Coningsby

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'And who do you expect to do yours?' inquired a gentleman below,' about
that 'ere pension?'

'Rigby,' screeched a hoarse voice, 'don't you mind; you guv it them well.'

'Rigby, keep up your spirits, old chap: we will have you.'

'Now!' said a stentorian voice; and a man as tall as Saul looked round
him. This was the engaged leader of the Conservative mob; the eye of every
one of his minions was instantly on him. 'Now! Our young Queen and our Old
Institutions! Rigby for ever!'

This was a signal for the instant appearance of the leader of the Liberal
mob. Magog Wrath, not so tall as Bully Bluck, his rival, had a voice
almost as powerful, a back much broader, and a countenance far more
forbidding. 'Now, my boys, the Queen and Millbank for ever!'

These rival cries were the signals for a fight between the two bands of
gladiators in the face of the hustings, the body of the people little
interfering. Bully Bluck seized Magog Wrath's colours; they wrestled, they
seized each other; their supporters were engaged in mutual contest; it
appeared to be a most alarming and perilous fray; several ladies from the
windows screamed, one fainted; a band of special constables pushed their
way through the mob; you heard their staves resounded on the skulls of all
who opposed them, especially the little boys: order was at length
restored; and, to tell the truth, the only hurts inflicted were those
which came from the special constables. Bully Bluck and Magog Wrath, with
all their fierce looks, flaunting colours, loud cheers, and desperate
assaults, were, after all, only a couple of Condottieri, who were cautious
never to wound each other. They were, in fact, a peaceful police, who kept
the town in awe, and prevented others from being mischievous who were more
inclined to do harm. Their hired gangs were the safety-valves for all the
scamps of the borough, who, receiving a few shillings per head for their
nominal service, and as much drink as they liked after the contest, were
bribed and organised into peace and sobriety on the days in which their
excesses were most to be apprehended.

Now Mr. Millbank came forward: he was brief compared with Mr. Rigby; but
clear and terse. No one could misunderstand him. He did not favour his
hearers with any history, but gave them his views about taxes, free trade,
placemen, and pensioners, whoever and wherever they might be.

'Hilloa, Rigby, about that 'ere pension?'

'Millbank for ever! We will have him.'

'Never mind, Rigby, you'll come in next time.'

Mr. Millbank was energetic about resident representatives, but did not
understand that a resident representative meant the nominee of a great
Lord, who lived in a great castle; great cheering. There was a Lord once
who declared that, if he liked, he would return his negro valet to
Parliament; but Mr. Millbank thought those days were over. It remained for
the people of Darlford to determine whether he was mistaken.

'Never!' exclaimed the mob. 'Millbank for ever! Rigby in the river! No
niggers, no walets!'

'Three groans for Rigby.'

'His language ain't as purty as the Lunnun chap's,' said a critic below;
'but he speaks from his 'art: and give me the man who 'as got a 'art.'

'That's your time of day, Mr. Robinson.'

'Now!' said Magog Wrath, looking around. 'Now, the Queen and Millbank for
ever! Hurrah!'

The show of hands was entirely in favour of Mr. Millbank. Scarcely a hand
was held up for Mr. Rigby below, except by Bully Bluck and his
praetorians. The Chairman and the Deputy Chairman of the Conservative
Association, the Secretary, and the four agents, severally and
respectively went up to Mr. Rigby and congratulated him on the result, as
it was a known fact, 'that the show of hands never won.'

The eve of polling-day was now at hand. This is the most critical period
of an election. All night parties in disguise were perambulating the
different wards, watching each other's tactics; masks, wigs, false noses,
gentles in livery coats, men in female attire, a silent carnival of
manoeuvre, vigilance, anxiety, and trepidation. The thoughtful voters
about this time make up their minds; the enthusiasts who have told you
twenty times a-day for the last fortnight, that they would get up in the
middle of the night to serve you, require the most watchful cooping; all
the individuals who have assured you that 'their word is their bond,'
change sides.

Two of the Rigbyites met in the market-place about an hour after midnight.

'Well, how goes it?' said one.

'I have been the rounds. The blunt's going like the ward-pump. I saw a man
come out of Moffatt's house, muffled up with a mask on. I dodged him. It
was Biggs.'

'You don't mean that, do you? D----e, I'll answer for Moffatt.'

'I never thought he was a true man.'

'Told Robins?'

'I could not see him; but I met young Gunning and told him.'

'Young Gunning! That won't do.'

