A CONSTITUTIONAL CRISIS
WHY people should be so vexed by things that other people, equally
serious of mind, don’t care twopence about is one of the enigmas that
is best left to the philosophers.
Father and Mother were much upset by Mr. Philip’s act of treachery. Yet
there was really no need for them to take it so tragically. The heir to
the barony had attained the age when a man is allowed to do a little
private thinking. But neither Father nor Mother was in sympathy with
that point of view.
Something must be done in this national crisis. Energetic action must
be taken. Mr. Vandeleur would never forgive it; the Party would never
forgive it; the Country would never forgive it; the Empire would never
forgive it.
If you make a practice of thinking imperially, you must view things on
a comprehensive basis.
By the irony of circumstance, Mother and Father were dining out that
evening in the Inner Circles of the Party. It was a small and quite
unofficial occasion; but several of the Heads would be there.
“Agatha, it is the deuce,” said the Proconsul, wrestling with his white
tie.
“It is that Woman, I am convinced. Phil-ipp has been led on to this.”
“I don’t know what Vandeleur will say, I’m sure. And such a
supercilious fellow when he gets really _cross_. Of course, I
dissociate myself entirely from a step so subversive.”
The Heads certainly received Father somewhat askance that evening. In
parenthesis, it may be remarked that the world at large considered S.
of P. as being by way of a Head himself. But things are not always
what they seem, as Monsieur Bergson said of the Nebular Hypothesis. A
Head he was, of course, in ordinary assembly; but this assembly, small
though it was, was by no means ordinary.
It was the Hostess, a massive daughter of Caledonia, who first referred
to the Vexed Subject, just as Father, with a rather poor appetite, had
begun upon his bird.
“Lord Shelmerdine, what is this one hears about your son standing as a
Rag?”
No; it was not exactly kind of Caledonia’s daughter. The pause was
awkward, particularly as Mr. Everard Vandeleur was seated on the right
of his hostess.
“I have no need to say that I dissociate myself entirely from this
ill-considered action,” said S. of P. at length. “Beyond that I say
nothing.”
“But you must say something, Shelmerdine,” thought the Front Bench, of
which Two were present in addition to Mr. Everard Vandeleur. “It will
create a most unhappy impression in the country.”
“I can only attribute it to a mental aberration,” said S. of P.
Mr. Everard Vandeleur shook his Jesuitical gray curls.
“Shelmerdine, my dear fellow,” he said in tones vibrant with emotion,
“I would rather have lost five seats in the country than this should
have occurred.”
“I had rather you had done so, Vandeleur, than that this should have
taken place.”
“Can you impose no check?” said Mr. Vandeleur. “Can you not refuse
supply?”
“Unfortunately, no. The young scoundrel has a private income. But I
hold his wife responsible for this.”
“His wife?” said Mr. Vandeleur.
“The root of an evil,” said the Husband of the Hostess, who, to be
sure, was right at the other end of the mahogany.
“Your boy has married a wife, has he?” said Mr. Vandeleur, with the air
of one who asks politely for information.
And who do you think, my lords and gentlemen, was seated opposite the
Great Man? No less an individual than his Britannic Majesty’s former
Ambassador to Persia.
Not a living soul saw the glance that may or may not have passed
between them.
“A great deal of marrying and giving in marriage these days,
apparently,” mused Mr. Everard Vandeleur.
“Your turn next, Van,” said a Privileged Individual, whose brilliant
sally, of course, set the table in a roar.
“Married a wife, has he?” mused Mr. Everard Vandeleur. “Good for the
state, although not always good for the state of Denmark. And she has
brought him to this. Well, well.”
“It is revenge, of course,” said S. of P.
A word so sinister caused the whole table to cock its ears.
“Revenge, Lord Shelmerdine!” said Caledonia’s daughter.
“She is not received in the Family at present, and we get this stab in
the back in consequence.”
Two persons round the opposition mahogany were as grim as griffins. One
was Father and the other was Mother. For the rest of the company it
would be unsafe to answer.
