CHAPTER VII.
_A Dangerous Guide_
SUCH able and congenial spirits as Mrs. Dallington Vere and Sir LuciusGrafton prosecuted their plans with the success which they had aright to anticipate. Lady Aphrodite, who was proud of her previousacquaintance, however slight, with the most distinguished girlin London, and eager to improve it, unconsciously assisted theiroperations. Society is so constituted that it requires no littletalent and no slight energy to repel the intimacy even of those whoseacquaintance is evidently not desirable; and there are many people inthis world mixing, apparently, with great spirit and self-esteem inits concerns, who really owe their constant appearance and occasionalinfluence in circles of consideration to no other qualities than theirown callous impudence, and the indolence and the irresolution of theirvictims. They, who at the same time have no delicacy and no shame, countfearful odds; and, much as is murmured about the false estimation ofriches, there is little doubt that the parvenus as often owe theiradvancement in society to their perseverance as to their pelf.
When, therefore, your intimacy is courted by those whose intimacy isan honour, and that, too, with an art, which conceals its purpose, youoften find that you have, and are a devoted friend, really before youhave felt sufficient gratitude for the opera-box which has been so oftenlent, the carriage which has been ever at hand, the brother who hasreceived such civilities, or the father who has been requested to acceptsome of the unattainable tokay which he has charmed you by admiring atyour own table.
The manoeuvres and tactics of society are infinitely more numerous andinfinitely finer than those of strategy. Woe betide the rash knightwho dashes into the thick of the polished melee without some slightexperience of his barb and his lance! Let him look to his arms! He willdo well not to appear before his helm be plumed with some reputation,however slight. He may be very rich, or even very poor. We have seenthat answer with a Belisarius-like air; and more than one hero withoutan obolus has stumbled upon a fortune merely from his contempt ofriches. If to fight, or write, or dress be above you, why, then, you canride, or dance, or even skate; but do not think, as many young gentlemenare apt to believe, that _talking_ will serve your purpose. That is thequicksand of your young beginners. All can talk in a public assembly;that is to say, all can give us exhortations which do not move, andarguments which do not convince; but to converse in a private assemblyis a different affair, and rare are the characters who can be endured ifthey exceed a whisper to their neighbours. But though mild and silent,be ever ready with the rapier of repartee, and be ever armed with thebreastplate of good temper. You will infallibly gather laurels if youadd to these the spear of sarcasm and the shield of nonchalance.
The high style of conversation where eloquence and philosophy emulateeach other, where principles are profoundly expounded and felicitouslyillustrated, all this has ceased. It ceased in this country with Johnsonand Burke, and it requires a Johnson and a Burke for its maintenance.There is no mediocrity in such discourse, no intermediate characterbetween the sage and the bore. The second style, where men, not things,are the staple, but where wit, and refinement, and sensibility investeven personal details with intellectual interest, does flourish atpresent, as it always must in a highly civilised society. S. is, orrather was, a fine specimen of this school, and M. and L. are his worthyrivals. This style is indeed, for the moment, very interesting. Thencomes your conversation man, who, we confess, is our aversion. His talkis a thing apart, got up before he enters the company from whose conductit should grow out. He sits in the middle of a large table, and, with abrazen voice, bawls out his anecdotes about Sir Thomas or Sir Humphry,Lord Blank, or my Lady Blue. He is incessant, yet not interesting; evervarying, yet always monotonous. Even if we were amused, we are no moregrateful for the entertainment than we are to the lamp over the tablefor the light which it universally sheds, and to yield which it wasobtained on purpose. We are more gratified by the slight conversationof one who is often silent, but who speaks from his momentary feelings,than by all this hullaballoo. Yet this machine is generally a favouritepiece of furniture with the hostess. You may catch her eye as herecounts some adventure of the morning, which proves that he not onlybelongs to every club, but goes to them, light up with approbation;and then, when the ladies withdraw, and the female senate deliver theircriticism upon the late actors, she will observe, with a gratifiedsmile, to her confidante, that the dinner went off well, and that Mr.Bellow was very strong to-day.
