The New Government
In the House of Lords that night, and in the House of Commons, the
outgoing Ministers made their explanations. As our business at the
present moment is with the Commons, we will confine ourselves to
their chamber, and will do so the more willingly because the upshot
of what was said in the two places was the same. The outgoing
ministers were very grave, very self-laudatory, and very courteous.
In regard to courtesy it may be declared that no stranger to the
ways of the place could have understood how such soft words could be
spoken by Mr. Daubeny, beaten, so quickly after the very sharp words
which he had uttered when he only expected to be beaten. He announced
to his fellow-commoners that his right honourable friend and
colleague Lord de Terrier had thought it right to retire from the
Treasury. Lord de Terrier, in constitutional obedience to the vote
of the Lower House, had resigned, and the Queen had been graciously
pleased to accept Lord de Terrier’s resignation. Mr. Daubeny could
only inform the House that her Majesty had signified her pleasure
that Mr. Mildmay should wait upon her to-morrow at eleven o’clock.
Mr. Mildmay,--so Mr. Daubeny understood,--would be with her Majesty
to-morrow at that hour. Lord de Terrier had found it to be his duty
to recommend her Majesty to send for Mr. Mildmay. Such was the real
import of Mr. Daubeny’s speech. That further portion of it in which
he explained with blandest, most beneficent, honey-flowing words that
his party would have done everything that the country could require
of any party, had the House allowed it to remain on the Treasury
benches for a month or two,--and explained also that his party would
never recriminate, would never return evil for evil, would in no wise
copy the factious opposition of their adversaries; that his party
would now, as it ever had done, carry itself with the meekness of
the dove, and the wisdom of the serpent,--all this, I say, was so
generally felt by gentlemen on both sides of the House to be “leather
and prunella” that very little attention was paid to it. The great
point was that Lord de Terrier had resigned, and that Mr. Mildmay had
been summoned to Windsor.
The Queen had sent for Mr. Mildmay in compliance with advice given
to her by Lord de Terrier. And yet Lord de Terrier and his first
lieutenant had used all the most practised efforts of their eloquence
for the last three days in endeavouring to make their countrymen
believe that no more unfitting Minister than Mr. Mildmay ever
attempted to hold the reins of office! Nothing had been too bad
for them to say of Mr. Mildmay,--and yet, in the very first moment
in which they found themselves unable to carry on the Government
themselves, they advised the Queen to send for that most incompetent
and baneful statesman! We who are conversant with our own methods of
politics, see nothing odd in this, because we are used to it; but
surely in the eyes of strangers our practice must be very singular.
There is nothing like it in any other country,--nothing as yet.
Nowhere else is there the same good-humoured, affectionate,
prize-fighting ferocity in politics. The leaders of our two great
parties are to each other exactly as are the two champions of the
ring who knock each other about for the belt and for five hundred
pounds a side once in every two years. How they fly at each other,
striking as though each blow should carry death if it were but
possible! And yet there is no one whom the Birmingham Bantam
respects so highly as he does Bill Burns the Brighton Bully, or with
whom he has so much delight in discussing the merits of a pot of
half-and-half. And so it was with Mr. Daubeny and Mr. Mildmay. In
private life Mr. Daubeny almost adulated his elder rival,--and Mr.
Mildmay never omitted an opportunity of taking Mr. Daubeny warmly by
the hand. It is not so in the United States. There the same political
enmity exists, but the political enmity produces private hatred. The
leaders of parties there really mean what they say when they abuse
each other, and are in earnest when they talk as though they were
about to tear each other limb from limb. I doubt whether Mr. Daubeny
would have injured a hair of Mr. Mildmay’s venerable head, even for
an assurance of six continued months in office.
When Mr. Daubeny had completed his statement, Mr. Mildmay simply told
the House that he had received and would obey her Majesty’s commands.
The House would of course understand that he by no means meant to
aver that the Queen would even commission him to form a Ministry. But
if he took no such command from her Majesty it would become his duty
to recommend her Majesty to impose the task upon some other person.
Then everything was said that had to be said, and members returned to
their clubs. A certain damp was thrown over the joy of some excitable
Liberals by tidings which reached the House during Mr. Daubeny’s
speech. Sir Everard Powell was no more dead than was Mr. Daubeny
himself. Now it is very unpleasant to find that your news is untrue,
when you have been at great pains to disseminate it. “Oh, but he is
dead,” said Mr. Ratler. “Lady Powell assured me half an hour ago,”
said Mr. Ratler’s opponent, “that he was at that moment a great deal
better than he had been for the last three months. The journey down
to the House did him a world of good.” “Then we’ll have him down for
every division,” said Mr. Ratler.
