Coningsby

B >> Benjamin Disraeli >> Coningsby

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This calamity broke up the party at Coningsby, which was not at the moment
very numerous. Mr. Rigby, by command, instantly seized the opportunity of
preventing the arrival of other guests who were expected. This catastrophe
was the cause of Mr. Rigby resuming in a great measure his old position in
the Castle. There were a great many things to be done, and all
disagreeable; he achieved them all, and studied everybody's convenience.
Coroners' inquests, funerals especially, weeping women, these were all
spectacles which Lord Monmouth could not endure, but he was so high-bred,
that he would not for the world that there should be in manner or degree
the slightest deficiency in propriety or even sympathy. But he wanted
somebody to do everything that was proper; to be considerate and consoling
and sympathetic. Mr. Rigby did it all; gave evidence at the inquest, was
chief mourner at the funeral, and arranged everything so well that not a
single emblem of death crossed the sight of Lord Monmouth; while Madame
Colonna found submission in his exhortations, and the Princess Lucretia, a
little more pale and pensive than usual, listened with tranquillity to his
discourse on the vanity of all sublunary things.

When the tumult had subsided, and habits and feelings had fallen into
their old routine and relapsed into their ancient channels, the Marquess
proposed that they should all return to London, and with great formality,
though with warmth, begged that Madame Colonna would ever consider his
roof as her own. All were glad to quit the Castle, which now presented a
scene so different from its former animation, and Madame Colonna, weeping,
accepted the hospitality of her friend, until the impending expansion of
the spring would permit her to return to Italy. This notice of her return
to her own country seemed to occasion the Marquess great disquietude.

After they had remained about a month in London, Madame Colonna sent for
Mr. Rigby one morning to tell him how very painful it was to her feelings
to remain under the roof of Monmouth House without the sanction of a
husband; that the circumstance of being a foreigner, under such unusual
affliction, might have excused, though not authorised, the step at first,
and for a moment; but that the continuance of such a course was quite out
of the question; that she owed it to herself, to her step-child, no longer
to trespass on this friendly hospitality, which, if persisted in, might be
liable to misconstruction. Mr. Rigby listened with great attention to this
statement, and never in the least interrupted Madame Colonna; and then
offered to do that which he was convinced the lady desired, namely, to
make the Marquess acquainted with the painful state of her feelings. This
he did according to his fashion, and with sufficient dexterity. Mr. Rigby
himself was anxious to know which way the wind blew, and the mission with
which he had been entrusted, fell in precisely with his inclinations and
necessities. The Marquess listened to the communication and sighed, then
turned gently round and surveyed himself in the mirror and sighed again,
then said to Rigby,

'You understand exactly what I mean, Rigby. It is quite ridiculous their
going, and infinitely distressing to me. They must stay.'

Rigby repaired to the Princess full of mysterious bustle, and with a face
beaming with importance and satisfaction. He made much of the two sighs;
fully justified the confidence of the Marquess in his comprehension of
unexplained intentions; prevailed on Madame Colonna to have some regard
for the feelings of one so devoted; expatiated on the insignificance of
worldly misconstructions, when replied to by such honourable intentions;
and fully succeeded in his mission. They did stay. Month after month
rolled on, and still they stayed; every month all the family becoming more
resigned or more content, and more cheerful. As for the Marquess himself,
Mr. Rigby never remembered him more serene and even joyous. His Lordship
scarcely ever entered general society. The Colonna family remained in
strict seclusion; and he preferred the company of these accomplished and
congenial friends to the mob of the great world.

Between Madame Colonna and Mr. Rigby there had always subsisted
considerable confidence. Now, that gentleman seemed to have achieved fresh
and greater claims to her regard. In the pleasure with which he looked
forward to her approaching alliance with his patron, he reminded her of
the readiness with which he had embraced her suggestions for the marriage
of her daughter with Coningsby. Always obliging, she was never wearied of
chanting his praises to her noble admirer, who was apparently much
gratified she should have bestowed her esteem on one of whom she would
necessarily in after-life see so much. It is seldom the lot of husbands
that their confidential friends gain the regards of their brides.

'I am glad you all like Rigby,' said Lord Monmouth, 'as you will see so
much of him.'

