low, disreputable locality, and she died in a fine house on the south
side of Pall Mall. Previously to that, she had lived in a house on the
north side, whose site is now occupied by the Army and Navy Club.
Though Drury Lane in the days of Nell Gwynne was a fashionable locality,
it would seem that only to the southern division this epithet could be
applied; the northern end, towards Holborn, had a low and mean
character, and Coal Yard consisted of miserable tenements. It has
recently been rebuilt, and is now called Goldsmith Street. Nell Gwynne
died in 1691, and was pompously interred in the parish church of St.
Martin's-in-the-Fields, Dr. Tennison, the then Vicar, and afterwards
Archbishop of Canterbury, preaching her funeral sermon. This sermon was
afterwards brought forward at Court to impede the doctor's preferment;
but Queen Mary, having heard the objection, answered: 'Well, what then?
This I have heard before, and it is a proof that the unfortunate woman
died a true penitent, who through the course of her life never let the
wretched ask in vain.' This was certainly as noble an answer to give on
the part of a Queen as it was mean on the part of King Charles II. to
say on his deathbed: 'Don't let poor Nelly starve.' Was it not in his
power to make provision for her, instead of leaving her to the charity
of the world?
Another both fortunate and unfortunate actress was Mrs. Montford, whose
husband was murdered as he had come to escort Mrs. Bracegirdle, after
Captain Hill's attempt at abducting this lady, on her leaving the
theatre, of which more hereafter. On Mrs. Montford, or Mountfort--the
name is found spelt both ways--Gray wrote his ballad of 'Black-eyed
Susan.' Lord Berkeley's partiality for her was so great that at his
decease he left her L300 a year, on condition that she did not marry; he
also purchased Cowley, near Uxbridge, for her--the place had been the
summer residence of Rich, the actor--and from time to time made her
presents of considerable sums. She fell in love with a Mr. Booth, a
then well-known actor, but, not wishing to lose her annuity, she did not
marry him, though she gave him the preference over many others of her
suitors. Mrs. Montford had an intimate friend, Miss Santlow, a
celebrated dancer; but, through the liberality of one of her admirers,
she became possessed of a fortune, which rendered her independent of the
stage, upon which Mr. Booth proposed to her, and was accepted. This so
affected Mrs. Montford that she became mentally deranged, and was
brought from Cowley to London to have the best advice. As she was not
violent and had lucid moments, she was not rigorously confined, but
suffered to go about the house. One day she asked her attendant what
play was to be performed that evening, and was told it was 'Hamlet.' In
this piece, whilst she was on the stage, she had always appeared as
Ophelia. The recollection struck her, and with the cunning always allied
with insanity, she found means to elude the watchfulness of her
servants, and to reach the theatre, where she concealed herself till the
time when Ophelia was to appear, when she rushed on the stage, pushing
the lady who was to act the character aside, and exhibited a more
perfect representation of madness than the most consummate mimic art
could produce. She was, in truth, Ophelia herself, the very incarnation
of madness. Nature having made this last effort, her vital powers
failed her. On going off, she prophetically exclaimed: 'It is all
over!' As she was being conveyed home, 'she,' in Gray's words, 'like a
lily drooping, bowed her head and died.'
Lovely Nancy Oldfield, who quitted the bar of the Mitre, in St. James's
Market, then kept by her aunt, Mrs. Voss, became, towards the end of the
seventeenth century, the great attraction at Drury Lane. Her intimacy
with General Churchill, cousin of the great Duke of Marlborough,
obtained for her a grave in Westminster Abbey. Persons of rank and
distinction contended for the honour of bearing her pall, and her
remains lay in state for three days in the Jerusalem Chamber!
We referred above to the attempt made by Captain Hill to carry off Mrs.
Bracegirdle. Hill had offered her his hand and had been refused. He
determined to abduct her by force. He induced his friend Lord Mahun to
assist him. A coach was stationed near the Horseshoe Tavern in Drury
Lane, with six soldiers to force her into it, which they attempted to do
as she came down Drury Lane about ten o'clock at night, accompanied by
her mother and brother, and a friend, Mr. Page. The attempt was
resisted, a crowd collected, and Hill ordered the soldiers to let the
lady go, and she was escorted home by her friends. She then sent for
her friend Mr. Montford, who soon after turned the corner of Norfolk
Street, where Hill challenged him, as he attributed Mrs. Bracegirdle's
rejection of him to her love for Montford, which suspicion, however, was
groundless, and ran him through the body before he could draw his sword.
