VANBRUGH

VANBRUGH, SIR JOHN, one of the most celebrated dramatic authors, as well as one of the most eminent architects, of his day. The different biographers¹ vary importantly as to the place and date of his birth, and to the origin of his family, some stating he was born at Chester, and others at London; and some attributing to him an English, and others a French or a Dutch extraction. The account, however, which he gives of his family in his petition for an exemplification of arms, and in his own pedigree attached thereto by himself, now in the Herald's College,² are no doubt to be relied on, especially as in the former a careful inquiry seems to have been made by the acting authorities, who at that time appear not to have had the most friendly feeling³ towards him. It says—

"Vanbrugh of Ghent, in Flanders, gent., fled from thence into Holland, upon account of the Duke of Alva's persecution, tpe Eliz., where he continued till his death.

"Giles Vanbrugh, of London, merchant, born at Ghent, in Flanders, and first came over into England about the latter end of Queen Elizabeth's reign; he died anno 1646, and was buried in the vault in St Stephen's Wallbrook (which he purchased of the parish), 21 June 1646.

"Giles Vanbrugh, of ye city of Chester, Esq., 3d son, a justice of ye peace there, was born in St Stephen's Wallbrook, and there baptized 27th April 1631; he died at Chester circa annum 1689, and was there buried."

This was the father of the subject of our biography, who is said to have carried on the business of a sugar-baker at Chester. In Tong's Life of Matthew Henry (1716, p. 75), he is described "as one of those worthy gentlemen that had habitations there," and who, though of the Church of England, were in the habit of hearing Mr Henry's weekday lectures. That he was a man of some note may also be gathered from the fact that he is called esquire in Blome's Britannia; that old Fuller dedicated a portion of his Pisgah-sight to him, prefixing his arms thereto; and that he was of sufficient standing to aspire to the hand of the youngest daughter of Sir Dudley Carleton,⁴ whom he married, and who bore him eight sons (of whom John was the second) and six daughters. Various dates have been assigned to his birth as well as places. The register of his death in 1726, at the age of 60, however, fixes the former at 1666. The cities of London and of Chester dispute

the latter. The Chester registers, however, have been Vanbrugh. lately searched, and the baptisms of all the rest of the family, seven of the sons and the six daughters, are therein found, but not that of John. We have also searched the register of St Stephen's Wallbrook, which breaks off at the period of the fire of London, and is blank till the rebuilding. The biographical account prefixed to the collection of his plays, published in 1759, expressly says that "he was born in the parish of St Stephen's Wallbrook, in 1666." If so, it was probably shortly before the great fire, and though born there, he may have been baptized afterwards in the nearest place where his parents found shelter from its ravages.

There is no record of his education, but the known wealth of the family, and the internal evidence of his writings, would lead us to believe that it must have been liberal, and that he must have profited largely from it. The different biographies,⁵ like most of those of the period, contain mere statements without citing authorities. We however gather from⁶ them that he chose the military profession, and went into the army as an ensign at the age of nineteen;⁷ we find that he obtained the rank of captain, by which he was designated by many writers till as late at least as the date of Rowe's imitation of Horace.⁸ It is said that, being a very agreeable man, and having great wit, he became acquainted with many important persons, among the rest with Sir Thomas Skipwith, who happened to be in the same winter-quarters, and who, it appears, possessed a large share in the theatrical patent at Drury Lane. Finding he had a number of loose sheets of parts of plays which exhibited great talent, he urged him to complete one, and used his interest to get it put upon the stage. This play was The Relapse, which Cibber tells us was written in three months, and ready for performance in April, but the season being far advanced, was not acted till the succeeding winter. It, however, had such extraordinary success, that it at once placed him high in the rank of dramatic writers.

This, however, was in the year 1697, and must have occurred after some other important events of his life. Unfortunately his early biographers have been wits who recorded either with zest or envy his dramatic history, and took no pains about his professional career. It is curious that we have no account of the studies or education of three of the greatest architects Britain has produced—Wren, Vanbrugh, and William of Wykeham, although of many lesser men we have full accounts of their courses of study and their preceptors. It is, however, recorded of Vanbrugh that he went into France early in life, and that at some subsequent period he was imprisoned in the Bastille, and that in 1695, two years before the production of The Relapse, he was made secretary to the commissioners for completing⁹ Greenwich Hospital on the nomination of the celebrated John Evelyn. On the first event all biographers are agreed; the second is certainly true, as he mentions it in

Vanbrugh. his letters, and as he built a house for himself at Greenwich in imitation of that style of architecture, and called it Bastille House. At what period, however, this imprisonment took place, we are not informed.

