Mr. Mildmay’s Bill
It will be necessary that we should go back in our story for a very
short period in order that the reader may be told that Phineas Finn
was duly re-elected at Loughton after his appointment at the Treasury
Board. There was some little trouble at Loughton, and something
more of expense than he had before encountered. Mr. Quintus Slide
absolutely came down, and was proposed by Mr. Vellum for the borough.
Mr. Vellum being a gentleman learned in the law, and hostile to the
interests of the noble owner of Saulsby, was able to raise a little
trouble against our hero. Mr. Slide was proposed by Mr. Vellum, and
seconded by Mr. Vellum’s clerk,--though, as it afterwards appeared,
Mr. Vellum’s clerk was not in truth an elector,--and went to the poll
like a man. He received three votes, and at twelve o’clock withdrew.
This in itself could hardly have afforded compensation for the
expense which Mr. Slide or his backers must have encountered;--but
he had an opportunity of making a speech, every word of which was
reported in the _People’s Banner_; and if the speech was made in the
language given in the report, Mr. Slide was really possessed of some
oratorical power. Most of those who read the speech in the columns
of the _People’s Banner_ were probably not aware how favourable an
opportunity of retouching his sentences in type had been given to Mr.
Slide by the fact of his connection with the newspaper. The speech
had been very severe upon our hero; and though the speaker had
been so hooted and pelted at Loughton as to have been altogether
inaudible,--so maltreated that in point of fact he had not been able
to speak above a tenth part of his speech at all,--nevertheless the
speech did give Phineas a certain amount of pain. Why Phineas should
have read it who can tell? But who is there that abstains from
reading that which is printed in abuse of himself?
In the speech as it was printed Mr. Slide declared that he had no
thought of being returned for the borough. He knew too well how
the borough was managed, what slaves the electors were;--how they
groaned under a tyranny from which hitherto they had been unable
to release themselves. Of course the Earl’s nominee, his lacquey,
as the honourable gentleman might be called, would be returned.
The Earl could order them to return whichever of his lacqueys he
pleased.--There is something peculiarly pleasing to the democratic
ear in the word lacquey! Any one serving a big man, whatever
the service may be, is the big man’s lacquey in the _People’s
Banner_.--The speech throughout was very bitter. Mr. Phineas Finn,
who had previously served in Parliament as the lacquey of an Irish
earl, and had been turned off by him, had now fallen into the service
of the English earl, and was the lacquey chosen for the present
occasion. But he, Quintus Slide, who boasted himself to be a man
of the people,--he could tell them that the days of their thraldom
were coming to an end, and that their enfranchisement was near at
hand. That friend of the people, Mr. Turnbull, had a clause in his
breeches-pocket which he would either force down the unwilling throat
of Mr. Mildmay, or else drive the imbecile Premier from office by
carrying it in his teeth. Loughton, as Loughton, must be destroyed,
but it should be born again in a better birth as a part of a
real electoral district, sending a real member, chosen by a real
constituency, to a real Parliament. In those days,--and they would
come soon,--Mr. Quintus Slide rather thought that Mr. Phineas Finn
would be found “nowhere,” and he rather thought also that when he
showed himself again, as he certainly should do, in the midst of that
democratic electoral district as the popular candidate for the honour
of representing it in Parliament, that democratic electoral district
would accord to him a reception very different from that which he
was now receiving from the Earl’s lacqueys in the parliamentary
village of Loughton. A prettier bit of fiction than these sentences
as composing a part of any speech delivered, or proposed to be
delivered, at Loughton, Phineas thought he had never seen. And when
he read at the close of the speech that though the Earl’s hired
bullies did their worst, the remarks of Mr. Slide were received by
the people with reiterated cheering, he threw himself back in his
chair at the Treasury and roared. The poor fellow had been three
minutes on his legs, had received three rotten eggs, and one dead
dog, and had retired. But not the half of the speech as printed in
the _People’s Banner_ has been quoted. The sins of Phineas, who in
spite of his inability to open his mouth in public had been made
a Treasury hack by the aristocratic influence,--“by aristocratic
influence not confined to the male sex,”--were described at great
length, and in such language that Phineas for a while was fool enough
to think that it would be his duty to belabour Mr. Slide with a
horsewhip. This notion, however, did not endure long with him, and
when Mr. Monk told him that things of that kind came as a matter of
course, he was comforted.
