Endymion - Benjamin Disraeli
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"She wished, perhaps, to teach you to control your emotions," said Mrs.
Neuchatel. "You have known her only an hour, and you could not have done
more to your own mother."
It had been arranged that there should be no visitors to-day; only a
nephew and a foreign consul-general, just to break the formality of the
meeting. Mr. Neuchatel placed Myra next to himself at the round table,
and treated her with marked consideration--cordial but courteous, and
easy, with a certain degree of deference. His wife, who piqued herself
on her perception of character, threw her brown velvet eyes on her
neighbour, Mr. Penruddock, and cross-examined him in mystical whispers.
She soon recognised his love of nature; and this allowed her to dissert
on the subject, at once sublime and inexhaustible, with copiousness
worthy of the theme. When she found he was an entomologist, and that it
was not so much mountains as insects which interested him, she shifted
her ground, but treated it with equal felicity. Strange, but nature is
never so powerful as in insect life. The white ant can destroy fleets
and cities, and the locusts erase a province. And then, how beneficent
they are! Man would find it difficult to rival their exploits: the bee,
that gives us honey; the worm, that gives us silk; the cochineal, that
supplies our manufactures with their most brilliant dye.
Mr. Penruddock did not seem to know much about manufactures, but always
recommended his cottagers to keep bees.
"The lime-tree abounds in our village, and there is nothing the bees
love more than its blossoms."
This direct reference to his village led Mrs. Neuchatel to an inquiry as
to the state of the poor about Hurstley, and she made the inquiry in a
tone of commiseration.
"Oh! we do pretty well," said Mr. Penruddock.
"But how can a family live on ten or twelve shillings a week?" murmured
Mrs. Neuchatel.
"There it is," said Mr. Penruddock. "A family has more than that. With a
family the income proportionately increases."
Mrs. Neuchatel sighed. "I must say," she said, "I cannot help feeling
there is something wrong in our present arrangements. When I sit down
to dinner every day, with all these dishes, and remember that there are
millions who never taste meat, I cannot resist the conviction that it
would be better if there were some equal division, and all should have,
if not much, at least something."
"Nonsense, Emily!" said Mr. Neuchatel, who had an organ like Fine-ear,
and could catch, when necessary, his wife's most mystical revelations.
"My wife, Mr. Penruddock, is a regular Communist. I hope you are not,"
he added, with a smile, turning to Myra.
"I think life would be very insipid," replied Myra, "if all our lots
were the same."
When the ladies withdrew, Adriana and Myra walked out together
hand-in-hand. Mr. Neuchatel rose and sate next to Mr. Penruddock, and
began to talk politics. His reverend guest could not conceal his alarm
about the position of the Church and spoke of Lord John Russell's
appropriation clause with well-bred horror.
"Well, I do not think there is much to be afraid of," said Mr.
Neuchatel. "This is a liberal age, and you cannot go against it. The
people must be educated, and where are the funds to come from? We must
all do something, and the Church must contribute its share. You know I
am a Liberal, but I am not for any rash courses. I am not at all sorry
that Sir Robert Peel gained so much at the last general election. I like
parties to be balanced. I am quite content with affairs. My friends, the
Liberals, are in office, and, being there, they can do very little. That
is the state of things, is it not, Melchior?" he added, with a smile to
his nephew, who was an M.P. "A balanced state of parties, and the house
of Neuchatel with three votes--that will do. We poor City men get a
little attention paid to us now, but before the dissolution three votes
went for nothing. Now, shall we go and ask my daughter to give us a
song?"
Mrs. Neuchatel accompanied her daughter on the piano, and after a time
not merely on the instrument. The organ of both was fine and richly
cultivated. It was choice chamber music. Mr. Neuchatel seated himself
by Myra. His tone was more than kind, and his manner gentle. "It is a
little awkward the first day," he said, "among strangers, but that will
wear off. You must bring your mind to feel that this is your home, and
we shall all of us do everything in our power to convince you of it. Mr.
Penruddock mentioned to me your wish, under present circumstances, to
enter as little as possible into society, and this is a very social
house. Your feeling is natural, and you will be in this matter entirely
your own mistress. We shall always be glad to see you, but if you are
not present we shall know and respect the cause. For my own part, I am
one of those who would rather cherish affection than indulge grief, but
every one must follow their mood. I hear you have a brother, to whom
you are much attached; a twin, too, and they tell me strongly resembling
you. He is in a public office, I believe? Now, understand this; your
brother can come here whenever he likes, without any further invitation.
