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 L I B R.ARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVER5ITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 82.3 
 B3St 
 
 1847 
 
 M 
 
 ■^m 
 
The person charging this material is re- 
 sponsible for its return to the library from 
 which it was withdrawn on or before the 
 Latest Date stamped below. 
 
 Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books 
 are reasons for disciplinary action and may 
 result in dismissal from the University. 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
 DEC 15 
 
 '.. ^•l^ \ 
 
 J 
 
yA. 
 
TANCEED: 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE NEW C R U S A D E 
 
 BY 
 
 B. DISEAELT, M.P. 
 
 AUTHOR OF " COMNGSBY," " SYBIL," ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDOX: 
 HENRY COLBURX, PUBLISHER, 
 
 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1847. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/tancredornewcrus01dis 
 
6 55-^ 
 
 \9 
 
 hA 
 
 1- 
 
 TANCRED 
 
 THE NEW CRUSADE, 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In that part of the celebrated parish of 
 
 St. George, which is bounded on one side by 
 
 Piccadilly and on the other by Curzon Street, 
 
 ■^ is a district of a peculiar character. 'Tis a 
 
 -^cluster of small streets of little houses, fre- 
 
 -5 quently intersected by mews, which here are 
 
 numerous, and sometimes gradually, rather 
 
 \ than abruptly, terminating in a ramification 
 
 f^ of those mysterious regions. Sometimes a 
 
 group of courts develops itself, and you may 
 
 q; even chance to find your way into a small 
 
 VOL. I. ^^ B 
 
2 TANCRED. 
 
 market-place. Those, however, who are ac- 
 customed to connect these hidden residences 
 of the humble with scenes of misery and 
 characters of violence, need not apprehend 
 in this district any appeal to their sympa- 
 thies, or any shock to their tastes. All 
 is extremely genteel; and there is almost as 
 much repose as in the golden saloons of the 
 contiguous palaces. At any rate, if there be 
 as much vice, there is as little crime. 
 
 No sight or sound can be seen or heard at 
 any hour, which could pain the most precise or 
 the most fastidious. Even if a chance oath 
 may float on the air from a stable-yard to the 
 lodging of a French cook, 'tis of the newest 
 fashion, and, if responded to with less of novel 
 charm, the repartee is at least conveyed in the 
 language of the most polite of nations. They 
 bet upon the Derby in these parts a little, are 
 interested in Goodwood which they frequent, 
 have perhaps, in general, a weakness for play, 
 live highly, and indulge those passions which 
 luxury and refinement encourage ; but that is all. 
 
 A policeman would as soon think of recon- 
 
TANCRED. 6 
 
 noitring these secluded streets as of walk- 
 ing into a house in Park Lane or Berkeley 
 Square, to which, in fact, this population in a 
 great measure belongs. For here reside the 
 wives of house-stewards and of butlers in 
 tenements furnished by the honest savings of 
 their husbands, and let in lodgings to increase 
 their swelling incomes ; here dwells the retired 
 servant, who now devotes his practised energies 
 to the occasional festival, which, with his 
 accumulations in the three per cents., or in one 
 of the public houses of the quarter, secures 
 him at the same time an easy living, and the 
 casual enjoyment of that great world which 
 lingers in his memory. Here may be found his 
 grace's coachman, and here his lordship's 
 groom, who keeps a book and bleeds periodically 
 too speculative footmen, by betting odds on his 
 master's horses. But above all, it is in this dis- 
 trict that the cooks have ever sought a favourite 
 and elegant abode. An air of stillness and 
 serenity, of exhausted passions and suppressed 
 emotion, rather than of sluggishness and of dul- 
 ness, distinguishes this quarter during the day. 
 b2 
 
4 TANCRED. 
 
 When you turn from the vitality and 
 brightness of Piccadilly, the park, the palace, 
 the terraced mansions, the sparkling equipages, 
 the cavaliers cantering up the hill, the swarm- 
 ing multitude, and enter the region of which 
 we are speaking, the effect is at first almost 
 unearthly. ]S"ot a carriage, not a horseman, 
 scarcely a passenger ; there seems some great 
 and sudden collapse in the metropolitan sys- 
 tem, as if a pest had been announced, or 
 an enemy were expected in alarm by a van- 
 quished capital. The approach from Curzon 
 Street has not this effect. Hyde Park has 
 still about it something of Arcadia. There 
 are woods and waters, and the occasional 
 illusion of an illimitable distance of sylvan 
 joyance. The spirit is allured to gentle 
 thoughts as we wander in what is still really a 
 lane, and, turning down Stanhope Street, be- 
 hold that house which the great Lord Chester- 
 field tells us, in one of his letters, he was 
 *' building among the fields." The cawing of the 
 rooks in his gardens sustains the tone of mind, 
 and, Curzon Street, after a long, straggling, 
 
TANCRED. 5 
 
 sawney course, ceasing to be a thoroughfare, and 
 losing itself in the gardens of another palace, 
 is quite in keeping with all the accessaries. 
 
 In the night, however, the quarter of which 
 we are speaking is alive. The manners of 
 the population follow those of their masters. 
 They keep late hours. The banquet and the 
 ball dismiss them to their homes at a time 
 when the trades of ordinary regions move in 
 their last sleep, and dream of opening shut- 
 ters and decking the windows of their shops. 
 At night, the chariot whirls round the frequent 
 corners of these little streets, and the opening 
 valves of the mews vomit forth their les^ion of 
 broughams. At night, too, the footman, taking 
 advantage of a ball at Holdernesse or a con- 
 cert at Lansdowne House, and, knowing that, 
 in either instance, the link-boy will answer 
 when necessary for his summoned name, 
 ventures to look in at his club, reads the 
 paper, talks of his master or his mistress, and 
 perhaps throws a main. The shops of this dis- 
 trict, depending almost entirely for their cus- 
 tom on the classes we have indicated, and kept 
 
6 TANCRED. 
 
 often by their relations, follow the order of the 
 place, and are most busy when other places of 
 business are closed. 
 
 A gusty March morning had subsided into 
 a sunshiny afternoon, nearly two years ago, 
 when a young man, slender, above the middle 
 height, with a physiognomy thoughtful yet 
 delicate, his brown hair worn long, slight 
 whiskers, on his chin a tuft, knocked at the 
 door of a house in Carrington Street, May 
 Fair. His mien and his costume denoted a 
 character of the class of artists. He wore a 
 pair of green trowsers, braided with a black 
 stripe down their sides, puckered towards the 
 waist, yet fitting with considerable precision 
 to the boot of French leather that enclosed a 
 well-formed foot. His waistcoat was of maroon 
 velvet, displaying a steel watch-chain of re- 
 fined manufacture, and a black satin cravat, 
 with a coral brooch. His bright blue frock- 
 coat was frogged and braided like his trowsers. 
 As the knocker fell from the primrose-coloured 
 glove that screened his hand, he uncovered, 
 and passing his fingers rapidly through his 
 
TANCRED. 7 
 
 hair, resumed his new silk hat, which he 
 placed rather on one side of his head. 
 
 " Ah! Mr. Leander, is it you?" exclaimed 
 a pretty girl, who opened the door, and blushed. 
 
 '' And how is the good papa, Eugenie? Is 
 he at home? For I want to see him much." 
 
 " I will show you up to him at once, Mr. 
 Leander, for he will be very happy to see you. 
 We have been thinking of hearing of you," 
 she added, talking as she ushered her guest up 
 the narrow staircase. " The good papa has a 
 little cold : 'tis not much, I hope ; caught at 
 Sir Wallinger's, a large dinner; they would 
 have the kitchen windows open, which spoilt 
 all the entrees, and papa got a cold; but I 
 think, perhaps, it is as much vexation as any- 
 thing else ; you know, if anything goes wrong, 
 especially with the entrees " 
 
 " He feels as a great artist must," said 
 Leander, finishing her sentence. " However, 
 I am not sorry at this moment to find him a 
 prisoner, for I am pressed to see him. It is 
 only this morning that I have returned from 
 Mr. Coningsby's at Hellingsley — the house full, 
 
8 TANCRED. 
 
 forty covers every day, and some judges. One 
 does not grudge one's labour if we are appre- 
 ciated," added Leander; " but I have had my 
 troubles. One of my marmitons has disap- 
 pointed me ; I thought I had a genius, but on 
 the third day he lost his head ; and had it not 
 been — Ah ! good papa," he exclaimed, as the 
 door opened, and he came forward and warmly 
 shook the hand of a portly man, advanced 
 in middle life, sitting in an easy chair, with 
 a glass of sugared water by his side, and read- 
 ing a French newspaper in his chamber robe, 
 and with a white cotton nightcap on his 
 head. 
 
 " Ah ! my child," said Papa Prevost, "is it 
 you ? You see me a prisoner ; Eugenie has 
 told you; a dinner at a merchant's; dressed 
 
 in a draught ; everything spoiled, and I " 
 
 and sighing, Papa Prevost sipped his eau 
 sucree. 
 
 " We have all our troubles," said Leander, 
 in a consoling tone; " but we will not speak 
 now of vexations. I have just come from 
 the country ; Daubuz has written to me twice ; 
 
TANCRED. y 
 
 he was at m j house last night ; I found him on 
 my steps this morning. There is a grand 
 affair on the tapis. The son of the Duke of 
 Bellamont comes of age at Easter; it is to be 
 a business of the thousand and one nights; 
 the whole county to be feasted. Camacho's 
 wedding will do for the peasantry; roasted 
 oxen, and a capon in every platter, with some 
 fountains of ale and good Porto. Our mar- 
 mitons, too, can easily serve the provincial 
 noblesse; but there is to be a party at the 
 Castle of double cream; princes of the blood, 
 high relatives and grandees of the Golden 
 Fleece. The Duke's cook is not equal to the 
 occasion. 'Tis an hereditary chef who gives 
 dinners of the time of the continental blockade. 
 They have written to Daubuz to send them 
 the first artist of the age," said Leander; 
 " and," added he, with some hesitation, " Dau- 
 buz has wTitten to me." 
 
 '' And he did quite right, my child," said 
 
 Prevost, " for there is not a man in Europe 
 
 that is your equal, ^liat do they say? That 
 
 Abreu rivals you in flavour, and that Gaillard 
 
 b3 
 
10 TANCRED. 
 
 has not less invention. But who can combine 
 gout with new combinations? 'Tis yourself, 
 Leander; and there is no question, though 
 you have only twenty-five years, that you are 
 the chef of the age." 
 
 '' You are always very good to me, sir," said 
 Leander, bending his head with great respect ; 
 " and I will not deny, that to be famous when 
 you are young is the fortune of the gods. 
 But we must never forget that I had an ad- 
 vantage which Abreu and Gaillard had not, 
 and that I was your pupil." 
 
 " I hope that I have not injured you," said 
 Papa Prevost, with an air of proud self-con- 
 tent. '' What you learned from me came at 
 least from a good school. It is something to 
 have served under Napoleon," added Prevost, 
 with the grand air of the Imperial kitchen. 
 *' Had it not been for Waterloo, I should have 
 had the cross. But the Bourbons and the 
 cooks of the empire never could understand 
 each other. They brought over an emigrant 
 chef, who did not- comprehend the taste of the 
 age. He wished to bring everything back to 
 
TA^XTvED. H 
 
 the time of the ceil de hceuf. TThen Monsieur 
 passed my soup of Austerlitz untasted, I knew 
 the old family was doomed. But we gossip. 
 You wished to consult me?'' 
 
 " I want not only your advice, but your 
 assistance. This affair of the Duke of Bella- 
 mont's requires all our energies. I hope you 
 will accompany me; and, indeed, we must 
 muster all our forces. It is not to be denied 
 that there is a want, not only of genius, but 
 of men, in our art. The cooks are like the 
 civil engineers : since the middle class have 
 taken to giving dinners, the demand exceeds 
 the supply." 
 
 *' There is Andrien," said Papa Prevost, 
 *' you had some hopes of him?" 
 
 " He is too young ; I took him to Hellingsley, 
 and he lost his head on the third dav. I en- 
 trusted the soufflees to him, and, but for the 
 most desperate personal exertions, all would 
 have been lost. It was an affair of the bridge 
 of Areola." 
 
 " Ah I mon Dieu ! those are moments I" ex- 
 claimed Prevost. " Gaillard and Abreu will not 
 
12 TANCRED. 
 
 serve under you, eh ? And if they would, they 
 could not be trusted. They would betray 
 you at the tenth hour." 
 
 " What I want are generals of division, not 
 commanders in chief. Abreu is sufficiently bon 
 gar(5on, but he has taken an engagement with 
 Monsieur de Sidonia, and is not permitted to 
 go out." 
 
 " With Monsieur de Sidonia ! You once 
 thought of that, my Leander. And what is 
 his salary?" 
 
 " Not too much ; four hundred, and some 
 perquisites. It would not suit me; besides, I 
 will take no engagement but with a crowned 
 head. But Abreu likes travelling, and he has 
 his own carriage, which pleases him." 
 
 " There are Philippon and Dumoreau," said 
 Prevost; "they are very safe." 
 
 " I was thinking of them," said Leander, 
 " they are safe — under you. And there is an 
 Englishman, Smit, he is chef at Sir Stanley's, 
 but his master is away at this moment. He 
 has talent." 
 
 " Yourself, four chefs, with your marmitons, 
 it would do," said Prevost. 
 
TANCRED. 13 
 
 " For the kitchen," said Leander ; " but who 
 is to dress the tables?" 
 
 " A— h!" exclaimed Papa Prevost, shaking 
 his head. 
 
 *' Daubuz's head man, Trenton, is the only 
 one I could trust ; and he wants fancy, though 
 his style is broad and bold. He made a pyra- 
 mid of pines relieved with grapes without 
 destroying the outline, very good, this last 
 week, at Hellingsley. But Trenton has been 
 upset on the raih'oad, and much injured. 
 Even if he recover, his hand will tremble so 
 for the next month that I could have no con- 
 fidence in him." 
 
 " Perhaps you might find some one at the 
 Duke's ?" 
 
 " Out of the question!" said Leander; "I 
 make it always a condition that the head of 
 every department shall be appointed by myself. 
 I take Pellerini with me for the confectionary. 
 How often have I seen the efiect of a first-rate 
 dinner spoiled by a vulgar dessert; laid flat 
 on the table, for example, or with ornaments 
 that look as if they had been hired at a pastry- 
 cook's: triumphal arches, and Chinese pagodas, 
 
14 TANCRED. 
 
 and solitary pines springing up out of icetubs 
 surrounded with peaches, as if they were in 
 the window of a fruiterer of Covent Garden." 
 
 " Ah ! it is incredible what uneducated 
 people will do," said Prevost. " The dressing 
 of the tables was a department of itself in the 
 Imperial kitchen." 
 
 " It demands an artist of a high calibre," 
 said Leander. '^ I only know one man who 
 realizes my idea, and he is at St. Petersburg. 
 You do not know Anastase? There is a man! 
 But the Emperor has him secure. He can 
 scarcely complain, however, since he is de- 
 corated, and has the rank of full colonel." 
 
 " Ah !" said Prevost, mournfully, " there is 
 no recognition of genius in this country. What 
 think you of Vanesse, my child ? He has had 
 a regular education." 
 
 " In a bad school : as a pis aller one might 
 put up with him. But his eternal tiers of 
 bon-bons ! As if they were ranged for a supper 
 of the Carnival, and my guests were going to 
 pelt each other ! No, I could not stand Vanesse, 
 Papa." 
 
TANCEED. 15 
 
 " The dressing of the table : 'tis a rare 
 talent," said Prevost, mournfully, '* and always 
 was. In the Imperial kitchen " 
 
 " Papa," said Eugenie, opening the door, 
 and putting in her head, " here is Monsieur 
 Vanillette just come from Brussels. He has 
 brought you a basket of truffles from Ardennes. 
 I told him you were on business — but to-night, 
 if you be at home, he could come." 
 
 "Vanillette!" exclaimed Prevost, starting 
 in his chair, '' our little Vanillette. There is 
 your man, Leander. He was my first pupil, as 
 you were my last, my child. Bring up our 
 little Vanillette, Eugenie. He is in the house- 
 hold of King Leopold, and his forte is dressing 
 the table !" 
 
16 TANCRED. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 The Duke of Bellamont was a personage who, 
 from his rank, his blood, and his wealth, 
 might almost be placed at the head of the 
 English nobility. Although the grandson of 
 a mere country gentleman, his fortunate an- 
 cestor, in the decline of the last century, had 
 captivated the heiress of the Montacutes, 
 Dukes of Bellamont, a celebrated race of the 
 times of the Plantagenets. The bridegroom, 
 at tlie moment of his marriage, had adopted 
 the illustrious name of his young and beautiful 
 wafe. Mr. Montacute was by nature a man 
 of energy and of an enterprising spirit. His 
 vast and early success rapidly developed his 
 native powers. With the castles and domains 
 
TAXCRED. 17 
 
 and boroughs of the Bellamonts, he resolved 
 also to acquire their ancient baronies and their 
 modern coronets. The times were favourable 
 to his projects, though they might require the 
 devotion of a life. He married amid the dis- 
 asters of the American war. The king and 
 his minister appreciated the independent sup- 
 port afforded them by Mr. Montacute, who 
 represented his county, and who commanded 
 five votes in the house besides his own. He 
 was one of the chief pillars of their cause ; but 
 he was not only independent, he was con- 
 scientious, and had scruples. Saratoga stag- 
 gered him. The defection of the Montacute 
 votes, at this moment, would have at once 
 terminated the struggle between England and 
 her colonies. A fresh illustration of the ad- 
 vantages of our parliamentary constitution! 
 The independent Mr. jMontacute, however, 
 stood by his sovereign; his five votes con- 
 tinued to cheer the noble lord in the blue 
 ribbon, and their master took his seat and the 
 oaths in the House of Lords, as Earl of Bella- 
 mont and Viscount Montacute. 
 
18 TANCRED. 
 
 This might be considered sufficiently well 
 for one generation ; but the silver spoon which 
 some fairy had placed in the cradle of the Earl 
 of Bellamont was of colossal proportions. The 
 French Eevolution succeeded the American 
 war, and was occasioned by it. It was but 
 just, therefore, that it also should bring its 
 huge quota to the elevation of the man whom 
 a colonial revolt had made an earl. Amid 
 the panic of Jacobinism, the declamations of 
 the friends of the people, the sovereign having 
 no longer Hanover for a refuge, and the 
 prime minister examined as a witness in 
 favour of the very persons whom he was trying 
 for high treason, the Earl of Bellamont made 
 a calm visit to Downing-street, and requested 
 the revival of all the honours of the ancient 
 Earls and Dukes of Belhimont in his own 
 person. Mr. Pitt, who was far from favour- 
 able to the exclusive character which dis- 
 tinguished the English peerage in the last 
 century, was himself not disinclined to accede 
 to the gentle request of his powerful sup* 
 porter- but the king was less flexible. His 
 
TANCRED. 19 
 
 majesty, indeed, was on principle not opposed 
 to the revival of titles in families to \Yhom 
 the domains without the honours of the old 
 nobility had descended; and he recognised 
 the claim of the present Earls of Bellamont 
 eventually to regain the strawberry leaf which 
 had adorned the coronet of the father of the 
 present countess. But the king was of opinion 
 that this supreme distinction ought only to be 
 conferred on the blood of the old house, and that 
 a generation, therefore, must necessarily elapse 
 before a Duke of Bellamont could again figure 
 in the golden book of the English aristocracy. 
 But George the Third, with all his firm- 
 ness, was doomed to frequent discomfiture. 
 His lot was cast in troubled waters, and 
 he had often to deal with individuals as 
 inflexible as himself. Benjamin Franklin was 
 not more calmly contumacious than the in- 
 dividual whom his treason had made an 
 English peer. In that age of violence, 
 change, and panic, power, directed by a clear 
 brain and an obdurate spirit, could not fail of 
 its aim; and so it turned out, that, in the 
 
20 TANCRED. 
 
 very teeth of the royal will, the simple country 
 gentleman, whose very name was forgotten, 
 became, at the commencement of this century, 
 Duke of Bellamont, Marquis of Mont acute, 
 Earl of Bellamont, Dacre, and Villeroy, with 
 all the baronies of the Plantagenets in ad- 
 dition. The only revenge of the king was, 
 that he never would give the Duke of Bella- 
 mont the garter. It was as well perhaps that 
 there should be something for his son to 
 desire. 
 
 The Duke and Duchess of Bellamont were 
 the handsomest couple in England, and de- 
 voted to each other, but they had only one 
 child. Fortunately, that child was a son. 
 Precious life ! The Marquis of Montacute 
 was married before he was of age. Not a 
 moment was to be lost to find heirs for all 
 these honours. Perhaps, had his parents been 
 less precipitate, their object might have been 
 more securely obtained. The union was not 
 a happy one. The first duke had, however, 
 the gratification of dying a grandfather. His 
 successor bore no resemblance to him, except 
 
TANCRED. 21 
 
 in that beauty wliicb became a characteristic 
 of the race. He was born to enjoy, not to 
 create. A man of pleasure, the chosen com- 
 panion of the Eegent in his age of riot, he was 
 cut off in his prime; but he lived long enough 
 to break his wife's heart and his son's spirit : 
 like himself, too, an only child. 
 
 The present Dnke of Bellamont had in- 
 herited something of the clear intelligence of 
 his grandsire, with the gentle disposition of 
 his mother. His fair abilities, and his bene- 
 volent inclinations, had been cultivated. His 
 mother had watched over the child, in whom 
 she found alike the charm and consolation of 
 her life. But, at a certain period of youth, 
 the formation of character requires a mascu- 
 line impulse, and that was wanting. The 
 duke disliked his son ; in time he became even 
 jealous of him. The duke had found himself 
 a father at too early a period of life. Himself 
 in his lusty youth, he started with alarm at 
 the form that recalled his earliest and most 
 brilliant hour, and who might prove a rival. 
 The son was of a gentle and affectionate na- 
 
22 TANCRED. 
 
 ture, and sighed for the tenderness of his harsh 
 and almost vindictive parent. But he had 
 not that passionate soul ^Yhich might have 
 appealed, and perhaps not in vain, to the dor- 
 mant sympathies of the being who had created 
 him. The young Montacute was by nature 
 of an extreme shyness, and the accidents of 
 his life had not tended to dissipate his painful 
 want of self-confidence. Physically courageous 
 his moral timidity was remarkable. He alter- 
 nately blushed or grew pale in his rare inter- 
 views with his father, trembled in silence 
 before the undeserved sarcasm, and often 
 endured the unjust accusation without an at- 
 tempt to vindicate himself. Alone, and in tears 
 alike of woe and indignation, he cursed the 
 want of resolution or ability which had again 
 missed the opportunity that, both for his 
 mother and himself, might have placed affairs 
 in a happier position. Most persons, under 
 these circumstances, would have become bit- 
 ter, but Montacute was too tender for malice, 
 and so he only turned melancholy. 
 
 On the threshold of manhood, Montacute 
 
TANCRED. 23 
 
 lost his mother, and this seemed the ca- 
 tastrophe of his unhappy life. His father 
 neither shared his grief nor attempted to 
 alleviate it. On the contrary, he seemed to 
 redouble his efforts to mortify his son. His 
 great object was to prevent Lord Montacute 
 from entering society, and he was so complete 
 a master of the nervous temperament on which 
 he was acting, that there appeared a fair 
 chance of his succeeding in his benevolent in- 
 tentions. When his son's education was com- 
 pleted, the duke would not furnish him with 
 the means of moving in the world in a be- 
 coming manner, or even sanction his travelling. 
 His grace was resolved to break his son's 
 spirit by keeping him immured in the country. 
 Other heirs apparent of a rich seignory would 
 soon have removed these difficulties. By bill 
 or by bond, by living usury, or by post-obit 
 liquidation, by all the means that private 
 friends or public offices could supply, the 
 sinews of war would have been forthcoming. 
 They would have beaten their fathers' horses 
 at Newmarket, eclipsed them with their mis- 
 
24 TANCRED. 
 
 tresses, and, sitting for their boroughs, voted 
 against their party. But Montacute was not 
 one of those young heroes who rendered so 
 distinguished the earlier part of this century. 
 He had passed his life so much among women 
 and clergymen, that he had never emancipated 
 himself from the old law that enjoined him to 
 honour a parent. Besides, with all his shy- 
 ness and timidity, he was extremely proud. 
 He never forgot that he was a Montacute, 
 though he had forgotten, like the world in 
 general, that his grandfather once bore a dif- 
 ferent and humbler name. All merged in the 
 great fact, that he was the living representa- 
 tive of those Montacutes of Bellamont, whose 
 wild and politic achievements, or the sustained 
 splendor of whose stately life, had for seven 
 hundred years formed a stirring and superb 
 portion of the history and manners of our 
 country. Death was preferable, in his view, 
 to having such a name soiled in the haunts of 
 jockeys and courtezans and usurers ; and, keen 
 as was the anguish which the conduct of the 
 duke to his mother or himself had often occa- 
 
TANCRED. 25 
 
 sioned him, it was sometimes equalled in de- 
 gree by the sorrow and the shame which he 
 endured when he heard of the name of Bella- 
 mont only in connexion with some stratagem 
 of the- turf or some frantic revel. 
 
 Without a friend, almost without an ac- 
 quaintance, Montacute sought refuge in love. 
 She who shed over his mournful life the divine 
 ray of feminine sympathy was his cousin, the 
 daughter of his mother's brother, an English 
 peer, but resident in the north of Ireland, 
 where he had vast possessions. It was a 
 family otherwise little calculated to dissipate 
 the reserve and gloom of a depressed and me- 
 lancholy youth ; puritanical, severe, and formal 
 in their manners, their relaxations a Bible 
 Society or a meeting for the conversion of 
 the Jews. But Lady Katherine was beauti- 
 ful, and all were kind to one to whom kind- 
 ness was strange, and the soft pathos of whose 
 solitary spirit demanded affection. 
 
 Montacute requested his father's permission 
 to marry his cousin, and was immediately re- 
 fused. The duke particularly disliked his 
 
 VOL. I. C 
 
26 TANCRED. 
 
 wife's family ; but the fact is, he had no wish 
 that his son should ever marry. He meant to 
 perpetuate his race himself, and was at this 
 moment, in the midst of his orgies, meditating 
 a second alliance, which should compensate him 
 for his boyish blunder. In this state of affairs 
 Montacute, at length stung to resistance, in- 
 spired by the most powerful of passions, and 
 acted upon by a stronger volition than his 
 own, was planning a marriage in spite of his 
 father — love, a cottage by an Irish lake, and 
 seven hundred a-year; when intelligence ar- 
 rived that his father, whose powerful frame and 
 vigorous health seemed to menace a patriarchal 
 term, was dead. 
 
 The new Duke of Bellamont had no expe- 
 rience of the world ; but, though long cowed 
 by his father, he had a strong character. 
 Though the circle of his ideas was necessarily 
 contracted, they Avere all clear and firm. In 
 his moody youth he had imbibed certain im- 
 pressions and arrived at certain conclusions, 
 and they never quitted him. His mother was 
 his model of feminine perfection, and he had 
 
TA^'CRED. 27 
 
 loved his cousin because she bore a remarkable 
 resemblance to her aunt. Again, he was of 
 opinion that the tie between the father and 
 the son ought to be one of the most intimate 
 confidence and the most refined tenderness, 
 and he resolved that, if Providence favoured 
 him with offspring, his child should ever find 
 in him absolute devotion of thought and feeling. 
 A variety of causes and circumstances had 
 impressed him with a conviction that what is 
 called fashionable life was a compound of fri- 
 volity and fraud, of folly and vice ; and he 
 resolved never to enter it. To this he was, 
 perhaps, in some degree unconsciously prompted 
 by his reserved disposition and by his painful 
 sense of inexperience — for he looked forward 
 to this world with almost as much of appre- 
 hension as of dislike. To politics, in the vul- 
 gar sense of the word, he had an equal repug- 
 nance. He had a lofty idea of his duty to his 
 sovereign and his country, and felt within him 
 the energies that would respond to a con- 
 juncture. But he acceded to his title in a 
 period of calmness, when nothing Avas called 
 c 2 
 
28 TA^'CRED. 
 
 in question, and no danger was apprehended ; 
 and as for the fights of factions, the duke 
 altogether held himself aloof from them ; he 
 wanted nothing — not even the blue ribbon 
 which he was soon obliged to take. Next to 
 his domestic hearth, all his being was concen- 
 tred in his duties as a great proprietor of 
 the soil. On these he had long pondered, and 
 these he attempted to fulfil. That performance, 
 indeed, was as much a source of delight to 
 him as of obligation. He loved the country 
 and a country life. His reserve seemed to 
 melt away the moment he was on his own soil. 
 Courteous he ever was, but then he became 
 gracious and hearty. He liked to assemble 
 "the county" around him ; to keep " the county" 
 together; " the county'' seemed always his first 
 thought; he was proud of "the county," where 
 he reigned supreme, not more from his vast 
 possessions, than from the influence of his 
 sweet yet stately character, which made those 
 devoted to him, who otherwise were independ- 
 ent of his sway. 
 
 From straitened circumstances, and with- 
 
TANCRED. 29 
 
 out having had a single fancy of joutli grati- 
 fied, the Duke of Bellamont had been suddenly 
 summoned to the lordship of an estate scarcely 
 inferior in size and revenue to some conti- 
 nental principalities; to dwell in palaces and 
 castles; to be surrounded by a disciplined 
 retinue, and to find every wish and want gra- 
 tified before they could be expressed or anti- 
 cipated. Yet he show^ed no elation, and 
 acceded to his inheritance as serene as if he 
 had never felt a pang or proved a necessity. 
 She whom in the hour of trial he had selected 
 for the future partner of his life, though a re- 
 markable woman, by a singular coincidence of 
 feeling — for it was as much from her original 
 character as from sympathy with her husband 
 — confirmed him in all his moods. 
 
 Katherine, Duchess of Bellamont, was beau- 
 tiful; small and delicate in structure, with a 
 dazzling complexion, and a smile which, though 
 rare, was of the most winning and brilliant 
 character. Her rich brown hair, and her deep 
 blue eye might have become a Dryad; but her 
 brow denoted intellect of a higli order, and her 
 
30 TANCRED. 
 
 mouth spoke inexorable resolution. She was 
 a woman of fixed opinions, and of firm and 
 compact prejudices. Brought up in an austere 
 circle, where on all matters irrevocable judg- 
 ment had been passed, which enjoyed the 
 advantages of knowing exactly what was 
 true in dogma, what just in conduct, and 
 what correct in manners, she had early ac- 
 quired the convenient habit of decision, while 
 her studious mind employed its considerable 
 energies in mastering every writer who favoured 
 those opinions which she had previously de- 
 termined were the right ones. The duchess was 
 deep in the divinity of the seventeenth century. 
 In the controversies between the two churches, 
 she could have perplexed St. Omers or May- 
 nooth. Chillingworth might be found in her 
 boudoir. Not that her grace's reading was 
 confined to divinity; on the contrary, it was 
 various and extensive. Puritan in religion, 
 she was precisian in morals ; but in both she 
 was sincere. She was so in all things. Her 
 nature was frank and simple : if she were in- 
 flexible, she at least wished to be just; and 
 
TANCRED. 31 
 
 though very conscious of the greatness of her 
 position, she was so sensible of its duties, that 
 there was scarcely any exertion which she 
 would evade, or any humility from which she 
 would shrink, if she believed she were doing 
 her duty to her God or to her neighbour. 
 
 It will be seen, therefore, that the Duke of 
 Bellamont found no obstacle in his wife, who 
 otherwise very much influenced his conduct, 
 to the plans which he had pre-conceived for 
 the conduct of his life after marriage. The 
 duchess shrank, with a feeling of haughty 
 terror, from that world of fashion, which would 
 have so willingly greeted her. During the 
 greater part of the year, therefore, the Bella- 
 monts resided in their magnificent castle, in 
 their distant county, occupied wdth all the 
 business and the pleasures of the provinces. 
 While the duke, at the head of the magistracy, 
 in the management of his estates, and in the 
 sports of which he was fond, found ample occupa- 
 tion, his wife gave an impulse to the charity of 
 the county, founded schools, endowed churches, 
 received their neighbours, read her books, and 
 
32 TANCRED. 
 
 amused herself in the creation of beautiful 
 gardens, for which she had a passion. 
 
 After Easter, Parliament requiring their 
 presence, the court-yard of one of the few 
 palaces in London opened, and the world 
 learnt that the Duke and Duchess of Bel- 
 lamont had arrived at Bellamont House, 
 from Montacute Castle. During their stay in 
 town, which they made as brief as they well 
 could, and which never exceeded three months, 
 they gave a series of great dinners, principally 
 attended by noble relations, and those families 
 of the county who were so fortunate as to have 
 also a residence in London. Regularly every 
 year, also, there was a grand banquet given to 
 some members of the royal family by the Duke 
 and Duchess of Bellamont, and regularly every 
 year the Duke and Duchess of Bellamont had 
 the honour of dining at the palace. Except 
 at a ball or concert under the royal roof, the 
 Duke and Duchess were never seen anywhere 
 in the evening. The great ladies indeed, the 
 Lady St. Julians, and the Marchionesses of 
 Deloraine, always sent them invitations, though 
 
TANCRED. 33 
 
 they were ever declined. But the Bellamonts 
 maintained a sort of traditional acquaintance 
 with a few great houses, either by the ties of 
 relationship, which, among the aristocracy, 
 are very ramified, or by occasionally receiv- 
 ing travelling magnificoes at their hospitable 
 castle. 
 
 To the great body, however, of what is 
 called " the World" — the world that lives in 
 St. James's Street and Pall Mall, that looks 
 out of a club window, and surveys mankind as 
 Lucretius from his philosophic tower; the 
 world of the Georges and the Jemmys ; of Mr. 
 Cassilis and Mr. Melton; of the Milfords and 
 the Fitzherons, the Berners and the Egertons, 
 the Mr. Ormsbys and the Alfred Mount- 
 chesneys — the Duke and Duchess of Bellamont 
 were absolutely unknown. All that the world 
 knew was, that there was a great peer who 
 was called Duke of Bellamont; that there 
 was a great house in London, with a court- 
 yard, which bore his name; that he had a 
 castle in the country, which was one of the 
 boasts of England ; and that this great duke 
 c3 
 
34 TANCRED. 
 
 had a duchess: but they never met them 
 anywhere, nor did their wives and their 
 sisters, and the ladies whom they admired, or 
 who admired them either at ball or at break- 
 fast, either at morning dances or at evening 
 dejeuners. It was clear, therefore, that the 
 Bellamonts might be very great people, but 
 they were not in *' society." 
 
 It must have been some organic law, or 
 some fate which uses structure for its fulfil- 
 ment, but again it seemed that the continu- 
 ance of the great house of Montacute should 
 depend upon the life of a single being. The 
 duke, like his father and his grandfather, was 
 favoured only with one child, but that child 
 was again a son. From the moment of his 
 birth, the very existence of his parents seemed 
 identified with his welfare. The duke and his 
 wife mutually assumed to each other a 
 secondary position, in comparison with that 
 occupied by their offspring. From the hour ot 
 his birth to the moment when this history 
 opens, and when he was about to complete big 
 majority, never had such solicitude been lavishes 
 
TANCRED. e35 
 
 on human being, as had been continuously 
 devoted to the life of the young Lord !Monta- 
 cute. During his earlier education he scarcely 
 quitted home. He had, indeed, once been 
 shown to Eton, surrounded by faithful domes- 
 tics, and accompanied by a private tutor, whose 
 vigilance would not hare disgraced a super- 
 intendent of police ; but the scarlet fever hap- 
 pened to break out during his first half, and 
 Lord Montacute w^as instantly snatched away 
 from the scene of danger, where he was never 
 again to appear. At eighteen, he went to 
 Christchurch. His mother, who had nursed 
 him herself, wrote to him every day ; but this 
 was not found sufficient, and the duke hired 
 a residence in the neighbourhood of the uni- 
 versity, in order that they might occasionally 
 see their son during term. 
 
36 TANCRED. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 '' Saw Eskdale just now," said Mr. Cassilis, 
 at White's, " going down to the Duke of Bel- 
 lamont's. Great doings there — son comes of 
 age at Easter — wonder what sort of fellow he 
 is? Anybody know anything about him?" 
 
 *' I wonder what his father's rent-roll is," 
 said Mr. Ormsby. 
 
 " They say it's quite clear," said Lord Fitz- 
 heron. 
 
 " Safe for that," said Lord Milford; *' and 
 plenty of ready money too I should think, 
 for one never heard of the present duke doing 
 anything." 
 
 " He does a good deal in his county," said 
 Lord Valentine. 
 
TAXCEED. 37 
 
 " I don't call that anything," said Lord 
 Milford; " but I mean to say he never played 
 — was never seen at Newmarket, or did any- 
 thing which anybody can remember. In fact, 
 he is a person whose name you never by any 
 chance hear mentioned." 
 
 " He is a sort of cousin of mine," said 
 Lord Valentine ; " and we are all going 
 down to the coming of age — that is, we are 
 asked." 
 
 " Then you can tell us what sort of fellow 
 the son is." 
 
 " I never saw him," said Lord Valentine; 
 " but I know the duchess told my mother last 
 year, that Montacute, throughout his life, had 
 never occasioned her a single moment's pain." 
 
 Here there was a general laugh. 
 
 *' Well, I have no doubt he will make up 
 for lost time," said Mr. Ormsby, demurely. 
 
 " Nothing like mamma's darling for up- 
 setting a coach," said Lord Milford. " You 
 ought to bring your cousin here, Valentine ; 
 we would assist the development of his un- 
 sophisticated intelligence." 
 
 *' If I go down, I will propose it to him." 
 
38 TANCRED. 
 
 " Why if?" said Mr. Cassilis ; " sort of 
 thing I should like to see once uncommonly — 
 oxen roasted alive, old armour, and the girls 
 of the village all running about as if they 
 were behind the scenes." 
 
 " Is that the way you did it at your ma- 
 jority, George?" said Lord Fitzheron. 
 
 "Egad, I kept my arrival at years of dis- 
 cretion at Brighton. I believe it was the last 
 fun there ever was at the Pavilion. The poor 
 dear king, God bless him ! proposed my health, 
 and made the devil's own speech ; we all 
 began to pipe. He was Regent then. Your 
 father was there, Valentine — ask him if he 
 remembers it? That was a scene! I won't 
 say how it ended : but the best joke is, I got 
 a letter from my governor a few days after, 
 with an account of what they had all been 
 doing at Brandingham, and rowing me for not 
 coming down, and I found out I had kept my 
 coming of age the wrong day !" 
 
 "Did you tell them?" 
 
 " Not a word ; I was afraid we might have 
 had to go through it over again." 
 
TANCRED. 39 
 
 " I suppose old Bellamont is the deviFs o^vn 
 screw/' said Lord Milford. " Rich governors, 
 who have never been hard up, always are." 
 
 '' i^3 : I believe he is a very good sort of 
 fellow," said Lord Valentine; "at least my 
 people always say so. I don't know much 
 about him, for they never go anywhere." 
 
 " They have got Leander down at Monta- 
 cute," said 'Mr. Cassilis. " Had not such a 
 thing as a cook in the whole county. They 
 say Lord Eskdale arranged the cuisine for 
 them ; so you will feed well, Valentine." 
 
 " That's something : and one can eat before 
 Easter; but when the balls begin " 
 
 " Oh ! as for that, you will have dancing 
 enough at Montacute; it's expected on these 
 occasions — Sir Roger de Coverley, tenants' 
 daughters, and all that sort of thing. Deuced 
 funny; but I must say, if I am to have a 
 lark, I like Vauxhall." 
 
 " I never met the Bellamonts," said Lord 
 Milford, musingly. " Are there any daugh- 
 ters ?" 
 
 " None." 
 
40 TANCRED. 
 
 " That's a bore. A single daughter, even if 
 there be a son, may be made something of; 
 because, in nine cases out of ten, there is a 
 round sum in the settlements for the younger 
 children, and she takes it all." 
 
 " That's the case of Lady Blanche Bicker- 
 staffe," said Lord Fitzheron. " She will have 
 a hundred thousand pounds." 
 
 " You don't mean that!" said Lord Valen- 
 tine; '* and she is a very nice girl, too." 
 
 " You are quite wrong about the hundred 
 thousand, Fitz," said Lord Milford ; "for I 
 made it my business to inquire most particu- 
 larly into the affair : it is only fifty." 
 
 " In these cases, the best rule is only to 
 believe half," said Mr. Ormsby. 
 
 " Then you have only got twenty thousand 
 a-year, Ormsby," said Lord Milford, laughing, 
 ** because the world gives you forty." 
 
 " Well, we must do the best we can in these 
 hard times," said Mr. Ormsby, with an air of 
 mock resignation. " With your Dukes of 
 Bellamont and all these grandees on the stage, 
 we little men shall be scarcely able to hold up 
 our heads." 
 
TANCRED. 41 
 
 " Come, Ormsby," said Lord Milford, " tell 
 us the amount of your income tax." 
 
 '' They say Sir Eobert quite blushed when 
 he saw the figure at which you were sacked, 
 and declared it was downright spoliation." 
 
