F. M. McMurry - "How To Study and Teaching How To Study"

Harry Leon Wilson - "Merton of the Movies"

Henry Thomas Hamblin - "Within You is the Power"

(H)erbert (G)eorge Wells - "Little Wars"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
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Books: Lothair

B >> Benjamin Disraeli >> Lothair




This announcement, however, produced consternation in the opposite camp.
It seemed to more than neutralize the anticipated effect of the
programme, and the deftly-conceived paragraph. Monsignore Catesby went
about whispering that he feared Lothair was going to overdo it; and
considering what he had to go through on Monday, if it were only for
considerations of health, an early celebration was inexpedient. He
tried the duchess -- about whom he was beginning to hover a good deal --
as he fancied she was of an impressible disposition, and gave some
promise of results; but here the ground had been too forcibly
preoccupied: then he flew to Lady St. Aldegonde, but he had the
mortification of learning, from her lips, that she herself contemplated
being a communicant at the same time. Lady Corisande had been before
him. All the energies of that young lady were put forth in order that
Lothair should be countenanced on this solemn occasion. She conveyed to
the bishop before dinner the results of her exertions.

"You may count on Alberta St. Aldegonde and Victoria Montairy, and, I
think, Lord Montairy also, if she presses him, which she has promised to
do. Bertram must kneel by his friend at such a time. I think Lord
Carisbrooke may: Duke of Brecon, I can say nothing about at present."

"Lord St. Aldegonde?" said the bishop.

Lady Corisande shook her head.

There had been a conclave in the bishop's room before dinner, in which
the interview of the morning was discussed.

"It was successful; scarcely satisfactory," said the bishop. "He is a
very clever fellow, and knows a great deal. They have got hold of him,
and he has all the arguments at his fingers' ends. When I came to the
point, he began to demur; I saw what was passing through his mind, and I
said at once: 'Your views are high: so are mine: so are those of the
Church. It is a sacrifice, undoubtedly, in a certain sense. No sound
theologian would maintain the simplicity of the elements; but that does
not involve the coarse interpretation of the dark ages.'"

"Good, good," said the archdeacon; "and what is it your lordship did not
exactly like?"

"He fenced too much; and he said more than once, and in a manner I did
not like, that, whatever were his views as to the Church, he thought he
could on the whole conscientiously partake of this rite as administered
by the Church of England."

"Every thing depends on this celebration," said the chaplain; "after
that his doubts and difficulties will dispel."

"We must do our best that he is well supported," said the archdeacon.

"No fear of that," said the bishop. "I have spoken to some of our
friends. We may depend on the duchess and her daughters -- all
admirable women; and they will do what they can with others. It will be
a busy day, but I have expressed my hope that the heads of the household
may be able to attend. But the county notables arrive to-day, and I
shall make it a point with them, especially the lord-lieutenant."

"It should be known," said the chaplain. "I will send a memorandum to
the Guardian."

"And John Bull," said the bishop.

The lord-lieutenant and Lady Agramont, and their daughter, Lady Ida
Alice, arrived to-day; and the high-sheriff, a manufacturer, a great
liberal who delighted in peers, but whose otherwise perfect felicity
to-day was a little marred and lessened by the haunting and restless
fear that Lothair was not duly aware that he took precedence of the
lord-lieutenant. Then there were Sir Hamlet Clotworthy, the master of
the hounds, and a capital man of business; and the Honorable Lady
Clotworthy, a haughty dame who ruled her circle with tremendous airs
and graces, but who was a little subdued in the empyrean of Muriel
Towers. The other county member, Mr. Ardenne, was a refined gentleman,
and loved the arts. He had an ancient pedigree, and knew everybody
else's, which was not always pleasant. What he most prided himself on
was being the hereditary owner of a real deer -- park the only one, he
asserted, in the county. Other persons had parks which had deer in
them, but that was quite a different thing. His wife was a pretty
woman, and the inspiring genius of archeological societies, who loved
their annual luncheon in her Tudor Halls, and illustrated by their
researches the deeds and dwellings of her husband's ancient race.

The clergy of the various parishes on the estate all dined at the Towers
to-day, in order to pay their respects to their bishop. "Lothair's
oecumenical council," said Hugo Bohun, as he entered the crowded room,
and looked around him with an air of not ungraceful impertinence. Among
the clergy was Mr. Smylie, the brother of Apollonia.

