THE TRAVELLERS’—ORIENTAL—ST. JAMES’—TURF—MARLBOROUGH
—ISTHMIAN—WINDHAM—BACHELORS’—UNION—CARLTON—JUNIOR
CARLTON—CONSERVATIVE—DEVONSHIRE—REFORM
Though, as has before been said, the majority of West End clubs have
been obliged by force of circumstances to relax the exclusiveness which
was formerly one of their most salient features, a few still manage to
retain that social prestige which was the pride of quite a number in the
past.
A conspicuous instance is the Travellers’, a club which from the days of
its foundation has always been somewhat capricious in electing members.
The list of public men who have been blackballed here is considerable.
The late Mr. Cecil Rhodes was rejected in 1895, and at different times
the late Lord Sherbrooke, the late Lord Lytton, Lord Randolph Churchill,
and other public men have met with the same ill fate.
The Travellers’ Club was founded in the second decade of the nineteenth
century by Lord Castlereagh, the present club-house being built by Barry
in 1832. Considerable amusement was aroused by the qualification for
membership (which still exists). This laid down that candidates must
have travelled out of the British Isles to a distance of at least 500
miles from London in a straight line.
The supposed partiality of members for exploration was amusingly set
forth by Theodore Hook in the following lines:
“The travellers are in Pall Mall, and smoke cigars so cosily,
And dream they climb the highest Alps, or rove the plains of Moselai.
The world for them has nothing new, they have explored all parts of
it;
And now they are club-footed! and they sit and look at charts of it.”
The club-house would appear to have been little altered since its
erection, with the exception that a recess for smokers has been
contrived in the entrance hall. The building, it should be added,
narrowly escaped destruction on October 24, 1850, when a fire did great
damage to the billiard-rooms. These were, by the way, an afterthought,
and an addition to the original building; but they were by no means an
improvement upon the first design, for they greatly impaired the beauty
of the garden front.
The library at the Travellers’ is a delightful room, most admirably
designed, with a fine classical frieze. A relic preserved here is
Thackeray’s chair; but as the only connection of the great novelist with
this club appears to have been a blackballing, the presence of such a
memento seems rather strange.
Except the dining-room and the library, the interior of the Travellers’
Club is somewhat cold and bare. No pictures decorate its walls, and the
general appearance of the place, whilst highly decorous, is hardly
calculated to delight the eye.
The Travellers’ still clings to certain rules framed in a more formal
age, and smoking is prohibited except in certain rooms. It is rather
curious that, in days when ladies tolerate cigarettes in their very
boudoirs, not a few clubs should still treat smokers in the same way as
prevailed in the days when tobacco was only tolerated in one or two
uncomfortable apartments.
Several distinguished men have belonged to this club, the membership of
which includes many high Government officials—heads of Departments,
Ambassadors, and Chargés d’Affaires. The general tone here is one of
solemn tranquillity; and though in former days there was a regular
muster of whist-players, which included Talleyrand, no game of cards
seems now to be played.
During the season of autumnal renovation the Travellers’ extends its
hospitality to one or two other clubs. A dashing young soldier, becoming
in this way a visitor, and being desirous of playing bridge, called for
a couple of packs of cards and a well-known racing paper. To his intense
disgust the astounded waiter who took the order, after making inquiry,
reported that the cards would have to be obtained from outside, and the
Travellers’ did not take in the paper asked for.
Though in a certain way a sociable club—for a large proportion of the
members are acquainted with one another—the Travellers’ is principally
given up to reading, dozing, and meditation. Of conversation there is
but little.
Another club which was founded during the same epoch as the Travellers’
was the Oriental.
A hundred years ago there were several institutions connected with the
East in the West End. Such were the Calcutta Club, the Madras Club, the
Bombay Club, and the China Club, frequented chiefly by merchants and
bankers. These, however, were in reality associations rather than clubs.
The Bombay Club was located at 13 Albemarle Street, and consisted of one
large news-room and an anteroom. It opened at ten in the morning and
closed at midnight, light refreshments being obtainable of the porter,
whilst smoking was strictly prohibited.
The need for a regular club-house where Anglo-Indians and others might
meet in comfort gradually came to be felt, and in July 1824 the Oriental
Club was started at 16 Lower Grosvenor Street. The original club-house,
it may be added, has now become business premises, being occupied by
Messrs. Collard and Collard. It is said that when the owner of this
house gave it up to the club he sold some of its furniture and effects
to a certain Mr. Joseph Sedley, afterwards immortalized by Thackeray as
the pseudo-collector of Boggley Wallah.