The account given by Cibber, or rather his editor's,¹ in the Lives of the Poets, is, that "curiosity induced him to visit France, where his taste for architecture excited him to take a survey of the fortifications in that kingdom. When he was one day surveying some fortifications with the strictest attention, he was taken notice of by an engineer, secured by authority, and then carried prisoner to the Bastille at Paris." The biographer goes on to say, that he was treated with "gentleness and humanity, and found his confinement so endurable, that he amused himself in drawing rude draughts of some comedies. This circumstance raising curiosity in Paris, several of the noblesse visited him in the Bastille, when Sir John, who spoke their language with fluency and elegance, insinuated himself into their favour by the vivacity of his wit and the peculiarity of his humour," and that by their intercession he was set at liberty.

Now a "visit" to France could not have taken place in war-time, nor can we suppose the event happened while he was on active service, as in that case he would have been shot as a spy, and not sent to the Bastille as a state prisoner. It must therefore have taken place either before the declaration of war by the allies in 1689, or after the peace of Ryswick in 1697. This was the year in which The Relapse first appeared, which he says in the prologue² "in too much haste was writ," and afterwards "twas got, conceived, and born in six weeks' space." Our limits will not permit us to go at any great length into the inquiry: the probability however is, this captivity, which seems to have been the means of changing his fortunes, actually did take place in 1697, early in which year hostilities had ceased, although the treaty was not signed till September.

The third important circumstance to which allusion has been made, his appointment as secretary to the commissioners of Greenwich Hospital, speaks highly in his favour. It was an honourable position to be associated with such men as Tennison, Somers, and Wren, and perhaps still more so to have been introduced to them by John Evelyn. This great and good man was then in his seventy-fifth year. During his long and useful life, he had always been the patron of rising merit, and ever the opponent of the dissolute and dishonourable. Unlike many good men, however, his days had not been devoted to a cloister, but had been passed in active life. In his youth he had served as a soldier in Holland: he had travelled afterwards wherever knowledge could be gained, or taste could be refined and purified, and had frequented the court as well as the learned meetings of the Royal Society. It speaks very highly for the talent and character of the young Captain Vanbrugh that he should have been taken by the hand by such a man. If tradition be correct that he always had a turn for architectural studies, it is probable that his new position improved and confirmed him in them. But we must now pursue his history as a writer.

At the request of Halifax, he then wrote the Provoked Wife for the theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. This, if possible, had a greater run than the Relapse. The rich racy wit of the dialogue, and the originality and humour of the situations, drew forth the most clamorous applause; while, what we now all regret, the grossness of much of the lan-

