He knew that nothing was to be gained by melancholy10 looks at his club, or by show of wretchedness at his office. London was very empty; but the approaching elections still kept some there who otherwise would have been looking after the first flush of pheasants. Barrington Erle was there, and was not long in asking Phineas what were his views.
“Ah — that is so hard to say. Ratler told me that he would be looking about.”
“Ratler is very well in the House,” said Barrington, “but he is of no use for anything beyond it. I suppose you were not brought up at the London University?”
“Oh no,” said Phineas, remembering the glories of Trinity.
“Because there would have been an opening. What do you say to Stratford — the new Essex borough11?”
“Broadbury the brewer12 is there already!”
“Yes — and ready to spend any money you like to name. Let me see. Loughton is grouped with Smotherem, and Walker is a deal too strong at Smotherem to hear of any other claim. I don’t think we could dare to propose it. There are the Chelsea hamlets, but it will take a wack of money.”
“I have not got a wack of money,” said Phineas, laughing.
“That’s the devil of it. I think, if I were you, I should hark back upon some place in Ireland. Couldn’t you get Laurence to give you up his seat?”
“What! Fitzgibbon?”
“Yes. He has not a ghost of a chance of getting into office again. Nothing on earth would induce him to look at a paper during all those weeks he was at the Colonial Office; and when Cantrip spoke13 to him, all he said was, “Ah, bother!” Cantrip did not like it, I can tell you.”
“But that wouldn’t make him give up his seat.”
“Of course you’d have to arrange it.” By which Phineas understood Barrington Erle to mean that he, Phineas, was in some way to give to Laurence Fitzgibbon some adequate compensation for the surrender of his position as a county member.
“I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” said Phineas. “If he were to go, I should not get it.”
“Would you have a chance at Loughshane?”
“I was thinking of trying it,” said Phineas.
“Of course you know that Morris is very ill.” This Mr Morris was the brother of Lord Tulla, and was the sitting member of Loughshane. “Upon my word I think I should try that. I don’t see where we’re to put our hands on a seat in England. I don’t indeed.” Phineas, as he listened to this, could not help thinking that Barrington Erle, though he had certainly expressed a great deal of solicitude14, was not as true a friend as he used to be. Perhaps he, Phineas, had risen too fast, and Barrington Erle was beginning to think that he might as well be out of the way.
He wrote to his father, asking after the borough, and asking after the health of Mr Morris. And in his letter he told his own story very plainly — almost pathetically. He perhaps had been wrong to make the attempt which he had made. He began to believe that he had been wrong. But at any rate he had made it so far successfully, and failure now would be doubly bitter. He thought that the party to which he belonged must now remain in office. It would hardly be possible that a new election would produce a House of Commons favourable16 to a conservative ministry17. And with a liberal ministry he, Phineas, would be sure of his place, and sure of an official income — if only he could find a seat. It was all very true, and was almost pathetic. The old doctor, who was inclined to be proud of his son, was not unwilling18 to make a sacrifice. Mrs Finn declared before her daughters that if there was a seat in all Ireland, Phineas ought to have it. And Mary Flood Jones stood by listening, and wondering what Phineas would do if he lost his seat. Would he come back and live in County Clare, and be like any other girl’s lover? Poor Mary had come to lose her ambition, and to think that girls whose lovers stayed at home were the happiest. Nevertheless, she would have walked all the way to Lord Tulla’s house and back again, might that have availed to get the seat for Phineas. Then there came an express over from Castlemorris. The doctor was wanted at once to see Mr Morris. Mr Morris was very bad with gout in his stomach. According to the messenger it was supposed that Mr Morris was dying. Before Dr Finn had had an opportunity of answering his son’s letter, Mr Morris, the late member for Loughshane, had been gathered to his fathers.
Dr Finn understood enough of elections for Parliament, and of the nature of boroughs19, to be aware that a candidate’s chance of success is very much improved by being early in the field; and he was aware, also, that the death of Mr Morris would probably create various aspirants20 for the honour of representing Loughshane. But he could hardly address the Earl on the subject while the dead body of the late member was lying in the house at Castlemorris. The bill which had passed in the late session for reforming the constitution of the House of Commons had not touched Ireland, a future measure having been promised to the Irish for their comfort; and Loughshane therefore was, as to Lord Tulla’s influence, the same as it had ever been. He had not there the plenary power which the other lord had held in his hands in regard to Loughton — but still the Castlemorris interest would go a long way. It might be possible to stand against it, but it would be much more desirable that the candidate should have it at his back. Dr Finn was fully15 alive to this as he sat opposite to the old lord, saying now a word about the old lord’s gout in his legs and arms, and then about the gout in the stomach, which had carried away to another world the lamented21 late member for the borough.
