Chapter 40 and 41 of Phineas Finn—day after day and clause after clause the bill was fought in committee, and few men fought with more constancy on the side of the ministers, than did the member for Loten. Troubled though he was by his quarrel with Lord Chiltern, by his love for violent effingham, by the silence of his friend Lady Laura, for since he had told her of the duel she had become silent to him, never writing to him and hardly speaking to him when she met him in society. Nevertheless Phineas was not so troubled but what he could work at his vocation. Now when he would find himself upon his legs in the house he would wonder at the hesitation which had lately troubled him so sorely. He would sit sometimes and speculate upon that dimness of eye, upon that tendency of things to go round, upon that obtrusive palpitation of heart which had afflicted him so seriously for so long a time. The house now was no more to him than any other chamber, and the members no more than other men. He guarded himself from orations, speaking always very shortly, because he believed that policy and good judgment required that he should be short. But words were very easy to him, and he would feel as though he could talk forever. And there quickly came to him a reputation for practical usefulness. He was a man with strong opinions, who could yet be submissive. And no man seemed to know how his reputation had come. He had made one good speech after two or three failures. All who knew him, his whole party, had been aware of his failure, and his one good speech had been regarded by many as no very wonderful effort. But he was a man who was pleasant to other men, not combative, not self-asserting beyond the point at which self-assertion ceases to be a necessity of manliness. Nature had been very good to him, making him comely inside and out, and with this comeliness he had crept into popularity. The secret of the duel was, I think, at this time, known to a great many men and women. So Phineas perceived, but it was not, he thought, known either to Lord Brentford or to Violet Effingham. And in this he was right. No rumour of it had yet reached the ears of either of these persons, and rumour, though she flies so fast and so far, is often slow in reaching those ears which would be most interested in her tidings. Some dim report of the duel reached even Mr. Kennedy, and he asked his wife, "'Who told you?' said she, sharply. Bontein told me that it was certainly so. Mr. Bontein always knows more than anybody else about everything except his own business. Then it is not true?' Lady Laura paused, and then she lied. Of course it is not true. I should be very sorry to ask either of them. But to me it seems to be the most improbable thing in life.' Then Mr. Kennedy believed that there had been no duel. In his wife's word he put absolute faith, and he thought that she would certainly know anything that her brother had done. As he was a man given to but little discourse, he asked to know further questions about the duel, either in the house or at the clubs. At first Phineas had been greatly dismayed when men had asked him questions, tending to elicit from him some explanation of the mystery. But by degrees he became used to it, and as the tidings which had got abroad did not seem to injure him, and as the questionings were not pushed very closely, he became indifferent. There came out another article in the People's Banner, in which Lord C-N, and Mr. P-S, F-N, were spoken of as glaring examples of that aristocratic snobility, that was the expressive word coined, evidently with great delight for the occasion, which the rotten state of London society in high quarters now produced. Here was a young lord, infamously notorious, quarreling with one of his boon companions, whom he had appointed to a private seat in the house of commons, fighting duels, breaking the laws, scandalizing the public, and all this was done without punishment to the guilty. There were old stories afloat, so said the article, of what in a former century had been done by Lord Mohan's and Mr. Best's. But now, in 1860 blank, etc., etc., etc. And so the article went on. Any reader may fill in without difficulty the concluding indignation and virtuous appeal for reform in social morals as well as parliament. But Phineas had so far progressed that he had almost come to like this kind of thing. Certainly I think that the duel did him no harm in society. Otherwise he would hardly have been asked to a semi-political dinner at Lady Glencora Palisades, even though he might have been invited to make one of the five hundred guests, who were crowded into her saloons and staircases after the dinner was over. To have been one of the five hundred was nothing. But to be one of the sixteen was a great deal. Was indeed so much that Phineas, not understanding as yet the advantage of his own comeliness, was at a loss to conceive why so pleasant an honour was conferred upon him. There was no man among the eight men at the dinner-party not in parliament, and the only other except Phineas, not attached to the government, was Mr. Palisades' great friend, John Gray, the member for Silverbridge. There were four cabinet ministers in the room—the Duke, Lord Cantrip, Mr. Gresham, and the owner of the mansion. There was also Barrington Earl and Young Lord Fawn, an under-secretary of state. But the wit and grace of the ladies present lent more of character to the party than even the position of the men. Lady Glencora Palisare herself was a host. There was no woman then in London better able to talk, to a dozen people on a dozen subjects, and then, moreover, she was still in the flesh of her beauty and the bloom of her youth. Lady Laura was there, by what means divided from her husband Phineas could not imagine, but Lady Glencora was good at such divisions. Lady Cantrip had been allowed to come with her lord, but, as was well understood, Lord Cantrip was not so manifestly a husband as was Mr. Kennedy. There are men who cannot guard themselves from the assertion of marital rights at most inappropriate moments. Now, Lord Cantrip lived with his wife most happily, yet you should pass hours with him and her together, and hardly know that they knew each other. One of the deuce's daughters was there, but not the duchess, who was known to be heavy. And there was the beauteous marchiness of heartletop. Violet Effingham was in the room also, giving Phineas a blow at the heart as he saw her smile. Might it be that he could speak a word to her on this occasion? Mr. Gray had also brought his wife. And then there was Madame Max Goesler. Phineas found that it was his fortune to take down to dinner, not Violet Effingham, but Madame Max Goesler. And when he was placed at dinner, on the other side of him there sat Lady Heartletop, who addressed the few words which she spoke exclusively to Mr. Palacere. There had been in former days matters difficult of arrangement between those two, but I think that those old passages had now been forgotten by them both. Phineas was, therefore, driven to depend exclusively on Madame Max Goesler for conversation, and he found that he was not called upon to cast his seed into barren ground. Up to that moment he had never heard of Madame Max Goesler. Lady Glencora, in introducing them, had pronounced the lady's name so clearly that he had caught it with accuracy. But he could not surmise whence she had come or why she was there. She was a woman probably something over thirty years of age. She had thick black hair, which she wore in curls, unlike anybody else in the world, in curls which hung down low beneath her face, covering, and perhaps intended to cover, a certain thinness in her cheeks, which would otherwise have taken something from the charm of her countenance. Her eyes were large, of a dark blue color, and very bright, and she used them in a manner which is as yet hardly common with English women. She seemed to intend that you should know that she employed them to conquer you, looking as a knight may have looked in olden days, who entered a chamber with his sword drawn from the scabbard, and in his hand. Her forehead was broad, and somewhat low. Her nose was not classically beautiful, being broader at the nostrils than beauty required, and moreover not perfectly straight in its line. Her lips were thin, her teeth, which she endeavored to show as little as possible, were perfect in form and color. They who criticized her severely said, however, that they were too large. Her chin was well formed, and divided by a dimple, which gave to her face a softness of grace, which would otherwise have been much missed. But perhaps her great beauty was in the brilliant clearness of her dark complexion. You might almost fancy that you could see into it, so as to read the different lines beneath the skin. She was somewhat tall, though by no means tall to a fault, and was so thin as to be almost meager in her proportions. She always wore her dress close up to her neck, and never showed the bareness of her arms. Though she was the only woman so clad now present in the room, this singularity did not specially strike one, because in other respects her apparel was so rich and quaint, as to make inattention to it impossible. The observer who did not observe very closely would perceive that Madame Max Goussla's dress was unlike the dress of other women. But seeing that it was unlike in make, unlike in color, and unlike in material, the ordinary observer would not see also that it was unlike in form for any other purpose than that of maintaining its general peculiarity of character. In color she was abundant, and yet the fabric of her garment was always black. My pen may not dare to describe the traceries of yellow and ruby silk which went in and out through the black lace, across her bosom, and round her neck, and over her shoulders, and along her arms, and down to the very ground at her feet, robbing the black stuff of all its somber solemnity, and producing a brightness in which there was nothing gaudy. She wore no vestige of crinoline, and hardly anything that could be called a train. And the lace sleeves of her dress, with their bright traceries of silk, were fitted close to her arms, and round her neck she wore the smallest possible collar of lace, above which there was a short chain of Roman gold, with a ruby pendant, and she had rubies in her ears, and a ruby brooch, and rubies in the bracelets on her arms. Such as regarded the outward woman was Madame Max Goussla, and Phineas, as he took his place by her side, thought that fortune, for the nonce, had done well with him. Only that he should have liked it so much better could he have been seated next to Violet Effingham. I have said that in the matter of conversation his morsel of seed was not thrown into barren ground. I do not know that he can truly be said to have produced even a morsel. The subjects were all mooted by the lady, and so great was her fertility in