Phineas and His Friends
Our hero’s friends were, I think, almost more elated by our hero’s
promotion than was our hero himself. He never told himself that it
was a great thing to be a junior lord of the Treasury, though he
acknowledged to himself that to have made a successful beginning
was a very great thing. But his friends were loud in their
congratulations,--or condolements as the case might be.
He had his interview with Mr. Mildmay, and, after that, one of
his first steps was to inform Mrs. Bunce that he must change his
lodgings. “The truth is, Mrs. Bunce, not that I want anything better;
but that a better position will be advantageous to me, and that I
can afford to pay for it.” Mrs. Bunce acknowledged the truth of the
argument, with her apron up to her eyes. “I’ve got to be so fond of
looking after you, Mr. Finn! I have indeed,” said Mrs. Bunce. “It is
not just what you pays like, because another party will pay as much.
But we’ve got so used to you, Mr. Finn,--haven’t we?” Mrs. Bunce was
probably not aware herself that the comeliness of her lodger had
pleased her feminine eye, and touched her feminine heart. Had anybody
said that Mrs. Bunce was in love with Phineas, the scandal would have
been monstrous. And yet it was so,--after a fashion. And Bunce knew
it,--after his fashion. “Don’t be such an old fool,” he said, “crying
after him because he’s six foot high.” “I ain’t crying after him
because he’s six foot high,” whined the poor woman;--“but one does
like old faces better than new, and a gentleman about one’s place
is pleasant.” “Gentleman be d----d,” said Bunce. But his anger was
excited, not by his wife’s love for Phineas, but by the use of an
objectionable word.
Bunce himself had been on very friendly terms with Phineas, and they
two had had many discussions on matters of politics, Bunce taking
up the cudgels always for Mr. Turnbull, and generally slipping away
gradually into some account of his own martyrdom. For he had been a
martyr, having failed in obtaining any redress against the policeman
who had imprisoned him so wrongfully. The _People’s Banner_
had fought for him manfully, and therefore there was a little
disagreement between him and Phineas on the subject of that great
organ of public opinion. And as Mr. Bunce thought that his lodger
was very wrong to sit for Lord Brentford’s borough, subjects were
sometimes touched which were a little galling to Phineas.
Touching this promotion, Bunce had nothing but condolement to offer
to the new junior lord. “Oh yes,” said he, in answer to an argument
from Phineas, “I suppose there must be lords, as you call ’em; though
for the matter of that I can’t see as they is of any mortal use.”
“Wouldn’t you have the Government carried on?”
“Government! Well; I suppose there must be government. But the less
of it the better. I’m not against government;--nor yet against laws,
Mr. Finn; though the less of them, too, the better. But what does
these lords do in the Government? Lords indeed! I’ll tell you what
they do, Mr. Finn. They wotes; that’s what they do! They wotes hard;
black or white, white or black. Ain’t that true? When you’re a
‘lord,’ will you be able to wote against Mr. Mildmay to save your
very soul?”
“If it comes to be a question of soul-saving, Mr. Bunce, I shan’t
save my place at the expense of my conscience.”
“Not if you knows it, you mean. But the worst of it is that a man
gets so thick into the mud that he don’t know whether he’s dirty or
clean. You’ll have to wote as you’re told, and of course you’ll think
it’s right enough. Ain’t you been among Parliament gents long enough
to know that that’s the way it goes?”
“You think no honest man can be a member of the Government?”
“I don’t say that, but I think honesty’s a deal easier away from ’em.
The fact is, Mr. Finn, it’s all wrong with us yet, and will be till
we get it nigher to the great American model. If a poor man gets into
Parliament,--you’ll excuse me, Mr. Finn, but I calls you a poor man.”
“Certainly,--as a member of Parliament I am a very poor man.”
“Just so,--and therefore what do you do? You goes and lays yourself
out for government! I’m not saying as how you’re anyways wrong. A man
has to live. You has winning ways, and a good physiognomy of your
own, and are as big as a life-guardsman.” Phineas as he heard this
doubtful praise laughed and blushed. “Very well; you makes your
way with the big wigs, lords and earls and them like, and you gets
returned for a rotten borough;--you’ll excuse me, but that’s about
it, ain’t it?--and then you goes in for government! A man may have
a mission to govern, such as Washington and Cromwell and the like
o’ them. But when I hears of Mr. Fitzgibbon a-governing, why then I
says,--d----n it all.”
“There must be good and bad you know.”
