CHAPTER XXVI.
BERKELEY SQUARE, AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD.
"Fountains and trees our wearied pride do please,
E'en in the midst of gilded palaces;
And in our town the prospect gives delight,
Which opens round the country to our sight."—Sprat.
Bruton Street—The "Great" Duke of Argyll—Anecdote of Sheridan—Museum of the Zoological Society—Berkeley Square—Lansdowne House
and its Occupants—Horace Walpole—Lord Clive—Lady Jersey—Beau Brummell and his "Harbinger of Good Luck"—The Eccentric
Sir John Barnard—Highwaymen and Footpads—Hay Hill—Bolton Row—"The Three Chairmen"—"The Running Footman"—Charles
Street and its Noted Residents—Hill Street—The Blue-Stocking Club—Davies Street—Lord Byron and Joe Manton—Farm Street and
the Roman Catholic Chapel—Mount Street—Martin Van Butchell, the Quack Doctor—The Coburg Hotel.
Undoubtedly there is a natural pleasure in a rus
in urbe, which has no counterpart in any urbs in
rure. It is this feeling to which must be ascribed
the fact that in the most crowded parts of this
great metropolis we leave open spaces, and plant
them with trees, and rejoice to live in "squares" if
our means will allow us. Still it was long before
Nature asserted her sway. The majority of our
squares, except those of Tyburnia and Belgravia,
are the growth of the last century; and few of
them existed before the accession of George III.,
their sites up to that time being mostly sheepwalks, paddocks, and kitchen-gardens.
Mr. Timbs tells us, what few of us remember or
know, that it was at first attempted to call the
squares by the strange and uncouth name of quadrantes; and Maitland, in his "History of London,"
retains the term, with only a slight alteration, when
he mentions "the stately quadrant denominated
King Square, vulgarly Soho Square." This name
is probably known to few except very learned
antiquaries, so wholly has it passed out of use.
We wish that we could endorse the words of
Mr. John Timbs when he calls the garden spaces
or planted squares the most "recreative" feature of
our metropolis. At all events, to the multitude the
recreation is that of the eyes alone; for, except
Leicester Square, not one of them is accessible to
the weary working man, the public being allowed
only to stare at them through the iron railings
selfishly set round them.
But to proceed. Again bending our steps towards
the west, we pass in a parallel line with Piccadilly,
but in a somewhat "higher latitude." Leaving
Conduit Street, which was our point of divergence
at the conclusion of our last chapter, we step across
Bond Street into Bruton Street, which leads direct
into Berkeley Square. Bruton Street derived its
name from Lord Berkeley of Stratton, whom we
have already mentioned in connection with Piccadilly, and whose ancestors were known as the
Berkeleys of Bruton. This street has had some
distinguished residents in its time; among others,
John, the second and "great" Duke of Argyll,
who in the reign of William III. was Ambassador
in Spain, and, after the Peace of Utrecht, Commander of the Forces in Scotland. He took part
in the suppression of the rebellion of 1715. This
duke is the same who is immortalised by Pope in
the following lines:—
Argyll, the state's whole thunder born to wield,
And shake alike the senate and the field."
It may be remembered also that Sir Charles
Hanbury Williams in his poems identifies the duke
with this street:—
"Yes! on the great Argyll I often wait
At charming Sudbrooke or in Bruton Street.
Sheridan also was living in this street in 1786.
At this period his house was so beset with duns
that, in spite of his seat in Parliament, even the
provisions for his family had to be let down the
area between the railings, as he was afraid to open
the front door. Sir N. W. Wraxall tells a capital
story apropos of this house and its occupant in
that year:—"Sheridan," he writes, "entertained at
dinner here a number of the (Whig) opposition
leaders, though he laboured all the time under
heavy pecuniary embarrassments. All his plate, as
well as his books, were lodged in pawn. Having,
nevertheless, procured from the pawnbroker an
assurance of the liberation of his plate for the
day, he applied to Beckett, the celebrated bookseller in Pall Mall, to fill his empty book-cases.
Beckett not only agreed to the proposition, but
promised to ornament the vacant shelves with some
of the most expensive and splendid productions of
the British press, provided that two men, expressly
sent for the purpose by himself, should be present
to superintend their immediate restoration. It
was settled finally that these librarians of Beckett's
appointment should put on liveries for the occasion,
and wait at table. The company having arrived,
were shewn into an apartment where, the bookcases being opened for the purpose, they had
leisure, before dinner was served, to admire the
elegance of Sheridan's literary taste, and the magnificence of his collection. But, as all machinery is
liable to accidents, so in this instance a failure had
nearly taken place, which must have proved fatal
to the entertainment. When everything was ready
for serving dinner, it happened that, either from
the pawnbroker's distrust, or from some unforeseen
delay on his part, the spoons and forks had not
arrived. Repeated messages were dispatched to
hasten them, and they at last made their appearance; but so critically, and so late, that there not
being time left to clean them, they were thrown into
hot water, wiped, and instantly laid on the table.
The evening then passed in the most joyous and
festive manner. Beckett himself related these
circumstances to Sir John Macpherson."
In this street, for a time, resided Lord Brougham,
when Lord Chancellor. No. 16 was the town
house of the late and present Lord Granville,
and at one time that of Lord Chancellor Cottenham. It passed afterwards into the hands of another
well-known statesman, Lord Carnarvon. In 1841
No. 26 was the residence of Sir Matthew Tierney,
the favourite physician of George IV.
