In some of the old-fashioned streets in Westminster we find noblemen’s or gentlemen’s houses disposed inside after a pattern which might be commended to the study and imitation of our modern architects. Not long since we were in a house in Park Place, whose interior seemed strikingly original and elegant. The staircase was in a sort of well, and the drawing-room landing took the shape of a kind of balustraded gallery, whence you could look down on the company ascending. The drawing-room had a piquant window, whence there was a view of the stairs. Though this was a small house there was a general tone of spaciousness. There are modest houses in the little streets leading out of the Strand which display the same elegance of arrangement.
One of the most pleasing, or quaint, survivals is a little tranquil corner in Westminster known as “Queen Anne’s Square,” or Gate. A very few years ago this might have altogether escaped the town traveller, so abandoned was it; but now it has come into fashion; the great “Mansions” tower over it, the ground is coveted, and is increasing in value every hour. Here are some houses of a truly antique pattern, high-roofed, with broad eaves, dormer windows, and, finally, some seven or eight doorways all of the same pattern, carved elaborately, each taking the shape of a sort of projecting canopy with pendent bosses. The whole is in perfect keeping, and is after one design—pillars, door-case, and railing. The effect is charming, and elaborate as the doorways are, the workmanship is so sound that they are in admirable condition, and have stood wind and weather for a couple of centuries. The artistic visitor will note the beautiful proportion of the pilasters, the due and effective breadth of the mouldings, while even the railings—simple and in such contrast to the pretentious and modern railings—are in keeping. In the corner of the square is the statue of Queen Anne. But already the refashioning has set in; stories are being added, the dormers swept away, and presently the houses will be modernized and rebuilt, the doorways coveted by the dealers, or disposed of for a good price in Wardour Street. One of the quaint oddities of the place is the grotesque faces which dot the walls, each different.
Within a couple of doors of the Adelphi Theatre are to be seen two houses, “quaint and old,” belonging to the Charles II. era—one said to have been the house of Drayton the poet—carved and original. I suppose few who pass hurriedly by, observe them. The old houses in London, of great pretensions to beauty, are very few. Of course there are a goodly number of simply antique mansions.
In James Street, and looking on the Wellington Barracks, is a quaint old Queen Anne house, extremely simple in treatment, but original. It is well worth looking at from its cheerful, gay brickwork, and the arrangement of the windows, disposed irregularly. It has quite the suburban or Richmond-like air, and ought to be on a common. Indeed, there is a quaint air of old fashion about this James Street rarely found in a London street.
Perhaps a gem of a house, as it might be called, is the one in Great Queen Street—No. 56, which was before alluded to. It consists of a most original, red-brick front, with pilasters adorned with rich and even elegant Corinthian capitals; above runs a no less rich cornice, while some piquant dormer windows give point and emphasis. Happily it has fallen into the hands of a worthy firm who deserve credit for having maintained it in its old perfect shape; but the necessities of trade have entailed the “excavation” of the lower storey, which of course destroys the effect. Still, as it is, this charming relic—the tradition runs that it was the work of Inigo Jones—is ever welcome to the passer-by, from the rich warm, mellow tint of its brick—its “closeness,” the whole being as smooth as a billiard table—and the general soundness of the work. This must have been built two centuries ago. What house of our day will stand for half a century, even with abundant renewings and repairs?
Two of the most beautiful and elaborate Old London houses are those to be found side by side at the end of Mortimer Street, out of Regent Street. There is a grace and richness in the carvings and general design which suggest some of the old Flemish houses in Antwerp and Bruges. Very few, I fancy, have ever noted this piece of architectural embroidery, which is as solid as it is interesting.
But it is melancholy to think of all that has been swept away, even recently. Forgotten now is the so-called Shakespeare Tavern, that stood a few years ago in Aldersgate Street, an extraordinarily picturesque specimen of the framed house, richly carved, overhanging the street, all gables and bows, a wonderfully effective example of the old wooden structures. In a short time we shall be looking for such things in vain, and have only pictures and photographs to remind us of them. Further down, on the opposite side of the street, stood, at the same period, that curious specimen of a nobleman’s town mansion, Shaftesbury House, with its huge stone pilasters and rambling façade. This also is levelled. It is something, however, to have seen these things. Nor must I forget a welcome surprise, or “treat” as an enthusiast would put it, in the way of old houses, which occurred many years ago, when it was announced in the papers that there was a special old house in the City, in Leadenhall Street, on the eve of being pulled down, and which every connoisseur ought to see before its destruction. I repaired thither with the rest, and was more than gratified, for a more instructive or effective survival could not be imagined. It was an old mansion of a thriving merchant in the days of Queen Anne. Outside it was gloomy, with an archway, under which you entered into a courtyard, round which spread the houses and offices. The front was clearly devoted to the business of the office; in the dwelling, just behind, the merchant and his family resided. But in what state! and what evidence of wealth and taste! There was a noble staircase with ponderous balustrades; the walls and ceilings were painted in allegorical devices—gods and goddesses and clouds; rooms all panelled in oak with carved cornices—such was the spectacle! This was the fashion of the day, the combination of business with opulence. The merchant had not then his box in the country, to which he repaired at evening, but lived in the town. Here was a glimpse of the old City—state and trade commingled—merchant and family and clerks and wares all under the same roof. In a few days the pickaxes were busy on the paintings!
ROOM IN THE SIR PAUL PINDAR TAVERN.