The remembrance of the Hellingsley failure seemed to be erased from the
memory of the Marquess. Rigby never recollected him more cordial and
confidential, and more equable in his manner. He told Rigby one day, that
he wished that Monmouth House should possess the most sumptuous and the
most fanciful boudoir in London or Paris. What a hint for Rigby! That
gentleman consulted the first artists, and gave them some hints in return;
his researches on domestic decoration ranged through all ages; he even
meditated a rapid tour to mature his inventions; but his confidence in his
native taste and genius ultimately convinced him that this movement was
unnecessary.

The summer advanced; the death of the King occurred; the dissolution
summoned Rigby to Coningsby and the borough of Darlford. His success was
marked certain in the secret books of Tadpole and Taper. A manufacturing
town, enfranchised under the Reform Act, already gained by the
Conservative cause! Here was reaction; here influence of property!
Influence of character, too; for no one was so popular as Lord Monmouth; a
most distinguished nobleman of strict Conservative principles, who, if he
carried the county and the manufacturing borough also, merited the
strawberry-leaf.

'There will be no holding Rigby,' said Taper; 'I'm afraid he will be
looking for something very high.'

'The higher the better,' rejoined Tadpole, 'and then he will not interfere
with us. I like your high-flyers; it is your plodders I detest, wearing
old hats and high-lows, speaking in committee, and thinking they are men
of business: d----n them!'

Rigby went down, and made some impressive speeches; at least they read
very well in some of his second-rate journals, where all the uproar
figured as loud cheering, and the interruption of a cabbage-stalk was
represented as a question from some intelligent individual in the crowd.
The fact is, Rigby bored his audience too much with history, especially
with the French Revolution, which he fancied was his 'forte,' so that the
people at last, whenever he made any allusion to the subject, were almost
as much terrified as if they had seen the guillotine.

Rigby had as yet one great advantage; he had no opponent; and without
personal opposition, no contest can be very bitter. It was for some days
Rigby _versus_ Liberal principles; and Rigby had much the best of it; for
he abused Liberal principles roundly in his harangues, who, not being
represented on the occasion, made no reply; while plenty of ale, and some
capital songs by Lucian Gay, who went down express, gave the right cue to
the mob, who declared in chorus, beneath the windows of Rigby's hotel,
that he was 'a fine old English gentleman!'

But there was to be a contest; no question about that, and a sharp one,
although Rigby was to win, and well. The Liberal party had been so
fastidious about their new candidate, that they had none ready though
several biting. Jawster Sharp thought at one time that sheer necessity
would give him another chance still; but even Rigby was preferable to
Jawster Sharp, who, finding it would not do, published his long-prepared
valedictory address, in which he told his constituents, that having long
sacrificed his health to their interests, he was now obliged to retire
into the bosom of his family. And a very well-provided-for family, too.

All this time the Liberal deputation from Darlford, two aldermen, three
town-councillors, and the Secretary of the Reform Association, were
walking about London like mad things, eating luncheons and looking for a
candidate. They called at the Reform Club twenty times in the morning,
badgered whips and red-tapers; were introduced to candidates, badgered
candidates; examined would-be members as if they were at a cattle-show,
listened to political pedigrees, dictated political pledges, referred to
Hansard to see how men had voted, inquired whether men had spoken, finally
discussed terms. But they never could hit the right man. If the principles
were right, there was no money; and if money were ready, money would not
take pledges. In fact, they wanted a Phoenix: a very rich man, who would
do exactly as they liked, with extremely low opinions and with very high
connections.

'If he would go for the ballot and had a handle to his name, it would have
the best effect,' said the secretary of the Reform Association, 'because
you see we are fighting against a Right Honourable, and you have no idea
how that takes with the mob.'

