 29 The Spooner Correspondence. It will be remembered that Adelaide Palliser had accepted the hand of Mr. Maul, Jr., and that she and Lady Chiltern between them had dispatched him up to London on an embassy to his father, in which he failed very signally. It had been originally Lady Chiltern's idea that the proper home for the young couple would be the Ancestral Hall, which must be there some day, and in which, with exceeding prudence, they might be able to live as mauls of Maul Abbey upon the very limited income which would belong to them. How slight were the grounds for imputing such stern prudence to Gerard Maul both the ladies felt, but it had become essential to do something. The young people were engaged to each other, and a manner of life must be suggested, discussed, and as far as possible arranged. Lady Chiltern was useful at such work, having a practical turn of mind, and understanding well the condition of life for which it was necessary that her friend should prepare herself. The lover was not vicious. He neither drank nor gambled, nor ran himself hopelessly in debt. He was good-humored and tractable, and docile enough when nothing disagreeable was asked from him. He would have, he said, no objection to live at Maul Abbey if Adelaide liked it. He didn't believe much in farming, but would consent at Adelaide's request to be the owner of bullocks. He was quite ready to give up hunting, having already taught himself to think that the very few good runs in a season were hardly worth the trouble of getting up before daylight all the winter. He went forth, therefore, on his embassy, and we know how he failed. Another lover would have communicated the disastrous tidings at once to the lady, but Gerard Maul waited a week before he did so, and then told his story in half a dozen words. The Governor cut up rough about Maul Abbey, and will not hear of it. He generally does cut up rough. But he must be made to hear of it, said Lady Chiltern. Two days afterwards the news reached Harrington of the death of the Duke of Omnium. A letter of unofficial nature reached Adelaide from Mr. Father Gill, in which the writer explained that he had been desired by Mr. Palliser to communicate to her and the relatives the sad tidings. "'So the poor old man has gone at last,' said Lady Chiltern, with that affectation of funeral gravity which is common to all of us. "'Poor old Duke,' said Adelaide, "'I have been hearing of him as a sort of bugbear all my life. I don't think I ever saw him but once, and then he gave me a kiss and a pair of earrings. He never paid any attention to us at all, but we were taught to think that Providence had been very good to us in making the Duke our uncle. He was very rich. Horribly rich, I have always heard. Won't he leave you something? It would be very nice, now that you are engaged, to find that he has given you five thousand pounds. Very nice indeed, but there is not a chance of it. It has always been known that everything is to go to the air.' Adelaide had his fortune inspected. He and his brother were never friends, and though the Duke did once give me a kiss, I imagine that he forgot my existence immediately afterwards. "'So the Duke of Omnium is dead,' said Lord Chiltern, when he came home that evening. "'Adelaide has had a letter to tell her so this afternoon.' "'Mr. Father Gill wrote to me,' said Adelaide, the man who is so wicked about the foxes. "'I don't care a straw about Mr. Father Gill, and now my mouth is closed against your uncle. But it's quite frightful to think that a Duke of Omnium must die like anybody else.' "'The Duke is dead. Long live the Duke,' said Lady Chiltern. "'I wonder how Mr. Palliser will like it.' "'Men always do like it, I suppose,' said Adelaide. "'Women do,' said Lord Chiltern. "'Lady Glencora will be delighted to reign, though I can hardly fancy her by any other name. By the by, Adelaide, I have got a letter for you.' "'A letter for me, Lord Chiltern?' "'Well, yes, I suppose I had better give it you. It is not addressed to you, but you must answer it.' "'What on earth is it?' "'I think I can guess,' said Lady Chiltern, laughing. She had guessed rightly, but Adelaide Palliser was still altogether in the dark when Lord Chiltern took a letter from his pocket and handed it to her. As he did so he left the room, and his wife followed him. "'I shall be upstairs, Adelaide, if you want advice,' said Lady Chiltern. The letter was from Mr. Spooner. He had left Harrington Hall after the uncourteous reception which had been accorded to him by Miss Palliser in deep disgust, resolving that he would never again speak to her, and almost resolving that Spoon Hall should never have a mistress in his time. But with his wine after dinner his courage came back to him, and he began to reflect once more that it is not the habit of young ladies to accept their lovers at the first offer. There was living with Mr. Spooner at this time a very attached friend, whom he usually consulted in all emergencies, and to whom on this occasion he opened his heart. After Edward Spooner, commonly called Ned by all who knew him, and not unfrequently so addressed by those who did not, was a distant cousin of the Squires, who unfortunately had no particular income of his own. For the last ten years he had lived at Spoon Hall, and had certainly earned his bread. The Squire had achieved a certain credit for success as a country gentleman, nothing about his place was out of order. His own farming, which was extensive, succeeded. His bullocks and sheep won prizes. His horses were always useful and healthy. His tenants were solvent, if not satisfied, and he himself did not owe a shilling. Now many people in the neighborhood attributed all this to the judicious care of Mr. Edward Spooner, whose eye was never off the place, and whose discretion was equal to his zeal. When giving the Squire his due, one must acknowledge that he recognized the merits of his cousin, and trusted him in everything. That night, as soon as the customary bottle of claret had succeeded the absolutely normal bottle of port after dinner, Mr. Spooner of Spoon Hall opened his heart to his cousin. "'I shall have to walk, then,' said Ned. "'Not if I know it,' said the Squire. "'You don't suppose I'm going to let any woman have the command of Spoon Hall?' "'They do command, inside, you know. No woman shall ever turn you out of this house, Ned.' "'I'm not thinking of myself, Tom,' said the cousin. "'Of course you'll marry some day, and of course I must take my chance. I don't see why it shouldn't be Miss Palliser as well as another.' The jade almost made me angry. "'I suppose that's the way with most of them. Lutitz exultim metuike tangi.' For Ned Spooner had himself preserved some few tattered shreds of learning from his school days. "'You don't remember about the Philly?' "'Yes, I do. Very well,' said the Squire. "'Nup de arum, ex-bears. That's what it is, I suppose. Try it again.' The advice on the part of the cousin was genuine and unselfish. That Mr. Spooner of Spoon Hall should be rejected by a young lady without any fortune seemed to him to be impossible. At any rate, it is the duty of a man in such circumstances to persevere. As far as Ned knew the world, ladies always required to be asked a second or a third time, and then no harm can come from such perseverance. She can't break your bones, Tom.' There was much honesty displayed on this occasion. The Squire, when he was thus instigated to persevere, did his best to describe the manner in which he had been rejected. His powers of description were not very great, but he did not conceal anything willfully. She was as hard as nails, you know. "'I don't know that that means much. Horace's Philly kicked a few, no doubt. She told me that if I'd go one way she'd go the other. They always say about the hardest things that come to their tongues. They don't curse and swear as we do, or there'd be no bearing them. If you really like her—' She's such a well-built creature. There's a look of blood about her I don't see in any of them. That sort of breeding is what one wants to get through the mud with.' Then it was that the cousin recommended a letter to Lord Chiltern. Lord Chiltern was at the present moment to be regarded as the lady's guardian, and was the lover's intimate friend. A direct proposal had already been made to the young lady, and this should now be repeated to the gentleman who, for the time, stood in the position of her father. The Squire for a while hesitated, declaring that he was averse to make his secret known to Lord Chiltern. One doesn't want every fellow in the country to know it, he said, but in answer to this the cousin was very explicit. There could be but little doubt that Lord Chiltern knew the secret already, and he would certainly be rather induced to keep it as a secret than to divulge it if it were communicated to him officially. And what other step could the Squire take? It would not be likely that he should be asked again to Harrington Hall with the express view of repeating his offer. The cousin was quite of opinion that a written proposition should be made, and on that very night the cousin himself wrote out a letter for the Squire to copy in the morning. On the morning the Squire copied the letter, not without additions of his own, as to which he had very many words with his discreet cousin, and in a formal manner handed it to Lord Chiltern towards the afternoon of that day, having devoted his whole morning to the finding of a proper opportunity for doing so. Lord Chiltern had read the letter, and had, as we see, delivered it to Adelaide Palace here. That's another proposal from Mr. Spooner, Lady Chiltern said, as soon as they were alone. Exactly that. I knew he'd go on with it, men are such fools. I don't see that he's a fool at all, said Lord Chiltern, almost in anger. Why shouldn't he ask a girl to be his wife? He's a rich man, and she hasn't got a farthing. You might say the same of a butcher, Oswald. Mr. Spooner is a gentleman. You do not mean to say that he's fit to marry such a girl as Adelaide Palace-er. I don't know what makes fitness. He's got a red nose, and if she don't like a red nose, that's unfitness. Gerard Mall's nose isn't red, and I daresay therefore he's fitter. Only unfortunately he has no money. Lady Palliser would no more think of marrying Mr. Spooner than you would have thought of marrying the cook. If I had liked the cook, I should have asked her, and I don't see why Mr. Spooner shouldn't ask Miss Palliser. She needn't take him. In the meantime Miss Palliser was reading the following letter. Spoon Hall, 11th March, 18. My dear Lord Chiltern, I venture to suppose that at present you are acting as the guardian of Miss Palliser, who has been staying at your house all the winter. If I am wrong in this, I hope you will pardon me, and consent to act in that capacity for this occasion. I entertain feelings of the greatest admiration and warmest affection for the young lady I have named, which I ventured to express when I had the pleasure of staying at Harrington Hall in the early part of last month. I cannot boast that I was received on that occasion with much favour, but I know that I am not very good at talking, and we are told in all the books that no man has a right to expect to be taken at the first time of asking. Perhaps Miss Palliser will allow me, through you, to request her to consider my proposal with more deliberation than was allowed to me before, when I spoke to her perhaps with injudicious hurry. So far the squire adopted his cousin's words without alteration. I am the owner of my own property, which is more than everybody can say. My income is nearly four thousand pounds a year. I shall be willing to make any proper settlement that may be recommended by the lawyers, though I am strongly of opinion that an estate shouldn't be crippled for the sake of the widow. As to