This strangely-revived acquaintance with Job Thornberry was not an
unfruitful incident in the life of Endymion. Thornberry was a man of
original mind and singular energy; and, although of extreme views on
commercial subjects, all his conclusions were founded on extensive and
various information, combined with no inconsiderable practice. The mind
of Thornberry was essentially a missionary one. He was always ready to
convert people; and he acted with ardour and interest on a youth who,
both by his ability and his social position, was qualified to influence
opinion. But this youth was gifted with a calm, wise judgment, of
the extent and depth of which he was scarcely conscious himself; and
Thornberry, like all propagandists, was more remarkable for his zeal and
his convictions, than for that observation and perception of character
which are the finest elements in the management of men and affairs.
“What you should do,” said Thornberry, one day, to Endymion, “is to go
to Scotland; go to the Glasgow district; that city itself, and Paisley,
and Kilmarnock--keep your eye on Paisley. I am much mistaken if there
will not soon be a state of things there which alone will break up the
whole concern. It will burst it, sir; it will burst it.”
So Endymion, without saying anything, quietly went to Glasgow and its
district, and noted enough to make him resolve soon to visit there
again; but the cabinet reassembled in the early part of November, and he
had to return to his duties.
In his leisure hours, Endymion devoted himself to the preparation of
a report, for Mr. Sidney Wilton, on the condition and prospects of the
manufacturing districts of the North of England, with some illustrative
reference to that of the country beyond the Tweed. He concluded it
before Christmas, and Mr. Wilton took it down with him to Gaydene, to
study it at his leisure. Endymion passed his holidays with Lord and Lady
Montfort, at their southern seat, Princedown.
Endymion spoke to Lady Montfort a little about his labours, for he had
no secrets from her; but she did not much sympathise with him, though
she liked him to be sedulous and to distinguish himself. “Only,” she
observed, “take care not to be _doctrinaire_, Endymion. I am
always afraid of that with you. It is Sidney’s fault; he always was
_doctrinaire_. It was a great thing for you becoming his private
secretary; to be the private secretary of a cabinet minister is a real
step in life, and I shall always be most grateful to Sidney, whom I love
for appointing you; but still, if I could have had my wish, you should
have been Lord Roehampton’s private secretary. That is real politics,
and he is a real statesman. You must not let Mr. Wilton mislead you
about the state of affairs in the cabinet. The cabinet consists of the
prime minister and Lord Roehampton, and, if they are united, all the
rest is vapour. And they will not consent to any nonsense about touching
the corn laws; you may be sure of that. Besides, I will tell you a
secret, which is not yet Pulchinello’s secret, though I daresay it will
be known when we all return to town--we shall have a great event when
parliament meets; a royal marriage. What think you of that? The young
queen is going to be married, and to a young prince, like a prince in
a fairy tale. As Lord Roehampton wrote to me this morning, ‘Our royal
marriage will be much more popular than the Anti-Corn-Law League.’”
The royal marriage was very popular; but, unfortunately, it reflected no
splendour on the ministry. The world blessed the queen and cheered
the prince, but shook its head at the government. Sir Robert Peel
also--whether from his own motive or the irresistible impulse of his
party need not now be inquired into--sanctioned a direct attack on
the government, in the shape of a vote of want of confidence in them,
immediately the court festivities were over, and the attack was defeated
by a narrow majority.
“Nothing could be more unprincipled,” said Berengaria, “after he had
refused to take office last year. As for our majority, it is, under such
circumstances, twenty times more than we want. As Lord Roehampton says,
one is enough.”
Trade and revenue continued to decline. There was again the prospect of
a deficiency. The ministry, too, was kept in by the Irish vote, and
the Irish then were very unpopular. The cabinet itself generally was
downcast, and among themselves occasionally murmured a regret that they
had not retired when the opportunity offered in the preceding year.
Berengaria, however, would not bate an inch of confidence and courage.
“You think too much,” she said to Endymion, “of trade and finance. Trade
always comes back, and finance never ruined a country, or an individual
either if he had pluck. Mr. Sidney Wilton is a croaker. The things
he fears will never happen; or, if they do, will turn out to be
unimportant. Look to Lord Roehampton; he is the man. He does not care a
rush whether the revenue increases or declines. He is thinking of real
politics: foreign affairs; maintaining our power in Europe. Something
will happen, before the session is over, in the Mediterranean;” and she
pressed her finger to her lip, and then she added, “The country will
support Lord Roehampton as they supported Pitt, and give him any amount
of taxes that he likes.”