 " You young men are always talking about 
 money," said Mr. Ormsby, shaking his head ; 
 "you should think of higher things." 
 
 " I wonder what young Montacute will be 
 thinking of this time next year," said Lord Fitz- 
 heron. 
 
 " There will be plenty of people thinking of 
 him," said Mr. Cassilis. " Egad, you gentle- 
 men must stir yourselves, if you mean to be 
 turned off. You will have rivals." 
 
 '^ He will be no rival to me," said Lord 
 Milford; " for I am an avowed fortune-hunter, 
 and that you say he does not care for, at 
 least, at present." 
 
 " And I marry only for love," said Lord 
 Valentine, laughing; " and so we shall not 
 clash." 
 
 " Ay, ay ; but if he will not go to the 
 heiresses, the heiresses Avill go to him," said 
 Mr. Ormsby. " I have seen a good deal of these 
 
42 TANCRED. 
 
 things, and I generally observe the eldest son 
 of a duke takes a fortune out of the market. 
 Why, there is Beaumanoir, he is like Valentine ; 
 I suppose he intends to marry for love, as he 
 is always in that way ; but the heiresses never 
 leave him alone, and in the long run you cannot 
 withstand it; it's like a bribe; a man is indig- 
 nant at the bare thought, refuses the first offer, 
 and pockets the second." 
 
 " It is very immoral, and very unfair," said 
 Lord Milford, " that any man should marry 
 for tin, who does not want it." 
 
TANCRED. 43 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 The Forest of Montacute, in the north of 
 England, is the name given to an extensive 
 district, Tvhich in many parts offers no evi- 
 dence of the propriety of its title. The land, 
 especially during the last century, has been 
 effectively cleared, and presents, in general, a 
 champaign view ; rich and rural, but far from 
 picturesque. Over a wide expanse, the eye 
 ranges on corn fields and rich hedge-rows, 
 many a sparkling spire, and many a merry 
 windmill. In the extreme distance, on a clear 
 day, may be discerned the blue hills of the 
 Border, and towards the north the cultivated 
 country ceases, and the dark form of the old 
 
44 TANCRED. 
 
 forest spreads into the landscape. The tra- 
 veller, however, who may be tempted to pene- 
 trate these sylvan recesses, will find much that 
 is beautiful, and little that is savage. He will 
 be struck by the capital road that winds among 
 the groves of ancient oak, and the turfy and 
 ferny wilderness which extends on each side, 
 whence the deer gaze on him with haughty 
 composure, as if conscious that he was an in- 
 truder into their kingdom of whom they need 
 have no fear. As he advances, he observes the 
 number of cross routes which branch off from 
 the main road, and which, though of less 
 dimensions, are equally remarkable for their 
 masterly structure and compact condition. 
 
 Sometimes the land is cleared, and he finds 
 himself by the homestead of a forest farm, 
 and remarks the buildings, distinguished not 
 only by their neatness but the propriety of 
 their rustic architecture. Still advancing, the 
 deer become rarer, and the road is formed by 
 an avenue of chesnuts ; the forest, on each side, 
 now transformed into vegetable gardens. The 
 stir of population is soon evident. Persons 
 
TA^X"RED. 45 
 
 are moving to and fro on the side path of 
 the road. Horsemen and carts seem returnintr 
 
 c 
 
 from market ; women with empty baskets, and 
 then the rare vision of a stage coach. The 
 postillion spurs his horses, cracks his whip, 
 and dashes at full gallop into the town of Mon- 
 tacute, the capital of the forest. 
 
 It is the prettiest little town in the world, 
 built entirely of hewn stone, the well-paved and 
 well-lighted streets as neat as a Dutch village. 
 There are two churches ; one of great antiquity, 
 the other raised by the present duke, but in 
 the best style of Christian architecture. The 
 bridge that spans the little but rapid river 
 Belle, is perhaps a trifle too vast and Eoman 
 for its site ; but it was built by the first duke 
 of the second dynasty, who was always afraid 
 of underbuilding his position. The town was 
 also indebted to him for their hall, a Palladian 
 palace. Mont acute is a corporate town, and 
 under the old system returned two members 
 to Parliament. The amount of its popula- 
 tion, according to the rule generally observed, 
 might have preserved it from disfranchisement. 
 
46 TANCRED. 
 
 but, as every house belonged to the duke, and 
 as he was what, in the confused phraseology 
 of the revolutionary war, was called a Tory, 
 the Whigs took care to put Montacute in Sche- 
 dule A. 
 
 The town-hall, the market-place, a lite- 
 rary institution, and the new church, form, 
 with some very good houses of recent erec- 
 tion, a handsome square, in which there is a 
 fountain, the gift to the town of the present 
 duchess. 
 
 At the extremity of the* town, the ground rises, 
 and on a woody steep, which is in fact the ter- 
 mination of a long range of tal)le-land, may be 
 seen the towers of the outer court of Montacute 
 Castle. The principal building, which is vast 
 and of various ages, from the Plantagenets to 
 the Guelphs, rises on a terrace, from which, 
 on the side opposite to the town, you descend 
 into a well-timbered inclosure, called the Home 
 Park. Further on, the forest again appears — 
 the deer again crouch in their fern, or glance 
 along the vistas; nor does this green do- 
 main terminate till it touches the vast and 
 
TA>XRED. 47 
 
 purple moors that divide the kingdoms of 
 Great Britain. 
 
 It was on an early day of April, that the duke 
 was sitting in his private room, a pen in one 
 hand, and looking up with a face of pleasur- 
 able emotion at his wife, who stood by his 
 side, her right arm sometimes on the back of 
 his chaii', and sometimes on his shoulder, 
 while, with her other hand, between the inter- 
 vals of speech, she pressed a handkerchief to 
 her eyes, bedewed with the expression of an 
 affectionate excitement. 
 
 ^' It is too much," said her grace. 
 
 " And done in such a handsome manner 1" 
 said the duke. 
 
 " I Avould not tell our dear child of it at 
 this moment," said the duchess; " he has so 
 much to go through !" 
 
 " You are right, Kate. It will keep till the 
 celebration is over. How delighted he will 
 be!" 
 
 " My dear George, I sometimes think we 
 are too happy." 
 
 " You are not half as happy as you deserve 
 
48 TANCRED. 
 
 to be," replied her husband, looking up with 
 a smile of affection ; and then he finished bis 
 reply to the letter of Mr. Hungerford, one of 
 the county members, informing the duke, 
 that now Lord Montacute was of age, he in- 
 tended at once to withdraw from Parliament, 
 having for a long time fixed on the majority 
 of the heir of the house of Bellamont, as the 
 signal for that event. " I accepted the post," 
 said Mr. Hungerford, " much against my will. 
 Your grace behaved to me at the time in the 
 handsomest manner, and, indeed, ever since, 
 with respect to this subject. But a Marquis 
 of Montacute is, in my opinion, and, I believe 
 I may add, in that of the whole county, our 
 proper representative ; besides we want young 
 blood in the House." 
 
 " It certainly is done in the handsomest 
 manner," said the duke. 
 
 " But tlien you know, George, you behaved 
 to him in the handsomest manner — he says 
 so, as you do indeed to everybody ; and this 
 is your reward." 
 
 ** I should be very sorry indeed if Hunger- 
 
TANCRED. 49 
 
 ford did not withdraw with perfect self-satis- 
 faction," urged the duke, " and his family 
 too; they are most respectable people, one of 
 the most respectable families in the county — I 
 should be quite grieved if this step were taken 
 without their entire and hearty concurrence." 
 
 '' Of course it is," said the duchess, " with 
 the entire and hearty concurrence of every 
 one. Mr. Hungerford says so. And I must 
 say that, though few things could have grati- 
 fied me more, I quite agree with ]\Ir. Hunger- 
 ford that a Lord Montacute is the natural 
 member for the county ; and I have no doubt 
 that if Mr. Hungerford, or any one else in his 
 position, had not resigned, they never could 
 have met our chikl without feeling the greatest 
 embarrassment." 
 
 " A man though, and a man of Hunger- 
 ford's position, an old family in the county, 
 does not like to figure as a warming-pan," 
 said the duke, thoughtfully. " I think it has 
 been done in a very handsome manner." 
 
 " And we will show our sense of it," said 
 the duchess. *' The Hungerfords shall feel, 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
50 TANCRED. 
 
 when they come here on Thursday, that they 
 are among our best friends." 
 
 " That is my own Kate ! Here is a letter 
 from your brother. They will be here to- 
 morrow. Eskdale cannot come over till Wed- 
 nesday. He is at home, but detained by a 
 meeting about his new harbour." 
 
 " I am delighted that they will be here to- 
 morrow," said the duchess; '' I am so anxious 
 that he should see Kate before the castle is full, 
 when he will have a thousand calls upon his 
 time ! I feel persuaded that he will love her 
 at first sight. And as for their being cousins, 
 why, we were cousins, and that did not hinder 
 us from loving each other." 
 
 " If she resemble you as much as you re- 
 sembled your aunt " said the duke, look- 
 ing up. 
 
 " She is my perfect image, my very self, 
 Harriet says, in disposition as well as face 
 and form." 
 
 " Then our son has a good chance of being 
 a very happy man," said the duke. 
 
 " That he should come of age, enter Par- 
 
TANCRED. 51 
 
 liament, and marry in the same year! We 
 ought to be very thankful. What a happy 
 year!" 
 
 " But not one of these events has yet oc- 
 curred," said the duke, smiling. 
 
 " But they all will," said the duchess — 
 ^' under Providence." 
 
 " I would not precipitate marriage." 
 
 " Certainly not; nor should I wish him to 
 think of it before the autumn. I should like 
 him to be married on our wedding-day." 
 
 d2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 "NIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 
52 TANCRED. 
 
 CHAPTEE y. 
 
 The sun shone brightly, there was a tri- 
 umphal arch at every road; the market-place 
 and the town-hall were caparisoned like steeds 
 for a tournament, every house had its garland ; 
 the flags were flying on every tower and 
 steeple. There was such a peal of bells you 
 could scarcely hear your neighbour's voice; 
 then came discharges of artillery, and then 
 bursts of music from various bands, all playing 
 different tunes. The country people came 
 trooping in, some on horseback, some in 
 carts, some in procession. The Temperance 
 band made an immense noise, and the Odd 
 Fellows were loudly cheered. Every now and 
 
TANCRED. 53 
 
 then one of the duke's yeomanry galloped 
 through the town in his regimentals of green 
 and silver, with his dark flowing plume and 
 clattering sabre, and with an air of business- 
 like desperation, as if he w^ere carrying a 
 message from the commander-in-chief in the 
 thickest of the fight. 
 
 Before the eventful day of which this 
 merry morn was the harbinger, the arrivals of 
 guests at the castle had been numerous and 
 important. First came the brother of the 
 duchess, with his countess and their fair 
 daughter the Lady Katherine, whose fate, un- 
 consciously to herself, had already been sealed 
 by her noble relatives. She was destined to 
 be the third Katherine of Bellamont that her 
 fortunate house had furnished to these illus- 
 trious walls. Xor, if unaware of her high lot, 
 did she seem unworthy of it. Her mien was 
 prophetic of the state assigned to her. This 
 was her first visit to Montacute since her 
 early childhood, and she had not encountered 
 her cousin since their nursery days. The day 
 after them, Lord Eskdale came over from his 
 
54 TANCRED. 
 
 principal seat in the contiguous county, of 
 which he was lord-lieutenant. He was the 
 first cousin of the duke, his father and the 
 second Duke of Bellamont having married two 
 sisters, and of course intimately related to 
 the duchess and her family. Lord Eskdale 
 exercised a great influence over the house of 
 Montacute, though quite unsought for by him. 
 He was the only man of the world whom they 
 knew, and they never decided upon anything 
 out of the limited circle of their immediate 
 experience without consulting him. Lord 
 Eskdale had been the cause of their son going 
 to Eton; Lord Eskdale had recommended 
 them to send him to Christchurch. The duke 
 had begged his cousin to be his trustee when 
 he married ; he had made him his executor, 
 and had intended him as the guardian of his 
 son. Although, from the difference of their 
 habits, little thrown together in tlieir earlier 
 youth, Lord Eskdale had shown, even then, 
 kind consideration for his relative; he had 
 even proposed tliat they should travel together, 
 but the old duke would not consent to this. 
 
TAXCRED. 55 
 
 After his death, however, being neighbours. as 
 well as relatives, Lord Eskdale had become the 
 natural friend and counsellor of his grace. 
 
 The duke deservedly reposed in him im- 
 plicit confidence, and entertained an almost 
 unbounded admiration of his cousin's know- 
 ledge of mankind. He was scarcely less a 
 favourite or less an oracle with the duchess, 
 though there w^ere subjects on which she 
 feared Lord Eskdale did not entertain views 
 as serious as her own; but Lord Eskdale, 
 with an extreme carelessness of manner and an 
 apparent negligence of the minor arts of pleas- 
 ing, was a consummate master of the feminine 
 idiosyncracy, and, from a French actress to an 
 English duchess, was skilled in guiding women 
 without ever letting the curb be felt. Scarcely 
 a week elapsed, when Lord Eskdale was in the 
 country, that a long letter of difficulties was 
 not received by him from Montacute, with an 
 earnest request for his immediate advice. His 
 lordship, singularly averse to letter writing, 
 and especially to long letter writing, used gene- 
 rally in reply to say that, in the course of a day 
 
56 TANCRED. 
 
 or two he should be in their part of the world, 
 and would talk the matter over with them. 
 
 And, indeed, nothing was more amusing 
 than to see Lord Eskdale, imperturbable, yet 
 not heedless, with his peculiar calmness, some- 
 thing between that of a Turkish pacha and an 
 English jockey, standing up with his back to 
 the fire and his hands in his pockets, and 
 hearing the united statement of a case by the 
 Duke and Duchess of Bellamont; the serious 
 yet quiet and unexaggerated narrative of his 
 grace, the impassioned interruptions, decided 
 opinions, and lively expressions of his wife, 
 when she felt the duke was not doing justice 
 to the circumstances, or her view of them, and 
 the Spartan brevity with which, when both his 
 clients were exhausted, their counsel summed 
 up the w^hole affair, and said three words 
 which seemed suddenly to remove all doubts 
 and to solve all difficulties. In all the busi- 
 ness of life, Lord Eskdale, though he appre- 
 ciated their native ability, and respected their 
 considerable acquirements, which he did not 
 share, looked upon his cousins as two children, 
 
TANCRED. ( 
 
 and managed tliem as children; but he was 
 reallj attached to them, and the sincere at- 
 tachment of such a character is often worth 
 more than the most passionate devotion. The 
 last great domestic embarrassment at Monta- 
 cute had been the. affair of the cooks. Lord 
 Eskdale had taken this upon his own shoul- 
 ders, and, writing to Daubuz, had sent down 
 Leander and his friends, to open the minds 
 and charm the palates of the north. 
 
 Lord Valentine and his noble parents, and 
 their daughter Lady Florentina, who was a 
 great horsewoman, also arrived. The countess, 
 who had once been a beauty with the reputa- 
 tion of a wit, and now set up for being a wit 
 on the reputation of having been a beauty, 
 was the lady of fashion of the party, and 
 scarcely knew anybody present, though there 
 were many who were her equals and some 
 her superiors in rank. Her way was to be a 
 little fine, always smiling and condescendingly 
 amiable ; when alone with her husband, shrug- 
 ging her shoulders somewhat, and vowing that 
 she was delighted that Lord Eskdale was 
 D 3 
 
58 TANCRED. 
 
 there, as she had somebody to speak to. It 
 was what she called " quite a relief." A 
 relief, perhaps, from Lord and Lady Mount- 
 joy, whom she had been avoiding all her life — 
 unfortunate people, who with a large fortune, 
 lived in a wrong square, and asked to their 
 house everybody who was nobody; besides, 
 Lord Mountjoy was vulgar, and laughed too 
 loud, and Lady Mountjoy called you '' my 
 dear," and showed her teeth. A relief, 
 perhaps, too, from the Hon. and Eev. Monta- 
 cute Mountjoy, who, with Lady Eleanor, four 
 daughters and two sons, had been invited to 
 celebrate the majority of the future chieftain 
 of their house. The countess had what is 
 called " a horror of those Mountjoys, and those 
 Montacute Mountjoys," and what added to 
 her annoyance was, that Lord Valentine was 
 always flirting with the Misses Montacute 
 Mountjoy. 
 
 The countess could find no companions in 
 the Duke and Duchess of Clanronald, because, 
 as she told her husband, as they could not 
 speak English and she could not speak Scotch, 
 
TANCRED. 59 
 
 it was impossible to exchange ideas. The 
 bishop of the diocese was there, toothless and 
 tolerant, and wishing to be on good terms 
 with all sects, provided they paid church-rates, 
 and another bishop far more vigorous and of 
 greater fame. By his administration the 
 heir of Bellamont had entered the Christian 
 church, and by the imposition of his hands 
 had been confirmed in it. His lordship, a 
 great authority with the duchess, was spe- 
 cially invited to be present on the interesting 
 occasion, when the babe that he had held at 
 the font, and the child that he had blessed at 
 the altar, was about thus publicly to adopt 
 and acknowledge the duties and responsibility 
 of a man. But the countess, though she liked 
 bishops, liked them, as she told her husband, 
 *^ in their place." What that exactly was, 
 she did not define ; but probably their palaces 
 or the House of Lords. 
 
 It was hardly to be expected that her lady- 
 ship would find any relief in the society of the 
 Marquis and Marchioness of Hampshire; for 
 his lordship passed his life in being the Pre- 
 
60 TANCRED. 
 
 sident of scientific and literary societies, and 
 was ready for anything, from the Royal, if his 
 turn ever arrived, to opening a Mechanics' 
 Institute in his neiglibouring town. Lady 
 Hampshire was an invalid ; hut what was her 
 ailment was one of those mysteries which still 
 remained insoluble, although, in the most 
 liberal manner, she delighted to afford her 
 friends all the information in her power. 
 Never was a votary endowed with a faith at 
 once so lively and so capricious. Each year 
 she believed in some new remedy, and an- 
 nounced herself on the eve of some miraculous 
 cure. But the saint was scarcely canonized, 
 before his claims to beatitude were impugned. 
 One year Lady Hampshire never quitted 
 Leamington ; another, she contrived to com- 
 bine the infinitesimal doses of Hahnemann 
 with the colossal distractions of the metropolis. 
 Now her sole conversation was the water 
 cure. Lady Hampshire was to begin im- 
 mediately after her visit to Montacute, and 
 she spoke in her sawney voice of factitious 
 enthusiasm, as if she pitied the lot of all 
 
TANCRED. 61 
 
 those who were not about to sleep in wet 
 sheets. 
 
 The members for the county, with their wives 
 and daughters, the Hungerfords and the II- 
 dertons. Sir Kussell Malpas, or even Lord 
 Hull, an Irish peer with an English estate, 
 and who represented one of the divisions, were 
 scarcely a relief. Lord Hull was a bachelor, 
 and had twenty thousand a year, and would 
 not have been too old for Florentina, if Lord 
 Hull had only lived in " society," learnt how 
 to dress and how to behave, and had avoided 
 that peculiar coarseness of manners and com- 
 plexion which seem the inevitable results of a 
 provincial life. What are forty-five or even 
 forty-eight years, if a man do not get up too 
 early or go to bed too soon, if he be dressed 
 by the right persons, and, early accustomed to 
 the society of women, he possess that flexibility 
 of manner and that readiness of gentle repartee 
 which a feminine apprenticeship can alone con- 
 fer ? But Lord Hull was a man with a red 
 face and a grey head, on whom coarse in- 
 dulgence and the selfish negligence of a country 
 
62 TANCRED. 
 
 life had already conferred a shapeless form; 
 and who, dressed something like a groom, sate 
 at dinner in stolid silence by Lady Hampshire, 
 who, whatever were her complaints, had cer- 
 tainly the art, if only from her questions, of 
 making her neighbours communicative. The 
 countess examined Lord Hull through her 
 eye-glass with curious pity at so fine a fortune 
 and so good a family being so entirely thrown 
 away. Had he been brought up in a civilized 
 manner, lived six mouths in May Fair, passed 
 his carnival at Paris, never sported except in 
 Scotland and occasionally visited a German 
 bath, even Lord Hull might have " fined 
 down." His hair need not have been grey if 
 it had been attended to; his complexion would 
 not have been so glaring; his hands never 
 could have grown to so huge a shape. 
 
 What a party, where the Countess was abso- 
 lutely driven to speculate on the possible des- 
 tinies of a Lord Hull ! But in this party there 
 was not a single young man, at least not a single 
 young man one had ever heard of, except her 
 son, and he was of no use. The Duke of Bella- 
 
TANCRED. 63 
 
 rnont knew no young men; the duke did not 
 even belong to a club ; the Duchess of Bella- 
 mont knew no young men ; she never gave and 
 she never attended an evening party. As for 
 the county youth, the young Hungerfords and 
 the young Ildertons, the best of them formed 
 part of the London crowd. Some of them, by 
 complicated manoeuvres, might even have made 
 their way into the countess's crowded saloons 
 on a miscellaneous night. She knew the length 
 of their tether. They ranged, as the Price 
 Current says, from eight to three thousand 
 a year. Xot the figure that purchases a Lady 
 Florentina ! 
 
 There were many other guests, and some of 
 them very notable, though not of the class and 
 character to interest the fastidious mother of 
 Lord Valentine; but whoever and whatever 
 they might be, of the sixty or seventy persons 
 who were seated each day in the magnificent 
 banqueting -room of Montacute castle, feasting, 
 amid pyramids of gold plate, on the master- 
 pieces of Leander, there was not a single indi- 
 vidual w^ho did not possess one of the two great 
 
64 TANCRED. 
 
 qualifications : tliey were all of them cousins 
 of the Duke of Bellamont, or proprietors in 
 his county. 
 
 But we must not anticipate, the great day 
 of the festival having hardly yet commenced. 
 
TANCRED. 65 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 In the Home park was a colossal pavilion, 
 which held more than two thousand persons, 
 and in which the townsfolk of Montacute were 
 to dine : at equal distances were several smaller 
 tents, each of different colours and patterns, 
 and each bearing on a standard the name of 
 one of the surrounding parishes which be- 
 longed to the Duke of Bellamont, and to the 
 convenience and gratification of whose in- 
 habitants these tents were to-day dedicated. 
 There was not a man of Buddleton or Fud- 
 dleton ; not a yeoman or peasant of Montacute 
 super Mare or Montacute Abbotts, nor of Percy 
 Bellamont nor Friar's Bellamont, nor Winch 
 nor Finch, nor of Mandeville Stokes nor Man- 
 
66 TAiNCRED. 
 
 deville Bois; not a goodman true of Carleton 
 and Ingleton and Kirkby and Dent, and Gilla- 
 moor and Padmore and Hutton le Hale; not a 
 stout forester from the glades of Thorp, or the 
 sylvan homes of Hurst Lydgate and Bishop- 
 stovve, that knew not where foamed and flowed 
 the duke's ale, that was to quench the longings 
 of his thirsty village. And their wives and 
 daughters were equally welcome. At the 
 entrance of each tent, the duke's servants 
 invited all to enter, supplied them with 
 required refreshments, or indicated their ap- 
 pointed places at the approaching banquet. 
 In general, though there were many miscel- 
 laneous parties, each village entered the park 
 in procession, with its flag and its band. 
 
 At noon the scene presented the appearance 
 of an immense but well-ordered fair. In the 
 back-ground, men and boys climbed poles or 
 raced in sacks, while the exploits of the ginglers, 
 their mischievous manoiuvres and subtile com- 
 binations, elicited frequent bursts of laughter. 
 Further on, two long menaced cricket matches 
 called forth all the skill and energy of Fud- 
 
TANCEED. 67 
 
 (lleton and Buddleton, and Winch and Finch. 
 The great throng of the population, however, 
 was in the precincts of the terrace, where, in 
 the course of the morning, it was known that 
 the duke and duchess, with the hero of the 
 day and all their friends, were to appear, to 
 witness the sports of the people, and especially 
 the feats of the morrice-dancers, who were at 
 this moment practising before a very numerous 
 and delighted audience. In the mean time, 
 bells, drums, and trumpets, an occasional vol- 
 ley, and the frequent cheers and laughter of the 
 multitude, combined with the brilliancy of the 
 sun and the brightness of the ale to make a 
 right gladsome scene. 
 
 " It's nothing to what it will be at night," 
 said one of the duke's footmen to his family — 
 his father and mother, tw^o sisters and a young 
 brother, listening to liim with open mouths, 
 and staring at his state livery with mingled 
 feelings of awe and affection. They had come 
 over from Bellamont Friars, and their son had 
 asked the steward to give him the care of the 
 pavilion of that village, in order that he might 
 
68 TANCRED. 
 
 look after bis friends. Xever was a family 
 who esteemed themselves so fortunate or felt 
 so happy. Tliis was having a friend at court, 
 indeed. 
 
 *' It's nothing to what it will be at night," 
 said Thomas. " You will have ' Hail, star of 
 Bellamont !' and ' God save the Queen !' a crown, 
 three stars, four flags, and two coronets, all in 
 coloured lamps, letters six feet high, on the 
 castle. There will be one hundred beacons 
 lit over the space of fifty miles the moment 
 a rocket is shot off from the Eound Tower, 
 and as for fireworks. Bob, you'll see them 
 at last. Bengal lights, and the largest wheels 
 will be as common as squibs and crackers; 
 and I have heard say, though it is not to be 
 mentioned " And he paused. 
 
 ^' We'll not open our mouths," said his fa- 
 ther, earnestly. 
 
 " You had better not tell us," said his 
 mother in a nervous paroxysm; "for I am in 
 such a fluster, I am sure I cannot answer for 
 myself, and then Thomas may lose his place 
 for breach of conference." 
 
 *' Nonsense, mother," said his sisters, who 
 
TANCRED. 69 
 
 snubbed their mother almost as readily as is 
 the gracious habit of their betters. " Pray 
 tell us, Tom." 
 
 " Ay, ay, Tom," said his younger brother. 
 
 " Well," said Tom, in a confidential whisper, 
 " wont there be a transparency ! I have heard 
 say the queen never had anything like it. 
 You wont be able to see it for the first quarter 
 of an hour, there will be such a blaze of fire 
 and rockets ; but when it does come, they say 
 it's like heaven opening; the young markiss 
 on a cloud, with his hand on his heart, in his 
 new uniform." 
 
 "Dear me!" said his mother. "I knew 
 him before he was weaned. The duchess 
 suckled him herself, which shows her heart is 
 very true ; for they may say what they like, 
 but, if another's milk is in your child's veins, 
 he seems, in a sort of way, as much her bairn 
 as your own." 
 
 " Mother's milk makes a true-born English- 
 man," said the father; " and I make no doubt 
 our young markiss will prove the same." 
 
 " How I long to see him !" exclaimed one 
 of the daughters. 
 
70 TANCRED. 
 
 " And so do I !" said her sister, *'and in his 
 uniform ! How beautiful it must be !" 
 
 "Well, I don't know," said the mother; 
 " and perhaps you will laugh at me for saying 
 so, but, after seeing my Thomas in his state 
 livery, I don't care much for seeing anything 
 else." 
 
 " Mother, how can you say such things! 
 I am afraid the crowd will be very great at 
 the fireworks. We must try to get a good 
 place." 
 
 " I have arranged all that," said Thomas, 
 with a triumphant look. " There will be an 
 inner circle for the steward's friends, and you 
 will be let in." 
 
 " Oh !" exclaimed his sisters. 
 
 " Well, I hope I shall get through the day," 
 said his mother; " but it's rather a trial after 
 our quiet life." 
 
 " And when will they come on the terrace, 
 Thomas?" 
 
 " You see, they are waiting for the corpo- 
 ration, — that's the mayor and town council 
 of Montacute; they are coming up with an 
 
TANCRED. 71 
 
 address. There! Do jou hear that? That's the 
 signal gun. They are leaving the town-hall 
 at this same moment. Now, in three quarters 
 of an hour's time or so, the duke and duchess, 
 and the young markiss, and all of them, will 
 come on the terrace. So you be alive, and 
 draw near, and get a good place. I must 
 look after these people." 
 
 About the same time that the cannon 
 announced that the corporation had quitted the 
 town-hall, some one tapped at the chamber- 
 door of Lord Eskdale, who was sealing a letter 
 in his private room. 
 
 " Well, Harris?" said Lord Eskdale, looking 
 up, and recognising his valet. 
 
 " His grace has been inquiring for your 
 lordship several times," replied Mr. Harris, 
 with a perplexed air. 
 
 " I shall be with him in good time," replied 
 his lordship, again looking down. 
 
 " If you could manage to come down at 
 once, my lord," said Mr. Harris. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
72 TANCRED. 
 
 " Mr. Leander wishes to see your lordship 
 very much." 
 
 " Ah ! Leander !" said Lord Eskdale, in a 
 more interested tone. " What does he want?" 
 
 " I have not seen him," said Mr. Harris; 
 " but Mr. Prevost tells me that his feelings are 
 hurt." 
 
 " I hope he has not struck," said Lord Esk- 
 dale, with a comical glance. 
 
 " Something of that sort," said Mr. Harris, 
 very seriously. 
 
 Lord Eskdale had a great sympathy with 
 artists; he was well acquainted with that irri- 
 tability which is said to be the characteristic 
 of the creative power ; genius always found in 
 him an indulgent arbiter. He was convinced 
 that, if the feelings of a rare spirit like 
 Leander were hurt, they were not to be trifled 
 with. He felt responsible for the presence of 
 one so eminent in a country where, perhaps, 
 he was not properly appreciated; and Lord 
 Eskdale descended to the steward's room with 
 the consciousness of an important, probably a 
 diflScult mission. 
 
TANCRED. 73 
 
 The kitchen of Montacute Castle was of the 
 old style, fitted for baronial feasts. It covered 
 a great space, and was very lofty. Now they 
 build them in great houses on a different system ; 
 even more distinguished by height, but far 
 more condensed in area, as it is thought 
 that a dish often suffers from the distances 
 which the cook has to move over in collecting 
 its various component parts. The new prin- 
 ciple seems sound ; the old practice, however, 
 was more picturesque. The kitchen at Monta- 
 cute was like the preparation for the famous 
 wedding feast of Prince Riquet with the Tuft, 
 when the kind earth opened, and revealed that 
 genial spectacle of white-capped cooks, and 
 endless stoves and stewpans. The steady 
 blaze of two colossal fires was shrouded by vast 
 screens. Everywhere, rich materials and 
 silent artists ; business without bustle, and the 
 all-pervading magic of method. Philippon was 
 preparing a sauce ; Dumoreau, in another quar- 
 ter of the spacious chamber, was arranging some 
 truffles; the Englishman, Smit, was fashion- 
 ing a cutlet. Between these three generals 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
74 TANCRED. 
 
 of division aides-de-camp perpetually passed, 
 in the form of active and observant marmitons, 
 more than one of whom, as he looked on the 
 great masters around him, and with the pro- 
 phetic faculty of genius surveyed the future, 
 exclaimed to himself, like Corregio, " And I 
 also will be a cook." 
 
 In this animated and interesting scene was 
 only one unoccupied individual, or rather 
 occupied only with his own sad thoughts. 
 This was Papa Prevost, leaning against rather 
 than sitting on a dresser, with his arms folded, 
 his idle knife stuck in his girdle, and the 
 tassel of his cap awry with vexation. His 
 gloomy brow, however, lit up as Mr. Harris, 
 for whom he was waiting with anxious expec- 
 tation, entered, and summoned him to the pre- 
 sence of Lord Eskdale, who, with a shrewd yet 
 lounging air, which concealed his own fore- 
 boding perplexity, said, " Well, Prevost, what 
 is the matter ? The people here been imper- 
 tinent?" 
 
 Prevost shook his head. " We never were 
 
TAXCRED. 75 
 
 in a house, ray lord, where they were more 
 obliging. It is something much worse." 
 
 " Nothing wrong about your fish, I hope. 
 Well, what is it ?" 
 
 " Leander, my lord, has been dressing 
 dinners for a week — dinners, I will be bound to 
 say, which were never equalled in the Imperial 
 kitchen, and the duke has never made a single 
 observation, or sent him a single message. 
 Yesterday, determined to outdo even himself, 
 he sent up some escalopes de laitances de carpes 
 a la Bellamont. In my time I have seen nothing 
 like it, my lord. Ask Philippon, ask Dumoreau, 
 what thev thought of it I Even the Englishman, 
 Smit, who never says anything, opened his 
 mouth and exclaimed; as for the marmitons, 
 they were breathless, and I thought Achille, the 
 youth of whom I spoke to you, my lord, and who 
 appears to me to be born with the true feeling, 
 would have been overcome with emotion. 
 TVTien it was finished, Leander retired to this 
 room — I attended him — and covered his face 
 with his hands. Would you believe it, my 
 e2 
 
76 TANCRED. 
 
 lord ! Not a word — not even a message. 
 All this morning Leander has waited in the 
 last hope. Nothing, absolutely nothing ! How 
 can he compose when he is not appreciated? 
 Had he been appreciated, he would to-day 
 not only have repeated the escalopes a la 
 Bellamont, but perhaps even invented what 
 might have outdone it. It is unheard of, my 
 lord. The late Lord Monmouth would have sent 
 for Leander the very evening, or have written 
 to him a beautiful letter, which would have 
 been preserved in his family ; M. de Sidonia 
 would have sent him a tankard from his table. 
 These things in themselves are nothing; but 
 they prove to a man of genius that he is 
 understood. Had Leander been in the Im- 
 perial kitchen, or even with the Emperor of 
 Russia, he would have been decorated!" 
 '* Where is he?" said Lord Eskdale. 
 *' He is alone in the cook's room." 
 *' I will go and say a word to him." 
 Alone, in the cook's room, gazing in listless 
 vacancy on the fire — that fire v/hich, under 
 his influence, had often achieved so many 
 
TANCRED. 77 
 
 master-works — was the great artist who was 
 not appreciated. No longer suffering under 
 mortification, but overwhelmed by that ex- 
 haustion which follows acute sensibility and 
 the over-tension of the creative faculty, he 
 looked round as Lord Eskdale entered, and 
 when he perceived who was his visitor, he 
 rose immediately, bowed very low, and then 
 sighed. 
 
 " Prevost thinks we are not exactly appre- 
 ciated here," said Lord Eskdale. 
 
 Leander bowed again, and still sighed. 
 
 " Prevost does not understand the affair,'' 
 continued Lord Eskdale. '' Why I wished 
 you to come down here, Leander, was not to 
 receive the applause of my cousin and his 
 guests, but to form their taste." 
 
 Herew^asa great idea; exciting and ennobling. 
 It threw quite a new light upon the position 
 of Leander. He started; his brow seemed to 
 clear. Leander, then, like other eminent men, 
 had duties to perform as well as rights to 
 enjoy ; he had a right to fame, but it was also 
 his duty to form and direct public taste. 
 
78 TANCRED. 
 
 That then was the reason he was brought 
 down to Bellamont Castle ; because some of 
 the greatest personages in England, who never 
 had eaten a proper dinner in their lives, would 
 have an opportunity, for the first time, of 
 witnessing art. What could the praise of 
 the Duke of Clanronald, or Lord Hampshire, 
 or Lord Hull, signify to one who had shared 
 the confidence of a Lord Monmouth, and whom 
 Sir Alexander Grant, the first judge in Europe, 
 had declared the only man of genius of the 
 age? Leander erred too in supposing that 
 his achievements had been lost upon the guests 
 at Bellamont. Insensibly his feats had set 
 them a-thinking. They had been like Cos- 
 sacks in a picture gallery ; but the Clan- 
 ronalds, the Hampshires, the Hulls, would 
 return to their homes impressed with a great 
 truth — that there is a difference between eat- 
 ing and dining. Was this nothing for Leander 
 to have effected? Was it nothing, by this 
 development of taste, to assist in supporting 
 that aristocratic influence which he wished to 
 cherish, and which can alone encourage art? 
 
TANCEED. 79 
 
 If anything can save the aristocracy in this 
 levelling age, it is an appreciation of men of 
 genius. Certainly it would have been very 
 gratifying to Leander if his grace had only 
 sent him a message, or if Lord Montacute 
 had expressed a wish to see him. He had 
 been lonof musino; over some dish a la Mon- 
 tacute, for this very day. The young lord 
 was reputed to have talent; this dish might 
 touch his fancy; the homage of a great artist 
 flatters youth; this offering of genius might 
 colour his destiny. But what, after all, did 
 this signify? Leander had a mission to per- 
 form. 
 
 " If I were you, I would exert myself, 
 Leander," said Lord Eskdale. 
 
 " Ah! my lord, if all men were like you I 
 If artists were only sure of being appreciated ; 
 if we were but understood — a dinner would 
 become a sacrifice to the gods, and a kitchen 
 would be Paradise." 
 
 In the mean time, the mayor and town-coun- 
 cillors of Montacute, in their robes of office, 
 and preceded by their bedels and their mace- 
 
80 TANCRED. 
 
 bearer, have entered the gates of the castle. 
 They pass into the great hall, the most ancient 
 part of the building, with its open roof of 
 Spanish chestnut, its screen and gallery and 
 dais, its painted windows and marble floor. 
 Ascending the dais, they are ushered into an 
 antichamber, the first of that suite of state 
 apartments that opens on the terrace. Leaving 
 on one side the principal dining-room and the 
 library, they proceeded through the green 
 drawing-room, so called from its silken hang- 
 ings, the • red drawing-room, covered with 
 ruby velvet, and both adorned, but not encum- 
 bered, with pictures of the choicest art, into 
 the principal or duchesses' drawing room, 
 thus entitled from its complete collection 
 of portraits of Duchesses of Bellamont. It 
 was a very spacious and beautifully propor- 
 tioned chamber, hung with amber satin, its 
 ceiling by Zucchero, whose rich colours were 
 relieved by the burnished gilding. The cor- 
 poration trod tremblingly over the gorgeous 
 carpet of Axminster, which displayed, in vivid 
 colours and colossal proportions, the shield and 
 
TANCRED. 81 
 
 supporters of Bellamont, and threw a hasty 
 glance at the vases of porphyry and mala- 
 chite, and mosaic tables covered with precious 
 toys, which were grouped about. 
 
 Thence they were ushered into the Montacute 
 room, adorned, among many interesting pic- 
 tures, by perhaps the finest performance of 
 Lawrence, a portrait of the present duke, just 
 after his marriage. Tall and graceful, with a 
 clear dark complexion, regular features, eyes 
 of liquid tenderness, a frank brow, and rich 
 clustering hair, the accomplished artist had 
 seized and conveyed the character of a high- 
 spirited but gentle-hearted cavalier. From the 
 Montacute chamber, they entered the ball- 
 room ; very spacious, white and gold, a coved 
 ceiling, large Venetian lustres, and the walls 
 of looking-glass, enclosing friezes of festive 
 sculpture. Then followed another antecham- 
 ber, in the centre of which was one of the 
 master-pieces of Canova. This room, lined 
 with footmen in state liveries, completed the 
 suite that opened on the terrace. The northern 
 side of this chamber consisted of a very large 
 e3 
 
82 TANCRED. 
 
 door; divided, and decorated in its panels 
 with emblazoned shields of arms. 
 
 The valves being thrown open, the mayor and 
 town-council of Montacute were ushered into 
 a gallery one hundred feet long, and which 
 occupied a great portion of the northern side 
 of the castle. The panels of this gallery 
 enclosed a series of pictures in tapestry, which 
 represented the principal achievements of the 
 third crusade. A Montacute had been one 
 of the most distinguished knights in that great 
 adventure, and had saved the life of Cceur de 
 Lion at the siege of Ascalon. In after-ages 
 a Duke of Bellamont, who was our ambassador 
 at Paris, had given orders to the Gobelins 
 factory for the execution of this series of pic- 
 tures from cartoons by the most celebrated 
 artists of the time. The subjects of the 
 tapestry had obtained for the magnificent 
 chamber, which they adorned and rendered so 
 interesting, the title of "The Crusaders' Gal- 
 lery." 
 
 At the end of this gallery, surrounded by 
 their guests, their i-elatives, and their neigh- 
 
TANCRED. 83 
 
 hours ; by high nobility, by reverend prelates, 
 by the members and notables of the county, 
 and by some of the chief tenants of the duke, 
 a portion of whom were never absent from any 
 great carousing or high ceremony that oc- 
 curred within his walls, the Duke and Duchess 
 of Bellamont and their son, a little in advance 
 of the company, stood to receive the con- 
 gratulatory addresses of the mayor and cor- 
 poration of their ancient and faithful town of 
 Montacute — the town which their fathers had 
 built and adorned, which they had often repre- 
 sented in parliament in the good old days, and 
 which they took care should then enjoy its 
 fair proportion of the good old things — a 
 town, every house in which belonged to them, 
 and of which there was not an inhabitant who, 
 in his own person or in that of his ancestry, 
 had not felt the advantages of the noble con- 
 nexion. 
 
