The Young Duke
B >>
Benjamin Disraeli >> The Young Duke
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 | 4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19 |
20 |
21 |
22 |
23 |
24 |
25 |
26
'What shall I do? How distressing! I had better send. Pray send; or I
will ask Lady de Courcy.'
'Oh! no, no! I really did not like to see you with her. As a favour--as
a favour to me, I pray you not.'
'What can I do? I must send. Let me beg your Grace to send.'
'Certainly, certainly; but, ten to one, there will be some mistake.
There always is some mistake when you send these strangers. And,
besides, I forgot all this time my carriage is here. Let it take you
home.'
'No, no!'
'Dearest Lady Aphrodite, do not distress yourself. I can wait here till
the carriage returns, or I can walk; to be sure, I can walk. Pray, pray
take the carriage! As a favour--as a favour to me!'
'But I cannot bear you to walk. I know you dislike walking.'
'Well, then, I will wait.'
'Well, if it must be so; but I am ashamed to inconvenience you. How
provoking of these men! Pray, then, tell the coachman to drive fast,
that you may not have to wait. I declare there is scarcely a human being
in the room; and those odd people are staring so!'
He pressed her arm as he led her to his carriage. She is in; and yet,
before the door shuts, he lingers.
'I shall certainly walk,' said he. 'I do not think the easterly wind
will make me very ill. Good-bye! Oh, what a _coup-de-vent_!'
'Let me get out, then; and pray, pray take the carriage. I would much
sooner do anything than go in it. I would much rather walk. I am sure
you will be ill!'
'Not if I be with you.'
CHAPTER XII.
_Royal Favour_
THERE was a brilliant levee, all stars and garters; and a splendid
drawing-room, all plumes and _seduisantes_. Many a bright eye, as its
owner fought his way down St. James's Street, shot a wistful glance at
the enchanted bow-window where the Duke and his usual companions, Sir
Lucius, Charles Annesley, and Lord Squib, lounged and laughed, stretched
themselves and sneered: many a bright eye, that for a moment pierced the
futurity that painted her going in state as Duchess of St. James.
His Majesty summoned a dinner party, a rare but magnificent event, and
the chief of the house of Hauteville appeared among the chosen
vassals. This visit did the young Duke good; and a few more might have
permanently cured the conceit which the present one momentarily calmed.
His Grace saw the plate, and was filled with envy; his Grace listened to
his Majesty, and was filled with admiration. O, father of thy people! if
thou wouldst but look a little oftener on thy younger sons, their morals
and their manners might be alike improved.
His Majesty, in the course of the evening, with his usual good-nature,
signalled out for his notice the youngest, and not the least
distinguished, of his guests. He complimented the young Duke on the
accession to the ornaments of his court, and said, with a smile, that
he had heard of conquests in foreign ones. The Duke accounted for his
slight successes by reminding his Majesty that he had the honour of
being his godson, and this he said in a slight and easy way, not smart
or quick, or as a repartee to the royal observation; for 'it is not
decorous to bandy compliments with your Sovereign.' His Majesty asked
some questions about an Emperor or an Archduchess, and his Grace
answered to the purpose, but short, and not too pointed. He listened
rather than spoke, and smiled more assents than he uttered. The King was
pleased with his young subject, and marked his approbation by conversing
with that unrivalled affability which is gall to a Roundhead and
inspiration to a Cavalier. There was a _bon mot_, which blazed with all
the soft brilliancy of sheet lightning. What a contrast to the forky
flashes of a regular wit! Then there was an anecdote of Sheridan--the
royal Sheridaniana are not thrice-told tales--recounted with that
curious felicity which has long stamped the illustrious narrator as a
consummate _raconteur_. Then----but the Duke knew when to withdraw; and
he withdrew with renewed loyalty.
CHAPTER XIII.
_A Lover's Trick_
ONE day, looking in at his jeweller's, to see some models of a shield
and vases which were executing for him in gold, the young Duke met Lady
Aphrodite and the Fitz-pompeys. Lady Aphrodite was speaking to the
jeweller about her diamonds, which were to be reset for her approaching
fete. The Duke took the ladies upstairs to look at the models, and while
they were intent upon them and other curiosities, his absence for a
moment was unperceived. He ran downstairs and caught Mr. Garnet.
'Mr. Garnet! I think I saw Lady Aphrodite give you her diamonds?' 'Yes,
your Grace.'
'Are they valuable?' in a careless tone. 'Hum! pretty stones; very
pretty stones, indeed. Few Baronets' ladies have a prettier set; worth
perhaps a 1000L.; say 1200L. Lady Aphrodite Grafton is not the
Duchess of St. James, you know,' said Mr. Garnet, as if he anticipated
furnishing that future lady with a very different set of brilliants.
