CHAPTER IV.
_A Social Triumph_
LORD FITZ-POMPEY was a little consoled for the change which he hadobserved in the character of the Duke by the remembrance of the embracewith which his Grace had greeted Lady Caroline. Never indeed did aprocess which has, through the lapse of so many ages, occasioned so muchdelight, produce more lively satisfaction than the kiss in question.Lord Fitz-pompey had given up his plan of managing the Duke after thefamily dinner which his nephew had the pleasure to join the first dayof his first visit. The Duke and he were alone, and his Lordship availedhimself of the rare opportunity with that adroitness for which he wascelebrated. Nothing could be more polite, more affable, more kind,than his Grace's manner! but the uncle cared little for politeness, oraffability, or kindness. The crafty courtier wanted candour, and thatwas absent. That ingenuous openness of disposition, that frank andaffectionate demeanour, for which the Duke of St. James had beenso remarkable in his early youth, and with the aid of which LordFitz-pompey had built so many Spanish castles, had quite disappeared.
Nothing could be more artificial, more conventional, more studied, thanhis whole deportment. In vain Lord Fitz-pompey pumped; the empty bucketinvariably reminded him of his lost labour. In vain his Lordship laidhis little diplomatic traps to catch a hint of the purposes or anintimation of the inclinations of his nephew; the bait was never seized.In vain the Earl affected unusual conviviality and boundless affection;the Duke sipped his claret and admired his pictures. Nothing woulddo. An air of habitual calm, a look of kind condescension, and aninclination to a smile, which never burst into a beam, announced thatthe Duke of St. James was perfectly satisfied with existence, andconscious that he was himself, of that existence, the most distinguishedornament. In fact, he was a sublime coxcomb; one of those rarecharacters whose finished manner and shrewd sense combined preventtheir conceit from being contemptible. After many consultations it wasdetermined between the aunt and uncle that it would be most prudent toaffect a total non-interference with their nephew's affairs, and inthe meantime to trust to the goodness of Providence and the charms ofCaroline.
Lady Fitz-pompey determined that the young Duke should make his debut atonce, and at her house. Although it was yet January, she did not despairof collecting a select band of guests, Brahmins of the highest caste.Some choice spirits were in office, like her lord, and therefore intown; others were only passing through; but no one caught a flying-fishwith more dexterity than the Countess. The notice was short, the wholewas unstudied. It was a felicitous impromptu, and twenty guests wereassembled, who were the Corinthian capitals of the temple of fashion.
There was the Premier, who was invited, not because he was a minister,but because he was a hero. There was another Duke not less celebrated,whose palace was a breathing shrine which sent forth the oracles ofmode. True, he had ceased to be a young Duke; but he might be consoledfor the vanished lustre of youth by the recollection that he had enjoyedit, and by the present inspiration of an accomplished manhood. Therewere the Prince and the Princess Protocoli: his Highness a first-ratediplomatist, unrivalled for his management of an opera; and his consort,with a countenance like Cleopatra and a tiara like a constellation,famed alike for her shawls and her snuff. There were Lord and LadyBloomerly, who were the best friends on earth: my Lord a sportsman, butsoft withal, his talk the Jockey Club, filtered through White's; my Ladya little blue, and very beautiful. Their daughter, Lady Charlotte, roseby her mother's side like a tall bud by a full-blown flower. There werethe Viscountess Blaze, a peeress in her own right, and her daughter,Miss Blaze Dash-away, who, besides the glory of the future coronet,moved in all the confidence of independent thousands. There was theMarquess of Macaroni, who was at the same time a general, an ambassador,and a dandy; and who, if he had liked, could have worn twelve orders;but this day, being modest, only wore six. There, too, was theMarchioness, with a stomacher stiff with brilliants extracted from thesnuff-boxes presented to her husband at a Congress.
There were Lord Sunium, who was not only a peer but a poet; and hislady, a Greek, who looked just finished by Phidias. There, too, wasPococurante, the epicurean and triple millionaire, who in a politicalcountry dared to despise politics, in the most aristocratic of kingdomshad refused nobility, and in a land which showers all its honours uponits cultivators invested his whole fortune in the funds. He lived in aretreat like the villa of Hadrian, and maintained himself in an elevatedposition chiefly by his wit and a little by his wealth. There, too, werehis noble wife, thoroughbred to her fingers' tips, and beaming like theevening star; and his son, who was an M.P., and thought his father afool. In short, our party was no common party, but a band who formed thevery core of civilisation; a high court of last appeal, whose word wasa fiat, whose sign was a hint, whose stare was death, andsneer----damnation!
The Graces befriend us! We have forgotten the most important personage.It is the first time in his life that Charles Annesley has beenneglected. It will do him good.
Dandy has been voted vulgar, and beau is now the word. It may be doubtedwhether the revival will stand; and as for the exploded title, though ithad its faults at first, the muse of Byron has made it not only English,but classical. Charles Annesley could hardly be called a dandy or abeau. There was nothing in his dress--though some mysterious arrangementin his costume, some rare simplicity, some curious happiness, alwaysmade it distinguished--there was nothing, however, in his dress, whichcould account for the influence which he exercised over the manners ofhis contemporaries. Charles Annesley was about thirty. He had inheritedfrom his father, a younger brother, a small estate; and, though heirto a wealthy earldom, he had never abused what the world called 'hisprospects.' Yet his establishment, his little house in Mayfair, hishorses, his moderate stud at Melton, were all unique, and everythingconnected with him was unparalleled for its elegance, its invention, andits refinement. But his manner was his magic. His natural and subduednonchalance, so different from the assumed non-emotion of a mere dandy;his coldness of heart, which was hereditary, not acquired; his cautiouscourage, and his unadulterated self-love, had permitted him to minglemuch with mankind without being too deeply involved in the play of theirpassions; while his exquisite sense of the ridiculous quickly revealedthose weaknesses to him which his delicate satire did not spare, evenwhile it refrained from wounding. All feared, marry admired, and nonehated him. He was too powerful not to dread, too dexterous not toadmire, too superior to hate. Perhaps the great secret of his mannerwas his exquisite superciliousness, a quality which, of all, is the mostdifficult to manage. Even with his intimates he was never confidential,and perpetually assumed his public character with the private coteriewhich he loved to rule. On the whole, he was unlike any of the leadingmen of modern days, and rather reminded one of the fine gentlemen of ourold brilliant comedy, the Dorimants, the Bellairs, and the Mirabels.
Charles Annesley was a member of the distinguished party who were thisday to decide the fate of the young Duke. Let him come forward!
His Grace moved towards them, tall and elegant in figure, and with thatair of affable dignity which becomes a noble, and which adorns a court;none of that affected indifference which seems to imply that nothing cancompensate for the exertion of moving, and 'which makes the dandy, whileit mars the man.' His large and somewhat sleepy grey eye, his clearcomplexion, his small mouth, his aquiline nose, his transparentforehead, his rich brown hair, and the delicacy of his extremities,presented, when combined, a very excellent specimen of that style ofbeauty for which the nobility of England are remarkable. Gentle, forhe felt the importance of the tribunal, never loud, ready, yet a littlereserved, he neither courted nor shunned examination. His finishedmanner, his experience of society, his pretensions to taste, thegaiety of his temper, and the liveliness of his imagination, graduallydeveloped themselves with the developing hours.
The banquet was over: the Duke of St. James passed his examination withunqualified approval; and having been stamped at the mint of fashion asa sovereign of the brig
htest die, he was flung forth, like the restof his golden brethren, to corrupt the society of which he was thebrightest ornament.