Stancliffe's Hotel

by Charlotte Bronte

  Charlotte Bronte

  * * *

  STANCLIFFE'S HOTEL

  Edited by

  Heather Glen

  Contents

  Dramatis Personae

  Stancliffe's Hotel

  Follow Penguin

  CHARLOTTE BRONTE

  Born 1816, Yorkshire, England

  Died 1855, Yorkshire, England 'Stancliffe's Hotel' was part of the 'Angrian saga' that Charlotte Bronte created in her adolescence and early twenties with her younger brother, Branwell. Together, they imagined the rich and dramatic world of Angria, ruled over by the dashing Duke of Zamorna. He is married to Mary Percy, whose father, the Lord of Northangerland, has recently led an unsuccessful rebellion against his son-in-law. 'Stancliffe's Hotel', which Charlotte wrote in 1838, takes place after the rebellion has been crushed, when tensions are still running high in Zamorna City ...

  BRONTE IN PENGUIN CLASSICS

  Tales of Angria

  The Professor

  Jane Eyre

  Shirley

  Villette

  Dramatis Personae

  Dance, Louisa Opera-singer who married Zamorna's uncle, the Marquis of Wellesley, and later a Mr Vernon. She became mistress of Northangerland during his rebellion against Zamorna, and bore him a daughter. At the time of Stancliffe's Hotel, she is mistress of Macara Lofty.

  Enara, General Henri Fernando di Lord Lieutenant of the Province of Etrei.

  Hartford, Lord Edward General in the Angrian army.

  Lofty, Lord Macara One of Northangerland's former allies.

  Moore, Jane Angrian society beauty.

  Northangerland Alexander Percy, Earl of Northangerland, father-in-law of Zamorna, once his ally and Prime Minister, then leader of the Republican Party, which attempted to displace him.

  Percy, Edward Eldest son of Northangerland, a leading industrialist in Angria.

  Percy, Mary Henrietta Northangerland's daughter and Zamorna's second wife, Duchess of Zamorna.

  Percy, Sir William Second son of the Earl of Northangerland, half-brother to Mary Percy. A foppish young man.

  Richton Sir John Flower, Viscount Richton, Verdopolitan Ambassador to Angria.

  Rowley, Hannah Housekeeper at Charles Townshend's lodgings.

  Stuartville, Earl of Viscount Castlereagh, Lord Lieutenant of the Province of Zamorna.

  Surena, Mr Charles Townshend's landlord, a shopkeeper in Verdopolis.

  Thornton, General Sir Wilson Bluff Yorkshireman, Lord Lieutenant of the Province of Calabar, married to Zamorna's cousin, Julia Wellesley.

  Townshend, Charles A cynical young dandy, narrator of Stancliffe's Hotel.

  Warner, Warner Howard Successor to Northangerland as Prime Minister of Angria.

  Zamorna Arthur Augustus Adrian, Duke of Zamorna and King of Angria, a charismatic, amoral, Byronic figure, who is the hero of Charlotte Bronte's Angrian writings.

  Stancliffe's Hotel

  Charles Townshend pays a visit

  to Louisa Dance's house, and

  finds Macara Lofty under

  the influence of opium

  'Amen!' Such was the sound, given in a short shout, which closed the evening service at Ebenezer Chapel. Mr Bromley rose from his knees. He had wrestled hard, and the sweat of his pious labours shone like oil upon his forehead. Fetching a deep breath and passing his handkerchief over his damp brow, the apostle sank back in his seat. Then, extending both brawny arms and resting them on the sides of the pulpit, with the yellow-spotted handkerchief dependent from one hand, he sat and watched the evacuation of the crowded galleries.

  'How oppressively hot the chapel has been tonight,' said a soft voice to me, and a bonnet, bending forward, waved its ribbons against my face.

  'Aye, in two senses,' was my answer. 'Literally, as to atmosphere, and figuratively, as to zeal. Our brother has exercised with freedom, madam.'

  'Nonsense, Charles! I never can get into this slang! But come, the crowd is lessening at the gallery-door. I think we shall be able to make our way through it now, and I do long to get a breath of fresh air. Give me my shawl, Charles.'

