Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield, was not only a great
figure in English politics in the nineteenth century; he was
also a novelist of brilliant powers. Born in London on
December 21, 1804, the son of Isaac D'Israeli, the future
Prime Minister of England was first articled to a solicitor;
but he quickly turned from this to politics. Disraeli was
leader of the Conservative Party in the House of Commons in
1847; he was twice Prime Minister. In 1876 he was created Earl
of Beaconsfield. Disraeli's novels--especially the famous
trilogy of "Coningsby," 1844, "Sybil," 1845, and "Tancred,"
1846--are remarkable chiefly for the view they give of
contemporary political life, and for the definite political
philosophy of their author. Neither the earlier
novels--"Vivian Grey", 1826, "Contarini Fleming," "Alroy,"
1832, "Henrietta Temple" and "Venetia," 1837--nor the later
ones--"Lothair," 1870, and "Endymion," 1874--are to be ranked
with "Coningsby" and "Sybil." Many characters in "Coningsby"
are well-known men. Lord Monmouth is Lord Hertford, whom
Thackeray depicted as the Marquess of Steyne, Rigby is John
Wilson Croker, Oswald Millbank is Mr. Gladstone, Lord H.
Sydney is Lord John Manners, Sidonia is Baron Alfred de
Rothschild, and Coningsby is Lord Lyttelton. Lord Beaconsfield
died in London on April 19, 1881.
_I.--The Hero of Eton_
Coningsby was the orphan child of the younger of the two sons of Lord
Monmouth. It was a family famous for its hatreds. The elder son hated
his father, and lived at Naples, maintaining no connection either with
his parent or his native country. On the other hand, Lord Monmouth hated
his younger son, who had married against his consent a woman to whom
that son was devoted. Persecuted by his father, he died abroad, and his
widow returned to England. Not having a relation, and scarcely an
acquaintance, in the world, she made an appeal to her husband's father,
the wealthiest noble in England, and a man who was often prodigal, and
occasionally generous, who respected law, and despised opinion. Lord
Monmouth decided that, provided she gave up her child, and permanently
resided in one of the remotest counties, he would make her a yearly
allowance of three hundred pounds. Necessity made the victim yield; and
three years later, Mrs. Coningsby died, the same day that her father-
in-law was made a marquess.
Coningsby was then not more than nine years of age; and when he attained
his twelfth year an order was received from Lord Monmouth, who was at
Rome, that he should go at once to Eton.
Coningsby had never seen his grandfather. It was Mr. Rigby who made
arrangements for his education. This Mr. Rigby was the manager of Lord
Monmouth's parliamentary influence and the auditor of his vast estates.
He was a member for one of Lord Monmouth's boroughs, and, in fact, a
great personage. Lord Monmouth had bought him, and it was a good
purchase.
In the spring of 1832, when the country was in the throes of agitation
over the Reform Bill, Lord Monmouth returned to England, accompanied by
the Prince and Princess Colonna and the Princess Lucretia, the prince's
daughter by his first wife. Coningsby was summoned from Eton to Monmouth
House, and returned to school in the full favour of the marquess.
Coningsby was the hero of Eton; everybody was proud of him, talked of
him, quoted him, imitated him. But the ties of friendship bound
Coningsby to Henry Sydney and Oswald Millbank above all companions. Lord
Henry Sydney was the son of a duke, and Millbank was the son of one of
the wealthiest manufacturers in Lancashire. Once, on the river,
Coningsby saved Millbank's life; and this was the beginning of a close
and ardent friendship.
Coningsby liked very much to talk politics with Millbank. He heard
things from Millbank which were new to him. Politics had, as yet,
appeared to him a struggle whether the country was to be governed by
Whig nobles or Tory nobles; and Coningsby, a high Tory as he supposed
himself to be, thought it very unfortunate that he should probably have
to enter life with his friends out of power and his family boroughs
destroyed. But, in conversing with Millbank, he heard for the first time
of influential classes in the country who were not noble, and were yet
determined to acquire power.
