MR. COPPERHEAD'S BALL.
This ball was an event, not only in Mr. Copperhead's household, but even
in the connection itself, to which the idea of balls, as given by
leading members of the flock, was somewhat novel. Not that the young
people were debarred from that amusement, but it was generally attained
in a more or less accidental manner, and few professing Christians
connected with the management of the chapel had gone the length of
giving such an entertainment openly and with design. Mr. Copperhead,
however, was in a position to triumph over all such prejudices. He was
so rich that any community would have felt it ought to extend a certain
measure of indulgence to such a man. Very wealthy persons are like
spoilt children, their caprices are allowed to be natural, and even when
we are angry with them we excuse the vagaries to which money has a
right. This feeling of indulgence goes a very great way, especially
among the classes engaged in money-making, who generally recognize a
man's right to spend, and feel the sweetness of spending more acutely
than the hereditary possessors of wealth. I do not believe that his
superior knowledge of the best ways of using money profitably ever
hinders a money-making man from lavish expenditure; but it gives him a
double zest in spending, and it makes him, generally, charitable towards
the extravagances of persons still richer than himself. A ball, there
was no doubt, was a worldly-minded entertainment, but still, the chapel
reflected, it is almost impossible not to be a little worldly-minded
when you possess such a great share of the world's goods, and that, of
course, it could not be for himself that Mr. Copperhead was doing this,
but for his son. His son, these amiable casuists proceeded, was being
brought up to fill a great position, and no doubt society did exact
something, and as Mr. Copperhead had asked all the chief chapel people,
his ball was looked upon with very indulgent eyes. The fact that the
minister and his family were going staggered some of the more particular
members a little, but Mr. Beecham took high ground on the subject and
silenced the flock. "The fact that a minister of religion is one of the
first persons invited, is sufficient proof of the way our friend means
to manage everything," said the pastor. "Depend upon it, it would be
good for the social relations of the country if your pastors and
teachers were always present. It gives at once a character to all the
proceedings." This, like every other lofty assertion, stilled the
multitude. Some of the elder ladies, indeed, groaned to hear, even at
the prayer-meetings, a whisper between the girls about this ball and
what they were going to wear; but still it was Christmas, and all the
newspapers, and a good deal of the light literature which is especially
current at that season, persistently represented all the world as in a
state of imbecile joviality, and thus, for the moment, every objection
was put down.
To nobody, however, was the question, what to wear, more interesting
than to Phoebe, junior, who was a very well-instructed young woman, and
even on the point of dress had theories of her own. Phoebe had, as her
parents were happy to think, had every advantage in her education. She
had possessed a German governess all to herself, by which means, even
Mr. Beecham himself supposed, a certain amount of that philosophy which
Germans communicate by their very touch must have got into her, besides
her music and the language which was her primary study. And she had
attended lectures at the ladies' college close by, and heard a great
many eminent men on a great many different subjects. She had read, too,
a great deal. She was very well got up in the subject of education for
women, and lamented often and pathetically the difficulty they lay under
of acquiring the highest instruction; but at the same time she
patronized Mr. Ruskin's theory that dancing, drawing, and cooking were
three of the higher arts which ought to be studied by girls. It is not
necessary for me to account for the discrepancies between those two
systems, in the first place because I cannot, and in the second place,
because there is in the mind of the age some ineffable way of
harmonizing them which makes their conjunction common. Phoebe was
restrained from carrying out either to its full extent. She was not
allowed to go in for the Cambridge examinations because Mr. Beecham felt
the connection might think it strange to see his daughter's name in the
papers, and, probably, would imagine he meant to make a schoolmistress
of her, which he thanked Providence he had no need to do. And she was
not allowed to educate herself in the department of cooking, to which
Mrs. Beecham objected, saying likewise, thank Heaven, they had no need
of such messings; that she did not wish her daughter to make a slave of
herself, and that Cook would not put up with it. Between these two
limits Phoebe's noble ambition was confined, which was a "trial" to her.
But she did what she could, bating neither heart nor hope. She read
Virgil at least, if not Sophocles, and she danced and dressed though she
was not allowed to cook.
