John Lothrop Motley - "History of the United Netherlands, 1587"

Sir Samuel White Baker - "In the Heart of Africa"

RALPH CONNOR - "THE PROSPECTOR"

George MacDonald - "Annals of a Quiet Neighbourhood"

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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




"All," said the cardinal. "It has been a most striking and merciful
dispensation."

"Then I need not dwell upon it," said Lothair, "and naturally it would
be most painful. What I wish particularly to speak to you about is my
position under this roof. What I owe to those who dwell under it no
language can describe, and no efforts on my part, and they shall be
unceasing, can repay. But I think the time has come when I ought no
longer to trespass on their affectionate devotion, though, when I allude
to the topic, they seem to misinterpret the motives which influence me,
and to be pained rather than relieved by my suggestions. I cannot bear
being looked upon as ungrateful, when in fact I am devoted to them. I
think, sir, you might help me in putting all this right."

"If it be necessary," said the cardinal; "but I apprehend you
misconceive them. When I last left Rome you were very ill, but Lady St.
Jerome and others have written to me almost daily about you, during my
absence, so that I am familiar with all that has occurred, and quite
cognizant of their feelings. Rest assured that, toward yourself, they
are exactly what they ought to be and what you would desire."

"Well, I am glad," said Lothair, "that you are acquainted with every
thing that has happened, for you can put them right if it be necessary;
but I sometimes cannot help fancying that they are under some false
impression both as to my conduct and my convictions."

"Not in the slightest," said the cardinal, "trust me, my dear friend,
for that. They know everything and appreciate everything; and, great
as, no doubt, have been your sufferings, feel that every thing has been
ordained for the best; that the hand of the Almighty has been visible
throughout all these strange events; that His Church was never more
clearly built upon a rock than at this moment; that this great
manifestation will revive, and even restore, the faith of Christendom;
and that you yourself must be looked upon as one of the most favored of
men."

"Everybody says that," said Lothair, rather peevishly.

"And everybody feels it," said the cardinal.

"Well, to revert to lesser points," said Lothair, "I do not say I want
to return to England, for I dread returning to England, and do not know
whether I shall ever go back there; and at any rate I doubt not my
health at present is unequal to the effort; but I should like some
change in my mode of life. I will not say it is too much controlled,
for nothing seems ever done without first consulting me; but, somehow or
other, we are always in the same groove. I wish to see more of the
world; I wish to see Rome, and the people of Rome. I wish to see and do
many things which, if I mention, it would seem to hurt the feelings of
others, and my own are misconceived, but, if mentioned by you, all would
probably be different."

"I understand you, my dear young friend, my child, I will still say,"
said the cardinal. "Nothing can be more reasonable than what you
suggest. No doubt our friends may be a little too anxious about you,
but they are the best people in the world. You appear to me to be quite
well enough now to make more exertion than hitherto they have thought
you capable of. They see you every day, and cannot judge so well of you
as I who have been absent. I will charge myself to effect all your
wishes. And we will begin by my taking you out to-morrow and your
driving with me about the city. I will show you Rome and the Roman
people."

Accordingly, on the morrow, Cardinal Grandison and his late pupil
visited together Rome and the Romans. And first of all Lothair was
presented to the cardinal-prefect of the Propaganda, who presides over
the ecclesiastical affairs of every country in which the Roman Church
has a mission, and that includes every land between the Arctic and the
Southern Pole. This glimpse of the organized correspondence with both
the Americas, all Asia, all Africa, all Australia, and many European
countries, carried on by a countless staff of clerks in one of the most
capacious buildings in the world, was calculated to impress the visitor
with a due idea of the extensive authority of the Roman Pontiff. This
institution, greater, according to the cardinal, than any which existed
in ancient Rome, was to propagate the faith, the purity of which the
next establishment they visited was to maintain. According to Cardinal
Grandison, there never was a body the character of which had been so
wilfully and so malignantly misrepresented as that of the Roman
Inquisition. Its true object is reformation not punishment and
therefore pardon was sure to follow the admission of error. True it was
there were revolting stories afloat, for which there was undoubtedly
some foundation, though their exaggeration and malice were evident, of
the ruthless conduct of the Inquisition; but these details were entirely
confined to Spain, and were the consequences not of the principles of
the Holy Office, but of the Spanish race, poisoned by Moorish and Jewish
blood, or by long contact with those inhuman infidels. Had it not been
for the Inquisition organizing and directing the mitigating influences
of the Church, Spain would have been a land of wild beasts; and even in
quite modern times it was the Holy Office at Rome which always stepped
forward to protect the persecuted, and, by the power of appeal from
Madrid to Rome, saved the lives of those who were unjustly or
extravagantly accused.

