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125
MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART
NATIONAL BUREAU OF STANDARDS-1963-A
.
Position D 2
11/74
Filming Unit no.
Lens no. Es 356
AUTHOR: Jerrold, Mrs. Clare
Armstrong (Bridgman)
TITLE: The beaux and the
dandies. ..
PLACE: New York
DATE: 1910
VOLUME
CALL: £33 MASTER
NO. - NEG. NO.
AUTHOR: Jerrold, Mrs. Clare
Armstrong (Bridgman)
TITLE: The beaux and the
dandies ...
PLACE: New York DATE: I1910
IMICROFILMED 1982
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
PHOTODUPLICATION SERVICE
ee ia ed SE EE IE
THE BEAUX AND THE DANDIES
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(ZZ ) “ Ze. s
Yi OTE 7s yerre Leen lr 7/2 Tine oon
’ 7
HE BEAUX AND
THE DANDIES
AND D'ORSAY
COURTS
NASH, BRUMMELL,
WITH THEIR
CLARE JERROLD
eb
Author o
hg “p
f
etc.
*”
icturesque Sussex,
“Victoria the Good
WITH FRONTISPIECE AND SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS
JOHN LANE COMPANY
Lipp AR AYIT
LiBHALI AG
PRINTED BY
HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.
*"1 LONDON AND AYLESBURY,
. ENGLASD, «; *
il i Je re
PREFACE
A DESERVEDLY popular sentiment allows 2
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.
YyIROARLAYID DHE
LIBHAL LAG J FULD
PRINTED BY
HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,
. : : JONDON AND AYLESBURY,
. ENGLAND, ¢ § * *
so. * a Sh
PREFACE
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.
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
‘nduce 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,
Gea A
GF
le
ei
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
GEORGE BRYAN BRUMMELL, OF THE PRINCE'S OWN
By James Holmes.
GEORGE VILLIERS, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM . . .
By Verelst.
CHARLES, LORD BUCKHURST, EARL OF DORSET
By Kneller.
ROBERT FEILDING
By Wissing.
RICHARD NASH, THE “« KING'’' OF BATH
By T. Hudson.
PHILIP DORMER STANHOPE, EARL OF CHESTERFIELD
By W. Hoare.
THE DUKE OF QUEENSBERRY, “orp
From a contemporary print.
GEORGE SELWYN, THE HONOURABLE RICHARD EDGCUMBE, AND
“GILLY’ WILLIAMS . . .
Painted by Reynolds for Horace Walpole.
THE WIG IN ENGLAND: A MACARONI READY FOR THE PANTHEON .
From a contemporary print.
CHARLES JAMES FOX IN HIS ANTI-DANDY DAYS
By Karl Anton Hickel.
BEAU BRUMMELL
By John Cooke.
A BALL AT ALMACK’S : :
A Sketch sold with Brummell’s effects.
BEAU BRUMMELL AS AN OLD MAN AT CAEN
From a contemporary print.
A SUGGESTED STATUE TO BRUMMELL AND GEORGE 1IV.
From ‘ Punch.”
KING GEORGE IV.
By Hoppner.
COUNT ALFRED D’ORSAY
Drawn on stone from life by R. J. Lade.
THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON
By Count D’Orsay.
Frontispiece
PAGE
29
55
77
99
The Beaux and the Dandies
CHAPTER 1
We all owe much to our tailors in one sense, many of us in more
senses than one. How shall society repay its tailor P—2Punck, 1845.
TT 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.
3 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
The Beaux and the Dandies
CHAPTER 1
We all owe much to our tailors in one sense, many of us in more
senses than one. How shall society repay its tailor ?—2Punck, 1845.
TT 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
-
10 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 1s “2a
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 3 he is inspired with Cloth, a Poet of Cloth.
What Teufelsdrockh would call
tripping off neither coat, shoes, nor s )
wi ae a run, and went beyond him one Don
fires inches and three-quarters ; measured, upon my soul,
tain Pately’s own standard. He :
OP A was watched with interest in Joni
s well as in Bath. Horace Walpole mentions him i5] is
ix: of 1755 :—I, t'other night at White's, Pog 5
staal: entry in our ps a f >
d Montford bets sir Jo
wager-book. ~~ ¢ Lor or on en
tv cuineas that Nash outlives Ci ! ow ©
wy ih two old creatures, selected for their i
should live to see both their a 2 ~ ® Se
sila r : Lar,
lives." Cibber is within a few days o
wll hearty, and clear, and well. I told him ) was gad
to see him look so well. ¢Faith,’ said he, ¢it 1s very
t I look at all!’” i
A Nash! Some unkind spirit wrote a letter pur
porting to be from the old actor Quis 93 Spe
i i hrone Nash and pu
bleman, asking him to det
(Quin) into his place. A copy of this was Ny
it being found among his papers after » dest . che
disagreeable
letter stated that he was so that he
ee Bath ; that it would be happy for this ny on
: 1 ly fitt to rea
dead ; and “he is now only ftt
ood death, by which he may seave his soul and grins
re than all the profitts he can make, by his w
1 i ” etc.
tt. suppose it to be died red,” e
% hit feeling could not have been gues] os warp of
1 i 1 his memoirs, whic
his friends subscribed for 10i wi
iting : wi ption
d to be writing : with a minimum
on guineas many hundred pounds were solos,
which kept Nash going for a long while. Event y
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 £10 a 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.
