The trees in the New Road were not planted till 1812. The double row of elms immediately west formed the east range of Elm Grove, and in 1817 became the first resort of the rooks, which had been driven away from Preston Rookery by Mr. Stanford. These birds do not winter in Brighton, but come from Stanmer Park—whither they migrate,—annually towards the end of February.
The great additions to the Royal Pavilion, or rather its reconstruction, so as to remain and adopt some portions of the original building, commenced in 1817, Nash being the architect. It is of no fixed style of architecture, but is a composite of the Moorish and Chinese. An Indian style was offered by Repton, who on the publication of it, upon its being rejected by the Prince, adopted the term “Pavilion,” both in the plates and in the letter-press. The style selected is admired by some persons, but much ridiculed by critics. Sidney Smith said “the building looked as if the dome of St. Paul’s, London, had come down to Brighton and pupped;” whilst William Cobbett observed that “a good idea of the building might be formed by placing the pointed half of a large turnip upon the middle of a board, with four smaller ones at the corners.” The Pagoda towers, which form the north and south wings, are much admired for the beauty of their proportions, and for their inversion from the roof in a spheroidical elevation. They are covered with thin plates of iron, coated with mihl or mastic of great durability. The domes, and the minarets, which consist of open cupolas on tall pillars, have a similar covering of mastic.
In adapting the north pagoda to a concert room, every attention was paid by the architect to combine the harmony of the music in the perfect equilibrium of tone produced by each instrument. The Prince of Wales, who was a fine judge and promoter of music, made many suggestions to counteract the too great elevation of the ceiling, which somewhat destroyed the combination and vibration of sound, and under his accomplished taste the acme of scientific proportions of combination and sound was attained. The first time that this music room was used was about the middle of January, 1818, the performers being the Prince Regent’s private band. The organ, by Mr Lincoln, was not erected till the end of that year. The organ previously used in the Pavilion was taken there on the 18th of November, 1805. The instrument now used in the room formerly stood in the Royal Chapel, and was the gift of her present Majesty to the town.
It is unnecessary to give a detailed description of the whole of the apartments of the Pavilion, or the furniture therein; it will suffice to say that with the exception of the Chinese Gallery, and the suite of rooms which forms the east front, there was not, while it remained Royal property, a room that would content any commoner of substance. The throne room, with its tawdry adjuncts, was vile in taste and of meagre proportions; wholly devoid of the grandeur and nobleness which should attach itself to Royalty. A casual observer of the present day would be led to suppose that the apartment was the lodge-room of some benefit society, or the smoking crib of George IV., the raised canopied dais being appointed for the chairman at Lodge Meetings, or for His Gracious Majesty when he presided over his Royal Pavilion midnight orgies. The whole of the King’s Apartments, as they were designated, were of a like character; but they afforded him a contentment, inasmuch, as, from his bedroom,—by the secret stairs to which the bloated Marchioness of Conyngham descended from her chamber,—to the capacious marble bath where his Majesty laved, there was a seclusion to which in his later years he became habituated. The upper rooms of the Pavilion, are, for a Palace, low pitched, of very contracted dimensions, and from two windows alone, those in the large dome, is a sufficient view of the sea obtained to permit of the building being termed a Marine Pavilion. The furniture throughout the building was costly in the extreme, but incongruous. Huish, in his “Memoirs of George IV.,” says:—“Nothing could exceed the indignation of the people, when the Civil List came before Parliament in May, 1816, and £50,000 were found to have been expended in furniture at Brighton, immediately after £534,000 had been voted for covering the excess of the Civil List, occasioned entirely by the reckless extravagance of the Prince Regent, whose morning levees were not attended by men of science and of genius, who could have instilled into his mind wholesome notions of practical economy; but the tailor, the upholsterer, the jeweller, and the shoemaker were the regular attendants of his morning recreations.” On one of these occasions his servant entered his apartment at the Pavilion with the information, “She is come, your Royal Highness.” “She!” exclaimed the Prince, “who is she?” “She is come,” repeated the servant. “I ask,” replied the Prince in an angry tone, “who is she?—where does she come from?” “It is Shea the tailor, from London, your Royal Highness.” The Prince smiled, and the Shea was admitted immediately into the royal presence.
