'Who's your fat friend?' - the impudent humour of Beau Brummell

Why are witticisms bestowed by Britain's most remarkable Regency socialite, so scant and elusive today?

'Beau' Brummell's biographers have revealed concerted confidence in their assessment of the matter. Among the first, Jules Barbey D'Aurevilly, wrote an influential essay on dandyism after catching a view of Brummell – sometime after his Regency reign.

D'Aurevilly suggested his subject's humour was not merely confined to pithy remarks. But rather:

'... reflected in his words, his acts, his attitude, his gestures and in the very sound of his voice .' (1)

Moreover, Brummellian epigrams are all but unable to exist without exposition of the events or circumstances within which they arose. An early example would demonstrate the remarkable potency of Brummell's droll delivery, as well as the need for reasonable context in any retelling.

The story goes that while at Eton:

'A party of boys having quarreled with the boatmen of the Thames, had fallen on one who had rendered himself obnoxious, and were about to throw him into the river. Brummell, who never took part in these affrays, but happened to pass by at the time; said, "My good fellows, don't throw him into the river; for as the man is in a high state of perspiration, it amounts to a certainty that he will catch cold." The boys burst into laughter, and let their enemy run for life.' (2)

It was towards the end of his schooldays that Brummell first met and ingratiated himself with the Prince of Wales.

The Prince Regent was patron of the Tenth Hussars:

"the most idle and fashionable regiment of the day, hand-picked for elegance, charm and – ordinarily – birth." (3)

In the course of his notably brief military career (and for whatever reasons: taking too long to shave and get dressed being among the most obvious) Brummell was always late for parade and unable to recognise his own troop among other squadrons. However, he soon found a suitable enough solution by way of an amusing affliction borne by one of his officers who:

"had a remarkably large blue nose — red and blue, more correctly — and of very brilliant tints. That nose was Brummell's beacon. "My good fellow," said he, offering the man a handful of silver; "my good fellow, take care to keep up that illumination; it's worth the cornetcy to me." (4)

Within two years Brummell had been promoted from cornet to captain and became 'soul of the mess': "— a very earthly, mundane soul, the coarse quality of which no coating of varnish could conceal from moderately discerning eyes." (5)

The reasons for Brummell's resigning his commission at 21 are unclear; not least because the young captain obscured them with mock – or just as likely, genuine – horror, at the thought of being relocated to Manchester: a thoroughly unfashionable manufacturing town at the time.

The Prince of Wales not only accepted Brummell's resignation (quite casually) but allowed him to remain a close favourite. This perch enabled the protege to out-charm and effectively preside over exclusive London society.

A strata which would otherwise have been too class-conscious to tolerate Brummell's existence at all.

That's not to say Beau Brummell's regal appointment as Arbiter Elegentiarum (ie fashion guru) led to any paricular reverence in his relationship with the Regent.

"During one drinking session at Carlton House, a comment of Brummell's so enraged the prince that he threw a glass of wine into Brummell's face. Brummell, sitting on his right, picked up his own glass and threw its contents into the face of the person on his right with the loud instruction, 'The Prince's Toast; pass it round!' This much was greeted with laughter." (6)