But he found it much more difficult to obtain comfort when he weighed
the arguments brought forward against the abominations of such a
borough as that for which he sat, and reflected that if Mr. Turnbull
brought forward his clause, he, Phineas Finn, would be bound to vote
against the clause, knowing the clause to be right, because he was a
servant of the Government. The arguments, even though they appeared
in the _People’s Banner_, were true arguments; and he had on one
occasion admitted their truth to his friend Lady Laura,--in the
presence of that great Cabinet Minister, her husband. “What business
has such a man as that down there? Is there a single creature who
wants him?” Lady Laura had said. “I don’t suppose anybody does want
Mr. Quintus Slide,” Phineas had replied; “but I am disposed to think
the electors should choose the man they do want, and that at present
they have no choice left to them.” “They are quite satisfied,” said
Lady Laura, angrily. “Then, Lady Laura,” continued Phineas, “that
alone should be sufficient to prove that their privilege of returning
a member to Parliament is too much for them. We can’t defend it.”
“It is defended by tradition,” said Mr. Kennedy. “And by its great
utility,” said Lady Laura, bowing to the young member who was
present, and forgetting that very useless old gentleman, her cousin,
who had sat for the borough for many years. “In this country it
doesn’t do to go too fast,” said Mr. Kennedy. “And then the mixture
of vulgarity, falsehood, and pretence!” said Lady Laura, shuddering
as her mind recurred to the fact that Mr. Quintus Slide had
contaminated Loughton by his presence. “I am told that they hardly
let him leave the place alive.”
Whatever Mr. Kennedy and Lady Laura might think about Loughton
and the general question of small boroughs, it was found by the
Government, to their great cost, that Mr. Turnbull’s clause was a
reality. After two months of hard work, all questions of franchise
had been settled, rating and renting, new and newfangled, fancy
franchises and those which no one fancied, franchises for boroughs
and franchises for counties, franchises single, dual, three-cornered,
and four-sided,--by various clauses to which the Committee of the
whole House had agreed after some score of divisions,--the matter
of the franchise had been settled. No doubt there was the House
of Lords, and there might yet be shipwreck. But it was generally
believed that the Lords would hardly look at the bill,--that they
would not even venture on an amendment. The Lords would only be too
happy to let the matter be settled by the Commons themselves. But
then, after the franchise, came redistribution. How sick of the
subject were all members of the Government, no one could tell who
did not see their weary faces. The whole House was sick, having been
whipped into various lobbies, night after night, during the heat of
the summer, for weeks past. Redistribution! Why should there be any
redistribution? They had got, or would get, a beautiful franchise.
Could they not see what that would do for them? Why redistribute
anything? But, alas, it was too late to go back to so blessed an idea
as that! Redistribution they must have. But there should be as little
redistribution as possible. Men were sick of it all, and would not be
exigeant. Something should be done for overgrown counties;--something
for new towns which had prospered in brick and mortar. It would
be easy to crush up a peccant borough or two,--a borough that had
been discovered in its sin. And a few boroughs now blessed with
two members might consent to be blessed only with one. Fifteen
small clauses might settle the redistribution, in spite of Mr.
Turnbull,--if only Mr. Daubeny would be good-natured.
Neither the weather, which was very hot, nor the tedium of the
session, which had been very great, nor the anxiety of Ministers,
which was very pressing, had any effect in impairing the energy
of Mr. Turnbull. He was as instant, as oratorical, as hostile, as
indignant about redistribution as he had been about the franchise. He
had been sure then, and he was sure now, that Ministers desired to
burke the question, to deceive the people, to produce a bill that
should be no bill. He brought out his clause,--and made Loughton
his instance. “Would the honourable gentleman who sat lowest on
the Treasury bench,--who at this moment was in sweet confidential
intercourse with the right honourable gentleman now President of the
Board of Trade, who had once been a friend of the people,--would the
young Lord of the Treasury get up in his place and tell them that
no peer of Parliament had at present a voice in sending a member to
their House of Commons,--that no peer would have a voice if this
bill, as proposed by the Government, were passed in its present
useless, ineffectual, conservative, and most dishonest form?”
