Phineas Finn, the Irish Member

by Anthony Trollope

  ‘I shall not try, at any rate.’

  ‘Because you don't want to go to New Zealand; – but you might try about Loughton for poor Mr Finn.’

  ‘Violet,’ said Lady Laura, after a moment's pause; – and she spoke sharply; ‘Violet, I believe you are in love with Mr Finn.’

  ‘That's just like you, Laura.’

  ‘I never made such an accusation against you before, or against anybody else that I can remember. But I do begin to believe that you are in love with Mr Finn.’

  ‘Why shouldn't I be in love with him, if I like?’

  ‘I say nothing about that; – only he has not got a penny.’

  ‘But I have, my dear.’

  ‘And I doubt whether you have any reason for supposing that he is in love with you.’

  ‘That would be my affair, my dear.’

  ‘Then you are in love with him?’

  ‘That is my affair also.’

  Lady Laura shrugged her shoulders. ‘Of course it is; and if you tell me to hold my tongue, of course I will do so. If you ask me whether I think it a good match, of course I must say I do not.’

  ‘I don't tell you to hold your tongue, and I don't ask you what you think about the match. You are quite, welcome to talk as much about me as you please; – but as to Mr Phineas Finn, you have no business to think anything.’

  ‘I shouldn't talk to anybody but yourself.’

  ‘I am growing to be quite indifferent as to what people say. Lady Baldock asked me the other day whether I was going to throw myself away on Mr Laurence Fitzgibbon.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Indeed she did.’

  ‘And what did you answer?’

  ‘I told her that it was not quite settled; but that as I had only spoken to him once during the last two years, and then for not more than half a minute, and as I wasn't sure whether I knew him by sight, and as I had reason to suppose he didn't know my name, there might, perhaps, be a delay of a week or two before the thing came off. Then she flounced out of the room.’

  ‘But what made her ask about Mr Fitzgibbon?’

  ‘Somebody had been hoaxing her. I am beginning to think that Augusta does it for her private amusement. If so, I shall think more highly of my dear cousin than I have hitherto done. But, Laura, as you have made a similar accusation against me, and as I cannot get out of it with you as I do with my aunt, I must ask you to hear my protestation. I am not in love with Mr Phineas Finn. Heaven help me; – as far as I can tell, I am not in love with any one, and never shall be.’ Lady Laura looked pleased. ‘Do you know,’ continued Violet, ‘that I think I could be in love with Mr Phineas Finn, if I could be in love with anybody.’ Then Lady Laura looked displeased. ‘In the first place, he is a gentleman,’ continued Violet. ‘Then he is a man of spirit. And then he has not too much spirit; – not that kind of spirit which makes some men think that they are the finest things going. His manners are perfect; – not Chesterfieldian, and yet never offensive. He never browbeats any one, and never toadies any one. He knows how to live easily with men of all ranks, without any appearance of claiming a special status for himself. If he were made Archbishop of Canterbury to-morrow, I believe he would settle down into the place of the first subject in the land without arrogance, and without false shame.’

  ‘You are his eulogist with a vengeance.’

  ‘I am his eulogist; but I am not in love with him. If he were to ask me to be his wife to-morrow, I should be distressed, and should refuse him. If he were to marry my dearest friend in the world, I should tell him to kiss me and be my brother. As to Mr Phineas Finn, – those are my sentiments.’

  ‘What you say is very odd.’

  ‘Why odd?’

  ‘Simply because mine are the same.’

  ‘Are they the same? I once thought, Laura, that you did love him; – that you meant to be his wife.’

  Lady Laura sat for a while without making any reply to this. She sat with her elbow on the table and with her face leaning on her hand, – thinking how far it would tend to her comfort if she spoke in true confidence. Violet during the time never took her eyes from her friend's face, but remained silent as though waiting for an answer. She had been very explicit as to her feelings. Would Laura Kennedy be equally explicit? She was too clever to forget that such plainness of speech would be, must be more difficult to Lady Laura than to herself. Lady Laura was a married woman; but she felt that her friend would have been wrong to search for secrets, unless she were ready to tell her own. It was probably some such feeling which made Lady Laura speak at last.

  ‘So I did, nearly –’ said Lady Laura; ‘very nearly. You told me just now that you had money, and could therefore do as you pleased. I had no money, and could not do as I pleased.’