"The real business, however, of the Holy Office now," continued the
cardinal, "is in reality only doctrinal; and there is something truly
sublime -- essentially divine, I would say -- in this idea of an old
man, like the Holy Father, himself the object of ceaseless persecution
by all the children of Satan, never for a moment relaxing his
heaven-inspired efforts to maintain the purity of the faith once
delivered to the saints, and at the same time to propagate it throughout
the whole world, so that there should be no land on which the sun shines
that should not afford means of salvation to suffering man. Yes, the
Propaganda and the Inquisition alone are sufficient to vindicate the
sacred claims of Rome. Compared with them, mere secular and human
institutions, however exalted, sink into insignificance."

These excursions with the cardinal were not only repeated, but became
almost of daily occurrence. The cardinal took Lothair with him in his
visits of business, and introduced him to the eminent characters of the
city. Some of these priests were illustrious scholars or votaries of
science, whose names were quoted with respect and as authority in the
circles of cosmopolitan philosophy. Then there were other institutions
at Rome, which the cardinal snatched occasions to visit, and which, if
not so awfully venerable as the Propaganda and the Inquisition,
nevertheless testified to the advanced civilization of Rome and the
Romans, and the enlightened administration of the Holy Father.
According to Cardinal Grandison, all the great modern improvements in the
administration of hospitals and prisons originated in the eternal city;
scientific ventilation, popular lavatories, the cellular or silent
system, the reformatory. And yet these were nothing compared with the
achievements of the Pontifical Government in education. In short,
complete popular education only existed at Rome. Its schools were more
numerous even than its fountains. Gratuitous instruction originated
with the ecclesiastics; and from the night-school to the university here
might be found the perfect type.

"I really believe," said the cardinal, "that a more virtuous, a more
religious, a more happy and contented people than the Romans never
existed. They could all be kept in order with the police of one of your
counties. True it is, the Holy Father is obliged to garrison the city
with twelve thousand men of arms, but not against the Romans, not
against his own subjects. It is the secret societies of atheism who
have established their lodges in this city, entirely consisting of
foreigners, that render these lamentable precautions necessary. They
will not rest until they have extirpated the religious principle from
the soul of man, and until they have reduced him to the condition of
wild beasts. But they will fail, as they failed the other day, as
Sennacherib failed. These men may conquer zouaves and cuirassiers, but
they cannot fight against Saint Michael and all the angels. They may do
mischief, they may aggravate and prolong the misery of man, but they are
doomed to entire and eternal failure."



CHAPTER 65


Lady St. Jerome was much interested in the accounts which the cardinal
and Lothair gave her of their excursions in the city and their visits.

"It is very true," she said, "I never knew such good people; and they
ought to be; so favored by Heaven, and leading a life which, if any
thing earthly can, must give them, however faint, some foretaste of our
joys hereafter. Did your eminence visit the Pellegrini?" This was the
hospital, where Miss Arundel had found Lothair.

The cardinal looked grave. "No," he replied. "My object was to secure
for our young friend some interesting but not agitating distraction from
certain ideas which, however admirable and transcendently important, are
nevertheless too high and profound to permit their constant
contemplation with impunity to our infirm natures. Besides," he added,
in a lower, but still distinct tone, "I was myself unwilling to visit in
a mere casual manner the scene of what I must consider the greatest
event of this century."

"But you have been there?" inquired Lady St. Jerome.

His eminence crossed himself.

In the course of the evening Monsignore Catesby told Lothair that a
grand service was about to be celebrated in the church of St. George:
thanks were to be offered to the Blessed Virgin by Miss Arundel for the
miraculous mercy vouchsafed to her in saving the life of a countryman,
Lothair. "All her friends will make a point of being there," added the
monsignore, "even the Protestants and some Russians. Miss Arundel was
very unwilling at first to fulfil this office, but the Holy Father has
commanded it. I know that nothing will induce her to ask you to attend;
and yet, if I were you, I would turn it over in your mind. I know she
said that she would sooner that you were present than all her English
friends together. However, you can think about it. One likes to do
what is proper."

