mixed concourse, if we are to believe the same authority: "Every upstart
of fortune, harnessed in the trappings of the mode, presents himself at
Bath, as in the very focus of observation. Clerks and factors from the
East Indies, loaded with the spoil of plundered provinces; planters,
negro-drivers, and hucksters, from our American plantations, enriched they
know not how; agents, commissaries, and contractors, who have fattened, in
two successive wars, on the blood of the nation; usurers, brokers, and
jobbers of every kind; men of low birth, and no breeding, have found
themselves suddenly translated into a state of affluence, unknown to
former ages; and no wonder that their brains should be intoxicated with
pride, vanity, and presumption. Knowing no other criterion of greatness
but the ostentation of wealth, they discharge their affluence, without
taste or conduct, through every channel of the most absurd extravagance;
and all of them hurry to Bath, because here, without any further
qualification, they can mingle with the princes and nobles of the land.
Even the wives and daughters of low tradesmen, who, like shovel-nosed
sharks, prey on the blubber of those uncouth whales of fortune, are
infected with the same rage of displaying their importance; and the
slightest indisposition serves them for a pretext to insist on being
conveyed to Bath, where they may hobble country-dances and cotillons among
lordlings, squires, counsellors, and clergy. These delicate creatures
from Bedfordbury, Butcher-row, Crutched-friars, and Botolph-lane, cannot
breathe in the gross air of the lower town, or conform to the vulgar rules
of a common lodging-house: the husband, therefore, must provide an entire
house or elegant apartments in the new buildings. Such is the composition
of what is called fashionable company at Bath."
XLIII
What, however, of the literary celebrities, visitors or residents, or of
the statesmen, the naval and military commanders, who were frequenting
Bath at the time when that jaundiced criticism was penned. Dr. Johnson was
then taking the waters, which are said by a later authority to taste of
"warm smoothin'-irons;" Gainsborough alternately painted and bathed; while
the Earl of Chatham and his still greater son; Nelson, Wolfe, Sheridan,
and Goldsmith, Wordsworth, Southey, Jane Austin, and Landor, helped to
sustain the repute of this, which Landor called the next most beautiful
place in the world to Florence, well on into the next century.
[Sidenote: _THE BATH OF LONG AGO_]
A diarist of over a century ago tells us how he went to Bath, and what he
saw and did there. This was the Reverend Thomas Campbell, a lively
Irishman (notwithstanding his Scottish name), who journeyed to England in
1775, and visited Johnson and other literary bigwigs in London, coming to
Bath on April 28, to take the waters. The coach set out from the New
Church in the Strand (by which, no doubt, Saint Mary-le-Strand is
indicated) at six o'clock in the morning, and came to Speenhamland
("Spinomland," says the clergyman in his diary), where they lay. The
country, he remarks, was very rich from London to this place, yet it was
so level that there was scarce a good prospect the whole way, unless
Clieveden, near Maidenhead Bridge could be so called.
[Illustration: OLD PULTENEY BRIDGE.]
When the coach resumed its journey the next day--the passengers,
doubtless, lightened in pocket by that "long bill" of the "Pelican" at
Speenhamland--the bleakness of Marlborough Downs communicated itself to
the air, and from Newbury to Cottenham,[8] a distance of nearly thirty
miles, the countryside was very bare of trees and herbage, in addition to
being the worst land this Irishman had seen in England, and certainly
swarming with beggars. For miles together the coach was pursued by them,
from two to nine at a time, almost all of them children. They were more
importunate than those of Ireland, or _even_ those in Wales. Poor Taffy!