Generally, at that time, among the upper boys at Eton there was a
reigning inclination for political discussion, and a feeling in favour
of "Conservative principles." A year later, and in 1836, gradually the
inquiry fell upon attentive ears as to what these Conservative
principles were. Before Coningsby and his friends left Eton--Coningsby
for Cambridge, and Millbank for Oxford--they were resolved to contend
for political faith rather than for mere partisan success or personal
ambition.
_II.--A Portrait of a Lady_
On his way to Coningsby Castle, in Lancashire, where the Marquess of
Monmouth was living in state--feasting the county, patronising the
borough, and diffusing confidence in the Conservative party in order
that the electors of Dartford might return his man, Mr. Rigby, once more
for parliament--our hero halted for the night at Manchester. In the
coffee-room at the hotel a stranger, loud in praise of the commercial
enterprise of the neighbourhood, advised Coningsby, if he wanted to see
something tip-top in the way of cotton works, to visit Millbank of
Millbank's; and thus it came about that Coningsby first met Edith
Millbank. Oswald was abroad; and Mr. Millbank, when he heard the name of
his visitor, was only distressed that the sudden arrival left no time
for adequate welcome.
"My visit to Manchester, which led to this, was quite accidental," said
Coningsby. "I am bound for the other division of the county, to pay a
visit to my grandfather, Lord Monmouth, but an irresistible desire came
over me during my journey to view this famous district of industry."
A cloud passed over the countenance of Millbank as the name of Lord
Monmouth was mentioned; but he said nothing, only turning towards
Coningsby, with an air of kindness, to beg him, since to stay longer was
impossible, to dine with him. Coningsby gladly agreed to this and the
village clock was striking five when Mr. Millbank and his guest entered
the gardens of his mansion and proceeded to the house.
The hall was capacious and classic; and as they approached the staircase
the sweetest and the clearest voice exclaimed from above: "Papa, papa!"
and instantly a young girl came bounding down the stairs; but suddenly,
seeing a stranger with her father, she stopped upon the landing-place.
Mr. Millbank beckoned her, and she came down slowly; at the foot of the
stairs her father said briefly: "A friend you have often heard of,
Edith--this is Mr. Coningsby."
She started, blushed very much, and then put forth her hand.
"How often have we all wished to see and to thank you!" Miss Edith
Millbank remarked in tones of sensibility.
Opposite Coningsby at dinner that night was a portrait which greatly
attracted his attention. It represented a woman extremely young and of a
rare beauty. The face was looking out of the canvas, and the gaze of
this picture disturbed the serenity of Coningsby. On rising to leave the
table he said to Mr. Millbank, "By whom is that portrait, sir?"
The countenance of Millbank became disturbed; his expression was
agitated, almost angry. "Oh! that is by a country artist," he said, "of
whom you never heard."
_III.--The Course of True Love_
The Princess Colonna resolved that an alliance should take place between
Coningsby and her step-daughter. But the plans of the princess, imparted
to Mr. Rigby that she might gain his assistance in achieving them, were
doomed to frustration. Coningsby fell deeply in love with Miss Millbank;
and Lord Monmouth himself decided to marry Lucretia.
It was in Paris that Coningsby, on a visit to his grandfather, woke to
the knowledge of his love for Edith Millbank. They met at a brilliant
party, Miss Millbank in the care of her aunt, Lady Wallinger.
"Miss Millbank says that you have quite forgotten her," said a mutual
friend.
Coningsby started, advanced, coloured a little, could not conceal his
surprise. The lady, too, though more prepared, was not without
confusion. Coningsby recalled at that moment the beautiful, bashful
countenance that had so charmed him at Millbank; but two years had
effected a wonderful change, and transformed the silent, embarrassed
girl into a woman of surpassing beauty. That night the image of Edith
Millbank was the last thought of Coningsby as he sank into an agitated
slumber. In the morning his first thought was of her of whom he had
dreamed. The light had dawned on his soul. Coningsby loved.
The course of true love was not to run smoothly with our hero. Within a
few days he heard rumours that Miss Millbank was to be married to
Sidonia, a wealthy and gifted man of the Jewish race, the friend of Lord
Monmouth. Often had Coningsby admired the wisdom and the abilities of
Sidonia; against such a rival he felt powerless, and, without mustering
courage to speak, left hastily for England.