The first steward of the Oriental was a Mr. Pottanco, who had long been
employed by Sir John Malcolm, probably in the East. Members presented
books and pictures, and one, Sir Charles Forbes, cheered the hearts of
the Anglo-Indians by sometimes sending a fine turtle to be converted
into soup.
The first chairman of the Oriental Club was Sir John Malcolm, a very
popular figure in society. Sir John was a great talker, on account of
which he had been nicknamed “Bahawder Jaw,” it was said, by Canning.
There were ten Malcolm brothers, two of them Admirals. All ten seem to
have possessed the same characteristic, for when Lord Wellesley was
assured by Sir John that he and three brothers had once met together in
India, the Governor-General declared it to be “impossible—quite
impossible!” Malcolm reiterated his statement. “I repeat it is
impossible; if four Malcolms had come together, we should have heard the
noise all over India.”
Some of the members of the Oriental Club in old days, no doubt owing to
having resided for prolonged periods in the East, had eccentric ways.
One member was dissatisfied with the Gruyère cheese, calling it French,
not Swiss, and insisted that the waiter who brought it to him should
taste it. The waiter demurred, upon which the member complained of his
misconduct to the committee. The latter, however, took the waiter’s
part, rightly conceiving that it was no part of the waiter’s duty to act
as cheese-taster. In another case, a member removed his boots before the
library fire, and presently walked off in his stockinged feet into
another room. The library waiter, finding the ownerless boots, took them
away, and the member on his return was so greatly annoyed that he
stormed at the waiter, speaking to him, according to the waiter’s
evidence, “very strong.” Here again the committee, to whom it was
referred, sided with the waiter.
There was no provision for smoking in the original club-house of the
Oriental, and permission to smoke within the walls was not accorded for
some forty years, although it was a constant source of dispute between
opposing factions.
There are about thirty portraits in the Oriental Club; several of them
of a high class have been copied for public buildings and institutions
in India, where the individuals portrayed passed most of their careers.
The Iron Duke, Lords Clive, Cornwallis, Wellesley, Lake, Hastings,
Gough, Warren Hastings, Major-General Stringer Lawrence, Sir John
Malcolm, Sir Henry Pottinger, Sir David Ochterlony, and Sir James Outram
are amongst the distinguished men whose portraits adorn this club, which
also possesses a painting of considerable historical interest,
representing the surrender to Marquis Cornwallis of the sons of Tippoo
as hostages for the fulfilment of the treaty of 1792. This was painted
by Walter Brown in 1793, and presented to the club in 1883 by O. C. V.
Aldis, Esq.
Besides paintings and busts which have been presented, there is here a
silver snuff-box, the gift of a member, and a handsome silver
candelabrum presented to the club by Mr. John Rutherford on the
completion of fifty years of membership in 1880.
In the Strangers’ Dining-Room hangs a stag-hunt by Snyders, the figures
by Rubens. The busts in this club include Sir Henry Taylor, by D.
Brucciani; and Sir Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy, by Baron Marochetti; whilst a
curious coloured print after P. Carpenter shows the ground of the
Calcutta Cricket Club on January 15, 1861. A number of fine heads and
sporting trophies presented by members decorate the interior of the
house. It should be added that the library at the Oriental, though not a
large one, is of considerable interest, as many of its books have been
written and presented by members.
Though the St. James’ Club, at 106 Piccadilly, was not, like the
Travellers’ and the Oriental, founded for those who wander far afield,
its membership, owing to the club’s connection with diplomacy, generally
embraces many with an intimate knowledge of foreign countries, and even
the Far East.
The club-house of the St. James’ was formerly the abode of the Coventry
Club, a somewhat Bohemian institution, where there was a good deal of
gambling and a free supper. It seems to have been an amusing place, to
which many diplomatists belonged. This club was established at 106
Piccadilly—formerly Coventry House—in the early fifties of the last
century, and lasted a very short time, being closed in March 1854. In
1860 the house became the residence of Count Flahaut, the French
Ambassador, who added the eagles now to be seen amidst the decorations
of the dining-room ceiling of the present St. James’ Club.
The fine mansion was originally built for Sir Hugh Hunlock by the
architect Kent, on the site of the old Greyhound Inn, and was bought by
the Earl of Coventry, in 1764, for £10,000, subject to the ground-rent
of £75 per annum. Sir Hugh must have found the expenses of completing
the house too much for him, for he does not seem ever to have lived
there, and, according to tradition, Lord Coventry bought the building
before the roof was on.
