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Books: Lothair

B >> Benjamin Disraeli >> Lothair




"I wish I could assure myself of the personality of the Creator," said
Lothair. "I cling to that, but they say it is unphilosophical."

"In what sense?" asked the Syrian. "Is it more unphilosophical to
believe in a personal God, omnipotent and omniscient, than in natural
forces unconscious and irresistible? Is it unphilosophical to combine
power with intelligence? Goethe, a Spinozist who did not believe in
Spinoza, said that he could bring his mind to the conception that in the
centre of space we might meet with a monad of pure intelligence. What
may be the centre of space I leave to the daedal imagination of the
author of 'Faust;' but a monad of pure intelligence -- is that more
philosophical than the truth, first revealed to man amid these
everlasting hills," said the Syrian, "that God made man in His own
image?"

"I have often found in that assurance a source of sublime consolation,"
said Lothair.

"It is the charter of the nobility of man," said the Syrian, "one of the
divine dogmas revealed in this land; not the invention of councils, not
one of which was held on this sacred soil, confused assemblies first got
together by the Greeks, and then by barbarous nations in barbarous
times."

"Yet the divine land no longer tells us divine things," said Lothair.

"It may or it may not have fulfilled its destiny," said the Syrian.
"'In my Father's house are many mansions,' and by the various families
of nations the designs of the Creator are accomplished. God works by
races, and one was appointed in due season and after many developments
to reveal and expound in this land the spiritual nature of man. The
Aryan and the Semite are of the same blood and origin, but when they
quitted their central land they were ordained to follow opposite
courses. Each division of the great race has developed one portion of
the double nature of humanity, till, after all their wanderings, they
met again, and, represented by their two choicest families, the Hellenes
and the Hebrews, brought together the treasures of their accumulated
wisdom, and secured the civilization of man."

"Those among whom I have lived of late," said Lothair, "have taught me
to trust much in councils, and to believe that without them there could
be no foundation for the Church. I observe you do not speak in that
vein, though, like myself, you find solace in those dogmas which
recognize the relations between the created and the Creator."

"There can be no religion without that recognition," said the Syrian,
"and no creed can possibly be devised without such a recognition that
would satisfy man. Why we are here, whence we come, whither we go --
these are questions which man is organically framed and forced to ask
himself, and that would not be the case if they could not be answered.
As for churches depending on councils, the first council was held more
than three centuries after the Sermon on the Mount. We Syrians had
churches in the interval: no one can deny that. I bow before the Divine
decree that swept them away from Antioch to Jerusalem, but I am not yet
prepared to transfer my spiritual allegiance to Italian popes and Greek
patriarchs. We believe that our family were among the first followers
of Jesus, and that we then held lands in Bashan which we hold now. We
had a gospel once in our district where there was some allusion to this,
and being written by neighbors, and probably at the time, I dare say it
was accurate, but the Western Churches declared our gospel was not
authentic, though why I cannot tell, and they succeeded in extirpating
it. It was not an additional reason why we, should enter into their
fold. So I am content to dwell in Galilee and trace the footsteps of my
Divine Master, musing over His life and pregnant sayings amid the mounts
He sanctified and the waters He loved so well."

The sun was now rising in the heavens, and the hour had arrived when it
became expedient to seek the shade. Lothair and the Syrian rose at the
same time.

"I shall not easily forget our conversation on the Mount of Olives,"
said Lothair, "and I would ask you to add to this kindness by permitting
me, before I leave Jerusalem, to pay my respects to you under your
roof."

"Peace be with you!" said the Syrian. "I live without the gate of
Damascus, on a hill which you will easily recognize, and my name is
PARACLETE."



CHAPTER 78


Time passed very agreeably to St. Aldegonde and Bertram at Jerusalem,
for it was passed entirely at the Russian consulate, or with its
interesting and charming inmates, who were always making excursions, or,
as they styled them, pilgrimages. They saw little of Lothair, who would
willingly have conversed with his friend on many topics, but his friend
was almost always engaged, and, if by some chance they succeeded in
finding themselves alone, Bertram appeared to be always preoccupied.
One day he said to Lothair: "I tell you what, old fellow, if you want to
know all about what has happened at home, I will give you Corisande's
letters. They are a sort of journal which she promised to keep for me,
and they will tell you every thing. I found an immense packet of them
on our return from Cairo, and I meant to have read them here; but I do
not know how it is -- I suppose there is so much to be seen here -- but
I never seem to have a moment to myself. I have got an engagement now
to the consulate. We are going to Elisha's Fountain to-day. Why do not
you come?"

