Lord Ranelagh died in 1712, and with him the earldom became extinct. The Ranelagh property passed to his unmarried daughter, Lady Catherine Jones. In 1715 King George I. was entertained by her at Ranelagh House, together with a great number of lords and ladies. In 1730 the property was vested in trustees by an Act of Parliament; the greater part of it was bought by Swift and Timbrell, who afterwards leased it to Lacey, the patentee of Drury Lane Theatre. They proposed to turn it into a place of public amusement, but soon abandoned 90 the idea, and relet it. In 1744 one Crispe, who then held the lease, became bankrupt, and the property was divided into thirty-six shares of £1,000 each.
It was in the time of Crispe that the great rotunda was built. This rotunda was 150 feet in interior diameter, and was intended to be an imitation of the Pantheon at Rome. The pillars which supported the roof were of great magnificence, painted for half their height like marble, and the second half fluted and painted white; they were crowned by capitals of plaster of Paris. The orchestra was at first in the centre, but was afterwards removed to one of the porticos, and the centre was used for a fireplace, which, if the old prints are to be trusted, was large enough to roast half a score of people at once. We have “A Perspective View of the Inside of the Amphitheatre in Ranelagh Gardens,” drawn by W. Newland, and engraved by Walker, 1761; also “Eight Large Views of Ranelagh and Vauxhall Gardens,” by Canaletti and Hooker, 1751. The roof of this immense building was covered with slate, and projected all round beyond the walls. There were no less that sixty windows. Round the rotunda inside were rows of boxes in which the visitors could have refreshments. The ceiling was decorated with oval panels having painted figures on a sky-blue ground, and the whole was lighted by twenty-eight 91 chandeliers descending from the roof in a double circle. The place was opened on April 5, 1742, when the people went to public breakfasts, which, according to Walpole, cost eighteenpence a head. The gardens were not open until more than a month later. The entertainments were at first chiefly concerts and oratorios, but afterwards magnificent balls and fêtes were held.
Walpole, writing to Sir Francis Mann, says: “Two nights ago Ranelagh Gardens were opened at Chelsea. The Prince, Princess, Duke, and much nobility, and much mob besides, were there. There is a vast amphitheatre, finely gilt, painted, and illuminated, into which everybody that loves eating, drinking, staring, or crowding, is admitted for 12d. The building and disposition of the gardens cost £16,000. Twice a week there are to be ridottos at guinea tickets, for which you are to have a supper and music. I was there last night, but did not find the joy of it. Vauxhall is a little better, for the garden is pleasanter and one goes by water.” The doors were opened in the evening at six, and until the time of the entertainment, some hours later, people seem to have had nothing better to do than to walk round and stare at each other—a method of passing the time described by the poet Bloomfield, in a poem which has been often quoted in fragments but seldom in entirety. It appeared in The 92 Ambulator (London and its Environs) in 1811, at full length, as follows:
“To Ranelagh once in my life
By good-natur’d force I was driven;
The nations had ceased their long strife,
And Peace beamed her radiance from heaven.
What wonders were there to be found
That a clown might enjoy or disdain?
First we traced the gay ring all around—
Ay, and then we went round it again.
“A thousand feet rustled on mats,
A carpet that once had been green;
Men bow’d with their outlandish hats,
With corners so fearfully keen!
Fair maids who at home in their haste
Had left all clothing else but a train
Swept the floor clean as slowly they paced,
And then walk’d round and swept it again.
“The music was truly enchanting!
Right glad was I when I came near it;
But in fashion I found I was wanting,
’Twas the fashion to walk and not hear it!
A fine youth, as beauty beset him,
Look’d smilingly round on the train;
‘The King’s nephew!’ they cried, as they met him,
Then we went round and met him again.
“Huge paintings of heroes and Peace
Seem’d to smile at the sound of the fiddle,
Proud to fill up each tall shining space
Round the lantern that stood in the middle.
And George’s head, too—Heaven screen him!
May he finish in peace his long reign;
And what did we when we had seen him?
Why, went round and saw him again.
“A bell rang announcing new pleasures,
A crowd in an instant pressed hard;
Feathers nodded, perfumes shed their treasures,
Round a door that led into the yard.
93 ’Twas peopled all o’er in a minute,
As a white flock would cover a plain;
We had seen every soul that was in it,
Then we went round and saw them again.
“But now came a scene worth the showing,
The fireworks, midst laughs and huzzas;
With explosions the sky was all glowing,
Then down streamed a million of stars.
With a rush the bright rockets ascended,
Wheels spurted blue fire like a rain;
We turned with regret when ’twas ended,
Then stared at each other again.
“There thousands of gay lamps aspir’d
To the tops of the trees and beyond;
And, what was most hugely admired,
They looked all upside-down in a pond.
The blaze scarce an eagle could bear
And an owl had most surely been slain;
We returned to the circle, and there—
And there we went round it again.