CHAPTER XI.
ANTONIA'S INITIATION.
'Twas the close of the season when Antonia arrived in London, andshe left St. James's Square two days after her interview with theStobarts, on a visit to Lady Margaret Laroche at Bath, where thatlady's drawing-rooms in Pulteney Street were open every evening tothose worldlings who preferred whist and commerce to Whitefield, andthe airy gossip of the _beau monde_ to the heart-searchings of thearistocratic penitents who attended Lady Huntingdon's assemblies. LadyMargaret, familiarly known in the fashionable world as Lady Peggy,was one of those rare and delightful women who, without any desire torevolutionize, dare to think for themselves, and to arrange their livesin accord with their own tastes and inclinations, unshackled by themode of the moment. Her circle was the most varied and the pleasantestin London and Bath, and she carried with her an atmosphere of easygaiety which made her an element of cheerfulness in every house shevisited. In a word, she had _esprit_, which, united with liberal ideasand far-reaching sympathies, made her the most delightful of companionsas well as the staunchest of friends.
This lady--a distant cousin of Lord Kilrush's--had deemed it her dutyto wait upon Antonia; and, finding as much intelligence as beauty, tookthe young widow under her wing and promised to make her the fashion.
"With so fine a house and so good an income you will like to seepeople," she said. "You had best spend a month with me at the Bath,where you will meet at least half the great world, and you will growfamiliar with them there in less time than 'twould take you to beon curtseying terms in London, where the Court takes up so much ofeverybody's attention, and politics go before friendship. At the Bathwe are all Jack and Peggy, my dear and my love. We eat badly cookeddinners in sweltering parlours, dance or gossip in a mixed mob at theRooms every night, and simmer together in a witches' cauldron everymorning; at least, other people do; but for my own part I abjure allsuch community in ailments."
At Bath Antonia found herself the rage in less than a fortnight, andhad a crowd round her whenever she appeared among the morning dippersor at the evening dance. She was voted the most magnificent creaturewho had appeared since Lady Coventry began to go off in looks; and themen almost hustled each other for the privilege of handing her to herchair.
She accepted their attentions with a lofty indifference that enhancedher charms. Men talked of her "goddess air;" and in that age of_sobriquets_ she was soon known as Juno and as Diana. She kept them allat an equal distance, yet was polite to all. Her sense of humour wastickled by the memory of those evening walks with her father in theWest End streets, when she had caught stray glimpses of fashionableassemblies through open windows. "Was I as perfect a creature then asthe woman they pretend to worship?" she questioned; "and, if I was,how strange that of all the men who passed me in the street, there wasbut one now and then, and he some hateful Silenus, that ever tried topursue me. But I had not my white and silver gown then, nor the Kilrushjewels, nor my coach and six."
She had a supreme contempt for adulation which she ascribed toher fortune rather than to her charms; and Lady Margaret saw withsatisfaction that her _protegee's_ head was not one of those that thefirst-comer can turn.
"'Tis inevitable you should take a second husband," she said, "but Ihope you will wait for a duke."
"There is no duke in England would tempt me, dear Lady Peggy. I shallcarry my husband's name to the grave, where I hope to lie beside him."
"'Tis a graceful, romantic fancy you cherish, child; but be sure therewill come a day when some warm living love will divert your thoughtsfrom that icy rendezvous."
"Ah, madam, think how inimitable a lover I lost."
"I know he was an insinuating wretch whom women found irresistible; butyou are too young to hang over an urn for the rest of your days, likea marble figure in Westminster Abbey. There is a long life before youthat you must not spend in solitude."
"While I have so kind a friend as your ladyship I can never thinkmyself alone."
"Alas! Antonia, I am an old woman. My friendship is like the fag end ofa lease."
Lady Margaret was the widow of an admiral, with a handsome jointure,and a small neat house in Spring Gardens, where she was visited byall the best people in town, and by all the best-known painters,authors, and actors of the day, who were often to be found at fouro'clock seated round her ladyship's dinner-table, and drinking herladyship's admirable port and burgundy. Temperate herself as a sylph,Lady Peggy was a judge of wines, and always gave the best. She had aclever Scotchwoman for her cook, and a Frenchman for her major-domo,who kept her two Italian footmen in order, and did not think it beneathhis dignity to compose a salmi, toss an omelet, or dress a salad on aspecial occasion, when a genius of the highest mark or a princess ofthe blood royal was to dine with his mistress.