discoursing that all conversational grasses seemed to grow with her spontaneously. Mr. Phine, she said, what would I not give to be a member of the British Parliament at such a moment as this? Why at such a moment as this particularly? Because there is something to be done which, let me tell you, Senator, though you are, is not always the case with you. My experience is short, but it sometimes seems to me that there is too much to be done. Too much of nothingness, Mr. Phine, is not that the case? But now there is a real fight in the lists. The one great drawback to the life of women is that they cannot act in politics. And which side would you take? What, here in England, said Madam Max Goesler, from which expression, and from one or two others of a similar nature, Phineas was led into a doubt whether the lady were a countrywoman of his or not? Indeed, it is hard to say. Only I should want to outturn Bull, Mr. Turnbull, to vote for everything that could be voted for—Ballot, menhood suffrage, womanhood suffrage, unlimited right of striking, tenant right, education of everybody, annual parliaments, and the abolition of at least the bench of bishops. That is a strong program, said Phineas. It is strong, Mr. Phine, but that's what I should like. I think, however, that I should be tempted to feel a dastard security in the conviction that I might advocate my views without any danger of seeing them carried out. For to tell you the truth, I don't at all want to put down ladies and gentlemen. Do you think that they would go with the bench of bishops? I don't want anything to go, that is, as far as real life is concerned. There's that dear good bishop of Abingdon is the best friend I have in the world. And as for the bishop of Dorchester, I'd walk from here to there to hear him preach. And I'd sooner hem aprons for them all myself than that they should want those pretty decorations. But then, Mr. Phine, there is such a difference between life and theory. Is there not? And it is so comfortable to have theories that one is not bound to carry out," said Phineas. Isn't it? Mr. Palacere, do you live up to your political theories? At this moment Mr. Palacere was sitting perfectly silent between Lady Hartletop and the Duke's daughter, and he gave a little spring in his chair as this sudden address was made to him. Your House of Commons theories, I mean, Mr. Palacere. Mr. Phine is saying that it is very well to have far-advanced ideas. It does not matter how far-advanced, because one is never called upon to act upon them practically. That is a dangerous doctrine, I think," said Mr. Palacere. But pleasant, so at least Mr. Phine says. It is at least very common," said Phineas, not caring to protect himself by a contradiction. For, myself," said Mr. Palacere gravely, I think I may say that I always am really anxious to carry into practice all those doctrines of policy which I advocate in theory. During this conversation Lady Hartletop sat as though no word of it reached her ears. She did not understand Madame Max Gossela, and by no means loved her. Mr. Palacere, when he had made his little speech, turned to the Duke's daughter and asked some question about the conservatories at Long Royston. "'I have called forth a word of wisdom,' said Madame Max Gossela, almost in a whisper. "'Yes,' said Phineas, and taught a cabinet minister to believe that I am a most unsound politician.  Let me hope not. As far as I can understand the way of things in your government, the aspirants to office succeed chiefly by making themselves uncommonly unpleasant to those who are in power. If a man can hit hard enough he is sure to be taken into the Elysium of the Treasury bench. Not that he may hit others, but that he may cease to hit those who are there. I don't think men are chosen because they are useful. You are very severe upon us all. Indeed, as far as I can see one man is as useful as another. But to put aside joking, they tell me that you are sure to become a minister. Phineas felt that he blushed. Could it be that people said of him, behind his back, that he was a man likely to rise high in political position? "'Your informants are very kind,' he replied awkwardly, but I do not know who they are. I shall never get up in the way you describe, that is, by abusing the men I support." After that, Madame Max Goesler turned round to Mr. Gray, who was sitting on the other side of her, and Phineas was left for a moment in silence. He tried to say a word to Lady Hartletop, but Lady Hartletop only bowed her head gracefully in recognition of the truth of the statement he made. So he applied himself for a while to his dinner. "'What do you think of Miss Effingham?' said Madame Max Goesler, again addressing him suddenly. "'What do I think about her?' "'You know her, I suppose.' "'Oh, yes, I know her. She is closely connected with the Kennedys, who are friends of mine.' "'So I have heard. They tell me that scores of men are raving about her. Are you one of them?' "'Oh, yes, I don't mind being one of sundry scores. There is nothing particular in owning to that.' "'But you admire her?' "'Of course I do,' said Phineas. "'Ah! I see you are joking. I do, amazingly. They say women never do admire women, but I most sincerely do admire Miss Effingham.' "'Is she a friend of yours?' "'Oh, no, I must not dare to say so much as that. I was with her last winter for a week at Matching. And of course I meet her about at people's houses. She seems to me to be the most independent girl I ever knew in my life. I do believe that nothing would make her marry a man unless she loved him and honoured him. And I think it is so very seldom that you can say that of a girl. I believe so also,' said Phineas. Then he paused a moment before he continued to speak. "'I cannot say that I know Miss Effingham very intimately. But from what I have seen of her, I should think it very probable that she may not marry at all.' "'Very probably,' said Madame Max Gossler, who then again turned away to Mr. Gray. Ten minutes after this, when the moment was just at hand in which the ladies were to retreat, Madame Max Gossler again addressed Phineas, looking very full into his face as she did so.  To Blankenberg. I am not asking for it now. But I shall look for it some day.' Then Lady Glencora rose from her seat, and Madame Max Gossler went out with the others. CHAPTER 41 Lord Faughn What had Madame Max Gossler to do with his journey to Blankenberg, thought Phineas, as he sat for a while in silence between Mr. Palacere and Mr. Gray? And why should she, who was a perfect stranger to him, have dared to ask him such a question? But as the conversation round the table, after the ladies had gone, soon drifted into politics and became general, Phineas for a while forgot Madame Max Gossler and the Blankenberg journey, and listened to the eager words of cabinet ministers, now and again uttering a word of his own, and showing that he too was as eager as others. But the session in Mr. Palacere's dining-room was not long, and Phineas soon found himself making his way, amidst a throng of coming guests, into the rooms above. His object was to meet Violet Effingham, but, failing that, he would not be unwilling to say a few more words to Madame Max Gossler. He first encountered Lady Laura, to whom he had not spoken as yet, and finding himself standing close to her for a while, he asked her after his late neighbor. "'Do tell me one thing, Lady Laura. Who is Madame Max Gossler, and why have I never met her before?' "'That will be two things, Mr. Phine, but I will answer both questions as well as I can. You have not met her before, because she was in Germany last spring and summer, and in the year before that you were not about so much as you have been since. Still, you must have seen her, I think. She is the widow of an Austrian banker, and has lived the greater part of her life at Vienna. She is very rich, and has a small house in Park Lane, where she receives people so exclusively, that it has come to be thought an honour to be invited by Madame Max Gossler. Her enemies say that her father was a German Jew, living in England in the employment of the Viennese bankers, and they say also that she has been married a second time to an Austrian count, to whom she allows ever so much a year to stay away from her. But of all this nobody, I fancy, knows anything. What they do know is that Madame Max Gossler spends seven or eight thousand a year, and that she will give no man an opportunity of even asking her to marry him. People used to be shy of her, but she goes almost everywhere now. She has not been at Portman Square. Oh, no! But then Lady Glencora is so much more advanced than we are. After all, we are but humdrum people as the world goes now. When Phineas began to roam about the rooms, striving to find an opportunity of engrossing five minutes of Miss Effingham's attention. During the time that Lady Laura was giving him the history of Madame Max Gossler, his eyes had wandered round, and he had perceived that Violet was standing in the further corner of a large lobby onto which the stairs opened. So situated indeed that she could hardly escape, because of the increasing crowd, but on that very account almost impossible to be reached. He could see also that she was talking to Lord Fawn, an unmarried peer of something over thirty years of age, with an unrivaled pair of whiskers, a small estate, and a rising political reputation. Lord Fawn had been talking to Violet through the whole dinner, and Phineas was beginning to think that he should like to make another journey to Blankenberg, with the object of meeting his lordship on the sands. When Lady Laura had done speaking, his eyes were turned through a large open doorway towards the spot on which his idol was standing. It is of no use, my friend," she said, touching his arm, "'I wish I could make you know that it is of no use, because then I think you would be happier.'" To this Phineas made no answer, but went and roamed about the rooms. Why should it be of no use? Would Violet effing a merry any man merely because he was a lord? Some half hour after this he had succeeded in making his way up to the place in which Violet was still standing, with Lord Fawn, beside her. "'I have been making such a struggle to get to you,' he said. "'And now you are here, you will have to stay, for it is impossible to get out,' she answered. "'Lord Fawn has made the attempt half a dozen times, but has failed grievously.' "'I have been quite contented,' said Lord Fawn, more than contented." Phineas felt that he ought to give some special reason to Miss Effingham to account for his efforts to reach her. But yet he had nothing special to say. Had Lord Fawn not been there, he would immediately have told her that he was waiting for an answer to the question he had asked her in Salisbury Park. But he could hardly do this in presence of the noble Undersecretary of State. She received him with her pleasant, genial smile, looking exactly as she had looked when he had parted from her on the morning after their ride. She did not show any sign of anger, or even of indifference at his approach. But still it was almost necessary that he should account for his search of her. "'I have so longed to hear from you how you got on at Lou Linter,' he said. "'Yes, yes. And I will tell you something of it some day, perhaps. Why do you not come to Lady Baldock's?' "'I did not even know that Lady Baldock was in town.' "'You ought to have known. Of course she is in town. Where did you suppose I was living? Lord Faun was there yesterday, and can tell you that my aunt is quite blooming.' "'Lady Baldock is blooming,' said Lord Faun. "'Certainly blooming, that is, if evergreens may be said to bloom.' "'Evergreens do bloom, as well as spring plants, Lord Faun. You come and see here, Mr. Finn. Only you must bring a little money with you for the female Protestant unmarried women's emigration society. What is my aunt's present hobby, as Lord Faun knows to his cost? I wish I may never spend half a sovereign worse. But it is a perilous affair for me, as my aunt wants me to go out, as a sort of leading Protestant unmarried female emigrant pioneer myself. "'You don't mean that,' said Lord Faun, with much anxiety. "'Of course you'll go,' said Phineas. "'I should, if I were you.' "'I am in doubt,' said Violet. "'It is such a grand prospect,' said he.  