But Sir Matthew was a superior man in all ways. He was six feet two inches in height, and stout in proportion, with hands and feet that might have sufficed a giant. His intellectual gifts were also of no ordinary character. He liked well enough, perhaps, to stand pre-eminent in the commercial estimation of his neighbours; but so enlightened was his spirit, that he liked better still to shine before their eyes as a man of taste, a literary and accomplished gentleman, a speaker of modern languages, a critical French scholar, a playful votary of the muses himself, and a universal Mecænas to all who wielded a pen in their service. But beyond all else, Sir Matthew valued himself upon his reputation for the lighter graces of wit and gallantry: he sought to make himself into something of a delightful mixture between Killigrew and the Count de Gramont; and there was no receptacle of wit from Joe Miller downwards, no gallant memoirs in an intelligible tongue, that he did not study with assiduity and perseverance of the highest order.
He was often heard to declare, that he loved nothing so well as the promotion of mirth and light-heartedness among his fellow-creatures; but tragedy and comedy often walk through the world hand in hand together, and their alliance may be traced, without difficulty in the career of Sir Matthew Dowling.
The wife of this prosperous gentleman had also many admirable: qualities. She was not one of the idle gossipers who delight in chattering about their own concerns to every one who will listen; she despised such weakness, and had never been heard to hint at her own parentage, or early history, to any one; rightly considering, that when such matters are unceasingly discussed, they may be exceedingly likely to prevent people’s minding their own business, while devoting an undue share of attention to that of others.
Nevertheless, with nice and laudable discrimination, she took care that her neighbours should be well acquainted with all such facts respecting her as it concerned them to know. There was hardly an individual within ten miles who was not aware that Lady Dowling kept two carriages, six horses, one coachman, one postilion, five gardeners, two grooms, three footmen, one butler, and a page — not to mention two nurses, four nursery-maids, and more ladies’- maids, housemaids, cookmaids, kitchen-maids, laundry-maids, still-room maids, dairy-maids, and the like, than any other lady in the county. Neither could any be ignorant that, except in the article of jewels, her wardrobe might vie with that of any duchess in the land, and all might see, moreover, that she was comely still, both in form and feature. She conversed with great ability on all subjects connected with fashionable life; and though some few carping critics thought that she was too apt to diversify the monotony of the English language, by indulging in some remarkable variations from its ordinary laws, nobody, or scarcely any body, attempted to deny that she was on the whole a very charming woman. Such was the testimony of her general acquaintance; those who knew her better were aware that her moral qualities outshone, as they always ought to do, all her external graces. She was a faithful and exceedingly fond wife, and doted upon all her children; no woman could more heartily detest every species of light flirting airs in females, and, being deeply sensible of the dangerous attractions of youth and beauty in her own sex, she studiously avoided bringing those of her family who might suffer thereby from coming in contact with any thing of the kind; so that the female portion of her establishment consisted of the ugliest set of neat and carefully dressed middle-aged women that ever were found assembled together.
The knight and his excellent lady were blessed with a very numerous progeny, certainly not less than eighteen or twenty; but, as they were rarely all at home together, it was at no time easy to count them.
Augustus, the eldest of the family, was a prodigiously fine young man, just returned from college. He had not indeed thought it necessary to take a degree, nor did Sir Matthew or her ladyship particularly wish it; both of them being of opinion that little distinction could be gained by the assumption of a title which was never used in society, and to which he conceived every Englishman to be eligible who could just read and write a little. But as, on all points that concerned the interest of his eldest son, Sir Matthew was too deeply interested to run any risk of blundering: he did not give his consent for the return of Augustus, without his having gone through this idle academic ceremony, till he had paid a visit to the rector of his parish, to elicit from him some information on the subject.
“May I ask, sir,” said Sir Matthew abruptly, “what degree you took at the university?”
Mr. Hetherington was a new incumbent, and might, perhaps, have been a little affronted at a question which, by the blunt manner of it, seemed almost to insinuate a doubt whether he had taken any degree at all; but, though a good man, and an excellent clergyman to boot, he had a strong taste for humour, and had already discovered that his neighbour at the great house was rich in more ways than one. It was, therefore, with the utmost civility that he answered, “My degree, Sir Matthew, was that of Master of Arts.”
