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| CONINGSBY, by Benjamin Disraeli (1844)
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BOOK I
CHAPTER I.
It was a bright May morning some twelve years ago, when a youth of still
tender age, for he had certainly not entered his teens by more than two
years, was ushered into the waiting-room of a house in the vicinity of St.
James's Square, which, though with the general appearance of a private
residence, and that too of no very ambitious character, exhibited at this
period symptoms of being occupied for some public purpose.
The house-door was constantly open, and frequent guests even at this early
hour crossed the threshold. The hall-table was covered with sealed
letters; and the hall-porter inscribed in a book the name of every
individual who entered.
The young gentleman we have mentioned found himself in a room which
offered few resources for his amusement. A large table amply covered with
writing materials, and a few chairs, were its sole furniture, except the
grey drugget that covered the floor, and a muddy mezzotinto of the Duke of
Wellington that adorned its cold walls. There was not even a newspaper;
and the only books were the Court Guide and the London Directory. For some
time he remained with patient endurance planted against the wall, with his
feet resting on the rail of his chair; but at length in his shifting
posture he gave evidence of his restlessness, rose from his seat, looked
out of the window into a small side court of the house surrounded with
dead walls, paced the room, took up the Court Guide, changed it for the
London Directory, then wrote his name over several sheets of foolscap
paper, drew various landscapes and faces of his friends; and then,
splitting up a pen or two, delivered himself of a yawn which seemed the
climax of his weariness.
And yet the youth's appearance did not betoken a character that, if the
opportunity had offered, could not have found amusement and even
instruction. His countenance, radiant with health and the lustre of
innocence, was at the same time thoughtful and resolute. The expression of
his deep blue eyes was serious. Without extreme regularity of features,
the face was one that would never have passed unobserved. His short upper
lip indicated a good breed; and his chestnut curls clustered over his open
brow, while his shirt-collar thrown over his shoulders was unrestrained by
handkerchief or ribbon. Add to this, a limber and graceful figure, which
the jacket of his boyish dress exhibited to great advantage.
Just as the youth, mounted on a chair, was adjusting the portrait of the
Duke, which he had observed to be awry, the gentleman for whom he had been
all this time waiting entered the room.
'Floreat Etona!' hastily exclaimed the gentleman, in a sharp voice; 'you
are setting the Duke to rights. I have left you a long time a prisoner;
but I found them so busy here, that I made my escape with some
difficulty.'
He who uttered these words was a man of middle size and age, originally in
all probability of a spare habit, but now a little inclined to corpulency.
Baldness, perhaps, contributed to the spiritual expression of a brow,
which was, however, essentially intellectual, and gave some character of
openness to a countenance which, though not ill-favoured, was unhappily
stamped by a sinister cast that was not to be mistaken. His manner was
easy, but rather audacious than well-bred. Indeed, while a visage which
might otherwise be described as handsome was spoilt by a dishonest glance,
so a demeanour that was by no means deficient in self-possession and
facility, was tainted by an innate vulgarity, which in the long run,
though seldom, yet surely developed itself.
The youth had jumped off his chair on the entrance of the gentleman, and
then taking up his hat, said:
'Shall we go to grandpapa now, sir?'
'By all means, my dear boy,' said the gentleman, putting his arm within
that of the youth; and they were just on the point of leaving the waiting-
room, when the door was suddenly thrown open, and two individuals, in a
state of great excitement, rushed into the apartment.
'Rigby! Rigby!' they both exclaimed at the same moment. 'By G — — they're
out!'
'Who told you?'
'The best authority; one of themselves.'
'Who? who?'
'Paul Evelyn; I met him as I passed Brookes', and he told me that Lord
Grey had resigned, and the King had accepted his resignation.'
