Endymion - Benjamin Disraeli
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"If you do not take care," said Mr. Neuchatel, "they will turn you out."
"I wish they would," said Waldershare. "That is what I am longing for.
I should go then all over the country and address public meetings. It
would be the greatest thing since Sacheverell."
"Our people have not behaved well to Mr. Waldershare," whispered Imogene
to Lord Roehampton, "but I think we shall put it all right."
"Do you believe it?" inquired Lady Montfort of Lord Roehampton. He had
been speaking to her for some little time in a hushed tone, and rather
earnestly.
"Indeed I do; I cannot well see what there is to doubt about it. We know
the father very well--an excellent man; he was the parish priest of Lady
Roehampton before her marriage, when she lived in the country. And we
know from him that more than a year ago something was contemplated. The
son gave up his living then; he has remained at Rome ever since. And
now I am told he returns to us, the Pope's legate and an archbishop _in
partibus_!"
"It is most interesting," said Lady Montfort. "I was always his great
admirer."
"I know that; you and Lady Roehampton made me go and hear him. The
father will be terribly distressed."
"I do not care at all about the father," said Lady Montfort; "but the
son had such a fine voice and was so very good-looking. I hope I shall
see him."
They were speaking of Nigel Penruddock, whose movements had been a
matter of much mystery during the last two years. Rumours of his having
been received into the Roman Church had been often rife; sometimes
flatly, and in time faintly, contradicted. Now the facts seemed
admitted, and it would appear that he was about to return to England not
only as a Roman Catholic, but as a distinguished priest of the Church,
and, it was said, even the representative of the Papacy.
All the guests rose at the same time--a pleasant habit--and went
upstairs to the brilliantly lighted saloons. Lord Roehampton seated
himself by Baron Sergius, with whom he was always glad to converse. "We
seem here quiet and content?" said the ex-minister inquiringly.
"I hope so, and I think so," said Sergius. "He believes in his star,
and will leave everything to its influence. There are to be no more
adventures."
"It must be a great relief to Lord Roehampton to have got quit of
office," said Mrs. Neuchatel to Lady Roehampton. "I always pitied him so
much. I never can understand why people voluntarily incur such labours
and anxiety."
"You should join us," said Mr. Neuchatel to Waldershare. "They would be
very glad to see you at Brooks'."
"Brooks' may join the October Club which I am going to revive," said
Waldershare.
"I never heard of that club," said Mr. Neuchatel.
"It was a much more important thing than the Bill of Rights or the Act
of Settlement," said Waldershare, "all the same."
"I want to see his mother's portrait in the farther saloon," said Lady
Montfort to Myra.
"Let us go together." And Lady Roehampton rose, and they went.
It was a portrait of Queen Agrippina by a master hand, and admirably
illumined by reflected light, so that it seemed to live.
"She must have been very beautiful," said Lady Montfort.
"Mr. Sidney Wilton was devotedly attached to her, my lord has told me,"
said Lady Roehampton.
"So many were devotedly attached to her," said Lady Montfort.
"Yes; she was like Mary of Scotland, whom some men are in love with even
to this day. Her spell was irresistible. There are no such women now."
"Yes; there is one," said Lady Montfort, suddenly turning round and
embracing Lady Roehampton; "and I know she hates me, because she thinks
I prevent her brother from marrying."
"Dear Lady Montfort, how can you use such strong expressions? I am sure
there can be only one feeling of Endymion's friends to you, and that is
gratitude for your kindness to him."
"I have done nothing for him; I can do nothing for him. I felt that when
we were trying to get him into parliament. If he could marry, and be
independent, and powerful, and rich, it would be better, perhaps, for
all of us."
"I wish he were independent, and powerful, and rich," said Myra
musingly. "That would be a fairy tale. At present, he must be content
that he has some of the kindest friends in the world."
"He interests me very much; no one so much. I am sincerely, even deeply
attached to him; but it is like your love, it is a sister's love. There
is only one person I really love in the world, and alas! he does not
love me!" And her voice was tremulous.
"Do not say such things, dear Lady Montfort. I never can believe what
you sometimes intimate on that subject. Do you know, I think it a little
hallucination."
Lady Montfort shook her head with a truly mournful expression, and then
suddenly, her beautiful face wreathed with smiles, she said in a gay
voice, "We will not think of such sorrows. I wish them to be entombed in
my heart, but the spectres will rise sometimes. Now about your brother.
