I think those people are unreasonable, who complain that Bath is a
contracted circle, in which the same dull scenes perpetually revolve,
without variation--I am, on the contrary, amazed to find so small a
place so crowded with entertainment and variety. London itself can
hardly exhibit one species of diversion, to which we have not something
analogous at Bath, over and above those singular advantages that are
peculiar to the place. Here, for example, a man has daily opportunities
of seeing the most remarkable characters of the community. He sees
them in their natural attitudes and true colours; descended from their
pedestals, and divested of their formal draperies, undisguised by art
and affectation--Here we have ministers of state, judges, generals,
bishops, projectors, philosophers, wits, poets, players, chemists,
fiddlers, and buffoons. If he makes any considerable stay in the place,
he is sure of meeting with some particular friend, whom he did not
expect to see; and to me there is nothing more agreeable than such
casual reencounters. Another entertainment, peculiar to Bath, arises
from the general mixture of all degrees assembled in our public
rooms, without distinction of rank or fortune. This is what my uncle
reprobates, as a monstrous jumble of heterogeneous principles; a vile
mob of noise and impertinence, without decency or subordination. But
this chaos is to me a source of infinite amusement.
I was extremely diverted last ball-night to see the Master of the
Ceremonies leading, with great solemnity, to the upper end of the room,
an antiquated Abigail, dressed in her lady’s cast-clothes; whom he (I
suppose) mistook for some countess just arrived at the Bath. The
ball was opened by a Scotch lord, with a mulatto heiress from St
Christopher’s; and the gay colonel Tinsel danced all the evening
with the daughter of an eminent tinman from the borough of Southwark.
Yesterday morning, at the Pump-room, I saw a broken-winded
Wapping landlady squeeze through a circle of peers, to salute her
brandy-merchant, who stood by the window, propped upon crutches; and a
paralytic attorney of Shoe-lane, in shuffling up to the bar, kicked the
shins of the chancellor of England, while his lordship, in a cut bob,
drank a glass of water at the pump. I cannot account for my being
pleased with these incidents, any other way, than by saying they are
truly ridiculous in their own nature, and serve to heighten the humour
in the farce of life, which I am determined to enjoy as long as I can.
Those follies, that move my uncle’s spleen, excite my laughter. He is
as tender as a man without a skin; who cannot bear the slightest touch
without flinching. What tickles another would give him torment; and
yet he has what we may call lucid intervals, when he is remarkably
facetious--Indeed, I never knew a hypochondriac so apt to be infected
with good-humour. He is the most risible misanthrope I ever met with.
A lucky joke, or any ludicrous incident, will set him a-laughing
immoderately, even in one of his most gloomy paroxysms; and, when the
laugh is over, he will curse his own imbecility. In conversing with
strangers, he betrays no marks of disquiet--He is splenetic with his
familiars only; and not even with them, while they keep his attention
employed; but when his spirits are not exerted externally, they seem
to recoil and prey upon himself--He has renounced the waters with
execration; but he begins to find a more efficacious, and, certainly,
a much more palatable remedy in the pleasures of society. He has
discovered some old friends, among the invalids of Bath; and, in
particular, renewed his acquaintance with the celebrated James Quin, who
certainly did not come here to drink water. You cannot doubt, but that I
had the strongest curiosity to know this original; and it was gratified
by Mr Bramble, who has had him twice at our house to dinner.
So far as I am able to judge, Quin’s character is rather more
respectable than it has been generally represented. His bon mots are in
every witling’s mouth; but many of them have a rank flavour, which one
would be apt to think was derived from a natural grossness of idea.
