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GODOLPHIN, Volume 3.
By Edward Bulwer Lytton
(Lord Lytton)

CHAPTER XXII.

THE BRIDE ALONE.--A DIALOGUE POLITICAL AND MATRIMONIAL.--CONSTANCWE GENIUS
FOR DIPLOMACY.--THE CHARACTER OF HER ASSBMBLIES.--HER CONQUEST OVER LADY
DELVILLE.

"Bring me that book; place that table nearer; and leave me."

The Abigail obeyed the orders, and the young Countess of Erpingham was
alone. Alone! what a word for a young and beautiful bride in the first
months of her marriage! Alone! and in the heart of that mighty city in
which rank and wealth--and they were hers--are the idols adored by
millions.

It was a room fancifully and splendidly decorated. Flowers and perfumes
were, however, its chief luxury; and from the open window you might see
the trees in the old Mall deepening into the rich verdure of June. That
haunt, too--a classical haunt for London--was at the hour I speak of full
of gay and idle life; and there was something fresh and joyous in the air,
the sun, and the crowd of foot and horse that swept below.

Was the glory gone from your brow, Constance?--or the proud gladness from
your eye? Alas! are not the blessings of the world like the enchanted
bullets?--that which pierces our heart is united with the gift which our
heart desired!

Lord Erpingham entered the room. "Well, Constance," said he, "shall you
ride on horseback to-day?"

"I think not."

"Then I wish you would call on Lady Delville. You see Delville is of my
party: we sit together. You should be very civil to her, and I did not
think you were so the other night."

"You wish Lady Delville to support your political interest; and, if I
mistake not, you think her at present lukewarm?"

"Precisely."

"Then, my dear lord, will you place confidence in my discretion? I
promise you, if you will leave me undisturbed in my own plans, that Lady
Delville shall be the most devoted of your party before the season is half
over: but then, the means will not be those you advise."

"Why, I advised none."

"Yes--civility; a very poor policy."

"D--n it, Constance! why, you would not frown a great person like Lady
Delville into affection for us?"

"Leave it to me."

"Nonsense!"

"My dear lord, only try. Three months is all I ask. You will leave the
management of politics to me ever afterwards! I was born a schemer. Am I
not John Vernon's daughter?"

"Well, well, do as you will," said Lord Erpingham; "but I see how it will
end. However, you will call on Lady Delville to-day?"

"If you wish it, certainly."

"I do."

Lady Delville was a proud, great lady; not very much liked and not so
often invited by her equals as if she had been agreeable and a flirt.

Constance knew with whom she had to treat. She called on Lady Delville
that day. Lady Delville was at home: a pretty and popular Mrs. Trevor was
with her.

Lady Delville received her coolly--Constance was haughtiness itself.

"You go to the Duchess of Daubigny's to-night?" said Lady Delville in the
course of their broken conversation.

"Indeed I do not. I like agreeable society. It shall be my object to
form a circle that not one displeasing person shall obtain access to.
Will you assist me, my dear Mrs. Trevor?"--and Constance turned, with her
softest smile, to the lady she addressed.

Mrs. Trevor was flattered: Lady Delville drew herself up.

"It is a small party at the duchess's," said the latter; "merely to meet
the Duke and Duchess of C----."

"Ah, few people are capable of giving a suitable entertainment to the
royal family."

But surely none more so than the Duchess of Daubigny--her house so large,
her rank so great!"

"These are but poor ingredients towards the forming of an agreeable
party," said Constance, coldly. "The mistake made by common minds is to
suppose titles the only rank. Royal dukes love, above all other persons,
to be amused; and amusement is the last thing generally provided for
them."

The conversation fell into other channels. Constance rose to depart.
She warmly pressed the hand of Mrs. Trevor, whom she had only seen once
before.

"A few persons come to me to-morrow evening," said she; "_do_ waive
ceremony, and join us. I can promise you that not one disagreeable person
shall be present; and that the Duchess of Daubigny shall write for an
invitation and be refused."

Mrs. Trevor accepted the invitation.

Lady Delville was enraged beyond measure. Never was female tongue more
bitter than hers at the expense of that insolent Lady Erpingham! Yet
Lady Delville was secretly in grief; for the first time in her life, she
was hurt at not having been asked to a party: and being hurt because she
was not going, she longed most eagerly to go.

