CHAPTER XIX.
CHARING CROSS, THE RAILWAY STATIONS, AND OLD HUNGERFORD MARKET.
"Erect a rich and stately carved cross,
Whereon her statue shall with glory shine;
And henceforth see you call it Charing Cross."—Peele, "King Edward I."
Derivation of the Name of Charing—Description of the Original Cross—Lines on its Downfall—Sir Thomas Wyatt's Encounter with Queen Mary's
Troops—A Cunning Royalist—The Statue of Charles I.—Andrew Marvell's Satire—The Story of the Sword—Execution of the Regicides—Curious Exhibitions at Charing Cross—The Royal Mews—Charing Cross Hospital—Westminster Ophthalmic Hospital—Charing Cross Theatre—The "Golden Cross"—Charing Cross Railway Station and Hotel—The New Eleanor Cross—The Railway Bridge—The Floating Baths—Old Hungerford Market—Hungerford Bridge—The Lowther Arcade—Adelaide Gallery—Craven Street—Northumberland Street.
Charing Cross, as every Londoner knows, is the
name given to the open space at the western
end of the Strand, from which Whitehall, Cockspur
Street, and St. Martin's Lane branch off in different
directions; but of late years a considerable portion
of it has been absorbed in what is now called
Trafalgar Square. The name is most probably
derived from the old village of Charing, which
stood here, a sort of halting-place in bygone times
for travellers between the cities of London and
Westminster; though some fanciful writers have
sought its derivation in the words chère reine,
alluding to the cross which was here set up by
Edward I. in memory of his "dear Queen"
Eleanor. The latter, as every reader of a child's
History of England knows, accompanied Edward I.
to the Holy Land, where, on his "being wounded
by a certain Moor with a poisoned dagger, and
rather growing worse than better by the applications of his physicians, she administered a new
and unheard-of remedy. Full of affection and duty,
she daily licked the wound which the force of
the poison prevented from closing, and sucked
out the deadly matter. By dint of this, or, to
speak more truly, by the power of conjugal affection, she so drew out the noxious matter, that
the wound healing, the king perfectly recovered,
and she received not the least harm." It is
well known that wherever her bier rested, as at
Waltham, Tottenham, and other places, her sorrowful husband erected a cross, or, as Tom Hood
whimsically said, in his usual punning vein, apropos
of the cross at Tottenham:—
"A royal game of fox and goose,
To play for such a loss;
Wherever she put down her orts,
There he—set up a cross!"
The original cross was of wood, wholly or to a
great extent; but it was built in stone by Richard,
and, after his death, by a son or brother, Roger de
Crundale. The material used was Caen stone,
and the steps were of fine smooth marble. It
appears to have been of an octagonal form, and, in
an upper stage, ornamented with eight figures.
On Aggas' map is shown a small house occupying
the spot where the equestrian statue of Charles I.
now stands. This may possibly have been an
erection known as the Hermitage, described otherwise as "a small chapel dedicated to St. Catharine,
which stood over against the cross."
"This cross," says Stow, "builded of stone, was
of old time a fair piece of work, there made by
command of Edward I." Mr. Newton, in his
"London in the Olden Time," tells us that it
"appears to have been more elegant than any of
the other eight crosses erected to Queen Eleanor's
memory. It was of Caen stone, beautifully wrought
with many figures, and raised upon steps of marble."
He also subsequently styles it a "superb piece of
architecture." The cross itself was sentenced by
the Parliament to be taken down in 1643, but its
actual demolition was not carried out till some
four years later, namely, in the summer of 1647.
Lilly, in his "Observations on the Life of King
Charles I.," published in 1715, says that part of
the stones of which it was composed were employed in paving the front of Whitehall, whilst
other stones were made into knife-hafts and other
articles, which, when polished, looked like marble.
OLD CHARING CROSS.
From a Copy of a very old Print published by N. Smith in 1792.
The following lines on the downfall of the cross
itself, which are quoted from "Percy's Reliques,"
are interesting and amusing:—
"Undone, undone the lawyers are;
They wander about the towne;
Nor can find the way to Westminster,
Now Charing Cross is downe:
At the end of the Strand they made a stand,
Swearing they are at a loss,
And, chaffing, say, that's not the way—
They must go by Charing Cross.
"The Parliament to vote it down
Conceived it very fitting,
For fear it should fall and kill them all,
In the house as they were sitting.
They were told, God wot, it had a plot,
Which made them so hard-hearted,
To give command it should not stand,
But be taken down and carted.
"Men talk of plots; this might have been worse,
For anything I know,
Than that Tomkins and Chaloner
Were hanged for long agoe.
Our Parliament did that prevent,
And wisely them defended;
For plots they will discover still
Before they were intended.
"But neither man, woman, nor child
Will say, I'm confident,
They ever heard it speak one word
Against the Parliament.
An informer swore it letters bore,
Or else it had been free;
I'll take, in troth, my Bible oath,
It could neither write nor read.
