designed by Parnell and Smith, was opened February 1851. The exterior
is a combination from Sansovino's Palazzo Cornaro, and Library of St.
Mark at Venice; but varying in the upper part, which has Corinthian
columns, with windows resembling arcades filling up the intercolumns;
and over their arched headings are groups of naval and military
symbols, weapons, and defensive armour--very picturesque. The frieze
has also effective groups symbolic of the Army and Navy; the cornice,
likewise very bold, is crowned by a massive balustrade. The basement,
from the Cornaro, is rusticated; the entrance being in the centre of
the east or George-street front, by three open arches, similar in
character to those in the Strand front of Somerset House. The whole is
extremely rich in ornamental detail. The hall is fine; the coffee-room
is panelled with scagliola, and has a ceiling enriched with flowers,
and pierced for ventilation by heated flues above; adjoining is a room
lighted by a glazed plafond; next is the house dining-room, decorated
in the Munich style; and more superb is the morning-room, with its
arched windows, and mirrors forming arcades and vistas innumerable. A
magnificent stone staircase leads to the library and reading rooms;
and in the third story are billiard and card rooms; and a
smoking-room, with a lofty dome elaborately decorated in traceried
Moresque. The apartments are adorned with an equestrian portrait of
Queen Victoria, painted by Grant, R.A.; a piece of Gobelin tapestry
(Sacrifice to Diana), presented to the Club in 1849 by Prince Louis
Napoleon; marble busts of William IV. and the Dukes of Kent and
Cambridge; and several life-size portraits of naval and military
heroes. The Club-house is provided with twenty lines of Whishaw's
Telekouphona, or Speaking Telegraph, which communicate from the
Secretary's room to the various apartments. The cost of this superb
edifice, exclusive of fittings, was 35,000_l._; the plot of ground on
which it stands cost the Club 52,000_l._
The Club system has added several noble specimens of ornate
architecture to the metropolis; to the south side of Pall Mall these
fine edifices have given a truly patrician air. But, it is remarkable
that while both parties political have contributed magnificent
edifices towards the metropolis and their opinions; while the
Conservatives can show with pride two splendid piles and the Liberals
at least one handsome one; while the Army and Navy have recently a
third palace--the most successful of the three they can boast; while
the Universities, the sciences, even our Indian empire, come forward,
the fashionable clubs, the aristocratic clubs do nothing for the
general aspect of London, and have made no move in a direction where
they ought to have been first. Can anything be more paltry than that
bay-window from which the members of White's contemplate the cabstand
and the Wellington Tavern? and yet a little management might make that
house worthy of its unparalleled situation; and if it were extended to
Piccadilly, it would be the finest thing of its kind in Europe.
THE JUNIOR UNITED SERVICE CLUB.
At the corner of Charles-street and Regent-street, was erected in
1855-57, Nelson and James, architects, and has a most embellished
exterior, enriched with characteristic sculpture by John Thomas. The
design is described in the _Builder_ as in the Italian style of
architecture, the bay-window in Regent-street forming a prominent
feature in the composition, above which is a sculptured group
allegorical of the Army and Navy. The whole of the sculpture and
ornamental details throughout the building are characteristic of the
profession of the members of the Club. The exterior of the building is
surmounted by a richly-sculptured cornice, with modillion and dentils,
and beneath it an elaborate frieze, having medallions with trophies
and other suitable emblems, separated from each other by the rose,
shamrock, and thistle. The external walls of the building are of Bath
stone, and the balustrade round the area is of Portland stone; and
upon the angle-pieces of this are bronze lamps, supported by figures.
The staircase is lighted from the top by a handsome lantern, filled
with painted glass, with an elaborate coved and ornamented ceiling
around. On the landing of the half space are two pairs of caryatidal
figures, and single figures against the walls, supporting three
semicircular arches, and the whole is reflected by looking-glasses on
the landing. On the upper landing of the staircase, is the celebrated
picture, by Allan, of the Battle of Waterloo. Upon the first floor
fronting Regent-street, and over the morning-room, and of the same
dimensions, is the evening-room, which is also used as a
picture-gallery, 24 feet high, with a bay-window fronting
Regent-street. In the gallery are portraits of military and naval
commanders; Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, and the Emperor
Napoleon; and an allegorical group in silver, presented to the Club by
his Imperial Majesty.
