CLUBS OF ST. JAMES’S STREET—BOODLE’S, ARTHUR’S, AND WHITE’S
The original clubland of the West End was St. James’s Street, where the
first clubs originated from coffee-houses. In this historic
thoroughfare—the “dear old Street of Clubs and Cribs,” as Frederick
Locker called it—most of the sociable institutions founded many decades
ago still flourish.
Such are White’s, Arthur’s, Brooks’s, the Cocoa-tree, and Boodle’s, the
latter of which, after passing through a crisis which came near closing
its doors for ever, now once again flourishes as of yore.
This club-house was built about 1765 by John Crunden, from the designs
of Adam, but between 1821 and 1824 certain alterations and additions
were carried out from the designs of John Papworth, an architect of that
day.
From an architectural point of view, Boodle’s is an admirable specimen
of the work of Robert Adam; its street façade possesses many fine
qualities, whilst the ironwork is of good design.
A year or two ago it was rumoured that, in order to comply with a clause
in the lease, an additional story was to be added to the building. Up to
the present time, however, to the gratification of all possessing the
slightest taste, no alteration has been made; and it is earnestly to be
hoped that in these days, when there is so much prating of culture and
love of art, such an act of vandalism (which it is understood the club
itself would bitterly deplore) will not be committed.
The saloon on the first-floor at Boodle’s has a very fine and stately
appearance, and opening out of it on each side are two little rooms. One
of these, according to tradition, was, in the days of high play,
occupied by a cashier who issued counters and occupied himself with
details connected with the game; the other was reserved for members
wishing to indulge in gaming undisturbed by the noise of the crowd which
thronged around the faro tables in the saloon. These tables, it is said,
are still in the club. Towards the middle of the last century, though
gaming had long ceased to take place in the saloon, there was a great
deal of high gambling in the card-room upstairs. As far as can be
ascertained, faro was once again played at that period.
Boodle’s in old days played a great part in fashionable West End life.
One of Gillray’s caricatures, entitled “A Standing Dish at Boodle’s,”
represents Sir Frank Standish sitting at a window of this club, which,
it may be added, was noted for the large number of Baronets who were
members. It was, indeed, said that anyone uttering the words, “Where is
Sir John?” in the club-house would immediately find himself surrounded
by a crowd of members.
Boodle’s, it should be added, has always been closely connected with
Shropshire, from which county its membership then, as now, was largely
recruited.
The club was originally called the Savoir Vivre, and at its inception
was noted for its costly gaieties; in 1774, for instance, its members
spent 2,000 guineas upon a ridotto or masquerade.
Gibbon was a member of Boodle’s, which, however, in the past, as to-day,
principally consisted of county gentlemen.
Up to comparatively recent years, before Boodle’s was reorganized, it
was managed, not by a committee, but by a species of secret tribunal,
the members of which were supposed to be unknown, though their duties
corresponded with those of an ordinary club committee. This conclave
conducted its proceedings with great secrecy, and its very existence was
only inferred from the fact that, at intervals varying from six months
to fifteen years, some printed notice appeared in the club rooms. Even
so, this generally affected only dogs or strangers, both of whom
old-fashioned members regarded with about equal dislike as unpleasant
intruders.
Most of these notices, signed “By order of the Managers,” quoted the
“custom of the house existing from time immemorial,” which, though
unwritten, was then the only approach to a code of laws for the conduct
of the club.
The old elections at Boodle’s were peculiar, being presided over by the
proprietor. Fifteen years ago or so, when Mr. Gayner, who then occupied
that position, was still alive, he would take his seat by the ballot-box
near the window in the back room on the ground-floor, whilst in the
adjoining front room opening off it were the members. When a candidate
was proposed, they walked across, and deposited black or white balls,
after which they retired again to the front room. After a short time,
Mr. Gayner would shout out “Elected” or “Not elected,” as the case might
be, the ceremonial being gone through separately for every candidate.
Wicked wags used to say that the proprietor never troubled to make a
scrutiny as to the number of the balls, no candidate whom he considered
suitable for the election ever being rejected, whilst an undesirable one
was certain to meet with an evil fate, even should there be no black
balls at all.
During Mr. Gayner’s reign, Boodle’s sustained a severe blow owing to the
retirement of the Duke of Beaufort and a number of other old members. On
certain evenings, according to a time-honoured custom, there was a
house-dinner, and members taking part in this had to put down their
names beforehand. The cost of wine, whether a man drank much or little,
was pooled, and equally divided between everyone, a usage which, while
it well suited some of the older men who belonged to a less temperate
age, pressed heavily upon those of a later generation, some of whom
scarcely drank anything at all. Resenting the injustice of this
exactment, by which they were made to pay for other people’s wine, some
of the latter remonstrated with Mr. Gayner, and demanded that a more
equitable arrangement should be made. The latter, realizing that such a
protest was legitimate, then promised that matters should be set right,
and to that end spoke to the Duke of Beaufort. The Duke replied that,
whilst such a remonstrance might be just, he could not assent to any
change without the concurrence of the older members of the club who were
in the habit of dining. The majority of these, not unnaturally perhaps,
energetically protested against any alteration in an old custom, which,
as they quite truthfully declared, had always suited them very well. The
Duke then informed Mr. Gayner that if any change were made he and these
members would leave the club. Mr. Gayner, however, stood firm, saying he
had given his promise and must keep it, in consequence of which the
Duke, and the “old guard” with him, carried out their threat, and left
Boodle’s for ever.
Mr. Gayner carried on the club on very liberal lines, and members were
allowed extraordinary credit. They could cash cheques for any amount,
for Gayner made a practice of keeping a very large sum of money in his
safe. This, it is said, often contained as much as two or three thousand
pounds, always in new notes.