In Bruton Street was formerly the Museum of
the Zoological Society, before or about the time of
the establishment of its gardens in Regent's Park.
The studio of Mr. Mark Noble, the sculptor, is
in this street.
Berkeley Square, which we now enter on its
eastern side, was built in 1698, and named after
John, Lord Berkeley, of Stratton, whose mansion
and grounds we have already described as situated
on the north side of Piccadilly. From the rear of
Devonshire House they extended back to Hay Hill,
in the south-east corner of the square. In the
centre of the square, which contains about five acres
of ground, are some fine, tall, and shady plane-trees,
which impart an air of cheerfulness and picturesqueness to the spot. Within the enclosure there was
formerly an equestrian statue of George III., erected
by the Princess Amelia. The statue, which was
executed by Wilton, stood on a clumsy pedestal,
and represented the king in the character of Marcus
Aurelius. At one time this square was the most
fashionable locality in London. The houses are
rather heavy and monotonous in appearance; and
a few link-extinguishers may still be seen flanking
the doorways, reminding us of the days of sedanchairs and cumbrous family coaches.
The magnificent mansion standing within its
garden and gates, which occupies the southern
side of the square, and has been for four generations
the town-house of the Marquises of Lansdowne,
was originally built by Robert Adam, the architect
of the Adelphi, for John, Earl of Bute, the favourite
Premier of George III. in his early days. It was
scarcely finished when, in 1762, after an administration of about two years, during which he had
brought the war with France and Spain to a close
by the Treaty of Fontainebleau, Lord Bute suddenly
threw up the reins of government, and retired into
private life. The act was most unpopular. This
magnificent residence, just completed and newly
occupied, exposed his lordship to the most malignant comments; and his enemies asserted that he
could not possibly have erected such a mansion
by honest and fair means. They concluded, therefore, that he had either received large presents
from the Court of France for signing the treaty,
or had made large purchases in the public funds,
previous to signing its preliminaries. The accusation was made publicly by others as well as by
"Junius," who in the plainest terms accused the
earl of selling his country. It is not a little
singular that, when some twenty years later the
house passed by purchase into the hands of Lord
Shelburne, afterwards Marquis of Lansdowne, the
same accusation was revived, the public again
raising an outcry to the effect that it could not
have been bought except by moneys paid to his
lordship for concluding the peace of 1783. Lord
Shelburne, however, took no notice of the cry, for,
according to Jeremy Bentham, he "was the only
minister who did not fear the people."
Lord Bute was known to be, or at all events to
have been, a poor man until called to the post of
Premier; and his enemies were not slow to draw
attention to the fact, that he could never have
afforded to build such a house either from his
patrimony or from his marriage with the daughter
of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. The "scandal"
is recorded in the gossiping pages of Sir N. W.
Wraxall, who adds, "As little could he be supposed
to have amassed during his very short administration enough to suffice for such a building. The
only solution of the difficulty, therefore, lay in
imagining, however unjustly, that he had either
received presents from France, or had made large
purchases in the public funds previous to the
signature of the preliminaries of peace" with that
country. Whatever may have been the real
solution of the mystery, there can be no doubt
that the mansion brought nearly as much of public
odium on Lord Bute as the building of Clarendon
House, as we have already seen, had entailed a
century before upon Lord Chancellor Hyde.
The story of Lord Bute's first introduction to
royal circles is told at considerable length by Sir
N. W. Wraxall. The substance of it is that in
1747, whilst living, from motives of economy, at
a villa on the banks of the Thames, he was at
Egham races, and that a shower coming on, and
the Prince of Wales, accidentally finding him without a conveyance, offered to give him a seat in
his own carriage, and took him to Cliefden, near
Maidenhead, where he stayed the night. He
rendered himself extremely acceptable to their
royal highnesses, and thus laid the foundation,
under the succeeding reign, of his elevation to the
premiership—a promotion which may be said to
have been a consequence of this turn in the chapter
of accidents. When young he had a very handsome person; and long after he became a constant
visitor and almost an inmate of Leicester House
and of Cliefden, he would frequently play the part
of "Lothario" in the private theatricals exhibited
by the Duchess of Queensberry for the amusement
of those royal personages—a fact to which Wilkes
alludes more than once with a sly inuendo in one
of his publications. If this be really the true
history of the rise of Lord Bute to place and
power, it is but a modern instance of the Latin
satirist's remark, "Voluit Fortuna jocari."
In 1762 Dr. Johnson waited here on Lord Bute
to thank him for the literary pension which, at his
recommendation, the King had settled on him.
Lord Bute on this occasion said to him expressly
that this mark of royal favour was "given him not
for anything he was to do, but for what he had
already done." As Boswell remarks, Lord Bute on
this occasion behaved in a very handsome manner.
"A minister of a more narrow and selfish disposition would have availed himself of such an opportunity to fix an implied obligation on a man of
Johnson's powerful talents to give him his support."
Lord Bute does not appear to have long resided
here, for very soon after the mansion was completed
it was sold to the Earl of Shelburne, afterwards first
Marquis of Lansdowne. John Timbs tells us that
"the price was £22,000, being some £3,000 less
than it cost." He also mentions the canard which
was current in the last century with respect to the
house, namely, that "it was built by one Peace,
that made by Lord Bute, in 1762, and paid for by
another."
