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Books: Lothair

B >> Benjamin Disraeli >> Lothair




"Then all is hopeless," said Lothair.

"To human speculation," said the cardinal; "but none can fathom the
mysteries of Divine interposition. This coming council may save
society, and on that I would speak to you most earnestly. His holiness
has resolved to invite the schismatic priesthoods to attend it, and
labor to bring about the unity of Christendom. He will send an
ambassador to the patriarch of the heresy of Photius, which is called
the Greek Church. He will approach Lambeth. I have little hope of the
latter, though there is more than one of the Anglican bishops who revere
the memory and example of Laud. But I by no means despair of your
communion being present in some form at the council. There are true
spirits at Oxford who sigh for unity. They will form, I hope, a
considerable deputation; but, as not yet being prelates, they cannot
take their seats formally in the council, I wish, in order to increase
and assert their influence, that they should be accompanied by a band of
powerful laymen, who shall represent the pious and pure mind of England
-- the coming guardians of the land in the dark hour that may be at
hand. Considering your previous knowledge of Rome, your acquaintance
with its eminent men and its language, and considering too, as I well
know, that the Holy Father looks to you as one marked out by Providence
to assert the truth, it would please me -- and, trust me, it would be
wise in you -- were you to visit Rome on this sublime occasion, and
perhaps put your mark on the world's history."

"It must yet be a long time before the council meets," said Lothair,
after a pause.

"Not too long for preparation," replied the cardinal. "From this hour,
until its assembling, the pulse of humanity will throb. Even at this
hour they are speaking of the same matters as ourselves alike on the
Euphrates and the St. Lawrence. The good Catesby is in Ireland,
conferring with the bishops, and awakening them to the occasion. There
is a party among them narrow-minded and local, the effects of their
education. There ought not to be an Irish priest who was not brought up
at the Propaganda. You know that admirable institution. We had some
happy hours at Rome together -- may we soon repeat them! You were very
unwell there; next time you will judge of Rome in health and vigor."



CHAPTER 85


They say there is a skeleton in every house; it may be doubted. What is
more certain are the sorrow and perplexity which sometimes, without a
warning and preparation, suddenly fall upon a family living in a world
of happiness and ease, and meriting their felicity by every gift of
fortune and disposition.

Perhaps there never was a circle that enjoyed life more, and deserved to
enjoy life more, than the Brentham family. Never was a family more
admired and less envied. Nobody grudged them their happy gifts and
accidents, for their demeanor was so winning, and their manners so
cordial and sympathetic, that every one felt as if he shared their
amiable prosperity. And yet, at this moment, the duchess, whose
countenance was always as serene as her soul, was walking with disturbed
visage and agitated step up and down the private room of the duke; while
his grace, seated, his head upon his arm, and with his eyes on the
ground, was apparently in anxious thought.

Now, what had happened? It seems that these excellent parents had
become acquainted, almost at the same moment, with two astounding and
disturbing facts: their son wanted to marry Euphrosyne Cantacuzene, and
their daughter would not marry the Duke of Brecon.

"I was so perfectly unprepared for the communication," said the duke,
looking up, "that I have no doubt I did not express myself as I ought to
have done. But I do not think I said any thing wrong. I showed
surprise, sorrow -- no anger. I was careful not to say any thing to
hurt his feelings -- that is a great point in these matters -- nothing
disrespectful of the young lady. I invited him to speak to me again
about it when I had a little got over my surprise."

"It is really a catastrophe," exclaimed the duchess; "and only think, I
came to you for sympathy in my sorrow, which, after all, though
distressing, is only a mortification!"

"I am very sorry about Brecon," said the duke, "who is a man of honor,
and would have suited us very well; but, my dear Augusta, I never took
exactly the same view of this affair as you did -- I was never satisfied
that Corisande returned his evident, I might say avowed, admiration of
her."

"She spoke of him always with great respect," said the duchess, "and
that is much in a girl of Corisande's disposition. I never heard her
speak of any of her admirers in the same tone -- certainly not of Lord
Carisbrooke; I was quite prepared for her rejection of him. She never
encouraged him."

"Well," said the duke, "I grant you it is mortifying -- infinitely
distressing; and Brecon is the last man I could have wished that it
should occur to; but, after all, our daughter must decide for herself in
such affairs. She is the person most interested in the event. I never
influenced her sisters in their choice, and she also must be free. The
other subject is more grave."

"If we could only ascertain who she really is," said the duchess.