"The committee said, that verily
To Popery it was bent;
For aught I know it might be so,
For to church it never went. (fn. 1)
What with excise, and such device,
The kingdom doth begin
To think you'll leave ne'er a cross
Without doors nor within.
"Methinks the Common Council should
Of it have taken pity,
'Cause, good old cross, it always stood
So firmly to the City.
Since crosses you so much disdain,
Faith, if I were as you,
For fear the king should rule again,
I'd pull down Tyburn too."
Mr. Wood, in his "Ecclesiastical Antiquities of
London," gives the site of the ancient Hospital of
St. Mary of Rounceval (de Roscidâ valle), at the
angle of Whitehall and the Strand, so that no
doubt it formed a part of Northumberland House.
Dugdale, in his "Monasticon," tells us that the
original hospital at Charing Cross was founded for
the benefit of "lunatic and distracted people," but
that the date of its foundation is not known.
In the year 1554, Charing Cross became the
scene of an encounter between the troops of Queen
Mary and a band of rebels headed by Sir Thomas
Wyatt, who, having taken up arms against the
Queen, was advancing against the City. The
episode is thus described by the honest chronicler,
John Stow:—
"The same night (February 6th), about five of
the clock, a trumpeter went about, and warned all
horsemen and men-at-arms to be at St. James's
Field; and all footmen also to be there by six of
the clock next morning. The Queen's scout, on
his return to the court, declared Wyatt's being at
Brentford, which sudden news made all in the
court wonderfully afraid. Drums went through
London at four of the clock in the morning, commanding all soldiers to armour, and so to Charing
Cross. Wyatt, leaving the Earl of Pembroke, was
come into the field. He stood at Knightsbridge
until day, when his men rested, being very weary
with the travel of the night and day before, and
also partly feebled and faint, having received small
sustenance since their coming out of Southwark.
There was no small ado in London, and likewise
the Tower made great preparation of defence. By
ten of the clock, the Earl of Pembroke had set his
troop of horsemen on the hill in the highway above
St. James's, his footmen were set in two battles somewhat lower, and nearer Charing Cross, at the lane
turning down by the brick wall from Islington-ward
(St. Martin's Lane), where he had also certain other
horsemen, and he had planted his ordnance upon
a hill-side in the meantime. Wyatt and his company planted his ordnance upon a hill beyond St.
James's, almost over against the Park Corner; and
himself, after a few words spoken to his soldiers,
came down the old lane on foot, hard by the court
gate at St. James's, with four or five ancients, his
men marching in good array. The Earl of Pembroke's horsemen hovered all the while without
moving, until all was passed by saving the tail; upon
which they did set, and cut off; the other marched
forward in array, and never stayed or returned to
the aid of their tail. The great ordnance shot off
freshly on both sides. Wyatt's ordnance overshot
the troop of horsemen. The Queen's whole battle
of footmen standing still, Wyatt passed along by
the wall towards Charing Cross, where the said
horsemen that were there set upon part of them,
but were soon forced back. At Charing Cross
there stood Sir John Gage, Lord Chamberlain, with
the guard and a number of others, almost a
thousand; the which, upon Wyatt's coming, shot
at his company, but at the last fled to the court
gates, while certain pursued, and forced with shot
to shut the court gate against them. In this repulse, the Lord Chamberlain and others were so
amazed that they many cryed treason in the court,
and had thought that the Earl of Pembroke, who
was assaulting the tail of his enemies, had gone
(over) to Wyatt, taking his part against the Queen.
There was running and crying out of ladies and
gentlemen, shutting of doors and windows, and
such a shrieking and a noise as was wonderful to
hear."
The upshot of the affair, however, was that Wyatt
surrendered, not being soldier enough to turn his
advantage to account.
