Chapter II: Another Literary Soirée

The soirée at Hester Mason's, to which they went that evening, was very much the same as the one formerly described; there were fewer guests, and among them more women: a sure sign that she was getting on in the world, and that the reputation of her parties was beginning to cover any suspicious circumstances in her own position.

But the women were still of a questionable class: questionable, I mean, not as regards propriety, but _ton_. There were no ladies who gave parties, who were recognised as belonging to "society;" and, above all, there were no girls there: the virgins were old, ugly, or wise.

In a word, the women were almost exclusively literary women; described by Cecil as poor faded creatures, who toiled in the British Museum, over antiquated rubbish which they extracted and incorporated with worse rubbish of their own--women who wrote about the regeneration of their sex--who drivelled in religious tales--compiled inaccurate histories--wrote moral stories for the young, or unreadable verses for the old--translated from French and German (with the assistance of a dictionary, a dashing contempt for English idiom),--learned women, strong-minded women, religious women, historical women, and poetical women; there were types of each class, and by no means attractive types.

One remark Cecil made, which every one will confirm. "How curious it is," said he, "to notice the intimate connexion between genius and hair. You see it very often in men, but universally in women, that the distinguishing mark of literary or artistic pretension is not in the costume, but in the mode of arranging the hair. Women dress their hair in a variety of ways: each has a reference to what is becoming; but when women set up for genius or learning, all known fashions are despised, and some outrageous singularity alone contents them. Just look round this room. There is Hester herself: she is young and handsome; but instead of taking advantage of her black curls, she trains them up like a modern Frenchman. If you only saw her head, you would call it a boy's. Then, again, next to her sits Mrs. James Murch--she reads Greek, and writes verses; you see it by the hair parted on one side, instead of in the centre, and by the single curl plastered on her brow, emulous of a butcher boy. There is Miss Stoking--she writes history and talks about the 'Chronicles'--I see that in the row of flat curls on her forehead, and in the adjustment of her back hair. Miss Fuller must be a philosophical woman, by the way in which all the hair is dragged off her forehead. That bony thing next to her must be a poetess, by the audacity of her crop. In fact, depend upon it, as there is a science of phrenology, there is a science of hair."

These women did not, as may be guessed, give any additional charm to Hester's parties, unless, indeed, in the shape of some fun. Nevertheless, their presence was inexpressibly delightful to her, for it was a sanction; and with all her sneers at the "conventions" of society, Hester was most anxious to preserve them.

Cecil, who liked Hester very much, and was interested even in her opinions which he did not share, was pitiless in his satire upon her female friends; which I will not repeat here, lest the reader should imagine that _I_ share the general dislike to clever women--a conclusion against which I protest, and stoutly. True, I am not so blind an admirer of cleverness as to think it atones for the absence of womanly grace, gentleness, lovingness, and liveliness; but, on the other hand, some of the most charming women--and _womanly_ women too--I have ever known, have been distinguished in literature and art. Will that avowal save me?

Hester forgave Cecil for his opinion, the more so as she shared it; and although she combated his views on social matters as warmly as ever, was falling over head and ears in love with him.

"You will come round to my way of thinking one day," she said; "so elevated a mind as yours cannot long remain a slave to traditionary sophisms; the Spirit of the Age will claim you."

"Pray," said Cecil, smiling, "can you explain to me what this spirit of the age actually is? I hear a great deal about it, and comprehend nothing that I hear. Is our age so very different from all those that have gone before it?"

"Assuredly: it is the age of progress."

"Progress? but _that_ is the characteristic of all ages; society never stands still."

"True, but sometimes it retrogrades, and now it advances. My dear Mr. Chamberlayne, you will not deny that the peculiarity of our age is not only progress, but consciousness of progress."

"That is to say, I suppose, while our forefathers contented themselves with advancing, we prate about our advance. Now, of that kind of consciousness I am as decided an enemy as Carlyle himself; and his eloquent denunciations of it as the disease of our time find full acceptance from me."

"Ah! my dear sir, Carlyle, with all his genius, does not understand the historic development of humanity."

"Perhaps not; nor do I: though I have tried. But it still seems to me an evil, not a benefit, that our modern reformers are so very conscious--"

"Stop! You will not deny that every man should have a Purpose?"

