During the reigns of George III. and George IV. all the gardens were allowed to become more and more uncared for; and at last those to the north of the Palace were destroyed altogether. The “old Wilderness” and “old Gravel Pit” of Queen Anne and the early Georges now exist no longer—converted by an insane utilitarianism partly into park land, the rest into meadow.
The old gardens to the east, already flattened out and spoilt by Queen Caroline, now exist but in part; the small portion, which has not been covered with hideous forcing houses and frames, is, however, to a certain extent nicely shrubbed, and closed in by trees and hedges. The site of the old south gardens, curtailed now to a small enclosure, which retains little of the old English picturesque air, might with advantage, we think, be less stiff and bare. There is here little more than a clump or two of trees and shrubs, a wide gravel path, and two large vacant lawns, separated from the public walk by a wire fence, and between this and High Street mere expanses of grass. Fortunately, the devastating notions of the “landscape gardener” whose one idea was so to arrange the ground surrounding a house as to look as if it stood plump in the middle of a park—for all the world like a lunatic asylum—are not quite so much in favour as they were.
The blankness and barrenness of all the ground between the south front and the street was even more painfully apparent in Leigh Hunt’s time, who in his “Old Court Suburb” drew attention to this salient defect nearly fifty years ago. “The house,” he remarked, “nominally possesses ‘gardens’ that are miles in circumference.... There is room enough for very pleasant bowers in the spaces to the east and south, that are now grassed and railed in from the public path; nor would the look of the Palace be injured with the spectator, but rescued from its insipidity.” His suggestion has been acted on to a certain extent in recent times, but too partially in our view.
UEEN ANNE is the sovereign to whom we owe the erection of this exceedingly fine specimen of garden architecture—one of the most beautiful examples of the art of the Renaissance in London, if not in England. If we could say with truth that there ever was a “Queen Anne style,” this would, indeed, be a representative and unrivalled example of it—as it certainly is of Sir Christopher Wren’s, which, developing in the reign of Charles II., was definitely formed and fixed in that of William and Mary.
To an artist like Wren to beautify the ordinary and useful was to give expression to one of the highest functions of architecture; and therefore in this mere store-house for the Queen’s treasured plants and flowers, probably also a place where Queen Anne liked to sit and have tea, we have a building—unimportant though its object may be considered—which attains the very acme of his art, exhibiting all his well-balanced judgment of proportion, all the richness of his imagination in design.
The building of this greenhouse was begun in the summer of the year 1704. A plan, prepared by Sir Christopher at Queen Anne’s express orders, was submitted to and approved by her, and the original estimate, which is still in the Record Office, dated June 10th, 1704—probably drawn up by Richard Stacey, master bricklayer, and entitled: “For building a Greenhouse at Kensington” at a cost of £2,599 5s. 1d.—was accordingly laid before the officers of Her Majesty’s Works, Sir Christopher Wren, John Vanbrugh, Benjamin Jackson, and Matthew Bankes, for a report thereon. Their opinion, after “considering the measures and prices,” was that “it may be finished soe as not to exceed the sum therein expressed, viz., £2,599;” and the Lord Treasurer was accordingly prayed “to pay £2,000 into the Office of Works that it may be covered in before winter, according to Her Majesties expectation.”
The work was consequently put in hand forthwith, but there is some reason to suspect that Wren’s original intentions were departed from, and that the estimate approved by the Board of Works was afterwards cut down by the Treasury by a thousand pounds or so. This appears probable from the fact that Richard Stacey, the bricklayer who contracted for the work, and who, in a petition dated September 13th, was clamouring for payment of £800, on account of money then already disbursed by him, referred to that sum as part of a total of £1,560, “lately altered from the first estimate.”