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Phineas Finn the Irish Member

<h3>CHAPTER LXX</h3> <h3>The Prime Minister's House  </h3> The rooms and passages and staircases at Mrs. Gresham's house were very crowded when Phineas arrived there. Men of all shades of politics were there, and the wives and daughters of such men; and there was a streak of royalty in one of the saloons, and a whole rainbow of foreign ministers with their stars, and two blue ribbons were to be seen together on the first landing-place, with a stout lady between them carrying diamonds enough to load a pannier. Everybody was there. Phineas found that even Lord Chiltern was come, as he stumbled across his friend on the first foot-ground that he gained in his ascent towards the rooms. "Halloa,—you here?" said Phineas. "Yes, by George!" said the other, "but I am going to escape as soon as possible. I've been trying to make my way up for the last hour, but could never get round that huge promontory there. Laura was more persevering." "Is Kennedy here?" Phineas whispered. "I do not know," said Chiltern, "but she was determined to run the chance." A little higher up,—for Phineas was blessed with more patience than Lord Chiltern possessed,—he came upon Mr. Monk. "So you are still admitted privately," said Phineas. "Oh dear yes,—and we have just been having a most friendly conversation about you. What a man he is! He knows everything. He is so accurate; so just in the abstract,—and in the abstract so generous!" "He has been very generous to me in detail as well as in abstract," said Phineas. "Ah, yes; I am not thinking of individuals exactly. His want of generosity is to large masses,—to a party, to classes, to a people; whereas his generosity is for mankind at large. He assumes the god, affects to nod, and seems to shake the spheres. But I have nothing against him. He has asked me here to-night, and has talked to me most familiarly about Ireland." "What do you think of your chance of a second reading?" asked Phineas. "What do you think of it?—you hear more of those things than I do." "Everybody says it will be a close division." "I never expected it," said Mr. Monk. "Nor I, till I heard what Daubeny said at the first reading. They will all vote for the bill en masse,—hating it in their hearts all the time." "Let us hope they are not so bad as that." "It is the way with them always. They do all our work for us,—sailing either on one tack or the other. That is their use in creation, that when we split among ourselves, as we always do, they come in and finish our job for us. It must be unpleasant for them to be always doing that which they always say should never be done at all." "Wherever the gift horse may come from, I shall not look it in the mouth," said Mr. Monk. "There is only one man in the House whom I hope I may not see in the lobby with me, and that is yourself." "The question is decided now," said Phineas. "And how is it decided?" Phineas could not tell his friend that a question of so great magnitude to him had been decided by the last sting which he had received from an insect so contemptible as Mr. Bonteen, but he expressed the feeling as well as he knew how to express it. "Oh, I shall be with you. I know what you are going to say, and I know how good you are. But I could not stand it. Men are beginning already to say things which almost make me get up and kick them. If I can help it, I will give occasion to no man to hint anything to me which can make me be so wretched as I have been to-day. Pray do not say anything more. My idea is that I shall resign to-morrow." "Then I hope that we may fight the battle side by side," said Mr. Monk, giving him his hand. "We will fight the battle side by side," replied Phineas. After that he pushed his way still higher up the stairs, having no special purpose in view, not dreaming of any such success as that of reaching his host or hostess,—merely feeling that it should be a point of honour with him to make a tour through the rooms before he descended the stairs. The thing, he thought, was to be done with courage and patience, and this might, probably, be the last time in his life that he would find himself in the house of a Prime Minister. Just at the turn of the balustrade at the top of the stairs, he found Mr. Gresham in the very spot on which Mr. Monk had been talking with him. "Very glad to see you," said Mr. Gresham. "You, I find, are a persevering man, with a genius for getting upwards." "Like the sparks," said Phineas. "Not quite so quickly," said Mr. Gresham. "But with the same assurance of speedy loss of my little light." It did not suit Mr. Gresham to understand this, so he changed the subject. "Have you seen the news from America?" "Yes, I have seen it, but do not believe it," said Phineas. "Ah, you have such faith in a combination of British colonies, properly backed in Downing Street, as to think them strong against a world in arms. In your place I should hold to the same doctrine,—hold to it stoutly." "And you do now, I hope, Mr. Gresham?" "Well,—yes,—I am not down-hearted. But I confess to a feeling that the world would go on even though we had nothing