D E S C R I P T I V E A N D H I S T O R I C A L G U I D E.

EFORE making our way to the public entrance to the state rooms of the Palace, let us take a glance at the history of the gardens lying round it, and the exterior of the building; and first as to the gardens on the east and south of the building. The whole ground here down to the highway was laid out quite early in the reign of William and Mary; but its present uninteresting appearance gives us but little idea of how it looked at that time. We find from the old accounts that large sums, amounting to several thousands of pounds, were expended on garden works—for levelling, gravelling, and planting, all in the formal Dutch style, with figured beds and clipped trees—and also much ornamental work, such as urns, stone vases, statues, and seats. There are, for instance, many items such as these:

“To Edward Pearce for carving a chaire for the garden with a canopy of drapery, £43 16s.; more for carving 4 chairs and 2 seats with Dolphins, scollop shells, etc., and other works done about the said gardens, £43 2s. 4d.—in both £86 18s. 4d.”

We have also a contemporary account of the gardens as formed by William and Mary, in a “View of the Gardens near London,” dated December, 1691: “Kensington Gardens are not great, nor abounding with fine plants. The orange, lemon, myrtle, and what other trees they had there in summer, were all removed to Mr. London’s and Mr. Wise’s greenhouse at Brompton Park, a little mile from them. But the walks and grass laid very fine; and they were digging up a flat of four or five acres to enlarge the garden.”

The northern boundary of King William’s gardens is marked by two piers of excellent red brickwork, evidently erected by Wren at that time. They are surmounted by very fine vases of carved Portland stone; and are perhaps two of the “Four great fflower-pots of Portland stone, richly carved,” for which, we find from the old bills, the statuary Gabriel Cibber, the father of Colley Cibber, was paid £187 5s. Between these piers, which stand 39 feet apart, there was probably, in old days, a screen and gates of fine wrought iron. They stand at the south end of what was called “Brazen Face Walk,” and between them the visitor passes to the public entrance to the Palace. The fencing in of this part of the gardens is perhaps referred to in the following entry belonging to the years 1692-95:

“William Wheatley for makeing and setting up Pallizadoes and gates in and about the said Palace—£152 5s. 10d.”

To the north of these piers lies the north-west corner of the now so-called “Kensington Gardens,” where were formerly situated that part of the old gardens appurtenant to the Palace, laid out by Queen Anne. The present bare uninteresting appearance of the ground round about is now entirely different from what it then was.

OWACK, in his “Antiquities of Middlesex,” writing in the reign of Queen Anne, in 1705, tells us of her improvements: “There is a noble collection of foreign plants and fine neat greens, which makes it pleasant all the year, and the contrivance, variety, and disposition of the whole is extremely pleasing, and so frugal have they been of the room they had, that there was not an inch but what is well improved, the whole with the house not being above twenty-six acres. Her Majesty has been pleased lately to plant near thirty acres more towards the north, separated from the rest by a stately green-house, not yet finished; upon this spot is near one hundred men daily at work, and so great is the progress they have made, that in less than nine months the whole is levelled, laid out, and planted, and when finished will be very fine. Her Majesty’s gardener had the management of this.” Of Queen Anne’s “stately green-house” we shall speak in a moment.

Addison, also, in No. 477 of the “Spectator,” expatiated on the beauties of the gardens: “Wise and London are our heroick poets; and if, as a critic, I may single out any passage of their works to commend, I shall take notice of that part in the upper garden, at Kensington, which was at first nothing but a gravel pit. It must have been a fine genius for gardening, that could have thought of forming such an unsightly hollow into so beautiful an area, and to have hit the eye with so uncommon and agreeable a scene as that which it is now wrought into.”

The cost of these improvements amounted to several thousands of pounds—in levelling, planting, turfing, gravelling. The appearance of the east and south gardens in the reign of Queen Anne will, as we have already said, best be conveyed by Kip’s plate; the general plan of the new enclosed garden to the north, north-east, and north-west, by Rocque’s engraving, published in 1736. From this we see that Queen Caroline, who embarked in so many gardening enterprises, left Queen Anne’s new gardens substantially intact; though she made a clean sweep of all the old fantastic figured flower beds and formal walks of William III.’s parterres to the south and east of the Palace; substituting therefor bare and blank expanses of lawn and wide gravel paths.

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.”

Whether this is so or not, the details of the original estimate are interesting. The bricklayer’s charges came to £697; mason’s, to £102; “Glass windows, doors, and the window shutters, £340; Glazier for Crowne Glass, £74; Carpenter, £363,” etc.; added to which was: “More to be laid out the next year: The mason to pave it with stone fine-sanded, £246; more for stone steps to go up into it, £72; more for wainscoting and painting the Inside up to the top, £264.”

The last item is especially noteworthy, proving, as it does, that the woodwork was originally painted.

The beauty of Wren’s masterpiece of garden architecture seems to have been thoroughly appreciated in the time immediately succeeding its erection; but with the steady decline in taste during the Georgian epoch, it fell more and more into disregard, until, when the court deserted Kensington in 1760, it was abandoned to complete neglect. Britton and Brayley, writing in 1810 in their “Beauties of England,” refer to it regretfully: “The whole is now sinking into a state of unheeded decay.” Soon after this, however, it seems to have undergone some sort of repair, so, at least, wrote Faulkner, ten years after, who added: “It is now filled with a collection of His Majesty’s exotic plants.” He called it a “superb building,” and clearly regarded it with a much more appreciative eye than did its official guardians, who probably about this time perpetrated the barbarism of cutting windows in the north wall, right through the fine panelling and cornice!

Faulkner, nevertheless, was of course quite wrong in declaring, as he did, that “it was originally built by Queen Anne for a Banqueting House, and frequently used by Her Majesty as such.” There is absolutely no foundation whatever for either part of this statement, though it has often been repeated and was improved upon by Leigh Hunt, who asserted that “balls and suppers certainly took place in it.” Funny “balls” they must have been on the old brick floor! Hunt has nothing more to say of it than rather scornfully to call it “a long kind of out-house, never designed for anything else but what it is, a greenhouse.” In so great contempt, indeed, does it appear to have been held about this time, that it is said the idea was once seriously entertained by some official wiseacre of pulling it down and carting it away as rubbish! And this while the State was annually devoting hundreds of thousands of pounds to art education, art schools, art teachers, and art collections, leaving one of our most precious monuments to perish from decay! “Out-house” and “greenhouse” though it be, we would rather see it preserved than half the buildings of recent times.

Terrace of Queen Anne’s Orangery.

BEFORE examining the orangery in detail, let us stand a moment in front of it, on the terrace, platform, or estrade—by whichever name we may call it—of Portland stone, with steps going down from it in front and at both ends. Here formerly stood, in the summer, some of Queen Anne’s choicest exotics; and here Her Majesty doubtless often sat to have tea, gossiping with the Duchess of Marlborough or Abigail Hill. In front the steps led down into a formal parterre.

Now, however, the most prominent objects to the eye here, are the glass-houses, and the tops of the forcing frames, in which the whole stock for the bedding out in the park and gardens has been reared for the last thirty or forty years. It is truly an amazing thing that a piece of ground, situated as this is, close under the windows of the Palace, and opposite this orangery, should have been appropriated to so grossly disfiguring a use. This particular spot is the very last, one would have supposed, which would have been pitched on for the purpose. It will not be long, we trust, before the whole ground will be cleared, and devoted once more to an old-fashioned sunk formal garden, with such quaint devices as clipped shrubs, trimmed box, figured beds, sundials, leaden vases—such as still survive in many an old country house.

Nor do we see why such restorations should stop here, nor why much of the ground around the Palace should not be laid out in the old English style, with some, at any rate, of the many embellishments for which Evelyn pleaded as suitable for a royal garden: “Knots, trayle work, parterres, compartments, borders, banks, embossments, labyrinths, dædals, cabinets, cradles, close walks, galleries, pavilions, porticoes, lanthorns, and other relievos of topiary and horticulan architecture, fountaines, jettes, cascades, pisceries, rocks, grottoes, cryptæ, mounts, precipices, and ventiducts; gazon theatres, artificial echoes, automate and hydraulic music!”

Barring the last half dozen items, something in the antique formal style would, indeed, be a relief from the tedious monotony of modern “landscape” gardening.

Exterior of Queen Anne’s Orangery.

AS a specimen of an unaffectedly ornamented exterior of brick, this elevation to the south, aiming rather at simplicity and plain dignity than magnificence or grandeur, is to our view admirable.

In the centre is a compartment, more decoratively treated than the rest, with four rusticated piers or pillars of brick, supporting an entablature of the Doric order, mainly in stone. The cornice, though probably modelled on the original, must be modern, for it is in Roman cement, a material which did not come into use in England until about a hundred years ago; and it so happens that the date, 1805, has been found on part of the woodwork adjoining. Above the cornice, over the central window, or rather doorway, is a semi-circular window, apparently to give light into the roof. On each side of the central compartment are four high windows, with sashes filled with small panes; and at each end are slightly projecting wings, or bays, with window-doors, extra high, and reaching to the floor level, to admit tall-grown oranges and other plants. These are flanked by plain rusticated piers of bright red brick; beyond which are plain brick niches, with small brackets above them.

A very similar arrangement of windows and niches is repeated at the east and west return ends of the building; where, however, the large window is surmounted by a small semi-circular recess or panel, and the whole overhung by the deep, wide eave of the gable of the roof.

