Born
:
Andrew M. Ramsay, author of Travels of Cyrus, 1686, Ayr; George Stephenson,
engineer, 1781, Wylam,
Northumberland; John Howard Payne, American actor and
dramatist, 1792, New York; Schamyl, patriotic imaum of
Circassia, 1797.
Died
:
Jeanne D'Albret, Queen of Navarre, mother of Henry
IV., 1572; Secretary Maitland, 1573, Edinburgh;
William Lilly, astrologer, 1681, Walton; Benedict
Pictet, learned Protestant divine, 1724, Geneva; Dr.
William Kenrick, 1779; Louis XVII of France, 1795,
Temple, Faris; Dr. Abraham Rees, encyclopaedist, 1825,
Finsbury.
Feast Day:
St. Vincent, martyr, 2
nd
or 3rd century; Saints Primus
and Felicianus, martyrs, 286; St. Pelagia, virgin and
martyr, 311; St. Columba, or Columkille, Abbot and
Apostle of the Picts, 597; St. Richard, Bishop of Andria, confessor, about
8th century.
ST. COLUMBA
A short distance from one of
the wildest districts of the western coast of
Scotland, opposite the mountains of Mull, only three
miles to the south of Staffa, so famous for its
stately caverns, lies a little island, which is
celebrated as the centre from which the knowledge of
the Gospel spread over Scotland, and indeed over all
the North, and which, rocky and solitary, and now
insignificant as it may be, was a seat of what was
felt as marvellous learning in the earliest period of
mediaeval civilization. Its original name appears to
have been Hi or I, which was Latinized into the,
perhaps, more poetical form of Iona, but it is now
commonly called I-com-kill, or I of Columba of the
Cells, from the saint who once possessed it, and from
the numerous cells or monastic establishments which he
founded.
Columba was an Irish priest
and monk of the sixth century, who was earnest in his
desire to spread among the ignorant pagans of the
North that ascetic form of Christianity which had
already taken root in Ireland. According to Bede, from
whom we gather nearly all we know of this remarkable
man, it was in the year 565 that Columba left his
native island to preach to the Picts, the inhabitants
of the Scottish Highlands. Encouraged by their
chieftain, his mission was attended with success. The
chieftain gave him, as a place to establish himself
and his companions, the island of I, which Bede
describes as in size, 'only of about five families,
according to the calculation of the English,' or, as
this is explained by the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, five
hides of land. It is now three miles in length, and
not quite a mile broad. Here Columba built a church
and a monastery, of which he became abbot, and
collected round him a body of monks, under a rule
which was remark-able chiefly for the strict
enforcement of self-denial and asceticism. Their hours
each day were divided between prayer, reading or
hearing the Scriptures, and the labours required for
producing the necessaries of life, chiefly cultivating
the land, and fishing. Others were employed in writing
copies of the books of the church service, which were
wanted for their own use, or for the religious
missions sent out amongst the neighbouring barbarians.
The art most cultivated among the early Irish monks
appears to have been caligraphy, and Columba himself
is said to have been a very skilful penman, and, we
may no doubt add, illuminator; and copies of the
Psalter and Gospel, still pre-erved in Ireland, are
attributed to him.
Such of Columba's monks at I
as were capable, were employed in instructing others,
and this employment seems to have best suited their
tastes, and education became the great object to which
Columba's successors devoted themselves. For ages
youths of noble, and even of royal blood, flocked
hither from all parts, not only of Scotland, England,
and Ireland, but from Scandinavia, to profit by the
teaching of the monks; at the same time, colonies of
Columba's monks went forth to establish themselves in
various parts of the Scottish Highlands, and the
neighbouring islands, in Iceland, and even in Norway.
Bede tells us that, about thirty-two years after he
settled in I, or Iona, which would carry us, according
to his dates, to the year 597, St. Columba died and
was buried in his island monastery, being then
seventy-seven years old. The 9th of June is usually
assigned as the day of his death. The reputation of
Iona as a seat of learning, and as a place of
extraordinary sanctity, continued to increase after
the death of the founder of its religious
establishment, and his memory was held in the most
affectionate love. His disciples, or we may say the
monks of his order, who formed the Pictish church,
became known by the name of Culdees, a Celtic word
meaning simply monks.
Their first religious house of
any importance on the mainland was Abernethy, the
church of which is said to have been built in
Columba's lifetime, and which became the principal
seat of royalty and episcopacy in the Pictish kingdom.