"Well, I am engaged too," said Lothair. "I have settled to go to the
Tombs of the Kings to-day, with Signor Paraclete, and I cannot well get
off; but remember the letters."

The box of letters arrived at Lothair's rooms in due season, and their
perusal deeply interested him. In their pages, alike earnest and
lively, and a picture of a mind of high intelligence adorned with fancy
and feeling, the name of Lothair frequently appeared, and sometimes
accompanied with expressions that made his heart beat. All the rumors
of his adventures, as they gradually arrived in England, generally
distorted, were duly chronicled, and sometimes with comments, which
intimated the interest they occasioned to the correspondent of Bertram.
More than once she could not refrain from reproaching her brother for
having left his friend so much to himself. "Of all your friends," she
said, "the one who always most interested me, and seemed most worthy of
your affection." And then she deplored the absolute ruin of Lothair,
for such she deemed his entrance into the Roman Church.

"I was right in my appreciation of that woman, though I was utterly
inexperienced in life," thought Lothair. "If her mother had only
favored my views two years ago, affairs would have been different.
Would they have been better? Can they be worse? But I have gained
experience. Certainly; and paid for it with my heart's blood. And
might I not have gained experience tranquilly, in the discharge of the
duties of my position at home -- dear home? Perhaps not. And suppose I
never had gained experience, I still might have been happy? And what am
I now? Most lone and sad. So lone and sad that nothing but the magical
influence of the scene around me saves me from an overwhelming
despondency."

Lothair passed his life chiefly with Paraclete, and, a few weeks after
their first acquaintance, they left Jerusalem together for Galilee.

The month of May had disappeared, and June was advancing. Bertram and
Saint Aldegonde no longer talked about their pair, and their engagements
in the House of Commons. There seemed a tacit understanding between
them to avoid the subject; remarkable on the part of Bertram, for he had
always been urgent on his brother-in-law to fulfil their parliamentary
obligation.

The party at the Russian consulate had gone on a grand expedition to the
Dead Sea, and had been absent for many days from Jerusalem. They were
conveyed by one of the sheiks of the Jordan valley. It was a most
successful expedition -- constant adventure, novel objects and habits,
all the spell of a romantic life. The ladies were delighted with the
scenery of the Jordan valley, and the gentlemen had good sport; St.
Aldegonde had killed a wild-boar, and Bertram an ibex, whose horns were
preserved for Brentham. Mr. Phoebus intensely studied the camel and its
habits. He persuaded himself that the ship of the desert entirely
understood him. "But it is always so," he added. "There is no animal
that in a week does not perfectly comprehend me. Had I time and could
give myself up to it, I have no doubt I could make them speak. Nature
has endowed me, so far as dumb animals are concerned, with a peculiar
mesmeric power."

At last this happy caravan was again within sight of the walls of
Jerusalem.

"I should like to have remained in the valley of the Jordan forever,"
said St. Aldegonde.

"And so should I," whispered Bertram to Euphrosyne, "with the same
companions."

When they had returned to the consulate, they found the post from
England had arrived during their absence. There were dispatches for
all. It is an agitating moment -- that arrival of letters in a distant
land. Lord St. Aldegonde seemed much disturbed when he tore open and
perused his. His countenance became clouded; he dashed his hand through
his dishevelled locks; he pouted; and then he said to Bertram, "Come to
my room."

"Anything wrong at home?"

"Not at home," said St. Aldegonde. "Bertha is all right. But a most
infernal letter from Glyn -- most insolent. If I do return I will vote
against them. But I will not return. I have made up my mind to that.
People are so selfish," exclaimed St. Aldegonde, with indignation.
"They never think of any thing but themselves."

"Show me his letter," said Bertram. "I have got a letter too; it is
from the duke."

The letter of the Opposition whip did not deserve the epithets ascribed
to it by St. Aldegonde. It was urgent and courteously peremptory; but,
considering the circumstances of the case, by no means too absolute.
Paired to Easter by great indulgence, St. Aldegonde was passing
Whitsuntide at Jerusalem. The parliamentary position was critical, and
the future of the Opposition seemed to depend on the majority by which
their resolutions on the Irish Church were sent up to the House of
Lords.

