THE ADELPHI AND THE STRAND.
The little streets that descend from the Strand to the Embankment are
mostly old-fashioned and picturesque in their way--perhaps from the
contrast they offer to the noise and “sea-shell roar” of that busy
thoroughfare. Many end in a _cul de sac_ with an open aërial gallery as
it were, whence we can look down on the silvery Thames below, with all
its noble bridges. All these quiet alleys have some interesting or
suggestive memorial to exhibit; their houses seem of the one
pattern--sound and snug--of the early Georgian era, and mostly given
over to the “private hotel” business. It may be conceived how much more
interesting and piquant it was when these alleys led straight down, as
many did, to the water’s edge, now set far off by the Embankment. The
curious mixture of associations, as we wander up and down; the strange
incredible squalor of some portions, the comparative stateliness and
imposing air of others, the pretty gardens, the way in which memories of
Garrick, Franklin, Peter the Great, the Romans, Charles Dickens, and
many more, are suggested and jumbled together at every turn, make the
old familiar Strand one of the most interesting quarters in London.
This may seem a puzzling statement. As all the world knows there is
little or nothing of pretension about the streets--the houses are mean,
the shops poor. There are no stately buildings--save indeed one theatre,
handsome enough; and the church of St. Mary-le-Strand, lately in a
precarious way, is threatened with removal. For all that it will be seen
that a person who starts to explore the Strand and its “dependencies,”
with instructions what to look for, will have a very enjoyable
pilgrimage.
The Adelphi and the Adelphi Terrace are familiar enough; but it is not
so familiarly known to the passing crowd that they were named after
certain “Brothers”--an eminent family of architects--the brothers Adam.
These remarkable persons have left the most enduring marks of their
talent and influence all over London. It is a sign of ability, and even
of
[Illustration: ADELPHI TERRACE]
genius, thus to make a strong impression on one’s generation. The Adam
style is felt and appreciated to this hour, and as we walk about London
it constantly forces itself on us for recognition. We know it by its
grace and delicacy, and generally dignified treatment; above all, by a
proportion that triumphs over inferior means and materials. As we walk
it is possible to stop and say “Yonder is an Adam house.” All their
effects are nicely calculated; such as the depth of a pilaster, the size
of a window, the relation of the stories. The late Mr. Fergusson notes
particularly “their peculiar mode of fenestration.” “They frequently,”
he says, “attempted to group three or more windows together by a great
glazed arch above them, so as to try and make the whole side of a house
look like one room.”
The leading and inspiring member of the family, John, went to Italy to
study. He devoted himself to a single building, the famous Palace of
Diocletian, which he selected for the sensible reason that it presented
a unique pattern of the dwelling-house of the ancients, whereas
attention had mostly been concentrated on their public buildings. These
studies bore fruit in a perfect system. The enthusiastic Scot, having
conceived this idea, betook him to Spalato, taking with him a skilled
French artist to make the drawings, while he himself took all the
measurements. As we turn over the sumptuous atlas-folio tome which
embodied his labours, we wonder at the energy and magnificence which
then directed such projects. It was published by subscription, and the
roll of distinguished names, from the King down, shows what patronage he
enjoyed. The work is one of the most pleasing and romantic of such
records.
The arrival of the two _dilettante_ strangers in the ruined and deserted
town excited suspicion, and it being assumed they were making drawings
of the fortifications, they were ordered to desist. But these and other
difficulties were overcome. Interest in this extraordinary and
astonishing ruin has lately been revived by Mr. Jackson’s charming book;
and from the beautiful drawings made in Adam’s work we see that it was a
picturesque, rather forlorn, town with dilapidated fortifications round
it on the sea-shore. There were to be seen the remains of the superb
galleries of the Emperor, the temples and the banqueting halls, with the
richly carved capitals, colonnades, friezes, etc., all in sound and
excellent condition. Even the turning over of these pictures seems like
being in a dream, with the Claude-like Italian shore before us, the
splendid ruins, which appear to want little more than roofing,
stretching high above the coast, so as to have the finest view of the
sea. More than a century has gone by since that visit, and some strange
changes have taken place; the inhabitants have been reverent, but,
straitened for room, have built their houses through the palace. As the
stranger wanders through the streets he comes on columns and arches
embedded in modern walls, while the two pagan temples which the Emperor
built have since been converted into a cathedral and church, without any
rude violence being done.
