



Produced by John Bickers; Dagny





ENDYMION

by Benjamin Disraeli, Earl Of Beaconsfield, K.G.



First Published 1880




CHAPTER I

It was a rich, warm night, at the beginning of August, when a gentleman
enveloped in a cloak, for he was in evening dress, emerged from
a club-house at the top of St. James' Street, and descended that
celebrated eminence. He had not proceeded more than half way down the
street when, encountering a friend, he stopped with some abruptness.

"I have been looking for you everywhere," he said.

"What is it?"

"We can hardly talk about it here."

"Shall we go to White's?"

"I have just left it, and, between ourselves, I would rather we should
be more alone. 'Tis as warm as noon. Let us cross the street and get
into St. James' Place. That is always my idea of solitude."

So they crossed the street, and, at the corner of St. James' Place, met
several gentlemen who had just come out of Brookes' Club-house. These
saluted the companions as they passed, and said, "Capital account
from Chiswick--Lord Howard says the chief will be in Downing Street on
Monday."

"It is of Chiswick that I am going to speak to you," said the gentleman
in the cloak, putting his arm in that of his companion as they walked
on. "What I am about to tell you is known only to three persons, and is
the most sacred of secrets. Nothing but our friendship could authorise
me to impart it to you."

"I hope it is something to your advantage," said his companion.

"Nothing of that sort; it is of yourself that I am thinking. Since our
political estrangement, I have never had a contented moment. From Christ
Church, until that unhappy paralytic stroke, which broke up a government
that had lasted fifteen years, and might have continued fifteen more, we
seemed always to have been working together. That we should again unite
is my dearest wish. A crisis is at hand. I want you to use it to your
advantage. Know then, that what they were just saying about Chiswick
is moonshine. His case is hopeless, and it has been communicated to the
King."

"Hopeless!"

"Rely upon it; it came direct from the Cottage to my friend."

"I thought he had a mission?" said his companion, with emotion; "and men
with missions do not disappear till they have fulfilled them."

"But why did you think so? How often have I asked you for your grounds
for such a conviction! There are none. The man of the age is clearly the
Duke, the saviour of Europe, in the perfection of manhood, and with an
iron constitution."

"The salvation of Europe is the affair of a past generation," said his
companion. "We want something else now. The salvation of England should
be the subject rather of our present thoughts."

"England! why when were things more sound? Except the split among our
own men, which will be now cured, there is not a cause of disquietude."

"I have much," said his friend.

"You never used to have any, Sidney. What extraordinary revelations can
have been made to you during three months of office under a semi-Whig
Ministry?"

"Your taunt is fair, though it pains me. And I confess to you that
when I resolved to follow Canning and join his new allies, I had many a
twinge. I was bred in the Tory camp; the Tories put me in Parliament
and gave me office; I lived with them and liked them; we dined and
voted together, and together pasquinaded our opponents. And yet, after
Castlereagh's death, to whom like yourself I was much attached, I had
great misgivings as to the position of our party, and the future of the
country. I tried to drive them from my mind, and at last took refuge in
Canning, who seemed just the man appointed for an age of transition."

"But a transition to what?"

"Well, his foreign policy was Liberal."

"The same as the Duke's; the same as poor dear Castlereagh's. Nothing
more unjust than the affected belief that there was any difference
between them--a ruse of the Whigs to foster discord in our ranks. And
as for domestic affairs, no one is stouter against Parliamentary Reform,
while he is for the Church and no surrender, though he may make a
harmless speech now and then, as many of us do, in favour of the
Catholic claims."

"Well, we will not now pursue this old controversy, my dear Ferrars,
particularly if it be true, as you say, that Mr. Canning now lies upon
his deathbed."

"If! I tell you at this very moment it may be all over."

"I am shaken to my very centre."

"It is doubtless a great blow to you," rejoined Mr. Ferrars, "and I wish
to alleviate it. That is why I was looking for you. The King will,
of course, send for the Duke, but I can tell you there will be a
disposition to draw back our friends that left us, at least the younger
ones of promise. If you are awake, there is no reason why you should not
retain your office."

"I am not so sure the King will send for the Duke."

"It is certain."

"Well," said his companion musingly, "it may be fancy, but I cannot
resist the feeling that this country, and the world generally, are on
the eve of a great change--and I do not think the Duke is the man for
the epoch."

