Phineas Redux

  CHAPTER LXVIII.

  PHINEAS AFTER THE TRIAL.

  Ten days passed by, and Phineas Finn had not been out of his lodgingstill after daylight, and then he only prowled about in the mannerdescribed in the last chapter. His sisters had returned to Ireland,and he saw no one, even in his own room, but two or three of his mostintimate friends. Among those Mr. Low and Lord Chiltern were the mostfrequently with him, but Fitzgibbon, Barrington Erle, and Mr. Monkhad also been admitted. People had called by the hundred, till Mrs.Bunce was becoming almost tired of her lodger's popularity; but theycame only to inquire,--because it had been reported that Mr. Finn wasnot well after his imprisonment. The Duchess of Omnium had writtento him various notes, asking when he would come to her, and whatshe could do for him. Would he dine, would he spend a quiet evening,would he go to Matching? Finally, would he become her guest and theDuke's next September for the partridge shooting? They would have afew friends with them, and Madame Goesler would be one of the number.Having had this by him for a week, he had not as yet answered theinvitation. He had received two or three notes from Lady Laura, whohad frankly explained to him that if he were really ill she wouldof course go to him, but that as matters stood she could not do sowithout displeasing her brother. He had answered each note by anassurance that his first visit should be made in Portman Square. ToMadame Goesler he had written a letter of thanks,--a letter which hadin truth cost him some pains. "I know," he said, "for how much I haveto thank you, but I do not know in what words to do it. I ought tobe with you telling you in person of my gratitude; but I must own toyou that for the present what has occurred has so unmanned me thatI am unfit for the interview. I should only weep in your presencelike a school-girl, and you would despise me." It was a long letter,containing many references to the circumstances of the trial, and tohis own condition of mind throughout its period. Her answer to him,which was very short, was as follows:--

  Park Lane, Sunday--.

  MY DEAR MR. FINN,

  I can well understand that for a while you should be too agitated by what has passed to see your friends. Remember, however, that you owe it to them as well as to yourself not to sink into seclusion. Send me a line when you think that you can come to me that I may be at home. My journey to Prague was nothing. You forget that I am constantly going to Vienna on business connected with my own property there. Prague lies but a few hours out of the route.

  Most sincerely yours,

  M. M. G.

  His friends who did see him urged him constantly to bestir himself,and Mr. Monk pressed him very much to come down to the House. "Walkin with me to-night, and take your seat as though nothing hadhappened," said Mr. Monk.

  "But so much has happened."

  "Nothing has happened to alter your outward position as a man. Nodoubt many will flock round you to congratulate you, and your firsthalf-hour will be disagreeable; but then the thing will have beendone. You owe it to your constituents to do so." Then Phineas for thefirst time expressed an opinion that he would resign his seat,--thathe would take the Chiltern Hundreds, and retire altogether frompublic life.

  "Pray do nothing of the kind," said Mr. Monk.

  "I do not think you quite understand," said Phineas, "how such anordeal as this works upon a man, how it may change a man, and knockout of him what little strength there ever was there. I feel that Iam broken, past any patching up or mending. Of course it ought not tobe so. A man should be made of better stuff;--but one is only whatone is."

  "We'll put off the discussion for another week," said Mr. Monk.

  "There came a letter to me when I was in prison from one of theleading men in Tankerville, saying that I ought to resign. I knowthey all thought that I was guilty. I do not care to sit for a placewhere I was so judged,--even if I was fit any longer for a seat inParliament." He had never felt convinced that Mr. Monk had himselfbelieved with confidence his innocence, and he spoke with soreness,and almost with anger.

  "A letter from one individual should never be allowed to createinterference between a member and his constituents. It should simplybe answered to that effect, and then ignored. As to the belief of thetownspeople in your innocence,--what is to guide you? I believed youinnocent with all my heart."

  "Did you?"

  "But there was always sufficient possibility of your guilt to preventa rational man from committing himself to the expression of anabsolute conviction." The young member's brow became black as heheard this. "I can see that I offend you by saying so,--but if youwill think of it, I must be right. You were on your trial; and I asyour friend was bound to await the result,--with much confidence,because I knew you; but with no conviction, because both you and Iare human and fallible. If the electors at Tankerville, or any greatproportion of them, express a belief that you are unfit to representthem because of what has occurred, I shall be the last to recommendyou to keep your seat;--but I shall be surprised indeed if theyshould do so. If there were a general election to-morrow, I shouldregard your seat as one of the safest in England."

