acquaint you, that I very earnestly desire your return into
France. True it is, the deportment of some amongst you hath
been very inoffensive to me; but others again have so dallied
with my patience, and so highly affronted me, as I cannot, and
will not, longer endure it."[160]
"The King's address, implicating no one, was immediately
followed by a volley of protestations of innocence. An hour
after he had delivered his commands, Lord Conway announced to
the foreigners, that early in the morning carriages and carts
and horses would be ready for them and their baggage. Amidst a
scene of confusion, the young Bishop (he was scarcely of age)
protested that this was impossible; that they owed debts in
London, and that much was due to them. On the following day,
the _procureur-general_ of the Queen flew to the keeper of the
great seal at the privy council, requiring an admission to
address his Majesty, then present at his council, on matters
important to himself and the Queen. This being denied, he
exhorted them to maintain the Queen in all her royal
prerogatives; and he was answered, 'So we do.'
"Their prayers and disputes served to postpone their departure.
Their conduct during this time was not very decorous. It
appears, by a contemporary letter-writer, that they flew to
take possession of the Queen's wardrobe and jewels. They did
not leave her a change of linen, since it was with difficulty
her Majesty procured one. Everyone now looked to lay his hand
on what he might call his own. Everything he could touch was a
perquisite. One extraordinary expedient was that of inventing
bills to the amount of ten thousand pounds, for articles and
other engagements in which they had entered for the service of
the Queen, which her Majesty acknowledged, but afterwards
confessed that the debts were fictitious."[161]
"In truth," continues the writer, "the breaking up of this French
establishment was ruinous to the individuals who had purchased their
places at the rate of life annuities." Charles now grew indignant, and
sent the following letter to Buckingham:--
"Steenie,[162]
"I have receaved your letter by Dic Greame (Sir Richard
Grahame). This is my answer: I command you to send all the
French away to-morrow out of the towne, if you can by fair
meanes (but stike not long in disputing), otherways force them
away, dryving them away lyke so manie wilde beastes, until ye
have shipped them, and so the devil goe with them. Let me heare
no answer, but of the performance of my command. So I rest,
"Your faithful, constant, loving friend,
"C. R."
"Oaking,
"The seventh of August, 1626."
"This order put an end to the delay, but the King paid the
debts, the fictitious ones and all--at the cost, as it appears,
of fifty thousand pounds. Even the haughty beauty, Madame St.
George, was presented by the king on her dismission with
several thousand pounds and jewels."
Still the French could not go quietly. "The French bishop," says
D'Israeli, "and the whole party having contrived all sorts of delays
to avoid the expulsion, the yeomen of the guard were sent to turn them
out of Somerset House, whence the juvenile prelate, at the same time
making his protest and mounting the steps of the coach, took his
departure 'head and shoulders.' In a long procession of near forty
coaches, _after four days' tedious travelling_, they reached _Dover_;
but the spectacle of these impatient foreigners so reluctantly
quitting England, gesticulating their sorrows or their quarrels,
exposed them to the derision, and stirred up the prejudices, of the
common people. As Madame St. George, whose vivacity is always
described as extremely French, was stepping into the boat, one of the
mob could not resist the satisfaction of flinging a stone at her
French cap. An English courtier who was conducting her, instantly
quitted his charge, ran the fellow through the body, and quietly
returned to the boat. The man died on the spot, but no further notice
appears to have been taken of the inconsiderate gallantry of the
English courtier."
Henrietta had a magnificent Catholic chapel in Somerset House, and a
cloister of Capuchins. The former has given occasion to some
interesting descriptions of papal show and spectacle in the
commentaries just quoted.[163]
Cromwell's body lay in state at Somerset House, as Monk's did
afterwards, probably on that account.
Pepys, the prince of gossips, gives an edifying picture of the
presence chamber in this palace, when the queens of the two Charleses
were there together, a little after the Restoration:
"Meeting Mr. Pierce the chyrurgeon," says he, "he took me into
Somerset House, and there carried me into the Queene-mother's
presence chamber, where she was with our own queene sitting on
her left hand, whom I did never see before, and though she be
not very charming, yet she hath a good, modest, and innocent
look, which is pleasing. Here I also saw Madame Castlemaine;
and, which pleased me most, Mr. Crofts, the King's bastard, a
most pretty sparke of about fifteen years old, who, I perceive,
do hang much upon my Lady Castlemaine, and is always with her;
and, I hear, the queenes both are mighty kind to him. By and
by, in comes the King, and anon the duke and his duchesse; so
that they being all together, was such a sight, as I never
could almost have happened to see, with so much ease and
leisure. They staid till it was dark and then went away; the
King and his Queene, and my Lady Castlemaine and young Crofts,
in one coach, and the rest in other coaches. Here were great
stores of great ladies, but very few handsome. The King and
Queene were very merry; and he would have made the
Queene-mother believe that his Queene was with child, and said
that she said so, and the young Queene answered, 'You lye;'
which was the first English word that I ever heard her say:
which made the King good sport."[164]
After this we shall not wonder at the following:--
"30th (Dec., 1662). Visited Mrs. Ferrer and staid talking with
her a good while, there being a little proud, ugly, talking
little lady there, that was much crying up the Queene-mother's
court at Somerset House above our own Queene's; there being
before her no allowance of laughing and the mirth that is at
others; and, indeed, it is observed that the greatest court
now-a-days is there."[165]
The following print represents Old Somerset House, as it appeared in
the reign of Charles II. We have seen, but in vain endeavoured to
procure for this book, a scarce one by Hollar, in which the towers in
the back ground mark out the front in the Strand, and a tall May-pole
to the right was the May-pole of John Clarges. The front, looking on
the river, was added by Charles II. Inigo Jones was the architect. In
Hollar's print it gives us a taste of the banqueting room at Whitehall
in its elevation, and in the harmonies of the windows and pilasters.
Below is a portico; and there is another to the right. The chapel,
with an enclosure to the left, was the Catholic one; the houses by it,
the cloisters of the Capuchins. There was a figure walking in the
chapel garden, whom, by his gesticulating arm, we might imagine to be
the queen's confessor, studying his to-morrow's sermon, or thinking
how he shall get the start of the king's chaplain in saying grace. A
curious scene of this kind is worth extracting. "Once," Mr. D'Israeli
informs us, "when the king and queen were dining together in the
presence, Hacket being to say grace, the queen's confessor would have
anticipated him, and an indecorous race was run between the Catholic
priest and the Protestant chaplain, till the latter shoved him aside,
and the king pulling the dishes to him, the carvers performed their
office. Still the confessor, standing by the queen, was on the watch
to be before Hacket for the after-grace, but Hacket again got the
start. The confessor, however, resounded the grace louder than the
chaplain, and the king, in great passion, instantly rose, taking the
queen by the hand." The bowling-green that we read of is probably
between the two rows of trees to the right, in front of the right
portico (the left, if considered from the house). The garden is in the
most formal style of the parterre, where
---- "each alley has its brother,
And half the platform just reflects the other;"
a style, however, not without its merits, particularly in admitting so
many walks among the flowers, and inviting a pace up and down between
the trees. Milton, though he made a different garden for his Eden,
spoke of "trim gardens," as enjoyed by "retired leisure." In this
back front were the apartments of the court. The scene we have just
been reading in Pepys must have passed in one of them. Here Charles
the First's widow lived with her supposed husband, the Earl of St.
Albans; though she was not so constant to the place as Waller
prophesied she would be. She had been used to too much power as a
queen, and found she had too little as a dowager. Poor Catherine
remained as long as she could. She lived here till she returned to
Portugal, in the reign of William III. Speaking of Waller, we must not
quit the premises without noticing a catastrophe that befel him at the
water-gate, or Somerset-stairs (also, by the way, the work of Inigo
Jones). Waller, according to Aubrey, had but "a tender weak body, but
was always very temperate." ---- (we know not who this is) "made him
damnable drunk at Somerset House, where, at the water stayres, he fell
down, and had a cruel fall. 'Twas a pity to use such a sweet swan so
inhumanly."[166] Waller, who, notwithstanding his weak body, lived to
be old, was a water-drinker; but he had a poet's wine in his veins,
and was excellent company. Saville said, "that nobody should keep him
company without drinking, but Ned Waller."
