GORDON CASTLE—COMPANY THERE—THE PARK—DUKE OF GORDON—PERSONAL
BEAUTY OF THE ENGLISH ARISTOCRACY.
The last phæton dashed away, and my chaise advanced to the door. A
handsome boy, in a kind of page’s dress, immediately came to the window,
addressed me by name, and informed me that His Grace was out
deer-shooting, but that my room was prepared, and he was ordered to wait
on me. I followed him through a hall lined with statues, deers’ horns,
and armor, and was ushered into a large chamber, looking out on a park,
extending with its lawns and woods to the edge of the horizon. A more
lovely view never feasted human eye.
“Who is at the castle?” I asked, as the boy busied himself in
unstrapping my portmanteau.
“Oh, a great many, sir.” He stopped in his occupation, and began
counting on his fingers. “There’s Lord Aberdeen, and Lord Claud Hamilton
and Lady Harriette Hamilton (them’s his lordship’s two step children,
you know, sir,) and the Dutchess of Richmond and Lady Sophia Lennox, and
Lady Keith, and Lord Mandeville and Lord Aboyne, and Lord Stormont and
Lady Stormont, and Lord Morton and Lady Morton, and Lady Alicia,
and—and—and—twenty more, sir.”
“Twenty more lords and ladies?”
“No, sir! that’s all the nobility.”
“And you can’t remember the names of the others?”
“No, sir.”
He was a proper page. He could not trouble his memory with the names of
commoners.
“And how many sit down to dinner?”
“Above thirty, besides the Duke and Dutchess.”
“That will do.” And off tripped my slender gentleman with his laced
jacket, giving the fire a terrible stir-up in his way out, and turning
back to inform me that the dinner hour was seven precisely.
It was a mild, bright afternoon, quite warm for the end of an English
September, and with a fire in the room, and a soft sunshine pouring in
at the windows, a seat by the open casement was far from disagreeable. I
passed the time till the sun set, looking out on the park. Hill and
valley lay between my eye and the horizon; sheep fed in picturesque
flocks, and small fallow deer grazed near them; the trees were planted,
and the distant forest shaped by the hand of taste; and broad and
beautiful as was the expanse taken in by the eye, it was evidently one
princely possession. A mile from the castle wall, the shaven sward
extended in a carpet of velvet softness, as bright as emerald, studded
by clumps of shrubbery, like flowers wrought elegantly on tapestry; and
across it bounded occasionally a hare, and the pheasants feel
undisturbed near the thickets, or a lady with flowing riding-dress and
flaunting feather, dashed into sight upon her fleet blood palfrey, and
was lost the next moment, in the woods, or a boy put his pony to its
mettle up the ascent, or a gamekeeper idled into sight with his gun in
the hollow of his arm, and his hounds at his heels—and all this little
world of enjoyment and luxury, and beauty, lay in the hand of one man,
and was created by his wealth in these northern wilds of Scotland, a
day’s journey almost from the possession of another human being. I never
realized so forcibly the splendid result of wealth and primogeniture.
The sun set in a blaze of fire among the pointed firs crowning the
hills, and by the occasional prance of a horse’s feet on the gravel, and
the roll of rapid wheels, and now and then a gay laugh and merry voices,
the different parties were returning to the castle. Soon after a loud
gong sounded through the gallery, the signal to dress, and I left my
musing occupation unwillingly to make my toilet for an appearance in a
formidable circle of titled aristocrats, not one of whom I had ever
seen, the Duke himself a stranger to me, except through the kind letter
of introduction lying upon the table.
I was sitting by the fire imagining forms and faces for the different
persons who had been named to me, when there was a knock at the door,
and a tall, white-haired gentleman, of noble physiognomy, but singularly
cordial address, entered, with the broad red riband of a duke across his
breast, and welcomed me most heartily to the castle. The gong sounded at
the next moment, and, in our way down, he named over his other guests,
and prepared me in a measure for the introductions which followed. The
drawing-room was crowded like a _soirée_. The Dutchess, a very tall and
very handsome woman, with a smile of the most winning sweetness,
received me at the door, and I was presented successively to every
person present. Dinner was announced immediately, and the difficult
question of precedence being sooner settled than I had ever seen it
before in so large a party, we passed through files of servants to the
dining room.
It was a large and very lofty hall, supported at the ends by marble
columns, within which was stationed a band of music, playing
delightfully. The walls were lined with full length family pictures,
from old knights in armor to the modern dukes in kilt of the Gordon
plaid; and on the sideboards stood services of gold plate, the most
gorgeously massive, and the most beautiful in workmanship I have ever
seen. There were, among the vases, several large coursing-cups, won by
the duke’s hounds, of exquisite shape and ornament.
I fell into my place between a gentleman and a very beautiful woman, of
perhaps twenty-two, neither of whose names I remembered, though I had
but just been introduced. The Duke probably anticipated as much, and as
I took my seat he called out to me, from the top of the table, that I
had upon my right, Lady ——, “the most agreeable woman in Scotland.” It
was unnecessary to say that she was the most lovely.
I have been struck everywhere in England with the beauty of the higher
classes, and as I looked around me upon the aristocratic company at the
table, I thought I never had seen “heaven’s image double-stamped as man
and noble” so unequivocally clear. There were two young men and four or
five young ladies of rank—and five or six people of more decided
personal attractions could scarcely be found; the style of form and face
at the same time being of that cast of superiority which goes by the
expressive name of “thorough-bred.” There is a striking difference in
this respect between England and the countries on the continent—the
_paysans_ of France and the _bontadini_ of Italy being physically far
superior to their degenerate masters; while the gentry and nobility of
England differ from the peasantry in limb and feature as the racer
differs from the dray-horse, or the greyhound from the cur. The contrast
between the manners of English and French gentlemen is quite as
striking. The _empressment_, the warmth, the shrug and gesture of the
Parisian, and the working eyebrow, dilating or contracting eye, and
conspirator-like action of the Italian in the most common conversation,
are the antipodes of English high breeding. I should say a North
American Indian, in his more dignified phase, approached nearer to the
manner of an English nobleman than any other person. The calm repose of
person and feature, the self-possession under all circumstances, that
incapability of surprise or _dérèglement_, and that decision about the
slightest circumstance, and the apparent certainty that he is acting
absolutely _comme il faut_, is equally “gentlemanlike” and Indianlike.
You cannot astonish an English gentleman. If a man goes into a fit at
his side, or a servant drops a dish upon his shoulder, or he hears that
the house is on fire, he sets down his wine-glass with the same
deliberation. He has made up his mind what to do in all possible cases,
and he does it. He is cold at a first introduction, and may bow stiffly,
(which he always does) in drinking wine with you, but it is his manner;
and he would think an Englishman out of his senses who should bow down
to his very plate and smile as a Frenchman does on a similar occasion.
Rather chilled by this, you are a little astonished when the ladies have
left the table, and he closes his chair up to you, to receive an
invitation to pass a month with him at his country house, and to
discover that at the very moment he bowed so coldly, he was thinking how
he should contrive to facilitate your plans for getting to him or seeing
the country to advantage on the way.
The band ceased playing when the ladies left the table, the gentlemen
closed up, conversation assumed a merrier cast, coffee and _chasse-café_
were brought in when the wines began to be circulated more slowly; and
at eleven, there was a general move to the drawing-room. Cards, tea, and
music, filled up the time till twelve, and then the ladies took their
departure, and the gentlemen sat down to supper. I got to bed somewhere
about two o’clock; and thus ended an evening which I had anticipated as
stiff and embarrassing, but which is marked in my tablets as one of the
most social and kindly I have had the good fortune to record on my
travels. I have described it, and shall describe others minutely—and I
hope there is no necessity of my reminding any one that my apology for
thus disclosing scenes of private life has been already made. Their
interest as sketches by an American of the society that most interests
Americans, and the distance at which they are published, justify them, I
would hope, from any charge of indelicacy.