I do not mean to say that it would not be a great loss to me if he
married, but I wish him to marry if you do. For myself, I must have
a male friend, and he must be very clever, and thoroughly understand
politics. You know you deprived me of Lord Roehampton," she continued
smilingly, "who was everything I could desire; and the Count of Ferroll
would have suited me excellently, but then he ran away. Now Endymion
could not easily run away, and he is so agreeable and so intelligent,
that at last I thought I had found a companion worth helping--and I
meant, and still mean, to work hard--until he is prime minister."
"I have my dreams too about that," said Lady Roehampton, "but we are all
about the same age, and can wait a little."
"He cannot be minister too soon," said Lady Montfort. "It was not being
minister soon that ruined Charles Fox."
The party broke up. The prince made a sign to Waldershare, which meant a
confidential cigar, and in a few minutes they were alone together.
"What women!" exclaimed the prince. "Not to be rivalled in this city,
and yet quite unlike each other."
"And which do you admire most, sir?" said Waldershare.
The prince trimmed his cigar, and then he said, "I will tell you this
day five years."
CHAPTER LXXXI
The ecclesiastical incident mentioned at the dinner described in our
last chapter, produced a considerable effect in what is called society.
Nigel Penruddock had obtained great celebrity as a preacher, while
his extreme doctrines and practices had alike amazed, fascinated, and
alarmed a large portion of the public. For some time he had withdrawn
from the popular gaze, but his individuality was too strong to be easily
forgotten, even if occasional paragraphs as to his views and conduct,
published, contradicted, and reiterated, were not sufficient to sustain,
and even stimulate, curiosity. That he was about to return to his native
land, as the Legate of His Holiness, was an event which made many men
look grave, and some female hearts flutter.
The memory of Lady Roehampton could not escape from the past, and she
could not recall it and all the scenes at Hurstley without emotion; and
Lady Montfort remembered with some pride and excitement, that the Legate
of the Pope had been one of her heroes. It was evident that he had no
wish to avoid his old acquaintances, for shortly after his arrival, and
after he had assembled his suffragans, and instructed the clergy of his
district, for dioceses did not then exist, Archbishop Penruddock, for so
the Metropolitan of Tyre simply styled himself, called upon both these
ladies.
His first visit was to Myra, and notwithstanding her disciplined
self-control, her intense pride, and the deep and daring spirit which
always secretly sustained her, she was nervous and agitated, but only in
her boudoir. When she entered the saloon to welcome him, she seemed as
calm as if she were going to an evening assembly.
Nigel was changed. Instead of that anxious and moody look which formerly
marred the refined beauty of his countenance, his glance was calm and
yet radiant. He was thinner, it might almost be said emaciated, which
seemed to add height to his tall figure.
Lady Roehampton need not have been nervous about the interview, and the
pain of its inevitable associations. Except one allusion at the end of
his visit, when his Grace mentioned some petty grievance, of which he
wished to relieve his clergy, and said, "I think I will consult your
brother; being in the opposition, he will be less embarrassed than some
of my friends in the government, or their supporters," he never referred
to the past. All he spoke of was the magnitude of his task, the immense
but inspiring labours which awaited him, and his deep sense of his
responsibility. Nothing but the Divine principle of the Church could
sustain him. He was at one time hopeful that His Holiness might have
thought the time ripe for the restoration of the national hierarchy, but
it was decreed otherwise. Had it been accorded, no doubt it would
have assisted him. A prelate _in partibus_ is, in a certain sense, a
stranger, whatever his duties, and the world is more willing when it
is appealed to by one who has "a local habitation and a name;" he is
identified with the people among whom he lives. There was much to do.
The state of the Catholic poor in his own district was heartrending. He
never could have conceived such misery, and that too under the shadow
of the Abbey. The few schools which existed were wretched, and his first
attention must be given to this capital deficiency. He trusted much to
female aid. He meant to invite the great Catholic ladies to unite with
him in a common labour of love. In this great centre of civilisation,
and wealth, and power, there was need of the spirit of a St. Ursula.