The bronze equestrian statue of Charles I. at
Charing Cross is generally reckoned one of the
best of our public statues, and certainly is admirably
placed. It was modelled by Hubert Le Sœeur, a
Frenchman who came to England about the year
1630, and the statue was cast by a commission from
the Earl of Arundel, in 1639, "on a spot of ground
hard by Covent Garden Church." It was erected
just before the beginning of the serious troubles
between Charles and the Parliament. A writer in
Chambers' Journal thus sums up its history:—"When the hapless monarch was consigned to the
block, his statue became as unpopular as himself;
accordingly, it was taken down by order of the
revolutionary Parliament, and was sold to one
Rivers, a brazier, who lived at the Dial near Holborn Conduit, with strict injunctions that it should
be broken up. But Rivers was either a royalist
or a sly-boots; he kept the statue intact, buried it
underground, and drove a brisk trade in knives and
forks, with bronze handles, which he pretended
were made out of the obnoxious statue. He clearly
must have made a good thing out of the knives
and forks which he manufactured in bronze for
sale, since 'the Royalists no doubt eagerly bought
them as relics of their unfortunate and lamented
sovereign, whilst the Puritans and Roundheads
would be equally glad to secure them as trophies of
the downfall of a despot.' Long after the season
of turmoil, when Charles II. and the Royalists were
in power and in fashion, the bronze statue came
again forth into light, and was set up in 1674 on its
present position. The stone pedestal, sculptured
with the royal arms, trophies, &c., was long regarded as the work of Grinling Gibbons; but, if
we may believe Mr. John Timbs, a written account
is extant, proving it to be by Joshua Marshall,
master-mason to the Crown. On the 29th of May—the anniversary of the restoration of Charles II.—the statue was formerly decorated with boughs of
oak. The poet Waller praised the king and the
statue with most courtly panegyric, but Andrew
Marvell contrived to make a good deal of fun out
of both, and in the following way:—Sir Robert
Vyner, Lord Mayor of London, about that time
had put up an equestrian statue of Charles II. at
the Stocks Market, on the spot where the Mansion
House now stands; and as Marvell had not much
more love for the one than for the other monarch,
he wrote a clever satiric dialogue purporting to be
held between the two rival horses. Each horse
reviled the king who bestrode the other horse—the one attacking the profligacy of Charles II., the
other the despotic conduct of Charles I. The
Charing Cross steed making an attack on the
Stocks Market monarch, said, amongst other bitter
things, that it was wondrous
"That he should be styled 'Defender of Faith,'
Who believes not a word that the word of God saith."
And added, in allusion to the current belief that
Charles II. had professed himself a Roman
Catholic:—
"Though changed his religion, I hope he's so civil
Not to think his own father is gone to the devil."
THE KING'S MEWS. (From a View by Wale, about 1750.)
It has been said, but we know not with how
much of truth, that the sculptor, on finding that he
had omitted to put girths to the saddle and trappings of the horse, till it was too late to remedy
the defect, put an end to his existence. The
omission is stated to have been pointed out by a
countryman. Horace Walpole observes of it that
"the commanding grace of the figure and the
exquisite form of the horse, are striking even to
the most unpractised eye."
The sword held by Charles, or rather by his
statue here, is a modern one. The story of the
substitution of the new sword for the old one,
which we take from Chambers' "Book of Days," is
a strange one:—In Notes and Queries for 1850,
Mr. Planché asked, "When did the real sword
which, but a few years back, hung at the side of
the equestrian statue of King Charles at Charing
Cross, disappear? That the sword was a real one
of that period, I state upon the authority of my
learned friend, Sir Samuel Meyrick, who had ascertained the fact, and who pointed out to me its loss."
To this query Mr. Street replied, "The sword disappeared about the time of the coronation of her
present Majesty, when some scaffolding was erected
around the statue, which afforded great facilities
for removing the rapier—for such it was; and I
always understood that it found its way into the
so-called museum of the notorious Captain D——,
where, in company with the wand of the Great
Wizard of the North, and other well-known articles,
it was carefully labelled and numbered, and a little
account appended relating the circumstances of its
acquisition and removal." The editor of Notes
and Queries pointedly added to this communication,
"The age of chivalry is certainly past, otherwise
the idea of disarming a statue would never have
entered the head of any man of arms even in his
most frolicsome mood." We may conclude then
that the present sword of this remarkable statue is
a modern substitute. The pedestal upon which
this statue stands is very ornamental. The plinth,
formerly of Portland stone, was renewed in granite
and slightly raised in 1856; the restoration being
made under the superintendence of Sir Gilbert Scott.
CHARING CROSS FROM NORTHUMBERLAND HOUSE IN 1750.
The cross was also used for other practical purposes; at its foot royal proclamations were read,
and in general any matter of public interest was
proclaimed. To this fact Swift alludes:—
"And all that passes inter nos
May be proclaimed at Charing Cross."
Here, also, occasionally culprits stood in the pillory,
as being the most public place in the west of the
metropolis. Amongst those who so suffered here
was the bookseller, Edmund Curll, who lost his
ears on the occasion. His memory is embalmed
in the "Dunciad" of Pope, as the author of sundry
pieces which deserved anything but immortality.
He died in 1748.
We may remark here that some of the regicides,
including General Harrison, Peters, and Cook,
were executed on the very site where the cross had
stood; and Wood, in his "Athenæ Oxonienses,"
adds that Harrison was put to death with his face
looking towards the Banqueting House at Whitehall.
Pepys, in his "Diary," thus records the event:—"Oct. 30, 1660. I went out to Charing Cross to
see Major-General Harrison hanged, drawn, and
quartered; which was done there, he looking as
cheerful as any man could do in that condition.
He was presently cut down, and his head and heart
shown to the people, at which there was great
shouts of joy. … Thus it was my chance to
see the king beheaded at Whitehall, and to see the
first blood shed in revenge for the king at Charing
Cross." The fanatic Harrison, we may here observe, was the son of a butcher at Newcastle-underLyne, appointed by Cromwell to convey Charles I.
from Windsor to Whitehall, in order to stand his
trial, on which he sat also as one of the judges.
