"It may be, though I should doubt it. The witnesses of such a demise are never impartial. All I have loved and lost have died upon the field of battle; and those who have suffered pain have been those whom they have left behind; and that pain," she added with some emotion, "may perhaps deserve the description of Mr. Phoebus."
Lothair would not pursue the subject, and there was rather an awkward pause. Theodora herself broke it, and in a lighter vein, though recurring to the same theme, she said with a slight smile: "I am scarcely a competent person to consult upon this subject, for, to be candid with you, I do not myself believe in death. There is a change, and doubtless a great one, painful it may be, certainly very perplexing, but I have a profound conviction of my immortality, and I do not believe that I shall rest in my grave in saecula saeculorum, only to be convinced of it by the last trump."
"I hope you will not leave this world before I do," said Lothair, "but, if that sorrow be reserved for me, promise that to me, if only once, you will reappear."
"I doubt whether the departed have that power," said Theodora, "or else I think my heroes would have revisited me. I lost a father more magnificent than Jove, and two brothers brighter than Apollo, and all of them pa.s.sionately loved me--and yet they have not come; but I shall see them--and perhaps soon. So you see, my dear lord," speaking more briskly, and rising rather suddenly from her seat, "that for my part I think it best to arrange all that concerns one in this world while one inhabits it, and this reminds me that I have a little business to fulfil in which you can help me," and she opened a cabinet and took out a flat antique case, and then said, resuming her seat at her table: "Some one, and anonymously, has made me a magnificent present; some strings of costly pearls. I am greatly embarra.s.sed with them, for I never wear pearls or anything else, and I never wish to accept presents. To return them to an unknown is out of my power, but it is not impossible that I may some day become acquainted with the donor. I wish them to be kept in safety, and therefore not by myself, for my life is subject to too great vicissitudes. I have therefore placed them in this case, which I shall now seal and intrust them to your care, as a friend in whom I have entire confidence. See," she said, lighting a match, and opening the case, "here are the pearls--are they not superb?--and here is a note which will tell you what to do with them in case of my absence, when you open the case, which will not be for a year from this day. There, it is locked. I have directed it to you, and I will seal it with my father"s seal."
Lothair wag about to speak. "Do not say a word," she said "this seal is a religious ceremony with me." She was some little time fulfilling it, so that the impression might be deep and clear. She looked at it earnestly while the wax was cooling, and then she said, "I deliver the custody of this to a friend whom I entirely trust. Adieu!" and she disappeared.
The amazed Lothair glanced at the seal. It was a single word, "ROMA,"
and then, utterly mystified, he returned to town with his own present.
CHAPTER 35
Mr. Phoebus had just finished a picture which he had painted for the Emperor of Russia. It was to depart immediately from England for its northern home, except that his imperial majesty had consented that it should be exhibited for a brief s.p.a.ce to the people of England. This was a condition which Mr. Phoebus had made in the interests of art, and as a due homage alike to his own patriotism and celebrity.
There was to be a private inspection of the picture at the studio of the artist, and Mr. Phoebus had invited Lothair to attend it. Our friend had accordingly, on the appointed day, driven down to Belmont and then walked to the residence of Mr. Phoebus with Colonel Campian and his wife. It was a short and pretty walk, entirely through the royal park, which the occupiers of Belmont had the traditionary privilege thus to use.
The residence of Mr. Phoebus was convenient and agreeable, and in situation not unlike that of Belmont, being sylvan and sequestered.
He had himself erected a fine studio, and added it to the original building. The flower-garden was bright and curious, and on the lawn was a tent of many colors, designed by himself and which might have suited some splendid field of chivalry. Upon gilt and painted perches, also, there were paroquets and macaws.
Lothair on his arrival found many guests a.s.sembled, chiefly on the lawn. Mr. Phoebus was highly esteemed, and had distinguished and eminent friends, whose constant courtesies the present occasion allowed him elegantly to acknowledge. There was a polished and gray-headed n.o.ble who was the head of the patrons of art in England, whose nod of approbation sometimes made the fortune of a young artist, and whose purchase of pictures for the nation even the furious cognoscenti of the House of Commons dared not question. Some of the finest works of Mr. Phoebus were to be found in his gallery; but his lordship admired Madame Phoebus even more than her husband"s works, and Euphrosyne as much as her sister.
It was sometimes thought, among their friends, that this young lady had only to decide in order to share the widowed coronet; but Euphrosyne laughed at every thing, even her adorers; and, while her witching mockery only rendered them more fascinated, it often prevented critical declarations.