No words could give an idea of the size, the richness of details, the
comparative preservation of this amazing structure. Most notable was the
beautiful arched terrace or gallery, which was raised up, overhanging
the sea, and which stretched along for many furlongs. The splendid
courtyard, with its rich friezes, capitals, pillars, and embroidery, all
in capital condition, save the roof, shows what the old Roman work was.
But it was the terrace that struck the imagination of the young student.
On his return, commissions came pouring in, but the family had conceived
a bold, ambitious scheme, which was, indeed, the fruit of the Dalmatian
studies. The terrace just alluded to filled the mind of the traveller.
In the Strand, at Durham Yard, the ground seemed to take much the same
shape, and his dream was to rear, on double and triple rows of arches,
just such a terrace, which should look down on the Thames. Such was
clearly the origin of our familiar Adelphi Terrace.
No sooner was the scheme conceived than it was taken in hand in an
ambitious style. Money was wanting, but, being Scotchmen, the brothers,
Robert, John, Thomas and William, found a patron in their countryman,
Lord Bute, without whom they could not have hoped to obtain the Act of
Parliament they desired. They began their works in the Adelphi in 1768,
leasing the ground from the Duke of St. Albans. A steep incline, which
may be seen now in Buckingham Street, descended from the Strand to the
Thames, and their plan was to raise on a series of massive arches quite
a new quarter of streets, fronted to the Thames by a handsome terrace.
The brothers calculated that their vaults would be used as Government
storehouses, but in this they were disappointed. They also found
themselves engaged in a lawsuit with the Corporation, as they had
encroached on the foreshore of the Thames, and these checks led to
serious pecuniary embarrassments in prosecuting the enterprise. In 1773
they found themselves obliged, after mortgaging their property, to take
the unusual course of raising funds by lottery. They obtained an Act of
Parliament allowing the issue of tickets for the scheme. In this way
they raised some £218,000, and the houses to be built appear in some way
to have been the prizes. The whole enterprise was brought to a
conclusion in a very short time, the buildings, arches, etc., all being
completed by 1775, having taken only about five years. The stately
mansions on the terrace were eagerly sought. Garrick established himself
at No. 4. Indeed, a volume might be written on the lives and adventures
of the tenants of the Adelphi or those associated with it--the hapless
Barry the painter; Dr Graham, the quack, and his “celestial bed”; Lady
Hamilton, who was his subject; Topham Beauclerk, the man about Town,
and Johnson’s friend; old Mrs. Garrick, who was there so lately as 1822;
with Mr. Blanchard, the amiable and popular _littérateur_ and dramatist,
who lately resided there. He declared that he was but “two shakes of the
hand” away from David. Lord Beaconsfield, it was believed, was born on
the terrace, though this is doubtful; while “Tommy” Hill, the friend of
Theodore Hook, and the Paul Pry of Poole, resided here. Mr. Attenborough
has long occupied the gracefully decorated houses that lead from the
Strand, and his books and records could unfold some strange stories of
adventure. And finally, to bring in “the potentiality of growing rich
beyond the dreams of avarice,” the great banking house of Coutts spreads
away in different directions over the quarter. Mr. H. Wheatley, who has
written much that is curious and interesting on the Adelphi, tells us
the history of the bank:--
“It is not known when the business was removed to the Strand, or the
exact locality to which it was so removed, but the house is described as
The Three Crowns, next the Globe Tavern, and it is believed that John
Campbell, the founder of the bank, was there in 1692. Campbell was
succeeded by Middleton, who was succeeded by George Campbell. The firm
was then known for a time as Campbell and Bruce; from 1751 to 1755
George Campbell was sole partner. At the latter date James Coutts, who
married a niece of George Campbell, was taken into partnership, and the
firm became Campbell and Coutts. In 1760, James Coutts, the sole
partner, took his brother Thomas into partnership. He died in 1778, and
the sole charge of the bank devolved upon Thomas Coutts, and from that
time to this the style of the famous house has been Coutts & Co.