St. Andrew's, also, was a foundation of the Culdees,
as well as Dunkeld, Dunblane, Brechin, and many other
important churches. From the particular position held
by Columba towards his disciples in all parts, when
Culdee bishoprics were established, all the bishops
were considered as placed under the authority of the
abbots of Iona, so that these abbots were virtually
the Metropolitans of the Scottish church. In the ninth
century the Danes, who ravaged with great ferocity the
Scottish coasts, repeatedly visited Iona, and so
completely destroyed its monks and their monastery,
that the island itself disappears from history, until
the twelfth century, when, in the reign of William the
Lion, it was re-occupied by a convent of Cluniac
monks. Long before this the Culdees had lost their
character for sanctity and purity of life, and they
were now so much degenerated that the Scottish King
David I. (who reigned from 1124 to 1153), after an
ineffectual attempt to reform them, suppressed the
Culdees altogether, and supplied their place with
monks and canons of other orders, but chiefly of that
of St. Augustine.
JOHN HOWARD PAYNE
Thousands have had their
tenderest sympathies awakened by the almost universal
song of '�Home, sweet home,' without knowing that its
author's name was John Howard Payne, and that it was
first sung in a once popular, but now forgotten,
melodrama, entitled Clari; or, the Maid of Milan.
Payne was a native of America, born in 1792. Early
turning his attention to the stage, he soon became a
popular actor, and writer of dramatic pieces, both in
England and his native country. Few persons have been
so greatly loved by so large a circle of private
friends. Dying at Tunis, where he latterly filled the
office of United States consul, he was buried in the
Christian cemetery of St. George, where a monument has
been erected over his grave by his 'grateful country,'
expressive of his merits as a poet and dramatist, and
stating that he died in the American consulate of the
city of Tunis, 'after a tedious illness,' on the 1
st
of April 1852.
An amusing proof of the
singular popularity of Mr. Payne's song was afforded,
soon after its first appearance, by a Dumbartonshire
clergy-man of the Established Presbyterian Church. He
was preaching upon the domestic affections �he had
wrought himself up a good deal�finally, forgetting all
the objections of his cloth to stage matters, he
recited the whole of the verses of ' Home, sweet
home,' to the unutterable astonishment of his
congregation.
SCHAMYL, IMAM OF CIRCASSIA
It was in 1834 that
Schamyl
succeeded to that leadership among his countrymen in
which he has acquired such distinction. Some tragical
circumstances occurring about that time served first
to impress the Circassians that in their new leader
they had found one possessing a charmed life. The
prestige which invested him was enhanced by his
extremely reserved habits and isolated mode of life.
He was consequently enabled to keep in check the best
of the Russian generals, and came off conqueror in a
hundred fights. His passionate love for his mountain
home and freedom, claimed the sympathy of all Europe;
such heroism is one of the finest traits in history,
though, perhaps, his fall may be necessary for the
march of civilization.
The greatest blow he ever
received until the last was the capture of his son,
nine years of age, by the Russians. Schamyl offered
ransom and prisoners in exchange, but in vain. After
the lapse of fifteen years, he made an incursion into
the Russian territory, and carried off two Georgian
princesses, who occupied a high rank at the court, and
this time the exchange was accepted; though it was
believed that Djammel-Eddin renounced civilization to
return to barbarism with deep regret. Three years
after he died.
Schamyl was not only a great
warrior, but also a great legislator: he worked long
hours in his private room surrounded by books and
parchments; then he would leave home for a fortnight,
and go from camp to camp preaching the Koran to his
people, and rousing their love of independence. On his
return, his people rushed to meet him, singing verses
from their holy book, and accompanying him home.
Scarcely had he dismounted, when his children, to whom
he was passionately attached, were in his arms. He had
three wives, but never would permit them to be
distinguished above the other women of the encampment.
Each day he received the Nails
who came on business, treating them with hospitality
but simplicity. He himself always ate alone and with
great sobriety; bread, milk, honey, rice, fruit, and
tea composed his meals. He was adored by his people,
and from one end of the Caucasus to the other his name
was a talisman. His morals were of the utmost purity,
and he put to death any offender with the strictest
severity.
At the time of Schamyl's
capture he was sixty-two years of age, and it is
astonishing that at that period his eye should have
retained the quickness and penetration of earlier
years; incessantly seeking to read the depths of the
soul, and to guess the most secret thoughts of those
about him. Always distrustful amidst his devoted
soldiers, whom he had learnt to fascinate completely,
he yet killed any of them whom he doubted, before his
suspicions were changed in-to certainty, and many an
innocent life was sacrificed for his repose. After the
example of the dervishes, Schamyl dyed his beard with
henna; his hands, small and well-shaped, were
attended to with the greatest care. His headdress was
formed of a lamb-skin cap, surmounted by voluminous
folds of a muslin turban. He wore a tunic, on the
front of which was placed a cartouche-box, and for
arms he carried a Circassian poniard and a sword; the
blades of both were of the most costly description.
