VAUXHALL GARDENS

§ 1. 1661–1728

These, the most famous of all the London pleasure gardens, were known in their earliest days as the New Spring Garden at Vauxhall, and continued till late in the eighteenth century to be advertised as Spring Gardens.[318]

The Spring Garden was opened to the public shortly after the Restoration, probably in 1661.[319] It was a prettily contrived plantation, laid out with walks and arbours: the nightingale sang in the trees; wild roses could be gathered in the hedges, and cherries in the orchard. The Rotunda, the Orchestra, and the Triumphal Arches, distinctive features of the later Vauxhall, were then non-existent, and the proprietor’s house from which refreshments were supplied was probably the only building that broke the charm of its rural isolation. It was a pleasant place to walk in, and the visitor might spend what he pleased, for nothing was charged for admission. It soon became one of the favourite haunts of Pepys, who first visited it on 29 May 1662. On hot summer days, he would take water to Foxhall with Deb and Mercer and his wife, to stroll in the garden alleys, and eat a lobster or a syllabub. On one day in May (29, 1666) he found two handsome ladies calling on Mrs. Pepys. He was burdened with Admiralty business—“but, Lord! to see how my nature could not refrain from the temptation, but I must invite them to go to Foxhall, to Spring Gardens.”

In a few years the Spring Garden became well known. Fine people came thither to divert themselves and the citizen also spent his holiday there, “pulling off cherries [says Pepys] and God knows what.” The song of the birds was charming, but from about 1667 more sophisticated harmony was furnished by a harp, some fiddles, and a Jew’s trump. About this time the rude behaviour of the gallants of the town began to be noted at the Spring Garden. Gentlemen like “young Newport” and Harry Killigrew, “a rogue newly come back out of France, but still in disgrace at our Court,” would thrust themselves into the supper-arbours and almost seize on the ladies, “perhaps civil ladies,” as Pepys conjectures. “Their mad talk [he adds] did make my heart ake,” though he himself, at a later time, was found at the gardens eating and drinking with Mrs. Knipp, “it being darkish.”

During the last thirty years of the seventeenth century, the Spring Garden, if less perturbed by the Killigrews and Newports, was not a little notorious as a rendezvous for fashionable gallantry and intrigue. “’Tis infallibly some intrigue that brings them to Spring Garden” says Lady Fancyful in ‘The Provoked Wife’ (1697), and Tom Brown (Amusements, 1700, p. 54) declares that in the close walks of the gardens “both sexes meet, and mutually serve one another as guides to lose their way, and the windings and turnings in the little Wildernesses are so intricate, that the most experienced mothers have often lost themselves in looking for their daughters.” It is not hard to picture Mrs. Frail “with a man alone” at Spring Garden; Hippolita eating a cheese-cake or a syllabub “with cousin,” and the gallant of Sedley’s ‘Bellamira’ (1687) passing off on Thisbe the fine compliments that he had already tried on “the flame-coloured Petticoat in New Spring Garden.”

On the evening of 17 May, 1711, Swift (it is interesting to note) visited the gardens with Lady Kerry and Miss Pratt, “to hear the nightingales.”[320] The visit of Addison’s Sir Roger in the spring of 1712 is classical.[321] “We were now arrived at Spring Garden, which is exquisitely pleasant at this time of year. When I considered the fragrancy of the walks and bowers, with the choirs of birds that sung upon the trees, and the loose tribe of people that walked under their shades, I could not but look upon the place as a kind of Mahometan Paradise.” You must understand, says the Knight, there is nothing in the world that pleases a man in love so much as your nightingale. “He here fetched a deep sigh, and was falling into a fit of musing, when a mask, who came behind him, gave him a gentle tap upon the shoulder, and asked him if he would drink a bottle of mead with her.” The old Knight bid the baggage begone, and retired with his friend for a glass of Burton and a slice of hung beef. He told the waiter to carry the remainder to the one-legged waterman who had rowed him to Foxhall, and, as he left the garden animadverted upon the morals of the place in his famous utterance on the paucity of nightingales.

In 1726 the Spring Garden is singled out as one of the London sights,[322] but it would seem that it had fallen into disrepute, and that fresh attractions and a management less lax were now demanded.[323]

§ 2. 1732–1767.

In 1728 Mr. Jonathan Tyers, the true founder of Vauxhall Gardens, obtained from Elizabeth Masters a lease of the Spring Gardens for thirty years at an annual rent of £250, and by subsequent purchases (in 1752 and 1758) became the actual owner of the estate. He greatly altered and improved the gardens, and on Wednesday 7 June 1732 opened Vauxhall with a Ridotto al fresco. The visitors came between nine and eleven in the evening, most of them wearing dominoes and lawyers’ gowns, and the company did not separate till three or four the next morning. The later Vauxhall numbered its visitors by thousands, but at this fête only about four hundred people were present, and the guard of a hundred soldiers stationed in the gardens, with bayonets fixed, was an unnecessary precaution. Good order prevailed, though a tipsy waiter put on a masquerading dress, and a pickpocket stole fifty guineas from a visitor, “but the rogue was taken in the fact.” A guinea ticket gave admission to this entertainment, which was repeated several times during the summer.

From about 1737 the Spring Gardens began to present certain features that long remained characteristic. The admission at the gate was one shilling, the regular charge till 1792, and silver tickets were issued admitting two persons for the season, which began in April or May.[324]

An orchestra containing an organ was erected in the garden, and the concert about this time lasted from five or six till nine. About 1758 this orchestra was replaced by a more elaborate ‘Gothic’ structure “painted white and bloom colour” and having a dome surmounted by a plume of feathers. The concert was at first instrumental, but in 1745 Tyers added vocal music, and engaged Mrs. Arne, the elder Reinhold, and the famous tenor, Thomas Lowe, who remained the principal singer at Vauxhall till about 1763.

VAUXHALL TICKET BY HOGARTH (AMPHION ON DOLPHIN).

