Lothair by Benjamin Disraeli (interesting novels in english TXT) 📖

Lothair; "dear Brentham! Do you remember once saying to me that you hoped you should never leave Brentham?"

"Did I say so?" said Lady Corisande.

"I wish I had never left Brentham," said Lothair; "it was the happiest time of my life. I had not then a sorrow or a care."

"But everybody has sorrows and cares," said Lady Corisande; "you have, however, a great many things which ought to make you happy."

"I do not deserve to be happy," said Lothair, "for I have made so many mistakes. My only consolation is that one great error, which you most deprecated, I have escaped."

"Take a brighter and a nobler view of your life," said Lady Corisande; "feel rather you have been tried and not found wanting."

At this moment the duchess approached them, and interrupted their conversation; and, soon after this, Lothair left Crecy House, still moody, but less despondent.

There was a ball at Lady Clanmorne's in the evening, and Lothair was present. He was astonished at the number of new faces he saw, the new phrases he heard, the new fashions alike in dress and manner. He could not believe it was the same world that he had quitted only a year ago. He was glad to take refuge with Hugo Bohun as with an old friend, and could not refrain from expressing to that eminent person his surprise at the novelty of all around him.

"It is you, my dear Lothair," replied Hugo, "that is surprising, not the world--that has only developed in your absence. What could have induced a man like you to be away for a whole season from the scene? Our forefathers might afford to travel--the world was then stereotyped. It will not do to be out of sight now. It is very well for St. Aldegonde to do these things, for the great object of St. Aldegonde is not to be in society, and he has never succeeded in his object. But here is the new beauty."

There was a stir and a sensation. Men made way, and even women retreated--and, leaning on the arm of Lord Carisbrooke, in an exquisite costume that happily displayed her splendid figure, and, radiant with many charms, swept by a lady of commanding mien and stature, self-possessed, and even grave, when, suddenly turning her head, her pretty face broke into enchanting dimples, as she exclaimed: "Oh, cousin Lothair!"

Yes, the beautiful giantesses of Muriel Towers had become the beauties of the season. Their success had been as sudden and immediate as it was complete and sustained. "Well, this is stranger than all!" said Lothair to Hugo Bohun when Lady Flora had passed on.

"The only persons talked of," said Hugo. "I am proud of my previous acquaintance with them. I think Carisbrooke has serious thoughts; but there are some who prefer Lady Grizell."

"Lady Corisande was your idol last season," said Lothair.

"Oh, she is out of the running," said Hugo; "she is finished. But I have not heard yet of any day being fixed. I wonder, when he marries, whether Brecon will keep on his theatre?"

"His theatre!"

"Yes; the high mode now for a real swell is to have a theatre. Brecon has the Frolic; Kate Simmons is his manager, who calls herself Athalie de Montfort. You ought to have a theatre, Lothair; and, if there is not one to hire, you should build one. It would show that you are alive again and had the spirit of an English noble, and atone for some of your eccentricities."

"But I have no Kate Simmons who calls herself Athalie de Montfort," said Lothair. "I am not so favored, Hugo. However, I might succeed Brecon, as I hardly suppose he will maintain such an establishment when he is married."

"I beg your pardon," rejoined Hugo. "It is the thing. Several of our greatest swells have theatres and are married. In fact, a first-rate man should have every thing, and therefore he ought to have both a theatre and a wife."

"Well, I do not think your manners have improved since, last year, or your words," said Lothair. "I have half a mind to go down to Muriel, and shut myself up there."

He walked away and sauntered into the ballroom. The first forms he recognized were Lady Corisande waltzing with the Duke of Brecon, who was renowned for this accomplishment. The heart of Lothair felt bitter. He remembered his stroll to the dairy with the Duchess at Brentham, and their conversation. Had his views then been acceded to, how different would have been his lot! And it was not his fault that they had been rejected. And yet, had they been accomplished, would they have been happy? The character of Corisande, according to her mother, was not then formed, nor easily scrutable. Was it formed now? and what were its bent and genius? And his own character? It could not be denied that his mind was somewhat crude then, and his general conclusions on life and duty hardly sufficiently matured and developed to offer a basis for domestic happiness on which one might confidently depend.

And Theodora? Had he married then, he should never have known Theodora. In this bright saloon, amid the gayety of festive music, and surrounded by gliding forms of elegance and brilliancy, his heart was full of anguish when he thought of Theodora. To have known such a woman and to have lost her! Why should a man live after this? Yes; he would retire to Muriel, once hallowed by her presence, and he would raise to her memory some monumental fane, beyond the dreams ever of Artemisia, and which should commemorate alike her wondrous life and wondrous mind.

