THE BEAUX AND THE DANDIES 
 
T 
 
 HE BEAUX AND 
 THE DANDIES 
 
 WASH, 3WJMMELL, ANT UO%SAY 
 WITH THEI71 COUNTS 
 
 BY 
 
 CLARE JERROLD 
 
 Author of 
 Victoria the Good," " Picturesque Sussex," etc. 
 
 WITH FRONTISPIECE AND SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 JOHN LANE COMPANY 
 
 MCMX 
 

 PRINTED BY 
 
 HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD. 
 
 LONDON AND AYLESBURY, 
 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 Gift 
 Publisher 
 WAR* 19H 
 
PREFACE 
 
 A DESERVEDLY popular sentiment allows a 
 careless neglect of dress only to the eccentric 
 genius or to the very poor. The one is regarded on 
 that point with an amused tolerance, the other is pitied. 
 There is no doubt that humanity in general considers 
 becoming dress to be essential ; and every normal person 
 takes, according to leisure and opportunity, thought as to 
 what is suitable and becoming. But the standard of 
 beauty for one person is the standard of ugliness for 
 another. A man clothes his legs in pipes, wears a pipe 
 with a curly brim on his head, and binds his neck with 
 a hard white band which gives the effect of semi-strangu- 
 lation. Then he goes abroad pleased with and proud of 
 himself as a well-dressed, fine-looking gentleman. A 
 woman places a bee-hive or an inverted flower-pot on 
 her head, puffs out her chest like a pouter-pigeon, wears 
 a yard-wide skirt tied round her ankles or her knees with 
 a piece of ribbon, and totters along the pavement with a 
 sickly show of self-content. Both man and woman 
 believe that they touch the point of beauty, and if 
 Beau Brummell, Beau Nash, or Count D'Orsay were 
 mentioned, both would probably inveigh against the idle, 
 useless fools of a bygone time, who gave so much 
 care to dress. 
 
 5 
 
6 Preface 
 
 Yet the balance of good sense is with the Beaux, who 
 were strong-minded enough to lead the modes, while the 
 well-dressed (?) man and woman of to-day follow ser- 
 vilely any foolish and ugly fashion that may be presented 
 by some professional dressmaker or tailor, presumably 
 with the desire to prove the depths to which humanity 
 will go in sartorial folly. Since beginning to write this 
 book I have heard such unqualified scorn poured upon 
 the Beaux by my friends, who carry their chins high 
 because of the stiffness of their collars, and seem so 
 unhappy about their knees when they sit down, evidently 
 fearing lest the straightness of their nether garments will 
 not be maintained when they once more rise to their 
 feet, that I ardently wish some new Beau would burst 
 upon the world in sufficient glory and strength to 
 induce men to dress comfortably and beautifully. 
 
 To pass to another subject, I would acknowledge with 
 gratitude the kindness of Mr. Lewis Melville, who has 
 helped me out of more than one difficulty which arose 
 when preparing my manuscript. 
 
 Clare Jerrold. 
 Hampton-on-Thames, 
 
 September 1910. 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 I GEORGE BRYAN BRUMMELL, OF THE PRINCE'S OWN . Frontispiece 
 
 By James Holmes. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 GEORGE VILLIERS, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM 29 
 
 By Verelst. 
 
 CHARLES, LORD BUCKHURST, EARL OF DORSET 55 
 
 By Kneller. 
 
 I ROBERT FEILDING 77 
 
 By Wissing. 
 
 ■ RICHARD NASH, THE " KING " OF BATH 99 
 
 By T. Hudson. 
 
 PHILIP DORMER STANHOPE, EARL OF CHESTERFIELD . . . 125 
 
 By W. Hoare. 
 
 • THE DUKE OF QUEENSBERRY, " OLD Q " I43 
 
 From a contemporary print. 
 
 GEORGE SELWYN, THE HONOURABLE RICHARD EDGCUMBE, AND 
 
 "GILLY" WILLIAMS 165 
 
 Painted by Reynolds for Horace Walpole. 
 
 THE WIG IN ENGLAND '. A MACARONI READY FOR THE PANTHEON . 187 
 From a contemporary print. 
 
 CHARLES JAMES FOX IN HIS ANTI-DANDY DAYS .... 205 
 
 By Karl Anton Hickel. 
 
 BEAU BRUMMELL 223 
 
 By John Cooke. 
 
 A BALL AT ALMACK'S 245 
 
 A Sketch sold with Brummell's effects. 
 
 BEAU BRUMMELL AS AN OLD MAN AT CAEN ..... 267 
 From a contemporary print. 
 
 A SUGGESTED STATUE TO BRUMMELL AND GEORGE IV. . . . 285 
 
 From " Punch." 
 
 KING GEORGE IV 3II 
 
 By Hoppner. 
 
 COUNT ALFRED D'ORSAY 333 
 
 Drawn on stone from life by R. J. Lade. 
 
 THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON 355 
 
 By Count D'Orsay. 
 
 7 
 
The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 We all owe much to our tailors in one sense, many of us in more 
 senses than one. How shall society repay its tailor ? — Punch, 1845. 
 
 THE Beau has been with us through all the ages, 
 for the quality which makes the beau is first self- 
 consciousness and then vanity, the vanity which seeks its 
 expression in clothes. Literature gives us stories from 
 East and West, North and South, of individuals who 
 have bestowed such extreme care upon their appearance 
 that they are marked out from their nation or tribe as 
 people of especial note. Such during their day make 
 more stir than the men of intellect or force, for that 
 which pleases the eye has the most vivid effect upon the 
 imagination. There are, besides, so many men of brains, 
 so many who can rule or organise, and but few who, 
 being content to let their reputation rest solely upon 
 their outside show, have also the power to make that 
 show of such a quality that it stamps a deep impression 
 upon others. 
 
 Naturally there are beaux of various degrees. There 
 is the real beau, he who is first and last a beau and 
 nothing but a beau ; he whose intellect is given chiefly 
 to clothes ; who is, by accident, by circumstance, or by 
 choice, freed from any profession or occupation, who 
 
 9 
 
io The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 can do but one thing well, and has secured the chance 
 of doing that thing. 
 
 Of such an one Carlyle says in his chapter in Sartor 
 Resartus upon " The Dandiacal Body " that he is " a 
 clothes-wearing Man, a Man whose trade, office and 
 existence consists in the wearing of Clothes. Every 
 faculty of his soul, spirit, purse and person is heroically 
 consecrated to this one object, the wearing of Clothes 
 wisely and well ; so that as others dress to live he lives 
 to dress. The all-importance of Clothes, which a German 
 professor, of unequalled learning and acumen, writes his 
 enormous Volume to demonstrate, has sprung up in 
 the intellect of the Dandy without effort, like an instinct 
 of genius ; he is inspired with Cloth, a Poet of Cloth. 
 What Teufelsdrockh would call ' a Divine Idea of Cloth ' 
 is born with him, and this, like other such ideas, will 
 express itself outwardly, or wring his heart asunder 
 with unutterable throes." 
 
 It will be noticed that Carlyle uses the word Dandy 
 rather than Beau, but in the eighty years or so which 
 have elapsed since his famous book upon clothes was 
 written, these words have come to designate somewhat 
 different ideas. Carlyle's Dandy is the ideal Beau, whom 
 only two or three men have approached in practice. 
 The most notable was George Bryan Brummell, he whose 
 devotion to appearance was such that it is impossible 
 to conceive of him doing any work in the world 
 dissociated from it. He was the living example of the 
 debr.ted philosophical theory that Appearance is Reality, 
 and it was only when his intellect gave way that he lost 
 his pre-eminence over other men in this respect. Of all 
 beaux, Brummell was the chief; certainly not in England 
 nor in Europe has there been another to equal him. 
 
 It is more than probable that many, on reading this, 
 
A Born Artist n 
 
 will say it is well that it should be so — that neither 
 England nor any other country wants or ever will want 
 such a man again. This judgment, justifiable only from 
 short-sightedness, is an extreme one. It is certain that 
 there are many people whom we think we can do with- 
 out, the criminal and evil-doer, for instance. If we go 
 farther, and wish to wipe Brummell from our history, we 
 might also dispense with a great multitude of people 
 in every generation — people who live solely for their own 
 pleasure, to which they minister chiefly by their clothes, 
 striving to outdo each other in dress and social matters. 
 Indeed the idlers who make no mark upon their day can 
 better be spared than that extreme idler who, by his very 
 thoroughness, did society a great service in reforming its 
 taste and laying down hygienic laws which had been too 
 long ignored. 
 
 The Dandy, as we read him now, is a fine gentleman 
 with a great regard for his appearance, but he may have 
 other strong qualities and powers. He may be a poet, a 
 politician, a merchant, a lord, an artist — indeed, he may 
 be anything, with an added desire to be noteworthy in 
 appearance. Such an one will copy eagerly the newest 
 fashion, or will set a new fashion himself ; and if he be rash 
 enough to do the latter, he must stand or fall by it. That 
 is to say, that if his novelty be acclaimed by his comrades, 
 if they copy it and talk of it, then has he gone a step 
 higher in the peculiar rank of Dandy. On the other hand, 
 if he be simply stared at but not imitated, if people laugh 
 at and talk of him, but ignore his new design, in so far as 
 imitation goes, then he is but a freak, a poor foolish Dandy, 
 of whom people speak with tolerant or contemptuous pity. 
 And herein lies the real difference between the Beau and 
 the Dandy. The Beau is a born artist in clothes, the whole 
 subject of dress comes naturally to him, his clothes are 
 
12 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 the expression of himself. With the Dandy, however, 
 the science of clothes has to be instilled into him ; he 
 must take anxious care and thought as to what to wear 
 and how to wear it. In fact, there is as much difference 
 between the Beau and the Dandy as there is between a 
 Wit and a man who labours at his jokes until at last he 
 produces a bright idea, and then has to guide the con- 
 versation until he can get the chance of fitting the jeu 
 cT esprit into it. 
 
 Henry Cope, who, during the Regent's wildest days 
 at the Pavilion on the coast of Sussex, was known as 
 " The Green Man of Brighton," may be mentioned as an 
 example of the unsuccessful Dandy. 
 
 cc He is dressed in green pantaloons, green waistcoat, 
 green frock, green cravat ; and though his ears, whiskers, 
 eyebrows, and chin are better powdered than his head, 
 which is however covered with flour, his countenance, no 
 doubt from the reflection of his clothes, is also green. He 
 eats nothing but greens, fruits and vegetables ; has his 
 rooms painted green and furnished with green sofas, green 
 chairs, green tables, green bed, and green curtains. His 
 gig, his livery, his portmanteau, his gloves, and his whip 
 are all green. With a green silk handkerchief in his hand, 
 and a large watch chain with green seals, fastened to the 
 green buttons of his green waistcoat, he parades every day 
 on the Steyne." 
 
 Of course Henry Cope failed as much by his extremity 
 as by his artificiality, but it is that very inability to know 
 what will be acceptable, and the striving not to be superior 
 to his fellows but to be different, which marks the 
 unsuccessful Dandy. Those who hold an intermediate 
 position between the genuine Beau and the false Dandy, 
 those who follow a fashion and contrive to look well, to 
 catch attention as extremely well-dressed people — I use 
 
The Hour — and the Beau 1 3 
 
 the word in its narrow sense, as used by the votaries 
 of fashion — are the successful Dandies. 
 
 England has counted among its celebrities but three 
 men who are Beaux par excellence, Nash, Brummell, and 
 D'Orsay, and of these Nash's name lives more by the 
 character of the work that he did than by his elegance 
 in dress, though that gave him his reputation. There are 
 some people who would deny that he filled any real place 
 in the world, but fortunately this is not the opinion of 
 the majority, for the organiser and the ruler is in constant 
 demand. 
 
 D'Orsay did not influence society as much as Brummell, 
 though he was quite as elegant a figure. He was not an 
 Englishman, he had not the same opportunity of attracting 
 royalty, his career was weighted by scandal, and he lacked 
 both the ultra-cool assurance of Brummell and the capacity 
 for organisation which made of Nash an autocrat. In 
 fact, much as he was admired, he lived at a time of transition 
 in social views, a transition which eventually put the 
 Beau out of fashion. For the existence of the Beau depends 
 upon the character of society. 
 
 Beaux, fops, dandies, whatever name we may give 
 them, will always be with us, but their position, their 
 prominence, and their effectiveness will depend upon the 
 conditions of the society in which they live. As M. 
 Barbey d'Aurevilly says : " For a rare Beau to develop 
 himself it is necessary that he should have the advantage 
 of a very aristocratic, complicated society." Had there 
 been no Prince Regent there would have been no Beau 
 Brummell as we know him ; had there been no Bath we 
 should have heard little of Beau Nash ; had there been no 
 Charles II. we should have heard nothing of the elaborate 
 fineness of such men as Rochester, Sedley, and Feilding. 
 
 The Court, after the Restoration, was a veritable hot- 
 
14 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 house in which Beaux attained to their highest develop- 
 ment, and yet it must be borne in mind that that 
 development was, by the very nature of the Court itself, 
 but a coarse, sensual excellence, which expressed itself 
 in an extravagance of colour and adornment, and an 
 extravagance of thought and habit which was manifested 
 in extravagant action. 
 
 The Beaux of the Regency were in some cases no less 
 immoral, no less coarse and foolish than those of the earlier 
 time, yet superficially they showed a quieter elegance, 
 and were slightly subdued by the weight of a disapproving 
 King in the background. They were also the product of 
 a staid social order and so were, on the whole, devoid of 
 the talent and wit which came to the fore in Charles's time, 
 as the result of the clash of ideas and forces, the reaction 
 against Puritanism. 
 
 Though D'Orsay equalled Brummell in his love of 
 appearance, he was not, in the first place, so assertive ; 
 and secondly, the Court of Queen Victoria offered no 
 opportunities for the display of his particular qualities. 
 Thus, if I may pervert Browning's well-known line, 
 Brummell had the time, the place, and the circumstance all 
 together, and he stands now, and perhaps for all history, 
 as the most perfect example of a Beau that ever lived. 
 
 But as has been said, there are many others who deserve 
 notice besides these three best known of the Beaux. 
 Before Nash made his entry into Bath, again in the interval 
 before Brummell captured the Prince of Wales, also in that 
 period which divided Brummell's departure for Calais in 
 1816, from the rise of D'Orsay in cc smart society," there 
 were a number of smaller men renowned for their dress, 
 their wit, and their idleness. From the date when the 
 gorgeous James Hay, Earl of Carlisle, went on a splendid 
 embassy with a message to the French king, down to the 
 
The Beau as Wit 15 
 
 middle of the twentieth century, we have had Dandies, 
 who by their pranks, their misdeeds, and saving qualities, 
 have run a gaudy pattern into the fringe of history. 
 
 In my experience, to speak of Beaux and Dandies is 
 to raise a certain amused, half-tolerant scorn of the subject. 
 A Beau is looked upon much in the same light as the tailor 
 in the nursery rhyme — as only part of a man, and this 
 puts me, as it were, upon the defensive. For I am in no 
 mind to apologise for my subject ; amusement is as 
 necessary to our health as high thinking, and if I offer 
 frivolity for your consideration rather than saintly 
 virtue, I am not the less offering a good thing. A person 
 who can appreciate wit and laugh at humour is as healthy 
 as he who says long prayers and strives after good actions ; 
 and on the score of wit and humour the Beaux are well 
 worthy of attention. As wit is born in a man and cannot 
 be educated into him, some of the Dandies were greater in 
 this respect than those they followed. Nash was sponta- 
 neously witty sometimes, but sometimes, especially in old 
 age, he mistook rudeness for wit. D'Orsay showed a 
 great sense of humour, and BrummeH's tongue, if not the 
 sharpest of his day, was certainly one of the readiest. Lord 
 Alvanley, who in some ways succeeded the last named in 
 the favour of the Prince Regent, is more often quoted for 
 his wit than for his dress, and the remembered mots of 
 Selwyn would fill pages. 
 
 It is unfortunate that of those Wits and Beaux of the 
 Stuart period so few creditable sayings remain. There 
 were Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham, Etherege, 
 Sedley, Killigrew, Rochester, and later, Congreve, whose 
 wit is now to be found only in their published plays, and 
 when found it is to us not keenly pointed, for we know 
 little of the topics of their day. One writer talks of 
 Congreve "as a horrible nightmare, and may the fates 
 
1 6 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 forbid that I should go through his plays again ! " "My 
 recollection of his plays is like that of a vile nightmare, 
 which I would not for anything have return to me ! " 
 That is putting the case extravagantly, for we look no 
 more for delicate sentiment and fine distinctions in morals 
 among men suffering from a violent reaction against 
 aggressive repression and vandalism, than we expect lilies 
 to bloom on a recently burnt hill-side. 
 
 On the other hand, there were a number of Dandies 
 who did not profess wit, whose lives were made up 
 of very small things indeed, and these Addison immor- 
 talised by sarcasm in one of his Spectator essays with 
 which this chapter may fittingly conclude : 
 
 " A head no hellebore can reach," is the introductory 
 line to this amusing account of the dissection in a dream 
 of a Beau's head. 
 
 " An imaginary operator opened the first (a Beau's 
 head) with a great deal of nicety, which upon a cursory 
 and superficial view, appeared like the head of another 
 man ; but upon applying our glasses to it, we made 
 a very odd discovery, namely, that what we looked 
 upon as brains, were not such in reality, but an heap of 
 strange materials wound up in that shape and texture, and 
 packed together with wonderful art in the several cavities 
 of the skull. For, as Homer tells us, that the blood of 
 the Gods is not real blood, but only something like it ; so 
 we found that the brain of the Beau is not a real brain, 
 but only something like it. 
 
 " The pineal-gland, which many of our modern philo- 
 sophers suppose to be the seat of the soul, smelt very 
 strong of essence and orange-flower water, and was 
 encompassed with a kind of horny substance, cut into a 
 thousand little faces or mirrors, which were imperceptible 
 to the naked eye, insomuch that the soul, if there had been 
 
In Lieu of Brains 17 
 
 any here, must have been always taken up in contemplating 
 her own beauties. 
 
 " We observed a large antrum or cavity in the sinciput, 
 that was filled with ribbons, lace, and embroidery, wrought 
 together in a most curious piece of network, the parts 
 of which were likewise imperceptible to the naked eye. 
 Another of these antrums or cavities was stuffed with 
 invisible billets-doux, love-letters, pricked dances, and other 
 trumpery of the same nature. In another we found a kind 
 of powder, which set the whole company a-sneezing, and 
 by the scent discovered itself to be right Spanish. The 
 several other cells were stored with commodities of the 
 same kind, of which it would be tedious to give the reader 
 an exact inventory. 
 
 u There was a large cavity on each side the head which 
 I must not omit. That on the right side was filled with 
 fictions, flatteries, and falsehoods, vows, promises, and 
 protestations ; that on the left with oaths and imprecations. 
 There issued out a duct from each of these cells, which 
 ran into the root of the tongue, where both joined 
 together, and passed forward in one common duct to the 
 tip of it. We discovered several little roads or canals 
 running from the ear into the brain, and took particular 
 care to trace them out through their several passages. 
 One of them extended itself to a bundle of sonnets and 
 little musical instruments. Others ended in several 
 bladders, which were filled either with wind or froth. 
 But the large canal entered into a great cavity of the 
 skull, from whence there went another canal into the 
 tongue. This great cavity was filled with a kind of 
 spungy substance, which the French anatomists call 
 galimatias, and the English nonsense. 
 
 " The skins of the forehead were extremely tough and 
 thick, and what very much surprised us, had not in them 
 
 2 
 
1 8 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 any single blood vessel that we were able to discover, 
 either with or without our glasses ; from whence we con- 
 cluded, that the party when alive must have been entirely 
 deprived of the faculty of blushing. 
 
 " The os cribriforme was exceedingly stuffed, and in 
 some places damaged with snuff. We could not but take 
 notice in particular of that small muscle which is not 
 often discovered in dissections, and draws the nose 
 upwards, when it expresses the contempt which the owner 
 of it has upon seeing anything he does not like, or hear- 
 ing anything he does not understand. I need not tell my 
 learned reader, this is that muscle which performs the 
 motion so often mentioned by the Latin poets, when they 
 talk of a man's cocking his nose, or playing the rhinoceros. 
 
 " We did not find anything very remarkable in the eye, 
 saving only, that the muscali amatorii, or, as we may 
 translate it into English, the ogling muscles, were very much 
 worn and decayed with use ; whereas, on the contrary, the 
 elevator, or the muscle which turns the eye towards 
 heaven, did not appear to have been used at all. 
 
 " I have only mentioned in this dissection such new 
 discoveries as we were able to make, and have not taken 
 any notice of those parts which seem to be met with in 
 common heads. As for the skull, the face, and indeed the 
 whole outward shape and figure of the head, we could not 
 discover any difference from what we observe in the heads of 
 other men. We were informed that the person to whom 
 this head belonged, had passed for a man above five and 
 thirty years; during which time he ate and drank like 
 other people, dressed well, talked loud, laughed frequently, 
 and on particular occasions had acquitted himself tolerably 
 at a ball or an assembly ; to which one of the company 
 added, that a certain knot of ladies took him for a wit. 
 He was cut off in the flower of his age by the blow of a 
 
The Head Mercurial 19 
 
 paring-shovel, having been surprised by an eminent citizen, 
 as he was tendering some civilities to his wife. 
 
 " When we had thoroughly examined this head, with 
 all its apartments, and its several kinds of furniture, we 
 put up the brain, such as it was, into its proper place, and 
 laid it aside under a broad piece of scarlet cloth, in order 
 to be prepared, and kept in a great repository of 
 dissections ; our operator telling us that the preparation 
 would not be so difficult as that of another brain, for that 
 he had observed several of the little pipes and tubes which 
 ran through the brain were already filled with a kind of 
 mercurial substance, which he looked upon to be true 
 quicksilver." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 Lady Town. He's very fine. 
 
 Emil. Extreme proper. 
 
 Sir Fop. A slight suit I made to appear in at my first arrival, not 
 worthy your consideration, ladies. 
 
 Dor. The pantaloon is very well mounted. 
 
 Sir Fop. The tassels are new and pretty. 
 
 Med. I never saw a coat better cut. 
 
 Sir Fop. It makes me show long-waisted, and, I think, slender. 
 
 Dor. That's the shape our ladies dote on. 
 
 Med. Your breech, though, is a handful too high in my eye, Sir Fopling. 
 
 Sir Fop. Peace, Medley : I have wished it lower a thousand times, but 
 a pox on't, 'twill not be. 
 
 Lady Town. His gloves are well fringed, large and graceful. 
 
 Sir Fop. I was always eminent for being bien-gante\ 
 
 Emil. He wears nothing but what are originals of the most famous 
 hands in Paris. 
 
 Sir Fop. You are in the right, madam. 
 
 Lady Town. The suit ? 
 
 Sir Fop. Barroy. 1 
 
 Emil. The garniture ? 
 
 Sir Fop. Le Gras. 
 
 Med. The shoes? 
 
 Sir Fop. Piccat. 
 
 Dor. The periwig ? 
 
 Sir Fop. Chedreux. 
 
 Lady Town and Emil. The gloves ? 
 
 Sir Fop. Orangerie : you know the smell, ladies. Dorimont, I could 
 find it in my heart for an amusement to have a gallantry with some of 
 our English ladies. 
 
 Dor. 'Tis a thing no less necessary to confirm the reputation of your 
 wit than a duel will be to satisfy the town of your courage. 
 
 Etherege, The Man of Mode. 
 
 I DO not find the word Beau, to designate a man of 
 fashion, used before the time of Charles II., and it is 
 very probable that he brought it home with him when he 
 returned from his exile. There were of course many men 
 who filled the character before that ; the Earl of Leicester, 
 the Earl of Surrey, and Sir Walter Raleigh, to name but 
 1 Probably Barri. The " drap du Barri " became very fashionable. 
 
A Scottish Beau 21 
 
 three, all of whom were keen on dress. Is there not an 
 anecdote about Leicester which shows the great Bess, 
 " herself helping to put on his robes, he sitting on his 
 knees before her, and keeping a great gravity and discreet 
 behaviour ; but as for the queen she could not refrain 
 from putting her hand in his neck to tickle him, smilingly, 
 the French ambassador and I [Sir James Melville] 
 standing beside her ! " 
 
 The Earl of Surrey was wit, poet, soldier, and dandy ; 
 he loved silks and velvets, gold embroidery, ribbons and 
 pearls ; but he was not a fop in the general acceptation of 
 the word, and his position as poet would alone mark him 
 off from those whose only claim to fame is that they are 
 Beaux. 
 
 We all know the story, true or otherwise, of the 
 courtier Raleigh laying his gorgeous cloak upon the 
 ground for his sovereign to step upon. And there is 
 that other picture of him as a man of middle life, a giant 
 in size, with curling beard and hair and bronze-tinted 
 skin, dressed " in scarf and band of the richest colour and 
 costliest stuff, in cap and plume worth a ransom, in jacket 
 powdered with gems ; his whole attire, from cap to shoe- 
 strings, blazing with rubies, emeralds, and pearls. Thus 
 he walked daily on the terrace at the top of the wall of the 
 Tower, and crowds came to the outer court to see him." 
 
 There was one man who was better deserving the 
 name of Beau at the time of James I. than many who 
 assumed it later, and this was James Hay, the Earl of 
 Carlisle. Educated in France, he belonged to the Scottish 
 Guard maintained by the French monarch, and came over 
 to England intent on winning position and wealth from 
 King James. He showed no great talent or capacity ; 
 indeed, if we except his lack of wit, he was a Beau pure 
 and simple, depending for his success upon his dress, his 
 
12 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 magnificence, and his manners. He possessed a natural 
 elegance, taste, and sweetness of disposition, which made 
 him attractive not only to the eyes but to the minds of 
 those with whom he came in contact, and he also pos- 
 sessed a tact which was more valuable than genius. It 
 is said that no one has ever surpassed the Earl in the 
 splendour of his entertainments and the costliness of his 
 dress. In 1616, when he was sent to France to con- 
 gratulate the King upon his marriage with the Infanta 
 of Spain, the whole of Paris turned out to see him enter 
 the city, his magnificence was so great, one illustration 
 of this being that the horse he rode was lightly shod 
 with silver shoes, and that it, " prancing and curvetting, 
 in humble reverence, flung his shoes away, which the 
 greedy bystanders scrambled for " ; and the Earl was 
 content to be gazed on and admired till the farrier, or 
 rather the argentier, in one of his rich liveries, came from 
 among his train of footmen, and, taking other shoes out 
 of a tawny velvet bag, put them on — to last until the 
 Earl came to the next troop of grandees ; and thus he 
 reached the Louvre. 
 
 " One of the meanest of his suits was so fine as to 
 look like romance," says Arthur Wilson, who describes it 
 as made of white beaver embroidered all over in gold and 
 silver. As for his hospitality, it was as fantastic as 
 that of Heliogabalus, and, I should imagine, scarcely less 
 murderous. For we read of a pie devoured by one man, 
 the making of which had cost ^10, it being composed 
 of ambergrease, magisterial of pearl, musk, and other 
 strange but costly ingredients. It is not to be wondered 
 at that the consumer was sick all the night afterwards. 
 Of one of his marvellous banquets it is told that it had 
 to be postponed until dishes were made large enough to 
 hold the immense fishes — probably sturgeon — " which had 
 
The Coming of the Beaux 23 
 
 been brought out of Muscovy," and we have a hint that 
 the fish were not quite so fresh as they might have been. 
 In his last illness in 1636, he had <c divers brave clothes " 
 made " to outface naked and despicable death withal." 
 
 But the history of the Beaux begins in truth with the 
 Restoration, for after coming into his own again Charles 
 drew around him men as light and reckless as himself. 
 Some had travelled with him in his wanderings, sharing his 
 good and evil fortunes ; others came to his side drawn by 
 the hope that estates, offices, and wealth might be theirs ; 
 others, again, were the satellites of these as these were 
 satellites of the King. These young men lived in an age 
 when velvets, silks, ribbons, and jewels belonged as much 
 to them as to the women, and they would voluntarily 
 have lived for ever in obscurity wanting their fine clothes. 
 " Clothes, from the King's mantle downward, are em- 
 blematic, not of want only, but of a manifold cunning 
 Victory over Want." Indeed these men would have 
 sold their last acre and their only roof rather than be 
 behind the fashion in their dress, and many of them most 
 certainly sold more than that, for they sold the happiness 
 of their families and the stability of their tradesmen. 
 
 In such a court as that of Charles, wit as well as 
 clothes was an essential. To laugh and to make others 
 laugh was a necessary part of the day's routine, so those 
 who had wit used it, those who had not cultivated it in 
 any way that occurred to them — studied, borrowed, or 
 stole it. Thus it is that many of the Beaux were Wits 
 who wrote dramas for those theatres which quickly sprang 
 up with Charles's return, and many of the Wits became 
 Beaux because their talents carried them into the company 
 of such. So we have such a list of names, showing a 
 mixture of many stations, as Killigrew, George Villiers, 
 Duke of Buckingham, Sir George or " Beau " Hewitt, 
 
24 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Lord Dorset, De Grammont, Sir Charles Sedley, the Earl 
 of Rochester, Beau Wilson, Beau Feilding, and William 
 Congreve. 
 
 Of these the title u Beau " is definitely attached only 
 to three, and naturally enough of these we have least 
 knowledge, for, being Beaux in the most real sense of 
 the word, no one troubled to write about them or make 
 any record of their deeds. They took naturally to 
 finery, and lived for appearance ; they were neither poets, 
 statesmen, courtiers, useful members of society, nor even 
 great knaves, so they had their day and disappeared. 
 Of Feilding we know much more than of Hewitt and 
 Wilson. The Tatler devoted two essays to him ; and one 
 of his many excursions into matrimony was made with 
 a connection of Swift's, while another caused a lawsuit. 
 
 Beau Hewitt was an Irish Viscount, from whom Sir 
 Fopling Flutter was drawn by " gentle George," though 
 Etherege's contemporaries declared that Flutter was 
 Etherege himself. Hewitt has the credit of having been 
 the first to replace an emphatic " damn me " by a languid 
 " dammee," which a century later became " demme." 
 He is mentioned by Dryden : 
 
 So strut, look big, shake pantaloon, and swear, 
 With Hewitt, "Damme, there's no action here." 
 
 Beau Wilson was a mystery, even in his own day. He 
 served in Flanders and was dismissed for cowardice, coming 
 back to England with two guineas in his pocket. In a 
 short time, however, he set up a large establishment, kept 
 a perfect table, possessed horses and carriages, and dressed 
 his part to perfection. He never told whence came his 
 wealth, and was suspected of having stolen diamonds, of 
 holding the philosopher's stone, and of many other strange 
 methods of raising money. Fourteen years after his death 
 
Thomas Killigrew 25 
 
 a letter was published in an appendix to the second edition 
 of ct Memoirs of the Court of England in the reign of 
 Charles II.," which pretended to tell how Beau Wilson 
 got his wealth. It was said that Elizabeth Villiers, 
 mistress of William III., and later Countess of Orkney, 
 made assignations with him, hiding her identity from him 
 by arranging meetings to take place in darkness. This 
 connection was terminated by his own curiosity, for 
 while still a young man he was forced into a quarrel 
 by a Scotchman, John Law, the financier, who is said to 
 have run Wilson through before he could draw his sword. 
 Law was sentenced to death for murder, but his punish- 
 ment was commuted to a fine. The Wilson family again 
 charged him with murder at the King's Bench, and this 
 time he escaped by filing his prison bars. In the letter 
 spoken of above the suggestion is, that Wilson became too 
 inquisitive as to his fair visitor and benefactor, and so she 
 arranged with John Law for his death, and managed Law's 
 escape afterwards, giving him a large sum of money. 
 Harrison Ainsworth has used these incidents in his " John 
 Law, the Projector." 
 
 There is yet another Beau of the late seventeenth or 
 early eighteenth century of whom practically nothing is 
 known except that he belonged to the Edgworth family, 
 ancestor perhaps of the thriftless father of Maria Edgworth. 
 Steele, who was probably his friend, wrote of him in The 
 *Tatler : " There is a very handsome, well-shaped youth, 
 that frequents the coffee houses about Charing Cross, and 
 ties a very pretty ribbon with a cross of jewels at his heart." 
 He died in Dublin, insane. 
 
 Of those possessing talents or ability as well as a love 
 of dress, the man who seems almost to be the initiator 
 of the careless, reckless company of Beaux is Thomas 
 Killigrew. He was born in 161 1, remained attached to 
 
26 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Charles all through his exile, and was faithful to him in 
 England afterwards, until his death in 1682-3. Courtier, 
 dramatist, wit, and Beau, Thomas Killigrew was the son 
 of Sir Robert Killigrew, who, as an amateur concocter 
 of drugs, was said to have supplied the powder which 
 caused the death of Sir Thomas Overbury ; a charge which 
 was disproved at the trial. As a boy Thomas was so 
 devoted to the stage that Pepys tells us he would hang 
 about the door of the Red Bull, and eagerly volunteer 
 if the manager wanted boys to personate devils or any 
 other harmless character, that he might in this way see 
 the piece. At ten years old he became page to Charles I., 
 and from that time remained connected with the Stuarts. 
 At the Phoenix, otherwise the Cockpit, in Drury Lane, 
 two of Killigrew's plays were performed before 1636, the 
 Prisoners and Claracilla ; while The Parson s Wedding 
 was written in Switzerland at a time when plays and 
 players had been chased from London by the Civil War. 
 Though the Parliament committed him to the King's 
 Bench for taking up arms for the King, he was successful 
 in getting a release; and in 1647 joined Prince Charles 
 in his wanderings in Europe. Charles II. sent him to 
 Venice as Resident, but the Venetians returned him in a 
 year, wearied with his clever me*- 1 ods of extracting money 
 for himself and his royal master, and more than wearied 
 of his licentious ways. At the instance of the Venetian 
 Ambassador at Paris, Charles recalled his friend, upon 
 which event Sir John Denham wrote : 
 
 Our resident Tom 
 
 From Venice is come 
 And has left all the statesmen behind him ; 
 
 Talks at the same pitch, 
 
 Is as wise, is as rich, 
 And just where you left him you find him. 
 
The Jester's Successor 27 
 
 On the Restoration Killigrew was in great favour with 
 Charles II. He was made Groom of the Bedchamber, 
 and Chamberlain to the Queen, while his wife was appointed 
 to the suggestively pleasant post of " Keeper of the sweet 
 coffer" for the Queen, besides being first lady of the 
 Queen's Privy Chamber. But that which pleased Killigrew 
 more than anything was that the King gave to him and 
 to Sir William D'Avenant patents to build two new play- 
 houses, allowing them to license their own plays. " The 
 New House in Gibbon's Tennis Court, Clare Market," was 
 the name of one, and the other first known as the " Royal," 
 but afterwards as " Drury Lane," was built on the site of 
 the present Drury Lane Theatre. 
 
 Killigrew was something besides a Beau, a playwright, 
 and a courtier. In the Court he filled a double part, or 
 rather he served as a link between the old and the new. 
 His love of dress, his vivacity, his wit, and above all his 
 common sense, made of him boon companion, jester, and 
 adviser rolled into one. It may seem at first sight an 
 incongruity to connect the Beau and the Jester, and yet 
 they have so many things in common, that I am tempted 
 to believe that the one is to some extent the other trans- 
 formed and brought up to date, which may explain the 
 fact that now we mourn the loss of both, for the times 
 have entirely outgrown the offices. Both Beau and Jester 
 must pay heed to his clothes, expediency brings them 
 into connection with a Court, for there shines the brightest 
 light, and a Beau only exists in the glare of notoriety. 
 Both must be bon-vivants, and both should be witty. 
 Further, while the Jester's work is to amuse others, the 
 Beau's is also to amuse, though he would claim that his 
 first duty in that respect is to himself. 
 
 John Thurloe, Charles's Secretary of State, has thrown 
 grave reflections upon Killigrew's loyalty, but there is 
 
28 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 little doubt that, though the dramatist may have had 
 lax ideas upon the relative values of loyalty and money, 
 he nevertheless not only stuck to his master, but did his 
 best to rouse that master's dwindling sense of kingly 
 responsibility. He kept an exiled Court cheerful, and 
 made a brilliant Court sparkle with extra lustre. He 
 never fell seriously out of favour with Charles, upon 
 whom he occasionally pressed advice in so clever a way 
 that he raised a laugh where the plodding statesman only 
 got frowning resistance. Pepys declares that Killigrew had 
 a fee out of the wardrobe for cap and bells, and was privi- 
 leged to jeer even at the greatest without offence. But 
 it is more than likely that his post as Master of the Revels, 
 conferred in 1673, gave rise to this idea. Pepys again 
 calls him " a merry droll, but a gentleman of great 
 esteem with the King." He certainly wore no uniform 
 and received no salary as Jester, and this adds weight to 
 the contention that he was the link between the recognised 
 buffoon and the dandy friend of princes and kings whose 
 acceptability depended upon his wit and his knowledge of 
 or feeling for dress. 
 
 There were times when it seemed impossible to make 
 the King do so much as sign his name, or give a single 
 moment to the affairs of State, and on one such occasion 
 Killigrew was heard to say to Charles : 
 
 " There is a good, honest, able man that I could 
 name, that if Your Majesty would employ and command 
 to see all things well executed, all things would soon be 
 mended ; and this is one Charles Stuart, who now 
 spends his time in employing his lips about the Court, 
 and hath no other employment ; but if you would give 
 him this work, he were the fittest man in the world to 
 perform it." 
 
 Charles was so engrossed with his mistresses and his 
 
GEORGE VILLIERS, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM 
 
 2<, 
 
A Mordant Jester 31 
 
 amusements that at last he refused to attend the Councils 
 altogether ; and there was one important occasion when the 
 Duke of Lauderdale went impetuously to endeavour to 
 prevail upon the King to appear. It was of no use, and 
 as the Duke, in anger, left the King, he met Killigrew 
 in the corridor, and was glad to say openly what he 
 thought of his sovereign's manners. Killigrew wagered 
 him a hundred pounds that the King would be in the 
 Council chamber in less than half an hour. Swayed by 
 two emotions, the desire to win the wager and anger that 
 a man like Killigrew should presume to succeed where 
 he had failed, the Duke accepted the wager and returned 
 to his colleagues. Killigrew went to Charles and told 
 what had happened, finishing with : 
 
 " Now, as your Majesty hates Lauderdale, here is 
 your opportunity of getting rid of him for a long while. 
 You have only to go this once to the Council. Rather 
 than pay the hundred pounds I know this covetous Duke 
 would hang himself in spite, and never plague you 
 again." 
 
 " Well, then, Killigrew, I positively will go," said the 
 King, laughing. 
 
 He went, and the wager was won, but whether it was 
 ever paid is not recorded. There is yet another story 
 which shows the fantastic way in which Killigrew tried 
 to get Charles to do his duty. He came into the King's 
 chamber dressed like a pilgrim, saying that he was going 
 a long journey. When Charles asked whither he was 
 bound, he answered emphatically : 
 
 " To Hell ! I am going to ask the Devil to send 
 back Oliver Cromwell to take care of the affairs of 
 England, for, as to his successor, he is always employed 
 in other business." 
 
 It was often said that Lady Castlemaine forced the 
 
32 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 King's respectful attention by the sharpness of her tongue, 
 and once, when Charles unluckily likened the Duke of 
 York to Tom Otter, a hen-pecked husband in Ben 
 Jonson's Silent Woman, Killigrew answered : 
 
 " Pray, sir, which is the better for a man to be, Tom 
 Otter to his wife or to his mistress ? " 
 
 He is also credited with a sharp retort to Louis XIV., 
 which must have made that monarch wince. The French 
 King in Paris was showing Killigrew a picture of the 
 Crucifixion hanging between portraits of the Pope and 
 himself, which drew forth the musing remark : 
 
 "Though I have often heard that our Saviour was 
 crucified between two thieves, I never knew till now who 
 they were." 
 
 From all that has been written of him it is more than 
 probable that, like a true Wit, he said much better things 
 than he wrote, and Denham, the poet and jealous husband, 
 recorded this in the couplet : 
 
 Had Cowley ne'er spoke, and Killigrew ne'er writ, 
 Combined in one they'd make a matchless wit. 
 
 Such a man was sure to make enemies, for when 
 immorality, vanity, and wit are joined in one person 
 there are plenty of opportunities for others not only to 
 feel affronted but to endeavour to avenge themselves. 
 De Grammont tells us that Killigrew, " having nothing 
 better to do, fell in love with Lady Shrewsbury," and she 
 u having no engagement at that time, their amour was 
 soon established." With this Killigrew was well content 
 until he found that the affair was regarded with indifference 
 by his friends. He had expected astonishment, congratu- 
 lations, envy, and he found that he had made no stir at 
 all. So to impress his good fortune upon his associates 
 he, when in wine, boasted of the lady's beauty to such an 
 
The Hint Direct 33 
 
 extent that at last he fired a languid rival in the fickle 
 George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. Villiers was so 
 much more attractive than Killigrew that it needed little 
 effort on his part to win the light lady's favour, and 
 " Killigrew, who could not be satisfied without rivals, 
 was obliged, in the end, to be satisfied without a mistress." 
 It could scarcely be called satisfaction, however, for he 
 became loudly, outrageously abusive, not so much of 
 Buckingham as of Lady Shrewsbury. He talked of her 
 even more than before, but now it was to decry every 
 beauty he had extolled. A quiet warning had no effect 
 upon him, and so one night, when he was returning from 
 a party at the Duke of York's house, a sword was passed 
 swiftly and quietly three times through the sedan chair 
 in which he was being carried, one lunge taking the 
 weapon through his arm. The would-be assassins 
 thought their work done, and went away as quietly as 
 the sword was withdrawn, and Killigrew at last learned 
 from this incident — this very pointed hint — the value of 
 silence, for he sought no redress and never again talked 
 of Lady Shrewsbury. 
 
 On another occasion he so angered Rochester that, 
 though they were in the company of the King, the Earl 
 gave him a hearty box on the ears ; and Charles so 
 far approved of the punishment that he took Rochester's 
 arm and strolled away, leaving Killigrew to pocket the 
 affront as best he might. Yet another and even more 
 painful incident was that when Buckingham publicly 
 thrashed the playwright in his own playhouse. 
 
 Killigrew wrote eleven plays, of which The Parson s 
 Wedding was the most popular. It was the first play in 
 which the women's parts were acted by women, for up to 
 that time no English woman had acted publicly, though 
 there seems to have been an instance of French actresses 
 
34 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 performing at the Black Friars play-house, and being 
 hissed off the stage by the shocked spectators. 
 
 One of the most versatile of all the Beaux of the 
 Stuart period was George Villiers, second Duke of 
 Buckingham (162 7-1 6 8 8), beau, politician, soldier, chemist, 
 author, wit, rake, and dramatist ; a man of wonderful 
 gifts, which were rendered inept by his want of 
 concentration. 
 
 A man so various that he seemed to be 
 Not one, but all mankind's epitome : 
 Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, 
 Was everything by starts and nothing long ; 
 -But in the course of one revolving moon 
 Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon ; 
 Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, 
 Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking. 
 Blest madman, who could every hour employ 
 With something new to wish or to enjoy ! 
 Railing and praising were his usual themes, 
 And both, to show his judgment, in extremes. 
 So over violent or over civil 
 That every man with him was God or Devil. 
 
 Thus, in his satire of " Absalom and Achitophel," ran 
 Dryden's pen-portrait of Buckingham. 
 
 In appearance and carriage Buckingham seems to 
 have been unparalleled. Sir John Reresby spoke of him 
 as " the finest gentleman of person and wit, I think I ever 
 saw." Louis XIV. said of him, " that he was the only 
 English gentleman he had ever seen " ; Bishop Burnet, 
 even, alludes to his " noble presence " and w the liveliness 
 of his wit," while Dean Lockyer remarked of him to 
 Pope : " He was reckoned the most accomplished man of 
 the age in riding, dancing, and fencing. When he came 
 into the presence chamber, it was impossible for you not 
 to follow him with your eye as he went along, he moved 
 
Villiers, Duke of Buckingham 35 
 
 so gracefully." His beauty was hereditary, his face long 
 and oval, with sleepy eyes, " over which large arched eye- 
 brows seemed to contract a brow on which the curls of a 
 massive wig hung low." With a long, flexible nose, and 
 thin compressed lips, the upper one adorned with the 
 then fashionable moustache, which looked more like strips 
 of black plaster than hair, he was regarded as the 
 veritable type in the then admired style of beauty. His 
 form was tall and every movement graceful. His dress 
 was always rich ; indeed, he has been described as " a 
 Beau to the very fold of the cambric band round his throat, 
 which was finished with long ends of the richest, closest 
 point lace that was ever stolen from a foreign nunnery." 
 
 His manners were both courteous and affable ; he was 
 born for gallantry and magnificence ; his wit never failed, 
 except when it descended into buffoonery ; in fact, like 
 Chesterfield of later fame, he could never restrain his 
 talent for repartee. One evening at the theatre in a play 
 of Dryden's, the actress pronounced this line in a pathetic 
 voice : 
 
 My wound is great because it is so small. 
 
 Whereupon Buckingham rose suddenly in his box and 
 added loudly : 
 
 Then 'twould be greater were it none at all. 
 
 Poor actress ! the crowd laughed and hissed, and the 
 part had for a time to be abandoned. 
 
 Buckingham once gave the King an amusing descrip- 
 tion of Ipswich, that town having been mentioned in 
 conversation : "Ipswich is a town without inhabitants; 
 a river it has without water, streets without names, and 
 it is a place where asses wear boots." Ipswich was then 
 a poor country town, so that in the daytime most of the 
 
 3 
 
3 6 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 inhabitants were working in the fields, and the lockless 
 river sometimes ran almost dry. I have seen it stated 
 that the streets were numbered, not named, and George 
 Villiers had once been in Ipswich when Lord Hereford's 
 bowling green was being rolled by asses who wore pads 
 over their hoofs when drawing the roller. 
 
 Buckingham and his younger brother Francis fought 
 for Charles I. at Lichfield, but being under age they were 
 both put in the care of the Earl of Northumberland 
 and sent to travel on the Continent, where their princely 
 splendour made them famous. They returned to 
 England and joined the army again on the King's 
 imprisonment, Francis being killed in a skirmish near 
 Kingston in Surrey, in a lane that still bears his name. 
 
 George Villiers fought at Worcester and thence escaped 
 only with his life. For a time he remained in England, 
 his recklessness and his bravery alike prompting him to go 
 to London, that he might learn all the news. For this 
 purpose he disguised himself in various ways. At one 
 time he wore what he called a " Jack Pudding coat," with 
 a little pointed hat, which had a fox's tail and some 
 peacocks' feathers stuck in it. Sometimes he covered 
 his face with flour, sometimes with a mask ; and thus 
 disguised he erected a stage at Charing Cross, encouraged 
 puppet showmen and street musicians to set up alongside 
 of him, and then by means of singing ballads drew 
 money into his pockets and a certain fame about his 
 personality. The Cromwellians rode past him every day ; 
 he talked with one and another, under cover of selling 
 plasters and drugs, and learned secrets which otherwise 
 would never have been whispered in his ears. Crowds 
 came daily to see him, yet he seems not to have been 
 suspected by his enemies. One day he had news that 
 his sister the Duchess of Richmond, who was on her way 
 
A Daring Escapade 37 
 
 to be kept under strict surveillance at Whitehall, would 
 be passing ; and when her coach appeared he cried to 
 the crowd that he would give them a song on the Duchess 
 of Richmond and the Duke of Buckingham, upon which 
 the coach was stopped and the fair lady made to sit in 
 the boot to listen. Having finished he said he must 
 present the Duchess with a copy of his songs, and as he 
 came close removed a black patch from his eye, thus 
 allowing her to recognise him. She, with great restraint, 
 rated him soundly for his impertinence, and returned to 
 her coach, catching eagerly at the packet of papers and 
 letters which he threw in after her. 
 
 It is said that Bridget Cromwell, the bride of Ireton, 
 became fascinated by the graceful appearance of the 
 daring mountebank, whom she could see from her 
 window, and sent for him to come and speak with her. 
 He did not go till the evening, and then he wore a rich 
 suit hidden beneath a long cloak. He said, in speaking of 
 the interview, that Madam Ireton made advances to him, 
 and in order to evade her he pretended to be a Jew, 
 which so amazed the lady that she sent for a Jewish 
 rabbi to meet him on another visit. Buckingham was 
 horrified at seeing the learned man waiting to discuss 
 serious matters of religion with him, and by some excuse 
 managed to depart, believing it to be expedient that he 
 should leave, not only the lady's house, but London 
 itself, as he had already learned various secrets from 
 Madam Ireton. Shortly after he was in Antwerp, living 
 upon the proceeds of the sale of some of his pictures. 
 
 Cromwell gave York House to Fairfax, and Villiers, 
 as soon as he heard of this, determined to return to 
 England and marry Mary Fairfax, then a girl of eighteen. 
 She was engaged to Lord Chesterfield, the banns having 
 already been called twice at St. Martin's, Westminster. 
 
3 8 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 However, the young Duke was irresistible, and he had 
 his way, being married in 1657 at Bolton Percy in 
 Yorkshire. Cromwell ordered his arrest on the ground 
 that the marriage was a popish plot, but on the interven- 
 tion of Fairfax he was allowed to reside at York House 
 on parole, Fairfax returning him of his property enough 
 to bring in ^4,000 a year. The parole proved too great a 
 strain on the light nature of the young man ; he went 
 over to Cobham to see his sister, and was sent to the 
 Tower, where, in spite of all that Fairfax could do, he re- 
 mained for nearly a year, when Cromwell died and Fairfax 
 offered to be his security in ^20,000 to Parliament. 
 
 At the Restoration Buckingham became " the brightest 
 ornament of Whitehall " ; Charles showed him every 
 favour and admitted him to the Privy Council, but he 
 was always in trouble, was imprisoned more than once, 
 and schemed constantly to gain power which he was 
 incapable of using. The trouble was of his own making, 
 for he followed his desires no matter where they led him, 
 and allowed no one's rights to stand in his way. He 
 wielded a fitful yet strong influence in the Cabal, and was 
 alternately in and out of favour with the King. He 
 turned the Shrewsbury-Killigrew comedy into a tragedy, 
 for so openly did he pay court to Lady Shrewsbury that 
 her husband challenged him. It was gossip at the time 
 that the Countess was present at the duel, being dressed 
 as a page and holding her lover's horse. Lord Shrews- 
 bury was killed, and Villiers and his mistress went home 
 together, their scandalous action raising some comment 
 even in those exceedingly easy-going times. 
 
 Butler says of him " that he had studied the whole 
 body of vice. ... He has dammed up all those lights 
 that nature made into the noblest prospects of the 
 world, and opened other little blind loopholes back- 
 
"So much for Buckingham " 39 
 
 ward, by turning day into night, and night into day." 
 Clarendon also speaks of his " life by night more than 
 by day, in all the liberties that nature could desire and 
 wit invent." That he was a man of great talent could 
 not be denied. Pepys writes of seeing his play The 
 Chances, acted at Whitehall, adding : " A good play I find 
 it, and the actors most good in it . . . the whole play 
 pleases me well." His influence in Parliament was great, 
 and the pleasantness of his humour and conversation, the 
 extravagance and keenness of his wit, caused people not 
 only to like his company but to believe that when age 
 had worn off his vanity and light tendencies he would be 
 of great use to his country. He took an interest in the 
 question of freedom of religion, advocating in the House 
 of Lords toleration to Dissenters ; and writing " A Short 
 Discourse on the Reasonableness of Men having a 
 Religion ; or, Worship of God." 
 
 When, because of his debts and losses, he was forced to 
 take to a country life, Etherege remarked : " I have heard 
 the news with no less astonishment than if I had been 
 told that the Pope had begun to wear a periwig, and had 
 turned beau in the seventy-fourth year of his age ! " 
 
 Pope's striking picture of his death — 
 
 In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half hung, 
 The walls of plaster and the floor of dung, 
 On once a flock-bed, but repaired with straw, 
 With tape-tied curtains never meant to draw, 
 
 is greatly exaggerated. Buckingham died at Helmsley in 
 Yorkshire in a house which was once the best in the place, 
 named Kirby Moorside, though not then in a flourishing 
 condition. Here, in 1687, after joining " heartily in the 
 beautiful prayers for the dying in our Church," this Wit 
 and Beau breathed his last, refusing with his usual selfish- 
 ness to make a will. 
 
y 
 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 I am an Englishman, and naked I stand here, 
 Musinge in my mynd, what rayment I shall were, 
 For now I will were this, and now I will were that, 
 Now I will were I cannot tell what. 
 
 Andrew Borde, Introduction to Knowledge. 
 
 THERE is a certain sameness about the lives of the 
 Carolinian Dandies ; they all dressed with the 
 utmost extravagance, played cards, thought intrigue more 
 obligatory than marriage, wrote verses, and generally died 
 in unhappy circumstances. Several repented before death, 
 while Sedley and Dorset turned from their wicked ways 
 " in time to live a period of respectability. " 
 
 While fathers are severe, and servants cheat, 
 Sedley and easy Etherege will be great, 
 
 says Evelyn in his imitation of Ovid's Elegies ; and 
 again we find their names connected in 
 
 Here gentle Etherege and Sedley's muse, 
 Warm the coy maid, and melting love infuse. 
 
 Sir Charles Sedley and George Etherege were not 
 only friends, they shared the same qualities and ten- 
 dencies, even the same intellectual leanings ; both wrote 
 plays and verses, the former showing what has been 
 described as tc poisonous and insinuating mellifluence," 
 rich " in that more dangerous art, which, while it offends 
 
 not the taste, insensibly kindles the imagination." The 
 
 40 
 
Sir Charles Sedley 41 
 
 Duke of Buckingham called it <c Sedley's witchcraft," and 
 Lord Rochester wrote of it : 
 
 Sedley has that prevailing, gentle art, 
 That can, with a resistless charm, impart 
 The loosest wishes to the chastest heart. 
 
 The King delighted in this handsome, witty addition 
 to his circle, saying that " Nature had given him [Sedley] 
 a patent to be Apollo's viceroy." Dryden dedicated his 
 " Assignation " to him ; and Shadwell said of him : " I 
 have heard him speak more wit at a supper, than all his 
 adversaries could have written in a year." 
 
 When Sedley's third play, Bellamira^ or The Mistress^ 
 was produced at the King's House in 1687, the roof of 
 the theatre fell in during a performance, Sedley himself 
 having the narrowest escape from destruction. Sir Fleet- 
 wood Sheppard, one of King Charles's boon companions, 
 told Sedley that there was so much fire in the piece that 
 it blew up the poet, house, audience, and all. 
 
 " No," replied Sedley ; " it was so heavy that it broke 
 the house down, and buried the poet in his own rubbish." 
 
 As a young man Sedley was a profligate and a scamp. 
 At the age of twenty-four he was charged with Lord 
 Buckhurst, afterwards Lord Dorset, and Sir Thomas 
 Ogle, with debauchery at the Rose Tavern in Bow Street 
 in 1663, the offence consisting, says Luttrell, in standing 
 in birthday garb upon a balcony, and haranguing a mob 
 in blasphemous words. The crowd, whose sensibility 
 Sedley had underrated, tried to break open the doors, 
 and in the riot which followed the three young idiots 
 nearly lost their lives. They were tried before Lord 
 Chief Justice Foster — others say Sir Robert Hyde and the 
 whole Bench — the judge telling Sedley that it was for him, 
 and such wicked wretches as he, that God's anger and 
 
42 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 judgment hung over England. He also inquired of 
 Sedley if he had read " The Compleat Gentleman," to 
 which the impudent answer was given, " I believe I have 
 read more books than your lordship." Sedley is said to 
 have been fined £500 for this outrage, though Pepys 
 says he was only bound over in ,£5,000. The story also 
 goes that Killigrew was commissioned to get the King to 
 intercede in reducing the fine, but that, instead, he 
 borrowed the money from the King and kept it for 
 himself and a lordly friend. 
 
 In 1668 Sedley and Buckhurst indulged in another 
 " frolic and debauchery," for Pepys tells us how they were 
 " running up and down all the night, almost naked, 
 through the streets ; and at last fighting and being beat 
 by the watch and clapped up all night ; and how the 
 King takes their parts ; and my Lord Chief Justice 
 Keeling hath laid the constable by the heels to answer it 
 next Sessions ; which is a horrid shame." 
 
 Buckhurst, Lord Dorset, was a great favourite with 
 the King ; gay, high-bred, courteous, convivial, and lax, 
 just the companion that Charles loved. Of him Rochester 
 said : " I know not how it is, but my Lord Dorset can 
 do anything, and is never to blame." Dorset was reckless 
 and profligate, but he was not so selfish as most of his 
 kind ; he could befriend the unhappy, liked to hear 
 others praised, was both loveable and accomplished, and 
 was, furthermore, a poet and a wit. When Sedley was 
 fined his £500 Dorset had already been in Newgate on 
 a charge of highway robbery and murder, having been 
 found guilty, however, only of manslaughter, the excuse 
 of himself and his associates being that they believed 
 the man they attacked was a highway robber and the 
 money in his pocket had been stolen. When brought 
 before Sir Robert Hyde, the judge recognised the name 
 
An Eloquent Impromptu 43 
 
 and the late case, and, turning to the young man, in- 
 quired whether he had so soon forgotten his deliverance, 
 and whether he would not have been better occupied at 
 prayer, begging God's forgiveness, than taking part in 
 such wicked courses again." 
 
 Dorset was the author of the song, 
 
 To all you Ladies now on land 
 
 We men at sea indite ; 
 But first would have you understand 
 
 How hard it is to write : 
 The Muses now, and Neptune, too, 
 We must implore to write to you. 
 
 This is said to have been written at sea, the night 
 before an engagement, which is more definitely given as 
 the battle fought on June 3rd between the English, 
 under the Duke of York, and the Dutch, under Opdam ; 
 but Pepys, having read the ballad six months earlier, men- 
 tions the probability that Lord Dorset retouched it and 
 altered the fourth verse just before that engagement. 
 
 Dorset was a great patron of literature, and drew 
 around him many brilliant men at Knole, his seat 
 near Sevenoaks. Once, when Dryden was there, it was 
 agreed that each person present should write an im- 
 promptu, and Dryden should decide which was the best. 
 Dorset quickly wrote two lines and threw them over to 
 Dryden, and when all were written he was awarded the 
 prize unanimously, for his paper ran, " I promise to pay 
 Mr. John Dryden, or order, £500 on demand. — Dorset." 
 
 Horace Walpole said of Dorset that Cl he was the first 
 gentleman in the voluptuous Court of Charles II., and in 
 the gloomy one of King William ; " and Pope called him 
 " the grace of courts, the muses' pride." 
 
 Certainly no trick is told of him quite so cowardly 
 as that practised upon Kynaston, the actor, by Sedley. 
 
44 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Kynaston was so elegant that ladies competed for the 
 pleasure of driving him, dressed in his theatrical costume, 
 in the park. He was said to resemble Sedley in face, and 
 to have burlesqued him in a play called The Heiress. 
 This so enraged the Beau, that he employed a ruffian 
 to address Kynaston in St. James's Park as Sir Charles 
 Sedley, and give him a good beating as such. Thus 
 he got his revenge and yet saved himself from being 
 charged with the assault. When his friends expressed 
 their opinion on this episode, Sir Charles said they should 
 pity him, not Kynaston ; for while the latter only got 
 sore bones, he himself lost his reputation, for all the town 
 believed he had suffered the public disgrace of a thrashing. 
 Poor Kynaston ! Pepys says of this episode, that he 
 went to see The Heiress, at the King's playhouse ; 
 " but when we come thither, we find no play there ; 
 Kynaston, that did act a part therein, in abuse to Sir 
 Charles Sedley, being last night exceedingly beaten with 
 sticks, by two or three that saluted him, so as he is 
 mightily bruised, and forced to keep his bed." Pepys 
 evidently had no high opinion of Sir Charles, for in 1667 
 he writes : " This Lord Vaughan ... is one of the 
 lewdest fellows of the age, worse than Sir Charles Sedley." 
 
 Sedley and Dorset were often the companions of 
 the King in his drinking bouts, and Dorset is reported 
 to have taken Nell Gwyn from the stage in 1667. 
 Pepys, visiting Epsom, says : " I hear that my Lord 
 Buckhurst and Nelly are lodged at the next house, 
 and Sir Charles Sedley with them, and keep a merry 
 house. Poor girl ! I pity her ! " In a short time 
 Buckhurst — or Dorset — had deserted the actress, and a 
 few months later the King was attracted by her. 
 
 Both Sedley and Lord Dorset reformed their lives 
 when they came to middle age. Sedley's daughter 
 
"Easy George" 45 
 
 Catherine became the mistress of King James II., being 
 made Countess of Dorchester, which, in spite of the royal 
 favours bestowed upon him, shocked Sedley so much that 
 he eagerly did all he could to help on the Revolution. 
 He was asked by some friend why he was so much 
 opposed to the King who had put him under so many 
 obligations, and replied : " I hate ingratitude ; and as the 
 King has made my daughter a Countess, I will endeavour 
 to make his a Queen." 
 
 In 1702 Captain AylofFe published an edition of 
 Sedley's works, in which he spoke of Sedley as dead. 
 There seems to be some doubt as to the actual date, but his 
 death probably occurred the year before. Ayloffe says of 
 him : " He was a man of the first class of wit and gallantry ; 
 his friendship was courted by everybody ; and nobody 
 went out of his company but pleased and improved : 
 time added but little to nature, and he was everything 
 that an English gentleman could be." 
 
 We can only forgive AylofFe for his estimate of 
 an " English gentleman " by remembering that he was 
 writing for Sedley's contemporaries, under the influences 
 which had helped to make Sedley what he was. 
 
 Lord Dorset, who is said to have written that song of 
 " Lillibullero bullen-a-lah," which my Uncle Toby was so 
 given to whistling, retained his wit to the last ; and 
 Congreve said of him, when dying, " Faith, he stutters 
 more wit than other people have in their best health." 
 He had long before relinquished his wild ways, and shown 
 his good qualities as a patron of literature ; but he was 
 never in favour with James, and he encouraged the 
 Revolution which brought the Prince of Orange to the 
 throne. He died at Bath, in 1706. 
 
 Of Sir George Etherege — "Easy George," as his friends 
 called him — there is little to chronicle. With silk and 
 
46 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 velvet, ribbons and laces, hat and plume, he was a very 
 dandy, regarded as the finest gentleman about the Court. 
 His nickname was given because he was of an easy 
 temperament, which made him also easy in virtue and 
 easy in principle. From Rochester he got the title of 
 Ci Gentle George." He wrote a successful comedy in 
 1664, which Pepys sneered at when in dissatisfied mood, 
 but which won him the King's friendship. Seven years 
 later he brought out The Man of Mode, or Sir Fopling 
 Flutter, of which Dean Lockyer said : " Sir George 
 Etherege was as thorough a fop as ever I saw ; he was 
 exactly his own Sir Fopling Flutter, and yet he de- 
 sign'd Dorimont, the genteel rake of wit, for his own 
 picture." 
 
 After years devoted to wine, women, and cards, 
 Etherege married a rich widow, and we hear nothing 
 more of him until his fortunes were on the wane and 
 his creditors exacting, when he did as many of his kind 
 did later — left the country for his own, and probably his 
 country's good. Through the influence of the Duchess 
 of York he got an appointment as Minister at Ratisbon, 
 on which his friends — knowing the extravagances of his 
 life — gave out that he was sent Ambassador to Rot-his- 
 bones. 
 
 In writing to George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, 
 Etherege gives an amusing account of the way in which he 
 chided a widow for indulging in grief. He had made one 
 good friend at Ratisbon, Monsieur Hoffman, a " frank, 
 hearty, jolly companion," who was unfortunately drowned. 
 The wife lamented so thoroughly that she became the 
 talk, not only of the town, but of the country. She hung 
 her chamber, ante-chamber, and inner room with black. 
 " The very candles, her fans, and tea-table wore the livery 
 of grief ; she refused all manner of sustenance, and was so 
 
Grief and Flattery 47 
 
 averse to the thought of living, that she talked of nothing 
 but death." 
 
 After a fortnight Etherege called upon her and found 
 a grave Lutheran minister endeavouring to rouse her 
 from this state of rebellion against Providence. Her 
 answer was, " that Providence may even thank itself, for 
 laying so insupportable a load upon me." The parson 
 gave place to the man of the world, whose wit was greater 
 than his piety. 
 
 Etherege began by condoling with the widow, not on 
 her husband's death, but on the alteration in herself which 
 grief had made, saying he had come to confer a benefit 
 upon the public in inducing her to overcome her sorrow. 
 
 " I told her that grief ruins the finest faces sooner 
 than anything whatever; and as envy itself could not deny 
 her face to be the most charming in the universe, so, if she 
 did not suffer herself to be comforted, she must expect 
 soon to take a farewell of it. I confirmed this assertion 
 by telling her of one of the finest women we ever had in 
 England, who did herself more injury in a fortnight's 
 time by lamenting only her brother's death, than ten years 
 could possibly have done ; that I had heard an eminent 
 physician at Leyden say, that tears, having abundance of 
 saline particles in them, not only spoiled the complexion, 
 but hastened wrinkles. c But, madam,' concluded I, 
 ' why should I give myself the trouble to confirm this by 
 foreign instances, and by the testimonies of our most 
 knowing doctors, when alas ! your own face so fully 
 justifies the truth of what I have said to you.' " 
 
 The startled widow called for her mirror, and after a 
 minute scrutiny, said that the Wit's words were true. 
 " But what can I do ? for something I owe to the memory 
 of the dead, and something to the world which expects at 
 least the common appearance of grief." Upon which 
 
4 8 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Etherege persuaded her that she could owe nothing to 
 her husband, who was dead, and no tears, even if shed on 
 his hearse, would do him any service ; and as for the world 
 " you are under no obligation to spoil a good face. . . . 
 No, madam, preserve your beauty, and then let the world 
 say what it pleases, your ladyship may be revenged upon 
 the world whenever you see fit." 
 
 Madam Hoffman expressed herself as convinced, and 
 took Etherege's advice to allow herself to be served "with 
 the most exquisite meat and the most generous wines," 
 only on condition that he would sup with her ; and at 
 the " noble regale that evening in her bed-chamber," she 
 pushed the glass so strenuously about that the Dandy 
 could hardly find the way to his couch. " To conclude 
 this farce . . . this phoenix of her sex, this pattern of 
 conjugal fidelity, two mornings ago was married to a 
 smooth-chinned ensign of Count Trautmandorf 's regi- 
 ment that had not a farthing in the world but his pay 
 to depend upon." 
 
 Etherege's death, probably in 1693, was characteristic 
 of the life he led. Having been entertaining his friends 
 too well, he proceeded, with lights in his hands, to show 
 his guests from his apartments, when he fell downstairs 
 and broke his neck. A contemporary says that he was 
 " a man of much courtesy and delicate address," in 
 person fair, slender, and genteel, with a handsome face ; 
 his comeliness being spoiled in later life by intemperance 
 and irregularity. Profligacy, sprightliness, and good 
 humour marked his character. 
 
 He who was responsible for the lines — 
 
 Here lies my sovereign lord the King, 
 
 Whose word no man relies on ; 
 Who never said a foolish thing 
 
 And never did a wise one — 
 
"A very profane Wit" 49 
 
 was John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, the satirist, the wit, 
 the beau, and the rake. He was born in 1 648, and presented 
 himself at the Court of Charles II. when about eighteen. 
 He then possessed a tall and slender figure, a hand- 
 some and animated face, graceful manners, and modest 
 demeanour. As to his features I will not describe them, 
 for I find that an old writer gives them in almost the 
 same words which he uses in describing George Villiers. 
 In 1665 he served with great gallantry under Lord 
 Sandwich when in quest of the Dutch East India fleet. 
 
 From 1665 to 1680 Rochester was a great man, both 
 at Court and in the public eye. " An idle rogue," says 
 Pepys. " A very profane wit," adds Evelyn ; while Bishop 
 Burnet speaks of him as "exactly well-bred, and what by 
 a modest behaviour natural to him, what by a civility 
 become almost as natural, his conversation was both easy 
 and obliging." He was made Gentleman of the Bed- 
 chamber and Comptroller of Woodstock Park, but he grew 
 too familiar, for he could never rule his tongue : 
 
 A merry monarch, scandalous and poor, 
 
 is one of his lines upon his King ; and to the Duchess of 
 Portsmouth he wrote : 
 
 Unthinking Charles, ruled by unthinking thee. 
 
 Whether such lines, worse sayings, or bad actions were 
 the cause, he was several times banished from Court, 
 and by way of diverting himself he followed in the path 
 of the Duke of Buckingham, and set up as a mountebank. 
 He wandered as a beggar about the streets, or as Alexander 
 Bendo told fortunes, sold simples and love-philtres to 
 chamber-women, waiting-maids, and shop-girls, as well as 
 to gay Court damsels, who, hooded and masked, came to 
 
So The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 learn their future, only to be duped by the doctor, 
 who found out more of the intrigues of the Court than 
 he told of love to the ladies. 
 
 Later, since he could not go to Whitehall, he estab- 
 lished himself in the City. " His first design was only 
 to be initiated into the mysteries of those fortunate and 
 happy inhabitants ; that is to say, by changing his name 
 and dress, to gain admittance to their feasts and entertain- 
 ments. ... As he was able to adapt himself to all 
 capacities and humours, he soon deeply insinuated himself 
 into the esteem of the substantial wealthy aldermen, and 
 into the affections of their more delicate, magnificent, and 
 tender ladies ; he made one in all their feasts, and at 
 all their assemblies, and whilst in the company of the 
 husbands he declaimed against the faults and mistakes of 
 government, he joined their wives in railing against the 
 profligacy of the Court ladies and in inveighing against 
 the King's mistresses ; he agreed with them, that the 
 industrious poor were to pay for these cursed extravagances ; 
 that the City beauties were not inferior to those at the 
 other end of the town . . . after which, to outdo their 
 murmurings, he said, that he wondered Whitehall was 
 not yet consumed by fire from heaven, since such 
 rakes as Rochester, Killigrew, and Sedley were suffered 
 there." 
 
 Having resolved to marry some one with money, he 
 made love to Elizabeth Mallett, who had twenty-five 
 hundred a year ; but as she did not respond readily 
 enough to his advances, he planned an abduction. When 
 this young lady was returning home with her grandfather 
 one night after supping at Whitehall with " La Belle 
 Stewart," their coach was stopped at Charing Cross, the 
 door was flung open and without ceremony Miss Mallett 
 was dragged from her seat and taken to another carriage. 
 
The Penalty of Wit 51 
 
 Her grandfather, Lord Haly, could do nothing, for a 
 mob of men, on horseback and on foot, surrounded him. 
 Elizabeth found two strange women in the coach, which 
 was escorted at a furious speed by six horses out of London. 
 There was little delay in the pursuit, and just on the 
 London side of Uxbridge, Rochester was discovered 
 alone, and waiting under the shelter of the hedge. He 
 was escorted back to London, and Charles, who was will- 
 ing enough to help him to his end in legitimate ways, was 
 angry enough to send his friend to the Tower. How- 
 ever, the adventure did not disgust Elizabeth ; she may 
 even have been a little flattered by it, for in a short time 
 she married Rochester ; and though she had to endure all 
 the neglects and infidelities that a licentious man could 
 inflict, she seems ever to have been a loving wife. 
 
 Rochester posed as patron to the poets, first encourag- 
 ing Dryden, then Settle, and Otway. When annoyed by 
 a satire which he believed that Dryden had penned, he 
 hired " Black Will with a cudgel " to give the laureate 
 a beating in Rose Street, Coven t Garden ; but Lord 
 Mulgrave was the real offender, he having described 
 Rochester as 
 
 A cringing coward, 
 Mean in action, lewd in every limb. 
 
 Sometimes he has some humour, never wit ; 
 And if it rarely, very rarely hit, 
 Tis under such a nasty rubbish laid, 
 To find it out's the cinder-woman's trade. 
 
 Some malicious sayings which were circulated about 
 Lord Mulgrave were attributed to Rochester, so a 
 challenge was sent. Rochester denied being the author 
 of the offending mot^ but accepted the challenge, and 
 decided to fight on horseback. When he came upon the 
 
 4 
 
52 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 field he was late, and accompanied as his second by a great 
 life-guardsman whom no one knew. Then he said that 
 he was afflicted with a complaint that made it impossible 
 for him to fight ; thus in a moment vanished the reputa- 
 tion for bravery which he had won as a lad, his courage 
 having been destroyed by the extravagance of his life. 
 
 Of him says Bishop Burnet : " He was unhappily 
 made for drunkenness, for he had drunk all his friends 
 dead, and was able to subdue two or three sets of drunkards 
 one after another ; so it scarce ever appeared that he was 
 disordered after the greatest drinking ... an hour or so 
 of sleep carried all ofF so entirely that no sign remained." 
 For fLve out of his fifteen years of manhood Rochester 
 said he had never been sober, and he blamed the town for 
 it. " As soon as I get to Brentford (from the country), I 
 feel the Devil enter into me, and he never leaves me until I 
 leave London again." By the time he was thirty he began 
 to show signs of old age, and during a bad illness he 
 turned his thoughts to religion. For a whole winter 
 Dr. Burnet gave at least one evening a week to him, 
 discussing natural and revealed religion. When during 
 the following year another illness fell upon him, he felt 
 that it was the last ; whereupon he thought more and 
 more upon God, and avowed that he had resolved to 
 become a new man ; " to wash out the stains of his lewd 
 courses with tears, and to weep over the profane and 
 unhallowed abominations of his former doings. Yet, he 
 said, if he might choose, he would rather die than live, 
 for he feared that if he lived he might relapse." 
 
 There can be little doubt that his repentance was 
 sincere, though how it would have stood another lease of 
 life is a question. He was not thirty-three at his death. 
 
 Great as were Rochester's faults he has given us 
 sweet, lilting songs such as none of his poet friends could 
 
From Grave to Gay 53 
 
 write — tender, pathetic, and simple — of which the follow- 
 ing is an example : 
 
 My dear Mistress has a heart 
 
 Soft as those kind looks she gave me ; 
 When with love's resistless art, 
 
 And her eyes she did enslave me ; 
 But her constancy's so weak, 
 
 She's so wild and apt to wander, 
 That my jealous heart would break, 
 
 Should we live one day asunder. 
 