"According to Bertram, fully our equal; but I confess I am no judge of
Levantine nobility," his grace added, with a mingled expression of pride
and despair.

"That dreadful travelling abroad!" exclaimed the duchess. "I always had
a foreboding of something disastrous from it. Why should be have gone
abroad, who has never been to Ireland, or seen half the counties of his
own country?"

"They all will go," said the duke; "and I thought, with St. Aldegonde,
he was safe from getting into any scrape of this kind."

"I should like to speak to Granville about it," said the duchess. "When
he is serious, his judgment is good."

"I am to see St. Aldegonde before I speak to Bertram," said the duke.
"I should not be surprised if he were here immediately."

One of the social mysteries is, "how things get about!" It is not the
interest of any of the persons immediately connected with the subject
that society should be aware that the Lady Corisande had declined the
proposal of the Duke of Brecon. Society had no right even to assume
that such a proposal was either expected or contemplated. The Duke of
Brecon admired Lady Corisande, so did many others; and many others were
admired by the Duke of Brecon. The duchess even hoped that, as the
season was waning, it might break up, and people go into the country or
abroad, and nothing be observed. And yet it "got about." The way
things get about is through the Hugo Bohuns. Nothing escapes their
quick eyes and slow hearts. Their mission is to peer into society, like
professional astronomers ever on the watch to detect the slightest
change in the phenomena. Never embarrassed by any passion of their own,
and their only social scheming being to maintain their transcendent
position, all their life and energy are devoted to the discovery of what
is taking place around them; and experience, combined with natural tact,
invests them with almost a supernatural skill in the detection of social
secrets. And so it happened that scarcely a week had passed before Hugo
began to sniff the air, and then to make fine observations at balls, as
to whom certain persons danced with, or did not dance with; and then he
began the curious process of what he called putting two and two
together, and putting two and two together proved in about a fortnight
that it was all up between Lady Corisande and the Duke of Brecon.

Among others he imparted this information to Lothair, and it set Lothair
a thinking; and he went to a ball that evening solely with the purpose
of making social observations like Hugo Bohun. But Lady Corisande was
not there, though the Duke of Brecon was, apparently in high spirits,
and waltzing more than once with Lady Grizell Falkirk. Lothair was not
very fortunate in his attempts to see Bertram. He called more than once
at Crecy House too, but in vain. The fact is, Bertram was naturally
entirely engrossed with his own difficulties, and the duchess, harassed
and mortified, could no longer be at home in the morning.

Her grace, however, evinced the just appreciation of character for which
women are remarkable, in the confidence which she reposed in the good
sense of Lord St. Aldegonde at this crisis. St. Aldegonde was the only
one of his sons-in-law whom the duke really considered and a little
feared. When St. Aldegonde was serious, his influence over men was
powerful. And he was serious now. St. Aldegonde, who was not
conventional, had made the acquaintance of Mr. Cantacuzene immediately
on his return to England, and they had become friends. He had dined in
the Tyburnian palace of the descendant of the Greek emperors more than
once, and had determined to make his second son, who was only four years
of age, a Greek merchant. When the duke therefore consulted him on "the
catastrophe," St. Aldegonde took high ground, spoke of Euphrosyne in the
way she deserved, as one equal to an elevated social position, and
deserving it. "But if you ask me my opinion, sir," he continued, "I do
not think, except for Bertram's sake, that you have any cause to fret
yourself. The family wish her to marry her cousin, the eldest son of
the Prince of Samos. It is an alliance of the highest, and suits them
much better than any connection with us. Besides, Cantacuzene will give
his children large fortunes, and they like the money to remain in the
family. A hundred or a hundred and fifty thousand pounds -- perhaps
more -- goes a great way on the coasts of Asia Minor. You might buy up
half the Archipelago. The Cantacuzenes are coming to dine with us next
week. Bertha is delighted with them. Mr. Cantacuzene is so kind as to
say he will take Clovis into his counting-house. I wish I could induce
your grace to come and meet him: then you could judge for yourself. You
would not be in the least shocked were Bertram to marry the daughter of
some of our great merchants or bankers. This is a great merchant and
banker, and the descendant of princes, and his daughter one of the most
beautiful and gifted of women and worthy to be a princess."

"There is a good deal in what St. Aldegonde says," said the duke
afterward to his wife. "The affair takes rather a different aspect. It
appears they are really people of high consideration, and great wealth
too. Nobody could describe them as adventurers."

