monopoly of printing almanacs under a charter of James I. until 1775, when
the judges of the Court of Common Pleas decided that their professed
patent of monopoly was worthless, the Crown having no power to grant any
such exclusive right. Doubtless many another archaic statute is of a like
invalidity did but some protestful person choose to take issue therewith.
The number of freemen of the company is about 1,100; that of the livery
about 450. Printers were formerly obliged to be apprenticed to a member of
the company, and all publications for copyright must be entered at their
hall. The register of the works so entered for publication commenced from
1557, and is valuable for the light it throws on many points of literary
history. The Copyright Act imposes on the company the additional duty of
registering all assignments of copyrights. The charities of the company
are numerous. In Dickens' time Almanac Day (November 22d) was a busy day
at the hall, but the great interest in this species of astrological
superstition has waned, and, generally speaking, this day, like all
others, is of great quietude and repose in these noble halls, where
bewhiskered functionaries amble slowly through the routine in which blue
paper documents with bright orange coloured stamps form the only note of
liveliness in the entire _ensemble_.
The Goldsmiths' Company assays all the gold and silver plate manufactured
in the metropolis, and stamps it with the "hall-mark," which varies each
year, so it is thus possible to tell exactly the year in which any piece
of London plate was produced.
The out-of-door amusements of society were at this time, as now, made much
of. The turf, cricket, and riding to hounds being those functions which
took the Londoner far afield. Nearer at home were the charms of Richmond,
with its river, and the Star and Garter, and the Great Regatta at Henley,
distinctly an affair of the younger element.
Tea-gardens, once highly popular, had fallen into disrepute so far as
"society" was concerned. Bagnigge Wells, Merlin's Cave, the London Spa,
Marylebone Gardens, Cromwell's Gardens, Jenny's Whim, were all
tea-gardens, with recesses, and avenues, and alcoves for love-making and
tea-drinking, where an orchestra discoursed sweet music or an organ served
as a substitute. An intelligent foreigner, who had published an account of
his impressions of England, remarked: "The English take a great delight in
the public gardens, near the metropolis, where they assemble and drink tea
together in the open air. The number of these in the capital is amazing,
and the order, regularity, neatness, and even elegance of them are truly
admirable. They are, however, very rarely frequented by people of fashion;
but the middle and lower ranks go there often, and seem much delighted
with the music of an organ, which is usually played in an adjoining
building."
Vauxhall, the _Arabia Felix_ of the youth of the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries, was still a fashionable resort, "a very pandemonium of society
immorality," says a historian. This can well be believed if the many
stories current concerning "prince, duke, and noble, and much mob
besides," are accepted.
"_Here the 'prentice from Aldgate may ogle a toast!_
_Here his Worship must elbow the knight of the post!_
_For the wicket is free to the great and the small;--_
_Sing_ Tantarara--_Vauxhall! Vauxhall!_"
The first authentic notice of Vauxhall Gardens appears in the record of
the Duchy of Cornwall in 1615, when for two hundred years, through the
changes of successive ages, there was conducted a round of gaiety and
abandon unlike any other Anglo-Saxon institution. Open, generally, only
during the summer months, the entertainment varied from vocal and
instrumental music to acrobats, "burlettas," "promenades," and other
attractions of a more intellectual nature, and, it is to be feared,
likewise of a lesser as well.
The exhibition usually wound up with a display of fireworks, set off at
midnight. From 1830 to 1850 the gardens were at the very height of their
later festivity, but during the next decade they finally sank into
insignificance, and at last flickered out in favour of the more staid and
sad amusements of the later Victorian period.
As for the indoor pleasures of society at this time, there were the
theatre, the opera, and the concert-room. Dining at a popular restaurant
or a gigantic hotel had not been thought of. There were, to be sure, the
"assembly-rooms" and the "supper-rooms," but there were many more
establishments which catered to the pleasures of the masculine mind and
taste than provided a fare of food and amusement which was acceptable to
the feminine palate.
Of the men's clubs, Brookes' and White's had long been established, and,
though of the proprietary order, were sufficiently attractive and
exclusive to have become very popular and highly successful. The other
class were those establishments which fulfil the true spirit and province
of a club,--where an association of gentlemen join together in the expense
of furnishing accommodation of refreshment and reading and lounging rooms.