"Well," said Bertram. "I see nothing to complain of in that letter.
Except a little more urgency, it is almost the same language as reached
us at Cairo, and then you said Glyn was a capital fellow, and seemed
quite pleased."

"Yes, because I hated Egypt," said St. Aldegonde. "I hated the
pyramids, and I was disappointed with the dancing-girls; and it seemed
to me that, if it had not been for the whip, we never should have been
able to escape. But things are very different now."

"Yes, they are," said Bertram, in a melancholy tone.

"You do not think of returning?" said St. Aldegonde.

"Instantly," replied Bertram. "I have a letter from the duke which is
peremptory. The county is dissatisfied with my absence. And mine is a
queer constituency; very numerous and several large towns; the
popularity of my family gained me the seat, not their absolute
influence."

"My constituents never trouble me" said St. Aldegonde.

"You have none," said Bertram.

"Well, if I were member for a metropolitan district I would hot budge.
And I little thought you would have deserted me."

"Ah!" sighed Bertram. "You're discontented, because your amusements are
interrupted. But think of my position, torn from a woman whom I adore."

"Well, you know you must have left her sooner or later," urged St.
Aldegonde.

"Why?" asked Bertram.

"You know what Lothair told us. She is engaged to her cousin the Prince
of Samos, and -- "

"If I had only the Prince of Samos to deal with, I should care little,"
said Bertram.

"Why, what do you mean?"

"That Euphrosyne is mine, if my family will sanction our union, but not
otherwise."

St. Aldegonde gave a long whistle, and he added, "I wish Bertha were
here. She is the only person I know who has a head."

"You see, my dear Granville, while you are talking of your little
disappointments, I am involved in awful difficulties."

"You are sure about the Palace of Samos?"

"Clear your head of that. There is no engagement of any kind between
him and Euphrosyne. The visit to the island was only a preliminary
ceremony -- just to show himself. No doubt the father wishes the
alliance; nor is there any reason to suppose that it would be
disagreeable to the son; but, I repeat it -- no engagement exists."

"If I were not your brother-in-law, I should have been very glad to have
married Euphrosyne myself," said St. Aldegonde.

"Yes, but what am I to do?" asked Bertram, rather impatiently.

"It will not do to write to Brentham," said St. Aldegonde, gravely;
"that I see clearly." Then, after musing a while, he added: "I am
vexed to leave our friends here and shall miss them sadly. They are the
most agreeable people I ever knew. I never enjoyed myself so much. But
we must think of nothing but your affairs. We must return instantly.
The whip will be an excuse, but the real business will be Euphrosyne. I
should delight in having her for a sister-in-law, but the affair will
require management. We can make short work of getting home: steam to
Marseilles, leave the yacht there, and take the railroad. I have half a
mind to telegraph to Bertha to meet us there. She would be of great
use."



CHAPTER 79


Lothair was delighted with Galilee, and particularly with the blue
waters of its lake slumbering beneath the surrounding hills. Of all its
once pleasant towns, Tiberias alone remains, and that in ruins from a
recent earthquake. But where are Chorazin, and Bethsaida, and
Capernaum? A group of hovels and an ancient tower still bear the magic
name of Magdala, and all around are green mounts and gentle slopes, the
scenes of miracles that softened the heart of man, and of sermons that
never tire his ear. Dreams passed over Lothair of settling forever on
the shores of these waters, and of reproducing all their vanished
happiness: rebuilding their memorable cities, reviving their fisheries,
cultivating the plain of Gennesaret and the country of the Gadarenes,
and making researches in this cradle of pure and primitive Christianity.

The heritage of Paraclete was among the oaks of Bashan, a lofty land,
rising suddenly from the Jordan valley, verdant and well watered, and
clothed in many parts with forest; there the host of Lothair resided
among his lands and people, and himself dwelt in a stone and castellated
building, a portion of which was of immemorial antiquity, and where he
could rally his forces and defend himself in case of the irruption and
invasion of the desert tribes. And here one morn arrived a messenger
from Jerusalem summoning Lothair back to that city, in consequence of
the intended departure of his friends.

