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Books: Lothair

B >> Benjamin Disraeli >> Lothair




"Lady Corisande was your idol last season," said Lothair.

"Oh, she is out of the running," said Hugo; "she is finished. But I
have not heard yet of any day being fixed. I wonder, when he marries,
whether Brecon will keep on his theatre?"

"His theatre!"

"Yes; the high mode now for a real swell is to have a theatre. Brecon
has the Frolic; Kate Simmons is his manager, who calls herself Athalie
de Montfort. You ought to have a theatre, Lothair; and, if there is not
one to hire, you should build one. It would show that you are alive
again and had the spirit of an English noble, and atone for some of your
eccentricities."

"But I have no Kate Simmons who calls herself Athalie de Montfort," said
Lothair. "I am not so favored, Hugo. However, I might succeed Brecon,
as I hardly suppose he will maintain such an establishment when he is
married."

"I beg your pardon," rejoined Hugo. "It is the thing. Several of our
greatest swells have theatres and are married. In fact, a first-rate
man should have every thing, and therefore he ought to have both a
theatre and a wife."

"Well, I do not think your manners have improved since, last year, or
your words," said Lothair. "I have half a mind to go down to Muriel,
and shut myself up there."

He walked away and sauntered into the ballroom. The first forms he
recognized were Lady Corisande waltzing with the Duke of Brecon, who was
renowned for this accomplishment. The heart of Lothair felt bitter. He
remembered his stroll to the dairy with the Duchess at Brentham, and
their conversation. Had his views then been acceded to, how different
would have been his lot! And it was not his fault that they had been
rejected. And yet, had they been accomplished, would they have been
happy? The character of Corisande, according to her mother, was not
then formed, nor easily scrutable. Was it formed now? and what were its
bent and genius? And his own character? It could not be denied that
his mind was somewhat crude then, and his general conclusions on life
and duty hardly sufficiently matured and developed to offer a basis for
domestic happiness on which one might confidently depend.

And Theodora? Had he married then, he should never have known Theodora.
In this bright saloon, amid the gayety of festive music, and surrounded
by gliding forms of elegance and brilliancy, his heart was full of
anguish when he thought of Theodora. To have known such a woman and to
have lost her! Why should a man live after this? Yes; he would retire
to Muriel, once hallowed by her presence, and he would raise to her
memory some monumental fane, beyond the dreams ever of Artemisia, and
which should commemorate alike her wondrous life and wondrous mind.

A beautiful hand was extended to him, and a fair face, animated with
intelligence, welcomed him without a word. It was Lady St. Jerome.
Lothair bowed lowly and touched her hand with his lip.

"I was sorry to have missed you yesterday. We had gone down to Vauxe
for the day, but I heard of you from my lord with great pleasure. We
are all of us so happy that you have entirely recovered your health."

"I owe that to you, dearest lady," said Lothair, "and to those under
your roof. I can never forget your goodness to me. Had it not been for
you, I should not have been here or anywhere else."

"No, no; we did our best for the moment. But I quite agree with my
lord, now, that you stayed too long at Rome under the circumstances. It
was a good move -- that going to Sicily, and so wise of you to travel in
Egypt. Men should travel."

"I have not been to Egypt," said Lothair; "I have been to the Holy Land,
and am a pilgrim. I wish you would tell Miss Arundel that I shall ask
her permission to present her with my crucifix, which contains the earth
of the holy places. I should have told her this myself, if I had seen
her yesterday. Is she here?"

"She is at Vauxe; she could not tear herself away from the roses."

"But she might have brought them with her as companions," said Lothair,
"as you have, I apprehend, yourself."

"I will give you this in Clare's name," said Lady St. Jerome, as she
selected a beautiful flower and presented it to Lothair. "It is in
return for your crucifix, which I am sure she will highly esteem. I
only wish it were a rose of Jericho."

Lothair started. The name brought up strange and disturbing
associations: the procession in the Jesuits' church, the lighted tapers,
the consecrated children, one of whom had been supernaturally presented
with the flower in question. There was an awkward silence, until
Lothair, almost without intending it, expressed a hope that the cardinal
was well.

"Immersed in affairs, but I hope well," replied Lady St. Jerome. "You
know what has happened? But you will see him. He will speak to you of
these matters himself."

"But I should like also to hear from you."