In the meantime, the social world had its incidents as well as the
political, and not less interesting. Not one of the most insignificant,
perhaps, was the introduction into society of the Countess of Beaumaris.
Her husband, sacrificing even his hunting, had come up to town at the
meeting of parliament, and received his friends in a noble mansion on
Piccadilly Terrace. All its equipments were sumptuous and refined,
and everything had been arranged under the personal supervision of Mr.
Waldershare. They commenced very quietly; dinners little but
constant, and graceful and finished as a banquet of Watteau. No formal
invitations; men were brought in to dinner from the House of Lords “just
up,” or picked up, as it were carelessly, in the House of Commons by
Mr. Waldershare, or were asked by Imogene, at a dozen hours’ notice, in
billets of irresistible simplicity. Soon it was whispered about, that
the thing to do was to dine with Beaumaris, and that Lady Beaumaris was
“something too delightful.” Prince Florestan frequently dined there;
Waldershare always there, in a state of coruscation; and every man of
fashion in the opposite ranks, especially if they had brains.
Then, in a little time, it was gently hoped that Imogene should call
on their wives and mothers, or their wives and mothers call on her; and
then she received, without any formal invitation, twice a week; and
as there was nothing going on in London, or nothing half so charming,
everybody who was anybody came to Piccadilly Terrace; and so as,
after long observation, a new planet is occasionally discovered by a
philosopher, thus society suddenly and indubitably discovered that there
was at last a Tory house.
Lady Roehampton, duly apprised of affairs by her brother, had called on
Lord and Lady Beaumaris, and had invited them to her house. It was the
first appearance of Imogene in general society, and it was successful.
Her large brown eyes, and long black lashes, her pretty mouth and
dimple, her wondrous hair--which, it was whispered, unfolded, touched
the ground--struck every one, and the dignified simplicity of her
carriage was attractive. Her husband never left her side; while Mr.
Waldershare was in every part of the saloons, watching her from distant
points, to see how she got on, or catching the remarks of others on her
appearance. Myra was kind to her as well as courteous, and, when the
stream of arriving guests had somewhat ceased, sought her out and spoke
to her; and then put her arm in hers, walked with her for a moment,
and introduced her to one or two great personages, who had previously
intimated their wish or their consent to that effect. Lady Montfort was
not one of these. When parties are equal, and the struggle for power is
intense, society loses much of its sympathy and softness. Lady Montfort
could endure the presence of Tories, provided they were her kinsfolk,
and would join, even at their houses, in traditionary festivities; but
she shrank from passing the line, and at once had a prejudice against
Imogene, who she instinctively felt might become a power for the enemy.
“I will not have you talk so much to that Lady Beaumaris,” she said to
Endymion.
“She is an old friend of mine,” he replied.
“How could you have known her? She was a shop-girl, was not she, or
something of that sort?”
“She and her family were very kind to me when I was not much better than
a shop-boy myself,” replied Endymion, with a mantling cheek. “They are
most respectable people, and I have a great regard for her.”
“Indeed! Well; I will not keep you from your Tory woman,” said
Berengaria rudely; and she walked away.
Altogether, this season of ‘40 was not a very satisfactory one in any
respect, as regarded society or the country in general. Party passion
was at its highest. The ministry retained office almost by a casting
vote; were frequently defeated on important questions; and whenever a
vacancy occurred, it was filled by their opponents. Their unpopularity
increased daily, and it was stimulated by the general distress. All that
Job Thornberry had predicted as to the state of manufacturing Scotland
duly occurred. Besides manufacturing distress, they had to encounter a
series of bad harvests. Never was a body of statesmen placed in a more
embarrassing and less enviable position. There was a prevalent,
though unfounded, conviction that they were maintained in power by a
combination of court favour with Irish sedition.
Lady Montfort and Lord Roehampton were the only persons who never lost
heart. She was defiant; and he ever smiled, at least in public. “What
nonsense!” she would say. “Mr. Sidney Wilton talks about the revenue
falling off! As if the revenue could ever really fall off! And then our
bad harvests. Why, that is the very reason we shall have an excellent
harvest this year. You cannot go on always having bad harvests. Besides,
good harvests never make a ministry popular. Nobody thanks a ministry
for a good harvest. What makes a ministry popular is some great _coup_
in foreign affairs.”
