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Books: Lothair

B >> Benjamin Disraeli >> Lothair




This exclamation, unintelligible to the populace, was noticed only by
the only person who understood it. The cardinal, astonished at the
unusual sound -- for, hitherto, he had always found the outer world of
London civil; or at least indifferent -- threw his penetrating glance at
the passenger, and caught clearly the visage on which the lamplight
fully shone. It was a square, sinewy face, closely shaven, with the
exception of a small but thick mustache, brown as the well-cropped hair,
and blending with the hazel eye; a calm, but determined countenance;
clearly not that of an Englishman, for he wore ear-rings.

The carriage drove off, and the passenger, somewhat forcing his way
through the clustering group, continued his course until he reached the
cab-stand near the Marble Arch, when he engaged a vehicle and ordered to
be driven to Leicester Square. That quarter of the town exhibits an
animated scene toward the witching hour; many lights and much
population, illuminated coffee-houses, the stir of a large theatre,
bands of music in the open air, and other sounds, most of them gay, and
some festive. The stranger, whose compact figure was shrouded by a long
fur cape, had not the appearance of being influenced by the temptation
of amusement. As he stopped in the square and looked around him, the
expression of his countenance was moody, perhaps even anxious. He
seemed to be making observations on the locality, and, after a few
minutes, crossed the open space and turned up into a small street which
opened into the square. In this street was a coffee-house of some
pretension, connected indeed with an hotel, which had been formed out of
two houses, and therefore possessed no inconsiderable accommodation.

The coffee-room was capacious, and adorned in a manner which intimated
it was not kept by an Englishman, or much used by Englishmen. The walls
were painted in frescoed arabesques. There were many guests,
principally seated at small tables of marble, and on benches and chairs
covered with a coarse crimson velvet. Some were sipping coffee, some
were drinking wine, others were smoking or playing dominoes, or doing
both; while many were engaged in reading the foreign journals which
abounded.

An ever-vigilant waiter was at the side of the stranger the instant he
entered, and wished to know his pleasure. The stranger was examining
with his keen eye every individual in the room while this question was
asked and repeated.

"What would I wish?" said the stranger, having concluded his inspection,
and as it were summoning back his recollection. "I would wish to see,
and at once, one Mr. Perroni, who, I believe, lives here."

"Why, 'tis the master!" exclaimed the waiter.

"Well, then, go and tell the master that I want him."

"But the master is much engaged," said the waiter, " -- particularly."

"I dare say; but you will go and tell him that I particularly want to
see him."

The waiter, though prepared to be impertinent to any one else, felt that
one was speaking to him who must be obeyed, and, with a subdued, but
hesitating manner, said, "There is a meeting to-night up-stairs, where
the master is secretary, and it is difficult to see him; but, if I could
see him, what name am I to give?"

"You will go to him instantly," said the stranger, "and you will tell
him that he is wanted by Captain Bruges."

The waiter was not long absent, and returning with an obsequious bow, he
invited the stranger to follow him to a private room, where he was alone
only for a few seconds, for the door opened and he was joined by
Perroni.

"Ah! my general," exclaimed the master of the coffee-house, and he
kissed the stranger's hand. "You received my telegram?"

"I am here. Now what is your business?"

"There is business, and great business, if you will do it; business for
you."

"Well, I am a soldier, and soldiering is my trade, and I do not much
care what I do in that way, provided it is not against the good cause.
But I must tell you at once, friend Perroni, I am not a man who will
take a leap in the dark. I must form my own staff, and I must have my
commissariat secure."

"My general, you will be master of your own terms. The Standing
Committee of the Holy Alliance of Peoples are sitting upstairs at this
moment. They were unanimous in sending for you. See them; judge for
yourself; and, rest assured, you will be satisfied."

"I do not much like having to do with committees," said the general.
"However, let it be as you like -- I will see them."

"I had better just announce your arrival," said Perroni. "And will you
not take something, my general after your travel you must be wearied."

"A glass of sugar-and-water. You know, I am not easily tired. And, I
agree with you, it is better to come to business at once: so prepare
them."



