Parliament Meets.
Parliament opened that year on the twelfth of February, and Mr.
Palliser was one of the first Members of the Lower House to take his
seat. It had been generally asserted through the country, during the
last week, that the existing Chancellor of the Exchequer had, so to
say, ceased to exist as such; that though he still existed to the
outer world, drawing his salary, and doing routine work,--if a man
so big can have any routine work to do,--he existed no longer in
the inner world of the cabinet. He had differed, men said, with
his friend and chief, the Prime Minister, as to the expediency of
repealing what were left of the direct taxes of the country, and was
prepared to launch himself into opposition with his small bodyguard
of followers, with all his energy and with all his venom.
There is something very pleasant in the close, bosom friendship, and
bitter, uncompromising animosity, of these human gods,--of these
human beings who would be gods were they not shorn so short of their
divinity in that matter of immortality. If it were so arranged that
the same persons were always friends, and the same persons were
always enemies, as used to be the case among the dear old heathen
gods and goddesses;--if Parliament were an Olympus in which Juno and
Venus never kissed, the thing would not be nearly so interesting. But
in this Olympus partners are changed, the divine bosom, now rabid
with hatred against some opposing deity, suddenly becomes replete
with love towards its late enemy, and exciting changes occur which
give to the whole thing all the keen interest of a sensational novel.
No doubt this is greatly lessened for those who come too near the
scene of action. Members of Parliament, and the friends of Members
of Parliament, are apt to teach themselves that it means nothing;
that Lord This does not hate Mr. That, or think him a traitor to his
country, or wish to crucify him; and that Sir John of the Treasury
is not much in earnest when he speaks of his noble friend at the
"Foreign Office" as a god to whom no other god was ever comparable in
honesty, discretion, patriotism, and genius. But the outside Briton
who takes a delight in politics,--and this description should include
ninety-nine educated Englishmen out of every hundred,--should not be
desirous of peeping behind the scenes. No beholder at any theatre
should do so. It is good to believe in these friendships and these
enmities, and very pleasant to watch their changes. It is delightful
when Oxford embraces Manchester, finding that it cannot live without
support in that quarter; and very delightful when the uncompromising
assailant of all men in power receives the legitimate reward of his
energy by being taken in among the bosoms of the blessed.
But although the outer world was so sure that the existing Chancellor
of the Exchequer had ceased to exist, when the House of Commons met
that gentleman took his seat on the Treasury Bench. Mr. Palliser, who
had by no means given a general support to the Ministry in the last
Session, took his seat on the same side of the House indeed, but low
down, and near to the cross benches. Mr. Bott sat close behind him,
and men knew that Mr. Bott was a distinguished member of Mr. Palliser's
party, whatever that party might be. Lord Cinquebars moved the
Address, and I must confess that he did it very lamely. He was
once accused by Mr. Maxwell, the brewer, of making a great noise in
the hunting-field. The accusation could not be repeated as to his
performance on this occasion, as no one could hear a word that he
said. The Address was seconded by Mr. Loftus Fitzhoward, a nephew of
the Duke of St. Bungay, who spoke as though he were resolved to trump
poor Lord Cinquebars in every sentence which he pronounced,--as we
so often hear the second clergyman from the Communion Table trumping
his weary predecessor, who has just finished the Litany not in the
clearest or most audible voice. Every word fell from Mr. Fitzhoward
with the elaborate accuracy of a separate pistol-shot; and as he
became pleased with himself in his progress, and warm with his work,
he accented his words sharply, made rhetorical pauses, even moved his
hands about in action, and quite disgusted his own party, who had
been very well satisfied with Lord Cinquebars. There are many rocks
which a young speaker in Parliament should avoid, but no rock which
requires such careful avoiding as the rock of eloquence. Whatever
may be his faults, let him at least avoid eloquence. He should
not be inaccurate, which, however, is not much; he should not be
long-winded, which is a good deal; he should not be ill-tempered,
which is more; but none of these faults are so damnable as eloquence.
All Mr. Fitzhoward's friends and all his enemies knew that he had had
his chance, and that he had thrown it away.
