The Palliser Novels

by Anthony Trollope

  “And Mr. Gresham?”

  “He will retire. That is a matter of course. He will intend to support us; but all that is veiled in the obscurity which is always, I think, darker as to the future of politics than any other future. Clouds arise, one knows not why or whence, and create darkness when one expected light. But as yet, you must understand, nothing is settled. I cannot even say what answer I may make to her Majesty, till I know what commands her Majesty may lay upon me.”

  “You must keep a hold of it now, Plantagenet,” said the Duchess, clenching her own fist.

  “I will not even close a finger on it with any personal ambition,” said the Duke. “If I could be relieved from the burden this moment it would be an ease to my heart. I remember once,” he said, — and as he spoke he again put his arm around her waist, “when I was debarred from taking office by a domestic circumstance.”

  “I remember that too,” she said, speaking very gently and looking up at him.

  “It was a grief to me at the time, though it turned out so well, — because the office then suggested to me was one which I thought I could fill with credit to the country. I believed in myself then as far as that work went. But for this attempt I have no belief in myself. I doubt whether I have any gift for governing men.”

  “It will come.”

  “It may be that I must try; — and it may be that I must break my heart because I fail. But I shall make the attempt if I am directed to do so in any manner that shall seem feasible. I must be off now. The Duke is to be here this evening. They had better have dinner ready for me whenever I may be able to eat it.” Then he took his departure before she could say another word.

  When the Duchess was alone she took to thinking of the whole thing in a manner which they who best knew her would have thought to be very unusual with her. She already possessed all that rank and wealth could give her, and together with those good things a peculiar position of her own, of which she was proud, and which she had made her own not by her wealth or rank, but by a certain fearless energy and power of raillery which never deserted her. Many feared her and she was afraid of none, and many also loved her, — whom she also loved, for her nature was affectionate. She was happy with her children, happy with her friends, in the enjoyment of perfect health, and capable of taking an exaggerated interest in anything that might come uppermost for the moment. One would have been inclined to say that politics were altogether unnecessary to her, and that as Duchess of Omnium, lately known as Lady Glencora Palliser, she had a wider and a pleasanter influence than could belong to any woman as wife of a Prime Minister. And she was essentially one of those women who are not contented to be known simply as the wives of their husbands. She had a celebrity of her own, quite independent of his position, and which could not be enhanced by any glory or any power added to him. Nevertheless, when he left her to go down to the Queen with the prospect of being called upon to act as chief of the incoming ministry, her heart throbbed with excitement. It had come at last, and he would be, to her thinking, the leading man in the greatest kingdom in the world.

  But she felt in regard to him somewhat as did Lady Macbeth towards her lord.

  “What thou would’st highly,

  That would’st thou holily.”

  She knew him to be full of scruples, unable to bend when aught was to be got by bending, unwilling to domineer when men might be brought to subjection only by domination. The first duty never could be taught to him. To win support by smiles when his heart was bitter within him would never be within the power of her husband. He could never be brought to buy an enemy by political gifts, — would never be prone to silence his keenest opponent by making him his right hand supporter. But the other lesson was easier and might she thought be learned. Power is so pleasant that men quickly learn to be greedy in the enjoyment of it, and to flatter themselves that patriotism requires them to be imperious. She would be constant with him day and night to make him understand that his duty to his country required him to be in very truth its chief ruler. And then with some knowledge of things as they are, — and also with much ignorance, — she reflected that he had at his command a means of obtaining popularity and securing power, which had not belonged to his immediate predecessors, and had perhaps never to the same extent been at the command of any minister in England. His wealth as Duke of Omnium had been great; but hers, as available for immediate purposes, had been greater even than his. After some fashion, of which she was profoundly ignorant, her own property was separated from his and reserved to herself and her children. Since her marriage she had never said a word to him about her money, — unless it were to ask that something out of the common course might be spent on some, generally absurd, object. But now had come the time for squandering money. She was not only rich but she had a popularity that was exclusively her own. The new Prime Minister and the new Prime Minister’s wife should entertain after a fashion that had never yet been known even among the nobility of England. Both in town and country those great mansions should be kept open which were now rarely much used because she had found them dull, cold, and comfortless. In London there should not be a Member of Parliament whom she would not herself know and influence by her flattery and grace, — or if there were men whom she could not influence, they should live as men tabooed and unfortunate. Money mattered nothing. Their income was enormous, and for a series of years, — for half-a-dozen years if the game could be kept up so long, — they could spend treble what they called their income without real injury to their children. Visions passed through her brain of wondrous things which might be done, — if only her husband would be true to his own greatness.

  The Duke had left her about two. She did not stir out of the house that day, but in the course of the afternoon she wrote a line to a friend who lived not very far from her. The Duchess dwelt in Carlton Terrace, and her friend in Park Lane. The note was as follows: —

  DEAR M.,

  Come to me at once. I am too excited to go to you.

  Yours,

  G.