But Coningsby had been deceived--the gossip was without foundation; and
once more he was to meet Edith Millbank. This time, however, it was Mr.
Millbank himself who vetoed the courtship.
Oswald had invited his friend to Millbank; and Coningsby, having learnt
the baselessness of the report that had driven him from Paris, gladly
accepted. Coningsby Castle was near to Hellingsley; and this estate Mr.
Millbank had purchased, outbidding Lord Monmouth. Bitter enmity existed
between the great marquess and the famous manufacturer--an old,
implacable hatred. Mr. Millbank now resided at Hellingsley; and
Coningsby left the castle rejoicing to meet his old Eton friend again,
and still more the beautiful sister of his old friend.
Mr. Millbank was from home when he arrived; and Coningsby and Miss
Millbank walked in the park, and rested by the margin of a stream.
Assuredly a maiden and a youth more beautiful and engaging had seldom
met in a scene more fresh and fair.
Coningsby gazed on the countenance of his companion. She turned her
head, and met his glance.
"Edith," he said, in a tone of tremulous passion, "let me call you
Edith! Yes," he continued, gently taking her hand; "let me call you my
Edith! I love you!"
She did not withdraw her hand; but turned away a face flushed as the
impending twilight.
The lovers returned late for dinner to find that Mr. Millbank was at
home.
Next morning, in Mr. Millbank's room, Coningsby learnt that the marriage
he looked forward to with all the ardour of youth was quite impossible.
"The sacrifices and the misery of such a marriage are certain and
inseparable," said Mr. Millbank gravely, but without harshness. "You are
the grandson of Lord Monmouth; at present enjoying his favour, but
dependent on his bounty. You may be the heir of his wealth to-morrow and
to-morrow you may be the object of his hatred and persecution. Your
grandfather and myself are foes--to the death. It is idle to mince
phrases. I do not vindicate our mutual feelings; I may regret that they
have ever arisen, especially at this exigency. Lord Monmouth would crush
me, had he the power, like a worm; and I have curbed his proud fortunes
often. These feelings of hatred may be deplored, but they do not exist;
and now you are to go to this man, and ask his sanction to marry my
daughter!"
"I would appease these hatreds," retorted Coningsby, "the origin of
which I know not. I would appeal to my grandfather. I would show him
Edith."
"He has looked upon as fair even as Edith," said Mr. Millbank. "And did
that melt his heart? My daughter and yourself can meet no more."
In vain Coningsby pleaded his suit. It was not till Mr. Millbank told
that he, too, had suffered--that he had loved Coningsby's own mother,
and that she gave her heart to another, to die afterwards solitary and
forsaken, tortured by Lord Monmouth--that Coningsby was silent. It was
his mother's portrait he had looked upon that night at Millbank; and he
understood the cause of the hatred.
He wrung Mr. Millbank's hand, and left Hellingsley in despair. But
Oswald overtook him in the park; and, leaning on his friend's arm,
Coningsby poured forth a hurried, impassioned, and incoherent strain--
all that had occurred, all that he had dreamed, his baffled bliss, his
actual despair, his hopeless outlook.
A thunderstorm overtook them; and Oswald took refuge from the elements
at the castle. There, as they sat together, pledging their faithful
friendship, the door opened, and Mr. Rigby appeared.
_IV.--Coningsby's Political Faith_
Lord Monmouth banished the Princess Colonna from his presence, and
married Lucretia. Coningsby returned to Cambridge, and continued to
enjoy his grandfather's hospitality whenever Lord Monmouth was in
London.
Mr. Millbank had, in the meantime, become a member of parliament, having
defeated Mr. Rigby in the contest for the representation of Dartford.
In the year 1840 a general election was imminent, and Lord Monmouth
returned to London. He was weary of Paris; every day he found it more
difficult to be amused. Lucretia had lost her charm: they had been
married nearly three years. The marquess, from whom nothing could be
concealed, perceived that often, while she elaborately attempted to
divert him, her mind was wandering elsewhere.
