having this match very much at heart, chose to coax and to soothe her
granddaughter rather than to endeavour to scold and frighten her.
"Why do you desire this marriage so much, grandmamma," the girl asked.
"My cousin is not very much in love,--at least I should fancy not," she
added, blushing. "I am bound to own Lord Kew is not in the least eager,
and I think if you were to tell him to wait for five years he would be
quite willing. Why should you be so very anxious?"
"Why, my dear? Because I think young ladies who want to go and work in
the fields, should make hay while the sun shines; because I think it is
high time that Kew should ranger himself; because I am sure he will make
the best husband, and Ethel the prettiest Countess in England." And the
old lady, seldom exhibiting any signs of affection, looked at her
granddaughter very fondly. From her Ethel looked up into the glass, which
very likely repeated on its shining face the truth her elder had just
uttered. Shall we quarrel with the girl for that dazzling reflection; for
owning that charming truth, and submitting to the conscious triumph? Give
her her part of vanity, of youth, of desire to rule and be admired.
Meanwhile Mr. Clive's drawings have been crackling in the fireplace at
her feet, and the last spark of that combustion is twinkling out
unheeded.
CHAPTER XXXIII
Lady Kew at the Congress
When Lady Kew heard that Madame d'Ivry was at Baden, and was informed at
once of the French lady's graciousness towards the Newcome family, and of
her fury against Lord Kew, the old Countess gave a loose to that
energetic temper with which nature had gifted her; a temper which she
tied up sometimes and kept from barking and biting; but which when
unmuzzled was an animal of whom all her ladyship's family had a just
apprehension. Not one of them but in his or her time had been wounded,
lacerated, tumbled over, otherwise frightened or injured by this unruly
brute. The cowards brought it sops and patted it; the prudent gave it a
clear berth, and walked round so as not to meet it; but woe be to those
of the family who had to bring the meal, and prepare the litter, and (to
speak respectfully) share the kennel with Lady Kew's "Black Dog!" Surely
a fine furious temper, if accompanied with a certain magnanimity and
bravery which often go together with it, is one of the most precious and
fortunate gifts with which a gentleman or lady can be endowed. A person
always ready to fight is certain of the greatest consideration amongst
his or her family circle. The lazy grow tired of contending with him; the
timid coax and flatter him; and as almost every one is timid or lazy, a
bad-tempered man is sure to have his own way. It is he who commands, and
all the others obey. If he is a gourmand, he has' what he likes for
dinner; and the tastes of all the rest are subservient to him. She (we
playfully transfer the gender, as a bad temper is of both sexes) has the
place which she likes best in the drawing-room; nor do her parents, nor
her brothers and sisters, venture to take her favourite chair. If she
wants to go to a party, mamma will dress herself in spite of her
headache; and papa, who hates those dreadful soirees, will go upstairs
after dinner and put on his poor old white neckcloth, though he has been
toiling at chambers all day, and must be there early in the morning--he
will go out with her, we say, and stay for the cotillon. If the family
are taking their tour in the summer, it is she who ordains whither they
shall go, and when they shall stop. If he comes home late, the dinner is
kept for him, and not one dares to say a word though ever so hungry. If
he is in a good humour, how every one frisks about and is happy! How the
servants jump up at his bell and run to wait upon him! How they sit up
patiently, and how eagerly they rush out to fetch cabs in the rain!
Whereas for you and me, who have the tempers of angels, and never were
known to be angry or to complain, nobody cares whether we are pleased or
not. Our wives go to the milliners and send us the bill, and we pay it;
our John finishes reading the newspaper before he answers our bell, and
brings it to us; our sons loll in the arm-chair which we should like;
fill the house with their young men, and smoke in the dining-room; our
tailors fit us badly; our butchers give us the youngest mutton; our
tradesmen dun us much more quickly than other people's, because they know
we are good-natured; and our servants go out whenever they like, and
openly have their friends to supper in the kitchen. When Lady Kew said
Sic volo, sic jubeo, I promise you few persons of her ladyship's
belongings stopped, before they did her biddings, to ask her reasons.