  The lady rose, and, while I carefully enveloped her in the shawl and boa which were to protect her from the night-air, she said, smiling persuasively, 'You will escort me to my villa and sup with me on a radish and an egg.' I answered by pressing the white hand over which she was just drawing a glove of French kid. She passed that hand through my arm and we left the gallery together.

  A perfectly still and starlight night welcomed us as we quitted the steam and torches of the chapel. Threading our way quickly through the dispersing crowd at the door, we entered a well-known and oft-trod way, which in half an hour brought us from among the lighted shops and busy streets of our quartier to the deep shade and - at this hour - the unbroken retirement of the vale.

  'Charles,' said my fair companion in her usual voice, half a whisper, half a murmur. 'Charles, what a sweet night - a premature summer night! It only wants the moon to make it perfect - then I could see my villa. Those stars are not close enough to bring out the white front fully from its laurels. And yet I do see a light glittering there. Is it not from my drawing-room window?'

  'Probably,' was my answer, and I said no more. Her ladyship's softness is at times too surfeiting, more especially when she approaches the brink of the sentimental.

  'Charles,' she pursued, in no wise abashed by my coolness. 'How many fond recollections come on us at such a time as this! Where do you think my thoughts always stray on a summer night? What image do you think "a cloudless clime and starry skies" always suggests?'

  'Perhaps,' said I, 'that of the most noble Richard, Marquis of Wellesley, as you last saw him, reposing in gouty chair and stool, with eyelids gently closed by the influence of the pious libations in claret with which he has concluded the dinner of rice-currie, devilled turkey and guava.'

  Louisa, instead of being offended, laughed with silver sound. 'You are partly right,' said she. 'The figure you have described does indeed form a portion of my recollections. Now, will you finish the picture, or shall I do it in your stead?'

  'I resign the pencil into hands better qualified for its management,' rejoined I.

  'Well, then, listen,' continued the Marchioness. 'Removed from the easy chair and cushioned foot-stool and from the slumbering occupant thereof, imagine a harp - that very harp which stands now in my boudoir. Imagine a woman, seated by it. I need not describe her: it is myself. She is not playing. She is listening to one who leans on her instrument and whispers as softly as the wind now whispers in my acacias.'

  'Hem!' said I. 'Is the figure that of a bald elderly gentleman?'

  Louisa sighed her affirmative.

  'By the bye,' continued I. 'It is constantly reported that he has taken to -'

  'What?' interrupted the Marchioness. 'Not proof spirits, I hope! Watered Hollands I know scarcely satisfied him.'

  'No, madam, repress your fears. I was alluding merely to his dress. The pantaloons are gone: he sports white tights and silks.'

  Low as the whisper was in which I communicated these stunning tidings, it thrilled along Louisa's nerves to her heart. During the pause which followed, I waited in breathless expectation for the effect. It came at last. Tittering faintly, she exclaimed, 'You don't say so! Lord! how odd! But after all, I think it's judicious, you know. Nothing can exhibit more perfect symmetry than his leg, and then he does get older of course, and a change of costume was becoming advisable. Yet I should almost fear there would be too much spindle, he was very thin, you know - very -'

  'Have you heard from his lordship lately?' I asked.

  'Oh no! About six months ago I had indeed one little note, but I gave it to Macara by mistake, and really I don't know what became
of it afterwards.'

  'Did Macara express hot sentiment of incipient jealousy on thus accidentally learning that you had not entirely dropped all correspondence with the noble Earl?'

  'Yes. He said he thought the note was very civilly expressed, and wished me to answer it in terms equally polite.'

  'Good! And you did so?'

  'Of course. I penned an elegant billet on a sheet of rose-tinted note-paper, and sealed it with a pretty green seal bearing the device of twin hearts consumed by the same flame. Some misunderstanding must have occurred, though, for in two or three days afterwards I received it back unopened and carefully enclosed in a cover. The direction was not in his lordship's hand-writing: Macara told me he thought it was the Countess's.'

  'Do you know Selden House, where his lordship now resides?' I asked.

