Books: Lothair

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"I suppose about his religion," said Apollonia. "What is he, after
all?"

"As sound as you are. But you are right; that was the point on which he
was most anxious. He wrote, you know, to me from Malta, when the
account of his conversion first appeared, to take all necessary steps to
contradict the announcement, and counteract its consequences. He gave
me carte blanche, and was anxious to know precisely what I had done. I
told him that a mere contradiction, anonymous, or from a third person,
however unqualified its language, would have no effect in the face of a
detailed narrative, like that in all the papers, of his walking in
procession and holding a lighted taper, and all that sort of thing.
What I did was this. I commenced building, by his direction, two new
churches on his estate, and announced in the local journals, copied in
London, that he would be present at the consecration of both. I
subscribed, in his name, and largely, to all the diocesan societies,
gave a thousand pounds to the Bishop of London's fund, and accepted for
him the office of steward, for this year, for the Sons of the Clergy.
Then, when the public feeling was ripe, relieved from all its anxieties,
and beginning to get indignant at the calumnies that had been so freely
circulated, the time for paragraphs had arrived, and one appeared
stating that a discovery had taken place of the means by which an
unfounded and preposterous account of the conversion of a distinguished
young English nobleman at Rome had been invented and circulated, and
would probably furnish the occasion for an action for libel. And now
his return and appearance at the Chapel Royal, next Sunday, will clinch
the whole business."

"And he was satisfied?"

"Most satisfied; a little anxious whether his personal friends, and
particularly the Brentham family, were assured of the truth. He
travelled home with the duke's son and Lord St. Aldegonde, but they came
from remote parts, and their news from home was not very recent."

"And how does he look?"

"Very well; never saw him look better. He is handsomer than he was.
But he is changed. I could not conceive in a year that any one could be
so changed. He was young for his years; he is now old for his years.
He was, in fact, a boy; he is now a man; and yet it is only a year. He
said it seemed to him ten."

"He has been through a fiery furnace," said Apollonia.

"Well, he has borne it well," said Mr. Giles. "It is worth while
serving such a client, so cordial, so frank, and yet so full of thought.
He say he does not in the least regret all the money he has wasted. Had
he remained at home, it would have gone to building a cathedral."

"And a popish one!" said Apollonia. "I cannot agree with him," she
continued, "that his Italian campaign was a waste of money. It will
bear fruit. We shall still see the end of the 'abomination of
desolation.'"

"Very likely," said Mr. Giles; "but I trust my client will have no more
to do with such questions either way."

"And did he ask after his friends?" said Apollonia.

"Very much: he asked after you. I think he went through all the guests
at Muriel Towers except the poor Campians. He spoke, to me about the
colonel, to whom it appears he has written; but Theodora he never
mentioned, except by some periphrasis, some allusion to a great sorrow,
or to some dear friend whom he had lost. He seems a little embarrassed
about the St. Jeromes, and said more than once that he owed his life to
Miss Arundel. He dwelt a good deal upon this. He asked also a great
deal about the Brentham family. They seem the people whom he most
affects. When I told him of Lady Corisande's approaching union with the
Duke of Brecon, I did not think he half liked it."

"But is it settled?"

"The same as -- . The duke has been with me two hours to-day about his
arrangements. He has proposed to the parents, who are delighted with
the match, and has received every encouragement from the young lady. He
looks upon it as certain."

"I wish our kind friend had not gone abroad," said Apollonia.

"Well, at any rate, he has come back," said Mr. Giles; "that is
something. I am sure I more than once never expected to see him again."

"He has every virtue, and every charm," said Apollonia, "and principles
that are now proved. I shall never forget his kindness at the Towers.
I wish he were settled for life. But who is worthy of him? I hope he
will not fall into the clutches of that popish girl. I have sometimes,
from what I observed at Muriel, and other reasons, a dread misgiving."

CHAPTER 81

It was the first night that Lothair had slept in his own house, and,
when he awoke in the morning, he was quite bewildered, and thought for a
moment he was in the Palazzo Agostini. He had not reposed in so
spacious and lofty a chamber since he was at Rome. And this brought all
his recollection to his Roman life, and every thing that had happened
there. "And yet, after all," he said, "had it not been for Clare
Arundel, I should never have seen Muriel House. I owe to her my life."
His relations with the St. Jerome family were doubtless embarrassing,
even painful; and yet his tender and susceptible nature could not for a
moment tolerate that he should passively submit to an estrangement from
those who had conferred on him so much kindness, and whose
ill-considered and injurious courses, as he now esteemed them, were
perhaps, and probably, influenced and inspired by exalted, even sacred
motives.