refinishing the old house and all that, I'll do anything that Miss Palliser may please. She knows my taste about hunting, and I know hers, so that there need not be any difference of opinion on that score. Miss Palliser can't suspect me of any interested motives. I come forward because I think she is the most charming girl I ever saw, and because I love her with all my heart. I haven't got very much to say for myself, but if she'll consent to be the mistress of Spoonhole, she shall have all that the heart of a woman can desire. Pray believe me, my dear Lord Chiltern, yours very sincerely, Thomas Platter Spooner. As I believe that Miss Palliser is fond of books, it may be well to tell her that there is an uncommon good library at Spoonhole. I shall have no objection to go abroad for the honeymoon for three or four months in the summer. The post-script was the squire's own, and was inserted in opposition to the cousin's judgment. She won't come for the sake of the books," said the cousin, but the squire thought that the attractions should be piled up. I wouldn't talk of the honeymoon till I'd got her to come round a little, said the cousin. The squire thought that the cousin was falsely delicate, and pleaded that all girls like to be taken abroad when they're married. The second half of the body of the letter was very much disfigured by the squire's petulance, so that the modesty with which he commenced was almost put to the blush by a touch of arrogance in the conclusion. That sentence in which the squire declared that an estate ought not to be crippled for the sake of the widow was very much questioned by the cousin. Such a word as widow never ought to go into such a letter as this. But the squire protested that he would not be mealy-mouthed. She can bear to think of it. I'll go bail, and why shouldn't she hear about what she can think about? Don't talk about furniture yet, Tom," the cousin said. But the squire was obstinate, and the cousin became hopeless. That word about loving her with all his heart was the cousin's own. But what followed, as to her being mistress of Spoon Hall, was altogether opposed to his judgment. She'll be proud enough of Spoon Hall if she comes here, said the squire. I'd let her come first, said the cousin. We all know that the phraseology of the letter was of no importance, whatever. When it was received, the lady was engaged to another man, and she regarded Mr. Spooner of Spoon Hall as being guilty of unpardonable impudence in approaching her at all. A red-faced, vulgar old man, who looks as if he did nothing but drink, she said to Lady Chiltern. He does you no harm, my dear. But he does do harm. He makes things very uncomfortable. He has no business to think it possible. People will suppose that I gave him encouragement. I used to have lovers coming to me year after year, the same people, whom I don't think I ever encouraged, but I never felt angry with them. But you didn't have Mr. Spooner. Mr. Spooner didn't know me in those days, or there's no saying what might have happened. Then Lady Chiltern argued the matter on views directly opposite to those which she had put forward when discussing the matter with her husband. I always think that any man who is privileged to sit down to table with you is privileged to ask. There are disparities, of course, which may make the privilege questionable—disparities of age, rank, and means—and of tastes, said Adelaide. I don't know about that. A poet doesn't want to marry a poetess, nor a philosopher, a philosophress. A man may make himself a fool by putting himself in the way of certain refusal. But I take it the broad rule is that a man may fall in love with any lady who habitually sits in his company. I don't agree with you at all. What would be said if the curate at Long Royston were to propose to one of the Fitzhaward girls? The duchess would probably ask the duke to make the young man a bishop out of hand, and the duke would have to spend a morning in explaining to her the changes which have come over the making of bishops since she was young. There is no other rule that you can lay down, and I think that girls should understand that they have to fight their battles subject to that law. It's very easy to say no. But a man won't take no. And it's lucky for us sometimes that they don't, said Lady Chiltern, remembering certain passages in her early life. The answer was written that night by Lord Chiltern after much consultation. As to the nature of the answer, that it should be a positive refusal, of course there could be no doubt. But then arose a question whether a reason should be given, or whether the refusal should be simply a refusal. At last it was decided that a reason should be given, and the letter ran as follows. My dear Mr. Spooner, I am commissioned to inform you that Miss Palliser is engaged to be married to Mr. Gerard Moll, yours faithfully, Chiltern. The young lady had consented to be thus explicit, because it had been already determined that no secret should be kept as to her future prospects. He is one of those poverty-stricken, weedling fellows that one meets about the world every day, said the squire to his cousin, a fellow that rides horses that he can't pay for, and owes some poor devil of a tailor for the breeches that he sits in. They eat, and drink, and get along heaven only knows how. But they are sure to come to smash at last. Girls are such fools nowadays. I don't think there has ever been much difference in that, said the cousin. Because a man greases his whiskers and colors his hair, and paints his eyebrows and wears kid gloves by George, they'll go through fire and water after him. He'll never marry her. So much the better for her. But I hate such impudence. What right has a man to come forward in that way, who hasn't got a house over his head, or the means of getting one? Old Maul is so hard up that he can barely get a dinner at his club in London. What I wonder at is that Lady Chiltern shouldn't know better. CHAPTER XXXXI OF FINIUS REDUX This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Frances Marcinkevich. FINIUS REDUX BY ANTHONY TROLLIP. CHAPTER XXXIII. REGRETZ Madame Gossler remained unmatching till after the return of Mr. Palliser, or, as we must now call him, the Duke of Omnium, from Gatherham Castle, and was therefore able to fight her own battle with him, respecting the gems and the money which had been left her. He brought to her, with his own hands, the single ring which she had requested, and placed it on her finger. "'The goldsmith will soon make that all right,' she said, when it was found to be much too large for the largest finger on which she could wear a ring. "'A bit shall be taken out, but I will not have it reset.' "'You got the lawyer's letter and the inventory, Madame Gossler?' "'Yes, indeed. What surprises me is that the dear old man should never have spoken of so magnificent a collection of gems. Orders have been given that they shall be packed. They may be packed or unpacked, of course, as your grace pleases, but pray do not connect me with the packing. You must be connected with it. But I wish not to be connected with it, Duke. I have written to the lawyer to renounce the legacy, and, if your grace persists, I must employ a lawyer of my own to renounce them after some legal form. Pray do not let the case be sent to me, or there will be so much trouble, and we shall have another great jewel robbery. I won't take it in, and I won't have the money, and I will have my own way. Lady Glen will tell you that I can be very obstinate when I please." Lady Glen Cora had told him so already. She had been quite sure that her friend would persist in her determination as to the legacy, and had thought that her husband should simply accept Madame Gossler's assurances to that effect. But a man who had been Chancellor of the Exchequer could not deal with money, or even with jewels, so lightly. He assured his wife that such an arrangement was quite out of the question. He remarked that property was property, by which he meant to intimate that the real owner of substantial wealth could not be allowed to disembarrass himself of his responsibilities, or strip himself of his privileges by a few generous but idle words. The late Duke's will was a very serious thing, and it seemed to the heir that this abandoning of a legacy bequeathed by the Duke was a making light of the Duke's last act indeed. To refuse money in such circumstances was almost like refusing rain from heaven, or warmth from the sun. It could not be done. The things were her property, and though she might, of course, chuck them into the street, they would no less be hers. "'But I won't have them, Duke,' said Madame Gossler, and the late Chancellor of the Exchequer found that no proposition made by him in the house had ever been received with a firmer opposition. His wife told him that nothing he could say would be of any avail, and rather ridiculed his idea of the solemnity of wills. "'You can't make a person take a thing, because you write it down on a thick bit of paper any more than if you gave it her across a table. I understand it all, of course. She means to show that she didn't want anything from the Duke. As she refused the name and title, she won't have the money in jewels. You can't make her take them, and I'm quite sure you can't talk her over.' The young Duke was not persuaded, but had to give the battle up, at any rate, for the present. On the nineteenth of March Madame Gossler returned to London, having been at matching priory for more than three weeks. On her journey back to Park Lane many thoughts crowded on her mind. Had she upon the whole done well in reference to the Duke of Omnium? The last three years of her life had been sacrificed to an old man with whom she had not in truth possessed ought in common. She had persuaded herself that there had existed a warm friendship between them, but of what nature could have been a friendship with one whom she had not known till he had been in his dotage. What words of the Duke's speaking had she ever heard with pleasure, except certain terms of affection which had been half mawkish and half senile? She had told Finneas Finne, while riding home with him from Broatt and Spinnies, that she had clung to the Duke because she loved him. But what had there been to produce such love? The Duke had begun his acquaintance with her by insulting her, and had then offered to make her his wife. This which would have conferred upon her some tangible advantages, such as rank and wealth and a great name, she had refused, thinking that the price to be paid for them was too high, and that life might even yet have something better in store for her. After that she had permitted herself to become, after a fashion, head nurse to the old man, and in that pursuit had wasted three years of what remained to her of her youth. People at any rate should not say of her that she had accepted payment for the three years' service by taking a casket of jewels. She would take nothing that should justify any man in saying that she had been enriched by her acquaintance with the Duke of Omnium. It might be that she had been foolish, but she would be more foolish still were she to accept a reward for her folly. As it was there had been something of romance in it, though the romance of friendship at the bedside of a sick and selfish old man had hardly been satisfactory. Even in her close connection with the present Duchess there was something which was almost hollow. Had there not been a compact between them, never expressed, but not the less understood, but not her dear friend Lady Glen agreed to bestow upon her support, fashion, and all kinds of worldly good things on condition that she never married the old Duke? She had liked Lady Glencora, had enjoyed her friend's society, and had been happy in her friend's company, but she had always felt that Lady