In the spring of 1780, on the failure of his publisher, Mr. H. Payne, of Pall Mall, George Crabbe,
poor and unknown, came to this house, in order
to ask for temporary aid; but he was refused by
Lord Shelburne once and again. Crabbe's son
tells us in his "Life" that "often in latter times
he would express the feelings with which he contrasted his reception at this nobleman's door in
1780, with the courteous welcome which he received at a subsequent period in that same mansion,
now Lansdowne House." "Dined at Lansdowne
House," writes the poet, in his "Diary," in 1817.
"My visit to Lord Lansdowne's father in this
house, now thirty-seven years since!" The only
wonder that one feels in reading such an episode,
even in a poet' slife, is that he could condescend,
when his name was known as the author of "The
Village," to enter the doors of that Mæcenas from
which he was so rudely repulsed when he needed
temporary assistance.
With respect to the history of this house and its
noble owners, we may be pardoned for drawing
largely here upon one of the literary articles of the
Times:—"In 1805 died the first Marquis of Lansdowne, having by that time passed very much out
of popular notice; and the principal cause of public
regret for his demise was, that only a fortnight
before his death he had declared his knowledge of
the Junius secret, and yet among his papers was to
be found no indication that could lead to its discovery. He was succeeded by his eldest son, the
Earl of Wycombe, whose first act on coming into
possession was to sell almost all the literary and
artistic treasures which his father had accumulated
with so much love and labour. The greater part
of these were dispersed under the hammer of the
auctioneer, many of the pictures going to enrich
the National, the Grosvenor, and other galleries;
only the Lansdowne MSS. were kept together,
being purchased by the British Museum; while
the Gallery of Antique Marbles was the sole
portion of the collection for which the marquis
showed any appreciation—his opinion being expressed in the fact that he purchased it from his
father's executors for £6,000. If, however, this
nobleman did not show much respect to his father's
cultivated taste, he was not without a certain
ancestral pride, for he tried to build a vessel on
the principle of Sir William Petty's double-bottomed
ship, that was to sail against wind and tide, a model
of which was then, and is perhaps still, exhibited
in the council-room of the Royal Society. Of
nautical habits, he also erected, near the Southampton water, a marine villa, in which, from dininghall and private bower to kitchen and scullery, all
was pure Gothic, while the gardens belonging to
the castle were laid out at Romsey, some ten or
twelve miles distant, on a site which formed the
original estate of the Petty family. Here, if not
in yachting voyages to Ireland or the Continent,
he spent most of his time. In London he was
a marked man—remarkable for his disregard of
dress, and for the pride he took in appearing on
the coldest days in winter without a great-coat and
without gloves. He died in November, 1809, and
was succeeded by his half-brother, the third Marquis,
whose first care was to purchase the antique marbles
from his sister-in-law; and there, at Lansdowne
House, they may now be seen—some of them, as
the youthful 'Hercules' and the 'Mercury,' justly
considered the finest statues of the kind that have
found their way to this country. As for the
pictures, when the marquis succeeded to the title,
in 1809, there was not one in this splendid mansion,
with the exception of a few family portraits; but
Lord Lansdowne set himself to the formation of a
gallery, which now comprises nearly two hundred
pictures of rare interest and value, but miscellaneous
in their character, no school or master predominating, unless it be Sir Joshua Reynolds. Some
of the portraits in this collection are of great
interest. There is the celebrated portrait of Pope,
by Jervas; Reynolds's wonderful portrait of Sterne;
one of Franklin, by Gainsborough; a beautiful one
of Peg Woffington, by Hogarth; Lady Hamilton
appears twice—as a bacchante and a gipsy, from
the pencil of Romney; Horner, the old college
friend of Lord Lansdowne, is not forgotten; and,
most interesting of all, there is the lovely portrait of
Mrs. Sheridan, as St. Cecilia, painted by Reynolds."
It may recall with some vividness the fashion of
those times if we record a little incident connected
with this portrait. During the short-lived Ministry
of "All the Talents" the Whig leaders celebrated
their return to power by a continual round of
festivities, in which Sheridan outvied all his colleagues. One Sunday (25th of May, 1806) he
gave a grand dinner; on the Monday following a
supper and ball, at which the dancing was prolonged to past eight o'clock next morning; on the
Tuesday a christening, a masque, and another ball,
the Prince being present on each occasion, and the
Lord Chancellor Erskine, and the young Chancellor of the Exchequer, Henry Petty, being conspicuous among the dancers. On the occasion of
this dinner, the portrait of Mrs. Sheridan was redeemed for one night only from the pawnbroker's,
and exhibited in its place in the dining-room.
When poor Sheridan died, it was still in possession of the pawnbroker; it then fell into the
hands of Sheridan's solicitor, and from him it was
purchased for £600 by Lord Lansdowne. In this
little incident we get some glimpses of that conviviality for which the Whigs were distinguished.
"Le Whig est la femme de votre Gouvernement,"
says Balzac; and the truth of the remark is especially illustrated in that social influence which the
Whigs have always cultivated.
The name of Petty was assumed by the Hon.