The total exterior length of the building is 171 feet, the width 32 feet.

Interior of Queen Anne’s Orangery.

IT is not, however, the exterior of this building, but the interior, which will arouse in those who behold it the greatest admiration, for it is here that we can appreciate Wren’s imaginative and constructive genius at its very best. The longer we know and contemplate it, the more supremely beautiful does it strike us, both in the mass and in its details. We will not describe it with any minuteness; but content ourselves with recording that the central portion of each wall, is treated more elaborately than the rest, being ornamented with Corinthian columns, supporting a richly carved entablature. The rest of the walls, both between the windows on the south side, and on the unbroken surface of the opposite north side, are panelled in deal wood, with beautiful carved cornices above. At each end, both east and west, there is an arch, flanked with panelled niches, and surmounted by festoons of Gibbons’ carving. These, we may observe in passing, proved, after being cleaned, to be so worm-eaten, as to necessitate their being repainted—mere staining not being sufficient to prevent their falling to pieces. They are now in fact, held together by the coatings of new paint.

The dimensions of this main portion of the interior are: 112 feet long and 24 feet wide between the brick walls, three inches less each way between the woodwork. The height to the ceiling is 24 feet 6 inches, and to the top of the cornice 22 feet 9 inches.

The Alcoves of Queen Anne’s Orangery.

FINE, however, as is the main and central portion of this interior, the alcoves, into which we pass through the arches at each end of it, impress us still more with their admirable proportions, their supreme grace of design, the exquisite beauty of their decorative detail.

Their shape is circular, with fluted Corinthian columns, supporting highly-carved architraves and cornices, and flanking the entrances, the windows opposite these and on the south, and the panelled spaces on the north wall. There are also intervening niches with semicircular heads, springing from richly carved imposts. The ceilings, which are circular, rising in coves from behind the cornices, are “saucer-domed.”

The dimensions of these alcoves are: east one, diameter, 24 feet, west one, 24 feet 4½ inches; height to the centre of the dome, 24 feet 2 inches, to the top of the cornice 20 feet.

Restoration of Queen Anne’s Orangery.

THE whole of this beautiful interior, however, now presents a very different appearance from what it did when taken in hand about a year ago.

This is how it was described in an interesting article in “The Times” on the 28th of January, 1898: “The exquisite interior has been the victim not merely of neglect, but of chronic outrage. For, as the little garden between this and the Palace has been found a convenient place on which to put up the glasshouses, frames and potting-sheds necessary for the park gardeners, what more natural, to the official eye, than that the Orangery close by should be pressed into the same service? Accordingly, at some time or other, which cannot have been very many years ago, more than half the beautiful high panelling of this building was torn down and has disappeared, the gardeners’ stands have been let into the walls, and there the daily work has proceeded with no thought that it was daily desecration.”

The work of restoring all these beautiful carvings, which has been in progress during the last fifteen months, has now put an entirely different aspect on this interior, and not in vain has every piece of old carving been treasured up, cleaned, repaired, and patched in, with scrupulous care.

When this work was completed, the question arose, whether the woodwork was to be all painted over white, as it doubtless originally was, or merely lightly stained. White painting would, perhaps, have been artistically, as well as archæologically, the preferable course. But it was thought that white paint, in the smoky, foggy atmosphere of modern Kensington, and with the clouds of dust particles from the tread of numberless visitors, would soon take on the dirty tinge of London mud; and thus have required such frequent renewal as eventually to choke up again all the sharpness of the delicate chiselling of the foliated capitals, architraves and cornices.

The decision eventually come to, therefore, was to stain it, with a tone of colour like oak, which gives full prominence and clearness to the carved surfaces. This staining alone, apart from the previous cleaning, has involved no less than eight distinct processes: (1) washing down; (2) vinegaring over to take out lime stains; (3) the same repeated; (4) sizing to keep the stain from penetrating the wood; (5) the same repeated; (6) staining; (7) varnishing; (8) flat-varnishing.

HE modern so-called “Kensington Gardens” are, as we have already explained, identical with the original domain of old Nottingham House, increased by the addition of some hundred acres or more taken from Hyde Park. When William III. first acquired the Nottingham estate he appointed his favourite, Bentinck, Earl of Portland, “Superintendent of Their Majesties’ Gardens and Plantations within the boundary lines of Their Majesties’ said house at Kensington”—an office distinct from that of Ranger of Hyde Park—and some planting and other improvements seem to have been carried out at that time in these “plantations.”

Queen Anne’s inclosure of a hundred acres from Hyde Park to form a paddock for deer we have already noted.

Faulkner’s exaggerated statement that nearly three hundred acres were taken in and added to Kensington Gardens by Queen Caroline has been confuted by Mr. Loftie; but he has gone to the other extreme in declaring that no alteration whatever was, at any time, made in the boundary between the park and the gardens. Nevertheless, it is still doubtful whether Queen Caroline is to be held responsible for any “rectification” of these frontiers. The reference already quoted, in the Treasury Papers of the year 1729, for an allowance of £200 to the ranger “in consideration of loss of herbage of that part of the said park, which is laid into His Majesty’s gardens at Kensington,” may of course refer to the portion previously taken in by Queen Anne.

Queen Caroline’s Improvements in Kensington Gardens.

TO Queen Caroline, however, is certainly due the main credit of the creation of Kensington Gardens, as we now know them; for it was her reforming and transforming zeal which made the great “Basin” or “Round Pond;” turned a string of small ponds, in the course of the “West Bourne,” into the Serpentine; laid out the “Broad Walk,” and designed the diverging and converging vistas and avenues of trees intersecting the grounds in all directions.

In all these extensive works of improvement Charles Bridgeman, the King’s gardener, was employed; and we find from the old Treasury Minute Book that in 1729 no less a sum than £5,000 was due to him “for works in the paddock and gardens at Kensington.”

About the same date, Queen Caroline, during one of George II.’s absences in Hanover, issued an order that:

“The King’s ministers being very much incommoded by the dustiness of the road leading through Hyde Park, now they are obliged to attend Her Majesty at Kensington, it was her pleasure that the whole of the said road be kept constantly watered, instead of the ring in the Park; and that no coaches other than those of the nobility and gentry be suffered to go into or pass through the Park.”

Kensington Gardens in the Nineteenth Century.

AT that period the gardens were opened to the public only on Saturdays, when the company appeared in full dress. This was the time of the great fashionable promenade. During the reign of George III. they were opened every day in the week, summer and winter, under certain regulations, “and the number of the gatekeepers,” says Faulkner, writing in 1819, “have lately been increased, who are uniformly clothed in green.” He adds: “The great South Walk, leading to the Palace, is crowded on Sunday mornings in the spring and summer with a display of all the beauty and fashion of the great metropolis, and affords a most gratifying spectacle, not to be equalled in Europe.”

In the middle of this century the tide of fashion set back towards Rotten Row and Hyde Park Corner; and Kensington Gardens have, for the last sixty or eighty years, been very little frequented by the “world.” Their attractions, however, have not suffered on this account in the view of the poet, the artist, and the lover of nature. “Here in Kensington,” wrote Haydon the painter, “are some of the most poetical bits of trees and stump, and sunny brown and green glens and tawny earth.”

But it is not within the scope of these pages, confined as they are to topics directly connected with Kensington Palace as a new public resort, to describe these two hundred and fifty acres of delightful verdant lawns, sylvan glades, and grassy slopes. We must resist the temptation, therefore, to wander away into the attractive prospect, which unfolds itself beneath our gaze when looking out from the windows of the state rooms, or into which we can saunter when we quit the Palace. Moreover, their charms, as they were and are, have been drawn by too many master hands—by Tickell, Leigh Hunt, Thackeray, Disraeli—to encourage any attempt at their description here. In our own day they have still been the favourite resort of many a jaded Londoner, in which to snatch a few hours of quiet and repose, out of the whirl of the great city around. Matthew Arnold’s charming poem, “Lines written in Kensington Gardens,” will occur to many, especially that stanza:

SOUTH FRONT OF KENSINGTON PALACE IN 1819. (After Westall.)

E may look upon this façade as architecturally the most interesting portion of the existent Palace of Kensington, for it shows us the exterior almost exactly as finished by Wren for William and Mary, about the year 1691. While unpretentious and plain, it is well and solidly built, and altogether appropriate to the purpose which it was intended to serve, namely, that of a comfortable, homely, suburban residence for the King and Queen and the court.

The long lower building of two main storeys, in deep purple-red brick, to the left, forms the south range of the chief courtyard; and there is every reason to believe that it is a part of the original Nottingham House, altered and improved by Wren. The loftier building, to the right, of three storeys, in bright red brick, is unquestionably entirely Wren’s, and in the old accounts is referred to as “the new Gallery Building.” All the windows on the top or second floor here, except the two on the extreme right, are those of the “King’s Gallery” (described on page 117). The floor beneath consisted, and consists, of the sovereign’s private apartments. The four fine carved vases of Portland stone, surmounting the four pilasters of the same, are probably those mentioned in the old accounts as carved by Gabriel Cibber for £787 5s.

Wren’s Domestic Style.

