CHAPTER LXXIX

We have rather anticipated, for the sake of the subject, in our last

chapter, and we must now recur to the time when, after his return from

Paris, Endymion entered into what was virtually his first session in the

House of Commons. Though in opposition, and with all the delights of the

most charming society at his command, he was an habitual and constant

attendant. One might have been tempted to believe that he would turn out

to be, though a working, only a silent member, but his silence was

only prudence. He was deeply interested and amused in watching the

proceedings, especially when those took part in them with whom he was

acquainted. Job Thornberry occupied a leading position in the debates.

He addressed the House very shortly after he took his seat, and having

a purpose and a most earnest one, and being what is styled a

representative man of his subject, the House listened to him at once,

and his place in debate was immediately recognised. The times favoured

him, especially during the first and second session, while the

commercial depression lasted; afterwards, he was always listened to,

because he had great oratorical gifts, a persuasive style that was

winning, and, though he had no inconsiderable powers of sarcasm,

his extreme tact wisely guided him to restrain for the present that

dangerous, though most effective, weapon.

The Pythagorean school, as Waldershare styled Mr. Bertie Tremaine and

his following, very much amused Endymion. The heaven-born minister

air of the great leader was striking. He never smiled, or at any rate

contemptuously. Notice of a question was sometimes publicly given

from this bench, but so abstruse in its nature and so quaint in its

expression, that the House never comprehended it, and the unfortunate

minister who had to answer, even with twenty-four hours’ study, was

obliged to commence his reply by a conjectural interpretation of the

query formally addressed to him. But though they were silent in the

House, their views were otherwise powerfully represented. The weekly

journal devoted to their principles was sedulously circulated among

members of the House. It was called the “Precursor,” and systematically

attacked not only every institution, but, it might be said, every

law, and all the manners and customs, of the country. Its style was

remarkable, never excited or impassioned, but frigid, logical, and

incisive, and suggesting appalling revolutions with the calmness with

which one would narrate the ordinary incidents of life. The editor of

the “Precursor” was Mr. Jawett, selected by that great master of human

nature, Mr. Bertie Tremaine. When it got about, that the editor of this

fearful journal was a clerk in a public office, the indignation of the

government, or at least of their supporters, was extreme, and there was

no end to the punishments and disgrace to which he was to be subjected;

but Waldershare, who lived a good deal in Bohemia, was essentially

cosmopolitan, and dabbled in letters, persuaded his colleagues not to

make the editor of the “Precursor” a martyr, and undertook with their

authority to counteract his evil purposes by literary means alone.

Being fully empowered to take all necessary steps for this object,

Waldershare thought that there was no better mode of arresting public

attention to his enterprise than by engaging for its manager the most

renowned pen of the hour, and he opened himself on the subject in the

most sacred confidence to Mr. St. Barbe. That gentleman, invited to call

upon a minister, sworn to secrecy, and brimful of state secrets, could

not long restrain himself, and with admirable discretion consulted on

his views and prospects Mr. Endymion Ferrars.

“But I thought you were one of us,” said Endymion; “you asked me to put

you in the way of getting into Brooks’!”

“What of that?” said Mr. St. Barbe; “and when you remember what the

Whigs owe to literary men, they ought to have elected me into Brooks’

without my asking for it.”

“Still, if you be on the other side?”

“It is nothing to do with sides,” said Mr. St. Barbe; “this affair goes

far beyond sides. The ‘Precursor’ wants to put down the Crown; I

shall put down the ‘Precursor.’ It is an affair of the closet, not of

sides--an affair of the royal closet, sir. I am acting for the Crown,

sir; the Crown has appealed to me. I save the Crown, and there must be

personal relations with the highest,” and he looked quite fierce.

“Well, you have not written your first article yet,” said Endymion. “I

shall look forward to it with much interest.”

After Easter, Lord Roehampton said to Endymion that a question ought

to be put on a subject of foreign policy of importance, and on which

he thought the ministry were in difficulties; “and I think you might as

well ask it, Endymion. I will draw up the question, and you will give

notice of it. It will be a reconnaissance.”

