Venetia by Benjamin Disraeli (books to read romance txt) 📕

I wish you would bring my knitting-needles, Pauncefort.'

The autumn passed, and Lord Cadurcis never returned to the abbey, and never wrote to any of his late companions. Lady Annabel never mentioned his name; and although she seemed to have no other object in life but the pleasure and happiness of her child, this strange mother never once consulted Venetia on the probable occasion of his sudden departure, and his strange conduct.


BOOK IV.


CHAPTER I.

Party feeling, perhaps, never ran higher in England than during the period immediately subsequent to the expulsion of the Coalition Ministry. After the indefatigable faction of the American war, and the flagrant union with Lord North, the Whig party, and especially Charles Fox, then in the full vigour of his bold and ready mind, were stung to the quick that all their remorseless efforts to obtain and preserve the government of the country should terminate in the preferment and apparent permanent power of a mere boy.

Next to Charles Fox, perhaps the most eminent and influential member of the Whig party was Lady Monteagle. The daughter of one of the oldest and most powerful peers in the kingdom, possessing lively talents and many fascinating accomplishments, the mistress of a great establishment, very beautiful, and, although she had been married some years, still young, the celebrated wife of Lord Monteagle found herself the centre of a circle alike powerful, brilliant, and refined. She was the Muse of the Whig party, at whose shrine every man of wit and fashion was proud to offer his flattering incense; and her house became not merely the favourite scene of their social pleasures, but the sacred, temple of their political rites; here many a manoeuvre was planned, and many a scheme suggested; many a convert enrolled, and many a votary initiated.

Reclining on a couch in a boudoir, which she was assured was the exact facsimile of that of Marie Antoinette, Lady Monteagle, with an eye sparkling with excitement and a cheek flushed with emotion, appeared deeply interested in a volume, from which she raised her hand as her husband entered the room.

'Gertrude, my love,' said his lordship, 'I have asked the new bishop to dine with us to-day.'

'My dear Henry,' replied her ladyship, 'what could induce you to do anything so strange?'

'I suppose I have made a mistake, as usual,' said his lordship, shrugging his shoulders, with a smile.

'My dear Henry, you know you may ask whomever you like to your house. I never find fault with what you do. But what could induce you to ask a Tory bishop to meet a dozen of our own people?'

'I thought I had done wrong directly I had asked him,' rejoined his lordship; 'and yet he would not have come if I had not made such a point of it. I think I will put him off.'

'No, my love, that would be wrong; you cannot do that.'

'I cannot think how it came into my head. The fact is, I lost my presence of mind. You know he was my tutor at Christchurch, when poor dear Herbert and I were such friends, and very kind he was to us both; and so, the moment I saw him, I walked across the House, introduced myself, and asked him to dinner.'

'Well, never mind,' said Lady Monteagle, smiling. 'It is rather ridiculous: but I hope nothing will be said to offend him.'

'Oh! do not be alarmed about that: he is quite a man of the world, and, although he has his opinions, not at all a partisan. I assure you poor dear Herbert loved him to the last, and to this very moment has the greatest respect and affection for him.'

'How very strange that not only your tutor, but Herbert's, should be a bishop,' remarked the lady, smiling.

'It is very strange,' said his lordship, 'and it only shows that it is quite useless in this world to lay plans, or reckon on anything. You know how it happened?'

'Not I, indeed; I have never given a thought to the business; I only remember being very vexed that that stupid old Bangerford should not have died when we were in office, and then, at any rate, we should have got another vote.'

'Well, you know,' said his lordship, 'dear old Masham, that is his name, was at Weymouth this year; with whom do you think, of all people in the world?'

'How should I know? Why should I think about it, Henry?'

'Why, with Herbert's wife.'

'What, that horrid woman?'

'Yes, Lady Annabel.'

'And where was his daughter? Was she there?'

'Of course. She has grown up, and a most beautiful creature they say she is; exactly like her father.'

'Ah! I shall always regret I never saw him,' said her ladyship.

'Well, the daughter is in bad health; and so, after keeping her shut up all her life, the mother was obliged to take her to Weymouth; and Masham, who has a living in their neighbourhood, which, by-the-bye, Herbert gave him, and is their chaplain and counsellor, and friend of the family, and all that sort of thing, though I really believe he has always acted for the best, he was with them. Well, the King took the greatest fancy to these Herberts; and the Queen, too, quite singled them out; and, in short, they were always with the royal family. It ended by his Majesty making Masham his chaplain; and now he has made him a bishop.'

'Very droll indeed,' said her ladyship; 'and the drollest thing of all is, that he is now coming to dine here.'

'Have you seen Cadurcis to-day?' said Lord Monteagle.

'Of course,' said her ladyship.

'He dines here?'

'To be sure. I am reading his new poem; it will not be published till to-morrow.'

'Is it good?'

'Good! What crude questions you do always ask, Henry!' exclaimed Lady Monteagle. 'Good! Of course it is good. It is something better than good.'

