Endymion - Benjamin Disraeli
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"Yes, but I am nothing; I am not a man, I am not a Ferrars. The best of
me is that I may be a transient help to you. It is you who must do
the deed. I am wearied of hearing you described as Lady Roehampton's
brother, or Lord Roehampton's brother-in-law. I shall never be content
till you are greater than we are, and there is but one and only one
immediate way of accomplishing it, it is by this marriage--and a
marriage with whom? with an angelic being!"
"You take me somewhat by surprise, Myra. My thoughts have not been
upon this matter. I cannot fairly describe myself at this moment as a
marrying man."
"I know what you mean. You have female friendships, and I approve of
them. They are invaluable to youth, and you have been greatly favoured
in this respect. They have been a great assistance to you; beware lest
they become a hindrance. A few years of such feelings in a woman's life
are a blazoned page, and when it is turned she has many other chapters,
though they may not be as brilliant or adorned. But these few years in a
man's life may be, and in your case certainly would be, the very marrow
of his destiny. During the last five or six years, ever since our
emancipation, there has been a gradual but continuous development
in your life. All has been preparatory for a position which you have
acquired. That position may lead to anything--in your case, I will still
believe, to everything--but there must be no faltering. Having crossed
the Alps, you must not find a Capua. I speak to you as I have not spoken
to you of late, because it was not necessary. But here is an opportunity
which must not be lost. I feel half inspired, as when we parted in
our misery at Hurstley, and I bade you, poor and obscure, go forth and
conquer the world."
Late on the night of the day, their last day at Paris, on which
this conversation took place, Endymion received a note in well-known
handwriting, and it ran thus:
"If it be any satisfaction to you to know that you made me very unhappy
by not dining here to-day, you may be gratified. I am very unhappy.
I know that I was unkind this morning, and rude, but as my anger was
occasioned by your leaving me, my conduct might annoy but surely could
not mortify you. I shall see you to-morrow, however early you may
depart, as I cannot let your dear sister leave Paris without my
embracing her.
"Your faithful friend,
"Berengaria."
CHAPTER LXXVI
In old days, it was the habit to think and say that the House of Commons
was an essentially "queer place," which no one could understand until
he was a member of it. It may, perhaps, be doubted whether that somewhat
mysterious quality still altogether attaches to that assembly. "Our own
Reporter," has invaded it in all its purlieus. No longer content with
giving an account of the speeches of its members, he is not satisfied
unless he describes their persons, their dress, and their characteristic
mannerisms. He tells us how they dine, even the wines and dishes
which they favour, and follows them into the very mysteries of their
smoking-room. And yet there is perhaps a certain fine sense of the
feelings, and opinions, and humours of this assembly, which cannot be
acquired by hasty notions and necessarily superficial remarks, but
must be the result of long and patient observation, and of that quick
sympathy with human sentiment, in all its classes, which is involved in
the possession of that inestimable quality styled tact.
When Endymion Ferrars first took his seat in the House of Commons, it
still fully possessed its character of enigmatic tradition. It had been
thought that this, in a great degree, would have been dissipated by the
Reform Act of 1832, which suddenly introduced into the hallowed precinct
a number of individuals whose education, manners, modes of thought, were
different from those of the previous inhabitants, and in some instances,
and in some respects, quite contrary to them. But this was not so. After
a short time it was observed that the old material, though at first much
less in quantity, had leavened the new mass; that the tone of the former
House was imitated and adopted, and that at the end of five years, about
the time Endymion was returned to Parliament, much of its serene, and
refined, and even classical character had been recovered.
For himself, he entered the chamber with a certain degree of awe, which,
with use, diminished, but never entirely disappeared. The scene was one
over which his boyhood even had long mused, and it was associated with
all those traditions of genius, eloquence, and power that charm and
inspire youth. His practical acquaintance with the forms and habits
of the House from his customary attendance on their debates as private
secretary to a cabinet minister, was of great advantage to him, and
restrained that excitement which dangerously accompanies us when we
enter into a new life, and especially a life of such deep and thrilling
interests and such large proportions. This result was also assisted
by his knowledge, at least by sight, of a large proportion of the old
members, and by his personal and sometimes intimate acquaintance with
those of his own party. There was much in his position, therefore,
to soften that awkward feeling of being a freshman, which is always
embarrassing.