 The duke bowed to the corporation, with 
 the duchess on his left hand; and on his 
 right there stood a youth, above the middle 
 height and of a frame completely and grace- 
 
84 TANCRED. 
 
 fully formed. His dark brown hair, in those 
 hyacinthine curls which Grecian poets have 
 celebrated, and which Grecian sculptors have 
 immortalized, clustered over his brow, which, 
 however, they only partially concealed. It 
 was pale, as was his whole countenance, but 
 the liquid richness of the dark brown eye, and 
 the colour of the lip, denoted anything but a 
 languid circulation. The features were regular, 
 and inclined rather to a refinement, which 
 might have imparted to the countenance a 
 character of too much delicacy, had it not 
 been for the deep meditation of the brow, and 
 for the lower part of the visage, which inti- 
 mated indomitable will and an iron resolution. 
 Placed for the first time in his life in a 
 public position, and under circumstances which 
 might have occasioned some degree of embar- 
 rassment even to those initiated in the world, 
 nothing was more remarkable in the demeanour 
 of Lord Montacute than his self-possession ; 
 nor was there in his carriage anything studied, 
 or which had the character of being precon- 
 ceived. Every movement or gesture was dis- 
 
TANCRED. 85 
 
 tinguished by what may be called a graceful 
 gravity. With a total absence of that excite- 
 ment which seemed so natural to his age and 
 situation, there was nothing in his manner 
 which approached to nonchalance or indiffer- 
 ence. It would appear that he duly estimated 
 the importance of the event they were com- 
 memorating, yet was not of a habit of mind 
 that over-estimated anything. 
 
TANCEED. 87 
 
 BOOK 11. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The week of celebration was over: some few 
 guests remained, near relatives, and not very 
 rich, the Montacute Mountjojs for example. 
 They came from a considerable distance, and 
 the duke insisted that they should remain 
 until the duchess went to London, an event, 
 by the bye, which was to occur very speedily. 
 Lady Eleanor was rather agreeable, and the 
 duchess a little liked her; there were four 
 daughters, to be sure, and not very lively, but 
 tliey sang in the evening. 
 
 It was a bright morning, and the duchess, 
 with a heart prophetic of happiness, wished to 
 
88 TANCRED. 
 
 disburthen it to her son ; she meant to propose 
 to him, therefore, to be her companion in her 
 walk, and she had sent to his rooms in vain, 
 and was inquiring after him, when she was 
 informed that " Lord Montacute was with his 
 grace." 
 
 A smile of satisfaction flitted over her face, 
 as she recalled the pleasant cause of the con- 
 ference that was now taking place between the 
 father and the son. 
 
 Let us see how it advanced. 
 The duke is in his private library, con- 
 sisting chiefly of the statutes at large, Hansard, 
 the Annual Register, Parliamentary Eeports, 
 and legal treatises on the powers and duties 
 of justices of the peace. A portrait of his 
 mother is over the mantel -piece : opposite it a 
 huge map of the county. His correspondence 
 on public business with the secretary of state, 
 and the various authorities of the shire, is ad- 
 mirably arranged. For the duke was what is 
 called an excellent man of business, that is to 
 say, methodical, and an adept in all the small 
 arts of routine. These papers were deposited, 
 
TANCRED. 89 
 
 after having been ticketed with a date and a 
 summary of their contents, and tied with much 
 tape, in a large cabinet, which occupied nearly 
 one side of the room, and on the top of which 
 were busts in marble of Mr. Pitt, George III., 
 and the Duke of Wellington. 
 
 The duke was leaning back in his chair, 
 which it seemed, from his air and position, he 
 had pushed back somewhat suddenly from his 
 writing table, and an expression of painful 
 surprise, it cannot be denied, dwelt on his 
 countenance. Lord Montacute was on his legs, 
 leaning with his left arm on the chimney-piece, 
 very serious, and, if possible, paler than usual. 
 
 " You take me quite by surprise," said the 
 duke; " I thought it was an arrangement that 
 would have deeply gratified you." 
 
 Lord Montacute slightly bowed his head, 
 but said nothing. His father continued. 
 
 " Xot wish to enter Parliament at present ! 
 Why — that is all very well, and if, as was once 
 the case, we could enter Parliament when we 
 liked and how we liked, the wish might be 
 very reasonable. If I could ring my bell, and 
 
90 TANCRED. 
 
 return you member for Montacufce with as 
 much ease as I could send over to Bellamont 
 to engage a special train to take us to town, 
 you might be justified in indulging a fancy. 
 But how and when, I should like to know, are 
 you to enter Parliament now? This Par- 
 liament will last ; it will go on to the lees. 
 Lord Eskdale told me so not a week ago. 
 Well then, at any rate, you lose three years: 
 for three years you are an idler. I never 
 thought that was your character. I have 
 always had an impression you would turn 
 your mind to public business, that the county 
 might look up to you. If you have what are 
 called higher views, you should not forget 
 there is a great opening now in public life, 
 which may not offer again. The Duke is 
 resolved to give the preference, in carrying on 
 the business of the country, to the aristocracy. 
 He believes this is our only means of preser- 
 vation. He told me so himself. If it be so, 
 I fear we are doomed. I hope we may be of 
 some use to our country without being ministers 
 of state. But let that pass. As long as the 
 
TANCRED. 91 
 
 Duke lives, he is omnipotent, and will have his 
 way. If you come into Parliament now, and 
 show any disposition for office, you may rely 
 upon it you will not long be unemployed. I 
 have no doubt I could arrange that you should 
 move the address of next session. I dare say 
 Lord Eskdale could manage this, and, if he 
 could not, though I abhor asking a minister 
 for anything, I should, under the circumstances, 
 feel perfectly justified in speaking to the duke 
 on the subject myself, and," added his grace, 
 in a lowered tone, but with an expression of 
 great earnestness and determination, "I flatter 
 myself that if the Duke of Bellamont chooses 
 to express a wish, it would not be disregarded." 
 
 Lord Montacute cast his dark, intelligent 
 eyes upon the ground, and seemed plunged in 
 thought. 
 
 " Besides," added the duke, after a moment's 
 pause, and inferring, from the silence of his 
 son, that he was making an impression, 
 '' suppose Hungerford is not in the same 
 humour this time three years which he is in 
 now. Probably he may be; possibly he may 
 
92 TANCRED. 
 
 not. Men do not like to be balked when 
 they think they are doing a very kind and 
 generous and magnanimous thing. Hungerford 
 is not a warming-pan, we must remember that ; 
 he never w^as originally ; and if he had been, 
 he has been member for the county too long to 
 be so considered now. I should be placed in 
 a most painful position, if, this time three 
 years, I had to withdraw my support from 
 Hungerford, in order to secure your return." 
 " There would be no necessity, under any 
 circumstances, for that, my dear father," said 
 Lord Montacute, looking up, and speaking in 
 a voice w^hich, though somewhat low, was of 
 that organ that at once arrests attention ; a 
 voice that comes alike from the brain and from 
 the heart, and seems made to convey both 
 profound thought and deep emotion. There is 
 no index of character so sure as the voice. 
 There are tones, tones brilliant and gushing, 
 which impart a quick and pathetic sensibility : 
 there are others that, deep and yet calm, seem 
 the just interpreters of a serene and exalted 
 intellect. But the rarest and the most pre- 
 
TANCRED. 93 
 
 cious of all voices is that which combines 
 passion and repose; and whose rich and re- 
 strained tones exercise, perhaps, on the human 
 frame a stronger spell than even the fascination 
 of the eye, or that bewitching influence of the 
 hand, which is the privilege of the higher races 
 of Asia. 
 
 " There would be no necessity, under any 
 circumstances, for that, my dear father," said 
 Lord Montacute; '' for, to be frank, I believe I 
 should feel as little disposed to enter Parlia- 
 ment three years hence as now." 
 
 The duke looked still more surprised. " Mr. 
 Fox was not of age when he took his seat," said 
 his grace. " You know how old Mr. Pitt was 
 when he was a minister. Sir Robert, too, was 
 in harness very early. I have always heard 
 the good judges say — Lord Eskdale, for ex- 
 ample — that a man might speak in Parliament 
 too soon, but it was impossible to go in too 
 soon." 
 
 "If he wished to succeed in that assem- 
 bly," replied Lord Montacute, " I can easily 
 believe it. In all things an early initiation 
 
94 TANCRED. 
 
 must be of advantage. But I have not that 
 wish." 
 
 " I don't like to see a man take his seat in 
 the House of Lords who has not been in the 
 House of Commons. He seems to me always, 
 in a manner, unfledged." 
 
 " It will be a long time, I hope, my dear 
 father, before I take my seat in the House of 
 Lords," said Lord Montacute," if, indeed, I 
 ever do." 
 
 " In the course of nature 'tis a certainty." 
 
 " Suppose the Duke's plan for perpetuating 
 an aristocracy do not succeed," said Lord 
 Montacute, " and our house ceases to exist?" 
 
 His father shrugged his shoulders. "It is 
 not our business to suppose that. I hope it 
 never will be the business of any one, at least 
 seriously. This is a great country, and it has 
 become great by its aristocracy." 
 
 "You think, then, our sovereigns did nothing 
 for our greatness — Queen Elizabeth, for ex- 
 ample, of whose visit to Montacute you are so 
 proud?" 
 
 " They performed their part." 
 
TANCRED. 95 
 
 " And have ceased to exist. We may have 
 performed our part, and may meet the same 
 fate." 
 
 *' Why, you are talking liberalism!" 
 
 " Hai:dly that, my dear father, for I have 
 not expressed an opinion." 
 
 " I wish I knew what your opinions were, 
 my dear boy, or even your wishes." 
 
 "Well, then— to do my duty." 
 
 " Exactly: you are a pillar of the State; 
 support the State." 
 
 " Ah ! if any one would but tell me what 
 the State is," said Lord Montacute, sighing. 
 *^ It seems to me your pillars remain, but they 
 support nothing; in that case, though the 
 shafts may be perpendicular, and the capitals 
 very ornate, they are no longer props, they are 
 a ruin." 
 
 " You would hand us over, then, to the 
 ten-pounders ?" 
 
 " They do not even pretend to be a State," 
 said Lord Montacute ; " they do not even pro- 
 fess to support anything ; on the contrary, the 
 essence of their philosophy is, that nothing is 
 
96 TANCRED. 
 
 to be established, and everything is to be left 
 to itself." 
 
 " The common sense of this country and 
 the fifty-pound clause will carry us through," 
 said the duke. 
 
 " Through what?" inquired his son. 
 
 " This — this state of transition," replied 
 his father. 
 
 " A passage to what?" 
 
 " Ah ! that is a question the wisest cannot 
 answer." 
 
 "But into which the weakest, among whom 
 I class myself, have surely a right to inquire." 
 
 " Unquestionably; and I know nothing that 
 will tend more to assist you in your researches 
 than acting with practical men." 
 
 " And practising all their blunders," said 
 Lord Montacute. " I can conceive an indi- 
 vidual who has once been entrapped into their 
 haphazard courses, continuing in the fatal 
 confusion to which he has contributed his 
 quota; but I am at least free, and I wish to 
 
 continue so." 
 
 " And do nothing r 
 
 9" 
 
TANCRED. 97 
 
 " But does it follow that a man is infirm of 
 action, because he declines fighting in the 
 dark." 
 
 " And how would you act, then? "W'hat 
 are your plans? Have you any?" 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " Well, that is satisfactory," said the duke, 
 with animation. " Whatever they are, you 
 know you may count upon my doing every- 
 thing that is possible to forward your wishes. 
 I know they cannot be unworthy ones, for 
 I believe, my child, you are incapable of a 
 thought that is not good or great." 
 
 " I wish I knew what was good and great," 
 said Lord Montacute ; ''I would struggle to 
 accomplish it." 
 
 " But you have formed some views; you 
 have some plans. Speak to me of them, and 
 without reserve; as to a friend, the most 
 affectionate, the most devoted." 
 
 " My father," said Lord Montacute, and, 
 moving, he drew a chair to the table, and 
 seated himself by the duke, " you possess and 
 have a right to my confidence. I ought not to 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
98 TANCRED. 
 
 have said that I doubted about what was good ; 
 for I know you." 
 
 " Sons like you make good fathers." 
 
 " It is not always so," said Lord Monta- 
 cute; "you have been to me more than a 
 father, and I bear to you and to my mother a 
 profound and fervent affection; an affection," 
 he added, in a faltering tone, " that is rarer, I 
 believe, in this age than it was in old days. I 
 feel it at this moment more deeply," he con- 
 tinued, in a firmer tone, " because I am about 
 to propose that we should for a time sepa- 
 rate." 
 
 The duke turned pale, and leant forward 
 in his chair, but did not speak. 
 
 '' You have proposed to me to-day," con- 
 tinued Lord Montacute, after a momentary 
 pause, " to enter public life. I do not shrink 
 from its duties. On the contrary, from the 
 position in which I am born, still more from 
 the impulse of my nature, I am desirous 
 to fulfil them. I have meditated on them, 
 I may say, even for years. But I cannot 
 find that it is part of my duty to maintain 
 
TANCRED. 99 
 
 the order of things, for I will not call it 
 system, which at present prevails in our 
 country. It seems to me that it cannot last, 
 as nothing can endure, or ought to endure, 
 that is not founded upon principle; and its 
 principle I have not discovered. In nothing, 
 whether it be religion, or government, or 
 manners, sacred or political or social life, do 
 I find faith; and if there be no faith, how 
 can there be duty? Is there such a thing 
 as religious truth? Is there such a thing as 
 political right? Is there such a thing as 
 social propriety ? Are these facts, or are they 
 mere phrases? And if they be facts, where 
 are they likely to be found in England? Is 
 truth in our Church? Why, then, do you sup- 
 port dissent? Who has the right to govern? 
 The Monarch? You have robbed him of his 
 prerogative. The Aristocracy ? You confess to 
 me that we exist by sufferance. The People? 
 They themselves tell you that they are nulli- 
 ties. Every session of that Parliament in 
 which you wish to introduce me, the method 
 by which power is distributed is called in 
 F 2 
 
100 TANCRED. 
 
 question, altered, patched up, and again im- 
 pugned. As for our morals, tell me — is 
 charity the supreme virtue, or the greatest of 
 errors? Our social system ought to depend 
 on a clear conception of this point. Our 
 morals differ in different counties, in different 
 towns, in different streets, even in different 
 Acts of Parliament. What is moral in London 
 is immoral in Montacute ; what is crime among 
 the multitude is only vice among the few." 
 
 " You are going into first principles," said 
 the duke, much surprised. 
 
 " Give me then second principles," replied 
 his son; "give me any." 
 
 '' We must take a general view of things to 
 form an opinion," said his father, mildly. 
 " The general condition of England is superior 
 to that of any other country; it cannot be 
 denied, that on the whole there is more po- 
 litical freedom, more social happiness, more 
 sound religion, and more material prospe- 
 rity, among us, than in any nation in the 
 world." 
 
 " I might question all that," said his son ; 
 
TANCRED. 101 
 
 "but they are considerations that do not 
 affect my views. If other States are worse 
 than we are, and I hope they are not, our 
 condition is not mended, but the contrary, for 
 we then need the salutary stimulus of ex- 
 ample." 
 
 " There is no sort of doubt," said the duke, 
 " that the state of England at this moment is 
 the most flourishing that has ever existed, 
 certainly in modern times. What with these 
 railroads, even the condition of the poor, 
 which I admit was lately far from satisfactory, 
 is infinitely improved. Every man has work 
 who needs it, and wages are even high." 
 
 " The railroads may have improved, in a 
 certain sense, the condition of the working 
 classes almost as much as that of members of 
 Parliament. They have been a good thing 
 for both of them. And if you think that 
 more labour is all that is wanted by the 
 people of England, we may be easy for a 
 time. I see nothing in this fresh develop- 
 ment of material industry, but fresh causes of 
 moral deterioration. You have announced 
 
102 TANCRED. 
 
 to the millions that their welfare is to be 
 tested by the amount of their wages. Money 
 is to be the cupel of their worth, as it is of all 
 other classes. You propose for their conduct 
 the least ennobling of all impulses. If you 
 have seen an aristocracy invariably become 
 degraded under such influence; if all the 
 vices of a middle class may be traced to such 
 an absorbing motive — why are we to believe 
 that the people should be more pure, or that 
 they should escape the catastrophe of the policy 
 that confounds the happiness with the wealth 
 of nations?" 
 
 The duke shook his head, and then said — 
 " You should not forget we live in an arti- 
 ficial state." 
 
 " So I often hear, sir," replied his son; 
 "but where is the art? It seems to me the 
 very quality wanting to our present condition. 
 Art is order, method, harmonious results ob- 
 tained by fine and powerful principles. I see 
 no art in our condition. The people of this 
 country have ceased to be a nation. They are 
 a crowd, and only kept in some rude pro- 
 
TANCRED. 103 
 
 visional discipline by the remains of that old 
 system which they are daily destroying." 
 
 " But what would you do, my dear boy?" 
 said his grace, looking up very distressed. 
 " Can you remedy the state of things in which 
 we find ourselves?" 
 
 " I am not a teacher," said Lord Monta- 
 cute, mournfully; '' I only ask you, I suppli- 
 cate you, my dear father, to save me from 
 contributing to this quick corruption that 
 surrounds us." 
 
 " You shall be master of your own actions. 
 I offer you counsel, I give no commands; and, 
 as for the rest, Providence will guard us." 
 
 " If an angel would but visit our house as 
 he visited the house of Lot !" said Lord Mon- 
 tacute, in a tone almost of anguish. 
 
 " Angels have performed their part," said 
 the duke. " We have received instruction 
 from one higher than angels. It is enough 
 for all of us." 
 
 '' It is not enough for me," said Lord Mon- 
 tacute, with a glowing cheek, and rising ab- 
 ruptly. ^' It was not enough for the apostles; 
 
104 TAxNCRED. 
 
 for though they listened to the sermon on the 
 mount, and partook of the first communion, it 
 was still necessary that He should appear to 
 them again, and promise them a Comforter. I 
 require one," he added, after a momentary 
 pause, but in an agitated voice. " I must 
 seek one. Yes ! my dear father, it is of this 
 that I would speak to you ; it is this which 
 for a long time has oppressed my spirit, and 
 filled me often with intolerable gloom. We 
 must separate. I must leave you, I must leave 
 that dear mother, those beloved parents, in 
 whom are concentred all my earthly affec- 
 tions ; but I obey an impulse that I believe 
 comes from above. Dearest and best of men, 
 you will not thwart me — you will forgive, 
 you will aid me !" And he advanced, and threw 
 himself into the arms of his father. 
 
 The duke pressed Lord Montacute to his 
 heart, and endeavoured, though himself agi- 
 tated and much distressed, to penetrate the 
 mystery of this ebullition. " He says we must 
 separate." thought the duke to himself " Ah! 
 he has lived too much at home, too much 
 
TANCRED. 105 
 
 alone; he has read and pondered too much; 
 he has moped. Eskdale was right two years 
 ago. I wish I had sent him to Paris, but his 
 mother was so alarmed; and, indeed, 'tis a 
 precious life ! The House of Commons would 
 have been just the thing for him. He would 
 have worked on committees, and grown prac- 
 tical. But something must be done for him, 
 de^r child! He sajs we must separate: he 
 wants to travel. And perhaps he ought to 
 travel. But a life on which so much depends ! 
 And what will Katheriue say? It will kill 
 her. I could screw myself up to it. I would 
 send him well attended. Brace should go 
 with him ; he understands the continent ; he 
 was in the Peninsular war; and he should 
 have a skilful physician. I see how it is ; I 
 must act with decision, and break it to his 
 mother." 
 
 These ideas passed through the duke's mind 
 during the few seconds that he embraced his 
 son, and endeavoured at the same time to con- 
 vey consolation by the expression of his affec- 
 f3 
 
106 TANCRED. 
 
 tion, and his anxiety at all times to contribute 
 to his child's happiness. 
 
 " My dear son," said the duke, when Lord 
 Montacute had resumed his seat, " I see how 
 it is ; you wish to travel ?" 
 
 Lord Montacute bent his head, as if in 
 assent. 
 
 " It will be a terrible blow to your mother; 
 I say nothing of myself. You know what I 
 feel for you. But neither your mother nor 
 myself have a right to place our feelings in 
 competition with any arrangement for your 
 welfare. It would be in the highest degree 
 selfish and unreasonable ; and perhaps it will 
 be well for you to travel awhile; and, as for 
 Parliament, I am to see Hungerford this morn- 
 ing at Bellamont. I will try and arrange with 
 him to postpone his resignation until the 
 autumn, or, if possible, for some little time 
 longer. You will then have accomplished 
 your purpose. It will do you a great deal of 
 good. You will have seen the world, and you 
 can take your seat next year." 
 
TANCRED. 107 
 
 The duke paused. Lord Montacute looked 
 perplexed and distressed ; he seemed about to 
 reply, and then, leaning on the table, with his 
 face concealed from his father, he maintained 
 his silence. The duke rose, looked at his 
 watch, said he must be at Bellamont by two 
 o'clock — hoped that Brace would dine at the 
 Castle to-day — thought it not at all impos- 
 sible Brace might — would send on to Monta- 
 cute for him — perhaps might meet him at 
 Bellamont. Brace understood the continent, 
 spoke several languages, Spanish among them, 
 though it was not probable his son would have 
 any need of that, the present state of Spain 
 not being very inviting to the traveller. " As 
 for France," continued the duke, " France is 
 Paris, and I suppose that will be your first 
 step; it generally is. ^Ye must see if your 
 cousin, Henry Howard, is there. If so, he 
 will put you in the way of everything. With 
 the embassy and Brace, you would manage 
 very well at Paris. Then, I suppose, you would 
 like to go to Italy ; that, I apprehend, is your 
 great point. Your mother will not like your 
 
108 TANCRED. 
 
 going to Eome. Still, at the same time, a 
 man, they say, should see Rome before he dies. 
 I never did. I have never crossed the sea ex- 
 cept to go to Ireland. Your grandfather would 
 never let me travel ; I wanted to, but he never 
 would. Not, however, for the same reasons 
 which have kept you at home. Suppose you 
 even winter at Rome, which I believe is the 
 right thing, why, you might very well be back 
 by the sj)ring. However, we must manage 
 your mother a little about remaining over the 
 winter — and, on second thoughts, we will get 
 Barnard to go with you, as well as Brace and 
 a physician, and then she will be much more 
 easy. I think, with Brace, Barnard, and a 
 medical man whom we can really trust, Harry 
 Howard at Paris, and the best letters for every 
 other place, which we will consult Lord Esk- 
 dale about, I think the danger will not be 
 extreme." 
 
 " I have no wish to see Paris," said Lord 
 Montacute, evidently embarrassed, and making 
 a great efibrt to relieve his mind of some bur- 
 then. " I have no wish to see Paris." 
 
TANCRED. 109 
 
 " I am very glad to hear that," said his 
 father, eagerly. 
 
 " Kor do I wish either to go to Rome," con- 
 tinued his son. 
 
 " Well, well, you have taken a load off 
 my mind, my dear boy. I would not confess 
 it, because I wished to save you pain ; but 
 really, I believe the idea of your going toEome 
 would have been a serious shock to your mo- 
 ther. It is not so much the distance, though 
 that is great, nor the climate, which has its 
 dangers, — but, you understand, with her pe- 
 culiar views, her very strict " The duke 
 
 did not care to finish his sentence. 
 
 " JSTor, my dear father," continued Lord 
 Montacute, " though I did not like to inter- 
 rupt you when you were speakiiig Avith so 
 much solicitude and consideration for me, is it 
 exactly travel, in the common acceptation of 
 the term, that I feel the need of. I wish, 
 indeed, to leave England; I wish to make an 
 expedition ; a progress to a particular point ; 
 without wandering, without any intervening 
 residence. In a word — it is the Holy Land 
 
110 TANCRED. 
 
 that occupies my thought, and I propose to 
 make a pilgriuiage to the sepulchre of my 
 Saviour." 
 
 The duke started, and sank again into his 
 chair. " The Holy Land! The Holy Se- 
 pulchre !" he exclaimed, and repeated to him- 
 self, staring at his son. 
 
 " Yes, sir, the Holy Sepulchre," repeated 
 Lord Montacute, and now speaking with his 
 accustomed repose. '' When I remember that 
 the Creator, since light sprang out of darkness, 
 has deigned to reveal himself to his creature 
 only in one land ; that in that land he assumed 
 a manly form, and met a human death ; I feel 
 persuaded that the country sanctified by such 
 intercourse and such events, must be endowed 
 with marvellous and peculiar qualities, which 
 man may not in all ages be competent to pene- 
 trate, but which,nevertheless, at all times exer- 
 cise an irresistible influence upon his destiny. 
 It is these qualities that many times drew 
 Europe to Asia during the middle centuries. 
 Our castle has before this sent forth a De 
 Montacute to Palestine. For three days and 
 
TANCRED. Ill 
 
 three nights he knelt at the tomb of his Ee- 
 deemer. Six centuries and more have elapsed 
 since that great enterprise. It is time to restore 
 and renovate our communications with the Most 
 High. I, too, would kneel at that tomb; I, 
 too, surrounded bj the holy hills and sacred 
 groves of Jerusalem, would relieve my spirit 
 from the bale that bows it down ; would lift up 
 my voice to Heaven, and ask, What is Duty, 
 and Avhat is Faith? — What ought I to do, and 
 what ought I to believe?" 
 
 The Duke of Bellamont rose from his seat, 
 and w^alked up and down the room for some 
 minutes, in silence and in deep thought. At 
 length, stopping and leaning against the cabi- 
 net, he said, " What has occurred to-day be- 
 tween us, my beloved child, is, you may easily 
 believe, as strange to me as it is agitating. I 
 will think of all you have said ; I will try to 
 comprehend all you mean and wish. I will 
 endeavour to do that which is best and wisest ; 
 placing above all things your happiness, and 
 not our own. At this moment I am not com- 
 petent to the task — I need quiet, and to be 
 
112 TANCRED. 
 
 alone. Your mother, I know, wishes to walk 
 with you this morning. She may be speak- 
 ing to you of many things. Be silent upon this 
 subject, until I have communicated with her. 
 At present I will ride over to Bellamont. I 
 must go ; and, besides, it will do me good. I 
 never can think very well except in the saddle. 
 If Brace comes, make him dine here. God 
 bless you." 
 
 The duke left the room ; his son remained in 
 meditation. The first step was taken. He 
 had poured into the interview of an hour the 
 results of three years of solitary thought. A 
 sound roused him ; it was his mother. She had 
 only learnt casually that the duke was gone; 
 she was surprised he had not come into her 
 room before he went; it seemed the first time 
 since their marriage that the duke had gone 
 out without first coming to speak to her. So she 
 went to seek her son, to congratulate him on 
 being a member of Parliament, on representing 
 the county of which they were so fond, and 
 of breaking to him a proposition which she 
 doubted not he would find not less interesting 
 
TANCKED. 113 
 
 and charming. Happy mother, with her only 
 son, on whom she doted and of whom she was 
 so justly proud, about to enter public life in 
 which he was sure to distinguish himself, and 
 to marry a woman who was sure to make 
 him happy! With a bounding heart the 
 duchess opened the library door, where she 
 had been informed she should find Lord Mon- 
 tacute. She had her bonnet on, ready for the 
 walk of confidence, and, her face flushed with 
 delight, she looked even beautiful. '' Ah!" 
 she exclaimed, " I have been looking for you, 
 Tancred !" 
 
114 TANCRED. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The duke returned rather late from Bella- 
 mont, and went immediately to his dressing- 
 room. A few minutes before dinner the duchess 
 knocked at his door and entered. She seemed 
 disconcerted, and reminded him, though with 
 great gentleness, that he had gone out to-day 
 without first bidding her adieu ; she really be- 
 lieved it was the only time he had done so 
 since their marriage. The duke, who, when 
 she entered, anticipated something about their 
 son, was relieved by her remark, embraced her, 
 and would have affected a gaiety which he did 
 not really feel. 
 
 "I am glad to hear that Brace dines here 
 
TANCRED. 115 
 
 to-day, Kate, for I particularly wanted to see 
 him." 
 
 The duchess did not reply, and seemed ab- 
 sent; the duke, to say something, tying his 
 cravat, kept harping upon Brace. 
 
 " Never mind Brace, George," said the 
 duchess; " tell me what is this about Tancred? 
 Why is his coming into Parliament put off?" 
 
 The duke was perplexed ; he wished to know 
 how far at this moment his wife was informed 
 upon the matter; the feminine frankness of 
 the duch^^s put him out of suspense. " I have 
 been walking with Tancred," she continued, 
 " and intimated, but with great caution, all 
 our plans and hopes. I asked him what he 
 thought of his cousin ; he agrees with us she 
 is by far the most charming girl he knows, and 
 one of the most agreeable. I impressed upon 
 him how good she was. I wished to preci- 
 pitate nothing. I never dreamed of their mar- 
 rying fintil late in the autumn. I wished him 
 to become acquainted with his new life, which 
 would not prevent him seeing a great deal of 
 Katherine in London, and then to visit them in 
 
116 TANCRED. 
 
 Ireland, as you visited us, George; and then, 
 when I was settling everything in the most de- 
 lightful manner, what he was to do when he was 
 kept up very late at the House, which is the 
 only part I don't like, and begging him to be 
 very strict in making his servant always have 
 coffee ready for him, very hot, and a cold fowl 
 too, or something of the sort, he tells me, to 
 my infinite astonishment, that the vacancy will 
 not immediately occur, that he is not sorry for 
 it, as he thinks it may be as well that he should 
 go abroad. What can all this mean? Pray 
 tell me; for Tancredhas told me nothing, and, 
 when I pressed him, waived the subject, and 
 said we would all of us consult together." 
 
 " And so we will, Kate," said the duke, " but 
 hardly at this moment, for dinner must be 
 almost served. To be brief," he added, speaking 
 in a light tone, " there are reasons which per- 
 haps may make it expedient that Hungerford 
 should not resign at the present moment ; and 
 as Tancred has a fancy to travel a little, it 
 may be as well that we should take it into con- 
 
TAXCRED. 117 
 
 sideration whether he might not profitably oc- 
 cupy the interval in this manner." 
 
 "Profitably!" said the duchess. " I never 
 can understand how going to Paris and Rome, 
 which young men always mean when they talk 
 of travelling, can be profitable to him ; it is 
 the very thing which, all my life, I have been 
 endeavouring to prevent. His body and his 
 soul will be both imperilled ; Paris will destroy 
 his constitution, and Rome, perhaps, change his 
 faith." 
 
 " I have more confidence in his physical 
 power and his religious principle than you, 
 Kate," said the duke, smiling. " But make 
 yourself easy on these heads ; Tancred told me 
 this morning that he had no wish to visit either 
 Rome or Paris." 
 
 " Well !" exclaimed the duchess, somewhat 
 relieved, " if he wants to make a little tour in 
 Holland, I think I could bear it; it is a Pro- 
 testant country, and there are no vermin. And 
 then those dear Disbrowes, I am sure, would 
 take care of him at the Hague." 
 
118 TANCRED. 
 
 *' We will talk of all this to-night, my love," 
 said the duke ; and offering his arm to his wife, 
 who was more composed, if not more cheerful, 
 they descended to their guests. 
 
 Colonel Brace was there, to the duke's great 
 satisfaction. The colonel had served as a 
 cornet in a dragoon regiment in the last cam- 
 paign of the Peninsular war, and had marched 
 into Paris. Such an event makes an indelible 
 impression on the memory of a handsome lad of 
 seventeen, and the colonel had not yet finished 
 recounting his strange and fortunate adven- 
 tures. 
 
 He was tall, robust, a little portly, but, 
 well buckled, still presented a grand military 
 figure. He was what you call a fine man ; 
 florid, with still a good head of hair though 
 touched with grey, splendid mustachoes, 
 large fat hands, and a courtly demeanour, 
 not unmixed with a slight swagger. The colo- 
 nel was a Montacute man, and had inherited a 
 large house in the town and a small estate in 
 the neighbourhood. Having sold out, he had 
 retired to his native place, where he had be- 
 
TAXCRED. 119 
 
 come a considerable personage. The duke had 
 put him in the commission, and he was the 
 active magistrate of the district; he had re- 
 organised the Bellamont regiment of yeomanry 
 cavalry, which had fallen into sad decay during 
 the late duke's time, but which now, with Brace 
 for its lieutenant-colonel, was second to none 
 in the kingdom. Colonel Brace was one of the 
 best shots in the county ; certainly the boldest 
 rider among the heavy weights ; and bore the 
 palm from all with the rod, and that, too, in a 
 county famous for its feats in lake and river. 
 The colonel was a man of great energy, of good 
 temper, of ready resource, frank, a little coarse, 
 but hearty and honest. He adored the Duke 
 and Duchess of Bellamont. He was sincere; 
 he was not a parasite ; he really believed that 
 they were the best people in the world, and I 
 am not sure that he had not some foundation 
 for his faith. On the whole, he might be 
 esteemed the duke's right-hand man. His grace 
 generally consulted the colonel on county affairs ; 
 the command of the yeomanry alone gave him 
 a considerable position ; he was the chief also 
 
120 TANCRED. 
 
 of the militia staff; could give his opinion 
 whether a person was to be made a magistrate 
 or not ; and had even been called into council 
 when there was a question of appointing a de- 
 puty-lieutenant. The colonel, who was a lead- 
 ing member of the corporation of Montacute, 
 had taken care to be chosen mayor this year ; 
 he had been also chairman of the Committee of 
 Management during the celebration of Tan- 
 cred's majority ; had had the entire ordering 
 of the fireworks, and was generally supposed to 
 have given the design, or at least the leading 
 d ea, for the transparency. 
 
 We should notice also Mr. Bernard, a cler- 
 gyman, and recently the private tutor of Lord 
 Montacute, a good scholar; in ecclesiastical 
 opinions, what is called high and dry. He was 
 about five-and-thirty ; well-looking, bashful. 
 The duke intended to prefer him to a living 
 when one was vacant ; in the mean time he re- 
 mained in the family, and at present discharged 
 the duties of chaplain and librarian at Monta- 
 cute, and occasionally assisted the duke as a pri- 
 vate secretary. Of his life one-third had been 
 
TANCRED. 121 
 
 passed at a rural home, and the rest might be 
 nearly divided between school and college. 
 
 These gentlemen, the distinguished and nu- 
 merous family of the Montacute Mount joys, 
 young Hungerford, whom the duke had good- 
 naturedly brought over fromBellamont for the 
 sake of the young ladies, the duke and duchess, 
 and their son, formed the party, which pre- 
 sented rather a contrast, not only in its num- 
 bers, to the series of recent banquets. They 
 dined in the Montacute chamber. The party, 
 without intending it, was rather dull and 
 silent. The duchess was brooding over the 
 disappointment of the morning ; the duke 
 trembled for the disclosures of the morrow. 
 The Misses Mountjoy sang better than they 
 talked ; their mother, who was more lively, was 
 seated by the duke, and confined her powers of 
 pleasing to him. The Honourable and Reverend 
 Montacute himself was an epicure, and dis- 
 liked conversation during dinner. Lord Monta- 
 cute spoke to Mr. Hungerford across the table, 
 but Mr. Hungerford was whispering despairing 
 nothings in the ear of Arabella Mountjoy, and 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
122 TANCRED. 
 
 replied to his question without originating 
 any in return, which of course terminates talk. 
 When the second course had arrived, the 
 duke, who wanted a little more noise and dis- 
 traction, fired off in despair a shot at Colonel 
 Brace, who was on the left hand of the duchess, 
 and set him on his yeomanry charger. From 
 this moment affairs improved. The colonel 
 made continual charges, and carried all before 
 him. Nothing could be more noisy in a gen- 
 teel way. His voice sounded like the bray of a 
 trumpet amid the din of arms ; it seemed that 
 the moment he began, everybody and every- 
 thing became animated and inspired by his 
 example. All talked ; the duke set them 
 the fashion of taking wine with each other; 
 Lord Montacute managed to entrap Ara- 
 minta Mountjoy into a narrative in detail 
 of her morning's ride and adventures; and, 
 affecting scepticism as to some of the incidents, 
 and wonder at some of the feats, produced a 
 considerable addition to the general hubbub, 
 which he instinctively felt that his father wished 
 to encourage. 
 
TAXCRED. 123 
 
 " I don't know whether it was the Great 
 Western or the South Eastern," continued 
 Colonel Brace ; " but I know his leg is broken.'' 
 
 " God bless me !" said the duke ; " and only 
 think of my not hearing of it at Bellamont to- 
 day!" 
 
 " I don't suppose they know anything about 
 it," replied the colonel. " The way I know it 
 is this: I was with Roby to-day, when the 
 post came in, and he said to me, ' Here is a 
 letter from Lady Malpas; I hope nothing is 
 the matter with Sir Russell or any of the chil- 
 dren.' And then it all came out. The train 
 was blown up behind ; Sir Russell was in a 
 centre carriage, and was pitched right into a 
 field. They took him into an inn, put him to 
 bed, and sent for some of the top sawyers from 
 London, Sir Benjamin Brodie, and that sort 
 of thing ; and the moment Sir Russell came to 
 himself, he said, ' I must have Roby — send 
 for Roby — Roby knows my constitution.' 
 And they sent for Roby. And I think he 
 was right. The quantity of young officers I 
 have seen sent rightabout in the Peninsula, 
 g2 
 
124 TANCRED. 
 
 because they were attended by a parcel of 
 men who knew nothing of their constitution ! 
 Why, I might have lost my own leg once, if I 
 had not been sharp. I got a scratch in a little 
 affair at Almeidas, charging the enemy a little 
 too briskly — but we really ought not to speak 
 of these things before the ladies " 
 
 " My dear colonel," said Lord Montacute, 
 " on the contrary, there is nothing more in- 
 teresting to them. Miss Mountjoy was only 
 saying yesterday, that there was nothing she 
 found so difficult to understand as the ac- 
 count of a battle, and how much she wished to 
 comprehend it." 
 
 " That is because, in general, they are not 
 written by soldiers," said the colonel; " but 
 Napier's battles are very clear. I could fight 
 every one of them on this table. That's a great 
 book, that history of Napier ; it has faults, but 
 they are rather omissions than mistakes. Now 
 that affair of Almeidas of which I was just 
 speaking, and which nearly cost me my leg, it 
 is very odd, but he has omitted mentioning it 
 altogether." 
 
TANCRED. 125 
 
 " But you saved your leg, colonel," said the 
 duke. 
 
 " Yes, I had the honour of marching into 
 Paris, and that is an event not very easy to 
 be forgotten, let me tell your grace. I saved 
 my leg because I knew my constitution. For 
 the very same reason by which I hope Sir 
 Russell Malpas will save his leg. Because he 
 will be attended by a person who knows his 
 constitution. He never did a wiser thing than 
 sending for Eoby. For my part, if I were in 
 garrison at Gibraltar to-morrow, and laid up, I 
 would do the same; I would send for Roby. 
 In all these things, depend upon it, knowing 
 the constitution is half the battle." 
 
 All this time, while Colonel Brace was in- 
 dulging in his garrulous comments, the Duke 
 of Bellamont was drawing his moral. He 
 had a great opinion of Mr. Eoby, who was the 
 medical attendant of the castle, and an able man. 
 Mr. Roby was perfectly acquainted with the 
 constitution of his son ; ^Ir. Roby must go to 
 the Holy Sepulchre. Cost what it might, Mr. 
 Roby must be sent to Jerusalem. The duke was 
 
126 TANCRED. 
 
 calculating all this time the income that Mr. 
 Eoby made. He would not put it down at more 
 than five hundred pounds per annum, and a 
 third of that was certainly afforded by the castle. 
 The duke determined to offer Eoby a thousand 
 and his expenses to attend Lord Montacute. 
 He would not be more than a year absent, and 
 his practice could hardly seriously suffer while 
 away, backed as he would be, when he returned, 
 by the castle. And if it did, the duke must 
 guarantee Roby against loss ; it was a necessity, 
 absolute and of the first class, that Tancred 
 should be attended by a medical man who 
 knew his constitution. The duke agreed with 
 Colonel Brace that it was half the battle. 
 
TANCRED. 127 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 " Miserable mother that I am 1" exclaimed 
 the duchess, and she clasped her hands in 
 anguish. 
 
 " My dearest Katherine !" said the duke, 
 " calm yourself." 
 
 " You ought to have prevented this, George ; 
 you ought never to have let things come to 
 this pass." 
 
 " But, my dearest Katherine, the blow was 
 as unlooked for by me as by yourself. I had 
 not, how could I have, a remote suspicion of 
 what was passing through his mind?" 
 
 " What, then, is the use of your boasted 
 confidence with your child, w^iich you tell me 
 
128 TANCRED. 
 
 you have always cultivated? Had I been his 
 father, I would have discovered his secret 
 thoughts." 
 
 " Very possibly, my dear Katherine; but 
 you are at least his mother, tenderly loving 
 him, and tenderly loved by him. The inter- 
 course between you has ever been of an ex- 
 treme intimacy, and especially on the subjects 
 connected with this fancy of his — and yet, 
 you see, even you are completely taken by 
 surprise." 
 
 ^' I once had a suspicion he was inclined to 
 the Puseyite heresy, and I spoke to Mr. 
 Bernard on the subject, and afterwards to him, 
 but I was convinced that I was in error. I am 
 sure," added the duchess, in a mournful tone, 
 " I have lost no opportunity of instilling 
 into him the principles of religious truth. It 
 was only last year, on his birthday, that I sent 
 him a complete set of the publications of the 
 Parker Society, my own copy of Jewel — full 
 of notes, and my grandfather, the primate's, 
 manuscript commentary on Chillingworth ; a 
 copy made purposely by myself." 
 
