This house[79] has contained many remarkable and interesting persons; there are curious stories about its origin. Some say it was a nunnery, others, that it was built by a Cope in the reign of Philip and Mary. It came by marriage into the possession of Rich, Earl of Holland.[80] He was a most accomplished and gallant cavalier, and so amiable that Charles I. conceived a jealousy against him, probably not totally without foundation. In consequence of this he was confined by order to his house, but his Royal mistress refused to cohabit with the King until her favourite chamberlain was at large. During his residence here Van Dyke passed a year with him, and probably painted some of those portraits which now decorate most of the best collections in England.[81] There is a very fine portrait of ye Earl of Holland, done by this celebrated artist, in the possession of Lord Breadalbane, at Taymouth.[82] It represents him in the prime and beauty of manhood, arrayed in the apparel of a bridegroom, such as he was when he represented his Royal Master at the Court of France to the lovely Henrietta Maria. His left leg is covered with white satin, it being the one put into bed to the bride when Royal marriages are made by proxy. He held employments of considerable trust, but was accounted wavering in his politics and irritable in his temper. He retired here just when the Civil war broke out, in disgust. Clarendon says, ‘He was visited by all the disaffected Members of Parliament, who held frequent meetings at Holland House.’ Some time after, when the Civil war was at its height, he offered to join the King’s party at Oxford, but being coldly received he returned to the Parliament forces. On 6th August, 1647, ‘The Members of Parliament who were driven from Westminster by tumult met General Fairfax at Holland House and subscribed to the declaration of the Army, etc.’[83] Some ascribe his desertion of the Royal cause to his hatred of Ld. Strafford. He gave a proof of his wish to restore it; in consequence of which he was taken prisoner, confined to his house, and dragged to execution the 9th of March, 1648–9. His body is buried in Kensington Church. In the July following, Lambert, then General of the army, fixed his headquarters here. It was restored to the family of Rich. When the Puritans shut up public theatres, the actors used to act at the houses of the nobility, and this house is mentioned as having frequently been the scene of much dramatic mirth and festivity.
ADDISON
Addison was tutor to the Earl of Warwick.[84] He married the Countess, his mother, a marriage which made no addition to his happiness; it neither found them nor made them equal. She always remembered her own rank, and thought herself entitled to treat with very little ceremony the tutor of her son. Rowe’s ballad of despairing love is said to have been written either before or after marriage upon this memorable pair, and it is certain Addison has left behind him no encouragement for ambitious love. There is a pretty little poem by Rowe upon the occasion of his first visit to Holland House to see the Countess of Warwick. It is said by some author, “Holland House is a large mansion, but could not contain Mr. Addison, the Countess of Warwick, and one guest, Peace.” During his residence here the house was frequented by the wits and poets of the time, Pope, Tickell, Steele. Upon his deathbed he sent for Gay, with whom he had had little previous intercourse. He told him he had injured him, but would recompense him if he recovered: ‘What the injury was, he did not explain.’ Lord Warwick was a disorderly young man, and had received without heed the advice of Addison, who used his utmost to reclaim his morals and mend his life; when he found himself dying he sent for him, ‘That he might see how a Christian can die.’[85] He expired under this roof in 1719.
Thou hill, whose brow the antique structures grace
Rear’d by bold chiefs of Warwick’s noble race,
Why, once so loved, whene’er thy bower appears,
O’er my dim eyeballs glance the sudden tears!
How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and fair,
Thy sloping walks and unpolluted air!
How sweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees,