In the meantime, power and prosperity clustered round the roof and
family of Ferrars. He himself was in the prime of manhood, with an
exalted position in the world of politics, and with a prospect of the
highest. The Government of which he was a member was not only deemed
strong, but eternal. The favour of the Court and the confidence of the
country were alike lavished upon it. The government of the Duke could
only be measured by his life, and his influence was irresistible. It was
a dictatorship of patriotism. The country, long accustomed to a strong
and undisturbed administration, and frightened by the changes and
catastrophes which had followed the retirement of Lord Liverpool, took
refuge in the powerful will and splendid reputation of a real hero.
Mrs. Ferrars was as ambitious of social distinction as her husband was
of political power. She was a woman of taste, but of luxurious taste.
She had a passion for splendour, which, though ever regulated by a fine
perception of the fitness of things, was still costly. Though her
mien was in general haughty, she flattered Zenobia, and consummately.
Zenobia, who liked handsome people, even handsome women, and persons who
were dressed beautifully, was quite won by Mrs. Ferrars, against whom
at first she was inclined to be a little prejudiced. There was an entire
alliance between them, and though Mrs. Ferrars greatly influenced and
almost ruled Zenobia, the wife of the minister was careful always to
acknowledge the Queen of Fashion as her suzerain.
The great world then, compared with the huge society of the present
period, was limited in its proportions, and composed of elements more
refined though far less various. It consisted mainly of the great landed
aristocracy, who had quite absorbed the nabobs of India, and had nearly
appropriated the huge West Indian fortunes. Occasionally, an eminent
banker or merchant invested a large portion of his accumulations in
land, and in the purchase of parliamentary influence, and was in
time duly admitted into the sanctuary. But those vast and successful
invasions of society by new classes which have since occurred, though
impending, had not yet commenced. The manufacturers, the railway kings,
the colossal contractors, the discoverers of nuggets, had not yet found
their place in society and the senate. There were then, perhaps, more
great houses open than at the present day, but there were very few
little ones. The necessity of providing regular occasions for the
assembling of the miscellaneous world of fashion led to the institution
of Almack’s, which died out in the advent of the new system of
society, and in the fierce competition of its inexhaustible private
entertainments.
The season then was brilliant and sustained, but it was not flurried.
People did not go to various parties on the same night. They remained
where they were assembled, and, not being in a hurry, were more
agreeable than they are at the present day. Conversation was more
cultivated; manners, though unconstrained, were more stately; and the
world, being limited, knew itself much better. On the other hand, the
sympathies of society were more contracted than they are at present.
The pressure of population had not opened the heart of man. The world
attended to its poor in its country parishes, and subscribed and danced
for the Spitalfields weavers when their normal distress had overflowed,
but their knowledge of the people did not exceed these bounds, and the
people knew very little more about themselves. They were only half born.
The darkest hour precedes the dawn, and a period of unusual stillness
often, perhaps usually, heralds the social convulsion. At this moment
the general tranquillity and even content were remarkable. In politics
the Whigs were quite prepared to extend to the Duke the same provisional
confidence that had been accepted by Mr. Caning, and conciliation began
to be an accepted phrase, which meant in practice some share on their
part of the good things of the State. The country itself required
nothing. There was a general impression, indeed, that they had been
advancing at a rather rapid rate, and that it was as well that the reins
should be entrusted to a wary driver. Zenobia, who represented society,
was enraptured that the career of revolution had been stayed. She still
mourned over the concession of the Manchester and Liverpool Railway in a
moment of Liberal infatuation, but flattered herself that any extension
of the railway system might certainly be arrested, and on this head the
majority of society, perhaps even of the country, was certainly on her
side.
“I have some good news for you,” said one of her young favourites as he
attended her reception. “We have prevented this morning the lighting of
Grosvenor Square by gas by a large majority.”
“I felt confident that disgrace would never occur,” said Zenobia,
triumphant. “And by a large majority! I wonder how Lord Pomeroy voted.”