 Mr. Edmund Gosse says of him : " He was the last 
 of the Cavalier lyrists, and in some respects the best " ; 
 but that his muse resembles nothing so much as a beautiful 
 child which has wantonly rolled itself in the mud. 
 
 M. Taine saw in Rochester only a lawless and wretched 
 mountebank, a licentious drunkard, a participator in all 
 that is low and vile, in nothing that is good. But, in fact, 
 he showed more capacity for goodness than many of the 
 other Cavaliers ; and there is little doubt but that he and 
 others were the products of their time — they were at the 
 extreme of the swing of the pendulum. During the 
 Commonwealth the Royalist boys were sent abroad to be 
 educated, and there learned many habits which were 
 unusual in England ; those who remained at home were 
 kept under unnatural restrictions. Had the Puritans 
 been less puritanic, the Court of Charles would have 
 been less licentious. Beauty and song had been banished 
 from the land, and like those who live in the slums, 
 the Cavaliers, when once more free, became crude 
 in their tastes and coarse in their habits. They loved 
 bright colours as a coster-girl loves long feathers and 
 glaring shades. Their recoil against an excess of religion 
 made them blasphemous. In addition to this they had no 
 occupation, no wars, no great events — nothing but play to 
 fill their time. 
 
54 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 And so they rioted in excess, not the least of their 
 excesses being that of dress. Charles II. had brought the 
 flowing wig to England, its thick curls straying over 
 chest and back, and, with it, dainty combs for public 
 use. When Cibber played Sir Fopling Flutter, his 
 wig was so much admired that he had it carried 
 to the foot-lights each evening in a sedan chair, from 
 which it was handed to him that he might put it on his 
 head. Wycherley, the dramatist, gave his name to sets of 
 beautifully engraven tortoiseshell combs, with which the 
 Beaux adjusted their curls while talking with the ladies, in 
 much the same way as a man twirls his moustachios. 
 
 The ladies had accentuated the custom of wearing 
 patches by bringing from France many strange designs, 
 — c£ methinks the mourning coach and horses, all in 
 black, and plying in their foreheads, stands ready harnessed 
 to whirl them to Acheron/' The Beau wore a broad- 
 brimmed hat, surrounded with feathers, a falling collar of 
 richest lace encircled his throat, his short cloak — carried or 
 slung over his shoulders — as well as his doublet, was 
 edged deep with wide gold lace. " Petticoat breeches " 
 puffed beneath, ornamented with rows of ribbons above 
 the knee, and deep lace ruffles below, while the shoes 
 were tied with large bows of ribbon. 
 
CHARLES, LORD BUCKHURST, EARL OF DORSET 
 
 55 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 A wig that's full, 
 An empty skull, 
 A box of bergamot. 
 Baker's Comedy of Hampstead Heath. 
 
 THE man who was of, yet distinct from, the crowd of 
 Beaux and Wits who surrounded Charles II., partly 
 because he outlived them and partly because he had 
 neither talent as playwright nor poet and no smart wit 
 to make him remembered, is Beau Feilding. He was, 
 in fact, nothing but a Beau, and therefore deserves his 
 title more than the others. 
 
 Robert Feilding was born about 1651, and did not 
 appear at Court until Charles had been King for nearly 
 ten years. He belonged — as has been said earlier — to the 
 Denbigh family. Being sent to London to study law, 
 he soon became absorbed in the fashionable vices of the 
 town, and thought no more about his profession. 
 
 "His person was uncommonly beautiful, and he studied 
 every art of setting it off to the best advantage. He was 
 as vain and expensive in his own dress as he was fan- 
 tastical in the dresses of his footmen, who usually wore 
 yellow liveries, with black sashes, and black feathers in 
 their hats." l Another writer says that these sashes were 
 made from cast-off mourning bands. Young Mr. Feild- 
 ing had no idea of hiding his beauties in a lawyer's office ; 
 he preferred spending his time in the streets and hang- 
 
 1 Granger's " Biographical History of England." 1779. 
 57 
 
58 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 ing about the Court, taking rooms in Scotland Yard, 
 close to Whitehall. Ladies noticed his handsome face 
 and fine proportions, and Charles himself — dubbing him 
 " the handsome Feilding " — made him a Justice of the 
 Peace. From that moment he became the vainest of 
 fops ; yet his self-appreciation only led to his being more 
 appreciated by others, and to his firm establishment in 
 the popular regard as a Beau. 
 
 Decked in his curled wig, his dainty ruffles, with 
 sword at his side, Feilding paraded the Mall, the centre 
 of all eyes, and ogling every woman who passed him. 
 He is said to have carried a little comb always, with which 
 to put right his wig, should the wind however slightly 
 disarrange it. With the men he was a favourite, for he 
 could drink with the best. He soon picked up the 
 fashionable phrases in which the Beaux vented their 
 feelings, and he had all the impertinence of youth. Of 
 course his debts increased rapidly, and there were times 
 when the belaced and gilded young man had to watch 
 his opportunity for going safely through the streets. On 
 one occasion the bailiffs, or the tailors, nearly caught him, 
 but by the length and strength of his legs he reached 
 St James's Palace first, and then found friends in the 
 officers on guard, who made short work of the wishes 
 of the worthy tradesmen. 
 
 At that time it was not always the men who bestowed 
 money and the women who received it. Castlemaine 
 took money from the King, which she passed on to other 
 adorers ; and as soon as Beau Feilding became friendly 
 with some of the Court ladies, he found presents lavished 
 upon him. A further source of supply was the gaming 
 table. Indeed, he had two occupations which made 
 serious inroads upon his time — one was the raising of 
 money, and the other was the making love profitably. 
 
Beau Feilding 59 
 
 He married, while still a young man, Mary, the only 
 daughter and heiress of Barnham Swift, Lord Carlingford. 
 Her fortune did not last him long, and the young wife 
 did not long outlive her fortune. When he was about 
 thirty-three Beau Feilding married a second time, his 
 wife being Margaret, widow of Viscount Purbeck, and 
 earlier, widow of Lord Muskerry. There is a curious 
 note in Aubrey's "Lives" "showing that on July 19th, 
 1676, at about 6 p.m., my lord viscount, (Robert) Purbeck 
 (filius) was hurt in the neck by Mr. Feilding in Fleet 
 Street." Perhaps he had already been paying attention 
 to the Viscount's wife. 
 
 He went over to Ireland with James, and the first 
 record we have of his doing any work is when he sat in 
 the Irish Parliament as Member for Gowran in 1689. 
 Thence he went to Paris, and waited there some years 
 for his pardon, returning to England in 1696. His wife 
 Margaret died two years later, and for a time we hear 
 nothing of the Beau ; his were scarcely the qualities 
 which would appeal to William III. Yet we find from 
 The Tatler that in 1709 he was still parading his physical 
 perfections, for Steele thus described him as Orlando the 
 Fair in August of that year : 
 
 " His descent noble, his wit humorous, his person 
 charming. But to none of these recommendatory advan- 
 tages was his title so undoubted, as that of his beauty. 
 His complexion was fair but his countenance manly ; his 
 stature of the tallest ; his shape the most exact ; and 
 though in all his limbs he had a proportion as delicate 
 as we see in the works of the most skilful statuaries, his 
 body had a strength and firmness little inferior to the 
 marble of which such images are formed. This made 
 Orlando the universal flame of all the fair sex ; innocent 
 virgins sighed for him as Adonis ; experienced widows as 
 
60 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Hercules. Thus did this figure walk alone the pattern 
 and ornament of our species, but of course the envy of 
 all who had the same passions without his superior merit, 
 and pretences to the favours of that enchanting creature, 
 woman. He sighed not for Delia, for Chloris, for Chloe, 
 for Betty, nor my lady, nor for the ready chambermaid, 
 nor distant baroness : woman was his mistress, and the 
 whole sex his seraglio." 
 
 It was four years before this essay was written that 
 the event of Beau Feilding's life happened — his third 
 attempt at matrimony. The story is rich in humour, and 
 should not be allowed to sink into the forgotten past. 
 Early in the reign of Queen Anne he 'seems to have been 
 regarded as a relic of the profligate days of the Restora- 
 tion, as a person to look at, to wonder at, but not to 
 respect. He was certainly in a bad way for money, and 
 to mend this he hoped to find some widow or heiress who 
 in exchange for his company and his still handsome figure 
 would be willing to keep him in luxury. He had been 
 " paying his addresses " to the Duchess of Cleveland, 
 who was then sixty-three and a great-grandmother, but, 
 at the same time, he thought it wise to be looking out 
 for some one younger and more certain in her tempera- 
 ment and purse. 
 
 At last he heard of a Mrs. Deleau, who was a 
 widow with a fortune of £60,000 a year. He had never 
 met this lady, but he hoped to effect an introduction 
 without too much difficulty. We are shown an absurd 
 picture of the old Beau parading up and down before 
 the gilded widow's country house in his finest garments, 
 and bowing ceremoniously when she descended the steps ; 
 afterwards entering a gorgeous carriage he kept waiting 
 at the gates. This was however far too slow a method 
 for Feilding, and he called upon a Mrs. Villars to help 
 
The Beau a^Courting 61 
 
 him, promising her £500 if she could so work upon the 
 lady's mind as to bring about a marriage. Now Mrs. 
 Villars was hair-dresser to Mrs. Deleau, so there was 
 perhaps some colour for the assertion she made that she 
 could easily settle that matter. Besides, she was not 
 particular as to the methods by which she secured so 
 large a sum as ^500. 
 
 One day she brought Mrs. Deleau to Feilding's rooms, 
 and the gallant could not be impressive enough. He was 
 more splendid in his dress than ever, and did all he could 
 to prove his wealth, his position, and his fascination. He 
 hoped, he thought, he had made way with the widow, and 
 waited impatiently for the next meeting. 
 
 Then came Mrs. Villars with the news that she had 
 so warmly pressed his suit that the widow had at last 
 consented to come to the Beau's rooms, there to be married 
 to him. The hour was fixed, and the ladies arrived on 
 Lord Mayor's day at about nine o'clock. Feilding was 
 not in at the moment, but entered immediately. Whether 
 he loved the lady or her money, he at least knew all 
 the arts of love, and throwing himself upon his knees 
 he kissed her hands and uttered many soft expres- 
 sions. Why had she been so long in coming ? What 
 could he do to prove his adoration ? W T hat could 
 he do to please her ? Did she love singing ? By 
 Heaven, then, she should hear the best singing in the 
 world, and so he sent his valet, Boucher, to fetch the 
 beautiful Margarita, the prima donna of her day, who 
 came to the rooms in Pall Mall and sang several Italian 
 songs. Thereupon Feilding asked her to sing " Ianthe 
 the lovely," saying that he had the original of it, having 
 translated it from the Greek. 
 
 The singing being over he sent for two pints of wine 
 and some plum-cake and, according to his valet, a dish of 
 
62 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 pickles. Boucher brought the things and set them on a 
 table by the window, while Feilding went off in great haste 
 in a hackney coach. Presently the Beau returned with a 
 priest, and they all had supper, the man waiting upon 
 them. Afterwards the priest asked for water, salt, and 
 rosemary, with which to make holy water. Boucher 
 brought the salt and water, but could get no rosemary, 
 and then the door was locked and the anxious lover asked 
 the lady whether the ceremony should be performed in 
 the sitting-room or the bedroom. The latter room was 
 chosen, and the priest, having made and blessed the holy 
 water, set the lady by the Beau and read the marriage 
 service in Latin. This did not please the widow ; she 
 could not understand it, she said, and she was not really 
 sure that the man was a -priest, to which Feilding answered 
 with evident sincerity : 
 
 " Do you think, my dear, that I would allow any one 
 to do this business but a holy father ? " 
 
 When they came to the question, " Wilt thou have 
 this woman for thy wedded wife ? " the lady insisted 
 that it should be asked in English. The priest complied, 
 and Feilding answered it with an emphatic " Yes, with all 
 my heart," the widow answering the like question put to 
 her with a faint " Yes " only. 
 
 " But," said Feilding, " you must speak it so earnestly 
 as I do ; you must say, c With all my heart and soul ! ' 
 which she did. After the priest had blessed the ring 
 Feilding put it on the lady's finger, and then all, including 
 Mrs. Villars, who was the witness, went into the dining- 
 room to drink the wine, after which the priest was 
 discharged. Mrs. Villars and the newly-made wife re- 
 mained all. night in the Beau's rooms, and departed 
 early in the morning in a hackney coach. 
 
 We may well imagine Feilding's rage when he 
 
The Beau as Bigamist 6 2 
 
 discovered that the woman he had married was by no 
 means Mrs. Deleau, but a certain Mrs. Mary Wadsworth, 
 who somewhat resembled the widow. Whether Mrs. 
 Villars got her ^500 I do not know, but the Beau 
 was so annoyed that less than three weeks later he married 
 the old Duchess of Cleveland. 
 
 The Duchess, however, found she had anything 
 but a good bargain in her husband ; he took her money, 
 used her horses, swore that he and only he was master in 
 her house, and when she angered him, used a stick to 
 point his sentences. The miserable wife learnt some- 
 thing of the Wadsworth marriage, and offered the de- 
 serted Mary £200 down, and a pension of ,£100 a year 
 if she could prove that marriage. So Feilding was pro- 
 secuted for bigamy on December 4th, 1706, found 
 guilty, and sentenced to be burnt in the hand. Influence 
 was used to get this sentence modified, but the Duchess 
 got her freedom, and Mary secured her husband. 
 
 Feilding was not only great in stature, but great in his 
 estimation of himself, for Steele writes of him as, in his 
 magnificent contempt for the insects which now appear as 
 men, " riding in an open tumbril, of less size than 
 ordinary, to show the largeness of his limbs, and the 
 grandeur of his personage to the greater advantage. At 
 other seasons, all his appointments had a magnificence, as 
 if it were formed by the genius of Trimalchio of old, 
 which showed itself in doing ordinary things with an air 
 of pomp and grandeur." The open tumbril was, in fact, 
 a carriage shaped like a sea-shell, a strange vehicle which 
 was affected by more than one of Charles's Beaux. 
 
 Of Feilding's third marriage, Thackeray gives a some- 
 what different account, investing it with an odd dignity 
 which we hardly imagine was true to facts : " When 
 Beau Feilding, a mighty fine gentleman, was courting 
 
64 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 the lady whom he married, he treated her and her com- 
 panion at his lodgings to a supper from the tavern, and 
 after supper they sent out for a fiddler — three of them. 
 Fancy the three, in a great wainscotted room, in Covent 
 Garden, or Soho, lighted by two or three candles in silver 
 sconces, some grapes and a bottle of Florence wine on the 
 table, and the honest fiddler playing old tunes in quaint 
 old minor keys, as the Beau takes out one lady after the 
 other, and solemnly dances with her." 
 
 Feilding's vanity brought him many troubles ; there 
 is a story that he was caned at the theatre and after- 
 wards stabbed a link-boy; while Swift tells us that in a 
 scuffle at a theatre he was wounded at the age of fifty, and 
 showed his wounds that he might draw sympathetic tears 
 from the eyes of the ladies ; he also passed some time in the 
 Fleet Prison, and was fortunate in compounding with his 
 creditors. From that time his wife, Mary Wadsworth, 
 lived with him in Scotland Yard, where he died at the age 
 of sixty-one, on May 12th, 17 12. He was then possessed 
 of property at Lutterworth, which he left to his wife, 
 bequeathing in his will a shilling a-piece to his brother 
 and his nephew, and £100 to Roman Catholic priests. 
 
 There were other Beaux of this period who, fine as 
 they may have been, are scarcely worthy of more than 
 passing mention. There was Henry Jermyn, Lord Dover, 
 who did as the others did and dressed as the others 
 dressed ; who was " diminutive in person, his head large 
 and his legs small ; his features were not disagreeable, 
 but he was extremely affected in his carriage and 
 behaviour. His wit consisted entirely in expressions 
 learned by rote, which he occasionally employed either 
 in raillery or love." So says Grammont ; and if we 
 add to these insignificant accomplishments the fact that 
 he was a "frivolous coxcomb" who regarded himself as 
 
William Congreve 65 
 
 an irresistible Adonis, while being really a "young 
 simpleton " who boasted that no woman, good or bad, 
 could resist him, we have said enough. 
 
 Another unconscious aspirant for the honour of a 
 posthumous reputation as Beau was the Count de 
 Grammont, who came over to England in 1662, and re- 
 mained at the Court of Charles for some years, occupied 
 in making languishing love to " La Belle Hamilton " ; 
 yet when recalled to France by Louis XIII., he obeyed 
 the call in such a hurry that he even forgot to say 
 good-bye to his fiancee. Two of the lady's brothers 
 rode after the gallant courtier and caught him up at 
 Dover. They did not intend to quarrel unnecessarily, 
 so they asked politely : 
 
 " Chevalier de Grammont, have you forgotten nothing 
 in London ? " 
 
 u Pardon, gentlemen, " he answered, " I have for- 
 gotten to marry your sister." And he rode back with 
 the brothers to do that which should have been accom- 
 plished years before. 
 
 William Congreve, who, born in 1672, can scarcely 
 be regarded strictly as belonging to the period of the 
 Stuarts, was a great Beau. Designed for the Temple, 
 he wrote there his first novel, " Incognita ; or, Love and 
 Duty Reconciled." He then tried his hand upon plays, 
 The Old Bachelor, The Double Dealer, etc. ; but when his 
 play, The Way of the World, was hissed, his vanity was 
 so hurt that he determined to write no more, so from the 
 time he was thirty he posed solely as a fine gentleman ; 
 his handsome face, lively tastes, and witty tongue making 
 him the centre of a circle which included Pope, Swift, 
 Addison, and Steele. His very companionship with 
 clever men kept his own reputation alive, and Voltaire, 
 visiting England, desired to meet him. When the great 
 
66 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Frenchman called upon the lesser Englishman, he ex- 
 pected to find a congenial spirit and spoke in praise of 
 Congreve's works. But Congreve denounced them as 
 trifles, adding that he wished to be sought as a gentle- 
 man, not as an author, thus inciting the reply which he 
 got : that had he been nothing more than a gentleman 
 Voltaire would not have taken the trouble to call upon 
 him ; and so the visit ended. Congreve was eventually 
 given the sinecure of Secretary to the Island of Jamaica, 
 for which he drew £1,200 a year. He became devoted 
 to Henrietta, the daughter of Sarah, Duchess of Marl- 
 borough, who had as great a liking for him, so that 
 when the poet died Lady Henrietta became his residuary 
 legatee, receiving £10,000 under his will, and writing a 
 flourishing epitaph upon his tomb. 
 
 It was in the beginning of the eighteenth century that 
 the club came into existence as a social institution. 
 There had been taverns, at which men met their friends, 
 such as the " Mermaid," mention of which at once conjures 
 up the names of Shakespeare, Jonson, and their fellows ; 
 and then came the coffee-houses, the oldest one of which 
 the name is still known being the " Grecian," started by 
 a man named Constantine, who advertised in The In- 
 telligencer of January 1664-5, that "the right coffee-bery 
 or chocolate might be bought of him, as cheap and as 
 good as is anywhere to be had for the money." Wills' 
 coffee-house started about the year 1667, and here 
 Dryden had his special chair, being a frequent and ex- 
 pected guest. There was, later, " Button's," in Covent 
 Garden, to which Addison, Steele, Pope, Congreve, and 
 others of like spirit resorted. 
 
 The " Cocoa-Tree Tavern " in St. James's was the 
 meeting-place for the Dandies and Wits of Queen Anne's 
 time, it being a fashionable centre of resort in 17 10. 
 
Clubs and Coffeehouses 67 
 
 Swift was often there ; and here, as at other coffee-houses 
 or clubs at the time, play was high, for there is a 
 memorandum that " a young Mr. Harvey of Chigwell " lost 
 no less than ,£100,000 at hazard at the " Cocoa Tree." 
 
 The "Kit-Kat" was a Whig club, started by the 
 Dukes of Marlborough, Devonshire, Grafton, Richmond, 
 and Somerset, with something like forty members. Pope 
 or Arbuthnot wrote of it : 
 
 Whence deathless Kit-kat took its name, 
 
 Few critics can unriddle; 
 Some say from pastry-cook it came, 
 
 And some from Cat and Fiddle. 
 
 From no trim beaux its name it boasts, 
 
 Grey statesmen or green wits ; 
 But from the pell-mell pack of toasts 
 
 Of old cats and young kits. 
 
 The " pastry-cook " was Christopher Kat, who was 
 the club's first cook, and who made excellent pies, known, 
 like the house, as Kit-Kat. " White's " and " St. 
 James's" were also in existence before 1720. 
 
 Of the coffee-houses Baron Pollnitz, who visited 
 England, wrote : " 'Tis a sort of rule for the English 
 to go once a day at least to houses of this kind [coffee- 
 houses], where they talk of business and news. . . . 
 The chocolate house in St. James's, where I go every 
 morning to pass away the time, is always so full that a 
 man can scarce turn about in it. Here are dukes and 
 other peers mixed with gentlemen ; and to be admitted 
 there needs nothing more than to dress like a gentleman." 
 
 As a rule each who entered the coffee-house paid a 
 penny for the privilege of sitting there and listening to 
 the news, and a further twopence for a cup of coffee. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 I have collected into particular bodies the Dappers and the Smarts, 
 the natural and affected Rakes, the Pretty Fellows and the Very Pretty 
 F eiiows Addison, The Tatler. 
 
 F 
 
 EILDING was truly the last of the wildly frivolous 
 Beaux of the Restoration. Before he was fifty he 
 was regarded as a curious relic of a past period, and so 
 entirely did interest in him die out that his demise passed 
 without notice, causing one writer to remark that no 
 evidence was left of his death, and securing the following 
 heartless epitaph from a contemporary : 
 
 If Feilding is dead 
 
 And rests under this stone, 
 Then he is not alive 
 
 You may bet two to one. 
 But if he's alive, 
 
 And does not lie there 
 
 Let him live till he's hanged, 
 For which no man will care. 
 
 Before Folding's death a change had taken place in 
 the views of society. Men of learning and genius, far 
 removed from those whose highest literary achievements 
 were plays of so licentious and topical a nature that they can 
 no longer afford amusement or pleasure to those who read 
 them, began to give to the world articles and satires which 
 not only could not fail to make an impression upon 
 the reading public, but which indicated that the social 
 whirl-pool of the Stuart time was gradually subsiding. 
 
 68 
 
Pretty Fellows 69 
 
 The Court of William of Holland in some ways did 
 not differ so much from that of James, but the King 
 himself had aims of a higher kind, and both insensibly 
 and actively altered the lives of those who surrounded 
 him, even though many were relics of the old regime. 
 
 The beau, the fop, the fool were still to be found, 
 and received many new names from the pens of the 
 satirists. They were divided into classes, according to 
 their peculiarities. Thus Addison gave us in mockery 
 the Coxcomb, the Pretty Fellow, the Very Pretty Fellow, 
 the Smart Fellow, the Mettled Fellow, the Dapper, etc., 
 which he applied to Dandies during the first twenty years of 
 the eighteenth century ; and there were so many different 
 grades that Addison asks in The Sutler that there shall be 
 some mark to distinguish one from the other, saying that 
 he " shall take it as a favour of all the coxcombs in the 
 town, if they will set marks upon themselves, and by some 
 particular in their dress show to what class they belong. 
 It would be very obliging in such persons, who feel in 
 themselves that they are not of sound understanding to 
 give the world notice of it, and spare mankind the pains 
 of finding them out. A cane upon the fifth button shall 
 from henceforth be the type of a Dapper ; red-heeled shoes, 
 and an hat hung upon one side of the head, shall signify a 
 Smart ; a good periwig made into a twist, with a brisk 
 cock, shall speak a Mettled Fellow ; and an upper lip 
 covered with snuff, denote a Coffee-house Statesman/' 
 
 Steele published, also in The Tatler^ a pretended letter 
 from one who desired to be promoted to the rank of the 
 foremost in club life, and yet who wished the exclusion 
 of those " who sticking to the letter and not to the spirit, 
 do assume the name of * Pretty Fellows ' ; nay, and even 
 get new names. . . . Some of them I have heard calling to 
 one another as I have sat at White's and St. James's, by 
 
 5 
 
70 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 the names of Betty, Nelly, and so forth. You see them 
 accost each other with effeminate airs : they have their 
 signs and tokens like freemasons. They rail at women- 
 kind : receive visits in their beds in gowns, and do a 
 thousand other unintelligble prettinesses that I cannot tell 
 what to make of. I therefore heartily desire you would 
 exclude all this sort of animals." 
 
 Another thing which troubled this gentleman was that 
 the crowds of volunteers who had gone to bully the French 
 might return and set up as Pretty Fellows, " and impose 
 on us some new alteration in our night-caps, wigs, and 
 pockets," unless some new name could be found for them. 
 Steele adds that this correspondent cannot be admitted 
 as a " Pretty," but might be styled a " Smart Fellow." 
 " I never saw the gentleman, but I know by his letter 
 he hangs his cane to his button ; and by some lines of it he 
 should wear red-heeled shoes ; which are essential parts 
 of the habit belonging to the order of ' Smart Fellow.' " 
 One who was " successfully loud among the wits," 
 familiar among the ladies, and dissolute among the rakes, 
 who found a town ready to receive him, and made every 
 use of the favour extended, was said to be a true woman's 
 man, and in the first degree a Very Pretty Fellow. 
 
 These gentlemen may have loved fine clothes, but 
 there is evidence to show that they were far from loving 
 cleanliness. In fact, it needed Brummell, a century later, 
 to teach the value of water and brushes. An anonymous 
 writer to the Spectator in 17 14 hangs a homily upon his 
 seeing in a stage coach a dirty Beau. He describes him 
 as " dressed in a suit the ground whereof had been black, 
 as I perceived from some few spaces that had escaped the 
 powder which was incorporated with the greatest part of 
 his coat ; his periwig, which cost no small sum, was after 
 so slovenly a manner cast over his shoulders, that it 
 
A Dainty Fricassee 7 1 
 
 seemed not to have been combed since the year 17 12 ; 
 his linen, which was not much concealed, was daubed with 
 plain Spanish from the chin to the lowest button ; and the 
 diamond upon his finger (which naturally dreaded the 
 water), put me in mind how it sparkled amidst the rubbish 
 of the mine where it was first discovered." 
 
 Steele, under the name of Simon Sleek in the Guar- 
 dian^ has a word to say upon the carelessness which went 
 too often with finery in the days of Queen Anne : — 
 a Though every man cannot fill his head with learning, 
 it is in any one's power to wear a pretty periwig ; let 
 him who cannot say a witty thing keep his teeth white at 
 least ; he who hath no knack at writing sonnets, may 
 however have a soft hand ; and he may arch his eyebrows, 
 who hath not strength of genius for the mathematics/' 
 This letter is finished by offers of help in amending the 
 fashions of the day : " I shall be enabled from time to 
 time to introduce several pretty oddnesses in the taking 
 and tucking up of gowns, to regulate the dimensions 
 of wigs, to vary the tufts upon caps, and to enlarge or 
 narrow the hems of bands, as I shall think most for the 
 public good." 
 
 At this period the possession of wit was shown in 
 many strange ways — in fact, the humour was about equal 
 to the general appearance of the Pretty Fellows. Twenty 
 years ago I remember a scandal arising in a small London 
 club, which was of the sort known as mixed, by some 
 foolish young man drinking champagne from an equally 
 foolish girl's shoe. But this was quite respectable compared 
 to the humorous antics of young men in the early decades 
 of the eighteenth century. To some of these extremists 
 in gallantry wine was tasteless until it was strained through 
 a mistress's smock, and a pair of her shoes " tossed up in a 
 fricassee " were a delicacy. Some showed their humour 
 
72 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 by affirming that a tallow candle was as good as toasted 
 cheese, and proved the assertion by eating one, while 
 others, bearing in mind the crude follies of Sedley and 
 Dorset, ran naked about town, " as it was then said, to 
 divert the ladies. In short, that was the age of such 
 kind of wit as is the most distant of all others from 
 wisdom. " 1 
 
 That there was, in spite of these absurdities, a new 
 spirit abroad is however evident from many articles and 
 letters to be found emanating from the essayists, one which 
 raised comment being, the finding of a Pretty Fellow 
 who also possessed courage. For Steele, in 1 709, gave as 
 a great piece of news, that he had received letters from 
 Hampstead telling of the arrival of a coxcomb there who 
 is of an utterly new kind. " The fellow has courage, which 
 he takes himself to be obliged to give proofs of every 
 hour he lives. He is ever fighting with the men, and 
 contradicting the women. A lady, who sent to me super- 
 scribed him with this description out of Suckling : 
 
 1 1 am a man of war and might, 
 And know this much, that I can fight, 
 Whether I am in the wrong or right, 
 
 Devoutly. 
 No woman under heaven I fear; 
 New oaths I can exactly swear ; 
 And forty healths my brain will bear 
 
 Most stoutly.'" 
 
 From this crowd of nonentities one man only made a 
 name for himself, and he would probably have been for- 
 gotten but that he did some valuable work, and was 
 thought worthy of a biography by Oliver Goldsmith. 
 That one was Beau Nash, who, born when the Merry 
 Monarch's reign was but half completed, lived to sec 
 
 1 Oliver Goldsmith : " The Life of Richard Nash." 
 
The Time of Dalliance 73 
 
 George III. seated upon the throne. He came from no 
 high family, yet was not so humbly reared as those who 
 scoff at the Beaux generally would like to prove. His 
 father gained his income as partner in a glass-making 
 factory in Swansea, and his mother came of a good fight- 
 ing stock, being niece to that Colonel Poyer who, though 
 a Presbyterian, became a Royalist, and refused to surrender 
 Pembroke to the Parliament, being in consequence exe- 
 cuted as an example to others. 
 
 Richard Nash was sent to the Carmarthen School, and 
 thence to Jesus College, Oxford, with the intention that 
 he should study law, but it seemed as though he, in 
 common with many other lads, regarded youth as the time 
 of dalliance. Being freed from the active supervision of 
 the schoolmaster, believing himself to be a man, no matter 
 what opinions on that point his elders might have, he 
 began to look at the pretty girls about Oxford, and being 
 unfortunately attracted by one who was his senior he paid 
 court to her, arranged stolen meetings in the romantic 
 way which appeals to boys and girls, and finally made 
 the — to us nameless — lady an offer of marriage, which 
 was accepted. Fortunately for him — and, from what we 
 know of Nash, probably doubly so for the girl — the 
 whole affair came to the knowledge of his tutors, who 
 found the matter so serious that they sent him home with 
 more good advice than he had gathered learning, and 
 reported the cause of his return to his father. 
 
 Richard Nash must have been born a Beau, for the 
 question of clothes directed his next attempt at opening 
 the oyster of the world. He thought the Army would be 
 the most picturesque background for his youthful figure, 
 and that as a soldier he would have the chance of making 
 the greatest impression upon susceptible girls. So his 
 father purchased him a pair of colours, and Richard Nash 
 
74 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 paraded in all his pride and glory. It was rather sad 
 that the parades were not in public always, and that there 
 were many duties demanding his attention, and yet more 
 so that he never had sufficient money for his needs. He 
 soon wearied of his life in the Army in spite of the fact 
 that he dressed the part of a soldier " to the very end of 
 his finances." 
 
 Dr. George Cheyne, who attained to the distinction 
 of weighing thirty-two stone during a part of his residence 
 at Bath, a " malady " which he cured with a vegetable and 
 milk diet, used to affirm of Nash when his position at Bath 
 was well secured, that he had never possessed a Christian 
 name, and further, that he had never had a father. This 
 saying the quizzing world seized upon with delight, and 
 the Duchess of Marlborough once twitted Nash on the 
 subject, adding, that if he had a father, like Gil-Bias, he 
 was ashamed of him. 
 
 " No, madam/' replied Nash with imperturbable good- 
 humour, u I seldom mention my father in company, not 
 because I have any reason to be ashamed of him, but 
 because he has some reason to be ashamed of me." 
 
 Richard's youth shows no proof of a lack of 
 fatherly care and kindness, for when he withdrew from his 
 attempt at being a pretty soldier, he was duly entered at 
 the Temple. Whether he lived during this time upon an 
 allowance from his father, or whether he had any little 
 income of his own, there is no evidence to show, but as a 
 student of law he certainly spent not only every penny he 
 had, but a considerable amount in addition. There is 
 little doubt that the young Nash was anything but a 
 studious, plodding lad. He loved colour and excitement, 
 he gave great attention to his clothes, and spent probably 
 more upon his back than upon all the other needs of his 
 life ; so it has been the habit of those who have written upon 
 
A Town Fine Gentleman 75 
 
 the " King of Bath," to indulge in sneers at his expense, 
 as though he were the only young man who was not faith- 
 ful to his profession, who made a fool of himself at 
 college, or who spent more than he earned. Goldsmith, 
 more reasonable, tells us : — " Though very poor he was 
 very fine ; he spread the little gold he had, in the most 
 ostentatious manner, and though the gilding was but thin, 
 he laid it on as far as it would go. They who know 
 the town, cannot be unacquainted with such a character 
 as I describe ; one, who though he may have dined in 
 private upon a banquet served cold from a cook's shop, 
 shall dress at six for the side-box ; one of those, whose 
 wants are only known to their laundress and tradesmen, 
 and their fine clothes to half the nobility ; who spend 
 more in chair hire, than housekeeping ; and prefer a bow 
 from a Lord, to a dinner from a commoner." 
 
 The Rev. Richard Warner of Bath, writing forty years 
 after Nash's death, tells us the same story without the 
 touch of genial tolerance which gives Goldsmith his 
 charm. " He now became a town fine gentleman of the 
 second rate ; a sort of Will Honeycomb ; dressing 
 tawdrily ; aftecting public places ; and dividing his time 
 between play and the ladies. Sufficiently notorious in 
 the confined sphere of private life." 
 
 While at the Temple Nash may have been more or 
 less at a loose end, to use a modern phrase. He did not 
 like work. This may be a reprehensible failing, but if 
 so it is one shared with mankind as a whole. None of 
 us like work, unless it is of such a character that it is 
 more pleasant to us than play ; and how large a percen- 
 tage of us are in such happy circumstances that the first 
 thing we would choose to do if left a free hand is the 
 thing we are obliged to do? Nash had no aptitude 
 either for the duties of a soldier or the study of the law ; 
 
7 6 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 yet he had distinct talents, and in this earlier part of his 
 life was in a blind way endeavouring to train them and 
 to find their real value in the world of men. He was 
 an organiser of the first degree, and he was a student of 
 humanity. He was also ambitious. It may be that it 
 was but a common ambition, that of living among that 
 class which seems admirable to the individual in question. 
 It led him to pay extreme regard to his clothes, not only 
 to their richness, but to their cleanliness, a matter much 
 neglected in those days. He knew that the thoughtless 
 accept readily as a personage a very well-dressed man, 
 and he took care to be always very well dressed. He 
 had a humorous tongue, and he was sufficiently pleased 
 with himself to be perfectly self-possessed and at ease 
 no matter in what company. Thus he made a great 
 circle of friends, many of them rich young men, who, 
 as they came to know him well, wondered how it was 
 that, though he seemed to have no money, he spent so 
 much. In fact, Nash gambled to fill his purse, and 
 on more than one occasion found himself in a queer 
 position in consequence. 
 
 He was in the city of York at one of these moments, 
 and lost all the money he had with him. Knowing his 
 plight, and being well aware that the young gamester 
 could not leave the city without raising cash, his com- 
 panions agreed among themselves on a plan for relieving 
 his embarrassment and at the same time giving themselves 
 some amusement. They betted him fifty guineas that 
 he would not stand, while the people were coming from 
 service, outside the great doors of the Minster, clothed 
 solely in a blanket. The irrepressible youth was not 
 dismayed ; he accepted the bet with alacrity, and the 
 next Sabbath saw him in penitential garb courting the 
 gaze of the crowd. He was unfortunately known to 
 
ROBERT FEILDING 
 
 77 
 
A Yorkshire Penance 79 
 
 the dean, who, coming almost last down the steps, was 
 horrified to see this fine gentleman in such a position. 
 
 " Oh ! " he cried, in shocked tones, " is this a 
 masquerade ? " 
 
 " It is a Yorkshire penance for keeping bad company, 
 Mr. Dean," replied Nash, pointing to his friends, who 
 stood in a group to see that the bet was fairly won. 
 
 This was bad enough, but there are some who will think 
 that the way in which he won another wager was worse. 
 If it is true that modesty is rather a habit of mind than 
 an active virtue, then it was a very ill-formed and im- 
 perfect habit in the days of Richard Nash. The fine of 
 £500 imposed on Sir Charles Sedley was, I fancy, more 
 on account of his blasphemy than for his immodesty ; or 
 perhaps, if he was the first to initiate such escapades, his 
 action gave a shock to the feelings of the judge which 
 had less effect each time a similar shock was administered. 
 A large bet was laid that Nash would not, in the costume 
 of Adam before the fall, ride a cow through a village. 
 He took the bet with his usual nonchalance, and won it. 
 Unfortunately history does not record its effect upon the 
 inhabitants of the village, but really, when reading of 
 such incidents, one feels that Godiva's heroism has been 
 much overrated. 
 
 Nash not only had a thorough appreciation of the 
 value of money, he was also quite sensible of the value 
 of fame, and was prepared to do much active work to 
 secure it. Thus, when in 1695 the students of the 
 Middle Temple exhibited a pageant before King William, 
 they chose Nash, then a young man of twenty-one, as 
 organiser and master. By this, as Goldsmith says, " we 
 see at how early an age he was thought proper to guide 
 the amusements of his country, and be the Arbiter 
 Elegantiarum of his time ; we see how early he gave 
 
80 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 proofs of that spirit of regularity for which he afterwards 
 became famous, and showed an attention to those little 
 circumstances, of which, though the observance be trifling, 
 the [neglect has often interrupted men of the greatest 
 abilities in the progress of their fortunes/' 
 
 Nash justified their choice of him for the part, and 
 so successfully arranged everything and pleased the King 
 that William offered him knighthood. The young man, 
 however, felt the absurdity of a title without a penny 
 upon which to support it, and replied, in temporising 
 way : — " Please your Majesty, if you intend to make me 
 a knight, I wish it may be one of your Poor Knights of 
 Windsor, and then I shall have a fortune, at least able 
 to support my title." The King, however, passed the 
 pointed suggestion by, and Nash received neither title 
 nor income. He also took nothing in payment for his 
 services, though he made many friends and acquaintances 
 of good standing whom he was probably clever enough 
 to use to his own advantage. Queen Anne offered him 
 a knighthood later, and a second time he refused the 
 honour, giving as an excuse to his friends that if he 
 accepted it Sir William Read, the mountebank — who had 
 just been knighted — would call him brother ; Read being 
 a quack doctor who had attended Anne for some affection 
 of the eyes. 
 
 Nash was twice a " king," for Steele, in the Spectator •, 
 tells in 1 7 1 1 a story of his residence in the Temple : " I 
 remember to have heard a bencher of the Temple tell a 
 story of a tradition in their house, where they had formerly 
 a custom of choosing kings for such a season, and allowing 
 him his expenses at the charge of the society. One of 
 our kings, said my friend, carried his royal inclination a 
 little too far, and there was a committee ordered to look 
 into the management of his treasury. Among other 
 
A Forced Voyage 81 
 
 things it appeared, that his majesty, walking incog, in the 
 cloister, had overheard a poor man say to another, c Such 
 a small sum would make me the happiest man in the 
 world/ The king, out of his royal compassion, privately 
 inquired into his character, and finding him a proper 
 object of charity, sent him the money. When the com- 
 mittee read the report, the house passed his accounts with 
 a. plaudit e without further examination, upon the recital of 
 this article in them : 
 
 'For making a man happy . . . j£io o o. 
 
 i it 
 
 Goldsmith adds that the benchers added a further £10 
 to the donation, and that they publicly thanked Nash for 
 his action. 
 
 For nine or ten years after the pageant Nash continued 
 to live an extravagant life in London, though there was 
 one short interlude when, according to his own account, 
 he went abroad against his will. It seemed to be essen- 
 tially the period of practical joking, when for the passing 
 amusement of a few a man might be subjected to weeks 
 of trouble. A short time after the revels took place 
 Nash was invited to look over a man-of-war, and to dine 
 on board. At dinner he was encouraged to drink freely, 
 and without suspicion he fell a willing victim to the 
 encouragement. As the ship was under orders to sail 
 to the Mediterranean, it started on its journey, and was 
 well away before Nash found out that he was at sea. 
 Whether he was dismayed or angered there is no record 
 to tell, but the invitation he accepted for the night had 
 to be extended for the voyage out and home again. Being 
 something of a philosopher, and having few obligations — 
 excepting to his creditors — it is probable that he enjoyed 
 the trip. If he is to be believed, he certainly got some 
 excitement out of it, for, during the voyage, the ship 
 
82 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 became involved in an engagement, and he had to take 
 his share in fighting, the friend who had helped to fool 
 him being killed at his side, and he himself wounded in 
 the leg. In later life, when Nash had fallen into the 
 habit of telling the same story over and over again, he 
 often referred to this wound, and one day a distinguished 
 lady who was listening to him said that she doubted very 
 much whether he had ever received a wound at all. Nash 
 made a courtly bow, replying : 
 
 " Madam, I assure you that it is all true, but if you 
 really disbelieve me, your Ladyship can assure yourself of 
 its truth by feeling the ball, which is still in my leg." 
 
 There is one other story of Nash's life in London 
 which shows the peculiarity of his character, the unbounded 
 generosity and vanity which made it easier for him to confer 
 a favour than to do a just act. He borrowed £io 
 from some friend, or he had some business trans- 
 action by which he was indebted for this amount. In 
 either case he was in no disposition to pay, though the 
 creditor applied several times to him for the money. At 
 last a final visit was made, and Nash gave the usual 
 assurance that he had not a penny, but that he hoped to 
 win at the tables that night, and would certainly pay the 
 debt the next day. Going to a mutual friend the poor man 
 explained to him the circumstance, and persuaded him to 
 plead poverty and distress to Nash, and so try to get the 
 money. The friend readily agreed to this, and seeking 
 the Beau, assured him that great troubles threatened him 
 unless he could somehow raise £20 ; that he had been 
 to all his friends, who seemed unable to lend him any- 
 thing, and he hoped that because of the friendship between 
 them, Nash would be able to relieve his distress. It was 
 an artful appeal, for the very opportunity of showing 
 more generosity than all the others stirred Nash, and he 
 
Perdition Seize Thee! 83 
 
 hesitated not in the least to comply with the request. 
 With many expressions of gratitude the second friend left 
 him to seek the first, to whom he handed the money. 
 The next day Nash met his creditor, and at once began 
 to make excuses for not paying him : he really had no 
 money at all, he had been very unlucky the night before, 
 he had never in his life been so out of cash, etc., etc. 
 
 " My dear sir," replied the other, " don't be troubled. 
 I was in such need of the money, and you so unable to 
 pay, that I thought it better not to worry you again about 
 
 it. So our friend Mr. came to borrow £20 of you, 
 
 which you very kindly lent him. He, in his turn, lent it 
 to me, so if you like to give him his receipt for repay- 
 ment, I will give you mine, and the whole matter will be 
 at an end." 
 
 Nash gasped. Was it possible that he had been tricked 
 like this ? Then he roared : 
 
 " Perdition seize thee ! You have been too many for 
 me. You only demanded the payment of a debt, while 
 he asked a favour. To pay thee would not increase our 
 friendship, whereas to lend to him was to confer a new 
 obligation, and to make a new friend." 
 
 At last stories got afloat in London that as Nash lived 
 in luxury without any visible signs of support, it was 
 probable that he frequented the road as a highwayman. 
 This completely upset the Beau, and he made up his mind 
 that if such things could be believed of him in London, 
 then London was no longer the place for him. Bath was 
 already the resort of the invalid ; those who could afford 
 the journey and the expenses of life there, went regularly, 
 and it had become, in spite of its mean appearance, one 
 of the principal towns of England. So to Bath Nash 
 went, and lived there the remainder of his long life. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 Claptrap. Talking of kings, I have to wait on 'Squire Nash, the king 
 of Bath. Tis past his levee time. 
 
 Derby. What takes you to Nash ? 
 
 Clap. Sir, he has written^ new play. 
 
 Wilton. Why, what's its purpose? 
 
 Clap. To brighten the dull, and make neat the slatternly. In short, sir, 
 a cruel blow at the slovens of Bath. 'Tis thought dirty boots, morning 
 caps, and white aprons— in all which matters certain visitors greatly sin — 
 will never hold up their^heads after it. 
 
 Douglas Jerrold's Comedy, Beau Nash. 
 
 BATH, the beautiful city of the west, has many 
 legends concerning the discovery and use of its 
 hot springs ; that which has appealed most strongly to its 
 inhabitants is connected with Bladud, the son of King or 
 Lud Hudibras, who while a young man was, by the 
 entreaty of the courtiers, banished from his father's Court 
 because he suffered from leprosy. He became a swine- 
 herd, unfortunately infected the herd with his complaint, 
 and to hide this from his master he offered to take the 
 swine to the other side of the Avon that they might 
 fatten on the acorns to be found there. In his way he 
 crossed the spot near which hot springs oozed, and the 
 pigs — delighting in the warmth — wallowed in the hot 
 mud until forced by hunger to follow the trail of acorns 
 laid by their keeper. One sow was however lost for a 
 week and Bladud found her lying in the mud, perfectly 
 cured of the leprosy. 
 
 The young man applied the cure to himself, and 
 returning to his master a whole man, explained the 
 
 34 
 
The Origin of Bath 85 
 
 situation to the astonished and sceptical farmer, promising 
 riches and honour if he would go with him to his father's 
 castle. Doubting the story the farmer accompanied his 
 herd to the castle, and there found that it was all true. 
 When Lud Hudibras died Bladud built a palace near 
 the hot springs and removed his Court there ; then 
 sending for his old master he gave him a mansion 
 and habitations for all belonging to him. Unfortunately 
 Bladud was far ahead of his time : he invented a flying 
 machine, announced to his admiring people that on a 
 certain day he would soar upwards as a bird, and on 
 making the attempt fell upon Salisbury Church and 
 broke his neck. 
 
 There is a still earlier fable to the effect that St. David 
 of Wales, when travelling and converting people in 
 England, learned that a certain beautiful spot was deserted 
 by all but those so poor that they could not move, because 
 the waters were poisonous and killed all cattle or people 
 who drank of them. So David went thither and blessed 
 the waters, making them not only wholesome, but hot 
 and healing. Evidence has been found — to come to 
 historical times — of Roman baths there ; and from the 
 earliest recorded events the waters of Bath have been 
 noted for their healing properties. 
 
 During the reign of Charles I. Bath was in a very bad 
 state, " insomuch that the streets and public ways of the 
 city were become like so many dung-hills, slaughter-houses, 
 and pig-sties. Soil of all sorts, and even carrion, was cast 
 and laid in the streets, and the pigs turned out by day to 
 feed and rout among it ; butchers killed and dressed their 
 cattle at their own doors, people washed every kind of 
 thing they had to make clean at the common conduits in 
 the open streets, and nothing was more common than 
 small racks and mangers at almost every door for the bait- 
 
86 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 ing of horses. The baths were like so many bear-gardens, 
 and modesty was entirely shut out of them ; people of both 
 sexes bathing by day and night naked; and dogs, cats, 
 pigs, and even human creatures were hurled over the rails 
 into the water while people were bathing in it. These 
 disorders coming to this pitch, the corporation assembled 
 together upon the 7th day of September, 1646, and framed 
 a body of bye-laws, not only to remove every kind of 
 nuisance the city was then subject to, but to establish good 
 order in it." 
 
 Evelyn, in his Diary (June 1654), describes all the 
 houses as built of stone, but the streets as narrow, ill 
 paved, and unpleasant. At this time the baths were open 
 to the sky, but were probably soon after covered over. 
 In 1687, Mary of Modena, the Queen of James II., 
 went to Bath, and bathing in the Cross Bath, " had 
 the satisfaction to find that fame had not exagge- 
 rated in her praises of these fecundating springs." As 
 a memorial of the subsequent birth of her son, the Earl 
 of Suffolk erected in the centre of the bath " a splendid 
 pillar." 
 
 The person who first saw the need of an autocrat to 
 make regulations for the visitors was the Duke of Beaufort, 
 who gave the freedom of the Town Hall for dancing 
 and gambling, and appointed as superintendent Captain 
 Webster, Nash's immediate predecessor. 
 
 When Beau Nash arrived at Bath in 1704 or 1705, he 
 found a city of the poorest description, not so bad as it 
 was in 1645, but unattractive enough to luxurious people. 
 Four or five hundred houses composed the whole place, 
 and Macaulay tells us that pictures of the finest of these 
 houses greatly resembled " the lowest rag-shops and pot- 
 houses of Ratcliffe Highway." This must be something 
 of an exaggeration, but Wood, in his History of Bath, is 
 
Soot and Small Beer 87 
 
 severe enough. As he was an architect, who later did 
 much to rebuild the city, we may expect indignation from 
 him concerning a place which, with all the power of 
 making wealth, was allowed to be neglected and nearly 
 useless. From all sources may be found condemnation of 
 Bath at the beginning of the eighteenth century. The 
 baths were dirty and ill arranged, the chairmen were 
 exorbitant and brutal, the accommodation was poor in 
 the extreme and prohibitive in price for all but the 
 wealthy ; the doctors, with but few exceptions, were 
 more or less quacks forced upon invalids by the land- 
 lords of the rooms. 
 
 The following is Wood's description of the interior 
 of the houses intended to invite the nobility to spend 
 lavishly for the privilege of staying in the city : — " The 
 boards of the dining rooms, and most other floors, in 
 the houses at Bath, were made of a brown colour with 
 soot and small-beer y to hide the dirt as well as their own 
 imperfections ; and if the walls of any of the rooms were 
 covered with wainscot, it was with such as was mean 
 and never painted. The chimney-pieces, hearths and slabs, 
 were all of free-stone, and these were daily cleaned with a 
 particular kind of white-wash, which, by paying tribute to 
 everything that touched it, soon rendered the brown floors 
 like the starry firmament. The doors were slight and 
 thin, the furniture cheap, the linen but corded dimity or 
 coarse fustian. Even the houses of the rich were of the 
 meanest architecture, two only showing the modern 
 comfort of sash windows." 
 
 Under some fine old trees called the Grove the water- 
 drinkers went to hear the band played, and when it rained 
 both players and listeners had to seek shelter and leave 
 their respective work and amusement. One of Nash's 
 first acts, on being appointed Master of the Ceremonies, 
 
 6 
 
88 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 was to remove the band to the new Pump Room, which 
 was completed in 1706. 
 
 When Beau Nash first went to Bath the invalids 
 drank their water in the open air, and after their baths 
 had to run the risk of taking colds, a fact which made 
 Dr. Oliver, whose name still lives in the biscuit known as 
 " Bath Oliver/' write a tract upon the dangers to health 
 and suggesting some public action for remedying it. Thus 
 it was necessary to be very ill to be induced to go to 
 Bath, to pay highly for very poor accommodation, and, 
 while trying to gain health in one way, to risk it in 
 another. The city was much disturbed at this time too 
 by a doctor who, having been warned away because of 
 drunkenness, published a pamphlet against the town, 
 which he said he hoped would " cast a toad into the 
 spring." Society was mixed and manners were wanting ; 
 there was no director in the place, though Captain 
 Webster did what he could to make amusement. How- 
 ever, Bath was not London, and people felt then, as 
 country people sometimes feel to-day concerning London, 
 that in a place where one is not known it is as well 
 to wear out one's old clothes, and to do as one likes 
 without reference to etiquette. Thus the balls which 
 Captain Webster started in the Town Hall were at- 
 tended by gentlemen who came in from the street 
 wearing high boots and out-door garb, while the ladies 
 neither troubled to put on evening frocks nor to take 
 off the aprons worn for tidiness' sake. At the gaming 
 tables too every one did as he or she liked, and the 
 loser generally persuaded others to stay and play till the 
 morning. 
 
 In fact, Bath was an odd mixture of liberty and 
 restriction. The visitors were expected to keep the 
 whole place, and when there was any special deficit 
 
A Friend in Need 89 
 
 subscription lists were opened at the shops. It happened 
 on one occasion that both Church and gaming-table were 
 in need of money, so that the lists lay side by side on 
 the counters. The results we can see from the following 
 verse which some wag published : 
 
 The books were opened t'other day, 
 At all the shops for Church and play. 
 The Church got six ; Hoyle sixty-seven ! 
 How great the odds for Hell 'gainst Heaven ! 
 
 To this scene of confusion came Nash with his 
 orderly mind, his knowledge of social ways, and his 
 perception of the possibilities of the place. Queen 
 Anne, by going to the city for her health in 1703, had 
 done something to make Bath popular, and Nash pro- 
 bably saw that the inhabitants, by their extortion and 
 carelessness, were competing with the equally careless 
 visitors in destroying that popularity. 
 
 His magnificence in dress made him a marked figure 
 at once, and it was not long before he became very 
 friendly with Captain Webster, knew all the principal 
 people, had heard all the grievances, and saw the reasons 
 for all the troubles. The doctor's threat gave him his 
 opening ; he was probably the only person who 
 laughed at it, telling the disturbed folk that if they would 
 give him leave he would charm away the doctor's poison 
 as the tarantula was charmed from its dangerous mood 
 by music. Their reply was that they would be grateful 
 for any help, and Nash began to make little alterations, 
 among them being the starting of the band, outdoors in 
 fine weather, and in the Town Hall in wet. More 
 company came to the place, and every one in the city 
 looked towards the Beau with an expectant mind, before 
 long asking him to make all public arrangements, for 
 
9° The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Captain Webster had been killed in a duel soon after 
 Nash's arrival. 
 
 So useful did the Beau become to the city that he was 
 installed Master of the Ceremonies, or " King of Bath," 
 in the place of Webster, and he soon made his influence 
 widely felt. He set on foot a guinea subscription for 
 the band, which was to consist of six players, each 
 receiving a guinea weekly, increased a little later to 
 two, and he made a suitable allowance for lighting. 
 The Pump Room was put under the care of a pumper, 
 and a business-like air began to pervade the place. In 
 1706 Nash raised by subscription as much as £ 1,800 ! 
 in order that the roads around the city might be repaired. 
 He urged on the building of the Pump Room, and 
 opened it with much ceremony. More care was given 
 to the paving, lighting, and cleaning of the streets ; 
 vexatious tolls extorted from visitors whenever they 
 went out of the city, even for a walk, were abolished ; 
 and the chairmen who had, by being licensed and making 
 a " combine " among themselves, become oppressive and 
 impudent, were put under fresh regulations. All this 
 was not arrived at without opposition, for the Corporation 
 was very jealous for the city's good, and believed that 
 Protection was the only policy. They thought it a 
 danger to the popularity of Bath itself that the roads 
 outside it should be rendered suitable for use, and they 
 did their utmost to prevent the building of suburbs or 
 the formation of new gardens which necessitated the 
 extension of the boundaries. Nash stuck to his plans, 
 however, until they were carried through, and he in- 
 
 1 "The Dictionary of National Biography" says ^18,000, but this is 
 obviously a figure too much, when we remember the smallness of the 
 place, and the disorganised condition to which the inhabitants had been 
 reduced. Goldsmith says : " seventeen or eighteen hundred pounds." 
 
Aprons at the Ball 91 
 
 duced a Mr. Harrison to build a large Assembly Room, 
 in which the visitors might drink coffee or chocolate 
 in the day and dance or play cards at night. 
 
 While Nash was busily employed in improving the 
 conditions of the town he did not forget the visitors, 
 whose free and easy ways left much to be desired. He 
 found that boots, aprons, and swords were the greatest 
 impediments to the happiness and peace of his little 
 kingdom, so he set himself vigorously to abolish them. 
 He had perhaps undertaken a harder task than he 
 anticipated, but that made no difference to its accom- 
 plishment. His method was to request the women not to 
 appear at evening assemblies wearing aprons, and when any 
 visitor, under the mistaken impression that there was no 
 need to pay too much attention to the Beau, came to a 
 ball wearing such a domestic safeguard against dirt, he 
 insisted on its removal before entry. These aprons were 
 in some cases made of costly materials. Goldsmith tells 
 us that one ball-night Nash himself took off the apron of 
 the Duchess of Queensberry and threw it to the maids on 
 the back benches, saying that none but Abigails appeared 
 in white aprons. But another story runs that the Duchess 
 was wearing an apron made of point lace worth ^500, 
 and when Nash requested her to remove it she not only 
 did so with good humour, but requested the " King's " 
 acceptance of it. 
 
 Nash had hard work to induce the men to discard 
 their rough-and-ready habits ; he persuaded, ordered, 
 made rules, but the " Smart Fellows " obstinately refused 
 to be smart, the " Pretty Fellows " forgot their prettiness, 
 and the " Very Pretty Fellows " gloried in the freedom of a 
 " no change " cry concerning dress. It was so luxurious 
 to walk into the ball-room in riding clothes, boots, and 
 spurs, and evade the dull custom of " dressing." The 
 
92 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Beau made a little song, which was sung and posted 
 everywhere, entitled : 
 
 Frontinella's Invitation to the Assembly. 
 
 Come one and all to Hoyden Hall, 
 For there's the assembly this night ; 
 
 None but prude fools, 
 
 Mind manners and rules ; 
 We Hoydens do decency flight. 
 
 Come Trollops and Slatterns, 
 
 Cockt hats and white aprons, 
 This best our modesty suits; 
 
 For why should not we, 
 
 In dress be as free, 
 As Hogs-Norton 'squires in boots ? 
 
 Nash followed this by getting up a puppet show of a 
 coarse enough tone to suit the polite (!) manners of his day, 
 in which Punch comes upon the stage booted and spurred. 
 During the play he retires to bed, and on being requested 
 to take off his boots first, answers : 
 
 " My boots ! Why, you might as well ask me to pull 
 off my legs. I never go without boots. I never ride, I 
 I never dance without them ; and this piece of politeness 
 is quite the thing at Bath. We always dance at our town 
 in boots, and the ladies often move minuets in riding- 
 hoods. " 
 
 The show ends by Punch being kicked off the stage 
 for his clownishness. 
 
 This practically stopped the custom of wearing boots 
 or outdoor garb at evening parties, and when it happened 
 that some man, either lazy or ignorant of the regulations, 
 came to the rooms in his boots, Nash would bow low to 
 him and inquire most politely whether he had not forgotten 
 his horse. 
 
 The greatest difficulty of all was to carry out any 
 
Rules of Etiquette 93 
 
 regulations concerning swords. So long as men wore 
 them there was danger that they would be used by some 
 hasty-tempered person. But Nash was determined to 
 hinder people c< from doing what they had no mind 
 to do." And at last a sad event helped him. Two 
 gamesters named Taylor and Clarke quarrelled and fought 
 a duel. Being afraid of interruption if they waited until 
 daylight, they fought by torchlight in " The Grove," and 
 Taylor was run through the body. (Though he lived for 
 seven years, it was the wound which ultimately caused 
 his death.) This gave Nash the opportunity of adding 
 another law to those he had already made, forbidding the 
 wearing of swords at Bath, probably the first step in 
 England towards the abolition of the wearing of swords 
 as an article of dress. He could not forbid duelling 
 intentions, but whenever he heard that a challenge was 
 given or accepted he promptly caused the quarrelsome 
 pair to be arrested. 
 
 The Beau's rules, eleven in all, were written in a 
 facetious spirit, though they really display little fun. He 
 was a wittier speaker than writer ; indeed, he always called 
 a pen "his torpedo," saying that whenever he grasped it, 
 it numbed all his faculties ; therefore we must excuse the 
 clumsy attempt at humour shown in his list of rules. 
 
 Rules to be Observed at Bath. 
 
 1. That a visit of ceremony at first coming, and another at going 
 away, are all that are to be expected or desired, by ladies of quality 
 and fashion — except impertinents. 
 
 2. That ladies coming to the ball appoint a time for their foot- 
 men coming to wait on them home, to prevent disturbance and 
 inconveniences to themselves and others. 
 
 3. That gentlemen of fashion never appearing in the morning 
 before the ladies in gowns and caps, shew breeding and respect. 
 
 4. That no person take it ill that any one goes to another's play, 
 or breakfast, and not theirs — except captious by nature. 
 
94 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 5. That no gentleman give his ticket for the balls to any but 
 gentlewomen. — N.B. Unless he has none of his acquaintance. 
 
 6. That gentlemen crowding before the ladies at the ball, shew 
 ill manners ; and that none do so for the future — except such as 
 respect nobody but themselves. 
 
 7. That no gentleman or lady takes it ill that another dances 
 before them — except such as have no pretence to dance at all. 
 
 8. That the elder ladies and children be content with a second 
 bench at the ball, as being past or not come to perfection. 
 
 9. That the younger ladies take notice how many eyes observe 
 them. — N.B. This does not extend to the Have-at-alls. 
 
 10. That all whisperers of lies and scandal be taken for their 
 authors. 
 
 11. That all repeaters of such lies, and scandal, be shun'd by all 
 company — except such as have been guilty of the same crime. 
 
 N.B. Several men of no character, old women and young ones, 
 of questioned reputation, are great authors of lies in these places, 
 being of the sect of levellers. 
 
 These rules were fastened up in the Pump Room, and 
 rigidly enforced once the " King " had become the true 
 autocrat of Bath. 
 
 Nash did his best to abolish snobbery, and was ready 
 to punish any evidence of such among those assembled ; 
 for the company was very mixed, and visitors were apt to 
 think themselves insulted by the presence of tradesmen's 
 wives. When he observed any ladies so extremely 
 delicate and proud of a pedigree, as only to touch the back 
 of an inferior's hand in the dance, he would at once 
 loudly remark upon the slighting action, telling the culprit 
 either to behave with common decency or to leave the 
 room. If, also, any couple having taken their prominent 
 part in a country dance then left the floor without waiting 
 until the dance was finished, he would tell them that 
 unless they stood up for the rest they should dance no 
 more. 
 
 According to Goldsmith, " Nature had by no means 
 
The Master of Bath 95 
 
 favoured Mr. Nash for a beau gar^on ; his person was 
 clumsy, too large and awkward, and his features harsh, 
 strong, and peculiarly irregular ; yet, even with these 
 disadvantages he made love, became a universal admirer, 
 and was universally admired. He was possessed at least 
 of some requisites as a lover. He had assiduity, flattery, 
 fine cloaths, and as much wit as the ladies he addressed." 
 He had a great taste for gold lace, and always wore a large 
 white beaver hat — the wide brim looped up — in order, he 
 said, to prevent it being stolen. 
 
 In a life of Quin, published anonymously in 1766, 
 Nash is spoken of with kindly appreciation. " There was 
 a whimsical refinement in his person, dress, and behaviour, 
 which was habitual to and sat so easily upon him that no 
 stranger who came to Bath ever expressed any surprise 
 at his uncommon manner and appearance." Doran, in 
 his " Memories of our Great Towns," gives a picture 
 of Nash as Master of Bath : " The most celebrated 
 Master was c that imperious, impudent, gorgeously 
 dressed, and generous-hearted Beau Nash, who introduced 
 civilization at Bath as it had once been enforced at 
 Athens, by the abolition of the custom of wearing 
 swords. For the dignity of Master, men intrigued, 
 swore, fought, struggled as other would-be masters 
 for the crowns of the world. The dynasty was of 
 modest origin ; it grew into dazzling potentiality, and 
 only did not die out * like a snuff ' because a Master is 
 still occasionally dragged up existing from some old store- 
 cellar, made to do its office, and is stowed away again." 
 
 If he had indulged in gallantry earlier, Nash was care- 
 ful not to let any love-making on his part interfere with 
 his work at Bath. Once he was veritably in love, but 
 though favoured by the girl's parents, she herself admitted 
 that she loved another man. So large was the Beau's 
 
g6 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 heart that he could not see her suffer. He bestowed 
 upon her a sum of money equal to that which her father 
 promised as a marriage portion, and so smoothed the 
 way to her union with the man she had chosen. Within 
 a year of her marriage the fickle girl eloped with a foot- 
 man, much to Nash's sorrow. 
 
 There are various allusions made to Nash and his 
 mistress, Fanny Murray, who later married a man named 
 Ross ; and of Juliana Popjoy, of whom it was recorded in 
 the Gentleman s Magazine that " for thirty or forty 
 years she lived in a hollow tree, and never lay in a bed. 
 She had been mistress to the famous Nash of Bath." 
 
 There was also Hannah Lightfoot, who was known as 
 Lady Letty Besom, because, when Nash first fell in love 
 with her, she rode about the town on a grey horse, 
 carrying a whip with many thongs. In the " Life of 
 Ralph Allen " it is said that she took care of Nash during 
 the last five years of his life. Of her too we are told 
 that " she took up her residence in a large hollow tree," 
 but it is scarcely to be believed that two women attached 
 to the same man can have done so singular a thing. 
 
CHAPTER V1J 
 
 Home from the Hell the pale-eyed gamester steals, 
 Home from the ball flash jaded Beauties' wheels. 
 
 Opening lines from The New Titnon. 
 
 IT has been the custom among writers of the Victorian 
 period to heap scorn upon the Beaux. With them 
 Nash held the position of "a fellow," "an impudent fool," 
 and his good works are admitted grudgingly or not at all. 
 Grace and Philip Wharton were strong in this respect. 
 They were generous to prodigality with the words fop, 
 fool, bear, witless beau, contemptible vanity, impudence, 
 and " worthy," used in that curious way in which woman 
 and person can be made absolutely insulting. Poor 
 Anstey, the writer of the clever satire, Ct The New Bath 
 Guide," they label as "one of the most depraved," and 
 a " low-minded " author. However, judgments have 
 mellowed since then, and Nash seems to us more worthy 
 of praise than blame, more entitled to respect than scorn. 
 He was vain — he could not have earned his title other- 
 wise — yet he was a shrewd man of business. Having no 
 regular income, he yet kept his accounts with absolute 
 honesty, and very large sums of money passed through 
 his hands. He was remarkably generous, and he was 
 strong enough to force the mean rich to be generous also 
 at times. He was a gambler, yet there are many instances 
 on record of his saving young men from the consequences 
 of their own folly and inducing them to withdraw from 
 the tables. He was the protector of women, the fatherly 
 
 97 
 
98 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 adviser of girls. Dr. Johnson's Mrs. Thrale said that 
 she remembered as a little child being carried about the 
 Pump Room at Bath by Beau Nash. 
 
 One story of his vanity shows a whimsical appreciation 
 of the advantage of dressing well. A gentleman saw him 
 leave his house very gorgeously clothed, and asked him 
 where he was going. 
 
 " Going ! why, I'm going to advertise." 
 
 " Advertise what? " 
 
 "Why myself, of course ; for that's the only use of 
 a fine coat." 
 
 There is on record a very amusing account of the way 
 in which he forced a duchess, well known for her mean- 
 ness, to pay a large sum for the welfare of the poor. 
 He made it his business to collect subscriptions for 
 charitable purposes in Bath, and on one occasion, when, 
 engaged in his great work of founding a hospital, he was 
 busy putting down names of subscribers, this duchess 
 entered the room. As Nash was directly in her path 
 and she could not avoid him, she tapped him with her 
 fan, saying : 
 
 " You must put down a trifle for me, Nash, for 1 
 have no money in my pocket." 
 
 " Yes, madam, that I will with pleasure, if your grace 
 will tell me when to stop." 
 
 Plunging his hand into his own pocket he took out a 
 handful of guineas and tossing them one by one into his 
 white hat he began counting — one, two, three, four, 
 five 
 
 " Hold, hold ! " cried the duchess, " think what you 
 are doing ! " 
 
 "Think of your rank and fortune, madam," replied 
 
 Nash, and he continued, " Six, seven, eight, nine, 
 
 ♦» 
 ten 
 
99 
 
Nash and Charity 101 
 
 Here the duchess again stopped him angrily, and the 
 Beau said coolly : " Pray compose yourself, madam, and 
 don't interrupt the work of charity ; eleven, twelve, 
 thirteen, fourteen, fifteen " 
 
 The duchess caught his hand, storming that she would 
 give no more ; it was enough. 
 
 " Peace, madam," said Nash. " You shall have your 
 name written in letters of gold ; sixteen, seventeen, 
 eighteen, nineteen, twenty " 
 
 " I won't pay a farthing more," broke in the duchess 
 furiously. 
 
 a Charity hides a multitude of sins," quietly observed 
 her tormentor ; " twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, 
 twenty- four, twenty- five " 
 
 u Nash ! " said the duchess, " I profess you frighten 
 me out of my wits. Lord ! I shall die ! " 
 
 c< Madam, you will never die with doing good, and if 
 you do it will be the better for you," and he went on 
 counting, only after much altercation agreeing to stop 
 when he had made the duchess responsible for thirty 
 guineas. 
 
 At another charity subscription at Bath a very mean 
 man was present ; and Nash, after appealing for funds 
 generally, turned and shouted it over again into the ears 
 of the niggardly one, who asked, in an aggrieved way, why 
 he did that. 
 
 " Because," retorted the Beau, u on these occasions 
 you are generally deaf." 
 
 As the chief business which the visitors had at 
 Bath was to bathe and to drink the water, a word or 
 so on the baths may not be amiss. Leland gives us a 
 description of them as they were in his time : — " There 
 be 2 springes of whote water in the west south-west 
 part of the toune, whereoff the bigger is caulled the 
 
102 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Crosse-Bath, bycause it hath a crosse erected in the 
 midle of it. This bathe is much frequented of people 
 diseasid with lepre, pokke, scabbes, and great aches, 
 and is temperate and pleasant, having a 1 1 or 1 2 arches 
 of stone in the sides for men to stande under yn time 
 of reyne. Many be holp by this bathe from scabbes 
 and aches. 
 
 " The other bathe is two hundredth foote off, and is 
 less in cumpace withy n the waulle than the other, having 
 but 7 arches in the waulle. This is caullid the Hote- 
 Bathe ; for at cumming into it, men think that it would 
 scald the flesch at the first, but after that the flesch ys 
 warmid it is more tolerable and pleasant. 
 
 " The Kinges-Bathe is very faire and large, stand- 
 ing almost in the midle of the toune, and at the west 
 end of the Cathedrale chirch. The area that this 
 bathe is yn is cumpassid with a high stone waulle. 
 The brimmes of this bathe hath a little walle cumpasing 
 them, and in this waul be a 32 arches for men and women 
 to stand separately in. To this bathe do Gentilmen 
 resort.' ' 
 
 These baths were more or less under the care of the 
 monks, and at the dissolution of the monasteries they 
 became entirely forgotten until the end of the sixteenth 
 century, when the Hot and Cross Baths were rebuilt, and a 
 new one was erected under the name of the New Bath, by 
 a Mr. Bellot. This adjoined the King's Bath, and was 
 used by the poor until, one day, Queen Anne, wife of 
 James I. was bathing, and there arose from the bottom of 
 the bath close to the Queen a flame of fire, which spread- 
 ing itself on the surface of the water in a circle of light 
 then disappeared. This, though a natural phenomenon, 
 " so frighted the Queen," that for the future she betook 
 herself to the New Bath, whereupon the citizens erected a 
 
Tabitha's Bath 103 
 
 tower in the middle of it, surmounted by a crown and 
 globe, and called it the Queen's Bath. 
 
 After Nash had been at work in Bath for some time, 
 the baths, then five in number, were all in good working 
 order, roofed in, and each dedicated to special uses, 
 patients being obliged to consult a physician before know- 
 ing which one to use. The hours for bathing were 
 commonly between six and nine in the morning, after 
 which the sluices were pulled up and the water run into 
 the Avon. 
 
 The bathing was made as luxurious a pastime as 
 possible. The chairmen would fetch the patients from 
 their beds, roll them in blankets, and carry them off to 
 the bath in a chair. Simpkin Blunderhead, in " The 
 New Bath Guide," describes the way in which his sister's 
 maid Tabitha is thus seized : 
 
 This morning, dear mother, as soon as 'twas light, 
 
 I was wak'd by a noise that astonish'd me quite, 
 
 For in Tabitha's chamber I heard such a clatter, 
 
 I could not conceive what the deuce was the matter ; 
 
 And would you believe it, I went up and found her 
 
 In a blanket, with two lusty fellows around her, 
 
 Who both seem'd agoing to carry her off in 
 
 A little black box just the size of a coffin : 
 
 "Pray tell me," says I, "what ye're doing of there?" 
 
 "Why, master, 'tis hard to be bilk'd of our fare, 
 
 And so we were thrusting her into a chair; 
 
 We don't see no reason for using us so, 
 
 For she bad us come hither, and now she won't go; 
 
 We've earned all the fare, for we both came and 
 
 knocked her 
 Up, as soon as was light, by advice of the doctor ; 
 And this is a job that we often go a'ter 
 For ladies that choose to go into the water." 
 
 So they hoisted her down just as safe and as well, 
 And as snug as a Hod'mandod rides in his shell. 
 
104 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Arriving at the bath the interested Simpkin tells how 
 the ladies, wrapt in flannels — 
 
 Take the water, like so many spaniels. 
 And tho' all the while it grew hotter and hotter, 
 They swam, just as if they were hunting an otter ; 
 'Twas a glorious sight to behold the fair sex 
 All wading with gentlemen up to their necks, 
 And view them so prettily tumble and sprawl 
 In a great smoaking kettle as large as our hall. 
 
 When in the water the bath attendant presented each 
 lady with a little floating dish, something like a basin, 
 into which the patients lay their handkerchiefs, snuff- 
 boxes, little nosegays, and sweetmeats ; for the bath was 
 a place of entertainment as well as a source of health, 
 and there are many facetious stories told about it. One 
 young husband hung over the railing watching his bride's 
 rosy face as she staggered in the water, and keeping up 
 a flow of admiring remarks. At last he wished he 
 were in the bath with her, and Nash, who stood by, 
 caught him by the ankles and plunged him headlong 
 in. Nash was called out, and received a wound in the 
 right arm, and we are told in ' c The New Prose Bath Guide" 
 that the whole affair was designed by Nash to prove his 
 courage before he prohibited duelling. 
 