John Fitzmaurice, second son of Thomas, twentyfirst Lord Kerry, and of Anne, only daughter of Sir
William Petty, on inheriting the Petty estates on
the death of his maternal uncle, Henry Petty, Esq.,
of Shelburne. He was created a peer of Ireland
as Viscount Fitzmaurice, and soon after promoted
to the Earldom of Shelburne. His son and successor, William the second earl, and the purchaser
of Lansdowne House, was advanced to the Marquisate of Lansdowne in 1784. The above Sir
William Petty, of whose talents and public services
we have spoken in a previous chapter (page 256), is
styled by Aubrey "a person of a great stupendous
invention, and of as great prudence and humanity."
Sir William was one of the members of the "Rota"
or Coffee Club, to which John Milton and Pepys
also belonged. The character of the club may be
inferred from the lines in "Hudibras:"—
"—as full of tricks
As 'Rota-men' of politics."
Continuing our account of the mansion, we may
simply state that it is large and of somewhat heavy
proportions, and that the front is of white stone,
ornamented with Ionic pillars and a pediment; but
it is almost shut out from view by the rich foliage
by which the mansion is surrounded; upon the
gate-piers is a beehive, one of the crests of the
house of Lansdowne. The pictures mentioned
above are, for the
most part, hung in
a gallery of fine
proportions (being
100 feet long by 30
wide); and besides
these there is in
the ante-room a
copy of Canova's
"Venus." The
house also contains
some fine specimens
of antique busts and
statues collected
by Gavin Hamilton.
The "classic" diningroom served for
many years, with
Holland House and
Devonshire House,
to bring together
the principal leaders
of thought and
action belonging to
the old Whig coterie.
Here the Russells
and Greys, and Sir
James Mackintosh,
would often meet
around the hospitable table of Henry, the third
marquis, so long the venerated "Nestor" of the
Liberal party, who divided his time between this
house and his seat of Bowood, in Wiltshire, till his
death in 1863. Mr. Rush, the American Minister,
was a frequent guest here in the days of the
Regency, and he speaks of the hospitality of its
"classic" dining-room in most glowing terms.
We learn from Brougham's "Life" that cabinet
councils were occasionally held here.
THE SIGN OF "THE RUNNING FOOTMAN."
Among the most constant and most welcome
guests here was "Tommy" Moore—"Anacreon
Moore," as he was often called, in allusion to his
light and sparkling verses.
Horace Walpole lived for the last fifteen years of
his life at No. 11 on the east side of this square,
and here he died on the 2nd of March, 1797, a few
years after succeeding to the Earldom of Oxford, a
title he scarcely ever cared to assume, preferring
to be called plain "Horace Walpole" to the end.
He thus writes to the Countess of Ossory, under
date October, 1779, which fixes the date of his
removal hither from Arlington Street, where we have
already been introduced to him:—"I came to town
this morning to take possession of [my house in]
Berkeley Square, and am as well pleased with my
new habitation as I
can be with anything
at present. Lady
Shelburne's being
queen of the palace
over against me"
(he is referring, of
course, to Lansdowne House)" has
improved the view
since I bought the
house, and I trust
will make your ladyship not so shy as
you were in Arlington Street."
Walpole was attacked at Strawberry Hill by the
cold, about the close
of November, 1796,
and at the end of
that month he removed to his house
in Berkeley Square,
which he never left
again. On this
cold supervened an
attack of gout. He
still amused himself with writing and dictating brief
notes, instead of letters, and with the conversation
of his friends; and, exhausted by weakness, sunk
gradually and died painlessly, on the 2nd of the
following March. On the death of Horace Walpole, the house passed to his niece, Lady Waldegrave, who was living here at the beginning of the
present century.
It has been said of Horace Walpole, with some
justice, by Mr. Charles Knight: "The chief value
of his letters consists in his lively descriptions of
those public events whose nicer details, without
such a chronicler, would be altogether hid under
the varnish of what we call history."
The house No. 13, two doors further to the
north, was at one time occupied by the late
Marquis of Hertford, who kept here the nucleus
of the fine gallery of paintings now at Hertford
House, Manchester Square.
No. 45, on the west side of the square, was the
house of the great Lord Clive, the founder of our
Indian Empire—"that second Kouli Khan," as
Horace Walpole styles him. Sated with success
and honours, his restless spirit seems to have enfeebled his nervous system, and there is too much
reason to fear that he fell by his own hand, in
November, 1774. Lord Clive in Dr. Johnson's
opinion, was a man who, though loaded with
wealth and what the world called honours, had yet
"acquired his fortune by such crimes that his
consciousness of this impelled him to cut his own
throat, because he was weary of still life, little
things being not sufficient to move his great
mind." The house now belongs to his nearest
representative, the Earl of Powis, who, though a
Herbert by birth, bears the name of Clive.
EXTINGUISHERS IN BERKELEY SQUARE.
An amusing story, showing how Lord Clive
obtained his wife, is thus told by Sir Bernard
Burke in his "Rise of Great Families:"—"Mr.
Maskelyne (brother of Dr. Nevil Maskelyne, the
Astronomer-Royal) went as a cadet to India, where
he became acquainted with Mr. Clive (afterwards
Lord Clive). The acquaintance ripened into intimate friendship, and led to constant association.