'Mr. Garnet, you can do me the greatest favour.' 'Your Grace has only to
command me at all times.'
'Well, then, in a word, for time presses, can you contrive, without
particularly altering--that is, without altering the general appearance
of these diamonds--can you contrive to change the stones, and substitute
the most valuable that you have; consistent, as I must impress upon you,
with maintaining their general appearance as at present?'
'The most valuable stones,' musingly repeated Mr. Garnet; 'general
appearance as at present? Your Grace is aware that we may run up some
thousands even in this set?'
'I give you no limit.'
'But the time,' rejoined Mr. Garnet. 'They must be ready for her
Ladyship's party. We shall be hard pressed. I am afraid of the time.'
'Cannot the men work all night? Pay them anything.'
'It shall be done, your Grace. Your Grace may command me in anything.'
'This is a secret between us, Garnet. Your partners------'
'Shall know nothing. And as for myself, I am as close as an emerald in a
seal-ring.'
CHAPTER XIV.
_Close of the Season_
HUSSEIN PACHA, 'the favourite,' not only of the Marquess of Mash, but of
Tattersall's, unaccountably sickened and died. His noble master, full of
chagrin took to his bed, and followed his steed's example. The death
of the Marquess caused a vacancy in the stewardship of the approaching
Doncaster. Sir Lucius Grafton was the other steward, and he proposed to
the Duke of St. James, as he was a Yorkshireman, to become his
colleague. His Grace, who wished to pay a compliment to his county,
closed with the proposition. Sir Lucius was a first-rate jockey; his
colleague was quite ignorant of the noble science in all its details;
but that was of slight importance. The Baronet was to be the working
partner, and do the business; the Duke the show member of the concern,
and do the magnificence; as one banker, you may observe, lives always in
Portland Place, reads the Court Journal all the morning, and has an
opera-box, while his partner lodges in Lombard Street, thumbs a
price-current, and only has a box at Clapham.
The young Duke, however, was ambitious of making a good book; and, with
all the calm impetuosity which characterises a youthful Hauteville,
determined to have a crack stud at once. So at Ascot, where he spent
a few pleasant hours, dined at the Cottage, was caught in a shower, in
return caught a cold, a slight influenza for a week, and all the world
full of inquiries and anxiety; at Ascot, I say, he bought up all the
winning horses at an average of three thousand guineas for each pair of
ears. Sir Lucius stared, remonstrated, and, as his remonstrances were in
vain, assisted him.
As people at the point of death often make a desperate rally, so
this, the most brilliant of seasons, was even more lively as it nearer
approached its end. The _dejeuner_ and the _villa fete_ the water party
and the rambling ride, followed each other with the bright rapidity of
the final scenes in a pantomime. Each _dama_ seemed only inspired with
the ambition of giving the last ball; and so numerous were the parties
that the town really sometimes seemed illuminated. To breakfast at
Twickenham, and to dine in Belgrave Square; to hear,' or rather to
honour, half an act of an opera; to campaign through half a dozen
private balls, and to finish with a romp at the rooms, as after our wine
we take a glass of liqueur; all this surely required the courage of
an Alexander and the strength of a Hercules, and, indeed, cannot be
achieved without the miraculous powers of a Joshua. So thought the young
Duke, as with an excited mind and a whirling head he threw himself at
half-past six o'clock on a couch which brought him no sleep.
Yet he recovered, and with the aid of the bath, the soda, and the
coffee, and all the thousand remedies which a skilful valet has ever at
hand, at three o'clock on the same day he rose and dressed, and in an
hour was again at the illustrious bow-window, sneering with Charles
Annesley, or laughing downright with Lord Squib.
The Duke of St. James gave a water party, and the astounded Thames
swelled with pride as his broad breast bore on the ducal barges. St.
Maurice, who was in the Guards, secured his band; and Lord Squib, who,
though it was July, brought a furred great coat, secured himself. Lady
Afy looked like Amphitrite, and Lady Caroline looked in love. They
wandered in gardens like Calypso's; they rambled over a villa which
reminded them of Baise; they partook of a banquet which should have been
described by Ariosto. All were delighted; they delivered themselves to
the charms of an unrestrained gaiety. Even Charles Annesley laughed and
romped.
This is the only mode in which public eating is essentially agreeable.
