Kitobni o'qish: «Endymion», sahifa 22

“I suppose she wanted to be the Queen of Beauty,” said Berengaria.

“You are too severe, my dear lady. I think she would have been contented with a knight wearing her colours.”

“Well, I cannot help it,” said Berengaria, but somewhat doubtingly. And then, after a moment’s pause, “She is too ugly.”

“Why, she came to my fancy ball, and it is not five years ago, as Mary Queen of Scots!”

“That must have been after the Queen’s decapitation,” said Berengaria.

“I wonder you did not ask Zenobia,” said Mr. Wilton.

“Of course I asked her, but I knew she would not come. She is in one of her hatreds now. She said she would have come, only she had half-promised to give a ball to the tenants at Merrington about that time, and she did not like to disappoint them. Quite touching, was it not?”

“A touch beyond the reach of art,” said Mr. Wilton; “almost worthy of yourself, Lady Montfort.”

“And what do you think of all this?” asked Lord Montfort of Nigel Penruddock, who, in a cassock that swept the ground, had been stalking about the glittering salons like a prophet who had been ordained in Mayfair, but who had now seated himself by his host.

“I am thinking of what is beneath all this,” replied Nigel. “A great revivication. Chivalry is the child of the Church; it is the distinctive feature of Christian Europe. Had it not been for the revival of Church principles, this glorious pageant would never have occurred. But it is a pageant only to the uninitiated. There is not a ceremony, a form, a phrase, a costume, which is not symbolic of a great truth or a high purpose.”

“I do not think Lady Montfort is aware of all this,” said her lord.

“Oh yes!” said Nigel. “Lady Montfort is a great woman—a woman who could inspire crusades and create churches. She might, and she will, I trust, rank with the Helenas and the Matildas.”

Lord Montfort gave a little sound, but so gentle that it was heard probably but by himself, which in common language would be styled a whistle—an articulate modulation of the breath which in this instance expressed a sly sentiment of humorous amazement.

“Well, Mr. Ferrars,” said Mr. Neuchatel, with a laughing eye, to that young gentleman, as he encountered Endymion passing by, “and how are you getting on? Are we to see you to-morrow in a Milanese suit?”

“I am only a page,” said Endymion.

“Well, well, the old Italian saying is, ‘A page beats a knight,’ at least with the ladies.”

“Do you not think it very absurd,” said Endymion, “that the Count of Ferroll says he shall wear Lady Montfort’s colours? Lady Montfort is only the first lady of the Queen of Beauty, and she can wear no colours except the Queen’s. Do not you think somebody ought to interfere?”

“Hem! The Count of Ferroll is a man who seldom makes a mistake,” said Mr. Neuchatel.

“So everybody says,” said Endymion rather testily; “but I do not see that.”

“Now, you are a very young man,” said Mr. Neuchatel, “and I hope you will some day be a statesman. I do not see why you should not, if you are industrious and stick to your master, for Mr. Sidney Wilton is a man who will always rise; but, if I were you, I would keep my eyes very much on the Count of Ferroll, for, depend on it, he is one of those men who sooner or later will make a noise in the world.”

Adriana came up at this moment, leaning on the arm of the Knight of the Dolphin, better known as Regy Sutton. They came from the tea-room. Endymion moved away with a cloud on his brow, murmuring to himself, “I am quite sick of the name of the Count of Ferroll.”

The jousting-ground was about a mile from the castle, and though it was nearly encircled by vast and lofty galleries, it was impossible that accommodation could be afforded on this spot to the thousands who had repaired from many parts of the kingdom to the Montfort Tournament. But even a hundred thousand people could witness the procession from the castle to the scene of action. That was superb. The sun shone, and not one of the breathless multitude was disappointed.

There came a long line of men-at-arms and musicians and trumpeters and banner-bearers of the Lord of the Tournament, and heralds in tabards, and pursuivants, and then the Herald of the Tournament by himself, whom the people at first mistook for the Lord Mayor.