The deputation had been three days in town, and urged by despatches by
every train to bring affairs to a conclusion; jaded, perplexed, confused,
they were ready to fall into the hands of the first jobber or bold
adventurer. They discussed over their dinner at a Strand coffee-house the
claims of the various candidates who had presented themselves. Mr. Donald
Macpherson Macfarlane, who would only pay the legal expenses; he was soon
despatched. Mr. Gingerly Browne, of Jermyn Street, the younger son of a
baronet, who would go as far as 1000_l._ provided the seat was secured.
Mr. Juggins, a distiller, 2000_l._ man; but would not agree to any annual
subscriptions. Sir Baptist Placid, vague about expenditure, but repeatedly
declaring that 'there could be no difficulty on that head.' He however had
a moral objection to subscribing to the races, and that was a great point
at Darlford. Sir Baptist would subscribe a guinea per annum to the
infirmary, and the same to all religious societies without any distinction
of sects; but races, it was not the sum, 100_l._ per annum, but the
principle. He had a moral objection.

In short, the deputation began to suspect, what was the truth, that they
were a day after the fair, and that all the electioneering rips that swarm
in the purlieus of political clubs during an impending dissolution of
Parliament, men who become political characters in their small circle
because they have been talked of as once having an intention to stand for
places for which they never offered themselves, or for having stood for
places where they never could by any circumstance have succeeded, were in
fact nibbling at their dainty morsel.

At this moment of despair, a ray of hope was imparted to them by a
confidential note from a secretary of the Treasury, who wished to see them
at the Reform Club on the morrow. You may be sure they were punctual to
their appointment. The secretary received them with great consideration.
He had got them a candidate, and one of high mark, the son of a Peer, and
connected with the highest Whig houses. Their eyes sparkled. A real
honourable. If they liked he would introduce them immediately to the
Honourable Alberic de Crecy. He had only to introduce them, as there was
no difficulty either as to means or opinions, expenses or pledges.

The secretary returned with a young gentleman, whose diminutive stature
would seem, from his smooth and singularly puerile countenance, to be
merely the consequence of his very tender years; but Mr. De Crecy was
really of age, or at least would be by nomination-day. He did not say a
word, but looked like the rosebud which dangled in the button-hole of his
frock-coat. The aldermen and town-councillors were what is sometimes
emphatically styled flabbergasted; they were speechless from bewilderment.
'Mr. De Crecy will go for the ballot,' said the secretary of the Treasury,
with an audacious eye and a demure look, 'and for Total and Immediate, if
you press him hard; but don't, if you can help it, because he has an
uncle, an old county member, who has prejudices, and might disinherit him.
However, we answer for him. And I am very happy that I have been the means
of bringing about an arrangement which, I feel, will be mutually
advantageous.' And so saying, the secretary effected his escape.

Circumstances, however, retarded for a season the political career of the
Honourable Alberic de Crecy. While the Liberal party at Darlford were
suffering under the daily inflictions of Mr. Rigby's slashing style, and
the post brought them very unsatisfactory prospects of a champion, one
offered himself, and in an address which intimated that he was no man of
straw, likely to recede from any contest in which he chose to embark. The
town was suddenly placarded with a letter to the Independent Electors from
Mr. Millbank, the new proprietor of Hellingsley.

He expressed himself as one not anxious to obtrude himself on their
attention, and founding no claim to their confidence on his recent
acquisition; but at the same time as one resolved that the free and
enlightened community, with which he must necessarily hereafter be much
connected, should not become the nomination borough of any Peer of the
realm without a struggle, if they chose to make one. And so he offered
himself if they could not find a better candidate, without waiting for the
ceremony of a requisition. He was exactly the man they wanted; and though
he had 'no handle to his name,' and was somewhat impracticable about
pledges, his fortune was so great, and his character so high, that it
might be hoped that the people would be almost as content as if they were
appealed to by some obscure scion of factitious nobility, subscribing to
political engagements which he could not comprehend, and which, in
general, are vomited with as much facility as they are swallowed.

CHAPTER IV.

The people of Darlford, who, as long as the contest for their
representation remained between Mr. Rigby and the abstraction called
Liberal Principles, appeared to be very indifferent about the result, the
moment they learned that for the phrase had been substituted a substance,
and that, too, in the form of a gentleman who was soon to figure as their
resident neighbour, became excited, speedily enthusiastic. All the bells
of all the churches rang when Mr. Millbank commenced his canvass; the
Conservatives, on the alert, if not alarmed, insisted on their champion
also showing himself in all directions; and in the course of four-and-
twenty hours, such is the contagion of popular feeling, the town was
divided into two parties, the vast majority of which were firmly convinced
that the country could only be saved by the return of Mr. Rigby, or
preserved from inevitable destruction by the election of Mr. Millbank.

