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Books: Lothair

B >> Benjamin Disraeli >> Lothair



Scanned by K. Kay Shearin



LOTHAIR

by Benjamin Disraeli







CHAPTER 1


"I remember him a little boy," said the duchess, "a pretty little boy,
but very shy. His mother brought him to us one day. She was a dear
friend of mine; you know she was one of my bridesmaids?"

"And you have never seen him since, mamma?" inquired a married daughter,
who looked like the younger sister of her mother.

"Never; he was an orphan shortly after; I have often reproached myself,
but it is so difficult to see boys. Then, he never went to school, but
was brought up in the Highlands with a rather savage uncle; and if he
and Bertram had not become friends at Christchurch, I do not well see
how we ever could have known him."

These remarks were made in the morning-room of Brentham, where the
mistress of the mansion sat surrounded by her daughters, all occupied
with various works. One knitted a purse, another adorned a slipper a
third emblazoned a page. Beautiful forms in counsel leaned over frames
embroidery, while two fair sisters more remote occasionally burst into
melody as they tried the passages of a new air, which had been dedicated
to them in the manuscript of some devoted friend.

The duchess, one of the greatest heiresses of Britain, singularly
beautify and gifted with native grace, had married in her teens one of
the wealthiest and most powerful of our nobles, and scarcely order than
herself. Her husband was as distinguished for his appearance and his
manners as his bride, and those who speculate on race were interested in
watching the development of their progeny, who in form and color, and
voice, and manner, and mind, were a reproduction of their parents, who
seemed only the elder brother and sister of a gifted circle. The
daughters with one exception came first, and all met the same fate.
After seventeen years of a delicious home they were presented, and
immediately married; and all to personages of high consideration. After
the first conquest, this fate seemed as regular as the order of Nature.
Then came a son, who was now at Christchurch, and then several others,
some at school, and some scarcely out of the nursery. There was one
daughter unmarried, and she was to be presented next season. Though the
family likeness was still apparent in Lady Corisande, in general
expression she differed from her sisters. They were all alike with
their delicate aquiline noses, bright complexions, short upper lips, and
eyes of sunny light. The beauty of Lady Corisande was even more
distinguished and more regular, but whether it were the effect of her
dark-brown hair and darker eyes, her countenance had not the lustre of
the res, and its expression was grave and perhaps pensive.

The duke, though still young, and naturally of a gay and joyous
temperament, had a high sense of duty, and strong domestic feelings. He
was never wanting in his public place, and he was fond of his wife and
his children; still more, proud of them. Every day when he looked into
the glass, and gave the last touch to his consummate toilet, he offered
his grateful thanks to Providence that his family was not unworthy of
him.

His grace was accustomed to say that he had only one misfortune, and it
was a great one; he had no home. His family had married so many
heiresses, and he, consequently, possessed so many halls and castles, at
all of which, periodically, he wished, from a right feeling, to reside,
that there was no sacred spot identified with his life in which his
heart, in the bustle and tumult of existence, could take refuge.
Brentham was the original seat of his family, and he was even
passionately fond of it; but it was remarkable how very short a period
of his yearly life was passed under its stately roof. So it was his
custom always to repair to Brentham the moment the season was over, and
he would exact from his children, that, however short might be the time,
they would be his companions under those circumstances. The daughters
loved Brentham, and they loved to please their father; but the
sons-in-law, though they were what is called devoted to their wives,
and, unusual as it may seem, scarcely less attached to their legal
parents, did not fall very easily into this arrangement. The country in
August without sport was unquestionably to them a severe trial:
nevertheless, they rarely omitted making their appearance, and, if they
did occasionally vanish, sometimes to Cowes, sometimes to Switzerland,
sometimes to Norway, they always wrote to their wives, and always
alluded to their immediate or approaching return; and their letters
gracefully contributed to the fund of domestic amusement.

And yet it would be difficult to find a fairer scene than Brentham
offered, especially in the lustrous effulgence of a glorious English
summer. It was an Italian palace of freestone; vast, ornate, and in
scrupulous condition; its spacious and graceful chambers filled with
treasures of art, and rising itself from statued and stately terraces.
At their foot spread a gardened domain of considerable extent, bright
with flowers, dim with coverts of rare shrubs, and musical with
fountains. Its limit reached a park, with timber such as the midland
counties only can produce. The fallow deer trooped among its ferny
solitudes and gigantic oaks; but, beyond the waters of the broad and
winding lake, the scene became more savage, and the eye caught the dark
forms of the red deer on some jutting mount, shrinking with scorn from
communion with his gentler brethren.