Then came the Knight Marshal on a caparisoned steed, himself in a suit of gilt armour, and in a richly embroidered surcoat. A band of halberdiers preceded the King of the Tournament, also on a steed richly caparisoned, and himself clad in robes of velvet and ermine, and wearing a golden crown.

Then on a barded Arab, herself dressed in cloth of gold, parti-coloured with violet and crimson, came, amidst tremendous cheering, the Queen of Beauty herself. Twelve attendants bore aloft a silken canopy, which did not conceal from the enraptured multitude the lustre of her matchless loveliness. Lady Montfort, Adriana, and four other attendant ladies, followed her majesty, two by two, each in gorgeous attire, and on a charger that vied in splendour with its mistress. Six pages followed next, in violet and silver.

The bells of a barded mule announced the Jester, who waved his sceptre with unceasing authority, and pelted the people with admirably prepared impromptus. Some in the crowd tried to enter into a competition of banter, but they were always vanquished.

Soon a large army of men-at-arms and the sounds of most triumphant music stopped the general laughter, and all became again hushed in curious suspense. The tallest and the stoutest of the Border men bore the gonfalon of the Lord of the Tournament. That should have been Lord Montfort himself; but he had deputed the office to his cousin and presumptive heir. Lord Montfort was well represented, and the people cheered his cousin Odo heartily, as in his suit of golden armour richly chased, and bending on his steed, caparisoned in blue and gold, he acknowledged their fealty with a proud reverence.

The other knights followed in order, all attended by their esquires and their grooms. Each knight was greatly applauded, and it was really a grand sight to see them on their barded chargers and in their panoply; some in suits of engraved Milanese armour, some in German suits of fluted polished steel; some in steel armour engraved and inlaid with gold. The Black Knight was much cheered, but no one commanded more admiration than Prince Florestan, in a suit of blue damascened armour, and inlaid with silver roses.

Every procession must end. It is a pity, for there is nothing so popular with mankind. The splendid part of the pageant had passed, but still the people gazed and looked as if they would have gazed for ever. The visitors at the castle, all in ancient costume, attracted much notice. Companies of swordsmen and bowmen followed, till at last the seneschal of the castle, with his chamberlains and servitors, closed the spell-bound scene.

CHAPTER LX

The jousting was very successful; though some were necessarily discomfited, almost every one contrived to obtain some distinction. But the two knights who excelled and vanquished every one except themselves were the Black Knight and the Knight of the White Rose. Their exploits were equal at the close of the first day, and on the second they were to contend for the principal prize of the tournament, for which none else were entitled to be competitors. This was a golden helm, to be placed upon the victor’s brow by the Queen of Beauty.

There was both a banquet and a ball on this day, and the excitement between the adventures of the morning and the prospects of the morrow was great. The knights, freed from their armour, appeared in fanciful dresses of many-coloured velvets. All who had taken part in the pageant retained their costumes, and the ordinary guests, if they yielded to mediaeval splendour, successfully asserted the taste of Paris and its sparkling grace, in their exquisite robes, and wreaths and garlands of fantastic loveliness.

Berengaria, full of the inspiration of success, received the smiling congratulations of everybody, and repaid them with happy suggestions, which she poured forth with inexhaustible yet graceful energy. The only person who had a gloomy air was Endymion. She rallied him. “I shall call you the Knight of the Woeful Countenance if you approach me with such a visage. What can be the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” repeated Endymion, looking rather away.

The Knight of the Dolphin came up and said, “This is a critical affair to-morrow, my dear Lady Montfort. If the Count Ferroll is discomfited by the prince, it may be a casus belli. You ought to get Lord Roehampton to interfere and prevent the encounter.”

“The Count of Ferroll will not be discomfited,” said Lady Montfort. “He is one of those men who never fail.”

“Well, I do not know,” said the Knight of the Dolphin musingly. “The prince has a stout lance, and I have felt it.”