  Both Mr. Low and Lord Chiltern were equally urgent with him toreturn to his usual mode of life,--using different arguments fortheir purpose. Lord Chiltern told him plainly that he was weak andwomanly,--or rather that he would be were he to continue to dreadthe faces of his fellow-creatures. The Master of the Brake houndshimself was a man less gifted than Phineas Finn, and therefore hardlycapable of understanding the exaggerated feelings of the man who hadrecently been tried for his life. Lord Chiltern was affectionate,tender-hearted, and true;--but there were no vacillating fibres inhis composition. The balance which regulated his conduct was firmlyset, and went well. The clock never stopped, and wanted but littlelooking after. But the works were somewhat rough, and the secondswere not scored. He had, however, been quite true to Phineas duringthe dark time, and might now say what he pleased. "I am womanly,"said Phineas. "I begin to feel it. But I can't alter my nature."

  "I never was so much surprised in my life," said Lord Chiltern. "WhenI used to look at you in the dock, by heaven I envied you your pluckand strength."

  "I was burning up the stock of coals, Chiltern."

  "You'll come all right after a few weeks. You've been knocked out oftime;--that's the truth of it."

  Mr. Low treated his patient with more indulgence; but he also wassurprised, and hardly understood the nature of the derangement of themechanism in the instrument which he was desirous of repairing. "Ishould go abroad for a few months if I were you," said Mr. Low.

  "I should stick at the first inn I got to," said Phineas. "I think Iam better here. By and bye I shall travel, I dare say,--all over theworld, as far as my money will last. But for the present I am onlyfit to sit still."

  Mrs. Low had seen him more than once, and had been very kind to him;but she also failed to understand. "I always thought that he was sucha manly fellow," she said to her husband.

  "If you mean personal courage, there is no doubt that he possessesit,--as completely now, probably, as ever."

  "Oh yes;--he could go over to Flanders and let that lord shoot athim; and he could ride brutes of horses, and not care about breakinghis neck. That's not what I mean. I thought that he could face theworld with dignity;--but now it seems that he breaks down."

  "He has been very roughly used, my dear."

  "So he has,--and tenderly used too. Nobody has had better friends. Ithought he would have been more manly."

  The property of manliness in a man is a great possession, but perhapsthere is none that is less understood,--which is more generallyaccorded where it does not exist, or more frequently disallowed whereit prevails. There are not many who ever make up their minds as towhat constitutes manliness, or even inquire within themselves uponthe subject. The woman's error, occasioned by her natural desire fora master, leads her to look for a certain outward magnificence ofdemeanour, a pretended indifference to stings and little torments,a would-be superiority to the bread-and-butter side of life, anunreal assumption of personal grandeur.
But a robe of State such asthis,--however well the garment may be worn with practice,--can neverbe the raiment natural to a man; and men, dressing themselves inwomen's eyes, have consented to walk about in buckram. A composure ofthe eye, which has been studied, a reticence as to the little thingsof life, a certain slowness of speech unless the occasion call forpassion, an indifference to small surroundings, these,--joined, ofcourse, with personal bravery,--are supposed to constitute manliness.That personal bravery is required in the composition of manlinessmust be conceded, though, of all the ingredients needed, it is thelowest in value. But the first requirement of all must be describedby a negative. Manliness is not compatible with affectation. Women'svirtues, all feminine attributes, may be marred by affectation, butthe virtues and the vice may co-exist. An affected man, too, maybe honest, may be generous, may be pious;--but surely he cannotbe manly. The self-conscious assumption of any outward manner,the striving to add,--even though it be but a tenth of a cubit tothe height,--is fatal, and will at once banish the all but divineattribute. Before the man can be manly, the gifts which make himso must be there, collected by him slowly, unconsciously, as arehis bones, his flesh, and his blood. They cannot be put on like agarment for the nonce,--as may a little learning. A man cannot becomefaithful to his friends, unsuspicious before the world, gentle withwomen, loving with children, considerate to his inferiors, kindlywith servants, tender-hearted with all,--and at the same time befrank, of open speech, with springing eager energies,--simply becausehe desires it. These things, which are the attributes of manliness,must come of training on a nature not ignoble. But they are the veryopposites, the antipodes, the direct antagonism, of that staring,posed, bewhiskered and bewigged deportment, that _nil admirari_,self-remembering assumption of manliness, that endeavour of twopencehalfpenny to look as high as threepence, which, when you prod itthrough, has in it nothing deeper than deportment. We see the twothings daily, side by side, close to each other. Let a man puthis hat down, and you shall say whether he has deposited it withaffectation or true nature. The natural man will probably be manly.The affected man cannot be so.

  Mrs. Low was wrong when she accused our hero of being unmanly. Hadhis imagination been less alert in looking into the minds of men, andin picturing to himself the thoughts of others in reference to thecrime with which he had been charged, he would not now have shrunkfrom contact with his fellow-creatures as he did. But he could notpretend to be other than he was. During the period of his danger,when men had thought that he would be hung,--and when he himself hadbelieved that it would be so,--he had borne himself bravely withoutany conscious effort. When he had confronted the whole Court withthat steady courage which had excited Lord Chiltern's admiration, andhad looked the Bench in the face as though he at least had no causeto quail, he had known nothing of what he was doing. His features hadanswered the helm from his heart, but had not been played upon by hisintellect. And it was so with him now. The reaction had overcome him,and he could not bring himself to pretend that it was not so. Thetears would come to his eyes, and he would shiver and shake like onestruck by palsy.