  'Ah yes! Soon after I was married I remember passing it while on a bridal excursion to Rossland with the old Marquis. We took lunch there, indeed, for Colonel Selden (at that time the owner of it) was a friend of my venerable bridegroom's. Talking of those times reminds me of a mistake everybody was sure to make at the hotels and private houses etc. where we stopped. I was universally taken for Lord Wellesley's daughter. Colonel Selden in particular persisted in calling me Lady Julia. He was a fine-looking man, not so old as my illustrious spouse by at least twenty years. I asked Dance, who accompanied us on that tour, why he had not chosen for me such a partner as the gallant Colonel. He answered me by the sourest look I ever saw.'

  'Well,' said I, interrupting her ladyship's reminiscences. 'Here we are at your villa. Goodnight. I cannot sup with you this evening: I am engaged.'

  'Nay, Charles,' returned she, retaining the hand I would have withdrawn from hers. 'Do come in! It is so long since I have had the pleasure of a quiet tete a tete with you.'

  I persisted for some time in my refusal; but at length yielding to the smile and the soft tone of entreaty I gave up the point, and followed the Marchioness in.

  On entering her ladyship's parlour, we found the candles lighted and a supper-tray placed ready for us on the table. By the hearth, alone, Lord Macara Lofty was seated. His hand, drooping over the arm-chair, held two open letters: his eyes were fixed on the fire - as seemed, in thought. Louisa roused him. I could not help being struck by the languid gaze with which he turned his eyes upon her as she bent over him. There was vacancy in his aspect, and dreamy stupor.

  'Are we late from chapel?' said she. 'Bromley's last prayer seemed interminably long.'

  'Rather, I should think,' was the Viscount's answer. 'Rather, a trifle or so - late, you said? O ah! to be sure. I have been sitting with you two hours, have I not Louisa? - just dusk when I walked up the valley - late! certainly -'

  This not particularly intelligible reply was given in the tone and with the manner of a man just startled from a heavy slumber, and yet the noble Viscount had evidently been wide awake when we entered the room. Having delivered the speech above mentioned, he ceased to notice the Marchioness, and relapsed as if involuntarily into his former position and look.

  'Won't you take some supper?' she inquired.

  No answer. She repeated the question.

  'G--d, no,' he said hastily, as if annoyed at interruption, his countenance at the same time wearing a rapt expression, as if every faculty were spell-bound in some absorbing train of thought. The Marchioness turned from him with a grimace. She nodded at me and whispered,

  'Learned men now and then have very strange vagaries.'

  Not at all discomposed by his strange conduct, she proceeded quietly to remove her bonnet, shawl and boa; and having thrown them over the back of a sofa, she passed her fingers through her hair, and shaking aside the loose ringlets into which it was thus parted, turned towards the mirror a face by no means youthful, by no means blooming, by no means regularly beautiful - but which yet had been able, by the aid of that long chiselled nose, those soft and sleepy eyes, and that bland smile always hovering round the deceitful lips, to captivate the greatest man of his age.

  'Come,' she said, gliding towards the table. 'Take a sandwich, Charles, and give me a wing of that chicken. We can amuse each other till Macara thinks proper to come round and behave like a sensible Christian.'

  I did not, reader, ask what was the matter with Macara, for I had a very good guess myself as to the cause and origin of that profound fit of meditation in which his lordship now sat entranced. I fell forthwith to the discussion of the sandwiches and chicken, which the Marchioness dispensed to me with liberal hand. She also sat, and, as we sipped wine together, her soft eyes looking over the brim of the glass expressed far more easy enjoyment of the good things given her for her use than perplexing concern for the singular quandary in which her cher ami sat speechless and motionless by the hearth. Meantime, the ecstatic smiles which had, every now and then, kindled Macara's eye and passed like sunshine over his countenance began to recur with fainter effect and at longer intervals. The almost sensual look of intense gratification and absorption gave place to an air of fatigue. Our voices seemed recalling him to recollection. He stirred in his seat, then rose, and with an uncertain step began to pace the room. His eye - heavy still, and filmy - caught mine.

  'Ho! is that you?' he said in a peculiar voice, which scarcely seemed under the speaker's command. 'Hardly knew you were in the room - and Louisa too I declare! Well, I must have been adipose. And what has Bromley said tonight? You were at chapel, somebody told me a while since - at least I think so, but it may be all fancy! I daresay you'll think me in an extraordinary mood tonight, but I'll explain directly - as soon as I get sufficiently collected.'