No one seemed more pleased by the return of Archbishop Penruddock than
Lord Montfort. He appeared to be so deeply interested in his Grace's
mission, sought his society so often, treated him with such profound
respect, almost ceremony, asked so many questions about what was
happening at Rome, and what was going to be done here--that Nigel might
have been pardoned if he did not despair of ultimately inducing Lord
Montfort to return to the faith of his illustrious ancestors. And yet,
all this time, Lord Montfort was only amusing himself; a new character
was to him a new toy, and when he could not find one, he would dip into
the "Memoirs of St. Simon."
Instead of avoiding society, as was his wont in the old days, the
Archbishop sought it. And there was nothing exclusive in his social
habits; all classes and all creeds, all conditions and orders of men,
were alike interesting to him; they were part of the mighty community,
with all whose pursuits, and passions, and interests, and occupations
he seemed to sympathise, but respecting which he had only one object--to
bring them back once more to that imperial fold from which, in an hour
of darkness and distraction, they had miserably wandered. The conversion
of England was deeply engraven on the heart of Penruddock; it was his
constant purpose, and his daily and nightly prayer.
So the Archbishop was seen everywhere, even at fashionable assemblies.
He was a frequent guest at banquets which he never tasted, for he was
a smiling ascetic, and though he seemed to be preaching or celebrating
high mass in every part of the metropolis, organising schools,
establishing convents, and building cathedrals, he could find time to
move philanthropic resolutions at middle-class meetings, attend learned
associations, and even occasionally send a paper to the Royal Society.
The person who fell most under the influence of the archbishop was
Waldershare. He was fairly captivated by him. Nothing would satisfy
Waldershare till he had brought the archbishop and Prince Florestan
together. "You are a Roman Catholic prince, sir," he would say. "It is
absolute folly to forego such a source of influence and power as the
Roman Catholic Church. Here is your man; a man made for the occasion,
a man who may be pope. Come to an understanding with him, and I believe
you will regain your throne in a year."
"But, my dear Waldershare, it is very true I am a Roman Catholic, but I
am also the head of the Liberal party in my country, and perhaps also
on the continent of Europe, and they are not particularly affected to
archbishops and popes."
"Old-fashioned twaddle of the Liberal party," exclaimed Waldershare.
"There is more true democracy in the Roman Catholic Church than in all
the secret societies of Europe."
"There is something in that," said the prince musingly, "and my friends
are Roman Catholics, nominally Roman Catholics. If I were quite sure
your man and the priests generally were nominally Roman Catholics,
something might be done."
"As for that," said Waldershare, "sensible men are all of the same
religion."
"And pray what is that?" inquired the prince.
"Sensible men never tell."
Perhaps there was no family which suited him more, and where the
archbishop became more intimate, than the Neuchatels. He very much
valued a visit to Hainault, and the miscellaneous and influential
circles he met there--merchant princes, and great powers of Lombard
Street and the Stock Exchange. The Governor of the Bank happened to be a
high churchman, and listened to the archbishop with evident relish.
Mrs. Neuchatel also acknowledged the spell of his society, and he quite
agreed with her that people should be neither so poor nor so rich. She
had long mused over plans of social amelioration, and her new ally was
to teach her how to carry them into practice. As for Mr. Neuchatel, he
was pleased that his wife was amused, and liked the archbishop as he
liked all clever men. "You know," he would say, "I am in favour of all
churches, provided, my lord archbishop, they do not do anything very
foolish. Eh? So I shall subscribe to your schools with great pleasure.
We cannot have too many schools, even if they only keep young people
from doing mischief."
CHAPTER LXXXII
The prosperity of the country was so signal, while Mr. Vigo was
unceasingly directing millions of our accumulated capital, and promises
of still more, into the "new channel," that it seemed beyond belief
that any change of administration could even occur, at least in the
experience of the existing generation. The minister to whose happy
destiny it had fallen to gratify the large appetites and reckless
consuming powers of a class now first known in our social hierarchy
as "Navvies," was hailed as a second Pitt. The countenance of the
opposition was habitually dejected, with the exception of those members
of it on whom Mr. Vigo graciously conferred shares, and Lady Montfort
taunted Mr. Sidney Wilton with inquiries, why he and his friends had
not made railroads, instead of inventing nonsense about cheap bread.