“Although the houses built on the site of the New Exchange were not old
when the Adelphi was planned out, the Brothers Adam, who were known to
Coutts, were employed to build a new house. This they did with a
slightly architectural elevation, the symmetry of which has been
somewhat injured by alterations of late years. In the house built by the
Adams, Thomas Coutts lived for many years, and his dining-room and
drawing-room, with their handsome marble chimney-pieces and fine
mahogany doors, are still unoccupied. When Lord Macartney was on his
embassy to China, he sent over some Chinese wall-paper to Coutts, which
was hung on the walls of one of these rooms, and there it still is.”
Garrick, when he came to London and set up with his brother as a wine
merchant, opened their small place of business near here, perhaps where
Durham Street now stands. Towards the end of his life, after an interval
of nearly forty years, he returned to this humble spot to inhabit a
stately mansion on the terrace. We can see now the imposing and floridly
painted ceiling, and admire the spaciousness and grace of the
apartments. These houses are all well designed, the rooms of noble
proportions--particularly the drawing-rooms. They have a unique feature
of a basement in two stories, and you seem to descend into the bowels of
the earth. Now they are given up to offices and public purposes, but
when richly furnished, decorated, and inhabited by persons in Garrick’s
position, the effect must have been admirable. Once after a dinner-party
on a summer’s eve, the company adjourned to the noble terrace, looking
down at the shipping and the bridges, and Boswell, who was
present, describes the scene. It is curious that the brothers
should--unconsciously, no doubt--have renewed the old family street
names of one hundred years before. Just as they found streets named
after George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham--so they christened their
work, as we can see, Robert, John, William, James, and Adam. “Off” Alley
not long ago ran between Buckingham and Villiers Streets--but the name
has been changed of late years.
Still, the wonderful work underground almost excites more interest and
astonishment than what is on the surface. The busy passers-by in the
Strand will note a huge yawning archway at the bottom of a short
inclined street which leads into these catacombs. The work is of a
massive cast, the arches being regularly groined in Gothic fashion. Mr.
Wheatley, who has explored them, tells us: “The arches below form one of
the most remarkable sights in London, but it is a sight that only a few
are privileged to see. I have wandered through these arches with wonder,
under the obliging guidance of the custodians. Below you there is a very
town, much of it filled with bottles of old vintages. The arches were
many of them open for years, and formed subterranean streets leading to
the wharves on the Thames. They were constructed (as stated on an old
engraving) so as to keep the access to the houses level with the Strand,
and distinct from the traffic of the wharves and warehouses. They extend
under the whole Adelphi, including Adam Street, from York Buildings, and
were also carried under the additional buildings at the end of Salisbury
Street. In many places there are double tiers of arches. Some twenty
years ago the Dark Arches had a bad name on account of the desperate
characters who congregated there and hid themselves away in the
innermost recesses, but at last the place was cleared out, and the
greater portion of it closed in. The extensive cellarage of Messrs.
Tod-Heatly gives evidence of the former state, for one of the alleys is
styled Jenny’s Hole--and the arch above was known as the Devil’s Bridge.
The disgraceful condition of the arches could not have existed for any
length of time, as, some forty years ago, the place was well cared for
by the wharfingers, and at nine o’clock at night a gun gave a signal for
the gates to be closed.”
One of the most singular incidents in this stupendous undertaking is the
short lease which was given and accepted. The result was that it expired
in the year 1867, and the whole fee, with streets, houses, etc., passed
into the hands of Messrs. Drummond. This was a fine property to gain in
such a way. It was, however, rather dilapidated, and there were signs
of sinking in the terrace or of failure in some of the arches, but this
proved to be merely a trifling matter. The whole was thoroughly repaired
and restored. Unfortunately it was thought proper to plaster over the
façade of the terrace, which destroyed the graceful arabesques, which
are, however, left on the flanking houses behind; though Walpole
humorously declared that the embroidered pilasters reminded him of
“warehouses laced down the seams, like a trull in a soldier’s old coat.”