He wondered whether they were in London; and, if so, what should he do?
Should he call, or should he write? He wished he could do something to
show to Miss Arundel how much he appreciated her kindness, and how
grateful he was. She was a fine creature, and all her errors were noble
ones; enthusiasm, energy, devotion to a sublime cause. Errors, but are
these errors? Are they not, on the contrary, qualities which should
command admiration in any one? and in a woman -- and a beautiful woman
-- more than admiration?

There is always something to worry you. It comes as regularly as
sunrise. Here was Lothair under his own roof again, after strange and
trying vicissitudes, with his health restored, his youth little
diminished, with some strange memories and many sweet ones; on the
whole, once more in great prosperity, and yet his mind harped only on
one vexing thought, and that was his painful and perplexed relations
with the St. Jerome family.

His thoughts were a little distracted from this harassing theme by the
novelty of his house, and the pleasure it gave him. He admired the
double staircase and the somewhat heavy, yet richly-carved ceilings; and
the look into the park, shadowy and green, with a rich summer sun, and
the palace in the distance. What an agreeable contrast to his hard,
noisy sojourn in a bran-new, brobdingnagian hotel, as was his coarse
fate when he was launched into London life! This made him think of many
comforts for which he ought to be grateful, and then he remembered
Muriel Towers, and how completely and capitally every thing was there
prepared and appointed, and while he was thinking over all this -- and
kindly of the chief author of these satisfactory arrangements, and the
instances in which that individual had shown, not merely professional
dexterity and devotion, but some of the higher qualities that make life
sweet and pleasant -- Mr. Putney Giles was announced, and Lothair sprang
forward and gave him his hand with a cordiality which repaid at once
that perfect but large-hearted lawyer for all his exertions, and some
anxieties that he had never expressed even to Apollonia.

Nothing in life is more remarkable than the unnecessary anxiety which we
endure, and generally, occasion ourselves. Between four and five
o'clock, having concluded his long conference with Mr. Putney Giles,
Lothair, as if he were travelling the principal street of a foreign
town, or rather treading on tiptoe like a prince in some enchanted
castle, ventured to walk down St. James Street, and the very first
person he met was Lord St. Jerome!

Nothing could be more unaffectedly hearty than his greeting by that good
man and thorough gentleman. "I saw, by the Post, you had arrived," said
Lord St. Jerome, "and we were all saying at breakfast how glad we should
be to see you again. And looking so well! Quite yourself! I never saw
you looking better. You have been to Egypt with Lord St. Aldegonde, I
think? It was the wisest thing you could do. I said to Gertrude, when
you went to Sicily, 'If I were Lothair, I would go a good deal farther
than Sicily.' You wanted change of scene and air, more than any man I
know."

"And how are they all?" said Lothair; "my first visit will be to them."

"And they will be delighted to see you. Lady St. Jerome is a little
indisposed -- a cold caught at one of her bazaars. She will hold them,
and they say that no one ever sells so much. But still, as I often say,
'My dear Gertrude, would it not be better if I were to give you a check
for the institution; it would be the same to them, and would save you a
great deal of trouble.' But she fancies her presence inspires others,
and perhaps there is something in it."

"I doubt not; and Miss Arundel?"

"Clare is quite well, and I am hurrying home now to ride with her. I
shall tell her that you asked after her."

"And offer her my kindest remembrances."

"What a relief!" exclaimed Lothair, when once more alone. "I thought I
should have sunk into the earth when he first addressed me, and now I
would not have missed this meeting for any consideration."

He had not the courage to go into White's. He was under a vague
impression that the whole population of the metropolis, and especially
those who reside in the sacred land, bounded on the one side by
Piccadilly, and on the other by Pall Mall, were unceasingly talking of
his scrapes and misadventures; but he met Lord Carisbrooke and Mr.
Brancepeth.

"Ah! Lothair," said Carisbrooke, "I do not think we have seen you this
season -- certainly not since Easter. What have you been doing with
yourself?"