“Against us.”
“How can one save this country?” exclaimed Zenobia. “I believe now the
story that he has ordered Lady Pomeroy not to go to the Drawing Room in
a sedan chair.”
One bright May morning in the spring that followed the formation of the
government that was to last for ever, Mrs. Ferrars received the world
at a fanciful entertainment in the beautiful grounds of her Wimbledon
villa. The day was genial, the scene was flushed with roses and pink
thorns, and brilliant groups, amid bursts of music, clustered and
sauntered on the green turf of bowery lawns. Mrs. Ferrars, on a
rustic throne, with the wondrous twins in still more wonderful attire,
distributed alternate observations of sympathetic gaiety to a Russian
Grand Duke and to the serene heir of a German principality. And yet
there was really an expression on her countenance of restlessness,
not to say anxiety, which ill accorded with the dulcet tones and the
wreathed smiles which charmed her august companions. Zenobia, the great
Zenobia, had not arrived, and the hours were advancing. The Grand Duke
played with the beautiful and haughty infants, and the German Prince
inquired of Endymion whether he were destined to be one of His Majesty’s
guards; but still Zenobia did not come, and Mrs. Ferrars could scarcely
conceal her vexation. But there was no real occasion for it. For even at
this moment, with avant-courier and outriders and badged postillions
on her four horses of race, the lodge-gates were opening for the
great lady, who herself appeared in the distance; and Mrs. Ferrars,
accompanied by her distinguished guests, immediately rose and advanced
to receive the Queen of Fashion. No one appreciated a royal presence
more highly than Zenobia. It was her habit to impress upon her noble
fellows of both sexes that there were relations of intimacy between
herself and the royal houses of Europe, which were not shared by her
class. She liked to play the part of a social mediator between the
aristocracy and royal houses. A German Serenity was her delight, but
a Russian Grand Duke was her embodiment of power and pomp, and sound
principles in their most authentic and orthodox form. And yet though she
addressed their highnesses with her usual courtly vivacity, and poured
forth inquiries which seemed to indicate the most familiar acquaintance
with the latest incidents from Schonbrunn or the Rhine, though she
embraced her hostess, and even kissed the children, the practised eye of
Mrs. Ferrars, whose life was a study of Zenobia, detected that her late
appearance had been occasioned by an important cause, and, what was
more, that Zenobia was anxious to communicate it to her. With feminine
tact Mrs. Ferrars moved on with her guests until the occasion offered
when she could present some great ladies to the princes; and then
dismissing the children on appropriate missions, she was not surprised
when Zenobia immediately exclaimed: “Thank heaven, we are at last
alone! You must have been surprised I was so late. Well, guess what has
happened?” and then as Mrs. Ferrars shook her head, she continued: “They
are all four out!”
“All four!”
“Yes; Lord Dudley, Lord Palmerston, and Charles Grant follow Huskisson.
I do not believe the first ever meant to go, but the Duke would not
listen to his hypocritical explanations, and the rest have followed. I
am surprised about Lord Dudley, as I know he loved his office.”
“I am alarmed,” said Mrs. Ferrars.
“Not the slightest cause for fear,” exclaimed the intrepid Zenobia. “It
must have happened sooner or later. I am delighted at it. We shall now
have a cabinet of our own. They never would have rested till they had
brought in some Whigs, and the country hates the Whigs. No wonder, when
we remember that if they had had their way we should have been wearing
sabots at this time, with a French prefect probably in Holland House.”
“And whom will they put in the cabinet?” inquired Mrs. Ferrars.
“Our good friends, I hope,” said Zenobia, with an inspiring smile; “but
I have heard nothing about that yet. I am a little sorry about Lord
Dudley, as I think they have drawn him into their mesh; but as for the
other three, especially Huskisson and Lord Palmerston, I can tell you
the Duke has never had a quiet moment since they joined him. We shall
now begin to reign. The only mistake was ever to have admitted them. I
think now we have got rid of Liberalism for ever.”