“And pray, sir, does it give you any title by which you can be distinguished as in any way a superior sort of person in society?”
“I am afraid not, Sir Matthew,” was the reply.
“I thank you, sir, for your sincerity,” rejoined the knight. “It was important that I should ascertain the truth on this point. — You are, then, never addressed in company as Mr. Master of Arts, or any thing of that kind?”
“I have never yet, Sir Matthew, met with any one of sufficient politeness to do me that honour,” replied Mr. Hetherington gravely.
“And I suppose you have lived in respectable society?”
“Very decent society — very decent, Sir Matthew,” replied Hetherington, whose mother was the daughter of a distinguished nobleman.
“Good morning, sir; I shall be happy to see you at Dowling Lodge — that is to say, sir, if your gown does not lead you to object to elegant amusements. I love science, Mr. Hetherington, and am indeed devoted to every thing intellectual; but, notwithstanding this, I am a worshipper at the shrine of grace and wit, and could not exist among people who did not relish the lighter embellishments of society.”
“I shall be happy, Sir Matthew, to share in your gayer hours, provided I am fortunate enough to find that you have no objection to profit by my graver ones,” replied the clergyman.
Sir Matthew returned from this visit very well pleased with the new rector. Mr. Augustus was immediately comforted by a letter, informing him that he might call in his accounts, and prepare to leave the university as soon as he pleased; and, within ten days after receiving it, the amiable young man was restored to the bosom of his family.
Next to this primal hope of the Dowling race, came three young ladies, between the ages of seventeen and twenty-one; the two eldest of them being as like as two peas, and the third like nothing on earth but herself. Then followed several young gentlemen, who were placed at different fashionable schools; for Sir Matthew, who was a man of very enlarged mind, declared it to be his opinion and his principle; that the patronage of such a fortune as his should be extended as widely as possible. After these young gentlemen came, one after the other, with the interval of about eleven months between them, ever so many little girls, who, for the present, were all educated at home, having a particularly clever French governess. All the rest were nice little children of different degrees of babyhood; the dear little girls being remarkable for their long plaited hair, short frocks, and furbelowed trousers, and the dear little boys for the manly bustle with which they wore their Scotch bonnets and plaided tunics, which, considering that neither Sir Matthew nor his lady had ever been in Scotland in their lives, showed great enlargement of national feeling. Altogether, it was considered to be the finest family ever seen.
It happened upon a broiling day about the middle of July, during one of the hottest summers England had ever known, that Sir Matthew and Lady Dowling “entertained a party of distinguished fashionables” at dinner.
It may have been remarked by those who study such subjects, that there is a difference between a
dinner-party given at such a grand mansion as that of Sir Matthew Dowling, and one at a dwelling of perhaps not a quarter the size, where the owners are of a different order of the aristocracy, having a longer pedigree, and a shorter purse. At both, probably, the banquet will be a costly one, yet the one entertainment will come off in a manner as unlike as possible to the other. There is something in the usual way of wearing stiff new-made grandeur, not far unlike that of wearing stiff new-made clothes. Neither the one nor the other sit easily.
At this splendid dinner at Dowling Lodge, the company consisted of a selection from the neighbouring families, made on the most legitimate principles of exclusiveness; no family being invited who did not drive four horses at the races. To this there were indeed two exceptions. The first was the Right Honourable Lady Clarissa Shrimpton; but this distinguished lady, though she drove only one pony instead of four horses, was considered by all the country round as the one thing needful to render a party completely elegant. She was, indeed, neither young, handsome, nor rich, but she was Lady Clarissa, and this was enough.
The other exception was to be found in the rotund person of Dr. Crockley, who having formerly been a celebrated quack, made a little fortune, and taken out a diploma, had lately married a beauty, and settled in the town of Ashleigh, where he was well pleased to pick up a few guinea fees, both as a public evidence of his being a real M.D., and as a private fund wherewith to indulge his still very tender passion, by buying finery for his pretty young wife.