Amid all these exciting disquietudes, Endymion pursued a life of
enjoyment, but also of observation and much labour. He lived more
and more with the Montforts, but the friendship of Berengaria was not
frivolous. Though she liked him to be seen where he ought to figure, and
required a great deal of attention herself, she ever impressed on him
that his present life was only a training for a future career, and that
his mind should ever be fixed on the attainment of a high position.
Particularly she impressed on him the importance of being a linguist.
“There will be a reaction some day from all this political economy,”
she would say, “and then there will be no one ready to take the helm.”
Endymion was not unworthy of the inspiring interest which Lady Montfort
took in him. The terrible vicissitudes of his early years had gravely
impressed his character. Though ambitious, he was prudent; and, though
born to please and be pleased, he was sedulous and self-restrained.
Though naturally deeply interested in the fortunes of his political
friends, and especially of Lord Roehampton and Mr. Wilton, a careful
scrutiny of existing circumstances had prepared him for an inevitable
change; and, remembering what was their position but a few years back,
he felt that his sister and himself should be reconciled to their
altered lot, and be content. She would still be a peeress, and the happy
wife of an illustrious man; and he himself, though he would have to
relapse into the drudgery of a public office, would meet duties the
discharge of which was once the object of his ambition, coupled now with
an adequate income and with many friends.
And among those friends, there were none with whom he maintained his
relations more intimately than with the Neuchatels. He was often their
guest both in town and at Hainault, and he met them frequently in
society, always at the receptions of Lady Montfort and his sister.
Zenobia used sometimes to send him a card; but these condescending
recognitions of late had ceased, particularly as the great dame heard
he was “always at that Lady Beaumaris’s.” One of the social incidents of
his circle, not the least interesting to him, was the close attendance
of Adriana and her mother on the ministrations of Nigel Penruddock. They
had become among the most devoted of his flock; and this, too, when the
rapid and startling development of his sacred offices had so alarmed
the easy, though sagacious, Lord Roehampton, that he had absolutely
expressed his wish to Myra that she should rarely attend them, and,
indeed, gradually altogether drop a habit which might ultimately
compromise her. Berengaria had long ago quitted him. This was attributed
to her reputed caprice, yet it was not so. “I like a man to be
practical,” she said. “When I asked for a deanery for him the other day,
the prime minister said he could hardly make a man a dean who believed
in the Real Presence.” Nigel’s church, however, was more crowded than
ever, and a large body of the clergy began to look upon him as the
coming man.
Towards the end of the year the “great _coup_ in foreign affairs,” which
Lady Montfort had long brooded over, and indeed foreseen, occurred, and
took the world, who were all thinking of something else, entirely by
surprise. A tripartite alliance of great powers had suddenly started
into life; the Egyptian host was swept from the conquered plains of
Asia Minor and Syria by English blue-jackets; St. Jean d’Acre, which had
baffled the great Napoleon, was bombarded and taken by a British fleet;
and the whole fortunes of the world in a moment seemed changed, and
permanently changed.
“I am glad it did not occur in the season,” said Zenobia. “I really
could not stand Lady Montfort if it were May.”
The ministry was elate, and their Christmas was right merrie. There
seemed good cause for this. It was a triumph of diplomatic skill,
national valour, and administrative energy. Myra was prouder of her
husband than ever, and, amid all the excitement, he smiled on her with
sunny fondness. Everybody congratulated her. She gave a little reception
before the holidays, to which everybody came who was in town or passing
through. Even Zenobia appeared; but she stayed a very short time,
talking very rapidly. Prince Florestan paid his grave devoirs, with a
gaze which seemed always to search into Lady Roehampton’s inmost
heart, yet never lingering about her; and Waldershare, full of
wondrous compliments and conceits, and really enthusiastic, for he
ever sympathised with action; and Imogene, gorgeous with the Beaumaris
sapphires; and Sidney Wilton, who kissed his hostess’s hand, and
Adriana, who kissed her cheek.
“I tell you what, Mr. Endymion,” said Mr. Neuchatel, “you should
make Lord Roehampton your Chancellor of the Exchequer, and then your
government might perhaps go on a little.”