CHAPTER 11


The Standing Committee of the Holy Alliance of Peoples all rose,
although they were extreme republicans, when the general entered. Such
is the magical influence of a man of action over men of the pen an the
tongue. Had it been, instead of a successful military leader, an orator
that had inspired Europe, or a journalist who had rights of the human
race, the Standing Committee would have only seen men of their own
kidney, who, having been favored with happier opportunities than
themselves, had reaped a harvest which, equally favored, they might here
have garnered.

"General," said Felix Drolin, the president, who was looked upon by the
brotherhood as a statesman, for he had been in his time, a member of a
provisional government, "this seat is for you," and he pointed to one on
his right hand. "You are ever welcome; and I hope you bring good
tidings, and good fortune."

"I am glad to be among my friends, and I may say," looking around, "my
comrades. I hope I may bring you better fortune than my tidings."

"But now they have left Rome," said the president, "every day we expect
good news."

"Ay, ay! he has left Rome, but he has not left Rome with the door open.
I hope it is not on such gossip you have sent for me. You have
something on hand. What is it?"

"You shall hear it from the fountain-head," said the president, "fresh
from New York," and he pointed to an individual seated in the centre of
the table.

"Ah! Colonel Finucane," said the general, "I have not forgotten James
River. You did that well. What is the trick now?"

Whereupon a tall, lean man, with a decided brogue, but speaking through
his nose, rose from his seat and informed the general that the Irish
people were organized and ready to rise; that they had sent their
deputies to New York; all they wanted were arms and officers; that the
American brethren had agreed to supply them with both, and amply; and
that considerable subscriptions were raising for other purposes. What
they now required was a commander-in-chief equal to the occasion, and in
whom all would have confidence; and therefore they had telegraphed for
the general.

"I doubt not our friends over the water would send us plenty of rifles,"
said the general, "if we could only manage to land them; and, I think, I
know men now in the States from whom I could form a good staff; but how
about the people of Ireland? What evidence have we that they will rise,
if we land?"

"The best," said the president. "We have a head-centre here, Citizen
Desmond, who will give you the most recent and the most authentic
intelligence on that head."

"The whole country is organized," said the head-centre; "we could put
three hundred thousand men in the field at any time in a fortnight. The
movement is not sectarian; it pervades all classes and all creeds. All
that we want are officers and arms."

"Hem!" said the general; "and as to your other supplies? Any scheme of
commissariat?"

"There will be no lack of means," replied the head-centre. "There is no
country where so much money is hoarded as in Ireland. But, depend upon
it, so far as the commissariat is concerned, the movement will be
self-supporting."

"Well, we shall see," said, the general; "I am sorry it is an Irish
affair, though, to be sure, what else could it be? I am not fond of
Irish affairs: whatever may be said, and however plausible things may
look, in an Irish business there is always a priest at the bottom of it.
I hate priests. By-the-by, I was stopped on my way here by a cardinal
getting into his carriage. I thought I had burnt all those vehicles
when I was at Rome with Garibaldi in '48. A cardinal in his carriage!
I had no idea you permitted that sort of cattle in London."

"London is a roost for every bird," said Felix Drolin.

"Very few of the priests favor this movement," said Desmond.

"Then you have a great power against you," said the general, in
"addition to England."

"They are not exactly against; the bulk of them are too national for
that; but Rome does not sanction -- you understand?"

"I understand enough," said the general, "to see that we must not act
with precipitation. An Irish business is a thing to be turned over
several times."

"But yet," said a Pole, "what hope for humanity except from the rising
of an oppressed nationality? We have offered ourselves on the altar,
and in vain! Greece is too small, and Roumania -- though both of them
are ready to do any thing; but they would be the mere tools of Russia.
Ireland alone remains, and she is at our feet."

"The peoples will never succeed until they have a fleet," said a German.
"Then you could land as many rifles as you like, or any thing else. To
have a fleet we rose against Denmark in my country, but we have been
betrayed. Nevertheless, Germany will yet be united, and she can only be
united as a republic. Then she will be the mistress of the seas."

"That is the mission of Italy," said Perroni. "Italy -- with the
traditions of Genoa, Venice, Pisa -- Italy is plainly indicated as the
future mistress of the seas."

"I beg your pardon," said the German; "the future mistress of the sees
is the land of the Viking. It is the forests of the Baltic that will
build the Best of the future. You have no timber in Italy."