Glencora's attraction to herself had been simply on the score of the Duke. It was necessary that the Duke should be pampered and kept in good humor. An old man, let him be ever so old, can do what he likes with himself and his belongings. To keep the Duke out of harm's way Lady Glencora had opened her arms to Madame Gosler. Such at least was the interpretation which Madame Gosler chose to give to the history of the last three years. They had not, she thought, quite understood her. And once she had made up her mind not to marry the Duke, the Duke had been safe from her, as his jewels and money should be safe now that he was dead. Three years had passed by, and nothing had been done of that which she had intended to do. Three years had passed, which to her, with her desires, were so important. And yet she hardly knew what were her desires, and had never quite defined her intentions. She told herself on this very journey that the time had now gone by, and that in losing these three years she had lost everything. As yet, so she declared to herself now, the world had done but little for her. Two old men had loved her, one had become her husband, and the other had asked to become so, and to both she had done her duty. To both she had been grateful, tender, and self-sacrificing. From the former she had, as his widow, taken wealth which she valued greatly, but the wealth alone had given her no happiness. From the latter, and from his family, she had accepted a certain position. Some persons, high in repute and fashion, had known her before, but everybody knew her now. And yet what had all this done for her? Dukes and duchesses, dinner parties and drawing-rooms? What did they all amount to? What was it that she wanted? She was ashamed to tell herself that it was love, but she knew this, that it was necessary for her happiness that she should devote herself to someone. All the elegancies and outward charms of life were delightful, if only they could be used as the means to some end. As an end to themselves they were nothing. She had devoted herself to this old man who was now dead, and there had been moments in which she had thought that that's sufficed. But it had not sufficed, and instead of being born down by grief at the loss of her friend, she found herself almost rejoicing at relief from a vexatious burden. Had she been a hypocrite, then? Was it her nature to be false? After that she reflected whether it might not be best for her to become a devotee. It did not matter much in what branch of the Christian religion, so that she could assume some form of faith. The sour strictness of the confident Calvinist or the asceticism of St. Francis might suit her equally, if she could only believe in Calvin or in St. Francis. She had tried to believe in the Duke of Omnium, but there she had failed. There had been a saint at whose shrine she thought she could have worshipped with a constant and happy devotion. But that saint had repulsed her from his altar. Mr. Mall, Sr., not understanding much of all this, but still understanding something, thought that he might perhaps be the saint. He knew well that audacity in asking is a great merit in a middle-aged wooer. He was a good deal older than the lady, who in spite of all her experiences was hardly yet thirty. But then he was, he felt sure, very young for his age, whereas she was old. She was a widow. He was a widower. She had a house in town and an income. He had a place in the country and an estate. She knew all the Dukes and Duchesses, and he was a man of family. She could make him comfortably opulent. He could make her Mrs. Mall of Mall Abbey. She no doubt was good-looking. Mr. Mall, Sr., as he tied on his cravat, thought that even in that respect there was no great disparity between them. During his own age, Mr. Mall Sr. thought there was not perhaps a better-looking man than himself about Paul Mall. He was a little stiff in the joints and moved rather slowly, but what was wanting in suppleness was certainly made up in dignity. He watched his opportunity and called in Park Lane on the day after Madame Gossler's return. There was already between them an amount of acquaintance which justified his calling, and, perhaps, there had been on the lady's part something of that cordiality of manner which is won't to lead to intimate friendship. Mr. Mall had made himself agreeable, and Madame Gossler had seemed to be grateful. He was admitted, and on such an occasion it was impossible not to begin the conversation about the dear Duke. Mr. Mall could afford to talk about the Duke, and to lay aside for a short time his own cause, as he had not suggested to himself the possibility of becoming pressingly tender on his own behalf on this particular occasion. Audacity in wooing is a great virtue, but a man must measure even his virtues. I heard that you had gone to matching as soon as the poor Duke was taken ill, he said. She was in mourning, and had never for a moment thought of denying the peculiarity of the position she had held in reference to the old man. She could not have been content to wear her ordinary-colored garments after sitting so long by the side of the dying men. A hired nurse may do so, but she had not been then. If there had been hypocrisy in her friendship, the hypocrisy must be maintained to the end. Poor old man, I only came back yesterday. I never had the pleasure of knowing his grace, said Mr. Mall, but I have always heard him named as a nobleman of whom England might well be proud. Madam Gossler was not at the moment inclined to tell lies on the matter, and did not think that England had much cause to be proud of the Duke of Omnium. He was a man who held a very peculiar position, she said. Most peculiar, a man of infinite wealth, and of that special dignity which I am sorry to say so many men of rank among us are throwing aside as a garment which is too much for them. We can all wear coats, but it is not everyone that can carry a robe. The Duke carried his to the last. Madam Gossler remembered how he looked with his night-cap on when he had lost his temper because they would not let him have a glass of curacao. I do not know that we have any one left that can be said to be his equal, continued Mr. Mall. No one like him, perhaps. He was never married, you know. It was once willing to marry, said Mr. Mall, if all that we hear be true. Madam Gossler, without a smile and equally without a frown, looked as though the meaning of Mr. Mall's words had escaped her. A grand old gentleman, I don't know that anybody will ever say as much for his heir. The men are very different. Very different indeed. I dare say that Mr. Palliser, as Mr. Palliser, has been a useful man, but so is a coal-heaver a useful man. The grace and beauty of life will be clean gone when we all become useful men. I don't think we are near that yet. Upon my word, Madam Gossler, I am not so sure about it. Here are sons of noblemen going into trade on every side of us. We have earls dealing in butter, and marquises sending their peaches to market. There was nothing of that kind about the Duke. A great fortune had been entrusted to him, and he knew that it was his duty to spend it. He did spend it, and all the world looked up to him. It must have been a great pleasure to you to know him so well. Madam Gossler was saved the necessity of making any answer to this by the announcement of another visitor. The door was opened, and Finneas Finn entered the room. He had not seen Madam Gossler since they had been together at Harrington Hall, and had never before met Mr. Moll. When riding home with the lady after their unsuccessful attempt to jump out of the wood, Finneas had promised to call in Park Lane whenever he should learn that Madam Gossler was not at matching. Since that, the Duke had died, and the bond with matching no longer existed. It seemed but the other day that they were talking about the Duke together, and now that Duke was gone. I see you are in mourning," said Finneas, as he still held her hand. I must say one word to condol with you for your lost friend. Mr. Moll and I were now speaking of him, she said, as she introduced the two gentlemen. Mr. Finn and I had the pleasure of meeting your son at Harrington Hall a few weeks since, Mr. Moll. I heard that he had been there. Did you know the Duke, Mr. Finn? Through the fashion in which such a one as I would know such a one as the Duke, I knew him. He probably had forgotten my existence. He never forgot any one, said Madam Gossler. I don't know that I was ever introduced to him, continued Mr. Moll, and I shall always regret it. I was telling Madam Gossler how profound a reverence I had for the Duke's character. Finneas bowed, and Madam Gossler, who was becoming tired of the Duke as a subject of conversation, asked some question as to what had been going on in the house. Mr. Moll, finding it to be improbable that he should be able to advance his cause on that occasion, took his leave. The moment he was gone, Madam Gossler's manner changed altogether. She left her former seat and came near to Finneas, sitting on a sofa close to the chair he occupied, and as she did so she pushed her hair back from her face in a manner that he remembered well in former days. "'I am so glad to see you,' she said, "'is it not odd that he should have gone so soon after what we were saying but the other day?' You thought then that he would not last long. Long is comparative. I did not think he would be dead within six weeks, or I should not have been riding there. He was a burden to me, Mr. Finne. I can understand that. And yet I shall miss him sorely. He had given all the colour to my life which it possessed. It was not very bright, but still it was colour. The house will be open to you, just the same. I shall not go there. I shall see Lady Glencora in town, of course, but I shall not go to Matching, and as to Gatherham Castle, I would not spend another week there if they would give it me. You haven't heard of his will?" "'No, not a word. I hope he remembered you, to mention your name. You hardly wanted more.' Just so, I wanted no more than then. It was made, perhaps, before you knew him. He was always making it, and always altering it. He left me money, and jewels of enormous value. I am so glad to hear it. But I have refused to take anything. Am I not right?' I don't know why you should refuse. There are people who will say that I was his mistress. If a woman be young, a man's age never prevents such scandal. I don't know that I can stop it, but I can perhaps make it seem to be less probable. And after all that has passed, I could not bear that the palisers should think that I clung to him for what I could get. I should be easier this way. Whatever is best to be done, you will do it. I know that. Your praise goes beyond the mark, my friend. I can be both generous and discreet, but the difficulty is to be true. I did take one thing, a black diamond, that he always wore. I would show it you, but the goldsmith has it to make it fit me. When does the great affair come off at the house? The bill will be read again on Monday, the first. What an unfortunate day! You remember young Mr. Moll? Is he not like his father? And yet in manners they are as unlike as possible. What is the father?" Phineas asked. A battered old bow about London, selfish and civil, pleasant and penniless, and I should think utterly without a principle. Come again soon. I am so anxious to hear that you are getting on, and you have got to tell me all about that shooting with the pistol. Phineas, as he walked away, thought that Madame Gossler was handsomer even than she used to be. CHAPTER XXXI THE DUCK AND DUTCHES IN TOWN At the end of March the Duchess of Omnium, never more to be called Lady Glencora by the world at large, came up to London. The Duke, though he was now banished from the House of Commons, was nevertheless wanted in London, and what funerial