Phineas Finn Makes Progress
February was far advanced and the new Reform Bill had already been
brought forward, before Lady Laura Kennedy came up to town. Phineas
had of course seen Mr. Kennedy and had heard from him tidings of
his wife. She was at Saulsby with Lady Baldock and Miss Boreham and
Violet Effingham, but was to be in London soon. Mr. Kennedy, as it
appeared, did not quite know when he was to expect his wife; and
Phineas thought that he could perceive from the tone of the husband’s
voice that something was amiss. He could not however ask any
questions excepting such as referred to the expected arrival. Was
Miss Effingham to come to London with Lady Laura? Mr. Kennedy
believed that Miss Effingham would be up before Easter, but he did
not know whether she would come with his wife. “Women,” he said, “are
so fond of mystery that one can never quite know what they intend to
do.” He corrected himself at once however, perceiving that he had
seemed to say something against his wife, and explained that his
general accusation against the sex was not intended to apply to
Lady Laura. This, however, he did so awkwardly as to strengthen
the feeling with Phineas that something assuredly was wrong. “Miss
Effingham,” said Mr. Kennedy, “never seems to know her own mind.”
“I suppose she is like other beautiful girls who are petted on all
sides,” said Phineas. “As for her beauty, I don’t think much of it,”
said Mr. Kennedy; “and as for petting, I do not understand it in
reference to grown persons. Children may be petted, and dogs,--though
that too is bad; but what you call petting for grown persons is I
think frivolous and almost indecent.” Phineas could not help thinking
of Lord Chiltern’s opinion that it would have been wise to have left
Mr. Kennedy in the hands of the garrotters.
The debate on the second reading of the bill was to be commenced
on the 1st of March, and two days before that Lady Laura arrived
in Grosvenor Place. Phineas got a note from her in three words to
say that she was at home and would see him if he called on Sunday
afternoon. The Sunday to which she alluded was the last day of
February. Phineas was now more certain than ever that something
was wrong. Had there been nothing wrong between Lady Laura and her
husband, she would not have rebelled against him by asking visitors
to the house on a Sunday. He had nothing to do with that, however,
and of course he did as he was desired. He called on the Sunday, and
found Mrs. Bonteen sitting with Lady Laura. “I am just in time for
the debate,” said Lady Laura, when the first greeting was over.
“You don’t mean to say that you intend to sit it out,” said Mrs.
Bonteen.
“Every word of it,--unless I lose my seat. What else is there to be
done at present?”
“But the place they give us is so unpleasant,” said Mrs. Bonteen.
“There are worse places even than the Ladies’ Gallery,” said
Lady Laura. “And perhaps it is as well to make oneself used to
inconveniences of all kinds. You will speak, Mr. Finn?”
“I intend to do so.”
“Of course you will. The great speeches will be Mr. Gresham’s, Mr.
Daubeny’s, and Mr. Monk’s.”
“Mr. Palliser intends to be very strong,” said Mrs. Bonteen.
“A man cannot be strong or not as he likes it,” said Lady Laura. “Mr.
Palliser I believe to be a most useful man, but he never can become
an orator. He is of the same class as Mr. Kennedy,--only of course
higher in the class.”
“We all look for a great speech from Mr. Kennedy,” said Mrs. Bonteen.
“I have not the slightest idea whether he will open his lips,” said
Lady Laura. Immediately after that Mrs. Bonteen took her leave.
“I hate that woman like poison,” continued Lady Laura. “She is
always playing a game, and it is such a small game that she plays!
And she contributes so little to society. She is not witty nor
well-informed,--not even sufficiently ignorant or ridiculous to be a
laughing-stock. One gets nothing from her, and yet she has made her
footing good in the world.”
“I thought she was a friend of yours.”
“You did not think so! You could not have thought so! How can you
bring such an accusation against me, knowing me as you do? But never
mind Mrs. Bonteen now. On what day shall you speak?”
“On Tuesday if I can.”
“I suppose you can arrange it?”
“I shall endeavour to do so, as far as any arrangement can go.”
