THE TRIUMPH OF THE GIANTS.
And now about the end of April news arrived almost simultaneously
in all quarters of the habitable globe that was terrible in its
import to one of the chief persons of our history;—some may
think to the chief person in it. All high parliamentary people
will doubtless so think, and the wives and daughters of such. The
Titans warring against the gods had been for awhile successful.
Typhœus and Mimas, Porphyrion and Rhœcus, the giant brood of
old, steeped in ignorance and wedded to corruption, had scaled the
heights of Olympus, assisted by that audacious flinger of deadly
ponderous missiles, who stands ever ready armed with his terrific
sling—Supplehouse, the Enceladus of the press. And in this universal
cataclasm of the starry councils, what could a poor Diana do, Diana
of the Petty Bag, but abandon her pride of place to some rude Orion?
In other words, the ministry had been compelled to resign, and with
them Mr. Harold Smith.
“And so poor Harold is out, before he has well tasted the sweets of
office,” said Sowerby, writing to his friend the parson; “and as far
as I know, the only piece of Church patronage which has fallen in
the way of the ministry since he joined it, has made its way down to
Framley—to my great joy and contentment.” But it hardly tended to
Mark’s joy and contentment on the same subject that he should be so
often reminded of the benefit conferred upon him.
Terrible was this break-down of the ministry, and especially to
Harold Smith, who to the last had had confidence in that theory of
new blood. He could hardly believe that a large majority of the House
should vote against a government which he had only just joined. “If
we are to go on in this way,” he said to his young friend Green
Walker, “the Queen’s government cannot be carried on.” That alleged
difficulty as to carrying on the Queen’s government has been
frequently mooted in late years since a certain great man first
introduced the idea. Nevertheless, the Queen’s government is carried
on, and the propensity and aptitude of men for this work seems to be
not at all on the decrease. If we have but few young statesmen, it is
because the old stagers are so fond of the rattle of their harness.
“I really do not see how the Queen’s government is to be carried on,”
said Harold Smith to Green Walker, standing in a corner of one of the
lobbies of the House of Commons on the first of those days of awful
interest, in which the Queen was sending for one crack statesman
after another; and some anxious men were beginning to doubt whether
or no we should, in truth, be able to obtain the blessing of another
cabinet. The gods had all vanished from their places. Would the
giants be good enough to do anything for us or no? There were men who
seemed to think that the giants would refuse to do anything for us.
“The House will now be adjourned over till Monday, and I would not be
in her Majesty’s shoes for something,” said Mr. Harold Smith.
“By Jove! no,” said Green Walker, who in these days was a stanch
Harold Smithian, having felt a pride in joining himself on as a
substantial support to a cabinet minister. Had he contented himself
with being merely a Brockite, he would have counted as nobody. “By
Jove! no,” and Green Walker opened his eyes and shook his head, as
he thought of the perilous condition in which her Majesty must be
placed. “I happen to know that Lord —— won’t join them unless he
has the Foreign Office,” and he mentioned some hundred-handed Gyas
supposed to be of the utmost importance to the counsels of the
Titans.
“And that, of course, is impossible. I don’t see what on earth
they are to do. There’s Sidonia; they do say that he’s making some
difficulty now.” Now Sidonia was another giant, supposed to be very
powerful.
“We all know that the Queen won’t see him,” said Green Walker, who,
being a member of Parliament for the Crewe Junction, and nephew to
Lady Hartletop, of course had perfectly correct means of ascertaining
what the Queen would do, and what she would not.
“The fact is,” said Harold Smith, recurring again to his own
situation as an ejected god, “that the House does not in the least
understand what it is about;—doesn’t know what it wants. The
question I should like to ask them is this: do they intend that the
Queen shall have a government, or do they not? Are they prepared to
support such men as Sidonia and Lord De Terrier? If so, I am their
obedient humble servant; but I shall be very much surprised, that’s
all.” Lord De Terrier was at this time recognized by all men as the
leader of the giants.
“And so shall I,—deucedly surprised. They can’t do it, you know.
There are the Manchester men. I ought to know something about them
down in my country; and I say they can’t support Lord De Terrier. It
wouldn’t be natural.”
“Natural! Human nature has come to an end, I think,” said Harold
Smith, who could hardly understand that the world should conspire to
throw over a government which he had joined, and that, too, before
the world had waited to see how much he would do for it; “the fact
is this, Walker, we have no longer among us any strong feeling of
party.”