ceremonies were left might be accomplished as well in town as it matching Priory. No old ministry could be turned out and no new ministry formed without the assistance of the young Duchess. It was a question whether she should not be asked to be mistress of the robes, though those who asked it knew very well that she was the last woman in England to hamper herself by dependence on the Court. Up to London they came, and though of course they went into no society, the House and Carleton Gardens was continually thronged with people who had some special reason for breaking the ordinary rules of etiquette and their desire to see how Lady Glencora carried herself as Duchess of Omnium. Do you think she's altered much? said Especia Fitzgibbon, an elderly Spenster, the daughter of Lord Clotta, and sister of Lawrence Fitzgibbon, member for one of the western Irish Counties. I don't think she was quite so loud as she used to be. Mrs. Bonteen was of opinion that there was a change. She was always uncertain, you know, and would scratch like a cat if you offended her. And won't she scratch now? asked Ms. Fitzgibbon. I'm afraid she'll scratch oftener. It was always a trick of hers to pretend to think nothing of rank, but she values her place as highly as any woman in England. This was Mrs. Bonteen's opinion, but Lady Baldock, who was present, differed. This Lady Baldock was not the mother, but the sister-in-law of that Augusta Borum, who had lately become sister of Veronica John. I don't believe it, said Lady Baldock. She always seems to me to be like a great schoolgirl who has been allowed too much of her own way. I think people give way to her too much, you know. As Lady Baldock was herself the wife of a peer, she naturally did not stand so much in awe of a duchess as did Mrs. Bonteen or Ms. Fitzgibbon. Have you seen the young Duke? asked Mr. Rattler of Barrington Earl. Yes, I have been with him this morning. How does he like it? He's bothered out of his life, as a hen would be if you were to throw her into water. He's so shy he hardly knows how to speak to you, and he broke down all together when I said something about the lords. He'll not do much more. I don't know about that, said Earl. He'll get used to it and go into harness again. He's a great deal too good to be lost. He didn't give himself heirs. What? Plenty pal. If I know anything of a man, he's not the man to do that, because he's a duke. He can hold his own against all comers and always could. And as he always seemed, he knew who he was and who other people were. I don't think you'll find much difference in him when he has got over the annoyance. Mr. Rattler, however, was of a different opinion. Mr. Rattler had known many docile members of the House of Commons who had become peers by the death of uncles and fathers, and who had lost all respect for him as soon as they were released from the crack of the whip. Mr. Rattler rather despised peers who had been members of the House of Commons and who passed by inheritance from a scene of unparalleled use and influence to one of idle and luxurious dignity. Soon after their arrival in London, the duchess wrote the following very characteristic letter. Dear Lord Chiltern, Mr. Palliser, then having begun with a mistake she scratched the word through with her pen, the duke has asked me to write about Trumpton Wood as he knows nothing about it and I know just as little. But if you say what you want it shall be done. Shall we get foxes and put them there? Or ought there to be a special foxkeeper? You mustn't be angry because the poor old duke was too feeble to take notice of the matter. Only speak and it shall be done. Yours faithfully, Glencora O. Madame Giesler spoke to me about it, but at that time we were in trouble. The answer was as characteristic. Dear Duchess of Omnium, thanks. What is wanted is that keepers should know that there are to be foxes. When keepers know that foxes are really expected there always are foxes. The men latterly have known just the contrary. It is all a question of shooting. I don't mean to say a word against the late duke. When he got old the thing became bad. No doubt it will be right now. Faithfully yours, children. Our hounds have been poisoned in Trumpton Wood. This would never have been done had not the keepers been against the hunting. Upon receipt of this she sent the letter to Mr. Fathergill with a request that there might be no more shooting in Trumpton Wood. I'll be shot if we'll stand that, you know, said Mr. Fathergill to one of his underlings. Here are two hundred and fifty acres in Trumpton Wood and were never to kill another pheasant because Lord Chiltern is master of the breakhounds. Property won't be worth having at that rate. The duke by no means intended to abandon the world of politics, or even the narrower sphere of ministerial work, because he had been ousted from the House of Commons and from the possibility of filling the office which he had best liked. This was proved to the world by the choice of his house for meeting of the party on the thirtieth of March. As it happened, this was the very day on which he and the duchess returned to London, but nevertheless the meeting was held there and he was present at it. Mr. Gresham then repeated his reasons for opposing Mr. Dobbany's bill, and declared that even while doing so he would, with the approbation of his party, pledge himself to bring in a bill somewhat to the same effect should he ever again find himself in power. And he declared that he would do this solely with the view of showing how strong was his opinion that such a measure should not be left in the hands of the Conservative Party. It was doubted whether such a political proposition had ever before been made in England. It was a simple avowal that on this occasion men were to be regarded and not measures. No doubt such is the case, and ever has been the case, with the majority of active politicians. The double pleasure of pulling down an opponent and of raising oneself is the charm of a politician's life, and by practice this becomes extended to so many branches that the delights, and also the disappointments, are very widespread. Great satisfaction is felt by us because by some lucky conjunction of affairs our man, whom we never saw, is made Lord Lieutenant of a county instead of another man of whom we know is little. It is a great thing to us that Sir Samuel Bobwig, an excellent liberal, is seated high on the bench of justice instead of that time-serving Conservative Sir Alexander McSilk. Men and not measures are, no doubt, the very life of politics. But then it is not the fashion to say so in public places. Mr. Gresham was determined to introduce that fashion on the present occasion. He did not think very much of Mr. Dobbins' bill, so he told his friends at the Duke's house. The bill was full of faults, went too far in one direction and not far enough in another. It was not difficult to pick holes in the bill. But the sin of sins consisted in this, that it was to be passed, if passed at all, by the aid of men who would sin against their consciences by each vote they gave in its favour. What but treachery could be expected from an army in which every officer and every private was called upon to fight against his convictions. The meeting passed off with dissension and it was agreed that the House of Commons should be called upon to reject the church bill, simply because it was proposed from that side of the house on which the minority was sitting. As there were more than two hundred members present on the occasion, by none of whom were any objections raised, it seemed probable that Mr. Gresham might be successful. There was still, however, doubt in the minds of some men. "'It's all very well,' said Mr. Rattler. "'But Turnbull wasn't there, you know.' But from what took place the next day but one in Park Lane it would almost seem that the Duchess had been there. She came at once to see Madame Giesler, having very firmly determined that the Duke's death should not have the appearance of interrupting her intimacy with her friend. "'Was it not very disagreeable?' asked Madame Giesler. "'Just the day you came to town.' "'We didn't think of that at all. One is not allowed to think of anything now. It was very improper, of course, because of the Duke's death. But that had to be put on one side. And then it was quite contrary to etiquette that peers and commoners should be brought together. I think there was some idea of making sure of Plantagenet, and so they all came and wore out our carpets. There wasn't above a dozen peers, but they were enough to show that all the old landmarks have been upset. I don't think anyone would have objected if I had opened the meeting myself and called upon Mrs. Bonteen to second me.' "'Why, Mrs. Bonteen? Because next to myself she's the most talkative and political woman we have. She was at our house yesterday, and I'm not quite sure that she doesn't intend to cut me out. We must put her down, Lady Glen. Perhaps she'll put me down now that we're half-shelled. The men did make such a racket, and yet no one seemed to speak for two minutes except Mr. Gresham, who stood upon my pet footstool and kicked it almost to pieces. Was Mr. Finn there? Everybody was there, I suppose. What makes you ask particularly about Mr. Finn? Because he's a friend. "'That's come up again, has it? He's the handsome Irishman, isn't he, that came to matching the same day that brought you there?' "'He is an Irishman, and he wasn't matching that day.' "'He's certainly handsome. What a day that was, Marie, when one thinks of it all, of all the perils and all the salvations, how strange it is. I wonder whether you would have liked it now if you were the Dowager Duchess.' I should have had some enjoyment, I suppose. I don't know that it would have done us any harm, and yet how keen I was about it. We can't give you the rank now, and you won't take the money. Not the money, certainly. Plantagenet says you'll have to take it. But it seems to me he's always wrong. There are so many things that one must do that one doesn't do. He never perceives that everything gets changed every five years. So Mr. Finn is the favorite again. He is a friend whom I like. I may be allowed to have a friend, I suppose. A dozen, my dear, and all of them good-looking. Goodbye, dear. Pray come to us. Don't stand off and make yourself disagreeable. We shan't be giving dinner parties, but you can come whenever you please. Tell me at once. Do you mean to be disagreeable?' Then Madame Giesler was obliged to promise that she would not be more disagreeable than her nature had made her. End of CHAPTER XXXI. THE WORLD BECOMES COLD A great deal was said by very many persons in London as to the murderous attack which had been made by Mr. Kennedy on Phineas Finn in Judd Street. But the advice given by Mr. Slide in The People's Banner to the Police was not taken. No public or official inquiry was made into the circumstance. Mr. Kennedy, under the care of his cousin, retreated to Scotland. And as it seemed, there was to be an end of it. Throughout the month of March various smaller bolts were thrust both at Phineas and at the police by the editor of the above-named newspaper. But they seemed to fall without much effect. No one was put in prison, nor was any one ever examined. But nevertheless these missiles had their effect. Everybody knew that there had been a row between Mr. Kennedy and Phineas Finn and that the row had been made about Mr. Kennedy's wife. Everybody knew that a pistol had been fired at Finn's head, and a great many people thought that there had been some cause for the assault. It was alleged at one club that the present member of a Tankville had spent the great part of the last two years at Dresden, and at another that he called on Mr. Kennedy twice, once down in Scotland, and once at the hotel in Judd Street, with a view of inducing