The Young Duke
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Benjamin Disraeli >> The Young Duke
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'I was thinking of paying nurse a visit. What say you?'
'Oh! I am ready; anywhere.'
She ran for her bonnet, and he kissed her handkerchief, which she left
behind, and, I believe, everything else in the room which bore the
slightest relation to her. And then the recollection of Arundel's letter
came over him, and his joy fled. When she returned, he was standing
before the fire, gloomy and dull.
'I fear you are tired,' she said.
'Not in the least.'
'I shall never forgive myself if all this exertion make you ill.'
'Why not?'
'Because, although I will not tell papa, I am sure my nonsense is the
cause of your having gone to London.'
'It is probable; for you are the cause of all that does not disgrace
me.' He advanced, and was about to seize her hand; but the accursed
miniature occurred to him, and he repressed his feelings, almost with
a groan. She, too, had turned away her head, and was busily engaged in
tending a flower.
'Because she has explicitly declared her feelings to me, and, sincere
in that declaration, honours me by a friendship of which alone I am
unworthy, am I to persecute her with my dishonoured overtures--the twice
rejected? No, no!'
They took their way through the park, and he soon succeeded in
re-assuming the tone that befitted their situation. Traits of the
debate, and the debaters, which newspapers cannot convey, and which
he had not yet recounted; anecdotes of Annesley and their friends, and
other gossip, were offered for her amusement. But if she were amused,
she was not lively, but singularly, unusually silent. There was only one
point on which she seemed interested, and that was his speech. When he
was cheered, and who particularly cheered; who gathered round him,
and what they said after the debate: on all these points she was most
inquisitive.
They rambled on: nurse was quite forgotten; and at length they found
themselves in the beautiful valley, rendered more lovely by the ruins of
the abbey. It was a place that the Duke could never forget, and which he
ever avoided. He had never renewed his visit since he first gave vent,
among its reverend ruins, to his overcharged and most tumultuous heart.
They stood in silence before the holy pile with its vaulting arches and
crumbling walls, mellowed by the mild lustre of the declining sun. Not
two years had fled since here he first staggered after the breaking
glimpses of self-knowledge, and struggled to call order from out the
chaos of his mind. Not two years, and yet what a change had come over
his existence! How diametrically opposite now were all his thoughts, and
views, and feelings, to those which then controlled his fatal soul! How
capable, as he firmly believed, was he now of discharging his duty to
his Creator and his fellow-men! and yet the boon that ought to have been
the reward for all this self-contest, the sweet seal that ought to have
ratified this new contract of existence, was wanting.
'Ah!' he exclaimed aloud, and in a voice of anguish, 'ah! if I ne'er had
left the walls of Dacre, how different might have been my lot!'
A gentle but involuntary pressure reminded him of the companion whom,
for once in his life, he had for a moment forgotten.
'I feel it is madness; I feel it is worse than madness; but must I yield
without a struggle, and see my dark fate cover me without an effort? Oh!
yes, here, even here, where I have wept over your contempt, even here,
although I subject myself to renewed rejection, let--let me tell you,
before we part, how I adore you!'
She was silent; a strange courage came over his spirit; and, with
a reckless boldness, and rapid voice, a misty sight, and total
unconsciousness of all other existence, he resumed the words which had
broken out, as if by inspiration.
'I am not worthy of you. Who is? I was worthless. I did not know it.
Have not I struggled to be pure? have not I sighed on my nightly pillow
for your blessing? Oh! could you read my heart (and sometimes, I think,
you can read it, for indeed, with all its faults, it is without guile) I
dare to hope that you would pity me. Since we first met, your image
has not quitted my conscience for a second. When you thought me least
worthy; when you thought me vile, or mad, oh! by all that is sacred,
I was the most miserable wretch that ever breathed, and flew to
dissipation only for distraction!
'Not--not for a moment have I ceased to think you the best, the most
beautiful, the most enchanting and endearing creature that ever graced
our earth. Even when I first dared to whisper my insolent affection,
believe me, even then, your presence controlled my spirit as no other
woman had. I bent to you then in pride and power. The station that I
could then offer you was not utterly unworthy of your perfection. I am
now a beggar, or, worse, an insolvent noble, and dare I--dare I to ask
you to share the fortunes that are broken, and the existence that is
obscure?'
She turned; her arm fell over his shoulder; she buried her head in his
breast.
