"THE OPERA."
It is not to be supposed that Lady Tilney should keep a determination
formed fully one hundred and forty-four hours before the season of
its fulfilment, or retain on the Saturday evening the same degree of
passionate admiration of the Sontag's powers, which she had expressed
on the previous Wednesday to Lord Albert D'Esterre, when announcing
her intention of being present at the first scene of the Opera. She
did, however, reach the house, on the evening in question, before the
conclusion of the third act, and found the Comtesse Leinsengen already
in her box.
"Eh bien, ma chere, à la fin vous voilà! have you been ever since at
dat tiresome dinner?"
"Oh no; I drove home immediately after you went away; but I had
a thousand things of consequence to do, and could not positively
arrive sooner. Amongst other things there was a great enormous card
of invitation from the D'Hermantons. It is quite out of the question
_my_ going: and I think the affair ought to be overturned as much as
possible--our cause should be established without offence directly
given, but decidedly; and if we are engaged elsewhere, you know, our
excuse of '_exceedingly sorry_' will always effect this, and save us,
in the present instance, from the extensive and moral acquaintances of
the Duchess, and from the _fadeur_ of her evenings. I would myself send
out cards did I not think it would be too marked; but some of us might
do so. There is Lady de Chére, I see, in her box; would you arrange
the business with her to-night in the room--Do you agree with me, my
dear Comtesse?" Her friend nodded assent; and in her abrupt rough voice
said, "N'ayez pas peur! I can always hold up my head and tread _down de
plebe_--we are used to dat; but for you, I fear in dis country, you do
not understand de matter."--
"You know, my dear Comtesse, I have often explained to you, that our
constitution--"
"Oh! trève de politiques I implore," said the Comtesse Leinsengen,
turning her head away, and looking towards the stage: "trève de
politiques je n'en puis plus; but fiez vous en à moi."--
"I am surely the last person you ought to suspect unequal to that task!
It is quite unjust to me, dear Comtesse! Have you forgotten the woman
whom Lady Ellersby and myself thought we could use? whom we actually
paraded for a season, maintained she was a beauty, and a person 'qui
feroit fureur;' and after all, when she failed, left her planté in the
midst of the promised honours; actually ejected her from Almack's,
and if we met, walked over her as a person whose face we had never
seen!--Was not this carried with a proper spirit?"
"Yes, under my suggestion; but I could have told you from de first
that her _grand nigaud de mari_ would be always _à ses trousses_, and
prevent her being of the least service to us. It is quite a mistake
to attempt such a measure, _ça sent le roman_, and I do hate all
romance--Dat young milor, (vat you name him?) dat was at your house
de oder morning, Lor--Lor Albert D'Esterre; I don't think, upon my
word, never I don't, dat he will do us any good, I have my doubts dat
he is only _un espion_, and--" Whilst the Comtesse was speaking, the
door of the box opened, and there entered, with an air of affected
refinement, a person whose appearance ill suited with his outward show
of courtliness--his face was red and large, with grey eyes, his hair
inclining to flaxen, and his whole figure round and ill-formed.
This physiognomy, however, if Sir William Temple would have allowed
himself to be natural, was an index to his disposition, for he was _au
fond_ good-natured; but an overweening vanity--a desire to be fine, and
be considered one of the beau-monde, had spoilt the man, and he became
insufferably pompous and conceited--in proportion as his exertions in
good dinners _in_ the season, a good country house _out_ of it, and
a vote in parliament, made him successful in obtaining the notice of
people of rank, and of the minister. The first thought his cook good,
his chateau, at an easy distance from London, convenient--and the last,
remembering the old woman's adage, considered that every little helped,
and that Sir William's vote, so long as it was on the right side, was
as good as any other. He had made his way thus far with tolerable
facility, but his ambition grew by feeding on, and was only to be
satisfied by the attainment of the highest distinction of the _ton_ of
the day; such as in his estimate was conferred by the protecting smile
of Lady Tilney, the Comtesse Leinsengen and others of that _élite_ body.
No opportunity therefore was lost, no pains omitted to arrive at this
desirable end, and to improve the recognition with which Sir William
found himself at times honoured, into what should at least _appear_ a
footing of intimacy. An opera box was an outwork more easy to be taken
by a _coup de main_, than a lodgment effected in the citadel itself;
and while unregistered on the favoured list of the _entré_ at Lady
Tilney's mansion, the access to her circle in the public theatre, which
was not denied him, appeared a license of the utmost importance, and
one which he was the last man to let grow obsolete by neglect of usage,
or forget to turn to profit.
