Phillipe de Massa - "Zibeline, v3"

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New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
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PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

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Books: Lothair

B >> Benjamin Disraeli >> Lothair




"I fear it was a stupid party," said the duchess, smiling, and glad to
turn, if possible, the conversation into a lighter vein.

"No, it was a very grand party, I believe, and not exactly stupid -- it
was not, that; but I was disgusted with all I saw and all I heard. It
seemed to me a mass of affectation, falsehood, and malignity."

"Oh! dear," said the duchess, "how very dreadful! But I did not mean
merely going to parties for society; I meant knowledge of the world, and
that experience which enables us to form sound opinions on the affairs
of life."

"Oh! as for that," said Lothair, "my, opinions are already formed on
every subject; that is to say, every subject of importance; and, what is
more, they will never change."

"I could not say that of Corisande," said the duchess.

"I think we agree on all the great things," said Lothair, musingly.
"Her church views may be a little higher than mine, but I do not
anticipate any permanent difficulty on that head. Although my uncle
made me go to kirk, I always hated it and always considered myself a
churchman. Then, as to churches themselves, she is in favor of building
churches, and so am I; and schools -- there is no quantity of schools I
would not establish. My opinion is, you cannot have too much education,
provided it be founded on a religious basis. I would sooner renounce
the whole of my inheritance than consent to secular education."

"I should be sorry to see any education but a religious education,"
remarked the duchess.

"Well, then," said Lothair, "that is our life, or a great part of it.
To complete it, here is that to which I really wish to devote my
existence, and in which I instinctively feel Lady Corisande would
sympathize with me -- the extinction of pauperism."

"That is a vast subject;" said the duchess.

"It is the terror of Europe and the disgrace of Britain," said Lothair;
"and I am resolved to grapple with it. It seems to me that pauperism is
not an affair so much of wages as of dwellings. If the working-classes
were properly lodged, at their present rate of wages, they would be
richer. They would be healthier and happier at the same cost. I am so
convinced of this, that the moment I am master, I shall build two
thousand cottages on any estates. I have the designs already."

"I am much in favor of improved dwellings for the poor," said the
duchess; "but then you must take care that your dwellings are cottages,
and not villas like my cousin's, the Duke of Luton."

"I do not think I shall make that mistake," replied Lothair. "It
constantly engages my thought. I am wearied of hearing of my wealth,
and I am conscious it has never brought me any happiness. I have lived
a great deal alone, dearest duchess, and thought much of these things,
but I feel now I should be hardly equal to the effort, unless I had a
happy home to, fall back upon."

"And you will have a happy home in due time," said the duchess; "and
with such good and great thoughts you deserve one. But take the advice
of one who loved your mother, and who would extend to you the same
affection as to her own children; before you take a step which cannot be
recalled, see a little more of the world."

Lothair shook his head. "No," he said, after a pause. "My idea of
perfect society is being married as I propose, and paying visits to
Brentham; and when the visits to Brentham ceased, then I should like you
and the duke to pay visits to us."

"But that would be a fairy-tale," said the duchess.

So they walked on in silence.

Suddenly and abruptly Lothair turned to the duchess and said, "Does your
grace see objection to my speaking to your daughter?"

"Dear friend, indeed, yes. What you would say would only agitate and
disturb Corisande. Her character is not yet formed, and its future is
perplexing, at least to me," murmured the mother. "She has not the
simple nature of her sisters. It is a deeper and more complicated mind,
and I watch its development with fond, but anxious interest." Then, in
a lighter tone, she added, "You do not know very much of us. Try to
know more. Everybody under this roof views you with regard, and you are
the brother friend of our eldest son. Wherever we are, you will always
find a home; but do not touch again upon this subject, at least at
present, for it distresses me." And then she took his arm, and pressed
it, and by this time they had gained the croquet-ground.



CHAPTER 6


One of the least known squares in London is Hexham Square, though it is
one of the oldest. Not that it is very remote from the throng of
existence, but it is isolated in a dingy district of silent and decaying
streets. Once it was a favored residence of opulence and power, and its
architecture still indicates its former and prouder destiny. But its
noble mansions are now divided and broken up into separate dwellings, or
have been converted into chambers and offices. Lawyers, and architects,
and agents, dwell in apartments where the richly-sculptured
chimney-pieces, the carved and gilded pediments over the doors, and
sometimes even the painted ceilings, tell a tale of vanished stateliness
and splendor.

