"My Novel" — Complete

CHAPTER XIV

But parliament had met. Events that belong to history had contributed yet more to weaken the administration. Randal Leslie’s interest became absorbed in politics, for the stake to him was his whole political career. Should Audley lose office, and for good, Audley could aid him no more; but to abandon his patron, as Levy recommended, and pin himself, in the hope of a seat in parliament, to a stranger,—an obscure stranger, like Dick Avenel,—that was a policy not to be adopted at a breath. Meanwhile, almost every night, when the House met, that pale face and spare form, which Levy so identified with shrewdness and energy, might be seen amongst the benches appropriated to those more select strangers who obtain the Speaker’s order of admission. There, Randal heard the great men of that day, and with the half-contemptuous surprise at their fame, which is common enough amongst clever, well-educated young men, who know not what it is to speak in the House of Commons. He heard much slovenly English, much trite reasoning, some eloquent thoughts, and close argument, often delivered in a jerking tone of voice (popularly called the parliamentary twang), and often accompanied by gesticulations that would have shocked the manager of a provincial theatre. He thought how much better than these great dons (with but one or two exceptions), he himself could speak,—with what more refined logic, with what more polished periods, how much more like Cicero and Burke! Very probably he might have so spoken, and for that very reason have made that deadest of all dead failures,—a pretentious imitation of Burke and Cicero. One thing, however, he was obliged to own,—namely, that in a popular representative assembly, it is not precisely knowledge which is power, or if knowledge, it is but the knowledge of that particular assembly, and what will best take with it; passion, invective, sarcasm, bold declamation, shrewd common-sense, the readiness so rarely found in a very profound mind,—he owned that all these were the qualities that told; when a man who exhibited nothing but “knowledge,” in the ordinary sense of the word, stood an imminent chance of being coughed down.

There at his left—last but one in the row of the ministerial chiefs—Randal watched Audley Egerton, his arms folded on his breast, his hat drawn over his brows, his eyes fixed with steady courage on whatever speaker in the Opposition held possession of the floor. And twice Randal heard Egerton speak, and marvelled much at the effect that minister produced. For of those qualities enumerated above, and which Randal had observed to be most sure of success, Audley Egerton only exhibited to a marked degree the common-sense and the readiness. And yet, though but little applauded by noisy cheers, no speaker seemed more to satisfy friends, and command respect from foes. The true secret was this, which Randal might well not divine, since that young person, despite his ancient birth, his Eton rearing, and his refined air, was not one of Nature’s gentlemen,—the true secret was, that Audley Egerton moved, looked, and spoke like a thorough gentleman of England,—a gentleman of more than average talents and of long experience, speaking his sincere opinions, not a rhetorician aiming at effect. Moreover, Egerton was a consummate man of the world. He said, with nervous simplicity, what his party desired to be said, and put what his opponents felt to be the strong points of the case. Calm and decorous, yet spirited and energetic, with little variety of tone, and action subdued and rare, but yet signalized by earnest vigour, Audley Egerton impressed the understanding of the dullest, and pleased the taste of the most fastidious.

But once, when allusions were made to a certain popular question, on which the premier had announced his resolution to refuse all concession, and on the expediency of which it was announced that the Cabinet was nevertheless divided, and when such allusions were coupled with direct appeals to Mr. Egerton, as “the enlightened member of a great commercial constituency,” and with a flattering doubt that “that Right Honourable gentleman, member for that great city, identified with the cause of the Burgher class, could be so far behind the spirit of the age as his official chief,”—Randal observed that Egerton drew his hat still more closely over his brows, and turned to whisper with one of his colleagues. He could not be got up to speak.

That evening Randal walked home with Egerton, and intimated his surprise that the minister had declined what seemed to him a good occasion for one of those brief, weighty replies by which Audley was chiefly distinguished,—an occasion to which he had been loudly invited by the “hears” of the House.

“Leslie,” answered the statesman, briefly, “I owe all my success in parliament to this rule,—I have never spoken against my convictions. I intend to abide by it to the last.”

“But if the question at issue comes before the House, you will vote against it?”

“Certainly, I vote as a member of the Cabinet. But since I am not leader and mouthpiece of the party, I retain as an individual the privilege to speak or keep silence.”