"You have been in Egypt?" said Mr. Brancepeth. "The duke was mentioning
at White's to-day that you had returned with his son and Lord St.
Aldegonde."

"And does it pay?" inquired Carisbrooke. "Egypt? What I have found
generally in this sort of thing is, that one hardly knows what to do
with one's evenings."

"There is something in that," said Lothair, "and perhaps it applies to
other countries besides Egypt. However, though it is true I did return
with St. Aldegonde and Bertram, I have myself not been to Egypt."

"And where did you pick them up?"

"At Jerusalem."

"Jerusalem! What on earth could they go to Jerusalem for?" said Lord
Carisbrooke. "I am told there is no sort of sport there. They say, in
the Upper Nile, there is good shooting."

"St. Aldegonde was disappointed. I suppose our countrymen have
disturbed the crocodiles and frightened away the pelicans?"

"We were going to look in at White's -- come with us."

Lothair was greeted with general kindness; but nobody seemed aware that
he had been long and unusually absent from them. Some had themselves
not come up to town till after Easter, and had therefore less cause to
miss him. The great majority, however, were so engrossed with
themselves that they never missed anybody. The Duke of Brecon appealed
to Lothair about something that had happened at the last Derby, and was
under the impression, until better informed, that Lothair had been one
of his party. There were some exceptions to this general unacquaintance
with events which an hour before Lothair had feared fearfully engrossed
society. Hugo Bohun was doubly charmed to see him, "because we were all
in a fright one day that they were going to make you a cardinal, and it
turned out that, at the very time they said you were about to enter the
conclave, you happened to be at the second cataract. What lies these
newspapers do tell!"

But the climax of relief was reached when the noble and gray-headed
patron of the arts in Great Britain approached him with polished
benignity, and said, "I can give you perhaps even later news than you
can give me of our friends at Jerusalem. I had a letter from Madame
Phoebus this morning, and she mentioned with great regret that you had
just left them. Your first travels, I believe?"

"My first."

"And wisely planned. You were right in starting out and seeing the
distant parts. One may not always have the energy which such an
expedition requires. You can keep Italy for a later and calmer day."

Thus, one by one, all the cerulean demons of the morn had vanished, and
Lothair had nothing to worry him. He felt a little dull as the
dinner-hour approached. Bertram was to dine at home, and then go to the
House of Commons; St. Aldegonde, concluding the day with the same
catastrophe, had in the most immoral manner, in the interval, gone to
the play to see "School," of which he had read an account in Galignani
when he was in quarantine. Lothair was so displeased with this
unfeeling conduct on his part that he declined to accompany him; but
Lady St. Aldegonde, who dined at Crecy House, defended her husband, and
thought it very right and reasonable that one so fond of the drama as
he, who had been so long deprived of gratifying his taste in that
respect, should take the first opportunity of enjoying this innocent
amusement. A solitary dinner at Muriel House, in one of those spacious
and lofty chambers, rather appalled Lothair, and he was getting low
again, remembering nothing but his sorrows, when Mr. Pinto came up to
him and said: "The impromptu is always successful in life; you cannot
be engaged to dinner, for everybody believes you are at Jericho. What
say you to dining with me? Less than the Muses and more than the
Graces, certainly, if you come. Lady Beatrice has invited herself, and
she is to pick up a lady, and I was to look out for a couple of
agreeable men. Huge is coming, and you will complete the charm."

"The spell then is complete," said Lothair; "I suppose a late eight."

CHAPTER 82

Lothair was breakfasting alone on the morrow, when his servant announced
the arrival of Mr. Ruby, who had been ordered to be in attendance.

"Show him up," said Lothair, "and bring me the dispatch-box which is in
my dressing-room."

Mr. Ruby was deeply gratified to be again in the presence of a nobleman
so eminently distinguished, both for his property and his taste, as
Lothair. He was profuse in his congratulations to his lordship on his
return to his native land, while at the same time he was opening a bag,
from which he extracted a variety of beautiful objects, none of them for
sale, all executed commissions, which were destined to adorn the
fortunate and the fair. "This is lovely, my lord, quite new, for the
Queen of Madagascar; for the empress this, her majesty's own design, at
least almost. Lady Melton's bridal necklace, and my lord's George, the
last given by King James II.; broken up during the revolution, but reset
by us from an old drawing with picked stones."