that gentleman to concede to a divorce. There was also a very romantic story afloat as to an engagement which had existed between Lady Laura and Phineas Finn before the lady had been induced by her father to marry the richest suitor. Various details were given in corroboration of these stories. Was it not known that the Earl had purchased the submission of Phineas Finn by a seat for his borough of Layton? Was it not known that Lord Chilton, the brother of Lady Laura, had fought a duel with Phineas Finn? Was it not known that Mr. Kennedy himself had been, as it were, coerced into quiescence by the singular fact that he had been saved from garottas in the street by the opportune interference of Phineas Finn? It was even suggested that the seam of the garottas had been cunningly planned by Phineas Finn that he might in this way be able to restrain the anger of the husband of the lady whom he loved. All these stories were very pretty, but as the reader it is hoped knows they were all untrue. Phineas had made but one short visit to Dresden in his life. Lady Laura had been engaged to Mr. Kennedy before Phineas had even spoken to her of his love. The duel with Lord Chilton had been about another lady, and the seat at Layton had been conferred upon Phineas chiefly on account of his prowess in extricating Mr. Kennedy from the garottas. Respecting which circumstance it may be said that as the meeting in the street was fortuitous the reward was greater than the occasion seemed to require. While all these things were being said Phineas became something of a hero, a man who is supposed to have caused a disturbance between two married people in a certain rank of life does generally receive a certain mead of admiration. A man who was asked out to dinner twice a week before such rumours were aflate would probably receive double that number of invitations afterwards, and then to have been shot at by a madman in a room and to be the subject of the venom of a people's banner tends also to fame. Other ladies besides Madame Gersler were anxious to have the story from the very lips of the hero, and in this way Phineas Finn became a conspicuous man. But fame begets envy, and there were some who said that the member for Tankerville had injured his prospects with his party. It may be very well to give a dinner to a man who has caused the wife of a late cabinet minister to quarrel with her husband, but it can hardly be expected that he should be placed in office by the head of the party to which that late cabinet minister belonged. "'I never saw such a fellow as you are,' said Barrington Earl to him. "'You're always getting into a mess!' "'Nobody ought to know better than you how false all these Calumnis are.' This he said, because Earl and Lady Laura were cousins. "'Of course they're Calumnis, but you heard them before, and what made you go poking your head into the lion's mouth?' Mr. Bonteen was very much harder upon him than was Barrington Earl. I never liked him from the first, and always knew he would not run straight, and no Irishman ever does. This was said to Fycount Fawn, a distinguished member of the Liberal Party, who had but lately been married and was known to have very strict notions as to the bonds of matrimony. He'd been hurt to say that any man who had interfered with the happiness of a married couple should be held to have committed a capital offence. I don't know whether the story about Lady Laura is true. Of course it's true, all the world knows it's true. He was always there, at Lochlinter, at Salisbury, and in Portman Square, after he'd left her husband. The mischief he has done is incalculable. There's a conservative sitting in poor Guernet's seat for Dunrosha.' "'That might have been the case, anyway, and nothing could have turned Guernet out. Don't you remember how he behaved about the Irish land? I hate such fellows. Have I thought it true about Lady Laura?' Lord Fawn was again about to express his opinion in regard to matrimony, but Mr. Bond-team was too impetuous to listen to him. It, out of the question that he should come in again, at any rate, if he does, I won't. I shall tell Gresham so very plainly. The women will do all that they can for him. They always do for a fellow of that kind.' Phineas heard of it. Not exactly by any repetition of the words that was spoken, but by chance phrases and from the looks of men. Lord Cantrip, who is his best friend among those who were certain to hold high office in a liberal government, did not talk to him cheerily, did not speak as though he, Phineas, would as a matter of course have some place assigned to him. And he thought that Mr. Gresham was hardly as cordial to him as he might be when they met in the closer intercourse of the house. There was always a word or two spoken, and sometimes a shaking of hands. He had no right to complain, but he knew that something was wanting. We can generally read a man's purpose towards us in his manner, if his purpose is of much moment to us. Phineas had written to Lady Laura, giving her an account of the occurrence in Judge Street on the 1st of March, and a receipt from her a short answer by return of post. It contained hardly more than a thanksgiving that his life had not been sacrificed, and in a day or two she had written again letting him know that she had determined to consult her father. Then on the last day of the month he received the following letter. Gresham, March the 27th. My dear friend, at last we have resolved that we will go back to England, almost at once. Things have gone so rapidly that I hardly know how to explain them all, but that is Papa's resolution. His lawyer, Mr. Forster, tells him that it will be best, and goes so fast to say that it is imperative on my behalf that some steps should be taken to put an end to the present state of things. I will not scruple to tell you that he is activated chiefly by considerations as to money. It is astonishing to me that a man who has all his life been so liberal, should now, in his old age, think so much about it. It is, however, in no degree for himself. It is all for me. He cannot bear to think that my fortune should be withheld from me by Mr. Kennedy while I have done nothing wrong. I was obliged to show him your letter, and what you said about the control of money took hold of his mind at once. He thinks that if my unfortunate husband be insane, there can be no difficulty in my obtaining a separation on terms which would oblige him, or his friends, to restore this horrid money. Of course I could stay if I chose. The bar would not refuse to find a home for me here. But I do agree with Mr. Forster that something should be done to stop the tongues of ill-conditioned people. The idea of having my name dragged through the newspapers is dreadful to me. But if this must be done one way or the other, it would be better that you should be done with truth. There is nothing that I need fear, as you know so well. I cannot look forward to happiness anywhere. With the question of separation where once settled, I do not know whether I would not prefer returning here to remaining in London. Papa has got tired of the place, and wants, he says, to sea-solve him once again before he dies. What can I say in answer to this, but that I will go? We have sent to have the house in Portman Square got ready for us, and I suppose we should be there about the fifteenth of next month. Papa has instructed Mr. Forster to tell Mr. Kennedy's lawyers that we are coming, and he is to find out, if he can, whether in any interference in the management of the property has been as yet made by the family. Perhaps I ought to tell you that Mr. Forster has expressed surprise that you did not call on the police when the shot was fired. Of course I can understand it all. God bless you. Your affectionate friend, L.K. Phineas was obliged to console himself by reflecting that if she understood him, of course, that was everything. His first and great duty in the matter had been to her. If in performing that duty he had sacrificed himself, he must bear his undeserved punishment like a man. That he was to be punished he began to perceive too clearly. The conviction of the Mr. Norbany must recede from the treasury bench after the coming debate became every day stronger, and within the little inner circles of the Liberal Party, the usual discussions were made as to the ministry which Mr. Gresham would, as a matter of course, be called upon to form. But in these discussions Phineas Finn did not find himself taking an assured and comfortable part. Lawrence Fitzgibbon, his countryman, who in the way of work had never been worth his salt, was eager, happy, and without a doubt. Others of the old stages, men who had been going in and out ever since they had been able to get seats in Parliament, went about in clubs and in lobbies and chambers of the house with all that busy magpie air which is worn only by those who have high hopes of good things to come, speedily. Lord Mount Thistle was more sublime and ponderous than ever, though they who best understood the party declared that he would never again be invited to undergo the cares of office. His lordship was one of those terrible political burdens engendered originally by private friendship or family considerations, which one minister leaves to another. Segrigri Grogram, the great wig-lawyer, showed plainly by his manner that he thought himself at last secure of reaching the reward for which he had been struggling all his life, for it was understood by all men who knew anything that Lord Weasling was not to be asked again to sit on the woolsack. No better advocate or effective politician ever lived, but it was supposed that he lacked dignity for the office of first judge in the land. The most of the old lot would come back was a matter of course. There would be the Duke, the Duke of Sambungae who had for years past been the Duke when Liberal administration were discussed, and the second Duke, who we knew so well, and Sir Harry Colfoot and Leggy Wilson, Lord Cantrip, Lord Thrift, and the rest of them, that would of course be Lord Faughn, Mr Ratler, and Mr Earle. The thing was so thoroughly settled that one was almost tempted to think that the Prime Minister himself would have no voice in the selections to be made. As to one office it was acknowledged on all sides that a doubt existed which would at last be found to be very injurious, as some thought almost crushing to the party. To whom would Mr Gresham entrust the financial affairs of the country, who would be the new Chancellor of the Exchequer? There are not a few who inferred that Mr Bontein would be promoted to that high office. During the last two years he had devoted himself to decimal coinage with a zeal only second to that displayed by Plantagenet Palisar, and was accustomed to save himself that he had almost perished under his exertions. It was supposed that he would have the support of the present Duke of Omnium, and that Mr Gresham, who disliked the man, would be coerced by the fact that there was no other competitor. Mr Bontein should go into the Cabinet would be Gaul and Wormwood to many brother-liberals, but Gaul and Wormwood such as this have to be swallowed. The rising in life of our familiar friends is, perhaps, the bitterest morsel of the bitter bread which you are called upon to eat in life. But we do eat it, and after a while it becomes food to us. When we find ourselves able to use, on behalf perhaps of our children, the influence of those whom we had once hoped to leave behind in the race of life. When a man suddenly shoots up in power, few suffer from it very acutely. The rise of a pit can have caused no heart-burning. But Mr Bontein had been a hack among the hacks. Had filled the usual half-dozen places, had been a junior lord, a vice-president, a deputy-controller, a chief commissioner, and a joint secretary. His hopes had been raised