Tancred

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The duke deservedly reposed in him implicit confidence, and entertained
an almost unbounded admiration of his cousin's knowledge of mankind. He
was scarcely less a favourite or less an oracle with the duchess, though
there were subjects on which she feared Lord Eskdale did not entertain
views as serious as her own; but Lord Eskdale, with an extreme
carelessness of manner, and an apparent negligence of the minor arts
of pleasing, was a consummate master of the feminine idiosyncrasy, and,
from a French actress to an English duchess, was skilled in guiding
women without ever letting the curb be felt. Scarcely a week elapsed,
when Lord Eskdale was in the country, that a long letter of difficulties
was not received by him from Montacute, with an earnest request for his
immediate advice. His lordship, singularly averse to letter writing, and
especially to long letter writing, used generally in reply to say that,
in the course of a day or two, he should be in their part of the world,
and would talk the matter over with them.

And, indeed, nothing was more amusing than to see Lord Eskdale,
imperturbable, yet not heedless, with his peculiar calmness, something
between that of a Turkish pasha and an English jockey, standing up
with his back to the fire and his hands in his pockets, and hearing the
united statement of a case by the Duke and Duchess of Bellamont;
the serious yet quiet and unexaggerated narrative of his Grace, the
impassioned interruptions, decided opinions, and lively expressions
of his wife, when she felt the duke was not doing justice to the
circumstances, or her view of them, and the Spartan brevity with which,
when both his clients were exhausted, their counsel summed up the whole
affair, and said three words which seemed suddenly to remove all
doubts, and to solve all difficulties. In all the business of life, Lord
Eskdale, though he appreciated their native ability, and respected
their considerable acquirements, which he did not share, looked upon his
cousins as two children, and managed them as children; but he was really
attached to them, and the sincere attachment of such a character is
often worth more than the most passionate devotion. The last great
domestic embarrassment at Montacute had been the affair of the cooks.
Lord Eskdale had taken this upon his own shoulders, and, writing to
Daubuz, had sent down Leander and his friends to open the minds and
charm the palates of the north.

Lord Valentine and his noble parents, and their daughter, Lady
Florentina, who was a great horsewoman, also arrived. The countess, who
had once been a beauty with the reputation of a wit, and now set up for
being a wit on the reputation of having been a beauty, was the lady of
fashion of the party, and scarcely knew anybody present, though there
were many who were her equals and some her superiors in rank. Her way
was to be a little fine, always smiling and condescendingly amiable;
when alone with her husband shrugging her shoulders somewhat, and vowing
that she was delighted that Lord Eskdale was there, as she had somebody
to speak to. It was what she called 'quite a relief.' A relief, perhaps,
from Lord and Lady Mountjoy, whom she had been avoiding all her life;
unfortunate people, who, with a large fortune, lived in a wrong square,
and asked to their house everybody who was nobody; besides, Lord
Mountjoy was vulgar, and laughed too loud, and Lady Mountjoy called you
'my dear,' and showed her teeth. A relief, perhaps, too, from the Hon.
and Rev. Montacute Mountjoy, who, with Lady Eleanor, four daughters
and two sons, had been invited to celebrate the majority of the future
chieftain of their house. The countess had what is called 'a horror of
those Mountjoys, and those Montacute Mountjoys,' and what added to her
annoyance was, that Lord Valentine was always flirting with the Misses
Montacute Mountjoy.

The countess could find no companions in the Duke and Duchess of
Clanronald, because, as she told her husband, as they could not speak
English and she could not speak Scotch, it was impossible to exchange
ideas. The bishop of the diocese was there, toothless and tolerant,
and wishing to be on good terms with all sects, provided they pay
church-rates, and another bishop far more vigorous and of greater fame.
By his administration the heir of Bellamont had entered the Christian
Church, and by the imposition of his hands had been confirmed in it. His
lordship, a great authority with the duchess, was specially invited to
be present on the interesting occasion, when the babe that he had held
at the font, and the child that he had blessed at the altar, was about
thus publicly to adopt and acknowledge the duties and responsibility of
a man. But the countess, though she liked bishops, liked them, as she
told her husband, 'in their place.' What that exactly was, she did not
define; but probably their palaces or the House of Lords.

