before the King one syllable of the speech upon his monument; and
Gifford's statement is fully confirmed both by Isaac Reed (as above)
and by Maltby, the friend of Roger and Horne Tooke. Beckford _made_
a "remonstrance speech" to the King; but the speech on Beckford's
monument is the after speech written for Beckford by Horne Tooke.--_See
Mitford, Gray, and Mason's Correspondence_, pp. 438, 439.--_Cuningham's
Note to Walpole_, v. 239.
Such is the historic worth of this strange piece of monumental bombast,
upon which Pennant made this appropriate comment:--
The things themselves are neither scarce nor rare,
The wonder's how the devil they got there.
[Illustration: Mr. John Farquhar over the ruins of Fonthill.]
[Illustration: Beau Brummel. (_From a miniature._)]
Beau Brummel.
This celebrated leader of fashion in the times of the Regency--George
Bryan Brummel--was born June 7, 1778. His grandfather was a pastrycook
in Bury Street, St. James's, who, by letting off a large portion of his
house, became a moneyed man. While Brummel's father was yet a boy, Mr.
Jenkinson came to lodge there, and this led to the lad being employed
in a Government office, when his lodger and patron had attained to
eminence; he was subsequently private secretary to Lord Liverpool, and
at his death, left the Beau little less than 30,000_l._ Brummel was
sent to Eton, and thence to Oxford, and at sixteen he was gazetted to a
cornetcy in the 10th Hussars, at that time commanded by the Prince of
Wales, to whom he had been presented on the Terrace at Windsor, when
the Beau was a boy at Eton. He became an associate of the Prince, then
two-and-thirty, but who, according to Mr. Thomas Raikes, disdained
not to take lessons in dress from Brummel at his lodgings. Thither
would the future King of nations wend his way, where, absorbed in the
mysteries of the toilet, he would remain till so late an hour that he
sometimes sent his horses away, and insisted on Brummel giving him a
quiet dinner, which generally ended in a deep potation.
Brummel's assurance was one of his earliest characteristics. A great
law lord, who lived in Russell Square, one evening gave a ball, at
which J., one of the beauties of the time, was present. Numerous
were the applications made to dance with her; but being as proud as
she was beautiful, she refused them all, till the young Hussar made
his appearance; and he having proffered to hand her out, she at once
acquiesced, greatly to the wrath of the disappointed candidates. In
one of the pauses of the dance, he happened to find himself close to
an acquaintance, when he exclaimed, "Ha! you here? Do, my good fellow,
tell me who that ugly man is leaning against the chimney-piece." "Why,
surely you must know him," replied the other, "'tis the master of the
house." "No, indeed," said the Cornet, coolly; "how should I? I never
was invited."
Captain Jesse, the biographer of Brummel, has drawn his portrait at
about this time. "His face was rather long and complexion fair; his
whiskers inclined to sandy, and hair light brown. His features were
neither plain nor handsome; but his head was well shaped, the forehead
being unusually high; showing, according to phrenological development,
more of the mental than the animal passions--the bump of self-esteem
was very prominent. His countenance indicated that he possessed
considerable intelligence, and his mouth betrayed a strong disposition
to indulge in sarcastic humour: this was predominant in every feature,
the nose excepted, the natural regularity of which, though it had
been broken by a fall from his charger, preserved his features from
degenerating into comicality. His eyebrows were equally expressive with
his mouth; and while the latter was giving utterance to something very
good-humoured or polite, the former, and the eyes themselves, which
were grey and full of oddity, could assume an expression that made the
sincerity of his words very doubtful. His voice was very pleasing."
Brummel was one of the first who revived and improved the taste for
dress, and his great innovation was effected upon neckcloths; they were
then worn without stiffening of any kind, and bagged out in front,
rucking up to the chin in a roll: to remedy this obvious awkwardness
and inconvenience, he used to have his slightly starched; and a
reasoning mind must allow that there is not much to object to in this
reform. He did not, however, like the dandies, test their fitness
for use by trying if he could raise three parts of their length by
one corner without their bending; yet, it appears that if the cravat
was not properly tied at the first effort, or inspiring impulse, it
was always rejected. His valet was coming down stairs one day with a
quantity of tumbled neckcloths under his arm, and, being interrogated
on the subject, solemnly replied, "Oh, they are _our_ failures."