When he introduced his
military code into the mountains, he instituted an
order of chivalry to reward his brave murides, which
he called the 'Sign of courage.' It was composed of
three degrees; the insignia were of engraved silver:
the first, in the form of a crescent, bore for its
device a sabre, with the inscription: �This is the
mark of the brave.' Through this they must pass to the
second, which was a disk with the figures cut through,
a sabre with the device: He who is thinking of the
consequences is wanting in courage.' The third and
highest was like the second, with a sabre, a pistol,
and the Arabic words: �He who is thinking of the
consequences is wanting in bravery. Be devoted, and
you shall be saved.'
Schamyl was not prodigal of
his rewards, so that his people were very proud of
these distinctions, and often sacrificed their lives
in the hope of gaining them; those few that have been
brought to Europe have been taken from the breasts of
the dead, and are only to be found in the private
arsenals of the Russian Emperor.
It was reserved for Prince
Bariatinsky to conquer the unconquered chieftain: a
cordon was drawn around the mountains, and Schamyl
took refuge in his strong aoul of Gounib, provisioned
and fortified for two years, and situated on a plateau
in the form of a triangle, with a narrow road up to
each corner. The Russians managed to climb up the
rocks, and came unexpectedly on the Circassians; a
terrible combat ensued, and Schamyl saw that
resistance had become useless. He was much surprised
when he found that his life was to be spared, and when
he reached St. Petersburg, and saw its magnificence,
he understood for the first time what a powerful enemy
he had had to oppose, and wondered how a prince with
such fortresses could attach so much importance to the
possession of the rock of Gounib.
Admitted to the highest
society, he was dazzled with the costumes and diamonds
of the ladies; I was far from expecting,' said he, 'to
find Mahomet's paradise on earth.' One evening when he
met with the French ambassador, he spoke to him of
Abd-el-Kader. Hearing that the Arab chief had
struggled as long as himself, but with superior
forces, his face lighted up, because he felt he had
done more: 'We have had the same fate,' he remarked.
'It is true,' was the answer, 'but he who has once
been great will always be great.'
The Emperor Alexander granted
him a pension sufficient for the comfortable
maintenance of himself and his family, and a residence
in a town which the government chose for him.
WILLIAM LILLY
William Lilly was the last of
the great English astrologers of the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries. He was born, as he tells us in
his autobiography, at Diseworth in Leicestershire, on
the 1st of May 1602, and received a tolerably good
school education. In 1620, he went to London to seek
service, which he obtained in the family of a
Leicestershire man in the City, who had realized some
property by business, the nature of which seems to be
rather uncertain. It was said that he had been a
tailor, and hence some of Lilly's enemies in after
years reproached the astrologer with having been
originally of that calling, though he denies it, and
assures us that his duties in this family were of a
much more menial character.
At length, after the death
of his master, Lilly married the young widow, and thus
became a moneyed man. He appears to have had what we
may perhaps call a taste for astrology, and had
apparently picked up acquaintance with many of the
pretenders in that science, and towards the year 1632
began to study it earnestly. About the year 1641 he
set up as a regular practitioner. The political
troubles in which the country was then involved, and
the general agitation which resulted from them, opened
a great field for those who speculated on popular
credulity. They began to foretell and give information
and advice upon public events, and were soon employed
as instruments and agents by the rival parties. Lilly
tells us that he first leaned towards the king's
party, but that, having been treated in an insulting
manner by the other astrologers who prophesied on that
side, he deserted and became a confirmed Roundhead,
and, as he says, he afterwards 'prophesied all on
their side.' His prophecies, for the publication of
which he had established an almanack which bore the
title of Merlinus Anglicus, were indeed so many
political weapons in the hands of the party leaders,
and were used with very considerable effect. Butler,
who is understood to have intended to picture Lilly
under the character of Sidrophel, alludes to the use
which was thus made of his prophecies
'Do not our great reformers
use
This Sidrophel to forbode news?
To write of victories next year,
And castles taken, yet i' th' air?
Of battles fought at sea, and ships
Sunk, two years hence? the last eclipse?
A total o'erthrow given the king
In Cornwall, horse and foot, next spring?
And has not he point-blank foretold
Whats'e'er the close committee would?
Made Mars and Saturn for the cause,
The Moon for fundamental laws?