CHAPTER 2


Lothair was the little boy whom the duchess remembered. He was a
posthumous child, and soon lost a devoted mother. His only relation was
one of his two guardians, a Scotch noble -- a Presbyterian and a Whig.
This uncle was a widower with some children, but they were girls, and,
though Lothair was attached to them, too young to be his companions.
Their father was a keen, hard man, honorable and just but with no
softness of heart or manner. He guarded with precise knowledge and with
unceasing vigilance over Lothair's vast inheritance, which was in many
counties and in more than one kingdom; but he educated him in a Highland
home, and when he had reached boyhood thought fit to send him to the
High School of Edinburgh. Lothair passed a monotonous, if not a dull,
life; but he found occasional solace in the scenes of a wild and
beautiful nature, and delight in all the sports of the field and forest,
in which he was early initiated and completely indulged. Although an
Englishman, he was fifteen before he re-visited his country, and then
his glimpses of England were brief, and to him scarcely satisfactory.
He was hurried sometimes to vast domains, which he heard were his own;
and sometimes whisked to the huge metropolis, where he was shown St.
Paul's and the British-Museum. These visits left a vague impression of
bustle without kindness and exhaustion without excitement; and he was
glad to get back to his glens, to the moor and the mountain-streams.

His father, in the selection of his guardians, had not contemplated this
system of education. While he secured by the appointment of his
brother-in-law, the most competent and trustworthy steward of his son's
fortune, he had depended on another for that influence which should
mould the character, guide the opinions, and form the tastes of his
child. The other guardian was a clergyman, his father's private tutor
and heart-friend; scarcely his parent's senior, but exercising over him
irresistible influence, for he was a man of shining talents and
abounding knowledge, brilliant and profound. But unhappily, shortly
after Lothair became an orphan, this distinguished man seceded from the
Anglican communion, and entered the Church of Rome. From this moment
there was war between the guardians. The uncle endeavored to drive his
colleague from the trust: in this he failed, for the priest would not
renounce his office. The Scotch noble succeeded, however, in making it
a fruitless one: he thwarted every suggestion that emanated from the
obnoxious quarter; and, indeed, the secret reason of the almost constant
residence of Lothair in Scotland, and of his harsh education, was the
fear of his relative, that the moment he crossed the border he might, by
some mysterious process, fall under the influence that his guardian so
much dreaded and detested.

There was however, a limit to these severe precautions, even before
Lothair should reach his majority. His father had expressed in his will
that his son should be educated at the University of Oxford, and at the
same college of which he had been a member. His uncle was of opinion he
complied with the spirit of this instruction by sending Lothair to the
University of Edinburgh, which would give the last tonic to his moral
system; and then commenced a celebrated chancery-suit, instituted by the
Roman Catholic guardian, in order to enforce a literal compliance with
the educational condition of the will. The uncle looked upon this
movement as a popish plot, and had recourse to every available
allegation and argument to baffle it: but ultimately in vain. With
every precaution to secure his Protestant principles, and to guard
against the influence, or even personal interference of his Roman
Catholic guardian, the lord-chancellor decided that Lothair should be
sent to Christchurch.

Here Lothair, who had never been favored with a companion of his own age
and station, soon found a congenial one in the heir of Brentham.
Inseparable in pastime, not dissociated even in study, sympathizing
companionship soon ripened into fervent friendship. They lived so much
together that the idea of separation became not only painful but
impossible; and, when vacation arrived, and Brentham was to be visited
by its future lord, what more natural than that it should be arranged
that Lothair should be a visitor to his domain?