TAXCEED. 129 
 
 " I well know," said the duke, " that you 
 have done everything for his spiritual welfare 
 which ability and affection corabined could 
 suggest." 
 
 " And it ends in this !" exclaimed the 
 duchess. *' The Holy Land ! Why, if he even 
 reach it, the climate is certain death. The 
 curse of the Almighty, for more than eighteen 
 centuries, has been on that land. Every year 
 it has become more sterile, more savage, more 
 unwholesome, and more unearthly. It is the 
 abomination of desolation. And now my son 
 is to go there ! Oh ! he is lost to us for ever !" 
 
 " But, my dear Katherine, let us consult a 
 little." 
 
 " Consult! Why should I consult? You 
 have settled everything, you have agreed to 
 everything. You do not come here to consult 
 me; I understand all that; you come here to 
 break a foregone conclusion to a weak and 
 miserable woman." 
 
 " Do not say such things, Katherine'" 
 
 " What should I say ? What can I say?" 
 
 " Anything but that. I hope that nothing 
 g3 
 
130 TANCRED. 
 
 will be ever done in this family without your 
 full sanction." 
 
 " Eest assured, then, that I will never 
 sanction the departure of Tancred on this 
 crusade." 
 
 " Then he will never go — at least, with my 
 consent," said the duke; " but Katherine, 
 assist me, my dear wife. All shall be — shall 
 ever be, as you wish ; but I shrink from being 
 placed — from our being placed — in collision 
 with our child. The mere exercise of paren- 
 tal authority is a last resource ; I would appeal 
 first, rather to his reason, to his heart — your 
 arguments, his affection for us, may yet influ- 
 ence him." 
 
 "Yon tell me you have argued with him," 
 said the duchess, in a melancholy tone. 
 
 " Yes, but you know so much more on these 
 subjects than I do — indeed, upon all subjects; 
 you are so clever, that I do not despair, my 
 dear Katherine, of your producing an impres- 
 sion on him." 
 
 " I would tell him at once," said the duchess. 
 
TANCRED. 131 
 
 firmly, '* that the proposition cannot be listened 
 to." 
 
 The duke looked very distressed. After a 
 momentary pause, he said, " If, indeed, you 
 think that the best ; but let us consult before 
 we take that step, because it would seem to ter- 
 minate all discussion, and discussion may yet do 
 good. Besides, I cannot conceal from myself 
 that Tancred in this affair is acting under the 
 influence of very powerful motives ; his feelings 
 are highly strung ; you have no idea — you 
 can have no idea from what we have seen 
 of him hitherto, how excited he is. I had 
 no idea of his being capable of such excite- 
 ment. I always thought him so very calm, 
 and of such a quiet turn. And so, in short, my 
 dear Katherine, were we to be abrupt at this 
 moment, peremptory, you understand, I — I — 
 should not be surprised, were Tancred to go 
 without our permission." 
 
 " Impossible !" exclaimed the duchess, start- 
 ing in her chair, but with as much con- 
 sternation as confidence in her countenance. 
 
132 TANCRED. 
 
 " Throughout his life, he has never disobeyed 
 us." 
 
 " And that is an additional reason," said 
 the duke, quietly, but in his sweetest tone, 
 " why we should not treat as a light ebullition 
 this first instance of his preferring his own 
 will to that of his father and mother." 
 
 " He has been so much away from us these 
 last three years," said the duchess, in a tone 
 of great depression, "" and they are such im- 
 portant years in the formation of character ! 
 But Mr. Bernard, he ought to have been 
 aware of all this — he ought to have known 
 what was passing through his pupil's mind; 
 he ought to have warned us. Let us speak 
 to him — let us speak to him at once, l^ing, 
 my dear George, and request the attendance 
 of Mr. Bernard." 
 
 That gentleman, who was in the library, 
 kept them waiting but a few minutes. As he 
 entered the room, he perceived, by the coun- 
 tenances of his noble patrons, that something 
 remarkable, and probably not agreeable, had 
 occurred. The duke opened the case to Mr. 
 
TANCRED. 133 
 
 Bernard with calmness; he gave an outline of 
 the great catastrophe ; the duchess filled up the 
 parts, and invested the whole with a rich and 
 even terrible colouring. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the astonishment of 
 the late private tutor of Lord Montacute. 
 He was fairly overcome: the communica- 
 tion itself was startling, the accessaries over- 
 whelmed him. The unspoken reproaches that 
 beamed from the duke's mild eye ; the wither- 
 ing glance of maternal desolation that met 
 him from the duchess; the rapidity of her 
 anxious and agitated questions ; — all were too 
 much for the simple, though correct, mind of 
 one unused to those passionate developments 
 which are commonly called scenes. All that 
 Mr. Bernard for some time could do was to 
 sit with his eyes staring and mouth open, and 
 repeat, w4th a bewildered air, " The Holy 
 Land — the Holy Sepulchre !" Xo, most cer- 
 tainly not ; most assuredly ; never in any way, 
 by any word or deed, had Lord Montacute 
 ever given him reason to suppose or imagine 
 that his lordship intended to make a pilgrim- 
 
134 TANCRED. 
 
 age to the Holy Sepulchre, or that he was 
 influenced by any of those views and opinions 
 which he had so strangely and so uncompro- 
 misingly expressed to his father. 
 
 " But, Mr. Bernard, you have been his com- 
 panion, his instructor, for many years," con- 
 tinued the duchess, '' for the last three years 
 especially, years so important in the formation 
 of character. You have seen much more of 
 Montacute than we have. Surely you must 
 have had some idea of what was passing in his 
 mind ; you could not help knowing it; you 
 ought to have known it ; you ought to have 
 warned — to have prepared us." 
 
 " Madam," at length said Mr. Bernard, 
 more collected, and feeling the necessity and 
 excitement of self- vindication — " Madam, your 
 noble son, under my poor tuition, has taken 
 the highest honours of his university ; his 
 moral behaviour during that period has been 
 immaculate; and as for his religious senti- 
 ments, even this strange scheme proves that 
 they are, at any rate, of no light and equi- 
 vocal character." 
 
TANCRED. 135 
 
 " To lose such a son !" exclaimed the du- 
 chess, in a tone of anguish, and with streaming 
 eyes. 
 
 The duke took her hand, and would have 
 soothed her; and then, turning to !Mr. Ber- 
 nard, he said, in a lowered tone, " We are very 
 sensible how much we owe you ; the duchess 
 equally with myself. All we regret is, that 
 some of us had not obtained a more intimate 
 acquaintance with the character of my son 
 than it appears we have acquired." 
 
 " My lord duke," said Mr. Bernard, " had 
 yourself or her grace ever spoken to me on 
 this subject, I would have taken the liberty of 
 expressing what I say now. I have ever found 
 Lord Montacute inscrutable. He has formed 
 himself in solitude, and has ever repelled any 
 advance to intimacy, either from those who 
 were his inferiors or his equals in station. He 
 has never had a companion. As for myself, 
 during the ten years that I have had the 
 honour of being connected with him, I cannot 
 recall a word or a deed on his part w^hich 
 towards me has not been courteous and consi- 
 
136 TANCRED. 
 
 derate; but as a child he was shj and silent, 
 and as a man, for I have looked upon him as a 
 man in mind for these four or even five years, 
 he has employed me as his machine to obtain 
 knowledge. It is not very flattering to one's- 
 self to make these confessions, but at Oxford 
 he had the opportunity of communicating with 
 some of the most eminent men of our time, 
 and I have always learnt from them the same 
 result. Lord Montacute never disburthened. 
 His passion for study has been ardent; his 
 power of application is very great; his atten- 
 tion unwearied as long as there is anything to 
 acquire ; but he never seeks your opinions, and 
 never offers his own. The interview of yester- 
 day with your grace is the only exception with 
 which I am acquainted, and at length throws 
 some light on the mysteries of his mind." 
 
 The duke looked sad ; his wife seemed plunged 
 in profound thought; there was a silence of 
 many moments. At length the duchess looked 
 up, and said, in a calmer tone, and with an air 
 of great seriousness, " It seems that we have 
 mistaken the character of our son. Thank you 
 
TANCRED. 137 
 
 very mucli for coming to us so quickly in our 
 trouble, Mr. Bernard. It was very kind, as 
 you always are." Mr. Bernard took the hint, 
 rose, bowed, and retired. 
 
 The moment that he had quitted the room, 
 the eyes of the Duke and Duchess of Bellamont 
 met. Who was to speak first? The duke 
 had nothing to say, and therefore he had the 
 advantage; the duchess wished her husband 
 to break the silence, but, having something to 
 say herself, she could not refrain from inter- 
 rupting it. So she said, with a tearful eye, 
 " Well, George, what do you think we ought 
 to do?" 
 
 The duke had a great mind to propose his 
 plan of sending Tancred to Jerusalem, with 
 Colonel Brace, Mr. Bernard, and Mr. Eoby, 
 to take care of him, but he hardly thought the 
 occasion was ripe enough for that; and so he 
 suggested that the duchess should speak to 
 Tancred herself. 
 
 " No," said her grace, shaking her head, 
 " I think it better for me to be silent; at least 
 at present. It is necessary, however, that the 
 
138 TANCRED. 
 
 most energetic means should be adopted to 
 save him, nor is there a moment to be lost. 
 We must shrink from nothing for such an 
 object. I have a plan. We will put the 
 whole matter in the hands of our friend, the 
 bishop. We will get him to speak to Tancred. 
 I entertain not a doubt that the bishop will 
 put his mind all right; clear all his doubts; 
 remove all his scruples. The bishop is the 
 only person, because, you see, it is a case poli- 
 tical as well as theological, and the bishop is a 
 great statesman as well as the first theologian 
 of the age. Depend upon it, my dear George, 
 that this is the wisest course, and, with the 
 blessing of Providence, will efiect our purpose. 
 It is, perhaps, asking a good deal of the 
 bishop, considering his important and multifa- 
 rious duties, to undertake this office, but we 
 must not be delicate when everything is at 
 stake ; and, considering he christened and con- 
 firmed Tancred, and our long friendship, it is 
 quite out of the question that he can refuse. 
 However, there is no time to be lost. We must 
 get to town as soon as possible ; to-morrow, if 
 
TANCRED. 139 
 
 we can. I shall advance affairs by writing to 
 the bishop on the subject, and giving him an 
 outline of the case, so that he may be prepared 
 to see Tancred at once on our arrival. What 
 think you, George, of my plan ?" 
 
 " I think it quite admirable," replied his 
 grace, only too happy that there was at least a 
 prospect of a lull of a few days in this great 
 embarrassment. 
 
140 TANCRED. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 About the time of the marriage of the 
 Duchess of Bellamont, her noble family, and a 
 few of their friends, some of whom also believed 
 in the millennium, were persuaded that the 
 conversion of the Roman Catholic population 
 of Ireland to the true faith, which was their 
 own, was at hand. They had subscribed very 
 liberally for the purpose, and formed an amaz- 
 ing number of sub-committees. As long as their 
 funds lasted, their missionaries found prose- 
 lytes. It was the last desperate effort of a 
 Church that had from the first betrayed its 
 trust. Twenty years ago, statistics not being 
 so much in vogue, and the people of England 
 
TANCEED. 141 
 
 being in the full efflorescence of that public 
 ignorance which permitted them to belieye 
 themselves the most enlightened nation in the 
 world, the Irish " difficulty" was not quite so 
 well understood as at the present day. It was 
 then an established doctrine, that all that was 
 necessary for Ireland was more Protestantism, 
 and it was supposed to be not more difficult to 
 supply the Irish with Protestantism than it 
 had proved, in the instance of a recent famine, 
 (1822,) to furnish them with potatoes. What 
 was principally wanted in both cases were — 
 subscriptions. 
 
 When the English public, therefore, were 
 assured by their co-religionists on the other 
 side of St. George's Channel, that at last the 
 good work was doing, that the flame spread, 
 even rapidly — that not only parishes but pro- 
 vinces were all agog — and that both town and 
 country were quite in a heat of proselytism, 
 they began to believe that at last the scarlet 
 lady was about to be dethroned ; they loosened 
 their purse-strings; fathers of families contri- 
 buted their zealous five pounds, followed by 
 
142 TANCRED. 
 
 every other member of the household, to the 
 babe in arms, who subscribed its fanatical five 
 shillings. The affair looked well. The journals 
 teemed with lists of proselytes and cases of 
 conversion; and even orderly, orthodox peo- 
 ple, who were firm in their own faith, but 
 wished others to be permitted to pursue their 
 errors in peace, began to congratulate each 
 other on the prospect of our at last becoming 
 a united Protestant people. 
 
 In the blaze and thick of the affair, Irish 
 Protestants jubilant, Irish Papists denouncing 
 the whole movement as fraud and trumpery, 
 John Bull perplexed, but excited, and still 
 subscribing, a young bishop rose in his place 
 in the House of Lords, and, with a vehemence 
 there unusual, declared that he saw " the 
 finger of God in this second Keformation," 
 and, pursuing the prophetic vein and manner, 
 denounced '^ woe to those who should presume 
 to lift up their hands and voices in vain and 
 impotent attempts to stem the flood of light 
 that was bursting over Ireland." 
 
TANCRED. 143 
 
 In him, who thus plainlv discerned " the 
 finger of God" in transactions in which her 
 family and feelings were so deeply interested, 
 the young and enthusiastic Duchess of Bella- 
 mont instantly recognised the "man of God;" 
 and, from that moment the right reverend pre- 
 late became, in all spiritual aifairs, her infal- 
 lible instructor, although the impending second 
 Reformation did chance to take the untoward 
 form of the emancipation of the Eoman Ca- 
 tholics, followed in due season by the destruc- 
 tion of Protestant bishoprics, the sequestra- 
 tion of Protestant tithes, and the endowment 
 of Maynooth. 
 
 In speculating on the fate of public institu- 
 tions and the course of public affairs, it is 
 important that we should not permit our 
 attention to be engrossed Ijy the principles on 
 which they are founded and the circumstances 
 which they present, but that we should also 
 remember how much depends upon the cha- 
 racter of the individuals who are in the 
 position to superintend or to direct them. 
 
 The Church of England, mainly from its 
 
144 TANCRED. 
 
 deficiency of oriental knowledge, and from a 
 misconception of the priestly character which 
 has been the consequence of that want, has 
 fallen of late years into great straits ; nor has 
 there ever been a season when it has more 
 needed for its guides men possessing the 
 higher qualities both of intellect and dis- 
 position. About five-and-twenty years ago, 
 it began to be discerned that the time had 
 gone by, at least in England, for bishoprics to 
 serve as appanages for the younger sons of 
 great families. The Arch-Mediocrity who then 
 governed this country, and the mean tenor of 
 whose prolonged administration we have de- 
 lineated in another work, was impressed with 
 the necessity of reconstructing the episcopal 
 bench on principles of personal distinction 
 and ability. But his notion of clerical capa- 
 city did not soar higher than a private tutor 
 who had suckled a young noble into university 
 honours ; and his test of priestly celebrity 
 was the decent editorship of a Greek play. 
 He sought for the successors of the apostles, 
 for the stewards of the mysteries of Sinai and 
 
TAXCRED. 145 
 
 of Calvary, among third-rate hunters after 
 syllables. These men, notwithstanding their 
 elevation, with one exception, subsided into 
 their native insignificance ; and during our 
 agitated age, when the principles of all insti- 
 tutions, sacred and secular, have been called 
 in question; when, alike in the senate and the 
 market-place, both the doctrine and the disci- 
 pline of the Church have been impugned, its 
 power assailed, its authority denied, the amount 
 of its revenues investigated, their disposition 
 criticised, and both attacked; not a voice has 
 been raised by these mitred nullities, either to 
 warn or to vindicate; not a phrase has escaped 
 their lips or their pens, that ever influenced 
 public opinion, touched the heart of nations. 
 or guided the conscience of a perplexed people. 
 If they were ever heard of, it was that they 
 had been pelted in a riot. 
 
 The exception which we have mentioned 
 to their sorry careers, was that of the too 
 adventurous prophet of the second Reforma- 
 tion; the ductor dubitantium appealed to by 
 the Duchess of Bellamont, to convince her 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
146 TANCRED. 
 
 son that the principles of religious truth, as 
 well as of political justice, required no further 
 investigation — at least by young marquesses. 
 
 The ready audacity with which this right 
 reverend prelate had stood sponsor for the 
 second Reformation is a key to his character. 
 He combined a great talent for action with 
 very limited powers of thought. Bustling, 
 energetic, versatile, gifted with an indomit- 
 able perseverance, and stimulated by an am- 
 bition that knew no repose, with a capacity 
 for mastering details and an inordinate passion 
 for affairs, he could permit nothing to be done 
 without his interference, and consequently was 
 perpetually involved in transactions which 
 were either failures or blunders. He was one 
 of those leaders who are not guides. Having 
 little real knowledge, and not endowed with 
 those high qualities of intellect which permit 
 their possessor to generalize the details afforded 
 by study and experience, and so deduce rules 
 of conduct, his lordship, when he received 
 those frequent appeals which were the neces- 
 sary consequence of his officious life, became 
 
TANCRED. 147 
 
 obscure, confused, contradictory, inconsist- 
 ent, illogical. The oracle was always dark. 
 Placed in a high post in an age of political 
 analysis, the bustling intermeddler was unable 
 to supply society with a single solution. Enun- 
 ciating secondhand, with characteristic pre- 
 cipitation, some big principle in vogue, as if 
 he were a discoverer, he invariably shrank 
 from its subsequent application, the moment 
 that he found it might be unpopular and in- 
 convenient. All his quandaries terminated in 
 the same catastrophe — a compromise. Ab- 
 stract principles with him ever ended in con- 
 crete expediency. The aggregate of circum- 
 stances outweighed the isolated cause. The 
 primordial tenet, which had been advocated 
 with uncompromising arrogance, gently sub- 
 sided into some second-rate measure recom- 
 mended with all the artifice of an impenetrable 
 ambiguity. 
 
 Beginning with the second Eeformation, 
 
 which was a little rash but dashing, the 
 
 bishop, always ready, had in the course of his 
 
 episcopal career placed himself at the head of 
 
 H 2 
 
148 TANCRED. 
 
 every movement in the church wliich others 
 had originated, and had as regularly with- 
 drawn at the right moment, when the heat was 
 over, or had become, on the contrary, exces- 
 sive. Furiously evangelical, soberly high and 
 dry, and fervently Puseyite, each phasis of his 
 faith concludes with what the Spaniards term 
 a " transaction." The saints are to have their 
 new churches, but they are also to have their 
 rubrics and their canons ; the universities may 
 supply successors to the apostles, but they are 
 also presented with a church commission ; even 
 the Puseyites may have candles on their altars, 
 but they must not be lighted. 
 
 It will be seen, therefore, that his lordship 
 was one of those characters not ill-adapted to 
 an eminent station in an age like the present, 
 and in a country like our own ; an age of 
 movement, but of confused ideas ; a country 
 of progress, but too rich to risk much change. 
 Under these circumstances, the spirit of a 
 period and a people seeks a safety-valve in — 
 bustle. They do something, lest it be said 
 that they do nothing. At such a time, minis- 
 
TANCRED. 149 
 
 ters recommend their measures as experiments, 
 and parliaments are ever ready to rescind their 
 votes. Find a man who, totally destitute 
 of genius, possesses nevertheless considerable 
 talents; who has official aptitude, a volubility 
 of routine rhetoric, great perseverance, a love 
 of affairs ; who, embarrassed neither by the 
 principles of the philosopher nor by the pre- 
 judices of the bigot, can assume, with a cautious 
 facility, the prevalent tone, and disembarrass 
 himself of it with a dexterous ambiguity, the 
 moment it ceases to be predominant ; recom- 
 mending himself to the innovator by his ap- 
 probation of change " in the abstract," and to 
 the conservative by his prudential and prac- 
 tical respect for that which is established; 
 such a man, though he be one of an essentially 
 small mind, though his intellectual qualities 
 be less than moderate, with feeble powers of 
 thought, no imagination, contracted sym- 
 pathies, and a most loose public morality; — 
 such a man is the individual whom kings and 
 parliaments would select to govern the State 
 or rule the Church. Change, " in the abstract," 
 
150 TANCRED. 
 
 is what is wanted bj a people who are at the 
 same time inquiring and wealthy. Instead of 
 statesmen, they desire shufflers; and com- 
 promise in conduct and ambiguity in speech 
 are — though nobody will confess it — the public 
 qualities now most in vogue. 
 
 Not exactly, however, those calculated to 
 meet the case of Tancred. The interview was 
 long, for Tancred listened with apparent re- 
 spect and deference to the individual under 
 whose auspices he had entered the Church of 
 Christ ; but the replies to his inquiries, though 
 more adroit than the duke's, were in reality 
 not more satisfactory, and could not, in any 
 way, meet the inexorable logic of Lord Mon- 
 tacute. The bishop was as little able as the 
 duke to indicate the principle on which the 
 present order of things in England was founded ; 
 neither faith nor its consequence, duty, were 
 at all illustrated or invigorated by his hand- 
 ling. He utterly failed in reconciling a belief 
 in ecclesiastical truth with tlie support of re- 
 ligious dissent. When he tried to define in 
 whom the power of government should repose, 
 
TANCRED. 151 
 
 he was lost in a maze of phrases, and afforded 
 his pupil not a single fact. 
 
 " It cannot be denied," at length said Tan- 
 cred, with great calmness, " that society was 
 once regulated by God, and that now it is 
 regulated by man. For my part, I prefer 
 divine to self-government, and I wish to know 
 how it is to be attained." 
 
 " The Church represents God upon earth," 
 said the bishop. 
 
 *' But the Church no longer governs man," 
 replied Tancred. 
 
 " There is a great spirit rising in the 
 Church," observed the bishop, with thoughtful 
 solemnity — " a great and excellent spirit. The 
 Church of 1845 is not the Church of 1745. 
 We must remember that ; we know not what 
 may happen. We shall soon see a bishop at 
 Manchester." 
 
 " But I want to see an angel at Manchester." 
 
 "An angel!" 
 
 " Why not ? Why should there not be 
 heavenly messengers, when heavenly messages 
 are most wanted?" 
 
152 TANCRED. 
 
 " We have received a heavenly message by- 
 one greater than the angels," said the bishop. 
 " Their visits to man ceased with the mightier 
 advent." 
 
 " Then why did angels appear to Mary and 
 her companions at the holy tomb?" inquired 
 Tancred. 
 
 The interview from which so much was 
 anticipated was not satisfactory. The emi- 
 nent prelate did not realize Tancred's ideal of 
 a bishop, while his lordship did not hesitate to 
 declare that Lord Mont acute was a visionary. 
 
TAXCRED. 153 
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 When the duchess found that the interview 
 with the bishop had been fruitless of the anti- 
 cipated results, she was staggered, disheartened ; 
 but she was a woman of too high a spirit to 
 succumb under a first defeat. She was of 
 opinion that his lordship had misunderstood 
 the case, or had mismanaged it ; her confidence 
 in him, too, was not so illimitable since he had 
 permitted thePuseyites to have candles on their 
 altars, although he had forbidden their being 
 lighted, as when he had declared, twenty years 
 before, that the finger of God was about to 
 protestantize Ireland. His lordship had said and 
 had done many things since that time, which 
 
154. TANCRED. 
 
 had occasioned the duchess many misgivings, 
 although she had chosen tliat they should not 
 occur to her recollection until he failed in con- 
 vincing her son that religious truth was to be 
 found in the parish of St. James, and political 
 justice in the happy haunts of Montacute forest. 
 The bishop had voted for the Church Tempo- 
 ralities' Bill, in 1833, which at one swoop had 
 suppressed ten Irish episcopates. This was a 
 queer sufii-age for the apostle of the second 
 Reformation. True it is that Whiggism was 
 then in the ascendant, and, two years after- 
 wards, when Whiggism had received a heavy 
 blow and great discouragement ; when we had 
 been blessed in the interval with a decided 
 though feeble Conservative administration, 
 and were blessed at the moment with a strong 
 though undecided Conservative opposition ; his 
 lordship, with characteristic activity, had gal- 
 loped across country into the right line again, 
 denounced the Appropriation Clause in a spirit 
 worthy of his earlier days, and, quite forgetting 
 the ten Irish Bishoprics, that only four-and- 
 twenty months before he had doomed to de- 
 
TANCRED. 155 
 
 struction, was all for proselytising Ireland 
 again by the efficacious means of Irish Pro- 
 testant bishops. 
 
 '' The bishop says that Tancred is a rision- 
 ary," said the duchess to her husband, with an 
 air of great displeasure. *' ^'hy, it is because 
 he is a visionary that we sent him to the bishop. 
 I want to have his false imaginings removed 
 by one who has the competent powers of learn- 
 ing and argument, and the authority of a high 
 and holy office. A visionary, indeed I Why, so 
 are the Puseyites ; they are visionaries, and his 
 lordship has been obliged to deal with them; 
 though, to be sure, if he spoke to Tancred in 
 a similar fashion, I am not surprised that my 
 son has returned unchanged ! This is the most 
 vexatious business that ever occurred to us. 
 Something must be done : but what to fix on ? 
 What do you think, George? Since speaking 
 to the bishop, of which you so much approved, 
 has failed, what do you recommend?" 
 
 While the duchess was speaking, she was 
 seated in her boudoir, looking into the Green 
 Park; the duke's horses were in the court- 
 
156 TANCRED. 
 
 yard, and he was about to ride down to the 
 House of Lords ; he had just looked in, as was 
 his custom, to say farewell till they met again. 
 " I am sorry that the interview with the bishop 
 has failed," said the duke, in a hesitating 
 tone and playing with his riding-stick; and 
 then walking up to the window and looking 
 into the Park, he said, apparently after reflec- 
 tion, '' I always think the best person to deal 
 with a visionary is a man of the world." 
 
 " But what can men of the world know 
 of such questions?" said the duchess, mourn- 
 fully. 
 
 " Very little," said her husband, " and there- 
 fore they are never betrayed into arguments, 
 which I fancy always make people more obsti- 
 nate, even if they are confuted. Men of the 
 world have a knack of settling everything 
 without discussion ; they do it by tact. It is 
 astonishing how many difficulties I have seen 
 removed — by Eskdale, for example — which it 
 seemed that no power on earth could change, 
 and about which we had been arguing for 
 months. There was the Cheadle churches 
 
TANCRED. 157 
 
 case, for example; it broke up some of the 
 oldest friendships in the county; even Hun- 
 gerford and Ilderton did not speak. I never 
 had a more anxious time of it; and, as far as I 
 was personally concerned, I would have made 
 any sacrifice to keep a good understanding in 
 the county. At last I got the business referred 
 to Eskdale, and the affair was ultimately ar- 
 ranged to everybody's satisfaction. I don't 
 know how he managed : it was quite impossible 
 that he could have offered any new arguments ; 
 but he did it by tact. Tact does not remove 
 difficulties, but difficulties melt away under 
 tact." 
 
 '' Heigho !'■' sighed the duchess. " I cannot 
 understand how tact can tell us what is reli- 
 gious truth, or prevent my son from going to 
 the Holy Sepulchre." 
 
 " Try," said the duke. 
 
 " Shall you see our cousin to-day, George?" 
 
 " He is sure to be at the House," replied 
 the duke, eagerly. " I tell you what I propose, 
 Kate : — Tancred is gone to the House of Com- 
 mons to hear the debate on Maynooth; I will 
 
158 TANCRED. 
 
 try and get our cousin to come home and dine 
 with us, and then we can talk o^er the whole 
 afiair at once. What say you?" 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 " We have failed with a bishop ; we will now 
 try a man of the world; and if we are to have 
 a man of the world, we had better have a first- 
 rate one, and everybody agrees that our 
 cousin " 
 
 " Yes, yes, George," said the duchess, " ask 
 him to come ; tell him it is very urgent, that 
 we must consult him immediately ; and then if 
 he be engaged, I dare say he will manage to 
 come all the same." 
 
 Accordingly, about half-past eight o'clock, 
 the two peers arrived at Bellamont House to- 
 gether. They were unexpectedly late; they 
 had been detained at the House. The duke was 
 excited ; even Lord Eskdale looked as if some- 
 thing had happened. Something had hap- 
 pened ; there had been a division in the House 
 of Lords. Rare and startling event ! It seemed 
 as if the peers were about to resume their 
 functions. Divisions in the House of Lords are 
 
TANCRED. 159 
 
 nowadays so thinly scattered, that, when one 
 occurs, the peers cackle as if they had laid an 
 egg. They are quite proud of the proof of 
 their still procreative powers. The division 
 to-night had not been on a subject of any pub- 
 lic interest or importance; but still it was a 
 division, and, what was more, the government 
 had been left in a minority. True, the catas- 
 trophe was occasioned by a mistake. The dic- 
 tator had been asleep during the debate, woke 
 suddenly from a dyspeptic dream, would make 
 a speech, and spoke on the wrong side. A 
 lively colleague, not yet sufficiently broken in 
 to the frigid discipline of the High Court of 
 Eegistry, had pulled the great man once by 
 his coat tails, a House of Commons practice, 
 permitted to the Cabinet when their chief is 
 blundering, very necessary sometimes for a 
 lively leader, but of which Sir Robert highly 
 disapproves, as the arrangement of his coat 
 tails, next to beating the red box, forms the 
 most important part of his rhetorical accessa- 
 ries. The dictator, when he at length com- 
 prehended that he had made a mistake, persisted 
 
160 TANCRED. 
 
 in adhering to it; the division was called, 
 some of the officials escaped, the rest were 
 obliged to vote with their ruthless master ; but 
 his other friends, glad of an opportunity of 
 asserting their independence and administer- 
 ing to the dictator a slight check in a quiet 
 inoffensive way, put him in a minority ; and 
 the Duke of Bellamont and Lord Eskdale had 
 contributed to this catastrophe. 
 
 Dinner was served in the library ; the con- 
 versation during it was chiefly the event of 
 the morning. The duchess, who, though not a 
 partisan, was something of a politician, thought 
 it was a pity that the dictator had ever stepped 
 out of his military sphere; her husband, who 
 had never before seen a man's coat tails pulled 
 when he was speaking, dilated much upon the 
 singular circumstance of Lord Spur so dis- 
 porting himself on the present occasion ; while 
 Lord Eskdale, who had sate for a long time in 
 the House of Commons, and who was used to 
 everything, assured his cousin that the custom, 
 though odd, was by no means irregular. " I 
 remember," said his lordship, " seeing Ripon, 
 
TANCRED. 161 
 
 when he was Eobinson, and Huskisson, each 
 pulling one of Canning's coat tails at the same 
 time." 
 
 Throughout dinner not a word about Tan- 
 cred. Lord Eskdale neither asked where he 
 was nor how he was. At length, to the great 
 relief of the duchess, dinner was finished ; the 
 servants had disappeared. The duke pushed 
 away the table ; they drew their chairs round 
 the hearth ; Lord Eskdale took half a glass of 
 Madeira, then stretched his legs a little, then 
 rose, stirred the fire, and then, standing with 
 his back to it and his hands in his pockets, 
 said, in a careless tone approaching to a drawl, 
 " And so, duchess, Tancred wants to go to 
 Jerusalem ?" 
 
 '' George has told you, then, all our 
 troubles?" 
 
 " Only that; he left the rest to you, and 
 I came to hear it." 
 
 Whereupon the duchess went ofi", and spoke 
 for a considerable time with great animation 
 and ability, the duke hanging on every word 
 with vigilant interest. Lord Eskdale never in- 
 
162 TANCRED. 
 
 terrupting her for an instant ; while she stated 
 the case not only with the impassioned feeling 
 of a devoted mother, but occasionally with all 
 the profundity of a theologian. She did not 
 conceal from him the interview between Tan- 
 cred and the bishop ; it was her last effort, and 
 had failed; and so, "after all our plans," she 
 ended, " as far as I can form an opinion, he is 
 absolutely more resolved than ever to go to 
 Jerusalem." 
 
 " Well," said his lordship, " it's at least 
 better than going to the Jews, which most men 
 do at his time of life." 
 
 " I cannot agree even to that," said the 
 duchess; " for I would rather that he should 
 be ruined than die." 
 
 " Men do not die as they used," said his 
 lordship. " Ask the annuity offices; they have 
 all raised their rates." 
 
 " I know nothing about annuity offices, but 
 I know that almost everybody dies who goes 
 to those countries : look at young Fernborough, 
 he was just Tancred's age; the fevers alone 
 must kill him." 
 
9 
 
 TANCRED. 163 
 
 '' He must take some quinine in liis dress- 
 ing-case," said Lord Eskdale. 
 
 " You jest, Henry," said the duchess, dis- 
 appointed, ^' when I am in despair." 
 
 " Xo," said Lord Eskdale, looking up to the 
 ceiling, "I am thinking how you may prevent 
 Tancred from going to Jerusalem, without, at 
 the same time, opposing his wishes." 
 
 " Ay, ay," said the duke, " that is it." And 
 he looked triumphantly to his wife, as much as 
 to say, "' Kow you see what it is to be a man 
 of the world." 
 
 "A man cannot go to Jerusalem as he 
 would to Birmingham, by the next train," 
 continued his lordship; "he must get some- 
 thing to take him ; and if you make the sacri- 
 fice of consenting to his departure, you have a 
 right to stipulate as to the manner in which 
 he should depart. Your son ought to traA^el 
 with a suite ; he ouglit to make the voyage in 
 his own yacht. Yachts are not to be found 
 like hack cabs, though there are several for 
 sale now; but then they are not of the ad- 
 measurement of which you approve for such a 
 
164 TANCRED. 
 
 voyage and such a sea. People talk very 
 lightly of the Mediterranean, but there are 
 such things as white squalls. Anxious parents, 
 and parents so fond of a son as you are, and a 
 son wliose life for so many reasons is so pre- 
 cious, have a right to make it a condition of 
 their consent to his departure, that he should 
 embark in a vessel of considerable tonnage. 
 He will find difficulty in buying one second- 
 hand ; if he finds one, it will not please him. 
 He will get interested in yacht-building, as he 
 is interested now about Jerusalem — both boyish 
 fancies. He will stay another year in England 
 to build a yacht to take him to the Holy 
 Land ; the yacht will be finished this time 
 twelvemonths ; and, instead of going to Pales- 
 tine, he will go to Cowes." 
 
 " That's quite my view of the case," said 
 the duke. 
 
 " It never occurred to me," said the 
 duchess. 
 
 Lord Eskdale resumed his seat, and took 
 another half-glass of Madeira. 
 
 " Well, I think it is very satisfactory, 
 
TANCRED. 165 
 
 Katharine," said the duke, after a short 
 pause. 
 
 " And what do you recommend us to do 
 first?" said the duchess to Lord Eskdale. 
 
 " Let Tancred go into society : the best 
 way for him to forget Jerusalem is to let him 
 see London." 
 
 " But how can I manage it?" said the 
 duchess. "I never go anywhere ; nobody 
 knows him, and he does not wish to know 
 anybody." 
 
 " I will manage it, with your permission ; 
 'tis not difficult; a young marquess has only 
 to evince an inclination, and in a week's time 
 he will be everywhere. I will tell Lady 
 St. Julians and the great ladies, to send him 
 invitations; they will fall like a snow storm. 
 All that remains is for you to prevail upon 
 him to accept them." 
 
 "And how shall I contrive it?" said the 
 duchess. 
 
 " Easily," said Lord Eskdale. ^' Make his 
 going into society, while his yacht is pre- 
 paring, one of the conditions of the great 
 
166 TANCRED. 
 
 sacrifice you are making. He cannot refuse 
 you ; 'tis but the first step. A youth feels a 
 little repugnance to launching into the great 
 world ; 'tis shyness ; but after the plunge, the 
 great difiiculty is to restrain rather than to 
 incite. Let him but once enter the world, 
 and be tranquil, he will soon find something 
 to engage him." 
 
 " As long as he does not take to play," said 
 the duke, " I don't much care what he does." 
 
 " My dear George !" said the duchess, " how 
 can you say such things ! I was in hopes," 
 she added, in a mournful tone, " that we might 
 have settled him, without his entering what 
 you call the world, Henry. Dearest child ! I 
 fancy him surrounded by pitfalls." 
 
TANCRED. 167 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 After this consultation with Lord Eskdale, 
 the duchess became much easier in her mind. 
 She was of a very sanguine temper, and with 
 facility believed what she wished. Affairs 
 stood thus : it was agreed by all that Tancred 
 should go to the Holy Land, but he was to go 
 in his own yacht; which yacht was to be of a 
 first-rate burthen, and to be commanded by 
 an officer in H.M.S. ; and he was to be ac- 
 companied by Colonel Brace, Mr. Bernard, 
 and Mr. Roby; and the servants were to be 
 placed entirely under the control of some 
 trusty foreigner accustomed to the East, and 
 who was to be chosen by Lord Eskdale. In 
 
168 TANCRED. 
 
 the mean time, Tancred had acceded to the 
 wish of his parents, that until his departure 
 he should mix much in society. The duchess 
 calculated that, under any circumstances, 
 three months must elapse before all the ar- 
 rangements were concluded ; and she felt 
 persuaded that, during that period, Tancred 
 must become enamoured of his cousin Ka- 
 therine, and that the only use of the yacht 
 would be to take them all to Ireland. The 
 duke was resolved only on two points — that 
 his son should do exactly as his son liked, and 
 that he himself would never take the advice, 
 on any subject, of any other person than Lord 
 Eskdale. 
 
 In the mean time Tancred was launched, 
 almost unconsciously, into the great world. 
 The name of the Marquess of ^Montacute was 
 foremost in those delicate lists by which an 
 eager and admiring public is apprised who, 
 among their aristocracy, eat, drink, dance, and 
 sometimes pray. From the saloons of Bel- 
 grave and Grosvenor Squares to the sacred 
 recesses of the Chapel Royal, the movements 
 
TANCRED. 169 
 
 of Lord Montacute were tracked and regis- 
 tered, and were devoured every morning, 
 oftener with a keener relish than the matin 
 meal of which they formed a regular portion. 
 England is the only country which enjoys the 
 unspeakable advantage of being thus regu- 
 larly, promptly, and accurately furnished with 
 catalogues of those favoured beings who are 
 deemed qualified to enter the houses of the 
 great. What condescension in those who im- 
 part the information ! What indubitable evi- 
 dence of true nobility ! What superiority to 
 all petty vanity ! And in those who receive 
 it, what freedom from all little feelings ! No 
 arrogance on one side; on the other, no envy. 
 It is only countries blessed with a free press 
 that can be thus favoured. Even a free press 
 is not alone sufficient. Besides a free press, 
 you must have a servile public. 
 
 After all, let us be just. The uninitiated 
 world is apt to believe that there is some- 
 times, in the outskirts of fashion, an eagerness, 
 scarcely consistent with self-respect, to enter 
 the mansions of the great. Not at all : few 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
170 TANCRED. 
 
 people really want to go to their grand par- 
 ties. It is not the charms of conversation, the 
 flash of wit or the blaze of beauty, the influ- 
 ential presence of the powerful and celebrated, 
 all the splendour and refinement, which, com- 
 bined, offer in a polished saloon so much to 
 charm the taste and satisfy the intellect, that 
 the mass of social partisans care anything 
 about. What they want is, not so much to be 
 in her ladyship's house as in her ladyship's 
 list. After the party at Coningsby Castle, 
 our friend, Mrs. Guy Flouncey, at length 
 succeeded in being asked to one of Lady 
 St. Julians' assemblies. It was a great tri- 
 umph, and Mrs. Guy Flouncey determined 
 to make the most of it. She was worthy of 
 the occasion. But alas ! next morning, though 
 admitted to the rout, Mrs. Guy Flouncey was 
 left out of the list ! It was a severe blow ! 
 But Mrs. Guy Flouncey is in every list now, 
 and even strikes out names herself. But there 
 never was a woman who advanced with such 
 dexterity ! 
 
 Lord Mont acute was very much shocked, 
 
TAXCRED. 171 
 
 when, one morning, taking up a journal, he 
 first saw his name in print. He was alone, 
 and he blushed ; felt, indeed, extremely dis- 
 tressed, when he found that the English people 
 were formally made acquainted with the fact, 
 that he had dined on the previous Saturday 
 with the Earl and Countess of St. Julians; 
 " a grand banquet," of which he was quite 
 unconscious until he read it; and that he was 
 afterwards " observed" at the Opera. 
 
 He found that he had become a public charac- 
 ter, and he was not by any means conscious of 
 meriting celebrity. To be pointed at as he 
 walked the streets, were he a hero, had done, 
 said, or written anything that anybody remem- 
 bered, though at first painful and embarrassing, 
 for he was shy, he could conceive ultimately be- 
 comino^ endurable, and not without a desfree of 
 
 CD I <_y 
 
 excitement, for he was ambitious; but to be 
 looked at because he was a young lord, and 
 that this should be the only reason why the 
 public should be informed where he dined, or 
 where he amused himself, seemed to him not 
 only vexatious but degrading. When he 
 I 2 
 
172 TANCRED. 
 
 arrived however at a bulletin of his devo- 
 tions, he posted off immediately to the Surrey 
 Canal, to look at a yacht there, and resolved 
 not to lose unnecessarily one moment in set- 
 ting off for Jerusalem. 
 