This was the basis on which the most ambitious clubs were founded; what
they have degenerated into, in some instances, would defy even a rash man
to attempt to diagnose, though many are still run on the conservative
lines which do not open their doors to strangers, even on introduction,
as with the famous Athenæum Club.
Other clubs, whose names were already familiar in the London of Dickens'
day, were the Carleton, Conservative, Reform, University, and perhaps a
score of others.
As is well known, Dickens was an inordinate lover of the drama, a patron
of the theatre himself, and an amateur actor of no mean capabilities. As
early as 1837 he had written an operetta, "The Village Coquettes," which
he had dedicated to Harley. It was performed, for the first time, on
December 6, 1836, at the St. James' Theatre. A London collector possesses
the original "hand-bill," announcing a performance of "Used Up" and "Mr.
Nightingale's Diary," at the Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool, in 1852, in
which Dickens, Sir John Tenniel, and Mark Lemon took part; also a playbill
of the performance of "The Frozen Deep," at the "Gallery of Illustration,"
on Regent Street, on July 4, 1857, "by Charles Dickens and his amateur
company before Queen Victoria and the Royal Family."
The painting (1846) by C. R. Leslie, R. A., of Dickens as Captain Boabdil,
in Ben Jonson's play of "Every Man in His Humour," is familiar to all
Dickens lovers.
The theatres of London, during the later years of Dickens' life, may be
divided into two classes: those which were under "royal patronage," and
those more or less independent theatres which, if ever visited by royalty,
were favoured with more or less unexpected and infrequent visits.
Of the first class, where the aristocracy, and the royal family as well,
were pretty sure to be found at all important performances, the most
notable were "Her Majesty's," "The Royal Italian Opera House," "The
Theatre Royal, Drury Lane." Of the latter class, the most famous--and who
shall not say the most deservedly so--were the "Haymarket Theatre," "The
Adelphi," "The Lyceum," and the "St. James' Theatre."
[Illustration: "GOING TO THE PANTOMIME."
_From a drawing by John Leech._]
"Her Majesty's Theatre," on the western side of the Haymarket, was the
original of the two Italian opera-houses in London; it was built in 1790,
on the site of an older theatre, burnt down in 1867, and rebuilt in 1869.
The freehold of some of the boxes was sold for as much as £8,000 each. The
opera season was generally from March to August; but the main attractions
and the largest audiences were found from May to July. The "Royal Italian
Opera House" occupied the site of the former Covent Garden Theatre, as it
does to-day, and was built in 1858 on the ruins of one destroyed by
fire. The building is very remarkable, both within and without. Italian
opera was produced here with a completeness scarcely paralleled in Europe.
When not required for Italian operas, the building was often occupied by
an "English Opera Company," or occasionally for miscellaneous concerts.
The "Floral Hall" adjoins this theatre on the Covent Garden side. "Drury
Lane Theatre," the fourth on the same site, was built in 1812; its glories
live in the past, for the legitimate drama now alternates there with
entertainments of a more spectacular and melodramatic character, and the
Christmas pantomimes, that purely indigenous English institution. The
"Haymarket Theatre," exactly opposite "Her Majesty's," was built in 1821;
under Mr. Buckstone's management, comedy and farce were chiefly performed.
The "Adelphi Theatre," in the Strand, near Southampton Street, was rebuilt
in 1858, when it had for a quarter of a century been celebrated for
melodramas, and for the attractiveness of its comic actors. The "Lyceum
Theatre," or "English Opera House," at the corner of Wellington Street,
Strand, was built in 1834 as an English opera-house, but its fortunes were
fluctuating, and the performances not of a definite kind. This was the
house latterly taken over by Sir Henry Irving. The "Princess' Theatre," on
the north side of Oxford Street, was built in 1830; after a few years of
opera and miscellaneous dramas, it became the scene of Mr. Charles Kean's
Shakespearian revivals, and now resembles most of the other theatres. "St.
James' Theatre," in King Street, St. James', was built for Braham, the
celebrated singer. "The Olympic" was a small house in Wych Street, Drury
Lane, now destroyed. "The Strand Theatre" was famous for its burlesque
extravaganzas, a form of theatrical amusement which of late has become
exceedingly popular. The "New Globe Theatre" (destroyed so late as 1902)
and "The Gaiety" (at the stage entrance of which are the old offices of
_Good Words_, so frequently made use of by Dickens in the later years of
his life), and "The Vaudeville," were given over to musical comedy and
farce. "The Adelphi," though newly constructed at that time, was then, as
now, the home of melodrama.