The Rain, the Bull, and Goat, declare
Against the Book of Common Prayer?
The Scorpion take the protestation,
And Bear engage for reformation?
Made all the royal stars recant,
Compound, and take the covenant?'
As Lilly's prophecies greatly
encouraged the soldiers, he naturally gained favour
with the chiefs of the army, and there is good reason
for believing that he was patronized and befriended by
Cromwell. The Presbyterians, who looked upon astrology
with aversion, and classed it with witchcraft, took
advantage of some expressions in his almanacks which
seemed to reflect upon the parliament, and sought to
bring him under the vengeance of that body, when it
was in its greatest power, but he found no less
powerful protectors.
During the Protectorate, Lilly's
position was a flourishing and no doubt a lucrative
one, and he appears to have become rich. He bought
some of the confiscated estates of royalists. Towards
the close of the Protectorate, he prophesied the
Restoration, and thus made his peace with the
government of Charles II, or more probably he was
considered too insignificant an object to provoke the
vengeance of the triumphant royalists. He was,
however, compelled to surrender the estates he had
purchased. Nevertheless, Merlinus Anglicus,
which had become the most celebrated almanack of the
day, was now distinguished for its loyalty.
The only
instance, however, in which the court seems to have
taken any notice of Lilly, arose out of a remarkable
prophecy in his almanack for 1666, which seemed to
foretell the great fire of London in that year. As the
fire was at first ascribed to a plot against the
country, Lilly was suspected of knowing something of
the conspiracy, and was arrested and closely examined,
but his innocence was sufficiently evident. From this
time he sank into comparative obscurity, and, probably
finding that astrology and almanack-making were no
longer profitable, he obtained a licence and began to
practise as a physician.
He died at an advanced age on
the 9th of June 1681. He left an autobiography,
addressed to the credulous Elias Ashmole, which is at
the same time a curious record of the manners and
sentiments of the time, and a remarkable picture of
the self-conceit of its author. Lilly's almanack,
Merlinus Anglicus, continued to be published under his
name long after his death; but no new astrologer arose
to take the position he had once held, for the
flourishing days of astrology were over.
THE PARKS AND THE MALL�THE
BEAUX
It would be an interesting
task to trace the history of London fashionable life
through the last two centuries, and even a short
sketch of it cannot be otherwise than amusing and
instructive. Some might, indeed, consider it a history
of frivolous things and frivolous sentiments; but when
we look back to the past, setting aside the curiosity
always felt in contemplating manners or customs which
are new to us, even frivolous things have their
meaning in tracing the continual movement of the
public mind and intelligence.
Our 'modish' forefathers in
London two or three generations ago lived much more
out of doors than is the custom with fashionable
society now-a-days. Spring Garden, the Mulberry
Gardens, the Mall, the Park, were places of constant
resort from early in the forenoon till late at night,
and in addition to these there were continually
masquerades, ridottos, &c., where the company was at
least nominally more select. The masquerades, too,
differed only from the public walks in the
circumstance that in the former people dressed in
characters, for it was the custom to wear masks
everywhere; and intrigue was carried on and kept up
quite as much in the promenade of the Park or the
Mall, as in the masquerade itself. In the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries, as in the middle ages, May
was the gay month in society, and its gaiety was
usually carried through the month following. May and
June were the fashionable months of the year. It was
with the first of May that the season in London was
considered as commencing, and on that day,
proverbially, the parks and the Mall began to fill.
Poor Robin's Almanack for 1698 remarks, at the
beginning of May
'Now at Hide Park, if fair it
be,
A show of ladies you may see.'
And the same joking
prognosticator, for an earlier date (1669), says of
the same month,�'The first day of this month (if the
weather be fair), Jupiter being in his exaltation,
prognosticates great resort of people to Hide Park,
Spring Garden,' &c.
The style of fashionable life
which continued during a great part of the last
century took its rise after the Restoration, and
appears to have been carried on with greatest freedom
from the reign of Charles II to that of George II.
Among the earlier places of fashionable resort was
Spring Garden, celebrated in the
journal of Pepys, in
the time of the former of these monarchs, when it was
the favourite place of promenade and intrigue. Arbours,
where refreshments might be had, were distributed
about the garden; and in Howard's comedy of the
English Mounsieur, published in 1674, it is spoken of
as 'a place will afford the sight of all our English
beauties.' This play contains a good picture of the
society in Spring Garden at that time; indeed, we
shall find nowhere so vivid and striking a picture of
fashionable life in England during the period
mentioned above, as in the contemporary comedies,
which we shall accordingly take as our principal
guides in the following remarks.