“He had the best of it this morning,” said Endymion rather bitterly. “Every one thought so, and that it was very fortunate for the Count of Ferroll that the heralds closed the lists.”

“It might have been fortunate for others,” rejoined Lady Montfort. “What is the general opinion?” she added, addressing the Knight of the Dolphin. “Do not go away, Mr. Ferrars. I want to give you some directions about to-morrow.”

“I do not think I shall be at the place to-morrow,” muttered Endymion.

“What!” exclaimed Berengaria; but at this moment Mr. Sidney Wilton came up and said, “I have been looking at the golden helm. It is entrusted to my care as King of the Tournament. It is really so beautiful, that I think I shall usurp it.”

“You will have to settle that with the Count of Ferroll,” said Berengaria.

“The betting is about equal,” said the Knight of the Dolphin.

“Well, we must have some gloves upon it,” said Berengaria.

Endymion walked away.

He walked away, and the first persons that met his eye were the prince and the Count of Ferroll in conversation. It was sickening. They seemed quite gay, and occasionally examined together a paper which the prince held in his hand, and which was an official report by the heralds of the day’s jousting. This friendly conversation might apparently have gone on for ever had not the music ceased and the count been obliged to seek his partner for the coming dance.

“I wonder you can speak to him,” said Endymion, going up to the prince. “If the heralds had not—many think, too hastily—closed the lists this morning, you would have been the victor of the day.”

“My dear child! what can you mean?” said the prince. “I believe everything was closed quite properly, and as for myself, I am entirely satisfied with my share of the day’s success.”

“If you had thrown him,” said Endymion, “he could not with decency have contended for the golden helm.”

“Oh! that is what you deplore,” said the prince. “The Count of Ferroll and I shall have to contend for many things more precious than golden helms before we die.”

“I believe he is a very overrated man,” said Endymion.

“Why?” said the prince.

“I detest him,” said Endymion.

“That is certainly a reason why you should not overrate him,” said the prince.

“There seems a general conspiracy to run him up,” said Endymion with pique.

“The Count of Ferroll is the man of the future,” said the prince calmly.

“That is what Mr. Neuchatel said to me yesterday. I suppose he caught it from you.”

“It is an advantage, a great advantage, for me to observe the Count of Ferroll in this intimate society,” said the prince, speaking slowly, “perhaps even to fathom him. But I am not come to that yet. He is a man neither to love nor to detest. He has himself an intelligence superior to all passion, I might say all feeling; and if, in dealing with such a being, we ourselves have either, we give him an advantage.”

“Well, all the same, I hope you will win the golden helm to-morrow,” said Endymion, looking a little perplexed.

“The golden casque that I am ordained to win,” said the prince, “is not at Montfort Castle. This, after all, is but Mambrino’s helmet.”

A knot of young dandies were discussing the chances of the morrow as Endymion was passing by, and as he knew most of them he joined the group.

“I hope to heaven,” said one, “that the Count of Ferroll will beat that foreign chap to-morrow; I hate foreigners.”

“So do I,” said a second, and there was a general murmur of assent.

“The Count of Ferroll is as much a foreigner as the prince,” said Endymion rather sharply.

“Oh! I don’t call him a foreigner at all,” said the first speaker. “He is a great favourite at White’s; no one rides cross country like him, and he is a deuced fine shot in the bargain.”

“I will back Prince Florestan against him either in field or cover,” said Endymion.

“Well, I don’t know your friend,” said the young gentleman contemptuously, “so I cannot bet.”

“I am sure your friend, Lady Montfort, my dear Dymy, will back the Count of Ferroll,” lisped a third young gentleman.

This completed the programme of mortification, and Endymion, hot and then cold, and then both at the same time, bereft of repartee, and wishing the earth would open and Montfort Castle disappear in its convulsed bosom, stole silently away as soon as practicable, and wandered as far as possible from the music and the bursts of revelry.