Others still recognized as popular and prosperous houses were "The Court
Theatre," Sloane Square; "The Royalty," in Soho; "The Queen's," in
Longacre; "The Prince of Wales'," in Tottenham Street, formerly the
Tottenham Theatre. Robertson's comedies of "Caste," "Our Boys," etc., were
favourite pieces there. "Sadler's Wells," "Marylebone Theatre," "The
Brittania," at Hoxton, "The Standard," in Shoreditch, and "The Pavilion,"
in Whitechapel, were all notable for size and popularity, albeit those
latterly mentioned were of a cheaper class.
South of the river were "Astley's," an old amphitheatre, "The Surrey
Theatre," and "The Victoria."
At this time (1870) it was estimated that four thousand persons were
employed in London theatres, supporting twelve thousand persons. The
public expenditure thereon was estimated at £350,000 annually.
Of "concert rooms," there were "Exeter Hall," "St. James' Hall," "Hanover
Square Rooms," "Floral Hall," connected with the Covent Garden Opera,
"Willis' Rooms," and the "Queen's Concert Rooms," connected with "Her
Majesty's Theatre."
Here were given the performances of such organizations as "The Sacred
Harmonic Society," "The Philharmonic Society," "The Musical Union," and
the "Glee and Madrigal Societies," "The Beethoven Society," and others.
"Entertainments," an indefinite and mysterious word, something akin to the
_olla podrida_ of sunny Spain, abounded.
Usually they were a sort of musical or sketch entertainment, thoroughly
innocuous, and, while attaining a certain amount of popularity and
presumably success to their projectors, were of a nature only amusing to
the completely ennuied or juvenile temperament. Readings by various
persons, more or less celebrated, not forgetting the name of Dickens,
attracted, properly enough, huge crowds, who were willing to pay high
prices to hear a popular author interpret his works. A species of
lion-taming, which, if not exactly exciting, is harmless and withal
edifying. The last two varieties of entertainment usually took place in
the "Egyptian Hall," in Piccadilly, "St. James' Hall," or "The Gallery of
Illustration" in Regent Street.
Of miscellaneous amusements, appealing rather more to the middle class
than the actual society element,--if one really knows what species of
human being actually makes up that vague body,--were such attractions as
were offered by "Madame Tussaud's Waxwork Exhibition," which suggests at
once to the lover of Dickens Mrs. Jarley's similar establishment, and such
industrial exhibitions as took place from time to time, the most important
of the period of which this book treats being, of course, the first great
International Exhibition, held in Hyde Park in 1851.
Further down the social scale the amusements were a variation only of
degree, not of kind.
The lower classes had their coffee-shops and, supposedly, in some degree
the gin-palaces, which however, mostly existed in the picturesque
vocabulary of the "smug" reformer.
The tavern, the chop-house, and the dining-room were variants only of the
"assembly-rooms," the "clubs," and the grand establishments of the upper
circles, and in a way performed the same function,--provided entertainment
for mankind.
As for amusements pure and simple, there was the "music-hall," which,
quoting a mid-Victorian writer, was a place where held forth a "_species
of musical performance, a singular compound of poor foreign music, but
indifferently executed, and interspersed with comic songs of a most
extravagant kind, to which is added or interpolated what the performers
please to term 'nigger' dances, athletic and rope-dancing feats, the whole
accompanied by much drinking and smoking_." Which will pass as a good
enough description to apply to certain establishments of this class
to-day, but which, in reality, loses considerable of its force by reason
of its slurring resentment of what was in a way an invasion of a foreign
custom which might be expected, sooner or later, to crowd out the
conventional and sad amusements which in the main held forth, and which in
a measure has since taken place. The only bearing that the matter has to
the subject of this book is that some large numbers of the great public
which, between sunset and its sleeping hours, must perforce be amused in
some way, is to-day, as in days gone by, none too particular as to what
means are taken to accomplish it.
