VENETIA
BY THE EARL OF BEACONSFIELD, K.G.
1905
'Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child?'
'The child of love, though born in bitterness
And nurtured in convulsion.'
TO
LORD LYNDHURST.
In happier hours, when I first mentioned to you the idea of this Work,
it was my intention, while inscribing it with your name, to have
entered into some details as to the principles which had guided me in
its composition, and the feelings with which I had attempted to shadow
forth, though as 'in in a glass darkly,' two of the most renowned and
refined spirits that have adorned these our latter days. But now I
will only express a hope that the time may come when, in these pages,
you may find some relaxation from the cares, and some distraction
from the sorrows, of existence, and that you will then receive this
dedication as a record of my respect and my affection.
This Work was first published in the year 1837.
BOOK I.
CHAPTER I.
Some ten years before the revolt of our American colonies, there was
situate in one of our midland counties, on the borders of an extensive
forest, an ancient hall that belonged to the Herberts, but which,
though ever well preserved, had not until that period been visited by
any member of the family, since the exile of the Stuarts. It was an
edifice of considerable size, built of grey stone, much covered with
ivy, and placed upon the last gentle elevation of a long ridge of
hills, in the centre of a crescent of woods, that far overtopped its
clusters of tall chimneys and turreted gables. Although the principal
chambers were on the first story, you could nevertheless step forth
from their windows on a broad terrace, whence you descended into the
gardens by a double flight of stone steps, exactly in the middle
of its length. These gardens were of some extent, and filled with
evergreen shrubberies of remarkable overgrowth, while occasionally
turfy vistas, cut in the distant woods, came sloping down to the
south, as if they opened to receive the sunbeam that greeted the
genial aspect of the mansion, The ground-floor was principally
occupied by the hall itself, which was of great dimensions, hung round
with many a family portrait and rural picture, furnished with long
oaken seats covered with scarlet cushions, and ornamented with a
parti-coloured floor of alternate diamonds of black and white marble.
From the centre of the roof of the mansion, which was always covered
with pigeons, rose the clock-tower of the chapel, surmounted by a
vane; and before the mansion itself was a large plot of grass, with a
fountain in the centre, surrounded by a hedge of honeysuckle.
This plot of grass was separated from an extensive park, that opened
in front of the hall, by tall iron gates, on each of the pillars of
which was a lion rampant supporting the escutcheon of the family. The
deer wandered in this enclosed and well-wooded demesne, and about a
mile from the mansion, in a direct line with the iron gates, was an
old-fashioned lodge, which marked the limit of the park, and from
which you emerged into a fine avenue of limes bounded on both sides
by fields. At the termination of this avenue was a strong but simple
gate, and a woodman's cottage; and then spread before you a vast
landscape of open, wild lands, which seemed on one side interminable,
while on the other the eye rested on the dark heights of the
neighbouring forest.
This picturesque and secluded abode was the residence of Lady Annabel
Herbert and her daughter, the young and beautiful Venetia, a child, at
the time when our history commences, of very tender age. It was nearly
seven years since Lady Annabel and her infant daughter had sought the
retired shades of Cherbury, which they had never since quitted. They
lived alone and for each other; the mother educated her child, and
the child interested her mother by her affectionate disposition,
the development of a mind of no ordinary promise, and a sort of
captivating grace and charming playfulness of temper, which were
extremely delightful. Lady Annabel was still young and lovely. That
she was wealthy her establishment clearly denoted, and she was a
daughter of one of the haughtiest houses in the kingdom. It was
strange then that, with all the brilliant accidents of birth, and
beauty, and fortune, she should still, as it were in the morning of
her life, have withdrawn to this secluded mansion, in a county where
she was personally unknown, distant from the metropolis, estranged
from all her own relatives and connexions, and without resource of
even a single neighbour, for the only place of importance in her
vicinity was uninhabited. The general impression of the villagers was
that Lady Annabel was a widow; and yet there were some speculators
who would shrewdly remark, that her ladyship had never worn weeds,
although her husband could not have been long dead when she first
arrived at Cherbury. On the whole, however, these good people were not
very inquisitive; and it was fortunate for them, for there was little
chance and slight means of gratifying their curiosity. The whole of
the establishment had been formed at Cherbury, with the exception of
her ladyship's waiting-woman, Mistress Pauncefort, and she was by far
too great a personage to condescend to reply to any question which was
not made to her by Lady Annabel herself.
The beauty of the young Venetia was not the hereditary gift of her
beautiful mother. It was not from Lady Annabel that Venetia Herbert
had derived those seraphic locks that fell over her shoulders and
down her neck in golden streams, nor that clear grey eye even, whose
childish glance might perplex the gaze of manhood, nor that little
aquiline nose, that gave a haughty expression to a countenance that
had never yet dreamed of pride, nor that radiant complexion, that
dazzled with its brilliancy, like some winged minister of Raffael or
Correggio. The peasants that passed the lady and her daughter in their
walks, and who blessed her as they passed, for all her grace and
goodness, often marvelled why so fair a mother and so fair a child
should be so dissimilar, that one indeed might be compared to a starry
night, and the other to a sunny day.