Spring Garden was gradually
abandoned as the fashionable world threw itself more
entirely into the parks. Hyde Park had been long
frequented, chiefly by carriages and equestrians; but
St. James's Park was nearer to the town, and with its
no less celebrated promenade of the Mall, presented
the further advantage of being near to the palace, and
it thus became not unfrequently the lounge of the king
and of the courtiers. There was great freedom in
society at that time; and people who were sufficiently
well-dressed accosted each other without hesitation,
and without requiring any of the formalities of
introduction. Thus the Park was a place of general
conversation; persons of either sex ' joked' each
other, sometimes rather practically, talked nonsense,
(sometimes) sense, employed wit and sarcasm as well as
flattery on each other, flirted (though they might be
perfect strangers), and intrigued. The promenaders
were so much at their ease, that they even sung in the
Park. The Park and the Mall were frequented every day,
and not only at all hours, but far into the night,
though there were certain hours at which they were
more crowded with company than at other times. Company
was not wanting there even at an early hour in the
forenoon. In the comedy of Feigned Friendship,
two ladies, one disguised as a young man, are
introduced in the Mall early, and meet an acquaintance
who addresses them
'Townley: G'morrow to
your ladyship. You would not lose the fine morning.'
'Lady G: But did not
expect so good company as Mr. Townley.'
'Townley: Small want of
that, I believe, madam, while this gentleman is with
you.'
'Lady G: Truly we have
pass'd an hour or two very divertingly. The Mall
afforded us a large field of satyr, and this spark, I
thank him, has managed his province much to my
satisfaction. He comes up just to your pitch of malice
and wit. I fancy your humours be very suitable. I must
have you acquainted.'
One of the fashionable hours
in the Park was that between twelve and one, being the
hour pre-ceding dinner. The ordinary dinner hour of
good society appears to have been two o'clock,
although at the beginning of the last century, very
fashion-able people had already adopted five. In
Congreve's Way of the World, printed in 1700, a turn
in the Park before dinner is spoken of as a common
practice:
'Mirabell: Fainall, are
you for the Mall?'
'Fain: Ay, I'll take a
turn before dinner.'
�Witwood: Ay, we'll all
walk in the park; the ladies talked of being there.'
Seven o'clock in the evening
was the next fashionable hour. The late dinner was
then over, and ' modish' people again sought the open
air. In the contemporary plays, gentlemen are
introduced making appointments with the other sex for
this hour. Hence the evening promenade was productive
of a large amount of scandal. The first scene of the
second act of Wilkinson's comedy of Vice Reclaimed,
printed in 1703, is laid in St. James's Park in the
morning. Two ladies begin their conversation as
follows:
'Annabella: 'Tis an
inviting morning, yet little or no company.'
'Lucia: So much the
better. I love retirement. Besides, this place is
grown so scandalous, 'tis forfeiting reputation to be
seen in an evening.'
Yet, with the gayer part of
fashionable society, the evening appears to have been
the favourite time in the Park. It included a good
portion of the night. In Durfey's Marriage Hater
Matched, Lady Hockley says of her dog, 'I carried him
to the Park every night with me.' In Shadwell's comedy
of The Humorist, a wit asks a lady in a tone of
surprise, '0 madam, where were you that I missed you
last night at the Park?' And in Wycherley's Gentleman
Dancing Master, Mistress Flirt, making conditions of
marriage, insists upon having her coach, adding, 'Nor
will I have such pitiful horses as cannot carry me
every night to the Park; for I will not miss a night
in the Park, I'd have you to know.'
There were various
spots in or about the Park which obtained a reputation
in the annals of gallantry. Barn Elms, near its
south-west corner (St. James's Park was then much more
extensive than at present) was a locality famed for duelling and love-making;
and Rosamond's Pond, near
it, and surrounded with pleasant trees, was not only a
well-known place of meeting for lovers, but had a more
melancholy celebrity for the number of disappointed
maidens who committed suicide in it. On the site now
occupied by Buckingham Palace were the famed Mulberry
Gardens, which had usurped the place of Spring Garden,
and which, like it, had their shady tortuous walks and
their arbours fitted up for refreshments and
intrigues. The Mulberry Gardens often furnished scenes
to the contemporary stage. They were entered from the
Park, and were open till a late hour in the night.
People talk of enjoying ' the garden by moonlight; 'and some of the female
characters in. Shadwell's
Humorist (1671), give us the following description:
'Frisks: 0 me, madam!
why does not your ladyship frequent the Mulberry
Garden oftener? I vow we had the pleasantest
divertisement there last night.'