“We’ve got to change a deal yet, Mr. Finn, and we’ll do it. When a
young man as has liberal feelings gets into Parliament, he shouldn’t
be snapped up and brought into the governing business just because
he’s poor and wants a salary. They don’t do it that way in the
States; and they won’t do it that way here long. It’s the system as I
hates, and not you, Mr. Finn. Well, good-bye, sir. I hope you’ll like
the governing business, and find it suits your health.”
These condolements from Mr. Bunce were not pleasant, but they set
him thinking. He felt assured that Bunce and Quintus Slide and Mr.
Turnbull were wrong. Bunce was ignorant. Quintus Slide was dishonest.
Turnbull was greedy of popularity. For himself, he thought that as a
young man he was fairly well informed. He knew that he meant to be
true in his vocation. And he was quite sure that the object nearest
to his heart in politics was not self-aggrandisement, but the welfare
of the people in general. And yet he could not but agree with Bunce
that there was something wrong. When such men as Laurence Fitzgibbon
were called upon to act as governors, was it not to be expected
that the ignorant but still intelligent Bunces of the population
should--“d----n it all”?
On the evening of that day he went up to Mrs. Low’s, very sure that
he should receive some encouragement from her and from her husband.
She had been angry with him because he had put himself into a
position in which money must be spent and none could be made. The
Lows, especially Mrs. Low, had refused to believe that any success
was within his reach. Now that he had succeeded, now that he was in
receipt of a salary on which he could live and save money, he would
be sure of sympathy from his old friends the Lows!
But Mrs. Low was as severe upon him as Mr. Bunce had been, and
even from Mr. Low he could extract no real comfort. “Of course I
congratulate you,” said Mr. Low coldly.
“And you, Mrs. Low?”
“Well, you know, Mr. Finn, I think you have begun at the wrong end. I
thought so before, and I think so still. I suppose I ought not to say
so to a Lord of the Treasury, but if you ask me, what can I do?”
“Speak the truth out, of course.”
“Exactly. That’s what I must do. Well, the truth is, Mr. Finn, that
I do not think it is a very good opening for a young man to be made
what they call a Lord of the Treasury,--unless he has got a private
fortune, you know, to support that kind of life.”
“You see, Phineas, a ministry is such an uncertain thing,” said Mr.
Low.
“Of course it’s uncertain;--but as I did go into the House, it’s
something to have succeeded.”
“If you call that success,” said Mrs. Low.
“You did intend to go on with your profession,” said Mr. Low. He
could not tell them that he had changed his mind, and that he meant
to marry Violet Effingham, who would much prefer a parliamentary life
for her husband to that of a working barrister. “I suppose that is
all given up now,” continued Mr. Low.
“Just for the present,” said Phineas.
“Yes;--and for ever I fear,” said Mrs. Low, “You’ll never go back to
real work after frittering away your time as a Lord of the Treasury.
What sort of work must it be when just anybody can do it that it
suits them to lay hold of? But of course a thousand a year is
something, though a man may have it for only six months.”
It came out in the course of the evening that Mr. Low was going
to stand for the borough vacated by Mr. Mottram, at which it was
considered that the Conservatives might possibly prevail. “You see,
after all, Phineas,” said Mr. Low, “that I am following your steps.”
“Ah; you are going into the House in the course of your profession.”
“Just so,” said Mrs. Low.
“And are taking the first step towards being a Tory
Attorney-General.”
“That’s as may be,” said Mr. Low. “But it’s the kind of thing a man
does after twenty years of hard work. For myself, I really don’t
care much whether I succeed or fail. I should like to live to be a
Vice-Chancellor. I don’t mind saying as much as that to you. But I’m
not at all sure that Parliament is the best way to the Equity Bench.”
“But it is a grand thing to get into Parliament when you do it by
means of your profession,” said Mrs. Low.
Soon after that Phineas took his departure from the house, feeling
sore and unhappy. But on the next morning he was received in
Grosvenor Place with an amount of triumph which went far to
compensate him. Lady Laura had written to him to call there, and on
his arrival he found both Violet Effingham and Madame Max Goesler
with his friend. When Phineas entered the room his first feeling was
one of intense joy at seeing that Violet Effingham was present there.
Then there was one of surprise that Madame Max Goesler should make
one of the little party. Lady Laura had told him at Mr. Palliser’s
dinner-party that they, in Portman Square, had not as yet advanced
far enough to receive Madame Max Goesler,--and yet here was the lady
in Mr. Kennedy’s drawing-room. Now Phineas would have thought it more
likely that he should find her in Portman Square than in Grosvenor
Place. The truth was that Madame Goesler had been brought by Miss
Effingham,--with the consent, indeed, of Lady Laura, but with a
consent given with much of hesitation. “What are you afraid of?”