“We shall carry the second reading,” said Lady Laura.
“Yes,” said Phineas; “I think we shall; but by the votes of men who
are determined so to pull the bill to pieces in committee, that its
own parents will not know it. I doubt whether Mr. Mildmay will have
the temper to stand it.”
“They tell me that Mr. Mildmay will abandon the custody of the bill
to Mr. Gresham after his first speech.”
“I don’t know that Mr. Gresham’s temper is more enduring than Mr.
Mildmay’s,” said Phineas.
“Well;--we shall see. My own impression is that nothing would save
the country so effectually at the present moment as the removal of
Mr. Turnbull to a higher and a better sphere.”
“Let us say the House of Lords,” said Phineas.
“God forbid!” said Lady Laura.
Phineas sat there for half an hour and then got up to go, having
spoken no word on any other subject than that of politics. He longed
to ask after Violet. He longed to make some inquiry respecting Lord
Chiltern. And, to tell the truth, he felt painfully curious to
hear Lady Laura say something about her own self. He could not but
remember what had been said between them up over the waterfall, and
how he had been warned not to return to Loughlinter. And then again,
did Lady Laura know anything of what had passed between him and
Violet? “Where is your brother?” he said, as he rose from his chair.
“Oswald is in London. He was here not an hour before you came in.”
“Where is he staying?”
“At Moroni’s. He goes down on Tuesday, I think. He is to see his
father to-morrow morning.”
“By agreement?”
“Yes;--by agreement. There is a new trouble,--about money that they
think to be due to me. But I cannot tell you all now. There have been
some words between Mr. Kennedy and papa. But I won’t talk about it.
You would find Oswald at Moroni’s at any hour before eleven
to-morrow.”
“Did he say anything about me?” asked Phineas.
“We mentioned your name certainly.”
“I do not ask from vanity, but I want to know whether he is angry
with me.”
“Angry with you! Not in the least. I’ll tell you just what he said.
He said he should not wish to live even with you, but that he would
sooner try it with you than with any man he ever knew.”
“He had got a letter from me?”
“He did not say so;--but he did not say he had not.”
“I will see him to-morrow if I can.” And then Phineas prepared to go.
“One word, Mr. Finn,” said Lady Laura, hardly looking him in the face
and yet making an effort to do so. “I wish you to forget what I said
to you at Loughlinter.”
“It shall be as though it were forgotten,” said Phineas.
“Let it be absolutely forgotten. In such a case a man is bound to do
all that a woman asks him, and no man has a truer spirit of chivalry
than yourself. That is all. Look in when you can. I will not ask you
to dine here as yet, because we are so frightfully dull. Do your best
on Tuesday, and then let us see you on Wednesday. Good-bye.”
Phineas as he walked across the park towards his club made up his
mind that he would forget the scene by the waterfall. He had never
quite known what it had meant, and he would wipe it away from his
mind altogether. He acknowledged to himself that chivalry did demand
of him that he should never allow himself to think of Lady Laura’s
rash words to him. That she was not happy with her husband was very
clear to him;--but that was altogether another affair. She might be
unhappy with her husband without indulging any guilty love. He had
never thought it possible that she could be happy living with such a
husband as Mr. Kennedy. All that, however, was now past remedy, and
she must simply endure the mode of life which she had prepared for
herself. There were other men and women in London tied together for
better and worse, in reference to whose union their friends knew that
there would be no better;--that it must be all worse. Lady Laura must
bear it, as it was borne by many another married woman.