“Poor Jack22!” said Lord Tulla, piteously. If I’d known it, I needn’t have paid over two thousand pounds for him last year — need I, doctor?”
“No, indeed,” said Dr Finn, feeling that his patient might perhaps approach the subject of the borough himself.
“He never would live by any rule, you know,” said the desolate23 brother.
“Very hard to guide — was he not, my lord?”
“The very devil. Now, you see, I do do what I’m told pretty well — don’t I, doctor?”
“Sometimes.”
“By George, I do nearly always. I don’t know what you mean by sometimes. I’ve been drinking brandy and water till I’m sick of it, to oblige you, and you tell me about — sometimes. You doctors expect a man to be a slave. Haven’t I kept it out of my stomach?”
“Thank God, yes.”
“It’s all very well thanking God, but I should have gone as poor Jack has gone, if I hadn’t been the most careful man in the world. He was drinking champagne24 ten days ago — would do it, you know.” Lord Tulla could talk about himself and his own ailments25 by the hour together, and Dr Finn, who had thought that his noble patient was approaching the subject of the borough, was beginning again to feel that the double interest of the gout that was present, and the gout that had passed away, would be too absorbing. He, however, could say but little to direct the conversation.
“Mr Morris, you see, lived more in London than you do, and was subject to temptation.”
“I don’t know what you call temptation. Haven’t I the temptation of a bottle of wine under my nose every day of my life?”
“No doubt you have.”
“And I don’t drink it. I hardly ever take above a glass or two of brown sherry. By George! when I think of it, I wonder at my own courage. I do, indeed.”
“But a man in London, my lord — ”
“Why the deuce would he go to London? By the bye, what am I to do about the borough now?”
“Let my son stand for it, if you will, my lord.”
“They’ve clean swept away Brentford’s seat at Loughton, haven’t they? Ha, ha, ha! What a nice game for him — to have been forced to help to do it himself! There’s nobody on earth I pity so much as a radical26 peer who is obliged to work like a nigger with a spade to shovel27 away the ground from under his own feet. As for me, I don’t care who sits for Loughshane. I did care for poor Jack while he was alive. I don’t think I shall interfere28 any longer. I am glad it lasted Jack’s time.” Lord Tulla had probably already forgotten that he himself had thrown Jack over for the last session but one.
“Phineas, my lord,” began the father, is now Under-Secretary of State.”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt he’s a very fine fellow — but you see, he’s an out-and-out Radical.”
“No, my lord.”
“Then how can he serve with such men as Mr Gresham and Mr Monk29? They’ve turned out poor old Mildmay among them, because he’s not fast enough for them. Don’t tell me.”
“My anxiety, of course, is for my boy’s prospects30. He seems to have done so well in Parliament.”
“Why don’t he stand for Marylebone or Finsbury?”
“The money, you know, my lord!”
“I shan’t interfere here, doctor. If he comes, and the people then choose to return him, I shall say nothing. They may do just as they please. They tell me Lambert St George, of Mockrath, is going to stand. If he does, it’s the d — piece of impudence31 I ever heard of. He’s a tenant32 of my own, though he has a lease for ever; and his father never owned an acre of land in the county till his uncle died.” Then the doctor knew that, with a little management, the lord’s interest might be secured for his son.
Phineas came over and stood for the borough against Mr Lambert St George, and the contest was sharp enough. The gentry33 of the neighbourhood could not understand why such a man as Lord Tulla should admit a liberal candidate to succeed his brother. No one canvassed34 for the young Under-Secretary with more persistent35 zeal36 than did his father, who, when Phineas first spoke of going into Parliament, had produced so many good arguments against that perilous37 step. Lord Tulla’s agent stood aloof38 — desolate with grief at the death of the late member. At such a moment of family affliction, Lord Tulla, he declared, could not think of such a matter as the borough. But it was known that Lord Tulla was dreadfully jealous of Mr Lambert St George, whose property in that part of the county was now nearly equal to his own, and who saw much more company at Mockrath than was ever entertained at Castlemorris. A word from Lord Tulla — so said the Conservatives of the county — would have put Mr St George into the seat; but that word was not spoken, and the Conservatives of the neighbourhood swore that Lord Tulla was a renegade. The contest was very sharp, but our hero was returned by a majority of seventeen votes.
Again successful! As he thought of it he remembered stories of great generals who were said to have chained Fortune to the wheels of their chariots, but it seemed to him that the goddess had never served any general with such staunch obedience39 as she had displayed in his cause. Had not everything gone well with him — so well, as almost to justify40 him in expecting that even yet Violet Effingham would become his wife? Dear, dearest Violet! If he could only achieve that, no general, who ever led an army across the Alps, would be his equal either in success or in the reward of success. Then he questioned himself as to what he would say to Miss Flood Jones on that very night. He was to meet dear little Mary Flood Jones that evening at a neighbour’s house. His sister Barbara had so told him in a tone of voice which he quite understood to imply a caution. “I shall be so glad to see her,” Phineas had replied.