Violet had asked. “I am afraid of nothing,” Lady Laura had answered;
“but one has to choose one’s acquaintance in accordance with rules
which one doesn’t lay down very strictly.” “She is a clever woman,”
said Violet, “and everybody likes her; but if you think Mr. Kennedy
would object, of course you are right.” Then Lady Laura had
consented, telling herself that it was not necessary that she should
ask her husband’s approval as to every new acquaintance she might
form. At the same time Violet had been told that Phineas would be
there, and so the party had been made up.
“‘See the conquering hero comes,’” said Violet in her cheeriest voice.
“I am so glad that Mr. Finn has been made a lord of something,”
said Madame Max Goesler. “I had the pleasure of a long political
discussion with him the other night, and I quite approve of him.”
“We are so much gratified, Mr. Finn,” said Lady Laura. “Mr. Kennedy
says that it is the best appointment they could have made, and papa
is quite proud about it.”
“You are Lord Brentford’s member; are you not?” asked Madame Max
Goesler. This was a question which Phineas did not quite like, and
which he was obliged to excuse by remembering that the questioner had
lived so long out of England as to be probably ignorant of the myths,
and theories, and system, and working of the British Constitution.
Violet Effingham, little as she knew of politics, would never have
asked a question so imprudent.
But the question was turned off, and Phineas, with an easy grace,
submitted himself to be petted, and congratulated, and purred
over, and almost caressed by the three ladies, Their good-natured
enthusiasm was at any rate better than the satire of Bunce, or the
wisdom of Mrs. Low. Lady Laura had no misgivings as to Phineas being
fit for governing, and Violet Effingham said nothing as to the
short-lived tenure of ministers. Madame Max Goesler, though she had
asked an indiscreet question, thoroughly appreciated the advantage
of Government pay, and the prestige of Government power. “You are a
lord now,” she said, speaking, as was customary with her, with the
slightest possible foreign accent, “and you will be a president soon,
and then perhaps a secretary. The order of promotion seems odd, but I
am told it is very pleasant.”
“It is pleasant to succeed, of course,” said Phineas, “let the
success be ever so little.”
“We knew you would succeed,” said Lady Laura. “We were quite sure of
it. Were we not, Violet?”
“You always said so, my dear. For myself I do not venture to have
an opinion on such matters. Will you always have to go to that big
building in the corner, Mr. Finn, and stay there from ten till four?
Won’t that be a bore?”
“We have a half-holiday on Saturday, you know,” said Phineas.
“And do the Lords of the Treasury have to take care of the money?”
asked Madame Max Goesler.
“Only their own; and they generally fail in doing that,” said
Phineas.
He sat there for a considerable time, wondering whether Mr. Kennedy
would come in, and wondering also as to what Mr. Kennedy would say to
Madame Max Goesler when he did come in. He knew that it was useless
for him to expect any opportunity, then or there, of being alone for
a moment with Violet Effingham. His only chance in that direction
would be in some crowded room, at some ball at which he might ask her
to dance with him; but it seemed that fate was very unkind to him,
and that no such chance came in his way. Mr. Kennedy did not appear,
and Madame Max Goesler with Violet went away, leaving Phineas still
sitting with Lady Laura. Each of them said a kind word to him as
they went. “I don’t know whether I may dare to expect that a Lord of
the Treasury will come and see me?” said Madame Max Goesler. Then
Phineas made a second promise that he would call in Park Lane. Violet
blushed as she remembered that she could not ask him to call at Lady
Baldock’s. “Good-bye, Mr. Finn,” she said, giving him her hand.
“I’m so very glad that they have chosen you; and I do hope that, as
Madame Max says, they’ll make you a secretary and a president, and
everything else very quickly,--till it will come to your turn to
be making other people.” “He is very nice,” said Madame Goesler to
Violet as she took her place in the carriage. “He bears being petted
and spoilt without being either awkward or conceited.” “On the whole,
he is rather nice,” said Violet; “only he has not got a shilling in
the world, and has to make himself before he will be anybody.” “He
must marry money, of course,” said Madame Max Goesler.
“I hope you are contented?” said Lady Laura, rising from her chair
and coming opposite to him as soon as they were alone.
“Of course I am contented.”
“I was not,--when I first heard of it. Why did they promote that
empty-headed countryman of yours to a place for which he was quite
unfit? I was not contented. But then I am more ambitious for you than
you are for yourself.” He sat without answering her for awhile, and
she stood waiting for his reply. “Have you nothing to say to me?” she
asked.
“I do not know what to say. When I think of it all, I am lost in
amazement. You tell me that you are not contented;--that you are
ambitious for me. Why is it that you should feel any interest in the
matter?”
