The Gentleman's St. James's

It’s no secret that St. James’s in London was accorded an area for gentlemen. Some say a lady could not be seen there after a certain time of the day without being considered fast. As Marissa and I have mentioned, it is the location of one of the famous gentlemen’s clubs, White’s. It stands at Numbers 37 and 38. Another club, Boodles, was at Number 28, and Brooks was at the corner of Park Place.

But there were other reasons this street was so very male-oriented. Lodging, for one. It was the street that housed Fenton’s, a hotel where visitors from out of town might stay. Some gentlemen had permanent lodging there. In addition, some of the buildings had flats above street level as well. Lord Byron rose to fame in his lodgings there in 1811. James Gillray the caricaturist lived there from 1808 until his death in1815.

St. James’s also featured shopping of a particularly gentlemanly nature. D.R. Harris and Co. has been operating just down the street from White’s since 1790. The chemists specialized in lavender water, men’s colognes, and English flower perfumes as well as shaving gear and items for tending mustaches.

Not too far away was Lock’s Hatters, where a gentleman might buy a silk top hat or cockade. Lord Nelson and Beau Brummel were among its patrons. On the opposite end of the street was Berry Brothers and Rudd, wine merchants and home of one of the largest scales in London. It was a lark to weigh oneself on it.

So, would you have been brave enough to stroll down St. James’s while the gentlemen were at play?

Drawing of Fenton's Hotel courtesy of Wellcome Library, London. Wellcome Images images@wellcome.ac.uk

Green and Pleasant Land, Part 1: London

London is an amazing city. Of course the history aspect is amazing...but it’s also a remarkably livable city, at least for me who gets antsy when there aren’t trees nearby. There’s little of the canyon-like effect you get in Manhattan...and the parks are truly lovely. And did I mention the history? ☺

So the five of us arrived at our hotel in Westminster in what is probably an ideal place for sightseeing: we were at the St. James Courtyard hotel, a five-minute walk from Buckingham Palace (and on the same street as the Bluecoat School, about which Regina blogged). The hotel itself dates to the Edwardian era, and is built around a courtyard with all sorts of delightful architectural bits. London abounds in delightful architectural bits, by the way—no walk is ever dull there.

I’m happy to report that the statue of Queen Victoria at her memorial in front of the Palace still looks like a lifeguard (which I’d noticed on my first visit to London about thirty years ago)—for some reason Her Majesty’s nose is lighter than the rest of her, as if smeared with zinc oxide. And Canada Gate at the entrance to Green Park off Constitution Hill is as shiny as ever:

However, I was very sad to see that cows are no longer kept in Green Park as they were during the Regency, despite this reminder of their presence:

I found it a little surprising to see how small St. James’s Palace was, and how “right there” as well—the streets run right alongside it—considering it’s actually the official home of the sovereign (ambassadors are still accredited to the Court of St. James.) It was built by Henry VIII and added onto over the centuries, but still has that sixteenth century feel:

And then we were in St. James’s Street, Masculinity Central of Regency London, home of such places as Brooks’s and White’s Club (and yes, there’s the famous Bow Window at White’s)

What I found interesting (beside all the famous historical landmarks and stores) was the topography. St. James’s Street trends uphill, which I did not know—it’s one of those things that somehow doesn’t get mentioned very often, and which I’m glad I now know. But even more exciting to me was catching sight of King Street off St. James’s. The King Street, home of Almack’s Assembly Rooms? You bet—only, Almack’s is long gone, replaced by (sob!) an office building. But at least I can now say I was there as I scribble away at my Almack’s stories. That's me with Child #1. Yes, he's pretty tall.

What else? We dined at Wilton’s on Jermyn Street, established 1742, and had a wonderful dinner...and a delightful tea at Duke’s Hotel. We carried out a quick raid on Harrod’s and came away with tea and chocolates (alas, the presence of a husband and son necessitated the visit being brief). And we visited the Victoria and Albert Museum (glorious sensory overload—it’s the world’s largest museum of art and design) and Apsley House, the Duke of Wellington’s house at Hyde Park Corner, which was amazing.

No interior photographs permitted, alas, as my little history-geek heart was a-galloping at the eleven-foot tall statue of Napoleon at the base of the Principal Staircase on which it is rumored Wellington used to hang his hat as he went up the stairs (and the painting of Wellington in old age presenting a gift to his godson, Queen Victoria’s son Arthur)...at the astonishing Waterloo Shield, which really has to be seen to be appreciated (Google it!) Wellington came away from the wars with a ton of goodies from grateful European heads of state. And most of all at the Waterloo Gallery, the room where Wellington held his annual dinners to commemorate the battle and which held his collection of Spanish masters. Curiously, among the amazing art collection amassed here are multiple portraits of Napoleon and members of his family. After Waterloo, Wellington would be linked for the rest of his life to the former French emperor—without Napoleon, Wellington would not have been Wellington. That must have been a strange thing to have to live with for the rest of his life—so closely linked to someone he actually never met face-to-face—and he lived nearly forty more years after the battle.

