CHAPTER XIV.
_Close of the Season_
HUSSEIN PACHA, 'the favourite,' not only of the Marquess of Mash, but ofTattersall's, unaccountably sickened and died. His noble master, full ofchagrin took to his bed, and followed his steed's example. The deathof the Marquess caused a vacancy in the stewardship of the approachingDoncaster. Sir Lucius Grafton was the other steward, and he proposed tothe Duke of St. James, as he was a Yorkshireman, to become hiscolleague. His Grace, who wished to pay a compliment to his county,closed with the proposition. Sir Lucius was a first-rate jockey; hiscolleague was quite ignorant of the noble science in all its details;but that was of slight importance. The Baronet was to be the workingpartner, and do the business; the Duke the show member of the concern,and do the magnificence; as one banker, you may observe, lives always inPortland Place, reads the Court Journal all the morning, and has anopera-box, while his partner lodges in Lombard Street, thumbs aprice-current, and only has a box at Clapham.
The young Duke, however, was ambitious of making a good book; and, withall the calm impetuosity which characterises a youthful Hauteville,determined to have a crack stud at once. So at Ascot, where he spenta few pleasant hours, dined at the Cottage, was caught in a shower, inreturn caught a cold, a slight influenza for a week, and all the worldfull of inquiries and anxiety; at Ascot, I say, he bought up all thewinning horses at an average of three thousand guineas for each pair ofears. Sir Lucius stared, remonstrated, and, as his remonstrances were invain, assisted him.
As people at the point of death often make a desperate rally, sothis, the most brilliant of seasons, was even more lively as it nearerapproached its end. The _dejeuner_ and the _villa fete_ the water partyand the rambling ride, followed each other with the bright rapidity ofthe final scenes in a pantomime. Each _dama_ seemed only inspired withthe ambition of giving the last ball; and so numerous were the partiesthat the town really sometimes seemed illuminated. To breakfast atTwickenham, and to dine in Belgrave Square; to hear,' or rather tohonour, half an act of an opera; to campaign through half a dozenprivate balls, and to finish with a romp at the rooms, as after our winewe take a glass of liqueur; all this surely required the courage ofan Alexander and the strength of a Hercules, and, indeed, cannot beachieved without the miraculous powers of a Joshua. So thought the youngDuke, as with an excited mind and a whirling head he threw himself athalf-past six o'clock on a couch which brought him no sleep.
Yet he recovered, and with the aid of the bath, the soda, and thecoffee, and all the thousand remedies which a skilful valet has ever athand, at three o'clock on the same day he rose and dressed, and in anhour was again at the illustrious bow-window, sneering with CharlesAnnesley, or laughing downright with Lord Squib.
The Duke of St. James gave a water party, and the astounded Thamesswelled with pride as his broad breast bore on the ducal barges. St.Maurice, who was in the Guards, secured his band; and Lord Squib, who,though it was July, brought a furred great coat, secured himself. LadyAfy looked like Amphitrite, and Lady Caroline looked in love. Theywandered in gardens like Calypso's; they rambled over a villa whichreminded them of Baise; they partook of a banquet which should have beendescribed by Ariosto. All were delighted; they delivered themselves tothe charms of an unrestrained gaiety. Even Charles Annesley laughed andromped.
This is the only mode in which public eating is essentially agreeable.A banqueting-hall is often the scene of exquisite pleasure; but that isnot so much excited by the gratification of a delicate palate as bythe magnificent effect of light and shade; by the beautiful women, theradiant jewels, the graceful costume, the rainbow glass, the glowingwines, the glorious plate. For the rest, all is too hot, too crowded,and too noisy, to catch a flavour; to analyse a combination, to dwellupon a gust. To eat, _really_ to eat, one must eat alone, with a softlight, with simple furniture, an easy dress, and a single dish, at atime. Hours of bliss! Hours of virtue! for what is more virtuous than tobe conscious of the blessings of a bountiful Nature? A good eater mustbe a good man; for a good eater must have a good digestion, and a gooddigestion depends upon a good conscience.
But to our tale. If we be dull, skip: time will fly, and beauty willfade, and wit grow dull, and even the season, although it seems, for thenonce, like the existence of Olympus, will nevertheless steal away. Itis the hour when trade grows dull and tradesmen grow duller; it is thehour that Howell loveth not and Stultz cannot abide; though the firstmay be consoled by the ghosts of his departed millions of _mouchoirs_,and the second by the vision of coming millions of shooting-jackets. Oh,why that sigh, my gloomy Mr. Gunter? Oh, why that frown, my gentle Mrs.Grange?
One by one the great houses shut; shoal by shoal the little people sailaway. Yet beauty lingers still. Still the magnet of a straggling ballattracts the remaining brilliants; still a lagging dinner, like asumpter-mule on a march, is a mark for plunder. The Park, too, is notyet empty, and perhaps is even more fascinating; like a beauty in aconsumption, who each day gets thinner and more fair. The young Dukeremained to the last; for we linger about our first season, as wedo about our first mistress, rather wearied, yet full of delightfulreminiscences.
BOOK II.