Externally, as I have before said, the streets within the last twenty years or so have changed a good deal. Amongst other alterations the removal of the old lamp-posts, which used to line each side of every street, has effected a considerable alteration in the appearance of London.
The electric light is, no doubt, a great improvement, but there was something rather picturesque about the lamplighter who, at the dusk of a winter’s evening, kindled the old gas-lamps which are now things of the past. When the electric light first came in most people viewed it with the greatest suspicion, which for some time seemed rather justified, for, owing to an absolutely safe method of installation not being perfectly understood, there were a good many slight outbreaks of fire, for the most part happily extinguished before much damage had been done. About the first people to make use of the new illuminant in their house were Lord and Lady Randolph Churchill.
A certain architectural symmetry was always observed by the architects who built the houses around the old squares of London, but to-day there is no uniformity at all—buildings of every sort of style and size jostling each other like toys in a shop window. In our streets and squares, indeed, we may see attempts at every kind of style, from the Byzantine to a sort of spurious Queen Anne, whilst terra-cotta decorations (peculiarly unsuited, I fancy, to our atmosphere) ramble in meaningless riot over many a sham Renaissance façade. Proportion, the real foundation of true artistic effect, is totally neglected in favour of laboured originality of design, whilst hardly ever do any of our modern buildings convey that idea of dignified stability which should be the thoughtful architect’s chief aim. It is true we have what might well be termed “the prison style,” in which enormous arches of ponderous design support minute pillars, which in turn are crowned with some eccentric terminal, the whole being liberally topped by a series of domes, pepper-boxes, or miniature steeples embellished with ornamentation of a more or less insignificant kind.
OLD LONDON
Old London, from an architectural point of view, was a very unpretentious city, as may be seen from many an old print; but there was a certain air of solid comfort about it as well as a good deal of old-fashioned dignity.
Few streets in the West End have escaped being modernised, and façades of every period and style may now be seen side by side with such old Georgian mansions as still remain. On the whole, however, Berkeley Square has survived pretty well, and still retains a good deal of its old appearance.
The streets leading out of it, though in many cases some of the houses have been altered, also keep that air of quiet repose which makes this part of London so pleasant to live in.
I have lived in Charles Street now for some thirty-eight years, and have naturally become much attached to it and to Berkeley Square, where I was born, and where nearly every house possesses memories which to me recall the past. Charles Street boasts one of the most curious old tavern signs in London—“The Running Footman”—though I fear that the sign itself is but a modern reproduction of the original one. Be this as it may, no similar signboard exists; it recalls the days when noblemen were preceded by runners, whose especial duty lay in clearing the way. The legend beneath the footman, clad in green coat and knee-breeches, states, “I am the only running footman,” and such as a matter of fact is the case, for there exists no other sign of this kind. Long may this interesting survival of other days maintain its position!
The Duke of Queensberry,—“Old Q.,” the star of Piccadilly,—is believed to have been the last nobleman to retain running footmen. These he himself was in the habit of engaging after having made them give an exhibition of such fleetness of foot as they might possess. A well-known story used to be told of the trick which one of these gentlemen played his Grace. A man desirous of serving “Old Q.” in the capacity of running footman had to run a sort of trial up Piccadilly, whilst his future master sat on the balcony of his house carefully watching the performance. On one occasion, a particularly likely-looking candidate having presented himself, orders were given that he should exhibit his running powers in the Duke’s livery, in which accordingly he was equipped. The man ran well, and “Old Q.,” who was delighted, shouted out to him from his balcony: “You will do very well for me.” “And your livery will do very well for me,” replied the man, after which reply he made off at top speed, and could never be caught nor found again.
RUNNING FOOTMEN