The two regicides Cook and Peters suffered
together; and the body of Harrison having hung
the due time, was cut down, and the process of
quartering commenced, when, at the suggestion of
Colonel Turner, Peters was brought forward that
he might be witness of the horrible mutilation.
The hangman, rubbing his bloody hands, asked
him how he liked it. "I am not terrified; do
your worst," was the reply; and a few minutes
later his strangled body was quivering beneath
the knife of the executioner. If the accounts of
the last moments of the daring men who suffered
at this time be true, it will be seen that, whatever
crimes might be laid to their charge, the guilt of
cowardice could not be imputed to the regicides.
Charing Cross was one of the places most frequented by shows and exhibitions in the days of
Charles II. and James II. In August, 1664,
Samuel Pepys writes in his "Diary:" "At Charing
Cross, I there saw the great Dutchman that is
come over, under whose arm I went with my hat
on, and could not reach higher than his eyebrows
with the tips of my fingers."
It was at the "Admiral Duncan" tavern, Charing
Cross, that, in March, 1824, the men of Cumberland
and Westmoreland in the metropolis met together,
and resolved to found the Annual North Country
Wrestling Matches, which have ever since that
time been celebrated year by year on Good Friday,
and which we shall mention more fully hereafter.
We are reminded by the author of "Haunted
London" that, in 1666–67, an Italian puppet-player
set up his booth at Charing Cross, and probably
introduced "Punch" into England. He paid a
small rent to the overseers of St. Martin's parish,
and is called in their book, "Punchinello." "In
1668," adds Mr. Cunningham, "a Mr. Devone
erected a small playhouse in the same place." In
the Harleian MSS. there is still extant a song in
rather rugged verse, written to ridicule the long
delay in setting up the king's statue; it is curious
as containing an allusion to "Punch:"—
"What can the mystery be that Charing Cross
These five months continues still blinded with board?
Dear Wheeler impart: we are all at a loss,
Unless Punchinello is to be restored."
Milton, we are told, lodged at one Thomson's,
next door to the "Bull's Head Tavern," at Charing
Cross, close to the opening into Spring Gardens,
during the time that he was writing his "Angliæ
Defensio."
Thornton, in his "Survey of London and Westminster," published in 1785, tell us that on the
north side of Charing Cross there is a large square,
on one side of which is a handsome building, used
as stabling for his Majesty's horses, and generally
known as the "Mews," or "Meuse." The word
is derived, as every antiquary knows, from the
"mew" of the young of the falcon and hawk tribe.
It appears that, as early as the year 1377, this place
was used for the purposes of the king's hawks and
falconers, the sport of falconry being then one of
the most favourite pastimes of the aristocracy, and
the Chief Falconer being one of the most important
members of the Royal Household. This office,
which is hereditary, was granted by Charles II. to
Charles, Duke of St. Albans, his son by "Mrs.
Gwynne," and "the heirs male of his body;" and
it still continues attached to the title. At one
time it would seem that the king's stables were at
Lomesbury, or, as it is now styled, Bloomsbury;
but these stables being burnt down in 1537, King
Harry ordered the hawks to be removed, and the
"Mews" altered and enlarged for the reception of
his steeds; so from that day down to the reign of
George IV. the royal stables stood here, and the
word "mews," in London at least, has become
equivalent to a range of stabling.
It would appear, from such books of London
topography as we have been able to consult, that the
old building of Henry VIII.'s time having become
decayed, a new and handsome edifice was begun
in 1732, by George II. It was built in the classical
style, with central columns and a pediment, and
adorned with cupolas and lanterns; but the effect
of this architectural display was spoiled by the
narrow space in front, and on either side of it, and
by the small and mean buildings with which it was
hemmed in. It stood as nearly as possible on the
site of the front of the present National Gallery, as
is clear from a print in Thornton's "Survey of
London and Westminster."
Charing Cross Hospital, which stands a little to
the east of St. Martin's Church at the junction of
Agar Street and King William Street, was built
from the designs of Mr. Decimus Burton. It is
one of the twelve general hospitals of the metropolis, and was founded in 1818. The general hospitals, as distinguished from the special hospitals
or dispensaries, are "institutions for administering
medical and surgical relief to patients within the
building (in-patients), or attending at specified times
(out-patients), and suffering under any illness or
disease, except such as are incurable and contagious." The present hospital was erected in 1831.
By this institution not only are patients treated
both as out-patients and in-patients, but such as require it are attended at their homes, particularly
midwifery cases, and children suffering under contagious disorders. There are about 120 beds in the
hospital; in-patients with letters are admitted on
Monday at twelve; cases of accident at all times
immediately. The annual revenue is about £2,500,
raised almost entirely by voluntary contributions,
on which the hospital almost wholly depends.
Close by, in Chandos Street, is the Eye Hospital,
or, to give it its full title, "The Royal Westminster
Ophthalmic Hospital." This institution is most
cosmopolitan in the bounty which it distributes, for
patients are treated here without letters of recommendation.
