AN INSIGHT INTO THE REAL GRANDE MONDE;--BEING A SEARCH BEHIND THE
ROSE-COLOURED CURTAINS.
The time we now speak of was the most brilliant the English world,
during the last half century, has known. Lord Byron was in his brief
and dazzling zenith; De Stael was in London; the Peace had turned the
attention of rich idlers to social enjoyment and to letters. There was
an excitement, and a brilliancy, and a spirituality, about our circles,
which we do not recognise now. Never had a young and ambitious woman--a
beauty and a genius--a finer moment for the commencement of her power.
It was Constance’s early and bold resolution to push to the utmost--even
to exaggeration--a power existing in all polished states, but now mostly
in this,--the power of fashion! This mysterious and subtle engine she
was eminently skilled to move according to her will. Her intuitive
penetration into character, her tact, and her grace, were exactly the
talents Fashion most demands; and they were at present devoted only
to that sphere. The rudeness that she mingled, at times, with the
bewitching softness and ease of manner she could command at others,
increased the effect of her power. It is much to intimidate as well as
to win. And her rudeness in a very little while grew popular; for it was
never exercised but on those whom the world loves to see humbled. Modest
merit in any rank; and even insolence, if accompanied with merit, were
always safe from her satire. It was the hauteur of foolish duchesses or
purse-proud roturiers that she loved, and scrupled not, to abase.
And the independence of her character was mixed with extraordinary
sweetness of temper. Constance could not be in a passion: it was out of
her nature. If she was stung, she could utter a sarcasm; but she could
not frown or raise her voice. There was that magic in her, that she was
always feminine. She did not stare young men out of countenance; she
never addressed them by their Christian names; she never flirted--never
coquetted: the bloom and flush of modesty was yet all virgin upon her
youth. She, the founder of a new dynasty, avoided what her successors
and contemporaries have deemed it necessary to incur. She was the leader
of fashion; but--it is a miraculous union--she was respectable!
At this period, some new dances were brought into England. These dances
found much favour in the eves of several great ladies young enough to
dance them. They met at each other’s houses in the morning to practise
the steps. Among these was Lady Erpingham; her house became the
favourite rendezvous.
The young Marquis of Dartington was one of the little knot. Celebrated
for his great fortune, his personal beauty, and his general success,
he resolved to fall in love with Lady Erpingham. He devoted himself
exclusively to her; he joined her in the morning in her rides--in the
evening in her gaieties. He had fallen in love with her?--yes!--did he
love her?--not the least. But he was excessively idle!--what else could
he do?
Constance early saw the attentions and designs of Lord Dartington. There
is one difficulty in repressing advances in great society--one so
easily becomes ridiculous by being a prude. But Constance dismissed Lord
Dartington with great dexterity. This was the occasion:--
One of the apartments in Erpingham House communicated with a
conservatory. In this conservatory Constance was alone one morning, when
Lord Dartington, who had entered the house with Lord Erpingham, joined
her. He was not a man who could ever become sentimental; he was rather
the gay lover--rather the Don Gaolor than the Amadis; but he was a
little abashed before Constance. He trusted, however, to his fine eyes
and his good complexion--plucked up courage; and, picking a flower from
the same plant Constance was tending, said,--
“I believe there is a custom in some part of the world to express love
by flowers. May I, dear Lady Erpingham, trust to this flower to express
what I dare not utter?”
Constance did not blush, nor look confused, as Lord Dartington had hoped
and expected. One who had been loved by Godolphin was not likely to
feel much agitation at the gallantry of Lord Dartington; but she looked
gravely in his face, paused a little before she answered, and then said,
with a smile that abashed the suitor more than severity could possibly
have done:--
“My dear Lord Dartington, do not let us mistake each other. I live
in the world like other women, but I am not altogether like them. Not
another word of gallantry to me alone, as you value my friendship. In a
crowded room pay me as many compliments as you like. It will flatter my
vanity to have you in my train. And now, just do me the favour to take
these scissors and cut the dead leaves off that plant.”
Lord Dartington, to use a common phrase, “hummed and hawed.” He looked,
too, a little angry. An artful and shrewd politician, it was not
Constance’s wish to cool the devotion, though she might the attachment,
of a single member of her husband’s party. With a kind look--but a
look so superior, so queen-like, so free from the petty and coquettish
condescension of the sex, that the gay lord wondered from that hour how
he could ever have dreamed of Constance as of certain other ladies--she
stretched her hand to him.
“We are friends, Lord Dartington?--and now we know each other, we shall
be so always.”
Lord Dartington bowed confusedly over the beautiful hand he touched;
and Constance, walking into the drawing-room, sent for Lord Erpingham on
business--Dartington took his leave.