Among their other plans the brothers did not forget a chapel. This was
built at the corner of James and William Street, which the bankers,
however, soon absorbed into their premises. To join this, however, a
covered bridge was necessary, for which the firm had to obtain an Act of
Parliament. The old banker “did not wish,” says Mr. Wheatley, “the view
from his drawingroom window to be spoiled,” so he built a low house in
John Street, and arranged with the Adams that the opening, now Robert
Street, should be opposite this, so as to form a frame for his
landscape.
Every one knows the “Adam” work--the long pilasters and medallions on a
brick background, each enriched with arabesques and garlands of a
delicate character. They sought, too, the beauties of proportion and
space, regulated by principle and calculation. In many an old house we
recognize their ceilings; a great circle in the centre, filled in with
tracery in very low relief. Their designs have been published, and
display fancy and variety. Portland Place and its stately mansions, with
their broad surfaces of brick, have a certain dignity; but
the houses have been sadly disfigured by additions. The pleasing
old-fashioned-looking Fitzroy Square seems like a bit of Bath. The
brothers are said to have been the first, in London at least, who
attacked the difficult problem of imparting to a number of detached
mansions the air of being portions of one whole, which in architecture
is a deception most intolerable and not to be endured. For there is a
perpetual struggle of assertion between the two principles going on--the
separate houses making protest, as it were, by their individuality
against being considered one great expression--while the long façade in
its turn contradicts and overpowers the individuality. There are also
some Adam houses in York Place, easily recognizable. Finsbury Square is
their work, though Finsbury Circus staggers one. There is a terrible
monotony in the place, though the line of the circus is graceful. It was
probably a “job” akin to a painter’s “potboiler,” and to be done
cheaply. It is to be suspected that Gwydir House, in Whitehall, which
has been defaced by alterations, was their work. Plaster and delicate
stucco-work--the patterns apparently taken from arabesque work--light
garlands and vases wrought in very slight relief, these were all
combined with yellow brickwork. Ceilings, chimney-pieces, furniture,
carriages, garde-vins, plate-boxes, were also designed by the brothers
on these principles.
Some of the most imposing and effective work of the architects is to be
seen at Sion House, Isleworth. The great library displays all the
resources of the school in the way of bold treatment with beautiful,
elaborate work, garlands, Cupids, pilasters, embroidered in low relief.
The chimney-pieces, ceilings, and all display this elegance and charming
variety. It may be mentioned in proof of the elaborate study and pains
devoted to their profession by these brothers, that in the Soane Museum
all their minutely elaborate designs are to be seen. But would we have a
really good idea of the brothers’ work, let us set out for Oxford
Street, and pause in front of Stratford Place. Here we see a perfect
architectural arrangement--the two terraces stretching down, the ends
turning into Oxford Street, forming ornamental flanks, while the end is
closed by a graceful classical mansion rising in the air with its
pediment and pillars. The eye rests on it with comfort and satisfaction,
and we admire the perfect ease and proportion of the lines. We turn and
go our way, having gained a sense of general refinement. It should be
recollected that the work of the brothers has not received fair
treatment. Their idea was a combination of stone with yellow brick, and
their two tints were intended to harmonize. In almost every instance the
stone pilasters have been painted over, which gives a hard, artificial
effect--the loftiness as well as the divisions of the stone are lost;
the brickwork, too, has been coloured, and so the intention of the
architects has been lost. In Mansfield Street, which lies westward of
Portland Place, there is a broad, stately mansion, with spacious, lofty
chambers, a goodly specimen of the nobleman’s house. It is worth looking
at, for the attempt to “spiritualize” the stables by adorning them with
Adam crescents and decorations. Horace Walpole noted in his copy of
Pennant that this house was built on the model of a French Hôtel. Close
to it are some highly elaborated bride-cake doorways in the best Adam
style.
The screen that runs in front of the Admiralty, in Whitehall, was also
the work of the brothers, and there is a little history connected with
it. The hideous portico within is said to be constructed in defiance of
all laws of proportion or architectural decorum. The pillars were, in
fact, intended for a much larger edifice, and were found “handy” by “my
lords” for this building. They, however, presented such an odd spectacle
that the Messrs. Adam were called in, and devised the screen in front.
