Kent, the “Father of Modern Gardening.”
KENT also had a great reputation as a horticulturist, and was generally designated, at the end of last century, as the “Father of Modern Gardening”—his ghastly progeny consisting of the destructive and desolating “landscape-gardening” enterprises of “Capability Brown,” Repton, and their followers. His hand doubtless fell heavy on the old Queen Anne formal gardens about Kensington Palace. We can see the influence of his taste, which was followed with enthusiasm by Queen Caroline and her gardener Bridgman, in the barrenness and commonplace appearance of the grounds that lie immediately below in front of us, as we look out of the windows of this room, and in the entire absence of planting or gardening in the large expanse surrounding the “Round Pond.”
This Round Pond, or “the Basin” as it used to be called, is, by the bye, not round at all, but of a geometrical figure, more of an oval form than circular, and with the four sides flattened and the intermediate portions of the circumference bent into “ogees.” In thus shaping this basin the designer, whether Kent or Bridgman, has overstepped artistic discretion; for from no point of view, neither in Kensington Gardens, from the ground beside it, nor even from this window is its real shape to be made out—only from Rocque’s plan or bird’s-eye view, of 1736, can it be seen to be so eccentric.
The distant view, however, beyond the private gardens, across the Round Pond and Kensington Gardens, over grassy slopes and ancient trees to Hyde Park, a mile away, is one of the pleasantest in the metropolis. Not a street, not a road, not a house, not a roof is to be seen. In the spring and early summer, when the foliage is fresh and green, one might imagine oneself in the depths of the country, in some old house overlooking midland pastures and woods.
West’s Pictures in the King’s Drawing Room.
IN this room are hung the paintings of West, all of which were executed for George III., who greatly admired them, and extended to him a most liberal patronage. He was equally in favour with the public, who lauded his performances to the skies, and with his fellow-artists, who made him President of the Royal Academy. We now hardly know which to wonder at most—an obscure lad in the wilds of Pennsylvania, who took his earliest lessons in painting from a tribe of Cherokees, accomplishing what he did; or the English fetish, Public Opinion, having been so deluded as to regard his efforts as masterpieces of Art. The depreciation which has overtaken him may be judged when we hear that an “Annunciation,” for which £800 was originally paid, was knocked down in 1840 for £10! His portraits, nevertheless, are interesting.