CHAPTER VIII.
_A Noble Reprobate_
SIR LUCIUS GRAFTON was five or six years older than the Duke of St.James, although he had been his contemporary at Eton. He, too, had beena minor, and had inherited an estate capable of supporting the becomingdignity of an ancient family. In appearance he was an Antinous. Therewas, however, an expression of firmness, almost of ferocity, about hismouth, which quite prevented his countenance from being effeminate, andbroke the dreamy voluptuousness of the rest of his features. In mind hewas a roue. Devoted to pleasure, he had racked the goblet at an earlyage; and before he was five-and-twenty procured for himself a reputationwhich made all women dread and some men shun him. In the very wildestmoment of his career, when he was almost marked like Cain, he had metLady Aphrodite Maltravers. She was the daughter of a nobleman who justlyprided himself, in a degenerate age, on the virtue of his house. Nature,as if in recompense for his goodness, had showered all her blessings onhis only daughter. Never was daughter more devoted to a widowed sire;never was woman influenced by principles of purer morality.
This was the woman who inspired Sir Lucius Grafton with an ungovernablepassion. Despairing of success by any other method, conscious that,sooner or later, he must, for family considerations, propagate futurebaronets of the name of Grafton, he determined to solicit her hand. Butfor him to obtain it, he was well aware, was difficult. Confident inhis person, his consummate knowledge of the female character, andhis unrivalled powers of dissimulation, Sir Lucius arranged hisdispositions. The daughter feared, the father hated him. There wasindeed much to be done; but the remembrance of a thousand triumphssupported the adventurer. Lady Aphrodite was at length persuaded thatshe alone could confirm the reformation which she alone had originated.She yielded to a passion which her love of virtue had alone kept insubjection. Sir Lucius and Lady Aphrodite knelt at the feet of the oldEarl. The tears of his daughter, ay! and of his future son-in-law--forSir Lucius knew when to weep--were too much for his kind and generousheart. He gave them his blessing, which faltered on his tongue.
A year had not elapsed ere Lady Aphrodite woke to all the wildness of adeluded woman. The idol on whom she had lavished all the incense ofher innocent affections became every day less like a true divinity.At length even the ingenuity of a passion could no longer disguise thehideous and bitter truth. She was no longer loved. She thought of herfather. Ah, what was the madness of her memory!
The agony of her mind disappointed her husband's hope of an heir, andthe promise was never renewed.
In vain she remonstrated with the being to whom she was devoted: in vainshe sought by meek endurance again to melt his heart. It was cold; itwas callous. Most women would have endeavoured to recover their lostinfluence by different tactics; some, perhaps, would have forgottentheir mortification in their revenge. But Lady Aphrodite had been thevictim of passion, and now was its slave. She could not dissemble.
Not so her spouse. Sir Lucius knew too well the value of a goodcharacter to part very easily with that which he had so unexpectedlyregained. Whatever were his excesses, they were prudent ones. He feltthat boyhood could alone excuse the folly of glorying in vice; and heknew that, to respect virtue, it was not absolutely necessary to bevirtuous. No one was, apparently, more choice in his companions than SirLucius Grafton; no husband was seen oftener with his wife; no one paidmore respect to age, or knew better when to wear a grave countenance.The world praised the magical influence of Lady Aphrodite; and LadyAphrodite, in private, wept over her misery. In public she made aneffort to conceal all she felt; and, as it is a great inducement toevery woman to conceal that she is neglected by the man whom she adores,her effort was not unsuccessful. Yet her countenance might indicate thatshe was little interested in the scene in which she mixed. She was tooproud to weep, but too sad to smile. Elegant and lone, she stood amongher crushed and lovely hopes like a column amid the ruins of a beautifultemple.
