THE PRIME MINISTER (76 page)

‘Shall you speak to him
about it?’

‘No; I dare not. In this matter it has gone beyond speaking. I suppose he does talk it over with the old Duke; but he will say nothing to me about it, – unless he were to tell me that he had resigned, and that we were to start off and live in Minorca for the
next ten years. I was so proud when they made him Prime Minister; but I think that I am beginning to regret it now.’ Then there
was a pause, and the Duchess went on. with her newspapers; but she soon resumed her discourse. Her heart was full, and out of a full heart the mouth speaks.
¹⁶
‘They should have made me Prime Minister, and have let him be Chancellor of the Exchequer. I begin to see the ways of Government now. I could have done all the dirty work. I could have given away garters and ribbons, and made my bargains
while giving them. I could select sleek, easy bishops who wouldn’t be troublesome. I could give pensions or withhold them, and make the stupid men peers. I could have the big noblemen at my feet, praying to be Lieutenants of Counties. I could dole out secretaryships and lordships, and never a one without getting something in return. I could brazen out a job and let the
People’s Banners
and the
Slides make their worst of it. And I think I could make myself popular with my party, and do the high-flowing patriotic talk for the benefit of the Provinces. A man at a regular office has to work. That’s what Plantagenet is fit for. He wants always to be doing something that shall be really useful, and a man has to toil at that and really to know things. But a Prime Minister should never go beyond
generalities about commerce, agriculture, peace, and general philanthropy. Of course he should have the gift of the gab, and that Plantagenet hasn’t got. He never wants to say anything unless he has got something to say. I could do a Mansion House dinner to a marvel!’

‘I don’t doubt that you could speak at all times, Lady Glen.’

‘Oh, I do so wish that I had the opportunity,’ said the Duchess.

Of course the Duke had read the article in the privacy of his own room, and of course the article had nearly maddened him with anger and grief. As the Duchess had said, the article had taken from him the very ground on which his friends had told him that he could stand. He had never consented, and never would consent, to lay the blame publicly on his wife; but he had begun to think that he must
take notice of the charge made against him, and depute someone to explain for him in the House of Commons that the injury had been done at Silverbridge by the indiscretion of an agent who had not fulfilled his employer’s intentions, and that the Duke had thought it right afterwards to pay the money in consequence of this indiscretion. He had not agreed to this, but he had brought himself to think
that
he must agree to it. But now, of course, the question would follow:– Who was the indiscreet agent? Was the Duchess the person for whose indiscretion he had had to pay £500 to Mr Lopez? And in this matter did he not find himself in accord even with Mr Slide? ‘We should hardly have thought that even a man so notoriously weak as the Duke of Omnium would have endeavoured to ride out of responsibility
by throwing the blame upon his wife.’ He read and reread these words till he knew them by heart. For a few moments it seemed to him to be an evil in the Constitution that the Prime Minister should not have the power of instantly crucifying so foul a slanderer, – and yet it was the very truth of the words that crushed him. He was weak, – he told himself, – notoriously weak, it must be; and
it would be most mean in him to ride out of responsibility by throwing blame upon his wife. But what else was he to do? There seemed to him to be but one course, – to get up in the House of Lords and declare that he paid the money because he had thought it right to do so under circumstances which he could not explain, and to declare that it was not his intention to say another word on the subject,
or to have another word said on his behalf.

There was a Cabinet Council held that day, but no one ventured to speak to the Prime Minister as to the accusation. Though he considered himself to be weak, his colleagues were all more or less afraid of him. There was a certain silent dignity about the man which saved him from the evils, as it also debarred him from the advantages, of familiarity.
He had spoken on the subject to Mr Monk and to Phineas Finn, and, as the reader knows, very often to his old mentor. He had also mentioned it to his friend Lord Cantrip, who was not in the Cabinet. Coming away from the Cabinet he took Mr Monk’s arm, and led him away to his own room in the Treasury Chambers. ‘Have you happened to see an article in the
Peoples Banner
this morning?’ he asked.

‘I
never see the
Peoples Banner’
said Mr Monk.

‘There it is; – just look at that’ Whereupon Mr Monk read the article. ‘You understand what people call constitutional practice as well as anyone I know. As I told you before, I did pay that man’s expenses. Did I do anything unconstitutional?’