Job Thornberry made wonderful speeches in favour of total and immediate
repeal of the corn laws, and the Liberal party, while they cheered him,
privately expressed their regret that such a capital speaker, who might
be anything, was not a practical man. Low prices, abundant harvests,
and a thriving commerce had rendered all appeals, varied even by the
persuasive ingenuity of Thornberry, a wearisome irritation; and, though
the League had transplanted itself from Manchester to the metropolis,
and hired theatres for their rhetoric, the close of 1845 found them
nearly reduced to silence.
Mr. Bertie Tremaine, who was always studying the spirit of the age,
announced to the initiated that Mr. Vigo had something of the character
and structure of Napoleon, and that he himself began to believe, that
an insular nation, with such an enormous appetite, was not adapted
to cosmopolitan principles, which were naturally of a character more
spiritual and abstract. Mr. Bertie Tremaine asked Mr. Vigo to dinner,
and introduced him to several distinguished youths of extreme opinions,
who were dining off gold plate. Mr. Vigo was much flattered by his
visit; his host made much of him; and he heard many things on the
principles of government, and even of society, in the largest sense of
the expression, which astonished and amused him. In the course of the
evening he varied the conversation--one which became the classic library
and busts of the surrounding statesmen--by promising to most of the
guests allotments of shares in a new company, not yet launched, but
whose securities were already at a high premium.
Endymion, in the meantime, pursued the even tenor of his way. Guided
by the experience, unrivalled knowledge, and consummate tact of Lord
Roehampton, he habitually made inquiries, or brought forward motions,
which were evidently inconvenient or embarrassing to the ministry; and
the very circumstance, that he was almost always replied to by the prime
minister, elevated him in the estimation of the House as much as the
pertinence of his questions, and the accurate information on which he
founded his motions. He had not taken the House with a rush like Job
Thornberry, but, at the end of three sessions, he was a personage
universally looked upon as one who was "certain to have office."
There was another new member who had also made way, though slowly, and
that was Mr. Trenchard; he had distinguished himself on a difficult
committee, on which he had guided a perplexed minister, who was
chairman, through many intricacies. Mr. Trenchard watched the operations
of Mr. Vigo, with a calm, cold scrutiny, and ventured one day to impart
his conviction to Endymion that there were breakers ahead. "Vigo is
exhausting the floating capital of the country," he said, and he offered
to give him all the necessary details, if he would call the attention of
the House to the matter. Endymion declined to do this, chiefly because
he wished to devote himself to foreign affairs, and thought the House
would hardly brook his interference also in finance. So he strongly
advised Trenchard himself to undertake the task. Trenchard was modest,
and a little timid about speaking; so it was settled that he should
consult the leaders on the question, and particularly the gentleman who
it was supposed would be their Chancellor of the Exchequer, if ever
they were again called upon to form a ministry. This right honourable
individual listened to Trenchard with the impatience which became a man
of great experience addressed by a novice, and concluded the interview
by saying, that he thought "there was nothing in it;" at the same
time, he would turn it in his mind, and consult some practical men.
Accordingly the ex- and future minister consulted Mr. Vigo, who assured
him that he was quite right; that "there was nothing in it," and that
the floating capital of the country was inexhaustible.
In the midst of all this physical prosperity, one fine day in August,
parliament having just been prorogued, an unknown dealer in potatoes
wrote to the Secretary of State, and informed him that he had reason to
think that a murrain had fallen over the whole of the potato crops
in England, and that, if it extended to Ireland, the most serious
consequences must ensue.
This mysterious but universal sickness of a single root changed the
history of the world.
"There is no gambling like politics," said Lord Roehampton, as he
glanced at the "Times," at Princedown; "four cabinets in one week; the
government must be more sick than the potatoes."
"Berengaria always says," said Lord Montfort, "that you should see
Princedown in summer. I, on the contrary, maintain it is essentially a
winter residence, for, if there ever be a sunbeam in England, Princedown
always catches it. Now to-day, one might fancy one's self at Cannes."
Lord Montfort was quite right, but even the most wilful and selfish of
men was generally obliged to pass his Christmas at his northern
castle. Montforts had passed their Christmas in that grim and mighty
dwelling-place for centuries. Even he was not strong enough to contend
against such tradition. Besides, every one loves power, even if they do
not know what to do with it. There are such things as memberships for
counties, which, if public feeling be not outraged, are hereditary, and
adjacent boroughs, which, with a little management and much expense,
become reasonable and loyal. If the flag were rarely to wave on the
proud keep of Montfort, all these satisfactory circumstances would be
greatly disturbed and baffled; and if the ancient ensign did not promise
welcome and hospitality at Christmas, some of the principal uses even of
Earls of Montfort might be questioned.