THOSE who are at all acquainted with Wren’s style and inclinations will not be surprised at the marked plainness of his work here—so little accordant with ordinary pompous preconceived notions of what befits a regal dwelling-house. In planning habitable buildings we find he always mainly considered use and convenience—adapting his external architectural effects to the exigencies of his interiors. Ever ready, indeed, to devote the full range of his great constructive genius to the commonest works, rendering whatever he designed a model for the use to which it was to be put, he was, in these respects, essentially a “builder” before all; not only a designer of elevations and a drawer of plans, but a practical worker, thinking nothing useful beneath his notice. There was, in fact, nothing of the lofty, hoity-toity architect about him; on the contrary, absorbed with questions of adaptability and convenience; searching into details of material and workmanship; we find him in his seat at the head of the Board of Works rigorously testing, sifting and discussing estimates, values, specifications and “quantities.” It is due to this side of his mind that so much of his work has endured intact to this day; while we owe it to his positive intuitive genius for rendering his creations well-proportioned and dignified, as well as convenient and comfortable; to his wonderful skill in arranging positions, sizes, and shapes to meet the exigencies of light and air, that his houses still remain so habitable, and are distinguished by so homelike an air.

HIS aspect of Kensington Palace, which we almost hesitate to dignify with the name of “Front” consists mainly of two distinct portions: first, the “return” or end of Wren’s “Gallery Building,” on the left, distinguished by its fine red brickwork and its deep cornice, similar to the same on the south side; and on the right, the building tacked on to it, built for George I. by Kent, as already mentioned on page 23, and further referred to on pages 86, 93, and 99. We must frankly say—and few are likely to differ from us—that Kent’s building here is about as ugly and inartistic as anything of the sort could be. It is not alone the common, dirty, yellow, stock brick with which it is built, but the whole shape and design, with its pretentious pediment, ponderous and hideous, the prototype of acres upon acres of ghastly modern London structures in the solid “workhouse” style. It is amazing that Kent, with so excellent a model of plainness and simplicity in Wren’s buildings on each side, should have stuck in this ill-formed, abortive block between them. Fortunately, his taste as a decorator was greatly superior to his powers as an architect, so that the interior portions of this building of his, which consists of additional state-rooms, are not entirely deficient in merit, as we shall see. The three central windows are those of the “King’s Drawing Room,” (see page 99).

To the north-west of the structure comprising Kent’s state apartments lies another of the older parts of the Palace, a low building of two storeys, in deep russet brick, of uniform appearance, with fifteen windows in a row on the first floor. This range, built, or, at any rate, altered and improved by Wren, and forming the east side of Princess’s Court, comprises the state and habitable rooms of Queen Mary and Queen Anne. At its extreme north end is the “Queen’s Staircase,” now the public entrance to the state rooms.

CCESS to the state rooms open to the public being by way of the “Queen’s” or “Denmark Staircase,” situated in the northernmost angle of the building, visitors approach it from the north-west corner of “Kensington Gardens,” where, as we have already explained, were formerly situated those parts of the old formal gardens attached to the Palace, which were laid out by Queen Anne, called the “Old Gravel Pit,” the “Wilderness,” etc. The path here, leading straight up to the present public entrance, was then known as “Brazen-face Walk.” Going along it southwards, we pass between a pair of fine gate-posts of red brick, surmounted by richly-carved vases of Portland stone, evidently designed by Wren, already referred to in our account of “Old Kensington Palace Gardens” on page 48; and then between a privet hedge and a wire fence up to the public doorway into the “Queen’s Staircase.”

This doorway, on the north wall, is very commonplace; with a porch in the later Georgian style, consisting of a couple of pillars of Portland stone, glazed between, and supporting a hood above.

Round the corner, however, on the east wall, is a very different doorway, both interesting and picturesque. It is the one which originally gave access to the staircase, and was designed and built by Sir Christopher Wren, probably in the year 1691. The space within the hood or circular pediment above the door is filled with beautiful stone carving, in the centre of which is a shield or panel bearing the initials W. M. R. Above this is a brick niche with a bracket, on which stands an old urn or flower-pot. Something very similar probably stood here formerly, and was thus charged for in the old parchment accounts for the years 1689-91:

“Henry Long for a large vase of earth (terra-cotta) wrought with handles and festoons painted with gilt £6 10s.”

HIS forms the entrance by which the public are admitted into the State Rooms. Built by Sir Christopher Wren for Queen Mary on the “Queen’s Side” of the Palace, it was called the “Queen’s Staircase,” while being situated in that part of the Palace which was at one time occupied by Queen Anne and her husband, Prince George of Denmark, it has also been occasionally known as the “Denmark Staircase,” as this portion of the building itself has been called the “Denmark Wing.”

In the view of the ordinary Londoner, with eye too much dazzled and demoralized by the tawdry vulgarities of the over-gilded, over-looking-glassed, blazing, modern “Restaurant” style of decoration, this beautiful staircase, in its just proportions and its subdued simplicity, may appear plain, if not mean.

Yet as an example of the genuine, unaffected old English treatment of oak wainscoting, as a cover and ornament to large wall spaces, nothing could be more pleasing and more appropriate. The deep rich, almost ruddy, tone of colour of the wood, the admirable proportion and balance of the stiles and rails to the sizes of the panels, their adjustment to the rise of the stairs, and their fitment to the various spaces on the walls, produce an effect of soundness and comfort, most admirable and nowhere to be matched.

Old Oak Wainscoting of the Staircase.

WHEN the work of cleaning down this woodwork was taken in hand last autumn, it was, as the phrase is, “as black as your hat;” and it was then supposed to have been smeared over, at some time or other, with a black stain. It proved, however, to be only ingrained with dirt and dust, which had been coated over with red-lead and boiled oil, and which quickly yielded to cleansing.

Nevertheless, the oak is not English, but probably Norwegian, which seems to be richer in the grain than our own native tree. It is clear that the wood must have been carefully cut in such a way as to show as much “figure” as possible—the cuttings being, with this distinct object, as nearly as possible radiating from the centre of the trunk of the tree—the “medullary rays” of the wood being, in fact, sliced through, instead of intersected transversely. This has the effect of displaying the largest amount of the grain.

Window Sashes of the Staircase.

THE visitor should notice the difference in the sashes of the two windows on the left-hand side of the stairs as you go up, as compared with the other two on the landing at the top. The first two windows have had large panes of glass—2 feet 1 inch high by 1 foot 2½ inches wide—and thin bars, substituted for the original smaller panes—12½ inches high by 9½ inches wide—and the thick moulded bars, which still remain in the landing windows. This side by side comparison enables us to estimate how deplorable and stupid was the want of taste, which led to the destruction here, as elsewhere in this Palace, of the picturesque, well-proportioned spacings of the window panes, to insert instead ill-proportioned panes and thin bars.

Not until the time of George II. did this foolish, inartistic fancy come into vogue. Wren, of course, knew what he was about when he selected the sizes of the spaces and bars. He determined them on definite principles of scale and proportion, according to the sashes they were intended to fill, and according, also, to the dimensions of the room, and the plan and shape of the surrounding wainscot. He had, in fact, eight or ten different types of sashes—the mouldings, as well as the widths and sizes of the bars varying, and the shapes of the panes—square or upright—varying also; not like your ingenious modern builder, who runs out “mouldings” at so much a foot, mitres them up into equal spaces, and, regardless of scale and proportion, sticks in the same sized sashes, panes, and bars everywhere, in large lofty rooms or small low ones—all alike.

The dimensions of this staircase are 24 feet 3 inches long by 22 feet 10 inches wide, and 25 feet high.

UEEN MARY and Queen Anne are the sovereigns with whom this gallery is mainly associated; and indeed, it is now—since the restorations of the last twelve months, which have mainly consisted in repairing the panelling, and removing the paint with which it was all smeared over in the reign of George I.—to be seen for the first time for a hundred and seventy-four years, exactly as it appeared in their time. It remains, indeed, more intact than any other room in the Palace; and with its beautiful deep-toned oak panelling, its richly-carved cornice, its low-coved ceiling, and its closely-spaced, thick-barred window-sashes, it has a most comfortable, old-fashioned air.

There is no storey above this gallery, but only a span roof; and it was originally—we do not know exactly when—a true “gallery” in the old English meaning of the word, that is, a long chamber with windows on both sides. The window spaces or recesses, on the right or west side, still remain behind the panelling, and are exactly opposite the existent windows on the left or east side. We may observe, also, that the room seems at one time to have terminated just beyond the sixth window, reckoning from the entrance, the line of the wall behind the wainscot on the right, setting back at this point about a foot; while on the left side, both inside and out, there is a straight joint in the brickwork, and a break in the line of the wall.

Wainscoting and Carvings of Queen Mary’s Gallery.

The wainscoting, as we have already indicated, was fixed here in the early years of the reign of Queen Mary. The panels, which are very thin and of unusual breadth, nevertheless have remained but little twisted or buckled to this day, owing to Wren’s particular and invariable insistence that only the best seasoned wood should be used in all the work under his charge. In the course of the restorations, it has, however, been necessary to take it all to pieces in order to repair the injuries of nearly two centuries of misusage and neglect. Here, as in the staircase, are to be noticed the extreme richness in grain of the old oak, and its deep warm tone of colour.

