Endymion - Benjamin Disraeli
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"I owe my knighthood to you," said Prince Florestan to Lady Roehampton,
"as I do everything in this country that is agreeable."
"You cannot be my knight," replied Lady Roehampton, "because I am told I
am the sovereign of all the chivalry, but you have my best wishes."
"All that I want in life," said the prince, "are your good wishes."
"I fear they are barren."
"No, they are inspiring," said the prince with unusual feeling. "You
brought me good fortune. From the moment I saw you, light fell upon my
life."
"Is not that an exaggerated phrase?" said Lady Roehampton with a smile,
"because I happened to get you a ticket for a masquerade."
"I was thinking of something else," said the prince pensively; "but life
is a masquerade; at least mine has been."
"I think yours, sir, is a most interesting life," said Lady Roehampton,
"and, were I you, I would not quarrel with my destiny."
"My destiny is not fulfilled," said the prince. "I have never quarrelled
with it, and am least disposed to do so at this moment."
"Mr. Sidney Wilton was speaking to me very much the other day about your
royal mother, sir, Queen Agrippina. She must have been fascinating."
"I like fascinating women," said the prince, "but they are rare."
"Perhaps it is better it should be so," said Lady Roehampton, "for they
are apt--are they not?--to disturb the world."
"I confess I like to be bewitched," said the prince, "and I do not care
how much the world is disturbed."
"But is not the world very well as it is?" said Lady Roehampton. "Why
should we not be happy and enjoy it?"
"I do enjoy it," replied Prince Florestan, "especially at Montfort
Castle; I suppose there is something in the air that agrees with one.
But enjoyment of the present is consistent with objects for the future."
"Ah! now you are thinking of your great affairs--of your kingdom. My
woman's brain is not equal to that."
"I think your brain is quite equal to kingdoms," said the prince, with
a serious expression, and speaking in even a lower voice, "but I was not
thinking of my kingdom. I leave that to fate; I believe it is destined
to be mine, and therefore occasions me thought but not anxiety. I was
thinking of something else than kingdoms, and of which unhappily I am
not so certain--of which I am most uncertain--of which I fear I have no
chance--and yet which is dearer to me than even my crown."
"What can that be?" said Lady Roehampton, with unaffected wonderment.
"'Tis a secret of chivalry," said Prince Florestan, "and I must never
disclose it."
"It is a wonderful scene," said Adriana Neuchatel to Endymion, who had
been for some time conversing with her. "I had no idea that I should
be so much amused by anything in society. But then, it is so unlike
anything one has ever seen."
Mrs. Neuchatel had not accompanied her husband and her daughter to the
Montfort Tournament. Mr. Neuchatel required a long holiday, and after
the tournament he was to take Adriana to Scotland. Mrs. Neuchatel shut
herself up at Hainault, which it seemed she had never enjoyed before.
She could hardly believe it was the same place, freed from its daily
invasions by the House of Commons and the Stock Exchange. She had never
lived so long without seeing an ambassador or a cabinet minister, and it
as quite a relief. She wandered in the gardens, and drove her pony-chair
in forest glades. She missed Adriana very much, and for a few days
always expected her to enter the room when the door opened; and then
she sighed, and then she flew to her easel, or buried herself in some
sublime cantata of her favourite master, Beethoven. Then came the most
wonderful performance of the whole day, and that was the letter, never
missed, to Adriana. Considering that she lived in solitude, and in
a spot with which her daughter was quite familiar, it was really
marvellous that the mother should every day be able to fill so many
interesting and impassioned pages. But Mrs. Neuchatel was a fine
penwoman; her feelings were her facts, and her ingenious observations
of art and nature were her news. After the first fever of separation,
reading was always a resource to her, for she was a great student. She
was surrounded by all the literary journals and choice publications of
Europe, and there scarcely was a branch of science and learning with
which she was not sufficiently familiar to be able to comprehend the
stir and progress of the European mind. Mrs. Neuchatel had contrived
to get rid of the chief cook by sending him on a visit to Paris, so
she could, without cavil, dine off a cutlet and seltzer-water in her
boudoir. Sometimes, not merely for distraction, but more from a sense of
duty, she gave festivals to her schools; and when she had lived like a
princely prisoner of state alone for a month, or rather like one on a
desert isle who sighs to see a sail, she would ask a great geologist and
his wife to pay her a visit, or some professor, who, though himself
not worth a shilling, had some new plans, which really sounded quite
practical, for the more equal distribution of wealth.