Ask him whenever you please. We shall always be glad to see him. No
sort of notice is necessary. This is not a very small house, and we can
always manage to find a bed and a cutlet for a friend."
CHAPTER XXXII
Nothing could be more successful than the connection formed between
the Neuchatel family and Myra Ferrars. Both parties to the compact were
alike satisfied. Myra had "got out of that hole" which she always hated;
and though the new life she had entered was not exactly the one she
had mused over, and which was founded on the tradition of her early
experience, it was a life of energy and excitement, of splendour and
power, with a total absence of petty vexations and miseries, affording
neither time nor cause for the wearing chagrin of a monotonous and
mediocre existence. But the crowning joy of her emancipation was the
prospect it offered of frequent enjoyment of the society of her brother.
With regard to the Neuchatels, they found in Myra everything they could
desire. Mrs. Neuchatel was delighted with a companion who was not the
daughter of a banker, and whose schooled intellect not only comprehended
all her doctrines, however abstruse or fanciful, but who did not
hesitate, if necessary, to controvert or even confute them. As for
Adriana, she literally idolised a friend whose proud spirit and clear
intelligence were calculated to exercise a strong but salutary influence
over her timid and sensitive nature. As for the great banker himself,
who really had that faculty of reading character which his wife
flattered herself she possessed, he had made up his mind about Myra from
the first, both from her correspondence and her conversation. "She has
more common sense than any woman I ever knew, and more," he would add,
"than most men. If she were not so handsome, people would find it
out; but they cannot understand that so beautiful a woman can have
a headpiece, that, I really believe, could manage the affairs in
Bishopsgate Street."
In the meantime life at Hainault resumed its usual course; streams
of guests, of all parties, colours, and classes, and even nations.
Sometimes Mr. Neuchatel would say, "I really must have a quiet day that
Miss Ferrars may dine with us, and she shall ask her brother. How glad I
shall be when she goes into half-mourning! I scarcely catch a glimpse of
her." And all this time his wife and daughter did nothing but quote her,
which was still more irritating, for, as he would say, half-grumbling
and half-smiling, "If it had not been for me she would not have been
here."
At first Adriana would not dine at table without Myra, and insisted on
sharing her imprisonment. "It does not look like a cell," said Myra,
surveying, not without complacency, her beautiful little chamber,
beautifully lit, with its silken hangings and carved ceiling and bright
with books and pictures; "besides, there is no reason why you should be
a prisoner. You have not lost a father, and I hope never will."
"Amen!" said Adriana; "that would indeed be the unhappiest day of my
life."
"You cannot be in society too much in the latter part of the day," said
Myra. "The mornings should be sacred to ourselves, but for the rest of
the hours people are to see and to be seen, and," she added, "to like
and be liked."
Adriana shook her head; "I do not wish any one to like me but you."
"I am sure I shall always like you, and love you," said Myra, "but I am
equally sure that a great many other people will do the same."
"It will not be myself that they like or love," said Adriana with a
sigh.
"Now, spare me that vein, dear Adriana; you know I do not like it. It is
not agreeable, and I do not think it is true. I believe that women are
loved much more for themselves than is supposed. Besides, a woman should
be content if she is loved; that is the point; and she is not to inquire
how far the accidents of life have contributed to the result. Why should
you not be loved for yourself? You have an interesting appearance. I
think you very pretty. You have choice accomplishments and agreeable
conversation and the sweetest temper in the world. You want a little
self-conceit, my dear. If I were you and admired, I should never think
of my fortune."
"If you were the greatest heiress in the world, Myra, and were married,
nobody would suppose for a moment that it was for your fortune."
"Go down to dinner and smile upon everybody, and tell me about your
conquests to-morrow. And say to your dear papa, that as he is so kind as
to wish to see me, I will join them after dinner."
And so, for the first two months, she occasionally appeared in the
evening, especially when there was no formal party. Endymion came and
visited her every Sunday, but he was also a social recluse, and though
he had been presented to Mrs. Neuchatel and her daughter, and been most
cordially received by them, it was some considerable time before he made
the acquaintance of the great banker.