There hung up in Mr. Maskelyne's room several
portraits; among others a miniature, which attracted Clive's frequent attention. One day, after
the English mail had arrived, Clive asked Maskelyne if he had received any English letters, adding,
'We have been very much misunderstood at home,
and much censured in London circles.' Maskelyne replied that he had, and read to his friend a
letter he then held in his hand. A day or two
after, Clive came back to ask to have the letter
read to him again. 'Who is the writer?' inquired
Clive. 'My sister,' was the reply; 'my sister
whose miniature hangs there.' 'Is it a faithful
representation?' further asked Clive. 'It is,' rejoined Maskelyne, 'of her face and form; but it is
unequal to represent the excellence of her mind
and character.' 'Well, Maskelyne,' said Clive,
taking him by the hand, 'you know me well, and
can speak of me as I really am. Do you think
that girl would be induced to come to India and
marry me? In the present state of affairs, I dare
not hope to be able to go to England.' Maskelyne wrote home, and so recommended Clive's
suit, that the lady acquiesced, went to India, and,
in 1753, was married at Madras to Clive, then
rising to the highest distinction. Lord Clive returned to England in 1767, having done more to
extend the English territory and consolidate the
English power in India than any other commander.
His name stands high on the roll of conquerors;
but it is found in a better list—among those who
have done and suffered much for mankind. He
died at the age of forty-eight, in a fit of insanity,
produced by the ingratitude and persecution of his
country."
In another house in this square died, in 1762,
Martha Blount, the friend and correspondent of
Pope. At No. 48 resided Earl Grey for several
years both before and after his premiership. In
1842 this square numbered among its residents
Sydney Smirke, the architect, and Sir John Cam
Hobhouse, afterwards Lord Broughton.
Another celebrated house in this square is No.
38, for half a century or more the residence of
the Earl of Jersey. Here the celebrated Lady
Jersey, the widow of the fifth earl—one of the
female favourites of George IV., in the old days of
Carlton House, and in after time one of the most
omnipotent and imperious queens of "Almack's"—held her receptions. Half the fashionable world
had the entrée to these, and the other half sought
the privilege in vain, with watering lips. Lady
Jersey was the daughter and heiress of Mr. Robert
Child, the banker; and her large interest in the
bank of Messrs. Child, at Temple Bar, and the
income which she drew from it, threw a halo
around her which blinded the upper ten thousand
to the facts of her early married life.
A curious story which connects this square with
a turn—though only a temporary turn—in the fortunes of "Beau" Brummell, of whom we have
spoken in our chapter on Carlton House, (fn. 1) is told
by Mr. Raikes in his "Journal:"—"At five o'clock
on a fine summer's morning, in 1813, he was walking
with me through Berkeley Square, and was bitterly
lamenting his misfortunes at cards, when he suddenly stopped, seeing something glittering in the
kennel. He stooped down and picked up a crooked
sixpence, saying, 'Here is an harbinger of good
luck.' He took it home, and before going to bed
drilled a hole in it, and fastened it to his watchchain. The spell was good: during more than two
years he was a constant winner at play and on the
turf, and, I believe, realised nearly £30,000."
The blind god, or goddess, of gain, however,
appears speedily to have deserted him, for in 1816
he was obliged to fly the country on account of
debt, and to retire to Calais, between which place
and Caen, where he ultimately became English
Consul, he spent his latter days.
Brummell outlived most of the Carlton House
set: he died in 1840. Mr. Raikes describes him
as tall, well-made, and of a good figure, and a
general favourite with ladies society. "Latterly,"
he writes, "he became bald, and continued to wear
powder to the last of his stay in England, rather
piquing himself on preserving this remnant of the
veille cour amidst the inroads of the Crops and
Roundheads who dated from the French Revolution. He was always studiously, and even remarkably, well-dressed; never at all outré; and though
considerable time and attention were devoted by
him to his toilette, when once accomplished, it never
seemed to occupy his attention. His manners
were easy, polished, and gentleman-like, stamped
with what St. Simon would call l'usage du monde, et
du plus grand, et du meilleur, and regulated by that
same good taste which he displayed in most things.
No one was a more keen observer of vulgarism in
others, or more piquant in his criticisms, or more
despotic as an arbiter elegantiarum; indeed, he
could decide the fate of a young man just launched
into the world by a single word. His dress was
the general model; and when he had struck out a
new idea, he would smile at observing its gradual
progress downwards from the highest to the lowest
classes. . . . He was not only good-natured, but
thoroughly good-tempered. I never remember to
have seen him out of humour. His conversation, without having the wit and humour of Lord
Alvanley, was highly amusing and agreeable, replete
with anecdotes not only of the present day, but of
society several years back, which his early introduction to Carlton House and to many of the Prince's
older associates had given him the opportunities of
knowing correctly." "Beau" Brummell, indeed,
has never been equalled or paralleled since, not
even by Count D'Orsay, whom he in some respects
resembled.
In this square died, towards the close of the last
century, the eccentric son of Sir John Barnard,
sometime alderman of and M.P. for London, and
one of those few members whose "price" even Sir
Robert Walpole could not find out. This was the
more remarkable in his case, as he was extremely
penurious. Lord Chatham called him "the Great
Commoner," probably in jest; but it is recorded
that more than one high Minister of State constantly consulted him on all measures of finance,
and that once, at least, he was offered the Chancellorship of the Exchequer. His son inherited
his penurious tastes. The circumstances of his
death were singular. One Monday morning he
woke, having dreamed that he should die in the
course of the week. He used to have a cup of
chocolate for breakfast daily, and every Monday
morning he gave his housekeeper the money for
the weekly supply. He was so impressed with
his dream, however, that he told her on this occasion to get only half the quantity. Before the
fourth morning came he was found dead.