or abased among the places of one thousand pounds, one thousand two hundred pounds, or one thousand five hundred pounds a year. He'd hitherto accommodated at two thousand pounds, and had been supposed, with diligence, to have worked himself up to the top of the ladder as far as the ladder was accessible to him. And now he was spoken of in connection with one of the highest officers of the state. Of course, this created much uneasiness, and gave rise to many prophecies of failure. But in the midst of it all, no office was assigned to Phineas Thin. And there was a general feeling, not expressed, but understood, that his affair with Mr Kennedy stood in his way. Quintus Slide had undertaken to crush him. Could it be possible that so mean a man should be able to make good, so monstrous a threat? The man was very mean, and the threat had been absurd as well as monstrous, and yet it seemed that it might be realized. Phineas was too proud to ask questions, even of Barrington Earl, but he felt that he was being left out in the cold, because the editor of the People's Banner had said that no government could employ him. And at this moment, on the very morning of the day which was to usher in the Great Debate, which was to be so fatal to Mr. Albany and his church reform, another thunderbolt was hurled. The we of the People's Banner had learned that the very painful matter to which they had been compelled by a sense of duty to call the public attention, in reference to the late member for Dermotia and the present member for Tankerville, would be brought before one of the tribunals of the country, in reference to the matrimonial differences between Mr. Kennedy and his wife. It would, in the remembrance of their readers, that the unfortunate gentleman had been provoked to fire a pistol at the head of the member for Tankerville, a circumstance which though publicly known, had never been brought under the notice of the police. There was reason to hope that the mystery might now be cleared up, and that the ends of justice were demanded that a certain document should be produced which they, the we, had been vexatiously restrained from giving to their readers, although to be most carefully prepared for publication in the columns of the People's Banner. Then the thunderbolt went on to say that there was evidently a great move among the members of the so-called Liberal Party, who seemed to think that it was only necessary that they should open their mouths wide enough in order that the suites of office should fall into them. The we were quite of a different opinion. The we believed that no minister for many a long day had been so firmly fixed on the treasury bench as was Mr. Dormony at the present moment. But this at any rate might be inferred, that should Mr. Gresham, by any unhappy combination of circumstances be called upon to former ministry, it would be quite impossible for him to include within it the name of the member for Tankerville. This was the second great thunderbolt that fell. And so did the work of crushing our poor friend proceed. There was a great injustice in all this, at least so thinious thought, injustice not only from the hands of Mr. Slide, who was unjust as a matter of course, but all from those who thought to have been his staunch friends. He had been enticed over to England almost with a promise of office, and he was sure that he had done nothing which deserved punishment or even censure. He could not condescend to complain, nor indeed as yet could he say that there was ground for complaint. Nothing had been done to him. Not a word had been spoken, except those lying words in the newspapers which he was too proud to notice. On one matter, however, he was determined to be firm. When Barrington Earl had absolutely insisted that he should vote upon the church bill in opposition to all that he had said upon the subject of Tankerville, he had stipulated that he should have an opportunity in the great debate which would certainly take place of explaining his conduct, or in other words, that the privilege of making a speech should be accorded to him at a time in which very many members would no doubt attempt to speak and would attempt in vain. It may be imagined, probably still is imagined by a great many, that no such pledge as this could be given, that the right to speak depends simply on the speaker's eye, and that energy at the moment in attracting attention would alone be of account to an eagle orator. But Phineas knew the house too well to trust to such a theory. That some preliminary assistance would be given to the travelling of the speaker's eye in so important a debate he knew very well, and he knew also that a promise from Barrington Earl or for Mr. Rattler would be his best security. That'll be all right, of course," said Barrington Earl to him on the evening of the day before the debate. We've quite counted on your speaking. There had been a certain sullenness in the tone with which Phineas had asked his question as they had been laboring under a grievance, and he felt himself rebuked by the cordiality of the reply. I suppose we'd better fix it for Monday or Tuesday, said the other. We hope to get it over by Tuesday, but there's no knowing. At any rate, you shall be thrown over." It was almost on his tongue. The entire story of his grievance, the expression of his feeling that he was not being treated as one of the chosen, but he restrained himself. He liked Barrington Earl well enough, but not so well as to justify him in asking for sympathy. Nor had it been his warrant in any of the troubles of his life to ask for sympathy from a man. He'd always gone to some woman. In old days to Lady Laura, or to Violet Effingham, or to Madam Gersler. By them he could endure to be petted, praised, or upon occasion even pitted. But pity or praise from any man had been distasteful to him. On the morning of the 1st of April he again went to Park Lane, not with any formed plan of turning the lady of his wrongs, but driven by a feeling that he wanted comfort, which might perhaps be found there. The lady received him very kindly, and at once inquired as to the great political tournament which was about to be commenced. "'Yes, we begin to-day,' said Phineas. "'Mr. Dourbany will speak, I should say, from half-past four till seven. I wonder you don't go and hear him.' "'What a pleasure to hear a man speak for two hours and a half about the Church of England. One must be very hard-driven for amusement. Would you tell me that you like it?' "'I like to hear a good speech.' "'But you have the excitement before you of making a good speech in answer. You are in the fight. A poor woman, shut up in a cage, feels there more acutely than anywhere else how insignificant a position she fills in the world.' "'You don't advocate the rights of women, Madam Gersler.' "'Oh, no. Knowing our inferiority, I submit without a grumble. But I am not sure that I care to go and listen to the scobbles of my masters. You may arrange it all among you, and I would accept what you do whether it be good or bad, as I must, but I cannot take so much interest in the proceeding as to spend my time in listening where I cannot speak, and in looking where I cannot be seen. "'You will speak?' "'Yes, I think so.' "'I shall read your speech, which is more than I shall do for most of the others. And when it is all over, will your turn come?' "'Not mine, individually, Madam Gersler. But it will be yours, individually, will it not?' she asked, with energy. Then gradually, with half-pronounced sentences, he explained to her that even in the event of the formation of a liberal government, he did not expect that any place would be offered to him. And why not, we have been all speaking of it as a certainty?' He longed to inquire who were the all of whom she spoke, but he could not do it rather out an egotism which would be distasteful to him. "'I can hardly tell, but I don't think I should be asked to join them.' "'You would wish it?' "'Yes, talking to you, I do not see why I should hesitate to say so. Talking to me, why should you hesitate to say anything about yourself that is true? I can hold my tongue. I do not gossip about my friends. Who's doing is it?' "'I do not know that it is any man's doing.' "'But it must be. Everybody said you were to be one of them if you could get the other people out. Is it Mr. Bontein?' "'Likely enough. Not that I know anything of the kind. But as I hate him from the bottom of my heart, it is natural to suppose that he has the same feeling in regard to me.' "'I agree with you there. But I don't know that it comes from any feeling of that kind. What does it come from?' "'You have all heard of all the column near about Lady Laura Kennedy. You do not mean to say that a story such as that has affected your position.' "'I fancy it has, but you must not suppose, Madam Gerster, that I mean to complain. A man must take these things as they come. No one has received more kindness from friends than I have, and a few perhaps more favours from fortune. All this about Mr. Kennedy has been unlucky, but it cannot be helped.' "'Do you mean to say that the morals of your party will be offended?' said Madam Gerster, almost laughing. "'Lord Faun, you know, is very particular. In sober earnest one cannot tell how these things operate, but they do operate gradually. One's friends are sometimes very glad of an excuse for not profending one.' "'Lady Laura is coming home?' "'Yes. That will put an end to it. There is nothing to put an end to except the foul-mouthed malice of a lying newspaper. Nobody believes anything against Lady Laura.' "'I'm not so sure of that. I believe nothing against her. I'm sure you do not, Madam Gerster, nor do I think that anybody does. It is too absurd for belief from beginning to end. Good-bye. Perhaps I shall see you when the debate is over.' "'Of course you will. Good-bye, and success to your oratory!' Then Madam Gerster resolved that she would say a few judicious words to her friend, the duchess, respecting Phineas Finn." CHAPTER XXXIII. The two gladiators. The great debate was commenced with all the celebrities which are customary on such occasions, and which make men think for the day that no moment of greater excitement has ever blessed or cursed the country. Upon the present occasion London was full of clergymen. The specially clerical clubs, the Oxford and Cambridge, the Old University and the Athenaeum, were black with them. The bishops and deans, as usual, were pleasant in their manner and happy-looking in spite of adverse circumstances. When one sees a bishop in the hours of the distress of the church, one always thinks of the just and firm man who will stand fearless while the ruins of the world are falling about his ears. But the Parsons from the country were a sorry sight to see. They were in earnest with all their hearts, and did believe, not that the crack of doom was coming which they could have borne with equanimity if convinced that their influence would last to the end, but that the evil one was to be made welcome upon the earth by act of parliament. It was out of nature that any man should think it good that his own order should be repressed, curtailed and deprived of its power. If we go among cab drivers or letter-carriers, among butlers or gamekeepers, among tailors or butchers, among farmers or graziers, among doctors or attorneys, we shall find in each set of men a conviction that the welfare of the community depends upon the firmness which they, especially they, hold their own. This is so manifestly true with the bar, that no barrister in practice scruples to avow that barristers in practice are the sort of the earth. The personal confidence of a judge in his own position is beautiful, being salutary to the country, they're not unfrequently damaging to the character of the man. But if this be so with men who are conscious of no high influence