“Mamma, mamma,” said Bobby, running up to his mother, “you must buy something of her,” and he pointed with his fingers at the shop-girl. “You must give her two kisses for that heap of barley-sugar.” Looking at Bobby’s mouth at the time, one would have said that his kisses might be dispensed with.
When they were again in the pony-carriage, behind the impatient Puck, and were well away from the door, Fanny was the first to speak.
“How very different those two are,” she said; “different in their minds and in their spirit!”
“But how much higher toned is her mind than his! How weak he is in many things, and how strong she is in everything! How false is his pride, and how false his shame!”
“But we must remember what he has to bear. It is not everyone that can endure such a life as his without false pride and false shame.”
“But she has neither,” said Lucy.
“Because you have one hero in a family, does that give you a right to expect another?” said Mrs. Robarts. “Of all my own acquaintance, Mrs. Crawley, I think, comes nearest to heroism.”
And then they passed by the Hogglestock school, and Mr. Crawley, when he heard the noise of the wheels, came out.
“You have been very kind,” said he, “to remain so long with my poor wife.”
“We had a great many things to talk about, after you went.”
“It is very kind of you, for she does not often see a friend, nowadays. Will you have the goodness to tell Mr. Robarts that I shall be here at the school, at eleven o’clock to-morrow?”
And then he bowed, taking off his hat to them, and they drove on.
“If he really does care about her comfort, I shall not think so badly of him,” said Lucy.
CHAPTER XXIII
The Triumph of the Giants
And now about the end of April news arrived almost simultaneously in all quarters of the habitable globe that was terrible in its import to one of the chief persons of our history—some may think to the chief person in it. All high parliamentary people will doubtless so think, and the wives and daughters of such. The Titans warring against the gods had been for a while successful. Typhœus and Mimas, Porphyrion and Rhœcus, the giant brood of old, steeped in ignorance and wedded to corruption, had scaled the heights of Olympus, assisted by that audacious flinger of deadly ponderous missiles, who stands ever ready armed with his terrific sling—Supplehouse, the Enceladus of the press. And in this universal cataclasm of the starry councils, what could a poor Diana do, Diana of the Petty Bag, but abandon her pride of place to some rude Orion? In other words, the ministry had been compelled to resign, and with them Mr. Harold Smith.
“And so poor Harold is out, before he has well tasted the sweets of office,” said Sowerby, writing to his friend the parson; “and as far as I know, the only piece of Church patronage which has fallen in the way of the ministry since he joined it, has made its way down to Framley—to my great joy and contentment.” But it hardly tended to Mark’s joy and contentment on the same subject that he should be so often reminded of the benefit conferred upon him.
Terrible was this break-down of the ministry, and especially to Harold Smith, who to the last had had confidence in that theory of new blood. He could hardly believe that a large majority of the House should vote against a Government which he had only just joined. “If we are to go on in this way,” he said to his young friend Green Walker, “the Queen’s Government cannot be carried on.” That alleged difficulty as to carrying on the Queen’s Government has been frequently mooted in late years since a certain great man first introduced the idea. Nevertheless, the Queen’s Government is carried on, and the propensity and aptitude of men for this work seems to be not at all on the decrease. If we have but few young statesmen, it is because the old stagers are so fond of the rattle of their harness.
“I really do not see how the Queen’s Government is to be carried on,” said Harold Smith to Green Walker, standing in a corner of one of the lobbies of the House of Commons on the first of those days of awful interest, in which the Queen was sending for one crack statesman after another; and some anxious men were beginning to doubt whether or no we should, in truth, be able to obtain the blessing of another Cabinet. The gods had all vanished from their places. Would the giants be good enough to do anything for us or no? There were men who seemed to think that the giants would refuse to do anything for us. “The House will now be adjourned over till Monday, and I would not be in Her Majesty’s shoes for something,” said Mr. Harold Smith.
“By Jove! no,” said Green Walker, who in these days was a staunch Harold Smithian, having felt a pride in joining himself on as a substantial support to a Cabinet minister. Had he contented himself with being merely a Brockite, he would have counted as nobody. “By Jove! no,” and Green Walker opened his eyes and shook his head, as he thought of the perilous condition in which Her Majesty must be placed. “I happen to know that Lord —— won’t join them unless he has the Foreign Office,” and he mentioned some hundred-handed Gyas supposed to be of the utmost importance to the counsels of the Titans.
“And that, of course, is impossible. I don’t see what on earth they are to do. There’s Sidonia; they do say that he’s making some difficulty now.” Now Sidonia was another giant, supposed to be very powerful.
