"I sent him out of the house, certainly."
"He was hardly worth your anger."
"He is not at all worth my anger;—but I could not sit down to dinner with a man who had insulted me."
"What did he say, Plantagenet? I know it was something about Silverbridge." To this question the Duke gave no answer, but in respect to Silverbridge he was stern as adamant2. Two days after the departure of the Major it was known to Silverbridge generally that in the event of there being an election the Duke's agent would not as usual suggest a nominee3. There was a paragraph on the subject in the County paper, and another in the London "Evening Pulpit." The Duke of Omnium,—that he might show his respect to the law, not only as to the letter of the law, but as to the spirit also,—had made it known to his tenantry in and round Silverbridge generally that he would in no way influence their choice of a candidate in the event of an election. But these newspapers did not say a word about Major Pountney.
The clubs of course knew all about it, and no man at any club ever knew more than Captain Gunner. Soon after Christmas he met his friend the Major on the steps of the new military club, The Active Service, which was declared by many men in the army to have left all the other military clubs "absolutely nowhere." "Halloa, Punt!" he said, "you seem to have made a mess of it at last down at the Duchess's."
"I wonder what you know about it."
"You had to come away pretty quick, I take it."
"Of course I came away pretty quick." So much as that the Major was aware must be known. There were details which he could deny safely, as it would be impossible that they should be supported by evidence, but there were matters which must be admitted. "I'll bet a fiver that beyond that you know nothing about it."
"The Duke ordered you off, I take it."
"After a fashion he did. There are circumstances in which a man cannot help himself." This was diplomatical, because it left the Captain to suppose that the Duke was the man who could not help himself.
"Of course I was not there," said Gunner, "and I can't absolutely know, but I suppose you had been interfering4 with the Duchess about Silverbridge. Glencora will bear a great deal,—but since she has taken up politics, by George, you had better not touch her there." At last it came to be believed that the Major had been turned out by the order of the Duchess, because he had ventured to put himself forward as an opponent to Ferdinand Lopez, and the Major felt himself really grateful to his friend the Captain for this arrangement of the story. And there came at last to be mixed up with the story some half-understood innuendo5 that the Major's jealousy6 against Lopez had been of a double nature,—in reference both to the Duchess and the borough,—so that he escaped from much of that disgrace which naturally attaches itself to a man who has been kicked out of another man's house. There was a mystery;—and when there is a mystery a man should never be condemned7. Where there is a woman in the case a man cannot be expected to tell the truth. As for calling out or in any way punishing the Prime Minister, that of course was out of the question. And so it went on till at last the Major was almost proud of what he had done, and talked about it willingly with mysterious hints, in which practice made him perfect.
But with the Duchess the affair was very serious, so much so that she was driven to call in advice,—not only from her constant friend, Mrs. Finn, but afterwards from Barrington Erle, from Phineas Finn, and lastly even from the Duke of St. Bungay, to whom she was hardly willing to subject herself, the Duke being the special friend of her husband. But the matter became so important to her that she was unable to trifle with it. At Gatherum the expulsion of Major Pountney soon became a forgotten affair. When the Duchess learned the truth she quite approved of the expulsion, only hinting to Barrington Erle that the act of kicking out should have been more absolutely practical. And the loss of Silverbridge, though it hurt her sorely, could be endured. She must write to her friend Ferdinand Lopez, when the time should come, excusing herself as best she might, and must lose the exquisite8 delight of making a Member of Parliament out of her own hand. The newspapers, however, had taken that matter up in the proper spirit, and political capital might to some extent be made of it. The loss of Silverbridge, though it bruised9, broke no bones. But the Duke had again expressed himself with unusual sternness respecting her ducal hospitalities, and had reiterated10 the declaration of his intention to live out the remainder of his period of office in republican simplicity11. "We have tried it and it has failed, and let there be an end of it," he said to her. Simple and direct disobedience to such an order was as little in her way as simple or direct obedience12. She knew her husband well, and knew how he could be managed and how he could not be managed. When he declared that there should be an "end of it,"—meaning an end of the very system by which she hoped to perpetuate13 his power,—she did not dare to argue with him. And yet he was so wrong! The trial had been no failure. The thing had been done and well done, and had succeeded. Was failure to be presumed because one impertinent puppy had found his way into the house? And then to abandon the system at once, whether it had failed or whether it had succeeded, would be to call the attention of all the world to an acknowledged failure,—to a failure so disreputable that its acknowledgment must lead to the loss of everything! It was known now,—so argued the Duchess to herself,—that she had devoted14 herself to the work of cementing and consolidating15 the Coalition16 by the graceful17 hospitality which the wealth of herself and her husband enabled her to dispense18. She had made herself a Prime Ministress by the manner in which she opened her saloons, her banqueting halls, and her gardens. It had never been done before, and now it had been well done. There had been no failure. And yet everything was to be broken down because his nerves had received a shock!
