Romance and Reality (Landon)/Chapter 7
CHAPTER VII.
"Un bal! il fallait de grandes toilettes."
Mémoires sur Josephine.
"Midnight revels—on their mirth and dance intent,
At once with Joy and fear her heart rebounds."
Milton.
The boudoir was a very pretty boudoir; the curtains at the window were rich rose colour, the paper a pale pink, and the fire-place like the altar of hope—one sparkling blaze. On the mantelpiece two alabaster figures supported each a little lamp, whose flame was tinted by the stained flowers; some china ornaments, purple and gold, and a vase filled with double violets, were reflected in the mirror. On the one side was a stand of moss roses, on the other a dressing-table, and a glass à la Psyche, over whose surface the wax tapers flung a soft light, worthy of any complexion, even had it rivalled the caliph Vathek's pages, whose skins "were fair as the enamel of Frangistan." In short, it was one of those becoming rooms which would put even a grace in additional good humour.—By the bye, what a barbarous, what an uncharitable act it is, of some people to furnish their rooms as they do, against all laws of humanity as well as taste! We have actually seen rooms fitted up with sea-green, and an indigo-coloured paper: what complexion could stand it? The most proper of becoming blushes would be utterly wasted, and perhaps at the most critical moment. Mrs. Fergusson never would let her daughters visit at Lady Carysfort's, on account of the unabated crimson of her walls and furniture: as she justly observed, the dancers looked like ghosts. For ourselves, when we furnish our rooms, we have decided on a delicate pink paper; it lights up well, and is such a relief to the foreground of whites, reds, and blue. The hangings, &c., certainly of French rose: windows are favourite seats; and who knows how much may be effected in a tête-à-tête, by the crimson shade of the curtain flitting over a fair cheek à propos? But we are patriotic people, and write treatises for the Society of Useful Knowledge.
Emily Arundel stood by the dressing-table. The last curl of her dark hair had received its last braid of pearls; the professor of papillotes had decided, and she quite agreed with him, that à la Calypso best suited with her Grecian style of feature. The white satin slip, over which floated the cloud-like gauze, suited well with the extreme delicacy of her figure; and the little snow-slipper would not have disgraced the silver-footed Thetis, or Cinderella herself. The bouquet de rois shed its last tears on the cambric parsemés de lis—and Emily turned from her glass with that beau idéal of all reflections, "I am looking my very best!"
"Really, Emily you are very pretty," said Lady Alicia, when she entered the drawing room. Emily quite agreed with her.
The carriage soon whirled them to Lady Mandeville's; a proper length of time elapsed before they penetrated the blockade of coaches; a most scientific rap announced their arrival, and Emily's heart went quicker than the knocker. The old song says,
"My heart with love is beating—"
of pleasure, should be added. But soon admiration was the only active faculty. The noble staircase was lined with the rarest greenhouse plants; she might have gone through a whole course of botany before they arrived at the drawing-room,—for two quadrilles and three waltzes were played while they stood on the stairs. As they entered, an opening in the figure of the dance gave a transient view of nearly the whole length of the apartments. It was a brilliant coup d'œil: mirrors, like the child's nursery-song, "up to the ceiling, and down to the ground," reflected an almost endless crowd—the graceful figures "in shining draperies enfolded," the gay wreaths round the heads of the young, the white waves of feathers on their seniors—the silver light from the moonlike lamps flashed back from bright gems and brighter eyes; the rich decorations—alabaster vases, their delicate tracery like the frost-work of winter filled with the flowers of summer—the sweep of the purple curtains—the gold mouldings, and a few beautiful pictures—while all terminated in a splendidly illuminated conservatory.
Emily had plenty of time to "sate herself with gazing,"—for Lady Alicia quietly seated herself on a sofa, and seemed to trust to fate about finding either hostess, or partner for her protégée, who at last began to think the mere spectator of pleasure ought to be a philosopher. We have heard of the solitude of the wide ocean, of the sandy desert, of the pathless forest; but, for a real, thorough, and entire knowledge, far beyond Zimmerman's, of the pleasures of solitude, commend us to a young damsel doomed to a sofa and female society, while quadrille after quadrille is formed in her sight, and the waltzes go round, like stars with whose motions we have nothing to do.
The crowd was now beginning rapidly to disperse: true, there was more space for the pas seul; but fatigue had quenched its spirit—curls showed symptoms of straightness—the bouquets had lost their freshness, and so had many a cheek. At this moment Lady Mandeville came up; and a shade, the least in the world, on the brow of her young visitor showed a discontent which, in her heart, she thought such a chaperone as Lady Alicia might well justify. Never was kindness more gracious in its courtesy than her's. "Captain St. Leger, Miss Arundel;" and the next minute Emily prepared smile and step: one at least was thrown away; her partner, strong in the consciousness of coat, curls, and commission, the best of their kind, deemed it risking the peace of the female world unnecessarily to add other dangers to those so irresistible. During le Pantalon he arranged his neckcloth; l'Eté, drew his fingers through his curls; la Poule, he asked if she had been that morning in the Park; during la Pastorelle prepared for his pas seul; and during la Finale, recovered the trouble of dancing, gave his arm, and, as the carriage was announced, handed her into it. "A ball is not always the comble de bonheur" to papas, says the author of the Disowned; "nor to their daughters either," could have added Emily Arundel.