“Why isn’t she received in the Family?” said Caledonia’s daughter, as
blunt a woman as you would find in a long day’s journey.
“He married contrary to the wishes of his parents,” said Mother,
preening her plumage at the hostess in a way which said quite clearly
that she would thank her to be careful, as the ground was rather
delicate. “Old-fashioned ideas, perhaps, but such marriages can only
end in a general weakening of responsibility.”
“I am out of my depth,” said the plaintive Mr. Vandeleur. “But the
position as I envisage it, is this: Your son’s wife, out of favor at
Court, plots against the dynasty. The dynasty trembles--”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Vandeleur, it does nothing of the kind,” said a
very significant factor in the dynasty.
“Metaphorically, of course, Lady Shelmerdine. I speak in metaphor.
The dynasty trembles because a bombshell has been thrown in the
country--nothing less than a bombshell, as I unhesitatingly affirm--and
to avert ruin one course only appears to be open to it.”
“What is that course, Mr. Vandeleur?” said Lady Shelmerdine.
“To compose this internecine quarrel, and avert a further sanguinary
conflict,” said Mr. Vandeleur.
A great man had spoken. Consols fell habitually at his _Obiter Dicta_.
French Rentes and Russia Fours lost a whole point when he tore up his
card in a medal round. No wonder that his outline of Imperial policy
received the most respectful attention.
“Let the Family receive her, and pray let us have no more of it,” said
Caledonia’s blunt daughter.
A suggestion of a great man in the interests of international comity is
one thing; but untimely interference from one who has no _locus standi_
beyond the fact that she has three addresses and more diamonds than are
good for her, is quite another. Mother’s eyes sparkled with the light
of battle.
“Will it _really_ make any difference to the Party, Mr. Vandeleur, his
standing for Blackhampton?”
“Bound to convey an unfortunate impression, Lady Shelmerdine.”
“But he can’t possibly get in.”
“One is glad to know that. But, being the son of his father, think of
the weight he will carry with the Rags!”
The compliment was a little double-edged, perhaps, to some minds, but
happily only one aspect of it was visible except to the Cynical, with
whom, of course, this narrative has nothing to do.
“Why can’t he possibly get in?” inquired the Hostess.
“No brains,” said Father.
“At least, not many,” corrected Mother.
“All the more likely to be returned as a Rag by Blackhampton,” said
Caledonia’s daughter. “Don’t you think so, Mr. Vandeleur?”
Mr. Vandeleur being a wise statesman, and the question being rather
technical, he ignored it blandly.
“Shelmerdine, I think you ought to realize that we can’t have him
standing for Blackhampton as a Rag in any case, when we have barely
enough candidates of our own to go round.”
“Yes, I do realize that, my dear Vandeleur. I realize it most fully.
Steps shall be taken. Steps shall be taken at once.”
“Receive the girl in the Family--a nice girl, too, I’m told--and let
us hear no more of it,” said the Hostess to Mother, who would not have
been averse from striking her for her effrontery.
What a pity it is that diamonds in excess are so demoralizing.
Full and ample forgiveness on the part of Grosvenor Square seemed to
be indicated, provided that a proper humility and a reversion to the
_status quo ante_ was forthcoming on the part of the erring. Let the
young woman be received in the Family, provided that the heir to the
barony withdrew his odious candidature for Blackhampton, had said in
effect the Leader of the Opposition; and a tolerably easy constituency
should be provided for the young man. He might then emerge as a
full-blown Wagger after a period of grace in which to atone for his
naughtiness.
Father and Mother drove home in the electric brougham pondering
deeply the wisdom of the sage. It would mean a considerable sacrifice
of personal dignity thus to bargain with Her. They were a little
surprised and even a little grieved, perhaps, that the Great Man had
shown so scant a consideration for their domestic feelings; but then
it was a familiar trait of his that he was ever ready to sacrifice the
individual upon the altar of Party.
