



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."