'I thought he was as right as the town clock.'

'So did I, once. Hush! who comes here? The enemy, Franklin and Sampson
Potts. Keep close.'

'I'll speak to them. Good night, Potts. Up rather late to-night?'

'All fair election time. You ain't snoring, are you?'

'Well, I hope the best man will win.'

'I am sure he will.'

'You must go for Moffatt early, to breakfast at the White Lion; that's
your sort. Don't leave him, and poll him your-self. I am going off to
Solomon Lacey's. He has got four Millbankites cooped up very drunk, and I
want to get them quietly into the country before daybreak.'

'Tis polling-day! The candidates are roused from their slumbers at an
early hour by the music of their own bands perambulating the town, and
each playing the 'conquering hero' to sustain the courage of their jaded
employers, by depriving them of that rest which can alone tranquillise the
nervous system. There is something in that matin burst of music, followed
by a shrill cheer from the boys of the borough, the only inhabitants yet
up, that is very depressing.

The committee-rooms of each candidate are soon rife with black reports;
each side has received fearful bulletins of the preceding night campaign;
and its consequences as exemplified in the morning, unprecedented
tergiversations, mysterious absences; men who breakfast with one side and
vote with the other; men who won't come to breakfast; men who won't leave
breakfast.

At ten o'clock Mr. Rigby was in a majority of twenty-eight.

The polling was brisk and equal until the middle of the day, when it
became slack. Mr. Rigby kept a majority, but an inconsiderable one. Mr.
Millbank's friends were not disheartened, as it was known that the leading
members of Mr. Rigby's committee had polled; whereas his opponent's were
principally reserved. At a quarter-past two there was great cheering and
uproar. The four voters in favour of Millbank, whom Solomon Lacey had
cooped up, made drunk, and carried into the country, had recovered iheir
senses, made their escape, and voted as they originally intended. Soon
after this, Mr. Millbank was declared by his committee to be in a majority
of one, but the committee of Mr. Rigby instantly posted a placard, in
large letters, to announce that, on the contrary, their man was in a
majority of nine.

'If we could only have got another registration,' whispered the principal
agent to Mr. Rigby, at a quarter-past four.

'You think it's all over, then?'

'Why, I do not see now how we can win. We have polled all our dead men,
and Millbank is seven ahead.'

'I have no doubt we shall be able to have a good petition,' said the
consoling chairman of the Conservative Association.

CHAPTER V.

It was not with feelings of extreme satisfaction that Mr. Rigby returned
to London. The loss of Hellingsley, followed by the loss of the borough to
Hellingsley's successful master, were not precisely the incidents which
would be adduced as evidence of Mr. Rigby's good management or good
fortune. Hitherto that gentleman had persuaded the world that he was not
only very clever, but that he was also always in luck; a quality which
many appreciate more even than capacity. His reputation was unquestionably
damaged, both with his patron and his party. But what the Tapers and the
Tadpoles thought or said, what even might be the injurious effect on his
own career of the loss of this election, assumed an insignificant
character when compared with its influence on the temper and disposition
of the Marquess of Monmouth.

And yet his carriage is now entering the courtyard of Monmouth House, and,
in all probability, a few minutes would introduce him to that presence
before which he had, ere this, trembled. The Marquess was at home, and
anxious to see Mr. Rigby. In a few minutes that gentleman was ascending
the private staircase, entering the antechamber, and waiting to be
received in the little saloon, exactly as our Coningsby did more than five
years ago, scarcely less agitated, but by feelings of a very different
character.

'Well, you made a good fight of it,' exclaimed the Marquess, in a cheerful
and cordial tone, as Mr. Rigby entered his dressing-room. 'Patience! We
shall win next time.'

This reception instantly reassured the defeated candidate, though its
contrast to that which he expected rather perplexed him. He entered into
the details of the election, talked rapidly of the next registration, the
propriety of petitioning; accustomed himself to hearing his voice with its
habitual volubility in a chamber where he had feared it might not sound
for some time.

'D----n politics!' said the Marquess. 'These fellows are in for this
Parliament, and I am really weary of the whole affair. I begin to think
the Duke was right, and it would have been best to have left them to
themselves. I am glad you have come up at once, for I want you. The fact
is, I am going to be married.'