  ‘And you told me also that I had no reason for thinking that he cared for me.’

  ‘Did I? Well; – I suppose you have no reason. He did care for me. He did love me.’

  ‘He told you so?’

  ‘Yes, – he told me so.’

  ‘And how did you answer him?’

  ‘I had that very morning become engaged to Mr Kennedy. That was my answer.’

  ‘And what did he say when you told him?’

  ‘I do not know. I cannot remember. But he behaved very well.’

  ‘And now, – if he were to love me, you would grudge me his love?’

  ‘Not for that reason, – not if I know myself. Oh no! I would not be so selfish as that.’

  ‘For what reason then?’

  ‘Because I look upon it as written in heaven that you are to be Oswald's wife.’

  ‘Heaven's writings then are false,’ said Violet, getting up and walking away.

  In the meantime Phineas was very wretched at home. When he reached his lodgings after leaving the House, – after his short conversation with Mr Monk, – he tried to comfort himself with what that gentleman had said to him. For a while, while he was walking, there had been some comfort in Mr Monk's words. Mr Monk had much experience, and doubtless knew what he was saying, – and there might yet be hope. But all this hope faded away when Phineas was in his own rooms. There came upon him, as he looked round them, an idea that he had no business to be in Parliament, that he was an impostor, that he was going about the world under false pretences, and that he would never set himself aright, even unto himself, till he had gone through some terrible act of humiliation. He had been a cheat even to Mr Quintus Slide of the Banner, in accepting an invitation to come among them. He had been a cheat to Lady Laura, in that he had induced her to think that he was fit to live with her. He was a cheat to Violet Effingham, in assuming that he was capable of making himself agreeable to her. He was a cheat to Lord Chiltern when riding his horses, and pretending to be a proper associate for a man of fortune. Why, – what was his income? What his birth? What his proper position? And now he had got the reward which all cheats deserve. Then he went to bed, and as he lay there, he thought of Mary Flood Jones. Had he plighted his troth to Mary, and then have worked like a slave under Mr Low's auspices, – he would not have been a cheat.

  It seemed to him that he had hardly been asleep when the girl came into his room in the morning. ‘Sir,’ said she, ‘there's that gentleman there.’

  ‘What gentleman?’

  ‘The old gentleman.’

  Then Phineas knew that Mr Clarkson was in his sitting-room, and that he would not leave it till he had seen the owner of the room. Nay, – Phineas was pretty sure that Mr Clarkson would come into the bedroom, if he were kept long waiting. ‘Damn the old gentleman,’ said Phineas in his wrath; – and the maid-servant heard him say so.

  In about twenty minutes he went out into the sitting-room, with his slippers on and in his dressing-gown. Suffering under the circumstances of such an emergency, how is any man to go through the work of dressing and washing with proper exactness? As to the prayers which he said on that morning, I think that no question should be asked. He came out with a black cloud on his brow, and with his mind
half made up to kick Mr Clarkson out of the room. Mr Clarkson, when he saw him, moved his chin round within his white cravat, as was a custom with him, and put his thumb and forefinger on his lips, and then shook his head.

  ‘Very bad, Mr Finn; very bad indeed; very bad, ain't it?’

  ‘You coming here in this way at all times in the day is very bad,’ said Phineas.

  ‘And where would you have me go? Would you like to see me down in the lobby of the House?’

  ‘To tell you the truth, Mr Clarkson, I don't want to see you anywhere.’

  ‘Ah; yes; I daresay! And that's what you call honest, being a Parliament gent! You had my money, and then you tell me you don't want to see me any more!’

  ‘I have not had your money,’ said Phineas.

  ‘But let me tell you,’ continued Mr Clarkson, ‘that I want to see you; – and shall go on seeing you till the money is paid.’

  ‘I've not had any of your money,’ said Phineas.

  Mr Clarkson again twitched his chin about on the top of his cravat and smiled. ‘Mr Finn,’ said he, showing the bill, ‘is that your name?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘Then I want my money.’

  ‘I have no money to give you.’

  ‘Do be punctual, now. Why ain't you punctual? I'd do anything for you if you were punctual. I would indeed.’ Mr Clarkson, as he said this, sat down in the chair which had been placed for our hero's breakfast, and cutting a slice off the loaf, began to butter it with great composure.