 He had from the first busied himself about 
 the preparations for his voyage with all 
 the ardour of youth; that is, with all the 
 energy of inexperience, and all the vigour of 
 simplicity. As everything seemed to depend 
 upon his obtaining a suitable vessel, he trusted 
 to no third person ; had visited Cowes several 
 times; advertised in every paper; and had 
 already met with more than one yacht which 
 at least deserved consideration. The duchess 
 was quite frightened at his progress. " I am 
 afraid he has found one," she said to Lord 
 Eskdale; " he will be off directly." 
 
 Lord Eskdale shook his head. " There are 
 always things of this sort in the market. 
 He will inquire before he purchases, and he 
 will find that he has got hold of a slow coach." 
 
 " A slow coach!" said the duchess, looking 
 inquiringly. " What is that?" 
 
TAXCRED. 173 
 
 " A tub that sails like a collier, and which, 
 instead of taking him to Jerusalem, will hardly 
 take him to Newcastle." 
 
 Lord Eskdale was right. Notwithstanding 
 all his ardour, all his inquiries, visits to Cowes 
 and the Surrey Canal, advertisements and an- 
 swers to advertisements, time flew on, and 
 Tancred was still without a yacht. 
 
 In this unsettled state, Tancred found him- 
 self one evening at Deloraine House. It was 
 not a ball, it was only a dance ; brilliant and 
 select ; but, all the same, it seemed to Tancred 
 that the rooms could not be much more 
 crowded. The name of the Marquis of ^lonta- 
 cute, as it was sent along by the servants, 
 attracted attention. Tancred had scarcely 
 entered the world, his appearance had made 
 a sensation, everybody talked of him, many 
 had not yet seen him. 
 
 " Oh! that is Lord Montacute," said a 
 great lady, looking through her glass; " very 
 distinguished !" 
 
 " I tell you what," whispered Mr. Ormsby 
 to Lord Valentine, " you young men had better 
 
174 TANCRED. 
 
 look sharp; Lord Montacute ^vill cut you all 
 out!" 
 
 " Oh! he is going to Jerusalem," said Lord 
 Valentine. 
 
 " Jerusalem!" said Mr. Ormsby, shrugging 
 his shoulders. " What can he find to do at 
 Jerusalem ?" 
 
 " What, indeed," said Lord Milford. " My 
 brother was there in — 39 ; he got leave after 
 the bombardment of Acre ; and he says there 
 is absolutely no sport of any kind." 
 
 " There used to be partridges in the time of 
 Jeremiah," said Mr. Ormsby ; " at least they 
 told us so at the Chapel Eoyal last Sunday, 
 where, by the bye, I saw Lord Montacute for 
 the first time ; and a deuced good-looking fel- 
 low he is," he added, musingly. 
 
 " Well, there is not a bird in the whole 
 country now," said Lord Milford. 
 
 ^' Montacute does not care for sport," said 
 Lord Valentine. 
 
 '' What does he care for?" asked Lord Mil- 
 ford. " Because if he wants any horses, I can 
 let him have some." 
 
TANCRED. 175 
 
 " He wants to buy a yacht," said Lord 
 Valentine; " and that reminds me that 1 
 heard to-day Exmouth wanted to get rid of 
 ' The Flower of Yarrow,' and I think it would 
 suit my cousin. I'll tell him of it/^ And he 
 followed Tancred. 
 
 " You and Valentine must rub up your 
 harness, Milford," said Mr. Ormsby ; " there is 
 a new champion in the field. We are talking 
 of Lord Montacute," continued Mr. Ormsby, 
 addressing himself to Mr. Melton, who joined 
 them; " I tell Milford he will cut you all 
 out." 
 
 '' Well," said Mr. Melton, '' for my part I 
 have had so much success, that I have no 
 objection, by way of change, to be for once 
 eclipsed." 
 
 " Well done, Jemmy," said Lord Milford. 
 
 " I see, Melton," said Mr. Ormsby, " you 
 are reconciled to your fate like a philoso- 
 pher." 
 
 " Well, Montacute," said Lord St. Patrick, 
 a good-tempered, witty Milesian, with a laugh- 
 ing eye, '' when are you going to Jericho?" 
 
176 TANCRED. 
 
 " Tell me," said Tancred, in reply, and 
 rather earnestly, " who is that ?" And he di- 
 rected the attention of Lord St. Patrick to 
 a young lady, rather tall, a brilliant com- 
 plexion, classic features, a profusion of light 
 brown hair ; a face of intelligence and a figure 
 rich and yet graceful. 
 
 ^' That is Lady Constance Rawleigh; if you 
 like, I will introduce you to her. She is my 
 cousin, and deuced clever. Come along!" 
 
 In the mean time in the room leading to 
 the sculpture gallery where they are dancing, 
 the throng is even excessive. As the two 
 great divisions, those who would enter the 
 gallery and those who are quitting it, encounter 
 each other, they exchange flying phrases as 
 they pass. 
 
 '* They told me you had gone to Paris! 
 — I have just returned. — Dear me, how time 
 
 flies! — Pretty dance, is it not? — Very 
 
 Do you know whether the Madlethorpes 
 mean to come up this year ? — I hardly know ; 
 their little girl is very ill. — Ah! so I hear; 
 what a pity, and such a fortune ! — Such a 
 
TANCRED. 177 
 
 pity with such a fortune ! — How d'ye do ? 
 Mr. Coningsby here? — No; he's at the 
 House. — They say he is a very close attend- 
 ant. — It interests him. — Well, Lady Floren- 
 tina, you never sent me the dances. — 
 Pardon, but you will find them when you 
 return. I lent them to Augusta, and she 
 would copy them — Is it true that I am to 
 congratulate you ? — Why ? — Lady Blanche ? — 
 Oh ! that is a romance of Easter week. — 
 Well, I am really delighted ; I think such an 
 excellent match for both; exactly suited to 
 each other. — They think so. — Well, that 
 is one point. — How well Lady Everingham 
 is looking! She is quite herself again. 
 — Quite. — Tell me, have you seen M. de 
 Talleyrand here? — I spoke to him but this 
 moment. — Shall you be at Lady Blair's to- 
 morrow? — No; I have promised to go to 
 Mrs. Guy Flouncey's. She has taken Craven 
 Cottage, and is to be at home every Satur- 
 day.— Well, if you are going, I think I shall. 
 — I would; everybody will be there." 
 
 Lord Montacute had conversed some time 
 i3 
 
178 TANCRED. 
 
 with Lady Constance; then he had danced 
 with her; he had hovered about her during 
 the evening. It was observed, particularly by 
 some of the most experienced mothers. Lady 
 Constance was a distinguished beauty of two 
 seasons; fresh, but adroit. It was understood 
 that she had refused offers of a high calibre ; 
 but the rejected still sighed about her, and it 
 was therefore supposed that, though decided, 
 she had the art of not rendering them despe- 
 rate. One at least of them was of a rank 
 equal to that of Tancred. She had the repu- 
 tation of being very clever, and of being able, 
 if it pleased her, to breathe scorpions as well 
 as brilliants and roses. It had got about that 
 she admired intellect, and, though she claimed 
 the highest social position, that a booby would 
 not content her, even if his ears were covered 
 with strawberry leaves. 
 
 In the cloak-room, Tancred was still at her 
 side, and was presented to her mother. Lady 
 Charmouth. 
 
 " I am sorry to separate," said Tancred. 
 
 " And so am I," said Lady Constance, 
 
TANCEED. 179 
 
 smiling; "but one advantage of this life is, 
 we meet our friends every day." 
 
 "I am not going anywhere to-morrow, where 
 I shall meet you," said Tancred, " unless you 
 chance to dine at the Archbishop of York's." 
 
 " I am not going to dine with the Arch- 
 bishop of York," said Lady Constance, '' but 
 I am going, where everybody else is going, to 
 breakfast with Mrs. Guy Flouncey, at Craven 
 Cottage. Why, will not you be there ?" 
 
 " I have not the honour of knowing her," 
 said Tancred. 
 
 " That is not of the slightest consequence; 
 she will be very happy to have the honour of 
 knowing you. I saw her in the dancing-room, 
 but it is not worth while waiting to speak to 
 her now. You shall receive an invitation the 
 moment you are awake." 
 
 " But to-morrow I have got an engagement. 
 I have got to look at a yacht." 
 
 " But that you can look at on Monday; 
 besides, if you wish to know anything about 
 yachts, you had better speak to my brother, 
 Fitzheron, who has built more than any man 
 alive." 
 
180 TANCRED. 
 
 *' Perhaps he has got one that he wishes to 
 part with ?" said Tancred. 
 
 '' I have no doubt of it. You can ask him 
 to-morrow at Mrs. Guy Flouncey's." 
 
 '' I will. Lady Charmouth's carriage is 
 called. May I have the honour?" said Tan- 
 cred, offering his arm. 
 
TANCRED. 181 
 
 CHAPTEE YII. 
 
 There is nothing so remarkable as feminine 
 influence. Although the character of Tancred 
 was not completely formed; for that result 
 depends, in some degree, upon the effect of 
 circumstances at a certain time of life, as well 
 as on the impulse of a natural bent; still the 
 temper of his being was profound and sted- 
 fast. He had arrived in solitude, and by the 
 working of his own thought, at a certain reso- 
 lution, which had assumed to his strong and fer- 
 vent imagination a sacred character, and which 
 he was determined to accomplish at all costs. 
 He had brought himself to the point, that he 
 would not conceive an obstacle that should 
 
182 TANCRED. 
 
 balk him. He had acceded to the conditions 
 which had been made by his parents, for he 
 was by nature dutiful, and wished to fulfil 
 his purpose, if possible, with their sanction. 
 
 Yet he had entered society with repugnance, 
 and found nothing in its general tone with 
 which his spirit harmonised. He was alone in 
 the crowd ; silent, observing, and not charmed. 
 There seemed to him generally a want of 
 simplicity and repose ; too much flutter, not a 
 little affectation. People met in the thronged 
 chambers, and interchanged brief words, as if 
 they were always in a hurry. " Have you been 
 here long? Where are you going next?" 
 These were the questions which seemed to 
 form the staple of the small talk of a fashion- 
 able multitude. Why too was there a smile 
 on every countenance, which often also assumed 
 the character of a grin? No error so 
 common or so grievous as to suppose that a 
 smile is a necessary ingredient of the pleasing. 
 There are few faces that can afford to smile. 
 A smile is sometimes bewitching, in general 
 vapid, often a contortion. But the bewitching 
 
TAXCRED. 183 
 
 smile usually beams from the grave face. It 
 is then irresistible. Tancred, though he was 
 unaware of it, was gifted with this rare spell. 
 He had inherited it from his mother; a 
 woman naturally earnest and serious, and of 
 a singular simplicity, but whose heart when 
 pleased spoke in the dimpling sunshine of her 
 cheek with exquisite beauty. The smiles of the 
 Duchess of Bellamont however were like her 
 diamonds, brilliant, but rarely worn. 
 
 Tancred had not mounted the staircase of 
 Deloraine House with any anticipation of 
 pleasure. His thoughts were far away amid 
 cities of the desert, and by the palmy banks 
 of ancient rivers. He often took refuge in 
 these exciting and ennobling visions, to main- 
 tain himself when he underwent the ceremony 
 of entering a great house. He was so shy in 
 little things, that to hear his name sounded 
 from servant to servant, echoing from landing- 
 place to landing-place, was almost overwhelm- 
 ing. Xothing but his pride, which was just 
 equal to his reserve, prevented him from often 
 turning back on the stairs and precipitately 
 
184 TANCRED. 
 
 retreating. And yet he had not been ten 
 minutes in Deloraine House, before he had abso- 
 lutely requested to be introduced to a lady. 
 It was the first time he had ever made such a 
 request. 
 
 He returned home, softly musing. A tone 
 lingered in his ear; he recalled the counte- 
 nance of one absent. In his dressing-room he 
 lingered before he retired, with his arm on the 
 mantel-piece, and gazing with abstraction on 
 the fire. 
 
 When his servant called him in the morning, 
 the servant brought him a card from Mrs. 
 Guy Flouncey, inviting him on that day to 
 Craven Cottage, at three o'clock : " dejeuner 
 at four o'clock precisely." Tancred took the 
 card, looked at it, and the letters seemed to 
 cluster together and form the countenance of 
 Lady Constance. " It will be a good thing to 
 go," he said, " because I want to know Lord 
 Fitzheron ; he will be of great use to me about 
 my yacht." So he ordered his carriage at 
 three o'clock. 
 
 The reader must not for a moment suppose 
 
TANCRED. 185 
 
 that Mrs. GuyFlouncev, though she was quite as 
 well dressed, and almost as pretty, as she was 
 when at Coningsby Castle in 1837, was by any 
 means the same lady who then strove to 
 amuse and struggled to be noticed. By no 
 means. In 1837, !Mrs. Guy Flouncey was 
 nobody; in 1845, Mrs. Guy Flouncey was 
 somebody, and somebody of very great im- 
 portance. Mrs. Guy Flouncey had invaded 
 society, and had conquered it, gradually, but 
 completely, like the English in India. Social 
 invasions are not rare, but they are seldom 
 fortunate, or success if achieved is partial, 
 and then only sustained at immense cost, like 
 the French in Algiers. 
 
 The Guy Flounceys were not people of great 
 fortune. They had»a good fortune ; seven or 
 eight thousand a-year. But then, with an air 
 of great expenditure, even profusion, there 
 was a basis of good management. And a 
 good fortune with good management, and 
 without that equivocal luxury a great country 
 house, is almost equal to the great fortune of 
 a peer. But they not only had no country 
 
186 TANCRED. 
 
 house, they had no children. And a good 
 fortune, with good management, no country 
 house, and no children, is Aladdin's lamp. 
 
 Mr. Guy Flouncey was a sporting character. 
 His wife had impressed upon him that it was 
 the only way in which he could become 
 fashionable and acquainted with " the best 
 men." He knew just enough of the affair 
 not to be ridiculous ; and, for the rest, with a 
 great deal of rattle and apparent heedlessness 
 of speech and deed, he was really an extremely 
 selfish and sufficiently shrewd person, who 
 never compromised himself. It is astonishing 
 with what dexterity Guy Flouncey could ex- 
 tricate himself from the jaws of a friend, who, 
 captivated by his thoughtless candour and 
 ostentatiously good heart, might be induced 
 to request Mr. Flouncey to lend him a few 
 hundreds, only for a few months, or, more 
 diplomatically, might beg his friend to become 
 his security for a few thousands, for a few 
 years. Mr. Guy Flouncey never refused these 
 applications, they were exactly those to which 
 it delighted his heart to respond, because 
 
TANCRED. 187 
 
 nothing pleased him more than serving a friend. 
 But then he always had to write a preliminary 
 letter of preparation to his banker, or his 
 steward, or his confidential solicitor; and, by 
 some contrivance or other, without offending 
 any one, rather with the appearance of confer- 
 ring an obligation, it ended always by Mr Guy 
 Flouncey neither advancing the hundreds, nor 
 guaranteeing the thousands. He had indeed 
 managed, like many others, to get the reputation 
 of being what is called " a good fellow ;" though 
 it would have puzzled his panegyrists to allege 
 a single act of his that evinced a good heart. 
 
 This sort of pseudo reputation, whether 
 for good or for evil, is not uncommon in 
 the world. Man is mimetic; judges of cha- 
 racter are rare; we repeat without thought 
 the opinions of some third person, who has 
 adopted them without inquiry ; and thus it 
 often happens that a proud generous man 
 obtains in time the reputation of being " a 
 screw," because he has refused to lend money 
 to some impudent spendthrift, who from that 
 
188 TANCRED. 
 
 moment abuses him ; and a cold-hearted, civil- 
 spoken personage, profuse in costless services, 
 with a spice of the parasite in him, or perhaps 
 hospitable out of vanity, is invested with all the 
 thoughtless sympathies of society, and passes 
 current as that most popular of characters, " a 
 good fellow." 
 
 Guy Flouncey's dinners began to be talked 
 of among men ; it became a sort of fashion, 
 especially among sporting men, to dine with 
 Mr. Guy Flouncey, and there they met Mrs. 
 Guy Flouncey. Not an opening ever escaped 
 her. If a man had a wife, and that wife was 
 a personage, sooner or later, much as she might 
 toss her head at first, she was sure to visit 
 Mrs. Guy Flouncey, and, when she knew her, 
 she was sure to like her. The Guy Flounceys 
 never lost a moment; the instant the season 
 was over, they were at Cowes, then at a Ger- 
 man bath, then at Paris, then at an English 
 country-house, then in London. Seven years, 
 to such people, was half a century of social 
 experience. They had half a dozen seasons 
 
TAXCRED. 189 
 
 in every year. Still it was hard work, and 
 not rapid. At a certain point they stuck, as all 
 do. Most people then give it up ; but patience, 
 Buffon tells us, is genius, and Mrs. Guy Flouncey 
 was in her way a woman of genius. Their 
 dinners were in a certain sense established : 
 these in return brought them to a certain 
 degree into the dinner world ; but balls, at 
 least balls of a high calibre, were few, and as 
 for giving a ball herself, Mrs. Guy Tlouncey 
 could no more presume to think of that, than 
 of attempting to prorogue Parliament. The 
 house, however, got really celebrated for " the 
 best men." Mrs. Guy Flouncey invited all 
 the young dancing lords to dinner. Mothers 
 will bring their daughters where there are 
 young lords. Mrs. Guy Flouncey had an Opera 
 box in the best tier, which she took only to 
 lend to her friends ; and a box at the French 
 play, which she took only to bribe her foes. 
 They were both at everybody's service, like 
 Mr. Guy Flouncey's yacht, provided the persons 
 who required them were members of that great 
 
190 TANCRED. 
 
 world in which Mrs. Guy Flouncey had re- 
 solved to plant herself. 
 
 Mrs. Guy Flouncey was pretty; she was 
 a flirt on principle; thus she had caught 
 the Marquess of Beaumanoir, who, if they 
 chanced to meet, always spoke to her, which 
 gave Mrs. Guy Flouncey fashion. But Mrs. 
 Guy Flouncey was nothing more than a 
 flirt. She never made a mistake; she was 
 born with strong social instincts. She knew 
 that the fine ladies among whom, from the first, 
 she had determined to place herself, were 
 moral martinets with respect to any one not 
 born among themselves. That which is not 
 observed, or, if noticed, playfully alluded to 
 in the conduct of a patrician dame, is visited 
 with scorn and contumely, if committed by some 
 '* shocking woman," who has deprived perhaps 
 a countess of the aflections of a husband who 
 has not spoken to her for years. But if the 
 countess is to lose her husband, she ought to 
 lose him to a viscountess, at least. In this way 
 the earl is not lost to " society." 
 
TAXCRED. 191 
 
 A great nobleman met Mrs. Guj Flouncey 
 at a country-house, and was fairly captivated 
 by her. Her pretty looks, her coquettish manner, 
 her vivacity, her charming costume, above all, 
 perhaps, her imperturbable good temper, pierced 
 him to the heart. The great nobleman's wife 
 had the weakness to be annoyed. Mrs. Guy 
 Flouncey saw a great opportunity. She threw 
 over the earl, and became the friend of the 
 countess, who could never sufficiently evince 
 her srratitude to the woman who would not 
 make love to her husband. This friendship 
 was the great incident for which Mrs. Guy 
 Flouncey had been cruising for years. Men 
 she had vanquished ; they had given her a sort 
 of ton which she had prudently managed. She 
 had not destroyed herself by any fatal pre- 
 ference. Still, her fashion among men neces- 
 sarily made her unfashionable among women, 
 who, if they did not absolutely hate her, which 
 they would have done had she had a noble 
 lover, were determined not to help her up 
 the social ladder. Now she had a great friend, 
 
192 TANCRED. 
 
 and one of the greatest of ladies. The mo- 
 ment she had pondered over for years had 
 arrived. Mrs. Guy Flouncey determined at 
 once to test her position. Mrs. Guy Flouncey 
 resolved on giving a ball. 
 
 But some of our friends in the country will 
 say, '' Is that all? Surely it required no very 
 great resolution, no very protracted pondering, 
 to determine on giving a ball ! Wliere is the 
 difficulty? The lady has but to light up her 
 house, hire the fiddlers, line her staircase with 
 American plants, perhaps inclose her balcony, 
 order Mr. Gunter to provide plenty of the best 
 refreshments, and at one o'clock a superb 
 supper, and, with the company of your friends, 
 you have as good a ball as can be desired by 
 the young, or endured by the old." 
 
 Innocent friends in the country ! You might 
 have all these things. Your house might be 
 decorated like a Eussian palace, blazing with 
 the most brilliant lights and breathing the 
 richest odours ; you might have Jullien pre- 
 
TAXCRED. 19»- 
 
 siding over your orchestra, and a banquet 
 worthy of the Romans. As for your friends, 
 they might dance until daybreak, and agree 
 that there never was an entertainment more 
 tasteful, more sumptuous, and, what would 
 seem of the first importance, more merry. 
 But, having all these things, suppose you have 
 not a list? You have given a ball, you have 
 not a list. The reason is obvious: you are 
 ashamed of your guests. You are not in " so- 
 ciety." 
 
 But even a list is not sufficient for success. 
 You must also get a day : the most difficult 
 thing in the world. After inquiring among 
 your friends, and studying the columns of the 
 Morning Post, you discover that five weeks 
 hence, a day is disengaged. You send out 
 your cards; your house is dismantled; your 
 lights are arranged ; the American plants have 
 arrived; the band, perhaps two bands, are 
 engaged. Mr. Gunter has half dressed your 
 supper, and made all your ice, when suddenly, 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
194 TANCRED. 
 
 within eight-and-forty hours of the festival 
 which you have been five weeks preparing, the 
 Marchioness of Deloraiiie sends out cards for a 
 ball in honour of some European sovereign who 
 has just lighted on our isle, and means to stay 
 only a week, and at whose court, twenty years 
 ago, Lord Deloraine was ambassador. Instead of 
 receiving your list, you are obliged to send mes- 
 sengers in all directions to announce that your 
 ball is postponed, although you are perfectly 
 aware that not a single individual would have 
 been present whom you would have cared to 
 welcome. 
 
 The ball is postponed; and next day the 
 Morning Post informs us it is postponed to 
 that day week; and the day after you have 
 circulated this interesting intelligence, you 
 yourself, perhaps, have the gratification of 
 receiving an invitation, for the same day, to 
 Lady St. Julians: with *' dancing," neatly 
 engraved in the corner. You yield in despair; 
 and there are some ladies who, with every 
 
TAXCRED. 195 
 
 qualification for an excellent ball — guests, 
 Gunter, American plants, pretty daughters — 
 have been watching and waiting for years for 
 an opportunity of giving it ; and at last, quite 
 hopeless, at the end of the season, expend their 
 funds in a series of Greenwich banquets, which 
 sometimes fortunately produce the results ex- 
 pected from the more imposing festivity. 
 
 You see, therefore, that giving a ball is not 
 that matter-of-course affair you imagined; and 
 that for Mrs. Guy Flouncey to give a ball and 
 succeed, completely, triumphantly to succeed, 
 was a feat worthy of that fine social general. 
 Yet she did it. The means, like everything 
 that is great, were simple. She induced her 
 noble friend to ask her guests. Her noble 
 friend canvassed for her as if it were a county 
 election of the good old days, when the repre- 
 sentation of a shire was the certain avenue to 
 a peerage, instead of being, as it is now, the 
 high road to a poor-law commissionership. 
 Many were very glad to make the acquaintance 
 k2 
 
196 TANCPvED. 
 
 of Mrs. Guy Flouncey ; many only wanted an 
 excuse to make the acquaintance of Mrs. Guy 
 Flouncey ; they went to her party because they 
 were asked by their dear friend, Lady King- 
 castle. As for the potentates, there is no 
 disguise on these subjects among them. They 
 went to Mrs. Guy Flouncey's ball because one 
 who was their equal, not only in rank, but in 
 social influence, had requested it as a personal 
 favour, she herself, when the occasion offered, 
 being equally ready to advance their wishes. 
 The fact was, that affairs were ripe for the 
 recognition of Mrs. Guy Flouncey as a member 
 of the social body. Circumstances had been 
 long maturing. The Guy Flounceys, who, 
 in the course of their preparatory career, 
 had hopped from Park Crescent to Port man 
 Square, had now perched upon their " splendid 
 mansion" in Belgrave Square. Their dinners 
 were renowned. Mrs. Guy Flouncey was seen 
 at all the " best balls," and was always sur- 
 rounded by the " best men." Though a flirt 
 
TANCRED. 197 
 
 and a pretty woman, she was a discreet par- 
 venue, who did not entrap the affections of 
 noble husbands. Above all, she was the friend 
 of Lady Kingcastle, who called her and her 
 husband " those good Guy Flounceys," 
 
 The ball was given; you could not pass 
 through Belgrave Square that night. The 
 list was published ; it formed two columns of 
 the " Morning Post.'' Lady Kingcastle was 
 honoured by the friendship of a royal duchess. 
 She put the friendship to the proof, and her 
 royal highness was seen at Mrs. Guy Flouncey's 
 ball. Imagine the reception, — the canopy, 
 the crimson cloth, the " God save the King" 
 from the band of the fii^st guards, bivouacked 
 in the hall, Mrs. Guy Flouncey herself per- 
 forming her part as if she had received prin- 
 cesses of the blood all her life; so reverent 
 and yet so dignified, so very calm and yet with 
 a sort of winning, sunny innocence. Her royal 
 highness was quite charmed with her hostess, 
 praised her very much to Lady Kingcastle, 
 
198 TANCRED. 
 
 told her that she was glad that she had come, 
 and even stayed half an hour longer than Mrs. 
 Guy Flouncey had dared to hope. As for the 
 other guests, the peerage was gutted. The 
 Dictator himself was there, and, the moment 
 her royal highness had retired, Mrs. Guy 
 Flouncey devoted herself to the hero. All the 
 great ladies, all the ambassadors, all the 
 beauties, a full chapter of the Garter, a chorus 
 among the ''best men" that it was without 
 doubt the " best ball" of the year, — happy 
 Mrs. Guy Flouncey ! She threw a glance at 
 her swing-glass, while Mr. Guy Flouncey, " who 
 had not had time to get anything the whole 
 evening," was eating some supper on a tray, 
 in her dressing-room, at five o'clock in the 
 morning, and said, " We have done it at last, 
 my love!" 
 
 She Avas right; and from that moment Mrs. 
 Guy Flouncey was asked to all the great 
 houses, and became a lady of the most un- 
 exceptionable ton. 
 
TANCRED. 199 
 
 But all this time we are forgetting her 
 dejeuner, and that Tancred 4s winding his 
 way through the garden lanes of Fulham to 
 reach Craven Cottage. 
 
200 TANCRED, 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The day was brilliant: music, sunshine, 
 ravishing bonnets, little parasols that looked 
 like large butterflies. The new phaetons glided 
 up, then carriages and four swept by; in 
 general the bachelors were ensconced in their 
 comfortable broughams, with their glasses 
 down and their blinds drawn, to receive the 
 air and to exclude the dust ; some less provi- 
 dent were cavaliers, but, notwithstanding the 
 well-watered roads, seemed a little dashed as 
 they cast an anxious glance at the rose which 
 adorned their button-hole, or fancied that they 
 felt a flying black from a London chimney 
 light upon the tip of their nose. 
 
TANCRED. 201 
 
 "Within, the winding walks dimlj echoed 
 whispering words ; the lawn was studded with 
 dazzling groups ; on the terrace by the river 
 a dainty multitude beheld those celebrated 
 waters which furnish flounders to Richmond 
 and whitebait to Blackwall. 
 
 " Mrs. Coningsby shall decide," said Lord 
 Beaumanoir. 
 
 Edith and Lady Theresa Lyle stood by a 
 statue that glittered in the sun, surrounded 
 by a group of cavaliers; among them. Lord 
 Beaumanoir, Lord Milford, Lord Eugene de 
 Vere. Her figure was not less lithe and 
 graceful since her marriage, a little more 
 voluptuous; her rich complexion, her radiant 
 and abounding hair, and her long grey eye, 
 now melting with pathos and now twinkling 
 with mockery, presented one of those faces of 
 witchery which are beyond beauty. 
 
 " Mrs. Coningsby shall decide." 
 
 *' It is the very thing," said Edith, ''that 
 Mrs. Coningsby will never do. Decision de- 
 stroys suspense, and suspense is the charm of 
 existence." 
 
 k3 
 
202 TANCRED. 
 
 " But suspense may be agony," said Lord 
 Eugene de Vere, casting a glance that would 
 read the innermost heart of Edith. 
 
 " And decision may be despair," said Mrs. 
 Coningsby. 
 
 '' But we agreed the other night that you 
 were to decide everything for us," said Lord 
 Beaumanoir; " and you consented." 
 
 " I consented the other night, and I retract 
 my consent to-day ; and I am consistent, for 
 that is indecision." 
 
 " You are consistent in being charming," 
 said Lord Eugene. 
 
 " Pleasing and original!" said Edith. ''By 
 the bye, when I consented that the me- 
 lancholy Jaques should be one of my aid-de- 
 camps I expected him to maintain his reputa- 
 tion, not only for gloom but wit. I think you 
 had better go back to the forest. Lord Eugene, 
 and see if you cannot stumble upon a fool who 
 may drill you in repartee. How do you do, 
 Lady Eiddlesworth ?'' And she bowed to two 
 ladies, who seemed inclined to stop, but Edith 
 
TANCRED. 203 
 
 added, " I heard great applications for you 
 this moment on the terrace." 
 
 " Indeed!" exclaimed the ladies; and they 
 moved on. 
 
 " When Lady Riddlesworth joins the con- 
 versation it is like a stoppage in the streets. 
 I invented a piece of intelligence to clear 
 the way, as you would call out Fire ! or The 
 queen is coming! There used to be things 
 called vers de societe, which were not poetry ; 
 and I do not see why there should not be 
 social illusions which are not fibs.'' 
 
 " I entirely agree with you," said Lord 
 Milford ; " and I move that we practise them 
 on a large scale." 
 
 " Like the verses, they might make life more 
 light," said Lady Theresa. 
 
 " We are surrounded by illusions," said 
 Lord Eugene, in a melancholy tone. 
 
 " And shams of all descriptions," said 
 Edith ; " the greatest, a man who pretends 
 he has a broken heart when all the time he is 
 full of fun." 
 
204 TANCRED. 
 
 " There are a great many men who have 
 broken hearts," said Lord Beaumanoir, smiling 
 sorrowfully. 
 
 '^ Cracked heads are much commoner," said 
 Edith, " you may rely upon it. The only man 
 I really know with a broken heart is Lord 
 Fitzbooby. I do think that paying Mount- 
 Dullard's debts has broken his heart. He 
 takes on so; 'tis piteous. ' My dear Mrs. 
 Coningsby,' he said to me last night, ' only 
 think what that young man might have been ; 
 lie might have been a lord of the treasury in 
 '35; why, if he had had nothing more in 
 '41, why, there's a loss of between four and 
 five thousand pounds; but with my claims — 
 Sir Robert, having thrown the father over, was 
 bound on his own principle to provide for the 
 son — he might have got something better; 
 and now he comes to me with his debts, and 
 his reason for paying his debts, too, ^Irs, 
 Coningsby, because he is going to be married — 
 to be married to a woman who has not a shil- 
 ling. Why, if he had been in office, and only 
 got 1500/. a-year, and married a w^oman wdth 
 
TANCRED. 205 
 
 only another 1500/. he would have had 3000Z. 
 a-year, Mrs. Coningsby; and now he has 
 nothing of his own except some debts, which 
 he wants me to pay, and settle 3000^. a-year 
 on him besides.' " 
 
 They all laughed. 
 
 " Ah !" said Mrs. Coningsby, with a resem- 
 blance which made all start, " you should 
 have heard it with the Fitzbooby voice." 
 
 The character of a woman rapidly develops 
 after marriage, and sometimes seems to change, 
 when in fact it is only complete. Hitherto we 
 have known Edith only in her girlhood, bred 
 up in a life of great simplicity, and under the 
 influence of a sweet fancy or an absorbing 
 passion. Coningsby had been a hero to her 
 before they met, the hero of nursery hours and 
 nursery tales. Experience had not disturbed 
 those dreams. From the moment they en- 
 countered each other at Millbank, he assumed 
 that place in her heart which he had long occu- 
 pied in her imagination ; and, after their second 
 meeting at Paris, her existence was merged in 
 love. All the crosses and vexations of their 
 
206 TANCRED. 
 
 early affection only rendered this state of being 
 on her part more profound and engrossing. 
 
 But, though Edith was a most happy- 
 wife, and blessed with two children worthy 
 of their parents, love exercises quite a dif- 
 ferent influence upon a woman when she 
 has married, and especially when she has as- 
 sumed a social position which deprives life 
 of all its real cares. Under any circumstances, 
 that suspense, which, with all its occasional 
 agony, is the great spring of excitement, is 
 over; but, generally speaking, it will be found, 
 notwithstanding the proverb, that, with persons 
 of a noble nature, the straitened fortunes 
 which they share together, and manage, and 
 mitigate by mutual forbearance, are more con- 
 ducive to the sustainment of a high-toned 
 and romantic passion than a luxurious and 
 splendid prosperity. The wife of a man of 
 limited means, who, by contrivance, by the 
 concealed sacrifice of some necessity of her 
 own, supplies him with some slight enjoyment 
 which he has never asked, but which she 
 fancies he may have sighed for, experiences, 
 
TANCRED. 207 
 
 without doubt, a degree of pleasure far more 
 ravishing than the patrician dame who stops 
 her barouche at Storr and Mortimer's, and out 
 of her pin-money buys a trinket for the husband 
 whom she loves, and which he finds, perhaps, 
 on his dressing-table, on the anniversary of their 
 wedding-day. That's pretty too and touching, 
 and should be encouraged ; but the other thrills, 
 and ends in an embrace that is still poetry. 
 
 The Coningsbys shortly after their mar- 
 riage had been called to the possession of a 
 great fortune, for which, in every sense, they 
 were well adapted. But a great fortune neces- 
 sarily brings with it a great change of habits. 
 The claims of society proportionately increase 
 with your income. You live less for your- 
 selves. For a selfish man, merely looking to 
 his luxurious ease. Lord Eskdale's idea of 
 having ten thousand a-year, while the world 
 suppose you have only five, is the right thing. 
 Coningsby however looked to a great fortune 
 as one of the means, rightly employed, of ob- 
 taining great power. He looked also to his 
 wife to assist him in this enterprise. Edith, 
 
208 TANCRED. 
 
 from a native impulse, as well as from love for 
 her husband, responded to his wish. When 
 they were in the country, Hellingsley was a 
 perpetual stream and scene of splendid hospi- 
 tality; there the flower of London society 
 mingled with all the aristocracy of the county. 
 Leander was often retained specially, like a 
 Wilde or a Kelly, to renovate the genius of 
 the habitual chief — not of the circuit, but the 
 kitchen. A noble mansion in Park-lane re- 
 ceived them the moment Parliament assem- 
 bled. Coningsby was then immersed in 
 affairs, and counted entirely on Edith to 
 cherish those social influences which in a 
 public career are not less important than po- 
 litical ones. The whole weight of the manage- 
 ment of society rested on her. She had to 
 cultivate his alliances, keep together his 
 friends, arrange his dinner-parties, regulate 
 his engagements. What time for romantic 
 love? They were never an hour alone. Yet 
 they loved not less ; but love had taken the 
 character of enjoyment instead of a wild be- 
 witchment; and life had become an airy 
 
TANCEED. 209 
 
 bustle, instead of a storm, an agony, a hurri- 
 cane of the heart. 
 
 In this change in the disposition, not in the 
 degree, of their affection, for there was the 
 same amount of sweet solicitude, only it was 
 duly apportioned to everything that interested 
 them, instead of being exclusively devoted to 
 each other, the character of Edith, which had 
 been swallowed up by the absorbing passion, 
 rapidly developed itself amid the social circum- 
 stances. She was endued with great vivacity, 
 a sanguine and rather saucy spirit, with con- 
 siderable talents, and a very large share of 
 feminine vanity — that divine gift which makes 
 woman charming. Entirely sympathising with 
 her husband, labouring with zeal to advance 
 his views, and living perpetually in the world, 
 all these qualities came to light. During her 
 first season she had been very quiet, not less 
 observant, making herself mistress of the 
 ground. It was prepared for lier next cam- 
 paign. TMien she evinced a disposition to 
 take a lead, although found faultless the fii'st 
 year, it was suddenly remembered that she 
 
210 TANCRED. 
 
 was a manufacturer's daughter; and she was 
 once described hy a great lady as " that per- 
 son whom Mr. Coningsby had married, when 
 Lord Monmouth cut him off with a shilling." 
 
 But Edith had anticipated these difficulties, 
 and was not to be daunted. Proud of her 
 husband, confident in herself, supported by a 
 great establishment, and having many friends, 
 she determined to exchange salutes with these 
 social sharpshooters, who are scarcely as cou- 
 rageous as they are arrogant. It was dis- 
 covered that Mrs. Coningsby could be as 
 malicious as her assailants, and far more 
 epigrammatic. She could describe in a sen- 
 tence and personify in a phrase. The mot 
 was circulated, the nom de nique repeated. 
 Surrounded by a brilliant band of youth and 
 wit, even her powers of mimickry were 
 revealed to the initiated. More than one 
 social tyrant, whom all disliked, but whom 
 none had ventured to resist, was made ridi- 
 culous. Flushed by success and stimulated by 
 admiration, Edith flattered herself that she was 
 assisting her husband while she was gratifying 
 
TANCRED. 211 
 
 her vanity. Her adversaries soon vanished, 
 but the powers that had vanquished them were 
 too choice to be forgotten or neglected. The 
 tone of raillery she had assumed for the mo- 
 ment, and extended, in self-defence, to persons, 
 was adopted as a habit, and infused itself 
 over affairs in general. 
 
 Mrs. Coningsby was the fashion; she was 
 a wit as well as a beauty; a fascinating 
 droll; dazzling and bewitching, the idol of 
 every youth. Eugene de Yere was roused 
 from his premature exhaustion, and at last 
 again found excitement. He threw him- 
 self at her feet; she laughed at him. He 
 asked leave to follow her footsteps; she con- 
 sented. He was only one of a band of slaves. 
 Lord Beaumanoir, still a bachelor, always 
 hovered about her ; feeding on her laughing 
 words with a mild melancholy, and sometimes 
 bandying repartee with a kind of tender and 
 stately despair. His sister, Lady Theresa 
 Lyle, was Edith's great friend. Their dispo- 
 sitions had some resemblance. Marriage had 
 developed in both of them a frolic grace. 
 
212 TAXCRED. 
 
 They hunted in couple ; and their sport was 
 brilliant. Many things may be said by a 
 strong female alliance, that would assume 
 quite a different character were they even to 
 fall from the lips of an Aspasia to a circle of 
 male votaries — so much depends upon the scene 
 and the characters, the mode and the manner. 
 The good-natured world would sometimes 
 pause in its amusement, and, after dwelling 
 with statistical accuracy on the number of 
 times Mrs. Coningsby had danced the Polka, 
 on the extraordinary things she said to Lord 
 Eugene de Vere, and the odd things she and 
 Lady Theresa Lyle were perpetually doing, 
 would wonder, with a face and voice of innocence, 
 "how Mr. Coningsby liked all this?" There 
 is no doubt what Avas the anticipation by the 
 good-natured world of Mr. Coningsby's feelings. 
 But they were quite mistaken. There was 
 nothing that Mr. Coningsby liked more. He 
 wished his wife to become a social power ; and 
 he wished his wife to be amused. He saw that, 
 with the surface of a life of levity, she already 
 exercised considerable influence, especially over 
 
TAXCRED. 213 
 
 the young ; and independently of such circum- 
 stances and considerations, he was delighted to 
 have a wife who was not afraid of going into 
 society by herself; not one whom he was sure 
 to find at home when he returned from the 
 House of Commons, not reproaching him ex- 
 actly for her social sacrifices, but looking a 
 victim, and thinking that she retained her hus- 
 band's heart by being a mope. Instead of that, 
 Coningsby wanted to be amused when he came 
 home, and more than that, he wanted to be in- 
 structed in the finest learning in the world. 
 
 As some men keep up their Greek by read- 
 ing every day a chapter in the New Testa- 
 ment, so Coningsby kept up his knowledge of 
 the world, by always once at least in the four- 
 and-twenty hours having a delightful con- 
 versation with his wife. The processes are 
 equally orthodox. Exempted from the tax of 
 entering general society, free to follow his own 
 pursuits, and to live in that political world 
 which alone interested him, there was not an 
 anecdote, a trait, a good thing said, or a bad 
 thing done, which did not reach him by a fine 
 
214 TANCRED. 
 
 critic and a lively narrator. He was always 
 behind those social scenes which, after all, 
 regnlate the political performers, knew the 
 springs of the whole machinery, the changes 
 and the shift ings, the fiery cars and golden 
 chariots which men might mount, and the trap- 
 doors down which men might fall. 
 
