Endymion - Benjamin Disraeli
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It is difficult to say, whether in his private life Job found affairs
altogether more satisfactory than in his public. His wife had joined the
Roman Communion. An ingrained perverseness which prevented his son
from ever willingly following the advice or example of his parents, had
preserved John Hampden in the Anglican faith, but he had portraits of
Laud and Strafford over his mantelpiece, and embossed in golden letters
on a purple ground the magical word "THOROUGH." His library chiefly
consisted of the "Tracts for the Times," and a colossal edition of
the Fathers gorgeously bound. He was a very clever fellow, this young
Thornberry, a natural orator, and was leader of the High Church party in
the Oxford Union. He brought home his friends occasionally to Hurstley,
and Job had the opportunity of becoming acquainted with a class and
school of humanity--with which, notwithstanding his considerable
experience of life, he had no previous knowledge--young gentlemen,
apparently half-starved and dressed like priests, and sometimes an
enthusiastic young noble, in much better physical condition, and in
costume becoming a cavalier, ready to raise the royal standard at
Edgehill. What a little annoyed Job was that his son always addressed
him as "Squire," a habit even pedantically followed by his companions.
He was, however, justly entitled to this ancient and reputable honour,
for Job had been persuaded to purchase Hurstley, was a lord of several
thousand acres, and had the boar's head carried in procession at
Christmas in his ancient hall. It is strange, but he was rather
perplexed than annoyed by all these marvellous metamorphoses in his life
and family. His intelligence was as clear as ever, and his views on all
subjects unchanged; but he was, like many other men, governed at home by
his affections. He preferred the new arrangement, if his wife and
family were happy and contented, to a domestic system founded on his own
principles, accompanied by a sullen or shrewish partner of his own life
and rebellious offspring.
What really vexed him, among comparatively lesser matters, was
the extraordinary passion which in time his son exhibited for
game-preserving. He did at last interfere on this matter, but in vain.
John Hampden announced that he did not value land if he was only to look
at it, and that sport was the patriotic pastime of an English gentleman.
"You used in old days never to be satisfied with what I got out of the
land," said the old grandfather to Job, with a little amiable malice;
"there is enough, at any rate now for the hares and rabbits, but I doubt
for anybody else."
We must not forget our old friend St. Barbe. Whether he had written
himself out or had become lazy in the luxurious life in which he now
indulged, he rarely appealed to the literary public, which still admired
him. He was, by way of intimating that he was engaged in a great work,
which, though written in his taking prose, was to be really the epogee
of social life in this country. Dining out every day, and ever arriving,
however late, at those "small and earlies," which he once despised;
he gave to his friends frequent intimations that he was not there for
pleasure, but rather following his profession; he was in his studio,
observing and reflecting on all the passions and manners of mankind, and
gathering materials for the great work which was eventually to enchant
and instruct society, and immortalise his name.
"The fact is, I wrote too early," he would say. "I blush when I read my
own books, though compared with those of the brethren, they might still
be looked on as classics. They say no artist can draw a camel, and I say
no author ever drew a gentleman. How can they, with no opportunity of
ever seeing one? And so with a little caricature of manners, which
they catch second-hand, they are obliged to have recourse to outrageous
nonsense, as if polished life consisted only of bigamists, and that
ladies of fashion were in the habit of paying black mail to returned
convicts. However, I shall put an end to all this. I have now got the
materials, or am accumulating them daily. You hint that I give myself up
too much to society. You are talking of things you do not understand. A
dinner party is a chapter. I catch the Cynthia of the minute, sir, at
a _soiree_. If I only served a grateful country, I should be in the
proudest position of any of its sons; if I had been born in any country
but this, I should have been decorated, and perhaps made secretary of
state like Addison, who did not write as well as I do, though his style
somewhat resembles mine."
Notwithstanding these great plans, it came in time to Endymion's ear,
that poor St. Barbe was in terrible straits. Endymion delicately helped
him and then obtained for him a pension, and not an inconsiderable one.
