PHINEAS FINN'S SUCCESS.
When Phineas Finn had been about a week at Matching, he received a
letter, or rather a very short note, from the Prime Minister, asking
him to go up to London; and on the same day the Duke of Omnium
spoke to him on the subject of the letter. "You are going up to
see Mr. Gresham. Mr. Gresham has written to me, and I hope that we
shall be able to congratulate ourselves in having your assistance
next Session." Phineas declared that he had no idea whatever of
Mr. Gresham's object in summoning him up to London. "I have his
permission to inform you that he wishes you to accept office."
Phineas felt that he was becoming very red in the face, but he did
not attempt to make any reply on the spur of the moment. "Mr. Gresham
thinks it well that so much should be said to you before you see him,
in order that you may turn the matter over in your own mind. He would
have written to you probably, making the offer at once, had it not
been that there must be various changes, and that one man's place
must depend on another. You will go, I suppose."
"Yes; I shall go, certainly. I shall be in London this evening."
"I will take care that a carriage is ready for you. I do not presume
to advise, Mr. Finn, but I hope that there need be no doubt as to
your joining us." Phineas was somewhat confounded, and did not know
the Duke well enough to give expression to his thoughts at the
moment. "Of course you will return to us, Mr. Finn." Phineas said
that he would return and trespass on the Duke's hospitality for yet a
few days. He was quite resolved that something must be said to Madame
Goesler before he left the roof under which she was living. In the
course of the autumn she purposed, as she had told him, to go to
Vienna, and to remain there almost up to Christmas. Whatever there
might be to be said should be said at any rate before that.
He did speak a few words to her before his journey to London, but in
those words there was no allusion made to the great subject which
must be discussed between them. "I am going up to London," he said.
"So the Duchess tells me."
"Mr. Gresham has sent for me,--meaning, I suppose, to offer me the
place which he would not give me while that poor man was alive."
"And you will accept it of course, Mr. Finn?"
"I am not at all so sure of that."
"But you will. You must. You will hardly be so foolish as to let the
peevish animosity of an ill-conditioned man prejudice your prospects
even after his death."
"It will not be any remembrance of Mr. Bonteen that will induce me to
refuse."
"It will be the same thing;--rancour against Mr. Gresham because he
had allowed the other man's counsel to prevail with him. The action
of no individual man should be to you of sufficient consequence to
guide your conduct. If you accept office, you should not take it as a
favour conferred by the Prime Minister; nor if you refuse it, should
you do so from personal feelings in regard to him. If he selects you,
he is presumed to do so because he finds that your services will be
valuable to the country."
"He does so because he thinks that I should be safe to vote for him."
"That may be so, or not. You can't read his bosom quite
distinctly;--but you may read your own. If you go into office you
become the servant of the country,--not his servant, and should
assume his motive in selecting you to be the same as your own in
submitting to the selection. Your foot must be on the ladder before
you can get to the top of it."
"The ladder is so crooked."
"Is it more crooked now than it was three years ago;--worse than it
was six months ago, when you and all your friends looked upon it as
certain that you would be employed? There is nothing, Mr. Finn, that
a man should fear so much as some twist in his convictions arising
from a personal accident to himself. When we heard that the Devil
in his sickness wanted to be a monk, we never thought that he would
become a saint in glory. When a man who has been rejected by a lady
expresses a generally ill opinion of the sex, we are apt to ascribe
his opinions to disappointment rather than to judgment. A man
falls and breaks his leg at a fence, and cannot be induced to ride
again,--not because he thinks the amusement to be dangerous, but
because he cannot keep his mind from dwelling on the hardship that
has befallen himself. In all such cases self-consciousness gets the
better of the judgment."
"You think it will be so with me?"
"I shall think so if you now refuse--because of the misfortune which
befell you--that which I know you were most desirous of possessing
before that accident. To tell you the truth, Mr. Finn, I wish Mr.
Gresham had delayed his offer till the winter."
