CHAPTER VIII.
The interior of the great house.--The British Constitution at home
in a family party.
Great was the family gathering that Christmas-tide at Montfort Court.
Thither flocked the cousins of the House in all degrees and of various
ranks. From dukes, who had nothing left to wish for that kings and
cousinhoods can give, to briefless barristers and aspiring cornets, of
equally good blood with the dukes,--the superb family united its motley
scions. Such reunions were frequent: they belonged to the hereditary
policy of the House of Vipont. On this occasion the muster of the clan
was more significant than usual; there was a "CRISES" in the
constitutional history of the British empire. A new Government had been
suddenly formed within the last six weeks, which certainly portended some
direful blow on our ancient institutions; for the House of Vipont had not
been consulted in its arrangements, and was wholly unrepresented in the
Ministry, even by a lordship of the Treasury. Carr Vipont had therefore
summoned the patriotic and resentful kindred.
It is an hour or so after the conclusion of dinner. The gentlemen have
joined the ladies in the state suite, a suite which the last Marquess had
rearranged and redecorated in his old age, during the long illness that
finally conducted him to his ancestors. During his earlier years that
princely Marquess had deserted Montfort Court for a seat nearer to
London, and therefore much more easily filled with that brilliant society
of which he had been long the ornament and centre,--railways not then
existing for the annihilation of time and space, and a journey to a
northern county four days with posthorses making the invitations even of
a Marquess of Montfort unalluring to languid beauties and gouty
ministers. But nearing the end of his worldly career, this long neglect
of the dwelling identified with his hereditary titles smote the
conscience of the illustrious sinner. And other occupations beginning to
pall, his lordship, accompanied and cheered by a chaplain, who had a fine
taste in the decorative arts, came resolutely to Montfort Court; and
there, surrounded with architects and gilders and upholsterers, redeemed
his errors; and, soothed by the reflection of the palace provided for his
successor, added to his vaults--a coffin.
The suite expands before the eye. You are in the grand drawing-room,
copied from that of Versailles. That is the picture, full length, of the
late Marquess in his robes; its pendant is the late Marchioness, his
wife. That table of malachite is a present from the Russian Emperor
Alexander; that vase of Sevres which rests on it was made for Marie
Antoinette,--see her portrait enamelled in its centre. Through the
open door at the far end your eye loses itself in a vista of other
pompous chambers,--the music-room, the statue hall, the orangery; other
rooms there are appertaining to the suite, a ballroom fit for Babylon, a
library that might have adorned Alexandria,--but they are not lighted,
nor required, on this occasion; it is strictly a family party, sixty
guests and no more.
In the drawing-room three whist-tables carry off the more elderly and
grave. The piano, in the music-room, attracts a younger group. Lady
Selina Vipont's eldest daughter, Honoria, a young lady not yet brought
out, but about to be brought out the next season, is threading a
wonderfully intricate German piece,
"Link'd sweetness, long drawn out,"
with variations. Her science is consummate. No pains have been spared
on her education; elaborately accomplished, she is formed to be the
sympathizing spouse of a wealthy statesman. Lady Montfort is seated by
an elderly duchess, who is good-natured and a great talker; near her are
seated two middle-aged gentlemen, who had been conversing with her till
the duchess, having cut in, turned dialogue into monologue.