CHAPTER 3


Although Lothair was the possessor of as many palaces and castles as the
duke himself, it is curious that his first dinner at Brentham was almost
his introduction into refined society. He had been a guest at the
occasional banquets of his uncle; but these were festivals of the Picts
and Scots; rude plenty and coarse splendor, with noise instead of
conversation, and a tumult of obstructive defendants, who impeded, by
their want of skill, the very convenience which they were purposed to
facilitate. How different the surrounding scene! A table covered with
flowers, bright with fanciful crystal, and porcelain that had belonged
to sovereigns, who had given a name to its color or its form. As for
those present, all seemed grace and gentleness, from the radiant
daughters of the house to the noiseless attendants that anticipated all
his wants, and sometimes seemed to suggest his wishes.

Lothair sat between two of the married daughters. They addressed him
with so much sympathy that he was quite enchanted. When they asked
their pretty questions and made their sparkling remarks, roses seemed to
drop from their lips, and sometimes diamonds. It was a rather large
party, for the Brentham family were so numerous that they themselves
made a festival. There were four married daughters, the duke and two
sons-in-law, a clergyman or two, and some ladies and gentlemen who were
seldom absent from this circle, and who, by their useful talents and
various accomplishments, alleviated the toil or cares of life from which
even princes are not exempt.

When the ladies had retired to the duchess's drawing-room, all the
married daughters clustered round their mother.

"Do you know, mamma, we all think him very, good-looking," said the
youngest married daughter, the wife of the listless and handsome St.
Aldegonde.

"And not at all shy," said Lady Montairy, "though reserved."

"I admire deep-blue eyes with dark lashes," said the duchess.

Notwithstanding the decision of Lady Montairy, Lothair was scarcely free
from embarrassment when he rejoined the ladies; and was so afraid of
standing alone, or talking only to men, that he was almost on the point
of finding refuge in his dinner-companions, had not he instinctively
felt that this would have been a social blunder. But the duchess
relieved him: her gracious glance caught his at the right moment, and
she rose and met him some way as he advanced. The friends had arrived
so late, that Lothair had had only time to make a reverence of ceremony
before dinner.

"It is not our first meeting," said her grace; "but that you cannot
remember."

"Indeed I do," said Lothair, "and your grace gave me a golden heart."

"How can you remember such things," exclaimed the duchess, "which I had
myself forgotten!"

"I have rather a good memory," replied Lothair; "and it is not wonderful
that I should remember this, for it is the only present that ever was
made me."

The evenings at Brentham were short, but they were sweet. It was a
musical family, without being fanatical on the subject. There was
always music, but it was not permitted that the guests should be
deprived of other amusements. But music was the basis of the evening's
campaigns. The duke himself sometimes took a second; the four married
daughters warbled sweetly; but the great performer was Lady Corisande.
When her impassioned tones sounded, there was a hushed silence in every
chamber; otherwise, many things were said and done amid accompanying
melodies, that animated without distracting even a whistplayer. The
duke himself rather preferred a game of piquet or cart with Captain
Mildmay, and sometimes retired with a troop to a distant, but still
visible, apartment, where they played with billiard-balls games which
were not billiards.

The ladies had retired, the duke had taken his glass of seltzer-water,
and had disappeared. The gentry lingered and looked at each other, as
if they were an assembly of poachers gathering for an expedition, and
then Lord St. Aldegonde, tall, fair, and languid, said to Lothair, "do
you smoke?"

"No!"

"I should have thought Bertram would have seduced you by this time.
Then let us try. Montairy will give you one of his cigarettes, so mild
that his wife never finds him out."



CHAPTER 4


The breakfast-room at Brentham was very bright. It opened on a garden
of its own, which, at this season, was so glowing, and cultured into
patterns so fanciful and finished, that it had the resemblance of a vast
mosaic. The walls of the chamber were covered with bright drawings and
sketches of our modern masters, and frames of interesting miniatures,
and the meal was served on half a dozen or more round tables, which vied
with each other in grace and merriment; brilliant as a cluster of Greek
or Italian republics, instead of a great metropolitan table, like a
central government absorbing all the genius and resources of the
society.

Every scene In this life at Brentham charmed Lothair, who, though not
conscious of being of a particularly gloomy temper, often felt that he
had, somehow or other, hitherto passed through life rarely with
pleasure, and never with joy.

