Eighteenth Century Vignettes

by Austin Dobson

This is the artless burden of one of the 'celebrated Roundelays' sung at Vauxhall by the celebrated Mrs. Bland (blandior Orpheo!) to the music of the equally celebrated Mr. James Hook; and the 'young Shepherd by Love sore opprest, When the Maid of his heart he fondly addrest,' can scarcely be acquitted of needless iteration. But the music was often of a much higher kind, and the beautiful Shakespearean songs of Dr. Arne, 'When daisies pied,' and 'Where the bee sucks,' or 'Water parted' from the same composer's Opera of 'Artaxerxes,' alternated occasionally with the more popular ditties which delighted the average listener. Hook (the father of Theodore Hook), who was organist for upward of forty years, and Arne, who often conducted, were the most assiduous composers. Among the female singers were many vocal celebrities of the last century,—Mrs. Vincent and Miss Brent (of whom Goldsmith writes in 'The Bee' and 'The Citizen of the World'); the before-named Mrs. Weichsell, fair mother of the fairer Mrs. Billington; Mrs. Mountain; and for men, Lowe, Denman, Vernon, the 'great Dignum,' and the famous tenor Beard, whose name, together with that of one of his gentler colleagues, survives in Churchill's hectoring couplets:

'Where tyrants rule, and slaves with joy obey,

Let slavish minstrels pour th' enervate lay;

To Britons far more noble pleasures spring,

In native notes whilst Beard and Vincent sing.'

The broad-shouldered poet of the 'Rosciad' and the 'Apology,' it may be added, was himself one of the constant frequenters of the garden, where he was wont to appear, not in clerical black, as in the pit of Drury Lane, but resplendent in a blue coat, white silk stockings, silver shoe-buckles, and a gold-laced hat.

The 'native notes' of the orchestra, however, could only be comfortably enjoyed in fine weather. When it rained,—and the eighteenth century had no immunity in this respect,—the company, like Mr. Bramble, took shelter in the Rotunda. This was a large circular saloon, entered through a colonnade to the left of the Grand Walk. It was freely furnished with busts, mirrors, sconces, and the like. But its chief glory was its roof, known popularly as 'the Umbrella,' and specially constructed for musical purposes. Profusely ornamented with gilding and festoons, it seems to have presented something of the appearance of a large fluted shell. When the 'new music room,' as it was at first called, was erected, the organ and orchestra it contained fronted the entrance through the colonnade in the Grove. By-and-by these were moved to the left, so as to face a new room which was added to the Rotunda, and ran forward into the garden at the back of the colonnade, parallel to the Grove. This room, supported by elaborate columns, and lighted from two cupolas painted with gods and goddesses, must have added materially to the attractions of the Rotunda, when entered through it. In course of time, the spaces between the side columns were filled with large pictures representing national subjects, from the brush of Hogarth's friend, the history painter, Frank Hayman. In one, Britannia distributed laurels to Lord Granby and other distinguished officers; in another, Clive received the homage of the Nabob; in the third, Neptune rejoiced over Hawke's victory of 1759. But the best known, and the first finished of the group—it was exhibited in 1761—was the surrender of Montreal to Amherst. Whether copies of these still exist we know not; but, to judge from its effect upon Pastor Moritz, this last, at all events, must have had its merits.*

* See the preceding paper, 'A German in England.'

'Among the paintings,' he says, 'one represents the surrender of a besieged city. If you look at this painting with attention for any length of time, it affects you so much that you even shed tears. The expression of the greatest distress, even bordering on despair, on the part of the besieged, the fearful expectation of the uncertain issue, and what the victor will determine concerning those unfortunate people, may all be read so plainly and so naturally in the countenances of the inhabitants who are imploring for mercy, from the hoary head to the suckling whom his mother holds up, that you quite forget yourself, and in the end scarcely believe it to be a painting before you.'

The new room was entered through a Gothic portal or temple, which contained portraits of George the Third and Queen Charlotte, and also formed the starting-point of a semicircular piazza or colonnade that swept round to a similar terminal temple at the end of the arc. Between these two, in the middle of the semicircle, was a higher central structure denominated in old prints the Temple of Cornus. This is said, rather vaguely, to have been 'embellished with rays,' and had above it a large star or sun, which, from the description, would seem to have been illuminated at night. Inside, it was painted with a composition 'in the Chinese taste' representing Vulcan catching Mars and Venus in the historical net, the painter being named (not inappropriately) Risquet. The two pavilions or alcoves immediately adjoining also contained pictures. To the right a lady and gentleman were shown entering Vauxhall; to the left was a presumably emblematic design of 'Friendship on the grass, drinking.' Other boxes fitted for the accommodation of supper-parties, but having no pictorial decorations, extended on either side of the Temple of Cornus.