 On one occasion a remarkable cure was said to have 
 been worked by the Bath waters, and a committee was 
 formed to strike a medal in celebration. An artist was 
 commissioned to prepare one, and did it in a very unsatis- 
 factory way, whereupon a committeeman took the design 
 to Nash, asking his opinion of what he himself called a 
 mere c< pick-pocket piece of work." u Don't be angry, 
 sir," said Nash. c< The man may in all probability be a 
 very honest man — it is absolutely clear that he is no 
 designer." 
 
A Toast 105 
 
 Steele says that the custom of making "Toasts" of ladies 
 originated in Bath. A celebrated beauty was — in the reign 
 of King Charles II. — in the Cross Bath, when an admirer 
 drank her health in a glass of the water in which she 
 stood. A gay, half-fuddled fellow standing by swore 
 that he would jump in, and though he liked not the 
 liquor, would have the toast. " He was opposed in his 
 resolution ; yet this whim gave foundation to the present 
 honour which is done to the lady we mention in our 
 liquors ; who has ever since been called a Toast." 
 
 After the bath came the drinking of hot waters, three 
 glasses at three different times, the intervals enlivened by 
 a band and the conversation of " the gay, the witty, or 
 the forward." The men had their coffee-houses, and the 
 women what Goldsmith calls " the female coffee-house," 
 where they could drink chocolate and see the paper. 
 There were public breakfasts and concert-breakfasts at 
 the Assembly Rooms, scientific lectures, and many other 
 amusements. After dinner the company met again at 
 the Pump Room, and went thence to the theatre (built 
 in 1705) or the ball, held every Tuesday and Friday, or 
 to the gaming tables. 
 
 Many stories are told of Nash's wisdom, generosity, 
 and care for the visitors in connection with all these 
 amusements. A great gambler himself, he did his best 
 to keep others from losing their money, but was not 
 always successful in his attempts. 
 
 In the year 1725 a young man was foolish enough to 
 realise his small fortune, leave Oxford, where he was a 
 fellow, and go to Bath to amuse himself. Though he 
 knew nothing of play, he won enough to make himself 
 comfortable for life. Nash watched him, however, and, 
 after having lost a considerable sum to him, invited him 
 to supper. Before they parted Nash spoke some words 
 
 7 
 
106 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 of warning, saying he had not invited him to his house 
 in order to get his revenge, but to remind him that there 
 would come a time when luck would desert him, and he 
 would repent of having left the calm seclusion of Oxford 
 for the life of a gamester. 
 
 " Be content with what you have ; go with it now ; 
 for if you had the Bank of England behind you it would 
 vanish like a fairy dream in your present ignorance of the 
 laws of the game. That you may believe that I wish your 
 welfare, I will give you fifty guineas, to forfeit twenty, 
 every time you lose two hundred at one sitting." How- 
 ever, the love of gaming was upon the youth. He refused 
 the offer, and was eventually reduced to beggary. 
 
 There was another case of a duke who had so 
 uncontrolled a passion for the game that he begged Nash 
 to prevent him from playing deep. So Nash gave his 
 grace two hundred guineas on the condition that if he 
 ever lost so much as ten thousand guineas at one sitting 
 he was to forfeit another ten thousand to the Beau. 
 Some days later the duke lost eight thousand guineas at 
 hazard, and was going to throw for three thousand more, 
 when Nash caught up the dice-box, imploring him to 
 remember the penalty if he lost. The duke rose from 
 the table, but when removed from the restraining in- 
 fluence of Nash, he lost a very large sum at New- 
 market, and paid the " King of Bath " the ten thousand 
 guineas. 
 
 There is the further story of the man who watched 
 Nash put two hundred guineas in his pocket as the result 
 of a throw, and who murmured : 
 
 " How happy should I be with such a sum." 
 
 " Go and be happy ! " responded Nash, handing him 
 the money. 
 
 Yet one more gaming incident : 
 
"He Kept his Bed" 107 
 
 A young earl, with whom gaming was a passion, was 
 never better pleased than when he had Nash for an 
 antagonist. So the Beau determined to cure him. He 
 played seriously to win, and the young man lost one sum 
 after another — all his money, his estate, his deeds, his very 
 carriage went as a last stake. Penniless and without hope, 
 the earl sat dazed, realising at last what reckless play 
 meant. Then Nash returned everything, making but 
 one condition. "In honour," he said, "I could take 
 all that you have lost. I will however take nothing 
 if you will promise to give me at some future date, 
 whenever I may need it, five thousand pounds." 
 
 The gamester felt as though his life was saved, and 
 promised eagerly. He died however before Nash was 
 in great need, but when the money was asked of the 
 earl's heirs it was immediately forthcoming. 
 
 The following story shows how Nash liked to play 
 upon words, and to snatch a joke : — A gentleman, who 
 had by his extravagance lost nearly all his fortune, dis- 
 appeared from the Pump Room, and friends asked Nash 
 what had become of him. The Beau merely replied that 
 he kept his bed. So some of them went to visit the sick 
 man, only to find him in the best of health. Very wroth 
 at being reported ill, the gentleman asked Nash what he 
 meant by it. 
 
 " Why so annoyed ? " said Nash ; " I sincerely hope 
 that I have said nothing but the truth. I ventured to 
 tell your friends that you kept your bed, and if you have 
 I rejoice at it ; it is the only thing you have kept, and 
 I knew it would be the last you would part with." 
 
 Long before this Nash had become an absolute 
 monarch at Bath. He allowed no one to infringe his 
 laws, and history tells us that a princess even could not 
 move him. This was the Princess Amelia, who all 
 
108 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 through her life regarded Bath as a favourite place of 
 amusement, presumably because she loved play. The 
 Princess of Wales told Dodington that " she played 
 publicly all the evening very deep," with the Duke and 
 Duchess of Bedford ; and that, though she would hardly 
 speak to Lord Chesterfield when at Court, at Bath she 
 sent to inquire of his coming, expected him at her parties 
 to play, and assured him that " he should always sit by 
 her in the public rooms, and that he might be sure of a 
 warm place." 
 
 That the invalids might get proper rest Nash arranged 
 that the balls were to begin at six and end at eleven. 
 The minuet was the first dance, started by two people 
 of the highest distinction ; when it was over the lady sat 
 down and the gentleman took out another lady. Both 
 then took their . seats, and the process was followed by 
 others until eight o'clock, when the country dances began, 
 " ladies of quality, according to their rank, standing up 
 first." At nine there was an interval for tea, then 
 dancing was resumed until eleven. As the hour struck 
 Nash would enter the room and lift his finger as a 
 sign that the music was to stop. The Princess Amelia, 
 who liked her own way and thought she should have 
 it, once asked that there should be one dance more, but 
 Nash refused, much to her surprise. 
 
 " The laws of Bath, madam, are like the laws of 
 Lycurgus ; they will admit of no alteration without 
 entirely oversetting my authority." 
 
 Nash arranged the dances, called upon those who 
 were to dance, introduced the right people to each other, 
 discountenanced snobbery, and took a paternal interest in 
 every one. He often danced himself, and was careful to 
 draw his partners from all classes. Once he was dancing 
 a minuet with a Miss Lunn, who was so long before 
 
A Frustrated Elopement 109 
 
 giving him both her hands (the figure by which the lady 
 brings the dance to a close) that he got impatient, and, 
 suiting the words to the tune, sang out as she passed 
 him : 
 
 Miss Lunn, Miss Lunn, 
 Will you never have done? 
 
 The Beau loved his position of authority, and took 
 pains that his reputation for omniscience in the affairs 
 of the city were kept before the eyes of his subjects, as 
 the following incident shows. One evening Nash walked 
 up to an old lady and her daughter and told the former 
 sternly that it would be wiser for her to be at home. 
 The lady, a woman of fortune, was at first inclined to 
 be indignant at this style of address ; but as Nash was 
 uncontrolled monarch she could only turn away with 
 evident surprise and vexation. But on his following her 
 and repeating the words, she began to think there was 
 some meaning in them beyond gratuitous offence. She 
 accordingly went home. There to her astonishment she 
 found her eldest daughter, who had stayed away from 
 the ball on some excuse, ready dressed for an elopement, 
 and a notorious sharper in waiting with a postchaise to 
 carry her off. Nash's information had acquainted him 
 with the plot, and he had mystified the company by 
 taking this dramatic way of showing his knowledge of 
 all the machinery of Bath society. 
 
 The " King " had humour rather than wit, though he 
 uttered some really good sayings ; on the whole, though, 
 the pretty things reported as his are of a homely kind. 
 This mot for instance is too obvious not to have occurred 
 to any one with a sense of humour : 
 
 c< Ladies and gentlemen/' said Beau Nash, entering 
 the room with a strange lady, " this is Mrs. Hobson. I 
 
no The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 have often heard of Hobson's choice, but never had the 
 pleasure to view it till now, and you must agree with me, 
 that it reflects credit on his taste." 
 
 When there was much commotion in Bath over a 
 house which was said to be haunted by the devil, the ladies 
 made a great show of horror. So Nash went to the 
 clergyman at St. Michael's and entreated him to drive 
 the devil out of Bath for ever, if only to oblige the 
 ladies. 
 
 His reply though to the acquaintance whom he met 
 early one morning showing signs of having drunk not 
 wisely but too well, showed that the Beau's wit was 
 spontaneous, and needed no aid from the evening 
 glass : 
 
 " Where have you been ? " he asked. 
 
 " I have been all night at a concert of music," was the 
 reply. 
 
 "Ah, very likely," said Nash; " I see that you have 
 drunk to some tune." 
 
 Of course many witticisms were levelled at him in 
 revenge ; thus Boswell tells us that once when Dr. Clarke 
 " was unbending himself with a few friends in the most 
 playful and frolicsome manner," he saw Beau Nash 
 approaching in his carriage ; upon which he suddenly 
 stopped. " My boys," said he, " let us be grave ; 
 here comes a fool." And ever since it has been the 
 custom to call Nash a fool ! 
 
 However, the discriminating give him credit for more 
 than folly. Thackeray offered him a genial tribute in 
 " The Four Georges." 
 
 " As for Bath, all history went and bathed and drank 
 there ; George II. and his Queen, Prince Frederick and 
 his Court, scarce a character one can mention of the early 
 last century but was seen in that famous Pump Room 
 
"Splendid, Impertinent Folly " in 
 
 where Beau Nash presided, and his picture hung between 
 the busts of Newton and Pope. 
 
 " ' This picture placed the busts between 
 Gives satire all his strength ; 
 Wisdom and wit are little seen, 
 But Folly at full length.' 
 
 " I should have liked to have seen the Folly. It was a 
 splendid, be-ruffled, snuff-boxed, red-heeled, impertinent 
 Folly, and knew how to make itself respected. I should 
 like to have seen that noble old madcap Peterborough in 
 his boots (he actually had the audacity to walk about Bath 
 in boots ! ) with his blue ribbon and stars, and a cabbage 
 under each arm, and a chicken in his hand, which he had 
 been cheapening for his dinner. Chesterfield came there 
 many a time and gambled for hundreds, and grinned 
 through his gout . . . Walpole passed many a day 
 there ; sickly, supercilious, absurdly dandified and 
 affected ; with a brilliant wit, a delightful sensibility ; and 
 for his friends a most tender, generous, and faithful 
 heart." 
 
 Mr. Lewis Melville, in his delightful book upon 
 " Bath under Beau Nash," says : — " When all agree that 
 Nash exercised upon his generation an influence so 
 strong that it left an enduring mark, not only on the 
 provincial town whence it emanated, but upon the society 
 throughout an entire country, through his law against 
 swords and duelling ; when it is realised that Nash, 
 without any advantage of birth or fortune or influence, 
 attained a position which enabled him to break down the 
 laws of caste, to impose his will on all classes, and to 
 govern fashion for more than half a century, while it may 
 not be possible to affirm he was a great man, it is certainly 
 impossible to deny that he was an extraordinary one," 
 
ii2 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Concerning the picture referred to in the epigram 
 quoted by Thackeray, there has been some confusion. 
 The Rev. Richard Warner says that the Corporation 
 voted a sum of money for a statue in marble of the " King 
 of Bath " to be placed in the Pump Room between the 
 busts of Newton and Pope. This he probably got from 
 Oliver Goldsmith's " Life," the latter adding that it 
 caused the Earl of Chesterfield to write the severe but 
 witty epigram : 
 
 The statue placed the busts between. 
 
 A controversy arose in Notes and Queries over the 
 authorship of this and five other verses, which were 
 first published in The Gentleman s Magazine for 1741 
 without initials or name. They were probably written 
 by a Mrs. Brereton who contributed to that magazine, 
 and appeared in a collection of her works published in 
 1744. The same six verses were also published in 
 Chesterfield's Miscellaneous Verse, which came out in 
 1777. The full text is as follows : 
 
 The old Egyptians hid their Wit 
 
 In Hieroglyphick Dress, 
 To give Men pains to search for it, 
 
 And please themselves with Guess. 
 
 Moderns to tread the self-same Path, 
 
 And exercise our parts, 
 Place figures in a Room at Bath : 
 
 Forgive them, God of Arts ! 
 
 Newton, if I can judge aright, 
 
 All Wisdom doth express; 
 His Knowledge gives Mankind new Light, 
 
 Adds to their Happiness. 
 
The Famous Epigram 113 
 
 Pope is the emblem of true Wit, 
 
 The Sun-shine of the Mind ; 
 Read o'er his Works for proof of it 
 
 You'll endless pleasure find. 
 
 Nash represents Man in the Mass, 
 
 Made up of Wrong and Right 
 Sometimes a Knave, sometimes an Ass, 
 
 Now blunt and now polite. 
 
 The Picture, placed the Busts between, 
 Adds to the thought much strength ; 
 
 Wisdom and Wit are little seen, 
 But Folly's at full Length. 
 
 Neither of the collections of poems include the first 
 of the two verses which appeared in The Gentleman s 
 Magazine. 
 
 " Immortal Newton, never spoke 
 
 More truth than here you'll find ; 
 Nor Pope himself, e'er penned a joke 
 More cruel on Mankind. 
 
 Douglas Jerrold, in his comedy of Beau Nash, the 
 King of Bath, gives a striking and impartial presentment 
 of the Beau, with his vanity, his impulsiveness, his kind- 
 ness, and his endeavour to bring justice and happiness to 
 his subjects. He, probably following Goldsmith, speaks 
 of a statue to begin with, and then, making one of the 
 characters scream on going to lock the door of a cabinet, 
 explains it by saying : 
 
 " Oh, sir ! nothing, sir. Your picture ! — It's so like 
 life, sir, I mean, sir — just then, it so resembled my dear 
 grandfather ; that is, sir, as the light fell, sir, I could 
 have vowed it — it winked at me ! " all of which was to 
 hide the fact of a hidden lover in the cabinet. 
 
ii4 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 The real facts about the picture and statue seem to be 
 that the picture was presented somewhere about 1740 — 
 certainly before the verses were written — by the Corpora- 
 tion to Nash, and placed in the Pump Room, though in 
 The Gentleman s Magazine for 1741 it is declared that 
 Nash presented it himself. In 1752 the white marble 
 statue by William Hoare was placed in the Pump Room, 
 the expense being defrayed by the leading inhabitants 
 of the city in gratitude for the services Nash had rendered 
 to Bath. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Forget thou wert ever 
 Called King Antiochus. With this charity 
 I enter thee a beggar. 
 
 Philip Massinger, Believe as You List. 
 
 BEAU Nash had a great reputation for his fatherly 
 care for young girls, and indeed for all who dis- 
 played a want of knowledge both of life and of evil 
 practices. He watched people and events shrewdly, and 
 on more than one occasion prevented an impulsive girl 
 from doing that which she would have regretted all the 
 rest of her life. 
 
 One such instance is that of Miss L , whose 
 
 father intended to leave her a fortune, and wanted her 
 to marry a certain lord. The girl however was in love 
 with a penniless colonel, and they would have married 
 had not Nash revealed the matter to the father. The 
 colonel challenged Nash — who naturally declined — and 
 then, his creditors being too many for him, disappeared. 
 
 Two years later, the father having died and left his 
 daughter £1,500 a year, she, though still loving her 
 colonel, accepted the nobleman. But Nash discovered 
 that the poor soldier was reduced to what in those days 
 was regarded as the last extremity, that of acting with 
 strolling players at Peterborough. He therefore invited 
 
 Miss L and her lover to go there with him and see 
 
 the play. They sat in the front row of the spectators 
 when the colonel as Tom in The Conscious Lovers 
 
 "5 
 
n6 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 appeared on the stage. He saw the girl at once, and she 
 fainted at the sight of him. Distracted, he could not 
 remember his part, and his emotion overcoming every 
 other thought, " he flew and caught her in his arms." 
 Nash gave his blessing, and the wedding took place soon 
 after. 
 
 Another instance is the much-quoted case of Miss 
 
 Sylvia S , who, well-born, beautiful, and gay, with a 
 
 fortune of^ 10,000, arrived at Bath at the age of nineteen. 
 She became a toast, and found so many lovers that she 
 knew not how to choose. Her choice fell upon a 
 worthless man, who allowed her to dissipate her fortune 
 in paying his debts in spite of all that Nash could do to 
 prevent. The lover disappeared, and Sylvia was left 
 penniless and heart-broken. Nash induced her to return 
 to Bath, interested ladies in her behalf, and so gave her a 
 new start ; but she took to gaming, and accepting the 
 invitation of a disreputable woman, who was keeper of 
 a table, she still further lost caste. Then Nash, knowing 
 that she was foolish and not vicious, induced a gentleman 
 to make her governess to his children, and at his house 
 she lived quietly for some time, but eventually com- 
 mitted suicide by hanging herself with a girdle made of 
 silver thread, the ribbon she had at first used having 
 broken with her weight. 
 
 The evidences of Nash's generosity are innumerable. 
 There was the poor clergyman who did his best to 
 support his wife and six children on £30 a year, and 
 whose coat and stockings were so full of holes that Nash 
 gave him the name of Dr. Cullender. Being made aware 
 of the man's distress, however, the Beau, one Sunday 
 evening when the people were drinking tea at Harrison's, 
 went round raising a subscription, beginning it himself 
 with five guineas. Thus he raised two hundred guineas, 
 
Erecting a Hospital 117 
 
 and further persuaded a patron to bestow a living worth 
 £150 a year upon the poor parson. 
 
 Nash's charity, indiscriminate and impulsive, often 
 doing no lasting good, at times saved people from want 
 and despair and gave them a new start. In severe 
 weather, when hunger came upon the poor, he would 
 visit their houses and directly relieve those too proud 
 to beg. He spent enormous sums himself in this way, 
 and collected more. Perhaps the greatest monument to 
 his charitable nature lay in the hospital he suggested ; 
 and with the help of Doctor Oliver and Mr. Allen — the 
 last-named being one of the greatest benefactors that 
 Bath could number among its inhabitants — this hospital 
 was at length erected, being large enough to hold a 
 hundred and ten leprous and paralytic patients. It took 
 thirty years of constant begging and giving before the 
 building was complete, for the public was slow to see the 
 necessity or the good of the scheme. 
 
 The Beau thoroughly understood the value of adver- 
 tisement. When the Prince of Orange was cured by 
 taking the waters in 1734, Nash caused an obelisk thirty 
 feet high to be erected in The Grove, which was afterwards 
 called Orange Grove. The Prince's arms adorned one 
 side of the pedestal and a Latin inscription was carved on 
 another to this effect : " In Memory of the Happy 
 Restoration of the Health of the Prince of Orange through 
 the Favour of God, and to the Great Joy of Britain, by 
 Drinking the Bath Waters." 
 
 When Frederick, Prince of Wales, was cured, in 1738, 
 he gave a large gold enamelled snuff-box to Nash, 
 and the latter erected an obelisk seventy feet high in 
 Queen Square, to commemorate this important visit. 
 With some difficulty he induced Pope to write an inscrip- 
 tion for this, which, when done, was of simple enough 
 
n8 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 tenor. It seems that the Prince of Orange also gave Nash 
 a snuff-box, and thenceforward every one who wished to 
 acknowledge kindness from the Beau, presented him with 
 one of these dainty toys, until for him it seemed to rain 
 snuff-boxes. 
 
 Goldsmith says that Nash was at this time at the 
 height of his authority and vanity. " He was treated in 
 every respect like a great man ; he had his levee, his 
 flatterers, his buffoons, his good-natured creatures, and 
 even his dedicators. A trifling, ill-supported vanity was 
 his foible, and while he received the homage of the vulgar, 
 and enjoyed the familiarity of the rich, he felt no pain for 
 the unpromising view of poverty that lay before him ; he 
 enjoyed the world as it went, and drew upon content for 
 the deficiencies of fortune." 
 
 Among the people who honoured Nash by wishing to 
 dedicate a book to him, was one Poulter or Baxter, a 
 highwayman, swindler, and rogue. Even to Nash's vanity 
 this was too much ; he would not allow the book to be 
 printed, but he kept the manuscript and by the help of 
 Baxter learnt much concerning sharpers and gamesters, 
 which enabled him to do many a good turn to his subjects 
 in advising and warning them. Douglas Jerrold's amusing 
 play introduces Baxter as one of the prominent characters, 
 and shows by what subtle methods Nash worked to save 
 men from their own folly. 
 
 The Beau was a professed free-thinker, and had many 
 disputes and arguments upon the subject of religion. 
 Wesley, in his Journal, records a meeting with him in 
 which, for once, the victory was not with the Wit. 
 
 " There was great expectation at Bath of what a 
 noted man was to do to me there ; and I was much 
 entreated not to preach, because no one knew what might 
 happen. By this report I also gained a much larger 
 
Nash Discomfited 119 
 
 audience, among whom were many of the rich and great. 
 I told them plainly the Scripture had concluded them all 
 under sin — high and low, rich and poor, one with another. 
 Many of them seemed to be a little surprised, and 
 were sinking apace into seriousness, when their champion 
 appeared, and coming close to me, asked by what authority 
 I did these things. 
 
 " I replied : ■ By the authority of Jesus Christ, con- 
 veyed to me by the (now) Archbishop of Canterbury, 
 when he laid hands upon me and said, "Take thou 
 authority to preach the Gospel." ' 
 
 " He said : < This is contrary to Act of Parliament ; this 
 is a conventicle.' 
 
 "I answered: 'Sir, the conventicles mentioned in 
 that Act (as the preamble shows) are seditious meetings ; 
 but this is not such ; here is no shadow of sedition 
 therefore it is not contrary to that Act.' 
 
 " He replied : < I say it is : and, besides, your preach 
 ing frightens people out of their wits.' 
 
 " ■ Sir, did you ever hear me preach ? ' 
 " ' No.' 
 
 " c How then can you judge of what you never heard?' 
 " * Sir, by common report.' 
 
 <c c Common report is not enough. Give me leave, sir, 
 to ask, Is not your name Nash ? ' 
 " ' My name is Nash.' 
 
 "'Sir, I dare not judge of you by common report : I 
 think it is not enough to judge by.' 
 
 "Here he paused a while, and having recovered himself, 
 said : ■ I desire to know what this people comes here for': 
 on which one replied, < Sir, leave him to me : let an old 
 woman answer him. You, Mr. Nash, take care of your 
 body ; we take care of our souls ; and for the food of our 
 souls we come here.' 
 
120 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 " He replied not a word, but walked away." 
 
 Though he often won at the tables, he also lost, and 
 upon some occasions used very bad language. Chesterfield 
 writes of him in 1734 as giving a ball at Lyndsay's, at 
 which " he wore his gold-laced clothes . . . and looked 
 so fine, that, standing by chance in the middle of the 
 dancers he was taken by many at a distance for a gilt 
 garland. 1 He concluded his evening as usual with basset 
 and blasphemy." 
 
 He once lost £500 at a sitting, and grumbling about 
 it to Lord Chesterfield, asked : " Is it not surprising that 
 fortune should always serve me so ? " 
 
 " Not at all," replied the Earl readily. " It cannot be 
 surprising that you should lose your money, but all the 
 world is surprised where you get money to lose." 
 
 A joke of Sheridan's during Bath's greatest popularity 
 as a gaming centre is worth repeating. There was a 
 Major Brereton, noted for his high play, and when Sheridan 
 met him once after a long absence he asked : 
 
 (< How are you, major ; how have you been going on 
 of late?" 
 
 " I have had a great misfortune since last we met," 
 was the reply. c< I have lost Mrs. Brereton." 
 
 " Aye ! " answered Sheridan. " How did you lose 
 her, at hazard or at quinze ? " 
 
 So long as there were no restrictions upon gaming 
 Nash prospered at Bath. He lived luxuriously in a 
 great house in St. John's Court, and drove six fine 
 horses — six horses so well matched and pacing so well 
 together, that it seemed as if the coach were drawn by 
 but one. He kept a coachman, postillion, two footmen 
 in livery, a gentleman out of livery, and a running 
 footman. In this equipage he drove to Tunbridge, where 
 1 An allusion to May-day customs. 
 
The Gaming Acts 121 
 
 he spent a few months every year arranging its social 
 functions. 
 
 It was in 1739, when Nash was on the crest of the 
 wave, that the first blow to his fortunes was given ; for 
 while he was at Tunbridge an Act was passed against 
 gaming, in which all private lotteries as well as Basset, 
 Hazard, Ace of Hearts, and Pharaoh were suppressed. 
 The Act naturally led to evasion, new games were 
 invented, and a new Act passed. Other games, such as 
 Marlborough's Battles, Roily-Polly, and E. O., were set 
 up ; and as Nash could no longer play openly, he shared 
 the bank with the inventor of E. O., one named Cook, and 
 the room keeper at Tunbridge. Returning to Bath Nash 
 started E. O. there, and took a fourth share with two 
 other people. At both places he was cheated, his share of 
 the profits becoming less and less. A further Gaming 
 Act in 1745 affected him still more, and he resolved to 
 go to law to secure the money his partners should have 
 paid him. He lost the suit, and suffered from revealing 
 to his public that he was concerned in the gaming table. 
 
 Then came a hard time for poor Nash, who had 
 lost not only his means of support but also many friends 
 and public esteem as well. He fell into ill-health 
 too, and became depressed. To the end of his life he 
 remained " King of Bath," but his wit degenerated into 
 rudeness ; with the usual forgetfulness of age he also 
 became prosy, telling the same stories over and over 
 again, and — seeing past events through a magnifying lens 
 — made a great hero of himself. His doctor was Dr. 
 Cheyne, already mentioned, and he, having prescribed for 
 him, asked him the next day if he had followed the 
 prescription. 
 
 " No," says he, " for if I had I should have broke my 
 neck, for I threw it out of a two-pair-of-stairs window." 
 
 8 
 
122 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 For some time calumny was busy with his name, 
 it being stated that he had misappropriated some funds, 
 an accusation which he most strenuously and solemnly 
 denied, and for which no proof could be given. His 
 irritability grew, and he often said things which gave great 
 annoyance. One lady, suffering with a deformed back, 
 however paid him in his own coin. She had but just 
 arrived when Nash, accosting her, asked whence she came. 
 
 "Straight from London," she replied. 
 
 " Confound me, madam," said he ; u then you must 
 have been damnably warpt by the way." 
 
 It is possible that she was, or looked, very young, for 
 seeing her again that evening Nash asked her if she knew 
 her Catechism, and followed this by demanding facetiously 
 whether she knew the name of Tobit's dog ! 
 
 u Yes, sir," replied the lady ; " his name was Nash, 
 and a very impudent dog he was." 
 
 On another occasion, at a ball, he called upon a lady 
 to stand up for the minuet, and she refused, saying she 
 did not wish to dance. 
 
 " Not wish to dance, madam ! 'Fore God you shall 
 dance, or not come here at all ! " roared Nash, much to 
 the anger of those who heard him. 
 
 One of the favourite stories which he told in his later 
 years was concerning the activity of his youth. 
 
 " Here I stand, gentlemen, that could once leap forty- 
 two feet upon level ground, at three standing jumps, 
 backward or forward. One, two, three, dart like an 
 arrow out of a bow. But I am old now. I remember I 
 once leaped for three hundred guineas with Count 
 Klopstock, the great leaper, leaping-master to the Prince 
 of Passau ; you must all have heard of him. First he 
 began with the running jump, and a most damnable 
 bounce it was, that's certain. Everybody concluded that 
 
A Curious Wager 123 
 
 he had the match hollow ; when only taking off my hat, 
 and stripping off neither coat, shoes, nor stockings, mind 
 me, I fetches a run, and went beyond him one foot, 
 three inches and three-quarters ; measured, upon my soul, 
 by Captain Pately's own standard." 
 
 The Beau's career was watched with interest in London 
 as well as in Bath. Horace Walpole mentions him in his 
 Diary of 1755 : — "I, t'other night at White's, found a 
 very remarkable entry in our very — very remarkable 
 wager-book. c Lord Montford bets sir John Bland 
 twenty guineas that Nash outlives Cibber ! ' How odd 
 that these two old creatures, selected for their antiquities, 
 should live to see both their wagerers put an end to their 
 own lives. 1 Cibber is within a few days of eighty-four, 
 still hearty, and clear, and well. I told him I was glad 
 to see him look so well. * Faith,' said he, * it is very 
 well that I look at all ! ' " 
 
 Poor Nash ! Some unkind spirit wrote a letter pur- 
 porting to be from the old actor Quin to a certain 
 nobleman, asking him to dethrone Nash and put him 
 (Quin) into his place. A copy of this was sent to Nash, 
 it being found among his papers after his death. The 
 letter stated that he was so disagreeable that he was 
 ruining Bath ; that it would be happy for this city if he 
 were dead ; and " he is now only fitt to read Shirlock 
 upon death, by which he may seave his soul and gaine 
 more than all the profitts he can make, by his white 
 hatt, suppose it to be died red," etc. 
 
 This feeling could not have been general, as many of 
 his friends subscribed for his memoirs, which he was 
 supposed to be writing : with a minimum subscription 
 of ten guineas many hundred pounds were collected, 
 which kept Nash going for a long while. Eventually the 
 
 1 " Both Lord Montford and Sir John Bland committed suicide." 
 
124 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Councillors meanly voted to this octogenarian who had 
 literally made the prosperity of their city, a pittance 
 of ^ioa month. It was not enough for his needs, and 
 his gorgeous collection of snuff-boxes vanished, with all 
 the rest of his treasures, so that at his death three snuff- 
 boxes — given by the Prince of Wales, Princess Amelia, and 
 the Countess of Burlington — some family pictures, and a 
 few books were all that remained of his house-full of 
 valuable bric-a-brac. 
 
 During his last years he was pestered with letters 
 from the " unco guid," whose certainty of their own 
 salvation seemed to have filled them with malice towards 
 other people. I give one specimen of such, which is quite 
 enough to condemn the religion of the writer. 
 
 a You are as odious to God as a corrupt carcass that 
 lies putrifying in the churchyard. You are as far from 
 doing your duty, or endeavouring after salvation, or 
 restoring yourself to the divine favour, as a heap of dry 
 bones nailed up in a coffin is from vigour and activity. 
 Think, sir, I conjure you, think upon this, if you have 
 any inclination to escape the fire that will never be 
 quenched. Would you be rescued from the fury and 
 fierce anger of God ? Would you be delivered from 
 weeping, and wailing, and incessant gnashing of teeth ? . . . 
 If you do not remedy in some degree the evils that 
 you have sent abroad, wretched will you be, above all 
 men to eternity. God's jealousy, like a consuming flame, 
 will smoke against you, as you yourself will see, in that 
 day when the mountains shall quake, and the hills shall 
 melt, and the earth be burnt up at His presence." 
 
 This sort of thing served to hurt the poor old man, 
 but could not possibly do him any good. Of it Gold- 
 smith says : 
 
 " In the name of piety, what was there criminal in his 
 
PHILIP DORMER STANHOPE, EARL OF CHESTERFIELD 
 
 25 
 
The Funeral of a King 127 
 
 conduct ? He had long been taught to consider his trifling 
 profession as a very serious and important business. He 
 went through his office with great gravity, solemnity, and 
 care ; why then denounce peculiar torments against a 
 poor, harmless creature, who did a thousand good things, 
 and whose greatest vice was vanity. He deserved ridicule, 
 indeed, and he found it, but scarce a single action of his 
 life, except one, deserves the asperity of reproach. " 
 
 I would go farther than Goldsmith and say that Nash 
 did an eminently good work in reforming Bath and 
 caring for a very large family for fifty years. He went 
 there as a gambler and good liver. As soon as he found 
 his feet there he put aside his habit of drinking, he kept 
 his mind alert and cool for his work ; he showed justice, 
 kindness, and generosity to his "subjects" ; and there is 
 on record no mean act of his except the incident of his 
 taking a share in the profits of the gaming table. 
 
 Beau Nash died at the age of eighty-eight on 
 February 3rd, 1761. The next day the mayor called 
 the Corporation together, and £50 was voted for the 
 burial of "their sovereign with proper respect." Four 
 days the body lay in state, and then was taken to the 
 Abbey Church. It was preceded by the charity girls and 
 boys singing a hymn, the " city music," and his own 
 band sounding a dirge. In spite of the condemnation 
 so warmly expressed to him in his life, three clergymen 
 walked before his coffin, and the six senior aldermen 
 supported the pall. The masters of the Assembly Rooms 
 followed as chief mourners, then the beadles of the 
 hospital which he had spent a fortune to endow, and 
 lastly came those patients who could walk. It was a 
 peculiarly appropriate following, and all Bath was astir 
 to see it pass, " even the tops of the houses were covered 
 with spectators." 
 
128 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Nash's friend, Doctor Oliver, wrote what he termed 
 " A faint Sketch of the Life, Character, and Manners of 
 the late Mr. Nash." It is lavish in its praise, though 
 it touches somewhat upon the Beau's faults, and is a 
 fitting conclusion to this story of the " King " of 
 Bath: 
 
 "This morning died Richard Nash, Esq.; Aged 
 eighty-eight. He was by birth a gentleman, an ancient 
 Briton ; By education a student of Jesus College, Oxford ; 
 By profession. . . .* His natural genius was too volatile for 
 any. He tried the army and the law ; but soon found his 
 mind superior to both. He was born to govern ; Nor was 
 his dominion, like that of other legislators over the servility 
 of the vulgar, but over the pride of the Noble, and the 
 Opulent. His public character was great, as it was 
 self-built and self-maintained : His private amiable, as 
 it was grateful, beneficient and generous. By the force 
 of genius he erected the city of Bath into a province of 
 pleasure, and became by universal consent, its legislator 
 and ruler. He plan'd, improved, and regulated all the 
 amusements of the place ; his fundamental law was that 
 of good breeding : Hold sacred decency and decorum^ his 
 constant maxim : Nobody, howsoever exalted by beauty, 
 blood, titles or riches, could be guilty of a breach of it, 
 unpunished — The penalty, his disapprobation^ and public 
 shame. To maintain the sovereignty he had established, 
 he published rules of behaviour, which from their 
 propriety, acquired the Force of laws ; and which the 
 highest never infring'd, without immediately undergoing 
 the public censure. He kept the men in order ; most 
 wisely, by prohibiting the wearing swords in his domin- 
 ions ; By which means he prevented sudden passion from 
 
 1 Hiatus in original. Dr. Oliver was evidently at a loss to give a name 
 to the Beau's profession. 
 
Life, Character, and Manners 129 
 
 causing the bitterness of unavailing repentance — In all 
 quarrels he was chosen the Umpire — and so just were 
 his decisions, that peace generally triumphed, crowned 
 with the mutual thanks of both parties. He kept the 
 ladies in good-humour ; most effectually by a nice ob- 
 servance of the rules of place and precedence; by ordaining 
 scandal to be the infallible mark of a foolish head and a 
 malicious heart, always rendering more suspicious the 
 reputation of her who propagated it, than that of the 
 person abused. Of the young, the gay, the heedless fair, 
 just launching into the dangerous sea of pleasure, he was 
 ever, unsolicited {sometimes unregarded) the kind protector : 
 humanely correcting even their mistakes in dress, as well 
 as improprieties of conduct : nay, often warning them, 
 though at the hazard of his life, against the artful snares 
 of designing men, or an improper acquaintance with 
 women of doubtful characters. Thus did he establish 
 his government on pillars of honour and politeness, which 
 could never be shaken : And maintained it, for full half 
 a century, with reputation, honour, and undisputed 
 authority, beloved, respected and revered. Of his private 
 character be it the first praise, that, while by his conduct, 
 the highest ranks became his subjects, he himself became 
 the servant of the poor, and the distressed ; whose cause 
 he ever pleaded amongst the rich, and enforced with all 
 the eloquence of a good example : They were ashamed 
 not to relieve those wants to which they saw him 
 administer with so noble a heart, and so liberal a hand. 
 Nor was his munificence confined to particulars, he being, 
 to all the public charities of this city, a liberal benefactor ; 
 not only by his own most generous subscriptions, but, by 
 always assuming, in their behalf, the character of a sturdy 
 beggar ; which he performed with such an authoritative 
 address to all ranks, without distinction, that few of the 
 
130 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 worst hearts had courage to refuse, what their own 
 inclinations would not have prompted them to bestow. 
 
 " Of a noble public spirit and a warm grateful heart, 
 the obelisk in the Grove and the beautiful needle in the 
 Square, are magnificent testimonies. The One erected 
 to preserve the memory of a most interesting event to 
 his country, the restitution of health, by the healing 
 waters of this place to the illustrious prince of Orange, 
 who came hither in a most languishing condition : The 
 Other, a noble offering of thanks to the late Prince of 
 Wales, and his royal Consort, for favours bestowed, and 
 honours by them conferred, on this city. 
 
 " His long and peaceful reign of absolute power was 
 so tempered by his excessive good-nature, that no instance 
 can be given either of his own cruelty, or of his suffering 
 that of others to escape its proper reward. Example 
 unprecedented amongst absolute monarchs. 
 
 " Reader 
 
 Ct This monarch was a man, and had his foibles, and 
 his faults ; which we would wish covered with the veil 
 of good-nature, made of the same piece with his own : 
 but, truth forceth us unwillingly to confess, his passions 
 were strong ; which, as they fired him to act strenuously 
 in good, hurried him to some excesses in evil. His fire, 
 not used to be kept under by an early restraint, burst 
 out too often into flaming acts, without waiting for the 
 cool approbation of his judgment. His generosity was 
 so great, that prudence often whispered him, in vain, that 
 she feared it would enter the neighbouring confine of 
 profusion : His charity so unbounded, that the severe 
 might suspect it sometimes to be the offspring of folly 
 or ostentation. 
 
"The Grandson of Atlas" 131 
 
 <c With all these, be they foibles, follies, faults, or 
 frailties, it will be difficult to point out amongst his con- 
 temporary Kings of the whole earth, more than ONE 
 who hath fewer, or less pernicious to mankind. His 
 existence (For life it scarcely might be called) was spun 
 out to so great an age, that the man was sunk, like many 
 former heroes in the weakness and infirmities of exhausted 
 nature ; the unwilling tax all animals must pay for multi- 
 plicity of days. Over his closing scene, charity long 
 spread her all-covering mantle, and dropped the curtain, 
 before the poor actor, though he had played his part, was 
 permitted to quit the stage. Now may she protect his 
 memory ! Every friend of Bath ; Every lover of decency, 
 decorum, and good breeding, must sincerely deplore the 
 loss of so excellent a governor ; and join in the most 
 fervent wishes (would I could say hopes) that there may 
 soon be found a man able and worthy to succeed him." 
 
 Quite as laudatory, and more amusing, are some lines 
 from Anstey's " New Bath Guide," in which Simpkin 
 Blunderhead tells us that — 
 
 The gods, their peculiar favour to show, 
 Sent Hermes to Bath in the shape of a Beau : 
 The Grandson of Atlas came down from above 
 To bless all the regions of pleasure and love; 
 To lead the fair mymph thro' the various maze, 
 Bright beauty to marshal, his glory and praise ; 
 To govern, improve, and adorn the gay scene, 
 By the graces instructed, and Cyprian queen : 
 As when in a garden delightful and gay, 
 Where Flora is wont all her charms to display, 
 The sweet hyacinthus with pleasure we view 
 Contend with narcissus in delicate hue, 
 The gard'ner industrious trims out his border, 
 Puts each odoriferous plant in its order; 
 The myrtle he ranges, the rose and the lilly, 
 With iris and crocus, and daffa-down-dilly ; 
 
132 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Sweet peas and sweet oranges all he disposes 
 
 At once to regale your eyes and your noses : 
 
 Long reign'd the great Nash, this omnipotent lord, 
 
 Respected by youth, and by parents ador'd ; 
 
 For him not enough at a ball to preside, 
 
 Th' unwary and beautiful nymph would he guide ; 
 
 Oft tell her a tale, how the credulous maid 
 
 By man, by perfidious man, is betray'd ; 
 
 Taught charity's hand to relieve the distress, 
 
 While tears have his tender compassion exprest; 
 
 But alas ! he is gone, and the city can tell 
 
 How in years and in glory lamented he fell ; 
 
 Him mourned all the giants on Claverton's Mount ; 
 
 Him Avon deplor'd, him the Nymph of the Fount, 
 
 The crystalline streams. 
 
 Then perish his picture, his statue decay, 
 
 A tribute more lasting the Muses shall pay. 
 
 If true what philosophers all will assure us, 
 
 Who dissent from the doctrine of great Epicurus, 
 
 That the spirit's immortal : as poets allow, 
 
 If life's occupations are follow'd below : 
 
 In reward of his labours, his virtue and pains, 
 
 He is footing it now in th' Elysian plains, 
 
 Indulg'd as a token of Proserpine's favour, 
 
 To preside at her balls in a cream-colour'd beaver: 
 
 Then peace to his ashes — our grief be supprest, 
 
 Since we find such a phoenix has sprung from his nest ; 
 
 Kind heaven has sent us another professor, 
 
 Who follows the steps of his great predecessor. 
 
 "The King is dead, long live the King," is the sub- 
 stance of the last lines, but Bath was never again the place 
 that it had been under Nash. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 They looked wonderfully dainty in their well-combed periwigs, their 
 coats powdered half way down their back, their waistcoats of coloured silk 
 or satin richly embroidered with gold or silver lace ; their velvet breeches 
 and coloured stockings, and their great silver-buckled shoes. 
 
 J. F. Molloy. 
 
 DURING the life of Richard Nash there were many 
 remarkable figures in society who lived to dress, 
 men who thought the shape of the shoe-buckle, the 
 quality of the lace hung at the neck, or the exact cut 
 of the coat, to be among the most important things of 
 life. Such men were Lord Chesterfield, Lord Hervey, 
 George Selwyn, Lord Bolingbroke, Bubb Dodington, 
 and others. Of these Chesterfield was the amalgam of 
 the ambitious politician, the literary man, and the beau, 
 and it is difficult to say which of these varied character- 
 istics was the strongest. Lord Hervey was ambitious of 
 office, and extraordinarily devoted to dress in a finicking, 
 dainty way. Bubb Dodington was very much a Beau, 
 but of a somewhat garish and self-assertive type, and 
 M. Barbey d'Aurevilly says that Bolingbroke most deserved 
 the name of all the men of his time ; but then, Bolingbroke 
 was better known in France than any of the others. 
 
 Bolingbroke once offended Queen Anne in a matter 
 sartorial. Being summoned to her presence in great 
 haste, he hurried to obey without changing any article 
 of his attire; thus he appeared in a Ramilie or tie-wig, 
 instead of a full-bottomed one, provoking the remark 
 
 133 
 
134 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 from Her Majesty, that she supposed he would come 
 to Court in his night-cap next. In full dress Boling- 
 broke was a gorgeous figure, for though the gallants 
 considered ribbons to be out of date, they still indulged 
 in many fripperies. See him, then, in full-bottomed 
 wig, rising high over his forehead, parted or not at the 
 centre, and flowing down his back to below his waist ; 
 his hat is garnished with gold braid and lace, turned up 
 at the side ; his full-skirted coat reaching nearly to his 
 knees is of claret colour, though on some occasions he 
 chooses rose or purple. And the coat is a wonderfully 
 ornamented garment. Down one edge are many button- 
 holes to take the gold or jewelled buttons which meet 
 them at the opposite edge, and all are surrounded by gold 
 or silver lace, which also covers the long seams and the 
 pockets. Enormous cuffs are turned back over the sleeves, 
 and rich lace or frilled shirt sleeves hang upon his hands. 
 His blue (sometimes scarlet) silk stockings are pulled well 
 above the knee, almost hiding the short breeches, and a 
 long waistcoat with flapped pockets is of the gayest 
 possible colour. His legs are gartered below the knee 
 with gold braid, finished with gold fringe ; square buckles 
 stretch across his shoes, which bear a large instep flap 
 reaching up the front of the ankle, and — a sign of extreme 
 dandyism — the heels are bright red. His long cravat is 
 edged with lace, and is knotted loosely round his throat, 
 and there is no belt to support his sword, which modestly 
 peeps from between the skirts of his coat. He never 
 goes abroad without his snuff-box, his eyeglass, and a 
 cane attached to a ribbon. 
 
 The wigs were at this time so enormous that most 
 people who preferred comfort were seeking something 
 more convenient and less expensive. Tom Brown speaks 
 of a man who wore a periwig which " was large enough 
 
Thirty Pounds for a Wig 135 
 
 to have loaded a camel, and he bestowed upon it at least 
 a bushel of powder." The battle of Ramilies gave the 
 name to a new wig of white hair drawn upwards and 
 back from the forehead, and puffed out at the sides. 
 This had a pig-tail to finish it at the back, and Lord 
 Bolingbroke is said to have invented the ribbons to tie 
 it at top and bottom. The periwig cost from £3 to £30, 
 and Gay, in his " Trivia," notices the fact that it was no 
 uncommon occurrence for a wig to be snatched from the 
 head in a dark street. Powder was much used, and 
 on adjusting his wig the wearer had to cover his face 
 with a glass mask while the hairdresser dredged him with 
 scented flour. 
 
 As for the cane, it was sometimes hung on one of the 
 waistcoat buttons, sometimes flourished in the air, but 
 never used as a walking-stick ; and it was regarded as a 
 mark of fashion to have the waistcoat sprinkled all down 
 its length with snuff. 
 
 In 1697 the Beaux were described as " creatures com- 
 pounded of a periwig ; and a coat laden with powder as 
 white as a miller's, a face besmeared with snuff and a 
 few affected airs." Misson, in his " Travels in England," 
 adds : " They are exactly like Moliere's Marquis, and want 
 nothing but that title, which they would assume in any 
 other country but England." To keep the wig in order 
 the Beaux carried looking-glasses on the lids of their 
 snuff-boxes, and elegant combs appeared after every puff 
 of wind, being used with a dainty curve of the hand 
 while conversing with ladies or in any public place. 
 
 Though F. W. Fairholt, in his "Costume in England," 
 says that " Charles II. may be said to have given the 
 death-blow to exaggeration in male costume, when he 
 put on solemnly a long close vest of dark cloth, with a 
 determination never to alter it," it seems to me that 
 
136 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 the Beaux of the time of William III. and Anne managed 
 to effect some striking exaggerations. It is quite easy 
 to imagine Beau Nash like a ' c golden garland " in his 
 waistcoat and coat covered with gold lace, his silk 
 stockings and high red heels. It is not quite so easy to 
 think of men in the middle and later part of the century 
 so decked out ; Lord Chesterfield, for instance, or the 
 circle which surrounded Horace Walpole ; and there are 
 few people of to-day who will not listen with incredulity 
 on being told that Charles James Fox, with his obese 
 figure, his untidy dress, his rugged, " saturnine " face^ 
 crossed by thick bushy black brows, contentedly reading 
 Herodotus while his furniture was being carted away by 
 creditors, was at one time " an outrageous fop." Yet so 
 it is, all were fops, though many of them were something 
 more than fops. 
 
 Philip Dormer Stanhope, fourth Lord Chesterfield, 
 who lived from 1694 to 1773, the courtier, the politician, 
 the man of letters, the wit, the beau, and the untiring 
 seeker after fame, would not be included in these pages 
 were it not for his equally untiring desire to make an im- 
 pression upon all who beheld him. He was a man who, 
 while probably sincere, seemed to say things from courtesy 
 or expediency rather than from feeling or conviction ; who, 
 while knowing every one, attracted few friends ; ambitious 
 of power, yet always missing it ; coveting posts that 
 were refused him, and given those which came as a 
 rebuff; making powerful enemies when he most desired 
 friends ; one whose memory lives more by the denun- 
 ciations of those who disliked him than through the 
 praise of his admirers, yet who with it all was a man of 
 great attainments. 
 
 Not only in his youth — in a letter written when in 
 his teens he says : " I shall only tell you that I am 
 
Chesterfield's bitter Tongue 137 
 
 insolent ; I talk a good deal ; I am very loud and per- 
 emptory ; I sing and dance as I go along ; and lastly, 1 
 spend a monstrous deal of money in powder, feathers, 
 white gloves, etc." — but in his age, he paid great at- 
 tention to dress, for he was ever self-conscious, and he 
 liked to feel that he was beyond criticism. Going to Paris 
 on leaving " that illiberal seminary," Cambridge, he re- 
 turned, " the finest young gentleman then to be found 
 in the ranks of the English nobility." We have both 
 Dr. Johnson's and Lord Hervey's words for it that his 
 manners were "exquisite," and as both disliked him, we 
 may be sure that it was true. And above all things 
 he had a ready wit, though Dr. Johnson savagely styled 
 hirn as but " a wit among lords, and a lord among wits." 
 It was no doubt in part his caustic tongue which gained 
 him enemies, among whom was Queen Caroline, who 
 told Lord Hervey that Lord Chesterfield turned her into 
 ridicule, and that she had often advised him not to pro- 
 voke her, for if he had more wit than she, she had a 
 most bitter tongue, and would certainly pay him any 
 debt of that kind with exorbitant interest. She added 
 that he would deny having said anything about her, 
 and repeat the offence as soon as she turned her back. 
 People sought Chesterfield for his wit, and feared 
 him for his indiscriminate use of it — by which he injured 
 himself more than he did others. He would utter his 
 incisive sarcasm so graciously that it would be only after 
 reflection that the victim would thoroughly feel the sting, 
 and so more fully resent it. Hervey quotes two lines 
 from Boileau which he said exactly suited Chesterfield : 
 " Mais c'est un petit fou qui se croit tout permis, et 
 qui pour un bon mot va perdre vinght amis." 2 Queen 
 
 1 He is a little fool who believes every liberty is allowed him, an d for 
 a witty saying loses twenty friends. 
 
13 8 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Caroline neither forgot nor forgave his youthful indis- 
 cretions of speech, and they practically wrecked his 
 career. The unfortunate thing is that so few of his 
 sayings have come down to us. 
 
 George I. was not exacting when the beauty of his 
 mistresses was in question. Both Madame Schulenberg 
 (the Duchess of Kendal) and Madame Kilmansegge, 
 whom he brought with him from Hanover, raised the 
 wonder of the English people by their plainness and 
 their abundant flesh. Of them Chesterfield said that 
 they were " two considerable examples of the King's bad 
 taste and good stomach." Of Madame Kilmansegge the 
 Princess of Wales once remarked with a scornful laugh, 
 " She looks young — if one may judge from her com- 
 plexion. She might be eighteen or twenty." 
 
 " Yes, eighteen or twenty stone," replied his lord- 
 ship, who continued : " The standard of His Majesty's 
 taste, as exemplified in his mistress, makes all ladies who 
 desire his favour, and who are near the suitable age, 
 strain and swell themselves like the frogs in the fable, 
 to rival the bulk and dignity of the Ox. Some succeed, 
 others — burst." 
 
 Sir Thomas Robinson, who was tall enough to be 
 nicknamed Long, and who was said to be very stupid, 
 once challenged Chesterfield to write a couplet upon 
 him. At once Chesterfield wrote and handed him the 
 two lines : 
 
 Unlike my subject now shall be my song; 
 It shall be witty and it shan't be long. 
 
 When told that Sir Thomas was " dying by inches," 
 he answered, and the retort must have been irresistible : 
 "If that be so he has still a good time to live." 
 
 There were two Sir Thomas Robinsons, of very dif- 
 
The Ugliest Man at Court 139 
 
 ferent build, of whom Lady Townsend said : " I can't 
 imagine why the one should be preferred to the other ; 
 I see but little difference between them ; the one is as 
 broad as the other is long." 
 
 Chesterfield once addressed a letter to Lord Pem- 
 broke, who was given to swimming frequently in the 
 river : " To the Earl of Pembroke in the Thames, over 
 against Whitehall " ; and Horace Walpole says, " that 
 was sure to find him within a certain number of 
 fathoms." 
 
 The neatest mot recorded is that which Chesterfield 
 uttered on hearing of the marriage of an unknown 
 parvenu with the daughter of a notorious lady : " No- 
 body's son has married Everybody's daughter." 
 
 He was by some of his contemporaries described as 
 cc the ugliest man at Court," and yet scarcely with justifi- 
 cation. " His figure is the worst of him," writes Mr. 
 W. H. Craig in his recent biography, " being too coarse 
 and stunted for the pale, intellectual face that surmounts 
 it. The forehead high, but somewhat narrow. The 
 eyes keen, dark, cold, are surmounted by thick, arched, 
 black eyebrows, giving a peculiar character to the face 
 which at once arrests notice. The orbital cavities are 
 very large . . . the nose thin, aquiline, prominent ; not 
 so beak-like as the elder Pitt . . . not a badly shaped 
 mouth by any means, with firm, well-cut lips . . . teeth 
 sadly discoloured." 
 
 In dress he reminds us of Nash, and the follow- 
 ing description of him in the Pump Room at Bath 
 about the year 1730 shows what he was like at that 
 period. 
 
 u He wore the ornate evening dress which fashion then 
 demanded — a peach-coloured velvet coat garnished with 
 bullion in various devices, the cuffs edged with deep 
 
 9 
 
140 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 ruffles of costly Mechlin, whereof a loosely-tied cravat 
 surrounds the wearer's throat ; a wondrously embroidered 
 waistcoat of luminous material, traversed diagonally by 
 a broad blue riband, and descending low upon breeches 
 of dull-coloured satin, which end in legs of rather clumsy 
 model, encased in silken hose, having thereto attached 
 large, though not unshapely, feet inserted in high-heeled 
 pumps, and crossed on the instep by huge buckles that 
 glimmer with a hundred twinkling lights. A gorgeous 
 star on the left breast ..." signifying that the wearer 
 had been honoured with the Order of the Garter. 
 Mr. Craig sums up the description of this man as 
 " splendour lacking harmony, symmetry lacking charm, 
 elegance lacking ease, suavity without the impression 
 of sincerity, dignity without that absence of constraint 
 which true dignity implies." 
 
 Chesterfield had and encouraged a reputation for 
 gallantry, though he was never known to have experi- 
 enced a great passion. When King George once heard 
 that Lords Bolingbroke, Chesterfield, and Carteret were 
 each engaged in writing a history of his reign, he re- 
 marked : — " I shall like to read Bolingbroke's, who, of all 
 the rascals and knaves who have been lying against me 
 these ten years, has certainly the best parts and the most 
 knowledge. He is a scoundrel, but he is a scoundrel 
 of a higher class than Chesterfield. Chesterfield is a 
 little tea-table scoundrel ; that tells little womanish lies 
 to make quarrels in families ; and tries to make women 
 lose their reputations, and make their husbands beat 
 them, without any object but to give himself airs." 
 
 The Queen said all the three histories would be heaps 
 of lies. " Bolingbroke's would be great lies, Chesterfield's 
 little lies, and Carteret's lies of both sorts." 
 
 Chesterfield married, in 1 733, Melusina de Schulenberg, 
 
The Burnt Will 141 
 
 daughter of the lady already mentioned and — it was 
 believed — of George I., for as Walpole says, " she 
 was very like him." The first George left a will in 
 which a large sum of money was bequeathed to Melusina, 
 but George II. burnt it. Lord Chesterfield intended 
 to take legal steps to recover the ,£40,000 thus left ; 
 but the King, on the advice of the Lord Chancellor, 
 arranged the matter by paying over £"20,000. It is 
 said that Chesterfield had been attracted by Melusina 
 when quite a young man, and that she had then and 
 always preferred him to all others. After the marriage 
 they kept up different establishments, she still residing 
 with her aunt — or mother — the Duchess of Kendal, and 
 he at the house next door. She was a good and thought- 
 ful wife, and outlived him several years, but they had 
 no children, the boy to whom the celebrated letters were 
 written being a natural son. 
 
 In his old age Chesterfield led a retired life in the 
 great mansion which he had built. His library was a 
 beautiful room, the walls " covered half way up with 
 rich and classical stores of literature ; above the cases 
 were, in close series, the portraits of eminent authors, 
 French and English, with most of whom he had con- 
 versed ; over these, and immediately under the massive 
 cornice, extended all round in foot-long capitals the 
 Horatian lines : 
 
 Nunc . veterum . libris . 
 
 Nunc . somno . et . inertibus . Horis . 
 
 Lucen . solicter . jucunda . oblivia . vitea. 
 
 On the mantelpieces and cabinets stood busts of old 
 orators, interspersed with voluptuous vases and bronzes, 
 antique or Italian, and airy statuettes in marble or 
 alabaster, of nude or semi-nude opera nymphs.'* 
 
H 2 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Here he wrote much more than was published. " I 
 used to snatch up my pen with momentary raptures, 
 because by choice ; but now I am married to it . . . 
 I often scribble, but at the same time protest to you that 
 I almost as often burn." 
 
 Chesterfield suffered from an ailment which he said 
 " was goutish-rheumatism or a rheumatic gout/' and 
 talked of miserable age. " Fontenelle's last words at a 
 hundred and three were ' Je souffre d'etre ' ; deaf and 
 infirm as I am, I can with truth say the same thing at 
 sixty-three." However, he lived sixteen years longer. 
 It was his custom to take a drive each day almost 
 up to the last, and when a distinguished visitor called 
 upon him once, and shortly took his leave, the Earl 
 said lightly, " I will not detain you, for I must go and 
 rehearse my funeral." It was also in his old age that 
 he replied to an inquiry concerning a friend : u To 
 tell you the truth, we have both been dead this 
 twelve month, but we do not own it." He was 
 courteous under every circumstance, even though he 
 could not restrain his tendency to say a smart thing. 
 When his valet parted the curtains of the bed on 
 which his lordship lay dying, to announce that Mr. 
 Dayrolles had called to see him, he found strength to 
 make his last effort at speech with, " Give Dayrolles 
 a chair." 
 
 In his will he left his servants two years' wages, 
 adding to the clause : " I consider them as unfortunate 
 friends ; my equals by nature, and my inferiors only 
 in the difference of our fortunes." 
 
 John, Lord Hervey, the persistent enemy of Chester- 
 field, was as much liked by Queen Caroline as the latter 
 was disliked. He was a strangely vain man, and yet 
 it is difficult to say how much his solicitude for his face 
 
THE DUKE OF QUEENSBERRY, " OLD O." 
 " The Wickedest of Wicked Old Men." 
 
 H3 
 
The Painted Child of Dirt 145 
 
 did or did not arise from a desire to hide the evidence 
 of ill-health which must have been there. He was a 
 brother of the handsome and witty Carr, and the second 
 son of the Earl of Bristol. 
 
 He himself was evidently good-looking, though 
 almost as many gruesome jests were levelled at his cada- 
 verous appearance as at that of old Samuel Rogers. In 
 dress, in wit, and in that stoical determination to meet 
 every event with a smile, he was essentially a Beau. He 
 is described as being " singularly handsome, fair and 
 effeminate," his features clearly cut, " the forehead lofty 
 and intellectual, the mouth at once delicate and satirical, 
 the eyes full of repose and thought." 
 
 Fair as he was, he habitually painted his face, and 
 paint in those days was an extraordinary thing. Many 
 people used white lead to produce " a beautiful fairness," 
 and more than one great lady was said to have died from 
 this poisonous aid to beauty ! Of these one was Lady 
 Coventry, the elder of the lovely Gunning sisters, who 
 died at the age of twenty-seven from a disorder said 
 to have been caused by the quantity of paint she laid 
 on her face. It was regarded as almost indecent among 
 women not to paint, and the result was a most obvious 
 effect of pinkness and whiteness which to-day would be 
 thought more suitable for a clown than for any one 
 else. 
 
 Pope, who hated Hervey because of his warm friend- 
 ship with Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, wrote of him 
 as " the painted child of dirt," saying another time, 
 " his face is so finished that neither sickness nor passion 
 could deprive it of colour." The ballads of the day 
 styled him " Hervey the Handsome." When a young 
 man Hervey spent some time in the country in " the 
 perpetual pursuit of poetry," much to his father's annoy- 
 
146 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 ance, and Pope seizes upon this taste for poetry in one 
 of his Satires : 
 
 The lines are weak, another's pleas'd to say. 
 Lord Fanny spins a thousand such a day. 
 
 " Lord Fanny " being Lord Hervey. In the " Dunciad," 
 too, referring to a dedication made by a writer to Hervey, 
 he alludes to Hervey as Narcissus and a blockhead : 
 
 There march'd the bard and blockhead side by side, 
 Who rhym'd for hire and patronis'd for pride. 
 Narcissus, prais'd with all a Parson's power, 
 Look'd a white lily sunk beneath a shower. 
 
 Unlike the professional Beau, Hervey was intellec- 
 tually brilliant. He was also a linguist and a politician, 
 ambitious of advancement. 
 
 He fought at least one duel. An anonymous pam- 
 phlet, probably by Sir William Yonge, had been published, 
 severely criticising Mr. Pulteney, and that gentleman de- 
 clared Hervey to be the author : so another anonymous 
 pamphlet appeared, this time defaming Lord Hervey. 
 The latter challenged Mr. Pulteney to deny the author- 
 ship of it, and that gentleman replied that he would 
 stand by every word in the pamphlet. Of course there 
 was nothing to be done but to fight a duel, and the two 
 met one Monday morning in Upper St. James's Park, 
 which we now name the Green Park. They were both 
 slightly wounded, and Hervey would have been killed 
 but that Pulteney's foot slipped, upon which the seconds 
 declared the duel at an end. 
 
 The second offending pamphlet gave Pope the sub- 
 ject for an invective against Hervey in his " Epistle to 
 Arbuthnot," where, bestowing upon him the name of 
 
Hervey, Fair of Face 147 
 
 Sporus y he twists every virtue, vice, or defect into a thing 
 of shame : 
 
 P. Let Sporus tremble — 
 
 A. What ! that thing of silk ? 
 
 Sporus ! that mere white curd of ass's milk ? 
 
 Satire or sence, alas ! can Sporus feel ? 
 
 Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel? 
 
 P. Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings, 
 
 This painted child of dirt that stinks and stings ! 
 
 Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, 
 
 Yet wit ne'er tastes and beauty ne'er enjoys; 
 
 As well-bred spaniels civilly delight 
 
 In mumbling of the game they dare not bite. 
 
 Eternal smiles his emptiness betray, 
 
 As shallow streams run dimpling all the way. 
 
 Whether in florid impotence he speaks, 
 
 And as the prompter breathes the puppet squeaks; 
 
 Or at the ear of Eve, the familiar toad ! 
 
 Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad. 
 
 In pun or politics, or tales or lies, 
 
 Or spite, or smut, or rhymes, or blasphemies. 
 
 His wit all see-saw between that and this, 
 
 Now high, now low, now master up, now miss, 
 
 And he himself one vile antithesis. 
 
 Amphibious thing ! that acting either part, 
 
 The trifling head or the corrupted heart, 
 
 Fop at the toilet, flatterer at the board, 
 
 Now trips a lady, and now struts a lord. 
 
 Eve's temper thus the rabbins have express'd, 
 
 A cherub's face — a reptile all the rest ! 
 
 Beauty that shocks you, parts that none can trust, 
 
 Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust! 
 
 The poet Gay wrote of him in a very different 
 strain upon his marriage with <c the beautiful Molly 
 Lepell," a maid-in-waiting much admired at Court. 
 
 Now, Hervey, fair of face, I mark full well 
 
 With thee, Youth's youngest daughter, sweet Lepell. 
 
148 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 He was, as has been said, a great favourite with Queen 
 Caroline, who was in the habit of requiring his society each 
 morning after breakfast that she might talk over affairs, 
 and further indulge in gossip and confidences concerning 
 those about her Court and things which interested her. 
 This made Hervey so useful as an intermediary with 
 the Queen, who was a greater ruler than the King, that 
 Walpole could not give him the preferment he desired, 
 though after her death the post of Lord Privy Seal was 
 allotted him. The Queen had a real affection for this 
 courtier, for in spite of his painted face and affectation of 
 manner she knew him to possess sound judgment and to 
 be a faithful friend. She was frequently heard to say : 
 " It is well I am so old, or I should be talked of for this 
 creature,' ' she being fourteen years the senior ; and in 
 his Memoirs Hervey tells us that she used to call him 
 " her child, her pupil, and her charge." Walpole de- 
 clares that the " virtuous Princess Caroline " was deeply 
 in love with him. Like Brummell, nearly a century 
 later, Hervey had an irreparable quarrel with the 
 Prince of Wales, probably concerning an intrigue with 
 Miss Vane, a maid-of-honour much favoured by the 
 Prince. 
 
 When Frederick, Prince of Wales, married, Hervey 
 wore a suit of gold brocade worth something between 
 ^300 and £s°°' This was m I 73&, anc ^ to j U( % e from 
 descriptions the actual gorgeousness of men's dress must 
 have been equal to anything in the time of Charles II. 
 Thus, at the reception on the Wednesday following the 
 marriage, the men wore gold stuffs, flowered velvets, 
 embroidered or trimmed with gold ; waistcoats of ex- 
 ceedingly rich silks, flowered with gold of large pattern ; 
 long open sleeves, with a broad cuff, and skirts stiffened 
 so as to stand out in imitation of ladies' hoops. White 
 
A Mere Bag of Sand 149 
 
 silk stockings and a wig tied behind with a large flat 
 bow were then the fashion. 
 
 All his life Hervey suffered from a liability to 
 epileptic attacks, his father ascribing his ill-health to 
 the use of "that detestable and poisonous plant, tea, 
 which had once brought him to death's door, and if 
 persisted in would carry him to the grave." He dieted 
 himself severely, drinking only water and milk tea, 
 eating very little meat, and that only chicken ; bread, 
 water, and asses' milk formed his fare sometimes, which 
 gave to Pope his opportunity of calling him " a mere 
 cheese curd of asses' milk." Many are the allusions 
 in contemporary writers to Hervey's thin white face. 
 Walpole, at his downfall in 1742, said bitterly of him 
 that he was cc too ill to go to operas, yet, with a coffin 
 face, is as full of his little dirty politics as ever." And a 
 little earlier the Duchess of Marlborough wrote in a letter : 
 " Lord Hervey is at this time always with the King, and 
 in vast favour. He has certainly parts and wit, but is the 
 most wretched, profligate man that ever was born, besides 
 ridiculous ; a painted face and not a tooth in his head." 
 
 When George II. was having a stormy voyage over 
 the Channel to Hanover, no news being obtainable of 
 him, the Prince was openly spoken of as the Successor, 
 at which Queen Caroline was very depressed, saying that 
 her son " was such an ass that one cannot tell what he 
 thinks." " On the contrary, Madam," said Lord Hervey, 
 cc he is a mere bag of sand, and anybody may write 
 upon him." To which Her Majesty replied that such 
 writing could easily be rubbed out. Hervey was a de- 
 voted friend to the Queen up to the moment of her 
 death, and in spite of the innuendoes concerning him and 
 Princess Caroline was a true friend to the Princess, for 
 whom his wife showed continued affection. 
 
150 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 That he was an immoral man is unquestionable ; 
 it is almost as certain that he was a lovable one. Of 
 him Johnson said to Boswell, " If you call a dog Hervey 
 I shall love him." Lady Mary Wortley Montagu also 
 said that there were three divisions in the human race, 
 Men, Women, and Herveys. He died in 1743, leaving 
 eight children, and a valuable memoir of his life and 
 times. 
 
 One of the most remarkable and probably most 
 contemned Beau of the early and middle part of the 
 eighteenth century was George Bubb, better known as 
 Bubb Dodington. He had no advantage of high birth, 
 his father having variously been described as an apothe- 
 cary and an Irish adventurer, indeed he may have been 
 both ; but when his mother's brother, George Doding- 
 ton, died he left a large estate in Dorsetshire to George, 
 which caused the young man to change his name. He 
 had sufficient family influence to become M.P. for 
 Winchelsea in 17 15, when but twenty-four years of 
 age, and he was sent as Envoy-extraordinary to Spain, 
 where he remained from 17 15 to 171 7. When he 
 came into his fortune in 1720 he spent ^140,000 in 
 completing the mansion begun by his uncle at Eastbury, 
 in Dorsetshire. In London he lived the life of a 
 fashionable man about town, dressing with great splendour 
 in clothes embroidered in gold and silver, which clothes, 
 in later years, he caused to be used as a sort of patch- 
 work covering for his state bed, a fact betrayed by the 
 numerous pocket-holes in the hangings and coverlets. 
 It is said that when he was presented to the Queen on 
 her marriage with George III. his vast figure was covered 
 with gorgeous brocaded garments, some of which " broke 
 from their moorings in a very indecorous manner." He 
 shared with Chesterfield the renown of wearing a wig 
 
"They Styled Him a Wit" 151 
 
 of a shape which no other man affected. His dinners 
 were most luxurious, invitations being sought by the 
 men he knew ; and as he was generous to his friends, 
 they returned it by ministering to his vanity. They 
 styled him a Wit, and repeated his sayings at the clubs 
 — sayings which were not without humour sometimes, 
 though Horace Walpole declared that he was always 
 aiming at wit and never hitting it. He dined well 
 himself, and liked a nap after dinner. On one such 
 occasion Lord Cobham began to tell a story, and 
 Dodington, who was noticed to be fast asleep, was 
 accused of inattention to his guest. 
 
 " Asleep ! Nonsense, I heard all that was said," he 
 replied. Cobham told him to repeat the conversation, 
 whereupon Dodington related the story. In some wonder 
 all admitted that he must have been awake, at which their 
 host laughed, adding : " No, I was really fast asleep, but 
 1 knew that this was the right time of day for you to 
 tell this story/' 
 
 Dodington posed as a patron of talent, which caused 
 many poems to be dedicated to him, such as Thomson's 
 " Summer," Young's " On the Love of Fame," and an 
 eclogue by Lyttelton on " The Progress of Love." 
 Fielding also addressed to him an epistle on " True 
 Greatness." Though Dodington wrote verses himself, 
 which Lyttelton described as " very pretty love verses," 
 and some of which were published later, and though he 
 kept a diary which gives good historical information con- 
 cerning his time, he was noted only in his own day as 
 a man of letters. 
 
 If we may believe Lord Hervey — who had a bitter 
 tongue, and ever said the worst of people — Dodington 
 " possessed thcje ne sais quoi in displeasing in the strongest 
 and most universal degree that ever any man was blessed 
 
152 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 with that gift." Yet he also possessed " good parts and 
 a great deal of wit." Dodington had the unforgivable 
 fault of possessing a vanity out of proportion to his 
 attainments, thus arousing both derision and dislike. 
 That he was a <c trimmer " in politics was not sufficient 
 to account for the sharp strictures uttered upon him 
 by more modern writers than Hervey ; he lived in an 
 age when " sitting on the rail " was popular with the 
 lesser men, and he was but one of many. 
 
 Beau Dodington's house in Pall Mall was next the 
 garden which the Prince had bought there of Lord Chester- 
 field, and while Dodington was in the Prince's favour a 
 door had been made from the house into the garden, the 
 Prince even going so far as to give his favourite free 
 entry by keys into his own house on the other side. 
 At this time Dodington allowed his royal master to 
 command him to any extent, even to allowing himself 
 to be wrapped in a blanket and rolled downstairs for 
 fun. On one occasion the Prince managed to extract 
 a large loan from the Beau, and then turned with glee 
 to those around him, saying : " Dodington is reckoned 
 as a clever man, but I have got ^5,000 out of him 
 which he will never see again." Prince Frederick and 
 his friend were equally fond of gambling and of writing 
 verses, but in spite of these similarities, Dodington was 
 ousted from favour by Chesterfield and Lyttelton about 
 
 1734. 
 
 The Prince's change of sentiment towards poor 
 
 Dodington was so complete that he caused the door in 
 
 the Beau's house to be fastened up, put new locks on his 
 
 own doors so that the old keys would not serve, planted 
 
 shrubs and even built a wall so as to hide his residence 
 
 from the windows of the forsaken friend. Dodington 
 
 did the only thing he could do, he left London and went 
 
A Lover's Bond 153 
 
 for a time into the country, subsequently attaching him- 
 self to the Duke of Argyle. In 1737 the Prince tried to 
 make friends again because he wanted Dodington to sup- 
 port the suggested increase of his allowance from ^50,000 
 to ^100,000. That Bubb was not quite so bad as he 
 has been painted is shown by the fact that he did not 
 accept this invitation to gain favour and to desert his 
 party ; further, when Argyle separated from Walpole, 
 Dodington went with him, thus losing his place in the 
 Treasury. 
 
 There are curious stories told about Dodington's love 
 affairs and residences. As to the former, he was at one 
 time much in love with a Mrs. Strawbridge, who lived 
 in Saville Row, Piccadilly, and who liked to make sure 
 of his faithfulness. Dodington being in a particularly 
 amorous mood one day, she taunted him with the fickle- 
 ness of man, saying that he would surely forget her and 
 fall in love with some one else. 
 
 c< Never, never/' was his reply ; " J swear I will never 
 cease to love you." 
 
 Mrs. Strawbridge laughed at his enthusiasm, and at 
 last, rendered indiscreet by his desire to prove the depth 
 and stability of his feeling, he wrote out a bond promising 
 to pay her ^10,000 if he married another woman while 
 she lived. Mrs. Strawbridge was right however, he fell 
 in love with a Mrs. Behan, and became lost between his 
 desire for a wife and his desire to retain his gold. 
 According to Walpole, he temporised by secretly marry- 
 ing Mrs. Behan, who also temporised by allowing herself 
 for seventeen years to be regarded as Dodington's 
 mistress. At- the end of that time Mrs. Strawbridge 
 died, and Dodington acknowledged his wife. 
 