I suspect, however, that justice has not been done the author, by the
collectors of those Quiniana; who have let the best of them slip through
their fingers, and only retained such as were suited to the taste and
organs of the multitude. How far he may relax in his hours of jollity, I
cannot pretend to say; but his general conversation is conducted by the
nicest rules of Propriety; and Mr James Quin is, certainly, one of the
best bred men in the kingdom. He is not only a most agreeable companion
but (as I am credibly informed) a very honest man; highly susceptible
of friendship, warm, steady, and even generous in his attachments,
disdaining flattery, and incapable of meanness and dissimulation. Were I
to judge, however, from Quin’s eye alone, I should take him to be proud,
insolent, and cruel. There is something remarkably severe and forbidding
in his aspect; and, I have been told, he was ever disposed to insult his
inferiors and dependants.--Perhaps that report has influenced my opinion
of his looks--You know we are the fools of prejudice. Howsoever that may
be, I have as yet seen nothing but his favourable side, and my uncle,
who frequently confers with him, in a corner, declares he is one of the
most sensible men he ever knew--He seems to have a reciprocal regard for
old Squaretoes, whom he calls by the familiar name of Matthew, and often
reminds of their old tavern-adventures: on the other hand, Matthew’s
eyes sparkle whenever Quin makes his appearance--Let him be never so
jarring and discordant, Quin puts him in tune; and, like treble and bass
in the same concert, they make excellent music together--. T’other day,
the conversation turning upon Shakespeare, I could not help saying, with
some emotion, that I would give an hundred guineas to see Mr Quin act
the part of Falstaff; upon which, turning to me with a smile, ‘And I
would give a thousand, young gentleman (said he) that I could gratify
your longing.’ My uncle and he are perfectly agreed in their estimate of
life; which Quin says, would stink in his nostrils, if he did not steep
it in claret.
I want to see this phenomenon in his cups; and have almost prevailed
upon uncle to give him a small turtle at the Bear. In the mean time, I
must entertain you with an incident, that seems to confirm the judgment
of those two cynic philosophers. I took the liberty to differ in opinion
from Mr Bramble, when he observed, that the mixture of people in the
entertainments of this place was destructive of all order and urbanity;
that it rendered the plebeians insufferably arrogant and troublesome,
and vulgarized the deportment and sentiments of those who moved in the
upper spheres of life. He said such a preposterous coalition would bring
us into contempt with all our neighbours; and was worse, in fact, than
debasing the gold coin of the nation. I argued, on the contrary, that
those plebeians who discovered such eagerness to imitate the dress and
equipage of their superiors, would likewise, in time, adopt their maxims
and their manners, be polished by their conversation, and refined by
their example; but when I appealed to Mr Quin, and asked if he did not
think that such an unreserved mixture would improve the whole mass? ‘Yes
(said he) as a plate of marmalade would improve a pan of sirreverence.’
I owned I was not much conversant in high-life, but I had seen what were
called polite assemblies in London and elsewhere; that those of Bath
seemed to be as decent as any; and that, upon the whole, the individuals
that composed it, would not be found deficient in good manners and
decorum. ‘But let us have recourse to experience (said I)--Jack Holder,
who was intended for a parson, has succeeded to an estate of two
thousand a year, by the death of his elder brother. He is now at the
Bath, driving about in a phaeton and four, with French horns. He has
treated with turtle and claret at all the taverns in Bath and Bristol,
till his guests are gorged with good chear: he has bought a dozen suits
of fine clothes, by the advice of the Master of the Ceremonies, under
whose tuition he has entered himself. He has lost hundreds at billiards
to sharpers, and taken one of the nymphs of Avon-street into keeping;
but, finding all these channels insufficient to drain him of his current
cash, his counsellor has engaged him to give a general tea-drinking
to-morrow at Wiltshire’s room. In order to give it the more eclat, every
table is to be furnished with sweet-meats and nosegays; which, however,
are not to be touched till notice is given by the ringing of a bell, and
then the ladies may help themselves without restriction. This will be no
bad way of trying the company’s breeding.’
‘I will abide by that experiment (cried my uncle) and if I could find
a place to stand secure, without the vortex of the tumult, which I know
will ensue, I would certainly go thither and enjoy the scene.’ Quin
proposed that we should take our station in the music-gallery, and
we took his advice. Holder had got thither before us, with his horns
perdue, but we were admitted. The tea-drinking passed as usual, and the
company having risen from the tables, were sauntering in groupes, in
expectation of the signal for attack, when the bell beginning to
ring, they flew with eagerness to the dessert, and the whole place was
instantly in commotion. There was nothing but justling, scrambling,
pulling, snatching, struggling, scolding, and screaming. The nosegays
were torn from one another’s hands and bosoms; the glasses and china
went to wreck; the tables and floors were strewed with comfits. Some
cried; some swore; and the tropes and figures of Billingsgate were used
without reserve in all their native zest and flavour; nor were those
flowers of rhetoric unattended with significant gesticulation. Some
snapped their fingers; some forked them out; some clapped their hands,
and some their back-sides; at length, they fairly proceeded to pulling
caps, and every thing seemed to presage a general battle; when Holder
ordered his horns to sound a charge, with a view to animate the
combatants, and inflame the contest; but this manoeuvre produced an
effect quite contrary to what he expected. It was a note of reproach
that roused them to an immediate sense of their disgraceful situation.