The next evening came. Erpingham House was not large, but it was well
adapted to the description of assembly its beautiful owner had invited.
Statues, busts, pictures, books, scattered or arranged about the
apartments, furnished matter for intellectual conversation, or gave at
least an intellectual air to the meeting.

About a hundred persons were present. They were selected from the most
distinguished ornaments of the time. Musicians, painters, authors,
orators, fine gentlemen, dukes, princes, and beauties. One thing,
however, was imperatively necessary in order to admit them--the profession
of liberal opinions. No Tory, however wise, eloquent or beautiful, could,
that evening, have obtained the sesame to those apartments.

Constance never seemed more lovely, and never before was she so winning.
The coldness and the arrogance of her manner had wholly vanished. To
every one she spoke; and to every one her voice, her manner, were kind,
cordial, familiar, but familiar with a soft dignity that heightened the
charm. Ambitious not only to please but to dazzle, she breathed into her
conversation all the grace and culture of her mind. They who admired her
the most were the most accomplished themselves.

Now exchanging with foreign nobles that brilliant trifling of the world in
which there is often so much penetration, wisdom, and research into
character; now with a kindling eye and animated cheek commenting, with
poets and critics, on literature and the arts; now, in a more remote and
quiet corner, seriously discussing, with hoary politicians, those affairs
in which even they allowed her shrewdness and her grasp of intellect; and
combining with every grace and every accomplishment a rare and dazzling
order of beauty--we may readily imagine the sensation she created, and the
sudden and novel zest which so splendid an Armida must have given to the
tameness of society.

The whole of the next week, the party at Erpingham House was the theme of
every conversation. Each person who had been there had met the lion he
had been most anxious to see. The beauty had conversed with the poet, who
had charmed her; the young debutant in science had paid homage to the
great professor of its loftiest mysteries; the statesman had thanked the
author who had defended his measures; the author had been delighted with
the compliment of the statesman. Every one then agreed that, while the
highest rank in the kingdom had been there, rank had been the least
attraction; and those who before had found Constance repellent, were the
very persons who now expatiated with the greatest rapture on the sweetness
of her manners. Then, too, every one who had been admitted to the coterie
dwelt on the rarity of the admission; and thus, all the world were dying
for an introduction to Erpingham House--partly, because it was
agreeable--principally, because it was difficult.

It soon became a compliment to the understanding to say of a person, "He
goes to Lady Erpingham's!" They who valued themselves on their
understandings moved heaven and earth to become popular with the beautiful
countess. Lady Delville was not asked; Lady Delville was furious: she
affected disdain, but no one gave her credit for it. Lord Erpingham
teazed Constance on this point.

"You see I was right; for you have affronted Lady Delville. She has made
Delville look coolly on me; in a few weeks he will be a Tory; think of
that, Lady Erpingham!"

"One month more," answered Constance, with a smile, "and you shall see."

One night, Lady Delville and Lady Erpingham met at a large party. The
latter seated herself by her haughty enemy; not seeming to heed Lady
Delville's coolness, Constance entered into conversation with her. She
dwelt upon books, pictures, music: her manner was animated, and her wit
playful. Pleased, in spite of herself, Lady Delville warmed from her
reserve.

"My dear Lady Delville," said Constance, suddenly turning her bright
countenance on the countess with an expression of delighted surprise,
"will you forgive me?--I never dreamed before that you were so charming a
person! I never conceal my sentiments: and I own with regret and shame
that, till this moment, I had never seen in your mind--whatever I might in
your person--those claims to admiration which were constantly dinned into
my ear."

Lady Delville actually coloured.

"Pray," continued Constance, "condescend to permit me to a nearer
acquaintance. Will you dine with us on Thursday?--we shall have only nine
persons beside yourself: but they are the nine persons whom I most esteem
and admire."

Lady Delville accepted the invitation. From that hour, Lady Delville--who
had at first resented, from the deepest recess of her heart, Constance
Vernon's accession to rank and wealth,--who, had Constance deferred to her
early acquaintance, would have always found something in her she could
have affected to despise; from that hour, Lady Delville was the warmest
advocate, and a little time after, the sincerest follower, of the youthful
countess.

CHAPTER XXIII.

AN INSIGHT INTO THE REAL GRANDE MONDE;--BEING A SEARCH BEHIND THE
ROSE-COLOURED CURTAINS.