About September Myra may be said to have formally joined the circle at
Hainault. Three months had elapsed since the terrible event, and
she felt, irrespective of other considerations, her position hardly
justified her, notwithstanding all the indulgent kindness of the family,
in continuing a course of life which she was conscious to them
was sometimes an inconvenience and always a disappointment. It was
impossible to deny that she was interested and amused by the world which
she now witnessed--so energetic, so restless, so various; so full of
urgent and pressing life; never thinking of the past and quite heedless
of the future, but worshipping an almighty present that sometimes seemed
to roll on like the car of Juggernaut. She was much diverted by the
gentlemen of the Stock Exchange, so acute, so audacious, and differing
so much from the merchants in the style even of their dress, and in the
ease, perhaps the too great facility, of their bearing. They called each
other by their Christian names, and there were allusions to practical
jokes which intimated a life something between a public school and
a garrison. On more solemn days there were diplomatists and men in
political office; sometimes great musical artists, and occasionally a
French actor. But the dinners were always the same; dishes worthy of the
great days of the Bourbons, and wines of rarity and price, which could
not ruin Neuchatel, for in many instances the vineyards belonged to
himself.
One morning at breakfast, when he rarely encountered them, but it was
a holiday in the City, Mr. Neuchatel said, "There are a few gentlemen
coming to dine here to-day whom you know, with one exception. He is a
young man, a very nice young fellow. I have seen a good deal of him of
late on business in the City, and have taken a fancy to him. He is a
foreigner, but he was partly educated in this country and speaks English
as well as any of us."
"Then I suppose he is not a Frenchman," said Mrs. Neuchatel, "for they
never speak English."
"I shall not say what he is. You must all find out; I dare say Miss
Ferrars will discover him; but, remember, you must all of you pay him
great attention, for he is not a common person, I can assure you."
"You are mysterious, Adrian," said his wife, "and quite pique our
curiosity."
"Well, I wish somebody would pique mine," said the banker. "These
holidays in the City are terrible things. I think I will go after
breakfast and look at the new house, and I dare say Miss Ferrars will be
kind enough to be my companion."
Several of the visitors, fortunately for the banker whose time hung
rather heavily on his hands, arrived an hour or so before dinner, that
they might air themselves in the famous gardens and see some of the new
plants. But the guest whom he most wished to greet, and whom the ladies
were most curious to welcome, did not arrive. They had all entered the
house and the critical moment was at hand, when, just as dinner
was about to be announced, the servants ushered in a young man of
distinguished appearance, and the banker exclaimed, "You have arrived
just in time to take Mrs. Neuchatel in to dinner," and he presented to
her--COLONEL ALBERT.
CHAPTER XXXIII
The ladies were much interested by Colonel Albert. Mrs. Neuchatel
exercised on him all the unrivalled arts by which she so unmistakably
discovered character. She threw on him her brown velvet eyes with a
subdued yet piercing beam, which would penetrate his most secret and
even undeveloped intelligence. She asked questions in a hushed mystical
voice, and as the colonel was rather silent and somewhat short in
his replies, though ever expressed in a voice of sensibility and with
refined deference of manner, Mrs. Neuchatel opened her own peculiar
views on a variety of subjects of august interest, such as education,
high art, the influence of women in society, the formation of character,
and the distribution of wealth, on all of which this highly gifted
lady was always in the habit of informing her audience, by way of
accompaniment, that she was conscious that the views she entertained
were peculiar. The views of Mrs. Neuchatel were peculiar, and therefore
not always, or even easily, comprehended. That indeed she felt was
rather her fate in life, but a superior intelligence like hers has a
degree of sublimated self-respect which defies destiny.
When she was alone with the ladies, the bulletin of Mrs. Neuchatel was
not so copious as had been expected. She announced that Colonel Albert
was sentimental, and she suspected a poet. But for the rest she had
discovered nothing, not even his nationality. She had tried him both
in French and German, but he persisted in talking English, although he
spoke of himself as a foreigner. After dinner he conversed chiefly
with the men, particularly with the Governor of the Bank, who seemed
to interest him much, and a director of one of the dock companies, who
offered to show him over their establishment, an offer which Colonel
Albert eagerly accepted. Then, as if he remembered that homage was
due at such a moment to the fairer sex, he went and seated himself
by Adriana, and was playful and agreeable, though when she was
cross-examined afterwards by her friends as to the character of his
conversation, she really could not recall anything particular except
that he was fond of horses, and said that he should like very much to
take a ride with her. Just before he took his departure, Colonel Albert
addressed Myra, and in a rather strange manner. He said, "I have been
puzzling myself all dinner, but I cannot help feeling that we have met
before."