 But the Marquess of Montacute is making 
 his reverence to Mrs. Guy Flouncey. 
 
 There was not at this moment a human 
 being whom that lady was more glad to see at 
 her dejeuner; but she did not show it in the 
 least. Her self-possession, indeed, was the 
 finest work of art of the day, and ought to 
 be exhibited at the Adelaide Gallery. Like 
 all mechanical inventions of a high class, 
 it had been brought to perfection very gra- 
 dually, and after many experiments. A variety 
 of combinations, and an almost infinite number 
 of trials, must have been expended before the 
 too-startling laugh of Coningsby Castle could 
 have subsided into the haughty suavity of that 
 sunny glance, which was not familiar enough 
 for a smile nor foolish enough for a simper. As 
 
TANCRED. 215 
 
 for the rattling vein ^hicli distinguished her 
 in the days of our first acquaintance, that had 
 long ceased. Mrs. Guy Flouncey now seemed 
 to share the prevalent passion for genuine 
 Saxon, and used only monosyllables; while 
 Fine-ear himself would have been sometimes at 
 fault had he attempted to give a name to 
 her delicate breathings. In short, Mrs. Guy 
 Flouncey never did or said anything but in 
 " the best taste." It may however be a question, 
 whether she ever would have captivated Lord 
 Monmouth, and those who like a little nature 
 and fun, if she had made her first advances in 
 this style. But that showed the greatness of 
 the woman. Then she was ready for anything 
 for promotion. That was the age of forlorn 
 hopes; but now she was a general of division, 
 and had assumed a becoming carriage. 
 
 This was the first dejeuner at which Tancred 
 had been present. He rather liked it. The 
 scene, lawns, and groves, and a glancing river, 
 the air, the music, our beautiful countrywo- 
 men, who, with their brilliant complexions and 
 bright bonnets, do not shrink from the daylight 
 
216 TANCRED. 
 
 — these are circumstances which, combined 
 with youth and health, make a morning 
 festival, say what they like, particularly for 
 the first time, very agreeable — even if one be 
 dreaming of Jerusalem. Strange power of the 
 world, that the moment we enter it, our great 
 conceptions dwarf! In youth it is quick sym- 
 pathy that degrades them ; more advanced, it 
 is the sense of the ridiculous. But perhaps 
 these reveries of solitude may not be really 
 great conceptions ; perhaps they are only exag- 
 gerations; vague, indefinite, shadowy, formed 
 on no sound principles, founded on no assured 
 basis. 
 
 Why should Tancred go to Jerusalem? 
 What does it signify to him whether there be 
 religious truth or political justice? He has 
 youth, beauty, rank, wealth, power, and all in 
 excess. He has a mind that can comprehend 
 their importance and appreciate their advan- 
 tages. What more does he require? Unrea- 
 sonable boy ! And if he reach Jerusalem, why 
 should he find religious truth and political jus- 
 tice there ? He can read of it in the travelling 
 
TANCRED. 217 
 
 books, written by young gentlemen, with the 
 best letters of introduction to all the consuls. 
 They tell us what it is — a fifth-rate city in a 
 stony wilderness. Will the Providence of 
 Fashion prevent this great folly about to be 
 perpetrated by one born to be Fashion's most 
 brilliant subject ? A folly, too, which may end 
 in a catastrophe ? His parents, indeed, have ap- 
 pealed in vain ; but the sneer of the world will 
 do more than the supplication of the father. 
 A mother's tear may be disregarded, but the 
 sigh of a mistress has changed the most obdu- 
 rate. We shall see. At present Lady Con- 
 stance Eawleigh expresses her pleasure at 
 Tancred's arrival, and his heart beats a little. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
218 TANCRED. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " They are talking about it," said Lord 
 Eskdale to the duchess, as she looked up to him 
 with an expression of the deepest interest. 
 
 " He asked St. Patrick to introduce him 
 to her at Deloraine House, danced with her, 
 was with her the whole evening, went to the 
 breakfast on Saturday to meet her, instead 
 of going to Blackwall to see a yacht he was 
 after." 
 
 "If it were only Katherine," said the 
 duchess, " I should be quite happy." 
 
 " Don't be uneasy," said Lord Eskdale ; 
 " there will be plenty of Katherines and Con- 
 stances, too, before he finishes. This affair is 
 
TANCRED. 219 
 
 not much, but it shows, as I foretold, that, the 
 moment he found something more amusing, 
 his taste for yachting would pass off." 
 ^' You are right — you always are." 
 What really was this affair, which Lord 
 Eskdale held lightly? With a character like 
 Tancred, everything may become important. 
 Profound and yet simple, deep in self-know- 
 ledge yet inexperienced, his reserve, which 
 would screen him from a thousand dangers, 
 was just the quality which would insure his 
 thraldom by the individual who could once 
 effectually melt the icy barrier and reach the 
 central heat. At this moment of his life, 
 with all the repose, and sometimes even the 
 high ceremony, on the surface, he was a being 
 formed for high-reaching exploits, ready to 
 dare everything and reckless of all conse- 
 quences, if he proposed to himself an object 
 which he believed to be just and great. This 
 temper of mind would, in all things, have 
 made him act with that rapidity, which is 
 rashness with the weak, and decision with the 
 strong. The influence of woman on him was 
 l2 
 
220 TANCRED. 
 
 novel. It was a disturbing influence, on which 
 he had never counted in those dreams and 
 visions in which therq^had figured more heroes 
 than heroines. In the imaginary interviews 
 in which he had disciplined his solitary mind, 
 his antagonists had been statesmen, prelates, 
 sages, and senators, with whom he struggled 
 and whom he vanquished. 
 
 He was not unequal in practice to his 
 dreams. His shyness would have vanished 
 in an instant before a great occasion; he 
 could have addressed a public assembly ; 
 he was capable of transacting important 
 affairs. These were all situations and con- 
 tingencies which he had foreseen, and which 
 for him were not strange, for he had be- 
 come acquainted with them in his reveries. 
 But suddenly he was arrested by an in- 
 fluence for which he was unprepared ; a 
 precious stone made him stumble who was to 
 have scaled the Alps. Why should the voice, 
 the glance, of another agitate his heart ? The 
 cherubim of his heroic thoughts not only de- 
 serted him, but he was left without the guar- 
 
TANCRED. 221 
 
 dian angel of his shyness. He melted, and 
 the iceberg might degenerate into a puddle. 
 
 Lord Eskdale drew his conclusions like a 
 clever man of the world, and in general he 
 would have been right ; but a person like 
 Tancred was in much greater danger of being 
 captured than a common-place youth enter- 
 ing life with second-hand experience, and 
 living among those who ruled his opinions by 
 their sneers and sarcasms. A malicious tale 
 by a spiteful woman, the chance ribaldry of a 
 club-room window, have often been the impure 
 agencies which have saved many a youth from 
 committing a great folly ; but Tancred was 
 beyond all these influences. If they had been 
 brought to bear on him, they would rather 
 have precipitated the catastrophe. His ima- 
 gination would have immediately been sum- 
 moned to the rescue of his offended pride; he 
 would have invested the object of his regard 
 with supernatural qualities, and consoled her for 
 the impertinence of society by his devotion. 
 
 Lady Constance was clever; she talked like 
 a married woman, was critical, yet easy ; and, 
 
222 TANCRED. 
 
 having guanoed her mind by reading French 
 novels, had a variety of conclusions on all 
 social topics, which she threw forth with un- 
 faltering promptness, and with the well- 
 arranged air of an impromptu. These were 
 all new to Tancred, and startling. He was 
 attracted by the brilliancy, though he often 
 regretted the tone, which he ascribed to the 
 surrounding corruption from which he intended 
 to escape, and almost wished to save her at the 
 same time. Sometimes Tancred looked un- 
 usually serious ; but at last his rare and bril- 
 liant smile beamed upon one who really 
 admired him, was captivated by his intellect, 
 his freshness, his difference from all around, 
 his pensive beauty and his grave innocence. 
 Lady Constance was free from affectation ; she 
 was frank and natural; she did not conceal 
 the pleasure she had in his society ; she con- 
 ducted herself with that dignified facility, 
 becoming a young lady who had already 
 refused the hands of two future earls, and of 
 the heir of the Clan-Alpins. 
 
 A short time after the dejeuner at Craven 
 
TANCEED. 223 
 
 Cottage, Lord Montacute called on Lady Char- 
 mouth. She was at home, and received him 
 with great cordiality, looking up from her 
 frame of worsted work with a benign maternal 
 expression; while Lady Constance, who was 
 writing an urgent reply to a note that had 
 just arrived, said rapidly some agreeable words 
 of welcome, and continued her task. Tancred 
 seated himself by the mother, made an essay 
 in that small talk in which he was by no 
 means practised, but Lady Charmouth helped 
 him on without seeming to do so. The note 
 was at length dispatched, Tancred of course 
 still remaining at the mother's side, and Lady 
 Constance too distant for his wishes. He had 
 nothing to say to Lady Charmouth; he began 
 to feel that the pleasure of feminine society 
 consisted in talking alone to her daughter. 
 
 While he was meditating a retreat, and yet 
 had hardly courage to rise and walk alone 
 down a large long room, a new guest was 
 announced. Tancred rose, and murmured good 
 morning ; and yet, somehow or other, instead 
 of quitting the apartment, he went and seated 
 
224 TANCRED. 
 
 himself by Lady Constance. It really was as 
 much the impulse of shyness, which sought a 
 nook of refuge, as any other feeling that 
 actuated him; but Lady Constance seemed 
 pleased, and said, in a low voice and in a care- 
 less tone, " 'Tis Lady Brancepeth ; do you 
 know her ? Mamma's great friend ;" which 
 meant, you need give yourself no trouble to 
 talk to any one but myself. 
 
 After making herself very agreeable. Lady 
 Constance took up a book which was at hand, 
 and said, "Do you know this?" And Tan- 
 cred, opening a volume which he had never 
 seen, and then turning to its title-page, found 
 it was " The Revelations of Chaos," a startling 
 work just published, and of which a rumour 
 had reached him. 
 
 " No," he replied; " I have not seen it." 
 
 " I will lend it you if you like ; it is one of 
 those books one must read. It explains every- 
 thing, and is written in a very agreeable 
 style." 
 
 " It explains everything !" said Tancred ; 
 '^ it must, indeed, be a very remarkable book !" 
 
TANCRED. 225 
 
 " I think it will just suit you," said Ladj 
 Constance. ^' Do you know, I thought so 
 several times while I was reading it." 
 
 '' To judge from the title, the subject is 
 rather obscure," said Tancred. 
 
 " ^0 longer so," said Lady Constance. " It 
 is treated scientifically ; everything is ex- 
 plained by geology and astronomy, and in that 
 way. It shows you exactly how a star is 
 formed ; nothing can be so pretty ! A cluster 
 of vapour — the cream of the milky way — a 
 sort of celestial cheese — churned into light — 
 you must read it, 'tis charming." 
 
 " Nobody ever saw a star formed," said 
 Tancred. 
 
 " Perhaps not. You must read the ' Eeve- 
 lations ;' it is all explained. But what is 
 most interesting, is the way in which man has 
 been developed. You know, all is development. 
 The principle is perpetually going on. First, 
 there was nothing, then there was something ; 
 then — I forget the next — I think there were 
 shells, then fishes ; then we came — let me see — 
 did we come next ? Never mind that ; we 
 L 3 
 
226 TANCRED. 
 
 came at last. And the next change there 
 will be something very superior to us — some- 
 thing with wings. Ah ! that's it : we were 
 fishes, and I believe we shall be crows. But 
 you must read it." 
 
 " I do not believe I ever was a fish," said 
 Tancred. 
 
 *'0h! but it is all proved: you must not 
 argue on my rapid sketch ; read the book. It 
 is impossible to contradict anything in it. You 
 understand, it is all science ; it is not like 
 those books in which one says one thing and 
 another the contrary, and both may be wrong. 
 Everything is proved — by geology, you know. 
 You see exactly how everything is made ; how 
 many worlds there have been ; how long they 
 lasted; what went befi)re, what comes next. 
 We are a link in the chain, as inferior ani- 
 mals were that preceded us : we in turn shall 
 be inferior ; all that will remain of us will be 
 some relics in a new red sandstone. This is de- 
 velopment. We had fins — we may have wings." 
 Tancred grew silent and very thoughtful; 
 Lady Brancepeth moved, and he rose at the 
 
TANCRED. 227 
 
 same time. Lady Charmouth looked as if it 
 were by no means necessary for him to depart, 
 but he bowed very low, and then bade farewell 
 to Lady Constance, who said, " We shall meet 
 to-night." 
 
 " I was a fish, and I shall be a crow," said 
 Tancred to himself, when the hall door closed 
 on him. "What a spiritual mistress! And 
 yesterday, for a moment, I almost dreamed of 
 kneeling with her at the Holy Sepulchre! I 
 must get out of this city as quickly as possible 
 — I cannot cope with its corruption. The 
 acquaintance, however, has been of use to me, 
 for I think I have got a yacht by it. I be- 
 lieve it was providential, and a trial. I will 
 go home and write instantly to Fitzheron, and 
 accept his offer. One hundred and eighty 
 tons — it will do — it must." 
 
 At this moment he met Lord Eskdale, who 
 had observed Tancred, from the end of Grosve- 
 nor Square, on the steps of Lord Charmouth's 
 door. This circumstance ill prepared Lord 
 Eskdale for Tancred's salutation. 
 
 '* My dear lord, you are just the person I 
 
228 TANCRED. 
 
 wanted to meet. You promised to recom- 
 mend me a servant who had travelled in the 
 East." 
 
 " Well, are you in a hurry?" said Lord 
 Eskdale, gaining time, and pumping. 
 
 '^ I should like to get off as soon as prac- 
 ticable." 
 
 " Humph !" said Lord Eskdale. " Have 
 you got a yacht?" 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " Oh! So you want a servant?" he added, 
 after a moment's pause. 
 
 " I mentioned that, because you were so 
 kind as to say you could help me in that re- 
 spect." 
 
 ^' Ah! I did," said Lord Eskdale, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " But I want a great many things," con- 
 tinued Tancred. " I must make arrangements 
 about money; I suppose I must get some let- 
 ters; in fact, I want generally your advice." 
 
 " What are you going to do about the 
 Colonel and the rest?" 
 
 " I have promised my father to take them," 
 
TANCRED. 229 
 
 said Tailored, " though I feel they will only 
 embarrass me. They have engaged to be ready 
 at a week's notice ; I shall write to them im- 
 mediately. If they do not fulfil their engage- 
 ment, I am absolved from mine." 
 
 '' So you have got a yacht, eh ?" said Lord 
 Eskdale. " I suppose you have bought the 
 ' Basilisk?'" 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 " She wants a good deal doing to her." 
 
 " Something, but chiefly for show, which I 
 do not care about; but I mean to get away, 
 and refit, if necessary, at Gibraltar. I must 
 
 go." 
 
 " Well, if you must go," said his lord- 
 ship, and then he added, " and in such a 
 hurry — Let me see. You want a first-rate 
 managing man, used to the East, and letters, 
 and money, and advice. Hem! You don't 
 know Sidonia ?" 
 
 " Not at all." 
 
 " He is the man to get hold of, but that is 
 so difficult now. He never goes anywhere. 
 Let me see — this is Monday; to-morrow is 
 
230 TANCRED. 
 
 post-day, and I dine with him alone in the 
 City. A¥ell, you shall hear from me on Wed- 
 nesday morning early, about everything; but 
 I would not write to the colonel and his friends 
 just yet." 
 
TA^'CRED. 231 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 What is most striking in London is its 
 vastness. It is the illimitable feeling that 
 gives it a special character. London is not 
 grand. It possesses only one of the qualifica- 
 tions of a grand city, size; but it wants the 
 equally important one, beauty. It is the union 
 of these two qualities that produced the grand 
 cities — the Eomes, the Babylons, the hundred 
 portals of the Pharaohs ; multitudes and mag- 
 nificence; the millions influenced by art. 
 Grand cities are unknown since the beautiful 
 has ceased to be the principle of invention. 
 Paris, of modern capitals, has aspired to this 
 character ; but, if Paris be a beautiful city, it 
 certainly is not a grand one ; its population is 
 
232 TANCRED. 
 
 too limited, and, from the nature of their 
 dwellings, they cover a comparatively small 
 space. Constantinople is picturesque ; nature 
 has furnished a sublime site, but it has little 
 architectural splendour, and you reach the 
 environs with a fatal facility. London over- 
 powers us with its vastness. 
 
 Place a Forum or an Acropolis in its centre, 
 and the effect of the metropolitan mass,%hich 
 now has neither head nor heart, instead of 
 being stupifying, would be ennobling. No- 
 thing more completely represents a nation 
 than a public building. A member of Parlia- 
 ment only represents at the most the united 
 constituencies : but the Palace of the Sovereign, 
 a National Gallery, or a Museum baptized 
 with the name of the country, these are mo- 
 numents to which all should be able to look 
 up with pride, and which should exercise an 
 elevating influence upon the spirit of the hum- 
 blest. What is their influence in London? 
 Let us not criticise w^hat all condemn. But 
 how remedy the evil? What is wanted in 
 architecture, as in so many things, is — a man. 
 
TANCRED. 233 
 
 Shall we find a refuge in a Committee of Taste ? 
 Escape from the mediocrity of one to the me- 
 diocrity of many? We only multiply our 
 feebleness, and aggravate our deficiencies. But 
 one suggestion might be made. No profession 
 in England has done its duty until it has fur- 
 nished its victim. The pure administration 
 of just^qe dates from the deposition of Mac- 
 clesfield. Even our boasted navy never 
 achieved a great victory until we shot an 
 admiral. Suppose an architect were hanged? 
 Terror has its inspiration as well as competi- 
 tion. 
 
 Though London is vast, it is very monoto- 
 nous. All those new districts that have 
 sprung up Avithin the last half-century, the 
 creatures of our commercial and colonial 
 wealth — it is impossible to conceive anything 
 more tame, more insipid, more uniform. Pan- 
 eras is like Mary-le-bone, Mary-le-bone is like 
 Paddington; all the streets resemble each 
 other, you must read the names of the squares 
 before you venture to knock at a door. This 
 amount of building capital ought to have pro- 
 
234 TANCRED. 
 
 duced a great city. What an opportunity for 
 Architecture suddenly summoned to furnish 
 habitations for a population equal to that of 
 the city of Bruxelles, and a population, too, of 
 great wealth. Mary-le-bone alone ought to have 
 produced a revolution in our domestic archi- 
 tecture. It did nothing. It was built by Act 
 of Parliament. Parliament prescribed even a 
 facade. It is Parliament to whom we are in- 
 debted for your Gloucester Places, and Baker 
 Streets, and Harley Streets, and Wimpole 
 Streets, and all those flat, dull, spiritless 
 streets, all resembling each other, like a large 
 family of plain children, with Portland Place 
 and Portman Square for their respectable 
 parents. The influence of our parliamentary 
 government upon the fine arts is a subject 
 worth pursuing. The power that produced 
 Baker Street as a model for street architec- 
 ture in its celebrated Building Act, is the 
 power that prevented Whitehall from being 
 completed, and which sold to foreigners all the 
 pictures which the King of England liad col- 
 lected to civilize his people. 
 
TANCRED. 235 
 
 In our own days we have witnessed the 
 rapid creation of a new metropolitan quarter, 
 built solely for the aristocracy by an aristocrat. 
 The Belgrave district is as monotonous as 
 Mary-le-bone ; and is so contrived as to be 
 at the same time insipid and tawdry. 
 
 Where London becomes more interesting 
 is Charing Cross. Looking to Xorthumberland 
 House, and turning your back upon Trafalgar 
 Square, the Strand is perhaps the finest 
 street in Europe, blending the architecture of 
 many periods; and its river ways are a 
 peculiar feature and rich with associations. 
 Fleet Street, with its Temple, is not unworthy 
 of being contiguous to the Strand. The fire 
 of London has deprived us of the delight of a 
 real old quarter of the City; but some bits 
 remain, and everywhere there is a stirring 
 multitude, and a great crush and crash of 
 carts and wains. The Inns of Court, and the 
 quarters in the vicinity of the port, Thames 
 Street, Tower Hill, Billingsgate, Wapping, 
 Eotherhithe, are the best parts of London; 
 they are full of character ; the buildings bear 
 
236 TANCRED. 
 
 a nearer relation to what the people are doing 
 than in the more polished quarters. 
 
 The old merchants of the times of the first 
 Georges were a fine race. They knew their 
 position, and built up to it. While the ter- 
 ritorial aristocracy, pulling down their fa- 
 mily hotels, were raising vulgar streets and 
 squares upon their site, and occupying them- 
 selves one of the new tenements, the old mer- 
 chants filled the straggling lanes, which con- 
 nected the Royal Exchange with the port of 
 London, with mansions which, if not exactly 
 equal to the palaces of stately Venice, might 
 at least vie with many of the hotels of old 
 Paris. Some of these, though the great 
 majority have been broken up into chambers 
 and counting-houses, still remain intact. 
 
 In a long, dark, narrow, crooked street, which 
 is still called a lane, and which runs from the 
 south side of the street of the Lombards to- 
 wards the river, there is one of these old 
 houses of a century past, and which, both in 
 its original design and present condition, is a 
 noble specimen of its order. A pair of massy 
 
TANCRED. 237 
 
 iron gates of elaborate workmanship separate 
 the street from its spacious and airy court- 
 yard, which is formed on either side by a 
 wing of the mansion, itself a building of deep 
 red brick, with a pediment, and pilasters, and 
 copings of stone. A flight of steps leads to 
 the lofty and central doorway ; in the middle 
 of the court there is a small garden plot, in- 
 closing a fountain, and a very fine plane tree. 
 The stillness, doubly effective after the tumult 
 just quitted, the lulling voice of the water, 
 the soothing aspect of the quivering foliage, 
 the noble building, and the cool and capacious 
 quadrangle — the aspect even of those who 
 enter, and frequently enter, the precinct, and 
 who are generally young men, gliding in and 
 out, earnest and full of thought — all contribute 
 to give to this locality something of the classic 
 repose of a college, instead of a place agitated 
 with the most urgent interests of the current 
 hour; a place that deals with the fortunes 
 of kings and empires and regulates the 
 most important affairs of nations, for it is 
 the counting-house in the greatest of modern 
 
238 TANCRED. 
 
 cities of the most celebrated of modern finan- 
 ciers. 
 
 It was the visit of Tancred to the City, on 
 the Wednesday morning after he had met Lord 
 Eskdale, that occasions me to touch on some 
 of the characteristics of our capital. It was 
 the first time that Tancred had ever been in 
 the City proper, and it greatly interested 
 him. His visit was prompted by receiving, 
 early on Wednesday morning, the following 
 letter : — 
 
 " Dear Tancred, — I saw Sidonia yester- 
 day, and spoke to him of what you want. He 
 is very much occupied just now, as his uncle, 
 who attended to affairs here, is dead, and, 
 until he can import another uncle or cousin, he 
 must steer the ship, as times are critical. But 
 he bade me say you might call upon him in 
 the City to-day, at two o'clock. He lives 
 in Sequin Court, near the Bank. You will 
 have no difficulty in finding it. I recommend 
 you to go, as he is the sort of man who will 
 really understand what you mean, which nei- 
 
TiJNXRED. 239 
 
 ther your father nor myself do exactly; and 
 
 besides, he is a person to know. 
 
 " I inclose a line which you will send in, that 
 
 there may be no mistake. I should tell you, 
 
 as you are very fresh, that he is of the Hebrew 
 
 race ; so don't go on too much about the Holy 
 
 Sepulchre. 
 
 ^' Yours faithfullv, 
 
 " ESKDALE. 
 " Spring Gardens, 
 Wednesday morning." 
 
 It was just where the street is most crowded, 
 where it narrows, and losing the name of 
 Cheapside, takes that of the Poultry, that the 
 last of a series of stoppages occurred; a 
 stoppage which, at the end of ten minutes, 
 lost its inert character of mere obstruction, 
 and developed into the livelier qualities of 
 the row. There were oaths, contradictions, 
 menaces; " No, you sha'n't — Yes, I will — Xo, I 
 didn't — Yes, you did — Xo, you hav'n't — Yes, I 
 have ;" the lashing of a whip, the interference of 
 a policeman, .a crash, a scream. Tancred 
 looked out of the window of his brougham. 
 
240 TANCRED. 
 
 He saw a chariot in distress — a chariot such 
 as would have become an Ondine by the waters 
 of the Serpentine, and the very last sort of 
 equipage that you could expect to see smashed 
 in the Poultry. It was really breaking a 
 butterfly upon a wheel : to crush its delicate 
 springs, and crack its dark brown panels, soil 
 its dainty hammercloth, and endanger the 
 lives of its young coachman in a flaxen wig, 
 and its two tall footmen in short coats, worthy 
 of Cinderella. 
 
 The scream, too, came from a fair owner, 
 who was surrounded by clamorous carmen 
 and city marshals, and who, in an un- 
 known land, was afraid she might be put in 
 a city Compter, because the people in the city 
 had destroyed her beautiful chariot. Tancred 
 let himself out of his brougham, and not 
 without difiiculty contrived, through the nar- 
 row and crowded passage formed by the two 
 lines, to reach the chariot, which was coming 
 the contrary way to him. Some ruthless 
 officials were persuading a most beautiful 
 woman to leave her carriage, the wheel of 
 
TANCRED. 241 
 
 which was broken. " But where am I to go?" 
 she exclaimed. '' I cannot walk. I will not 
 leave my carriage until you bring me some 
 conveyance. You ought to punish these 
 people, who have quite ruined my chariot." 
 
 " They say it was your coachman's fault : 
 we have nothing to do with that ; besides, you 
 know who they are. Their employer's name 
 is on the cart, Brown, Bugsby and Co., Lime- 
 house. You can have your redress against 
 Brown, Bugsby and Co., Limehouse, if your 
 coachman is not in fault ; but you cannot stop 
 up the way, and you had better get out, and 
 let the carriage be removed to the Steel-yard." 
 
 " What am I to do!" exclaimed the lady, 
 with a tearful eye and agitated face. 
 
 *' I have a carriage at hand," said Tancred, 
 who at this moment reached her, " and it is 
 quite at your service." 
 
 The lady cast her beautiful eyes, with an 
 expression of astonishment she could not con- 
 ceal, at the distinguished youth who thus 
 suddenly appeared in the midst of insolent 
 carmen, brutal policemen, and all the cynical 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
242 TANCRED. 
 
 amateurs of a mob. Public opinion in the 
 Poultry was against her ; her coachman's wig 
 had excited derision ; the footmen had given 
 themselves airs; there was a strong feeling 
 against the shortcoats. As for the lady, though 
 at first awed by her beauty and magnificence, 
 they rebelled against the authority of her 
 manner. Besides, she was not alone. There 
 was a gentleman with her, who wore mous- 
 taches, and had taken a part in the proceedings 
 at first, by addressing the carmen in French. 
 This was too much, and the mob declared he 
 was Don Carlos. 
 
 " You are too good," said the lady, with a 
 sweet expression. 
 
 Tancred opened the door of the chariot, the 
 policemen pulled down the steps, the servants 
 w^ere told to do the best they could with the 
 wrecked equipage; in a second the lady and 
 her companion were in Tancred's brougham, 
 who, desiring his servants to obey all their 
 orders, disappeared, for the stoppage at this 
 moment began to move, and there was no time 
 for bandying compliments. 
 
TANCRED. 243 
 
 He had gained the pavement, and had made 
 his way as far as the Mansion House, when, 
 finding a group of public buildings, he thought 
 it prudent to inquire which was the Bank. 
 
 " That is the Bank," said a good-natured 
 man, in a bustle, but taken by Tancred's 
 unusual appearance. — "" What do you want? 
 I am going there." 
 
 " I do not want exactly the Bank," replied 
 Tancred, " but a place somewhere near it. 
 Do you happen to know, sir, a place called 
 Sequin Court?" 
 
 " I should think I did," said the man, 
 smiling. " So you are going to Sidonia's?" 
 
 M 2 
 
244 TANCRED. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Tancred entered Sequin Court; a chariot 
 with a foreign coronet was at the foot of the 
 great steps which he ascended. He was re- 
 ceived by a fat hall porter, who would not 
 have disgraced his father's establishment, and 
 who, rising with lazy insolence from his hooded 
 chair, when he observed that Tancred did not 
 advance, asked the new comer what he wanted. 
 
 " I want Monsieur de Sidonia." 
 
 " Can't see him now; he is engaged." 
 
 " I have a note for him." 
 
 " Very well, give it me; it will be sent in. 
 You can sit here." And the porter opened the 
 door of a waiting room, which Tancred declined 
 
TANCRED. 245 
 
 to enter. '' I will wait here, thank you," said 
 Tancred, and he looked round at the old oak 
 hall, on the walls of which were hung several 
 portraits, and from which ascended one of 
 those noble staircases never found in a modern 
 London mansion. At the end of the hall, on 
 a slab of porphyry, was a marble bust, with 
 this inscription on it, '' Fundator." It was 
 the first Sidonia, by Chantrey. 
 
 " I will wait here, thank you," said Tancred, 
 looking round; and then, with some hesitation, 
 he added, " I have an appointment here at two 
 o'clock." 
 
 As he spoke, that hour sounded from the 
 belfry of an old city church that was at hand, 
 and then was taken up by the chimes of a large 
 German clock in the hall. 
 
 " It may be," said the porter, " but I can't 
 disturb master now; the Spanish ambassador 
 is with him, and others are waiting. When 
 he is gone, a clerk will take in your letter with 
 some others that are here." 
 
 At this moment, and while Tancred re- 
 mained in the hall, various persons entered, 
 
246 TANCRED. 
 
 and, without noticing the porter, pursued their 
 way across the apartment. 
 
 " And where are those persons going?" in- 
 quired Tancred. 
 
 The porter looked at the inquirer with a 
 blended gaze of curiosity and contempt, and 
 then negligently answered him without looking 
 in Tancred's face, and while he was brushing 
 up the hearth, '' Some are going to the 
 counting-house, and some are going to the 
 Bank, I should think." 
 
 ^' I wonder if our hall porter is such an 
 infernal bully as Monsieur de Sidonia's!" 
 thought Tancred. 
 
 There was a stir. " The ambassador is 
 coming out," said the hall porter ; '' you must 
 not stand in the way." 
 
 The well-trained ear of this guardian of 
 the gate was conversant with every combi- 
 nation of sound which the apartments of 
 Sequin Court could produce. Close as the 
 doors might be shut, you could not rise from 
 your chair without his being aware of it ; and 
 in the present instance he was correct. A 
 
TANCRED. 247 
 
 door at the end of the hall opened, and the 
 Spanish minister came forth. 
 
 " Stand aside," said the hall porter to 
 Tancred; and, summoning the servants with- 
 out, he ushered his excellency with some 
 reverence to his carriage. 
 
 " Now your letter will go in with the 
 others," he said to Tancred, whom for a few 
 moments he left alone, and then returned, 
 taking no notice of our young friend, but, 
 depositing his bulky form in his hooded chair, 
 he resumed the city article of the " Times." 
 
 The letter ran thus : — 
 
 " Dear Sidoxia, — This will be given you 
 by my cousin Montacute, of whom I spoke to 
 you yesterday. He wants to go to Jerusalem, 
 which very much pexplexes his family, for he is 
 an only child. I don't suppose the danger is what 
 they imagine. But still there is nothing like 
 experience, and there is no one who knows so 
 much of these things as yourself. I have 
 promised his father and mother — very innocent 
 people, whom, of all my relatives, I most affect, 
 — to do what I can for him. If, therefore, you 
 
248 TANCRED. 
 
 can aid Montacute, you will really serve me. 
 He seems to have character, though I can't 
 well make him out. I fear I indulged in 
 the hock yesterday, for I feel a twinge. 
 
 ^' Yours faithfully, 
 
 " ESKDALE. 
 " Wednesday Morning." 
 
 The hall clock had commenced the quarter 
 chimes, when a young man, fair and intelligent, 
 and w^earing spectacles, came into the hall, 
 and, opening the door of the w^aiting room, 
 looked as if he expected to find some one there ; 
 then, turning to the porter, he said, '' Where 
 is Lord Montacute?" 
 
 The porter rose from his hooded chair, and 
 put down the newspaper, but Tancred had 
 advanced when he heard his name, and bowed, 
 and followed the young man in spectacles, who 
 invited Tancred to accompany him. 
 
 Tancred was ushered into a spacious and 
 rather long apartment, panelled with old oak 
 up to the white coved ceiling, which was 
 richly ornamented. Four windows looked 
 upon the fountain and the plane tree. A, 
 
TANCRED. 249 
 
 portrait by Lawrence, evidently of the same 
 individual who had furnished the model to 
 Chantrej, was over the high, old-fashioned, but 
 very handsome marble mantel-piece. A Turkey 
 carpet, curtains of crimson damask, some large 
 tables covered with papers, several easy chairs, 
 against the wall some iron cabinets — these 
 were the furniture of the room, at one corner 
 of which was a glass door, which led to a vista 
 of apartments fitted up as counting-houses, 
 filled with clerks, and which, if expedient, 
 might be covered by a baize screen, which w^as 
 now unclosed. 
 
 A gentleman writing at a table rose as he 
 came in, and extending his hand said, as he 
 pointed to a seat, "I am afraid I have made 
 you come out at an unusual hour." 
 
 The young man in spectacles in the mean 
 while retired; Tancred had bowed and mur- 
 mured his compliments ; and his host, drawing 
 his chair a little from the table, continued: 
 " Lord Eskdale tells me that you have some 
 thoughts of going to Jerusalem." 
 
 " I have for some time had that intention." 
 M 3 
 
250 TANCRED. 
 
 " It is a pity that you did not set out 
 earlier in the year, and then you might have 
 been there during the Easter pilgrimage. It is 
 a fine sight." 
 
 " It is a pity," said Tancred; " but to reach 
 Jerusalem is with me an object of so much 
 moment, that I shall be content to find myself 
 there at any time, and under any circum- 
 stances." 
 
 "It is no longer difficult to reach Jeru- 
 salem; the real difficulty is the one ex- 
 perienced by the crusaders — to know what to 
 do when you have arrived there." 
 
 '^ It is the land of inspiration," said Tan- 
 cred, slightly blushing; '^ and when I am 
 there, I would humbly pray that my course 
 may be indicated to me." 
 
 " And you think that no prayers, however 
 humble, would obtain for you that indica- 
 tion before your departure?" 
 
 " This is not the land of inspiration," replied 
 Tancred, timidly. 
 
 " But you have your Church," said Sidonia. 
 
 " Which I hold of divine institution, and 
 
TANCRED. 251 
 
 which should be under the immediate influence 
 of the Holy Spirit," said Tancred, dropping 
 his eyes and colouring still more as he found 
 himself already trespassing on that delicate 
 province of theology, which always fasci- 
 nated him, but which it had been intimated 
 to him by Lord Eskdale that he should avoid. 
 
 " Is it wanting to you, then, in this con- 
 juncture?" inquired his companion. 
 
 " I find its opinions conflicting, its decrees 
 contradictory, its conduct inconsistent," re- 
 plied Tancred. " I have conferred with one 
 who is esteemed its most eminent prelate, and 
 I have left him with a conviction, of what I had 
 for some time suspected, that inspiration is not 
 only a divine but a local quality." 
 
 " You and I have some reason to believe 
 so," said Sidonia. " I believe that God spoke 
 to Moses on Mount Horeb, and you believe 
 that he was crucified, in the person of Jesus, on 
 Mount Calvary. Both were, at least carnally, 
 children of Israel : they spoke Hebrew to the 
 Hebrews. The prophets were only Hebrews ; 
 the apostles were only Hebrews. The churches 
 
252 TANCRED. 
 
 of Asia, which have vanished, were founded 
 by a native Hebrew ; and the church of liome, 
 which says it shall last for ever, and which 
 converted this island to the faith of Moses 
 and of Christ, vanquishing the Druids, Jupiter 
 Olympius, and Woden, who had successively in- 
 vaded it, was also founded by a native Hebrew. 
 Therefore I say, your suspicion or your convic- 
 tion is, at least, not a fantastic one." 
 
 Tancred listened to Sidonia as he spoke 
 with great interest, and with an earnest and 
 now quite unembarrassed manner. The height 
 of the argument had immediately surmounted 
 all his social reserve. His intelligence re- 
 sponded to the great theme that had so long 
 occupied his musing hours; and the unex- 
 pected character of a conversation which, as he 
 had supposed, would have mainly treated of 
 letters of credit, the more excited him. 
 
 " Then," said Tancred, with animation, 
 "seeing how things are, that I am born in an 
 age and in a country divided between infidelity 
 on one side, and an anarchy of creeds on the 
 other; with none competent to guide me, yet 
 
TANCRED. 253 
 
 feeling that T must believe, for I hold that 
 duty cannot exist without faith; is it so 
 wild as some would think it, I would say is it 
 unreasonable, that I should wish to do that 
 which, six centuries ago, was done by my an- 
 cestor whose name I bear, and that I should 
 cross the seas, and " He hesitated. 
 
 '' And visit the Holy Sepulchre," said 
 Sidonia. 
 
 *' And visit the Holy Sepulchre," said Tan- 
 cred, solemnly; "for that I confess is my 
 sovereign thought." 
 
 " Well, the crusades were of vast advantage 
 to Europe," said Sidonia, " and renovated the 
 spiritual hold which Asia has always had upon 
 the Xorth. It seems to wane at present, but it 
 is only the decrease that precedes the new 
 development." 
 
 "It must be so," said Tancred; "for who 
 can believe, that a country once sanctified by 
 the divine presence, can ever be as other lands ? 
 Some celestial quality, distinguishing it from all 
 other climes, must for ever linger about it. I 
 would ask those mountains, that were reached 
 
254 TANCRED. 
 
 by angels, why they no longer receive hea- 
 venly visitants? I would appeal to that 
 Comforter promised to man on the sacred spot 
 on which the assurance of solace was made. 
 I require a Comforter. I have appealed to 
 the holy influence in vain in England. It 
 has not visited me; I know none here on 
 whom it has descended. I am induced, 
 therefore, to believe that it is part of the 
 divine scheme that its influence should be 
 local; that it should be approached with 
 reverence, not thoughtlessly and hurriedly, 
 but with such difficulties and such an interval 
 of time, as a pilgrimage to a spot sanctified 
 can alone secure." 
 
 Sidonia listened to Tancred with deep at- 
 tention. Lord Montacute was seated opposite 
 the windows, so that there was a full light 
 upon the play of the countenance, the expres- 
 sion of which Sidonia watched, while his 
 keen and far-reaching vision traced at the 
 same time the formation and development of 
 the head of his visitor. He recognised in this 
 youth not a vain and vague visionary, but 
 
TANCRED. 255 
 
 a being in whom the faculties of reason and 
 imagination were both of the highest class, 
 and both equally developed. He observed that 
 he was of a nature passionately affectionate, 
 and that he was of a singular audacity. He 
 perceived that, though, at this moment, Tan- 
 cred was as ignorant of the world as a young 
 monk, he possessed all the latent qualities which 
 in future would qualify him to control society. 
 When Tancred had finished speaking, there 
 was a pause of a few seconds, during which 
 Sidonia seemed lost in thought ; then, looking 
 up, he said, " It appears to me. Lord Monta- 
 cute, that what you want is to penetrate the 
 great Asian mystery." 
 
 " You have touched my inmost thought," 
 said Tancred, eagerly. 
 
 At this moment there entered the room, 
 from the glass door, the same young man who 
 had ushered Tancred into the apartment. He 
 brought a letter to Sidonia. Lord Montacute 
 felt confused ; his shyness returned to him ; he 
 deplored the unfortunate interruption, but he 
 felt he was in the way. He rose, and began to 
 
256 TANCRED. 
 
 say good morning, when Sidonia, without taking 
 his eyes off the letter, saw him, and waving his 
 hand, stopped him, saying, "I settled with Lord 
 Eskdale that you were not to go away if any- 
 thing occurred which required my momentary 
 attention. So pray sit down, unless you have 
 engagements." And Tancred again seated 
 himself. 
 
 " Write," continued Sidonia to the clerk, 
 '' that my letters are twelve hours later than 
 the despatches, and that the city continued 
 quite tranquil. Let the extract from the 
 Berlin letter be left at the same time at the 
 Treasury. The last bulletin ?" 
 
 " Consols drooping at half-past two ; all the 
 foreign funds lower; shares very active." 
 
 They were once more alone. 
 
 " When do you propose going?" 
 
 " I hope in a week." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 " I fear I shall have many attendants." 
 
