Бенджамин Дизраэли: Tancred

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 Roman 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. Montacute is a corporate town, and, under the old system, returned two members to Parliament. The amount of its population, according to the rule generally observed, might have preserved it from disfranchisement, 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 Schedule A.

The town–hall, the market–place, a literary institution, and the new church, form, with some good houses of recent erection, a handsome square, in which there is a fountain, a gift to the town from the present duchess.

At the extremity of the town, the ground rises, and on a woody steep, which is in fact the termination of a long range of tableland, 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 domain terminate till it touches the vast and 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 pleasurable emotion at his wife, who stood by his side, her right arm sometimes on the back of his chair, and sometimes on his shoulder, while with her other hand, between the intervals 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!' said the duke.

'I would 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 to be,' replied her husband, looking up with a smile of affection; and then he finished his reply to the letter of Mr. Hungerford, one of the county members, informing the duke, that now Lord Montacute was of age, he intended 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 then 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 Hungerford did not withdraw with perfect satisfaction to himself, and his family too,' urged the duke; '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 gratified me more, I quite agree with Mr. Hungerford 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 child without feeling the greatest embarrassment.'

'A man though, and a man of Hungerford'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, 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 Wednesday. 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 resembled your aunt ―' said the duke, looking 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 Parliament, and marry in the same year! We ought to be very thankful. What a happy year!'

'But not one of these events has yet occurred,' 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.'

THE sun shone brightly, there was a triumphal 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 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 were 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, unconsciously 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 illustrious walls. Nor, 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 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 Christ–church. 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 their earlier youth, Lord Eskdale had shown, even then, kind consideration for his relative; he had even proposed that they should travel together, but the old duke would not consent to this. After his death, however, being neighbours as well as relatives, Lord Eskdale had become the natural friend and counsellor of his Grace.