Venetia by Earl of Beaconsfield Benjamin Disraeli

  CHAPTER XII.

  This happy summer was succeeded by a singularly wet autumn. Weeks ofcontinuous rain rendered it difficult even for the little Cadurcis,who defied the elements, to be so constant as heretofore in his dailyvisits to Cherbury. His mother, too, grew daily a greater invalid,and, with increasing sufferings and infirmities, the naturalcaptiousness of her temper proportionally exhibited itself. Sheinsisted upon the companionship of her son, and that he should notleave the house in such unseasonable weather. If he resisted, she fellinto one of her jealous rages, and taunted him with loving strangersbetter than his own mother. Cadurcis, on the whole, behaved very well;he thought of Lady Annabel's injunctions, and restrained his passion.Yet he was not repaid for the sacrifice; his mother made no effortto render their joint society agreeable, or even endurable. She wasrarely in an amiable mood, and generally either irritable or sullen.If the weather held up a little, and he ventured to pay a visit toCherbury, he was sure to be welcomed back with a fit of passion;either Mrs. Cadurcis was angered for being left alone, or hadfermented herself into fury by the certainty of his catching a fever.If Plantagenet remained at the abbey, she was generally sullen; and,as he himself was naturally silent under any circumstances, his motherwould indulge in that charming monologue, so conducive to domesticserenity, termed 'talking at a person,' and was continuallyinsinuating that she supposed he found it very dull to pass his daywith her, and that she dared say that somebody could be lively enoughif he were somewhere else.

  Cadurcis would turn pale, and bite his lip, and then leave the room;and whole days would sometimes pass with barely a monosyllable beingexchanged between this parent and child. Cadurcis had found someopportunities of pouring forth his griefs and mortification into theear of Venetia, and they had reached her mother; but Lady Annabel,though she sympathised with this interesting boy, invariablycounselled duty. The morning studies were abandoned, but a quantity ofbooks were sent over from Cherbury for Plantagenet, and Lady Annabelseized every opportunity of conciliating Mrs. Cadurcis' temper infavour of her child, by the attention which she paid the mother. Theweather, however, prevented either herself or Venetia from visitingthe abbey; and, on the whole, the communications between the twoestablishments and their inmates had become rare.

  Though now a continual inmate of the abbey, Cadurcis was seldom thecompanion of his mother. They met at their meals, and that was all. Heentered the room every day with an intention of conciliating; but themutual tempers of the mother and the son were so quick and sensitive,that he always failed in his purpose, and could only avoid a stormby dogged silence. This enraged Mrs. Cadurcis more even than hisimpertinence; she had no conduct; she lost all command over herself,and did not hesitate to address to her child terms of reproach andabuse, which a vulgar mind could only conceive, and a coarse tonguealone express. What a contrast to Cherbury, to the mild maternalelegance and provident kindness of Lady Annabel, and the sweet tonesof Venetia's ever-sympathising voice. Cadurcis, though so young, wasgifted with an innate fastidiousness, that made him shrink from a rudewoman. His feelings were different in regard to men; he sympathised ata very early age with the bold and the energetic; his favourites amongthe peasantry were ever those who excelled in athletic sports; and,though he never expressed the opinion, he did not look upon thepoacher with the evil eye of his class. But a coarse and violent womanjarred even his young nerves; and this woman was his mother, his onlyparent, almost his only relation; for he had no near relative excepta cousin whom he had never even seen, the penniless orphan of apenniless brother of his father, and who had been sent to sea; sothat, after all, his mother was the only natural friend he had. Thispoor little boy would fly from that mother with a sullen brow, or,perhaps, even with a harsh and cutting repartee; and then he wouldlock himself up in his room, and weep. But he allowed no witnesses ofthis weakness. The lad was very proud. If any of the household passedby as he quitted the saloon, and stared for a moment at his pale andagitated face, he would coin a smile for the instant, and say even akind word, for he was very courteous to his inferiors, and all theservants loved him, and then take refuge in his solitary woe.

