CHAPTER X.
Notwithstanding Lady Annabel's reserved demeanour, Lord Cadurcis,supported by the presence of his cousin, whom he had discovered to bea favourite of that lady, ventured to call upon her the next day, butshe was out. They were to meet, however, at dinner, where Cadurcisdetermined to omit no opportunity to propitiate her. The Countess hada great deal of tact, and she contrived to make up a party to receivehim, in which there were several of his friends, among them his cousinand the Bishop of----, and no strangers who were not, like herself,his great admirers; but if she had known more, she need not have givenherself this trouble, for there was a charm among her guests of whichshe was ignorant, and Cadurcis went determined to please and to bepleased.
At dinner he was seated next to Lady Annabel, and it was impossiblefor any person to be more deferential, soft, and insinuating. He spokeof old days with emotion which he did not attempt to suppress; healluded to the present with infinite delicacy. But it was verydifficult to make way. Lady Annabel was courteous, but she wasreserved. His lively reminiscences elicited from her no correspondingsentiment; and no art would induce her to dwell upon the present. Ifshe only would have condescended to compliment him, it would havegiven him an opportunity of expressing his distaste of the life whichhe now led, and a description of the only life which he wished tolead; but Lady Annabel studiously avoided affording him any openingof the kind. She treated him like a stranger. She impressed upon himwithout effort that she would only consider him an acquaintance. HowCadurcis, satiated with the incense of the whole world, sighed for onesingle congratulation from Lady Annabel! Nothing could move her.
'I was so surprised to meet you last night,' at length he againobserved. 'I have made so many inquiries after you. Our dear friendthe Bishop was, I fear, almost wearied with my inquiries afterCherbury. I know not how it was, I felt quite a pang when I heard thatyou had left it, and that all these years, when I have been conjuringup so many visions of what was passing under that dear roof, you wereat Weymouth.'
'Yes. We were at Weymouth some time.'
'But do not you long to see Cherbury again? I cannot tell you howI pant for it. For my part, I have seen the world, and I have seenenough of it. After all, the end of all our exertions is to be happyat home; that is the end of everything; don't you think so?'
'A happy home is certainly a great blessing,' replied Lady Annabel;'and a rare one.'
'But why should it be rare?' inquired Lord Cadurcis.
'It is our own fault,' said Lady Annabel; 'our vanity drives us fromour hearths.'
'But we soon return again, and calm and cooled. For my part, I have noobject in life but to settle down at the old abbey, and never to quitagain our woods. But I shall lead a dull life without my neighbours,'he added, with a smile, and in a tone half-coaxing.
'I suppose you never see Lord ---- now?' said Lady Annabel, mentioninghis late guardian. There was, as Cadurcis fancied, some sarcasm in thequestion, though not in the tone in which it was asked.
'No, I never see him,' his lordship answered firmly; 'we differ in ouropinions, and I differ from him with regret; but I differ from a senseof duty, and therefore I have no alternative.'
'The claims of duty are of course paramount,' observed Lady Annabel.
'You know my cousin?' said Cadurcis, to turn the conversation.
'Yes, and I like him much; he appears to be a sensible, amiableperson, of excellent principles.'
'I am not bound to admire George's principles,' said LordCadurcis, gaily; 'but I respect them, because I know that they areconscientious. I love George; he is my only relation, and he is myfriend.'
'I trust he will always be your friend, for I think you will then, atleast, know one person on whom you can depend.'
'I believe it. The friendships of the world are wind.'
'I am surprised to hear you say so,' said Lady Annabel.
'Why, Lady Annabel?'
'You have so many friends.'
Lord Cadurcis smiled. 'I wish,' he said, after a little hesitation,'if only for "Auld lang syne," I might include Lady Annabel Herbertamong them.'
'I do not think there is any basis for friendship between us, mylord,' she said, very dryly.
'The past must ever be with me,' said Lord Cadurcis, 'and I shouldhave thought a sure and solid one.'
'Our opinions on all subjects are so adverse, that I must believe thatthere could be no great sympathy in our feelings.'
'My feelings are beyond my control,' he replied; 'they are, and mustever be, totally independent of my opinions.'
Lady Annabel did not reply. His lordship felt baffled, but he wasresolved to make one more effort.
