BOODLE’S CLUB.
Boodle’s, another famous club, is almost opposite, at No. 28, and was known formerly, from its gastronomic reputation, as the “Savoir Vivre.” The Club House was designed by Adam for John Crunden, in 1765, and additions were made to it in 1821. It was largely frequented by country gentlemen, who knew probably how hard it was “to rival Boodle’s dinners,” and it used to be said, in consequence, that if a waiter came into the reading-room and called out, “Sir John, your servant has come,” every other head was mechanically turned in answer to the summons! Both Gibbon and Wilberforce were members, as was that Sir Frank Standish, caricatured by Gillray as “A Standing Dish at Boodle’s.” Gillray, by the bye, lived next door, at No. 29, where, in 1815, he committed suicide by throwing himself from an upper window.
CROCKFORD’S CLUB.
Opposite “White’s” is the Devonshire Club, which occupies the site of the famous Crockford’s, probably the most notorious gaming house of its day. It took its name from one Crockford, who had been a fish salesman in the City, but, coming to the West, made an immense fortune here. The house was built for him, in 1827, from the designs of the Wyatts. The internal decorations were so lavish that the ubiquitous Creevey describes the place as “magnificent, and perfect in taste and beauty,” and adds that “it is said by those who know the Palace of Versailles, to be even more magnificent than that,” which certainly sounds like thundering hyperbole! The great “Ude” catered for the palates of Crockford’s habitués, and there is a story told of the illustrious chef, during his connection with the club, to the following effect:—Colonel Damer happening to enter Crockford’s one evening to dine early, found Ude in a towering rage, and asking the cause, was thus answered by the infuriated cordon bleu:—“Monsieur le Colonel, did you see that man who has just gone out? Well, he ordered a red mullet for his dinner. I made him a delicious little sauce with my own hands. The price of the mullet marked on the carte was 2s.; I asked 6d. for the sauce. He refuses to pay the 6d. The imbecile apparently believes that the red mullets come out of the sea with my sauce in their pockets!” Of such are the woes of genius! It was Ude, too, who, on hearing of the last illness of his former patron the Duke of York, exclaimed, “Ah! Mon pauvre Duc, how much you shall miss me where you are gone!”
Wellington was a member of Crockford’s, though he never played deeply; so was Theodore Hook, who, because his doctor had once warned him against exposing himself to the night air, had the following method of abiding by the medico’s instructions:—“I therefore,” he said, “come up every day to Crockford’s, or some other place to dinner, and I make it a rule on no account to go home again till about four or five o’clock in the morning!”
BROOKS’S CLUB.
Another famous Club in St. James’s Street, was Brooks’s, which was nearly opposite the original White’s. Like so many of these clubs it took its name from a former proprietor, although it was at first merely a gaming club, formed by Almack.
Brooks, whom Tickell immortalises (if he could immortalise anything) as
“Liberal Brooks, whose speculative skill,
Is hasty credit, and a distant bill,”