Part 65 (1/2)
”They say it is right that for every gla.s.s, A tune you should take that the water may pa.s.s; So while little Tabby was was.h.i.+ng her rump, The ladies kept drinking it out of the pump.”
~318~~A very pleasant piece of satire, but somewhat, as I understand, at the expense of truth, since the well from which the water in the pump room is obtained is many feet below the one that supplies the baths; situation certainly a.s.sists the view of the satirist. I ought not to pa.s.s over here the story told us by our old friend Blackstrap, respecting the first discovery of these waters by Bladud, the son of Lud Hudibras, king of Britain; a fabulous tale, which, for the benefit of the city all true Bathonians are taught to lisp with their horn book, and believe with their creed, as genuine orthodox; and on which subject my friend Horace furnished the following impromptu.
Oh, Lud! oh, Lud! that hogs and mud{1} Should rival sage M.D.'s; And hot water, in this quarter, Cure each foul disease.
”Throw physic to the dogs, I'll have none on't,'” said Horace: ”if hot water can effect such wonders, why, a plague on all the doctors! Let a man be content to distil his medicine fresh from his own teakettle, or make his was.h.i.+ng copper serve the double purpose for domestic uses and a medicated bath.
'But what is surprising, no mortal e'er view'd Any one of the physical gentlemen stew'd.
From the day that King Bladud first found out these bogs, And thought them so good for himself and his hogs, Not one of the faculty ever has tried These excellent waters to cure his own hide; Though many a skilful and learned physician, With candour, good sense, and profound erudition, Obliges the world with the fruits of his brain, Their nature and hidden effects to explain.'
1 See the fabulous account alluded to in Warner's History of Bath, where Bladud is represented to have discovered the properties of the warm springs at Beechen Wood Swainswick, by observing the hogs to wallow in the mud that was impregnated therewith, and thus to have derived the knowledge of a cure for 'tis leprous affection.
~319~~But _allons_, lads,” said Horace, ”we are here to follow the fas.h.i.+on, and indulge in all the eccentricities of the place; to note the follies of the time, and depict the chief actors, without making any personal sacrifice to correct the evil. Our satire will do more to remove old prejudices when it appears in print, aided by Bob Transit's pencil, than all our reasonings upon the spot can hope to effect, although we followed Mr. M'Culloch's economy, and lectured upon decency from break of day to setting sun. In quitting the pump-room we must not, however, omit to notice the statue of Beau Nash, before which Transit appears, in _propria personae_, sketching off the marble memento, without condescending to notice the busts of Pope and Newton, which fill situations on each side; a circ.u.mstance which in other times produced the following epigram from the pen of the witty earl of Chesterfield.
”The statue plac'd the busts between Adds satire to the strength; Wisdom and Wit are little seen, But Folly at full length.”
Such is the attachment of man to the recollections of any thing a.s.sociated with pleasure, that it is questionable if the memory of old Joe Miller is not held in higher estimation by the moderns than that of Father Luther, the reformer; and while the numerous amusing anecdotes in circulation tend to keep alive the fame of Nash, it is not surprising that the merry pay court to his statue, being in his own dominions, before they bow at the cla.s.sic shrine of Pope, or bend in awful admiration beneath the bust of the greatest of philosophers.
”'Twas said of old, deny it now who can, The only laughing animal is man.”
And we are about to present the reader with a right merry scene, one, too, if he has any fun in his composition, or loves a good joke, must warm the c.o.c.kles ~320~~of his heart. Who would ever have thought, in these moralizing times, when the puritans are raising conventicles in every town and village, and the cant of vice societies has spread itself over the land, that in one of our most celebrated places of fas.h.i.+onable resort, there should be found baths where the young and the old, the beauteous female and the gay spark, are all indiscriminately permitted to enjoy the luxurious pleasure together. That such is the case in Bath no one who has recently partic.i.p.ated in the pleasures of immersion will dispute, and in order to perpetuate that gratification, Bob Transit has here faithfully delineated the scene which occurred upon our entering the King's Bath, through the opening from the Queen's, where, to our great amus.e.m.e.nt and delight, we found ourselves surrounded by many a sportive nymph, whose beauteous form was partially hidden by the loose flannel gown, it is true; but now and then the action of the water, produced by the continued movements of a number of persons all bathing at the same time, discovered charms, the which to have caught a glimpse of in any other situation might have proved of dangerous consequences to the fair possessors. The baths, it must be admitted, are delightful, both from their great extent and their peculiar properties, as, on entering from the Queen's Bath you may enjoy the water at from 90 to 96 degrees, or requiring more heat have only to walk forward, through the archway, to obtain a temperature of 116. The first appearance of old Blackstrap's visage floating along the surface of the water, like the grog-blossomed trunk of the ancient Bardolph, bound up in a Welsh wig, was truly ludicrous, and produced such an unexpected burst of laughter from my merry companions, that I feared some of the fair Naiads would have fainted in the waters from fright, and then Heaven help them, for decency would have prevented our rus.h.i.+ng to their a.s.sistance. The notices to prevent gentlemen ~321~~from swimming in the baths are, in my opinion, so many inducements or suggestions for every young visitor to attempt it. Among our mad wags, Horace Eglantine was more than once remonstrated with by the old bathing women for indulging in this pleasure, to the great alarm of the ladies, who, crowding together in one corner with their aged attendants, appeared to be in a high state of apprehension lest the loose flannel covering that guards frail mortality upon these occasions should be drawn aside, and discover nature in all her pristine purity--an accident that had very nearly happened to myself, when, in endeavouring to turn round quickly, I found the water had disenc.u.mbered my frame of the yellow bathing robe, which floated on the surface behind me.