This fat little gentleman was an especial favourite with Sir Matthew, chiefly on account of his jocund humour and ready laugh; and also, perhaps, because he had a pleasant way, peculiar to himself, of paying compliments in the bluntest and most unstudied manner possible.
But, notwithstanding the presence of all these distinguished persons, the dinner moved on very slowly. Sir Matthew, indeed, was as brilliant as it was possible for any man to be under the circumstances, and Lady Clarissa, who did not scruple to declare that she was very partial to him, listened to all he said to her with as much attention at least as any lady could be expected to do, who was making one of sixteen at a dinner, where there were an equal number of dishes of hot meats reeking upon the table, and the thermometer standing at 87°. Dr. Crockley, too, laughed repeatedly; but his laugh was like a Lucifer match that fails, just kindling and sputtering a little, but going out before it is able to communicate its light.
The very sight of the servants as they panted round the table, was quite enough to smother and stifle all inclination for enjoyment — their shoes creaked — their faces shone — ice became water — the salad looked as if it were stewed — the cucumbers seemed to have fainted away — the prodigious turbot smelt fishy, and its attendant lobster-sauce glowed not with a deeper tint, than did my Lady Dowling’s cheeks as her nose caught the unfragrant gale. In short, it was a great dinner in the dog-days, and no more need be said of it.
Great was the inward satisfaction of every guest, when at last Lady Dowling rose, and gave signal that the party was to be divided in half. The languid ladies welcomed the coolness of the marble hall as they passed through it, and the gentlemen gazed eagerly at the butler as he brought forward a fresh supply of claret, and a reinforcement of ice. But the enjoyment of neither party lasted long; for Lady Dowling was too grand and too solemn not to marshal all her company into her fine drawing-room, where they were all ceremoniously deposited on satin sofas, amidst swelling pillows that might have defied the frosts of January; while seven or eight hot-looking children were commanded to walk round the circle and kiss every body.
Nor did the gentlemen fare much better; for scarcely had the drawing-room door closed after the ladies, before the shining bald-head of Dr. Crockley stretched itself up nearly to a level with the long-backed Sir Matthew’s breast-pin, whilst, with a very ominous sort of growl, making itself heard before his lips opened, he first preluded, and then uttered the following speech.
“I don’t like it, Sir Matthew. — I don’t like this business at the Weavers’ Arms.”
“What business, Doctor?” replied his friend sharply.
“Why this meeting, Sir Matthew. I can’t get the notion of a strike out of my head.” Every chair was drawn towards the little doctor: nobody had heard a word of it. “Well, gentlemen, perhaps I am mistaken — perhaps there has been no meeting,” resumed the friendly doctor. “God knows, I don’t wish to spoil the enjoyment of this delightful hour; but at any rate, my good friends, it is as well for you to be on the look-out.” Then lowering his voice, he muttered, as near to the ear of Sir Matthew as he could reach, “I know that your people are meeting, in doors and out of doors. But you are such a good, generous, kind-hearted creature, that I dare say we shall hear, before long, of your having done some d — d good-natured thing or other, and that perhaps will set all right; who knows?”
Sir Matthew gave an almost imperceptible nod, and pushed on the claret-jug; but the gaiety of the party had been effectually checked, and it was not long before the second richest man in company (Sir Matthew of course being the first) said, “I do think and believe, Sir Matthew, that my lady’s coffee would do more to cool us than your wine.” The opinion was not opposed, and, much earlier than usual, the gentlemen rose, and followed the ladies.
But this movement did not appear greatly to increase the enjoyment of either party. It was near nine o’clock, but the heat continued to be most oppressive, and the company being for the most part massive in all ways, their union produced more additional caloric than gaiety. The whole process seemed to have the power of turning the hours into molten lead as they passed, a portion of which appeared to drop, and weigh heavily on each individual head. In vain Sir Matthew made the circuit of the company, pausing in front either of the richest or handsomest ladies, as duty or inclination preponderated; in vain he uttered his newest puns and freshest bon-mots — not one of them had strength to laugh, beyond a little feeble “he, he!” and even that was evidently a painful effort.