"Very pretty," said Lothair; "but it is not exactly this sort of thing
that I want. See," and he opened the dispatch-box, and took from out of
it a crucifix. It was made of some Eastern wood, inlaid with
mother-of-pearl; the figure carved in brass, though not without power,
and at the end of each of the four terminations of the cross was a small
cavity, enclosing something, and covered with glass.

"See," continued Lothair, "this is the crucifix, given with a carved
shell to each pilgrim who visits the Holy Sepulchre. Within these four
cavities is earth from the four holy places: Calvary, Sion, Bethlehem,
and Gethsemane. Now, what I want is a crucifix, something of this
dimension, but made of the most costly materials; the figure must be of
pure gold; I should like the cross to be of choice emeralds, which I am
told are now more precious even than brilliants, and I wish the earth of
the sacred places to be removed from this crucifix, and introduced in a
similar manner into the one which you are to make; and each cavity must
be covered with a slit diamond. Do you understand?"

"I follow you, my lord," said Mr. Ruby, with glistening eyes. "It will
be a rare jewel. Is there to be a limit as to the cost?"

"None but such as taste and propriety suggest," said Lothair. "You will
of course make a drawing and an estimate, and send them to me; but I
desire dispatch."

When Mr. Ruby had retired, Lothair took from the dispatch-box a sealed
packet, and looked at it for some moments, and then pressed it to his
lips.

In the afternoon, Lothair found himself again in the saddle, and was
riding about London, as if he had never quitted it. He left his cards
at Crecy House, and many other houses, and he called at the St. Jeromes'
late, but asked if they were at home. He had reckoned that they would
not be, and his reckoning was right. It was impossible to conceal from
himself that it was a relief. Mr. Putney Giles dined alone with Lothair
this evening, and they talked over many things; among others the
approaching marriage of Lady Corisande with the Duke of Brecon.

"Everybody marries except myself," said Lothair, rather peevishly.

"But your lordship is too young to think of that yet," said Mr. Putney
Giles.

"I feel very old," said Lothair.

At this moment there arrived a note from Bertram, saying his mother was
quite surprised and disappointed that Lothair had not asked to see her
in the morning. She had expected him, as a matter of course, at
luncheon, and begged that he would come on the morrow.

"I have had many pleasant luncheons in that house," said Lothair, "but
this will be the last. When all the daughters are married, nobody eats
luncheon."

"That would hardly apply to this family," said Mr. Putney Giles, who
always affected to know every thing, and generally did. "They are so
united, that I fancy the famous luncheons at Crecy House will always go
on, and be a popular mode of their all meeting."

"I half agree with St. Aldegonde," said Lothair, grumbling to himself,
"that if one is to meet that Duke of Brecon every day at luncheon, for
my part I had rather stay away."

In the course of the evening there also arrived invitations to all the
impending balls and assemblies, for Lothair; and there seemed little
prospect of his again being forced to dine with his faithful solicitor
as a refuge from melancholy.

On the morrow he went in his brougham to Crecy House, and he had such a
palpitation of the heart when he arrived, that, for a moment, he
absolutely thought he must retire. His mind was full of Jerusalem, the
Mount of Olives, and the Sea of Galilee. He was never nervous there,
never agitated, never harassed, no palpitations of the heart, no dread
suspense. There was repose alike of body and soul. Why did he ever
leave Palestine and Paraclete? He should have remained in Syria
forever, cherishing, in a hallowed scene, a hallowed sorrow, of which
even the bitterness was exalted and ennobling.

He stood for a moment in the great hall at Crecy House, and the groom of
the chambers in vain solicited his attention. It was astonishing how
much passed through his mind while the great clock hardly described
sixty seconds. But in that space he had reviewed his life, arrived at
the conclusion that all was vanity and bitterness, that he had failed in
every thing, was misplaced, had no object and no hope, and that a
distant and unbroken solitude in some scene, where either the majesty of
Nature was overwhelming, or its moral associations were equally sublime,
must be his only refuge. In the meditation of the Cosmos, or in the
divine reverie of sacred lands, the burden of existence might be
endured.

"Her grace is at luncheon, my lord," at length said the groom of the
chamber -- and Lothair was ushered into the gay, and festive, and
cordial scene. The number of the self-invited guests alone saved him.
His confusion was absolute, and the duchess remarked afterward that
Lothair seemed to have regained all his shyness.