Myra shook her head and said, "I think that is impossible."
"Well," said the colonel with a look a little perplexed and not
altogether satisfied, "I suppose then it was a dream. May dreams so
delightful," and he bowed, "never be wanting!"
"So you think he is a poet, Emily," said Mr. Neuchatel when they had all
gone. "We have got a good many of his papers in Bishopsgate Street, but
I have not met with any verses in them yet."
The visit of Colonel Albert was soon repeated, and he became a rather
frequent guest at Hainault. It was evident that he was a favourite with
Mr. Neuchatel. "He knows very few people," he would say, "and I wish him
to make some friends. Poor young fellow: he has had rather a hard
life of it, and seen some service for such a youth. He is a perfect
gentleman, and if he be a poet, Emily, that is all in your way. You like
literary people, and are always begging that I should ask them. Well,
next Saturday you will have a sort of a lion--one of the principal
writers in 'Scaramouch.' He is going to Paris as the foreign
correspondent of the 'Chuck-Farthing,' with a thousand a year, and one
of my friends in the Stock Exchange, who is his great ally, asked me to
give him some letters. So he came to Bishopsgate Street--they all come
to Bishopsgate Street--and I asked him to dine here on Saturday. By the
by, Miss Ferrars, ask your brother to come on the same day and stay with
us till Monday. I will take him up to town with me quite in time for his
office."
This was the first time that Endymion had remained at Hainault. He
looked forward to the visit with anticipation of great pleasure.
Hainault, and all the people there, and everything about it, delighted
him, and most of all the happiness of his sister and the consideration,
and generosity, and delicate affection with which she was treated. One
morning, to his astonishment, Myra had insisted upon his accepting from
her no inconsiderable sum of money. "It is no part of my salary," she
said, when he talked of her necessities. "Mr. Neuchatel said he gave it
to me for outfit and to buy gloves. But being in mourning I want to
buy nothing, and you, dear darling, must have many wants. Besides, Mrs.
Neuchatel has made me so many presents that I really do not think that I
shall ever want to buy anything again."
It was rather a grand party at Hainault, such as Endymion had little
experience of. There was a cabinet minister and his wife, not only
an ambassador, but an ambassadress who had been asked to meet them,
a nephew Neuchatel, the M.P. with a pretty young wife, and several
apparently single gentlemen of note and position. Endymion was nervous
when he entered, and more so because Myra was not in the room. But
his trepidation was absorbed in his amazement when in the distance he
observed St. Barbe, with a very stiff white cravat, and his hair
brushed into unnatural order, and his whole demeanour forming a singular
contrast to the rollicking cynicisms of Joe's and the office.
Mr. Neuchatel presented St. Barbe to the lady of the mansion. "Here is
one of our greatest wits," said the banker, "and he is going to Paris,
which is the capital of wits." The critical moment prevented prolonged
conversation, but the lady of the mansion did contrive to convey to St.
Barbe her admiring familiarity with some of his effusions, and threw out
a phrase which proved how finely she could distinguish between wit and
humour.
Endymion at dinner sate between two M.P.'s, whom his experience at the
House of Commons allowed him to recognise. As he was a young man whom
neither of them knew, neither of them addressed him, but with delicate
breeding carried on an active conversation across him, as if in fact he
were not present. As Endymion had very little vanity, this did not at
all annoy him. On the contrary, he was amused, for they spoke of matters
with which he was not unacquainted, though he looked as if he knew or
heard nothing. Their conversation was what is called "shop:" all
about the House and office; criticisms on speakers, speculations as to
preferment, what Government would do about this, and how well Government
got out of that.
Endymion was amused by seeing Myra, who was remote from him, sitting
by St. Barbe, who, warmed by the banquet, was evidently holding forth
without the slightest conception that his neighbour whom he addressed
had long become familiar with his characteristics.