"I see no reason why there should be any great change; certainly not in
this country," said Mr. Ferrars. "Here we have changed everything that
was required. Peel has settled the criminal law, and Huskisson the
currency, and though I am prepared myself still further to reduce the
duties on foreign imports, no one can deny that on this subject the
Government is in advance of public opinion."

"The whole affair rests on too contracted a basis," said his companion.
"We are habituated to its exclusiveness, and, no doubt, custom in
England is a power; but let some event suddenly occur which makes a
nation feel or think, and the whole thing might vanish like a dream."

"What can happen? Such affairs as the Luddites do not occur twice in a
century, and as for Spafields riots, they are impossible now with Peel's
new police. The country is employed and prosperous, and were it not so,
the landed interest would always keep things straight."

"It is powerful, and has been powerful for a long time; but there are
other interests besides the landed interest now."

"Well, there is the colonial interest, and the shipping interest," said
Mr. Ferrars, "and both of them thoroughly with us."

"I was not thinking of them," said his companion. "It is the increase of
population, and of a population not employed in the cultivation of the
soil, and all the consequences of such circumstances that were passing
over my mind."

"Don't you be too doctrinaire, my dear Sidney; you and I are practical
men. We must deal with the existing, the urgent; and there is nothing
more pressing at this moment than the formation of a new government.
What I want is to see you as a member of it."

"Ah!" said his companion with a sigh, "do you really think it so near as
that?"

"Why, what have we been talking of all this time, my dear Sidney? Clear
your head of all doubt, and, if possible, of all regrets; we must deal
with the facts, and we must deal with them to-morrow."

"I still think he had a mission," said Sidney with a sigh, "if it were
only to bring hope to a people."

"Well, I do not see he could have done anything more," said Mr. Ferrars,
"nor do I believe his government would have lasted during the session.
However, I must now say good-night, for I must look in at the Square.
Think well of what I have said, and let me hear from you as soon as you
can."



CHAPTER II

Zenobia was the queen of London, of fashion, and of the Tory party. When
she was not holding high festivals, or attending them, she was always
at home to her intimates, and as she deigned but rarely to honour the
assemblies of others with her presence, she was generally at her evening
post to receive the initiated. To be her invited guest under such
circumstances proved at once that you had entered the highest circle of
the social Paradise.

Zenobia was leaning back on a brilliant sofa, supported by many
cushions, and a great personage, grey-headed and blue-ribboned, who was
permitted to share the honours of the high place, was hanging on her
animated and inspiring accents. An ambassador, in an armed chair which
he had placed somewhat before her, while he listened with apparent
devotion to the oracle, now and then interposed a remark, polished
and occasionally cynical. More remote, some dames of high degree were
surrounded by a chosen band of rank and fashion and celebrity; and
now and then was heard a silver laugh, and now and then was breathed
a gentle sigh. Servants glided about the suite of summer chambers,
occasionally with sherbets and ices, and sometimes a lady entered and
saluted Zenobia, and then retreated to the general group, and sometimes
a gentleman entered, and pressed the hand of Zenobia to his lips, and
then vanished into air.

"What I want you to see," said Zenobia, "is that reaction is the law
of life, and that we are on the eve of a great reaction. Since Lord
Castlereagh's death we have had five years of revolution--nothing but
change, and every change has been disastrous. Abroad we are in league
with all the conspirators of the Continent, and if there were a general
war we should not have an ally; at home our trade, I am told, is quite
ruined, and we are deluged with foreign articles; while, thanks to Mr.
Huskisson, the country banks, which enabled Mr. Pitt to carry on the
war and saved England, are all broken. There was one thing, of which
I thought we should always be proud, and that was our laws and their
administration; but now our most sacred enactments are questioned, and
people are told to call out for the reform of our courts of judicature,
which used to be the glory of the land. This cannot last. I see, indeed,
many signs of national disgust; people would have borne a great deal
from poor Lord Liverpool--for they knew he was a good man, though
I always thought a weak one; but when it was found that his boasted
Liberalism only meant letting the Whigs into office--who, if they had
always been in office, would have made us the slaves of Bonaparte--their
eyes were opened. Depend upon it, the reaction has commenced."

"We shall have some trouble with France," said the ambassador, "unless
there is a change here."

"The Church is weary of the present men," said the great personage. "No
one really knows what they are after."

"And how can the country be governed without the Church?" exclaimed
Zenobia. "If the country once thinks the Church is in danger, the affair
will soon be finished. The King ought to be told what is going on."

"Nothing is going on," said the ambassador; "but everybody is afraid of
something."

"The King's friends should impress upon him never to lose sight of the
landed interest," said the great personage.

