Endymion - Benjamin Disraeli
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Lady Monfort never could agree with her husband in the cardinal
assumption of his philosophy. One of his reasons for never doing
anything was, that there was nothing for him to attain. He had got
everything. Here they at once separated in their conclusions. Lady
Montfort maintained they had got nothing. "What," she would say, "are
rank and wealth to us? We were born to them. We want something that
we were not born to. You reason like a parvenu. Of course, if you had
created your rank and your riches, you might rest on your oars, and find
excitement in the recollection of what you had achieved. A man of your
position ought to govern the country, and it always was so in the
old days. Your family were prime ministers; why not you, with as much
talent, and much more knowledge?"
"You would make a very good prime minister, Berengaria."
"Ah! you always jest, I am serious."
"And so am I. If I ever am to work, I would sooner be a civil engineer
than a prime minister."
Nothing but the indomitable spirit of Lady Montfort could fight
successfully against such obstacles to her schemes of power as were
presented by the peculiar disposition of her lord. Her receptions every
Saturday night during the season were the most important of social
gatherings, but she held them alone. It was by consummate skill that
she had prevailed upon her lord occasionally appearing at the preceding
banquets, and when they were over, he flitted for an instant and
disappeared. At first, he altogether refused, but then Lady Montfort
would introduce Royalty, always kind, to condescend to express a wish
to dine at Montfort House, and that was a gracious intimation it was
impossible not to act upon, and then, as Lady Montfort would say, "I
trust much to the periodical visits of that dear Queen of Mesopotamia.
He must entertain her, for his father was her lover."
In this wonderful mystification, by which Lord Montfort was made to
appear as living in a society which he scarcely ever entered, his
wife was a little assisted by his visits to Newmarket, which he even
frequently attended. He never made a bet or a new acquaintance, but he
seemed to like meeting men with whom he had been at school. There is
certainly a magic in the memory of school-boy friendships; it softens
the heart, and even affects the nervous system of those who have no
hearts. Lord Montfort at Newmarket would ask half a dozen men who had
been at school with him, and were now members of the Jockey Club, to be
his guests, and the next day all over the heath, and after the heath,
all over Mayfair and Belgravia, you heard only one speech, "I dined
yesterday," or "the other day," as the case might be, "with Montfort;
out and out the best dinner I ever had, and such an agreeable fellow;
the wittiest, the most amusing, certainly the most charming fellow that
ever lived; out and out! It is a pity he does not show a little more."
And society thought the same; they thought it a pity, and a great one,
that this fascinating being of whom they rarely caught a glimpse, and
who to them took the form of a wasted and unsympathising phantom, should
not show a little more and delight them. But the most curious thing was,
that however rapturous were his guests, the feelings of their host after
they had left him, were by no means reciprocal. On the contrary, he
would remark to himself, "Have I heard a single thing worth remembering?
Not one."
CHAPTER LIII
Endymion was a little agitated when he arrived at the door of Montfort
House, a huge family mansion, situate in a court-yard and looking into
the Green Park. When the door was opened he found himself in a large
hall with many servants, and he was ushered through several rooms on the
ground floor, into a capacious chamber dimly lighted, where there were
several gentlemen, but not his hostess. His name was announced, and then
a young man came up to him and mentioned that Lord and Lady Montfort
would soon be present, and then talked to him about the weather. The
Count of Ferroll arrived after Endymion, and then another gentleman
whose name he could not catch. Then while he was making some original
observations on the east wind, and, to confess the truth, feeling
anything but at his ease, the folding doors of a further chamber
brilliantly lighted were thrown open, and almost at the same moment Lady
Montfort entered, and, taking the Count of Ferroll's arm, walked into
the dining-room. It was a round table, and Endymion was told by the
same gentleman who had already addressed him, that he was to sit by Lady
Montfort.
"Lord Montfort is a little late to-day," she said, "but he wished me not
to wait for him. And how are you after our parliamentary banquet?"
she said, turning to Endymion; "I will introduce you to the Count of
Ferroll."
The Count of Ferroll was a young man, and yet inclined to be bald. He
was chief of a not inconsiderable mission at our court. Though not to
be described as a handsome man, his countenance was striking; a brow
of much intellectual development, and a massive jaw. He was tall,
broad-shouldered, with a slender waist. He greeted Endymion with a
penetrating glance, and then with a winning smile.