On the Monday morning Phineas called at Moroni’s Hotel at ten
o’clock, but in spite of Lady Laura’s assurance to the contrary, he
found that Lord Chiltern was out. He had felt some palpitation at the
heart as he made his inquiry, knowing well the fiery nature of the
man he expected to see. It might be that there would be some actual
personal conflict between him and this half-mad lord before he got
back again into the street. What Lady Laura had said about her
brother did not in the estimation of Phineas make this at all the
less probable. The half-mad lord was so singular in his ways that it
might well be that he should speak handsomely of a rival behind his
back and yet take him by the throat as soon as they were together,
face to face. And yet, as Phineas thought, it was necessary that he
should see the half-mad lord. He had written a letter to which he had
received no reply, and he considered it to be incumbent on him to
ask whether it had been received and whether any answer to it was
intended to be given. He went therefore to Lord Chiltern at once,--as
I have said, with some feeling at his heart that there might be
violence, at any rate of words, before he should find himself again
in the street. But Lord Chiltern was not there. All that the porter
knew was that Lord Chiltern intended to leave the house on the
following morning. Then Phineas wrote a note and left it with the
porter.
DEAR CHILTERN,
I particularly want to see you with reference to a letter
I wrote to you last summer. I must be in the House to-day
from four till the debate is over. I will be at the Reform
Club from two till half-past three, and will come if you
will send for me, or I will meet you anywhere at any hour
to-morrow morning.
Yours, always, P. F.
No message came to him at the Reform Club, and he was in his seat in
the House by four o’clock. During the debate a note was brought to
him, which ran as follows:--
I have got your letter this moment. Of course we must
meet. I hunt on Tuesday, and go down by the early train;
but I will come to town on Wednesday. We shall require to
be private, and I will therefore be at your rooms at one
o’clock on that day.--C.
Phineas at once perceived that the note was a hostile note, written
in an angry spirit,--written to one whom the writer did not at the
moment acknowledge to be his friend. This was certainly the case,
whatever Lord Chiltern may have said to his sister as to his
friendship for Phineas. Phineas crushed the note into his pocket, and
of course determined that he would be in his rooms at the hour named.
The debate was opened by a speech from Mr. Mildmay, in which that
gentleman at great length and with much perspicuity explained his
notion of that measure of Parliamentary Reform which he thought to
be necessary. He was listened to with the greatest attention to the
close,--and perhaps, at the end of his speech, with more attention
than usual, as there had gone abroad a rumour that the Prime Minister
intended to declare that this would be the last effort of his life
in that course. But, if he ever intended to utter such a pledge, his
heart misgave him when the time came for uttering it. He merely said
that as the management of the bill in committee would be an affair
of much labour, and probably spread over many nights, he would be
assisted in his work by his colleagues, and especially by his right
honourable friend the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. It was
then understood that Mr. Gresham would take the lead should the bill
go into committee;--but it was understood also that no resignation of
leadership had been made by Mr. Mildmay.
The measure now proposed to the House was very much the same as that
which had been brought forward in the last session. The existing
theory of British representation was not to be changed, but the
actual practice was to be brought nearer to the ideal theory. The
ideas of manhood suffrage, and of electoral districts, were to be as
for ever removed from the bulwarks of the British Constitution. There
were to be counties with agricultural constituencies, purposely
arranged to be purely agricultural, whenever the nature of the
counties would admit of its being so. No artificer at Reform, let
him be Conservative or Liberal, can make Middlesex or Lancashire
agricultural; but Wiltshire and Suffolk were to be preserved
inviolable to the plough,--and the apples of Devonshire were still
to have their sway. Every town in the three kingdoms with a certain
population was to have two members. But here there was much room
for cavil,--as all men knew would be the case. Who shall say what
is a town, or where shall be its limits? Bits of counties might be
borrowed, so as to lessen the Conservatism of the county without
endangering the Liberalism of the borough. And then there were the
boroughs with one member,--and then the groups of little boroughs.
In the discussion of any such arrangement how easy is the picking
of holes; how impossible the fabrication of a garment that shall be
impervious to such picking! Then again there was that great question
of the ballot. On that there was to be no mistake. Mr. Mildmay again
pledged himself to disappear from the Treasury bench should any
motion, clause, or resolution be carried by that House in favour of
the ballot. He spoke for three hours, and then left the carcass of
his bill to be fought for by the opposing armies.
No reader of these pages will desire that the speeches in the debate
should be even indicated. It soon became known that the Conservatives
would not divide the House against the second reading of the bill.