As she took the matter in this serious way, it will be understood that
the question of dress was not a mere frivolity with her. A week before
the ball she stood in front of the large glass in her mother's room,
contemplating herself, not with that satisfaction which it is generally
supposed a pretty young woman has in contemplating her own image. She
was decidedly a pretty young woman. She had a great deal of the hair of
the period, nature in her case, as (curiously, yet very truly) in so
many others, having lent herself to the prevailing fashion. How it comes
about I cannot tell, but it is certain that there does exist at this
present moment, a proportion of golden-haired girls which very much
exceeds the number we used to see when golden hair had not become
fashionable--a freak of nature which is altogether independent of dyes
and auriferous fluid, and which probably has influenced fashion
unawares. To be sure the pomades of twenty years ago are, Heaven be
praised! unknown to this generation, and washing also has become the
fashion, which accounts for something. Anyhow, Phoebe, junior, possessed
in perfection the hair of the period. She had, too, the complexion which
goes naturally with those sunny locks--a warm pink and white, which, had
the boundaries between the pink and the white been a little more
distinct, would have approached perfection too. This was what she was
thinking when she looked at herself in her mother's great glass. Mrs.
Beecham stood behind her, more full-blown and more highly-coloured than
she, but very evidently the rose to which this bud would come in time.
Phoebe looked at her own reflection, and then at her mother's, and sighed
such a profound sigh as only lungs in the most excellent condition could
produce.
"Mamma," she said, with an accent of despair, "I am too pink, a great
deal too pink! What am I to do?"
"Nonsense, my pet," said Mrs. Beecham; "you have a lovely complexion;"
and she threw a quantity of green ribbons which lay by over her child's
hair and shoulders. A cloud crossed the blooming countenance of Phoebe,
junior. She disembarrassed herself of the ribbons with another sigh.
"Dear mamma," she said, "I wish you would let me read with you now and
then, about the theory of colours, for instance. Green is the
complementary of red. If you want to bring out my pink and make it more
conspicuous than ever, of course you will put me in a green dress. No,
mamma, dear, not that--I should look a fright; and though I dare say it
does not matter much, I object to looking a fright. Women are, I
suppose, more ornamental than men, or, at least, everybody says so; and
in that case it is our duty to keep it up."
"You are a funny girl, with your theories of colour," said Mrs. Beecham.
"In my time, fair girls wore greens and blues, and dark girls wore reds
and yellows. It was quite simple. Have a white tarlatan, then; every
girl looks well in that."
"You don't see, mamma," said Phoebe, softly, suppressing in the most
admirable manner the delicate trouble of not being understood, "that a
thing every girl looks well in, is just the sort of thing that no one
looks _very_ well in. White shows no invention. It is as if one took no
trouble about one's dress."
"And neither one ought, Phoebe," said her mother. "That is very true. It
is sinful to waste time thinking of colours and ribbons, when we might
be occupied about much more important matters."
"That is not my opinion at all," said Phoebe. "I should like people to
think I had taken a great deal of trouble. Think of all the trouble that
has to be taken to get up this ball!"
"I fear so, indeed; and a great deal of expense," said Mrs. Beecham,
shaking her head. "Yes, when one comes to think of that. But then, you
see, wealth has its duties. I don't defend Mr. Copperhead--"
"I don't think he wants to be defended, mamma. I think it is all
nonsense about wasting time. What I incline to, if you won't be shocked,
is black."
"Black!" The suggestion took away Mrs. Beecham's breath. "As if you were
fifty! Why, I don't consider myself old enough for black."
"It is a pity," said Phoebe, with a glance at her mother's full colours;
but that was really of so much less importance. "Black would throw me
up," she added seriously, turning to the glass. "It would take off this
pink look. I don't mind it in the cheeks, but I am pink all over; my
white is pink. Black would be a great deal the best for both of us. It
would tone us down," said Phoebe, decisively, "and it would throw us up."
"But for you, a girl under twenty, my dear--"
"Mamma, what does it matter? The question is, am I to look my best?
which I think is my duty to you and to Providence; or am I just," said
Phoebe, with indignation, "to look a little insipidity--a creature with
no character--a little girl like everybody else?"
