When William IV. Was King

by John Ashton

The London of that day was not beautiful, dull rows of houses utterly devoid of any ornament met the eye everywhere. Architecture was practically unknown, and the only improvement that had been made for many years was the building of Regent Street. It was reserved for the Victorian era to redeem the apathy of the past. Hear what a foreigner, Baron d'Haussez, writing in 1833, says—

"In the more recently built parts of London there is nothing imposing but the breadth and handsome proportions of its streets; and in the City nothing but its immense population and the impress of life which commerce imparts to it. With the exception of the churches, whose style, whether Greek or Gothic, is tolerably pure, few buildings fix the attention of a stranger; but a great number may surprise him by the profusion or the singularity of their ornaments, or by the beauty of their site. To this cause, and to the irregularity in the line of buildings, is chiefly owing the effect produced by the houses in Pall Mall, Waterloo Place, Regent Street, and Regent's Park. So much pains have been taken to reproduce the ancient style of architecture, that one might fancy one's self in an ancient Greek or Roman City; there is not a house which has not a monumental character. The slightest examination reveals the numerous imperfections, the glaring faults of imitation without taste, without reason, and at variance with the commonest rules of art."

The Baron is equally outspoken as to some of the social aspects of the metropolis—

"One is often tempted to ask, not if there is a police in London (its agents in a blue uniform, with numbered collars, scattered everywhere, night and day, would render that question superfluous), but what the police does, so little attention is paid to its details—so great its seeming negligence, in order not to appear over meddling: certain it is, however, that the interference of the police is not visible in the cleanliness of the streets, nor in the indication of their names (for the names are wanting at the end of most streets), nor in the passing to and fro of carriages, which are drawn up pêle mêle at the entrance of all public places, according to the irresponsible caprice of their drivers. It often happens, in consequence of this confusion, that vehicles of all sorts become locked together; this gives rise to a reciprocation of abuse and blows; nor is the interference of the police here apparent as regards animals, which, in being driven on market days from one end of the town to the other, occasion frequent obstructions and often serious accidents. A certain class of women, too, in spite of English modesty, exercise their shameless calling in a most brazen manner, unchecked by the police; neither do they abate those nuisances of stalls, dangerous to the health and safety of the public; nor bestow the attention on an infinity of objects which, in other countries, claim and deserve the attention of the Municipal Administration. In England, trifles like these are disregarded, and interference is limited to matters of more importance. On the other hand, there are few capitals where robberies are more infrequent, where robbers are so soon discovered and punished, or where popular movements (brought about generally, it is true, by a populace without courage, and unaccustomed to the use of firearms) are sooner suppressed; where there are fewer disastrous occurrences, fewer collisions between the different classes of society; or where all these results are obtained with so little constraint, vexation, and noise."

But it was a very noisy city, this London. The watchmen, not altogether done away with, would croak out his "Past twelve o'clock, and a frosty morning;" the milkwoman made the early morning hideous with her shrieks, as also did the chimneysweep and the newsman, who brought your morning paper; the peripatetic vendor of fish, or cats' meat, cried out, the dustman rang a bell and yelled, whilst all sorts of street hawkers helped to swell the din. Muffin men not only cried out but rang a bell, as did also the postman; but then his bell was legalized and useful, as, on hearing it, people could rush to the door and give him the letters needing posting instead of going to a post-office, which might be some distance off, and there were no pillar-boxes in those days. Then, too, the postmen wore the King's scarlet. The streets were noisy, the roads being paved with squared stones, asphalte never having been dreamt of, and wood-pavement being only just mentioned by the Mechanic's Magazine, quoted in the Times of October 27, 1835—

"We observe from the New York papers, that a trial is about to be made in that city of the plain paving with wood followed in St. Petersburg, and repeatedly recommended by us for adoption in the more retired parts of our own metropolis. A part of the Broadway has been selected for the purpose. 'Each of the small blocks of wood is of hexagonal shape; the whole are fitted together and driven up tightly, by a long strip of timber near the gutter at the side; and the interstices between the blocks to be well covered with tar or pitch.'"

One of the features of the streets at that time was the "buy a broom girl," so called from her cry. Her costume was picturesque, and she was rather an ornament to the extremely prosaic street.

"From Deutschland I come, with my light wares all laden,
To dear, happy England, in summer's gay bloom;
Then listen, fair ladies, and young pretty maidens,
And buy of a wand'ring Bavarian, a broom.
Buy a broom? Buy a broom?"