"And why?"
"Because by that time you will have recovered your health. Your mind
now is morbid, and out of tune."
"There was something to make it so, Madame Goesler."
"God knows there was; and the necessity which lay upon you of bearing
a bold front during those long and terrible weeks of course consumed
your strength. The wonder is that the fibres of your mind should
have retained any of their elasticity after such an ordeal. But as
you are so strong, it would be a pity that you should not be strong
altogether. This thing that is now to be offered to you is what you
have always desired."
"A man may have always desired that which is worthless."
"You tried it once, and did not find it worthless. You found yourself
able to do good work when you were in office. If I remember right,
you did not give it up then because it was irksome to you, or
contemptible, or, as you say, worthless; but from difference of
opinion on some political question. You can always do that again."
"A man is not fit for office who is prone to do so."
"Then do not you be prone. It means success or failure in the
profession which you have chosen, and I shall greatly regret to see
you damage your chance of success by yielding to scruples which have
come upon you when you are hardly as yet yourself."
She had spoken to him very plainly, and he had found it to be
impossible to answer her, and yet she had hardly touched the motives
by which he believed himself to be actuated. As he made his journey
up to London he thought very much of her words. There had been
nothing said between them about money. No allusion had been made to
the salary of the office which would be offered to him, or to the
terrible shortness of his own means of living. He knew well enough
himself that he must take some final step in life, or very shortly
return into absolute obscurity. This woman who had been so strongly
advising him to take a certain course as to his future life, was very
rich;--and he had fully decided that he would sooner or later ask
her to be his wife. He knew well that all her friends regarded their
marriage as certain. The Duchess had almost told him so in as many
words. Lady Chiltern, who was much more to him than the Duchess,
had assured him that if he should have a wife to bring with him to
Harrington, the wife would be welcome. Of what other wife could Lady
Chiltern have thought? Laurence Fitzgibbon, when congratulated on
his own marriage, had returned counter congratulations. Mr. Low had
said that it would of course come to pass. Even Mrs. Bunce had hinted
at it, suggesting that she would lose her lodger and be a wretched
woman. All the world had heard of the journey to Prague, and all the
world expected the marriage. And he had come to love the woman with
excessive affection, day by day, ever since the renewal of their
intimacy at Broughton Spinnies. His mind was quite made up;--but
he was by no means so sure of her mind as the rest of the world might
be. He knew of her, what nobody else in all the world knew,--except
himself. In that former period of his life, on which he now sometimes
looked back as though it had been passed in another world, this woman
had offered her hand and fortune to him. She had done so in the
enthusiasm of her love, knowing his ambition and knowing his poverty,
and believing that her wealth was necessary to the success of his
career in life. He had refused the offer,--and they had parted
without a word. Now they had come together again, and she was
certainly among the dearest of his friends. Had she not taken that
wondrous journey to Prague in his behalf, and been the first among
those who had striven,--and had striven at last successfully,--to
save his neck from the halter? Dear to her! He knew well as he sat
with his eyes closed in the railway carriage that he must be dear to
her! But might it not well be that she had resolved that friendship
should take the place of love? And was it not compatible with her
nature,--with all human nature,--that in spite of her regard for him
she should choose to be revenged for the evil which had befallen her,
when she offered her hand in vain? She must know by this time that he
intended to throw himself at her feet; and would hardly have advised
him as she had done as to the necessity of following up that success
which had hitherto been so essential to him, had she intended to
give him all that she had once offered him before. It might well be
that Lady Chiltern, and even the Duchess, should be mistaken. Marie
Goesler was not a woman, he thought, to reveal the deeper purposes of
her life to any such friend as the Duchess of Omnium.
Of his own feelings in regard to the offer which was about to be made
to him he had hardly succeeded in making her understand anything.