The consequence of this solemn appeal was that both the Phoebes went to
Mr. Copperhead's ball in black; the elder in velvet, with Honiton lace
(point, which Phoebe, with her artistic instincts, would have much
preferred, being unattainable); the younger in tulle, flounced to
distraction, and largely relieved with blue. And the consequence of this
toilette, and of the fact that Phoebe did her duty by her parents and by
Providence, and looked her very best, was that Clarence Copperhead fell
a hopeless victim to her fascinations, and scarcely could be induced to
leave her side all night. The ball was about as remarkable a ball as
could have been seen in London. The son of the house had contemplated
with absolute despair the list of invitations. He had deprecated the
entertainment altogether. He had said, "We know nobody," with a
despairing impertinence which called forth one of his father's roars of
laughter. And though Mr. Copperhead had done all he could to assume the
position of that typical Paterfamilias who is condemned to pay for those
pleasures of his family which are no pleasure to him, yet common-sense
was too much for him, and everybody felt that he was in reality the
giver and enjoyer of the entertainment. It was Mr., not Mrs.
Copperhead's ball. It was the first of the kind which had ever taken
place in his house; the beginning of a new chapter in his social
existence. Up to this moment he had not shown any signs of being smitten
with that craze for "Society," which so often and so sorely affects the
millionnaire. He had contented himself hitherto with heavy and showy
dinners, costing Heaven knows how much a head (Mr. Copperhead knew, and
swelled visibly in pride and pleasure as the cost increased), which he
consumed in company with twenty people or so of kindred tastes to
himself, who appreciated the cost and understood his feelings. On such
people, however, his Dresden china was thrown away. Joe and Mrs. Joe
were much more in their way than the elegant University man and the
well-bred mother, who was "a poor little dowdy," they all said.
Therefore the fact had been forced upon Mr. Copperhead that his circle
must be widened and advanced, if his crowning glories were to be
appreciated as they deserved.
The hunger of wealth for that something above wealth which the
bewildered rich man only discovers the existence of when he has
struggled to the highest pinnacle of advancement in his own way, began
to seize this wealthy neophyte. To be sure, in this first essay, the
company which he assembled in his fine rooms in Portland Place, to see
all his fine things and celebrate his glory, was not a fine company, but
they afforded more gratification to Mr. Copperhead than if they had been
ever so fine. They were people of his own class, his old friends,
invited to be dazzled, though standing out to the utmost of their power,
and refusing, so far as in them lay, to admit how much dazzled they
were. It was a more reasonable sort of vanity than the commoner kind,
which aims at displaying its riches to great personages, people who are
not dazzled by any extent of grandeur, and in whose bosoms no jealousy
is excited towards the giver of the feast. Mr. Copperhead's friends had
much more lively feelings; they walked about through the great rooms,
with their wives on their arms, in a state of semi-defiance, expressing
no admiration, saying to each other, "This must have cost Copperhead a
pretty penny," as they met in doorways; while the ladies put their
flowery and jewelled heads together and whispered, "Did you ever see
such extravagance? And what a dowdy _she_ is with it all!" This was the
under-current of sentiment which flowed strong in all the passages, and
down the rapids of the great staircase; a stream of vigorous human
feeling, the existence of which was as deeply gratifying to the
entertainer as the sweetest flattery. The lord and the ladies who might
have been tempted to his great house would not have had a thought to
spare for Mr. Copperhead; but the unwilling applause of his own class
afforded him a true triumph.