“Ah, my dear Mr. Egerton,” exclaimed Randal, “forgive me. But this question, right or wrong, has got such hold of the public mind. So little, if conceded in time, would give content; and it is so clear (if I may judge by the talk I hear everywhere I go) that by refusing all concession, the Government must fall, that I wish—”

“So do I wish,” interrupted Egerton, with a gloomy, impatient sigh,—“so do I wish! But what avails it? If my advice had been taken but three weeks ago—now it is too late—we could have doubled the rock; we refused, we must split upon it.”

This speech was so unlike the discreet and reserved minister, that Randal gathered courage to proceed with an idea that had occurred to his own sagacity. And before I state it, I must add that Egerton had of late shown much more personal kindness to his protege; whether his spirits were broken, or that at last, close and compact as his nature of bronze was, he felt the imperious want to groan aloud in some loving ear, the stern Audley seemed tamed and softened. So Randal went on,

“May I say what I have heard expressed with regard to you and your position—in the streets, in the clubs?”

“Yes, it is in the streets and the clubs that statesmen should go to school. Say on.”

“Well, then, I have heard it made a matter of wonder why you, and one or two others I will not name, do not at once retire from the ministry, and on the avowed ground that you side with the public feeling on this irresistible question.”

“Eh!”

“It is clear that in so doing you would become the most popular man in the country,—clear that you would be summoned back to power on the shoulders of the people. No new Cabinet could be formed without you, and your station in it would perhaps be higher, for life, than that which you may now retain but for a few weeks longer. Has not this ever occurred to you?”

“Never,” said Audley, with dry composure.

Amazed at such obtuseness, Randal exclaimed, “Is it possible! And yet, forgive me if I say I think you are ambitious, and love power.”

“No man more ambitious; and if by power you mean office, it has grown the habit of my life, and I shall not know what to do without it.”

“And how, then, has what seems to me so obvious never occurred to you?”

“Because you are young, and therefore I forgive you; but not the gossips who could wonder why Audley Egerton refused to betray the friends of his whole career, and to profit by the treason.”

“But one should love one’s country before a party.”

“No doubt of that; and the first interest of a country is the honour of its public men.”

“But men may leave their party without dishonour!”

“Who doubts that? Do you suppose that if I were an ordinary independent member of parliament, loaded with no obligations, charged with no trust, I could hesitate for a moment what course to pursue? Oh, that I were but the member for —————! Oh, that I had the full right to be a free agent! But if a member of a Cabinet, a chief in whom thousands confide, because he is outvoted in a council of his colleagues, suddenly retires, and by so doing breaks up the whole party whose confidence he has enjoyed, whose rewards he has reaped, to whom he owes the very position which he employs to their ruin,—own that though his choice may be honest, it is one which requires all the consolations of conscience.”

“But you will have those consolations. And,” added Randal, energetically, “the gain to your career will be so immense!”

“That is precisely what it cannot be,” answered Egerton, gloomily. “I grant that I may, if I choose, resign office with the present Government, and so at once destroy that Government; for my resignation on such ground would suffice to do it. I grant this; but for that very reason I could not the next day take office with another administration. I could not accept wages for desertion. No gentleman could! and therefore—” Audley stopped short, and buttoned his coat over his broad breast. The action was significant; it said that the man’s mind was made up.

In fact, whether Audley Egerton was right or wrong in his theory depends upon much subtler, and perhaps loftier, views in the casuistry of political duties, than it was in his character to take. And I guard myself from saying anything in praise or disfavour of his notions, or implying that he is a fit or unfit example in a parallel case. I am but describing the man as he was, and as a man like him would inevitably be, under the influences in which he lived, and in that peculiar world of which he was so emphatically a member. “Ce n’est pas moi qui parle, c’est Marc Aurele.”

He speaks, not I.

Randal had no time for further discussion. They now reached Egerton’s house, and the minister, taking the chamber candlestick from his servant’s hand, nodded a silent goodnight to Leslie, and with a jaded look retired to his room.

