by A. A. Milne
THE STATESMAN
On a certain night in the middle of the season all London was gatheredin Lady Marchpane's drawing-room; all London, that is, which was worthknowing--a qualification which accounted for the absence of severalmillion people who had never heard of Lady Marchpane. In one corner ofthe room an Ambassador, with a few ribbons across his chest, could havebeen seen chatting to the latest American Duchess; in another corner oneof our largest Advertisers was exchanging epigrams with a titledNewspaper Proprietor. Famous Generals rubbed shoulders withPost-Impressionist Artists; Financiers whispered sweet nothings toBreeders of prize Poms; even an Actor-Manager might have been seenaccepting an apology from a Royalty who had jostled him.
"Hallo," said Algy Lascelles, catching sight of the dignified figure ofRupert Meryton in the crowd; "how's William?"
A rare smile lit up Rupert's distinguished features. He was UnderSecretary for Invasion Affairs, and "William" was Algy's pleasant way ofreferring to the Bill which he was now piloting through the House ofCommons. It was a measure for doing something or other by means of awhat-d'you-call-it--I cannot be more precise without precipitating aEuropean Conflict.
"I think we shall get it through," said Rupert calmly.
"Lady Marchpane was talking about it just now. She's rather interested,you know."
Rupert's lips closed about his mouth in a firm line. He looked overAlgy's head into the crowd. "Oh!" he said coldly.
It was barely ten years ago that young Meryton, just down from Oxford,had startled the political world by capturing the important seat ofCricklewood (E.) for the Tariffadicals--as, to avoid plunging thecountry into Civil War, I must call them. This was at a by-election, andthe Liberatives had immediately dissolved, only to come into power afterthe General Election with an increased majority. Through the years thatfollowed, Rupert Meryton, by his pertinacity in asking the InvasionSecretary questions which had been answered by him on the previous day,and by his regard for the dignity of the House, as shown in hisinvariable comment, "Come, come--not quite the gentleman," upon anydisplay of bad manners opposite, established a clear right to a post inthe subsequent Tariffadical Government. He had now been Under Secretaryfor two years, and in this Bill his first real chance had come.
"Oh, there you are, Mr. Meryton," said a voice. "Come and talk to me amoment." With a nod to a couple of Archbishops Lady Marchpane led theway to a little gallery whither the crowd had not penetrated. PricelessCorreggios, Tintorettos, and G. K. Chestertons hung upon the walls, butit was not to show him these that she had come. Dropping into awonderful old Chippendale chair, she motioned him to a Blundell-Mapleopposite her, and looked at him with a curious smile.
"Well," she said, "about the Bill?"
Rupert's lips closed about his mouth in a firm line. (He was rather goodat this.) Folding his arms, he gazed steadily into Lady Marchpane'sstill beautiful eyes.
"It will go through," he said. "Through all its stages," he addedprofessionally.
"It must not go through," said Lady Marchpane gently.
Rupert could not repress a start, but he was master of himself again ina moment.
"I cannot add anything to my previous statement," he said.
"If it goes through," began Lady Marchpane----
"I must refer you," said Rupert, "to my answer of yesterday."
"Come, come, Mr. Meryton, what is the good of fencing with me? You knowthe position. Or shall I state it for you again?"
"I cannot believe you are serious."
"I am perfectly serious. There are reasons, financial reasons--andothers--why I do not want this Bill to pass. In return for my silenceupon a certain matter, you are going to prevent it passing. You know towhat I refer. On the 4th of May last----"
"Stop!" cried Rupert hoarsely.
"On the 4th of May last," Lady Marchpane went on relentlessly, "you andI--in the absence of my husband abroad--had tea together at an A.B.C."(Rupert covered his face with his hands.) "I am no fonder of scandalthan you are, but if you do not meet my wishes I shall certainly confessthe truth to Marchpane."
"You will be ruined too!" said Rupert.
