The Palliser Novels (413 page)

“I think it is so lovely!” said Mrs. Boffin. “You look down through an Elysium of rhododendrons into a Paradise of mirrors. I don’t think there was ever anything like it in London before.”

“I don’t know that we ever had anybody at the same time rich enough to do this kind of thing as it is done now,” said Boffin, “and powerful enough to get such people together. If the country can be ruled by flowers and looking-glasses, of course it is very well.”

“Flowers and looking-glasses won’t prevent the country being ruled well,” said Lopez.

“I’m not so sure of that,” continued Boffin. “We all know what bread and the games came to in Rome.”

“What did they come to?” asked Mrs. Boffin.

“To a man burning Rome, my dear, for his amusement, dressed in a satin petticoat and a wreath of roses.”

“I don’t think the Duke will dress himself like that,” said Mrs. Boffin.

“And I don’t think,” said Lopez, “that the graceful expenditure of wealth in a rich man’s house has any tendency to demoralise the people.”

“The attempt here,” said Boffin severely, “is to demoralise the rulers of the people. I am glad to have come once to see how the thing is done; but as an independent member of the House of Commons I should not wish to be known to frequent the saloon of the Duchess.” Then Mr. Boffin took away Mrs. Boffin, much to that lady’s regret.

“This is fairy land,” said Lopez to the Duchess, as he left the room.

“Come and be a fairy then,” she answered, very graciously. “We are always on the wing about this hour on Wednesday night.” The words contained a general invitation for the season, and were esteemed by Lopez as an indication of great favour. It must be acknowledged of the Duchess that she was prone to make favourites, perhaps without adequate cause; though it must be conceded to her that she rarely altogether threw off from her any one whom she had once taken to her good graces. It must also be confessed that when she had allowed herself to hate either a man or a woman, she generally hated on to the end. No Paradise could be too charming for her friends; no Pandemonium too frightful for her enemies. In reference to Mr. Lopez she would have said, if interrogated, that she had taken the man up in obedience to her husband. But in truth she had liked the look and the voice of the man. Her husband before now had recommended men to her notice and kindness, whom at the first trial she had rejected from her good-will, and whom she had continued to reject ever afterwards, let her husband’s urgency be what it might.

Another old friend, of whom former chronicles were not silent, was at the Duchess’s that night, and there came across Mrs. Finn. This was Barrington Erle, a politician of long standing, who was still looked upon by many as a young man, because he had always been known as a young man, and because he had never done anything to compromise his position in that respect. He had not married, or settled himself down in a house of his own, or become subject to gout, or given up being careful about the fitting of his clothes. No doubt the grey hairs were getting the better of the black hairs, both on his head and face, and marks of coming crows’ feet were to be seen if you looked close at him, and he had become careful about his great-coat and umbrella. He was in truth much nearer fifty than forty; — nevertheless he was felt in the House and among Cabinet Ministers, and among the wives of members and Cabinet Ministers, to be a young man still. And when he was invited to become Secretary for Ireland it was generally felt that he was too young for the place. He declined it, however; and when he went to the Post-office, the gentlemen there all felt that they had had a boy put over them. Phineas Finn, who had become Secretary for Ireland, was in truth ten years his junior. But Phineas Finn had been twice married, and had gone through other phases of life, such as make a man old. “How does Phineas like it?” Erle asked. Phineas Finn and Barrington Erle had gone through some political struggles together, and had been very intimate.

“I hope not very much,” said the lady.

“Why so? Because he’s away so much?”

“No; — not that. I should not grudge his absence if the work satisfied him. But I know him so well. The more he takes to it now, — the more sanguine he is as to some special thing to be done, — the more bitter will be the disappointment when he is disappointed. For there never really is anything special to be done; — is there, Mr. Erle?”

“I think there is always a little too much zeal about Finn.”

“Of course there is. And then with zeal there always goes a thin skin, — and unjustifiable expectations, and biting despair, and contempt of others, and all the elements of unhappiness.”

“That is a sad programme for your husband.”

“He has recuperative faculties which bring him round at last: — but I really doubt whether he was made for a politician in this country. You remember Lord Brock?”

“Dear old Brock; — of course I do. How should I not, if you remember him?”