[Illustration: OLD SOMERSET HOUSE, FROM THE RIVER.]
Subsequently to Catherine's departure, old Somerset House was chiefly
used as a residence for princes from other countries when on a visit.
It was pulled down towards the end of the last century, and the
present structure erected by Sir William Chambers, but left
unfinished. The unfinished part, which is towards the east, is now in
a state of completion, as the King's College. The only memorial
remaining of the old palace and its outhouses is in the wall of a
house in the Strand, where the sign of a lion still survives a number
of other signs, noticed in a list made at the time, and common at that
period to houses of all descriptions.
The area of New Somerset House occupies a large space of ground, the
basement of the back-front being in the river. Three sides of it are
appropriated to a variety of public offices, connected with trade,
commerce, and civil economy; and the front was lately dignified by the
occupancy of the Royal and Antiquarian Societies and the Royal Academy
of Painting. The structure was an ambitious one on the part of the
architect, and upon the whole is elegant but timid. There is a look of
fragility in it. It has the extent, but not the majesty, of a
national emporium. Rules are violated in some instances for the sake
of trifles, as is the case of pillars "standing on nothing and
supporting nothing;" and in others, it would seem out of a dread of
the result, as in the instance of the huge basement over the water,
supporting a cupola, which is petty in the comparison. Sir William did
well in wishing to have an imposing front towards the river; but he
might have had another towards the Strand, nobler than the present
one. The lower part is nothing better than a pillared coachway.
However, the front of the story is, perhaps, the best part of the
whole building. It present a graceful harmony in the proportions.
The Royal Society, which originated in the college rooms of Dr.
Wilkins, afterwards bishop of Chester, met, when it was incorporated,
at Old Gresham College in Aldersgate Street; then at Arundel House (on
account of the fire); then returned to Gresham College; and, after a
variety of other experiments upon lodging, was settled by the late
king in New Somerset House. This society, on its foundation, was much
ridiculed by the wits. Though its ends were great, it naturally busied
itself with little things; pragmatical and pedantic persons naturally
enough got mixed up with it; some of its members had foibles of
enthusiasm and pedantry, which were easily confounded with their
capacities; and the jokes were most likely encouraged by the king
(Charles II.), who, though fond of scientific experiments, and wearing
a grave face in presence of the learned body (of which he declared
himself a member), was not a man to forego such an opportunity of
jesting. Wilkins wrote a book to show that a man might go to the moon;
and the ethical common-places of Boyle (who was as great a natural
philosopher as he was a poor moralist) were the origin of Swift's
_Essays on the Tritical Faculties of the Mind_. Then there was the
good Evelyn with his hard words, wondering sentimentally at every
thing; and jolly Pepys marvelling like Sancho Panza. The readers of
Pepys' _Diary_ have been surprised at his not liking _Hudibras_.
Perhaps one reason was, that Butler was the greatest of the jesters
against the society. It was impossible not to laugh at the jokes, in
which he charges them with attempting to
"Search the moon by her own light;
To take an inventory of all
Her real estate and personal;--
To measure wind, and weigh the air,
And turn a circle to a square;
And in the braying of an ass,
Find out the treble and the bass;
If mares neigh _alto_, and a cow
In double diapason low."[167]
Evelyn got angry, and pretended to be calm. Cowley expressed his anger
with a generous indignation. The following passage in his _Ode to the
Society_ concludes with a fine, appropriate simile. "Mischief and true
dishonour," says he,
---- "fall on those
Who would to laughter and to scorn expose
So virtuous and so noble a design,
So human for its use, for knowledge so divine.
The things which these proud men despise and call
Impertinent, and vain, and small,
Those smallest things of Nature let me know,
Rather than all their greatest actions do!
Whoever would deposed Truth advance
Into the throne usurped from it,
Must feel at first the blows of Ignorance,
And the sharp points of envious Wit.
So, when, by various turns of the celestial dance
In many thousand years
A star, so long unknown, appears,
Though Heaven itself more beauteous by it grow,
It troubles and alarms the world below,
Does to the wise a star, to fools a meteor, show."[168]
Perhaps a part of the jealousy against the Royal Society arose from a
notion which has since become not uncommon, that bodies of this
nature, incorporated by kings, are calculated rather to limit inquiry,
than to enlarge it. Without stopping to discuss this point, we shall
merely observe, that the real greatness of all such bodies, like those
of nations themselves, must arise from the greatness of individuals;
and that whether the bodies give any lustre to them or not, there is
no denying that the individuals give lustre to the bodies. When Sir
Isaac Newton became president, jesting ceased.
It is pleasant to think, while passing Somerset House, in the midst of
the noise of a great thoroughfare, that philosophical speculation is,
perhaps, going on within those graceful walls; that in the midst of
all sorts of new things, sight is not lost of the venerable beauties
of old; and that art, as well as philosophy, is considering what it
shall do for our use and entertainment. The Antiquarian Society
originated as far back as the sixteenth century (about the year 1580),
and held its first sittings in a room in the Herald's College; but it
did not receive a charter till the year 1751. Neither Elizabeth nor
James would give it one, fearful, perhaps, of bringing up discussions
on matters connected with politics and religion. Elizabeth has now
become one of the most interesting of its heroines. There is no
society, we think, more likely to increase with age, and to outgrow
half-witted objection. The growth of time adds daily to its stock; and
as reflecting men become interested in behalf of ages to come, they
naturally turn with double sympathy towards the periods that have gone
by, and to the multitudes of beating hearts that have become dust. We
should like to see the society in a venerable building of its own,
raised in some quiet spot, with trees about it, and with painted
windows reflecting light through old heraldry.
The Royal Academy of Painters, now removed to Trafalgar Square, first
met in Saint Martin's Lane, under the title of the Society of Artists
of Great Britain. They had a division among them, which gave rise to
the establishment as it now stands; and are a flourishing body, we
believe, in point of funds. Of the deceased members who have done them
honour, we shall speak when we come to their abodes.
The Turk's Head Coffeehouse, near Somerset House, was frequented by
Dr. Johnson.
In a lodging opposite Somerset House, died the facetious Dr. King,
whom we have mentioned in speaking of Doctors' Commons. He had been
residing in the house of a friend in the garden-grounds between
Lambeth and Vauxhall, where he stuck so close to his books and bottle,
that he began to decline with the autumn, and shut himself up from his
friends. Lord Clarendon, who resided in Somerset House, and was his
relation, sent his sister to fetch him to a lodging he had prepared
for him over the way, where he died before the lapse of many hours,
while all the world were busy with the meats and mince-pies he had so
often celebrated; for it was Christmas-day. Dr. King was the author of
an _Art of Cookery_, in which he pleasantly bantered a learned
Kitchener of his time; though no man had a livelier relish of their
subjects than he. But he wished the relish to be lively in others. At
least, he wished them to be _leviter in modo_, if _graviter in re_.
Though occasionally coarse, he had the right style of banter, and was
of use to the Tories. In return, they would have been of use to him,
if his habits would have let them. Swift procured him the place of
Gazetteer; but he soon got rid of it.
The precinct called the Savoy was anciently the seat of Peter, Earl of
Savoy, who came into England to visit his niece Eleanor, Queen to
Henry III. It is not known whether the house was built or appointed
for him, but on his death it became the property of the queen, who
gave it to her second son Edmund, afterwards Earl of Lancaster; and
from his time the Savoy was reckoned part and parcel of the earldom
and honour of Lancaster, afterwards the duchy. Henry VII. converted
the palace into an hospital for the poor; and it remained so till the
time of Charles II.; though the master and other officers, by an abuse
which grew into a custom, appear to have had no regular inmates,
except themselves. The poor were to apply, as it might happen; and
what they got depended on the generosity of the master. In answer to a
question put by Government in the reign of Queen Anne, it was stated
by the lawyer and four chaplains, that "the statutes relating to the
reception of the poor had not been observed within the memory of
man."[169] Charles II. put wounded soldiers and sailors into the
hospital; and since his time it appears to have been used for the
reception of soldiers and prisoners. Latterly, it was a prison for
deserters.
[Illustration: THE SAVOY PALACE, FROM THE RIVER.]