"My husband will forgive me and take me back." She paused significantly."Will Marjorie Hale----" (Rupert covered his hands with his face)--"willthe good Miss Hale forgive you? She is very strict, is she not? Andrich? And rising young politicians want money more than scandal." Sheraised her head suddenly at the sound of footsteps. "Ah, Archbishop, Iwas just calling Mr. Meryton's attention to this wonderfulBotticell----" (she looked at it more closely)----"this wonderful DanaGibson. A beautiful piece of work, is it not?" The intruders passed onto the supper-room, and they were alone again.
"What am I to do?" said Rupert sullenly.
"The fate of the Bill is settled to-day week, when you make your bigspeech. You must speak against it. Confess frankly you were mistaken. Itwill be a close thing, anyhow. Your influence will turn the scale."
"It will ruin me politically."
"You will marry Marjorie Hale and be rich. No rich man is ever ruinedpolitically. Or socially." She patted his hand gently. "You'll do it?"
He got up slowly. "You'll see next week," he said.
It is not meet that we should watch the unhappy Rupert through thelong-drawn hours of the night, as he wrestled with the terrible problem.A moment's sudden madness on that May afternoon had brought him to thecross-roads. On the one hand, reputation, wealth, the girl that heloved; on the other, his own honour and--so, at least, he had saidseveral times on the platform--the safety of England. He rose in themorning weary, but with his mind made up.
The Bill should go through!
Rupert Meryton was a speaker of a not unusual type. Although he providedthe opinions himself, he always depended upon his secretary for thearguments with which to support them and the actual words in which togive them being. But on this occasion he felt that a special effort wasrequired of him. He would show Lady Marchpane that the blackmail ofyesterday had only roused him to a still greater effort on behalf of hiscountry. _He would write his own speech._
On the fateful night the House was crowded. It seemed that all theguests at Lady Marchpane's a week before were in the DistinguishedStrangers' Gallery or behind the Ladies' Grille. From the Press Gallery"Our Special Word-painter" looked down upon the statesmen beneath him,his eagle eye ready to detect on the moment the Angry Flush, the Wince,or the Sudden Paling of enemy, the Grim Smile or the Lofty Calm offriend.
The Rt. Hon. Rupert Meryton, Tariffadical Member for Cricklewood (E.)rose to his feet amidst cheers.
"Mr. Speaker," he said, "I rise--er--to-night, sir--h'r'm, to--er----"So much of his speech I may give, but urgent State reasons compel me towithhold the rest. Were it ever known with which Bill the secret historythat I have disclosed concerns itself, the Great Powers in an instantwould be at each other's throats. But though I may not disclose thespeech I can tell of its effect on the House. And its effect wascurious. It was, in fact, the exact opposite of what Rupert Meryton,that promising Under Secretary, had intended.
It was the first speech that he had ever prepared himself. Than Rupertthere was no more dignified figure in the House of Commons; his honourwas proof, as we have seen, against the most insidious temptations; yet,since one man cannot have all the virtues, he was distinctly stupid. Itwould have been a hopeless speech anyhow; but, to make matters worse, hehad, in the most important part of it, attempted irony. And at thebeginning of the ironical passage even the Tariffadical word-paintershad to confess that it was their own stalwarts who "suddenly paled."
As Lady Marchpane had said, it was bound to be a close thing. TheLiberatives and the Unialists, of course, were solid against the Bill,but there was also something of a cave in the Tariffadical Party. It wasbound to be a close thing, and Rupert's speech just made the difference.When he sat down the waverers and doubters had made up their minds.
The Bill was defeated.
. . . . .
That the Tariffadicals
should resign was natural; perhaps it was equallynatural that Rupert's secretary should resign too. He said that hisreputation would be gone if Rupert made any more speeches on his own,and that he wasn't going to risk it. Without his secretary Rupert waslost at the General Election which followed. Fortunately he had agrateful friend in Lady Marchpane. She exerted her influence with theLiberatives, and got him an appointment as Governor of the StickjawIslands. Here, with his beautiful and rich wife, Sir Rupert Merytonmaintains a regal state, and upon his name no breath of scandal rests.Indeed, his only trouble so far has been with the Stickjaw language--adifficult language, but one which, perhaps fortunately, does not lenditself to irony.