"And who is your knight?" said Endymion.
Adriana looked distressed.
"I mean, whom do you wish to win?"
"Oh, I should like them all to win!"
"That is good-natured, but then there would be no distinction. I know
who is going to wear your colours--the Knight of the Dolphin."
"I hope nothing of that kind will happen," said Adriana, agitated. "I
know that some of the knights are going to wear ladies' colours, but I
trust no one will think of wearing mine. I know the Black Knight wears
Lady Montfort's."
"He cannot," said Endymion hastily. "She is first lady to the Queen of
Beauty; no knight can wear the colours of the Queen. I asked Sir Morte
d'Arthur himself, and he told me there was no doubt about it, and that
he had consulted Garter before he came down."
"Well, all I know is that the Count of Ferroll told me so," said
Adriana; "I sate next to him at dinner."
"He shall not wear her colours," said Endymion quite angrily. "I will
speak to the King of the Tournament about it directly."
"Why, what does it signify?" said Adriana.
"You thought it signified when I told you Regy Sutton was going to wear
your colours."
"Ah! that is quite a different business," said Adriana, with a sigh.
Reginald Sutton was a professed admirer of Adriana, rode with her
whenever he could, and danced with her immensely. She gave him cold
encouragement, though he was the best-looking and best-dressed youth
in England; but he was a determined young hero, not gifted with too
sensitive nerves, and was a votary of the great theory that all in life
was an affair of will, and that endowed with sufficient energy he might
marry whom he liked. He accounted for his slow advance in London by the
inimical presence of Mrs. Neuchatel, who he felt, or fancied, did not
sympathise with him; while, on the contrary, he got on very well with
the father, and so he was determined to seize the present opportunity.
The mother was absent, and he himself in a commanding position, being
one of the knights to whose exploits the eyes of all England were
attracted.
Lord Roehampton was seated between an ambassadress and Berengaria,
indulging in gentle and sweet-voiced raillery; the Count of Ferroll was
standing beside Lady Montfort, and Mr. Wilton was opposite to the group.
The Count of Ferroll rarely spoke, but listened to Lady Montfort with
what she called one of his dark smiles.
"All I know is, she will never pardon you for not asking her," said Lord
Roehampton. "I saw Bicester the day I left town, and he was very
grumpy. He said that Lady Bicester was the only person who understood
tournaments. She had studied the subject."
"I suppose she wanted to be the Queen of Beauty," said Berengaria.
"You are too severe, my dear lady. I think she would have been contented
with a knight wearing her colours."
"Well, I cannot help it," said Berengaria, but somewhat doubtingly. And
then, after a moment's pause, "She is too ugly."
"Why, she came to my fancy ball, and it is not five years ago, as Mary
Queen of Scots!"
"That must have been after the Queen's decapitation," said Berengaria.
"I wonder you did not ask Zenobia," said Mr. Wilton.
"Of course I asked her, but I knew she would not come. She is in one
of her hatreds now. She said she would have come, only she had
half-promised to give a ball to the tenants at Merrington about that
time, and she did not like to disappoint them. Quite touching, was it
not?"
"A touch beyond the reach of art," said Mr. Wilton; "almost worthy of
yourself, Lady Montfort."
"And what do you think of all this?" asked Lord Montfort of Nigel
Penruddock, who, in a cassock that swept the ground, had been stalking
about the glittering salons like a prophet who had been ordained in
Mayfair, but who had now seated himself by his host.
"I am thinking of what is beneath all this," replied Nigel. "A great
revivication. Chivalry is the child of the Church; it is the distinctive
feature of Christian Europe. Had it not been for the revival of Church
principles, this glorious pageant would never have occurred. But it is
a pageant only to the uninitiated. There is not a ceremony, a form,
a phrase, a costume, which is not symbolic of a great truth or a high
purpose."
"I do not think Lady Montfort is aware of all this," said her lord.
"Oh yes!" said Nigel. "Lady Montfort is a great woman--a woman who could
inspire crusades and create churches. She might, and she will, I trust,
rank with the Helenas and the Matildas."
Lord Montfort gave a little sound, but so gentle that it was heard
probably but by himself, which in common language would be styled a
whistle--an articulate modulation of the breath which in this instance
expressed a sly sentiment of humorous amazement.
"Well, Mr. Ferrars," said Mr. Neuchatel, with a laughing eye, to that
young gentleman, as he encountered Endymion passing by, "and how are you
getting on? Are we to see you to-morrow in a Milanese suit?"