On the opening day of the season of 1737 “there was (we read) a prodigious deal of good company present,” and by the end of the season Pinchbeck was advertising his New Vauxhall Fan with a view of the walks, the orchestra, the grand pavilion, and the organ.

The proprietor was fortunate in the patronage of Frederick Prince of Wales, who had attended the opening Ridotto and often visited Vauxhall till his death in 1751.[325] On 6 July, 1737, for instance, His Royal Highness with several ladies of distinction and noblemen of his household came from Kew by water to the Gardens, with music attending. The Prince walked in the Grove, commanded several airs and retired after supping in the Great Room.

Of fashionable patronage Vauxhall had, indeed, no lack till a very late period of its existence; but the place was never exclusive or select, and at no other London resort could the humours of every class of the community be watched with greater interest or amusement. “Even Bishops (we are assured) have been seen in this Recess without injuring their Character.” To us, some of its entertainments seem insipid and the manners and morals of its frequenters occasionally questionable, but the charm of the place for our forefathers must have been real, or Vauxhall would hardly have found a place in our literature and social history. The old accounts speak of Spring Gardens not only with naïve astonishment, but with positive affection. “The whole place” (to borrow the remark, and the spelling, of a last century writer) “is a realisation of Elizium.” One of the paintings in the gardens represented “Two Mahometans gazing in wonder at the beauties of the place.” Farmer Colin, after his week’s trip in town (1741) returned to his wife full of the wonderful Spring Gardens:—

Oh, Mary! soft in feature,

I’ve been at dear Vauxhall;

No paradise is sweeter,

Not that they Eden call.

Methought, when first I entered,

Such splendours round me shone,

Into a world I ventured,

Where rose another sun:

While music, never cloying,

As skylarks sweet, I hear:

The sounds I’m still enjoying,

They’ll always soothe my ear.

The account of England’s Gazetteer of 1751 is naturally more prosaic, but takes the exalted tone that characterises the old descriptions of the gardens:—“This (Foxhall) is the place where are those called Spring Gardens, laid out in so grand a taste that they are frequented in the three summer months by most of the nobility and gentry then in and near London; and are often honoured with some of the royal family, who are here entertained, with the sweet song of numbers of nightingales, in concert with the best band of musick in England. Here are fine pavilions, shady groves, and most delightful walks, illuminated by above one thousand lamps, so disposed that they all take fire together, almost as quick as lightning, and dart such a sudden blaze as is perfectly surprising. Here are among others, two curious statues of Apollo the god, and Mr. Handel the master of musick; and in the centre of the area, where the walks terminate, is erected the temple for the musicians, which is encompassed all round with handsome seats, decorated with pleasant paintings, on subjects most happily adapted to the season, place and company.”

The usual approach to the gardens until about 1750, when it became possible to go by coach, was by water. At Westminster and Whitehall Stairs barges and boats were always in waiting during the evening. Sir John, from Fenchurch Street, with his lady and large family, came on board attended by a footman bearing provisions for the voyage. The girls chatter about the last city-ball, and Miss Kitty, by her mamma’s command, sings the new song her master has taught her. Presently, “my lady grows sick” and has recourse to the citron wine and the drops. At the Temple Stairs a number of young fellows, Templars and others, hurry into the boats, and Mr. William, the prentice, takes the water with Miss Suckey, his master’s daughter. The deepness of their design is an inexhaustible fount of merriment, for she is supposed to be gone next door to drink tea, and he to meet an uncle coming from the country.[326]

VAUXHALL TICKET BY HOGARTH (“SUMMER”).

More refined would be the party of Mr. Horatio Walpole, in a barge, “with a boat of French horns attending,” or (at a later date) of Miss Lydia Melford, who describes how “at nine o’clock in a charming moonlight evening we embarked at Ranelagh for Vauxhall, in a wherry so light and slender that we looked like so many fairies sailing in a nutshell.” The pleasure of the voyage was marred by the scene on landing, for, although the worthy beadles of the gardens were present at the waterside to preserve order, there was at all periods on landing at Vauxhall Stairs “a terrible confusion of wherries,” “a crowd of people bawling, and swearing, and quarrelling,” and a parcel of ugly fellows running out into the water to pull you violently ashore. But you paid your shilling at the gate, or showed your silver ticket, and then passed down a dark passage into the full blaze of the gardens, lit with their thousand lamps.[327] This was the great moment, as every Vauxhall visitor from first to last, has testified. An impressionable young lady[328] found herself dazzled and confounded by the variety of the scene:—“Image to yourself ... a spacious garden, part laid out in delightful walks, bounded with high hedges and trees, and paved with gravel; part exhibiting a wonderful assemblage of the most picturesque and striking objects, pavilions, lodges, groves, grottos, lawns, temples, and cascades; porticos, colonnades, and rotundas; adorned with pillars, statues, and paintings; the whole illuminated with an infinite number of lamps, disposed in different figures of suns, stars and constellations; the place crowded with the gayest company, ranging through those blissful shades, or supping in different lodges on cold collations, enlivened with mirth, freedom and good humour, and animated by an excellent band of music.” Among the vocal performers you might perhaps have the happiness to hear the celebrated Mrs.—— whose voice was so loud and shrill that it would make your head ache “through excess of pleasure.”

Goldsmith’s Chinese Philosopher[329]—for foreigners always visited Vauxhall and even imitated it in Paris and at the Hague—received a similar impression on entering the gardens with Mr. Tibbs, the second-rate beau, and the pawnbroker’s widow. “The lights everywhere glimmering through the scarcely moving trees; the full-bodied concert bursting on the stillness of the night; the natural concert of the birds in the more retired part of the grove vying with that which was formed by art; the company gaily dressed, looking satisfaction, and the tables spread with various delicacies.”

For an hour or two the promenade and the concert were sufficiently amusing, and the crowd gathered before the orchestra, when Lowe or Miss Stevenson came forward with a new song. Music is the food of love, and the Vauxhall songs were (as Mr. Dobson has remarked) “abjectly sentimental.” Incidents like the following described by an amorous advertiser in the London Chronicle for 5 August, 1758, must have been not uncommon at the gardens:—“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 favour him with a line directed to A. D. at the bar of the Temple Exchange Coffee-house, 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.”