He took his place on the second bench of the opposition side of the
House, and nearly behind Lord Roehampton. Mr. Bertie Tremaine, whom
Endymion encountered in the lobby as he was escaping to dinner,
highly disapproved of this step. He had greeted Endymion with affable
condescension. "You made your first mistake to-night, my dear Ferrars.
You should have taken your seat below the gangway and near me, on the
Mountain. You, like myself, are a man of the future."
"I am a member of the opposition. I do not suppose it signifies much
where I sit."
"On the contrary, it signifies everything. After this great Tory
reaction there is nothing to be done now by speeches, and, in all
probability, very little that can be effectually opposed. Much,
therefore, depends upon where you sit. If you sit on the Mountain,
the public imagination will be attracted to you, and when they are
aggrieved, which they will be in good time, the public passion, which
is called opinion, will look to you for representation. My advice to my
friends now is to sit together and say nothing, but to profess through
the press the most advanced opinions. We sit on the back bench of the
gangway, and we call ourselves the Mountain."
Notwithstanding Mr. Bertie Tremaine's oracular revelations, Endymion was
very glad to find his old friend Trenchard generally his neighbour. He
had a high opinion both of Trenchard's judgment and acquirements, and
he liked the man. In time they always managed to sit together. Job
Thornberry took his seat below the gangway, on the opposition side, and
on the floor of the House. Mr. Bertie Tremaine had sent his brother, Mr.
Tremaine Bertie, to look after this new star, who he was anxious should
ascend the Mountain; but Job Thornberry wishing to know whether the
Mountain were going for "total and immediate," and not obtaining a
sufficiently distinct reply, declined the proffered intimation. Mr.
Bertie Tremaine, being a landed proprietor as well as leader of the
Mountain, was too much devoted to the rights of labour to sanction such
middle-class madness.
"Peel with have to do it," said Job. "You will see."
"Peel now occupies the position of Necker," said Mr. Bertie Tremaine,
"and will make the same _fiasco_. Then you will at last have a popular
government."
"And the rights of labour?" asked Job. "All I hope is, I may have got
safe to the States before that day."
"There will be no danger," said Mr. Bertie Tremaine. "There is this
difference between the English Mountain and the French. The English
Mountain has its government prepared. And my brother spoke to you
because, when the hour arrives, I wished to see you a member of it."
"My dear Endymion," said Waldershare, "let us dine together before we
meet in mortal conflict, which I suppose will be soon. I really think
your Mr. Bertie Tremaine the most absurd being out of Colney Hatch."
"Well, he has a purpose," said Endymion; "and they say that a man with a
purpose generally sees it realised.'
"What I do like in him," said Waldershare, "is this revival of the
Pythagorean system, and a leading party of silence. That is rich."
One of the most interesting members of the House of Commons was
Sir Fraunceys Scrope. He was the father of the House, though it was
difficult to believe that from his appearance. He was tall, and had kept
his distinguished figure; a handsome man, with a musical voice, and
a countenance now benignant, though very bright, and once haughty. He
still retained the same fashion of costume in which he had ridden up to
Westminster more than half a century ago, from his seat in Derbyshire,
to support his dear friend Charles Fox; real top-boots, and a blue coat
and buff waistcoat. He was a great friend of Lord Roehampton, had a
large estate in the same county, and had refused an earldom. Knowing
Endymion, he came and sate by him one day in the House, and asked him,
good-naturedly, how he liked his new life.
"It is very different from what it was when I was your age. Up to Easter
we rarely had a regular debate, never a party division; very few people
came up indeed. But there was a good deal of speaking on all subjects
before dinner. We had the privilege then of speaking on the presentation
of petitions at any length, and we seldom spoke on any other occasion.
After Easter there was always at least one great party fight. This was
a mighty affair, talked of for weeks before it came off, and then rarely
an adjourned debate. We were gentlemen, used to sit up late, and should
have been sitting up somewhere else had we not been in the House of
Commons. After this party fight, the House for the rest of the session
was a mere club."
"There was not much business doing then," said Endymion.
"There was not much business in the country then. The House of Commons
was very much like what the House of Lords is now. You went home to
dine, and now and then came back for an important division."
"But you must always have had the estimates here," said Endymion.