CROCKFORD'S CLUB.
This noted gaming Club-house, No. 50, on the west side of St.
James's-street, over against White's, was built for Mr. Crockford, in
1827; B. and P. Wyatt, architects.
Crockford started in life as a fishmonger, at the old bulk-shop
next-door to Temple Bar Without, which he quitted for play in St.
James's. "For several years deep play went on at all the
Clubs--fluctuating both as to locality and amount--till by degrees it
began to flag. It was at a low ebb when Mr. Crockford laid the
foundation of the most colossal fortune that was ever made by play. He
began by taking Watier's old Club-house, in partnership with a man
named Taylor. They set up a hazard-bank, and won a great deal of
money, but quarrelled and separated at the end of the first year.
Taylor continued where he was, had a bad year, and failed. Crockford
removed to St. James's-street, had a good year, and immediately set
about building the magnificent Club-house which bears his name. It
rose like a creation of Aladdin's lamp; and the genii themselves could
hardly have surpassed the beauty of the internal decorations, or
furnished a more accomplished _maître d'hôtel_ than Ude. To make the
company as select as possible, the establishment was regularly
organized as a Club, and the election of members vested in a
committee. 'Crockford's' became the rage, and the votaries of fashion,
whether they liked play or not, hastened to enrol themselves. The Duke
of Wellington was an original member, though (unlike Blücher, who
repeatedly lost everything he had at play) the great Captain was never
known to play deep at any game but war or politics. Card-tables were
regularly placed, and whist was played occasionally; but the aim, end,
and final cause of the whole was the hazard-bank, at which the
proprietor took his nightly stand, prepared for all comers. _Le
Wellington des Joueurs_ lost 23,000_l._ at a sitting, beginning at
twelve at night, and ending at seven the following evening. He and
three other noblemen could not have lost less, sooner or later, than
100,000_l._ apiece. Others lost in proportion (or out of proportion)
to their means; but we leave it to less occupied moralists, and
better calculators, to say how many ruined families went to make Mr.
Crockford a _millionnaire_--for a _millionnaire_ he was in the English
sense of the term, after making the largest possible allowance for bad
debts. A vast sum, perhaps half a million, was sometimes due to him;
but as he won, all his debtors were able to raise, and easy credit was
the most fatal of his lures. He retired in 1840, much as an Indian
chief retires from a hunting country when there is not game enough
left for his tribe, and the Club is now tottering to its fall."[29]
The Club-house consists of two wings and a centre, with four
Corinthian pilasters, and entablature, and a balustrade throughout;
the ground-floor has Venetian windows, and the upper story, large
French windows. The entrance-hall had a screen of Roman-Ionic
scagliola columns with gilt capitals, and a cupola of gilding and
stained glass. The library has Sienna columns and antæ of the Ionic
order, from the Temple of Minerva Polias; the staircase is panelled
with scagliola, and enriched with Corinthian columns. The grand
drawing-room is in the style of Louis Quatorze: azure ground, with
elaborate cove; ceiling enrichments bronze gilt; door-way paintings _à
la Watteau_; and panelling, masks, terminals, heavily gilt. Upon the
opening of the Club-house, it was described in the exaggerated style,
as "the New Pandemonium"; the drawing-rooms, or real Hell, consisting
of four chambers; the first an ante-room, opening to a saloon
embellished to a degree which baffles description; thence to a small,
curiously-formed cabinet, or boudoir, which opens to the supper room.
All these rooms are panelled in the most gorgeous manner, spaces
being left to be filled up with mirrors, silk or gold enrichments; the
ceilings being as superb as the walls. A billiard-room on the upper
floor completes the number of apartments professedly dedicated to the
use of the members. Whenever any secret manoeuvre is to be carried
on, there are smaller and more retired places, both under this roof
and the next, whose walls will tell no tales.