“If there ever was an angel on earth, it is Mary,” said Barbara Finn.
“I know that she is as good as gold,” said Phineas.
“Gold!” replied Barbara — gold indeed! She is more precious than refined gold. But, Phineas, perhaps you had better not single her out for any special attention. She has thought it wisest to meet you.”
“Of course,” said Phineas. Why not?
“That is all, Phineas. I have nothing more to say. Men of course are different from girls.”
“That’s true, Barbara, at any rate.”
“Don’t laugh at me, Phineas, when I am thinking of nothing but of you and your interests, and when I am making all manner of excuses for you because I know what must be the distractions41 of the world in which you live.” Barbara made more than one attempt to renew the conversation before the evening came, but Phineas thought that he had had enough of it. He did not like being told that excuses were made for him. After all, what had he done? He had once kissed Mary Flood Jones behind the door.
“I am so glad to see you, Mary,” he said, coming and taking a chair by her side. He had been specially42 warned not to single Mary out for his attention, and yet there was the chair left vacant as though it were expected that he would fall into it.
“Thank you. We did not happen to meet last year, did we — Mr Finn?”
“Do not call me Mr Finn, Mary.”
“You are such a great man now!”
“Not at all a great man. If you only knew what little men we under-strappers are in London you would hardly speak to me.
“But you are something — of State now — are you not?”
“Well — yes. That’s the name they give me. It simply means that if any member wants to badger43 someone in the House about the Colonies, I am the man to be badgered. But if there is any credit to be had, I am not the man who is to have it.”
“But it is a great thing to be in Parliament and in the Government too.”
“It is a great thing for me, Mary, to have a salary, though it may only be for a year or two. However, I will not deny that it is pleasant to have been successful.”
“It has been very pleasant to us, Phineas. Mamma has been so much rejoiced.”
“I am so sorry not to see her. She is at Floodborough, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes — she is at home. She does not like coming out at night in winter. I have been staying here you know for two days, but I go home tomorrow.”
“I will ride over and call on your mother.” Then there was a pause in the conversation for a moment. “Does it not seem odd, Mary, that we should see so little of each other?”
“You are so much away, of course.”
“Yes — that is the reason. But still it seems almost unnatural44. I often wonder when the time will come that I shall be quietly at home again. I have to be back in my office in London this day week, and yet I have not had a single hour to myself since I have been at Killaloe. But I will certainly ride over and see your mother. You will be at home on Wednesday I suppose.”
“Yes — I shall be at home.”
Upon that he got up and went away, but again in the evening he found himself near her. Perhaps there is no position more perilous to a man’s honesty than that in which Phineas now found himself — that, namely, of knowing himself to be quite loved by a girl whom he almost loves himself. Of course he loved Violet Effingham; and they who talk best of love protest that no man or woman can be in love with two persons at once. Phineas was not in love with Mary Flood Jones; but he would have liked to take her in his arms and kiss her — he would have liked to gratify her by swearing that she was dearer to him than all the world; he would have liked to have an episode — and did, at the moment, think that it might be possible to have one life in London and another life altogether different at Killaloe. “Dear Mary,” he said as he pressed her hand that night, “things will get themselves settled at last, I suppose.” He was behaving very ill to her, but he did not mean to behave ill.
He rode over to Floodborough, and saw Mrs Flood Jones. Mrs Flood Jones, however, received him very coldly; and Mary did not appear. Mary had communicated to her mother her resolutions as to her future life. “The fact is, mamma, I love him. I cannot help it. If he ever chooses to come for me, here I am. If he does not, I will bear it as well as I can. It may be very mean of me, but it’s true.”
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1
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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aspirant
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| n.热望者；adj.渴望的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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6
platitudes
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| n.平常的话，老生常谈，陈词滥调( platitude的名词复数 )；滥套子 | |
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7
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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9
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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borough
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| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
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brewer
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| n. 啤酒制造者 | |
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13
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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14
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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boroughs
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| （尤指大伦敦的）行政区( borough的名词复数 )； 议会中有代表的市镇 | |
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aspirants
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| n.有志向或渴望获得…的人( aspirant的名词复数 )v.渴望的，有抱负的，追求名誉或地位的( aspirant的第三人称单数 )；有志向或渴望获得…的人 | |
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lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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ailments
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| 疾病（尤指慢性病），不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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34
canvassed
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| v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的过去式和过去分词 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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37
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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38
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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40
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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41
distractions
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| n.使人分心的事[人]( distraction的名词复数 )；娱乐，消遣；心烦意乱；精神错乱 | |
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42
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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43
badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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44
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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