"Yes, but they ran through very easily. Hume was the first man who
attacked the estimates. What are you going to do with yourself to-day?
Will you take your mutton with me? You must come in boots, for it is
now dinner-time, and you must return, I fancy. Twenty years ago, no
man would think of coming down to the House except in evening dress. I
remember so late as Mr. Canning, the minister always came down in silk
stockings and pantaloons, or knee breeches. All things change, and
quoting Virgil, as that young gentleman has just done, will be the
next thing to disappear. In the last parliament we often had Latin
quotations, but never from a member with a new constituency. I have
heard Greek quoted here, but that was long ago, and a great mistake. The
House was quite alarmed. Charles Fox used to say as to quotation--'No
Greek; as much Latin as you like; and never French under any
circumstances. No English poet unless he had completed his century.'
These were like some other good rules, the unwritten orders of the House
of Commons."
CHAPTER LXXVII
While parliaments were dissolving and ministries forming, the
disappointed seeking consolation and the successful enjoying their
triumph, Simon, Earl of Montfort, who just missed being a great
philosopher, was reading "Topsy Turvy," which infinitely amused him; the
style so picturesque and lambent! the tone so divertingly cynical! And
if the knowledge of society in its pages was not so distinguished as
that of human nature generally, this was a deficiency obvious only to a
comparatively limited circle of its readers.
Lord Montfort had reminded Endymion of his promise to introduce the
distinguished author to him, and accordingly, after due researches as to
his dwelling-place, Mr. Ferrars called in Jermyn Street and sent up
his card, to know whether Mr. St. Barbe would receive him. This was
evidently not a matter-of-course affair, and some little time had
elapsed when the maid-servant appeared, and beckoned to Endymion to
follow her upstairs.
In the front drawing-room of the first floor, robed in a flaming
dressing-gown, and standing with his back to the fire and to the
looking-glass, the frame of which was encrusted with cards of
invitation, the former colleague of Endymion received his visitor with a
somewhat haughty and reserved air.
"Well, I am delighted to see you again," said Endymion.
No reply but a ceremonious bow.
"And to congratulate you," Endymion added after a moment's pause. "I
hear of nothing but of your book; I suppose one of the most successful
that have appeared for a long time."
"Its success is not owing to your friends," said Mr. St. Barbe tartly.
"My friends!" said Endymion; "what could they have done to prevent it?"
"They need not have dissolved parliament," said Mr. St. Barbe with
irritation. "It was nearly fatal to me; it would have been to anybody
else. I was selling forty thousand a month; I believe more than Gushy
ever reached; and so they dissolved parliament. The sale went down half
at once--and now you expect me to support your party!"
"Well, it was unfortunate, but the dissolution could hardly have done
you any permanent injury, and you could scarcely expect that such an
event could be postponed even for the advantage of an individual so
distinguished as yourself."
"Perhaps not," said St. Barbe, apparently a little mollified, "but they
might have done something to show their regret at it."
"Something!" said Endymion, "what sort of thing?"
"The prime minister might have called on me, or at least written to me
a letter. I want none of their honours; I have scores of letters every
day, suggesting that some high distinction should be conferred on me. I
believe the nation expects me to be made a baronet. By the by, I heard
the other day you had got into parliament. I know nothing of these
matters; they do not interest me. Is it the fact?"
"Well, I was so fortunate, and there are others of your old friends,
Trenchard, for example."
"You do not mean to say that Trenchard is in parliament!" said
St. Barbe, throwing off all his affected reserve. "Well, it is too
disgusting! Trenchard in parliament, and I obliged to think it a great
favour if a man gives me a frank! Well, representative institutions have
seen their day. That is something."
"I have come here on a social mission," said Endymion in a soothing
tone. "There is a great admirer of yours who much wishes to make your
acquaintance. Trusting to our old intimacy, of which of course I am very
proud, it was even hoped that you might waive ceremony, and come and
dine."
"Quite impossible!" exclaimed St. Barbe, and turning round, he pointed
to the legion of invitations before him. "You see, the world is at my
feet. I remember that fellow Seymour Hicks taking me to his rooms to
show me a card he had from a countess. What would he say to this?"
"Well, but you cannot be engaged to dinner every day," said Endymion;
"and you really may choose any day you like."