“Is it not reasonable that we should be interested for our friends?”
“But when you and I last parted here in this room you were hardly my
friend.”
“Was I not? You wrong me there;--very deeply.”
“I told you what was my ambition, and you resented it,” said Phineas.
“I think I said that I could not help you, and I think I said also
that I thought you would fail. I do not know that I showed much
resentment. You see, I told her that you were here, that she might
come and meet you. You know that I wished my brother should succeed.
I wished it before I ever knew you. You cannot expect that I should
change my wishes.”
“But if he cannot succeed,” pleaded Phineas.
“Who is to say that? Has a woman never been won by devotion and
perseverance? Besides, how can I wish to see you go on with a suit
which must sever you from my father, and injure your political
prospects;--perhaps fatally injure them? It seems to me now that my
father is almost the only man in London who has not heard of this
duel.”
“Of course he will hear of it. I have half made up my mind to tell
him myself.”
“Do not do that, Mr. Finn. There can be no reason for it. But I
did not ask you to come here to-day to talk to you about Oswald or
Violet. I have given you my advice about that, and I can do no more.”
“Lady Laura, I cannot take it. It is out of my power to take it.”
“Very well. The matter shall be what you members of Parliament call
an open question between us. When papa asked you to accept this place
at the Treasury, did it ever occur to you to refuse it?”
“It did;--for half an hour or so.”
“I hoped you would,--and yet I knew that I was wrong. I thought that
you should count yourself to be worth more than that, and that you
should, as it were, assert yourself. But then it is so difficult
to draw the line between proper self-assertion and proper
self-denial;--to know how high to go up the table, and how low to
go down. I do not doubt that you have been right,--only make them
understand that you are not as other junior lords;--that you have
been willing to be a junior lord, or anything else for a purpose;
but that the purpose is something higher than that of fetching and
carrying in Parliament for Mr. Mildmay and Mr. Palliser.”
“I hope in time to get beyond fetching and carrying,” said Phineas.
“Of course you will; and knowing that, I am glad that you are in
office. I suppose there will be no difficulty about Loughton.”
Then Phineas laughed. “I hear,” said he, “that Mr. Quintus Slide,
of the _People’s Banner_, has already gone down to canvass the
electors.”
“Mr. Quintus Slide! To canvass the electors of Loughton!” and Lady
Laura drew herself up and spoke of this unseemly intrusion on her
father’s borough, as though the vulgar man who had been named had
forced his way into the very drawing-room in Portman Square. At that
moment Mr. Kennedy came in. “Do you hear what Mr. Finn tells me?” she
said. “He has heard that Mr. Quintus Slide has gone down to Loughton
to stand against him.”
“And why not?” said Mr. Kennedy.
“My dear!” ejaculated Lady Laura.
“Mr. Quintus Slide will no doubt lose his time and his money;--but he
will gain the prestige of having stood for a borough, which will be
something for him on the staff of the _People’s Banner_,” said Mr.
Kennedy.
“He will get that horrid man Vellum to propose him,” said Lady Laura.
“Very likely,” said Mr. Kennedy. “And the less any of us say about
it the better. Finn, my dear fellow, I congratulate you heartily.
Nothing for a long time has given me greater pleasure than hearing
of your appointment. It is equally honourable to yourself and to Mr.
Mildmay. It is a great step to have gained so early.”
Phineas, as he thanked his friend, could not help asking himself what
his friend had done to be made a Cabinet Minister. Little as he,
Phineas, himself had done in the House in his two sessions and a
half, Mr. Kennedy had hardly done more in his fifteen or twenty. But
then Mr. Kennedy was possessed of almost miraculous wealth, and owned
half a county, whereas he, Phineas, owned almost nothing at all.
Of course no Prime Minister would offer a junior lordship at the
Treasury to a man with £30,000 a year. Soon after this Phineas took
his leave. “I think he will do well,” said Mr. Kennedy to his wife.
“I am sure he will do well,” replied Lady Laura, almost scornfully.
“He is not quite such a black swan with me as he is with you; but
still I think he will succeed, if he takes care of himself. It is
astonishing how that absurd story of his duel with Chiltern has got
about.”
“It is impossible to prevent people talking,” said Lady Laura.
“I suppose there was some quarrel, though neither of them will tell
you. They say it was about Miss Effingham. I should hardly think that
Finn could have any hopes in that direction.”
“Why should he not have hopes?”
“Because he has neither position, nor money, nor birth,” said Mr.
Kennedy.
“He is a gentleman,” said Lady Laura; “and I think he has position. I
do not see why he should not ask any girl to marry him.”