At nine o’clock a bell rang, and the company hurried to the north side of the gardens to get a view of the Cascade. A curtain being drawn aside disclosed a landscape scene illuminated by concealed lights. In the foreground was a miller’s house and a waterfall. “The exact appearance of water” was seen flowing down a declivity and turning the wheel of a mill: the water rose up in foam at the bottom, and then glided away. This simple exhibition was a favourite at Vauxhall, though it lasted but a few minutes and was spoken of contemptuously in The Connoisseur and other journals as the “tin cascade.”[330]

THE CITIZEN AT VAUXHALL, 1755.

The concert was then resumed, and some hungry citizens and their families had already taken their seats in the supper boxes. During supper the citizen[331] expressed his wonder at the number of the lamps, and said that it must cost a great deal of money every night to light them all. The eldest Miss declared that for her part she liked the dark walk best of all because it was solentary. Little Miss thought the last song pretty, and said she would buy it if she could but remember the tune: and the old lady observed that there was a great deal of good company indeed, but the gentlemen were so rude that they perfectly put her out of countenance by staring at her through their spy-glasses. The more fashionable visitors arrived later and had their supper after the concert, often hiring a little band of French horns to play to them. An interesting supper-party might have been seen at the gardens on a June night in 1750, Horace Walpole, Lady Caroline Petersham and “the little Ashe, or the Pollard Ashe as they call her.” In the front of their box—one of the best boxes, of course, near the orchestra and in full view of the company—sat Lady Caroline “with the vizor of her hat erect, and looking gloriously jolly and handsome.” “She had fetched (says Walpole) my brother Orford from the next box, where he was enjoying himself with his petite partie, to help us to mince chickens. We minced seven chickens into a china dish, which Lady Caroline stewed over a lamp, with three pats of butter and a flagon of water, stirring and rattling and laughing, and we every minute expecting the dish to fly about our ears. She had brought Betty, the fruit girl, with hampers of strawberries and cherries from Rogers’s, and made her wait upon us, and then made her sup by us at a little table.... In short the whole air of our party was sufficient, as you will easily imagine, to take up the whole attention of the Gardens; so much so, that from eleven o’clock till half an hour after one we had the whole concourse round our booth; at last, they came into the little gardens of each booth on the side of ours, till Harry Vane took up a bumper and drank their healths, and was proceeding to treat them with still greater freedoms. It was three o’clock before we got home” (Walpole to Montague, 23 June, 1750).

At this point it seems appropriate to furnish some details of the Vauxhall commissariat, and we cannot do better than transcribe an actual Bill of Provisions sold in the gardens about the year 1762.[332]

s.d.
Burgundy, a bottle60
Champagne80
Frontiniac60
Claret50
Old hock, with or without sugar50
Two pound of ice6
Rhenish and sugar26
Mountain26
Red port20
Sherry20
Cyder10
Table beer, a quart mug4
A chicken26
A dish of ham10
A dish of beef10
Salad6
A cruet of oil4
Orange or lemon3
Sugar for a bottle6
Ditto for a pint3
A slice of bread1
Ditto of butter2
Ditto of cheese2
A tart10
A custard4
A cheese cake4
A heart cake2
A Shrewsbury cake2
A quart of Arrack80

When Tyers leased the gardens in 1728 there was in the dwelling-house a “Ham Room,” so that this famous Vauxhall viand must have been already in request. The thinness of the slices was proverbial. A journal of 1762, for instance, complains that you could read the newspaper through a slice of Tyers’s ham or beef. A certain carver, hardly perhaps mythical, readily obtained employment from the proprietor when he promised to cut a ham so thin that the slices would cover the whole garden like a carpet of red and white.

The chickens were of diminutive size. Mr. Rose, the old citizen in The Connoisseur (15 May, 1755), found them no bigger than a sparrow and exclaimed at every mouthful: “There goes twopence—there goes threepence—there goes a groat ... why it would not have cost me above fourpence halfpenny to have spent my evening at Sot’s Hole.”

Chicken, ham and beef remained the staple of Vauxhall fare, but from about 1822 onwards the chicken cost four shillings instead of the half-crown, at which the old citizen had grumbled. Ham remained steady at one shilling a plate, and was cut no thicker. Thackeray speaks of “the twinkling boxes in which the happy feasters made believe to eat slices of almost invisible ham.”

In 1774 the same liquors were in demand, at the same prices as in 1762. In 1822 the claret sold was half a guinea a bottle and Frontiniac had risen from six shillings to ten shillings and sixpence a bottle. By this time, arrack—the famous rack punch that Jos. Sedley drank so freely—had risen from eight to twelve shillings a quart. In 1859 it was ten shillings a bowl, and rum and whisky, and of course, Guinness and Bass had taken their places in the bill. About 1802 Vauxhall Nectar was a common summer beverage. It was “a mixture of rum and syrup with an addition of benzoic acid or flowers of benjamin” and was taken with water.

Having thus given a general sketch of the company and amusements at Vauxhall, we must say something of the gardens themselves and of the character of the musical entertainments.

A General Prospect of Vaux Hall Gardens.

Shewing at one View the disposition of the whole Gardens.

Vue Detaillee des Jardins de Vaux Hall.

GENERAL PROSPECT OF VAUXHALL GARDENS, 1751.

The gardens[333] occupied about twelve acres and were laid out in gravel walks flanked by a number of fine trees. On passing through the principal entrance, that connected with the manager’s house[334] at the western end of the gardens, the visitor beheld the Grand (or Great) Walk, planted on each side with elms and extending about nine hundred feet, the whole length of the garden, to the eastern boundary fence, beyond which could be seen pleasant meadows with the hay-makers at their task. At the eastern end of this walk there was a gilded statue of Aurora, afterwards (before 1762) replaced by a Grand Gothic Obelisk bearing the inscription Spectator fastidiosus sibi molestus. This latter erection would hardly have borne inspection by daylight, for, like much of the ‘architecture’ of Vauxhall, it consisted merely of a number of boards covered with painted canvas.