The Count of Ferroll was the representative of a kingdom which, if
not exactly created, had been moulded into a certain form of apparent
strength and importance by the Congress of Vienna. He was a noble of
considerable estate in a country where possessions were not extensive
or fortunes large, though it was ruled by an ancient, and haughty, and
warlike aristocracy. Like his class, the Count of Ferroll had received a
military education; but when that education was completed, he found but
a feeble prospect of his acquirements being called into action. It
was believed that the age of great wars had ceased, and that even
revolutions were for the future to be controlled by diplomacy. As he was
a man of an original, not to say eccentric, turn of mind, the Count
of Ferroll was not contented with the resources and distraction of his
second-rate capital. He was an eminent sportsman, and, for some time,
took refuge and found excitement in the breadth of his dark forests, and
in the formation of a stud, which had already become celebrated. But all
this time, even in the excitement of the chase, and in the raising of
his rare-breed steeds, the Count of Ferroll might be said to have been
brooding over the position of what he could scarcely call his country,
but rather an aggregation of lands baptized by protocols, and christened
and consolidated by treaties which he looked upon as eminently
untrustworthy. One day he surprised his sovereign, with whom he was
a favourite, by requesting to be appointed to the legation at London,
which was vacant. The appointment was at once made, and the Count of
Ferroll had now been two years at the Court of St. James'.
The Count of Ferroll was a favourite in English society, for he
possessed every quality which there conduces to success. He was of great
family and of distinguished appearance, munificent and singularly frank;
was a dead-shot, and the boldest of riders, with horses which were the
admiration alike of Melton and Newmarket. The ladies also approved of
him, for he was a consummate waltzer, and mixed with a badinage gaily
cynical a tone that could be tender and a bewitching smile.
But his great friend was Lady Montfort. He told her everything, and
consulted her on everything; and though he rarely praised anybody, it
had reached her ears that the Count of Ferroll had said more than once
that she was a greater woman than Louise of Savoy or the Duchesse de
Longueville.
There was a slight rustling in the room. A gentleman had entered and
glided into his unoccupied chair, which his valet had guarded. "I fear I
am not in time for an oyster," said Lord Montfort to his neighbour.
The gentleman who had first spoken to Endymion was the secretary of Lord
Montfort; then there was a great genius who was projecting a suspension
bridge over the Tyne, and that was in Lord Montfort's country. A
distinguished officer of the British Museum completed the party with a
person who sate opposite Endymion, and whom in the dim twilight he had
not recognised, but whom he now beheld with no little emotion. It was
Nigel Penruddock. They had not met since his mother's funeral, and the
associations of the past agitated Endymion. They exchanged recognitions;
that of Nigel was grave but kind.
The conversation was what is called general, and a great deal on
suspension bridges. Lord Montfort himself led off on this, in order
to bring out his distinguished guest. The Count of Ferroll was also
interested on this subject, as his own government was making inquiries
on the matter. The gentleman from the British Museum made some remarks
on the mode in which the ancient Egyptians moved masses of granite, and
quoted Herodotus to the civil engineer. The civil engineer had never
heard of Herodotus, but he said he was going to Egypt in the autumn by
desire of Mehemet Ali, and he would undertake to move any mass which
was requisite, even if it were a pyramid itself. Lady Montfort, without
disturbing the general conversation, whispered in turns to the Count of
Ferroll and Endymion, and told the latter that she had paid a visit to
Lady Roehampton in the morning--a most delightful visit. There was no
person she admired so much as his sister; she quite loved her. The
only person who was silent was Nigel, but Lady Montfort, who perceived
everything, addressed him across the table with enthusiasm about some
changes he had made in the services of some church, and the countenance
of Nigel became suffused like a young saint who has a glimpse of
Paradise.
After dinner Lady Montfort led Endymion to her lord, and left him seated
by his host. Lord Montfort was affable and natural in his manner. He
said, "I have not yet made the acquaintance of Lady Roehampton, for I
never go out; but I hope to do so, for Lady Montfort tells me she is
quite captivating."
"She is a very good sister," said Endymion.
"Lady Montfort has told me a great deal about yourself, and all of it
I was glad to hear. I like young men who rise by their merits, and Mr.