Cecil, who knew this was one of the magnificent aphorisms of the "earnest" school, paused for a reply. Seeing him hesitate, Mr. Jukes, a sickly red-haired republican, with a feeble falsetto voice, stammered forth--

"Is it p-p-p-possible, Mr. Ch-ch-chamberlayne, you can hesitate to p-p-pronounce that e-e-every man should have a p-p-p-purpose?"

There was something so marvellously ludicrous in the feebleness of the individual, contrasted with the apparent vigour of his doctrine, that Cecil could with difficulty restrain his laughter, and hastened to say--

"By no means--by no means. I presume every one _has_ a purpose; but, then, the question is--what purpose?"

"If you admit," said Hester, "that a man must have a Purpose, it is surely unreasonable to wish him not to be distinctly conscious of it: then, only, can he best fulfil it; otherwise, he is a mere machine in the hands of fortune. I say, therefore, that the consciousness of our age is the consciousness of progress; each man of any real eminence has a Mission, and he knows it; that Mission is to get the broad principles of Humanity in its entire Developments fully recognised. That Mission," she continued, with rising warmth, "is to sweep from the face of the earth the worn-out sophisms which enslave it; to give Mind its high Prerogatives; to cut from the heart of society the cancer of Conventionalism which corrupts it; to place Man in majestic antagonism to Convention; to erect the Banner of Progress, and give the democratic Mind of Europe its unfettered sphere of action."

"A grand scheme," replied Cecil, smiling; "but how is all this to be accomplished?"

"By indomitable re-re-resolution; b-b-b-by f-f-f-ixity of p-p-purpose," suggested Jukes.

"By a recognition of the rights of women," sternly remarked the philosophical Mrs. Fuller.

"The Greeks," began Mrs. James Murch, "whose literature----"

Here she was interrupted by Miss Stoking, who thought that if readers were not so fond of "trash," and would only look into the "Chronicles," something considerable might result.

The epic poet--the celebrated author of "Mount Horeb, and other Poems"--thought the age was not religious enough: there was not enough divine aspiration in the souls of modern men to bring about any grand revolution.

Mr. Blundell (the kind of "Boz," as his friends told him) thought that there was a deficiency of wit, and referred to a "government tempered with epigrams" as his ideal.

Hester would admit of nothing but the "broad Principles of Humanity:" upon these she stood.

"My dear Miss Mason," said Mrs. Murch, "surely the Greeks, whose literature----"

"And women?" interposed Mrs. Fuller. "Are women not destined to play a great part in the reformation of society?"

"Oh, yes!" replied Hester; "the greatest part--I am quite of your opinion. Society must be reorganized, and in its new structure women must fill their proper place; they must be consulted--their rights must be recognised. You have no idea," she added, turning to Cecil, "what an enormous difference there would be if society were reconstructed with a view to the equal partition of power between man and woman."

"I beg your pardon," he said, laughing; "I have a very formidable idea of it. In fact, I think there is already too great a preponderance of female influence."

A chorus of indignant astonishment followed this from all the ladies, except from Mrs. Murch, who, pertinaciously sticking to her yet unexpressed idea, began--

"Now, my belief is that the Greeks, whose literature----"

"You protest," said Cecil, not noticing Mrs. Murch, "against my dictum? But hear me. The gradual softening of manners, by constraining men to relinquish their advantage in physical force, has destroyed the balance of power, and _unbeaten woman_ has the upper hand."

Hester laughed; the philosophical Mrs. Fuller frowned; and Mrs. Murch fastened upon poor Blundell, to expatiate to him in confidence on the literature of the Greeks; but even here she was not allowed to proceed far before he interrupted her with the question--

"Had the Greeks a 'Boz?'"

She turned from him with a look of withering contempt.

All this while Frank Forrester was engaged at a corner card-table, winning an ambitious young farce-writer's money at _écarté_; having emptied his pockets of seven pounds and a few shillings, Frank rose from the table and joined the talkers. But Cecil's jest had changed the conversation, and as it was getting late he prepared to depart.

"What! going so early?" reproachfully asked Hester.

Had Cecil been a vainer man, or one caring less for his wife, that look and tone would have been plainly significant to him; but he noticed nothing, and merely said--

"They are waiting up for me at home."

"And your wife will scold you," said she, pettishly.

"No; but worse than that--I shall reproach myself."

She gave him her hand coldly, and wished him good-night.