Charing Cross Theatre, in King William Street,
is a small building used occasionally for dramatic
performances, and also for entertainments other than
theatrical. It was formerly used as a chapel and
residence by the Fathers of the London Oratory of
St. Philip Neri (1848–56), before their removal to
Brompton. In 1850 Dr. Newman delivered here
his celebrated "Lectures on Anglican Difficulties."
The "Golden Cross," previous to the days of
railroads, was a busy and important coaching hotel;
in fact, it was called "The Bull and Mouth of the
West." Of late years it has degenerated into a
railway parcel-office. The author of "Haunted
London" tells us that, "till late in the last century,
a lofty sign-post, and a long water-trough, such as
still adorn country towns, stood before the gate of
this inn." It may be well to note here that the old
"Golden Cross" Inn, at the door of which Charles
Dickens represents Mr. Pickwick to have had the
memorable encounter with the philosophic cabman, stood several yards to the west of its present
position, and was removed to make way for the
laying out of Trafalgar Square.
Re-crossing the Strand at this point, we come to
Charing Cross Railway Station and Hotel; and here
we may pause to say a few words about the metropolitan railways. The vast strides that have been
made in railway communication in the metropolis
within the last few years, have been such as almost
to encircle London and its suburbs with two distinct lines. The havoc that has been made during
this time by the railways which have entered and
intersected the metropolis is far greater than could
have been imagined; and to describe it we cannot
do better than quote the words of a writer in one
of the principal illustrated newspapers:—
"First," he says, "the hideous hoarding—and
once raised, a hoarding seems the most difficult
thing in the world to level: London has become a
very city of hoardings; then the task of destroying houses, or of snapping off odd bits of streets,
and leaving maimed and melancholy fragments—unsightly, untenantable, forlorn débris; then the
shapeless scraps of land, unneeded by the railway, and unavailable for other purposes; wretched
enclosures, where rubbish may be shot, broken
crockery heaped, with the usual refuse of cabbagestalks, rusty, battered saucepans, dead animals,
oyster-shells, and cast boots and shoes—odd ones,
always, pairs never come together in these waste
territories. Of the abominable bridges that cross
the roads at ugly angles; of the viaducts that provide dry arches for the congregation and accommodation of street Arabs and gutter children; of
the cucumber frames that supply light and air to
the underground traffic; of the colossal sheds of
stations, notably those that mar the river's banks,
that soar and project, like Brobdignag poke-bonnets—we have no need to remind the reader. These
are only to be classed as ruins, inasmuch as they
are productive of and occasion ruins, and are themselves ruinous to all chance of the good-looking of
London. But that, perhaps, is past praying for.
Still, admitting the plainness of our city, we need
not surely take pains to make its disadvantages in
point of aspect more and more self-assertive and
offensive. By discretion and consideration in the
matter of mien and attire, even the ugliest can
avoid at any rate advertising lack of comeliness and
charm.
"But there are other modern ruins than those
wrought by railway enterprise and experiment. In
various parts of the town may be traced 'our
failures' in regard to change and improvement:
inchoate works that seem to be the grave-stones of
abortive speculation and buried capital. Close to
Charing Cross Railway Bridge—itself founded, we
may observe, on the ruin of a graceful suspension
bridge, of quite modern construction—groups of
piles may be discerned, denoting where much
treasure has been sunken. These and certain devastations in Scotland Yard are the only evidences
that remain of a remarkable scheme, abandoned,
or very long in abeyance, for connecting Whitehall
and the Waterloo Road by means of a pneumatic
railway tube passing under the river. The project
may be stone dead or only fast asleep for a term:
it has produced a modern ruin, however, not in
the least picturesque in its aspect."
At Charing Cross we have two railway stations
within a stone's-throw of each other: one is the
West-end terminus of the South-Eastern Railway,
and the other is a station on the Metropolitan
District Railway. The former, which was built
about the year 1863, occupies the site of what was
once Hungerford Market, and, with the vast building forming the booking-offices and hotel, covers
a large space of ground. In the centre of the
enclosure facing the Strand, and in front of the
hotel and entrance to the railway station, there is a
very handsome and elaborate cross, in the decorated
Gothic style of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, erected in 1863. It is built on or near the
spot whereon, if tradition be correct, formerly stood
the cross erected by Edward I., to which we have
already alluded above. It is a reproduction, as
near as possible, of the old one; it is from the
designs of Mr. Edward M. Barry, R.A., based on the
scanty guidance of two or three scarce and indistinct
prints. The height from the base to the summit
is about seventy feet, and it cost between £1,700
and £1,800. It is of Portland and Mansfield stone,
and Aberdeen granite, and the sculptor was Mr.