Irrespective of the great alterations and improvements at the Royal Pavilion marking an epoch for Brighton, in 1817, that year is also memorable in the town for the 5th of November riot, which then took place, referred to in page [114], and thus satirised by Thomas Herbert:—[271]
The Card, or Poster.
’Twas t’other day a printed card,
A sort of petty war declared
Against some little boys!
Three silly men, to say no worse,
Must needs pursue a foolish course
To rob them of their joys!
This, being canvassed round and round,
At first produc’d a whispering sound
Which soon grew into noise.The Morning.
The morning lowers
And heavily in clouds brings on the day
Big with the fate of three deluded men.A council, now, these three conven’d,
To see what mischief could be schem’d,
Their victims to annoy;
This caus’d a dinner to be had,
Our heroes being very sad,
To renovate their rage;
And at the dinner they got drunk—
Which soon produc’d a mighty funk,
They wanted to engage.The Dinner [272a]
The dinner’s over and the table clear,
Each has a bumper of his favorite cheer,
Now up erect the company arise,
The Regent’s health! the soaking hero [272b] cries;—
The Regent’s health! repeats the sable Knight, [272c]
We must him cheer or else it wont be right!
Most certainly repli’d the chief, half soaken,
With three times three ’twill be a loyal token;
For three times three, my boys, prepare your lips,
And you, dear sable, please to give the hips.
The glass pass’d round, with sentiment sublime,
Some choosing punch and some prefering wine;
Until at length, they growing pretty mellow,
’Tis said, their chief these words aloud did bellow:—
Stand by me, boys! I’ll teach ’em such a story!
If you’ll stand firm I’ll lead you on to glory.
When having drank as long as they were able,
While some sat up and some lie under table,
I must go home exclaim’d the soaking chief—
Remember boys, you come to my relief!
And so must I—repli’d the sable hero,
And off they trudge like Beelzebub and Nero.At Soaker’s Door.
Soaker to Black.—My dear friend Black I’m much afraid
There’ll be a row—the soaking hero said.
Black.—I think so too, indeed, upon my word,
So I’ll go home and sharpen up my sword.
Soaker.—That’s right my boy, then shortly after tea
Come here again, I shall you want to see,
And as I fear this job will end in strife—
I’ll just step in and reconcile my wife.
Black.—That’s spoken well, and so my friend will I,
Then for the present you—I’ll bid good by.
Soaker.—Good by my friend, good by—good by—good by.At Black’s.
Mrs. Black.—My husband, dear, what makes you look so white?
My heart forebodes ’twill be a shocking night.
Black.—Should it be so, pray don’t you be alarm’d—
You know, my dear, I always go well arm’d.
Mrs. Black.—Alas, my dear, you look as almost dead—
A dreadful stone may smite you on the head.
Black.—Suppress these fears, with tears flush in his eyes,
Suppress these fears, the trembling hero cries;
Should in the riot your dear husband fall,
The will he made conveys to you his all.
So one sweet kiss! and then, I go away,
’Tis duty calls, I must my love, obey.
Then for his sword the fear-struck hero cri’d—
The cause demands it, so, my dear, don’t chide;
His sword is brought, and buckl’d round his waist,
With great precision, like a man of taste—
Away he swaggers, and his hands he rubs,
Looking, quite bold, like a new jack of clubs.At Soaker’s.
Mrs. Soaker.—Oh, if, my dear, you must to night go out,
I pray, my love, mind what you are about.
Soaker.—My honor calls, indeed, my dearest wife!
My love, my joy, my only hope, my life!
And should the rebels your dear husband kill,
In yonder drawer you’ll find his honest will.
I must away, my dear, ’tis growing late,
So kiss me love, and give me up to fate.At Soaker’s Door.—Black and Soaker meet.
Soaker.—At yonder corner when a man you place,
Bid him stand firm, and not our cause disgrace;
At that place, too, another must be fixed;
Likewise a third, the interval betwixt:
And the rear guard—as well as our van
Must all stand firm, ay, even to a man.The Steine.
The signal made—the blazing foe appears—
Had you been there, you must have smelt their fears.