Sidney Wilton tells Lady Montfort that yours are distinguished."
"Mr. Sidney Wilton is a kind master, sir."
"Well, I was his fag at Harrow, and I thought him so," said Lord
Montfort. "And now about your office; tell me what you do. You were not
there first, Lady Montfort says. Where were you first? Tell me all about
it. I like detail."
It was impossible to resist such polished and amiable curiosity, and
Endymion gratified it with youthful grace. He even gave Lord Montfort a
sketch of St. Barbe, inspired probably by the interview of the morning.
Lord Montfort was quite amused with this, and said he should so much
like to know Mr. St. Barbe. It was clear, when the party broke up, that
Endymion had made a favourable impression, for Lord Montfort said, "You
came here to-day as Lady Montfort's friend, but you must come in future
as mine also. And will you understand, I dine at home every day when I
am in town, and I give you a general invitation. Come as often as you
like; you will be always welcome. Only let the house know your intention
an hour before dinner-time, as I have a particular aversion to the table
being crowded, or seeing an empty chair."
Lady Montfort had passed much of the evening in earnest conversation
with Nigel, and when the guests quitted the room, Nigel and Endymion
walked away together.
CHAPTER LIV
The meeting between Nigel and Endymion was not an ordinary one, and when
they were at length alone, neither of them concealed his feelings of
pleasure and surprise at its occurrence. Nigel had been a curate in the
northern town which was defended by Lord Montfort's proud castle, and
his labours and reputation had attracted the attention of Lady Montfort.
Under the influence of his powerful character, the services of his
church were celebrated with a precision and an imposing effect, which
soon occasioned a considerable excitement in the neighbourhood, in time
even in the county. The pulpit was frequently at his command, for his
rector, who had imbibed his Church views, was not equal to the task of
propagating them, and the power and fame of Nigel as a preacher began to
be much rumoured. Although the church at which he officiated was not
the one which Lady Montfort usually attended, she was soon among his
congregation and remained there. He became a constant guest at the
castle, and Lady Montfort presented his church with a reredos of
alabaster. She did more than this. Her enthusiasm exceeded her
selfishness, for though the sacrifice was great which would deprive her
of the ministrations and society of Nigel in the country, she prevailed
upon the prime minister to prefer him to a new church in London, which
had just fallen vacant, and which, being situated in a wealthy and
populous district, would afford him the opportunity of making known to
the world his eloquence and genius. This was Nigel's simple, yet not
uneventful history; and then, in turn, he listened to Endymion's brief
but interesting narrative of his career, and then they agreed to adjourn
to Endymion's chambers and have a good talk over the past and the
present.
"That Lady Montfort is a great woman," said Nigel, standing with his
back to the fire. "She has it in her to be another Empress Helena."
"Indeed!"
"I believe she has only one thought, and that the only thought worthy
the human mind--the Church. I was glad to meet you at her house.
You have cherished, I hope, those views which in your boyhood you so
fervently and seriously embraced."
"I am rather surprised," said Endymion, not caring to answer this
inquiry, "at a Whig lady entertaining such high views in these matters.
The Liberal party rather depends on the Low Church."
"I know nothing about Whigs or Tories or Liberals, or any other new
names which they invent," said Nigel. "Nor do I know, or care to know,
what Low Church means. There is but one Church, and it is catholic and
apostolic; and if we act on its principles, there will be no need, and
there ought to be no need, for any other form of government."
"Well, those are very distinct views," said Endymion, "but are they as
practical as they are clear?"
"Why should they not be practical? Everything is practical which we
believe; and in the long run, which is most likely that we should
believe, what is taught by God, or what is taught by man?"
"I confess," said Endymion, "that in all matters, both civil and
religious, I incline to what is moderate and temperate. I always trace
my dear father's sad end, and all the terrible events in my family,
to his adopting in 1829 the views of the extreme party. If he had only
followed the example and the advice of his best friend, Mr. Sidney
Wilton, what a different state of affairs might have occurred!"
"I know nothing about politics," said Nigel. "By being moderate and
temperate in politics I suppose you mean being adroit, and doing that
which is expedient and which will probably be successful. But the Church
is founded on absolute truth, and teaches absolute truth, and there can
be no compromise on such matters."
