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Books: Lothair

B >> Benjamin Disraeli >> Lothair




There were many guests -- the Dowager of Farringford, a lady of quality,
Apollonia's great lady, who exercised under this roof much social
tyranny; in short, was rather fine; but who, on this occasion, was
somewhat cowed by the undreamt-of presence of Lothair. She had not yet
met him, and probably never would have met him, had she not had the good
fortune of dining at his lawyer's. However, Lady Farringford was
placed a long way from Lothair, having been taken down to dinner by Mr.
Giles; and so, by the end of the first course, Lady Farringford had
nearly resumed her customary despotic vein, and was beginning to indulge
in several kind observations, cheapening to her host and hostess, and
indirectly exalting herself; upon which Mr. Giles took an early easy
opportunity of apprising Lady Farringford, that she had nearly met
Cardinal Grandison at dinner, and that his eminence would certainly pay
his respects to Mrs. Putney Giles in the evening. As Lady Farringford
was at present a high ritualist and had even been talked of as "going to
Rome," this intelligence was stunning, and it was observed that her
ladyship was unusually subdued during the whole of the second course.

On the right of Lothair sat the wife of a vice-chancellor, a quiet and
pleasing lady, to whom Lothair, with natural good breeding, paid
snatches of happy attention, when he could for a moment with propriety
withdraw himself from the blaze of Apollonia's coruscating conversation.
Then there was a rather fierce-looking Red Ribbon, medalled, as well as
be-starred, and the Red Ribbon's wife, with a blushing daughter, in
spite of, her parentage not yet accustomed to stand fire. A partner and
his unusually numerous family had the pleasure also of seeing Lothair
for the first time, and there were no less than four M.P.s, one of whom
was even in office.

Apollonia was stating to Lothair, with perspicuity, the reasons which
quite induced her to believe that the Gulf-Stream had changed its
course, and the political and social consequences that might accrue.

"The religious sentiment of the Southern races must be wonderfully
affected by a more rigorous climate," said Apollonia. "I cannot doubt,"
she continued, "that a series of severe winters at Rome might put an end
to Romanism."

"But is there any fear that a reciprocal influence might be exercised on
the Northern nations?" inquired Lothair. "Would there be any
apprehension of our Protestantism becoming proportionately relaxed?"

"Of course not," said Apollonia. "Truth cannot be affected by climate.
Truth is truth, alike in Palestine and Scandinavia."

"I wonder what the cardinal would think of this," said Lothair, "who,
you tell me, is coming to you this evening?"

"Yes, I am most interested to see him, though he is the most puissant of
our foes. Of course he would take refuge in sophistry; and science, you
know, they deny."

"Cardinal Grandison is giving some lectures on science," said the
vice-chancellor's lady, quietly.

"It is remorse," said Apollonia. "Their clever men can never forget
that unfortunate affair of Galileo, and think they can divert the
indignation of the ninteenth century by mock zeal about red sandstone or
the origin of species."

"And are you afraid of the Gulf-Stream?" inquired Lothair of his calmer
neighbor.

"I think we want more evidence of a change. The vice-chancellor and
myself went down to a place we have near town, on Saturday, where there
is a very nice piece of water; indeed, some people call it a lake; but
it was quite frozen, and my boys wanted to skate, but that I would not
permit."

"You believe in the Gulf-Stream to that extent," said Lothair -- "no
skating."

The cardinal came, early; the ladies had not long left the dining-room.
They were agitated when his name was announced; even Apollonia's heart
beat; but then that might be accounted for by the inopportune
recollection of an occasional correspondence with Caprera.

Nothing could exceed the simple suavity with which the cardinal
appeared, approached, and greeted them. He thanked Apollonia for her
permission to pay his respects to her, which he had long wished to do;
and then they were all presented, and he said exactly the right thing to
every one. He must have heard of them all before, or read their
characters in their countenances. In a few minutes they were all
listening to his eminence with enchanted ease, as, sitting on the sofa
by his hostess, he described to them the ambassadors who had just
arrived from Japan, and with whom he had relations of interesting
affairs. The Japanese government had exhibited enlightened kindness to
some of his poor people who had barely escaped martyrdom. Much might be
expected from the Mikado, evidently a man of singular penetration and
elevated views; and his eminence looked as if the mission of Yokohama
would speedily end in an episcopal see; but he knew where he was and
studiously avoided all controversial matter.