Parallel to the Grand Walk was the South Walk with its three triumphal arches through which could be seen a painting of the ruins of Palmyra.

A third avenue, the Grand Cross Walk, also containing a painted representation of ruins, passed through the garden from side to side, intersecting the Grand Walk at right angles. This cross walk was terminated on the right by the Lovers’ (or Druid’s) Walk, and to the left were the Wildernesses and the Rural Downs.

The lofty trees of the Lovers’ Walk formed a verdant canopy in which the nightingales of Spring Gardens, the blackbirds, and the thrushes were wont to build. This was the principal of the Dark Walks so often mentioned in the annals of Vauxhall. In 1759 complaints were made of the loose characters who frequented these walks, and in 1763 Tyers was compelled to rail them off. When Vauxhall opened for the season in 1764 some young fellows, about fifty in number, tore up the railings in order to lay the walks open.

The Rural Downs, at least in the earlier days of Vauxhall, were covered with turf and interspersed with firs, cypresses and cedars. On one of the little eminences was a leaden statue of Milton[335] seated, listening to music, and at night-time the great Bard was illuminated by lamps. Here were also the Musical Bushes where a subterraneous band used to play fairy music till about the middle of the eighteenth century when this romantic entertainment ceased, “the natural damp of the earth being found prejudicial to the instruments.”

The Wildernesses were formed by lofty trees and were (about 1753) the verdant abode of various “feathered minstrels, who in the most delightful season of the year ravish the ears of the company with their harmony.”

The orchestra, open in the front, stood, facing the west, in the centre of what was called The Grove, a quadrangle of about five acres formed by the Grand, Cross, and South Walks and by the remaining side of the garden.

On each side of this quadrangle were the supper-boxes and pavilions, placed in long rows or arranged in a semi-circular sweep. These were decorated, about 1742, with paintings chiefly by Francis Hayman. Hogarth allowed his “Four Times of the Day” to be copied by Hayman for the boxes, and is said to have given Tyers the idea of brightening Vauxhall with paintings. It is doubtful if any of the pictures in the boxes can be traced directly to his hand, though an undoubted Hogarth, “Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn” was presented by the artist to Tyers and hung in the Rotunda. The pictures in the boxes chiefly represented scenes in popular comedies and a number of common sports and pastimes such as the play of seesaw, the play of cricket, the humorous diversion of sliding on the ice, leap-frog, and the country dance round the maypole. Some of the larger boxes, denominated temples and pavilions, were more elaborately designed and decorated. Such were the Temple of Comus (in the semi-circle of boxes on the left of the garden) and the Turkish Tent behind the orchestra.

The Inside of the Elegant Music Room in Vaux Hall Gardens.

Le dedans du Concert Elegant aux Jardins du Vaux Hall.

THE ROTUNDA (MUSIC ROOM), VAUXHALL, 1752.

Roubillac’s celebrated marble statue of Handel, as Orpheus, stood in various positions in the gardens (sometimes under cover) from 1738 to 1818.[336]

The principal structure was the Rotunda, entered through a colonnade to the left of the Grand Walk. It was a circular building, seventy feet in diameter, elegantly fitted up and containing an orchestra in which the band performed on wet evenings. When first opened it was known as the New Music Room or the Great Room, and in early days was nicknamed the Umbrella from the shape of the roof. With the Rotunda was connected a long room, known as the Saloon, or the Picture Room. This projected into the gardens, parallel to the Grove.

Under Tyers’s management the concert began at five or six and lasted till nine or ten. It consisted of sixteen pieces, songs alternating with sonatas and concertos. An overture on the organ, always formed part of the entertainment. Not much is known of the instrumental music, for the Vauxhall advertisements, until late in the eighteenth century, never gave the details of the programme. Arne, and Dr. John Worgan, (the Vauxhall organist) were the composers during this period. Valentine Snow, serjeant-trumpeter to the king, was a favourite about 1745, and Burney remarks that “his silver sounds in the open air, by having room to expand, never arrived at the ears of the audience in a manner too powerful or piercing.”

The songs consisted chiefly of sentimental ballads, and of a few more sprightly ditties, such as Miss Stevenson’s song “You tell me I’m handsome”:—

All this has been told me by twenty before,

But he that would win me must flatter me more.

The verse is highly conventional, but sometimes shows a glimmering of poetic form that raises it somewhat above the level of our own drawing-room ballads. The average Vauxhall song seems to our ears sufficiently thin and trivial, but on the lips of Lowe or Mrs. Weichsell, may easily have been successful. Of the popularity of the songs at the time, there can be no question. The magazines, especially The London Magazine, regularly published the words, and often the music, of “A new song sung at Vauxhall,” and the contemporary collections of Vauxhall songs, such as The Warbler published at a shilling in 1756, were numerous.

In the period 1745–1767, when the singers were few in number, the chief male vocalist was Thomas Lowe, who possessed an inexhaustible répertoire of Delias and Strephons which he sang with great applause from 1745 till about 1763, when he entered on the management of the Marylebone Gardens.[337] Mrs. Arne sang for a few years from 1745, and Miss Stevenson frequently circ. 1748–1758. Miss Isabella Burchell, better known as the Mrs. Vincent of Marylebone Gardens, sang at Vauxhall from 1751 to 1760. She was originally a milk-girl employed on Tyers’s estate in Surrey, and it was through his instrumentality that she obtained instruction in music.

In 1764, the chief singers were Vernon and Miss Brent, who belong rather to our next period. Miss Wright’s “Thro’ the wood, laddie,” was popular in 1765.

