Coningsby; Or, The New GenerationDisraeli, Benjamin, Earl of Beaconsfield
General
Coningsby; Or, The New Generation
Disraeli, Benjamin, Earl of Beaconsfield
Great Britain -- Fiction; Political fiction; Politicians -- Fiction
The knowledge that Sidonia was in Paris greatly agitated Lady Monmouth.
She received the intimation indeed from Coningsby at dinner with
sufficient art to conceal her emotion. Lord Monmouth himself was quite
pleased at the announcement. Sidonia was his especial favourite; he knew
so much, had such an excellent judgment, and was so rich. He had always
something to tell you, was the best man in the world to bet on, and
never wanted anything. A perfect character according to the Monmouth
ethics.
In the evening of the day that Coningsby met Sidonia, Lady Monmouth made
a little visit to the charming Duchess de G----t who was ‘at home’
every other night in her pretty hotel, with its embroidered white satin
draperies, its fine old cabinets, and ancestral portraits of famous
name, brave marshals and bright princesses of the olden time, on its
walls. These receptions without form, yet full of elegance, are what
English ‘at homes’ were before the Continental war, though now, by a
curious perversion of terms, the easy domestic title distinguishes in
England a formally-prepared and elaborately-collected assembly, in which
everything and every person are careful to be as little ‘homely’ as
possible. In France, on the contrary, ‘tis on these occasions, and in
this manner, that society carries on that degree and kind of intercourse
which in England we attempt awkwardly to maintain by the medium of
that unpopular species of visitation styled a morning call; which all
complain that they have either to make or to endure.
Nowhere was this species of reception more happily conducted than at
the Duchess de G----t’s. The rooms, though small, decorated with taste,
brightly illumined; a handsome and gracious hostess, the Duke the very
pearl of gentlemen, and sons and daughters worthy of such parents. Every
moment some one came in, and some one went away. In your way from a
dinner to a ball, you stopped to exchange agreeable _on dits_. It seemed
that every woman was pretty, every man a wit. Sure you were to find
yourself surrounded by celebrities, and men were welcomed there, if they
were clever, before they were famous, which showed it was a house that
regarded intellect, and did not seek merely to gratify its vanity by
being surrounded by the distinguished.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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