"How can any government go on without the support of the Church and the
land?" exclaimed Zenobia. "It is quite unnatural."

"That is the mystery," remarked the ambassador. "Here is a government,
supported by none of the influences hitherto deemed indispensable, and
yet it exists."

"The newspapers support it," said the great personage, "and the
Dissenters, who are trying to bring themselves into notice, and who are
said to have some influence in the northern counties, and the Whigs,
who are in a hole, are willing to seize the hand of the ministry to help
them out of it; and then there is always a number of people who will
support any government--and so the thing works."

"They have got a new name for this hybrid sentiment," said the
ambassador. "They call it public opinion."

"How very absurd!" said Zenobia; "a mere nickname. As if there could be
any opinion but that of the Sovereign and the two Houses of Parliament."

"They are trying to introduce here the continental Liberalism," said the
great personage. "Now we know what Liberalism means on the continent. It
means the abolition of property and religion. Those ideas would not suit
this country; and I often puzzle myself to foresee how they will attempt
to apply Liberal opinions here."

"I shall always think," said Zenobia, "that Lord Liverpool went much
too far, though I never said so in his time; for I always uphold my
friends."

"Well, we shall see what Canning will do about the Test and Corporation
Acts," said the great personage. "I understand they mean to push him."

"By the by, how is he really?" said the ambassador. "What are the
accounts this afternoon?"

"Here is a gentleman who will tell us," said Zenobia, as Mr. Ferrars
entered and saluted her.

"And what is your news from Chiswick?" she inquired.

"They say at Brookes', that he will be at Downing Street on Monday."

"I doubt it," said Zenobia, but with an expression of disappointment.

Zenobia invited Mr. Ferrars to join her immediate circle. The great
personage and the ambassador were confidentially affable to one whom
Zenobia so distinguished. Their conversation was in hushed tones, as
become the initiated. Even Zenobia seemed subdued, and listened; and to
listen, among her many talents, was perhaps her rarest. Mr. Ferrars was
one of her favourites, and Zenobia liked young men who she thought would
become Ministers of State.

An Hungarian Princess who had quitted the opera early that she might
look in at Zenobia's was now announced. The arrival of this great
lady made a stir. Zenobia embraced her, and the great personage with
affectionate homage yielded to her instantly the place of honour, and
then soon retreated to the laughing voices in the distance that had
already more than once attracted and charmed his ear.

"Mind; I see you to-morrow," said Zenobia to Mr. Ferrars as he also
withdrew. "I shall have something to tell you."



CHAPTER III

The father of Mr. Ferrars had the reputation of being the son of a once
somewhat celebrated statesman, but the only patrimony he inherited from
his presumed parent was a clerkship in the Treasury, where he
found himself drudging at an early age. Nature had endowed him with
considerable abilities, and peculiarly adapted to the scene of their
display. It was difficult to decide which was most remarkable, his
shrewdness or his capacity of labour. His quickness of perception and
mastery of details made him in a few years an authority in the office,
and a Secretary of the Treasury, who was quite ignorant of details,
but who was a good judge of human character, had the sense to appoint
Ferrars his private secretary. This happy preferment in time opened the
whole official world to one not only singularly qualified for that kind
of life, but who possessed the peculiar gifts that were then commencing
to be much in demand in those circles. We were then entering that era
of commercial and financial reform which had been, if not absolutely
occasioned, certainly precipitated, by the revolt of our colonies.
Knowledge of finance and acquaintance with tariffs were then rare gifts,
and before five years of his private secretaryship had expired, Ferrars
was mentioned to Mr. Pitt as the man at the Treasury who could do
something that the great minister required. This decided his lot. Mr.
Pitt found in Ferrars the instrument he wanted, and appreciating all his
qualities placed him in a position which afforded them full play. The
minister returned Ferrars to Parliament, for the Treasury then had
boroughs of its own, and the new member was preferred to an important
and laborious post. So long as Pitt and Grenville were in the ascendant,
Mr. Ferrars toiled and flourished. He was exactly the man they liked;
unwearied, vigilant, clear and cold; with a dash of natural sarcasm
developed by a sharp and varied experience. He disappeared from the
active world in the latter years of the Liverpool reign, when a newer
generation and more bustling ideas successfully asserted their
claims; but he retired with the solace of a sinecure, a pension, and
a privy-councillorship. The Cabinet he had never entered, nor dared to
hope to enter. It was the privilege of an inner circle even in our then
contracted