Amid this throng of people, however, there could be little doubt that
the one young lady who attracted his son was the least eligible person
there, being no other than Phoebe Beecham, the pastor's daughter. Almost
the only other utterly ineligible girl was a pale little maiden who
accompanied Sir Robert Dorset and his daughters, and who was supposed to
be either their governess or their humble companion. The Dorsets were
the only people who had any pretensions to belong to "society," in all
those crowded rooms. They were distantly related to Mrs. Copperhead,
and had been, she gratefully thought, kind to her in her youth, and
they had no particular objection to be kind to her now that she was
rich, though the Baronet, as Mr. Copperhead always called him, winced at
so rampant a specimen of wealth, and "the girls" did not see what good
it was to keep up relations with a distant cousin, who though so
prodigiously rich was of no possible use, and could neither make parties
for them, nor chaperon them to the houses of the great. When they had
received her present invitation, they had accepted it with surprise and
hesitation. Chance only had brought them to London at that time of the
year, the most curious time surely to choose for a ball, but convenient
enough as affording a little amusement at a season when little amusement
was ordinarily to be had. Sir Robert had consented to go, as a man with
no occupation elsewhere might consent to go to the Cannibal Islands, to
see how the savages comported themselves. And little Ursula May, another
poor relative on the other side of the house, whom they had charitably
brought up to town with them, might go too, they decided, to such a
gathering. There was no Lady Dorset, and the girls were "girls" only by
courtesy, having passed the age to which that title refers. Such good
looks as they had were faded, and they were indifferently dressed. This
last circumstance arose partly from the fact that they never dressed
very well, and partly because they did not think it necessary to put
themselves to much trouble for poor Mrs. Copperhead's ball. Their little
companion, Ursula, was in a white frock, the sort of dress which Phoebe
had rebelled against. She was all white and had never been to a ball
before. This little party, which represented the aristocracy at the
Copperhead's ball, went to the entertainment with a little expectation
in their minds: What sort of people would be there? Would they be
"frights?" They were not likely to be interesting in any other way, the
Miss Dorsets knew; but to little Ursula a ball was a ball, and meant
delight and glory she was aware, though she did not quite know how. The
expectations of the party, however, were strangely disappointed. Instead
of being "a set of frights," Mrs. Copperhead's guests were found to be
resplendent in toilette. Never, even under a ducal roof, had these
ladies found themselves in such a gorgeous assembly, and never before,
perhaps, even at the Duchess's grandest receptions, had they been unable
to discover a single face they knew. Sir Robert was even more appalled
by this discovery than his daughters were. He put up his glass and
peered more and more wistfully into the crowd. "Don't know a soul," he
repeated at intervals. Poor Sir Robert! he had not thought it possible
that such an event could happen to him within the four seas. Accordingly
the Dorsets clung, somewhat scared, to Mrs. Copperhead's side, and
Ursula along with them, who looked at the crowd still more wistfully
than Sir Robert did, and thought how nice it would be to know somebody.
Unfortunately the Miss Dorsets were not attractive in personal
appearance. Clarence Copperhead, though he was not indifferent to a
baronet, was yet not sufficiently devoted to the aristocracy to do more
than dance once, as was his bounden duty, with each of the sisters. "It
seems so strange not to know any one," these ladies said. "Isn't it?"
said Clarence. "_I_ don't know a soul." But then he went off and danced
with Phoebe Beecham, and the Miss Dorsets stood by Mrs. Copperhead,
almost concealing behind them the slight little snow-white figure of
little Ursula May.
Clarence was a very well-behaved young man on the whole. He knew his
duty, and did it with a steady industry, working off his dances in the
spirit of his navvy forefather. But he returned between each duty dance
to the young lady in black, who was always distinguishable among so many
young ladies in white, and pink, and green, and blue. The Miss Dorsets
and Ursula looked with interest and something like envy at that young
lady in black. She had so many partners that she scarcely knew how to
manage them all, and the son of the house returned to her side with a
pertinacity that could not pass unremarked. "Why should one girl have so
much and another girl so little?" Ursula said to herself; but, to be
sure, she knew nobody, and the young lady in black knew everybody. On
the whole, however, it became evident to Ursula that a ball was not
always a scene of unmixed delight.
"It is very kind of you to remember what old friends we are," said
Phoebe. "But, Mr. Clarence, don't be more good to me than you ought to
be. I see your mother looking for you, and Mr. Copperhead might not like
it. Another time, perhaps, we shall be able to talk of old days."
"There is no time like the present," said the young man, who liked his
own way. I do not mean to say that it was right of Phoebe to dance with
him, especially dances she had promised to other people. But he was the
personage of the evening, and that is a great temptation. Mr. Copperhead
himself came up to them more than once, with meaning in his eyes.
"Don't be too entertaining, Miss Phoebe," he said; for he saw no reason
why he should not speak plainly in his own house, especially to the
minister's daughter. "Don't be too entertaining. This is Clarence's
ball, and he ought to be civil to other people too."
"Oh, please go away!" cried Phoebe, after this admonition. But Clarence
was sullen, and stood his ground.
"We are going to have our waltz out," he said. "It is not my ball a
bit--let him entertain his people himself. How should I know such a set
of guys? I know nobody but you and the Dorset girls, who are in society.
Parents are a mistake," said the young man, half rebellious, half
sullen, "they never understand. Perhaps you don't feel that, but I
should think girls must see it sometimes as well as men."
