Let a man be of what side he may in politics — unless he be much more of a partisan8 than a patriot9 — he will think it well that there should be some equity10 of division in the bestowal11 of crumbs12 of comfort. Can even any old Whig wish that every lord lieutenant13 of a county should be an old Whig? Can it be good for the administration of the law that none but Liberal lawyers should become Attorney-Generals, and from thence Chief Justices or Lords of Appeal? Should no Conservative Peer ever represent the majesty14 of England in India, in Canada, or at St Petersburgh? So arguing, moderate Liberals had been glad to give Mr Daubeny and his merry men a chance. Mr Daubeny and his merry men had not neglected the chance given them. Fortune favoured them, and they made their hay while the sun shone with an energy that had never been surpassed, improving upon Fortune, till their natural enemies waxed impatient. There had been as yet but one year of it, and the natural enemies, who had at first expressed themselves as glad that the turn had come, might have endured the period of spoliation with more equanimity15. For to them, the Liberals, this cutting up of the Whitehall cake by the Conservatives was spoliation when the privilege of cutting was found to have so much exceeded what had been expected. Were not they, the Liberals, the real representatives of the people, and, therefore, did not the cake in truth appertain to them? Had not they given up the cake for a while, partly, indeed, through idleness and mismanagement, and quarrelling among themselves; but mainly with a feeling that a moderate slicing on the other side would, upon the whole, be advantageous16? But when the cake came to be mauled like that — oh, heavens! So the men who had quarrelled agreed to quarrel no more, and it was decided17 that there should be an end of mismanagement and idleness, and that this horrid18 sight of the weak pretending to be strong, or the weak receiving the reward of strength, should be brought to an end. Then came a great fight, in the last agonies of which the cake was sliced manfully. All the world knew how the fight would go; but in the meantime lord-lieutenancies were arranged; very ancient judges retired19 upon pensions; vice-royal Governors were sent out in the last gasp20 of the failing battle; great places were filled by tens, and little places by twenties; private secretaries were established here and there; and the hay was still made even after the sun had gone down.
In consequence of all this the circumstances of the election of 18 — were peculiar21. Mr Daubeny had dissolved the House, not probably with any idea that he could thus retrieve22 his fortunes, but feeling that in doing so he was occupying the last normal position of a properly-fought Constitutional battle. His enemies were resolved, more firmly than they were resolved before, to knock him altogether on the head at the general election which he had himself called into existence. He had been disgracefully out-voted in the House of Commons on various subjects. On the last occasion he had gone into his lobby with a minority of 37, upon a motion brought forward by Mr Palliser, the late Liberal Chancellor23 of the Exchequer24, respecting decimal coinage. No politician, not even Mr Palliser himself, had expected that he would carry his Bill in the present Session. It was brought forward as a trial of strength; and for such a purpose decimal coinage was as good a subject as any other. It was Mr Palliser’s hobby, and he was gratified at having this further opportunity of ventilating it. When in power, he had not succeeded in carrying his measure, awed25, and at last absolutely beaten, by the infinite difficulty encountered in arranging its details. But his mind was still set upon it, and it was allowed by the whole party to be as good as anything else for the purpose then required. The Conservative Government was beaten for the third or fourth time, and Mr Daubeny dissolved the House.
The whole world said that he might have well have resigned at once. It was already the end of July, and there must be an autumn Session with the new members. It was known to be impossible that he should find himself supported by a majority after a fresh election. He had been treated with manifest forbearance; the cake had been left in his hands for twelve months; the House was barely two years old; he had no “cry” with which to meet the country; the dissolution was factious26, dishonest, and unconstitutional. So said all the Liberals, and it was deduced also that the Conservatives were in their hearts as angry as were their opponents. What was to be gained but the poor interval27 of three months? There were clever men who suggested that Mr Daubeny had a scheme in his head — some sharp trick of political conjuring28, some “hocus-pocus presto” sleight29 of hand, by which he might be able to retain power, let the elections go as they would. But, if so, he certainly did not make his scheme known to his own party.
He had no cry with which to meet the country, nor, indeed had the leaders of the Opposition30. Retrenchment31, army reform, navy excellence32, Mr Palliser’s decimal coinage, and general good government gave to all the old-Whig moderate Liberals plenty of matter for speeches to their future constituents33. Those who were more advanced could promise the Ballot, and suggest the disestablishment of the Church. But the Government of the day was to be turned out on the score of general incompetence34. They were to be made to go, because they could not command majorities. But there ought to have been no dissolution, and Mr Daubeny was regarded by his opponents, and indeed by very many of his followers also, with an enmity that was almost ferocious35. A seat in Parliament, if it be for five or six years, is a blessing36; but the blessing becomes very questionable37 if it have to be sought afresh every other Session.
One thing was manifest to thoughtful, working, eager political Liberals. They must have not only a majority in the next Parliament, but a majority of good men — of men good and true. There must be no more mismanagement; no more quarrelling; no more idleness. Was it to be borne that an unprincipled so-called Conservative Prime Minister should go on slicing the cake after such a fashion as that lately adopted? Old bishops38 had even talked of resigning, and Knights39 of the Garter had seemed to die on purpose. So there was a great stir at the Liberal political clubs, and every good and true man was summoned to the battle.