The elder of these two gentlemen is Mr. Carr Vipont, bald, with clipped
parliamentary whiskers; values himself on a likeness to Canning, but with
a portlier presence; looks a large-acred man. Carr Vipont has about
L40,000 a year; has often refused office for himself, while taking care
that other Viponts should have it; is a great authority in committee
business and the rules of the House of Commons; speaks very seldom, and
at no great length, never arguing, merely stating his opinion, carries
great weight with him, and as he votes vote fifteen other members of the
House of Vipont, besides admiring satellites. He can therefore turn
divisions, and has decided the fate of cabinets. A pleasant man, a
little consequential, but the reverse of haughty,--unctuously
overbearing. The other gentleman, to whom he is listening, is our old
acquaintance Colonel Alban Vipont Morley, Darrell's friend, George's
uncle,--a man of importance, not inferior, indeed, to that of his kinsman
Carr; an authority in clubrooms, an oracle in drawing-rooms, a first-rate
man of the beau monde. Alban Morley, a younger brother, had entered the
Guards young; retired young also from the Guards with the rank of
Colonel, and on receipt of a legacy from an old aunt, which, with the
interest derived from the sum at which he sold his commission, allowed
him a clear income of L1,000 a year. This modest income sufficed for all
his wants, fine gentleman though he was. He had refused to go into
Parliament,--refused a high place in a public department. Single
himself, he showed his respect for wedlock by the interest he took in the
marriages of other people; just as Earl Warwick, too wise to set up for a
king, gratified his passion for royalty by becoming the king-maker. The
Colonel was exceedingly accomplished, a very fair scholar, knew most
modern languages. In painting an amateur, in music a connoisseur; witty
at times, and with wit of a high quality, but thrifty in the expenditure
of it; too wise to be known as a wit. Manly too, a daring rider, who had
won many a fox's brush; a famous deer-stalker, and one of the few English
gentlemen who still keep up the noble art of fencing,--twice a week to be
seen, foil in hand, against all comers in Angelo's rooms. Thin, well-
shaped,--not handsome, my dear young lady, far from it, but with an air
so thoroughbred that, had you seen him in the day when the opera-house
had a crushroom and a fops' alley,--seen him in either of those resorts,
surrounded by elaborate dandies and showy beauty-men, dandies and beauty-
men would have seemed to you secondrate and vulgar; and the eye,
fascinated by that quiet form,--plain in manner, plain in dress, plain in
feature,--you would have said, "How very distinguished it is to be so
plain!" Knowing the great world from the core to the cuticle, and on
that knowledge basing authority and position, Colonel Morley was not
calculating, not cunning, not suspicious,--his sagacity the more quick
because its movements were straightforward; intimate with the greatest,
but sought, not seeking; not a flatterer nor a parasite, but when his
advice was asked (even if advice necessitated reproof) giving it with
military candour: in fine, a man of such social reputation as rendered
him an ornament and prop to the House of Vipont; and with unsuspected
depths of intelligence and feeling, which lay in the lower strata of his
knowledge of this world to witness of some other one, and justified
Darrell in commending a boy like Lionel Haughton to the Colonel's
friendly care and admonitory counsels. The Colonel, like other men, had
his weakness, if weakness it can be called: he believed that the House of
Vipont was not merely the Corinthian capital, but the embattled keep--not
merely the /dulce decus/, but the /praesidium columenque rerum/--of the
British monarchy. He did not boast of his connection with the House; he
did not provoke your spleen by enlarging on its manifold virtues; he
would often have his harmless jest against its members, or even against
its pretensions: but such seeming evidences of forbearance or candour
were cunning devices to mitigate envy. His devotion to the House was not
obtrusive: it was profound. He loved the House of Vipont for the sake of
England: he loved England for the sake of the House of Vipont. Had it
been possible, by some tremendous reversal of the ordinary laws of
nature, to dissociate the cause of England from the cause of the House of
Vipont, the Colonel would have said, "Save at least the Ark of the
Constitution! and rally round the old House!"
The Colonel had none of Guy Darrell's infirmity of family pride; he cared
not a rush for mere pedigrees,--much too liberal and enlightened for such
obsolete prejudices. No! He knew the world too well not to be quite
aware that old family and long pedigrees are of no use to a man if he has
not some money or some merit. But it was of use to a man to be a cousin
of the House of Vipont, though without any money, without any merit at
all. It was of use to be part and parcel of a British institution; it
was of use to have a legitimate indefeasible right to share in the
administration and patronage of an empire, on which (to use a novel
illustration) "the sun never sets." You might want nothing for yourself;
the Colonel and the Marquess equally wanted nothing for themselves but
man is not to be a selfish egotist! Man has cousins: his cousins may
want something. Demosthenes denounces, in words that inflame every manly
breast, the ancient Greek who does not love his POLIS or State, even
though he take nothing from it but barren honour, and contribute towards
it--a great many disagreeable taxes. As the POLIS to the Greek, was the
House of Vipont to Alban Vipont Morley. It was the most beautiful,
touching affection imaginable! Whenever the House was in difficulties,
whenever it was threatened by a CRISIS, the Colonel was by its side,
sparing no pains, neglecting no means, to get the Ark of the Constitution
back into smooth water. That duty done, he retired again into private
life, and scorned all other reward than the still whisper of applauding
conscience.