CHAPTER X.
_'Love is Like a Dizziness.'_
MR. DACRE returned home with an excellent appetite, and almost as keen a
desire to renew his conversation with his guest; but dinner and the Duke
were neither to be commanded. Miss Dacre also could not be found. No
information could be obtained of them from any quarter. It was nearly
seven o'clock, the hour of dinner. That meal, somewhat to Mr. Dacre's
regret, was postponed for half an hour, servants were sent out, and the
bell was rung, but no tidings. Mr. Dacre was a little annoyed and more
alarmed; he was also hungry, and at half-past seven he sat down to a
solitary meal.
About a quarter-past eight a figure rapped at the dining-room window:
it was the young Duke. The fat butler seemed astonished, not to say
shocked, at this violation of etiquette; nevertheless, he slowly opened
the window.
'Anything the matter, George? Where is May?'
'Nothing. We lost our way. That is all. May--Miss Dacre desired me to
say, that she would not join us at dinner.'
'I am sure, something has happened.'
'I assure you, my dear sir, nothing, nothing at all the least
unpleasant, but we took the wrong turning. All my fault.'
'Shall I send for the soup?'
'No. I am not hungry, I will take some wine.' So saying, his Grace
poured out a tumbler of claret.
'Shall I take your Grace's hat?' asked the fat butler.
'Dear me! have I my hat on?'
This was not the only evidence afforded by our hero's conduct that his
presence of mind had slightly deserted him. He was soon buried in a deep
reverie, and sat with a full plate, but idle knife and fork before him,
a perfect puzzle to the fat butler, who had hitherto considered his
Grace the very pink of propriety.
'George, you have eaten no dinner,' said Mr. Dacre.
'Thank you, a very good one indeed, a remarkably good dinner. Give me
some red wine, if you please.'
At length they were left alone.
'I have some good news for you, George.'
'Indeed.'
'I think I have let Rosemount.'
'So!'
'And exactly to the kind of person that you wanted, a man who will take
a pride, although merely a tenant, in not permitting his poor neighbours
to feel the _want_ of a landlord. You will never guess: Lord Mildmay!'
'What did you say of Lord Mildmay, sir?'
'My dear fellow, your wits are wool-gathering; I say I think I have let
Rosemount.'
'Oh! I have changed my mind about letting Rosemount.'
'My dear Duke, there is no trouble which I will grudge, to further your
interests; but really I must beg, in future, that you will, at least,
apprise me when you change your mind. There is nothing, as we have both
agreed, more desirable than to find an eligible tenant for Rosemount.
You never can expect to have a more beneficial one than Lord Mildmay;
and really, unless you have positively promised the place to another
person (which, excuse me for saying, you were not authorised to do) I
must insist, after what has passed, upon his having the preference.'
'My dear sir, I only changed my mind this afternoon: I couldn't tell
you before. I have promised it to no one; but I think of living there
myself.'
'Yourself! Oh! if that be the case, I shall be quite reconciled to the
disappointment of Lord Mildmay. But what in the name of goodness, my
dear fellow, has produced this wonderful revolution in all your plans in
the course of a few hours? I thought you were going to mope away life on
the Lake of Geneva, or dawdle it away in Florence or Rome.'
'It is very odd, sir. I can hardly believe it myself: and yet it must be
true. I hear her voice even at this moment. Oh! my dear Mr. Dacre, I am
the happiest fellow that ever breathed!'
'What is all this?'
'Is it possible, my dear sir, that you have not long before detected
the feelings I ventured to entertain for your daughter? In a word, she
requires only your sanction to my being the most fortunate of men.'
'My dear friend, my dear, dear boy!' cried Mr. Dacre, rising from his
chair and embracing him, 'it is out of the power of man to impart to me
any event which could afford me such exquisite pleasure! Indeed, indeed,
it is to me most surprising! for I had been induced to suspect, George,
that some explanation had passed between you and May, which, while
it accounted for your mutual esteem, gave little hope of a stronger
sentiment.'
'I believe, sir,' said the young Duke, with a smile, 'I was obstinate.'
'Well, this changes all our plans. I have intended, for this fortnight
past, to speak to you finally on your affairs. No better time than the
present; and, in the first place----'
But, really, this interview is confidential.
CHAPTER XI.