As if there were not plenty of opening here for Miss Effingham,' said Lord Faun, and plenty of excitement. "'Do you think there is?' said Violet. "'You are much more civil than Mr. Finn, I must say.' Then Phineas began to hope that he need not be afraid of Lord Faun. "'What a happy man you were at dinner!' continued Violet, addressing herself to Phineas. I thought Lord Faun was the happy man. You had Madame Max-Gusla all to yourself for nearly two hours, and I suppose there was not a creature in the room who did not envy you. I don't doubt that ever so much interest was made with Lady Glencora as to taking Madame Max down to dinner. Lord Faun, I know, intrigued. Miss Effingham, really, I must—contradict you! And Barrington Earl begged for it as a particular favour. The Duke, with a sigh, owned that it was impossible because of his cumbersome rank, and Mr. Gresham, when it was offered to him, declared that he was fatigued with the business of the house, and not up to the occasion. How much did she say to you? And what did she talk about?' The ballot, chiefly, that and manhood suffrage. Ah! She said something more than that, I am sure. Madame Max-Gusla never lets any man go without entrancing him. If you have anything near your heart, Mr. Finn, Madame Max-Gusla touched it, I am sure. Now Phineas had two things near his heart—political promotion and Violet Effingham—and Madame Max-Gusla had managed to touch them both. She had asked him respecting his journey to Blankenberg, and had touched him very nearly in reference to Miss Effingham. "'You know, Madame Max-Gusla, of course,' said Violet to Lord Fawn. "'Oh yes, I know the lady—that is—as well as other people do. No one, I take it, knows much of her. And it seems to me that the world is becoming tired of her. A mystery is good for nothing if it remains always a mystery. And it is good for nothing at all when it is found out,' said Violet. And therefore it is that Madame Max-Gusla is a boar,' said Lord Fawn. "'You did not find her a boar,' said Violet. Then Phineas, choosing to oppose Lord Fawn as well as he could on that matter as on every other, declared that he had found Madame Max-Gusla most delightful. And beautiful, is she not?' said Violet. "'Beautiful!' exclaimed Lord Fawn. "'I think her very beautiful,' said Phineas. "'So do I,' said Violet. "'And she is a dear ally of mine. We were a week together last winter, and swore an undying friendship. She told me ever so much about Mr. Gusla.  "'Now that you have run into scandal, I shall have done,' said Violet. Half an hour after this, when Phineas was preparing to fight his way out of the house, he was again close to Madame Max-Gusla. He had not found a single moment in which to ask Violet for an answer to his old question, and was retiring from the field, discomforted, but not dispirited. Lord Fawn, he thought, was not a serious obstacle in his way. Lady Laura had told him that there was no hope for him, but then, Lady Laura's mind on that subject was, he thought, prejudiced. Violet Effingham certainly knew what were his wishes, and knowing them, smiled on him and was gracious to him. Did she do so, if his pretensions were thoroughly objectionable to her? "'I saw that you were successful this evening,' said Madame Max-Gusla to him. I was not aware of any success. I call it great success, to be able to make your way where you will through such a crowd as there is here. You seem to me to be so stout a cavalier that I shall ask you to find my servant, and bid him get my carriage. Will you mind?' Phineas, of course, declared that he would be delighted. He is a German, and not in livery, but if somebody will call out, he will hear. He is very sharp, and much more attentive, than your English-footman. An Englishman hardly ever makes a good servant. Is that a compliment to us Britons? No, certainly not.  Phineas had now given the order for the carriage, and, having returned, was standing with Madame Max-Gusla in the cloakroom. "'After all, we are surely the most awkward people in the world,' she said. "'You know, Lord Fawn, who was talking to Miss Effingham just now, you should have heard him trying to pay me a compliment before dinner. It was like a donkey walking a minuet, and yet they say he is a clever man, and can make speeches. Could it be possible that Madame Max-Gusla's ears were so sharp that she had heard the things which Lord Fawn had said of her? "'He is a well-informed man,' said Phineas. "'For a lord, you mean?' said Madame Max-Gusla. "'But he is an oaf, is he not? And yet they say he is to marry that girl.' "'I do not think he will,' said Phineas stoutly. "'I hope not, with all my heart, and I hope that somebody else may, unless somebody else should change his mind. "'Thank you. I am so much obliged to you. Mind you come and call on me. "'I dare say you know the little cottage.' "'Then he put Madame Max-Gusla into her carriage, and walked away to his club.' CHAPTER 42 AND 43 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.  But it was dingy and dull, and could not have been painted for the last ten years, or furnished for the last twenty. Nevertheless Lady Baldock had evenings, and people went to them, though not such a crowd of people as would go to the evenings of Lady Glencora. Now Mr. Finneas Finne had not been asked to the evenings of Lady Baldock for the present season, and the reason was after this wise. Yes, Mr. Finne, Lady Baldock had said to her daughter, who early in the spring was preparing the cards, you may send one to Mr. Finne, certainly. I don't know that he is very nice, said Augusta Bourne, whose eyes at Salisby had been sharper perhaps than her mother's, and who had her suspicions. But Lady Baldock did not like interference from her daughter. Mr. Finne, certainly—she continued—they tell me that he is a very rising young man, and he sits for Lord Brentford's borough. Of course he is a radical, but we cannot help that. Of all the rising young men are radicals now, I thought him very civil at Salisby. But Mamar, well, don't you think that he is a little free with Violet? What on earth do you mean, Augusta? Have you not fancied that he is fond of her? Good gracious, no! I think he is, and I have sometimes fancied that she is fond of him, too. I don't believe a word of it, Augusta, not a word. I should have seen it, if it was so. I am very sharp in seeing such things. They never escape me. Even Violet would not be such a fool as that. Send him a card, and if he comes, I shall soon see." Miss Bourne quite understood her mother, though she could never master her, and the card was prepared. Miss Bourne could never master her mother by her own efforts. But it was, I think, by a little intrigue on her part, that Lady Baldock was mastered, and, indeed, altogether cowed in reference to our hero, and that this victory was gained on that very afternoon in time to prevent the sending of the card. When the mother and daughter were at tea before dinner, Lord Baldock came into the room, and, after having been patted and patted and praised by his mother, he took up all the cards out of a china-bowl, and ran his eyes over them.  "'Lady Hartletop, you know, she won't come.' "'I don't see why she shouldn't come,' said Lady Baldock, amid her country clergyman's daughter. "'Julius Caesar Conway, a great friend of mine, and therefore he always blackbores my other friends at the club.' "'Lord Chilton?' "'I thought you were at daggers drawn with Lord Chilton. "'They say he is going to be reconciled to his father, Gustavus, and I do it for Lord Brentford's sake, and he won't come, so it does not signify, and I do believe that Violet has really refused him.' "'You're quite right about his not coming,' said Lord Baldock, continuing to read the cards. "'Chilton certainly won't come.' "'Count Sparowski?' "'I wonder what you know about Sparowski that you should ask him here.' "'He is asked about Gustavus.' "'He is indeed,' pleaded Lady Baldock. "'I believe that Sparowski is a penniless adventurer.' "'Mr. Monk, well, he is a cabinet minister.' "'Sir Gregory Greasewing, you mix your people nicely at any rate. "'Sir Gregory Greasewing is the most old-fashioned Tory in England. "'Of course we are not political, Gustavus.' "'Finnus Finn, they come alternately, one and one. "'Mr. Finn is asked everywhere, Gustavus.' "'I don't doubt it. "'They say he is a very good sort of fellow. "'They say also that Violet has found out out as well as other people.' "'What do you mean, Gustavus?' "'I mean that everybody is saying that this finnious Finn is going to set himself up in the world by marrying your niece. "'He is quite right to try it on, if he has a chance.' "'I don't think he would be right at all,' said Lady Baldock, with much energy. "'I think he would be wrong, shamefully wrong. "'They say he is the son of an Irish doctor, "'and that he hasn't a shilling in the world.' "'That is just why he would be right. "'What is such a man to do but to marry money?' "'He's a deuced good-looking fellow, too, and we'll be sure to do it.' "'He should work for his money in the city, then, or somewhere there. "'But I don't believe it, Gustavus, I don't indeed.' "'Very well, I only tell you what I hear. "'The fact is that he and children have already quarrelled about her. "'If I were to tell you that they have been over to Holland "'together and fought a duel about her, you wouldn't believe that.' "'Fought a duel about Violet? "'People don't fight duels now, and I should not believe it. "'Very well. "'Then send your guard to Mr. Finn.' "'And so saying, Lord