There is no better test of the strength of affection than the ready
turning of the mind to the little concerns of a friend, when preoccupied
with important interests of our own. This was a proof of friendship,
which Lady Davenant had lately given to Helen, for, at the time when
she had entered with so much readiness and zeal into Helen’s little
difficulties and debts, great political affairs and important interests
of Lord Davenant’s were in suspense, and pressed heavily upon her mind.
What might be the nature of these political embarrassments had not been
explained. Lady Davenant had only hinted at them. She said, “she knew
from the terror exhibited by the inferior creatures in office that some
change in administration was expected, as beasts are said to howl and
tremble before storm, or earthquake, or any great convulsion of nature
takes place.”
Since Lady Davenant’s return from town, where Lord Davenant still
remained, nothing had been said of the embassy to Russia but that it
was delayed. Lady Cecilia, who was quick, and, where she was not herself
concerned, usually right, in interpreting the signs of her mother’s
discomfiture, guessed that Lord Davenant had been circumvented by some
diplomatist of inferior talents, and she said to Helen, “When an ass
kicks you never tell it, is a maxim which mamma heard from some friend,
and she always acts upon it; but a kick, whether given by ass or not,
leaves a bruise, which sometimes tells in spite of ourselves, and my
mother should remember another maxim of that friend’s, that the faults
and follies of the great are the delight and comfort of the little. Now,
my mother, though she is so well suited, from her superior abilities
and strength of mind, and all that, to be the wife of a great political
leader, yet in some respects she is the most unfit person upon earth for
_the situation_; for, though she feels the necessity of conciliating,
she cannot unbend with her inferiors, that is, with half the world. As
Catalani said of singing, it is much more difficult to descend than to
ascend well. Shockingly mamma shows in her manner sometimes how tired
she is of the stupid, and how she despises the mean; and all the
underlings think she can undo them with papa, for it has gone abroad
that she _governs_, while in fact, though papa asks her advice, to be
sure, because she is so wise, she never does interfere in the least;
but, now it has once got into the world’s obstinate head that she does,
it cannot be put out again, and mamma is the last person upon earth to
take her own part, or condescend to explain and set things right. She
is always thinking of papa’s glory and the good of the public, but the
public will never thank him and much less her; so there she is a martyr,
without her crown; now, if I were to make a martyr of myself, which,
Heaven forbid! I would at least take right good care to secure my crown,
and to have my full glory round my head, and set on becomingly. But
seriously, my dear Helen,” continued Lady Cecilia, “I am unhappy about
papa and mamma, I assure you. I have seen little clouds of discontent
long gathering, lowering, and blackening, and I know they will burst
over their heads in some tremendous storm at last.”
Helen hoped not, but looked frightened.
“Oh, you may hope not, my dear, but I know it will be--we may not hear
the thunder, but we shall see the lightning all the more dangerous. We
shall be struck down, unless--” she paused.
“Unless what?” said Helen.
“Unless the storm be dispersed in time.”
“And how?”
“The lightning drawn off by some good conductor--such as myself; I am
quite serious, and though you were angry with me for laughing just now,
as if I was not the best of daughters, even though I laugh, I can tell
you I am meditating an act of self-devotion for my mother’s sake--a
grand _coup d’état_.”
“_Coup d’état_? you, Cecilia! my dear--”
“I, Helen, little as you think of me.”
“Of your political talents you don’t expect me to think much, do you?”
“My political talents! you shall see what they are. I am capable of
a grand _coup d’état_. I will have next week a three days’ congress,
anti-political, at Clarendon Park, where not a word of politics shall be
heard, nor any thing but nonsense if I can help it, and the result shall
be, as you shall see, goodwill between all men and all women--women?
yes, there’s the grand point. Mamma has so affronted two ladies, very
influential as they call it, each--Lady Masham, a favourite at court,
and Lady Bearcroft, risen from the ranks, on her husband’s shoulders;
he, ‘a man of law,’ Sir Benjamin Bearcroft, and very clever she is I
hear, but loud and coarse; absolutely inadmissible she was thought till
lately, and now, only tolerated for her husband’s sake, but still have
her here I must.”