Thomas Earp. Unfortunately, it is dwarfed and
obscured by the huge hotel under whose shadow it
nestles. It is thus described in the "Curiosities of
London:"—"In the upper story are eight crowned
statues of Queen Eleanor, four representing her as
queen, with the royal insignia, and the other four
with the attributes of a Christian woman. At the
feet of the statues are eight kneeling figures of
angels. The shields in the lower stage are copied
from those existing on the crosses at Waltham and
Northampton, and on the queen's tomb, displaying
the royal arms of England with those of Leon,
Castile, and Ponthieu. The diaper above the
tracery, in the lowest stage of the monument, is
composed of octagonal patterns, richly undercut,
representing alternately the Castle of Castile and the
lion rampant of Leon; the pillar and couch of the
effigy have a similar design. The carving generally
of the crockets, capitals, canopies, diapers, gurgoyles, &c., agrees with the best remains of the
English art of the thirteenth century.
The bridge by which the lines of railway are
carried over the Thames consists of nine spans—six
of 154 feet, and three of 100 feet—and is supported
by cylinders sunk into the bed of the river, and by
the piers and abutments of the old suspensionbridge, the site of which it occupies. The superstructure of each of the 154–feet openings consists
of two main-girders, to the outer side of which are
suspended cross-girders for carrying the roadway
platform. The cross-girders extend beyond the
main-girders, and form a series of cantilevers on the
outer side, for supporting a foot-path seven feet in
width, by which foot-passengers pass over for a
halfpenny toll. The superstructure of the three
100-feet openings is fan-shaped, and forms the connection of the bridge with the railway station. A
beautiful view of the Thames Embankment is obtained from the north end of Charing Cross bridge.
Looking eastward, the water-gate, built by Inigo
Jones for Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, alluded
to in an earlier chapter, appears half hid behind
an artificial mound covered with foliage; whilst
westward we have a magnificent view of the Houses
of Parliament, Westminster Abbey, Lambeth Palace,
and other historical buildings.
The Charing Cross station of the Metropolitan
District Railway is at the bottom of Villiers Street,
and near the stairs leading to the footway over the
bridge. The railway, which passes under the roadway of the Embankment, affords a communication
between the City and the extreme western suburbs,
by way of Westminster, Sloane Square, and South
Kensington.
The site of Hungerford Market, which existed
from the close of the seventeenth century down to
1862, when it was pulled down to make room for
the Charing Cross Hotel and Railway Station, was
formerly the property of a family of the same name,
whose landed estates were at Farley Castle, on the
borders of Wiltshire and Somersetshire, not many
miles from Bath, and whose tragic fortunes have
often been told, but by no one more eloquently
than by Sir Bernard Burke, in his "Vicissitudes of
Families." Sir Edward Hungerford, who was made
a Knight of the Order of the Bath at the coronation
of Charles II., had here a magnificent mansion,
which, on the break-up of Durham Yard, was cut
up and converted into small tenements, which
together formed a market, being connected by a
covered piazza of not very attractive appearance.
Over the market was a large room called "the
French Church," from having been used as a place
of worship by the Protestant refugees expelled from
that country on the revocation of the Edict of
Nantes. This building afterwards became a charityschool for the parish of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields,
but at the beginning of the present century was in
a very dilapidated state. It was subsequently converted into a tavern and music-hall. On the north
side of the building stood a very poor bust of
Charles II., marking the date of the erection.
The greatness of the Hungerford family ceased
with Sir Edward Hungerford, who, by his excessive
extravagance, squandered a princely fortune, and
died a poor Knight of Windsor in the year 1711,
at the advanced age of 115. The town house of
the Hungerford family was destroyed by fire during
his life, and the circumstance is thus mentioned
by Pepys in his "Diary:"—"April 26, 1669.—A
great fire happened in Durham Yard last night,
burning the house of one Lady Hungerford, who
was to come to town to it this night; and so the
house is burned, new furnished, by carelessness of
the girl, sent to take off a candle from a bunch of
candles, which she did by burning it off, and left
the rest, as is supposed, on fire. The king and
court were here, it seems, and stopped the fire by
blowing up the next house." Sir Edward obtained
permission to hold a market three days a week on
the site of his former mansion, and this was the
origin of the Hungerford Market.
The market was rebuilt early in the present
century, in a very heavy Italian style of architecture, by Mr. Fowler, the architect of Covent Garden
Market. The upper part of the market consisted
of three avenues, with shops on each side, the
whole roofed into one mass. The business done
in the sale of fish was very considerable, and there
were also shops or stalls for the sale of fruit, vegetables, and butchers' meat.
The failure of Hungerford Market as a commercial speculation was but the perpetuation of the
unhappy fate which seems always to have overhung
the fortunes of that name. More than three centuries and a half ago, in 1523, a member of the
Hungerford family—Dame Agnes, or Alice, Hungerford—was hung at Tyburn for the murder of her
step-son; and some curious details concerning the
household stuff remaining at her husband's house
at Charing Cross may be found in the thirty-eighth
volume of the "Archæologia." The Sir Edward
Hungerford of 150 years later, known in history
as "the spendthrift," gave 500 guineas for a wig
in which to figure at a court ball at St. James's;
and to satisfy his fondness for play, he sold no less
than twenty-eight manors. It was this Sir Edward
who pulled down the town mansion of the Hungerfords. The glory, or shame, of Sir Edward was
not forgotten in the market-house which arose on
its site, for in a niche on its northern side was
placed a bust of that gentleman in a large wig,
probably intended to immortalise the extravagant
purchase which we have recorded above.
