“I think it is so lovely!” said Mrs. Boffin. “You look down through an Elysium of rhododendrons into a Paradise of mirrors. I don’t think there was ever anything like it in London before.”
“I don’t know that we ever had anybody at the same time rich enough to do this kind of thing as it is done now,” said Boffin, “and powerful enough to get such people together. If the country can be ruled by flowers and looking-glasses, of course it is very well.”
“Flowers and looking-glasses won’t prevent the country being ruled well,” said Lopez.
“I’m not so sure of that,” continued Boffin. “We all know what bread and the games came to in Rome.”
“What did they come to?” asked Mrs. Boffin.
“To a man burning Rome, my dear, for his amusement, dressed in a satin petticoat and a wreath of roses.”
“I don’t think the Duke will dress himself like that,” said Mrs. Boffin.
“And I don’t think,” said Lopez, “that the graceful expenditure of wealth in a rich man’s house has any tendency to demoralise the people.”
“The attempt here,” said Boffin severely, “is to demoralise the rulers of the people. I am glad to have come once to see how the thing is done; but as an independent member of the House of Commons I should not wish to be known to frequent the saloon of the Duchess.” Then Mr. Boffin took away Mrs. Boffin, much to that lady’s regret.
“This is fairy land,” said Lopez to the Duchess, as he left the room.
“Come and be a fairy then,” she answered, very graciously. “We are always on the wing about this hour on Wednesday night.” The words contained a general invitation for the season, and were esteemed by Lopez as an indication of great favour. It must be acknowledged of the Duchess that she was prone to make favourites, perhaps without adequate cause; though it must be conceded to her that she rarely altogether threw off from her anyone whom she had once taken to her good graces. It must also be confessed that when she had allowed herself to hate either a man or a woman, she generally hated on to the end. No Paradise could be too charming for her friends; no Pandemonium too frightful for her enemies. In reference to Mr. Lopez she would have said, if interrogated, that she had taken the man up in obedience to her husband. But in truth she had liked the look and the voice of the man. Her husband before now had recommended men to her notice and kindness, whom at the first trial she had rejected from her goodwill, and whom she had continued to reject ever afterwards, let her husband’s urgency be what it might.
Another old friend, of whom former chronicles were not silent, was at the Duchess’s that night, and there came across Mrs. Finn. This was Barrington Erle, a politician of long standing, who was still looked upon by many as a young man, because he had always been known as a young man, and because he had never done anything to compromise his position in that respect. He had not married, or settled himself down in a house of his own, or become subject to gout, or given up being careful about the fitting of his clothes. No doubt the grey hairs were getting the better of the black hairs, both on his head and face, and marks of coming crows’ feet were to be seen if you looked close at him, and he had become careful about his greatcoat and umbrella. He was in truth much nearer fifty than forty;—nevertheless he was felt in the House and among Cabinet Ministers, and among the wives of members and Cabinet Ministers, to be a young man still. And when he was invited to become Secretary for Ireland it was generally felt that he was too young for the place. He declined it, however; and when he went to the Post-office, the gentlemen there all felt that they had had a boy put over them. Phineas Finn, who had become Secretary for Ireland, was in truth ten years his junior. But Phineas Finn had been twice married, and had gone through other phases of life, such as make a man old. “How does Phineas like it?” Erle asked. Phineas Finn and Barrington Erle had gone through some political struggles together, and had been very intimate.
“I hope not very much,” said the lady.
“Why so? Because he’s away so much?”
“No;—not that. I should not grudge his absence if the work satisfied him. But I know him so well. The more he takes to it now—the more sanguine he is as to some special thing to be done—the more bitter will be the disappointment when he is disappointed. For there never really is anything special to be done;—is there, Mr. Erle?”
“I think there is always a little too much zeal about Finn.”
“Of course there is. And then with
