to try, at least, to approach that golden mean, which, like the philosopher’s stone, always eludes our grasp, yet always invites our wishes.
For this purpose she desired to attend Mrs Harrel to the next Opera that should be represented.
The following Saturday, therefore, she accompanied that lady and Mrs Mears to the Haymarket, escorted by Mr Arnott.
They were very late; the Opera was begun, and even in the lobby the crowd was so great that their passage was obstructed. Here they were presently accosted by Miss Larolles, who, running up to Cecilia and taking her hand, said, “Lord, you can’t conceive how glad I am to see you! why, my dear creature, where have you hid yourself these twenty ages? You are quite in luck in coming to-night, I assure you; it’s the best Opera we have had this season: there’s such a monstrous crowd there’s no stirring. We shan’t get in this half hour. The coffee-room is quite full; only come and see; is it not delightful?”
This intimation was sufficient for Mrs Harrel, whose love of the Opera was merely a love of company, fashion, and shew; and therefore to the coffee-room she readily led the way.
And here Cecilia found rather the appearance of a brilliant assembly of ladies and gentlemen, collected merely to see and to entertain one another, than of distinct and casual parties, mixing solely from necessity, and waiting only for room to enter a theatre.
The first person that addressed them was Captain Aresby, who, with his usual delicate languishment, smiled upon Cecilia, and softly whispering, “How divinely you look to-night!” proceeded to pay his compliments to some other ladies.
“Do, pray, now,” cried Miss Larolles, “observe Mr Meadows! only just see where he has fixed himself! in the very best place in the room, and keeping the fire from every body! I do assure you that’s always his way, and it’s monstrous provoking, for if one’s ever so cold, he lollops so, that one’s quite starved. But you must know there’s another thing he does that is quite as bad, for if he gets a seat, he never offers to move, if he sees one sinking with fatigue. And besides, if one is waiting for one’s carriage two hours together, he makes it a rule never to stir a step to see for it. Only think how monstrous!”
“These are heavy complaints, indeed,” said Cecilia, looking at him attentively; “I should have expected from his appearance a very different account of his gallantry, for he seems dressed with more studied elegance than anybody here.”
“O yes,” cried Miss Larolles, “he is the sweetest dresser in the world; he has the most delightful taste you can conceive, nobody has half so good a fancy. I assure you it’s a great thing to be spoke to by him: we are all of us quite angry when he won’t take any notice of us.”
“Is your anger,” said Cecilia, laughing, “in honour of himself or of his coat?”
“Why, Lord, don’t you know all this time that he is an ennuye?
“I know, at least,” answered Cecilia, “that he would soon make one of me.”
“O, but one is never affronted with an ennuye, if he is ever so provoking, because one always knows what it means.”
“Is he agreeable?”
“Why, to tell you the truth — but pray now, don’t mention it — I think him most excessive disagreeable! He yawns in one’s face every time one looks at him. I assure you sometimes I expect to see him fall fast asleep while I am talking to him, for he is so immensely absent he don’t hear one half that one says; only conceive how horrid!”
“But why, then, do you encourage him? why do you take any notice of him?”
“O, every body does, I assure you, else I would not for the world; but he is so courted you have no idea. However, of all things let me advise you never to dance with him; I did once myself, and I declare I was quite distressed to death the whole time, for he was taken with such a fit of absence he knew nothing he was about, sometimes skipping and jumping with all the violence in the world, just as if he only danced for exercise, and sometimes standing quite still, or lolling against the wainscoat and gaping, and taking no more notice of me than if he had never seen me in his life!”
The Captain now, again advancing to Cecilia, said, “So you would not do us the honour to try the masquerade at the Pantheon? however, I hear you had a very brilliant spectacle at Mr Harrel’s. I was quite au desespoir that I could not get there. I did mon possible, but it was quite beyond me.”
“We should have been very happy,” said Mrs Harrel, “to have seen you; I assure you we had some excellent masks.”
“So I have heard partout, and I am reduced to despair that I could not have the honour of sliding in. But I was accable with affairs all day. Nothing could be so mortifying.”
Cecilia now, growing very impatient to hear the Opera, begged to know if they might not make a trial to get into the pit?
“I fear,” said the Captain, smiling as they passed him, without offering any assistance, “you will find it extreme petrifying; for my part, I confess I am not upon the principle of crowding.”
The ladies, however, accompanied by Mr Arnott, made the attempt, and soon found, according to the custom of report, that the difficulty, for the pleasure of talking of it, had been considerably exaggerated. They were separated, indeed, but their accommodation was tolerably good.
Cecilia was much vexed to find the first act of the Opera almost over; but she was soon still more dissatisfied when she discovered that she had no chance of hearing the little which remained: the place she had happened to find vacant was next to a party of young ladies, who were so earnestly engaged in their own discourse, that they listened not to a note of the Opera, and so infinitely diverted with their own witticisms, that their tittering and loquacity allowed no one in their vicinity to hear better than themselves. Cecilia tried in vain to confine her attention to the singers; she was distant from the stage, and to them she was near, and her fruitless attempts all ended in chagrin and impatience.
At length she resolved to make an effort for entertainment in another way, and since the expectations which brought her to the Opera were destroyed, to try by listening to her fair neighbours, whether those who occasioned her disappointment could make her any amends.
For this purpose she turned to them wholly; yet was at first in no little perplexity to understand what was going forward, since so universal was the eagerness for talking, and so insurmountable the antipathy to listening, that every one seemed to have her wishes bounded by a continual utterance of words, without waiting for any answer, or scarce even desiring to be heard.
But when, somewhat more used to their dialect and manner, she began better to comprehend their discourse, wretchedly indeed did it supply to her the loss of the Opera. She heard nothing but descriptions of trimmings, and complaints of hair-dressers, hints of conquest that teemed with vanity, and histories of engagements which were inflated with exultation.
At the end of the act, by the crowding forward of the gentlemen to see the dance, Mrs Harrel had an opportunity of making room for her by herself, and she had then some reason to expect hearing the rest of the Opera in peace, for the company before her, consisting entirely of young men, seemed, even during the dance, fearful of speaking, lest their attention should be drawn for a moment from the stage.
But to her infinite surprize, no sooner was the second act begun, than their attention ended! they turned from the performers to each other, and entered into a whispering but gay conversation, which,