A considerable portion of the north side of the square is occupied by
one house standing in a courtyard, with iron gates to the thoroughfare.
This is Hexham House, and where Lord Hexham lived in the days of the
first Georges. It is reduced in size since his time, two considerable
wings, having been pulled down about sixty years ago, and their
materials employed in building some residences of less pretension. But
the body of the dwelling-house remains, and the court-yard, though
reduced in size, has been retained.

Hexham House has an old oak entrance-hall panelled with delicacy, and
which has escaped the rifling of speculators in furniture; and out of it
rises a staircase of the same material, of a noble character, adorned
occasionally with figures; armorial animals holding shields, and
sometimes a grotesque form rising from fruits and flowers, all doubtless
the work of some famous carver. The staircase led to a corridor, on
which several doors open, and through one of these, at the moment of our
history, a man, dressed in a dark cassock, and holding a card in his
hand, was entering a spacious chamber, meagrely, but not shabbily,
furnished. There was a rich cabinet and a fine picture. In the next
room, not less spacious, but which had a more inhabited look, a cheerful
fire, tables covered with books and papers, and two individuals busily
at work with their pens; he gave the card to a gentleman who wore also
the cassock, and who stood before the fire with a book in his hand, and
apparently dictating to one of the writers.

"Impossible!" said the gentleman shaking his head; "I could not even go
in, as Monsignore Berwick is with his eminence."

"But what shall I do?" said the attendant; "his eminence said that when
Mr. Giles called he never was to be denied."

"The monsignore has been here a long time; you must beg Mr. Giles to
wait. Make him comfortable; give him a newspaper; not the Tablet, the
Times; men like Mr. Giles love reading the advertisements. Or stop,
give him this, his eminence's lecture on geology; it will show him the
Church has no fear of science. Ah! there's my bell; Mr. Giles will not
have to wait long." So saying, the gentleman put down his volume and
disappeared, through an antechamber, into a farther apartment.

It was a library, of moderate dimensions, and yet its well-filled
shelves contained all the weapons of learning and controversy which the
deepest and the most active of ecclesiastical champions could require.
It was unlike modern libraries, for it was one in which folios greatly
predominated; and they stood in solemn and sometimes magnificent array,
for they bore, many of them, on their ancient though costly bindings,
the proofs that they had belonged to many a prince and even sovereign of
the Church. Over the mantel-piece hung a portrait of his holiness Pius
IX., and on the table, in the midst of many papers, was an ivory
crucifix.

The master of the library had risen from his seat when the chief
secretary entered, and was receiving an obeisance. Above the middle
height, his stature seemed magnified by the attenuation of his form. It
seemed that the soul never had so frail and fragile a tenement. He was
dressed in a dark cassock with a red border, and wore scarlet stockings;
and over his cassock a purple tippet, and on his breast a small golden
cross. His countenance was naturally of an extreme pallor, though at
this moment slightly flushed with the animation of a deeply-interesting
conference. His cheeks were hollow, and his gray eyes seemed sunk into
his clear and noble brow, but they flashed with irresistible
penetration. Such was Cardinal Grandison.

"All that I can do is," said his eminence, when his visitor was, ushered
out, and slightly shrugging his shoulders, "is to get it postponed until
I go to Rome, and even then I must not delay my visit. This crossing
the Alps in winter is a trial -- but we must never repine; and there is
nothing which we must not encounter to prevent incalculable mischief.
The publication of the Scotch hierarchy at this moment will destroy the
labors of years. And yet they will not see it! I cannot conceive who
is urging them, for I am sure they must have some authority from home.
-- You have something for me, Chidioch," he added inquiringly, for his
keen eye caught the card.

"I regret to trouble your eminence when you need repose, but the bearer
of this card seems to have been importunate, and to have appealed to,
your name and personal orders;" and he gave the cardinal the card.

"Yes," said the cardinal, looking at the card with much interest; "this
is a person I must always see."

And so, in due course, they ushered into the library a gentleman with a
crimson and well-stuffed bag, of a composed yet cheerful .aspect, who
addressed the cardinal with respect but without embarrassment, saying,
"I am ashamed to trouble your eminence with only matters of form --
absolutely mere matters of form; but I obey, Sir, your own
instructions."