At the time of Mr. Gayner’s death, he was supposed to have been owed
over £10,000 by certain members of the club. He appears to have regarded
this as a sort of friendly charge, for a special clause in his will
stated that no member of Boodle’s was to be asked for money. The
best-natured of men, Mr. Gayner frequently assisted members who were in
financial difficulties. One of these, a young fellow who had recently
joined the club, asked him whether he could indicate any means of
raising £500, as he had debts to that amount which demanded immediate
payment. “I can’t think of allowing you to go to the Jews,” said Mr.
Gayner; “come with me to my room, and I’ll put that all right.” Arrived
in his sanctum, he produced notes for the required amount, and handed
them to the young man, telling him he might settle the debt any time he
liked.
After the death of Mr. Gayner, and of his sister, who succeeded him, it
seemed at one time as if Boodle’s might cease to exist. At a critical
moment in the club’s history, however, certain members stepped forward,
and a complete reorganization was the result. The list of members was
thoroughly sifted, and a most capable secretary, who still presides over
the club’s fortunes, assumed control.
Some alterations were made in the interior of the building, but care was
taken to leave unimpaired the old-world charm of the house, which, from
an architectural point of view, possesses much merit.
The fine saloon, which, as has been said, was originally a
gambling-room, was thoroughly restored and made into a comfortable
lounge; it is a spacious and well-proportioned room, and contains a
finely-designed mantelpiece and a very ornamental chandelier, the latter
purchased after the reorganization. Except for some handsome inkstands
and a few accessories which are of good design and execution, there are
few works of art in this club, the hunting pictures on the staircase
being of no particular value. Boodle’s appears once to have possessed
portraits of Charles James Fox and the Duke of Devonshire, but these
have now disappeared.
The furniture and general appearance of the club is essentially English,
and it is pleasant to observe that the air of old-world comfort for
which Boodle’s has always been noted remains unimpaired.
A curious feature of Boodle’s is that the billiard-room is upstairs, a
somewhat inconvenient arrangement not infrequent in clubs founded in
past days.
It should be added that a rule enforcing the wearing of evening dress by
members dining in the coffee-room still remains in force; but a smaller
apartment is set aside for those who for any reason do not find it
convenient to change their day clothes.
Arthur’s Club, in St. James’s Street, was the original abode of White’s,
which occupied it from 1698 to 1755, since which date the house has, of
course, undergone a good deal of change. In the eighteenth century,
owing to the association of a Mr. Arthur with the management of White’s,
the latter club was frequently spoken of as Arthur’s; this naturally
originated an idea that the two clubs were at one time connected, but
such in reality was never the case, the presumed parent of Arthur’s
having been a coffee-house of that name.
The records of Arthur’s Club as at present constituted are,
unfortunately, somewhat scanty. It would appear, however, that after the
migration of White’s in 1755 another club was formed at 69 St. James’s
Street, and that it took the name of Arthur’s, which it still retains.
In its present form the club-house was built by Mr. Hopper in 1825,
though probably a certain portion of the original coffee-house, erected
in 1736, was incorporated in the new building. A room on the
ground-floor (at the back of the house) is said to have been the
gaming-room of White’s Club during its tenure of the premises up to
1755; but if this is the case the decorative frieze and ceiling must
have been added later, as in style they belong to the nineteenth
century. During the rebuilding of 1825 everything seems to have been
sacrificed to the staircase, which now occupies the very large hall,
crowned by an elaborately-designed dome. There are, however, some
handsome rooms, notably the library, in which is an eighteenth-century
English sideboard of admirable design. In this and other rooms there is
a good deal of the heavy, solid mahogany furniture so popular about
seventy or eighty years ago. The examples in Arthur’s Club are certainly
the best of their kind, and are well in keeping with the design of the
house. There are very few pictures or engravings here—a print or two of
Arthur’s as it was in old days, a few portraits of members, and an
oil-painting of the late Sir John Astley (known as “the Mate”) are about
all.
Arthur’s possesses a quantity of very fine silver plate, some of which
dates from the eighteenth century.
This club still maintains some of the restrictions as regards smoking
which were so general in the clubs of other days, no smoking being
allowed in the library or morning-room. There are, however, ample
facilities for indulgence in tobacco in other parts of the house—notably
in the hall, where a very pleasant lounge has recently been contrived.
Only recently has the regulation which prohibited visitors from being
admitted to dinner here been repealed. A room on the ground-floor (the
one reputed to have been the old gambling-room of White’s) is now set
aside as a dining-room for those privileged to be the guests of a member
of this very charming club. There is no tradition at Arthur’s of high
play at hazard, but whist was once very popular. “Sheep points and
bullocks” on the rubber were, it is said, quite common in the days when
so many country gentlemen were members.
Arthur’s, it should be added, has always been a very popular club with
Wiltshire men, and its close connection with that county is still
maintained.
As has been said, the chocolate-house in St. James’s Street, started by
Francis White in 1697, seems to have stood on the site of part of what
is now Arthur’s Club. John Arthur at this time was White’s assistant.
Here White carried on business till he died in 1711. His widow continued
to prosper as proprietress of the house, which became the centre of the
fashionable life of the day, and the place from which its amusements
were directed. Advertisements in the papers show that “Mrs. White’s
Chocolate-House, in St. James’s Street,” was the place of distribution
of tickets for all the fashionable amusements of the early years of the
eighteenth century. Opera was being produced at the Haymarket, and the
announcement of the performance of each new piece is accompanied by the
notice that tickets are to be obtained at Mrs. White’s. A little later,
Heidegger was taking the town by storm with his masquerades, ridottos,
and balls. He was quick to see that Mrs. White’s was an advantageous
ground from which to reach his patrons of the aristocracy. He
accordingly issued his admissions for these entertainments from White’s,
and requested those who were not using them to return them there, in
order to prevent their falling into bad hands, and so spoiling the
select character of his assemblies.