It was hardly to be expected that her ladyship would find any relief
in the society of the Marquis and Marchioness of Hampshire; for his
lordship passed his life in being the President of scientific and
literary societies, and was ready for anything from the Royal, if his
turn ever arrived, to opening a Mechanics' Institute in his neighbouring
town. Lady Hampshire was an invalid; but her ailment was one of those
mysteries which still remained insoluble, although, in the most liberal
manner, she delighted to afford her friends all the information in her
power. Never was a votary endowed with a faith at once so lively and
so capricious. Each year she believed in some new remedy, and announced
herself on the eve of some miraculous cure. But the saint was scarcely
canonised before his claims to beatitude were impugned. One year Lady
Hampshire never quitted Leamington; another, she contrived to combine
the infinitesimal doses of Hahnemann with the colossal distractions
of the metropolis. Now her sole conversation was the water cure. Lady
Hampshire was to begin immediately after her visit to Montacute, and she
spoke in her sawney voice of factitious enthusiasm, as if she pitied the
lot of all those who were not about to sleep in wet sheets.

The members for the county, with their wives and daughters, the
Hungerfords and the Ildertons, Sir Russell Malpas, or even Lord Hull,
an Irish peer with an English estate, and who represented one of the
divisions, were scarcely a relief. Lord Hull was a bachelor, and had
twenty thousand a year, and would not have been too old for Florentina,
if Lord Hull had only lived in 'society,' learnt how to dress and how
to behave, and had avoided that peculiar coarseness of manners and
complexion which seem the inevitable results of a provincial life. What
are forty-five or even forty-eight years, if a man do not get up too
early or go to bed too soon, if he be dressed by the right persons, and,
early accustomed to the society of women, he possesses that flexibility
of manner and that readiness of gentle repartee which a feminine
apprenticeship can alone confer? But Lord Hull was a man with a red face
and a grey head on whom coarse indulgence and the selfish negligence of
a country life had already conferred a shapeless form; and who,
dressed something like a groom, sat at dinner in stolid silence by Lady
Hampshire, who, whatever were her complaints, had certainly the art,
if only from her questions, of making her neighbours communicative. The
countess examined Lord Hull through her eye-glass with curious pity at
so fine a fortune and so good a family being so entirely thrown away.
Had he been brought up in a civilised manner, lived six months in May
Fair, passed his carnival at Paris, never sported except in Scotland,
and occasionally visited a German bath, even Lord Hull might have 'fined
down.' His hair need not have been grey if it had been attended to; his
complexion would not have been so glaring; his hands never could have
grown to so huge a shape.

What a party, where the countess was absolutely driven to speculate on
the possible destinies of a Lord Hull! But in this party there was not a
single young man, at least not a single young man one had ever heard
of, except her son, and he was of no use. The Duke of Bellamont knew
no young men; the duke did not even belong to a club; the Duchess of
Bellamont knew no young men; she never gave and she never attended an
evening party. As for the county youth, the young Hungerfords and the
young Ildertons, the best of them formed part of the London crowd.

Some of them, by complicated manouvres, might even have made their way
into the countess's crowded saloons on a miscellaneous night. She knew
the length of their tether. They ranged, as the Price Current says, from
eight to three thousand a year. Not the figure that purchases a Lady
Florentina!

There were many other guests, and some of them notable, though not
of the class and character to interest the fastidious mother of Lord
Valentine; but whoever and whatever they might be, of the sixty
or seventy persons who were seated each day in the magnificent
banqueting-room of Montacute Castle, feasting, amid pyramids of gold
plate, on the masterpieces of Leander, there was not a single individual
who did not possess one of the two great qualifications: they were all
of them cousins of the Duke of Bellamont, or proprietors in his county.

But we must not anticipate, the great day of the festival having hardly
yet commenced.

CHAPTER VI.

_A Festal Day_

IN THE Home Park was a colossal pavilion, which held more than two
thousand persons, and in which the townsfolk of Montacute were to dine;
at equal distances were several smaller tents, each of different colours
and patterns, and each bearing on a standard the name of one of the
surrounding parishes which belonged to the Duke of Bellamont, and to
the convenience and gratification of whose inhabitants these tents were
to-day dedicated. There was not a man of Buddleton or Fuddleton; not a
yeoman or peasant of Montacute super Mare or Montacute Abbotts, nor
of Percy Bellamont nor Friar's Bellamont, nor Winch nor Finch, nor of
Mandeville Stokes nor Mandeville Bois; not a goodman true of Carleton
and Ingleton and Kirkby and Dent, and Gillamoor and Padmore and Hutton
le Hale; not a stout forester from the glades of Thorp, or the sylvan
homes of Hurst Lydgate and Bishopstowe, that knew not where foamed and
flowed the duke's ale, that was to quench the longings of his thirsty
village. And their wives and daughters were equally welcome. At the
entrance of each tent, the duke's servants invited all to enter,
supplied them with required refreshments, or indicated their appointed
places at the approaching banquet. In general, though there were many
miscellaneous parties, each village entered the park in procession, with
its flag and its band.

