| HENRIETTA TEMPLE, by Benjamin Disraeli (1837)
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BOOK V
CHAPTER I.
_Containing the Appearance on Our Stage of a New and Important Character_.
THE Marquis of Montfort was the grandson of that nobleman who had been
Glastonbury's earliest patron. The old duke had been dead some years;
his son had succeeded to his title, and Digby, that youth whom the
reader may recollect was about the same age as Ferdinand Armine, and was
his companion during the happy week in London which preceded his first
military visit to the Mediterranean, now bore the second title of the
family.
The young marquis was an excellent specimen of a class inferior in
talents, intelligence, and accomplishments, in public spirit and
in private virtues, to none in the world, the English nobility. His
complete education had been carefully conducted; and although his
religious creed, for it will be remembered he was a Catholic, had
deprived him of the advantage of matriculating at an English university,
the zeal of an able and learned tutor, and the resources of a German
Alma Mater, had afforded every opportunity for the development of his
considerable talents. Nature had lavished upon him other gifts besides
his distinguished intelligence and his amiable temper: his personal
beauty was remarkable, and his natural grace was not less evident than
his many acquired accomplishments.
On quitting the University of Bonn, Lord Montfort had passed several
years on the continent of Europe, and had visited and resided at most of
its courts and capitals, an admired and cherished guest; for, debarred
at the period of our story from occupying the seat of his ancestors in
the senate, his native country offered no very urgent claims upon his
presence. He had ultimately fixed upon Rome as his principal residence,
for he was devoted to the arts, and in his palace were collected some of
the rarest specimens of ancient and modern invention.
At Pisa, Lord Montfort had made the acquaintance of Mr. Temple, who was
residing in that city for the benefit of his daughter's health, who, it
was feared by her physicians, was in a decline. I say the acquaintance
of Mr. Temple; for Lord Montfort was aware of the existence of his
daughter only by the occasional mention of her name, as Miss Temple was
never seen. The agreeable manners, varied information, and accomplished
mind of Mr. Temple, had attracted and won the attention of the young
nobleman, who shrank in general from the travelling English, and all
their arrogant ignorance. Mr. Temple was in turn equally pleased with
a companion alike refined, amiable, and enlightened; and their
acquaintance would have ripened into intimacy, had not the illness
of Henrietta and her repugnance to see a third person, and the
unwillingness of her father that she should be alone, offered in some
degree a bar to its cultivation.
Yet Henrietta was glad that her father had found a friend and was
amused, and impressed upon him not to think of her, but to accept Lord
Montfort's invitations to his villa. But Mr. Temple invariably declined
them.
'I am always uneasy when I am away from you, dearest,' said Mr. Temple;
'I wish you would go about a little. Believe me, it is not for myself
that I make the suggestion, but I am sure you would derive benefit from
the exertion. I wish you would go with me and see Lord Montfort's villa.
There would be no one there but himself. He would not in the least annoy
you, he is so quiet; and he and I could stroll about and look at the
busts and talk to each other. You would hardly know he was present, he
is such a very quiet person.'
Henrietta shook her head; and Mr. Temple could not urge the request.
Fate, however, had decided that Lord Montfort and Henrietta Temple
should become acquainted. She had more than once expressed a wish to
see the Campo Santo; it was almost the only wish that she had expressed
since she left England. Her father, pleased to find that anything could
interest her, was in the habit of reminding her of this desire, and
suggesting that she should gratify it. But there was ever an excuse for
procrastination. When the hour of exertion came, she would say, with a
faint smile, 'Not to-day, dearest papa;' and then, arranging her shawl,
as if even in this soft clime she shivered, composed herself upon that
sofa which now she scarcely ever quitted.
And this was Henrietta Temple! That gay and glorious being, so full of
graceful power and beautiful energy, that seemed born for a throne,
and to command a nation of adoring subjects! What are those political
revolutions, whose strange and mighty vicissitudes we are ever dilating
on, compared with the moral mutations that are passing daily under our
own eye; uprooting the hearts of families, shattering to pieces
domestic circles, scattering to the winds the plans and prospects of a
generation, and blasting as with a mildew the ripening harvest of long
cherished affection!
'It is here that I would be buried,' said Henrietta Temple.
They were standing, the father and the daughter, in the Campo Santo. She
had been gayer that morning; her father had seized a happy moment, and
she had gone forth, to visit the dead.
That vast and cloistered cemetery was silent and undisturbed; not a
human being was there, save themselves and the keeper. The sun shone
brightly on the austere and ancient frescoes, and Henrietta stood
opposite that beautiful sarcophagus, that seemed prepared and fitting to
receive her destined ashes.
'It is here that I would be buried,' said she.
Her father almost unconsciously turned his head to gaze upon the
countenance of his daughter, to see if there were indeed reason that she
should talk of death. That countenance was changed since the moment
we first feebly attempted to picture it. That flashing eye had lost
something of its brilliancy, that superb form something of its roundness
and its stag-like state; the crimson glory of that mantling cheek had
faded like the fading eve; and yet it might be thought, it might be
suffering, perhaps, the anticipation of approaching death, and as it
were the imaginary contact with a serener existence, but certainly there
was a more spiritual expression diffused over the whole appearance of
Henrietta Temple, and which by many might be preferred even to that more
lively and glowing beauty which, in her happier hours, made her the very
queen of flowers and sunshine.
