The balance of parties in the House of Commons, which had been virtually
restored by Sir Robert Peel’s dissolution of 1834, might be said to be
formally and positively established by the dissolution of parliament
in the autumn of 1837, occasioned by the demise of the crown. The
ministerial majority became almost nominal, while troubles from all
quarters seemed to press simultaneously upon them: Canadian revolts,
Chartist insurrections, Chinese squabbles, and mysterious complications
in Central Asia, which threatened immediate hostilities with Persia, and
even with one of the most powerful of European empires. In addition to
all this, the revenue continually declined, and every day the general
prejudice became more intense against the Irish policy of the ministry.
The extreme popularity of the Sovereign, reflecting some lustre on her
ministers, had enabled them, though not without difficulty, to tide
through the session of 1838; but when parliament met in 1839 their
prospects were dark, and it was known that there was a section of the
extreme Liberals who would not be deeply mortified if the government
were overthrown. All efforts, therefore, political and social, and
particularly the latter, in which the Whigs excelled, were to be made to
prevent or to retard the catastrophe.
Lady Montfort and Lady Roehampton opened their houses to the general
world at an unusually early period. Their entertainments rivalled those
of Zenobia, who with unflagging gallantry, her radiant face prescient of
triumph, stopped her bright vis-a-vis and her tall footmen in the midst
of St. James’ Street or Pall Mall, while she rapidly inquired from some
friendly passer-by whom she had observed, “Tell me the names of the
Radical members who want to turn out the government, and I will invite
them directly.”
Lady Montfort had appropriated the Saturdays, as was her custom and
her right; so Myra, with the advice of Lord Roehampton, had fixed on
Wednesdays for her receptions.
“I should have liked to have taken Wednesdays,” said Zenobia, “but I
do not care to seem to be setting up against Lady Roehampton, for her
mother was my dearest friend. Not that I think any quarter ought to be
shown to her after joining those atrocious Whigs, but to be sure she was
corrupted by her husband, whom I remember the most thorough Tory going.
To be sure, I was a Whig myself in those days, so one must not say too
much about it, but the Whigs then were gentlemen. I will tell you what
I will do. I will receive both on Saturdays and Wednesdays. It is an
effort, and I am not as young as I was, but it will only be for a season
or less, for I know these people cannot stand. It will be all over by
May.”
Prince Florestan had arrived in town, and was now settled in his mansion
in Carlton Terrace. It was the fashion among the _creme de la creme_ to
keep aloof from him. The Tories did not love revolutionary dynasties,
and the Whigs being in office could not sanction a pretender, and
one who, they significantly intimated with a charitable shrug of the
shoulders, was not a very scrupulous one. The prince himself, though he
was not insensible to the charms of society, and especially of agreeable
women, was not much chagrined by this. The world thought that he had
fitted up his fine house, and bought his fine horses, merely for
the enjoyment of life. His purposes were very different. Though his
acquaintances were limited, they were not undistinguished, and he
lived with them in intimacy. There had arisen between himself and Mr.
Waldershare the closest alliance both of thought and habits. They
were rarely separated. The prince was also a frequent guest at the
Neuchatels’, and was a favourite with the head of the house.
The Duke of St. Angelo controlled the household at Carlton Gardens with
skill. The appointments were finished and the cuisine refined. There was
a dinner twice a week, from which Waldershare was rarely absent, and
to which Endymion, whom the prince always treated with kindness, had
a general invitation. When he occasionally dined there he met always
several foreign guests, and all men apparently of mark--at any rate, all
distinguished by their intelligence. It was an interesting and useful
house for a young man, and especially a young politician, to frequent.
Endymion heard many things and learnt many things which otherwise would
not have met his ear or mind. The prince encouraged conversation, though
himself inclined to taciturnity. When he did speak, his terse remarks
and condensed views were striking, and were remembered. On the days on
which he did not receive, the prince dined at the Travellers’ Club,
to which Waldershare had obtained his introduction, and generally with
Waldershare, who took this opportunity of gradually making his friend
acquainted with eminent and influential men, many of whom in due time
became guests at Carlton Terrace. It was clear, indeed, that these
club-dinners were part of a system.
The prince, soon after his arrival in town, while riding, had passed
Lady Roehampton’s carriage in the park, and he had saluted her with
a grave grace which distinguished him. She was surprised at feeling
a little agitated by this rencontre. It recalled Hainault, her not
mortifying but still humble position beneath that roof, the prince’s
courtesy to her under those circumstances, and, indeed, his marked
preference for her society. She felt it something like ingratitude to
treat him with neglect now, when her position was so changed and had
become so elevated. She mentioned to Lord Roehampton, while they
were dining alone, that she should like to invite the prince to her
receptions, and asked his opinion on the point. Lord Roehampton shrugged
his shoulders and did not encourage her. “You know, my darling, our
people do not much like him. They look upon him as a pretender, as
having forfeited his parole, and as a refugee from justice. I have no
prejudices against him myself, and perhaps in the same situation might
have acted in the same manner; but if he is to be admitted into society,
it should hardly be at a ministerial reception, and of all houses, that
of one who holds my particular post.”
