Endymion - Benjamin Disraeli
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"At this moment, dear Myra, think only of yourself."
"You are myself," she replied, rather quickly, "never more so than at
this moment;" and then she said in a tone more subdued, and even tender,
"Lord Roehampton has every quality and every accident of life that I
delight in; he has intellect, eloquence, courage, great station and
power; and, what I ought perhaps more to consider, though I do not,
a sweet disposition and a tender heart. There is every reason why we
should be happy--yes, very happy. I am sure I shall sympathise with him;
perhaps, I may aid him; at least, he thinks so. He is the noblest
of men. The world will talk of the disparity of our years; but Lord
Roehampton says that he is really the younger of the two, and I think he
is right. My pride, my intense pride, never permitted to me any levity
of heart."
"And when is it to happen?" inquired Endymion.
"Not immediately. I could not marry till a year had elapsed after our
great sorrow; and it is more agreeable, even to him, that our union
should be delayed till the session is over. He wants to leave England;
go abroad; have a real holiday. He has always had a dream of travelling
in Spain; well, we are to realise the dream. If we could get off at the
end of July, we might go to Paris, and then to Madrid, and travel in
Andalusia in the autumn, and then catch the packet at Gibraltar, and get
home just in time for the November cabinets."
"Dear Myra! how wonderful it all seems!" involuntarily exclaimed
Endymion.
"Yes, but more wonderful things will happen. We have now got a lever
to move the world. Understand, my dear Endymion, that nothing is to
be announced at present. It will be known only to this family, and the
Penruddocks. I am bound to tell them, even immediately; they are friends
that never can be forgotten. I have always kept up my correspondence
with Mrs. Penruddock. Besides, I shall tell her in confidence, and she
is perfectly to be depended on. I am going to ask my lord to let Mr.
Penruddock marry us."
"Oh! that will be capital," said Endymion.
"There is another person, by the by, who must know it, at least my lord
says so," said Myra, "and that is Lady Montfort; you have heard of that
lady and her plans. Well, she must be told--at least, sooner or later.
She will be annoyed, and she will hate me. I cannot help it; every one
is hated by somebody."
During the three months that had to elapse before the happy day, several
incidents occurred that ought to be noted. In the first place, Lady
Montfort, though disappointed and very much astonished, bore the
communication from Lord Roehampton more kindly than he had anticipated.
Lord Roehampton made it by letter, and his letters to women were more
happy even than his despatches to ministers, and they were unrivalled.
He put the matter in the most skilful form. Myra had been born in a
social position not inferior to his own, and was the daughter of one of
his earliest political friends. He did not dilate too much on her charms
and captivating qualities, but sufficiently for the dignity of her
who was to become his wife. And then he confessed to Lady Montfort how
completely his heart and happiness were set on Lady Roehampton being
welcomed becomingly by his friends; he was well aware, that in these
matters things did not always proceed as one could wish, but this was
the moment, and this the occasion, to test a friend, and he believed he
had the dearest, the most faithful, the most fascinating, and the most
powerful in Lady Montfort.
"Well, we must put the best face upon it," exclaimed that lady; "he was
always romantic. But, as he says, or thinks, what is the use of friends
if they do not help you in a scrape?"
So Lady Montfort made the acquaintance of Myra, and welcomed her
new acquaintance cordially. She was too fine a judge of beauty and
deportment not to appreciate them, even when a little prejudice lurked
behind. She was amused also, and a little gratified, by being in the
secret; presented Myra with a rare jewel, and declared that she should
attend the wedding; though when the day arrived, she was at Princedown,
and could not, unfortunately, leave her lord.
About the end of June, a rather remarkable paragraph appeared in the
journal of society:
"We understand that His Royal Highness Prince Florestan, who has been
for some little time in this country, has taken the mansion in Carlton
Gardens, recently occupied by the Marquis of Katterfelto. The mansion is
undergoing very considerable repairs, but it is calculated that it will
be completed in time for the reception of His Royal Highness by the
end of the autumn; His Royal Highness has taken the extensive moors of
Dinniewhiskie for the coming season."