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One circ.u.mstance which made our party more conspicuous, was, the rejection of the Welsh wigs, which not all the entreaties of the attendant could induce any of the wags to wear. The young ladies disfigure themselves by wearing the black bonnets of the bathing women; but spite of this masquerading in the water, their lovely countenances and soul-subduing eyes, create sensations that will be more easily conceived than prudently described. A certain facetious writer, who has published his ”Walks through Bath,” alluding to this practice, speaks of it as having been prohibited in the fifteenth century. How long such prohibition, if it ever took place, continued, it is not for me to know; but if the Bath peripatetic historian had made it his business to have seen what he has described, he would have found, that the practice of bathing males and females together in _puris naturalibus_ was still continued in high perfection, in spite of the puritans, the Vice Society, or the prohibition of Bishop Beckyngton.{2}
2 It appears, that about the middle of the fifteenth century it was the custom for males and females to bathe together, in puris naturalibus, which was at length prohibited by Bishop Beckyngton, who ordered, by way of distinction, the wearing of breeches and petticoats; this indecency was suppressed, after considerable difficulty, at the end of the sixteenth century, (quere, what indecency does our author of the ”Walks through Bath” mean? the inc.u.mbrance of the breeches and petticoats, we must imagine). It also seems, that about 1700 it was the fas.h.i.+on for both s.e.xes to bathe together indiscriminately, and the ladies used to decorate their heads with all the advantages of dress, as a mode of attracting attention and heightening their charms. The husband of a lady in one of the baths, in company with Beau Nash, was so much enraptured with the appearance of his wife, that he very im-prudently observed, ”she looked like an angel, and he wished to be with her.” Nash immediately seized him by the collar, and threw him into the bath; this circ.u.mstance produced a duel, and Nash was wounded in his right arm: it however had the good effect of establis.h.i.+ng the reputation of Nash, who shortly after became master of the ceremonies.
~322~~
”You cannot conceive what a number of ladies Were wash'd in the water the same as our maid is: How the ladies did giggle and set up their clacks All the while an old woman was rubbing their backs; Oh! 'twas pretty to see them all put on their flannels, And then take the water, like so many spaniels; And though all the while it grew hotter and hotter, They swam just as if they were hunting an otter.
'Twas a glorious sight to behold the fair s.e.x All wading with gentlemen up to their necks, And view them so prettily tumble and sprawl In a great smoking kettle as big as our hall; And to-day many persons of rank and condition Were boil'd, by command of an able physician.”
From the baths we migrated to the grand promenade of fas.h.i.+on, Milsom Street, not forgetting to take a survey of the old Abbey Church, which, as a monument of architectural grandeur without, and of dread monition within, is a building worthy the attention of the antiquarian and the philosopher; while perpetuating the remembrance of many a cherished name to worth, to science, and to virtue dear, the artist and the amateur may derive much gratification from examining the many excellent ~323~~pieces of sculpture with which the Abbey abounds. But for us, gay in disposition, and scarcely allowing ourselves time for reflection, such a scene had few charms, unless, indeed, the English Spy could have separated himself from the buoyant spirits with which he was attended, and then, wrapt in the gloom of the surrounding scene, and given up to serious contemplation, the emblems of mortality which decorate the gothic pile might have conjured up in his mind's eye the forms of many a departed spirit, of the blest shades of long-lost parents and of social friends, of those who, living, lent a l.u.s.tre to the arts, of witty madcaps frost-bitten by the sable tyrant Death, nipped in the very bud of youth, while yet the sparkling jest was ripe upon the merry lip, and the ruddy glow of health upon the cheek gave earnest of a lengthened life------But, soft! methinks I hear my reader exclaim, ”How now, madcap, moralizing Mr. Spy? art thou, too, bitten by the desire to philosophize, thou, 'the very Spy o' the time,' the merry buoyant rogue who has laughed all serious scenes to scorn, and riding over hill, and dale, and verdant plain upon thy fiery courser, fleet as the winds, collecting the cream of comicalities, and, beshrew thee, witling, plucking the brightest flowers that bloom in the road of pleasure to give thy merry garland's perfume, and deck thy page withal, art thou growing serious? Then is doomsday near; and poor, deserted, care-worn man left unprotected to the tempest's rage!” Not so, good reader, we are still the same merry, thoughtless, laughing, buoyant sprite that thou hast known us for the last two years; but the archer cannot always keep his bow upon the stretching point; so there are scenes, and times, and fancies produced by recollective circ.u.mstances and objects, which create strange conceits even in the light-hearted bosom of the English Spy.
Such was the train of reflections which rushed in ~324~~voluntarily upon my mind as I noted down the pa.s.sing events of the day, a practice usual with me when, retiring from the busy hum of men, I seek the retirement of my chamber to commit my thoughts to paper. I had recently pa.s.sed through the depository where rest the remains of a tender mother--had sought the spot, unnoticed by my light-hearted companions, and having bedewed with tears of grat.i.tude her humble grave, gave vent to my feelings, by the following tribute to a parent's worth.
MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.
Beneath yon ivy-mantled wall, In a lone corner, where the earth Presents a rising green mound, all Of her who lov'd and gave me birth
Lies buried deep. No trophied stone, Or graven verse denotes the spot: Her worth her epitaph alone, The green-sward grave her humble lot.
How silent sleep the virtuous dead!
For them few sculptured honours rise, No marble tablet here to spread A fame--their every act implies.
No mockery here, nor herald's s.h.i.+eld, To glitter o'er a bed of clay; But snow-drops and fresh violets yield A tribute to worth pa.s.s'd away.
Tread lightly, ye who love or know En life's young road a parent's worth, Who yet are strangers to the woe Of losing those who gave you birth,
~325~~