'Do you know,' he said, 'I can scarcely believe myself in Londonto-day? To be sitting next to you, to see Miss Herbert, to hear Dr.Masham's voice. Oh! does it not recall Cherbury, or Marringhurst, orthat day at Cadurcis, when you were so good as to smile over my roughrepast? Ah! Lady Annabel, those days were happy! those were feelingsthat can never die! All the glitter and hubbub of the world can nevermake me forget them, can never make you, I hope, Lady Annabel, quiterecall them with an effort. We were friends then: let us be friendsnow.'
'I am too old to cultivate new friendships,' said Lady Annabel; 'andif we are to be friends, Lord Cadurcis, I am sorry to say that, afterthe interval that has occurred since we last parted, we should have tobegin again.'
'It is a long time,' said Cadurcis, mournfully, 'a very long time, andone, in spite of what the world may think, to which I cannot look backwith any self-congratulation. I wished three years ago never to leaveCadurcis again. Indeed I did; and indeed it was not my fault that Iquitted it.'
'It was no one's fault, I hope. Whatever the cause may have been, Ihave ever remained quite ignorant of it. I wished, and wish, toremain ignorant of it. I, for one, have ever considered it the wisedispensation of a merciful Providence.'
Cadurcis ground his teeth; a dark look came over him which, whenonce it rose on his brow, was with difficulty dispelled; and for theremainder of the dinner he continued silent and gloomy.
He was, however, not unobserved by Venetia. She had watched hisevident attempts to conciliate her mother with lively interest; shehad witnessed their failure with sincere sorrow. In spite of thatstormy interview, the results of which, in his hasty departure, andthe severance of their acquaintance, she had often regretted, she hadalways retained for him the greatest affection. During these threeyears he had still, in her inmost heart, remained her own Plantagenet,her adopted brother, whom she loved, and in whose welfare her feelingswere deeply involved. The mysterious circumstances of her birth, andthe discoveries to which they had led, had filled her mind with afanciful picture of human nature, over which she had long brooded. Agreat poet had become her ideal of a man. Sometimes she had sighed,when musing over her father and Plantagenet on the solitary seashoreat Weymouth, that Cadurcis, instead of being the merely amiable, andsomewhat narrow-minded being that she supposed, had not been investedwith those brilliant and commanding qualities which she felt couldalone master her esteem. Often had she, in those abstracted hours,played with her imagination in combining the genius of her father withthe soft heart of that friend to whom she was so deeply attached. Shehad wished, in her reveries, that Cadurcis might have been a greatman; that he might have existed in an atmosphere of glory amid theplaudits and admiration of his race; and that then he might haveturned from all that fame, so dear to them both, to the heart whichcould alone sympathise with the native simplicity of his childhood.
The ladies withdrew. The Bishop and another of the guests joined themafter a short interval. The rest remained below, and drank their winewith the freedom not unusual in those days, Lord Cadurcis among them,although it was not his habit. But he was not convivial, though henever passed the bottle untouched. He was in one of those dark humoursof which there was a latent spring in his nature, but which in olddays had been kept in check by his simple life, his inexperiencedmind, and the general kindness that greeted him, and which not
hing butthe caprice and perversity of his mother could occasionally develope.But since the great revolution in his position, since circumstanceshad made him alike acquainted with his nature, and had brought allsociety to acknowledge its superiority; since he had gained and felthis irresistible power, and had found all the world, and all theglory of it, at his feet, these moods had become more frequent. Theslightest reaction in the self-complacency that was almost unceasinglystimulated by the applause of applauded men and the love of theloveliest women, instantly took the shape and found refuge in theimmediate form of the darkest spleen, generally, indeed, brooding insilence, and, if speaking, expressing itself only in sarcasm. Cadurciswas indeed, as we have already described him, the spoiled child ofsociety; a froward and petted darling, not always to be conciliated bykindness, but furious when neglected or controlled. He was habituatedto triumph; it had been his lot to come, to see, and to conquer; eventhe procrastination of certain success was intolerable to him; hisenergetic volition could not endure a check. To Lady Annabel Herbert,indeed, he was not exactly what he was to others; there was a spellin old associations from which he unconsciously could not emancipatehimself, and from which it was his opinion he honoured her in notdesiring to be free. He had his reasons for wishing to regain his old,his natural influence, over her heart; he did not doubt for an instantthat, if Cadurcis sued, success must follow the condescending effort.He had sued, and he had been met with coldness, almost with disdain.He had addressed her in those terms of tenderness which experiencehad led him to believe were irresistible, yet to which he seldom hadrecourse, for hitherto he had not been under the degrading necessityof courting. He had dwelt with fondness on the insignificant past,because it was connected with her; he had regretted, or affectedeven to despise, the glorious present, because it seemed, for someindefinite cause, to have estranged him from her hearth. Yes! he hadhumbled himself before her; he had thrown with disdain at her feet allthat dazzling fame and expanding glory which seemed his peculiar andincreasing privilege. He had delicately conveyed to her that eventhese would be sacrificed, not only without a sigh, but with cheerfuldelight, to find himself once more living, as of old, in the limitedworld of her social affections. Three years ago he had been rejectedby the daughter, because he was an undistinguished youth. Now themother recoiled from his fame. And who was this woman? The same cold,stern heart that had alienated the gifted Herbert; the same narrow,rigid mind that had repudiated ties that every other woman in theworld would have gloried to cherish and acknowledge. And with her hehad passed his prejudiced youth, and fancied, like an idiot, that hehad found sympathy! Yes, so long as he was a slave, a mechanical,submissive slave, bowing his mind to all the traditionary bigotrywhich she adored, never daring to form an opinion for himself,worshipping her idol, custom, and labouring by habitual hypocrisy toperpetuate the delusions of all around her!