In the days of the Regency Berkeley Square
probably vied with Grosvenor Square in being the
most fashionable spot in the West-end, and the
neighbourhood of both was constantly spoken of
in the last century as the very type of London
wealth, taste, hospitality, and luxury. Hence the
sarcastic remark of Cawthorne—
"Alas! no dinners did he eat
In Berkeley Square or Grosvenor Street."
Nevertheless, in spite of its wealth and luxury, the
locality seems to have had its drawbacks, for it
enjoyed the unenviable distinction of being infested
with highwaymen and footpads. According to Dr.
Doran, the district around the square, Hay Hill,
Hill Street, &c., continued to be a dangerous one
down to the middle of the reign of George III.
Lord Cathcart, in an unpublished letter to his son
William, dated December, 1774, affords an instance
of the peril which people ran on their way to the
houses of Mrs. Montagu, Lady Clermont, Lady
Brown, and other residents of that neighbourhood.
Lord Cathcart tells his son that as his sisters and
Mr. Graham (afterwards Lord Lynedoch) were
going to Lady Brown's in a coach, they were
attacked by footpads on Hay Hill. One opened
the door and demanded the company's money.
The future Lord Lynedoch showed the stuff of
which that gallant soldier was made. He upset
the robber who addressed them, then jumped out
and secured him. The confederate took to his
heels. We may add, on the authority of Walker's
"Original," that George IV. and the Duke of York,
when very young men, were stopped one night by
highwaymen on Hay Hill, whilst riding in a hackney
coach, and robbed of what valuables they had
about them.
Then, again, this neighbourhood has more than
once been the scene of civil strife and bloodshed;
and Mr. Planché tells us, in his agreeable "Recollections and Reflections," that he remembers seeing
artillerymen standing with lighted matches by the
side of their loaded field-pieces in Berkeley Square
in the days of Lord Liverpool's ministry.
Hay Hill, which connects the south-east angle
of the square with Grafton and Dover Streets, is
a steep slope, and covers part of the site of the
gardens belonging to Berkeley House. It is generally thought to derive its name, like Farm Street,
on the other side of the square, from the rural
manor of which it once formed a part. But Peter
Cunningham considers it is a corruption of the
"Eye" or "Aye," a brook which ran at its foot
from Tyburn, which he supposes to be a corruption
of "Eye-burn" or "Ay-burn."
Near this, in the reign of Queen Mary, as
already mentioned, a skirmish took place between
a party of insurgents, under Sir Thomas Wyatt,
and a detachment of the royal army, in which the
former were repulsed. After the subsequent defeat
and capture of Sir Thomas Wyatt at Ludgate, he
was executed, and, as Stow tells us, his head set up
on a gallows at this very place.
According to the "Annual Register" for 1799,
"Hay Hill was granted by Queen Anne to the
then Speaker of the House of Commons; but
much clamour being made about it as a bribe, . . .
the Speaker sold it for £200, and gave the money
to the poor. The Pomfret family afterwards purchased it, and it has lately been sold for £20,300."
At the foot of Hay Hill, in a lane leading
towards Bruton Mews South, is a small publichouse called the "Three Chairmen," pointing back
to the days when sedan chairs were in fashion.
A narrow passage between the gardens of Lansdowne and Devonshire Houses leads to Bolton Row
and Curzon Street. It is sunk below the level of
the ground, and at one end is a flight of steps,
with an upright iron bar in the centre. It is said
that this bar was put up because a highwayman
who had done some deed of violence in May Fair
rode his horse through the defile, much to the
danger of the foot-passengers. In Bolton Row,
in the early part of the present century, resided
Mr. Henry Angelo, the noted teacher of the noble
art of fencing, who lived all his life in the world of
fashion, and whose "Reminiscences" occupy two
large volumes.
Charles Street and Hill Street, both on the
western side of the square, are handsome thoroughfares; and the houses in both have always been
tenanted by the highest and noblest families.
In Hayes Mews, running northwards between
these two streets, there is a public-house bearing
the sign of the "Running Footman," much frequented by the servants of the neighbouring gentry.
Upon the sign-board is represented a tall, agile
man in gay attire, and with a stick having a metal
ball at top; he is engaged in running, and underneath are the words, "I am the only running footman." We have given a copy of this curious sign
on page 330. It is obvious that the very word
"footman," still in constant use for a man-servant,
implies the original purpose for which such a
servant was kept—namely, to run alongside his
master's carriage.
Chambers tells us in his "Book of Days,"
that the custom of keeping running footmen survived to such recent times that Sir Walter Scott
remembered seeing the state-coach of John, Earl
of Hopetoun, attended by one of the fraternity,
"clothed in white, and bearing a staff." It is
believed that the Duke of Queensberry—the "Old
Q." already mentioned—who died in 1810, kept up
the practice longer than any other of the London
grandees; and Mr. Thoms tells an amusing anecdote of a man who came to be hired for the duty
by that ancient but far from venerable peer. The
duke was in the habit of trying the pace of candidates for his service by seeing how they could run
up and down Piccadilly, watching and timing them
from his balcony. They put on a livery before the
trial. On one occasion, a candidate presented
himself, dressed, and ran. At the conclusion of
his performance he stood before the balcony.
"You will do very well for me," said the duke.
"And your livery will do very well for me," replied
the man, and gave the duke a last proof of his
ability as a runner by then running away with it.