It looked like Humble Pie, and patrician stomachs are not very fond of
that dish. But there did not seem to be any way out of it. The ukase
had gone forth from the Chief that this wicked and immoral candidature
must not proceed. It was bound to create a most unfortunate impression
in the country. It only remained for them, in the opinion of that wise
and far-seeing statesman, to swallow the bitter portion and make peace
on honorable terms.
“One thing, Agatha, we may congratulate ourselves upon, at any rate,”
said the Proconsul. “Vandeleur took it much better than we had reason
to expect.”
“That is very well, Wally. But don’t let us congratulate ourselves too
soon. It may not be so easy to get him to withdraw as Mr. Vandeleur
supposes.”
“But if we offer a clean slate?” said the Proconsul.
“When a man is clearly infatuated,” said Mother, who was often inclined
to sententiousness about this hour of the evening, “you can count on
nothing beyond the fact that She will make herself as disagreeable as
possible.”
In what manner should the olive-branch be conveyed by the dove of
peace? Delicacy was called for. Was Mother or was Father the better
qualified to exercise it? Mother had not been altogether a success in
the rôle of the diplomatist at large. It was idle to shut one’s eyes to
that fact, wasn’t it? But then, had Father? Really, if it came to that,
neither had much margin for self-congratulation. And when all is said,
Humble Pie is not a very eupeptic form of diet.
“Wally,” said the Colthurst of Suffolk at the breakfast table on the
following morning, “I have given the matter most anxious consideration,
and I think, having regard to everything, it is, perhaps, best left in
my hands.”
The Proconsul looked just a little dubious as he removed the top of a
hard-boiled egg.
“You are quite sure, Agatha, that you feel competent?”
“_Quite_, Wally.”
“Well, perhaps you are right. I hope so, at all events.”
It was decided that Mother should call in Knightsbridge that afternoon
upon Daughter-in-law, in spite of the Danger.
“That I will risk,” said Mother, who at heart was an Amazon. “Only once
have I seen her, and that was in Bedford Gardens, and she opened the
door to me holding a potato in one hand and a knife in the other.”
As the case had been represented to Father, he was quite prepared to
believe even that.
“If you would like me to accompany you, Agatha,” said the Proconsul
gallantly, “I will cut the Select Committee this afternoon.”
But Mother seemed to feel quite competent to take care of herself; and,
after all, Father saw no real reason to doubt her ability.
Accordingly, at the punctual hour of half-past four that afternoon,
Mother entered the lift at Park Mansions, and was hoisted in a patent
elevator to the threshold of the Guilty Pair.
Happily, on this occasion her ring was answered not by a damsel, a
knife and a potato, but by an undeniably smart young parlor-maid, who
was quite trim enough to please the most severely critical.
Was Mrs. Shelmerdine at home?
The S. Y. P., who had charming natural manners, smiled a really very
nice affirmative.
As Mother entered the domain of the Guilty Pair, it seemed to her that
everything in the little vestibule, and there was hardly anything in
it to speak of, was, considering all things, in surprisingly good taste.
“Why, Mater, this is awfully sweet of you,” said the manly voice of Mr.
Philip.
Salutations of a filial and unaffected character. The young man was
really not deep enough to be wary. All was about to be forgiven,
evidently, else the good old mater would not be calling upon ’em.
Nevertheless, a little surprise was in store for this optimist. Mary,
whose amiable custom it was to meet the whole world a little more than
half way, did not exactly throw herself into the arms of Mother.
Mother, moreover, did not exactly cast herself upon the neck of Mary.
They chose to shake hands rather than have recourse to any less formal
style of reception.
“So nice of you, Lady Shelmerdine, to find your way up to our little
foot in the air.”
It was said very cool and smiling, but if the young minx had left it
unsaid it would have been just as well, perhaps, since somehow it
didn’t seem to help things particularly.