"I am only a page," said Endymion.
"Well, well, the old Italian saying is, 'A page beats a knight,' at
least with the ladies."
"Do you not think it very absurd," said Endymion, "that the Count of
Ferroll says he shall wear Lady Montfort's colours? Lady Montfort is
only the first lady of the Queen of Beauty, and she can wear no colours
except the Queen's. Do not you think somebody ought to interfere?"
"Hem! The Count of Ferroll is a man who seldom makes a mistake," said
Mr. Neuchatel.
"So everybody says," said Endymion rather testily; "but I do not see
that."
"Now, you are a very young man," said Mr. Neuchatel, "and I hope you
will some day be a statesman. I do not see why you should not, if you
are industrious and stick to your master, for Mr. Sidney Wilton is a man
who will always rise; but, if I were you, I would keep my eyes very much
on the Count of Ferroll, for, depend on it, he is one of those men who
sooner or later will make a noise in the world."
Adriana came up at this moment, leaning on the arm of the Knight of
the Dolphin, better known as Regy Sutton. They came from the tea-room.
Endymion moved away with a cloud on his brow, murmuring to himself, "I
am quite sick of the name of the Count of Ferroll."
The jousting-ground was about a mile from the castle, and though it was
nearly encircled by vast and lofty galleries, it was impossible that
accommodation could be afforded on this spot to the thousands who had
repaired from many parts of the kingdom to the Montfort Tournament. But
even a hundred thousand people could witness the procession from the
castle to the scene of action. That was superb. The sun shone, and not
one of the breathless multitude was disappointed.
There came a long line of men-at-arms and musicians and trumpeters and
banner-bearers of the Lord of the Tournament, and heralds in tabards,
and pursuivants, and then the Herald of the Tournament by himself, whom
the people at first mistook for the Lord Mayor.
Then came the Knight Marshal on a caparisoned steed, himself in a
suit of gilt armour, and in a richly embroidered surcoat. A band of
halberdiers preceded the King of the Tournament, also on a steed richly
caparisoned, and himself clad in robes of velvet and ermine, and wearing
a golden crown.
Then on a barded Arab, herself dressed in cloth of gold, parti-coloured
with violet and crimson, came, amidst tremendous cheering, the Queen of
Beauty herself. Twelve attendants bore aloft a silken canopy, which did
not conceal from the enraptured multitude the lustre of her matchless
loveliness. Lady Montfort, Adriana, and four other attendant ladies,
followed her majesty, two by two, each in gorgeous attire, and on a
charger that vied in splendour with its mistress. Six pages followed
next, in violet and silver.
The bells of a barded mule announced the Jester, who waved his sceptre
with unceasing authority, and pelted the people with admirably prepared
impromptus. Some in the crowd tried to enter into a competition of
banter, but they were always vanquished.
Soon a large army of men-at-arms and the sounds of most triumphant music
stopped the general laughter, and all became again hushed in curious
suspense. The tallest and the stoutest of the Border men bore the
gonfalon of the Lord of the Tournament. That should have been Lord
Montfort himself; but he had deputed the office to his cousin and
presumptive heir. Lord Montfort was well represented, and the people
cheered his cousin Odo heartily, as in his suit of golden armour richly
chased, and bending on his steed, caparisoned in blue and gold, he
acknowledged their fealty with a proud reverence.
The other knights followed in order, all attended by their esquires and
their grooms. Each knight was greatly applauded, and it was really a
grand sight to see them on their barded chargers and in their panoply;
some in suits of engraved Milanese armour, some in German suits of
fluted polished steel; some in steel armour engraved and inlaid with
gold. The Black Knight was much cheered, but no one commanded more
admiration than Prince Florestan, in a suit of blue damascened armour,
and inlaid with silver roses.
Every procession must end. It is a pity, for there is nothing so popular
with mankind. The splendid part of the pageant had passed, but still
the people gazed and looked as if they would have gazed for ever. The
visitors at the castle, all in ancient costume, attracted much notice.
Companies of swordsmen and bowmen followed, till at last the seneschal
of the castle, with his chamberlains and servitors, closed the
spell-bound scene.
CHAPTER LX
The jousting was very successful; though some were necessarily
discomfited, almost every one contrived to obtain some distinction. But
the two knights who excelled and vanquished every one except themselves
were the Black Knight and the Knight of the White Rose. Their exploits
were equal at the close of the first day, and on the second they were to
contend for the principal prize of the tournament, for which none else
were entitled to be competitors. This was a golden helm, to be placed
upon the victor's brow by the Queen of Beauty.
