The Shadow of Great Britain

The door of the Carlton Club slowly closed behind him, sealing off the noise, the smell of liquor, and the voices of political figures behind a heavy wooden barrier.

The night breeze outside hit his face, carrying a faint mist and the scent of horse manure.

Arthur slowly walked to the corner of the street where an iron gas lamp stood, took off his gloves, and pulled a cigar case from his inner pocket.

When the match lit up, the dim light reflected below his brow bone, and the white smoke he exhaled swirled in the mist, the lamp’s glow cast a hazy halo through the smoke, elongating his silhouette, slanting across the wet cobblestone road.

He was staring at the few carriages waiting across the street, when suddenly, a hand landed on his shoulder without any warning.

Arthur turned to look, only to see a face with an exaggerated smile emerge from the mist.

The man was dressed in a finely tailored coat and wore a meticulously tied white neckerchief, it was Mr. Benjamin Disraeli.

”What brings you to the Carlton Mansion?” Disraeli casually took a cigar from the case Arthur offered, placing it under his nose for a gentle sniff: ”Could it be that you finally woke up and realized that the Lower House is the ultimate haven for political figures?”

Arthur squinted his eyes, lightly tapping the cigar, the ash falling near the edge of a puddle by his boots: ”Benjamin, from the sound of you, it doesn’t seem like you’re here for comfort. Could it be that your election campaign... is already secure?”

Disraeli whistled, lighting the cigar, the fiery glow illuminating his lively face: ”The word ’secure’ in politics is as rare as virtue. I’ve just been hearing some delightful rumors from my supporters, like my opponent’s mistress spilling indiscreet stories to the tabloids, or the town priest publicly quoting my speeches from three years ago in his sermon last night. Arthur, even God is on my side this time.”

Arthur chuckled softly, changing his stance against the lamp post: ”Looks like when Parliament opens next year, I’ll still see you, this fellow, setting fashion trends at the Lower House in your red waistcoat and green breeches?”

”Theology, fashion, political debate, debt, poetry—aren’t these the bread and butter for any politician?” Disraeli shrugged: ”But what about you, my dear Arthur? I heard you just met with Peel, so why are you out here brooding alone with a smoke? Did you hit a wall with the ’Two-faced Man’?”

”Two-faced Man?” Arthur looked at Disraeli with great interest: ”I remember two years ago, when Peel appointed you as the Vice Minister of the Foreign Office, you were nearly ready to kneel down and polish his boots. How come after just two years your tone now sounds like you’re about to join the Whig Party?”

Disraeli, with a cigar, squinted at the gas lamp on the street corner: ”Kneeling to polish boots? Arthur, you underestimate me. If I were truly willing to kneel then, I doubt Peel would have bothered to bestow a vice minister’s position on me. As for my tone now... In politics, you’ll find over time that not every belief is worth being a martyr for.”

Seeing the fellow’s earnest facade of indifference, Arthur simply felt amused. He teased: ”In the end, isn’t it just because Peel rejected your request to switch electoral districts? Benjamin, though we’re friends, even from a friend’s standpoint, I think requesting to switch from Tower Hamlets to Oxford University is a bit much.”

”Oh, Oxford University?” Disraeli’s hooked nose twitched in the mist: ”Yes, I did have that thought—running for a seat at the nation’s most rhetorical and least rhetorical-loving university. And what happened? Peel looked at me as if I said I wanted to marry his daughter.”

Before Arthur could speak, Disraeli, already in a flow, started complaining about his predicament: ”When I walked in, Peel greeted me with a smile, talking about how my recent articles had matured. But the moment I mentioned Oxford University, his smile vanished without a trace, his entire face collapsed. I thought he’d at least play the part and make some excuse about tough choices, necessary sacrifices, unavoidable measures. After all, I knew those two seats at Oxford were never meant for someone like me. I brought up Oxford just to see if he’d switch me to a more respectable district, like Harrow or Ealing... And what did I get, what did I get! Peel only said one sentence, do you know what he said?”

Arthur unexpectedly spoke: ”We already have Gladstone at Oxford?”

”How did you know?!” Disraeli nearly jumped up.

”Because besides that woodcutter, no one else could rile you up like this.”

Disraeli’s mouth twitched as he took a deep breath, taking a long time to calm down: ”Arthur, truly, if you join the Conservative Party, I’d fully support you in running for the Oxford University seat, with all my Young England cohorts!”

Arthur waved a hand: ”Come off it, Benjamin. I can’t do it. An Oxford University member of Parliament needs to be someone who could be mounted on a pulpit, recite the Nicene Creed, and endure a priest’s sermon for over half an hour. Those Oxford alumni want a mouthpiece for the National Church, wrapped in evening attire, and someone who abstains from smoking, drinking, and human relations. Do you think I fit any part of that?”