The notice of this question was the first time Endymion opened his

mouth in the House of Commons. It was an humble and not a very hazardous

office, but when he got on his legs his head swam, his heart beat so

violently, that it was like a convulsion preceding death, and though

he was only on his legs for a few seconds, all the sorrows of his life

seemed to pass before him. When he sate down, he was quite surprised

that the business of the House proceeded as usual, and it was only after

some time that he became convinced that no one but himself was conscious

of his sufferings, or that he had performed a routine duty otherwise

than in a routine manner.

The crafty question, however, led to some important consequences. When

asked, to the surprise of every one the minister himself replied to it.

Waldershare, with whom Endymion dined at Bellamy’s that day, was in no

good humour in consequence.

When Lord Roehampton had considered the ministerial reply, he said to

Endymion, “This must be followed up. You must move for papers. It will

be a good opportunity for you, for the House is up to something being

in the wind, and they will listen. It will be curious to see whether the

minister follows you. If so, he will give me an opening.”

Endymion felt that this was the crisis of his life. He knew the subject

well, and he had all the tact and experience of Lord Roehampton to guide

him in his statement and his arguments. He had also the great feeling

that, if necessary, a powerful arm would support him. It was about a

week before the day arrived, and Endymion slept very little that week,

and the night before his motion not a wink. He almost wished he was

dead as he walked down to the House in the hope that the exercise might

remedy, or improve, his languid circulation; but in vain, and when his

name was called and he had to rise, his hands and feet were like ice.

Lady Roehampton and Lady Montfort were both in the ventilator, and he

knew it.

It might be said that he was sustained by his utter despair. He felt

so feeble and generally imbecile, that he had not vitality enough to be

sensible of failure.

He had a kind audience, and an interested one. When he opened his mouth,

he forgot his first sentence, which he had long prepared. In trying to

recall it and failing, he was for a moment confused. But it was only for

a moment; the unpremeditated came to his aid, and his voice, at first

tremulous, was recognised as distinct and rich. There was a murmur of

sympathy, and not merely from his own side. Suddenly, both physically

and intellectually, he was quite himself. His arrested circulation

flowed, and fed his stagnant brain. His statement was lucid, his

arguments were difficult to encounter, and his manner was modest. He

sate down amid general applause, and though he was then conscious that

he had omitted more than one point on which he had relied, he was on

the whole satisfied, and recollected that he might use them in reply,

a privilege to which he now looked forward with feelings of comfort and

confidence.

The minister again followed him, and in an elaborate speech. The subject

evidently, in the opinion of the minister, was of too delicate and

difficult a character to trust to a subordinate. Overwhelmed as he was

with the labours of his own department, the general conduct of

affairs, and the leadership of the House, he still would undertake the

representation of an office with whose business he was not familiar.

Wary and accurate he always was, but in discussions on foreign affairs,

he never exhibited the unrivalled facility with which he ever treated

a commercial or financial question, or that plausible promptness with

which, at a moment’s notice, he could encounter any difficulty connected

with domestic administration.

All these were qualities which Lord Roehampton possessed with reference

to the affairs over which he had long presided, and in the present

instance, following the minister, he was particularly happy. He had

a good case, and he was gratified by the success of Endymion. He

complimented him and confuted his opponent, and, not satisfied with

demolishing his arguments, Lord Roehampton indulged in a little raillery

which the House enjoyed, but which was never pleasing to the more solemn

organisation of his rival.

No language can describe the fury of Waldershare as to the events

of this evening. He looked upon the conduct of the minister, in

not permitting him to represent his department, as a decree of the

incapacity of his subordinate, and of the virtual termination of the

official career of the Under-Secretary of State. He would have resigned

the next day had it not been for the influence of Lady Beaumaris, who

soothed him by suggesting, that it would be better to take an early

opportunity of changing his present post for another.

The minister was wrong. He was not fond of trusting youth, but it is a

confidence which should be exercised, particularly in the conduct of a

popular assembly. If the under-secretary had not satisfactorily answered

Endymion, which no one had a right to assume, for Waldershare was a

brilliant man, the minister could have always advanced to the rescue

at the fitting time. As it was, he made a personal enemy of one who

naturally might have ripened into a devoted follower, and who from

his social influence, as well as from his political talents, was no

despicable foe.

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