The scene was grand, illumining around,
You might have pick’d a sixpence from the ground;
The lookers on appearing at first glimpse,
Just like the Old One, and so many imps;
With heart-felt joy, and truly loyal shout,
’Tis now the boys the tar tub roll about;
Oh, ’twas a pity such a noble sight,
Should be the signal for a bloody fight.
The soaking hero runs amidst the crowd,
And in a rage vociferates aloud—
Patrole! d’ye hear! you’re deaf upon my soul!
These villains take and lodge in the black hole!
The battle rages and the missile flies,
To fetch the troops the soaking hero hies;
He skulks away to the sage monster’s [273] house
As much alarm’d, as e’er was eat-caught mouse.And when arriv’d at this great legal source,
He pli’d the knocker with uncommon force—
The door is open’d, in our hero goes,
And to the bear disgorges all his woes.
Assist us, sir, or else, this very night,
I and poor Sable shall be murder’d quite!
At this request the learned bear turns out,
And looks like one they, sometimes, lead about.
I’ll pretty soon, he roars, the rabble clear,
I’ll read the riot act, I’ve got it here!
Go get the troops, and then we need not fear!
How many troops? the soaking hero cri’d,
All that you can, the learned bear repli’d.The Barracks.
Now to the Barracks flies the soaking chief,
And calls for troops; assuming, bold and brief;
I want some troops, to sergeant he did say
At your peril dare to keep away!
The sergeant-major to the guard-house hies,
Turn out the piquet, there, he loudly cries,
The word is pass’d, the soldiers prompt obey,
And to the Steine that instant march away.The Steine.
The troops arriv’d close to the learned bear,
He reads the proclamation in their rear,
And off he sculks half dead with dread and fear!
The soaking chief, like one bereav’d of wits,
And almost going into fainting fits,
Charge on, exclaimed, no mercy I’ll afford!
Why don’t you charge? You heard me give the word.
Charge! charge! charge! charge! the sable knight replies,
Charge! charge! again the soaking hero cries.
The charge is made, alas, poor luckless Rowles,
Thy life is gone, through these ambitious fools;
The battle’s ended, and they look around,
When some are lying stretch’d upon the ground;
Some too with cuts and bruises there are found,
Just at the end of this disgusting scene,
A man of peace was walking on the Steine,
The soaking hero cri’d What brought you here?
Go home! go home! roar’d out the learned bear,
To these insults the man of peace replies,
With indignation beaming in his eyes,
Nothing I said, nor nothing have I done;
So when I please I, therefore, shall go home.
You won’t go home, roar’d out the learned boar,
So mind to-morrow, from me you shall hear.
You look disdainful in my very face!
I’ll bind you o’er to keep the public peace;
In this, believe me, though it seems absurd,
The learned monster strictly kept his word;
The peaceful man, however hard his fare,
Was bound, they say, next sessions to appear!
A frantic mother running on the Steine,
A poor man ask’d, have you my Billy seen?
The man repl’d, I havn’t, on my soul;
You’d better ask, I think, at the Black Hole.
The wretched woman now borne down with grief,
Flies to that place in hopes to find relief,
Raps at the door, Who’s there? with voice quite grim,
The night watch cried, we cannot take more in.
’Tis full of young and old, besides a quaker prim.
Woman.—Oh, pray sir, pray, relieve a mother’s fear,
And tell me if you have my Billy here?
Watch.—Ay, that he is, I’m sure beyond a doubt,
And so to-morrow you may bail him out.
Woman.—She walks away, but still she sheds a tear—
And calls for imprecations on the bear.
Next day the learned bear flies to his station,
To be the judge of his own depredation;
’Tis now the foaming monster roars aloud,
With face as black as a November cloud.
Bring in your charge, but mind I say,
At your perils let him get away.
Now with a double guard there enters in
A child, but just escaped from leading string.
The monster with a dreadful stare, at large,
Against the pris’ner ask’d what was the charge;
The sable hero, with assurance ample,
’Tis dreadful, sir, exclaim’d, beyond example!
As I stood on the Steine with sword in hand,
I saw him brandish a huge fire brand.
Oh, fy, saith pris’ner, what a wicked fib.
’Twas but the paper of a discharg’d squib.