The political portion of London was in a ferment for the next five
days. On the Sunday morning it was known that Mr. Mildmay had
declined to put himself at the head of a liberal Government. He and
the Duke of St. Bungay, and Mr. Plantagenet Palliser, had been in
conference so often, and so long, that it may almost be said they
lived together in conference. Then Mr. Gresham had been with Mr.
Mildmay,--and Mr. Monk also. At the clubs it was said by many that
Mr. Monk had been with Mr. Mildmay; but it was also said very
vehemently by others that no such interview had taken place. Mr. Monk
was a Radical, much admired by the people, sitting in Parliament for
that most Radical of all constituencies, the Pottery Hamlets, who
had never as yet been in power. It was the great question of the day
whether Mr. Mildmay would or would not ask Mr. Monk to join him; and
it was said by those who habitually think at every period of change
that the time has now come in which the difficulties to forming a
government will at last be found to be insuperable, that Mr. Mildmay
could not succeed either with Mr. Monk or without him. There were at
the present moment two sections of these gentlemen,--the section
which declared that Mr. Mildmay had sent for Mr. Monk, and the
section which declared that he had not. But there were others, who
perhaps knew better what they were saying, by whom it was asserted
that the whole difficulty lay with Mr. Gresham. Mr. Gresham was
willing to serve with Mr. Mildmay,--with certain stipulations as
to the special seat in the Cabinet which he himself was to occupy,
and as to the introduction of certain friends of his own; but,--so
said these gentlemen who were supposed really to understand the
matter,--Mr. Gresham was not willing to serve with the Duke and with
Mr. Palliser. Now, everybody who knew anything knew that the Duke
and Mr. Palliser were indispensable to Mr. Mildmay. And a liberal
Government, with Mr. Gresham in the opposition, could not live half
through a session! All Sunday and Monday these things were discussed;
and on the Monday Lord de Terrier absolutely stated to the Upper
House that he had received her Majesty’s commands to form another
government. Mr. Daubeny, in half a dozen most modest words,--in words
hardly audible, and most unlike himself,--made his statement in the
Lower House to the same effect. Then Mr. Ratler, and Mr. Bonteen, and
Mr. Barrington Erle, and Mr. Laurence Fitzgibbon aroused themselves
and swore that such things could not be. Should the prey which they
had won for themselves, the spoil of their bows and arrows, be
snatched from out of their very mouths by treachery? Lord de Terrier
and Mr. Daubeny could not venture even to make another attempt unless
they did so in combination with Mr. Gresham. Such a combination, said
Mr. Barrington Erle, would be disgraceful to both parties, but would
prove Mr. Gresham to be as false as Satan himself. Early on the
Tuesday morning, when it was known that Mr. Gresham had been at Lord
de Terrier’s house, Barrington Erle was free to confess that he had
always been afraid of Mr. Gresham. “I have felt for years,” said he,
“that if anybody could break up the party it would be Mr. Gresham.”
On that Tuesday morning Mr. Gresham certainly was with Lord de
Terrier, but nothing came of it. Mr. Gresham was either not enough
like Satan for the occasion, or else he was too closely like him.
Lord de Terrier did not bid high enough, or else Mr. Gresham did not
like biddings from that quarter. Nothing then came from this attempt,
and on the Tuesday afternoon the Queen again sent for Mr. Mildmay. On
the Wednesday morning the gentlemen who thought that the insuperable
difficulties had at length arrived, began to wear their longest
faces, and to be triumphant with melancholy forebodings. Now at
last there was a dead lock. Nobody could form a government. It
was asserted that Mr. Mildmay had fallen at her Majesty’s feet
dissolved in tears, and had implored to be relieved from further
responsibility. It was well known to many at the clubs that the Queen
had on that morning telegraphed to Germany for advice. There were men
so gloomy as to declare that the Queen must throw herself into the
arms of Mr. Monk, unless Mr. Mildmay would consent to rise from his
knees and once more buckle on his ancient armour. “Even that would
be better than Gresham,” said Barrington Erle, in his anger. “I’ll
tell you what it is,” said Ratler, “we shall have Gresham and Monk
together, and you and I shall have to do their biddings.” Mr.
Barrington Erle’s reply to that suggestion I may not dare to insert
in these pages.