John James Heidegger was a clever Swiss who, after leading a Bohemian
life all over Europe, had come to London, where he had for a time
co-operated with Handel in producing opera. His celebrity was chiefly
due to a remarkable ability for organizing masquerades.
He was a very ugly man, and knew it. Consequently he would not have his
portrait painted. The Duke of Montagu, however, determined to obtain a
likeness, in order to play a trick at a masquerade.
The Duke induced the Swiss Count, as he was called, to make one of a
select party, which (very appropriately) met to dine at the Devil
Tavern. The rest of the company, all chosen for their powers of hard
drinking, were in the plot, and a few hours after dinner Heidegger was
carried out of the room dead drunk. A daughter of Mrs. Salmon, the
waxwork-maker, was sent for, and took a mould from the unconscious man’s
face, from which she was ordered to make a cast in wax, and colour it to
nature. The King, who was a party to the joke, was to be present, with
the Countess of Yarmouth, at the next of Heidegger’s masquerades. The
Duke in the mean time bribed his valet to get all the information as to
the clothes the Swiss was to wear on the occasion, procured a man of
Heidegger’s figure, and, with the help of the mask, made him up into a
duplicate master of the revels.
When the King arrived with the Countess and was seated, Heidegger, as
was usual, gave the signal to the musicians in the gallery to play the
National Anthem. As soon, however, as his back was turned, the sham
Heidegger appeared, and ordered them to play “Over the Water to
Charlie,” the Jacobite song, and the most insulting and treasonable
piece that could have been chosen to perform in the presence of royalty.
The whole room was at once thrown into confusion. Heidegger rushed into
the gallery, raved, stamped, and swore, and accused the band of
conspiring to ruin him. The bewildered musicians at once altered the
tune to “God Save the King.” Heidegger then left the gallery to make
some arrangements in one of the smaller rooms.
As soon as he disappeared, the sham Heidegger again came forward, this
time in the middle of the main room, in front of the gallery, and,
imitating Heidegger’s voice, damned the leader of the band for a
blockhead, and asked if he had not told him to play “Over the Water” a
minute before. The bandmaster, thinking Heidegger mad or drunk, lost his
head, and ordered his men to strike up the Jacobite air a second time.
This was the signal for a confusion worse than before. There was great
excitement and fainting of women, and the officers of the Guards who
were present were only prevented from kicking Heidegger out of the house
by the Duke of Cumberland, who was in the secret. Heidegger rushed back
to the theatre, and was met by the Duke of Montagu, who told him that he
had deeply offended the King, and that the best thing he could do was to
go at once to His Majesty and ask pardon for the behaviour of his men.
Heidegger accordingly approached the King, who, with the Countess, could
barely keep his countenance, and made an abject apology. He was in the
act of bowing to retire, when he heard his own voice behind him say:
“Indeed, Sire, it was not my fault, but that devil’s in my likeness!” He
turned round, and for the first time saw his double, staggered, and was
speechless. The Duke now saw that the joke had gone far enough, and
whispered an explanation of the whole affair. Heidegger recovered
himself and the masquerade went on, but he swore he would never attend
another until “that witch the wax-woman was made to break the mould and
melt down the mask” before his face.
Hogarth’s plate, “Heidegger in a Rage,” was suggested by this story.
Heidegger, it may be added, remained popular with the fashionable world
up to his death. He lived at Barn Elms, where the King honoured him with
a visit. He bore the reputation of great charity, and died in 1749,
“immensely lamented,” aged near ninety.
That White’s Club was a great success from the very first is shown from
the old rate-books, where the prosperity of Mrs. White, the
proprietress, is reflected. The entries give us three degrees of
comparison: At White’s death, positive, “Widow White”; later,
comparative, “Mrs. White”; later still, superlative, “Madam White.” The
Bumble of the period was evidently impressed by her prosperity, and by
the fine company which met at her house.
Madam White’s, indeed, was never an ordinary coffee-house, a proof of
which is that the usual charge of a penny made for entrance into such
places appears to have been increased. In earlier days, when it was a
chocolate-house, Steele (though he never became a member of the club)
was a constant frequenter, for in 1716 he lived opposite. In the first
number of the _Tatler_, published in 1709, he informs his readers that
“all accounts of gallantry, pleasure, and entertainment shall be under
the article of White’s Chocolate House,” while Will’s was to supply the
poetry, and the Grecian the learning. We find, accordingly, many of the
early numbers of the _Tatler_ dated from White’s.
Madam White continued at the chocolate-house until some time between
1725 and 1729 (the exact year is uncertain, as the rate-books for those
years are missing), and she probably left the place with a fortune.
At Mrs. White’s demise, Arthur became proprietor, and largely added to
the premises. These were burnt down in 1733, when he removed to Gaunt’s
Coffee-house till White’s had been rebuilt. His son, Robert Arthur,
appears as proprietor of the new house in 1736.
During Robert Arthur’s life the most fashionable frequenters of his
chocolate-house became more and more exclusive, and the proprietor soon
found that catering for its members, all men of means and leisure, was
the chief part of his business, and more lucrative than the custom of
the general public. His interests, of course, lay in the direction of
meeting the wishes of his patrons, and in consequence of this members of
the public were eventually excluded. White’s Chocolate-house was thus
transformed into the private and exclusive society since known as
“White’s.”
Though White’s was at this time reputed to be very exclusive, and
although certain qualifications were indispensable, some of the members
were drawn from a quite unaristocratic class.
