ternative view, that he was a man of letters who became a statesman, is accepted only by those who place literature before statecraft, and who realize that while the triumphs of the politician and the diplomatist are fleeting, a great book is, so far as anything on this earth can be, eternal.

Disraeli's first book, Vivian Grey, met with instantaneous success. Like Byron, its author went to sleep an unknown lad and awoke to find himself famous. This roman-à-clef, in which were introduced all the principal statesmen and well-known society folk of the day, set all the world talking and laughing-except the few who frowned and were silent. The motto was impudent:

Why, then the world's mine oyster,
Which I with sword will open,

and the dedication characteristic:

"To the best and greatest of men I dedicate these volumes. He for whom it is intended will accept and appreciate the compliment; those for whom it is not intended will-do the same."

The novel has all the faults of youth. It contains apostrophes to Experience, to Music, and to many other objects (the names of which can be written with a capital initial letter), in a style which Lytton was presently to popularize, and caricatures of many contemporaries; such caricatures as are never very difficult to draw, requiring, as the author admitted subsequently, only a small portion of talent and a great want of courtesy. Though there is no sustained plot the story possesses a central idea; to trace the development of the character of a youth of great talents, whose mind has been corrupted by the artificial age in which he lives. Alike when dealing with the intrigues of the Carabas party, or of the mediatized Prince of Little Lilliput, or of Beckendorff, the book is interesting; but the

love story is weak. Vivian is an entertaining fellow, with his impudence, and his improvised quotations, and his philosophy, which is a curious mixture of extravagance and sound commonsense. The self-satisfied, conceited Lord Carabas is a well-drawn character, and so is the disappointed politician, Cleveland; and the card-sharper, Königstein (for whom, in spite of all, there is a tinge of pity in the reader's mind); and Essper George; and the subtle statesman Beckendorff; but when the book is laid aside, the only female portrait that lingers in the memory is that of the intriguing Mrs. Felix Lorraine. In spite of its defects, Vivian Grey keeps a place by virtue of its brilliance, the smartness of its dialogue, its audacious social satire, and its general freshness and unconventionality.

The next production was Popanilla, a satire on the English Constitution. This is a sort of inverted Gulliver's Travels. Instead of an Englishman finding an undiscovered island, an inhabitant of the unknown Isle of Fantasie finds on the shore a sea-chest with books. These he studies, and as his newly-acquired knowledge seems likely to revolutionize the island, he is put into a canoe, and drifts until he arrives at Hubbabub, "the largest city, not only that exists, but that ever did exist, and the capital of the island Vraibleusia, the most famous island not only that is known, but that ever was known." The satire is always good-humored, but nothing is safe from attack. The best chapter is that devoted to the Anglican Church. The skits on the Constitution, on government by party (with the motto, "something will turn up"), on political economy, on the commercial system, on selfmade millionaires (for the completion of whose education the author asserts that "fashionable" novels are written), and on the colonial system (which

fortifies a rock in the middle of the sea, and crams it with clerks, lawyers, and priests), make amusing reading, as well as providing food for reflection, even in these enlightened days. Ixion in Heaven is a social satire, based upon the story of the King of Thessaly, who was carried to Olympus, where he fell in love with the Queen of the Gods. In this George IV. is represented as Jupiter, Byron as Apollo, and many figures prominent at Court and in society are introduced. The Infernal Marriage is a political squib, taken from the story of Proserpine, who is carried to Elysium, and there becomes a great lady. The Giants and the Gods are the Tories and the Whigs; Encleladus is the Iron Duke, and Hyperion is Sir Robert Peel. The author is at his best both in style and in manner in these three short sketches; his humor is more unfettered and his fancy is permitted to run riot. Little read as they are, they form a worthy addition to the all too short list of really clever satires in the English language.

Disraeli's second novel was The Young Duke. It was written before the accession of William IV., and is a picture of "high life," which in later days the same hand was to paint again in more vivid colors and in a much more striking manner. The dialogue is not so bright as that of Vivian Grey, but the story is more concise. A sincere attempt is made to depict a man with all his faults and redeeming virtues. The result is not conspicuously successful, and part of the book might have been written by the "fashionable novelist." But there is a description of a gambling episode when the Duke and his friends play cards for two whole days and nights, that is worthy to rank with almost anything in the later novels.