“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
3 N E, E OF CHESTERFIELD
PHILIP DORMER STANHOPE, EARL
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-cight 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 2a 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 Richarp Nasu, 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, improv’d, 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
' Hiatus in original. Dr, Oliver was evidently at a loss to give aname
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
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 sufferin
that of others to escape its proper reward. :
Example
unprecedented amongst absolute monarchs,
“ READER
: “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 strenuous]
in good, hurried him to some excesses in evil. His dre
not used to be kept under by an early restraint burst
out too often into flaming acts, without waiting or 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 th 1
e offspring of
or ostentation. is ly
“The Grandson of Atlas” 131
“ 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 Bask; 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 ;
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 pheenix 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
tockings, and their great silver-buckled shoes.
and coloured stockings, g Mou:
URING 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 hos
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
i=
—
-~
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 Moli¢re’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 “golden garland” in his
waistcoat and coat covered with gold lace, his silk
stockings and high red heels. Itis 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
secker 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 ; 1 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
him 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.” ' Queen
1 He is a little fool who believes every liberty is allowed him, and for
a witty saying loses twenty friends.
138 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 fro
gs 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
once challenged Chesterfield to write
him. At once Chesterfield wrote and
two lines :
be very stupid,
a couplet upon
handed him the
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
d said : “I can’t
ild, of whom Lady Townsen ;
jag i the one should be preferred to the het
I but little difference between them ; the one 1s a
the other is Jong.” :
a once addressed a letter to Lord Ta
ke, who was given to swimming frequently in
hee . «To the Earl of Pembroke in the Thames, et
ee st Whitehall” ; and Horace Walpole says, “t =
ag to find him within a certain number o
w
i neatest mot recorded is that a Chiste)
1 1 an unkn
d on hearing of the marriage o nihowa
oh with the daughter of a notorious lady : “No
4 ’s son has married Everybody's daughter. la
He was by some of his contemporaries describe 2
« the ugliest man at Court,” and yet scarcely with go -
tion f « His figure is the worst of him, writes Mr.
W H Craig in his recent Saguean 8% hie $000
. H. 8
tunted for the pale, intellectual face
Te ; The forehead high, but Somemt . >
: d by thick, arched,
dark, cold, are surmounte
i giving a peculiar a to the fase
I The orbital cavities a
ich at once arrests notice. e : :
nas hoe the nose thin, aquiline, Pm ; po
ee #5 1 . not a badly sha
beak-like as the elder Pitt . . . not a
by any means, with firm, well-cut lips . . . teeth
discoloured.” :
SH pi he reminds us of Nash, and the Bons
ing description of him in the Pump Boon = a
about the year 1730 shows what he was like a
d. . .
Pe He wore the ornate evening dress which un hes
demanded—a peach-coloured velvet coat gsnel >
bullion in various devices, the cuffs edged = p
i |
'
{
3 y
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 :—¢ [ 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 1733, Melusina de Schulenberg,
The Burnt Will 9!
hter of the lady already mentioned Wen
ts d—of George 1., for as Walpole says, “sh
wp » The first George left a will in
Melusina,
i f money was bequeathed to M
a nm oe ig Lord Chesterfield inten
at ke al steps to recover the £40,000 thus a s
. pA King on the advice of the Loud Chamtis
i 1 20,000.
the matter by paying over ’ :
pes tached had been an x Yous
ii hat she ha
ite a young man, and t
a him to all others. After the ae
a 4 t up different establishments, she still i 1 8
: th ho itt mother—the Duchess of wi - 9
at the house next door. She We a good a g oe
1 ived him several years,
a ig whom the celebrated letters were
no chi 5
i being a natural son. : i
hi i age Chesterfield led a retired life in he
t mansion which he had built. His library wa oy
J tifal room, the walls “covered half way up my
a and classical stores of literature ; oye by 8
re, in close series, the portraits of eminen ie ors)
Doors and English, with most of whom i y 908,
sed: over these, and immediately under t e ave
4 extended all round in foot-long capitals
Horatian lines :
was very like him
libris .