Hill made his escape; Montford died from his wounds.
Even in more recent days actresses have made good matches. Miss Anna
Maria Tree, of Covent Garden, in 1825 married James Bradshaw, of
Grosvenor Place; in 1831, Miss Foote, the celebrated actress, became
Countess of Harrington; Miss Farren, Countess of Derby; Miss Brunton,
Countess of Craven; Miss Bolton became Lady Thurlow; Miss O'Neill
married a baronet; Miss Kitty Stephens became Countess of Essex; Miss
Campion was taken off the stage by the aged Duke of Devonshire. The
list might be greatly extended, even to our own times; but the instances
quoted are sufficient to show the prizes ladies may draw in the
theatrical matrimonial lottery; and there are as good fish in the sea as
ever came out of it.
*VIII.*
*QUEER CLUBS OF FORMER DAYS.*
The Virtuoso Club was established by some members of the Royal Society,
and held its meetings at a tavern in Cornhill. Its professed object was
to 'advance mechanical exercises, and promote useful experiments'; but,
according to Ned Ward, their discussions usually ended in a general
shindy, and results not to be described by a modern writer. The club
claimed the merit of the invention of the barometer; but, for all that,
its proceedings afforded fine sport to the satirists: thus, the members
were said to aim at making beer without water, living like princes on
three-halfpence a day, producing a table by which a husband may discover
all the particulars of the tricks his wife may play him. The ridicule
showered on the club at last reduced it to a little cynical cabal of
half-pint moralists, who continued to meet at the same tavern.
Convivially-disposed members of other learned societies have
occasionally formed themselves into clubs. Thus some antiquaries, many
years since, formed a club styled 'Noviomagians.' Mr. Crofton Croker
was its president more than twenty years, and many other distinguished
men were members.
A number of roistering companions used to hold a club at the Golden
Fleece in Cornhill, after which they named their club. Each member on
his admission had a characteristic name assigned to him--as Sir Nimmy
Sneer, Sir Talkative Do-little, Sir Rumbus Rattle. They eventually
adjourned to the Three Tuns, Southwark.
The No-Nose Club, whether it ever existed or not, was a horrible idea in
itself; it flourished only during the lifetime of its founders.
The Club of Beaus was what its name implies--a club of fops and idiots.
The only merit they seem to have had was that their habits were always
scrupulously clean, though their language usually was filthy. Their
meetings were held at an inn in Covent Garden.
The Quacks' Club, or Physical Society, was really an offshoot of the
College of Physicians, which met at a tavern near the Exchange, where
they discussed medical matters. The College of Physicians at that time
was in Warwick Lane, where it remained till removed, in 1825, to
Trafalgar Square.
The Weekly Dancing Club, or Buttock Ball, was held at a tavern in King
Street, St. Giles, and was patronized by bullies, libertines, and
strumpets; footmen who had robbed their masters and turned gentlemen;
chambermaids who had stolen their mistresses' clothes and set up for
gentlewomen. Though called a club, it was not really a close assembly,
but everyone was admitted on the payment of sixpence, and no questions
asked. The Dancing Academy was first established about the year 1710 by
a dancing-master over the Coal Yard gateway into Drury Lane, and was so
successful that it was removed to the more commodious premises mentioned
above. But at last it became such a nuisance that the authorities shut
it up. The Coal Yard above mentioned, the last turning on the
north-east side of Drury Lane, is said to have been the birthplace of
Nell Gwynne.
A club cultivating a certain filthy habit, which I can only indicate as
one practised by the French peasantry, and as described in one of Zola's
novels, was established at a public-house in Cripplegate. The manner in
which the proceedings of the club are set forth by their chronicler is
as hideous and repulsive as the writer can make it; it could not be
reproduced in any modern publication without risk of prosecution, which,
indeed, would be well deserved. But the manners of the eighteenth
century were excessively coarse.