Nevertheless a relic of Sir Hugh still remains in the area, and may be
seen from Piccadilly; this is a very fine leaden eighteenth-century
cistern, which is embellished with some moulding of good design and the
letters “H. H., 1761.”
It is said that when the house was built it was the only mansion
standing west of Devonshire House.
Up to 1889 there were no pictures or engravings in the St. James’ Club,
but in that year, when considerable additions were made at the back of
the building, a number of prints were presented by the various embassies
and legations. The most valuable gift received was a water-colour
drawing by Turner of the village of Clunie, near Lausanne, given by the
late Sir Julian Goldsmid. Some fine heads, a picture by Herbert
Schmaltz, and more prints were presented by other members. A certain
number of bedrooms exist for the use of the members, and from the point
of view of comfort the club leaves very little to be desired.
The principal artistic feature of interest in the house is the
magnificent ceiling in the large dining-room, which is enriched with a
number of small paintings by Angelica Kauffmann. The centre painting is
surrounded by a number of cartouches set amidst a decorative design of
considerable artistic merit, probably the work of the brothers Adam.
Here and in the adjoining smaller dining-room (where, most sensibly,
smoking is allowed after lunch and dinner) hang modern chandeliers of
admirable design. Both rooms were judiciously restored twelve years ago,
at which time some fine mahogany doors were rescued from the rubbish
heap.
Special features of Coventry House in old days were two octagon rooms,
both of which had fine marble mantelpieces (now covered up) immediately
beneath windows. The octagon room on the first-floor—a boudoir—was, as
its remains still show, a triumph of eighteenth-century ornamentation.
Indeed, the exquisite taste exhibited on the walls, over-door, and
ceiling, give great cause for regret that such a perfect example of
English art should have been defaced in order to form the serving-room
which it now is. The carpet had been worked by Barbara, Countess of
Coventry, wife of the original owner of the mansion; and when the house
ceased to belong to the Coventry family, they took with them this
carpet, which in course of time was divided into two, the separate
portions going to different branches. The portion belonging to the
present Earl was some years ago once more completed by the addition of a
new half worked at the School of Art Needlework, and now forms the
centre of the drawing-room carpet at Croome.
Worked in cross-stitch, it is of many colours on a neutral-tinted
ground; garlands and wreaths tied up with ribbons form part of the
design of this curious heirloom, which has been comparatively uninjured
by time.
In connection with the St. James’ Club, it should be added that,
according to tradition, an underground passage once ran beneath
Piccadilly into the Park opposite, where the Lady Coventry who has just
been mentioned is supposed to have had a garden. This story was probably
suggested by the fact that the Ranger’s Lodge was nearly opposite, and
it is possible that there was some communication between that structure
and Coventry House.
The St. James’ is one of the most agreeable and sociable clubs in
London, and still maintains much of that spirit of vitality which seems
within the last two decades to have deserted so many London clubs.
In the early days of the St. James’ it was located in Bennett Street,
St. James’, and was later moved to No. 4 Grafton Street, now the abode
of the New Club. This is a fine old house, which still retains some of
the features it possessed when it was the residence of Lord Brougham.
In the same house in Bennett Street first originated the Turf Club,
which was evolved from the Arlington.
Of the Turf, which is probably the most exclusive club in London, there
is little to be said; for it is of quite modern foundation, and the
club-house, though comfortable in the extreme, has no particular
interest from an artistic point of view. Like the Athenæum, the Turf
employs a design taken from an antique gem on its notepaper, a centaur
having very appropriately been chosen.
The lighting of the Turf was formerly by candles set in the chandeliers.
The latter still remain, but, now that electric light is used, the
candles are no longer lighted.
Another fashionable club is the Marlborough, opposite Marlborough House
in Pall Mall. This was originally founded as a club where members should
not be restricted in their indulgence in tobacco at a time when a number
of regulations as to this habit existed in other clubs. King Edward VII,
then Prince of Wales, interested himself in the foundation of the
Marlborough Club, having sympathized, it was understood, with the
attempt made in 1866 to modify a rule at White’s which forbade smoking
in the drawing-room. The motion was defeated by a majority of
twenty-three votes, for the old school were bitterly opposed to such an
innovation. In consequence, the Prince, though remaining an honorary
member, ceased to use the club, the newly-founded Marlborough proving
more congenial to his tastes.
At the present day the Marlborough is used chiefly as a lunching club.
At night, like many other clubs, it is now generally more or less empty.
The club-house, being quite modern, contains little to call for mention.