This was not a startling announcement to Mr. Rigby; he was prepared for
it, though scarcely could have hoped that he would have been favoured with
it on the present occasion, instead of a morose comment on his
misfortunes. Marriage, then, was the predominant idea of Lord Monmouth at
the present moment, in whose absorbing interest all vexations were
forgotten. Fortunate Rigby! Disgusted by the failure of his political
combinations, his disappointments in not dictating to the county and not
carrying the borough, and the slight prospect at present of obtaining the
great object of his ambition, Lord Monmouth had resolved to precipitate
his fate, was about to marry immediately, and quit England.

'You will be wanted, Rigby,' continued the Marquess. 'We must have a
couple of trustees, and I have thought of you as one. You know you are my
executor; and it is better not to bring in unnecessarily new names into
the management of my affairs. Lord Eskdale will act with you.'

Rigby then, after all, was a lucky man. After such a succession of
failures, he had returned only to receive fresh and the most delicate
marks of his patron's good feeling and consideration. Lord Monmouth's
trustee and executor! 'You know you are my executor.' Sublime truth! It
ought to be blazoned in letters of gold in the most conspicuous part of
Rigby's library, to remind him perpetually of his great and impending
destiny. Lord Monmouth's executor, and very probably one of his residuary
legatees! A legatee of some sort he knew he was. What a splendid _memento
mori_! What cared Rigby for the borough of Darlford? And as for his
political friends, he wished them joy of their barren benches. Nothing was
lost by not being in this Parliament.

It was then with sincerity that Rigby offered his congratulations to his
patron. He praised the judicious alliance, accompanied by every
circumstance conducive to worldly happiness; distinguished beauty, perfect
temper, princely rank. Rigby, who had hardly got out of his hustings'
vein, was most eloquent in his praises of Madame Colonna.

'An amiable woman,' said Lord Monmouth, 'and very handsome. I always
admired her; and an agreeable person too; I dare say a very good temper,
but I am not going to marry her.'

'Might I then ask who is--'

'Her step-daughter, the Princess Lucretia,' replied the Marquess, quietly,
and looking at his ring.

Here was a thunderbolt! Rigby had made another mistake. He had been
working all this time for the wrong woman! The consciousness of being a
trustee alone sustained him. There was an inevitable pause. The Marquess
would not speak however, and Rigby must. He babbled rather incoherently
about the Princess Lucretia being admired by everybody; also that she was
the most fortunate of women, as well as the most accomplished; he was just
beginning to say he had known her from a child, when discretion stopped
his tongue, which had a habit of running on somewhat rashly; but Rigby,
though he often blundered in his talk, had the talent of extricating
himself from the consequence of his mistakes.

'And Madame must be highly gratified by all this?' observed Mr. Rigby,
with an enquiring accent. He was dying to learn how she had first received
the intelligence, and congratulated himself that his absence at his
contest had preserved him from the storm.

'Madame Colonna knows nothing of our intentions,' said Lord Monmouth. 'And
by the bye, that is the very business on which I wish to see you, Rigby. I
wish you to communicate them to her. We are to be married, and
immediately. It would gratify me that the wife of Lucretia's father should
attend our wedding. You understand exactly what I mean, Rigby; I must have
no scenes. Always happy to see the Princess Colonna under my roof; but
then I like to live quietly, particularly at present; harassed as I have
been by the loss of these elections, by all this bad management, and by
all these disappointments on subjects in which I was led to believe
success was certain. Madame Colonna is at home;' and the Marquess bowed
Mr. Rigby out of the room.

CHAPTER VI.

The departure of Sidonia from Coningsby Castle, in the autumn, determined
the Princess Lucretia on a step which had for some time before his arrival
occupied her brooding imagination. Nature had bestowed on this lady an
ambitious soul and a subtle spirit; she could dare much and could execute
finely. Above all things she coveted power; and though not free from the
characteristic susceptibility of her sex, the qualities that could engage
her passions or fascinate her fancy must partake of that intellectual
eminence which distinguished her. Though the Princess Lucretia in a short
space of time had seen much of the world, she had as yet encountered no
hero. In the admirers whom her rank, and sometimes her intelligence,
assembled around her, her master had not yet appeared. Her heart had not
trembled before any of those brilliant forms whom she was told her sex
admired; nor did she envy any one the homage which she did not appreciate.
There was, therefore, no disturbing element in the worldly calculations
which she applied to that question which is, to woman, what a career is to
man, the question of marriage. She would marry to gain power, and
therefore she wished to marry the powerful. Lord Eskdale hovered around
her, and she liked him. She admired his incomparable shrewdness; his
freedom from ordinary prejudices; his selfishness which was always good-
natured, and the imperturbability that was not callous. But Lord Eskdale
had hovered round many; it was his easy habit. He liked clever women,
young, but who had seen something of the world. The Princess Lucretia
pleased him much; with the form and mind of a woman even in the nursery.
He had watched her development with interest; and had witnessed her launch
in that world where she floated at once with as much dignity and
consciousness of superior power, as if she had braved for seasons its
waves and its tempests.