And right around the corner from Apsley House in Hyde Park? Rotten Row, of course!

Next time: visiting Oxford and Windsor

Where the Boys Are: Still Betting at White's

My dears, please forgive the recycling of an older post. It received a great number of hits, so I thought perhaps you might enjoy seeing it again. As some of you know, my father passed away last Sunday, and my heart is heavy. I hope to have more energy for blogging next week. Appreciate the kind thoughts! Regina

The nineteenth century saw the rising popularity of gentlemen’s clubs in London. There were clubs for military men, a club for men of Scottish descent, a club for men who had travelled outside England by at least 500 miles. But one of the most famous was the club for the fashionable: White’s.

White’s started out as a chocolate house, a place where one went to drink hot chocolate and chat with one’s equals (not too different from coffee houses today). In the late 1700s, the establishment took up rooms on St. James’s and limited membership to a certain number of male subscribers (300 at the beginning of the nineteenth century; 500 by 1814).

As a young man, you could only hope to breath the rarified air of White’s. You were allowed to visit as a guest of another member, say an older brother or father. To become a member, you needed a current member or two to vouch for you. All current members voted on whether to accept you, dropping a small white ball into a box to indicate favor and a small black ball to indicate disfavor. A single black ball was enough to bar you entrance to that hallowed hall. (Anyone heard of being "blackballed"?)

But if you were so lucky as to be invited to join, you had to pay a yearly subscription (11 guineas in 1814) and agree to abide by a set of rules. Once inside those doors, you might play cards to all hours, eat a good supper at precisely 10 each night, and read the Times in peace. But one of the most entertaining things about White’s was its infamous betting book.

Any member could bet any other member anything, at any time. The bet was recorded in the book for all members to ogle and gossip about, and the loser had better pay promptly or risk the wrath of his fellow members (including being removed from membership). Bets ranged all over the place, but generally covered events taking place (or not), people getting married or having children (or not), and, early in the century, the movements and defeat of Napoleon.

Some bets were easily identified, even in the shorthand used in the book: “Mr. G. Talbot bets Mr. Blackford five guineas that Mr. Walsh is transported.” Apparently Mr. Walsh was vindicated, for Mr. Talbot paid his wager.

Others were far more secretive. “Mr. B. Craven bets Lord Forbes 100 gs to 5 that an event between them understood takes place before another which was named. March 11, 1821.” So what event was that important to them both? Hm.

But this one caught my attention: “Mr. Bouverie bets Ld. Yarmouth a hundred to fifty that H.R.H. the Duke of Clarence has not a legitimate child within 2 years of this day (November 18, 1817).”

Mr. Bouverie must have won, as the Duke of Clarence, who became William IV, had no legitimate children, opening the way for Victoria to become Queen after him. I would be willing to bet that Marissa knew that.

Where the Boys Are: Betting at White's

The nineteenth century saw the rising popularity of gentlemen’s clubs in London. There were clubs for military men, a club for men of Scottish descent, a club for men who had travelled outside England by at least 500 miles. But one of the most famous was the club for the fashionable: White’s.

White’s started out as a chocolate house, a place where one went to drink hot chocolate and chat with one’s equals (not too different from coffee houses today). In the late 1700s, the establishment took up rooms on St. James’s and limited membership to a certain number of male subscribers (300 at the beginning of the nineteenth century; 500 by 1814).

As a young man, you could only hope to breath the rarified air of White’s. You were allowed to visit as a guest of another member, say an older brother or father. To become a member, you needed a current member or two to vouch for you. All current members voted on whether to accept you, dropping a small white ball into a box to indicate favor and a small black ball to indicate disfavor. A single black ball was enough to bar you entrance to that hallowed hall. (Anyone heard of being "blackballed"?)

But if you were so lucky as to be invited to join, you had to pay a yearly subscription (11 guineas in 1814) and agree to abide by a set of rules. Once inside those doors, you might play cards to all hours, eat a good supper at precisely 10 each night, and read the Times in peace. But one of the most entertaining things about White’s was its infamous betting book.

Any member could bet any other member anything, at any time. The bet was recorded in the book for all members to ogle and gossip about, and the loser had better pay promptly or risk the wrath of his fellow members (including being removed from membership). Bets ranged all over the place, but generally covered events taking place (or not), people getting married or having children (or not), and, early in the century, the movements and defeat of Napoleon.

Some bets were easily identified, even in the shorthand used in the book: “Mr. G. Talbot bets Mr. Blackford five guineas that Mr. Walsh is transported.” Apparently Mr. Walsh was vindicated, for Mr. Talbot paid his wager.