When our traveller reached Bath he rejoiced greatly, and, the next day
being Sunday, went to the Abbey Church with other fashionables, and heard
a sorry discourse, wretchedly delivered. Afterwards, in the Pump Room,
where the yawning visitors were assembled, he met Lady Molyneux, who asked
him to dinner, where he spent the pleasantest day since he came to
England, for there were five or six lively Irish girls who sang and
danced, and did everything but agree among themselves. "Women," remarks
our diarist, "are certainly more envious than men, or at least they
discover it upon more trifling occasions, and they cannot bear with
patience that one of their party should obtain a preference of attention;
this was thoroughly exemplified this day. One of these, who was a pretty
little coquet, went home after dinner to dress for the Rooms, and her
colour was certainly altered on returning for tea; they all fell into a
titter, and one of them (who was herself painted, as I conceived) cried
out, 'Heavens, look at her cheeks!'" This, truly, was unkind, and more
certainly indiscreet. The young lady with the startling cheeks
subsequently sang a song, which somewhat surprised the clergyman, from its
breadth of idea, but the other ladies, and matrons too, "were kicking with
laughter." Presently they all went home, the ladies most affectionate
toward one another, and, says Mr. Campbell, "it is amazing what pleasure
women find in kissing each other, for they do smack amazingly."
[Sidenote: _A TORY PROPHECY_]
The worthy clergyman seems to have been introduced to the less dignified
circles of fashion. The general tone of the more exclusive sets was by no
means so lively, for it was about this time that the Indian nabobs, the
Civil servants, the retired officers of the Army and Navy and the East
India Company began to discover Bath and to settle there, filling the
place with Toryism and grumblings about "the services going to the dogs,
sir." Here is a Tory prophecy, not yet verified: "There is one comfort I
cannot have at Bath," said the Duke of Northumberland in 1779. "I like to
read the newspapers at breakfast, and at Bath the post does not come in
till one o'clock; that is a drawback to my pleasure." "So," said Lord
Mansfield, "your grace likes the _comfort_ of reading the newspapers--the
_comfort_ of reading the newspapers! Mark my words. A little sooner or
later those newspapers will most assuredly write the Dukes of
Northumberland out of their titles and possessions, and the country out of
its king. Mark my words, for this will happen."
As a prophecy, it may readily be conceded that this is an extremely bad
shot, and that Lord Mansfield by no means, either figuratively or
literally, inherited the mantle of Elijah. A hundred and twenty years have
passed since then, and there are still dukes who have not been reduced to
sweep crossings or keep chandlers' shops. True, if they have not come down
so far in the world, it is in some cases owing to American dollars; but
that is not the doing of the newspapers, one way or the other. As I have
just remarked, that was a Tory prophecy, and though my Toryism is, I
trust, of the most mediaeval and crusted kind, and wholly beyond cavil, it
may frankly be admitted here that the Party never has shone in prophecy.
Nor, for that matter, has any party. The only seers are the
leader-writers, and they never see beyond their noses.
So Principalities and Powers and Titles are at least as powerful as ever
they were, and--cynical fact--certain newspaper proprietors have been
raised to the House of Peers; a thing, we may be sure, that Lord Mansfield
never contemplated.
Many other things, however, have happened in the meanwhile. Agitation does
not pay so well as it did. The newspapers which were to do such dreadful
things have greatly increased in number, if not in power, and the contents
of them have changed radically; other times, other manners, as a glance at
even the advertisements of that date will prove.
XLIV
[Sidenote: _OLD ADVERTISEMENTS_]
The advertisement columns of a paper just over a century old often afford
amusement to those who come upon them. The manners and customs of those
times and these are so different that the very quaintness of our
forefathers' attitude of mind brings a smile upon our faces, although
those eighteenth-century forbears of ours were really very serious people
indeed, and took life, for the most part, like a dose of medicine, while
we are apt to go to the other extreme and take it like champagne. No doubt
our great-great-grandfathers would think the most sedate of us not a
little wild could they witness how we live to-day, while, in our turn, we
look back upon their times, and think times and people alike brutal. We
wonder what sort of people they were who could, in this England of ours,
offer a "Black boy for sale--docile and obedient. Answers to the name of
Peter." Yet such advertisements were common on the front page of our
newspapers once upon a time. Slavery was then a matter of course, and to
have a black page for her very own was my lady's hall-mark of "quality."
Sometimes such advertisements were embellished with little figures
supposed to represent nigger-boys.
The race of African negroes has either improved in good looks since then,
or else the engravers of that day were not very careful in portraiture.