"We might gain a little time," said the duchess. "I dislike peremptory
decisions. It is a pity we have not an opportunity of seeing the young
lady."

"Granville says she is the most beautiful woman he ever met, except her
sister."

"That is the artist's wife?" said the duchess.

"Yes," said the duke, "I believe a most distinguished man, but it rather
adds to the imbroglio. Perhaps things may turn out better than they
first promised. The fact is, I am more amazed than annoyed. Granville
knows the father, it seems, intimately. He knows so many odd people.
He wants me to meet him at dinner. What do you think about it? It is a
good thing sometimes to judge for one's self. They say this Prince of
Samos she is half betrothed to is attach to the Turkish embassy at
Vienna, and is to visit England."

"My nervous system is quite shaken," said the duchess. "I wish we could
all go to Brentham. I mentioned it to Corisande this morning, and I was
surprised to find that she wished to remain in town."

"Well, we will decide nothing, my dear, in a hurry. St. Aldegonde says
that, if we decide in that sense, he will undertake to break off the
whole affair. We may rely on that. We need consider the business only
with reference to Bertram's happiness and feelings. That is an
important issue, no doubt, but it is a limited one. The business is not
of so disagreeable a nature as it seemed. It is not an affair of a rash
engagement, in a discreditable quarter, from which he cannot extricate
himself. There is no doubt they are thoroughly reputable people, and
will sanction nothing which is not decorous and honorable. St.
Aldegonde has been a comfort to me in this matter; and you will find out
a great deal when you speak to him about it. Things might be worse. I
wish I was as easy about the Duke of Brecon. I met him this morning and
rode with him -- to show there was no change in my feelings."



CHAPTER 86


The world goes on with its aching hearts and its smiling faces, and very
often, when a year has revolved, the world finds out there was no
sufficient cause for the sorrows or the smiles. There is too much
unnecessary anxiety in the world, which is apt too hastily to calculate
the consequences of any unforeseen event, quite forgetting that, acute
as it is in observation, the world, where the future is concerned, is
generally wrong. The duchess would have liked to have buried herself in
the shades of Brentham, but Lady Corisande, who deported herself as if
there were no care at Crecy House except that occasioned by her
brother's rash engagement, was of opinion that "mamma would only brood
over this vexation in the country," and that it would be much better not
to anticipate the close of the waning season. So the duchess and her
lovely daughter were seen everywhere where they ought to be seen, and
appeared the pictures of serenity and satisfaction.

As for Bertram's affair itself, under the manipulation of St. Aldegonde,
it began to assume a less anxious and more practicable aspect. The duke
was desirous to secure his son's happiness, but wished nothing to be
done rashly. If, for example, in a year's time or so, Bertram continued
in the same mind, his father would never be an obstacle to his
well-considered wishes. In the mean time, an opportunity might offer of
making the acquaintance of the young lady and her friends.

And, in the mean time, the world went on dancing, and betting, and
banqueting, and making speeches, and breaking hearts and heads, till the
time arrived when social stock is taken, the results of the campaign
estimated and ascertained, and the question asked, "Where do you think
of going this year?"

"We shall certainly winter at Rome," said Lady St. Jerome to Lady
Clanmorne, who was paying a morning visit. "I wish you could induce
Lord Clanmorne to join us."

"I wish so, too," said the lady, "but that is impossible. He never will
give up his hunting."

"I am sure there are more foxes in the Campagna than at Vauxe," said
Lady St. Jerome.

"I suppose you have heard of what they call the double event?" said Lady
Clanmorne.

"No."

"Well, it is quite true; Mr. Bohun told me last night, and he always
knows every thing."

"Every thing!" said Lady St. Jerome; "but what is it that he knows now?"

"Both the Ladies Falkirk are to be married! And on the same day."

"But to whom?"

"Whom should you think?"

"I will not even guess," said Lady St. Jerome.

"Clare," she said to Miss Arundel, who was engaged apart, "you always
find out conundrums. Lady Clanmorne has got some news for us. Lady
Flora Falkirk and her sister are going to be married, and on the same
day. And to whom, think you?"

"Well, I should think that somebody has made Lord Carisbrooke a happy
man," said Miss Arundel,

"Very good," said Lady Clanmorne. "I think Lady Flora will make an
excellent Lady Carisbrooke. He is not quite as tall as she is, but he
is a man of inches. And now for Lady Grizell."