CHAPTER XV

But not on the threatened question was that eventful campaign of Party decided. The Government fell less in battle than skirmish. It was one fatal Monday—a dull question of finance and figures. Prosy and few were the speakers,—all the Government silent, save the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and another business-like personage connected with the Board of Trade, whom the House would hardly condescend to hear. The House was in no mood to think of facts and figures. Early in the evening, between nine and ten, the Speaker’s sonorous voice sounded, “Strangers must withdraw!” And Randal, anxious and foreboding, descended from his seat and went out of the fatal doors. He turned to take a last glance at Audley Egerton. The whipper-in was whispering to Audley; and the minister pushed back his hat from his brows, and glanced round the House, and up into the galleries, as if to calculate rapidly the relative numbers of the two armies in the field; then he smiled bitterly, and threw himself back into his seat. That smile long haunted Leslie.

Amongst the strangers thus banished with Randal, while the division was being taken, were many young men, like himself, connected with the administration,—some by blood, some by place. Hearts beat loud in the swarming lobbies. Ominous mournful whispers were exchanged. “They say the Government will have a majority of ten.” “No; I hear they will certainly be beaten.” “H—says by fifty.” “I don’t believe it,” said a Lord of the Bedchamber; “it is impossible. I left five Government members dining at The Travellers.” “No one thought the division would be so early.” “A trick of the Whigs-shameful!” “Wonder some one was not set up to talk for time; very odd P—did not speak; however, he is so cursedly rich, he does not care whether he is out or in.” “Yes; and Audley Egerton too, just such another: glad, no doubt, to be set free to look after his property; very different tactics if we had men to whom office was as necessary as it is—to me!” said a candid young placeman. Suddenly the silent Leslie felt a friendly grasp on his arm. He turned and saw Levy.

“Did I not tell you?” said the baron, with an exulting smile.

“You are sure, then, that the Government will be outvoted?”

“I spent the morning in going over the list of members with a parliamentary client of mine, who knows them all as a shepherd does his sheep. Majority for the Opposition at least twenty-five.”

“And in that case must the Government resign, sir?” asked the candid young placeman, who had been listening to the smart, well-dressed baron, “his soul planted in his ears.”

“Of course, sir,” replied the baron, blandly, and offering his snuff-box (true Louis Quinze, with a miniature of Madame de Pompadour, set in pearls). “You are a friend to the present ministers? You could not wish them to be mean enough to stay in?” Randal drew aside the baron.

“If Audley’s affairs are as you state, what can he do?”

“I shall ask him that question to-morrow,” answered the baron, with a look of visible hate; “and I have come here just to see how he bears the prospect before him.”

“You will not discover that in his face. And those absurd scruples of his! If he had but gone out in time—to come in again with the New Men!”

“Oh, of course, our Right Honourable is too punctilious for that!” answered the baron, sneering.

Suddenly the doors opened, in rushed the breathless expectants. “What are the numbers? What is the division?”

“Majority against ministers,” said a member of Opposition, peeling an orange, “twenty-nine.”

The baron, too, had a Speaker’s order; and he came into the House with Randal, and sat by his side. But, to their disgust, some member was talking about the other motions before the House.

“What! has nothing been said as to the division?” asked the baron of a young county member, who was talking to some non-parliamentary friend in the bench before Levy. The county member was one of the baron’s pet eldest sons, had dined often with Levy, was under “obligations” to him. The young legislator looked very much ashamed of Levy’s friendly pat on his shoulder, and answered hurriedly, “Oh, yes; H——— asked if, after such an expression of the House, it was the intention of ministers to retain their places, and carry on the business of the Government.”

“Just like H———-! Very inquisitive mind! And what was the answer he got?”

“None,” said the county member; and returned in haste to his proper seat in the body of the House.

“There comes Egerton,” said the baron. And, indeed, as most of the members were now leaving the House, to talk over affairs at clubs or in saloons, and spread through town the great tidings, Audley Egerton’s tall head was seen towering above the rest. And Levy turned away disappointed. For not only was the minister’s handsome face, though pale, serene and cheerful, but there was an obvious courtesy, a marked respect, in the mode in which that assembly—heated though it was—made way for the fallen minister as he passed through the jostling crowd. And the frank urbane nobleman, who afterwards, from the force, not of talent but of character, became the leader in that House, pressed the hand of his old opponent, as they met in the throng near the doors, and said aloud, “I shall not be a proud man if ever I live to have office; but I shall be proud if ever I leave it with as little to be said against me as your bitterest opponents can say against you, Egerton.”