"Well, I do not know," said Endymion, "but surely there are many very
religious people, who do not accept without reserve everything that is
taught by the Church. I hope I am a religious person myself, and yet,
for example, I cannot give an unreserved assent to the whole of the
Athanasian Creed."
"The Athanasian Creed is the most splendid ecclesiastical lyric ever
poured forth by the genius of man. I give to every clause of it an
implicit assent. It does not pretend to be divine; it is human, but the
Church has hallowed it, and the Church ever acts under the influence of
the Divine Spirit. St. Athanasius was by far the greatest man that
ever existed. If you cavil at his creed, you will soon cavil at other
symbols. I was prepared for infidelity in London, but I confess, my dear
Ferrars, you alarm me. I was in hopes that your early education would
have saved you from this backsliding."
"But let us be calm, my dear Nigel. Do you mean to say, that I am to
be considered an infidel or an apostate, because, although I fervently
embrace all the vital truths of religion, and try, on the whole, to
regulate my life by them, I may have scruples about believing, for
example, in the personality of the Devil?"
"If the personality of Satan be not a vital principle of your religion,
I do not know what is. There is only one dogma higher. You think it is
safe, and I daresay it is fashionable, to fall into this lax and
really thoughtless discrimination between what is and what is not to be
believed. It is not good taste to believe in the Devil. Give me a
single argument against his personality which is not applicable to the
personality of the Deity. Will you give that up; and if so, where are
you? Now mark me; you and I are young men--you are a very young man.
This is the year of grace 1839. If these loose thoughts, which you
have heedlessly taken up, prevail in this country for a generation or
so--five and twenty or thirty years--we may meet together again, and I
shall have to convince you that there is a God."
CHAPTER LV
The balance of parties in the House of Commons, which had been virtually
restored by Sir Robert Peel's dissolution of 1834, might be said to be
formally and positively established by the dissolution of parliament
in the autumn of 1837, occasioned by the demise of the crown. The
ministerial majority became almost nominal, while troubles from all
quarters seemed to press simultaneously upon them: Canadian revolts,
Chartist insurrections, Chinese squabbles, and mysterious complications
in Central Asia, which threatened immediate hostilities with Persia, and
even with one of the most powerful of European empires. In addition to
all this, the revenue continually declined, and every day the general
prejudice became more intense against the Irish policy of the ministry.
The extreme popularity of the Sovereign, reflecting some lustre on her
ministers, had enabled them, though not without difficulty, to tide
through the session of 1838; but when parliament met in 1839 their
prospects were dark, and it was known that there was a section of the
extreme Liberals who would not be deeply mortified if the government
were overthrown. All efforts, therefore, political and social, and
particularly the latter, in which the Whigs excelled, were to be made to
prevent or to retard the catastrophe.
Lady Montfort and Lady Roehampton opened their houses to the general
world at an unusually early period. Their entertainments rivalled those
of Zenobia, who with unflagging gallantry, her radiant face prescient of
triumph, stopped her bright vis-a-vis and her tall footmen in the midst
of St. James' Street or Pall Mall, while she rapidly inquired from some
friendly passer-by whom she had observed, "Tell me the names of the
Radical members who want to turn out the government, and I will invite
them directly."
Lady Montfort had appropriated the Saturdays, as was her custom and
her right; so Myra, with the advice of Lord Roehampton, had fixed on
Wednesdays for her receptions.
"I should have liked to have taken Wednesdays," said Zenobia, "but I
do not care to seem to be setting up against Lady Roehampton, for her
mother was my dearest friend. Not that I think any quarter ought to be
shown to her after joining those atrocious Whigs, but to be sure she was
corrupted by her husband, whom I remember the most thorough Tory going.
To be sure, I was a Whig myself in those days, so one must not say too
much about it, but the Whigs then were gentlemen. I will tell you what
I will do. I will receive both on Saturdays and Wednesdays. It is an
effort, and I am not as young as I was, but it will only be for a season
or less, for I know these people cannot stand. It will be all over by
May."