The call was urgent, and was obeyed immediately with that promptitude
which the manners of the East, requiring no preparation, admit.
Paraclete accompanied his guest. They had to cross the Jordan, and then
to trace their way till they reached the southern limit of the plain of
Esdraelon, from whence they counted on the following day to reach
Jerusalem. While they were encamped on this spot, a body of Turkish
soldiery seized all their horses, which were required, they said, by the
Pacha of Damascus, who was proceeding to Jerusalem, attending a great
Turkish general, who was on a mission to examine the means of defence of
Palestine on the Egyptian side. This was very vexatious, but one of
those incidents of Eastern life against which it is impossible to
contend; so Lothair and Paraclete were obliged to take refuge in their
pipes beneath a huge and solitary sycamore-tree, awaiting the arrival of
the Ottoman magnificoes.

They came at last, a considerable force of cavalry, then mules and
barbarous carriages with the harem, all the riders and inmates enveloped
in what appeared to be winding-sheets, white and shapeless; about them
eunuchs and servants. The staff of the pachas followed, preceding the
grandees who closed the march, mounted on Anatolian chargers.

Paraclete and Lothair had been obliged to leave the grateful shade of
the sycamore-tree, as the spot had been fixed on by the commander of the
advanced guard for the resting-place of the pachas. They were standing
aside and watching the progress of the procession, and contemplating the
earliest opportunity of representing their grievances to high authority,
when the Turkish general, or the seraskier, as the Syrians inaccurately
styled him, suddenly reined in his steed, and said, in a loud voice,
"Captain Muriel!"

Lothair recognized the well-known voice of his commanding officer in the
Apennine, and advanced to him with a military salute. "I must first
congratulate you on being alive, which I hardly hoped," said the
general. "Then let me know why you are here."

And Lothair told him.

"Well, you shall have back your horses," said the general; "and I will
escort you to El Khuds. In the mean time you must be our guest;" and he
presented him to the Pacha of Damascus with some form. "You and I have
bivouacked in the open air before this, and not in so bland a clime."

Beneath the shade of the patriarchal sycamore, the general narrated to
Lothair his adventures since they were fellow-combatants on the fatal
field of Mentana.

"When all was over," continued the general, "I fled with Garibaldi, and
gained the Italian frontier at Terrni. Here we were of course arrested
by the authorities, but not very maliciously. I escaped one morning,
and got among the mountains in the neighborhood of our old camp. I had
to wander about these parts for some time, for the Papalini were in the
vicinity, and there was danger. It was a hard time; but I found a
friend now and then among the country people, though they are dreadfully
superstitious. At last I got to the shore, and induced an honest fellow
to put to sea in an open boat, on the chance of something turning up.
It did, in the shape of a brigantine from Elba bound for Corfu. Here I
was sure to find friends, for the brotherhood are strong in the Ionian
Isles. And I began to look about for business. The Greeks made me some
offers, but their schemes were all vanity, worse than the Irish. You
remember our Fenian squabble? From something that transpired, I had
made up my mind, so soon as I was well equipped, to go to Turkey. I had
had some transactions with the house of Cantacuzene, through the
kindness of our dear friend whom we will never forget, but will never
mention; and through them I became acquainted with the Prince of Samos,
who is the chief of their house. He is in the entire confidence of Aali
Pacha. I soon found out that there was real business on the carpet.
The Ottoman army, after many trials and vicissitudes, is now in good
case; and the Porte has resolved to stand no more nonsense either in
this direction -- " and the general gave a significant glance -- "or in
any other. But they wanted a general; they wanted a man who knew his
business. I am not a Garibaldi, you know, and never pretended to be. I
have no genius, or volcanic fire, or that sort of thing; but I do
presume to say, with fair troops, paid with tolerable regularity, a
battery or two of rifled cannon, and a well-organized commissariat, I am
not afraid of meeting any captain of my acquaintance, whatever his land
or language. The Turks are a brave people, and there is nothing in
their system, political or religious, which jars with my convictions.
In the army, which is all that I much care for, there is the career of
merit, and I can promote any able man that I recognize. As for their
religion, they are tolerant and exact nothing from me; and if I had any
religion except Madre Natura, I am not sure I would not prefer Islamism;
which is at least simple, and as little sacerdotal as any organized
creed can be. The Porte made me a liberal offer, and I accepted it. It
so happened that, the moment I entered their service, I was wanted.
They had a difficulty on their Dalmatian frontier; I settled it in a way
they liked. And now I am sent here with full powers, and am a pacha of
the highest class, and with a prospect of some warm work. I do not know
what your views are, but, if you would like a little more soldiering, I
will put you on my staff; and, for aught I know, we may find your
winter-quarters at Grand Cairo -- they say a pleasant place for such a
season."

