The Beaux and the Dandies

CHAPTER I

We all owe much to our tailors in one sense, many of us in more senses than one. How shall society repay its tailor ?—Punch, 1845.

HE Beau has been with us through all the ages,

THE

for the quality which makes the beau is first selfconsciousness and then vanity, the vanity which seeks its expression in clothes. Literature gives us stories from East and West, North and South, of individuals who have bestowed such extreme care upon their appearance that they are marked out from their nation or tribe as people of especial note. Such during their day make more stir than the men of intellect or force, for that which pleases the eye has the most vivid effect upon the imagination. There are, besides, so many men of brains, so many who can rule or organise, and but few who, being content to let their reputation rest solely upon their outside show, have also the power to make that show of such a quality that it stamps a deep impression upon others.

Naturally there are beaux of various degrees. There is the real beau, he who is first and last a beau and nothing but a beau; he whose intellect is given chiefly to clothes; who is, by accident, by circumstance, or by choice, freed from any profession or occupation, who

can do but one thing well, and has secured the chance of doing that thing.

Of such an one Carlyle says in his chapter in Sartor Resartus upon "The Dandiacal Body" that he is "a clothes-wearing Man, a Man whose trade, office and existence consists in the wearing of Clothes. Every faculty of his soul, spirit, purse and person is heroically consecrated to this one object, the wearing of Clothes wisely and well; so that as others dress to live he lives to dress. The all-importance of Clothes, which a German professor, of unequalled learning and acumen, writes his enormous Volume to demonstrate, has sprung up in the intellect of the Dandy without effort, like an instinct of genius; he is inspired with Cloth, a Poet of Cloth. What Teufelsdröckh would call a Divine Idea of Cloth ' is born with him, and this, like other such ideas, will express itself outwardly, or wring his heart asunder with unutterable throes.'

It will be noticed that Carlyle uses the word Dandy rather than Beau, but in the eighty years or so which have elapsed since his famous book upon clothes was written, these words have come to designate somewhat different ideas. Carlyle's Dandy is the ideal Beau, whom only two or three men have approached in practice. The most notable was George Bryan Brummell, he whose devotion to appearance was such that it is impossible to conceive of him doing any work in the world dissociated from it. He was the living example of the debated philosophical theory that Appearance is Reality, and it was only when his intellect gave way that he lost his pre-eminence over other men in this respect. Of all beaux, Brummell was the chief; certainly not in England nor in Europe has there been another to equal him.

It is more than probable that many, on reading this,

will say it is well that it should be so that neither England nor any other country wants or ever will want such a man again. This judgment, justifiable only from short-sightedness, is an extreme one. It is certain that there are many people whom we think we can do without, the criminal and evil-doer, for instance. If we go farther, and wish to wipe Brummell from our history, we might also dispense with a great multitude of people in every generation-people who live solely for their own pleasure, to which they minister chiefly by their clothes, striving to outdo each other in dress and social matters. Indeed the idlers who make no mark upon their day can better be spared than that extreme idler who, by his very thoroughness, did society a great service in reforming its taste and laying down hygienic laws which had been too long ignored.

The Dandy, as we read him now, is a fine gentleman with a great regard for his appearance, but he may have other strong qualities and powers. He may be a poet, a politician, a merchant, a lord, an artist—indeed, he may be anything, with an added desire to be noteworthy in appearance. Such an one will copy eagerly the newest fashion, or will set a new fashion himself; and if he be rash enough to do the latter, he must stand or fall by it. That is to say, that if his novelty be acclaimed by his comrades, if they copy it and talk of it, then has he gone a step higher in the peculiar rank of Dandy. On the other hand, if he be simply stared at but not imitated, if people laugh at and talk of him, but ignore his new design, in so far as imitation goes, then he is but a freak, a poor foolish Dandy, of whom people speak with tolerant or contemptuous pity. And herein lies the real difference between the Beau and the Dandy. The Beau is a born artist in clothes, the whole subject of dress comes naturally to him, his clothes are

the expression of himself. With the Dandy, however, the science of clothes has to be instilled into him; he must take anxious care and thought as to what to wear and how to wear it. In fact, there is as much difference between the Beau and the Dandy as there is between a Wit and a man who labours at his jokes until at last he produces a bright idea, and then has to guide the conversation until he can get the chance of fitting the jeu d'esprit into it.

Henry Cope, who, during the Regent's wildest days at the Pavilion on the coast of Sussex, was known as "The Green Man of Brighton," may be mentioned as an example of the unsuccessful Dandy.

"He is dressed in green pantaloons, green waistcoat, green frock, green cravat; and though his ears, whiskers, eyebrows, and chin are better powdered than his head, which is however covered with flour, his countenance, no doubt from the reflection of his clothes, is also green. He eats nothing but greens, fruits and vegetables; has his rooms painted green and furnished with green sofas, green chairs, green tables, green bed, and green curtains. His gig, his livery, his portmanteau, his gloves, and his whip are all green. With a green silk handkerchief in his hand, and a large watch chain with green seals, fastened to the green buttons of his green waistcoat, he parades every day on the Steyne."

Of course Henry Cope failed as much by his extremity as by his artificiality, but it is that very inability to know what will be acceptable, and the striving not to be superior to his fellows but to be different, which marks the unsuccessful Dandy. Those who hold an intermediate position between the genuine Beau and the false Dandy, those who follow a fashion and contrive to look well, to catch attention as extremely well-dressed people-I use

The Hour-and the Beau

13

the word in its narrow sense, as used by the votaries of fashion are the successful Dandies.

England has counted among its celebrities but three men who are Beaux par excellence, Nash, Brummell, and D'Orsay, and of these Nash's name lives more by the character of the work that he did than by his elegance in dress, though that gave him his reputation. There are some people who would deny that he filled any real place in the world, but fortunately this is not the opinion of the majority, for the organiser and the ruler is in constant demand.

D'Orsay did not influence society as much as Brummell, though he was quite as elegant a figure. He was not an Englishman, he had not the same opportunity of attracting royalty, his career was weighted by scandal, and he lacked both the ultra-cool assurance of Brummell and the capacity for organisation which made of Nash an autocrat. In fact, much as he was admired, he lived at a time of transition in social views, a transition which eventually put the Beau out of fashion. For the existence of the Beau depends upon the character of society.

Beaux, fops, dandies, whatever name we may give them, will always be with us, but their position, their prominence, and their effectiveness will depend upon the conditions of the society in which they live. As M. Barbey d'Aurevilly says: "For a rare Beau to develop himself it is necessary that he should have the advantage of a very aristocratic, complicated society." Had there been no Prince Regent there would have been no Beau Brummell as we know him; had there been no Bath we should have heard little of Beau Nash; had there been no Charles II. we should have heard nothing of the elaborate fineness of such men as Rochester, Sedley, and Feilding.

The Court, after the Restoration, was a veritable hot