II
Society—Conversation and the lack of it—Miss Gordon Cumming and Munro of Novar—The Duke of Wellington’s hatred of publicity—Sir Robert Peel’s wedding at Apsley House—Mr. Delane—An eccentric patron—A curate’s wit—The Stock Exchange and the West End—Prince Edward of Saxe-Weimar’s drive home—American influence—Lions—Mr. Watts and the crinolette—Matchmaking—Lady Beaconsfield—Some anecdotes—Lord Henry Lennox and the Duchess of Cleveland—Maria, Marchioness of Ailesbury—Frances, Lady Waldegrave.
Society in old days cannot in any way be compared with the motley crowd which calls itself society to-day. A witty Frenchman of the eighteenth century once said that in perusing the memoirs of the time of Louis XIV. one discovered, even in the bad company of that age, something which was lacking in the good of his own day—a remark which with but slight alteration might, with justice, I think, be applied to the society of to-day as compared with that of fifty or sixty years ago. To-day it would be difficult to discover accurately who is in or who out of society, or, for the matter of that, whether society itself exists—though, of course, many little coteries of people think that they, and they only, are the leaders of the fashionable world.
DECAY OF CONVERSATION
In old days society was led by certain recognised rulers who framed its ordinances, against which there was no appeal; whilst it was entertained by men whose capacity for wit and brilliant conversation was universally admitted—individuals, indeed, who ruled with almost undisputed sway and retained their power even when age had somewhat dulled their wits. Society was quite content to listen, and it was not considered good manners to resent being told things one knew perfectly well even by people who did not sometimes know them at all. Now, however, everybody chatters; it is not talkers that are wanted, far from it; but listening is almost a lost art. The general tone of modern conversation is, without doubt, much lower than it was in the days of the great talkers of the past—inane flippancy being treated in much too lenient a manner. The general impression given by those who habitually indulge in it always seems to me to be that they are not quite sure that they are ladies and gentlemen, and are therefore perpetually engaged in trying to laugh it off.
On the other hand, the conversational autocrats of other days were far too dictatorial, and, in many cases, undoubtedly checked general conversation owing to a secret fear of incurring their displeasure and evoking some verbal castigation not at all conducive to social enjoyment.
The professional conversationalist, who in former days did really exist, has now long since passed away. To-day he would be voted a bore, for his social qualifications were not such as would render him popular in the modern world, in which every one likes to share in the conversation, which for the most part deals with trivialities.
The great talkers of old days, bold of speech and ruthlessly outspoken at times, were especially deft in making use of banter, a weapon of which, when necessary, they availed themselves with terrible effect. This banter, let it be understood, was quite a different thing from the chaff of to-day, which in most cases is little more than silly comment on personal peculiarities, or criticism of a very primitive and obvious kind which sometimes sinks to the level of childish teasing. A good maxim which should never be forgotten is that to chaff any one up to such a point that the victim loses his temper, places the assailant in a very awkward and uncomfortable position, whilst demonstrating his complete mental inefficiency in that particular line in which he has been attempting to indulge.
It should never be forgotten that one angry or even irritated individual will completely spoil a dinner-party. The difference between a clever talker and one who delights in saying things which embarrass and annoy is much the same as that which exists between a first-class fencer and a bungling assassin.
MUNRO OF NOVAR