He fell into the easy habit of dining in his private rooms, sometimes
_tête-à-tête_ with Villebecque, his private secretary, a cosmopolitan
theatrical manager, whose tales and adventures about a kind of society
which Lord Monmouth had always preferred to the polished and somewhat
insipid circles in which he was born, had rendered him the prime
favourite of his great patron. Villebecque's step-daughter Flora, a
modest and retiring maiden, waited on Lucretia.
Back in London, Lord Monmouth, on the day of his arrival, welcomed
Coningsby to his room, and at a sign from his master Villebecque left
the apartment.
"You see, Harry," said Lord Monmouth, "that I am much occupied to-day,
yet the business on which I wish to communicate with you is so pressing
that it could not be postponed. These are not times when young men
should be out of sight. Your public career will commence immediately.
The government have resolved on a dissolution. My information is from
the highest quarter. The Whigs are going to dissolve their own House of
Commons. Notwithstanding this, we can beat them, but the race requires
the finest jockeying. We can't give a point. Now, if we had a good
candidate, we could win Dartford. But Rigby won't do. He is too much of
the old clique used up a hack; besides, a beaten horse. We are assured
the name of Coningsby would be a host; there is a considerable section
who support the present fellow who will not vote against a Coningsby.
They have thought of you as a fit person; and I have approved of the
suggestion. You will, therefore, be the candidate for Dartford with my
entire sanction and support; and I have no doubt you will be
successful."
To Coningsby the idea was appalling. To be the rival of Mr. Millbank on
the hustings of Dartford! Vanquished or victorious, equally a
catastrophe. He saw Edith canvassing for her father and against him.
Besides, to enter the House of Commons a slave and a tool of party!
Strongly anti-Whig, Coningsby distrusted the Conservative party, and
looked for a new party of men who shared his youthful convictions and
high political principles.
Lord Monmouth, however, brushed aside his grandson's objections.
"You are certainly still young; but I was younger by nearly two years
when I first went in, and I found no difficulty. As for your opinions,
you have no business to have any other than those I uphold. I want to
see you in parliament. I tell you what it is, Harry," Lord Monmouth
concluded, very emphatically, "members of this family may think as they
like, but they must act as I please. You must go down on Friday to
Dartford and declare yourself a candidate for the town, or I shall
reconsider our mutual positions."
Coningsby left Monmouth House in dejection, but to his solemn resolution
of political faith he remained firm. He would not stand for Dartford
against Mr. Millbank as the nominee of a party he could not follow. In
terms of tenderness and humility he wrote to his grandfather that he
positively declined to enter parliament except as the master of his own
conduct.
In the same hour of his distress Coningsby overheard in his club two men
discussing the engagement of Miss Millbank to the Marquess of
Beaumanoir, the elder brother of his school friend, Henry Sydney.
Edith Millbank, too, had heard news at a London assembly of wealth and
fashion that Coningsby was engaged to be married to Lady Theresa Sydney.
So easily does rumour spin her stories and smite her victims with
sadness.
_V.--Lady Monmouth's Departure_
It was Flora, to whom Coningsby had been always kind and courteous, who
told Lucretia that Lord Monmouth was displeased with his grandson.
"My lord is very angry with Mr. Coningsby," she said, shaking her head
mournfully. "My lord told M. Villebecque that perhaps Mr. Coningsby
would never enter the house again."
Lucretia immediately dispatched a note to Mr. Rigby, and, on the arrival
of that gentleman, told him all she had learnt of the contention between
Harry Coningsby and her husband.
"I told you to beware of him long ago," said Lady Monmouth. "He has ever
been in the way of both of us."
"He is in my power," said Rigby. "We can crush him. He is in love with
the daughter of Millbank, the man who bought Hellingsley. I found the
younger Millbank quite domiciliated at the castle, a fact which of
itself, if known to Lord Monmouth, would ensure the lad's annihilation."
"The time is now most mature for this. Let us not conceal it from
ourselves that since this grandson's first visit to Coningsby Castle we
have neither of us really been in the same position with my lord which
we then occupied, or believed we should occupy. Go now; the game is
before you! Rid me of this Coningsby, and I will secure all that you
want."
"It shall be done," said Rigby, "it must be done."
Lady Monmouth bade Mr. Rigby hasten at once to the marquess and bring
her news of the interview. She awaited with some excitement his return.