Jonathan Tyers died on 1 July, 1767. He had amassed a large fortune and owned the estate of Denbies at Dorking, where he laid out a curious garden containing a hermitage, called the Temple of Death, and a gloomy valley of the Shadow of Death. In spite of these lugubrious surroundings this “Master-builder of Delight” retained his love for Vauxhall till the last, and shortly before his death had himself carried into the Grove to take a parting look at the Spring Gardens.

He was succeeded at Vauxhall by his two sons, Thomas and Jonathan. ‘Tom’ Tyers, as he was called by Dr. Johnson, with whom he was a favourite, had been bred to the law, but he was too eccentric and vivacious to confine himself to practice. “He, therefore (says Boswell), ran about the world with a pleasant carelessness,” amusing everybody by his desultory talk and abundance of anecdote. He furnished many songs for the gardens, but in 1785, sold his interest to his brother Jonathan’s family. Jonathan was manager of Vauxhall from 1785 till his death in 1792.

§ 3. 1768–1790.

During this period the character of the entertainments of Vauxhall and the arrangement of the gardens themselves, underwent no very material changes,[338] and people of all ranks frequented the place as of old. The singers, however, were more numerous, and there seems to have been a general tendency to stay late. In 1783, the concert began at eight and ended at eleven, and a London guide-book of 1786,[339] states that the company at that time seldom left the garden till two in the morning, if the weather was fine.

From about 1772–1778, a good deal of rowdyism appears to have disturbed the harmony of Vauxhall, though it must be said that the company under old Tyers had not always been distinguished for urbanity. The rude treatment to which Fielding’s Amelia was subjected at the gardens (circ. 1752), can hardly have been an isolated occurrence, and in the summer of 1748 a party of ladies, apparently of good position, used to crow like cocks when visiting Vauxhall, while their friends of the male sex responded with an ass’s bray. One Mrs. Woolaston, attained special proficiency in her imitations.[340]

At this time (1772–1778), it was the custom to violently emphasize the importance of the last night of the season. Young Branghton, in Evelina (circ. 1778), declares that the last night at Vauxhall is the best of any; “there’s always a riot—and there the folks run about—and then there’s such squealing and squalling! and there all the lamps are broke, and the women run skimper scamper.”[341]

From the newspapers we learn that on the 4th of September, 1774, “upwards of fifteen foolish Bucks who had amused themselves by breaking the lamps at Vauxhall, were put into the cage there by the proprietors, to answer for the damage done. They broke almost every lamp about the orchestra, and pulled the door leading up to it off the hinges.”

Vauxhall

The Dark Walk and Long Alleys were also not without their terrors. Evelina, who had unwittingly strayed thither, was surrounded by a circle of impudent young men, and the Branghton girls were also detained, though they had gone more with their eyes open. “Lord, Polly,” says the eldest, “suppose we were to take a turn in the Dark Walks?” “Ay, do,” answered she, “and then we’ll hide ourselves, and then Mr. Brown will think we are lost.” A quarrel in public between two angry gentlemen was also a not uncommon incident, and the affair sometimes assumed the heroic proportions of a Vauxhall “Affray.” For example, one day in June 1772 two gentlemen, Captain Allen and Mr. Kelly, created a scene. The words “scoundrel” and “rascal” were heard, and Allen who had a sword would have overpowered Kelly who had only his cane, if the bystanders had not interposed.[342] But the Vauxhall Affray par excellence, was the affair of Bate, “the fighting parson,” and Mr. Fitzgerald.[343] The Rev. Sir Henry Bate Dudley, Bart. (as he afterwards was) was at Vauxhall on the evening of 23 July, 1773, in company with Mrs. Hartley and some friends. A party of gentlemen sat down near them, and made a deliberate attempt to stare the beautiful actress out of countenance. Captain Crofts and Mr. George Robert Fitzgerald were among the offenders, or at any rate took their part. Bate expostulated loudly with Crofts, and a crowd gathered round. The next day Bate and Crofts met at the Turk’s Head Coffee House in the Strand, where matters were being peaceably adjusted, when Fitzgerald appeared on the scene insisting on satisfaction for his friend Captain Miles, who wanted to box the parson. Bate declared that he had offered no insult to Miles, but ultimately the party adjourned to the front dining-room of the Spread Eagle Tavern close by, and there in fifteen minutes Bate had completely beaten Miles. A few days afterwards Bate discovered that the supposed Captain Miles was Fitzgerald’s footman, esteemed an expert bruiser. Bate published an account of the affair in the papers, and Fitzgerald’s conduct was generally condemned, though he tried to make out that the footman had only pretended to be beaten. A further quarrel arising out of this incident led to a meeting between Fitzgerald and a Captain Scawen in Flanders. As a finishing touch to our picture of the Vauxhall manners of the period, we must recall an evening in August 1782, when the Prince of Wales and a party of gay friends visited the gardens. When the music was over the Prince was recognised by the company, and being surrounded, crushed, and pursued, had to beat a hasty retreat. The ladies followed the Prince, the gentlemen pursued the ladies; the curious and the mischievous increased the tumult, and in a few minutes the boxes were deserted, the lame overthrown, and the well-dressed demolished.[344]

On May 10, 1769, a Ridotto al fresco was given at which not less than ten thousand people are said to have been present. The Rotunda was lit with nearly five thousand glass lamps, and a platform under an awning was laid down in the gardens for dancing. The fancy dresses were not numerous, and Walpole, who was there with his friend Conway, only walked twice round, and was glad to get out of the mob and go home. Some years later, on 29 May, 1786, there was another Ridotto to celebrate (approximately) the Jubilee of Vauxhall Gardens. Fourteen thousand additional lamps were displayed, and most of the company appeared in dominoes, as at the original Ridotto of 1732.