The Man-Killing Club, besides admitting no one to membership who had not
killed his man, also bound itself to resist the Sheriff's myrmidons on
their making any attempt to serve a writ on or seize one of them. It
was founded in the reign of Charles II. by a knot of bullies, broken
Life-Guardsmen, and old prize-fighters. Its meetings were held at a low
public-house on the back-side of St. Clement's. The good old times!
The Surly Club was chiefly composed of master carmen, lightermen, and
Billingsgate porters, who held their weekly meetings at a tavern near
Billingsgate Dock, where City dames used to treat their journeymen with
beakers of punch and new oysters. The object of their meetings was the
practice of contradiction and of foul language, that they might not want
impudence to abuse passengers on the Thames. This society first
established the thumping-post at Billingsgate, to harden its members by
whipping never to bridle their tongues from fear of corporeal
punishment. Billingsgate language was, as may be supposed, much
improved by them.
The Atheistical Club met at an inn in Westminster, and its name
sufficiently indicates its object, namely, to take the devil's part. A
trick was played on them by a man disguising himself in a bear's skin
and making them believe he was the devil, which occurrence, it is said,
broke up the club. Similar societies were discovered in Wells Street,
and at the Angel, in St. Martin's Lane, and the members arrested; but,
it turning out that in these cases the devil was less black than he was
painted, the charges against them had to be withdrawn. The societies, in
fact, were more political, with republican tendencies, inspired by the
French Revolution, which was just then at its height, and the worship of
Reason seems to have been one of their principles.
The Split-farthing Club held its weekly meetings at the Queen's Head in
Bishopsgate Street, and was supposed to be composed chiefly of misers
and skinflints. If any smoker among them left his box behind him, and
wanted to borrow a pipe of tobacco of a brother, it would not be lent
without a note of hand, which was generally written round the bowl of a
pipe so as to prevent the waste of paper.
The Club of Broken Shopkeepers held its meetings at the sign of
Tumble-Down Dick, a famous boozing den in the Mint in Southwark, a
sanctuary of knaves, sots, and bankrupts, honest or swindling, against
arrest for debt. The sign of Tumble-Down Dick was set up in derision of
Richard Cromwell, the allusion to his fall from power, or 'tumble-down,'
being very common in the satires published after the Restoration. There
was a house with the same sign at Brentford. Of course, the professed
object of the meetings of the broken shopkeepers was that of driving
away and forgetting care; and any new-comer among them, if he had any
cash left, was liberally allowed to expend it for the furtherance of the
club's object.
The Man-Hunting Club was composed chiefly of young limbs of the law;
uncultivated youths, though they were law students, formed themselves
into an association to hunt men over Lincoln's Inn Fields and the
neighbourhood whom they might happen to meet crossing them at ten or
eleven o'clock at night. They would be concealed upon the grass in one
of the borders of the fields till they heard some single person coming
along, when they would spring up with their swords drawn, run towards
him, and cry: 'That's he; bloody wounds, that's he!' Usually the person
so attacked would run away, when they would pursue him till he took
refuge in an alehouse in some neighbouring street. But if the
man-hunters encountered a person of courage, ready to fight them, they
would sneak off, like the curs they really were. Their meeting-place
was at a tavern close to Bear Yard, Clare Market.
The Yorkshire Club held its meetings on market-days at an inn in
Smithfield. It was composed of sharp country-folk, who assumed the
innocence of yokels. The most flourishing members among them, says one
authority, were needle-pointed innkeepers; nick and froth victuallers,
honest horse chaunters, pious Yorkshire attorneys; the rest good,
harmless master hostlers, two or three innocent farriers, who had wormed
their masters out of their shops, and themselves into them. When met
for business, their deliberations were about horseflesh, blind eyes,
spavins, bounders and malinders, and how to disguise defects and get rid
of the animals.
The Mock-Heroes Club met at an alehouse in Baldwin's Gardens, and was
composed chiefly of attorneys' clerks and young shopkeepers. On
admission the new member assumed the name of some defunct hero, and ever
afterwards was at the meetings called by that name; and as the club held
its meetings in the public room, though at a separate table specially
reserved for them, this formal and ridiculous way of addressing one
another caused no slight amusement to the other persons frequenting the
room. In other respects their language was high-flown. Thus, one would
face about to his left-hand neighbour, with his right hand charged with
a brimming tankard, saying: 'Most noble Scipio, the love and friendship
of a soldier to you. The thanks of a brother to my valiant friend
Hannibal, whom I cannot but value, though I had the honour to conquer.'