“The art furniture is more comfortable than it looks, Lady
Shelmerdine,” said the young Madam archly. “Try this one. Don’t you
like our yellow wall-paper? Phil-ipp’s taste is so wonderful. Will you
have some tea?”
Mother would be pleased to have some tea, but it was by no means clear,
for all that, that Mrs. Philip was yet in the Family.
The young Madam poured out tea as though she didn’t mind very much
whether she was in the Family or whether she wasn’t. Young ladies of
Newnham and Girton, we can’t help thinking, although it grieves us
terribly to criticize the Heroine, that this was very wrong of her.
Mother was eating Humble Pie, and she ought to have been trying a
little as well.
The Twin Brethren handed the tea to Mother in quite their ablest manner.
“Have some muffin while it’s warm, Mater.”
Mother preferred bread and butter, thank you.
Conversation seemed to languish rather, until Mother made the important
discovery that you got quite a nice view of the park.
“Toppin’!” said Mr. Philip.
“I’m afraid these flats must be dreadfully expensive,” said the
Maternal One.
“Not for the position, Mater.”
Mother hoped not, at any rate.
“I hope you have noticed our Whistler, Lady Shelmerdine?” said Mary the
demure.
Oh, _where_ was the Whistler? Mother was _so_ fond of canaries.
Calamity nearly overtook the muffin of Daughter-in-law. Happily it
stopped at very nearly.
“The little picture opposite, Lady Shelmerdine. But you can’t really
see it now the sun has got round to the west.”
Mother had to examine the gem, of course, like any other art critic.
Glasses did great execution. Which was the Whistler? Ah, yes, to
be sure, the name of the artist. An artist with a name so original
was bound to be rated highly. A present from Sir Herbert Forrest,
the famous actor-manager. Yes, Mother had seen him as the Woodman
in _Twelfth Night_. How interesting to have such a memento from
such a famous man. And how _well_ you could see the park. And she
did _hope_ it was not too expensive. And everything in such _good_
taste, although yellow for a wall-paper was a rather _modern_ color.
And such _delicious_ tea. And what _charming_ cups. A present from
Mr. Vandeleur. How kind--a memento, of course, of his respect and
admiration for dear Phil-ipp’s father.
“It didn’t say so on the card, though, Mater,” said dear Phil-ipp with
a clumsiness for which, perhaps, he is to be forgiven. “It said on
the card, ‘To Cinderella, from a Humble Admirer who wishes her every
happiness.’”
So nice of Mr. Vandeleur to be so tactful. Could there be a clearer
indication of Mr. Vandeleur’s esteem for a friend and colleague?
It hadn’t occurred to Hubby, though, that this really charming china
tea-set was in any way connected with the great Proconsul.
Mother was a little hurt by this unfilial obtuseness. As though there
could be any other reason. Mr. Vandeleur was so able, so responsible.
However, the tea-service was charming--and blue china, too.
These were elegant preliminaries, but Mother’s mission was both high
and delicate. _Enormous_ tact was needed, you know. _Suaviter in Modo_
this time at least.
Was it correct that Philip was standing for Parliament?--Oh, yes.
But as a Rag, Tag, and Bobtail, according to _The Thunderer_?--Yes, the
Leading Morning Journal was correctly informed.
Somehow that seemed merely to leave matters in a state of suspended
animation. Philip was pleasantly frank, yet without being particularly
communicative. Mrs. Philip seemed wholly absorbed in the vernal
prospect.
“I am sure, dear Phil-ipp, you will be sorry to know that your father
is upset.”
Like a dutiful son, Phil-ipp was _awfully_ sorry.
“And Mr. Vandeleur, of course. Your father was the last peer made by
his Gover’ment. So wounding to a man as sensitive as Mr. Vandeleur!”
Mr. Philip was awfully sorry that his little adventure was being taken
so seriously by people whom he would not have supposed would have paid
it any attention.
“But, dear Phil-ipp,” said Mother, “your father holds such a _special_
position in public life. He is _so_ upset. A real grief to him, with
the affairs of the country in their present deplorable state. The
Constitution, you know--! _Dear_ Phil-ipp, have you fully considered
the question?”
