Honor's Kingdom (6 page)

Mr. Adams took me round the great lobby, introducing me first to a dozen members of Parliament, and then to a dozen more. Some had taken alcohol in quantity, and I do not speak solely of the members out of Ireland, but most were the pleasantest gentlemen. One Mr. Taylor seemed especially well-disposed toward our Union’s efforts to reunite North and South, although a Mr. Lindsay brought Mr. Adams up short. As we moved on to other introductions, a fellow standing next to Lindsay commented, “If
he
’s typical of the run of Union officers, I shouldn’t think the Confederacy in much danger.” It made me wonder why Mr. Adams introduced me to this Lindsay and his coterie, but I could not dwell long on the matter, for soon we found ourselves standing before Mr. Disraeli. I was introduced to him as though we had not met an hour before in his own study, which only made me wonder all the more.

Next, our Minister marched me up to Mr. Gladstone. He was a red and sputtering fellow, with busy, bulging eyes. Now, Mr. Gladstone was the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the chief clerk of the national counting house, which I think must be a fine job. Myself, I longed to return to my own clerking position, for numbers are lovely clear when men are not.

I knew a bit about Mr. Gladstone from my newspaper readings. He was reputed to be a great reformer and friend of the downtrodden, yet he showed himself cool enough to Mr. Adams and our Cause, for the English pity best where they are interested least. I wondered, again, why I should be paraded before such a fellow, though pleased enough I was by the attention. What value could I have to such high men? What profit lay in knowing Abel Jones?

I did not meet Lord Palmerston, the Prime Minister, for he and Mr. Adams had fallen out over General Butler’s proclamation to the female residents of New Orleans, which explained to them that they must act like ladies if they wished to be treated as ladies, an eminently sensible position. But the English press sent howls of outrage Heavenward, and spoke of imminent ravishings by Yankee mercenaries, and Lord Palmerston liked to
please the public temper. So he had assailed our struggling nation’s dignity, just enough to make a nasty row, but not enough to compromise his government, as Mr. Adams put it. Lord knows, we handled the local women badly enough in India when I wore a scarlet coat, but the English like to look down on Americans whenever they may, and rare is the critic who glances into a mirror. I do not speak of the French, of course, to whom the mirror is a cherished companion.

Discreetly, Mr. Adams pointed out the Prime Minister across a vestibule, near where an elderly lady sold apples and oranges. And I marked at once the resemblance that had made him laugh that afternoon. Even by gaslight, you saw “Old Pam” wore rouge upon his cheeks. Nor was I certain his hair was entirely his own. He was great of beak and bent at the shoulders, with the profile of an underfed bird of prey.

Look you. I would not disparage the Prime Minister’s lack of physical stature, for well I know a man small in physique may bear great virtues within him, but Lord Palmerston seemed a portrait of each and every decay as he stood there half in shadow, chatting with toadies. A man of the past he looked, a human relic. Yet, when he moved he showed a certain grace, even vivacity, although he was nearing his eightieth year of life. He carried himself like those men of the town who live below their years and beyond their means. And I will tell you, though it shock, that Old Pam was said to appear at unexpected hours, departing the abodes of women to whom he was not united by the bands of holy matrimony.

It is a curious world.

Oh, complain of the English we may, and even dislike them, but they will have respect from all the world. What power is mightier than the British lion? I was bedazzled, I will tell you, to have come so far in life that our Minister to Britain found it worth his time to guide me through the very halls of Parliament, from whence the greater part of the earth is governed. There was some damp, despite the summer’s warmth, and a sewer odor haunted the outer rooms, but likely that was due to
the neighboring river. I was puffed up with myself, I will admit to you, for Mr. Adams was as gracious to me that night as if I had been the Grand Chinee come calling. Oh, we were blessed to have him in that hour, for he knew his business better than men could tell.

The hall in which the Commons sat was not so grand as a fellow might expect, but about the size of a prosperous city church. All risen up like a phoenix the building was, since the great fire of my boyhood, and that room of opposing benches smelled of power and varnish. When the members all got going, the place grew as raucous as race day at the Lahore cantonment. We looked in on the floor, but Mr. Adams decided we were best-placed in the stranger’s gallery.

I could not see it yet, although my brain was laboring, but Mr. Adams had accomplished all that he had set out to do that evening.