"Well, there are not many dinners among them, to be sure," said St.
Barbe. "Small and earlies. How I hate a 'small and early'! Shown into a
room where you meet a select few who have been asked to dinner, and who
are chewing the cud like a herd of kine, and you are expected to tumble
before them to assist their digestion! Faugh! No, sir; we only dine
out now, and we think twice, I can tell you, before we accept even an
invitation to dinner. Who's your friend?"
"Well, my friend is Lord Montfort."
"You do not mean to say that! And he is an admirer of mine?"
"An enthusiastic admirer."
"I will dine with Lord Montfort. There is no one who appreciates so
completely and so highly the old nobility of England as myself. They are
a real aristocracy. None of the pinchbeck pedigrees and ormolu titles
of the continent. Lord Montfort is, I think, an earl. A splendid title,
earl! an English earl; count goes for nothing. The Earl of Montfort! An
enthusiastic admirer of mine! The aristocracy of England, especially the
old aristocracy, are highly cultivated. Sympathy from such a class is
to be valued. I care for no other--I have always despised the million of
vulgar. They have come to me, not I to them, and I have always told
them the truth about themselves, that they are a race of snobs, and they
rather like being told so. And now for your day?"
"Why not this day if you be free? I will call for you about eight, and
take you in my brougham to Montfort House."
"You have got a brougham! Well, I suppose so, being a member of
parliament, though I know a good many members of parliament who have not
got broughams. But your family, I remember, married into the swells. I
do not grudge it you. You were always a good comrade to me. I never knew
a man more free from envy than you, Ferrars, and envy is an odious vice.
There are people I know, who, when they hear I have dined with the Earl
of Montfort, will invent all sorts of stories against me, and send them
to what they call the journals of society."
"Well, then, it shall be to-day," said Endymion, rising.
"It shall be to-day, and to tell the truth, I was thinking this morning
where I should dine to-day. What I miss here are the cafes. Now in Paris
you can dine every day exactly as it suits your means and mood. You may
dine for a couple of francs in a quiet, unknown street, and very well;
or you may dine for a couple of napoleons in a flaming saloon, with
windows opening on a crowded boulevard. London is deficient in dining
capability."
"You should belong to a club. Do you not?"
"So I was told by a friend of mine the other day,--one of your great
swells. He said I ought to belong to the Athenaeum, and he would
propose me, and the committee would elect me as a matter of course. They
rejected me and selected a bishop. And then people are surprised that
the Church is in danger!"
CHAPTER LXXVIII
The condition of England at the meeting of Parliament in 1842 was not
satisfactory. The depression of trade in the manufacturing districts
seemed overwhelming, and continued increasing during the whole of the
year. A memorial from Stockport to the Queen in the spring represented
that more than half the master spinners had failed, and that no less
than three thousand dwelling-houses were untenanted. One-fifth of the
population of Leeds were dependent on the poor-rates. The state of
Sheffield was not less severe--and the blast furnaces of Wolverhampton
were extinguished. There were almost daily meetings, at Liverpool,
Manchester, and Leeds, to consider the great and increasing distress of
the country, and to induce ministers to bring forward remedial measures;
but as these were impossible, violence was soon substituted for
passionate appeals to the fears or the humanity of the government. Vast
bodies of the population assembled in Staleybridge, and Ashton, and
Oldham, and marched into Manchester.
For a week the rioting was unchecked, but the government despatched a
strong military force to that city, and order was restored.
The state of affairs in Scotland was not more favourable. There were
food riots in several of the Scotch towns, and in Glasgow the multitude
assembled, and then commenced what they called a begging tour, but which
was really a progress of not disguised intimidation. The economic crisis
in Ireland was yet to come, but the whole of that country was absorbed
in a harassing and dangerous agitation for the repeal of the union
between the two countries.
During all this time, the Anti-Corn Law League was holding regular
and frequent meetings at Manchester, at which statements were made
distinguished by great eloquence and little scruple. But the able
leaders of this confederacy never succeeded in enlisting the sympathies
of the great body of the population. Between the masters and the workmen
there was an alienation of feeling, which apparently never could be
removed. This reserve, however, did not enlist the working classes on
the side of the government; they had their own object, and one which
they themselves enthusiastically cherished. And this was the Charter, a
political settlement which was to restore the golden age, and which the
master manufacturers and the middle classes generally looked upon
with even more apprehension than Her Majesty's advisers. It is hardly
necessary to add, that in a state of affairs like that which is here
faintly but still faithfully sketched, the rapid diminution of the
revenue was inevitable, and of course that decline mainly occurred in
the two all-important branches of the customs and excise.