The Savoy was the scene of a conference in Charles II.'s reign,
between the Church and the Presbyterians, in which possession was
proved to be nine points of the Gospel, as well as law. The
Presbyterians thought so when it was their turn to rule, and would
have thought so again; and the progress of genuine Christianity has
been a gainer by the mild sway of the Church of England.
In the chapel was buried old Gawen Douglas, the Chaucer of Scotland;
and Anne Killegrew, celebrated by Dryden's ode for her poetry and
painting. She was the daughter of one of the masters, Dr. Henry
Killegrew, brother of the famous jester, and himself a man of talent.
Mrs. Anne Killegrew,
A grace for beauty, and a muse for wit,
had probably the honour, some day, of dining with her washerwoman's
daughter, in the guise of Duchess of Albemarle; for John Clarges, the
blacksmith, who lived in the Savoy, had a wife who was a washerwoman,
and the washerwoman had a daughter, who took linen to Monk, when he
was in the Tower, and married him. It is not commonly known that the
validity of this marriage was contested. Upon the trial of an action
at law between the representatives of Monk and Clarges, some curious
particulars, says an article in the _Gentleman's Magazine_, came out
respecting the family of the duchess.
"It appeared that she was the daughter of John Clarges, a
farrier, in the Savoy, and farrier to Colonel Monk, in 1632.
She was married in the church of St. Lawrence Pountney, to
Thomas Ratford, son of Thomas Ratford, late a farrier, servant
to Prince Charles, and resident in the Mews. She had a daughter
who was born in 1634, and died in 1638. Her husband and she
'lived at the Three Spanish Gypsies, in the New Exchange, and
sold wash-balls, powder, gloves, and such things, and she
taught girls plain work. About 1647, she, being a sempstress to
Colonel Monk, used to carry him linen.' In 1648 her father and
mother died. In 1649, she and her husband 'fell out and
parted.' But no certificate from any parish register appears,
reciting his burial. In 1652, she was married in the church of
St. George, Southwark, to 'General George Monk;' and in the
following year was delivered of a son, Christopher, (afterwards
the second and last Duke of Albemarle), who was suckled by
Honour Mills, who sold apples, herbs, oysters, &c. One of the
plaintiff's witnesses swore, 'that a little before the
sickness, Thomas Ratford demanded and received of him the sum
of twenty shillings; that his wife saw Ratford again after the
sickness, and a second time after the Duke and Duchess of
Albemarle were dead.' A woman swore, 'she saw him on the day
his wife (then called Duchess of Albemarle) was put into her
coffin, which was after the death of the duke her second
husband, who died the 3rd of January, 1669-70.' And a third
witness swore, that he saw Ratford about July, 1660.' In
opposition to this evidence, it was alleged, that 'all along,
during the lives of Duke George and Duke Christopher, this
matter was never questioned,' that the latter was universally
received as only son of the former, and that 'this matter had
been thrice before tried at the bar of the King's Bench, and
the defendant had three verdicts.' A witness swore that he owed
Ratford five or six pounds, which he had never demanded. And a
man, who had married a cousin to the Duke of Albemarle, _had
been told by his wife_, that Ratford _died five or six years_
before the duke married. Lord Chief Justice Holt told the jury,
'If you are certain that Duke Christopher was born while Thomas
Ratford was living, you must find for the plaintiff. If you
believe he was born after Ratford was dead, or that nothing
appears what became of him after Duke George married his wife,
you must find for the defendant.' A verdict was given for the
defendant, who was only son to Sir Thomas Clarges, knight,
brother to the illustrious duchess in question, who was created
a baronet October 30, 1674, and was ancestor to the baronets of
his name."[170]
It does not appear on which of these accounts the jury found a verdict
for the defendant--whether because Ratford was dead, or because
nothing had been heard of him; so that the duchess, after all, might
have been no duchess. However, she carried it with as high a hand as
if she had never been anything else, and Monk had been a blacksmith.
There are some amusing notices of her in Pepys.
"8th (March, 1661-2). At noon, Sir W. Batten, Col. Slingsby,
and I, by coach to the Tower, to Sir John Robinson's, to
dinner, where great good cheer. High company, and among others
the Duchess of Albemarle, who is ever a plain homely
dowdy."[171]
"9th (Dec. 1665). My Lord Brouncker and I dined with the Duke
of Albemarle. At table, the duchess, a very ill-looked woman,
complaining of her lord's going to sea next year, said these
cursed words:--'If my lord had been a coward, he had gone to
sea no more; it may be then he might have been excused, and
made an ambassador,' (meaning my Lord Sandwich). This made me
mad, and I believe she perceived my countenance change, and
blushed herself very much. I was in hopes others had not minded
it, but my Lord Brouncker, after we came away, took notice of
the words to me with displeasure."[172]
Lord Sandwich, the famous admiral, who has such light repute with
posterity, was a relation of Pepys, and much connected with him in
affairs. There does not appear to have been the least foundation for
the duchess's charge; except, perhaps, that Sandwich had brains enough
to know the danger which he braved, while Monk knew nothing but how to
fight and lie.
"4th (Nov. 1666)." Pepys says that Mr. Cooling tells him, "the
Duke of Albemarle is grown a drunken sot, and drinks with
nobody but Troutbecke, whom nobody else will keep company with.
Of whom he told me this story; that once the Duke of Albemarle
in his drink taking notice, as of a wonder, that Nan Hide
should ever come to be Duchess of York: 'Nay,' says Troutbecke,
'ne'er wonder at that, for if you will give me another bottle
of wine, I will tell you as great, if not greater, miracle.'
And what was that, but that our dirty Besse (meaning his
duchess) should come to be Duchess of Albemarle."[173]
"4th (April, 1667). I find the Duke of Albemarle at dinner with
sorry company, some of his officers of the army; dirty dishes
and a nasty wife at table, and bad meat, of which I made but an
ill dinner. Colonel Howard asking how the Prince (Rupert) did
(in the last fight); the Duke of Albemarle answering, 'Pretty
well,' the other replied, 'but not so well as to go to sea
again.'--'How!' says the duchess, 'what should he go for, if he
were well, for there are no ships for him to command? And so
you have brought your hogs to a fair market,' said she."[174]
"29th (March 1667-8). I do hear by several, that Sir W. Pen's
going to sea do dislike the Parliament mightily, and that they
have revived the Committee of Miscarriages, to find something
to prevent it; and that he being the other day with the Duke of
Albemarle, to ask his opinion touching his going to sea, the
duchess overheard and came into him; and asked W. Pen how he
durst have the confidence to go to sea again to the endangering
of the nation, when he knew himself such a coward as he was;
which, if true, is very severe."[175]
The habit of charging cowardice against the first officers of the
time, which was not confined to the Duchess, is characteristic of the
grossness of that period, the refinements of which were entirely
artificial and modish. No people talked or acted more grossly than the
finest gentlemen of the day, or believed more ill of one another; and
it was not to be expected that the uneducated should be behindhand
with them.
The Duchess of Albemarle is supposed to have had a considerable hand
in the Restoration. She was a great loyalist, and Monk was afraid of
her; so that it is likely enough she influenced his gross
understanding, when it did not exactly know what to be at. Aubrey
says, that her mother was one of the "five women barbers." How these
awful personages came up we know not--but he has quoted a ballad upon
them:--
"Did you ever hear the like,
Or ever hear the fame,
Of five women barbers,
That lived in Drury Lane?"[176]
After all, the father, John Clarges, must have been a man of
substance in his trade, to be enabled to set up the enormous May-pole
which we see in the picture. But this did not prevent the daughter
from growing up vulgar and foul-mouthed, and a very different person
from the _Belles Ferronières_ of old.
The Savoy, on the one side, with its Gothic gate and flint wall, and
the splendid mansion called Exeter House on the other, appear in
former times to have narrowed the highway hereabouts, as much as
Exeter 'Change did lately.
At the corner of Beaufort Buildings flourished Mr. Lillie, the
perfumer so often mentioned in the _Tatler_. He was secretary to Mr.
