore, 157 Hooper, pugilist, 127 Horsely, Mrs., friend of Pepys, 11 Horsemanship, 103 Howard, Henry, paintings by, 64 Hughes, Admiral, 165 Hughes, T h o m a s , manager, 22 Hullin, ballet master, 95, 97; salary, 98 Hunt, Leigh, 166; quoted, 87

INDEX Icebergs, 107 Illuminations, 67 ff.; see also Lamps Incledon, Charles, 80, 157, 164; voice, 165, 166; role in Arnold'« Castle of Andalusia, 165; in Haydn's Creation, 166; hoax played on, 167 Indian juggler, g j Invisible band, 81 Ipswich Journal, excerpt, 130 Israel in Egypt (Handel), tenor role composed for Beard, 145 Italian Walk, 36, 37n Jenny's Whim, i i 5 n Jephthah (Handel), tenor role composed for Beard, 145 Joel, the "Altonian Siffleur," 106; imitator of birds and beasts, 17s; descent on fiery dragon from monster tower, 176 Johnson, Samuel, The Idler, 20 Jones, Anne, 11 Jonson, Ben, 155 Juba, 176 Jubilee Lozenge, 167 Jubilee Year, see Vauxhall Jubilee Judas Maccabeus (Handel), tenor role composed for Beard, 145 Juvenile ballets, 95 Juvenile fetes, 94, 102 f., 175 Kearsley, C. and G., 50, 188 Keats, John, Sonnet to a Lady Seen . . . at Vauxhall, 120 Kelly, Hugh, 151, 155 Kemble, Charles, 167 Kennedy, Mrs., singer, i64n Kennington, manor of, 183 Kingston, Duke of, 26 King's Walk illumination, 6g Knepp, Mrs. (or Knipp), i2n Lamps, in variegated colors, 3, 67 ff., 119, 175, 177; in London streets and at Vauxhall, 67 Lascelles, General Francis, 153 Lawes, Henry, 159 Leary, Miss, 80; voice, 170; see O'Leary, 164»»

195

Lease, yearly, 22 Lejair family, 176 Leopold's acrobatic troupe, 179 Licensed Victuallers, Annual Fete and Fancy Fair, 175 Lights, see Lamps Linley, Thomas, the elder, 160; wrote song for Vernon, 151 Lion king, 177 Liston, John, 166 Literary Gazette, excerpt, 8g, 139 Location, 24, 35, 182 London Chronicle, 122 London Genuine Tea Company, 22 London Wine Company, 22 Long Room, see Prince's Gallery "Long Time I've Courted You, Miss," 160 Longuemare, Troop of Acrobats, 93 Longuemare, Jr., evolutions on tight rope, 93 Lottery wheel, 105 Love in a Village, Beard in role of Hawthorn, 146 Lovers' Walk, 36, 37 Lowe, Thomas, 79; roles: career, 147 Lutestring, 83» Macarte, Marie, 177 Magistrates, hostility towards gardens, gg, 100; objections made to, on score of morality, 124 Maidman, orchestra designed by, 43; rotunda, 44 Managers, 17-23 Manners, 111-43 Marble groupings, 178 Marionettes, 88 Marriage Act, 149 Marriage laws, English, 148 Martel, Joel, 106 Martin, Miss, songs, 109 Martyr, Mrs., 80, 164«, 170 Marylebone Gardens, Lowe lessee and manager, 147; financial ruin, 147, 152: Hook organist and composer at, 157 Masquerades, 84, 171, 175; crowds, 140; described, 178

'SS

INDEX

Masques not permitted at Jubilee, 8s Masters, Elizabeth, 17 Mathews, Charles, 164, 166 Medici, London, 16 Melford, Lydia, 28, 54 Mendoza, 127 Messiah, The (Handel), tenor role composed for Beard, 145 Milanese musicians, 87 Military Band of Grand D u k e of Darmstadt, 107 Milton, statue by Roubiliac, 36 Minstrels, Pandean, 86 Mitchell, John, 22, 171 Molnar, Ferenc, 13« Monconys, 35; Journal des voyages, 9 Moorish palace, 6s, 66 Moorish tower, 63 Morality, objections made to magistrates on score of, 1S4 Moritz, Carl Philip, 28, 45, 46, 1S4, 139; quoted, 47, 49 Morland, Sir Samuel, 8; plantation formed skeleton for improvements, 35 M o r n i n g entertainments, 66 Mortimer, John Hamilton, Court of Momus, 57 Mulberry Garden, 9 Murder at the Black Prince, 131 Muse of Comedy, 179 Music, 70, 78 ff.; program, 80 Musical T e m p l e , 63 Music R o o m , New, 44 Naples, Bay of, 92 Naumachia, scene of the, 60 Naussau balloon, 66 New Music R o o m , 44 Newspaper accounts, 32 New Spring Garden, Lambeth, 8 if. Nightingales, 10, 122; see also Birds Nobility, at V a u x h a l l , 114; alienated, 175 North Pole exhibition, 107 Obelisk, Grand Gothic, 5s O b o e , concerto for, 79, 80