A Collection
of Favorite
SONGS

During this period (1768–1790) the principal tenor was Vernon, who had taken Lowe’s place in 1764. His répertoire appears to have been somewhat less conventional than that of his predecessor, and his gay and energetic manner rendered him popular in such songs as the “English Padlock,” the “Crying and Laughing” Song, and “Cupid’s recruiting Sergeant.” He was a constant singer at Vauxhall till the end of the season of 1781. In 1783 Arrowsmith, a young tenor, pupil of Michael Arne, aspired with some success to take Vernon’s place. He sang till 1785, but in the summer of next year (1786) a more celebrated tenor, Charles Incledon, then only twenty-two, made his appearance, and sang till 1790.

The principal female singers were Mrs. Baddeley (about 1768); Mrs. Weichsell (1769–1784); Miss Jameson (1770–1774); Miss Wewitzer (circ. 1773); Mrs. Hudson (1773–1776); Mrs. Wrighten (1773–1786); Mrs. Kennedy (1782–1785); Miss Leary (1786–1789); Mrs. Martyr, the actress (1786–1789). Of these vocalists, Mrs. Baddeley and Mrs. Kennedy were the well-known actresses. The latter possessed a powerful voice, and often assumed male parts at Covent Garden. Mrs. Wrighten had a vivacious manner and a bewitching smile, and her “Hunting Song” was popular. Mrs. Weichsell, the mother of Mrs. Billington the actress, was an especial favourite at the gardens. A magazine poet of 1775[345] celebrates her among the best Vauxhall singers.—

Sweet Weichsell who warbles her wood-note so wild,

That the birds are all hushed as they sit on each spray,

And the trees nod applause as she chaunts the sweet lay.

In 1774 James Hook was appointed organist and composer, and remained at Vauxhall Gardens till 1820, exerting his facile, if not very distinguished powers, as a music-writer. In 1775 Catches and Glees were for the first time introduced into the concert. On an evening of July of this year Lord Sandwich and a party of friends amused themselves by starting some Catches and Glees of their own, which they sang from their box near the orchestra. General Haile, who sat in the next box, then requested a young lady who was with him to sing a song, which the band obligingly accompanied, to the great delight of the audience.[346] A favourite catch, “They say there is an echo here,” was performed in 1780, by two sets of singers and musicians, the stanzas of the principal band being answered by an invisible band of voices and wind instruments stationed over the Prince’s box at the bottom of the garden.

Vauxhall on a Gala Night

In 1783 Barthelemon led the orchestra, and a band of drums and fifes, horns and clarionets, was introduced to perambulate the gardens after the regular concert. These supplementary bands generally formed part of the later Vauxhall entertainments.

§ 4. 1791–1821.

In 1792 the ordinary admission was raised from one shilling to two shillings, and Grand Galas and Masquerades became features of Vauxhall.[347] On 31 May, 1792, there was a successful masked ball, and the gardens were a blaze of light. Amid a crowd of Haymakers, Punches, Chimney Sweeps, and Sailors, Munden, the actor, attracted attention in the character of a deaf old man.

People of all classes took part in these masqueradings. Deputy Gubbins went as a very fat Apollo, and his spouse, a portly matron, as Diana with a huge quiver. Master Gubbins was Cupid. But these characters were misunderstood by the newspaper-reporter, who described the Deputy as the Fat Knight, accompanied by his lady as Mother Quickly, and by the hope of all the Gubbinses as an awkward Toxophilite.[348]

The “Dashalls” and “Tallyhos” sometimes caused trouble, and a newspaper of 1812, describes how at a ball of this year, a crowd of masks followed “Mr. Cockadoodle Coates” with crowing and exclamations of “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo.”

An imposing festival took place on 20 June, 1813, to celebrate the Battle of Vittoria and Wellington’s victories. The Prince of Wales, and all the Royal Dukes were present at the banquet.

During this period (1791–1821) some capable vocalists made their appearance at Vauxhall; Darley (who had already sung at the gardens in 1789); Mrs. Franklin (who had previously appeared as Miss Leary); Mrs. Mountain,[349] the actress (1793); the well-known Charles Dignum (1794) and Mrs. Bland[350] the popular ballad-singer (1802). Dignum and Mrs. Bland remained Vauxhall favourites for some years.[351]

Mrs. Martyr.

Fireworks, which had long before been usual at Cuper’s Gardens, Marylebone Gardens, and Ranelagh, were not introduced at Vauxhall till 1798. From about 1813, they became a permanent institution. In 1816, Mme. Saqui of Paris appeared at Vauxhall, and was the principal attraction for several seasons. A mast about sixty feet high was erected on the firework platform at the eastern end of the gardens, and from its top depended an inclined rope 350 feet long. At twelve o’clock a lady of muscular and masculine appearance, bedecked with spangles and waving plumes, might be seen ascending this rope to the platform, amid a glare of blue flame. Her appearance was almost supernatural:—

Amid the blaze of meteors seen on high,

Etherial Saqui seems to tread the sky;[352]

Having now reached the highest point, she made her descent in a shower of Chinese Fire, and “in the face of a tempest of fireworks.” This exciting performance became a necessity at Vauxhall, and Saqui’s feats were afterwards reproduced by Longuemare and Blackmore.

CHARLES DIGNUM.

At this period (circ. 1817) the newspapers describe the orchestra as a “pagoda of lustre,” and the covered walks as arches of fire. The songs, and the music, and the fireworks were the attractions till about one o’clock, when the ordinary visitors withdrew. But the noisy and the dissipated sometimes kept up the fun with reels and waltzes till nearly four in the morning.[353]

We have now wandered far from the old Spring Garden of Jonathan Tyers and the later history of Vauxhall must, in the present volume, be very briefly summarised.

In the gardens themselves, some important changes had already been effected. In 1786, a Supper Room had been added to the left of the Rotunda, and in 1810–11 many of the trees in the Grove were cut down, and part of the Grand Walk and two sides of the Grove were covered in by a vaulted colonnade supported by cast-iron pillars. This colonnade was brilliantly lit with lamps, and was convenient in the wet weather that was proverbial at Vauxhall, but it greatly tended to destroy what Walpole calls, “the gardenhood” of the place.[354] The last of the old trees of Tyers’s period is said to have survived till 1805.