'Strick: Ay, I was
there, madam Frisk, and the garden was very full,
madam, of gentlemen and ladies that made love together
till twelve o'clock at night, the prettyly'st: I vow 'twould
do one's heart good to see them.'
'Theo: Why that's a
time for cats to make love in, not men and women.'
In the reign of George I, the
elegant scenes of the London parks were transferred
for a few weeks in autumn to Tunbridge Wells. There,
it is stated, 'after prayers, all the company appear
on the walks in the greatest splendour, music playing
all the time; and the ladies and gentlemen divert
themselves with raffling, hazard, drinking of tea, and
walking, till two, when they go to dinner.' There was
no ceremony. 'Every gentleman is equally received by
the fair sex upon the walks.' 'You engage with the
ladies at play
without any introduction.' 'At night,
on the walks, there is all manner of play till
midnight.' The tourist who gives us this account
calmly adds: 'I believe there is no place in the world
better to begin an intrigue in than this, nor than
London to finish it.'''
From an early period in this
history of fashionable life, we have illustrations of
its external features in contemporary prints; and,
farther on, caricatures and satirical prints
contribute their aid. We are thus enabled to give a
few cuts, representing groups of the elegant loungers
of the parks at successive periods.
The first, taken from a large
contemporary view of a public ceremony, represents a
group of fashionables of the male sex in the reign of
William III.
The
second cut is of a rather later date, and represents a
gentleman and lady meeting in the fashionable
promenade of perhaps the earlier part of the reign of
George I.
While the tone of the comedies
and novels of the hundred years succeeding the
Restoration leave us in no doubt as to the laxity of
fashionable morals, it stands in curious contrast to
this fact that the external aspect of the beau monde
was decidedly formal. The gait of both men and women
was artificial; their phrases of compliment wholly
wanted natural ease and grace. A gentleman walking
with a lady generally carried his hat in his hand or
under his arm (the wig being the protection he trusted
to for the comfort of his poll). Take, as an
indication of this practice, a conversation between
Sylvia and Courtley, in Otway's Soldier's Fortune,
1681:
'Silv: In next place,
whene'er we meet in the Mall, I desire you to look
back at me.'
'Court: Which if I
chance to do, be sure at next turning to pick up some
tawdry fluttering fop or another.'
'Silv: That I made
acquaintance with all at the musique meeting.
'Court: Right, just
such another spark to saunter by your side with his
hat under his arm.'
Of the freedoms taken on the
promenades there is no want of illustrations. In
Cibber's Double Gallant (1707), the jealous husband,
Sir Solomon, says:
'I'll step into the park, and
see if I can meet with my hopeful spouse there! I
warrant, engaged in some innocent freedom (as she
calls it), as walking in a mask, to laugh at the
impertinence of fops that don't know her; but 'tis
more likely, I'm afraid, a plot to intrigue with those
that do.'
Masks were, as already stated,
in common use among the lady promenaders, who, under
cover of this disguise, assisted by a hood and scarf
which helped to conceal their person, were enabled to
carry on conversations and to follow adventures on
which they would hardly have ventured uncovered. In
Dilke's comedy of The Pretenders (1698), Sir Bellamore
Blunt, who is a stranger to London fashionable
society, is astonished at the forward manner of the
young Lady Ophelia
'Sir Bell: Why so?
where are you going then?' Ophelia. (aside) I'll soon
try his reality; may you be trusted, sir?'
'Sir Bell:
Indeed, I may, madam.'
'Ophelia: Then know I'm
going to my chamber, to fetch my mask, hood, and
scarf, and so jaunt it a little.'
'Sir Bell: Jaunt it!
What's the meaning of that?'
'Ophelia. Why, that's to take
a hackney coach, scour from playhouse to playhouse,
till I meet with some young fellow that has power
enough to attack me, stock enough to treat and present
me, and folly enough to be laughed at for his pains.'
London society was haunted by
two rather considerable classes of what we may perhaps
term parasites, the Beaux and the Wits, of which the
latter were by far the most respectable, because many
of those who pretended to literary talent or taste,
and frequented the society of the wits, were men of
wealth, or at least easy circumstances. The beaux
might also be divided into two classes, those who were
beaux by mere vanity and affectation, and those who
were adventurers in the world, who appear to have been
by far the more numerous class. These lived upon
society in every possible manner, and were especially
the attend-ants on the gambling-table. The Park was
the resort of the beaux, while the wits frequented the
coffee-houses, and both met in the theatres. A beau,
or as he was otherwise called, a fop or a spark,
affected the most extravagant degree of fashion in his
clothing, and he spent much of his time in the hands
of his hairdresser and perfumer. He affected also
grand and new words, and fine set phrases, in this
emulating the character of the wit. He was known by
two signs especially, the care bestowed upon his wig,
and the skilful manner in which be displayed his
snuff-box�for without a snuff-box nobody could be a
beau. In Cibber's Double Gallant (1707), a lady,
speaking of a monkey, says:
�Now, I think he looks very
humorous and agreeable; I vow, in a white periwig he
might do mischief; could he but talk, and take snuff,
there's ne'er a fop in town wou'd go beyond him.'