At noon the scene presented the appearance of an immense but
well-ordered fair. In the background, men and boys climbed poles or
raced in sacks, while the exploits of the ginglers, their mischievous
manoeuvres and subtle combinations, elicited frequent bursts of
laughter. Further on, two long-menaced cricket matches called forth all
the skill and energy of Fuddleton and Buddleton, and Winch and Finch.
The great throng of the population, however, was in the precincts of the
terrace, where, in the course of the morning, it was known that the duke
and duchess, with the hero of the day and all their friends, were to
appear, to witness the sports of the people, and especially the feats
of the morrice-dancers, who were at this moment practising before a
very numerous and delighted audience. In the meantime, bells, drums, and
trumpets, an occasional volley, and the frequent cheers and laughter
of the multitude, combined with the brilliancy of the sun and the
brightness of the ale to make a right gladsome scene.

'It's nothing to what it will be at night,' said one of the duke's
footmen to his family, his father and mother, two sisters and a young
brother, listening to him with open mouths, and staring at his state
livery with mingled feelings of awe and affection. They had come over
from Bellamont Friars, and their son had asked the steward to give him
the care of the pavilion of that village, in order that he might
look after his friends. Never was a family who esteemed themselves so
fortunate or felt so happy. This was having a friend at court, indeed.

'It's nothing to what it will be at night,' said Thomas. 'You will have
"Hail, star of Bellamont!" and "God save the Queen!" a crown, three
stars,' four flags, and two coronets, all in coloured lamps, letters six
feet high, on the castle. There will be one hundred beacons lit over
the space of fifty miles the moment a rocket is shot off from the
Round Tower; and as for fireworks, Bob, you'll see them at last. Bengal
lights, and the largest wheels will be as common as squibs and crackers;
and I have heard say, though it is not to be mentioned----' And he
paused.

''We'll not open our mouths,' said his father, earnestly.

'You had better not tell us,' said his mother, in a nervous paroxysm;
'for I am in such a fluster, I am sure I cannot answer for myself, and
then Thomas may lose his place for breach of conference.'

'Nonsense, mother,' said his sisters, who snubbed their mother almost as
readily as is the gracious habit of their betters. 'Pray tell us, Tom.'

'Ay, ay, Tom,' said his younger brother.

'Well,' said Tom, in a confidential whisper, 'won't there be a
transparency! I have heard say the Queen never had anything like it. You
won't be able to see it for the first quarter of an hour, there will be
such a blaze of fire and rockets; but when it does come, they say it's
like heaven opening; the young markiss on a cloud, with his hand on his
heart, in his new uniform.'

'Dear me!' said the mother. 'I knew him before he was weaned. The
duchess suckled him herself, which shows her heart is very true; for
they may say what they like, but if another's milk is in your child's
veins, he seems, in a sort of way, as much her bairn as your own.'

'Mother's milk makes a true born Englishman,' said the father; 'and I
make no doubt our young markiss will prove the same.'

'How I long to see him!' exclaimed one of the daughters.

'And so do I!' said her sister; 'and in his uniform! How beautiful it
must be!'

'Well, I don't know,' said the mother; 'and perhaps you will laugh at me
for saying so, but after seeing my Thomas in his state livery, I don't
care much for seeing anything else.'

'Mother, how can you say such things? I am afraid the crowd will be very
great at the fireworks. We must try to get a good place.'

'I have arranged all that,' said Thomas, with a triumphant look. 'There
will be an inner circle for the steward's friends, and you will be let
in.'

'Oh!' exclaimed his sisters.

'Well, I hope I shall get through the day,' said his mother; 'but it's
rather a trial, after our quiet life.'

'And when will they come on the terrace, Thomas?'