" O Bring Me W i n e " (Shield), 159 O g l o u , Passwan, 172 O l d Spring Garden, 9 Olympic games, 66 Operators, 17-23 Optical illusions, 65 Orchestra, early, 37; grand Gothic, 43; reproduced at Drury Lane, 48; illumination, 68, 69; auction price, 181 Organ concerto, 7g, 80 Owners and operators, 17-23 Paganini, violinist, 110 Paintings, 37, 38 ff., 46, 49, 51, 61, 64; sale of pictures by Hogarth and Hayman, 23; dioramic, 65; purchased for Cremornc Banqueting Hall, 181 Palace, Moorish, 62, 66 Palmyra, painting of ruins of, 43 Pandean Minstrels, 86 Parachutes, 86 Paris from the Observatory, 64 Parke, Mr., 79, 80; quoted, 161 "Passion of Love, T h e , " 155 Pasta, soprano, insulted, 110 Patronage, change in, 105, 175; see also Crowds Pavilion of Concord, 59 Pavilions, 38, 39; see also Prince's pavilion Pendcnnis, Arthur, 65, 91, 121 Pepys, S., Diary, excerpts, 9 ff. passim Petersham, Lady, party, 26, 114 ff., 132 Phantasmagoria, 93 Pickpockets, 130 Picture room, 45; alterations for jubilee, 57 Pictures, see Paintings Pigot, Admiral H u g h , 165 Pinto, Mrs. T h o m a s , 117 Plaster of Paris ornaments, 43, 44, 45 Poitier, Miss (Mrs. Joseph Vernon), irregular marriage, 148 ff.; as Ceres in The Tempest, 151 Poles, benefit for, 110

INDEX Political party cockades prohibited, 1*8 Potter, Joe, 17 Prince of Wales, 117; gala honoring birthday, 60; see also Frederick, Prince of Wales Prince's Gallery, 59 Prince's Pavilion, 42, 66, 176 Punch, famous for its potency, 13s Punch, excerpt, 174 Purchase price, 22 Pyrotechnic displays, see Fireworks Race course, 66 Races, chariot, 178; water, 185 Ranelagh Gardens, t i ; compared with Vauxhall, 111 ff.; expense not so great as at Vauxhall, 139 Ravel family, 108, 17» Ravel, Madame, descent d la Saqui, 108 Refreshments included in admission fee. 77, 83 Reinhold, singer, 79 Rent, 1728, 17 Rich, Charlotte, 146 Richard, T . W., diorama of laboratory of, 186 Ridotto al fresco, 35, 53, 74 Riot, 142 Robinson, Crabb, 166 Roger de Coverly, Sir, 14; visit to gardens, 14, 15, 24 Romanzini, see Bland, Maria Theresa Rose family at the gardens, 31, 134 Ross, Captain, "Exhibition to the North Pole," 107 Rotterdam by Moonlight, 64 Rotunda, 44, 172, 179; alterations for jubilee, 57; later alterations, 58. 59 Roubiliac, statue of Milton, 36; statue of Handel, 41 Rowdyism, 126 ff., 142; in dark walks, 123 Rowing match, 185 Royal Gardens, Cremorne, see Cremorne Gardens

197

Royal Gardens, Vauxhall, see Vauxhall Gardens Ruins, eighteenth-century taste for, 5» Ruins of Palmyra, 43 Sailing match, 185 Salaries, 98, 161 Samee, Ramo, 93, 17s Samson (Handel), tenor role composed for Beard, 145 Saqui, Madame, performance amidst fire, 88 ff.; letter to Gye, 90; salary, 97 Savoyards, 81, 87 Savoy Chapel, 148; a place of pretended privileges, 149 Scawen, Captain, duel with Fitzgerald, 115, 126 Scenes of ballet theater, 61 Sedley, Joseph, 123, 132 Sharp, Becky, 123, 132 Sheridan, R. B., The Critic, excerpt, 32TJ Shield, William, career, compositions, 157 ff.; The Flitch of Bacon, 158; songs, 159 "Sigh Best Expresses the Passion ot Love, A " (Shield), 159 Simpson, C. H., master of ceremonies, 4 ff.; quoted, 3, 6; busts, 23; last speech, 72; salary, 98 Singers, 70, 79, 144-70; morals of, 144; principal female and others, i6gn Singleton, Henry, portrait of King, 93 Slack rope, 93 Smith, Albert, 91; Comic Tales, excerpt, 178 Smith, Edward Tyrell, 23. 181 Smollett, T . , Humphry Clinker, 28 Social history of England, history of Vauxhall Gardens, a chapter in, 8 Songs, 70, 79; degeneration of, log Southern Railway, 30 South London Poly-Technic Institution, 174 South Walk, 36, 37, 40