Musing over Lord Eskdale, the mind of Lucretia was drawn to the image of
his friend; her friend; the friend of her parents. And why not marry Lord
Monmouth? The idea pleased her. There was something great in the
conception; difficult and strange. The result, if achieved, would give her
all that she desired. She devoted her mind to this secret thought. She had
no confidants. She concentrated her intellect on one point, and that was
to fascinate the grandfather of Coningsby, while her step-mother was
plotting that she should marry his grandson. The volition of Lucretia
Colonna was, if not supreme, of a power most difficult to resist. There
was something charm-like and alluring in the conversation of one who was
silent to all others; something in the tones of her low rich voice which
acted singularly on the nervous system. It was the voice of the serpent;
indeed, there was an undulating movement in Lucretia, when she approached
you, which irresistibly reminded you of that mysterious animal.

Lord Monmouth was not insensible to the spell, though totally unconscious
of its purpose. He found the society of Lucretia very agreeable to him;
she was animated, intelligent, original; her inquiries were stimulating;
her comments on what she saw, and heard, and read, racy and often
indicating a fine humour. But all this was reserved for his ear. Before
her parents, as before all others, Lucretia was silent, a little scornful,
never communicating, neither giving nor seeking amusement, shut up in
herself.

Lord Monmouth fell therefore into the habit of riding and driving with
Lucretia alone. It was an arrangement which he found made his life more
pleasant. Nor was it displeasing to Madame Colonna. She looked upon Lord
Monmouth's fancy for Lucretia as a fresh tie for them all. Even the
Prince, when his wife called his attention to the circumstance, observed
it with satisfaction. It was a circumstance which represented in his mind
a continuance of good eating and good drinking, fine horses, luxurious
baths, unceasing billiards.

In this state of affairs appeared Sidonia, known before to her step-
mother, but seen by Lucretia for the first time. Truly, he came, saw, and
conquered. Those eyes that rarely met another's were fixed upon his
searching yet unimpassioned glance. She listened to that voice, full of
music yet void of tenderness; and the spirit of Lucretia Colonna bowed
before an intelligence that commanded sympathy, yet offered none.

Lucretia naturally possessed great qualities as well as great talents.
Under a genial influence, her education might have formed a being capable
of imparting and receiving happiness. But she found herself without a
guide. Her father offered her no love; her step-mother gained from her no
respect. Her literary education was the result of her own strong mind and
inquisitive spirit. She valued knowledge, and she therefore acquired it.
But not a single moral principle or a single religious truth had ever been
instilled into her being. Frequent absence from her own country had by
degrees broken off even an habitual observance of the forms of her creed;
while a life of undisturbed indulgence, void of all anxiety and care,
while it preserved her from many of the temptations to vice, deprived her
of that wisdom 'more precious than rubies,' which adversity and
affliction, the struggles and the sorrows of existence, can alone impart.

Lucretia had passed her life in a refined, but rather dissolute society.
Not indeed that a word that could call forth a maiden blush, conduct that
could pain the purest feelings, could be heard or witnessed in those
polished and luxurious circles. The most exquisite taste pervaded their
atmosphere; and the uninitiated who found themselves in those perfumed
chambers and those golden saloons, might believe, from all that passed
before them, that their inhabitants were as pure, as orderly, and as
irreproachable as their furniture. But among the habitual dwellers in
these delicate halls there was a tacit understanding, a prevalent doctrine
that required no formal exposition, no proofs and illustrations, no
comment and no gloss; which was indeed rather a traditional conviction
than an imparted dogma; that the exoteric public were, on many subjects,
the victims of very vulgar prejudices, which these enlightened personages
wished neither to disturb nor to adopt.

A being of such a temper, bred in such a manner; a woman full of intellect
and ambition, daring and lawless, and satiated with prosperity, is not
made for equable fortunes and an uniform existence. She would have
sacrificed the world for Sidonia, for he had touched the fervent
imagination that none before could approach; but that inscrutable man
would not read the secret of her heart; and prompted alike by pique, the
love of power, and a weariness of her present life, Lucretia resolved on
that great result which Mr. Rigby is now about to communicate to the
Princess Colonna.