In Davies’s “Life of Garrick” is the following curious reference to
Colley Cibber as a member of White’s: “Colley, we are told, had the
honour to be a member of the great club at White’s; and so I suppose
might any other man who wore good clothes, and paid his money when he
lost it. But on what terms did Cibber live with this society? Why, he
feasted most sumptuously, as I have heard his friend Victor say, with an
air of triumphant exultation, with Mr. Arthur and his wife, and gave a
trifle for his dinner. After he had dined, when the club-room door was
opened, and the Laureate was introduced, he was saluted with loud and
joyous acclamation of ‘O King Coll! Come in, King Coll!’ and ‘Welcome,
welcome. King Colley!’ and this kind of gratulation, Mr. Victor thought,
was very gracious and very honourable.”
The present White’s Club dates from 1755, in which year Robert Arthur
removed with the Young and Old Clubs which had met at his house—350
members in all—to the “Great House” in St. James’s Street, which, though
much altered, is still White’s. He had purchased this building from Sir
Whistler Webster. One of its earlier occupants had been the Countess of
Northumberland, whom Walpole mentions as one of the last to practise the
unmaimed rites of the old peerage. “When she went out,” says he, “a
footman, bareheaded, walked on each side of her coach, and a second
coach with her women attended her. I think, too, that Lady Suffolk told
me that her granddaughter-in-law, the Duchess of Somerset, never sat
down before her without her leave to do so.”
In course of time the management of the club came into the hands of
Martindale, a man whose name was connected with high play, of which he
frequently figured as an organizer.
The house now began to have something of the organization which prevails
in modern clubs.
About 1780, for instance, there was a regular club dinner at White’s,
when Parliament was sitting, at 12s. a head. In 1797 the charge for this
had fallen to 10s. 6d. Hot suppers were provided at 8s., and lighter
refreshments, with malt liquors, at 4s. At that time one of the rules
decreed “that Every Member who plays at Chess, Draughts, or Backgammon
do pay One Shilling each time of playing by daylight, and half-a-crown
each by candlelight.”
George Raggett, who succeeded Martindale as manager of White’s, was
quite a character in his way. He understood how to get on with gambling
members, and owned the Roxburgh Club in St. James’s Square, where whist
was played for high stakes. Here, on one occasion, Hervey Combe, Tippoo
Smith, Ward, and Sir John Malcolm sat down on a Monday evening, played
through the night, through the following Tuesday and Tuesday night, and
finally separated at eleven on Wednesday morning. It is interesting to
notice that the separation took place then only because Mr. Combe had to
attend a funeral. That gentleman rose a winner of £30,000 from Sir John
Malcolm.
Before leaving the club, Combe pulled out of his pocket a handful of
counters, amounting to several hundred pounds, over and above the thirty
thousand he had won from the Baronet, and gave them to Raggett, saying:
“I give them to you for sitting so long with us, and providing us with
all we required.” It was the practice of the astute Raggett to attend
his patrons personally whenever there was high play going on. “I make it
a rule never to allow any of my servants to be present when gentlemen
play at my clubs,” said he; “for it is my invariable custom to sweep the
carpet after the gambling is over, and I generally find on the floor a
few counters, which pays me for my trouble of sitting up.” This practice
made his fortune.
As time went on, the club-house of White’s underwent considerable
alteration. In 1811, for instance, it was resolved to remove the
entrance by converting the second window from the bottom of the house
into a door, and to enlarge the morning-room by taking in the old
entrance hall. This gave room for an additional window. The old doorway
was utilized for this purpose, and the famous “Bow-Window at White’s”
was built out over the entrance steps, which may still be seen
supporting it.
[Illustration:
WHITE’S CLUB PREVIOUS TO 1811.
]
Directly this window was made, Brummell, then in the heyday of his
fashionable prosperity, took possession of it, and, together with his
followers, made it a very shrine of fashion and an institution of West
End club-life. At that time only a select few dared to sit in it; an
ordinary member of the club would as soon have thought of taking his
seat on the throne in the House of Lords as of appropriating one of the
chairs in the bow-window. Nice questions of etiquette arose in
connection with the bow-window, and were duly discussed and settled. Its
occupants were so much in evidence to the outside world in St. James’s
Street that ladies of their acquaintance could not fail to recognize
them in passing. It was decided, after anxious discussion, that no
greeting should pass from the bow-window or from any window in the club.
As a consequence, the hats of the dandies were doffed to no passers-by.
Not a few of the old school resented monopoly of the famous window by
Brummell and Lord Alvanley. “Damn the fellows!” said old Colonel
Sebright; “they are upstarts, and fit only for the society of tailors.”
Brummell made amusing use of his connection with the club. He was
reproached by an angry father whose son had gone astray in the Beau’s
company. “Really, I did all I could for the young fellow,” said he; “I
once gave him my arm all the way from White’s to Watier’s.” Later, when
he was coming to the end of his means and of his career in England, some
of his friends who had assisted him with loans became importunate. One
of these pressed him for the repayment of £500. “I paid you,” said the
Beau. “Paid me! When, pray?” “Why, when I was standing at the window at
White’s, and said as you passed, ‘How d’you do!’”
About 1814 Brummell played much and unsuccessfully at White’s. One
night—the fifth of a most relentless run of ill-luck—his friend
Pemberton Mills heard him exclaim that he had lost every shilling, and
only wished someone would bind him never to play again. “I will,” said
Mills, and, taking out a ten-pound note, he offered it to Brummell on
condition that he should forfeit a thousand if he played at White’s
within a month from that evening. The Beau took it, and for a few days
discontinued coming to the club; but about a fortnight after, Mills,
happening to go in, found him gambling again. Of course the thousand
pounds were forfeited; but his friend, instead of claiming them merely
went up to him, and, touching him gently on the shoulder, said: “Well,
Brummell, you might at least give me back the ten pounds you had the
other evening.”