"Let it die out," Mrs. Finn had said. "The people will come here and will go away, and then, when you are up in London, you will soon fall into your old ways." But this did not suit the new ambition of the Duchess. She had so fed her mind with daring hopes that she could not bear that it should "die out." She had arranged a course of things in her own mind by which she should come to be known as the great Prime Minister's wife; and she had, perhaps unconsciously, applied19 the epithet20 more to herself than to her husband. She, too, wished to be written of in memoirs21, and to make a niche22 for herself in history. And now she was told that she was to let it "die out!"
"I suppose he is a little bilious," Barrington Erle had said. "Don't you think he'll forget all about it when he gets up to London?" The Duchess was sure that her husband would not forget anything. He never did forget anything. "I want him to be told," said the Duchess, "that everybody thinks that he is doing very well. I don't mean about politics exactly, but as to keeping the party together. Don't you think that we have succeeded?" Barrington Erle thought that upon the whole they had succeeded; but suggested at the same time that there were seeds of weakness. "Sir Orlando and Sir Timothy Beeswax are not sound, you know," said Barrington Erle. "He can't make them sounder by shutting himself up like a hermit," said the Duchess. Barrington Erle, who had peculiar23 privileges of his own, promised that if he could by any means make an occasion, he would let the Duke know that their side of the Coalition was more than contented24 with the way in which he did his work.
"You don't think we've made a mess of it?" she said to Phineas, asking him a question. "I don't think that the Duke has made a mess of it,—or you," said Phineas, who had come to love the Duchess because his wife loved her. "But it won't go on for ever, Duchess." "You know what I've done," said the Duchess, who took it for granted that Mr. Finn knew all that his wife knew. "Has it answered?" Phineas was silent for a moment. "Of course you will tell me the truth. You won't be so bad as to flatter me now that I am so much in earnest." "I almost think," said Phineas, "that the time has gone by for what one may call drawing-room influences. They used to be very great. Old Lord Brock used them extensively, though by no means as your Grace has done. But the spirit of the world has changed since then." "The spirit of the world never changes," said the Duchess, in her soreness.
But her strongest dependence25 was on the old Duke. The party at the Castle was almost broken up when she consulted him. She had been so far true to her husband as not to ask another guest to the house since his command;—but they who had been asked before came and went as had been arranged. Then, when the place was nearly empty, and when Locock and Millepois and Pritchard were wondering among themselves at this general collapse26, she asked her husband's leave to invite their old friend again for a day or two. "I do so want to see him, and I think he'll come," said the Duchess. The Duke gave his permission with a ready smile,—not because the proposed visitor was his own confidential27 friend, but because it suited his spirit to grant such a request as to any one after the order that he had given. Had she named Major Pountney, I think he would have smiled and acceded28.
The Duke came, and to him she poured out her whole soul. "It has been for him and for his honour that I have done it;—that men and women might know how really gracious he is, and how good. Of course, there has been money spent, but he can afford it without hurting the children. It has been so necessary that with a Coalition people should know each other! There was some little absurd row here. A man who was a mere29 nobody, one of the travelling butterfly men that fill up spaces and talk to girls, got hold of him and was impertinent. He is so thin-skinned that he could not shake the creature into the dust as you would have done. It annoyed him,—that, and, I think, seeing so many strange faces,—so that he came to me and declared, that as long as he remained in office he would not have another person in the house, either here or in London. He meant it literally30, and he meant me to understand it literally. I had to get special leave before I could ask so dear an old friend as your Grace."
"I don't think he would object to me," said the Duke, laughing.
"Of course not. He was only too glad to think you would come. But he took the request as being quite the proper thing. It will kill me if this is to be carried out. After all that I have done, I could show myself nowhere. And it will be so injurious to him! Could not you tell him, Duke? No one else in the world can tell him but you. Nothing unfair has been attempted. No job has been done. I have endeavoured to make his house pleasant to people, in order that they might look upon him with grace and favour. Is that wrong? Is that unbecoming a wife?"
The old Duke patted her on the head as though she were a little girl, and was more comforting to her than her other counsellors. He would say nothing to her husband now;—but they must both be up in London at the meeting of Parliament, and then he would tell his friend that, in his opinion, no sudden change should be made. "This husband of yours is a very peculiar man," he said, smiling. "His honesty is not like the honesty of other men. It is more downright;—more absolutely honest; less capable of bearing even the shadow which the stain from another's dishonesty might throw upon it. Give him credit for all that, and remember that you cannot find everything combined in the same person. He is very practical in some things, but the question is, whether he is not too scrupulous31 to be practical in all things." At the close of the interview the Duchess kissed him and promised to be guided by him. The occurrences of the last few weeks had softened32 the Duchess much.
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1
flea
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| n.跳蚤 | |
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2
adamant
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| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
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nominee
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| n.被提名者；被任命者；被推荐者 | |
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interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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innuendo
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| n.暗指，讽刺 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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7
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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8
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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10
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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perpetuate
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| v.使永存，使永记不忘 | |
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14
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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15
consolidating
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| v.（使）巩固， （使）加强( consolidate的现在分词 )；（使）合并 | |
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16
coalition
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| n.结合体，同盟，结合，联合 | |
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17
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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18
dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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22
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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23
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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acceded
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| v.（正式）加入( accede的过去式和过去分词 )；答应；（通过财产的添附而）增加；开始任职 | |
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29
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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31
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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32
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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