Bickerstaff's Court of Honour, in Shire Lane, where people had actions
brought against them for pulling out their watches while their
superiors were talking; and for brushing feathers off a gentleman's
coat, with a cane "value fivepence." Lillie published two volumes of
Contributions, of which the _Tatler_ had made no use. We believe they
had no merit. In Beaufort Buildings lived Aaron Hill, and at one time
Fielding.
Southampton Street, a little to the west, on the other side of the
way, has been much inhabited by wits and theatrical people. Congreve
once lived there, Mrs. Bracegirdle, and Garrick. It was called
Southampton Street from the noble family of that title, who are allied
to the Bedford family, the proprietors.
On the ground of Cecil and Salisbury Streets, opposite Southampton
Street, stood the mansion of Robert Cecil, first Earl of Salisbury,
the cunning son of a wise father. It was he who, contriving to keep up
to the last his interest with the queen Elizabeth, and to oust his
rivals, Essex and others, was the first to make secret terms with her
successor James, and to prepare the way for his reception in England:
of which, perhaps, Elizabeth was aware, when she lay moaning on the
ground.
Where the Adelphi now stands, was Durham Place, originally a palace of
the Bishops of Durham, who resigned it to Henry VIII. Henry made it
the scene of magnificent tournaments. The Lord High Admiral Seymour
caused the Mint to be established in this house, with a view to coin
money for his designs on the throne. It was afterwards inhabited by
Dudley, Earl of Northumberland, who here married his son to Lady Jane
Grey. But its most illustrious tenant was Raleigh, to whom it was
lent by Queen Elizabeth, and who lived in it during the attempt made
at Essex House. The four turrets of the mansion, under the roof of
which lived and speculated that romantic but equivocal person, have
been marked out in an engraving from Hollar. Durham Place, though it
got into royal hands during the fluctuation of religious opinions,
never seems to have been reckoned out of the pale of the bishopric of
Durham; for Lord Pembroke bought it of that see in 1640, and pulled it
down for the erection of houses on its site.
"Be it known," says the lively Pennant, speaking of the word
'place,' as applied to great mansions, and interpreted by him
to mean palace, "that the word is only applicable to the
habitations of princes, or princely persons, and that it is
with all the impropriety of vanity bestowed on the houses of
those who have luckily acquired money enough to pile on one
another a greater quantity of stones or bricks than their
neighbours. How many imaginary _parks_ have been formed within
precincts where deer were never seen! And how many houses
misnamed _halls_, which never had attached to them the
privilege of a manor."[177]
This is true; but unless the words _palazzo_ and _piazza_ are
traceable to the same root, palatium (as perhaps they are), _place_
does not of necessity mean _palace_; and palace certainly does not
mean exclusively the habitation of princes or princely persons (that
is to say, supposing princeliness to exclude riches,) for in Italy,
whence it comes, any large mansion may be called a palace; and many
old palaces there were built by merchants. Palatium, it is true, with
the old Romans, though it may have originally meant any house on Mount
Palatine, yet in consequence of that place becoming the court end of
the city, and containing the imperial palace, may have come ultimately
to mean only a princely residence. Ovid uses it in that sense in his
_Metamorphoses_.[178] But custom is everything in these matters. Place
is now used as a variety of term, either for a large house or street.
Perhaps in both cases it ought to imply something of the look of a
palace, or at least an openness of aspect analogous to that of a
_square_--square in England, corresponding with _place_, _piazza_, and
_plaça_ on the Continent. The Piazza in Covent Garden, properly means
the place itself, and not the portico.
"To the north of Durham Place, fronting the street," says
Pennant, "stood the _New Exchange_, which was built under the
auspices of our monarch in 1608, out of the rubbish of the old
stables of _Durham House_. The King, Queen, and Royal Family,
honoured the opening with their presence, and named it
Britaine's Burse. It was built somewhat on the model of the
Royal Exchange, with cellars beneath, a walk above, and rows of
shops over that, filled chiefly with milliners, sempstresses,
and the like. This was a fashionable place of resort. In 1654,
a fatal affair happened here. Mr. Gerard, a young gentleman, at
that time engaged in a plot against Cromwell, was amusing
himself in a walk beneath, when he was insulted by _Don
Pantaleon de Saa_, brother to the Ambassador of Portugal, who,
disliking the return he met with, determined on revenge. He
came there the next day with a set of bravoes, who, mistaking
another gentleman for Mr. Gerard, instantly put him to death,
as he was walking with his sister in one hand and his mistress
in the other. _Don Pantaleon_ was tried, and with impartial
justice condemned to the axe. Mr. Gerard, who about the same
time was detected in the conspiracy, was likewise condemned to
die. By singular chance, both the rivals suffered on the
scaffold, within a few hours of each other: Mr. Gerard with
intrepid dignity; the _Portuguese_ with all the pusillanimity
of an assassin.
"Above stairs," continues Pennant, "sat, in the character of a
milliner, the reduced Duchess of Tyrconnel, wife to Richard
Talbot, Lord Deputy of Ireland, under James II.; a bigoted
Papist, and fit instrument of the designs of the infatuated
prince, who had created him Earl before his abdication, and
after that, Duke of Tyrconnel. A female, suspected to have been
his duchess, after his death, supported herself for a few days
(till she was known and otherwise provided for) by the little
trade of this place; but had delicacy enough to wish not to be
detected. She sat in a white mask, and a white dress, and was
known by the name of the White Widow. This Exchange has long
since given way to a row of good houses, with uniform front,
engraved in Mr. Nichols's _Progresses of Queen Elizabeth_,
which form a part of the street."[179]
The houses in the quarter behind these, built by the Earl of Pembroke,
made way, sixty years back, for the present handsome set of buildings
called the Adelphi, from the Messrs. Adam, brothers, who built
it.[180] The principal front faces the Thames, and is almost the only
public walk left for the inhabitants of London on the river side. The
centre house was purchased when new, by Garrick in 1771, and was his
town house for the rest of his life. He died there about nine years
after; but Mrs. Garrick possessed it till a late period. Mrs. Garrick
had been a dancer in her youth, with a name as vernal as need
be--Mademoiselle Violette: she died a venerable old lady, at the age
of ninety odd. Boswell has recorded a delightful day spent with
Johnson and others at her house, the first time she re-opened it after
Garrick's death. Sir Joshua Reynolds was there, Mrs. Carter, Mrs.
Boscawen, and others. "She looked well," says Boswell; "talked of her
husband with complacency; and while she cast her eyes at his portrait,
which was hung over the chimney-piece, said, that 'death was now the
most agreeable object to her.'"[181] It is no dishonour to her, that
her constitution was too good for her melancholy. She spoke
enthusiastically of her husband to the last, and used to decide on
theatrical subjects, by right of being his representative.
On the same terrace had lived their common friend Beauclerc. On coming
away after the party just mentioned, Boswell tells us that Johnson and
he stopped a little while by the rails of the Adelphi, looking on the
Thames; "and I said to him," says Boswell, "with some emotion, that I
was now thinking of two friends we had lost, who once lived in the
buildings behind us, Beauclerc and Garrick." "Ay, sir," said he
tenderly, "and two such friends as cannot be supplied."[182]
When Beauclerc was labouring under the illness that carried him off,
Johnson said to Boswell, in a faltering voice, that he "would walk to
the extent of the diameter of the earth to save him." It does not
appear what Beauclerc had in his nature to excite this tenderness; but
it is observable, that Johnson had a kind of speculative regard for
rakes and men of the town, if he thought them not essentially vicious.
He seemed willing to regard them as evidences of the natural virtue of
all men, bad as well as good, and of the excuse furnished for
irregularity by animal spirits. It is not impossible even that he
might have thought them rather conventionally than abstractedly
vicious. He had a similar regard for Hervey, a great rake, who was
very kind to him. "Sir," said he, "if you call a dog 'Hervey,' I shall
love him." At the same time it is not to be forgotten, that these
rakes were fine gentlemen and men of birth; representatives, in some
respect, of the license assumed by authority. Beauclerc, however, like
Hervey, had a taste for better things than he practised, and could
love scrupulous men. Boswell has given an interesting account of his
first intimacy with Johnson. Langton and Beauclerc had become intimate
at Oxford. "Their opinions and mode of life," we are told, "were so
different, that it seemed utterly impossible they should at all
agree;" but Beauclerc "had so ardent a love of literature, so acute an
understanding, such elegance of manners, and so well discerned the
excellent qualities of Mr. Langton, a gentleman eminent not only for
worth and learning, but for an inexhaustible fund of entertaining
conversation, that they became intimate friends."
