Picturesque London

by Percy Fitzgerald

Still, the wonderful work underground almost excites more interest and astonishment than what is on the surface. The busy passers-by in the Strand will note a huge yawning archway at the bottom of a short inclined street which leads into these catacombs. The work is of a massive cast, the arches being regularly groined in Gothic fashion. Mr. Wheatley, who has explored them, tells us: “The arches below form one of the most remarkable sights in London, but it is a sight that only a few are privileged to see. I have wandered through these arches with wonder, under the obliging guidance of the custodians. Below you there is a very town, much of it filled with bottles of old vintages. The arches were many of them open for years, and formed subterranean streets leading to the wharves on the Thames. They were constructed (as stated on an old engraving) so as to keep the access to the houses level with the Strand, and distinct from the traffic of the wharves and warehouses. They extend under the whole Adelphi, including Adam Street, from York Buildings, and were also carried under the additional buildings at the end of Salisbury Street. In many places there are double tiers of arches. Some twenty years ago the Dark Arches had a bad name on account of the desperate characters who congregated there and hid themselves away in the innermost recesses, but at last the place was cleared out, and the greater portion of it closed in. The extensive cellarage of Messrs. Tod-Heatly gives evidence of the former state, for one of the alleys is styled Jenny’s Hole—and the arch above was known as the Devil’s Bridge. The disgraceful condition of the arches could not have existed for any length of time, as, some forty years ago, the place was well cared for by the wharfingers, and at nine o’clock at night a gun gave a signal for the gates to be closed.”

One of the most singular incidents in this stupendous undertaking is the short lease which was given and accepted. The result was that it expired in the year 1867, and the whole fee, with streets, houses, etc., passed into the hands of Messrs. Drummond. This was a fine property to gain in such a way. It was, however, rather dilapidated, and there were signs of sinking in the terrace or of failure in some of the arches, but this proved to be merely a trifling matter. The whole was thoroughly repaired and restored. Unfortunately it was thought proper to plaster over the façade of the terrace, which destroyed the graceful arabesques, which are, however, left on the flanking houses behind; though Walpole humorously declared that the embroidered pilasters reminded him of “warehouses laced down the seams, like a trull in a soldier’s old coat.”

Among their other plans the brothers did not forget a chapel. This was built at the corner of James and William Street, which the bankers, however, soon absorbed into their premises. To join this, however, a covered bridge was necessary, for which the firm had to obtain an Act of Parliament. The old banker “did not wish,” says Mr. Wheatley, “the view from his drawingroom window to be spoiled,” so he built a low house in John Street, and arranged with the Adams that the opening, now Robert Street, should be opposite this, so as to form a frame for his landscape.

Every one knows the “Adam” work—the long pilasters and medallions on a brick background, each enriched with arabesques and garlands of a delicate character. They sought, too, the beauties of proportion and space, regulated by principle and calculation. In many an old house we recognize their ceilings; a great circle in the centre, filled in with tracery in very low relief. Their designs have been published, and display fancy and variety. Portland Place and its stately mansions, with their broad surfaces of brick, have a certain dignity; but the houses have been sadly disfigured by additions. The pleasing old-fashioned-looking Fitzroy Square seems like a bit of Bath. The brothers are said to have been the first, in London at least, who attacked the difficult problem of imparting to a number of detached mansions the air of being portions of one whole, which in architecture is a deception most intolerable and not to be endured. For there is a perpetual struggle of assertion between the two principles going on—the separate houses making protest, as it were, by their individuality against being considered one great expression—while the long façade in its turn contradicts and overpowers the individuality. There are also some Adam houses in York Place, easily recognizable. Finsbury Square is their work, though Finsbury Circus staggers one. There is a terrible monotony in the place, though the line of the circus is graceful. It was probably a “job” akin to a painter’s “potboiler,” and to be done cheaply. It is to be suspected that Gwydir House, in Whitehall, which has been defaced by alterations, was their work. Plaster and delicate stucco-work—the patterns apparently taken from arabesque work—light garlands and vases wrought in very slight relief, these were all combined with yellow brickwork. Ceilings, chimney-pieces, furniture, carriages, garde-vins, plate-boxes, were also designed by the brothers on these principles.