than that exercised over the bodies and minds of their fellow or layman, who simply uses a cab or receives a letter or goes to law or has to be tried, these pretensions are ridiculous or annoying according to the ascendancy of the pretender at the moment. But as the clerical pretensions are more exacting than all others, being put forward with an assertion that no answer is possible without breach of duty and sin, so are they more galling. The fight is being going on since the idea of a mitre first entered the heart of a priest, since dominion in this world has found itself capable of sustenation by the exercise of fear as to the world to come. We do believe, the majority among us does so, that if we live and die in sin we shall, after some fashion, come to great punishment, and we believe also that by having pastors among us who shall be men of God we may best aid ourselves and our children in avoiding this bitter end. But then the pastors and men of God can only be human, cannot be altogether men of God, and so they have oppressed us and burned us and tortured us and hence come to love palaces and fine linen and purple, and alas, sometimes mere luxury and idleness. The torturing and the burning, as also to speak truth the luxury and the idleness, have among us been already conquered, but the idea of ascendancy remains. What is a thoughtful man to do who acknowledges the danger of his soul, but cannot swallow his past and whole, simply because he's been sent to him from some source in which he has no special confidence, perhaps by some distant lord, perhaps by a lord chancellor, whose political friend has had a son with a tutor? What is he to do when, in spite of some fine linen and purple left among us, the provision for a man of God in his parish or district is so poor, that no man of God fitted to teach him will come and take it? In no spirit of animosity to religion he begins to tell himself that church and state together was a monkish combination, fit perhaps for monkish days, but no longer having fitness, and not much longer capable of existence in this country. But to the parson himself, to the honest, hardworking, conscientious priest, who does in his heart of hearts believe that no diminution in the general influence of his order can be made without ruin to the souls of men, this opinion, when it becomes dominant, is as though the world were in truth breaking to pieces over his head. The world has been broken to pieces in the same way often, but extreme chaos does not come. The cabman and the letter carrier always expect that chaos will very nearly come when they are disturbed. The barristers are sure of chaos when the sanctity of benches is in question. What utter chaos would be promised to us could anyone with impunity contend the majesty of the House of Commons? But of all these chaoses, there can be no chaos equal to that which in the mind of a zealous ox-for-bread constitutional country parson must attend that annihilation of his special condition which will be produced by the disestablishment of the church. Of all good fellows he is the best good fellow. He is genial, hospitable, well-educated, and always has either a pretty wife or pretty daughters, but he has so extreme a belief in himself that he cannot endure to be told that absolute chaos will not come at once if he be disturbed. And now disturbances, hey, are not a dislocation and ruin were to become from the hands of a friend. Was it wonderful that parson should be seen about Westminster in flocks with, et, tu, Brute, written on my faces as plainly as the law on the brows of a Pharisee? The speaker had been harassed for orders. The powers and prowess of every individual member had been put to the test. The galleries were crowded. Ladies' places had been belated for withfall with desperate enthusiasm in spite of the sarcasm against the House which Madame Gerster had expressed. Two royal princes and a royal duke were accommodated within the House in an irregular manner. Peers swarmed in the passages and were too happy to find standing room. Bishops jostled against lay barons with no other preference than that afforded to them by their broader shoulders. Men, and especially clergymen, came to the galleries loaded with sandwiches and flasks, prepared to hear all there was to be heard should the debate last from four p.m. to the same hour on the following morning. At two in the afternoon the entrances to the House were barred, and men of all ranks, deans, prebenes, peers, sons, and baronettes, stood there patiently waiting till some powerful noble ones should let them through. The very ventilating chambers under the House were filled with courteous listeners who had all pledged to themselves that under no possible provocation would they even cough during the debate. A few minutes after fall, in a House from which hardly more than a dozen members were absent, Mr. Norbert took his seat, with that air of affected indifference to things around him which is peculiar to him. He entered slowly, amidst cheers from his side of the House, which no doubt were loud in proportion to the dismay of the cheerers as to the matter in hand. Gentlemen lacking substantial sympathy with their leader found it to be comfortable to deceive themselves and raise their hearts at the same time by the easy enthusiasm of noise. Mr. Norbert having sat down and covered his head, just raised his hat from his brows, and then tried to look as though he were no more than any other gentleman present. But the peculiar consciousness of the man displayed itself even in his constrained absence of motion. You could see that he felt himself to be the beheld of all beholders, and that he enjoyed the position. With some slight inward trepidation, lest the effort to be made should not equal the greatness of the occasion. Shortly after him, Mr. Gresham bustled up the centre of the House amidst a roar of good-humoured welcome. We have had many ministers who have been personally dearer to their individual adherents in the House than the present leader of the opposition and late Premier, but none, perhaps, has been more generally respected by his party for earnestness and sincerity. On the present occasion there was a fierceness, almost a ferocity, in his very countenance, to the fire of which friends and enemies were equally anxious to add fuel. The friends, in order that so might these recreant tories be more thoroughly annihilated, and the enemies that their enemies in discretion might act back upon himself to his confusion. For indeed he never could be denied that as a prime minister Mr. Gresham could be very indiscreet. A certain small amount of ordinary business was done to the disgust of expects and strangers, which was as trivial as possible in its nature. So arrange, apparently, that the importance of what was to follow might be enhanced by the force of contrast. And to make the dismay of the novice stranger more thorough, questions were asked and answers were given in so lower voice, at least a speaker uttered a word or two in so quick and shambling a fashion, that he, the novice stranger, began to fear that no word of the debate would reach him up there in his crowded back seat. All this, however, occupied but a few minutes, and at twenty minutes past four Mr. Dorbany was on his legs. Then the novice stranger found that, though he could not see Mr. Dorbany without the aid of an opera-glass, he could hear every word that fell from his lips. Mr. Dorbany began by regretting the hardness of his position, in that he must, with what thoroughness he might be able to achieve, apply himself to two great subjects, whereas the right honorable gentleman opposite has already cleared, with all the formality which could be made to attach itself to a combined meeting of peers and commoners, that he would confine himself strictly to one. The subject selected by the right honorable gentleman opposite on the present occasion was not the question of church reform. The right honorable gentleman applied himself with an almost sacred enthusiasm to ignore that subject altogether. No doubt it was the question before the house, and he himself, the present speaker, must unfortunately discuss it at some length. The right honorable gentleman opposite would not, on this great occasion, trouble himself with anything of so little moment. And it might be presumed that the political followers of the right honorable gentleman were equally reticent, as they were understood to have accepted his tactics without a dissension voice. E. Mr. Dorbany, was the last man in England to deny the importance of the question which the right honorable gentleman would select for discussions in preference to that of the condition of the church. That question was a very simple one, and might be put to the house in a very few words. Coming from the mouth of the right honorable gentleman, the proposition would probably be made in this form, that this house does think that I ought to be prime minister now, and as long as I may possess a seat in this house. It was impossible to deny the importance of that question, but perhaps he, Mr. Dorbany, might be justified in demuring to the preference given to it over every other matter, let that matter be of what importance it might be to the material welfare of the country. He made his point well, but he made it too often. And an attack of that kind, personal and savage in its nature loses its effect when it is evident that the words have been prepared. A good deal may be done in dispute by calling a man an ass or a nave, but the resolve to use the words should have been made only at the moment, and they should come hot from the heart. There was much neatness and some acuteness in Mr. Sattar, but there was no heat, and it was prolix. It had, however, the effect of irritating Mr. Gresham, as it was evident from the manner in which he moved his hat and shuffled his feet. A man destined to sit conspicuously on our treasury bench, or on the seat opposite to it, should ask the gods for a thick skin as a first gift. The need of this in our national assembly is greater than elsewhere, because the differences between the men opposed to each other are smaller. When two foes meet together in the same chamber, one of whom advocates the personal government of an individual ruler, and the other that form of state which has come to be called a red republic, they deal no doubt weighty blows of oratory to each other, but blows which never hurt at the moment. They may cut each other's strokes if they can find an opportunity, but they do not bite each other like dogs over a bone. But when opponents are almost in accord, as is always the case with our parliamentary gladiators, they are ever striving to give maddening little wounds through the joints of the harness. What is there with us to create the divergence necessary for debate but the pride of personal skill in the encounter? Who desires among us to put down the queen, or to repudiate the national debt, or to destroy religious worship, or even to disturb the ranks of society? When some small measure of reform has thoroughly recommended itself to the country, so thoroughly that all men know that the country will have it, then the question arises whether its details shall be arranged by that abysmical party which calls itself liberal, or by that which is termed conservative. The men are so near to each other in all their convictions and theories of life that nothing is left of them but personal competition for the doing of a thing that has to be done. It's the same in religion. The apostle of Christianity and the infidel can meet without a chance of a quarrel, but is it never safe to bring together two men who differ about a saint or a surplus? Mr. Normany, having thus attacked and wounded his enemy, rushed boldly into the question of church reform, taking no little pride to himself and to his party, that