The next day, as Helen was going across the hall, she saw the members
of the last political conclave coming out of Lord Davenant’s room, each
looking as if the pope had not been chosen according to his wish--dark
and disappointed; even Mr. Harley’s radiant countenance was dimmed,
and the dry symptomatic cough which he gave after taking leave of Lady
Davenant, convinced Helen that all was not well within. He departed, and
there seemed to be among those who remained a greater constraint than
ever. There appeared to be in each an awakened sense that there were
points on which they could never agree; all seemed to feel how different
it would have been if Mr. Harley had remained. True, the absence or
presence of a person of genius makes as much difference in the whole
appearance of things, as sunshine or no sunshine on the landscape.
Dinner, however, was got through, for time and the hour, two hours, or
three, will get through the roughest dinner or the smoothest. “Never
saw a difficult dinner-party better bothered!” was Lady Bearcroft’s
compliment, whispered to Cecilia as they went into the drawing-room;
and Helen, notwithstanding Lady Bearcroft’s vulgarity, could not help
beginning absolutely to like her for her good nature and amazingly
prompt sympathy; but, after all, good nature without good manners is but
a blundering ally, dangerous to its best friend.
This evening, Lady Cecilia felt that every one was uncomfortable, and,
flitting about the room, she touched here and there to see how things
were going on. They were not going on well, and she could not make
them better; even her efforts at conciliation were ineffectual; she had
stepped in between her mother, some of the gentlemen, and the general,
in an argument in which she heard indications of strife, and she set
about to explain away contradictions, and to convince every body that
they were really all of the same opinion. With her sweet voice and
pretty persuasive look, this might have done for the general, as a
relaxing smile seemed to promise; but it would not do at all with
Lady Davenant, who, from feelings foreign to the present matter, was
irritated, and spoke, as Helen thought, too harshly:--“Cecilia, you
would act Harmony in the comedy to perfection; but, unfortunately, I am
not one of those persons who can be persuaded that when I say one thing
I mean quite another--probably because it is not my practice so to do.
That old epigram, Sir Benjamin, do you know it,” continued she, “which
begins with a bankrupt’s roguish ‘Whereas?’
“Whereas the religion and fate of three nations
Depend on th’ importance of our conversations:
Whereas some objections are thrown in our way,
And words have been construed to mean what they say,--
Be it known from henceforth to each friend and each brother,
When’er we say one thing we mean quite another.”
Sir Benjamin gravely remarked that it was good law practice. The courts
themselves would be shut up if some such doctrine were not understood
in the practice there, _subaudito,_ if not publicly proclaimed with an
absolute “Whereas be it known from henceforth.” Whether this was dry
humour of Sir Benjamin’s, or plain matter of fact and serious opinion,
the gravity with which it was delivered indicated not; but it produced
the good effect of a smile, a laugh, at him or with him. Lady Cecilia
did not care which, the laugh was good at all events; her invincible
good-nature and sweetness of temper had not been soured or conquered
even by her mother’s severity; and Lady Davenant, observing this,
forgave and wished to be forgiven.
“My dearest Cecilia,” said she, “clasp this bracelet for me, will you?
It would really be a national blessing, if, in the present times, all
women were as amiable as you,
‘Fond to spread friendships, but to cover heats.’”
Then, turning to a French gentleman, she spoke of the change she had
observed when she was last at Paris, from the overwhelming violence of
party spirit on all sides.
“Dreadfully true,” the French gentleman replied--“party spirit, taking
every Proteus form, calling itself by a hundred names and with a
thousand devices and watchwords, which would be too ridiculous, if
they were not too terrible--domestic happiness destroyed, all society
disordered, disorganised--literature not able to support herself,
scarcely appearing in company--all precluded, superseded by the politics
of the day.”
Lady Davenant joined with him in his regrets, and added, that she feared
society in England would soon be brought to the same condition.
“No,” said the French gentleman, “English ladies will never be so
vehement as my countrywomen; they will never become, I hope, like some
of our lady politicians, ‘_qui heurlent comme des demons_.’”
Lady Cecilia said that, from what she had seen at Paris, she was
persuaded that if the ladies did bawl too loud it was because the
gentlemen did not listen to them; that above half the party-violence
which appeared in Parisian belles was merely dramatic, to produce a
sensation, and draw the gentlemen, from the black _pelotons_ in which
they gathered, back to their proper positions round the _fauteuils_ of
the fair ladies.
The foreigner, speaking to what he saw passing in Lady Davenant’s mind,
went on;--“Ladies can do much, however, in this as in all other dilemmas
where their power is, and ought to be, omnipotent.”
“Female _influence_ is and ought to be _potent,_” said the general,
with an emphasis on influence, contradistinguishing it from power, and
reducing the exaggeration of omnipotent by the short process of lopping
off two syllables.
“So long as ladies keep in their own proper character,” said Lady
Davenant, “all is well; but, if once they cease to act as women, that
instant they lose their privilege--their charm: they forfeit their
exorcising power; they can no longer command the demon of party nor
themselves, and he transforms them directly, as you say,” said she to
the French gentleman, “into actual furies.”