In the earlier part of July, the approaching alliance of the Earl
of Roehampton with Miss Ferrars, the only daughter of the late Right
Honourable William Pitt Ferrars, of Hurstley Hall, in the county of
Berks, was announced, and great was the sensation, and innumerable the
presents instantly ordered.
But on no one did the announcement produce a greater effect than
on Zenobia; that the daughter of her dearest friend should make
so interesting and so distinguished an alliance was naturally most
gratifying to her. She wrote to Myra a most impassioned letter, as if
they had only separated yesterday, and a still longer and more fervent
one to Lord Roehampton; Zenobia and he had been close friends in other
days, till he wickedly changed his politics, and was always in office
and Zenobia always out. This was never to be forgiven. But the bright
lady forgot all this now, and sent to Myra the most wondrous bracelet
of precious stones, in which the word "Souvenir" was represented in
brilliants, rubies, and emeralds.
"For my part," said Myra to Endymion, "my most difficult task are
the bridesmaids. I am to have so many, and know so few. I feel like a
recruiting sergeant. I began to Adriana, but my lord helps me very much
out of his family, and says, when we have had a few family dinners, all
will be right."
Endymion did not receive the banter he expected at the office. The event
was too great for a jest. Seymour Hicks, with a serious countenance,
said Ferrars might get anywhere now,--all the ministerial receptions of
course. Jawett said there would be no ministerial receptions soon;
they were degrading functions. Clear-headed Trenchard congratulated him
quietly, and said, "I do not think you will stay much longer among us,
but we shall always remember you with interest."
At last the great day arrived, and at St. George's, Hanover Square,
the Right Honourable the Earl of Roehampton, K.G., was united to Miss
Ferrars. Mr. Penruddock joined their hands. His son Nigel had been
invited to assist him, but did not appear, though Myra had written to
him. The great world assembled in force, and Endymion observed Mr. and
Mrs. Rodney and Imogene in the body of the church. After the ceremony
there was an entertainment in Portland Place, and the world ate
ortolans and examined the presents. These were remarkable for number and
splendour. Myra could not conceal her astonishment at possessing so many
friends; but it was the fashion for all Lord Roehampton's acquaintance
to make him offerings, and to solicit his permission to present gifts
to his bride. Mr. Neuchatel placed on her brow a diamond tiara, and
Mrs. Neuchatel encircled her neck with one of her diamond necklaces.
"I should like to give the other one to Adriana," she observed, "but
Adriana says that nothing will ever induce her to wear jewels." Prince
Florestan presented Lady Roehampton with a vase which had belonged to
his mother, and which had been painted by Boucher for Marie Antoinette.
It was matchless, and almost unique.
Not long after this, Lord Beaumaris, with many servants and many guns,
took Waldershare and Endymion down with him to Scotland.
CHAPTER XLVI
The end of the season is a pang to society. More hopes have been baffled
than realised. There is something melancholy in the last ball, though
the music ever seems louder, and the lights more glaring than usual. Or
it may be, the last entertainment is that hecatomb they call a wedding
breakfast, which celebrates the triumph of a rival. That is pleasant.
Society, to do it justice, struggles hard to revive in other scenes the
excitement that has expired. It sails to Cowes, it scuds to bubbling
waters in the pine forests of the continent, it stalks even into
Scotland; but it is difficult to restore the romance that has been
rudely disturbed, and to gather again together the threads of the
intrigue that have been lost in the wild flight of society from that
metropolis, which is now described as "a perfect desert"--that is to
say, a park or so, two or three squares, and a dozen streets where
society lives; where it dines, and dances, and blackballs, and bets, and
spouts.