"Johnson, soon after this acquaintance began, passed a
considerable time at Oxford. He at first thought it strange
that Langton should associate so much with one who had the
character of being loose, both in his principles and practice,
but by degrees, he himself was fascinated. Mr. Beauclerc's
being of the St. Albans family, and having, in some
particulars, a resemblance to Charles the Second, contributed,
in Johnson's imagination, to throw a lustre upon his other
qualities; and, in a short time, the moral, pious Johnson, and
the gay, dissipated Beauclerc were companions. 'What a
coalition!' said Garrick, when he heard of this: 'I shall have
my old friend to bail out of the round-house.' But I can bear
testimony that it was a very agreeable association. Beauclerc
was too polite, and valued learning and wit too much, to offend
Johnson by sallies of infidelity or licentiousness; and Johnson
delighted in the good qualities of Beauclerc, and hoped to
correct the evil. Innumerable were the scenes in which Johnson
was amused by these young men. Beauclerc could take more
liberty with him than any body with whom I ever saw him; but,
on the other hand, Beauclerc was not spared by his respectable
companion, when reproof was proper. Beauclerc had such a
propensity to satire, that at one time, Johnson said to him,
'You never open your mouth but with intention to give pain, and
you have often given me pain, not from the power of what you
said, but from seeing your intention.' At another time,
applying to him, with a slight alteration, a line of Pope, he
said--
'Thy love of folly, and thy scorn of fools'--
Every thing thou dost shows the one, and every thing thou
say'st the other.' At another time he said to him, 'Thy body is
all vice, and thy mind all virtue.' Beauclerc not seeming to
relish the compliment, Johnson said, 'Nay, sir, Alexander the
Great, marching in triumph into Babylon, could not have desired
to have had more said to him.'"[183]
The streets in the Adelphi--John, Robert, Adam, &c.--are named from
the builders. In this instance, the names are well bestowed; but the
"fond attempt," on the part of bricklayers and builders in general to
give a "deathless lot" to their names in the same way, is very idle.
Wherever we go now-a-days, among the new buildings, especially in the
suburbs, we meet with names that nobody knows anything about, nor ever
will know. Probably, as knowledge increases, this custom will go out.
With this exception, streets in the British metropolis have hitherto
been named after royalty or nobility, or from local circumstances, or
from saints. Saints went out with popery. The reader of the
_Spectator_ will recollect the dilemma which Sir Roger de Coverley
underwent in his youth, from not knowing whether to ask for Marylebone
or Saint Marylebone. In Paris they have streets named after men of
letters. There is the _Quai de Voltaire_; and one of the most
frequented thoroughfares in that metropolis, for it contains the
Post-Office, is _Jean Jacques Rousseau Street_. It is not unlikely
that a similar custom will take place in England before long. A
nobleman, eminent for his zeal in behalf of the advancement of
society, has called a road in his neighbourhood, Addison Road.[184]
In John Street, Adelphi, are the rooms of the Society for the
Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures, and Commerce. This society
originated in 1753, at the suggestion of Mr. Shipley, an artist, and,
as the title implies, is very miscellaneous in its object; perhaps too
much so to make sufficient impression. It gives rewards for
discoveries of all sorts, and for performances of youth in the fine
arts. It is, however, one of those combinations of zealous and
intelligent men, which have marked the progress of latter times, and
which will have an incalculable effect on posterity. Its great room is
adorned with the celebrated pictures of Mr. Barry, which he painted in
order to refute the opinion that Englishmen had no genius for the
higher department of art, no love of music, &c., nor a proper relish
of anything, "even life itself." The statement of these positions was
not so discreet as the paintings were clever. Mr. Barry was one of
those impatient, self-willed men who, with a portion of genuine power,
think it greater than it is, and will not take the pains to make
themselves masters of their own weapons. His pictures in the Adelphi,
which are illustrations of the progress of society, are striking,
ingenious, with great elegance here and there, and now and then an
evidence of the highest feeling; as in the awful pity of the
retributive angel who presides over the downfall of the wicked and
tyrannical. But the colouring is bad and "foxy;" his Elysium is
deformed with the heterogeneous dresses of all ages, William Penn
talking in a wig and hat with Lycurgus, &c. (which, however
philosophically such things might be regarded in another world, are
not fitly presented to the eye in this); and by way of disproving the
bad taste of the English in music, he has put Dr. Burney in a coat and
toupee, floating among the water nymphs! The consequence is, that
although these pictures are, perhaps, the best ever exhibited together
in England by one artist, they fall short of what he intended to
establish by them, as far as England is concerned.
Between Adam Street and George Street, on the other side of the
Strand, is Bedford Street, the site of an old mansion of the Earls and
Dukes of Bedford.
With George Street commence the precincts of an ancient "Inn," or
palace, originally belonging to the Bishops of Norwich; then to
Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk; then to the Archbishops of York,
from whom it was called York House; then to the Crown, who let it to
Lord Chancellor Egerton and to Bacon; then to the Duke of Buckingham,
the favourite, who rebuilt it with great magnificence, and at whose
death it was let to the Earl of Northumberland; and finally to the
second Duke of Buckingham, who pulled it down and converted it into
the present streets and alleys, the names of which contain his
designation at full length, even to the sign of the genitive case, for
there is an "_Of_ Alley:" so that we have George, Villiers, Duke, Of,
Buckingham.
Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, was the man who, on his marriage with Henry
VIII.'s sister, appeared at a tournament on a horse that had a cloth
half frieze and half gold, with that touching motto--
Cloth of gold, do not thou despise,
Though thou be matched with cloth of frize:
Cloth of frize, be not thou too bold,
Though thou be matched with cloth of gold.
Bacon belongs to Gray's Inn, and the second Duke of Buckingham to
Wallingford House, where he chiefly resided (on the site of the
present Admiralty): but the reader, who should go down Buckingham
Street, and contemplate the spot which Inigo Jones and the trees have
beautified, will not fail to be struck with the many different spirits
that have passed through this spot--the romantic Suffolk; the correct
Egerton; the earth-moving Bacon; the first Buckingham with a spirit
equal to his fortunes; the second, witty but selfish, who lavished
them away; and all the visitors, of so many different qualities, which
these men must have had, crowding or calmly moving to the gate across
the water, in quiet or in jollity, clients, philosophers, poets,
courtiers, mistresses, gallant masques, the romance of Charles the
First's reign, and the gaudy revelry of Charles II. A little spot
remains, with a few trees, and a graceful piece of art, and the river
flowing as calmly as meditation.
[Illustration: WATER-GATE OF YORK HOUSE.]
The only vestige now remaining of the splendid mansion of the
Buckinghams is the Water-Gate at the end of Buckingham Street, called
York Stairs,[185] and built by Inigo Jones. It has been much admired,
and must have admitted, in its time, the entrance of many
extraordinary persons.
York Buildings affords us another name, not unworthy to be added to
the most useful and delightful of these, Richard Steele, who lived
here just before he retired into Wales. The place in his time was
celebrated for a concert-room. We must not omit the termination of a
curious dispute at the gate of York House, to which Pepys was a
witness.