Phineas, who replied to this, and who told Mr. Turnbull that he
himself could not answer for any peers,--but that he thought it
probable that most peers would, by their opinions, somewhat influence
the opinions of some electors,--was thought to have got out of his
difficulty very well. But there was the clause of Mr. Turnbull to be
dealt with,--a clause directly disfranchising seven single-winged
boroughs, of which Loughton was of course one,--a clause to which the
Government must either submit or object. Submission would be certain
defeat in one way, and objection would be as certain defeat in
another,--if the gentlemen on the other side were not disposed to
assist the ministers. It was said that the Cabinet was divided.
Mr. Gresham and Mr. Monk were for letting the seven boroughs go.
Mr. Mildmay could not bring himself to obey Mr. Turnbull, and Mr.
Palliser supported him. When Mr. Mildmay was told that Mr. Daubeny
would certainly go into the same lobby with Mr. Turnbull respecting
the seven boroughs, he was reported to have said that in that case
Mr. Daubeny must be prepared with a Government. Mr. Daubeny made a
beautiful speech about the seven boroughs;--the seven sins, and seven
stars, and seven churches, and seven lamps. He would make no party
question of this. Gentlemen who usually acted with him would vote
as their own sense of right or wrong directed them;--from which
expression of a special sanction it was considered that these
gentlemen were not accustomed to exercise the privilege now accorded
to them. But in regarding the question as one of right and wrong, and
in looking at what he believed to be both the wish of the country and
its interests, he, Mr. Daubeny,--he, himself, being simply a humble
member of that House,--must support the clause of the honourable
gentleman. Almost all those to whom had been surrendered the
privilege of using their own judgment for that occasion only, used it
discreetly,--as their chief had used it himself,--and Mr. Turnbull
carried his clause by a majority of fifteen. It was then 3 a.m.,
and Mr. Gresham, rising after the division, said that his right
honourable friend the First Lord of the Treasury was too tired
to return to the House, and had requested him to state that the
Government would declare their purpose at 6 p.m. on the following
evening.
Phineas, though he had made his little speech in answer to Mr.
Turnbull with good-humoured flippancy, had recorded his vote in
favour of the seven boroughs with a sore heart. Much as he disliked
Mr. Turnbull, he knew that Mr. Turnbull was right in this. He had
spoken to Mr. Monk on the subject, as it were asking Mr. Monk’s
permission to throw up his office, and vote against Mr. Mildmay. But
Mr. Monk was angry with him, telling him that his conscience was of
that restless, uneasy sort which is neither useful nor manly. “We
all know,” said Mr. Monk, “and none better than Mr. Mildmay, that
we cannot justify such a borough as Loughton by the theory of our
parliamentary representation,--any more than we can justify the
fact that Huntingdonshire should return as many members as the East
Riding. There must be compromises, and you should trust to others who
have studied the matter more thoroughly than you, to say how far the
compromise should go at the present moment.”
“It is the influence of the peer, not the paucity of the electors,”
said Phineas.
“And has no peer any influence in a county? Would you disfranchise
Westmoreland? Believe me, Finn, if you want to be useful, you must
submit yourself in such matters to those with whom you act.”
Phineas had no answer to make, but he was not happy in his mind. And
he was the less happy, perhaps, because he was very sure that Mr.
Mildmay would be beaten. Mr. Low in these days harassed him sorely.
Mr. Low was very keen against such boroughs as Loughton, declaring
that Mr. Daubeny was quite right to join his standard to that of Mr.
Turnbull on such an issue. Mr. Low was the reformer now, and Phineas
found himself obliged to fight a losing battle on behalf of an
acknowledged abuse. He never went near Bunce; but, unfortunately for
him, Bunce caught him once in the street and showed him no mercy.