“No, not a d——,” said Green Walker, who was very energetic in his
present political aspirations.
“And till we can recover that, we shall never be able to have a
government firm-seated and sure-handed. Nobody can count on men
from one week to another. The very members who in one month place
a minister in power, are the very first to vote against him in the
next.”
“We must put a stop to that sort of thing, otherwise we shall never
do any good.”
“I don’t mean to deny that Brock was wrong with reference to Lord
Brittleback. I think that he was wrong, and I said so all through.
But, heavens on earth—!” and instead of completing his speech Harold
Smith turned away his head, and struck his hands together in token of
his astonishment at the fatuity of the age. What he probably meant to
express was this: that if such a good deed as that late appointment
made at the Petty Bag Office were not held sufficient to atone for
that other evil deed to which he had alluded, there would be an end
of all justice in sublunary matters. Was no offence to be forgiven,
even when so great virtue had been displayed?
“I attribute it all to Supplehouse,” said Green Walker, trying to
console his friend.
“Yes,” said Harold Smith, now verging on the bounds of parliamentary
eloquence, although he still spoke with bated breath, and to one
solitary hearer. “Yes; we are becoming the slaves of a mercenary and
irresponsible press—of one single newspaper. There is a man endowed
with no great talent, enjoying no public confidence, untrusted as a
politician, and unheard of even as a writer by the world at large,
and yet, because he is on the staff of the _Jupiter_, he is able to
overturn the government and throw the whole country into dismay. It
is astonishing to me that a man like Lord Brock should allow himself
to be so timid.” And nevertheless it was not yet a month since Harold
Smith had been counselling with Supplehouse how a series of strong
articles in the _Jupiter_, together with the expected support of the
Manchester men, might probably be effective in hurling the minister
from his seat. But at that time the minister had not revigorated
himself with young blood. “How the Queen’s government is to be
carried on, that is the question now,” Harold Smith repeated. A
difficulty which had not caused him much dismay at that period, about
a month since, to which we have alluded.
At this moment Sowerby and Supplehouse together joined them, having
come out of the House, in which some unimportant business had been
completed after the minister’s notice of adjournment.
“Well, Harold,” said Sowerby, “what do you say to your governor’s
statement?”
“I have nothing to say to it,” said Harold Smith, looking up very
solemnly from under the penthouse of his hat, and, perhaps, rather
savagely. Sowerby had supported the government at the late crisis;
but why was he now seen herding with such a one as Supplehouse?
“He did it pretty well, I think,” said Sowerby.
“Very well, indeed,” said Supplehouse; “as he always does those sort
of things. No man makes so good an explanation of circumstances, or
comes out with so telling a personal statement. He ought to keep
himself in reserve for those sort of things.”
“And who in the meantime is to carry on the Queen’s government?” said
Harold Smith, looking very stern.
“That should be left to men of lesser mark,” said he of the
_Jupiter_. “The points as to which one really listens to a minister,
the subjects about which men really care, are always personal. How
many of us are truly interested as to the best mode of governing
India? But in a question touching the character of a prime minister
we all muster together like bees round a sounding cymbal.”
“That arises from envy, malice, and all uncharitableness,” said
Harold Smith.
“Yes; and from picking and stealing, evil speaking, lying, and
slandering,” said Mr. Sowerby.
“We are so prone to desire and covet other men’s places,” said
Supplehouse.
“Some men are so,” said Sowerby; “but it is the evil speaking, lying,
and slandering, which does the mischief. Is it not, Harold?”
“And in the meantime how is the Queen’s government to be carried on?”
said Mr. Green Walker.
On the following morning it was known that Lord De Terrier was with
the Queen at Buckingham Palace, and at about twelve a list of the new
ministry was published, which must have been in the highest degree
satisfactory to the whole brood of giants. Every son of Tellus was
included in it, as were also very many of the daughters. But then,
late in the afternoon, Lord Brock was again summoned to the palace,
and it was thought in the West End among the clubs that the gods had
again a chance. “If only,” said the _Purist_, an evening paper which
was supposed to be very much in the interest of Mr. Harold Smith, “if
only Lord Brock can have the wisdom to place the right men in the
right places. It was only the other day that he introduced Mr. Smith
into his government. That this was a step in the right direction
every one has acknowledged, though unfortunately it was made too
late to prevent the disturbance which has since occurred. It now
appears probable that his lordship will again have an opportunity
of selecting a list of statesmen with the view of carrying on the
Queen’s government; and it is to be hoped that such men as Mr. Smith
may be placed in situations in which their talents, industry, and
acknowledged official aptitudes, may be of permanent service to the
country.”