“Young men are boys at college, rowing in boats, when women have been ever so long out in the world. He was the very model of an English statesman. He loved his country dearly, and wished her to be, as he believed her to be, first among nations. But he had no belief in perpetuating her greatness by any grand improvements. Let things take their way naturally, — with a slight direction hither or thither as things might require. That was his method of ruling. He believed in men rather than measures. As long as he had loyalty around him, he could be personally happy, and quite confident as to the country. He never broke his heart because he could not carry this or that reform. What would have hurt him would have been to be worsted in personal conflict. But he could always hold his own, and he was always happy. Your man with a thin skin, a vehement ambition, a scrupulous conscience, and a sanguine desire for rapid improvement, is never a happy, and seldom a fortunate politician.”

“Mrs. Finn, you understand it all better than any one else that I ever knew.”

“I have been watching it a long time, and of course very closely since I have been married.”

“But you have an eye trained to see it all. What a useful member you would have been in a government!”

“But I should never have had patience to sit all night upon that bench in the House of Commons. How men can do it! They mustn’t read. They can’t think because of the speaking. It doesn’t do for them to talk. I don’t believe they ever listen. It isn’t in human nature to listen hour after hour to such platitudes. I believe they fall into a habit of half-wakeful sleeping, which carries them through the hours; but even that can’t be pleasant. I look upon the Treasury Bench in July as a sort of casual-ward which we know to be necessary, but is almost too horrid to be contemplated.”

“Men do get bread and skilly there certainly; but, Mrs. Finn, we can go into the library and smoking-room.”

“Oh, yes; — and a clerk in an office can read the newspapers instead of doing his duty. But there is a certain surveillance exercised, and a certain quantity of work exacted. I have met Lords of the Treasury out at dinner on Mondays and Thursdays, but we all regard them as boys who have shirked out of school. I think upon the whole, Mr. Erle, we women have the best of it.”

“I don’t suppose you will go in for your ‘rights’.”

“Not by Act of Parliament, or by platform meeting. I have a great idea of a woman’s rights; but that is the way, I think, to throw them away. What do you think of the Duchess’s evenings?”

“Lady Glen is in her way as great a woman as you are; — perhaps greater, because nothing ever stops her.”

“Whereas I have scruples.”

“Her Grace has none. She has feelings and convictions which keep her straight, but no scruples. Look at her now talking to Sir Orlando Drought, a man whom she both hates and despises. I am sure she is looking forward to some happy time in which the Duke may pitch Sir Orlando overboard, and rule supreme, with me or some other subordinate leading the House of Commons simply as lieutenant. Such a time will never come, but that is her idea. But she is talking to Sir Orlando now as if she were pouring her full confidence into his ear, and Sir Orlando is believing her. Sir Orlando is in a seventh heaven, and she is measuring his credulity inch by inch.”

“She makes the place very bright.”

“And is spending an enormous deal of money,” said Barrington Erle.

“What does it matter?”

“Well, no; — if the Duke likes it. I had an idea that the Duke would not like the display of the thing. There he is. Do you see him in the corner with his brother duke? He doesn’t look as if he were happy; does he? No one would think he was the master of everything here. He has got himself hidden almost behind the screen. I’m sure he doesn’t like it.”

“He tries to like whatever she likes,” said Mrs. Finn.

As her husband was away in Ireland, Mrs. Finn was staying in the house in Carlton Gardens. The Duchess at present required so much of her time that this was found to be convenient. When, therefore, the guests on the present occasion had all gone, the Duchess and Mrs. Finn were left together. “Did you ever see anything so hopeless as he is?” said the Duchess.

“Who is hopeless?”

“Heavens and earth! Plantagenet; — who else? Is there another man in the world would come into his own house, among his own guests, and speak only to one person? And, then, think of it! Popularity is the staff on which alone Ministers can lean in this country with security.”

“Political but not social popularity.”

“You know as well as I do that the two go together. We’ve seen enough of that even in our day. What broke up Mr. Gresham’s Ministry? If he had stayed away people might have thought that he was reading blue-books, or calculating coinage, or preparing a speech. That would have been much better. But he comes in and sits for half-an-hour whispering to another duke! I hate dukes!”

“He talks to the Duke of St. Bungay because there is no one he trusts so much. A few years ago it would have been Mr. Mildmay.”

“My dear,” said the Duchess angrily, “you treat me as though I were a child. Of course I know why he chooses that old man out of all the crowd. I don’t suppose he does it from any stupid pride of rank. I know very well what set of ideas govern him. But that isn’t the point. He has to reflect what others think of it, and to endeavour to do what will please them. There was I telling tarradiddles by the yard to that old oaf, Sir Orlando Drought, when a confidential word from Plantagenet would have had ten times more effect. And why can’t he speak a word to the people’s wives? They wouldn’t bite him. He has got to say a few words to you sometimes, — to whom it doesn’t signify, my
dear — “

“I don’t know about that.”

