CHAPTER XX.

_THE SUB-MANOR OF BELSIZE._

The sub-manor of Belsize, lying on the south side of the parish of Hampstead, was given to the Abbot and Convent of Westminster by Sir Roger le Brabazon in 1317, upon condition that they should provide a priest to say a daily Mass in their church for the souls of Edmund, Earl of Lancaster, Blanch, his wife, the said Sir Roger, and all the faithful departed this life.

Whether, at the dissolution of the abbey, it passed through the hands of the Bishop of Westminster is not known. At present it is the property of the Dean and Chapter of that minster. The manor-house was for a long period the residence of the Waad (subsequently Wood) family, who held the lease during many years of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, under the said Dean and Chapter.

Armigall Waad was Clerk of the Council to Henry VIII. and Edward VI. He was also a nautical adventurer of some notoriety, and Anthony Wood asserts the first Englishman who discovered America. This idea, for it amounts to nothing more, is derived from the inscription formerly on an old monument in Hampstead Church—apart from which, it is said, there is not a shred of evidence of a discovery to which, as everybody knows, he had no claim. It is not even clear that he was amongst the first Englishmen who visited that country. Fuller says that his voyages are fully described by Hakluyt; but Park says that readers may search there or elsewhere in vain for Waad’s voyages, although in Hore’s account of his voyage to Newfoundland, in 1536, Waad is mentioned as an adventurer in that undertaking.

Queen Elizabeth employed him on an undertaking of some importance, and in old age he retired to Belsize, where he died in 1567. He was buried in Hampstead Church, under a fair monument of alabaster, the inscription on which Nordon copied. Gerard tells us that in a wood by a village called Hamstede, ‘near unto a worshipful gentleman’s house (Belsize), one of the clerks of the Queen’s Council called Mr. Waade,’ he found betony with white flowers, whence he brought the plant into his own garden at Holborn.

James I., who hoped to buy popularity by scattering titles broadcast, knighted Mr. Waade’s son and heir, who succeeded to his father’s office as Clerk to the Council, and after being employed in various foreign embassies and other high official services, was made Lieutenant of the Tower. His widow (a second wife), daughter of Sir Henry Browne, Knt., Lady Anne Waad, disposed of her interest in Belsize in 1640.[288] Twenty-eight years afterwards Pepys, in his ‘Diary’ under the date of August 17, 1668, tells us that he went to Hampstead to speak with the Attorney-General (Sir Geoffrey Palmer), whom he met in the fields by his old route and house, and, after a little talk about business, went and saw the Lord Wotton’s house and garden (Belsize), ‘which is wonderfully fine, too good for the house the gardens are, being, indeed, the most noble that ever I saw, and brave orange and lemon trees.’ In June, 1677, Evelyn pronounces the gardens ‘very large, but ill-kept.’

Remembering that the Tradescants, father and son, were successively gardeners to the Wotton family, it is not to be wondered at that the gardens and grounds of Belsize House exceeded in beauty any that the diarist had previously seen. Lord Wotton made Belsize his principal residence for many years—Brewer says from 1673 till 1681.

In the year 1681, under the head of ‘London, October 18,’ we read:

‘Last night eleven or twelve highway robbers came on horseback to the house of the Lord Wotton, at Hampstead, and attempted to enter therein, breaking down part of the wall and the gate; but there being four or five men within the house, they very courageously fired several musquits and a blunderbuss upon the thieves, which gave an alarm to one of the Lord’s tenants, a farmer that dwelt not far off, who thereupon went immediately into the town, and raised the inhabitants; who going towards the house, which was half a mile off, it is thought the robbers hearing thereof and withall finding the business difficult, they all made their escape. It is judged they had notice of my Lord’s absence from his house, and likewise of a great booty which was therein, which put them upon this desperate attempt.’—_The True Protestant Mercury_, October 15-19, 1681.

Lord Charles Wotton’s mother, Catherine, the eldest of the four daughters and co-heirs of Thomas Lord Wotton, of Wotton in Kent, married for her third husband Daniel O’Neale, Esq., Gentleman of the Bedchamber to Charles II., to whom the grant of Belsize had been renewed in 1660. This lady had married, firstly, Henry, Lord Stanhope,[289] eldest son of Philip, first Earl of Chesterfield, by whom she had one son. Her second husband was Poliander de Kirkhoven, Lord of Hemsfleet in Holland, by whom she also had one son, Lord Charles Henry Kirkhoven, who, on account of his mother’s descent, was created Lord Wotton in 1650; to whom on her demise in 1667, without issue by Mr. O’Neale, her third husband, the grant of the manor and demesne of Belsize was renewed.

