Sir Timothy Clinquant rejoined us. He is handsome, has a good opinion of himself, and is no stranger to the art of flattery. She lamented to him the accident of her feather. From a knowledge of human nature, that nothing pleases so much as to have a defect of any kind turned into a beauty—he assured her the feather being broke gave it an air of negligence so perfectly adapted to the contour of her fine face, that he could not be convinced, but that she accidentally on purpose afforded it that grace. Thus was she restored to good-humour.—I can tell you little of what I saw; Miss Ton's head intercepted my view of the stage: her rage of going late having prevented our getting any other but end seats, and she sat before me. In the reign of Queen Elizabeth there was a law made to restrict the growth of ruffs: I wish our legislators,[36] who, in this accommodating age, do sometimes condescend to bestow their attention on trifles, would take the size of heads into their consideration. Mr Walpole observes, in his anecdotes of painting in England, that in the reign of the two first Edwards, the ladies erected such pyramids on their heads that the face became the center of the body.
An eminent physician has declared, that more deformed children have been brought into the world this last year than for twenty years before, on account of the ladies stooping in their carriages—One thing I am certain of—it makes them contract a habit of frowning, that furrows their foreheads.
A fine lady is the least part of herself, and is every morning put together like some instrument. Dress is the subject eternally discussed. Gulliver tells us, that the sages of Laputa, having substituted things in place of words, carried along with them such things as were necessary to express the particular business they intended to discourse on.—Were this the case, it would be a great relief; but alas! they do no more here than propose the subject. But to return to the opera—Miss Ton, in telling me who the people were, said they were horrid creatures, that is to say, censorious or awkward, because not of her particular set.
But what was my surprise to perceive her familiarly afterwards whispering to one, curtsying to another, telling a third how unfortunate she had been in not being at home when she did her the honor of calling on her! I could not help testifying my astonishment at her conduct!—She laughed, and said—I am civil to those people, as the Indians worship the devil—for fear. Besides, said she, the last Lady has a rich brother lately come from India. In days of yore women married for a title, a fine seat, etc.—A title is very agreeable, but a fine seat, the very idea of it gives me the vapours! I would rather marry a London justice than a lord lieutenant of the county. It did very well formerly (when people were so dull as to be able to bear their own thoughts) to live moping at an old family place; but manners are now too much improved for that: and a nabob's cash, without the appendages of the seats of his ancestors, will suffice to carry me one season to Spa, another to Tunbridge, etc. etc.—In marrying a nabob, there is a moral security of never being buried in the country. I am no devot, but I believe there is such a thing as conscience; and, as few of these continental heroes can bear to listen to their silent monitor—it induces them to lead exactly the kind of life I like—to exclude reflection!
I answered, that she was too severe; I made no doubt but that a man may get rich across the Atlantic, without wounding his honor, and all the finer feelings of humanity by peculation and extortion, which leaves the possessors more wretched than pale-eyed poverty with all its whole train of meagre haunts. To change the conversation, I said, so madam, I find you intend to marry. Yes, said she, to be sure—But I hope in god I shall have no children to spoil my shape. I cannot here refrain from telling you a circumstance I saw occur myself. We dined at Lady ——'s; I observed a lady change colour—Mrs. —— whispered to her, that ladies in her situation (for she appeared with child) were apt to be indisposed. She seemed hurt at the supposition, and denied any thing was the matter with her! As by the conversation it appeared she had already had children, I was at a loss to account for her conduct. Colonel H——, her husband, appeared very uneasy—an inquisitive look of kindness, a tender affectionate concern, were strongly depicted on his manly countenance—his anxiety appeared to me to proceed from that fond attachment arising from loving another better than one's self. I entered into his ideas, contemplated her happiness, and as he is not a very young (though agreeable) man, the apparent attention he paid her confirmed me in what you know was always my sentiments, that such make the best husbands. Desirous of relieving his anxiety by contributing to her ease, I begged she would permit me to accompany her to another apartment. As her uneasiness had greatly increased—she was under a necessity of accepting my offer—and fainted as soon as she got into Mr. ——'s library. The alarmed and fond husband followed, who intreated a maid might be called to cut the lacing of her stays. He was much affected, and, addressing Lady Charlotte Sombre and me, said, There, young ladies, lies a victim of the fashion! Before I brought her to this town—she was the delighted mother of three fine children—but these fond sensations are now lost in the trifling consideration of a fine shape; and though in the last month of her pregnancy, she has a vanity in flattering herself she cannot be thought in that situation! The lady was carried home, and we heard next day she had been delivered of a still-born child.