In a former club, however, which stood on the same site, there was in
the days of high play a special room downstairs where money-lenders used
to interview such members as necessity had made their clients. The room
in question was known as the “Jerusalem Chamber.”
The club-house of the Isthmian, at No. 105 Piccadilly, has known many
vicissitudes. At one time it was the Pulteney Hotel, and afterwards it
became the abode of Lord Hertford. Subsequently the house passed into
the hands of the late Sir Julian Goldsmid, who possessed an example of
the work of every living Royal Academician, as well as masterpieces by
Sir Joshua Reynolds and Romney. His collection of works of art was very
fine.
In its early days, when the club-house was in Grafton Street, the
Isthmian was nicknamed the “Crèche.” It was originally founded as a club
for public-school men, and some of its members were very young—a fact
which gave rise to the humorous appellation in question. From Grafton
Street this club migrated to Walsingham House, where it remained until
that short-lived building was pulled down to make way for the palatial
Ritz Hotel.
The Isthmian, it should be added, following the example of two or three
other modern clubs, reserves a portion of its club-house for the
entertainment of ladies, who are allotted a special entrance of their
own in Brick Street.
The nickname of the “Crèche” applied to the Isthmian in its early days
was rather exceptional in its wit, for most of the attempts at humorous
club names have missed their mark. Another amusing instance, however,
was a suggested title for the now long-defunct Lotus, an institution
which was founded for the lighter forms of social intercourse between
ladies of the then flourishing burlesque stage and men about town. This
was the “Frou-Frou”—a delicate allusion alike to the principal founder,
Mr. Russell, and the fairer portion of the membership.
[Illustration:
OLD MANSIONS IN PICCADILLY, NOW CLUBS.
From a drawing of 1807.
]
A pleasant social club which has recently been structurally improved,
bedrooms having been added, is the Windham, No. 11 St. James’s Square.
This club owes its name to the fact that the mansion was once the
residence of William Windham, who was considered a model of the true
English gentleman of his day. Though William Windham was a great
supporter of old English sports, including bull-baiting (which he
defended with such success in the House of Commons that only after his
death could a Bill against it be passed), he was at the same time an
accomplished scholar and mathematician. Dr. Johnson, writing of a visit
which Windham paid him, said: “Such conversation I shall not have again
till I come back to the regions of literature, and there Windham is
‘inter stellas luna minores.’”
In this house also lived the accomplished John, Duke of Roxburghe; and
here the Roxburghe Library was sold in 1812. Lord Chief Justice
Ellenborough lived in the mansion in 1814, and subsequently it was
occupied by the Earl of Blessington, who possessed a fine collection of
pictures. The Windham, it should be added, was founded by Lord Nugent
for those connected with each other by a common bond of literary or
personal acquaintance.
The club-house, which is very comfortable, contains a number of prints,
but, as the vast majority of these are modern, they scarcely call for
mention.
The Bachelors’, at the corner of Piccadilly and Park Lane, is
essentially a young man’s club. Only bachelors can be elected, and any
member who becomes a Benedict must submit himself to the ballot in order
to be permitted to remain a member, being also obliged to pay a fine of
£25. Ladies may be introduced as visitors, but, it is almost needless to
add, their introducer is responsible for his guests being of a standing
eligible for presentation at Court.
The same hospitable usage prevails at the Orleans in King Street, a
pleasant little club decorated with sporting engravings, which has
always prided itself upon the excellence of its cuisine.
The Wellington, like the Bachelors’ and Orleans, is another sociable
club which offers its members the privilege of entertaining ladies in a
portion of the building specially set aside for their use. In the
club-house is a collection of fine heads, trophies of the successful
big-game shooting expeditions of sporting members.
A long-established non-political club, essentially English in tone, is
the Union, at the south-west angle of Trafalgar Square. The original
home of this club was Cumberland House, where it was first started in
1805, the chairman then being the Marquis of Headfort. George Raggett,
well known as the manager of White’s, became club-master in 1807, and at
that time the membership was not to be less than 250. The Dukes of
Sussex and York, together with Byron and a number of other well-known
men, joined the club in 1812. Nine years later it was decided to
reconstitute the club and to build a new club-house, and Sir Robert Peel
and four other members of the committee selected the present site. By
that time the membership had increased to 800, and it was the first
members’ club in London. The fine club-house in Trafalgar Square, built
by Sir Robert Smirke, R.A., was opened in 1824. A most comfortable club,
the Union well maintains its long-established reputation for good
English fare and carefully selected wines. In old days its haunch of
mutton and apple tart were widely celebrated, and many gourmets belonged
to it. Amongst these was Sir James Aylott, a two-bottle man, who was one
day shocked to observe James Smith (part author of “The Rejected
Addresses”) with half a pint of sherry before him. After eyeing the
modest bottle with contempt, Aylott at last burst out with: “So I see
you have taken to those d——d life-preservers!”