In the Queen's Speech there had been some very lukewarm allusion to
remission of direct taxation. This remission, which had already been
carried so far, should be carried further if such further carrying
were found practicable. So had said the Queen. Those words, it was
known, could not have been approved of by the energetic and still
existing Chancellor of the Exchequer. On this subject the mover
of the Address said never a word, and the seconder only a word or
two. What they had said had, of course, been laid down for them;
though, unfortunately, the manner of saying could not be so easily
prescribed. Then there arose a great enemy, a man fluent of diction,
apparently with deep malice at his heart, though at home,--as we used
to say at school,--one of the most good-natured fellows in the world;
one ambitious of that godship which a seat on the other side of
the House bestowed, and greedy to grasp at the chances which this
disagreement in the councils of the gods might give him. He was quite
content, he said, to vote for the Address, as, he believed, would be
all the gentlemen on his side of the House. No one could suspect them
or him of giving a factious opposition to Government. Had they not
borne and forborne beyond all precedent known in that House? Then
he touched lightly, and almost with grace to his opponents, on many
subjects, promising support, and barely hinting that they were
totally and manifestly wrong in all things. But--. Then the tone of
his voice changed, and the well-known look of fury was assumed upon
his countenance. Then great Jove on the other side pulled his hat
over his eyes, and smiled blandly. Then members put away the papers
they had been reading for a moment, and men in the gallery began
to listen. But--. The long and the short of it was this; that the
existing Government had come into power on the cry of a reduction
of taxation, and now they were going to shirk the responsibility
of their own measures. They were going to shirk the responsibility
of their own election cry, although it was known that their own
Chancellor of the Exchequer was prepared to carry it out to the full.
He was willing to carry it out to the full were he not restrained by
the timidity, falsehood, and treachery of his colleagues, of whom,
of course, the most timid, the most false, and the most treacherous
was--the great god Jove, who sat blandly smiling on the other side.
[Illustration: Great Jove.]
No one should ever go near the House of Commons who wishes to enjoy
all this. It was so manifestly evident that neither Jove nor any
of his satellites cared twopence for what the irate gentleman was
saying; nay, it became so evident that, in spite of his assumed fury,
the gentleman was not irate. He intended to communicate his look
of anger to the newspaper reports of his speech; and he knew from
experience that he could succeed in that. And men walked about the
House in the most telling moments,--enemies shaking hands with
enemies,--in a way that showed an entire absence of all good, honest
hatred among them. But the gentleman went on and finished his speech,
demanding at last, in direct terms, that the Treasury Jove should
state plainly to the House who was to be, and who was not to be, the
bearer of the purse among the gods.
Then Treasury Jove got up smiling, and thanked his enemy for the
cordiality of his support. "He had always," he said, "done the
gentleman's party justice for their clemency, and had feared no
opposition from them; and he was glad to find that he was correct in
his anticipations as to the course they would pursue on the present
occasion." He went on saying a good deal about home matters, and
foreign matters, proving that everything was right, just as easily as
his enemy had proved that everything was wrong. On all these points
he was very full, and very courteous; but when he came to the subject
of taxation, he simply repeated the passage from the Queen's Speech,
expressing a hope that his right honourable friend, the Chancellor of
the Exchequer, would be able to satisfy the judgement of the House,
and the wishes of the people. That specially personal question which
had been asked he did not answer at all.
But the House was still all agog, as was the crowded gallery. The
energetic and still existing Chancellor of the Exchequer was then
present, divided only by one little thin Secretary of State from Jove
himself. Would he get up and declare his purposes? He was a man who
almost always did get up when an opportunity offered itself,--or when
it did not. Some second little gun was fired off from the Opposition
benches, and then there was a pause. Would the purse-bearer of
Olympus rise upon his wings and speak his mind, or would he sit
in silence upon his cloud? There was a general call for the
purse-bearer, but he floated in silence, and was inexplicable. The
purse-bearer was not to be bullied into any sudden reading of the
riddle. Then there came on a general debate about money matters, in
which the purse-bearer did say a few words, but he said nothing as
to the great question at issue. At last up got Mr. Palliser, towards
the close of the evening, and occupied a full hour in explaining what
taxes the Government might remit with safety, and what they might
not,--Mr. Bott, meanwhile, prompting him with figures from behind
with an assiduity that was almost too persistent. According to Mr.
Palliser, the words used in the Queen's Speech were not at all too
cautious. The Members went out gradually, and the House became very
thin during this oration; but the newspapers declared, next morning,
that his speech had been the speech of the night, and that the
perspicuity of Mr. Palliser pointed him out as the coming man.