We stayed a goodly while, although our war and the blockade did not come up. The night’s concern had to do with the ill-treatment of Jews in Russia. A pair of levied Hebrews had run afoul of the army’s regulations, where such error was like to prove fatal. After a good bit of back and forth, denouncing the czar as a benighted autocrat and praising him as flawlessly progressive, an irate fellow got to his feet and insisted that Britain was obliged to stand against the persecution of mankind, wherever that persecution might occur. He did not mention slavery, of course, as practiced by the Rebels in our Southland.

I watched Old Pam, whose manner seemed shamelessly inattentive. Slumped down upon the Treasury Bench, with his hat pulled low on his forehead, he appeared to spend the evening rehearsing his eternal slumber. Only when the gaslamps provided the last light in the world did the Prime Minister doff his topper and rise to his feet.

All competing voices calmed, and the chamber settled down.

Twas then I got another lesson. Old he may have been, but Palmerston was canny. He made a little speech that seemed to
give something to everyone concerned. Wonderfully artful it was. He agreed that the plight of the Jews abroad was a matter of concern, though I noted that he did not mention Russia specifically, and he thanked Providence that the honorable members were sitting in enlightened Britain. The latter remark met with cries of “Hear, hear!” from both sides of the House.
But
, the prime minister warned, no matter how dearly Britain, with its great traditions of impartial justice, might sympathize, no matter how the conscience of the splendid English yeoman might be troubled by such distant events, the Jew affair remained a matter internal to Russia, a sovereign foreign power. Her Majesty’s Government
might
protest, but could not interfere without upsetting the established practice of nations. Lord Palmerston assured all present that the cabinet would address the situation in an appropriate manner, but did not elaborate as to how or when or with what.

The moment Old Pam resumed his seat, the passion drained out of the place. The opposition wore a collective expression resembling that of a young man who knew well enough that he had been cheated out of a small fortune at cards, but knew not how it had happened. Of course, we should not play at cards under any circumstances, for they are the Devil’s device, and I record the image only for its exemplary value.

We left before the Commons dispersed, as the time had got near midnight. Mr. Adams found us a cab easily enough, for they lurked by Parliament in plenty, and he told me he would drop me at a hotel where a room had been engaged for me and my luggage deposited. He observed, politely, that my day had been a long one. Then we rode through a city not yet free of the day’s thick warmth.

Shy of Piccadilly, music halls blazed. A street-singer, confident of the generosity of the Friday night crowds, bellowed, “Dolly Didn’t See Him in the Corner (Even Though Her Mother Tried to Warn Her),” a ribald tune unfit for Christian ears. On lesser streets, where folk lived above the shops, men rested in the doorways in their shirtsleeves, sometimes companioned
by drowsing women and children, come out to escape the heat of windowless rooms. In front of a noisy public house, a fellow sold tripe soup from off his barrow, offering tin bowls to wandering drunkards.

And then there were the women, abroad in ones and twos, and composing a multitude. But I will leave their purpose undescribed. I was only surprised, as often I have been, by the gaiety of so many of them. Their calling is a harsh one, yet they laugh. Perhaps they are like wounded men after a battle, telling jokes as they wait on the surgeon’s knife.

“Mr. Disraeli does not look a typical Englishman,” I said to Mr. Adams. I had waited as long as I might for him to speak first, for I would not be presumptuous, but he only sat there with that Hindoo holy-man calm of his. Perhaps that is why they call them “Boston Brahmins.” Anyway, there were matters I wished to raise before I found myself deposited at the hotel. For I had been thinking as hard as I could and believed I had gained a little from the effort.

“You’re not the first person to make that observation,” Mr. Adams said, and seemed as if he would let things rest at that.

“Nor does his name sound English,” I went on. “I find him a curious fellow, see. Though meaning no disrespect, sir.”

“Respect,” Mr. Adams said, “has not always been accorded Mr. Disraeli to the degree he might wish.” He turned those marble eyes toward me, and they gleamed in the cast of light from the cab’s high lanterns. “Nor is the name of English origins. ‘D’Israeli.’ The fellow’s of Jewish descent. From a long and noble Spanish line, he claims, as well as from distinguished Italian merchants. He was baptized into the Church of England as an infant, but, of course, that’s not good enough for many. Remarkable that the man has come so far. A credit to the English system, in its way. And to his own determination. The public seem to have accepted him, by and large. He’s even been given the pet name ‘Dizzy’ by family and friends, as well as by the press. Once Derby took to him, some measure of success was assured—though, nowadays, there are some who view the
Earl of Derby as little more than a stalking horse for Benjamin Disraeli.”

