He took from his pocket-book a slip of paper on which was written the following in Mrs. Disraeli's hand:—
Mr. Orange, the new Member for Norbet Royal, is the son of a French nobleman of very ancient lineage. It was a condition of his adoption by the late Admiral Bertin that his own name should be dropped, and he has accordingly always borne that of the Orange family. The circumstances of his birth were communicated to the Queen before his naturalisation as a British subject, and his presentation, by Mr. Disraeli, at Court.
“Was that necessary?” asked Robert.
“A public man must speak out, and this expedient occurred to me as a slight pull in your favour. The two things in life which are really gratuitous are the grace of God and one's pedigree! The rest depends upon ourselves. Now you can't think how much I am interested in every little detail of your mental experiences. I believe you will be a Jesuit yet. I have never concealed my respect for the Jesuits. When Spain and France expelled the Society of Jesus, they persecuted their truest allies. A terrible price, too, they paid for that crime. You see, then, that I understand staunch Catholics. If I could rouse an Imperial feeling in England which would at all correspond with the feeling of Catholics for their Church! Sometimes I dream this may be possible. Pope, the satirist, remained, in spite of his wit, a loyal son of the Faith, while many dull worthies who shuddered at his epigrams were recanting daily either from fear or for some worldly advantage. In the same way, Robert, men who hate my novels because they contain a few truths, would sell England, if they could, to-morrow. I mentioned the fact about Pope to a gentleman who complains that you are by no means typical of your co-religionists in this country.”
“The very expression ‘typical Catholic’ is a paradox,” replied Robert, who always accepted adverse criticism with good humour; “there is one Spirit, but it has many manifestations. From the apostles, saints and martyrs to the rank and file, we have to recognise the individuality of each soul. In fact, sir, is not that the very essence of the Church's teaching?”
“So I have always understood. And we have not heard the last of the ‘law of liberty’; although I observe to my chagrin that many modern Papists depart from those great principles which they should take every opportunity of claiming as their own. In the freezing snows of the world's solitude, a prudent man does not try to make himself happy, but he is less than a man if he allows others to make him wretched. The flesh has its discomfort: the spirit, however, has its illimitable conjectures. When all else fails me, I may still find solace in conjectures. Does it strike you that they may have, nevertheless, a danger also?”
“This is your own way of asking me whether I know my own mind! If you mean, Have I put all sentiment resolutely from my thoughts, Yes. If you mean, Have I determined to continue in my present line till I have a call to some other vocation, Yes.”
His heart was troubled, full of vague combinations. The events of the day had seemed mechanical, foolish—a course of sorrowful attempting and self-reproach.
“Both of your affirmatives are satisfactory,” said Disraeli; “you are, I see, what the Americans call a ‘whole-hog man.’ Now let us consider ways and means. I saw Prince d'Alchingen this afternoon. He announces the increased distress and reformation of Parflete. We must therefore prepare for further villainy. Mrs. Parflete has confided to d'Alchingen her desire to go on the stage. He encourages this ambition, and she has accepted his invitation to Hadley Lodge, where she will recite in his private salle de comédie.”
Robert, though much taken by surprise, betrayed no sign of it.