 He had a house at Eastbury, one at Hammersmith — 
 known as La Trappe — and another in Pall Mall, all of 
 
154 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 which were filled with tasteless splendour. One bed- 
 chamber was hung with the richest red velvet, his crest — 
 a hunting horn supported by an eagle — being pasted on 
 every panel in gilt leather ; a chimneypiece elsewhere was 
 covered with spar representing icicles, and a bed of purple 
 was lined with orange and surmounted by a great plume 
 of peacock- feathers. A door of white marble, supported 
 by columns of lapis lazuli was a fitting entrance to an 
 upper gallery of which the floor was of inlaid marble. 
 
 Showing this to the Duke of York he said : " Some 
 people, sir, tell me that this room should be on the 
 ground floor." 
 
 u Be easy, Mr. Dodington," replied the Duke, " it 
 will soon be there." 
 
 At La Trappe his crest was inlaid with pebbles in the 
 lawn before the door. All through was the display of 
 self, showing that it was not a love of the beautiful which 
 moved him to his domestic extravagance, but a desire of 
 seeing his own magnificence in everything around him. 
 
 It was not until 1749 that a real reconciliation took 
 place between him and the Prince, and then Dodington 
 received a promise that he should be raised to the 
 peerage at the King's death. Prince Frederick, however, 
 was inconvenient enough to die first, and Dodington 
 found himself once again afloat. He attached himself 
 to the Princess of Wales, to the Duke of Newcastle, 
 and to others whom he hoped would further his desires, 
 and at last, after the King's death, Lord Bute made him 
 Baron Melcombe of Melcombe Regis in Dorsetshire. 
 Fifteen months later he died at his house in Hammer- 
 smith. One disinterestedly good act recorded of him 
 was what Walpole described as the " humane, pathetic, 
 and bold speech " he made in the House of Commons, 
 in 1757, against the execution of Admiral Byng. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 The mushroom-squire sat at the upper end of the table, accoutred 
 with a large muff, long peruke, dangling cane, a sword, snuff-box, diamond 
 ring, pick-tooth-case, with handkerchief, etc., all of the newest fashion. , . . 
 He frequently laugh'd, even at serious matters, to shew his white teeth ; 
 threw back his wig to discover the fine ring in his ear, and look'd what's 
 a'clock to shew his gold watch. — James Puckle, The Club. 
 
 THACKERAY paints Fleet Street in the time of 
 George I. in kaleideoscopic colours : — 
 
 " People this street, so ornamented with crowds of 
 swinging chairmen, with servants bawling to clear the 
 way, with Mr. Dean in his cassock, his lackey marching 
 before him ; or Mrs. Dinah in her sack, tripping to 
 chapel, her foot-boy carrying her ladyship's great Prayer- 
 book ; with itinerant tradesmen, singing their hundred 
 cries (I remember forty years ago, as a boy in London 
 city, a score of cheery, familiar cries that are silent now). 
 Fancy the Beaux thronging to the chocolate houses, 
 tapping their snuff-boxes as they issue thence, their 
 periwigs appearing over the red curtains. Fancy Saccha- 
 ressa beckoning and smiling from the upper windows and 
 a crowd of soldiers brawling and bustling at the door — 
 gentlemen of the Life Guards, clad in scarlet, with blue 
 facings, and laced with gold at the seams,' ' etc. 
 
 It must have been a lively, brilliant scene compared 
 with Fleet Street of to-day ; and many were the extrava- 
 gancies of appearance and manner exhibited there — pace 
 Mr. Fairholt — for the greater part of the eighteenth 
 century, though towards the end fashion had drifted to 
 
 i55 
 
156 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Piccadilly. Yet, if we complete the picture, it loses 
 something of its careless gaiety, which is replaced by an 
 undercurrent of trouble and violence. 
 
 Think of the street itself, with its gable-ended houses 
 starting from the dark shadow of Temple Bar. From 
 each house hangs a heavy sign, indicating in some abstruse 
 fashion the trade followed within. There are the Red 
 Lion, Green Dragon, Hog-in-Armour, Queen's Head, 
 Crooked Billet, Golden Bottle (a bank), Fiery Devil, Rain- 
 bow, and others, each one painted in bright colours, and 
 hanging threateningly over the pedestrians. But the street 
 is narrow, with a gutter in the centre, along which runs all 
 the refuse of all the houses, and through which trot the 
 horses, carriages, and chairmen, splashing showers of mud 
 over the passers-by, who fight for the wall side as they walk. 
 
 At night, the Mohocks, some of them being among 
 the fine and fashionable men of the day, roam about the 
 neighbourhood, breaking windows, stealing knockers, 
 beating the watch, insulting women (one of their favourite 
 tricks being to forcibly stand a woman on her head in 
 the mud), or surrounding a quiet citizen, whom they 
 prick one after another with their swords, the victim being 
 happy to go free with his life. Footpads steal along the 
 walls, and hired ruffians wait in ambush to effect some 
 fine gentleman's revenge. 
 
 At this time too Fleet Street is the favourite site 
 for showmen, who exhibit many marvellous things — 
 mandrakes at a penny a peep ; an old she-dromedary and 
 her young ; an armless, legless, and — to make the matter 
 certain, we are also told — footless and handless man, who 
 writes, threads a needle, shuffles cards, and plays skittles. 
 Giants, dwarfs, fire-eaters, posture-masters, abnormities 
 and deformities of all sorts are from time to time on 
 show in some tavern, court, or in the street itself. 
 
Fleet Street in 1720 157 
 
 It was not until 1766 that a pavement was put down, 
 and it is not easy to think of our dainty, tripping, gold- 
 laced, red-heeled Beaux seeking this street from pleasure. 
 Yet all streets were alike to them, as they are to us, and 
 Fleet Street was not worse than others ; so the " Mer- 
 maid," the "Mitre," the "Rainbow," the "Devil," and 
 the " Cock " taverns, Dick's coffee-house, " Hercules' 
 Pillars," and the " Kit-Kat " Club, drew them thither. 
 In these places they drank their coffee, chocolate, and 
 wine, played at hazard, and talked politics and the 
 frivolities of their age — frivolities coarsely expressed, to 
 our thinking, yet in spirit much the same as those uttered 
 to-day. Here came Swift, fearful of the Mohocks, of 
 whom Addison says that Sir Roger de Coverley was just 
 as much afraid ; here came Addison and Steele, Congreve, 
 Johnson and Boswell, Bolingbroke and Chesterfield, Nash 
 and the witty Selwyn ; and here also came a crowd of 
 men, young and old, whose object in life was to dress 
 handsomely and to live softly, to share in intrigues and 
 take part in the conversations of wits. Here were 
 composed lampoons and libels ; here scandal was bred 
 and love-letters written ; here fortunes were won and 
 lost among effeminate, graceful gentlemen whose highest 
 ambition was to be recognised as the smartest men of 
 their date — gentlemen who were invisible until midday, 
 and then, dressed in lacey cambric shirts, received their 
 visitors, in bed, the periwig carefully powdered and 
 flowing over the pillow, the eyebrows painted, and tiny 
 patches placed on cheek and chin. Such a one, when 
 fully dressed and perfumed with jasmine or orange water, 
 his ornamented sword by his side, a scented lace handker- 
 chief hanging from his pocket, and his hands covered 
 with fringed gloves, would then go abroad, perhaps to 
 the Fives Court at the lower end of St. Martin's Street, 
 
 10 
 
i5 8 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 where he might listen to concerts or watch Italian 
 performers or French dancers, or perhaps to Lambeth 
 Wells, where he would find choice music and dancing, 
 with a harlequin or other actors to please him. In the 
 theatre at night the gallant was beautifully dressed and 
 conspicuous by his endeavour not only to be seen but 
 to force people to look at him. He was there indeed 
 for that purpose, not to look at the performance. While 
 that went on he would turn his back upon the stage, talk 
 loudly to his companions, and behave in such a way as 
 to be entirely objectionable. In those days the play was 
 over by seven o'clock, and then came the evening, to be 
 filled with the delights of supper or of an intrigue, followed 
 by a night at hazard or whatever game of chance was 
 fashionable for the moment. 
 
 Among those Beaux who were a little less effeminate, 
 boxing was a favourite pastime, the strenuous exercise 
 of it being left to professionals, while the fine gentleman 
 indulged in a few rounds to warm his languid blood. 
 The Tennis Court, in St. James's Street, Haymarket, 
 where cock-fights and exhibitions of strength took place, 
 was much frequented by the men of fashion, and which 
 was popular even up to the time of Brummell. The 
 Beaux were often lavish with their money, whether they 
 had it or not, for they thought it better to live meanly 
 in secret than to show a lack of gold in public ; and 
 they possessed the gambler's optimism, believing in the 
 old axiom of " light come, light go." It is said that Jack 
 Spencer and his brother Charles, who afterwards suc- 
 ceeded to the Marlborough title, and who were very fine 
 gentlemen, never condescended, when paying the chair- 
 men, to " dirty their fingers with silver." 
 
 In the early and middle eighteenth century there were 
 two classes of Beaux, formed by the smart man of the 
 
Genteel 1 Footmen i 5 9 
 
 world and his footman. The latter was allowed both too 
 little and too much licence ; his wages were small — probably 
 not more than £6 a year — but he expected to be constantly 
 tipped, vail being the correct word of the period for tip. 
 His master was free to cane him for any and every fault, 
 and any independent action gave him the reputation of 
 being too big for his place. Yet, as he went where his 
 master went, stood behind his chair at table, stood in the 
 gallery at the play while the gentleman sat in the pit or 
 box, his ideas took their colour from those of his master, 
 his conversation ran upon the same themes, and his 
 life was more or less passed in the same routine. 
 " A sett of genteel footmen, " were the pride of a Beau, 
 who took care that his men should have money for 
 the fripperies of their appearance, and the men themselves 
 were sure in some way or other to obtain those articles 
 which most made them resemble the Beau — a snuff-box, 
 for instance, well lined with the master's snuff, hair 
 powder, canes, etc. 
 
 A writer in The Gentleman s Magazine for March 1832 
 tells us that the footmen were often chosen for " their 
 size, hair, beauty, rather than for their industry, fidelity, 
 and honesty. When we see them caress'd for what they 
 deserv'd to be hang d, and preferr'd for being faithful 
 drudges to vice, how can we expect to see them other 
 than they are, the most useless, insolent, and corrupted of 
 people in Great Britain ? " 
 
 Mr. Ralph Strauss, in his recent volume upon Robert 
 Dodsley, tells us that " Tom Waitwell, a footman, com- 
 plains that he and his brotherhood have had the honour to 
 wait on the Quality at table ; by which kind of service 
 they became wits, beaux, and politicians, adopted their 
 masters 7 jokes, copied their manners, and knew all the 
 scandal of the beau-monde ; but are now supplanted by a 
 
160 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 certain stupid utensil call'd a Dumb Waiter^ which answers 
 all purposes as well except making remarks and telling 
 tales ; and it is for this very reason they are preferr'd, tho' 
 it obstruct the channel of intelligence ; and families will 
 want conversation when they want information to abuse 
 one another " — which illustrates the fact that the footmen 
 were in the habit of putting in their word when the 
 masters talked — " and People must bear with 'em or else 
 pay 'em their Wages." 
 
 Among those who were pre-eminently regarded as 
 Beaux in the middle of the century were George Augustus 
 Selwyn and his friend George James, better known as 
 Gilly, Williams : Wits and lovers of dress both ; for we 
 find in Jesse's collection of letters to George Selwyn 
 unending allusions to velvets, mufFs, fans, and other fri- 
 volities. It isicurious that the reign of the muff was so pro- 
 longed. It started in England in the time of Charles II., 
 and was practically in use until the nineteenth century. 
 It altered in shape and size with every fashion, now being 
 almost entirely made of ribbon or lace, now of miniver, 
 and then of satin, or of feathers. One year it was 
 small — " I send you a decent smallish muff, that you may 
 put in your pocket, and it cost but fourteen shillings," 
 writes Horace Walpole to George Montague — and some- 
 times it is very large ; in 1765 it became "monstrous." 
 When Charles James Fox was fighting his celebrated 
 battle at Westminster, his partisans carried great muffs 
 made of the fur of the red fox. The Earl of March 
 acknowledges as a present from Selwyn a muff. " I like 
 it prodigiously ; vastly better than if it had been tigre, 
 or of any glaring colour." 
 
 George Selwyn was born in 17 19, and lived to be 
 seventy-one. He was a man of a curious mixture of 
 character, tender to children, yet taking a morbid interest in 
 
A Noted Conversationalist 161 
 
 human suffering ; a Member of Parliament, who for nearly 
 fifty years snored through the debates, yet the wittiest 
 man of his time ; one who was a link in the chain of wits 
 which, beginning with Lord Dorset, was continued by Lord 
 Chesterfield, George Selwyn, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, 
 Sydney Smith, and Douglas Jerrold. He was a noted 
 conversationalist, setting a whole table in a roar of laughter. 
 One of his most often repeated mots, though by no means 
 his best, was uttered when Walpole grumbled to him 
 that politics had not improved since the time of Queen 
 Anne, adding : u But there is nothing new under the sun." 
 " Nor under the grandson ! " replied Selwyn, alluding 
 to George III. His wit was never bitter, Dr. Warner 
 declaring that it was, 
 
 Social wit which, never kindling strife, 
 Blazed in the small sweet courtesies of life. 
 
 Selwyn matriculated at Oxford, went on the grand 
 tour, and returned to the University in 1744, being 
 rusticated the following year for a reputed insult to the 
 Christian religion, his answer being that the use of a 
 chalice at a wine party was but a freak done in liquor to 
 ridicule the theory of Transubstantiation. Dr. Newton, 
 of Oxford, writing upon this matter, says : " The upper 
 part of the society here, with whom he" (Selwyn) "often 
 converses, have, and always have had, a very good opinion 
 of him. He is certainly not intemperate nor dissolute, nor 
 does he ever game, that I know of or have heard of. 
 He has a good deal of vanity, and loves to be admired 
 and caressed, and so suits himself with great ease to the 
 gravest and the sprightliest." Here we have the keynote 
 to his character — the desire of the approbation of others, 
 a desire which naturally brought about its own fulfilment. 
 
 Selwyn was not handsome, his nose was long, his 
 
1 62 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 chin a little receding, face clean-shaven according to the 
 fashion. In his time the periwig for ceremonial occasions 
 had given place to the tie-wig, and for ordinary use 
 to a small wig, drawn back from the forehead with a 
 double row of curls round the neck. Bag-wigs were 
 however largely used ; the fashion being said to have 
 been initiated by footmen who put their curls into a 
 leather bag to keep them out of the way of the plates. 
 A gentleman's " bag " was made of silk and held the hair, 
 which otherwise would have hung down his back. In 
 1766 the Hon. Henry St. John asks Selwyn, who is in 
 Paris, to allow his servant to buy him four bags ; " let 
 them be rather large, with a large plain rosette/' 
 
 Selwyn had a singular passion for seeing corpses and 
 executions, and there are many stories of the lengths to 
 which he would go to gratify that passion. On one 
 occasion a friend betted a hundred guineas that he 
 would not be able to refrain from going to Tyburn to 
 see a man hanged. He accepted the bet, but was dis- 
 covered in the crowd dressed as an old apple-woman, and 
 he paid the money. He even went to see his friend 
 Lord Balmerino executed at the Tower, and when re- 
 proached with his cold-bloodedness, replied that he could 
 not help going ; and if he had shown bad taste in going to 
 see Lord Balmerino's head cut off, he made every repara- 
 tion in his power by going the next day to see it sewn on 
 again before burial. Walpole gives this retort as made 
 after the execution of Lord Lovat, adding that when the 
 body was stitched together, " George" (Selwyn), " in my 
 lord chancellor's voice, said ' My Lord Lovat, your lord- 
 ship may rise.' " 
 
 At the trial of Lords Balmerino and Kilmarnoch, 
 Selwyn saw Mrs. Bethel, a daughter of Lord Sandys, 
 who had what her friends called " a hatchet face," looking 
 
"A Housebreaker for You" 163 
 
 wistfully at the rebels. c< What a shame it is to turn her 
 face to the prisoners before they are condemned," he was 
 heard to murmur. It was Selwyn's love of the gruesome 
 that made Lord Holland, the father of Charles James 
 Fox, say, when he was ill : c< If Mr. Selwyn calls again, 
 be so good as to show him up ; if I am alive I shall 
 be delighted to see him, and if I am dead he will be 
 delighted to see me." 
 
 Walpole affirmed that Selwyn only thought in 
 execution phrases. " He came to town t'other day to 
 have a tooth drawn, and told the man he would drop 
 his handkerchief for the signal ! " an allusion to the 
 stage criminal who thus signified his readiness for death. 
 Horace had a great affection for Selwyn, and mentioned 
 him over and over again in his Diary. Once when in 
 town there was an alarm of burglars in the house next 
 to his in Albemarle Street, the owner of which was away. 
 Walpole rushed next door and managed, after securing 
 one thief with aid from other people, to send word to 
 Selwyn at White's Club. The man who delivered the 
 message had been burglared himself, and was still sore 
 about it, so he stalked up into the club-room, stopped 
 short, and, with a hollow, trembling voice, said : 
 
 " Mr. Selwyn ! Mr. Walpole' s compliments, and he 
 has got a housebreaker for you." 
 
 Selwyn jumped up eagerly, and with a squadron from 
 the club went to Albemarle Street. When he arrived 
 he found that one man had been captured, and two 
 " centinels " had run away, so the members of White's, 
 with Walpole and Selwyn at their head — the former in 
 nightgown and slippers, a lanthorn in one hand and a car- 
 bine over his shoulder — marched all over the place to look 
 for more. Their chief find was an enormous bag of tools. 
 
 When Damien, who had attempted the life of 
 
164 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Louis XV., was put to a horrible death in Paris, Selwyn 
 went over there and posted himself close to the platform. 
 Being repulsed by the executioner, he told the man that 
 he had journeyed from London solely to be present at the 
 death of Damien, whereupon — and probably, though we 
 are not told so, on the presentation of a handsome dou- 
 ceur — the man caused the people to give way to Selwyn, 
 saying : cc Faites place pour monsieur, e'est un Anglois, et 
 un amateur." Another story runs that he went upon 
 the platform as an English executioner. 
 
 Some one of the same name as Charles James Fox 
 having been hanged at Tyburn, Fox asked Selwyn if he 
 had been there. " No," replied Selwyn, " I never go 
 to rehearsals " — a reply which must have raised the 
 envy of many lesser wits. 
 
 Selwyn made a joke at any one's expense, and at 
 every opportunity. Fox was once speaking of the 
 successful peace he had made with France, saying he 
 had persuaded that country to give up the gum trade 
 to England. " That I am not surprised at, Charles," 
 replied Selwyn, " for, having drawn your teeth, they 
 would be damned fools to trouble about your gums" 
 
 When a subscription was proposed for the benefit of 
 Fox, some one observed that it was a matter of some 
 delicacy, and wondered how Fox would take it. " Take 
 it ? " exclaimed Selwyn ; " why, quarterly to be sure ! " 
 
 Republican principles were all the rage in London 
 during the Revolution, and on a May-day Selwyn and 
 Fox met the chimney-sweepers decked out in all their 
 gaudy finery. " I say, Charles," said Selwyn, " I have 
 often heard you and others talk of the majesty of the 
 people, but until now I have never seen the young 
 princes and princesses" 
 
 When Charles Fox lodged with a congenial spirit at 
 
i6 5 
 
Fans for the Beaux 167 
 
 Mackay's, an oilman in Piccadilly, some one remarked 
 that the two, with their dissipation, would ruin poor 
 Mackay. " Oh no," said Selwyn, " they will make his 
 fortune, for he will have the credit of having the finest 
 pickles in London in his place." 
 
 Selwyn was a great gambler, and kept the bank at 
 Brooks's, but it is said that later he overcame his liking 
 for play, because it was " too great a consumer of time, 
 health, fortune, and thinking." Thus he was able to die 
 in affluence, a circumstance enjoyed by very few gamblers 
 of the eighteenth century. 
 
 Little is known to-day of Gilly Williams but that he 
 was the son of a celebrated lawyer and uncle by marriage 
 to Lord North, and was a close friend of Walpole's. He 
 is said to have been the gayest among the gay and wittiest 
 among the witty, and he was certainly very interested in 
 his clothes. It is amusing in reading the letters addressed 
 to Selwyn when in Paris in 1766 and 1767, to find 
 how often clothes were the subject of the pen. Gilly 
 Williams, the Earl of March, and the Hon. Henry St. 
 John were great upon this subject. 
 
 " Vernon writes that you would send him a velvet, 
 something of this pattern, for a coat, waistcoat and 
 breeches," writes the Earl of March. In another letter 
 he asks for two or three bottles of perfume to put 
 amongst powder, but nothing which smells of musk or 
 amber; he also desires some patterns of spring velvets 
 and silks for furs, and asks that inquiries should be 
 made at Calais about his coat lined with astrakan. Then, 
 " Lady Townsend has sent me a fan for you, which 1 
 will send you by the first opportunity if I don't bring 
 it myself." And ten days later he writes : " I have two 
 fans for you from Lady Townsend, which you shall have 
 by the first opportunity." 
 
1 68 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 The Earl of March, who was later known as the 
 wicked Lord Queensberry, was a Macaroni in his own 
 right; he took great respect for his clothes, fell in love 
 when inclined, and played desperately. He writes, in 
 1766 : u I wish I had set out immediately after New- 
 market, which I believe I should have done if I had 
 not taken a violent fancy for one of the opera girls " 
 (Mile. Zamperini). " This passion is a little abated, and 
 I hope it will be quite so before you come over, else 
 I fear it will interrupt our society." He writes again a 
 little later : " I want a dozen pair of silk stockings 
 for the Zamperini, of a very small size, and with em- 
 broidered clocks. I should also be glad to have some 
 riband, a cap or something or other for her of that sort. 
 She is but fifteen. You may advise with Lady Rochford, 
 who will choose something that will be fit for her, and 
 that she will like." 
 
 We wonder if any lady nowadays would choose 
 gifts abroad for any Zamperini. 
 
 On the question of fans, which were much used by 
 the Beaux — or Macaronis, as for a time they were called 
 — the Earl wrote in December 1766: "She" (Lady 
 Townsend) " sent me two when she thought I was going 
 to Paris, but she was in great haste to get them back 
 again. I believe she was afraid they might be seized 
 upon by some of the opera people if they remained in 
 my house." George Selwyn did not get the fans sent to 
 him for some weeks, but they grew from one to two, 
 and from two to four, being at last carried out by Lord 
 Fitzwilliam, with a promise of three more to come through 
 another friend. A dozen pairs of gloves, lined with a 
 kind of wash-leather, the tops lined inside with silk, are 
 also requested by Earl March. 
 
 The constant cry of Gilly Williams was for velvet. 
 
"Bully" Bolingbroke 169 
 
 All through the letters one comes upon allusions such 
 as the following: "Have you asked about my velvet ? 
 As much as would make a large pin-cushion would do 
 for me, and I should like another suit like my last, if 
 I could smuggle it." Again, on November 1 8 th : "As 
 to my velvet, if you see any prospect of conveying it to 
 me, make it up ; if not, when I want a new skin I will 
 repair to Spittal Fields, and take the best their looms will 
 afford me." On the 25th we hear again of the velvet. 
 " As to my velvet, think no more of it. If the Duchess 
 of Northumberland was my friend she could put it out 
 of the reach of the Custom House Officers, but, as it is, 
 when I want to be fine I'll repair to your old weavers and 
 take some remnant of an old pincushion, which will do 
 for me." And further : " As to my velvet, do what you 
 will with it ; I do not care one farthing about it. Re- 
 member I do not want bell riband ; it is that instrument 
 that the ladies work the bell-ropes upon ; any woman 
 will show you what." 
 
 There are others who ask Selwyn to send them 
 clothes. Lord Bolingbroke for instance, a successor to 
 the Bolingbroke of an earlier chapter, and known as 
 " Bully," seems suddenly to have waked up to the fact 
 that by his own inertia he was losing his reputation, his 
 position, and his wife. So he determines to take to 
 politics, and Cc has a complete bore of two hours every 
 night," next to Lord Temple in the House. " The 
 Viscountess (his wife) is shut up altogether with Topham 
 Beauclerc." Then, Bolingbroke pays attention to his 
 appearance and writes to Selwyn saying that no one 
 is better qualified to form and polish the mind of a 
 fine gentleman than he, and also by being in Paris, to 
 adorn and improve the outside. So he asks for several 
 pairs of lace ruffles, two for winter and two for spring ; a 
 
1 70 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 suit of plain velvet, that is without gold or silver, the 
 colour, pattern and design being left to Selwyn's taste. 
 The letter is written in a curious mixture of the first 
 and third persons, probably intended to be facetious. 
 " A small pattern seems to be the reigning taste amongst 
 the Macaronis at Almack's, and is therefore what Lord 
 B. chooses. Le Due, however, must be desired to 
 make the clothes bigger than the generality of Macaronis, 
 as Lord B's shoulders have lately grown very broad. 
 As to the smallness of the sleeves and length of the waist, 
 Lord B. desires them to be outre, that he may exceed 
 any Macaronis now about town, and become the object 
 of their envy. But Lord B. has not so set his heart 
 upon rivalling all the Macaronis in dress, as to wish Mr. 
 Selwyn to give himself much trouble about it. There 
 is nothing Mr. Selwyn can import from France that 
 will give Lord B. half the satisfaction as the immediate 
 importation of himself, for no one . . . can admire Mr. 
 Selwyn more, or love him with half the sincerity and 
 warmth, as his Obedient humble servant B." 
 
 When Selwyn heard that one of the Foley family 
 had hurried over the Channel to avoid his creditors he 
 murmured drowsily : " It is a passover which will not 
 be much relished by the Jews." 
 
 Selwyn seemed to be of a sleepy nature, and it is 
 said that the effect of his witticisms was greatly augmented 
 by the listless and drowsy manner in which he uttered 
 them ; while Walpole alludes to the way in which he 
 turned up his eyes when impassively saying something very 
 sharp. Walpole notes in his journal : " I don't know a 
 single bon-mot that is new : George Selwyn has not waked 
 yet for the winter. You will believe that when I tell you 
 that t'other night having lost eight hundred pounds at 
 hazard, he [Selwyn] fell asleep upon the table with 
 
The Dinner Bell 171 
 
 near half as much before him, and slept for three hours 
 with everybody stamping the box close at his ear." 
 
 As has been said, though Selwyn was a member of 
 the House for nearly fifty years, most of the time he spent 
 there he was asleep, though naturally he was useful in 
 divisions. However, he resented being sent to sleep by 
 bores, as is shown by his remark upon Burke, who, from 
 the nature and length of his speeches, was in the earlier 
 part of his career called " the dinner bell." " What ! is 
 the House up ? " asked a nobleman of Selwyn, who 
 was quitting the chamber. " No," he said wearily, " but 
 Burke is." 
 
 When Sir Joshua Reynolds was reported to be a 
 candidate for the borough of Plympton, the idea that 
 an artist and literary man should hope to get into the 
 House caused much amusement at the clubs. " You 
 need not laugh at him," said Selwyn ; " he may very 
 well succeed, for Sir Joshua is the ablest man I know 
 on a canvas." 
 
 A member of the Administration then in power asked 
 Selwyn what he thought of the constitution of Great 
 Britain, and he replied gravely, " The constitution of 
 England, my lord, and that of your humble servant are 
 alike in a rotten condition, though I must own that 
 I have the advantage — for I call in an able surgeon^ but 
 our poor country is committed to the care of a parcel 
 of quacks T 
 
 Lord Lansdowne told Moore that when George Gren- 
 ville was taken ill and fainted in the House, George 
 Selwyn cried out, " Why don't you give him the 
 Journals to smell to ? " 
 
 Two other witticisms upon members of the Govern- 
 ment are worth repeating. One night Sir L. Fawkener, 
 the Postmaster-General, was losing large sums at piquet 
 
17 2 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 at White's, and Selwyn, pointing to the successful player, 
 said, " See how he is robbing the mail ! " On another 
 occasion Selwyn, who was watching the Speaker at a 
 hazard table at Newmarket tossing about bank bills, ex- 
 claimed : M Look how easily the Speaker passes the money 
 bills ! " 
 
 From about 1765 Macaroni became the correct word 
 to designate a Beau, and in spite of being forty-five, 
 Selwyn became one of the leaders of that class, though 
 there is no evidence to show that he went to the absurd 
 extremes in dress that the younger Macaronis, such as 
 Charles James Fox and the Earl of Carlisle, adopted 
 from 1770 to 1775. 
 
 He was a member of the Jockey Club, also of 
 White's and Brook's (or Almack's) at the time when 
 play was at its highest. A notorious gamester once won 
 so much money of a member of the Manners family at 
 one of the clubs that he was enabled to set up a carriage, 
 and was complimented by Selwyn upon the equipage. 
 
 " Yes," replied the gamester, " it is very well, but I 
 cannot think of a motto for the arms I have had painted 
 on the panels." 
 
 " Oh ! that's easy enough," replied Selwyn, with 
 demure countenance and eyes turned upwards ; " why not 
 put c Manners make the man ! ' " 
 
 " How does your new horse answer ? " asked the 
 Duke of Cumberland of Selwyn. " I really don't know, 
 for I have never asked him a question," was the reply. 
 
 Selwyn took a great delight in the children both of 
 Lord Carlisle and of Lord Coventry, but he had an 
 absorbing affection for little Maria Fagniani, who was 
 generally known as " Mie-Mie." She was presumably the 
 daughter of the Marchese Fagniani and his wife, but 
 both Selwyn and Lord Queensberry claimed to be her 
 
Change for a Guinea 173 
 
 father, the pretensions of each being alternately encouraged 
 by the fair Marchioness, for the sake of what she could 
 gain. Selwyn, however, secured the custody of the babe 
 when the Fagnianis went back to the Continent, and was 
 in a terrible state of rebellion on receiving intimation 
 that the child's grandparents objected to her being left 
 in England. Many times did the mother write, at 
 first seductively, then violently, calling his behaviour 
 " devilish, " and at last on a threat that the Marchioness 
 was coming to fetch Mie-Mie, George Selwyn gave way, 
 having a special travelling carriage built for the little maid, 
 and sending his confidential servant with her. His friends 
 wrote sympathising with him in his loss, as though 
 death and not a legal guardian had deprived him of 
 his loved little one. 
 
 After a time, however, Mie-Mie came back, and 
 under his care grew into a charming girl. A con- 
 temporary wrote later : " A great event has taken 
 place in Selwyn's family. Mademoiselle Fagniani has 
 been presented at Court. Of course Miss Fagniani — 
 for she was presented as a subject of Great Britain — 
 was very splendid ; but George was most magnificent 
 and new in every article of dress." 
 
 Lady Coventry once asked him his opinion of her 
 new gown, which was sky-blue, and covered with silver 
 spangles as large as a shilling, and his answer was : 
 " Well, I think you will be good change for a guinea." 
 At which the beauty laughed. Lady Harrington, how- 
 ever, showed herself more obtuse as to his meaning 
 when, having at the coronation of George III. covered 
 herself with all the diamonds she could beg, borrow, or 
 steal, and " with the air of a Roxana, was the finest 
 figure at a distance," she complained to Selwyn that she 
 was to walk with Lady Portsmouth, who would have 
 
174 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 a wig and a stick. " Pho," said he, " you will only look 
 as if you were taken up by the constable." Which 
 saying Lady Harrington repeated to every one, believing 
 the reflection to be on Lady Portsmouth. 
 
 Selwyn seems to have suffered from some trouble 
 with his eyes — for Lord Carlisle begs him to be careful 
 with them — and he was for some years a sufferer from 
 gout and dropsy, but almost to the end he was a social 
 butterfly. William Wilberforce, dining at Richmond 
 with the Duke of Queensberry, speaks of him as being 
 among the guests. " George Selwyn, who lived for 
 society, and continued in it till he looked really like 
 the wax-works figure of a corpse." 
 
 On the day of his death, January 25th, 1791, Horace 
 Walpole was writing to Miss Berry, and part of the 
 letter ran : " I am on the point of losing, or have lost, 
 my oldest acquaintance and friend, George Selwyn, who 
 was yesterday at the extremity. These misfortunes, 
 though they can be so but for a short time, are very 
 sensible to the old ; but him I really loved, not only 
 for his infinite wit, but for a thousand good qualities." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 Again, wert thou not at one period of life, a Buck, or Blood, or 
 Macaroni, or Incroyable, or Dandy, or by whatever name, according to 
 year or place, such phenomenon is distinguished ? In that one word lie 
 included mysterious volumes 
 
 Carlyle, Sartor Resartus. 
 
 IN 1764, when White's Club had got over the exu- 
 berance of its youth, and reckless gaming was going 
 out of fashion between its walls, Almack's was started. 
 White's had already been divided into the Old and 
 New, both of which were beginning to discountenance 
 high play, and so Almack's was planned chiefly to give 
 new opportunity in this respect. 
 
 The younger members of the new club formed 
 themselves into a brotherhood called the Macaronis, 
 the name, it is said, having been taken from the 
 introduction of macaroni from Italy, and being first 
 used at Almack's. The members of the brotherhood 
 were distinguished by the elegance of their dress 
 and manners, both acquired abroad ; for the con- 
 dition of entry into the order was that the applicant 
 should have travelled. Gilly Williams, Bully Boling- 
 broke, and Selwyn were all Macaronis, and in February 
 1765, so popular had Almack's become that it was said 
 that " the Macaronis have demolished Young White's 
 by admitting almost the whole club, and are in danger 
 of being deserted in their turn by their members being 
 chosen by the Old Club." 
 
 "75 11 
 
176 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Horace Walpole has a good description of the play 
 at Almack's in the middle of the eighteenth century. 
 Speaking of the gambling and extravagance of the young 
 men of quality he writes : " They had a club at one 
 Almack's, in Pall Mall, where they played only for 
 rouleaus of £50 each rouleau ; and generally there was 
 ,£10,000 in specie on the table. Lord Holland had 
 paid above £20,000 for his two sons. Nor were the 
 manners of the gamesters, or even their dresses for play, 
 undeserving notice. They began by pulling off their 
 embroidered clothes, and put on frieze great-coats, or 
 turned their coats inside out for luck. They put on 
 pieces of leather (such as is worn by footmen when they 
 clean knives) to save their lace ruffles ; and to guard 
 their eyes from the light, and to prevent tumbling their 
 hair, wore high-crowned straw hats with broad brims, 
 and adorned with flowers and ribbons ; masks to conceal 
 their emotions when they played at quinze. Each 
 gamester had a small neat stand by him, with a large 
 rim to hold their tea, or a wooden bowl, with an edge 
 of ormolu, to hold their rouleaus. They borrowed great 
 sums of the Jews at exorbitant premiums. Charles Fox 
 called the outward room, where those Jews waited till 
 he rose, the Jerusalem Chamber. His brother Stephen 
 being enormously fat, George Selwyn said he was in the 
 right to deal with Shylocks, as he could give them pounds 
 of flesh." 
 
 The founder of Almack's, of which Gibbon, the 
 historian, spoke as " the only place which still invites 
 the flower of English youth," was a Scotchman named 
 Macall ; but subsequently it was taken over by a wine 
 merchant named Brookes, being thenceforth known as 
 Brookes's, 
 
 Almack's Rooms— distinct from the club of that 
 
The Macaronis 177 
 
 name — in King Street, St. James's, now known as Willis's, 
 was so called from Almack's niece and heiress, Mrs. 
 Willis, who inherited them in 1781. It was a club of 
 both sexes, and, as Horace Walpole tells us, it was 
 founded in 1770 by Mrs. Fitzroy, Lady Pembroke, Mrs. 
 Meynell, Lady Molyneux, Miss Pelham, and Miss Lloyd. 
 Dancing, not play, was the amusement there, and for a 
 subscription of ten guineas a ball and supper were given 
 once a week during twelve weeks. Ladies nominated 
 and chose the gentlemen as members, and vice versa. 
 This was the club which afterwards became so exclusive, 
 and which had the reputation of being a marriage mart. 
 
 Lord March, Lord Carlisle, and Fox all joined 
 Almack's ; Lord Carlisle being at one time security to 
 the extent of £16,000 for Charles Fox, which he had 
 lost at play there ; and he himself lost £10,000. He, 
 however, dropped play ; but Fox ruined himself, and 
 had he been permitted would have ruined many others. 
 
 For some years the Macaronis were all members of 
 the club, and were known simply as men of rank and 
 fashion ; then the name was applied to almost any fast 
 gallant ; and from 1770 to 1775 it was used to designate 
 those who went to the absurdest extravagancies in dress 
 and manners. Hogarth's paintings will show what was the 
 dress of a Beau in 1742. In 1755 an old craze revived 
 — that of patching. The cabriolet or one-horse chair was 
 introduced then, and the fine gentlemen had cabriolets 
 painted on their waistcoats, embroidered on their stock- 
 ings, or patched on their faces ; and ladies wore miniature 
 cabriolets, horses, coachmen, and all on their faces and 
 heads. Once more the wigs grew large, first with the 
 women and then with the men; and from 1770 the 
 head-dress of the Macaronis must have been the wonder 
 of England. It consisted of an immense pad rising one 
 
178 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 or two feet above the head, the hair being combed upwards 
 over it. Three or more enormous curls lay horizontally 
 to the face on either side, a bow large enough to hide 
 the shoulders finished it at the back, and a little three- 
 cornered hat, called a Nevernoise, surmounted the whole. 
 
 These Macaronis are pictured as slim, youthful men 
 with waists, wearing silk waistcoats shorter than hitherto, 
 and skirted coats, so cut away in front as to indicate the 
 birth of " tails"; these, with the small clothes, being made 
 of gorgeous velvets or satins. The breeches are very 
 tight to the body, and finished at the knee with ribbons 
 or strings, a fashion which died out when Jack Rann, 
 or f< Sixteen-string Jack " as he was called from this 
 fashion, was hung wearing them. The cravat, tied in 
 a bow and made of extremely fine lace, was a cherished 
 item of a Macaroni's dress, and was so costly that he 
 often possessed only two at a time. 
 
 The Macaronis, in fact, went to the extreme in 
 femininity, giving most of their attention to ribbons, 
 laces, and fashions — sitting among the ladies, simpering, 
 mincing, sniffing at scent-bottles. They made a cult of 
 inane frivolity, and regarded a curl awry as of more 
 importance than a life in jeopardy. They carried muffs 
 or fans as weather might demand, and so thoroughly 
 did they play their part that Dr. Warner (a Boswell to 
 Selwyn) sends Selwyn on one occasion <f the prettiest 
 work-bag in the world." 
 
 Long canes, hung with silver or gold tassels, were 
 essential to their equipment, as also gilt scent-bottles, 
 dainty gloves, and jewelled spying glasses, sometimes set 
 at the top of the cane, through which to ogle women — 
 the ogling being of a distinctly bold and forward 
 character. Their conversation was of embroidered waist- 
 coats, worked stockings, patterns from abroad, described 
 
"Betty ' of St James's 179 
 
 with an accompaniment of French phrases and mincing 
 oaths ; and their love-making was as unhealthy as the 
 rest of their actions and habits. As to the last they 
 rose late and then lounged about town ; meeting at 
 Betty's fruit-shop in St. James's Street, to discuss the 
 scandals of the day. 
 
 Betty was one of the " characters " of her time. She 
 was born in St. James's Street, and she died there on 
 August 30th, 1797, aged sixty-seven ; it being her boast 
 that she had only slept out of St. James's Street twice 
 in her life — once when she paid a visit to a friend in the 
 country, and once on the occasion of an Installation of 
 the Knights of the Garter at Windsor. Horace Walpole 
 was frequently in her shop. Fox, Lord Byron, and other 
 men of varying qualities, knew her well. 
 
 From Betty's the Macaroni would be carried in his 
 chair to pay his little round of visits, to go afterwards 
 to the play-house — for the performances took place in 
 the afternoon — and laugh while Foote, " the celebrated 
 buffoon," as Walpole styled him, demolished some one's 
 character. Little intrigues and high play would round 
 off the useless day for these little men, who were of 
 little service to any one in the world. 
 
 This was one type of Macaroni, but it had its an- 
 tithesis in the Buck, which yet shared some of the same 
 eccentricities ; they were, in fact, the obverse and reverse 
 of one medal, for they were alike in their idleness and 
 their devotion to dress and amusements. Both were 
 probably a natural development of the dull and aimless 
 life which wealth at that time gave to its possessors ; the 
 youth revolting on the one hand against the insipidity of 
 existence, and seeking excitement in boxing, in aping the 
 ways of criminals, assaulting people in the street, and 
 delighting in fights of every description, being known 
 
180 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 as Bucks or Bloods, while the Macaronis, or Frolics, 
 lacking the brutality of their brethren, had no resource 
 but to allow their energies to run entirely to dress, 
 love-knots, gambling, and insincere love affairs. 
 
 The Court Miscellany of the time published an 
 article upon the Bucks which at least showed that those 
 perverted gentlemen were condemned by sensible people 
 for their practices. 
 
 " There is a part of taste," a paragraph runs, " that 
 seems at present extremely prevailing in these kingdoms, 
 which deserves particular attention, that of imitating the 
 dress of grooms, the walk or roul of common sharpers 
 and pickpockets, the oaths of fish-women, chair-men, 
 draymen, and porters ; with all the additional flowers 
 of rhetoric and figures of speech extracted from Newgate 
 itself. Where this refinement will end, it is not easy 
 to guess, since it is already practised by almost all ranks, 
 from the highest to the lowest, under the notable sanction 
 of that senseless and despicable class of people called 
 * bucks.' " 
 
 It is not improbable that George, Prince of Wales, 
 was indirectly responsible for some of this rowdyism, 
 for he loved prize-fighting, and on one occasion, when 
 he was present, so excited and brutal became the sport 
 that one man was hammered to death, his face being 
 unrecognisable as that of a human being. Dog-fights 
 and cock-fights were also popular, though regarded as 
 but a mild sport compared with that of the ring. 
 
 Rowdyism degenerated into violence. There is a 
 story of a watchman which has often been told, and in 
 some of its details was true of many watchmen. Three 
 young " Bucks " crossing St. John's Square, Clerkenwell, 
 unfortunately met one of these quiet and useful public 
 servants. As there was some semblance of authority 
 
The Buck and The Blood 181 
 
 about a watchman, these brave lads considered that they 
 had a pardonable animosity to all such, and at once 
 attacked him. Being three to one they easily admin- 
 istered an unmerciful beating, but the watch, seizing one 
 Buck by the waistcoat, hung on with all his strength, 
 and shouted " Murder " at the top of his voice. As 
 the voice carried far, the courageous gentlemen took to 
 their heels, at the expense of part of the waistcoat, which 
 remained in the hands of the assaulted one. In a pocket 
 the watchman found three golden guineas, and so he 
 disappeared in the other direction, feeling that such golden 
 ointment was sufficient salve for his aching body. 
 
 The display of brutal physical strength was the 
 most fascinating occupation in the life of a Buck, and 
 like his protagonist, the Mohock, he cared little whether 
 it was exercised at the expense of women or weaklings. 
 No woman dared be in the street at night, and if by 
 any mischance a lady was abroad in her carriage, she 
 risked the safety of her coachmen, the possession of her 
 purse, and the most unpardonable insults to herself. 
 
 A writer to The World, in 1755, gi yes us Blood and 
 Beau as the two rival fine gentlemen. The Blood was, 
 however, scarcely so violent as the Buck, though his 
 manners were bad enough. u At a coffee-house which 
 I frequent at the St. James's end of the town, 1 meet 
 with two sets of young men, commonly distinguished by 
 the name of Beaux and Bloods ; who are perpetually 
 interrupting the conversation of the company, either with 
 whistling of tunes, lisping of new-fashioned oaths, trolling 
 out affected speeches and short sentences ; or else with 
 recitals of bold adventures past, and much bolder which 
 they are about to engage in. But as noise is more be- 
 coming a Blood than a Beau, I am generally diverted 
 with the one and always tired with the other." 
 
1 82 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Another Macaroni was Topham Beauclerk, a great- 
 grandson of Charles II., whom he much resembled in 
 appearance and in manners. " He was the only son 
 of Lord Sidney Beauclerk, third son of Charles, first 
 Duke of St. Albans — Nell Gwyn's son — and was born in 
 December 1739. The elegance and fascination of his 
 manners, his inexhaustible fund of agreeable information, 
 his delightful conversational powers, his love of literature, 
 and his constant and enviable flow of animal spirits, 
 rendered him a universal favourite, as well with the grave 
 and wise, as with the dissipated and the gay. Even the 
 great moralist Dr. Johnson (to whom Beauclerk had 
 been introduced by their mutual friend Bennet Langton) 
 half forgave the lax principles and libertine habits of the 
 young man of pleasure : so fascinated was he by the 
 charm of his manner and the brilliancy of his wit." So 
 says J. H. Jesse in his Life of Selwyn. 
 
 When Bennet Langton introduced Johnson to Beau- 
 clerk the sage thought it strange that Langton should 
 associate with one who had the character of being loose 
 in principle and practice, but in a short time he modified 
 his opinions, and became a companion of the Beau's. 
 " What a coalition," said Garrick ; " I shall have to bail 
 my old friend out of the round house yet." However, 
 Beauclerk valued learning too much and was too polite 
 to offend Johnson by infidel or licentious sentiment, and 
 Johnson had some desire to correct the evil in his 
 friend's character. Relative to Beauclerk's love of satire 
 Johnson said : " You never open your mouth but with 
 the intention of giving pain ; and you have given me 
 pain, not from the power of what you said, but from 
 seeing your intention." At another time he adapted 
 one of Pope's lines to Beauclerk, 
 
 " Thy love of folly and thy scorn of fools/' 
 
Dr. Johnson having a Frisk 183 
 
 " Everything thou dost shows the one, and everything 
 thou say'st the other." Again, " Thy body is all vice, 
 and thy mind all virtue," somewhat annoyed Beauclerk ; 
 and Johnson added : cc Nay, sir, Alexander the Great, 
 marching in triumph into Babylon, could not have 
 desired to have had more said to him." Johnson also 
 said half-enviously of Beauclerk : " Everything comes 
 from him so easily it appears to me I labour when 
 I say a good thing." 
 
 On one occasion Beauclerk had been up until three 
 in the morning with Bennet Langton, and they went to 
 rouse up the doctor instead of going to bed. After 
 much hammering Johnson appeared at his window wearing 
 a little black wig and grasping a poker. Seeing friends 
 instead of thieves, he said : " What, is it you, you dogs ? 
 I'll have a frisk with you." Whereupon he dressed, and 
 the three sallied forth into Covent Garden, where, after 
 trying to help the market-men and being treated sus- 
 piciously, they went into a tavern, Johnson brewing a 
 bowl of bishop, a mixture of wines, oranges, and sugar. 
 After this and a row down the river to Billingsgate, 
 Johnson and Beauclerk determined to make a day of 
 it, while Bennet went off to breakfast with some ladies — 
 "to go and sit with a set of wretched, un-idedd girls," 
 as Johnson said. Garrick, being told of this episode, 
 remarked, " I heard of your frolic the other night. 
 You'll be in the Chronicle." And Johnson afterwards 
 observed, with laughing scorn, "He durst not do such 
 a thing. His wife would not let him." 
 
 Boswell once remarked of one of Johnson's friends 
 to Beauclerk, " Now that gentleman against whom you 
 are so violent is, I know, a man of good principles." 
 c ' Then he does not wear them out in practice," was 
 Beauclerk's sharp but quietly uttered answer. Topham 
 
184 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Beauclerk was once assisting Miss Pitt, sister to Lord 
 Chatham, out of "a carnage, and by some awkwardness 
 the lady slipped and sprained her leg, after which she 
 swore that she would lean upon the shoulder of no 
 Macaroni for the future. 
 
 He married Lady Diana Spencer, daughter of the 
 third Duke of Marlborough, two days after she had 
 been divorced from Lord Bolingbroke — already men- 
 tioned as Bully — and it is said she made him a very 
 good wife. Both were delicate people, who at their 
 marriage believed that neither of them had more than 
 a year to live, but Beauclerk's life had still twelve years 
 to run, and his wife survived him twenty-eight years. 
 
 As for the Earl of March, who wrote to Selwyn so 
 ceaselessly about his clothes, and who believed himself the 
 father of Mie-Mie, he became in 1778 the Duke of 
 Queensbury — Old Q. — " one of the wickedest of wicked 
 old men," who in his youth belonged to the Hell Fire 
 Club, who all his life, which lasted eighty-six years, divided 
 his attention among the racecourse, the gaming table, 
 chorus girls, and the elegancies of daily existence. He 
 rode his own racers, paid a doctor to keep him well, 
 deducting fees when he was ill, and thus, when he died, 
 left his physician his creditor for ^10,000 ; and, as an old 
 man, kept a servant and pony in readiness to follow any 
 pretty face which attracted him as he sat on his balcony in 
 Piccadilly. It is a fact that there was a popular prejudice 
 against drinking milk in London at this time, because it 
 was believed that the Duke bathed each morning in milk 
 which was subsequently sold to consumers. 
 
 At his house opposite the Green Park, the scene of 
 Paris and the Goddesses was enacted, he, as Paris in 
 the garb of a Dardan shepherd, holding a golden apple 
 in his hand, and three beautiful women presenting them- 
 
Wigs and Pigs 185 
 
 selves before him in the invisible clothing worn by the 
 goddesses, one of whom received the prize, of which, 
 maybe, she was proud in after-life ! He died with at 
 least seventy unopened letters from women of every rank 
 lying at the foot of his bed, they having arrived after he 
 was too ill to read them. 
 
 The Macaronis held sway until 1 775 ; by that date 
 they had cut their waistcoats so short as to reach only to 
 the waist, had made their coats short in front and given 
 them tails at the back something like the present dress 
 clothes. Blue was a favourite colour for coats, but in the 
 evening some delicate shade in velvet was used, often with 
 a white waistcoat made of silver tissue. The buttons were 
 costly and fanciful. In winter the men carried muffs 
 hung round their necks with ribbon, and with a bunch of 
 ribbons to ornament it in the centre. As an old ballad 
 runs — 
 
 For I ride in a chair with my hands in a muff, 
 And have bought a silk coat and embroider'd the cuff; 
 But the weather was cold, and the coat it was thin, 
 So the taylor advis'd me to line it with skin. 
 
 With the rise of the absurd Macaroni head-dress we 
 find the women becoming even more extravagant, until 
 in 1783 a wig two or three feet high was once more the 
 fashion. Fairholt, one of our authorities upon dress, 
 gives it as a fact, confided to him by a lady who had seen 
 it worn, that her mother had on one occasion a sow and 
 pigs in the curls of her hair. They were made of blown 
 glass, of which many other strange things were fashioned 
 for the adornment of the head-dress. A caricature of the 
 period shows a lady's head laid out as a cinder ground, a 
 group of cinder sifters on the top, a dust cart winding its 
 way up one side of the chignon, and a sow and piglets 
 rootling among the curls. 
 
1 86 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Then gradually things changed ; less and less tow was 
 used ; the wig became smaller and smaller, flattened at the 
 top, bushy at the neck with a little tail ; and it remained 
 for the French Revolution to give a definite form to the 
 change in dress. 
 
 Charles James Fox, the Macaroni, placed his mark on 
 the new fashion. Republican in politics, he became 
 republican in dress, threw aside his laces and velvets, 
 his silk stockings and muff, his dapper cane, and his large 
 wig. He set the fashion of negligence. Buff and blue 
 were the colours which the Whigs assumed when they sat 
 in Parliament, much to the annoyance of the King, as they 
 were the American colours ; and we are told that Fox 
 generally wore in the House of Commons a blue frock 
 coat, and a buff waistcoat, " neither of which seemed to 
 be new, and sometimes they appeared threadbare." He 
 and his friends are accused of having thrown a discredit 
 upon dress which spread through the Clubs and into 
 private assemblies. But it was during the era of 
 iC Jacobinism and Equality," in 1793 and 1794, that what 
 were regarded as " the elegancies " of dress received their 
 death blow, to be revived a few years later by George 
 Bryan Brummell. Wigs disappeared, giving place to the 
 natural hair curled, and then to the crop ; powder had 
 gone, the cocked hat was no more made, buckles gave 
 place to shoe strings, ruffles no longer fell over the hands, 
 and pantaloons encased the legs. 
 
 Of Fox, the much-loved, various anecdotes are told, 
 especially to show that he shared in a most extravagant 
 degree the Beaux' failing, the love of play. He was 
 brought up to play : when only fifteen his father, Lord 
 Holland, gave him sums of money definitely for that 
 purpose. He was gay, eager, warm-hearted, and unselfish ; 
 he " loved all the poets," and could read four languages 
 
THE WIG IN ENGLAND 
 A Macaroni ready for the Pantheon 
 
 I8 7 
 
The King of Gamblers 189 
 
 besides his own ; he was a follower of all outdoor sports, 
 and, as has been said, was at one time tc an outrageous fop." 
 He was ruined at hazard, being sometimes reduced to 
 borrowing a guinea of a waiter in order to pay a debt, 
 and had many dealings with the Jews. In the heroic 
 epistle to Sir William Chambers we find : — 
 
 Hark where the voice of battle sounds from far, 
 The Jews and Macaronis are at war; 
 The Jews prevail, and thundering from the stocks, 
 They seize, they bind, they circumcise Charles Fox. 
 
 At the birth of his elder brother's son the Jews refused 
 him any more credit, and Fox remarked : " My brother 
 Ste's son is a second Messiah, born for the destruction of 
 the Jews." His father once paid his debts to the extent 
 of £140,000; on another occasion he won £70,000 at 
 hazard and lost it all at Newmarket, with £30,000 in 
 addition. A friend, passing his house in St. James's 
 Street, saw a cart loaded with furniture move away from 
 his door, and going in found Fox in an empty room 
 reading Herodotus. On expressing his surprise at this 
 philosophic calm, Fox asked good-humouredly : <c Well, 
 what else is there to do ? " 
 
 Another friend was once drinking tea with Mrs. Fox 
 in South Street, when the door opened and Charles James 
 came skipping into the room in high spirits. Cutting 
 capers he cried enthusiastically : — " Great run ! great run ! 
 vingt-et-un ; lucky dog ; to-morrow morning pay the 
 Jews ; pay them all." Alas ! it was Friday, and he could 
 not pay the Jews on Saturday, so the money went back to 
 the club that night. 
 
 Fox had always a ready tongue. On one occasion, 
 when creditors became importunate, he told them that he 
 would discharge his debts as soon as possible. 
 
i9° The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 " But, Mr. Fox, name the day," was the cry. 
 
 "The Day of Judgment," he suggested. 
 
 " But that will be too busy a day for us," was the 
 retort. 
 
 " All right, Moses ! " was the pleasant answer, " we 
 will make it the day after." 
 
 Talleyrand had an affection for Fox, often speaking 
 of his gaiety, simplicity, childishness, and profoundness. 
 
 During his great Westminster election Fox solicited 
 a shopkeeper for his interest and vote, upon which the 
 man offered him a halter. Fox most courteously thanked 
 him for his kindness, saying he would not deprive him 
 of his treasure for anything, as he was certain it must be 
 an heirloom. One night, at Brookes's, he made some 
 adverse remark on Government powder, in allusion to 
 something that happened. Adams considered it a reflec- 
 tion upon himself, and sent Fox a challenge. Fox went 
 out and took his station, giving a full front. Fitzgerald, 
 his second, said: "You must stand sideways." Fox 
 replied : " Why, I am as thick one way as the other." 
 " Fire ! " was the order given. Adams fired, Fox did 
 not ; and when they said he must, he answered : " I'll 
 be damned if I do ; I have no quarrel ! " The fighters 
 then advanced to shake hands, and Fox said : " Adams, 
 you'd have killed me if it had not been Government 
 powder." The ball hit him in the groin, and fell into 
 his breeches. 
 
 Of Fox's political life it is unnecessary to enter here ; 
 it was too important, and yet too much of a failure. 
 When he died, in 1806, Redding says: "Literally the 
 tears of the crowd incensed the bier of Fox. I saw men 
 crying like children." 
 
 Fox had always stood by the Prince of Wales, and 
 there is little doubt that George was the central figure of 
 
A Royal Fop 19 1 
 
 a circle of young men who gave a tremendous attention 
 to dress — he was necessarily the central figure, for he 
 spent ,£10,000 a year on clothes alone, three times as 
 much on his stud, and at the age of twenty-two had debts 
 that amounted to ,£160,000. At his first Court ball he 
 wore a coat of pink silk with white cuffs, a white silk 
 waistcoat embroidered .with different-coloured foil and 
 covered with French paste, while he wore a preposterous 
 hat which was trimmed with five thousand steel beads in 
 two rows, finished with a button and loop of the same 
 beads. But recklessly extravagant as he was, courtly and 
 royal as were his manners, earning for him the title of 
 c ' the First Gentleman in Europe," there was one other, 
 with not a tithe of his income and opportunities, who was 
 better dressed, better mannered, and a better gentleman ; 
 one whom George sought as a friend, and followed as a 
 master for a time ; one who picked the slovenly Beaux 
 out of their dirt and sartorial indifference, and showed 
 them how a self-respecting man attended to his body 
 and to his appearance : and this was George Bryan 
 Brummell. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 " A ' fine ' gentleman is not obliged to converse further than the offering 
 his snuff-box round the room, but a ' pretty ' gentleman must have some 
 wit, though his dress may be more careless." — Guardian. 
 
 LORD BYRON said that Europe saw three great men 
 in the early part of the nineteenth century ; but no 
 one now, in the early part of the twentieth century, could 
 guess at the names of more than one of the three. It 
 may be that Lord Byron was joking, but it is quite 
 possible that he was serious when he named the curious 
 trio. Third in his little list he placed himself, the second 
 person was Napoleon Buonaparte, and first and foremost 
 was George Bryan Brummell, the " King of the Beaux " 
 and " Le Roi de Calais.'' 
 
 Brummell was so thoroughly a Beau that he escaped 
 classification with those who approached but did not equal 
 him. He was not a fop, for a fop is a fool, and Brummell 
 was no fool. He was not a coxcomb, for a coxcomb 
 desires attention before all things, and will wear any 
 absurdity rather than be ignored ; and Brummell con- 
 sidered it the worst of taste to be so dressed that public 
 attention was attracted. 
 
 " He was so well dressed," said a friend to him of 
 another man, " that people turned to look at him." 
 
 "Then he was not well dressed," was the emphatic 
 rejoinder. 
 
 However, Br ummelFs character — gay, good-humoured, 
 
 192 
 
Buck Brummell 193 
 
 irresponsible, vain, impertinent, and kind — will show itself 
 in his history. 
 
 It has been repeated many times that Beau Brummell 
 was the son of a confectioner and the grandson of a 
 Treasury porter, though there is no evidence to prove 
 the truth of either assertion. The chief things known of 
 his origin are, that his grandfather kept a shop in Bury 
 Street, St. James's — perhaps a confectioner's — but of what 
 character is not stated ; that his father as a boy attracted 
 the attention of Mr. Jenkinson, who lodged in the house, 
 and who afterwards became the first Lord Liverpool. 
 Mr. Jenkinson gave the youth a clerkship in the Treasury 
 office, from which he rose to being Private Secretary to 
 Lord North, and succeeded in obtaining various emolu- 
 ments. This Mr. Brummell died in 1794, leaving 
 £65,000 to be divided among his children. 
 
 George, the second son, was born on June 7th, 1778, 
 and seems to have been much the same as other boys. 
 The earliest story we have of him — one which has 
 provoked much contempt among some of his superior 
 biographers — is that when visiting an aunt, in his childish 
 days, he began to cry energetically because he could not 
 eat any more damson tart. At twelve years old he went 
 to Eton, where he was nicknamed " Buck " Brummell. 
 By that time the meaning of Macaroni and Buck had 
 changed somewhat, the one denoting unrefined extra- 
 vagance rather than elegance, and the other having lost 
 its character for violence. So the boy, already known 
 for his daintiness about clothes, earned very early the 
 sobriquet which denotes a love of dress. 
 
 There is one story of his school-days which is thoroughly 
 typical of his attitude to events all through his life. He 
 hated violence of any sort, holding himself always aloof 
 from it, and yet near enough to prevent it if possible. 
 
 12 
 
194 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 The Windsor bargemen and the Eton boys had a fight, 
 and one man — particularly disliked — was being roughly 
 handled by an overwhelming number of boys, some 
 of whom suggested throwing him into the Thames. 
 Brummell, watching the scene from the bridge, shouted 
 when the noise died away for a minute : 
 
 " Don't, pray don't send him into the river ! He is 
 evidently in a high state of perspiration, and it is almost a 
 certainty that he will catch cold." 
 
 The absurdity of the penalty, when the boys were 
 ready to drown the man, struck upon their excited 
 minds ; they burst into laughter and released the barge- 
 man, who was out of sight in a flash. 
 
 William Jesse, who has written a long life of Brum- 
 mell, records asking an old fox-hunting squire whether 
 he knew George at Eton, and was answered ; " I knew 
 him well, sir ; he was never flogged ; and a man, sir, is 
 not worth a d — n who was never flogged through the 
 school." Autre temps, autre mceurs ! 
 
 A schoolfellow of Brummell's spoke highly of him in 
 later years. " George was my fag for three most happy 
 years. No one at the school was so full of animation, 
 fun, and wit. Every one petted him, and he seems never 
 to have quarrelled or fought; he was very clever, very 
 idle, and very frank, and at that time not in the least 
 conceited." 
 
 From Eton he went to Oriel at Oxford, where he 
 studied very little. Lister, who in 1824 wrote a novel 
 called Granby in which Brummell is portrayed, gives him 
 a fairly bad character as a snob and a tuft hunter — a 
 character distinctly at variance with that which he had 
 gained at school, with that which was his through life, 
 and one which most of his biographers repudiate for him. 
 
 Before he left Eton he was introduced to the Prince on 
 
The Beau and the Prince 195 
 
 the terrace of Windsor Castle, and he used to say that his 
 later intimacy with George, Prince of Wales, arose from 
 that interview. Gronow gives us a different incident in 
 which Brummell first bent the knee to his royal patron, 
 stating that it was at the house of his aunt, Mrs. Searle, 
 presumably his father's sister, as none of his mother's 
 sisters bore that name. This account runs to the effect 
 that at the beginning of last century a cottage stood at 
 the entrance to the Green Park which is opposite Clarges 
 Street, round which was a courtyard with stables for cows. 
 The whole place looked comfortable and pretty, and was 
 inhabited by two old ladies, who dressed in the style of 
 Louis XV., with high lace caps and dresses of brocaded 
 silk. 
 
 It was during the autumn of 18 14 that Captain 
 Gronow went idly into the Park to look at the cows, 
 which were famous for their breed ; and as he watched the 
 process of milking one of the old ladies asked him to 
 come into her enclosure. The young man remained some 
 time, and thanking the old lady, whose name was Searle, 
 for the honour she had done him, accepted an invitation 
 to go to see her the next evening. On his second visit he had 
 a long conversation with Mrs. Searle, who was a charming 
 conversationalist and proud of her blood. She told him 
 that she was aunt to Beau Brummell ; that George III. 
 had made her gatekeeper of the Green Park ; and that the 
 Princess Mary had furnished her cottage. She also added 
 that one day the Prince of Wales, accompanied by the 
 beautiful Marchioness of Salisbury, called upon her and 
 stopped, as Gronow had done, to see the cows milked. 
 George Brummell, fresh from Eton, happened to be with 
 her, and the Prince, drawn by his nice manners, talked 
 to him. Before he left Prince George said : " As I find 
 you intend to be a soldier, I will give you a commission 
 
19 6 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 in my own regiment." The youth, filled with gratitude, 
 knelt and kissed the Prince's hand. Shortly after, George 
 Brummell's commission in the ioth Hussars was made 
 out, and he went to Brighton with his regiment. 
 
 Mrs. Searle added regretfully : " But a change took 
 place in my nephew's behaviour ; for so soon as he began 
 to mix in society with the Prince, his visits to me became 
 less and less frequent, and now he hardly ever calls to 
 see his old aunt." 
 
 Jesse, however, says that some of those who sought 
 amusement for the Prince told him that the young 
 Etonian had grown up a second Selwyn, upon which 
 Prince George expressed a desire to see him. No 
 matter what led up to it, Brummell, at the age of six- 
 teen and when the Prince was thirty-two, received the 
 honour of entering the Tenth, the Prince's Own Regi- 
 ment, and spent his time between Brighton and London. 
 At the Prince's wedding he was in close attendance upon 
 His Royal Highness, and went down to Windsor in the 
 escort of the newly wedded pair. 
 
 Brummell made but a farcical soldier, and all the 
 stories told of him at this period were of the " funny " 
 order. He was with the Prince so much that he was 
 seldom with his corps, but he was more than welcomed 
 by his fellow officers when he came, as he kept them in 
 roars of laughter. It is said that he did not even know 
 his own troop, but could always tell his front line by a 
 man who possessed a large blue nose. On one of his 
 absences, the advent of recruits necessitated a re-arrange- 
 ment of the corps. The next time Brummell attended he 
 was late as usual, and he galloped up and down the 
 squadron looking for his blue-nosed soldier. At last he 
 found him, and contentedly stopped his horse. 
 
 " Mr. Brummell, you are with your wrong troop," 
 
The Errant Major 197 
 
 shouted the Colonel. Brummell turned round to look 
 at the nose, murmuring : " No, no, I know better than 
 that ! A pretty thing if I did not know my own 
 troop." 
 
 During a review at Brighton he was thrown from his 
 horse ; one account has it that he received a kick from a 
 horse which broke his nose, " and the good looks he 
 carried from Eton were greatly impaired by that unlucky 
 accident." His portraits, however, give no evidence of 
 this. When his regiment was ordered to Manchester he 
 resigned his commission, the Prince being little pleased, 
 yet more or less mollified by the young man's remark : 
 
 " I could not go, your Royal Highness. Manchester ! 
 Besides, you would not be there. I have therefore with 
 your Royal Highness's permission determined to sell 
 out ! " 
 
 " Oh, by all means. Do as you please, do as you 
 please," was the answer. 
 
 There are one or two instances of Brummell's ready 
 wit and impudence which show how he managed to get 
 out of one difficulty by inviting another. Though he 
 withdrew from the army he was given a commission in 
 the Belvoir Volunteers, and on one occasion General 
 Binks was sent down to inspect the corps. 
 
 The General arrived, the men and officers were ready, 
 but Major Brummell was not present. After waiting 
 a considerable time, the inspection commenced, and to- 
 wards the end of it the Major was seen dashing across 
 country in pink. He came, cap in hand, full of apologies : 
 " Meet close at hand ; thought he should be home in 
 time ; horse landed him in ditch," etc., etc. The General, 
 however, was enraged, and roared his denunciations of the 
 Major so that all present could hear, promising a report 
 to the Commander-in-Chief not only of his neglect, but 
 
198 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 of the state in which he presented himself. " You may 
 retire, sir," was the conclusion of the harangue. 
 
 The Beau bowed low and retired ; but having gone 
 a few paces he returned, saying in a low voice, " Excuse 
 me, General Binks, but in my anxiety I forgot to deliver 
 a message which the Duke of Rutland entrusted to me 
 when I left Belvoir this morning ; it was to request the 
 honour of your company at dinner." 
 
 These words, so unexpected and so pleasing, naturally 
 caused a revolution. 
 
 c< Ah ! really I am much obliged to his Grace ; pray, 
 Major Brummell, tell the Duke I shall be most happy, 
 and " — here he raised his voice, that those who had heard 
 before might hear again — " Major Brummell, as to this 
 little affair, I am sure no man can regret it more than 
 you do." 
 
 Brummell retired with smiles to consider how to 
 inform the Duke of the liberty he had taken in adding 
 to his party at dinner. This is a story which Brummell 
 used to tell himself, so it may have been embellished, 
 but it was very amusing as he told it. 
 
 The Beau was never very great on riding, or hunt- 
 ing, though he was always beautifully dressed for such 
 occasions, having, it is said, introduced white tops to 
 hunting boots. 
 
 He was at this time often at Brighton with the Prince. 
 Driving into the yard of an hotel on the way there with 
 four horses, some of his old army friends greeted him 
 from a window with shouts of welcome, and the question, 
 " Why, George, how long have you driven four horses ? " 
 " Only since my valet refused to sit behind two," was his 
 answer ; and such answers as these — light-hearted, apt, 
 always ready — made him popular wherever he went. 
 
 Brummell's fortune had been accumulating, and a 
 
The Crop a la Burtus 199 
 
 year after he left the army he took ^30,000 or ^40,000, 
 settling down at No. 4, Chesterfield Street, close to the 
 house once occupied by George Selwyn. He did not 
 live extravagantly, keeping only two horses for riding in 
 the Park, and a very small establishment. Here he gave 
 dainty little dinners, which the Prince himself honoured 
 sometimes ; and here he gradually slipped into the position 
 of arbiter of dress. The Prince deferred to him in every 
 detail concerning his clothes ; he was known to drive to 
 Chesterfield Street in the morning, remain a long time 
 watching his host dress, propose that Brummell should 
 dine him, and then stay through a drinking bout into 
 the night. 
 
 When we think of the effect the dress of that time 
 must have had upon those who had been used to colour 
 and endless variety, it is easy to believe that there was 
 great regret over the cc slovenliness," as it was called, that 
 followed the new simplicity in clothes. Our Beaux had 
 never been noted for their cleanliness, and now that white 
 ruffles had given place to muslin stocks and often black 
 ribbon, there seemed even less need to be exacting on the 
 score of soap and water. Cloth was being used instead 
 of velvets and silks, knee breeches were replaced by long 
 pantaloons tight to the leg ; Hessians, short or long, were 
 worn instead of the dainty shoe, and worst of all the hair 
 was cut c< a la Brutus." The lace-cleaners and wig- 
 makers had long been in despair, the hairdressers 
 petitioned the King, and there was a battle royal over 
 powder. In 1795 tne scarcity of flour and the poverty 
 of the exchequer induced Pitt to levy a tax upon every 
 head powdered with flour, which at first caused new 
 powders to be invented ; the son of the Duke of Atholl, 
 for instance, took out a patent for horse-chestnut powder. 
 
 The Duke of Bedford and some of his friends were 
 
200 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 so determined that Pitt should get nothing out of his tax 
 that they bound each other to the payment of a large 
 sum of money if any of them wore their hair powdered 
 or tied. Thus it was that these social conspirators met 
 in September 1795 at Woburn Abbey, repaired to the 
 powdering room and had the unusual luxury of cropping, 
 washing, and brushing. They must have felt very happy 
 after it was done, for the hot greasy heads brought much 
 discomfort to their owners, not to call it torture. How- 
 ever, after a century and a half of larded, powdered hair, 
 warranted not to need " opening " for three weeks, six 
 weeks — one hairdresser went so far as to say three months — 
 the custom of washing the head had become more or less 
 mythical, so that when the whole grand mixture of wig, 
 tow, wool, curl, glass ornament, feather, ribbon, etc., 
 had vanished, and men and women both appeared with 
 u crops," they still smudged grease over their heads and 
 considered them clean. 
 
 In one sense Brummell was in a difficult position ; 
 without seeing beauty in the dress worn during his young 
 manhood, he had to accept it, for it was against his 
 principles to make any startling innovations. Whether 
 he deliberately worked out new ideas about the details of 
 dress in order to maintain his supremacy it is difficult to 
 say ; it may be that he would have dressed with as great 
 care had he been on a South Sea island. But it is quite 
 certain that he sought purveyors of clothes until he found 
 those who would follow his instructions to a nicety, that 
 he instructed them with the utmost particularity, and 
 made the fortune of many a man by his patronage. Once, 
 of an expensively dressed person, he said : " Yes, his 
 tailor makes him ; now I, I make my tailor." 
 
 So he gave his attention to small things — the cravat, 
 the fashion of his hair, the precise cut of this or that 
 
Three Great Wishes 201 
 
 part of the coat or waistcoat, the exact tone and quality. 
 Many absurd and untrue tales were told of him after his 
 death : that he employed three coiffeurs, one to arrange 
 the hair on his temples, one for the front, and the third 
 for the occiput ; that it took three glovers to make him 
 a glove, one for the thumb, one for the fingers, and one 
 for the palm and back ; that he wore white satin panta- 
 loons and carried a clove carnation, artificially scented, in 
 his button-hole. So great was the interest in him that 
 a Frenchman, writing for information, ended his note with, 
 " In fact, give me as many details of his appearance as 
 possible. When we talk of Brummell, the way in which 
 he cut his nails is important ! " 
 
 In actual fact, the one great advance Brummell made 
 upon the fashions was the wholesome one of cleanli- 
 ness. " I have three great wishes connected with my 
 wardrobe, — that I may never be without good linen, 
 plenty of it, and country washing," he was once heard 
 to say. 
 
 He wore his hair rather long and waved, and 
 " Apollo " Raikes says that he continued to use powder 
 as long as he remained in England, rather priding himself 
 in retaining this remnant of the vieille cour among the 
 crops and roundheads. 
 
 In arranging his dress he was so particular about 
 shades and materials, that when he was finished for the 
 day — or rather morning — he was so perfectly turned out 
 that, to quote Byron's estimate of him, u the poet's hyper- 
 bole about the lady might be applied to his coat, and 
 
 1 You might almost say the body thought ! ' " 
 
 He was self-conscious, yet indifferent ; extravagant, 
 yet judicious. His superiority in dress gave importance 
 to his wit, and his sparkling conversation added import- 
 
202 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 ance to his dress. Indeed, it is difficult to say whether, 
 wanting wit, his dress would have been sufficient to make 
 his name live, or wanting dress, his wit would have made 
 him a man of mark. Lord Alvanley was a greater wit, 
 and he tried to be as well dressed ; he was also a favourite 
 with the Prince, yet the "Dictionary of National Bio- 
 graphy " does not include his name in its pages. Is this 
 because, though well dressed, he copied Brummell, but 
 did not initiate for himself, or because his wit was less 
 pointed ? Or is it not rather that Brummell had more 
 than wit and dress, and possessed such a marked indi- 
 viduality, that he stood alone ? I give Raikes's estimate 
 of his character, too full of praise and too full of con- 
 demnation, yet it is the judgment of a contemporary 
 and thus valuable. 
 