With such a guide Antonia opened her house to the great world early inNovember, and her entertainments became at once the top of the fashion.Lady Margaret had instructed her in the whole science of party-giving,and especially whom to invite and whom to leave out.
"'Tis by the people who are _not_ asked your parties will rankhighest," she said.
"Sure, dear madam, I should not like to slight any one."
"Pshaw, woman, if you never slight any one you will confess yourselfa parvenu. The first art a _grande dame_ has to learn is how to beuncivil civilly. You must be gracious to every one you meet; but youcannot be too exclusive when it comes to inviting people."
"But if I am to look for spotless reputations my rooms will be empty;"and Antonia smiled at the thought of how small and dowdy a crew shecould muster were stainless virtue the pass-word.
"You will invite nobody who has been found out--no woman who has thrownher cap over the mill, no man who has been _detected_ cheating atcards. There are lots of 'em _do_ it, but that don't count."
"But, dear Lady Margaret, among the actresses and authors you receivesure there must be some doubtful characters."
"Not doubtful, _cherie;_ we know all about 'em. But _their_ peccadillosdon't count. We inquire no more about 'em than about the morals ofa dancing bear. The creatures are there to amuse us, and we arenot curious as how they behave in their garrets and back parlours.But 'twas not so much reputation I thought of when I urged you tobe exclusive. 'Tis the ugly and the dull you must eliminate; theempty chatterers; the corpulent bores, who block doorways and crowdsupper-rooms. There's your visiting list, _douce_," concluded LadyPeggy, handing her a closely written sheet of Bath post. "'Tis the saltof the earth, and if you ever introduce an unworthy name in it out ofeasy good nature, you deserve to lose all hope of fashion."
To be the fashion, to be one of the chosen few whom all foreignersand outsiders want to see; to be mobbed in the Park, stared at in theplayhouse and at the opera; to be imitated in dress, gesture, speech;to introduce the latest mispronunciation and call Bristol "Bristo,"--isit not the highest prize in the lottery of woman's life? To be famousas painter, poet, actor? Alas! a fleeting renown. The new generation isat the door. The veteran must give way. But the empire of fashion ismore enduring, and having won _that_ crown, a woman must be a simpletonif she do not wear it all her life, and bring the best people in townto gape and whisper round her death-bed.
* * * * *
Antonia's first ball was a triumph. The lofty suites of rooms, thedouble staircase and surrounding gallery were thronged with rank andbeauty; the clothes were finer than at the last birthday, the silverand gold brocades of dazzling splendour; the jewels, borrowed, hired,or owned, flashed prismatic colours across the softer candlelight.The newspapers expatiated on the entertainment, computed the candlesby the thousand, the footmen by the score. Lady Kilrush was at onceestablished as a woman of the highest _ton;_ her drawing-rooms werecrowded with morning visitors, her tea-table at six o'clock served asa rendezvous for all that was choicest in the world of fashion. Everyday brought a series of engagements--breakfasts at Strawberry Hill,where Horace Walpole exercised his most delightful talents for theamusement of s
o charming a guest; great dinners where the Ministers andthe Opposition drank their three bottles together in amity, the Dukeof Newcastle and Mr. Pelham, Pitt and Fox, Granville and Pulteney,--agalaxy of ribbons and stars; parties at Syon House and at Osterley;excursions to Hampton Court and Windsor, braving the wintry roads in acoach and six, and with half a dozen out-riders as a guard against thehazards of the journey. Lady Kilrush had become one of the most popularwomen in London, and the only evil thing that was said of her was thatshe did not return visits as quickly as people expected.
Was she happy in the midst of it all, she who believed only in thisbrief life and the pleasure or the pain that it holds? Yes. She was tooyoung, too beautiful and complete a creature not to be intoxicated bythe brilliancy of her new existence, and the sense of unbounded powerthat wealth gave her. The novelty of the life was in itself enough forhappiness. The London in which she moved to-day was as new to her asRome had been, and more splendid, if less romantic. Operas, concerts,plays, auctions, picture-galleries, masquerades, ridottos, provided aseries of pleasures that surpassed her dreams. Handel and the Italiansingers offered inexhaustible delight. She might tire of all therest--of Court balls and modish drums, of bidding for china monsters,buying toys of Mrs. Chenevix and trinkets of jeweller Deard in PallMall--but of music she could never tire, and the more she heard ofHandel's oratorios the better she loved them.