Pelham — Complete

  CHAPTER XL.

  Now see, prepared to lead the sprightly dance, The lovely nymphs, andwell dressed youths advance: The spacious room receives its jovialguest, And the floor shakes with pleasing weight oppressed.--Art ofDancing.

  Page. His name, my lord, is Tyrrell.--Richard III.

  Upon entering, I saw several heads rising and sinking, to the tuneof "Cherry ripe." A whole row of stiff necks, in cravats of the mostunexceptionable length and breadth, were just before me. A tall thinyoung man, with dark wiry hair brushed on one side, was drawing on apair of white Woodstock gloves, and affecting to look round the roomwith the supreme indifference of bon ton.

  "Ah, Ritson," said another young Cheltenhamian to him of the Woodstockgauntlets, "hav'n't you been dancing yet?"

  "No, Smith, 'pon honour!" answered Mr. Ritson; "it is so overpoweringlyhot; no fashionable man dances now;--it isn't the thing."

  "Why," replied Mr. Smith, who was a good-natured looking person, witha blue coat and brass buttons, a gold pin in his neckcloth, andkneebreeches, "why, they dance at Almack's, don't they?"

  "No, 'pon honour," murmured Mr. Ritson; "no, they just walk a quadrilleor spin a waltz, as my friend, Lord Bobadob, calls it, nothing more--no,hang dancing, 'tis so vulgar."

  A stout, red-faced man, about thirty, with wet auburn hair, amarvellously fine waistcoat, and a badly-washed frill, now joinedMessrs. Ritson and Smith.

  "Ah, Sir Ralph," cried Smith, "how d'ye do? been hunting all day, Isuppose?"

  "Yes, old cock," replied Sir Ralph; "been after the brush till I amquite done up; such a glorious run. By G--, you should have seen my greymare, Smith; by G--, she's a glorious fencer."

  "You don't hunt, do you, Ritson?" interrogated Mr. Smith.

  "Yes, I do," replied Mr. Ritson, affectedly playing with his Woodstockglove; "yes, but I only hunt in Leicestershire with my friend, LordBobadob; 'tis not the thing to hunt any where else, 'tis so vulgar."

  Sir Ralph stared at the speaker with mute contempt: while Mr. Smith,like the ass between the hay, stood balancing betwixt the opposingmerits of the baronet and the beau. Meanwhile, a smiling, nodding,affected female thing, in ringlets and flowers, flirted up to the trio.

  "Now, reelly, Mr. Smith, you should deence; a feeshionable young man,like you--I don't know what the young leedies will say to you." And thefair seducer laughed bewitchingly.

  "You are very good, Mrs. Dollimore," replied Mr. Smith, with a blush anda low bow; "but Mr. Ritson tells me it is not the thing to dance."

  "Oh," cried Mrs. Dollimore, "but then he's seech a naughty, conceitedcreature--don't follow his example, Meester Smith;" and again the goodlady laughed immoderately.

  "Nay, Mrs. Dollimore," said Mr. Ritson, passing his hand through hisabominable hair, "you are too severe; but tell me, Mrs. Dollimore, isthe Countess St. A--coming here?"

  "Now, reelly, Mr. Ritson, you, who are the pink of feeshion, ought toknow better than I can; but I hear so."

  "Do you know the countess?" said Mr. Smith, in respectful surprise, toRitson.

  "Oh, very well," replied the Coryphaeus of Cheltenham, swinging hisWoodstock glove to and fro; "I have often danced with her at Almack's."

  "Is she a good deencer?" asked Mrs. Dollimore.

  "O, capital," responded Mr. Ritson; "she's such a nice genteel littlefigure."

  Sir Ralph, apparently tired of this "feeshionable" conversation,swaggered away.

  "Pray," said Mrs. Dollimore, "who is that geentleman?"

  "Sir Ralph Rumford," replied Smith, eagerly, "a particular friend ofmine at Cambridge."

  "I wonder if he's going to make a long steey?" said Mrs. Dollimore.

  "Yes, I believe so," replied Mr. Smith, "if we make it agreeable tohim."

  "You must positively introduce him to me," said Mrs. Dollimore.

  "I will, with great pleasure," said the good-natured Mr. Smith.

  "Is Sir Ralph a man of fashion?" inquired Mr. Ritson.

  "He's a baronet!" emphatically pronounced Mr. Smith.

  "Ah!" replied Ritson, "but he may be a man of rank, without being a manof fashion."