"Yes," said Alban Morley, whose voice, though low and subdued in tone,
was extremely distinct, with a perfect enunciation. "Yes, it is quite
true, my nephew has taken orders,--his defect in speech, if not quite
removed, has ceased to be any obstacle, even to eloquence; an occasional
stammer may be effective,--it increases interest, and when the right word
comes, there is the charm of surprise in it. I do not doubt that George
will be a very distinguished clergyman."
MR. CARR VIPONT.--"We want one; the House wants a very distinguished
clergyman: we have none at this moment,--not a bishop, not even a dean!
all mere parish parsons, and among them not one we could push. Very odd,
with more than forty livings too. But the Viponts seldom take to the
Church kindly: George must be pushed. The more I think of it, the more
we want a bishop: a bishop would be useful in the present CRISIS."
(Looking round the rooms proudly, and softening his voice), "A numerous
gathering, Morley! This demonstration will strike terror in Downing
Street, eh! The old House stands firm,--never was a family so united:
all here, I think,--that is, all worth naming,--all, except Sir James,
whom Montfort chooses to dislike, and George--and George comes
to-morrow."
COLONEL MORLEY.--"You forget the most eminent of all our connections,--
the one who could indeed strike terror into Downing Street, were his
voice to be heard again!"
CARR VIPONT.--"Whom do you mean? Ah, I know! Guy Darrell. His wife was
a Vipont; and he is not here. But he has long since ceased to
communicate with any of us; the only connection that ever fell away from
the House of Vipont, especially in a CRISIS like the present. Singular
man! For all the use he is to us, he might as well be dead! But he has
a fine fortune: what will he do with it?"
THE DUCHESS.--"My dear Lady Montfort, you have hurt yourself with that
paper cutter."
LADY MONTFORT.--"NO, indeed. Hush! we are disturbing Mr. Carr Vipont!"
The Duchess, in awe of Carr Vipont, sinks her voice, and gabbles on,
whisperously.
CARR VIPONT (resuming the subject).--"A very fine fortune: what will he
do with it?"
COLONEL MORLEY.--"I don't know; but I had a letter from him some months
ago."
CARR VIPONT.--"You had, and never told me!"
COLONEL MORLEY.--"Of no importance to you, my dear Carr. His letter
merely introduced to me a charming young fellow,--a kinsman of his own
(no Vipont),--Lionel Haughton, son of poor Charlie Haughton, whom you may
remember."
CARR VIPONT.--"Yes, a handsome scamp; went to the dogs. So Darrell takes
up Charlie's son: what! as his heir?"
COLONEL MORLEY.--"In his letter to me he anticipated that question in the
negative."
CARR VIPONT.--"Has Darrell any nearer kinsman?"
COLONEL MORLEY.--"Not that I know of."
CARR VIPONT.--"Perhaps he will select one of his wife's family for his
heir,--a Vipont; I should not wonder."
COLONEL MORLEY (dryly).--"I should. But why may not Darrell marry again?
I always thought he would; I think so still."
CARR VIPONT (glancing towards his own daughter Honoria).--"Well, a wife
well chosen might restore him to society, and to us. Pity, indeed, that
so great an intellect should be suspended,--a voice so eloquent hushed.
You are right; in this CRISIS, Guy Darrell once more in the House of
Commons, we should have all we require,--an orator, a debater! Very odd,
but at this moment we have no speakers,--WE the Viponts!"
COLONEL MORLEY.--"Yourself!"
CARR VIPONT.--"You are too kind. I can speak on occasions; but
regularly, no. Too much drudgery; not young enough to take to it now.
So you think Darrell will marry again? A remarkably fine-looking fellow
when I last saw him: not old yet; I dare say well preserved. I wish I
had thought of asking him here--Montfort!" (Lord Montfort, with one or
two male friends, was passing by towards a billiard-room, opening through
a side-door from the regular suite) "Montfort! only think, we forgot to
invite Guy Darrell. Is it too late before our party breaks up?"