  This was addressed to one Mrs. Finn, a lady as to whom chronicles also have been written, and who has been known to the readers of such chronicles as a friend dearly loved by the Duchess. As quickly as she could put on her carriage garments and get herself taken to Carlton Terrace, Mrs. Finn was there. “Well, my dear, how do you think it’s all settled at last?” said the Duchess. It will probably be felt that the new Prime Minister’s wife was indiscreet, and hardly worthy of the confidence placed in her by her husband. But surely we all have some one friend to whom we tell everything, and with the Duchess Mrs. Finn was that one friend.

  “Is the Duke to be Prime Minister?”

  “How on earth should you have guessed that?”

  “What else could make you so excited? Besides, it is by no means strange. I understand that they have gone on trying the two old stagers till it is useless to try them any longer; and if there is to be a fresh man, no one would be more likely than the Duke.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Certainly. Why not?”

  “He has frittered away his political position by such meaningless concessions. And then he had never done anything to put himself forward, — at any rate since he left the House of Commons. Perhaps I haven’t read things right, — but I was surprised, very much surprised.”

  “And gratified?”

  “Oh yes. I can tell you everything, because you will neither misunderstand me nor tell tales of me. Yes, — I shall like him to be Prime Minister, though I know that I shall have a bad time of it myself.”

  “Why a bad time?”

  “He is so hard to manage. Of course I don’t mean about politics. Of course it must be a mixed kind of thing at first, and I don’t care a straw whether it run to Radicalism or Toryism. The country goes on its own way, either for better or for worse, whichever of them are in. I don’t think it makes any difference as to what sort of laws are passed. But among ourselves, in our set, it makes a deal of difference who g
ets the garters, and the counties, who are made barons and then earls, and whose name stands at the head of everything.”

  “That is your way of looking at politics?”

  “I own it to you; — and I must teach it to him.”

  “You never will do that, Lady Glen.”

  “Never is a long word. I mean to try. For look back and tell me of any Prime Minister who has become sick of his power. They become sick of the want of power when it’s falling away from them, — and then they affect to disdain and put aside the thing they can no longer enjoy. Love of power is a kind of feeling which comes to a man as he grows older.”

  “Politics with the Duke have been simple patriotism,” said Mrs. Finn.

  “The patriotism may remain, my dear, but not the simplicity. I don’t want him to sell his country to Germany, or to turn it into an American republic in order that he may be president. But when he gets the reins in his hands, I want him to keep them there. If he’s so much honester than other people, of course he’s the best man for the place. We must make him believe that the very existence of the country depends on his firmness.”

  “To tell you the truth, Lady Glen, I don’t think you’ll ever make the Duke believe anything. What he believes, he believes either from very old habit, or from the working of his own mind.”

  “You’re always singing his praises, Marie.”

  “I don’t know that there is any special praise in what I say; but as far as I can see, it is the man’s character.”

  “Mr. Finn will come in, of course,” said the Duchess.

  “Mr. Finn will be like the Duke in one thing. He’ll take his own way as to being in or out quite independently of his wife.”

  “You’d like him to be in office?”

  “No, indeed! Why should I? He would be more often at the House, and keep later hours, and be always away all the morning into the bargain. But I shall like him to do as he likes himself.”

  “Fancy thinking of all that. I’d sit up all night every night of my life. — I’d listen to every debate in the House myself, — to have Plantagenet Prime Minister. I like to be busy. Well now, if it does come off — “

  “It isn’t settled, then?”

  “How can one hope that a single journey will settle it, when those other men have been going backwards and forwards between Windsor and London, like buckets in a well, for the last three weeks? But if it is settled, I mean to have a cabinet of my own, and I mean that you shall do the foreign affairs.”

  “You’d better let me be at the exchequer. I’m very good at accounts.”

  “I’ll do that myself. The accounts that I intend to set a-going would frighten any one less audacious. And I mean to be my own home secretary, and to keep my own conscience, — and to be my own master of the ceremonies certainly. I think a small cabinet gets on best. Do you know, — I should like to put the Queen down.”

  “What on earth do you mean?”

  “No treason; nothing of that kind. But I should like to make Buckingham Palace second-rate; and I’m not quite sure but I can. I dare say you don’t quite understand me.”

  “I don’t think that I do, Lady Glen.”

  “You will some of these days. Come in to-morrow before lunch. I suppose I shall know all about it then, and shall have found that my basket of crockery has been kicked over and every thing smashed.”

  CHAPTER VII

  Another Old Friend

  At about nine the Duke had returned, and was eating his very simple dinner in the breakfast-room, — a beefsteak and a potato, with a glass of sherry and Apollinaris water. No man more easily satisfied as to what he eat and drank lived in London in those days. As regarded the eating and drinking he dined alone, but his wife sat with him and waited on him, having sent the servant out of the room. “I have told her Majesty that I would do the best I could,” said the Duke.

  “Then you are Prime Minister.”

  “Not at all. Mr. Daubeny is Prime Minister. I have undertaken to form a ministry, if I find it practicable, with the assistance of such friends as I possess. I never felt before that I had to lean so entirely on others as I do now.”

  “Lean on yourself only. Be enough for yourself.”