And in the comedy of The
Relapse (1708), the counsel given to any one who wants
to conciliate a beau is, 'say nothing to him, apply
yourself to his favourites, speak to his periwig, his
cravat, his feather, his snuff-box.' The beau is
represented as aiming by these fopperies at making
conquests among the ladies, and so marrying a -
fortune. 'Every fop,' says one of the personages in
the comedy of The Apparition (1714), 'every fop with a
long wig and a snuff-box thinks he may pretend to an
heiress of a thousand pounds a year.' In this
character the beau was commonly accused, partly out of
vanity and partly to promote his speculations on the
sex, of injuring reputations by boasting of favours
never received, and of forging love-letters addressed
to himself, in support of his boasts. In Carlyle's
comedy of The Fortune Hunters (1689), the leading
characters in which are beaux of this description, the
beau Shamtown is introduced in bed at five o'clock in
the afternoon, soliloquizing over his useless life,
confessing to the writing of billets-doux to himself
in the names of amorous ladies, and lamenting over his
want of success.
'Yet still,' he says, 'I kept
my reputation up; wheresoe'er I came, fresh
billet-doux on billet-doux were receiv'd; sent by
myself, heaven knows, unto myself, on my own charges.'
He subsequently produces a letter, written by himself,
which he professes to have received from a lady, and
which in no equivocal terms offers him an interview.
That the practice was a dangerous one, we do not need
the tragical case of Don Matthias in Gil Blas to
assure us. Another characteristic of the beau was,
that he always carried with him a pocket
looking-glass. It must not be forgotten that the beaux
and wits together pretended to rule the theatre, and
to decide what new pieces should be approved by the
public and what rejected. Hence the dramatic writers
of the day, in their prologues and epilogues, often
address themselves to these two classes. Thus Farquhar,
in the prologue to his comedy of Sir Barry Wildair,
says of the dramatic writer
'He gains his ends, if his
light fancy takes
St James's beaux and Covent Garden rakes.'
The popular writers of those
days abound in satirical descriptions of the beaux.
Thus a poem entitled Islington Wells, published in
1691, speaks of a beau `bedaubed with lace,' and
alludes especially to his love of fine language.
'For using vulgar words and
phrases,
Their mouth most inf'nitely debases,
To say they've melancholy been
Is barbarous; no, they are chagrin.
To say a lady's looks are well
Is common; no, her air is belle.
If any thing offends, the wig
Is lost, and they're in such fatigue.'
In Delke's comedy of The
Pretender, already quoted, we have the following
description of the beau of 1678:
'Sir Bellamour Blunt:
What the devil dost mean by that foolish word beau?'
'Vainthroat: Why,
faith, the title and qualifications of a beau have
long been the standing mark for the random shot of all
the poets of the age. And to very little purpose. The
beaux bravely stand their ground still, egad. The
truth on't is, they are a sort of case-hardened
animals, as uncapable of scandal as they are
insensible of any impression either from satyr or good
sense.'
'Sir Bell: And prithee
how must these case-hardened animals be distinguisht?'
'Vain: Barring
reflection, I believe the best way to be acquainted
with the whole tribe of 'em, wou'd be to get a general
register drawn from all the perfumers' shop books in
town. Or, which is more scandalous, to examine the
chaulks in all the chairmen's cellars about the Pall
Mall; where each morning the poor fellows sit, looking
pensively upon their long scores, shaking their heads,
and saying,�Ah! how many times have we trotted with
such a powder'd son of nine fathers from the
Chocolate-house to the play, and never yet saw a groat
of his money!'
Ten years later, the comedy of
The Relapse introduced on the stage a picture of the
aristocratic beau, in the character of Lord Foppington�a
sort of Lord Dundreary of his day�who, rallied on his
pretensions by a party of ladies, gives the following
account of his mode of life:
I rise, madam, about ten
o'clock. I don't rise sooner, because 'tis the worst
thing in the world for the complection; not that I
pretend to be a beau, but a man must endeavour to look
wholesome, lest he make so nauseous a figure in the
side-box, the ladies should be compelled to turn their
eyes upon the play. So at ten o'clock, I say, I rise.