Most of the furniture at the Union is that supplied by Dowbiggin, the
celebrated upholsterer, seventy or eighty years ago, and there are some
good clocks by the royal clockmaker, Vulliamy. A good deal of the club
plate is silver bearing the date 1822, and there is a good library. No
pictures hang on the walls. The Union has been, ever since its
institution, an abode of solid comfort, and it prides itself upon
keeping up the old traditions of a London club-house as these were
understood a century ago.
Amongst London’s political clubs, the Carlton unquestionably takes the
first place. Originally founded by the great Duke of Wellington and a
few of his most intimate political friends, it was first established in
Charles Street, St. James’s, in the year 1831. In the following year it
removed to larger premises, Lord Kensington’s, in Carlton Gardens. In
1836 an entirely new club-house was built in Pall Mall by Sir Robert
Smirke, R.A.; this was small, and soon became inadequate to its wants,
though a very large addition was made to it in 1846 by Mr. Sydney
Smirke, who in 1854 rebuilt the whole house, copying Sansovino’s Library
of St. Mark at Venice.
This club contains members of every kind of Conservatism, many of them
men of high position in fortune and politics.
The Carlton has been the scene of many important political consultations
and combinations.
It was in the hall here that Lord Randolph Churchill learnt of the
appointment of Mr. Goschen to the Chancellorship of the Exchequer,
which, it is said, he had just resigned under the impression that, being
the only possible man for the position, he would be begged to reconsider
his decision.
He was in the hall with a friend, when a boy came through to put up a
slip of telegraphic news. Lord Randolph stopped him and read the
telegram, after which he said: “All great men make mistakes! Napoleon
forgot Blücher—I forgot Goschen.”
A well-known figure at the Carlton some years ago was Mr. Andrew
Montagu, known to his intimate friends as “the Little Squire,” whose
death created a considerable sensation; for, as was well known, he had
rendered great financial assistance to his party. He had, indeed, played
a more important part in the secret history of his own times than was
realized by the outside world. It has been asserted that about two
millions of his money was out on mortgage—partly advanced to important
politicians, and partly distributed amongst institutions connected with
Tory organizations. Mr. Montagu was a most generous and open-handed man,
and would always use his interest to assist young aspirants to place and
position, though he himself cared nothing for these. He was, it is said,
frequently offered a peerage; but as the particular title which he
desired was claimed by someone else, to whom it was eventually given, he
died plain Mr. Montagu, which he had been perfectly content to remain.
The library upstairs contains a large number of volumes, and a most
complete collection of books necessary to the politician. Smoking is
allowed in the larger room, but not in the small library adjoining.
A number of oil-paintings representing celebrated Conservative statesmen
decorate the walls of the Carlton. In the large entrance hall are
portraits of Lord North, Lord Chatham, Lord Castlereagh, and the great
Sir Robert Peel; on the staircase a portrait of the first Lord
Cranbrook; whilst the first-floor is adorned by fine full-length
pictures of the late Lord Salisbury by Sir Hubert Herkomer, and of Lord
Abergavenny by Mr. Mark Milbanke. The dining-room at the Carlton also
contains several portraits, amongst them Lord Beaconsfield,[6] after
Millais. Mr. Balfour, by Sargent, subscribed for by members, has been
added within recent years. Owing to an entirely new scheme of colour
decoration, the interior of this club-house is now very much improved.
The conversion of the great central hall into a comfortable carpeted
lounge with chairs is also an innovation of a most convenient kind.
Footnote 6:
One of the dining-room chairs bears the inscription: “Lord
Beaconsfield’s chair.”
The Carlton possesses a quantity of good silver, and in the way of
comfort stands in front of almost all clubs in the world. Nowhere,
perhaps, are the minor details of everyday life so well looked after;
every kind of notepaper is at the command of members, whilst the
facilities for reference are unequalled. This club has a fine library,
which is presided over by a librarian.
Perhaps the most prosperous club in London is the Junior Carlton, which
owns its own freehold. The property is said to be worth over £200,000.
This palatial club-house is modern in style, but in a small room off the
hall is a fine old mantelpiece, which was originally in one of the
houses pulled down to make way for the new building.