A banqueting-hall is often the scene of exquisite pleasure; but that is
not so much excited by the gratification of a delicate palate as by
the magnificent effect of light and shade; by the beautiful women, the
radiant jewels, the graceful costume, the rainbow glass, the glowing
wines, the glorious plate. For the rest, all is too hot, too crowded,
and too noisy, to catch a flavour; to analyse a combination, to dwell
upon a gust. To eat, _really_ to eat, one must eat alone, with a soft
light, with simple furniture, an easy dress, and a single dish, at a
time. Hours of bliss! Hours of virtue! for what is more virtuous than to
be conscious of the blessings of a bountiful Nature? A good eater must
be a good man; for a good eater must have a good digestion, and a good
digestion depends upon a good conscience.
But to our tale. If we be dull, skip: time will fly, and beauty will
fade, and wit grow dull, and even the season, although it seems, for the
nonce, like the existence of Olympus, will nevertheless steal away. It
is the hour when trade grows dull and tradesmen grow duller; it is the
hour that Howell loveth not and Stultz cannot abide; though the first
may be consoled by the ghosts of his departed millions of _mouchoirs_,
and the second by the vision of coming millions of shooting-jackets. Oh,
why that sigh, my gloomy Mr. Gunter? Oh, why that frown, my gentle Mrs.
Grange?
One by one the great houses shut; shoal by shoal the little people sail
away. Yet beauty lingers still. Still the magnet of a straggling ball
attracts the remaining brilliants; still a lagging dinner, like a
sumpter-mule on a march, is a mark for plunder. The Park, too, is not
yet empty, and perhaps is even more fascinating; like a beauty in a
consumption, who each day gets thinner and more fair. The young Duke
remained to the last; for we linger about our first season, as we
do about our first mistress, rather wearied, yet full of delightful
reminiscences.
BOOK II.
CHAPTER I.
_His Grace Meets an Early Love_
LADY APHRODITE and the Duke of St. James were for the first time parted;
and with an absolute belief on the lady's side, and an avowed conviction
on the gentleman's, that it was impossible to live asunder, they
separated, her Ladyship shedding some temporary tears, and his Grace
vowing eternal fidelity.
It was the crafty Lord Fitz-pompey who brought about this catastrophe.
Having secured his nephew as a visitor to Malthorpe, by allowing him
to believe that the Graftons would form part of the summer coterie,
his Lordship took especial care that poor Lady Aphrodite should not be
invited. 'Once part them, once get him to Malthorpe alone,' mused the
experienced Peer, 'and he will be emancipated. I am doing him, too, the
greatest kindness. What would I have given, when a young man, to have
had such an uncle!'
The Morning Post announced with a sigh the departure of the Duke of St.
James to the splendid festivities of Malthorpe; and also apprised the
world that Sir Lucius and Lady Aphrodite were entertaining a numerous
and distinguished party at their seat, Cleve Park, Cambridgeshire.
There was a constant bustle kept up at Malthorpe, and the young Duke was
hourly permitted to observe that, independent of all private feeling, it
was impossible for the most distinguished nobleman to ally himself with
a more considered family. There was a continual swell of guests dashing
down and dashing away, like the ocean; brilliant as its foam, numerous
as its waves. But there was one permanent inhabitant of this princely
mansion far more interesting to our hero than the evanescent crowds who
rose like bubbles, glittered, broke, and disappeared.
Once more wandering in that park of Malthorpe where had passed the
innocent days of his boyhood, his thoughts naturally recurred to
the sweet companion who had made even those hours of happiness more
felicitous. Here they had rambled, here they had first tried their
ponies, there they had nearly fallen, there he had quite saved her; here
were the two very elms where St. Maurice made for them a swing, here was
the very keeper's cottage of which she had made for him a drawing, and
which he still retained. Dear girl! And had she disappointed the romance
of his boyhood; had the experience the want of which had allowed him
then to be pleased so easily, had it taught him to be ashamed of those
days of affection? Was she not now the most gentle, the most graceful,
the most beautiful, the most kind? Was she not the most wife-like woman
whose eyes had ever beamed with tenderness? Why, why not at once close a
career which, though short, yet already could yield reminiscences which
might satisfy the most craving admirer of excitement? But there was Lady
Aphrodite; yet that must end. Alas! on his part, it had commenced in
levity; he feared, on hers, it must terminate in anguish. Yet, though he
loved his cousin; though he could not recall to his memory the woman
who was more worthy of being his wife, he could not also conceal from
himself that the feelings which impelled him were hardly so romantic as
he thought should have inspired a youth of one-and-twenty when he mused
on the woman he loved best. But he knew life, and he felt convinced that
a mistress and a wife must always be different characters. A combination
of passion with present respect and permanent affection he supposed to
be the delusion of romance writers. He thought he must marry Caroline,
partly because he must marry sooner or later; partly because he had
never met a woman whom he had loved so much, and partly because he felt
he should be miserable if her destiny in life were not, in some way or
other, connected with his own. 'Ah! if she had but been my sister!'