"Has not the Sontag outdone herself to-night, Lady Tilney?" asked Sir
William as he entered the box.
"Yes, never was there such a singer--I have been listening till my very
ears ache with intense attention."
"I am so glad, Lady Tilney, to hear you say so, for I have been
disputing the point with Lord Albert D'Esterre, who maintains that
the Sontag's singing is not in the first style, and a great deal more
of the same sort; but he might as well endeavour to persuade me that
Ude is inferior to Doveton's present man Mariné. I think Lord Albert
D'Esterre wishes to be thought an oracle, and the superior judge of all
judges, and that without his decree there can be no perfection."
"_Vraiment_," said the Comtesse with a shrug of her shoulders, "I
think Milor might suspend his judgments till he heard if people cared
for dem."
"Ah, how delighted I am Comtesse to hear you say so," cried Sir
William, repeating the words he had first addressed to Lady Tilney, and
which indeed he addressed to every one of _ton_, let what might be the
subject, or the sense that fell from them.
"_Vraiment!_" again came drily from the lips of Comtesse Leinsengen,
accompanied with a look at the speaker, which told him that the
contempt conveyed in that expression, when speaking of Lord Albert,
attached equally to himself. Fully understanding the intended meaning,
and conscious that with the Comtesse Leinsengen he had made much less
way than with Lady Tilney, he turned once more to the latter, and
addressed her on a subject by which he knew well he should pay his
court successfully.
"You were not at Lady Borrowdale's the other night. You never saw such
a set as were assembled there; positively there was no stirring without
coming in contact with people whom one had never seen before--and then
it is such bad taste to collect such a crowd--for my part, I got away
after the first glance at the affair." Lady Tilney smiled, and Sir
William, encouraged, continued, "Do you dine at Doveton's?"
"I believe so."
"I am delighted to hear you say so. Lord Osbalston asked me for the
same day--but Mariné, you know, lives with Doveton now, and he could
always turn the scale with me" (laughing affectedly); "_Apropos_,
might I venture to ask the honour of your partaking of my rustic fare?
I am living, you know, quite _en garçon_; but it would be a variety,
so different from all you meet elsewhere; so very plain, and so very
humble; and you would of course do me the honour to name your own
party. Might I hope that you too, Comtesse, would condescend so far?"
This was the boldest step Sir William Temple had yet taken; and
he stood in proportionate anxiety, breathless and red, awaiting a
reply which was to confirm or crush his hopes. May be, like a second
Cæsar, he felt that he had crossed the limits of the empire, and
saw that victory only could retrieve what he had hazarded, and that
he must rise or fall by that. If victory did attend him, then, like
another Alexander, he might weep for fresh worlds to conquer; but if
he fell,--"oh! what a fall was there, my friends!" Such feelings, no
doubt, did agitate his swelling breast when he saw the interchange of
looks pass between Lady Tilney and her friend, as if they questioned
each other.
"Shall we gratify this man?" (this fool he would have read, could
he have interpreted the Countess Leinsengen's expression): "shall
we countenance him?" and in the tremendous moment of suspense Sir
William blest his stars that there were none by to mark him. But when
the joyful sound of Lady Tilney's voice pronounced an acceptance of
his petition, he would have given every thing, short of the promised
honour itself, that the whole Opera house had been present to witness
his triumph. "You will receive us _en garçon_, Sir William, dat will
be very good," said the Comtesse Leinsengen: "all I bargain for is dat
there should be no misses--dose unmarried women are always in de way."
Sir William was too much intoxicated with joy--too much absorbed
with the prospect of his increasing consequence in the eyes of the
fashionable world, when it should be announced that he had entertained
the Comtesse Leinsengen, Lady Tilney, and a party of distinguished
personages to dinner, at his house in May Fair, to pay attention to
any thing not immediately connected with the results which that dinner
would produce. He had heard not one word distinctly beyond the promised
acceptance of his invitation; although he continued mechanically to
reply, whenever he imagined himself addressed. "I am so glad to hear
you say so!--I am delighted to hear that!" At last, on recovering
a little, he perceived that Lady Tilney and her friend had entered
into an argument on the subject of the unmarried ladies, to whom
the Comtesse had alluded, and in which his dinner seemed entirely
forgotten, or likely to be so.