There is a definite species of depravity which is supposed to be
peculiarly the attribute of the lower classes. If it exists at all to-day,
it probably does lie with the lower classes, but contemporary opinion
points to the fact that it was not alone in those days the lower classes
who sought enjoyment from the cockpit, the dog fight, the prize ring, or
the more ancient bull-baiting, all of which existed to some degree in the
early nineteenth century. Truly the influence of the Georges on society,
of whatever class, must have been cruelly debasing, and it was not to be
expected that the early years of Victoria's reign should have been able to
eradicate it thoroughly, and though such desires may never be entirely
abolished, they are, in the main, not publicly recognized or openly
permitted to-day, a fact which is greatly to the credit of the improved
taste of the age in which we live.
Formerly it was said that there was but one class of hotels in and near
London of which the charges could be stated with any degree of precision.
The _old_ hotels, both at the West End and in the City, kept no printed
tariff, and were not accustomed even to be asked beforehand as to their
charges. Most of the visitors were more or less _recommended_ by guests
who had already sojourned at these establishments, and who could give
information as to what _they_ had paid. Some of the hotels declined even
to receive guests except by previous written application, or by direct
introduction, and would rather be without those who would regard the bill
with economical scrutiny.
Of these old-fashioned hotels,--barbarous relics of another day,--few are
to be found now, and, though existing in reality, are being fast robbed of
their _clientièle_, which demand something more in the way of
conveniences--with no diminution of comforts--than it were possible to get
in the two or three private houses thrown into one, and dubbed by the
smugly respectable title of "Private Hotel."
Other establishments did exist, it is true, in Dickens' time: "The Golden
Cross" and "Morley's," "Haxell's," and others of such class, from which
coaches still ran to near-by towns, and which houses catered principally
for the country visitor or the avowed commercially inclined. But aside
from these, and the exclusive and presumably extravagant class of smaller
houses, represented by such names as "Claridge's," "Fenton's," "Limner's,"
_et als._, there was no other accommodation except the "taverns" of
masculine propensities of Fleet Street and the City generally.
The great joint stock hotels, such as "The Metropole," "The Savoy," and
"The Cecil," did not come into being until well toward the end of Dickens'
life, if we except the excellent and convenient railway hotels, such as
made their appearance a few years earlier, as "Euston," "King's Cross,"
and "Victoria." The first of the really great modern _caravanserais_ are
best represented by those now somewhat out-of-date establishments, the
"Westminster Palace," "Inns of Court," "Alexandra," and others of the same
ilk, while such as the magnificently appointed group of hotels to be found
in the West Strand, Northumberland Avenue, or in Pall Mall were unthought
of.
The prevailing customs of an era, with respect to clubs, taverns,
coffee-houses, etc., mark signally the spirit of the age. The taverns of
London, properly so called, were, in the earliest days of their prime,
distinguished, each, for its particular class of visitors. The wits and
poets met at "Will's" in Covent Garden, and the politicians at "St. James'
Coffee-House," from which Steele often dated his _Tatler_. Later, in the
forties, there were perhaps five hundred houses of entertainment, as
distinguished from the ordinary "public house," or the more ambitious
hotel.
The "dining-rooms," "à la mode beef shops," and "chop-houses" abounded in
the "City," and with unvarying monotony served four, six, or ninepenny
"plates" with astonishing rapidity, quite rivalling in a way the modern
"quick lunch." The waiter was usually servile, and in such places as the
"Cheshire Cheese," "Simpson's," and "Thomas'," was and is still active. He
was a species of humanity chiefly distinguished for a cryptogrammatic
system of reckoning your account, and the possessor of as choice a crop of
beneath-the-chin whiskers as ever graced a Galway or a County Antrim
squireen.
The London City waiter, as distinguished from his brethren of the West
End, who are most Teutonic, is a unique character. Here is Leigh Hunt's
picture of one:
"He has no feeling of noise; even a loaf with him is hardly a loaf; it is
so many 'breads.' His longest speech is making out a bill _viva
voce_,--'Two beefs, one potato, three ales, two wines, six and two
pence.'"
A unique institution existed during the first quarter of the last
century. Some of Dickens' characters, if not Dickens himself, must have
known something of the sort. Charles Knight tells of more than one
establishment in the vicinity of the "Royal Exchange," where a sort of
public _gridiron_ was kept always at hand, for broiling a chop or steak
which had been bought by the customer himself at a neighbouring butcher's.
For this service, the small sum of a penny was charged, the profit to the
house probably arising from the sale of potable refreshments.