There was another reason, besides the distance and the clime, why Lord
Montfort disliked the glorious pile which every Englishman envied him
for possession. The mighty domain of Montfort was an estate in strict
settlement. Its lord could do nothing but enjoy its convenience and its
beauty, and expend its revenues. Nothing could be sold or bought, not
the slightest alteration--according to Lord Montfort--be made, without
applying to trustees for their sanction. Lord Montfort spoke of this
pitiable state of affairs as if he were describing the serfdom of the
Middle Ages. "If I were to pull this bell-rope, and it came down," he
would say, "I should have to apply to the trustees before it could be
arranged."
Such a humiliating state of affairs had induced his lordship, on the
very first occasion, to expend half a million of accumulations, which
were at his own disposal, in the purchase of Princedown, which certainly
was a very different residence from Montfort Castle, alike in its clime
and character.
Princedown was situate in a southern county, hardly on a southern
coast, for it was ten miles from the sea, though enchanting views of the
Channel were frequent and exquisite. It was a palace built in old days
upon the Downs, but sheltered and screened from every hostile wind. The
full warmth of the south fell upon the vast but fantastic pile of the
Renaissance style, said to have been built by that gifted but mysterious
individual, John of Padua. The gardens were wonderful, terrace upon
terrace, and on each terrace a tall fountain. But the most peculiar
feature was the park, which was undulating and extensive, but its timber
entirely ilex: single trees of an age and size not common in that tree,
and groups and clumps of ilex, but always ilex. Beyond the park, and
extending far into the horizon, was Princedown forest, the dominion of
the red deer.
The Roehamptons and Endymion were the only permanent visitors at
Princedown at this moment, but every day brought guests who stayed
eight-and-forty hours, and then flitted. Lady Montfort, like the manager
of a theatre, took care that there should be a succession of novelties
to please or to surprise the wayward audience for whom she had to cater.
On the whole, Lord Montfort was, for him, in an extremely good humour;
never very ill; Princedown was the only place where he never was very
ill; he was a little excited, too, by the state of politics, though
he did not exactly know why; "though, I suppose," he would say to Lord
Roehampton, "if you do come in again, there will be no more nonsense
about O'Connell and all that sort of thing. If you are prudent on
that head, and carry a moderate fixed duty, not too high, say ten
shillings--that would satisfy everybody--I do not see why the thing
might not go on as long as you liked."
Mr. Waldershare came down, exuberant with endless combinations
of persons and parties. He foresaw in all these changes that most
providential consummation, the end of the middle class.
Mr. Waldershare had become quite a favourite with Lord Montfort, who
delighted to talk with him about the Duke of Modena, and imbibe his
original views of English History. "Only," Lord Montfort would observe,
"the Montforts have so much Church property, and I fancy the Duke of
Modena would want us to disgorge."
St. Barbe had been invited, and made his appearance. There had been a
degree of estrangement between him and his patron. St. Barbe was very
jealous; he was indeed jealous of everybody and everything, and of late
there was a certain Doctor Comeley, an Oxford don of the new school, who
had been introduced to Lord Montfort, and was initiating him in all
the mysteries of Neology. This celebrated divine, who, in a sweet silky
voice, quoted Socrates instead of St. Paul, and was opposed to all
symbols and formulas as essentially unphilosophical, had become the hero
of "the little dinners" at Montfort House, where St. Barbe had been so
long wont to shine, and who in consequence himself had become every day
more severely orthodox.
"Perhaps we may meet to-day," said Endymion one morning to St. Barbe in
Pall Mall as they were separating. "There is a little dinner at Montfort
House."
"Confound your little dinners!" exclaimed the indignant St. Barbe; "I
hope never to go to another little dinner, and especially at Montfort
House. I do not want to be asked to dinner to tumble and play tricks to
amuse my host. I want to be amused myself. One cannot be silent at these
little dinners, and the consequence is, you say all the good things
which are in your next number, and when it comes out, people say they
have heard them before. No, sir, if Lord Montfort, or any other lord,
wishes me to dine with him, let him ask me to a banquet of his own
order, and where I may hold my tongue like the rest of his aristocratic
guests."