"Timber is no longer wanted," said Perroni. "Nor do I know of what will
be formed the fleets of the future. But the sovereignty of the seas
depends upon seamen, and the nautical genius of the Italians -- "

"Comrades," said the general, "we have discussed to-night a great
subject. For my part I have travelled rather briskly, as you wished it.
I should like to sleep on this affair."

"'Tis most reasonable," said the president. "Our refreshment at council
is very spare," he continued, and he pointed to a vase of water and some
glasses ranged round it in the middle of the table; "but we always drink
one toast, general, before we separate. It is to one whom you love, and
whom you have served well. Fill glasses, brethren and now 'TO
MARY-ANNE.'"

If they had been inspired by the grape, nothing could be more animated
and even excited than all their countenances suddenly became. The cheer
might have been heard in the coffee-room, as they expressed, in the
phrases of many languages, the never-failing and never-flagging
enthusiasm invoked by the toast of their mistress.



CHAPTER 12


"Did you read that paragraph, mamma?" inquired Lady Corisande of the
duchess, in a tone of some seriousness.

"I did."

"And what did yon think of it?"

"It filled me with so much amazement that I have hardly begun to think."

"And Bertram never gave a hint of such things!"

"Let us believe they are quite untrue."

"I hope Bertram is in no danger," said his sister.

"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed the mother, with unaffected alarm.

"I know not how it is," said Lady Corisande, "but I frequently feel that
some great woe is hanging over our country."

"You must dismiss such thoughts, my child; they are fanciful."

"But they will come, and when least expected -- frequently in church,
but also in the sunshine; and when I am riding too, when, once, every
thing seemed gay. But now I often think of strife, and struggle, and
war -- civil war: the stir of our cavalcade seems like the tramp of
cavalry."

"You indulge your imagination too much, dear Corisande. When you return
to London, and enter the world, these anxious thoughts will fly."

"Is it imagination? I should rather have doubted my being of an
imaginative nature. It seems to me that I am rather literal. But I
cannot help hearing and reading things, and observing things, and they
fill me with disquietude. All seems doubt and change, when it would
appear that we require both faith and firmness."

"The duke is not alarmed about affairs," said his wife.

"And, if all did their duty like papa, there might be less, or no
cause," said Corisande. "But, when I hear of young nobles, the natural
leaders of the land, going over to the Roman Catholic Church, I confess
I lose heart and patience. It seems so unpatriotic, so effeminate."

"It may not be true," said the duchess.

"It may not be true of him, but it is true of others," said Lady
Corisande. "And why should he escape? He is very young, rather
friendless, and surrounded by wily persons. I am disappointed about
Bertram too. He ought to have prevented this, if it be true. Bertram
seemed to me to have such excellent principles, and so completely to
feel that he was born to maintain the great country which his ancestors
created, that I indulged in dreams. I suppose you are right, mamma; I
suppose I am imaginative without knowing it; but I have, always thought,
and hoped, that when the troubles came the country might, perhaps, rally
round Bertram."

"I wish to see Bertram in Parliament," said the duchess. "That will be
the best thing for him. The duke has some plans."

This conversation had been occasioned by a paragraph in the Morning
Post, circulating a rumor that a young noble, obviously Lothair, on the
impending completion of his minority, was about to enter the Roman
Church. The duchess and her daughter were sitting in a chamber of their
northern castle, and speculating on their return to London, which was to
take place after the Easter which had just arrived. It was an important
social season for Corisande, for she was to be formally introduced into
the great world, and to be presented at court.

In the mean while, was there any truth in the report about Lothair?

After their meeting at their lawyer's, a certain intimacy had occurred
between the cardinal and his ward. They met again immediately and
frequently, and their mutual feelings were cordial. The manners of his
eminence were refined and affectionate; his conversational powers were
distinguished; there was not a subject on which his mind did not teem
with interesting suggestions; his easy knowledge seemed always ready and
always full; and whether it were art, or letters, or manners, or even
political affairs, Lothair seemed to listen to one of the wisest, most
enlightened, and most agreeable of men. There was only one subject on
which his eminence seemed scrupulous never to touch, and that was
religion; or so indirectly, that it was only when alone that Lothair
frequently found himself musing over the happy influence on the arts,
and morals, and happiness of mankind -- of the Church.

