THE MYSTERIES OF FASHION, AND YOUNG LADIES WHO HAVE NOTHING TO DO.
The Duchess talked to me the next day, during our walk, about Norah, and
expressed her hopes she and Sir Alfred Rivers would eventually be happy.
“I was not aware that you ever knew her,” I said with surprise, while I
became conscious of blushing most disagreeably.
“Yes; and I have often since reproached myself for not telling you the
whole history in London, when I could see that you were doing so much
mischief to her and yourself. I was very angry with you, and sorry that
I did not ask for an interview, and have uttered my thoughts. It never
answers to think unkindly or be angry with a person without telling them
so, I am certain. But I was unfortunately so busy taking my sisters
about, and making up parties for them, that I neglected the other half
of my duties. I ought to have been aware of the extreme danger of your
position--and his too,” she added, after looking at me with a kind of
half angry admiration--“for you, too, are a most dangerous person.”
“But you think Norah would really be happy with him?” said I, in a kind
of blundering endeavour to direct her attention from my agitated face.
“And would you in her case have subjected Sir Alfred to the two years’
probation which you inflicted on the Duke?”
“No; I should not have advised it in her case; for (perhaps it may sound
extraordinary in your ears), but the fact is, Sir Alfred, who is only a
Baronet, and who has not one quarter of the fortune inherited by the
Duke, was placed in a much more perilous condition in our fastidious
London or English world than the Duke was. Sir Alfred has genius, and
the most extraordinary fascination and charm I ever met with, and you
know that our present great world worships charm far more than rank or
riches. I suppose you heard that the Duchess of ---- was excluded from
Almack’s one season because she was vulgar-looking? This kind of
admiration for the charm that genius often gives is pre-eminently the
feature of the present day, and I fear it will not last very long. I say
fear, because, with all our vices and crimes, this is our best feature,
and it will, I fear, be succeeded by more worldly views--the worship,
probably, of wealth and material, or rather unintellectual advantages.”
“Then Sir Alfred was placed on a higher pinnacle in the world than even
your handsome young Duke. Yet how very, very good--yes, and charming,
too, he is,” I added, after a pause.
“To you who know him well, and respect his fine qualities; but we have
no genius, either of us--we are nothing more than humdrum plodders
through our everyday prosaic duties.”
“Prosaic!” I cried, “indeed, you call making such a pleasant home, such
happy people all round you! To produce such harmonious delight there
must be some genius.”
“No, only good training, a religious carrying out of the old French
proverb, ‘_Noblesse oblige_.’ In other and older words, to love one’s
neighbour as oneself; for this simple act, or rather custom, no genius
is required. But I have not fully explained to you why Sir Alfred’s
position in the London world was so much more trying than that of the
Duke. It was chiefly because it subjected him to more genuine love and
adoration from all the fascinating women, both married and single.
Several hitherto happy wives fell so fatally in love with him that their
happiness was almost destroyed; and some who at first only were
instigated by vanity, in their wish to captivate a young king of
fashion, fell victims to his charm, and, to the surprise of themselves,
and everybody else, found that they really possessed hearts. If you had
been aware,” continued the Duchess, “of his real position, you would
have been much more proud of having brought him to your feet. I never
trembled for him and poor Norah till I saw the effect you produced on
his feelings, and I am ashamed to say that the first night at D----
House I was rather glad, for he had been getting most disagreeably
entangled by that pretty little flirt, Lady Selina Bugginfield, a very
dangerous little woman. She has really been his evil genius ever since
his first entrance into the world, and she is the most persevering and
most mischievous little person I ever met with. You know she was staying
with the poor Countess Cunigunda all the time she was at the Castle
Hall, and I was very nearly sending in an excuse to the fête, because I
thought she ought not to be tolerated in this county; but the Duke very
wisely said that, as we could not avoid meeting her in London, it would
be no use to refuse the invitation on that account; and I wanted to see
you, too, not dreaming that poor Cunigunda would have had the face to
leave you out--though, of course, Lady Selina would not have let you
come, if she could help it.”
“No; I always saw that she disliked me extremely, and I never could
understand why. During the first dance with Sir Alfred, I found her
large eyes glaring like coals of fire with a kind of intense hatred as I
passed her in the waltz; but there were several others in London who
seemed equally to dislike me. I really was, at that time, so absorbed
and excited that I seemed to have no time or inclination to speculate on
the causes of this dislike and disapproval.”
“No; I saw that too--I saw that you were thoroughly simple and
unsophisticated, and that was why I pitied and wished to save you, if
possible, from a destiny--a result in which you could only have done
mischief.”
“That is very true; and you really appreciated that wonderful Norah so
justly as to think her influence, had she then consented to the marriage
when he wished--you really thought she would have counteracted all the
fascinations of that strange London world?”