Supplehouse, when he read this at the club with Mr. Sowerby at his
elbow, declared that the style was too well marked to leave any doubt
as to the author; but we ourselves are not inclined to think that Mr.
Harold Smith wrote the article himself, although it may be probable
that he saw it in type.
But the _Jupiter_ the next morning settled the whole question, and
made it known to the world that, in spite of all the sendings and
re-sendings, Lord Brock and the gods were permanently out, and Lord
De Terrier and the giants permanently in. That fractious giant who
would only go to the Foreign Office had, in fact, gone to some sphere
of much less important duty, and Sidonia, in spite of the whispered
dislike of an illustrious personage, opened the campaign with all the
full appanages of a giant of the highest standing. “We hope,” said
the _Jupiter_, “that Lord Brock may not yet be too old to take a
lesson. If so, the present decision of the House of Commons, and we
may say of the country also, may teach him not to put his trust in
such princes as Lord Brittleback, or such broken reeds as Mr. Harold
Smith.” Now this parting blow we always thought to be exceedingly
unkind, and altogether unnecessary, on the part of Mr. Supplehouse.
“My dear,” said Mrs. Harold, when she first met Miss Dunstable
after the catastrophe was known, “how am I possibly to endure this
degradation?” And she put her deeply-laced handkerchief up to her
eyes.
“Christian resignation,” suggested Miss Dunstable.
“Fiddlestick!” said Mrs. Harold Smith. “You millionnaires always talk
of Christian resignation, because you never are called on to resign
anything. If I had any Christian resignation, I shouldn’t have
cared for such pomps and vanities. Think of it, my dear; a cabinet
minister’s wife for only three weeks!”
“How does poor Mr. Smith endure it?”
“What? Harold? He only lives on the hope of vengeance. When he has
put an end to Mr. Supplehouse, he will be content to die.”
And then there were further explanations in both Houses of
Parliament, which were altogether satisfactory. The high-bred,
courteous giants assured the gods that they had piled Pelion on Ossa
and thus climbed up into power, very much in opposition to their own
good-wills; for they, the giants themselves, preferred the sweets of
dignified retirement. But the voice of the people had been too strong
for them; the effort had been made, not by themselves, but by others,
who were determined that the giants should be at the head of affairs.
Indeed, the spirit of the times was so clearly in favour of giants
that there had been no alternative. So said Briareus to the Lords,
and Orion to the Commons. And then the gods were absolutely happy in
ceding their places; and so far were they from any uncelestial envy
or malice which might not be divine, that they promised to give the
giants all the assistance in their power in carrying on the work of
government; upon which the giants declared how deeply indebted they
would be for such valuable counsel and friendly assistance. All this
was delightful in the extreme; but not the less did ordinary men seem
to expect that the usual battle would go on in the old customary way.
It is easy to love one’s enemy when one is making fine speeches; but
so difficult to do so in the actual everyday work of life.
But there was and always has been this peculiar good point about the
giants, that they are never too proud to follow in the footsteps
of the gods. If the gods, deliberating painfully together, have
elaborated any skilful project, the giants are always willing to
adopt it as their own, not treating the bantling as a foster-child,
but praising it and pushing it so that men should regard it as the
undoubted offspring of their own brains. Now just at this time there
had been a plan much thought of for increasing the number of the
bishops. Good active bishops were very desirable, and there was a
strong feeling among certain excellent churchmen that there could
hardly be too many of them. Lord Brock had his measure cut and dry.
There should be a Bishop of Westminster to share the Herculean
toils of the metropolitan prelate, and another up in the North to
Christianize the mining interests and wash white the blackamoors of
Newcastle: Bishop of Beverley he should be called. But, in opposition
to this, the giants, it was known, had intended to put forth the
whole measure of their brute force. More curates, they said, were
wanting, and district incumbents; not more bishops rolling in
carriages. That bishops should roll in carriages was very good; but
of such blessings the English world for the present had enough. And
therefore Lord Brock and the gods had had much fear as to their
little project.