“I know nothing about his forfeiting his parole,” said Lady Roehampton;
“the charge is involved in mystery, and Mr. Waldershare told me it was
an entire fabrication. As for his being a pretender, he seems to me as
legitimate a prince as most we meet; he was born in the purple, and his
father was recognised by every government in Europe except our own. As
for being a refugee from justice, a prince in captivity has certainly a
right to escape if he can, and his escape was romantic. However, I will
not contest any decision of yours, for I think you are always right.
Only I am disappointed, for, to say nothing of the unkindness, I cannot
help feeling our not noticing him is rather shabby.”
There was silence, a longer silence than usually occurred in
_tete-a-tete_ dinners between Lord and Lady Roehampton. To break the
silence he began to converse on another subject, and Lady Roehampton
replied to him cheerfully, but curtly. He saw she was vexed, and this
great man, who was at that time meditating one of the most daring acts
of modern diplomacy, who had the reputation, in the conduct of public
affairs, of not only being courageous, but of being stern, inflexible,
unfeeling, and unscrupulous beyond ordinary statesmen, who had passed
his mornings in writing a menacing despatch to a great power and
intimating combinations to the ambassadors of other first-rate states
which they almost trembled to receive, was quite upset by seeing his
wife chagrined. At last, after another embarrassing pause, he said
gaily, “Do you know, my dear Myra, I do not see why you should not ask
Prince Florestan. It is you that ask him, not I. That is one of the
pleasant results of our system of political entertainments. The guests
come to pay their respects to the lady of the house, so no one is
committed. The prince may visit you on Wednesday just as well as
the leaders of the opposition who want our places, or the malcontent
Radicals who they say are going to turn us out.”
So Prince Florestan was invited to Lady Roehampton’s receptions, and he
came; and he never missed one. His visits were brief. He appeared, made
his bow, had the pleasure of some slight conversation with her, and then
soon retired. Received by Lady Roehampton, in time, though sluggishly,
invitations arrived from other houses, but he rarely availed himself of
them. He maintained in this respect great reserve, and was accustomed to
say that the only fine lady in London who had ever been kind to him was
Lady Roehampton.
All this time Endymion, who was now thoroughly planted in society, saw a
great deal of the Neuchatels, who had returned to Portland Place at
the beginning of February. He met Adriana almost every evening, and was
frequently invited to the house--to the grand dinners now, as well as
the domestic circle. In short, our Endymion was fast becoming a young
man of fashion and a personage. The brother of Lady Roehampton had now
become the private secretary of Mr. Sydney Wilton and the great friend
of Lady Montfort. He was indeed only one of the numerous admirers
of that lady, but he seemed not the least smiled on. There was never
anything delightful at Montfort House at which he was not present, or
indeed in any other place, for under her influence, invitations from
the most distinguished houses crowded his mantelpiece and were stuck all
round his looking-glass. Endymion in this whirl of life did not forget
his old friends. He took care that Seymour Hicks should have a frequent
invitation to Lady Roehampton’s assemblies. Seymour Hicks only wanted a
lever to raise the globe, and this introduction supplied him with
one. It was astonishing how he made his way in society, and though,
of course, he never touched the empyrean regions in which Endymion now
breathed, he gradually, and at last rapidly, planted himself in a world
which to the uninitiated figures as the very realm of nobility and
fashion, and where doubtless is found a great fund of splendour,
refinement, and amusement. Seymour Hicks was not ill-favoured, and was
always well dressed, and he was very civil, but what he really owed his
social advancement to was his indomitable will. That quality governs all
things, and though the will of Seymour Hicks was directed to what many
may deem a petty or a contracted purpose, life is always interesting
when you have a purpose and live in its fulfilment. It appeared from
what he told Endymion that matters at the office had altered a good deal
since he left it. The retirement of St. Barbe was the first brick out
of the wall; now, which Endymion had not yet heard, the brother of
Trenchard had most unexpectedly died, and that gentleman come into a
good estate. “Jawett remains, and is also the editor of the ‘Precursor,’
but his new labours so absorb his spare time that he is always at the
office of the paper. So it is pretty well all over with the table at
Joe’s. I confess I could not stand it any longer, particularly after
you left. I have got into the junior Pan-Ionian; and I am down for
the senior; I cannot get in for ten years, but when I do it will be a
_coup_; the society there is tiptop, a cabinet minister sometimes, and
very often a bishop.”