  ‘Mr Clarkson,’ said Phineas, ‘I cannot ask you to breakfast here. I am engaged.’

  ‘I'll just take a bit of bread and butter all the same,’ said Clarkson. ‘Where do you get your butter? Now I could tell you a woman who'd give it you cheaper and a deal better than this. This is all lard. Shall I send her to you?’

  ‘No,’ said Phineas. There was no tea ready, and therefore Mr Clarkson emptied the milk into a cup and drank it. ‘After this,’ said Phineas, ‘I must beg, Mr Clarkson, that you will never come to my room any more. I shall not be at home to you.’

  ‘The lobby of the House is the same thing to me,’ said Mr Clarkson. ‘They know me there well. I wish you'd be punctual, and then we'd be the best of friends.’ After that Mr Clarkson, having finished his bread and butter, took his leave.

  CHAPTER 28

  The Second Reading is Carried

  THE debate on the bill was prolonged during the whole of that week. Lord Brentford, who loved his seat in the Cabinet and the glory of being a Minister, better even than he loved his borough, had taken a gloomy estimate when he spoke of twenty-seven defaulters, and of the bill as certainly lost. Men who were better able than he to make estimates, – the Bonteens and Fitzgibbons on each side of the House, and above all, the Ratlers and Robys, produced lists from day to day which varied now by three names in one direction, then by two in another, and which fluctuated at last by units only. They all concurred in declaring that it would be a very near division. A great effort was made to close the debate on the Friday, but it failed, and the full tide of speech was carried on till the following Monday. On that morning Phineas heard Mr Ratler declare at the club that, as far as his judgment went, the division at that moment was a fair subject for a bet. ‘There are two men doubtful in the House,’ said Mr Ratler, ‘and if one votes on one side and one on the other, or if neither vote at all, it will be a tie.’ Mr Roby, however, the whip on the other side, was quite sure that one at least of these gentlemen would go into his lobby, and that the other would not go into Mr Ratler's lobby. I am inclined to think that the town was generally inclined to put more confidence in the accuracy of Mr Roby than in that of Mr Ratler; and among betting men there certainly was a point given by those who backed the Conservatives. The odds, however, were lost, for on the division the numbers in the two lobbies were equal, and the Speaker gave his casting vote in favour of the Government.46 The bill was read a second time, and was lost, as a matter of course, in reference to any subsequent action. Mr Roby declared that even Mr Mildmay could not go on with nothing but the Speaker's vote to support him. Mr Mildmay had no doubt felt that he could not go on with his bill from the moment in which Mr Turnbull had declared his opposition; but he could not with propriety withdraw it in deference to Mr Turnbull's opinion.

  During the week Phineas had had his hands sufficiently full. Twice he had gone to the potted peas inquiry; but he had been at the office of the People's Banner more often than that. Bunce had been very resolute in his determination to bring an action against the police for false imprisonment, even though he spent every shilling of his savings in doing so. And when his wife, in the presence of Phineas, begged that bygones might be bygones, reminding him that spilt milk could not be recovered, he called her a mean-spirited woman. Then Mrs Bunce wept a flood of tears, and told her favourite lodger that for her all comfort in this world was over. ‘Drat the reformers, I say. And I wish there was no Parliament; so I do. What's the use of all the voting, when it means nothing but dry bread and cross words?’ Phineas by no means encouraged his landlord in his litigious spirit, advising him rather to keep his money in his pocket, and leave the fighting of the battle to the columns of the Banner, – which would fight it, at any rate, with economy. But Bunce, though he delighted in the Banner, and showed an unfortunate readiness to sit at the feet of Mr Quintus Slide, would have his action at law; – in which resolution Mr Slide did, I fear, encourage him behind the back of his better friend, Phineas Finn.

  Phineas went with Bunce to Mr Low's chambers, – for Mr Low had in some way become acquainted with the law-stationer's journeyman, – and there some very good advice was given. ‘Have you asked yourself what is your object, Mr Bunce?’ said Mr Low. Mr Bunce declared that he had asked himself that question, and had answered it. His object was redress. ‘In the shape of compensation to yourself,’ suggested Mr Low. No; Mr Bunce would not admit that he personally required any compensation. The redress wanted was punishment to the man. ‘Is it for vengeance?’ asked Mr Low. No; it was not for vengeance, Mr Bunce declared. ‘It ought not to be,’ continued Mr Low; ‘because, though you think that the man exceeded in his duty, you must feel that he was doing so through no personal ill-will to yourself.’

