Modern Flirtations: A Novel
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CHAPTER XXVIII.
If happiness will not come of itself, most very sagacious people setforth in search of that enjoyment which none are willing to do without,though many plans are generally tried, before the right one bediscovered. Agnes now declared that she was "ridiculously happy," whileplunged in a whirl of preparations for Harrowgate, trying on everybonnet at every milliner's, and discussing the tone and coloring ofsilks or satins, with as much care and science as an amateur inpaintings would devote to the study of a Titian or a Vandyke, while herspirits were restored to their highest pitch, by a letter she hadaccidentally seen from Captain De Crespigny, expressing the greatestdelight in the prospect of seeing Sir Patrick and "his charming sister"once more, and mentioning that he was about soon to arrive at theGranby, in attendance on his uncle, who had already preceded him there.Agnes at once restored herself now, to the pleasing certainty ofCaptain De Crespigny's sincerity, and every ribbon she chose, or everycostume she ordered, had an immediate reference to his taste. "_Latoilette est une belle invention_;" but Marion's dress, without causinghalf the trouble and _fracas_ occasioned by that of Agnes, seemedinvariably to fit better than any other person's, and the colors shewore were always in the most perfect harmony.
Agnes never became wearied of the pleasurable bustle in which she wasnow engaged, till at length, when the imperial was packed, and the lastbox with extreme difficulty closed, she declared herself to be quite inlove with life, and sprang into Sir Arthur's carriage, radiant in allthe joy of a thousand anticipated triumphs. It might have been a studyfor any artist wishing to sketch a frontispiece for "The Pleasures ofHope," to see Agnes indulging all her own impossible expectations andineffable wishes; but unlike the Goddess of Hope, she required noanchor whatever to rest on. Her drafts on the bank of futurity wereunlimited by a single consideration of reason or probability, and likethe Chinese plant that lives without requiring any nourishment from theearth, she existed upon a diet of airy nothings, and in a pleasingdelirium of unreal fancies, wherein Captain De Crespigny generallyacted the principal part. In the mind of Agnes--or rather in the emptyspace where a mind is supposed to be--she hung up a splendidpicture-gallery, grouped and painted according to her own taste,displaying shadows as vivid as realities; and ignorant apparently thatever "hope told a flattering tale," she seemed scarcely to have a pastor present period in her existence, the whole being formed into onebright futurity, glittering with splendid impossibilities.
If those who waste and enervate their intellects by building castles inthe air, could be supposed able to create scenes in reality, as easilyand rapidly as they do in imagination, it would, perhaps, be the mostvivid conception man could form of omnipotent power. Agnes' _chateauxen Espagne_ were in a most florid style of architecture, but scarcelylasted long enough to become finished edifices, as the phantoms camedashing through her mind in ceaseless variety, all apparentlyfragments, or slight sketches of future greatness, but without aprobable access except the fool's ladder of hope. Her own visions wereall, certainly, to be realised, and those of every other persondisappointed, for the mortifications of even her intimate friendsenhanced the pleasure of anticipated success; and while her plans werelike the portraits of Queen Elizabeth, without a single shade, or liketemples of spun sugar, all sweetness without solidity, the crowning joyof all was, to be envied, even more than to be admired.
While Agnes thus piled hope upon hope, her wishes were dedicated tovery solid possessions. In childhood her world had been a world of _bonbons_ and rattles, and now the kaleidoscope of her imagination wasfilled with an ever-changing galaxy of jewels, titles, equipages, toys,gold, bijouterie, and coronets, among which the Marquisate of Doncasterowed some of its prominence to the distinguished place it claimed inthe herald's office. Conscious that she had been born with a peculiargenius for fine ladyism, Agnes considered the world as a large easychair, wherein she might lounge away life in a perpetual gala, enjoyingall the luxuries, and amused with all the trivialities of life. Havingan idea that her undoubted birth-right was distinction and happiness,she considered it an undeserved injury to be deprived of a singledelight on which her heart was set. Carelessly despising the duties oraffections of life, she coveted only its diversions, and her favoriteconsolation, amidst its actual annoyances, was frequently to
Blow sportive bladders in the beaming sun, And call them worlds.
Sir Arthur had always been one of the few old people who would everallow himself to be considered well and happy, but he cultivated aplacid, cheerful good-humor, which enabled him now to prepare withapparent equanimity for exploring his way through the unknown seas ofHarrowgate society, though he entered the carriage to be conveyed therewith very little more inward satisfaction than he would have felt onstepping into a cart which was conveying him to Newgate, being fullypersuaded that no fish had ever been as much out of water in the worldbefore, as he was about to feel himself.