  "True," lisped Mrs. Dollimore.

  "I don't know," replied Smith, with an air of puzzled wonderment, "buthe has L7,000. a-year."

  "Has he, indeed?" cried Mrs. Dollimore, surprised into her natural toneof voice; and, at that moment, a young lady, ringletted and floweredlike herself, joined her, and accosted her by the endearing appellationof "Mamma."

  "Have you been dancing, my love?" inquired Mrs. Dollimore.

  "Yes, ma; with Captain Johnson."

  "Oh," said the mother, with a toss of her head; and giving her daughtera significant push, she walked away with her to another end of the room,to talk about Sir Ralph Rumford, and his seven thousand pounds a-year.

  "Well!" thought I, "odd people these; let us enter a little farther intothis savage country." In accordance with this reflection, I proceededtowards the middle of the room.

  "Who's that?" said Mr. Smith, in a loud whisper, as I passed him.

  "'Pon honour," answered Ritson, "I don't know! but he's a deuced neatlooking fellow, quite genteel."

  "Thank you, Mr. Ritson," said my vanity; "you are not so offensive afterall."

  I paused to look at the dancers; a middle-aged, respectable lookinggentleman was beside me. Common people, after they have passed forty,grow social. My neighbour hemmed twice, and made preparation forspeaking. "I may as well encourage him," was my reflection; accordinglyI turned round, with a most good-natured expression of countenance.

  "A fine room this, Sir," said the man immediately.

  "Very," said I, with a smile, "and extremely well filled."

  "Ah, Sir," answered my neighbour, "Cheltenham is not as it used to besome fifteen years ago. I have seen as many as one thousand two hundredand fifty persons within these walls;" (certain people are always sod--d particularizing,) "ay, Sir," pursued my laudator temporis acti,"and half the peerage here into the bargain."

  "Indeed!" quoth I, with an air of surprise suited to the information Ireceived, "but the society is very good still, is it not?"

  "Oh, very genteel," replied the man; "but not so dashing as it used tobe." (Oh! those two horrid words! low enough to suit even the authorof"--.")

  "Pray," asked I, glancing at Messrs. Ritson and Smith, "do you know whothose gentlemen are?"

  "Extremely well!" replied my neighbour: "the tall young man is Mr.Ritson; his mother has a house in Baker-street, and gives quite elegantparties. He's a most genteel young man; but such an insufferablecoxcomb."

  "And the other?" said I.

  "Oh! he's a Mr. Smith; his father was an eminent merchant, and is latelydead, leaving each of his sons thirty thousand pounds; the young Smithis a knowing hand, and wants to spend his money with spirit. He has agreat passion for 'high life,' and therefore attaches himself much toMr. Ritson, who is quite that way inclined."

  "He could not have selected a better model," said I.

  "True," rejoined my Cheltenham Asmodeus, with naive simplicity; "but Ihope he won't adopt his conceit as well as his elegance."

  "I shall die," said I to myself, "if I talk with this fellow anylonger," and I was just going to glide away, when a tall, statelydowager, with two lean, scraggy daughters, entered the room; I could notresist pausing to inquire who they were.

  My friend looked at me with a very altered and disrespectful air at thisinterrogation. "Who?" said he, "why, the Countess of Babbleton, and hertwo daughters, the Honourable Lady Jane Babel, and the Honourable LadyMary Babel. They are the great people of Cheltenham," pursued he, "andit's a fine thing to get into their set."

  Meanwhile Lady Babbleton and her two daughters swept up the room, bowingand nodding to the riven ranks on each side, who made their salutationswith the most profound respect. My experienced eye detected in a momentthat Lady Babbleton, in spite of her title and her stateliness, wasexceedingly the reverse of good ton, and the daughters (who did notresemble the scrag of mutton, but
its ghost) had an appearance of souraffability, which was as different from the manners of proper society,as it possibly could be.

  I wondered greatly who and what they were. In the eyes of theCheltenhamians, they were the countess and her daughters; and anyfurther explanation would have been deemed quite superfluous; furtherexplanation I was, however, determined to procure, and was walkingacross the room in profound meditation as to the method in which thediscovery should be made, when I was startled by the voice of Sir LionelGarrett: I turned round, and to my inexpressible joy, beheld that worthybaronet.

  "God bless me, Pelham," said he, "how delighted I am to see you. LadyHarriett, here' your old favourite, Mr. Pelham."