 " He was always studiously and remarkably well- 
 dressed, never outre ; and, though considerable time and 
 attention were devoted to his toilette, it never, when once 
 accomplished, seemed to occupy his attention. His 
 manners were easy, polished, and gentlemanlike, stamped 
 with what St. Simon would call c l'usage du monde et 
 du plus grand et du meilleur,' and regulated by that 
 same good taste which he displayed in most things. No 
 one was a more keen observer of vulgarism in others, or 
 more piquant in his criticisms, or more despotic as an 
 arbiter elegantiarum ; he could decide the fate of a young 
 man just launched into the world by a single word. His 
 dress was the general model, and, when he had struck 
 out a new idea, he would smile at observing its gradual 
 progress downwards from the highest to the lowest classes. 
 Without many accomplishments, he had a talent for 
 drawing miniatures in water-colours. He was a fair judge 
 of paintings, but particularly of Sevres china, old lacque, 
 buhl, and all those objects of art which were encouraged 
 
BrummeH's Character 203 
 
 by the old French Court, and which in those days were 
 much more rare in England than they have since become. 
 He had a fine collection of valuable snuff-boxes ; one of 
 which, remarkable for two fine Petitots of Madame de 
 Sevigne and Madame de Grignan, I bought at the sale of 
 his effects at Robins' auction rooms for 125 guineas. 
 
 cc It is only justice to say that he was not only 
 good-natured, but thoroughly good-tempered. I never 
 remember to have seen him out of humour. His con- 
 versation, without having the wit and humour of Alvanley, 
 was highly amusing and agreeable, replete with anecdotes 
 not only of the day, but of society several years back, 
 which his early introduction to Carlton House and to 
 many of the Prince's older associates had given him the 
 opportunity of knowing correctly. He had also a peculiar 
 talent for ridicule (not ill-natured), but more properly 
 termed persiflage, which, if it enabled him to laugh some 
 people out of bad habits, was I fear too often exerted to 
 laugh others out of good principles. 
 
 " He was liberal, friendly, serviab/e, without any 
 shuffling or tortuous policy or meanness, or manoeuvring 
 for underhand objects ; himself of no rank or family, 
 but living always with the highest and noblest in the 
 country, on terms of intimacy and familiarity, but 
 without bassesse or truckling ; on the contrary, courted, 
 applauded, and imitated, protecting rather than protected, 
 and exercising an influence, a fascination in society 
 which no one even felt a wish to resist. 
 
 " Here we must stop and mark the reverse of the 
 medal — never did any influence create such wide and 
 real mischief in society. Governed by no principle 
 himself, all his efforts and example tended to stifle it 
 in others. Prodigality was his creed, gambling was his 
 lure, and a reckless indifference to public opinion the 
 
204 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 very groundwork of his system. The cry of indigna- 
 tion that was raised at his departure, when he left so 
 many friends who had become his securities to pay the 
 means of his past extravagance, some of them at the 
 risk of their own ruin, was a low and feeble whisper 
 when compared to the groans and sighs of entire 
 families who have lived to deplore those vices and 
 misfortunes which first originated in his seductions. 
 What a long list of ruin, desolation, and suicide could 
 I now trace to this very source ! " 
 
 Looking back upon those times after the lapse of 
 a century, it is possible to see things in better 
 proportions. Brummell had less power than Raikes 
 gives him, and he had less desire to work evil, for he 
 was not naturally a gambler. Play had assumed terrific 
 proportions before George Brummell was born, and 
 continued to be excessive as long as the Regent 
 lived. It is true that Brummell belonged to Watier's, 
 or the Dandies' Club, where the gambling was so 
 high that suicide was frequent among its members, 
 yet the Beau did not take to gambling there in earnest 
 until his affairs became dangerously involved, and two 
 or three years later he " declined " membership, as the 
 clubs euphoniously describe it. He was neither licen- 
 tious nor a drunkard, and lived a far cleaner life 
 than many of his associates, worst amongst whom may 
 be mentioned Lord Yarmouth, who married Selwyn's 
 Mie-Mie, and who was said to be more debauched than 
 old Q. himself, and George Hanger, who was colonel, 
 lord, gipsy, coal merchant, and inhabitant of the King's 
 Bench prison all in one. 
 
 Brummell's great triumph was his neckcloth. The 
 cravats had for a time been of muslin passed round 
 and round the throat, bagging out in front and 
 
CHARLES JAMES FOX, ONCE AN " OUTRAGEOUS FOP 
 
 205 
 
The Starched Neckcloth 207 
 
 rucking up to the chin. Brummell hit upon the 
 happy idea of starch. Why no one else had thought 
 of it is a mystery, as starch had been in use since the 
 time of Elizabeth. This is said to have been after his 
 first quarrel with the Prince, and that he had been 
 seeking for some method by which he could show supe- 
 riority in appearance. He should have been satisfied 
 with the result, as the first day he wore his new in- 
 vention great excitement is said to have prevailed among 
 his friends. 
 
 Brummell used a piece of white muslin, to which 
 he gave a particular turn to make it fall into correct 
 folds. If the first attempt did not show that the 
 completion of the process would be satisfactory the 
 muslin was thrown aside and another taken ; indeed, 
 on occasions many were spoiled. A friend, going to see 
 him one morning, met his valet on the stairs with his 
 arms piled with muddled cravats. "These are our 
 failures," he said, showing them. 
 
 The method of perfecting the set of the cravat 
 seems somewhat ludicrous. The collar, fixed to the shirt, 
 was so broad that when standing up it hid Brummell's 
 face and head. The neckcloth was a foot wide, and 
 being placed round the collar the problem began. The 
 first attack was made when the collar was turned down ; 
 this being satisfactorily accomplished, the Beau, his chin 
 raised to the ceiling, gently dropped his lower jaw, 
 making a fold in the muslin, which with the edge of 
 the discarded shirt was pressed into permanent shape. 
 This process was repeated until crease after crease having 
 been created, the cravat was the right size. If one 
 crease went wrong, another was tried, and the whole 
 process was repeated. 
 
 It is curious that among the many amusing retorts 
 
208 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Brummell made about clothes there are none upon the 
 cravat, though once he poked fun at the Dandies who 
 copied him to such an extent that their neckcloths were so 
 stiff they could not turn their heads. Seated one night 
 next but one to Lord Worcester, and staring straight 
 in front of him, he asked : u Is Lord Worcester here ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the waiter. 
 
 " Then will you tell his lordship I shall be happy 
 to drink a glass of wine with him." 
 
 After a pause Brummell asked : " Is his lordship 
 ready ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied again the waiter. 
 
 " Then tell him that I drink his lordship's health," 
 said Brummell, suiting the action to the word, but 
 never turning his head. 
 
 The bon mots and persiflage of a wit are always open 
 to the charges of impertinence, impudence, and unkind- 
 ness, and writers have been lavish with them when men- 
 tioning Brummell. It is rather like taking a quotation 
 without its context, for in his best days Brummell was 
 rarely rude, though his words, apart from his manner, 
 would sometimes give the appearance of rudeness. He 
 was once walking with a young nobleman up St. James's 
 Street, when he suddenly stopped, asking his companion 
 what he called those things on his feet. 
 
 " Why, shoes ! " was the reply. 
 
 " Shoes ! are they ? " said Brummell, stooping doubt- 
 fully to examine them, " I thought they were slippers." 
 
 At that day the subject of blacking for boots was 
 almost as important as that of snuff. Lord Petersham, 
 who gave his name to the Petersham coat, loved 
 experimenting, and made his own boot-polish, to say 
 nothing of his own snuff. Indeed, his lordship must 
 have missed his vocation, for Gronow tells of finding 
 
The Beau's Persiflage 209 
 
 him in a room of which one side was lined with canisters 
 of tea, Congou, Pekoe, Souchong, Bohea, Gunpowder, 
 Russian, and many others ; while on the other side of 
 the room were beautiful jars, painted with names in gilt, 
 all filled with snuff, there being so much of it that on 
 the Earl's death it took three days to sell it by auction, 
 when it realised ^3,000. 
 
 Brummell one day complained wistfully that his black- 
 ing ruined him, as it was made of the finest champagne, a 
 jest which many have taken seriously and exclaimed upon 
 in horror. There is a story that a friend having died, 
 Brummell, thinking of his highly polished boots, hurried 
 to the valet, hoping to secure him. But when the man 
 gave the information that : " The Colonel paid me £150 a 
 year, and I should now require ^200," the Beau made 
 him a bow saying, " Well, if you will make it two hundred 
 guineas /shall be happy to attend upon you ! " 
 
 Brummell's elder brother William was a very handsome 
 man, and one morning a clubman approaching Brummell, 
 said : " Do you know your brother is in town ? isn't he 
 coming here ? " 
 
 "Yes, in a day or two," replied Brummell softly; "but 
 I thought he had better walk the back streets till his new 
 clothes came home." 
 
 When we remember that the Prince spent many 
 thousands a year in dress, it is difficult to say what his 
 friend's idea of fitness might be in this matter ; but it could 
 only have been raillery which made the Beau reply to a 
 question of dress expense, asked him by an anxious mother 
 who was just launching her son into the world, " Well, 
 I think, that with a moderate degree of prudence and 
 economy, it might be managed for ^800 a year ! " 
 
 Brummell's affectation of superiority is amusingly 
 shown by his criticism upon an action during war. When 
 
210 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 the British Army retreated from Burgos Colonel Freemantle 
 was sent forward to find quarters for Lord Wellington 
 and his staff. After many miles of desolate country had 
 been passed, only a hut could be discovered, so in this a 
 good fire was lit and preparations made. Freemantle went 
 back to communicate with his lordship, and on his return 
 found an officer of the line had made himself comfortable 
 before the fire. Being asked to retire as the hut was 
 for the service of the Commander of the Forces, the 
 officer retorted that he would give it up neither to Lord 
 Wellington nor to Old Nick himself. " Then I must 
 send for the provost-marshall, whose prisoner you will 
 be until court-martialled for disobedience," was the reply. 
 Whereupon the officer retired. Freemantle, meeting 
 Brummell at White's, told of this incident, and the Beau 
 exclaimed : " If I had been in your place, Freemantle, I 
 should have rung the bell, and desired the servants to 
 kick the fellow downstairs." 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 "Do you see that gentleman near the door?" said an experienced 
 chaperon to her daughter, whom she had brought for the first time into the 
 arena of Almack's ; " he is now speaking to Lord — .'' 
 
 " Yes, I see him," replied the light-hearted and as yet unsophisticated 
 girl ; "who is he?" 
 
 "A person, my dear, who will probably come and speak to us; and if 
 he enters into conversation, be careful to give him a favourable impression 
 of you, for," and she sunk her voice to a whisper, " he is the celebrated 
 Mr. Brummell." Jesse : Life of Brummell. 
 
 IN 1 8 1 1, during some structural alterations at White's, 
 the famous Bow Window was built out over the 
 entrance. No sooner was the last workman out of the 
 place than Brummell took possession of the window ; there 
 he and his set constituted themselves the high priests of 
 fashion, and the cc Bow Window " became an institution in 
 fashionable life. Only those who formed the inner circle 
 of the club ever sat there, and an ordinary frequenter of 
 White's would as soon have reposed on the throne in the 
 House of Lords as have taken a place in the Bow Window. 
 Every one in it was very apparent to passers-by, and it 
 became a serious question whether salutations should or 
 should not pass. After grave discussion it was decided 
 that no greeting should be given from any window in the 
 club to those in the street. A rule not always strictly 
 adhered to, for we are told that on the arrival of the 
 Queen in London on June 7th, 1820, as she drove down 
 St. James's past White's, she bowed and smiled to the men 
 who were in the window. 
 
 13 
 
212 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 In the Bow Window many a scandal had its origin, 
 and much criticism was levelled at the fashion of London. 
 Luttrell, in his "Advice to Julia," published in 1820, 
 describing town in August, shows something of what 
 went on there usually. 
 
 " Shot from yon heavenly bow at White's, 
 No critic arrow now alights 
 On some unconscious passer-by 
 Whose cape's an inch too low or high, 
 Whose doctrines are unsound in hat, 
 In boots or trousers or cravat ; 
 On him who braves the shame and guilt 
 Of gig or Tilbury ill-built, 
 Sports a barouche with panels darker 
 Than the last shade turned out by Barker, 
 Or canters with an awkward seat 
 And badly mounted up the street. 
 No laugh confounds the luckless girl 
 Whose stubborn hair disdains to curl, 
 Who, large in foot, or long in waist, 
 Shows want of blood as well as taste. 
 Silenced awhile that dreadful battery, 
 Whence never issued sound of flattery; 
 That whole artillery of jokes, 
 Levelled point-blank at humdrum folks, 
 Who now, no longer kept in awe, 
 By Fashion's judges or her law, 
 Close by the window, at their ease, 
 Strut with what looks or clothes they please." 
 
 A certain Colonel of the Guards named Sebright, 
 who was extremely conservative in dress, and to the 
 day of his death wore the old corduroy knee-breeches 
 and top-boots, had an angry contempt for the Dandies. 
 From the windows of the Guards' Club he would watch 
 White's, which was opposite, and abuse them, especially 
 Brummell and Alvanley, saying : " Damn those fellows ; 
 they are upstarts, and fit only for the society of tailors." 
 
The Bow Window at White's 213 
 
 Once he dined with Colonel Archibald Macdonald when 
 Brummell, Alvanley, and Pierrepoint were also of the 
 party. Though the three knew how much the Colonel 
 disliked them they each asked him to take wine with 
 him. And to each invitation he replied gruffly : " Thank 
 you ; I have already had enough of this horrid stuff and 
 cannot drink more." 
 
 William , second Lord Alvanley, who joined the club 
 in 1805, was one of Brummell's greatest friends. He 
 was the son of a most irascible barrister named William 
 Pepper Arden. A Frenchman, who heard Arden plead- 
 ing, was told that his name was " le Chevalier Poivre 
 Ardent." 
 
 " Parbleu, il est bien nomme," he replied. 
 
 Alvanley succeeded Brummell in the Prince's favour, 
 and was thought by Gronow to be the greatest wit of the 
 early part of the century. Gunter, the noted confectioner 
 who first made ice-cream in England, and who of course 
 amassed enough money to live as well as any of his 
 aristocratic customers, was once riding a very restive horse 
 which showed signs of bolting. " He is so hot, my lord, 
 I can't hold him," he said to Alvanley. 
 
 u I-ice him, Gunter, i-ice him ! " lisped Alvanley, 
 who had a slight fault in his speech. 
 
 Another habitue of the bow-window was Viscount 
 Allen, named from his elegance and important manner 
 " King Allen," to whom is attributed the remark that 
 " the English could make nothing well but a kitchen 
 poker." 
 
 Lord Yarmouth, the original of Disrael's Lord 
 Monmouth in " Coningsby," was another occupant of 
 the Bow Window. He has generally been said to have 
 been pictured as the Marquess of Steyne by Thackeray ; 
 if so, Thackeray must have drawn the man as he was in 
 
214 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 1848, and put him, as a stout, bald old man, into a 
 period when he was not more than forty years old. 
 Mr. Lewis Melville contends that the Marquis intended 
 by Thackeray was Francis Seymour, the second Marquis 
 of Hertford, and not the son whose title, as long as 
 his father lived, was Lord Yarmouth. Against this must 
 be set the fact that Thackeray's description of the Mar- 
 chioness of Steyne agrees with that of Lady Yarmouth. 
 However, at the time of the installation of the Bow 
 Window, Lord Yarmouth was only twenty-nine, and 
 followed Brummell closely in dress, though later, when 
 the Beau had disappeared, he posed as the leader of 
 fashion himself. 
 
 The Earl of Sefton, though scarcely a Beau, shone 
 with reflected glory, for he had his seat among the Beaux, 
 and lived in the set. He was one of the founders of the 
 Coaching Club, driving splendid horses. 
 
 The Marquis of Worcester, afterwards Lord Beaufort, 
 had been a Macaroni at Almack's, and was a Dandy at 
 White's, for many of the Dandies (the name came into 
 use in the second decade of the nineteenth century) were 
 u men of uncertain age." Others were Ball Hughes, so 
 rich as to be known as " Golden " Ball ; " Apollo " Raikes, 
 so called because, being a City Dandy, he rose in the east 
 and set in the west, and Sir Lumley Skeffington, the most 
 amiable of Beaux, of whom it was said cc that under all 
 his double-breasted coats and waistcoats he never had any 
 other than a single-hearted soul." Captain Gronow, or 
 No-grow, though cited as a Dandy, was never admitted to 
 the inner circle at White's, and was thus debarred from the 
 Bow Window, being probably for that reason somewhat 
 embittered against it. Thus, writing in i860, he says : 
 
 " How insufferably odious, with a few brilliant ex- 
 ceptions, were the dandies of forty years ago. They 
 
Beau or Prince 215 
 
 were generally middle-aged, some even elderly men, had 
 large appetites, gambled freely and had no luck, and 
 why they arrogated to themselves the right of setting up 
 their fancied superiority on a self-raised pedestal, and 
 despising their betters, Heaven only knows. They hated 
 everybody and abused everybody, and would sit together 
 in White's bow window, or the pit boxes at the Opera. 
 They swore a good deal, never laughed, had their own 
 particular slang, looked hazy after dinner, and had most 
 of them been patronised at one time or other by Brum- 
 mell or the Prince Regent." 
 
 The last phrase shows the curious way in which the 
 name of Brummell was often put before that of the 
 Prince. It reminds me of a tailor's anecdote which is 
 given somewhere. A gentleman who liked to be in 
 the fashion went to one of the Prince's tailors to be 
 measured for a suit, and while the clever master-tailor, 
 named Schweitzer, was measuring him, they discussed 
 the cloth to be used. 
 
 " Why, sir," said the artist, " the Prince wears super- 
 fine, and Mr. Brummell Bath coating ; but it is immaterial 
 which you choose, Sir John, you must be right. Suppose, 
 sir, we say Bath coating — I think Mr. Brummell has a 
 trifle the preference." 
 
 At that time the correct morning dress was, according 
 to Brummell, Hessians and pantaloons, or top-boots and 
 buckskins, with a blue coat and a light or buff-coloured 
 waistcoat ; in the evening a blue coat and white waist- 
 coat, black pantaloons buttoning tight to the ankle, 
 striped silk stockings, and Opera hat were en rigle ; 
 and Brummell put them on with such exactitude, such a 
 consideration of colour and fitness, that, as Lord Byron 
 said, there was nothing peculiar about his clothes but 
 " an exquisite propriety." 
 
216 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 The then Duke of Bedford asked Brummell's opinion 
 once upon a coat he was wearing. The Beau examined 
 him from head to foot, told him to turn round, and 
 continued the scrutiny. At last, feeling the lapel 
 delicately with thumb and ringer, he said, in a most 
 earnest and amusing manner : " Bedford, do you call 
 this thing a coat ?" A reply which is so obvious as well 
 as so irresistible, that one regards the criticism of " un- 
 feeling rudeness " made upon such chaffing speeches, as 
 almost as good a joke. 
 
 As it was in the days when Nash was " King " of Bath, 
 so it was when George was Prince Regent, the snuff-box 
 was an essential article of dress. Every man carried 
 one, and many made collections of boxes. The Prince 
 was never seen without one, though it has been stated 
 that he did not care for taking snuff; his wish to do as 
 others did was, however, strong enough to make him 
 from time to time raise a pinch to his nose. 
 
 Beau Brummell had a valuable collection of boxes, 
 jewelled, enamelled, and miniatured, of which he was very 
 proud ; and he is said to have added certain scent to a 
 snuff which he presented to George, and which was 
 after always known as " Regent's Mixture." A box 
 newly presented to him was being handed round and 
 particularly admired at a party, when one man, finding 
 it difficult to open, tried raising the lid with a dessert 
 knife. The Beau was in an agony as to the fate of his 
 treasure, but fearful of being impolite, he said to his 
 host : " Will you be good enough to tell your friend 
 that my snuff-box is not an oyster ? " 
 
 The Prince of Wales never permitted any one to 
 take a pinch of snuff out of his box ; and once when 
 Brummell, accompanied by his friend Pierrepoint, called 
 upon Mrs. Fitzherbert, the Prince, annoyed at their 
 
A Port and a Presence 217 
 
 visit, administered a snub. Brummell took a pinch of 
 snuff and carelessly placed his box on a small table 
 nearly opposite to His Royal Highness, who remarked 
 sharply, " Mr. Brummell, the place for your box is in 
 your pocket, and not on the table ! " 
 
 This reminds me of a similar remark the Prince once 
 made to his rowdy friend, Lord Barry more, who, having 
 called at Carlton House, placed his hat on a chair, upon 
 which, in his best sarcastic manner, His Royal Highness 
 said : " My lord, a well-bred man places his hat under 
 his arm on entering the room, and on his head when 
 out of doors." 
 
 Mrs. Fitzherbert always disliked Brummell, who 
 offended by espousing the cause of the Princess of Wales ; 
 and it is not unlikely that in indirect ways she was 
 largely responsible for the quarrel between Prince and 
 Beau, though the reasons were many and slight which 
 led up to the final breach. 
 
 Brummell as Trebeck is described in the novel 
 Granby as the most " consummate tuft-hunter," and 
 as cutting a friend a term at Oxford that he might gain 
 the notice of some embryo baronet or earl, but, as we 
 have seen, Thomas Raikes gives him a character differing 
 from this ; and had he been a snob, his attitude towards 
 his royal friend, when matters became strained between 
 them, would have been quite other than it was. 
 
 Our master in character-drawing, Meredith, has in 
 Evan Harrington a word to say of the two men which 
 is illuminating. In comparing the great Mel and his 
 wife, he says that Henrietta Maria had a Port, and 
 Melchisadec a Presence, and that the union of such a 
 Port and such a Presence is so uncommon that all 
 England might be searched through without finding 
 another. " By a Port, one may understand them to in- 
 
2i 8 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 dicate something unsympathetically impressive ; whereas 
 a Presence would seem to be a thing that directs the 
 most affable appeal to our poor human weaknesses." 
 He illustrates this by adding that " His Majesty, King 
 George IV., for instance, possessed a Port : Beau Brum- 
 mell wielded a Presence. Many, it is true, take a 
 Presence to mean no more than a shirt-frill, and inter- 
 pret a Port as the art of walking erect. But this is to 
 look upon language too narrowly." 
 
 Really, when one considers the Prince and the way 
 in which he treated friends and lovers alike with the 
 profoundest indifference to their feelings and ingratitude 
 for their devotion, we can understand Mrs. Fitzherbert's 
 disgusted plaint on hearing that Brummell was to be 
 given the Consulship at Caen. " The King has given his 
 consent. . . . Some people are more partial to their 
 enemies than kind to their friends." 
 
 Nor is it difficult to accept Thackeray's estimation of 
 the Prince, who, when he died, left behind him not 
 broken hearts or sorrowing friends, but just clothes, 
 clothes, clothes — cupboards full, rooms full, boxes full ; a 
 day, a year, fifty years old ; inanimate, stupid things 
 which knew nothing of their owner, but every one of 
 which he remembered with interest. a But a bow and 
 a grin. I try and take him to pieces, and find silk 
 stockings, padding, stays, a coat with frogs and a fur 
 coat, a star and a blue ribbon, a pocket handkerchief 
 prodigiously scented, one of Trufitt's best nutty brown 
 wigs reeking with oil, a set of teeth, and a huge black 
 stock, under-waistcoats, more under-waistcoats, and then 
 nothing ! " 
 
 Brummell, like Lord Chesterfield, could not restrain 
 his tongue. Prince or beggar had to receive the retort 
 which leaped to his lips, and he had sometimes to suffer 
 
The Great Quarrel 219 
 
 the effect of his own words. From all that is told us, 
 the war between him and the Prince was one of ill- 
 manners on the one side and sharp speech on the other, 
 and the Regent never could forgive plain criticism. One 
 of the speeches made with flippant impertinence, which 
 rankled with the Prince, became popular through its 
 versification by Moore. 
 
 Upon receiving some affront from his royal friend, 
 Brummell said it was tC rather too good. By gad, I have 
 half a mind to cut the young one, and bring old George 
 into fashion." Whereupon Moore put into the mouth of 
 the Prince the following : 
 
 Neither have I resentments, nor wish there should come ill 
 To mortal, except — now I think on't — Beau Brummell, 
 Who threatened last year, in a superfine passion, 
 To cut me, and bring the old King into fashion. 
 
 There can be no possibility of doubt that Brummell 
 very seriously offended the Prince Regent — so seriously 
 that the latter refused to speak to his former friend even 
 when he was in poverty and in exile. How far this was 
 the fault of Brummell himself and how far it was the 
 outcome of the littleness of George's mind it is difficult 
 to say, for there have been so many stories told to 
 account for the quarrel that it is not easy to accept one 
 rather than another. Though it might perhaps safely be 
 hazarded that Brummell's partisanship of the Princess of 
 Wales, and his dislike to Mrs. Fitzherbert, was a very 
 likely source of anger on the Prince's part. 
 
 Brummell was never a flatterer. When he was but 
 a boy of sixteen his pleasing appearance and elegant 
 manners had attracted the Prince ; his authoritative air 
 upon those matters which interested His Royal Highness, 
 such as dress, snuff, and other frivolities, kept the 
 
22o The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 friendship strong through many years ; but if George the 
 Beau deserved the epithet of " selfish " so often given 
 him, George the Prince was something more than selfish. 
 He loved and respected only one person in the world, 
 and that was himself; so opposition from any one meant 
 enmity in return from him. 
 
 Brummell himself could never be quite certain as to 
 the cause of offence ; he had been allowed such latitude 
 of speech, having been accustomed to saying to the Prince 
 things which no one else would have dreamed of uttering, 
 that it was with some surprise that he was forced to 
 accept the fact that "the first gentleman in Europe" (so 
 named as much because of his nicety in dress as for any 
 other reason) was irrevocably set against him. This 
 disfavour seems to have been shown in a series of snubs, 
 but never openly put into words, and for a season 
 Brummell met each snub with a complacent impertinence ; 
 and having by far the sharper tongue, said many more 
 disagreeable things to his royal master than that Prince 
 could say to him. Such could have been his only 
 consolation in the matter, coupled with the knowledge 
 that he had never toadied for favour. 
 
 Beneath all the superficial play of ill-temper and biting 
 repartee there must have lain in the Prince's mind a 
 rancouring jealousy of the man who was even more 
 elegantly dressed than himself, who kept his figure and his 
 good looks while he — much to his chagrin — was getting 
 fat, whose spirit was so high that he dared to show open 
 disapproval of the treatment given to the Prince's wife, 
 and of the attitude taken by the woman who looked upon 
 herself as his wife. To-day we are inclined to regard 
 Mrs. Fitzherbert with quite as much compassion as we 
 do the uncrowned Queen, and to feel less uncertainty 
 upon her moral life than upon that of her rival ; but 
 
Ben and Benina 221 
 
 then there were many who regarded the ci-devant actress 
 as a presumptuous and light woman who dared to think 
 herself, though a commoner, entitled to share the throne. 
 And this was Beau Brummell's attitude. 
 
 There is probably nothing which provokes enmity so 
 quickly as satire, and though Brummell's satire was 
 generally good-natured, yet that does not count when a 
 person is annoyed with the satirist. For instance, there 
 was a huge and corpulent person named Ben ; some 
 one says it was a gentleman who habitually rode in the 
 Row. Jesse says it was a burly porter at Carlton House 
 (the residence of the Prince), who was so tall that he 
 could look over the gates. As the Regent was then 
 increasing in size, Brummell often spoke of the Prince 
 as c< Our Ben," and of Mrs. Fitzherbert, who was also at 
 that time getting more than plump, as " Benina." Once, 
 too, at a ball given by Lady Jersey, the Regent asked 
 Brummell to call Mrs. Fitzherbert's carriage, and in 
 doing so he loudly demanded Mistress Fitzherbert's 
 carriage, laying particular emphasis on an epithet even 
 then regarded as insulting. 
 
 This nickname of " Ben," or " Big Ben" stuck to the 
 Regent, and was used by other people than Brummell, 
 for when Moore visited Dr. Parr, that learned man told 
 him that he had written whole sheets of Greek verse 
 against Big Ben (the Regent) and showed them to his 
 friend, upon which Moore said that the actual Greek 
 word used meant inflated or puffy. 
 
 There is the story, so variously told and so con- 
 sistently denied by Brummell, of the bell ; a story, 
 the truth of which most contemporary biographers also 
 deny, though there seems to be no doubt that such 
 an incident did happen. 
 
 It must be remembered that Brummell was a constant 
 
222 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 guest at Carlton House, and had been extremely inti- 
 mate with its royal master. One version runs that after 
 the Prince had begun to feel antagonistic towards his 
 favourite, Brummell won ,£20,000 at White's from George 
 Hartley Drummond, which fact, being repeated to the 
 Prince, induced him to invite Brummell again to his 
 table. The latter, glad to be back in his accustomed 
 place, became excited and drank too much wine. Accord- 
 ing to this story the Prince had only invited his old 
 friend from a motive of revenge, and pretending to be 
 annoyed by his hilarity, said to the Duke of York : 
 ' c I think we had better order Mr. BrummelFs carriage 
 before he gets drunk." Whereupon he rang the bell, 
 and Brummell left the royal presence. 
 
 The generally received, but quite unauthentic version, 
 is that Brummell said at the dinner table : " George, ring 
 the bell ; " that the Prince rang the bell, and when the 
 servant appeared ordered Mr. Brummell's carriage. 
 
 Jesse says that Brummell and Lord Moira were 
 engaged in an earnest conversation at Carlton House, 
 when the Prince asked the former to ring the bell. 
 " Your Royal Highness is close to it," replied Brummell 
 unthinkingly ; upon which the Prince rang the bell and 
 ordered his friend's carriage, but Lord Moira's inter- 
 vention caused the liberty to be overlooked. 
 
 Brummell himself said, in the hearing of Jesse, " I 
 was on such intimate terms with the Prince, that if we 
 had been alone I could have asked him to ring the bell 
 without offence ; but with a third person in the room I 
 should never have done so ; I know the Regent too well." 
 
 In any case it may be assumed that Brummell was 
 too good a judge of his own interest to risk so much 
 at a time when he hoped to be reinstated in favour, 
 simply for a foolish display of intimacy. 
 
BEAU BRUMMELL 
 
 223 
 
"George, Ring the Bell" 225 
 
 The probably true explanation is that this incident 
 was one of those which, having some foundation in 
 fact, was fitted to the wrong person. Admiral Payne, 
 then Comptroller of the Household, had a young nephew, 
 a midshipman, who was sometimes asked to dine at 
 Carlton House. Boasting of the honour in the cockpit 
 this lad was led to wager that he would ask the Prince 
 to ring the bell. A few days later, being again invited 
 to dine with the Prince, he primed himself with cham- 
 pagne and actually did ask His Highness to ring the 
 bell. The Regent promptly complied, and when the 
 page-in-waiting appeared, said good-humouredly, " Put 
 that drunken boy to bed." 
 
 Lord Houghton, believing the story to be of 
 Brummell, says the matter was " very much altered by 
 the circumstance that the Prince was sitting on a sofa 
 close to it " (the bell), " so that the speech of the familiar 
 guest was rather uncourtly than ungentleman-like." 
 
 I must add an incident which happened in Calais 
 years after, when Brummell was living there. The work- 
 men in the tulle factory discussed him, as did every one 
 else, and one day two of these men approached a gentle- 
 man in the street who was something like Brummell, 
 he overhearing one of them say, Cl Now, I'll bet you 
 a pot that's him." Then one came up to him, saying, 
 €i Beg pardon, sir, hope no offence, but we two have 
 a bet — now aren't you ' George, ring the bell ? ' " 
 Though the bet was lost, the men shared the pot. 
 
 There was a further incident which was a factor in the 
 quarrel, and an account of which has been given by one 
 of Brummell's contemporaries. The Beau had acquired 
 a valuable snuff-box which the Prince desired, and for 
 which he offered in exchange another box to be deco- 
 rated on the lid with a miniature of himself set in jewels. 
 
226 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Of course the Beau agreed, and the second box was 
 ordered of a jeweller, there being much consultation 
 over it. Just as it was completed, Brummell called upon 
 Mrs. Fitzherbert in the country, and as he drove up to 
 the door Prince George came out upon the steps and 
 told him he must drive back to town as Mrs. Fitzherbert 
 would not receive him. No explanation was given and 
 none asked. A day or so later, when Brummell went as 
 arranged for the snuff-box, the jeweller told him that he 
 had been commanded to send it direct to the Prince, 
 which had been done. The latter never sent it on to the 
 Beau, and was careful not to return that which he had 
 secured by his broken promise. Why this all happened 
 Brummell did not know, but he naturally ascribed it to 
 Mrs. Fitzherbert's dislike of him. 
 
 But before these things happened Brummell went 
 through a period of splendour, during which he found 
 himself the most-sought-after man in England, and to 
 that youthful time may be attributed many of his great 
 impertinences. He was so sure of welcome that he 
 went where he would, whether he were invited or not, 
 and occasionally he met a well-deserved snub. 
 
 Having thought himself invited to some one's country 
 seat, and being given to understand, after one night's 
 lodging, that he was in error, he told an unconscious 
 friend in town, who asked him what sort of a place 
 it was, that it was "an exceedingly good place for 
 stopping one night in." Apropos of visiting it may 
 be added that Brummell never went out for a night 
 without taking with him an elaborate dressing apparatus 
 of silver, including a silver basin ; " For," said he, " it is 
 impossible to spit in clay." 
 
 The rather terrible Johnson-Thompson incident 
 occurred while his relations with the Prince were 
 
Johnson and Thompson 227 
 
 strained. Two ladies, one named Thompson living in 
 Grosvenor Square, and one named Johnson inhabiting 
 Finsbury Square, gave parties on the same night. To 
 the former the Prince was going, and therefore Brummell 
 could not be invited. However, he appeared, and his 
 hostess informed him publicly that he had had no invi- 
 tation. This open rebuff, though deserved, was quite 
 enough to bring out his prickles. 
 
 " Not invited, madam ? surely there must be some 
 mistake," and he searched all his pockets slowly for a 
 card. At last, finding one, he showed it to the angry 
 lady, who snapped out : 
 
 " My name is Thompson, sir ; this is from a Mrs. 
 Johnson/' 
 
 " Indeed !" said Brummell, with a cool drawl. " Dear 
 me, how unfortunate ! Really, Mrs. Johns — Thompson, I 
 mean — I am very sorry for this mistake, but, you know, 
 Johnson and Thompson — Thompson and Johnson, are 
 really so much alike. Mrs. Thompson, I wish you a 
 good-evening ! " With a profound bow he retired slowly, 
 to the anger of some and the amusement of others. 
 
 His impertinent remarks to men are many, though 
 they were persiflage rather than rudeness ; for instance, 
 when, having dined with a certain wealthy young man, 
 Brummell asked who would drive him to Lady Jersey's, 
 his host cried, delighted with the opportunity : 
 
 " I will ; wait till my guests are gone, and my 
 carriage is quite at your service." 
 
 " Thank you ! it is very kind of you indeed ! But 
 D — k," said he, very grave, rt how are you to go ? you 
 would not like to get up behind, and yet it would scarcely 
 do for me to be seen in the carriage with you." A 
 sally which was greeted with a roar of laughter, in 
 which his host joined. 
 
228 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 There is also that other dinner story which has been 
 adduced as a proof of his unpardonable rudeness, making 
 it wonderful that he should get through life with a whole 
 skin. Being invited to dine by a very aspiring and little- 
 known man, he was asked to make up the party himself, 
 so he invited Alvanley, Mills, Pierrepoint, and a few 
 others, his verdict upon the evening being : " It was 
 an excellent dinner, quite unique, but conceive of my 
 astonishment when my host actually sat down and 
 dined with us ! " When annoyed and on the defensive 
 Brummell could and did say very rude things ; but 
 assumed rudeness of this sort, uttered to raise a laugh, 
 scarcely merited such extreme criticism. 
 
 Just as unthinkingly he has been accused of snob- 
 bish pretension when answering a beggar who asked 
 him for charity, " even if it were only a farthing." 
 
 " Fellow, I don't know the coin, but if a shilling will 
 help you in finding it, here is one." Jesse adds that he 
 softened " the apparent disdain of the address with the 
 gentleness of his voice and manner ! " 
 
 Long after he had left England a carriage builder was 
 advertising a certain form of carriage with a new step, 
 and used Brummell's name. " Mr. Brummell considered 
 the sedan chair the only vehicle for a gentleman, it having 
 no steps ; and he invariably had his own chair — which 
 was lined with white satin, quilted, had down squabs, and 
 a white sheepskin rug at the bottom — brought to the 
 door of his dressing-room, which on that account was on 
 the ground floor. From thence it was transferred with 
 its owner to the foot of the staircase of the house which 
 he condescended to visit." He also said that Brummell 
 would not enter a coach, and records a conversation with 
 him on this subject. " Conceive," said the Beau, " the 
 horror of sitting in a carriage with an iron apparatus, 
 
"Poodle" Byng 229 
 
 afflicted with the dreadful thought, the cruel apprehen- 
 sion, of having one's leg crushed by the machinery ! 
 Why are not the steps made to fold outside ? The 
 only detraction from the luxury of a vis-a-vis, is the 
 double distress ! for both legs, excruciating idea ! " 
 
 Once, when chair and carriage alike failed him, he 
 had to go to a party in a hackney coach. He thought he 
 entered the house without this painful fact being known, 
 but as he ascended the stairs a footman stopped him, to 
 his horror and disgust, with : " Pardon me, sir, but do 
 you know there is a straw in your shoe ? " 
 
 It was Brummell who gave his sobriquet to Byng. 
 This Dandy had a quantity of curly hair, and one day, 
 driving in a curricle with a French poodle by his side, he 
 met Brummell and stopped to speak with him. " Ah ! " 
 said the Beau, " a family vehicle, I suppose." And Byng 
 was known as Poodle ever after. 
 
 Brummell valued, or pretended to value, his own 
 favours highly, as many anecdotes show. An aspiring 
 young man was once introduced to him as desiring his 
 patronage, but he did not eventually shine in the ranks 
 of the Dandies. " And yet I did my best for him," said 
 Brummell commiseratingly. " I once gave him my arm 
 all the way from White's to Watier's," that is from St. 
 James's Street to Bruton Street. 
 
 Having borrowed some money of a city Beau, whom 
 he patronised in return, he was one day asked to repay 
 it ; upon which he thus complained to a friend : " Do 
 you know what has happened ? " " No." " Why, do 
 you know, there's that fellow, Tomkins, who lent me 
 five hundred pounds, has had the face to ask me for it; 
 and yet I have called the dog c Tom/ and let myself dine 
 with him." 
 
 H 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Our grand-nephews will behold in George Brummell a great re- 
 former ; a man who dared to be cleanly in the dirtiest of times ; a man 
 who compelled gentlemen to quit the coach box, and assume a place in 
 their own carriage ; a man who induced the ingenuous youth of Britain to 
 prove their valour otherwise than by thrashing superannuated watchmen ; 
 a man, in short, who will survive for posterity as Charlemagne of the 
 great empire of Clubs. Cecil Dandy. 
 
 WHEN Brummell was deserted by the Prince he was 
 still courted by high society ; his appearance was 
 studied with the same attention, and his favour desired 
 eagerly by young men whose ambition was to be ac- 
 knowledged as Dandies. He found warm friends in the 
 Duke and Duchess of York, as the latter liked him very 
 much, his fine manners and his bright spirits having a 
 great charm for her. She felt that it was Brummell's 
 influence which more or less reformed the manners of the 
 smart young men who, when the Duchess first arrived in 
 England, were notorious for their excesses, their self- 
 assertiveness, and their want of courtesy. The worst of 
 these were, in her Royal Highness's opinion, Charles 
 Wyndham and Colonel Hervey Aston, both of whom she 
 greatly disliked. 
 
 The Duke of York was, to put it euphemistically, 
 a man with many friends whom his wife could not pos- 
 sibly accept ; but they lived harmoniously, she at Oatlands 
 and he in London, though the Duke generally took a 
 party down to his wife's home for the week-ends. Oat- 
 lands was a fine estate lying between Walton Bridge and 
 
 230 
 
The Duchess of York 231 
 
 Weybridge, and here was perhaps to be found the nearest 
 approach to a gentle refined Court that England had 
 seen for a long time. Among those often invited were 
 Alvanley, Brummell, Yarmouth, Foley, and Greville. 
 
 The Duchess is described as a very great lady in the 
 fullest sense of the word, displaying sound sense and 
 judgment, kindness, beneficence, and charity. She was 
 particularly fond of animals, and kept many, there being 
 eagles, macaws, monkeys, kangaroos, and ostriches in her 
 park, and of dogs there was no end. 
 
 At Christmas time the Duchess turned her great 
 dining-room into a German fair, with booths along each 
 side stored with good things, a tree in the centre hung with 
 cakes and goodies, and a table at one end of the room upon 
 which was displayed the presents brought to her by her 
 visitors, while at the other end was another table holding 
 the presents she had given to them. Tom Raikes 
 speaks of one Christmas gift which he possessed, being a 
 morocco pocket-book, embroidered in gold by Her Royal 
 Highness, with a gold pencil-case and amethyst seal. 
 The intention always was that the presents should be 
 inexpensive, but George Brummell, in his prosperous and 
 magnificent days, could not yield to such an idea. He 
 once brought as his offering a Brussels lace gown which 
 had cost him one hundred and fifty guineas. It made 
 the presents by the other men look small, and it was 
 naturally regarded as bad taste to give such an expensive 
 thing. 
 
 It is said that the Duchess seldom went to bed, but 
 took a few hours' sleep, sitting dressed on a couch or 
 chair, now in one apartment, now in another, and 
 delighted in taking solitary walks at dead of night 
 or in the small hours of the morning. At three o'clock 
 she breakfasted and dressed, when, surrounded by all her 
 
232 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 dogs — which never numbered less than forty — she went 
 into the park or village. When any of these animals 
 died, they were decently interred in a spot set aside for 
 the purpose, close by the fish-pond. Guests at the Park 
 were allowed to follow their own inclinations, no cere- 
 mony being observed ; they went to church or stayed 
 away, amused themselves in the gardens and grounds, 
 and had a restful, idle time. 
 
 It seems that the Duchess was not a good household 
 manager, for, according to Charles Greville, a frequent 
 visitor, there were a great many servants, but nobody to 
 wait upon the visitors ; a vast number of horses, but none 
 to use. One of the Duchess's foibles was her extreme 
 tenaciousness of authority, which she showed sometimes 
 by appropriating all the horses to herself ; though she 
 seldom rode or drove them, she wished it to be seen 
 that she had the privilege of preventing others from 
 doing so. 
 
 Among the favoured visitors to Oatlands was " Monk " 
 Lewis, so named from the title of his widely read, 
 sensational novel, ' c Ambrosio, or the Monk." He was 
 a small man, by no means handsome in appearance, 
 " having queer projecting eyes like those of some insect." 
 He was also a fop, and many thought a bore, though it 
 was his turn for epigram which gained him the friend- 
 ship of his royal hostess. One day, after dinner, as the 
 Duchess was leaving the room, she whispered something 
 into Lewis's ear. He was much affected, his eyes filling 
 with tears, and on being asked what was the matter, 
 replied, " Oh, the Duchess spoke so very kindly to me ! " 
 
 " My dear fellow," said Colonel Armstrong, w pray 
 don't cry ; I dare say she didn't mean it." 
 
 On another occasion Lord Erskine said, over the 
 dinner-table, many scornful things of marriage, concluding 
 
"Monk" Lewis at Oatlands 233 
 
 with the sentiment " that a wife was nothing but a tin 
 canister tied to a man's tail," which made Lady Ann 
 Culling Smith most indignant. Lewis, with a smile, 
 wrote the following verse, which he handed to Her Royal 
 Highness : 
 
 Lord Erskine at marriage presuming to rail, 
 
 Says a wife's a tin canister tied to one's tail; 
 
 And the fair Lady Ann, while the subject he carries on, 
 
 Feels hurt at his lordship's degrading comparison. 
 
 But wherefore degrading ? if taken aright 
 
 A tin canister's useful, and polished, and bright ; 
 
 And if dirt its original purity hide, 
 
 Tis the fault of the puppy to whom it is tied. 
 
 He is said to have been a man with a very tender 
 heart, who showed great consideration and love for his 
 mother under difficult circumstances, and, possessing 
 estates in Jamaica, did his utmost to make the lot of his 
 slaves happy. But his good qualities and talents were 
 marred by conceit. He died at the age of forty, on his 
 way to Jamaica — Thomas Moore says, of taking emetics 
 to prevent sea-sickness, in spite of the advice of those 
 about him ; elsewhere it is stated that he died of yellow 
 fever. 
 
 Once, when visiting Oatlands, Brummell would eat 
 no vegetables, and a stranger to him asked if he had 
 never eaten any in his life, to which he replied : 
 
 <c Yes, madam. I once ate a pea ! " 
 
 This, of necessity, brings to mind other stories con- 
 nected with the dinner-table. A bore asked him, apropos 
 of nothing, whether he liked port. Brummell looked 
 blank, then assumed a puzzled air of trying to re- 
 member : " Port — port ? Oh, port ! Oh, ay ; what, 
 the hot, intoxicating liquor so much drunk by the lower 
 orders ? " He had, however, definite opinions concerning 
 
234 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 port. It had been the custom to drink porter with cheese, 
 but he laid down the law that port, not porter, should 
 be drunk with that useful food. "A gentleman never 
 malts with his cheese, he always ports," was his remark. 
 A friend once casually asked him where he was going 
 to dine the next day, and Brummell responded with a 
 drawl that he really did not know. " They will put me 
 in my carriage and take me somewhere/' 
 
 Brummell did not marry, though he never could get 
 to know a pretty and well-born woman well without 
 making her an offer of marriage. Not that he believed 
 she would accept it, but that he thought he was paying 
 her a very great compliment. The girls grew to under- 
 stand this, and to treat the matter as a joke, though it is 
 said that one lady was much inclined to take him. 
 Once he planned an elopement, but a servant turning 
 traitor, the pair were caught at the street corner. 
 
 One story, which says something for his vanity, is told 
 of him when staying at a country house. He approached 
 his host with every appearance of sorrow, saying that he 
 must leave him that morning. 
 
 "Why, you were not to go till next month," returned 
 the hospitable peer. 
 
 " True, but I must go now." 
 
 " But why ? why ? " 
 
 " Why, the fact is — I am in love with your countess." 
 
 " Well, my dear fellow, don't mind that. So was I 
 twenty years ago. Is she in love with you ?" 
 
 Brummell hesitated ; then said, with his eyes on the 
 carpet : " 1 — I believe she is." 
 
 " Oh ! that alters the case entirely," replied the earl ; 
 " I will send for your post-horses immediately." 
 
 Years later, when he had won a very large sum at 
 Watier's Club, he seriously thought of marriage, but 
 
"Who is our Fat Friend ? " 235 
 
 the project fell through from some cause. Being rallied 
 about it, Brummell looked pensive, sighed, and then said 
 reluctantly : " My dear fellow, what could I do ? It was 
 impossible, for I found that she actually ate cabbage." 
 
 Concerning the second imperishable retort which 
 Brummell made when the Prince carried his rudeness a 
 little farther, there are as many versions as there are 
 concerning the bell. It is difficult to say which is true, 
 for most of them are told by contemporaries. That ver- 
 sion related to Mr. Percy Fitzgerald by Lord Houghton 
 is one of the most credited. After remarking that this 
 story was usually told in such a way that it is simply 
 insolence devoid of all humour, Lord Houghton added 
 that it certainly had its vindication. 
 
 Brummell was one of the committee of the fete given 
 by the three most fashionable clubs to the allied sove- 
 reigns in 1815, which was several years after his rupture 
 with the Regent. The fete was given in the garden of 
 Burlington House, in a monstrous marquee, and the 
 committee lined the passage through the house, each 
 royal guest shaking hands from side to side as he went 
 along. Brummell was standing opposite to Sir Henry 
 Mildmay, with whom the Prince shook hands ; then, 
 instead of taking the Beau in his turn, he missed him 
 and saluted the next opposite member. As he presented 
 the reverse of his portly figure to Mr. Brummell, the 
 latter, leaning over it, said to Sir Henry in a loud aside, 
 Ct Henry, who is our fat friend ? " Lord Houghton 
 continued, that considering the old intimacy — indeed, as 
 far as the difference of state permitted, the friendship 
 between Prince and playfellow — this was felt at the time 
 to be rather a witty retort to a provocation than an 
 unmannerly insult. 
 
 Here is another version of the incident. Brummell, 
 
236 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 having fallen out of favour, was of course to be cut, 
 as the phrase is, when met in public. Riding one day 
 with a friend, who happened to be otherwise regarded, 
 and encountering the Prince, who spoke to the friend 
 without noticing Brummell, he affected the air of one 
 who waits aloof while a stranger is present ; and 
 then, when the great man was moving away, said to his 
 companions, loud enough for the Prince to hear, and 
 placidly adjusting his bibs, " Eh ! who is our fat friend ? " 
 
 A similar cut was administered to Brummell at the 
 Dandies' ball, two years earlier, given by Brummell, Sir 
 Henry Mildmay, Lord Alvanley and Mr. Pierrepoint ; 
 and some add the retort to that occasion. 
 
 The four gentlemen, having won a very large sum 
 at hazard, determined to give a ball, but did not know 
 what to do concerning the Prince, who had quarrelled 
 both with Brummell and Sir Henry; however, Pierrepoint 
 sounded His Royal Highness, who was eager to be present, 
 so an invitation was sent him. On his arrival this fine- 
 mannered Prince, the first gentleman in all Europe, 
 showed his breeding by making his most elegant bow 
 to Alvanley and Pierrepoint and shaking both by the 
 hand ; but of the other two gentlemen he took no notice. 
 
 It was as finished and courteous an act as that of 
 the bully who kicks a man when he is down, for hosts 
 cannot retaliate upon their guests, and the Prince knew 
 it. Brummell was so angry that he refused to attend 
 His Royal Highness to his carriage when he departed ; 
 but if the question which has been placed by many 
 writers to just as many different incidents did spring 
 to his lips, it is not possible to blame him for it ; and 
 if it came into his mind, then it is quite certain that 
 he uttered it. 
 
 The Prince is credited with the added rudeness of 
 
Face to Face 237 
 
 pretending that he administered this snub as a test of 
 BrummeH's submissiveness. " Had Brummell taken the 
 cut I gave him good-humouredly, I would have renewed 
 my intimacy with him," he afterwards remarked. And 
 some of the writers (all men) who report this seem to 
 regret that Brummell had not behaved with a greater 
 prudence ; I think no woman, whom perhaps the nuances 
 of behaviour in social life affect more keenly, could have 
 forgiven either affront ; though it is necessary to remember 
 that good manners were more superficial in those days 
 than they are now. 
 
 That Brummell was enraged his subsequent behaviour 
 shows, though outwardly he treated the matter with his 
 usual amusing impudence. He was going down Pall 
 Mall one afternoon when the Regent came from his 
 carriage to enter a picture gallery, being saluted by the 
 sentries. Brummell, pretending not to see the Prince, 
 accepted the salute for himself, graciously taking off his 
 hat and keeping his back to the carriage, the Prince 
 looking very angry. 
 
 Next came an incident in the vestibule of the Opera 
 House. The Prince was leaving the play as usual before 
 it ended, and stood near the stove while waiting for his 
 carriage. Presently Brummell came down, talking eagerly 
 to some friends and not seeing the Prince. He too 
 had to wait, and the audience flowing out pressed him 
 gradually back until he was driven near the Regent, who 
 saw him but of course would not move. To prevent 
 collision one of the royal suite touched Brummell on 
 the shoulder ; he immediately turned round and saw that 
 there was not more than the distance of a foot between 
 his face and that of his once friend. An eyewitness, 
 describing the incident, says : " I watched him with 
 intense curiosity, and observed that his countenance did 
 
238 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 not change in the slightest degree, nor did his head 
 move ; they looked straight into each other's eyes, the 
 Prince evidently amazed and annoyed. Brummell how- 
 ever did not quail, or show the least embarrassment. He 
 receded quite quietly, and backed slowly step by step 
 till the crowd closed between them, never once taking his 
 eyes off those of the Prince." 
 
 There is little evidence that Brummell ever suffered 
 from ill-health or any malady, until that sad period in 
 Caen came when many ills attacked him. It is however 
 on record that he once had a cold, the fact being made 
 important by his reply to a sympathising inquirer : " Why, 
 do you know that on the Brighton road the other day, 
 that infidel Weston " (his valet) " put me into a room 
 with a damp stranger." 
 
 On another occasion he was met limping along Bond 
 Street. Being asked what was the matter, he said he 
 had hurt his leg, and " the worst of it was that it was 
 his favourite leg." 
 
 On a friend asking, during a cold and rainy summer, 
 if he had ever before seen such a one, he replied, " Yes, 
 last winter." 
 
 Brummell seems never to have been engaged in a 
 duel, though in later years he used to amuse his Calais 
 friends with an account of one such with which he was 
 once threatened. He had no desire to end his life in 
 a violent way, and explained his aversion to duelling on 
 the score that in any row he was always inclined to knock 
 under rather than take a part. 
 
 " I once had an affair at Chalk Farm, and a dreadful 
 state I was in ; never in my life shall I forget the horrors 
 of the previous night ! Sleep was out of the question, and 
 I paced my room, cursing the cruelly good joke because of 
 which I was on the eve of being torn from Lady and 
 
Brummeirs Duel 239 
 
 Roman punch for ever ! The dawn was to me the 
 harbinger of death ; and yet I almost hailed it with 
 pleasure ; but my second's step on the stair soon spoiled 
 that feeling ; and the horrid details, which he carefully 
 explained to me, annihilated the little courage that had 
 survived the anxieties of the night. We now left the 
 house, and no accident of any kind, no fortunate upset, 
 occurred on our way to the place of rendezvous ; where 
 we arrived, according to my idea much too soon, a quarter 
 of an hour before the time named. 
 
 " There was no one on the ground, and each minute 
 seemed an age, as, in terror and semi-suffocation, I awaited 
 my opponent's approach. At length the clock of a neigh- 
 bouring church announced that the hour of appointment 
 had come ; how its tones, brought by the wind across the 
 fields, struck upon my heart ! I felt like the criminal, 
 when he hears the bells of St. Sepulchre's for the last 
 time. We now looked in the direction of town, but there 
 was no appearance of my antagonist ; my military friend 
 kindly hinted that clocks and watches varied, a fact I was 
 well aware of, and which I thought he might have spared 
 me the pleasure of hearing him remark upon, but a second 
 
 is always such a c d d good-natured friend.' The 
 
 next quarter of an hour passed in awful silence, still no 
 one appeared, not even on the horizon ; my companion 
 whistled, and confound him ! looked much disappointed ; 
 the half hour struck — still no one ; the third quarter, and 
 at length the hour. My centurion of the Coldstream now 
 came up, this time in truth my friend, and said to me, and 
 I can tell you they were the sweetest accents that ever fell 
 on my ear, 
 
 u ' Well, George, I think we may go.' 
 
 " * My dear M ,' I replied ; ' you have taken a 
 
 load off my mind, let us go immediately.' " 
 
240 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 There is also a story that one morning in the height 
 of his popularity an irascible gentleman called upon him 
 demanding an explanation of some remark he had made 
 to a noted courtesan, and high words ensued. Brummell 
 ordered his visitor out of the room, but rinding that this 
 had no effect, he enforced his commands with a red-hot 
 poker which had by chance been resting in the fire. There 
 was no further talk of seconds, for the visitor went quickly. 
 
 In addition to White's and Brooks's there were three 
 other clubs which became notorious in the early part of 
 1800. One was Weltjie's Club, formed by the Prince 
 and his brother the Duke of York. The Prince with- 
 drew from Brooks's when his two henchmen, John 
 Willett Payne and Sir Banastre Tarleton, were black- 
 balled there, and persuaded his cook Weltjie to open a 
 club. Though it was well patronised by royalty, the 
 Prince losing large sums there at times, it was never 
 popular with the younger men, who preferred the two 
 older clubs, and in 1807 the Maddocks, the Calverts, 
 and Lord Headfort, instituted a new centre for those 
 interested in harmonics, under the managership of a man 
 named Watier. Watier was so superlative a cook that 
 his dinners soon became renowned, and all the young 
 men of fashion went to try them. As they were not 
 generally musical, catches and glees were changed for 
 cards and dice, and the height of the play rendered it 
 easy for Watier to charge what he liked for a dinner, the 
 game being generally macao. 
 
 Brummell moved from Chesterfield Street to No. 13, 
 Chapel Street, Park Lane, a move for the worse, for he 
 had lived beyond his income, and was trying to retrench. 
 This motive at last made him take to play in earnest, and 
 he played as he dressed, too well for his pocket. Yet for 
 a time he won considerable sums. 
 
The Club's Perpetual President 241 
 
 It was at this period that he told a friend that he was 
 reforming his way of life. " For instance," he said, cc I 
 sup early ; I take a — a — little lobster, an apricot puff, 
 or so, and some burnt champagne about twelve, and my 
 man gets me to bed by three." 
 
 At Watier's Club Brummell was " the supreme 
 dictator, the club's perpetual president." To him all 
 questions of dress or manner were referred, as well as the 
 shapes and sizes of the snuff-boxes used there ; he was 
 kind to young men who came with an introduction, 
 and according to Raikes won many thousands at macao 
 in two or three years, losing not more than a fourth part 
 of it. Like Nash he was generous at play, and would on 
 occasions do his best to save a friend from loss. Tom 
 Sheridan was not in the habit of playing, but having 
 dropped into the club one night after having drunk some- 
 what too well at dinner, he tried to woo Fortune. 
 
 Brummell watched him for a time, and seeing his friend, 
 who was none too well off, losing steadily, he suggested 
 that Sheridan should give up his place and go shares with 
 him. Sheridan had put down £io, so Brummell added 
 £200, and in ten minutes became the possessor of £1,500. 
 Rising from the table he counted out £750 to Sheridan, 
 saying : " There, Tom, go home and give your wife and 
 brats a supper, and never play again." That Sheridan 
 went home gladly with the money may be unquestioned ; 
 that he took the latter piece of advice is doubtful. 
 
 One incident over the macao table is amusing to 
 recall, though it must have been more alarming than 
 amusing to those assembled. A member of the club 
 known as Bob Bligh had a violent enmity towards his 
 cousin, Lord Darnley, trying to horsewhip him whenever 
 they met in the street, and being constantly imprisoned 
 and bound over to keep the peace. This man, who was 
 
242 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 regarded by every one as absolutely mad, happened to 
 be playing at the same table as Brummell on an occasion 
 when the latter lost considerably. Brummell pretended 
 to be very upset, and cried, in a tragical way : cc Waiter, 
 bring me a flat candlestick and a pistol ! " Upon this 
 Bligh drew two pistols from his coat pockets, and putting 
 them on the table said : " Mr. Brummell, if you are really 
 desirous to put a period to your existence I am extremely 
 happy to offer you the means without troubling the 
 waiter." Many of those present would have liked to 
 walk away quietly and quickly, for loaded pistols in 
 the hands of a madman were too dangerous to be 
 pleasant. 
 
 Of the members of Watier's Club it may be said that 
 most were reckless players, and yet it was rarely known, 
 if ever, that any man took an unfair advantage. Brum- 
 mell set the fashion of good breeding and good temper, 
 and losses were sustained with outward equanimity and 
 without quarrel. 
 
 Yet, as may be gathered from the following story, good 
 manners sometimes were forgotten, and Brummell was 
 impudent at the expense of good taste ; his rudeness 
 being levelled against a man who was something more 
 than an idler in the world, and therefore, according to 
 the fashion of the time, a fair butt for jokes. Alderman 
 Combe, a city brewer, was a great gamester, and while 
 Lord Mayor he was one evening busily engaged at the 
 hazard table at Brooks's ; Brummell, who was the caster, 
 cried : " Come, Mash-tub, what do you set ? " 
 
 " Twenty-five guineas," answered the Mayor. 
 
 " Well then, have at the Mayor's pony only, and 
 seven's the main," replied Brummell, who " continued 
 to throw until he drove home the Mayor's twelve ponies 
 running." Then pocketing the money he rose, and 
 
The Crooked Sixpence 243 
 
 making a low bow said : u Thank you, Alderman ; in 
 future I shall never drink any porter but yours." 
 
 " I wish, sir," replied Combe, " that every other 
 blackguard in London would say the same." 
 
 The answer was so unexpected, that for once the 
 Beau had no retort ready, the only case on record in 
 which he did not get the better in a wordy fight. 
 
 At this time gaming had again grown to an alarming 
 height, more than fortunes were lost, and Mr. John 
 Maddocks, one of the club's founders, was the first of 
 a number of men who sought suicide. He cut his 
 throat at his house in Stratton Street, " under the 
 momentary influence of mental aberration " ; but whether 
 macao or hazard, or indeed gambling in any form was 
 the reason, we are not told. 
 
 At first Brummell was not lucky at play, and this 
 caused him deep depression, for the well-known usurers, 
 Howard & Gibbs, to whom the Beau owed much 
 money, and who had taken extraordinary sums from him 
 in interest, refused further loans without the securities of 
 his friends. He was so popular that it was not difficult 
 for him to get these securities, but it was a stage nearer 
 to the inevitable end. 
 
 He gave up play in despair one night — or it might 
 better be said one morning, for it was nearly 5 a.m. — and 
 was walking with Raikes through Berkeley Street, railing 
 against chance, and creditors, and everything in general, 
 when his observant eye saw something glittering in the 
 gutter. Picking the thing up he found that it was a 
 crooked sixpence. At once his complaints stopped, hope 
 returned, and with a laugh he said : " My luck has 
 changed, this is the promise of it." Like any other 
 superstitious child he did not go to bed until he had 
 drilled a hole into the sixpence and hung it on his watch- 
 
244 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 chain. Mr. Raikes thinks that this incident took place 
 in 1813, and it is certain that for two years afterwards 
 Brummell was a constant winner on the turf — probably 
 taking as much as ,£30,000 — as well as being a winner 
 at the club. 
 
 Brummell himself told a different story about the 
 sixpence from that given by Raikes. Some one had 1 given 
 him the lucky coin, saying that everything would go well 
 with him as long as he kept it, which promise came true. 
 Then by mistake he gave it to a hackney coachman, and 
 from that minute everything went wrong, one disaster 
 succeeded another till ruin seized him. 
 
 " Why did you not advertise for it ? " asked a 
 friend. 
 
 " I did, and twenty people brought me lucky six- 
 pences, but mine was not among them.' , Then, he added, 
 with a laugh, " I have no doubt that rascal Rothschild, or 
 some of his set, got hold of it." 
 
 It was the fifth night of terrible ill-luck that forced 
 the Beau to exclaim aloud, " I wish some one would bind 
 me never to play again." His friend Pemberton Mills 
 at once offered him a ten-pound note on condition that 
 he should forfeit a thousand if he played again at White's 
 within a month. Brummell took the money and did not 
 appear at the club for some days, doing his best to resist 
 temptation, which at last, however, became overwhelming. 
 He went back and played feverishly ; Mills seeing him 
 would not claim the forfeit. He touched his friend 
 gently on the shoulder, saying : " Well, at least return 
 me the ten pounds." 
 
 Lord Byron had often played at the same table with 
 the Beau ; it was he who first called Watier's " The Dandy 
 Club," of which he regarded Alvanley, Brummell, Pierre- 
 point, and Mildmay as the chiefs, saying of them : 
 
245 
 
Dick the Dandy-Killer 247 
 
 " I liked the Dandies, they were all very civil to me, 
 although in general they disliked literary people, and 
 persecuted and mystified Madame de Stael, Lewis, Horace 
 Twiss, and the like, most damnably. They persuaded 
 Madame de Stael that Alvanley had a hundred thousand a 
 year, etc., etc., till she praised him to his face for his beauty, 
 
 and made a set at him for , and a hundred fooleries 
 
 besides. The truth is, that though I gave up the business 
 early, I had a tinge of dandyism in my minority, and 
 probably retained enough of it to conciliate the great ones 
 at five-and-twenty. I had gamed and drunk, and taken 
 my degrees in most dissipations, and having no pedantry 
 and not being overbearing, we ran on quietly together. 
 I knew them all more or less, and they made me a 
 member of Watier's (a superb club at that time), being as 
 I take it, the only literary man, except two others (both 
 men of the world), Moore and Spencer, in it." 
 
 For a time Brummell raised money on the mutual 
 security of himself and some one of his friends, and in an 
 attempt to settle his affairs he drew out the last £10,000 
 that remained of his capital. Then came a quarrel over 
 the division of a loan raised on security, in which the Beau 
 was accused of taking the lion's share. To this Lord 
 Byron ascribes the flight to France. cc When Brummell 
 
 was obliged by that affair of poor M , who thence 
 
 acquired the name of Dick the Dandy-killer (it was about 
 money and debt and all that), to retire to France," etc. 
 
 Generally reticent about his affairs, Brummell took 
 no one into his confidence, and it is probable that his 
 winnings went partly to pay debts ; even if so, he was so 
 thoroughly overwhelmed with his obligations that he 
 confided to Raikes one morning in 18 16 that he was at 
 the very end of every resource, and would have to leave 
 the country that night. Though there were many people 
 
 x 5 
 
248 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 who suffered loss from this extravagant man, there exists 
 no statement as to what were his liabilities. That they 
 were enormous must be judged from the fact that 
 Brummell himself was quite convinced that he would 
 never be able to return to England. 
 
 On May 16th, 18 16, the Beau dined off a cold fowl 
 and a bottle of claret, which was sent him from Watier's, 
 and wrote the following note. It was a last shot at fate, a 
 gamester's attempt to retrieve a fortune by borrowing a 
 groat. 
 
 ( 'My dear Scrope, 
 
 " Lend me two hundred pounds ; the banks 
 are shut, and all my money is in the three per cents. It 
 shall be repaid to-morrow morning. 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 "George Brummell." 
 
 To this his intimate friend, Scrope Davies, answered : 
 
 " My dear George, 
 
 <c 'Tis very unfortunate ; but all my money is 
 in the three per cents. 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 "S. Davies." 
 
 When in Calais Brummell wrote to Lord Charles and 
 Lord Robert Manners, who had been his sureties, ex- 
 pressing the grief he felt at having been obliged to leave 
 England to save his freedom, and to have left them 
 responsible for so much, offering every reparation in his 
 power, which, according to Raikes, was not inconsider- 
 able. 
 
The First Week in Calais 249 
 
 The rooms he eventually fixed upon were in the 
 house of M. Leleux, a bookseller, where he remained until 
 September 1830, and being quite unable to realise the 
 necessity for strict economy, he furnished them luxuriously, 
 indulging his taste for buhl and sending a courier to 
 Paris to seek out costly elegancies. 
 
 On May 22nd he wrote the following letter to Thomas 
 Raikes : 
 
 " Here I am restant for the present, and God knows 
 solitary enough is my existence ; of that, however, I 
 should not complain, for I can always employ resources 
 within myself, was there not a worm that will not sleep 
 called conscience, which all my endeavours to distract, all 
 the strength of coffee, with which I constantly fumigate 
 my unhappy brains, and all the native gaiety of the fellow 
 who bears it to me, cannot lull to indifference beyond the 
 moment ; but I will not trouble you upon that subject. 
 You would be surprised to find the sudden change and 
 transfiguration which one week has accomplished in my 
 way of life and propria persona. I am punctually off 
 the pillow at half-past seven in the morning. My first 
 object — melancholy indeed it may be in its nature — is to 
 walk to the pier-head, and take my distant look at 
 England. This you may call weakness, but I am not 
 yet sufficiently master of those feelings which may be 
 called indigenous to resist the impulse. The rest of my 
 day is filled up with strolling an hour or two round the 
 ramparts of this dismal town, in reading, and the study of 
 that language which must hereafter be my own, for never 
 more shall I set foot in my own country. I dine at five, 
 and my evening has as yet been occupied in writing 
 letters. 
 
 "The English I have seen here — and many of them 
 know me — I have cautiously avoided ; and with the 
 
250 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 exception of Sir W. Bellingham and Lord Blessington, 
 who have departed, I have not exchanged a word. Prince 
 Esterhazy was here yesterday, and came into my room 
 unexpectedly, without my knowing he was arrived. He 
 had the good nature to convey several letters for me 
 upon his return to London. So much for my life 
 hitherto on this side of the water. As to the alteration 
 in my looks, you will laugh when I tell you your own 
 head of hair is but a scanty possession in comparison with 
 that which now crowns my pristine baldness " — Brummell 
 was already getting bald — " a convenient, comely scalp, that 
 has divested me of my former respectability of appearance 
 (for what right have I now to such an outward sign ?) ; 
 and if the care and distress of mind which I have lately 
 undergone had not impressed more ravages haggard and 
 lean than my years might justify upon my unfortunate 
 phiz, I should certainly pass at a little distance for five- 
 and-twenty. And so, let me whisper to you, seems to 
 think Madame la Baronne de Borno, the wife of a Russian 
 officer who is now in England, and in his absence resident 
 in this house. Approving and inviting are her frequent 
 smiles as she looks into my window from the garden- 
 walk ; but I have neither spirits nor inclination to 
 improve such flattering overtures/' 
 
 A few days after Brummell's flight his possessions 
 were sold on the premises, including probably the portrait 
 which forms our frontispiece. A copy of the title-page 
 of the book of sale is given on the opposite page. 
 
 Among the things put up was a very handsome 
 snuff-box which was found to contain a piece of paper 
 upon which was written in Brummell's handwriting : 
 " This snuff-box was intended for the Prince Regent, 
 if he had conducted himself with more propriety to- 
 wards me." 
 
Sold Up 251 
 
 A Catalogue 
 
 of 
 
 A Very Choice and valuable assemblage 
 
 of 
 
 Specimens of the rare old Sevres Porcelaine, 
 
 Articles of Buhl Manufacture 
 
 Curiously chased plate 
 
 Library of Books 
 
 Chiefly of French, Italian and English Literature, the best 
 
 Editions and in fine condition 
 
 The admired drawings of the Refractory School Boy, and others 
 
 exquisitely finished by Holmes, Christall, de Windt 
 
 and Stephanoff 
 
 Three capital double-barrelled Fowling Pieces 
 
 By Manton 
 
 Ten dozen of capital Old Port, 16 dozen of Claret (Beauvais) 
 
 Burgundy, Claret, and Still Champagne 
 
 The whole of which have been nine years in bottle in the 
 
 Cellar of the Proprietor; 
 
 Also an 
 
 Assortment of Table and other Linen, and some articles of 
 
 neat Furniture 
 
 The genuine property of 
 
 A MAN OF FASHION 
 
 Gone to the continent 
 
 Which 
 
 By order of the Sheriff of Middlesex ! 
 
 Will be sold by auction 
 
 By Mr. Christie 
 
 On the premises, No. 13, Chapel Street, Park Lane 
 On Wednesday, May 22nd, and following Day. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 On Wednesday he was very affectionate with that wretched Brum- 
 mell, and on Thursday forgot him ; cheated him even out of a snuff-box 
 which he owed the poor dandy ; saw him years afterwards in his downfall 
 and poverty, when the bankrupt Beau sent him another snuff-box with 
 some of the snuff he used to love, as a piteous token of remembrance and 
 submission, and the King took the snuff, and ordered his horses and drove 
 on, and had not the grace to notice his old companion, favourite, rival, 
 enemy, superior. 
 
 Thackeray, The Four Georges. 
 
 HHE Beau's life in Calais became very methodical ; he 
 ■ rose at nine, and breakfasted on cafe au lait y read 
 papers or books till twelve, then commenced his toilette ; 
 and when this, which lasted nearly two hours, was com- 
 pleted, he held his levee and sat chatting with his friends. 
 English people were often passing through Calais, and, 
 though Brummell was as particular as ever about the 
 friends he made, he gradually was drawn into a French 
 circle, scarcely as aristocratic as that surrounding the 
 Regent, but pleasant enough. At four he took his walk 
 upon the ramparts or in his garden at their foot, 
 accompanied by his dog Vick, of whom he was very fond. 
 At five he went back to his room, dressed for dinner, 
 which was sent in from Dessin's (an hotel near by) at six, 
 and at which, in spite of his jibe to the Mayor, he drank 
 a bottle of Dorchester ale, followed by a glass of liqueur 
 brandy and a bottle of Burgundy. A friend of his in 
 Calais said that only once during his long residence there 
 was he known to be drunk, and then he was so disgusted 
 
 that he inflicted solitary confinement upon himself for 
 
 252 
 
Brummell in Exile 253 
 
 eight days. At seven he would go to the theatre, where 
 he had a small box, or spend the evening in his 
 garden. 
 
 For a time he had many visitors, for the friends he had 
 left in England thought much of him still. Lord West- 
 moreland, when passing through Calais, once asked him to 
 dine with him at three. " Your Lordship is very kind, 
 but I really could not feed at that hour/' was his 
 characteristic reply. 
 
 One morning a soft rap on his door seemed to 
 announce some pleasant friend, and " Come in ! " cried 
 Brummell. The door opened slowly to admit the head 
 only of one of the firm of moneylenders, Howard &? 
 Gibbs. Brummell was astounded ; then, in an access of 
 rage, shouted: "Why, you little rascal! are you not 
 hung yet ? Begone ! " The head obeyed, the door 
 closed, and the incident with it. 
 
 The Calais circle grew to expect and sometimes even 
 to anticipate his stories, and he had the credit of saying 
 both funny and rude things which probably never 
 emanated from him. 
 
 Once some rude remark that he either did or did not 
 make being repeated, Brummell received a call from the 
 injured gentleman's second, who in a very peremptory 
 way demanded satisfaction or apology, giving five minutes 
 for the latter. c< Five minutes, sir ? " cried the Beau in 
 a cold sweat ; " in five seconds or in less if you like." 
 He told some one later that he loved notoriety but not 
 of that kind. 
 