"Dey are always tinking of settlements, and jewels, and have nothing
to do but take notice of what oders are doing," rejoined the Comtesse
Leinsengen, in her most thrilling tone: "Our way is much de better dan
yours; we marry our children at once, or put them in de convents: dat
settles de matter, and make dem much happier too."
"I am not quite so sure of that point, my dear Comtesse," said Lady
Tilney, "although I own ladies are bores; but we manage the thing
in _our_ way, and as well at least: we let them _seem_ to please
themselves, which is half the battle towards making them satisfied with
the lot they draw, and we ourselves direct the entire _marche du jeu_.
You know I am for liberty in all things; liberty of choice as well as
conscience; but very young people do not know what they wish and it
is only when a little acquainted with the world that any body can be
said to have a choice." Sir William Temple remained in torture during
this discussion, and more than once wished all the unmarried ladies
in London, who thus seemed to step in between himself and fortune,
at the bottom of the sea. At length, tired, but not convinced, Lady
Tilney left her opponent in the middle of a sentence, and turning to
the unhappy Sir William, asked, "for what day shall I make our party at
your house?"
"I am delighted to hear you say that!" was the prompt and very sincere
answer of the person addressed. "Oh, any day you do me the honour to
appoint."
"Dat dinner of yours, Sir William, oh vraiment je me fais fête d'y
penser," cried the Comtesse Leinsengen, turning abruptly round to him,
and determined that her rival in argument should not have even that
subject entirely her own.
"I hate vaiting and puts off; we vill fix de day at once--vat say
you to Sunday? to-morrow--de Sunday is always frightful dull in your
country; 'tis the only day, besides, in which I am disengaged."
"I'm so glad to hear you say so," replied Sir William, "let it be
to-morrow," turning at the same time with a look of inquiry to Lady
Tilney.
"Oh, after church there is no objection to diverting one's-se1f
innocently; it is impossible to read and pray all day: besides I like
to make the Sunday, on principle, a gay, chearful day."
At this moment Lord Albert D'Esterre entered. "Shall I ask him for
to-morrow?" eagerly whispered Sir William into Lady Tilney's ear;
afraid lest the subject nearest his heart should again be usurped by
some other topic.
"Yes--no--yes, you may;" replied Lady Tilney; whose answer in the
affirmative was decided by her wish to know more of Lord Albert in
society, and a little also by Comtesse Leinsengen's having held cheap
her penetration in regard to the qualifications of the former for their
_société choisie_. The invitation was quickly given, and no excuse
would be admitted. While Lord Albert was endeavouring to extricate
himself from this importunity, and Sir William to convince him of
the impossibility of disobeying Lady Tilney's commands, which he
advanced to strengthen his cause, the Comtesse Leinsengen caught the
conversation:
"So, Milor, you will not be at de party to-morrow? an excuse vraiment!
when de people make _me excuse_, I know what dat means, and it is made
up in my mind never to ask dem again."
"When you have once expressed that horrible sentence," answered Lord
Albert, smiling, "it would surely be impossible to incur so great a
danger; but as I am really not able to give my assent to the very
obliging invitation, I shall not, I hope, be deemed deserving of the
penalty."
"What! _then_ you will _not_ accept?" asked the Comtesse Leinsengen
again, in her own abrupt tone of command.
"No; I lament I cannot." The Comtesse shrugged her shoulders, adding:
"What! you will not accept, I suppose, because it is Sunday; and you
are engaged all de day long to de Church; is it not dat--are you what
dey call a saint?" Lord Albert felt annoyed by the importunity with
which he had been assailed; and conceiving, according to his own ideas
of good breeding, that declining an invitation at first was sufficient,
he continued to look more grave and annoyed. Still as the Comtesse
repeated the question:
"Are you what dey call a saint?"
"No, a sinner certainly; but would I were indeed a saint."
"So den you condemn us all, I suppose, who do not keep de Sunday
stupidly _à la façon Angloise_? Vill you tell me now, Milor, vat you
tink one may do on a Sunday? I suppose you would not hang your cat,
_par exemple_, if she killed her mouse on Sunday, vould you?"
Lord Albert D'Esterre looked still more cold and grave, as he drew
himself up and leant against the back of the box, saying, that "it was
an unfitting time and place for such discussions, and that he begged
to be excused from entering upon them." Then bending forward to Lady
Tilney, who had remained silent, and saying a few words to her, he
bowed and retired.