If, which very seldom happens, there are two such imperious and
domineering spirits in a family, unpleasantries of course will arise from
their contentions; or, if out of doors the family Bajazet meets with some
other violent Turk, dreadful battles ensue, all the allies on either side
are brought in, and the surrounding neighbours perforce engaged in the
quarrel. This was unluckily the case in the present instance. Lady Kew,
unaccustomed to have her will questioned at home, liked to impose it
abroad. She judged the persons around her with great freedom of speech.
Her opinions were quoted, as people's sayings will be; and if she made
bitter speeches, depend on it they lost nothing in the carrying. She was
furious against Madame la Duchesse d'Ivry, and exploded in various
companies whenever that lady's name was mentioned. "Why was she not with
her husband? Why was the poor old Duke left to his gout, and this woman
trailing through the country with her vagabond court of billiard-markers
at her heels? She to call herself Mary Queen of Scots, forsooth!--well,
she merited the title in some respects, though she had not murdered her
husband as yet. Ah! I should like to be Queen Elizabeth if the Duchess is
Queen of Scots!" said the old lady, shaking her old fist. And these
sentiments being uttered in public, upon the promenade, to mutual
friends, of course the Duchess had the benefit of Lady Kew's remarks a
few minutes after they were uttered; and her grace, and the distinguished
princes, counts, and noblemen in her court, designated as
billiard-markers by the old Countess, returned the latter's compliments
with pretty speeches of their own. Scandals were dug up respecting her
ladyship, so old that one would have thought them forgotten these forty
years,--so old that they happened before most of the Newcomes now extant
were born, and surely therefore are out of the province of this
contemporary biography. Lady Kew was indignant with her daughter (there
were some moments when any conduct of her friends did not meet her
ladyship's approbation) even for the scant civility with which Lady Anne
had received the Duchess's advances. "Leave a card upon her!--yes, send a
card by one of your footmen; but go in to see her--because she was at the
window and saw you drive up.--Are you mad, Anne? That was the very reason
you should no
t have come out of your carriage. But you are so weak and
good-natured, that if a highwayman stopped you, you would say, 'Thank
you, sir,' as you gave him your purse: yes, and if Mrs. Macheath called
on you afterwards you would return the visit!"
Even had these speeches been made about the Duchess, and some of them not
addressed to her, things might have gone on pretty well. If we quarrelled
with all the people who abuse us behind our backs, and began to tear
their eyes out as soon as we set ours on them, what a life it would be,
and when should we have any quiet? Backbiting is all fair in society.
Abuse me, and I will abuse you; but let us be friends when we meet. Have
not we all entered a dozen rooms, and been sure, from the countenances of
the amiable persons present, that they had been discussing our little
peculiarities, perhaps as we were on the stairs? Was our visit,
therefore, the less agreeable? Did we quarrel and say hard words to one
another's faces? No--we wait until some of our dear friends take their
leave, and then comes our turn. My back is at my neighbour's service; as
soon as that is turned let him make what faces he thinks proper: but when
we meet we grin and shake hands like well-bred folk, to whom clean linen
is not more necessary than a clean sweet-looking countenance, and a
nicely got-up smile, for company.
Here was Lady Kew's mistake. She wanted, for some reason, to drive Madame
d'Ivry out of Baden; and thought there were no better means of effecting
this object than by using the high hand, and practising those frowns upon
the Duchess which had scared away so many other persons. But the Queen of
Scots was resolute, too, and her band of courtiers fought stoutly round
about her. Some of them could not pay their bills, and could not retreat:
others had courage, and did not choose to fly. Instead of coaxing and
soothing Madame d'Ivry, Madame de Kew thought by a brisk attack to rout
and dislodge her. She began on almost the very first occasion when the
ladies met. "I was so sorry to hear that Monsieur le Duc was ill at
Bagneres, Madame la Duchesse," the old lady began on their very first
meeting, after the usual salutations had taken place.
