The Young Duke | Page 7

the funds. He lived in a
retreat like the villa of Hadrian, and maintained himself in an elevated
position chiefly by his wit and a little by his wealth. There, too, were
his noble wife, thoroughbred to her fingers' tips, and beaming like the
evening star; and his son, who was an M.P., and thought his father a

fool. In short, our party was no common party, but a band who formed
the very core of civilisation; a high court of last appeal, whose word
was a fiat, whose sign was a hint, whose stare was death, and
sneer----damnation!
The Graces befriend us! We have forgotten the most important
personage. It is the first time in his life that Charles Annesley has been
neglected. It will do him good.
Dandy has been voted vulgar, and beau is now the word. It may be
doubted whether the revival will stand; and as for the exploded title,
though it had its faults at first, the muse of Byron has made it not only
English, but classical. Charles Annesley could hardly be called a dandy
or a beau. There was nothing in his dress--though some mysterious
arrangement in his costume, some rare simplicity, some curious
happiness, always made it distinguished--there was nothing, however,
in his dress, which could account for the influence which he exercised
over the manners of his contemporaries. Charles Annesley was about
thirty. He had inherited from his father, a younger brother, a small
estate; and, though heir to a wealthy earldom, he had never abused
what the world called 'his prospects.' Yet his establishment, his little
house in Mayfair, his horses, his moderate stud at Melton, were all
unique, and everything connected with him was unparalleled for its
elegance, its invention, and its refinement. But his manner was his
magic. His natural and subdued nonchalance, so different from the
assumed non-emotion of a mere dandy; his coldness of heart, which
was hereditary, not acquired; his cautious courage, and his
unadulterated self-love, had permitted him to mingle much with
mankind without being too deeply involved in the play of their passions;
while his exquisite sense of the ridiculous quickly revealed those
weaknesses to him which his delicate satire did not spare, even while it
refrained from wounding. All feared, marry admired, and none hated
him. He was too powerful not to dread, too dexterous not to admire, too
superior to hate. Perhaps the great secret of his manner was his
exquisite superciliousness, a quality which, of all, is the most difficult
to manage. Even with his intimates he was never confidential, and
perpetually assumed his public character with the private coterie which

he loved to rule. On the whole, he was unlike any of the leading men of
modern days, and rather reminded one of the fine gentlemen of our old
brilliant comedy, the Dorimants, the Bellairs, and the Mirabels.
Charles Annesley was a member of the distinguished party who were
this day to decide the fate of the young Duke. Let him come forward!
His Grace moved towards them, tall and elegant in figure, and with that
air of affable dignity which becomes a noble, and which adorns a court;
none of that affected indifference which seems to imply that nothing
can compensate for the exertion of moving, and 'which makes the
dandy, while it mars the man.' His large and somewhat sleepy grey eye,
his clear complexion, his small mouth, his aquiline nose, his
transparent forehead, his rich brown hair, and the delicacy of his
extremities, presented, when combined, a very excellent specimen of
that style of beauty for which the nobility of England are remarkable.
Gentle, for he felt the importance of the tribunal, never loud, ready, yet
a little reserved, he neither courted nor shunned examination. His
finished manner, his experience of society, his pretensions to taste, the
gaiety of his temper, and the liveliness of his imagination, gradually
developed themselves with the developing hours.
The banquet was over: the Duke of St. James passed his examination
with unqualified approval; and having been stamped at the mint of
fashion as a sovereign of the brightest die, he was flung forth, like the
rest of his golden brethren, to corrupt the society of which he was the
brightest ornament.
CHAPTER V.
Sweeping Changes
THE morning after the initiatory dinner the young Duke drove to
Hauteville House, his family mansion, situated in his family square.
His Grace particularly prided himself on his knowledge of the arts; a
taste for which, among other things, he intended to introduce into
England. Nothing could exceed the horror with which he witnessed the
exterior of his mansion, except the agony with which he paced through

the interior.
'Is this a palace?' thought the young Duke; 'this hospital a palace!'
He entered. The marble hall, the