All this is horrid, and the whole affair is a delusion. A variety ofpeople are brought together, who all come as late as possible, andretire as soon, merely to show they have other engagements. A dinner isprepared for them, which is hurried over, in order that a certain numberof dishes should be, not tasted, but seen: and provided that there isno moment that an absolute silence reigns; provided that, besides thebustling of the servants, the clattering of the plates and knives,a stray anecdote is told, which, if good, has been heard before, andwhich, if new, is generally flat; provided a certain number of certainnames of people of consideration are introduced, by which some stranger,for whom the party is often secretly given, may learn the scale ofcivilisation of which he this moment forms a part; provided the senatorsdo not steal out too soon to the House, and their wives to anotherparty, the hostess is congratulated on the success of her entertainment.
And this glare, and heat, and noise, these _congeries_ of individualswithout sympathy and dishes without flavour; this is society! What aneffect without a cause! A man must be green indeed to stand this for twoseasons. One cannot help thinking that one consequence of the increasedintelligence of the present day will be a great change in the habits ofour intercourse.
To our tale; we linger. Few who did not know too much of Sir LuciusGrafton could refrain from yielding him their regard when he chose tochallenge it, and with the Dacres he was soon an acknowledged favourite.As a new M.P., and hitherto doubtful supporter of the Catholic cause,it was grateful to Mr. Dacre's feelings to find in him an ally, andflattering to Mr. Dacre's judgment when that ally ventured to consulthim on his friendly operations. With Miss Dacre he was a mild, amiableman, who knew the world; thoroughly good, but void of cant, and owner ofa virtue not less to be depended on because his passions had once beenstrong, and he had once indulged them. His experience of life made himvalue domestic felicity; because he knew that there was no other sourceof happiness which was at once so pure and so permanent. But he was notone of those men who consider marriage as an extinguisher of all thosefeelings and accomplishments which throw a lustre on existence; and hedid not consider himself bound, because he had plighted his faith toa beautiful woman, immediately to terminate the very conduct which hadinduced her to join him in the sacred and eternal pledge. His gaietystill sparkled, his wit still flashed; still he hastened to be foremostamong the courteous; and still his high and ready gallantry indicatedthat he was not prepared to yield the fitting ornament of his stillblooming youth. A thousand unobtrusive and delicate attentions whichthe innocent now received from him without a thought, save of LadyAphrodite's good fortune; a thousand gay and sentimental axioms, whichproved not only how agreeable he was, but how enchanting he must havebeen; a thousand little deeds which struggled to shun the light, andwhich palpably demonstrated that the gaiety of his wit, the splendour ofhis accomplishments, and the tenderness of his soul were only equalledby his unbounded generosity and unparalleled good temper; all thesecombined had made Sir Lucius Grafton, to many, always a delightful,often a dangerous, and sometimes a fatal, companion. He was one of thosewhose candour is deadly. It was when he least endeavoured to conceal hischaracter that its hideousness least appeared. He confessed sometimesso much, that you yielded that pity which, ere the shrived culprit couldreceive, by some fatal alchemy was changed into passion. His smile was alure, his speech was a spell; but it was when he was silent, and almostgloomy, when you caught his serious eye, charged, as it were, withemotion, gazing on yours, that if you had a guardian sylph you shouldhave invoked its aid; an
d we pray, if ever you meet the man of whom wewrite, your invocation may not be forgotten, or be, what is more likely,too late.
The Dacres, this season, were the subject of general conversation. Shewas the distinguished beauty, and the dandies all agreed that hisdinner was worthy of his daughter. Lady Fitz-pompey was not behind thewelcoming crowd. She was too politic a leader not to feel anxious toenlist under her colours a recruit who was so calculated to maintain thereputation of her forces. Fitz-pompey House must not lose its characterfor assembling the most distinguished, the most agreeable, and the mostrefined, and May Dacre was a divinity who would summon many a crowd toher niche in this Pantheon of fashion.
If any difficulty were for a moment anticipated in bringing about thisarrangement, a fortunate circumstance seemed sufficient to remove it.Lord St. Maurice and Arundel Dacre had been acquainted at Vienna, and,though the intimacy was slight, it was sweet. St. Maurice had receivedmany favours from the _attache_, and, as he was a man of family andreputation, had been happy to greet him on his arrival in London. Beforethe Dacres made their appearance in town for the season Arundel had beeninitiated in the mysteries of Fitz-pompey House, and therefore a desirefrom that mansion to cultivate the good graces of his Yorkshire relationseemed not only not forced, but natural. So, the families met, and, tothe surprise of each other, became even intimate, for May Dacre and LadyCaroline soon evinced a mutual regard for each other. Female friendshipsare of rapid growth, and in the present instance, when there was nothingon either side which was not lovable, it was quite miraculous, and thefriendship, particularly on the part of Lady Caroline, shot up in onenight, like a blooming aloe.