There was both a banquet and a ball on this day, and the excitement
between the adventures of the morning and the prospects of the morrow
was great. The knights, freed from their armour, appeared in fanciful
dresses of many-coloured velvets. All who had taken part in the pageant
retained their costumes, and the ordinary guests, if they yielded to
mediaeval splendour, successfully asserted the taste of Paris and its
sparkling grace, in their exquisite robes, and wreaths and garlands of
fantastic loveliness.
Berengaria, full of the inspiration of success, received the smiling
congratulations of everybody, and repaid them with happy suggestions,
which she poured forth with inexhaustible yet graceful energy. The only
person who had a gloomy air was Endymion. She rallied him. "I shall call
you the Knight of the Woeful Countenance if you approach me with such a
visage. What can be the matter with you?"
"Nothing," repeated Endymion, looking rather away.
The Knight of the Dolphin came up and said, "This is a critical affair
to-morrow, my dear Lady Montfort. If the Count Ferroll is discomfited by
the prince, it may be a _casus belli_. You ought to get Lord Roehampton
to interfere and prevent the encounter."
"The Count of Ferroll will not be discomfited," said Lady Montfort. "He
is one of those men who never fail."
"Well, I do not know," said the Knight of the Dolphin musingly. "The
prince has a stout lance, and I have felt it."
"He had the best of it this morning," said Endymion rather bitterly.
"Every one thought so, and that it was very fortunate for the Count of
Ferroll that the heralds closed the lists."
"It might have been fortunate for others," rejoined Lady Montfort.
"What is the general opinion?" she added, addressing the Knight of
the Dolphin. "Do not go away, Mr. Ferrars. I want to give you some
directions about to-morrow."
"I do not think I shall be at the place to-morrow," muttered Endymion.
"What!" exclaimed Berengaria; but at this moment Mr. Sidney Wilton came
up and said, "I have been looking at the golden helm. It is entrusted
to my care as King of the Tournament. It is really so beautiful, that I
think I shall usurp it."
"You will have to settle that with the Count of Ferroll," said
Berengaria.
"The betting is about equal," said the Knight of the Dolphin.
"Well, we must have some gloves upon it," said Berengaria.
Endymion walked away.
He walked away, and the first persons that met his eye were the prince
and the Count of Ferroll in conversation. It was sickening. They seemed
quite gay, and occasionally examined together a paper which the prince
held in his hand, and which was an official report by the heralds of the
day's jousting. This friendly conversation might apparently have gone on
for ever had not the music ceased and the count been obliged to seek his
partner for the coming dance.
"I wonder you can speak to him," said Endymion, going up to the prince.
"If the heralds had not--many think, too hastily--closed the lists this
morning, you would have been the victor of the day."
"My dear child! what can you mean?" said the prince. "I believe
everything was closed quite properly, and as for myself, I am entirely
satisfied with my share of the day's success."
"If you had thrown him," said Endymion, "he could not with decency have
contended for the golden helm."
"Oh! that is what you deplore," said the prince. "The Count of Ferroll
and I shall have to contend for many things more precious than golden
helms before we die."
"I believe he is a very overrated man," said Endymion.
"Why?" said the prince.
"I detest him," said Endymion.
"That is certainly a reason why _you_ should not overrate him," said the
prince.
"There seems a general conspiracy to run him up," said Endymion with
pique.
"The Count of Ferroll is the man of the future," said the prince calmly.
"That is what Mr. Neuchatel said to me yesterday. I suppose he caught it
from you."
"It is an advantage, a great advantage, for me to observe the Count of
Ferroll in this intimate society," said the prince, speaking slowly,
"perhaps even to fathom him. But I am not come to that yet. He is a man
neither to love nor to detest. He has himself an intelligence superior
to all passion, I might say all feeling; and if, in dealing with such a
being, we ourselves have either, we give him an advantage."
"Well, all the same, I hope you will win the golden helm to-morrow,"
said Endymion, looking a little perplexed.
"The golden casque that I am ordained to win," said the prince, "is not
at Montfort Castle. This, after all, is but Mambrino's helmet."
A knot of young dandies were discussing the chances of the morrow as
Endymion was passing by, and as he knew most of them he joined the
group.
"I hope to heaven," said one, "that the Count of Ferroll will beat that
foreign chap to-morrow; I hate foreigners."