Practice like this, of course, made Brummel perfect; and his tie soon
became a model that was imitated but never equalled. The method by
which this most important result was attained, was thus told to Captain
Jesse:--"The collar, which was always fixed to his shirt, was so large
that, before being folded down, it completely hid his head and face;
and the white neckcloth was at least a foot in height. The first _coup
d'archet_ was made with the shirt-collar, which he folded down to its
proper size; and Brummel, then standing before the glass, with his chin
poked up to the ceiling, by the gentle and gradual declension of the
lower jaw, creased the cravat to reasonable dimensions, the form of
each succeeding crease being perfected with the shirt which he had just
discarded."
"Brummel's morning dress was similar to that of every other gentleman.
Hessians and pantaloons, or top-boots and buckskins, with a blue coat
and a light or buff-coloured waistcoat, of course fitting to admiration
on the best figure in England. His dress of an evening was a blue
coat and white waistcoat, black pantaloons, which buttoned tight to
the ankle, striped stockings, and opera-hat; in fact he was always
carefully dressed, but never the slave of fashion.
"Brummel's tailors were Schweitzer and Davidson in Cork Street; Weston;
and a German of the name of Meyer, who lived in Conduit Street. The
trousers which opened at the bottom of the leg, and were closed by
buttons and loops, were invented either by Meyer or Brummel. The Beau,
at any rate, was the first who wore them, and they immediately became
quite the fashion and continued so for some years."
Brummel was addicted to practical jokes, one of which may be related.
The victim was an old French emigrant, whom he had met on a visit
to Woburn or Chatsworth, and into whose hair-pouch he managed to
introduce some finely-powdered sugar. Next morning the poor Marquis,
quite unconscious of his head being so well-sweetened, joined the
breakfast-table as usual; but scarcely had he made his bow and plunged
his knife into the Perigord pie before him, than the flies began to
desert the walls and windows to settle upon his head. The weather was
exceedingly hot; the flies of course numerous, and even the honeycomb
and marmalade upon the table seemed to have lost all attraction for
them. The Marquis relinquished his knife and fork to drive off the
enemy with his handkerchief. But scarcely had he attempted to renew
his acquaintance with the Perigord pie, than back the whole swarm
came, more teazingly than ever. Not a wing was missing. More of the
company who were not in the secret, could not help wondering at this
phenomenon, as the buzzing grew louder and louder every moment. Matters
grew still worse when the sugar, melting, poured down the Frenchman's
brow and face in thick streams; for his tormentors then changed their
ground of action, and having thus found a more vulnerable part, nearly
drove him mad with their stings. Unable to bear it any longer, he
clasped his head with both hands, and rushed out of the room in a cloud
of powder, followed by his persevering tormentors, and the laughter of
the company.
Brummel was the autocrat of the world in which he moved. It has been
said that Madame de Staël was in awe of him, and considered her having
failed to please him as her greatest misfortune; while the Prince of
Wales having neglected to call upon her, she placed only as a secondary
cause of lamentation. The great French authoress, however, was not
without reason in her regrets; to offend or not to please Brummel was
to lose caste in the fashionable world, to be exposed to the most
cutting sarcasm and the most poignant ridicule.