 In his long and hopeless exile Brummell practically 
 lived upon the kindness of his friends. Among those 
 who saw him from time to time and who sent him 
 substantial tokens of their regard were the Dukes of 
 Wellington, Rutland, Richmond, Beaufort, and Bedford ; 
 
254 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Lords Alvanley, Sefton, Jersey, Willoughby d'Eresby, 
 Craven, Ward, and Stuart de Rothesay. Those who 
 wrote most often to him were the Duke and Duchess of 
 York, Lord Alvanley, and Mr. J. Chamberlayne. The 
 Duchess sent him some little Christmas present every 
 year — something worked by herself, which when opened 
 betrayed the pleasant rustling of bank-notes. The Duke 
 of Gloucester always looked him up when in Calais, 
 and the Duke of Argyle was often his benefactor. The 
 Duchess of York however died in 1820, and so the Beau 
 lost one of his best and most loved friends. 
 
 Brummell hoped to be made Consul at Calais, but 
 the then Consul, who at the time was in ill-health, 
 recovered, and the vacancy did not occur. 
 
 He never lost his interest in clothes while his mind 
 was whole, and there in Calais he seized on a poor French 
 tailor, nor did he leave him till he had taught him the 
 proper cut ; and out of a very indifferent ninth part of a 
 man, he made a rich one. 
 
 In 18 1 8 he wrote to Raikes : 
 
 " I heard of you the other day in a waistcoat that 
 does you indisputable credit, spick and span from Paris, 
 a broad stripe, salmon colour, and cramoisi. Keep it up, 
 my dear fellow, and don't let them laugh you into a 
 relapse so Gothic as that of your former English simpli- 
 city. There is nothing to be seen here but rascals in 
 red coats waiting for embarcation. God speed them 
 to the other side the water, for on this they are most 
 heartily loathed." 
 
 In the same year there was "much talk in town," 
 about Brummell's Memoirs. Murray (the publisher) told 
 Moore that the report was he had offered ^5,000 for the 
 Memoirs, but that the Regent had sent Brummell ^6,000 
 %o suppress them ! Upon Murray saying he really had 
 
BrummelPs Diary 255 
 
 some idea of going to Calais to treat with Brummell " I 
 (Moore) asked him (Scrope Davies was by) what he would 
 give me for a volume in the style of the c Fudges/ on 
 his correspondence and interviews with Brummell. * A 
 thousand guineas, 1 he said, c this instant/ But I rather 
 think I should be tempted to quiz Master Murray, in 
 such a work, a little more than he would like." 
 
 Brummell had kept a diary, which he called the book 
 of his life, but he told a friend that he had promised the 
 Duchess of York not to publish it. After his death it was 
 not found ; he had probably destroyed it, either intention- 
 ally, or inadvertently during his insanity. 
 
 On February 13, 1820, Brummell wrote to Raikes as 
 follows : — " He is at length King. Will his past resent- 
 ments still attach themselves to the crown ? An indul- 
 gent amnesty of former peccadilloes should be the primary 
 grace influencing newly throned sovereignty ; at least 
 towards those who were once distinguished by his more 
 intimate protection. From my experience, however, of 
 the personage in question, I must doubt any favourable 
 relaxation of those stubborn prejudices which have during 
 so many years operated to the total exclusion of one of his 
 Sieves from the royal notice ; that unfortunate — I need 
 not particularise. 
 
 " You ask me how I am going on at Calais? miserably ! 
 I am exposed every hour to all the turmoil and jeopardy 
 that attended my latter days in England. I bear up as 
 well as I can ; and when the patience and mercy of my 
 claimants are exhausted, I shall submit without resistance 
 to bread and water and straw. I cannot decamp a second 
 time," etc. 
 
 Another letter is written in better spirits, and as Mr. 
 Raikes says, much in the style of his conversation while 
 in London ; — " I hear you meditate a petit domicile at 
 
256 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Paris for your children ; you cannot do better. English 
 education may be all very well to instruct the hemming 
 of handkerchiefs and the ungainly romp of a country 
 dance, but nothing else ; and it would be a poor con- 
 solation to your declining years to see your daughters 
 come into the room upon their elbows, and to find their 
 accomplishments limited to broad native phraseology in 
 conversation, or to thumping the c Woodpecker ' upon 
 a discordant spinet. You will do well, then, to provide 
 in time against natural deficiences by a good French for- 
 mation of manners as well as talents ; and you will not 
 have to complain hereafter of your gouty limbs being 
 excruciated by the uncouth movements of a hoyden, or 
 your ears being distracted by indigenous vulgarisms," etc. 
 In 1 82 1 King George once more struck at the man 
 who had been for a time his closest friend, and struck him 
 when in distress. He went through Calais, staying some 
 days there, on his way to Hanover. The town was en fete 
 and the townspeople crowded to the landing stage to 
 welcome the King of England. Brummell knew too 
 much of His Majesty to hope for recognition, yet beneath 
 the feeling that he would pass unnoticed what vague 
 possibilities stirred in his mind ! There was just a chance 
 that the King would remember older and fairer days, 
 would please the Beau's heart and salve his spirit by a 
 word of recognition. He could not bring himself to go 
 to the wharf — he was too stirred and too fearful — so he 
 went for his customary walk. Returning, he found the 
 crowd so great that he could not get across the road to his 
 lodgings, and was obliged to wait on the opposite side 
 while the procession passed. Mr. Leleux, his landlord, 
 who stood at the door of his book-shop, heard the King 
 say, in a loud voice, as his carriage passed, u Good God ! 
 Brummell ! " 
 
George, the Unforgiving 257 
 
 As soon as he was able for the press, the Beau 
 " crossed over, as pale as death, entered the house by the 
 private door and retired to his room without addressing 
 me!" to quote the words of Leleux himself. 
 
 A royal dinner was given at Dessin's, and Brummell sent 
 his man to make the punch, giving him some excellent 
 maraschino for the King's glass. The King at first was in 
 low spirits ; it is suggested that he feared Brummell might 
 make his appearance, but his old friend and enemy 
 contented himself with delicate attentions without courting 
 a snub which at that stage of his life would have been 
 unbearable. 
 
 The next morning every member of the King's suite 
 but one called upon Brummell and joined in persuading 
 him to ask an interview of George IV. But he could not 
 do it ; he felt that a definite refusal to see him would be 
 an indignity which he could not court. He had written 
 his name in the book at Dessin's, and seeing that the 
 King knew all about him he felt that he could not go 
 farther. Mr. Leleux says that one evening His Majesty 
 was out of snuff and the Consul came to Brummell to tell 
 him. He took up one of the boxes lying upon the Beau's 
 table, saying : u Give me one of yours." 
 
 " With all my heart," was the reply ; " but not that 
 box, for if the King saw it I should never have it again! " 
 implying there was some history attached to it in which 
 George IV. was concerned. 
 
 At the theatre the Consul presented the box, and 
 at the first pinch George uttered an exclamation, asking : 
 
 "Why, sir, where did you get this snuff? There 
 is only one person I know who can mix snuff this 
 way r 
 
 "It is some of Mr. Brummell's, Your Majesty," 
 answered the Consul, and there the matter ended. 
 
258 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 The next day the King left for Cassell, and said to 
 Sir Arthur Paget in the yard at Dessin's, loudly enough 
 for those around to hear, <( I am leaving Calais and have 
 not seen Brummell " — whether in satisfaction or regret 
 is not recorded. 
 
 There were stories afloat that he had enclosed a 
 hundred-pound note in the snuff-box and sent it back 
 to his quondam friend, but M. Leleux denied this 
 emphatically. " Had that been so I must have known, 
 for Mr. Brummell was in great need of money, and 
 remained so. It was his habit to pay some of his bills 
 as soon as he was in funds, and he did not do so 
 at this period." 
 
 All through his life Brummell, in spite of his un- 
 pardonable extravagance, had endeavoured to pay his 
 tradesmen's bills ; and Jesse tells a story which proved 
 that the shopkeepers of Calais did not suffer from his 
 stay with them, however much the moneylenders may 
 have done for a time. While in Calais the captain went 
 into a tobacconist's some time after Brummell had left, 
 and in answer to some remark he made the woman who 
 waited upon him said : " Go and see Dessin's before you 
 disparage our hotels ; your King slept there, and a friend 
 of his lived here many years — we used to call him the 
 c King ' of Calais ; he lodged at that house," pointing to 
 M. Leleux' s, which was nearly opposite. " Ah ! he was 
 a nice man, very elegant, and with much money — he 
 always paid his bills, sir, and was very good to the poor. 
 Every one was sorry when he left. I wonder King George 
 did not take better care of his friends." 
 
 Some of the Beau's friends died, others forgot him, 
 the post of Consul was still well filled, and his affairs 
 became more and more melancholy. When Greville went 
 to Calais in 1830 he found Brummell dressing ; " some 
 
Brummell leaves Calais 259 
 
 pretty pieces of old furniture in the room, an entire toilet 
 of silver, and a large green macaw perched on the back 
 of a tattered silk chair with faded gilding ; full of gaiety, 
 impudence, and misery/' 
 
 On his return to England Greville again solicited 
 help from the Duke of Wellington, who had already 
 done his best for the Beau in trying to get him a Con- 
 sulship, offering to take all the responsibility of it upon 
 himself; but Lord Dudley had objected, saying the King 
 would not like it. Wellington had then gone to the 
 King, who abused his old favourite, saying he was a 
 
 d— d fellow, and had behaved very ill to him, but at 
 
 last gave his consent. Even then Dudley had refused 
 the appointment, saying that he had no acquaintance 
 with Brummell. But at last, in 1830, Wellington 
 secured for him the Consulship at Caen, with a salary 
 of £400 a year — a good fortune which came too late. 
 By that time Brummell owed so much money in Calais 
 that the question was if he would be able to leave at 
 all, for his creditors, though ready to trust him when 
 in their midst, were not disposed to let him go without 
 a settlement. For them he sold his buhl and other 
 effects, which did not realise half enough. Eventually 
 he prevailed upon his banker to advance him 12,000 
 franks, in return for which he made over, by a letter 
 of assignment to Mr. Hertslett of the Foreign Office, 
 ^320 per annum, being all but £%o of his salary as 
 Consul. In September of 1830 he at last left Calais, 
 and through the good offices of his friend the Consul 
 he travelled to Paris with a King's messenger free of 
 expense. The Consul asked the messenger on his return 
 what kind of travelling companion he had found in Mr. 
 Brummell ? 
 
 " Oh, a very pleasant one indeed, sir, very pleasant." 
 
260 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 " Yes ! but what did he say ? " 
 
 " Say, sir, why nothing ; he slept the whole way." 
 
 " Slept the whole way, and you call it pleasant. 
 Perhaps he snored?" 
 
 "Yes he did, sir!" then added gravely, "but 1 assure 
 you Mr. Brummell snored like a gentleman." 
 
 For a week Brummell stayed in Paris, being entertained 
 by Lord Stuart de Rothesay, the Prince of Benevento, 
 and other great people. It was his last entrance into 
 high life ; and though he may not have thought of it 
 in that light, he made the most of the week's enjoy- 
 ment. The day after his arrival in the capital he sought 
 through all the jewellers' shops for a snuff-box ; and not 
 finding one that he liked, he ordered one that should 
 be worthy of him, valued at 4,000 francs ! And his 
 income was only 2,000 francs ! That same week, in 
 the Rue Matignon, a great pile of boxes and packets, 
 enough to hold the sartorial possessions of an Emperor, 
 were being got ready for departure. They belonged to 
 Count d'Orsay, who was on the eve of coming to England. 
 This was the nearest to a meeting which the two greatest 
 Beaux who have ever existed made. 
 
 In reading of his life in Caen the chief impression 
 given is one of unending anxiety from debt and lack of 
 means. Many of his patrons believing him to be in receipt 
 of a sufficient income sent him no more delicately offered 
 presents ; and this irresponsible spender of money found 
 himself reduced to keeping up the appearance of a gentle- 
 man on £So a year. It was an utter impossibility. In 
 1 83 1 he wrote : "For ten days I have actually not had 
 five francs in my possession, and I have not the means 
 of procuring either wood or peat for my scanty fire, or 
 of getting my things from the washerwoman." And this 
 sort of thing continued until his death. His was a more 
 
The Beau Penniless 261 
 
 or less useless life, brightened now and then by little 
 kindnesses done, such as teaching the daughter of his 
 landlady how to write English and correcting the themes 
 she brought home from school. Captain Jesse knew 
 him when at Caen, and says his appearance was peculiar 
 only from its extreme neatness ; and adds that his habit 
 of criticism was unimpaired : a he remarked everything 
 in a stranger's dress, his very shoe-strings not escaping 
 criticism." 
 
 In 1832 came the terrible decree for abolishing the 
 Consulate at Caen. There are several versions of this 
 affair. One, that the Government wrote to Brummell 
 asking whether he really considered a Consul necessary 
 at Caen ; another, that hoping to gain the Consulship at 
 Havre or Leghorn he volunteered the information that 
 there was no work for him to do at Caen. " Your Lord- 
 ship will also bear in mind that my bread depends upon 
 the trifling emoluments which I receive as Consul at Caen. 
 Should your Lordship, therefore, on my suggestion, think 
 fit to abolish the office, I trust some means of subsistence 
 will be provided me by the Government/ ' So, says a 
 Caen gentleman, ran part of Brummell's letter to Lord 
 Palmerston. But wherever lay the cause the Consulate 
 was abolished. Palmerston made many promises, and 
 left the Beau penniless, to die " a driveller and a 
 show." 
 
 As soon as the news got abroad his creditors flocked 
 around him, one of whom vowed that if he appeared 
 in the street he would have him arrested, and if he 
 stayed at home he would starve him into coming into 
 the street. This was prevented by a number of young 
 Frenchmen going to this creditor with the threat that 
 if he molested Brummell they would never dine at his 
 shop again. In the midst of his troubles he had a 
 
262 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 paralytic seizure, and was for a time very ill. From 
 this he recovered, to face the world with his usual desire 
 to hide all that was unpleasant in his life. Being in- 
 vited to assist at a wedding, he was very gay and full of 
 fun. A few days later a friend met him in the street, and 
 asked if he had heard anything of the wedded couple. 
 
 " No," said he, " but I believe they are still living 
 together." 
 
 A Mr. Armstrong, a man of sharp business instinct 
 to whom he owed money, went over to England on 
 his account, and saw many of his old friends, with the 
 best results ; for on his return all the Beau's debts 
 were paid. 
 
 It was about this time that Brummell sent a copy 
 of his verses, "The Butterfly's Funeral," to a lady in 
 Caen: verses which had been first published in 1804 
 by John Wallis under feigned initials, of which the last 
 was B. 
 
 "THE BUTTERFLY'S FUNERAL 
 
 " Oh ye ! who so lately were blythesome and gay 
 At the Butterfly's banquet carousing away ; 
 Your feasts and your revels of pleasure are fled, 
 For the soul of the banquet, the Butterfly's dead. 
 
 No longer the Flies and the Emmets advance 
 
 To join with their friend in the Grasshopper's dance ; 
 
 For see his thin form o'er the favourite bend, 
 
 And the Grasshopper mourns for the loss of his friend. 
 
 And hark ! to the funeral dirge of the Bee 
 And the Beetle who follows as solemn as he ; 
 And see where so mournful the green rushes wave, 
 The Mole is preparing the Butterfly's grave. 
 
 The Dormouse attended, but cold and forlorn, 
 And the Gnat slowly winded his shrill little horn ; 
 And the Moth, who was grieved for the loss of a Sister, 
 Bent over the body and silently kissed her. 
 
BrummelPs Poetic Effusions 263 
 
 The corse was embalmed at the set of the sun, 
 And enclosed in a case which the Silkworm had spun ; 
 By the help of the Hornet, the coffin was laid 
 On a bier out of myrtle and jessamine made. 
 
 In weepers and scarves came the Butterflies all, 
 
 And six of their number supported the pall. 
 
 And the Spider came there, in his mourning so black, 
 
 But the fire of the Glowworm soon frightened him back. 
 
 The Grub left his nutshell to join in the throng, 
 And slowly led with him the Bookworm along, 
 Who wept his poor neighbour's unfortunate doom, 
 And wrote these few lines to be placed on her tomb : 
 
 Epitaph 
 
 At this solemn spot, where the green rushes wave, 
 Here sadly we bent o'er the Butterfly's grave; 
 'Twas here we to Beauty our obsequies paid 
 And hallow'd the mound which her ashes had made, 
 
 And here shall the daisy and violet blow, 
 
 And the lily discover her bosom of snow ; 
 
 While under the leaf, in the evenings of spring, 
 
 Still mourning his friend, shall the Grasshopper sing." 
 
 In his best days Brummell kept an album for poetry, 
 to which Sheridan and other well-known persons con- 
 tributed, and he was in the habit of writing effusions 
 himself. He also painted in water-colours, and could 
 sing well ; in fact, he had some quite respectable " parlour 
 tricks." 
 
 It was in the spring of 1834 that Brummell had 
 another stroke. He was dining at the table d'hote, when 
 he found that the soup was trickling down his chin. 
 With a terrible suspicion in his mind he put his napkin 
 to his face and quietly went out to seek a mirror in a 
 little room near at hand, and it was with a sinking heart 
 that he found his mouth all awry. For some weeks 
 
 16 
 
264 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 he was ill, and when he was convalescing he made a 
 sketch from memory of Lady Worcester, which he 
 sent to a friend, with the words : " It is the first thing 
 I have attempted since my resurrection ; for you must 
 know that I have been in the other world, and I can 
 assure you I found it no paradise." 
 
 Lord Alvanley and various other friends in England 
 clubbed together to allow Brummell ^120 a year, making 
 Armstrong their agent in disbursing it. Of this half 
 was to go to the proprietor of L'Hotel d'Angleterre, 
 where the Beau lodged and boarded, the rest was for 
 his other expenses. It should have been enough ; yet 
 when he was incapable of seeing to his own affairs at 
 all he was for years in the most abject poverty. 
 
 But before things had become so bad a very terrible 
 misfortune fell upon him. M. Leveux, the Calais banker 
 — to whom as long as he retained the consulship Brum- 
 mell had remitted the ^320 a year, and so had repaid 
 something more than half the amount due — determined 
 to throw him into prison for the remainder, hoping that 
 his English friends would pay the debt. So one morning 
 in 1835 n * s dwelling was surrounded by gendarmes, while 
 the gateway and back entrance were lined with subor- 
 dinates ; as the French said, " No debtor had ever been 
 so handsomely arrested before in Caen." 
 
 The juge de paix with two gendarmes passed through 
 the Beau's salon into his bedroom, where he was asleep. 
 His first intimation of his trouble was when he was 
 roughly awakened by the soldiers. When he really saw 
 that it was not a horrible dream he gave way to a 
 burst of grief, and the scene was all through of a most 
 distressing kind. He was not even allowed to dress 
 alone, and had to slip into his clothes in a hurry, such 
 as he had probably never known before. 
 
Brummell in Gaol 265 
 
 At the gaol he was put into a room with common 
 criminals, in which the only furniture was the three 
 truckle beds of his companions ; and he was left to pace 
 the stone floor until a chair was found upon which he 
 could sit. He felt it as a child would feel ; and when 
 a friend went to see him the next day, he flung him- 
 self into his arms and sobbed. Later, one of the judges 
 used his interest and got him permission to share a room 
 in the daytime with a political prisoner, and in the night 
 he slept in a narrow passage a few inches wider than 
 his bed, which was infinitely better than the common 
 room. 
 
 When his horror and distress had subsided with time, 
 the first thing Brummell asked for was a looking-glass ! 
 And though he considered he had not enough to eat — 
 half the skeleton of a pigeon, a mutton-chop the size of 
 half-a-crown, and a biscuit like a bad halfpenny — he 
 was even more troubled over his toilette. Eventually 
 his dressing-case was taken to him, and the editor — the 
 political prisoner — with whom he shared the sitting- 
 room, was amazed at the three hours' operation which 
 then went on daily. 
 
 " He shaves himself each day ! each day he washes 
 every part of his body in a vast basin brought for his 
 use, for which his valet Lafleur carries twelve or fifteen 
 litres of water and two of milk." 
 
 Lafleur was another prisoner, a drummer — so named 
 by Brummell, after one of his servants, but really known 
 as Levine — who amused himself by waiting on the Beau, 
 and who did not mind bringing the water that cost 
 nothing, but the milk ! how it could have been con- 
 verted into a glass of wine ! 
 
 So even in prison Brummell was extravagant and 
 selfish. As friends eventually sent him his dinner from 
 
266 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 outside, the good-natured " valet " was paid by receiving 
 the Beau's " diurnal portion " in addition to his prison 
 fare. 
 
 At one time Brummell was reduced to rubbing him- 
 self down with his dirty shirts, and then they went to the 
 wash ! Think of him with no towel ! He had to beg 
 his friend Armstrong to send him from his lodgings some 
 patched boots ! Yet he would descend at two o'clock 
 into the debtors' court with his neckcloth as white and 
 well tied, his hat smoothed to a hair, and his whole 
 exterior as perfect as if going to pay a call, and there he 
 would entertain visitors — both French and English — for 
 his friends never forgot him. And when they were gone 
 he received the attentions of the other poor debtors with 
 kindliness — a bow to one, an amusing remark to another, 
 made him popular with them all. 
 
 Once again Lord Alvanley and the Duke of Beaufort 
 did their best to help Brummell, for Armstrong went 
 again to England to gather what he could, and was so 
 successful — King William himself sent a hundred pounds 
 — that the debt to Leveux as well as everything he owed 
 at Caen was paid. The attorney who came to tell 
 Brummell the good news that he was free was astonished 
 that it was received without any manifestation of emotion, 
 for he did not understand the training of the Beau's 
 earlier life, which made it a law to endure joy or 
 sorrow alike with calmness. That evening Brummell 
 went to a large soiree at the house of a general, and as 
 he came into the room every one rose with surprise 
 and congratulation, for they did not yet know of his 
 release. He bowed his thanks, saying : " Gentlemen, 
 I am most obliged for your kindness and charmed to 
 find myself once more among you. I can assure you 
 that to-day is the happiest of my life, for I have come 
 
BEAU BRUMMELL AS AN OLD MAN AT CAEN 
 
 267 
 
The Last of the Cravat 269 
 
 out of prison " ; after a slight pause he gravely added, 
 " and I have eaten some salmon. " 
 
 Whether Brummell really had a heart is a problem ; 
 if so it was very small and entirely enveloped in his 
 vanity. He seems to have shown little gratitude to the 
 friends who had made his prison life bearable, and then 
 only to those people whom he liked and approved. 
 Indeed, he appeared to desire nothing so much as to 
 forget that time of humiliation. Yet he sent partridges 
 and kind messages to the still imprisoned editor, and 
 did not forget Levine and other prisoners. But one 
 gentleman who carried a toothpick, evidently an heir- 
 loom, which he used not only for his teeth but for 
 his nails and his ears, so horrified Brummell that he 
 would not call upon him, though indebted to him for 
 much kindness during his prison term. 
 
 As long as his mind was clear Brummell received 
 his money, but he was so extravagant in small ways 
 that gradually Armstrong paid everything for him, pro- 
 testing when absurdities, such as blacking at 5J. a bottle, 
 were bought. He also spoke strongly about the old 
 Beau's washing bills, for he still had a change of linen 
 every day. This was a sorrow and perplexity to 
 Brummell, until once a lady laughingly told him that 
 he would look better if he wore a black cravat. The 
 advice took hold of him ; he bought a black cravat, and 
 from henceforth the man of fashion, even the shadow of 
 him, had disappeared. Brummell, relieved of debtor's 
 fears, curtailed of credit and money, was like any ordinary 
 poor old man reduced to doing and wearing just what 
 his circumstances allowed. 
 
 His mind weakened, he would forget where he was, 
 and mistake the person to whom he talked. He became 
 wretchedly poor, his clothes even falling to tatters, and 
 
270 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 his cleanliness was forgotten. He told the same stories in 
 garrulous fashion over and over again, for though not really 
 old, old age had captured him before its time. At last, 
 in all Caen there was only one door open to him, and 
 
 when some under-bred person asked of Mrs. B n 
 
 (the full name is not given) : " How can you admit 
 such a driveller ? " the answer was : " He is never in our 
 way ; and though it is true he is not now the amusing 
 character he once was, I like to see him take his seat before 
 my fire." That he slept most of the time there did not 
 disturb this good Samaritan. 
 
 Sometimes he thought he ought to give a party, 
 so he would arrange his apartment, set out the candles, 
 and get the house-attendant to be with him. At eight 
 o'clock this man would open the door of the room and 
 announce the " Duchess of Devonshire." At the sound 
 of this name Brummell would rise from his chair and 
 greet the cold air from the staircase as though it were 
 the beautiful Duchess herself, making his most courtly 
 bow, and saying : " Ah, my dear Duchess, how rejoiced 
 I am to see you ; so very amiable of you at this short 
 notice ! Pray bury yourself in this armchair ; do you 
 know, it was a gift to me from the Duchess of York, who 
 was a very kind friend of mine ; but, poor thing, she is 
 now no more." Then, his eyes filling with tears, he 
 would sink into his chair, looking vacantly into the fire, 
 until Lord Alvanley, Lord Allen, the Duke of Beaufort, 
 or some other old friend was ushered in. At ten the 
 attendant announced the carriage of each invisible visitor, 
 and this ghostly party would conclude. 
 
 Infirmity grew upon him, and though those at the 
 hotel presumably did what they could, he was much 
 neglected. It was at this time, his memory having gone, 
 that he destroyed letters, and probably his journal and 
 
The Bon Sauvcur 271 
 
 books, which he had treasured through his life. He 
 loved a good fire, but it is feared he did not always 
 have it. It is not possible to understand how with £60 
 a year to spend for himself he should have been so 
 destitute, without clothes or comfort, unable to buy an 
 extra cup of coffee or a biscuit. Think of a man with 
 more than a pound a week for etceteras having but one 
 pair of old trousers which he had to mend himself. 
 Either the money could not have been sent regularly, or 
 it must have been diverted on its way. One wonders 
 what Armstrong, who received the money to disburse 
 for him, was doing to allow such terrible neglect as 
 eventually fell upon the witless, paralysed Brummell, for 
 in Caen in those days £120 was a good income. 
 
 It was in October 1838 that "an unknown gentle- 
 man " called to see Brummell, and was so distressed at 
 the Beau's condition that he gave the landlord an address 
 to write to him (without giving his own name), and called 
 to see Armstrong for an explanation. This gentleman 
 must have been Lord Alvanley, who told Raikes in that 
 year that he had lately seen Brummell in Caen, his 
 intellect impaired and scarcely able to recognise any one. 
 It may have been Lord Alvanley's exertions which at 
 length — at long length — procured for Brummell the chance 
 of entering the Bon Sauveur, a convent where the insane 
 were cared for humanely and kindly. No dungeons, no 
 whips, no chains were allowed, and weak intellects were 
 given the chance of strengthening. To move Brummell 
 a carriage was ordered, for a promise had been drawn from 
 him that he would take a drive with the maitre <T hotel. 
 However, on the morning he had forgotten all about it, 
 and eventually force had to be used to get him down- 
 stairs, his cry being : " You are taking me to prison — 
 loose me, scoundrels ! I owe nothing." 
 
272 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 As soon as he saw that resistance was useless he 
 became tranquil, but the excitement had roused his 
 intelligence, for on the way he recognised an old friend 
 and shrank back in the carriage, saying : "I am not fit 
 to be seen in such a deshabiller as this." When he heard 
 the bolts drawn at the gates of the convent, he wept 
 bitterly, moaning, " A prison — a prison," and did not 
 cease until he found himself surrounded by the kindly 
 sympathetic faces of the nuns. His spirits rose at once, 
 and he joked Auguste, Armstrong's servant, on being 
 married, and complimented the nun whom he regarded 
 as Auguste's wife upon her good looks. She only smiled 
 kindly, and taking him into a room settled him in an arm- 
 chair before a blazing fire, such as his soul loved, and 
 there, in the room occupied a few months earlier by 
 Marshall Bourrienne, who died at the Bon Sauveur, he 
 lived out the rest of his days. 
 
 In a pleasant house, surrounded by a beautiful flower 
 garden, and with a man to attend on him, Brummell 
 peaceably and happily passed his time, full of politeness 
 and gratitude for the attention shown him, and known as 
 the most docile patient who was ever nursed at the convent. 
 The only disturbing incident was when an officious 
 English clergyman tried " to lead his mind to religion," 
 and had the presumption afterwards to write of this old 
 man, who was entirely incapable of retaining or even 
 receiving any mental impression, " I never came in 
 contact with so painful an exhibition of human vanity 
 and apparent ignorance and thoughtlessness of and re- 
 specting a future state." 
 
 Brummell grew very weak, and in the evening of 
 March 30th, 1840, after a few moments of apparent 
 anxiety and fear, he repeated, at the instance of the nun, 
 the acte de contrition^ and died imperceptibly, being 
 
44 Punch " and Brummell 273 
 
 buried in the " dreary Protestant cemetery of the town, 
 a wilderness of weeds and fennel/' 
 
 Many have been the accusations levelled against 
 George IV., but none have been more persistent or 
 more forcibly expressed, than those relating to his 
 treatment of Brummell. On May 18th, 1844, 
 Punch devoted nearly a page to the two men, giving 
 a suggested drawing for a statue of Brummell to be 
 erected in Trafalgar Square. The letterpress runs to 
 the following effect : — 
 
 " Punch has received exclusive intelligence of a sub- 
 scription which is now quietly growing at White's, at 
 Brookes's, at the Carlton and other Clubs, for the 
 purpose of erecting a statue to the memory of George 
 Bryan Brummell, the man who invented starched 
 neckcloths, and gave its newest gloss to blacking. The 
 sculptor, whose name we are not at present permitted 
 to reveal, has sent in a drawing of the contemplated 
 statue, which, carved in wood, we here present to the 
 world at large. Brummell's neckcloths, the trophies 
 of his life, are, it will be seen, chastely grouped behind 
 him. 
 
 " Trafalgar Square has very properly been selected 
 as the place for the erection. There again will dwell 
 in kindly neighbourhood George the Beau and George 
 the Fourth. Their lives were lovely, and their joint 
 memories will be appropriately eternized in congenial 
 bronze. The grandson of the pastrycook and the 
 descendant of the Guelphs will be reconciled by the 
 good offices of posterity, and the peculiar virtues that 
 each possessed be brought out in stronger relief by 
 the association. Looking at Brummell, we shall re- 
 member, with glowing admiration, the man ' who never 
 failed in his tye.' Beholding George the Fourth, 
 
274 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 we shall not readily forget the man to whom all ties 
 were equally indifferent. 
 
 " Many and deep must be the reflections suggested by 
 the two statues. 
 
 "George the Beau, by the force of his genius, made 
 himself the master of a Prince. He taught Wales 
 c what a coat was like/ 
 
 "George the King, wanting blood royal, might have 
 made himself master of journeyman tailors. 
 
 "George the Beau, in beggary, refused to sell the 
 letters of his former friends. 
 
 " George the King, when Prince of Wales, sold his 
 party at the first opportunity. 
 
 " George the Beau had wit. 
 
 "George the King had only malice. 
 
 "George the Beau would make a joke for joke's sake. 
 
 "George the King ' hated without cause and never 
 forgave.' 
 
 "George the Beau felt compunction for his starving 
 ' washerwoman.' 
 
 "George the King ran half a million of money in 
 debt, and sending his bills to be paid by a starving 
 people, felt for no one. 
 
 " We might go on with the parallel, but believe we 
 have said enough to shew the great beauty of contrast 
 that must be revealed by the juxta-position of Beau 
 Brummell and the c Fat Friend.' It is whispered at 
 some of the clubs, that, in addition to the Beau's 
 statue in Trafalgar Square, there will be placed there 
 the vera effigies of another of King George's early 
 companions ; namely that of the lamented Marquis of 
 Hertford." 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 O Delicatesse has an anxious life ! 
 
 (Sing hey, for the gay petunia tie ! 
 He spends whole days in a stubborn strife 
 
 When the crease of a trouser runs awry, 
 And he battles gamely, laying low 
 
 Recalcitrant curls on his unctuous mop. 
 (Sing ho, for we know that the hats are in a row, 
 
 And the socks are all a-dangle in the hosier's shop /) 
 
 Wilfrid Blair, The Tailor's Man. 
 
 THAT Brummell's example had a tremendous effect 
 upon other men there can be little doubt, yet on 
 the other hand I may safely use the hackneyed phrase 
 and declare that he in his turn was but a product of 
 his time. Had there been no Prince George, son of 
 George III., there would still have existed George Bryan 
 Brummell, but no books would have been written about 
 him, no columns devoted to him in important dictionaries, 
 and the fear enunciated by Captain Jesse would have been 
 a fact " that posterity will hardly accord to George Bryan 
 Brummell one line in the annals of history." He might 
 indeed — he would still have — floated to the top of society, 
 but without the remarkable opportunities given him by 
 the Prince, without the quarrel, famed through Europe 
 because of BrummelFs retorts, his impression would not 
 have been made deeply upon all grades of social life. 
 
 Yet in dress he would have reigned supreme because 
 he had strength enough to go his own way ; he disdained 
 alike the foppishness of those who still retained some 
 
 275 
 
276 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 remnants of the Macaroni period, and the careless ease of 
 those who took their ideas from the French citizens and 
 sans culottes, cropping their heads and calling it dressing 
 the hair " a la Brutus " or u a la guillotine ! " 
 
 Brummell guided fashion rather than made it, and 
 there were crowds of young men who noted each day 
 every article he wore that they might copy it on the 
 morrow. Copyists there have always been and will 
 always be. There was one who before BrummelFs time 
 made the Prince his model, and when for a joke His 
 Royal Highness covered his pigtail with his coat, allowing 
 some one to whisper to his flatterer that a new fashion had 
 arisen, this gentleman appeared the next day without his 
 pigtail, to the uncontrollable amusement of the Prince's 
 Court, for really, to be seen without a pigtail ! it was 
 almost as indecent as appearing without clothes ! 
 
 But those who followed Brummell ! — what a host they 
 were ! Looking back upon them at the distance of a 
 century they seem to be a crowd of foolish children, many 
 with old faces and stooping backs : irresponsible, joking, 
 swearing creatures who did nothing but play ; who sat in 
 the Bow Window and laughed at the passers-by ; who sat 
 over the gaming tables and poured money from side to 
 side ; who formed the Jockey Club and played with their 
 beautiful horses ; men under a fairy spell, incapable, like 
 Peter Pan, of growing up, though steeped to the lips in 
 the knowledge of evil. They delighted in nicknames 
 such as " Poodle " Byng, " Apollo " Raikes, " Red Her- 
 rings " (Lord Yarmouth), " Peagreen " Haynes, f< King " 
 Allen, " Kangaroo " Cooke, " Conversation " Sharp, 
 "Golden" Ball, "Teapot" Crawford, "The Mosaic 
 Dandy" (John Mills), "The Red Dandy" (Rufus 
 Lloyd), " The Black Dandy " (Edward Montague), and 
 " Prince " Boothby ; the last, however, rather preceded 
 
The Meaning of Dandy 277 
 
 than followed Brummell. Not that they were all Beaux, 
 far from it, for as I have pointed out, the Beau was the 
 real thing, a Beau because he could not help himself, 
 because the beau-like quality was either born in him or so 
 unconsciously nurtured that it became his nature. The 
 men mentioned above were known as the Dandies, not so 
 much because they all followed an ideal in dress, but 
 because they all lived in one circle. The most remark- 
 able of them were the Dandies in reality — those who took 
 excessive care of their appearance ; the rest were their 
 companions, and so they all passed under one name. 
 
 " Dandy " was not exactly a term of respect" when 
 first used, it was applied to men who a century earlier 
 would have been known as Fribbles, or Pretty Fellows, 
 or Dappers, " who, instead of supporting the dignity and 
 manliness of their own sex, incline to the delicacy and 
 manners of a female " ; who still carried muffs and wore an 
 eyeglass on the top of a cane ; who fastened their waist- 
 coats with gold or jewelled buttons to match the studs in 
 their frilled shirt-fronts — I have a set of such which have 
 been handed down through four generations — who wore 
 stays that the true meaning of " Dandy " might not be lost. 
 
 Cotgrave, in 1650, gives that meaning as u the handle 
 of a curry-comb, a slender little fellow, a dwarf." The 
 old writers consider dandy and dandyprat as synonymous, 
 and Camden traces its origin in dandyprat, a small coin 
 issued by Henry VII. worth \\d. Bulwer, in his " Man- 
 transformed, or The Changeling " contrasts a huge dis- 
 torted figure with : 
 
 " Sometimes with lacings and with swaiths so strait, 
 For want of space we have a Dandiprat." 
 
 Torriano, in his Italian Dictionary, regards it as " a dwarf, 
 a pretty little man, a mannikin " ; and we all know the 
 
278 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 nursery rhyme of cc Spicky spandy, Jacky dandy." It 
 seems fairly well proved that dandy means a slight little 
 thing ; something well polished and groomed, with clean- 
 cut outlines and gentle curves. A bantam is known as 
 a dandy-cock 5 and a slim cutter, with some peculiarity 
 about its masts, is also called a dandy. 
 
 The " Green Man of Brighton " had his successors 
 among the later Dandies — fops who desired nothing so 
 much as notoriety, and really because of their eccentricity 
 in dress became the lions of London and Paris. Gronow 
 
 tells us of a certain Captain T who set up in Paris 
 
 and created much gossip, not only because of his perfect 
 English carriage and horses, but by his remarkable dress. 
 He always designed his own coat, which had wide, bagged 
 sleeves, wore trousers capacious enough for a Turk, and 
 had " an ingenious mode of making the collar of the coat 
 a sort of receptacle for a voluminous quantity of shirt frill ; 
 indeed, the collar appeared to descend from his ears all 
 the way down his back, so that you might suppose he was 
 looking out of a black chimney-pot. He was handsome 
 in face, and had a profusion of hair, which was curled 
 and arranged so that his snaky locks seemed to be always 
 trying to escape from his head, being only held there by 
 a tight-fitting little hat more suitable for a boy. He 
 always wore a pair of golden spurs with rowels the size of 
 a small dessert plate, and so strutted about Paris to the 
 amusement of every one." 
 
 From the same source we have an account of a dinner 
 given in Paris by Lord Pembroke, when Captain Gronow 
 
 was invited to meet Lord C , probably Lord Clan- 
 
 william, a Dandy of that period. There were many gentle- 
 men, among them Henri de Noailles, waiting the arrival 
 of the celebrated Dandy with much anxiety as to their own 
 dress. True to the bad dandiacal manners Lord C 
 
" Diamond " Coates 279 
 
 came long after the dinner hour, and made a terrific im- 
 pression, though scarcely that which he anticipated. Short 
 of stature and inclined to be stout, though only five- 
 and-twenty, he wore a coat very much thrown open, 
 a transparent and elaborately embroidered cambric shirt 
 adorned with a variety of splendid jewels, an exceedingly 
 short rose-coloured waistcoat, just covering his ample 
 chest and cutting his large square body exactly in two. 
 His hair was long, straight, and straw-coloured, which 
 he continually tossed back or let fall over his large 
 expressive eyes. The Parisian exquisites could hardly 
 believe that they saw the English Lovelace, the fleur des 
 poix of whom they had heard so much. 
 
 One of the most extraordinary of these seekers after 
 an evanescent fame was Robert Coates, generally known 
 as " Romeo " Coates, born in 1772 in Antigua, his father 
 having been a merchant and sugar-planter there. Having 
 been educated in England and having later gone back to 
 his native place, Coates returned after the death of his 
 father and took up his residence at Bath. He was at 
 that time thirty-five, though one who knew him said he 
 looked fifty, having a wrinkled, sallow face, expressive of 
 cunning rather than of any other quality. In the daytime 
 he always, even in summer, wore fur, but in the evening 
 he was like a butterfly out of the chrysalis, for his father 
 had left him not only much money, but an enormous collec- 
 tion of diamonds, which the young man wore in every 
 possible place that fashion allowed for buttons or buckles. 
 Like Beau Feilding he had a carriage built in the form 
 of a shell, which was drawn by white horses, and upon 
 the bar of which a large brazen cock was perched, with 
 the motto, " Whilst I live I crow ! " and this bird was 
 emblazoned on every bit of the harness and carriage. 
 
 " Diamond " Coates, or " Cock-a-doodle-do " Coates, 
 
280 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 had a great ambition to be an actor, and in i8iOihe gave 
 a performance of Romeo at the Bath Theatre. There was 
 something so ludicrous about this man as an actor that 
 the audience screamed with laughter all the time. To 
 begin with, his dress was anything but Romeo-like. He 
 wore a profusely spangled sky-blue cloak of silk, red 
 pantaloons, a vest of white muslin, an abnormally thick 
 cravat, and a Charles II. wig, crowned with an opera-hat. 
 His clothes were much too tight for him, and during the 
 play a seam burst " in an inexpressible part of his dress," 
 and there was " a sudden extrusion through the red rent 
 of a quantity of white linen sufficient to make a Bourbon 
 flag, which was visible whenever he turned round." As 
 he was evidently unconscious of what had happened, 
 " unrestrained mirth reigned throughout the boxes, pit, 
 and gallery." 
 
 When he bowed, which he did often, he stood per- 
 fectly stiff and upright, and bobbed his head up and down 
 several times, and in the midst of one of Juliet's im- 
 passioned speeches he took a pinch of snuff. A wag in 
 the gallery shouted, " I say, Romeo, give us a pinch," 
 whereupon the ardent lover walked to the side-boxes 
 offering a pinch first to the gentlemen and then to the 
 ladies. This being acknowledged with shouts of appre- 
 ciation, he made his absurd bow in return. In the dying 
 scene he took a silk handkerchief from his pocket, dusted 
 the ground, put down his opera-hat for a pillow, and care- 
 fully adjusted himself. When the delighted house bawled, 
 " Die again, Romeo ! " he went through the operation 
 again, and would have done it a third time, but that Juliet 
 (Miss Jameson) had by this time had enough of death. 
 She came to life, rose from her tomb, and cried aptly : 
 
 " Dying is such sweet sorrow 
 That he will die again to-morrow." 
 
The Ridiculous Dandies 281 
 
 From this he got the name of c< Romeo " ; but the 
 titles he loved were " The Amateur of Fashion " and 
 " The Celebrated Philanthropic Amateur." He acted 
 in London, and was personated in At Home by Charles 
 Mathews, but eventually audiences grew tired of him 
 and hissed him off the stage. At last, having spent 
 or given away much of his money and diamonds, he 
 went to Boulogne, where he married ; but later, coming 
 to an arrangement with his creditors, he settled down 
 in England on what remained of his fortune. 
 
 Moore used to tell a story illustrating the grotesque 
 extravagance, in their ideas of dress, of a Dandy who 
 slipped in the street, falling under a cart-wheel which 
 went over his neck. " But he got up safe and well 
 when the cart had passed. His neck-cloth was so thick 
 and well wound that nothing could have hurt the neck 
 inside it." 
 
 Lord Blessington told Moore that he was once at 
 dinner with a Dandy who, when a shoulder of mutton 
 appeared, put up his glass to spy it, saying he had never 
 seen such a thing before, to which a quick-witted Irish- 
 man at once retorted : " Then I suppose, sir, you have 
 been chiefly in the chop line" 
 
 To pass from the ridiculous Dandies to those who 
 were a link between the Macaronis and the Dandies of 
 the days when George IV. was king, there are several 
 men who to the time of their death might have gone 
 under the title of Buck. Among these were Colonel 
 George Hanger, who was born in 1751, the brothers 
 Barrymore, and Lord Norfolk — untutored, primitive 
 creatures of whom the only thinking, human person 
 was Hanger, though because of his ft Life " and his 
 theories, written by himself but compiled by William 
 Combe, his reputation is unsavoury enough. 
 
 17 
 
282 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Colonel Hanger was a soldier, a sportsman, and a 
 great lover of horses. As a boy he went to Eton, 
 where he seems to have passed the greater part of his 
 time in making love to the tradesmen's daughters in 
 Windsor. " A carpenter's wife was the first object of 
 my early affections ; nor can I well express the nature 
 of my obligations to her. Frequently have I risked 
 breaking my neck in getting over the roof of my 
 boarding house at night, to pass a few hours with 
 some famous grisette at Windsor. During the latter 
 part of my time at Eton, to perfect my education, I 
 became attached to, and was very much enamoured of, 
 the daughter of a vendor of cabbages." 
 
 Subsequently he married a gipsy, " the lovely ^Egyptia," 
 over whose charms he enthused under the greenwood 
 tree until she eloped with a tinker. He served with 
 Tarleton's light-dragoons in the American War, and 
 was wounded at Charlottetown. Later he became a 
 boon companion of the Prince, being one of his equerries, 
 and attending him both in Brighton and in London. 
 
 Hanger was continually in low water, but as he 
 was very extravagant in his youth he probably was 
 saddled with debt for many years. As a soldier his 
 pay was ^s. a day, and yet he was very extravagant 
 in dress, telling us that his dress clothes for one winter 
 cost him ^900. " I was always handsomely dressed at 
 every birthday ; but for one in particular I put myself to 
 a very great expense, having two suits for that day. 
 My morning vestment cost me near ^80, and those 
 for the ball alone ^180. It was a satin coat brode en 
 plein et sur les coutures ; and the first satin coat that 
 had ever made its appearance in this country. Shortly 
 after, satin dress clothes became common among well 
 dressed men." 
 
The Kevenhuller Hat 283 
 
 He was not always so much of a Dandy though, 
 for on the Queers birthday in 1782, just after he had 
 given up the army, he went to the ball in the uniform 
 of a major in the Hessian-Jager corps in which he 
 had served in America. Thus he wore a short blue 
 coat with gold frogs, with a very broad belt from which 
 hung his sword. In the minuet which he danced with 
 one of the lovely Gunnings he put on his Kevenhuller 
 hat — a monstrosity in the way of a three-cornered hat, 
 one side being turned from the face to a great height — 
 decorated with two large black-and-white feathers. The 
 King and his Court tried to be grave, but the laugh 
 rippled round, and *soon the whole room was laughing 
 at and with the great Irishman. 
 
 At this time Sheridan was much with the Prince, 
 the King hating both him and Hanger as evil influences 
 over his son and heir, and many are the stories told 
 of the three. Out of Hanger's absurd attire at the 
 Royal ball a mock duel arose, in which Hanger believed 
 he had killed Sheridan, being very relieved when he 
 found that the dying was a fraud. It was in the dining- 
 room at Brighton, which the Prince loved to keep very 
 hot, that Sheridan asked Hanger how he felt. The 
 answer was : " Hot, hot, hot as Hell " ; to which 
 Sheridan replied sympathetically, " Yes, and it is right 
 that we should be prepared in this world for that 
 which we know will be our lot in another." 
 
 Hanger tells a story of a joke played upon Sheridan 
 which he, poor man, must have regarded with rueful 
 disgust. The Prince, with Charles Fox, Berkeley, Sheridan, 
 and others, once made a gaming night of it at the 
 Staffordshire Arms. When towards the morning the 
 company thought of dispersing, they could not collect 
 sufficient money among them to pay the landlord. 
 
284 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Sheridan was helplessly drunk, and one of the players, 
 noticing this, made the suggestion that he should be 
 left as a hostage. The idea appealed too strongly to 
 the vivacious crew to be scoffed, so poor Sheridan was 
 left to sleep off his wine and to pay the full reckoning 
 in the morning. 
 
 In 1798 Hanger was in the King's Bench Prison, 
 not being released until April of 1799, when he com- 
 pounded with his creditors, and with a capital of £40 set 
 up as a coal merchant. The Prince on horseback met 
 him one day and called with a laugh, " Well, George, 
 how do coals go now ? " Ci Black as ever, your Royal 
 Highness," was the cheerful reply. 
 
 He was known as " Georgey-a-cock-horse," because, 
 with his hat on one side, he rode a Scotch pony named 
 Punch. Though in 18 14 he inherited the title and 
 estates of Baron Coleraine, he refused to recognise any 
 other name than that of Colonel Hanger, the reason 
 being that, having no wife by ceremonial rites but 
 the errant gipsy, he yet had a partner who was called 
 Mrs. Hanger, and he would not slight her by taking a 
 title which she could not share. In the latter part of 
 his life he grew too coarse for the Regent to find pleasure 
 in his society, and he lived quietly in Somers Town until 
 he died in 1824. 
 
 His elder brother, Baron Coleraine, was known as "Old 
 Blue Hanger," from a liking he once showed for a blue 
 coat. " He was a Beau of the first water, always beautifully 
 powdered, in a light green coat with a rose in his button- 
 hole. Having lived much in Paris before the Revolution, 
 he affected the manners of the French Court, and made 
 his mild repartees with such an access of ceremony, that 
 they raised a laugh where real wit sometimes failed. For 
 instance, once when starting on a river party the Duchess 
 
A SUGGESTED STATUE TO BRUMMELL AND GEORGE IV. 
 
 28^ 
 
"Les Trois Magots" 287 
 
 of York was informed that she must wait for the tide, 
 Coleraine, with a profound bow said, " If I had been the 
 tide I should have waited for your Royal Highness." 
 " Nothing could have been more stupid," adds Raikes ; 
 " but there was something in the manner in which it was 
 said that made everybody burst out laughing." 
 
 The Three Barrymores — " Les Trois Magots," as 
 Gillray named them below the caricature he made of 
 them — are worth no more than a mention as companions 
 of the Prince of Wales. They were exceedingly wild 
 Irishmen, and Lord Barrymore alternated between a 
 gentleman and a blackguard. A refined wit and a most 
 vulgar bully, he was equally well known at St. Giles's 
 and St. James's. He could fence, dance, drive, drink, 
 box, or bet with any man in the kingdom. He could 
 discourse slang as trippingly as French, relish porter after 
 port, and compliment her ladyship at a ball with as much 
 ease and brilliance as he could bespatter blood in a quarrel 
 in a cider cellar. He was generous to prodigality, and 
 always independent of prejudice, and was so foul-mouthed 
 as to gain the nickname of " Hellgate." He died by mis- 
 adventure in 1793, at the early age of twenty-four. 
 
 Henry Barry, his brother, eighth Earl of Barrymore, 
 the inventor of the " Tiger," or boy-groom, being lame, 
 was known as "Cripplegate." The third brother, Augustus, 
 was in Holy Orders in the Church of Ireland, but this 
 did not save him from being an inveterate gambler, 
 always in debt and in danger of the sponging house. He 
 was said to have been in every prison in England except 
 Newgate, therefore he was hilariously christened c< New- 
 gate." To this precious trio we must add a word about 
 their sister, Lady Melfort, who had so bad a temper, and 
 made use of such foul language, that she earned the name 
 of u Billingsgate." These Barrymores always said what 
 
288 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 came into their minds, their wit always ready and their 
 spirits always high. 
 
 As for the Duke of Norfolk, generally known as 
 "Jockey," he too was one of the constant visitors at 
 Brighton, wearing a sky-blue suit with lace ruffles, with 
 which, when shooting, he would at times wipe out the 
 pan of his gun. In him drunkenness was hereditary, says 
 Wraxall, and Thackeray gives us a picture of the " poor 
 old sinner" being deliberately made drunk with bumpers 
 of brandy by the First Gentleman in Europe. 
 
 Sir John Lade, a creature of the Prince's, was one of 
 the false Dandies, for his highest ambition was to be 
 thought a jockey, and he generally dressed as such. One 
 good story about him is to the effect that he wagered 
 Lord Cholmondeley that he would carry him twice round 
 the Steine at Brighton, and as he was a small man and 
 Cholmondeley a large one a great crowd assembled to 
 witness the feat. The two men met on the Steine, and 
 Sir John stood waiting. " Well," said his lordship, c< I 
 am ready." " No," replied the baronet ; u I said I would 
 carry you round the Steine, but 1 said nothing of your 
 clothing. Please strip that we may not disappoint the 
 ladies." Cholmondeley paid the wager. 
 
 When one thinks of the orgies which took place at 
 Brighton with such a set of men and women — men lying 
 under the table, wine spilled, cards all over the place ; 
 the intrigues and schemings, the races, the publicity of 
 everything, no wonder can be felt at the King's dislike 
 for his son's friends, nor at the indignation expressed by 
 his subjects against the Prince. 
 
 One of Brummell's contemporaries was Sir Lumley 
 Skeffington, who set up as a man of fashion as soon as 
 he had finished his education. He was a stage-struck 
 youngster, who attended the production of every new 
 
Lumley Skeffington 289 
 
 play, and wrote an extravaganza called The Sleeping Beauty ', 
 lampooned by Byron as a dull play which — 
 
 In five facetious acts came thundering on. 
 
 His other plays were absolute failures. As a young man 
 he was eccentric enough to get talked about, so much so 
 that he was soon noticed by the Prince of Wales, for the 
 vanity he felt concerning his appearance caused him to 
 spend much money in dressing in the most foppish way. 
 He was fond of acting, and sought theatrical society, being 
 friends with Kemble, Mrs. Siddons, and others ; and he 
 was a precursor of those who will stand hours at a theatre 
 door to see the first acting of a new play, though he had 
 the advantage of seeing it without waiting. 
 
 We know more of Lumley in his age than in his 
 youth, and then it is said that he used to paint his face 
 so that he looked like a French toy, and dressed " a la 
 Robespierre." "You always knew of his approach by an 
 avant-courrier of sweet smells ; and when he advanced a 
 little nearer, you might suppose yourself in the atmosphere 
 of a perfumer's shop." He was, however, always popular 
 with the ladies, not only for his politeness and courtly 
 manners, but for his genuine kindness of heart. Miss 
 Berry says in her Diary, dated June 8th, 1809 : 
 
 " Dined at Mrs. 's ; a dinner of fifteen people 
 
 of whom my only acquaintance was Skeffington, who I 
 found afterwards was the wit, the bel-esprit, T aigle de la 
 societe ! Two ladies joined after dinner in extolling 
 the endowments and even the personal appearance of 
 Skeffington." 
 
 The poor man spent an enormous sum in producing 
 The Sleeping Beauty, and though in 1815 he succeeded to 
 the title, there was no income with it, as he had allowed 
 his father to cut off the entail. So for some years this 
 
290 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Dandy, once a lion in society, occupied the King's Bench 
 Prison, and no one troubled to help him out. Then he 
 came into an estate worth ^800 a year. He thought to 
 retrieve his position by dressing very gaily, but it really 
 served only as a safeguard to those who regarded him 
 as a bore, allowing them to escape in time. Just after 
 The Sleeping Beauty had been reproduced, Alvanley was 
 asked in the street whose was the gorgeous figure ap- 
 proaching, and answered : — 
 
 "It is a second edition of Sleeping "Beauty », bound 
 in calf, richly guilt, and illustrated by many cuts," a 
 witty yet cruel answer, for the faded old Beau's heart 
 was sorely aching at the many cuts bestowed upon him 
 by those who once had been his friends. All these he 
 outlived at his quiet home at Southwark, until, like 
 Feilding, he was regarded by the younger men as a 
 curious specimen of a bygone age. 
 
 Of all those who had surrounded Brummell Lord 
 Alvanley was the most important from the dandy point 
 of view. Though ten years younger than the Beau 
 he was his faithful friend and supporter until the end, 
 and in many ways his life, his failings, and good qualities 
 were similar to those of the exiled favourite. Captain 
 Gronow speaks of him as the magnificent, the witty, the 
 famous, the chivalrous, the idol of the clubs and of 
 society, from the King to the ensign of the Guards. 
 
 The great charm of Alvanley's manner was its natural- 
 ness or naivete'. He was an excellent classical scholar, a 
 good speaker, and he succeeded in whatever he under- 
 took. He had lived in nearly every Court in Europe, 
 had a vast acquaintance with the world, while his know- 
 ledge of languages was great. Like Brummell, he had 
 a thirst for military glory, and he entered the Coldstream 
 Guards, commanded by the then Duke of York, whose 
 
Alvanley 's Extravagance 291 
 
 close friend he became. This gave rise to great extrava- 
 gance, for Alvanley possessed to the full one of the 
 attributes of the Dandies, a perfect disregard for the real 
 value of money. 
 
 One day he met George Anson, afterwards General 
 Anson, at White's, who asked him to join a water party 
 on the Thames, at which he expected his cousin, Lord 
 Ellenborough, and several pretty fashionable women. 
 
 " Where will you dine ? " asked Alvanley. 
 
 " Dine ! do you know I had not thought about 
 that." 
 
 u Well, never mind, Anson ! I will see to the 
 dinner." 
 
 So the rash young man went to Gunter's and ordered 
 the largest boat on the Thames, to be carpeted, covered 
 with an awning, and made as comfortable as possible. 
 Twelve boatmen were to be provided, and an elaborate 
 dinner supplied. The picnic was a great success, but 
 Alvanley had to pay Gunter two hundred guineas for 
 his extravagance. 
 
 Being once recommended to pay his debts, he gave 
 a list of them to his friend " Punch n Greville or the 
 u Cruncher," but forgot to insert one of fifty thousand 
 pounds which he owed. Knowing that Alvanley never 
 paid ready money, Armstrong once asked him, in satirical 
 fashion, what he had given for a hunter he was riding, 
 and received the reply : " I owe Mathe Milton three 
 hundred guineas for it." 
 
 Some happy sayings of his are recorded on the 
 question of money. Speaking once of a rich friend who 
 had become poor, he described him as a man who 
 " muddled away his fortune in paying his tradesmen's 
 bills ! " On another occasion, when Lady Salisbury was 
 arranging some tableaux vivants at Hatfield House, she 
 
292 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 could not find any one to personate the Jew in lvanhoe. 
 At last she begged Lord Alvanley " to make the set 
 complete by doing the Jew." " Your Ladyship may 
 command me to do anything within my power," replied 
 Alvanley ; " but though no man in England has tried 
 oftener, I never could do a Jew in my life." 
 
 His dinners were considered perfect, and the best 
 in London. He once gave orders that cold apricot tart 
 should appear on his table every day in the year. When 
 his maitre d? hotel remonstrated with him upon the expense, 
 Alvanley replied : u Go to Gunter's and buy all the pre- 
 served apricots, and don't plague me any more about 
 the expense." 
 
 Jack Talbot of the Guards, an officer who died in 
 his chair at the age of twenty-seven, with the remains of 
 a bottle of sherry by his side, was very popular, being 
 a favourite of the Duke of Cambridge, Beau Brummell, 
 and all who knew him. During his last illness Lord 
 Alvanley asked the doctor of the regiment what he 
 thought of his state. " My Lord, he is very bad," re- 
 plied the doctor ; " I was obliged to use the lancet this 
 morning." " You should have tapped him, doctor," said 
 Lord Alvanley, " for I am sure he has more claret than 
 blood in his veins." 
 
 His lordship fought more than one duel. Once he 
 was rash enough to allude in the House of Lords to 
 O'Connell in a way that was certain to offend a hot 
 Irishman ; O'Connell retorted quickly with " bloated 
 buffoon," which was quite sufficient excuse for the send- 
 ing of a challenge. It was declined, as twenty years 
 earlier O'Connell had killed Mr. D'Esterre in a duel 
 and had vowed never to fight another, upon which 
 Alvanley said he would thrash O'Connell, whereupon 
 young Morgan O'Connell determined to take his father's 
 
The World Indebted 293 
 
 place. So the meeting was arranged at Wimbledon 
 Common, Alvanley's second being George Dawson Darner. 
 After several ineffectual shots the seconds put a stop 
 to the affair, and they all drove home. 
 
 "What a clumsy fellow O'Connell must be," said 
 Alvanley, " to miss such a fat fellow as I am ! He 
 ought to practise at a haystack to get his hand in." 
 
 On reaching his home he gave a guinea to the 
 hackney coachman who had driven him to and from 
 the meeting-place. Surprised at the sum the driver 
 said : " My Lord, I only took you to " 
 
 " My friend," interrupted Alvanley, " the guinea is 
 not for taking me there, but for bringing me back ! " 
 
 On another such occasion, the friend who went with 
 Alvanley to the appointed rendezvous said : " Let what 
 will come of it, Alvanley, the world is extremely in- 
 debted to you for calling out this fellow as you have 
 done." 
 
 " The world indebted to me, my dear fellow ! 1 am 
 devilishly glad to hear it, for then the world and I are 
 quits." 
 
 He was keen on hunting, and during the season stayed 
 often at country houses, where he was variously appreciated. 
 As a jovial and entertaining guest he was excellent, but as 
 an inmate a little dubious, for candles were the illumination 
 of that time, and Alvanley's method of putting one out 
 at night was either by flinging his pillow at it, or stuffing 
 it under his pillow. This habit becoming known at 
 Badminton, where he often stayed, a servant was told off 
 to keep watch in the corridor each night. 
 
 Moore speaks of a dinner party at Holland House at 
 which Alvanley was present (in 181 8), and says of him : 
 " Sat next Lord Alvanley, and had much conversation with 
 him about Lord Forbes and Rancliffe and other of my 
 
294 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 early cronies. The conversation to-day of rather a com- 
 moner turn than usual, on account of these slang bucks, 
 but still very agreeable. Alvanley just hits the difficult 
 line between the gentleman and the jolly fellow, and mixes 
 their shades together very pleasantly.*' Moore also tells a 
 story of Berkeley Craven and Alvanley, who were once 
 driving together when some accident happened to the 
 carriage. Craven got out, intending to thrash the foot- 
 man, but seeing him to be an old fellow, desisted, saying, 
 " Your age protects you ! " Alvanley ran up to the pos- 
 tillion with the same intention, but seeing before him a 
 big athletic young fellow, turned from him with a laugh, 
 saying, " Tour youth protects you ! " 
 
 It may be readily imagined that Alvanley sometimes 
 found himself in difficulties about money, and some of 
 his journeys into foreign countries were made just at the 
 critical moment which would leave the Jews lamenting 
 — a practice which the censorious did not forget to dis- 
 cuss. This annoyed the Duke of York, who once be- 
 came much displeased with a visitor (probably Berkeley 
 Craven) on his making unkind remarks about Brummell 
 and Alvanley, both of whom were then <c travelling." 
 This gentleman had little compassion for those who could 
 not meet their engagements, and in answer to his cutting 
 expressions the Duke said : " I tell you what, Berkeley, 
 all this may be true or not, but I cannot bear to hear 
 them abused by one of their oldest friends." Craven 
 himself did a much more foolish thing than fly to the 
 Continent to escape his debts, for he committed suicide 
 on learning that Bay Middleton had won the Derby. 
 
 Of all his friends the Duke showed a preference 
 for Alvanley and cc Punch " Greville, the writer of the 
 " Memoirs," and to the latter he gave the management 
 of his racing stud at Newmarket ; indeed, he showed his 
 
The Duke's Loyal Friendship 295 
 
 concurrence in the general opinion that two more amiable 
 and agreeable men were not to be found in the then 
 society. 
 
 Thomas Raikes adds his evidence to that of others 
 as to the loyalty of the Duke's friendship, for he tells us 
 in his journal that it was a peculiar characteristic in the 
 Duke " that he never was known to desert an old friend. 
 Tom Stepney, I believe, tried him as high as any one, 
 but still they were never entirely estranged ; and though 
 Brummell, on his departure from England, had given too 
 much cause to the world, and indeed to his friends, to 
 speak harshly of him, and remarks even of this nature 
 were at times by some people brought forward at His 
 Royal Highness's own table, I never knew or heard of 
 an instance in which he did not immediately check them. 
 It was not in his nature to speak ill of those whom he 
 had once liked, neither could he bear the feeling in others." 
 
 Alvanley gained the somewhat unenviable fame of 
 having the talk of the day completely under his control, 
 and of being the arbiter of the school for scandal in 
 St. James's. It was he who said of Brummell before he 
 fled the country that " he was the only Dandy-lion that 
 flourished year after year in the hotbed of fashion : he 
 had taken root ; lions were only annual, but he was 
 perennial." 
 
 There seem to be as many bon mots of Alvanley's 
 in literary circulation still as there are of Selwyn's. 
 Whether they were all his or were planted upon him as 
 their most probable father I do not know. The follow- 
 ing however is certainly traceable to him. On going up 
 St. James's Street one Sunday morning, Lord Alvanley 
 saw a hearse standing at the door of a gambling club. 
 Approaching the mutes he took off his hat and said, with 
 a polite bow, " Is the devil really dead, gentlemen ? " 
 
296 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Some wit made the remark concerning a lively young 
 man named Judge, who was imprisoned in the King's 
 Bench, that it was the first instance of a judge reaching 
 the bench without having been called to the bar. 
 " Well," answered Alvanley, " many a bad judge has 
 been taken from the bench and placed at the bar." 
 
 A Mr. Neel'd, who had inherited the money of a 
 wealthy goldsmith, once had Lord Alvanley to dine with 
 him. While they were waiting in the drawing-room 
 the host pointed out his treasures, invariably telling how 
 much they had cost. On the guests being seated in the 
 dining-room Mr. Neeld apologised for not having a 
 haunch of venison for dinner, but said that a very fine 
 haunch of Welsh mutton had been prepared for them. 
 After which he began to praise the room in which they 
 sat ; by the time he had got to the gilding the mutton 
 appeared, and Lord Alvanley, who was bored to death, 
 cried, c ' I do not care what your gilding cost ; but what 
 is more to the purpose, I am most anxious to make trial 
 of your carving, Mr. Neeld, for I am excessively hungry, 
 and should like to attack the representative of the haunch 
 of venison." 
 
 A private dinner being given at White's, among a 
 few of the members, it was agreed that he who could 
 produce the most expensive dish should dine for nothing. 
 Alvanley won the prize, by inventing a fricassee made 
 entirely of the noix^ or small pieces at each side of the 
 back, taken from thirteen kinds of birds, among them 
 being one hundred snipe, forty woodcocks, twenty 
 pheasants, etc., in all about three hundred birds. The 
 cost amounted to £108 $s — an incident which brings to 
 mind a dinner given a few years ago at one of the large 
 hotels, which was upon such an absurd scale that the cost 
 was over ^8oa head. 
 
The Unique Four 297 
 
 Alvanley had inherited from his father property which 
 brought him in ^8,000 a year ; when he died he left his 
 brother who succeeded him a total capital of ^2,000. 
 
 Bernard Blackmantle, in " The English Spy," speaks 
 of him thus in his old age : 
 
 " Lord Alvanley, the babe of honour — once the 
 gayest of the gay, where fashion holds her bright enchant- 
 ing court ; now wrinkled and depressed, and plucked of 
 every feather, by merciless Greek banditti. Such is the 
 infatuation of play that he still continues to linger round 
 that fatal table, and finds pleasure in recounting his 
 enormous losses. Alvanley, who is certainly one of the 
 most polished men in the world, was the leader of the 
 Dandy club, or the unique four," composed of Beau 
 Brummell, Sir Henry Mildmay, Henry Pierrepoint, and 
 himself. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 As to their dress, fashions change and the average boy and young 
 man is neatly turned out ; but the race of the dandies, some of whom 
 survived in my boyhood, has quite died out and has never been replaced. 
 More's the pity, I think, for their elegance and punctiliousness about 
 dress led to the same in manners, and their disappearance has led to the 
 decadence of these. 
 
 Walter Seymour, Ups and Downs of a Wandering Life. 
 
 OF Lord Yarmouth, later Marquis of Hertford, there 
 seems to be little that is good to be said. From 
 1 8 1 1 to 1820 he was regarded as an authority on dress, 
 becoming the Regent's chief adviser in matters sartorial 
 after BrummelFs fall, and holding appointments at Court. 
 He married Maria Fagniana, Selwyn's Mie-Mie, in 1792, 
 and by the time she had borne him three children she 
 had had enough of his profligate ways, leaving him for 
 Marshal Androche. John Mills said of Yarmouth that 
 he was without one redeeming quality in the multitude of 
 his glaring, damning vices, and Jesse speaks of "his open 
 and unblushing depravity." He was licencious to such a 
 degree that he was not really sane at the end of his life, 
 which lasted eighty years, being partly paralysed and 
 unable to talk. Yet up to the end we are told that 
 lewd Bacchanalian scenes took place in the Tempio di 
 Venere of this member of the aristocracy. In earlier 
 life he had been a patron of art, had read much, was 
 interested in politics, and returned many members to 
 Parliament. As Marquis of Hertford he is said to have 
 
 had £80,000 a year. 
 
 398 
 
Bulwer Lytton as a Dandy 299 
 
 Early in last century the Isle of Thanet, and notably 
 Broadstairs with its Assembly Room, had become a centre 
 of cosmopolitan fashion, rivalling the Queen of the South 
 herself. A glimpse of society in its new playground is 
 given us by Mr. T. S. Escott in his life of Edward 
 Bulwer, and we get a little picture both of Bulwer Lytton 
 as he came later to be called, and of Lord Yarmouth. 
 
 One evening the young Lytton was there with Lady 
 Caroline Lamb, who pointed out the people of note to 
 him : " You see yonder man, in what they speak of as 
 1 Court evening undress/ with the red hair that has made 
 us call him c Carrots ' — at such pains to show grace, 
 dignity, and spirit in his dancing steps ? That is Lord 
 Yarmouth, and there, of course, ready to black his boots, 
 is his time damnie, John Wilson Croker." It was the first 
 occasion on which the future author of " Pelham " saw 
 together the peer who sat to Thackeray for Lord Steyne 
 and to Disraeli for Lord Monmouth, and Monmouth's 
 factotum, the Rigby of c< Coningsby." 
 
 Bulwer Lytton's appearance at the age of twenty-five 
 is thus described : " To begin with, his features were the 
 softened duplicates of his mother's ; rather too much of 
 the dandy may have shown itself in his glittering golden 
 hair that, worn in ringlets, played about his shoulders, as 
 in the air and dress of the young man himself. Still, in 
 spite of these extravagancies, his face and bearing were 
 not only gentleman-like, but patrician. . . . " 
 
 Miss Wheeler (who afterwards married Lytton) re- 
 cords as a first impression that she had to struggle against 
 a feeling of nauseation, not only at the fulsomeness of 
 his compliments and flattery, but at the foppery of his 
 dress ; for, gleaming with French polish, his boots re- 
 flected the company like a looking-glass ; while his 
 transparent shirt-front was an arrangement in embroidery 
 
 18 
 
300 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 and lace never till then seen in a Mayfair drawing-room. 
 Elaborate wristbands were not fully popularised by 
 d'Orsay till ten years later ; they were anticipated now 
 by Edward Lytton-Bulwer, as, since his father's death, 
 he had been called. 
 
 Lord Sefton has by some been given a place among 
 the Dandies, more perhaps because he was a member 
 of Crockford's, and because he made a cult of the 
 gastronomic art — having secured Ude, the well-known 
 chef de cuisine of Louis XVI., and having invented a 
 famous dish comprised of the soft roe of the mackerel — 
 than because of his handsome appearance or extreme care 
 of his dress. His spine was somewhat deformed, but he 
 was nevertheless a capital horseman, and drove two 
 splendid bay horses. Unlike many of his friends he was 
 a man with pronounced principles, and with strong 
 domestic virtues, being much beloved in private life, his 
 family circle being as proverbial among the dissolute 
 clubmen for its happiness as was his hospitality for its 
 generosity. 
 
 He once much offended William IV. It was when 
 the Whig Ministry resigned in 1832 ; and he erased his 
 name from the Jockey Club because the King gave a 
 dinner to the club. He did not wish to go, as he con- 
 sidered that the King had acted in duplicity in not making 
 new peers and so saving the Government. The King then 
 asked him to go as his friend, but Sefton did not appear. 
 When Lord Grey was again in office in consequence of 
 the Duke refusing to serve, the whole Sefton family 
 appeared at the Queen's ball. Then the King, who 
 understood the matter better, openly turned his back on 
 Sefton. As a sequel to this, when in June Lord Lichfield, 
 Master of the Buckhounds, gave a dinner at the con- 
 clusion of the Ascot races to the royal party at his house 
 
Sefton's Independence 301 
 
 at Fern Hill, the King particularly commanded that Lord 
 Sefton should not be invited. Lord Lichfield tried to 
 interest the Queen by saying that the Jockey Club affair 
 had been much exaggerated, but she only replied coldly 
 that she hoped it was so. 
 
 Lord Sefton had once before, during the Regency, 
 shown independence of action when the Prince so 
 thoroughly hated his wife. A ball was arranged at 
 White's, and to the committee came a message from the 
 Prince of Wales asking what style of company they 
 intended to ask to the ball. The committee sent back 
 word that they meant to request the Regent to invite all 
 the royalties himself, and added they would send him 
 tickets for that purpose. But this was not deemed secure 
 enough to shut out the Princess. A member, a friend of 
 the Regent's, said to be Lord Yarmouth, made a motion 
 that no member should give away a ticket except to his 
 own relations, or that some line of rank should be drawn 
 such as that only peer's daughters should be invited, thus 
 excluding all of lower as well as all of higher rank. 
 Thereupon Lord Sefton said it was easy to see that these 
 proposals were meant to exclude the Princess of Wales, 
 but, as one of the members, every ticket he subscribed 
 for was his own, and he intended to send them all to 
 the Princess. Fourteen other members said the same, 
 but they were not in the majority. The result of this 
 was that as those who were paying for the ball were not 
 to be allowed to do what they liked, they determined to 
 give no ball at all. For twelve months before Lord 
 Sefton died, in 1838, he had been in a state of moral and 
 physical weakness, from which death must have been 
 a happy release. After his death " Crockie " presented 
 to Lord Sefton's eldest son an acceptance of the late 
 lord's for £40,000, and the son, notwithstanding a claim 
 
302 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 made so unceremoniously, discharged it, as he thought 
 it might have been incurred by his father. 
 
 By 1 8 1 9 the play at Watier's had become so abnor- 
 mally high, so many members had been beggared and 
 had fled the country or committed suicide, that the club 
 ceased to exist. Its successor was Crockford's, opened by 
 one William Crockford, generally known as " Crockie," 
 when the Regent became George IV. Crockie had been 
 a fishmonger with a turn for speculation, which induced 
 him to take a share in a gaming " hell." There it is 
 said that in a sitting of twenty-four hours he won the 
 enormous sum of one hundred thousand pounds from 
 five gentlemen, among whom was Ball Hughes. With 
 this capital he opened his club, a magnificent palace in 
 St. James's Street, which was conducted on so lavish a 
 scale that it was known all over Europe. Its members 
 included all the celebrities of the time, and in a very 
 few years the wily fishmonger had amassed over twelve 
 hundred thousand pounds, " No one can describe the 
 splendour and excitement of the early days of Crockie," 
 says Gronow. The supper of the most exquisite kind, 
 accompanied by the best wines in the world, was furnished 
 gratis. Manners were as exquisite as the suppers, and 
 dress made a good third." Stiff white neckcloths such as 
 Brummell alone could arrange to pefection, blue coats 
 and brass buttons, rather short white waistcoats, and 
 tremendously embroidered shirt-fronts with gorgeous 
 studs of great value were considered the right thing. 
 We are told of an instance in which one man gave some 
 jewellers ^25 a year to furnish him with a new set of 
 studs every Saturday night during the London season. 
 