After dinner St. Barbe pounced upon Endymion. "Only think of our meeting
here!" he said. "I wonder why they asked you. You are not going to
Paris, and you are not a wit. What a family this is!" he said; "I had
no idea of wealth before! Did you observe the silver plate? I could not
hold mine with one hand, it was so heavy. I do not suppose there are
such plates in the world. It gives one an idea of the galleons and
Anson's plunder. But they deserve their wealth," he added, "nobody
grudges it to them. I declare when I was eating that truffle, I felt a
glow about my heart that, if it were not indigestion, I think must have
been gratitude; though that is an article I had not believed in. He is
a wonderful man, that Neuchatel. If I had only known him a year ago! I
would have dedicated my novel to him. He is a sort of man who would have
given you a cheque immediately. He would not have read it, to be sure,
but what of that? If you had dedicated it to a lord, the most he would
have done would have been to ask you to dinner, and then perhaps cut up
your work in one of the Quality reviews, and taken money for doing it
out of our pockets! Oh! it's too horrid! There are some topsawyers here
to-day, Ferrars! It would make Seymour Hicks' mouth water to be here. We
should have had it in the papers, and he would have left us out of
the list, and called us, etc. Now I dare say that ambassador has been
blundering all his life, and yet there is something in that star and
ribbon; I do not know you feel, but I could almost go down on my knees
to him. And there is a cabinet minister; well, we know what he is; I
have been squibbing him for these two years, and now that I meet him I
feel like a snob. Oh! there is an immense deal of superstition left in
the world. I am glad they are going to the ladies. I am to be honoured
by some conversation with the mistress of the house. She seems a
first-rate woman, familiar with the glorious pages of a certain classic
work, and my humble effusions. She praised one she thought I wrote,
but between ourselves it was written by that fellow Seymour Hicks, who
imitates me; but I would not put her right, as dinner might have been
announced every moment. But she is a great woman, sir,--wonderful eyes!
They are all great women here. I sat next to one of the daughters,
or daughters-in-law, or nieces, I suppose. By Jove! it was tierce and
quart. If you had been there, you would have been run through in a
moment. I had to show my art. Now they are rising. I should not be
surprised if Mr. Neuchatel were to present me to some of the grandees. I
believe them to be all impostors, but still it is pleasant to talk to a
man with a star.
"'Ye stars, which are the poetry of heaven,'
"Byron wrote; a silly line; he should have written,
"'Ye stars, which are the poetry of dress.'"
CHAPTER XXXIV
St. Barbe was not disappointed in his hopes. It was an evening of
glorious success for him. He had even the honour of sitting for a time
by the side of Mrs. Neuchatel, and being full of good claret, he, as he
phrased it, showed his paces; that is to say, delivered himself of some
sarcastic paradoxes duly blended with fulsome flattery. Later in the
evening, he contrived to be presented both to the ambassador and the
cabinet minister, and treated them as if they were demigods; listened
to them as if with an admiration which he vainly endeavoured to repress;
never spoke except to enforce and illustrate the views which they had
condescended to intimate; successfully conveyed to his excellency that
he was conversing with an enthusiast for his exalted profession; and
to the minister that he had met an ardent sympathiser with his noble
career. The ambassador was not dissatisfied with the impression he had
made on one of the foreign correspondents of the "Chuck-Farthing," and
the minister flattered himself that both the literary and the graphic
representations of himself in "Scaramouch" might possibly for the future
be mitigated.
"I have done business to-night," said St. Barbe to Endymion, towards the
close of the evening. "You did not know I had left the old shop? I kept
it close. I could stand it no longer. One has energies, sir, though not
recognised--at least not recognised much," he added thoughtfully. "But
who knows what may happen? The age of mediocrity is not eternal. You see
this thing offered, and I saw an opening. It has come already. You
saw the big-wigs all talking to me? I shall go to Paris now with some
_eclat_. I shall invent a new profession; the literary diplomatist. The
bore is, I know nothing about foreign politics. My line has been the
other way. Never mind; I will read the 'Debats' and the 'Revue des Deux
Mondes,' and make out something. Foreign affairs are all the future, and
my views may be as right as anybody else's; probably more correct, not
so conventional. What a fool I was, Ferrars! I was asked to remain here
to-night and refused! The truth is, I could not stand those powdered
gentlemen, and I should have been under their care. They seem so haughty
and supercilious. And yet I was wrong. I spoke to one of them very
rudely just now, when he was handing coffee, to show I was not afraid,
and he answered me like a seraph. I felt remorse."