CHAPTER XV. A VILLA AND ITS COMPANY
Having told our readers that the villa was called La Rocca, it is perhaps needless that we should say that the lady was our old friend Lady Hester, who, under the spiritual guidance of the Canon of the Duomo, was now completing her religious education, while Lord Norwood was fain to escape the importunity of duns and the impertinence of creditors by a few weeks' retirement in this secluded region. Not that this was his only inducement. For some time back he had pressed his claim on various members of his Government for place or employment. He had in vain represented the indignity of a peer reduced to beggary, or the scarcely better alternative of play for support He had tried—unsuccessfully, however—every sort of cajolery, menace, and flattery, to obtain something; and after successively offering his services for or against Carlism in Spain, with Russia or against her in the Caucasus, with twenty minor schemes in Mexico, Sicily, Greece, and Cuba, he at last determined on making Northern Italy the sphere of his abilities, wisely calculating that before the game was played out he should see enough to know what would be the winning side.
An accidental meeting with D'Esmonde, which renewed this old intimacy, had decided him on taking this step. The Abbé had told him that the English Government of the day was secretly favorable to the movement; and although, from the necessities of State policy and the requirements of treaties, unable to afford any open or avowed assistance, would still gladly recognize his participation in the struggle, and, in the event of success, liberally reward him.
“A new kingdom of Upper Italy, with Milan for the capital, and Viscount Norwood the resident minister plenipotentiary,” there was the whole episode, in three volumes, with its “plot,” “catastrophe,” and “virtue rewarded,” in appropriate fashion; and as times were bad, neither racing nor cards profitable, patriotism was the only unexplored resource he could think of.
Not that my Lord had much faith in the Abbé. Far from it. He thought all priests were knaves; but he also thought “that he 'll not cheat me. No, no; too wide awake for that He 'll not try that dodge. Knows where I 've graduated. Remembers too well what school I come of.” He was perfectly candid, too, in this mode of reasoning, calmly telling D'Esmonde his opinions of himself, and frankly showing that any attempt at a “jockey” of him must inevitably fail. The Abbé, to do him justice, took all this candor well,—affected to deem it the mere ebullition of honest John Bullism; and so they were well met. At times, indeed, the priest's enthusiasm carried him a little away, and he ventured to speculate on the glorious career that conversion would open to the noble Viscount, and the splendid fruits such a change would be certain to produce. Norwood was, however, too practical for such remote benefits; and if the Abbé couldn't “make the thing safe,” as he styled it, would not listen to this suggestion. A rich Italian princess,—there were two or three such prizes in the wheel,—or an infanta of Spain, might solace many a theological doubt; but Norwood said there was no use in quoting the “fathers” when he was thinking only of the “daughters.”
And the priest wisely seemed to take him at his word. As for Lady Hester, political intrigue was quite new to her, and, consequently, very delightful. Since the Cardinal's departure for Rome, she had begun to weary somehow of the ordinances of her new faith. The canonico but ill replaced his Eminence. He had none of that velvety smoothness of manner, that soft and gentle persuasiveness of the dignitary He could neither smile away a doubt nor resolve a difficulty by a “bon mot” It is but fair to say that he was no ascetic, that he loved good cheer and pleasant converse, and was free to let others participate in the enjoyment. Lady Hester, was, however, too much habituated to such indulgences to reckon them other than necessaries. D'Esmonde, if he had had time, might have compensated for all these deficiencies, but he was far too deeply engaged with other cares, and his air of grave preoccupation was more suited to awe her Ladyship than suggest ease in his presence. And now we come to Albert Jekyl,—the last member of this incongruous family. Nothing was less to his taste than any fanaticism, whether it took the form of religion or politics. All such extravagances were sure to interfere with society, impede intercourse, and disturb that delightful calm of existence wherein vices ripen, and where men of his stamp gather the harvest.
To overthrow a Government, to disturb the settled foundations of a State, were, to his thinking, a species of inconvenance that savored of intense vulgarity; and he classified such anarchists with men who would like to smash the lamps, tear down the hangings, and destroy the decorations of a salon in which they were asked to pass the evening, preferring to sit down amid ruin and wreck rather than eat their supper at a well-ordered and well-furnished board.
To Jekyl's eyes it was a very nice world as it was, if people would only let it alone. “A world of bright eyes and soft tresses and white shoulders, with Donizetti's music and Moët's champagne, was not to be despised, after all.” He had no sympathies, therefore, with these disturbers; but he was too well bred ever to oppose himself to the wishes of the company, and so he seemed to concur with what he could not prevent. He could have wished that the Italians would take a lesson from the Swiss, who only revolt when there is nothing else to do, and never take to cutting each other's throats during the season when there are travellers to be cheated; “but, perhaps,” said he, “they will soon get enough of it, and learn that their genius lies more in ballets and bonbons than in bombs and rockets.”
Of such various hopes and feelings were the party made up who now awaited D'Esmonde's presence at the supper-table. It was past midnight, and they had been expecting him with impatience for above an hour back. Twice had the canonico fallen asleep, and started up with terror at what he called a “fantasma di fame.” Jekyl had eaten sardines and oysters till he was actually starving. Lady Hester was fidgety and fretful, as waiting always made her; while Norwood walked from the room to the terrace, and out upon the grass to listen, uneasy lest any mischance should have befallen one who was so deeply involved in their confidences.
“It is but three or four and twenty miles to Milan,” muttered Norwood; “he might easily have been here by this.”