Pris’ner, your age? exclaim’d the learned bear,
While down his little face would steal a tear.
The truth, come tell me, or I’ll commit you straight;
I am, saith pris’ner, somewhat turn’d of eight.
The monster roared, with truly savage grin,
Discharge the brat, and bring another in.The Death.
Alas, alas! poor lifeless Rowles,
It grieves me to relate—
Thy fam’ly lost its dearest friend
By thy untimely fate.May Providence then guide the law,
Thy slaughter be avenged;
And may the halter catch the right,
For equity’s just end.Oh, may thy widow find support,
Thy family to rear:
And may she live to bring them up,
The living God to fear.
The visits of George IV. to Brighton were discontinued in 1824, in consequence of a deep resentment which His Majesty felt at some personal affront that was given by some of the inhabitants, to his then favourite mistress, the Marchioness of Conyngham, who was the Lady Steward of the Royal Household, and arrogated to herself the privilege of arranging the entree to the King, and of possessing control over the commonest domestics of the establishment. Her effrontery, however, was too intolerant for some of the townsfolk to brook; and, their virtuous indignation being aroused, they indulged in remarks upon her, and were so indifferent in courtesy towards her, that His Majesty considered the affront as almost given to himself. In fact, the extraordinary ascendency which the Marchioness had obtained over the royal mind, was then so apparent in all the King’s actions that he was a Sovereign governed by one subject, and that subject more influential and powerful in her authority than the first minister of the State. Upon the retirement of the King from Brighton, the Princess Augusta was a frequent visitor to the town, her residence, by permission of her Royal Brother, being one of the private houses, to the west, just within the then southern entrance to the Pavilion Grounds.
The Royal Pavilion was a favourite autumn and winter residence of William IV. and Queen Adelaide, who made their first visit to Brighton on Monday, August 30th, 1830. Their Majesties effected many important alterations upon the Royal Property, causing the erection of the ivy-clad range of buildings known as the Dormitories, extending along the south margin of the western lawn, from Prince’s Place to Carlisle House. A southern entrance to the Grounds was erected in 1831. It stood across the top of East Street, in a line with the north side of North Street; but upon the Royal Pavilion estate becoming the property of the Town of Brighton, in 1850, the building was taken down; as, besides the structure being in nowise handsome, it was a screen that completely hid the Pavilion, and hemmed in the property now known as the Pavilion Buildings. The elegant northern entrance—a noble and faultless building, exhibiting every characteristic of boldness and stateliness,—was erected in 1832.
During the occupation of the Royal abode by William and Adelaide,—when it received the name of The Palace,—it was a continued scene of regal festivities, juvenile parties being very frequent. The present Duke, then Prince George of Cambridge, was a great favourite with Their Majesties, who specially humoured his fancies and frolics. Royalty, however, is very tenacious of its dignity; whereof the following is a proof: Upon occasions when the youthful aristocracy were invited to the Palace, it was invariably usual for the arrangements of the evening to be under the immediate superintendence of the celebrated maitresse de danse, Madame Michau, who, not unfrequently, was assisted in her duties by her son, now well-known as Mons. James Michau, and the arrangement graciously received the Royal sanction. With the Prince and his youthful associates the son of the dancing mistress was considered fair game for their sporting humour; they therefore resorted to practical joking upon him, well-knowing that difference in position forbad his making a retort. But it happened upon one occasion that either the Prince exceeded his usual indignities, or that young Michau was not in a philosophic placid temper, as he offered a remonstrance, which excited a blow from His Royal Highness, resulting in a bout of fisticuffs, from which the Prince came off second best. The indignity, thus justly administered, was forthwith resented, the Royal communication, through Mr. Gee, Her Majesty’s page, being that Madame Michau’s services would not again be required. A retributive incident shortly after occurred that entirely put an end to the Palace youthful gatherings. Prince George, for a diversion, had purchased a mechanical mouse, and, having wound it up, he placed it upon the floor, when it chanced to travel in the direction of the Queen. Her Majesty had not observed the toy until it closely approached her, when, feeling a sudden alarm, she rose hurriedly, uttering an ejaculation of fear, a procedure so undignifying to her exalted position that she immediately retired, and no other juvenile party at the Palace ever after took place.