“There is no understanding you, Laura,” said Mr. Kennedy, angrily. “I
thought you had quite other hopes about Miss Effingham.”
“So I have; but that has nothing to do with it. You spoke of Mr. Finn
as though he would be guilty of some crime were he to ask Violet
Effingham to be his wife. In that I disagree with you. Mr. Finn is--”
“You will make me sick of the name of Mr. Finn.”
“I am sorry that I offend you by my gratitude to a man who saved your
life.” Mr. Kennedy shook his head. He knew that the argument used
against him was false, but he did not know how to show that he knew
that it was false. “Perhaps I had better not mention his name any
more,” continued Lady Laura.
“Nonsense!”
“I quite agree with you that it is nonsense, Robert.”
“All I mean to say is, that if you go on as you do, you will turn his
head and spoil him. Do you think I do not know what is going on among
you?”
“And what is going on among us,--as you call it?”
“You are taking this young man up and putting him on a pedestal and
worshipping him, just because he is well-looking, and rather clever
and decently behaved. It’s always the way with women who have nothing
to do, and who cannot be made to understand that they should have
duties. They cannot live without some kind of idolatry.”
“Have I neglected my duty to you, Robert?”
“Yes,--you know you have;--in going to those receptions at your
father’s house on Sundays.”
“What has that to do with Mr. Finn?”
“Psha!”
“I begin to think I had better tell Mr. Finn not to come here any
more, since his presence is disagreeable to you. All the world knows
how great is the service he did you, and it will seem to be very
ridiculous. People will say all manner of things; but anything will
be better than that you should go on as you have done,--accusing your
wife of idolatry towards--a young man, because--he is--well-looking.”
“I never said anything of the kind.”
“You did, Robert.”
“I did not. I did not speak more of you than of a lot of others.”
“You accused me personally, saying that because of my idolatry I had
neglected my duty; but really you made such a jumble of it all, with
papa’s visitors, and Sunday afternoons, that I cannot follow what was
in your mind.”
Then Mr. Kennedy stood for awhile, collecting his thoughts, so that
he might unravel the jumble, if that were possible to him; but
finding that it was not possible, he left the room, and closed the
door behind him.
Then Lady Laura was left alone to consider the nature of the
accusation which her husband had brought against her; or the nature
rather of the accusation which she had chosen to assert that her
husband had implied. For in her heart she knew that he had made no
such accusation, and had intended to make none such. The idolatry of
which he had spoken was the idolatry which a woman might show to her
cat, her dog, her picture, her china, her furniture, her carriage and
horses, or her pet maid-servant. Such was the idolatry of which Mr.
Kennedy had spoken;--but was there no other worship in her heart,
worse, more pernicious than that, in reference to this young man?
She had schooled herself about him very severely, and had come to
various resolutions. She had found out and confessed to herself that
she did not, and could not, love her husband. She had found out and
confessed to herself that she did love, and could not help loving,
Phineas Finn. Then she had resolved to banish him from her presence,
and had gone the length of telling him so. After that she had
perceived that she had been wrong, and had determined to meet him as
she met other men,--and to conquer her love. Then, when this could
not be done, when something almost like idolatry grew upon her, she
determined that it should be the idolatry of friendship, that she
would not sin even in thought, that there should be nothing in her
heart of which she need be ashamed;--but that the one great object
and purport of her life should be the promotion of this friend’s
welfare. She had just begun to love after this fashion, had taught
herself to believe that she might combine something of the pleasure
of idolatry towards her friend with a full complement of duty towards
her husband, when Phineas came to her with his tale of love for
Violet Effingham. The lesson which she got then was a very rough
one,--so hard that at first she could not bear it. Her anger at his
love for her brother’s wished-for bride was lost in her dismay that
Phineas should love any one after having once loved her. But by
sheer force of mind she had conquered that dismay, that feeling of
desolation at her heart, and had almost taught herself to hope that
Phineas might succeed with Violet. He wished it,--and why should he
not have what he wished,--he, whom she so fondly idolised? It was not
his fault that he and she were not man and wife. She had chosen to
arrange it otherwise, and was she not bound to assist him now in the
present object of his reasonable wishes? She had got over in her
heart that difficulty about her brother, but she could not quite
conquer the other difficulty. She could not bring herself to plead
his cause with Violet. She had not brought herself as yet to do it.
And now she was accused of idolatry for Phineas by her husband,--she
with “a lot of others,” in which lot Violet was of course included.
Would it not be better that they two should be brought together?
Would not her friend’s husband still be her friend? Would she not
then forget to love him? Would she not then be safer than she was
now?
As she sat alone struggling with her difficulties, she had not as yet
forgotten to love him,--nor was she as yet safe.