But to the world in general, the mighty million, to the professional
classes, to all men of business whatever, the end of the season is the
beginning of carnival. It is the fulfilment of the dream over which they
have been brooding for ten months, which has sustained them in toil,
lightened anxiety, and softened even loss. It is air, it is health,
it is movement, it is liberty, it is nature--earth, sea, lake, moor,
forest, mountain, and river. From the heights of the Engadine to
Margate Pier, there is equal rapture, for there is an equal cessation of
routine.
Few enjoy a holiday more than a young clerk in a public office, who has
been bred in a gentle home, and enjoyed in his boyhood all the pastimes
of gentlemen. Now he is ever toiling, with an uncertain prospect of
annual relaxation, and living hardly. Once on a time, at the paternal
hall, he could shoot, or fish, or ride, every day of his life, as a
matter of course; and now, what would he not give for a good day's
sport? Such thoughts had frequently crossed the mind of Endymion when
drudging in London during the autumn, and when all his few acquaintances
were away. It was, therefore, with no ordinary zest that he looked
forward to the unexpected enjoyment of an unstinted share of some of the
best shooting in the United Kingdom. And the relaxation and the
pastime came just at the right moment, when the reaction, from all the
excitement attendant on the marvellous change in his sister's position,
would have made him, deprived of her consoling society, doubly sensible
of his isolated position.
It so happened that the moors of Lord Beaumaris were contiguous to
the celebrated shootings of Dinniewhiskie, which were rented by Prince
Florestan, and the opportunity now offered which Waldershare desired
of making the acquaintance of the prince in an easy manner. Endymion
managed this cleverly. Waldershare took a great fancy to the prince.
He sympathised with him, and imparted to Endymion his belief that they
could not do a better thing than devote their energies to a restoration
of his rights. Lord Beaumaris, who hated foreigners, but who was always
influenced by Waldershare, also liked the prince, and was glad to be
reminded by his mentor that Florestan was half an Englishman, not to say
a whole one, for he was an Eton boy. What was equally influential
with Lord Beaumaris was, that the prince was a fine shot, and indeed a
consummate sportsman, and had in his manners that calm which is rather
unusual with foreigners, and which is always pleasing to an English
aristocrat. So in time they became intimate, sported much together, and
visited each other at their respective quarters. The prince was never
alone. What the county paper described as distinguished foreigners were
perpetually paying him visits, long or short, and it did not generally
appear that these visits were influenced by a love of sport. One
individual, who arrived shortly after the prince, remained, and, as was
soon known, was to remain permanently. This was a young gentleman, short
and swarthy, with flashing eyes and a black moustache, known by the
name of the Duke of St. Angelo, but who was really only a cadet of that
illustrious house. The Duke of St. Angelo took the management of the
household of the prince--was evidently the controller; servants trembled
at his nod, and he rode any horse he liked; he invited guests, and
arranged the etiquette of the interior. He said one day very coolly to
Waldershare: "I observe that Lord Beaumaris and his friends never rise
when the prince moves."
"Why should we?"
"His rank is recognised and guaranteed by the Treaty of Vienna," said
the Duke of St. Angelo, with an arrogant air.
"His princely rank," replied Waldershare, "but not his royalty."
"That is a mere refinement," said the duke contemptuously.
"On the contrary, a clear distinction, and specifically made in the
treaty. I do not think the prince himself would desire such a ceremony,
and let me recommend you, duke," added Waldershare, "not to go out of
your way to insist on these points. They will not increase the prince's
popularity."
"The time will come, and before long, when the Treaty of Vienna, with
its clear distinctions, will be at the bottom of the Red Sea," said the
Duke of St. Angelo, "and then no one will sit when His Majesty rises."
"Amen!" said Waldershare. "All diplomacy since the Treaty of Utrecht
seems to me to be fiddle-faddle, and the country rewarded the great man
who made that treaty by an attainder."