After a little more cogitation, the young Duke felt much inclined to
make his cousin a Duchess; but time did not press. After Doncaster he
must spend a few weeks at Cleve, and then he determined to come to
an explanation with Lady Aphrodite. In the meantime, Lord Fitz-pompey
secretly congratulated himself on his skilful policy, as he perceived
his nephew daily more engrossed with his daughter. Lady Caroline, like
all unaffected and accomplished women, was seen to great effect in the
country.
There, while they feed their birds, tend their flowers, and tune their
harp, and perform those more sacred, but not less pleasing, duties which
become the daughter of a great proprietor, they favourably contrast with
those more modish damsels who, the moment they are freed from the Park
and from Willis's, begin fighting for silver arrows and patronising
county balls.
September came, and brought some relief to those who were suffering in
the inferno of provincial ennui; but this is only the purgatory to the
Paradise of _battues_. Yet September has its days of slaughter; and
the young Duke gained some laurels, with the aid of friend Egg, friend
Purdy, and Manton. And the Premier galloped down sixty miles in one
morning. He sacked his cover, made a light bet with St. James on the
favourite, lunched standing, and was off before night; for he had only
three days' holiday, and had to visit Lord Protest, Lord Content, and
Lord Proxy. So, having knocked off four of his crack peers, he galloped
back to London to flog up his secretaries.
And the young Duke was off too. He had promised to spend a week with
Charles Annesley and Lord Squib, who had taken some Norfolk Baronet's
seat for the autumn, and while he was at Spa were thinning his
preserves. It was a week! What fantastic dissipation! One day, the
brains of three hundred hares made a _pate_ for Charles Annesley.
Oh, Heliogabalus! you gained eternal fame for what is now 'done in a
corner!'
CHAPTER II.
_A New Charmer_
THE Carnival of the North at length arrived. All civilised eyes were on
the most distinguished party of the most distinguished steward, who
with his horse Sanspareil seemed to share universal favour. The
French Princes and the Duke of Burlington; the Protocolis, and the
Fitz-pompeys, and the Bloomerlys; the Duke and Duchess of Shropshire,
and the three Ladies Wrekin, who might have passed for the Graces; Lord
and Lady Vatican on a visit from Rome, his Lordship taking hints for a
heat in the Corso, and her Ladyship, a classical beauty with a face like
a cameo; St. Maurice, and Annesley, and Squib, composed the party. The
Premier was expected, and there was murmur of an Archduke. Seven houses
had been prepared, a party-wall knocked down to make a dining-room, the
plate sent down from London, and venison and wine from Hauteville.
The assemblage exceeded in quantity and quality all preceding years,
and the Hauteville arms, the Hauteville liveries, and the Hauteville
outriders, beat all hollow in blazonry, and brilliancy, and number. The
North countrymen were proud of their young Duke and his carriages and
six, and longed for the Castle to be finished. Nothing could exceed the
propriety of the arrangements, for Sir Lucius was an unrivalled hand,
and, though a Newmarket man, gained universal approbation even in
Yorkshire. Lady Aphrodite was all smiles and new liveries, and the Duke
of St. James reined in his charger right often at her splendid equipage.
The day's sport was over, and the evening's sport begun, to a quiet man,
who has no bet more heavy than a dozen pair of gloves, perhaps not the
least amusing. Now came the numerous dinner-parties, none to be compared
to that of the Duke of St. James. Lady Aphrodite was alone wanting, but
she had to head the _menage_ of Sir Lucius. Every one has an appetite
after a race: the Duke of Shropshire attacked the venison as Samson the
Philistines; and the French princes, for once in their life, drank real
champagne.
Yet all faces were not so serene as those of the party of Hauteville.
Many a one felt that strange mixture of fear and exultation which
precedes a battle. To-morrow was the dreaded St. Leger.
'Tis night, and the banquet is over, and all are hastening to the ball.
In spite of the brilliant crowd, the entrance of the Hauteville party
made a sensation. It was the crowning ornament to the scene, the stamp
of the sovereign, the lamp of the Pharos, the flag of the tower. The
party dispersed, and the Duke, after joining a quadrille with Lady
Caroline, wandered away to make himself generally popular.
As he was moving along, he turned his head; he started.
'Ah!' exclaimed his Grace.
