CHAPTER XXX.

Men’s dress—the “Jean de Bry” coat—Short coats fashionable at watering-places—“All Bond Street trembled as he strode”—Rules for the behaviour of a “Bond Street Lounger.”

OF DRESS, either of men, or women, there is little to chronicle during this ten years. The mutations during a similar period, at the close of the previous century, had been so numerous, and radical, as to be sufficient to satisfy any ordinary being; so that, with the exception of the ordinary changes of fashion, which tailors, and milliners will impose upon their victims, there is little to record.

At the commencement of the year 1800, men wore what were then called “Jean de Bry” coats, so named from a French statesman, who was somewhat prominent during the French Revolution—born 1760, died 1834. The accompanying illustration is somewhat exaggerated, not so much as regards the padding on the shoulders, as to the Hessian boots, which latter might, almost, have passed a critical examination, had it not have been that they are furnished with bells, instead of tassels. The coat was padded at the shoulders, to give breadth, and buttoned tight to show the slimness of the waist; yet, as this, under ordinary circumstances, would have hidden the waistcoat—the coat had to be made short-waisted.

Then, the same year, only towards its close, came a craze for short coats, or jackets, resembling the Spencers, but they did not last long, being only fashionable at Brighton, Cheltenham, &c. There seems to have been very little change until 1802, when a modification of the Jean de Bry coat was worn, with the collar increasing very much in height, and boots were discarded in walking.

The portrait of Colonel Duff, afterwards Lord Fyfe, on the next page, is only introduced as an exemplar of costume, and not as a “Bond Street Lounger,” of whom we hear so much, and, as not only may many of my readers like to know something about him, but his character is so amusingly sketched by a contemporary, and the account gives such a vivid picture of the manners of the times, that I transcribe it. It is from the _Morning Post_ of the 6th of February, 1800; and, after premising that the Lounger is comfortably settled at an hotel, the following instructions are given him, as being necessary to establish his character as a young man of fashion. “In short, find fault with every _single_ article, without exception, d———— n the _waiter_ at almost regular intervals, and never let him stand _one moment still_, but ‘keep him _eternally_ moving;’ having it in remembrance that he is only an _unfortunate_, and _wretched_ subordinate, of course, a _stranger_ to feelings which are an ornament to Human Nature; with this recollection on your part that the more illiberal the abuse he has from _you_, the greater will be his admiration of your _superior_ abilities, and _Gentleman_-like qualifications.

Confirm him in the opinion he has so justly imbibed, by _swearing_ the _fish_ is not _warm_ through; the poultry is _old_, and ‘tough as your _Grandmother_’; the pastry is made with butter, _rank Irish_; the cheese, which they call _Stilton_, is nothing but _pale Suffolk_; the malt liquor _damnable_, a mere infusion of _malt_, _tobacco_, and _cocculus Indicus_; the port _musty_; the sherry _sour_; and the whole of the dinner and dessert were ‘infernally infamous,’ and, of course, not fit for the entertainment of a _Gentleman_; conclude the lecture with an oblique hint, that without _better_ accommodations, and more ready _attention_, you shall be under the necessity of leaving the house for a more _comfortable_ situation. This _spirited_ declaration at _starting_ will answer a variety of purposes, but none so essential as an _anticipated_ objection to the payment of _your bill_ whenever it may be presented. With no small degree of personal ostentation, give the waiter your name ‘because you have ordered your letters _there_, and, as they will be of importance, beg they may be taken care of, particularly those written in _a female hand_, of which description, many may be expected.

