The Duchess and Her Friend
But the Duke, though he was by far too magnanimous to be angry with
Phineas Finn because Phineas would not fall into his views respecting
the proposed action, was not the less tormented and goaded by what
the newspaper said. The assertion that he had hounded Ferdinand Lopez
to his death, that by his defence of himself he had brought the man's
blood on his head, was made and repeated till those around him did
not dare to mention the name of Lopez in his hearing. Even his wife
was restrained and became fearful, and in her heart of hearts began
almost to wish for that retirement to which he had occasionally
alluded as a distant Elysium which he should never be allowed to
reach. He was beginning to have the worn look of an old man. His
scanty hair was turning grey, and his long thin cheeks longer and
thinner. Of what he did when sitting alone in his chamber, either at
home or at the Treasury Chamber, she knew less and less from day to
day, and she began to think that much of his sorrow arose from the
fact that among them they would allow him to do nothing. There was no
special subject now which stirred him to eagerness and brought upon
herself explanations which were tedious and unintelligible to her,
but evidently delightful to him. There were no quints or semi-tenths
now, no aspirations for decimal perfection, no delightfully fatiguing
hours spent in the manipulation of the multiplication table. And she
could not but observe that the old Duke now spoke to her much less
frequently of her husband's political position than had been his
habit. Through the first year and a half of the present ministerial
arrangement he had been constant in his advice to her, and had
always, even when things were difficult, been cheery and full of
hope. He still came frequently to the house, but did not often
see her. And when he did see her he seemed to avoid all allusion
either to the political successes or the political reverses of the
Coalition. And even her other special allies seemed to labour under
unusual restraint with her. Barrington Erle seldom told her any news.
Mr. Rattler never had a word for her. Warburton, who had ever been
discreet, became almost petrified by discretion. And even Phineas
Finn had grown to be solemn, silent, and uncommunicative. "Have you
heard who is the new Prime Minister?" she said to Mrs. Finn one day.
"Has there been a change?"
"I suppose so. Everything has become so quiet that I cannot imagine
that Plantagenet is still in office. Do you know what anybody is
doing?"
"The world is going on very smoothly, I take it."
"I hate smoothness. It always means treachery and danger. I feel sure
that there will be a great blow up before long. I smell it in the
air. Don't you tremble for your husband?"
"Why should I? He likes being in office because it gives him
something to do; but he would never be an idle man. As long as he has
a seat in Parliament, I shall be contented."
"To have been Prime Minister is something after all, and they can't
rob him of that," said the Duchess, recurring again to her own
husband. "I half fancy sometimes that the charm of the thing is
growing upon him."
"Upon the Duke?"
"Yes. He is always talking of the delight he will have in giving
it up. He is always Cincinnatus, going back to his peaches and his
ploughs. But I fear he is beginning to feel that the salt would be
gone out of his life if he ceased to be the first man in the kingdom.
He has never said so, but there is a nervousness about him when I
suggest to him the name of this or that man as his successor which
alarms me. And I think he is becoming a tyrant with his own men. He
spoke the other day of Lord Drummond almost as though he meant to
have him whipped. It isn't what one expected from him;--is it?"
"The weight of the load on his mind makes him irritable."
"Either that, or having no load. If he had really much to do he
wouldn't surely have time to think so much of that poor wretch who
destroyed himself. Such sensitiveness is simply a disease. One can
never punish any fault in the world if the sinner can revenge himself
upon us by rushing into eternity. Sometimes I see him shiver and
shudder, and then I know that he is thinking of Lopez."
"I can understand all that, Lady Glen."
"It isn't as it should be, though you can understand it. I'll bet you
a guinea that Sir Timothy Beeswax has to go out before the beginning
of next Session."
"I've no objection. But why Sir Timothy?"
"He mentioned Lopez' name the other day before Plantagenet. I heard
him. Plantagenet pulled that long face of his, looking as though he
meant to impose silence on the whole world for the next six weeks.
But Sir Timothy is brass itself, a sounding cymbal of brass that
nothing can silence. He went on to declare with that loud voice
of his that the death of Lopez was a good riddance of bad rubbish.
Plantagenet turned away and left the room and shut himself up. He
didn't declare to himself that he'd dismiss Sir Timothy, because
that's not the way of his mind. But you'll see that Sir Timothy will
have to go."
"That, at any rate, will be a good riddance of bad rubbish," said
Mrs. Finn, who did not love Sir Timothy Beeswax.
Soon after that the Duchess made up her mind that she would
interrogate the Duke of St. Bungay as to the present state of
affairs. It was then the end of June, and nearly one of those long
and tedious months had gone by of which the Duke spoke so feelingly
when he asked Phineas Finn to come down to Matching. Hope had been
expressed in more than one quarter that this would be a short
Session. Such hopes are much more common in June than in July, and,
though rarely verified, serve to keep up the drooping spirits of
languid senators. "I suppose we shall be early out of town, Duke,"
she said one day.