'98

INDEX

Sponging house, 155ft Storm, representation of, 50; off the Cape of Good Hope, 64 Stothard, Thomas, paintings by, 64 Sunset hour, 67 Supper-boxes, 38, 42, 44, 65; illumination, 67, 68 Supper room, 39, 59 Suppers, 13* ff.; prices of, 134, 138, «39 Swan-hopping, 26n Swift, Jonathan, quoted, 14 Tabbinet, 83« Temples, 38, 39; Gothic, 42, 43, 60 Thackeray, quoted, 65, 91 " T h o r n , T h e " (Shield), 159 Tibbs, Mr. and Mr«., 30, 1x4 Tickets, fraudulent use of, 76; season, 77; silver and gold, 78 Tight rope, descent d la Saqui, 62, 69, 85; Madame Saqui's performance amidst fire, 88 ff.; Longuemare's performance, 93 Times, The, 75; excerpts, 7, 75, 129, 176. 179 T o m Brown, 14 T o m Restless, Tyers model for, 20 Torrington, Lady, 30 Toupee, S., quoted, 26 ff. Town and Country Magazine, excerpt, i64n Transparencies, 47, 57, 58, 60, 93, 176 T r i p to gardens, 24 ff. Triumphal car, 85 Trotter, Magistrate, 102 Trusler, Miss, 147 Tunstall, Miss, 152 Turkish procession, 103 Turner family, 176 Twilight, 67 Tyers, Jonathan, owner, achieved air of refinement and decency in gardens, 17, 103, 112; opening of gardens, 35; opened grand Gothic orchestra, 43; attempts at beautifi cat ion, 48; and Hogarth, 74; closed dark walks, 123 Tyers, Jonathan, Jr., 19

Tyers, Thomas, manager: Lucy and Rosalind, 19; sketches, and Political Conferences, 20 "Under the (Arne), 147

Greenwood

Tree"

Van Amburgh, lion king, 177 Vanbrugh, Sir John, The Provok'd Wife, excerpts, 13 Vane, Miss, portrait, 47 Vane, Harry, 26, 1 1 7 Vaudeville, 103 ff.; omission of, 106 Vaux, Jane, 184 Vauxhall Affray, 125 Vauxhall Gardens, history of, a chapter in social history of England, 8; description, 9; low moral tone, 12 ff.; Tyers achieved air of refinement and decency in, 17; lowest depth of degradation, 23; decadence begins, 88; last great changes, 92; weekly expenses and receipts, 98; compared with Ranelagh, 1 1 1 ff.; denounced, 103; decline under proprietorship of Bish and Gye, 105; failure: return to earlier style of entertainment, 106; dissolution, 171-82; closing performance, 172; closed, 174, 179; opened again, 175, 179; sold as building property, 179, 181; auction of property on premises, 181; possible to trace boundaries, 182, 183; date, 183 Vauxhall Jubilee, 56 ff., 82 ff., 107; festoons of colored lights, 68; Proclamation Extraordinary, 83; singers, 16411 Vauxhall Papers, 22; excerpt, 134 Vernon, Joseph, 1 1 7 ; career, 148 ff.; marriage, 148, 150; voice, 148, 151; irregular wedding chosen as test case, 150 f.; song in The School for Scandal written for, >51 Vernon, Mrs. Joseph, see Poitier, Miss Versailles, Fete of, 108 Vesuvius, eruption of, 64, 92

INDEX Villa D'Este, 175 Villiers, Barbara, and Charles II, 9 Visitors (see also Crowds); noted, vii Vittoria Fete, see under Wellington, Duke of Voltaire, Candide, excerpt, 5» Walks, 36 ff.; dark, 36; abolition of dark, 99; indecencies occurring in, 121 ff.; lighting forced by council, 1*3 Walpole, Horace, 53; quoted, »6, 28, 29, 3s, 111, 115, 116, 117; at Lady Petersham's party, 144 ff.; on Vauxhall Affray, 125 Ward, Ned, Jr., poems, 50, 54, 85, 162 Water contestants, 185 Waterfalls, 48 Waterloo, Battle of, 65, 100 ff. Webbe, Samuel, 160 Weichsell, Mrs., 117, 152, 154 Wellington, Duke of, fete honoring

'S9

Battle of Vittoria, 77, 87; chaos at approach to gardens, 31; dinner, 140 Westminster Bridge, opening, 2gn Wilkinson, John, 149 William IV, price of bust of, 22 Wine, prices, 138, 139 Women, dress, 83; boldness of, 124 Woodward, George, 131 World's Fair, New York, diorama, 185 Wright, Elizabeth (Mrs. Michael Arne), 154, 155 Wrighten, Mrs., 70, 163, 164«; ballads and hunting songs, 153 Yager Brass Band, 175 "Yet, Awhile, Sweet Sleep," 155 York, Duchess of, 31 York, Duke of, band, 84, 85 Zuchi, Antonio Pietro, Fite pitre, 57

Cham-