Her original prejudice against Coningsby and jealousy of his influence
had been aggravated by the knowledge that, although after her marriage
Lord Monmouth had made a will which secured to her a very large portion
of his great wealth, the energies and resources of the marquess had of
late been directed to establish Coningsby in a barony.
Two hours elapsed before Mr. Rigby returned. There was a churlish and
unusual look about him.
"Lord Monmouth suggests that, as you were tired of Paris, your ladyship
might find the German baths at Kissingen agreeable. A paragraph in the
'Morning Post' would announce that his lordship was about to join you;
and even if his lordship did not ultimately reach you, an amicable
separation would be effected."
In vain Lucretia stormed. Mr. Rigby mentioned that Lord Monmouth had
already left the house and would not return, and finally announced that
Lucretia's letters to a certain Prince Trautsmandorff were in his
lordship's possession.
A few days later, and Coningsby read in the papers of Lady Monmouth's
departure to Kissingen. He called at Monmouth House, to find the place
empty, and to learn from the porter that Lord Monmouth was about to
occupy a villa at Richmond.
Coningsby entertained for his grandfather a sincere affection. With the
exception of their last unfortunate interview, he had experienced
nothing but kindness from Lord Monmouth. He determined to pay him a
visit at Richmond.
Lord Monmouth, who was entertaining two French ladies at his villa,
recoiled from grandsons and relations and ties of all kinds; but
Coningsby so pleasantly impressed his fair visitors that Lord Monmouth
decided to ask him to dinner. Thus, in spite of the combinations of
Lucretia and Mr. Rigby, and his grandfather's resentment, within a month
of the memorable interview at Monmouth House, Coningsby found himself
once more a welcome guest at Lord Monmouth's table.
In that same month other important circumstances also occurred.
At a fête in some beautiful gardens on the banks of the Thames,
Coningsby and Edith Millbank were both present. The announcement was
made of the forthcoming marriage of Lady Theresa Sydney to Mr. Eustace
Lyle, a friend of Mr. Coningsby; and later, from the lips of Lady
Wallinger herself, Miss Millbank's aunt, Coningsby learnt how really
groundless was the report of Lord Beaumanoir's engagement.
"Lord Beaumanoir admires her--has always admired her," Lady Wallinger
explained to Coningsby; "but Edith has given him no encouragement
whatever."
At the end of the terrace Edith and Coningsby met. He seized the
occasion to walk some distance by her side.
"How could you ever doubt me?" said Coningsby, after some time.
"I was unhappy."
"And now we are to each other as before."
"And will be, come what may," said Edith.
_VI.--Lord Monmouth's Money_
In the midst of Christmas-revels at the country house of Mr. Eustace
Lyle, surrounded by the duke and duchess and their children--the
Sydneys--Coningsby was called away by a messenger, who brought news of
the sudden death of Lord Monmouth. The marquess had died at supper at
his Richmond villa, with no persons near him but those who were very
amusing.
The body had been removed to Monmouth House; and after the funeral, in
the principal saloon of Monmouth House, the will was eventually read.
The date of the will was 1829; and by this document the sum of £10,000
was left to Coningsby, who at that time was unknown to his grandfather.
But there were many codicils. In 1832, the £10,000 was increased to
£50,000. In 1836, after Coningsby's visit to the castle, £50,000 was
left to the Princess Lucretia, and Coningsby was left sole residuary
legatee.
After the marriage, an estate of £9,000 a year was left to Coningsby,
£20,000 to Mr. Rigby, and the whole of the residue went to issue by Lady
Monmouth.
In the event of there being no issue, the whole of the estate was to be
divided equally between Lady Monmouth and Coningsby. In 1839, Mr. Rigby
was reduced to £10,000, Lady Monmouth was to receive £3,000 per annum,
and the rest, without reserve, went absolutely to Coningsby.
The last codicil was dated immediately after the separation with Lady
Monmouth.
All dispositions in favour of Coningsby were revoked, and he was left
with the interest of the original £10,000, the executors to invest the
money as they thought best for his advancement, provided it were not
placed in any manufactory.