Endymion returned to town towards the end of September, Waldershare went
to Paris, and Lord Beaumaris and the prince, who had become intimate,
repaired together to Conington, the seat of Lord Beaumaris, to kill
pheasants. Even the Rodneys, who had gone to the Rhine this year, had
not returned. Endymion had only the society of his fellow clerks. He
liked Trenchard, who was acute, full of official information, and of
gentle breeding. Still it must be confessed that Endymion felt the
change in his society. Seymour Hicks was hardly a fit successor
to Waldershare, and Jawett's rabid abstractions on government were
certainly not so interesting as _la haute politique_ of the Duke of St.
Angelo. Were it not for the letters which he constantly received from
his sister, he would have felt a little despondent. As it was, he
renewed his studies in his pleasant garret, trained himself in French
and German, and got up several questions for the Union.
The month seemed very long, but it was not unprofitably spent. The
Rodneys were still absent. They had not returned as they had intended
direct to England, but had gone to Paris to meet Mr. Waldershare.
At the end of October there was a semi-official paragraph announcing the
approaching meeting of the Cabinet, and the movements of its members.
Some were in the north, and some were in the south; some were killing
the last grouse, and some, placed in green ridings, were blazing in
battues. But all were to be at their post in ten days, and there was a
special notification that intelligence had been received of the arrival
of Lord and Lady Roehampton at Gibraltar.
CHAPTER XLVII
Lady Roehampton, in her stately mansion in St. James' Square, found life
very different from what she had experienced in her Andalusian dream.
For three months she had been the constant companion of one of the most
fascinating of men, whose only object had been to charm and delight her.
And in this he had entirely succeeded. From the moment they arrived in
London, however, they seemed to be separated, and although when they
met, there was ever a sweet smile and a kind and playful word for her,
his brow, if not oppressed with care, was always weighty with thought.
Lord Roehampton was little at his office; he worked in a spacious
chamber on the ground floor of his private residence, and which was
called the Library, though its literature consisted only of Hansard,
volumes of state papers, shelves of treatises, and interminable folios
of parliamentary reports. He had not been at home a week before the
floor of the apartment was literally covered with red boxes, all
containing documents requiring attention, and which messengers were
perpetually bringing or carrying away. Then there were long meetings of
the Cabinet almost daily, and daily visits from ambassadors and foreign
ministers, which prevented the transaction of the current business, and
rendered it necessary that Lord Roehampton should sit up late in his
cabinet, and work sometimes nearly till the hours of dawn. There had
been of course too some arrears of business, for secretaries of state
cannot indulge with impunity in Andalusian dreams, but Lord Roehampton
was well served. His under-secretaries of state were capable and
experienced men, and their chief had not been altogether idle in his
wanderings. He had visited Paris, and the capital of France in those
days was the capital of diplomacy. The visit of Lord Roehampton had
settled some questions which might have lingered for years, and had
given him that opportunity of personal survey which to a statesman is
invaluable.
Although it was not the season, the great desert had, comparatively
speaking, again become peopled. There were many persons in town, and
they all called immediately on Lady Roehampton. The ministerial families
and the diplomatic corps alone form a circle, but there is also a
certain number of charming people who love London in November, and lead
there a wondrous pleasant life of real amusement, until their feudal
traditions and their domestic duties summon them back to their Christmas
homes.
Lord and Lady Roehampton gave constant dinners, and after they had tried
two or three, he expressed his wish to his wife that she should hold a
small reception after these dinners. He was a man of great tact, and he
wished to launch his wife quietly and safely on the social ocean. "There
is nothing like practising before Christmas, my love," he would say;
"you will get your hand in, and be able to hold regular receptions in
the spring." And he was quite right. The dinners became the mode, and
the assemblies were eagerly appreciated. The Secretary of the Treasury
whispered to an Under-Secretary of State,--"This marriage was a _coup_.
We have got another house."
Myra had been a little anxious about the relations between Lord
Roehampton and her brother. She felt, with a woman's instinct, that her
husband might not be overpleased by her devotion to Endymion, and she
could not resist the conviction that the disparity of age which is
easily forgotten in a wife, and especially in a wife who adores you,
assumes a different, and somewhat distasteful character, when a
great statesman is obliged to recognise it in the shape of a boyish
brother-in-law. But all went right, for the sweetness of Lord
Roehampton's temper was inexhaustible. Endymion had paid several visits
to St. James' square before Myra could seize the opportunity, for which
she was ever watching, to make her husband and her brother acquainted.
