MR. DISRAELPS HUMOUR.
WE have spoken elsewhere of the general characteristics of Mr. Disraeli's new novel, and not spoken of them very respectfully ; but the book gives us a good occasion for a few words
on the most attractive characteristic of Mr. Disraeli's intellect, —his humour, in regard to which "Lothair," though not perhaps his strongest, is by no means his weakest work. Mr. Disraeli's humour is, of course, as every one knows, chiefly satirical, but it nothing in it of the disposition to thrust, like Thackeray, at the very roots of life, and expose the falsehoods which are not less hateful than they are pitiful. Mr. Disraeli's satire is the satire of a man who enjoys, above everything, combining a certain falsetto grandeur of conception with very vulgar realities,—who brings a speculative intellect to the analysis of worldly affairs, and studies the tricks of fashion or of trade as if he were analyz- ing the philosophy of history or the purposes of Providence.
Mr. Disraeli loves the intellectual-incongruous,—with the stratum of disappointment uppermost. When he talked of our Abyssinian army "hoisting the standards of St. George on the mountains of Rassalas," he introduced a medley of associations of the most incongruous description, which a critic at the time very justly
described as excellent "after its rococo fashion." There is always something of the same ornament run mad, or, as he himself calls it, "ornate jargon" in Mr. Disraeli's humour, and he never for-
gets to make you conscious of the madness and to leave the flavour of it lingering upon you. And since a very debased style of archi- tecture may be the beat possible instrument for a mocking humour, when consciously used for that purpose, Mr. Disraeli's rococo style is by no means debased for its purpose. He applies the forms of the most lofty thought and sentiment to the display of Taper and Tadpole's self-importance, the sublime sorrows of French cooks, the pure enthusiasm of jewellers, and the bold hypotheses of trans- cendental ladies. For instance, the speculations of Apollonia,— otherwise Mrs. Putney Giles, wife of Lord Lothair's legal adviser and agent,—on the probable results of a change in the course of the Gulf Stream, and the conceivable effect of a few hard winters at Rome in "putting an end to Romanism," give an average illustration of this type of humour. But the noblest illustration by far is the despair of the great unappreciated French cook, Leander, in " Tancred ":—
" Leander, my lord, has been dressing dinners for a week,—dinners, I will be bound to say, which were never equalled in the Imperial kitchen, and the Duke has never made a single observation, or sent him a single message. Yesterday, determined to outdo even himself, he sent up some escalopes de laitances de carpes a la Bellamont. In my time I have seen nothing like it, my lord. Ask Philippon, ask Dumoreau, what they thought of it ! Even the Englishman, Smit, who never says any- thing, opened his mouth and exclaimed ; as for the marmitons, they were breathless, and I thought Achille, the youth of whom I spoke to you, my lord, and who appears to me to be born with the true feeling, would have been overcome with emotion. When it was finished, Leander retired to this room—I attended him—and covered his face with his hands. Would you believe it, my lord ! Not a word—not even a message. All this morning Leander has waited in the last hope. Nothing, absolutely nothing ! How can he compose when he is not appreciated?"
In that, and in the whole passage of which this is but a specimen, there is a humour of intellectual burlesque such as few men have displayed in equal force to Mr. Disraeli. And in the new novel we have something of the same kind, though with a good deal less
of burlesque and more of humorous insight into the heart of a tradesman's feelings. The sketch of Mr. Ruby the jeweller is amongst the best of Mr. Disraeli's pictures, and though it is sufficiently flavoured with sarcasm, there is less of intellectual satire in it than in almost any of its .companions. Nothing can be more real even, than the preliminary description of Mr. Ruby's manner in just sliding various attractive jewels under his patron's notice which Lothair has not asked for, before he comes to the point of the pearls which he has asked for. The patience with which he ignores Lothair's special demand, and yet seems quite indifferent to forcing anything specially on his attention so long as he makes enough separate impressions, and, again, the abandon with which he carelessly pours out a packet of diamonds before his great customer,—mentioning casually, as he touches one of them, "with the long nail of his little finger," that "that is worth seven hundred guineas, the whole packet worth perhaps ten thousand pounds," are described with a fidelity to tradesman's manners worthy almost of Dickens. But Mr. Disraeli's special touch re- appears when Mr. Ruby becomes confidential on the subject of pearls. The greasy devotion of the great jeweller is here delight- fully expressed, with just enough of sentimental feeling to suggest the idea of satire :— " Very interesting,' said Lothair, 'but what I want are pearls. That necklace which you have shown me is liko the necklace of a doll. I want pearls, such as you see them in Italian picturos—Titians and Giorgiones—such as a Queen of Cyprus would wear. I want ropes of pearls.'.—' Ah !' said Mr. Ruby, 'I know what your lordship means. Lady Bideford had something of that kind. She very much deceived us, —always told us her necklace must ho sold at her death, and she had very bad health. Wo waited, but when she went, poor lady! it was claimed by the heir, and is in Chancery at this very moment. The Justinianis have ropes of pearls—Madame Justiniani, of Paris, I have been told, gives a rope to every one of her children when they marry— but there is no expectation of a Justiniani parting with anything. Pearls are troublesome property, my Lord. They require great care ; they want both air and exorcise ; they must be worn frequently ; you cannot lock them up. The Duchess of Havant has the finest pearls in this country, and I told her Grace, "Wear them whenever you can ; wear them at breakfast," and her Grace follows my advice,—she does wear them at breakfast. I go down to Havant Castle every year to see her Grace's pearls, and I wipe every one of them myself, and let them lie on a sunny bank in the garden, in a westerly wind, for hours and days together. Their complexion would have been ruined had it not been for this treatment. Pearls arc like girls, my Lord,—they require quite as much attention."