After breakfast the ladies retired to their morning-room, and the
gentlemen strolled to the stables, Lord St. Aldegonde lighting a Manilla
cheroot of enormous length. As Lothair was very fond of horses, this
delighted him. The stables at Brentham were rather too far from the
house, but they were magnificent, and the stud worthy of them. It was
numerous and choice, and, above all it was useful. It could supply, a
readier number of capital riding-horses than any stable in England.
Brentham was a great riding family. In the summer season the duke
delighted to head a numerous troop, penetrate far into the country, and
scamper home to a nine-o'clock dinner. All the ladies of the house were
fond and fine horse-women. The mount of one of these riding-parties was
magical. The dames and damsels vaulted on their barbs, and genets, and
thorough-bred hacks, with such airy majesty; they were absolutely
overwhelming with their bewildering habits and their bewitching hats.

Every thing was so new in this life at Brentham to Lothair, as well as
so agreeable, that the first days passed by no means rapidly; for,
though it sounds strange, time moves with equal slowness whether we
experience many impressions or none. In a new circle every character is
a study, and every incident an adventure; and the multiplicity of the
images and emotions restrains the hours. But after a few days, though
Lothair was not less delighted, for he was more so, he was astonished at
the rapidity of time. The life was exactly the same, but equally
pleasant; the same charming companions, the same refined festivity, the
same fascinating amusements; but to his dismay Lothair recollected that
nearly a fortnight had elapsed since his arrival. Lord St. Aldegonde
also was on the wing; he was obliged to go to Cowes to see a sick
friend, though he considerately left Bertha behind him. The other
son-in-law remained, for he could not tear himself away from his wife.
He was so distractedly fond of Lady Montairy that he would only smoke
cigarettes. Lothair felt it was time to go, and he broke the
circumstance to his friend Bertram.

These two "old fellows," as they mutually described each other, could
not at all agree as to the course to be pursued. Bertram looked upon
Lothair's suggestion as an act of desertion from himself. At their time
of life, the claims of friendship are paramount. And where could
Lothair go to? And what was there to do? Nowhere, and nothing.
Whereas, if he would remain a little longer, as the duke expected and
also the duchess, Bertram would go with him anywhere he liked, and do
any thing he chose. So Lothair remained.

In the evening, seated by Lady Montairy, Lothair observed on her
sister's singing, and said, "I never heard any of our great singers, but
I cannot believe there is a finer voice in existence."

"Corisande's is a fine voice," said Lady Montairy, "but I admire her
expression more than her tone; for there are certainly many finer
voices, and some day you will hear them."

"But I prefer expression," said Lothair very decidedly.

"Ah, yes! doubtless," said Lady Montairy, who was working a purse, "and
that's what we all want, I believe; at least we married daughters, they
say. My brother, Granville St. Aldegonde, says we are all too much
alike, and that Bertha St. Aldegonde would be parallel if she had no
sisters."

"I don't at all agree with Lord St. Aldegonde," said Lothair, with
energy. "I do not think it is possible to have too many relatives like
you and your sisters."

Lady Montairy looked up with a smile, but she did not meet a smiling
countenance. He seemed, what is called an earnest young man, this
friend of her brother Bertram.

At this moment the duke sent swift messengers for all: to come, even the
duchess, to partake in a new game just arrived from Russia, some
miraculous combination of billiard-balls. Some rose directly, some
lingering a moment arranging their work, but all were in motion.
Corisande was at the piano, and disencumbering herself of some music.
Lothair went up to her rather abruptly:

"Your singing," he said, "is the finest thing I ever heard. I am so
happy that I am not going to leave Brentham to-morrow. There is no
place in the world that I think equal to Brentham."

"And I love it, too, and no other place," she replied; "and I should be
quite happy if I never left it."



CHAPTER 5


Lord Montairy was passionately devoted to croquet. He flattered himself
that he was the most accomplished male performer existing. He would
have thought absolutely the most accomplished, were it not for the
unrivalled feats of Lady Montairy. She was the queen of croquet. Her
sisters also used the mallet with admirable skill, but not like
Georgina. Lord Montairy always looked forward to his summer croquet at
Brentham. It was a great croquet family, the Brentham family; even
listless Lord St. Aldegonde would sometimes play, with a cigar never
out of his mouth. They did not object to his smoking in the air. On
the contrary, "they rather liked it." Captain Mildmay, too, was a
brilliant hand, and had written a. treatise on croquet -- the best
going.