Upon the death of Lord Wotton without issue 1682, his half-brother, Philip, Earl of Chesterfield,[290] obtained a renewal of the grant of the estate.

Park states that after Lord Wotton’s death the manor had always been in the occupation of under-tenants. But though the manor might be so let, it seems quite feasible that the mansion and demesne should be retained by the owner. It is hardly to be supposed that the beautiful gardens and the house (which at some period in Charles II.’s time had been rebuilt) would be immediately deserted by the new proprietor. It appears not only possible, but extremely probable, that the second Earl of Chesterfield resided here at times until his death in 1713; and five years afterwards we find that the gardens required putting in order, a proof, I think, that intermediately they had been kept up and attended to. In one of Swift’s letters to Stella, dated September 7, 1710, three years before the death of the second Earl of Chesterfield, he tells her that ‘going into the City to see his old schoolfellow, Straford the Hombourg merchant,’ and turning into the Bull on Ludgate Hill, where they met, the latter forced him to go to dinner with him at his house at Hampstead, ‘among a great deal of ill company, Hoadley (afterwards Bishop) being one of them.’ But he adds, ‘I was glad to be at Hampstead, where I saw Lady Lucy and Moll Stanhope.’ And he notes on the 24th of the same month, ‘I dined to-day at Hampstead with Lady Lucy.’ True, he does not name Belsize; but neither does Pepys when describing Lord Wotton’s gardens. But Evelyn does, and says that O’Neale built Belsize House.

Philip, second Earl of Chesterfield, is said to have sold his interest in the estate. It was either before or immediately after the death of this nobleman that it was let to Mr. Charles Povey, who appears to have been the first tenant.

In 1733 we find the late Earl’s grandson, Philip Dormer Stanhope, fourth Earl of Chesterfield, obtaining a renewal for three lives of the manor and demesne of Belsize; and in 1751 he again procured a renewal of the grant.

The estate continued in the possession of his kinsman, Philip Stanhope, Esq.,[291] son of Arthur Stanhope, deceased, lineally descended from the first Earl of Chesterfield, who succeeded to his titles and estates, till 1807, when, having obtained an Act of Parliament for selling this and several estates, it was jointly purchased by four gentlemen resident at Hampstead,[292] who in the next year divided the estate, containing about 234 acres, into four allotments.

On this partition the mansion of Belsize devolved to James Abel, Esq., the proprietor when Park published his ‘History of Hampstead.’

When Mr. Povey, a retired coal-merchant, entered upon his occupation of Belsize House, he very soon found his possession a white elephant. A man of many grievances against the Whig Government, he strove to avenge them by publishing a violent pamphlet entitled ‘England’s Inquisition; or Money raised by New, Secret, Extinct Law, without Act of Parliament.’ He complained of a series of unjust extortions and persecutions practised upon his person, property, and estate by Commissioners of Excise and others, and enumerates amongst other services and sacrifices he claims to have made for his country, and which had been ungratefully overlooked by those in power, his having refused to let Belsize House to the Duc d’Aumont, the French Ambassador, who had offered him £1,000 per annum for the use of it during his residence in England, being resolved that the _new_ chapel attached to the mansion should not be used as a ‘mass-house.’

Subsequently, in the profoundness of his patriotism, he had made an offer of Belsize to the Prince of Wales, as an occasional retirement or as a constant residence. But though he had taken care to inform the Prince of the tempting offer he had had, and of his self-sacrifice in refusing it for conscience’ sake, his future King (George II.), with scant courtesy, never even honoured him with an answer, though he ‘waited in expectation of it, and kept the mansion house and park unlet for a considerable time.’

In the meanwhile, as I have elsewhere said, Hampstead, under the magisterial rule of Hicks’s Hall, and subjected to the inquisition of the Head-boroughs and their men at unexpected moments, sank rapidly in the affections of the populace. The time for a new place of entertainment was ripe, and Mr. Povey in despair, when one Howell, who appears to have been the Barnum of his day, conceived the idea of converting Belsize House, with its spacious park and beautiful gardens, into a place of amusement for the public on a more than usually magnificent scale. He made his offer, which, after two years of Belsize unlet, Mr. Povey accepted, and one can imagine the disgust society people must have felt on the appearance of the following announcement in _Mist’s Journal_ of April 16, 1720:

‘Whereas that ancient and noble house near Hampstead, commonly known as Belsize House, is now taken and fitted up for the entertainment of gentlemen and ladies during the whole summer season; the same will be open on Easter Monday next, with an uncommon solemnity of music and dancing. This undertaking will exceed all of the kind that has hitherto been known near London. Commencing every day _at six in the morning_, and continuing till eight at night, all persons being privileged to admittance without necessity of expense, etc. The park, wilderness, and gardens being wonderfully improved, and filled with a variety of birds, which compose a most melodious and delightful harmony. N.B.—Persons inclined to walk and divert themselves, may breakfast on tea or coffee as cheap as at their own chambers.’