That a change had come upon himself was certain, but he did not
at all believe that it had sprung from any weakness caused by his
sufferings in regard to the murder. He rather believed that he
had become stronger than weaker from all that he had endured. He
had learned when he was younger,--some years back,--to regard
the political service of his country as a profession in which a
man possessed of certain gifts might earn his bread with more
gratification to himself than in any other. The work would be hard,
and the emolument only intermittent; but the service would in
itself be pleasant; and the rewards of that service,--should he be
so successful as to obtain reward,--would be dearer to him than
anything which could accrue to him from other labours. To sit in
the Cabinet for one Session would, he then thought, be more to him
than to preside over the Court of Queen's Bench as long as did Lord
Mansfield. But during the last few months a change had crept across
his dream,--which he recognized but could hardly analyse. He had
seen a man whom he despised promoted, and the place to which the man
had been exalted had at once become contemptible in his eyes. And
there had been quarrels and jangling, and the speaking of evil words
between men who should have been quiet and dignified. No doubt Madame
Goesler was right in attributing the revulsion in his hopes to Mr.
Bonteen and Mr. Bonteen's enmity; but Phineas Finn himself did not
know that it was so.
He arrived in town in the evening, and his appointment with Mr.
Gresham was for the following morning. He breakfasted at his club,
and there he received the following letter from Lady Laura Kennedy:--
Saulsby, 28th August, 18--.
MY DEAR PHINEAS,
I have just received a letter from Barrington in which he
tells me that Mr. Gresham is going to offer you your old
place at the Colonies. He says that Lord Fawn has been so
upset by this affair of Lady Eustace's husband, that he
is obliged to resign and go abroad. [This was the first
intimation that Phineas had heard of the nature of the
office to be offered to him.--] But Barrington goes on to
say that he thinks you won't accept Mr. Gresham's offer,
and he asks me to write to you. Can this possibly be true?
Barrington writes most kindly,--with true friendship,--and
is most anxious for you to join. But he thinks that
you are angry with Mr. Gresham because he passed you
over before, and that you will not forgive him for
having yielded to Mr. Bonteen. I can hardly believe this
possible. Surely you will not allow the shade of that
unfortunate man to blight your prospects? And, after all,
of what matter to you is the friendship or enmity of Mr.
Gresham? You have to assert yourself, to make your own
way, to use your own opportunities, and to fight your own
battle without reference to the feelings of individuals.
Men act together in office constantly, and with constancy,
who are known to hate each other. When there are so many
to get what is going, and so little to be given, of course
there will be struggling and trampling. I have no doubt
that Lord Cantrip has made a point of this with Mr.
Gresham;--has in point of fact insisted upon it. If so,
you are lucky to have such an ally as Lord Cantrip. He and
Mr. Gresham are, as you know, sworn friends, and if you
get on well with the one you certainly may with the other
also. Pray do not refuse without asking for time to think
about it;--and if so, pray come here, that you may consult
my father.
I spent two weary weeks at Loughlinter, and then could
stand it no longer. I have come here, and here I shall
remain for the autumn and winter. If I can sell my
interest in the Loughlinter property I shall do so, as I
am sure that neither the place nor the occupation is fit
for me. Indeed I know not what place or what occupation
will suit me! The dreariness of the life before me is
hardly preferable to the disappointments I have already
endured. There seems to be nothing left for me but to
watch my father to the end. The world would say that such
a duty in life is fit for a widowed childless daughter;
but to you I cannot pretend to say that my bereavements or
misfortunes reconcile me to such a fate. I cannot cease
to remember my age, my ambition, and I will say, my love.
I suppose that everything is over for me,--as though
I were an old woman, going down into the grave, but at
my time of life I find it hard to believe that it must
be so. And then the time of waiting may be so long! I
suppose I could start a house in London, and get people
around me by feeding and flattering them, and by little
intrigues,--like that woman of whom you are so fond. It
is money that is chiefly needed for that work, and of
money I have enough now. And people would know at any rate
who I am. But I could not flatter them, and I should wish
the food to choke them if they did not please me. And you
would not come, and if you did,--I may as well say it
boldly,--others would not. An ill-natured sprite has been
busy with me, which seems to deny me everything which is
so freely granted to others.