'You see, they are waiting for the corporation, that's the mayor and
town council of Montacute; they are coming up with an address. There! Do
you hear that? That's the signal gun. They are leaving the town-hall at
this same moment. Now, in three-quarters of an hour's time or so, the
duke and duchess, and the young markiss, and all of them, will come on
the terrace. So you be alive, and draw near, and get a good place. I
must look after these people.'

About the same time that the cannon announced that the corporation
had quitted the town-hall, some one tapped at the chamber-door of Lord
Eskdale, who was sealing a letter in his private room.

'Well, Harris?' said Lord Eskdale, looking up, and recognising his
valet.

'His Grace has been inquiring for your lordship several times,' replied
Mr. Harris, with a perplexed air.

'I shall be with him in good time,' replied his lordship, again looking
down.

'If you could manage to come down at once, my lord,' said Mr. Harris.

'Why?'

'Mr. Leander wishes to see your lordship very much.'

'Ah! Leander!' said Lord Eskdale, in a more interested tone. 'What does
he want?'

'I have not seen him,' said Mr. Harris; 'but Mr. Prevost tells me that
his feelings are hurt.'

'I hope he has not struck,' said Lord Eskdale, with a comical glance.

'Something of that sort,' said Mr. Harris, very seriously.

Lord Eskdale had a great sympathy with artists; he was well acquainted
with that irritability which is said to be the characteristic of the
creative power; genius always found in him an indulgent arbiter. He was
convinced that if the feelings of a rare spirit like Leander were hurt,
they were not to be trifled with. He felt responsible for the presence
of one so eminent in a country where, perhaps, he was not properly
appreciated; and Lord Eskdale descended to the steward's room with the
consciousness of an important, probably a difficult, mission.

The kitchen of Montacute Castle was of the old style, fitted for
baronial feasts. It covered a great space, and was very lofty. Now
they build them in great houses on a different system; even more
distinguished by height, but far more condensed in area, as it is
thought that a dish often suffers from the distances which the cook
has to move over in collecting its various component parts. The new
principle seems sound; the old practice, however, was more picturesque.
The kitchen at Montacute was like the preparation for the famous wedding
feast of Prince Riquet with the Tuft, when the kind earth opened, and
revealed that genial spectacle of white-capped cooks, and endless stoves
and stewpans. The steady blaze of two colossal fires was shrouded by
vast screens. Everywhere, rich materials and silent artists; business
without bustle, and the all-pervading magic of method. Philippon was
preparing a sauce; Dumoreau, in another quarter of the spacious chamber,
was arranging some truffles; the Englishman, Smit, was fashioning
a cutlet. Between these three generals of division aides-de-camp
perpetually passed, in the form of active and observant marmitons, more
than one of whom, as he looked on the great masters around him, and
with the prophetic faculty of genius surveyed the future, exclaimed to
himself, like Cor-reggio, 'And I also will be a cook.'

In this animated and interesting scene was only one unoccupied
individual, or rather occupied only with his own sad thoughts. This was
Papa Prevost, leaning against rather than sitting on a dresser, with his
arms folded, his idle knife stuck in his girdle, and the tassel of his
cap awry with vexation. His gloomy brow, however, lit up as Mr. Harris,
for whom he was waiting with anxious expectation, entered, and summoned
him to the presence of Lord Eskdale, who, with a shrewd yet lounging
air, which concealed his own foreboding perplexity, said, 'Well,
Prevost, what is the matter? The people here been impertinent?'

Prevost shook his head. 'We never were in a house, my lord, where they
were more obliging. It is something much worse.'

'Nothing wrong about your fish, I hope? Well, what is it?'

'Leander, my lord, has been dressing dinners for a week: dinners, I will
be bound to say, which were never equalled in the Imperial kitchen,
and the duke has never made a single observation, or sent him a single
message. Yesterday, determined to outdo even himself, he sent up some
_escalopes de laitances de carpes a la Bellamont_. In my time I have
seen nothing like it, my lord. Ask Philippon, ask Dumoreau, what they
thought of it! Even the Englishman, Smit, who never says anything,
opened his mouth and exclaimed; as for the marmitons, they were
breathless, and I thought Achille, the youth of whom I spoke to you, my
lord, and who appears to me to be born with the true feeling, would have
been overcome with emotion. When it was finished, Leander retired to
his room--I attended him--and covered his face with his hands. Would you
believe it, my lord! Not a word; not even a message. All this morning
Leander has waited in the last hope. Nothing, absolutely nothing! How
can he compose when he is not appreciated? Had he been appreciated, he
would to-day not only have repeated the _escalopes a la Bellamont_, but
perhaps even invented what might have outdone it. It is unheard of,
my lord. The late lord Monmouth would have sent for Leander the very
evening, or have written to him a beautiful letter, which would have
been preserved in his family; M. de Sidonia would have sent him a
tankard from his table. These things in themselves are nothing; but they
prove to a man of genius that he is understood. Had Leander been in the
Imperial kitchen, or even with the Emperor of Russia, he would have been
decorated!'