And Lady Beatrice was there, herself an artist, and full of aesthetical enthusiasm. Her hands were beautiful, and she pa.s.sed her life in modelling them. And Cecrops was there, a rich old bachelor, with, it was supposed, the finest collection of modern pictures extant. His theory was, that a man could not do a wiser thing than invest the whole of his fortune in such securities, and it led him to tell his numerous nephews and nieces that he should, in all probability, leave his collection to the nation.
Clorinda, whose palace was always open to genius, and who delighted in the society of men who had discovered planets, excavated primeval mounds, painted pictures on new principles, or composed immortal poems which no human being could either scan or construe, but which she delighted in as "subtle" and full of secret melody, came leaning on the arms of a celebrated plenipotentiary, and beaming with sympathy on every subject, and with the consciousness of her universal charms.
And the accomplished Sir Francis was there, and several R. A. s of eminence, for Phoebus was a true artist, and loved the brotherhood, and always placed them in the post of honor.
No language can describe the fascinating costume of Madame Phoebus and her glittering sister. "They are habited as sylvans," the great artist deigned to observe, if any of his guests could not refrain from admiring the dresses; which he had himself devised. As for the venerable patron of art in Britain, he smiled when he met the lady of the house, and sighed when he glanced at Euphrosyne; but the first gave him a beautiful flower, and the other fastened it in his b.u.t.ton-hole. He looked like a victim bedecked by the priestesses of some old fane of h.e.l.lenic loveliness, and proud of his impending fate. What could the Psalmist mean in the immortal pa.s.sage? Three-score-and-ten, at the present day, is the period of romantic pa.s.sions. As for our enamoured s.e.xagenarians, they avenge the theories of our cold-hearted youth.
Mr. Phoebus was an eminent host. It delighted him to see people pleased, and pleased under his influence. He had a belief, not without foundation, that every thing was done better under his roof than under that of any other person. The banquet in the air on the present occasion could only be done justice to by the courtly painters of the reign of Louis XV. Vanloo, and Watteau, and Lancres, would have caught the graceful group and the well-arranged colors, and the faces, some pretty, some a little affected; the ladies on fantastic chairs of wicker-work, gilt and curiously painted; the gentlemen reclining on the turf, or bending behind them with watchful care. The little tables all different, the soups in delicate cups of Sevres, the wines in golden gla.s.s of Venice, the ortolans, the Italian confectionery, the endless bouquets, were worthy of the soft and invisible music that resounded from the pavilion, only varied by the coquettish scream of some macaw, jealous, amid all this novelty and excitement, of not being noticed.
"It is a scene of enchantment," whispered the chief patron of British art to Madame Phoebus.
"I always think luncheon in the air rather jolly," said Madame Phoebus.
"It is perfect romance!" murmured the chief patron of British art to Euphrosyne.
"With a due admixture of reality," she said, helping him to an enormous truffle, which she extracted from its napkin. "You know you must eat it with b.u.t.ter."
Lothair was glad to observe that, though in refined society, none were present with whom he had any previous acquaintance, for he had an instinctive feeling that if Hugo Bohun had been there, or Bertram, or the Duke of Brecon, or any ladies with whom he was familiarly acquainted, he would scarcely have been able to avail himself of the society of Theodora with the perfect freedom which he now enjoyed. They would all have been asking who she was, where she came from, how long Lothair had known her, all those questions, kind and neighborly, which under such circ.u.mstances occur. He was in a distinguished circle, but one different from that in which he lived. He sat next to Theodora, and Mr. Phoebus constantly hovered about them, ever doing something very graceful, or saying something very bright. Then he would whisper a word to the great Clorinda, who flashed intelligence from her celebrated eyes, and then he made a suggestion to the aesthetical Lady Beatrice, who immediately fell into enthusiasm and eloquence, and took the opportunity of displaying her celebrated hands.
The time had now arrived when they were to repair to the studio and view the picture. A curtain was over it, and then a silken rope across the chamber, and then some chairs. The subject of the picture was Hero and Leander, chosen by the heir of all the Russias himself, during a late visit to England.
"A fascinating subject," said old Cecrops to Mr. Phoebus, "but not a very original one."
"The originality of a subject is in its treatment," was the reply.
The theme, in the present instance, was certainly not conventionally treated. When the curtain was withdrawn, they beheld a figure of life-like size, exhibiting in undisguised completeness the perfection of the female form, and yet the painter had so skilfully availed himself of the shadowy and mystic hour, and of some gauze-like drapery, which veiled without concealing his design, that the chastest eye might gaze on his heroine with impunity. The splendor of her upstretched arms held high the beacon-light, which thew a glare upon the sublime anxiety of her countenance, while all the tumult of the h.e.l.lespont, the waves, the scudding sky, the opposite sh.o.r.e revealed by a blood-red flash, were touched by the hand of a master who had never failed.