guage, and the immoral tendency of the plot, were in those days anything but bars to success. The stage then was in a very bad state. Not only were the plots of the dramas extremely immoral in themselves, but the dialogue was grossly indecent; so much so, that no lady could be present without a mask either to hide her blushes, or disguise the want of them. It is true that Vanbrugh was not worse than many other writers, nor in fact so bad. There are plays of Beaumont and Fletcher, of Dryden, Wycherly, D'Urfey, Behn, and a host of others, much worse than the Provoked Wife. But the cup was becoming full; profanity and indecency had passed for wit long enough; and people began to weary of breathing so foul an atmosphere. The first blow came from an unexpected quarter, and with unexpected force. It was given by a non-juring divine named Jeremy Collier, who had previously made himself notorious by his conduct at the execution of Parkyns and Friend,³ for a conspiracy to murder the king. He published a little book, entitled A short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the Stage; and a very curious work it is, written with great point and spirit; in fact, with more wit than many of the plays he attacked; but it is a curious image of the writer's mind. As to the first point of objection, he certainly does not say too much—in fact he could not—but his views as to profanity are very much strained and far-fetched. He cannot endure the slightest allusion to a priest, or anything approaching a religious designation. He attacks Dryden because he puts a wicked friar on the stage as a character;⁴ because one of his scenes opens in a chapel; because one of his heroes, a Turk, speaks of the month Abib;⁵ because an admirer of Spartan virtue⁶ stigmatizes the gross superstition of the Egyptian priests and their "grass-eating god." He prefers Ben Jonson to Shakespeare in point of purity of writing, though there is ten times more indecency in Bartholomew Fair than in all that the latter ever wrote, nay, although he is incomparably the purest writer of the age; but then Ben Jonson had never put a clergyman on the stage, while Shakespeare had been so irreverent as to give the characters of Sir Hugh Evans and the curate in Love's Labour Lost; the former, by the way, a most amiable, and the latter, a most innocent character. He is furious with D'Urfey, because one of his dramatis personæ comes in disguised as a peasant, singing the old harvest-song—"We've cheated the parson, we'll cheat him again," and becomes almost ludicrously pathetic when he estimates how many pounds' worth of tithes will be lost to the clergy by the singing this pestiferous stanza. He censures Congreve because one of his characters named Sampson alludes to the strength of his namesake, and is reminded by another that very strength was the cause of his death. In fact, such innocent jokes as Sydney Smith fired off every day in his life would have been to Collier the very depths of profanity. In spite of all this, there was too much truth in the book to be passed over; and Congreve and Vanbrugh, who had been made the objects of special attack, both published defences. That of the latter is a short and temperate reply; first of all showing that Collier had very much exaggerated all he had said; and next, that the poet must draw the world as he finds it, and means no harm in putting into the mouths of his characters such words as are used by them in every-

Vanbrugh's day life. He also published the Relapse, with a preface, in which he says:—

"I believe with a steady faith there is not one woman of a real reputation in town, but when she has read it impartially over in her closet, will find it so innocent, she'll think it no affront to her prayer-book to lay it upon the same shelf."

It seems difficult to believe him in earnest when we read the play; but Smollett seriously claimed the same character for Roderick Random and Peregrine Pickle; and at the present day some of the French novelists, who are really worse than the old writers, do the same. We say really worse, because they do not delineate things as they are, as the old writers did. While this is truthfully done, whatever vice may be displayed, the ascendancy of honour, virtue, and honesty, in the long-run, must also be displayed; but the modern French writers are not truthful, though they may be graphic: they varnish and draw a coloured veil over vice; and as long as they use words of scrupulous decency, care not what may be the tendency of the things they relate. As to Vanbrugh, the controversy may be best summed up in the words of his French biographer.¹ "Unfortunately the greatest license reigned on the English stage at that time, and it was unreasonable to expect a young soldier to set up for a moral teacher." He however made the attempt, and in the same year wrote Æsop.

This was a play, the plot of which was borrowed from the French.² A number of characters bearing the stamp of the different vices and follies of the day are brought before the fabulist, who converses with them, gives them good advice, and ends by relating a fable in verse, suited to the case of each. The play is full of spirit and wit, as well as instruction. The fables are really better than those of Gay, both in idea and in versification. Indeed, Pope complimented him afterwards, by telling him he had caught the true spirit of La Fontaine. But, alas! for the moralist. The town could not endure to be corrected or taught, and, after a few nights, Æsop was banished from the stage. An adaptation of Fletcher's Pilgrim, produced two years after, seems to have had a better fate.

We must now take leave of him for a short time as a wit and a poet, and follow his career as an architect, wherein, spite of his detractors, he was equally successful. The first notice we have of him in this capacity is in 1702, when he furnished the design for Castle Howard for the Earl of Carlisle. Why he should have been selected for such an important work, we cannot divine. There was no lack of architects in those days. Wren, though seventy years of age, was in his full vigour. Talman had finished Chatsworth, Thorsley, and Dyham. Wynn was engaged on Buckingham House; and Gunnersbury, Marlborough House, Roehampton, Cliefden, were all built within a few years of this period. Be this as it may, Vanbrugh here gave the first proof of his architectural genius. In endeavouring to avoid³ the rudeness of Gothic "magnificence," the "flutter of flying buttresses," "the uselessness of pinnacles," "the discord of oblique lines," our architects, with the exception of Wren, had fallen into a cold, tame, flat style, making square blocks of their buildings, without those decided masses which cast bold shadows and give so much breadth. They affected horizontality, and strove as much as they could to get all the various departments of the house into one solid block. Such, too, was the passion for