"It is not for me to depreciate form," replied the cardinal; "and in
business there are no mere matters of form."

"Merely the wood accounts," continued the visitor; "they must be
approved by both the guardians or the money cannot be received by the
bankers. Your eminence, you see, has sanctioned the felling, and
authorized the sales, and these are the final accounts, which must be
signed before we pay in."

"Give them to me," said the cardinal, stretching out both his hands as
he received a mass of paper folios. His eminence resumed his chair, and
hastily examined the sheets. "Ah!" he said, "no ordinary felling -- it
reaches, over seven counties. By-the-by, Bracewood Forest -- what about
the enclosure? I have heard no more of it." Then, murmuring to himself
-- "Grentham Wood -- how well I remember Grentham Wood, with his dear
father!"

"If we could sign today," said the visitor in a tone of professional
cajolery; "time is important."

"And if shall not be wasted," replied the cardinal. "But I must look
over the accounts. I doubt not all is quite regular, but I wish to make
myself a little familiar with the scene of action; perhaps to recall the
past," he added. "You shall have them to-morrow, Mr. Giles."

"Your eminence will have very different accounts to settle in a short
time," said Mr. Giles, smiling. "We are hard at work; it takes three of
our clerks constantly occupied."

"But you have yet got time."

"I don't know that," said Mr. Giles. "The affairs are very large. And
the mines -- they give us the greatest trouble. Our Mr. James Roundell
was two months in Wales last year about them. It took up the whole of
his vacation. And your eminence must remember that time flies. In less
than eight months he will be of age."

"Very true," said the cardinal; "time indeed flies, and so much to be
done! By-the-by, Mr. Giles, have you by any chance heard any thing
lately of my child?"

"I have heard of him a good deal of late, for a client of ours, Lord
Montairy, met him at Brentham this summer, and was a long time there
with him. After that, I hear, he went deer-stalking with some of his
young friends; but he is not very fond of Scotland; had rather too much
of it, I suspect; but the truth is, sir, I saw him this very day."

"Indeed!"

"Some affairs have brought him up to town, and I rather doubt whether he
will return to Oxford -- at least, so he talks."

"Ah! I have never seen him since he was an infant, I might say," said
the cardinal. "I suppose I shall see him again, if only when I resign
my trust; but I know not. And yet few things would be more interesting
to me than to meet him!"

Mr. Giles seemed moved, for him almost a little embarrassed; he seemed
to blush, and then he cleared his throat. "It would be too great a
liberty," said Mr. Giles, "I feel that very much -- and yet, if your
eminence would condescend, though I hardly suppose it possible, his
lordship is really going to do us the honor of dining with us to-day;
only a few friends, and if your eminence could make the sacrifice, and
it were not an act of too great presumption, to ask your eminence to
join our party."

"I never eat and I never drink," said the cardinal. "I am sorry, to say
I cannot. I like dinner society very much. You see the world, and you
hear things which you do not hear otherwise. For a time I presumed to
accept invitations, though I sat with an empty plate, but, though the
world was indulgent to me, I felt that my habits were an embarrassment
to the happier feasters: it was not fair, and so I gave it up. But I
tell you what, Mr. Giles: I shall be in your quarter this evening:
perhaps you would permit me to drop in and pay my respects to Mrs. Giles
-- I have wished to do so before."



CHAPTER 7


Mr. Giles was a leading partner in the firm of Roundells, Giles, and
Roundell, among the most eminent solicitors of Lincoln's Inn. He, in
those days of prolonged maturity, might be described as still a young
man. He had inherited from his father not only a large share in a
first-rate business, but no inconsiderable fortune; and though he had,
in her circles, a celebrated wife, he had no children. He was opulent
and prosperous, with no cares and anxieties of his own, and loved his
profession, for which he was peculiarly qualified, being a man of
uncommon sagacity, very difficult to deceive, and yet one who
sympathized with his clients, who were all personally attached to him,
and many of whom were among the distinguished personages of the realm.

During an important professional visit to Ireland, Mr. Giles had made
the acquaintance of Miss Apollonia Smylie, the niece of an Irish peer;
and, though the lady was much admired and courted, had succeeded, after
a time, in inducing her to become the partner of his life.