"My powers of divination are quite exhausted," said Miss Arundel.

"Well, I will not keep you in suspense," said Lady Clanmorne. "Lady
Grizell is to be Duchess of Brecon."

"Duchess of Brecon!" exclaimed both Miss Arundel and Lady St. Jerome.

"I always admired the ladies," said Miss Arundel. "We met them at a
country-house last year, and I thought them pleasing in every way --
artless and yet piquant; but I did not anticipate their fate being so
soon sealed."

"And so brilliantly," added Lady St. Jerome.

"You met them at Muriel Towers," said Lady Clanmorne. "I heard of you
there: a most distinguished party. There was an American lady there,
was there not? a charming person, who sang, and acted, and did all sorts
of things."

"Yes; there was. I believe, however, she was an Italian, married to an
American."

"Have you seen much of your host at Muriel Towers?" said Lady Clanmorne.

"We see him frequently," said Lady St. Jerome.

"Ah! yes, I remember; I met him at Vauxe the other day. He is a great
admirer of yours," Lady Clanmorne added, addressing Miss Arundel.

"Oh! we are friends, and have long been so," said Miss Arundel, and she
left the room.

"Clare does not recognize admirers," said Lady St. Jerome, gravely.

"I hope the ecclesiastical fancy is not reviving," said Lady Clanmorne.
"I was half in hopes that the lord of Muriel Towers might have deprived
the Church of its bride."

"That could never be," said Lady St. Jerome; "though, if it could have
been, a source of happiness to Lord St. Jerome and myself would not have
been wanting. We greatly regard our kinsman, but, between ourselves,"
added Lady St. Jerome in a low voice, "it was supposed that he was
attached to the American lady of whom you were speaking."

"And where is she now?"

"I have heard nothing of late. Lothair was in Italy at the same time as
ourselves, and was ill there, under our roof; so we saw a great deal of
him. Afterward he travelled for his health, and has now just returned
from the East."

A visitor was announced, and Lady Clanmorne retired.

Nothing happens as you expect. On his voyage home Lothair had indulged
in dreams of renewing his intimacy at Crecy House, around whose hearth
all his sympathies were prepared to cluster. The first shock to this
romance was the news he received of the impending union of Lady
Corisande with the Duke of Brecon. And, what with this unexpected
obstacle to intimacy, and the domestic embarrassments occasioned by
Bertram's declaration, he had become a stranger to a roof which had so
filled his thoughts. It seemed to him that he could not enter the house
either as the admirer of the daughter or as the friend of her brother.
She was probably engaged to another, and, as Bertram's friend and
fellow-traveller, he fancied he was looked upon by the family as one who
had in some degree contributed to their mortification. Much of this was
imaginary, but Lothair was very sensitive, and the result was that he
ceased to call at Crecy House, and for some time, kept aloof from the
duchess and her daughter, when he met them in general society. He was
glad to hear from Bertram and St. Aldegonde that the position of the
former was beginning to soften at home, and that the sharpness of his
announcement was passing away. And, when he had clearly ascertained
that the contemplated union of Lady Corisande with the duke was
certainly not to take place, Lothair began to reconnoitre, and try to
resume his original position. But his reception was not encouraging, at
least not sufficiently cordial for one who by nature was retiring and
reserved. Lady Corisande was always kind, and after some time he danced
with her again. But there were no invitations to luncheon from the
duchess; they never asked him to dinner. His approaches were received
with courtesy, but he was not courted.

The announcement of the marriage of the Duke of Brecon did not,
apparently, in any degree, distress Lady Corisande. On the contrary,
she expressed much satisfaction at her two young friends settling in
life with such success and splendor. The ambition both of Lady Flora
and Lady Grizell was that Corisande should be a bridesmaid. This would
be a rather awkward post to occupy under the circumstances, so she
embraced both, and said that she loved them both so equally, that she
would not give a preference to either, and therefore, though she
certainly would attend their wedding, she would refrain from taking part
in the ceremony.

The duchess went with Lady Corisande one morning to Mr. Ruby's to choose
a present from her daughter to each of the young ladies. Mr. Ruby in a
back shop poured forth his treasures of bracelets, and rings, and
lockets. The presents must be similar in value and in beauty, and yet
there must be some difference between them; so it was a rather long and
troublesome investigation, Mr. Ruby, as usual, varying its monotony, or
mitigating its wearisomeness, by occasionally, or suddenly, exhibiting
some splendid or startling production of his art. The parure of an
empress, the bracelets of grand-duchesses, a wonderful fan that was to
flutter in the hands of majesty, had all in due course appeared, as well
as the black pearls and yellow diamonds that figure and flash on such
occasions, before eyes so favored and so fair.