These conversations had taken place in the chief saloon, which was contiguous to the ball-room, and which was nearly as full of guests. Endymion, moving in the opposite direction, entered another drawing-room, where the population was sparse. It consisted of couples apparently deeply interested in each other. Some faces were radiant, and some pensive and a little agitated, but they all agreed in one expression, that they took no interest whatever in the solitary Endymion. Even their whispered words were hushed as he passed by, and they seemed, with their stony, unsympathising glance, to look upon him as upon some inferior being who had intruded into their paradise. In short, Endymion felt all that embarrassment, mingled with a certain portion of self contempt, which attends the conviction that we are what is delicately called de trop.

He advanced and took refuge in another room, where there was only a single, and still more engrossed pair; but this was even more intolerable to him. Shrinking from a return to the hostile chamber he had just left, he made a frantic rush forward with affected ease and alacrity, and found himself alone in the favourite morning room of Lady Montfort.

He threw himself on a sofa, and hid his face in his hand, and gave a sigh, which was almost a groan. He was sick at heart; his extremities were cold, his brain was feeble. All hope, and truly all thought of the future, deserted him. He remembered only the sorrowful, or the humiliating, chapters in his life. He wished he had never left Hurstley. He wished he had been apprenticed to Farmer Thornberry, that he had never quitted his desk at Somerset House, and never known more of life than Joe’s and the Divan. All was vanity and vexation of spirit. He contemplated finishing his days in the neighbouring stream, in which, but a few days ago, he was bathing in health and joy.

Time flew on; he was unconscious of its course; no one entered the room, and he wished never to see a human face again, when a voice sounded, and he heard his name.

“Endymion!”

He looked up; it was Lady Montfort. He did not speak, but gave her, perhaps unconsciously, a glance of reproach and despair.

“What is the matter with you?” she said.

“Nothing.”

“That is nonsense. Something must have happened. I have missed you so long, but was determined to find you. Have you a headache?”

“No.”

“Come back; come back with me. It is so odd. My lord has asked for you twice.”

“I want to see no one.”

“Oh! but this is absurd—and on a day like this, when every thing has been so successful, and every one is so happy.”

“I am not happy, and I am not successful.”

“You perfectly astonish me,” said Lady Montfort; “I shall begin to believe that you have not so sweet a temper as I always supposed.”

“It matters not what my temper is.”

“I think it matters a great deal. I like, above all things, to live with good-tempered people.”

“I hope you may not be disappointed. My temper is my own affair, and I am content always to be alone.”

“Why! you are talking nonsense, Endymion.”

“Probably; I do not pretend to be gifted. I am not one of those gentlemen who cannot fail. I am not the man of the future.”

“Well! I never was so surprised in my life,” exclaimed Lady Montfort. “I never will pretend to form an opinion of human character again. Now, my dear Endymion, rouse yourself, and come back with me. Give me your arm. I cannot stay another moment; I dare say I have already been wanted a thousand times.”

“I cannot go back,” said Endymion; “I never wish to see anybody again. If you want an arm, there is the Count of Ferroll, and I hope you may find he has a sweeter temper than I have.”

Lady Montfort looked at him with a strange and startled glance. It was a mixture of surprise, a little disdain, some affection blended with mockery. And then exclaiming “Silly boy!” she swept out of the room.

CHAPTER LXI

“I do not like the prospect of affairs,” said Mr. Sidney Wilton to Endymion as they were posting up to London from Montfort Castle; a long journey, but softened in those days by many luxuries, and they had much to talk about.

“The decline of the revenue is not fitful; it is regular. Our people are too apt to look at the state of the revenue merely in a financial point of view. If a surplus, take off taxes; if a deficiency, put them on. But the state of the revenue should also be considered as the index of the condition of the population. According to my impression, the condition of the people is declining; and why? because they are less employed. If this spreads, they will become discontented and disaffected, and I cannot help remembering that, if they become troublesome, it is our office that will have to deal with them.”

“This bad harvest is a great misfortune,” said Endymion.