"Well, they are scarcely yet to be spoken of," said Lady St. Jerome. "I
ought not perhaps even to have alluded to the subject; but I know how
deeply devoted you are to religion. We are on the eve of the greatest
event of this century. When I wake in the morning, I always fancy that
I have heard of it only in dreams. And many -- all this room -- will
not believe in the possibility of its happening. They smile when the
contingency is alluded to, and if I were not present they would mock.
But it will happen -- I am assured it will happen," exclaimed Lady St.
Jerome, speaking with earnestness, though in a hushed voice. "And no
human imagination can calculate or conceive what may be its effect on
the destiny of the human race."

"You excite my utmost curiosity," said Lothair.

"Hush! there are listeners. But we shall soon meet again. You will
come and see us, and soon. Come down to Vauxe on Saturday; the cardinal
will be there. And the place is so lovely now. I always say Vauxe at
Whitsuntide, or a little later, is a scene for Shakespeare. You know
you always liked Vauxe."

"More than liked it," said Lothair; "I have passed at Vauxe some of the
happiest hours of my life."



CHAPTER 83


On the morning of the very Saturday on which Lothair was to pay his
visit to Vauxe, riding in the park, he was joined by that polished and
venerable nobleman who presides over the destinies of art in Great
Britain. This distinguished person had taken rather a fancy to Lothair,
and liked to talk to him about the Phoebus family; about the great artist
himself, and all his theories and styles; but especially about the
fascinating Madame Phoebus and the captivating Euphrosyne.

"You have not found time, I dare say," said the nobleman, "to visit the
exhibition of the Royal Academy?"

"Well, I have only been here a week," said Lothair, "and have had so
many things to think of, and so many persons to see."

"Naturally," said the nobleman; "but I recommend you to go. I am now
about to make my fifth visit there; but it is only to a single picture,
and I envy its owner."

"Indeed!" said Lothair. "Pray tell me its subject, that I may not fail
to see it."

"It is a portrait," said the nobleman, "only a portrait, some would say,
as if the finest pictures in the world were not only portraits. The
masterpieces of the English school are portraits, and some day when you
have leisure and inclination, and visit Italy, you will see portraits by
Titian and Raffaelle and others, which are the masterpieces of art.
Well, the picture in question is a portrait by a young English painter
at Rome and of an English lady. I doubt not the subject was equal to
the genius of the artist, but I do not think that the modern pencil has
produced any thing equal to it, both, in design and color and
expression. You should see it, by all means, and I have that opinion of
your taste that I do not think you will be content by seeing it once.
The real taste for fine art in this country is proved by the crowd that
always surrounds that picture; and yet only a portrait of an English
lady, a Miss Arundel."

"A Miss Arundel?" said Lothair.

"Yes, of a Roman Catholic family; I believe a relative of the St.
Jeromes. They were at Rome last year, when this portrait was executed."

"If you will permit me," said Lothair, "I should like to accompany you
to the Academy. I am going out of town this afternoon, but not far, and
could manage it."

So they went together. It was the last exhibition of the Academy in
Trafalgar Square. The portrait in question was in the large room, and
hung on the eye line; so, as the throng about it was great, it was not
easy immediately to inspect it. But one or two R. A.s who were gliding
about, and who looked upon the noble patron of art as a sort of
divinity, insensibly controlled the crowd, and secured for their friend
and his companion the opportunity which they desired.

"It is the finest thing since the portrait of the Cenci," said the noble
patron.

The painter had represented Miss Arundel in her robe of a sister of
mercy, but with uncovered head. A wallet was at her side, and she held
a crucifix. Her beautiful eyes, full of mystic devotions met those of
the spectator with a fascinating power that kept many spell-bound. In
the background of the picture was a masterly glimpse of the papal
gardens and the wondrous dome.

"That must be a great woman," said the noble patron of art.

Lothair nodded assent in silence.

The crowd about the picture seemed breathless and awe-struck. There
were many women, and in some eyes there were tears.

"I shall go home," said one of the spectators; "I do not wish to see any
thing else."

"That is religion," murmured her companion. "They may say what they
like, but it would be well for us if we were all like her."

It was a short half-hour by the railroad to Vauxe, and the station was
close to the park gates. The sun was in its last hour when Lothair
arrived, but he was captivated by the beauty of the scene, which he had
never witnessed in its summer splendor. The rich foliage of the great
avenues, the immense oaks that stood alone, the deer glancing in the
golden light, and the quaint and stately edifice itself, so finished and
so fair, with its freestone pinnacles and its gilded vanes glistening
and sparkling in the warm and lucid sky, contrasted with the chilly
hours when the cardinal and himself had first strolled together in that
park, and when they tried to flatter themselves that the morning mist
clinging to the skeleton trees was perhaps the burst of spring.

Lothair found himself again in his old rooms, and, as his valet unpacked
his toilet, be fell into one of his reveries.