On the Wednesday night, however, it was known that everything had
been arranged, and before the Houses met on the Thursday every place
had been bestowed, either in reality or in imagination. The _Times_,
in its second edition on the Thursday, gave a list of the Cabinet, in
which four places out of fourteen were rightly filled. On the Friday
it named ten places aright, and indicated the law officers, with only
one mistake in reference to Ireland; and on the Saturday it gave
a list of the Under Secretaries of State, and Secretaries and
Vice-Presidents generally, with wonderful correctness as to the
individuals, though the offices were a little jumbled. The Government
was at last formed in a manner which everybody had seen to be the
only possible way in which a government could be formed. Nobody was
surprised, and the week’s work was regarded as though the regular
routine of government making had simply been followed. Mr. Mildmay
was Prime Minister; Mr. Gresham was at the Foreign Office; Mr. Monk
was at the Board of Trade; the Duke was President of the Council; the
Earl of Brentford was Privy Seal; and Mr. Palliser was Chancellor of
the Exchequer. Barrington Erle made a step up in the world, and went
to the Admiralty as Secretary; Mr. Bonteen was sent again to the
Admiralty; and Laurence Fitzgibbon became a junior Lord of the
Treasury. Mr. Ratler was, of course, installed as Patronage Secretary
to the same Board. Mr. Ratler was perhaps the only man in the party
as to whose destination there could not possibly be a doubt. Mr.
Ratler had really qualified himself for a position in such a way as
to make all men feel that he would, as a matter of course, be called
upon to fill it. I do not know whether as much could be said on
behalf of any other man in the new Government.
During all this excitement, and through all these movements, Phineas
Finn felt himself to be left more and more out in the cold. He had
not been such a fool as to suppose that any office would be offered
to him. He had never hinted at such a thing to his one dearly
intimate friend, Lady Laura. He had not hitherto opened his mouth in
Parliament. Indeed, when the new Government was formed he had not
been sitting for above a fortnight. Of course nothing could be done
for him as yet. But, nevertheless, he felt himself to be out in the
cold. The very men who had discussed with him the question of the
division,--who had discussed it with him because his vote was then as
good as that of any other member,--did not care to talk to him about
the distribution of places. He, at any rate, could not be one of
them. He, at any rate, could not be a rival. He could neither mar
nor assist. He could not be either a successful or a disappointed
sympathiser,--because he could not himself be a candidate. The affair
which perhaps disgusted him more than anything else was the offer of
an office,--not in the Cabinet, indeed, but one supposed to confer
high dignity,--to Mr. Kennedy. Mr. Kennedy refused the offer, and
this somewhat lessened Finn’s disgust, but the offer itself made him
unhappy.
“I suppose it was made simply because of his money,” he said to
Fitzgibbon.
“I don’t believe that,” said Fitzgibbon. “People seem to think that
he has got a head on his shoulders, though he has got no tongue in
it. I wonder at his refusing it because of the Right Honourable.”
“I am so glad that Mr. Kennedy refused,” said Lady Laura to him.
“And why? He would have been the Right Hon. Robert Kennedy for ever
and ever.” Phineas when he said this did not as yet know exactly
how it would have come to pass that such honour,--the honour of the
enduring prefix to his name,--would have come in the way of Mr.
Kennedy had Mr. Kennedy accepted the office in question; but he was
very quick to learn all these things, and, in the meantime, he rarely
made any mistake about them.
“What would that have been to him,--with his wealth?” said Lady
Laura. “He has a position of his own and need not care for such
things. There are men who should not attempt what is called
independence in Parliament. By doing so they simply decline to make
themselves useful. But there are a few whose special walk in life it
is to be independent, and, as it were, unmoved by parties.”
“Great Akinetoses! You know Orion,” said Phineas.
“Mr. Kennedy is not an Akinetos,” said Lady Laura.
“He holds a very proud position,” said Phineas, ironically.
“A very proud position indeed,” said Lady Laura, in sober earnest.
The dinner at Moroni’s had been eaten, and Phineas had given an
account of the entertainment to Lord Chiltern’s sister. There had
been only two other guests, and both of them had been men on the
turf. “I was the first there,” said Phineas, “and he surprised me
ever so much by telling me that you had spoken to him of me before.”
“Yes; I did so. I wish him to know you. I want him to know some men
who think of something besides horses. He is very well educated, you
know, and would certainly have taken honours if he had not quarrelled
with the people at Christ Church.”
“Did he take a degree?”
“No;--they sent him down. It is best always to have the truth among
friends. Of course you will hear it some day. They expelled him
because he was drunk.” Then Lady Laura burst out into tears, and
Phineas sat near her, and consoled her, and swore that if in any way
he could befriend her brother he would do so.
Mr. Fitzgibbon at this time claimed a promise which he said that
Phineas had made to him,--that Phineas would go over with him to Mayo
to assist at his re-election. And Phineas did go. The whole affair
occupied but a week, and was chiefly memorable as being the means of
cementing the friendship which existed between the two Irish members.
“A thousand a year!” said Laurence Fitzgibbon, speaking of the salary
of his office. “It isn’t much; is it? And every fellow to whom I owe
a shilling will be down upon me. If I had studied my own comfort, I
should have done the same as Kennedy.”