"Madame la Comtesse is very kind to interest herself in Monsieur d'Ivry's
health. Monsieur le Duc at his age is not disposed to travel. You, dear
miladi, are more happy in being always able to retain the gout des
voyages!"
"I come to my family! my dear Duchess."
"How charmed they must be to possess you! Miladi Anne, you must be
inexpressibly consoled by the presence of a mother so tender! Permit me
to present Madame la Comtesse de la Cruchecassee to Madame la Comtesse de
Kew. Miladi is sister to that amiable Marquis of Steyne, whom you have
known, Ambrosine! Madame la Baronne de Schlangenbad, Miladi Kew. Do you
not see the resemblance to milor? These ladies have enjoyed the
hospitalities--the splendours of Gaunt House. They were of those famous
routs of which the charming Mistress Crawley, la semillante Becki, made
part! How sad the Hotel de Gaunt must be under the present circumstances!
Have you heard, miladi, of the charming Mistress Becki? Monsieur le Duc
describes her as the most spirituelle Englishwoman he ever met." The
Queen of Scots turns and whispers her lady of honour, and shrugs and taps
her forehead. Lady Kew knows that Madame d'Ivry speaks of her nephew, the
present Lord Steyne, who is not in his right mind. The Duchess looks
round, and sees a friend in the distance whom she beckons. "Comtesse, you
know already monsieur the Captain Blackball? He makes the delight of our
society!" A dreadful man with a large cigar, a florid waistcoat, and
billiards written on his countenance, swaggers forward at the Duchess's
summons. The Countess of Kew has not gained much by her attack. She has
been presented to Cruchecassee and Schlangenbad. She sees herself on the
eve of becoming the acquaintance of Captain Blackball.
"Permit me, Duchess, to choose my English friends at least for myself,"
says Lady Kew, drumming her foot.
"But, madam, assuredly! You do not love this good Monsieur de Blackball?
Eh! the English manners are droll, pardon me for saying so. It is
wonderful how proud you are as a nation, and how ashamed you are of your
compatriots!"
"There are some persons who are ashamed of nothing, Madame la Duchesse,"
cries Lady Kew; losing her temper.
"Is that gracieusete for me? How much goodness! This good Monsieur de
Blackball is not very well bred; but, for an Englishman, he is not too
bad. I have met with people who are more ill-bred than Englishmen in my
travels."
"And they are?" said Lady Anne, who had been in vain endeavouring to put
an end to this colloquy.
"Englishwomen, madam! I speak not for you. You are kind; you--you are too
soft, dear Lady Anne, for a persecutor."
The counsels of the worldly woman who governed and directed that branch
of the Newcome family of whom it is our business to speak now for a
little while, bore other results than those which the elderly lady
desired and foresaw. Who can foresee everything and always? Not the
wisest among us. When his Majesty Louis XIV., jockeyed his grandson on to
the throne of Spain (founding thereby the present revered dynasty of that
country), did he expect to peril his own, and bring all Europe about his
royal ears? Could a late King of France, eager for the advantageous
establishment of one of his darling sons, and anxious to procure a
beautiful Spanish princess, with a crown and kingdom in reversion, for
the simple and obedient youth, ever suppose that the welfare of his whole
august race and reign would be upset by that smart speculation? We take
only the most noble examples to illustrate the conduct of such a noble
old personage as her ladyship of Kew, who brought a prodigious deal of
trouble upon some of the innocent members of her family, whom no doubt
she thought to better in life by her experienced guidance and undoubted
worldly wisdom. We may be as deep as Jesuits, know the world ever so
well, lay the best-ordered plans, and the profoundest combinations, and
by a certain not unnatural turn of fate, we, and our plans and
combinations, are sent flying before the wind. We may be as wise as Louis
Philippe, that many-counselled Ulysses whom the respectable world admired
so; and after years of patient scheming, and prodigies of skill, after
coaxing, wheedling, doubling, bullying, wisdom, behold yet stronger
powers interpose: and schemes, and skill and violence, are nought.