"What," he thought to himself, "if life after all be only a dream? I
can scarcely realize what is going on. It seems to me; I have passed
through a year of visions. That I should be at Vauxe again! A roof I
once thought rife with my destiny. And perhaps it may prove so. And,
were it not for the memory of one event, I should be a ship without a
rudder."

There were several guests in the house, and, when Lothair entered the
drawing-room, he was glad to find that it was rather full. The cardinal
was by the side of Lady St. Jerome when Lothair entered, and immediately
after saluting his hostess it was his duty to address his late guardian.
Lothair. had looked forward to this meeting with apprehension. It
seemed impossible that it should not to a certain degree be annoying.
Nothing of the kind. It was impossible to greet him more cordially,
more affectionately than did Cardinal Grandison.

"You have seen a great deal since we parted," said the cardinal.
"Nothing could be wiser than your travelling. You remember that at
Muriel I recommended you to go to Egypt, but I thought it better that
you should see Rome first. And it answered: you made the acquaintance
of its eminent men, men whose names will be soon in everybody's mouth,
for before another year elapses Rome will be the cynosure of the world.
Then, when the great questions come on which will decide the fate of the
human race for centuries, you will feel the inestimable advantage of
being master of the situation, and that you are familiar with every
place and every individual. I think you were not very well at Rome; but
next time you must choose your season. However, I may congratulate you
on your present looks. The air of the Levant seems to have agreed with
you."

Dinner was announced almost at this moment, and Lothair, who had to take
out Lady Clanmorne, had no opportunity before dinner of addressing any
one else except his hostess and the cardinal. The dinner-party was
large, and it took some time to reconnoitre all the guests. Lothair
observed Miss Arundel, who was distant from him and on the same side of
the table, but neither Monsignore Capel nor Father Coleman were present.

Lady Clanmorne chatted agreeably. She was content to talk, and did not
insist on conversational reciprocity. She was a pure free-trader in
gossip. This rather suited Lothair. It pleased Lady Clanmorne to-day
to dilate upon marriage and the married state, but especially on all her
acquaintances, male and female, who were meditating the surrender of
their liberty and about to secure the happiness of their lives.

"I suppose the wedding of the season -- the wedding of weddings -- will
be the Duke of Brecon's," she said. "But I do not hear of any day
being fixed."

"Ah!" said Lothair, "I have been abroad and am very deficient in these
matters. But I was travelling with the lady's brother, and he has never
yet told me that his sister was going to be married."

"There is no doubt about that," said Lady Clanmorne. "The duchess said
to a friend of mine the other day, who congratulated her, that there was
no person in whom she should have more confidence as a son-in-law than
the duke."

"But most marriages turn out unhappy," said Lothair, rather morosely.

"Oh! my dear lord, what can you mean?"

"Well I think so," he said doggedly. "Among the lower orders, if we may
judge from the newspapers, they are always killing their wives, and in
our class we get rid of them in a more polished way, or they get rid of
us."

"You quite astonish me with such sentiments," said Lady Clanmorne.
"What would Lady St. Jerome think if she heard you, who told me the
other day that she believed you to be a faultless character? And the
duchess too, your friend's mamma, who thinks you so good, and that it is
so fortunate for her son to have such a companion?"

"As for Lady St. Jerome, she believes in every thing," said Lothair;
"and it is no compliment that she believes in me. As for my friend's
mamma, her ideal character, according to you, is the Duke of Brecon, and
I cannot pretend to compete with him. He may please the duchess, but I
cannot say the Duke of Brecon is a sort of man I admire."

"Well, he is no great favorite of mine," said Lady Clanmorne; "I think
him overbearing and selfish, and I should not like at all to be his
wife."

"What do you think of Lady Corisande?" said Lothair.

"I admire her more than any girl in society, and I think she will be
thrown away on the Duke of Brecon. She is clever and she has strong
character, and, I am told, is capable of great affections. Her manners
are good, finished, and natural; and she is beloved by her young
friends, which I always think a test."

"Do you think her handsome?"

"There can be no question about that: she is beautiful, and her beauty
is of a high class. I admire her much more than all her sisters. She
has a grander mien."

"Have you seen Miss Arundel's picture at the Academy?"

"Everybody has seen that: it has made a fury."

"I heard an eminent judge say to-day, that it was the portrait of one
who must be a great woman."

"Well, Miss Arundel is a remarkable person."

"Do you admire her?"