Naw if I find 'tis a good day, I resolve to take a
turn in the Park, and see the fine women; so huddle on
my cloaths, and gett dress'd by one. If it be nasty
weather, I take a turn in the Chocolate-hause, where,
as you walk, madam, you have the prettiest prospect in
the world; you have looking-glasses all round you But
I'm afraid I tire the company.'
'Berinthia: Not at all.
Pray go on.'
'Lord Fop: Why then,
ladies, from thence I go to dinner at Packet's, where
you are so nicely and delicately serv'd, that, stap my
vitals! they shall compose you a dish no bigger than a
saucer shall cone to fifty shillings. Between eating
my dinner and washing my mouth, ladies, I spend my
time till I go to the play; where, till nine a clack,
I entertain myself with looking upon the company; and
usually dispose of one hour more in leading them ant.
So there's twelve of the four and twenty pretty well
over. The other twelve, madam, are disposed of intwo
articles: in the first four I toast myself drunk, and
in t'other eight I sleep myself sober again. Thus,
ladies, you see my life is an eternal round of
delights.'
The ladies afterwards go on to
remind him of another characteristic of the true beau
'Amanda: But I thought,
my lord, you beaux spent a great deal of your time in
intrigues: you have given us no account of 'em yet.'
'Lord Fop: Why, madam
as to time for my intrigues, I usually make
detachments of it from my other pleasures, according
to the exigency. Far your ladyship may please to take
notice that those who intrigue with women of quality
have rarely occasion for above half an hour at a time.
People of that rank being under those decorums, they
can seldom give; you a longer view than will just
serve to shoot 'em flying. So that the course of my
other pleasures is not very much interrupted by my
amours.'
The last description of the
beau we shall quote belongs to a still later date. It
is taken from that well-known romance, 'Chrysal,'
relating the adventures of a guinea, and published in
the year 1760. Chrysal became at one time the property
of a town beau, of whose manners and circumstances he
gives an amusing description. This beau, having pawned
a laced waistcoat for three guineas, 'returned home,
and changing his dress, repaired to a coffee-house at
the court-end of the town, where he talked over the
news of the day,' �'till he carelessly outstayed all
his engagements for supper, when a Welsh-rabbit and
three-pennyworth of punch made him amends for the want
of a dinner, and he went home satisfied.' He made
great show of finery and extravagance, but lived in
private very parsimoniously, in one room, up three
pairs of stairs, fronting a fashionable street, but
with a back door into an obscure alley, by which he
could enter unseen. He was attended only by his
hairdresser, laundress, and tailor, at their appointed
times. Here is a journal of one day of his life:
'As he had sat up late, it was
near noon when he arose, by which genteel indulgence
he saved coals, for his fire was never lighted till
after he was up. He then sallied out to breakfast in a
tarnished lace frock and his thick-soled shoes, read
the papers in the coffee house (too soon after
breakfast to take anything), and then walked a turn in
the Park, till it was time to dress for dinner, when
he went home, and finding his stomach out of order,
from his last night's debauch and his late
breakfasting, he sent the maid of the house for a
bason of pea-soup from the cook's shop to settle it,
by the time he had taken which, it was too late for
him to think of going anywhere to dine, though he had
several appointments with people of the first fashion.
When this frugal meal was over, he set about the real
business of the day. He took out and brushed his best cloaths, set his shirt
to the fire to air, put on his
stockings and shoes, and then sitting down to his
toilet, on which his washes, paints, tooth-powders,
and lip-salves were all placed in order, had just
finished his face, when his hairdresser came, one hour
under whose hands compleated him a first-rate beau.
When he had contemplated himself for some time with
pride of heart, and practised his looks and gestures
at the glass, a chair was called, which carried him to
a scene of equal magnificence and confusion.
From the brilliant appearance
of the company, and the ease and self-complacency in
all their looks, it should have seemed that there was
not one poor or unhappy person among them. But the
case of my master had convinced me what little faith
is to be given to appearances, as I also found upon a
nearer view that many of the gayest there were in no
better a condition than he! After some time passed in
conversation he sat down to cards.'
The character of the beau
degenerated about 1770 into that of the Macaroni. It reappeared in the
Dandy of about 1816,
but may be said to have since become utterly extinct.
Our third and last cuts are taken from engravings of
the time, and represent groups of fashionable promenaders in the reigns of
George II and George
III. They were among the last of those who gave
celebrity to the Park and the Mall.