"I think so. I don't see what there is to keep us. It often happens
that ministers are a great deal better in the country than in London,
and I fancy it will be so this year."
"You never think of the poor girls who haven't got their husbands
yet."
"They should make better use of their time. Besides, they can get
their husbands in the country."
"It's quite true that they never get to the end of their labours.
They are not like you members of Parliament who can shut up your
portfolios and go and shoot grouse. They have to keep at their work
spring and summer, autumn and winter,--year after year! How they must
hate the men they persecute!"
"I don't think we can put off going for their sake."
"Men are always selfish, I know. What do you think of Plantagenet
lately?" The question was put very abruptly, without a moment's
notice, and there was no avoiding it.
"Think of him!"
"Yes;--what do you think of his condition;--of his happiness, his
health, his capacity of endurance? Will he be able to go on much
longer? Now, my dear Duke, don't stare at me like that. You know, and
I know, that you haven't spoken a word to me for the last two months.
And you know, and I know, how many things there are of which we are
both thinking in common. You haven't quarrelled with Plantagenet?"
"Quarrelled with him! Good heavens, no."
"Of course I know you still call him your noble colleague, and your
noble friend, and make one of the same team with him and all that.
But it used to be so much more than that."
"It is still more than that;--very much more."
"It was you who made him Prime Minister."
"No, no, no;--and again no. He made himself Prime Minister by
obtaining the confidence of the House of Commons. There is no other
possible way in which a man can become Prime Minister in this
country."
"If I were not very serious at this moment, Duke, I should make an
allusion to the--Marines." No other human being could have said
this to the Duke of St. Bungay, except the young woman whom he had
petted all his life as Lady Glencora. "But I am very serious," she
continued, "and I may say not very happy. Of course the big wigs of
a party have to settle among themselves who shall be their leader,
and when this party was formed they settled, at your advice, that
Plantagenet should be the man."
"My dear Lady Glen, I cannot allow that to pass without
contradiction."
"Do not suppose that I am finding fault, or even that I am
ungrateful. No one rejoiced as I rejoiced. No one still feels so much
pride in it as I feel. I would have given ten years of my life to
make him Prime Minister, and now I would give five to keep him so. It
is like it was to be king, when men struggled among themselves who
should be king. Whatever he may be, I am ambitious. I love to think
that other men should look to him as being above them, and that
something of this should come down upon me as his wife. I do not know
whether it was not the happiest moment of my life when he told me
that the Queen had sent for him."
"It was not so with him."
"No, Duke,--no! He and I are very different. He only wants to be
useful. At any rate, that was all he did want."
"He is still the same."
"A man cannot always be carrying a huge load up a hill without having
his back bent."
"I don't know that the load need be so heavy, Duchess."
"Ah, but what is the load? It is not going to the Treasury Chambers
at eleven or twelve in the morning, and sitting four or five times a
week in the House of Lords till seven or eight o'clock. He was never
ill when he would remain in the House of Commons till two in the
morning, and not have a decent dinner above twice in the week. The
load I speak of isn't work."
"What is it then?" said the Duke, who in truth understood it all
nearly as well as the Duchess herself.
"It is hard to explain, but it is very heavy."
"Responsibility, my dear, will always be heavy."
"But it is hardly that;--certainly not that alone. It is the feeling
that so many people blame him for so many things, and the doubt in
his own mind whether he may not deserve it. And then he becomes
fretful, and conscious that such fretfulness is beneath him and
injurious to his honour. He condemns men in his mind, and condemns
himself for condescending to condemn them. He spends one quarter of
an hour in thinking that as he is Prime Minister he will be Prime
Minister down to his fingers' ends, and the next in resolving that he
never ought to have been Prime Minister at all." Here something like
a frown passed across the old man's brow, which was, however, no
indication, of anger. "Dear Duke," she said, "you must not be angry
with me. Who is there to whom I can speak but you?"
"Angry, my dear! No, indeed!"
"Because you looked as though you would scold me." At this he smiled.
"And of course all this tells upon his health."
"Do you think he is ill?"
"He never says so. There is no special illness. But he is thin and
wan and careworn. He does not eat and he does not sleep. Of course I
watch him."
"Does his doctor see him?"
"Never. When I asked him once to say a word to Sir James Thorax,--for
he was getting hoarse, you know,--he only shook his head and turned
on his heels. When he was in the other House, and speaking every
night, he would see Thorax constantly, and do just what he was told.
He used to like opening his mouth and having Sir James to look down
it. But now he won't let any one touch him."
"What would you have me do, Lady Glen?"
"I don't know."
"Do you think that he is so far out of health that he ought to give
it up?"
"I don't say that. I don't dare to say it. I don't dare to recommend
anything. No consideration of health would tell with him at all. If
he were to die to-morrow as the penalty of doing something useful
to-night, he wouldn't think twice about it. If you wanted to make
him stay where he is, the way to do it would be to tell him that his
health was failing him. I don't know that he does want to give up
now."