The time we now speak of was the most brilliant the English world, during
the last half century, has known. Lord Byron was in his brief and
dazzling zenith; De Stael was in London; the Peace had turned the
attention of rich idlers to social enjoyment and to letters. There was an
excitement, and a brilliancy, and a spirituality, about our circles, which
we do not recognise now. Never had a young and ambitious woman--a beauty
and a genius--a finer moment for the commencement of her power. It was
Constance's early and bold resolution to push to the utmost--even to
exaggeration--a power existing in all polished states, but now mostly in
this,--the power of fashion! This mysterious and subtle engine she was
eminently skilled to move according to her will. Her intuitive
penetration into character, her tact, and her grace, were exactly the
talents Fashion most demands; and they were at present devoted only to
that sphere. The rudeness that she mingled, at times, with the bewitching
softness and ease of manner she could command at others, increased the
effect of her power. It is much to intimidate as well as to win. And her
rudeness in a very little while grew popular; for it was never exercised
but on those whom the world loves to see humbled. Modest merit in any
rank; and even insolence, if accompanied with merit, were always safe from
her satire. It was the hauteur of foolish duchesses or purse-proud
roturiers that she loved, and scrupled not, to abase.

And the independence of her character was mixed with extraordinary
sweetness of temper. Constance could not be in a passion: it was out of
her nature. If she was stung, she could utter a sarcasm; but she could
not frown or raise her voice. There was that magic in her, that she was
always feminine. She did not stare young men out of countenance; she
never addressed them by their Christian names; she never flirted--never
coquetted: the bloom and flush of modesty was yet all virgin upon her
youth. She, the founder of a new dynasty, avoided what her successors and
contemporaries have deemed it necessary to incur. She was the leader of
fashion; but--it is a miraculous union--she was respectable!

At this period, some new dances were brought into England. These dances
found much favour in the eves of several great ladies young enough to
dance them. They met at each other's houses in the morning to practise
the steps. Among these was Lady Erpingham; her house became the favourite
rendezvous.

The young Marquis of Dartington was one of the little knot. Celebrated
for his great fortune, his personal beauty, and his general success, he
resolved to fall in love with Lady Erpingham. He devoted himself
exclusively to her; he joined her in the morning in her rides--in the
evening in her gaieties. He had fallen in love with her?--yes!--did he
love her?--not the least. But he was excessively idle!--what else could
he do?

Constance early saw the attentions and designs of Lord Dartington. There
is one difficulty in repressing advances in great society--one so easily
becomes ridiculous by being a prude. But Constance dismissed Lord
Dartington with great dexterity. This was the occasion:--

One of the apartments in Erpingham House communicated with a conservatory.
In this conservatory Constance was alone one morning, when Lord
Dartington, who had entered the house with Lord Erpingham, joined her. He
was not a man who could ever become sentimental; he was rather the gay
lover--rather the Don Gaolor than the Amadis; but he was a little abashed
before Constance. He trusted, however, to his fine eyes and his good
complexion--plucked up courage; and, picking a flower from the same plant
Constance was tending, said,--

"I believe there is a custom in some part of the world to express love by
flowers. May I, dear Lady Erpingham, trust to this flower to express what
I dare not utter?"

Constance did not blush, nor look confused, as Lord Dartington had hoped
and expected. One who had been loved by Godolphin was not likely to feel
much agitation at the gallantry of Lord Dartington; but she looked gravely
in his face, paused a little before she answered, and then said, with a
smile that abashed the suitor more than severity could possibly have
done:--

"My dear Lord Dartington, do not let us mistake each other. I live in the
world like other women, but I am not altogether like them. Not another
word of gallantry to me alone, as you value my friendship. In a crowded
room pay me as many compliments as you like. It will flatter my vanity to
have you in my train. And now, just do me the favour to take these
scissors and cut the dead leaves off that plant."

Lord Dartington, to use a common phrase, "hummed and hawed." He looked,
too, a little angry. An artful and shrewd politician, it was not
Constance's wish to cool the devotion, though she might the attachment, of
a single member of her husband's party. With a kind look--but a look so
superior, so queen-like, so free from the petty and coquettish
condescension of the sex, that the gay lord wondered from that hour how he
could ever have dreamed of Constance as of certain other ladies--she
stretched her hand to him.