After all, the Mikado himself was not more remarkable than this prince
of the Church in a Tyburnian drawing-room habited in his pink cassock
and cape, and waving, as he spoke, with careless grace, his pink
barrette.

The ladies thought the gentlemen rejoined them too soon, but Mr. Giles,
when he was apprised of the arrival of the cardinal, thought it right to
precipitate the symposium. With great tact, when the cardinal rose to
greet him, Mr. Giles withdrew his eminence from those surrounding, and,
after a brief interchange of whispered words, quitted him and then
brought forward and presented Lothair to the cardinal, and left them.

"This is not the first time that we should have met," said the cardinal,
"but my happiness is so great at this moment that, though I deplore, I
will not dwell on, the past."

"I am, nevertheless, grateful to you, sir, for many services, and have
more than once contemplated taking the liberty of personally assuring
your a eminence of my gratitude."

"I think we might sit down," said the cardinal, looking around; and then
he led Lothair into an open but interior saloon, where none were yet
present, and where they seated themselves on a sofa and were soon
engaged in apparently interesting converse.

In the mean time the world gradually filled the principal saloon of
Apollonia, and, when it approached overflowing, occasionally some
persons passed the line, and entered the room in which the cardinal and
his ward were seated, and then, as if conscious of violating some sacred
place, drew back. Others, on the contrary, with coarser curiosity, were
induced to invade the chamber from the mere fact that the cardinal was
to be seen there.

"My geographical instinct," said the cardinal to Lothair, "assures me
that I can regain the staircase through these rooms, without rejoining
the busy world; so I shall bid you good-night and even presume to give
you my blessing;" and his eminence glided away.

When Lothair returned to the saloon it was so crowded that he was not
observed; exactly what he liked; and he stood against the wall watching
all that passed, not without amusement. A lively, social parasite, who
had dined there, and had thanked his stars at dinner that Fortune had,
decreed he should meet Lothair, had been cruising for his prize all the
time that Lothair had been conversing with the cardinal and was soon at
his side.

"A strange scene this!" said the parasite.

"Is it unusual?" inquired Lothair.

"Such a medley! How can they can be got together, I marvel -- priests
and philosophers, legitimists, and carbonari! Wonderful woman, Mrs.
Putney Giles!"

"She is very entertaining," said Lothair, "and seems to me clever."

"Remarkably so," said the parasite, who had been on the point of
satirizing his hostess, but, observing the quarter of the wind, with
rapidity went in for praise. "An extraordinary woman. Your lordship
had a long talk with the cardinal."

"I had the honor of some conversation with Cardinal Grandison," said
Lothair, drawing up.

"I wonder what the cardinal would have said if he had met Mazzini here?"

"Mazzini! Is he here?"

"Not now; but I have seen him here," said the parasite, "and our host
such a Tory! That makes the thing so amusing;" and then the parasite
went on making small personal observations on the surrounding scene, and
every now and then telling little tales of great people with whom, it
appeared, he was intimate -- all concerted fire to gain the very great
social fortress he was now besieging. The parasite was so full of
himself, and so anxious to display himself to advantage, that with all
his practice it was some time before he perceived he did not make all
the way he could wish with Lothair; who was courteous, but somewhat
monosyllabic and absent.

"Your lordship is struck by that face?" said the parasite.

Was Lothair struck by that face? And what was it?

He had exchanged glances with that face during the last ten minutes, and
the mutual expression was not one of sympathy but curiosity blended, on
the part of the face, with an expression, if not of disdain, of extreme
reserve.

It was the face of a matron, apparently of not many summers, for her
shapely figure was still slender, though her mien was stately. But it
was the countenance that had commanded the attention of Lothair: pale,
but perfectly Attic in outline, with the short upper lip and the round
chin, and a profusion of dark-chestnut hair bound by a Grecian fillet,
and on her brow a star.

"Yes I am struck by that face. Who is it?"

"If your lordship could only get a five-franc piece of the last French
Republic, 1850, you would know. I dare say the money-changers could get
you one. All the artists of Paris, painters, and sculptors, and
medallists, were competing to produce a face worthy of representing 'La
R publique fran aise;' nobody was satisfied, when Oudine caught a girl
of not seventeen, and, with a literal reproduction of Nature, gained the
prize with unanimity."

"Ah!"

"And, though years have passed, the countenance has not changed; perhaps
improved."