The applause was a genuine verdict, and the company after a time began to disperse about the house and gardens. A small circle remained, and, pa.s.sing the silken rope, approached and narrowly scrutinized the picture. Among these were Theodora and Lothair, the chief patron of British art, an R. A. or two, Clorinda, and Lady Beatrice.
Mr. Phoebus, who left the studio but had now returned, did not disturb them. After a while he approached the group. His air was elate, and was redeemed only from arrogance by the intellect of his brow. The circle started a little as they heard his voice, for they had been unaware of his presence.
"To-morrow," he said, "the critics will commence. You know who the critics are? The men who have failed in literature and art."
CHAPTER 36
The lodge-gate of Belmont was opening as Lothair one morning approached it; a Hansom cab came forth, and in it was a person whose countenance was strongly marked on the memory of Lothair. It was that of his unknown friend at the Fenian meeting. Lothair instantly recognized and cordially saluted him, and his greeting, though hurriedly, was not ungraciously returned; but the vehicle did not stop. Lothair called to the driver to halt; but the driver, on the contrary, stimulated his steed, and in the winding lane was soon out of sight.
Theodora was not immediately visible. She was neither in her usual apartment nor in her garden; but it was only perhaps because Lothair was so full of his own impressions from his recent encounter at the lodge, that he did not observe that the demeanor of Mrs. Campian, when she appeared, was hardly marked by her habitual serenity. She entered the room hurriedly and spoke with quickness.
"Pray," exclaimed Lothair, rather eagerly, "do tell me the name of the gentleman who has just called here."
Theodora changed color, looked distressed, and was silent; un.o.bserved, however, by Lothair, who, absorbed by his own highly-excited curiosity, proceeded to explain why he presumed to press for the information. "I am under great obligations to that person; I am not sure I may not say I owe him my life, but certainly an extrication from great dander and very embarra.s.sing danger too. I never saw him but once, and he would not give me his name, and scarcely would accept my thanks. I wanted to stop his cab to-day, but it was impossible. He literally galloped off."
"He is a foreigner," said Mrs Campian, who had recovered herself; "he was a particular friend of my dear father; and when he visits England, which he does occasionally, he calls to see us."
"Ah!" said Lothair, "I hope I shall soon have an opportunity of expressing to him my grat.i.tude."
"It was so like him not to give his name and to shrink from thanks," said Mrs. Campian. "He never enters society, and makes no acquaintances."
"I am sorry for that," said Lothair, "for it is not only that he served me, but I was much taken with him, and felt that he was a person I should like to cultivate."
"Yes, Captain Bruges is a remarkable man," said Theodora; "he is not one to be forgotten."
"Captain Bruges. That, then, is his name?"
"He is known by the name of Captain Bruges," said Theodora, and she hesitated; and then speaking more quickly she added: "I cannot sanction, I cannot bear, any deception between you and this roof. Bruges is not his real name, nor is the t.i.tle he a.s.sumes his real rank. He is not to be known, and not to be spoken of. He is one, and one of the most eminent, of the great family of sufferers in this world, but sufferers for a divine cause. I myself have been direly stricken in this struggle.
When I remember the departed, it is not always easy to bear the thought.
I keep it at the bottom of my heart; but this visit to-day has too terribly revived every thing. It is well that you only are here to witness my suffering, but you will not have to witness it again, for we will never again speak of these matters."
Lothair was much touched: his good heart and his good taste alike dissuaded him from attempting commonplace consolation. He ventured to take her hand and pressed it to his lips. "Dear lady!" he murmured, and he led her to a seat. "I fear my foolish tattle has added to pain which I would gladly bear for you."
They talked about nothings: about a new horse which Colonel Campian had just purchased, and which he wanted to show to Lothair; an old opera revived, but which sounded rather flat; something amusing that somebody had said, and something absurd which somebody had done. And then, when the ruffled feeling had been quite composed, and all had been brought back to the tenor of their usual pleasant life, Lothair said suddenly and rather gayly. "And now, dearest lady, I have a favor to ask. You know my majority is, to be achieved and to be celebrated next month.
I hope that yourself and Colonel Campian will honor me by being my guests."
Theodora did not at all look like a lady who had received a social attention of the most distinguished cla.s.s. She looked embarra.s.sed, and began to murmur something about Colonel Campian, and their never going into society.
"Colonel Campian is going to Scotland, and you are going with him," said Lothair. "I know it, for he told me so, and said he could manage the visit to me, if you approved it, quite well. In fact, it will fit in with this Scotch visit."