Perhaps there is nothing more lovely than the love of two beautifulwomen, who are not envious of each other's charms. How delightfully theyimpart to each other the pattern of a cap, or flounce, or frill! howcharmingly they entrust some slight, slender secret about tinting aflower or netting a purse! Now one leans over the other, and guides herinexperienced hand, as it moves in the mysteries of some novel work,and then the other looks up with an eye beaming with devotion; andthen again the first leans down a little lower, and gently presses heraromatic lips upon her friend's polished forehead.
These are sights which we quiet men, who, like 'little Jack Horner,'know where to take up a safe position, occasionally enjoy, but whichyour noisy fellows, who think that women never want to be alone--a sadmistake--and consequently must be always breaking or stringing a guitar,or cutting a pencil, or splitting a crowquill, or overturning the goldink, or scribbling over a pattern, or doing any other of the thousandacts of mischief, are debarred from.
Not that these bright flowers often bloomed alone; a blossom not lessbrilliant generally shared with them the same parterre. Mrs. Dallingtoncompleted the bouquet, and Arundel Dacre was the butterfly, who, she wasglad to perceive, was seldom absent when her presence added beauty tothe beautiful. Indeed, she had good reason to feel confidence in herattractions. Independently of her charms, which assuredly were great,her fortune, which was even greater, possessed, she was well aware,no slight allurement to one who ever trembled when he thought of hisdependence, and often glowed when he mused over his ambition. Hisslight but increasing notice was duly estimated by one who wasperfectly acquainted with his peculiar temper, and daily perceived howdisregardful he was of all others, except her and his cousin. But acousin! She felt confidence in the theory of Sir Lucius Grafton.
And the young Duke; have we forgotten him? Sooth to say, he was seldomwith our heroine or heroines. He had called on Mr. Dacre, and hadgreeted him with marked cordiality, and he had sometimes met him and hisdaughter in society. But although invited, he had hitherto avoided beingtheir visitor; and the comparatively secluded life which he now ledprevented him from seeing them often at other houses. Mr. Dacre, whowas unaware of what had passed between him and his daughter, thought hisconduct inexplicable; but his former guardian remembered that it was notthe first time that his behaviour had been unusual, and it was never thedisposition of Mr. Dacre to promote explanations.
Our hero felt annoyed at his own weakness. It would have been infinitelymore worthy of so celebrated, so unrivalled a personage as the Duke ofSt. James not to have given the woman who had rejected him this evidenceof her power. According to etiquette, he should have called there dailyand have dined there weekly, and yet never have given the former objectof his adoration the slightest idea that he cared a breath for herpresence. According to etiquette, he should never have addressed her butin a vein of persiflage, and with a smile which indicated his perfectheartease and her bad taste. According to etiquette, he should haveflirted with every woman in her company, rode with her in the Park,walked with her in the Gardens, chatted with her at the opera, and drunkwine with her at a water party; and finally, to prove how sincere hewas in his former estimation of her judgment, have consulted her on thepresents which he should make to some intimate friend of hers, whom heannounces as his future bride. This is the way to manage a woman; andthe result may be conceived. She stares, she starts, she sighs, sheweeps; feels highly offended at her friend daring to accept him; writesa letter of rejection herself to the affianced damsel, which she makeshim sign, and then presents him with the hand which she always meant tobe his.
But this was above our hero. The truth is, whenever he thought of MayDacre his spirit sank. She had cowed him; and her arrival in London hadmade him as dissatisfied with his present mode of life as he had beenwith his former career. They had met again, and under circumstancesapparently, to him, the most unfavourable. Although he was hopeless, yethe dreaded to think what she might hear of him. Her contempt was bitter;her dislike would even be worse. Yet it seemed impossible to retrieve.He was plunged deeper than he imagined. Embarrassed, entangled,involved, he flew to Lady Afy, half in pique and half in misery. Passionhad ceased to throw a glittering veil around this idol; but she waskind, and pure, and gentle, and devoted. It was consoling to be loved toone who was so wretched. It seemed to him that life must ever be a blankwithout the woman who, a few months ago, he had left an encumbrance. Therecollection of past happiness was balm to one who was so forlorn. Heshuddered at the thought of losing his only precious possession, and hewas never more attached to his mistress than when the soul of friendshiprose from the body of expired love.