"We are friends, Lord Dartington?--and now we know each other, we shall be
so always."

Lord Dartington bowed confusedly over the beautiful hand he touched; and
Constance, walking into the drawing-room, sent for Lord Erpingham on
business--Dartington took his leave.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE MARRIED STATE OF CONSTANCE.

Constance, Countess of Erpingham, was young, rich, lovely as a dream,
worshipped as a goddess. Was she happy? and was her whole heart occupied
with the trifles that surrounded her?

Deep within her memory was buried one fatal image that she could not
exorcise. The reproaching and mournful countenance of Godolphin rose
before her at all times and seasons. The charm of his presence no other
human being could renew. His eloquent and noble features, living, and
glorious with genius and with passion, his sweet deep voice, his
conversation, so rich with mind and knowledge, and the subtle delicacy
with which he applied its graces to some sentiment dedicated to her,
(delicious flattery, of all flatteries the most attractive to a sensitive
and intellectual woman!)--these occurred to her again and again, and
rendered all she saw around her flat, wearisome, insipid. Nor was this
deep-seated and tender weakness the only serpent--if I may use so confused
a metaphor--in the roses of her lot.

And here I invoke the reader's graver attention. The fate of women in all
the more polished circles of society is eminently unnatural and unhappy.
The peasant and his dame are on terms of equality--equality even of
ambition: no career is open to one and shut to the other;--equality even
of hardship, and hardship is employment: no labour occupies the whole
energies of the man, but leaves those of the woman unemployed. Is this
the case with the wives in a higher station?--the wives of the lawyer, the
merchant, the senator, the noble? There, the men have their occupations;
and the women (unless, like poor Fanny, work-bags and parrots can employ
them) none. They are idle. They employ the imagination and the heart.
They fall in love and are wretched; or they remain virtuous, and are
either wearied by an eternal monotony or they fritter away intellect,
mind, character, in the minutest frivolities--frivolities being their only
refuge from stagnation. Yes! there is one very curious curse for the sex
which men don't consider! Once married, the more aspiring of them have no
real scope for ambition: the ambition gnaws away their content, and never
find elsewhere wherewithal to feed on.

This was Constance's especial misfortune. Her lofty, and restless, and
soaring spirit pined for a sphere of action, and ballrooms and boudoirs
met it on every side. One hope she did indeed cherish; that hope was the
source of her intriguings and schemes, of her care for seeming trifles,
the waste of her energies on seeming frivolities. This hope, this object,
was to diminish--to crush, not only the party which had forsaken her
father, but the power of that order to which she belonged herself; which
she had entered only to humble. But this hope was a distant and chill
vision. She was too rational to anticipate an early and effectual change
in our social state, and too rich in the treasures of mind to be the
creature of one idea. Satiety--the common curse of the great;--crept over
her day by day. The powers within her lay stagnant--the keen intellect
rusted in its sheath.

"How is it," said she to the beautiful Countess of ----, "that you seem
always so gay and so animated; that with all your vivacity and tenderness,
you are never at a loss for occupation? You never seem
weary--ennuyee--why is this?"

"I will tell you," said the pretty countess, archly; "I change my lovers
every month." Constance blushed, and asked no more.

Many women in her state, influenced by contagious example, wearied by a
life in which the heart had no share; without children, without a guide;
assailed and wooed on all sides, in all shapes;--many women might have
ventured, if not into love, at least into coquetry. But Constance
remained as bright and cold as ever--"the unsunned snow!" It might be,
indeed, that the memory of Godolphin preserved her safe from all lesser
dangers. The asbestos once conquered by fire can never be consumed by it;
but there was also another cause in Constance's very nature--it was pride!

Oh! if men could but dream of what a proud woman endures in those
caresses which humble her, they would not wonder why proud women are so
difficult to subdue. This is a matter on which we all ponder much, but we
dare not write honestly upon it. But imagine a young, haughty, guileless
beauty, married to a man whom she neither loves nor honours; and so far
from that want of love rendering her likely to fall hereafter, it is more
probable that it will make her recoil from the very name of love.