Statues of Lord Beaconsfield and the fourteenth Earl of Derby decorate
the hall, whilst the pictures in the club-house include full-length
portraits of the late Queen Victoria by Sir Hubert Herkomer, and of the
late King Edward by the Hon. A. Stuart-Wortley. This was painted when
the King was Prince of Wales. In the smoking-room hang portraits of Lord
Beaconsfield, Lord Derby, Lord Abergavenny, the Iron Duke, and other
statesmen. A few pictures also hang on the staircase and elsewhere.
The picture of the Duke of Wellington originally represented him
standing in the House of Lords, but for some reason or other the
background of benches was painted out by the artist. Within recent
years, however, the Upper Chamber has once more asserted itself by
bursting through the coat of paint.
The library at the Junior Carlton Club is one of the most delightful
rooms in London—an abode of restful peace which was highly appreciated
by the late Lord Salisbury, who was often to be observed here reading.
It was said that he frequented this room because he was sure of finding
undisturbed quiet. Huge placards, on which are printed the word
“SILENCE,” are on each of the mantelpieces, and the reposeful atmosphere
of the place is seldom troubled by any sound louder than footfalls on
the soft carpet or the turning over of book-leaves.
A round table in this club, used for private dinner-parties, is said to
be the biggest in London; twenty-five people can sit at it.
The Conservative Club, which occupies a portion of the site of the old
Thatched House Tavern (pulled down in 1843), 74 St. James’s Street, was
designed by Sydney Smirke and George Basevi, 1845. The upper portion is
Corinthian, with columns and pilasters, and a frieze sculptured with the
imperial crown and oak wreaths; the lower order is Roman-Doric, and the
wings are slightly advanced, with an enriched entrance porch north and a
bay-window south. The interior was painted in colour by Mr. Sang, by
whom, after long years, it has since been redecorated. This happened a
few years ago, when, after considerable discussion, it was decided to
restore the original scheme of decoration which some little time before
had been discarded in favour of plain white marble.
A bust of the late Queen Victoria is on the landing of the very handsome
staircase of the Conservative Club, and on the first-floor are other
busts, together with a full-length statue of Lord Beaconsfield. A
picture of the Piazza San Marco at Venice, by Canaletto, hangs in the
large smoking-room upstairs.
A feature of this club is the excellent library, which is especially
rich in county histories. It is a quiet, restful room, and has
everything necessary to render it an ideal resort for lovers of books.
The dining-tables in the Conservative Club date from its foundation, and
are of mahogany. The pleasing old custom of removing the tablecloth
after dinner still prevails. Unfortunately, about eleven years ago the
great majority of these little tables were sent to have their surfaces
planed down! The committee of that day (who must have been totally
devoid of any vestige of taste) were of opinion that the surface was
becoming too “old-looking.” The result is, that it will require a great
number of years before these tables regain the beautiful _patine_ which
still distinguishes those—about eight in number—which happily escaped
renovation.
The Devonshire Club, in St. James’s Street, though originally a Liberal
or rather a Whig Club, now includes many shades of opinion, Liberal
Unionists being plentiful. There is a good library here. The club-house,
it is interesting to remember, was once a magnificent Temple of Chance,
over which presided the celebrated Crockford.
[Illustration:
CROCKFORD’S IN 1828.
From a drawing by T. H. Shepherd.
]
The present building is, with some alterations, the same as the one
constructed in 1827—on the site of three houses then demolished—for the
famous ex-fishmonger by the brothers Wyatt. The decorations alone, it is
said, cost £94,000, and consist 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 has a screen of Roman-Ionic scagliola columns
with gilt capitals, and a cupola of gilding and stained glass. The
staircase was panelled with scagliola, and enriched with Corinthian
columns. The grand drawing-room was in the style of Louis Quatorze, as
it was understood at that day; its ceiling had enrichments of
bronze-gilt, with door paintings à la Watteau. Upon the opening of the
club-house, it was described as “the New Pandemonium.” The gambling-room
(now the dining-room of the Devonshire Club) consisted of four chambers:
the first an anteroom, opening to a saloon embellished to a high degree;
out of it a small curiously-formed cabinet or boudoir, opening to the
supper-room. All these rooms were panelled in the most gorgeous manner,
spaces being adorned with mirrors, silk or gold enrichments, and the
ceilings as gorgeous as the walls. A billiard-room on the upper floor
completed the number of apartments professedly dedicated to the use of
the members. Whenever any secret manœuvre was to be carried on, there
were smaller and more retired places, whose walls might be relied upon
to tell no tales.
Crockford, next to the late M. Blanc, of Monte Carlo fame, was probably
the most efficient manager of a gambling establishment who ever existed.