But, indeed, black pages were almost as common as pet dogs, and were
advertised in very much the same way, and these blocks were not portraits
at all, but just printers' stock illustrations. The printer of a hundred
years ago kept a curious little assortment of advertisement blocks. If a
ship was about to sail for the colonies, it was advertised for weeks
beforehand, and in a corner of the announcement was placed something that
purported to be an illustration of the vessel. It generally looked like a
Spanish galleon strayed from the Armada of two hundred years previously,
and passengers would have been quite justified in not booking berths on so
antiquated an affair.
But perhaps the most amusing advertisements are the "Run away from his
Home" and the "Stolen" varieties, also adorned with illustrations. It
speaks very little for the morality of that age when we say that the
ordinary newspaper printer also kept these blocks in stock.
And, indeed, they seem to have frequently been required. Here is one
example out of many in the newspapers of that age:--
"STOLEN
Out of the Stable of ROBERT COLGATE,
The 24th instant August, 1780
[Illustration]
A black horse, rising five years old, thirteen Hands and a Half High,
Star in his forehead, small Ears, Mane stands up rough, being lately
rubbed off, long Tail, hangs his Tongue out often on the Road, good
Carriage; also a good Saddle, marked Barnard, with Spring Stumps.
"Whoever gives Information, so that the Said Horse may be had again,
shall receive TWO GUINEAS REWARD."
It would scarcely be possible to identify the stolen horse from the
accompanying cut. He has no long tail, as described in the advertisement,
and his tongue _doesn't_ hang out. Moreover, he is burdened with a quite
imaginary thief, who has a property devil whipping him on. The "awful
example" hanging from the gibbet appears to be made of bolsters, and to
have had, not a drop too much, but scarcely enough.
The party with hands bigger than his head, who is here seen striking a
dramatic attitude, is not a Howling Swell, although he wears his hair
parted in the middle. Appearances here (as usually was the case in the old
advertisements) are deceptive, and so far from being a Swell, Howling or
otherwise, he is really a Heartless Villain, for he is one of two
labourers who have--
"RUN AWAY.
[Illustration]
And left their families chargeable to the Parish of CLAVERTON,
THOMAS GARNER, Labourer, about five feet seven or eight Inches high;
wears his own Hair, of a light Brown Complexion; hath lately, or is
now belonging to the Militia.
"And EDWARD BROWNING, Labourer, about five Feet four or five Inches
high, wears his own Hair, of a dark complexion; was one of Lord
North's Soldiers in the last War.
"Whoever will apprehend either, or both of them, and conduct them to
the Parish Officers of Claverton aforesaid, shall receive HALF A
GUINEA for each or either of them, and THREEPENCE per Mile for every
Mile they shall travel with them."
History does not relate whether or no these gay deceivers were ever
captured. If those who sought them relied upon the illustration, it would
seem quite likely that they never were!
XLV
[Sidenote: _THE ABBEY_]
The Abbey is the very centre of Bath. Round it cluster the Municipal
Offices, the Baths, and the Pump Room, and along the broad pavements
invalids are drawn in Bath chairs--one of the five articles with which
the name of the City is indissolubly linked. When Bath chairs, Bath chaps,
Bath stone, and Bath buns are no longer so distinguished, then will come
the final crash. One need not insist so greatly upon Bath Olivers, because
they are not in every one's mouth, either literally or figuratively;
although, to be sure, they are much more exclusively a local product than
"Bath" buns; while "Bath" bricks are not made at Bath, but at Bridgewater.
The surroundings of Bath Abbey are strikingly Continental in appearance,
for that great church stands in a flagged _place_, instead of being set in
a green and shady close, as usually is the case in England. Its
surroundings have always been thronged, from the time when the Flying
Machines crawled, to when the last of the mail coaches drew up in front of
the "White Lion," in the Market Place hard by, or at the "White Hart,"
which stood until 1866, where the "Grand Pump Room" Hotel now rises. The
story of the Abbey is too long for these pages; but it is remarkable at
once for being one of the very latest Gothic buildings in the country; for
its possessing windows so large and so many that it has been called the
"Lantern of England;" for its central tower, which is not square, being
eleven feet narrower on its north and south sides than those to the east
and west; and for the prodigious number of small marble and stone memorial
tablets on its interior walls--tablets so many that they gave rise to the
famous epigram by Quin:--
"These walls, so full of monument and bust,
Shew how Bath waters serve to lay the dust."