From the old enrolled parchment accounts of the years 1689-1691, we find that Henry Hobb and Alexander Forst were the joiners who made the wainscoting, as well as the “shashes,” shutters, window-boards, chimney-pieces, picture frames, shelves, etc.; while Nicolas Alcocke, William Emet, and Grinling Gibbons carved “1,405 feet Ionick medallion and hollow cornish; 942 feet of picture frame over the doors and chimneys, and 89 feet of astragall moulding, about the glasses in the chimneys.” Another item of payment in the same accounts, also relating to the work here, is the following:

“To Gerard Johnson, Cabinet maker, for severall pannells of wainscot, covered with looking-glass for chimney pieces in the King’s dining-roome, the gallerie, and over the doors, and for putting them up—£100.”

Among others here referred to were doubtless the looking-glasses over the two chimney-pieces in this gallery. These are particularly fine and worthy of notice. When the restorations were begun last summer, they were literally dropping to pieces, falling in shreds, we might say. The greatest care has been taken to piece the bits together; and to replace the missing portions. Only such patched and added parts have been regilt; the old gilding still remaining almost as bright and untarnished as when these glasses were first put up, two hundred years ago, by Gerard Johnson, cabinet maker, and Robert Streeter, serjeant painter. Honour to their names, as two good old English handicraftsmen, whose honest work thus survives to this day!

Over each of the four doors are long richly-carved brackets of oak, similar to those on which rest the looking-glasses over the chimney-pieces. We know from Pyne’s drawing in 1818, that these brackets over the doors then still supported looking-glasses, with richly carved frames. Unfortunately, all trace of them has now disappeared.

The chimney-piece of the first fire-place on the right as you enter the gallery is the original one of Wren’s design, of marble streaked and veined blue-grey. The second, of white marble streaked with red, technically known as “Breche-violett-antico,” is new—copied from the first. This fire-place was, until last summer, filled with a common cooking range, inserted many years ago for the use of the soldiers, when this gallery was used as a barrack!

The window-sashes in this gallery are of the charming old-fashioned type, divided by thick, deeply moulded bars, into small rectangular spaces. Through these windows we have a pleasant view eastward of the private gardens of the Palace, and of Kensington Gardens beyond.

The dimensions of this gallery are: 88 feet 4 inches long by 22 feet broad by 13 feet 3½ inches high to the top of the cornice, and 17 feet 13 inches high to the highest part of the ceiling.

Pictures in Queen Mary’s Gallery. Portraits of the Time of William and Mary to George II.

1 Queen Mary . . . . . Kneller.

Full-length, standing, in royal robes; her left hand lifting her ermine cloak; her right holding the orb on the table by her side, on which also is the crown on a cushion. In the right distance is seen the parapet of the roof of Wren’s building at Hampton Court.

This and its companion piece of King William, at the other end of this gallery, were painted by Kneller about 1692, in which year he was knighted.

2 George II. (718) . . . . . By Shackleton, after Kneller.

Seated, in robes of the Garter, facing to the left.

3 Unassigned.

4 Frederick, Prince of Wales (619) . . . . . Vanloo.

Full-length, face turned to the right. His right hand is extended, his left holds back his crimson and ermine cloak. His dress is blue with rich gold lace. He has a short wig. On canvas, 7 ft. 9 in. high, by 4 ft. 9 in. wide.

Vanloo came to England in 1737, and this portrait was probably painted about two years after. He became a very popular artist, and made a great deal of money, for, as his French biographer observes:—“L’Angleterre est le pays où il se fait le plus de portraits et où ils sont mieux payés.” Engraved by Baron.

This picture, therefore, dates from the time when the Prince was about thirty-one years of age, and had been expelled from St. James’s Palace, and was in declared enmity with his father. His insignificant character, which excited contempt rather than dislike, is very happily satirized in the famous epitaph:

5 Unassigned.

6 Caroline, Queen of George II. (784) . . . . . Zeeman?

Full-length, standing, figure to the left, face a little to the right. Her left hand holds up her cloak, her right is on a table, on which is a crown and sceptre. She wears a blue velvet dress trimmed with broad gold braid, and a white satin skirt, richly worked with gold and jewels. Her hair is short and powdered. On canvas, 7 ft. 9 in. high, by 4 ft. 9 in. wide.

This was formerly attributed to Kneller, but it cannot be by him, as she is represented as queen, while Kneller died four years before her accession. Caroline was forty-five when her husband became king.

“Her levées,” says Coxes, “were a strange picture of the motley character and manners of a queen and a learned woman. She received company while she was at her toilette; prayers and sometimes a sermon were read; learned men and divines were intermixed with courtiers and ladies of the household; the conversation turned on metaphysical subjects, blended with repartees, sallies of mirth, and the tittle-tattle of a drawing-room.”

7 Unassigned.

8 Portrait of George I. (782). . . . . Kneller.

Seated, facing in front. He is in the robes of the Order of the Garter. His left hand on the arm of the chair, his right on a table, whereon are a crown and a plumed helmet. On canvas, 7 ft. 9 in. high, by 4 ft. 9 in. wide.

George I. was the tenth sovereign who sat to Kneller, and for this portrait, which was painted soon after his accession, the king made him baronet. Addison refers to it in his “Lines to Sir Godfrey Kneller on his picture of the King,” beginning:

9 William III. when Prince of Orange (864). . . . . Kneller.

Half-length, facing to the right, with his right hand extended.

10 George II. in his Old Age (598) . . . . . By Shackleton, after Pine.

Full-length; in a rich dress, with the Order of the Garter, his left hand on his sword, his right in his bosom. His eyes are cast upwards.

11 Peter the Great, Czar of Russia (60). . . . . Kneller.

Full-length, in armour, with a truncheon in his left hand, and his right hand on his hip. From his shoulders hangs a mantle lined with ermine and embroidered with the double eagle. To the left is a table, on which is the crown imperial. The background, which shows some ships, is said to be signed by W. Vandevelde, but no trace of this exists. On canvas, 7 ft. 9 in. high, by 4 ft. 9 in. wide. There is also an inscription, of which I can only make out the words: “Petrus Alexander Magnus Domimus Cæsar & Magnus Dux Moscouiæ ... Eques. Pinxit 1698.” Engraved by Smith.

This picture was painted for William III. during Peter the Great’s visit to England, in the early part of 1698, and probably in the house in Norfolk Street, where he took up his residence and lived in close seclusion. It is considered one of the best portraits of the Czar extant, and well portrays “his stately form, his intellectual forehead, his piercing black eyes, and his Tartar nose and mouth.” His age was then twenty-six years. He naturally excited the greatest curiosity, and became the principal topic of conversation. Every one was full of stories of him; “of the immense quantities of meat which he devoured, the pints of brandy which he drank, the fool who jabbered at his feet, the monkey which grinned at the back of his chair,” and last, but not least, of his filthy habits. When he went to stay at Evelyn’s house, Sayes Court, at Deptford, in order to more conveniently indulge in his favourite pursuit of shipbuilding, Evelyn’s servant writes to him:—“There is a house full of people, and right nasty. The Czar lies next your Library, and dines in the parlour next your study. He dines at ten o’clock and six at night, is very seldom home a whole day, very often in the King’s Yard or by water, dressed in several dresses.” Evelyn himself afterwards remarked “how miserably the Czar had left his house, after three months making it his Court.”

Peter visited King William in Kensington Palace, as we have noted in our “Historical Sketch,” and as we shall notice again in our account of the King’s Gallery.

12 King William III . . . . . . Kneller.

Full-length, in royal garter robes; his left hand by his sword, his right on his hip. The crown and orb are on a table on his left; pillars and a curtain behind.

This is a companion piece to the portrait of Queen Mary at the other end of this gallery.

13 Portrait of Mrs. Elliott . . . . . John Riley.

Half-length, seated; turned to the left, but facing in front. She is dressed in black; her right hand rests on the arm of the chair; she holds a handkerchief on her lap in her left.

This was in Queen Anne’s catalogue, No. 331:—“Mrs. Elliott at half-length.” It is a good specimen of a portrait-painter who flourished in the time of Charles II. and James II., and whose talents have hardly had justice done them.

Mrs. Elliott was the wife of Mr. Elliott, Gentleman of the Bedchamber to Charles II., and sister to Secretary Craggs.

14 Two Daughters of George II . . . . . . Maingaud.

The eldest is to the left, standing, her right arm clasping a stem of tree, round which twines a vine; her left hand giving a rose to her younger sister; she is dressed in white. Her sister is kneeling to the right, facing in front, and takes the rose with her left hand; her right rests on a lictor’s fasces. On canvas, 4 ft. 6 in. high, by 3 ft. 7 in. wide.

This small room, which is but 23 feet 3 inches long by 12 feet wide, and 12 feet 9 inches high, is called in Pyne’s drawing, published in 1817, “The Queen’s Closet,”—and this most probably is its correct designation, though in Faulkner’s “History of Kensington,” published but three years after, it is described as the “Queen’s Dressing Room.” Its walls were at that time still entirely panelled with the oak wainscot with which Wren had covered them. Afterwards all this was removed and the walls plastered and distempered, the room being used as a kitchen. The existent oak chair-rail and cornice, inserted during the last few months, are copied from old models in this palace.

Across the angle, where was originally the fire-place, is temporarily fixed a very beautiful stone chimney-piece, formerly in Westminster Palace, in one of the rooms on the north side of Westminster Hall. When the old law-courts on that side were removed, this chimney-piece was preserved by the Office of Works. It is one of the finest specimens extant of a late Tudor domestic chimney-piece work, bearing the initial and crown of Queen Elizabeth.

