“Yes; I think so.”
“I shall read your speech, which is more than I shall do for most of the others. And when it is all over, will your turn come?”
“Not mine individually, Madame Goesler.”
“But it will be yours individually;—will it not?” she asked with energy. Then gradually, with half-pronounced sentences, he explained to her that even in the event of the formation of a Liberal Government, he did not expect that any place would be offered to him. “And why not? We have been all speaking of it as a certainty.”
He longed to inquire who were the all of whom she spoke, but he could not do it without an egotism which would be distasteful to him. “I can hardly tell;—but I don’t think I shall be asked to join them.”
“You would wish it?”
“Yes;—talking to you I do not see why I should hesitate to say so.”
“Talking to me, why should you hesitate to say anything about yourself that is true? I can hold my tongue. I do not gossip about my friends. Whose doing is it?”
“I do not know that it is any man’s doing.”
“But it must be. Everybody said that you were to be one of them if you could get the other people out. Is it Mr. Bonteen?”
“Likely enough. Not that I know anything of the kind; but as I hate him from the bottom of my heart, it is natural to suppose that he has the same feeling in regard to me.”
“I agree with you there.”
“But I don’t know that it comes from any feeling of that kind.”
“What does it come from?”
“You have heard all the calumny about Lady Laura Kennedy.”
“You do not mean to say that a story such as that has affected your position.”
“I fancy it has. But you must not suppose, Madame Goesler, that I mean to complain. A man must take these things as they come. No one has received more kindness from friends than I have, and few perhaps more favours from fortune. All this about Mr. Kennedy has been unlucky—but it cannot be helped.”
“Do you mean to say that the morals of your party will be offended?” said Madame Goesler, almost laughing.
“Lord Fawn, you know, is very particular. In sober earnest one cannot tell how these things operate; but they do operate gradually. One’s friends are sometimes very glad of an excuse for not befriending one.”
“Lady Laura is coming home?”
“Yes.”
“That will put an end to it.”
“There is nothing to put an end to except the foul-mouthed malice of a lying newspaper. Nobody believes anything against Lady Laura.”
“I’m not so sure of that. I believe nothing against her.”
“I’m sure you do not, Madame Goesler. Nor do I think that anybody does. It is too absurd for belief from beginning to end. Goodbye. Perhaps I shall see you when the debate is over.”
“Of course you will. Goodbye, and success to your oratory.” Then Madame Goesler resolved that she would say a few judicious words to her friend, the Duchess, respecting Phineas Finn.
XXXIII
The Two Gladiators
The great debate was commenced with all the solemnities which are customary on such occasions, and which make men think for the day that no moment of greater excitement has ever blessed or cursed the country. Upon the present occasion London was full of clergymen. The specially clerical clubs—the Oxford and Cambridge, the Old University, and the Athenaeum—were black with them. The bishops and deans, as usual, were pleasant in their manner and happy-looking, in spite of adverse circumstances. When one sees a bishop in the hours of the distress of the Church, one always thinks of the just and firm man who will stand fearless while the ruins of the world are falling about his ears. But the parsons from the country were a sorry sight to see. They were in earnest with all their hearts, and did believe—not that the crack of doom was coming, which they could have borne with equanimity if convinced that their influence would last to the end—but that the Evil One was to be made welcome upon the earth by Act of Parliament. It is out of nature that any man should think it good that his own order should be repressed, curtailed, and deprived of its power. If we go among cabdrivers or letter-carriers, among butlers or gamekeepers, among tailors or butchers, among farmers or graziers, among doctors or attorneys, we shall find in each set of men a conviction that the welfare of the community depends upon the firmness with which they—especially they—hold their own. This is so manifestly true with the Bar that no barrister in practice scruples to avow that barristers in practice are the salt of the earth. The personal confidence of a judge in his own position is beautiful, being salutary to the country, though not unfrequently damaging to the character of the man. But if this be so with men who are conscious of no higher influence than that exercised over the bodies and minds of their fellow creatures, how much stronger must be the feeling when the influence affects the soul! To the outsider, or layman, who simply uses a cab, or receives a letter, or goes to law, or has to be tried, these pretensions are ridiculous or annoying, according to the ascendancy of the pretender at the moment. But as the clerical pretensions are more exacting than all others, being put forward with an assertion that no answer is possible without breach of duty and sin, so are they more galling. The fight has been going on since the idea of a mitre first entered the heart of a priest—since dominion in this world has found itself capable of sustentation by the exercise of fear as to the world to come. We do believe—the majority among us does so—that if we live and die in sin