The _cuisine_ at Crockford's was of the highest class, and the members
were occasionally very _exigeant_, and trying to the patience of M.
Ude. At one period of his presidency, a ground of complaint, formally
addressed to the Committee, was that there was an admixture of onion
in the _soubise_. Colonel Damer, happening to enter Crockford's one
evening to dine early, found Ude walking up and down in a towering
passion, and naturally inquired what was the matter. "No matter,
Monsieur le Colonel! Did you see that man who has just gone out? Well,
he ordered a red mullet for his dinner. I made him a delicious little
sauce with my own hands. The price of the mullet marked on the _carte_
was 2_s._; I asked 6_d._ for the sauce. He refuses to pay the 6_d._
That _imbécille_ apparently believes that the red mullets come out of
the sea with my sauce in their pockets!" The _imbécille_ might have
retorted that they do come out of the sea with their appropriate sauce
in their pockets; but this forms no excuse for damaging the consummate
genius of a Ude.
The appetites of some Club members appear to entitle them to be called
_gourmands_ rather than _gourmets_. Of such a member of Crockford's
the following traits are related in the _Quarterly Review_, No.
110:--"The Lord-lieutenant of one of the western counties eats a covey
of partridges for breakfast every day during the season; and there is
a popular M.P. at present [1836] about town who would eat a covey of
partridges, as the Scotchman ate a dozen of becaficos, for a whet, and
feel himself astonished if his appetite was not accelerated by the
circumstance. Most people must have seen or heard of a caricature
representing a gentleman at dinner upon a round of beef, with the
landlord looking on. 'Capital beef, landlord!' says the gentleman; 'a
man may cut and come again here.' 'You may cut, Sir,' responds
Boniface; 'but I'm blow'd if you shall come again.' The person
represented is the M.P. in question; and the sketch is founded upon
fact. He had occasion to stay late in the City, and walked into the
celebrated Old Bailey beef-shop on his return, where, according to the
landlord's computation, he demolished about seven pounds and a half of
solid meat, with a proportionate allowance of greens. His exploits at
Crockford's have been such, that the founder of that singular
institution has more than once had serious thoughts of giving him a
guinea to sup elsewhere; and has only been prevented by the fear of
meeting with a rebuff similar to that mentioned in _Roderick Random_
as received by the master of an ordinary, who, on proposing to buy off
an ugly customer, was informed by him that he had already been bought
off by all the other ordinaries in town, and was consequently under
the absolute necessity of continuing to patronize the establishment."
Theodore Hook was a frequent visitor at Crockford's, where play did
not begin till late. Mr. Barham describes him, after going the round
of the Clubs, proposing, with some gay companion, to finish with half
an hour at Crockford's: "The half-hour is quadrupled, and the
excitement of the preceding evening was nothing to that which now
ensued." He had a receipt of his own to prevent being exposed to the
night air. "I was very ill," he once said, "some months ago, and my
doctor gave me particular orders not to expose myself to it; so I come
up [from Fulham] every day to Crockford's, or some other place to
dinner, and I make it a rule on no account to go home again till about
four or five o'clock in the morning."
After Crockford's death, the Club-house was sold by his executors for
2,900_l._; held on lease, of which thirty-two years were unexpired,
subject to a yearly rent of 1,400_l._ It is said that the decorations
alone cost 94,000_l._ The interior was re-decorated in 1849, and
opened for the Military, Naval, and County Service Club, but was
closed again in 1851. It has been, for several years, a
dining-house--"the Wellington."
Crockford's old bulk-shop, west of Temple-bar, was taken down in 1846.
It is engraved in Archer's _Vestiges of London_, part i. A view in
1795, in the Crowle Pennant, presents one tall gable to the street;
but the pitch of the roof had been diminished by adding two imperfect
side gables. The heavy pents originally traversed over each of the
three courses of windows; it was a mere timber frame filled up with
lath and plaster, the beams being of deal with short oak joints: it
presented a capital example of the old London bulk-shop (sixteenth
century), with a heavy canopy projecting over the pathway, and turned
up at the rim to carry off the rain endwise. This shop had long been
held by a succession of fishmongers; and Crockford would not permit
the house-front to be altered in his lifetime. He was known in gaming
circles by the sobriquet of "the Fishmonger."