The houses which were famous for "fine old cheese," "baked potatoes,"
"mutton or pork pies," "sheep's trotters," or "pig's faces," were mostly
found, or, at least, were at their best, in the "City," though they formed
an humble and non-fastidious method of purveying to the demands of hunger,
in that the establishments catered, more particularly, to the economically
inclined, or even the poorer element of city workers.
The rise from these City eating-houses to the more ambitiously expensive
caterers of the "West End" was gradual. Prices and the appointments
increased as one journeyed westward through Fleet Street, the Strand, to
Piccadilly and Regent Street.
Another institution peculiar to London, in its plan and scope at least,
was the "coffee-house" of 1840, evolved from those of an earlier
generation, but performing, in a way, similar functions.
At this time a "House of Commons Committee of Inquiry into the Operation
of Import Duties"--as was its stupendous title--elicited some remarkable
facts concerning the fast increasing number of "coffee-houses," which had
grown from ten or twelve to eighteen hundred in twenty-five years. One
Pamphilon, who appears to have been the most successful, catering to five
hundred or more persons per day, gave evidence to the effect that his
house was frequented mostly by "lawyers, clerks, and commercial men, some
of them managing clerks, many solicitors, and highly respectable
gentlemen, who take coffee in the middle of the day in preference to a
more stimulating drink ... at the present moment, besides a great number
of newspapers every day, I am compelled to take in an increasing number of
high-class periodicals.... _I find there is an increasing demand for a
better class of reading._"
And thus we see, at that day, even as before and since, a very intimate
relation between good living and good reading. The practical person, the
wary pedant, and the supercritical will scoff at this, but let it stand.
The "cigar divans" and "chess rooms" were modifications, in a way, of the
"coffee-house," though serving mainly evening refreshment, coffee and a
"fine Havana" being ample for the needs of him who would ponder three or
four hours over a game of chess.
Of the stilly night, there was another class of peripatetic caterers, the
"sandwich man," the "baked 'tato man," the old women who served "hot
coffee" to coachmen, and the more ambitious "coffee-stall," which must
have been the progenitor of the "Owl Lunch" wagons of the United States.
The baked potato man was of Victorian growth, and speedily became a
recognized and popular functionary of his kind. His apparatus was not
cumbrous, and was gaudy with brightly polished copper, and a headlight
that flared like that of a modern locomotive. He sprang into being
somewhere in the neighbourhood of St. George's Fields, near "Guy's," Lant
Street, and Marshalsea of Dickenesque renown, and soon spread his
operations to every part of London.
The food supply of London and such social and economic problems as arise
out of it are usually ignored by the mere guide-book, and, like enough, it
will be assumed by many to have little to do with the purport of a volume
such as the present. As a matter of fact, in one way or another, it has a
great deal to do with the life of the day, using the word in its broadest
sense.
England, as is well recognized by all, is wholly subservient to the
conditions of trade, so far as edible commodities are concerned,
throughout the world. Its beef, its corn, and its flour mainly come from
America. Its teas, coffees, and spices mostly from other foreign nations,
until latterly, when India and Ceylon have come to the fore with regard to
the first named of these. Its mutton from New Zealand or Australia, and
even potatoes from France, butter and eggs from Denmark and Brittany,
until one is inclined to wonder what species of food product is really
indigenous to Britain. At any rate, London is a vast _caravanserai_ which
has daily to be fed and clothed with supplies brought from the outer
world.
In spite of the world-wide fame of the great markets of "Covent Garden,"
"Smithfield," and "Billingsgate," London is wofully deficient in those
intermediaries between the wholesaler and the consumer, the public market,
as it exists in most Continental cities and in America.
An article in the _Quarterly Review_, in Dickens' day,--and it may be
inferred things have only changed to a degree since that
time,--illustrated, in a whimsical way, the vastness of the supply
system. The following is described as the supply of meat, poultry, bread,
and beer, for one year: 72 miles of oxen, 10 abreast; 120 miles of sheep,
do.; 7 miles of calves, do.; 9 miles of pigs, do.; 50 acres of poultry,
close together; 20 miles of hares and rabbits, 100 abreast; a pyramid of
loaves of bread, 600 feet square, and thrice the height of St. Paul's;
1,000 columns of hogsheads of beer, each 1 mile high. In mere bulk this
perhaps does not convey the impression of large figures, but it is
certainly very expressive to imagine, for instance, that one has to eat
his way through 72 miles of oxen.