From time to time we find the proprietor of this ancient prototype of Cremorne, under the title of ‘His Excellency the Welsh Ambassador,’ introducing various novelties for the diversion of his visitors. Now he announces ‘A Plate of Six Guineas to be run for by eleven footmen!’ At another time, ‘For the better diverting of the Company he designs to have Duck-hunting every evening; and what will be more extraordinary, the proprietor having purchased a large Bear-dog that will hunt a duck as well as any spaniel in England; and any gentleman may have the liberty to bring his own spaniel to try him.’

Who doubts that this announcement proved a triumph to the money-getting sagacity of Mr. Howell, more especially when we know that the great canals and walks in the grounds were very commodious for the purpose, and that all ‘the expense attending the diversion is met by the payment of sixpence for gentlemen at the time of going into the park; while the ladies are admitted free.’ But to meet certain inconveniences attending this liberality, an N.B. adds that ‘No person will be admitted but who will be thought agreeable.’

Again we learn that a great quantity of wild deer have been purchased, and that it is the spirited proprietor’s intention ‘to hunt one down every Thursday and Saturday through the whole season; and that on these days, for the convenience of single gentlemen, there will be a good ordinary at two o’clock, and for one of the dishes there will constantly be venison.’ Verily, this Welshman appears to have been exceedingly astute as to the sporting and gastronomic propensities of Englishmen, Metropolitan or otherwise. This advertisement involved a double pleasure—the delight of the chase, enhanced by the expectation of this feast in kind afterwards.

Twelve months after the opening of Belsize Gardens, _Read’s Journal_, July 15, 1721, contained the following announcement:

‘Their royal highnesses the Prince and Princess of Wales dined at Belsize House, near Hampstead, attended by several persons of quality, where they were entertained with the diversions of hunting, and such others as the place afforded, with which they seemed well entertained, and at their departure were very liberal to the servants.’

On such occasions the mounted company rode over the park with horns blowing, and beagles barking, the proprietor leading the hunt in person. I have tried in vain to find the advertisement of this royal visit, which doubtless figured on handbills, or otherwise, in advance of the event, and with as successful an issue to the treasury of Belsize House as the appearance of the Prince of Oude, or the Siamese Ambassador, at Cremorne or the Surrey Gardens in modern times, or the Shahraza at the Crystal Palace in the summer of 1895. Such visitors, of course, bestowed a certain prestige on the new place of amusement, and brought it into favour with (to use a pet phrase of the day) the bon-ton. But this ‘delightful place of amusement’ was by no means dependent on the patronage of lords and ladies; those who could not afford silver were encouraged to spend their pence, ‘a part of the house being set aside for the accommodation of the meaner sort’; while the beaux and coquettes of fashion, who promenaded the Long Room, or minced in high-heeled shoes over the lawns or through the garden alleys, sipped coffee, tea, chocolate, or ratafia, or dined at princely prices _à la Pontac_, do not appear to have secured perfect immunity from vulgar and even questionable associates, since ‘sham gentlemen’ not unfrequently crept in—anyone, according to the writer of a satirical poem, written only two years after the opening of Belsize as a place of entertainment,

‘Who would at charges be, Might keep their noble honours company.’

Indeed, the irregularities of the establishment seem to have led to the proprietor’s imprisonment in Newgate within the first year of his lesseeship. No wonder, therefore, that in May, 1722, we find Belsize included in the Justices’ order to the Head-borough of Hampstead, touching the prevention of unlawful gaming, riots, etc. Yet the fashion of the place does not appear to have declined greatly on account of its disreputable notoriety and inexclusive character, or the license of which it was said to be the scene. On the contrary, its vogue increased, so that on a day of June, 1722, the attendance of the nobility and gentry was so numerous, that they reckoned between three and four hundred carriages. On this occasion a wild deer (which in the satirist’s description becomes a starved buck) was hunted down and killed in the park, after affording the company three hours’ diversion.