About half-an-hour after Mr. Rigby had entered that lady's apartments it
seemed that all the bells of Monmouth House were ringing at the same time.
The sound even reached the Marquess in his luxurious recess; who
immediately took a pinch of snuff, and ordered his valet to lock the door
of the ante-chamber. The Princess Lucretia, too, heard the sounds; she was
lying on a sofa, in her boudoir, reading the _Inferno_, and immediately
mustered her garrison in the form of a French maid, and gave directions
that no one should be admitted. Both the Marquess and his intended bride
felt that a crisis was at hand, and resolved to participate in no scenes.

The ringing ceased; there was again silence. Then there was another ring;
a short, hasty, and violent pull; followed by some slamming of doors. The
servants, who were all on the alert, and had advantages of hearing and
observation denied to their secluded master, caught a glimpse of Mr. Rigby
endeavouring gently to draw back into her apartment Madame Colonna,
furious amid his deprecatory exclamations.

'For heaven's sake, my dear Madame; for your own sake; now really; now I
assure you; you are quite wrong; you are indeed; it is a complete
misapprehension; I will explain everything. I entreat, I implore, whatever
you like, just what you please; only listen.'

Then the lady, with a mantling visage and flashing eye, violently closing
the door, was again lost to their sight. A few minutes after there was a
moderate ring, and Mr. Rigby, coming out of the apartments, with his
cravat a little out of order, as if he had had a violent shaking, met the
servant who would have entered.

'Order Madame Colonna's travelling carriage,' he exclaimed in a loud
voice, 'and send Mademoiselle Conrad here directly. I don't think the
fellow hears me,' added Mr. Rigby, and following the servant, he added in
a low tone and with a significant glance, 'no travelling carriage; no
Mademoiselle Conrad; order the britska round as usual.'

Nearly another hour passed; there was another ring; very moderate indeed.
The servant was informed that Madame Colonna was coming down, and she
appeared as usual. In a beautiful morning dress, and leaning on the arm of
Mr. Rigby, she descended the stairs, and was handed into her carriage by
that gentleman, who, seating himself by her side, ordered them to drive to
Richmond.

Lord Monmouth having been informed that all was calm, and that Madame
Colonna, attended by Mr. Rigby, had gone to Richmond, ordered his
carriage, and accompanied by Lucretia and Lucian Gay, departed immediately
for Blackwall, where, in whitebait, a quiet bottle of claret, the society
of his agreeable friends, and the contemplation of the passing steamers,
he found a mild distraction and an amusing repose.

Mr. Rigby reported that evening to the Marquess on his return, that all
was arranged and tranquil. Perhaps he exaggerated the difficulties, to
increase the service; but according to his account they were considerable.
It required some time to make Madame Colonna comprehend the nature of his
communication. All Rigby's diplomatic skill was expended in the gradual
development. When it was once fairly put before her, the effect was
appalling. That was the first great ringing of bells. Rigby softened a
little what he had personally endured; but he confessed she sprang at him
like a tigress balked of her prey, and poured forth on him a volume of
epithets, many of which Rigby really deserved. But after all, in the
present instance, he was not treacherous, only base, which he always was.
Then she fell into a passion of tears, and vowed frequently that she was
not weeping for herself, but only for that dear Mr. Coningsby, who had
been treated so infamously and robbed of Lucretia, and whose heart she
knew must break. It seemed that Rigby stemmed the first violence of her
emotion by mysterious intimations of an important communication that he
had to make; and piquing her curiosity, he calmed her passion. But really
having nothing to say, he was nearly involved in fresh dangers. He took
refuge in the affectation of great agitation which prevented exposition.
The lady then insisted on her travelling carriage being ordered and
packed, as she was determined to set out for Rome that afternoon. This
little occurrence gave Rigby some few minutes to collect himself, at the
end of which he made the Princess several announcements of intended
arrangements, all of which pleased her mightily, though they were so
inconsistent with each other, that if she had not been a woman in a
passion, she must have detected that Rigby was lying. He assured her
almost in the same breath, that she was never to be separated from them,
and that she was to have any establishment in any country she liked. He
talked wildly of equipages, diamonds, shawls, opera-boxes; and while her
mind was bewildered with these dazzling objects, he, with intrepid
gravity, consulted her as to the exact amount she would like to have
apportioned, independent of her general revenue, for the purposes of
charity.

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