He possessed great tact, and thoroughly understood how to humour his
clients, most of whose money eventually drifted into his pockets.
A newly-elected member one night, during a lull in play, jokingly said
to Crockford: “I will bet a sovereign against the choice of your
pictures, of which there are many hanging round the walls, that I throw
in six mains.” To this he consented. The member took the box, and threw
in seven times successively, and then walked round the room to make his
selection. There was a St. Cecilia, by Westall, which he had before
admired, and that he chose, which of course provoked a good deal of
laughter. Other members then followed his example; the result being that
they won several of the oil-paintings, which they bore triumphantly
away.
The cook, Louis Eustache Ude, was celebrated throughout Europe, as was
his successor Francatelli. Crockford’s policy was to run his
establishment on the most luxurious lines, making no profit except on
the gambling; and therefore the dinners, though perfect, were very
reasonable in price. In addition, all the dainties of the season, fish,
flesh, and fowl, were cooked after the most approved Parisian models,
and were tortured into shapes that defied recognition. One of the
favourite dishes was Boudin de cerises à la Bentinck—cherry pudding
without the stones—which was named after Lord George, a frequent visitor
to the club. No one was charged for ale or porter, until one day a
hungry member dined off the joint and drank three pints of bottled ale,
after which Crockford made a change in the charges, with the remark that
“a glass or two was all very well, but three pints were too much of a
good thing.”
On one occasion, in the list of game on August 10, appeared some grouse.
The Marquis of Queensberry, a great sportsman, summoned Ude to Bow
Street, and had him fined for infringing the Game Laws. The following
day Lord Queensberry looked at the bill of fare, and no grouse appeared
in it. He was about to sit down to dinner, when a friend came in, who
proposed joining him. Each selected his own dishes. When they were
served, there was a slight hesitation in Ude’s manner, but they
attributed it to the fine he had recently paid. An entrée followed some
excellent soup and fish, Ude saying, “This is my lord’s,” uncovering a
dish containing a mutton cutlet à la soubise, “and this Sir John’s,”
placing the latter as far from the noble Marquis as possible. “Have a
cutlet,” said Lord Queensberry. The Baronet assented. “And you in return
can have some of my entrée.” At last it came to the moment when Sir
John’s dish was to be uncovered. “What on earth is this?” asked Ude’s
prosecutor, as he took up a leg of the salmis; “it cannot be partridge
or pheasant; bring the bill of fare.” The waiter obeyed. “Why, what does
this mean? ‘Salmis de fruit défendu!’—grouse, I verily believe.” Ude
apologized, declaring that the grouse had been in the house before he
was summoned. The Marquis chose to believe his statement, and allowed
the matter to drop.
Some members were very particular and trying to the patience of the
world-famed French cook. At one period of his presidency, the ground of
a complaint formally addressed to the committee was that there was an
admixture of onion in the soubise. This chef was sensitive as to
complaints. Colonel Darner, 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 gentleman 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 was marked as two shillings, and I asked
sixpence for the sauce; this he refuses to pay. The imbecile must think
that the red mullets come out of the sea with my sauce in their
pockets.”
The Devonshire Club possesses some relics of Crockford’s in the shape of
an etching by R. Seymour, which hangs in the corridor smoking-room,
where are also six of the original chairs used in the old gaming-room.
The etching of Crockford was presented by Captain Shean; the chairs, in
1902, by another member—Mr. T. J. Barratt.
[Illustration:
INTERIOR OF THE REFORM CLUB.
From a drawing of 1841.
]
The Reform Club, in Pall Mall, took its name from the great Reform
movement, which it was founded to promote, in opposition to the Carlton.
Its virtual founder and first chairman was Edward Ellice, who drew his
wealth from the Hudson Bay Company, and his political influence from his
long representation of Coventry and from his energy in supporting
Reform. It was said that he had more to do with the passing of the
Reform Bill of 1832 than any other man. The club was established in
1836, to be a nursery of the great political idea which that Bill
represented. For a few years it was domiciled in Gwydyr House,
Whitehall. At the house in Pall Mall, some years previously, the
temporary National Gallery had remained in the house of Mr. Angerstein,
whose pictures were the nucleus of the national collection. While,
therefore, the Reform Club was rising to accommodate its members, the
National Gallery was being built in Trafalgar Square to receive the
pictures.
The architect of the new building was instructed to do his best to
produce a club-house finer than any yet built. The Reform is mostly
Italian in style, copied by Barry in some respects from the Farnese
Palace at Rome, designed by Michael Angelo. The chief feature of the
interior is a hall running up to the top of the building, an Italian
cortile surrounded by a colonnade, half Ionic and half Corinthian. The
Reform is about the only one of the older clubs which provides bedrooms
for its members—a convenience much appreciated by members.