Some of the most imposing and effective work of the architects is to be seen at Sion House, Isleworth. The great library displays all the resources of the school in the way of bold treatment with beautiful, elaborate work, garlands, Cupids, pilasters, embroidered in low relief. The chimney-pieces, ceilings, and all display this elegance and charming variety. It may be mentioned in proof of the elaborate study and pains devoted to their profession by these brothers, that in the Soane Museum all their minutely elaborate designs are to be seen. But would we have a really good idea of the brothers’ work, let us set out for Oxford Street, and pause in front of Stratford Place. Here we see a perfect architectural arrangement—the two terraces stretching down, the ends turning into Oxford Street, forming ornamental flanks, while the end is closed by a graceful classical mansion rising in the air with its pediment and pillars. The eye rests on it with comfort and satisfaction, and we admire the perfect ease and proportion of the lines. We turn and go our way, having gained a sense of general refinement. It should be recollected that the work of the brothers has not received fair treatment. Their idea was a combination of stone with yellow brick, and their two tints were intended to harmonize. In almost every instance the stone pilasters have been painted over, which gives a hard, artificial effect—the loftiness as well as the divisions of the stone are lost; the brickwork, too, has been coloured, and so the intention of the architects has been lost. In Mansfield Street, which lies westward of Portland Place, there is a broad, stately mansion, with spacious, lofty chambers, a goodly specimen of the nobleman’s house. It is worth looking at, for the attempt to “spiritualize” the stables by adorning them with Adam crescents and decorations. Horace Walpole noted in his copy of Pennant that this house was built on the model of a French Hôtel. Close to it are some highly elaborated bride-cake doorways in the best Adam style.

The screen that runs in front of the Admiralty, in Whitehall, was also the work of the brothers, and there is a little history connected with it. The hideous portico within is said to be constructed in defiance of all laws of proportion or architectural decorum. The pillars were, in fact, intended for a much larger edifice, and were found “handy” by “my lords” for this building. They, however, presented such an odd spectacle that the Messrs. Adam were called in, and devised the screen in front. The passer-by may now deem it singular that this structure should have been hailed with delight as a beautiful and classical work; it was engraved, and even in architectural books high praise has been given to it for its “chasteness” and perfect adaptation to the purpose intended. This has often been a puzzle to persons of taste; for there is a curiously dilapidated air, a sort of ramshackle look, which seems to exclude it from such a category. The present writer one day found out the reason of this failure. It had been mauled and altered, and with completest success so far as the destruction of the motive and purpose of its erection. As it originally stood it was a screen with a central arched entrance, on each side of which were two short recessed colonnades, which made an agreeable and original break in what would otherwise have been a blank wall. But the spoilers came presently. The First Lord desired to have one gate to enter by, another to drive out when crowded parties were given. Two such were accordingly broken in the colonnades to the right and left. The centre arch became useless, the whole ceased to exist as a screen, and, pierced with so many openings, lost all character. Few mutilations have been so characteristic and ignorant.

At every turn in London the amateur of Adam work will find abundant evidence of their taste. In Berkeley Square there is Lansdowne House, built after a favourite Adam pattern. Even the gate and walls show the same grace and proportion, and the elegance of the little ornament on each pillar will attract observation. In Harewood Place there is a fine Adam house, and a few in Dover Street.

Buckingham Street is another of the quaint, bright streets in the Adelphi, leading down to a cheerful opening, whence, as from a balcony, we look down on the animated Thames below, with its passing barges, tugs and river steamers: a scene which at first sight must impress the foreigner.

Here is the sequestered little mall, with its dozen trees, once a charming little promenade when the river ran beside it. This scene has been painted by Canaletti, and there are old engravings from the picture, representing promenaders in the costume of the day. The river, covered with ships and wherries, washes the walls; the old trees display their luxuriant foliage: but they are now stunted and decayed, and the whole has a dingy, forlorn aspect. It was once one of the gayest, brightest spots in London. For at the end stands the famous and much admired water-gate, or York Stairs, as it was called: it could be seen from the Strand, and persons eager to go on the water, hurried down here to embark. Owing to the construction of the Embankment, the gate has lost all meaning and purpose to an almost ludicrous extent. Instead of the water washing the steps, as it did not many years ago, the gate is sunk down, all awry, in a pit, and the ground is raised high about it. It is a pity that a little public spirit is not forthcoming to shift it again to the water’s edge, its proper position. Unhappily the monument is in a sadly decayed condition—all the square edgings worn round and smooth, and the sculptures almost obliterated—so, abundant restoration would have to attend the removal.

This interesting approach from the Strand has yet more associations to increase its value. We note the remains of former state and dignity, at the bottom of the street. On the left hand is a remarkable house of some antiquity, which, as one of the useful medallions of the Society of Arts tells