But now, immediately on the accession of the giants, it was known
that the bishop bill was to be gone on with immediately. Some small
changes would be effected so that the bill should be gigantic rather
than divine; but the result would be altogether the same. It must,
however, be admitted that bishops appointed by ourselves may be very
good things, whereas those appointed by our adversaries will be
anything but good. And, no doubt, this feeling went a long way with
the giants. Be that as it may, the new bishop bill was to be their
first work of government, and it was to be brought forward and
carried, and the new prelates selected and put into their chairs all
at once,—before the grouse should begin to crow and put an end to
the doings of gods as well as giants.
Among other minor effects arising from this decision was the
following, that Archdeacon and Mrs. Grantly returned to London, and
again took the lodgings in which they had before been staying. On
various occasions also during the first week of this second sojourn,
Dr. Grantly might be seen entering the official chambers of the First
Lord of the Treasury. Much counsel was necessary among high churchmen
of great repute before any fixed resolution could wisely be made in
such a matter as this; and few churchmen stood in higher repute than
the Archdeacon of Barchester. And then it began to be rumoured in
the world that the minister had disposed at any rate of the see of
Westminster.
This present time was a very nervous one for Mrs. Grantly. What
might be the aspirations of the archdeacon himself, we will not
stop to inquire. It may be that time and experience had taught
him the futility of earthly honours, and made him content with
the comfortable opulence of his Barsetshire rectory. But there
is no theory of church discipline which makes it necessary that
a clergyman’s wife should have an objection to a bishopric. The
archdeacon probably was only anxious to give a disinterested aid to
the minister, but Mrs. Grantly did long to sit in high places, and
be at any rate equal to Mrs. Proudie. It was for her children, she
said to herself, that she was thus anxious,—that they should have a
good position before the world, and the means of making the best of
themselves. “One is able to do nothing, you know, shut up there, down
at Plumstead,” she had remarked to Lady Lufton on the occasion of
her first visit to London, and yet the time was not long past when
she had thought that rectory house at Plumstead to be by no means
insufficient or contemptible.
And then there came a question whether or no Griselda should go
back to her mother; but this idea was very strongly opposed by Lady
Lufton, and ultimately with success. “I really think the dear girl is
very happy with me,” said Lady Lufton; “and if ever she is to belong
to me more closely, it will be so well that we should know and love
one another.”
To tell the truth, Lady Lufton had been trying hard to know and love
Griselda, but hitherto she had scarcely succeeded to the full extent
of her wishes. That she loved Griselda was certain,—with that sort
of love which springs from a person’s volition and not from the
judgment. She had said all along to herself and others that she did
love Griselda Grantly. She had admired the young lady’s face, liked
her manner, approved of her fortune and family, and had selected her
for a daughter-in-law in a somewhat impetuous manner. Therefore she
loved her. But it was by no means clear to Lady Lufton that she did
as yet know her young friend. The match was a plan of her own, and
therefore she stuck to it as warmly as ever, but she began to have
some misgivings whether or no the dear girl would be to her herself
all that she had dreamed of in a daughter-in-law.
“But, dear Lady Lufton,” said Mrs. Grantly, “is it not possible that
we may put her affections to too severe a test? What, if she should
learn to regard him, and then—”
“Ah! if she did, I should have no fear of the result. If she showed
anything like love for Ludovic, he would be at her feet in a moment.
He is impulsive, but she is not.”
“Exactly, Lady Lufton. It is his privilege to be impulsive and to
sue for her affection, and hers to have her love sought for without
making any demonstration. It is perhaps the fault of young ladies of
the present day that they are too impulsive. They assume privileges
which are not their own, and thus lose those which are.”
“Quite true! I quite agree with you. It is probably that very feeling
that has made me think so highly of Griselda. But then—” But then a
young lady, though she need not jump down a gentleman’s throat, or
throw herself into his face, may give some signs that she is made of
flesh and blood; especially when her papa and mamma and all belonging
to her are so anxious to make the path of her love run smooth. That
was what was passing through Lady Lufton’s mind; but she did not say
it all; she merely looked it.
“I don’t think she will ever allow herself to indulge in an
unauthorized passion,” said Mrs. Grantly.
“I am sure she will not,” said Lady Lufton, with ready agreement,
fearing perhaps in her heart that Griselda would never indulge in any
passion, authorized or unauthorized.
“I don’t know whether Lord Lufton sees much of her now,” said Mrs.
Grantly, thinking perhaps of that promise of Lady Lufton’s with
reference to his lordship’s spare time.