The results of the two canvasses were such as had been anticipated from
the previous reports of the respective agents and supporters. In these
days the personal canvass of a candidate is a mere form. The whole country
that is to be invaded has been surveyed and mapped out before entry; every
position reconnoitred; the chain of communications complete. In the
present case, as was not unusual, both candidates were really supported by
numerous and reputable adherents; and both had good grounds for believing
that they would be ultimately successful. But there was a body of the
electors sufficiently numerous to turn the election, who would not promise
their votes: conscientious men who felt the responsibility of the duty
that the constitution had entrusted to their discharge, and who would not
make up their minds without duly weighing the respective merits of the two
rivals. This class of deeply meditative individuals are distinguished not
only by their pensive turn of mind, but by a charitable vein that seems to
pervade their being. Not only will they think of your request, but for
their parts they wish both sides equally well. Decision, indeed, as it
must dash the hopes of one of their solicitors, seems infinitely painful
to them; they have always a good reason for postponing it. If you seek
their suffrage during the canvass, they reply, that the writ not having
come down, the day of election is not yet fixed. If you call again to
inform them that the writ has arrived, they rejoin, that perhaps after all
there may not be a contest. If you call a third time, half dead with
fatigue, to give them friendly notice that both you and your rival have
pledged yourselves to go to the poll, they twitch their trousers, rub
their hands, and with a dull grin observe,

'Well, sir, we shall see.'

'Come, Mr. Jobson,' says one of the committee, with an insinuating smile,
'give Mr. Millbank one.'

'Jobson, I think you and I know each other,' says a most influential
supporter, with a knowing nod.

'Yes, Mr. Smith, I should think we did.'

'Come, come, give us one.'

'Well, I have not made up my mind yet, gentlemen.'

'Jobson!' says a solemn voice, 'didn't you tell me the other night you
wished well to this gentleman?'

'So I do; I wish well to everybody,' replies the imperturbable Jobson.

'Well, Jobson,' exclaims another member of the committee, with a sigh,
'who could have supposed that you would have been an enemy?'

'I don't wish to be no enemy to no man, Mr. Trip.'

'Come, Jobson,' says a jolly tanner, 'if I wanted to be a Parliament man,
I don't think you could refuse me one!'

'I don't think I could, Mr. Oakfield.'

'Well, then, give it to my friend.'

'Well, sir, I'll think about it.'

'Leave him to me,' says another member of the committee, with a
significant look. 'I know how to get round him. It's all right.'

'Yes, leave him to Hayfield, Mr. Millbank; he knows how to manage him.'

But all the same, Jobson continues to look as little tractable and lamb-
like as can be well fancied.

And here, in a work which, in an unpretending shape, aspires to take
neither an uninformed nor a partial view of the political history of the
ten eventful years of the Reform struggle, we should pause for a moment to
observe the strangeness, that only five years after the reconstruction of
the electoral body by the Whig party, in a borough called into political
existence by their policy, a manufacturing town, too, the candidate
comprising in his person every quality and circumstance which could
recommend him to the constituency, and his opponent the worst specimen of
the Old Generation, a political adventurer, who owed the least
disreputable part of his notoriety to his opposition to the Reform Bill;
that in such a borough, under such circumstances, there should be a
contest, and that, too, one of a very doubtful issue.

What was the cause of this? Are we to seek it in the 'Reaction' of the
Tadpoles and the Tapers? That would not be a satisfactory solution.
Reaction, to a certain extent, is the law of human existence. In the
particular state of affairs before us, England after the Reform Act, it
never could be doubtful that Time would gradually, and in some instances
rapidly, counteract the national impulse of 1832. There never could have
been a question, for example, that the English counties would have
reverted to their natural allegiance to their proprietors; but the results
of the appeals to the third Estate in 1835 and 1837 are not to be
accounted for by a mere readjustment of legitimate influences.

The truth is, that, considerable as are the abilities of the Whig leaders,
highly accomplished as many of them unquestionably must be acknowledged in
parliamentary debate, experienced in council, sedulous in office, eminent
as scholars, powerful from their position, the absence of individual
influence, and of the pervading authority of a commanding mind, have been
the cause of the fall of the Whig party.