  ‘What I want is, to have the fellows kept in their proper places,’ said Mr Bunce.

  ‘Exactly; – and therefore these things, when they occur, are mentioned in the press and in Parliament, – and the attention of a Secretary of State is called to them. Thank God, we don't have very much of that kind of thing in England.’

  ‘Maybe we shall have more if we don't look to it,’ said Bunce stoutly.

  ‘We always are looking to it,’ said Mr Low; – ‘looking to it very carefully. But I don't think anything is to be done in that way by indictment against a single man, whose conduct has been already approved by the magistrates. If you want notoriety, Mr Bunce, and don't mind what you pay for it; or have got anybody else to pay for it; then indeed –’

  ‘There ain't nobody to pay for it,’ said Bunce, waxing angry.

  ‘Then I certainly should not pay for it myself if I were you,’ said Mr Low.

  But Bunce was not to be counselled out of his intention. When he was out in the square with Phineas he expressed great anger against Mr Low. ‘He don't know what patriotism means,’ said the law scrivener. ‘And then he talks to me about notoriety! It has always been the same way with 'em. If a man shows a spark of public feeling, it's all hambition. I don't want no notoriety. I wants to earn my bread peaceable, and to be let alone when I'm about my own business. I pays rates for the police to look after rogues, not to haul folks about and lock 'em up for days and nights, who is a doing what they has a legal right to do.’ After that, Bunce went to his attorney, to the great detriment of the business at the stationer's shop, and Phineas visited the office of the People's Banner. There he wrote a leading article about Bunce's case, for which he was in due time to be paid a guinea. After all, the People's Banner might do mor
e for him in this way than ever would be done by Parliament. Mr Slide, however, and another gentleman at the Banner office, much older than Mr Slide, who announced himself as the actual editor, were anxious that Phineas should rid himself of his heterodox political resolutions about the ballot. It was not that they cared much about his own opinions; and when Phineas attempted to argue with the editor on the merits of the ballot, the editor put him down very shortly. ‘We go in for it, Mr Finn,’ he said. If Mr Finn would go in for it too, the editor seemed to think that Mr Finn might make himself very useful at the Banner office. Phineas stoutly maintained that this was impossible, – and was therefore driven to confine his articles in the service of the people to those open subjects on which his opinions agreed with those of the People's Banner. This was his second article, and the editor seemed to think that, backward as he was about the ballot, he was too useful an aid to be thrown aside. A member of Parliament is not now all that he was once, but still there is a prestige in the letters affixed to his name which makes him loom larger in the eyes of the world than other men. Get into Parliament, if it be but for the borough of Lough-shane, and the People's Banners all round will be glad of your assistance, as will also companies limited and unlimited to a very marvellous extent. Phineas wrote his article and promised to look in again, and so they went on. Mr Quintus Slide continued to assure him that a ‘horgan’ was indispensable to him, and Phineas began to accommodate his ears to the sound which had at first been so disagreeable. He found that his acquaintance, Mr Slide, had ideas of his own as to getting into the 'Ouse at some future time. ‘I always look upon the 'Ouse as my oyster, and 'ere's my sword,’ said Mr Slide, brandishing an old quill pen. ‘And I feel that if once there I could get along. I do indeed. What is it a man wants? It's only pluck, – that he shouldn't funk because a 'undred other men are looking at him.’ Then Phineas asked him whether he had any idea of a constituency, to which Mr Slide replied that he had no absolutely formed intention. Many boroughs, however, would doubtless be set free from aristocratic influence by the redistribution of seats which must take place, as Mr Slide declared, at any rate in the next session. Then he named the borough of Loughton; and Phineas Finn, thinking of Saulsby, thinking of the Earl, thinking of Lady Laura, and thinking of Violet, walked away disgusted. Would it not be better that the quiet town, clustering close round the walls of Saulsby, should remain as it was, than that it should be polluted by the presence of Mr Quintus Slide?