Pride of the stage, and fav’rite of the town;”
which puts poor Mrs. Siddons to the blush, and half of those who are within hearing to flight.
In 1790, the so-called Bluestocking Club puzzled dwellers in country places. Nestor, of Bark Place, Salop, was sadly perplexed as to what the club was, and also as to the meaning of another slang term then prevailing. He writes to Sylvanus Urban accordingly, with a sort of apology for being old and living in remote Shropshire. Among others, he frequently meets with the term “white bear,” applied to many characters of eminence; and often reads of “the Bluestocking Club,” which he knows consists chiefly of the literati. But being ignorant of the derivation and propriety of application of those terms, he will be much obliged to any correspondent who will condescend to inform him. It does not appear that any correspondent, not even the editor himself, could enlighten Nestor, either as to the bear or the club.
Among the latest writers who have, as Hannah More said, misrepresented these intellectual parties is Miss Mitford. She speaks of Batheaston in her “Recollections of a Literary Life” (A. D. 1857) as “memorable for the Bluestocking vagaries of a certain Lady Miller, a Somersetshire Clemence Isaure, who, some seventy years ago, offered prizes for the best verses thrown into an antique urn; the prize consisting, not of a golden violet, but a wreath of laurel, and the whole affair producing, as was to be expected, a great deal more ridicule than poetry.” In Lady Miller’s case, the original object, “conversation,” was lost sight of; and some vanity was mixed up with the doings of the Batheaston Muse. But to stir up even dull minds to make an attempt to write some sort of poetry was an intellectual exercise at least as beneficial as the process which counts honours, and eternally asks, “What’s trumps?”
CHAPTER XII.
Returning to the year 1781, it is to be observed that after that year, the Bluestocking assemblies gradually died out. Cumberland’s caricature of them excited the displeasure of good Queen Charlotte; and Miss Burney, who recognised herself as alluded to under the guise of an Arcadian nymph, has given a description of a breakfast at the palace in Portman Square, which did not the least resemble that which was described, a generation earlier, by Madame du Bocage. The later breakfast was sumptuous, gorgeous, overcrowded. In splendour of company, banquet, and locality, it could not be surpassed; and hundreds were there. But we miss the more select number of intellectual people, who used to fill the smaller house in Hill Street, where the Bluestockings met, and dignified their place of meeting. From the year 1781, Mrs. Montagu’s letters take a graver tone, which is occasionally enlivened by some of her old brilliancy of expression. The following letter is without date of the year, but it was written when Hill Street was about being abandoned for the palace in Portman Square.
“Hill Street, 2d March, 1781. ... You will find this town more gay and splendid than ever; so little effect has the combined evil of wars, and devastation, and hurricanes. The profuse liberality to Vestris, ye dancer, and the enthusiastic admiration of his capers exceeds all the folly I ever knew. Making a visit to a wife of one of the corps diplomatique, the other night, I had the mortification of overhearing a group of foreigners ridiculing the English for the bustle made about Vestris.
“... I have already on my chimney-piece a multitude of cards for assemblies for every day till near the end of passion week. I hope some of the fine people will spend the Easter holidays in ye country; for such a succession of assemblies is tiresome.
“... I have, greatly to my satisfaction, got my new house finished and fit for habitation; and I should have taken possession at this very time, but the wise people and the medical people say it would be dangerous to go into a new house just after the winter damp.... As I always leave London early in May, I was convinced it was not worth while to run hazard for a few weeks’ pleasure. It is much the fashion to go and see my house, and I receive many compliments upon its elegance and magnificence, but what most recommends it to me is its convenience and cheerfulness. A good house is a great comfort in old age and among the few felicities that money will procure.