"I have heard first-rate critics say that there was no person to be
compared to Miss Arundel. And unquestionably it is a most striking
countenance: that profound brow and those large deep eyes -- and then
her figure is so fine; but, to tell you the truth, Miss Arundel is a
person I never could make out."

"I wonder she does not marry," said Lothair.

"She is very difficult," said Lady Clanmorne. "Perhaps, too, she is of
your opinion about marriage."

"I have a good mind to ask her after dinner whether she is," said
Lothair. "I fancy she would not marry a Protestant?"

"I am no judge of such matters," said Lady Clanmorne; "only I cannot
help thinking that there would be more chance of a happy marriage when
both were of the same religion."

"I wish we were all of the same religion. Do not you?"

"Well, that depends a little on what the religion might be."

"Ah!" sighed Lothair, "what between religion and marriage and some other
things, it appears to me one never has a tranquil moment. I wonder what
religious school the Duke of Brecon belongs to? Very high and dry, I
should think."

The moment the gentlemen returned to the drawing-room, Lothair singled
out Miss Arundel, and attached himself to her.

"I have been to see your portrait today," he said. She changed color.

"I think it," he continued, "the triumph of modern art, and I could not
easily fix on any production of the old masters that excels it."

"It was painted at Rome," she said, in a low voice.

"So I understood. I regret that, when I was at Rome, I saw so little of
its art. But my health, you know, was wretched. Indeed, if it had not
been for some friends -- I might say for one friend -- I should not have
been here or in this world. I can never express to that person my
gratitude, and it increases every day. All that I have dreamed of
angels was then realized."

"You think too kindly of us."

"Did Lady St. Jerome give you my message about the earth from the holy
places which I had placed in a crucifix, and which I hope you will
accept from me, in remembrance of the past and your Christian kindness
to me? I should have left it at St. James's Square before this, but it
required some little arrangement after its travels."

"I shall prize it most dearly, both on account of its consecrated
character and for the donor's sake, whom I have ever wished to see the
champion of our Master."

"You never had a wish, I am sure," said Lothair, "that was not sublime
and pure."



CHAPTER 84


They breakfasted at Vauxe, in the long gallery. It was always a merry
meal, and it was the fashion of the house that all should be present.
The cardinal was seldom absent. He used to say: "I feel more on equal
terms with my friends at breakfast, and rather look forward to my
banquet of dry toast." Lord St. Jerome was quite proud of receiving his
letters and newspapers at Vauxe earlier by far than be did at St.
James's Square; and, as all were supplied with their letters and
journals, there was a great demand, for news, and a proportional
circulation of it. Lady Clanmorne indulged this passion for gossip
amusingly one morning, and read a letter from her correspondent, written
with the grace of a Sevigne, but which contained details of marriages,
elopements, and a murder among their intimate acquaintance, which made
all the real intelligence quite insipid, and was credited for at least
half an hour.

The gallery at Vauxe was of great length, and the breakfast-table was
laid at one end of it. The gallery was of panelled oak, with windows of
stained glass in the upper panes, and the ceiling, richly and heavily
carved, was entirely gilt, but with deadened gold. Though stately, the
general effect was not free from a certain character of gloom. Lit, as
it was, by sconces, this was at night much softened; but, on a rich
summer morn, the gravity and repose of this noble chamber were grateful
to the senses.

The breakfast was over; the ladies had retired, stealing off with the
Morning Post, the gentlemen gradually disappearing for the solace of
their cigars. The cardinal, who was conversing with Lothair, continued
their conversation while walking up and down the gallery, far from the
hearing of the servants, who were disembarrassing the breakfast-table,
and preparing it for luncheon. A visit to a country-house, as Pinto
says, is a series of meals mitigated by the new dresses of the ladies.

"The more I reflect on your travels," said the cardinal, "the more I am
satisfied with what has happened. I recognize the hand of Providence in
your preliminary visit to Rome and your subsequent one to Jerusalem. In
the vast events which are impending, that man is in a strong position
who has made a pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre. Yon remember our walk
in the park here," continued the cardinal; "I felt then that we were on
the eve of some mighty change, but it was then indefinite, though to me
inevitable. You were destined, I was persuaded, to witness it, even, as
I hoped, to take no inconsiderable share in its fulfilment. But I
hardly believed that I should have been spared for this transcendent
day, and, when it is consummated, I will gratefully exclaim, 'Nunc me
dimittis!'"

"You, allude, sir, to some important matter which Lady St. Jerome a few
days ago intimated to me, but it was only an intimation, and purposely
very vague."

"There is no doubt," said the cardinal, speaking with solemnity, "of
what I now communicate to you. The Holy Father, Pius IX., has resolved
to summon an Oecumenical Council."