Quite distinguished dust it is, too. Noblemen and dames of high degree;
Admirals of the Blue, the White, the Red; legal, and military, and
clerical dignitaries, and all manner of Civil servants, mostly of the
mid-eighteenth century, and chiefly hailing from India and the Colonies,
as described with much pomp and circumstance on their cenotaphs which so
thickly cover the walls, and spoil the architectural effect. "The Bath,"
was the solace of their kind, returning from the Tropics with nutmeg
livers, gout, and autocratic ways. At "the Bath" they resided on half-pay,
drank the waters, supported the local doctors, quarrelled with their
neighbours, and consistently damned all "new-fangled notions," until death
laid them by the heels.
[Illustration: BATH ABBEY: THE WEST FRONT.]
There must have been--if we are capable of believing their epitaphs--some
paragons of all the virtues in those times, and Bath seems to have claimed
them all. Here, for instance, is Alicia, Countess of Erroll, "in whom was
combined every virtue that could adorn human nature." She died young; the
world is too wicked for such.
[Sidenote: _"JACOB'S LADDER"_]
Bath Abbey is remarkable in one respect far above all the minsters and
cathedrals of England. As you stand facing the great West Front, which
looks so grim and grey upon the stony courtyard that stretches before it,
you see, flanking the immense west window, two heavy piers, terminating in
turrets. On these piers are carved the singular representations of
"Jacob's Ladder" that have given the Abbey a fame even beyond the merit
of its architecture. From near the ground-level, almost to the turrets,
this curious carving stretches, battered long years ago by the fury of an
age which prided itself on its enmity to "superstitious images," and
reduced by the further neglect of more than two hundred years to an almost
shapeless mass. The origin of this curious decoration is found in the
vision of Bishop Oliver King, who restored the then ruined Abbey in 1499.
In this vision, by which he was induced to undertake the great work, he
saw angels ascending and descending a ladder, and heard a voice say, "Let
an Olive establish a Crown, and let a King restore the Church." He
interpreted this as a Divine injunction to himself to repair the Abbey,
and accordingly commenced the work; dying, however, before it was
completed. The "ladders" have sculptured angels on them, while on the wall
above the arch of the great window is represented a great concourse of
adoring angels, with a figure of God in glory in their midst. Many of the
figures have their heads knocked off; but the whole of this sculpture is
shortly to be restored.
XLVI
Bath entered upon a dead period about 1820. For a long while the newer and
more easily reached glories of Brighton had taken the mere fashionables
away, and even the waters were less favoured. Continental wars had ceased,
and unpatriotic Britons flocked to foreign spas instead; Bath looking
idly on and letting its customers go.
[Illustration: THE ROMAN BATH, RESTORED.]
It was some ten years later that Dickens visited Bath. From what he saw
there he drew his portraits of place and persons in the "Pickwick Papers;"
and the impression after reading them is undoubtedly one of faded
gentility.
So it remained until after the visit of the British Association in 1864,
when the advice of the scientific men to the Corporation--to bring back
business by providing more up-to-date accommodation--was laid to heart,
and improvements begun. Since then the City has steadily climbed back
again to the favour of invalids and the medical profession, and new Baths
and all manner of modern appliances, a new railway station, and an air of
an enlightened modernity, bid fair to keep Bath successful against all
foreign competition for a long time to come.
[Sidenote: _MODERN BATH_]
Since this Renaissance of thirty-five years ago was begun, many things
have happened at Bath. Roman remains, more extensive than ever the bygone
generations suspected, have been discovered, and excavations have lain
bare baths long covered up by shabby and altogether undistinguished
buildings. Judicious restoration has preserved the great Roman Bath, long
a scene of wreck and shattered stones, and has brought it into use again.