"It is a countenance that will bear, perhaps even would require,
maturity," said Lothair; "but she is no longer 'La R publique
fran aise;' what is she now?"

"She is called Theodora, though married, I believe, to an Englishman, a
friend of Garibaldi. Her birth unknown; some say an Italian, some a
Pole; all sorts of stories. But she speaks every language, is
ultra-cosmopolitan, and has invented a new religion."

"A new religion!"

"Would your lordship care to be introduced to her? I know her enough for
that. Shall we go up to her?"

"I have made so many now acquaintances to-day," said, Lothair, as it
were starting from a reverie, "and indeed heard so many new things, that
I think I had better say good-night;" and he graciously retired.



CHAPTER 9


About the same time that Lothair had repaired to the residence of Mr.
Giles, Monsignore Berwick, whose audience of the cardinal in the morning
had preceded that of the legal adviser of the trustees, made his way
toward one of the noblest mansions in St. James's Square, where resided
Lord St. Jerome.

It was a mild winter evening; a little fog still hanging about, but
vanquished by the cheerful lamps, and the voice of the muffin-bell was
just heard at intervals; a genial sound that calls up visions of trim
and happy hearths. If we could only so contrive our lives as to go into
the country for the first note of the nightingale, and return to town
for the first note of the muffin-bell, existence, it is humbly presumed,
might be more enjoyable.

Monsignore Berwick was a young man, but looking younger from a
countenance almost of childhood; fair, with light-blue eyes, and flaxen
hair and delicate features. He was the last person you would have fixed
upon as a born Roman; but Nature, in one of the freaks of race, had
resolved that his old Scottish blood should be reasserted, though his:
ancestors had sedulously blended it, for, many generations, with that of
the princely houses of the eternal city. The monsignore was the
greatest statesman of Rome, formed and favored by Antonelli and probably
his successor.

The mansion of Lord St. Jerome was a real family mansion, built by. his
ancestors a century and a half ago, when they believed that, from its
central position, its happy contiguity to the court, the senate, and the
seats of government, they at last, in St. James's Square, had discovered
a site which could defy the vicissitudes of fashion, and not share the
fate of the river palaces, which they had been obliged in turn to
relinquish. And in a considerable degree they were right in their
anticipation; for, although they have somewhat unwisely, permitted the
clubs to invade too successfully their territory, St. James's Square may
be looked upon as our Faubourg St. Germain, and a great patrician
residing there dwells in the heart of that free and noble life of which
he ought to be a part.

A marble hall and a marble staircase, lofty chambers with silk or
tapestried hangings, gilded cornices, and painted ceilings, gave a
glimpse of almost Venetian splendor, and rare in our metropolitan houses
of this age; but the first dwellers in St. James's Square had tender and
inspiring recollections of the Adrian bride, had frolicked in St.
Mark's, and glided in adventurous gondolas. The monsignore was ushered
into a chamber bright with lights and a blazing fire, and welcomed with
extreme cordiality by his hostess, who was then alone. Lady St. Jerome
was still the young wife of a nobleman not old. She was the daughter of
a Protestant house, but, during a residence at Rome after her marriage,
she had reverted to the ancient faith, which she professed with the
enthusiastic convictions of a convert. Her whole life was dedicated to
the triumph of the Catholic cause; and, being a woman of considerable
intelligence and of an ardent mind, she had become a recognized power in
the great confederacy which has so much influenced the human race, and
which has yet to play perhaps a mighty part in the fortunes of the
world.

"I was in great hopes that the cardinal would have met you at dinner,"
said Lady St. Jerome, "but he wrote only this afternoon to say
unexpected business would prevent him, but he would be here in the
evening, though late."

"It must be something sudden, for I was with his eminence this morning,
and he then contemplated our meeting here."

"Nothing from abroad?"

"I should think not, or it would be known to me. There is nothing new
from abroad this afternoon: my time has been spent in writing, not
receiving, dispatches."

"And all well, I hope?"

"This Scotch business plagues us. So far as Scotland is concerned, it
is quite ripe; but the cardinal counsels delay on account of this
country, and he has such a consummate knowledge of England, that -- "

At this moment Lord St Jerome entered the room -- a grave but gracious
personage, polished but looking silent, though he immediately turned the
conversation to the weather. The monsignore began denouncing English
fogs; but Lord St. Jerome maintained that, on the whole, there were not
more fogs in England than in any other country; "and as for the French,"
he added, "I like their audacity, for, when they revolutionized the
calendar, they called one of their months Brumaire."