“We all know that the Queen won’t see him,” said Green Walker, who, being a member of Parliament for the Crewe Junction, and nephew to Lady Hartletop, of course had perfectly correct means of ascertaining what the Queen would do, and what she would not.
“The fact is,” said Harold Smith, recurring again to his own situation as an ejected god, “that the House does not in the least understand what it is about—doesn’t know what it wants. The question I should like to ask them is this: do they intend that the Queen shall have a Government, or do they not? Are they prepared to support such men as Sidonia and Lord De Terrier? If so, I am their obedient humble servant; but I shall be very much surprised, that’s all.” Lord De Terrier was at this time recognized by all men as the leader of the giants.
“And so shall I—deucedly surprised. They can’t do it, you know. There are the Manchester men. I ought to know something about them down in my country; and I say they can’t support Lord De Terrier. It wouldn’t be natural.”
“Natural! Human nature has come to an end, I think,” said Harold Smith, who could hardly understand that the world should conspire to throw over a Government which he had joined, and that, too, before the world had waited to see how much he would do for it; “the fact is this, Walker, we have no longer among us any strong feeling of party.”
“No, not a d——,” said Green Walker, who was very energetic in his present political aspirations.
“And till we can recover that, we shall never be able to have a Government firm-seated and sure-handed. Nobody can count on men from one week to another. The very members who in one month place a minister in power, are the very first to vote against him in the next.”
“We must put a stop to that sort of thing, otherwise we shall never do any good.”
“I don’t mean to deny that Brock was wrong with reference to Lord Brittleback. I think that he was wrong, and I said so all through. But, heavens on earth—!” and instead of completing his speech Harold Smith turned away his head, and struck his hands together in token of his astonishment at the fatuity of the age. What he probably meant to express was this: that if such a good deed as that late appointment made at the Petty Bag Office were not held sufficient to atone for that other evil deed to which he had alluded, there would be an end of all justice in sublunary matters. Was no offence to be forgiven, even when so great virtue had been displayed?
“I attribute it all to Supplehouse,” said Green Walker, trying to console his friend.
“Yes,” said Harold Smith, now verging on the bounds of parliamentary eloquence, although he still spoke with bated breath, and to one solitary hearer. “Yes; we are becoming the slaves of a mercenary and irresponsible press—of one single newspaper. There is a man endowed with no great talent, enjoying no public confidence, untrusted as a politician, and unheard of even as a writer by the world at large, and yet, because he is on the staff of the
Jupiter
, he is able to overturn the Government and throw the whole country into dismay. It is astonishing to me that a man like Lord Brock should allow himself to be so timid.” And nevertheless it was not yet a month since Harold Smith had been counselling with Supplehouse how a series of strong articles in the
Jupiter
, together with the expected support of the Manchester men, might probably be effective in hurling the minister from his seat. But at that time the minister had not revigorated himself with young blood. “How the Queen’s Government is to be carried on, that is the question now,” Harold Smith repeated. A difficulty which had not caused him much dismay at that period, about a mouth since, to which we have alluded.
At this moment Sowerby and Supplehouse together joined them, having come out of the House, in which some unimportant business had been completed after the minister’s notice of adjournment.
“Well, Harold,” said Sowerby, “what do you say to your governor’s statement?”
“I have nothing to say to it,” said Harold Smith, looking up very solemnly from under the penthouse of his hat, and, perhaps, rather savagely. Sowerby had supported the Government at the late crisis; but why was he now seen herding with such a one as Supplehouse?
“He did it pretty well, I think,” said Sowerby.
“Very well, indeed,” said Supplehouse; “as he always does those sort of things. No man makes so good an explanation of circumstances, or comes out with so telling a personal statement. He ought to keep himself in reserve for those sort of things.”
“And who in the meantime is to carry on the Queen’s Government?” said Harold Smith, looking very stern.
“That should be left to men of lesser mark,” said he of the
Jupiter
. “The points as to which one really listens to a minister, the subjects about which men really care, are always personal. How many of us are truly interested as to the best mode of governing India? But in a question touching the character of a Prime Minister we all muster together like bees round a sounding cymbal.”
“That arises from envy, malice, and all uncharitableness,” said Harold Smith.
“Yes; and from picking and stealing, evil speaking, lying, and slandering,” said Mr. Sowerby.
“We are so prone to desire and covet other men’s places,” said Supplehouse.
“Some men are so,” said Sowerby; “but it is the evil speaking, lying, and slandering, which does the mischief. Is it not, Harold?”
“And in the meantime how is the Queen’s Government to be carried on?” said Mr. Green Walker.