This restored Bath affords perhaps the most picturesque view in the City,
for from its margin one may gaze upwards and see to great advantage the
beautiful tower of the Abbey soaring aloft; its late Gothic architecture
contrasting piquantly with the classic elegance of that restored
bathing-place, while the reflections of the columns deep down in the quiet
pool give a singularly complete sense of restfulness.
All this modern prosperity is, no doubt, very gratifying, but prosperity
means much building, and Bath has now its suburbs; uncharted stretches of
new villas, isolated, or in streets, that climb the hillsides of Combe
Down, Beechen Cliff, and Lansdowne, and help to destroy Macaulay's
well-known, if something too overdrawn, architectural picture of Bath, as
"that beautiful City which charms even eyes familiar with the masterpieces
of Bramante and Palladio, and which" (horrible literary solecism!) "the
genius of Anstey and of Smollett, of Frances Burney and of Jane Austen,
has made classic ground."
Bath, indeed, was a jewel set in midst of her picturesque amphitheatre of
rocky and wooded hills; but now that those hills and those woods are being
covered with houses whose architecture is less calculated to "charm the
eyes familiar with the masterpieces of Bramante and Palladio" than were
the buildings of a century and a half ago, the setting of the jewel is by
way of becoming tarnished. Now, also, it has been reserved to these times
of cheap railway carriage of goods for brick houses to be seen at Bath;
the one place in the world where brick never had an opportunity until
these latter days of the "combine" of the allied "Bath Stone Firms," which
has raised the price of Bath stone, so that in certain cases it has been
found cheaper to bring bricks from the Midlands to build houses in Bath
than to use the stone quarried on the spot. So, in the wilderness of new
suburbs, the traveller who is whisked away by rail to Bristol may see, to
his astonishment, amid the stone houses, rows of the most undeniable
red-brick villas. And thus has come the spirit of what the late Professor
Freeman was pleased to call "modernity" over Bath, once the peculiar
preserve of stone and Classicism.
The End
INDEX
Ailesbury, Marquis of, 183-185
Allen, Ralph, 242-250
"Allen's stall," 34-38
Anne, Queen, 6, 237, 238
Apsley House, 34-38
Arlington, Earl of, 90
Avebury, 198-203
Banks, Sir Joseph, 93
Bath, 2-15, 228-270
Batheaston, 227, 242
---- Vase, 241
Bathford, 227
Bathampton, 228
Bath stone, 223-227, 268
Bathwick, 246
Beckhampton, 203-205
Berkeley, Earls of, 82-84, 87, 89
"Berkshire Lady," the, 141-145, 158
Bladud, Prince, 231, 243
Box, 203, 223-227
---- Hill, 224, 227
---- Tunnel, 223
Brentford, 70
Calcot, 141-145
Calne, 203, 206, 209
Cherhill, 205-207
Chippenham, 17, 203, 210-215, 253
Chiswick High Road, 58, 65
Church Speen, 153, 165, 166
Coaches:--
"Beaufort Hunt," 26, 204
"Flying Machines," 5, 69, 260
"Light Post" coach, 30
Mail coaches, 10, 11, 17-19, 27
"Regulator," 16
"York House," 26
Coaching era, 4-33, 204
---- fares, 5, 28
---- miseries, 9, 15-19
Coaching notabilities:--
Chaplin, Edward, 21, 90
---- and Horne, 90
Cooper, Thomas, 21
Everett, Jack, 204
Colnbrook, 97-103
Colne, River, 96-98, 103
Corsham Regis, 218, 221-223, 224
Cranford, 82, 85, 86-89
---- Bridge, 29, 84, 97
Cross Keys, 218
