Nash was the same sort of Mentor to the gambling Duke of Bedford; and the Duke entered with the Beau into a gambling compact, whereby he bound himself to put restraint upon his spirit of gambling. Nash gave him £100, to receive £1000 whenever the Duke lost the latter sum at one sitting. Nash came upon his Grace a month after, just as he had lost £8000, and was about to throw for £3000 more. Nash reminded him of the compact. The Duke paid the forfeit, threw his main, and lost. Perhaps the Beau expected some such profitable result of his little investment.
He may not however have deserved this remark; for Nash could be most romantically generous. Thus, Lord Townsend lost to him a sum which he could not conveniently pay; the Beau forgave the debt, some £20,000, on condition that the Peer should give him £5000 whenever asked to do so. Nash never troubled Lord Townsend further; but, after the Lord’s decease, when the Beau had fallen into adversity, he applied to the Peer’s representatives, exhibited his vouchers, and was paid his claim. This is honourable to both parties.
The Peers and the Parliament generally were a singularly inconsistent set of people at this time. They passed a law which suppressed gambling everywhere, except in the royal palace, under a penalty of £50; and they no sooner passed this law than they hurried to many places, and to Bath especially, to break it. Nash said he was King of Bath, and that playing in his palace was not infringing the ordinances; but the Parliament was too much even for him in the long run, and, by the ultimate suppression of all “tables,” in whatsoever locality, they deprived the Beau of much of his power to put gold lace on his coat, and guineas in his pocket.
Still he was the despot of the rooms; and again I say, that the secret of his power almost defies conjecture. He was indeed a splendid decker of his person; but that person was clumsy, large, and awkward. His features were harsh. It is to be remembered however, that he not only had fine clothes, but a stupendous gift of “flattering;” and he had, besides, more wit than most of the ladies he cajoled. “Richard,” said a modest young creature to him one day (and it is painful to think that she might have been our grandmother;—that is, yours, reader, or mine): “Richard, you have a tongue that would debauch a nunnery!”
He assumed an airy sort of “indifference” in his method of gallantry, and the ladies found this deliciously provoking. It set the fashion; and it became the characteristic of the Georgian beaux. It was a contrast, much welcomed, after the smartness and pertness of the beaux of the reign of Queen Anne; and it was preferable to the slimy solemnity of the beaux of the age of King Charles. And Dick, be it said for him, always kept hold of a rag of dignity, whereby to help himself; and when he found that he could not be a seducer, he became a champion. He loved to rescue damsels from the suit of adventurers, and he did save many. He chastised scandal; would not tolerate it even in the elder ladies who sat on his sacred benches. The King of Bath made a royal monopoly of the article, as the King of France did of tobacco. He had capital opportunity of indulging in his favourite dish, when he used to consult with the old Duchess of Marlborough upon the fashion of her liveries.
Like Florian, who used to hunt out distressed subjects for his patron, the Duc de Penthièvre, to relieve, he took a praiseworthy delight in discovering worth in adversity, and then compelling the wealthy to do something to lighten that adversity. It is perfectly true that, having gained £200 at picquet, and hearing a bystander remark, “How happy that sum would make me!” Nash threw him the money, saying, “There, then, go and be happy!”
Among the poor patients at the springs, the Beau once discovered a poor curate, named Cullender. He had a wife, of course six children, and naturally only thirty pounds a year. Nash donned his best suit, polished up the persuasive end of his irresistible tongue, went to a “patron” who had a living to give, and did not leave him till he had given it to Dr. Cullender. It was worth £160 per annum. “There, Doctor,” said Nash, “I’ve brought you half Potosi.” “By G—d!” said the divine, “so you have!” Such was patronage, pity, and piety, in the days of Beau Nash.
It is not to be supposed that so general a wooer escaped altogether heart-free. He had a heart; as good a one (as was said in Fontenelle’s case) as could be made out of brains; and he once proposed marriage to the lady of his transitory affections. The lady pleaded her devotion to another lover, and even asked for Nash’s mediation with her father to consent to the marriage. The honest fellow consented, and went through infinite trouble before he succeeded. He himself joined the hands of the affianced pair, and gave them his blessing. Six months afterwards, the lady eloped with her footman!
Nash ought not to have been disgusted with human nature, for ladies occasionally were given, in his time, to the observance of this little fashion; but it did disgust Nash. He turned misogynist, and gave himself more to philanthropy in its restricted sense. He hated women, he said, but still had charity for men; and accordingly he was foremost in founding the Bath Hospital, and alone in raising obelisks to rheumatic princes,—obelisks for which Pope furnished very inferior superscriptions.