‘That would depend, Duke, upon the circumstances. If you were to back a man up by your wealth in an expensive
contest, I think it
would be unconstitutional. If you set yourself to work in that way, and cared not what you spent, you might materially influence the elections, and buy parliamentary support for yourself.’

‘But in this case the payment was made after the man had failed, and certainly had not been promised either by me or by anyone on my behalf.’

‘I think it was unfortunate,’ said Mr Monk.

‘Certainly, certainly; but I am not asking as to that,’ said the Duke impatiently. ‘The man had been injured by indiscreet persons acting on my behalf and in opposition to my wishes.’ He said not a word about the Duchess; but Mr Monk no doubt knew that her Grace had been at any rate one of the indiscreet persons. ‘He applied to me for the money, alleging that he had been injured by my agents. That
being so, – presuming that my story be correct, – did I act unconstitutionally?’

‘I think not,’ said Mr Monk, ‘and I think that the circumstances, when explained, will bear you harmless.’

‘Thank you; thank you. I did not want to trouble you about that just at present’

Mr Monk had been altogether unable to decipher the Duke’s purpose in the question he had asked. About an hour afterwards they walked down to the Houses together, Mr Monk having been kept at his office. ‘I hope I was not a little short with you just now,’ said the Duke.

‘I did not find it out,’ said Mr Monk smiling.

‘You read what was in the papers, and you may imagine
that it is of a nature to irritate a man. I knew that no one could answer my question so correctly as you, and therefore I was a little eager to keep directly to the question. It occurred to me afterwards that I had been – perhaps uncourteous.’

‘Not at all, Duke.’

‘If I was, your goodness will excuse an irritated man. If a question were asked about this in the House of Commons, who would be
the best man to answer it? Would you do it?’

Mr Monk considered awhile. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that Mr Finn would do it with a better grace. Of course I will do it if you wish it. But he has tact in such matters, and it is known that his wife is much regarded by her Grace.’

‘I will not have the Duchess’s name mentioned,’ said the Duke, turning short upon his companion.

‘I did not allude to that,
but I thought that the intimacy which existed might make it pleasant to you to employ Mr Finn as the exponent of your wishes.’

‘I have the greatest confidence in Mr Finn, certainly, and am on most friendly personal terms with him. It shall be so, if I decide on answering any question in your House on a matter so purely personal to myself.’

‘I would suggest that you should have the question asked
in a friendly way. Get some independent member, such as Mr Beverley or Sir James Deering, to ask it. The matter would then be brought forward in no carping spirit, and you would be enabled, through Mr Finn, to set the matter at rest. You have probably spoken to the Duke about it.’

‘I have mentioned it to him.’

‘Is not that what he would recommend?’

The old Duke had recommended that the entire
truth should be told, and that the Duchess’s operations should be made public. Here was our poor Prime Minister’s great difficulty. He and his Mentor were at variance. His Mentor was advising that the real naked truth should be told, whereas Telemachus
¹⁷
was intent upon keeping the name of the actual culprit in the background. ‘I will think it all over,’ said the Prime Minister as the two parted
company at Palace Yard.

That evening he spoke to Lord Cantrip on the subject. Though the matter was so odious to him, he could not keep his mind from it for a moment. Had Lord Cantrip seen the article in the
People’s Banner?
Lord Cantrip, like Mr Monk, declared that the paper in question did not constitute part of his usual morning’s recreation. ‘I won’t ask you to read it,’ said the Duke; –
‘but it contains a very
bitter attack upon me, – the bitterest that has yet been made. I suppose I ought to notice the matter?’

‘If I were you,’ said Lord Cantrip, ‘I should put myself into the hands of the Duke of St Bungay, and do exactly what he advises. There is no man in England knows so well as he does what should be done in such a case as this.’ The Prime Minister frowned and said nothing.
‘My dear Duke,’ continued Lord Cantrip, ‘I can give you no other advice. Who is there that has your personal interest and your honour at heart so entirely as his Grace; – and what man can be a more sagacious or more experienced adviser?’

‘I was thinking that you might ask a question about it in our House.’

‘I?’

‘You would do it for me in a manner that – that would be free from all offence.’

