THE SMART
Valentine Frippery and his letter--Boiled chicken and
pettitoes--Lyne’s coffee-house and the _billet-doux_--Tick--Liquor
capacity--A Smart advises _The Student_--Latin odes for tradesmen
only.
One of the most interesting things to study at the university is the way
in which a man gets into a certain set. Let me take for example a group of
freshmen who come from the same public school, who have played together in
the school games, possibly invited each other home for the holidays. Their
tastes and ideas are apparently the same. On coming up to Oxford each man
is differently affected. For the first few weeks they meet in one
another’s rooms and discuss their impressions freely and without any
reserve. Then suddenly, after the manner of mushrooms which spring up in a
single night, it is found that one of them has got into the racing set
which despises everybody who does not ride a horse; another into the
working set, which lives, eats, and sleeps with its books; a third into
the religious set, which in a quiet, unostentatious manner goes out of its
way to help the poor, attends frequent religious meetings and,
unfortunately and quite undeservedly, is somewhat scorned by the rest of
the college; a fourth has got into the smart set, and has become a
“blood”; and others into the thousand and one little groups which go to
the composition of a university.
This curious sudden upheaval of ideas and habits which is brought about in
one short term is to be found in every college every year, just as it
appertained in the eighteenth century. I have shown the way in which some
of these freshmen came to feel ashamed of their clothes and crept into
the back entrances of barber’s and tailor’s shops, while their friends
remained perfectly satisfied with their appearance, and jogged along
without any desire for silks and satins.
The Georgian “blood,” however, was a person of tantamount importance. It
was he who provided the university with food for mirth, envy, satire,
recrimination. In a previous chapter I quoted Amhurst’s description of how
a Smart might be distinguished when he sauntered along, languidly twirling
his clouded amber cane and smelling philosophically of essence. His main
objects in life were apparently to avoid the accusation of being
ill-mannered, to consume daily as much liquor as possible, to be ardent in
singing the praises of the latest toast, and to expend in finery far more
money than he possessed. He thought himself to be a model of culture and
was, in fact, the man of the period who put on the most “side.”
Amhurst, with an editorial genius that was without parallel in those
times, wrote an attack on the good manners of Undergraduates in order that
he might criticise, or better, satirise, that “large body of fine
gentlemen call’d Smarts.” Under the name of Valentine Frippery he answered
his own attack with a bitter reply, taking up the cudgels stoutly on
behalf of the attackees, and wound up his article by riddling all men of
the Frippery type.
[Illustration: BUCKS OF THE FIRST HEAD.]
Allowing that Terrae Filius was ever a caricaturist, and that all his
tirades and jibes must be taken cum _grano salts_, nevertheless the
picture he draws of the Bucks of the first head is a very true one.
“Valentine Frippery” wrote in answer to the accusation of ill-breeding as
follows:--
“_To Terrae Filius._
“_Christ Church College, July 1._
“MR PRATE-APACE.--Amongst all the vile trash and ribaldry with which
you have lately poisoned the publick, nothing is more scandalous
and saucy than your charging our university with the want of
civility and good manners. Let me tell you, Sir, for all your haste,
we have as well-bred, accomplish’d gentlemen in Oxford, as any where
in Christendom; men that dress as well, sing as well, dance as well,
and behave in every respect as well, though I say it, as any man under
the sun. You are the first audacious Wit-wou’d that ever call’d Oxford
a boorish, uncivilised place: And demme, Sir, you ought to be hors’d
out of all good company for an impudent praggish Jackanapes. Oxford a
boorish place! poor wretch! I am sorry for thy ignorance. Who wears
finer lace, or better linnen than Jack Flutter? who has handsomer
tie-wigs or more fashionable cloaths or cuts a bolder dash than Tom
Paroquet? Where can you find a more handy man at a tea-table than
Robin Tattle? Or, without vanity I may say it, one that plays better
at Ombre than him, who subscribes himself an enemy to all such pimps
as thou art?”
Such are the arguments he brought up against a charge of bad manners:
singing, dancing, handy at a tea-table, wearing the best lace and linen
and cutting a bold dash. The perfect gentleman indeed! The acme of
culture! He, with all the others of his kidney, put in an appearance at
Lyne’s coffee-house in academical undress somewhere about eleven
o’clock--that is to say, immediately after a gentle dalliance with
breakfast. Here he discussed the topics of the hour, heard the latest
news, enjoyed the latest scandals, and then strolled in the Park or under
Merton wall. Those who made no pretensions to “Smartness” were meanwhile
dining in Hall--a thing far beneath the dignity of a Buck of the first
head who ate in solitary dignity in his own chamber, his meal consisting,
for example, of “boil’d chicken and pettitoes.” After resting awhile, he
spent an hour or so in overcoming the difficulties of dressing. That
satisfactorily concluded, it was his bounden duty to make an afternoon
appearance at Lyne’s. About five o’clock he dropped in at Hamilton’s,
where he “struts about the room for a while and drinks a dram of citron.”