He returned home to his house in Park Lane quite triumphant after his
success, and found Lady Glencora, at about twelve o'clock, sitting
alone. She had arrived in town on that day, having come up at her own
request, instead of remaining at Matching Priory till after Easter,
as he had proposed. He had wished her to stay, in order, as he
had said, that there might be a home for his cousins. But she had
expressed herself unwilling to remain without him, explaining that
the cousins might have the home in her absence, as well as they
could in her presence; and he had given way. But, in truth, she had
learned to hate her cousin Iphy Palliser with a hatred that was
unreasonable,--seeing that she did not also hate Alice Vavasor, who
had done as much to merit her hatred as had her cousin. Lady Glencora
knew by what means her absence from Monkshade had been brought about.
Miss Palliser had told her all that had passed in Alice's bedroom
on the last night of Alice's stay at Matching, and had, by so doing,
contrived to prevent the visit. Lady Glencora understood well all
that Alice had said: and yet, though she hated Miss Palliser for what
had been done, she entertained no anger against Alice. Of course
Alice would have prevented that visit to Monkshade if it were in her
power to do so. Of course she would save her friend. It is hardly
too much to say that Lady Glencora looked to Alice to save her.
Nevertheless she hated Iphy Palliser for engaging herself in the same
business. Lady Glencora looked to Alice to save her, and yet it may
be doubted whether she did, in truth, wish to be saved.
While she was at Matching, and before Mr. Palliser had returned from
Monkshade, a letter reached her, by what means she had never learned.
"A letter has been placed within my writing-case," she said to her
maid, quite openly. "Who put it there?" The maid had declared her
ignorance in a manner that had satisfied Lady Glencora of her truth.
"If such a thing happens again," said Lady Glencora, "I shall be
obliged to have the matter investigated. I cannot allow that anything
should be put into my room surreptitiously." There, then, had been an
end of that, as regarded any steps taken by Lady Glencora. The letter
had been from Burgo Fitzgerald, and had contained a direct proposal
that she should go off with him. "I am at Matching," the letter said,
"at the Inn; but I do not dare to show myself, lest I should do you
an injury. I walked round the house yesterday, at night, and I know
that I saw your room. If I am wrong in thinking that you love me, I
would not for worlds insult you by my presence; but if you love me
still, I ask you to throw aside from you that fictitious marriage,
and give yourself to the man whom, if you love him, you should regard
as your husband." There had been more of it, but it had been to the
same effect. To Lady Glencora it had seemed to convey an assurance
of devoted love,--of that love which, in former days, her friends
had told her was not within the compass of Burgo's nature. He had
not asked her to meet him then, but saying that he would return to
Matching after Parliament was met, begged her to let him have some
means of knowing whether her heart was true to him.
She told no one of the letter, but she kept it, and read it over and
over again in the silence and solitude of her room. She felt that she
was guilty in thus reading it,--even in keeping it from her husband's
knowledge; but though conscious of this guilt, though resolute
almost in its commission, still she determined not to remain at
Matching after her husband's departure,--not to undergo the danger
of remaining there while Burgo Fitzgerald should be in the vicinity.
She could not analyse her own wishes. She often told herself, as she
had told Alice, that it would be better for them all that she should
go away; that in throwing herself even to the dogs, if such must be
the result, she would do more of good than of harm. She declared to
herself, in the most passionate words she could use, that she loved
this man with all her heart. She protested that the fault would not
be hers, but theirs, who had forced her to marry the man she did
not love. She assured herself that her husband had no affection for
her, and that their marriage was in every respect prejudicial to
him. She recurred over and over again, in her thoughts, to her own
childlessness, and to his extreme desire for an heir. "Though I do
sacrifice myself," she would say, "I shall do more of good than harm,
and I cannot be more wretched than I am now." But yet she fled to
London because she feared to leave herself at Matching when Burgo
Fitzgerald should be there. She sent no answer to his letter. She
made no preparation for going with him. She longed to see Alice, to
whom alone, since her marriage, had she ever spoken of her love, and
intended to tell her the whole tale of that letter. She was as one
who, in madness, was resolute to throw herself from a precipice, but
to whom some remnant of sanity remained which forced her to seek
those who would save her from herself.
Mr. Palliser had not seen her since her arrival in London, and,
of course, he took her by the hand and kissed her. But it was the
embrace of a brother rather than of a lover or a husband. Lady
Glencora, with her full woman's nature, understood this thoroughly,
and appreciated by instinct the true bearing of every touch from his
hand. "I hope you are well?" she said.