'Where is he?' said Lord Eskdale.

'He is alone in the cook's room.'

'I will go and say a word to him.'

Alone, in the cook's room, gazing in listless vacancy on the fire,
that fire which, under his influence, had often achieved so many
master-works, was the great artist who was not appreciated. No longer
suffering under mortification, but overwhelmed by that exhaustion which
follows acute sensibility and the over-tension of the creative faculty,
he looked round as Lord Eskdale entered, and when he perceived who was
his visitor, he rose immediately, bowed very low, and then sighed.

'Prevost thinks we are not exactly appreciated here,' said Lord Eskdale.

Leander bowed again, and still sighed.

'Prevost does not understand the affair,' continued Lord Eskdale. 'Why
I wished you to come down here, Leander, was not to receive the applause
of my cousin and his guests, but to form their taste.'

Here was a great idea; exciting and ennobling. It threw quite a new
light upon the position of Leander. He started; his brow seemed to
clear. Leander, then, like other eminent men, had duties to perform as
well as rights to enjoy; he had a right to fame, but it was also his
duty to form and direct public taste. That then was the reason he
was brought down to Bellamont Castle; because some of the greatest
personages in England, who never had eaten a proper dinner in their
lives, would have an opportunity, for the first time, of witnessing art.
What could the praise of the Duke of Clanronald, or Lord Hampshire,
or Lord Hull, signify to one who had shared the confidence of a Lord
Monmouth, and whom Sir Alexander Grant, the first judge in Europe,
had declared the only man of genius of the age? Leander erred too
in supposing that his achievements had been lost upon the guests at
Bellamont. Insensibly his feats had set them a-thinking. They had been
like Cossacks in a picture-gallery; but the Clanronalds, the Hampshires,
the Hulls, would return to their homes impressed with a great truth,
that there is a difference between eating and dining. Was this nothing
for Leander to have effected? Was it nothing, by this development of
taste, to assist in supporting that aristocratic influence which he
wished to cherish, and which can alone encourage art? If anything can
save the aristocracy in this levelling age, it is an appreciation of men
of genius. Certainly it would have been very gratifying to Leander
if his Grace had only sent him a message, or if Lord Montacute had
expressed a wish to see him. He had been long musing over some dish
_a la Montacute_ for this very day. The young lord was reputed to have
talent; this dish might touch his fancy; the homage of a great artist
flatters youth; this offering of genius might colour his destiny. But
what, after all, did this signify? Leander had a mission to perform.

'If I were you, I would exert myself, Leander,' said Lord Eskdale.

'Ah! my lord, if all men were like you! If artists were only sure of
being appreciated; if we were but understood, a dinner would become a
sacrifice to the gods, and a kitchen would be Paradise.'

In the meantime, the mayor and town-councillors of Montacute, in their
robes of office, and preceded by their bedels and their mace-bearer,
have entered the gates of the castle. They pass into the great hall,
the most ancient part of the building, with its open roof of Spanish
chestnut, its screen and gallery and dais, its painted windows and
marble floor. Ascending the dais, they are ushered into an antechamber,
the first of that suite of state apartments that opens on the terrace.
Leaving on one side the principal dining-room and the library, they
proceeded through the green drawing-room, so called from its silken
hangings, the red drawing-room, covered with ruby velvet, and both
adorned, but not encumbered, with pictures of the choicest art, into the
principal or duchesses' drawing-room, thus entitled from its complete
collection of portraits of Duchesses of Bellamont. It was a spacious and
beautifully proportioned chamber, hung with amber satin, its ceiling by
Zucchero, whose rich colours were relieved by the burnished gilding.
The corporation trod tremblingly over the gorgeous carpet of Axminster,
which displayed, in vivid colours and colossal proportions, the shield
and supporters of Bellamont, and threw a hasty glance at the vases of
porphyry and malachite, and mosaic tables covered with precious toys,
which were grouped about.

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