Relieved from anxiety, St. Barbe resumed his ancient and natural vein.
He passed his days in decrying his friend and patron, and comparing his
miserable pension with the salary of a secretary of state, who, so
far as his experience went, was generally a second-rate man. Endymion,
though he knew St. Barbe was always decrying him, only smiled, and
looked upon it all as the necessary consequence of his organisation,
which involved a singular combination of vanity and envy in the
highest degree. St. Barbe was not less a guest in Carlton Terrace than
heretofore, and was even kindly invited to Princedown to profit by the
distant sea-breeze. Lady Montfort, whose ears some of his pranks had
reached, was not so tolerant as her husband. She gave him one day her
views of his conduct. St. Barbe was always a little afraid of her,
and on this occasion entirely lost himself; vented the most solemn
affirmations that there was not a grain of truth in these charges;
that he was the victim, as he had been all his life, of slander and
calumny--the sheer creatures of envy, and then began to fawn upon his
hostess, and declared that he had ever thought there was something
godlike in the character of her husband.
"And what is there in yours, Mr. St. Barbe?" asked Lady Montfort.
The ministry had lasted several years; its foreign policy had been
successful; it had triumphed in war and secured peace. The military
conduct of the troops of King Florestan had contributed to these
results, and the popularity of that sovereign in England was for a
foreigner unexampled. During this agitated interval, Endymion and Myra
had met more than once through the providential medium of those favoured
spots of nature--German baths.
There had arisen a public feeling, that the ally who had served us so
well should be invited to visit again a country wherein he had so long
sojourned, and where he was so much appreciated. The only evidence that
the Prime Minister gave that he was conscious of this feeling was an
attack of gout. Endymion himself, though in a difficult and rather
painful position in this matter, did everything to shield and protect
his chief, but the general sentiment became so strong, sanctioned too,
as it was understood, in the highest quarter, that it could no longer
be passed by unnoticed; and, in due time, to the great delight and
satisfaction of the nation, an impending visit from our faithful ally
King Florestan and his beautiful wife, Queen Myra, was authoritatively
announced.
Every preparation was made to show them honour. They were the guests of
our Sovereign; but from the palace which they were to inhabit, to the
humblest tenement in the meanest back street, there was only one feeling
of gratitude, and regard, and admiration. The English people are the
most enthusiastic people in the world; there are other populations which
are more excitable, but there is no nation, when it feels, where the
sentiment is so profound and irresistible.
The hour arrived. The season and the weather were favourable. From the
port where they landed to their arrival at the metropolis, the whole
country seemed poured out into the open air; triumphal arches, a way
of flags and banners, and bits of bunting on every hovel. The King and
Queen were received at the metropolitan station by Princes of the blood,
and accompanied to the palace, where the great officers of state and
the assembled ministry were gathered together to do them honour. A great
strain was thrown upon Endymion throughout these proceedings, as the
Prime Minister, who had been suffering the whole season, and rarely
present in his seat in parliament, was, at this moment, in his worst
paroxysm. He could not therefore be present at the series of balls
and banquets, and brilliant public functions, which greeted the royal
guests. Their visit to the City, when they dined with the Lord Mayor,
and to which they drove in royal carriages through a sea of population
tumultuous with devotion, was the most gratifying of all these splendid
receptions, partly from the associations of mysterious power and
magnificence connected with the title and character of LORD MAYOR.
The Duke of St. Angelo, the Marquis of Vallombrosa, and the Prince of
Montserrat, quite lost their presence of mind. Even the Princess of
Montserrat, with more quarterings on her own side than any house in
Europe, confessed that she trembled when Her Serene Highness courtesied
before the Lady Mayoress. Perhaps, however, the most brilliant, the most
fanciful, infinitely the most costly entertainment that was given on
this memorable occasion, was the festival at Hainault. The whole route
from town to the forest was lined with thousands, perhaps hundreds
of thousands, of spectators; a thousand guests were received at the
banquet, and twelve palaces were raised by that true magician, Mr.