Mrs. Giles, or, as she described herself, Mrs. Putney Giles, taking
advantage of a second and territorial Christian name of her husband, was
a showy woman; decidedly handsome, unquestionably accomplished, and
gifted with energy and enthusiasm which far exceeded even her physical
advantages. Her principal mission was to destroy the papacy and to
secure Italian unity. Her lesser impulses were to become acquainted
with the aristocracy, and to be herself surrounded by celebrities.
Having a fine house in Tyburnia, almost as showy as herself, and a
husband who was never so happy as when gratifying her wishes, she did
not find it difficult in a considerable degree to pursue and even
accomplish her objects. The Putney Giles gave a great many dinners, and
Mrs. Putney received her world frequently, if not periodically. As they
entertained with profusion, her well-lighted saloons were considerably
attended. These assemblies were never dull; the materials not being
ordinary, often startling, sometimes even brilliant, occasionally rather
heterogeneous. For, though being a violent Protestant, and of extreme
conservative opinions, her antipapal antipathies and her Italian
predilections frequently involved her with acquaintances not so
distinguished as she deemed herself for devotion to the cause of order
and orthodoxy. It was rumored that the brooding brow of Mazzini had
been observed in her rooms, and there was no sort of question that she
had thrown herself in ecstatic idolatry at the feet of the hero of
Caprera.

On the morning of the day on which he intended to visit Cardinal
Grandison, Mr. Giles, in his chambers at Lincoln's Inn, was suddenly
apprised, by a clerk, that an interview with him was sought by a client
no less distinguished than Lothair.

Although Mr. Giles sat opposite two rows of tin boxes, each of which was
numbered, and duly inscribed with the name of Lothair and that of the
particular estate to which it referred, Mr. Giles, though he had had
occasional communications with his client, was personally unacquainted
with him. He viewed, therefore, with no ordinary curiosity the young
man who was ushered into his room; a shapely youth slightly above the
middle height; of simple, but distinguished mien, with a countenance
naturally pale, though somewhat bronzed by a life of air and exercise,
and a profusion of dark-auburn hair.

And for what could Lothair be calling on Mr. Giles?

It seems that one of Lothair's intimate companions had got into a
scrape, and under these circumstances had what is styled "made a friend"
of Lothair; that is to say, confided to him his trouble, and asked his
advice, with a view, when given, of its being followed by an offer of
assistance,

Lothair, though inexperienced, and very ingenuous, was not devoid of a
certain instinctive perception of men and, things, which rendered it
difficult for him to be an easy prey. His natural disposition, and his
comparatively solitary education, had made him a keen observer, and he
was one who meditated over his observations. But he was naturally
generous and sensible of kindness; and this was a favorite companion --
next to Bertram, his most intimate.

Lothair was quite happy in the opportunity of soothing a perturbed
spirit whose society had been to him a source of so much gratification.

It was not until Lothair had promised to extricate his friend from his
whelming difficulties, that, upon examination, he found the act on his
part was not so simple and so easy as he had assumed it to be. His
guardians had apportioned to him an allowance in every sense adequate to
his position; and there was no doubt, had he wished to exceed it for
any legitimate purpose, not the slightest difficulty on their part would
have been experienced.

Such a conjuncture had never occurred. Lothair was profuse, but he was
not prodigal. He gratified all his fancies, but they were not ignoble
ones; and he was not only sentimentally, but systematically, charitable.
He had a great number of fine horses, and he had just paid for an
expensive yacht. In a word, he spent a great deal of money, and until
he called at his bankers to learn what sums were at his disposition he
was not aware that he had overdrawn his account.

This was rather awkward. Lothair wanted a considerable sum, and he
wanted it at once. Irrespective of the consequent delay, he shrunk from
any communication with his guardians. From his uncle he had become,
almost insensibly, estranged, and with his other guardian he had never
had the slightest communication. Under these circumstances he recalled
the name of the solicitor of the trustees, between whom and himself
there had been occasional correspondence; and, being of a somewhat
impetuous disposition, he rode off at once from his hotel to Lincoln's
Inn.

Mr. Giles listened to the narrative with unbroken interest and
unswerving patience, with his eyes fixed on his client, and occasionally
giving a sympathetic nod.

"And so," concluded Lothair, "I thought I would come to you."

"We are honored," said Mr. Giles. "And, certainly, it is quite absurd
that your lordship should want money, and for a worthy purpose, and not
be able to command it. Why! the balance in the name of the trustees
never was so great as at this moment; and this very day, or to-morrow at
farthest, I shall pay no less than eight-and-thirty thousand pounds
timber-money to the account."