 " That's a pity. Well, when you arrive at 
 Jerusalem, you will naturally go to the convent 
 of Terra Santa. You will make there the ac- 
 
TANCRED. 257 
 
 quaint ance of the Spanish prior, Alonzo Lara. 
 He calls me cousin; he is a Xuevo of the 
 fourteenth century. Yery orthodox; but the 
 love of the old land and the old language have 
 come out in him, as they will, though his 
 blood is no longer clear, but has been modified 
 by many Gothic intermarriages, which was 
 never our case. We are pure Sephardim. 
 Lara thoroughly comprehends Palestine and 
 all that pertains to it. He has been there a 
 quarter of a century, and might have been 
 Archbishop of Seville. You see, he is master 
 of the old as well as the new learning; this is 
 very important ; they often explain each other. 
 Your bishops here know nothing about these 
 things. How can they? A few centuries 
 back they were tattooed savages. This is the 
 advantage which Eome has over you, and which 
 you never can understand. That Church was 
 founded by a Hebrew, and the magnetic in- 
 fluence lingers. But you will go to the foun- 
 tain head. Theology requires an apprentice- 
 ship of some thousand years at least; to say 
 nothing of clime and race. You cannot get 
 on with theology as you do with chemistry and 
 
258 TANCRED. 
 
 mechanics. Trust me, there is something 
 deeper in it. I shall give you a note to 
 Lara — cultivate him ; he is the man you want. 
 You Avill want others; they will come; but 
 Lara has the first key." 
 
 "I am sorry to trouble you about such 
 things," said Tancred, in a hesitating voice, 
 "but perhaps I may not have the great plea- 
 sure to see you again, and Lord Eskdale said 
 that I was to speak to you about some letters 
 of credit." 
 
 " Oh ! we shall meet before you go. But 
 what you say reminds me of something. As 
 for money, there is only one banker in Syria; 
 he is everywhere — at Aleppo, Damascus, 
 Beiroot, Jerusalem. It is Besso. Before the 
 expulsion of the Egyptians, he really ruled 
 Syria, but he is still powerful, though they 
 have endeavoured to crush him at Constanti- 
 nople. I applied to Metternich about him, 
 and, besides that, he is mine. I shall give 
 you a letter to him, but not merely for your 
 money affairs. I wish you to know him. He 
 lives in splendour at Damascus, moderately at 
 Jerusalem, w^here there is little to do, but 
 
TANCRED. 259 
 
 which he loves as a residence, being a Hebrew. 
 I wish jou to know him. You will, I am sure, 
 agree with me, that he is, without exception, 
 the most splendid specimen of the animal man 
 you ever became acquainted with. His name 
 is Adam, and verily he looks as if he were in 
 the garden of Eden before the fall. But his soul 
 is as grand and as fine as his body. You will 
 lean upon this man as you would on a faithful 
 charger. His divan is charming; you will always 
 find there the most intelligent people. You must 
 learn to smoke. There is nothing that Besso 
 cannot do ; make him do everything you want ; 
 have no scruples ; he will be gratified. Be- 
 sides, he is one of those who kiss my signet. 
 These two letters will open Syria to you, and 
 any other land, if you care to proceed. Give 
 yourself no trouble about any other prepara- 
 tions." 
 
 " And how am I to thank you?" said Tan- 
 cred, rising; " and how am I to express to you 
 all my gratitude?" 
 
 " What are you going to do with yourself 
 to-morrow?" said Sidonia. " I never go 
 anywhere ; but I have a very few friends who 
 
260 TANCRED. 
 
 are so kind as to come sometimes to me. 
 There are two or three persons dining with me 
 to-morrow, whom you might like to meet. 
 Will you do so?" 
 
 " I shall be most proud and pleased." 
 " That's well. It is not here; it is in Carl- 
 ton Gardens; at sunset. Au revoir." And 
 Sidonia continued the letter which he was 
 writing when Tancred entered. 
 
TANCRED. 261 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 When Tancred returned home, musing, from 
 his visit to Sidonia, he found the following 
 note : — 
 
 " Lady Bertie and Bellair returns Lord 
 Montacute his carriage with a thousand com- 
 pliments and thanks. She fears she greatly 
 incommoded Lord Montacute, but begs to 
 assure him how very sensible she is of his 
 considerate courtesy. 
 
 " Upper Brook Street, 
 Wednesday." 
 
 The handwriting was of that form of scrip- 
 
2G2 TANCRED. 
 
 tare which attracts ; refined yet energetic ; full 
 of character. Tancred recognised the titles 
 of Bertie and Bellair as those of two not in- 
 considerable earldoms, now centred in the 
 same individual. Lady Bertie and Bellair was 
 herself a lady of the high nobility; a daughter 
 of the present Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine ; the 
 son of that duke who was the father-in-law of 
 Lord de Mowbray, and whom Lady Firebrace, 
 the present Lady Bardolf, and Tadpole, had 
 dexterously converted to conservatism by per- 
 suading him that he was to be Sir Robert's Irish 
 viceroy. Lady Bertie and Bellair, therefore, 
 was first-cousin to Lady Joan Mountchesney, 
 and her sister, who is still Lady Maud Fitz- 
 Warene. Tancred was surprised that he never 
 recollected to have met before one so distin- 
 guished and so beautiful. His conversation 
 with Sidonia, however, had driven the little ad- 
 venture of the morning from his memory, and 
 now that it was thus recalled to him, he did not 
 dwell upon it. His being was absorbed in his 
 paramount purpose. The sympathy of Sidonia, 
 so complete^ and as instructive as it was ani- 
 mating, was a sustaining power which we often 
 
TAXCRED. 263 
 
 need Tvhen we are meditating great deeds. 
 How often, when all seems dark, and hopeless, 
 and spiritless, and tame, when slight obstacles 
 figure in the cloudy landscape as Alps, and the 
 rushing cataracts of our invention have sub- 
 sided into drizzle, a single phrase of a great 
 man instantaneously flings sunshine on the in- 
 tellectual landscape, and the habitual features 
 of power and beauty, over which we have so 
 long mused in secret confidence and love, re- 
 sume all their energy and lustre. 
 
 The haunting thought that occasionally, not- 
 withstanding his strong will, would perplex the 
 soul and agitate the heart of Tancred — the 
 haunting thought that, all this time, he was per- 
 haps the dupe of boyish fantasies, was laid to- 
 day. Sometimes he had felt, Why does no one 
 sympathise with my views ; why, though they 
 treat them with conventional respect, is it clear 
 that all I have addressed hold them to be ab- 
 surd? My parents are pious and instructed ; 
 they are predisposed to view everything I say, 
 or do, or think, with an even excessive favour. 
 They think me moonstruck. Lord Eskdale is a 
 perfect man of the world ; proverbially shrewd, 
 
264 TAXCRED. 
 
 and celebrated for his judgment ; he looks upon 
 me as a raw boy, and believes that, if my father 
 had kept me at Eton and sent me to Paris, I 
 should by this time have exhausted my cru- 
 dities. The bishop is what the world calls a 
 great scholar ; he is a statesman who, aloof from 
 faction, ought to be accustomed to take just 
 and comprehensive views; and a priest who 
 ought to be under the immediate influence of 
 the Holy Spirit. He says I am a visionary. 
 All this might well be disheartening ; but now 
 comes one whom no circumstances impel to 
 judge my project with indulgence ; who would, 
 at the first glance, appear to have many pre- 
 judices arrayed against it, who knows more of 
 the world than Lord Eskdale, and who appears 
 to me to be more learned than the whole bench 
 of bishops — and he welcomes my ideas, ap- 
 proves my conclusions, sympathises with my 
 suggestions ; develops, illustrates, enforces 
 them; plainly intimates that I am only on 
 the threshold of initiation, and would aid me 
 to advance to the innermost mysteries. 
 
 There was this night a great ball at Lady 
 Bardolfs, in Belgrave Square. One should gene- 
 
TANCRED. 265 
 
 rally mention localities, because very often 
 they indicate character. Lady Bardolf lived 
 next door to Mrs. Guy Flouncey. Both had 
 risen in the world, though it requires some 
 esoteric knowledge to recognise the patrician 
 parvenue ; and both had finally settled them- 
 selves down in the only quarter which Lady 
 Bardolf thought worthy of her new coronet, and 
 Mrs. Guy Flouncey of her new visiting list. 
 
 Lady Bardolf had given up the old family 
 mansion of the Firebraces in Hanover Square, 
 at the same time that she had resigned their 
 old title. Politics being dead, in consequence 
 of the majority of 1841, who, after a little 
 kicking for the million, satisfactorily assured 
 the minister that there was no vice in them, 
 Lady Bardolf had chalked out a new career, 
 and one of a still more eminent and exciting 
 character than her previous pursuit. Lady 
 Bardolf was one of those ladies — there are 
 several — who entertain the curious idea that 
 they need only to be known in certain high 
 quarters, to be immediately selected as the 
 principal objects of court favour. Lady Bar- 
 dolf was always putting herself in the way of 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
266 TANCRED. 
 
 it ; she never lost an opportunity ; she never 
 missed a drawing-room, contrived to be at all 
 the court balls, plotted to be invited to a cos- 
 tume fete, and expended the tactics of a cam- 
 paign to get asked to some grand chateau ho- 
 noured by august presence. Still her Majesty 
 had not yet sent for Lady Bardolf. She was 
 still very good friends with Lord Masque, for 
 he had social influence, and could assist her ; 
 but as for poor Tadpole, she had sadly 
 neglected him, his sphere being merely politi- 
 cal, and that being no longer interesting. The 
 honest gentleman still occasionally buzzed 
 about her, slavering portentous stories about 
 malcontent country gentlemen, mumbling May- 
 nooth, and shaking his head at Young Eng- 
 land. Tadpole was wont to say in confidence, 
 that for his part he wished Sir Robert had left 
 alone religion and commerce, and confined him- 
 self to finance, which was his forte as long as he 
 had a majority to carry the projects which he 
 found in the pigeon-holes of the Treasury, and 
 which are always at the service of every minister. 
 Well, it was at Lady Bardolf s ball, close 
 upon midnight, that Tancred, who had not 
 
TANCRED. 267 
 
 long entered, and had not very far advanced 
 in the crowded saloons, turning his head, re- 
 cognised his heroine of the morning, his still 
 more recent correspondent. Lady Bertie and 
 Bellair. She was speaking to Lord Valentine. 
 It was impossible to mistake her ; rapid as had 
 been his former observation of her face, it was 
 too remarkable to be forgotten, though the 
 captivating details were only the result of his 
 present more advantageous inspection. A very 
 small head and very large dark eyes, dark as 
 her rich hair which was quite unadorned, a pale 
 but delicate complexion, small pearly teeth, were 
 charms that crowned a figure rather too much 
 above the middle height, yet undulating and 
 not without grace. Her countenance was calm 
 without being grave; she smiled with her eyes. 
 - She was for a moment alone; she looked 
 round, and recofrnised Tancred: she bowed to 
 him with a beaming glance. Instantly he was 
 at her side. 
 
 " Our second meeting to-day," she said, in 
 a low, sweet voice. 
 
 " How came it that we never met before?" 
 he replied. 
 
 N 2 
 
268 TANCRED. 
 
 *' I have just returned from Paris; the 
 first time I have been out; and, had it not 
 been for you," she added, " I should not have 
 been here to-night. I think they would have 
 put me in prison." 
 
 " Lady Bardolf ought to be very much 
 obliged to me, and so ought the world." 
 
 " I am," said Lady Bertie and Bellair. 
 
 " That is worth everything else," said 
 Tancred. 
 
 " What a pretty carriage you have ! I do 
 not think I shall ever get into mine again. I 
 am almost glad they have destroyed my cha- 
 riot. I am sure I shall never be able to drive 
 in anything else now except a brougham." 
 
 " Why did you not keep mine?" 
 
 " You are magnificent; too gorgeous and 
 oriental for these cold climes. You shower 
 your presents as if you were in the East, which 
 Lord Valentine tells me you are about to visit. 
 When do you leave us ?" 
 
 " I think of going immediately." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Lady Bertie and Bellair, 
 and her countenance changed. There was a 
 pause, and then she continued playfully, yet as 
 
TANCRED. 269 
 
 it were half in sadness, " I almost wish you 
 had not come to my rescue this morning." 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 " Because I do not like to make agreeable 
 acquaintances only to lose them." 
 
 " I think that I am most to be pitied," said 
 Tancred. 
 
 " You are wearied of the world very soon. 
 Before you can know us, you leave us." 
 
 "I am not wearied of the world, for indeed, 
 as you say, I know nothing of it. I am here 
 by accident, as you were in the stoppage to-day. 
 It will disperse, and then I shall get on." 
 
 " Lord Valentine tells me that you are going 
 to realize my dream of dreams — that you are 
 going to Jerusalem." 
 
 " Ah !" said Tancred, kindling, " you too 
 have felt that want?" 
 
 " But I never can pardon myself for not 
 having satisfied it," said Lady Bertie and Bel- 
 lair, in a mournful tone, and looking in his 
 face with her beautiful dark eyes. " It is the 
 mistake of my life, and now can never be re- 
 medied. But I have no energy. I ought, as a 
 girl, when they opposed my purpose, to have 
 
270 TANCRED. 
 
 taken up my palmer's staff, and never have 
 rested content till I had gathered my shell on 
 the strand of Joppa." 
 
 " It is the right feeling," said Tancred. " I 
 am persuaded we ought all to go." 
 
 " But we remain here," said the lady, in a 
 tone of suppressed and elegant anguish — "here, 
 where we all complain of our hopeless lives; 
 with not a thought beyond the passing hour, 
 yet all bewailing its wearisome and insipid 
 moments." 
 
 " Our lot is cast in a material age," said 
 Tancred. 
 
 " The spiritual can alone satisfy me," said 
 Lady Bertie and Bellair. 
 
 " Because you have a soul," continued Tan- 
 cred, with animation, " still of a celestial hue. 
 They are rare in the nineteenth century. No- 
 body now thinks about heaven. They never 
 dream of angels. All their existence is con- 
 centred in steam-boats and railways." 
 
 " You are right," said the lady, earnestly ; 
 " and you fly from it." 
 
 " I go for other purposes ; I would say 
 even higher ones," said Tancred. 
 
TANCRED. 271 
 
 " I can understand you; jour feelings are 
 my own. Jerusalem has been the dream of 
 my life. I have always been endeavouring to 
 reach it, but somehow oi' other I never got 
 farther than Paris." 
 
 " And yet it is very easy now to get to Jeru- 
 salem," said Tancred; " the great difficulty, as 
 a very remarkable man said to me this morn- 
 ing, is to know what to do when you are 
 there." 
 
 " Who said that to you?" inquired Lady 
 Bertie and Bellair, bending her head. 
 
 " It was the person I was going to call 
 upon when I met you — Monsieur de Sidonia." 
 
 " Monsieur de Sidonia!" said the lady, with 
 animation. " Ah! you know him?" 
 
 " Not as much as I could wish. I saw him 
 to-day for the first time. My cousin. Lord 
 Eskdale, gave me a letter of introduction to 
 him, for his advice and assistance about my 
 journey. Sidonia has been a great traveller." 
 
 " There is no person I wisli to know so 
 much as M. de Sidonia," said Lady Bertie and 
 Bellair. " He is a great friend of Lord Esk- 
 dale's, I think? I must get Lord Eskdale," 
 
272 TANCRED. 
 
 she added, musingly, " to give me a little 
 dinner, and ask M. de Sidonia to meet me." 
 
 " He never goes anywhere ; at least I have 
 heard so," said Tancred. 
 
 " He once used to do, and to give us great 
 fetes. I remember hearing of them before I 
 was out. We must make him resume them. 
 He is immensely rich." 
 
 " 1 dare say he may be," said Tancred. " I 
 wonder how a man with his intellect and 
 ideas can think of the accumulation of 
 wealth." 
 
 '' 'Tis his destiny," said Lady Bertie. " He 
 can no more disembarrass himself of his here- 
 ditary millions than a dynasty of the cares of 
 empire. I wonder if he will get the Great 
 Northern. They talked of nothing else at 
 Paris." 
 
 " Of what?" said Tancred. 
 
 '' Oh ! let us talk of Jerusalem !" said Lady 
 Bertie and Bellair. '^ Ah, here is Augustus ! 
 Let me make you and my husband acquainted." 
 
 Tancred almost expected to see the mous- 
 tached companion of th^ morning, but it was 
 not so. Lord Bertie and Bellair was a tall, 
 
TANCRED. 273 
 
 thin, distinguished, withered-looking young 
 man, who thanked Tancred for his courtesy of 
 the morning with a sort of gracious negligence, 
 and, after some easy talk, asked Tancred to 
 dine with them on the morrow. He was 
 engaged, but he promised to call on Lady 
 Bertie and Bellair immediately, and see some 
 di'a wings of the Holy Land. 
 
 n3 
 
274 TANCRED 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Passing through a marble antechamber, 
 Tancred was ushered into an apartment half 
 saloon and half library; the choicely-bound 
 volumes, which were not too numerous, were 
 ranged on shelves inlaid in the walls, so that 
 they ornamented, without diminishing, the 
 apartment. These walls were painted in en- 
 caustic, corresponding with the coved ceiling, 
 which was richly adorned in the same fashion. 
 A curtain of violet velvet covering if necessary 
 the large window, which looked upon a balcony 
 full of flowers, and the umbrageous Park ; an 
 Axminster carpet, manufactured to harmonise 
 
TANCRED. 275 
 
 both in colour and design with the rest of the 
 chamber ; a profusion of luxurious seats ; a large 
 table of ivory marquetry, bearing a carved 
 silver bell which once belonged to a pope; a 
 Naiad, whose golden urn served as an inkstand ; 
 some daggers that acted as paper cutters, and 
 some French books just arrived; a group of 
 beautiful vases recently released from an 
 Egyptian tomb and ranged on a tripod of 
 malachite ; the portrait of a statesman, and 
 the bust of an emperor, and a sparkling fire — 
 were all circumstances which made the room 
 both interesting and comfortable in which 
 Sidonia welcomed Tancred, and introduced 
 him to a guest who had preceded him, Lord 
 Henry Sidney. 
 
 It was a name that touched Tancred, as it 
 has all the youth of England, significant of a 
 career that would rescue public life from that 
 strange union of lax principles and contracted 
 sympathies which now form the special and 
 degrading features of British politics. It was 
 borne by one whose boyhood we have painted 
 amid the fields and schools of Eton, and the 
 springtime of whose earliest youth we traced 
 
276 TANCRED. 
 
 by the sedgy waters of the Cam. We left 
 him on the threshold of public life; and in 
 four years, Lord Henry had created that repu- 
 tation which now made him a source of hope 
 and solace to millions of his countrymen. But 
 they were four years of labour which out- 
 weighed the usual exertions of public men in 
 double that space. His regular attendance in 
 the House of Commons alone had given him as 
 much parliamentary experience as fell to the 
 lot of many of those who had been first returned 
 in 1837, and had been therefore twice as long in 
 the House. He was not only a vigilant mem- 
 ber of public and private committees, but had 
 succeeded in appointing and conducting seve- 
 ral on topics which he esteemed of high im- 
 portance. Add to this, that he took an habi- 
 tual part in debate, and was a frequent and 
 effective public writer, and we are furnished 
 with an additional testimony, if that indeed 
 were wanting, that there is no incentive to 
 exertion like the passion for a noble renown. 
 Nor should it be forgotten, that, in all he 
 accomplished, he had but one final purpose, 
 and that the highest. The debate, the com- 
 
TANCRED, 277 
 
 mittee, the article in the Journal or the Ee- 
 view, the public meeting, the private research 
 — these were all means to advance that which 
 he had proposed as the object of his public 
 life, namely, to elevate the condition of the 
 people. 
 
 Although there was no public man whose 
 powers had more rapidly ripened, still it was 
 interesting to observe that their maturity had 
 been faithful to the healthy sympathies of his 
 earlier years. The boy, whom we have traced 
 intent upon the revival of the pastimes of the 
 people, had expanded into the statesman, who, 
 in a profound and comprehensive investigation 
 of the elements of public wealth, had shown 
 that a jaded population is not a source of 
 national prosperity. What had been a pic- 
 turesque emotion had now become a statistical 
 argument. The material system that proposes 
 the supply of constant toil to a people as the 
 perfection of polity, had received a staggering 
 blow from the exertions of a young patrician, 
 who announced his belief that labour had its 
 rights as well as its duties. What was excellent 
 about Lord Henry was, that he was not a mere 
 
278 TANCRED. 
 
 philanthropist, satisfied to rouse public atten- 
 tion to a great social evil, or instantly to sug- 
 gest for it some crude remedy. 
 
 A scholar and a man of the world, learned in 
 history and not inexperienced in human nature, 
 he was sensible that we must look to the con- 
 stituent principles of society for the causes 
 and the cures of great national disorders. He 
 therefore went deeply into the question; nor 
 shrank from investigating how^ far those dis- 
 orders were produced by the operation or the 
 desuetude of ancient institutions, and how far 
 it might be necessary to call new influences 
 into political existence for their remedy. 
 Kichly informed, still studious, fond of labour 
 and indefatigable, of a gentle disposition 
 though of an ardent mind, calm yet energetic, 
 very open to conviction, but possessing an 
 inflexibility amounting even to obstinacy 
 when his course was once taken, a ready and 
 improving speaker, an apt and attractive 
 writer, afflible and sincere, and witli the unde- 
 signing faculty of making friends. Lord Henry 
 seemed to possess all the qualities of a popular 
 leader, if we add to them the golden ones — 
 
TANCRED. 279 
 
 high lineage, an engaging appearance, youth, 
 and a temperament in which the reason had 
 had not been developed to the prejudice of the 
 heart. 
 
 " And when do you start for the Holy 
 Land?" said Lord Henry to Tancred, in a 
 tone and with a countenance which proved his 
 sympathy. 
 
 " I have clutched my staff, but the caravan 
 lingers." 
 
 " I envy you !" 
 " Why do you not go?" 
 Lord Henry slightly shrugged his shoulders, 
 and said, " It is too late. I have begun my 
 work, and I cannot leave it." 
 
 " If a parliamentary career could save this 
 country," said Tancred, '^ I am sure you 
 would be a public benefactor. I have observed 
 what you and Mr. Coningsby and some of 
 your friends have done and said, with great 
 interest. But Parliament seems to me to be 
 the very place which a man of action should 
 avoid. A parliamentary career — that old su- 
 perstition of the eighteenth century — was im- 
 portant when there were no other sources of 
 
280 TANCRED. 
 
 power and fame. An aristocracy at the head 
 of a people whom they had plundered of their 
 means of education, required some cultivated 
 tribunal whose sympathy might stimulate 
 their intelligence and satisfy their vanity. 
 Parliament was never so great as when they 
 debated wdth closed doors. The public opinion, 
 of which they never dreamed, has superseded 
 the rhetorical club of our great-grandfathers. 
 They know this well enough, and try to maintain 
 their unnecessary position by affecting the cha- 
 racter of men of business, but amateur men of 
 business are very costly conveniences. In this 
 age it is not Parliament that does the real 
 work. It does not govern Ireland for example. 
 If the manufacturers want to change a tariff, 
 they form a commercial league, and they 
 effect their purpose. It is the same with the 
 abolition of slavery, and all our great revolu- 
 tions. Parliament has become as really insig- 
 nificant as for two centuries it has kept the 
 monarch. O'Connell has taken a good share 
 of its power ; Cobden has taken another ; and 
 I am inclined to believe," said Tancred, 
 " though I care little about it, that, if our 
 
TANCRED. 281 
 
 order had any spirit or prescience, they would 
 put themselves at the head of the people, and 
 take the rest." 
 
 " Coningsby dines here to-day," said Sido- 
 nia, who unobserved had watched Tancred as 
 he spoke with a searching glance. 
 
 " Notwithstanding what you say,'' said 
 Lord Henry, smiling, " I wish I could induce 
 you to remain and help us. You would be a 
 great ally." 
 
 " I go to a land," said Tancred, " that has 
 never been blessed by that fatal drollery called 
 a representative government, though Omni- 
 science once deigned to trace out the polity 
 which should rule it." 
 
 At this moment the servant announced Lord 
 and Lady Marney. 
 
 Political sympathy had created a close inti- 
 macy between Lord Marney and Coningsby. 
 They were necessary to each other. They 
 were both men entirely devoted to public 
 affairs, and sitting in different houses, both 
 young, and both masters of fortunes of the 
 first class, they were indicated as individuals 
 who hereafter might take a lead, and, far from 
 
282 TANCRED. 
 
 clashing, would co-operate with each other. 
 Through Coningsby the Marneys had become ac- 
 quainted with Sidonia, who liked them both, par- 
 ticularly Sybil. Although received by society 
 with open arms, especially by the high nobility, 
 who affected to look upon Sybil quite as one 
 of themselves. Lady Marney, notwithstanding 
 the homage that everywhere awaited her, had 
 already shown a disposition to retire as much as 
 possible within the precinct of a chosen circle. 
 This was her second season, and Sybil ven- 
 tured to think that she had made, in the 
 general gaieties of her first, a sufficient obla- 
 tion to the genius of fashion, and the im- 
 mediate requirements of her social position. 
 Her life was faithful to its first impulse. De- 
 voted to the improvement of the condition of 
 the people, she was the moving spring of 
 the charitable development of this great city. 
 Her house, without any pedantic effort, had 
 become the focus of a refined society, who, 
 though obliged to show themselves for the mo- 
 ment in the great carnival, wear their masks, 
 blow their trumpets, and pelt the multitude 
 with sugarplums, were glad to find a place 
 
TANCRED. 283 
 
 where they could at all times divest themselves 
 of their mummery, and return to their accus- 
 tomed garb of propriety and good taste. 
 
 Sybil too felt alone in the world. Without 
 a relation, without an acquaintance of early 
 and other days, she clung to her husband with 
 a devotion which was peculiar as well as pro- 
 found. Egremont was to her more than a 
 husband and a lover ; he was her only friend ; it 
 seemed to Sybil that he could be her only friend. 
 The disposition of Lord Marney was not op- 
 posed to the habits of his wife. Men, when 
 they are married, often shrink from the glare 
 and bustle of those social multitudes which are 
 entered by bachelors with the excitement of 
 knight-errants iu a fairy wilderness, because 
 they are supposed to be rife with adventures, 
 and, perhaps, fruitful of a heroine. The ad- 
 venture sometimes turns out to be a catas- 
 trophe, and the heroine a copy instead of an 
 original; but let that pass. 
 
 Lord Marney liked to be surrounded by those 
 who sympathised with his pursuit ; and his pur- 
 suit was politics, and politics on a great scale. 
 The common-place career of official distinction 
 
284 TANCRED. 
 
 was at his command. A great peer, with abilities 
 and ambition, a good speaker, supposed to be 
 a conservative, he might soon have found his 
 way into the cabinet, and, like the rest, have 
 assisted in registering the decrees of one too 
 powerful individual. But Lord Marney had 
 been taught to think at a period of life when 
 he little dreamed of the responsibility which 
 fortune had in store for him. 
 
 The change in his position had not altered the 
 conclusions at which he had previously arrived. 
 He held that the state of England, notwith- 
 standing the superficies of a material prosperity, 
 was one of impending doom, unless it were 
 timely arrested by those who were in high places. 
 A man of fine mind rather than of brilliant 
 talents, Lord Marney found, in the more vivid 
 and impassioned intelligence of Coningsby, the 
 directing sympathy which he required. Tad- 
 pole looked upon his lordship as little short of 
 insane. "Do you see that man?'' he would 
 say, as Lord Marney rode by. " He might be' 
 Privy Seal, and he throws it all away for the 
 nonsense of Young England !" 
 
TAXCRED. 285 
 
 Mrs. Coningsby entered the room almost on 
 the footsteps of the Marneys. 
 
 *' I am in despair about Harry," she said 
 as she gave a finger to Sidonia, " but he told 
 me not to wait for him later than eight. I 
 suppose he is kept at the House. Do you 
 know anything of him, Lord Henry ?" 
 
 '' You may make yourself quite easy about 
 him," said Lord Henry. " He promised Vava- 
 sour to support a motion which he has to-day, 
 and perhaps speak on it. I ought to be there 
 too, but Charles Buller told me there would 
 certainly be no division, and so I ventured to 
 pair off with him." 
 
 " He will come with Vavasour," said Sido- 
 nia, " who makes up our party. They will 
 be here before we have seated ourselves." 
 
 The gentlemen had exchanged the usual 
 inquiry, whether there was anything new to- 
 day, without waiting for the answer. Sidonia 
 introduced Tancred and Lord Marney. 
 
 " And what have you been doing to-day?" 
 said Edith to Sybil, by whose side she had 
 seated herself " Lady Bardolf did nothing 
 
28 C) TANCRED. 
 
 last night but gronder me, because you never 
 go to her parties. In vain I said that you 
 looked upon her as the most odious of her sex 
 and her balls the pest of society. She was not 
 in the least satisfied. And how is Gerard?" 
 
 " Why, we really have been very uneasy 
 about him," said Lady Marney, " but the last 
 bulletin," she added, with a smile, " announces 
 a tooth." 
 
 " Next year you must give him a pony, and 
 let him ride with my Harry ; I mean my little 
 Harry, Harry of Monmouth I call him ; he is 
 so like a portrait Mr. Coningsby has of his 
 grandfather — the same debauched look." 
 
 " Your dinner is served, sir !" 
 
 Sidonia offered his hand to Lady Marney ; 
 Edith was attended by Tancred A door at 
 the end of the room opened into a marble cor- 
 ridor, which led to the dining-room, decorated 
 in the same style as the library. It was a 
 suite of apartments which Sidonia used for an 
 intimate circle like the present. 
 
TAXCRED. 287 
 
 CHAP TEE XIY. 
 
 They seated themselves at a round table, 
 on which everything seemed brilliant and 
 sparkling; nothing heavy, nothing oppressive. 
 There was scarcely anything that Sidonia dis- 
 liked so much as a small table, groaning, as it 
 is aptly termed, with plate. He shrunk from 
 great masses of gold and silver; gigantic 
 groups, colossal shields, and mobs of tankards 
 and flagons; and never used them except on 
 great occasions, when the banquet assumes an 
 Egyptian character, and becomes too vast for 
 refinement. At present, the dinnei' was served 
 on Sevres porcelain of Rose de Berri, raised 
 on airy golden stands of arabesque workman- 
 
288 TAXCRED. 
 
 ship ; a mule bore your panniers of salt, or a 
 sea-nymph proffered it you on a shell just fresh 
 from the ocean, or you found it in a bird's 
 nest ; by every guest a different pattern. In 
 the centre of the table, mounted on a pedestal, 
 was a group of pages in Dresden china. No- 
 thing could be more gay than their bright 
 cloaks and flowing plumes, more elaborately 
 exquisite than their laced shirts and rosettes, 
 or more fantastically saucy than their pretty 
 affected faces, as each, with extended arm, held 
 a light to a guest. The room was otherwise 
 illumined from the sides. 
 
 The guests had scarcely seated themselves, 
 when the two absent ones arrived. 
 
 " Well, you did not divide, Vavasour," said 
 Lord Henry. 
 
 "Did I not?" said Vavasour; " and nearly 
 beat the government. You are a pretty fel- 
 low!" 
 
 " I was paired." 
 
 " With some one who could not stay. Your 
 brother, Mrs. Coningsby, behaved like a man, 
 sacrificed his dinner, and made a capital 
 speech." 
 
TANCRED. 289 
 
 " Oh! Oswald, did he speak? Did you 
 speak, Harry?" 
 
 "No; I voted. There was too much speak- 
 ing as it was : if Vavasour had not replied, I 
 believe we should have won." 
 
 " But then, my dear fellow, think of my 
 points ; think how they laid themselves open?" 
 
 '^ A majority is always the best repartee," 
 said Coningsby. 
 
 " I have been talking with Montacute," 
 whispered Lord Henry to Coningsby, who was 
 seated next to him. " Wonderful fellow ! You 
 can conceive nothing richer ! Yery wild, but 
 all the right ideas ; exaggerated of course. You 
 must get hold of him after dinner." 
 
 "But they say he is going to Jerusalem." 
 
 " But he will return." 
 
 " I do not know that; even Xapoleon re- 
 gretted that he had ever re-crossed the Medi- 
 terranean. The East is a career." 
 
 Mr. Yavasour was a social favourite ; a poet 
 and a real poet, quite a troubadour, as well 
 as a member of Parliament ; travelled, sweet- 
 tempered, and goodhearted; very amusing, 
 and very clever. With catholic sympathies 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
290 TANCRED. 
 
 and an eclectic turn of mind, Mr. Vavasour 
 saw something good in everybody and every- 
 thing, which is certainly amiable, and perhaps 
 just, but disqualifies a man in some degree 
 for the business of life, which requires for .its 
 conduct a certain degree of prejudice. Mr. 
 Vavasour's breakfasts were renowned. What- 
 ever your creed, class, or country, one might 
 almost add your character, you were a wel- 
 come guest at his matutinal meal, provided 
 you were celebrated. That qualification, how- 
 ever, was rigidly enforced. 
 
 It not rarely happened that never were men 
 more incongruously grouped. Individuals met 
 at his hospitable hour who had never met before, 
 but who for years had been cherishing in soli- 
 tude mutual detestation, with all the irritable ex- 
 aggeration of the literary character. Vavasour 
 liked to be the Amphitryon of a cluster of per- 
 sonal enemies. He prided himself on figuring 
 as the social medium by which rival reputations 
 became acquainted, and paid each other in his 
 presence the compliments which veiled their 
 ineffable disgust. All this was very well at 
 his rooms in the Albany, and only funny ; but 
 when he collected his menageries at his ances- 
 
TANCRED. 291 
 
 tral hall in a distant county, the sport some- 
 times became tragic. 
 
 A real philosopher, alike from his genial dis- 
 position and from the influence of his rich and 
 various information, Yavasour moved amid the 
 strife sympathizing with every one; and per- 
 haps, after all, the philanthropy which was his 
 boast was not untinged by a dash of humour, 
 of which rare and charming quality he possessed 
 no inconsiderable portion. Yavasoui' liked to 
 know everybody who was known, and to see 
 everything which ought to be seen. He also 
 was of opinion that everybody who was known 
 ought to know him; and that the spectacle, 
 however splendid or exciting, was not quite 
 perfect without his presence. 
 
 His life was a gyration of energetic curiosity ; 
 an insatiable whirl of social celebrity. There 
 was not a congregation of sages and philosophers 
 in any part of Europe which he did not attend 
 as a brother. He was present at the camp of 
 Kalisch in his yeomanry uniform, and assisted 
 at the festivals of Barcelona in an Andalusian 
 jacket. He was everywhere and at everything ; 
 he had gone down in a diving-bell and gone up 
 2 
 
292 TANCRED. 
 
 in a balloon. As for his acquaintances, he 
 "vvas Tvelcomed in every land; his universal 
 sympathies seemed omnipotent. Emperor and 
 king, jacobin and carbonaro, alike cherished 
 him. He was the steward of Polish balls and 
 the vindicator of Russian humanity ; he dined 
 with Louis Philippe and gave dinners to 
 Louis Blanc. 
 
 This was a dinner of which the guests came 
 to partake. Though they delighted in each 
 other's society, their meetings were not so 
 rare that they need sacrifice the elegant plea- 
 sures of a refined meal for the opportunity of 
 conversation. They let that take its chance, 
 and ate and drank without affectation. No- 
 thing so rare as a female dinner where people 
 eat, and few things more delightful. On the 
 present occasion, some time elapsed, while the 
 admirable performances of Sidonia's cook were 
 discussed, with little interruption ; a burst now 
 and then from the ringing voice of Mrs. 
 Coningsby crossing a lance with her habitual 
 opponent, Mr. Vavasour, who however gene- 
 rally withdrew from the skirmish when a fresh 
 dish was handed to him. 
 
TANCRED. 293 
 
 At length, the second course being served, 
 Mrs. Coningsby said, "I think you have all 
 eaten enough : I have a piece of information 
 for you. There is going to be a costume ball 
 at the palace." 
 
 This announcement produced a number of 
 simultaneous remarks and exclamations. 
 " When was it to be? What was it to be? An 
 age, or a country ; or an olio of all ages and 
 all countries ?" 
 
 " An age is a masquerade," said Sidonia. 
 " The more contracted the circle, the more 
 perfect the illusion." 
 
 '' Oh, no!" said Vavasour, shaking his 
 head. "An age is the thing; it is a much 
 higher thing. What can be finer than to 
 represent the spirit of an age?" 
 
 " And Mr. Vavasour to perform the prin- 
 cipal part," said Mrs. Coningsby. " I know 
 exactly what he means. He wants to dance 
 the Polka as Petrarch, and find a Laura in 
 every partner." 
 
 " You have no poetical feeling," said Mr. 
 Vavasour, waving his hand. " I have often 
 told you so." 
 
294 TANCRED. 
 
 " You will easily find Lauras, Mr. Vavasour, 
 if you often write such beautiful verses as I 
 have been reading to-day," said Lady Marney. 
 
 '' You, on the contrary," said Mr. Vavasour, 
 bowing, " have a great deal of poetic feeling, 
 Lady Marney — I have always said so." 
 
 " But give us your news, Edith," said 
 Coningsby. '^ Imagine our suspense, when it 
 is a question, whether we are all to look pic- 
 turesque or quizzical." 
 
 " Ah, you want to know whether you can 
 go as Cardinal Mazarin, or the Duke of Eip- 
 perda, Harry. I know exactly what you all 
 are now thinking of; whether you will draw 
 the prize in the forthcoming lottery, and get 
 exactly the epoch and the character which suit 
 you. Is it not so, Lord Montacute? Would 
 not you like to practise a little with your 
 crusados at the Queen's ball, before you go to 
 the Holy Sepulchre ?" 
 
 '^ I would rather hear your description of 
 it," said Tancred. 
 
 *' Lord Henry, I see, is half inclined to be 
 your companion as a Eedcross Knight," con- 
 tinued Edith. " As for Lady Marney, she is 
 
TANCRED. 295 
 
 the successor of Mrs. Fry, and would wish, I 
 am sure, to go to the ball as her representa- 
 tive." 
 
 " And pray what are you thinking of 
 being?" said Mr. Vavasour. " AYe should 
 like very much to be favoured with Mrs. 
 Coningsby's ideal of herself." 
 
 " Mrs. Coningsby leaves the ideal to poets. 
 She is quite satisfied to remain what she is, 
 and it is her intention to do so, though she 
 means to go to her majesty's ball." 
 
 " I see that you are in the secret," said 
 Lord Marney. 
 
 " If I could only keep secrets, I might turn 
 out something," said Mrs. Coningsby. " I am 
 the depositary of so much that is occult — ^joys, 
 sorrows, plots, and scrapes ; but I always tell 
 Harry, and he always betrays me. Well, you 
 must guess a little. Lady Marney begins." 
 
 " Well, we were at one at Turin," said 
 Lady Marney, " and it was oriental — Lalla 
 Kookh. Are you to be a sultana ?" 
 
 Mrs. Coningsby shook her head. 
 
 " Come, Edith," said her husband; "if you 
 know, which I doubt " 
 
296 TANCRED. 
 
 " Ob ! you doubt 
 
 " Valentine told me yesterday," said Mr. 
 Vavasour, in a mock peremptory tone, " tbat 
 there would not be a ball." 
 
 " And Lord Valentine told me yesterday 
 that there would be a ball, and what the ball 
 would be ; and what is more, I have fixed on 
 my dress," said Mrs. Coningsby. 
 
 " Such a rapid decision proves that much 
 antiquarian research is not necessary," said 
 Sidonia. " Your period is modern." 
 
 " Ah !" said Edith, looking at Sidonia, '^ he 
 always finds me out. Well, Mr. Vavasour, you 
 will not be able to crown yourself with a 
 laurel wreath, for the gentlemen will wear 
 
 wigs" 
 
 " Louis Quatorze?" said her husband. 
 ^' Peel as Louvois." 
 
 " N'o, Sir Robert would be content with 
 nothing less than Le Grand Colbert, Rue 
 Richelieu, No. 15, grand magazinde nouveau- 
 tes tr^s anciennes: prix fixe avec quelques 
 rabais." 
 
 " A description of Conservatism," said 
 Coningsby. 
 
TAXCRED. 297 
 
 The secret was soon revealed : every one 
 had a conjecture and a commentary. Gentle- 
 men in wigs, and ladies powdered, patched, 
 and sacked. Vavasour pondered somewhat 
 dolefully on the anti-poetic spirit of the age ; 
 Coningsby hailed him as the author of Leo- 
 nidas. 
 
 *' And you, I suppose, will figure as one of 
 the ' boys' arrayed against the great Sir 
 Robert ?" said Mr. Vavasour, with a counte- 
 nance of mock veneration for that eminent 
 personage. 
 
 " The ' boys' beat him at last," said Co- 
 ningsby; and then, with a rapid precision and 
 a richness of colouring which were peculiar to 
 him, he threw out a sketch which placed the 
 period before them ; and they began to tear it 
 to tatters, select the incidents, and apportion 
 the characters. 
 
 Two things which are very necessary to a 
 perfect dinner are noiseless attendants and a 
 precision in serving the various dishes of each 
 course, so that they may all be placed upon the 
 table at the same moment. A deficiency in these 
 respects produces that bustle and delay which 
 o3 
 
298 TAXCRED. 
 
 distract many an agreeable conversation and 
 spoil many a pleasant dish. These two excel- 
 lent characteristics were never wanting at the 
 dinners of Sidonia. At no house was there less 
 parade. The appearance of the table changed 
 as if by the waving of a wand, and silently as 
 a dream. And, at this moment, the dessert 
 being arranged, fruits and their beautiful 
 companions, flowers, reposed in alabaster bas- 
 kets raised on silver stands of filagree work. 
 