'It is strange, dear papa,' she continued, 'that my first visit should
be to a cemetery.'
At this moment their attention was attracted by the sound of the distant
gates of the cemetery opening, and several persons soon entered. This
party consisted of some of the authorities of the city and some porters,
bearing on a slab of verd antique a magnificent cinerary vase, that was
about to be placed in the Campo. In reply to his enquiries, Mr. Temple
learned that the vase had been recently excavated in Catania, and that
it had been purchased and presented to the Campo by the Marquis of
Montfort. Henrietta would have hurried her father away, but with all her
haste they had not reached the gates before Lord Montfort appeared.
Mr. Temple found it impossible, although Henrietta pressed his arm in
token of disapprobation, not to present Lord Montfort to his daughter.
He then admired his lordship's urn, and then his lordship requested that
he might have the pleasure of showing it to them himself. They turned;
Lord Montfort explained to them its rarity, and pointed out to them
its beauty. His voice was soft and low, his manner simple but rather
reserved. While he paid that deference to Henrietta which her sex
demanded, he addressed himself chiefly to her father. She was not half
so much annoyed as she had imagined; she agreed with her father that
he was a very quiet man; she was even a little interested by his
conversation, which was refined and elegant; and she was pleased that
he did not seem to require her to play any part in the discourse, but
appeared quite content in being her father's friend. Lord Montfort
seemed to be attached to her father, and to appreciate him. And this was
always a recommendation to Henrietta Temple.
The cinerary urn led to a little controversy between Mr. Temple and his
friend; and Lord Montfort wished that Mr. Temple would some day call on
him at his house in the Lung' Arno, and he would show him some specimens
which he thought might influence his opinion. 'I hardly dare to ask you
to come now,' said his lordship, looking at Miss Temple; 'and yet Miss
Temple might like to rest.'
It was evident to Henrietta that her father would be pleased to go, and
yet that he was about to refuse for her sake. She could not bear that he
should be deprived of so much and such refined amusement, and be doomed
to an uninteresting morning at home, merely to gratify her humour. She
tried to speak, but could not at first command her voice; at length
she expressed her wish that Mr. Temple should avail himself of the
invitation. Lord Montfort bowed lowly, Mr. Temple seemed gratified, and
they all turned together and quitted the cemetery.
As they walked along to the house, conversation did not flag. Lord
Montfort expressed his admiration of Pisa. 'Silence and art are two
great charms,' said his lordship.
At length they arrived at his palace. A venerable Italian received
them. They passed through a vast hall, in which were statues, ascended
a magnificent double staircase, and entered a range of saloons. One of
them was furnished with more attention to comfort than an Italian cares
for, and herein was the cabinet of urns and vases his lordship had
mentioned.
'This is little more than a barrack,' said Lord Montfort; 'but I can
find a sofa for Miss Temple.' So saying, he arranged with great care the
cushions of the couch, and, when she seated herself, placed a footstool
near her. 'I wish you would allow me some day to welcome you at Rome,'
said the young marquis. 'It is there that I indeed reside.'
Lord Montfort and Mr. Temple examined the contents of the cabinet. There
was one vase which Mr. Temple greatly admired for the elegance of its
form. His host immediately brought it and placed it on a small pedestal
near Miss Temple. Yet he scarcely addressed himself to her, and
Henrietta experienced none of that troublesome attention from which, in
the present state of her health and mind, she shrank. While Mr. Temple
was interested with his pursuit, Lord Montfort went to a small cabinet
opposite, and brought forth a curious casket of antique gems. 'Perhaps,'
he said, placing it by Miss Temple, 'the contents of this casket might
amuse you;' and he walked away to her father.
In the course of an hour a servant brought in some fruits and wine.
'The grapes are from my villa,' said Lord Montfort. 'I ventured to order
them, because I have heard their salutary effects have been marvellous.
Besides, at this season, even in Italy they are rare. At least \ you
cannot accuse me of prescribing a disagreeable remedy,' he added with a
slight smile, as he handed a plate to Miss Temple. She moved to receive
them. Her cushions slipped from behind her, Lord Montfort immediately
arranged them with skill and care. He was so kind that she really wished
to thank him; but before she could utter a word he was again conversing
with her father.
At length Mr. Temple indicated his intention to retire, and spoke to his
daughter.
'This has been a great exertion for you, Henrietta,' he said; 'this has
indeed been a busy day.'
'I am not wearied; and we have been much pleased.' It was the firmest
tone in which she had spoken for a long time. There was something in
her manner which recalled to Mr. Temple her vanished animation. The
affectionate father looked for a moment happy. The sweet music of these
simple words dwelt on his ear.
He went forward and assisted Henrietta to rise. She closed the casket
with care, and delivered it herself to her considerate host. Mr. Temple
bade him adieu; Henrietta bowed, and nearly extended her hand. Lord
Montfort attended them to the gate; a carriage was waiting there.
'Ah! we have kept your lordship at home,' said Mr. Temple.
'I took the liberty of ordering the carriage for Miss Temple,' he
replied. 'I feel a little responsible for her kind exertion to-day.'