"My soldiering has not been very fortunate," said Lothair; "and I am not
quite as great an admirer of the Turks as you are, general. My mind is
rather on the pursuits of peace, and twenty hours ago I had a dream of
settling on the shores of the Sea of Galilee."

"Whatever you do," said the general, "give up dreams."

"I think you may be right in that," said Lothair, with half a sigh.

"Action may not always be happiness," said the general; "but there is no
happiness without action. If you will not fight the Egyptians, were I
you, I would return home and plunge into affairs. That was a fine
castle of yours I visited one morning; a man who lives in such a place
must be able to find a great deal to do."

"I almost wish I were there, with you for my companion," said Lothair.

"The wheel may turn," said the general; "but I begin to think I shall
not see much of Europe again. I have given it some of my best years and
best blood; and, if I had assisted in establishing the Roman republic, I
should not have lived in vain; but the old imposture seems to me
stronger than ever. I have got ten good years in me yet; and, if I be
well supported and in luck, for, after all, every thing depends on
fortune, and manage to put a couple of hundred thousand men in perfect
discipline, I may find some consolation for not blowing up St. Peter's,
and may do something for the freedom of mankind on the banks of the
Danube."



CHAPTER 80


Mrs. Putney Giles, in full toilet, was standing before the mantel-piece
of her drawing-room in Hyde Park Gardens, and watching, with some
anxiety, the clock that rested on it. It was the dinner-hour, and Mr.
Putney Giles, particular in such matters, had not returned. No one
looked forward to his dinner, and a chat with his wife, with greater
zest than Mr. Putney Giles; and he deserved the gratification which both
incidents afforded him, for he fairly earned it. Full of news and
bustle, brimful of importance and prosperity, sunshiny and successful,
his daily return home -- which, with many, perhaps most, men, is a
process lugubriously monotonous -- was in Hyde Park Gardens, even to
Apollonia, who possessed many means of amusement and occupation, a
source ever of interest and excitement.

To-day too, particularly, for their great client, friend, and patron,
Lothair, had arrived last night, from the Continent, at Muriel House,
and had directed Mr. Putney Giles to be in attendance on him on the
afternoon of this day.

Muriel House was a family mansion in the Green Park. It was built of
hewn stone, during the last century -- a Palladian edifice, for a time
much neglected, but now restored and duly prepared for the reception of
its lord and master by the same combined energy and taste which had
proved so satisfactory and successful at Muriel Towers.

It was a long room, the front saloon at Hyde Park Gardens, and the door
was as remote as possible from the mantel-piece. It opened suddenly,
but only the panting face of Mr. Putney Giles was seen, as he poured
forth in hurried words: "My dear, dreadfully late, but I can dress in
five minutes. I only opened the door in passing, to tell you that I
have seen our great friend; wonderful man! but I will tell you all at
dinner, or after. It was not he who kept me, but the Duke of Brecon.
The duke has been with me two hours. I had a good mind to bring him
home to dinner, and give him a bottle of my '48. They like that sort of
thing, but it will keep," and the head vanished.

The Duke of Brecon would not have dined ill, had he honored this
household. It is a pleasant thing to see an opulent and prosperous man
of business, sanguine and full of health, and a little overworked, at
that royal meal, dinner. How he enjoys his soup! And how curious in
his fish! How critical in his entr e, and how nice in his Welsh mutton!
His exhausted brain rallies under the glass of dry sherry, and he
realizes all his dreams with the aid of claret that has the true flavor
of the violet.

"And now, my dear Apollonia," said Mr. Putney Giles, when the servants
had retired, and he turned his chair and played with a new nut from the
Brazils, "about our great friend. Well, I was there at two o'clock, and
found him at breakfast. Indeed, he said that, had he not given me an
appointment, he thought he should not have risen at all. So delighted
he was to find himself again in an English bed. Well, he told me every
thing that had happened. I never knew a man so unreserved, and so
different from what he was when I first knew him, for he never much
cared then to talk about himself. But no egotism, nothing of that sort
of thing -- all his mistakes, all his blunders, as be called them. He
told me every thing, that I might thoroughly understand his position,
and that he might judge whether the steps I had taken in reference to it
were adequate."