"On my way towards the rotten old Hungerford
Stairs," writes Mr. J. T. Smith, in 1829, "my organ
of inquisitiveness was arrested by two carvings in
stone of a wheatsheaf and sickles, let into the sides
of the houses at the north end, leading to the
'Swan.' A waterman said that the southern end
of the market was used for the sale of corn; but
probably the truer reason is to be found in the fact
that that device was the crest of the Hungerfords."
In the row of houses fronting the market, and
forming the commencement of the Strand, at No. 18,
where his father was a bookseller, Charles Mathews
first saw the light, in 1776. The shop, at that time,
was the favourite resort of the leading Nonconformist ministers of the time, including Rowland
Hill, Dr. Adam Clarke, &c.
Hungerford Bridge, the approach to which was
through the market, was constructed in 1845 upon
the suspension principle, and was the work of the
late Mr. Brunel. The centre span was, perhaps,
the largest of any existing work of the kind, being
no less than 676 feet, whilst the total length of the
bridge was 1,352 feet. The chains to which the
suspending-rods were fastened were double on each
side of the bridge; the two piers were of ornamental brickwork, whilst the clear height of the
bridge above high water in the centre was 32 feet,
and at the sides 28 feet, thus giving a rise of four
feet. The span of the centre division of the bridge
was the only part worthy of any particular notice.
The bridge, which is said to have cost £100,000,
opened up a communication between Hungerford
Market and the worst part of Lambeth. On its
removal, to make room for the present railway
bridge, it was transferred to Clifton, near Bristol,
where it now spans the waters of the Avon.
OLD HUNGERFORD MARKET. (From a View published in 1805.)
Nearly opposite the railway station, and running
diagonally towards Adelaide Street, is the Lowther
Arcade. It is nearly 250 feet in length, and has
shops on either side for the sale of fancy goods.
As the admission is free, and the place is considered
one of the "sights" of London, it is continually
thronged with children and their attendants, buying
toys at the French, German, and Swiss shops. The
Lowther Bazaar, which flourished for a time at the
period of the great Exhibition in 1851, was on the
other side of the Strand. Besides stalls for the
sale of fancy articles, it had many other objects of
interest for the amusement of visitors.
Adjoining the Lowther Arcade, with its entrance
in Adelaide Street, is the Adelaide Gallery, originally intended as a place of amusement and instruction combined. It was first opened in the year
1830, and named after Queen Adelaide, the consort
of William IV. Its varied fortunes, from the day
when it was opened as a temple of science, down
to its transformation into a casino, are thus cleverly
sketched by the late Mr. Albert Smith in his little
book on "London Life and Character:"—
"Some time back—dates are dry things, so we
need not care about the precise year—there existed
in the neighbourhood of the Lowther Arcade an
establishment called the Adelaide Gallery. It was
at first devoted to the diffusion of knowledge.
Clever professors were there, teaching elaborate
sciences in lectures of twenty minutes each; fearful
engines revolved, and hissed, and quivered, as the
fettered steam that formed their entrails grumbled
sullenly in its bondage; mice led gasping subaqueous lives in diving-bells; clock-work steamers
ticked round and round a basin perpetually, to
prove the efficacy of invisible paddles; and on all
sides were clever machines which stray visitors were
puzzled to class either as coffee-mills, water-wheels,
roasting-jacks, or musical instruments. There were
artful snares laid for giving galvanic shocks to the
unwary; steam-guns that turned bullets into bad
sixpences against the target; and dark microscopic
rooms for shaking the principles of teetotalers, by
showing the wriggling abominations in a drop of
the water which they were supposed daily to gulp
down.
HUNGERFORD MARKET, FROM THE BRIDGE, IN 1850.
"Then came a transition stage in the existence
of the Adelaide Gallery, at first stealthily brought
about. The oxy-hydrogen light was slily applied to
the comic magic-lantern; and laughing gas was
made instead of carbonic acid. By degrees music
stole in; then wizards; and lastly, talented vocal
foreigners from Ethiopia and the Pyrenees. Science
was driven to her wit's end for a livelihood, but
she still endeavoured to appear respectable. The
names of new attractions were covertly put into
the bills, sneaking under the original engines and
machines in smaller type. But, between the two
stools of philosophy and fun, Science shared the
usual fate attendant upon such a position—she
broke down altogether. Her grave votaries were
disgusted with the comic songs, and the admirers
of the banjo were bored with the lectures. So
neither went to see her; poor Science declined into
the Gazette, and fled to America.