In due time, not too soon, but when he was attuned to the initiation,
the cardinal presented Lothair to Lady St. Jerome. The impassioned
eloquence of that lady germinated the seed which the cardinal had seemed
so carelessly to scatter. She was a woman to inspire crusaders. Not
that she ever: condescended to vindicate her own particular faith, or
spoke as if she were conscious that Lothair did not possess it.
Assuming that religion was true, for otherwise man would be in a more
degraded position than the beasts of the field, which are not aware of
their own wretchedness, then religion should be the principal occupation
of man, to which all other pursuits should be subservient. The doom of
eternity, and the fortunes of life, cannot be placed in competition.
Our days should be pure, and holy, and heroic -- full of noble thoughts
and solemn sacrifice. Providence, in its wisdom, had decreed that the
world should be divided between the faithful and atheists; the latter
even seemed to predominate. There was no doubt that, if they prevailed,
all that elevated man would become extinct. It was a great trial; but
happy was the man who was privileged even to endure the awful test. It
might develop the highest qualities and the most sublime conduct. If he
were equal to the occasion, and could control and even subdue these sons
of Korah, he would rank with Michael the Archangel.

This was the text on which frequent discourses were delivered to
Lothair, and to which he listened at first with eager, and soon with
enraptured attention. The priestess was worthy of the shrine. Few
persons were ever gifted with more natural eloquence: a command of
language, choice without being pedantic; beautiful hands that fluttered
with irresistible grace; flashing eyes and a voice of melody.

Lothair began to examine himself, and to ascertain whether he possessed
the necessary qualities, and was capable of sublime conduct. His
natural modesty and his strong religious feeling struggled together. He
feared he was not an archangel, and yet he longed to struggle with the
powers of darkness.

One day he ventured to express to Miss Arundel a somewhat hopeful view
of the future, but Miss Arundel shook her head.

"I do not agree with my aunt, at least as regards this country," said
Miss Arundel; "I think our sins are too great. We left His Church, and
God is now leaving us."

Lothair looked grave, but was silent.

Weeks had passed since his introduction to the family of Lord St.
Jerome, and it was remarkable how large a portion of his subsequent time
had passed under that roof. At first there were few persons in town,
and really of these Lothair knew none; and then the house in St. James's
Square was not only an interesting but it was an agreeable house. All
Lady St. Jerome's family connections were persons of much fashion, so
there was more variety and entertainment than sometimes are to be found
under a Roman Catholic roof. Lady St. Jerome was at home every evening
before Easter. Few dames can venture successfully on so decided a step;
but her saloons were always attended, and by "nice people."
Occasionally the cardinal stepped in, and, to a certain degree, the
saloon was the rendezvous of the Catholic party; but it was also
generally social and distinguished. Many bright dames and damsels, and
many influential men, were there, who little deemed that deep and daring
thoughts were there masked by many a gracious countenance. The social
atmosphere infinitely pleased Lothair. The mixture of solemn duty and
graceful diversion, high purposes and charming manners, seemed to
realize some youthful dreams of elegant existence. All, too, was
enhanced by the historic character of the roof and by the recollection
that their mutual ancestors, as Clare Arundel more than once intimated
to him, had created England. Having had so many pleasant dinners in St.
James's Square, and spent there so many evening hours, it was not
wonderful that Lothair had accepted an invitation from Lord St. Jerome
to pass Easter at his country-seat.



CHAPTER 13


Vauxe, the seat of the St. Jeromes, was the finest specimen of the old
English residence extant. It was the perfection of the style, which had
gradually arisen after the Wars of the Roses had alike destroyed all the
castles and the purpose of those stern erections. People said Vauxe
looked like a college: the truth is, colleges looked like Vauxe, for,
when those fair and civil buildings rose, the wise and liberal spirits
who endowed them intended that they should resemble, as much as
possible, the residence of a great noble.

There were two quadrangles at Vauxe of gray-stone; the outer one of
larger dimensions and much covered with ivy; the inner one not so
extensive, but more ornate, with a lofty tower, a hall, and a chapel.
The house was full of galleries, and they were full of portraits.
Indeed there was scarcely a chamber in this vast edifice of which the
walls were not breathing with English history in this interesting form.
Sometimes more ideal art asserted a triumphant claim -- transcendental
Holy Families, seraphic saints, and gorgeous scenes by Tintoret and Paul
of Verona.