After Brummell’s day was over, Lord Alvanley (a coloured print of whom
as “The Man from White’s” still hangs in the club) became the chief of
the bow-window party. Most of this nobleman’s time seems to have been
spent in endeavouring to get rid of a large fortune, the inheritance of
which had caused him to leave the Coldstream Guards, in which he had
served with distinction in the Peninsular War. Lord Alvanley was the
most noted bon-vivant of his day, and was utterly regardless of what his
dinners cost. One of his fancies was to have a cold apricot tart on his
sideboard every day throughout the year. Another instance of his
prodigality was the payment of 200 guineas to Gunter for a
luncheon-basket, which by an oversight had been forgotten in arranging a
day’s boating on the Thames—a costly picnic indeed!
On one occasion Lord Alvanley organized a dinner at White’s, at which it
was agreed that whoever could produce the most expensive dish should
dine for nothing. The winner was the organizer, whose dish was a
fricassée composed entirely of the _noix_, or small pieces at each side
of the back, taken from thirteen kinds of birds, among them being one
hundred snipe, forty woodcocks, twenty pheasants, and so on, the total
amounting to about three hundred birds. The cost of the ridiculous dish
amounted to £108 5s.
This extravagant and eccentric peer, who, it was said, never paid cash
for anything, was once asked by the sarcastic Colonel Armstrong, who
knew of this failing, what he had given for a fine horse he was riding.
“Nothing,” said his lordship; “I owe Milton 200 guineas for him.”
Another failing of Lord Alvanley’s caused his friends at country-houses
some anxiety. He always read in bed, and would never blow out his
candle, his method of extinguishing that light being usually to fling it
into the middle of the room; if this was ineffectual, he would throw a
pillow at it. Sometimes he would vary the proceedings by putting the
burning candle bodily under his bolster.
Another frequenter of the bow-window was Lord Allen, who became such a
confirmed lover of London that, during the latter part of his life, it
was said his only walk was from White’s to Crockford’s, over the way and
back again. It was also said that he was so accustomed to the roar of
the London traffic, that to get him to sleep at Dover, where he was
visiting Lord Alvanley, that nobleman hired a hackney coach to drive in
front of his window at the inn all night, and sent out the boots at
proper intervals to call the time and the weather, like the London
watchmen.
Lord Allen was a man of very moderate means, and eked out his income by
dining out as much as possible. An incivil remark at dinner to an old
lady caused her to say: “My lord, your title must be as good as board
wages to you!”
Lord Allen was generally known as “King Allen.” In course of time, as a
result of his lounging life about town, he lost most of his not very
abundant money, when he withdrew to Dublin, where, in Merrion Square, he
slept behind a large brass plate with “Viscount Allen” upon it, which
verified the old lady’s remark; for it was as good to him as a regular
income, and brought endless invitations from people eager to feed a
Viscount at any hour of the day or night.
Many distinguished men have belonged to White’s, and many more have
tried to do so. Louis Napoleon, during his exile in London, is said much
to have desired to be a member of White’s, but his wish was never
gratified.
Count d’Orsay, who drew the portraits of many of his contemporaries,
some of whom were members of this club (lithographs of which portraits
hang in the morning-room), made several attempts to secure election, but
without success. As he was very popular amongst the men of his day, it
was probably merely the fact of his being a foreigner which kept him
out.
Though the shell of Sir Whistler Webster’s “Great House” still exists at
White’s, many structural alterations have been made from time to time.
The most notable of these was undertaken in 1850, when Raggett, the then
proprietor, entrusted to Mr. Lockyer the work of remodelling the façade
of the old club-house. Four bas-reliefs, designed by Mr. George Scharf,
jun., representing the four seasons, were, under Lockyer’s direction,
inserted in the place of four sash-windows. At this period the old
balcony rails would seem to have been moved, and the present elaborate
cast-iron work substituted—a very doubtful improvement. The interior of
the club-house was also then redecorated by the firm of Morant, and
Victorian mantelpieces were introduced into some of the rooms. In all
probability these alterations, carried out at a period when taste was at
a low ebb, robbed White’s of much which the more enlightened taste of
to-day would have wished preserved.
The management of White’s by Henry Raggett only ended at his death in
1859. He was the last of the proprietors of the club who were also the
owners of the freehold of the club building.
Raggett was succeeded as manager by Percival, who continued in this
position till his death in 1882. The Misses Raggett, sisters of the late
proprietor, still owned the club-house, and consequently a certain
feeling of insecurity prevailed as to the future of the club. In 1868 a
proposal was made that the building should be purchased from the Misses
Raggett by the members; but it was found that the property was in
Chancery, and that nothing could be done. The club, still feeling
unsettled, decided to form a fund to provide against eventualities
connected with the tenure of the house. This they accomplished by
raising the entrance fee to nineteen guineas, ten of which were devoted
to the purpose, and placed in the hands of trustees.
Lord Hartington reported, in 1870, that he had at last induced the
trustees of the Raggetts to name a price for the sale of the club
building. This was fixed at £60,000. He reported at the same time that
Percival held an unexpired lease of ten years at a rental of £2,100. The
club very naturally refused to entertain the idea of purchase at any
such figure. A reduced offer of £50,000, made a month later, they also
refused.
A year afterwards the place was sold by auction. With a view to
purchase, members of White’s had subscribed for debentures to the amount
of £16,000. At the auction, the representative of the club bid £38,000
for the property, but it was bought by Mr. Eaton, M.P., afterwards Lord
Cheylesmore, for £46,000.
After some fruitless negotiations in 1877, when the number of members
had been increased to 600, Percival, negotiating on his own account with
Mr. Eaton, announced that he had obtained a new lease of thirty years,
from 1881, at a rent of £3,000 a year. In 1882 Mr. Percival died. The
management of White’s then passed to his son, as representative of Mrs.
Percival, the widow.