Nunc . veterum . : :
Nunc . somno . et . inertibus . Horis J
; j ivia . vitea.
Lucen . solicter . jucunda . oblivia . v
i f old
On the mantelpieces and cabinets stood a
orators, interspersed with voluptuous Srp 5
1 i d airy statuettes
antique or Italian, an "
dt of nude or semi-nude opera nymp
142 The Beaux and the Dandies
Here he wrote much more than was published. «J
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’étre’ ; 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, «1 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 : 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 Q.
“The Wickedest of Wicked Old Men.”
143
The Painted Child of Dirt 146
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
: 3
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, 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?
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 expressd,
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 “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 £500. This was in 1736, and to judge 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
S0 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 “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,
“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 1715, when but twenty-four years of
age, and he was sent as Envoy-extraordinary to Spain,
where he remained from 1715 to 1717. 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” 141
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
I 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 the je 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 “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.
‘ Never, never,” was his reply ; “I 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.”
“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 1767, 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, 7%e Club.
TrackeRay paints Fleet Street in the time of
George 1. 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. F ancy 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
155
—
Sm—
—— —
ES ————————
_- I —., — I in a
II oI 9
ul
——
To SR ——EW———E
=
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), F iery Devil, Rain-
bow, and others, each one painted in bright colours, and
hanging threateningly over the pedestrians. But the street
1s 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. F ootpads 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 1 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 So
handsomely and to live softly, to share in intrigues an
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. Martins Street,
{o)
158 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 gamblers 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 : Footmen 159
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’ 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 is/curious 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 1719, 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 : “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
162 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. «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: «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 : « Faites place pour monsieur, c'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 2” 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
WILLIAMS
AND “Gry”
GEORGE SELWYN, THE HONOURABLE RICHARD EDGCUMBE,
Painted by Reynolds for Horace Walpole
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 I
will send you by the first opportunity if 1 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.”
168 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 : “1 wish 1 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”
(Mlle. 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. 1 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. 1 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 18th : « 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 “ has a complete dore 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
a -
A BE —E—
- ——.....T—
a
—- . _- :
170 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 Duc, 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 outré, 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.”
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
172 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 : “ 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 ¢ Manners make the man!” "
« How does your new horse answer ?” asked the
Duke of Cumberland of Selwyn. «I really don’t know,
for 1 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, believin
the reflection to be on Lady Portsmouth. f
: 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, wh
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
troduction 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.”
175 11
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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
————— gg
— - w,
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 “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 “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.
petty was one of the “characters” of her time. She
was born in St. James's Street, and she died there on
August 3oth, 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. rE
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 vesonvce
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 sieiion
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 rovwdyism,
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
‘¢ 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, gives 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. “At a coffee-house which
1 frequent at the St. James's end of the town, I 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 ; OF 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.”
182 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 : «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-idea’'d 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 Jez 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.”
“Then he does not wear them out in practice,” was
Beauclerk’s sharp but quietly uttered answer. Topham
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184 The Beaux and the Dandies
Beauclerk was once assisting Miss Pitt, sister to Lord
Chatham, out of a carriage, 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
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 1775 ; 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.
—
186 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
« 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
Ee
THE WIG IN ENGLAND
A Macaroni ready for the Pantheon
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 ¢ 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 : 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.
190 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. 1 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 191
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
« 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.
ORD 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, Brummell’s 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 dencting 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 meeurs !
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 1814 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 IIL
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
196 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 roth 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 :
«1 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
ih
I
|
13
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a
}
{
-
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.
« 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 “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 “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 the 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 hairdresserwent 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
« 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, “ the poet’s hyper-
bole about the lady might be applied to his coat, and
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 outré ; and, though considerable time and
attention were devoted to his toilette, it never, when once
accomplished, seemed to occupy his attention. His
manners were €asy, polished, and gentlemanlike, stamped
with what St. Simon would call ‘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
Brummell’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
Sévigné and Madame de Grignan, I bought at the sale of
his effects at Robins’ auction rooms for 125 guineas.
«Jt 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, serviable, without any
shuffling or tortuous policy or meanness, or manceuvring
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 dassesse 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
ua TRI once we TESS
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”
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 : “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 7 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 a i ra Ts
for the service of the Commander of the Forces, the Saparen Oe a ps Tinie
officer retorted that he would give it up neither to Lord | Tend 50 Sr walled to Snip Remab and on put merged
Wellington nor to Old Nick himself. “Then I must | girly Vaio ishs ir
send for the provost hall h . 5 «A person, my dear, who will probably come and speak to us; and if
be " P -marsha b whose prisoner you will he enters into conversation, be careful to give him a favourable impression
until court-martialled for disobedience,” was the reply of you, for,” and she sunk her voice to a whisper, ‘he is the celebrated
Whereupon the officer retired. Freemantle, meeting Ys. Brummell» yess: Zit of Bane]
Brumme ite’ te Bind
Bin A ai of this incident, and the Bean | N 1811, during some structural alterations at White's,
: een in your place, Freemantle, | the famous Bow Window was built out over the
CHAPTER XIII
i
. f 1 - 1 t]
kick the fellow downstairs.”
he and his set constituted themselves the high priests of
fashion, and the “ 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.