to say to a single province in North America. But that is for your private ear. You are not to whisper that in Downing Street." Then there came up somebody else, and Phineas went on upon his slow course. He had longed for an opportunity to tell Mr. Gresham that he could go to Downing Street no more, but such opportunity had not reached him. For a long time he found himself stuck close by the side of Miss Fitzgibbon,—Miss Aspasia Fitzgibbon,—who had once relieved him from terrible pecuniary anxiety by paying for him a sum of money which was due by him on her brother's account. "It's a very nice thing to be here, but one does get tired of it," said Miss Fitzgibbon. "Very tired," said Phineas. "Of course it is a part of your duty, Mr. Finn. You are on your promotion and are bound to be here. When I asked Laurence to come, he said there was nothing to be got till the cards were shuffled again." "They'll be shuffled very soon," said Phineas. "Whatever colour comes up, you'll hold trumps, I know," said the lady. "Some hands always hold trumps." He could not explain to Miss Fitzgibbon that it would never again be his fate to hold a single trump in his hand; so he made another fight, and got on a few steps farther. He said a word as he went to half a dozen friends,—as friends went with him. He was detained for five minutes by Lady Baldock, who was very gracious and very disagreeable. She told him that Violet was in the room, but where she did not know. "She is somewhere with Lady Laura, I believe; and really, Mr. Finn, I do not like it." Lady Baldock had heard that Phineas had quarrelled with Lord Brentford, but had not heard of the reconciliation. "Really, I do not like it. I am told that Mr. Kennedy is in the house, and nobody knows what may happen." "Mr. Kennedy is not likely to say anything." "One cannot tell. And when I hear that a woman is separated from her husband, I always think that she must have been imprudent. It may be uncharitable, but I think it is most safe so to consider." "As far as I have heard the circumstances, Lady Laura was quite right," said Phineas. "It may be so. Gentlemen will always take the lady's part,—of course. But I should be very sorry to have a daughter separated from her husband,—very sorry." Phineas, who had nothing now to gain from Lady Baldock's favour, left her abruptly, and went on again. He had a great desire to see Lady Laura and Violet together, though he could hardly tell himself why. He had not seen Miss Effingham since his return from Ireland, and he thought that if he met her alone he could hardly have talked to her with comfort; but he knew that if he met her with Lady Laura, she would greet him as a friend, and speak to him as though there were no cause for embarrassment between them. But he was so far disappointed, that he suddenly encountered Violet alone. She had been leaning on the arm of Lord Baldock, and Phineas saw her cousin leave her. But he would not be such a coward as to avoid her, especially as he knew that she had seen him. "Oh, Mr. Finn!" she said, "do you see that?" "See what?" "Look; There is Mr. Kennedy. We had heard that it was possible, and Laura made me promise that I would not leave her." Phineas turned his head, and saw Mr. Kennedy standing with his back bolt upright against a door-post, with his brow as black as thunder. "She is just opposite to him, where he can see her," said Violet. "Pray take me to her. He will think nothing of you, because I know that you are still friends with both of them. I came away because Lord Baldock wanted to introduce me to Lady Mouser. You know he is going to marry Miss Mouser." Phineas, not caring much about Lord Baldock and Miss Mouser, took Violet's hand upon his arm, and very slowly made his way across the room to the spot indicated. There they found Lady Laura alone, sitting under the upas-tree influence of her husband's gaze. There was a concourse of people between them, and Mr. Kennedy did not seem inclined to make any attempt to lessen the distance. But Lady Laura had found it impossible to move while she was under her husband's eyes. "Mr. Finn," she said, "could you find Oswald? I know he is here." "He has gone," said Phineas. "I was speaking to him downstairs." "You have not seen my father? He said he would come." "I have not seen him, but I will search." "No;—it will do no good. I cannot stay. His carriage is there, I know,—waiting for me." Phineas immediately started off to have the carriage called, and promised to return with as much celerity as he could use. As he went, making his way much quicker through the crowd than he had done when he had no such object for haste, he purposely avoided the door by which Mr. Kennedy had stood. It would have been his nearest way, but his present service, he thought, required that he should keep aloof from the man. But Mr. Kennedy passed through the door and intercepted him in his path. "Is she going?" he asked. "Well. Yes. I dare say she may before long. I shall look for Lord Brentford's carriage by-and-by." "Tell her she need not go because of me. I shall not return. I shall not annoy her here. It would have been much better that a woman in such