Prince Florestan had arrived in town, and was now settled in his mansion
in Carlton Terrace. It was the fashion among the _creme de la creme_ to
keep aloof from him. The Tories did not love revolutionary dynasties,
and the Whigs being in office could not sanction a pretender, and
one who, they significantly intimated with a charitable shrug of the
shoulders, was not a very scrupulous one. The prince himself, though he
was not insensible to the charms of society, and especially of agreeable
women, was not much chagrined by this. The world thought that he had
fitted up his fine house, and bought his fine horses, merely for
the enjoyment of life. His purposes were very different. Though his
acquaintances were limited, they were not undistinguished, and he
lived with them in intimacy. There had arisen between himself and Mr.
Waldershare the closest alliance both of thought and habits. They
were rarely separated. The prince was also a frequent guest at the
Neuchatels', and was a favourite with the head of the house.
The Duke of St. Angelo controlled the household at Carlton Gardens with
skill. The appointments were finished and the cuisine refined. There was
a dinner twice a week, from which Waldershare was rarely absent, and
to which Endymion, whom the prince always treated with kindness, had
a general invitation. When he occasionally dined there he met always
several foreign guests, and all men apparently of mark--at any rate, all
distinguished by their intelligence. It was an interesting and useful
house for a young man, and especially a young politician, to frequent.
Endymion heard many things and learnt many things which otherwise would
not have met his ear or mind. The prince encouraged conversation, though
himself inclined to taciturnity. When he did speak, his terse remarks
and condensed views were striking, and were remembered. On the days on
which he did not receive, the prince dined at the Travellers' Club,
to which Waldershare had obtained his introduction, and generally with
Waldershare, who took this opportunity of gradually making his friend
acquainted with eminent and influential men, many of whom in due time
became guests at Carlton Terrace. It was clear, indeed, that these
club-dinners were part of a system.
The prince, soon after his arrival in town, while riding, had passed
Lady Roehampton's carriage in the park, and he had saluted her with
a grave grace which distinguished him. She was surprised at feeling
a little agitated by this rencontre. It recalled Hainault, her not
mortifying but still humble position beneath that roof, the prince's
courtesy to her under those circumstances, and, indeed, his marked
preference for her society. She felt it something like ingratitude to
treat him with neglect now, when her position was so changed and had
become so elevated. She mentioned to Lord Roehampton, while they
were dining alone, that she should like to invite the prince to her
receptions, and asked his opinion on the point. Lord Roehampton shrugged
his shoulders and did not encourage her. "You know, my darling, our
people do not much like him. They look upon him as a pretender, as
having forfeited his parole, and as a refugee from justice. I have no
prejudices against him myself, and perhaps in the same situation might
have acted in the same manner; but if he is to be admitted into society,
it should hardly be at a ministerial reception, and of all houses, that
of one who holds my particular post."
"I know nothing about his forfeiting his parole," said Lady Roehampton;
"the charge is involved in mystery, and Mr. Waldershare told me it was
an entire fabrication. As for his being a pretender, he seems to me as
legitimate a prince as most we meet; he was born in the purple, and his
father was recognised by every government in Europe except our own. As
for being a refugee from justice, a prince in captivity has certainly a
right to escape if he can, and his escape was romantic. However, I will
not contest any decision of yours, for I think you are always right.
Only I am disappointed, for, to say nothing of the unkindness, I cannot
help feeling our not noticing him is rather shabby."
There was silence, a longer silence than usually occurred in
_tete-a-tete_ dinners between Lord and Lady Roehampton. To break the
silence he began to converse on another subject, and Lady Roehampton
replied to him cheerfully, but curtly. He saw she was vexed, and this
great man, who was at that time meditating one of the most daring acts
of modern diplomacy, who had the reputation, in the conduct of public
affairs, of not only being courageous, but of being stern, inflexible,
unfeeling, and unscrupulous beyond ordinary statesmen, who had passed
his mornings in writing a menacing despatch to a great power and
intimating combinations to the ambassadors of other first-rate states
which they almost trembled to receive, was quite upset by seeing his
wife chagrined. At last, after another embarrassing pause, he said
gaily, "Do you know, my dear Myra, I do not see why you should not ask
Prince Florestan. It is you that ask him, not I. That is one of the
pleasant results of our system of political entertainments. The guests
come to pay their respects to the lady of the house, so no one is
committed. The prince may visit you on Wednesday just as well as
the leaders of the opposition who want our places, or the malcontent
Radicals who they say are going to turn us out."