"Girls don't use such strong expressions," said Phoebe, smiling, as they
flew off in the uncompleted waltz. She danced very well, better than
most of the ladies present, and that was the reason Clarence assigned to
his mother for his preference of her. But when Mr. Copperhead saw that
his remonstrance was unheeded by the young people, he went up to Mrs.
Beecham, with a rich man's noble frankness and courage. "I am delighted
to see you here, ma'am, and I hope you have remarked how well Miss Phoebe
is entertaining my boy. Do you see them dancing? She's been away from
you a long time, Mrs. Beecham, as girls will when they get hold of
somebody that pleases them. Shouldn't you like me to go and fetch her
back?" Mrs. Beecham, with cheeks that were very full blown indeed, and
required a great deal of fanning, called back her child to her side at
the end of that dance. She scolded Phoebe behind her fan, and recalled
her to a sense of duty. "A pastor's daughter has to be doubly
particular," she said; "what if your poor papa was to get into trouble
through your thoughtlessness?"
"I was not thoughtless, mamma; forgive me for answering back," said
Phoebe, very meekly; and she showed no signs of sulkiness, though
Clarence was carried off and kept from approaching her again.
Unfortunately, however, when Clarence was removed from Phoebe, he fell
into still greater peril. The eldest Miss Dorset and her mother, both of
them with equally benevolent intentions, introduced him simultaneously
to Ursula May. "The poor little girl has not danced once," Mrs.
Copperhead, who had recollections of standing by herself for a whole
evening, unnoticed, whispered in his ear, and Miss Dorset spoke to him
still more plainly. "We brought her," she said, "but I cannot get her
partners, for I don't know anybody." And what could Clarence do but
offer himself? And Ursula, too, was a good dancer, and very pretty--far
prettier than Phoebe.
"Confound him! there he is now for ever with that girl in white," said
his father to himself, with great rage. Dozens of good partners in pink
and blue were going about the room. What did the boy mean by bestowing
himself upon the two poor ones, the black and the white. This disturbed
Mr. Copperhead's enjoyment, as he stood in the doorway of the ball-room,
looking round upon all the splendour that was his, and feeling disposed,
like Nebuchadnezzar, to call upon everybody to come and worship him. He
expanded and swelled out with pride and complacency, as he looked round
upon his own greatness, and perceived the effect made upon the
beholders. When that effect did not seem sufficiently deep, he called
here and there upon a lingerer for applause. "That's considered a very
fine Turner," he said, taking one of them into a smaller room. "Come
along here, you know about that sort of thing--I don't. I should be
ashamed to tell you how much I gave for it; all that money hanging there
useless, bringing in nothing! But when I do buy anything I like it to be
the very best that is to be had."
"I'd as soon have a good chromo," said the person addressed, "which
costs a matter of a five-pound note, and enough too, to hang up against
a wall. But you can afford it, Copperhead. You've the best right of any
man I know to be a fool if you like."
The great man laughed, but he scarcely liked the compliment. "I am a
fool if you like," he said, "the biggest fool going. I like a thing that
costs a deal, and is of no use. That's what I call luxury. My boy,
Clarence, and my big picture, they're dear; but I can afford 'em, if
they were double the price."
"If I were you," said his friend, "I wouldn't hang my picture in this
little bit of a hole, nor let my boy waste his time with all the
riff-raff in the room. There's Smith's girl and Robinson's niece, both
of them worth a cool hundred thousand; and you leave him to flourish
about all over the place with a chit in a white frock, and another in a
black one. I call that waste, not luxury, for my part."
"I don't want to sell either the boy or the picture," said the rich man,
with a laugh. But nevertheless he was annoyed that his son should be
such an ass. Miss Smith and Miss Robinson were as fine as their
milliners could make them. The first of these ladies had an emerald
locket almost as big as a warming-pan, and Miss Robinson's pearls were a
little fortune in themselves; but the chosen objects of that young
idiot's attentions wore nothing but trumpery twopenny-halfpenny
trinkets, and gowns which had been made at home for all Mr. Copperhead
knew. Confound him! the father breathed hotly to himself. Thus it will
be seen that unmixed pleasure is not to be had in this world, even in
the midst of envious friends and the most splendid entertainment which
money could supply.