a plight should not have come to such an assembly." "You would not wish her to shut herself up." "I would wish her to come back to the home that she has left, and, if there be any law in the land, she shall be made to do so. You tell her that I say so." Then Mr. Kennedy fought his way down the stairs, and Phineas Finn followed in his wake. About half an hour afterwards Phineas returned to the two ladies with tidings that the carriage would be at hand as soon as they could be below. "Did he see you?" said Lady Laura. "Yes, he followed me." "And did he speak to you?" "Yes;—he spoke to me." "And what did he say?" And then, in the presence of Violet, Phineas gave the message. He thought it better that it should be given; and were he to decline to deliver it now, it would never be given. "Whether there be law in the land to protect me or whether there be none, I will never live with him," said Lady Laura. "Is a woman like a head of cattle, that she can be fastened in her crib by force? I will never live with him though all the judges of the land should decide that I must do so." Phineas thought much of all this as he went to his solitary lodgings. After all, was not the world much better with him than it was with either of those two wretched married beings? And why? He had not, at any rate as yet, sacrificed for money or social gains any of the instincts of his nature. He had been fickle, foolish, vain, uncertain, and perhaps covetous;—but as yet he had not been false. Then he took out Mary's last letter and read it again.     <h3>CHAPTER LXXI</h3> <h3>Comparing Notes  </h3> It would, perhaps, be difficult to decide,—between Lord Chiltern and Miss Effingham,—which had been most wrong, or which had been nearest to the right, in the circumstances which had led to their separation. The old lord, wishing to induce his son to undertake work of some sort, and feeling that his own efforts in this direction were worse than useless, had closeted himself with his intended daughter-in-law, and had obtained from her a promise that she would use her influence with her lover. "Of course I think it right that he should do something," Violet had said. "And he will if you bid him," replied the Earl. Violet expressed a great doubt as to this willingness of obedience; but, nevertheless, she promised to do her best, and she did her best. Lord Chiltern, when she spoke to him, knit his brows with an apparent ferocity of anger which his countenance frequently expressed without any intention of ferocity on his part. He was annoyed, but was not savagely disposed to Violet. As he looked at her, however, he seemed to be very savagely disposed. "What is it you would have me do?" he said. "I would have you choose some occupation, Oswald." "What occupation? What is it that you mean? Ought I to be a shoemaker?" "Not that by preference, I should say; but that if you please." When her lover had frowned at her, Violet had resolved,—had strongly determined, with inward assertions of her own rights,—that she would not be frightened by him. "You are talking nonsense, Violet. You know that I cannot be a shoemaker." "You may go into Parliament." "I neither can, nor would I if I could. I dislike the life." "You might farm." "I cannot afford it." "You might,—might do anything. You ought to do something. You know that you ought. You know that your father is right in what he says." "That is easily asserted, Violet; but it would, I think, be better that you should take my part than my father's, if it be that you intend to be my wife." "You know that I intend to be your wife; but would you wish that I should respect my husband?" "And will you not do so if you marry me?" he asked. Then Violet looked into his face and saw that the frown was blacker than ever. The great mark down his forehead was deeper and more like an ugly wound than she had ever seen it; and his eyes sparkled with anger; and his face was red as with fiery wrath. If it was so with him when she was no more than engaged to him, how would it be when they should be man and wife? At any rate, she would not fear him,—not now at least. "No, Oswald," she said. "If you resolve upon being an idle man, I shall not respect you. It is better that I should tell you the truth." "A great deal better," he said. "How can I respect one whose whole life will be,—will be—?" "Will be what?" he demanded with a loud shout. "Oswald, you are very rough with me." "What do you say that my life will be?" Then she again resolved that she would not fear him. "It will be discreditable," she said. "It shall not discredit you," he replied. "I will not bring disgrace on one I have loved so well. Violet, after what you have said, we had better part." She was still proud, still determined, and they did part. Though it nearly broke her heart to see him leave her, she bid him go. She hated herself afterwards for her severity to him; but, nevertheless, she would not submit to recall the words which she had spoken. She had thought him to be wrong, and, so thinking, had conceived it to be her duty and her privilege to tell him what she thought. But she had no wish to lose him;—no wish not to be his wife even, though