Baldock left the room. "'Lady Baldock sat in silence for some time, toasting her toes of the fire, "'and Augusta Boreham sat by, waiting for orders. "'She felt pretty nearly sure that new orders would be given "'if she did not herself interfere.' "'You had better put by that card for the present, my dear,' said Lady Baldock at last. "'I will make inquiries. "'I don't believe a word of what Gustavus has said. "'I don't think that even Violet is such a fool as that. "'But if rash and ill-natured people have spoken of it, "'it may be as well to be careful.' "'It is always well to be careful. "'Is it not, Mama?' "'Not, but what I think it very improper that these things "'should be said about a young woman. "'And as for the story of the jewel, I don't believe a word of it. "'It is absurd!' "'I dare say that Gustavus invented it at the moment "'just to amuse himself.' The card, of course, was not sent, and Lady Baldock at any rate put so much faith in her son's story as to make her feel it to be her duty to interrogate her niece on the subject. Lady Baldock at this period of her life was certainly not free from fear of Violet effing him. In the numerous encounters which took place between them, the aunt seldom gained that amount of victory which would have completely satisfied her spirit. She longed to be dominant over her niece, as she was dominant over her daughter. And when she found that she missed such supremacy, she longed to tell Violet to depart from out her borders and be no longer niece of hers. But had she ever done so, Violet would have gone at the instant and then terrible things would have followed. There is a satisfaction in turning out of doors a nephew or niece who is pecuniarily dependent. But when the youthful relative is richly endowed, the satisfaction is much diminished. It is the duty of a guardian, no doubt, to look after the ward. But if this cannot be done, the ward's money should at least be held with as close a fist as possible. But Lady Baldock, though she knew that she would be sorely wounded, poked about on her old body with the sharp lances of disobedience, and struck with the cruel swords of satire. If she took upon herself to scold or even to question Violet, nevertheless would not abandon the pleasure of lecturing and teaching. It is my duty, she would say to herself. And though it be taken in a bad spirit, I will always perform my duty." So she performed her duty, and asked Violet Effingham some questions respecting Phineas Finn. "'My dear,' she said, "'do you remember meeting a Mr. Finn at Salisby?' "'A Mr. Finn, aunt? Why, he is a particular friend of mine. Of course I do. And he was at Salisby. I've met him there more than once. Don't you remember that we were riding about together?' I remember that he was there, certainly, but I did not know that he was a special friend. Most a special aunt, a one, I may say, among young men, I mean." Lady Baldock was certainly the most indiscreet of old women in such a matter as this, and Violet the most provoking of young ladies. Lady Baldock, believing that there was something to fear, as indeed there was, much to fear, should have been content to destroy the card and to keep the young lady away from the young gentleman if such keeping away was possible to her. But Miss Effingham was certainly very wrong to speak of any young man as being a one. Fond as I am of Miss Effingham, I cannot justify her, and must acknowledge that she used the most offensive phrase she could find on purpose to annoy her aunt. Violet! said Lady Baldock, bridling up, I never heard such a word before from the lips of a young lady. Not as a one? I thought it simply meant very good. A one is a nobleman, said Lady Baldock. No, aunt, a one is a ship, a ship that is very good, said Violet. And do you mean to say that Mr. Finn is very good? Yes, indeed. You asked Lord Brentford at Mr. Kennedy. You know he saved poor Mr. Kennedy from being frottled in the streets. That has nothing to do with it. A policeman might have done that. Then he would have been a one of policeman, though a one does not mean a policeman. He would have done his duty, and so perhaps did Mr. Finn. Of course he did, aunt. It couldn't have been his duty to stand by and see Mr. Kennedy throttled.  And he made a beautiful speech the other day. I read every word of it. I am so glad he is a liberal. I do like young men to be liberals. Now Lord Baldock was a Tory, as had been all the Lord Baldock's, since the first who had been brought over from the Whigs in the time of George III at the cost of a barony. You have nothing to do with politics, Violet. Why shouldn't I have something to do with politics, aunt? And I must tell you that your name is being very unpleasantly mentioned, in connection with that of this young man, because of your indiscretion. What indiscretion? Violet, as she made her demand for a more direct accusation, stood quite upright before her aunt, looking the old woman full in the face, almost with her arms a kimbo. Calling him A-1, Violet! People have been talking about me and Mr. Finn, because I just now at this very moment called him A-1 to you. If you want to scold me about anything, aunt, do find out something less ridiculous than that. It was most improper language, and if you used it to me, I am sure you would to others. To what others? To Mr. Finn, and those sort of people. Call Mr. Finn A-1 to his face. Well, upon my honour I don't know why I should not. Lord Chiltern says he rides beautifully, and if we were talking about riding, I might do so. You have no business to talk to Lord Chiltern about Mr. Finn at all. Have I not? I thought that perhaps the one sin might palliate the other. You know, aunt, no young lady, let her be ever so ill-disposed, can marry two objectionable young men at the same time. I said nothing about your marrying Mr. Finn. And aunt, what did you mean? I meant that you should not allow yourself to be talked of with an adventurer, a young man without a shilling, a person who has come from nobody knows where in the bogs of Ireland. But you used to ask him here. Yes, as long as he knew his place, but I shall not do so again, and I must beg you to be circumspect. My dear aunt. We may as well understand each other. I will not be circumspect, as you call it. And if Mr. Finn asked me to marry him to-morrow, and if I liked him well enough, I would take him, even though he had been dug right out of a bog. Not only because I liked him mind.  But this young man is not nothing. Mr. Finn is a fine fellow, and if there were no other reason to prevent my marrying him and his being the son of a doctor, and coming out of the bogs, that would not do so. Now I have made a clean breast to you as regards Mr. Finn, and if you do not like what I have said, aunt, you must acknowledge that you have brought it on yourself. Lady Baldock was left for a time speechless. But no card was sent to Phineus Finn. End of Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Promotion Phineus got no card from Lady Baldock. But one morning he received a note from Lord Brentford, which was of more importance to him than any card could have been. At this time, bit by bit, the reform-bill of the day had nearly made its way through the committee, but had been so mutilated as to be almost impossible of recognition by its progenitors. And there was still a clause or two as to the rearrangement of seats, respecting which it was known that there would be a combat, probably combats, carried on after the internascene fashion. There was a certain clipping of counties to be done, as to which it was said that Mr. Dobini had declared that he would not yield till he was made to do so by the brute force of majorities. And there was another clause for the drafting of certain superfluous members from little boroughs, and bestowing them on populous towns at which they were much wanted, respecting which Mr. Turnbull had proclaimed that the clause, as it now stood, was a faniant clause capable of doing, and intended to do, no good in the proper direction. A clause put into the bill to gull ignorant folk, who had not eyes enough to recognise the fact that it was faniant, and make-believe clause, so said Mr. Turnbull, to be detested on that account by every true reformer worse than the old Philistine bonds and Tory figments of representation, as to which there was at least no hypocritical pretense of popular fitness. Mr. Turnbull had been very loud and very angry, had talked much of demonstrations among the people, and had almost threatened the house. The house in its present mood did not fear any demonstrations, but it did fear that Mr. Turnbull might help Mr. Dobini, and that Mr. Dobini might help Mr. Turnbull. It was now May, the middle of May, and ministers who had been at work on their reform bill ever since the beginning of the session, were becoming weary of it. And then, should these odious clauses escape the threatened Turnbull-Dobini alliance, then there was the house of lords. "'What a pity we can't pass our bills at the Treasury, and have done with them,' said Lawrence Fitzgibbon. "'Yes, indeed,' replied Mr. Rattler, for myself I was never so tired of a session in my life. I wouldn't go through it again to be made, no, not to be made, Chancellor of the Exchequer. Lord Brentford's note to Phineas Finn was as follows. House of Lords, 16th May, 186 Blank. "'My dear Mr. Finn, you are no doubt aware that Lord Bosenket's death has taken Mr. Motrim into the upper house, and that as he was undersecretary for the colonies, and as the undersecretary must be in the lower house, the vacancy must be filled up.' The heart of Phineas Finn at this moment was almost in his mouth, not only to be selected for political employment, but to be selected at once for an office so singularly desirable. Undersecretaries, he fancied, were paid two thousand a year. What would Mr. Low say now? That his great triumph soon received a check. "'Mr. Mildmay has spoken to me on the subject,' continued the letter, and informs me that he has offered the place at the colonies to his old supporter, Mr. Laurence Fitzgibbon.' Laurence Fitzgibbon! I am inclined to think that he could not have done better as Mr. Fitzgibbon has shown great zeal for his party. This will vacate the Irish seat at the Treasury Board, and I am commissioned by Mr. Mildmay to offer it to you. Perhaps you will do me the pleasure of calling on me to-morrow between the hours of eleven and twelve, yours very sincerely, Brentford. Phineas was himself surprised to find that his first feeling on reading this letter was one of dissatisfaction. Here were his golden hopes about to be realized, hopes as to the realization of which he had been quite despondent twelve months ago, and yet he was uncomfortable because he was to be postponed to Laurence Fitzgibbon. Had the new Undersecretary been a man whom he had not known, whom he had not learned to look down upon as inferior to himself, he would not