We passed a policeman admonishing an intoxicated fellow under a gaslamp.

“He didn’t speak in support of those Russian Jews,” I said.

“No. He wouldn’t.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” I pressed on, “but does Mr. Disraeli have . . . unpleasant habits?”

Mr. Adams looked baffled by the question, then began, “You’ve met him yourself. His manners are every bit as good as—”

He stopped. Perhaps he blushed, but the poor light would not show me.

“Nothing of the kind,” he resumed. “Although I suppose his eccentricities might give one certain impressions. Really, Jones, he has a wife to whom he is absolutely devoted. As she is to him.”

Well, I was glad of that. For no good ever comes of unpleasant behaviors.

“I know you explained, sir, that Mr. Disraeli shows you favor because he is in the opposition, even though the Tories dislike our Union. I would think he would use such events as the Reverend Mr. Campbell’s decease to embarrass the government, rather than to help you. Even to bring down the government and lead his own party to power.”

Mr. Adams nodded, and the street passed into a shadow between gaslamps. “I keep the possibility in mind. At the moment, however, Mr. Disraeli and the Earl of Derby don’t want the obligation to form a government thrust upon them.”

He glanced out at the darkened world, then turned his face back to me. “These are parlous times, and not only for Washington, Major Jones. London faces crises from the affair with the Taepings to the Tennessee River. India obsesses all parties in the wake of the Mutiny—I believe one of the reasons they’ve gone lukewarm on the anti-slavery issue is their experience of massacre at brown hands in Delhi and Oude. Nor are the
French proving the most suitable allies. Louis Napoleon’s activities, from Italy to Mexico, leave Her Majesty’s Government a bit breathless. The Sublime Porte is misbehaving again, and the Turks appear feeble. The Russian fleet has become newly adventurous, despite the Crimean decision, while British observation of our own operations has convinced them the Royal Navy is less than prepared for the demands of modern warfare—and Mr. Disraeli has made a career of paring down naval expenditures, which is hardly fortuitous, under the circumstances. No, the opposition is content to let Lord Palmerston be the first to embarrass himself.” Our Minister’s lips thinned to the apprehension of a smile. “Should the embarrassment prove great enough to break the present coalition, they might step into office as the saviors of the situation. Otherwise, they’ll wait for calmer waters.” He cocked his head to see me better. Or, perhaps, to see beyond me. “Politics isn’t only about grasping power. It’s about grasping power at the right time.”

“It seems an awfully deceitful world, British politics does,” I said.

Mr. Adams gave a brief snort. “Our own politics are no better,” he said, with unmistakable bitterness.

He was already a disappointed man, although I did not know it then, and this mortal life would disappoint him further. Despite his professional dissemblings, which must have been difficult for him, he was as erect a man as ever I knew. But I must not go too swiftly, or leap ahead, so let that bide.

“Mr. Adams, sir?”

He turned his eyes back toward me as we bounced over broken pavement.

“You did not introduce me around to be sociable, did you, sir? Especially not to the likes of that Mr. Lindsay. Nor did you take me to meet Mr. Disraeli because you wanted me to listen to him. Meaning no disrespect, sir, and all on the contrary, it seems to me there was a purpose in your doings.”

He had been caught off-guard again and his eyes narrowed. Mr. Adams was a man accustomed to surprising others, and
such are not fond of being surprised themselves. But I wanted him to know that I saw what I saw, and that I understood and valued his efforts.

“It seems to me,” I continued, “that if a fellow who has made the acquaintance of members of Parliament, and of such high men as Mr. Disraeli and Mr. Gladstone both, well, if such a one was to be murdered, say, there would be more of an explanation wanted than at the death of a parson gone among the poor, or at the loss of anonymous agents. Such a murder would be a greater embarrassment to the English than even to you, sir, since the victim was recently paraded in the very halls of Parliament. They would not see such a murder as in their interests, they would not. And you knew that the Rebels and their supporters would learn of my arrival, so you made it all public and turned the knowledge against them. You have wrapped me in invisible armor, and cleverly done, it was. If you will forgive the saying so.”