A few years ago, Mr. Putney Giles had not unreasonably availed himself
of the position which he so usefully and so honorably filled, to
recommend this gentleman to the guardians of Lothair to fill a vacant
benefice. The Reverend Dionysius Smylie had distinguished himself at
Trinity College, Dublin, and had gained a Hebrew scholarship there;
after that he had written a work on the Revelations, which clearly
settled the long-controverted point whether Rome in the great apocalypse
was signified by Babylon. The bishop shrugged his shoulders when he
received Mr. Smylie's papers, the examining chaplain sighed, and the
archdeacon groaned. But man is proverbially short-sighted. The
doctrine of evolution affords no instances so striking as those of
sacerdotal development. Placed under the favoring conditions of clime
and soil, the real character of the Reverend Dionysius Smylie gradually,
but powerfully, developed itself. Where he now ministered, he was
attended by acolytes, and incensed by thurifers. The shoulders of a
fellow countryman were alone equal to the burden of the enormous cross
which preceded him; while his ecclesiastical wardrobe furnished him with
many colored garments, suited to every season of the year, and every
festival of the Church.

At first there was indignation, and rumors or prophecies that we should
soon have another case of perversion, and that Mr. Smylie was going over
to Rome; but these superficial commentators misapprehended the vigorous
vanity of the man. "Rome may come to me," said Mr. Smylie, "and it is
perhaps the best thing it could do. This is the real Church without
Romish error."

The bishop and his reverend stuff, who were at first so much annoyed at
the preferment of Mr. Smylie, had now, with respect to him, only one
duty, and that was to restrain his exuberant priestliness; but they
fulfilled that duty in a kindly and charitable spirit; and, when the
Reverend Dionysius Smylie was appointed chaplain to Lothair, the bishop
did not shrug his shoulders, the chaplain did not sigh, nor the
archdeacon groan.

The party was so considerable to-day that they dined in the great hall.
When it was announced to Lothair that his lordship's dinner was served,
and he offered his arm to his destined companion, he looked around, and,
then in an audible voice, and with a stateliness becoming such an
incident, called upon the high-sheriff to lead the duchess to the table.
Although that eminent personage had been thinking of nothing else for
days, and during the last half-hour had felt as a man feels, and can
only feel, who knows that some public function is momentarily about to
fall to his perilous discharge, he was taken quite aback, changed color,
and lost his head. But the band of Lothair, who were waiting at the
door of the apartment to precede the procession to the hall, striking up
at this moment "The Roast Beef of Old England," reanimated his heart;
and, following Lothair, and preceding all the other guests down the
gallery, and through many chambers, he experienced the proudest moment
of a life of struggle, ingenuity, vicissitude, and success.



CHAPTER 45


Under all this flowing festivity there was already a current of struggle
and party passion. Serious thoughts and some anxiety occupied the minds
of several of the guests, amid the variety of proffered dishes and
sparkling wines, and the subdued strains of delicate music. This
disquietude did not touch Lothair. He was happy to find himself in his
ancestral hall, surrounded by many whom he respected, and by some whom
he loved. He was an excellent host, which no one can be who does not
combine a good heart with high breeding.

Theodora was rather far from him, but be could catch her grave, sweet
countenance at an angle of the table, as she bowed her head to Mr.
Ardenne, the county member, who was evidently initiating her in all the
mysteries of deer-parks. The cardinal sat near him, winning over,
though without apparent effort, the somewhat prejudiced Lady Agramont.
His eminence could converse with more facility than others, for he dined
off biscuits and drank only water.

Lord Culloden had taken out Lady St. Jerome, who expended on him all the
resources of her impassioned tittle-tattle, extracting only grim smiles;
and Lady Corisande had fallen to the happy lot of the Duke of Brecon;
according to the fine perception of Clare Arundel -- and women are very
quick in these discoveries -- the winning horse. St. Aldegonde had
managed to tumble in between Lady Flora and Lady Grizell, and seemed
immensely amused.

The duke inquired of Lothair how many he could dine in his hall.

"We must dine more than two hundred on Monday," he replied.

"And now, I should think, we have only a third of that number," said his
grace. "It will be a tight fit."

"Mr. Putney Giles has had a drawing made, and every seat apportioned.
We shall just do it."

"I fear you will have too busy a day on Monday," said the cardinal, who
had caught up the conversation.

"Well, you know, sir, I do not sit up smoking with Lord St. Aldegonde."