"But during all this time a mania for dancing
had been gradually coming on, and at last burst
forth. Not even the propensity of St. Vitus, when,
in the Middle Ages, a red slipper placed on the
highway was sufficient to collect and set going a
host of dancing maniacs in his popular pas, could
have kept pace with the movement. New dances
were called for, and new music for them. The
supply was equal to the demand; the domestic
'Paine's First Set,' of Quadrille's childhood, was
laid aside for Herz; then for Musard; and then
for Jullien, Weippert, Coote, and others. Clever
people had always defined the earth to be one
large ball, and there was every chance of its practically proving the truth of the statement.
"Travellers also began to tell bright legends of
Terpsichore's palaces in her own land—of the
Chaumière, with its bosquets and Montagnes
Russes; of the guinguettes beyond the barriers of
Paris; of the Chateau Rouge; and lastly, of the
glittering Bal Mabille, with its palm-tree lights and
trellises of bronze vines—its ruling spirits, whose
names became great facts in Paris—grande brune
Mogador, the graceful Frisette and Rigolette, the
inimitable student Brididi—le moulin perpetuel, as
he was called in Quartier Latin—whom no one
could approach in his wonderful gyrations; and,
finally, the veteran Chicard. And at last all the
steam-engines and water-works were cleared away,
and the Adelaide Gallery was devoted entirely to
the goddess of the 'twinkling feet,' and called a
casino. Imagine a long and very high room—so
high that there are two rows of museum-like galleries running round the walls, between the floor
and ceiling. At one end is a capital orchestra, and
beneath it a refreshment room; the entrance staircases are at the other." It was altered into the
Marionette Theatre in 1852, and is now one of
the refreshment rooms of Messrs. Gatti.
In Craven Street, the next turning westwards
after passing the railway station, No. 7, on the west
side, as the passer-by is informed by a tablet affixed
to the front, was at one time the abode of Benjamin
Franklin. It was afterwards used as the headquarters of the "Society for the Relief of Persons
Imprisoned for Small Debts." The abolition, however, of imprisonment for debt in ordinary cases
has rendered the work of this society unnecessary.
The society was mainly established by the influence
of the celebrated Dr. Dodd. It is stated, as a
proof of the hardship of the former laws in respect
of debtors, that in fifteen months from its commencement, the society was enabled to discharge
no less than 986 persons, many of whom were
confined only for their fees, and who together had
dependent on them as many as 566 wives and
2,389 children. "The objects of this charity,"
says an old prospectus, "are those, whether men or
women, whose debts do not exceed ten pounds;
those have the preference who are infirm or have
large families."
Craven Street, as we learn from the rate-books
of St. Martin's, was known until 1742 as "Spur
Alley." It is the property of the Earl of Craven,
who gave it his name. According to one account,
Grinling Gibbons, whose exquisite wood-carving
adorns St. Paul's, was a native of this street, but the
fact is disputed. Here, too, lived the Rev. Mr.
Hackman, who shot Miss Ray in Covent Garden,
as we shall relate hereafter. And here, too, lived
and died James Smith, one of the two brothers
to whose wit we owe the "Rejected Addresses."
In his day, as in our own, the street was largely
tenanted by solicitors as offices, a fact which served
as the basis of a double epigram; for a friend,
noticing the fact, and also the pleasant view of the
Thames at the bottom of the street, expressed himself thus—
"Fly, honesty, fly, to some safer retreat,
For there's craft in the river, and craft in the street."
In answer to which James Smith remarked, offhand, that there was no necessity to make any such
rapid exodus, and why?—
"For the lawyers are just at the top of the street,
And the barges are just at the bottom."
It was in "Green's Lane in the Strand, near to
Hungerford Market," that Sir Edmundbury Godfrey
was living at the time when he was murdered: he
was a wool merchant, and his wharf was at the
bottom of Northumberland Street.
Northumberland Street, which runs down from
the Strand, a few doors to the east of Northumberland House, was formerly known as Hartshorne
Lane. Here lived Ben Jonson in his schoolboy
days, going first to a private school near St. Martin's
Church, and afterwards to Westminster School. In
Northumberland Street has been published the Pall
Mall Gazette since its first appearance in 1864. In
Northumberland Court, hard by, Nelson lodged,
when a young lieutenant.
It is worthy of note that the house next door to
Northumberland House, eastwards (answering to
No. 1, Strand), was for many years the official
residence of the Secretary of State. Sir Harry
Vane, as we know, lived here, as also did several
of his predecessors and successors in that office.
In concluding our notice of the Strand, we may
be pardoned for adding that we love to think of it
as it appeared years ago, when it was an open
highway, with here and there a great man's house
with gardens to the water-side. The scene has
now indeed changed, both in the appearance of
the great thoroughfare, and in the people by whom
it is frequented, so that we are tempted to exclaim
with Charles Lamb, "I often shed tears in the
motley Strand, for fulness of joy at such multitude
of life."