In the meantime, while Lord Cadurcis was chewing the cud of thesebitter feelings, we will take the opportunity of explaining theimmediate cause of Lady Annabel's frigid reception of his friendlyadvances. All that she had heard of Cadurcis, all the information shehad within these few days so rapidly acquired of his character andconduct, were indeed not calculated to dispose her to witness therenewal of their intimacy with feelings of remarkable satisfaction.But this morning she had read his poem, the poem that all London wastalking of, and she had read it with horror. She looked upon Cadurcisas a lost man. With her, indeed, since her marriage, an imaginativemind had become an object of terror; but there were some peculiaritiesin the tone of Cadurcis' genius, which magnified to excess her generalapprehension on this head. She traced, in every line, the evidencesof a raging vanity, which she was convinced must prompt its ownerto sacrifice, on all occasions, every feeling of duty to itsgratification. Amid all the fervour of rebellious passions, and theviolence of a wayward mind, a sentiment of profound egotism appearedto her impressed on every page she perused. Great as might have beenthe original errors of Herbert, awful as in her estimation were thecrimes to which they had led him, they might in the first instance betraced rather to a perverted view of society than of himself. But selfwas the idol of Cadurcis; self distorted into a phantom that seemedto Lady Annabel pregnant not only with terrible crimes, but with thebasest and most humiliating vices. The certain degradation which inthe instance of her husband had been the consequence of a bad system,would, in her opinion, in the case of Cadurcis, be the result of abad nature; and when she called to mind that there had once been aprobability that this individual might have become the husband of herVenetia, her child whom it had been the sole purpose of her life tosave from the misery of which she herself had been the victim; thatshe had even dwelt on the idea with complacency, encouraged itsprogress, regretted its abrupt termination, but consoled herself bythe flattering hope that time, with even more favourable auspices,would mature it into fulfilment; she trembled, and turned pale.
It was to the Bishop that, after dinner, Lady Annabel expressed someof the feelings which the reappearance of Cadurcis had occasioned her.
'I see nothing but misery for his future,' she exclaimed; 'I tremblefor him when he addresses me. In spite of the glittering surface onwhich he now floats, I foresee only a career of violence, degradation,and remorse.'
'He is a problem difficult to solve,' replied Masham; 'but there areelements not only in his character, but his career, so different fromthose of the person of whom we were speaking, that I am not inclinedat once to admit, that the result must necessarily be the same.'
'I see none,' replied Lady Annabel; 'at least none of sufficientinfluence to work any material change.'
'What think you of his success?' replied Masham. 'Cadurcis isevidently proud of it. With all his affected scorn of the world, heis the slave of society. He may pique the feelings of mankind, but Idoubt whether he will outrage them.'
'He is on such a dizzy eminence,' replied Lady Annabel, 'that I do notbelieve he is capable of calculating so finely. He does not believe, Iam sure, in the possibility of resistance. His vanity will tempt himonwards.'
'Not to persecution,' said Masham. 'Now, my opinion of Cadurcis is,that his egotism, or selfism, or whatever you may style it, willultimately preserve him from any very fatal, from any irrecoverableexcesses. He is of the world, worldly. All his works, all his conduct,tend only to astonish mankind. He is not prompted by any visionaryideas of ameliorating his species. The instinct of self-preservationwill serve him as ballast.'
'We shall see,' said Lady Annabel; 'for myself, whatever may be hisend, I feel assured that great and disgraceful vicissitudes are instore for him.'