  Mr. Monk came to him often, and was all but forgiven for the apparentdefection in his faith. "I have made up my mind to one thing,"Phineas said to him at the end of the ten days.

  "And what is the one thing?"

  "I will give up my seat."

  "I do not see a shadow of a reason for it."

  "Nevertheless I will do it. Indeed, I have already written to Mr.Ratler for the Hundreds. There may be and probably are men downat Tankerville who still think that I am guilty. There is anoffensiveness in murder which degrades a man even by the accusation.I suppose it wouldn't do for you to move for the new writ."

  "Ratler will do it, as a matter of course. No doubt there will beexpressions of great regret, and my belief is that they will returnyou again."

  "If so, they'll have to do it without my presence."

  Mr. Ratler did move for a new writ for the borough of Tankerville,and within a fortnight of his restoration to liberty Phineas Finn wasno longer a Member of Parliament. It cannot be alleged that therewas any reason for what he did, and yet the doing of it for the timerather increased than diminished his popularity. Both Mr. Gresham andMr. Daubeny expressed their regret in the House, and Mr. Monk said afew words respecting his friend, which were very touching. He endedby expressing a hope that they soon might see him there again, and anopinion that he was a man peculiarly fitted by the tone of his mind,and the nature of his intellect, for the duties of Parliament.

  Then at last, when all this had been settled, he went to LordBrentford's house in Portman Square. He had promised that that shouldbe the first house he would visit, and he was as good as his word.One evening he crept out, and walked slowly along Oxford Street, andknocked timidly at the door. As he did so he longed to be told thatLady Laura was not at home. But Lady Laura was at home,--as a matterof course. In those days she never went into society, and had notpassed an evening away from her father's house since Mr. Kennedy'sdeath. He was shown up into the drawing-room in which she sat, andthere he found her--alone. "Oh, Phineas, I am so glad you have come."

  "I have done as I said, you see."

  "I could not go to you when they told me that you were ill. You willhave understood all that?"

  "Yes; I understand."

  "People are so hard, and cold, and stiff, and cruel, that one cannever do what one feels, oneself, to be right. So you have given upyour seat."

  "Yes,--I am no longer a Member of Parliament."

  "Barrington says that they will certainly re-elect you."

  "We shall see. You may be sure at any rate of this,--that I shallnever ask them to do so. Things seem to be so different now from whatthey did. I don't care for the seat. It all seems to be a bore and atrouble. What does it matter who sits in Parliament? The fight goeson just the same. The same falsehoods are acted. The same mock truthsare spoken. The same wrong reasons are given. The same personalmotives are at work."

  "And yet, of all believers in Parliament, you used to be the mostfaithful."

  "One has time to think of things, Lady Laura, when one lies inNewgate. It seems to me to be an eternity of time since they lockedme up. And as for that trial, which they tell me lasted a week, Ilook back at it till the beginning is so distant that I can hardlyremember it. But I have resolved that I will never talk of it again.Lady Chiltern is out probably."

  "Yes;--she and Oswald are dining with the Baldocks."

  "She is well?"

  "Yes;--and most anxious to see you. Will you go to their place inSeptember?"

  He had almost made up his mind that if he went anywhere in Septemberhe would go to Matching Priory, accepting the offer of the Duchessof Omnium; but he did not dare to say so to Lady Laura, because shewould have known that Madame Goesler also would be there. And he hadnot as yet accepted the invitation, and was still in doubt whether hewould not escape by himself instead of attempting to return into thegrooves of society. "I think not;--I am hardly as yet sufficientlymaster of myself to know what I shall do."

  "They will be much disappointed."

  "And you?--what will you do?"

  "I shall not go there. I am told that I ought to visit Loughlinter,and I suppose I shall. Oswald has promised to go down with me beforethe end of the month, but he will not remain above a day or two."

  "And your father?"

  "We shall leave him at Saulsby. I cannot look it all in the faceyet. It is not possible that I should remain all alone in that greathouse. The people all around would hate and despise me. I thinkViolet will come down with me, but of course she cannot remain there.Oswald must go to Harrington because of the hunting. It has becomethe business of his life. And she must go with him."

  "You will return to Saulsby."

  "I cannot say. They seem to think that I should live atLoughlinter;--but I cannot live there alone."

  He soon took leave of her, and did so with no warmer expressions ofregard on either side than have here been given.
Then he crept backto his lodgings, and she sat weeping alone in her father's house.When he had come to her during her husband's lifetime at Dresden, oreven when she had visited him at his prison, it had been better thanthis.

  And she sat weeping alone in her father's house.]