“Yes, but a bad harvest, though unquestionably a great, perhaps the greatest, misfortune for this country, is not the entire solution of our difficulties—I would say, our coming difficulties. A bad harvest touches the whole of our commercial system: it brings us face to face with the corn laws. I wish our chief would give his mind to that subject. I believe a moderate fixed duty of about twelve shillings a quarter would satisfy every one, and nothing then could shake this country.”

Endymion listened with interest to other views of his master, who descanted on them at much length. Private secretaries know everything about their chiefs, and Endymion was not ignorant that among many of the great houses of the Whig party, and indeed among the bulk of what was called “the Liberal” party generally, Mr. Sidney Wilton was looked upon, so far as economical questions were concerned, as very crotchety, indeed a dangerous character. Lord Montfort was the only magnate who was entirely opposed to the corn laws, but then, as Berengaria would remark, “Simon is against all laws; he is not a practical man.”

Mr. Sidney Wilton reverted to these views more than once in the course of their journey. “I was not alarmed about the Chartists last year. Political trouble in this country never frightens me. Insurrections and riots strengthen an English government; they gave a new lease even to Lord Liverpool when his ministry was most feeble and unpopular; but economical discontent is quite another thing. The moment sedition arises from taxation, or want of employment, it is more dangerous and more difficult to deal with in this country than any other.”

“Lord Roehampton seemed to take rather a sanguine view of the situation after the Bed-Chamber business in the spring,” observed Endymion, rather in an inquiring than a dogmatic spirit.

“Lord Roehampton has other things to think of,” said Mr. Wilton. “He is absorbed, and naturally absorbed, in his department, the most important in the state, and of which he is master. But I am obliged to look at affairs nearer home. Now, this Anti-Corn-Law League, which they established last year at Manchester, and which begins to be very busy, though nobody at present talks of it, is, in my mind, a movement which ought to be watched. I tell you what; it occurred to me more than once during that wondrous pageant, that we have just now been taking part in, the government wants better information than they have as to the state of the country, the real feelings and condition of the bulk of the population. We used to sneer at the Tories for their ignorance of these matters, but after all, we, like them, are mainly dependent on quarter sessions; on the judgment of a lord-lieutenant and the statistics of a bench of magistrates. It is true we have introduced into our subordinate administration at Whitehall some persons who have obtained the reputation of distinguished economists, and we allow them to guide us. But though ingenious men, no doubt, they are chiefly bankrupt tradesmen, who, not having been able to manage their own affairs, have taken upon themselves to advise on the conduct of the country—pedants and prigs at the best, and sometimes impostors. No; this won’t do. It is useless to speak to the chief; I did about the Anti-Corn-Law League; he shrugged his shoulders and said it was a madness that would pass. I have made up my mind to send somebody, quite privately, to the great scenes of national labour. He must be somebody whom nobody knows, and nobody suspects of being connected with the administration, or we shall never get the truth—and the person I have fixed upon is yourself.”

“But am I equal to such a task?” said Endymion modestly, but sincerely.

“I think so,” said Mr. Wilton, “or, of course, I would not have fixed upon you. I want a fresh and virgin intelligence to observe and consider the country. It must be a mind free from prejudice, yet fairly informed on the great questions involved in the wealth of nations. I know you have read Adam Smith, and not lightly. Well, he is the best guide, though of course we must adapt his principles to the circumstances with which we have to deal. You have good judgment, great industry, a fairly quick perception, little passion—perhaps hardly enough; but that is probably the consequence of the sorrows and troubles of early life. But, after all, there is no education like adversity.”

“If it will only cease at the right time,” said Endymion.

“Well, in that respect, I do not think you have anything to complain of,” said Mr. Wilton. “The world is all before you, and I mistake if you do not rise. Perseverance and tact are the two qualities most valuable for all men who would mount, but especially for those who have to step out of the crowd. I am sure no one can say you are not assiduous, but I am glad always to observe that you have tact. Without tact you can learn nothing. Tact teaches you when to be silent. Inquirers who are always inquiring never learn anything.”