THE TIDE OF FASHION.
Wiltshire's Rooms were illuminated by many wax-candles, shedding a
softened and subdued light over the gay crowd which assembled there on
this December night. Lady Betty was soon surrounded by her admirers, and
showing off her dainty figure in the minuet and Saraband.
There were three apartments in Wiltshire's Rooms--one for cards and
conversation or scandal, as the case might be, and one for refreshments,
and the larger one for dancing.
Griselda was left very much to herself by her gay chaperon, and it was
well for her that she had so much self-respect, and a bearing and manner
wonderfully composed for her years. She was anxious to make her escape
from the ball-room to the inner room beyond; and she was just seating
herself on a lounge, as she hoped, out of sight, when a young man made
his way to her, and, leaning over the back of the sofa, said:
"I could not get near you at the concert at Mrs. Colebrook's last
evening. Nor could I even be so happy as to speak to you afterwards.
Less happy than another, madam, I accounted myself."
Though the speaker was dressed like the other fashionable beaux who
haunted the balls and reunions at Bath, and adopted the usual formality
of address as he spake to Griselda, there was yet something which
separated him a little from the rest. His clear blue eyes knew no guile,
and there was an air of refinement about him which inspired Griselda
with confidence. While she shrank from the bold flatteries and broad
jests of many of the gentlemen to whom she had been introduced by Lady
Betty, she did not feel the same aversion to this young Mr. Travers. He
had come for his health to take the Bath waters, and a certain delicacy
about his appearance gave him an attraction in Griselda's eye.
Lady Betty Longueville called him dull and stupid, and had declared that
a man whose greatest delight was scraping on a violoncello, ought to
have respect to other folk's feelings who detested the sound. Music
accompanied by a good voice, or music like the band at Wiltshire's and
the Pump Room, was one thing, but dreary moans and groans on the
violoncello another.
"You were pleased with the music last evening, Mistress Mainwaring?" Mr.
Travers was saying.
"Yes; oh yes! Do you think, sir, Lady Betty and myself might venture to
pay our respects to Mr. and Miss Herschel?"
"Indeed, I feel sure they will be proud to receive your visit. To-morrow
afternoon there is a rehearsal and a reception in Rivers Street. I
myself hope to be present; and may I hope to have the honour of meeting
you there?"
"I will do my best, sir. But I am by no means an independent personage;
I am merely an appendage--a chattel, if you like the word better."
"Nay, I like neither word," the young man said; "they do not suit you.
But to return to the visit to-morrow. Could you not make it alone?"
Griselda shook her head, and then laughing, said:
"It depends on the temperature."
"But a chair is at your disposal. I can commend to you two steady men
who would convey you to Rivers Street."
But Griselda shook her head.
"I was not thinking of wind and weather, sir; but of the mood in which
my lady finds herself!"
A bright smile seemed to show that Griselda's point was understood.
"The Lady Betty is your aunt?"
"Hush, sir!--not that word. I am forbidden to call her 'aunt,' it smacks
of age and does not seem appropriate. I was Mr. Longueville's niece,
and, as I told you, I am a chattel left to Lady Betty for the term
of--well, my natural life, I suppose."
"Nay, that word might be well altered to the term of your unmarried
life, Mistress Griselda."
Griselda grew her calm, almost haughty, self at once, and her companion
hastened to say:
"You must see and know Mr. and Miss Herschel. Now, at this moment, while
all this gaiety goes on, they are in silence--their eyes, their thoughts
far away from all this folly and babble."
"Are they so wrapt in their production of music?" Griselda asked.
"I said they were at this moment engrossed in silence, for the music of
the spheres is beyond the hearing of mortal ears; it is towards this,
their whole being--brother and sister alike--is concentrated, at this
very moment, I will dare to say. Mr. Herschel and his sister lead a
double existence--the one in making music the power to uplift them
towards the grand aim of their lives, which is to discover new glories
amongst the mysteries of the stars, new worlds, it may be. What do I
say? These things are not new, only new to eyes which are opened by the
help of science, but in themselves old--old as eternity!"
"I am a stranger in Bath," Griselda said. "I have never heard of these
things--never. I listened enchanted to Miss Herschel's voice last night,
to her brother's solo performance on the harpsichord, but of the rest I
knew nothing. It is wonderful all you say; tell me more."
But while Leslie Travers and Griselda had been so engrossed with their
conversation as to be oblivious of anything beside, a stealthy step had
been skirting the card-room, passing the tables where dowagers and old
beaux sat at ecarte, and other card games, with fierce, hungry
eagerness, till at last Sir Maxwell Danby wheeled round, and, bowing low
before Griselda, begged to lead her to the minuet now being formed in
the ball-room.
"I do not dance to-night, sir," Griselda said. "I thank you for the
honour you do me."
Down came Sir Maxwell's head, bowing lower than before, as he murmured:
"Then if I may not have the felicity of a dance, at least give me the
pleasure of conducting you to supper. Several tables are occupied
already, and let me hope that this request will not be refused."
While Sir Maxwell had been speaking Mr. Travers had left his position at
the back of the lounge, and had also come to the front and faced
Griselda.
The two men exchanged a cold and formal salutation, and then Sir Maxwell
seated himself carelessly on the vacant place by Griselda's side, which
Mr. Travers would not have thought he was on sufficiently intimate terms
to do, and throwing his arm over the elbow of the sofa with easy grace,
and crossing his silk-stockinged legs, so that the brilliants on the
buckles of his pointed shoe flashed in the light, he said:
"I will await your pleasure, fair lady, and let us have a little
agreeable chat before we repair to supper."
"I think, sir," said Griselda, rising, "I will rejoin Lady Betty."