Oh, yes, dear Phil-ipp had considered the question--that is, as well as
he was able to. He didn’t pretend that he knew very much about it; but
Polly rather thought--the prophetic soul of Mother!--but Polly rather
thought that a man of means and leisure ought to go into Parliament,
and try and make himself useful to the world. Not that personally he
felt he would be of any use at all.
“I can only say, dear Phil-ipp,” said Mother, “that your father is much
upset; Mr. Vandeleur is much upset; the Party is much upset; and we
have all talked about you quite anxiously. Don’t you realize what an
amount of political capital will be made of your standing as a Rag by
the enemies of the Empire?”
“I shouldn’t have thought anybody would have cared twopence about it,
Mater. It isn’t as though I had any ability.”
“It is not _you_, of course, who matters so much. It is your dear
father who carries so much weight in the country.”
But Mr. Philip supposed, though not at all disrespectfully, that a chap
of twenty-eight was entitled to have views of his own.
Mother didn’t quite agree with that general proposition. There were
some things, for instance, Religion and Politics to name only two,
although there were others she could have mentioned, in which it was
only right for a well-born and expensively nurtured Englishman to defer
to the more matured wisdom of his ancestors.
Mr. Philip was awfully sorry, but he rather believed in Progress.
Mother was a little inclined to snort at Progress. What, pray, did one
who had got as far as he had want with Progress! As far as Mother could
see, the current idea of Progress was to take money out of the pockets
of those who were better off than yourself, and put it into your own.
“And there is no reason for _you_ to resort to that, Phil-ipp,” said
Mother, with a sudden effusion of Inspired Commonsense; “because you
have more than the majority.”
Daughter-in-law, still looking through the window, and wholly absorbed
in contemplation of the vernal prospect, was suddenly overwhelmed by
a dreadful fear lest the histrionic temperament, which was her own
private and particular cross, should make an exhibition of itself.
Mother was fearfully good at argument, and always had been. Phil-ipp,
of course, was the merest child at it, even though he had been selected
by the Party of Progress to fight their great cause. Mother in her
inmost heart thought it was the clearest proof of the contemptible
level of Rag intellect, that any body of registered voters should have
brought themselves to confide in any such candidate. And Mother nearly
boiled over when Mr. Philip made an even more abject confession of his
impotence.
“Come and argue with the Mater a bit,” said he to fair Nature’s
admirer, still at gaze upon the vernal prospect. “She’s much too clever
for me.”
Should Mother take off the gloves? No, decidedly more Politic not to
remove them. Mother’s third chin advanced a little, though, in spite of
herself. This daughter of the people was likely to know more about the
peeling of potatoes than of the conduct of high politics.
At the summons of her lord, however, the young minx controlled her
mobile features as well as in her lay; and in that designing mind was
the question, Should she toy a little with this Victorian Mamma? Or
should she exercise her arts and blandishments?
“It is so wrong of Phil-ipp,” said Mother, “and I think _you_ ought to
exercise the influence that every wife--that is, if she is good and
worthy--has with her husband, and dissuade him from this course. You do
see, do you not, that it is most injudicious for a man in his position?”
“Well, Lady Shelmerdine,” said Mischief, having decided in favor of the
broader way, “Phil-ipp looks at it like this--don’t you, Phil-ipp? The
Rags do get on a bit, but the Waggers are generally going backwards.”
Followed an academic discussion of the Situation. A most immoral
proceeding, Mother was bound to believe. Ingratitude could not further
go than for the eldest son of the very last peer created by Mr.
Vandeleur’s Gover’ment to go over horse, foot and artillery, to the foe.
“To what extent ought a son to suffer for the indiscretion of his
father?” inquired Mischief solemnly.
Mother begged pardon; she didn’t understand. Daughter-in-law seemed
unable to render the question any clearer.
