CHAPTER IV.

_Containing Some Account of the Viscountess Dowager

Bellair_.

THE Viscountess Dowager Bellair was the last remaining link between the

two centuries. Herself born of a noble family, and distinguished both

for her beauty and her wit, she had reigned for a quarter of a century

the favourite subject of Sir Joshua; had flirted with Lord Carlisle,

and chatted with Dr. Johnson. But the most remarkable quality of her

ladyship’s destiny was her preservation. Time, that had rolled on nearly

a century since her birth, had spared alike her physical and mental

powers. She was almost as active in body, and quite as lively in mind,

as when seventy years before she skipped in Marylebone Gardens, or

puzzled the gentlemen of the Tuesday Night Club at Mrs. Cornely’s

masquerades. These wonderful seventy years indeed had passed to Lady

Bellair like one of those very masked balls in which she had formerly

sparkled; she had lived in a perpetual crowd of strange and brilliant

characters. All that had been famous for beauty, rank, fashion, wit,

genius, had been gathered round her throne; and at this very hour

a fresh and admiring generation, distinguished for these qualities,

cheerfully acknowledged her supremacy, and paid to her their homage. The

heroes and heroines of her youth, her middle life, even of her old age,

had vanished; brilliant orators, profound statesmen, inspired bards,

ripe scholars, illustrious warriors; beauties whose dazzling charms

had turned the world mad; choice spirits, whose flying words or whose

fanciful manners made every saloon smile or wonder--all had disappeared.

She had witnessed revolutions in every country in the world; she

remembered Brighton a fishing-town, and Manchester a village; she had

shared the pomp of nabobs and the profusion of loan-mongers; she had

stimulated the early ambition of Charles Fox, and had sympathised with

the last aspirations of George Canning; she had been the confidant of

the loves alike of Byron and Alfieri; had worn mourning for General

Wolfe, and given a festival to the Duke of Wellington; had laughed with

George Selwyn, and smiled at Lord Alvanley; had known the first

macaroni and the last dandy; remembered the Gunnings, and introduced the

Sheridans! But she herself was unchanged; still restless for novelty,

still eager for amusement; still anxiously watching the entrance on the

stage of some new stream of characters, and indefatigable in

attracting the notice of everyone whose talents might contribute to her

entertainment, or whose attention might gratify her vanity. And, really,

when one recollected Lady Bel-lair’s long career, and witnessed at the

same time her diminutive form and her unrivalled vitality, he might

almost be tempted to believe, that if not absolutely immortal, it was at

least her strange destiny not so much vulgarly to die, as to grow like

the heroine of the fairy tale, each year smaller and smaller,

‘Fine by degrees, and beautifully less,’

until her ladyship might at length subside into airy nothingness, and so

rather vanish than expire.

It was the fashion to say that her ladyship had no heart; in most

instances an unmeaning phrase; in her case certainly an unjust one.

Ninety years of experience had assuredly not been thrown away on a mind

of remarkable acuteness; but Lady Bellair’s feelings were still quick

and warm, and could be even profound. Her fancy was so lively, that her

attention was soon engaged; her taste so refined, that her affection

was not so easily obtained. Hence she acquired a character for caprice,

because she repented at leisure those first impressions which with her

were irresistible; for, in truth, Lady Bellair, though she had nearly

completed her century, and had passed her whole life in the most

artificial circles, was the very creature of impulse. Her first homage

she always declared was paid to talent, her second to beauty, her third

to blood. The favoured individual who might combine these three splendid

qualifications, was, with Lady Bellair, a nymph, or a demi-god. As for

mere wealth, she really despised it, though she liked her favourites to

be rich.

Her knowledge of human nature, which was considerable, her acquaintance

with human weaknesses, which was unrivalled, were not thrown away upon

Lady Bellair. Her ladyship’s perception of character was fine and quick,

and nothing delighted her so much as making a person a tool. Capable,

where her heart was touched, of the finest sympathy and the most

generous actions, where her feelings were not engaged she experienced no

compunction in turning her companions to account, or, indeed, sometimes

in honouring them with her intimacy for that purpose. But if you had

the skill to detect her plots, and the courage to make her aware of your

consciousness of them, you never displeased her, and often gained her

friendship. For Lady Bellair had a fine taste for humour, and when she

chose to be candid, an indulgence which was not rare with her, she

could dissect her own character and conduct with equal spirit and

impartiality. In her own instance it cannot be denied that she comprised

the three great qualifications she so much prized: for she was very

witty; had blood in her veins, to use her own expression; and was the

prettiest woman in the world, for her years. For the rest, though no

person was more highly bred, she could be very impertinent; but if you

treated her with servility, she absolutely loathed you.

Lady Bellair, after the London season, always spent two or three

months at Bath, and then proceeded to her great grandson’s, the present

viscount’s, seat in the North, where she remained until London was

again attractive. Part of her domestic diplomacy was employed each year,

during her Bath visit, in discovering some old friend, or making some

new acquaintance, who would bear her in safety, and save her harmless

from all expenses and dangers of the road, to Northumberland; and she

displayed often in these arrangements talents which Talleyrand might

have envied. During the present season, Mrs. Montgomery Floyd, the widow

of a rich East Indian, whose intention it was to proceed to her estate

in Scotland at the end of the autumn, had been presented to Lady Bellair

by a friend well acquainted with her ladyship’s desired arrangements.

What an invaluable acquaintance at such a moment for Lady Bellair! Mrs.

Montgomery Floyd, very rich and very anxious to be fashionable,

was intoxicated with the flattering condescension and anticipated

companionship of Lady Bellair. At first Lady Bellair had quietly

suggested that they should travel together to Northumberland. Mrs.

Montgomery Floyd was enchanted with the proposal. Then Lady Bellair

regretted that her servant was very ill, and that she must send her to

town immediately in her own carriage; and then Mrs. Montgomery Floyd

insisted, in spite of the offers of Lady Bellair, that her ladyship

should take a seat in her carriage, and would not for an instant hear

of Lady Bellair defraying, under such circumstances, any portion of the

expense. Lady Bellair held out to the dazzled vision of Mrs. Montgomery

Floyd a brilliant perspective of the noble lords and wealthy squires

whose splendid seats, under the auspices of Lady Bellair, they were

to make their resting-places during their progress; and in time Lady

Bellair, who had a particular fancy for her own carriage, proposed

that her servants should travel in that of Mrs. Montgomery Floyd.

Mrs. Montgomery Floyd smiled a too willing assent. It ended by Mrs.

Montgomery Floyd’s servants travelling to Lord Bellair’s, where their

mistress was to meet them, in that lady’s own carriage, and Lady Bellair

travelling in her own chariot with her own servants, and Mrs. Montgomery

Floyd defraying the expenditure of both expeditions.