uniformity, that all sorts of expedients were resorted to Vanbrugh, to make one half the building exactly like the other, and false windows and doors, screen-walls and parapets, and all sorts of shams, were used to "balance" the points of the design. We seem now to run into the opposite extreme, and to go out of our way to make things irregular. Windows are made of various heights, and oriellets are stuck here and there without meaning or any use, except for the studied purpose of making the building irregular, or, to use a common phrase, lop-sided. Vanbrugh avoided both errors. At Castle Howard he separated the subordinate buildings, and arranged them round the principal structure in a series of regular but picturesque groups. Even the laundries and breweries were not concealed, and were surmounted by domes, which served at once for ornament and the purposes of ventilation. Instead of striving to hide his chimneys, he clusters them together, and makes them, as well as his roofs, the means of breaking and enriching the sky-line. The main building is entered by a lofty portico, from which we pass into a noble hall lighted by a cupola a hundred feet in height, and from which lengthened corridors extend, leading to numerous suites of fine apartments. Our limits will not permit a further description. Suffice it to say, that this picturesque but at the same time symmetrical building presents a frontage of 660 feet, or 130 feet more than the entire length of Westminster Abbey, and, with the exception of Blenheim, is the noblest palace in the kingdom.

The Earl of Carlisle was then the acting earl-marshal of England, during the minority of Thomas, duke of Norfolk, and as a token of his approbation of the talent of his architect, he appointed Vanbrugh to the high and lucrative situation of Clarenceux king-at-arms. As there is a rule at the college that every candidate must be a herald before he can become a king-at-arms, Vanbrugh was first created Carlisle herald,⁴ a title which had been obsolete some years. His patent for this, as appears by the heralds' books, is dated 21st June 1703; that as Clarenceux, the 9th February 1725. We learn from Anstis⁵ that the college petitioned against the appointment, but on what grounds does not appear. The chapter-books would probably show; but as they contain so many confidential matters relative not only to the college but to different families, they are very properly kept from the public eye. A good deal has been said as to this appointment, and Vanbrugh and his patron have both been accused of jobbing. It was no unusual thing at that time, in the college, to pass one man over the head of another, and also to elect to higher offices without passing through the lower. Camden⁶ was created Richmond herald one day, and Clarenceux the next: Borough,⁷ in like manner, Mowbray herald, and then Norroy; and even St George⁸ would have been created king-at-arms per saltum, but his friends urged him to accept the offices of Berwick pursuivant and Windsor herald some little time before he assumed the crown of Norroy. For many years there had been a struggle in the college in favour of the slow promotion of seniority as against that of talent. As long back as the time of James I., Glover⁹ had written against the former course, and is said, when remonstrated with by the other party, to have answered, "that every great fat calf did not turn out a good cow." Anstis and Brook seem to insinuate Vanbrugh's ignorance of heraldry: the latter¹⁰ hints at it; the former¹¹

Vanbrugh drops his pen in the middle of a sentence. How matters may have gone within the walls at Doctors' Commons, we cannot say. It appears, however, from their archives, he was a frequent attendant at the college, signing his name in the book like the others. A far more important circumstance is, that he was honoured by Queen Anne with the commission to convey the insignia of the order of the Garter to the King of Hanover, which he executed in 1706, three years after his first entrance into the college. It is difficult to believe that a man of such witty and pleasant spirit could be at enmity with his brethren for twenty long years, and still more so, that a young and talented man did not acquire some knowledge of the art he professed. Some say he laughed at heraldry; but this seems founded only on the fact, that in Æsop he is very severe on the forgers of pedigrees and genealogies. They have to this day a fine portrait of him by Richardson, which occupies the post of honour in one of the rooms of the college.