Now no Liberal soldier, as a young soldier, had been known to be more good and true than Mr Finn, the Irishman, who had held office two years ago to the satisfaction of all his friends, and who had retired from office because he had found himself compelled to support a measure which had since been carried by those very men from whom he had been obliged on this account to divide himself. It had always been felt by his old friends that he had been, if not ill-used, at least very unfortunate. He had been twelve months in advance of his party, and had consequently been driven out into the cold. So when the names of good men and true were mustered40, and weighed, and discussed, and scrutinised by some active members of the Liberal party in a certain very private room not far removed from our great seat of parliamentary warfare41; and when the capabilities42, and expediencies, and possibilities were tossed to and fro among these active members, it came to pass that the name of Mr Finn was mentioned more than once. Mr Phineas Finn was the gentleman’s name — which statement may be necessary to explain the term of endearment43 which was occasionally used in speaking of him.
“He has got some permanent place,” said Mr Ratler, who was living on the well-founded hope of being a Treasury44 Secretary under the new dispensation; “and of course he won’t leave it.”
It must be acknowledged that Mr Ratler, than whom no judge in such matters possessed45 more experience, had always been afraid of Phineas Finn.
“He’ll leave it fast enough, if you’ll make it worth his while,” said the Honourable46 Laurence Fitzgibbon, who also had his expectations.
“But he married when he went away, and he can’t afford it,” said Mr Bonteen, another keen expectant.
“Devil a bit,” said the Honourable Laurence; “or, anyways, the poor thing died of her first baby before it was born. Phinny hasn’t an impidiment, no more than I have.”
“He’s the best Irishman we ever got hold of,” said Barrington Erle — “present company always excepted, Laurence.”
“Bedad, you needn’t except me, Barrington. I know what a man’s made of, and what a man can do. And I know what he can’t do. I’m not bad at the outside skirmishing. I’m worth me salt. I say that with a just reliance on me own powers. But Phinny is a different sort of man. Phinny can stick to a desk from twelve to seven, and wish to come back again after dinner. He’s had money left him, too, and ‘d like to spend some of it on an English borough47.”
“You never can quite trust him,” said Bonteen. Now Mr Bonteen had never loved Mr Finn.
“At any rate we’ll try him again,” said Barrington Erle, making a little note to that effect. And they did try him again.
Phineas Finn, when last seen by the public, was departing from parliamentary life in London to the enjoyment48 of a modest place under Government in his own country, with something of a shattered ambition. After various turmoils49 he had achieved a competency, and had married the girl of his heart. But now his wife was dead, and he was again alone in the world. One of his friends had declared that money had been left to him. That was true, but the money had not been much. Phineas Finn had lost his father as well as his wife, and had inherited about four thousand pounds. He was not at this time much over thirty; and it must be acknowledged in regard to him that, since the day on which he had accepted place and retired from London, his very soul had sighed for the lost glories of Westminster and Downing Street.
There are certain modes of life which, if once adopted, make contentment in any other circumstances almost an impossibility. In old age a man may retire without repining, though it is often beyond the power even of the old man to do so; but in youth, with all the faculties50 still perfect, with the body still strong, with the hopes still buoyant, such a change as that which had been made by Phineas Finn was more than he, or than most men, could bear with equanimity. He had revelled51 in the gas-light, and could not lie quiet on a sunny bank. To the palate accustomed to high cookery, bread and milk is almost painfully insipid52. When Phineas Finn found himself discharging in Dublin the routine duties of his office — as to which there was no public comment, no feeling that such duties were done in the face of the country — he became sick at heart and discontented. Like the warhorse out at grass he remembered the sound of the battle and the noise of trumpets53. After five years spent in the heat and full excitement of London society, life in Ireland was tame to him, and cold, and dull. He did not analyse the difference between metropolitan54 and quasi-metropolitan manners; but he found that men and women in Dublin were different from those to whom he had been accustomed in London. He had lived among lords, and the sons and daughters of lords; and though the official secretaries and assistant commissioners55 among whom his lot now threw him were for the most part clever fellows, fond of society, and perhaps more than his equals in the kind of conversation which he found to be prevalent, still they were not the same as the men he had left behind him — men alive with the excitement of parliamentary life in London. When in London he had often told himself that he was sick of it, and that he would better love some country quiet life. Now Dublin was his Tibur, and the fickle56 one found that he could not be happy unless he were back again at Rome. When, therefore, he received the following letter from his friend, Barrington Erle, he neighed like the old warhorse, and already found himself shouting “Ha, ha,” among the trumpets.
“ — Street, 9th July 18 — “ MY DEAR FINN,
“Although you are not immediately concerned in such trifling57 matters you no doubt heard that we are to be sent back at once to our constituents, and that there will be a general election about the end of September. We are sure that we shall have such a majority as we never had before; but we are determined58 to make it as strong as possible, and to get in all the good men that are to be had. Have you a mind to try again? After all, there is nothing like it.