Lord Spangle asked Miss Ton, how soon she got to bed the other morning? Not, my Lord, until eight—you know we did not sit down to dinner until twelve at night. Not until twelve at night! said I. No, returned she; you know nobody dines till after the opera: it was Danzi's benefit; all the world were there, and there were many songs encored.—Dinner was ordered by eleven; but Lady Peccedillo was not at the opera—her monkey died, and she had not nerves for seeing Lord —— who is always there, and who she esteems the direct image of her dead favourite. Her hair-dresser was ordered at ten, but disappointed her—and dinner was retarded on her account. Pray, said I, at what time did you sup? Why, we sat down to cards at two o'clock, played until six, then went to supper, and parted half an hour after seven! I find, said I, that the people of the ton reckon the time according to the Mosaic custom, where the evening and the morning make the day. But pray, madam, what becomes of your servants all this time? I hope you only appoint them to attend you home? Servants! Lord, Madam, nobody thinks of their servants! I do not see myself what business servants have to sleep at all! I can do very well with three hours sleep, and I expect next winter to bring myself to two![37]
You say that lady and Mrs. —— have been lately abused, even by their own friends, that is to say—those they associated most with—Would you know the reason? My dear friend, they have left off play, at which they generally lost considerably. The first of these ladies, from unavoidable misfortunes, altered her plans in life: the last, from a different cause—Her family remonstrated, her husband frowned; but they remonstrated, and he frowned to no purpose! Her luck turned, her passion increased for that dangerous amusement, yet she took a resolution, and would play no more.—She who was before set down as an agreeable acquaintance, was now deemed capricious, and the eyes of her card-playing acquaintances, who were before blind to her real imperfections, became now scrupulously attentive to her imaginary errors. Many various conjectures were formed for the reasons of her conduct—many allegations made that she had formed an attachment, or was deterred by spouses's directions! To clear her at once from these imputations, neither of which (be they crimes or virtues) she has a mind capable of—The truth is—she has beautiful teeth—and accidentally read Mr Tolver's book, where he considers the passions as internal causes of their diseases.
Errors proceeding from the sensations of the heart, are not those of this age. I was told there had been a long attachment between Lady —— and Colonel ——. I deplored, I pitied her! He is now abroad in a dangerous situation! What anxiety, what wretchedness must she not suffer! How surprised I was to find—she never misses a public place. The Duchess of W—— was much amused at my simplicity—Formerly (said she) if a woman had the misfortune to love where she could not avow it—decency induced her carefully to conceal her weakness—but now it is quite otherwise—The soft sensations find no admittance into their sophisticated hearts—though they have no objection to a man of fashion in their train.—And a certain set of the ton, or the rage go so far as even studiously to afford an appearance of what in reality never entered into their imaginations!
I think I hear you say, how strange! But everything is so I think in this place. I met Lady Bab Cork-rump the other day: My dear Lady Eliza, said she, I love a comedy of all things; pray let us go to one soon. I am disengaged next Thursday—That is very lucky, returned I; I have a box that evening: it is our favourite play; and Mrs Abington acts!—That is delightful, said she! And, added I, it is a charity play for the dispensary of the infant poor—upwards of twenty-six thousand children have been relieved by this humane institution since its commencement nine years ago. Lady Bab heard the above impatiently.—It is a charity play, you say, madam!—I don't know, I believe my brother expects some friends from the country. I suppose it will be no disappointment to your ladyship if I don't go?—O, not in the least, said I—Thus the idea of Charity makes a fine lady shrink (as if it were contagious) into herself, and prevented Lady Bab from going to a place her inclination otherwise induced her to.
Lady Bab seems to have a great partiality for Sir Hugh, our neighbour—Since he got his fortune—his riots are generosity—carelessness, the freedom of his soul—his prodigalities, an easiness of mind proportioned to his estate. He quarrelled the other day with Captain Essence on her account; and I was alarmed to the greatest degree for the consequences! she laughed at my fears, assuring me there was no kind of danger in what I apprehended. The gentlemen, said she, have renounced the conduct of heroes. The custom of wagers is the happy succedaneum, and prevents much blood-shed. Thus matters of dispute are left in tranquil doubt, until the period arrives for its no less tranquil decision. It turned out as she said; Captain Essence wagered with Sir Hugh, that the new club in Saint James's Street would be the ruin of Lord ——, before the old one vis-à-vis had knocked up General ——.