Let into the walls of this hall are a number of portraits of Liberal
politicians of the past. Amongst them are Bright and Palmerston. There
are also some busts of former great lights of the party, such as Mr.
Gladstone. A graceful statue of Elektra is another conspicuous ornament
of this well-proportioned hall.
Like the Carlton, the Reform Club possesses a quantity of silver plate,
dating from the time of its foundation.
The kitchen of the Reform was long presided over by Alexis Soyer, one of
the great cooks of history. He came to England on a visit to his
brother, who was chef to the old Duke of Cambridge, son of George III,
and afterwards was cook to several noblemen, till eventually appointed
chef of the club. Soyer created a great sensation in culinary circles by
introducing steam and gas. He cooked some famous political banquets for
the club, among them a dinner to O’Connell, another to Ibrahim Pasha,
and a third to Lord Palmerston. Soyer, indeed, became quite a public
character, being sent to Ireland during the great famine, to teach the
starving people how to dine on little or nothing; and at the worst
period of the Crimean winter it was hoped he might make amends for a
defective commissariat.
Madame Soyer was as clever as her husband in another line: a woman of
considerable artistic attainments, she painted quite prettily in
water-colours.
Both she and the great chef sleep their last sleep in Kensal Green
Cemetery, where a sort of mausoleum bears the appropriate inscription:
“Soyer tranquil.”
One of the Reform Club’s triumphs was the breakfast given there on the
occasion of the Queen’s Coronation, which won high commendation. The
excellent cooking imparted celebrity to the great political banquets
given at the Reform.
Soyer was a man of discrimination, taste, and genius. He was led to
conceive the idea of his great book on cookery—“Gastronomic
Regeneration”—he declared, by observing in the elegant library of an
accomplished nobleman the works of Shakespeare, Milton, and Johnson, in
gorgeous bindings, but wholly dust-clad and overlooked, while a book on
cookery bore every indication of being daily consulted and revered.
“This is fame,” exclaimed Soyer, seizing the happy inference, and
forthwith seized his pen.
John Bright was often at the Reform, where it was said he passed his
time indulging in billiards and abstaining from wine. Other well-known
men who were members were Douglas Jerrold, Sala, William Black, James
Payn, and Thackeray, who became a member in 1840. He used to stand in
the smoking-room, his back to the fire, his legs rather wide apart, his
hands thrust into his trousers pockets, and his head stiffly thrown
backward, while he joined in the talk of the men occupying the
semicircle of chairs in front of him. It is said that on one occasion,
observing beans and bacon on the evening dinner list, he cancelled
without hesitation a dinner engagement elsewhere, on the ground that “he
had met an old friend he had not seen for many a long day.”
At one time a small group of men, which Bernal Osborne nicknamed “the
press gang,” met daily for lunch at a table in one of the windows
looking out upon the gardens in front of Carlton Terrace. This group was
originally composed of James Payn and William Black, J. R. Robinson of
the _Daily News_, J. C. Parkinson, and Sir T. Wemyss Reid, but as time
went on others joined. At these luncheons there was always a great deal
of pleasant and harmless chaff, with some more serious talk, although by
mutual agreement politics were generally tabooed. James Payn was the
life and soul of the party, and dedicated one of the best of his
novels—“By Proxy”—to the group which he had so often enlivened. Another
lively spirit here was William Black, who, though not as brilliant a
talker as Payn, could cap his jests with an epigram or quaint joke of
much flavour.
Bernal Osborne occasionally attended these lunches, where, however, he
curbed that mordant wit which was known to all and feared by most. At
the Reform lunches he was always harmless, though unable to resist
referring to Black’s habit of drinking a pint of champagne at luncheon.
He would point to the bottle, and say: “Young man, in ten years’ time
you will not be doing that.” Ten years later, however, Black recalled
Bernal Osborne’s warnings, and dwelt with pride upon the fact that he
had survived his censor.
The very large political clubs, such as the Constitutional, the Junior
Constitutional, and the National Liberal, hardly come within the scope
of this book. It may, however, be mentioned that, whilst the National
Liberal has an ingeniously contrived system (the idea of which was
originally conceived by Mr. Arthur Williams, sometime M.P. for
Glamorgan) whereby very young men are attracted to join the club,
nothing of the sort seems to have been attempted by any similar
institution purporting to further the spread of Conservative principles.
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