"And so you are one of us," said Lord Roehampton, with his sweetest
smile and in his most musical tone, "and in office. We must try to give
you a lift." And then he asked Endymion who was his chief, and how he
liked him, and then he said, "A good deal depends on a man's chief. I
was under your grandfather when I first entered parliament, and I never
knew a pleasanter man to do business with. He never made difficulties;
he always encouraged one. A younker likes that."
Lady Roehampton was desirous of paying some attention to all those who
had been kind to her brother; particularly Mr. Waldershare and Lord
Beaumaris--and she wished to invite them to her house. "I am sure
Waldershare would like to come," said Endymion, "but Lord Beaumaris,
I know, never goes anywhere, and I have myself heard him say he never
would."
"Yes, my lord was telling me Lord Beaumaris was quite _farouche_, and it
is feared that we may lose him. That would be sad," said Myra, "for he
is powerful."
"I should like very much if you could give me a card for Mr. Trenchard,"
said Endymion; "he is not in society, but he is quite a gentleman."
"You shall have it, my dear. I have always liked Mr. Trenchard, and I
dare say, some day or other, he may be of use to you."
The Neuchatels were not in town, but Myra saw them frequently, and
Mr. Neuchatel often dined in St. James' Square--but the ladies always
declined every invitation of the kind. They came up from Hainault to see
Myra, but looked as if nothing but their great affection would prompt
such a sacrifice, and seemed always pining for Arcadia. Endymion,
however, not unfrequently continued his Sunday visits to Hainault,
to which Mr. Neuchatel had given him a general welcome. This young
gentleman, indeed, soon experienced a considerable change in his social
position. Invitations flocked to him, and often from persons whom he
did not know, and who did not even know him. He went by the name of Lady
Roehampton's brother, and that was a sufficient passport.
"We are trying to get up a carpet dance to-night," said Belinda to a
fair friend. "What men are in town?"
"Well, there is Mr. Waldershare, who has just left me."
"I have asked him.
"Then there is Lord Willesden and Henry Grantley--I know they are
passing through town--and there is the new man, Lady Roehampton's
brother."
"I will send to Lord Willesden and Henry Grantley immediately, and
perhaps you will send a card, which I will write here, for me to the new
man."
And in this way Mr. Ferrars soon found that he was what is called
"everywhere."
One of the most interesting acquaintances that Lady Roehampton made was
a colleague of her husband, and that was Mr. Sidney Wilton, once the
intimate friend of her father. He had known herself and her brother when
they were children, indeed from the cradle. Mr. Sidney Wilton was in the
perfection of middle life, and looked young for his years. He was tall
and pensive, and naturally sentimental, though a long political career,
for he had entered the House of Commons for the family borough the
instant he was of age, had brought to this susceptibility a salutary
hardness. Although somewhat alienated from the friend of his youth
by the course of affairs, for Mr. Sidney Wilton had followed Lord
Roehampton, while Mr. Ferrars had adhered to the Duke of Wellington,
he had not neglected Ferrars in his fall, but his offers of assistance,
frankly and generously made, had been coldly though courteously
rejected, and no encouragement had been given to the maintenance of
their once intimate acquaintance.
Mr. Sidney Wilton was much struck by the appearance of Lady Roehampton.
He tried to compare the fulfilment of her promise with the beautiful
and haughty child whom he used to wonder her parents so extravagantly
spoiled. Her stature was above the average height of women and finely
developed and proportioned. But it was in the countenance--in the
pellucid and commanding brow, the deep splendour of her dark blue eyes
softened by long lashes, her short upper lip, and the rich profusion of
her dark chestnut hair--that his roused memory recalled the past; and he
fell into a mood of agitated contemplation.