After dinner, Lady Corisande seated herself by Mrs. Campian. "You must
have thought me very rude," she said, "to have left you so suddenly at
tea, when the bishop looked into the room; but he wanted me on a matter
of the greatest importance. I must, therefore, ask your pardon. You
naturally would not feel on this matter as we all do, or most of us do,"
she added with some hesitation; "being -- pardon me -- a foreigner, and
the question involving national as well as religious feelings;" and
then, somewhat hurriedly, but with emotion, she detailed to Theodora all
that had occurred respecting the early celebration on Monday, and the
opposition it was receiving from the cardinal and his friends. It was a
relief to Lady Corisande thus to express all her feelings on a subject
on which she had been brooding the whole day.

"You mistake," said Theodora, quietly, when Lady Corisande had finished.
"I am much interested in what you tell me. I should deplore our friend
falling under the influence of the Romish priesthood."

"And yet there is danger of it," said Lady Corisande, "more than
danger," she added in a low but earnest voice. "You do not know what a
conspiracy is going on, and has been going on for months, to effect this
end. I tremble."

"That is the last thing I ever do," said Theodora, with a faint, sweet
smile. "I hope, but I never tremble."

"You have seen the announcement in the newspapers to-day!" said Lady
Corisande.

"I think, if they were certain of their prey, they would be more
reserved," said Theodora.

"There is something in that," said Lady Corisande, musingly. "You know
not what a relief it is to me to speak to you on this matter. Mamma
agrees with me, and so do my sisters; but still they may agree with me
because they are my mamma and my sisters; but I look upon our nobility
joining the Church of Rome as the greatest calamity that has ever
happened to England. Irrespective of all religious considerations, on
which I will not presume to touch, it is an abnegation of patriotism;
and in this age, when all things are questioned, a love of our country
seems to me the one sentiment to cling to."

"I know no higher sentiment," said Theodora in a low voice, and yet
which sounded like the breathing of some divine shrine, and her Athenian
eye met the fiery glance of Lady Corisande with an expression of noble
sympathy.

"I am so glad that I spoke to you on this matter," said Lady Corisande,
"for there is something in you which encourages me. As you say, if they
were certain, they would be silent; and yet, from what I hear, their
hopes are high. You know," she added in a whisper, "that he has
absolutely engaged to raise a popish cathedral. My brother, Bertram,
has seen the model in his rooms."

"I have known models that were never realized," said Theodora.

"Ah! you are hopeful; you said you were hopeful. It is a beautiful
disposition. It is not mine," she added, with a sigh.

"It should be," said Theodora; "you were not born to sigh. Sighs should
be for those who have no country, like myself; not for the daughters of
England -- the beautiful daughters of proud England."

"But you have your husband's country, and that is proud and great."

"I have only one country, and it is not my husband's; and I have only
one thought, and it is to set it free."

"It is a noble one," said Lady Corisande, "as I am sure are all your
thoughts. There are the gentlemen; I am sorry they have come. There,"
she added, as Monsignore Catesby entered the room, "there is his evil
genius."

"But you have baffled him," said Theodora.

"Ah," said Lady Corisande, with a long-drawn sigh. "Their manoeuvres
never cease. However, I think Monday must be safe. Would you come?"
she said, with a serious, searching glance, and in a kind of coaxing
murmur.

"I should be an intruder, my dear lady," said Theodora, declining the
suggestion; "but, so far as hoping that our friend will never join the
Church of Rome, you will have ever my ardent wishes."

Theodora might have added her belief, for Lothair had never concealed
from her a single thought or act of his life in this respect. She knew
all and had weighed every thing, and flattered herself that their
frequent and unreserved conversations had not confirmed his belief in
the infallibility of the Church of Rome, and perhaps of some other
things.

It had been settled that there should be dancing this evening -- all the
young ladies had wished it. Lothair danced with Lady Flora Falkirk, and
her sister, Lady Grizell, was in the same quadrille. They moved about
like young giraffes in an African forest, but looked bright and happy.
Lothair liked his cousins; their inexperience and innocence, and the
simplicity with which they exhibited and expressed their feelings, had
in them something bewitching. Then the rough remembrance of his old
life at Falkirk and its contrast with the present scene had in it
something stimulating. They were his juniors by several years, but they
were always gentle and kind to him; and sometimes it seemed he was the
only person whom they, too, had found kind and gentle. He called his
cousin, too, by her Christian name, and he was amused, standing by this
beautiful giantess, and calling her Flora. There were other amusing
circumstances in the quadrille; not the least, Lord St. Aldegonde
dancing with Mrs. Campian. The wonder of Lady St. Aldegonde was only
equalled by her delight.