“Yes, because I did not think, if he had married her then, he would have
ever entered into it--not in the same kind of way; she would have
succeeded in getting him to take an interest in his large property, and
in the enjoyment of doing good, and in being actively employed in
country life. Luckily, she is not one of the modern young ladies, who do
nothing, and have nothing to do. Some of the most hopelessly depressing
things I ever read (because they show the helpless perversity of human
nature as strongly as the description of the world before the Flood) are
those by-way-of-being-hopeful articles on “Young Ladies of the Period”
in some of the papers or magazines. They have also confirmed my opinion
as to the total loss of originality, and the servile subjection to
fashion, which characterise the present time. A young lady with opulent
parents, having received the usual education, describes herself at
eighteen as being totally unable to amuse or interest herself profitably
or innocently in any way. For her the much-coveted leisure-time to read
and digest a well-stored library--time to enjoy the beauties of nature
and art--time to visit the poor, and perhaps _even_ relieve their
wants--time to teach and humanize the hundreds of utterly ignorant,
starving, and neglected children about our streets--time to amuse
friends or invalid relations with any interesting matters which may have
been picked up in the course of reading or visiting--time to study, if
that way inclined--time to cultivate the art of music or painting--this
treasure of time, which the most cultivated find too short, and those
rich in everything else would gladly buy, which passes, never to return,
and leaves traces never to be effaced--this is the treasure which the
young lady of the period knows not what to do with, and can put to no
useful account.
“This acknowledgment, if sincere, is the severest satire upon her
individual self that has ever yet been penned. For, in fact, a young
lady born of opulent parents is in the most enviable position of any
human being for the profitable enjoyment and use of all this world can
afford, both for herself and others--of all that is most delightful and
preparatory for eternal happiness--she who now pities herself, and is
excused and pitied by others, because she fancies she has nothing to do!
The race of young ladies seems to have lost all originality, all powers
of self-help. They not only copy and exaggerate all the ugly changes and
extremes of fashion, but feel that they can do nothing else but copy its
vices, and then fondly imagine that all this might have been remedied if
they had received what they fancy would have been a better
education--that is, had they been examined in the books and subjects set
down in the Ladies’ College!
“One of the most learned women I ever met with was completely
self-educated--dear Lady M. F----; and several other friends, who were
much the best educated persons I ever met with, were all self-taught,
and had peculiar disadvantages in the way of instruction in their youth.
Now I can imagine that a few silly young ladies could be found who
really fancy that they cannot amuse themselves innocently and profitably
without copying the exaggerations which we now call ‘fast.’ But what I
do not understand is, that a grave and sapient writer in a Magazine
should be found to echo their silly cry, and help them to invert the
whole case, quarrel with their bread and butter, and help to convince
them of the hopelessness of their ‘hard lot,’ which can only be remedied
by repairing to a College, or by having received a different kind of
education. Yet I do not see many of the books mentioned for examination,
in any language, that could help them much to innocent and profitable
happiness in the blessed lot in which God has, in his extreme bounty,
placed them. Plato would be about the best, which might indeed, if
rightly read, help them to profitable self-development and happiness.
But I cannot wonder that ignorant young ladies should regard their
blessed lot as ‘hopeless,’ when a grave writer in reviews can condole
with them in such a wrong-headed and hopeless-of-any-good spirit. Shame
upon them who thus pander to vice!--for vice it must be to preach
ingratitude for a blessed life of competency and leisure.”
I afterwards repeated these remarks of the Duchess to Aunt Jane, and she
fully agreed, adding--
“Can they not see that almost every chapter in Scripture gives all the
precepts necessary for self-education? If we could ‘love our neighbours
as ourselves,’ this unselfish love would give us all that is necessary
for daily employment and happiness. A real wish and endeavour to make
all around us happy must render us so ourselves, if we pursue it
constantly and energetically; and we can have no Colleges or list of
examination-books for this simple but all-important act.
“If we love our neighbours as ourselves, we should never want to
outshine them, nor do or wish anything that is not conducive to their
happiness; each person would bring a ready-made sermon of hope into
every society, or ball-room, or concert. No fear of any vicious
self-indulgence where love for others rather than ourselves is the
paramount feeling in our hearts. We should have Sisters of Mercy in
every society and dinner-party we entered.
“In order really to amuse and make others happy, we should have
cultivated every talent, and the memory which nature has given us. It
would make us become in some measure like the most witty and polished
French women of the old period; not from a wish to shine, but solely to
amuse and comfort and give holy hope to others as they pass through a
life where all must have many trials in this probationary world.
“This sentiment--love of others as ourselves,” continued Aunt Jane, “can
be the only cure for the vices of girls or men in this or _any other_
period. But unfortunately the suggestion of the hopeless advice to young
ladies is probably written by an unbeliever in Scripture, which is the
case with too many of the leading and successful writers and oracular
advice-givers of the present day. A total want of religion is the cause
of all the mischief and unhappiness both in young ladies and popular
writers; and until they can believe in the inspired nature of the most
salutary advice ever given to human nature, they can never find a true
remedy for any misery or vice. For the spread of unbelief during the
last sixty years, among all classes, is greater than most people are
aware of. And this unbelief destroys first hope, and then innocent joy.
Look at the multitude of pretty and ugly women and men in a crowd, and
see whether the expression of hope on their faces is not much less
discernible than it formerly was.”
I could not but assent to this; and then Aunt Jane said,
“If you observe accurately human nature, you will see that hope is the
strongest sentiment of the human mind, and this alone would seem to
point to a future state. I cannot imagine that by any process of
reasoning it would be right to follow Renan’s advice, and ‘stifle’ our
strongest instinct and quality. Besides, hope leads far more to good
than bad. The hope of being free from self-reproach must tend to love
others.”
“Does not,” I said, “your system tend to prevent or diminish the full
enjoyment of the present? I can imagine that to you, who are always
suffering so sadly from bodily ill-health, hope must be everything. I
suppose it is hope of future happiness which makes you always appear so
bright and happy?”
“Of course it is,” she said. “But yet I admire extremely those who do
enjoy the present. I like to see its cheering effect on the
countenance, indicating generally, as it does, a pure and innocent
mind.”