"So do I," said a second, and there was a general murmur of assent.
"The Count of Ferroll is as much a foreigner as the prince," said
Endymion rather sharply.
"Oh! I don't call him a foreigner at all," said the first speaker. "He
is a great favourite at White's; no one rides cross country like him,
and he is a deuced fine shot in the bargain."
"I will back Prince Florestan against him either in field or cover,"
said Endymion.
"Well, I don't know your friend," said the young gentleman
contemptuously, "so I cannot bet."
"I am sure your friend, Lady Montfort, my dear Dymy, will back the Count
of Ferroll," lisped a third young gentleman.
This completed the programme of mortification, and Endymion, hot and
then cold, and then both at the same time, bereft of repartee, and
wishing the earth would open and Montfort Castle disappear in its
convulsed bosom, stole silently away as soon as practicable, and
wandered as far as possible from the music and the bursts of revelry.
These conversations had taken place in the chief saloon, which was
contiguous to the ball-room, and which was nearly as full of
guests. Endymion, moving in the opposite direction, entered another
drawing-room, where the population was sparse. It consisted of couples
apparently deeply interested in each other. Some faces were radiant,
and some pensive and a little agitated, but they all agreed in one
expression, that they took no interest whatever in the solitary
Endymion. Even their whispered words were hushed as he passed by, and
they seemed, with their stony, unsympathising glance, to look upon him
as upon some inferior being who had intruded into their paradise. In
short, Endymion felt all that embarrassment, mingled with a certain
portion of self contempt, which attends the conviction that we are what
is delicately called _de trop_.
He advanced and took refuge in another room, where there was only
a single, and still more engrossed pair; but this was even more
intolerable to him. Shrinking from a return to the hostile chamber he
had just left, he made a frantic rush forward with affected ease and
alacrity, and found himself alone in the favourite morning room of Lady
Montfort.
He threw himself on a sofa, and hid his face in his hand, and gave a
sigh, which was almost a groan. He was sick at heart; his extremities
were cold, his brain was feeble. All hope, and truly all thought of
the future, deserted him. He remembered only the sorrowful, or the
humiliating, chapters in his life. He wished he had never left Hurstley.
He wished he had been apprenticed to Farmer Thornberry, that he had
never quitted his desk at Somerset House, and never known more of life
than Joe's and the Divan. All was vanity and vexation of spirit. He
contemplated finishing his days in the neighbouring stream, in which,
but a few days ago, he was bathing in health and joy.
Time flew on; he was unconscious of its course; no one entered the room,
and he wished never to see a human face again, when a voice sounded, and
he heard his name.
"Endymion!"
He looked up; it was Lady Montfort. He did not speak, but gave her,
perhaps unconsciously, a glance of reproach and despair.
"What is the matter with you?" she said.
"Nothing."
"That is nonsense. Something must have happened. I have missed you so
long, but was determined to find you. Have you a headache?"
"No."
"Come back; come back with me. It is so odd. My lord has asked for you
twice."
"I want to see no one."
"Oh! but this is absurd--and on a day like this, when every thing has
been so successful, and every one is so happy."
"I am not happy, and I am not successful."
"You perfectly astonish me," said Lady Montfort; "I shall begin to
believe that you have not so sweet a temper as I always supposed."
"It matters not what my temper is."
"I think it matters a great deal. I like, above all things, to live with
good-tempered people."
"I hope you may not be disappointed. My temper is my own affair, and I
am content always to be alone."
"Why! you are talking nonsense, Endymion."
"Probably; I do not pretend to be gifted. I am not one of those
gentlemen who cannot fail. I am not the man of the future."
"Well! I never was so surprised in my life," exclaimed Lady Montfort. "I
never will pretend to form an opinion of human character again. Now, my
dear Endymion, rouse yourself, and come back with me. Give me your arm.
I cannot stay another moment; I dare say I have already been wanted a
thousand times."
"I cannot go back," said Endymion; "I never wish to see anybody again.
If you want an arm, there is the Count of Ferroll, and I hope you may
find he has a sweeter temper than I have."
Lady Montfort looked at him with a strange and startled glance. It was
a mixture of surprise, a little disdain, some affection blended with
mockery. And then exclaiming "Silly boy!" she swept out of the room.
CHAPTER LXI
"I do not like the prospect of affairs," said Mr. Sidney Wilton to
Endymion as they were posting up to London from Montfort Castle; a long
journey, but softened in those days by many luxuries, and they had much
to talk about.