One does; and yet it is difficult. Sometimes, in doing what we think
proper, we get into irremediable scrapes; and often, what we hold to be
proper, society in its caprice resolves to be highly improper.

Lady St. Jerome had wished Lothair to see Tivoli, and they were all
consulting together when they might go there. Lord St. Jerome who,
besides his hunters, had his drag at Rome, wanted to drive them to the
place. Lothair sat opposite Miss Arundel, gazing on her beauty. It was
like being at Vauxe again. And yet a great deal had happened since they
were at Vauxe; and what? So far as they two were concerned, nothing but
what should create or confirm relations of confidence and affection.
Whatever may have been the influence of others on his existence, hers at
least had been one of infinite benignity. She had saved his life; she
had cherished it. She had raised him from the lowest depth of physical
and moral prostration to health and comparative serenity. If at Vauxe
he had beheld her with admiration, had listened with fascinated interest
to the fervid expression of her saintly thoughts, and the large purposes
of her heroic mind, all these feelings were naturally heightened now
when he had witnessed her lofty and consecrated spirit in action, and
when that action in his own case had only been exercised for his
ineffable advantage.

"Your uncle cannot go to-morrow," continued Lady St. Jerome, "and on
Thursday I am engaged."

"And on Friday -- ," said Miss Arundel, hesitating.

"We are all engaged," said Lady St. Jerome.

"I should hardly wish to go out before Friday anywhere," said Miss
Arundel, speaking to her aunt, and in a lower tone.

Friday was the day on which the thanksgiving service was to be
celebrated in the Jesuit church of St. George of Cappadocia. Lothair
knew this well enough and was embarrassed: a thanksgiving for the mercy
vouchsafed to Miss Arundel in saving the life of a fellow-countryman, an
that fellow-countryman not present! All her Protestant friends would be
there, and some Russians. And he not there! It seemed, on his part,
the most ungracious and intolerable conduct. And he knew that she would
prefer his presence to that of all her acquaintances together. It was
more than ungracious on his part; it was ungrateful, almost inhuman.

Lothair sat silent, and stupid, and stiff, and dissatisfied with
himself. Once or twice he tried to speak, but his tongue would not
move, or his throat was not clear. And, if he had spoken, he would only
have made some trifling and awkward remark. In his mind's eye he saw,
gliding about him, the veiled figure of his sick-room, and he recalled
with clearness the unceasing and angelic tenderness of which at the time
he seemed hardly conscious.

Miss Arundel had risen and had proceeded some way down the room to a
cabinet where she was accustomed to place her work. Suddenly Lothair
rose and followed her. "Miss Arundel!" he said, and she looked round,
hardly stopping when he had reached her. "Miss Arundel, I hope you will
permit me to be present at the celebration on Friday?"

She turned round quickly, extending, even eagerly, her hand with
mantling cheek. Her eyes glittered with celestial fire. The words
hurried from her palpitating lips: "And support me," she said, "for I
need support."

In the evening reception, Monsignore Catesby approached Father Coleman.
"It is done," he said, with a look of saintly triumph. "It is done at
last. He will not only be present, but he will support her. There are
yet eight-and-forty hours to elapse. Can any thing happen to defeat us?
It would seem not; yet, when so much is at stake, one is fearful. He
must never be out of our sight; not a human being must approach him."

"I think we can manage that," said Father Coleman.