Thence he returned to college and adjourned to the chapel “to shew how
genteely he dresses, and how well he can chaunt.” Having given conclusive
demonstrations of these two accomplishments, he drank tea with some
celebrated toast and attended her to Maudlin Grove or Paradise Garden and
back again. Such a ridiculous idea as work never entered his head. Any
time he might give to reading was employed in the study of novels and
romances.
As an example of his passion for cleanliness at all costs, Terrae Filius
gave an account of an adventure of one of these gentry at Lyne’s
coffee-house. “This afternoon, a noted Smart of Christ Church College, as
he was writing a _billet-doux_ had the misfortune to blot one of his
ruffles with a spot of ink, which put the gentleman in so great a
disorder, that he threw the standish through the window, stamped about the
room for half an hour together, and was often heard to say, I wonder that
gentlemen cannot find some cleaner method of conveying their thoughts, and
that he wished he might be blown up wherever he went, if he ever made use
of that filthy liquor again, though the displeasure of the whole fair sex
was the consequence. Let prigs and pedants, said he, keep all the nasty
manufacture to themselves.”
It is comforting to be assured that this elaborate sect was not entirely
composed of peers and gentleman commoners, for their street behaviour was
far worse than anything that even the most hypercritical Somerville
blue-stocking can accuse Undergraduates of to-day. “They cannot forbear
laughing,” said Amhurst, “at every body that obeys the statutes, and
differs from them; or (as my correspondent expresses it in the proper
dialect of the place) that does not cut as bold a dash as they do. They
have singly, for the most part, very good assurances; but when they walk
together in bodies (as they often do), how impregnable are their
foreheads? They point at every foul they meet, laugh very loud, and
whisper as loud as they laugh. Demme, Jack, there goes a prig! Let us blow
the puppy up. Upon which they all stare him full in the face, turn him
from the wall as he passes by, and set up an horse laugh, which puts the
plain raw novice out of countenance, and occasions great triumph amongst
these tawdry desperadoes.”
Like all hooligans they were thorough cowards unless backed up by vastly
superior numbers. It took about twenty of them, and that with the
assistance of Dutch courage, to frighten some three or four foreigners and
to kick a Presbyterian parson out of a coffee-house. They were for the
most part sons of country farmers with practically no money who got into
the Smart set immediately after coming up, and who remained Smarts just so
long as the “mercers, taylors, shoe makers, and perriwig-makers will tick
with them.” Tradesmen of that day were apparently possessed of far longer
patience than most of the present generation. To-day they despatch
solicitor’s letters after two terms. Then they allowed a bill to lie
fallow (with the usual accretion of interest) for three or four years.
With his usual quaint humour Amhurst declared that he has seen these same
Smarts two or three years afterwards “in gowns and cassocks, walking with
demure looks and an holy leer; so easy is the transition from dancing to
preaching, and from the bowling-green to the pulpit.”
The Rev. Richard Graves, a Pembroke man, in 1732, related that he became
friends with a genial crowd who passed their evenings in drinking strong
ale, smoking like chimneys, punning, and singing Bacchanalian catches.
Some gentlemen commoners, however, Smarts, who came from the same part of
the country as Graves, rescued him from the ill-bred hands of such low
company--so considered chiefly on account of the liquor they drank. In his
own words “they good-naturedly invited me to their party: they treated me
with port wine and arrack-punch; and then, when they had drunk so much, as
hardly to distinguish wine from water, they would conclude with a bottle
or two of claret. They kept late hours and drank their favourite toasts on
their knees. This was deemed good company and high life; but it neither
suited my taste, my fortune, or my constitution.”
Night after night of this deep drinking made the fortunes of the
spirit-merchants, but left some of the drinkers soddened and useless. I
may quote, as an instance, the case of Lord Lovelace.
It is a well-known fact that the Principal of his Hall reported, and that
truthfully, that “he never knew him sober but twelve hours and that he
used every morning to drink a quart of brandy, or something equivalent to
it, to his own share.” Hearne, too, in his diary makes reference to a
commoner of Magdalen Hall, a son of Dr Inett, who was found dead from
drinking ale and brandy. There were three companions with him, but they
were merely asleep under the table. Professor Pryme, who was up at the end
of the eighteenth century, afterwards wrote that when Hall was over it was
the fashion to collect a large party together to drink wine with a little
dessert. “The host,” he said, “named a Vice-President, and toasts were
given. First a lady by each of the party, then a gentleman, and then a
sentiment. I remember one of these latter, the single married and the
married happy. Every one was required to fill a bumper to the toasts of
the President, the Vice-President, and his own. If any one wished to go to
chapel he was pressed to return afterwards.”[5]
The fact, however, that toping constituted such an important feature of
Undergraduate life, among Smarts and non-Smarts equally is not a matter
for vast amazement, or stern condemnation. _Quis custodiet ipsos
custodes?_--for the Dons were if anything even worse than those to whom
they stood in _loco parentis_. The whole world of Dons, from the humblest
and most juvenile Fellow to the king of kings, the Head of a college or
Hall, cultivated the vice of drink as assiduously as if it were a virtue.