FOOTNOTES:
[29] Edinburgh Review.
"KING ALLEN," "THE GOLDEN BALL," AND SCROPE DAVIES.
In the old days when gaming was in fashion, at Watier's Club, princes
and nobles lost or gained fortunes between themselves. It was the same
at Brookes's, one member of which, Lord Robert Spencer, was wise
enough to apply what he had won to the purchase of the estate of
Woolbidding, Suffolk. Then came Crockford's hell, the proprietor of
which, a man who had begun life with a fish-basket, won the whole of
the ready money of the then existing generation of aristocratic
simpletons. Among the men who most suffered by play was Viscount
Allen, or 'King Allen,' as he was called. This effeminate dandy had
fought like a young lion in Spain; for the dandies, foolish as they
looked, never wanted pluck. The 'King' then lounged about town, grew
fat, lost his all, and withdrew to Dublin, where, in Merrion-square,
he slept behind a large brass plate with 'Viscount Allen' upon it,
which was as good to him as board wages, for it brought endless
invitations from people eager to feed a viscount at any hour of the
day or night, although King Allen had more ready ability in uttering
disagreeable than witty things.
Very rarely indeed did any of the ruined gamesters ever get on their
legs again. The Golden Ball, however, was an exception. Ball Hughes
fell from the very top of the gay pagoda into the mud, but even there,
as life was nothing to him without the old excitement, he played pitch
and toss for halfpence, and he won and lost small ventures at
battledore and shuttlecock, which innocent exercise he turned into a
gambling speculation. After he withdrew, in very reduced
circumstances, to France, his once mad purchase of Oatlands suddenly
assumed a profitable aspect. The estate was touched by a railway and
admired by building speculators, and between the two the Ball, in its
last days, had a very cheerful and glittering aspect indeed.
Far less lucky than Hughes was Scrope Davies, whose name was once so
familiar to every man and boy about town. There was good stuff about
this dandy. He one night won the whole fortune of an aspiring fast lad
who had come of age the week before, and who was so prostrated by his
loss that kindly-hearted Scrope gave back the fortune the other had
lost, on his giving his word of honour never to play again. Davies
stuck to the green baize till his own fortune had gone among a score
of less compassionate gentlemen. His distressed condition was made
known to the young fellow to whom he had formerly acted with so much
generosity, and that grateful heir refused to lend him even a guinea.
Scrope was not of the gentlemen-ruffians of the day who were addicted
to cruelly assaulting men weaker than themselves. He was well-bred and
a scholar; and he bore his reverses with a rare philosophy. His home
was on a bench in the Tuileries, where he received old acquaintances
who visited him in exile; but he admitted only very tried friends to
the little room where he read and slept. He was famed for his
readiness in quoting the classical poets, and for his admiration of
Moore, in whose favour those quotations were frequently made. They
were often most happy. For example, he translated 'Ubi _plura_ nitent
non ego _paucis_ offendar maculis,' by '_Moore shines so brightly that
I cannot find fault with Little's vagaries_!' He also rendered 'Ne
_plus_ ultra,' '_Nothing is better than Moore!_'[30]
THE FOUR-IN-HAND CLUB.
Gentleman-coaching has scarcely been known in England seventy years.
The Anglo-Erichthonius, the Hon. Charles Finch, brother to the Earl of
Aylesford, used to drive his own coach-and-four, disguised in a livery
great-coat. Soon after his _début_, however, the celebrated "Tommy
Onslow," Sir John Lacy, and others, mounted the box in their own
characters. Sir John was esteemed a renowned judge of coach-horses and
carriages, and a coachman of the old school; but everything connected
with the coach-box has undergone such a change, that the Nestors of
the art are no longer to be quoted. Among the celebrities may be
mentioned the "B. C. D.," or Benson Driving Club, which held its
rendezvous at the "Black Dog," Bedfont, as one of the numerous driving
associations, whose processions used, some five-and-thirty years ago,
to be among the most imposing, as well as peculiar, spectacles in and
about the metropolis.