Frank and Ethel, Lady Kew's grandchildren, were both the obedient
subjects of this ancient despot: this imperious old Louis XIV. in a black
front and a cap and ribbon, this scheming old Louis Philippe in tabinet;
but their blood was good and their tempers high; and for all her bitting
and driving, and the training of her mange, the generous young colts were
hard to break. Ethel, at this time, was especially stubborn in training,
rebellious to the whip, and wild under harness; and the way in which Lady
Kew managed her won the admiration of her family: for it was a maxim
among these folks that no one could manage Ethel but Lady Kew. Barnes
said no one could manage his sister but his grandmother. He couldn't,
that was certain. Mamma never tried, and indeed was so good-natured, that
rather than ride the filly, she would put the saddle on her own back and
let the filly ride her; no, there was no one but her ladyship capable of
managing that girl, Barnes owned, who held Lady Kew in much respect and
awe. "If the tightest hand were not kept on her, there's no knowing what
she mightn't do," said her brother. "Ethel Newcome, by Jove, is capable
of running away with the writing-master."
After poor Jack Belsize's mishap and departure, Barnes's own bride showed
no spirit at all, save one of placid contentment. She came at call and
instantly, and went through whatever paces her owner demanded of her. She
laughed whenever need was, simpered and smiled when spoken to, danced
whenever she was asked; drove out at Barnes's side in Kew's phaeton, and
received him certainly not with warmth, but with politeness and welcome.
It is difficult to describe the scorn with which her sister-in-law
regarded her. The sight of the patient timid little thing chafed Ethel,
who was always more haughty and flighty and bold when in Clara's presence
than at any other time. Her ladyship's brother, Captain Lord Viscount
Rooster, before mentioned, joined the family party at this interesting
juncture. My Lord Rooster found himself surprised, delighted, subjugated
by Miss Newcome, her wit and spirit. "By Jove, she is a plucky one," his
lordship exclaimed. "To dance with her is the best fun in life. How she
pulls all the other girls to pieces, by Jove, and how splendidly she
chaffs everybody! But," he added with the shrewdness and sense of humour
which distinguished the young officer, "I'd rather dance with her than
marry her--by a doosid long score--I don't envy you that part of the
business, Kew, my boy." Lord Kew did not set himself up as a person to be
envied. He thought his cousin beautiful: and with his grandmother, that
she would make a very handsome Countess; and he thought the money which
Lady Kew would give or leave to the young couple a very welcome addition
to his means.
On the next night, when there was a ball at the room, Miss Ethel chose to
appear in a toilette the very grandest and finest which she had ever
assumed, who was ordinarily exceedingly simple in her attire, and dressed
below the mark of the rest of the world. Her clustering ringlets, her
shining white shoulders, her splendid raiment (I believe indeed it was
her court-dress which the young lady assumed) astonished all beholders.
She ecrased all other beauties by her appearance; so much so that Madame
d'Ivry's court could not but look, the men in admiration, the women in
dislike, at this dazzling young creature. None of the countesses,
duchesses, princesses, Russ, Spanish, Italian, were so fine or so
handsome. There were some New York ladies at Baden as there are
everywhere else in Europe now. Not even these were more magnificent
than Miss Ethel. General Jeremiah J. Bung's lady owned that Miss Newcome
was fit to appear in any party in Fourth Avenue. She was the only
well-dressed English girl Mrs. Bung had seen in Europe. A young German
Durchlaucht deigned to explain to his aide-de-camp how very handsome he
thought Miss Newcome. All our acquaintances were of one mind. Mr. Jones
of England pronounced her stunning; the admirable Captain Blackball
examined her points with the skill of an amateur, and described them with
agreeable frankness. Lord Rooster was charmed as he surveyed her, and
complimented his late companion-in-arms on the possession of such a
paragon. Only Lord Kew was not delighted--nor did Miss Ethel mean that he
should be. She looked as splendid as Cinderella in the prince's palace.
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