In Charles Street, at No. 22, lived the Duke and
Duchess of Clarence, prior to the accession of the
former to the throne as King William IV. In this
street, too, have resided at one time or another, the
Earl of Ellenborough, some time Governor-General
of India; Mr. James R. Hope-Scott, of Abbotsford, who came into possession of that property
through his marriage with the grand-daughter and
heiress of Sir Walter Scott; Mr. Thomas Baring,
M.P., the distinguished master of finance, whose
house was noted for its fine gallery of paintings;
Admiral Sir Edward Codrington, the victor of
Navarino, and subsequently M.P. for Devonport;
Lady Grenville, sister of Lord Camelford, and
widow of the Premier of 1806-7, the head of the
"ministry of all the talents:" she lived till 1864,
and died at the age of upwards of ninety.
Of John Street, which connects the western end
of Charles Street with Hill Street, there is little
or nothing to say, beyond the fact that it bears
the Christian name of Lord Berkeley of Stratton,
whom we have already mentioned. At the junction
of these two streets stands Berkeley Chapel, one
of the many proprietary chapels in the parish of
St. George's, Hanover Square, to which a conventional district out of that parish has been
attached. It dates from about 1750. Sydney
Smith, at one time, was its officiating minister.
Externally, it has as little to recommend it as most
West-end proprietary chapels; but in 1874–5 its
interior was decorated in good ecclesiastical taste.
Hill Street, so called from some trifling ascent
on the farm of Lord Berkeley already mentioned,
was erected in the early part of the last century. It
comprises none but fine and handsome houses,
and has always been inhabited chiefly by titled
families, or, at all events, those of high aristocratic
connections. Amongst its former residents Mr. P.
Cunningham enumerates the "good" Lord Lyttelton; Mrs. Montagu, before she became a widow
and removed to her more celebrated house in
Portman Square; the first Lord Malmesbury; and
Lord Chief-Justice Camden, who died here in
1794. In this street the late Lord De Tabley,
better known by his former name of Sir John
Leicester, made his fine collection of paintings of
the English school. In 1826, it counted among
its residents Mr. Henry Brougham, M.P. for Winchelsea; he lived at No. 5, the same house where,
in 1835, resided Lord Albert Conyngham, afterwards Lord Londesborough. At No. 19 lived Mr.
N. Ridley Colborne, afterwards Lord Colborne;
both the latter were known for their galleries of
pictures. At No. 9, in 1841, resided Admiral Sir
Philip Durham, the last survivor, it is supposed, of
those who escaped from the Royal George, when she
went down at Spithead, with Admiral Kempenfelt
and "twice four hundred men."
Sir N. W. Wraxall, in his "Historical Memoirs
in his own Time," gives us a most interesting picture of the gatherings of literary celebrities and
fashionable ladies under the roof of Mrs. Montagu,
which were nicknamed the Blue Stocking Club,
and into which, he tells us, he was introduced by
Sir William Pepys. He describes minutely her
dinners, and her evening parties, and the good
looks and esprit of the hostess as she was seen in
the season of 1776, when verging on sixty. Here
frequently came the ponderous and sententious
Dr. Johnson, as a satellite attendant on Mr. and
Mrs. Thrale; Edmund Burke, grave and reserved,
his society being more coveted than enjoyed;
Lord Erskine, then just beginning to be known to
fame as an orator; Dr. Shipley, the Bishop of St.
Asaph, and his daughter, afterwards married to Sir
William Jones, the Orientalist; Mrs. Chapone, who
concealed the most varied and superior attainments under the plainest of outward forms; Sir
Joshua Reynolds, with his ear-trumpet, prevented
by deafness from joining in the general conversation; Horace Walpole, full of anecdote, gathered
partly by contact with the world and partly by
tradition from his father, the great Sir Robert; the
learned and grave Mrs. Carter, the "Madame Dacier
of England;" Dr. Burney, and his daughter, afterwards Madame D'Arblay, the author of "Evelina"
and "Cecilia;" David Garrick, whose presence
shed a gaiety over the whole room; the Duchess
Dowager of Portland, grand-daughter of the Lord
Treasurer Harley, Earl of Oxford; and Georgina,
Duchess of Devonshire, then in the first bloom of
youth.
Davies Street, which runs from the north-west
corner of Berkeley Square, across Grosvenor and
Brook Streets into Oxford Street, is named after
Miss Mary Davies, the rich heiress of Ebury Manor,
who carried the estate at Pimlico by marriage
into the house of Grosvenor; or else, as Mr. Peter
Cunningham suggests, after Sir Thomas Davies,
some time Lord Mayor of London, who inherited
a large part of the fortune of "the great Mr.
Audley," whose name is connected with North and
South Audley Streets. In this street lived "Joe
Manton," the gun-maker, before his removal to
Dover Street. When in London Byron used to go
to Manton's shooting-gallery, to try his hand, as he
said, at a wafer. Captain Gronow, in his agreeable
anecdotes and reminiscences, tells us that Wedderburn Webster was present one day when the poet,
intensely delighted with his own skill, boasted to
Joe Manton that he considered himself the best
shot in London. "No, my lord," replied Manton,
"not the best, but your shooting to-day was very
respectable;" upon which Byron waxed wroth, and
left the shop in a violent passion.
The top of Davies Street runs into Oxford
Street, not at right angles, as most of the other
thoroughfares, but diagonally, and appears to follow
the course of an old and narrow thoroughfare called
Shug Lane, which, in the "New View of London,"
published in 1708, is mentioned as in a line with
Marylebone Lane. The very name of Shug Lane,
however, has long since passed away.
