Lothair Part 21

"What! to serve G.o.d and save society? Do you doubt it? Have you read the 'Declaration of Geneva?' They have declared war against the Church, the state, and the domestic principle. All the great truths and laws on which the family reposes are denounced. Have you seen Garibaldi's letter? When it was read, and spoke of the religion of G.o.d being propagated throughout the world, there was a universal cry of 'No, no!

no religion!' But the religion of G.o.d was soon so explained as to allay all their fears. It is the religion of science. Instead of Adam, our ancestry is traced to the most grotesque of creatures, thought is phosphorus, the soul complex nerves, and our moral sense a secretion of sugar. Do you want these views in England? Rest a.s.sured they are coming.

And how are we to contend against them? Only by Divine truth. And where is Divine truth? In the Church of Christ--in the gospel of order, peace, and purity."

Lothair rose, and paced the room with his eyes on the ground.

"I wish I had been born in the middle ages," he exclaimed, "or on the sh.o.r.es of the Sea of Galilee, or in some other planet: anywhere, or at any time, but in this country and in this age!"

"That thought is not worthy of you, my lord," said Catesby. "It is a great privilege to live in this country and in this age. It is a great privilege, in the mighty contest between the good and the evil principle, to combat for the righteous. They stand face to face now, as they have stood before. There is Christianity, which, by revealing the truth, has limited the license of human reason; there is that human reason which resists revelation as a bondage--which insists upon being atheistical, or polytheistical, or pantheistical--which looks upon the requirements of obedience, justice, truth, and purity, as limitations of human freedom. It is to the Church that G.o.d has committed the custody and execution of His truth and law. The Church, as witness, teacher, and judge, contradicts and offends the spirit of license to the quick. This is why it is hated; this is why it is to be destroyed, and why they are preparing a future of rebellion, tyranny, falsehood, and degrading debauchery. The Church alone can save us, and you are asked to supplicate the Almighty to-night, under circ.u.mstances of deep hope, to favor the union of churchmen, and save the human race from the impending deluge."

Lothair threw himself again into his seat and sighed. "I am rather indisposed today, my dear monsignore, which is unusual with me, and scarcely equal to such a theme, doubtless of the deepest interest to me and to all. I myself wish, as you well know, that all mankind were praying under the same roof. I shall continue in seclusion this morning.

Perhaps you will permit me to think over what you have said with so much beauty and force."

"I had forgotten that I had a letter to deliver to you," said Catesby; and he drew from his breast-pocket a note which he handed to Lothair, who opened it quite unconscious of the piercing and even excited observation of his companion.

Lothair read the letter with a changing countenance, and then he read it again and blushed deeply. The letter was from Miss Arundel. After a slight pause, without looking up, he said, "Nine o'clock is the hour, I believe."

"Yes," said the monsignore rather eagerly, "but, were I you, I would be earlier than that. I would order my carnage at eight. If you will permit me, I will order it for you. You are not quite well. It will save you some little trouble, people coming into the room and all that, and the cardinal will be there by eight o'clock."

"Thank you," said Lothair; "have the kindness then, my dear monsignore, to order my brougham for me at half-past eight and just say that I can see no one. Adieu!"

And the priest glided away.

Lothair remained the whole morning in a most troubled state, pacing his rooms, leaning sometimes with his arm upon the mantel-piece, and his face buried in his arm, and often he sighed. About half-past five he rang for his valet and, dressed, and in another hour he broke his fast--a little soup, a cutlet, and a gla.s.s or two of claret. And then he looked at his watch; and he looked at his watch every five minutes for the next hour.

He was in deep reverie, when the servant announced that his carriage was ready. He started as from a dream, then pressed his hand to his eyes, and kept it there for some moments, and then, exclaiming, "Jacta est alea," he descended the stairs.

"Where to, my lord?" inquired the servant when he had entered the carriage.

Lothair seemed to hesitate, and then he said, "To Belmont."

CHAPTER 31

"Belmont is the only house I know that is properly lighted," said Mr.

Phoebus, and he looked with complacent criticism round the brilliant saloons. "I would not visit any one who had gas in his house; but even in palaces I find lamps--it is too dreadful. When they came here first, there was an immense chandelier suspended in each of these rooms, pulling down the ceilings, dwarfing the apartments, leaving the guests all in darkness, and throwing all the light on the roof. The chandelier is the great abomination of furniture; it makes a n.o.ble apartment look small. And then they say you cannot light rooms without chandeliers!

Look at these--need any thing be more brilliant? And all the light in the right place--on those who are in the chamber. All light should come from the side of a room, and if you choose to have candelabra like these you can always secure sufficient."

Theodora was seated on a sofa, in conversation with a lady of distinguished mien and with the countenance of a Roman empress. There were various groups in the room, standing or seated. Colonel Campian was attending a lady to the piano where a celebrity presided, a gentleman with cropped head and a long black beard. The lady was of extraordinary beauty--one of those faces one encounters in Asia Minor, rich, glowing, with dark fringed eyes of tremulous l.u.s.tre; a figure scarcely less striking, of voluptuous symmetry. Her toilet was exquisite--perhaps a little too splendid for the occasion, but abstractedly of fine taste--and she held, as she sang, a vast bouquet entirely of white stove-flowers. The voice was as sweet as the stephanopolis, and the execution faultless. It seemed the perfection of chamber-singing--no shrieks and no screams, none of those agonizing experiments which result from the fatal compet.i.tion of rival prima-donnas.