At this point the Conference seemed to take a turn for the worse.
Did Mrs. Shelmerdine really suppose, said Mother in crystal tones, that
young men in the position of her husband had no responsibilities to
society?
Oh, yes, Mrs. Shelmerdine was quite sure they had, and that was why
personally she was so glad he had decided to throw in his lot with the
party of Progress.
Progress, said Mother--What, pray, is Progress?
The question was rather difficult for a young married woman to answer.
But fortunately it appeared that Phil-ipp was not depending wholly upon
dialectics in the coming battle.
“I am sorry to hear it,” said Mother.
Yes, that was rather subtle for Mother.
“I suppose you feel, Lady Shelmerdine,” said the young wife, “that if
he depended entirely on his mental powers he would have no chance of
getting in.”
Mother ignored the question, perhaps a little pointedly.
Well, it seemed that Phil-ipp had several other strings to his bow.
Mother had implicit faith, however, in the essential good sense of
her countrymen in the Midlands. They were such shrewd people in the
Midlands; and Mother hoped and believed they would demand qualities
more positive than those guaranteed by the fact that the Rag candidate
was the eldest son of a distinguished father.
Mischief agreed; but if the Candidate was able to kick three goals
against Aston Villa, which he was quite capable of doing if he went
into special training for the purpose, in the opinion of the local
experts, there was no power on earth that could keep him from the head
of the poll.
This, of course, took Mother out of her depth completely. She herself
was something of an old parliamentary hand; and she had gained
first-hand experience in the days when the Proconsul was merely Sir
Walter and a light of the House of Commons. But this was beyond her.
Mother had never heard of Aston Villa; and when Daughter-in-law took
pains to explain who Aston Villa was, somehow Mother didn’t seem much
enlightened. But of one thing she was sure. To fight a parliamentary
election upon any such basis was subversive of the Constitution.
No, somehow the Conference didn’t seem to prosper. Nevertheless, Mother
was there with the olive-branch; but really, in the circumstances, she
didn’t quite see what use could be made of the floral emblem. Still, an
effort would have to be made.
To do justice to Mother, she was quite prepared to eat Humble Pie. It
was most unlikely that any good would come of the act of deglutition;
still, desperate remedies were called for.
“To be perfectly candid, Phil-ipp,” said Mother, really getting to
business at last, “your father has taken counsel of Mr. Vandeleur--most
anxious counsel; and, acting upon his suggestion, he is fully prepared
to offer a warm welcome to you both in Grosvenor Square; and he very
much hopes you will allow your name to be withdrawn, and sometime,
quite soon, Mr. Vandeleur himself will find you a constituency, because
he is really concerned that a young man of such promise should be lost
to the party.”
Thus did Mother grapple right nobly with the unsavory cates. Perhaps
her table manners were not quite so delicate as some people’s might
have been; but let none be so heartless as to criticize her when she is
wrestling so nobly with her Cross.
Phil-ipp and Mary were touched, of course, by the liberal offer;
touched very deeply, although they didn’t quite see how it would be
possible for the former to go back on his principles, even allowing
for the fact that the fatted calf is such delectable fare. They were
awfully nice about it, though, which is, of course, what you would
expect them to be; very gentle and polite and even affectionate with
Mother, who was doing her best in circumstances quite foreign to her
nature.
All the same, the conclusion of the Conference was by no means all
that could have been desired. The guilty pair had involved themselves
so deeply with Blackhampton that they couldn’t very well draw back.
Besides, it was not wholly clear that they wanted to. After all, a man
who had attained the ripe age of twenty-eight might aspire to a few
convictions. Phil-ipp felt so strongly that the future lay with the
party of Progress.
Mother failed undoubtedly in her diplomatic errand. And no doubt the
measure of her failure was in her parting words that dear Phil-ipp
would never be forgiven by his father if he persisted in going to the
poll.
Mother took an affectionate leave of her peccant son, but her leave of
Daughter-in-law was very guarded.