About this time the Dowager Lady Erpingham died; an event sincerely
mourned by Constance, and which broke the strongest tie that united the
young countess to her lord. Lord Erpingham and Constance, indeed, now saw
but little of each other. Like most men six feet high, with large black
whiskers, the earl was vain of his person; and, like most rich noblemen,
he found plenty of ladies who assured him he was irresistible. He had
soon grown angry at the unadmiring and calm urbanity of Constance; and,
living a great deal with single men, he formed liaisons of the same order
as they do. He was, however, sensible that he had been fortunate in the
choice of a wife. His political importance the wisdom of Constance had
quadrupled; at the least; his house she had rendered the most brilliant in
London, and his name the most courted in the lists of the peerage. Though
munificent, she was not extravagant; though a beauty, she did not
intrigue; neither, though his inconstancy was open, did she appear
jealous; nor, whatever the errors of his conduct, did she ever disregard
his interest, disobey his wishes, or waver from the smooth and continuous
sweetness of her temper. Of such a wife Lord Erpingham could not
complain: he esteemed her, praised her, asked her advice, and stood a
little in awe of her.

Ah, Constance! had you been the daughter of a noble or a peasant--had you
been the daughter of any man but John Vernon--what a treasure beyond
price, without parallel, would that heart, that beauty, that genius have
been!

CHAPTER XXV.

THE PLEASURE OF RETALIATING HUMILIATION.--CONSTANCE'S DEFENCE OF
FASHION.--REMARKS ON FASHION.--GODOLPHIN'S WHEREABOUT.--FANNY MILLINGER'S
CHARACTER OF HERSELF.--WANT OF COURAGE IN MORALISTS.

It was a proud moment for Constance when the Duchess of Winstoun and Lady
Margaret Midgecombe wrote to her, worried her, beset her, for a smile, a
courtesy, an invitation, or a ticket to Almack's.

They had at first thought to cry her down; to declare that she was
plebeian, mad, bizarre, and a blue. It was all in vain. Constance rose
every hour. They struggled against the conviction, but it would not do.
The first person who confounded them with a sense of their error was the
late King, then Regent; he devoted himself to Lady Erpingham for a whole
evening, at a ball given by himself. From that hour they were assured
they had been wrong: they accordingly called on her the next day.
Constance received them with the same coldness she had always evinced; but
they went away declaring they never saw any one whose manners were so
improved. They then sent her an invitation! she refused it; a second!
she refused; a third, begging her to fix the day!!! she fixed the day, and
disappointed them. Lord bless us!--how sorry they were, how alarmed, how
terrified!--their dear Lady Erpingham must be ill!--they sent every day
for the next week to know how she was!

"Why," said Mrs. Trevor to Lady Erpingham,--"why do you continue so cruel
to these poor people? I know they were very impertinent, and so forth,
once; but it is surely wiser and more dignified now to forgive; to appear
unconscious of the past: people of the world ought not to quarrel with
each other."

"You are right, and yet you are mistaken," said Constance: "I do forgive,
and I don't quarrel; but my opinion, my contempt, remain the same, or are
rather more disdainful than ever. These people are not worth losing the
luxury we all experience in expressing contempt. I continue, therefore,
but quietly and without affectation, to indulge that luxury. Besides, I
own to you, my dear Mrs. Trevor, I do think that the mere insolence of
titles must fairly and thoroughly be put down, if we sincerely wish to
render society agreeable; and where can we find a better example for
punishment than the Duchess of Winstoun?"

"But, my dear Lady Erpingham, you are thought insolent: your friend, Lady
----, is called insolent, too;--are you sure the charge is not merited?"

"I allow the justice of the charge; but you will observe, ours is not the
insolence of rank: we have made it a point to protect, to the utmost, the
poor and unfriended of all circles. Are we ever rude to governesses or
companions, or poor writers, or musicians? When a man marries below him,
do we turn our backs on the poor wife? Do we not, on the contrary, lavish
our attention on her, and throw round her equivocal and joyless state the
protection of Fashion? No, no! _our_ insolence is Justice! it is the
chalice returned to the lips which prepared it; it is insolence to the
insolent; reflect, and you will allow it."

The fashion that Constance set and fostered was of a generous order; but
it was not suited to the majority; it was corrupted by her followers into
a thousand basenesses. In vain do we make a law, if the general spirit is
averse to the law. Constance could humble the great; could loosen the
links of extrinsic rank; could undermine the power of titles; but that was
all! She could abase the proud, but not elevate the general tone: for one
slavery she only substituted another,--people hugged the chains of
Fashion, as before they hugged those of Titular Arrogance.

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