She was singing when Lothair was ushered in. Theodora rose and greeted him with friendliness. Her glance was that of gratification at his arrival, but the performance prevented any conversation save a few kind remarks interchanged in a hashed tone. Colonel Campian came up: he seemed quite delighted at renewing his acquaintance with Lothair, and began to talk rather too loudly, which made some of the gentlemen near the piano turn round with glances of wondering reproach. This embarra.s.sed his newly-arrived guest, who in his distress caught the bow of a lady who recognized him, and whom he instantly remembered as Mrs.

Putney Giles. There was a vacant chair by her side, and he was glad to occupy it.

"Who is that lady?" inquired Lothair of his companion, when the singing ceased.

"That is Madame Phoebus," said Mrs. Giles.

"Madame Phoebus!" exclaimed Lothair, with an unconscious feeling of some relief. "She is a very beautiful woman. Who was she?"

"She is a Cantacuzene, a daughter of the famous Greek merchant. The Cantcuzenes, you know, are great people, descendants of the Greek emperors. Her uncle is prince of Samos. Mr. Cantacuzene was very much opposed to the match, but I think quite wrong. Mr. Phoebus is a most distinguished man, and the alliance is of the happiest. Never was such mutual devotion."

"I am not surprised," said Lothair, wonderfully relieved.

"Her sister Euphrosyne is in the room," continued Mrs. Giles, "the most extraordinary resemblance to her. There is just the difference between the matron and the maiden; that is all. They are nearly of the same age, and before the marriage might have been mistaken for each other.

The most charming thing in the world is to hear the two sisters sing together. I hope they may to-night. I know the family very well. It was Mrs. Cantacuzene who introduced me to Theodora. You know it is quite en r gle to call her Theodora. All the men call her Theodora; 'the divine Theodora' is, I believe, the right thing."

"And do you call her Theodora?" asked Lothair, rather dryly.

"Why, no," said Mrs. Giles, a little confused. "We are not intimate, at least not very, Ms. Campian has been at my house, and I have been here two et three times; not so often as I could wish, for Mr. Giles, you see, does not like servants and horses to be used on Sundays--and no more do I--and on weekdays he is too much engaged or too tired to come out this distance; so you see--"

The singing had ceased, and Theodora approached them. Addressing Lothair, she said: "The Princess of Tivoli wishes that you should be presented to her."

The Princess of Tivoli was a Roman dame of one of the most ill.u.s.trious houses, but who now lived at Paris. She had in her time taken an active part in Italian politics, and had sacrificed to the cause to which she was devoted the larger part of a large fortune. What had been spared, however, permitted her to live in the French capital with elegance, if not with splendor; and her saloon was the gathering roof, in Paris, of almost every one who was celebrated for genius or accomplishments.

Though reputed to be haughty and capricious, she entertained for Theodora an even pa.s.sionate friends.h.i.+p, and now visited England only to see her.

"Madame Campian has been telling me of all the kind things you did for her at Oxford," said the princess. "Some day you must show me Oxford, but it must be next year. I very much admire the free university life.

Tell me now, at Oxford you still have the Protestant religion?"

Lothair ventured to bow a.s.sent.

"Ah! that is well," continued the princess. "I advise you to keep it. If we had only had the Protestant religion in Italy, things would have been very different. You are fortunate in this country in having the Protestant religion and a real n.o.bility. Tell me now, in your const.i.tution, if the father sits in the Upper Chamber, the son sits in the Lower House--that I know; but is there any majorat at attached to his seat?"

"Not at present."

"You sit in the Lower House, of course?"

"I am not old enough to sit in either House," said Lothair, "but when I am of age, which I shall be when I have the honor of showing Oxford to your highness, I must sit in the Upper House, for I have not the blessing of a living father."

"Ah! that is a great thing in your country," exclaimed the princess, "a man being his own master at so early an age."

"I thought it was a 'heritage of woe,'" said Lothair.

"No, no," said the princess; "the only tolerable thing in life is action, and action is feeble without youth. What if you do not obtain your immediate object?--you always think you will, and the detail of the adventure is full of rapture. And thus it is the blunders of youth are preferable to the triumphs of manhood, or the successes of old age."

"Well, it will be a consolation for me to remember this when I am in a sc.r.a.pe," said Lothair.

"Oh! you have many, many sc.r.a.pes awaiting you," said the princess.

"You may look forward to at least ten years of blunders--that is, illusions--that is, happiness. Fortunate young man!"

Theodora had, without appearing to intend it, relinquished her seat to Lothair, who continued his conversation with the princess, whom he liked, but who, he was sorry to hear, was about to leave England, and immediately--that very night. "Yes," she said, "it is my last act of devotion. You know, in my country we have saints and shrines. All Italians, they say, are fond, are superst.i.tious; my pilgrimage is to Theodora. I must come and wors.h.i.+p her once a year."

A gentleman bowed lowly to the princess, who returned his salute with pleased alacrity. "Do you know who that is?" said the princess to Lothair. "That is Baron Gozelius, one of our great reputations. He must have just arrived. II will present you to him; it is always agreeable to know a great man," she added--"at least Goethe says so!"

The philosopher, at her invitation, took a chair opposite the sofa.

Though a profound man, he had all the vivacity and pa.s.sion which are generally supposed to be peculiar to the superficial. He had remarkable conversational power, which he never spared. Lothair was captivated by his eloquence, his striking observations, his warmth, and the flas.h.i.+ng of his southern eye.

"Baron Gozelius agrees with your celebrated pastor, Dr. c.u.mming," said Theodora, with a tinge of demure sarcasm, "and believes that the end of the world is at hand."