have minded it, would have been full of joy at the promotion proposed for himself. But Laurence Fitzgibbon was such a poor creature, that the idea of filling a place from which Laurence had risen was distasteful to him. It seems to be all a matter of favor and convenience, he said to himself, without any reference to the service. His triumph would have been so complete had Mr. Mildmay allowed him to go into the higher place at one leap. Other men who had made themselves useful had done so. And the first hour after receiving Lord Brentford's letter, the idea of becoming a lord of the treasury was almost displeasing to him. He had an idea that junior lordships of the treasury were generally bestowed on young members whom it was convenient to secure, but who were not good at doing anything. There was a moment in which he thought that he would refuse to be made a junior lord. But during the night, cooler reflections told him that he had been very wrong. He had taken up politics with the expressed desire of getting his foot upon a rung of the ladder of promotion, and now, in his third session, he was about to be successful. Even as a junior lord he would have a thousand a year, and how long might he have sat in chambers, and have wandered about Lincoln's inn, and have loitered in the courts, striving to look as though he had business before he would have earned a thousand a year? Even as a junior lord he could make himself useful, and when once he should be known to be a good working man, promotion would come to him. No ladder can be mounted without the labour, but this ladder was now open above his head, and he already had his foot upon it. At half-past eleven he was with Lord Brentford, who received him with the blandest smile and a pressure of the hand which was quite cordial. "'My dear Finn,' he said, "'this gives me the most sincere pleasure, the greatest pleasure in the world. Our connection together at Lufton, of course, makes it doubly agreeable to me. I cannot be too grateful to you, Lord Brentford." "'No, no, no, no, no, it is all your own doing.' When Mr. Mildmay asked me whether I did not think you the most promising of the young members on our side in the house, I certainly did say that I quite concurred. But I should be taking too much on myself. I should be acting dishonestly, if I were to allow you to imagine that it was my proposition. Had he asked me to recommend, I should have named you, that I say frankly, but he did not. He did not. Mr. Mildmay named you himself. "'Do you think,' he said, "'that your friend Finn would join us at the treasury?' I told him that I did think so. "'And do you not think,' said he, "'that it would be a useful appointment? Then I ventured to say that I had no doubt whatever on that point, that I knew you well enough to feel confident that you would lend a strength to the Liberal government. Then there were a few words said about your seat, and I was commissioned to write to you. That was all.' Phineas was grateful, but not too grateful, and bore himself very well in the interview. He explained to Lord Brentford that, of course, it was his object to serve the country and to be paid for his services, and that he considered himself to be very fortunate to be selected so early in his career for parliamentary place. He would endeavour to do his duty, and could safely save himself so that he did not wish to eat the bread of idleness. As he made this assertion, he thought of Lawrence Fitzgibbon. Lawrence Fitzgibbon had eaten the bread of idleness, and yet he was promoted. But Phineas said nothing to Lord Brentford about his idle friend. When he had made his little speech, he asked a question about the borough. I have already ventured to write a letter to my agent at Lofton, telling him that you have accepted office, and that you will be shortly there again. He will see short ribs and arrange it.  Of course you will not mention my name. And the earl looked very grave, as he uttered this caution. Of course I will not, said Phineas. I do not think you will find any difficulty about the seat, said the peer. There never has been any difficulty at Lofton yet. I must say that for them. And if we can scrape through with clause seventy-two, we shall be all right. Shall we not? This was the clause as to which so violent an opposition was expected from Mr. Turnbull. A clause as to which Phineas himself had felt that he would hardly know how to support the government, in the event of the committee being pressed to a division upon it. Could he, an ardent reformer, a reformer at heart, could he say that such a borough as Lofton should be spared, that the arrangement by which short ribs and grating had sent him to Parliament, in obedience to Lord Brentford's orders, was in due accord with the theory of a representative legislature, in what respect had Gatton and old Sarum been worse than Lofton? Was he not himself false to his principle in sitting for such a borough as Lofton? He had spoken to Mr. Monk, and Mr. Monk had told him that Rome was not built in a day, and had told him also that good things were most valued and were more valuable when they came by installments. But then Mr. Monk himself enjoyed the satisfaction of sitting for a popular constituency. He was not personally pricked in the conscience by his own parliamentary position. Now, however, now that Phineas had consented to join the government, any such considerations as these must be laid aside. He could no longer be a free agent, or even a free thinker. He had been quite aware of this, and had taught himself to understand that members of Parliament and the direct service of the government were absolved from the necessity of free thinking. Individual free thinking was incompatible with the position of a member of the government. And unless such abnegation were practised, no government would be possible. It was, of course, a man's duty to bind himself together with no other men, but those with whom, on matters of general policy, he could agree heartily. But having found that he could so agree, he knew that it would be his duty as a subaltern to vote as he was directed. It would trouble his conscience less to sit for Lofton and vote for an objectionable clause as a member of the government, than it would have done to give such a vote as an independent member. In so resolving, he thought that he was simply acting in accordance with the acknowledged rules of parliamentary government. And therefore, when Lord Brentford spoke of clause 72, he could answer pleasantly. I think we should carry it. And you see, in getting it through committee, if we can carry it by one, that is as good as 100. That's the comfort of close fighting in committee. In the open house we are almost as much beaten by a narrow majority as by a vote against us. Just so, just so, said Lord Brentford, delighted to see that his young pupil, as he regarded him, understood so well the system of parliamentary management. By the by, Finn, have you seen Chulton lately? Not quite lately, said Phineas, blushing up to his eyes, or heard from him. No, nor heard from him. When I last heard of him, he was in Brussels. Ah, yes. He is somewhere on the Rhine now. I thought that as you were so intimate, perhaps you corresponded with him. Have you heard that we have arranged about Lady Laura's money? I have heard. Lady Laura has told me. I wish he would return, said Lord Brentford sadly, almost solemnly. As that great difficulty is over, I would receive him willingly, and make my house pleasant to him, if I can do so. I am most anxious that he should settle and marry. Could you not write to him? Phineas, not daring to tell Lord Brentford that he had quarreled with Lord Chulton, feeling that if he did so everything would go wrong, said that he would write to Lord Chulton. As he went away he felt that he was bound to get an answer from Vile at Effingham. If it should be necessary, he was willing to break with Lord Brentford on that matter, even though such breaking should lose him his borough and his place, but not on any other matter. End of Chapter 43. Chapter 44 of Phineas Finn the Irish Member This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Mill Nicholson. Phineas Finn the Irish Member by Anthony Trollop. Chapter 44 Phineas and His Friends Our hero's friends were, I think, almost more related by our hero's promotion than was our hero himself. He never told himself that it was a great thing to be a junior Lord of the Treasury, though he acknowledged to himself that to have made a successful beginning was a very great thing, but his friends were loud in their congratulations or condolments, as the case might be. He had his interview with Mr. Miles May, and after that, one of his first steps was to inform Mrs. Bunce that he must change his lodgings. The truth is, Mrs. Bunce, not that I want anything better, but that a better position would be advantageous to me, and that I can afford to pay for it. Mrs. Bunce acknowledged the truth of the argument, with her apron up to her eyes. I've got to be so fond of looking after you, Mr. Finn. I have indeed, said Mrs. Bunce. It is not just what you pay's like, because another party will pay as much. But we've got so used to you, Mr. Finn, haven't we? Mrs. Bunce was probably not aware herself, that the comeliness of her lodger had pleased her feminine eye, and touched her feminine heart. Had anybody said that Mrs. Bunce was in love with Phineas, the scandal would have been monstrous. And yet it was so, after a fashion. And Bunce knew it, after his fashion.   Wined the poor woman. But one does like old faces better than new, and a gentleman about one's place is pleasant. "'Gentlemen, be damned,' said Bunce. But his anger was excited, not by his wife's love for Phineas, but by the use of an objectionable word. Bunce himself had been on very friendly terms with Phineas, and they, too, had had many discussions on matters of politics, Bunce taking up the cudgels always for Mr. Turnbull, and generally slipping away gradually into some account of his own martyrdom. For he had been a martyr, having failed in obtaining any redress against the policeman who had imprisoned him so wrongfully. The people's banner had fought for him manfully, and therefore there was a little disagreement between him and Phineas on the subject of that great organ of public opinion. And as Mr. Bunce thought that his lodger was very wrong to sit for Lord Brentford's borough, subjects were sometimes touched which were a little galling to Phineas. Touching this promotion, Bunce had nothing but condolment to offer to the new junior lord. "'Oh, yes,' said he, in answer to an argument from Phineas, "'I'll suppose they must be lords, as you call them. Though for the matter of that I can't see as they is of any mortal use.' "'Wouldn't you have the government carried on?' "'Government?' "'Well, I suppose they must be government, but the less of it the better. I'm not against government, nor yet against laws, Mr. Phine, though the less of them, too the better. But what does these lords do in the government?' "'Lords, indeed. I'll tell you what they do, Mr. Phine. They vote. That's what they do. They vote hard. Black or white, white or black. Ain't that true?   