The cause of this sudden and ungovernable exclamation can be no other
than a woman. You are right. The lady who had excited it was advancing
in a quadrille, some ten yards from her admirer. She was very young;
that is to say, she had, perhaps, added a year or two to sweet
seventeen, an addition which, while it does not deprive the sex of the
early grace of girlhood, adorns them with that indefinable dignity which
is necessary to constitute a perfect woman. She was not tall, but as she
moved forward displayed a figure so exquisitely symmetrical that for a
moment the Duke forgot to look at her face, and then her head was turned
away; yet he was consoled a moment for his disappointment by watching
the movements of a neck so white, and round, and long, and delicate,
that it would have become Psyche, and might have inspired Praxiteles.
Her face is again turning towards him. It stops too soon; yet his eye
feeds upon the outline of a cheek not too full, yet promising of beauty,
like hope of Paradise.
She turns her head, she throws around a glance, and two streams of
liquid light pour from her hazel eyes on his. It was a rapid, graceful
movement, unstudied as the motion of a fawn, and was in a moment
withdrawn, yet was it long enough to stamp upon his memory a memorable
countenance. Her face was quite oval, her nose delicately aquiline, and
her high pure forehead like a Parian dome. The clear blood coursed under
her transparent cheek, and increased the brilliancy of her dazzling
eyes. His never left her. There was an expression of decision about her
small mouth, an air of almost mockery in her curling lip, which, though
in themselves wildly fascinating, strangely contrasted with all
the beaming light and beneficent lustre of the upper part of her
countenance. There was something, too, in the graceful but rather
decided air with which she moved, that seemed to betoken her
self-consciousness of her beauty or her rank; perhaps it might be her
wit; for the Duke observed that while she scarcely smiled, and conversed
with lips hardly parted, her companion, with whom she was evidently
intimate, was almost constantly convulsed with laughter, although, as he
never spoke, it was clearly not at his own jokes.
Was she married? Could it be? Impossible! Yet there was a richness in
her costume which was not usual for unmarried women. A diamond arrow had
pierced her clustering and auburn locks; she wore, indeed, no necklace;
with such a neck it would have been sacrilege; no ear-rings, for
her ears were too small for such a burthen; yet her girdle was of
brilliants; and a diamond cross worthy of Belinda and her immortal bard
hung upon her breast.
The Duke seized hold of the first person he knew: it was Lord Bagshot.
'Tell me,' he said, in the stern, low voice of a despot; 'tell me who
that creature is.'
'Which creature?' asked Lord Bagshot.
'Booby! brute! Bag, that creature of light and love!'
'Where?'
'There!
'What, my mother?'
'Your mother! cub! cart-horse! answer me, or I will run you through.'
'Who do you mean?'
'There, there, dancing with that raw-boned youth with red hair.'
'What, Lord St. Jerome! Lor! he is a Catholic. I never speak to them. My
governor would be so savage.'
'But the girl?'
'Oh! the girl! Lor! she is a Catholic, too.'
'But who is she?'
'Lor! don't you know?'
'Speak, hound; speak!'
'Lor! that is the beauty of the county; but then she is a Catholic. How
shocking! Blow us all up as soon as look at us.'
'If you do not tell me who she is directly, you shall never get into
White's. I will black-ball you regularly.'
'Lor! man, don't be in a passion. I will tell. But then I know you know
all the time. You are joking. Everybody knows the beauty of the county;
everybody knows May Dacre.'
'May Dacre!' said the Duke of St. James, as if he were shot.
'Why, what is the matter now?' asked Lord Bag-shot.
'What, the daughter of Dacre of Castle Dacre?' pursued his Grace.
'The very same; the beauty of the county. Everybody knows May Dacre. I
knew you knew her all the time. You did not take me in. Why, what is the
matter?'
'Nothing; get away!'
'Civil! But you will remember your promise about White's?'
'Ay! ay! I shall remember you when you are proposed.'
'Here, here is a business!' soliloquized the young Duke. 'May Dacre!
What a fool I have been! Shall I shoot myself through the head, or
embrace her on the spot? Lord St. Jerome, too! He seems mightily
pleased. And my family have been voting for two centuries to emancipate
this fellow! Curse his grinning face! I am decidedly anti-Catholic. But
then she is a Catholic! I will turn Papist. Ah! there is Lucy. I want a
counsellor.'
He turned to his fellow-steward. 'Oh, Lucy! such a woman! such an
incident!'
'What! the inimitable Miss Dacre, I suppose. Everybody speaking of her;
wherever I go, one subject of conversation. Burlington wanting to
waltz with her, Charles Annesley being introduced, and Lady Bloomerly
decidedly of opinion that she is the finest creature in the county.
Well, have you danced with her?'
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 | 4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19 |
20 |
21 |
22 |
23 |
24 |
25 |
26