"The autumn months will do everything for him;--only let him be
quiet."
"You are coming to Matching, Duke?"
"I suppose so,--if you ask me,--for a week or two."
"You must come. I am quite nervous if you desert us. I think he
becomes more estranged every day from all the others. I know you
won't do a mischief by repeating what I say."
"I hope not."
"He seems to me to turn his nose up at everybody. He used to like Mr.
Monk; but he envies Mr. Monk, because Mr. Monk is Chancellor of the
Exchequer. I asked him whether we shouldn't have Lord Drummond at
Matching, and he told me angrily that I might ask all the Government
if I liked."
"Drummond contradicted him the other day."
"I knew there was something. He has got to be like a bear with a sore
head, Duke. You should have seen his face the other day, when Mr.
Rattler made some suggestion to him about the proper way of dividing
farms."
"I don't think he ever liked Rattler."
"What of that? Don't I have to smile upon men whom I hate like
poison;--and women too, which is worse? Do you think that I love old
Lady Ramsden, or Mrs. MacPherson? He used to be so fond of Lord
Cantrip."
"I think he likes Lord Cantrip," said the Duke.
"He asked his lordship to do something, and Lord Cantrip declined."
"I know all about that," said the Duke.
"And now he looks gloomy at Lord Cantrip. His friends won't stand
that kind of thing, you know, for ever."
"He is always courteous to Finn," said the Duke.
"Yes;--just now he is on good terms with Mr. Finn. He would never be
harsh to Mr. Finn, because he knows that Mrs. Finn is the one really
intimate female friend whom I have in the world. After all, Duke,
besides Plantagenet and the children, there are only two persons in
the world whom I really love. There are only you and she. She will
never desert me;--and you must not desert me either." Then he put his
hand behind her waist, and stooped over her and kissed her brow, and
swore to her that he would never desert her.
But what was he to do? He knew, without being told by the Duchess,
that his colleague and chief was becoming, from day to day, more
difficult to manage. He had been right enough in laying it down as a
general rule that Prime Ministers are selected for that position by
the general confidence of the House of Commons;--but he was aware
at the same time that it had hardly been so in the present instance.
There had come to be a dead-lock in affairs, during which neither
of the two old and well-recognised leaders of parties could command
a sufficient following for the carrying on of the Government. With
unusual patience these two gentlemen had now for the greater part
of three Sessions sat by, offering but little opposition to the
Coalition, but of course biding their time. They, too, called
themselves,--perhaps thought themselves,--Cincinnatuses. But their
ploughs and peaches did not suffice to them, and they longed again to
be in every mouth, and to have, if not their deeds, then even their
omissions blazoned in every paragraph. The palate accustomed to
Cayenne pepper can hardly be gratified by simple salt. When that
dead-lock had come, politicians who were really anxious for the
country had been forced to look about for a Premier,--and in the
search the old Duke had been the foremost. The Duchess had hardly
said more than the truth when she declared that her husband's
promotion had been effected by their old friend. But it is sometimes
easier to make than to unmake. Perhaps the time had now in truth
come, in which it would be better for the country that the usual
state of things should again exist. Perhaps,--nay, the Duke now
thought that he saw that it was so,--Mr. Gresham might again have a
Liberal majority at his back if the Duke of Omnium could find some
graceful mode of retiring. But who was to tell all this to the Duke
of Omnium? There was only one man in all England to whom such a task
was possible, and that was the old Duke himself,--who during the last
two years had been constantly urgent with his friend not to retire!
How often since he had taken office had the conscientious and timid
Minister begged of his friend permission to abandon his high office!
But that permission had always been refused, and now, for the last
three months, the request had not been repeated. The Duchess probably
was right in saying that her husband "didn't want to give it up now."
But he, the Duke of St. Bungay, had brought his friend into the
trouble, and it was certainly his duty to extricate him from it. The
admonition might come in the rude shape of repeated minorities in the
House of Commons. Hitherto the number of votes at the command of the
Ministry had not been very much impaired. A few always fall off as
time goes on. Aristides becomes too just, and the mind of man is
greedy of novelty. Sir Orlando, also, had taken with him a few, and
it may be that two or three had told themselves that there could not
be all that smoke raised by the "People's Banner" without some fire
below it. But there was a good working majority,--very much at Mr.
Monk's command,--and Mr. Monk was moved by none of that feeling of
rebellion which had urged Sir Orlando on to his destruction. It was
difficult to find a cause for resignation. And yet the Duke of St.
Bungay, who had watched the House of Commons closely for nearly half
a century, was aware that the Coalition which he had created had done
its work, and was almost convinced that it would not be permitted to
remain very much longer in power. He had seen symptoms of impatience
in Mr. Daubeny, and Mr. Gresham had snorted once or twice, as though
eager for the battle.