You'll have to vote, as you're told, and of course you'll think it's right enough. Ain't you been among parliament gents long enough to know that that's the way it goes? You think no honest man can be a member of government? I don't say that, but I think honesty's a deal easier away from them. The fact is, Mr. Phine, it's all wrong with us yet, and will be till we get it nyer to the great American model. If a poor man gets into parliament, excuse me, Mr. Phine, but I'll cause you a poor man. Certainly, as a member of parliament, I am a very poor man. Just so? And therefore what do you do? You go and lay yourself out for government. I'm not saying as though you're any ways wrong. A man has to live.  Phineas, as you heard this, doubtful praise, laughed and blushed. Very well.  It excuse me, but that's about it, ain't it? And then you go in for government. A man may have a mission to govern, such as Washington and Cromwell and the like, of them, but when I use of Mr. Fitzgib and a governing, why then I says, damn it all. There must be good and bad, you know. We've got to change a deal, yet, Mr. Phine, and we'll do it. When a young man, as as liberal feelings, gets into parliament, you shouldn't be snapped up and brought into the governing business, just because he's poor and wants a salary. They don't do it that way in the States, and they won't do it that way year-long. It's the system, as I hate, and not you, Mr. Phine. Well, goodbye, sir. I hope you light the governing business and find it so cheer-elf. These condoluments from Mr. Bunce were not pleasant, but they set him thinking. He felt assured that Bunce and Quintus Slide and Mr. Turnbull were wrong. Bunce was ignorant, Quintus Slide was dishonest, Turnbull was greedy of popularity. For himself, he thought that as a young man he was fairly well informed. He knew that he meant to be true in his vocation, and he was quite sure that the object nearest to his heart in politics was not self-aggrandisement, but the welfare of the people in general. And yet he could not but agree with Bunce that there was something wrong.  On the evening of that day he went up to Mrs. Lowes, very sure that he should receive some encouragement from her and from her husband. She had been angry with him because he had put himself into a position in which money must be spent and none could be made. The Lowes, especially Mrs. Low, had refused to believe that any success was within his reach. Now that he had succeeded, now that he was in receipt of a salary on which he could live and save money, he would be sure of sympathy from his old friends, the Lowes. But Mrs. Low was as severe upon him as Mr. Bunce had been, and even from Mr. Low, he could extract no real comfort. "'Of course I congratulate you,' said Mr. Low coldly. "'And you, Mrs. Low?' "'Well, you know, Finn, I think you have begun at the wrong end. I thought so before, and I think so still. I suppose I ought not to say so to a lord of the treasury, but if you ask me, what can I do?' "'Speak the truth, of course.' "'Exactly. That's what I must do. Well, the truth is, Mr. Finn, that I do not think it is a very good opening for a young man to be made what they call a lord of the treasury, unless he has got a private fortune, you know, to support that kind of life. "'You see, Finneas, a ministry is such an uncertain thing,' said Mr. Low. "'Of course it's uncertain, but as I did go into the house it's something to have succeeded. "'If you call that success,' said Mrs. Low. "'You did intend to go on with your profession,' said Mr. Low. He could not tell them that he had changed his mind and that he meant to marry Violet Effingham, who would much prefer a parliamentary life for her husband to that of a working barrister. "'I suppose that is all given up now,' continued Mr. Low. "'Just for the present,' said Finneas. "'Yes. And for ever, I fear,' said Mrs. Low. "'You never go back to real work, after frittering away your time as a lord of the treasury. What sort of work must it be, when just anybody can do it, that it suits them to lay hold of? But of course a thousand a year is something, though a man may have it for only six months.' It came out in the course of the evening that Mr. Low was going to stand for the borough vacated by Mr. Motrim, at which it was considered that the Conservatives might possibly prevail. "'You see, after all, Finneas,' said Mr. Low, that I am following your steps. "'Ah! You are going into the house in the course of your profession.' "'Just so,' said Mrs. Low. "'And, ah, taking the first step towards being a Tory at Derny General.' "'That's as may be,' said Mr. Low. "'But it's the kind of thing a man does after twenty years of hard work. For myself I really don't care much whether I succeed or fail. I should like to live to be a vice-chancellor. I don't mind saying as much as that to you. But I'm not at all sure that Parliament is the best way to the equity bench. "'But it is a grand thing to get into Parliament, when you do it by means of your profession,' said Mrs. Low. Soon after that Finneas took his departure from the house, feeling sore and unhappy. But on the next morning he was received and groven a place with an amount of triumph which went far to compensate him. Lady Laura had written to him to call there, and on his arrival he found both Violet Effingham and Madame Max Gersler with his friend. When Finneas entered the room his first feeling was one of intense joy at seeing that Violet Effingham was present there. Then there was one of surprise that Madame Max Gersler should make one of the little party. Lady Laura had told him at Mr. Pellis's dinner party that they, in Portman Square, had not as yet advanced far enough to receive Madame Max Gersler, and yet here was the lady in Mr. Kennedy's drawing-room. Now Finneas would have thought it more likely that he should find her in Portman Square than in Groven a Place. The truth was that Madame Gersler had been brought by Miss Effingham, with the consent indeed of Lady Laura, but with the consent given with much of hesitation. What are you afraid of? Violet had asked. I am afraid of nothing, Lady Laura had answered, but one has to choose one's acquaintance in accordance with rules which one doesn't lay down very strictly. She's a clever woman, said Violet, and everybody likes her, but if you think Mr. Kennedy would object, of course you are right. Then Lady Laura had consented, telling herself that it was not necessary that she should ask her husband's approval as to every new acquaintance she might form. At the same time Violet had been told that Finneas would be there, and so the party had been made up. See, the conquering hero comes, said Violet in her cheeriest voice. I am so glad that Mr. Finne has been made a lord of something, said Madame Max Gersler. I had the pleasure of a long political discussion with him the other night, and I quite approve of him. We are so much gratified, Mr. Finne, said Lady Laura. Mr. Kennedy says that it is the best appointment they could have made, and Papa is quite proud about it. You are Lord Brentford's member, are you not? asked Madame Max Gersler. This was a question which Finneas did not quite like, and which he was obliged to excuse by remembering that the questioner had lived so long out of England as to be probably ignorant of the myths and theories and system and working of the British Constitution. Violet Effingham, little as she knew of politics, would never have asked a question so imprudent. But the question was turned off, and Finneas, with an easy grace, submitted himself to be petted and congratulated, and purred over, and almost caressed by the three ladies. Their good-natured enthusiasm was at any rate better than the satire of Bunce, or the wisdom of Mrs. Lowell. Lady Laura had no misgivings as to Finneas being fit for governing, and Violet Effingham said nothing as to the short-lived tenure of ministers. Madame Max Gersler, though she had asked an indiscreet question, thoroughly appreciated the advantage of government pay and the prestige of government power. You are a Lord now, she said, speaking as was customary with her, with the slightest possible foreign accent. And you will be a president soon, and then, perhaps, a secretary. The order of promotion seems odd, but I am told it is very pleasant. It is pleasant to succeed, of course, said Finneas. Let the success be ever so little. We knew you would succeed, said Lady Laura. We were quite sure of it. Were we not Violet? You always said so, my dear. For myself I do not venture to have an opinion on such matters. Will you always have to go to that big building in the corner, Mr. Finne, and stay there from ten till four? Won't that be a bore? We have a half-holiday on Saturday, you know, said Finneas. And do the Lords of the Treasury have to take care of the money? asked Madam Max Gersler. Only their own, and they generally fail in doing that, said Finneas. He sat there for a considerable time, wondering whether Mr. Kennedy would come in, and wondering also as to what Mr. Kennedy would say to Madam Max Gersler when he did come in. He knew that it was useless for him to expect any opportunity, then or there, of being alone for a moment with Violet Effingham. His only chance in that direction would be in some crowded room, at some ball at which he might ask her to dance with him. But it seemed that fate was very unkind to him, and that no such chance came in his way. Mr. Kennedy did not appear, and Madam Max Gersler with Violet went away, leaving Finneas still sitting with Lady Laura. Each of them said a kind word to him as they went. I don't know whether I may dare to expect the Lord of the Treasury will come and see me, said Madam Max Gersler. Then Finneas made a second promise that he would call in Park Lane. Violet blushed as she remembered that she could not ask him to call at Lady Baldock's. Good-bye, Mr. Finn, she said, giving him her hand. I am so very glad that they have chosen you, and I do hope that, as Madam Max says, they will make you a secretary and a president and everything else very quickly, till it will come to your turn to be making other people. He is very nice, said Madam Gersler, to Violet as she took her place in the carriage. He bears being petted and spoiled, without being either awkward or conceited. On the whole he is rather nice, said Violet. Only he has not got a shilling in the world, and has to make himself before he will be anybody. He must marry money, of course, said Madam Max Gersler. I hope you are contented, said Lady Laura, rising from her chair and coming opposite to him as soon as they were alone. Of course I am contented. I was not. When I first heard of it, why did they promote that empty-headed countryman of yours to a place for which he was quite unfit? I was not contented, but then I am more ambitious for you than you are for yourself. He sat without answering her for a while, and she stood waiting for his reply. Have you nothing to say to me? she asked. I do not know what to say. When I think of it all, I am lost in amazement. You tell me that you are not contented, that you are ambitious for me. Why is it that you should feel any interest in the matter? Is it not reasonable that we should be interested for our friends? But when you and I last parted here in this room, you were hardly my friend. Was I not? You rang me there very deeply.  