"Il est farouche et fanfaron au possible," cried the Comtesse
Leinsengen, as he closed the door; "after to-night I have done vid him."
"He is only original; and it will be a great thing to soften his little
prejudices, and teach him to enjoy existence under your tuition,
if it were possible," said Sir William, making as low a bow as his
_embonpoint_ would permit, "'_to soften knotted oaks, and bend the
rocks_,' it would be done--"
Lady Tilney smiled at the mis-quotation, while the Comtesse Leinsengen
added in a tone of impatience: "but Miladi, do vat she vill, cannot
make a bore agreeable; but, ah!" turning round, "dere is Milor
Baskerville, how glad I am to have something humanized to talk to!
Milor, we have just had a saint in our box; do you not smell de odour
of sanctity very strong?"
"I am at a loss to know your meaning, Comtesse--pray explain;" and
when she did so, he replied; "Hem! from the first moment I saw him, I
suspected that stiff unnatural sort of manner had something sinister,
(hem!) I hope I am not worse than my neighbours, (hem!) but whenever
I hear any thing approaching to cant (hem!) I fly from it, (hem!) as
I would from all that I hold most detestable; (hem!) besides, since
his conduct to Tonnerre, I have considered him (hem!) hardly in the
light of a gentleman. (hem!) You heard, Comtesse, did you not, of that
affair? (hem!)"
"No, vat _affaire_ you speak of?"
"Oh, you know he nearly caused Tonnerre a most serious accident, and
(hem!) his favourite horse Chester, it is feared, is entirely ruined."
"No, I never heard one word of it, vat was it for?"--"Why, Tonnerre
(hem!) was riding up gently to speak (hem!) to Lady Hamlet Vernon
in the Park, (hem!) my Lord Albert D'Esterre, who was by her
carriage, (hem!) chose to turn his horse short round, and to shew his
horsemanship, spurred the animal, who plunged and kicked, and (hem!)
Tonnerre's horse was driven against the carriage and reared, and fell
back--(hem!) and--"
"And what did de oder Milor do--did he tumble off?"
"Yes, (hem!) at least I believe he did, but I don't know--we were all
so engaged, (hem!) in assisting Tonnerre--the last I saw of him was his
horse going through the Park Gate like a shot, for he can't ride."
"Baskerville," interrupted Lord Glenmore, who had entered the box,
and, while talking with Lady Tilney, had overheard the latter part of
this veracious history,--"Baskerville, you must pardon me if I correct
your statement a little. _You_ may have _heard_ the circumstances
only related, _I saw_ them--and if ever a man deserved having his
neck broke, and losing a favourite horse, it was Tonnerre. I never
witnessed any thing like the manner in which he rode, not _to_ Lady
Hamlet Vernon's carriage, _but at_ D'Esterre, and if the latter had
not been the excellent horseman he is, I think there might have been
more serious results accruing to both than actually happened. However,
Tonnerre and his horse are quite well, for I met both to-day." Lord
Baskerville had a mode of dropping the corners of his mouth, raising
his chin, and turning up his eyes, whenever he wished to shew signs
of contempt; but too discreet to offend a person of Lord Glenmore's
calibre, he managed to suppress them in some measure; and having heard
out what Lord Glenmore had to say, turned without answering him to the
Comtesse Leinsengen.
"Do not talk more about dat man, I pray you, I am tired to death of
his name," said the latter; "but tell me, Milor, vill you and Miladi
Baskerville meet me to-morrow at dinner? Miladi Tilney and myself are
going to do Sir William dere de honour to dine vid him, and vid our own
party."
Lord Baskerville looked amazed, and before he could recover his
surprise, Sir William himself seemingly confirmed the strange
announcement, by facing round and assuring _Baskerville_, as he called
him, on the strength of many a good dinner before, that "he should be
delighted to see him; and Lady Baskerville too, I hope will confer
the same honour upon me as these ladies." Lord Baskerville, ere he
answered, directed a look of inquiry to the Comtesse Leinsengen, to
ascertain if the matter were really serious.--"Oh, you must come vid
me," said the Comtesse, "I positively vill have no excuse."
"I am ever ready to obey your commands, Comtesse, you know, and--"
"I am delighted to hear you say so," cried Sir William. (Lord
Baskerville drew up.) "And Lady Baskerville?" continued the former.