Such a supremacy was generally acknowledged in Lord Grey on the accession
of this party to power: but it was the supremacy of a tradition rather
than of a fact. Almost at the outset of his authority his successor was
indicated. When the crisis arrived, the intended successor was not in the
Whig ranks. It is in this virtual absence of a real and recognised leader,
almost from the moment that they passed their great measure, that we must
seek a chief cause of all that insubordination, all those distempered
ambitions, and all those dark intrigues, that finally broke up, not only
the Whig government, but the Whig party; demoralised their ranks, and sent
them to the country, both in 1835 and 1837, with every illusion, which had
operated so happily in their favour in 1832, scattered to the winds. In
all things we trace the irresistible influence of the individual.

And yet the interval that elapsed between 1835 and 1837 proved, that there
was all this time in the Whig array one entirely competent to the office
of leading a great party, though his capacity for that fulfilment was too
tardily recognised.

LORD JOHN RUSSELL has that degree of imagination, which, though evinced
rather in sentiment than expression, still enables him to generalise from
the details of his reading and experience; and to take those comprehensive
views, which, however easily depreciated by ordinary men in an age of
routine, are indispensable to a statesman in the conjunctures in which we
live. He understands, therefore, his position; and he has the moral
intrepidity which prompts him ever to dare that which his intellect
assures him is politic. He is consequently, at the same time, sagacious
and bold in council. As an administrator he is prompt and indefatigable.
He is not a natural orator, and labours under physical deficiencies which
even a Demosthenic impulse could scarcely overcome. But he is experienced
in debate, quick in reply, fertile in resource, takes large views, and
frequently compensates for a dry and hesitating manner by the expression
of those noble truths that flash across the fancy, and rise spontaneously
to the lip, of men of poetic temperament when addressing popular
assemblies. If we add to this, a private life of dignified repute, the
accidents of his birth and rank, which never can be severed from the man,
the scion of a great historic family, and born, as it were, to the
hereditary service of the State, it is difficult to ascertain at what
period, or under what circumstances, the Whig party have ever possessed,
or could obtain, a more efficient leader.

But we must return to the Darlford election. The class of thoughtful
voters was sufficiently numerous in that borough to render the result of
the contest doubtful to the last; and on the eve of the day of nomination
both parties were equally sanguine.

Nomination-day altogether is an unsatisfactory affair. There is little to
be done, and that little mere form. The tedious hours remain, and no one
can settle his mind to anything. It is not a holiday, for every one is
serious; it is not business, for no one can attend to it; it is not a
contest, for there is no canvassing; nor an election, for there is no
poll. It is a day of lounging without an object, and luncheons without an
appetite; of hopes and fears; confidence and dejection; bravado bets and
secret hedging; and, about midnight, of furious suppers of grilled bones,
brandy-and-water, and recklessness.

The president and vice-president of the Conservative Association, the
secretary and the four solicitors who were agents, had impressed upon Mr.
Rigby that it was of the utmost importance, and must produce a great moral
effect, if he obtain the show of hands. With his powers of eloquence and
their secret organisation, they flattered themselves it might be done.
With this view, Rigby inflicted a speech of more than two hours' duration
on the electors, who bore it very kindly, as the mob likes, above all
things, that the ceremonies of nomination-day should not be cut short:
moreover, there is nothing that the mob likes so much as a speech. Rigby
therefore had, on the whole, a far from unfavourable audience, and he
availed himself of their forbearance. He brought in his crack theme, the
guillotine, and dilated so elaborately upon its qualities, that one of the
gentlemen below could not refrain from exclaiming, 'I wish you may get
it.' This exclamation gave Mr. Rigby what is called a great opening,
which, like a practised speaker, he immediately seized. He denounced the
sentiment as 'un-English,' and got much cheered. Excited by this success,
Rigby began to call everything else 'un-English' with which he did not
agree, until menacing murmurs began to rise, when he shifted the subject,
and rose into a grand peroration, in which he assured them that the eyes
of the whole empire were on this particular election; cries of 'That's
true,' from all sides; and that England expected every man to do his duty.

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