  Lady Harriet was all smiles and pleasure. "Give me your arm," said she;"I must go and speak to Lady Babbleton--odious woman!"

  "Do, my dear Lady Harriett," said I, "explain to me what Lady Babbletonwas?"

  "Why--she was a milliner, and took in the late lord, who was anidiot.--Voila tout!"

  "Perfectly satisfactory," replied I.

  "Or, short and sweet, as Lady Babbleton would say," replied LadyHarriett, laughing.

  "In antithesis to her daughters, who are long and sour."

  "Oh, you satirist!" said the affected Lady Harriett (who was only threeremoves better than the Cheltenham countess); "but tell me, how longhave you been at Cheltenham?"

  "About four hours and a half!"

  "Then you don't know any of the lions here?"

  "None."

  "Well, let me dispatch Lady Babbleton, and I'll then devote myself tobeing your nomenclator."

  We walked up to Lady Babbleton, who had already disposed of herdaughters, and was sitting in solitary dignity at the end of the room.

  "My dear Lady Babbleton," cried Lady Harriett, taking both the hands ofthe dowager, "I am so glad to see you, and how well you are looking; andyour charming daughters, how are they?--sweet girls!--and how long haveyou been here?"

  "We have only just come," replied the cidevant milliner, half risingand rustling her plumes in stately agitation, like a nervous parrot; "wemust conform to modern ours, Lady Arriett, though for my part, I likethe old-fashioned plan of dining early, and finishing one's gaietiesbefore midnight; but I set the fashion of good ours as well as I can. Ithink it's a duty we owe to society, Lady Arriett, to encourage moralityby our own example. What else do we have rank for?" And, so saying,the counter countess drew herself up with a most edifying air of moraldignity.

  Lady Harriett looked at me, and perceiving that my eye said "go on," asplain as eye could possibly speak, she continued--"Which of the wells doyou attend, Lady Babbleton?"

  "All," replied the patronizing dowager. "I like to encourage the poorpeople here; I've no notion of being proud because one has a title, LadyArriett."

  "No," rejoined the worthy helpmate of Sir Lionel Garrett; "every bodytalks of your condescension, Lady Babbleton; but are you not afraid ofletting yourself down by going every where?"

  "Oh," answered the countess, "I admit very few into my set, at home,but I go out promiscuously;" and then, looking at me, she said, in awhisper, to Lady Harriett, "Who is that nice young gentleman?"

  "Mr. Pelham," replied Lady Harriett; and, turning to me, formallyintroduced us to each other.

  "Are you any relation (asked the dowager) to Lady Frances Pelham?"

  "Only her son," said I.

  "Dear me," replied Lady Babbleton, "how odd; what a nice elegant womanshe is! She does not go much out, does she? I don't often meet her."

  "I should not think it likely that your ladyship did meet her much. Shedoes not visit promiscuously."

  "Every rank has its duty," said Lady Harriett, gravely; "your mother,Mr. Pelham, may confine her circle as much as she pleases; but the highrank of Lady Babbleton requires greater condescension; just as the Dukesof Sussex and Gloucester go to many places where you and I would not."

  "Very true!" said the innocent dowager; "and that's a very sensibleremark! Were you at Bath last winter, Mr. Pelham?" continued thecountess, whose thoughts wandered from subject to subject in the mostrudderless manner.

  "No, Lady Babbleton, I was unfortunately at a less distinguished place."

  "What was that?"

  "Paris!"

  "Oh, indeed! I've never been abroad; I don't think persons of a certainrank should leave England; they should stay at home and encourage theirown manufactories."

  "Ah!" cried I, taking hold of Lady Babbleton's shawl, "what a prettyManchester pattern this is."

  "Manchester pattern!" exclaimed the petrified peeress; "why it is realcachemere: you don't think I wear any thing English, Mr. Pelham?"

  "I beg your ladyship ten thousand pardons. I am no judge of dress; butto return--I am quite of your opinion, that we ought to encourage ourown manufactories, and not go abroad: but one cannot stay long on theContinent, even if one is decoyed there. One soon longs for home again."

  "Very sensibly remarked," rejoined Lady Babbleton: "that's what I calltrue patriotism and morality. I wish all the young men of the presentday were like you. Oh, dear!--here's a great favourite of mine comingthis way--Mr. Ritson!--do you know him; shall I introduce you?"