In 1888 matters arrived at a crisis. Mrs. Percival announced her
intention of terminating her lease with Lord Cheylesmore, and it was
proposed by the committee to grant her a sum of £1,200 in consideration
of her carrying on the club business until the end of the year. There
were various meetings at which the proposal was discussed, and much was
said on both sides. Eventually it was carried, and negotiations were
entered into with two members of the club who had expressed themselves
willing to take over the management. In July of 1888 the management of
the Percivals came to an end by the signing of an agreement for the
future conduct of White’s by a member of the club, Mr. Algernon Bourke.
Under his management White’s resumed its youth, and was again invested
with an air of sprightly insouciance, which in latter years had been
conspicuous by its absence. Drastic structural alterations, carried out
under the direction of Mr. Bourke, much improved the convenience of the
building. The courtyard, where was an old Well from which, up to quite
recent years, the water used in the club was drawn, was roofed over and
converted into a spacious billiard-room, and the large front room was
converted into a dining-room, certain alterations being made in the
apartment behind previously used for that purpose.
Within the last two years some further alterations of a very judicious
nature have been carried out in the club-house. An upper story
containing servants’ bedrooms has been added, but this has scarcely
altered the appearance of the house, and the façade remains practically
the same as it has been for the last fifty-seven years.
Portfolios seem formerly to have been preserved at White’s, which
contained engravings of well-known members. Many of these were framed by
Mr. Bourke, who, adding to the number, formed the present valuable and
interesting collection. On each of these prints the date at which its
subject belonged to White’s is inscribed in pencil. As a club record of
past membership the series is unique.
In the dining-room of the club are several paintings, and among them is
a portrait of the first Duke of Wellington, by Count d’Orsay. This, I
believe, is one of two portraits painted by the Count. The Iron Duke, it
is said, was much pleased with them, and declared that d’Orsay was the
only artist who had ever painted him as a gentleman.
Other oil-paintings here represent George II and George III—a modern
portrait shows the late Duke of Cambridge in undress uniform. There are
also a few other pictures, including two of horses by John Wooton. All
the pictures in this room, with the exception of the portrait of George
II, originally in the house dining-room (now the committee-room next
door), were acquired after the reconstitution of the club by Mr. Bourke
in 1888. On the other hand, some Italian pictures and a curious portrait
of a woman, supposed to have been in White’s since its foundation, have
disappeared. The same fate, unfortunately, has befallen the fine old
silver plate which belonged to the club up to comparatively recent
years; and most of the original furniture is in other hands.
The whimsical coat of arms which, carved in wood, hangs over the
fireplace in the entrance hall is, of course, a modern copy of the
design invented by Horace Walpole and his friends at Strawberry Hill.
The worth of some of the old furniture in White’s was great, as may be
realized when it is stated that the present possessor of two small
sideboards formerly in the dining-room was a short time ago offered £600
apiece for them by a well-known expert. The original eighteenth-century
dining-room chairs (the place of which is now supplied by copies) were
also of great interest and value.
A curious old oak table, now in the committee-room at White’s, is in no
way connected with the history of that club. It was originally the
dining-table of the Sublime Society of Beefsteaks, and has on it three
carvings. Two of these represent the mitre and Beefeater’s cap which
figured in the ceremonial of that institution, and the centre one a
gridiron, which was its crest. As has already been mentioned, this table
was purchased by Mr. Bourke.
A richly decorated piano which formerly stood in what is now the
card-room has gone, as have also a very ornamental French weather-glass
and some other _objets d’art_.
Of late years great efforts have been made to recover anything connected
with the past history of White’s, and already, owing to the efforts of
certain members, several have been discovered and obtained. These
include the quaint original ballot-box and a complete set of the old
gaming counters, which, like those at Brooks’s, are inscribed with the
sums they represented.
A feature of the downstairs lounge at White’s is the belt presented to
Heenan after his celebrated fight with Tom Sayers. This interesting
trophy, which is lent by a member (Mr. Gilbert Elliot), now hangs over
the mantelpiece beneath a not very successful bas-relief of the late
King, which was placed there during the alterations in 1888. It is said
that an unsophisticated visitor to the club-house being taken into the
lounge, after glancing at the silver belt and the bas-relief above,
eagerly inquired, “Did the King win it?” which remark naturally
occasioned much amusement.
In the lease of White’s Club-house is a clause, dating from the middle
of the eighteenth century, which lays down that copies of the _Times_
and of the _Racing Calendar_ should always be preserved, in consequence
of which, up to a few years ago, the cellars were filled with an
enormous mass of paper, much of which had been almost reduced to pulp,
owing to inflows of water during floods. The collection is now stored
elsewhere.
White’s Club is just a year older than the Bank of England. It was
established before the last of the Stuarts had left the throne, and a
number of its members have fought England’s battles on land and sea. One
of these was Lord St. Vincent, the great sailor, who brought the West
Indies to the British Crown and won the naval battle of St. Vincent.
Rodney was a member, and his wife, when her husband had been greatly
impoverished by gaming debts and election expenses, sent the hat round
for him at White’s. Very inappropriately, however, the money was
provided by a Frenchman, the Marshal de Biron. George Keppel, third Earl
of Albemarle, who captured Havana in 1762, was another naval member, as
was Charles Saunders, who co-operated with General Wolfe in the assault
of the Heights of Abraham; so too was Boscawen, who went by the name of
“Old Dreadnought.”
Besides having had a great number of gallant soldiers and sailors on its
list, this club can also boast that for many years the destinies of
Great Britain were practically in the hands of certain of its members.
Sir Robert Walpole and his able rival, William Pulteney, afterwards Earl
of Bath, were members of the old club at White’s in 1756. In the debate
on the motion for the impeachment of Sir Robert in 1741, the latter, in
the course of a speech, quoted a verse from Horace. Pulteney rose and
remarked that the right honourable gentleman’s Latin and logic were
alike inaccurate. Walpole denied it, and a bet of a guinea was made
across the floor of the House. The matter was then referred to the Clerk
at the table, a noted scholar, and decided against the Minister.