There was a great croquet-party one morning at Brentham. Some neighbors
had been invited who loved the sport. Mr. Blenkinsop a grave young
gentleman, whose countenance never relaxed while he played, and who was
understood, to give his mind entirely up to croquet. He was the owner
of the largest estate in the county, and it was thought would have very
much liked to have allied himself with one of the young ladies of the
house of Brentham; but these flowers were always plucked so quickly,
that his relations with the distinguished circle never grew more
intimate than croquet. He drove over with some fine horses, and several
cases and bags containing instruments and weapons for the fray. His
sister came with him, who had forty thousand pounds, but, they said, in
some mysterious manner dependent on his consent to her marriage; and it
was added that Mr. Blenkinsop would not allow his sister to marry
because he would miss her so much in his favorite pastime. There were
some other morning visitors, and one or two young curates in cassocks.

It seemed to Lothair a game of great deliberation and of more interest
than gayety, though sometimes a cordial cheer, and sometimes a ringing
laugh of amiable derision, notified a signal triumph or a disastrous
failure. But the scene was brilliant: a marvellous lawn, the duchess's
Turkish tent with its rich hangings, and the players themselves, the
prettiest of all the spectacle, with their coquettish hats, and their
half-veiled and half-revealed under-raiment scarlet and silver, or blue
and gold, made up a sparkling and modish scene.

Lothair, who had left the players for a while, and was regaining the
lawn, met the duchess.

"Your grace is not going to leave us, I hope?" he said, rather
anxiously.

"For a moment. I have long promised to visit the new dairy; and I think
this a good opportunity."

"I wish I might be your companion," said Lothair; and, invited, he was
by her grace's side.

They turned into a winding walk of thick and fragrant shrubs, and, after
a while, they approached a dell, surrounded with, high trees that
environed it with perpetual shade; in the centre of the dell was
apparently a Gothic shrine, fair in design and finished in execution,
and this was the duchess's new dairy. A pretty sight is a first-rate
dairy, with its flooring of fanciful tiles, and its cool and shrouded
chambers, its stained windows and its marble slabs, and porcelain pans
of cream, and plenteous platters of fantastically-formed butter.

"Mrs. Woods and her dairy-maids look like a Dutch picture," said the
duchess. "Were you ever in Holland?"

"I have never been anywhere," said Lothair.

"You should travel," said the duchess.

"I have no wish," said Lothair.

"The duke has given me some Coreean fowls," said the duchess to Mrs.
Woods, when they had concluded their visit. "Do you think you could
take care of them for me?"

"Well, Grace, I am sure I will do my best; but then they are very,
troublesome, and I was not fortunate with my Cochin. I had rather they
were sent to the aviary, Grace, if it were all the same."

"I should so like to see the aviary," said Lothair.

"Well, we will go."

And this rather extended their walk, and withdrew them more from the
great amusement of the day.

"I wish your grace would do me a great favor," said Lothair, abruptly
breaking a rather prolonged silence.

"And what is that?" said the duchess.

"It is a very great favor," repeated Lothair.

"If it be in my power to grant it, its magnitude would only be an
additional recommendation."

"Well," said Lothair, blushing deeply, and speaking with much agitation,
"I would ask your grace's permission to offer my hand to your daughter."

The duchess I looked amazed. "Corisande!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, to Lady Corisande."

"Corisande," replied the duchess, after a pause, "has absolutely not yet
entered the world. Corisande is a child; and you -- you, my dear friend
-- I am sure you will pardon me If I say, so -- you are not very much
older than Corisande."

"I have no wish to enter the world," said Lothair, with much decision.

"I am not an enemy to youthful marriages," said the duchess. "I married
early myself, and my children married early; and I am very happy, and I
hope they are; but some experience of society before we settle is most
desirable, and is one of the conditions, I cannot but believe, of that
felicity which we all seek."

"I hate society," said Lothair. "I would never go out of my domestic
circle, if it were the circle I contemplate."

"My dear young friend," said the duchess, "you could hardly have seen
enough of society to speak with so much decision."

"I have seen quite enough of it," said Lothair. "I went to an evening
party last season -- I came up from Christchurch on purpose for it --
and if ever they catch me at another, they shall inflict any penalty
they please."