Madame Saqui

The celebrated Performer on the Rope at Vauxhall.

In 1821 Vauxhall Gardens passed out of the possession of the Tyers family. After the death of Jonathan Tyers the younger in 1792, his place was taken as proprietor and manager by his son-in-law Bryan Barrett, who died in 1809. Barrett’s son, George Rogers Barrett then acted as manager of the gardens for many years. In 1821, the property was purchased from the Barrett family for £30,000[355] by T. Bish (the lottery-office keeper), F. Gye, and R. Hughes.

§ 5. 1822–1859.

The gardens opened[356] for the season of 1822 on June 3rd, and for the first time received the appellation of The Royal Gardens, Vauxhall. This change in the name was made with the approval of George IV. who as Prince of Wales had been a regular frequenter of the gardens and had received from a grateful management public recognition of his patronage. In 1791, a gallery had been constructed in the gardens and named after him.[357] This was the shrine of an allegorical transparency portraying him leaning against a horse held by Britannia. Minerva bore his helmet; Providence fixed his spurs, and Fame blew a trumpet and crowned him with laurel. The good-natured Darley came to the front of the orchestra (August 1792) and sang in his best manner, “The Prince of the People”:—

Endow’d with each virtue, the dignified Youth,

Ere Reason enlighten’d his mind,

Burst forth on the world in example and truth,

The boast and delight of Mankind.

The gardens had now (1822) completely assumed their nineteenth-century aspect and Vauxhall, lit with “20,000 additional lamps,” began to supply a constant succession of variety entertainments.

DARLEY IN THE ORCHESTRA AT VAUXHALL.

The Rotunda was decorated as an Indian Garden Room, and at a later date was fitted up with seats and boxes and used for the equestrian performances. In the Saloon (or Picture Room) adjoining, where historical pictures by Hayman were still hanging, was an exhibition called by the erudite managers Heptaplasiesoptron. On plates of glass ingeniously distributed manifold reflections were produced of revolving pillars, palm-trees, twining serpents, coloured lamps and a fountain.

The old Cascade had been abolished about 1816, and a stage for rope-dancing occupied its site (1822). A Submarine Cavern and a new exhibition of Waterworks appear to have covered the Rural Downs.

At the eastern end of the garden was a building of wood and canvas representing a Hermit’s Cottage, wherein might be seen—all in transparency—the Hermit himself pursuing his studies by the aid of a lamp, a blazing fire and a brightly-shining moon. At this end of the gardens was the Firework Tower, where the fireworkers Hengler, Mortram and Southby were now (1822) at work, preparing for the ascent of Longuemare, which was to take place at twelve o’clock à la Saqui.

The South Walk (so much of it at least as remained uncovered) was now known as the Firework Walk, and the three Triumphal Arches had disappeared.

The Dark Walk of Vauxhall now began at the Submarine Cavern, passed along the left hand and eastern boundaries of the garden and terminated at the right hand end of the Grand Cross Walk, the last branch of it being thus identical with the Lovers’ Walk of old days. The Cross Walk was now usually denominated the Chinese Walk from its being lit with Chinese lanterns. Four cosmoramas had taken the place of its Ruins.

From an actual survey made by T. Allen, in 1826.

VAUXHALL GARDENS.

The boxes and pavilions containing Hayman’s paintings remained much as of old. Among other noteworthy features of the later Vauxhall was the gilded cockle-shell sounding-board over the orchestra (from 1824); a new avenue called the Italian Walk (from about 1836), and the Neptune Fountain.

In 1822 Ramo Samee, the Indian juggler and sword-swallower, made his appearance, and next year a Shadow Pantomime and Grey’s Fantoccini were introduced. From this period, Vauxhall was enlivened or vulgarised by the performance of comic songs. Mallinson (circ. 1823), W. H. Williams (from 1824), and J. W. Sharp (from 1846) being some of the best-known singers.

In 1826 the admission was raised to four shillings, on account of the engagement of Braham and Miss Stephens and of Mme. Vestris, whose “Cherry Ripe” was popular. In 1827 the space in front of the firework tower was cleared of shrubs, and a representation of the Battle of Waterloo took place there. Cooke’s stud and a thousand horse and foot soldiers engaged in this action. The “Waterloo” ground afterwards (1834) became the Polar Regions, and subsequently the space was covered by other scenic displays, including (1847) a view of Venice with “imitation water.”

In 1828 Ducrow’s stud was engaged, and in the next year ballets became a feature.

In 1830–1832 the musical director was Sir Henry Bishop, who composed operettas for the gardens, such as “The Sedan Chair,” “The Bottle of Champagne,” and the “Magic Fan.” In the last-named Mrs. Waylett and Paul Bedford took part. George Robinson, the alto, made Bishop’s “My Pretty Jane” popular. On August 2, 1833, when a one shilling night was tried, upwards of 27,000 people paid for admission.

The 19th of August, 1833, is notable in the Vauxhall annals as the benefit night of old Simpson, for more than thirty-six years Master of the Ceremonies at the gardens, and himself one of the sights and institutions. He was a man of short stature and his plain face was pitted with the smallpox, but his manner and dress made ample amends. He wore a shirt with an enormous frill, a coat of antique cut, and black silk knee-breeches and hose. In his uplifted left hand he carried his tasselled and silver-headed cane, and with his right raised his hat to every one he met, as a welcome to the Royal Property. His habitual attitude has been immortalised by Cruikshank and he was exhibited (from 1833) in the gardens in coloured lamps—an immense effigy, forty-five feet high. Simpson’s Vauxhall Addresses and his letters to newspaper editors were masterpieces of florid humility. To the editor of The Times he wrote to say that he had given directions that the illustrious editor’s “much-beloved family” were to be admitted “to any number” at the Vauxhall Juvenile Fêtes—a communication which amused Thomas Barnes who had no children. Simpson died, almost in office, on 25 December, 1835, after expressing a wish that the managers of the Royal Gardens would dispose as they deemed fit of his “humble body.” Thackeray calls him “the gentle Simpson, that kind, smiling idiot.”[358]

ADMISSION TICKET FOR GREEN’S BALLOON ASCENT, 31 JULY, 1850.