CHAPTER 66


The Jesuit church of St. George of Cappadocia was situate in one of the
finest piazzas of Rome. It was surrounded with arcades, and in its
centre the most beautiful fountain of the city spouted forth its streams
to an amazing height, and in forms of graceful fancy. On Friday morning
the arcades were festooned with tapestry and hangings of crimson velvet
and gold. Every part was crowded, and all the rank and fashion and
power of Rome seemed to be there assembling. There had been once some
intention on the part of the Holy Father to be present, but a slight
indisposition had rendered that not desirable. His holiness, however,
had ordered a company of his halberdiers to attend, and the ground was
kept by those wonderful guards in the dress of the middle ages --
halberds and ruffs, and white plumes, and party-colored coats, a match
for our beef-eaters. Carriages with scarlet umbrellas on the box, and
each with three serving-men behind, denoted the presence of the
cardinals in force. They were usually brilliant equipages, being
sufficiently new, or sufficiently new purchases, Garibaldi and the late
commanding officer of Lothair having burnt most of the ancient coaches
in the time of the Roman republics twenty years before. From each
carriage an eminence descended with his scarlet cap and his purple train
borne by two attendants. The Princess Tarpeia-Cinque Cento was there,
and most of the Roman princes and princesses, and dukes, and duchesses.
It seemed that the whole court of Rome was there -- monsignori and
prelates without end. Some of their dresses, and those of the generals
of the orders, appropriately varied the general effect, for the ladies
were all in black, their heads covered only with black veils.

Monsignore Catesby had arranged with Lothair that they should enter the
church by their usual private way, and Lothair therefore was not in any
degree prepared for the sight which awaited him on his entrance into it.
The church was crowded; not a chair nor a tribune vacant. There was a
suppressed gossip going on as in a public place before a performance
begins, much fluttering of fans, some snuff taken, and many sugar-plums.

"Where shall we find a place?" said Lothair.

"They expect us in the sacristy," said the monsignore.

The sacristy of the Jesuit church of St. George of Cappadocia might have
served for the ballroom of a palace. It was lofty, and proportionately
spacious, with a grooved ceiling painted with all the court of heaven.
Above the broad and richly-gilt cornice floated a company of seraphim
that might have figured as the Cupids of Albano. The apartment was
crowded, for there and in some adjoining chambers were assembled the
cardinals and prelates, and all the distinguished or official
characters, who, in a few minutes, were about to form a procession of
almost unequal splendor and sanctity, and which was to parade the whole
body of the church.

Lothair felt nervous; an indefinable depression came over him, as on the
morning of a contest when a candidate enters his crowded committee-room.
Considerable personages, bowing, approached to address him -- the
Cardinal Prefect of the Propaganda, the Cardinal Assessor of the Holy
Office, the Cardinal Pro-Datario, and the Cardinal Vicar of Rome.
Monsignori the Secretary of Briefs to Princes and the Master of the
Apostolic Palace were presented to him. Had this been a conclave, and
Lothair the future pope, it would have been impossible to have treated
him with more consideration than he experienced. They assured him that
they looked upon this day as one of the most interesting in their lives,
and the importance of which to the Church could not be overrated. All
this somewhat encouraged him, and he was more himself when a certain
general stir, and the entrance of individuals from adjoining apartments,
intimated that the proceedings were about to commence. It seemed
difficult to marshal so considerable and so stately an assemblage, but
those who had the management of affairs were experienced in such
matters. The acolytes and the thurifers fell into their places; there
seemed no end of banners and large golden crosses; great was the company
of the prelates -- a long purple line, some only in cassocks, some in
robes, and mitred; then came a new banner of the Blessed Virgin, which
excited intense interest, and every eye was strained to catch the
pictured scene. After this banner, amid frequent incense, walked two of
the most beautiful children in Rome, dressed as angels with golden
wings; the boy bearing a rose of Jericho, the girl a lily. After
these, as was understood, dressed in black and veiled, walked six
ladies, who were said to be daughters of the noblest houses of England,
and then a single form with a veil touching the ground.

"Here we must go," said Monsignore Catesby to Lothair, and he gently but
irresistibly pushed him into his place. "You know you promised to
support her. You had better take this," he said, thrusting a lighted
taper into his hand; "it is usual, and one should never be singular."

So they walked on, followed by the Roman princes, bearing a splendid
baldachin. And then came the pomp of the cardinals, each with his
train-bearers, exhibiting with the skill of artists the splendor of
their violet robes.

As the head of the procession emerged from the sacristy into the church,
three organs and a choir, to which all the Roman churches had lent their
choicest voices, burst into the Te Deum. Round the church and to all
the chapels, and then up the noble nave, the majestic procession moved,
and then, the gates of the holy place opening, the cardinals entered and
seated themselves, their train-bearers crouching at their knees, the
prelates grouped themselves, and the banners and crosses were ranged in
the distance, except the new banner of the Virgin, which seemed to hang
over the altar. The Holy One seemed to be in what was recently a field
of battle, and was addressing a beautiful maiden in the dress of a
Sister of Mercy.