“I think you had better not,” remonstrated Helen; “if she is so very
vulgar, Lady Davenant and the general will never endure her.”
“Oh, he will! the general will bear a great deal for mamma’s sake,
and more for papa’s. I must have her, my dear, for the husband is of
consequence and, though he is ashamed of her, for that very reason he
cannot bear that any body should neglect her, and terribly mamma has
neglected her! Now, my dear Helen, do not say a word more against it.”
Very few words had Helen said. “I must ponder well,” continued Cecilia,
“and make out my list of worthies, my concordatum party.”
Helen much advised the consulting Lady Davenant first; but Lady Cecilia
feared her mother might be too proud to consent to any advance on her
own part. Helen still feared that the bringing together such discordant
people would never succeed, but Lady Cecilia, always happy in paying
herself with words answerable to her wishes, replied, “that discords
well managed often produced the finest harmony.” The only point she
feared was, that she should not gain the first step, that she should not
be able to prevail upon the general to let her give the invitations. In
truth, it required all her persuasive words, and more persuasive looks
to accomplish this preliminary, and to bring General Clarendon to
invite, or permit to be invited, to Clarendon Park, persons whom he knew
but little, and liked not at all. But as Lady Cecilia pleaded and urged
that it would soon be over, “the whole will be over in three days--only
a three days’ visit; and for mamma!--I am sure, Clarendon--you will do
anything for her, and for papa, and your own Cecilia? “--the general
smiled, and the notes were written, and the invitations were accepted,
and when once General Clarendon had consented, he was resolutely polite
in his reception of these to him unwelcome guests. His manner was not
false; it was only properly polite, not tending to deceive any one who
understood the tokens of conventional good breeding. It however
required considerable power over himself to keep the line of demarcation
correctly, with one person in particular to whom he had a strong
political aversion: Mr. Harley.--His very name was abhorrent to General
Clarendon, who usually designated him as “That Genius, Cecilia--that
favourite of your mother’s! “--while to Lady Davenant Mr. Harley was
the only person from whose presence she anticipated any pleasure, or
who could make the rest of the party to her endurable. Helen, though
apprehensive of what might be the ultimate result of this congress,
yet could not help rejoicing that she should now have an opportunity
of seeing some of those who are usually considered “high as human
veneration can look.” It is easy, after one knows who is who, to
determine that we should have found out the characteristic qualities and
talents in each countenance. Lady Cecilia, however, would not tell Helen
the names of the celebrated unknown who were assembled when they went
into the drawing-room before dinner, and she endeavoured to guess from
their conversation the different characters of the speakers; but only
a few sentences were uttered, signifying nothing; snuff-boxes
were presented, pinches taken and inclinations made with becoming
reciprocity, but the physiognomy of a snuff-box Helen could not
interpret, though Lavater asserts that every thing in nature, even a cup
of tea, has a physiognomy.
Dinner was announced, and the company paired off, seemingly not standing
on the order of their going; yet all, especially as some were strangers,
secretly mindful of their honours, and they moved on in precedence just,
and found themselves in places due at the dinner-table.
But Helen did not seem likely to obtain more insight into the characters
of these great personages in the dining-room than she had done in the
drawing-room. For it often happens that, when the most celebrated, and
even the most intellectual persons are brought together expressly
for the purpose of conversation, then it does not flow, but sinks to
silence, and ends at last in the stagnation of utter stupidity. Each
seems oppressed with the weight of his own reputation, and, in the pride
of high celebrity, and the shyness, real or affected, of high rank, each
fears to commit himself by a single word. People of opposite parties,
when thrown together, cannot at once change the whole habit of their
minds, nor without some effort refrain from that abuse of their
opposites in which they are accustomed to indulge when they have it all
to themselves. Now every subject seems laboured--for in the pedantry of
party spirit no partisan will speak but in the slang or cant of his
own craft. Knowledge is not only at one entrance, but at every entrance
quite shut out, and even literature itself grows perilous, so that to be
safe they must all be dumb.