On the following morning it was known that Lord De Terrier was with the Queen at Buckingham Palace, and at about twelve a list of the new ministry was published, which must have been in the highest degree satisfactory to the whole brood of giants. Every son of Tellus was included in it, as were also very many of the daughters. But then, late in the afternoon, Lord Brock was again summoned to the palace, and it was thought in the West End among the clubs that the gods had again a chance. “If only,” said the
Purist
, an evening paper which was supposed to be very much in the interest of Mr. Harold Smith, “if only Lord Brock can have the wisdom to place the right men in the right places. It was only the other day that he introduced Mr. Smith into his Government. That this was a step in the right direction everyone has acknowledged, though unfortunately it was made too late to prevent the disturbance which has since occurred. It now appears probable that his lordship will again have an opportunity of selecting a list of statesmen with the view of carrying on the Queen’s Government; and it is to be hoped that such men as Mr. Smith may be placed in situations in which their talents, industry, and acknowledged official aptitudes, may be of permanent service to the country.”
Supplehouse, when he read this at the club with Mr. Sowerby at his elbow, declared that the style was too well marked to leave any doubt as to the author; but we ourselves are not inclined to think that Mr. Harold Smith wrote the article himself, although it may be probable that he saw it in type.
But the
Jupiter
the next morning settled the whole question, and made it known to the world that, in spite of all the sendings and resendings, Lord Brock and the gods were permanently out, and Lord De Terrier and the giants permanently in. That fractious giant who would only go to the Foreign Office, had, in fact, gone to some sphere of much less important duty, and Sidonia, in spite of the whispered dislike of an illustrious personage, opened the campaign with all the full appanages of a giant of the highest standing. “We hope,” said the
Jupiter
, “that Lord Brock may not yet be too old to take a lesson. If so, the present decision of the House of Commons, and we may say of the country also, may teach him not to put his trust in such princes as Lord Brittleback, or such broken reeds as Mr. Harold Smith.” Now this parting blow we always thought to be exceedingly unkind, and altogether unnecessary, on the part of Mr. Supplehouse.
“My dear,” said Mrs. Harold, when she first met Miss Dunstable after the catastrophe was known, “how am I possibly to endure this degradation?” And she put her deeply-laced handkerchief up to her eyes.
“Christian resignation,” suggested Miss Dunstable.
“Fiddlestick!” said Mrs. Harold Smith. “You millionaires always talk of Christian resignation, because you never are called on to resign anything. If I had any Christian resignation, I shouldn’t have cared for such pomps and vanities. Think of it, my dear; a Cabinet minister’s wife for only three weeks!”
“How does poor Mr. Smith endure it?”
“What? Harold? He only lives on the hope of vengeance. When he has put an end to Mr. Supplehouse, he will be content to die.”
And then there were further explanations in both Houses of Parliament, which were altogether satisfactory. The high-bred, courteous giants assured the gods that they had piled Pelion on Ossa and thus climbed up into power, very much in opposition to their own good-wills; for they, the giants themselves, preferred the sweets of dignified retirement. But the voice of the people had been too strong for them; the effort had been made, not by themselves, but by others, who were determined that the giants should be at the head of affairs. Indeed, the spirit of the times was so clearly in favour of giants that there had been no alternative. So said Briareus to the Lords, and Orion to the Commons. And then the gods were absolutely happy in ceding their places; and so far were they from any uncelestial envy or malice which might not be divine, that they promised to give the giants all the assistance in their power in carrying on the work of government; upon which the giants declared how deeply indebted they would be for such valuable counsel and friendly assistance. All this was delightful in the extreme; but not the less did ordinary men seem to expect that the usual battle would go on in the old customary way. It is easy to love one’s enemy when one is making fine speeches; but so difficult to do so in the actual everyday work of life.
But there was and always has been this peculiar good point about the giants, that they are never too proud to follow in the footsteps of the gods. If the gods, deliberating painfully together, have elaborated any skilful project, the giants are always willing to adopt it as their own, not treating the bantling as a foster-child, but praising it and pushing it so that men should regard it as the undoubted offspring of their own brains. Now just at this time there had been a plan much thought of for increasing the number of the bishops. Good active bishops were very desirable, and there was a strong feeling among certain excellent Churchmen that there could hardly be too many of them. Lord Brock had his measure cut and dry. There should be a Bishop of Westminster to share the Herculean toils of the metropolitan prelate, and another up in the North to Christianize the mining interests and wash white the blackamoors of Newcastle: Bishop of Beverley he should be called. But, in opposition to this, the giants, it was known, had intended to put forth the whole measure of their brute force. More curates, they said, were wanting, and district incumbents; not more bishops rolling in carriages. That bishops should roll in carriages was very good; but of such blessings the English world for the present had enough. And therefore Lord Brock and the gods had had much fear as to their little project.