The passer-by may now deem it singular that this structure should have
been hailed with delight as a beautiful and classical work; it was
engraved, and even in architectural books high praise has been given to
it for its “chasteness” and perfect adaptation to the purpose intended.
This has often been a puzzle to persons of taste; for there is a
curiously dilapidated air, a sort of ramshackle look, which seems to
exclude it from such a category. The present writer one day found out
the reason of this failure. It had been mauled and altered, and with
completest success so far as the destruction of the motive and purpose
of its erection. As it originally stood it was a screen with a central
arched entrance, on each side of which were two short recessed
colonnades, which made an agreeable and original break in what would
otherwise have been a blank wall. But the spoilers came presently. The
First Lord desired to have one gate to enter by, another to drive out
when crowded parties were given. Two such were accordingly broken in the
colonnades to the right and left. The centre arch became useless, the
whole ceased to exist as a screen, and, pierced with so many openings,
lost all character. Few mutilations have been so characteristic and
ignorant.
At every turn in London the amateur of Adam work will find abundant
evidence of their taste. In Berkeley Square there is Lansdowne House,
built after a favourite Adam pattern. Even the gate and walls show the
same grace and proportion, and the elegance of the little ornament on
each pillar will attract observation. In Harewood Place there is a fine
Adam house, and a few in Dover Street.
Buckingham Street is another of the quaint, bright streets in the
Adelphi, leading down to a cheerful opening, whence, as from a balcony,
we look down on the animated Thames below, with its passing barges, tugs
and river steamers: a scene which at first sight must impress the
foreigner.
Here is the sequestered little mall, with its dozen trees, once a
charming little promenade when the river ran beside it. This scene has
been painted by Canaletti, and there are old engravings from the
picture, representing promenaders in the costume of the day. The river,
covered with ships and wherries, washes the walls; the old trees display
their luxuriant foliage: but they are now stunted and decayed, and the
whole has a dingy, forlorn aspect. It was once one of the gayest,
brightest spots in London. For at the end stands the famous and much
admired water-gate, or York Stairs, as it was called: it could be seen
from the Strand, and persons eager to go on the water, hurried down here
to embark. Owing to the construction of the Embankment, the gate has
lost all meaning and purpose to an almost ludicrous extent. Instead of
the water washing the steps, as it did not many years ago, the gate is
sunk down, all awry, in a pit, and the ground is raised high about it.
It is a pity that a little public spirit is not forthcoming to shift it
again to the water’s edge, its proper position. Unhappily the monument
is in a sadly decayed condition--all the square edgings worn round and
smooth, and the sculptures almost obliterated--so, abundant restoration
would have to attend the removal.
This interesting approach from the Strand has yet more associations to
increase its value. We note the remains of former state and dignity, at
the bottom of the street. On the left hand is a remarkable house of some
antiquity, which, as one of the useful medallions of the Society of Arts
tells
[Illustration: THE WATER GATE.]
us, was occupied by the Czar Peter on his visit to London. Its various
chambers are now given over to the Charity Organisation Society, to a
maternity association, etc.; but on going up the stairs we see palpable
vestiges of the magnificence of the place, which must have had some
connection with old York House. For we find ourselves in a spacious and
imposing drawing-room, of which the entire walls are oak as well as the
flooring, while the two elegant doorways are embroidered round with a
rich carved flowering border. But it is the unique ceiling that will
excite admiration, consisting of a thick wheel-like border, filled in
with the boldest and richest stucco-work, presenting solidly wrought
roses and leaves. This encircles a painted allegorical piece, but so
grimed with dirt that the subject cannot be clearly seen. It is but
little damaged. One could fancy this room restored and furnished, and
the rude Muscovite seated in congenial proximity to his favourite river.
The side of the house that looks over the Embankment, though covered
with whitewash, displays a tall elegant central window of a decorated
kind, showing that the whole must in its best days have been of a
spacious and imposing character. The view from this window, as indeed it
is from all these corner houses giving on the river, is charming. On the
opposite side of the street, a few doors higher up, is another old
mansion of some pretence--also given over to offices--and noteworthy for
the twenty or so grotesque heads, one of which is set over every window.