Lady Cecilia Clarendon was little aware of what she undertook when
she called together this heterogeneous assembly of uncongenials and
dissimilars round her dinner-table. After she had in vain made
what efforts she could, and, well skilled in throwing the ball of
conversation, had thrown it again and again without rebound from either
side, she felt that all was flat, and that the silence and the stupidity
were absolutely invincible. Helen could scarcely believe, when she tried
afterwards to recollect, that she had literally this day, during the
whole of the first course, heard only the following sentences, which
came out at long intervals between each couple of questions and
answers--or observations and acquiescences:--“We had a shower.”--“Yes,
I think so.” “But very fine weather we have had.”--“Only too
hot.”--“Quite.” “The new buildings at Marblemore--are they getting on,
my Lord?”--“Do not know; did not come that way.” “Whom have they now at
Dunstanbury?” was the next question. Then in reply came slowly a list of
fashionable names. “Sir John died worth a million, they say.”--“Yes,
a martyr to the gout.” “Has Lady Rachel done any thing for her
eyes?”--“Gone to Brighton, I believe.” “Has any thing been heard of the
North Pole expedition?”--“Not a word.” “Crockly has got a capital cook,
and English too.”--“English! eh?”--“English--yes.” Lord Davenant hoped
this English cook would, with the assistance of several of his brother
_artistes_ of the present day, redeem our country from one-half of the
Abbé Gregoire’s reproach. The abbé has said that England would be
the finest country in the world, but that it wants two essentials,
_sunshine_ and _cooks_. “Good! Good! Very!” voices from different sides
of the table pronounced; and there was silence again.
At the dessert, however, after the servants had withdrawn, most people
began to talk a little to their next neighbours; but by this Helen
profited not, for each pair spoke low, and those who were beside her
on either hand, were not disposed to talk; she was seated between Sir
Benjamin Bearcroft and Mr. Harley--Sir Benjamin the man of law, and Mr.
Harley the man of genius, each eminent in his kind; but he of law
seemed to have nothing in him but law, of which he was very full. In
Sir Benjamin’s economy of human life it was a wholesome rule, which he
practised invariably, to let his understanding sleep in company, that
it might waken in the courts, and for his repose he needed not what
some great men have professed so much to like--“the pillow of a woman’s
mind.” Helen did not much regret the silence of this great legal
authority, but she was very sorry that the man of genius did not talk;
she did not expect him to speak to her, but she wished to hear him
converse with others. But something was the matter with him; from the
moment he sat down to dinner Helen saw he seemed discomfited. He first
put his hand across his eyes, then pressed his forehead: she feared he
had a bad headache. The hand went next to his ear, with a shrinking,
excruciating gesture; it must be the earache thought Helen. Presently
his jaws were pinched together; toothache perhaps. At last she detected
the disturbing cause. Opposite to Mr. Harley, and beside Lady Davenant,
sat a person whom he could not endure; one, in the first place, of an
opposite party, but that was nothing; a man who was, in Mr. Harley’s
opinion, a disgrace to any party, and what could bring him here? They
had had several battles in public, but had never before met in private
society, and the aversion of Mr. Harley seemed to increase inversely as
the squares of the distance. Helen could not see in the object adequate
cause for this antipathy: the gentleman looked civil, smiling, rather
mean, and quite insignificant, and he really was as insignificant as he
appeared--not of consequence in any point of view. He was not high in
office, nor ambassador, nor _chargé-d’affaires_; not certain that he was
an _attaché_ even, but he was said to have the ear of _somebody_,
and was reputed to be secretly employed in diplomatic transactions of
equivocal character; disclaimed, but used, by his superiors, and courted
by his timid inferiors, whom he had persuaded of his great influence
_somewhere_. Lady Cecilia had been assured, from good authority, that
he was one who ought to be propitiated on her father’s account, but now,
when she perceived what sort of creature he was, sorely did she repent
that he had been invited; and her mother, by whom he sat, seemed quite
oppressed and nauseated.
So ended the dinner. And, as Lady Cecilia passed the general in going
out of the room, she looked her contrition, her acknowledgment that he
was perfectly right in his prophecy that it would never do.