'My respects to you, brave Caesar,' cries one opposite, 'remembering the
battle of Pharsalia.' And so on, till they had drunk themselves under
the table.
The Lying Club, which held its meetings at the Bell Tavern, in
Westminster, is said to have been established in 1669. Every member was
to wear a blue cap with a red feather in it; before admittance he had to
give proof of his powers of mendaciloquence; during club hours, that is,
from four to ten p.m., no true word was to be uttered without a
preliminary 'By your leave' to the chairman; and if any member told a
'whopper' which the chairman could not beat with a greater, the latter
had to surrender his office for that evening. Ned Ward gives some
exquisite specimens of the 'whoppers' told by members.
The Beggars' Club held its weekly meetings at a boozing ken in Old
Street. All the sham cripples, blind men, etc., belonged to it, and
there discussed the various stratagems they had adopted to excite public
compassion, or intended to adopt for that purpose.
About 1735 a number of young gentlemen, who were pretenders to wit,
formed themselves into a society, which met at the Rose Tavern, Covent
Garden, and which they christened the Scatter-wit Society. But their
literary performances were poor specimens of wit, contributed nothing to
the reputation of the Rose Tavern as the resort of 'men of parts,' and
consequently is not frequently mentioned in the literature of that day.
Bob Warden was the younger brother of Mr. Warden, a gentleman who,
'after having given a new turn to Jackanapes Lane, and promoted many
useful objects for the good of the public, was undeservedly hanged.' We
may explain here that Jackanapes Lane was the original name of Carey
Street, north of the Law Courts, and the new turn Mr. Warden gave to it
is the western bend connecting it with Portugal Street. Bob Warden,
after his brother's death, was apprenticed to a painter, but, thinking
more of his palate than his palette, he dropped the latter, and with
some money left to him, established a convivial club at the Hill, in the
Strand, where all sorts of queer characters, such as ruined gamesters,
petticoat-pensioners, Irish captains, sharpers and cheats were welcome.
As the meetings took place in a cellar, the club became known as the
Cellar Club, and was the forerunner of the Coal Hole and the Lord Chief
Baron Nicholson. Bob, amidst his roistering customers, drank himself to
death.
For about ten years the Mohawks, or Mohocks, kept London in a state of
alarm, though they seldom ventured into the City, where the watch was
more efficient, but confined themselves chiefly to the neighbourhood of
Clare Market, Covent Garden, and the Strand. The _Spectator_ says of
them: 'Some of them are celebrated for dexterity in tipping the lion
upon them, which is performed by squeezing the nose flat to the face and
boring out the eyes with their fingers. Others are called the
dancing-masters, and teach their scholars to cut capers by running
swords through their legs.... A third sort are the Nimblers, who set
women on their heads and commit ... barbarities on them.' Their conduct
in the end became so alarming that a reward of L100 was offered by royal
proclamation for the apprehension of any one of them. Curious stories
were current at various times as to the origin of this society. In the
'Memoirs' of the Marquis of Torcy, Secretary of State to Louis XIV., and
a famous diplomatist (born 1665, died 1746), the Duke of Marlborough is
said to have suggested to Prince Eugene 'to employ a band of ruffians
... to stroll about the streets by night ... and to insult people by
passing along, increasing their licentiousness gradually, so as to
commit greater and greater disorders ... that when the inhabitants of
London and Westminster were accustomed to the insults of these rioters,
it would not be difficult to assassinate those of whom they might wish
to be freed, and to cast the whole blame on the band of ruffians.' This
project the Prince is reported to have rejected. Swift, in his 'History
of the Four Last Years of Queen Anne,' attributes the scheme to the
Prince himself on his visit to this country, through his hatred of
Treasurer Harley. He proposed that 'the Treasurer should be taken off
... that this might easily be done and pass for an effect of chance, if
it were preceded by encouraging some proper people to commit small riots
in the night. And in several parts of the town a crew of ruffians were
accordingly employed about that time, who probably exceeded their
commission ... and acted inhuman outrages on many persons, whom they cut
and mangled in the face and arms and other parts of their bodies....