"Well, I don't want a fifth of that," said Lothair.

"Your lordship has an objection to apply to the trustees?" inquired Mr.
Giles.

"That is the point of the whole of my statement," said Lothair somewhat
impatiently.

"And yet it is the right and regular thing," said Mr. Giles.

"It may be right and it may be regular, but it is out of the question."

"Then we will say no more about it. What I want to prevent," said Mr.
Giles, musingly, "is any thing absurd happening. There is no doubt if
your lordship went into the street and said you wanted ten thousand
pounds, or a hundred thousand, fifty people would supply you immediately
-- but you would have to pay for it. Some enormous usury! That would
be bad; but the absurdity of the thing would be greater than the
mischief. Roundells, Giles, and Roundell could not help you in that
manner. That is not our business. We are glad to find money for our
clients at a legal rate of interest, and the most moderate rate
feasible. But then there must be security, and the best security. But
here we must not conceal it from ourselves, my lord, we have no security
whatever. At this moment your lordship has no property. An
insurance-office might do it with a policy. They might consider that
they had a moral security; but still it would be absurd. There is
something absurd in your lordship having to raise money. Don't you
think I could see these people," said Mr. Giles, "and talk to them, and
gain a little time? We only want a little time."

"No," said Lothair, in a peremptory tone. "I said I would do it, and it
must be done, and at once. Sooner than there should be delay, I would
rather go into the street, as you suggest, and ask the first man I met
to lend me the money. My word has been given, and I do not care what I
pay to fulfil my word."

"We must not think of such things," said Mr. Giles, shaking his head.
"All I want your lordship to understand is the exact position. In this
case we have no security. Roundells, Giles, and Roundell cannot move
without security. It would be against our articles of partnership. But
Mr. Giles, as a private individual, may do what he likes. I will let
your lordship have the money, and I will take no security whatever --
not even a note of hand. All that I ask for is that your lordship
should write me a letter, saying you have urgent need for a sum of money
(mentioning amount) for an honorable purpose, in which your feelings are
deeply interested -- and that will do. If any thing happens to your
lordship before this time next year, why, I think the trustees could
hardly refuse repaying the money; and if they did, why then," added Mr.
Giles, "I suppose it will be all the same a hundred years hence."

"You have conferred on me the greatest obligation," said Lothair, with
much earnestness. "Language cannot express what I feel. I am not too
much used to kindness, and I only hope that I may live to show my sense
of yours."

"It is really no great affair, my lord," said Mr. Giles. "I did not
wish to make difficulties, but it was my duty to put the matter clearly
before you. What I propose I could to do is really nothing. I could do
no less; I should have felt quite absurd if your lordship had gone into
the money-market."

"I only hope," repeated Lothair, rising and offering Mr. Giles his hand,
"that life may give me some occasion to prove my gratitude."

"Well, my lord," replied Mr. Giles, "if your lordship wish to repay me
for any little interest I have shown in your affairs, you can do that,
over and over again, and at once."

"How so?"

"By a very great favor, by which Mrs. Giles and myself would be deeply
gratified. We have a few friends who honor us by dining with us to-day
in Hyde Park Gardens. If your lordship would add the great distinction
your presence -- "

"I should only be too much honored," exclaimed Lothair: "I suppose about
eight," and he left the room; and Mr. Giles telegraphed instantly the
impending event to Apollonia.



CHAPTER 8


It was a. great day for Apollonia; not only to have Lothair at her right
hand at dinner, but the prospect of receiving a cardinal in the evening.
But she was equal to it; though so engrossed, indeed, in the immediate
gratification of her hopes and wishes, that she could scarcely dwell
sufficiently on the coming scene of triumph and social excitement.

The repast was sumptuous; Lothair thought the dinner would never end,
there were so many dishes, and apparently all of the highest pretension.
But if his simple tastes had permitted him to take an interest in these
details, which, they did not, he would have been assisted by a gorgeous
menu of gold and white typography, that was by the side of each guest.
The table seemed literally to groan under vases and gigantic flagons,
and, in its midst, rose a mountain of silver, on which apparently all
the cardinal virtues, several of the pagan deities, and Britannia
herself, illustrated with many lights a glowing inscription, which
described the fervent feelings of a grateful client.