Captain Jesse thus tells the story of Brummel's _cutting_ quarrel with
the Prince of Wales. Lord Alvanley, Brummel, Henry Pierrepoint, and
Sir Harry Mildmay, gave at the Hanover Square Rooms a fête, which was
called the Dandies' Ball. Alvanley was a friend of the Duke of York;
Harry Mildmay, young, and had never been introduced to the Prince
Regent; Pierrepoint knew him slightly, and Brummel was at daggers
drawn with his Royal Highness. No invitation was, however, sent to the
Prince, but the ball excited much interest and expectation, and to the
surprise of the Amphitryons, a communication was received from his
Royal Highness intimating his wish to be present. Nothing, therefore,
was left but to send him an invitation, which was done in due form,
and in the name of the four spirited givers of the ball; the next
question was how were they to receive the guest, and which, after some
discussion, was arranged thus:--When the approach of the Prince was
announced, each of the four gentlemen took in due form a candle in
his hand. Pierrepoint, as knowing the Prince, stood nearest the door
with his wax-light; and Mildmay, as being young and void of offence,
opposite. Alvanley, with Brummel opposite, stood immediately behind the
other two. The Prince at length arrived, and, as was expected, spoke
civilly and with recognition to Pierrepoint, and then turned and spoke
a few words to Mildmay; advancing, he addressed several sentences to
Alvanley; and then turned towards Brummel, looked at him, but as if he
did not know who he was, or why he was there, and without bestowing on
him the slightest recognition. It was then, at the very instant he
passed on, that Brummel, seizing with infinite fun and readiness the
notion that they were unknown to each other, said aloud for the purpose
of being heard, "Alvanley, who's your fat friend?" Those who were in
front, and saw the Prince's face, say that he was cut to the quick by
the aptness of the remark.
[Illustration: Lord Alvanley. A pillar of White's.]
Mr. Grantley Berkeley (in his _Life and Recollections_) relates the
story less circumstantially:--"There is a well-known anecdote I am able
to correct, given to me by a medical friend of mine, who had it from
the late Henry Pierrepoint, brother to the late Lord Manners:--'We
of the Dandy Club issued invitations to a ball from which Brummel
had influence enough to get the Prince excluded. Some one told the
Prince this, upon which his Royal Highness wrote to say he intended
to have the pleasure of being at our ball. A number of us lined the
entrance-passage to receive the Prince, who, as he passed along, turned
from side to side to shake hands with each of us; but when he came to
Brummel, he passed him without the smallest notice, and turned to shake
hands with the man opposite to Brummel. As the Prince turned from that
man--I forget who it was--Brummel leaned forward across the passage,
and said, in a loud voice, 'Who is your fat friend?' We were all
dismayed; but in those days Brummel could do no wrong."
The following story was supplied to Captain Jesse by a correspondent.
The Beau, it appears, had a great _penchant_ for snuff-boxes:--"Brummel
had a collection chosen with singular sagacity and good taste; and one
of them had been seen and admired by the Prince, who said, 'Brummel,
this box must be mine: go to Gray's and order any box you like in lieu
of it.' Brummel begged that it might be one with his Royal Highness'
miniature; and the Prince, pleased and flattered at the suggestion,
gave his assent to the request. Accordingly, the box was ordered, and
Brummel took great pains with the pattern and form, as well as with the
miniature and diamonds round it. When some progress had been made, the
portrait was shown to the Prince; who was charmed with it, suggested
slight improvements and alterations, and took the liveliest interest
in the work as it proceeded. All in fact was on the point of being
concluded when the scene at Claremont took place; [where this writer
describes the quarrel as originating, through the Prince preventing
Brummel from joining a party, on the plea of Mrs. Fitzherbert disliking
him.] A day or two after this, Brummel thought he might as well go to
Gray's and inquire about the box; he did so, and was told that special
directions had been sent by the Prince of Wales that the box was not to
be delivered: it never was, nor was the one returned for which it was
to have been an equivalent. It was this, I believe, more than anything
besides, which induced Brummel to bear himself with such unbending
hostility towards the Prince of Wales. He felt that he had treated him
unworthily, and from this moment he indulged himself by saying the
bitterest things. When pressed by poverty, however, and, as I suppose,
broken in spirit, he at a later period recalled the Prince's attention
to the subject of the snuff-box. Colonel Cooke (who was at Eton called
'Cricketer Cooke,' afterwards known as 'Kangaroo Cooke'), when passing
through Calais, saw Brummel, who told him the story, and requested
that he would inform the Prince Regent that the promised box had never
been given, and that he was now constrained to recall the circumstance
to his recollection. The Regent's reply was: 'Well, Master Kang, as
for the box it is all nonsense; but I suppose the poor devil wants a
hundred guineas, and he shall have them;' and it was in this ungracious
manner that the money was sent, received, and acknowledged. I have
heard Brummel speak of the affair of the snuff-box, but I never heard
him say that he received the hundred guineas."