so greater blessings should be bestowed upon the country from so unexpected a source? See what we conservators could do, in fact, we shall conserve nothing when we find that you do not desire to have it conserved any longer? What a minimally rarist, griar, pandator ab urbe! It was exactly the reverse of the complaint which Mr. Gresham was about to make. On the subject of the church itself, he was rather misty, but very profound. He went into the question of very early churches indeed and spoke of the misappropriation of endowments in the time of Eli. The establishment of the Levites had been no doubt complete, but changes had been affected as the circumstances required. He was presumed to have alluded to the order of Melchizedek, but he abstained from any mention of the name. He roamed very wide, and gave many of his hear as an idea that his erudition had carried him into regions in which it was impossible to follow him. The gist of his argument was to show that audacity and reform was the very backbone of conservatism. By a clearly pronounced disunion of church and state, the theocracy of Thomas A. Beckett would be restored, and the people of England would soon again become the faithful flocks of faithful shepherds. By taking away the endowments from the parishes and giving them back in some complicated way to the country, the parishes would be better able than ever to support their clergymen. Bishops would be bishops indeed, when they were no longer the creatures of a minister's breath. As to the deans, not seeing a clear way to satisfy aspirants for future vacancies in the denaries, he became more than usually vague, but seemed to imply that the bill which was now within the leave of the house to be read a second time contained no clause forbidding the appointment of deans, though the special stipend of the office must be a matter of consideration with the new church synod. The details of that part of his speech were felt to be dull by the strangers. As always he would abuse Mr. Gresham, men could listen with pleasure, and could keep their attention fixed while he referred to the general conservatism of the party which he had the honour of leading. There was a raciness in the promise of so much church destruction from the chosen leader of the church party, which was assisted by a conviction in the minds of most men that it was impossible for unfortunate conservatists to refuse to follow this leader, let him lead where he might. There was a gratification in feeling that the country party was bound to follow, even though he should take them into the very bowels of a mountain, as the Piper did the children of Hamlin, and this made listening pleasant. But when Mr. Norbin stated the effect of his different clauses, explaining what was to be taken and what's left, with a further assurance that what was to be left behind would, under the alternate circumstances, go much further than the whole had gone before, then the audience became weary, and began to think that it was time that some other gentleman should be upon his legs. But at the end of the minister's speech there was another touch of invective which went far to redeem him. He returned to that personal question to which his adversary had undertaken to confine himself, and expressed a holy horror at the political doctrine which was implied. He, during a prolonged parliamentary experience, had encountered much factious opposition. He would even acknowledge that he had seen it exercised on both sides of the house, though he had always striven to keep himself free from its baneful influence. But never till now had he known as statesman proclaim his intention of depending upon faction and upon faction alone for the result which he desired to achieve. Let the right honorable gentleman raise a contest on either the principles or the details of the measure, and he would be quite content to abide the decision of the house. But he should regard such a raid as that threatened against him and his friends by the right honorable gentleman as unconstitutional, revolutionary, and tyrannical. He felt sure that an opposition so based and so maintained, even if being enabled by the healtreated feelings of the moment to obtain an unfortunate success in the house would not be encouraged by the sympathy and support of the country at large. By these last words he was understood to signify that should he be beaten on the second reading, not in reference to the merits of the bill but simply on the issue as proposed by Mr. Gresham, he would again dissolve the house before he would resign. Now he was very well understood that there were liberal members in the house who would prefer even the success of Mr. Durbany to a speedy reappearance before their constituents. Mr. Durbany spoke till nearly eight, and it was surmised at the time that he had crafty arranged his oratory so as to embarrass his opponent. The house had met at four and was to sit continuously till it was adjourned for the night. When this is the case, gentlemen who speak about eight o'clock are too frequently obliged to address themselves to empty benches. On the present occasion it was Mr. Gresham's intention to follow his opponent at once instead of waiting as is usual with the leader of his party to the close of the debate. It was understood that Mr. Gresham would follow Mr. Durbany with the object of making a distinct charge against ministers so that the vote on this second reading of the church bill might in truth be a vote of want of confidence. But to commence his speech at eight o'clock when the house was hungry and uneasy would be a trial. Had Mr. Durbany closed an hour sooner there would, with a little stretching of the favoured hours, have been time enough. Members would not have objected to postpone their dinner till half past eight or perhaps nine when their favoured orator was on his legs. But with Mr. Gresham beginning at great speech at eight, dinner would altogether become doubtful and the disaster might be serious. It was not probable that Mr. Durbany and he even among his friends proclaimed any such strategy, but it was thought by the political speculators of the day that such an idea had been present in his mind. But Mr. Gresham was not to be turned from his purpose. He waited for a few moments and then rose and addressed the speaker. A few members left the house. Gentlemen doubtless whose constitutions weakened by previous service could not endure prolonged fasting. Some who had nearly reached the door returned to their seats mindful of Messrs. Roby and Rattler. But for the bulk of those assembled the interest of the moment was greater even than the love of dinner. Some of the peers departed and it was observed that the Bishop or two left the house. But among the strangers in the gallery hardly a foot of space was gained. He who gave up his seat then gave it up for the night. Mr. Gresham began with a calmness of tone which seemed almost to be affected, but which arose from a struggle on his own part to repress that superabundant energy of which he was any too conscious. But the calmness soon gave place to warmth, which heated itself into violence before he had been a quarter of an hour upon his legs. He soon became even ferocious in his invective, and said things so bitter that he had himself no conception of their bitterness. There was this difference between the two men, that whereas Mr. Normandy hit always as hard as he knew how to hit, having premeditated each blow, and weighed its results beforehand, having calculated his power even to the effect of a blow repeated on a wound already given, Mr. Gresham struck right and left and straightforward with a readiness engendered by practice, and in his fury might have murdered his antagonist before he was aware that he had drawn blood. He began by refusing absolutely to discuss the merits of the bill. The right honourable gentleman apprided himself on his generosity as a Greek. He would remind the right honourable gentleman that presence from Greeks had ever been considered dangerous. It is their gifts and only their gifts that we fear," he said. That the political gifts of the right honourable gentleman extracted by him from his unwilling colleagues and followers had always been more bitter to the taste than dead sea apples. That such gifts should not be bestowed on the country by unwilling hands, that reform should not come from those who themselves felt the necessity of no reform, he believed to be the wish not only of that house, but of the country at large. Would any gentleman on that bench, accepting the right honourable gentleman himself, and he pointed to the crowded phalanx of the government, get up and declare that his measure of church reform, this severance of church and state, was brought forward in consonance with his own long-cherished political eviction? He accused that party of being so bound to the chariot wheels of that right honourable gentleman as to be unable to abide by their own convictions. And as to the right honourable gentleman himself, he would appeal to his followers opposite to say whether the right honourable gentleman was possessed of any one strong political conviction. He had been accused of being unconstitutional, revolutionary, and tyrannical. If the house would allow him, he would very shortly explain his idea of constitutional government as carried on in this country. It was based and built on majorities in that house, and supported solely by that power. There could be no constitutional government in this country that was not so maintained. Any other government must be both revolutionary and tyrannical. Any other government was a user of patience, and he would make bold to tell the right honourable gentleman that a minister in this country who should recommend her majesty to trust herself to advise as not supported by a majority of the House of Commons would painfully be guilty of usurping the powers of the state. He threw from him with disdain the charge which he indulged and gloried in indulging the highest ambition of an English subject. But he gloried much more of the privileges and power of that House within the walls of which was centered all the basalitary, all the efficacious, all that was stable in the political constitution of his country. It had been his pride to have acted to join nearly all his political life with that party which had commanded a majority. But he would defy his most honourable gentleman himself to point to any period of his career in which he had been unwilling to succumb to a majority when he himself had been in the minority. He himself would regard the vote on this occasion as a vote of want of confidence. He took the line he was now taking because he desired to bring the House to a decision on that question. He himself had not that confidence in the right so important a subject as the union or severance of church and state from his hands. Should the majority of the House differ from him and support the second reading of the bill, he would have once so far succumbed as to give his best attention to the clauses of the bill and endeavour with the assistance of those gentlemen who acted with him to make it suitable to the wants of the country by missions and additions as the clauses of the bill and the government's weight whether it was willing to accept from the hands of the right honourable gentlemen any measure of reform on a matter so important as this now before them. It was nearly ten when he sat down and then the stomach of the House could stand it no longer and an adjournment at once took place. On the final when he described the privileges of the House of Commons and others who thought that Mr. Norman's lucidity had been marvellous. But in this case as in most others the speeches of the day were generally thought to have been very inferior to the great efforts of the past. End of chapter 33 Recording by Simon Evers.