Sir John had represented England as Minister to China. He was a brilliant talker and drew about himself a circle of literary friends. On New Year’s Eve, Douglass stood at a table covered with fine linen and old silver. He held in his hand a crystal glass and drank another toast: “The Queen! God bless her!”
They were all back in London for the opening of Parliament. Robert Peel on the side of the people! A great day for England!
As if to honor the auspicious occasion the fog blew away during the night, and January 22, 1846, dawned clear and bright like a spring day. People poured into the streets and lined Pall Mall. The Queen was coming! They crowded into Cannon Row and Parliament Street and surrounded Westminster Hall and Parliament. The Queen was coming!
Cobden had secured seats for them in the gallery, but Garrison and Douglass lingered in the crowd, craning their necks. The bobbies were forcing them back to keep the way clear when a modest, closed carriage drew up and a tall figure in a high silk hat stepped out.
“It’s Peel! It’s Robert Peel!” shouted Garrison and that started the crowd cheering. They had not recognized the Prime Minister. But the tall, pale man looked neither to the right or left. He walked straight ahead, unsmiling, and disappeared. The people were disappointed. They wanted to know him. They wanted to be friends.
The cheers had not gone unheeded. In the great, open carriage with prancing horses that now turned into the square, Disraeli tightened his lips. The carriage stopped with a clatter, the footman sprang down and threw open the door. Disraeli stepped out, his head high, his silken cape enveloping him with majesty. The crowd pressed forward.
“Who is it?”
“Who is that man?”
“Disraeli!” someone answered.
“The Jew!” another voice added.