Cycling records, 215-218
Darell, William, 173-182
Froxfield, 182
Fyfield, 192
Great Western Railway, 27, 74, 108-110, 124, 134, 149, 221, 227
Gunnersbury, 63, 68
Hammersmith, 58, 63
Hare Hatch, 134
Harlington, 89-91
---- Corner, 89
Harmondsworth, 94-96
Henry VIII., 13-138
Highwaymen, 40-45, 56, 67-69, 71, 74-84, 87, 91-94, 111-116, 118, 129
Hock-tide, 167-173
Hounslow, 19, 71-74, 92
---- Heath, 69, 71, 74-84, 86, 92, 111
Hungerford, 146, 166-173
Hyde Park Corner, 33-40, 74, 94, 166
Inns (mentioned at length):--
"Bear," Maidenhead, 25, 129
"Bell and Bottle," Knowl Hill, 133
"Black Bull," Holborn, 31
"Castle," Marlborough, 17, 21, 187, 192
----, Salt Hill, 92, 107
"Greyhound," Maidenhead, 127
"Halfway House," Kensington, 40, 43, 45
"Hercules' Pillars," Hyde Park Corner, 34
"King's Head," Longford, 97
"Magpies," 90
"Old Bell," Holborn, 31-33
"Old Magpies," 91
"Old Pack Horse," Turnham Green, 66-68
"Old Windmill," Turnham Green, 65
"Ostrich," Colnbrook, 99-103
"Pack Horse and Talbot," Turnham Green, 59, 66
"Peggy Bedford," Longford, 97
"Pelican," Speenhamland, 15, 150, 253
"Red Cow," Brook Green, 56-58
"Robin Hood," Turnham Green, 63-65
"Waggon and Horses," Beckhampton, 203-205
"White Bear," Piccadilly, 26
"White Bear," Fickles Hole, 26
"White Hart," Bath, 260
"White Horse," Fetter Lane, 16, 30
"White Lion," Bath, 22, 26, 260
"York House," Bath, 26
Jack of Newbury, 150-154, 157-161
Kennet, River, 146, 152, 166, 186, 193
Kensington, 34, 40, 44, 46-55
Kew Bridge, 68
Kiln Green, 133
Knightsbridge, 34, 40, 44
Knowl Hill, 133
Langley Broom, 104
---- Marish, 104
Littlecote, 173-182
Longford, 94, 96
Maidenhead, 33, 122, 124-130
---- Thicket, 111, 129-133
Mail coaches established, 10
Manton, 194
Marlborough, 22, 26, 182, 186-193, 204
---- College, 188, 192
---- Downs, 17, 197-201, 205, 253
Maud Heath's Causeway, 213-215
Nash, Beau, 238-240, 243, 250
Newbury, 18, 138, 146, 150-166, 253
----, battles of, 161-165
Old-time travellers:--
Campbell, Rev. Thomas, 252-255
Moritz, Pastor, 116-123
Palmer, George, 135
----, John, 10, 242, 243
Pickwick, 218-221
Postage of letters, 10-15, 167
Prior Park, 243, 246
Quemerford, 206
Reading, 18, 29, 130, 134-138
Salt Hill, 92, 106-111, 122
Savernake Forest, 182-185, 194
Sham Castle, 249
Silbury Hill, 198-203
Sipson Green, 91
Speen, 153, 165, 166
Speenhamland, 150, 253
Stackhouse, Rev. Thomas, 153
Taplow, 108, 124
Tetsworth water, 105
Thatcham, 21, 146, 149, 153
Theale, 145, 162
Turnham Green, 58-68
Turnpike gates, 11, 34, 45, 73, 166
Twyford, 130, 134
Wainewright, Thomas Griffiths, 59
Walcot, 228
West Kennet, 197
---- Overton, 197
"Wild Darell," 173-182
Woolhampton, 146-149
Wyatt's Rebellion, 38
"Young's Corner," 58
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Stranger still, the chief informer was named Porter.
[2] Tawell had poisoned his sweetheart, who, before dying, had time to
denounce him to her friends. They pursued him to the station, but when
they arrived there the train had gone. The telegram sent was in these
words:--
"A murder has just been committed at Salt Hill, and the suspected murderer
was seen to take a first-class ticket for London by the train which left
Slough at 7.42 p.m. He is in the garb of a Quaker, with a brown great-coat
on, which reaches nearly to his feet. He is in the last compartment of the
second-class carriage."