I think I said that I could not help you, and I think I said also that I thought you would fail. I do not know that I showed much resentment. You see, I told her that you were here, that she might come and meet you. You know that I wished my brother should succeed. I wished it before I ever knew you. You cannot expect that I should change my wishes. What if he cannot succeed? pleaded Phineas. Who is to say that? Has a woman never been won by devotion and perseverance? Besides, how can I wish to see you go on with a suit which must sever you from my father and injure your political prospects, perhaps fatally injure them? It seems to me now that my father is almost the only man in London who has not heard of this duel. Of course he will hear of it. I have half made up my mind to tell him myself. Do not do that, Mr. Phine. There could be no reason for it. But I did not ask you to come here today to talk to you about Oswald or Violet. I have given you my advice about that, and I can do no more. Lady Laura, I cannot take it. It is out of my power to take it. Very well. The matter shall be what you members of Parliament call an open question between us. When Papa asked you to accept this place at the Treasury, did it ever occur to you to refuse it? It did. For half an hour or so. I hoped you would, and yet I knew that I was wrong. I thought that you should count yourself to be worth more than that, and that you should, as it were, assert yourself. But then it is so difficult to draw the line between proper self-assertion and proper self-denial—to know how high to go up the table and how low to go down. I do not doubt that you have been right. Only make them understand that you are not as other junior lords, that you have been willing to be a junior lord or anything else for a purpose, but that the purpose is something higher than that of fetching and carrying in Parliament for Mr. Mildmay and Mr. Palliser. I hope in time to get beyond fetching and carrying, said Phineas. Of course you will, and knowing that I am glad that you are in office. I suppose there will be no difficulty about Lofton. Then Phineas laughed. I hear, said he, that Mr. Quintus's slide of the People's Banner has already gone down to canvass the electors. Mr. Quintus's slide—to canvass the electors of Lofton—and Lady Laura drew herself up and spoke of this unseemly intrusion on her father's borough, as though the vulgar man who had been named had forced his way into the very drawing-room in Portman Square. At that moment Mr. Kennedy came in. Do you hear what Mr. Phine tells me, she said? He has heard that Mr. Quintus's slide has gone down to Lofton to stand against him. And why not? said Mr. Kennedy. My dear! ejaculated Lady Laura. Mr. Quintus's slide will no doubt lose his time and his money, but he will gain the prestige of having stood for a borough, which will be something for him on the staff of the People's Banner, said Mr. Kennedy. He will get that horrid man vellum to propose him, said Lady Laura. Very likely, said Mr. Kennedy. And the less any of us say about it the better. Phine, my dear fellow, I congratulate you heartily. Nothing for a long time has given me greater pleasure than hearing of your appointment. It is equally honourable to yourself and to Mr. Mildmay. It is a great step to have gained so early. Phineus, as he thanked his friend, could not help asking himself what his friend had done to be made a Cabinet Minister. Little as he, Phineus himself, had done in the house in his two sessions and a half, Mr. Kennedy had hardly done more in his fifteen or twenty. But then Mr. Kennedy was possessed of almost miraculous wealth, and owned half a county, whereas he, Phineus, owned almost nothing at all. Of course no Prime Minister would offer a junior lordship at the Treasury to a man with thirty thousand pounds a year. Soon after this Phineus took his leave. I think he will do well, said Mr. Kennedy to his wife. I am sure he will do well, replied Lady Laura almost scornfully.  It is astonishing how that absurd story of his duel with children has got about. It is impossible to prevent people talking, said Lady Laura. I suppose there was some quarrel, no neither of them will tell you. They say it was about Miss Effingham. I should hardly think that Phine could have any hopes in that direction. Why should he not have hopes? Because he has neither position nor money nor birth, said Mr. Kennedy. He is a gentleman, said Lady Laura, and I think he has position. I do not see why he should not ask any girl to marry him. There is no understanding you, Laura, said Mr. Kennedy angrily. I thought you had quite other hopes about Miss Effingham. So I have, but that has nothing to do with it. You spoke of Mr. Phine as though he would be guilty of some crime were he to ask Violet Effingham to be his wife.  I am sorry that I offend you by my gratitude to a man who saved your life. Mr. Kennedy shook his head. He knew that the argument used against him was false, but he did not know how to show that he knew that it was false. Perhaps I had better not mention his name any more, continued Lady Laura. Nonsense! I quite agree with you that it is nonsense, Robert. All I mean to say is that if you go on as you do, you will turn his head and spoil him. Do you think I do not know what is going on among you? And what is going on among us, as you call it? You are taking this young man up and putting him on a pedestal and worshipping him, just because he is well-looking and rather clever and decently behaved. It is always the way with women who have nothing to do and who cannot be made to understand that they should have duties. They cannot live without some kind of idolatry. Have I neglected my duty to you, Robert? Yes, you know you have, in going to those receptions at your father's house on Sundays. What has that to do with Mr. Phine? I begin to think I had better tell Mr. Phine not to come here any more, since his presence is disagreeable to you. All the world knows how great is the service he did you, and it will seem to be very ridiculous. People will say all manner of things, but anything will be better than that you should go on as you have done, accusing your wife of idolatry towards a young man, because he is well-looking. I never said anything of the kind. You did, Robert. I did not. I did not speak more of you than of a lot of others. You accused me personally, saying that because of my idolatry, I had neglected my duty. But really you made such a jumble of it all, with papa's visitors and Sunday afternoons, that I cannot follow what was in your mind. Then Mr. Kennedy stood for a while, collecting his thoughts. So that he might unravel the jumble, if that were possible to him. But finding that it was not possible, he left the room and closed the door behind him. Then Lady Laura was left alone to consider the nature of the accusation which her husband had brought against her. Or the nature, rather, of the accusation which she had chosen to assert that her husband had implied. For in her heart she knew that he had made no such accusation and had intended to make none such. The idolatry of which he had spoken was the idolatry which a woman might show to her cat, her dog, her picture, her china, her furniture, her carriage and horses, or her pet maid servant. Such was the idolatry of which Mr. Kennedy had spoken. But was there no other worship in her heart? Worse, more pernicious than that, in reference to this young man? She had schooled herself about him very severely and had come to various resolutions. She had found out and confessed to herself that she did not and could not love her husband. She had found out and confessed to herself that she did love and could not help loving Finneas Finn. Then she had resolved to banish him from her presence and had gone the length of telling him so. After that she had perceived that she had been wrong and had determined to meet him as she met other men and to conquer her love. Then, when this could not be done, when something almost like idolatry grew upon her, she determined that it should be the idolatry of friendship, that she would not sin even in thought that there should be nothing in her heart of which she need be ashamed, but that the one great object and purport of her life should be the promotion of this friend's welfare. She had just begun to love after this fashion, had taught herself to believe that she might combine something of the pleasure of idolatry toward her friend with a full complement of duty towards her husband, when Finneas came to her with this tale of love for Violet Effingham. The lesson which she got then was a very rough one, so hard that at first she could not bear it. Her anger at his love for her brothers wished for bride was lost in her dismay that Finneas should love anyone after having once loved her. But by sheer force of mind she had conquered that dismay, that feeling of desolation at her heart, and had almost taught herself to hope that Finneas might succeed with Violet. He wished it, and why should he not have what he wished? He whom she so fondly idolized. It was not his fault that he and she were not man and wife. She had chosen to arrange it otherwise, and was she not bound to assist him now in the present object of his reasonable wishes. She had got over in her heart that difficulty about her brother, but she could not quite conquer the other difficulty. She could not bring herself to plead his cause with Violet. She had not brought herself as yet to do it. And now she was accused of idolatry for Finneas by her husband. She was with a lot of others, in which lot Violet was of course included. Would it not be better that they too should be brought together? Would not her friend's husband still be her friend? Would she not then forget to love him? Would she not then be safer than she was now? As she sat alone, struggling with her difficulties, she had not as yet forgotten to love him, nor was she as yet safe. End of Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Of Finneas Finn This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Leanne Howlett. Finneas Finn by Antony Trollop Chapter 45 Miss Effingham's Four Lovers One morning early in June, Lady Lara called at Lady Baldock's house and