A beautiful hand was extended to him, and a fair face, animated with intelligence, welcomed him without a word. It was Lady St. Jerome. Lothair bowed lowly and touched her hand with his lip.

"I was sorry to have missed you yesterday. We had gone down to Vauxe for the day, but I heard of you from my lord with great pleasure. We are all of us so happy that you have entirely recovered your health."

"I owe that to you, dearest lady," said Lothair, "and to those under your roof. I can never forget your goodness to me. Had it not been for you, I should not have been here or anywhere else."

"No, no; we did our best for the moment. But I quite agree with my lord, now, that you stayed too long at Rome under the circumstances. It was a good move--that going to Sicily, and so wise of you to travel in Egypt. Men should travel."

"I have not been to Egypt," said Lothair; "I have been to the Holy Land, and am a pilgrim. I wish you would tell Miss Arundel that I shall ask her permission to present her with my crucifix, which contains the earth of the holy places. I should have told her this myself, if I had seen her yesterday. Is she here?"

"She is at Vauxe; she could not tear herself away from the roses."

"But she might have brought them with her as companions," said Lothair, "as you have, I apprehend, yourself."

"I will give you this in Clare's name," said Lady St. Jerome, as she selected a beautiful flower and presented it to Lothair. "It is in return for your crucifix, which I am sure she will highly esteem. I only wish it were a rose of Jericho."

Lothair started. The name brought up strange and disturbing associations: the procession in the Jesuits' church, the lighted tapers, the consecrated children, one of whom had been supernaturally presented with the flower in question. There was an awkward silence, until Lothair, almost without intending it, expressed a hope that the cardinal was well.

"Immersed in affairs, but I hope well," replied Lady St. Jerome. "You know what has happened? But you will see him. He will speak to you of these matters himself."

"But I should like also to hear from you."

"Well, they are scarcely yet to be spoken of," said Lady St. Jerome. "I ought not perhaps even to have alluded to the subject; but I know how deeply devoted you are to religion. We are on the eve of the greatest event of this century. When I wake in the morning, I always fancy that I have heard of it only in dreams. And many--all this room--will not believe in the possibility of its happening. They smile when the contingency is alluded to, and if I were not present they would mock. But it will happen--I am assured it will happen," exclaimed Lady St. Jerome, speaking with earnestness, though in a hushed voice. "And no human imagination can calculate or conceive what may be its effect on the destiny of the human race."

"You excite my utmost curiosity," said Lothair.

"Hush! there are listeners. But we shall soon meet again. You will come and see us, and soon. Come down to Vauxe on Saturday; the cardinal will be there. And the place is so lovely now. I always say Vauxe at Whitsuntide, or a little later, is a scene for Shakespeare. You know you always liked Vauxe."

"More than liked it," said Lothair; "I have passed at Vauxe some of the happiest hours of my life."


CHAPTER 83

On the morning of the very Saturday on which Lothair was to pay his visit to Vauxe, riding in the park, he was joined by that polished and venerable nobleman who presides over the destinies of art in Great Britain. This distinguished person had taken rather a fancy to Lothair, and liked to talk to him about the Phoebus family; about the great artist himself, and all his theories and styles; but especially about the fascinating Madame Phoebus and the captivating Euphrosyne.

"You have not found time, I dare say," said the nobleman, "to visit the exhibition of the Royal Academy?"

"Well, I have only been here a week," said Lothair, "and have had so many things to think of, and so many persons to see."

"Naturally," said the nobleman; "but I recommend you to go. I am now about to make my fifth visit there; but it is only to a single picture, and I envy its owner."

"Indeed!" said Lothair. "Pray tell me its subject, that I may not fail to see it."

"It is a portrait," said the nobleman, "only a portrait, some would say, as if the finest pictures in the world were not only portraits. The masterpieces of the English school are portraits, and some day when you have leisure and inclination, and visit Italy, you will see portraits by Titian and Raffaelle and others, which are the masterpieces of art. Well, the picture in question is a portrait by a young English painter at Rome and of an English lady. I doubt not the subject was equal to the genius of the artist, but I do not think that the modern pencil has produced any thing equal to it, both, in design and color and expression. You should see it, by all means, and I have that opinion of your taste that I do not think you will be content by seeing it once. The real taste for fine art in this country is proved by the crowd that always surrounds that picture; and yet only a portrait of an English lady, a Miss Arundel."

"A Miss Arundel?" said Lothair.

"Yes, of a Roman Catholic family; I believe a relative of the St. Jeromes. They were at Rome last year, when this portrait was executed."

"If you will permit