The lord-lieutenant was standing by the duke, in a comer of the saloon,
observing, not with dissatisfaction, his daughter, Lady Ida Alice,
dancing with Lothair.

"Do you know this is the first time I ever had the honor of meeting a
cardinal?" he said.

"And we never expected that it would happen to either of us in this
country when we were at Christchurch together," replied the duke.

"Well, I hope every thing is for the best," said Lord Agramont. "We are
to have all these gentlemen in our good city of Grandchester,
to-morrow."

"So I understand."

"You read that paragraph in the newspapers? Do you think there is any
thing in it?"

"About our friend? It would be a great misfortune."

"The bishop says there is nothing in it," said the lord-lieutenant.

"Well, he ought to know. I understand he has had some serious
conversation recently with our friend?"

"Yes; he has spoken to me about it. Are you going to attend the early
celebration tomorrow? It is not much to my taste; a little new-fangled,
I think; but I shall go, as they say it will do good."

"I am glad of that; it is well that he should be impressed at this
moment with the importance and opinion of his county."

"Do you know I never saw him before?" said the lord-lieutenant. "He is
winning."

"I know no youth," said the duke, "I would not except my own son, and
Bertram has never given me an uneasy moment, of whom I have a better
opinion, both as to heart and head. I should deeply deplore his being
smashed by a Jesuit."

The dancing had ceased for a moment; there was a stir; Lord Carisbrooke
was enlarging, with unusual animation, to an interested group, about a
new dance at Paris -- the new dance. Could they not have it here?
Unfortunately, he did not know its name, and could not describe its
figure; but it was something new; quite new; they got it at Paris.
Princess Metternich dances it. He danced it with her, and she taught it
him; only he never could explain any thing, and indeed never did exactly
make it out. "But you danced it with a shawl, and then two ladies hold
the shawl, and the cavaliers pass under it. In fact, it is the only
thing; it is the new dance at Paris."

What a pity that any thing so delightful should be so indefinite and
perplexing, and indeed impossible, which rendered it still more
desirable! If Lord Carisbrooke only could have remembered its name, or
a single step in its figure -- it was so tantalizing!

"Do not you think so?" said Hugo Bohun to Mrs. Campian, who was sitting
apart, listening to Lord St. Aldegonde's account of his travels in the
United States, which he was very sorry he ever quitted. And then they
inquired to what Mr. Bohun referred, and then he told them all that had
been said.

"I know what he means," said Mrs. Campian. "It is not a French dance;
it is a Moorish dance."

"That woman knows everything, Hugo," said Lord St. Aldegonde in a solemn
whisper. And then he called to his wife. "Bertha, Mrs. Campian will
tell you all about this dance that Carisbrooke is making such a mull of.
Now, look here, Bertha; you must get the Campians to come to us as soon
as possible. They are going to Scotland from this place, and there is
no reason, if you manage it well, why they should not come on to us at
once. Now, exert yourself."

"I will do all I can, Granville."

"It is not French, it is Moorish; it is called the Tangerine," said
Theodora to her surrounding votaries. "You begin with a circle."

"But how are we to dance without the music?" said Lady Montairy.

"Ah! I wish I had known this," said Theodora, "before dinner, and I
think I could have dotted down something that would have helped us. But
let me see," and she went up to the eminent professor, with whom she was
well acquainted, and said, "Signor Ricci, it begins so," and she hummed
divinely a fantastic air, which, after a few moments' musing, he
reproduced; "and then it goes off into what they call in Spain a
saraband. Is there a shawl in the room?"

"My mother has always a shawl in reserve," said Bertram, "particularly
when she pays visits to houses where there are galleries;" and he
brought back a mantle of Cashmere.

"Now, Signor Ricci," said Mrs. Campian, and she again hummed an air, and
moved forward at the same time with brilliant grace, waving at the end
the shawl.

The expression of her countenance, looking round to Signor Ricci, as she
was moving on to see whether he had caught her idea, fascinated Lothair.

"It is exactly what I told you," said Lord Carisbrooke, "and, I can
assure you, it is the only dance now. I am very glad I remembered it."

"I see it all," said Signor Ricci, as Theodora rapidly detailed to him
the rest of the figure. "And at any rate it will be the Tangerine with
variations."

"Let me have the honor of being your partner in this great enterprise,"
said Lothair; "you are the inspiration of Muriel."