asked for Miss Effingham. The servant was showing her into the large drawing room when she again asked especially for Miss Effingham. I think Miss Effingham is there, said the man, opening the door. Miss Effingham was not there. Lady Baldock was sitting all alone, and Lady Lara perceived that she had been caught in the net which she especially wished to avoid. Now Lady Baldock had not actually or openly quarreled with Lady Lara Kennedy or with Lord Brentford, but she had conceived a strong idea that her niece Violet was countenanced in all improprieties by the Standish family generally, and that therefore the Standish family was to be regarded as a family of enemies. There was doubtless in her mind considerable confusion on the subject, for she did not know whether Lord Chiltern or Mr Finn was the suitor whom she most feared. And she was aware, after a sort of muddled fashion, that the claims of these two wicked young men were antagonistic to each other. But they were both regarded by her as emanations from the same source of iniquity, and therefore without going deeply into the machination of Lady Lara, without resolving whether Lady Lara was injuring her by pressing her brother as a suitor upon Miss Effingham or by pressing a rival of her brother. Still she became aware that it was her duty to turn a cold shoulder on those two houses in Portman Square and Grovesner Place. But her difficulties in doing this were very great, and it may be said that Lady Baldock was placed in an unjust and cruel position. Before the end of May she had proposed to leave London and to take her daughter and Violet down to Battingham, or to Brighton if they preferred it, or to Switzerland. Brighton in June, Violet had exclaimed, Would not a month among the glaciers be delightful, Miss Borum had said. Don't let me keep you in town, Aunt, Violet replied. But I do not think I shall go till other people go. I can have a room at Laura Kennedy's house. Then Lady Baldock, whose position was hard and cruel, resolved that she would stay in town. Here she had in her hands a ward over whom she had no positive power, and yet in respect to whom her duty was imperative. Her duty was imperative, and Lady Baldock was not the woman to neglect her duty, and yet she knew that the doing of her duty would all be in vain. Violet would marry a shoe-black out of the streets if she were so minded. It was of no use that the poor lady had provided herself with two strings, two most excellent strings, to her bow—two strings, either one of which should have contented Miss Effingham. There was Lord Fawn, a young peer, not very rich indeed, but still with means sufficient for a wife, a rising man, and in every way respectable, although a wig. And there was Mr. Appledom, one of the richest commoners in England, a fine conservative too, with a seat in the house, and everything appropriate. He was fifty, but looked hardly more than thirty-five, and was—so at least Lady Baldock frequently asserted—violently in love with Violet Effingham. Why had not the law, or the executors, or the Lord Chancellor, or some power levied for the protection of the proprieties, made Violet absolutely subject to her guardian till she should be made subject to a husband? Yes, I think she is at home, said Lady Baldock, in answer to Lady Laura's inquiry for Violet. At least I hardly know. She seldom tells me what she means to do, and sometimes she will walk out quite alone. A most imprudent old woman was Lady Baldock, always opening her hand to her adversaries, unable to control herself in the scolding of people, either before their faces or behind their backs, even at moments in which such scolding was most injurious to her own cause. However, we will see, she continued. Then the bell was rung, and in a few minutes Violet was in the room. In a few minutes more they were upstairs together in Violet's own room, in spite of the openly displayed wrath of Lady Baldock. I almost wish she had never been born, said Lady Baldock to her daughter. Oh, Mama, don't say that. I certainly do wish that I had never seen her. Indeed, she has been a grievous trouble to you, Mama, said Miss Borum sympathetically. Brighton, what nonsense, said Lady Laura. Of course it's nonsense, fancy going to Brighton, and then they have proposed Switzerland, if you could only hear Augusta talking in rapture of a month among the glaciers. And I feel so ungrateful. I believe they would spend three months with me at any horrible place that I could suggest, at Hong Kong, if I were to ask it. So intent are they on taking me away from metropolitan danger. But you will not go. No, I won't go. I know I am very naughty, but I can't help feeling that I cannot be good without being a fool at the same time. I must either fight my aunt, or give way to her.  And what is the special danger to be feared now? I don't know. You, I fancy. I told her that if she went, I should go to you. I knew that would make her stay. I wish you would come to me, said Lady Laura. I shouldn't think of it really, not for any length of time. Why not? Because I should be in Mr. Kennedy's way. You wouldn't be in his way in the least. If you would only be down punctually for morning prayers and go to church with him on Sunday afternoon, he would be delighted to have you. What did he say about Madame Max coming? Not a word. I don't think he quite knew who she was then. I fancy he has inquired since by something he said yesterday. What did he say? Nothing that matters, only a word. I haven't come here to talk about Madame Max Gosler, nor yet about Mr. Kennedy. Who have you come to talk about, asked Violet, laughing a little, with something of increased colour in her cheeks, though she could not be said to blush? A lover, of course, said Lady Laura. I wish you would leave me alone with my lovers. You are as bad or worse than my aunt. She, at any rate, varies her prescription.  And who is her favourite now? Old Mr. Appledom, who is really a most unexceptionable old party and whom I like of all things. I really think I could consent to be Mrs. Appledom to get rid of my troubles if he did not dye his whiskers and have his coats padded. He'd give up those little things if you asked him. I shouldn't have the heart to do it. Besides, this isn't his time of the year for making proposals. His love fever, which is of a very low kind, and intermits annually, never comes on till the autumn. It is a rural malady against which he is proof while among his clubs. Well, Violet, I am like your aunt. Like Lady Baldock. In one respect, I, too, will vary my prescription. What do you mean, Laura? Just this, that if you like to marry Phineas Finn, I will say that you are right. Heaven and earth, and why am I to marry Phineas Finn? Only for two reasons, because he loves you, and because— No, I deny it. I do not. I had come to fancy that you did. Keep your fancy more under control, then, but upon my word I can't understand this. He was your great friend. What has that got to do with it, demanded Lady Laura? And you have thrown over your brother, Laura? You have thrown him over. Is he to go on forever asking and being refused? I do not know why he should not, said Violet, seeing how very little trouble it gives him. Half an hour once in six months does it all for him, allowing him time for coming and going in a cab. Violet, I do not understand you. Have you refused Oswald so often because he does not pass hours on his knees before you? No, indeed. His nature would be altered very much for the worst before he could do that.  Why have you come to tell me to marry Mr. Finneas Finn? That is what I want to know. Mr. Finneas Finn, as far as I am aware, has not a shilling in the world, except a month's salary now due to him from the government. Mr. Finneas Finn, I believe, to be the son of a country doctor in Ireland, with about seven sisters. Mr. Finneas Finn is a Roman Catholic. Mr. Finneas Finn is, or was a short time ago, in love with another lady, and Mr. Finneas Finn is not so much in love with this moment, but what he is able to entrust his cause to an ambassador. None short of a royal suitor should ever do that with success. Has he never pleaded his cause to you himself? My dear, I never tell gentlemen's secrets. It seems that if he has, his success was so trifling, that he has thought he had better trust someone else for the future. He has not trusted me. He has not given me any commission. Then why have you come? Because, I hardly know how to tell his story. There have been things about Oswald which made it almost necessary that Mr. Finne should explain himself to me. I know it all about their fighting, foolish young men. I am not a bit obliged to either of them, not a bit. Only fancy if my aunt knew it what a life she would lead me. Gustavus knows all about it, and I feel that I am living at his mercy. Why were they so wrong-headed? I cannot answer that, though I know them well enough to be sure that children was the one in fault. It is so odd that you should have thrown your brother over. I have not thrown my brother over. Will you accept Oswald if he asks you again? No, almost shouted violet. Then I hope that Mr. Finne may succeed. I want him to succeed in everything. There, you may know it all. He is my Phoebus Apollo. That is flattering to me, looking at the position in which you desire to place your Phoebus at the present moment. Come, violet, I am true to you and let me have a little truth from you. This man loves you and I think is worthy of you. He does not love me, but he is my friend. As his friend, and believing in his worth, I wish for his success beyond almost anything else in the world. Listen to me, violet. I do not believe in those reasons which you gave me just now for not becoming this man's wife. Nor do I. I know you do not. Look at me. I who have less of real heart than you, I who thought that I could trust myself to satisfy my mind and my ambition without caring for my heart, I have married for what you call position. My husband is very rich and a cabinet minister and will probably be a peer, and he was willing to marry me at a time when I had not a shilling of my own. He was very generous. He has asked for it since, said Lady Laura, but never mind. I have not come to talk about myself, otherwise end to bid you not do what I have done. All that you have said about this man's want of money in a family is nothing. Nothing at all, said violet, mere words, fit only for such people as my aunt. Well, then. Well, if you love him. Ah, but if I do not, you are very close in inquiring into my secrets. Tell me, Laura, was not this young chryton once a lover of your own? Basha, and you think I cannot keep a gentleman's secret as well as you? What is the good of any secret, Laura, when we have been already so open? He tried his print his hand on you, and then he came to me. Let us watch him and see who will be the third. I chew like him well enough to hope that he will land himself safely at last.