'But I haven't got anybody else in their place.I have almost made up my mind not to ask anyone into the house for the next twelve months.I used to think that nothing would ever knock me up, but now I feel that I'm almost done for.I hardly dare open my mouth to Plantagenet.The Duke of St Bungay has cut me.Mr Monk looks as ominous as an owl; and your husband hasn't a word to say left.Barrington Erle hides his face and passes by when he sees me.Mr Rattler did try to comfort me the other day by saying that everything was at sixes and sevens, and I really took it almost as a compliment to be spoken to.Don't you think Plantagenet is ill?'
'He is careworn.'
'A man may be worn by care till there comes to be nothing left of him.But he never speaks of giving up now.The old Bishop of St Austell talks of resigning, and he has already made up his mind who is to have the see.He used to consult the Duke about all these things, but I don't think he ever consults anyone now.He never forgave the Duke about Lord Earlybird.Certainly, if a man wants to quarrel with all his friends, and to double the hatred of all his enemies, he had better become Prime Minister.'
'Are you really sorry that such was his fate, Lady Glen?'
'Ah,--I sometimes ask myself that question, but I never get an answer.I should have thought him a poltroon if he had declined.
It is to be the greatest man in the greatest country in the world.Do ever so little and the men who write history must write about you.And no man ever tried to be nobler than he till --till--'
'Make no exception.If he be careworn and ill and weary, his manners cannot be the same as they were, but his purity is the same as ever.'
'I don't know that it would remain so.I believe in him, Marie, more than in any man,--but I believe in none thoroughly.There is a devil creeps in upon them when their hands are strengthened.
I do not know what I would have wished.Whenever I do wish, Ialways wish wrong.Ah, me; when I think of all those people Ihad down at Gatherum,--of the trouble I took, and of the glorious anticipations in which I revelled, I do feel ashamed of myself.Do you remember when I was determined that that wretch should be member for Silverbridge?'
'You haven't seen her since, Duchess?'
'No; but I mean to see her.I couldn't make her first husband member, and therefore the man who is member is to be her second husband.But I'm almost sick of schemes.Oh dear, I wish I knew something that was really pleasant to do.I have never really enjoyed anything since I was in love, and I only liked that because it was wicked.'
The Duchess was wrong in saying that the Duke of St Bungay had cut them.The old man still remembered the kiss and still remembered the pledge.But he had found it very difficult to maintain his old relations with his friend.It was his opinion that the Coalition had done all that was wanted from it, and that now had come the time when they might retire gracefully.It is, no doubt, hard for a Prime Minister to find an excuse for going.
But if the Duke of Omnium would have been content to acknowledge that he was not the man to alter the County Suffrage, an excuse might have been found that would have been injurious to no one.
Mr Monk and Mr Gresham might have joined, and the present Prime Minister might have resigned, explaining that he had done all that he had been appointed to accomplish.He had, however, yielded at once to Mr Monk, and now it was to be feared that the House of Commons would not accept the bill from his hands.In such a state of things,--especially after that disagreement about Lord Earlybird,--it was difficult for the old Duke to tender his advice.He was at every Cabinet Council; he always came when his presence was required; he was invariably good-humoured;--but it seemed to him that his work was done.He could hardly volunteer to tell his chief and his colleague that he would certainly be beaten in the House of Commons, and that therefore there was little more now to be done than to arrange the circumstances of their retirement.Nevertheless, as the period of the second reading of the bill came on, he resolved that he would discuss the matter with his friend.He owed it to himself to do so, and he owed it to the man whom he had certainly placed in his present position.On himself politics had imposed a burden very much lighter than that which they had inflicted on his more energetic and much less practical colleague.Through his long life he had either been in office, or in such a position that men were sure that he would soon return to it.He had taken it, when it had come, willingly, and had always left without a regret.As a man cuts in and out at a whist table, and enjoys the game and the rest from the game, so had the Duke of St Bungay been well pleased in either position.He was patriotic; but his patriotism did not disturb his digestion.He had been ambitious, --but moderately ambitious, and his ambition had been gratified.
It never occurred to him to be unhappy because he or his party were beaten on a measure.When President of the Council, he would do his duty and enjoy London life.When in opposition, he could linger in Italy till May and devote his leisure to his trees and his bullocks.He was always esteemed, always self-satisfied, and always Duke of St Bungay.But with our Duke it was very different.Patriotism with him was a fever, and the public service an exacting mistress.As long as this had been all he had still been happy.Not trusting in himself, he had never aspired to great power.But now, now at last, ambition had laid hold of him,--and the feeling, not perhaps uncommon with such men, that personal dishonour attached to personal failure.What would his future life be if he had so carried himself in his great office as to have shown himself to be unfit to resume it?
Hitherto any office had sufficed him in which he might be useful;--but now he must either be Prime Minister, or a silent, obscure, and humbled man!
DEAR DUKE, I will be with you to-morrow morning at 11am, if you can give me half-an-hour.
Yours affectionately, ST.B.