Pictures of Old London.

IN this chamber are collected various pictures of Old London, moved from Hampton Court and other royal palaces. Few of them, excepting one or two attributed to Scott, have much artistic merit, but they are interesting as representations of the topography of London, and especially of the banks of the Thames.

20 View of the Horse Guards from St. James’s Park (1022). . . . . James.

The buildings of the Horse Guards are seen on the right, and in the centre distance, Westminster.

21 View on the Thames—Old London Bridge and Fishmongers’ Hall (1044). . . . . James.

The view is taken eastward; and right across the picture is the old bridge, with the houses built on it. On the left are Fishmongers’ Hall and the column on Fish Street Hill.

These are two of a series of views of Old London from the Thames, by William James, an imitator and probably a pupil of Canaletti’s, though he resembles him in little except his mechanical precision. His works, however, are interesting to the antiquarian, as they are almost photographic in their accuracy.

22 View on the Thames—Old Somerset House and Temple Gardens (1023). . . . . James.

The north bank of the Thames is seen, looking eastward, from about the position of the middle of the present Waterloo bridge. On the extreme left is old Somerset House, with its landing-stairs, next comes the Temple, and in the distance St. Paul’s. Behind are seen the spires of St. Mary-le-Strand, St. Clement Danes, St. Bride’s, Fleet Street, etc. On canvas, 2 ft. high, by 3 ft. 8 in. wide.

23 View on the Thames—The Savoy, the Temple, &c. (1031). . . . . James.

On the left is the old Savoy Palace with its curious chequered brickwork; more in the middle old Somerset House, the Temple, etc. On the right is seen a portion of the south bank of the Thames.

24 View on the Thames—Old Fleet Ditch (1043). . . . . James.

The mouth of the Fleet Ditch is in the centre of the picture, crossed by a stone foot-bridge of a single arch. On both sides of it are large buildings.

25 View on the Thames—The Adelphi, Whitehall, and Westminster (1032). . . . . James.

The view is of the north bank looking westward, and shows, on the right, Inigo Jones’ water-gate; next the octagonal tower of the waterworks, then Whitehall, and beyond, Westminster Abbey and the old bridge.

26 View on the Thames—Greenwich Hospital (1079). . . . . James.

The view is taken eastward, and shows Greenwich Hospital on the left, and the church to the right.

27 View on the Thames—Old Savoy Palace (1045). . . . . Scott?

The view is the same as No. 23. In an old inventory there is an entry relating to it:—“Rec^d. 23^rd March 1819. View of the Savoy, with old Somerset House, on the banks of the Thames, painted by Scott, the English Canaletti. Bought of Colnaghi, £265.” Samuel Scott, the marine painter, is the artist referred to. He was a companion of Hogarth’s, and a jovial one too—but he was also much more, being an admirable painter of marine and topographical subjects. There are three characteristic views of London by him in the National Gallery, where is also his own portrait by Hudson.

28 The Thames from the Hill above Greenwich (1016). . . . . Danckers.

To the left is the Observatory rising high up. Below is Greenwich and the Hospital, and the river winding round the “Isle of Dogs,” and London seen in the distance. Though hitherto unnamed, this is doubtless:—“The Landscape of Greenwich, the prospect to London; by Danckers,” in James II.’s catalogue, No. 195. (Royal Catalogue.)

This picturesque little room remains almost exactly in the same state as it was when finished about 1690 for Queen Mary, who, perhaps, as well as Queen Anne, used it as a private dining room. It is, indeed, a very characteristic example of one of Wren’s comfortable and eminently habitable rooms. The protruding doorway in the right-hand corner, the picturesque recess on the left-hand side of the fireplace, and the porch-like treatment of the similar recess on the other side—where is the doorway into the Queen’s Closet—all show how the accidents of construction and convenience may be so judiciously laid hold of, as to render what would otherwise have been a mere uninteresting commonplace room, a charmingly homelike and picturesque one. Such an example as this of Wren’s artistic adaptability should be a most valuable “object-lesson” to modern builders, who, when not planning exactly rectangular rooms, go to the other extreme of straining after a designed and artificial “quaintness.”

The coved ceiling, rising from behind the oak cornice, adds greatly to the apparent height of the room.

The dimensions are: 17 feet 9 inches long by 14 feet wide.

It was in this and the similar adjoining rooms that took place those many curious intimate conversations between Queen Anne and the Duchess of Marlborough, both when “Mrs. Morley” and her “dear Mrs. Freeman,” were all in all to each other, and also when “Atossa” vainly endeavoured by fury, invective, and torrents of reproaches and tears, to regain her fast-waning influence over the dull and feeble, but stolid and obstinate, mind of the Queen. It was at Kensington Palace too, and perhaps in this very room, that took place their famous interview, one April afternoon in the year 1710, when the only reply which the great Duchess Sarah could get to her inquiring entreaties was the phrase “You desired no answer and you shall have none,”—reiterated with exasperating and callous monotony by her whilom friend and mistress.

Pictures in Queen Anne’s Private Dining Room.

40 Installation of Knights of the Garter at Kensington Palace, on August 4th, 1713, by Queen Anne . . . . . Peter Angelis.

There has been some question as to the exact ceremony, which is depicted here, but there can be but little doubt that it represents the Chapter of the Order of the Garter, held by Queen Anne at Kensington Palace on August 4th, 1713, when Henry Grey, Duke of Kent, Robert Harley, first Earl of Oxford, Charles Mordaunt, third Earl of Peterborough, and John, Earl Poulett, were installed as Knights of the Garter. The chapter was the last held by Queen Anne, and was held at Kensington, and not at Windsor, owing to her physical infirmities. Two of these noblemen kneel on the lowest step of the throne, and have already been invested with the mantle and collar of the Order and the Garter itself. The Queen places her hand upon the joined hand of the two Knights of the Garter. It is uncertain which of the noblemen are represented here, but the Knight kneeling on the right of the picture would appear to represent Harley. One of these noblemen is attended by a page boy in grey silk, and the other has two black boys supporting his long blue mantle. Among the Knights of the Garter in attendance, and they all wear their full robes and collars, one figure is prominent holding a long slender wand. This is probably Charles Talbot, Duke of Shrewsbury, who was Lord Chamberlain of the Household, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and for a brief period Lord High Treasurer. Two yeoman of the Guard, in the well-known costume, but without ruffs or rosettes to their shoes, holding halberds, stand prominently forth on the extreme left. Through a wide door, in the distant apartments, may be seen a crowd of courtiers waiting for admission, and through the large square panes of the window in a garden are seen clustered various persons in dark and formal attire, peering anxiously through the glass as if to obtain a sight of the ceremonial.

On canvas, 2 ft. 5¼ in. high by 1 ft. 11¾ in. wide. Lent by the Trustees of the National Portrait Gallery.

41 William, Duke of Gloucester, son of Queen Anne (885). . . . . Kneller.

Bust; in an oval turned to the left, face seen in full. He is in armour, and has a blue ermine-lined cape. On canvas, 2½ ft. high, by 2 ft. wide.

The young duke, though of feeble constitution, was not deficient in martial spirit. When but a boy of six years old, he came to meet his uncle William of Orange, who had just returned from a campaign, with a little musket on his shoulder, and presented arms, saying, “I am learning my drill, that I may help you beat the French.” The king was so pleased that he made him a knight of the Garter a few days after. Many men have received that honour for less. He died in July 1700.

42 Prince George of Denmark, Husband of Queen Anne (884). . . . . Dahl.

In an oval, to the shoulders; in armour.—His death in this Palace has been mentioned on page 22.

43 John Churchill, 1st Duke of Marlborough . . . . . Jan Wyck.

Three-quarters length, in armour; face turned three-quarters to the left. His left hand is on his hip, his right on a table by his side, on which is a plumed helmet. A battle scene is shown in the lower right background. On canvas, 3 ft. high, by 2 ft. 4 in. wide. Lent by the Trustees of the National Portrait Gallery.

This portrait would seem to represent him as a comparatively young man—about twenty-three—after he had distinguished himself at Maestricht, when he was nicknamed by Turenne “the handsome Englishman.” It was the period of his famous liaison with the Duchess of Cleveland, who had fallen a willing victim to his beauty and his charm of manner. Lord Wolseley, in his “Life of Marlborough,” describes his appearance at this period as: “Strikingly handsome, with a profusion of fair hair, strongly-marked, well-shaped eyebrows, long eyelashes, blue eyes, and refined, clearly-cut features. A wart on his right upper-lip though large, did not detract from his good looks. He was tall, and his figure was remarkably graceful, although a contemporary says: ‘Il avait l’air trop indolent, et la taille trop effilé.’”

Except for the oak panelling, which covered the walls of this room as late as the beginning of this century, but which was removed now many years ago, we see it exactly as it was finished for Queen Mary. Her initial, with that of her husband, King William, appears in the fine carved oak cornice. The ceiling is coved.

At one time this room was called “The Admiral’s Gallery,” on account of the series of copies of portraits of British Admirals by Kneller and Dahl, which formerly hung here—until their removal in 1835 to Hampton Court, whence they have now been brought back to decorate again the walls of these state rooms at Kensington. They are now hung, as we shall see, in “The King’s Gallery.”