In 1836 the gardens were open in the day-time, but Vauxhall by daylight, as “Boz” observed, is “a porter-pot without porter; the House of Commons without the Speaker; a gas-lamp without gas.” Ballooning was the chief feature of these afternoon fêtes.[359] On 7 November, 1836, Charles Green, accompanied by Monck Mason and Robert Hollond, M.P., ascended from the gardens at 1.30 P.M. in the balloon, afterwards named “the Nassau,” and descended next morning near Weilburg in the Duchy of Nassau after a voyage occupying eighteen hours.[360] On 24 July, 1837, Green, Edward Spencer, and Robert Cocking ascended in a balloon with a parachute attached, and Cocking in descending in the parachute was killed.

In 1839 the proprietorship of Gye and Hughes came to an end, and Vauxhall was closed in 1840. The gardens were again open in July 1841 with Alfred Bunn as stage-manager. During this season Bunn and “Alfred Crowquill” published at the gardens their amusing series of Vauxhall Papers, “a daily journal published nightly, every other evening, three times a week.”[361] The Ravel Family and Ducrow’s horsemanship were among the attractions of this season, which came to an end on 8 September, when the announcement was made that Vauxhall would “positively close its doors for ever.”

On 9 September (1841) the gardens were offered for sale by auction, but were bought in at 20,000 pounds. The furniture and fittings were, however, disposed of at this time, notably, twenty-four of the paintings by Hayman, which realised sums from £1 10s. to £9 15s. Four busts of the celebrated Simpson were sold for half-a-crown apiece.

From 1842 till the final closing of the gardens, galas, masquerades, and a great variety of entertainments were advertised in bold letters of many colours, but Vauxhall was now rapidly declining. In 1845, Musard conducted Promenade Concerts, and in that year and during most of the years following, Mr. Robert Wardell was the lessee. In 1846, gas lamps took the place of the oil lamps, and about this time the musicians in the orchestra ceased to wear the cocked hats that had long been their characteristic head-dress. In 1849, there was a Grand Venetian Carnival, and 60,000 lamps were advertised.

VAUXHALL IN 1850, DOYLE’S VIEW FROM Punch.

In October 1853, when the annual license for the Royal Gardens was applied for, great complaints were made of the nuisance caused by the bals masqués which lasted from 11 P.M. till 5 or 6 A.M., and were frequented by many disreputable characters. The license was renewed on the somewhat easy conditions that the fireworks should not be let off after eleven, and that the gardens should close at three in the morning. In 1858, Mr. R. Duffell was the director. Monster galas were announced, and the gardens were opened on Sundays for a promenade.

Monday, 25 July, 1859, witnessed the last entertainment at Vauxhall Gardens. One of the vocalists at the concert then given was Mr. Russell Grover, who died lately, in April 1896. After the concert and the equestrian performances in the Rotunda, dancing was continued till past midnight: the fireworks displayed the device Farewell for Ever, and Vauxhall was closed.

On 22 August following, the auctioneer ascended his rostrum in the gardens at noon and announced that the site had been let for building, and that all the property on the premises must be sold. Three “deal painted tables with turned legs,” made for the gardens in 1754, went for nine shillings each. The dancing platform realised fifty guineas, the ballet theatre seventeen guineas, and the orchestra ninety-nine pounds. The pictures that still remained in the supper boxes were purchased by Edward Tyrrell Smith, who placed them in the Banqueting Hall at Cremorne. The whole sale realised about £800.

The builders soon went to work upon the twelve acres of Vauxhall Gardens, and in 1864 the church of St. Peter, Vauxhall, erected on part of the site, was consecrated. Numerous streets of small houses have for many years completely obliterated all traces of the gardens, the boundaries of which, it is, however, interesting to trace. The western boundary is marked by the present Goding Street, and the eastern by St. Oswald’s Place. Leopold Street and a small portion of Vauxhall Walk define their northern limit, and Upper Kennington Lane marks their southern extent. The space within these boundaries is occupied by Gye Street, Italian Walk, Burnett Street, Auckland Street, Glynn Street, and part of Tyers Street,[362] and also by St. Peter’s Church and the Lambeth District School of Art.

The Farewel to Vaux Hall.]

[[audio/mpeg]]

[[audio/mpeg]]

As late as 1869 “the Supper Colonnade of Vauxhall” was advertised to be sold cheap,[363] and with this prosaic detail of our own time, we must perforce take leave of the pleasure gardens of a past century.

AUTHORITIES AND VIEWS.

The literary and pictorial matter available for a history of Vauxhall Gardens is almost inexhaustible and, except in a monograph, it would be impossible to set forth a detailed list of authorities and views. The present sketch is primarily based on the materials furnished by an extensive collection in the writer’s possession, consisting of views, portraits, songs, bills, and cuttings from newspapers and magazines, and covering the period 1732–1859. Among many other authorities that have been consulted, the following may be mentioned:—Pepys’s Diary: A Sketch of the Spring Garden, Vauxhall (by John Lockman, 1753?); A Description of Vauxhall Gardens, London, S. Hooper, 1762 (Guildhall Library, London); Kearsley’s Stranger’s Guide (1793?); Sale Catalogues of Vauxhall Gardens, 1818 (Brit. Mus.) and 1841 (W. Coll.); A Brief Historical and Descriptive Account of the Royal Gardens, Vauxhall, 1822; The Vauxhall Papers, 1841; the histories of Lambeth and Surrey; W. H. Husk in Grove’s Dict. of Music, art. “Vauxhall Gardens”; Austin Dobson’s Eighteenth Century Vignettes, 1st ser. p. 230, ff.; Cunningham’s Handbook of London; Wheatley’s London Past and Present; Walford, vi. 447, ff.; Blanchard in Era Almanack for 1870, p. 9, ff.