Farm Street, for such is the name by which the
mews at the rear of the north side of Hill Street
is dignified, contains the Jesuit Church of the
Immaculate Conception, a handsome and lofty
Gothic structure of the Decorated style, designed
by Mr. J. J. Scoles, and built in 1848–9.
The fabric is the first possessed by the Jesuits
in London since the expulsion of the order from
Somerset House and St. James's under the Stuart
sovereigns. (fn. 2) The front, which looks south instead
of west, is a miniature reproduction of that of
the Cathedral of Beauvais. The high altar, designed by the late Mr. A. W. Pugin, was the gift
of Miss Tempest, and cost £1,000. The church
has two other altars, and dwarf side-aisles. Having
houses built up against it on either side, it is lit
from a clerestory above.
Mount Street, which was built gradually at
various dates, between the commencement and
the middle of the last century, commemorates in
its name a fort or bastion in the line of fortification so hastily drawn round the western suburbs
in 1643, by order of the Parliament, when an
attack from the royal forces was expected. There
was a mount at the west end of this street, on the
eastern border of Hyde Park. The eastern entrance
to this street is in the corner of Berkeley Square, at
the south end of Davies Street. Most of the street
consists of shops, irregular in plan and size, and by
no means of the first calibre.
Peter Cunningham tells us that in later times
there was in this street a celebrated coffee-house,
called "The Mount." It was probably one which
was frequented by the charming Lawrence Sterne,
towards the end of his life, whilst occupying the
lodgings in Bond Street, where he died. From
this coffee-house, at all events, many of his love
letters to Mrs. Draper and other ladies are dated.
In Mount Street was living, at the commencement of the present century, a singular character,
one Martin Van Butchell, a quack doctor and
dentist of celebrity, who claimed to be able to cure
the king's evil, teeth, ruptures, fistula, and every
kind of evil to which flesh is heir, and who, consequently, obtained from his patients fees suited
rather to the extent of their credulity than to that
of his own merits. He applied, through the Lord
Chamberlain of the Household, for the post of
dentist to George III.; but when the consent of
his Majesty was obtained, he said that he did not
care for the custom of royalty. His wife having
died, he had her body embalmed and kept in his
parlour; and he outdid even this act of eccentricity by allowing his beard to grow, which at that
time was reckoned sheer madness. He is said to
have sold the hairs out of his beard at a guinea
each to ladies who wanted to become the mothers
of fine children. He described himself in one of his
printed circulars as "a British Christian man, with
a comely beard full eight inches long." He used
to ride about the West-end on a shaggy pony,
always unclipped, of course, and painted with spots
by the hand of its master. Its bridle was one of
Van Butchell's contrivances, being really a blind,
which could be let down over both the pony's eyes
in case of the animal taking fright. He lived in
the same house for nearly half a century, and never
would go to visit a patient. "I go to none," he
said and wrote, and he was true to his word, though
as much as £500 was offered him to induce him
to alter his resolution. And yet, when at home,
he would sit and sell oranges, cakes, and gingerbread to the children at his doorstep. He used
to make his wife and children dine by themselves, and to come when called by a whistle; he
dressed his first wife in black, and his second in
white, never allowing either a change of colour.
He was also one of the earliest of teetotalers.
He died in 1810.
GROSVENOR SQUARE.
THE LOFT USED BY THE CATO STREET CONSPIRATORS, 1820.
No. 111, now occupied by a detachment of priests
of the Order of Jesus, was at one time the manor
house of an estate extending southwards to the
borders of the property of the Berkeleys. In the
garden behind it are some fine trees, which once
stood, doubtless, in the open fields; and Farm
Street in the rear still serves to keep up the tradition of its former rurality. A few doors west, on
the southern side of the street, stands the Workhouse of St. George's, Hanover Square, a dingy
and gloomy building externally. Nearly opposite
to its gates, from the middle of Mount Street to
Grosvenor Square, runs a short thoroughfare called
Charles Street, of which there is little or nothing
to say, beyond the fact that in it is the Coburg
Hotel, kept by Francis Grillon, an offshoot of
Grillon's Hotel, of Albemarle Street. In 1832, the
Duchesse d'Angouleme, in her way from Edinburgh to France, held receptions at this hotel.
In this street, during the years 1767–68, when,
as we have seen, he removed into the artistic
neighbourhood of St. Martin's Lane, Josiah Wedgwood had his West-end show-rooms of pottery and
porcelain, the royal arms over his door denoting—what at that time and in his case was no fiction—the patronage and custom of royalty which his
firm enjoyed. Hither Queen Charlotte would
drive from Buckingham House to see those arttreasures by the production of which Wedgwood
was destined in a few short years to make the
name of England famous in Continental courts.
The fact is that the rooms here were small, and
as the patronage of the wealthy classes poured in
upon him in a stream, he soon found himself quite
at a loss for room when large and handsome vases,
as well as dishes and dinner-services, had to be
displayed.
Charles Street was probably so called after one
of the Stuart kings, from whose reign it dates.
It may be interesting to record here that in the
"Post Office Directory" for 1876 there are as
many as forty Charles Streets mentioned as being
within the limits of the metropolis, to say nothing
of a Charles Square, three Charles Places, and a
Charles Mews.