This account ... was confirmed beyond all contradiction by several
intercepted letters and papers.' It is just possible that popular panic
exaggerated the doings of the Mohawks. Perhaps they did not exceed in
savagery the drunken frolics then customary at night-time.
The Hell Fire Club was an institution of a character similar to that of
the Mohawks. It was abolished by an order of the Privy Council in 1721,
'against certain scandalous clubs,' but it must have been revived in the
country, for John Wilkes, about 1750, was a notorious member of a club
with the above name at Medmenham Abbey, Bucks.
The Calves' Head Club for a time had its headquarters at The Cock, an
inn long since demolished, in Suffolk Street, Pall Mall. It was one of
the many inns at which Pepys was 'mighty merry.' The club is said to
have been originated by Milton and other partisans of the Commonwealth;
and the author of the 'Secret History of the Calves' Head
Club'--probably Ned Ward--gives an account of the melodramatic and
diabolical ceremonies observed at their banquets. An axe was hung up in
their club-room as a sacred symbol--the destroyer of the tyrant. But
the eating and drinking, for which, as Addison says, clubs were
instituted, were not neglected by the members. At the banquet held in
1710 there was spent on bread, beer, and ale the sum of L2 10s.; on
fifty calves' heads, L5 5s.; on bacon, L1 10s.; on six chickens and two
capons, L1; on three joints of veal, 18s.; on butter and flour, 15s.; on
oranges, lemons, vinegar, and spices, L1; on oysters and sausages, 15s.;
on the use of pewter and linen, L1; and on various other items
additional sums, bringing the total up to L18 6s. No wine, it will be
noticed, is included in the above bill, but there is no doubt a
considerable amount for this item should be added to it.
Early in the last century street clubs became common in various parts of
London, that is to say, clubs in which the inhabitants of one or two
streets met every night to discuss the affairs of the neighbourhood.
Out of these, we suppose, arose the Mug House Club, in Long Acre, which
soon found imitators in other parts of London. The members--gentlemen,
lawyers, and tradesmen--met in a large room. A gentleman nearly ninety
years of age was their president. A harp played at the lower end of the
room, and now and then a member rose and treated the company to a song.
Nothing was drunk but ale, and every gentleman had his own mug, which he
chalked on the table as it was brought in.
In 1770 some young gentlemen, on returning from the grand tour it was
then customary to make after leaving college--a tour which was supposed
to lick the young cubs into shape and refine their manners, of course an
illusion, since, whilst abroad, they associated chiefly with the scum of
English society then swarming on the Continent--some of these young
gentlemen, on their return, established in St. James's Street the Savoir
Vivre Club, where they held periodical dinners, of which macaroni was a
standing dish. This club was the nursery of the Macaronis, a phalanx of
mild Hyde Park beaux, who were distinguished for nothing but the
ridiculous dress they assumed. An unfinished copy of verses found among
Sheridan's papers, and which Thomas Moore considered as the foundation
of certain lines in the 'School for Scandal,' delineates the Macaronis
in a few masterly strokes:
'Then I mount on my palfrey as gay as a lark,
And, followed by John, take the dust in Hyde Park.
In the way I am met by some smart Macaroni,
Who rides by my side on a little bay pony;
... as taper and slim as the ponies they ride,
Their legs are as slim, and their shoulders no wider,' etc.
The Savoir Vivre Club did not outlive the reign of the Macaronis, which
lasted about five years, and the club ended its days--the chairmen and
linkmen never having understood its foreign appellation--as a
public-house bearing the name and sign of The Savoy Weavers. There were,
in the last century especially, no end of Small clubs, whose objects in
most cases were trivial and ridiculous. Short notice is all they
deserve.
The Humdrum Club was composed of gentlemen of peaceable dispositions,
who were satisfied to meet at a tavern, smoke their pipes, and say
nothing till midnight. The Twopenny Club was formed by a number of
artisans and mechanics, who met every night, each depositing on his
entering the club-room his twopence. If a member swore, his neighbours
might kick him on the shins. If a member's wife came to fetch him, she
was to speak to him outside the door. In the reign of Charles II. was
established the Duellists' Club, to which no one was admitted who had
not killed his man. The chronicler of the club naively says: 'This
club, consisting only of men of honour, did not continue long, most of
the members being put to the sword or hanged.'