_'Perfection in a Petticoat.'_
THEY come not: it is late. He is already telling all! She relapses into
her sweet reverie. Her thought fixes on no subject; her mind is
intent on no idea; her soul is melted into dreamy delight; her only
consciousness is perfect bliss! Sweet sounds still echo in her ear, and
still her pure pulse beats, from the first embrace of passion.
The door opens, and her father enters, leaning upon the arm of her
beloved. Yes, he has told all! Mr. Dacre approached, and, bending down,
pressed the lips of his child. It was the seal to their plighted faith,
and told, without speech, that the blessing of a parent mingled with the
vows of a lover! No other intimation was at present necessary;' but she,
the daughter, thought now only of her father, that friend of her long
life, whose love had ne'er been wanting: was she about to leave him? She
arose, she threw her arms around his neck and wept.
The young Duke walked away, that his presence might not control the full
expression of her hallowed soul. 'This jewel is mine,' was his thought;
'what, what have I done to be so blessed?'
In a few minutes he again joined them, and was seated by her side; and
Mr. Dacre considerately remembered that he wished to see his steward,
and they were left alone. Their eyes meet, and their soft looks tell
that they were thinking of each other. His arm steals round the back of
her chair, and with his other hand he gently captures hers.
First love, first love! how many a glowing bard has sung thy beauties!
How many a poor devil of a prosing novelist, like myself, has echoed
all our superiors, the poets, teach us! No doubt, thou rosy god of young
Desire, thou art a most bewitching little demon; and yet, for my part,
give me last love.
Ask a man which turned out best, the first horse he bought, or the one
he now canters on? Ask--but in short there is nothing in which knowledge
is more important and experience more valuable than in love. When we
first love, we are enamoured of our own imaginations. Our thoughts are
high, our feelings rise from out the deepest caves of the tumultuous
tide of our full life. We look around for one to share our exquisite
existence, and sanctify the beauties of our being.
But those beauties are only in our thoughts. We feel like heroes,
when we are but boys. Yet our mistress must bear a relation, not to
ourselves, but to our imagination. She must be a real heroine, while our
perfection is but ideal. And the quick and dangerous fancy of our race
will, at first, rise to the pitch. She is all we can conceive. Mild and
pure as youthful priests, we bow down before our altar. But the idol to
which we breathe our warm and gushing vows, and bend our eager knees,
all its power, does it not exist only in our idea; all its beauty, is
it not the creation of our excited fancy? And then the sweetest of
superstitions ends. The long delusion bursts, and we are left like
men upon a heath when fairies vanish; cold and dreary, gloomy, bitter,
harsh, existence seems a blunder.
But just when we are most miserable, and curse the poet's cunning and
our own conceits, there lights upon our path, just like a ray fresh
from the sun, some sparkling child of light, that makes us think we are
premature, at least, in our resolves. Yet we are determined not to be
taken in, and try her well in all the points in which the others failed.
One by one, her charms steal on our warming soul, as, one by one, those
of the other beauty sadly stole away, and then we bless our stars, and
feel quite sure that we have found perfection in a petticoat.
But our Duke--where are we? He had read woman thoroughly, and
consequently knew how to value the virgin pages on which his thoughts
now fixed. He and May Dacre wandered in the woods, and nature seemed to
them more beautiful from their beautiful loves. They gazed upon the
sky; a brighter light fell o'er the luminous earth. Sweeter to them the
fragrance of the sweetest flowers, and a more balmy breath brought on
the universal promise of the opening year.
They wandered in the woods, and there they breathed their mutual
adoration. She to him was all in all, and he to her was like a new
divinity. She poured forth all that she long had felt, and scarcely
could suppress. From the moment he tore her from the insulter's arms,
his image fixed in her heart, and the struggle which she experienced
to repel his renewed vows was great indeed. When she heard of
his misfortunes, she had wept; but it was the strange delight she
experienced when his letter arrived to her father that first convinced
her how irrevocably her mind was his.
And now she does not cease to blame herself for all her past obduracy;
now she will not for a moment yield that he could have been ever
anything but all that was pure, and beautiful, and good.
CHAPTER XII.