‘If I did it at all, I should certainly strive to do that. But it has never occurred to me that you would make such a suggestion. Would you give me a few moments to think about it?’ ‘I couldn’t do it,’ Lord Cantrip said afterwards. ‘By taking such a step, even at your request, I should certainly express an opinion that the matter was one on which Parliament was entitled to expect that you should
make an explanation. But my own opinion is that Parliament has no business to meddle in the matter. I do not think that every action of a minister’s life should be made matter of inquiry because a newspaper may choose to make allusions to it At any rate, if any word is said about it, it should, I think, be said in the other house.’

‘The Duke of St Bungay thinks that something should be said.’

‘I could not myself consent even to appear to desire information on a matter so entirely personal to yourself.’ The Duke bowed, and smiled with a cold, glittering, uncomfortable smile which would sometimes cross his face when he was not pleased, and no more was then said upon the subject.

Attempts were made to have the question asked in a far different spirit by some hostile member of the House
of Commons. Sir Orlando Drought was sounded, and he for a while did give ear to the suggestion. But, as he came to have the matter full before him, he could not do it The Duke had spurned his advice as a minister, and had refused to sanction a measure which he, as the head of a branch
of the Government, had proposed. The Duke had so offended him that he conceived himself bound to regard the Duke
as his enemy. But he knew, – and he could not escape from the knowledge, – that England did not contain a more honourable man than the Duke. He was delighted that the Duke should be vexed, and thwarted, and called ill names in the matter. To be gratified at this discomfiture of his enemy was in the nature of parliamentary opposition. Any blow that might weaken his opponent was a blow in his favour.
But this was a blow which he could not strike with his own hands. There were things in parliamentary tactics which even Sir Orlando could not do. Arthur Fletcher was also asked to undertake the task. He was the successful candidate, the man who had opposed Lopez, and who was declared in the
People’s Banner
to have emancipated that borough by his noble conduct from the tyranny of the House of Palliser.
And it was thought that he might like an opportunity of making himself known in the House. But he was simply indignant when the suggestion was made to him. ‘What is it to me,’ he said, ‘who paid the blackguard’s expenses?’

This went on for some weeks after Parliament had met, and for some days even after the article in which direct allusion was made to the Duchess. The Prime Minister could not
be got to consent that no notice should be taken of the matter, let the papers or the public say what they would, nor could he be induced to let the matter be handled in the manner proposed by the elder Duke. And during this time he was in such a fever that those about him felt that something must be done. Mr Monk suggested that if everybody held his tongue, – meaning all the Duke’s friends, – the
thing would wear itself out. But it was apparent to those who were nearest to the minister, to Mr Warburton, for instance, and the Duke of St Bungay, that the man himself would be worn out first. The happy possessor of a thick skin can hardly understand how one not so blessed may be hurt by the thong of a little whip! At last the matter was arranged. At the instigation of Mr Monk, Sir James Deering,
who was really the father of the House, an independent member, but one who generally voted with the Coalition, consented to ask the question in the House of Commons. And Phineas Finn was instructed by the Duke as to the answer that was to be given. The Duke of Omnium in giving these instructions made a mystery of the matter which he by no
means himself intended. But he was so sore that he could
not be simple in what he said. ‘Mr Finn,’ he said, ‘you must promise me this, – that the name of the Duchess shall not be mentioned.’

‘Certainly not by me, if you tell me that I am not to mention it.’

‘No one else can do so. The matter will take the form of a simple question, and though the conduct of a minister may no doubt be made the subject of debate, – and it is not improbable that my conduct
may do so in this instance, – it is, I think, impossible that any member should make an allusion to my wife. The privilege or power of returning a member for the borough has undoubtedly been exercised by our family since as well as previous to both the Reform Bills. At the last election I thought it right to abandon that privilege, and notified to those about me my intention. But that which
a man has the power of doing he cannot always do without the interference of those around him. There was a misconception, and among my, – my adherents, – there were some who injudiciously advised Mr Lopez to stand on my interest. But he did not get my interest, and was beaten; – and therefore when he asked me for the money which he had spent, I paid it to him. That is all. I think the House can hardly
avoid to see that my effort was made to discontinue an unconstitutional proceeding.’