  “Those are empty words, Cora; — words that are quite empty. In one sense a man should always be enough for himself. He should have enough of principle and enough of conscience to restrain him from doing what he knows to be wrong. But can a ship-builder build his ship single-handed, or the watchmaker make his watch without assistance? On former occasions such as this, I could say, with little or no help from without, whether I would or would not undertake the work that was proposed to me, because I had only a bit of the ship to build, or a wheel of the watch to make. My own efficacy for my present task depends entirely on the co-operation of others, and unfortunately upon that of some others with whom I have no sympathy, nor have they with me.”

  “Leave them out,” said the Duchess boldly.

  “But they are men who will not be left out, and whose services the country has a right to expect.”

  “Then bring them in, and think no more about it. It is no good crying for pain that cannot be cured.”

  “Co-operation is difficult without community of feeling. I find myself to be too stubborn-hearted for the place. It was nothing to me to sit in the same Cabinet with a man I disliked when I had not put him there myself. But now — . As I have travelled up I have almost felt that I could not do it! I did not know before how much I might dislike a man.”

  “Who is the one man?”

  “Nay; — whoever he be, he will have to be a friend now, and therefore I will not name him, even to you. But it is not one only. If it were one, absolutely marked and recognised, I might avoid him. But my friends, real friends, are so few! Who is there besides the Duke on whom I can lean with both confidence and love?”

  “Lord Cantrip.”

  “Hardly so, Cora. But Lord Cantrip goes out with Mr. Gresham. They will always cling together.”

  “You used to like Mr. Mildmay.”

  “Mr. Mildmay, — yes! If there could be a Mr. Mildmay in the Cabinet, this trouble would not come upon my shoulders.”

  “Then I’m very glad that there can’t be a Mr. Mildmay. Why shouldn’t there be as good fish in the sea as ever were caught out of it?”

  “When you’ve got a good fish you like to make as much of it as you can.”

  “I suppose Mr. Monk will join you.”

  “I think we shall ask him. But I am not prepared to discuss men’s names as yet.”

  “You must discuss them with the Duke immediately.”

  “Probably; — but I had better discuss them with him before I fix my own mind by naming them even to you.”

  “You’ll bring Mr. Finn in, Plantagenet?”

  “Mr. Finn!”

  “Yes; — Phineas Finn, — the man who was tried.”

  “My dear Cora, we haven’t come down to that yet. We need not at any rate trouble ourselves about the small fishes till we are sure that we can get big fishes to join us.”

  “I don’t know why he should be a small fish. No man has done better than he has; and if you want a man to stick to you — “

  “I don’t want a man to stick to me. I want a man to stick to his country.”

  “You were talking about sympathy.”

  “Well, yes; — I was. But do not name any one else just at present. The Duke will be here soon, and I would be alone till he comes.”

  “There is one thing I want to say, Plantagenet.”

  “What is it?”

  “One favour I want to ask.”

  “Pray do not ask anything for any man just at present.”

  “It is not anything for any man.”

  “Nor for any woman.”

  “It is for a woman, — but one whom I think you would wish to oblige.”

  “Who is it?” Then she curtseyed, smiling at him drolly, and put her hand upon her breast. “Something for you! What on eart
h can you want that I can do for you?”

  “Will you do it, — if it be reasonable?”

  “If I think it reasonable, I certainly will do it.”

  Then her manner changed altogether, and she became serious and almost solemn. “If, as I suppose, all the great places about her Majesty be changed, I should like to be Mistress of the Robes.”

  “You!” said he, almost startled out of his usual quiet demeanour.

  “Why not I? Is not my rank high enough?”

  “You burden yourself with the intricacies and subserviences, with the tedium and pomposities of Court life! Cora, you do not know what you are talking about, or what you are proposing for yourself.”

  “If I am willing to try to undertake a duty, why should I be debarred from it any more than you?”

  “Because I have put myself into a groove, and ground myself into a mould, and clipped and pared and pinched myself all round, — very ineffectually, as I fear, — to fit myself for this thing. You have lived as free as air. You have disdained, — and though I may have grumbled I have still been proud to see you disdain, — to wrap yourself in the swaddling bandages of Court life. You have ridiculed all those who have been near her Majesty as Court ladies.”

  “The individuals, Plantagenet, perhaps; but not the office. I am getting older now, and I do not see why I should not begin a new life.” She had been somewhat quelled by his unexpected energy, and was at the moment hardly able to answer him with her usual spirit.

  “Do not think of it, my dear. You asked whether your rank was high enough. It must be so, as there is, as it happens, none higher. But your position, should it come to pass that your husband is the head of the Government, will be too high. I may say that in no condition should I wish my wife to be subject to other restraint than that which is common to all married women. I should not choose that she should have any duties unconnected with our joint family and home. But as First Minister of the Crown I would altogether object to her holding an office believed to be at my disposal.” She looked at him with her large eyes wide open, and then left him without a word. She had no other way of showing her displeasure, for she knew that when he spoke as he had spoken now all argument was unavailing.