It is easy to imagine the crowds thronging between the painted grenadiers[293] that stood sentinel on either side of the gates, or walking up the grand old avenue, or dispersing over the greensward, fluttering and glittering amongst the trees and glades, for, after all, gold and silver lace, steel sword-hilts, brilliant buckles, hoods of all hues, that made a box at the theatre in those days look like a bed of tulips, hooped petticoats, gorgeously-coloured gowns, and floating scarfs and ribbons, are fine things at a _fête champêtre_. One can fancy the blue sky with fleecy cloudlets dappling it, and a tepid breeze lifting the leaves, rippling the long grass in the adjacent meadows, and giving motion to the lace and ribbons of the ladies’ dresses—a sunny, breezy day of ‘leafy June,’ before our seasons grew sophisticated, and the prime of the year took to the ways of April, and became lachrymose—for June was always the grand month of the season at Belsize, and, looking back, one sees the day and the place in all its pristine brightness. If we could pass out of the breezy sunshine and shifting shadows into the Long Room, where balls and concerts were given, we should find it, according to the satirist before quoted, the focus of the quintessence of vanity in both sexes. The women were there to captivate, the men to admire and be admired; and if outward appearance counts for anything, the embroidered coats and waistcoats, gold-clocked stockings, red-heeled shoes, feathered hats, and clouded canes of the beaux, betrayed as absolute a desire for effect as any modish madam or lisping coquetilla of the day could have aspired to.

Gay describes them on the promenade ‘tuning soft minuets between their pretty nothings,’ but here, between the breathings of the dance, the snuff-box helped their little affectations, and

‘Spanish snuff to modish nose is put: At which the perfumed handkerchief’s drawn up, T’ adjust some bold disorder of the face, And put the chin-patch in its proper place.’

No doubt Gay, for all his despondency and ill-health, being at Hampstead this summer, visited the fair gardens at Belsize, and yet oftener the assembly and gaming rooms, where the Captain Macheaths and Polly Peachums of the times were frequent visitors. This mention of the Captain naturally reminds one of the state of the roads, which, owing to the fields and woods in the vicinity, were so beset with footpads and highwaymen that in the handbills of the entertainments at Belsize House for this season (1722) it is stated that for the safety of the company the proprietor has hired twenty stout labouring men, well known about Hampstead, to line the road betwixt Belsize and London, so that they will be as safe by night as by day. In the first announcement of this arrangement the number of these bucolic guardians of the road is only twelve, so that the highways round the Metropolis had meanwhile become doubly hazardous.

Not only did the stage-coaches carry an arsenal of cutlasses and blunderbusses, and equestrians ride with pistols in their holsters, but private carriages were built with a sword-box at the back, as much for the safety as the convenience of their occupants, and no one thought of venturing out after nightfall between the suburbs and the city unarmed.

The satirist already mentioned aims an ill-natured blow at the Welsh Ambassador’s arrangement, and suggests as questionable whether one-half of what he calls

‘the rabble guard, Whilst t’other’s half-asleep on watch and ward, Don’t rob the people they pretend to save.’

Belsize is noticed in an old London guide-book of 1724 as ‘an academy of music, dancing, and play for the diversion of the ladies,’ and it adds with heavy playfulness that ‘where they are the gentlemen will not fail to be also.’ It describes the ballroom and gaming-rooms as particularly fine and handsomely adorned, and intimates that it would surprise one to see so much good company as came hither in the season.

Concerts of music, open-air fêtes, hare and buck hunting, fine grounds and sweet gardens, with fishing, dancing, etc., from six in the morning till eight at night, were sufficient inducements to render a less agreeable spot attractive. The free admission was, of course, a bait by which the visitors were drawn in just far enough to induce them to go farther. At any rate, it became a place of resort for persons of all ranks, and some of the most questionable characters, and according to contemporary writers, appears to have exceeded in immorality and dissipation any place of the kind in modern times.

In 1729 Galloway Races, to be run for a Plate of £10 value, were advertised to take place at Belsize, the horses to pay one guinea entrance, and to be kept in the stable at Belsize from entrance to the time of running.

Long after rank and fashion had deserted it, Belsize continued to be popular with the multitude, and remained open as a tea-drinking house, etc., till 1745, when foot-races were advertised to take place. This, however, was nothing new. A paragraph under the head of ‘Domestic Intelligence’ in the _Grub Street Journal_ of April 1, 1736, informs its readers that ‘yesterday Mr. Pidgeon and Mr. Garth ran twelve times round Belsize for £50 a side, which was won with great difficulty by Mr. Pidgeon, although Garth fell down and ran ten yards on the wrong side of the post, and was forced to return back; yet he lost it only by a foot.’