Oxford was not so far away from London as not to reflect the manners and
habits of the capital, and since to the Bucks of London abnormal drinking
was then the highest good form, it is not to be wondered at that the
Undergraduates, ever of tender years and advanced imitative faculties,
should give a brilliant reflection of the metropolis.
Amhurst has pointed out that the Smarts never read anything but plays,
novels, and French comedies. When _The Student_ appeared, however, they
took it up more or less whole-heartedly. In these days of photographic
(that being the polite way of spelling pornographic) weeklies, a new
venture in ’varsity journals is greeted as a nine days’ wonder. However
good the contents provided, the Oxford man prefers to look upon the
fetching features--and limbs, of footlight favourites in papers provided
free of charge in the Junior Common Room. Consequently the rash starter of
a “’varsity rag” is compelled to retire from the lists after the first two
or three issues. In the old days, however, even the _blasé_ Smart had some
initiative left to him in matters of literature. He supported the new
paper with enthusiasm and read every number carefully. After some time he
found that the editor was catering too freely for the Dons. Instead,
however, of discontinuing his subscription he wrote to the editor and
appealed on the grounds that _The Student_ was becoming too prosy and
_Spectator_-like, and urged him to keep it lighter in tone. The following
is an extract from the letter sent in:--
“----’S COFFEE-HOUSE, _May 4_.
“BROTHER STUDENT,--Without a compliment I am much pleased with your
scheme, and heartily wish you success. Hitherto I think you bid fair
for it, and seem to meet with general applause. But will you forgive
my offering a word or two of advice? Let us have no more of your
abstract speculations, as you call them; indeed they are not popular.
Last night, in a full assembly of pretty fellows at this place (all
your admirers), Billy Languish read your fourth number. We all agreed
that your ‘Impudence’ is inimitable, but your ‘letter in defence of
religion,’ tho’ it did not startle us (as you apprehended it would)
somewhat amazed us, I must own. Consider, Mr Student, you write for
the publick of which three fourths are ignoramuses, and therefor, tho’
we may allow you now and then in compliment to your taylor and mercer
and other learned folks, to insert a Latin ode or epigram, yet I must
needs tell you, that we don’t relish your metaphysics. For which
reason I am directed by all the Smarts at ----’s, to acquaint you,
that we expect (especially if it be English), at least to understand
what we read. We consider your book as a monthly feast or
entertainment; and if we pay our ordinary, ’tis but reasonable the
dishes you set before us should be such as we are able to taste. We
cannot indeed always expect rarities, and may now and then admit of a
trifle or puff by way of make up; but prithee don’t surfeit us with
ambigu’s and inconnu’s. At the same time I must tell you, that we are
much pleased with your last Sapphic, that we reverence Tony Alsop’s
memory, and have resolv’d one and all to subscribe to his works. Billy
Languish and Dick Dimple indeed say, the ‘verses on the grotto’ are
better; and Dick (who you know is a wit as well as a beau) gave us
off hand a translation of them, but I have indeed since found out
where he borrows it.--I am yours,
HARRY DIDAPPER.”
The _habitués_ of the unknown coffee-house, all pretty fellows, looked
upon _The Student_ as a “monthly feast of entertainment!” For all their
soaking and “wenching” and slacking they would seem to have had a certain
amount of brain and appreciative capability left to them.
In a subsequent chapter I shall set down the methods by which these men
obtained their degrees after having spent some six or seven years inside
the old walls of the university. They had as little time for work as the
“bloods” of to-day whose every moment is claimed by matters of far greater
moment than mere study! To a certain extent the Smarts, though they
perhaps did not know it, were philosophers. They said to themselves that
life was short and youth shorter still, that therefore it behoved them to
cram in to the six years of their university career as much pleasure,
excitement, and amusement as was possible. The eighteenth century lent
itself whole-heartedly to this programme. The Dons, who should have been
intent on governing Oxford, had other game afoot. The Undergraduates were
thus left to their own devices, and the Smarts were the first to take
advantage of such Arcadian conditions. They delayed the hour of rising
until the sun grew weary of calling them out. There was no stern shepherd
to round them into chapel at the ungodly hour of eight o’clock. Like
butterflies they flitted from place to place at the caprice of the moment.
They held Bacchanalian revels in and out of college without regard to Dons
and statutes. Their paramours, far from being ejected from the city, were
shared with the authorities, thus proving that they had a better
understanding of real socialism than the exponents of to-day. The same
cobbled streets that hear us shouting our way home in the small hours, saw
the Georgian men staggering along with tight-linked arms in the silvery
moonlight, while Big Tom boomed out the birth of a new day.
As year after year slipped relentlessly off the calender they absorbed the
unique atmosphere of Oxford, fully appreciating under their mask of
_blasé_ scorn the traditions and the unforgettable charm of _Alma mater_.
They carried their love and reverence for her to the grave, and gave proof
of it by sending their sons and grandsons to swell the never-ending
procession of men who sing the praises of Oxford.