The world declared that Lady Aphrodite was desperately virtuous, and theworld was right. A thousand fireflies had sparkled round this myrtle,and its fresh and verdant hue was still unsullied and un-scorched. Nota very accurate image, but pretty; and those who have watched a glancingshower of these glittering insects will confess that, poetically, thebush might burn. The truth is, that Lady Aphrodite still trembled whenshe recalled the early anguish of her broken sleep of love, and had notcourage enough to hope that she might dream again. Like the old Hebrews,she had been so chastened for her wild idolatry that she dared not againraise an image to animate the wilderness of her existence. Man she atthe same time feared and despised. Compared with her husband, all whosurrounded her were, she felt, in appearance inferior, and were, shebelieved, in mind the same.
We know not how it is, but love at first sight is a subject of constantridicule; but, somehow, we suspect that it has more to do with theaffairs of this world than the world is willing to own. Eyes meet whichhave never met before, and glances thrill with expression which isstrange. We contrast these pleasant sights and new emotions withhackneyed objects and worn sensations. Another glance and anotherthrill, and we spring into each other's arms. What can be more natural?
Ah, that we should awake so often to truth so bitter! Ah, that charmby charm should evaporate from the talisman which had enchanted ourexistence!
And so it was with this sweet woman, whose feelings grow under the pen.She had repaired to a splendid assembly to play her splendid partwith the consciousness of misery, without the expectation of hope.She awaited without interest the routine which had been so oftenuninteresting; she viewed without emotion the characters which had nevermoved. A stranger suddenly appeared upon the stage, fresh as the morningdew, and glittering like the morning star. All eyes await, all tonguesapplaud him. His step is grace, his countenance hope, his voice music!And was such a being born only to deceive and be deceived? Was he to runthe same false, palling, ruinous career which had filled so many heartswith bitterness and dimmed the radiancy of so many eyes? Never! Thenobility of his soul spoke from his glancing eye, and treated the foulsuspicion with scorn. Ah, would that she had such a brother to warn, toguide, to love!
So felt the Lady Aphrodite! So felt; we will not say so reasoned. Whenonce a woman allows an idea to touch her heart, it is miraculous withwhat rapidity the idea is fathered by her brain. All her experience, allher anguish, all her despair, vanished like a long frost, in an instant,and in a night. She felt a delicious conviction that a knight had atlength come to her rescue, a hero worthy of an adventure so admirable.The image of the young Duke filled her whole mind; she had no ear forothers' voices; she mused on his idea with the rapture of a votary onthe mysteries of a new faith.
Yet strange, when he at length approached her, when he addressed her,when she replied to that mouth which had fascinated even before it hadspoken, she was cold, reserved, constrained. Some talk of the burningcheek and the flashing eye of passion; but a wise man would not,perhaps, despair of the heroine who, when he approaches her, treats himalmost with scorn, and trembles while she affects to disregard him.
Lady Aphrodite has returned home: she hurries to her apartment, shefalls in a sweet reverie, her head leans upon her hand. Her soubrette, apretty and chattering Swiss, whose republican virtue had been corruptedby Paris, as Rome by Corinth, endeavours to divert Mer lady's ennui: sheexcruciates her beautiful mistress with tattle about the admiration ofLord B------and the sighs of Sir Harry. Her Ladyship reprimands her forher levity, and the soubrette, grown sullen, revenges herself for hermistress's reproof by converting the sleepy process of brushing intolively torture.
The Duke of St. James called upon Lady Aphrodite Grafton the nextday, and at an hour when he trusted to find her alone. He was notdisappointed. More than once the silver-tongued pendule sounded duringthat somewhat protracted but most agreeable visit. He was, indeed,greatly interested by her, but he was an habitual gallant, and alwaysbegan by feigning more than he felt. She, on the contrary, who wasreally in love, feigned much less. Yet she was no longer
constrained,though calm. Fluent, and even gay, she talked as well as listened, andher repartees more than once called forth the resources of her guest.She displayed a delicate and even luxurious taste, not only in herconversation, but (the Duke observed it with delight) in her costume.She had a passion for music and for flowers; she sang a romance, and shegave him a rose. He retired perfectly fascinated.