  With an unsteady hand he poured out a goblet of water, drank part, and, dipping his fingers in, cooled with the remainder his forehead and temples. 'My head throbs,' said he. 'I must not try this experiment often.' As he spoke, his hand shook so convulsively that he could hardly replace the glass on the table. Smiling grimly at this evidence of abused nerves, he continued,

  'Really, Townshend! Only mark that! And what do you think it is occasioned by?'

  'Intoxication,' I said concisely. 'And that of a very heathen kind. You were far better take to dry spirits at once, Macara, than do as you do.'

  'Upon my conscience,' replied the Viscount, sitting down and striking the table with that same shaking hand. 'I do believe, Townshend, you are in the right. I begin to find that this system of mine, rational as I thought it, is fraught with the most irresistible temptation.'

  Really, reader, it is difficult to deal with a man like Macara, who has candour at will to screen even his weakest points from attack. However infamous may be the position in which he is surprised, he turns round without a blush, and instead of defending himself, by denying that matters are as appearances would warrant you to suppose, usually admits all the disgrace of his situation, and begins with metaphysical profundity to detail all the motives and secret springs of action which brought matters to the state in which you found them. According to this system of tactics the Viscount proceeded with his self-accusation.

  'It was a fine evening, as you know,' said he, 'and I thought I would take a stroll up the valley, just to alleviate those low spirits which had been oppressing me all day. Townshend, I dare say you do not know what it is to look at an unclouded sun, at pleasant fields and young woods crowding green and bright to the edge of a river, and from these fair objects to be unable to derive any feeling but such as is tinged with sadness. However, I am familiar with this state of mind - and as I passed through the wicket that shuts in Louisa's lawn, and turning round paused in the green alley, and saw between the laurels the glittering red sky, clear as fire, which the sun had left far over the hills, I, Townshend, felt that, still and bright as the day was closing, fair as it promised to rise on the morrow, this summer loveliness was nothing to me - no.

  'So I walked up to the house; I entered this room, wishing to find Louisa. She was not there, and when I inquired for her I was told she would not return for some hours. I sat down
to wait. The dusk approached, and in that mood of mind I watched it slowly veiling every object, clothing every tree of the shrubbery, with such disguises as a haunted, a disturbed, a blackened imagination could suggest. Memory whispered to me that in former years I could have sat at such an hour, in such a scene; and from the rising moon, the darkening landscape on which I looked, the quiet little chamber where I sat, have gathered images all replete with bliss for the present, with softened happiness for the future. Was it so now? No, Mr Townshend; I was in a state of mind which I will not mock you by endeavouring to describe. But the gloom, the despair, became unendurable; dread forebodings rushed upon me, whose power I could not withstand. I felt myself on the brink of some hideous disaster and a vague influence ever and anon pushed me over, till clinging wildly to life and reason, I almost lost consciousness in the faintness of mortal terror.

  'Now, Townshend, so suffering, how far did I err when I had resource to the sovereign specific which a simple narcotic drug offered me? I opened this little box, and, sir, I did not hesitate. No, I tasted. The change was wrought quickly. In five minutes I, who had been the most miserable wretch under that heaven, sat a rational, happy man, soothed to peace of mind, to rest of body, capable of creating sweet thoughts, of tasting bliss, of dropping those fetters of anguish which had restrained me, and floating away with light brain and soaring soul into the fairest regions imagination can disclose. Now, Townshend, I injured no fellow-creature by this: I did not even brutalize myself. Probably my life may be shortened by indulgence of this kind - but what of that? The eternal sleep will come sometime, and as well sooner as later.'

  'I've no objection,' returned I, coolly. 'Louisa, have you?'

  'I can't understand the pleasure of that opium,' said the Marchioness. 'And as to low spirits, I often tell Macara that I think there must be a great deal of fancy in them.'

  The Viscount gently sighed, and, dropping his hand on hers, said, as he softly pressed it with his wan fingers, 'May you long think so, Louisa!'

  Finding that his lordship was in much too sentimental a mood to serve my turn, I shortly after rose and took my leave. The Marchioness attended me to the hall-door.