As for you, the world is at your feet. I dread two things
for you,--that you should marry unworthily, and that
you should injure your prospects in public life by an
uncompromising stiffness. On the former subject I can say
nothing to you. As to the latter, let me implore you to
come down here before you decide upon anything. Of course
you can at once accept Mr. Gresham's offer; and that is
what you should do unless the office proposed to you be
unworthy of you. No friend of yours will think that your
old place at the Colonies should be rejected. But if your
mind is still turned towards refusing, ask Mr. Gresham to
give you three or four days for decision, and then come
here. He cannot refuse you,--nor after all that is passed
can you refuse me.
Yours affectionately,
L. K.
When he had read this letter he at once acknowledged to himself
that he could not refuse her request. He must go to Saulsby, and he
must do so at once. He was about to see Mr. Gresham immediately,
--within half an hour; and as he could not expect at the most above
twenty-four hours to be allowed to him for consideration, he must
go down to Saulsby on the same evening. As he walked to the Prime
Minister's house he called at a telegraph office and sent down his
message. "I will be at Saulsby by the train arriving at 7 P.M. Send
to meet me." Then he went on, and in a few minutes found himself in
the presence of the great man.
The great man received him with an excellent courtesy. It is the
special business of Prime Ministers to be civil in detail, though
roughness, and perhaps almost rudeness in the gross, becomes not
unfrequently a necessity of their position. To a proposed incoming
subordinate a Prime Minister is, of course, very civil, and to a
retreating subordinate he is generally more so,--unless the retreat
be made under unfavourable circumstances. And to give good things
is always pleasant, unless there be a suspicion that the good thing
will be thought to be not good enough. No such suspicion as that now
crossed the mind of Mr. Gresham. He had been pressed very much by
various colleagues to admit this young man into the Paradise of his
government, and had been pressed very much also to exclude him; and
this had been continued till he had come to dislike the name of the
young man. He did believe that the young man had behaved badly to Mr.
Robert Kennedy, and he knew that the young man on one occasion had
taken to kicking in harness, and running a course of his own. He had
decided against the young man,--very much no doubt at the instance of
Mr. Bonteen,--and he believed that in so doing he closed the Gates of
Paradise against a Peri most anxious to enter it. He now stood with
the key in his hand and the gate open,--and the seat to be allotted
to the re-accepted one was that which he believed the Peri would
most gratefully fill. He began by making a little speech about Mr.
Bonteen. That was almost unavoidable. And he praised in glowing words
the attitude which Phineas had maintained during the trial. He had
been delighted with the re-election at Tankerville, and thought
that the borough had done itself much honour. Then came forth his
proposition. Lord Fawn had retired, absolutely broken down by
repeated examinations respecting the man in the grey coat, and the
office which Phineas had before held with so much advantage to the
public, and comfort to his immediate chief, Lord Cantrip, was there
for his acceptance. Mr. Gresham went on to express an ardent hope
that he might have the benefit of Mr. Finn's services. It was quite
manifest from his manner that he did not in the least doubt the
nature of the reply which he would receive.
Phineas had come primed with his answer,--so ready with it that it
did not even seem to be the result of any hesitation at the moment.
"I hope, Mr. Gresham, that you will be able to give me a few hours to
think of this." Mr. Gresham's face fell, for, in truth, he wanted an
immediate answer; and though he knew from experience that Secretaries
of State, and First Lords, and Chancellors, do demand time, and will
often drive very hard bargains before they will consent to get into
harness, he considered that Under-Secretaries, Junior Lords, and the
like, should skip about as they were bidden, and take the crumbs
offered them without delay. If every underling wanted a few hours to
think about it, how could any Government ever be got together? "I
am sorry to put you to inconvenience," continued Phineas, seeing
that the great man was but ill-satisfied, "but I am so placed that I
cannot avail myself of your flattering kindness without some little
time for consideration."