“Slide was a little ’eavy on you in the _Banner_ the other day,--eh,
Mr. Finn?--too ’eavy, as I told him.”
“Mr. Slide can be just as heavy as he pleases, Bunce.”
“That’s in course. The press is free, thank God,--as yet. But it
wasn’t any good rattling away at the Earl’s little borough when it’s
sure to go. Of course it’ll go, Mr. Finn.”
“I think it will.”
“The whole seven on ’em. The ’ouse couldn’t but do it. They tell me
it’s all Mr. Mildmay’s own work, sticking out for keeping on ’em.
He’s very old, and so we’ll forgive him. But he must go, Mr. Finn.”
“We shall know all about that soon, Bunce.”
“If you don’t get another seat, Mr. Finn, I suppose we shall see you
back at the Inn. I hope we may. It’s better than being member for
Loughton, Mr. Finn;--you may be sure of that.” And then Mr. Bunce
passed on.
Mr. Turnbull carried his clause, and Loughton was doomed. Loughton
and the other six deadly sins were anathematized, exorcised, and
finally got rid of out of the world by the voices of the gentlemen
who had been proclaiming the beauty of such pleasant vices all their
lives, and who in their hearts hated all changes that tended towards
popular representation. But not the less was Mr. Mildmay beaten;
and, in accordance with the promise made by his first lieutenant
immediately after the vote was taken, the Prime Minister came forward
on the next evening and made his statement. He had already put his
resignation into the hands of Her Majesty, and Her Majesty had
graciously accepted it. He was very old, and felt that the time had
come in which it behoved him to retire into that leisure which he
thought he had, perhaps, earned. He had hoped to carry this bill as
the last act of his political life; but he was too old, too stiff, as
he said, in his prejudices, to bend further than he had bent already,
and he must leave the completion of the matter in other hands. Her
Majesty had sent for Mr. Gresham, and Mr. Gresham had already seen
Her Majesty. Mr. Gresham and his other colleagues, though they
dissented from the clause which had been carried by the united
efforts of gentlemen opposite to him, and of gentlemen below him on
his own side of the House, were younger men than he, and would, for
the country’s sake,--and for the sake of Her Majesty,--endeavour
to carry the bill through. There would then, of course, be a
dissolution, and the future Government would, no doubt, depend on
the choice of the country. From all which it was understood that Mr.
Gresham was to go on with the bill to a conclusion, whatever might be
the divisions carried against him, and that a new Secretary of State
for Foreign Affairs must be chosen. Phineas understood, also, that
he had lost his seat at Loughton. For the borough of Loughton there
would never again be an election. “If I had been Mr. Mildmay, I would
have thrown the bill up altogether,” Lord Brentford said afterwards;
“but of course it was not for me to interfere.”
The session was protracted for two months after that,--beyond the
time at which grouse should have been shot,--and by the 23rd of
August became the law of the land. “I shall never get over it,” said
Mr. Ratler to Mr. Finn, seated one terribly hot evening on a bench
behind the Cabinet Ministers,--“never. I don’t suppose such a session
for work was ever known before. Think what it is to have to keep
men together in August, with the thermometer at 81°, and the river
stinking like,--like the very mischief.” Mr. Ratler, however, did not
die.
On the last day of the session Laurence Fitzgibbon resigned. Rumours
reached the ears of Phineas as to the cause of this, but no certain
cause was told him. It was said that Lord Cantrip had insisted upon
it, Laurence having by mischance been called upon for some official
statement during an unfortunate period of absence. There was,
however, a mystery about it;--but the mystery was not half so
wonderful as the triumph to Phineas, when Mr. Gresham offered him the
place.
“But I shall have no seat,” said Phineas.
“We shall none of us have seats to-morrow,” said Mr. Gresham.
“But I shall be at a loss to find a place to stand for.”
“The election will not come on till November, and you must look about
you. Both Mr. Monk and Lord Brentford seem to think you will be in
the House.”
And so the bill was carried, and the session was ended.