LORD MONTFORT (sullenly).--"I don't choose Guy Darrell to be invited to
my house."
Carr Vipont was literally stunned by a reply so contumacious. Lord
Montfort demur at what Carr Vipont suggested? He could not believe his
senses.
"Not choose, my dear Montfort! you are joking. A monstrous clever
fellow, Guy Darrell, and at this CRISIS--"
"I hate clever fellows; no such bores!" said Lord Montfort, breaking from
the caressing clasp of Carr Vipont, and stalking away.
"Spare your regrets, my dear Carr," said Colonel Morley. "Darrell is not
in England: I rather believe he is in Verona." Therewith the Colonel
sauntered towards the group gathered round the piano. A little time
afterwards Lady Montfort escaped from the Duchess, and, mingling
courteously with her livelier guests, found herself close to Colonel
Morley. "Will you give me my revenge at chess?" she asked, with her rare
smile. The Colonel was charmed. As they sat down and ranged their men,
Lady Montfort remarked carelessly,
"I overheard you say you had lately received a letter from Mr. Darrell.
Does he write as if well,--cheerful? You remember that I was much with
his daughter, much in his house, when I was a child. He was ever most
kind to me." Lady Montfort's voice here faltered.
"He writes with no reference to himself, his health, or his spirits. But
his young kinsman described him to me as in good health,--wonderfully
young-looking for his years. But cheerful,--no! Darrell and I entered
the world together; we were friends as much as a man so busy and so
eminent as he could be friends with a man like myself, indolent by habit
and obscure out of Mayfair. I know his nature; we both know something of
his family sorrows. He cannot be happy! Impossible!--alone, childless,
secluded. Poor Darrell, abroad now; in Verona, too!--the dullest place!
in mourning still for Romeo and Juliet! 'T is your turn to move. In his
letter Darrell talked of going on to Greece, Asia, penetrating into the
depths of Africa,--the wildest schemes! Dear County Guy, as we called
him at Eton! what a career his might have been! Don't let us talk of
him, it makes me mournful. Like Goethe, I avoid painful subjects upon
principle."
LADY MONTFORT.--"No; we will not talk of him. No; I take the Queen's
pawn. No, we will not talk of him! no!" The game proceeded; the Colonel
was within three moves of checkmating his adversary. Forgetting the
resolution come to, he said, as she paused, and seemed despondently
meditating a hopeless defence,
"Pray, my fair cousin, what makes Montfort dislike my old friend
Darrell?"
"Dislike! Does he! I don't know. Vanquished again, Colonel Morley!"
She rose; and as he restored the chessmen to their box, she leaned
thoughtfully over the table.
"This young kinsman, will he not be a comfort to Mr. Darrell?"
"He would be a comfort and a pride to a father; but to Darrell, so
distant a kinsman,--comfort!--why and how? Darrell will provide for him,
that is all. A very gentlemanlike young man; gone to Paris by my advice;
wants polish and knowledge of life. When he comes back he must enter
society: I have put his name up at White's; may I introduce him to you?"
Lady Montfort hesitated, and, after a pause, said, almost rudely, "No."
She left the Colonel, slightly shrugging his shoulders, and passed into
the billiard-room with a quick step. Some ladies were already there
looking at the players. Lord Montfort was chalking his cue. Lady
Montfort walked straight up to him: her colour was heightened; her lip
was quivering; she placed her hand on his shoulder with a wife-like
boldness. It seemed as if she had come there to seek him from an impulse
of affection. She asked with a hurried fluttering kindness of voice, if
he had been successful, and called him by his Christian name. Lord
Montfort's countenance, before merely apathetic, now assumed an
expression of extreme distaste. "Come to teach me to make a cannon, I
suppose!" he said mutteringly, and turning from her, contemplated the
balls and missed the cannon.
"Rather in my way, Lady Montfort," said he then, and, retiring to a
corner, said no more.
Lady Montfort's countenance became still more flushed. She lingered a
moment, returned to the drawing-room, and for the rest of the evening was
unusually animated, gracious, fascinating. As she retired with her lady
guests for the night she looked round, saw Colonel Morley, and held out
her hand to him.
"Your nephew comes here to-morrow," said she, "my old play-fellow;
impossible quite to forget old friends; good night."