"Oh! I am very glad I can do any thing, however slight, to please you
and your friends. I like them all; but particularly Lady Corisande."

A new dance in a country-house is a festival of frolic grace. The
incomplete knowledge, and the imperfect execution, are themselves causes
of merry excitement, in their contrast with the unimpassioned routine
and almost unconscious practice of traditionary performances. And gay
and frequent were the bursts of laughter from the bright and airy band
who were proud to be the scholars of Theodora. The least successful
among them was perhaps Lord Carisbrooke.

"Princess Metternich must have taught you wrong, Carisbrooke," said Hugo
Bohun.

They ended with a waltz, Lothair dancing with Miss Arundel. She
accepted his offer to take some tea on its conclusion. While they were
standing at the table, a little withdrawn from the others, and he
holding a sugar-basin, she said in a low voice, looking on her cup and
not at him, "the cardinal is vexed about the early celebration; he says
it should have been at midnight."

"I am sorry he is vexed," said Lothair.

"He was going to speak to you himself," continued Miss Arundel; "but he
felt a delicacy about it. He had thought that your common feelings
respecting the Church might have induced you if not to consult, at least
to converse, with him on the subject; I mean as your guardian."

"It might have been perhaps as well," said Lothair; "but I also feel a
delicacy on these matters."

"There ought to be none on such matters," continued Miss Arundel, "when
every thing is at stake."

"I do not see that I could have taken any other course than I have
done," said .Lothair. "It can hardly be wrong. The bishop's church
views are sound."

"Sound!" said Miss Arundel; "moonshine instead of sunshine."

"Moonshine would rather suit a midnight than a morning celebration,"
said Lothair; "would it not?"

"A fair repartee, but we are dealing with a question that cannot be
settled by jests. See," she said with great seriousness, putting down
her cup and taking again his offered arm, "you think you are only
complying with a form befitting your position and the occasion. You
deceive yourself. You are hampering your future freedom by this step,
and they know it. That is why it was planned. It was not necessary;
nothing can be necessary so pregnant with evil. You might have made,
you might yet make, a thousand excuses. It is a rite which hardly suits
the levity of the hour, even with their feelings; but, with your view of
its real character, it is sacrilege. What at is occurring tonight might
furnish you with scruples?" And she looked up in his face.

"I think you take an exaggerated view of what I contemplate," said
Lothair. "Even with your convictions, it may be an imperfect rite; but
it never can be an injurious one."

"There can be no compromise on such matters," said Miss Arundel. "The
Church knows nothing of imperfect rites. They are all perfect, because
they are all divine; any deviation from them is heresy, and fatal. My
convictions on this subject are your convictions; act up to them."

"I am sure, if thinking of these matters would guide a man right -- "
said Lothair, with a sigh, and he stopped.

"Human thought will never guide you; and very justly, when you have for
a guide Divine truth. You are now your own master; go at once to its
fountain-head; go to Rome, and then all your perplexities will vanish,
and forever."

"I do not see much prospect of my going to Rome," said Lothair, "at
least at present."

"Well," said Miss Arundel, "in a few weeks I hope to be there; and if
so, I hope never to quit it."

"Do not say that; the future is always unknown."

"Not yours," said Miss Arundel. "Whatever you think, you will go to
Rome. Mark my words. I summon you to meet me at Rome."



CHAPTER 46


There can be little doubt, generally speaking, that it is more
satisfactory to pass Sunday in the country than in town. There is
something in the essential stillness of country-life, which blends
harmoniously with the ordinance of the most divine of our divine laws.
It is pleasant, too, when the congregation breaks up, to greet one's
neighbors; to say kind words to kind faces; to hear some rural news
profitable to learn, which sometimes enables you to do some good, and
sometimes prevents others from doing some harm. A quiet, domestic walk,
too, in the afternoon, has its pleasures; and so numerous and so various
are the sources of interest in the country, that, though it be Sunday,
there is no reason why your walk should not have an object.

But Sunday in the country, with your house full of visitors, is too
often an exception to this general truth. It is a trial. Your guests
cannot always be at church, and, if they could, would not like it.
There is nothing to interest or amuse them; no sport; no castles or
factories to visit; no adventurous expeditions; no gay music in the
morn, and no light dance in the evening. There is always danger of the
day becoming a course of heavy meals and stupid walks, for the external
scene and all teeming circumstances, natural and human, though full of
concern to you, are to your visitors an insipid blank.