It is hard to account for this odd form of adornment, unless it came
with the Dutch. They are found in many quarters of London, some putting
their tongues out to the spectators, others crying, laughing, etc. This
mansion is believed to have been the one occupied by Mr. Secretary
Pepys, and so we look at it with interest.
But this does not exhaust the associations of the Adelphi. There we
lately saw the “house breakers” hard at work levelling what has some
very pathetic associations with the early life of Dickens. For many
generations now, a dilapidated miscellany of shanties has been visible
from the terrace; a shed, outhouses, a small mean-storied thing in the
last stage of decay, with an ancient cart or two lying up in ordinary.
Across the wall ran a faded half-effaced legend, in what were once gold
letters on a blue ground:--
+-------------------------+
| THE FOX-UNDER-THE-HILL. |
| HOARE & CO’S ENTIRE, |
| AND BRILLIANT ALES. |
+-------------------------+
It was hard to conceive of anything “brilliant” in such a place, save
the little half-starved boy employed at the blacking factory in
Hungerford Market, who used to make his way thither. “One of his
favourite localities,” says Mr. Forster, “was a little public-house by
the water-side called the Fox-under-the-Hill, approached by an
underground passage, which we once missed in looking for it together;
and he had a vision, which he has mentioned in ‘Copperfield,’ of sitting
eating something on a bench outside and looking at some coal-heavers
dancing.” This memorial has for years borne a dismal forlorn aspect,
very suggestive of this despairing season in Dickens’s childhood.
Within these few months, therefore, it was like losing a friend to find
the “brilliant ales” gone and the house all but levelled.
On the higher level of the terrace, facing the Strand, are some
gloomy-looking hotels, of many windows, “The Caledonian” and “The
Adelphi.” There is here the air of dingy old fashion, so well suited to
Pickwick, and we know that this Adelphi Hostelry is the “Osborne’s
Hotel,” where Wardle and his daughter Emily put up, and where the droll
scene occurred of Mr. Snodgrass being secreted during dinner--the fat
boy running “something sharp into Mr. Pickwick’s leg” to attract his
attention. As we look up at the first-floor windows the scene rises
before us, and the whole appears in harmony with the humours of
Pickwick. Most natural is it, too, that the Wardles should put up at
such a house, for the dingy furniture, etc., all seems to belong to that
era.
Here in the Adelphi we come upon a handsome building which houses the
useful Society of Arts, its energetic Secretary, Sir H. Trueman Wood,
and Librarian, Mr. Wheatley, so well skilled in London lore.
The story of the luckless Barry is most pathetic, and as we sit in the
fine meeting-room of the Society and look up at the painter’s crowds of
animated figures that line the walls, it comes back on us with a strange
vividness. He had something akin to the character and erratic temper of
Haydon, the same despairing sense of talent neglected and put aside; the
same struggle with the Academy, and a quarrelsome eccentricity. A
difference, however, between the two men was that Barry’s work on the
walls speaks for him and proclaims his fine academic culture, his grace
and poetry in the beautiful, well-designed figures and groups, and the
refined transparent colouring; with which we have to contrast the
heavily-painted, earthy-looking portraits of the Sovereign and her
Consort, which by some strange lack of congruity have been thrust into
this classical company. One can conceive, however, the difficulties of
dealing with a man who insisted on representing the death of Wolfe with
a number of perfectly nude figures standing round, and who in his latter
days of penury and neglect, when asked out to dine, insisted on
tendering two shillings to his host in payment of the meal! These fine
pictures cover a canvas that spreads round the room. To obtain the fame
and expanse of canvas allowed by such an undertaking, the artist offered
to do the whole work gratis; not, however, it may be supposed, that when
the work was done the Society left him without remuneration. As the
result proved, he was fairly well paid for his labours. The variety, the
fine workmanship displayed, the grace of the figures, are extraordinary
when we consider it was the work of one man.
Having thus concluded our exploration of the Adelphi, we may fairly ask
the Londoner who passes through the Strand a dozen times in the day,
could he be prepared to find so much that is novel in this familiar
district?
[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE ROMAN BATH.]