The opportunities which he enjoyed of cultivating her society were
numerous, and Mr. Wilton missed none. He was frequently her guest, and
being himself the master of a splendid establishment, he could offer
her a hospitality which every one appreciated. Lord Roehampton was
peculiarly his political chief, and they had always been socially
intimate. As the trusted colleague of her husband--as one who had known
her in her childhood, and as himself a man singularly qualified, by his
agreeable conversation and tender and deferential manner, to make his
way with women--Mr. Sidney Wilton had no great difficulty, particularly
in that happy demi-season which precedes Christmas, in establishing
relations of confidence and intimacy with Lady Roehampton.
The cabinets were over: the government had decided on their measures,
and put them in a state of preparation, and they were about to disperse
for a month. The seat of Lord Roehampton was in the extreme north
of England, and a visit to it was inconvenient at this moment, and
especially at this season. The department of Lord Roehampton was very
active at this time, and he was unwilling that the first impression by
his wife of her future home should be experienced at a season little
favourable to the charms of a northern seat. Mr. Sidney Wilton was
the proprietor of the most beautiful and the most celebrated villa in
England; only twenty miles from town, seated on a wooded crest of
the swan-crowned Thames, with gardens of delight, and woods full of
pheasants, and a terrace that would have become a court, glancing over a
wide expanse of bower and glade, studded with bright halls and delicate
steeples, and the smoke of rural homes.
It was arranged that Lord and Lady Roehampton should pass their
Christmas at Gaydene with Mr. Sidney Wilton, stay as long as they liked,
go where they chose, but make it their headquarters. It was a most
successful visit; for a great deal of business was done, as well as
pleasure enjoyed. The ambassadors, who were always a little uneasy at
Christmas when everybody is away, and themselves without country homes,
were all invited down for that week. Lord Roehampton used to give them
audiences after the shooting parties. He thought it was a specific
against their being too long. He used to say, "The first dinner-bell
often brings things to a point." After Christmas there was an
ever-varying stream of company, chiefly official and parliamentary. The
banquet and the battue did not always settle the business, the clause,
or the schedule, which the guests often came down to Gaydene ostensibly
to accomplish, but they sent men back to town with increased energy and
good humour, and kept the party in heart. Towards the end of the month
the premier came down, and for him the Blue Ribbon Covert had been
reserved, though he really cared little for sport. It was an eighteenth
century tradition that knights of the garter only had been permitted to
shoot this choice preserve, but Mr. Sidney Wilton, in this advanced age,
did not of course revive such an ultra-exclusive practice, and he was
particular in arranging the party to include Mr. Jorrocks. This was
a Radical member to whom considerable office had been given at the
reconstruction of 1835, when it was necessary that the Whigs should
conciliate the Mountain. He was a pretentious, underbred, half-educated
man, fluent with all the commonplaces of middle-class ambition, which
are humorously called democratic opinions, but at heart a sycophant
of the aristocracy. He represented, however, a large and important
constituency, and his promotion was at first looked upon as a
masterpiece of management. The Mountain, who knew Jorrocks by heart, and
felt that they had in their ranks men in every sense his superior, and
that he could be no representative of their intelligence and opinions,
and so by degrees prepare for their gradual admission to the sacred
land, at first sulked over the promotion of their late companion, and
only did not publicly deride it from the feeling that by so doing they
might be playing the game of the ministry. At the time of which we are
writing, having become extremely discontented and wishing to annoy
the government, they even affected dissatisfaction at the subordinate
position which Jorrocks occupied in the administration, and it was
generally said--had become indeed the slang of the party--that the
test of the sincerity of the ministry to Liberal principles was to put
Jorrocks in the cabinet. The countenance of the premier when this
choice programme was first communicated to him was what might have
been expected had he learnt of the sudden descent upon this isle of
an invading force, and the Secretary of the Treasury whispered in
confidence to one or two leaders of the Mountain, "that if they did not
take care they would upset the government."