The dimensions of this room are: 25 feet long by 17 feet 10 inches wide, by 12 feet 7 inches high to the top of the cornice, 15 feet 8 inches to the highest part of the ceiling.

Pictures in Queen Mary’s Privy Chamber.

50 Queen Mary, when Princess of Orange (23). . . . . W. Wissing.

Seated, nearly full length. She is dressed in blue in the costume of a lady of the time, and with a crimson mantle edged with ermine. Her left hand rests on a table, over which her mantle falls. Engraved by John Verkolje.

This picture is signed on the left-hand side, and is the original of many replicas or copies at St. James’s Palace, at Burley-on-the-Hill, Woburn, The Grove, etc. It was painted for James II., who sent Wissing over to the Hague for the purpose. His popularity as a portrait-painter was great, and was partly due no doubt to his making such flattering likenesses. “When any lady came to sit to him whose complexion was any ways pale, he would commonly take her by the hand and dance her about the room till she became warmer.”

51 William III. when Prince of Orange . . . . . W. Wissing.

Three-quarters length, standing; facing to the right, in a rich dress. This is the companion piece to the foregoing.

52 Portrait of James Stuart the Pretender (664). . . . . B. Luti.

Half-length; facing in front, inclined to the right; his right hand only is seen. He is in the robes of the Order of the Garter, of which the jewel hangs on his breast, and has a long full-bottomed wig, a lace cravat and cuffs. On his left is a table on which is the royal crown of England. The background is gray, with a red curtain. On canvas, 3 ft. 3 in. high, by 2 ft. 6 in. wide.

The canvas is new. Behind was formerly this inscription:—“James son of James II.; by the Cavaliere Benedetto Luti, from the Cardinal of York’s collection at Frascati.” (Note in the Royal Inventory.) This picture and No. 839 were bequeathed to George III. by Cardinal York, the old Pretender’s son, and the last of the Stuarts, who died in 1807.

It was no doubt painted at Rome, some time between the year 1718, when Prince James accepted the asylum in the Eternal City offered him by the Pope, and the year 1724, when Luti died there. In 1720 he was married to the Princess Sobieski, and at the end of the same year the young Pretender was born.

The Pretender’s countenance has that heavy, sodden appearance, and that weak dejected look, which were due partly to his inert character, partly to his misfortunes, and not less to the debauched and indolent life he led. His person, indeed, was never impressive; and even an adherent, writing of the events at Perth in 1715, admits:—“I must not conceal, that when we saw the man, whom they called our King, we found ourselves not at all animated by his presence, and if he was disappointed in us, we were tenfold more so in him. We saw nothing in him that looked like spirit. He never appeared with cheerfulness and vigour to animate us. Our men began to despise him; some asked him if he could speak.”

Gray the poet gives a similar account of him some years after:—“He is a thin, ill-made man, extremely tall and awkward, of a most unpromising countenance, a good deal resembling King James II., and has extremely the air and look of an idiot, particularly when he laughs or prays; the first he does not do often, the latter continually.” Horace Walpole observed that “enthusiasm and disappointment have stamped a solemnity on his person, which rather creates pity than respect.”

53 Frederick, Prince of Wales, at a Party (606). . . . . M. Laroon?

The Prince is at the head of the table, round which eight ladies and gentlemen are seated. He is pouring wine into a glass. Some thirteen persons, attendants, and a clergyman, are also in the room. Most of them are probably portraits. Altogether twenty-three small figures. On canvas, 3 ft. high, by 2 ft. 10 in. wide.

This picture, though long labelled “Vanderbank,” is probably by Marcellus Laroon, the younger, to whom it is attributed in an old catalogue. The likelihood that he is the painter is greatly strengthened by the close resemblance in style between it and the similar piece that follows—the personages evidently being the same.

It is not certain what is the subject represented; though it has borne the above title for many years. In one of the Lord Chamberlain’s old inventories it is stated to represent “a fête in honour of the marriage of the Duke of Wharton.”

54 A Royal Assembly in Kew Palace . . . . . Marcellus Laroon.

This represents some Royal assembly, apparently Augusta of Saxe-Gotha, the wife of Frederick, Prince of Wales, and her friends, in Kew Palace. The Princess in blue is pouring out the tea; a lady in white is singing; Handel is at the harpsichord, and “Orator” Henley close by. The equestrian portrait on the wall appears to be George II.

Signed Mar. Laroon, and dated 1740. Lent by Mr. Humphry Ward.

55 Matthew Prior . . . . . . By Thomas Hudson, after Jonathan Richardson.

Half-length, seated, almost in profile to the right. On canvas, 3 ft. 4 in. high, by 2 ft. 9 in. wide. Lent by the Trustees of the National Portrait Gallery.

Prior—poet, statesman, and diplomatist—published with Charles Montagu, afterwards Earl of Halifax, in 1689, “The City Mouse and the Country Mouse,” intended to ridicule Dryden’s “Hind and Panther.” He was patronized by Dorset, who introduced him to the Court; and he was often employed in diplomatic offices.

56 Flower-Piece—over the mantelpiece (826). . . . . Baptiste.

A green glass vase with chrysanthemums, poppies, honeysuckles, etc. Baptiste was a protégé of Queen Mary, and painted a great number of flower-pieces to decorate Kensington and Hampton Court.

57 Portrait of Robert Boyle the Philosopher (56). . . . . Kerseboom.

Nearly full-length, seated in a big armchair; turned to the right, but facing in front. He leans his right arm on the chair; his left is turning over the leaves of a book on a table in front of him. He wears a large full-bottomed wig. This picture has been engraved by Baron several times.

Boyle, the famous chemist and experimental philosopher, was the seventh son of the first Lord Cork, and from him received a fortune of £3,000 a year, which he devoted in a great measure to scientific research and the promotion of the Christian religion. He was never married, being of opinion that “a man must have very low and narrow thoughts of happiness or misery who can expect either from a woman’s conduct.” For his life, see his Philaretus.

Frederic Kerseboom was a native of Germany, who worked at Paris and Rome under Le Brun and Poussin. He was in England during William III.’s reign, and painted a few indifferent portraits.

58 Portrait of John Locke (947). . . . . Kneller.

Half-length, standing; turned to the right, but facing in front. He rests his left hand on a table, on which are an inkstand and a pen; his right hand in front of him. He wears a plain black coat, with part of his shirt showing; and he is without his wig, and shows his long white hair.

This is one of Kneller’s best portraits. It was evidently painted in the philosopher’s later years, for he looks here on the point of dying of the asthma to which he succumbed in 1704. “Pray,” said Locke in a letter to Collins, “get Sir Godfrey to write on the back of my picture ‘John Locke;’ it is necessary to be done, or else the pictures of private persons are lost in two or three generations.”

59 Sir Isaac Newton (957). . . . . Kneller.

Three-quarters length; turned to the left, facing in front. His right arm is by his side, his left leans on a table, on which are a globe and a book. He wears a dark, loose robe, and a large wig. On the left is inscribed: “I Newton Esq^re Ætatis 47. 1689.”

There is a similar portrait to this at Petworth, which is engraved in Lodge. Newton was at this time member of the Convention Parliament, for the University of Cambridge.

59A King William III. (779) . . . . . Kneller.

Three-quarters length in armour, directed to the right; face turned round to the left. He wears a blue and gold sash. In the left background is a black servant, perhaps the one whose marble bust is now in this palace.

In entering this room we pass from the portion of the palace built in 1690 by Sir Christopher Wren for William and Mary, to that constructed by William Kent about 1723 for George I. The visitor has thus a good opportunity of comparing the styles and tastes of the two architects and of gauging their relative powers. Wren had been driven from his office, in 1718, by a shameful backstair intrigue; and two years afterwards, Kent, doubtless by the influence of his patron, the Earl of Burlington, was commissioned to build a set of new state rooms.

How very mediocre were his talents, the exterior of his addition to Wren’s work will, as we have already said, ever remain a palpable proof; and though for internal construction he shows less incapacity, still this room exhibits all his false ideas of pseudo-classicism—developed, as we shall see, to a most extravagant extent in the adjoining “Cube or Cupola Room.”

Examining the decoration in detail, we perceive everywhere evidences of his awkward, graceless style. The doorways, for instance, are unnecessarily lofty and gaunt, and with their heavy cumbrous architraves, flat moulded, with little light and shade, greatly impair the proportions of the room. In the tall semi-circular headed central window also, surmounted by a purposeless oak bracket—even in such details as the mouldings of the panelling and of the framing of the doors, and the flatness of the raised panels and their relative sizes to the width of the rails and “stiles,”—we detect his marked inferiority to Wren in the designing of such fittings.

The chimney-piece, which is one of Kent’s plainer and less ponderous ones, is of a choice marble, veined black and gold.

The dimensions of this room are: 32 feet 9½ inches long, 24 feet 2 inches wide, and 19 feet 2 inches high to the top of the cornice, 24 feet to the ceiling.

Painted Ceiling of Queen Caroline’s Drawing Room.

BUT it is by the ceiling especially, with its great heavy oval frame of plasterwork, and its appearance of overhanging crushing weight, that we can most accurately appreciate Kent. The central recessed panel, containing an allegorical representation of Minerva, attended by History and the Arts, gives us a measure of his powers as a pictorial artist. The decorative painting of the cove of the ceiling, above the oaken cornice, is more satisfactory. In the four angles, and in the middle of each side, are classical pediments with volutes.