'It is strange after what, in comparison with such extraordinarychanges, must be esteemed so brief an interval,' observed Masham, witha smile, 'to witness such a revolution in his position. I often thinkto myself, can this indeed be our little Plantagenet?'
'It is awful!' said Lady Annabel; 'much more than strange. For myself,when I recall certain indications of his feelings when he was last atCadurcis, and think for a moment of the results to which they mighthave led, I shiver; I assure you, my dear lord, I tremble from head tofoot. And I encouraged him! I smiled with fondness on his feelings! Ithought I was securing the peaceful happiness of my child! What can wetrust to in this world! It is too dreadful to dwell upon! It must havebeen an interposition of Providence that Venetia escaped.'
'Dear little Venetia,' exclaimed the good Bishop; 'for I believe Ishall call her little Venetia to the day of my death. How well shelooks to-night! Her aunt is, I think, very fond of her! See!'
'Yes, it pleases me,' said Lady Annabel; but I do wish my sister wasnot such an admirer of Lord Cadurcis' poems. You cannot conceive howuneasy it makes me. I am quite annoyed that he was asked here to-day.Why ask him?'
'Oh! there is no harm,' said Masham; 'you must forget the past. By allaccounts, Cadurcis is not a marrying man. Indeed, as I understood,marriage with him is at present quite out of the question. And as forVenetia, she rejected him before, and she will, if necessary, rejecth
im again. He has been a brother to her, and after that he can be nomore. Girls never fall in love with those with whom they are bred up.'
'I hope, I believe there is no occasion for apprehension,' repliedLady Annabel; 'indeed, it has scarcely entered my head. The verycharms he once admired in Venetia can have no sway over him, asI should think, now. I should believe him as little capable ofappreciating Venetia now, as he was when last at Cherbury, ofanticipating the change in his own character.'
'You mean opinions, my dear lady, for characters never change. Believeme, Cadurcis is radically the same as in old days. Circumstances haveonly developed his latent predisposition.'
'Not changed, my dear lord! what, that innocent, sweet-tempered,docile child--'
'Hush! here he comes.'
The Earl and his guests entered the room; a circle was formed roundLady Annabel; some evening visitors arrived; there was singing. It hadnot been the intention of Lord Cadurcis to return to the drawing-roomafter his rebuff by Lady Annabel; he had meditated making his peace atMonteagle House; but when the moment of his projected departure hadarrived, he could not resist the temptation of again seeing Venetia.He entered the room last, and some moments after his companions. LadyAnnabel, who watched the general entrance, concluded he had gone, andher attention was now fully engaged. Lord Cadurcis remained at theend of the room alone, apparently abstracted, and looking far fromamiable; but his eye, in reality, was watching Venetia. Suddenly heraunt approached her, and invited the lady who was conversing with MissHerbert to sing; Lord Cadurcis immediately advanced, and took herseat. Venetia was surprised that for the first time in her lifewith Plantagenet she felt embarrassed. She had met his look when heapproached her, and had welcomed, or, at least, intended to welcomehim with a smile, but she was at a loss for words; she was hauntedwith the recollection of her mother's behaviour to him at dinner, andshe looked down on the ground, far from being at ease.
'Venetia!' said Lord Cadurcis.
She started.
'We are alone,' he said; 'let me call you Venetia when we are alone.'
She did not, she could not reply; she felt confused; the blood rose toher cheek.
'How changed is everything!' continued Cadurcis. 'To think the dayshould ever arrive when I should have to beg your permission to callyou Venetia!'
She looked up; she met his glance. It was mournful; nay, his eyes weresuffused with tears. She saw at her side the gentle and melancholyPlantagenet of her childhood.
'I cannot speak; I am agitated at meeting you,' she said with hernative frankness. 'It is so long since we have been alone; and, as yousay, all is so changed.'
'But are you changed, Venetia?' he said in a voice of emotion; 'forall other change is nothing.'
'I meet you with pleasure,' she replied; 'I hear of your fame withpride. You cannot suppose that it is possible I should cease to beinterested in your welfare.'
'Your mother does not meet me with pleasure; she hears of nothingthat has occurred to me with pride; your mother has ceased to take aninterest in my welfare; and why should you be unchanged?'
'You mistake my mother.'
'No, no,' replied Cadurcis, shaking his head, 'I have read her inmostsoul to-day. Your mother hates me; me, whom she once styled her son.She was a mother once to me, and you were my sister. If I have losther heart, why have I not lost yours?'
'My heart, if you care for it, is unchanged,' said Venetia.