"30th (September 1661). This morning up _by moonshine_, at five
o'clock," (here was one of the great secrets of the animal
spirits of those times), "to Whitehall, to meet Mr. More at the
Privy Seale, and there I heard of a fray between the two
embassadors of Spaine and France, and that this day being the
day of the entrance of an embassador from Sweeden, they
intended to fight for the precedence. Our King, I heard,
ordered that no Englishman should meddle in the business, but
let them do what they would. And to that end, all the soldiers
in town were in arms all the day long, and some of the train
bands in the city, and a great bustle through the city all the
day. Then we took coach (which was the business I came for) to
Chelsey, to my Lord Privy Seale, and there got him to seal the
business. Here I saw by daylight two very fine pictures in the
gallery, that a little while ago I saw by night; and did also
go all over the house, and found it to be the prettiest
contrived house that ever I saw in my life. So back again; and
at Whitehall light, and saw the soldiers and people running up
and down the streets. So I went to the Spanish embassador's and
the French, and there saw great preparations on both sides; but
the French made the most noise and ranted most, but the other
made no stir almost at all; so that I was afraid the other
would have too great a conquest over them. Then to the wardrobe
and dined there; and then abroad, and in Cheapside hear, that
the Spanish hath got the best of it, and killed three of the
French coach-horses and several men, and is gone through the
city next to our King's coach; at which, it is strange to see
how all the city did rejoice. And, indeed, we do naturally all
love the Spanish and hate the French. But I, as I am in all
things curious, presently got to the water side, and there took
oars to Westminster Palace, and ran after them through all the
dirt, and the streets full of people; till at last, in the
Mews, I saw the Spanish coach go with fifty drawn swords at
least to guard it, and our soldiers shouting for joy. And so I
followed the coach, and then met it at York House, where the
embassador lies; and there it went in with great state. So then
I went to the French house, where I observe still, that there
is no men in the world of a more insolent spirit where they do
well, nor before they begin a matter, and more abject if they
do miscarry, than these people are; for they all look like dead
men, and not a word among them, but shake their heads. The
truth is, the Spaniards were not only observed to fight more
desperately, but also they did outwitt them; first in lining
their own harnesse with chains of iron that they could not be
cut, then in setting their coach in the most advantageous
place, and to appoint men to guard every one of their horses,
and others for to guard the coach, and others the coachman.
And, above all, in setting upon the French horses and killing
them, for by that means the French were not able to stir. There
were several men slaine of the French, and one or two of the
Spaniards, and one Englishman by a bullet. Which is very
observable, the French were at least four to one in number, and
had near one hundred cases of pistols among them, and the
Spaniards had not one gun among them, which is for their honour
for ever, and the others' disgrace. So having been very much
daubed with dirt, I got a coach and home; where I vexed my wife
in telling her of this story, and pleading for the Spaniards
against the French."[186]
In James the Second's time, the French embassy had the house of their
rival, and drew the town to see Popish devices in wax-work.
"The fourth of April," says Evelyn (1672), "I went to see the
fopperies of the Papists at Somerset House and York House,
where now the French ambassador had caused to be represented
our Blessed Saviour at the Pascal Supper with his disciples, in
figures and puppets made as big as the life, of wax-work,
curiously clad and sitting round a large table, the room nobly
hung, and shining with innumerable lamps and candles; this was
exposed to all the world; all the city came to see it: such
liberty had the Roman Catholicks at this time obtained."[187]
They have obtained more liberty since, and can dispense with these
"fopperies." At least they would do well to think so.
Hungerford Market takes its name from an old Wiltshire family, who had
a mansion here in the time of Charles II., which they parted with,
like others, to the encroachments of trade. It used to be an
inconvenient and disagreeable place, little frequented, but has lately
been converted into a handsome market, and put an end to the monopoly
of Billingsgate.
No. 7 in Craven Street is celebrated as having been, at one time, the
residence of Franklin. What a change along the shore of the Thames in
a few years (for two centuries are less than a few in the lapse of
time), from the residence of a set of haughty nobles, who never dreamt
that a tradesman could be anything but a tradesman, to that of a
yeoman's son, and a printer, who was one of the founders of a great
state!
[Illustration: OLD NORTHUMBERLAND HOUSE.]
Northumberland House is the only one remaining of all the great
mansions which lorded it on the river side. It was built by Henry
Howard, Earl of Northampton, son of the famous Henry Howard, Earl of
Surrey, the poet; but a very unworthy son, except in point of
capacity. He was one of those men, who, wanting a sense of moral
beauty, are in every other respect wise in vain, and succeed only to
become despised and unhappy. He was the grossest of flatterers; paid
court to the most opposite rivals, in the worst manner; and seems to
have stuck at nothing to obtain his ends. His perception of what was
great, extrinsically, led him to build this princely abode; and his
worship of success and court favour degraded him into an accomplice of
Carr, Earl of Somerset. It is thought by the historians, that he died
just in time to save him from the disgraceful consequences of the
murder of Sir Thomas Overbury.[188]
Northumberland House was built upon the site of the old hospital of
St. Mary Roncesvaux--Osborne says, with Spanish gold. "Part of the
present mansion," says the _Londinium Redivivum_, "is from the designs
of Bernard Jansen, and the frontispiece or gateway from those of
Gerard Christmas. This gateway cannot possibly be described correctly,
as the ornaments are scattered in the utmost profusion, from the base
to the attic, which supports a copy of Michael Angelo's celebrated
lion. Double ranges of grotesque pilasters inclose eight niches on the
sides, and there are a bow window and an open arch above the gate. The
basement of the whole front contains fourteen niches, with ancient
weapons crossed within them; and the upper stories have twenty-four
windows, in two ranges, with pierce battlements. Each wing terminates
in a cupola, and the angles have rustic quoins. The quadrangle within
the gate is in a better style of building, but rather distinguished by
simplicity than grandeur; and the garden next the Thames, with many
trees, serves to screen the mansion from those disagreeable objects
which generally bound the shores of the river in this vast trading
city."
"Northumberland House was discovered to be on fire, March 18,
1780, at five o'clock in the morning, which raged from that
hour till eight, when the whole front next the Strand was
completely destroyed. Dr. Percy's apartments were consumed; but
great part of his library escaped the general ruin."[189]
We have been the more particular in laying this extract before our
readers, because, though the house still exists, the public see little
of it. All they behold, indeed, is the screen or advanced guard, which
is no very fine sight, and only serves to narrow the way. Of the
quadrangle inside the public know nothing; and thousands pass every
day without suspecting that there is such a thing as a tree on the
premises.
The Percys had this house in consequence of a marriage with the
daughter of the Earl of Suffolk, who was Northampton's nephew. During
the Earl's possession it was called Suffolk House, and furnished an
escape to a person of the name of Emerson from one of the mad pranks
of Lord Herbert of Cherbury, who was for fighting everybody. His
lordship had had sundry fits of ague, which brought him at last to be
"so lean and yellow, that scarce any man," he says, "did know him."
"It happened," he continues, "during this sickness, that I
walked abroad one day towards Whitehall, where, meeting with
one Emerson, who spoke very disgraceful words of Sir Robert
Harley, being then my dear friend, my weakness could not hinder
me to be sensible of my friend's dishonour; shaking him,
therefore, by a long beard he wore, I stept a little aside, and
drew my sword in the street; Captain Thomas Scrivan, a friend
of mine, not being far off on one side, and divers friends of
his on the other side. All that saw me wondered how I could go,
being so weak and consumed as I was, but much more that I would
offer to fight; howsoever, Emerson, instead of drawing his
sword, ran away into Suffolk House, and afterwards informed the
Lords of the Council of what I had done; who, not long after
sending for me, did not so much reprehend my taking part with
my friend, as that I would adventure to fight, being in such a
bad condition of health."[190]
The disgraceful words spoken by Emerson were very likely nothing at
all, except to his lordship's ultra-chivalrous fancy; but this is a
curious scene to imagine at the entrance of the present quiet
Northumberland House--Emerson slipping into the gate with horror in
his looks, and the lean and yellow ghost of the knight-errant behind
him, sword in hand.
Mr. Malcolm has spoken of the apartments of Dr. Percy. This was Dr.
Percy, Bishop of Dromore, who gave an impulse to the spirit of the
modern muse by his _Reliques of Ancient English Poetry_. He was a
kinsman of the Northumberland family. We believe it was in
Northumberland House that his friend Goldsmith, stammering out a fine
speech of thanks to a personage in a splendid dress whom he took for
the Duke, was informed, when he had done, that it was his Grace's
"gentleman."
A little way up Catherine Street is Exeter Street, where Johnson first
lodged when he came to town. His lodgings were at the house of Mr.
Morris, a stay-maker. He dined at the Pine-apple in New Street, "for
eightpence, with very good company." Several of them, he told Boswell,
had travelled. "They expected to meet every day; but did not know one
another's names." The rest of his information is a curious and
interesting specimen of his disposition. "It used," said he, "to cost
the rest a shilling, for they drank wine: but I had a cut of meat for
sixpence, and bread for a penny, and gave the waiter a penny; so that
I was quite as well served, nay, better than the rest, for they gave
the waiter nothing." Johnson drank at this time no fermented liquors.