“But he never speaks to another woman. He was here this evening for exactly forty minutes, and he didn’t open his lips to a female creature. I watched him. How on earth am I to pull him through if he goes on in that way? Yes, Locock, I’ll go to bed, and I don’t think I’ll get up for a week.”

Throughout June and the first week of July the affairs of the Ministry went on successfully, in spite of the social sins of the Duke and the occasional despair of the Duchess. There had been many politicians who had thought, or had, at any rate, predicted, that the Coalition Ministry would not live a month. There had been men, such as Lord Fawn on one side and Mr. Boffin on the other, who had found themselves stranded disagreeably, — with no certain position, — unwilling to sit immediately behind a Treasury bench from which they were excluded, and too shy to place themselves immediately opposite. Seats beneath the gangway were, of course, open to such of them as were members of the Lower House, and those seats had to be used; but they were not accustomed to sit beneath the gangway. These gentlemen had expected that the seeds of weakness, of which they had perceived the scattering, would grow at once into an enormous crop of blunders, difficulties, and complications; but, for a while, the Ministry were saved from these dangers either by the energy of the Prime Minister, or the popularity of his wife, or perhaps by the sagacity of the elder Duke; — so that there grew up an idea that the Coalition was really the proper thing. In one respect it certainly was successful. The Home Rulers, or Irish party generally, were left without an inch of standing ground. Their support was not needed, and therefore they were not courted. For the moment there was not even a necessity to pretend that Home Rule was anything but an absurdity from beginning to end; — so much so that one or two leading Home Rulers, men who had taken up the cause not only that they might become Members of Parliament, but with some further ideas of speech-making and popularity, declared that the Coalition had been formed merely with a view of putting down Ireland. This capability of dispensing with a generally untractable element of support was felt to be a great comfort. Then, too, there was a set in the House, — at the moment not a very numerous set, — who had been troublesome friends to the old Liberal party, and which the Coalition was able, if not to ignore, at any rate to disregard. These were the staunch economists, and argumentative philosophical Radicals, — men of standing and repute, who are always in doubtful times individually flattered by Ministers, who have great privileges accorded to them of speaking and dividing, and who are not unfrequently even thanked for their rods by the very owners of the backs which bear the scourges. These men could not be quite set aside by the Coalition as were the Home Rulers. It was not even yet, perhaps, wise to count them out, or to leave them to talk to benches absolutely empty; — but the tone of flattery with which they had been addressed became gradually less warm; and when the scourges were wielded, ministerial backs took themselves out of the way. There grew up unconsciously a feeling of security against attack which was distasteful to these gentlemen, and was in itself perhaps a little dangerous. Gentlemen bound to support the Government, when they perceived that there was comparatively but little to do, and that that little might be easily done, became careless, and, perhaps, a little contemptuous. So that the great popular orator, Mr. Turnbull, found himself compelled to rise in his seat, and ask whether the noble Duke at the head of the Government thought himself strong enough to rule without attention to Parliamentary details. The question was asked with an air of inexorable severity, and was intended to have deep signification. Mr. Turnbull had disliked the Coalition from the beginning; but then Mr. Turnbull always disliked everything. He had so accustomed himself to wield the constitutional cat-of-nine-tails, that heaven will hardly be happy to him unless he be allowed to flog the cherubim. Though the party with which he was presumed to act had generally been in power since he had been in the House, he had never allowed himself to agree with a Minister on any point. And as he had never been satisfied with a Liberal Government, it was not probable that he should endure a Coalition in silence. At the end of a rather lengthy speech, he repeated his question, and then sat down, taking his place with all that constitutional indignation which becomes the parliamentary flagellator of the day. The little jokes with which Sir Orlando answered him were very well in their way. Mr. Turnbull did not care much whether he were answered or not. Perhaps the jauntiness of Sir Orlando, which implied that the Coalition was too strong to regard attack, somewhat irritated outsiders. But there certainly grew up from that moment a feeling among such men as Erle and Rattler that care was necessary, that the House, taken as a whole, was not in a condition to be manipulated with easy freedom, and that Sir Orlando must be made to understand that he was not strong enough to depend upon jauntiness. The jaunty statesman must be very sure of his personal following. There was a general opinion that Sir Orlando had not brought the Coalition well out of the first real attack which had been made upon it.