"I had hoped that the office was one which you would like."
"So it is, Mr. Gresham."
"And I was told that you are now free from any scruples,--political
scruples, I mean,--which might make it difficult for you to support
the Government."
"Since the Government came to our way of thinking,--a year or two
ago,--about Tenant Right, I mean,--I do not know that there is any
subject on which I am likely to oppose it. Perhaps I had better tell
you the truth, Mr. Gresham."
"Oh, certainly," said the Prime Minister, who knew very well that
on such occasions nothing could be worse than the telling of
disagreeable truths.
"When you came into office, after beating Mr. Daubeny on the Church
question, no man in Parliament was more desirous of place than
I was,--and I am sure that none of the disappointed ones felt
their disappointment so keenly. It was aggravated by various
circumstances,--by calumnies in newspapers, and by personal
bickerings. I need not go into that wretched story of Mr. Bonteen,
and the absurd accusation which grew out of those calumnies. These
things have changed me very much. I have a feeling that I have been
ill-used,--not by you, Mr. Gresham, specially, but by the party; and
I look upon the whole question of office with altered eyes."
"In filling up the places at his disposal, a Prime Minister, Mr.
Finn, has a most unenviable task."
"I can well believe it."
"When circumstances, rather than any selection of his own, indicate
the future occupant of any office, this abrogation of his patronage
is the greatest blessing in the world to him."
"I can believe that also."
"I wish it were so with every office under the Crown. A Minister is
rarely thanked, and would as much look for the peace of heaven in his
office as for gratitude."
"I am sorry that I should have made no exception to such
thanklessness."
"We shall neither of us get on by complaining;--shall we, Mr. Finn?
You can let me have an answer perhaps by this time to-morrow."
"If an answer by telegraph will be sufficient."
"Quite sufficient. Yes or No. Nothing more will be wanted. You
understand your own reasons, no doubt, fully; but if they were stated
at length they would perhaps hardly enlighten me. Good-morning." Then
as Phineas was turning his back, the Prime Minister remembered that
it behoved him as Prime Minister to repress his temper. "I shall
still hope, Mr. Finn, for a favourable answer." Had it not been for
that last word Phineas would have turned again, and at once rejected
the proposition.
From Mr. Gresham's house he went by appointment to Mr. Monk's, and
told him of the interview. Mr. Monk's advice to him had been exactly
the same as that given by Madame Goesler and Lady Laura. Phineas,
indeed, understood perfectly that no friend could or would give him
any other advice. "He has his troubles, too," said Mr. Monk, speaking
of the Prime Minister.
"A man can hardly expect to hold such an office without trouble."
"Labour of course there must be,--though I doubt whether it is
so great as that of some other persons;--and responsibility. The
amount of trouble depends on the spirit and nature of the man.
Do you remember old Lord Brock? He was never troubled. He had
a triple shield,--a thick skin, an equable temper, and perfect
self-confidence. Mr. Mildmay was of a softer temper, and would have
suffered had he not been protected by the idolatry of a large class
of his followers. Mr. Gresham has no such protection. With a finer
intellect than either, and a sense of patriotism quite as keen, he
has a self-consciousness which makes him sore at every point. He
knows the frailty of his temper, and yet cannot control it. And he
does not understand men as did these others. Every word from an enemy
is a wound to him. Every slight from a friend is a dagger in his
side. But I can fancy that self-accusations make the cross on which
he is really crucified. He is a man to whom I would extend all my
mercy, were it in my power to be merciful."
"You will hardly tell me that I should accept office under him by way
of obliging him."
"Were I you I should do so,--not to oblige him, but because I know
him to be an honest man."
"I care but little for honesty," said Phineas, "which is at the
disposal of those who are dishonest. What am I to think of a Minister
who could allow himself to be led by Mr. Bonteen?"