Boswell supposes that he had gained a knowledge of the art of living
in London from an Irish painter, whom he knew at Birmingham, and of
whom he gave this account.
"Thirty pounds a year," according to this economical
philosopher, "was enough to enable a man to live there without
being contemptible. He allowed ten pounds for clothes and
linen. He said a man might live in a garret at eighteen pence a
week; few people would inquire where he lodged: and if they
did, it was easy to say, 'Sir, I am to be found at such a
place.' By spending three pence at a coffee-house, he might be
for some hours every day in very good company; he might dine
for sixpence, breakfast on bread and milk for a penny, and do
without supper. _On clean shirt day_ he went abroad and paid
visits."[191]
The Strand end of Catherine Street is mentioned in Gay's "Trivia" for
a notoriety which it now unfortunately shares with too many places to
render it remarkable. His picture of one of the women he speaks of
possesses a literal truth, the characteristic of the whole of this
curious poem.
"'Tis she who nightly strolls with sauntering pace;
No stubborn stays her yielding shape embrace;
Beneath the lamp her tawdry ribands glare,
The new scower'd manteau, and the slattern air;
High draggled petticoats her travels show,
And hollow cheeks with artful blushes glow.
In riding-hood, near tavern door she plies,
Or muffled pinners hide her livid eyes.
With empty band-box she delights to range,
And feigns a distant errand from the 'Change."
Gay contents himself with a picture, and a warning. In our times, we
have learnt to pity the human beings, and to think what can be done to
remedy the first causes of the evil.
The houses between Catherine Street and Burleigh Street stand upon
ground formerly occupied by Wimbledon House, a mansion built by Sir
Edward Cecil, whom Charles I. created Viscount Wimbledon. It was
burnt down; and Stow says, that the day before, his lordship's country
house at Wimbledon was blown up.
The late Lyceum was built about the year 1765, as an academy and
exhibition-room, in anticipation of the royal one then contemplated.
It did not succeed; and part of it was converted into a theatre for
musical performances. It then became a place of exhibition for large
panoramic pictures, among which we remember with pleasure the battle
pieces of Robert Ker Porter (Seringapatam, Acre, &c.) A species of
entertainment then took place in it, which has justly been called
"useful and liberal," presenting, on a regular stage, pictures or
scenes of famous places, while a person read accounts of them from a
desk. We remember the Ægyptiana, or description of Ægypt, and, if we
mistake not, an attempt, not quite so well founded, to illustrate the
scenes of Milton's Allegro and Penseroso. Neither of the attempts met
with success; but the former, perhaps, might be tried again with
advantage, now that information and the thirst for it have so
wonderfully increased. The panorama, however, may have realised all
that can be done in this way. Visitors to those admirable contrivances
may be almost said to become travellers; and a reader at hand might
disturb them, like an impertinence. We recollect being so early one
morning at a panorama, that we had the place to ourselves. The room
was without a sound, and the scene Florence; and when we came out, the
noise and crowd of the streets had an effect on us, as if we had been
suddenly transported out of an Italian solitude. The Lyceum has since
been handsomely rebuilt as a new English Opera House, under the
management of Mr. Arnold, who has done much to cultivate a love of
music in this country. Over the former theatre, we believe, was a room
built by him for the members of the famous Beef-Steak Club, equally
celebrated for loving their steaks and roasting one another.[192]
The little crowded nest of shop-counters and wild beasts, called
Exeter Change, which has lately been pulled down, took its name from a
mansion belonging to the Bishop of Exeter, whether on the south or
north side of the street does not appear. It is not necessary that the
spot should have been the same. Any connection with a large mansion,
or its neighbourhood, is sufficient to give name to a new house.
Pennant thinks, we know not on what authority, that the great Lord
Burleigh had a mansion on the spot; and he adds, that he died here.
Exeter Change was supposed to have been built in the reign of William
and Mary, as a speculation. The lower story, at the beginning of the
last century, was appropriated to the shops of milliners; and
upholsterers had the upper. In the year 1721, the town were invited to
this place to look at a _bed_.
"Mr. Normond Cony," saith the historian, "exhibited a singular
bed for two shillings and sixpence each person, the product of
his own ingenuity; the curtains of which were woven in the most
ingenious manner, with feathers of the greatest variety and
beauty he could procure; the ground represented white damask,
mixed with silver and ornaments of various descriptions,
supporting vases of flowers and fruits. Each curtain had a
purple border a foot in breadth, branched with flowers shaded
with scarlet, the valence and bases the same. The bed was
eighteen feet in height; and from the description must have
been a superior effort of genius, equally original with the
works of the South Sea Islanders, whose cloaks, mantles, and
caps, grace the collection formed by Captain Cook, now
preserved in the British Museum."[193]
This was a gentle exhibition enough. Sixty years ago, instead of the
bed, was presented the right honourable body of Lord Baltimore, a
personage who ran away with young ladies against their will. The body
lay "in state," previously to its interment at Epsom. Lord Baltimore
was succeeded by the wild beasts, who kept possession in their narrow
unhealthy cages till the death of the poor elephant in 1826, which
conspiring with the new spirit of improvement to call final attention
to this excresence in the Strand, it was adjudged to be rooted out.
The death of this unfortunate animal, who seems to have had just
reason enough to grow mad, had its proper effect, in exciting the
public to guard against similar evils; nor is it likely that these
intelligent and noble creatures, nor indeed any others, will undergo
such a monstrous state of existence again.
[Illustration: EXETER CHANGE.]
Passing one day by Exeter Change, we beheld a sight strange enough to
witness in a great thoroughfare--a fine horse startled, and pawing the
ground, at the roar of lions and tigers. It was at the time, we
suppose, when the beasts were being fed.
FOOTNOTES:
[127] Gay's Trivia, or the Art of Walking the Streets of London, book
ii.
[128] Pennant, _ut supra_, p. 139.
[129] Londinium Redivivum, vol. iii., p. 397.
[130] Biographia Dramatica, from Oldys's MS. Notes on Langbaine.
[131] Censura Literaria, vol. i., p. 176.
[132] State Poems, vol. ii., p. 143,
[133] Boswell, vol. i., p. 383.
[134] Boswell, vol. iii., p. 331.
[135] Dugdale's Antiquities of Westminster. Heraldic MS. in the
Museum, quoted in Londinium Redivivum (vol. ii., p. 282). Brydges's
Collins's Peerage. Belsham's Life of Lindsey. We have been thus minute
in tracing the occupancies of this house, from the interest excited by
some of the members connected with it. Pennant says, upon the
authority of the Sydney Papers, that Leicester bequeathed it to his
son-in-law, which appears probable, since the latter possessed it.
Perhaps the herald was confused by the name of Robert, which belonged
both to son and son-in-law.
[136] Howell's State Trials, vol. i., p. 1343.
[137] Todd's edit. of Spenser, vol. i., p. cxli.
[138] Godwin's History or the Commonwealth, vol. i., p. 410.
[139] Boswell, vol. iv., p. 276.
[140] Trivia; or the Art of Walking the Streets of London, book iii.
Of a similar, and more perplexing facetiousness was the trick of
extracting wigs out of hackney coaches. "The thieves," says the
_Weekly Journal_ (March 30, 1717), "have got such a villanous way now
of robbing gentlemen, that they cut holes through the backs of hackney
coaches, and take away their wigs, or fine head-dresses of
gentlewomen; so a gentleman was served last Sunday in Tooley Street,
and another but last Tuesday in Fenchurch Street; wherefore this may
serve as a caution to gentlemen and gentlewomen that ride single in
the night-time, to sit on the fore-seat, which will prevent that way
of robbing."--Malcolm's Anecdotes of the Manners and Customs of London
during the Eighteenth Century, second edit., vol. i., p. 104.
[141] Londinium Redivivum, vol. ii.
[142] Second Part of Henry IV. act 3. sc. 2.