Mr. Rigby received £5,000, M. Villebecque £30,000, and all the rest,
residue and remainder, to Flora, commonly called Flora Villebecque,
step-child of Armand Villebecque, "but who is my natural daughter by an
actress at the Théâtre Français in the years 1811-15, by the name of
Stella."
Sidonia lightened the blow for Coningsby as far as philosophy could be
of use.
"I ask you," he said, "which would you have rather lost--your
grandfather's inheritance or your right leg?"
"Most certainly my inheritance."
"Or your left arm?"
"Still the inheritance."
"Would you have given up a year of your life for that fortune trebled?"
"Even at twenty-three I would have refused the terms."
"Come, then, Coningsby, the calamity cannot be very great. You have
health, youth, good looks, great abilities, considerable knowledge, a
fine courage, and no contemptible experience. You can live on £300 a
year. Read for the Bar."
"I have resolved," said Coningsby. "I will try for the Great Seal!"
Next morning came a note from Flora, begging Mr. Coningsby to call upon
her. It was an interview he would rather have avoided. But Flora had not
injured him, and she was, after all, his kin. She was alone when
Coningsby entered the room.
"I have robbed you of your inheritance."
"It was not mine by any right, legal or moral. The fortune is yours,
dear Flora, by every right; and there is no one who wishes more
fervently that it may contribute to your happiness than I do."
"It is killing me," said Flora mournfully. "I must tell you what I feel.
This fortune is yours. I never thought to be so happy as I shall be if
you will generously accept it."
"You are, as I have ever thought you, the kindest and most
tender-hearted of beings," said Coningsby, much moved; "but the custom
of the world does not permit such acts to either of us as you
contemplate. Have confidence in yourself. You will be happy."
"When I die, these riches will be yours; that, at all events, you cannot
prevent," were Flora's last generous words.
_VII.--On Life's Threshold_
Coningsby established himself in the Temple to read law; and Lord Henry
Sydney, Oswald Millbank, and other old Eton friends rallied round their
early leader.
"I feel quite convinced that Coningsby will become Lord Chancellor,"
Henry Sydney said gravely, after leaving the Temple.
The General Election of 1841, which Lord Monmouth had expected a year
before, found Coningsby a solitary student in his lonely chambers in the
Temple. All his friends and early companions were candidates, and with
sanguine prospects. They sent their addresses to Coningsby, who, deeply
interested, traced in them the influence of his own mind.
Then, in the midst of the election, one evening in July, Coningsby,
catching up a third edition of the "Sun," was startled by the word
"Dartford" in large type. Below it were the headlines:
"Extraordinary Affair! Withdrawal of the Liberal Candidate! Two Tory
Candidates in the Field!"
Mr. Millbank, at the last moment, had retired, and had persuaded his
supporters to nominate Harry Coningsby in his place. The fight was
between Coningsby and Rigby.
Oswald Millbank, who had just been returned to parliament, came up to
London; and from him, as they travelled to Dartford, Coningsby grasped
the change of events. Sidonia had explained to Lady Wallinger the cause
of Coningsby's disinheritance. Lady Wallinger had told Oswald and Edith;
and Oswald had urged on his father the recognition of his friend's
affection for his sister.
On his own impulse Mr. Millbank decided that Coningsby should contest
Dartford.
Mr. Rigby was beaten; and Coningsby arrived at Dartford in time to
receive the cheers of thousands. From the hustings he gave his first
address to a public assembly; and by general agreement no such speech
had ever been heard in the borough before.
Early in the autumn Harry and Edith were married at Millbank, and they
passed their first moon at Hellingsley.
The death of Flora, who had bequeathed the whole of her fortune to the
husband of Edith, took place before the end of the year, hastened by the
fatal inheritance which disturbed her peace and embittered her days,
haunting her heart with the recollection that she had been the
instrument of injuring the only being whom she loved.
Coningsby passed his next Christmas in his own hall, with his beautiful
and gifted wife by his side, and surrounded by the friends of his heart
and his youth.
The young couple stand now on the threshold of public life. What will be
their fate? Will they maintain in august assemblies and high places the
great truths, which, in study and in solitude, they have embraced? Or
will vanity confound their fortunes, and jealousy wither their
sympathies?
* * * * *