The guinea was handed to Pulteney, and is now in the British Museum,
with the following inscription in his handwriting:
“This guinea, I desire, may be kept as an heirloom. It was won of Sir
Robert Walpole in the House of Commons; he asserting the verse in Horace
to be ‘Nulli pallescere culpæ,’ whereas I laid the wager of a guinea
that it was ‘Nulla pallescere culpa.’ I told him that I could take the
money without blush on my side, but believed it was the only money he
ever gave in the House where the giver and receiver ought not equally to
blush. This guinea, I hope, will prove to my posterity the use of
knowing Latin, and encourage them in their learning.”
The betting-book at White’s, which is still in existence, bears witness
to the love of a past age for speculating about every manner of thing,
grave or gay. At one period of the eighteenth century chess was in high
favour at White’s. Several matches are recorded in the betting-book.
Lord Howe, for instance, engages “to play twelve games at chess with
Lord Egmont, and bets Lord Egmont twelve guineas to six guineas of each
game.” It is also recorded that M. de Mirepoix, the French Ambassador,
sent an invitation to all chess-players of both clubs[2] to meet him for
a game. He spells the word “clubs” “clamps.”
Footnote 2:
White’s was formed from the old and new clubs into which it was
originally divided.
Lord Montfort, who eventually met with a tragic death at his own hands,
in consequence, it would appear, of the impecuniosity which followed on
his wild gaming, made a curious bet as to his powers as a horseman:
_July ye 17th, 1752._
Ld. Montfort to ride six days running.
1st. Ld. Montfort gives Ld. Downe one guinea to receive 10 gs. when he
rides 35 miles within the first day.
2nd. Ld. Montfort gives Ld. Ashburnham 1 guinea to receive 10 gs. when
he rides 25 miles within the second day.
_pd._
3rd. Ld. Montfort gives Ld. Waldegrave one guinea, to receive 10 gs.
when he rides 20 miles within the third day.
_paid._
4th. Ld. Montfort gives Mr. Watson 1 guinea, to receive 10 gs. when he
rides 15 miles within the fourth day.
_pd._
5th. Ld. Montfort gives Ld. Downe 1 guinea, to receive 10 gs. when he
rides 10 miles within the fifth day.
6th. Ld. Montfort gives Ld. Howe 1 guinea to receive 10 guineas when he
rides 5 miles within the Sixth day.
_Paid._
Another wager of this nobleman dealt with the matrimonial intentions of
the proprietor of White’s:
Ld. Montfort wagers Ld. Ravensworth one hundred guineas, Duke of
Devonshire Fifty guineas, and Ld. Hartington fifty guineas, that Mr.
Arthur is not married in three year from ye date hereof, March 11th,
1754.
N.B. Bob goes Twenty guineas with Ld. Montfort in this bet.[3] (Now Sir
Robt. Mackreth.)
Footnote 3:
A note added: “‘Bob,’ the waiter, married the daughter of Mr. Arthur,
the proprietor of the club, became prosperous, and was afterwards
knighted. He was subsequently Member for Castle Rising.”
The following are a few of the very numerous bets of which account is
given in this curious record:
_November 7th, 1758._
Mr. Cadogan engages to pay Mr. Willis twenty guineas, in consideration
of one guinea received from him, whenever he has in his possession,
either by purchase or gift, a Post Chaise with a crane neck.
The following bet, recorded in 1813, would appear to refer to some
incident in the life of Mr. Creevy which has escaped notice:
Col. Osborn bets Sir J. Copley 5 gs. that Mr. Creevy is imprisoned
before the announcement of the capture of Dantzic is received.
J. COPLEY.
J. OSBORN. _pd._
_April 2nd._
Mr. Methuen bets Col. Stanhope ten guineas to 1, that a certain worthy
Baronet understood between them does not of necessity part with his gold
ice-pails, before this day twelvemonth; the ice-pails being found at a
pawnbroker’s, will not entitle Col. Stanhope to receive his ten guineas.
H. F. R. STANHOPE.
PAUL METHUEN.
_White’s, April 10th, 1813._
Mr. Raikes bets Sir Joseph Copley ten guineas that he does not play at
cards or dice at any Club in London in a year from this date.
_settled._
_May 22nd, 1818._
Lord Binning bets Lord Falmouth five guineas that a Roman Catholic
Bishop upon formally abjuring his Catholic faith, may be made a
Protestant Bishop without any new ordination in the Protestant Church.
BINNING.
FALMOUTH. _pd._
_April 17th, 1825._
Lord George Bentinck bets Col. Walpole a Rouleau that the Duke of St.
Albans marries Mrs. Coutts within six months of this day. Ld. Elliott
stands half the bet with Ld. G. Bentinck.
G. BENTINCK.
_January 8, 1826._
July 8, paid a pony to the waiter for Col. Walpole.—G. BENTINCK.
1 June pd. a pony Elliott.
Lord Maidstone bets Ld. Kelburne six bets of £50 each that he has six
horses now in his own stable which he will ride over and shall clear a 5
feet wall in the Leath country in Lincolnshire.
SIR RICHARD SUTTON, BART. } _to be umpires._
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . }
Lord Adolphus FitzClarence bets Mr. George Bentinck £10 that there is
not a shot fired in anger in London during the year 1851.
Mr. F. Cavendish bets Mr. H. Brownrigg 2/1 that he does not kill the
bluebottle fly before he goes to bed.
W. FREDERICK CAVENDISH.
HENRY M. BROWNRIGG. _recd._ H.B.
_July 17, 1856._
At one time very large sums changed hands over the whist-table at
White’s. One of the most distinguished gamblers was Lord Rivers, known
in Paris as Le Wellington des Joueurs. This nobleman, it is said, once
lost £3,400 at whist by not remembering that the seven of hearts was in!