"An Oecumenical Council!" said Lothair.

"It is a weak phrase," resumed the cardinal, "to say it will be the
greatest event of this century. I believe it will be the greatest event
since the Episcopate of St. Peter; greater, in its consequences to the
human race, than the fall of the Roman Empire, the pseudo-Reformation,
or the Revolution of France. It is much more than three hundred years
since the last Oecumenical Council, the Council of Trent, and the world
still vibrates with its decisions. But the Council of Trent, compared
with the impending Council of the Vatican, will be as the mediaeval world
of Europe compared with the vast and complete globe which man has since
discovered and mastered."

"Indeed!" said Lothair.

"Why, the very assembly of the Fathers of the Church will astound the
Freemasons, and the secret societies, and the atheists. That alone will
be a demonstration of power on the part of the Holy Father which no
conqueror from Sesostris to Napoleon has ever equalled. It was only the
bishops of Europe that assembled at Trent, and, inspired by the Holy
Spirit, their decisions have governed man for more than three hundred
years. But now the bishops of the whole world will assemble round the
chair of St. Peter, and prove by their presence the catholic character
of the Church. Asia will send its patriarchs and pontiffs, and America
and Australia its prelates; and at home, my dear young friend, the
Council of the Vatican will offer a striking contrast to the Council of
Trent; Great Britain will be powerfully represented. The bishops of
Ireland might have been counted on, but it is England also that will
send her prelates now, and some of them will take no ordinary share in
transactions that will give a new form and color to human existence."

"Is it true, sir, that the object of the council is to declare the
infallibility of the pope?"

"In matters of faith and morals," said the cardinal quickly. "There is
no other infallibility. That is a secret with God. All that we can
know of the decision of the council on this awful head is, that its
decision, inspired by the Holy Spirit, must infallibly be right. We
must await that decision, and, when made known, we must embrace it, not
only with obedience, but with the interior assent of mind and will. But
there are other results of the council on which we may speculate; and
which, I believe, it will certainly accomplish: first, it will show in a
manner that cannot be mistaken that there is only one alternative for
the human intellect: Rationalism or Faith; and, secondly, it will
exhibit to the Christian powers the inevitable future they are now
preparing for themselves."

"I am among the faithful," said Lothair.

"Then you must be a member of the Church Catholic," said the cardinal.
"The basis on which God has willed that His revelation should rest in
the world is the testimony of the Catholic Church, which, if considered
only as a human and historical witness, affords the highest and most
certain evidence for the fact and the contents of the Christian
religion. If this be denied, there is no such thing as history. But
the Catholic Church is not only a human and historical witness of its
own origin, constitution, and authority, it is also a supernatural and
divine witness, which can neither fail nor err. When it oecumenically
speaks, it is not merely the voice of the fathers of the world; it
declares what 'it hath seemed good to the Holy Ghost and to us.'"

There was a pause, and then Lothair remarked: "You said, air, that the
council would show to the civil powers of the Christian world the
inevitable future they are preparing for themselves?"

"Even so. Now mark this, my child. At the Council of Trent the
Christian powers were represented, and properly so. Their seats will be
empty at the Council of the Vatican. What does that mean? The
separation between Church and State, talked of for a long time, now
demonstrated. And what does separation between Church and State mean?
That society is no longer consecrated. The civil governments of the
world no longer profess to be Catholic. The faithful indeed among their
subjects will be represented at the council by their pastors, but the
civil powers have separated themselves from the Church; either by royal
edict, or legislative enactment, or revolutionary changes, they have
abolished the legal status of the Catholic Church within their
territory. It is not their choice; they are urged on by an invisible
power that is anti-Christian, and which is the true, natural, and
implacable enemy of the one visible and universal Church. The coming
anarchy is called progress, because it advances along the line of
departure from the old Christian order of the world. Christendom was
the offspring of the Christian family, and the foundation of the
Christian family is the sacrament of matrimony, the sprit of all
domestic and public morals. The anti-Christian societies are opposed to
the principle of home. When they have destroyed the hearth, the
morality of society will perish. A settlement in the foundations may be
slow in sinking, but it brings all down at last. The next step in
de-Christianizing the political life of nations is to establish national
education without Christianity. This is systematically aimed at
wherever the revolution has its way. The period and policy of Julian
are returning. Some think this bodes ill for the Church; no, it is the
State that will suffer. The secret societies are hurrying the civil
governments of the world, and mostly the governments who disbelieve in
their existence, to the brink of a precipice, over which monarchies, and
law, and civil order, will ultimately fall and perish together."