About this time he was actively engaged in his great work at Blenheim, which, in spite of all that has been said of it, is the finest palace of the style in the kingdom. It has all the excellencies of Castle Howard, with fewer exaggerations. Its site is on a rising ground in the beautiful park of Woodstock, the favourite resort of our monarchs for many ages. Before it is a magnificent lake, crossed by a triumphal bridge. The body of the house itself is about as long as the river-front of Somerset House. But the entire façade, including the chapel, orangeries, &c., is between 800 and 900 feet in extent, or about half the length of Pall Mall. The building must be seen to conceive its grandeur. The garden-fronts are all equally beautiful, but of a softer magnificence than the main elevation. Unlike many other edifices, it pleases equally from any point of view. Our space forbids a lengthened description; but we cannot omit to quote shortly the opinion of the celebrated Uvedale Price.—“It appears to me that, at Blenheim, Vanbrugh conceived and executed a very bold and difficult design, that of uniting in one building the beauty and magnificence of the Grecian architecture, the picturesqueness of the Gothic, and the massive grandeur of a castle, and that, in spite of faults, he has formed, in a style truly his own, and a well combined whole, a mansion worthy of a great prince and warrior.”

So much and such varied success naturally attracted envy. The rival wits, however, dreaded to meet Vanbrugh at their own proper weapons. They had seen enough to know that “he was cunning in fence.” His buildings, however, offered safer game. Alas! for the architect; nothing is so easy as to throw dirt at his works. As Falstaff says, “men of all sorts take a pride to gird at him.” Everyone, however ignorant of art, can liken them to something ridiculous and incongruous, and so raise an empty laugh. With the graver critics they are always “too” something; too light, too heavy, too high, too low, and very often (and this was Vanbrugh’s case) both opposites at once. With the former, a house is like a dog-kennel, a pie, a coal-scuttle, a flat candlestick, a piece of floorcloth, or something equally absurd. The foremost in attack among the wits was the famous Dean Swift. Jonathan hated, or

fancied he hated, Vanbrugh, first, because he was a successful humorist; and, secondly, because he was “a puppy and a whig.” His attacks were in two sets of verses,² brilliant enough in their way, and he (knowing nothing of what he was writing about) thought himself safe by taking the “too little” line. Accordingly, the building is compared to a “goose-pie,” a “snail,” a “chaise,” a “tilt in a boat,” a “house of cards,” and last, and nearly last, a “mouse-trap.” The other critics took the “too large” line, “huge heaps,” “cumbrous quarries.” Every simile that could express ponderosity was raked up: at last came the well-known epitaph—

“Lie heavy on him, earth, for he
Laid many a heavy load on thee.”

It seems inconceivable that two such opposite sets of opinions could at the same time be popular; but such is envy: it matters not how absurd or self-contradictory a saying may be, it will meet with admirers, if it is only acidulated sufficiently by the spirit of detraction. It appears that Vanbrugh remonstrated with Swift³ on the subject, who made him afterwards ample amends in the preface⁴ to his Miscellanies.

A more serious trouble, however, arose out of the building Blenheim than the joint attacks of all the wits. The palace had been originally voted by parliament; but with a meanness and ingratitude that is scarcely credible, they would not provide the money to pay for what they had formerly voted. Whatever faults Marlborough might have had, he had saved his country, nay, Europe, from the ambition of the French monarch, by a series of the most brilliant victories. If he had not deserved the gift, it should not have been voted; but having by a formal act decreed it should be given, it was a mean mockery to withhold the money to pay for it. The queen, however, with a generous spirit, provided the funds from her own private purse during her life. At her death, the duke, though always protesting, occasionally continued to pay the workmen, believing ultimately that he should be reimbursed by the treasury. It was before the age of “cutting” contractors, and “run-up” work. The custom then was for the architect to employ such workmen as he thought fitted for the job, to pay them himself, and to call on his employer from time to time for money as it was wanted. It may be thought the parliament had been guilty of a consummate meanness in refusing supplies to carry out its own vote; but this meanness was outdone by the duke, or rather the duchess, who ruled him and every one else with a brazen sceptre. The worthy pair actually refused to pay the workmen,⁵ who, of course, were obliged to look to Vanbrugh, from whom they had received their orders. That both the duke and duchess were stained with avarice to the core, and that the latter was a fury in temper, and a savage in resentment,⁶ is well known, but that they should have the gross injustice to expect their architect to pay their debts, and make them a present not only of his services, but of the house they were to live in, is absolutely inconceivable. It seems that Vanbrugh had actually advanced £2000 (a large sum in those days, especially for an author to advance) on account of Blenheim, at the time they thought proper to quarrel with him. In