Besides, the workmanship of the wainscoting being very good, and the original rawness of the ceiling somewhat faded, this room, with its new oak floor, its gorgeous paper, its Georgian furniture, probably designed by Kent, and the magnificent frames of some of the pictures on its walls, presents a fine and stately appearance.

Contemporary French and German Portraits.

60 Madame de Pompadour (986). . . . . Drouais.

Half-length, seated, turned to the left. She wears a dress of figured brocade, worked with coloured flowers and foliage on a white ground, and trimmed with white ribbons; her sleeves are short and edged with lace. On her head is a sort of mob cap, or headdress of lace, tied under the chin with a striped ribbon; her hair is short and powdered. In front of her is a frame of embroidery called tambour-work, which she is working, her right hand being above, and her left under the canvas. The background is grey, with a red curtain to the right. Painted in an oval. On canvas, 2 ft. 7½ in. high, by 2 ft. wide.

This picture has been attributed, but quite unwarrantably, to Greuze, who does not appear to have painted Louis XV.’s mistress at all, and certainly could not have done so when she was as young as she is here represented. It is in fact a replica (and by no means a bad one) of a portrait by Drouais, of which a great many repetitions are extant, and of which the original—a full-length—is now at Mentmore, Lord Rosebery’s. The Mentmore picture was purchased for £1,000.

Drouais was an indifferent artist whose name would long have passed into oblivion, had he not painted princes and princesses. Diderot drew this just estimate of his works:—“Tous les visages de cet homme-là ne sont que le rouge vermillon le plus précieux, artistement couché sur la craie la plus fine et la plus blanche.... Il n’y en a pas une de laide, et pas une qui ne déplût sur la toile. Ce n’est pas de la chair; car, où est la vie, l’onctueux, le transparent, les tons, les dégradations, les nuances?” And Larousse endorses this view with the following remarks:—“Toutes ces peintures, habilement traitées d’ailleurs comme métier, n’ont rien de saillant, aucune puissance, aucune originalité. Les têtes sont banales, ternes, sans physionomie. L’allure est gauche et pénible. Les personnages sont fort mal habillés, bien que les draperies soient exécutées en trompe-l’œil et avec magnificence.”

Madame de Pompadour is here represented at about the age of thirty-five, a period when, having lost the influence of a lover over the debauched and fickle Louis XV., she endeavoured to retain her power by ministering to his pleasures and vices. Her appearance completely tallies with the account given of her:—“Elle était assez grande, bien faite, les cheveux, châtain clair, tres-beaux, avec une peau d’une grande finesse et d’une blancheur éclatante. Mais elle avait un genre de beauté qui se fane vite: ses chairs molles s’infiltraient, s’enflammaient aisément; elle avait des langueurs et des pâleurs maladives.”

The tambour-work at which she is engaged was one of her favourite occupations; and it is pleasant to remember, with the shocking record of her extraordinary career, that she created that style in decoration, furniture, dress, literature, and even art, which is known by the name of Louis XV., a style which, wanting as it is in the simplicity of mediævalism, and stamped though it be with the character of its meretricious inventor, is yet always pleasing from a certain refinement and artificial beauty.

61 Mademoiselle de Clermont (984). . . . . unnamed.

Half-length, facing in front, hands not seen. She is dressed in a white dress, with a garland of flowers across it from under her left arm to her right shoulder. Behind her she has a blue scarf. Her hair is powdered and done high up. On canvas, 2 ft. 5 in. high, by 2 ft. wide.

Behind is written:—“Marianne. de. bourbon. nommeo. Mademoiselle. de. Clermont.”

She was born in Paris in October, 1697, and was the daughter of Louis, the third Duke of Bourbon, and his wife Louise Françoise de Bourbon, Mademoiselle de Nantes, a natural daughter of Louis XV. In 1725 she was appointed “Surintendante de la Maison de la Reine.” The story of her and her lover, M. de Melun, and his tragic end, forms the basis of Madame de Genlis’ charming little novel, “Mademoiselle de Clermont.”

This portrait is painted in the style of Nattier.

62 Louis XVI. in his Coronation Robes (516). . . . . Callet.

Full-length, standing, facing to the left. His left hand holds his hat by his side, his right leans on his sceptre. He is attired in the royal robes of France, a purple mantle embroidered with fleurs-de-lys, and an ermine tippet, etc. He has a small wig; his face is shaven. Behind him is his throne, with a figure of Justice. On canvas, 9 ft. high, by 6 ft. 5 in. wide.

This is the original presentation frame, decorated with fleurs-de-lys.

Though formerly labelled “Greuze,” it is really a replica of Callet’s well-known portrait, of which, besides the original at Versailles, there are other repetitions at Madrid and elsewhere, distributed to the various courts of Europe on the king’s accession. The original was engraved by Bervic, the greatest of French engravers, the plate being lettered with the painter’s name, “Callet Peintre du Roi.”

63 Portrait of Louis XV. when young (925). . . . . Rigaud.

Half-length, turned to the left; his left hand is in his sash, his right holds a marshal’s bâton. His dress is a fawn-coloured doublet with a cuirass, a blue sash, and a blue mantle embroidered with a fleur-de-lys over it. Short hair, beardless face. On canvas, 3 ft. high, by 2 ft. 5 in. wide.

This portrait was painted by Rigaud, as the contemporary mezzotint engraving by J. Simon proves, and not, as has been said, by Mignard, who had been dead thirty years. He is considered one of the best French portrait-painters of that period. Louis XV. conferred several favours on him, and decorated him with the Order of St. Michael, in 1727, soon after this portrait was painted. This distinction was given, as he said, “tant en considération de la réputation acquise dans son art, que pour avoir peint la famille royalle jusqu’à la quatrième génération.”

64 Marianne, Duchess of Bourbon (985). . . . . Santerre?

Half-length, facing in front; her hands not seen. Her hair is dark, and dressed high, with a blue ribbon fastened over with a red jewel, and carried to the front. Her dress is yellow brocade with red drapery. On canvas, 2 ft. 5 in. high, by 2 ft. wide.

Behind is written in ink:—“Marianne. de. bourbon. fille. de. Monsieur. le. prince. de. Conty. famme. de. Monsieur. le. duc. de. bourbon.”

She married, in 1713, Louis Henri de Bourbon, brother of Mademoiselle de Clermont (see No. 61), and died in 1720. There is a portrait of her husband at Paris, by Drouais.

The portrait before us is very possibly by Jean Baptiste Santerre, a good painter whose works are rare. He died in 1717.

65 The Emperor Paul of Russia (894). . . . . ——?

Bust, turned to the left, eyes looking at the spectator. He is in a green uniform with red facing; and on his breast three stars and a green ribbon across from his right shoulder to his left. His hair is curled and powdered. On canvas, 2 ft. 4 in. high, by 1 ft. 10½ in. wide.

Behind the picture is inscribed:—“Kopal T. Ep. K. E. (?) 1799” and “Catalogue No. 545, Emperor Paul of Russia..”

This portrait represents the emperor in the forty-fifth year of his age, three years after his accession, and two years before his assassination.

66 Louis XIV., when young (396). . . . . Mignard?

Three-quarters length, facing in front. His left hand hangs by his side, right is on his hip. He is clad in armour, over which is a purplish robe, lined with yellow. He has a long brown wig. On canvas, 5 ft. high, by 3 ft. 7 in. wide.

If this is really by Mignard, it must, on account of the age of the king, be one of the first pictures he painted in 1658, on his introduction to the French Court.

67 Stanislaus, King of Poland (895). . . . . Lampi.

Bust, turned slightly to the left. He is dressed in a purple velvet coat, across which is a light blue sash, and on the left side of his breast a star. He wears a small wig and pigtail; his face is shaven. On canvas, 2 ft. 4 in. high, by 1 ft 10½ in. wide.

Behind in ink is written:—“Cavalieri Lampi de Vienna.”

In an old inventory, dated 1819, is this entry:—“Half-length portrait of the King of Poland, purple velvet coat, etc., painted by Lampi, member of the Academy of Vienna. Bought of Colnaghi for £21.”

Stanislaus-Augustus Poniatowski was proclaimed King of Poland on the 7th of September, 1764, having owed his election to his lover the Empress Catherine. It was during his reign that the infamous partition of Poland was perpetrated, to which he lent a passive assistance. He died in 1798.

68 Queen of Prussia (907). . . . . Anton Graff?

Seated in a high-backed armchair covered with blue velvet; she is turned to the left, but faces in front. Her right hand rests on a table beside her, and points to a book; her left hangs by her side. She is dressed in black trimmed with ermine, and her head is covered with a black lace veil. Her hair is white. On canvas, 4 ft. 7 in. high, by 3 ft. 3 in. wide.

This is attributed in the Royal Inventory to Graff, a German painter who flourished at the end of the last century.

Is she Sophia Dorothea, sister of George II., who married, in 1706, William I., King of Prussia, and who died in 1757?

69 Frederick, Prince of Wales (789). . . . . Zeeman?

Small full-length; turned to the right. His right hand pointing in front of him, his left on his breast. He wears a red coat, leather boots to the knees, and a long wig.

Though this has long been known as Frederick, Prince of Wales, there are reasons to suspect that it is really his Brother William, Duke of Cumberland.