But Mr. Rigby, who, though very fond of news, and much interested in the
present, was extremely jealous of any one giving him information, was
sceptical. He declared that Paul Evelyn was always wrong; that it was
morally impossible that Paul Evelyn ever could be right; that he knew,
from the highest authority, that Lord Grey had been twice yesterday with
the King; that on the last visit nothing was settled; that if he had been
at the palace again to-day, he could not have been there before twelve
o'clock; that it was only now a quarter to one; that Lord Grey would have
called his colleagues together on his return; that at least an hour must
have elapsed before anything could possibly have transpired. Then he
compared and criticised the dates of every rumoured incident of the last
twenty-four hours, and nobody was stronger in dates than Mr. Rigby;
counted even the number of stairs which the minister had to ascend and
descend in his visit to the palace, and the time their mountings and
dismountings must have consumed, detail was Mr. Rigby's forte; and
finally, what with his dates, his private information, his knowledge of
palace localities, his contempt for Paul Evelyn, and his confidence in
himself, he succeeded in persuading his downcast and disheartened friends
that their comfortable intelligence had not the slightest foundation.
They all left the room together; they were in the hall; the gentlemen who
brought the news looked somewhat depressed, but Mr. Rigby gay, even amid
the prostration of his party, from the consciousness that he had most
critically demolished a piece of political gossip and conveyed a certain
degree of mortification to a couple of his companions; when a travelling
carriage and four with a ducal coronet drove up to the house. The door was
thrown open, the steps dashed down, and a youthful noble sprang from his
chariot into the hall.
'Good morning, Rigby,' said the Duke.
'I see your Grace well, I am sure,' said Mr. Rigby, with a softened
manner.
'You have heard the news, gentlemen?' the Duke continued.
'What news? Yes; no; that is to say, Mr. Rigby thinks — '
'You know, of course, that Lord Lyndhurst is with the King?'
'It is impossible,' said Mr. Rigby.
'I don't think I can be mistaken,' said the Duke, smiling.
'I will show your Grace that it is impossible,' said Mr. Rigby, 'Lord
Lyndhurst slept at Wimbledon. Lord Grey could not have seen the King until
twelve o'clock; it is now five minutes to one. It is impossible,
therefore, that any message from the King could have reached Lord
Lyndhurst in time for his Lordship to be at the palace at this moment.'
'But my authority is a high one,' said the Duke.
'Authority is a phrase,' said Mr. Rigby; 'we must look to time and place,
dates and localities, to discover the truth.'
'Your Grace was saying that your authority — ' ventured to observe Mr.
Tadpole, emboldened by the presence of a duke, his patron, to struggle
against the despotism of a Rigby, his tyrant.
'Was the highest,' rejoined the Duke, smiling, 'for it was Lord Lyndhurst
himself. I came up from Nuneham this morning, passed his Lordship's house
in Hyde Park Place as he was getting into his carriage in full dress,
stopped my own, and learned in a breath that the Whigs were out, and that
the King had sent for the Chief Baron. So I came on here at once.'
'I always thought the country was sound at bottom,' exclaimed Mr. Taper,
who, under the old system, had sneaked into the Treasury Board.
Tadpole and Taper were great friends. Neither of them ever despaired of
the Commonwealth. Even if the Reform Bill were passed, Taper was convinced
that the Whigs would never prove men of business; and when his friends
confessed among themselves that a Tory Government was for the future
impossible, Taper would remark, in a confidential whisper, that for his
part he believed before the year was over the Whigs would be turned out by
the clerks.
'There is no doubt that there is considerable reaction,' said Mr. Tadpole.
The infamous conduct of the Whigs in the Amersham case has opened the
public mind more than anything.'
'Aldborough was worse,' said Mr. Taper.
'Terrible,' said Tadpole. 'They said there was no use discussing the
Reform Bill in our House. I believe Rigby's great speech on Aldborough has
done more towards the reaction than all the violence of the Political
Unions put together.'
'Let us hope for the best,' said the Duke, mildly. ''Tis a bold step on
the part of the Sovereign, and I am free to say I could have wished it
postponed; but we must support the King like men. What say you, Rigby? You
are silent.'
'I am thinking how very unfortunate it was that I did not breakfast with
Lyndhurst this morning, as I was nearly doing, instead of going down to
Eton.'
'To Eton! and why to Eton?'
'For the sake of my young friend here, Lord Monmouth's grandson. By the
bye, you are kinsmen. Let me present to your Grace, MR. CONINGSBY.'