 Lord Lamington wrote with enthusiasm concerning 
 Crockford's, and judging from his words the most 
 brilliant of all gatherings must, when the Club was at 
 
The Prince of Dandies 303 
 
 the height of its prosperity, have taken place nightly 
 within its walls, including often Wellington, Lord Raglan, 
 Lord Anglesey, " King " Allen, Lord Alvanley, Ball 
 Hughes, Lord Sefton, Lord Chesterfield, and the most 
 important of the later Dandies — Count d'Orsay. 
 
 In 1820 the chief of the Dandies was Lord Gwydyr, 
 afterwards Lord Willoughby d'Eresby, who was a great 
 friend of the Regent's, of whom the lines run — 
 
 The Prince of Dandies join the throng, 
 Where Gvvydir spanks his fours along, 
 The silvery grays or black. 
 
 He regarded the Dandies as a class of great im- 
 portance, not only socially but politically. The Prince 
 Regent had the same opinion, for when preparations 
 were being made for the coronation, and there was fear 
 of disturbances if the Queen presented herself, George 
 sent for Lord Gwydyr to ask him on which side the 
 Dandies stood in the matter. " Their feeling is not 
 favourable to Your Majesty," was the reply. " I care 
 nothing for the mob," exclaimed the King, " but I do 
 care for the Dandies." So Lord Gwydyr suggested that 
 if he wished to keep them in good humour it might be 
 as well to invite them to breakfast somewhere in the 
 vicinity of the Abbey on the morning of the coronation. 
 The King eagerly accepted the idea, and invited them to 
 breakfast in one of the rooms of the House of Lords ; 
 thereby regaining all his old popularity among them. 
 
 George IV. was king for just ten years, and as he 
 grew older he not only became infirm in body but 
 slovenly in his dress in private. He remained in his 
 robe de chambre until the dinner hour, receiving his 
 Ministers and inspecting the arrangement of his curios 
 at Windsor, mimicking his groom or lecturing Davison, 
 
304 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 the tailor, in this deshabille. But even then his dress 
 was the object of his greatest care, and a plain coat would 
 be altered so often that one has been known to cost 
 ^300, this including constant journeys of the tailor and 
 his assistants to and from Windsor. 
 
 The last days of such a man could hardly be amusing 
 or of interest to him. In 1828 he was tired of the people 
 about him and tired of all there was to be done. Though 
 he would be called at six or seven in the morning, he 
 would breakfast in bed, get through his business in bed, 
 doze in between, get up in time for dinner, and return to 
 his bed between ten and eleven in the evening. There 
 was so much bed, in fact, that there was little sleep, and he 
 would ring his bell forty times in a night. Rather than 
 turn his head to look at his watch he would ring his valet 
 down to tell him the time, and wanting a drink of water 
 would not stretch out his own hand to take the glass. So 
 says " Punch " Greville, and it is possible that George IV. 
 may have been foolish enough to tug at a bell-rope rather 
 than lift a glass, if so he chose the harder task. 
 
 The Duke of Wellington said of the King some time 
 later, when he had developed some internal disease which 
 the doctors seemed unable to diagnose : " When he 
 sent for me to form a new Administration in 1828, he 
 was then seriously ill, though he would never allow it. 
 I found him in bed, dressed in a dirty silk jacket and 
 a turban night-cap, one as greasy as the other ; for 
 notwithstanding his coquetry about dress in public, he 
 was extremely dirty and slovenly in private. The first 
 words he said to me were, c Arthur, the Cabinet is 
 defunct'; and then he began to describe the manner in 
 which the late Ministers had taken leave of him, in giving 
 in their resignations. This was accompanied by the 
 most ludicrous mimicry of the voice and manner of each 
 
" Apollo " Raikes 3°5 
 
 individual, so strikingly like, that it was quite impossible 
 to refrain from fits of laughter." 
 
 The King died in 1830. A number of his friends 
 long survived him, though the decade between 1840 and 
 1850 sadly thinned their ranks. D'Orsay, probably the 
 youngest of the Beaux, died in 1852, Thomas Raikes 
 in 1848, Ball Hughes lived until i860, while " Poodle " 
 Byng, who was Page of Honour at the wedding of the 
 Prince in 1796, was Gentleman Usher at the wedding 
 of King Edward VII. in 1863. 
 
 Thomas Raikes, who went abroad sometimes with 
 Alvanley and Yarmouth, was the son of a rich City 
 merchant belonging to an old Yorkshire family. He 
 always sought the best society and was a member of 
 White's, being often a butt of those who sat in the Bow 
 Window, though occasionally he showed smartness of 
 speech. Once having invitations to a masked ball, he 
 was discussing with Dick Butler, who was noted for his 
 capacity to stretch the long bow, as to the characters 
 they should take. Butler proposed that Raikes should 
 go dressed as Apollo, and he immediately acceded on 
 condition that Dick would be his lyre. Raikes visited 
 France often, going there to live in 1832 through 
 " pecuniary embarrassments." He went to Russia twice, 
 and wrote impressions concerning both countries, as well 
 as, in his reminiscences, giving much information about 
 notable people in Paris and London. In 1846 he went 
 to Bath to be near Lord Alvanley, who was ill there ; 
 and later lived in Brighton, where he died in 1848. 
 
 Ball Hughes, like Brummell, had many stories told 
 of his origin. He was the son of a slop-seller in Ratcliff 
 Highway, who married the widow of a rich Indian nabob ; 
 he was the son of a Captain Ball, whose widow married 
 an Admiral Hughes ; he was the nephew of Admiral 
 
306 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Hughes. Whatever his birth, his name was Ball ; but 
 he inherited the fortune and took the name of Admiral 
 Hughes, the fortune being by no means inconsiderable, 
 not less than £40,000 a year, far too much to be frittered 
 away by an idle young man. However, his life and acts 
 were so gilded that he soon had to recognise a further 
 change in his name, being known by his friends as 
 cc Golden' ' Ball. He was educated at Eton, then en- 
 tered the 7th Hussars, and as a soldier showed a capacity 
 for hero-worship in the admiration he felt and expressed 
 for his colonel, the Marquis of Anglesey. On the 
 principle that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, 
 he took the colonel as a model for hats, boots, and coats, 
 and this in spite of the fact that he himself was handsome 
 enough and popular enough to have been original in his 
 dandyism. 
 
 When he grew tired of being a soldier he abandoned 
 the army and set up as a Dandy. <f Brummell set the 
 fashion, Ball Hughes merely followed it," said William 
 Pitt Lennox, but he followed it very faithfully and very 
 extravagantly, not only in his dress, but in the decoration 
 of his home, buying buhl furniture, statues, bronzes, 
 and works of art to such an extent that he actually left 
 not only an impression upon, but a slight depression in, 
 his fortune. 
 
 As for play he was insatiable. I once talked with 
 a Cambridge professor who was inflicted with a madness 
 for reading. When alone he must read something, if 
 it were nothing better than a sheet of advertisements, 
 or a Family Herald. Likewise, " Golden " Ball had a 
 madness for play — play at any time and in any circum- 
 stance. If he had no dice at hand there was always 
 a coin in his pocket with which to play at pitch-and-toss; 
 and if cards were far, battledoors and shuttlecocks were 
 
"Golden" Ball 307 
 
 the fashion, and he could always find a set. Once, 
 just after dinner, he and Lord Petersham began to play 
 at battledoor and shuttlecock, of course with a good 
 bit on each game, and they went on playing the whole of 
 the night. When the servant came to look for his 
 master in the morning, he found him and his visitor 
 on the floor asleep. Ball was introduced to Louis 
 Napoleon as the " Wellington des jotters." What he 
 really liked in play were the terms popular among the 
 Macaronis, though the game was different : whist for 
 five-pound points, with twenty-five pounds on the 
 rubber. 
 
 It was a curious thing that Ball Hughes, who was a 
 remarkably handsome man, with excellent manners, 
 thoroughly amiable and agreeable, and enormously rich, 
 could not get any one to marry him, and that though 
 he was one of the most courted men (by the mothers) 
 in society. He was engaged to Lady Jane Paget, and 
 the marriage settlements were ready, but at the last 
 moment the lady turned her back upon her ardent lover, 
 for what reason is hinted by Bernard Blackmantle : 
 
 Now by my faith it gives me pain, 
 To see thee cruel Lady Jane 
 
 Regret the golden Ball. 
 'Tis useless now : — ' the fox and grapes ' 
 Remember and avoid the apes 
 
 Which wait an old maid's fall. 
 
 " The man was wealthy and attractive in person ; but 
 then— insupportable objection— he was a mere plebeian, 
 a common esquire, and his name was odious. Lady 
 Jane Ball, she could never endure it ! the degrading 
 thought produced a fainting fit — the recovery a positive 
 refusal — the circumstance a week's amusement to the 
 fashionable world/' 
 
308 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 " Golden " Ball then proposed to Miss Floyd, who 
 refused him; and later to Lady Caroline Churchill, who 
 became Lady Caroline Penant. It is said that though 
 much sought by mothers, the girls distrusted the man of 
 so many rejected addresses, and none would have him. 
 In 1822 a beautiful Spanish dancer, named Mercandotti, 
 came to London. She was only fifteen at the time, and 
 was pronounced divine by the Dandies, who crowded to 
 see her. In those days, as in these, lords' sons and dukes' 
 sons fell in love with actresses, and more than one such 
 offered his name and liberty to the fascinating dancer, 
 vainly, however, for Mercandotti accepted none. 
 
 But when a crowded house assembled on the night of 
 March 8th, 1823, eagerly waiting for its amusement, 
 Mr. Ebers, the manager, came before the curtain and 
 announced that Mademoiselle Mercandotti had dis- 
 appeared; he could not find out where she had gone. 
 A day or two later an announcement was put in the 
 papers of a marriage between a young man of large 
 fortune and the most remarkable dancer of the age, 
 the people present at the wedding being the mother 
 of the bride, Mr. Ebers, and Lord Fife, who was 
 responsible for bringing Mercandotti to England. 
 
 The fair damsel is gone, and no wonder at all 
 That, bred to the dance, she is gone to a Ball. 
 
 is what Ainsworth wrote on the event. 
 
 Bernard Blackmantle gives an account in <c The English 
 Spy " of a drive to Brighton. When nearly there the 
 coach passed a "handsome chariot, with a most divine 
 little creature on the inside, and a good-looking roue> with 
 huge mustachios." 
 
 " That is the Golden Ball," said the coachee, " and 
 his new wife ; he often rolls down this road for a day or 
 
A Poet in Curl Papers 309 
 
 two — spends his cash like an emperor — and before he was 
 tied up used to tip pretty freely for handling the ribbons ', 
 but that's all up now, for Mamsell Mercandotti finds 
 him better amusement. " The honeymoon was passed 
 at Oatlands, which " Golden" Ball had bought of the 
 Duke of York after the Duchess's death, a purchase much 
 condemned by his friends. 
 
 No income, or even capital, would stand the strain put 
 upon it by such a gambler as Ball Hughes, and he retired 
 eventually to St. Germains with a mere pittance ; yet he 
 was still the favoured of fortune, for builders cast longing 
 eyes upon Oatlands Park, and bought it of him for so 
 large a sum that though he still lived in retirement, he 
 was able to surround himself with all his old luxuries. 
 
 A Dandy who had been one of Brummell's great 
 friends, and who failed him on the last day of the Beau's 
 life in England, was Scrope Davies. He was also very 
 intimate with Byron, whom he knew at Cambridge. As 
 he was welcome in Byron's rooms at all hours, he one day 
 went in and found the poet in bed with his hair en 
 papillote, 
 
 " Ha, ha ! Byron, I have at last caught you playing 
 the part of the Sleeping Beauty," laughed Scrope. 
 
 " The part of a d d fool, you mean ! " was the 
 
 savage reply. 
 
 " Well, what you like ! but you have well taken us 
 all in ; I would have sworn that your hair curled 
 naturally." 
 
 " Yes, naturally every night ! But don't let the cat 
 out of the bag, my dear Scrope ; I am as vain of my curls 
 as a girl of sixteen." 
 
 Scrope was also a true follower of Brummell, allowing 
 nothing showy in the way of dress, but paying great 
 attention to his- appearance. In spite of the fact that he 
 
310 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 passed most of his waking time over the gaming tables, 
 he was a ripe scholar — holding a fellowship of King's 
 College, Cambridge — and the life of any company where 
 learning was appreciated. Many stories concerning his 
 gambling have been told, one being that by a wonderful 
 run of luck he completely ruined a young man who had 
 but just reached his majority and come into his fortune. 
 The poor boy, who was on the point of marriage and 
 aghast at his misfortune, sank upon a sofa in misery. 
 Scrope sat by him and drew from him all the circum- 
 stances, then returned to the youth all that he had won 
 on the promise being given that he would for ever 
 forswear gaming. Scrope-retained only a little carriage, 
 called a dormeuse^ because, it being fitted with a bed, he 
 said : " When I travel in it I shall sleep better for 
 having acted right." 
 
 Later on, when fortune turned against him and Scrope 
 was himself in distress, this young man, who might have 
 been a beggar but for the gambler's generosity, refused to 
 help him out in any way. With little left beyond the 
 amount of his fellowship Scrope went to Paris, where he 
 lived among books. There Ball Hughes once went to 
 see him, and Davies found his visitor so much improved 
 that he said of him : " He is no longer c Golden ' Ball ; 
 but since the gilt has worn off, he rolls so much more 
 smoothly than he did." 
 
 Davies had a great liking for Moore, of whom he 
 remarked, Ne plus ultra (Nothing better than More) ; and 
 when some one said that Moore was a good Irish name, 
 though spoiled for the want of the O', Scrope replied : 
 " I always thought that O'thello, Moor of Venice, was an 
 Irishman by the blunders he made." 
 
 One mot given by Gronow to Scrope Davies has also 
 been assigned by others to Douglas Jerrold, who began 
 
KING GEORGE IV. 
 
 31 
 
Scrope Davies 3 X 3 
 
 his London career in 1824. The Wit affirmed that 
 an apt expression for everything that this earth affords 
 could be found in Shakespeare. "Where does Shake- 
 speare allude to the treadmill ? " was the quick reply. 
 " In King Lear. c Down, thou climbing sorrow/ ' 
 
 When Brummell obtained from Lord Melbourne the 
 Consulship at Caen, Scrope went to London to see 
 Melbourne. However, he asked for nothing, as he said, 
 IC Lamb looked so sheepish when I was ushered into his 
 presence, that I asked him for nothing ; indeed there 
 were so many nibbling at his grass, that I felt I ought not 
 to jump over the fence into the meadow upon which such 
 animals were feeding." 
 
 In 1835 Scrope Davies was ill, and in a very morbid 
 state pf mind, writing to Raikes that " lethargic days and 
 sleepless nights have reduced me to a state of nervous 
 irritability such as forbids me to see any society. ... I 
 must visit nobody, but must strictly follow the advice 
 which Sir George Tuthill gave me. His words were these : 
 ' On such occasions avoid all possible excitement, or the 
 consequences may be most lamentable,' quoting from 
 Rasselas : c Of all uncertainties, the uncertain continuance 
 of reason is the most dreadful . . ..' I would much 
 rather be accessory to my own death, than to my own 
 insanity. The dead are less to be deplored than the 
 insane. I never saw a maniac, but I found myself 
 absorbed in a melancholy far more profound than that 
 which I ever experienced at the death of any of my friends. 
 I have survived most of my friends, heaven forbid that I 
 should survive my self." 
 
 However, Davies recovered, and the next time Raikes 
 inquired for him he was well and out. 
 
 Viscount Allen, who was so famous for his elegance 
 that he received the nickname of " King," was one of the 
 
3 H The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 greatest Dandies of the early nineteenth century. In his 
 youth he had a dashing courage, which turned him for a 
 time into a hero, for when but an ensign in the Guards 
 he led his men with wonderful swiftness across the ravine 
 at Talavera, and little more would have been heard of him 
 had not the Duke sent the 48th Regiment to his assist- 
 ance. Yet this promising young soldier was a few years 
 later content to swagger down Pall Mall, become an 
 authority on dress and a patron of the play-house ; while 
 later still his only walk was from White's to Crock- 
 ford's, or from Crockford's to White's. His point, 
 or rather his points, were his hats and his boots, 
 the one looking always new and the others always 
 exquisitely polished. All purpose seemed to become 
 concentrated into the frivolous one of idling elegantly, 
 and the arduous one of living elegantly without money. 
 Once, when for economy's sake he retired to the softened 
 glare of Dublin's social life, he had a very large door in 
 Merrion Square, upon which his name was engraved in 
 very large letters, but the whisper went abroad that there 
 was no house behind the door. He presented himself 
 so frequently at the dining-tables of his friends that one 
 irritable old lady told him that his title must be as good 
 as board wages to him. 
 
 Lord Allen could not be called a Wit, but he could 
 be sarcastic when he chose. There was a vulgar Lady 
 
 N who always desired to be regarded as a great 
 
 person. When, on the accession of her husband to the 
 title, she came over to England from Ireland, she posed 
 as having lived in London all her life, and meeting Lord 
 Allen one day, she extended " one finger of her little fat 
 hand," drawling in a patronising way, and with her Irish 
 accent, " My Lard Alleen, how long have you been 
 in London ? " 
 
"King" Allen 315 
 
 " Forty years, madam," growled the c< King." 
 
 A statue of George III. was erected in front of 
 Ransom's banking house, and a Mr. Williams, one of 
 the partners, moved a petition to the Woods and Forests 
 that the statue might be removed, as it caused a crowd 
 of boys to collect, who made ribald jokes upon the 
 statue's pig-tail, and obstructed business. Lord Allen, 
 meeting Williams at White's, said to him, apropos of this, 
 " I should have thought you would have found it a 
 good thing to have the statue before your door, because 
 when you are standing there idle, it would prevent your 
 seeing the crowds hurrying to the respectable establish- 
 ment of Messrs. Coutts & Co. in the Strand." 
 
 Thus did he make himself disliked ! 
 
 He was a tall, stout man, and walked with an air 
 of great importance, all of which once helped to relieve 
 him in an embarrassing situation. Sir Robert Peel, then 
 Chief Secretary for Ireland, and he were going to fulfil a 
 dinner engagement, and on the way they drove over an 
 old woman who generally sat at a bridge asking for alms. 
 As the Peel Government was very unpopular at the time, 
 a mob gathered round with imprecations, threatening 
 those in the barouche. The " King " rose to his full 
 height, showing a wide bosom of white waistcoat, and 
 called out in a matter-of-fact voice, " Now, postboy, go 
 on, and don't drive over any more old women." 
 
 The mob, awestruck by Allen's magnificent appear- 
 ance and his coolness, retired, and the two gentlemen 
 went on their way, rejoicing at their escape. Whether 
 they ever made amends to the old woman is not 
 recorded. 
 
 London was to " King " Allen the only habitable 
 place on the globe ; he loved the bustle, the movements, 
 and the noise ; indeed he was really comfortable nowhere 
 
316 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 else ; so when he and Lord Alvanley went to Dover to 
 stay for the sake of his health, he could get no sleep 
 because of the terrible quiet. The second night Lord 
 Alvanley ordered a coach to be driven up and down 
 before the inn, and the boots to call out at intervals, as 
 did the London watchmen, " Half-past two, and a stormy 
 night," etc. The beloved noise of rumbling wheels and 
 shouting voices had the right effect. The " King " slept 
 peacefully thenceforth, and returned to town in excellent 
 condition. 
 
 It was once " King " Allen's fate to accept an 
 invitation to dine with Lord Dudley when his mind was 
 not quite as strong as it had been. Arriving, he found 
 that it was a dinner for two only. Later, when some one 
 asked him how the dinner went off, Allen answered, 
 li Lord Dudley spoke a little to his servant, a great 
 deal to his dog, but not at all to me." In earlier days 
 Lord Dudley is recorded as making at least one sharp 
 remark, when he said of a foolish fellow, " Ah, he is 
 cutting his brains." 
 
 It is said that in later life Allen was very like an 
 old grey parrot, with his large hook nose, and his 
 peculiar mode of walking; one foot crossed over the 
 other in a careful and wary manner. It was probably 
 not at that time realised that such a walk denoted disease 
 of the spine. His creditors pressed so hardly upon him 
 at last that he made some arrangement with them and 
 went to Cadiz, dying at Gibraltar in 1843, and leaving 
 no heir to his title. 
 
 Of Henry Pierrepoint and Sir Henry Mildmay, who 
 with Alvanley and Brummell made " the unique four," 
 there is little information to gather save concerning events 
 already noted which took place during Brummell's time 
 of popularity, and this is also true of many other of the 
 
'<>^^t^/z4Zh^^/C>yzss6ke/ <J\ta4Z£rrt^£' cfh^&*pc-!s6' Cfcz^esz. 
 
 c/eoi&e ■ /)'/ 7/s/ >/ - yJ Ucvn ///r// r/ ////' , yv/y//vij ' y/v 
 
The Lesser Dandies 317 
 
 Dandy circle, Lord Worcester, Charles Standish, George 
 Dawson Darner, and " Rufus " Lloyd, etc. Among 
 these was " Dan ,? Mackinnon, who, though a brave 
 colonel, achieved notoriety by running round the house 
 on the ledges of the boxes when Grimaldi's son first 
 acted as a clown at Covent Garden. " Kangaroo " Cook, 
 who c< must ever bear the sway for ugliness of look," 
 was for years the private aide-de-camp and secretary of 
 H.R.H. the Duke of York ; he always dressed in so 
 dandified a style as to attract attention, and is said to 
 have earned his nickname either by letting loose a cageful 
 of kangaroos at Peacock's menagerie, or by replying, 
 when asked by the Duke about his time in the Peninsular, 
 that he could get nothing but kangaroo to eat. There 
 was " Long " Wellesley, who took the name of Pole 
 when he married an heiress of that name possessing 
 ^50,000 a year, and who was so selfish a brute to her 
 that she could not bear her life with him. He, like 
 many more of the Dandies, died without a penny ; only 
 so little sense or popularity had he that he would have 
 starved had not his cousin, the Duke of Wellington, 
 come to his rescue. 
 
 Captain Gronow himself, though not a Bow Window 
 Beau, yet hung to the fringe of that set ; and when he, 
 too, found it convenient to live in Paris, he formed 
 there a new select club known as the " Petit Circle, 1 ' 
 in the Boulevard des ltaliens, in which he spent his 
 days c< seated at the window." 
 
 When about sixteen he was given a commission in 
 the First Guards in the year 1 8 1 2, and he was at heart 
 a soldier, going through the Peninsular War. Wishing 
 to join the English at Brussels he found he had no 
 money for his expenses, so he borrowed ^200, with 
 which he went to White's, coolly risking it all at hazard. 
 
 l 9 
 
318 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 He won £6oo, which was sufficient for his purpose, 
 and the next day he crossed the Channel. Later, for 
 a short time, he inhabited Brummeirs old house of 
 4, Chesterfield Street ; and he was a member of Almack's, 
 White's, and Crockford's. Though he took much 
 delight in fashion and society, he clung to the reputation 
 of being a " dandy guardsman," and he knew every 
 one of note in his time. The following is a description 
 given of him by a French contemporary : — 
 
 " Mr. Gronow was small, spare, and about fifty 
 years of age ; his hair was thinning, and he wore a 
 small moustache, of which the edge was daily shaved, 
 which did not disguise the circumstance that the Captain's 
 later vanity had recourse to a brown dye. He always 
 wore a tight-fitting coat, closely buttoned, just allowing 
 a narrow line of white waistcoat to be visible." Gronow 
 was never seen in the street without his gold-headed 
 cane, the top of which was invariably held up to or 
 between his lips. He used scent, was cool and 
 imperturbable in manner, had " a face like marble, 
 but felt very deeply." He, like " Golden Ball," married a 
 member of the corps de ballet, but nothing is to be found 
 in his volumes of reminiscences about his wife. 
 
 Gronow tells us that when he returned to England 
 in 1816, and went to a gathering at Manchester House 
 to meet the Prince, he wore the approved Parisian full 
 dress, which included black trousers and silk stockings. 
 He had no sooner saluted the Regent than Horace 
 Seymour gave him a message from that great man to 
 the effect that the Prince was much surprised that he 
 should have ventured to appear before him without 
 knee-breeches. The Prince, however, wore the clothes 
 he condemned very shortly after. 
 
 When he was getting old Gronow began his various 
 
An Unenviable Elevation 319 
 
 volumes of memories, saying pathetically of himself, 
 " I have lived long enough to have lost all my dearest 
 and best friends. The great laws of humanity have 
 left me on a high and dry elevation, from which I am 
 doomed to look over a sort of Necropolis, whence it 
 is my delight to call forth choice spirits of the past." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 Dorinda. But how can you shake off the yoke? Your divisions 
 don't come within the reach of the law for a divorce ? 
 
 Mrs. Sullen. Law ! what law can search into the remote abyss 
 of nature? What evidence can prove the unaccountable disaffections 
 of wedlock ? Can a jury sum up the endless aversions that are rooted 
 in our souls, or can a bench give judgment upon antipathies ? 
 
 George Farquhar, The Beaux Stratagem, 
 
 OF all the Beaux and Dandies, Brummell, as has 
 been said, touched the highest mark. He was 
 a Beau, and nothing but a Beau. When he failed in 
 attracting from the world appreciation of his one great 
 quality he had nothing to fall back upon ; he could 
 not support himself; he was helpless. Nash added to 
 the numerous proofs of his profession as a Beau a power 
 of enforcing his opinions upon others, of effecting a 
 direct change of manners in a kingdom of his own ; he 
 was not only a Beau, but a ruler. D'Orsay, at the 
 other extreme of our history, had also the power of 
 exploiting the world not only by his dress and manners 
 like Brummell, but by a subtle cleverness which lacked 
 the rugged honesty of Nash, and by an artistic capacity 
 which was sufficient to supply his needs when he too 
 fell out of the front rank. 
 
 We have done with the reckless, light-hearted, un- 
 principled, roystering crew of Beaux and Dandies whose 
 fortunes we have so far followed. We have now some- 
 thing daintier, harder, more dilettanti and selfish than 
 
 anything that has gone before, a man whose own ad- 
 
 320 
 
Count d'Orsay 321 
 
 vantage ran like a silver thread always before him, and 
 who was impervious to any stigma of indignity or 
 dependency that its pursuit might bring him. 
 
 At the time of D'Orsay's death many were the 
 laudatory paragraphs and articles published upon his 
 character, the Times, for instance, was almost too kind ; 
 but then, that newspaper circulated among those people 
 who held out both hands to D'Orsay and virtuously 
 turned their backs to Lady Blessington. From my 
 point of view the injustice of classing Brummeli and 
 D'Orsay together was to the former and not to the 
 latter ; however, D'Orsay was more clever, more accom- 
 plished, and had the merit of inherited rank. That 
 powerful newspaper said of him : 
 
 " It were unjust to class him with the mere Brummells, 
 Mildmays, Alvanleys, or Pierrepoints of the Regency, 
 with whom in his early life he associated, much less the 
 modern man about town who succeeded him ; equally 
 idle were the attempts to rank him with a Prince de 
 Ligne, an Admirable Crichton, or an Alcibiades, yet was 
 he a singularly gifted and brilliantly accomplished per- 
 sonage, and has furnished a career about which it is not 
 our task to moralise." 
 
 Gedeon-Gaspard Alfred de Grimaud, Comte d'Orsay 
 et du Saint Empire, belonged, as his names and title 
 show, to an aristocratic French family — a family which 
 suffered much through the Revolution, for before that 
 date the Counts d'Orsay had also held the titles and 
 lands of Comte d'Autray, Baron de Rupt, possessor of 
 the sovereign land of Delain, lord of Nogent-le-Rotrou, 
 of Perche, and of Orsay, near Paris. But the lands were 
 alienated, the titles lost, and the castles destroyed in the 
 gigantic struggle between the people and the aristocrats. 
 
 Lady Blessington gives us, in her " The Idler in 
 
322 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 France," a description of the Chateau cTOrsay, which is 
 situated on the Yvette, a tributary of the Seine, and 
 about thirty miles south of Versailles. It was a fortified 
 chateau surrounded by a moat supplied by the river, but 
 only one wing was standing, as the revolutionaries had 
 been at work upon it. However, its subterranean por- 
 tion still showed the extent and magnitude of its 
 buildings. Here Alfred's grandmother, the Princess de 
 Croy, had lived her brief married life, and died after 
 bearing one son, who was later known as General Comte 
 d'Orsay, and by society as Le Beau d'Orsay. When 
 Napoleon first saw him he remarked that he would make 
 an admirable model for a Jupiter, so noble and com- 
 manding was the character of his beauty. He is said 
 — in early Victorian phrase — to have been u entirely free 
 from vanity, and to possess a calm and dignified 
 simplicity that harmonised well with his lofty bearing.' ' 
 
 There are several dates given for Alfred d'Orsay's 
 birth, the most general being September 4th, 1801, 
 though Raikes, in his Diary, notes : " February 4th, 1842 
 — " We celebrated D'Orsay's birthday at his house." The 
 Gentleman s Magazine gives the year as 1798. However, 
 the chief thing is not when D'Orsay began to live, but, 
 being born, how he lived. 
 
 Of his early history we ascertain that he learned to read 
 by spelling out the " bulletins of victory " of the Grand 
 Army, that he was always courageous and warm-hearted, 
 and that his sympathies through all his life were for the 
 Bonapartes, it having been intended that he should 
 become page to Napoleon. He entered the army as 
 early as possible, and later, though reluctantly, became 
 one of the garde de corps of the restored Bourbon ; he 
 did not like it, but it was necessary to be a soldier, a 
 sentiment which with him, however, was not very long- 
 
A Gallant Soldier 323 
 
 lived. As a boy he had indeed felt such a dislike to the 
 Bourbons that when they entered Paris he went to a 
 corner in the house farthest removed from the street 
 that he might not hear them pass. His men in the 
 army loved him, not only for the thought and kindness 
 he showed them, but because of his strength and the way 
 in which he excelled in sport. 
 
 Whatever has been said of D'Orsay, it cannot be 
 controverted that he was genuinely kind-hearted and 
 brave. In his youth his brother officers laughed at him 
 for dancing with the plainest girls and paying attention 
 to the neglected ones ; and there is on record an 
 instance in which he gave a bully a sound thrashing. 
 At that time, when living out of barracks, he lodged 
 with a widow who had one son and two daughters. The 
 son was a big brute, who treated his womenfolk with 
 any violence which occurred to him, and when there 
 were sounds of disturbance in the landlady's room one 
 day, D'Orsay went to investigate. The charming son 
 was beating his mother, and when interfered with turned 
 the force of his fists and feet upon the slim young 
 officer. He, nothing daunted and better trained, soon 
 taught the young man to cry for mercy, and ended, as 
 his French biographer, M. de Coutades, says, by knocking 
 him down "with a hand as beautiful as that of Apollo 
 and as strong as that of Hercules." It is doubtful 
 whether the vanquished one thus appreciated the hand 
 which struck him. 
 
 In 1 816 his mother and father lived in the Rue 
 Mont Blanc, now called the Rue de la Chaussee d'Antin, 
 in the house which later was occupied by Rossini. 
 Gronow first saw him at the house of his grandmother — 
 the well-known Madame Craufurd — in the Rue d'Anjou 
 Saint Honor£, where he appeared to be a general 
 
324 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 favourite, owing to his remarkable beauty and pleasing 
 manners. 
 
 Alfred D'Orsay was among the many Frenchmen 
 who came over to England for the coronation of 
 George IV. ; accompanying his sister and her husband 
 the Due and Duchesse de Guiche, the former being 
 descended on the paternal side from De Grammont of 
 Memoir fame. 
 
 From his boyhood the future Beau was extremely 
 interested in his own appearance, and M. de Coutades, 
 in his little work, does not hesitate to say that he came 
 in the spring of 1821 to London — "that conservatoire 
 of masculine elegance, which gave Nash and Brummell 
 to the world " — fired with the determination to take 
 Brummell's place. That he ever associated with 
 Brummell, as the 'Times averred, is impossible, for they 
 never even met. The very nearest approach to such 
 a meeting was during that week at the end of September 
 in 1830 which Brummell spent in Paris on his way from 
 Calais to Caen. 
 
 There seems little doubt but that the young, elegant, 
 and lively Frenchman did slip into the old Beau's shoes, 
 and had a very merry time of it while poor Queen 
 Caroline was driving through the southern counties to 
 stand vainly knocking at the door of society and of 
 Westminster Abbey. He soon had a following of young 
 men, and when the French Ambassador gave a ball at 
 Almack's, on July 27th, to the King and the royal family, 
 the Count de Marcelles said : " All the elegant world 
 assisted at this fete, and D'Orsay brought there his usual 
 escort of Dandies." 
 
 During this short gay visit Alfred went everywhere, 
 and one of the houses open to him was that mansion in 
 St. James's Square owned by Lord Blessington. One 
 
All the World Before Him 325 
 
 biographer gives a fanciful account of D'Orsay's presenta- 
 tion to Lady Blessington. He stood before her " a 
 dazzling personality in a crowd where all were brilliant. 
 For a moment, as it were, the circle of their lives touched, 
 to part for the present." 
 
 Coutades makes the absurd statement that during this 
 brief visit to England D'Orsay decided to exploit the 
 Blessingtons, that his long wanderings with them were 
 then and there arranged, and that, in fact, while only on 
 the threshold of manhood he showed a cunning and 
 foresight impossible to his age and prospects. For 
 D'Orsay at that time had the whole world before him, 
 every path to honour was open : he had already proved 
 his talent as an artist and a sculptor, he was almost of 
 the highest rank, he possessed an astonishing beauty and 
 physical strength, and had already made himself popular 
 in two countries. He was neither lazy nor cowardly, 
 and could not have sought at that age for a dishonourable 
 protection. 
 
 Having amused himself in England for a few 
 months, he returned to his own country and continued 
 his duties in the army, but there is nothing to show that 
 he kept up any correspondence with Lord or Lady 
 Blessington. As these three people were later intimately 
 connected it may be as well to describe his lordship and 
 his wife. 
 
 When Viscount Mountjoy was seventeen his father, 
 the Earl of Blessington, died, and he became the pos- 
 sessor of a large fortune, which brought him in over 
 £30,000 a year. He was handsome, clever, and 
 vivacious, fond of acting, a "good fellow " all round, and 
 very popular. At twenty-seven he fell in love with a 
 Mrs. Brown, and took a residence for her in Worthing, 
 where she bore him two children. Her husband, Major 
 
31 6 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Brown, dying in 1812, the lovers married, and two 
 more children were born. Then Lady Mountjoy (for 
 Mountjoy was not advanced to the earldom until 
 1 8 16) died in 18 14, and the widower, believing himself 
 to be heart-broken, spent ^3,000 or ^4,000 in taking 
 her body from St. Germains to Dublin, and interring it 
 with extraordinary pomp. 
 
 Margaret Power, his second wife, was an Irish girl, 
 considered to be of no great beauty, and at the age of 
 fifteen forced into a marriage with a Captain Farmer, who 
 had already shown proofs of insanity. It was not 
 possible that such a marriage could be happy. Farmer 
 was a brute who frequently used violence to his girl- 
 wife, striking her in the face, pinching her arms black and 
 blue, locking her up if he went out, and sometimes leaving 
 her so long without food that she was nearly famished. 
 
 Margaret endured all the horrors of an insane and 
 unprovoked jealousy for three months, and then refused 
 to go with her husband when his regiment was ordered 
 to Kildare. A few days later Farmer, in a burst of 
 temper, drew his sword on his colonel, was allowed to 
 sell his commission, and by the interest of his relatives 
 obtained an appointment in the East India Company. 
 The young wife went back to her father's house, where 
 for three years she lived in disgrace with her parents ; 
 then the news that Farmer was coming back terrified her 
 into accepting the home which a Captain Jenkins had 
 long hoped she would take. Six years later Lord 
 Mountjoy, whom she had first seen soon after her 
 marriage, met her again, and offered to give her his name 
 if she would first obtain a divorce. 
 
 A house was taken in Manchester Square, where 
 Margaret lived with her brother Robert, who had been 
 made agent of the Blessington estates ; and Captain 
 
The Blessingtons 327 
 
 Jenkins was appeased by a cheque for £10,000, being 
 presumably the value of the jewels, etc., bestowed upon 
 Margaret. Farmer was kind enough to fall out of a 
 window in a drunken frolic in 1 8 1 7, and so in February 
 1 8 1 8 Lord Blessington married the fair widow who had by 
 then become softly beautiful, with a sweetness of smile and 
 grace of movement which set her apart from other women. 
 She was not yet thirty, and her husband was but seven 
 years older than herself, so that many years of happiness 
 together seemed assured. After a visit to the Mountjoy 
 estates they settled down in St. James's Square, but Lady 
 Blessington probably found London life somewhat trying. 
 I might give a long list of gallant and well-known men 
 who crowded her drawing-room, but it would be difficult 
 to name any lady who visited there. In spite of all the 
 eulogies bestowed upon her by writers, artists, and states- 
 men, their wives would not be persuaded into making her 
 their friend, probably because her recent connection with 
 Captain Jenkins was too well known. This may have had 
 something to do with the determination of the pair to go 
 abroad for a long time, and at the end of August 1822, 
 the Earl and Countess left London for Paris. 
 
 Here they only stayed ten or twelve days, making a 
 great sensation, not so much by their importance as by 
 the quantity of luggage that they carried with them. On 
 the morning of their departure the courtyard of the hotel 
 was full of their carriages ; a crowd of valets and footmen 
 were busy hoisting trunks into their places ; maids with 
 books and wraps were seeing to the wants of the ladies, 
 for Mary Ann Power, the Countess's youngest sister, was 
 a member of the party. A patent brass bed, folding easy- 
 chairs and sofas, and a batterie de cuisine all had to be 
 packed. The whole affair assumed the appearance of a 
 caravan intended to cross, not the desert, but Europe, and 
 
328 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 caused " a kind of revolution in the street of Rivoli." " It 
 is not a family which travels," said a passer-by maliciously ; 
 " it is a regiment which sets out for the war. What things 
 these English need to make them happy ! " 
 
 While in Paris they again met the young Count 
 d'Orsay, and gave him an invitation to join them, which 
 he promised to do at Avignon. He however met them 
 at Valence first, and again at Avignon, where the Due 
 de Guiche's parents, the Due and Duchesse de Grammont, 
 were living. After two months' rest in this town the 
 party moved on, including in their midst Alfred d'Orsay. 
 It has often been said that Alfred went to Italy at 
 the expense of his honour, in that he had to resign his 
 commission in the army at the moment that his regiment 
 was under orders to invade Spain, but Madden, his most 
 important biographer, writing in 1855, says that this is 
 quite untrue : that there was no question of his going 
 to Spain at the period of the Italian visit. 
 
 Lady Blessington, who, apart from being beautiful 
 and attractive, had already made her debut in literature, 
 wrote an account of their journey, entitled " The Idler 
 in Italy," in which she makes scarcely any allusion to 
 D'Orsay, a fact which has occasioned much comment. 
 But we have to remember that Alfred was ten or eleven 
 years younger than Lady Blessington, and that he shared 
 her literary silence with Charles James Mathews, in later 
 years the well-known actor, who for two years was a 
 member of the Earl's household. 
 
 Lord Blessington did not remain uniformly abroad as 
 did his wife. In 1823 he was on his estate at Mountjoy, 
 planning the building of a " fairy castle " to please her, 
 and Mathews was with him as the architect. It was 
 then arranged that the latter should go abroad for a few 
 months to study castles there ; and in November of 
 
D'Orsay in His Youth 3 2 9 
 
 that year he, in company with his lordship, arrived at 
 the Palazzo Belvedere, Naples, where he "commenced 
 a new existence." 
 
 "Lady Blessington," he says, "then in her zenith, 
 and certainly one of the most beautiful as well as one 
 of the most fascinating women of her time, formed the 
 central figure in the little family group assembled within 
 its precincts. 
 
 " Count d'Orsay, then a youth of nineteen " (he 
 must have been twenty-two), " was the next object of 
 attraction, and I have no hesitation in asserting was the 
 beau ideal of manly dignity and grace. He had not yet 
 assumed the marked peculiarities of dress and deportment 
 which the sophistications of London life subsequently 
 developed. He was the model of all that could be 
 conceived of noble demeanour and youthful candour ; 
 handsome beyond all question ; accomplished to the last 
 degree ; highly educated, and of great literary acquire- 
 ments ; with a gaiety of heart and cheerfulness of mind 
 that spread happiness on all around him. His conver- 
 sation was brilliant and engaging as well as clever and 
 instructive. He was moreover the best fencer, dancer, 
 swimmer, runner, dresser; the best shot, the best horse- 
 man, the best draughtsman of his age. Possessed of 
 every attribute that could render his society desirable, 
 I am sure I do not go too far in pronouncing him the 
 perfection of a youthful nobleman." 
 
 Here we have the opinion of a contemporary 
 upon D'Orsay in his youth. It in no way fits with 
 the idea of a cunning, far-sighted schemer, while it also 
 to a great extent contradicts the theory that two years 
 earlier D'Orsay had come to England determined to 
 pick up the sceptre dropped by Brummell. Monsieur 
 le Comte de Coutades was certainly a little too subtle 
 
33° The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 and deep-toned in his description of his country- 
 man. 
 
 But in between that journey in 1822 and Mathews 
 joining them in 1823 various grave events had taken 
 place. The first, less grave than interesting, was the 
 meeting of the Blessingtons with Lord Byron. Byron 
 had a house in the village of Albano, about a mile 
 and a half from Genoa ; and while the Blessingtons 
 were at Genoa they, with Miss Power and Alfred 
 d'Orsay, drove to see him — the two gentlemen leaving 
 the carriage and sending in their names. They were 
 admitted at once, and Lord Byron remarking that he 
 hoped to be presented to Lady Blessington, was told that 
 she and her sister were outside. He immediately hurried 
 out to the carriage and took the ladies into his house, 
 where they all had a long conversation. Lord Byron, 
 writing to Moore on April 2nd, 1823, says that he had 
 found very agreeable personages in cc Milor Blessington 
 and epouse y travelling with a very handsome companion in 
 the shape of a French Count (to use Farquhar's phrase 
 in the Beaux' Stratagem)^ who has all the air of a Cupidon 
 dhhaine, and is one of the few specimens I have seen 
 of our ideal of a Frenchman before the Revolution, an 
 old friend with a new face, upon whose like I never 
 thought we should look again." 
 
 All the time they were at Genoa the Blessingtons 
 were very friendly with Byron ; but there is little doubt 
 that D'Orsay was the person whom the poet particularly 
 liked. He regarded him as possessing considerable talent 
 and wonderful acquirements for a man of his age and 
 former pursuits, saying that he " was clever, original, 
 unpretending ; he affected to be nothing that he 
 was not." 
 
 D'Orsay kept a diary of the few months that he 
 
The Famous Diary 331 
 
 had passed in England, which he allowed Byron to see, 
 whose criticism of it to Lord Blessington was that it 
 " is a very extraordinary production, and of a most 
 melancholy truth in all that regards high life in England. 
 I know, or knew personally, most of the personages 
 and societies which he describes ; and after reading his 
 remarks have the sensation fresh upon me as if I had 
 seen them yesterday. The most singular thing is how 
 he should have penetrated, not the fact, but the mystery 
 of the English ennui at two-and-twenty. . . . Altogether 
 your friend's journal is a very formidable production." 
 
 Byron alluded to this journal in many subsequent 
 letters ; once, when writing to Lord Blessington, he 
 sends his compliments to all and to "your Alfred. 
 I think since His Majesty of the same name there has 
 not been such a learned surveyor of our Saxon society." 
 And again : u I salute the illustrious Chevalier Count 
 d'Orsay, who I hope will continue his History of His 
 Own Times." To Moore he wrote of him : " He seems 
 to have all the qualities requisite to have figured in his 
 brother-in-law's ancestor's Memoirs," meaning of course 
 the Memoirs of Grammont. In later years D'Orsay, 
 whose opinions had mellowed, destroyed this much- 
 praised journal. 
 
 In May of that year D'Orsay was engaged in making 
 a portrait of Byron, one which was perhaps a little too 
 exact for the poet's taste, for he wrote to Lady Blessington : 
 
 u I have a request to make to my friend Alfred (since 
 he has not disdained the title), viz. that he would con- 
 descend to add a cap to the gentleman in the jacket — it 
 would complete his costume, and smooth his brow, which 
 is somewhat too inveterate a likeness of the original, God 
 help me ! " 
 
 This portrait appeared later in The New Monthly 
 
33 2 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 Magazine, and also as a frontispiece to Lady Blessington's 
 " Conversations with Lord Byron/' when reprinted from 
 that periodical. 
 
 Byron and the Blessingtons saw much of each other 
 in Genoa, and on the eve of their departure he came 
 to see them in very low spirits. " Here," said he, u we 
 are all now together — but when, and where, shall we 
 meet again ? I have a sort of boding that we see each 
 other for the last time ; as something tells me I shall 
 never again return from Greece." 
 
 He gave them all some little token from the things 
 he had worn or cared for ; to Count d'Orsay he sent 
 a ring, saying in a letter to Lady Blessington : 
 
 " I also enclose a ring, which I would wish Alfred to 
 keep ; it is too large to wear ; but it is formed of lava, 
 and so far adapted to the fire of his years and character." 
 
 On one occasion Byron read to them the lampoon he 
 had written on Rogers, which rather shocked them, 
 making the young Count say, " I thought you were one 
 of Mr. Rogers' most intimate friends, and so all the 
 world had reason to think after reading your dedication 
 of the Giaour to him." 
 
 " Yes," replied Byron laughing, " and it is our friend- 
 ship that gives me the privilege of taking a liberty with 
 him." 
 
 " If it is thus you show your friendship I think I 
 should prefer your enmity," replied D'Orsay. 
 
 " You could never excite this last sentiment in my 
 breast, for you neither say nor do spiteful things," replied 
 Byron. 
 
 The second important event which took place during 
 the Blessingtons' visit to Genoa was the death, on March 
 26th, of Lord Mountjoy, Lord Blessington's only legiti- 
 mate son, a delicate boy of ten ; and this led to the third 
 
COUNT ALFRED D'ORSAY 
 
 333 
 
A Bride Bequeathed 335 
 
 incident which was to work havoc in at least one life, and 
 in its results showed the young Beau's character in the 
 most painful light. 
 
 The death of his son and the fact that there was 
 no heir to his title or estates gave Lord Blessington the 
 power of leaving his property as he wished, and his wishes 
 were, to say the least, eccentric. He added a codicil to 
 his will in which he disposed of one of his two daughters 
 in marriage with Alfred d'Orsay. We may put in ex- 
 tenuation of this that it was still the practice in England 
 to marry girls very young, without asking their consent ; 
 and that the Blessingtons had a great affection and ad- 
 miration for their young guest. When we read the 
 eulogy of Mathews upon D'Orsay we can understand 
 that he was a fascinating person, and it is probable that 
 Lord Blessington thought he was providing an excellent 
 husband for his child. Much condemnation has been 
 lavished upon his lordship for this codicil, D'Orsay's 
 biographer going so far as to consider him temporarily 
 insane. But from the French point of view everything 
 was in order and commonplace, though in one respect 
 perhaps rather more favourable than might have been 
 expected, for a considerable property was left to D'Orsay 
 as a dot with the girl. Yet in another way the conditions 
 were inferior to those which a Frenchman might have 
 demanded, in that the marriage itself was to bring no dot, 
 which would only be paid on the death of the Earl. It 
 is safe to say that if the marriage had turned out happily 
 its conditions would never have been decried. As it was, 
 the parents had reckoned without one of the agreeing 
 parties ; indeed, so far as they were concerned, the 
 worst feature in the matter was that the girl was be- 
 stowed upon D'Orsay rather as a means for giving him 
 an income than as an effort for securing her happiness ; 
 
 20 
 
336 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 that, in fact, if there was any parental affection it was given 
 to the stranger who had no claim at all upon Lord 
 Blessington. 
 
 Subjoined is a copy of part of this codicil : 
 
 " Having had the misfortune to lose my beloved son, 
 Luke Wellington, and having entered into engagements 
 with Alfred, Comte d'Orsay, that an alliance should take 
 place between him and my daughter, which engagement 
 has been sanctioned by Albert, Comte d'Orsay, general, 
 etc., in the service of France, this is to declare and publish 
 my desire to leave to the said Alfred d'Orsay my estates 
 in the city and county of Dublin (subject, however, to the 
 annuity of three thousand pounds per annum to my wife, 
 Margaret, Countess of Blessington, subject also to that 
 portion of debt, whether by annuity or mortgage, to which 
 my executor and trustee, Luke Norman, shall consider 
 them to be subjected) for his and her use, whether it be 
 Mary (baptized Emily) Rosalie Hamilton, or Harriet Ann 
 Jane Frances, and to their heirs male, the said Alfred and 
 said Mary, or Harriet, for ever in default of issue male, 
 to follow the provisions of the will and testament." 
 
 Not content with this Lord Blessington also made 
 Alfred sole guardian of his natural son Charles John and 
 disburser of the sums necessary for the boy's education. 
 
 Two months later a will was made in which Harriet, 
 the second daughter, but the eldest in point of law, was 
 expressly named, she being then eleven years old. The 
 estates in Dublin were to be left to her with ^10,000, 
 provided she married Alfred d'Orsay, but if by future 
 arrangement the elder girl Emily became his wife, the 
 estates were to go to her. The will was more just than 
 the codicil in sentiment — though as legal matters for 
 women were at that date, that was of no importance — 
 for the property was left not to the intended son-in-law, 
 
D'Orsay's Marriage 337 
 
 but to the daughter, and failing male heirs it was to 
 revert to the eldest son Charles John. However, a deed 
 of settlement was drawn up in November 1827 by 
 which Lord Blessington bound himself to pay, within 
 a twelvemonth after the marriage, the sum of £20,000 
 to D'Orsay's trustees, the Due de Guiche and Robert 
 Power, and bound his executors to pay £20,000 more 
 to the said trustees within twelve months of his 
 decease, the interest to go to D'Orsay during his life, 
 and after to Lady Harriet. Thus Alfred d'Orsay did 
 extremely well by this marriage, while his wife gained 
 nothing but sorrow and loss of property. 
 
 The will had been signed in August 1823, and it was 
 not until December 1st, 1827, that Count d'Orsay was 
 married to Lady Harriet Frances Gardiner. She was then 
 fifteen years and four months of age ; a pale, slight girl, 
 brought direct from the schoolroom to marry a foreigner, 
 who was the close friend, not only of her father, but of 
 her beautiful stepmother. Poor child ! she came into a 
 world of people who had been together for years, who 
 knew intimately the ideas and opinions of each other, 
 and not one of whom wanted the companionship of a 
 young unformed girl. She did not understand their 
 lives, their ways, or their conversation. And there was 
 the added insult to her coming womanhood that D'Orsay 
 never made her his wife in reality. Had he turned his 
 affections toward her, given her the attentions of a lover, 
 and after the wedding the care and affection of a husband, 
 the unhappy incident of the marriage would not have 
 been a lasting stigma upon all of them excepting the 
 girl. 
 
 The reason of this is difficult to say ; it may have 
 been that he felt a real indifference to or distaste for his 
 wife, or it may have been that the insinuations concern- 
 
33 8 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 ing him and Lady Blessington were true. That Harriet 
 Gardiner married him without any rebellion or apparent 
 reluctance proves that she was ready to act a wife's 
 part to him. 
 
 There was some trouble in getting the marriage 
 solemnized. The intention was that the ceremony 
 should be performed in Florence, but the English 
 Ambassador, John Lord Burghersh, decreed that the 
 ceremony according to the English Church must pre- 
 cede that of the Catholic Church. When Lady Blessing- 
 ton saw him and remonstrated upon this he behaved with 
 rudeness both to her and to her stepdaughter. 
 
 Walter Savage Landor, who was in Florence at the 
 time, hearing of this, wrote Lady Blessington a letter 
 of characteristically indignant sympathy, in the course 
 of which he declared : 
 
 " That a man educated among the sons of gentlemen 
 could be guilty of such incivility to two ladies, to say 
 nothing of condition, nothing of person, nothing of 
 acquaintance and past courtesies, is inconceivable, even to 
 the most observant of his behaviour throughout the 
 whole period of his public life. From what I have heard 
 and known during a residence of six years at Florence, 
 I am convinced that all the ministers of all the other 
 Courts in Europe (I may throw in those of Asia and 
 Africa) have never been guilty of so many unbecoming 
 and disgraceful actions as this man. . . . And now his con- 
 science will not permit him to sanction a father's disposal 
 of his daughter in marriage with almost the only man 
 who deserves her, and certainly the very man who 
 deserves her most." 
 
 For this reason the Protestant marriage was celebrated 
 in Naples, by the chaplain of the British Embassy there. 
 The family then returned to Rome, from which place 
 
Lady Harriet d'Orsay 339 
 
 D'Orsay answered Landor's letter, stating that he had 
 written to Lord Burghersh, " to tell him that when a person 
 is completely ignorant of the duties of his ministry he 
 ought then to take the opinion of others." 
 
 Dr. Madden, describing Lady Harriet as he saw her 
 in March 1828, a few months after her marriage, wrote : 
 
 u Lady Harriet was exceedingly girlish-looking, pale 
 and rather inanimate in expression, silent and reserved ; 
 there was no appearance of familiarity with any one 
 around her ; no air or look of womanhood, no sem- 
 blance of satisfaction in her new position were to be 
 observed in her demeanour or deportment. She seldom 
 or ever spoke, she was little noticed, she was looked on 
 as a mere schoolgirl. I think her feelings were crushed, 
 repressed, and her emotions driven inwards, by the 
 sense of slight and indifference, and by the strangeness 
 and coldness of everything around her ; and she became 
 indifferent, and strange, and cold, and apparently devoid 
 of all vivacity and interest in society, or in the company of 
 any person in it. People were mistaken in her, and 
 she perhaps was also mistaken in others. Her father's 
 act had led to all these misconceptions and misconstruc- 
 tions, ending in suspicions, animosities, aversions and 
 total estrangements. 
 
 " In the course of a few years, the girl of childish 
 mien and listless looks, who was so silent and apparently 
 inanimate, became a person of remarkable beauty, 
 spirituelle, and intelligent, the reverse in all respects 
 of what she was considered, where she was misplaced 
 and misunderstood." 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 All the great and solid perfections ot life appear in the finished 
 gentleman, with a beautiful gloss and varnish ; everything he says or does 
 is accompanied with a manner, or rather a charm, that draws the admira- 
 tion and good will of every beholder. 
 
 The Guardian. 
 
 CHARLES JAMES MATHEWS gives some in- 
 teresting pictures of the Blessington establishment 
 in the year 1823, when they were occupying the Palazzo 
 Belvedere at Naples, an Italian palace of the ideal sort, 
 situated on the heights of Vomero, overlooking the city 
 and the bay ; it was rich in frescoes and marble arcades, 
 while the gardens were a succession of terraces, adorned 
 with groves of orange-trees and pomegranates, brilliant 
 masses of flowers and fountains. 
 
 In the great salon of the palace Lady Blessington had 
 her table, laden with books and writings, in another stood 
 that of D'Orsay, similarly littered ; a third table was 
 devoted to Miss Power, and a fourth to Charles Mathews. 
 
 Lord Blessington was a man with a foible — the fear 
 of catching cold ! D'Orsay declared that a key left cross- 
 ways in the keyhole of a door would create sufficient 
 draught to annoy his lordship. Once when Mathews was 
 examining the ruins of some villas at Baiae, which were 
 to a certain extent under water, Lord Blessington became 
 very worried, saying : 
 
 " Take care, for heaven's sake take care, you will be 
 in the water." 
 
 340 
 
D'Or say's Quarrel with Mathews 34 l 
 
 His wife retorted : " Oh, do let the boy alone, 
 Blessington. It won't hurt him to fall in, he can 
 swim." 
 
 " Yes," was the answer, " and I shall get my death 
 of cold driving back by his side." 
 
 In 1824, while D'Orsay and Mathews were still at the 
 Palazzo Belvedere, they had a great quarrel, as a con- 
 sequence of which Mathews demanded " satisfaction," 
 but happily the matter was brought to a peaceful end- 
 ing. It arose, as quarrels will arise, from a cause which 
 had nothing to do with the relationship of the two young 
 men— they had, indeed, become close companions, sharing 
 every pursuit, Mathews affirming that he felt himself 
 more D'Orsay's pupil than his equal. Lord Blessington 
 had a passion for yachting, which he tried to induce all 
 around him to share, and on one very hot day he 
 desired all the company to " take a run across the Bay." 
 The ladies excused themselves on the plea of the heat, 
 D'Orsay declined to go without making any excuse, and 
 Lord Blessington, very annoyed, fell back upon Mathews. 
 That young man unfortunately said that he was very 
 anxious to make a certain sketch, at which his host, out 
 of all temper, responded sharply, " I only hope you will 
 make the sketch ; for even your friend D'Orsay says 
 that though you carry your sketch-book everywhere 
 you bring it back with nothing in it." 
 
 At this Mathews, annoyed, went out of the room and 
 left Lord Blessington to go for a lonely sail. 
 
 During the afternoon the four who were left went 
 for a drive ; all quiet, but D'Orsay particularly glum. 
 Mathews broke the silence with, " I have to thank you, 
 Count d'Orsay, for the nice character for diligence which 
 you have given of me to Lord Blessington." 
 
 " Comment ? " said the Count, with flashing eyes. 
 
34 2 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 " It would have been pleasanter had you told me 
 instead of his lordship " 
 
 " You are the biggest beast and humbug I have ever 
 met," burst out D'Orsay furiously ; " and the next time 
 you speak to me like this I will break your head and 
 throw you out of the window." 
 
 Lady Blessington called the Count to order, but so 
 violent was the young man's passion that he proceeded 
 to still greater lengths. 
 
 Later in the day Mathews received a note from 
 D'Orsay telling him that one of the things for him to 
 learn was to keep his place, by which he would know 
 how to preserve himself from the necessity of being 
 humbled ; that whatever had been said about him had 
 been said in conversation with Lord and Lady Blessington, 
 and the worst was that he was stupid not to practise 
 drawing more. The note ended by reminding him that 
 he had put D'Orsay under the cruel necessity of forcibly 
 showing him his right place, and he might have avoided 
 it by remembering to whom he spoke. 
 
 This note Mathews did not answer until the next day, 
 and then he wrote shortly demanding satisfaction, where- 
 upon D'Orsay, still by letter, rebuked him again, and asked 
 him to name the place and arms. 
 
 Mathews wisely went to Naples and placed the affair 
 in the hands of Mr. Madden, who arranged it so well 
 that the young man returned to Belvedere, ready to be 
 friends with the Count. D'Orsay came into the break- 
 fast-room, and taking the hand which Mathews extended 
 said, " I hope, my dear Mathews, that you are satisfied. 
 I am very sorry for what I said to you, but I was 
 
 angry, and- " 
 
 " My dear Count," broke in Mathews, " speak no 
 more of it, I pray you, I have forgotten all." 
 
Lord Byron's Yacht 343 
 
 Later on, when Mathews went into the drawing-room, 
 he found Lady Blessington on the sofa very unwell, 
 Miss Power and D'Orsay near her, the latter in tears. 
 On seeing him the Count repeated his amende honorable, 
 and the affair ended in the restoration of friendly feelings. 
 
 Lady Blessington visited Mountjoy soon after her 
 marriage, and something must have happened while she 
 was in Ireland to make her dislike the whole country, for 
 she never would return to it ; and when she heard of the 
 " fairy castle," she openly told her husband not to build 
 it for her sake, for she would not go to see it. Thus 
 Charles Mathews lost the chance of making his debut as 
 an architect by building a nobleman's castle, but he got in 
 exchange his visit to Ireland, while the suggested few 
 months' stay in Italy was extended to two years. After 
 he left he received some affectionate and brightly written 
 letters from D'Orsay, which prove the vivacity of the 
 latter's spirit as well as his power for making word-pictures. 
 
 Lord Byron's yacht, the Bolivar, which lay in the Bay 
 of Naples, was bought by Lord Blessington, who used it 
 much along the coast. The captain, who was named Smith, 
 had a great grievance in that he had not been " posted " 
 by the Admiralty, a matter which caused much fun, as 
 Lady Blessington had a turn for banter, quizzing and 
 joking so gravely that the victim believed her in earnest. 
 D'Orsay often assisted her in u roasting " some un- 
 fortunate person, and the captain of the Bolivar lent 
 himself to their humour. He was always ready to air his 
 complaint, and they would have his story over and over 
 again, D'Orsay chiming in with, c< Ah, my poor Smid, 
 tell Miladi over again, my good fellow, once more explain 
 for Mademoiselle Power too, how it happens Milords 
 of the Admiralty never posted you ! " 
 
 From the time that they first met the Blessingtons kept 
 
344 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 up a friendship with the D'Orsay family, meeting them 
 abroad and exchanging visits. When in 1825 Lord 
 Blessington went to his Tyrone estates for the last time 
 he was accompanied by General Comte d'Orsay, the 
 father of the young Beau. 
 
 In June 1828 the Blessingtons arrived in Paris again, 
 and their first visitors were Alfred's sister and brother- 
 in-law, the Due and Duchesse de Guiche, the latter 
 radiant in health and beauty, the former more dis- 
 tinguished than any one else — the perfect beau ideal of 
 a gentleman. Lord Blessington rented the Hotel Ney, 
 which he furnished in wonderful splendour, the most 
 marvellous room being his wife's bedroom, and what she 
 saw when the door of it was flung open is best described 
 in her own words : 
 
 " The whole fitting up is in exquisite taste ; and, as 
 usual, when my most gallant of all gallant husbands, that 
 it ever fell to the happy lot of woman to possess, interferes, 
 no expense has been spared. The bed, which is silvered 
 instead of gilt, rests on the backs of two large silver 
 swans, so exquisitely sculptured, that every feather is in 
 alto-relievo, and looks as fleecy as those of the living bird. 
 The recess in which it is placed is lined with white-fluted 
 silk, bordered with blue embossed lace ; and from the 
 columns that support the frieze of the recess, pale blue 
 silk curtains, lined with white, are hung, which when 
 drawn, conceal the recess altogether. 
 
 " A silvered sofa has been made to fit the side of the 
 room opposite the fireplace, near to which stands a most 
 inviting bergere. An escritoire occupies one panel, a 
 book-stand the other, and a rich coffer for jewels forms a 
 pendant to a similar one for lace or Indian shawls. A 
 carpet of uncut pile, of a pale blue, a silver lamp, and a 
 Psyche glass ; the ornaments, silvered to correspond with 
 
The Countess's Bedroom 345 
 
 the decorations of the chamber, complete the furniture. 
 The hangings of the dressing-room are of blue silk, 
 covered with lace, and trimmed with rich frills of the 
 same material, as are also the dressing stands and chaise 
 longue, and the carpet and lamp are similar to those of the 
 bedroom. A toilette table stands before the window, and 
 small jardinieres are placed in front of each panel of look- 
 ing glass, but so low as not to impede a full view of the 
 person dressing in this beautiful little sanctuary. The 
 salle de bain is draped with white muslin, trimmed with 
 lace, and the sofa and the bergere are covered with the 
 same. The bath is of marble inserted in the floor, with 
 which its surface is level. On the ceiling over it is a 
 painting of Flora, scattering flowers with one hand, while 
 from the other is suspended an alabaster lamp, in the 
 form of a lotus." 
 
 All this extravagance was not however so great as it 
 seemed, as the Blessingtons found to their pleasure that it 
 was possible to hire furniture for a few months in Paris. 
 
 The Hotel Ney was next to the Hotel d'Orsay, 
 once the home of the D'Orsay family, but since the 
 Revolution only a ruin. In its glory it had been one of 
 the most splendid houses in Paris, the great ceiling of its 
 salle a manger being held up by the columns brought by a 
 one-time owner from the temple of Nero in Rome. 
 Alfred's father had had very extravagant ideas, and he 
 caused pipes, etc., to be so affixed to the doors of his 
 salons that when the first were thrown back a strain of 
 music was produced, and as each drawing-room was 
 reached the various doors took up the air and continued 
 it until they were closed. In 1828 the salle a manger was 
 being used as a stable, the salons were crumbled and 
 broken, and the gardens, once full of rare exotics, had 
 become paddocks for horses. 
 
346 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 All the family surroundings of Alfred d'Orsay seem 
 to have been admirable so far as can be judged from the 
 superficial view of a society friend. They lived in great 
 harmony, the Duchesse de Guiche, her mother, and grand- 
 mother — a daughter of the King of Wurtemberg — being 
 especially thoughtful for each other. We are told too of 
 the Due de Grammont examining his daughter-in-law 
 through his eyeglass, and remarking to General d'Orsay, 
 " How well our daughter looks to-night." 
 
 Lady Blessington writes : 
 
 " Frequently do I see the beautiful Duchesse de 
 Guiche enter the salon of her grandmother, sparkling 
 in diamonds, after having hurried away from some 
 splendid fete, of which she was the brightest ornament, 
 to spend an hour with her before she retired to rest ; 
 and the Countess d'Orsay is so devoted to her mother 
 that nearly her whole time is passed with her." 
 
 We have glimpses of the Duchesse de Guiche in a simple 
 white peignoir, her matchless hair bound tightly round 
 her classically shaped head, acting as sick nurse to her 
 children who have caught the measles ; sharing the studies 
 of her boys, giving her time and thoughts to the little 
 girl. The Due too, released from his attendance at Court, 
 hurries home to the sick chamber of his children, their 
 languid eyes lighting up with a momentary animation, and 
 their feverish lips relaxing into a smile at the sound of his 
 well-known voice. 
 
 These D'Orsays were all beautiful to the eye, gay and 
 extremely good-tempered ; lovers of beauty, who were 
 always ready to indulge that love. The defect which 
 caused Alfred so much trouble we hear of but once, 
 and that was when a short time before her death, his 
 mother was discussing him with Lady Blessington. She 
 spoke with great earnestness of her apprehensions for her 
 
A Sledging Party 347 
 
 son, and of her desire that Lady Blessington would 
 advise him, and do her utmost to help him to fight 
 against the extravagance of his nature, saying that she 
 was troubled with great fears for his future. Lady Bles- 
 sington promised to do all she could, and this promise 
 was often alluded to both by her and by D'Orsay. 
 
 The winter of 1829-30 was very severe, and some of 
 the wealthy Parisians fitted out sledges in which to make 
 excursions outside the city. The Duchesse de Guiche 
 sat in one, her husband behind her, holding at each side of 
 her the reins, the sledge presenting the form of a swan, 
 the feathers of which were beautifully sculptured. The 
 back of the swan was hollowed out to allow of a seat 
 within, the whole interior space being covered with fine fur. 
 The harness and trappings were richly decorated, and had 
 attached innumerable silver bells. At night the eyes of 
 the swan sent out beams of clear light, which were reflected 
 in prismatic colours on the snow and ice-gemmed branches 
 of the trees. 
 
 Alfred d'Orsay's sledge was in the form of a dragon ; 
 the harness of red morocco embroidered with gold. At 
 night the mouth, as well as the eyes, sent out a brilliant 
 red light ; and to the tiger skin which almost entirely 
 covered the cream-coloured horse, revealing only the 
 white mane and tail, was fastened a double line of silver- 
 gilt bells. 
 
 Here in Paris, in 1829, Lady Blessington experienced 
 a great sorrow. Her husband was urged to return to 
 London and support the Emancipation Bill. He was not 
 very well, but he went and stayed some time. A few 
 days after his return, feeling indisposed, he took some 
 eau de melisse in water and rode out, followed by his 
 servant. The day was hot, and the Earl had not gone far 
 before he swayed in his saddle, was carried home in a 
 
348 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 fit of apoplexy, and died in three days, being but forty- 
 five years old. 
 
 Miss Power wrote of her sister to Landor : 
 " Nothing can equal the grief of poor Lady Blessington. 
 In fact she is so ill that we are quite uneasy about her, and so 
 is also poor Lady Harriet. But not only ourselves but all 
 our friends are in the greatest affliction since this melancholy 
 event. Fancy what a dreadful blow it is to us all to lose 
 him ; he who was so kind, so generous, so truly good a 
 
 man." 
 
 That Lady Blessington sincerely mourned her husband 
 is certain if we may judge at all from her letters and the 
 way in which she spoke of him in later years. When she 
 wrote to Mrs. Charles Mathews, two months after the 
 event, she speaks of " the cruel and heavy blow that has 
 fallen on me in the loss of the best of husbands and of 
 men ; these are not mere words of course, as all who knew 
 him will bear witness, for never did so kind and gentle a 
 heart inhabit a human form ; and I feel this dreadful 
 blow with even more bitterness because it appears to me, 
 that while I possessed the inestimable blessing I have lost, 
 I was not to the full extent sensible of its value ; while 
 now all his many virtues and good qualities rise up every 
 moment in memory, and I would give worlds to pass over 
 again the years that can never return." 
 
 At this time D'Orsay, his wife, and Miss Power were 
 with Lady Blessington at the Hotel Ney, and in the 
 months that followed they all had to realise that some 
 change must be made in their way of life. Lord Blessington 
 had never considered cost ; he had spent money like an 
 emperor, and had neglected his estate so that his property 
 had become heavily encumbered. So much was this the 
 case that he left his wife only an income of £2,000 a year, 
 which was little enough after the princely way in which 
 
The Birth of Scandal 349 
 
 she had lived. There is an old saying that troubles never 
 come singly, and Lady Blessington was to prove the truth 
 of this to the full, for four months after her husband's 
 death, and while she was in the midst of a responsibility 
 which had never before fallen upon her since her marriage, 
 a London newspaper, The Age, gave voice to a scandal 
 which was for ever after hinted at concerning her. To 
 this day that scandal has lived, neither proven nor dis- 
 proves There were those who, like the Comte de 
 Coutades, accepted as a certain fact that she was D'Orsay's 
 mistress, and there were those who asserted that such was 
 not the case. 
 
 The Age, we are told, was a Tory paper which c< especi- 
 ally assailed the characters of those who differed from its 
 political opinions," and it was balanced by the Liberal 
 paper The Satirist, which " defamed all connected with the 
 Tory party," so every one was in danger. At this date 
 it is impossible to say how far these papers were simply 
 scurrilous, or how far they held up to public gaze the 
 real evils which defiled society, but it was said that a 
 system of blackmail went on, and that each paper kept in 
 its office " an individual of Herculean proportions to safe- 
 guard the editor." 
 
 On September 24th, 1829, an article, flippantly com- 
 menting on various people and signed " Otiosus," ap- 
 peared in The Age. Mention was made that " Alfred 
 d'Orsay, with his pretty pink-and-white face, drives 
 about a la Petersham with a cocked-up hat and a long- 
 tailed, cream-coloured horse. He says he will have 
 seventeen thousand a year to spend ; others say seven- 
 teen hundred ; he and my lady go on as usual." 
 
 On October 5th another letter by the same writer 
 appeared. " What a menage is that of Lady Blessington ! 
 It would create strange sensations were it not for one 
 
35° 
 
 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 fair flower that still blooms under the shade of the Upas. 
 Can it be conceived in England that Mr. Alfred d'Orsay 
 has publicly detailed to what degree he carries his apathy 
 for his pretty, interesting wife ? This young gentleman, 
 Lady Blessington, and the virgin wife of sweet sixteen 
 all live together/' 
 
 Lady Blessington, on hearing of this, wrote to Mr. 
 Powell, solicitor and friend of her late husband, in- 
 structing him to take proceedings against the paper. 
 However, he did nothing. He either thought that the 
 assertions were not sufficiently definite or that there was 
 not sufficient assurance of disproving the insinuations ; 
 in any case, he gave the time-worn advice that they 
 should treat the matter with contempt, which perforce 
 was done, if silence proves contempt. On something 
 that she heard Lady Blessington went so far as to accuse 
 an acquaintance of having written these libels. He 
 strenuously denied it, and later another sufferer from 
 The .Age, who was brave enough to go to the editor 
 in person, backed up by a friend, secured a small piece 
 of the letter from Paris containing the aspersions upon 
 Lady Blessington's character. The writing was distinctly 
 not that of the accused friend, and "so the matter 
 
 ended " ! 
 
 The Blessington household remained in Paris until 
 November 1830, and during that time the Count was 
 the leader of fashion among men, driving the best horses 
 and the most elegant carriages, as Gronow, who knew 
 him both in Paris and in England, tells us. 
 
 " When I used to see him driving in his Tilbury I 
 fancied he looked like some gorgeous dragon-fly skimming 
 through the air, and though all was dazzling and showy, 
 yet there was a kind of harmony which precluded any 
 idea or accusation of bad taste." 
 
"Vive le Comte d'Orsay!" 351 
 
 D'Orsay was even then regarded as the " King " of 
 the Dandies — an idea of which the people of Paris were 
 well aware, and perhaps some of them had it in their 
 minds on seeing him abroad during the Revolution of 
 1830. At that time the young D'Orsays were sharing 
 Lady Blessington's home in the Rue Matignon, and 
 neither Alfred nor Lady Blessington shut themselves 
 within four walls. Once, when they had gone into the 
 Champs Elysees, they came upon a crowd gathered about 
 a placard attached to a tree. The crowd recognised 
 them, and began to shout wildly : " Vive le Comte 
 d'Orsay ! Vive le Comte d'Orsay ! " surrounding him 
 so that he had some trouble in getting away. Dis- 
 cussing this afterwards, Lady Blessington, thinking of his 
 foppish rank among the Dandies, remarked, jokingly, 
 that perhaps he was in danger of being raised to the 
 vacant throne by those who seemed not to know or 
 care who filled it. D'Orsay thought that it might have 
 been a popular way of showing that, if the monarch was 
 out of favour, the aristocracy was not ; yet, on the 
 whole, I imagine the real reason of his popularity was his 
 known antipathy to the Bourbons. 
 