Mockery without anger and without despair, the mockery that accepts bathos as the normal lot of man, and feels no pathos in so accepting it,—that is the distinctive tone of Mr. Disraeli's intel- lectual burlesque. How he enjoyed contrasting with Taucred's sublime aspirations after absolute religion, Mrs. Guy Flouncers difficulties in obtaining a true visiting "list," and her strategical use of "the opportunity for which she had been cruising for years," when a great nobleman wanted to flirt with her, and the great nobleman's wife having the weakness to feel annoyed, Mrs. Guy Flouncey seized her opportunity, threw over the Earl, became the bosom friend of the Countess, secured her "list," gave the best ball of the season, at which a royal duchess was present, and observed to Mr. Guy Flouncey, as that exhausted gentleman was eating some supper on a tray in the dressing-room at five o'clock in the morning,"—" we have done it at last, my love !" Yet the point of this, and of the sentimental despondency of the great Leander because his "escalopes de laitances de carpe it la Bellamout" remained unappreciated, is made keener by the sublimer side of the story, by Tancred's aspirations after an absolute religion as described side by side with Leander's aspirations for immortality as a cook. And how completely Mr. Disraeli intended this, how evidently lie desired to bring home the vanity of human wishes in this grand-scale bur- lesque, is shown by the tantalizing climax of that great story. Tancred, after receiving his revelation on Mount Sinai, and enthu- siastically pursuing the winding curves of the great Asiatic mys- tery, is just pressing the divine Eva to his heart, when the great denouement comes,—" the Duke and Duchess of Bellamont had arrived at Jerusalem." The view of Sinai's lightnings, and of a deep Syrian soul dissolves suddenly ; the vision of a great English here- ditary peer and the maternal anxieties of the duchess are presented to the mind ; and the curtain drops. The novelist introduces the English Duke and Duchess to cap as with an extinguisher the yearnings of Tancred's soul. His titled father and mother and the duties of an entailed estate, deny the solution of his fond and infinite hopes. It is the same in all Mr. Disraeli's other stories. He can never deny himself the satisfaction,—probably he feels it also a solemn duty,—of throwing a wet blanket on great enthusiasms. The great-souled hero of "Sybil," it will be remem- bered, is even made to exclaim by the cynical author, who has
always loved to make a fool of his heroes after a sly fashion, "No, I never smoke,—Tobacco is the tomb of love."
The whole drift of "Lothair,"though very much toned down from that of "Tancred," is precisely similar. Mr. Disraeli tries to give Lothair, as he tried to give Tancred, so far as he knows how, an 'earnest' mind, though not quite to the same extent, as he makes it his task to disillusionize the poor youth and all poor youths similarly disposed. "Nosse omnia hmc, salus eat adolescentulis," is his motto. In other words, 'the salvation of youth consists in learning that yearnings after faith and freedom come to nothing.' All the resources of his humour as well as his story are directed to this end. Mr. Ruby's pearls and jewels are made instruments of mockery. The artist who preaches ' Aryan ' ideas is pitted against the Syrian who preaches ' Semitic ' ideas. The great enthusiast for freedom, Theodora, not only comes to a bad end, but Mr. Disraeli in his hyperbolic eulogies of her is probably aiming at burlesque. "Her Olympian brow seemed distended; a phosphoric light glittered in her Hellenic eyes; a deep pink spot burnt upon each of those cheeks, usually so immaculately fair." Mr. Putney Giles, the successful man of busi- ness, is, after all, Mr. Disraeli's true ideal of happiness, and he gives play to his best humour in delineating that happiness :—" It is a pleasant thing to see an opulent and prosperous man of business, sanguine and fall of health, and a little overworked at that royal meal,—dinner. How he enjoys his soup ! And how curious in his fish ! How critical in his entree, and how nice in his Welsh mutton ! His exhausted brain rallies under the glass of dry sherry, and he realizes all his dreams with the aid of claret that has the true flavour of the violet." What it is really good for "youths to know "is evidently that which will give them the equilibrium of mind of Mr. Putney Giles.
The only thing that Mr. Disraeli's peculiar kind of mocking humour really needs to make it perfect of its kind is just a flavour of light pathos. Of course, deep pathos would not do ; that would turn his shining levity into bitterness, and give it the true burning and piercing keenness of satire of a totally different school. But even for what it is, even for shining levity of an intellectual cast, there is too uniformly cold a tone. Mr. Disraeli has never approached within view of the mildest tincture of pathos in all his writings. When Eva is lying all but lifeless on Tancred's bosom ; when, in " Coningsby," Edith turns away a face "flushed as the impending twilight ;" when, in "Lothair," the divine Theodora asks him to embrace her, "for I wish that your spirit should be upon me as mine departs ;" when, again, Lady Corisande accepts his hand, and opening the said Theodora's gift, finds written upon it, "For Lothair's bride," — when one illusion fades away, and when another dawns, no reader's breast can feel even a pulse of agitation. This is a defect even for humour of Mr. Disraeli's light and mocking sort. There is hardly enough to mark the con- trasts on which Mr. Disraeli relies for his humorous effects, without at least some touch of human emotion,—some light and superficial pathos,—in the sorrows of his heroes and heroines. 'The reader ought to have been at least just over the verge of sympathy with Tancred, when "the Duke and Duchess of Bella- moat arrived at Jerusalem." There should be some faint regret in his mind, when Lothair finds out the emptiness of his religious dreams, and when his devotion to the revolutionary cause is so bitterly disappointed. Mr. Disraeli is a humourist rather than a wit, and a humourist of bright faculty, but he is too ice-cold a humourist to reach any high level in the world of humour.
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