On the stage, the gentlemen drivers, of whom the members of the
Four-in-Hand Club were the exclusive _élite_, were illustrated rather
than caricatured in _Goldfinch_, in Holcroft's comedy _The Road to
Ruin_. Some of them who had not "drags" of their own, "tipped" a
weekly allowance to stage coachmen, to allow them to "finger the
ribbons," and "tool the team." Of course, they frequently "spilt" the
passengers. The closeness with which the professional coachmen were
imitated by the "bucks," is shown in the case of wealthy young Ackers,
who had one of his front teeth taken out, in order that he might
acquire the true coachman-like way of "spitting." There were men of
brains, nevertheless, in the Four-in-Hand, who knew how to ridicule
such fellow-members as Lord Onslow, whom they thus immortalized in an
epigram of that day:--
"What can Tommy Onslow do?
He can drive a coach and two!
Can Tommy Onslow do no more?
He can drive a coach and four."
It is a curious fact, that the fashion of amateur charioteering was
first set by the ladies. Dr. Young has strikingly sketched, in his
satires, the Delia who was as good a coachman as the man she paid for
being so:--
"Graceful as John, she moderates the reins,
And whistles sweet her diuretic strains."
The Four-in-Hand combined gastronomy with equestrianism and
charioteering. They always drove out of town to dinner, and the ghost
of Scrope Davies will pardon our suggesting that the club of drivers
and diners might well have taken for their motto, "Quadrigis, petimus
bene vivere!"[31]
There is another version of the epigram on Tom Onslow:--
"Say, what can Tommy Onslow do?
Can drive a curricle and two.
Can Tommy Onslow do no more?
Yes,--drive a curricle and four."
This is the version current, we are told, among Onslow's relations in
the neighbourhood of Guildford.
Lord Onslow's celebrity as _a whip_ long preceded the existence of the
Four-in-Hand Club (the palmy days of which belong to the times of
George the Fourth), and it was not a _coach_, but a _phaeton_, that he
drove. A correspondent of the _Athenæum_ writes: "I knew him
personally, in my own boyhood, in Surrey, in the first years of the
present century; and I remember then hearing the epigram now referred
to, not as new, but as well known, in the following form:--
'What can little T. O. do?
Drive a phaeton and two.
Can little T. O. do no more?
Yes,--drive a phaeton and four.'
"Tommy Onslow was a little man, full of life and oddities, one of
which was a fondness for driving into odd places; and I remember the
surprise of a pic-nic party, which he joined in a secluded spot,
driving up in his 'phaeton and four' through ways that were hardly
supposed passable by anything beyond a flock of sheep. An earlier
exploit of his had a less agreeable termination. He was once driving
through Thames-street, when the hook of a crane, dangling down in
front of one of the warehouses, caught the hood of the phaeton,
tilting him out, and the fall broke his collar-bone."
The vehicles of the Club which were formerly used are described as of
a hybrid class, quite as elegant as private carriages and lighter than
even the mails. They were horsed with the finest animals that money
could secure. In general, the whole four in each carriage were
admirably matched; grey and chestnut were the favourite colours, but
occasionally very black horses, or such as were freely flecked with
white, were preferred. The master generally drove the team, often a
nobleman of high rank, who commonly copied the dress of a mail
coachman. The company usually rode outside, but two footmen in rich
liveries were indispensable on the back seat, nor was it at all
uncommon to see some splendidly attired female on the box. A rule of
the Club was that all members should turn out three times a week; and
the start was made at mid-day, from the neighbourhood of Piccadilly,
through which they passed to the Windsor-road,--the attendants of each
carriage playing on their silver bugles. From twelve to twenty of
these handsome vehicles often left London together.
There remain a few handsome drags, superbly horsed. In a note to
Nimrod's life-like sketch, "The Road,"[32] it is stated that "only ten
years back, there were from thirty-four to forty four-in-hand
equipages to be seen constantly about town."