“I wonder,” exclaimed the baron, aloud, and leaning over the partition that divided him from the throng below, so that his voice reached Egerton—and there was a cry from formal, indignant members, “Order in the strangers’ gallery I wonder what Lord L’Estrange will say?”

Audley lifted his dark brows, surveyed the baron for an instant with flashing eyes, then walked down the narrow defile between the last benches, and vanished from the scene, in which, alas! so few of the most admired performers leave more than an actor’s short-lived name!

CHAPTER XVI

Baron Levy did not execute his threat of calling on Egerton the next morning. Perhaps he shrank from again meeting the flash of those indignant eyes. And indeed Egerton was too busied all the forenoon to see any one not upon public affairs, except Harley, who hastened to console or cheer him. When the House met, it was announced that the ministers had resigned, only holding their offices till their successors were appointed. But already there was some reaction in their favour; and when it became generally known that the new administration was to be formed of men few indeed of whom had ever before held office, the common superstition in the public mind that government is like a trade, in which a regular apprenticeship must be served, began to prevail; and the talk at the clubs was that the new men could not stand; that the former ministry, with some modification, would be back in a month. Perhaps that too might be a reason why Baron Levy thought it prudent not prematurely to offer vindictive condolences to Mr. Egerton. Randal spent part of his morning in inquiries as to what gentlemen in his situation meant to do with regard to their places; he heard with great satisfaction that very few intended to volunteer retirement from their desks. As Randal himself had observed to Egerton, “Their country before their party!”

Randal’s place was of great moment to him; its duties were easy, its salary amply sufficient for his wants, and defrayed such expenses as were bestowed on the education of Oliver and his sister. For I am bound to do justice to this young man,—indifferent as he was towards his species in general, the ties of family were strong with him; and he stinted himself in many temptations most alluring to his age, in the endeavour to raise the dull honest Oliver and the loose-haired pretty Juliet somewhat more to his own level of culture and refinement. Men essentially griping and unscrupulous often do make the care for their family an apology for their sins against the world. Even Richard III., if the chroniclers are to be trusted, excused the murder of his nephews by his passionate affection for his son. With the loss of that place, Randal lost all means of support, save what Audley could give him; and if Audley were in truth ruined? Moreover, Randal had already established at the office a reputation for ability and industry. It was a career in which, if he abstained from party politics, he might rise to a fair station and to a considerable income. Therefore, much contented with what he learned as to the general determination of his fellow officials, a determination warranted by ordinary precedent in such cases, Randal dined at a club with good relish, and much Christian resignation for the reverse of his patron, and then walked to Grosvenor Square, on the chance of finding Audley within. Learning that he was so, from the porter who opened the door, Randal entered the library. Three gentlemen were seated there with Egerton: one of the three was Lord L’Estrange; the other two were members of the really defunct, though nominally still existing, Government. He was about to withdraw from intruding on this conclave, when Egerton said to him gently, “Come in, Leslie; I was just speaking about yourself.”

“About me, sir?”

“Yes; about you and the place you hold. I had asked Sir —— [pointing to a fellow minister] whether I might not, with propriety, request your chief to leave some note of his opinion of your talents, which I know is high, and which might serve you with his successor.”

“Oh, sir, at such a time to think of me!” exclaimed Randal, and he was genuinely touched.

“But,” resumed Audley, with his usual dryness, “Sir ——, to my surprise, thinks that it would better become you that you should resign. Unless his reasons, which he has not yet stated, are very strong, such would not be my advice.”

“My reasons,” said Sir ——, with official formality, “are simply these: I have a nephew in a similar situation; he will resign, as a matter of course. Every one in the public offices whose relations and near connections hold high appointments in the Government will do so. I do not think Mr. Leslie will like to feel himself a solitary exception.”

“Mr. Leslie is no relation of mine,—not even a near connection,” answered Egerton.

“But his name is so associated with your own: he has resided so long in your house, is so well known in society (and don’t think I compliment when I add, that we hope so well of him), that I can’t think it worth his while to keep this paltry place, which incapacitates him too from a seat in parliament.”