_Another Betrothal_
BUT although we are in love, business must not be utterly neglected, and
Mr. Dacre insisted that the young Duke should for one morning cease to
wander in his park, and listen to the result of his exertions during the
last three months. His Grace listened. Rents had not risen, but it was
hoped that they had seen their worst; the railroad had been successfully
opposed; and coals had improved. The London mansion and the Alhambra had
both been disposed of, and well: the first to the new French Ambassador,
and the second to a grey-headed stock-jobber, very rich, who, having
no society, determined to make solitude amusing. The proceeds of these
sales, together with sundry sums obtained by converting into cash the
stud, the furniture, and the _bijouterie,_ produced a most respectable
fund, which nearly paid off the annoying miscellaneous debts. For the
rest, Mr. Dacre, while he agreed that it was on the whole advisable that
the buildings should be completed, determined that none of the estates
should be sold, or even mortgaged. His plan was to procrastinate the
termination of these undertakings, and to allow each year itself to
afford the necessary supplies. By annually setting aside one hundred
thousand pounds, in seven or eight years he hoped to find everything
completed and all debts cleared. He did not think that the extravagance
of the Duke could justify any diminution in the sum which had hitherto
been apportioned for the maintenance of the Irish establishments; but
he was of opinion that the decreased portion which they, as well as
the western estates, now afforded to the total income, was a sufficient
reason. Fourteen thousand a-year were consequently allotted to Ireland,
and seven to Pen Bronnock. There remained to the Duke about thirty
thousand per annum; but then Hauteville was to be kept up with this.
Mr. Dacre proposed that the young people should reside at Rosemount, and
that consequently they might form their establishment from the Castle,
without reducing their Yorkshire appointments, and avail themselves,
without any obligation, or even the opportunity, of great expenses, of
all the advantages afforded by the necessary expenditure. Finally, Mr.
Dacre presented his son with his town mansion and furniture; and as
the young Duke insisted that the settlements upon her Grace should be
prepared in full reference to his inherited and future income, this
generous father at once made over to him the great bulk of his personal
property amounting to upwards of a hundred thousand pounds, a little
ready money, of which he knew the value.
The Duke of St. James had duly informed his uncle, the Earl of
Fitz-pompey, of the intended change in his condition, and in answer
received the following letter:--
'Fitz-pompey Hall, May, 18--.
'My dear George,--Your letter did not give us so much surprise as you
expected; but I assure you it gave us as much pleasure. You have shown
your wisdom and your taste in your choice; and I am free to confess that
I am acquainted with no one more worthy of the station which the
Duchess of St. James must always fill in society, and more calculated to
maintain the dignity of your family, than the lady whom you are about
to introduce to us as our niece. Believe me, my dear George, that the
notification of this agreeable event has occasioned even additional
gratification both to your aunt and to myself, from the reflection that
you are about to ally yourself with a family in whose welfare we must
ever take an especial interest, and whom we may in a manner look upon as
our own relatives. For, my dear George, in answer to your flattering and
most pleasing communication, it is my truly agreeable duty to inform you
(and, believe me, you are the first person out of our immediate family
to whom this intelligence is made known) that our Caroline, in whose
happiness we are well assured you take a lively interest, is about to
be united to one who may now be described as your near relative, namely,
Mr. Arundel Dacre.
'It has been a long attachment, though for a considerable time, I
confess, unknown to us; and indeed at first sight, with Caroline's rank
and other advantages, it may not appear, in a mere worldly point of
view, so desirable a connection as some perhaps might expect. And to
be quite confidential, both your aunt and myself were at first a little
disinclined (great as our esteem and regard have ever been for him), a
little disinclined, I say, to the union. But Dacre is certainly the most
rising man of the day. In point of family, he is second to none; and his
uncle has indeed behaved in the most truly liberal manner. I assure you,
he considers him as a son; and even if there were no other inducement,
the mere fact of your connection with the family would alone not
only reconcile, but, so to say, make us perfectly satisfied with the
arrangement. It is unnecessary to speak to you of the antiquity of the
Dacres. Arundel will ultimately be one of the richest Commoners, and I
think it is not too bold to anticipate, taking into consideration the
family into which he marries, and above all, his connection with you,
that we may finally succeed in having him called up to us. You are of
course aware that there was once a barony in the family.
'Everybody talks of your speech. I assure you, although I ever gave you
credit for uncommon talents, I was astonished. So you are to have the
vacant ribbon! Why did you not tell me? I learnt it to-day, from
Lord Bobbleshim. But we must not quarrel with men in love for not
communicating.
