He, no doubt,
was an ultra-conservative.
Fashions change so imperceptibly that it is difficult for the
historian to assign their initiatory date. Does the young
dandy of to-day want to know when white ties came into vogue?
- he knows that his great-grandfather wore a white neckcloth,
and takes it for granted, may be, that his grandfather did so
too. Not a bit of it. The young Englander of the Coningsby
type - the Count d'Orsays of my youth, scorned the white tie
alike of their fathers and their sons. At dinner-parties or
at balls, they adorned themselves in satin scarfs, with a
jewelled pin or chained pair of pins stuck in them. I well
remember the rebellion - the protest against effeminacy -
which the white tie called forth amongst some of us upon its
first invasion on evening dress. The women were in favour of
it, and, of course, carried the day; but not without a
struggle. One night at Holkham - we were a large party, I
daresay at least fifty at dinner - the men came down in black
scarfs, the women in white 'chokers.' To make the contest
complete, these all sat on one side of the table, and we men
on the other. The battle was not renewed; both factions
surrendered. But the women, as usual, got their way, and -
their men.
For my part I could never endure the original white
neckcloth. It was stiffly starched, and wound twice round
the neck; so I abjured it for the rest of my days; now and
then I got the credit of being a coxcomb - not for my pains,
but for my comfort. Once, when dining at the Viceregal Lodge
at Dublin, I was 'pulled up' by an aide-de-camp for my
unbecoming attire; but I stuck to my colours, and was none
the worse. Another time my offence called forth a touch of
good nature on the part of a great man, which I hardly know
how to speak of without writing me down an ass. It was at a
crowded party at Cambridge House. (Let me plead my youth; I
was but two-and-twenty.) Stars and garters were scarcely a
distinction. White ties were then as imperative as shoes and
stockings; I was there in a black one. My candid friends
suggested withdrawal, my relations cut me assiduously,
strangers by my side whispered at me aloud, women turned
their shoulders to me; and my only prayer was that my
accursed tie would strangle me on the spot. One pair of
sharp eyes, however, noticed my ignominy, and their owner was
moved by compassion for my sufferings. As I was slinking
away, Lord Palmerston, with a BONHOMIE peculiarly his own,
came up to me; and with a shake of the hand and hearty
manner, asked after my brother Leicester, and when he was
going to bring me into Parliament? - ending with a smile:
'Where are you off to in such a hurry?' That is the sort of
tact that makes a party leader. I went to bed a proud,
instead of a humiliated, man; ready, if ever I had the
chance, to vote that black was white, should he but state it
was so.
Beards and moustache came into fashion after the Crimean war.
It would have been an outrage to wear them before that time.
When I came home from my travels across the Rocky Mountains
in 1851, I was still unshaven. Meeting my younger brother -
a fashionable guardsman - in St. James's Street, he
exclaimed, with horror and disgust at my barbarity, 'I
suppose you mean to cut off that thing!'
Smoking, as indulged in now, was quite out of the question
half a century ago. A man would as soon have thought of
making a call in his dressing-gown as of strolling about the
West End with a cigar in his mouth. The first whom I ever
saw smoke a cigarette at a dining-table after dinner was the
King; some forty years ago, or more perhaps. One of the many
social benefits we owe to his present Majesty.
CHAPTER XI.
DURING my blindness I was hospitably housed in Eaten Place by
Mr. Whitbread, the head of the renowned firm. After my
recovery I had the good fortune to meet there Lady Morgan,
the once famous authoress of the 'Wild Irish Girl.' She
still bore traces of her former comeliness, and had probably
lost little of her sparkling vivacity. She was known to like
the company of young people, as she said they made her feel
young; so, being the youngest of the party, I had the honour
of sitting next her at dinner. When I recall her
conversation and her pleasing manners, I can well understand
the homage paid both abroad and at home to the bright genius
of the Irish actor's daughter.
We talked a good deal about Byron and Lady Caroline Lamb.
This arose out of my saying I had been reading 'Glenarvon,'
in which Lady Caroline gives Byron's letters to herself as
Glenarvon's letters to the heroine. Lady Morgan had been the
confidante of Lady Caroline, had seen many of Byron's
letters, and possessed many of her friend's - full of details
of the extraordinary intercourse which had existed between
the two.
Lady Morgan evidently did not believe (in spite of Lady
Caroline's mad passion for the poet) that the liaison ever
reached the ultimate stage contemplated by her lover. This
opinion was strengthened by Lady Caroline's undoubted
attachment to her husband - William Lamb, afterwards Lord
Melbourne - who seems to have submitted to his wife's
vagaries with his habitual stoicism and good humour.
Both Byron and Lady Caroline had violent tempers, and were
always quarrelling.