Then came in one of his lordships chaplains, who saluted the monsignore
with reverence, and immediately afterward a beautiful young lady, his
niece, Clare Arundel.

The family were living in a convenient suite of small rooms on the
ground-floor, called the winter-rooms so dinner was announced by the
doors of an adjoining chamber being thrown open, and there they saw, in
the midst of a chamber hung with green silk and adorned with some fine
cabinet-pictures, a small round table, bright and glowing.

It was a lively dinner. Lord St. Jerome loved conversation, though he
never conversed. "There must be an audience," he would say, "and I am
the audience." The partner of his life, whom he never ceased admiring,
had originally fascinated him by her conversational talents; and, even
if Nature had not impelled her, Lady St. Jerome was too wise a woman to
relinquish the spell. The monsignore could always, when necessary,
sparkle with anecdote or blaze with repartee; and all the chaplains, who
abounded in this house, were men of bright abilities, not merely men of
reading, but of the world, learned in the world's ways, and trained to
govern mankind by versatility of their sympathies. It was a dinner
where there could not be two conversations going on, and where even the
silent take their share in the talk by their sympathy.

And among the silent, as silent even as Lord St. Jerome, was Miss
Arundel; and yet her large violet eyes, darker even than her dark-brown
hair, and gleaming with intelligence, and her rich face mantling with
emotion, proved she was not insensible to the witty passages and the
bright and interesting narratives that were sparkling and flowing about
her.

The gentlemen left the dining-room with the ladies, in the Continental
manner. Lady St. Jerome, who was leaning on the arm of the monsignore,
guided him into a saloon farther than the one they had reentered, and
then seating herself said, "You were telling me about Scotland, that you
yourself thought it ripe."

"Unquestionably. The original plan was to have established our
hierarchy when the Kirk split up; but that would have been a mistake, it
was not then ripe. There would have been a fanatical reaction. There
is always a tendency that way in Scotland: as it is, at this moment, the
Establishment and the Free Kirk are mutually sighing for some compromise
which may bring them together and, if the proprietors would give up
their petty patronage, some flatter themselves it might be arranged.
But we are thoroughly well informed, and have provided for all this. We
sent two of our best men into Scotland some time ago, and they have
invented a new church, called the United Presbyterians. John Knox
himself was never more violent, or more mischievous. The United
Presbyterians will do the business: they will render Scotland simply
impossible to live in; and then, when the crisis arrives, the distracted
and despairing millions will find refuge in the bosom of their only
mother. That is why, at home, we wanted no delay in the publication of
the bull and the establishment of the hierarchy."

"But the cardinal says no?"

"And must be followed. For these islands he has no equal. He wishes
great reserve at present. Affairs here are progressing, gradually but
surely. But it is Ireland where matters are critical, or will be soon."

"Ireland! I thought there was a sort of understanding there -- at least
for the present."

The monsignore shook his head. "What do you think of an American
invasion of Ireland?"

"An American invasion!"

"Even so; nothing more probable, and nothing more to be deprecated by
us. Now that the civil war in America is over, the Irish soldiery are
resolved to employ their experience and their weapons in their own land;
but they have no thought for the interest of the Holy See, or the
welfare of our holy religion. Their secret organization is tampering
with the people and tampering with the priests. The difficulty of
Ireland is that the priests and the people will consider every thing in
a purely Irish point of view. To gain some local object, they will
encourage the principles of the most lawless liberalism, which naturally
land them in Fenianism and atheism. And the danger is not foreseen,
because the Irish political object of the moment is alone looked to."

"But surely they can be guided?"

"We want a statesman in Ireland. We have never been able to find one;
we want a man like the cardinal. But the Irish will have a native for
their chief. We caught Churchill young, and educated him in the
Propaganda; but he has disappointed us. At first all seemed well; he
was reserved and austere; and we heard with satisfaction that he was
unpopular. But, now that critical times are arriving, his peasant-blood
cannot resist the contagion. He proclaims the absolute equality of all
religious, and of the power of the state to confiscate ecclesiastical
property, and not restore it to us, but alienate it forever. For the
chance of subverting the Anglican Establishment, he is favoring a policy
which will subvert religion itself. In his eagerness he cannot see that
the Anglicans have only a lease of our property, a lease which is
rapidly expiring."