Things were in this state, when Lady Clarissa Shrimpton suddenly rose from the silken couch amidst whose pillows she was imbedded, and, without explaining her intentions to my Lady Dowling, or any one else, darted through the open French-window, and out upon the well-shaven lawn.
Had it been possible that any one in the room could have been ignorant of the rank of Lady Clarissa, he must from that moment have felt an innate conviction that she was somebody; for nobody that was not somebody could have ventured upon so daring an escapade from such a solemn presence-chamber. The effect it produced was electric. Sir Matthew darted across the room with the eagerness of a man of gallantry and gaiety. He piqued himself upon being, of all the great men in the neighbourhood, the one upon whom Lady Clarissa bestowed the most attention. His estimate of the outward advantages of his extensive person was indeed not a low one; and, despite all his lady could do to crush such an odious idea, he was conscious that he was devoted to the fair sex, and flattered himself that the fair sex was not ungrateful. In fact, his general manner to ladies had a good deal of what in female slang is called swaining; but to Lady Clarissa it was certainly something more. Had she been simply Miss Shrimpton, it is probable that, notwithstanding her great mental advantages, she would never have been exposed to the danger of this fascinating distinction, for she was nearly forty years old, had a sharp nose, and was deplorably thin. But Sir Matthew was not a man to be insensible to the charm of getting talked of in the neighbourhood about his devotion to Lady Clarissa any body, even had she been a skeleton with a Gorgon’s head. There was, however, independently of her bewitching title, a charm in her conversation and character, to which the knight was peculiarly sensible. Her ladyship was celebrated for her devotion both to literature and art; and she permitted all the world to know, for indeed she never ceased to repeat it, that talent of every kind was to her an object of idolatry. Now Sir Matthew knew that he was full of talent — poetical talent, pictorial talent, epigrammatic talent, every kind of talent, and it w
as certainly very delightful to be appreciated by such a superior creature as Lady Clarissa. So strongly indeed did this intellectual sympathy between them occasionally manifest itself, that not even the sharp elbows and red-tipped nose of the noble lady, who, to borrow the phrase of an inimitable describer, was in every sense “preter-blue perfect,” could render Lady Dowling quite easy respecting the nature of the friendship. Nor was it without something like a pang that she marked the sudden alacrity of movement with which Sir Matthew now strode across the floor to accompany Lady Clarissa in the extraordinary frolic which led her, in white satin shoes and a gauze dress, to exchange the drawing-room for the garden, at nine o’clock in the evening.
But upon this occasion, as upon many others, Lady Dowling found consolation in the well-known fact, that Lady Clarissa rarely moved a step without being obsequiously attended by her humble companion, Miss Mogg. This young lady had been selected to fill her present enviable situation, principally from her appearance, though she was indeed by no means void of many other qualifications admirably suited to it. But in appearance she was a striking contrast to her tall and slender patroness; and, notwithstanding Lady Clarissa’s mental superiority, she was not insensible to the advantage of having a foil that should set off the charms upon which she particularly prided herself. Lady Clarissa had a thin, narrow foot, and an ancle, that resembled nothing so much as the leg of a Robin red-breast; the person of Miss Mogg was supported on shafts that told her Saxon origin, and feet that need not have shrunk from sustaining an ox. Lady Clarissa’s slender waist might have been encircled by a ring of six inches diameter; a cestus of nearly double the span had often gone nigh to suffocate her plump companion. The throat of Lady Clarissa had not only all the flexile length of the swan’s, but might even be said to resemble that of the stork in its proportions; while the head of Miss Mogg was separated from her shoulders by an interval so trifling, as hardly to be perceptible at all. The hair of her ladyship, though not very abundant, was as black as ink, and its straight nature enabled her to lay it in classic bands upon her forehead furnishing a graceful foundation for the wreath of oak leaves with which, in judicious imitation of Domenichino’s exquisite head of Sappho, she usually adorned herself when in full dress: while Miss Mogg, on the contrary, had a bushy abundance of flaxen curls, which gave a round fussy sort of contour to her face, that could not fail of setting off to advantage the severer outline of the noble lady; and, in a word, the contrast was altogether perfect.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 163