  Relieved by this indulgence of his mortified heart, Cadurcis lookedabout him for resources. The rain was pouring in torrents, and theplash of the troubled and swollen lake might be heard even at theabbey. At night the rising gusts of wind, for the nights were alwaysclear and stormy, echoed down the cloisters with a wild moan to whichhe loved to listen. In the morning he beheld with interest the savagespoils of the tempest; mighty branches of trees strewn about,and sometimes a vast trunk uprooted from its ancient settlement.Irresistibly the conviction impressed itself upon his mind that, ifhe were alone in this old abbey, with no mother to break that strangefountain of fancies that seemed always to bubble up in his solitude,he might be happy. He wanted no companions; he loved to be alone, tolisten to the winds, and gaze upon the trees and waters, and wander inthose dim cloisters and that gloomy gallery.

  From the first hour of his arrival he had loved the venerable hall ofhis fathers. Its appearance harmonised with all the associations ofhis race. Power and pomp, ancestral fame, the legendary respect ofages, all that was great, exciting, and heroic, all that was markedout from the commonplace current of human events, hovered round him.In the halls of Cadurcis he was the Cadurcis; though a child, he waskeenly sensible of his high race; his whole being sympathised withtheir glory; he was capable of dying sooner than of disgracing them;and then came the memory of his mother's sharp voice and harsh vulgarwords, and he shivered with disgust.

  Forced into solitude, forced to feed upon his own mind, Cadurcis foundin that solitude each day a dearer charm, and in that mind a richertreasure of interest and curiosity. He loved to wander about, dream ofthe past, and conjure up a future as glorious. What was he to be? Whatshould be his career? Whither should he wend his course? Even at thisearly age, dreams of far lands flitted over his mind; and schemes offantastic and adventurous life. But now he was a boy, a wretched boy,controlled by a vulgar and narrow-minded woman! And this servitudemust last for years; yes! years must elapse before he was his ownmaster. Oh! if he could only pass them alone, without a human voice todisturb his musings, a single form to distract his vision!

  Under the influence of such feelings, even Cherbury figured to hisfancy in somewhat faded colours. There, indeed, he was loved andcherished; there, indeed, no sound was ever heard, no sight ever seen,that could annoy or mortify the high pitch of his unconscious ideal;but still, even at Cherbury, he was a child. Under the influenceof daily intercourse, his tender heart had balanced, perhaps evenoutweighed, his fiery imagination. That constant yet delicateaffection had softened all his soul: he had no time but to be gratefuland to love. He returned home only to muse over their sweet society,and contrast their refined and gentle life with the harsh rude hearththat awaited him. Whatever might be his reception at home, he wasthrown, back for solace on their memory, not upon his own heart; andhe felt the delightful conviction that to-morrow would renew the spellwhose enchantment had enabled him to endure the present vexation. Butnow the magic of that intercourse had ceased; after a few days ofrestlessness and repining, he discovered that he must find in hisdesolation sterner sources of support than the memory of Venetia, andthe recollections of the domestic joys of Cherbury. It astonishingwith what rapidity the character of Cadurcis developed itself insolitude; and strange was the contrast between the gentle child who,a few weeks before, had looked forward with so much interest toaccompanying Venetia to a childish festival, and the stern and moodybeing who paced the solitary cloisters of Cadurcis, and then wouldwithdraw to his lonely chamber and the amusement of a book. He was atthis time deeply interested in Purchas's Pilgrimage, one of the fewbooks of which the late lord had not despoiled him. Narratives oftravels and voyages always particularly pleased him; he had an ideathat he was laying up information which might be useful to himhereafter; the Cherbury collection was rich in this class of volumes,and Lady Annabel encouraged their perusal.


  In this way many weeks elapsed at the abbey, during which the visitsof Plantagenet to Cherbury were very few. Sometimes, if the weathercleared for an hour during the morning, he would mount his pony, andgallop, without stopping, to the hall. The rapidity of the motionexcited his mind; he fancied himself, as he embraced Venetia, somechieftain who had escaped for a moment from his castle to visit hismistress; his imagination conjured up a war between the opposingtowers of Cadurcis and Cherbury; and when his mother fell into apassion on his return, it passed with him only, according to itslength and spirit, as a brisk skirmish or a general engagement.