Benjamin Edgington, in the park, for the countless visitors in the
evening. At night the forest was illuminated. Everybody was glad except
Lady Hainault, who sighed, and said, "I have no doubt the Queen would
have preferred her own room, and that we should have had a quiet dinner,
as in old days, in the little Venetian parlour."
When Endymion returned home at night, he found a summons to Gaydene; the
Prime Minister being, it was feared, in a dangerous state.
The next day, late in the afternoon, there was a rumour that the Prime
Minister had resigned. Then it was authoritatively contradicted, and
then at night another rumour rose that the minister had resigned, but
that the resignation would not be accepted until after the termination
of the royal visit. The King and Queen had yet to remain a short week.
The fact is, the resignation had taken place, but it was known only
to those who then could not have imparted the intelligence. The public
often conjectures the truth, though it clothes its impression or
information in the vague shape of a rumour. In four-and-twenty hours
the great fact was authoritatively announced in all the journals,
with leading articles speculating on the successor to the able and
accomplished minister of whose services the Sovereign and the country
were so unhappily deprived. Would his successor be found in his own
cabinet? And then several names were mentioned; Rawchester, to Lady
Montfort's disgust. Rawchester was a safe man, and had had much
experience, which, as with most safe men, probably left him as wise
and able as before he imbibed it. Would there be altogether a change of
parties? Would the Protectionists try again? They were very strong, but
always in a minority, like some great continental powers, who have the
finest army in the world, and yet get always beaten. Would that band of
self-admiring geniuses, who had upset every cabinet with whom they were
ever connected, return on the shoulders of the people, as they always
dreamed, though they were always the persons of whom the people never
seemed to think?
Lady Montfort was in a state of passive excitement. She was quite pale,
and she remained quite pale for hours. She would see no one. She sat
in Endymion's room, and never spoke, while he continued writing and
transacting his affairs. She thought she was reading the "Morning
Post," but really could not distinguish the advertisements from leading
articles.
There was a knock at the library door, and the groom of the chambers
brought in a note for Endymion. He glanced at the handwriting of the
address, and then opened it, as pale as his wife. Then he read it again,
and then he gave it to her. She threw her eyes over it, and then her
arms around his neck.
"Order my brougham at three o'clock."
CHAPTER CI
Endymion was with his sister.
"How dear of you to come to me," she said, "when you cannot have a
moment to yourself."
"Well, you know," he replied, "it is not like forming a government. That
is an affair. I have reason to think all my colleagues will remain with
me. I shall summon them for this afternoon, and if we agree, affairs
will go on as before. I should like to get down to Gaydene to-night."
"To-night!" said the queen musingly. "We have only one day left, and I
wanted you to do something for me."
"It shall be done, if possible; I need not say that."
"It is not difficult to do, if we have time--if we have to-morrow
morning, and early. But if you go to Gaydene you will hardly return
to-night, and I shall lose my chance,--and yet it is to me a business
most precious."
"It shall be managed; tell me then."
"I learnt that Hill Street is not occupied at this moment. I want to
visit the old house with you, before I leave England, probably for
ever. I have only got the early morn to-morrow, but with a veil and your
brougham, I think we might depart unobserved, before the crowd begins to
assemble. Do you think you could be here at nine o'clock?"
So it was settled, and being hurried, he departed.
And next morning he was at the palace before nine o'clock; and the
queen, veiled, entered his brougham. There were already some loiterers,
but the brother and sister passed through the gates unobserved.
They reached Hill Street. The queen visited all the principal rooms, and
made many remarks appropriate to many memories. "But," she said, "it
was not to see these rooms I came, though I was glad to do so, and
the corridor on the second story whence I called out to you when you
returned, and for ever, from Eton, and told you there was bad news. What
I came for was to see our old nursery, where we lived so long together,
and so fondly! Here it is; here we are. All I have desired, all I have
dreamed, have come to pass. Darling, beloved of my soul, by all our
sorrows, by all our joys, in this scene of our childhood and bygone
days, let me give you my last embrace."