..Disraeli was slowly but surely learning his art, and his next novel, Contarini Fleming, is on a higher plane

than either of its predecessors. It called forth the praises of no less a literary personage than Goethe; while Milman, who, reading for John Murray, recommended it for publication, declared that it was in no way inferior to Childe Harold. The original title of the story was The Psychological Romance, and, though it was reluctantly changed by the author in deference to the publisher's opinion, this very clearly denotes the nature of the work, the chief study of which is the development and formation of the Poetic Character. The plot is slight to a degree; but the character-drawing is excellent, and the love scenes are unusually tender and poetic. There is less humor than in the earlier books, but that is probably only because there is but little scope for it. Yet the proposal of marriage made by little Contarini to Christiana at the very moment that he declares his intention "to roam, a pirate on the far waves of the Egean," is exquisite; and there is nothing more delicious than the scene when the boy, hating the petty domestic restrictions, points out "in mad heroics" to his mother "the exact situation." "The Baroness was terrified out of her life. The fall of the chair was the perfection of fear. She was one of those women who have the highest respect for furniture. She could not conceive a human being, much less a boy, voluntarily kicking down a chair, if his feelings were not very keen indeed. It was becoming too serious. She tried to soothe me, she would not speak to my father. All should be right, all should be forgotten, if only I would not commit suicide, and not kick down the chairs." How far this study of the growth and development of a human soul was founded upon the author's experience, it is dangerous to speculate. There is undoubtedly a tendency to regard it as, in great part, a faithful transcript from life.

"When I examine the state of European society with the unimpassioned spirit which the philosopher can alone command, I perceive that it is in a state of transition-a state of transition from Feudal to Federal principles," so runs one of the concluding paragraphs of Contarini Fleming. This is the basis of The Revolutionary Epick. The argument of this ambitious work is simple. Magros, the genius of Feudalism, creates the Teutonic race which establishes in the world the system of its founder; then comes Change, which, in its turn, is superseded by Lyriden, the genius of Federation, who endeavors to set up the standard of liberty, equality, and fraternity. This occupies the first two cantos. Three cantos alone were written, and the last deals with the conquest of Italy by Napoleon. Only the curious ever take up this volume nowadays, though there are some really fine passages, well worthy of study. No one should fail to read the Preface. No man living in the nineteenth century, save the author, could have written it. This piece of bombast, though it could only have been composed by a brilliant man, would have been an impertinence in Homer!

Disraeli broke fresh ground with The Wondrous Tale of Alroy, the story of an attempt during the twelfth century of a Prince of the Captivity to emancipate his race. The narrative is most dramatic. Indeed, the author stated that if the drama in England had not been a career encompassed with difficulties, he would have made David Alroy the hero of a tragedy. The spirit of the East was strong within Disraeli, and, so far as moderns can judge, the character of Oriental life is unusually well and truly portrayed. No less experienced a critic than Lady Burton expressed astonishment that Disraeli, who had only passed two or three weeks in his youth in the desert,

should have been able to take up all that the desert could suggest to those who had spent a lifetime in its desolate wastes. The style of the book, which may best be described as "poetic fiction," enhances the reality of the tale. No one who did not possess the spirit of a poet could have written successfully in such a manner. Indeed, the whole is a prose poem, which reaches its highest and best in the description of the finding by Alroy of the sceptre of Solomon, and its most humorous when the teachers most learned in the Talmud discuss the position of the Tombs of the Kings.

Belonging to quite a different class were the next two productions. Henrietta Temple is a love-story pure and simple. No book by Disraeli has caused such diverse opinions. One critic has gone so far as to say the love-scenes remind him of Romeo and Juliet; another can see no merit at all in them. Probably these extremes of opinion are equally wrong. The note of exaggeration resounds throughout the book; and the love passages only tend to show, since it is improbable that human nature has changed since the 'thirties, how much more natural are the best writers of fiction of to-day. The principal merit of the book is the sketch of a noble family clinging tenaciously to their heavily mortgaged estates; and the best scene takes place in the sponging house-a scene said to have been founded upon an unpleasant experience of the author, who for years past had been notoriously in debt. Venetia is an attempt "to shadow forth, 'though in a glass, darkly,' two of the most renowned and refined spirits that have adorned these our later days," the famous poets, Shelley and Byron. It is usually said that this is the least interesting of Disraeli's novels. Probably this harsh judgment is pronounced because people are too apt to read romans-à-clef simply with the object of

tracing the resemblance between the characters and their prototypes. It may be because the portrayal of the heroes is not vastly successful that Venetia is looked at askance. But if it is regarded merely as a story, surely a more favorable opinion will ensue. It is far more interesting than Henrietta Temple. There is no hackneyed, ultra-sentimental love-story. The plot is clear, the psychology admirable, and the characters cleverly delineated. The contrast between the two mothers is well defined: Lady Annabel, firm, and outwardly cold, separated from her husband, devoting the years to the rearing of her daughter; Mrs. Cadurcis, a widow, loving her son, but subject to most terrible fits of temper, invariably followed by a period of the most abject repentance. And the speculations of Venetia about her father, of whom no word is ever uttered in her hearing, and the feelings of the devoted mother, who is jealous of her child's regret of never having known her other parent, are well imagined and truly presented. It is not too much to hope that one day Venetia may rank higher than it does among the author's works.