There was another great misfortune also which at this trying time hung
over England. The country was dejected. The humiliating disasters of
Afghanistan, dark narratives of which were periodically arriving, had
produced a more depressing effect on the spirit of the country than all
the victories and menaces of Napoleon in the heyday of his wild career.
At home and abroad, there seemed nothing to sustain the national spirit;
financial embarrassment, commercial and manufacturing distress, social
and political agitation on the one hand, and on the other, the loss
of armies, of reputation, perhaps of empire. It was true that these
external misfortunes could hardly be attributed to the new ministry--but
when a nation is thoroughly perplexed and dispirited, it soon ceases
to make distinctions between political parties. The country is out of
sorts, and the "government" is held answerable for the disorder.
Thus it will be seen, that, though the new ministry were supported by a
commanding majority in parliament, and that, too, after a recent appeal
to the country, they were not popular, it may be truly said they were
even the reverse. The opposition, on the other hand, notwithstanding
their discomfiture, and, on some subjects, their disgrace, were by no
means disheartened, and believed that there were economical causes at
work, which must soon restore them to power.
The minister brought forward his revision of the tariff, which was
denounced by the League as futile, and in which anathema the opposition
soon found it convenient to agree. Had the minister included in his
measure that "total and immediate repeal" of the existing corn laws
which was preached by many as a panacea, the effect would have been
probably much the same. No doubt a tariff may aggravate, or may
mitigate, such a condition of commercial depression as periodically
visits a state of society like that of England, but it does not produce
it. It was produced in 1842, as it had been produced at the present
time, by an abuse of capital and credit, and by a degree of production
which the wants of the world have not warranted.
And yet all this time, there were certain influences at work in
the great body of the nation, neither foreseen, nor for some time
recognised, by statesmen and those great capitalists on whose opinion
statesmen much depend, which were stirring, as it were, like the
unconscious power of the forces of nature, and which were destined to
baffle all the calculations of persons in authority and the leading
spirits of all parties, strengthen a perplexed administration, confound
a sanguine opposition, render all the rhetoric, statistics, and
subscriptions of the Anti-Corn Law League fruitless, and absolutely make
the Chartists forget the Charter.
"My friends will not assist themselves by resisting the government
measures," said Mr. Neuchatel, with his usual calm smile, half
sceptical, half sympathetic. "The measures will do no good, but they
will do no harm. There are no measures that will do any good at this
moment. We do not want measures; what we want is a new channel."
That is exactly what was wanted. There was abundant capital in the
country and a mass of unemployed labour. But the markets on which they
had of late depended, the American especially, were overworked and
overstocked, and in some instances were not only overstocked, but
disturbed by war, as the Chinese, for example--and capital and labour
wanted "a new channel."
The new channel came, and all the persons of authority, alike political
and commercial, seemed quite surprised that it had arrived; but when
a thing or a man is wanted, they generally appear. One or two lines of
railway, which had been long sleepily in formation, about this time were
finished, and one or two lines of railway, which had been finished for
some time and were unnoticed, announced dividends, and not contemptible
ones. Suddenly there was a general feeling in the country, that its
capital should be invested in railways; that the whole surface of the
land should be transformed, and covered, as by a network, with these
mighty means of communication. When the passions of the English,
naturally an enthusiastic people, are excited on a subject of finance,
their will, their determination, and resource, are irresistible. This
was signally proved in the present instance, for they never ceased
subscribing their capital until the sum entrusted to this new form of
investment reached an amount almost equal to the national debt; and this
too in a very few years. The immediate effect on the condition of the
country was absolutely prodigious. The value of land rose, all the blast
furnaces were relit, a stimulant was given to every branch of the home
trade, the amount suddenly paid in wages exceeded that ever known
in this country, and wages too at a high rate. Large portions of the
labouring classes not only enjoyed comfort, but commanded luxury.
All this of course soon acted on the revenue, and both customs and
especially excise soon furnished an ample surplus.