When Lothair had rallied and could survey the scene, he found he was
sitting by his hostess; that the duke, not a luncheon man, was present,
and, as it turned out afterward, for the pleasure of meeting Lothair.
Bertram also was present, and several married daughters, and Lord
Montairy, and Captain Mildmay, and one or two others; and next to Lady
Corisande was the Duke of Brecon.

So far as Lothair was concerned, the luncheon was unsuccessful. His
conversational powers deserted him. He answered in monosyllables, and
never originated a remark. He was greatly relieved when they rose and
returned to the gallery, in which they seemed all disposed to linger.
The duke approached him, and, in his mood, he found it easier to talk to
men than to women. Male conversation is of a coarser grain, and does
not require so much play of thought and manner; discourse about Suez
Canal, and Arab horses, and pipes, and pachas, can be carried on without
any psychological effort, and, by degrees, banishes all sensibility.
And yet he was rather dreamy, talked better than he listened, did not
look his companion in the face, as the duke spoke, which was his custom,
and his eye was wandering. Suddenly, Bertram having joined them, and
speaking to his father, Lothair darted away and approached Lady
Corisande, whom Lady Montairy had just quitted.

"As I may never have the opportunity again," said Lothair, "let me thank
you, Lady Corisande, for some kind thoughts which you deigned to bestow
on me in my absence."

His look was serious; his tone almost sad. Neither were in keeping with
the scene and the apparent occasion; and Lady Corisande, not displeased,
but troubled, murmured: "Since I last met you, I heard you had seen
much and suffered much."

"And that makes the kind thoughts of friends more precious," said
Lothair. "I have few; your brother is the chief, but even he never did
me any kindness so great as when he told me that you had spoken of me
with sympathy."

"Bertram's friends are mine," said Lady Corisande; "but, otherwise, it
would be impossible for us all not to feel an interest in -- , one of
whom we had seen so much," she added, with some hesitation.

"Ah, Brentham!" said Lothair; "dear Brentham! Do you remember once
saying to me that you hoped you should never leave Brentham?"

"Did I say so?" said Lady Corisande.

"I wish I had never left Brentham," said Lothair; "it was the happiest
time of my life. I had not then a sorrow or a care."

"But everybody has sorrows and cares," said Lady Corisande; "you have,
however, a great many things which ought to make you happy."

"I do not deserve to be happy," said Lothair, "for I have made so many
mistakes. My only consolation is that one great error, which you most
deprecated, I have escaped."

"Take a brighter and a nobler view of your life," said Lady Corisande;
"feel rather you have been tried and not found wanting."

At this moment the duchess approached them, and interrupted their
conversation; and, soon after this, Lothair left Crecy House, still
moody, but less despondent.

There was a ball at Lady Clanmorne's in the evening, and Lothair was
present. He was astonished at the number of new faces he saw, the new
phrases he heard, the new fashions alike in dress and manner. He could
not believe it was the same world that he had quitted only a year ago.
He was glad to take refuge with Hugo Bohun as with an old friend, and
could not refrain from expressing to that eminent person his surprise at
the novelty of all around him.

"It is you, my dear Lothair," replied Hugo, "that is surprising, not the
world -- that has only developed in your absence. What could have
induced a man like you to be away for a whole season from the scene?
Our forefathers might afford to travel -- the world was then
stereotyped. It will not do to be out of sight now. It is very well
for St. Aldegonde to do these things, for the great object of St.
Aldegonde is not to be in society, and he has never succeeded in his
object. But here is the new beauty."

There was a stir and a sensation. Men made way, and even women
retreated -- and, leaning on the arm of Lord Carisbrooke, in an
exquisite costume that happily displayed her splendid figure, and,
radiant with many charms, swept by a lady of commanding mien and
stature, self-possessed, and even grave, when, suddenly turning her
head, her pretty face broke into enchanting dimples, as she exclaimed:
"Oh, cousin Lothair!"

Yes, the beautiful giantesses of Muriel Towers had become the beauties
of the season. Their success had been as sudden and immediate as it was
complete and sustained. "Well, this is stranger than all!" said Lothair
to Hugo Bohun when Lady Flora had passed on.

"The only persons talked of," said Hugo. "I am proud of my previous
acquaintance with them. I think Carisbrooke has serious thoughts; but
there are some who prefer Lady Grizell."

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