"The minuet is formed by this time, and her ladyship is performing her
part to perfection, I doubt not. Let me advise you to remain here, or
allow me to take you to supper."
Griselda gave a quick glance towards Mr. Travers, but he was gone. She
felt she must do one of two things: remain where she was till the dance
was over, or repair to the refreshment-room with her companion.
On the whole it seemed better to remain. Two ladies whom she knew
slightly were seated at the card-table nearest her, and there might
perhaps be a chance of joining them when the game was over. For another
quartette was waiting till the table was free.
"You look charming," Sir Maxwell began; "but why no colour to relieve
this whiteness? I vow I feel as if I, a poor mortal, full of sins and
frailties, was not worthy to touch so angelic a creature."
Griselda was one of those women who do not soften and melt, nor even get
confused, under flattery. It has the very opposite effect, and she said
in a low, but decided voice:
"There are topics less distasteful to me than personalities, sir;
perhaps you may select one."
"Ah! you are cruel, I see. Well, I will only touch one more personality.
Why--why do I see no choice exotics in your hand, or on your breast? the
colour would have enhanced your beauty, and relieved my heart of a
burden."
Griselda made no reply to this, but, rising with the dignity she knew so
well how to command, she walked towards the open door of the next room,
and said:
"Mr. Travers, will you be so good as to take me to the ball-room that I
may rejoin Lady Betty Longueville?"
The young man's face betrayed his pleasure at the request made to him,
and the discomfiture of his rival--rather I should say the hoped-for
discomfiture, for Sir Maxwell Danby was not the man to show that he had
the worst in any encounter. He was at Griselda's side in an instant, and
was walking, or rather I should say ambling, towards Lady Betty, and,
ignoring Mr. Travers's presence, said:
"Your ladyship's fair ward is weary, nay, pining for your company, my
lady."
Lady Betty shrugged her shoulders, and said:
"I vow, sir, she has enough of my company, and I of hers! Now, Griselda,
do not look so mightily affronted; it is the truth. Let us all go to
supper; and make up a pleasant little party. You won't refuse, Mr.
Travers, I am sure."
"With all my heart I accede to your plan, Lady Betty," Sir Maxwell said,
"though I see your late partner is darting shafts of angry jealousy at
me from his dark eyes."
So saying, Sir Maxwell led the way with Lady Betty on his arm, and
Griselda and Mr. Travers followed, but not before Griselda caught the
words:
"Upon my honour, she acts youth to perfection; but she is forty-five if
she is a day. Did you ever behold such airs and graces?"
Griselda felt her cheek burn with shame and indignation also, for had
she not heard Lady Betty say that young Lord Basingstoke was one of her
most devoted admirers? and yet she was clearly only a subject of
merriment, and the cause of that loud unmusical laughter which followed
the words. But Griselda had passed out of hearing before Lord
Basingstoke's friend inquired:
"Who is the other? She looks like a 'Millerite' and an authoress. He
would be a brave man to indulge in loose talk with her. Upon my word,
she walks like a tragedy queen!"
"There'll be the story of Wilson and Macaulay told over again. We shall
have her statue put up to worship!"
"I don't know what you are talking about," said the young lord, with a
yawn.
"My dear fellow, have you never heard of Madam Macaulay, the writer of
nine huge volumes of history, who deserted the reverend Dr. Wilson and
married a young spark named Graham? She is Mrs. Graham now; has retired
from the gay scenes of Bath with her young Scot, who feeds on oat-cakes
and such-like abominations."
"Lady Betty will be following suit--not the white lady," said the young
lord. "I think I'll try and get an introduction," he said, "and lead her
through the 'contre danse.'"
"You won't get the introduction from Lady Betty. I'll lay a wager she
will be too wary to give it; but I must look after my partner, so
ta-ta!"
Truly the world is a stage, across which the generations of men come and
go! Assemblies of to-day at Bath and Clifton, and other places of
fashionable resort, may wear a different aspect in all outward things,
but the salient points are the same. Idle men and foolish women vie with
each other in the parts they play. Age wears the guise of youth, and
vanity hopes that the semblance passes for the reality.
Literary women may not write as Mrs. Macaulay did nine volumes of
ill-digested and shallow history, and become thereby famous, and it
would be hard to match the profane folly of a clergyman like Dr. Wilson,
who in his infatuation erected a statue to this woman in his own church
of St. Stephen's, Walbrook, adorned as the Goddess of Liberty--an
infatuation which we must charitably suppose was madness. Nor would such
a woman be the rage now at Bath or anywhere else.
Lady Miller was of a higher order of womanhood. She created a literary
circle in a beautiful villa at Batheaston, inviting her friends to
contribute poems and deposit them in a vase from Frascati.
It may seem to us ridiculous that successful contributors should be
crowned by Lady Miller with all due solemnity with myrtle wreaths. But
there is surely the same spirit abroad at the close of the nineteenth as
marked the last years of the eighteenth century. The pretenders are not
dead. They have not vanished out of the land. There are the Lady Bettys
who put on the guise of youth, and the Mrs. Macaulays who put on the
appearance of great literary talent. They pose as authorities on
literature and politics, and they are often centres of a _coterie_ who
are fully as subservient as that which Lady Miller gathered round her in
her villa at Batheaston. They may not kneel to receive a laurel crown
from the hands of their patroness; but, none the less, they carry
themselves with the air of those who are superior to common folk, and
can afford to look down from a vantage-ground on their brothers and
sisters in the field of literature, who, making no effort to secure a
hearing, sometimes gain one, and win hearts also. It may be when the
memory of many has perished with their work, that those who have
laboured with a true heart for the good of others, and not for their own
praise and fame, may, being dead, yet speak to generations yet to come.