'O Venetia, whatever you may think, I never wanted the solace of asister's love more than I do at this moment.'
'I pledged my affection to you when we were children,' repliedVenetia; 'you have done nothing to forfeit it, and it is yours still.'
'When we were children,' said Cadurcis, musingly; 'when we wereinnocent; when we were happy. You, at least, are innocent still; areyou happy, Venetia?'
'Life has brought sorrows even to me, Plantagenet.'
The blood deserted his heart when she called him Plantagenet; hebreathed with difficulty.
'When I last returned to Cherbury,' he said, 'you told me you werechanged, Venetia; you revealed to me on another occasion the secretcause of your affliction. I was a boy then, a foolish ignorant boy.Instead of sympathising with your heartfelt anxiety, my silly vanitywas offended by feelings I should have shared, and soothed, andhonoured. Ah, Venetia! well had it been for one of us that I hadconducted myself more kindly, more wisely.'
'Nay, Plantagenet, believe me, I remember that interview only toregret it. The recollection of it has always occasioned me greatgrief. We were both to blame; but we were both children then. We mustpardon each other's faults.'
'You will hear, that is, if you care to listen, Venetia, much of myconduct and opinions,' continued Lord Cadurcis, 'that may induce youto believe me headstrong and capricious. Perhaps I am less of both inall things than the world imagines. But of this be certain, that myfeelings towards you have never changed, whatever you may permit themto be; and if some of my boyish judgments have, as was but natural,undergone some transformation, be you, my sweet friend, in some degreeconsoled for the inconsistency, since I have at length learned duly toappreciate one of whom we then alike knew little, but whom a naturalinspiration taught you, at least, justly to appreciate: I need not sayI mean the illustrious father of your being.'
Venetia could not restrain her tears; she endeavoured to conceal heragitated countenance behind the fan with which she was fortunatelyprovided.
'To me a forbidden subject,' said Venetia, 'at least with them I couldalone converse upon it, but one that my mind never deserts.'
'O Venetia!' exclaimed Lord Cadurcis with a sigh, 'would we were bothwith him!'
'A wild thought,' she murmured, 'and one I must not dwell upon.'
'We shall meet, I hope,' said Lord Cadurcis; 'we must meet, meetoften. I called upon your mother to-day, fruitlessly. You must attemptto conciliate her. Why should we be parted? We, at least, are friends,and more than friends. I cannot exist unless we meet, and meet withthe frankness of old days.'
'I think you mistake mamma; I think you may, indeed. Remember howlately she has met you, and after how long an interval! A little time,and she will resume her former feelings, and believe that you havenever forfeited yours. Besides, we have friends, mutual friends. Myaunt admires you, and here I naturally must be a great deal. And theBishop, he still loves you; that I am sure he does: and your cousin,mamma likes your cousin. I am sure if you can manage only to bepatient, if you will only attempt to conciliate a little, all will beas before. Remember, too, how changed your position is,' Venetia addedwith a smile; 'you allow me to forget you are a great man, but mammais naturally restrained by all this wonderful revolution. When shefinds that you really are the Lord Cadurcis whom she knew such a verylittle boy, the Lord Cadurcis who, without her aid, would never havebeen able even to write his fine poems, oh! she must love you again.How can she help it?'
Cadurcis smiled. 'We shall see,' he said. 'In the meantime do not youdesert me, Venetia.'
'That is impossible,' she replied; 'the happiest of my days have beenpassed with you. You remember the inscription on the jewel? I shallkeep to my vows.'
'That was a very good inscription so far as it went,' said Cadurcis;and then, as if a little alarmed at his temerity, he changed thesubject.
'Do you know,' said Venetia, after a pause, 'I am treating you allthis time as a poet, merely in deference to public opinion. Not a linehave I been permitted to read; but I am resolved to rebel, and youmust arrange it all.'
'Ah!' said the enraptured Cadurcis; 'this is fame!'
At this moment the Countess approached them, and told Venetia thather mother wished to speak to her. Lady Annabel had discovered thetete-a-tete, and resolved instantly to terminate it. Lord Cadurcis,however, who was quick as lightning, read all that was necessary inVenetia's look. Instead of instantly retiring, he remained some littletime longer, talked to the Countess, who was perfectly enchanted withhim, even sauntered up to the singers, and complimented them, and didnot make his bow u
ntil he had convinced at least the mistress of themansion, if not her sister-in-law, that it was not Venetia Herbert whowas his principal attraction in this agreeable society.