[143] Birch's Negotiations, pp. 206, 207, quoted in the work above
mentioned, p. 189. Whenever we quote from any authorities but the
original, we beg the reader to bear in mind, first, that we always
notice our having done so; and, secondly, that we make a point of
comparing the originals with the report. Both Monmouth and Birch, for
example, have been consulted in the present instance.
[144] We allude to the celebrated saying of Gibbon respecting the
Fairy Queen.
[145] In his Letters on the English Nation. But we quote from memory.
[146] We conclude so from our authorities in both instances. Mr.
Malcolm's Londinium Redivivum, vol. iii., p. 398.
[147] See his life in Chalmers's General Biographical Dictionary, vol.
v., p. 280.
[148] General Biographical Dictionary, 8vo., 1812, vol. vii.
[149] Letters on the English Nation.
[150] Life, in Chalmers's English Poets, p. 26.
[151] Spence's Anecdotes, p. 376.
[152] Idem, p. 46.
[153] Memoirs of the Life, Writings, &c., of William Congreve, Esq.,
1730, p. xi. Curll discreetly omits his name in the titlepage. [On
reconsidering this interview (though we have no longer the book by us,
and therefore speak from memory) we are doubtful, whether the lady was
not Mrs. Bracegirdle, instead of the duchess.]
[154] Lives of the Poets, &c., by Mr. Cibber and others, 1753.
[155] Pennant's London, _ut supra_, p. 124. Swift's Letters to Stella.
The particulars of the case are taken from Howell's State Trials. vol.
xii., p. 947.
[156] "Captain Baily, said to have accompanied Raleigh in his last
expedition to Guiana, employed four hackney coaches, with drivers in
liveries, to ply at the May-pole in the Strand, fixing his own rates,
about the year 1634. Baily's coaches seem to have been the first of
what are now called hackney-coaches; a term at that time applied
indiscriminately to all coaches let for hire." The favourite
Buckingham, about the year 1619, introduced the sedan. The
post-chaise, invented in France, was introduced by Mr. Tull, son of
the well-known writer on husbandry. The stage first came in about the
year 1775; and mail-coaches appeared in 1785.--See a note to the
_Tatler_, as above, vol. iv., p. 415.
[157] This was written in 1834.
[158] The faults of the New Church are, that it is too small for the
steeple; that it is divided into two stories, which make it still
smaller; that the entablature on the north and south parts is too
frequently interrupted; that pediments are "affectedly put over each
projection;" in a word, that a little object is cut up into too many
little parts, and rendered fantastic with embellishment. See the
opinions of Gwynn, Ralph, and Malton, quoted in Brayley's London and
Middlesex, vol. iv., p. 199.
[159] Life of James I. quoted in Pennant, p. 155.
[160] L'Estrange's Life of Charles I., quoted in D'Israeli's
Commentaries on the Life and Reign of Charles I., vol. ii., p. 218.
[161] L'Estrange's Life of Charles I.
[162] Steenie--a familiarisation of Stephen. The name was given
Buckingham by James I., in reference to the beauty of St. Stephen,
whose face, during his martyrdom, is described in the New Testament as
shining like that of an angel.
[163] See the account of the Paradise of Glory, in vol. ii., p. 225.
[164] Memoirs of Samuel Pepys, Esq., 2nd edition, vol. i., p. 309.
[165] Id., p. 357.
[166] Lives and Letters, as above.
[167] See three Poems in his Genuine Remains.--_Chalmers's British
Poets_, vol. viii., p. 187.
[168] British Poets, vol. vii., p. 101.
[169] Londinium Redivivum, vol. iv., p. 410.
[170] Gentleman's Magazine for 1793, p. 88.
[171] Memoirs and Correspondence, as above, vol. i., p. 182.
[172] Vol. ii., p. 348.
[173] Memoirs and Correspondence, as above, vol. iii., p. 75.
[174] Id., p. 185.
[175] Vol. iv., p. 81.
[176] Granger's Biographical History of England, 1824, vol. v., p.
356.
[177] Pennant, _ut supra_, p. 144.
[178] Where he likens Jupiter's house in the Milky Way to the palace
of Augustus:--
"Hic locus est, quem, si verbis audacia detur,
Haud timeam magni dixisse Palatia coeli."
Lib. i. v. 175.
Which Sandys, by a felicitous conceit in the taste of his age (and of
Ovid too), has transferred to the palace of Charles the First, and
rendered still more applicable to the Milky Way:--
"This glorious roofe I would not doubt to call,
Had I but boldness giv'n me, Heaven's _White-Hall_"
[179] Pennant, p. 147.
[180] It was a joke, probably invented, against a late festive
alderman, that some lover of Terence, at a public dinner, having
toasted two royal brothers, who were present, under the title of the
Adelphi (the Greek word for "brothers"), the Alderman said, that as
they were on the subject of streets, "he would beg leave to propose
'Finsbury Square.'"
[181] Boswell, iv., p. 102.
[182] Id., p. 106.
[183] Boswell, vol. i., p. 225.
[184] Near Holland House, Kensington. Addison died in that house.
[185] "York Stairs," says the author of the 'Critical Reviews of
Public Buildings,' quoted in 'Brayley's London and Middlesex,' "form
unquestionably the most perfect piece of building that does honour to
Inigo Jones: it is planned in so exquisite a taste, formed of such
equal and harmonious parts, and adorned with such proper and elegant
decorations, that nothing can be censured or added. It is at once
happy in its situation beyond comparison, and fancied in a style
exactly suited to that situation. The rock-work, or rustic, can never
be better introduced than in buildings by the side of water; and,
indeed, it is a great question whether it ought to have been made use
of anywhere else. On the side next the river appear the arms of the
Villiers family; and on the north front is inscribed their motto:
_Fidei Coticula Crux_,--The Cross is the touch-stone of faith. On this
side is a small terrace, planted with lime-trees; the whole supported
by a rate raised upon the houses in the neighbouring streets; and
being inclosed from the public, forms an agreeable promenade for the
inhabitants."
[186] Diary, vol. i., p. 221.
[187] "Memoirs of John Evelyn, Esq." Second edit. vol. ii., p. 364.
[188] In 1596, Northampton writes thus to Lord Burghley (Essex's great
enemy), upon presenting to him a _devotional_ composition. "The weight
of your lordship's piercing judgment held me in so reverend an awe, as
before I were encouraged by two or three of my friends, who had a
taste, I durst not present this treatise to your view: but since their
partiality hath made me thus bold, my own affection to sanctify this
labour to yourself hath made me impudent."
Yet in the year succeeding, our authority observes, he has the
following passage in a letter to Essex:--"Some friend of mine means
this day, before night, to merit my devotion and uttermost gratitude
by seeking to do good to you; the success whereof my prayers in the
meantime shall recommend to that best gale of wind that may favour it.
Your lordship, by your last purchase, hath almost enraged the
dromedary that would have won the Queen of Sheba's favour by bringing
pearls. If you could once be as fortunate in dragging old Leviathan
(Burghley) and his cub, _tortuosum colubrum_ (Sir Robert Cecil), as
the prophet termeth them, out of this den of mischievous device, the
better part of the world would prefer your virtue to that of
Hercules." See "Memoirs of the Peers of James I." p. 240. Such "wise
men" are the worst of fools. And here he was acting, as such men are
apt to do, like one of the commonest fools, in saying such
contradictory things under his own hand.
[189] Vol. iv., p. 308.
[190] "Life of Edward Lord Herbert of Cherbury," in the
"Autobiography," p. 110.
[191] Boswell, vol. i., p. 81.
[192] The author of a "History of the Clubs of London" (vol. ii. p.
3.), says that this is not the Beef-Steak Club of which Estcourt, the
comedian, was steward, and Mrs. Woffington president. He derives its
origin from an accidental dinner taken by Lord Peterborough in the
scenic room of Rich the Harlequin, over Covent Garden Theatre. The
original gridiron, on which Rich broiled the Peer's beef-steak, is
still preserved, as the palladium of the club; and the members have it
engraved on their buttons. It has generally, we believe, admitted the
leading men of the day, of whatever description, provided they can
joke and bear joking. The author just mentioned says, that Lord
Sandwich's and Wilkes's days are generally quoted as the golden period
of the society.
[193] Londinium Redivivum, vol. iv., p. 302.