'You ask me for news of all your old friends. You of course saw the
death of old Annesley. The new Lord took his seat yesterday; he was
introduced by Lord Bloomerly. I was not surprised to hear in the evening
that he was about to be married to Lady Charlotte, though the world
affect to be astonished.
I should not forget to say that Lord Annesley asked most particularly
after you. For him, quite warm, I assure you.
'The oddest thing has happened to your friend, Lord Squib. Old Colonel
Carlisle is dead, and has left his whole fortune, some say half a
million, to the oddest person, merely because she had the reputation
of being his daughter. Quite an odd person, you understand me: Mrs.
Montfort. St. Maurice says you know her; but we must not talk of these
things now. Well, Squib is going to be married to her. He says that he
knows all his old friends will cut him when they are married, and so he
is determined to give them an excuse. I understand she is a fine woman.
He talks of living at Rome and Florence for a year or two.
'Lord Darrell is about to marry Harriet Wrekin; and between ourselves
(but don't let this go any further at present) I have very little doubt
that young Pococurante will shortly be united to Isabel. Connected as we
are with the Shropshires, these excellent alliances are gratifying.
'I see very little of Lucius Grafton. He seems ill.
I understand, for certain, that her Ladyship opposes the divorce. _On
dit_, she has got hold of some letters, through the treachery of her
soubrette, whom he supposed quite his creature, and that your friend
is rather taken in. But I should not think this true. People talk very
loosely. There was a gay party at Mrs. Dallington's the other night, who
asked very kindly after you.
'I think I have now written you a very long letter. I once more
congratulate you on your admirable selection, and with the united
remembrance of our circle, particularly Caroline, who will write
perhaps by this post to Miss Dacre, believe me, dear George, your truly
affectionate uncle,
'FITZ-POMPEY.
'P.S.--Lord Marylebone is very unpopular, quite a brute. We all miss
you.'
It is not to be supposed that this letter conveyed the first intimation
to the Duke of St. James of the most interesting event of which it
spoke. On the contrary, he had long been aware of the whole affair; but
we have been too much engaged with his own conduct to find time to let
the reader into the secret, which, like all secrets, it is to be hoped
was no secret. Next to gaining the affections of May Dacre, it was
impossible for any event to occur more delightful to our hero than
the present. His heart had often misgiven him when he had thought of
Caroline. Now she was happy, and not only happy, but connected with
him for life, just as he wished. Arundel Dacre, too, of all men he most
wished to like, and indeed most liked. One feeling alone had prevented
them from being bosom friends, and that feeling had long triumphantly
vanished.
May had been almost from the beginning the _confidante_ of her cousin.
In vain, however, had she beseeched him to entrust all to her father.
Although he now repented his past feelings he could not be induced to
change; and not till he had entered Parliament and succeeded and gained
a name, which would reflect honour on the family with which he wished to
identify himself, would he impart to his uncle the secret of his heart,
and gain that support without which his great object could never have
been achieved. The Duke of St. James, by returning him to Parliament,
had been the unconscious cause of all his happiness, and ardently did
he pray that his generous friend might succeed in what he was well aware
was his secret aspiration, and that his beloved cousin might yield her
hand to the only man whom Arundel Dacre considered worthy of her.
CHAPTER XIII.
_Joy's Beginning_
ANOTHER week brought another letter from the Earl of Fitz-pompey.
The Earl of Fitz-pompey to the Duke of St. James. [Read this alone.]
'My dear George,
'I beg you will not be alarmed by the above memorandum, which I thought
it but prudent to prefix. A very disagreeable affair has just taken
place, and to a degree exceedingly alarming; but it might have turned
out much more distressing, and, on the whole, we may all congratulate
ourselves at the result. Not to keep you in fearful suspense, I beg to
recall your recollection to the rumour which I noticed in my last, of
the intention of Lady Aphrodite Grafton to oppose the divorce. A
few days back, her brother Lord Wariston, with whom I was previously
unacquainted, called upon me by appointment, having previously requested
a private interview. The object of his seeing me was no less than to
submit to my inspection the letters by aid of which it was anticipated
that the divorce might be successfully opposed. You will be astounded
to hear that these consist of a long series of correspondence of Mrs.
Dallington Vere's, developing, I am shocked to say, machinations of a
very alarming nature, the effect of which, my dear George, was no less
than very materially to control your fortunes in life, and those of that
charming and truly admirable lady whom you have delighted us all so much
by declaring to be our future relative.
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