Brummel, late in life, stood to his Whig colours. His evening dress
consisted of a blue coat, with velvet collar and the consular button;
a buff waistcoat, black trousers and boots. His white neckcloth was
unexceptionable. The only articles of jewellery about him were a plain
ring and a massive chain of Venetian ducat-gold, which served as a
guard to his watch, and was evidently as much for use as ornament, only
two links of it were to be seen; those passed from the buttons of his
waistcoat to the pocket; the chain was peculiar, and was of the same
pattern as those suspended _in terrorem_ outside the principal entrance
to Newgate. The ring was dug out on the Field of the Cloth of Gold by a
labourer, who sold it to Brummel when he was at Calais. An opera-hat,
and gloves which were held in his hand, completed an attire that being
remarkably quiet, could never have attracted attention on any other
person. His _mise_ was peculiar only for its extreme neatness, and
wholly at variance with an opinion very prevalent among those who were
not personally acquainted with him, that he owed his reputation to his
tailor, or to an exaggerated style of dress.
Brummel, however, maintained his supremacy in the world of fashion for
years after the Prince had _cut_ him. "But though even royal disfavour
could not seriously lower him, he managed in the end to do that which
no one else could do, he ruined himself; the gaming table, in the
long run, deprived him of all his fortune. Then came bills to supply
the deficiencies of the hour, and with that the consummation which
they never fail to bring about when necessity has recourse to them. A
quarrel ensuing with the friends joined in one of these acceptances,
and who accused him of taking the lion's share, he was obliged to quit
England and take up his abode at Calais. It has been said, ludicrously
enough, that Brummel and Bonaparte fell together. The Moscow of the
former, according to his own account, was a crooked sixpence, to
the possession of which his good fortune was attached, but which he
unfortunately lost.
"But, if he had lost his magical sixpence, he had not yet exhausted all
his friends, from some of whom he was continually receiving even large
sums of money, so much in one instance as a thousand pounds. He was
thus enabled to furnish his lodgings according to his usual refined
habits, and living much retired, he set seriously to work in acquiring
the French language, and succeeded.
"His resources now decreased. Some friends were lost to him by death,
others, perhaps, grew weary of relieving him. A visit of George IV.
held out to him a momentary gleam of hope. But the king came to Calais,
and did not send for him, or in any way notice him. Still he was not
wholly bereft of friends, but continued from time to time to receive
remittances from England; and at length, by the intervention of the
Duke of Wellington with King William, Brummel was appointed English
Consul in the capital of Lower Normandy. By this time he was deeply
involved in debt, and when he had settled at Caen, the large deductions
made from his income to discharge the arrears of debt incurred at
Calais left him an insufficiency for a man of his habits. He became as
deeply involved at Caen as he had before been at Calais. Next, upon his
own showing of its uselessness, the consulate at Caen was abolished,
and he was left penniless. He obtained funds from England. But he had
more than one attack of paralysis. He was flung into prison at Caen
by his French creditors, and confined in a wretched, filthy den, with
felons for his companions. He was enabled by aid from England to leave
his prison, after more than two months' confinement. Sickness, loss
of memory, absolute imbecility, and finally, inability to distinguish
bread from meat, or wine from coffee, now came with their attendant
ills. His friends obtained him admission into the hospital of the _Bon
Sauveur_, and he was placed in a comfortable room, that had once been
occupied by the celebrated Bourrienne. Here he died on the evening of
the 30th of March, 1840."[6]
[6] Abridged from Sir Bernard Burke's _Family Romance_, vol. i.
The different stages of mental decay through which this unfortunate man
passed, before he became hopelessly imbecile, it is painful to read of.