“Having thus introduced you to, and fixed you, recruit-like, in _good quarters_, I consider it almost unnecessary to say, however _bad_ you may _imagine_ the wine, I doubt not your own _prudence_ will point out the characteristic necessity for drinking enough, not only to afford you the credit of reeling to bed by the aid of the banister, but the collateral comfort of calling yourself ‘damned queer’ in the morning, owing entirely to the villainous adulteration of the wine, for, when _mild_ and _genuine_, you can take off _three_ bottles ‘without winking or blinking.’ When rousing from your last somniferous reverie in the morning, ring the bell with no small degree of energy, which will serve to convince the whole family you are awake; upon the entrance of either _chamberlain_ or _chambermaid_, vociferate half a dozen questions in succession, without waiting for a single reply. As, What morning is it? does it hail, rain, or shine? Is it a frost? Is my breakfast ready? Has anybody enquired for me? Is my groom here? &c., &c. And here it becomes directly in point to observe, that a _groom_ is become so evidently necessary to the _ton_ of the present day (particularly in the neighbourhood of Bond Street) that a great number of _Gentlemen_ keep a _groom_, who cannot (except upon _credit_) keep a _horse_; but then, they are always upon ‘the look out for horses;’ and, till they are obtained, the employment of _the groom_ is the embellishment of _both ends_ of his master, by first dressing his head, and then polishing his boots and shoes.

“The trifling ceremonies of the morning gone through, you will sally forth in search of adventures, taking that great Mart of _every_ virtue, ‘BOND STREET,’ in your way. Here it will be impossible for you (between the hours of _twelve_ and _four_) to remain, even a few minutes, without falling in with various ‘feathers of your wing,’ so true it is, in the language of Rowe, ‘you herd together,’ that you cannot fear being long alone. So soon as three of you are met, adopt a Knight of the Bath’s motto, and become literally ‘Tria juncta in uno,’ or, in other words, link your arms so as to engross the whole breadth of the pavement; the _fun_ of driving fine women, and old dons, into the _gutter_, is exquisite, and, of course, constitutes _a laugh_ of the most _humane_ sensibility. Never make these excursions without _spurs_, it will afford not only _presumptive_ proof of your _really_ keeping a horse, but the lucky opportunity of _hooking_ a fine girl by the gown, apron, or petticoat; and, while she is under the distressing mortification of disentangling herself, you and your companions can add to her dilemma by some indelicate _innuendo_, and, in the moment of extrication, walk off with an exulting exclamation of having ‘cracked the muslin.’ Let it be a fixed rule never to be seen in the LOUNGE without a _stick_, or _cane_; this, dangling in a string, may accidentally get between the feet of any female in passing; if she falls, in consequence, that can be no fault of _yours_, but the effect of her indiscretion.

“By way of relief to the sameness of the scene, throw yourself loungingly into a chair at Owen’s,[45] cut up a _pine_ with the greatest _sang froid_, amuse yourself with a jelly or two, and, after viewing with a happy _indifference_ whatever may present itself, throw down a _guinea_ (without condescending to ask a question) and walk off; this will not only be politically inculcating an idea of your _seeming_ liberality upon the present; but paving the way to _credit_ upon a _future_ occasion. I had hitherto omitted to mention the necessity for previously providing yourself with _a glass_ (suspended from your button-hole by a string) the want of which will inevitably brand you with _vulgarity_, if not with indigence; for the true (and, formerly, ‘unsophisticated’) breed of _Old John Bull_ is so very much altered by _bad crosses_, and a deficiency in constitutional stamina, equally affecting the _optic nerves_, that there are very few men of fashion can see _clear_ beyond the _tip_ of the _nose_.

“At the breaking up of the parade, stroll, as it were, accidentally into the Prince of Wales’s Coffee house, in Conduit Street, walk up with the greatest ease, and consummate confidence to every box, in rotation; look at everybody with an inexplicable _hauteur_, bordering upon contempt; for, although it is most likely you will know _little_ or _nothing_ of _them_, the great object is, that they should have a _perfect knowledge_ of _you_. Having repeatedly, and vociferously, called the waiter when he is most _engaged_, and, at each time asked him various questions equally frivolous and insignificant, seem to skim the surface of the _Morning Post_ (if disengaged), humming the _March_ in _Blue Beard_,[46] to show the _versatility_ of your genius; when, finding you have made yourself sufficiently _conspicuous_, and an object of general attention (or rather attraction), suddenly leave the room, but not without such an _emphatical_ mode of _shutting_ the _door_, as may afford to the various companies, and individuals, a most striking proof of your departure.”