"This is sad."

"It is perilous, and difficult to deal with. But it must be dealt with.
The problem is to suppress Fenianism, and not to strengthen the
Protestant confederacy."

"And you left Rome for this? We understood you were coming for
something else," said Lady St. Jerome, in a significant tone.

"Yes, yes, I have been there, and I have seen him."

"And have you succeeded?"

"No; and no one will -- at least at present."

"Is all lost, then? Is the Malta scheme again on the carpet?"

"Our Holy Church in built upon a rock," said the monsignore, "but not
upon the rock of Malta. Nothing is lost; Antonelli is calm and sanguine,
though, rest assured, there is no doubt about what I tell you. France
has washed her hands of us."

"Where, then, are we to look for aid?" exclaimed Lady St. Jerome,
"against the assassins and atheists? Austria, the alternative ally, is
no longer near you; and if she were -- that I should ever live to say it
-- even Austria is our foe."

"Poor Austria!" said the monsignore with an unctuous sneer. "Two things
made her a nation; she was German and she was Catholic, and now she is
neither."

"But you alarm me, my dear lord, with your terrible news. We once
thought that Spain would be our protector, but we hear bad news from
Spain."

"Yes," said the monsignore, "I think it highly probable that, before a
few years have elapsed, every government in Europe will be atheistical
except France. Vanity will always keep France the eldest son of the
Church, even if she wear a bonnet rouge. But, if the Holy Father keep
Rome, these strange changes will only make the occupier of the chair of
St. Peter more powerful. His subjects will be In every clime and every
country, and then they will be only his subjects. We shall get rid of
the difficulty of the divided allegiance, Lady St. Jerome, which plagued
our poor forefathers so much."

"If we keep Rome," said Lady St. Jerome.

"And we shall. Let Christendom give us her prayers for the next few
years, and Pio Nono will become the most powerful monarch In Europe, and
perhaps the only one."

"I hear a sound," exclaimed Lady St. Jerome. "Yes! the cardinal has
come. Let us greet him."

But as they were approaching the saloon the cardinal met them, and waved
them back. "We will return," he said, "to our friends immediately, but
I want to say one word to you both."

He made them sit down. "I am a little restless," he said, and stood
before the fire. "Something interesting has happened; nothing to do
with public affairs. Do not pitch your expectations too high -- but
still of importance, and certainly of great interest -- at least to me.
I have seen my child -- my ward."

"Indeed an event!" said Lady St. Jerome, evidently much interested.

"And what is he like?" inquired the monsignore.

"All that one could wish. Extremely good-looking, highly bred, and most
ingenuous; a considerable intelligence, and not untrained; but the most
absolutely unaffected person I ever encountered."

"Ah! if he had been trained by your eminence," sighed Lady St. Jerome.
"Is it too late?"

"'Tis an immense position," murmured Berwick.

"What good might he not do?" said Lady St. Jerome; "and if he be so
ingenuous, it seems impossible that he can resist the truth."

"Your ladyship is a sort of cousin of his," said the cardinal, musingly.

"Yes; but very remote. I dare say he would not acknowledge the tie.
But we are kin; we have the same blood in our veins."

"You should make his acquaintance," said the cardinal.

"I more than desire it. I hear he has been terribly neglected, brought
up among the most dreadful people, entirely infidels and fanatics."

"He has been nearly two years at Oxford," said the cardinal. "That may
have mitigated the evil."

"Ah! but you, my lord cardinal, you must interfere. Now that you at
last know him, you must undertake the great task; you must save him."

"We must all pray, as I pray every morn and every night," said the
cardinal, "for the conversion of England."

"Or the conquest," murmured Berwick.



CHAPTER 10


As the cardinal was regaining his carriage on leaving Mrs. Giles's
party, there was, about the entrance of the house, the usual gathering
under such circumstances; some zealous linkboys marvellously familiar
with London life, and some midnight loungers, who thus take their humble
share of the social excitement, and their happy chance of becoming
acquainted with some of the notables of the wondrous world of which they
form the base. This little gathering, ranged at the instant into
stricter order by the police to facilitate the passage of his eminence,
prevented the progress of a passenger, who exclaimed in an audible, but
not noisy voice, as if, he were ejaculating to himself, "A bas les
pretres!"