Impatience only lengthens the hours which it seems desirable toaccelerate, and time appeared to have become entirely motionless; whileAgnes peevishly thought, during her journey, that the minutes passedlike drops of lead, and that every day had some additional hours, tillthat day of days should at last arrive which was to rise the curtainand display Harrowgate to her view, though she almost ceased to repineat any present inconveniences while bewildered and lost in gay hopesfor the future.
Sir Arthur good-humoredly whispered to Marion, as they drove alongthrough Yorkshire, that with such a mute as Agnes beside him, he feltalmost afraid of the bow-string, and that she was the mere _tableau_ ofa travelling companion, who seemed, like Lady Macbeth, to be literallywalking and talking in her sleep. While Marion and her uncle beguiledtheir long journey with agreeable discussions and lively remarks,Agnes, perfectly absent during most of the way, and out of humor duringthe rest of it, uttered a thousand consequential complaints about thecold, the heat, the sun, the dust, the air, or the closeness, while SirArthur smilingly remarked, that Agnes' life seemed to be a sea oftroubles, but hope served as a cork jacket to support her through themall.
Like the fairy who turned a gloomy grove into a crystal palace, Agneshad now, in her private mind, metamorphosed the Admiral's old greenchariot into a glittering saloon at Harrowgate, filled by a crowd ofadmirers, each gifted with almost superhuman merit and distinction, whowere to fall prostrate at her feet, making proposals which sometimesshe gracefully accepted, and sometimes as gracefully declined. Nothingwas real around Agnes at present; but as the picture of a friendsupplies the want of the original, so the imaginary attentions ofCaptain De Crespigny and other victims, consoled her for their beingabsent, and her life became a lively comedy, where the curtain neverfell, and she was herself always the principal figure on the stage.
Neither Alnwick Castle nor Harewood House attracted a moment'sattention from Agnes, who cared no more for the magnificent landscapesthey passed, than did the post-horses that drew the carriage; and whenthe party stopped at Caterick Bridge to dine, she had just put on thefamily diamonds of the Duke of Kinross, who waited to conduct her tothe altar. It was a favorite speculation with Agnes, that she was tobecome acquainted in the public room at Harrowgate, with some handsome_incognito_, the sort of perfect Adonis whom alone it would be possibleto marry; and after dancing, flirting, dining, and supping with him,he was to turn out the Duke of Somebody, who should make her along-sighed-for declaration of undying attachment, while Barons, Earls,Viscounts, and above all, Captain De Crespigny, should be plunged intothe depths of despair by her accepting him.
Agnes' lovers were never estimated according to the qualities of theirhead or heart, but according to the trivialities of their dress andappearance. Like the Grecian artist, in love with an image of his ownforming, the description of her intended lovers, with which sheoccasionally favored Marion, resembled a lecture on comparativeanatomy, so emphatic was she on the necessity of his being neither tootall, nor too short, too dark, nor too fair; while she would evidentlyhave considered a bad temper less objectionable
than a bad complexion,and was ready to tolerate a man who was dissipated, rather than one whowas awkward.
In the estimation of Agnes, "good society" was composed entirely oflords and ladies, while her fancy very seldom strayed out of thepeerage; though she did sometimes take the trouble to fancy herselfadmired by some distinguished commoner of more than ordinary celebrity,merely for the pleasure of rejecting him, and swelling her righthonorable triumph, when she exchanged her wreath of roses for acoronet. Those who had been proverbially inconstant to other ladies,would now become unchangeably devoted to her; and if she heard of anyindividual more than commonly fatal to the peace of other ladies, herfertile mind suggested scenes of romance and rapture, where theinjuries of others would be more than revenged by the distractingsuspense in which she meant to hold her intended victim.
While the world thus ran upon castors in the imagination of Agnes, nonovel could be nearly so interesting as her own rose-colored dreams,because in none could she be herself the heroine; but when reading themost romantic romances, they served occasionally to suggest new scenesof emotion and pleasure, which could be adapted with variations to herown case, while all she saw in books flitted like a gay phantasmagoriafrom her mind, except what could be in any way applied to herself. Thebusiness of life, in short, was, she thought, to make every man livingin love with her, and to get through existence like a party ofpleasure, crowding into it the greatest possible variety of amusements,and ending the whole with orange flowers, Brussels lace, wedding-cake,and favors.
None of the sacred duties or home affections ever entered into Agnes'calculations. She lived merely for the triumphs of society; whileMarion existed for the happiness of home, seeking only the redeemingpoints of life, and absorbed in a prevailing desire to deserve and toobtain the attachment of those who were by nature nearest and dearestto herself. As the proverb says, "A long road or a bad inn teach us toknow our companions;" but all that a generous person can do for others,and all that a selfish person fancies he could do, Marion did, withunobtrusive attention, for Sir Arthur and Agnes during the journey;while her sister sarcastically remarked, that even if Dash wagged histail to her, she seemed grateful for his regard.