'But I mean is it as good as his other things? Will it make as much noise as his last thing?'

'Thing! Now, Henry, you know very well that if there be anything I dislike in the world, it is calling a poem a thing.'

'Well, my dear, you know I am no judge of poetry. But if you are pleased, I am quite content. There is a knock. Some of your friends. I am off. I say, Gertrude, be kind to old Masham, that is a dear creature!'

Her ladyship extended her hand, to which his lordship pressed his lips, and just effected his escape as the servant announced a visitor, in the person of Mr. Horace Pole.

'Oh! my dear Mr. Pole, I am quite exhausted,' said her ladyship; 'I am reading Cadurcis' new poem; it will not he published till to-morrow, and it really has destroyed my nerves. I have got people to dinner to-day, and I am sure I shall not be able to encounter them.'

'Something outrageous, I suppose,' said Mr. Pole, with a sneer. 'I wish Cadurcis would study Pope.'

'Study Pope! My dear Mr. Pole, you have no imagination.'

'No, I have not, thank Heaven!' drawled out Mr. Pole.

'Well, do not let us have a quarrel about Cadurcis,' said Lady Monteagle. 'All you men are jealous of him.'

'And some of you women, I think, too,' said Mr. Pole.

Lady Monteagle faintly smiled.

'Poor Cadurcis!' she exclaimed; 'he has a very hard life of it. He complains bitterly that so many women are in love with him. But then he is such an interesting creature, what can he expect?'

'Interesting!' exclaimed Mr. Pole. 'Now I hold he is the most conceited, affected fellow that I ever met,' he continued with unusual energy.

'Ah! you men do not understand him,' said Lady Monteagle, shaking her head. 'You cannot,' she added, with a look of pity.

'I cannot, certainly,' said Mr. Pole, 'or his writings either. For my part I think the town has gone mad.'

'Well, you must confess,' said her ladyship, with a glance of triumph, 'that it was very lucky for us that I made him a Whig.'

'I cannot agree with you at all on that head,' said Mr. Pole. 'We certainly are not very popular at this moment, and I feel convinced that a connection with a person who attracts so much notice as Cadurcis unfortunately does, and whose opinions on morals and religion must be so offensive to the vast majority of the English public, must ultimately prove anything but advantageous to our party.'

'Oh! my dear Mr. Pole,' said her ladyship, in a tone of affected deprecation, 'think what a genius he is!'

'We have very different ideas of genius, Lady Monteagle, I suspect,' said her visitor.

'You cannot deny,' replied her ladyship, rising from her recumbent posture, with some animation, 'that he is a poet?'

'It is difficult to decide upon our contemporaries,' said Mr. Pole dryly.

'Charles Fox thinks he is the greatest poet that ever existed,' said her ladyship, as if she were determined to settle the question.

'Because he has written a lampoon on the royal family,' rejoined Mr. Pole.

'You are a very provoking person,' said Lady Monteagle; 'but you do not provoke me; do not flatter yourself you do.'

'That I feel to be an achievement alike beyond my power and my ambition,' replied Mr. Pole, slightly bowing, but with a sneer.

'Well, read this,' said Lady Monteagle, 'and then decide upon the merits of Cadurcis.'

Mr. Pole took the extended volume, but with no great willingness, and turned over a page or two and read a passage here and there.

'Much the same as his last effusion, I think' he observed, as far as I can judge from so cursory a review. Exaggerated passion, bombastic language, egotism to excess, and, which perhaps is the only portion that is genuine, mixed with common-place scepticism and impossible morals, and a sort of vague, dreamy philosophy, which, if it mean anything, means atheism, borrowed from his idol, Herbert, and which he himself evidently does not comprehend.'

'Monster!' exclaimed Lady Monteagle, with a mock assumption of indignation, 'and you are going to dine with him here to-day. You do not deserve it.'

'It is a reward which is unfortunately too often obtained by me,' replied Mr. Pole. 'One of the most annoying consequences of your friend's popularity, Lady Monteagle, is that there is not a dinner party where one can escape him. I met him yesterday at Fanshawe's. He amused himself by eating only biscuits, and calling for soda water, while we quaffed our Burgundy. How very original! What a thing it is to be a great poet!'

'Perverse, provoking mortal!' exclaimed Lady Monteagle. 'And on what should a poet live? On coarse food, like you coarse mortals? Cadurcis is all spirit, and in my opinion his diet only makes him more interesting.'

'I understand,' said Mr. Pole, 'that he cannot endure a woman to eat at all. But you are all spirit, Lady Monteagle, and therefore of course are not in the least inconvenienced. By-the-bye, do you mean to give us any of those charming little suppers this season?'

'I shall not invite you,' replied her ladyship; 'none but admirers of Lord Cadurcis enter this house.'

'Your menace effects my instant conversion,' replied Mr. Pole. 'I will admire him as much as you desire, only do not insist upon my reading his works.'

'I have not the