Vanbrugh, the mean time the duke died, leaving the duchess not only an immense fortune, but a special sum of £10,000 per annum to finish Blenheim.¹ This the duchess did, being wise enough carefully to follow out Vanbrugh's plans, though she not only excluded him from any direction of the works, but absolutely prohibited his being admitted to see the building, although accompanied by his fast friends the noble Howards.² It is very satisfactory, however, to find he at last got his money, "in spite," as he says, "of the hussy's teeth."³

About the time that Blenheim was begun, Vanbrugh, in connection with the celebrated Congreve, formed the project of building what Cibber calls a stately theatre in the Haymarket. The money was raised by subscriptions of £100 each, and great expectations were formed as to its success. The first stone, in which was the quaint inscription, "Little Whig," was laid by the Countess of Sunderland, one of Marlborough's daughters, a lady, Cibber says, of extraordinary beauty, then the celebrated toast and pride of that party. The theatre was opened by an opera, which was withdrawn after the third night. This was followed by one of Vanbrugh's best comedies, the Confederacy. The plot was taken from the French of Dancourt, but in every other respect it is perfectly original. The wit and humour that ran through the whole piece are of the very first quality, and the dialogue as brilliant as anything of that day. The play has been a favourite, and kept the stage till within a short period. Unfortunately the new house was so large, and surmounted by so vast a dome, that the actors could not make themselves properly heard. The consequence was, that everything fell flatly on the ear. Congreve, after contributing a prologue or two, backed out of the concern, leaving the whole weight on Vanbrugh. He fought against the difficulties as well as he could, and adapted three of Molière's best comedies to the English stage, but with no better success, owing to the same cause.⁴ Ultimately he made an arrangement with a regular theatrical manager named Owen Swinney, and let the theatre at a maximum rent of £700 per annum.⁵

He was now in full practice as an architect, and built Eastbury in Dorsetshire, now pulled down; King's Weston near Bristol; Easton Neston in Northamptonshire; a large house for Mr Duncombe in Yorkshire; Oulton Hall in Cheshire; Seaton Delaval in Northumberland;⁶ besides a great many buildings of less importance. In 1714, he received the honour of knighthood, and, in 1716, was made surveyor of works at Greenwich Hospital, and comptroller-general of the royal works, and surveyor of the gardens and waters. About this time he married Henrietta Maria,⁷ daughter of Colonel Yarborough of Haslington near York, by whom he had three children, two of whom died in infancy.⁸ The other was an ensign in the guards, and died of wounds received in the battle of Fontenoy. He had strong hopes of becoming Garter king-at-arms, but finding

the younger Anstis had a reversionary grant of the appointment, he resigned⁹ his post of Clarenceux to Knox Ward, after having held it upwards of twenty years. He himself died of a quinsy, at his house in Whitehall, on the 26th of March 1726,¹⁰ leaving the celebrated comedy of The Provoked Husband in an unfinished state. It was very cleverly completed by Cibber, who says in the preface, he has not altered one word of the portion written by Vanbrugh.

In appearance, we are told by Noble, he was "a fine, elegant, manly person." His character may be gathered from what has been said before. Spence says of him, "Garth, Vanbrugh, and Congreve were the three most honest-hearted, real good men of the poetical members of the Kit-cat Club." Cibber says, "As he lived esteemed by all his acquaintance, so he died without leaving one enemy to reproach his memory; a felicity which few men of public employments, or possessed of so distinguished a genius, ever enjoyed."

The pen seems to linger as we get nearer the close of the short delineation of the life and character of this talented, warm-hearted, and prosperous gentleman. Enough has been said of his wit and poetic talent. His characters are strictly drawn from nature, and his language is so easy and unaffected, that the actors agreed that no author gave so little trouble to study.

Of his genius as an architect, enough also, perhaps, has been said; except we conclude with the opinion of the great Sir Joshua Reynolds:—"He had originality of invention; he understood light and shadows, and had great skill in composition;" and he adds, "this is the tribute which a painter owes to an architect who composed like a painter. (A. A.)"