70 Louis XIV. on Horseback (853). . . . . Charles le Brun?

He is shown the size of life, on a cream-coloured charger, rising on its hind legs, and turned to the left. His dress is an embroidered coat, with jack boots and scarlet breeches. In his right hand he holds a bâton. On his head is a black laced hat; he has long flowing hair and curls. In the distance under the horse’s forelegs an attack of cavalry is seen. On canvas, 8 ft. 3 in. high, by 6 ft. 2 in. wide.

This has been attributed to Van der Meulen, but there is a similar picture at Versailles by Charles le Brun of which this is perhaps a replica.

71 Frederick the Great (555). . . . . Antoine Pesne.

Full-length, standing, turned to the left, but facing round to the front. His left hand points to a battle in the distance; his right holds a marshal’s truncheon. He is in armour, over which is a crimson ermine-lined mantle; he has a small close-curled wig; his helmet is on the ground in front of him. On canvas, 8 ft. 7 in. high, by 5 ft. 7 in. wide.

“To this admirable painter (i.e. Pesne) I am inclined to attribute the portrait of Frederick the Great. The king, who is still in youthful years, is pointing to a battlefield in the background, probably in allusion to the Silesian war. A picture of considerable merit.”—Waagen. The painter is well remembered by the following couplet by Frederick the Great:—

which Voltaire interpreted thus:—“Le roi ne regardant jamais le peintre, ce dernier était pour lui invisible comme Dieu.”

Pesne, who was a Frenchman and studied in Paris, was in England in 1724. He afterwards went to Berlin, where he became court painter to Frederick the Great. He died in 1757, the year of the Battle of Prague.

The frame is doubtless a presentation one.

72 Frederick the Great (978). . . . . unnamed.

Bust, turned to the left, facing in front; his hands not seen. He wears a small wig and a dark-blue coat, with the star of the Order of the Black Eagle.

73 Charles XII. of Sweden (977). . . . . Magnus du Blaire?

Bust; wearing a blue coat and a black choker; grey hair, and a beardless face.

A small whole length, 49 in. by 39 in., of which this appears to be an enlarged copy of part, was in the Hamilton Palace collection, No. 1031, attributed to Magnus du Blaire, and inscribed: “In fatum Scandici Die XXX Nov. MDCCXVII.”

“David Krafft, a Swedish painter, born in 1655, painted the portrait of Charles XII. at the command of his sister, afterwards Queen Ulrica Eléanora; but this monarch, who objected to being portrayed, was so displeased at the accuracy of the picture, that he cut out the head. It had, however, already been transferred to copper, and also etched by several engravers.”—Bryan.

74 Flower Piece . . . . . Baptiste.

75 Flower Piece . . . . . Baptiste.

76 Flower Piece . . . . . Baptiste.

In this sumptuous and gorgeous chamber, with its marble-pillared doorways, its painted and gilded walls, its niches, brackets, slabs, and pediments of white marble, its gilt antique statues, its gaudy domed ceiling of blue and gold, we have the very acme and essence of the style and art of William Kent, triumphant and rampant. After our remarks on his work in the foregoing room, we shall not be expected to lose ourselves in admiration over this masterpiece of his pseudo-classic design and decoration. Yet little as we may agree with his theories of art, little as we may admire the way he carried them into practice, it is not to be denied that, viewed as a whole, there is considerable grandeur and stateliness, and a certain degree of fine proportion, about this highly-emblazoned saloon.

Though called the “Cube” Room, its dimensions are not exactly of that mathematical figure, the walls being only 26 feet 2 inches high, to the top of the cornice, and 34 feet 7 inches to the centre of the ceiling, though each side is 37 feet long.

The Painted Ceiling of the Cube Room.

THE ceiling seems to have been the first portion of the work undertaken by Kent, and to have been finished by him by the spring of the year 1722. That he was employed to do this work occasioned much very justifiable heart-burning. Sir James Thornhill was at that time serjeant-painter to the King, and in virtue of his office was entitled to receive the commission for painting this ceiling. Indeed, it appears from a “Memorial of Sir Thomas Hewett, Knt., Surveyor-General of His Majesties Works,” addressed to the Lords of the Treasury, dated 14th February, 1722-3, and “relating to the painting of the large Square Room at Kensington,” that in the foregoing autumn the King had commanded Hewett’s attendance at Kensington “about finishing the Three Large Rooms in the New Building,” and that Hewett then showed the King “several sketches of mosaic work, etc., for painting the ceiling of the Great Square Room.” The Memorial proceeds to state:

“His Majesty chose one of them; and after I ordered a model to be made, and Sir James Thornhill painted it, which His Majesty saw and approved of; and commanded me to tell the Vice-Chamberlain he should treat with Sir James Thornhill for the Price, and that it should be done out of Hand, which is all I know of the matter.”

Nevertheless, for some reason or other—probably owing to some backstair intrigue—Kent was employed to do the work instead. But before he had half finished it the officers of works were directed by the Treasury “to view and take care that the particulars of Mr. Kent’s proposal for painting the ceiling of the Great Chamber at Kensington be well answer’d, and the work in the best manner performed with l’Ultra-Marine.” They accordingly commissioned several of the best artists of the day “to view and carefully to consider the same and report in writing.”

THE CUPOLA OR CUBE ROOM, AS IT WAS WHEN THE QUEEN WAS BAPTIZED IN IT.

The artists, or rather critics as they became—and trust an artist to be no too lenient a critic of a fellow artist’s work—were John van Vaart, Alex^r Nisbett, and Jacob Rambour. Their report is dated May 22nd, 1722, and in it they state as follows:

“We have been to Kensington and carefully view’d and considered the said painting, which we did find better than half done: But having examin’d the particulars thereof, we have observed, and ’tis our opinion, that the Perspective is not just; that the principal of the work, which consists in ornaments and architecture, is not done as such a place requires. Mr. Nesbot adds that the Boys, Masks, Mouldings, etc., far from being well, he has seen very few worse for such a place: and Mr. Rambour affirms that the said work, far from being done in the best manner, as mentioned in your letter, it is not so much as tolerably well perform’d. As for the quality of the Blew used in the work, Mr. Vandewart and Mr. Rambour declare that they can’t judge whether it is true ultramarine, because it does not look fine enough, but Mr. Nesbot’s opinion is that it is nothing but Prussian Blew, in which perhaps there may be some Ultra-marine mixt.”

Nevertheless, the colours have endured unfaded until to-day; and the gilding also, both on the ceiling and the walls, has required but little renewing, only cleaning and an occasional application of modern leaf gold, and retouching with the paint brush, where the old surface had been injured.

Much of the woodwork, however, had to be repaired, especially the capitals of the pilasters, some of which had to be renewed.

The shape of the ceiling is slightly domed, the four coved sides terminating above in a flat centre, painted with a gigantic star of the Order of the Garter. The coved sides themselves are painted with octagonal panels, diminishing upwards to simulate a lofty pierced dome. Kent himself seems to have been so well satisfied with the work, that he made use of almost exactly the same design when painting the Queen’s Staircase at Hampton Court some twelve years after. Across, part of the north cove of the ceiling is painted a deep shadow, to indicate that cast by the wall and cornice above the windows.

The Painted Walls of the Cube Room.

KENT, after finishing the ceiling, proceeded to decorate the walls with painting and gilding. There is a letter in the Record Office, from Lord Grafton, to the Lords of the Treasury, dated 29th of May, 1725, ordering payment of “£344 2s. 7d. to Mr. Kent, for painting the sides of the Cube Room at Kensington with ornaments enriched with gold.”

These walls, including the four pilasters on each, are of oak, painted with a light olive-green colour as a ground, embellished with niches of white marble, surmounted by brackets of the same, let into the woodwork.

In the six niches are well-designed statues of classical deities—Ceres, Mercury, Venus, Minerva, Bacchus, Apollo, in cast lead, somewhat under life-size. These were so dirty and tarnished as to necessitate their being entirely new-gilt. Above them, standing on brackets in flat rectangular niches, were formerly busts representing Roman poets, now unfortunately no longer to be found.

The two doorways opposite each other are likewise of the same fine polished marble, with pilasters and pillars of the Ionic order, supporting heavy entablatures, on the apexes of which are antique busts.

The chimney-place is of the same design in miniature, of polished “dove-coloured” white-veined marble, similar to that at Marlborough House. On the apex was formerly a gilt bust of Cleopatra, now missing. Within the fireplace itself are very fine panelled and moulded “covings” or sides, of the same “dove-coloured” marble, discovered during the progress of the restorations.

Above the chimney-piece is a large bas-relief in statuary marble representing a Roman marriage, sculptured by the statuary Rysbach. It is a fine work, but one feels rather as if standing in front of a sepultural monument in some foreign campo santo than before an English fireside.

Rysbach, who was a native of Antwerp, came over to England in 1720, four or five years before he executed this work. His talents were for some time—as have been those of many an unsuspecting foreigner—exploited by a commercializing British impresario, Gibbs. Two-thirds of the prices paid for his work found its way into the pockets of the unscrupulous intermediary, until Rysbach, at last shaking himself free from this bondage, took commissions on his own account, and, becoming the rage, he was able to exact great prices for his work. It is possible that he designed the gilt statues in the niches, which seem too good for Kent’s narrow invention.