“Just lately, during these changes, you know, everybody has been so
much engaged. Ludovic has been constantly at the House, and then men
find it so necessary to be at their clubs just now.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Mrs. Grantly, who was not at all disposed
to think little of the importance of the present crisis, or to wonder
that men should congregate together when such deeds were to be done
as those which now occupied the breasts of the Queen’s advisers.
At last, however, the two mothers perfectly understood each other.
Griselda was still to remain with Lady Lufton; and was to accept her
ladyship’s son, if he could only be induced to exercise his privilege
of asking her; but in the meantime, as this seemed to be doubtful,
Griselda was not to be debarred from her privilege of making what use
she could of any other string which she might have to her bow.
“But, mamma,” said Griselda, in a moment of unwatched intercourse
between the mother and daughter, “is it really true that they are
going to make papa a bishop?”
“We can tell nothing as yet, my dear. People in the world are talking
about it. Your papa has been a good deal with Lord De Terrier.”
“And isn’t he prime minister?”
“Oh, yes; I am happy to say that he is.”
“I thought the prime minister could make any one a bishop that he
chooses,—any clergyman, that is.”
“But there is no see vacant,” said Mrs. Grantly.
“Then there isn’t any chance,” said Griselda, looking very glum.
“They are going to have an Act of Parliament for making two more
bishops. That’s what they are talking about at least. And if they
do—”
“Papa will be Bishop of Westminster—won’t he? And we shall live in
London?”
“But you must not talk about it, my dear.”
“No, I won’t. But, mamma, a Bishop of Westminster will be higher than
a Bishop of Barchester; won’t he? I shall so like to be able to snub
those Miss Proudies.” It will therefore be seen that there were
matters on which even Griselda Grantly could be animated. Like the
rest of her family she was devoted to the Church.
Late on that afternoon the archdeacon returned home to dine in Mount
Street, having spent the whole of the day between the Treasury
chambers, a meeting of Convocation, and his club. And when he did get
home it was soon manifest to his wife that he was not laden with good
news.
“It is almost incredible,” he said, standing with his back to the
drawing-room fire.
“What is incredible?” said his wife, sharing her husband’s anxiety to
the full.
“If I had not learned it as fact, I would not have believed it, even
of Lord Brock,” said the archdeacon.
“Learned what?” said the anxious wife.
“After all, they are going to oppose the bill.”
“Impossible!” said Mrs. Grantly.
“But they are.”
“The bill for the two new bishops, archdeacon? oppose their own
bill!”
“Yes—oppose their own bill. It is almost incredible; but so it is.
Some changes have been forced upon us; little things which they
had forgotten—quite minor matters; and they now say that they
will be obliged to divide against us on these twopenny-halfpenny,
hair-splitting points. It is Lord Brock’s own doing too, after
all that he said about abstaining from factious opposition to the
government.”
“I believe there is nothing too bad or too false for that man,” said
Mrs. Grantly.
“After all they said, too, when they were in power themselves, as to
the present government opposing the cause of religion! They declare
now that Lord De Terrier cannot be very anxious about it, as he had
so many good reasons against it a few weeks ago. Is it not dreadful
that there should be such double-dealing in men in such positions?”
“It is sickening,” said Mrs. Grantly.
And then there was a pause between them as each thought of the injury
that was done to them.
“But, archdeacon—”
“Well?”
“Could you not give up those small points and shame them into
compliance?”
“Nothing would shame them.”
“But would it not be well to try?”
The game was so good a one, and the stake so important, that Mrs.
Grantly felt that it would be worth playing for to the last.
“It is no good.”
“But I certainly would suggest it to Lord De Terrier. I am sure the
country would go along with him; at any rate the Church would.”
“It is impossible,” said the archdeacon. “To tell the truth, it did
occur to me. But some of them down there seemed to think that it
would not do.”
Mrs. Grantly sat awhile on the sofa, still meditating in her mind
whether there might not yet be some escape from so terrible a
downfall.
“But, archdeacon—”
“I’ll go upstairs and dress,” said he, in despondency.
“But, archdeacon, surely the present ministry may have a majority on
such a subject as that; I thought they were sure of a majority now.”
“No; not sure.”
“But at any rate the chances are in their favour? I do hope they’ll
do their duty, and exert themselves to keep their members together.”
And then the archdeacon told out the whole of the truth.
“Lord De Terrier says that under the present circumstances he will
not bring the matter forward this session at all. So we had better go
back to Plumstead.”
Mrs. Grantly then felt that there was nothing further to be said, and
it will be proper that the historian should drop a veil over their
sufferings.