He played at hazard for the highest stakes that anyone could be got to
play, and at one time was supposed to have won nearly £100,000; but all,
together with a great deal more, went at Crockford’s.
In earlier days White’s appears to have been an occasional resort of
very queer characters indeed. In Hogarth’s gambling scene at White’s we
see the highwayman, with the pistols peeping out of his pocket, waiting
by the fireside till the heaviest winner takes his departure, in order
to recoup himself of his losings. And in the “Beaux’ Stratagem,” Aimwell
asks of Gibbet: “Ha’n’t I seen your face at White’s?”
M’Clean, the fashionable highwayman, had a lodging in St. James’s
Street, over against White’s; and he was as well known about St. James’s
as any gentlemen who lived in that quarter, and who, perhaps, went upon
the road, too. When M’Clean was taken, in 1750, Horace Walpole tells us
that Lord Mountfort, at the head of half White’s, went the first day;
his aunt was crying over him. As soon as they were withdrawn, she said
to him, knowing they were of White’s: “My dear, what did the Lords say
to you? Have you ever been concerned with any of them?”
Mr. Pelham, the Prime Minister, who had originally been an officer, was
a well-known frequenter of the gaming-table at White’s, to which he
resorted even when in high office—a habit alluded to in the following
lines:
“Or chair’d at White’s, amidst the doctors sit,
Teach oaths to gamesters, and to nobles wit.”
General Scott, the father-in-law of George Canning and the Duke of
Portland, was known to have won at White’s £200,000, thanks to his
notorious sobriety and knowledge of this game. The General possessed a
great advantage over his companions by avoiding the excesses which used
not unfrequently to muddle their brains. He confined himself to dining
off something very light, such as a boiled chicken with toast and water,
and in consequence always came to the whist-table with a clear head.
Possessing a remarkable memory, with great coolness of judgment, he was
able honestly to win the enormous sum of £200,000.
At Almack’s, a rival institution to White’s, there was also much high
play. According to the rule of the house, every player had to keep not
less than twenty to fifty guineas on the table in front of him, and
often there was as much as £10,000 in gold on the table. The players,
before sitting down at the gaming-table, removed their embroidered
clothes and substituted frieze greatcoats, or turned their coats inside
out for luck. They also put on short leather sleeves to save their lace
ruffles, and in order to guard their eyes from the light and keep their
hair in order they wore high-crowned straw hats, with broad brims
adorned with flowers and ribbons; whilst to conceal their emotions they
also wore shades or masks.
George Selwyn, one evening at White’s, saw a member connected with the
postal service, Sir Everard Fawkener (the present writer’s
great-grandfather, and an indifferent card-player), losing a large sum
of money at piquet. Selwyn, pointing to the successful player, remarked:
“See now, he is robbing the mail!”
On another occasion, in 1756, observing Mr. Ponsonby, the Speaker of the
Irish House of Commons, tossing about bank-bills at a hazard-table at
Newmarket, “Look,” he said, “how easily the Speaker passes the
money-bills!”
Of the gambling at White’s in former days so much has been written that
it would be superfluous to dwell upon this phase in the history of the
club when George Selwyn played night after night. Selwyn, however, was
something more than a mere gambler, and possessed in a conspicuous
degree the power of scourging folly and self-pretension. The following
is an instance of his powers in this direction:
One morning, when Selwyn was at the home of the Duke of Queensberry, a
newly-appointed Commissioner of Taxes made his appearance. This man was
in a tumult of joy at his preferment; but, though it was to the Duke he
had primarily been indebted for his good fortune, he hardly thanked him;
for he was possessed with the notion that it was from his own merit that
he had acquired the promotion. Entering the room, he assumed several
consequential airs, thinking that he was now as great a man as the Duke
himself.
“So, Mr. Commissioner,” said Selwyn—“you will excuse me, sir, I forget
your name—you are at length installed, I find.” The word “installed”
conveyed an awkward idea; for the new Commissioner’s grandfather had
been a stable-boy.
“Why, sir,” replied the other, “if you mean to say that I am at length
appointed, I have the pleasure to inform you that the business is
settled. Yes, I am appointed; and though our noble friend, the Duke
here, did oblige me with letters to the Minister, yet these letters were
of no use; and I was positively promoted to the office without knowing a
syllable about the matter, or even taking a single step in it.”
“What! not a single step?” cried George.
“No, not one, upon my honour,” replied the new-fledged placeman. “Egad,
sir! I did not walk a foot out of my way for it.”
“And egad, sir!” retorted Selwyn, “you never before uttered half so much
truth in so few words. Reptiles, sir, can neither walk nor take
steps—nature ordained they should creep.”
Like many men of his day, Selwyn did and said many things which a later
age would call very snobbish. Happening to be at Bath when it was nearly
empty, he was induced, for the mere purpose of killing time, to
cultivate the acquaintance of an elderly gentleman he was in the habit
of meeting in the Rooms. In the height of the following season Selwyn
encountered his old associate in St. James’s Street. He endeavoured to
pass unnoticed, but in vain. “What! do you not recollect me?” exclaimed
the indignant provincial. “I recollect you perfectly,” replied Selwyn,
“and when I next go to Bath I shall be most happy to become acquainted
with you again.”
Though Selwyn appears to have preferred White’s, he did not entirely
confine his attention to it. It was in his day the fashion to belong to
as many clubs as possible—Wilberforce, indeed, mentions no fewer than
five to which he himself belonged: Brooks’s, Boodle’s, White’s, Miles
and Evans’s in New Palace Yard, and Goosetree’s, on the site of which
stands the Marlborough. As their names imply, all these clubs were
originally mere coffee-houses, kept by men of the above names, the most
celebrated of whom, next to the proprietors of White’s, was Brookes, or
Brooks, who founded the present club in St. James’s Street.
------------------------------------------------------------------------