he should be as idle as the wind. She was so constituted that she had never allowed him or any other man to be master of her heart,—till she had with a full purpose given her heart away. The day before she had resolved to give it to one man, she might, I think, have resolved to give it to another. Love had not conquered her, but had been taken into her service. Nevertheless, she could not now rid herself of her servant, when she found that his services would stand her no longer in good stead. She parted from Lord Chiltern with an assent, with an assured brow, and with much dignity in her gait; but as soon as she was alone she was a prey to remorse. She had declared to the man who was to have been her husband that his life was discreditable,—and, of course, no man would bear such language. Had Lord Chiltern borne it, he would not have been worthy of her love. She herself told Lady Laura and Lord Brentford what had occurred,—and had told Lady Baldock also. Lady Baldock had, of course, triumphed,—and Violet sought her revenge by swearing that she would regret for ever the loss of so inestimable a gentleman. "Then why have you given him up, my dear?" demanded Lady Baldock. "Because I found that he was too good for me," said Violet. It may be doubtful whether Lady Baldock was not justified, when she declared that her niece was to her a care so harassing that no aunt known in history had ever been so troubled before. Lord Brentford had fussed and fumed, and had certainly made things worse. He had quarrelled with his son, and then made it up, and then quarrelled again,—swearing that the fault must all be attributed to Chiltern's stubbornness and Chiltern's temper. Latterly, however, by Lady Laura's intervention, Lord Brentford and his son had again been reconciled, and the Earl endeavoured manfully to keep his tongue from disagreeable words, and his face from evil looks, when his son was present. "They will make it up," Lady Laura had said, "if you and I do not attempt to make it up for them. If we do, they will never come together." The Earl was convinced, and did his best. But the task was very difficult to him. How was he to keep his tongue off his son while his son was daily saying things of which any father,—any such father as Lord Brentford,—could not but disapprove? Lord Chiltern professed to disbelieve even in the wisdom of the House of Lords, and on one occasion asserted that it must be a great comfort to any Prime Minister to have three or four old women in the Cabinet. The father, when he heard this, tried to rebuke his son tenderly, strove even to be jocose. It was the one wish of his heart that Violet Effingham should be his daughter-in-law. But even with this wish he found it very hard to keep his tongue off Lord Chiltern. When Lady Laura discussed the matter with Violet, Violet would always declare that there was no hope. "The truth is," she said on the morning of that day on which they both went to Mrs. Gresham's, "that though we like each other,—love each other, if you choose to say so,—we are not fit to be man and wife." "And why not fit?" "We are too much alike. Each is too violent, too headstrong, and too masterful." "You, as the woman, ought to give way," said Lady Laura. "But we do not always do just what we ought." "I know how difficult it is for me to advise, seeing to what a pass I have brought myself." "Do not say that, dear;—or rather do say it, for we have, both of us, brought ourselves to what you call a pass,—to such a pass that we are like to be able to live together and discuss it for the rest of our lives. The difference is, I take it, that you have not to accuse yourself, and that I have." "I cannot say that I have not to accuse myself," said Lady Laura. "I do not know that I have done much wrong to Mr. Kennedy since I married him; but in marrying him I did him a grievous wrong." "And he has avenged himself." "We will not talk of vengeance. I believe he is wretched, and I know that I am;—and that has come of the wrong that I have done." "I will make no man wretched," said Violet. "Do you mean that your mind is made up against Oswald?" "I mean that, and I mean much more. I say that I will make no man wretched. Your brother is not the only man who is so weak as to be willing to run the hazard." "There is Lord Fawn." "Yes, there is Lord Fawn, certainly. Perhaps I should not do him much harm; but then I should do him no good." "And poor Phineas Finn." "Yes;—there is Mr. Finn. I will tell you something, Laura. The only man I ever saw in the world whom I have thought for a moment that it was possible that I should like,—like enough to love as my husband,—except your brother, was Mr. Finn." "And now?" "Oh;—now; of course that is over," said Violet. "It is over?" "Quite over. Is he not going to marry Madame Goesler? I suppose all that is fixed by this time. I hope she will be good to him, and gracious, and let him have his own way, and give him his tea comfortably when he comes up tired from the House; for I confess that my heart is a little tender towards Phineas still. I should not like to think that he had fallen into the hands of a female Philistine." "I do not