They declared, however, very plainly their intention of so altering
the clauses of the bill in committee,--or at least of attempting so
to do,--as to make the bill their bill, rather than the bill of their
opponents. To this Mr. Palliser replied that as long as nothing vital
was touched, the Government would only be too happy to oblige their
friends opposite. If anything vital were touched, the Government
could only fall back upon their friends on that side. And in this way
men were very civil to each other. But Mr. Turnbull, who opened the
debate on the Tuesday, thundered out an assurance to gods and men
that he would divide the House on the second reading of the bill
itself. He did not doubt but that there were many good men and true
to go with him into the lobby, but into the lobby he would go if he
had no more than a single friend to support him. And he warned the
Sovereign, and he warned the House, and he warned the people of
England, that the measure of Reform now proposed by a so-called
liberal Minister was a measure prepared in concert with the ancient
enemies of the people. He was very loud, very angry, and quite
successful in hallooing down sundry attempts which were made to
interrupt him. “I find,” he said, “that there are many members here
who do not know me yet,--young members, probably, who are green from
the waste lands and road-sides of private life. They will know me
soon, and then, may be, there will be less of this foolish noise,
less of this elongation of unnecessary necks. Our Rome must be
aroused to a sense of its danger by other voices than these.” He
was called to order, but it was ruled that he had not been out of
order,--and he was very triumphant. Mr. Monk answered him, and it
was declared afterwards that Mr. Monk’s speech was one of the finest
pieces of oratory that had ever been uttered in that House. He made
one remark personal to Mr. Turnbull. “I quite agreed with the right
honourable gentleman in the chair,” he said, “when he declared that
the honourable member was not out of order just now. We all of us
agree with him always on such points. The rules of our House have
been laid down with the utmost latitude, so that the course of our
debates may not be frivolously or too easily interrupted. But a
member may be so in order as to incur the displeasure of the House,
and to merit the reproaches of his countrymen.” This little duel
gave great life to the debate; but it was said that those two great
Reformers, Mr. Turnbull and Mr. Monk, could never again meet as
friends.
In the course of the debate on Tuesday, Phineas got upon his legs.
The reader, I trust, will remember that hitherto he had failed
altogether as a speaker. On one occasion he had lacked even the
spirit to use and deliver an oration which he had prepared. On
a second occasion he had broken down,--woefully, and past all
redemption, as said those who were not his friends,--unfortunately,
but not past redemption, as said those who were his true friends.
After that once again he had arisen and said a few words which had
called for no remark, and had been spoken as though he were in the
habit of addressing the House daily. It may be doubted whether there
were half-a-dozen men now present who recognised the fact that this
man, who was so well known to so many of them, was now about to
make another attempt at a first speech. Phineas himself diligently
attempted to forget that such was the case. He had prepared for
himself a few headings of what he intended to say, and on one or
two points had arranged his words. His hope was that even though
he should forget the words, he might still be able to cling to the
thread of his discourse. When he found himself again upon his legs
amidst those crowded seats, for a few moments there came upon him
that old sensation of awe. Again things grew dim before his eyes, and
again he hardly knew at which end of that long chamber the Speaker
was sitting. But there arose within him a sudden courage, as soon as
the sound of his own voice in that room had made itself intimate to
his ear; and after the first few sentences, all fear, all awe, was
gone from him. When he read his speech in the report afterwards, he
found that he had strayed very wide of his intended course, but he
had strayed without tumbling into ditches, or falling into sunken
pits. He had spoken much from Mr. Monk’s letter, but had had the
grace to acknowledge whence had come his inspiration. He hardly knew,
however, whether he had failed again or not, till Barrington Erle
came up to him as they were leaving the House, with his old easy
pressing manner. “So you have got into form at last,” he said. “I
always thought that it would come. I never for a moment believed
but that it would come sooner or later.” Phineas Finn answered
not a word; but he went home and lay awake all night triumphant.
The verdict of Barrington Erle sufficed to assure him that he had
succeeded.