 There was half an hour of merry talk, 
 graceful and gay: a good story, a bon mot 
 fresh from the mint, some raillery like sum- 
 mer lightning, vivid but not scorching. 
 
 *' And now," said Edith, as the ladies rose 
 to return to the library — '^ and now, we leave 
 you to Maynooth." 
 
 *^ By the bye, what do they say to it in 
 your House, Lord Marney ?" inquired Henry 
 Sidney, filling his glass. 
 
 " It will go down," said Lord Marney. " A 
 strong dose for some, but they are used to 
 potent potions." 
 
 " The bishops, they say, have not made up 
 their minds.'' 
 
TA>XRED. 299 
 
 " Fancy bishops not having made up their 
 minds," exclaimed Tancred: *• the only per- 
 sons who ought never to doubt." 
 
 " Except when they are offered a bishopric," 
 said Lord Marney. 
 
 " TThy I like this Maynooth project." said 
 Tancred, '' though otherwise it little interests 
 me, is, that all the shopkeepers are against 
 it." 
 
 " Don't tell that to the minister." said 
 Coningsby, ''or he will give up the measure." 
 
 " Well, that is the very reason," said Vava- 
 sour, '' why, though otherwise inclined to the 
 grant. I hesitate as to my vote. I have the 
 highest opinion of the shopkeepers; I sympa- 
 thize even with their prejudices. They are 
 the class of the age ; they represent its order. 
 its decencv, its industrv." 
 
 •• And you represent them." said Co- 
 ningsby. '• Vavasour is the quintessence of 
 order, decency, and industry." 
 
 " You may jest," said Vavasour, shaking his 
 head with a spice of solemn drollery; ''but 
 public opinion must and ought to be respected, 
 right or wrong." 
 
300 TANCRED. 
 
 "What do you mean by public opinion?" 
 said Tancred. 
 
 '' The opinion of the reflecting majority," 
 said Vavasour. 
 
 " Those who don't read your poems," said 
 Coningsby. 
 
 " Boy, boy!" said Vavasour, who could 
 endure raillery from one he had been at col- 
 lege with, but who was not over-pleased at 
 Coningsby selecting the present occasion to 
 claim his franchise, when a new man was 
 present like Lord Montacute on whom Vava- 
 sour naturally wished to produce an impres- 
 sion. It must be owned that it was not, as 
 they say, very good taste in the husband of 
 Edith, but prosperity had developed in Co- 
 ningsby a native vein of sauciness which it 
 required all the solemnity of the senate to 
 repress. Indeed, even there, upon the benches, 
 with a grave face, he often indulged in quips 
 and cranks, that convulsed his neighbouring 
 audience, who often, amid the long dreary 
 nights of statistical imposture, sought refuge 
 in his gay sarcasms, his airy personalities, and 
 happy quotations. 
 
TANCRED. 301 
 
 " I don't see how there can be opinion 
 without thought," said Tancred ; " and I don't 
 believe the public ever think. How can they ? 
 They have no time. Certainly we live at 
 present under the empire of general ideas, 
 which are extremely powerful. But the public 
 have not invented those ideas. They have 
 adopted them from convenience. No one has 
 confidence in himself; on the contrary, every 
 one has a mean idea of his own strength and 
 has no reliance on his own judgment. Men 
 obey a general impulse, they bow before an 
 external necessity, whether for resistance or 
 action. Individuality is dead; there is a 
 want of inward and personal energy in man ; 
 and that is what people feel and mean when 
 they go about complaining there is no faith." 
 
 '' You would hold, then," said Henry Sidney, 
 " that the progress of public liberty marches 
 with the decay of personal greatness?" 
 
 " It would seem so." 
 
 "But the majority will always prefer public 
 liberty to personal greatness," said Lord 
 Marney. 
 
 " But without personal greatness, you never 
 would have had public liberty," said Coningsby. 
 
302 TANCRED. 
 
 " After all, it is civilization that you are 
 kicking against," said Vavasour. 
 
 " I don't understand what you mean by 
 civilization," said Tancred. 
 
 *' The progressive development of the facul- 
 ties of man," said Vavasour. 
 
 "Yes, but what is progressive development?" 
 said Sidonia; " and what are the faculties of 
 man ? If development be progressive, how do 
 you account for the state of Italy? One 
 will tell you it is superstition, indulgences, 
 and the Lady of Loretto ; yet three centuries 
 ago, when all these influences were much more 
 powerful, Italy was the soul of Europe. The 
 less prejudiced — a Puseyite for example, like 
 our friend Vavasour — will assure us that the 
 state of Italy has nothing to do with the spirit 
 of. its religion, but that it is entirely an affair 
 of commerce; a revolution of commerce has 
 convulsed its destinies. I cannot forget that 
 the world was once conquered by Italians wlio 
 had no commerce. Has the development of 
 Western Asia been progressive? It is a land 
 of tombs and ruins. Is China progressive, 
 the most ancient and numerous of existing 
 
TANCRED. 303 
 
 societies? Is Europe itself progressive? Is 
 Spain a tithe as great as slie was ? Is Gerniany 
 as great as when she invented printing ; as she 
 was under the rule of Charles the Fifth ? France 
 herself laments her relative inferiority to the 
 past. But England flourishes. Is it what 
 you call civilization that makes England 
 flourish? Is it the universal development of 
 the faculties of man that has rendered an 
 island, almost unknown to the ancients, the 
 arbiter of the world? Clearly not. It is her 
 inhabitants that have done this ; it is an aflair 
 of race. A Saxon race, protected by an insular 
 position, has stamped its diligent and metho- 
 dic character on the century. And when a 
 superior race, with a superior idea to Work and 
 Order, advances, its state will be progressive, 
 and we shall perhaps follow the example of 
 the desolate countries. All is race; there is 
 no other truth." 
 
 " Because it includes all others?" said Lord 
 Henry. 
 
 " You have said it." 
 
 " As for Vavasour's definition of civi- 
 lization," said Coningsby, " civilization was 
 
304 TANCRED. 
 
 more advanced in ancient than modern times ; 
 then what becomes of the progressive prin- 
 ciple? Look at the great centuries of the 
 Roman empire ! You had two hundred millions 
 of human beings governed by a jurisprudence 
 so philosophical that we have been obliged 
 to adopt its laws and living in perpetual 
 peace. The means of communication, of which 
 we now make such a boast, were far more vast 
 and extensive in those days. What were the 
 Great Western and the London and Birming- 
 ham to the Appian and Flaminian roads? 
 After two thousand five hundred years, parts 
 of these are still used. A man under the 
 Antonines might travel from Paris to Antioch 
 with as much ease and security as we go from 
 London to York. As for free trade, there 
 never was a really unshackled commerce except 
 in the days when the whole of the Mediter- 
 ranean coasts belonged to one power. What 
 a chatter there is now about the towns, and 
 how their development is cited as the peculi- 
 arity of the age, and the great security for 
 public improvement. Why, the Roman empire 
 
TANCRED. 305 
 
 was the empire of great cities. Man was then 
 essentially municipal." 
 
 " What an empire !" said Siclonia. " All 
 the superior races in all the superior climes." 
 
 " But how does all this accord with your 
 and Coningsby's favourite theory of the in- 
 fluence of individual character," said Vavasour 
 to Sidonia, " which I hold, by the bye," he 
 added rather pompously, "to be entirely 
 futile?" 
 
 " What is individual character but the per- 
 sonification of race," said Sidonia, " its per- 
 fection and choice exemplar ? Instead of being 
 an inconsistency, the belief in the influence of 
 the individual is a corollary of the original 
 proposition." 
 
 " I look upon a belief in the influence of 
 individual character as a barbarous super- 
 stition," said Vavasour. 
 
 " Vavasour believes that there would be no 
 heroes if there were a police," said Coningsby ; 
 " but I believe that civilization is only fatal to 
 minstrels, and that is the reason now we have 
 no poets." 
 
306 TANCRED. 
 
 " How do you account for the Polish failure 
 in 1831 r said Lord Marney. " They had a 
 capital army, they were backed by the popula- 
 tion — but they failed. They had everything 
 but a man." 
 
 "Why were the AYhigs smashed in 1834," 
 said Coningsby, " but because they had not a 
 man ?" 
 
 " What is the real explanation of the state 
 of Mexico?" said Sidonia. " It has not a man." 
 
 '' So much for progress since the days of 
 Charles the Fifth," said Henry Sidney. " The 
 Spaniards then conquered Mexico, and now 
 they cannot govern it." 
 
 " So much for race," said Vavasour. " The 
 race is the same ; why are not the results the 
 same ?" 
 
 " Because it is worn out," said Sidonia. 
 "Why do not the Ethiopians build another 
 Thebes, or excavate the colossal temples of the 
 cataracts? The decay of a race is an inevit- 
 able necessity, unless it lives in deserts and 
 never mixes its blood." 
 
TANCRED. 307 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " I AM sorry, my dear mother, that I cannot 
 accompany you; but I must go down to my 
 yacht this morning, and on my return from 
 G-reenwich I have an engagement." 
 
 This was said about a week aft-er the din- 
 ner at Sidonia's, by Lord Montacute to the 
 duchess. 
 
 " That terrible yacht !" thought the duchess. 
 
 Her grace, a year ago, had she been aware 
 of it, would have deemed Tancred's engage- 
 ment as fearful an affair. The idea that her 
 son should have called every day for a week 
 on a married lady, beautiful and attractive, 
 would have filled her with alarm amounting 
 
308 TANCRED. 
 
 almost to horror. Yet such was the innocent 
 case. It might at the first glance seem diffi- 
 cult to reconcile the rival charms of the Basi- 
 lisk and Lady Bertie and Bellair, and to un- 
 derstand how Tancred could be so interested 
 in the preparations for a voyage which was to 
 bear him from the individual in whose society 
 he found a daily gratification. But the truth 
 is, that Lady Bertie and Bellair was the only 
 person who sympathized with his adventure. 
 
 She listened Avith the liveliest concern to his 
 account of all his progress ; she even made 
 many admirable suggestions, for Lady Bertie 
 and Bellair had been a frequent visitor at 
 Cowes, and was quite initiated in the myste- 
 ries of the dilettante service of the Yacht Club. 
 She was a capital sailor ; at least she always 
 told Tancred so. But this was not the chief 
 source of sympathy or the principal bond of 
 union between them. It was not the voyage, 
 so much as the object of the voyage, that touched 
 all the passion of Lady Bertie and Bellair. 
 Her heart was at Jerusalem. The sacred city 
 was the dream of her life ; and, amid the dissi- 
 pations of May Fair and the distractions of 
 
TAXCRED. 309 
 
 Belgravia, she had in fact all this time only 
 been thinking of Jehosaphat and Sion. Strange 
 coincidence of sentiment — strange and sweet ! 
 The enamoured Montacute hung over her 
 with pious rapture, as they examined together 
 Mr. Koberts's Syrian drawings, and she alike 
 charmed and astonished him by her familiarity 
 with every locality and each detail. She looked 
 like a beautiful prophetess as she dilated w^ith 
 solemn enthusiasm on the sacred scene. Tan- 
 cred called on her every day, because when he 
 called the first time, he had announced his im- 
 mediate departure, and so had been authorised 
 to promise that he would pay his respects to 
 her every day till he went. It was calculated 
 that by these means, that is to say three or 
 four visits, they might perhaps travel through 
 Mr. Eoberts's views together before he left Eng- 
 land, which would facilitate their correspond- 
 ence, for Tancred had engaged to write to the 
 only person in the w^orld w^orthy of receiving 
 his letters. But, though separated. Lady 
 Bertie and Bellair would be w^ith him in 
 spirit; and once she sighed and seemed to 
 murmur, that if his voyage could only be 
 
310 TAXCRED. 
 
 postponed awhile, she might in a manner 
 become his fellow-pilgrim, for Lord Bertie, 
 a great sportsman, had a desire to kill an- 
 telopes, and, wearied with the monotonous 
 slaughter of English preserves, tired even of 
 the eternal moors, had vague thoughts of 
 seeking new sources of excitement amid the 
 snipes of the Grecian marshes and the deer 
 and wild boars of the desert and the Syrian 
 hills. 
 
 While his captain was repeating his in- 
 quiries for instructions on the deck of the Basi- 
 lisk at Greenwich, moored off the Trafalgar 
 Hotel, Tancred fell into reveries of female pil- 
 grims kneeling at the Holy Sepulchre by his 
 side; then started, gave a hurried reply, and 
 drove back quickly to town, to pass the remain- 
 der of the morning in Brook Street. 
 
 The two or three days had expanded into 
 two or three weeks, and Tancred continued to 
 call daily on Lady Bertie and Bellair — to say 
 farewell. It was not wonderful: she was the 
 only person in London who understood him; 
 so she delicately intimated, so he profoundly 
 felt. They had the same ideas; they must 
 
TAXCRED. 311 
 
 have the same idiosyncracy. The lady asked 
 with a sigh why they had not met before: 
 Tancred found some solace in the thought that 
 they had at least become acquainted. There 
 was something about this lady very interesting 
 besides her beauty, her bright intelligence, and 
 her seraphic thoughts. She was evidently the 
 creature of impulse; to a certain degree per- 
 haps the victim of her imagination. She seemed 
 misplaced in life. The tone of the century 
 hardly suited her refined and romantic spirit. 
 Her ethereal nature seemed to shrink from the 
 coarse reality which invades in our days even 
 the boudoirs of May Fair. There was some- 
 thing in her appearance and the temper of her 
 being which rebuked the material, sordid, cal- 
 culating genius of our reign of Mammon. 
 
 Her presence in this world was a triumphant 
 vindication of the claims of beauty and of senti- 
 ment. It was evident that she was not happy; 
 for, though her fair brow always lighted up 
 when she met the glance of Tancred, it was 
 impossible not to observe that she was some- 
 times strangely depressed, often anxious and 
 excited, frequently absorbed in reverie. Yet 
 
312 TANCRED. 
 
 her vivid intelligence, the clearness and pre- 
 cision of her thought and fancy never faltered. 
 In the unknown yet painful contest, the intel- 
 lectual always triumphed. It was impossible 
 to deny that she was a woman of great ability. 
 Nor could it for a moment be imagined that 
 these fitful moods were merely the routine in- 
 timations that her domestic hearth was not as 
 happy as it deserved to be. On the contrary, 
 Lord and Lady Bertie and Bellair were the 
 very best friends; she always spoke of her 
 husband with interest and kindness ; they were 
 much together, and there evidently existed be- 
 tween them mutual confidence. His lordship's 
 heart indeed was not at Jerusalem ; and per- 
 haps this want of sympathy on a subject of 
 such rare and absorbing interest might account 
 for the occasional musings of his wife, taking 
 refuge in her own solitary and devoutly 
 passionate soul. But this deficiency on the 
 part of his lordship could scarcely be alleged 
 against him as a very heinous fault ; it is far 
 from usual to find a British noble who on 
 such a topic entertains the notions and senti- 
 ments of Lord Montacute: almost as rare to 
 
TAXCRED. 31o 
 
 find a British peeress who could respond to 
 them with the same fervour and facility as the 
 beautiful Lady Bertie and Bellair. The life 
 of a British peer is mainly regulated by Ara- 
 bian laws and Syrian customs at this moment, 
 but, while he sabbatically abstains from the 
 debate or the rubber, or regulates the quar- 
 terly performance of his judicial duties in his 
 province by the advent of the sacred festivals, 
 he thinks little of the land and the race who, 
 under the immediate superintendence of the 
 Deity, have by their sublime legislation esta- 
 blished the principle of periodic rest to man, 
 or by their deeds and their dogmas, commemo- 
 rated by their holy anniversaries, have elevated 
 the condition and softened the lot of every 
 nation except their own. 
 
 " And how does Tancred get on ?" asked 
 Lord Eskdale one morning of the Duchess of 
 Bellamont, with a dry smile. " I understand 
 that, instead of going to Jerusalem, he is going 
 to give us a fish dinner." 
 
 The Duchess of Bellamont had made the 
 acquaintance of Lady Bertie and Bellair, and 
 was delighted with her, although her grace 
 
 VOL. I. P 
 
314 TANCRED. 
 
 had been told that Lord Montacute called 
 upon her every day. The proud, intensely 
 proper, and highly prejudiced Duchess of 
 Bellamont, took the most charitable view of 
 this sudden and fervent friendship. A female 
 friend, who talked about Jerusalem, but kept 
 her son in London, was in the present esti- 
 mation of the duchess a real treasure, the 
 most interesting and admirable of her sex. 
 Their intimacy was satisfactorily accounted 
 for by the invaluable information which she 
 imparted to Tancred ; what he was to see, do, 
 eat, drink ; how he was to avoid being poisoned 
 and assassinated, escape fatal fevers, regularly 
 attend the service of the church of En inland 
 in countries where there were no churches, and 
 converse in languages of which he had no 
 knowledge. He could not have a better coun- 
 sellor than Lady Bertie, who had herself 
 travelled — at least to the Faubourg St. Ho- 
 nore — and, as Horace Walpole says, after 
 Calais nothing astonishes. Certainly Lady 
 Bertie had not been herself to Jerusalem, but 
 she had read about it, and every other place. 
 The duchess was delighted that Tancred had 
 
TANCRED. 315 
 
 a companion who interested him. With all 
 the impulse of her sanguine temperament, she 
 had already accustomed herself to look upon 
 the long-dreaded yacht as a toy, and rather an 
 amusing one, and was daily more convinced of 
 the prescient shrewdness of her cousin, Lord 
 Eskdale. 
 
 Tancred w^as going to give them a fish 
 dinner! A what? A sort of banquet which 
 might have served for the marriage feast of 
 Neptune and Amphitrite and be commemo- 
 rated by a constellation ; and which ought to 
 have been administered by the Nereids and 
 the Naiads; terrines of turtle, pools of water 
 souchee, flounders of every hue, and eels in 
 every shape, cutlets of salmon, salmis of 
 carp, ortolans represented by whitebait, and 
 huge roasts carved out of the sturgeon. The 
 appetite is distracted by the variety of objects, 
 and tantalized by the restlessness of perpetual 
 solicitation ; not a moment of repose — no 
 pause for enjoyment ; eventually, a feeling of 
 satiety without satisfaction and of repletion 
 without sustenance ; till, at night, gradually 
 recovering from the whirl of the anomalous 
 p 2 
 
316 TANCRED. 
 
 repast, famished yet incapable of flavour, the 
 tortured memory can only recall with an effort, 
 that it has dined off pink champagne and 
 brown bread and butter. 
 
 What a ceremony to be presided over by 
 Tancred of Montacute ; who, if he deigned to 
 dine at all, ought to have dined at no less a 
 round table than that of King Arthur. What 
 a consummation of a sublime project ! What a 
 catastrophe of a spiritual career! A Green- 
 wich party and a tavern bill ! 
 
 All the world now is philosophical, and 
 therefore they can account for this disaster. 
 Without doubt we are the creatures of cir- 
 cumstances ; and, if circumstances take the 
 shape of a charming woman, who insists upon 
 sailing in your yacht, which happens to be at 
 Black wall or Greenwich, it is not easy to dis- 
 cover how the inevitable consequences can be 
 avoided. It would hardly do, off the Nore, to 
 present your mistress with a sea-pie, or abruptly 
 remind your farewell friends and sorrowing 
 parents of their impending loss, by suddenly 
 serving up soup hermetically sealed, and roast- 
 ing the embalmed joint, which ought only to 
 
TANCRED. 317 
 
 have smoked amid the ruins of Thebes or hj 
 the cataracts of Xubia. 
 
 There are however two sides of every pic- 
 ture; a party may be pleasant, and even a 
 fish dinner not merely a whirl of dishes and 
 a clash of plates. The guests may be not too 
 numerous, and well assorted; the attendance 
 not too devoted, yet regardful ; the weather 
 may be charming, which is a great thing, and 
 the giver of the dinner may be charmed, and 
 that is everything. 
 
 The party to see the Basilisk was not only 
 the most agreeable of the season, but the most 
 agreeable ever known. They all said so when 
 they came back. Mr. Vavasour, who was 
 there, went to all his evening parties; to the 
 assembly by the wife of a minister in Carlton 
 Terrace; to a rout by the wife of the leader 
 of Opposition in Whitehall ; to a literary soiree 
 in Westminster, and a brace of balls in Port- 
 man and Belgrave Squares ; and told them all 
 that they were none of them to be compared 
 to the party of the morning, to which, it 
 must be owned, he had greatly contributed 
 by his good humour and merry wit. Mrs. 
 
318 TANCRED. 
 
 Couingsby declared to every one, that, if Lord 
 Montacute "would take her, she was quite 
 ready to go to Jerusalem ; such a perfect vessel 
 was the Basilisk, and such an admirable sailor 
 was Mrs. Coningsby, which, considering that 
 the river was like a mill-pond, according to 
 Tancred's captain, or like a mirror, according 
 to Lady Bertie and Bellair, was not surprising. 
 The duke protested that he was quite glad 
 that Montacute had taken to yachting, it 
 seemed to agree with him so well ; and spoke 
 of his son's future movements, as if there were 
 no such place as Palestine in the world. The 
 sanguine duchess dreamed of Cowes regattas, 
 and resolved to agree to any arrangement to 
 meet her son's fancy, provided he would stay 
 at home, which she convinced herself he had 
 now resolved to do. 
 
 " Our cousin is so wise," she said to her 
 husband, as they were returning. " What 
 could the bishop mean by saying that Tancred 
 was a visionary ? I agree with you, George, 
 there is no counsellor like a man of the 
 world." 
 
 " I wish M. de Sidonia had come," said 
 
TANCRED. 319 
 
 Ladj Bertie and Bellair, gazing from the 
 window of the Trafalgar on the moonlit river 
 with an expression of abstraction, and speak- 
 ing in a tone almost of melancholy. 
 
 " I also wish it, since you do," said Tan- 
 cred. " But they say he goes nowhere. It 
 was almost presumptuous in me to ask him, 
 yet I did so because you wished it." 
 
 " I never shall know him," said Lady Bertie 
 and Bellair, with some vexation. 
 
 " He interests you," said Tancred, a little 
 piqued. 
 
 " I had so many things to say to him," said 
 her ladyship. 
 
 " Indeed!" said Tancred; and then he con- 
 tinued, " I offered him every inducement to 
 come, for I told him it was to meet you; but 
 perhaps if he had known that you had so 
 many things to say to him, he might have 
 relented." 
 
 "So many things! Oh! yes. You know 
 he has been a great traveller ; he has been 
 everywhere; he has been at Jerusalem." 
 
 " Fortunate man !" exclaimed Tancred, half 
 to himself. " Would I were there !" 
 
320 TANCRED. 
 
 " Would we were there, you mean," said 
 Lady Bertie, in a tone of exquisite melody, 
 and looking at Tancred with her rich charged 
 eyes. 
 
 His heart trembled : he was about to give 
 utterance to some wild words, but they died 
 upon his lips. Two great convictions shared 
 his being — the absolute necessity of at once 
 commencing his pilgrimage, and the persuasion 
 that life, without the constant presence of this 
 sympathizing companion, must be intolerable. 
 What was to be done? In his long reveries, 
 where he had brooded over so many thoughts, 
 some only of which he had as yet expressed to 
 mortal ear, Tancred had calculated, as he be- 
 lieved, every combination of obstacle which 
 his projects might have to encounter ; but 
 one, it now seemed, he had entirely omitted — 
 the influence of woman. Why was he here ? 
 Why was he not away ? Why had he not 
 departed ? The reflection was intolerable ; it 
 seemed to him even disgraceful. The being 
 who would be content with nothing less than 
 communing with celestial powers in sacred 
 climes, standing at a tavern window, gazing 
 
TANCRED. 321 
 
 on the moonlit mud-banks of the barbarous 
 Thames — a river which neither angel nor pro- 
 phet had ever visited ! Before him, softened 
 by the hour, was the Isle of Dogs. The Isle 
 of Dogs ! It should at least be Cyprus ! 
 
 The carriages were announced ; Lady Bertie 
 and Bellair placed her arm in his. 
 
 p3 
 
322 TANCRED. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 Tancred passed a night of great disquiet. 
 His iriind was agitated, his purposes indefi- 
 nite ; his confidence in himself seemed to 
 falter. Where was that strong will that had 
 always sustained him ? that faculty of instant 
 decision, which had given such vigour to his 
 imaginary deeds'? A shadowy haze had suf- 
 fused his heroic idol, duty, and he could not 
 clearly distinguish either its form or its pro- 
 portions. Did he wish to go to the Holy Land 
 or not? What a question ! Had it come to 
 that? Was it possible that he could whisper 
 such an inquiry, even to his midnight soul? 
 He did wish to go to the Holy Land ; his pur- 
 pose was not in the least faltering; he most 
 
TAXCRED. 323 
 
 decidedly wished to go to the Holy Land, but 
 he wished also to go thither in the company of 
 Lady Bertie and Bellair. 
 
 Tancred could not bring himself to desert 
 the only being perhaps in England, excepting 
 himself, whose heart was at Jerusalem; and 
 that being a woman ! There seemed something 
 about it unknightly, unkind and cowardly, 
 almost base. Lady Bertie was a heroine worthy 
 of ancient Christendom rather than of enlight- 
 ened Europe. In the old days, truly the good 
 old days, when the magnetic power of Western 
 Asia on the Gothic races had been more puis- 
 sant, her noble yet delicate spirit might have 
 been found beneath the walls of Ascalon or by 
 the purple waters of Tyre. When Tancred 
 first met her, she was dreaming of Palestine 
 amid her frequent sadness; he could not, 
 utterly void of all self conceit as he was, be 
 insensible to the f[ict, that his sympathy, 
 founded on such a divine congeniality, had 
 often chased the cloud from her brow and 
 lightened the burthen of her drooping spirit. 
 If she were sad before, what would she be now, 
 deprived of the society of the only being to 
 
324 TANCRED. 
 
 whom she could unfold the spiritual mysteries 
 of her romiintic soul? Was such a character 
 to be left alone in this world of slang and 
 scrip; of coarse motives and coarser words? 
 Then too she was so intelligent and so gentle; 
 the only person who understood him, and 
 never grated for an instant on his high ideal. 
 Her temper also was the sweetest in the 
 world, eminent as her generous spirit. She 
 spoke of others with so much kindness, and 
 never indulged in that spirit of detraction or 
 that love of personal gossip, which Tancred 
 had frankly told her he abhorred. Some- 
 how or other, it seemed that their tastes agreed 
 on everything. 
 
 Tlie agitated Tancred rose from the bed 
 where the hope of slumber was vain. The 
 fire in his dressing-room was nearly extin- 
 guished ; wrapped in his chamber robe, he threw 
 himself into a chair which he drew near the 
 expiring embers, and sighed. 
 
 Unhappy youth ! For you commences that 
 great hallucination, which all must prove, but 
 which fortunately can never be repeated, and 
 which, in mockery, we call first love. The 
 
TANCRED. 325 
 
 physical frame has its infantile disorders ; the 
 cough which it must not escape, the burning 
 skin which it must encounter. The heart has 
 also its childish and cradle malady, which may 
 be fatal, but which, if once surmounted, enables 
 the patient to meet with becoming power all 
 the real convulsions and fevers of passion that 
 are the heir-loom of our after life. They 
 too may bring destruction ; but, in their case, 
 the cause and the effect are more proportioned. 
 The heroine is real, the sympathy is wild but 
 at least genuine, the catastrophe is that of a 
 ship at sea which sinks with a rich cargo in a 
 noble venture. 
 
 In our relations with the softer sex it can- 
 not be maintained that ignorance is bliss. On 
 the contrary, experience is the best security for 
 enduring love. Love at first sight is often a 
 genial and genuine sentiment, but first love at 
 first sightis ever eventually branded as spurious. 
 Still more so is that first love which suffuses 
 less rapidly the spirit of the ecstatic votary, 
 when he finds that by degrees his feelings, as 
 the phrase runs, have become engaged. Fond- 
 ness is so new to him that he has repaid it 
 
326 TANCRED. 
 
 with exaggerated idolatry, and become intoxi- 
 cated by the novel gratification of his vanity. 
 Little does he suspect that all this time his 
 seventh heaven is but the crapulence of self- 
 love. In these cases, it is not merely that 
 everything is exaggerated, but everything is 
 factitious. Simultaneously, the imaginary attri- 
 butes of the idol disappearing, and vanity being 
 satiated, all ends in a crash of iconoclastic 
 surfeit. 
 
 The embers became black, the night air had 
 cooled the turbulent blood of Lord Montacute, 
 he shivered, returned to his couch, and found 
 a deep and invigorating repose. 
 
 The next morning, about two hours after 
 noon, Tancred called on Lady Bertie. As he 
 drove up to the door, there came forth from it 
 the foreigner who was her companion in the 
 city fray, when Tancred first saw her and went 
 to her rescue. He recognised Lord Montacute, 
 and bowed with much ceremony, though with 
 a certain grace and bearing. He was a man 
 whose wrinkled visage strangely contrasted 
 with his still gallant figure, scrupulously 
 attired; a blue frock coat with a ribboned 
 
TANCRED. 327 
 
 button-hole, a well-turned boot, hat a little 
 too hidalgoish, but quite new. There was 
 something respectable and substantial about 
 him, notwithstanding his moustaches, and a 
 carriage a degree too debonair for his years. 
 He did not look like a carbonaro or a refugee. 
 Who could he be? 
 
 Tancred had asked himself this question 
 before. This was not the first time that he 
 had encountered this distinguished foreigner 
 since their first meeting. Tancred liad seen 
 him before this, quitting the door of Lord 
 Bertie and Bellair; had stumbled over him 
 before this, more than once, on the staircase ; 
 once, to his surprise, had met him as he entered 
 the personal saloon of Lady Bertie. As it 
 was evident, on that occasion, that his visit 
 had been to the lady, it w^as thought necessary 
 to say something, and he had been called the 
 Baron, and described, though in a somewhat 
 flurried and excited manner, as a particular 
 friend, a person in whom they had the most 
 entire confidence, who had been most kind to 
 them at Paris, putting them in the way of 
 buying the rarest china for nothing, and who 
 
328 TANCRED. 
 
 was now over here on some private business of 
 his own, of great importance. The Bertie 
 and Bellairs felt immense interest in his 
 exertions, and wished him every success; 
 Lord Bertie particularly. It was not at all 
 surprising, considering the innumerable kind- 
 nesses they had experienced at his hands — was 
 it? 
 
 " Nothing more natural," replied Tancred ; 
 and he turned the conversation. 
 
 Lady Bertie was much depressed this morn- 
 ing, so much so, that it was impossible for 
 Tancred not to notice her unequal demeanour. 
 Her hand trembled as he touched it ; her face, 
 flushed when he entered, became deadly pale. 
 
 " You are not well," he said. " I fear the 
 open carriage last night has made you already 
 repent our expedition." 
 
 She shook her head. It was not the open 
 carriage, which was delightful, nor the expe- 
 dition, which was enchanting, that had affected 
 her. Would that life consisted only of such 
 incidents, of barouches and whitebait ban- 
 quets! Alas! no, it was not these. But she 
 was nervous, her slumbers had been dis- 
 
TANCRED. 329 
 
 quieted, she had encountered alarming dreams ; 
 she had a profound conviction that some- 
 thing terrible was impending over her. And 
 Tancred took her hand, to prevent, if pos- 
 sible, what appeared to be inevitable hys- 
 terics. But Lady Bertie and Bellair was a 
 strong-minded woman, and she commanded 
 herself. 
 
 '' I can bear anything," said Tancred, in a 
 trembling voice, " but to see you unhappy." 
 And he drew his chair nearer to hers. 
 
 Her face was hid, her beautiful face in her 
 beautiful hand. There was silence and then 
 a sigh. 
 
 " Dear lady," said Lord Montacute. 
 
 " What is it?" murmured Lady Bertie and 
 Bellair. 
 
 " Why do you sigh?" 
 
 " Because I am miserable." 
 
 " Xo, no, no, don't use such words," said 
 the distracted Tancred. " You must not be 
 miserable; you shall not be." 
 
 '' Can I help it? Are we not about to 
 part?" 
 
 '' We need not part," he said, in a low voice. 
 
330 TANCRED. 
 
 '' Then you will remain?" she said, looking 
 up, and her dark brown eyes were fixed with 
 all their fascination on the tortured Tancred. 
 
 '' Till we all go," he said, in a soothing 
 voice. 
 
 " That can never be," said Lady Bertie ; 
 " Augustus will never hear of it ; he never 
 could be absent more than six weeks from 
 London, he misses his club so. If Jerusalem 
 were only a place one could get at, something 
 might be done ; if there Avere a railroad to it 
 for example.'' 
 
 " A railroad !" exclaimed Tancred, with a 
 look of horror. " A railroad to Jerusalem 1" 
 
 *' No, I suppose there never can be one," 
 continued Lady Bertie, in a musing tone. 
 " There is no traffic. And I am the victim," 
 she added, in a thrilling voice; ^' I am left heie 
 among people who do not comprehend me, and 
 among circumstances with which I can have 
 no sympathy. But go. Lord Montacute, go, 
 and be happy — alone. I ought to have been 
 prepared for all this; you have not deceived 
 me. You told me from the first you were 
 a pilgrim, but I indulged in a dream. I 
 
TAXCRED. 331 
 
 believed that I should not only visit Pales- 
 tine^ but even visit it with you." And she leant 
 back in her chair and covered her face with 
 her hands. 
 
 Tancred rose from his seat, and paced the 
 chamber. His heart seemed to burst. 
 
 "What is all this?" he thought. "How 
 came all this to occur? How has arisen this 
 singular combination of unforeseen causes and 
 undreamed of circumstances, which baffles all 
 my plans and resolutions, and seems, as it 
 were, without my sanction and my agency, to 
 be taking possession of my destiny and life? 
 I am bewildered, confounded, incapable of 
 thought or deed." 
 
 His tumultuous reverie was broken bj the 
 sobs of Lady Bertie. 
 
 " By heaven, I cannot endure this I" said 
 Tancred, advancing. " Death seems to me 
 preferable to her unhappiness. Dearest of 
 women I" 
 
 " Do not call me that," she murmured. " I 
 can bear anything from your lips but words 
 of fondness. And pardon all tliis; I am 
 not myself to-day. I had thought that I had 
 
332 TANCRED. 
 
 steeled myself to all, to our inevitable sepa- 
 ration; but I have mistaken myself, at least 
 miscalculated my strength. It is weak; it 
 is very weak and very foolish, but you must 
 pardon it. I am too much interested in your 
 career to wish you to delay your departure a 
 moment for my sake. I can bear our sepa- 
 ration, at least I think I can. I shall quit the 
 world — for ever. I should have done so had 
 we not met. I was on the point of doing so 
 w^hen w^e did meet — when — when my dream 
 was at length realized. Go, go; do not stay. 
 Bless you, and write to me, if I be alive to re- 
 ceive your letters." 
 
 " I cannot leave her," thouglit the harrowed 
 Tancred. " It never shall be said of me that I 
 could blight a woman's life or break her heart." 
 But, just as he was advancing, the door opened, 
 and a servant brought in a note, and, with- 
 out looking at Tancred, who had turned to the 
 window, disappeared. The desolation and 
 despair which had been impressed on the 
 countenance of Lady Bertie and Bellair va- 
 nished in an instant, as she recognised the 
 liandwriting of her correspondent. They were 
 
TAXCRED. 333 
 
 succeeded by an expression of singular ex- 
 citement. She tore open the note; a stupor 
 seemed to spread over her features, and, giving 
 a faint shriek, she fell into a swoon. 
 
 Tancred rushed to her side ; she was quite 
 insensible, and pale as alabaster. The note, 
 which was only two lines, was open and ex- 
 tended in her hands. It was from no idle 
 curiosity, but it was impossible for Tancred 
 not to read it. He had one of those eagle 
 visions that nothing could escape, and, himself 
 extremely alarmed, it was the first object at 
 which he unconsciously glanced in his agita- 
 tion to discover the cause and the remedy for 
 this crisis. The note ran thus — 
 
 " 3 o'clock. 
 
 " The Narrow Gauge has won. We are 
 
 utterly done; and Snicks tells me you 
 
 bought five hundred more yesterday^ at ten. 
 
 Is it possible ! 
 
 " F." 
 
 " Is it possible !" echoed Tancred, as, en- 
 trusting Lady Bertie to her maid, he rapidly 
 
334 TANCRED. 
 
 descended the staircase of her mansion. He 
 ahnost ran to Davies Street, where he jumped 
 into a cab, not permitting the driver to de- 
 scend to let him in. 
 
 " Where to?" asked the driver. 
 
 " The city." 
 
 ''What part?" 
 
 ''Never mind; near the Bank." 
 
 Alighting from the cab, Tancred hurried to 
 Sequin Court, and sent in his card to Sidonia, 
 who in a few moments received him. As 
 he entered the great financier's room, there 
 came out of it the man called in Brook 
 Street the Baron. 
 
 " Well, how did your dinner go off?" said 
 Sidonia, looking with some surprise at the 
 disturbed countenance of Tancred. 
 
 " It seems very ridiculous, very impertinent 
 I fear you will think it," said Tancred, in a 
 hesitating confused manner, " but that person 
 — that person who has just left the room — I 
 have a particular reason — I have the greatest 
 desire — to know who that person is." 
 
 " That is a French capitalist," replied 
 
TANCRED. 335 
 
 Sidonia, with a slight smile, *' an eminent 
 French capitalist — the Baron Yillebecque de 
 Chatean Xeuf. He wants me to support him 
 in a great railroad enterprise in his country 
 — a new line to Strasbourg — and looks to a 
 great traffic I suppose in pasties. But this 
 cannot much interest you. What do you 
 want really to know about him? I can tell 
 you everything. I have been acquainted with 
 him for years. He was the intendant of Lord 
 Monmouth, who left him thirty thousand 
 pounds, and he set up upon this at Paris as a 
 millionaire. He is in the way of becoming one, 
 has bought lands, is a deputy and a baron. 
 He is rather a favourite of mine," added 
 Sidonia, '' and I have been able, perhaps, to 
 assist him, for I knew him long before Lord 
 Monmouth did, in a very different position from 
 that which he now fills, though not one for 
 which I have less respect. He was a fine 
 comic actor in the courtly parts, and the most 
 celebrated manager in Europe ; always a fearful 
 speculator, but he is an honest fellow, and has 
 a good heart." 
 
336 TAXCRED. 
 
 " He is a great friend of Lady Bertie and 
 Bellair," said Tancred, rather hesitatingly. 
 
 " Naturally," said Sidonia. 
 
 " She also," said Tancred, with a becalmed 
 countenance but a palpitating heart, "is, I 
 believe, much interested in railroads ?" 
 
 " She is the most inveterate female i^^ambler 
 in Europe," said Sidonia, " whatever shape 
 her speculations take. Yillebecque is a great 
 ally of hers. He always had a weakness for 
 the English aristocracy, and remembers that 
 he owed his fortune to one of them. Lady 
 Bertie was in great tribulation this year at 
 Paris : that was the reason she did not come 
 over before Easter ; and Yillebecque extricated 
 her from a scrape. He would assist her now 
 if he could. By the bye, the day that I had 
 the pleasure of making your acquaintance, she 
 was here with Yillebecque, an hour at my door, 
 but I could not see her; she pesters me too 
 with her letters. But I don't like feminine 
 finance. I hope the worthy baron will be 
 discreet in his alliance with her, for her 
 affairs, w^hich I know, as I am obliged to know 
 every one's, happen to be at this moment most 
 critical." 
 
TANCRED. 337 
 
 " I am trespassing on you," said Tancred, 
 after a painful pause ; '' but I am about to set 
 sail." 
 
 " When?" 
 
 " To-morrow; to-day, if I could; and you 
 were so kind as to promise me " 
 
 '' A letter of introduction and a letter of 
 credit : I haye not forgotten, and I will write 
 them for you at once." And Sidonia took up 
 his pen and wrote — 
 
 A LETTER OF INTRODUCTION 
 
 To Alonzo Lara^ Spanish Prior, at the Convent of 
 Terra ISanta at Jerusalem. 
 
 " Most holy Father, — The youth who will 
 
 deliyer to you this is a pilgrim who aspires 
 
 to penetrate the great Asian mystery. Be to 
 
 him what you were to me ; and may the God 
 
 of Sinai, in whom we all belieye, guard oyer 
 
 you, and prosper his enterprise ! 
 
 Sidonia. 
 
 " London, May, 1845." 
 
 " You can read Spanish," said Sidonia, 
 giying him the letter. " The other I shall 
 write in Hebrew, which you will soon read." 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
338 TANCRED. 
 
 A LETTER OF CREDIT. 
 
 To Adam Besso, at Jerttsalem. 
 
 " London, May, 1845. 
 
 " My good Adam, — If the youth who bears 
 this require advances, let him have as much 
 gold as would make the right-hand lion on 
 the first step of the throne of Solomon the 
 king; and if he want more, let him have as 
 much as would form the lion that is on the 
 left; and so on, through every stair of the 
 royal seat. For all which will be responsible 
 to you the child of Israel, who among the 
 Gentiles is called 
 
 " SiDONIA." 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 T. C. Savill, Printer, 4, Chandos-street, Covent-garden. 
 

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