I —— gi —
a ae TO —
- " Ch "
C—O
I a ss SAE 2
a
211 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 nommé,” 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.
«I.ice him, Gunter, i-ice him!” lisped Alvanley,
who had a slight fault in his speech.
Another habitué 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
“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 “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 1860, he says :
« How insufferably odious, with a few brilliant ex-
ceptions, were the dandies of forty years ago. They
Beau or Prince 214
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
:n 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 Princes 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 én régle 5
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.”
TT -—
I A P—
——
i
i,
WW
i
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 finger, 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 pn
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 Barrymore, 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-
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 finger, 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 Barrymore, 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-
218 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 1V., 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
‘n 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 5 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. “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 ! 7
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 “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
220 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.
Therc 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 “ 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:
«1 think we had better order Mr. Brummell’s 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 friends 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.
“ George, Ring the Bell” 22
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, «Now, I'll bet you
a pot that’s him.” Then one came up to him, saying,
« 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 :
«] 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, ‘“ 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
‘ts 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, 1 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 ° Tom,” and let myself dine
with him.”
14
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.
HEN 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 ali her
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
:t 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
From thence it was transferred with
the staircase of the house which
He also said that Brummell
ds a conversation with
the ground floor.
its owner to the foot of
he condescended to visit.”
would not enter a coach, and recor
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 th
double distress! for ork legs, excruciating Wes y :
Once, when chair and carriage alike failed Rin he
had to go to a party in a hackney coach. He thou ht he
entered the house without this painful fact being on
but as he ascended the stairs a footman stopped him 0
his horror and disgust, with : “ Pardon me, sir but d
oR Jw there is a straw in your shoe ?” iii 2
It was Brummell who gave his sobri
This Dandy had a ot curly So ine bo ig
driving in a curricle with a French poodle by his side
met Brummell and stopped to speak with him. « Ah pn
said the Beau, “a family vehicle, I suppose.” And B
was known as Poodle ever after. ae
Brummell valued, or pretended to value, his own
favours highly, as many anecdotes show. An aspirin
young man was once introduced to him as desirin bis
patronage, but he did not eventually shine in the S
of the Dandies. “And yet I did my best for him,” said
Brummell commiseratingly. “I once gave him arm
all the way from White’s to Watier’s,” that is fo 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 © repa
it; upon which he thus complained to a friend : in
you know what has happened ?” “No.” « Why, do
Io know, there’s that fellow, Tomkins, who oe me
ve hundred pounds, has had the face to ask me for it;
and vet I h )
a ave called the dog ‘Tom,’ and let myself dine
14
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 Danby,
Nee 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. Qat-
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, « 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, “ 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 3
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 :
“ 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 : “ I—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 ?” 23%
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 féte 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 féte 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,
“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
Brummell’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
Le}
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 Iwas on the eve of being torn from Lady and
Brummell’s 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 ‘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 uth my friend, and said to me, and
I can tell you they were the sweetest accents that ever fell
on my ear,
“¢ 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 finding 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. ; 3
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, «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 £10, 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 : “ 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: “ 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 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, “1 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 cd 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 :
0
George Brummell
A BALL AT ALMACK’S
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 Staél, Lewis, Horace
Twiss, and the like, most damnably. They persuaded
Madame de Staél that Alvanley had a hundred thousand a
year, etc., etc., till she praised him to his face for hjs beauty,
and made a set at him for ,» and a hundred fooleries
besides. The truth is, that though I gave up the business
carly, 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. “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 F rance,” 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 1816 that he was at
the very end of every resource, and would have to leave
the country that night. Though there were many people
15
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, 1816, 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 Scrorek,
“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 praR GEORGE,
“’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 persons. 1 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, 1 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.”
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.
THE Beau’s life in Calais became very methodical ; he
rose at nine, and breakfasted on café au lait, 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. 7 :
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 (5
Gibbs. Brummell was astounded ; then, in an access of
rage, shouted: “Why, you little rascal ! are yox 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. “ 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 ;
a ———
ris TE —
————
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 1818 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
to suppress them! Upon Murray saying he really had
Brummell’s Diary 25¢
some idea of going to Calais to treat with Brummell «1
(Moore) asked him (Scrope Davies was by) what he would
give me for a volume in the style of the ¢ Fudges,” on
his correspondence and interviews with Brummell.
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