Here, too, amidst the younger and fresher forms, beauties of former days still shone in the dignity of their manners, and of that air and carriage which the fashion of their time had rendered a portion of themselves; which lent a grace to their every movement, and might well have afforded a school of manners and propriety of outward bearing for the young who mingled with them—in counteraction of the oblivion and extermination of all manners, which the prevailing system of the soi-disant members of ton would have enforced.
Such, at least, were the external features of an old-fashioned assembly—in its moral character the advantages were no less. Its honest and avowed purpose was the interchange of those courtesies which render life agreeable, and the preservation of those general guards in society which, as checks to profligacy, are more useful than abstract theories of ethics, or codes of moral laws. People, unless lost, sin not so blindly in mixed communities—one individual forms a restraint on the others—children stand in awe of parents, and these, in their turn, acknowledge a wholesome control in the presence of their offspring—the good are a terror to the evil (for an alloy will ever exist); while the one and the other mutually afford examples of imitation, or beacons of danger to be avoided, which every individual may, if there be the will, turn to profit, in the correction of some temper, the curbing of some excess, the chastening of some wish, or the abandonment of some folly.
The more intimate associations in life are not here spoken of; but these in characters of the same description as Lady Feuillemerte's, would doubtless be founded on the same basis, and have the same objects in view; for whether in the cherishing of natural affections, the formation of those friendships which spring up in the domestic circle, the cultivation and exercise of talents which give a charm to existence, or the acquirement of more important attainments, the system which holds out examples, and affords restraint, will ever be best.
The "société choisie," however, which Lady Tilney desired to form, was, in its nature, the very reverse of what has been described. Its exclusive character was to consist, not in the selection of what was amiable in nobility, or virtuous in talent; it was not to be the circle drawn within a narrower circumference, for a more perfect enjoyment of private friendship, or the cultivation of more intellectual pursuits than the wide range of fashionable life could afford; it was not to be retirement from the busier throng, for the purposes of a more rational and purer existence; but it was to consist of those whose follies in the pursuit of pleasure, and whose weakness in the indulgence of all the empty toys of life, had given them a distinction above their fellows; of those who judged immorality, when burnished by the tinsel of superficial acquirements, as venial error;—of those, in short, who were either senseless or wicked enough to consider life but a bubble, to be blown down the current, according to the dictates of the will, and whose daily existence testified, that they were alike without a thought or a fear for the morrow's eternity. Such were to be its members, and its seclusion from the general eye of the world, its secession from all others but—; its rigid law, that unmarried women were not eligible to its chosen meetings—for what purpose, and to what end were these? If for vanity of distinction, merely, it was weak; if for the purpose of indulging in pursuits and conversation, which would receive a check in a society less selected for the object—it was wicked. In whichever point of view, a society so constituted must be demoralizing, for assuredly it would have the character of being, if it even were not, really vicious—and its example would have a contaminating effect in the corruption of morals, and the overthrow of the barriers of domestic peace.
It cannot be said that these were the reflections of Lady Tilney, as she stood for the few moments alone in the crowd at Lady Feuillemerte's. It would be injustice to her to suppose that they were, or that she contemplated in the formation of a coterie, according to her own peculiar prejudices, any of the evils with which the system was sure to be pregnant. It is thus, however, with all reforms, entered upon for private ends; the individual sees but the accomplishment of his own and his immediate associates' views, in what is to be overturned; and the fatal result accruing to the community, even if clearly distinguished, are at the moment but as dust in the balance of self.
It is more probable that, as Lady Tilney gazed on the mingled group around her, blind to the demerits of her projected revolution of society, and proud of influence, which over a certain portion of the London world she had succeeded in establishing, she became firmer in her purpose; and as her eye fell on one individual after another, whose manners, mode of life, dress, or very name were disagreeable to her, or proved them wanting in the stamp of ideal fashion, the necessity of the measure she contemplated she conceived became more and more imperative. Whatever might have been Lady Tilney's reflections, she was not long suffered to indulge them. In the tide which passed before her appeared Lord Rainham, unattended however, as previously, by the Comtesse Leinsengen: Lady Tilney therefore awaited his address, without any appearance of recurrence to her professed distaste for royalty.
"A marvel, I declare!" were the opening words of a speech already polished, usque ad unguam, before Lord Rainham ventured to give it utterance.—"Behold Lady Tilney without a crowd of worshippers at her feet!—Explain me this phenomenon, and say, have you been cruel to your slaves, and are they gone themselves, or have they forgotten their allegiance? Such things have been, though they ought not to be—and yet methinks you would find it sufficiently dull, if all things were as they ought to be, would you not? tell me the truth, and give me your confidence; I have long wished to have the confidence of a handsome woman, and I promise you indulgentia plenaria."
"No, not for the world!—I hold it to be quite a false maxim to have any confidants: besides I have nothing to confide."
"You are too wise to be so handsome," said Lord Rainham abruptly, "and so good night; for since you will not parley with me, 'tis in vain I linger;" and as he turned away, words of fresh impromptu on some other subject began audibly to escape his lips.