The furniture of the house seemed never to have been changed. It was
very old, somewhat scanty, but very rich -- tapestry and velvet
hangings, marvellous cabinets, and crystal girandoles. Here and there a
group of ancient plate; ewers and flagons and tall salt-cellars, a foot
high and richly chiselled; sometimes a state bed shadowed with a huge
pomp of stiff brocade and borne by silver poles.

Vauxe stood in a large park, studded with stately trees; here and there
an avenue of Spanish chestnuts or a grove of oaks; sometimes a gorsy
dell, and sometimes a so great spread of antlered fern, taller than the
tallest man.

It was only twenty miles from town, and Lord St. Jerome drove Lothair
down; the last ten miles through a pretty land, which, at the right
season, would have been bright with orchards, oak-woods, and
hop-gardens. Lord St. Jerome loved horses, and was an eminent whip. He
had driven four-in-hand when a boy, and he went on driving four-in-hand;
not because it was the fashion, but because he loved it. Toward the
close of Lent, Lady St. Jerome and Clare Arundel had been at a convent
in retreat, but they always passed Holy Week at home, and they were to
welcome Lord St. Jerome again at Vauxe.

The day was bright, the mode of movement exhilarating, all the
anticipated incidents delightful, and Lothair felt the happiness of
health and youth.

"There is Vauxe," said Lord St. Jerome, in a tone of proud humility, as
a turn in the road first displayed the stately pile.

"How beautiful!" said Lothair. "Ah! our ancestors understood the
country."

"I used to think when I was a boy," said Lord St. Jerome, "that I lived
in the prettiest village in the world; but these railroads have so
changed every thing that Vauxe seems to me now only a second
town-house."

The ladies were in a garden, where they were consulting with the
gardener and Father Coleman about the shape of some new beds, for the
critical hour of filling them was approaching. The gardener, like all
head-gardeners, was opinionated. Living always at Vauxe, he had come to
believe that the gardens belonged to him, and that the family were only
occasional visitors; and he treated them accordingly. The lively and
impetuous Lady St. Jerome had a thousand bright fancies, but her morose
attendant never indulged them. She used to deplore his tyranny with
piteous playfulness. "I suppose," she would say, "it is useless to
resist, for I observe 'tis the same everywhere. Lady Roehampton says
she never has her way with her gardens. It is no use speaking to Lord
St. Jerome, for, though he is afraid of nothing else, I am sure he is
afraid of Hawkins."

The only way that Lady St. Jerome could manage Hawkins was through
Father Coleman. Father Coleman, who knew every thing, knew a great deal
about gardens; from the days of Le Notre to those of the fine gentlemen
who now travel about, and when disengaged deign to give us advice.

Father Coleman had only just entered middle-age, was imperturbable and
mild in his manner. He passed his life very much at Vauxe, and imparted
a great deal of knowledge to Mr. Hawkins without apparently being
conscious of so doing. At the bottom of his mind, Mr. Hawkins felt
assured that he had gained several distinguished prizes, mainly through
the hints and guidance of Father Coleman; and thus, though on the
surface, a little surly, he was ruled by Father Coleman, under the
combined influence of self-interest and superior knowledge.

"You find us in a garden without flowers," said Lady St. Jerome; "but
the sun, I think, alway loves these golden yews."

"These are for you, dear uncle," said Clare Arundel, as she gave him a
rich cluster of violets. "Just now the woods are more fragrant than the
gardens, and these are the produce of our morning walk. I could have
brought you some primroses, but I do not like to mix violets with any
thing."

"They say primroses make a capital salad," said Lord St. Jerome.

"Barbarian!" exclaimed Lady St. Jerome. "I see you want luncheon; it
must, be ready;" and she took Lothair's arm. "I will show you a
portrait of one of your ancestors," she said; "he married an Arundel."



CHAPTER 14


"Now, you know," said Lady St. Jerome to Lothair in a hushed voice, as
they sat together in the evening, "you are to be quite free here; to do
exactly what you like; and we shall follow our ways. If you like to
have a clergyman of your own Church visit you while you are with us,
pray say so without the slightest scruple. We have an excellent
gentleman in this parish; he often dines here; and I am sure he would be
most happy to attend you. I know that Holy Week is not wholly
disregarded by some of the Anglicans."