"This is your place," said Monsignore Catesby, and he pushed Lothair
into a prominent position.

The service was long, but, sustained by exquisite music, celestial
perfumes, and the graceful movements of priests in resplendent dresses
continually changing, it could not be said to be wearisome. When all
was over, Monsignore Catesby said to Lothair, "I think we had better
return by the public way; it seems expected."

It was not easy to leave the church. Lothair was detained, and received
the congratulations of the Princess Tarpeia-Cinque Cento and many
others. The crowd, much excited by the carriages of the cardinals, had
not diminished when they came forth, and they were obliged to linger
some little time upon the steps, the monsignore making difficulties when
Lothair more than once proposed to advance.

"I think we may go now," said Catesby, and they descended into the
piazza. Immediately many persons in this immediate neighborhood fell
upon their knees, many asked a blessing from Lothair, and some rushed
forward to kiss the hem of his garment.



CHAPTER 67


The Princess Tarpeia-Cinque Cento gave an entertainment in the evening
in honor of "the great event." Italian palaces are so vast, are so
ill-adapted to the moderate establishments of modern tones, that their
grand style in general only impresses those who visit them with a
feeling of disappointment and even mortification. The meagre retinue
are almost invisible as they creep about the corridors and galleries,
and linger in the sequence of lofty chambers. These should be filled
with crowds of serving-men and groups of splendid retainers. They were
built for the days when a great man was obliged to have a great
following; and when the safety of his person, as well as the success of
his career, depended on the number and the lustre of his train.

The palace of the Princess Tarpeia was the most celebrated in Rome, one
of the most ancient, and certainly the most beautiful. She dwelt in it
in a manner not unworthy of her consular blood and her modern income.
To-night her guests were received by a long line of foot-servants in
showy liveries, and bearing the badge of her house, while in every
convenient spot pages and gentlemen-ushers, in courtly dress, guided the
guests to their place of destination. The palace blazed with light, and
showed to advantage the thousand pictures which, it is said, were there
enshrined, and the long galleries full of the pale statues of Grecian
gods and goddesses, and the busts of the former rulers of Rome and the
Romans. The atmosphere was fragrant with rare odors, and music was
heard, amid the fall of fountains, in the dim but fancifully-illumined
gardens.

The princess herself wore all those famous jewels which had been spared
by all the Goths from the days of Brennus to those of Garibaldi, and on
her bosom reposed the celebrated transparent cameo of Augustus, which
Caesar himself is said to have presented to Livia, and which Benvenuto
Cellini had set in a framework of Cupids and rubies. If the weight of
her magnificence were sometimes distressing, she had the consolation of
being supported by the arm of Lothair.

Two young Roman princes, members of the Guarda Nobile, discussed the
situation.

"The English here say," said one, "that he is their richest man."

"And very noble, too," said the other.

"Certainly, truly noble -- a kind of cousin of the queen."

"This great event must have an effect upon all their nobility. I cannot
doubt they will all return to the Holy Father."

"They would if they were not afraid of having to restore their church
lands. But they would be much more happy if Rome were again the capital
of the world."

"No shadow of doubt. I wonder if this young prince will hunt in the
Campagna?"

"All Englishmen hunt."

"I make no doubt he rides well, and has famous horses, and will
sometimes lend us one. I am glad his soul is saved."

"Yes; it is well, when the Blessed Virgin interferes, it should be in
favor of princes. When princes become good Christians, it is an
example. It does good. And this man will give an impulse to our opera,
which wants it, and, as you say, he will have many horses."

In the course of the evening, Miss Arundel, with a beaming face, but of
deep expression, said to Lothair: "I could tell you some good news, had
I not promised the cardinal that he should communicate it to you
himself. He will see you to-morrow. Although it does not affect me
personally, it will be to me the happiest event that ever occurred,
except, of course, one."

"What can she mean?" thought Lothair. But at that moment Cardinal
Berwick approached him, and Miss Arundel glided away.