With the publication of Coningsby, or, The New Generation, opens a new and the most important chapter of Disraeli's literary career. Eighteen years earlier, by virtue of its audacity, Vivian Grey had attracted attention; now, by force of merit, Coningsby compelled it. There have been other authors who might have written the earlier book, even Contarini Fleming and Alroy, though not Popanilla; no one, save himself, could have composed Coningsby, Sybil, Tancred and Lothair. Through these he stands head and shoulders above the majority of his literary contemporaries.

With Coningsby Disraeli reverted to the political novel, which indeed he had invented, or, at least, introduced

into England. was written by an inexperienced lad; Coningsby by a man who had lived and struggled in the political world and was slowly yet surely realizing in real life his audacious ambition: to distinguish himself above all his contemporaries. The plot of this novel is the merest thread. Indeed, the book is but a vehicle for the expression of the author's political and social views, an endeavor "to picture something of that development of the new, and, as I believe, the better mind of England," and "to scatter some suggestions that may tend to elevate the tone of public life, ascertain the true character of political parties, and induce us for the future more carefully to distinguish between facts and phrases, realities and phantoms." In a word, to present the views of the Young England party, whose object was to make more effective the power of the Crown after the Parliamentary reforms of 1832; to remove the Church, in so far as concerned purely spiritual matters, from Parliamentary dictation; to decentralize authority to local bodies, and to improve the condition of the laboring classes. Coningsby is valuable for the picture presented of the political world and social life of the day; for the account of secret ministerial history, tracing the overthrow of the "Venetian Constitution" and the struggles of the reformers; and for the contrast exhibited between the ideas of the new generation and the old. If the hero voices the hopes of the then rising school of politicians, the Marquis of Monmouth is the mouthpiece of that which preceded it. Of all the character-sketches in this book there is not one more admirably conceived than the Marquess, profligate, cynical, heartless, selfish, albeit shrewd and with plenty of common-sense, knowing the price of everything and the value of nothing, yet withal always the grand seigneur.

Vivian Grey, however,

An

Upon the broad canvas are many figures. Eustace Lyle, the Catholic gentleman, who endeavors to revive the monastic customs of his ancestors, is one of the most pleasing. "It seems to me a barren thing, this Conservatism," he remarked happily on one occasion, "an unhappy cross-bred, the mule of politics, that engenders nothing." other well-remembered character is Rigby (identified as the well-hated, much-abused John Wilson Crocker), blustering, dictatorial, disputatious, the writer of slashing articles "It was thought that no one could lash a woman like Rigby." "Rigby loved to patronize, to play the minister unbending, and seeking relief from the cares of council in the society of artists, authors, and men of science. He liked dukes to dine with him and hear him scatter his audacious criticisms to Sir Thomas or Sir Humphrey. They went away astonished by the powers of their host, who, had he not fortunately devoted these powers to their party, must apparently have rivalled Vandyke, or discovered the Safety Lamp." Taper and Tadpole have become household words-political hacks, doing the dirty work of the party, despised, yet courted by the powerful and the wealthy. £1,200 per annum is their idea of political science and human nature. "To receive £1,200 per annum is government; to try to receive £1,200 per annum is opposition; to wish to receive £1,200 per annum is ambition." Sidonia, the Jewish financier, who, being of foreign extraction, is able to regard English institutions with impartial eyes, though modelled upon a wellknown banker, is made the mouthpiece of the author. He believes an individual divine as compared with a vast public opinion. "God made man in His own image; but the public is made by Newspapers, Members of Parliament, Excise Officers, and Poor Law Guardians." "Nurture your mind with great

thoughts: to believe in the heroic makes heroes." "Adventures are to the adventurous." To his admiration for youth and his pride of race reference will presently be made.

Disraeli struck a deeper note in Sybil, or, The Two Nations. Here is an endeavor clearly to show the contrast between the rich and the poor. The Marneys and the Mowbrays, the young aristocrats, club-life, the Derby, great receptions, country houses, on one side; on the other, the semi-starvation and the utter degradation of the manufacturing and the mining districts. He devoted all his powers of graphic description to showing the wretched state of the peasantry, the cruelty to which the working-classes were exposed at the hands of their employers, the iniquities of the truck-shop system, and the horrors of the baby-farms, where, for threepence a week, the children were dosed with laudanum and treacle, administered in the shape of a popular elixir. While travelling in these regions he noticed that infanticide was practised as extensively and as legally in England as on the banks of the Ganges. It was after this visit that the ardent Imperialist, the arch-Jingo, as many still regard him, devoted himself to the "policy of sewage"; and henceforth, throughout his career, contrived always to find time to preach "sanitas, sanitatum, omnia sanitas." The plot is of the slightest, but the pictures of social life, the gradual deterioration of the aristocracy and the arising discontent of the democracy which began to voice its anger in Chartism are invaluable. Sketches of political and social personages abound; the sadness of the book is relieved by the humorous descriptions. Lord Marney, sharp-witted, blunt-hearted, selfish to the core, shares with Rigby the love of contradiction. "The great difficulty with Lord Marney was to find a sufficient stock of opposition; but he lay