One of his most singular eccentricities was, on certain nights some
strange fancy would seize him that it was necessary he should give a
party, and he accordingly invited many of the distinguished persons
with whom he had been intimate in former days, though some of them
were already dead. On these gala evenings he desired his attendant to
arrange his apartment, set out a whist table, and light the _bougies_
(he burnt only tallow at the time), and at eight o'clock this man,
to whom he had already given his instructions, opened wide the door
of his sitting-room, and announced the "Duchess of Devonshire." At
the sound of her grace's well-remembered name, the Beau, instantly
rising from his chair, would advance towards the door, and greet the
cold air from the staircase as if it had been the beautiful Georgiana
herself. If the dust of that fair creature could have stood reanimate
in all her loveliness before him, she would not have thought his bow
less graceful than it had been thirty-five years before; for, despite
poor Brummel's mean habiliments and uncleanly person, the supposed
visitor was received with all his former courtly ease of manner, and
the earnestness that the pleasure of such an honour might be supposed
to excite. "Ah! my dear Duchess," faltered the Beau, "how rejoiced am
I to see you; so very amiable of you at this short notice! Pray bury
yourself in this arm-chair: do you know it was a gift to me from the
Duchess of York, who was a very kind friend of mine; but, poor thing,
you know she is no more." Here the eyes of the old man would fill with
the tears of idiocy, and, sinking into the _fauteuil_ himself, he would
sit for some time looking vacantly at the fire, until Lord Alvanley,
Worcester, or any other old friend he chose to name, was announced,
when he again rose to receive them and went through a similar
pantomime. At ten his attendant announced the carriages, and this farce
was at an end.
Brummel's sayings are not brilliant in point. They doubtless owed their
success to the inimitable impudence with which they were uttered. We
have thrown together a few of his many repartees.
Dining at a gentleman's house in Hampshire, where the champagne was
very far from being good, he waited for a pause in the conversation,
and then condemned it by raising his glass, and saying loud enough to
be heard by every one at the table, "John, give me some more of that
cider."
"Brummel, you were not here yesterday," said one of his club friends;
"where did you dine?" "Dine! why with a person of the name of R----s. I
believe he wishes me to notice him, hence the dinner; but, to give him
his due, he desired that I would make up the party myself, so I asked
Alvanley, Mills, Pierrepoint, and a few others; and I assure you the
affair turned out quite unique; there was every delicacy in or out of
season; the sillery was perfect, and not a wish remained ungratified;
but, my dear fellow, conceive my astonishment when I tell you that Mr.
R----s had the assurance to sit down and dine with us."
An acquaintance having, in a morning call, bored him dreadfully
about some tour he made in the north of England, inquired with great
pertinacity of his impatient listener which of the lakes he preferred?
When Brummel, quite tired of the man's tedious raptures, turned his
head imploringly towards his valet, who was arranging something in the
room, and said, "Robinson?" "Sir." "Which of the lakes do I admire?"
"Windermere, sir," replied that distinguished individual. "Ah, yes;
Windermere," repeated Brummel; "so it is--Windermere."
Having been asked by a sympathising friend how he happened to get such
a severe cold, his reply was, "Why, do you know, I left my carriage
yesterday evening, on my way to town from the Pavilion, and the infidel
of a landlord put me into a room with a damp stranger."
On being asked by one of his acquaintance, during a very unseasonable
summer, if he had ever seen such an one, he replied, "Yes; last winter."
Having fancied 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 place
it was, "that it was an exceedingly good house for stopping one night
in."
On the night that he quitted London, the Beau was seen as usual at
the opera, but he left early, and, without returning to his lodgings,
stepped into a chaise which had been procured for him by a noble
friend, and met his own carriage a short distance from town. Travelling
all night as fast as four post-horses and liberal donations could
enable him, the morning dawned on him at Dover, and immediately on his
arrival there he hired a small vessel, put his carriage on board, and
was landed in a few hours on the other side. By this time the West-end
had awoke and missed him, particularly his tradesmen.
It was while promenading one day on the pier, and not long before he
left Calais, that an old associate of his, who had just arrived by the
packet from England, met him unexpectedly in the street, and, cordially
shaking hands with him, said, "My dear Brummel, I am so glad to to
see you, for we had heard in England that you were dead; the report,
I assure you, was in very general circulation when I left." "Mere
stock-jobbing, my good fellow--mere stock-jobbing," was the Beau's
reply.