"Oh, yes; quite well. And you? A little fatigued with your journey, I
suppose?"
"No; not much."
"Well, we have had a debate on the Address. Don't you want to know
how it has gone?"
"If it has concerned you particularly, I do, of course."
"Concerned me! It has concerned me certainly."
"They haven't appointed you yet; have they?"
"No; they don't appoint people during debates, in the House of
Commons. But I fear I shall never make you a politician."
"I'm almost afraid you never will. But I'm not the less anxious for
your success, since you wish it yourself. I don't understand why you
should work so very hard; but, as you like it, I'm as anxious as
anybody can be that you should triumph."
"Yes; I do like it," he said. "A man must like something, and I don't
know what there is to like better. Some people can eat and drink all
day; and some people can care about a horse. I can do neither."
And there were others, Lady Glencora thought, who could love to lie
in the sun, and could look up into the eyes of women, and seek their
happiness there. She was sure, at any rate, that she knew one such.
But she said nothing of this.
"I spoke for a moment to Lord Brock," said Mr. Palliser. Lord Brock
was the name by which the present Jove of the Treasury was known
among men.
"And what did Lord Brock say?"
"He didn't say much, but he was very cordial."
"But I thought, Plantagenet, that he could appoint you if he pleased?
Doesn't he do it all?"
"Well, in one sense, he does. But I don't suppose I shall ever make
you understand." He endeavoured, however, to do so on the present
occasion, and gave her a somewhat longer lecture on the working of
the British Constitution, and the manner in which British politics
evolved themselves, than would have been expected from most young
husbands to their young wives under similar circumstances. Lady
Glencora yawned, and strove lustily, but ineffectually, to hide her
yawn in her handkerchief.
"But I see you don't care a bit about it," said he, peevishly.
"Don't be angry, Plantagenet. Indeed I do care about it, but I am so
ignorant that I can't understand it all at once. I am rather tired,
and I think I'll go to bed now. Shall you be late?"
"No, not very; that is, I shall be rather late. I've a lot of
letters I want to write to-night, as I must be at work all to-morrow.
By-the-by, Mr. Bott is coming to dine here. There will be no one
else." The next day was a Wednesday, and the House would not sit in
the evening.
"Mr. Bott!" said Lady Glencora, showing by her voice that she
anticipated no pleasure from that gentleman's company.
"Yes, Mr. Bott. Have you any objection?"
"Oh, no. Would you like to dine alone with him?"
"Why should I dine alone with him? Why shouldn't you eat your dinner
with us? I hope you are not going to become fastidious, and to turn
up your nose at people. Mrs. Marsham is in town, and I dare say she'll
come to you if you ask her."
But this was too much for Lady Glencora. She was disposed to be mild,
but she could not endure to have her two duennas thus brought upon
her together on the first day of her arrival in London. And Mrs.
Marsham would be worse than Mr. Bott. Mr. Bott would be engaged with
Mr. Palliser during the greater part of the evening. "I thought," said
she, "of asking my cousin, Alice Vavasor, to spend the evening with
me."
"Miss Vavasor!" said the husband. "I must say that I thought Miss
Vavasor--" He was going to make some allusion to that unfortunate
hour spent among the ruins, but he stopped himself.
"I hope you have nothing to say against my cousin?" said his wife.
"She is my only near relative that I really care for;--the only
woman, I mean."
"No; I don't mean to say anything against her. She's very well as a
young lady, I dare say. I would sooner that you would ask Mrs. Marsham
to-morrow."
Lady Glencora was standing, waiting to go away to her own room, but
it was absolutely necessary that this matter should be decided before
she went. She felt that he was hard to her, and unreasonable, and
that he was treating her like a child who should not be allowed her
own way in anything. She had endeavoured to please him, and, having
failed, was not now disposed to give way.
"As there will be no other ladies here to-morrow evening,
Plantagenet, and as I have not yet seen Alice since I have been in
town, I wish you would let me have my way in this. Of course I cannot
have very much to say to Mrs. Marsham, who is an old woman."
"I especially want Mrs. Marsham to be your friend," said he.
"Friendships will not come by ordering, Plantagenet," said she.
[Illustration: "Friendships will not come by ordering,"
said Lady Glencora.]
"Very well," said he. "Of course, you will do as you please. I am
sorry that you have refused the first favour I have asked you this
year." Then he left the room, and she went away to bed.