At last -- for, like a prudent general, Mr. Ruby had always a great
reserve -- opening a case, he said, "There!" and displayed a crucifix of
the most exquisite workmanship and the most precious materials.

"I have no hesitation in saying the rarest jewel which this century has
produced. See! the figure by Monti; a masterpiece. Every emerald in
the cross a picked stone. These corners, your grace is aware," said Mr.
Ruby, condescendingly, "contain the earth of the holy places at
Jerusalem. It has been shown to no one but your grace."

"It is indeed most rare and beautiful," said the duchess, "and most
interesting, too, from containing the earth of the holy places. A
commission, of course?"

"From one of our most eminent patrons," and then he mentioned Lothair's
name.

Lady Corisande looked agitated.

"Not for himself," said Mr. Ruby.

Lady Corisande seemed relieved.

"It is a present to a young lady -- Miss Arundel."

Lady Corisande changed color, and, turning away, walked toward a case of
works of art, which was in the centre of the shop, and appeared to be
engrossed in their examination.



CHAPTER 87


A day or two after this adventure of the crucifix, Lothair met Bertram,
who said to him, "By-the-by, if you want to see my people before they
leave town, you must call at once."

"You do not mean that," replied Lothair, much surprised. "Why, the
duchess told me, only three or four days ago, that they should not leave
town until the end of the first week of August. They are going to the
weddings."

"I do not know what my mother said to you, my dear fellow, but they go
to Brentham the, day after to-morrow, and will not return. The duchess
has been for a long time wishing this, but Corisande would stay. She
thought they would only bother themselves about my affairs, and there
was more distraction for them in town. But now they are going, and it
is for Corisande they go. She is not well, and they have suddenly
resolved to depart."

"Well, I am very sorry to hear it," said Lothair; "I shall call at Crecy
House. Do you think they will see me?"

"Certain."

"And what are your plans?"

"I have none," said Bertram. "I suppose I must not leave my father
alone at this moment. He has behaved well; very kindly, indeed. I have
nothing to complain of. But still all is vague, and I feel somehow or
other I ought to be about him."

"Have you heard from our dear friends abroad?"

"Yes," said Bertram, with a sigh, "Euphrosyne writes to me; but I
believe St. Aldegonde knows more about their views and plans than I do.
He and Mr. Phoebus correspond much. I wish to Heaven they were here, or
rather that we were with them!" he added, with another sigh. "How happy
we all were, at Jerusalem! How I hate London! And Brentham worse. I
shall have to go to a lot of agricultural dinners and all sorts of
things. The duke expects it, and I am bound now to do every thing to
please him. What do you think of doing?"

"I neither know nor care," said Lothair, in a tone of great despondency.

"You are a little hipped."

"Not a little. I suppose it is the excitement of the last two years
that has spoiled me for ordinary life. But I find the whole thing
utterly intolerable, and regret now that I did not rejoin the staff of
the general. I shall never have such a chance again. It was a mistake;
but one is born to blunder."

Lothair called at Crecy House. The hall-porter was not sure whether the
duchess was at home, and the groom of the chambers went to see. Lothair
had never experienced this form. When the groom of the chambers came
down again, he gave her grace's compliments; but she had a headache, and
was obliged to lie down, and was sorry she could not see Lothair, who
went away livid.

Crecy House was only yards from St. James's Square, and Lothair repaired
to an accustomed haunt. He was not in a humor for society, and yet he
required sympathy. There were some painful associations with the St.
Jerome family, and yet they had many charms. And the painful
associations had been greatly removed by their easy and cordial
reception of him, and the charms had been renewed and increased by
subsequent intercourse. After all, they were the only people who had
always been kind to him. And, if they had erred in a great particular,
they had been animated by pure, and even sacred, motives. And had they
erred? Were not his present feelings of something approaching to
desolation a fresh proof that the spirit of man can alone be sustained
by higher relations than merely human ones? So he knocked at the door,
and Lady St. Jerome was at home. She had not a headache; there were no
mysterious whisperings between hall-porters and grooms of the chamber,
to ascertain whether he was one of the initiated. Whether it were
London or Vauxe, the eyes of the household proved that he was ever a
welcome and cherished guest.