think he will marry Madame Goesler." "Why not?" "I can hardly tell you;—but I do not think he will. And you loved him once,—eh, Violet?" "Not quite that, my dear. It has been difficult with me to love. The difficulty with most girls, I fancy, is not to love. Mr. Finn, when I came to measure him in my mind, was not small, but he was never quite tall enough. One feels oneself to be a sort of recruiting sergeant, going about with a standard of inches. Mr. Finn was just half an inch too short. He lacks something in individuality. He is a little too much a friend to everybody." "Shall I tell you a secret, Violet?" "If you please, dear; though I fancy it is one I know already." "He is the only man whom I ever loved," said Lady Laura. "But it was too late when you learned to love him," said Violet. "It was too late, when I was so sure of it as to wish that I had never seen Mr. Kennedy. I felt it coming on me, and I argued with myself that such a marriage would be bad for us both. At that moment there was trouble in the family, and I had not a shilling of my own." "You had paid it for Oswald." "At any rate, I had nothing;—and he had nothing. How could I have dared to think even of such a marriage?" "Did he think of it, Laura?" "I suppose he did." "You know he did. Did you not tell me before?" "Well;—yes. He thought of it. I had come to some foolish, half-sentimental resolution as to friendship, believing that he and I could be knit together by some adhesion of fraternal affection that should be void of offence to my husband; and in furtherance of this he was asked to Loughlinter when I went there, just after I had accepted Robert. He came down, and I measured him too, as you have done. I measured him, and I found that he wanted nothing to come up to the height required by my standard. I think I knew him better than you did." "Very possibly;—but why measure him at all, when such measurement was useless?" "Can one help such things? He came to me one day as I was sitting up by the Linter. You remember the place, where it makes its first leap." "I remember it very well." "So do I. Robert had shown it me as the fairest spot in all Scotland." "And there this lover of ours sang his song to you?" "I do not know what he told me then; but I know that I told him that I was engaged; and I felt when I told him so that my engagement was a sorrow to me. And it has been a sorrow from that day to this." "And the hero, Phineas,—he is still dear to you?" "Dear to me?" "Yes. You would have hated me, had he become my husband? And you will hate Madame Goesler when she becomes his wife?" "Not in the least. I am no dog in the manger. I have even gone so far as almost to wish, at certain moments, that you should accept him." "And why?" "Because he has wished it so heartily." "One can hardly forgive a man for such speedy changes," said Violet. "Was I not to forgive him;—I, who had turned myself away from him with a fixed purpose the moment that I found that he had made a mark upon my heart? I could not wipe off the mark, and yet I married. Was he not to try to wipe off his mark?" "It seems that he wiped it off very quickly;—and since that he has wiped off another mark. One doesn't know how many marks he has wiped off. They are like the inn-keeper's score which he makes in chalk. A damp cloth brings them all away, and leaves nothing behind." "What would you have?" "There should be a little notch on the stick,—to remember by," said Violet. "Not that I complain, you know. I cannot complain, as I was not notched myself." "You are silly, Violet." "In not having allowed myself to be notched by this great champion?" "A man like Mr. Finn has his life to deal with,—to make the most of it, and to divide it between work, pleasure, duty, ambition, and the rest of it as best he may. If he have any softness of heart, it will be necessary to him that love should bear a part in all these interests. But a man will be a fool who will allow love to be the master of them all. He will be one whose mind is so ill-balanced as to allow him to be the victim of a single wish. Even in a woman passion such as that is evidence of weakness, and not of strength." "It seems, then, Laura, that you are weak." "And if I am, does that condemn him? He is a man, if I judge him rightly, who will be constant as the sun, when constancy can be of service." "You mean that the future Mrs. Finn will be secure?" "That is what I mean;—and that you or I, had either of us chosen to take his name, might have been quite secure. We have thought it right to refuse to do so." "And how many more, I wonder?" "You are unjust, and unkind, Violet. So unjust and unkind that it is clear to me he has just gratified your vanity, and has never touched your heart. What would you have had him do, when I told him that I was engaged?" "I suppose that Mr. Kennedy would not have gone to Blankenberg with him." "Violet!" "That seems to be the proper thing to do. But even that does not adjust things finally;—does it?" Then some one came upon them, and the conversation was brought to an end. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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