  "God forbid!" exclaimed I--frightened out of my wits, and my manners."Come, Lady Harriett, let us rejoin Sir Lionel;" and, "swift at theword," Lady Harriett retook my arm, nodded her adieu to Lady Babbleton,and withdrew with me to an obscurer part of the room.

  Here we gave way to our laughter for some time, till, at last, gettingweary of the Cheltenham Cleopatra, I reminded Lady Harriett of herpromise to name to me the various personages of the assemblage.

  "Eh bien," began Lady Harriett; "d'abord, you observe that very shortperson, somewhat more than inclined to enbonpoint?"

  "What, that thing like a Chinese tumbler--that peg of old clothes--thatone foot square of mortality, with an aquatic-volucrine face, like aspoonbill?"

  "The very same," said Lady Harriett, laughing; "she is a Lady Gander.She professes to be a patroness of literature, and holds weekly soireesin London, for all the newspaper poets. She also falls in love everyyear, and then she employs her minstrels to write sonnets: her son hasa most filial tenderness for a jointure of L10,000. a-year, which shecasts away on these feasts and follies; and, in order to obtain it,declares the good lady to be insane. Half of her friends he has bribed,or persuaded, to be of his opinion: the other half stoutly maintain herrationality; and, in fact, she herself is divided in her own opinion asto the case; for she is in the habit of drinking to a most unsentimentalexcess, and when the fit of intoxication is upon her, she confesses tothe charge brought against her--supplicates for mercy and brandy, andtotters to bed with the air of a Magdalene; but when she recovers thenext morning, the whole scene is changed; she is an injured woman, apersecuted saint, a female Sophocles--declared to be mad only becauseshe is a miracle. Poor Harry Darlington called upon her in town, theother day; he found her sitting in a large chair, and surrounded by awhole host of hangers-on, who were disputing by no means sotto voce,whether Lady Gander was mad or not? Henry was immediately appealedto:--'Now, is not this a proof of insanity?' said one.--'Is not thisa mark of compos mentis?' cried another. 'I appeal to you, Mr.Darlington,' exclaimed all. Meanwhile the object of the conversationsate in a state of maudlin insensibility, turning her head, first on oneside, and then on the other; and nodding to all the disputants, as ifagreeing with each. But enough of her. Do you observe that lady in--"

  "Good heavens!" exclaimed I, starting up, "is that--can that beTyrrell?"

  "What's the matter with the man?" cried Lady Harriett.

  I quickly recovered my presence of mind, and reseated myself: "Prayforgive me, Lady Harriett," said I; "but I think, nay, I am sure, I seea person I once met under very particular circumstances. Do you observethat dark man in deep mourning, who has just entered the room, and isnow speaking to Sir Ralph Rumford?"

  "I do, it is Sir John Tyrrell!" replied Lady Harriett: "he only came toCheltenham yesterday. His is a very sing
ular history."

  "What is it?" said I, eagerly.

  "Why! he was the only son of a younger branch of the Tyrrells; a veryold family, as the name denotes. He was a great deal in a certain roueset, for some years, and was celebrated for his affaires du coeur. Hisfortune was, however, perfectly unable to satisfy his expenses; he tookto gambling, and lost the remains of his property. He went abroad,and used to be seen at the low gaming houses at Paris, earning a verydegraded and precarious subsistence; till, about three months ago, twopersons, who stood between him and the title and estates of the family,died, and most unexpectedly he succeeded to both. They say that he wasfound in the most utter penury and distress, in a small cellar at Paris;however that may be, he is now Sir John Tyrrell, with a very largeincome, and in spite of a certain coarseness of manner, probablyacquired by the low company he latterly kept, he is very much liked, andeven admired by the few good people in the society of Cheltenham."

  At this instant Tyrrell passed us; he caught my eye, stopped short, andcoloured violently. I bowed; he seemed undecided for a moment as tothe course he should adopt; it was but for a moment. He returned mysalutation with great appearance of cordiality; shook me warmly bythe hand; expressed himself delighted to meet me; inquired where I wasstaying, and said he should certainly call upon me. With this promise heglided on, and was soon lost among the crowd.

  "Where did you meet him?" said Lady Harriett.

  "At Paris."

  "What! was he in decent society there?"

  "I don't know," said I. "Good night, Lady Harriett;" and, with an air ofextreme lassitude, I took my hat, and vanished from that motley mixtureof the fashionably low and the vulgarly genteel!