Others were far more secretive. “Mr. B. Craven bets Lord Forbes 100 gs to 5 that an event between them understood takes place before another which was named. March 11, 1821.” So what event was that important to them both? Hm.

But this one caught my attention: “Mr. Bouverie bets Ld. Yarmouth a hundred to fifty that H.R.H. the Duke of Clarence has not a legitimate child within 2 years of this day (November 18, 1817).”

Mr. Bouverie must have won, as the Duke of Clarence, who became William IV, had no legitimate children, opening the way for Victoria to become Queen after him. I would be willing to bet that Marissa knew that.

Thank God for the Beau

I intended to include this post in our “bad boys” series, but George “Beau” Brummell really wasn’t bad. In fact, he did a lot of good things — for men’s fashion, for interior décor, and for cleanliness. And he did it all with an amazing amount of style.

Beau Brummell was raised to be a gentleman, even though his father was only a government clerk who became a private secretary to a member of the aristocracy. Young Brummell attended Eton and made many influential friends. Once he arrived in London, his cool impudence made him a favorite in the upper levels of society, and before anyone knew it, he had become the leader of all things fashionable.

In fact, Brummell dictated men’s fashion. He threw off the lush embroidery and fanciful materials of the late 1700s and aimed for a sober but perfect dress. He was the first to wear evening dress of black coat and breeches. He ordered that cravats were only suitable if they were starched. He brought pantaloons (which became trousers) into fashion. The men’s suit today still follows the basic design laid down by the Beau. It was said that the Prince came to his house merely to watch him dress and begged him for advice.

He decreed that simple lines and lack of ostentation should rule inside the home as well. He encouraged the proprietor of White’s to install a bow window so he could sit and watch the ladies go by. I keep imagining him and his cronies using the Olympic style of rating.

“Ah, Lady Bessborough. 9 for execution and 10 for style. That’s 90 points overall. Perhaps I’ll deign to attend her ball next quarter day.”

He also started a craze for bathing. It was rumored that at least one royal duke could only be bathed when he was unconscious because he hated bathing so much. Brummell brought cleanliness and fastidiousness into fashion. And I’m sure a number of people breathed easier because of it!

Unfortunately, the Beau had two major failings: his love of gambling and his lack of skill at it. His mountain of debt forced him to flee for the Continent in 1816 before he could be arrested and thrown into Debtor’s Prison.

So, perhaps he was a bit of a bad boy after all.

The Regina Scott Tour of England, Part I

Today we’re going to tour the sites of London that the famous author (okay, the author) Regina Scott found interesting on her most recent visit, starting with London and then heading to Bath. No stragglers. Do try to keep up. And we’re walking . . .

Ah, here we are in Hyde Park, where the young ladies and gentlemen of the nineteenth century went to see and be seen, strolling, riding horseback, or driving carriages. And here is the marvelous bronze statue of Achilles. He stands as a tribute to the Duke of Wellington and was cast in 1822 from French cannons captured at the battles of Salmanca, Vittoria, Toulouse, and Waterloo. He’s anatomically correct, but a fig leaf was added to keep the passing ladies from blushing. Wouldn’t you know it? Someone chipped it off in 1870! If you don’t mind blushing and look closely, you’ll see it’s back in place today.

As we cross Mayfair, where the Fashionable lived, we come to St. George’s Hanover Square. The London aristocracy often attended this church (although I’d wager they didn’t have the handy traffic signal then). It’s only a block off the nineteenth century shopping paradise of Bond Street.

A short hop on the Tube brings us to the Russell Square area, where there’s a number of townhouses from the nineteenth century. Then there’s this intriguing little relic, which I can only conclude served to block the street behind it from emptying onto a busier thoroughfare. Many of the public conveniences like lampposts and post boxes are marked to indicate in whose rein they were erected. Not surprisingly, you’ll find any number marked IIER (the current Queen Elizabeth). This one, however, dates from the time of King George IV (the Prince George who led the Regency period) and must have been erected between 1820 and 1830.

Now on to the British Museum, home of any number of amazing antiquities from around the globe. See here one small portion from an end pediment of the Parthenon Marbles, brought to England in the nineteenth century by Lord Elgin. The panels of the main frieze take up the entire length, both sides, of a very long room. You may remember my previous post on these sculptures, how they were much admired during the nineteenth century. All I can say is that they make me sad. They are beautiful but nearly all damaged in some way (headless, armless, handless). Still, I can see why artists came from far and wide to view them (and still do today).

Now back toward Hyde Park we take a stroll down St. James’s Street, bastion of the gentleman, with clubs and shops for cigars, fine wines, and perfumes. And here is White’s! The famous gentlemen’s club looks as dapper today as it did in the nineteenth century. This is where a young gentleman might go if an older friend or father had membership to play cards, read the paper, take a bit of dinner, and generally breathe in all that masculine air. No ladies allowed. And see what I mean about that bow window?

Everyone still here? Very good. Next week, on to Bath!