This diversion appears to have been amongst the last devices of the proprietor to retain the patronage of the people. But new tea-gardens had been opened; New Tunbridge Wells at Islington had put forth renewed claims to popular favour, and a new generation had arisen indifferent to the past prestige of Belsize House, which was subsequently restored as a private mansion, and tenanted by several persons of importance, amongst them the unfortunate Prime Minister, Spencer Perceval, who was shot in the lobby of the House of Commons, May 15, 1812, by Bellingham, ‘a mild-mannered man,’ maddened by misfortune.

Mr. Perceval, whose character, both in public and private life, appears to have been unimpeachable, had taken an active interest in all that concerned the well-being of Hampstead and its inhabitants, especially where the poorer classes of them were concerned. But when, on the suggestion of his colleagues in the conduct and support of the Sunday-school (less than half of the scholars in which were unable to attend a day-school for want of funds), it was proposed to introduce the Lancastrian system, Mr. Perceval withdrew his patronage and resigned his presidency of the schools, to which Mr. Holford (an old and honoured name in Hampstead), who had been vice-president for years, was nominated. Park says nothing of it, but in the _Lady’s Magazine_, 1812-13, it is noted that Mr. Samuel Hoare had obtained permission to establish a Lancastrian school.

Subsequently Belsize House was let to other persons of position, and in 1811-12 Mr. Everett occupied it, and afterwards Mr. Henry Wright, a London banker, resided here.[294] How it was afterwards tenanted I do not know. In 1841 the house and demesne were offered for sale for building purposes, and subsequently the whole fell into dilapidation and decay. When I first knew it a great gloom seemed to have settled on the place. Many of the windows were boarded up, and the house assumed that air of mystery that always appertains to large, old uninhabited houses. If one inquired, unknowing that it waited purchasers, the reason for the neglected appearance of the mansion and grounds, curiosity was met by a common cause for it in those days, viz., that the property was in Chancery, which it was not.

But one was free to wander in the unpruned wilderness and forgotten flower-garden, and under the large-limbed magnificent trees, the planting of which one or other of the Tradescants might have superintended.

At this time Belsize Lane was absolutely rural.[295] Great elms shaded its high grassy banks, with woodbine, wild-rose, and elder blowing in them. There you might still hear a ‘charm of birds’ on summer mornings, and gather blackberries in autumn. Between 1842-45 the estate fell into the builder’s hands, and the site of the famous mansion, which had had a name in local history from the time of the Crusades, became mapped out in formal lines, parallels, and parallelograms, which have since resulted in Belsize Avenue, Belsize Gardens, Belsize Square, Belsize Crescent, etc., and with a church in its own precincts. It may be that some of the fine old elms—part of the grand avenue that led from Haverstock Hill to the mansion; they were but few when I last saw it—may remain. If so, these and the name are all that are left to remind us of Belsize House, except the sketch of it in the doggerel verse of the satirist when the Welsh Ambassador was Master of the Revels:

‘This house, which is a nuisance to the land, Doth near a park and handsome garden stand, Fronting the road betwixt a range of trees, And is perfumed by the Hampstead breeze.’

There was, when I knew it, a little-used, gloomy, thorn-hedged footpath running out of Belsize Lane to Chalk Farm—now covered with houses, but then a very solitary place of ill repute after nightfall—which on the evening of February 21, 1845, became the scene of the murder of Mr. James Delarue by Thomas Henry Hocker, a young man only twenty-one years of age, who was convicted and executed. Jealousy was said to have provoked the crime, but the treachery, falsehood, and cruelty of the culprit appear to have hardened all hearts against him.[296] This is how Lucy Aiken writes of the unsavoury affair:

‘I rather congratulate myself on not being in Church Row during the delightful excitement of the murder’ (the murder of Delarue) ‘and the inquest, which appear to have had so many charms for the million. One comfort is, that the murdered man appears to have been anything but a loss to society. But I think the event will give me a kind of dislike to Belsize Lane, which I used to think the pleasantest, as well as the shortest, way from us to you.’[297]

From this time Belsize and the beautiful lane became suspected; people looked shudderingly down the by-paths before entering them, and few cared to pass that way after nightfall.

For some time part of the house remained, with windows boarded, the garden run to waste, the paths weed-grown, the lilied ponds filled up, the park a wilderness, the great trees lopped and broken, till the builder and his men set about their business in earnest, and evolved almost a suburban town on what had been a nobleman’s mansion and park for centuries.