“And, when so transformed, sometimes unconscious of their state,” said
the general, drily, his eye glancing towards the other end of the room,
and lighting upon Lady Bearcroft, who was at the instant very red and
very loud; and Lady Cecilia was standing, as if watchful for a moment’s
pause, in which to interpose her word of peace. She waited for some
time in vain, for when she hastened from the other end of the room to
this--the scene of action, things had come to such a pass between the
ladies Masham and Bearcroft, that mischief, serious mischief, must have
ensued, had not Lady Cecilia, at utmost need, summoned to her aid the
happy genius of Nonsense--the genius of Nonsense, in whose elfin power
even Love delights; on whom Reason herself condescends often to smile,
even when Logic frowns, and chops him on his block: but cut in twain,
the ethereal spirit soon unites again, and lives, and laughs. But mark
him well--this little happy genius of Nonsense; see that he be the true
thing--the genuine spirit. You will know him by his well-bred air and
tone, which none can counterfeit; and by his smile; for while most he
makes others laugh, the arch little rogue seldom goes beyond a smile
himself! Graceful in the midst of all his pranks, he never goes too
far--though far enough he has been known to go--he has crept into
the armour of the great hero, convulsed the senate in the wig of a
chancellor, and becomingly, decorously, put on now and then the mitre of
an archbishop. “If good people,” said Archbishop Usher, “would but make
goodness agreeable, and smile, instead of frowning in their virtue, how
many they would win to the good cause!” Lady Cecilia in this was good
at need, and at her utmost need, obedient to her call, came this happy
little genius, and brought with him song and dance, riddle and charade,
and comic prints; and on a half-opened parcel of books Cecilia darted,
and produced a Comic Annual, illustrated by him whom no risible muscles
can resist. All smiled who understood, and mirth admitted of her
crew all who smiled, and party-spirit fled. But there were foreigners
present. Foreigners cannot well understand our local allusions; our
Cruikshank is to them unintelligible, and Hood’s “Sorrows of Number One”
quite lost upon them. Then Lady Bearcroft thought she would do as
much as Lady Cecilia, and more--that she would produce what these poor
foreigners could comprehend. But not at her call came the genius of
lively nonsense, he heard her not. In his stead came that counterfeit,
who thinks it witty to be rude:
“And placing raillery in railing,
Will tell aloud your greatest failing--”
that vulgar imp yclept Fun--known by his broad grin, by his loud tone,
and by his rude banter. Head foremost forcing himself in, came he,
and brought with him a heap of coarse caricatures, and they were party
caricatures.
“Capital!” Lady Bearcroft, however, pronounced them, as she spread all
upon the table for applause--but no applause ensued.
Not such, these, as real good English humour produces and enjoys,
independently of party--these were all too broad, too coarse. Lady
Davenant despised, the general detested. Helen turned away, and Lady
Cecilia threw them under the table, that they might not be seen by
the foreigners. “For the honour of England, do not let them be spread
abroad, pray, Lady Bearcroft.”
“The world is grown mighty nice!” said Lady Bearcroft; “for my part,
give me a good laugh when it is to be had.”
“Perhaps we shall find one here,” said Lady Cecilia, opening a portfolio
of caricatures in a different style, but they were old, and Lady
Bearcroft would have thrown them aside; but Lord Davenant observed that,
if they have lasted so long,--they must be good, because their humour
only can ensure their permanence; the personality dies with the person:
for instance, in the famous old print of the minister rat-catcher, in
the Westminster election, the likeness to each rat of the day is lost to
us, but the ridicule on placemen ratters remains. The whole, however, is
perfectly incomprehensible to foreigners. “Rats! rat!” repeated one of
the foreigners, as he looked at and studied the print. It was amusing
to see the gravity with which this foreign diplomatist, quite new to
England, listened to Lady Bearcroft’s explanation of what is meant
in English by a _rat political_. She was at first rather good on this
topic, professing a supernatural acuteness of the senses, arising from
an unconquerable antipathy, born with her, to the whole race of _rats_.
She declared that she could see a rat a mile off in any man--could, from
the moment a man opened his mouth in parliament, or on the hustings,
prophesy whether he would turn into a rat at last, or not. She,
moreover, understood the language of rats of every degree, and knew even
when they said “No,” that they meant “Yes,”--two monosyllables, the test
of rats, which betray them all sooner or later, and transform the biped
into the quadruped, who then turns tail, and runs always to the other
side, from whatever side he may be of.
The _chargé-d’affaires_ stood in half bow, lending deferential ear and
serious attention the whole time of this lecture upon rats, without
being able from beginning to end to compass its meaning, and at the
close, with a disconsolate shrug, he exclaimed, “_Ah! Je renonce à
ça_--”
Lady Bearcroft went on--“Since I cannot make your excellency understand
by description what I mean by an English rat-political, I must give you
an example or two, dead and living--living best, and I have more than
one noted and branded rat in my eye.”
But Lady Cecilia, anxious to interrupt this perilous business, hastily
rang for wine and water; and as the gentlemen went to help themselves
she gave them a general toast, as sitting down to the piano-forte, to
the tune of--“Here’s to the maiden of blushing fifteen”--
She sang--
“Here’s to rats and ratcatchers of every degree, The rat that is trapped, and the rat that is free,
The rat that is shy, sir, the rat that is bold, sir,
The rat upon sale, sir, the rat that is sold, sir.
Let the rats rat! Success to them all,
And well off to the old ones before the house fall!”