 When the mob broke into the Tuileries and the Louvre, 
 Alfred d'Orsay sent two of his servants to save the 
 portrait of the Dauphin by Sir Thomas Lawrence. He 
 gave them each such explicit instructions as to its position 
 that they found it at once ; but alas ! torn to pieces, 
 the fragments strewn over the floor. Once the people, 
 baulked of getting into the Hotel des Pages, fired into the 
 courtyard, killing a lad who had just gained his position 
 as page through the influence of the Due de Guiche, 
 Alfred d'Orsay saw to his funeral, and he was in and 
 out of the streets all through the Revolution. 
 
 It has been said that D'Orsay was the original 
 
 21 
 
35 2 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 of Lytton's Pelham, but as Lady Blessington read 
 Pel ham in Paris in 1828, before Count d'Orsay 
 had come to England — except for that short visit of a 
 few months nearly ten years earlier — this is an error, as 
 Lytton did not then know him. In later years Lytton 
 inscribed his political romance of Godolphin to him, and 
 Disraeli sketched him to the life as Count Mirabel in his 
 love tale of Henrietta Temple. 
 
 Before D'Orsay left Paris a friend gave him the advice 
 to be on his guard, and not be too civil to people when 
 he got to England. In astonishment the young man 
 asked the reason, receiving as answer : " Merely to 
 prevent your being suspected of having designs on the 
 hearts of the women or the purses of the men, for no 
 one can evince in London society the empressement 
 peculiar to well-bred Frenchmen without being accused 
 of some unworthy motive for it." 
 
 On her return to London Lady Blessington went to 
 her house in St. James's Square, but finding it too expen- 
 sive to keep up, took a smaller dwelling in Seamore 
 Place, Mayfair, letting the large house to the Windham 
 Club, by which she made five hundred a year. Eventually 
 she sold her interest in the St. James's Square house to the 
 executors of her late husband's will. 
 
 In 1832 the Count and Countess d'Orsay were 
 living with her in Seamore Place, but even the presence 
 of the fair young wife — for by this time Lady Harriet had 
 blossomed out into a beautiful though reserved young 
 woman — did not allay an uncomfortable feeling in society 
 concerning Lady Blessington. Men of note flocked 
 eagerly to her salons, but few women appeared there. 
 D'Orsay was at this time a little over thirty, a tall, dis- 
 tinguished-looking man, of whom Gronow wrote with 
 great admiration : 
 
The Separation 353 
 
 " He was beautiful as the Apollo Belvedere in his out- 
 ward form, full of health, life, spirits, wit, and gaiety, 
 radiant and joyous, the admired of all admirers : such 
 was D'Orsay when I first knew him. If the Count had 
 been born with a fortune of a hundred thousand pounds 
 a year, he would have been a great man. He loved 
 money, not for money's sake, but for what it could 
 procure. He was generous even to ostentation, and he 
 had a real pleasure in giving even what he himself had 
 borrowed. He was born with princely tastes and ideas, 
 and would have heartily despised a man who could have 
 sat down contented in a simple dwelling-place with a bad 
 cook and a small competence. 
 
 " He possessed in a great degree the faculty of pleasing 
 those whom he wished to attract. His smile was bright 
 and genial, his manner full of charm, his conversation 
 original and amusing, and his artistic taste undeniable. 
 It might have been objected that this taste was somewhat 
 too gaudy ; but the brilliant tints with which he liked to 
 surround himself suited his style of beauty, his dress, and 
 manner." 
 
 A few months in England showed Lady Harriet that 
 she could no longer share her stepmother's home, and 
 after arrangements had been made for a deed of separa- 
 tion, she left the house in Seamore Place in August 1831. 
 She lived for a time with her aunt, Miss Gardiner, in 
 Dublin, and travelled on the Continent with her and her 
 sister Emily. Eventually the Due d'Orleans was attracted 
 by her grace and lonely position, and he remained her 
 devoted lover until 1842, when he was flung from his 
 carriage and killed. Ten years later she married the 
 Hon. Charles Spencer Cowper. She too became known 
 as an author, writing novels in French ; " La Fontaine 
 des Fees," and " L'Ombre du Bonheur," are the names of 
 
354 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 two, the latter being translated into English and published 
 in London in 1855. 
 
 Since the return to England scandal had been busy 
 with the names of her husband and stepmother, and to 
 allay it D'Orsay took a small house in Curzon Street, 
 though it would have been better if he had gone quite 
 away, for society only smiled, regarding his removal simply 
 as a ruse. 
 
 From the time D'Orsay entered England he was in 
 monetary difficulties. He had not been long here when 
 he was arrested for a debt of ^300, pressed by a fashion- 
 able Parisian bootmaker named McHenry, and he was 
 only saved from imprisonment by the acceptance on the 
 part of his creditor of bail on that occasion. McHenry 
 acknowledged that he was under great obligations to the 
 Count, for the mere fact being known that he made 
 D'Orsay's boots was enough to bring him all the best 
 custom of Paris. This was the case all through D'Orsay's 
 career ; for him to deal with a tradesman meant the 
 making of a fortune, not for himself but for his creditor, 
 but that did not alter the law that a buyer must pay, and 
 D'Orsay was always in danger of arrest. 
 
 Socially he was very popular, being a member of 
 Crockford's, but he was blackballed at White's, probably 
 because of the irregularity of his domestic life. However, 
 hostesses opened their doors to him, and he was received 
 everywhere as frankly as Lady Blessington was shunned. 
 Mrs. Charles Mathews, the mother of Charles James, was 
 one of the few women who remained Lady Blessington's 
 friend, and Mrs. Disraeli was a frequent visitor. 
 
 Mr. N. P. Willis, the American gossiper, has given 
 us some pictures of life at the house in Seamore Place 
 which are worth presenting. He was visiting London in 
 1834 after his travels in Europe, and speaks of spending 
 
THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON 
 
 From the portrait by Count D'Orsay 
 
 355 
 
Lady Blessington 357 
 
 an evening at the house of Lady Blessington, who sat 
 in the drawing-room with several gentlemen round her. 
 One was one of the brothers Smith, authors of " Rejected 
 Addresses " ; another Henry Bulwer, the brother of the 
 novelist. Then there was a German prince, a famous 
 traveller; "and the splendid person of Count d'Orsay, 
 in a careless attitude upon the ottoman, completed the 
 cordon" He also accepted an invitation to go one 
 evening at ten, and found Lady Blessington " in a long 
 library lined alternately with splendidly bound books and 
 mirrors, and with a deep window of the breadth of the 
 room, opening upon Hyde Park : 
 
 " The picture to my eye, as the door opened, was 
 a very lovely one : — a woman of remarkable beauty half 
 buried in a fauteuil of yellow satin, reading by a mag- 
 nificent lamp suspended from the centre of the arched ceil- 
 ing ; sofas, couches, ottomans, and busts arranged in rather 
 a crowded sumptuousness through the room ; enamel 
 tables, covered with expensive and elegant trifles in every 
 corner ; and a delicate white hand relieved on the back of 
 a book, to which the eye was attracted by the blaze 
 of its diamond rings. As the servant mentioned my 
 name, she rose and gave me her hand very cordially ; 
 and a gentleman entering immediately after, she presented 
 me to Count d'Orsay, the well-known c Pelham ' of 
 London, and certainly the most splendid specimen of 
 a man and a well-dressed one that I had ever seen. 
 Tea was brought in immediately, and conversation went 
 swimmingly on." 
 
 In the course of a long conversation, mostly about 
 America, Lady Blessington told Willis how she was with 
 Lord Blessington in his yacht at Naples when the American 
 fleet was lying there, ten or eleven years earlier, and they 
 were constantly on board the American ships, adding: 
 
358 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 " I remember very well the bands playing always Qod 
 save the King as we went up the side. Count d'Orsay 
 here, who spoke very little English at that time, had a 
 great passion for Yankee Doodle, and it was always 
 played at his request." 
 
 " The Count, who still speaks the language with a 
 very slight accent, but with a choice of words that shows 
 him to be a man of uncommon taste and elegance of 
 mind, inquired after several of the officers, whom I have 
 not the pleasure of knowing. He seemed to remember 
 his visits to the frigate with great pleasure." 
 
 Willis also says of Lady Blessington : 
 
 " Her excessive beauty is less an inspiration than the 
 wondrous talent with which she draws, from every person 
 around her, his peculiar excellence. Talking better than 
 anybody else, and narrating, particularly, with a graphic 
 power that I never saw excelled, this distinguished woman 
 seems striving only to make others unfold themselves, 
 and never had diffidence a more apprehensive and 
 encouraging listener. But this is a subject with which 
 I should never be done. 
 
 " I was at Lady Blessington's at eight. Moore 
 had not arrived, but the other persons of the party — 
 a Russian count, who spoke all the languages of Europe 
 as well as his own ; a Roman banker, whose dynasty 
 is more powerful than the Pope's ; a clever English 
 nobleman, and the ' observed of all observers,' Count 
 d'Orsay, stood in the window upon the park, killing, 
 as they might, the melancholy twilight half-hour pre- 
 ceding dinner." 
 
 A word more concerning the end of the evening : 
 
 " We all sat around the piano, and after two or three 
 songs of Lady Blessington's choice, he (Moore) rambled 
 over the keys awhile and sang When First I Met Thee, 
 
An Ultra Villain 359 
 
 with a pathos that beggars description. When the last 
 word had faltered out, he rose and took Lady Blessington's 
 hand, said good-night, and was gone before a word was 
 uttered. For a full minute after he had closed the door, 
 no one spoke. I could have wished, for myself, to drop 
 silently asleep where I sat, with the tears in my eyes, and 
 the softness upon my heart. ' Here's a health to thee, 
 Tom Moore ! ' " 
 
 Creevey, in " The Creevey Papers," showed himself to 
 be by no means a friend of D'Orsay's, for speaking of a 
 dinner at Stoke Farm in October 1834, he says : 
 
 " Our party here have been the little Russian Am- 
 bassador ; D'Orsay, the ultra-dandy of Paris and London, 
 and as ultra a villain as either city can produce (you 
 know he married Lord Blessington's daughter, a beautiful 
 young woman whom he has turned upon the wide world, 
 and he lives openly and entirely with her mother, Lady 
 Blessington. His mother, Madame Craufurd, aware of 
 his profligacy, has left the best part of her property 
 to her sister, Madame de Guiche's children)." 
 
 There are so many mistakes in this paragraph — Lady 
 Blessington was Harriet's stepmother, not mother ; 
 Madame Craufurd was D'Orsay's grandmother, his 
 mother being Countess d'Orsay; and Madame de Guiche 
 was at that time the Duchesse de Grammont and the grand- 
 daughter of Madame Craufurd, not her sister — that we 
 need not take Creevey's opinion seriously. But it raises 
 a nice question in rule of three : viz. If there are so 
 many mistakes in so many lines how many are there 
 in the two volumes ? 
 
 Chateaubriand, too, had no very good opinion of 
 the Count. In his Memoirs he writes : 
 
 "Nothing in London succeeds like insolence, as 
 witness D'Orsay, the brother of the Duchesse de Guiche : 
 
360 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 he had taken to galloping in Hyde Park, leaping turn- 
 pike gates, gambling, treating the dandies without cere- 
 mony ; he had an unequalled success, and, to crown 
 the whole, he ended by carrying off an entire family, 
 father, mother, and children. " 
 
 In 1836 Lady Blessington removed to Gore House 
 in Kensington Gore, once the abode of William Wilber- 
 force, while Count d'Orsay occupied a villa near at 
 hand, No. 4, Kensington Gore. At Seamore Place, 
 Disraeli, Bulwer, Moore, Haydon, and many other 
 men of note gathered ; but at Gore House the society 
 was somewhat different, there was more gravity and 
 formality, more purpose. Lady Blessington and Count 
 d'Orsay tried to draw together people of the same 
 pursuits, and to incline competitors for fame in politics, 
 art, or literature to a tolerant, just, and charitable opinion 
 of each other. 
 
 They also aimed at removing national jealousies and 
 misapprehensions between people of different countries, 
 at knocking down those barriers of prejudice which 
 stood between Englishmen and foreigners. Thus they 
 gathered in the salon men of all shades of opinion on 
 every subject — politicians, statesmen, legal functionaries 
 and divines — as well as members of literary and artistic 
 circles. 
 
 D'Orsay and Lady Blessington had each a strong 
 sense of humour, which on occasions they exercised 
 with the double desire of amusing the assembly and 
 gratifying the pride or vanity of some one member of 
 it. Madden, in his Life of Lady Blessington, tells of 
 an incident of this kind. There often came to Lady 
 Blessington's evenings an old Frenchman, Monsieur 
 Julien le Jeune de Paris as he styled himself. He never 
 appeared without a roll of manuscript showing from his 
 
The Poet's "Chagrins" 361 
 
 side-pocket, it being a canto of his " Chagrins Politiques," 
 which he loved to recite in a doleful voice. He would 
 enter the room and stoop to kiss his hostess's hand 
 with all the courtliness of a grand seigneur, being radiant 
 in smiles, and all urbanity. Then D'Orsay would en- 
 treat him to give a recital of another canto of his 
 political afflictions. 
 
 No, no, it would be impossible. He prayed, he 
 implored to be excused, the Count, with kind gravity, 
 meeting all his excuses, and in the end asserting that 
 Mr. Madden had never heard them ; for his sake 
 
 At last the old man gave a reluctant consent to the 
 doing of that which he had come with the full intention 
 of doing, but he still had to play off all the bashful 
 airs of a shy young lady, while he placed himself at the 
 upper end of the room near a table upon which were 
 wax lights, pulled the paper from his pocket, and began 
 to recite one of his " Chagrins," with tears in his voice. 
 Lady Rlessington sat to his left, looking with anxious 
 solicitude into his face ; D'Orsay sat near the front with 
 a handkerchief ready to raise to his eyes, now and then 
 applauding or groaning at some passage. Once, when 
 the narrator's tearfulness was at its height, the Beau 
 whispered to his neighbour : " Weep, weep now ! " 
 
 Dr. Quin, who was there, would interject, " Magni- 
 fique ! " " Superbe ! " and ask that the passage might 
 be re-read, which was eagerly done. At last, at the end, 
 the old Frenchman, with tears in his eyes, would be 
 led by D'Orsay to Lady Blessington, where he would 
 receive her smiles and the congratulations of the assembly. 
 He felt himself the lion of the evening, and the other 
 guests had been entertained by a pleasant comedy. It 
 might seem sharp practice to get amusement of this 
 kind from a guest, but Monsieur Julien loved attention 
 
362 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 even better than his " Chagrins," and was really the 
 most amused person in the room. 
 
 D'Orsay was clever and entertaining, and much liked 
 by all his friends. Charles Dickens indeed used to say 
 that he had a marvellous power of bringing out the 
 best elements of the society around him, and of mir- 
 aculously putting out the worst. He wished to be re- 
 garded as muscularly strong, and when he shook hands 
 it was with such a grasp of palm and fingers that he 
 drove the blood from the limb he held, and pressed the 
 rings almost to the bone. Those who were aware of 
 this peculiarity would be ready for his grip, and exert 
 their own muscles in like fashion. The kind expression 
 of his good-looking face, and the frankness of his manner 
 as he cried in greeting, " Ah, ah, mon ami ! " were 
 charming. 
 
 Grantley Berkeley says of him : " Poor, dear D'Orsay ! 
 He was a very accomplished, kind-hearted, and graceful 
 fellow, and much in request in what may be called the 
 fashionable world. I knew him well in his happier 
 hours, I knew him when he was in difficulties, and I 
 knew him in distress ; and when in France, I heard 
 from Frenchmen that those in his native country to 
 whom he looked for high lucrative employment and 
 patronage, and from whom D'Orsay thought he had 
 some claim to expect them, rather slighted his preten- 
 sions ; and when in his last lingering, painful illness, 
 left him to die too much neglected and alone ! 
 
 " That D'Orsay was unwisely extravagant, as well as 
 not over-scrupulous in morality, we know ; but that is 
 a man's own affair, not that of his friends. His faults, 
 whatever they were, were covered, or at least glossed 
 over, by real kindness of heart, great generosity, and 
 prompt good nature ; grace in manner, accomplishments. 
 
The Count's Appearance 363 
 
 and high courage ; therefore, place him side by side with 
 many of the men with whom he lived in England, 
 D'Orsay, by comparison, would have the advantage in 
 many things. He certainly retained my friendship to 
 the last, and induced in me very great regret for the 
 circumstances which, in the end, disappointed him, and 
 to a very great extent, I fear, embittered his last 
 moments/' 
 
 D'Orsay was over six feet in height, his neck long, 
 shoulders broad, and waist narrow ; his limbs slight, 
 with beautiful feet and ankles. His chestnut hair hung 
 in waving curls, his forehead was high and wide, his 
 features regular, and his complexion glowing. His eyes 
 were hazel, he had full lips, and very white teeth, which 
 however were placed a little apart — giving him at times 
 a rather cruel and sneering look. He was handsome, 
 and he knew this thoroughly, taking great care of his 
 beauty. He was much more extravagant in dress than 
 Brummell, though not so original nor so unostentatious. 
 Hats, coats, boots — in fact, all kinds of garments — were 
 named after him, and he was responsible for many little 
 changes, one being light wristbands turned back upon 
 the sleeve of his coat. He did not bathe in milk like 
 Brummell, but in perfumed water ; and where Brummell 
 carried about with him full appliances in silver, even to 
 the wash-hand basin, for his toilette, D'Orsay was accom- 
 panied with a dressing-case filled with articles made of 
 silver and old gold, so weighty that it took two men to 
 carry it. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 11 Marquis, I arrest you ! " cried the triumphant Bum, as his debtor and 
 now prisoner essayed to gain the knocker of the outer gate. 
 
 "It is not twelve,'' replied our hero, within a few words of being 
 speechless with horror. 
 
 11 What's the time ? " hallooed Mr. Sloughman to a policeman passing 
 on the opposite side of the way. 
 
 "Ten minutes past twelve," replied he hoarsely, as if there were a 
 conglomeration of fog and night air lodging in his throat. 
 
 "Then I'm lost !" exclaimed the Marquis. 
 
 John Mills, D'Horsay, or Follies of the Day. 
 
 COUNT D'ORSAY fought several duels, and might 
 have fought more but for his own good heart 
 and the good judgment of his friends. Reynolds, the 
 editor of the Keepsake^ was a man of a morbid, nervous 
 character, constantly being cheated and easily enraged. 
 He had just been taking a house, and was very sore at 
 finding that he had, as usual, accepted appearances too 
 easily, and had again been taken advantage of. Meeting 
 D'Orsay, he told him he thought he should write a book. 
 
 " Do, my dear fellow," replied the Beau, " and call 
 it c ze Diary of a Dupe.' " 
 
 This irritated Reynolds beyond endurance. He went 
 to Grantley Berkeley in violent agitation, who tells us 
 that, u As he stood the shivering of his frame shook the 
 room, and his hands, arms, and lips trembled as if they 
 had been withered leaves about to fall from the trunk of 
 a tree. When he told me he must have an apology from 
 D'Orsay, or a duel, and saw that I noticed the agitated 
 state of his limbs, he held his arm across the table, 
 
 364 
 
D'Orsay's Duels 365 
 
 exclaiming, as it shook violently : c Don't think this 
 arises from fear — it is a nervous excitement I cannot 
 help. You give the word, and I will shoot and be 
 shot at for a week, if it be necessary to my honour.' 
 
 " c Quite right,' I replied, c I am sure you will. 
 Now, remember that as you have told me your grievance, 
 and I have taken your honour into my keeping, you must 
 not say a word more about it, but be ready to fight a 
 Foutrance if I tell you to do so.' " 
 
 Fortunately Berkeley was very friendly with D'Orsay, 
 and on going to him found that the recital of Reynolds's 
 anger and agitation distressed the Count greatly. 
 
 " Go back to him and say anything you like to make 
 up this quarrel. I had no wish to offend him in any 
 way," was the Count's answer, and of course the duel did 
 not take place. 
 
 On another occasion, when he was about to fight a 
 duel, he said to his second, with a laugh : " You know, 
 mon cher^ I am not on a par with that man ; he is a very 
 ugly fellow, and if I wound him in the face he won't look 
 much the worse for it ; but, on my side, it ought to be 
 agreed that he should not aim higher than my chest, for 
 if my face should be spoiled, that would be truly awful." 
 He said this with such a beaming smile, and looked so 
 handsome and happy, that his second heartily agreed 
 with him. 
 
 D'Orsay himself told one story of a duel which he 
 fought during the early days of his army life. A friend, 
 visiting him during his last illness, alluded to his supposed 
 want of religion in a way which made him get to his feet, 
 and, standing erect and firm for a few seconds, point to 
 two small swords crossed over a crucifix at the head of 
 his bed, saying : " Do you see those two swords ? Do you 
 see the one to the right ? With that sword I fought in 
 
366 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 defence of my religion. I had only joined my regiment a 
 few days, when an officer at the mess-table used disgusting 
 and impious language in speaking of the Blessed Virgin. 
 I called on him to desist ; he repeated the foul language 
 he had used ; I threw a plate of spinach across the table 
 in his face ; a challenge ensued ; we fought that evening 
 on the rampart of the town, and I have kept that sword 
 ever since." 
 
 The Beau was friendly with almost every one of note 
 in his day. B. R. Haydon, so like and yet unlike, twice 
 makes mention of him in his Journal. The dates are 
 a year apart, July 1838 and July 1839. 
 
 " About seven D'Orsay called, whom I had not seen 
 for long. He was much improved, and looking ' the 
 glass of fashion and the mould of form ' — really a complete 
 Adonis — not made up at all. He made some capital 
 remarks, all of which must be attended to. They were first 
 impressions and sound. He bounded into his cab and 
 drove off like a young Apollo with a fiery Pegasus. I 
 looked after him. I like to see such specimens." 
 
 " D'Orsay called, and pointed out several things to 
 correct in the horse, verifying Lord Fitzroy's criticism of 
 Sunday last. I did them, and he took my brush in his 
 dandy gloves, which made my heart ache, and lowered the 
 hind quarters by bringing over a bit of sky. Such a 
 dress ! white great coat, blue satin cravat, hair oiled and 
 curling, hat of the primest curve and purest water, gloves 
 scented with eau de Cologne, or eau de jasmin, primrose in 
 tint, skin in tightness. In this prime of dandyism he 
 took up a nasty, oily, dirty hog-tool, and immortalised 
 Copenhagen by touching the sky. 
 
 " I thought, after he was gone, this won't do- — a 
 Frenchman touch Copenhagen ! So out I rubbed all he 
 had touched, and modified his hints myself." 
 
Carlyle and D'Orsay 367 
 
 The picture on which D'Orsay thus indicated the 
 finishing touches to Wellington's famous charger was 
 presumably that in which Haydon represented the Duke 
 of Wellington musing over the battlefield of Waterloo. 
 
 Another noted man who records a visit from D'Orsay 
 with pleasure and amusement was the sage of Chelsea. 
 In a letter to his brother he writes : 
 
 " I must tell you of the strangest compliment of all, 
 which occurred since I wrote last — the advent of Count 
 d'Orsay. About a fortnight ago this Phoebus Apollo of 
 dandyism, escorted by poor little Chorley, came whirling 
 hither in a chariot that struck all Chelsea into mute 
 amazement with splendour. Chorley's underjaw went 
 like the hopper or under-riddle of a pair of fanners, 
 such was his terror on bringing such a splendour into 
 actual contact with such a grimness. Nevertheless we 
 did amazingly well, the Count and I. He is a tall 
 fellow of six feet three, built like a tower, with floods 
 of dark auburn hair, with a beauty, with an adornment 
 unsurpassable on this planet ; withal a rather substantial 
 fellow at bottom, by no means without insight, without 
 fun, and a sort of rough sarcasm rather striking out of 
 such a porcelain figure. He said, looking at Shelley's 
 bust, in his French accent, 'Ah, it is one of those faces 
 who weesh to swallow their chin.' He admired the fine 
 epic, etc., etc. ; hoped I would call soon and see Lady 
 Blessington withal. Finally he went his way, and Chorley 
 with reassumed jaw. Jane laughed for two days at the 
 contrast of my plaid dressing-gown, bilious, iron counten- 
 ance, and this Paphian apparition. I did not call till the 
 other day, and left my card merely. I do not see well 
 what good I can get by meeting him much, or Lady B. 
 and demirepdom, though I should not object to see it 
 once, and then oftener if agreeable." 
 
368 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 D'Orsay was once dining att he Old Ship Hotel 
 at Greenwich, when some one called his attention to an 
 inscription made with a diamond upon the central pane of 
 the bay-window overlooking the Thames, in which his 
 name was improperly connected with that of a celebrated 
 German danseuse. D'Orsay took an orange from a dish, 
 coolly remarking upon the good quality of the fruit, and 
 tossed it up in the air several times, then as though by 
 accident he gave it a wider cant and sent it through the 
 offending pane, knocking the glass into the Thames. 
 
 Much has been said about D'Orsay's wit and apt 
 retorts ; very few, however, of those retorts have been 
 handed down to us, and those few are fairly well known. 
 One story dates from his first visit to England in 1821. 
 Being invited to dine at Holland House, he sat next 
 Lady Holland, who believed that the handsome young 
 stranger must necessarily be awe-struck by her majestic 
 presence. As " her abdominal development was con- 
 siderable " she continually let her napkin slip to the 
 ground, and just as continually she turned blandly smiling 
 to the Count for his assistance. At last, weary of stoop- 
 ing to pick it up, he asked, with the politest of manners : 
 " Would it not be better, madam, if I sat under the 
 table, then I could pass up your serviette more quickly ? " 
 
 On receiving an anonymous letter enclosing some 
 offensive verses, D'Orsay examined it closely and 
 found that it had been sealed with a wafer which 
 appeared to have been pressed down with a thimble. So 
 when, at Crockford's, he again met Tom Raikes, who was 
 deeply pitted with smallpox, he cried jocosely : " The 
 next time, mon cher, that you write an anonymous letter, 
 don't seal it with the end of your nose." 
 
 Dickens writes of dining one very hot night at Gore 
 House when Walter Savage Landor was one of the most 
 
A Prince in Hiding 369 
 
 honoured of the guests. Landor was always careless 
 about his appearance, and while the men were in the 
 dining-room after the table was cleared, some part of his 
 dress, his cravat or collar, had become disarranged. As 
 they rose from table Count d'Orsay laughingly drew his 
 attention to the circumstance, and Landor became flushed 
 and greatly agitated, saying, " My dear Count d'Orsay, 
 I thank you ! My dear Count D'Orsay, I thank you 
 from my soul for pointing out to me the abominable 
 condition to which I am reduced ! If I had entered the 
 drawing-room, and presented myself before Lady Bles- 
 slngton in so absurd a light, I would have instantly gone 
 home, put a pistol to my head, and blown my brains 
 out ! " 
 
 Prince Louis Napoleon — afterwards Napoleon the 
 Third — having been banished to America, came thence to 
 England and found a gracious welcome at Gore House, 
 which he was in the habit of visiting about twice a week. 
 In 1 840 the Prince made an attempt to force his claims 
 upon France, and rumour associated D'Orsay with 
 aiding him, much to the Count's annoyance ; for he 
 hated scandal, and also considered that the rumour would 
 be harmful to his own plans. The result of this 
 attempt was that the Prince was sentenced to imprison- 
 ment for life in the fortress of Ham. Six years 
 later, when Lady Blessington was working hard all day 
 and every day at literary work, her servant announced a 
 caller who would not be denied. When the man entered 
 the room she found herself face to face with the Prince, 
 haggard, pallid, and unshaven — he had escaped from 
 Ham in the dress of a workman carrying a plank over 
 his shoulder. With the impulsive generosity of her 
 nature she gave him the freedom of her house, and pro- 
 vided all he needed in his penniless condition. So long 
 
 22 
 
37° The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 as the Prince was in England he regarded Gore House 
 as the home of his best friends, and often as his own home 
 too ; yet in their misfortune he could turn his back on 
 those friends. He could receive without hesitation ; he 
 could give when laden with the sense of obligation ; but 
 to give in cold blood was impossible to his callous 
 nature. 
 
 Louis Napoleon also could not find admittance at 
 White's though he was to be seen at " Crockie's." Among 
 the many stories told of the gambling there, is one which 
 well illustrates D'Orsay's recklessness and sympathetic 
 nature. Talking one day with a Major Crawford, whom 
 he well knew, he learned that that gentleman was about 
 to sell his commission to pay his debts, and vainly tried to 
 dissuade him from such a course. Before they parted 
 D'Orsay begged the loan of ten pounds, which the other 
 lent with hidden reluctance, the Count walking off with 
 it in his usual light-hearted fashion. Early the next 
 morning he called upon the Major and began to empty 
 his pockets, or perhaps his hat — for D'Orsay's pockets 
 were not made to use for fear of spoiling his outline — 
 until he had counted out seven hundred and fifty pounds, 
 which with a laugh he pushed over to the Major. 
 
 u All yours, mon cher> all yours ; it's the ten pounds 
 which I staked at Crockford's. If I had lost you would 
 never have seen the ten pounds again." 
 
 D'Orsay was always generous, and in a very thought- 
 ful way. He gave assistance, introductions, and hos- 
 pitality to any needy Frenchman who came to him, from 
 Louis Napoleon downward ; and he founded the Sociiti 
 de Bienfaisance for their benefit. 
 
 When Crockford's Club and old " Crockie " himself 
 became things of the past, a committee was formed to 
 start a successor in Bury Street, known as the Junior 
 
Ceilings of Looking'Glass 371 
 
 Crockford's Club. D'Orsay was upon this committee, 
 and used his influence in making the place as mag- 
 nificent as possible, some of the ceilings being entirely 
 of looking-glass, and the furniture upholstered in the 
 richest damask. It is true that some of the members 
 complained that the ceilings gave them vertigo ; and 
 a party of ladies refused once to enter the rooms until 
 they were sure that the reflection they made would not 
 be indecent ; but the dreadful ceilings were regarded with 
 much pride by the members. It was not so very long 
 ago that the Junior Crockford had its little day, yet 
 it was occasionally turned into an arena for combats 
 among boxers and for the fighting of a main of cocks 
 by candlelight. High play went on also, for the club 
 did its best to keep up the reputation which had de- 
 stroyed its parent. 
 
 It was not until years after they had parted from 
 each other that a legal deed of separation was drawn up 
 between D'Orsay and his wife, but pending this the 
 Count was allowed by the Court of Chancery in Ireland 
 an income of £500 a year, while Lady Harriet drew 
 /"450. In 1838 D'Orsay relinquished all his interest 
 in the Blessington estates in consideration of the re- 
 demption of certain annuities, and of a sum of £55,000 
 to be paid to him — ,£13,000 as soon as possible, and 
 the rest within ten years. The sums were not paid how- 
 ever until 1 85 1, and went then to his creditors. Indeed, 
 £103,500 were paid for his debts in all. 
 
 Lady Blessington had been working many hours 
 each day at writing books and journalism ; and it 
 became very evident that if D'Orsay had any talent 
 it was time that he exercised it. He translated and 
 edited a story from the French named u Marie " ; and 
 probably did other things of which little has been heard. 
 
37 2 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 In New York was published in 1 846 a small book by 
 Count Alfred d'Orsay on " Etiquette, or a Guide to the 
 Usages of Society,' ' a Chesterfieldian production, which, 
 if really written by the Count, proves how ready he was 
 to fight for his existence. Its first paragraph is a grim 
 irony upon the position he and Lady Blessington were 
 believed to hold in the world. " Etiquette is the barrier 
 which society draws around itself as a protection against 
 offences the law cannot touch." 
 
 The little page upon " Snuff" shows that some decrease 
 in the popularity of that pungent luxury had been made 
 since the days of the Regent. 
 
 " As snuff-taking is merely an idle, dirty habit, 
 practised by stupid people in the unavailing endeavour 
 to clear their stolid intellect, and is not a custom par- 
 ticularly offensive to their neighbours, it may be left to 
 each individual taste as to whether it be continued or not. 
 An c elegant ' cannot take much snuff" without decidedly 
 ' losing caste/ " 
 
 Again we have, " Do not pick your teeth much at 
 table, as, however satisfactory a practice to yourself, to 
 witness it is not at all pleasant to another." 
 
 On the subject of jewels he gives some very good advice, 
 condemning t,he wearing of such things in the morning, 
 though he would allow plain gold. So good is the taste 
 shown on this and other matters that it seems more than 
 probable that the ascription on the title-page is genuine. 
 
 But the Count had a better ally in his pencil than in his 
 pen, and he at last, in business-like way, turned to portrait- 
 painting and sketching. A studio was fitted up in the 
 basement of Gore House, and there he worked in earnest, 
 producing portraits of many of the most distinguished 
 people of his time, including Louis Napoleon, Lytton, 
 Disraeli, Dickens, Thackeray, Ainsworth, Carlyle, Landor, 
 
D'Orsay as a Sculptor 373 
 
 Turner, and Landseer, to say nothing of the Dandies. 
 He also painted another portrait of Byron, said to be the 
 best ever done of the poet. In fact, his portraits be- 
 came the fashion, and those of the Queen, of Dwarkanauth 
 Tagore, and of the chancellor, Lord Lyndhurst, became 
 popular engravings. Then he added to this the sculpting 
 of statuettes, which were, according to one authority, un- 
 conventional in treatment, full of force, and delicately 
 finished, and many wondered he had not previously 
 wholly devoted himself to art. 
 
 Amongst those who sat for one of these dainty minia- 
 ture models was the Duke of Wellington, who was 
 delighted with the result, had copies executed in silver, 
 and commissioned D'Orsay to paint his portrait in oils. 
 This seems to have given some trouble, but the Duke was 
 very ready to sit, and critical as to the work, suggesting 
 alterations, with a result that was evidently satisfactory. 
 u At last I have been painted like a gentleman ! I will 
 never sit to any one else," is the Duke's recorded judg- 
 ment. 
 
 As D'Orsay was imitated in his hats, his collars, 
 his coats, his trousers, so the work of his hands was 
 copied. A French writer telling us that " These busts (of 
 Wellington and O'Connell) were at once vulgarised in 
 thousands of copies in England and in Paris. They were 
 new creations." D'Orsay's portrait of his sister may be 
 seen in the Department of Prints and Drawings in the 
 British Museum. There also is to be found a wonder- 
 fully spirited sketch of " The President of the Republic 
 returning from the Chamber of Deputies, Paris, 1851." 
 This was painted in Paris after the artist left London 
 for good. 
 
 For the last two or three years of his life in England 
 D'Orsay had a hard time ; he never dared leave his house 
 
374 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 except by using the utmost precautions, for bailiffs were 
 always on the watch for him ; so — that he might not be a 
 prisoner altogether — he moved to Gore House, where he 
 could enjoy the evening gathering there without the anxious 
 little walk to and fro. There, windows shut, doors locked, 
 always expecting the " bum," and always ready to evade 
 him, D'Orsay lived from midnight on Sunday to mid- 
 night on Saturday. As the clock struck twelve he would 
 go gaily forth and drive to Crockford's, where he would see 
 many of his friends and, even though it was Sunday, try his 
 luck at the tables. In the daytime he could do as he liked, 
 go where he liked, safely breathe the fresh air, and enjoy the 
 sunshine among his comrades in the Park. But at night 
 he had again to think of the time, and would dash home 
 five minutes, two minutes, one minute before the church 
 clocks all struck the hour, hrs road showing more loiterers 
 than any other road in the West End at that time, and 
 probably a small crowd around his gate, hoping that by 
 some chance he might be caught trying to enter after 
 the day had become Monday. To read of this savours of 
 comedy, but to D'Orsay himself there must have been more 
 than a touch of tragedy in the whole weekly occurrence. 
 
 I cannot quite endorse all that P. G. Patmore says of 
 him when writing in 1 854, yet there is certainly an element 
 of justice in his words : 
 
 "The fashionable tradesmen of London knew that to be 
 patronised by Count d'Orsey was a fortune to them ; and 
 yet they had the face to expect that he would pay their bills 
 after they had run for a c reasonable ' period, whether it 
 suited his convenience to do so or not. As if, by rights, 
 he ought to have paid them at all, or as if they ought not 
 to have paid him for showering fortune on them by his 
 smile, if it had not been that his honour would have for- 
 bidden such an arrangement, even with a * nation of 
 
The Sheriffs Officer 375 
 
 shopkeepers ' ! Nay, I believe they sometimes perpetrated 
 the mingled injustice and stupidity of invoking the law to 
 their aid, and arresting him ! Shutting up within four 
 walls the man whose going forth was the signal for all the 
 rest of the world to think of opening their purse-strings, 
 to compass something or other which they beheld in that 
 mirror of all fashionable requirements ! It was a little 
 fortune to his tiger to tell the would-be dandies dwelling 
 north of Oxford Street where D'Orsay bought his last 
 new cab-horse, or who built his tilbury or his coat ; and 
 yet it is said that his horse-dealer, his coachmaker, and his 
 tailor have been known to shut up from sight this type 
 and model by which all the male ' nobility and gentry ' of 
 London horsed, equipaged, and attired themselves ! " 
 
 The failure of the potato crop and certain mismanage- 
 ment of the Mountjoy estate, deprived Lady Blessington 
 of her income from Ireland, and then things looked so 
 black for those in Gore House that they knew they were 
 only waiting for the end. Lady Blessington felt as much 
 interest in keeping her doors and windows shut as did 
 Count d'Orsay, for, for two years she had lived in constant 
 apprehension of executions being put in. Then one day 
 a sheriff's officer effected an entrance in disguise. A 
 servant, suspecting his purpose, went quickly to her 
 mistress, who, ever thinking of others first, sent the girl 
 direct to Count d'Orsay's room with the message that he 
 must leave England at once, for as soon as the knowledge 
 got about that execution had been levied in the house 
 there would be no safety for him. Incredulous at first, 
 the Count went down to see Lady Blessington, and then, 
 feeling convinced, had one portmanteau packed and, taking 
 his valet with him, set out for Paris, never to return. 
 This was on the 1st of April, 1849, and on' the 14th Lady 
 Blessington followed him. She gave up everything in Gore 
 
376 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 House to her creditors, including her library of five 
 thousand books, marbles, bronzes, many pictures, jewellery, 
 and rare porcelain. The sale took place in May, the 
 rooms being crowded for three days beforehand with the 
 curious, among whom were to be seen many of those 
 ladies who would not have entered the house so long as 
 its mistress was within its walls. Entrance could only be 
 gained by the payment of three shillings for a catalogue, 
 the possession of which admitted two people. 
 
 Lawrence's portrait of Lady Blessington was sold for 
 £336, and D'Orsay's Duke of Wellington for £189. 
 Why that should have been left in Gore House is a 
 mystery, if it was really a commissioned picture. 
 Altogether the sale realised for Lady Blessington a net 
 sum of £11,985. Various writers on this event have 
 given this total as £1,500, a sum which she had borrowed 
 from her bankers, and which was returned after the sale. 
 This was certainly not the only debt Lady Blessington 
 owed, and it was equally certain that the result of the 
 auction was more than enough to pay that debt. Gore 
 House held property of great value, which was sold 
 cheaply for the gross amount of between £ 1 3,000 and 
 £14,000. 
 
 Had fate willed, the Countess might have lived 
 happily enough in Paris, for the temporary Irish em- 
 barrassments had disappeared, and with £2,000 a year, 
 freed from debt, and still much literary work to do, there 
 was really little of which she could complain. However, one 
 unlooked-for trouble met her and D'Orsay early on their 
 arrival at Paris. They both, and especially D'Orsay — who 
 believed ill of no man — expected kindliness and favour 
 from Louis Napoleon. The Prince did indeed invite them 
 to dinner, and then they found that his manner was no 
 longer that of the close friend and intimate they had once 
 
Lady Blessington's Costume 377 
 
 known. The positions had been exactly reversed, and 
 the Prince-President of the French Republic made it 
 evident that he had little thought of freeing himself from 
 the deep obligation under which he lay towards his hostess 
 of Gore House. At one point in the evening he asked 
 Lady Blessington, with distant and pointed courtesy, how 
 long she intended remaining in France. 
 
 " I believe for my life. And you ? " she asked 
 coldly. 
 
 Gronow gives us a good picture of Lady 
 Blessington at this time, though in spite of the Captain's 
 statement I gather from other sources that it was in late 
 middle-age rather than in youth that she adopted the 
 " becoming costume " of which he writes : 
 
 " The beautiful Lady Blessington in her brightest days 
 . . . always wore a peculiar costume, chosen with artistic 
 taste to suit exactly her style of beauty. The cap she 
 was in the habit of wearing has been drawn in Chalon's 
 portrait of her, well known from the print in the 
 Keepsake, and in all the shop windows of the day. 
 It was c a mob cap ' behind, drawn in a straight line 
 over the forehead, where, after a slight fulness on each 
 temple, giving it a little the appearance of wings, it was 
 drawn down close over the cheeks, and fastened under 
 the chin. Nothing could have been more cunningly 
 devised to shew off the fine brow and beautifully shaped 
 oval face of the deviser, or to conceal the too great width 
 of the cheeks, and a premature development of double 
 chin. Lady Blessington had also a style of dress suitable 
 to her figure, which was full, but then not c of o'er grown 
 bulk.' She always wore white, a thick muslin dress, 
 embroidered in front and lined with some bright colour, 
 and a large silk bonnet and cloak to match. This was 
 her costume in London, but, on her arrival in Paris, 
 
37 8 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 two or three Freneh ladies got hold of her, declared 
 she was horriblement fagot ee> and insisted on having her 
 dressed in quite a different style by a fashionable modiste ; 
 they managed so completely to transform her that, in 
 the opinion of myself and all who had seen her in 
 England, her defects were brought out, and all her beauty 
 disappeared. But nevertheless, in her new and unbecom- 
 ing attire, she was pronounced charmante by a jury of 
 fashionable dames, and forced, nolens volens> to take an 
 eternal farewell to the lovely and becoming costumes of 
 her youth." 
 
 Lady Blessington took an apartment for herself and 
 the two nieces who lived with her in the Rue du Cerq, 
 close to the Champs Elysees, and was soon deep in the 
 delights of furnishing and decorating. She rose earlier, 
 walked more, and seemed in better health and spirits than 
 she had been for years. On June 3rd she went into 
 her new home, and dined that evening with D'Orsay's 
 nephew, the Due de Guiche, and his wife. It was a 
 happy quiet evening, from which the guests, enjoying the 
 soft warmth of the night, walked home. 
 
 For some time a breathlessness had attacked her in 
 the mornings, and early on the 4th she felt it coming 
 upon her again. She called for assistance, but the attack 
 was so severe that little could be done for her. When it 
 was over she fell into a sleep which passed into death. 
 Long-standing, though unsuspected, heart disease was the 
 cause of the breathlessness. But M. de Coutades does 
 not hesitate to suggest that she was poisoned; that, in fact, 
 her death and that of Lord Blessington were of so similar 
 a character that they were both murdered. It is a theory 
 which has not been advanced by any one else in writing, 
 and must remain — a bare suggestion. 
 
 D'Orsay designed a mausoleum, in which her body 
 
Margaret Blessington's Tomb 379 
 
 was eventually placed. The tomb was a pyramid of 
 granite, standing on the squared top of a mound divided 
 from the surrounding earth by a deep fosse, the sides 
 of the mound being covered with turf and Irish ivy. 
 The mausoleum had a door in the centre of one side, 
 opposite which, on opening it, was a beautiful copy of 
 Michael Angelo's crucified Saviour. A stone sarco- 
 phagus stood on either side of the chamber ; in one was 
 placed the body of Margaret Blessington, the other 
 awaited Alfred d'Orsay. 
 
 The designing of this tomb was the only thing the 
 Count could do ; he had neither heart nor nerve to 
 read, to write letters, or to paint. When the body was 
 transferred to its last resting-place he seemed to be 
 bewildered and stupefied, and then frenzied, lamenting 
 his loss as though it had occurred but the day before. 
 The shadow of her death lay always upon him, for she 
 had been his guide, his adviser, the one person into 
 whose hands he could put all his affairs and feel safe. 
 
 He took a large studio in Paris, which was living- 
 room, bedroom, reception-room all in one, and here 
 he painted pictures and made his beautiful statuettes. 
 
 Louis Napoleon never repaid the man to whom 
 he, a twice-discomfited conspirator and a still conspiring 
 refugee in England, was indebted for shelter, friend- 
 ship, position in society, and the means of bringing 
 his schemes to a successful issue. It has been said that 
 he was pardonably offended by a too frank expression 
 of opinion on D'Orsay's part, and therefore would do 
 nothing for his one-time friend. But the occasion for 
 offence did not arise until after the Coup d'tiat, two 
 and three-quarter years later than D'Orsay's appearance 
 in Paris. At a private dinner party, where the Coup 
 d'itat was the all-important topic of conversation, 
 
380 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 it being discussed " with all due prudence and reserve," 
 D'Orsay, who believed the President had violated sacred 
 oaths and solemn promises, said emphatically and dis- 
 tinctly in English : "It is the greatest political swindle 
 that has ever been 'practised in the world I " 
 
 It acted like a bomb upon the circle round the table, 
 and there can be no doubt but that Louis Napoleon was 
 quickly made aware of what had been said. However, it 
 only made a little more frigid a friendship which was 
 deadly cold already. 
 
 Only once did Napoleon do anything to ease his own 
 reputation in the matter: early in 1852, when all the 
 world knew that Alfred d'Orsay was nearing the end 
 of his life, he made him the Director of Fine Arts. It 
 was too late, and every one knew it. The sad thing 
 is that D'Orsay, like Brummell in somewhat similar 
 circumstances, should have felt so keenly the cold atti- 
 tude which the man of power held towards him. We 
 are told that he suffered deeply ; cc but his generous 
 nature was incapable of bitterness, and no sentiment of 
 animosity was engendered by it." 
 
 Lord Lamington, a Dandy himself, tells of visiting 
 D'Orsay when he was ill, and finding his room all 
 hung with black curtains, the bed and window curtains 
 being the same, while all the souvenirs of Lady Blessing- 
 ton were gathered around him. " After her death the 
 Count pined away — he had no object in life or interest 
 left ... it was most sad." 
 
 Thackeray, too, speaks of his great atelier with the bed 
 in a corner, over which hung a portrait of Lady Blessing- 
 ton. " Here he slept as serenely as a child, and looked 
 with admiration at the most awful pictures of his own 
 making." 
 
 Madden, his biographer, saw him a few weeks before 
 
The Death of D'Orsay 381 
 
 his death, when, but a wreck of himself, he walked with 
 difficulty and pain about the room. The sight of this 
 old friend reminded him of London and Lady Blessing- 
 ton, and in his weakness he burst into crying. Gradually 
 he became composed, and talked of her death — death 
 itself looking from his own eyes : 
 
 " In losing her I lost everything in this world — she 
 was to me a mother ! a dear, dear mother ! a true loving 
 mother to me ! You understand me, Madden." 
 
 Madden adds to this : " I understood him to be 
 speaking what he felt, and there was nothing in his 
 accents, in his position, or his expressions (for his words 
 sounded in my ears like those of a dying man), which 
 led me to believe he was seeking to deceive himself 
 
 or me." 
 
 Kidney trouble was followed by a spinal disease which 
 brought him terrible pain. Lady Blessington's two nieces 
 nursed him through his illness, and by the doctor's orders 
 took him to Dieppe in July 1852, but he grew worse, 
 and in August died at his sister's house in Paris, being 
 fifty-one years old. 
 
 No one will really know now the exact relations of 
 D'Orsay and Lady Blessington, but those who condemned 
 them offhand were generally those who knew little of 
 them personally, like Chateaubriand and Creevy. It 
 was asserted by a contemporary that all who knew them 
 both well knew that nothing but a great friendship, that 
 of the strong for the weak, animated Lady Blessington ; 
 that her strict business habits, practical good sense, and 
 the protection of her roof were indispensable safeguards 
 to his liberty and fortunes, for Alfred d'Orsay was a child 
 where money was concerned, giving freely when he had 
 it, and spending freely when he had it not. To this 
 Madden bears witness : " By those intimate at her house, 
 
382 The Beaux and the Dandies 
 
 including the best and greatest men of England, Lady 
 Blessington was held in unqualified respect, and no shadow 
 even of suspicion was thrown over her type of woman- 
 hood." 
 
 D'Orsay's funeral, in contrast to that of his fore- 
 runner Beau Brummell, was made with all pomp in the 
 midst of the great of his country. Prince Napoleon 
 Bonaparte, Count de Montaubon, the Duchesse de 
 Grammont, Count Alfred de Grammont, and the Due 
 de Lespare ; Alexandre Dumas, jun., Charles Lafitte, 
 Emile de Girardin, and Ball Hughes (our " Golden " 
 Ball) were among the notables present who assembled 
 to see his body laid in the second sarcophagus of the 
 mausoleum. In high-flown sentiments Emile di Girardin 
 wrote of him in La Presse : " Alfred d'Orsay was over- 
 whelmed with too many gifts for his days not to be 
 parsimoniously counted. Death has been inexorable, 
 but he has been just ; he has not treated him as an 
 ordinary man ; he has not taken him, he has chosen 
 him." 
 
 The first Earl of Cranbrook, who died in 1 906, re- 
 marked how he had admired D'Orsay, with other swells 
 and dandies of the day, and there are still to be found a 
 few men who remember him. A few weeks ago, when 
 mentioning to a nonogenarian friend the work upon which 
 I was engaged, he laughed gleefully, " D'Orsay, D'Orsay ! 
 why I remember him ; what a swell he was ! ah, what 
 a figure he cut in the Park ! " 
 
 Around D'Orsay gathered many " swells and dandies," 
 but they were so outshone by the splendid Frenchman 
 that there is little to say of them. There was the arbiter 
 elegantiarum Auriol, whose good luck, appetite, and appear- 
 ance obtained him the name of c< Crockford's ugly 
 customer." There was the Marquis of Anglesey, with his 
 
The "Dead Dandy " 3Z3 
 
 frills and dainty wristbands ; Lord Cantelupe ; Bulwer 
 Lytton ; Disraeli, who affected the most gaudy dandyism ; 
 Henry Luttrell, a natural son of Lord Carhampton and 
 the writer of the " Advice to Julia/' called by a contemporary 
 " Letters of a Dandy to a Dolly"; Samuel Rogers, the poet- 
 banker who was so cadaverous in face that his friends 
 named him the " Dead Dandy." Of him Hook says 
 that he once hailed a coach in St. Paul's Churchyard, 
 but the driver drove on saying : " Ho ! ho ! my man ; 
 I'm not going to be had in that way : go back to your 
 grave ! " and Alvanley once asked him why, since he 
 could well afford it, he did not keep his hearse ! 
 
 After D'Orsay there is nothing left to say of these 
 merely " smart " men. 
 
 And now the Dandies are all dead ! There are still 
 wonderfully dressed people in society, but they make no 
 impression as individuals on their times, for the busy 
 world is too occupied to look at them, and merely to 
 follow an absurd fashion is to mark oneself not as elegant 
 but as weak. Sometimes, in the hurry and skurry, one 
 may dream vainly of the delights of an elegant leisure, 
 but those who might attain to such lose it in extravagant 
 social amenities, and those who could enjoy it are not 
 fortunate enough to be able to reach it. 
 
INDEX 
 
 Adam, William, 190 
 
 Addison, Joseph, 16 (quoted), 65, 
 
 66, 68 (quoted), 69 (quoted), 157 
 Ainsworth, W. Harrison, 372 
 Allen, Lord (" King "), 213, 270, 
 
 276, 303, 313 et seq. 
 Allen, Mr. (of Bath), 117 
 Alvanley, Lord, 15, 202, 213, 228, 
 
 231, 236, 244, 264, 266, 270, 271, 
 
 290^ seq., 303, 305, 316, 383 
 Amelia, Princess, 107, 108, 124 
 Androche, Marshal, 298 
 Anglesey, Marquis of, 303, 306, 382 
 Anne, Queen, 60, 71, 80, 89, 133, 
 
 136 
 Anson, George, 291 
 Anstey, Christopher, 97, 131 
 
 (quoted) 
 Arbuthnot, John, 6y (quoted) 
 Armstrong, Mr., of Caen, 262, 269, 
 
 271 
 Ayioffe, Captain, 45 (quoted) 
 
 Balmerino, Lord, 162 
 
 Barrymore, Augustus (" New- 
 gate "), 287 
 
 Barrymore, Richard, 7th Lord 
 (" Hellgate "), 217, 287 
 
 Barrymore, Harry, 8th Lord 
 " (Cripplegate "), 287 
 
 Beauclerk, Topham, 169, 182 et seq. 
 
 Beaufort, Henry, Duke of, 86 
 
 Beaufort, Robert, 5th Duke of, 
 214, 253, 266, 270 
 
 Bedford, Duke of, 199 
 
 Behan, Mrs., 153 
 
 Bendo, Alexander, 49 
 
 Berkeley, Grantley, 283, 362, 364 
 
 Berry, Miss, 174, 289 
 
 Bethel, Mrs., 162 
 
 Betty of St. James, 179 
 
 Binks, General, 197 
 
 Black Dandy, The, 276 
 
 Blackmantle, Bernard, 297, 307, 
 
 308 
 Bladud, Founder of Bath, 84, 85 
 Blair, Wilfrid, 275 (quoted) 
 Bland, Sir John, 123 
 Blessington, Lord, 250, 281, 324 et 
 
 seq. ; death, 348, 357, 378 
 Blessington, Margaret, Lady, 321, 
 
 325 et seq. ; death, 378 ; 380, 381 
 Bligh, Bob, 241 
 Blunderhead, Simpkin, 103, 104, 
 
 131 
 Bolingbroke, Henry, Viscount, 133, 
 
 135, 140, 157 
 Boh'ngbroke, Lord (" Bully "), 169, 
 
 175. 184 
 
 Bonaparte, Napoleon, 192, 322 
 
 Boothby, " Prince," 276 
 
 Boswell, James, no, 157 
 
 Brereton, Mrs., 112, 120 
 
 Bristol, John, 1st Earl, 145 
 
 Brookes, Founder of Brookes's 
 Club, 176 
 
 Brown, Tom, 134 
 
 Brummell, George Bryan, 10, 13, 
 14, 15, 70, 148, 186, 190, 192 et 
 seq., 215 et seq., 275, 292, 294, 
 295. 297, 302, 306, 316, 320, 
 324. 363 
 
 Brummell, William, 208 
 
 385 25 
 
3 86 
 
 Index 
 
 Buckingham, George Villiers, 2nd 
 
 Duke, 15, 23, 33, 34 et seg., 41, 
 
 46,49 
 Bulwer, Henry, 357 
 Bulwer, John, 277 (quoted) 
 Burghersh, John Lord, 338 
 Burke, Edmund, 171 
 Burnef-, Bishop, 34, 49, 52 
 Butler, Dick, 305 
 Butler, Samuel, 38 (quoted) 
 Byng, " Poodle," 229, 276, 305 
 Byron, Lord, 179, 192, 201 (quoted), 
 
 215, 244 (quoted), 309, 330 et 
 
 seq., 373 
 
 Cambridge, Duke of, 292 
 
 Carlisle, Howard Frederick, Earl 
 
 of, 172, 174 
 Carlisle, James Hay, Earl of, 21, 22 
 Carlyle, Thomas, 10 (quoted), 175 
 
 (quoted), 367 (quoted), 372 
 Caroline, Princess, 148, 149 
 Caroline, Queen, 137, 140, 142, 148 
 Carteret, John, Earl, 140 
 Castlemaine, Lady, 31, 58, 60, 63 
 Charles I., 85 
 Charles II., 23, 26, 28, 38, 43, 49, 
 
 56, 57, 58, 105, 135, 148 
 Chateaubriand, 359 (quoted), 381 
 Chesterfield, Philip Dormer, Lord, 
 
 108, in, 120, 133, 136 e£ seq., 
 
 139 et seq., 157, 161, 218 
 Chesterfield, Philip Stanhope, Lord, 
 
 37 
 
 Cheyne, Dr. George, 74, 121 
 Cholmondeley, Lord, 288 
 Churchill, Lady Henrietta, 66 
 Cibber, Colley, 54, 123 
 Clanwilliam, Lord, 278 
 Clarendon, Earl of, 39 (quoted) 
 Clarke, Dr., 93, no 
 Coates, Robert (" Romeo "), 279 
 
 et seq. 
 Coleraine, Baron (" Old Blue 
 
 Hanger "), 284 
 Combe, Alderman, Lord Mayor, 242 
 Combe, William, 281 
 
 Congreve, William, 15, 24, 45, 65, 
 66, 157 
 
 Cooke, " Kangaroo," 276, 317 
 
 Cope, Henry, 12, 278 
 
 Cotgrave, John, 277 
 
 Coutades, Le Comte de, 323, 324, 
 325, 329, 349. 37 8 
 
 Coventry, Lady (elder Miss Gun- 
 ning), 145. 173 
 
 Coventry, Lord, 172 
 
 Cowper, Hon. Charles Spencer, 353 
 
 Craig, W. H., 139, 140 (quoted) 
 
 Craufurd, Madame, daughter of 
 King of Wurtemberg, 323, 346, 
 359 
 
 Craven, Berkeley, 254, 294 
 
 Crawford, Major, 370 
 
 Crawford, " Teapot," 276 
 
 Creevey, Thomas, 359 (quoted), 381 
 
 Crockford, William, 301, 302 
 
 Croker, John Wilson, 299 
 
 Cromwell, Bridget. See Ireton 
 
 Cromwell, Oliver, 37, 38 
 
 Culling Smith, Lady Ann, 232 
 
 Damer, George Dawson, 293, 317 
 Damien, the French criminal, 163 
 Dandy, Cecil, 230 (quoted) 
 D'Aurevilly, Barbey, 13 
 D'Avenant, Sir William, 27 
 Davies, Scrope, 248, 309 et seq. 
 Deleau, Mrs., 60 et seq. 
 Denham, Sir John, 26 (quoted), 32 
 D'Eresby, Willoughby, 254, 303 
 Dickens, Charles, 362, 368 
 Disraeli, 352, 360, 372, 383 
 Dodington, Bubb, 108, 133, 150 et 
 
 seq. 
 Doran, Dr., 95 (quoted) 
 D'Orleans, Due, 353 
 D'Orsay, Count Alfred, 13, 14, 15, 
 
 26, 303, 305, 320 et seq. 
 D'Orsay, Countess, 359 
 D'Orsay, General Comte, 322, 344 
 D'Orsay, Harriet, Countess. See 
 
 Gardiner 
 Dorset, Lord, 24, 40 et seq., 72, 161 
 
Index 
 
 387 
 
 Drummond, George Hartley, 222 
 Dryden, John, 24 (quoted), 34 
 (quoted), 35 (quoted), 43, 51, 66 
 Dudley, Lord, 316 
 
 Edgworth, a Beau of that name, 
 
 25 
 Erskine, Lord, 232 
 Escott, T. S., 299 
 Etherege,Sir George, 15, 20 (quoted), 
 
 39 (quoted), 45 et seq. 
 Evelyn, John, 40, 49, 86 
 
 Fagniani, Marchioness of, 172 
 
 Fagniani, Maria (" Mie-Mie ") 
 afterwards Countess of Yar- 
 mouth, 172, 173, 184, 204, 214, 
 298 
 
 Fairfax, Mary (afterwards Duchess 
 of Buckingham), 37 
 
 Fairfax, Sir Thomas, 37, 38 
 
 Fairholt, F. W., 135, 155, 185 
 
 Farmer, Captain, 326 
 
 Farquhar, George, 320 
 
 Fawkener, Sir L., 171 
 
 Feilding, "Beau," 24, 55 et seq., 68, 
 279 
 
 Fitzgerald, Percy, 235 
 
 Fitzherbert, Mrs., 216 et seq., 226 
 
 Fitzroy, Mrs., 177 
 
 Foote, Samuel, 179 
 
 Foster, Lord Chief Justice, 41 
 
 Fox, Charles James, 136, 160, 163, 
 164, 172, 176, 177, 179, 186, 283 
 
 Fox, Charles James, Mrs., 189 
 
 Fox, Stephen, 176, 189 
 
 Gardiner, Charles John, 337 
 Gardiner, Lady Harriet, 336 et seq., 
 
 348, 35°> 352, 353, 37i 
 Gardiner, Mary Rosalie (Emily), 
 
 336, 353 
 Garrick, David, 183 
 Gay, John, 135, 147 
 George I., 138, 140, 141, 155 
 
 George II., 141, 149 
 
 George III., 73, 150, 161 
 
 George IV., 180, 190, 194, 195, 197, 
 
 199, 215, 216 et seq., 256 et seq., 
 
 273, 275, 276, 283, 288, 289, 302, 
 
 303. 3i8 
 Gibbon, Edward, the historian, 
 
 176 (quoted) 
 Goldsmith, Oliver, 72, 75 (quoted), 
 
 79, 81, gon., 91, 94, 105, 113, 
 
 118 (quoted), 124 (quoted) 
 Gosse, Edmund, 53 
 Grammont, Count de, 24, 32 
 
 (quoted), 64 (quoted), 65, 331 
 " Green Man of Brighton, The." 
 
 See Cope, Henry 
 Greville, Charles (" Punch "), 231, 
 
 232, 258, 291, 294, 304 
 Gronow, Captain, 195, 213, 214 
 
 (quoted), 278, 310, 317, 323, 350 
 
 (quoted), 353 (quoted), 377 
 
 (quoted) 
 Guiche, Due de, 324, 337, 344, 346 
 Guiche, Duchesse de, 324, 344, 
 
 346, 359 
 Gunter, the confectioner, 213, 
 
 291, 292 
 Gwydyr, Lord. See D'Eresby 
 Gwyn, Nell, 44, 182 
 
 Haly, Lord, 51 
 
 Hamilton, Elizabeth ("La Belle "), 
 64 
 
 Hanger, George, 204, 281 et seq. 
 
 Harrington, Lady, 173 
 
 Harrison, Mr., of Bath, 91 
 
 Haydon, B. R., 360, 366 
 
 Haynes, " Peagreen," 276 
 
 Hertford, Marquis of. See Yar- 
 mouth 
 
 Hervey, Lord John, 133, 137, 
 142 et seq. 
 
 Hewitt, Sir George, " Beau," 23, 
 24 
 
 Hoare, William, 114 
 
 Hoffman, Madame, 46 et seq. 
 
 Holland, Lady, 368 
 
3 88 
 
 Index 
 
 Holland, Lord, 163, 176, 186 
 Hook, Theodore, 383 
 Houghton, Lord, 225, 235 
 Howard & Gibbs, usurers, 243, 253 
 Hughes, Ball, 214, 276, 302, 303, 
 
 305 etseq., 310, 382 
 Hyde, Sir Robert, 41, 42 
 
 Ire ton, Bridget, 37 
 
 James II., 43, 45. 59, 69, 86 
 Jameson, Miss, actress, 280 
 Jenkins, Captain, 326, 327 
 Jermyn, Henry, Lord Dover, 64 
 Jerrold, Douglas, 84 (quoted), 113 
 
 (quoted), 161, 310 
 Jesse, William, 194 (quoted), 182 
 
 (quoted), 198, 211 (quoted), 222, 
 
 258 (quoted), 261 (quoted), 275 
 
 (quoted) 
 Johnson, Dr., 98, 137, 150, 157, 182 
 Jonson, Ben, 66 
 
 Kat, Christopher, 67 
 Keeling, Lord Chief Justice, 42 
 Killigrew, Sir Robert, 26 
 Kiliigrew, Thomas, 15, 23, 25 et 
 
 seq., 42, 50 
 Kilmansegge, Madame, 138 
 Kilmarnock, Lord, 162 
 Klopstock, Count, 122 
 Kynaston, Edward, actor, 43 
 
 Lade, Sir John, 288 
 Lamb, Lady Caroline, 299 
 Lamington, Alexander, Lord, 302, 
 
 380 
 Landor, Walter Savage, 338 
 
 (quoted), 368, 372 
 Landseer, Sir Edwin, 373 
 Langton, Bennet, 182 
 Lauderdale, Duke of, 31 
 Law, John, 25 
 Lawrence, Sir Thomas, 376 
 
 Leicester, Earl of, 20, 21 
 
 Le Jeune, Julien, 360 
 
 Leland, 101 (quoted) 
 
 Leleux, M., 249, 256, 257, 258 
 
 Lepell, Molly, 147 
 
 Leveux, M., Banker at Calais, 264 
 
 Levine, Prisoner at Caen, 265, 269 
 
 Lewis, Matthew ("Monk"), 232 
 
 et seq. 
 Lightfoot, Hannah, 96 
 Lister, Thos. Hy., 194 
 Liverpool, Lord, 193 
 Lloyd, Miss, 177 
 Lloyd, Rufus, 317 
 Lockyer, Dean, 34 (quoted), 46 
 
 (quoted) 
 Louis XIV., 32, 34 
 Lovat, Lord, 162 
 Lud Hudibras, 84, 85 
 Luttrell, Henry, 212, 383 
 Lytton, Edward Bulwer, 299, 352, 
 
 360, 372, 382 
 
 Macall, founder of Almack's, 176 
 Macaulay, 86 
 Mackinnon, " Dan," 317 
 Madden, Dr., 328, 339 (quoted), 
 
 342, 360, 361, 380 
 Maddocks, John, 240, 243 
 Mailett, Elizabeth, 50, 51 
 Manners, Lord Robert, 248 
 March, Earl of, 160, 167, 168, 172, 
 
 174, 1-77. 184 
 Marlborough, Sarah, Duchess of, 
 
 66, 74, 149 
 Mary of Modena, 86 
 Massinger, Philip, 115 
 Mathews, Mrs, Charles, 348, 354 
 Mathews, Charles James, 328, 335, 
 
 340 et seq. 
 Melbourne, Lord, 313 
 Melfort, Lady ("Billingsgate"), 
 
 287 
 Melville, Sir James, 21 (quoted) 
 Melville, Lewis, in, 214 
 Mercandotti, Mademoiselle, 308 
 Meredith, George, 217 (quoted) 
 
Index 
 
 389 
 
 Meynell, Mrs., 177 
 
 Mildmay, Sir Henry, 235, 236, 244, 
 
 297, 316 
 Mills, John, 298, 364 (quoted) 
 Mills, Pemberton, 228, 244 
 Misson, 135 (quoted) 
 Molyneux, Lady, 177 
 Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley' 
 
 145, 150 
 Montague, George, 160 
 Montford, Lord, 123 
 Moore, Thomas, 171, 219, 221, 223, 
 
 281, 293, 310, 330, 331, 358, 
 
 360 
 Mosaic Dandy, The, 276 
 Mountj oy, Viscount. See Lord 
 
 Blessington 
 Mountj oy, Luke Wellington, Lord, 
 
 332, 336 
 Mulgrave, Lord, 51 
 Murray, Fanny, 96 
 Murray, John, 254 
 
 Napoleon, Louis, 369, 370, 372, 
 
 376, 379 
 Nash, Richard, 13, 14, 72, 73 et seq., 
 
 133, 139, 216, 241, 320, 324 
 Neeld, Mr., 296 
 
 Newton, Dr., of Oxford, 161 (quoted) 
 Noailles, Henri de, 278 
 Norfolk, Duke of (" Jockey "), 281, 
 
 288 
 
 O'Connell, Daniel, 292, 373 
 
 O'Connell, Morgan, 292 
 
 Ogle, Sir Thomas, 41 
 
 Oliver, Dr., 88, 117, 128 (quoted) 
 
 Opdam, Dutch Commander, 43 
 
 Orange, Prince of, 117, 130 
 
 Orkney, Countess of. See Villiers, 
 
 Elizabeth 
 Overbury, Sir Thomas, 26 
 
 Paget, Lady Jane, 307 
 Palmerston, Lord, 261 
 
 Parr, Dr., 221 
 
 Patmore, P. G., 374 (quoted) 
 
 Peel, Sir Robert, 315 
 
 Pelham, Miss, 177 
 
 Pembroke, Lady, 177 
 
 Pembroke, Lord, 278 
 
 Pepys, Samuel, 30, 39, 42, 43, 44, 
 
 45,49 
 Petersham, Lord, 208 
 Pierrepoint, Henry, 213, 228, 236, 
 
 244, 297, 316 
 Pitt, Miss, 184 
 Pitt, William, 139, 199 
 Polnitz, Baron, 67 
 Pope, Alexander, 39 (quoted), 43 
 
 (quoted), 65, 66, 67 (quoted), in, 
 
 145, 146 (quoted), 149 
 Popjoy, Juliana, 96 
 Power, Margaret. See Lady Bles- 
 sington 
 Power, Mary Anne, 327, 340, 343, 
 
 348 (quoted) 
 Power, Robert, 326, 337 
 Poyer, Colonel, 73 
 Pulteney, William (later Earl of 
 
 Bath), 146 
 Purbeck, Lady, 59 
 Purbeck, Viscount, 59 
 
 Queensberry, Duchess of, 91 
 Queensberry, William Douglas, 4th 
 
 Duke of (" Old Q."). See Earl 
 
 of March 
 Quin, James (the actor), 95, 123 
 Quin, Dr., 361 
 
 Raglan, Lord, 303 
 
 Raikes, Thomas (" Apollo "), 201, 
 202 (quoted), 214, 217, 231, 241, 
 243, 247, 249, 254 et seq., 271, 
 276, 295, 305, 332, 368 
 
 Raleigh, Sir Walter, 20, 21 
 
 Rann, Jack, 178 
 
 Read, Sir William, 80 
 
 Red Dandy, The, 276 
 
 Reresby, Sir John, 34 
 
390 
 
 Index 
 
 Reynolds, George, Editor of The 
 
 Keepsake, 364 
 Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 171 
 Richmond, Duchess of, 36 
 Robinson, Sir Thomas, 138 
 Rochester, John Wilmot, Earl of, 
 
 I5» 24, 33. 42, 46, 49 et seq. 
 Rogers, Samuel, 145, 332, 383 
 
 St. Albans, Charles, 1st Duke, 
 
 182 
 Salisbury, Lady, 291 
 Sandwich, Lord, 49 
 Schulenberg, Madame, Duchess of 
 
 Kendal, 138 
 Schulenberg, Melusina, Countess of 
 
 Chesterfield, 141 
 Searle, Mrs., 195 
 Sebright, Colonel, 212 
 Sedley, Catherine, Countess of 
 
 Dorchester, 45 
 Sedley, Sir Charles, 15, 24, 40 et 
 
 seq., 50, 72, 79 
 Sefton, Earl, 214, 254, 300^ seq., 
 
 303 
 
 Selwyn, George, 15, 133, 157, 160 
 
 et seq., 175, 178, 196 
 Shakespeare, 66 
 Sharp, " Conversation," 276 
 Sheppard, Sir Fleetwood, 41 
 Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, 161, 
 
 283 
 Sheridan, Thomas (the actor), 120 
 Sheridan, Tom, 241, 263 
 Shrewsbury, Lady, 33, 38 
 Skeffington, Sir Lumley, 214, 228 
 
 et seq. 
 Smith, Captain of the Bolivar, 343 
 Smith, Sidney, 161 
 Spencer, Charles, 158 
 Spencer, Lady Diana, 184 
 Spencer, Jack, 158 
 Steele, Sir Richard, 59, 63, 65, 66, 
 
 69, 71, 72, 80, 105, 157 
 St. John, Hon. Henry, 162, 167 
 Stewart, Frances (" La Belle "), 50 
 Strauss, Ralph, 159 (quoted) 
 
 Strawbridge, Mrs., 153 
 Suckling, Sir John, 72 
 Suffolk, Earl of, 86 
 Surrey, Earl of, 20, 21 
 Swift, Barnham, Mary, 59 
 Swift, Dean, 65 
 
 Taine, M., 53 
 
 Talbot, Jack, 292 
 
 Tarleton, Sir Banastre, 240, 282 
 
 Thackeray (quoted), 63, no, 112, 
 
 1 55> 213, 218, 252, 288, 372, 
 
 380 
 Thompson, Mrs., 227 
 Thrale, Mrs., 98 
 Torriano, 277 (quoted) 
 Townsend, Lady, 167, 168 
 Turner, J. M. W., 373 
 
 Ude, Chef to the Louis XVI., 300 
 
 Villars, Mrs., 56 et seq. 
 
 Villiers, Elizabeth, 25 
 
 Villiers, Francis, 36 
 
 Villiers, George. See Buckingham 
 
 Voltaire, 65 
 
 Wadsworth, Mary, 63. 64 
 Wales, Caroline, Princess of, 301 
 Wales, Frederick, Prince of, 117, 
 
 124, 130, 148, 154 
 Wales, Princess Frederick of, 138 
 Walpole, Horace, 43, 123, 136, 139, 
 
 141, 148, 149, 151, 153, 160, 161, 
 
 163, 170, 174, 176, 177, 179 
 Warner, Rev. Richard, 75 (quoted), 
 
 112, 161, 178 
 Webster, Captain, 86, 88, 89, 90 
 Wellesley, " Long," 317 
 Wellington, Duke of, 253, 259, 303, 
 
 304, 317, 367, 373, 376 
 Wesley, Charles, 118 
 Westmoreland, Lord, 253 
 Wharton, Grace and Philip, 97 
 
Index 
 
 39i 
 
 Wheeler, Miss, 299 
 Wilberforce, William, 174 
 William III., 43, 45, 59, 69, 79, 80, 
 
 136 
 William IV., 266, 300 
 Williams, George James (" Gilly "), 
 
 160, 167, 168, 175 
 Willis, Mrs., 176 
 
 Willis, N. P., 354^ seq. (quoted) 
 Wilson, Arthur 22 (quoted) 
 Wilson, "Beau," 24, 25 
 Wood, John, of Bath, 86, 87 
 Worcester, Lord, 208 
 W3/cherley, William, 54 
 
 York, Anne Hyde, Duchess of, 46 
 York, Frederick Augustus, Duke of, 
 
 231, 240, 254, 255, 294, 309, 317 
 York, James, Duke of. See 
 
 James II. 
 York, Mary, Duchess ot, 195, 231 
 
 et seq., 254, 270, 287 
 Yarmouth, Lady. See Fagniani 
 
 Maria, 
 Yarmouth, Lord, 204, 213. 231 
 
 276, 298, 299, 301 
 
 Zamperini, Mademoiselle 16^ 
 
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