Sir —— was one of those terribly rich men, to whom all considerations of mere bread and cheese are paltry. But I must add that he supposed Egerton to be still wealthier than himself, and sure to provide handsomely for Randal, whom Sir —— rather liked than not; and for Randal’s own sake, Sir —— thought it would lower him in the estimation of Egerton himself, despite that gentleman’s advocacy, if he did not follow the example of his avowed and notorious patron.

“You see, Leslie,” said Egerton, checking Randal’s meditated reply, “that nothing can be said against your honour if you stay where you are; it is a mere question of expediency; I will judge that for you; keep your place.”

Unhappily the other member of the Government, who had hitherto been silent, was a literary man. Unhappily, while this talk had proceeded, he had placed his hand upon Randal Leslie’s celebrated pamphlet, which lay on the library table; and, turning over the leaves, the whole spirit and matter of that masterly composition in defence of the administration (a composition steeped in all the essence of party) recurred to his too faithful recollection. He, too, liked Randal; he did more,—he admired the author of that striking and effective pamphlet. And therefore, rousing himself from the sublime indifference he had before felt for the fate of a subaltern, he said, with a bland and complimentary smile, “No; the writer of this most able publication is no ordinary placeman. His opinions here are too vigorously stated; this fine irony on the very person who in all probability will be the chief in his office has excited too lively an attention to allow him the sedet eternumque sedebit on an official stool. Ha, ha! this is so good! Read it, L’Estrange. What say you?” Harley glanced over the page pointed out to him. The original was in one of Burley’s broad, coarse, but telling burlesques, strained fine through Randal’s more polished satire. It was capital. Harley smiled, and lifted his eyes to Randal. The unlucky plagiarist’s face was flushed,—the beads stood on his brow. Harley was a good hater; he loved too warmly not to err on the opposite side; but he was one of those men who forget hate when its object is distressed and humbled. He put down the pamphlet and said, “I am no politician; but Egerton is so well known to be fastidious and over-scrupulous in all points of official etiquette, that Mr. Leslie cannot follow a safer counsellor.”

“Read that yourself, Egerton,” said Sir ——; and he pushed the pamphlet to Audley.

Now Egerton had a dim recollection that that pamphlet was unlucky; but he had skimmed over its contents hastily, and at that moment had forgotten all about it. He took up the too famous work with a reluctant hand, but he read attentively the passages pointed out to him, and then said gravely and sadly,

“Mr. Leslie, I retract my advice. I believe Sir —— is right,—that the nobleman here so keenly satirized will be the chief in your office. I doubt whether he will not compel your dismissal; at all events, he could scarcely be expected to promote your advancement. Under the circumstances, I fear you have no option as a—” Egerton paused a moment, and, with a sigh that seemed to settle the question, concluded with—“as a gentleman.”

Never did Jack Cade, never did Wat Tyler, feel a more deadly hate to that word “gentleman” than the well-born Leslie felt then; but he bowed his head, and answered with his usual presence of mind,

“You utter my own sentiment.”

“You think we are right, Harley?” asked Egerton, with an irresolution that surprised all present.

“I think,” answered Harley, with a compassion for Randal that was almost over-generous, and yet with an equivoque on the words, despite the compassion,—“I think whoever has served Audley Egerton never yet has been a loser by it; and if Mr. Leslie wrote this pamphlet, he must have well served Audley Egerton. If he undergoes the penalty, we may safely trust to Egerton for the compensation.”

“My compensation has long since been made,” answered Randal, with grace; “and that Mr. Egerton could thus have cared for my fortunes, at an hour so occupied, is a thought of pride which—”

“Enough, Leslie! enough!” interrupted Egerton, rising and pressing his protege’s hand. “See me before you go to bed.”

Then the two other ministers rose also and shook hands with Leslie, and told him he had done the right thing, and that they hoped soon to see him in parliament; and hinted, smilingly, that the next administration did not promise to be very long-lived; and one asked him to dinner, and the other to spend a week at his country-seat. And amidst these congratulations at the stroke that left him penniless, the distinguished pamphleteer left the room. How he cursed big John Burley!