They were ashamed of their absurd deportment, and suddenly desisted.
They gathered up their caps, ruffles, and handkerchiefs; and great part
of them retired in silent mortification.
Quin laughed at this adventure; but my uncle’s delicacy was hurt. He
hung his head in manifest chagrin, and seemed to repine at the triumph
of his judgment--Indeed, his victory was more complete than he imagined;
for, as we afterwards learned, the two amazons who singularized
themselves most in the action, did not come from the purlieus of
Puddle-dock, but from the courtly neighbourhood of St James’s palace.
One was a baroness, and the other, a wealthy knight’s dowager--My uncle
spoke not a word, till we had made our retreat good to the coffee-house;
where, taking off his hat and wiping his forehead, ‘I bless God (said
he) that Mrs Tabitha Bramble did not take the field today!’ ‘I would pit
her for a cool hundred (cried Quin) against the best shake-bag of the
whole main.’ The truth is, nothing could have kept her at home but the
accident of her having taken physic before she knew the nature of the
entertainment. She has been for some days furbishing up an old suit of
black velvet, to make her appearance as Sir Ulic’s partner at the next
ball.
I have much to say of this amiable kinswoman; but she has not been
properly introduced to your acquaintance. She is remarkably civil to
Mr Quin; of whose sarcastic humour she seems to stand in awe; but her
caution is no match for her impertinence. ‘Mr Gwynn (said she the other
day) I was once vastly entertained with your playing the Ghost of Gimlet
at Drury-lane, when you rose up through the stage, with a white face and
red eyes, and spoke of quails upon the frightful porcofine--Do, pray,
spout a little the Ghost of Gimlet.’ ‘Madam (said Quin, with a glance of
ineffable disdain) the Ghost of Gimlet is laid, never to rise again’--
Insensible of this check, she proceeded: ‘Well, to be sure, you looked
and talked so like a real ghost; and then the cock crowed so natural.
I wonder how you could teach him to crow so exact, in the very nick of
time; but, I suppose, he’s game--An’t he game, Mr Gwynn?’ ‘Dunghill,
madam.’--‘Well, dunghill, or not dunghill, he has got such a clear
counter-tenor, that I wish I had such another at Brambleton-hall, to
wake the maids of a morning. Do you know where I could find one of his
brood?’ ‘Probably in the work-house at St Giles’s parish, madam; but I
protest I know not his particular mew!’ My uncle, frying with vexation,
cried, ‘Good God, sister, how you talk! I have told you twenty times,
that this gentleman’s name is not Gwynn.’--‘Hoity toity, brother mine
(she replied) no offence, I hope--Gwynn is an honorable name, of true
old British extraction--I thought the gentleman had been come of Mrs
Helen Gwynn, who was of his own profession; and if so be that were the
case, he might be of king Charles’s breed, and have royal blood in his
veins.’--‘No, madam (answered Quin, with great solemnity) my mother was
not a whore of such distinction--True it is, I am sometimes tempted
to believe myself of royal descent; for my inclinations are often
arbitrary--If I was an absolute prince, at this instant, I believe I
should send for the head of your cook in a charger--She has committed
felony, on the person of that John Dory, which is mangled in a cruel
manner, and even presented without sauce--O tempora! O mores!’
This good-humoured sally turned the conversation into a less
disagreeable channel--But, lest you should think my scribble as tedious
as Mrs Tabby’s clack, I shall not add another word, but that I am as
usual
Yours, J. MELFORD BATH, April 30.
To Dr LEWIS.