"Hem! _I_ cannot _answer for Lady_ Baskerville, Sir William--but (hem!
hem!) I will certainly inform her of the invitation, and (hem!) should
she have no other engagement, (hem!) doubtless she will be most happy,
and (hem!) will wait upon you; (hem!) but dear me the Opera is ended,"
looking at his watch, and turning to Lady Tilney. "Oh those tiresome
bishops--really I wish people would not meddle with what (hem!) they
have nothing to do,--we are always now deprived of half our ballet on
the Saturdays." (hem!)
"_C'est vraiment ridicule_," murmured the Comtesse Leinsengen: "dere is
no country in de world where dis sort of foolish ting takes place but
in England."
"It is rather an infringement upon our liberties, I will allow,"
observed Lady Tilney, "to turn us out of our Opera boxes at a
particular hour."
"Liberty--liberty--dat liberty of the subject is all a farce, chere
Miladi; it is all a make believe, as I often have de honour of telling
you. Lord Baskerville, vill you be so obliging--my schall."
Lady Tilney, however, would not suffer the Comtesse to go till she
had spoken to her again on the subject of their _soirée_ at Lady
de Chere's. "The Duchess of Hermanton's night will be a very good
opportunity," she said; "to let the world know that we do not mingle in
societies of the kind; all the regulars, as they consider themselves,
look upon D'Hermanton House as head-quarters, and make a point of
attending like subalterns gaping for promotion; and if we are there
it will have the worst possible effect. Then again, such as we choose
to invite to Lady de Chere's, will understand what is meant, _sans
nous compromettre_, and hold off in future from engagements like the
D'Hermanton's. You know it would be unwise and impolitic to impart our
intentions to all indiscriminately who compose our circle; but we must
at the same time afford some guide for conduct. If we do as I propose
the affair will be very well understood, without our being unpleasantly
involved, and the system will answer well, n'êtes vous pas de mon
avis, chere Comtesse?"--"Peût-être qu'oui," was the Comtesse's answer,
accompanied by the habitual shrug of the shoulders; "and," continued
Lady Tilney, "I think there was every one at my house the other night
who ought to be invited. Shall I send Lady de Chere my list?"
"I will see about dat; but first we must know if Miladi vil do as
we wish. Laissez-moi faire, j'arrangerai tout ça," and taking Lord
Baskerville's arm, she was leaving the box--
"But what shall we do about dat dinner to-morrow, chere Miladi?" she
added in a lower tone to Lady Tilney.
"Oh go, by all means; he is well enough--will be so pleased that we may
do henceforth as we like with him, and it allows others to hope for the
same honour."
"Vell, den, I vill go--remember Milor you are engaged to me to-morrow."
Lord Baskerville made one of his most refined bows. "And who else shall
we have?" asked the Comtesse of Lady Tilney.
"Oh! I don't know; there are the Boileaus and Lord Gascoyne, and Prince
Luttermanne, and Lord Tonnerre."
"Dose vill do very well; I vill tell dem if I see dem in de room.
Adieu, chere Miladi. Ve shall dine vid you to-morrow, Sir William," she
added as she left the box.
"I am delighted to hear you say so!" replied the happy Sir William
Temple.
"May this be true!--O may it--can it be;--Is it by any wonder
possible?" whispered Spencer Newcombe, who had heard the Comtesse
Leinsengen's last words, and now approached Sir William with affected
surprise.
"Come, my master; if so, the great ones shall not have you all to
themselves," he continued: "I too will dine with you to-morrow. Lady
Tilney, are you of the party?"
"Yes."
"Why, where is the sign now? have ye e'er a calendar--where's the sign,
trow you?" Spencer continued saying.
"The what?" asked Sir William.
"The sign--Believe me there's a most secret power in that! Court any
woman in the right sign, Sir William, as you have done, and you shall
not miss."
"I am delighted to hear you say so!" replied Sir William.
"I believe he thinks you allude to the sign-post of an inn," whispered
Lord Boileau, who had joined the party, "and it suits well enough to a
dinner-giving man like him." Lady Tilney now prepared to leave the box;
and taking the arm of the Duke of Mercington, was followed by all the
men who had paid their visit and their court to her.
Sir William seemed to look with pride on the world behind him, as he
mingled in the crowd; conscious of the mark of fashion which would from
the morrow be emblazoned on his brow; and in the hurry of the throng,
and in the quiet of his pillow, the glory of his future success and
progress alike presented itself to him that night in a thousand forms.