“Perhaps you may have some Irish seat in your eye for which you would be safe. To tell the truth we know very little of the Irish seats — not so much as, I think, we ought to do. But if you are not so lucky I would suggest Tankerville in Durham. Of course there would be a contest, and a little money will be wanted; but the money would not be much. Browborough has sat for the place now for three Parliaments, and seems to think it all his own. I am told that nothing could be easier than to turn him out. You will remember the man — a great, hulking, heavy, speechless fellow, who always used to sit just over Lord Macaw’s shoulder. I have made inquiry59, and I am told that he must walk if anybody would go down who could talk to the colliers every night for a week or so. It would just be the work for you. Of course, you should have all the assistance we could give you, and Molescroft would put you into the hands of an agent who wouldn’t spend money for you. oe500 would do it all.
“I am very sorry to hear of your great loss, as also was Lady Laura, who, as you are aware, is still abroad with her father. We have all thought that the loneliness of your present life might perhaps make you willing to come back among us. I write instead of Ratler, because I am helping60 him in the Northern Counties. But you will understand all about that.
“Yours, ever faithfully “ BARRINGTON ERLE
“Of course Tankerville has been dirty. Browborough has spent a fortune there. But I do not think that that need dishearten you. You will go there with clean hands. It must be understood that there shall not be as much as a glass of beer. I am told that the fellows won’t vote for Browborough unless he spends money, and I fancy he will be afraid to do it heavily after all that has come and gone. If he does you’ll have him out on a petition. Let us have an answer as soon as possible.”
He at once resolved that he would go over and see; but, before he replied to Erle’s letter, he walked half-a-dozen times the length of the pier61 at Kingston meditating62 on his answer. He had no one belonging to him. He had been deprived of his young bride, and left desolate63. He could ruin no one but himself. Where could there be a man in all the world who had a more perfect right to play a trick with his own prospects64? If he threw up his place and spent all his money, who could blame him? Nevertheless, he did tell himself that, when he should have thrown up his place and spent all his money, there would remain to him his own self to be disposed of in a manner that might be very awkward to him. A man owes it to his country, to his friends, even to his acquaintance, that he shall not be known to be going about wanting a dinner, with never a coin in his pocket. It is very well for a man to boast that he is lord of himself, and that having no ties he may do as he pleases with that possession. But it is a possession of which, unfortunately, he cannot rid himself when he finds that there is nothing advantageous to be done with it. Doubtless there is a way of riddance. There is the bare bodkin. Or a man may fall overboard between Holyhead and Kingston in the dark, and may do it in such a cunning fashion that his friends shall think that it was an accident. But against these modes of riddance there is a canon set, which some men still fear to disobey.
The thing that he was asked to do was perilous65. Standing66 in his present niche67 of vantage he was at least safe. And added to his safety there were material comforts. He had more than enough for his wants. His work was light: he lived among men and women with whom he was popular. The very fact of his past parliamentary life had caused him to be regarded as a man of some note among the notables of the Irish capital. Lord lieutenants68 were gracious to him, and the wives of judges smiled upon him at their tables. He was encouraged to talk of those wars of the gods at which he had been present, and was so treated as to make him feel that he was somebody in the world of Dublin. Now he was invited to give all this up; and for what?
He answered that question to himself with enthusiastic eloquence69. The reward offered to him was the thing which in all the world he liked best. It was suggested to him that he should again have within his reach that parliamentary renown70 which had once been the very breath of his nostrils71. We all know those arguments and quotations72, antagonistic73 to prudence74, with which a man fortifies75 himself in rashness. “None but the brave deserve the fair.” “Where there’s a will there’s a way.” “Nothing venture nothing have.” “The sword is to him who can use it.” “Fortune favours the bold.” But on the other side there is just as much to be said. “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.” “Look before you leap.” “Thrust not out your hand further than you can draw it back again.” All which maxims76 of life Phineas Finn revolved77 within his own heart, if not carefully, at least frequently, as he walked up and down the long pier of Kingston Harbour.
But what matter such revolvings? A man placed as was our Phineas always does that which most pleases him at the moment, being but poor at argument if he cannot carry the weight to that side which best satisfies his own feelings. Had not his success been very great when he before made the attempt? Was he not well aware at every moment of his life that, after having so thoroughly78 learned his lesson in London, he was throwing away his hours amidst his present pursuits in Dublin? Did he not owe himself to his country? And then, again, what might not London do for him? Men who had begun as he began had lived to rule over Cabinets, and to sway the Empire. He had been happy for a short twelvemonth with his young bride — for a short twelvemonth — and then she had been taken from him. Had she been spared to him he would never have longed for more than Fate had given him. He would never have sighed again for the glories of Westminster had his Mary not gone from him. Now he was alone in the world; and, though he could look forward to possible and not improbable events which would make that future disposition79 of himself a most difficult question for him, still he would dare to try.
As the first result of Erle’s letter Phineas was over in London early in August. If he went on with this matter, he must, of course, resign the office for holding which he was now paid a thousand a year. He could retain that as long as he chose to earn the money, but the earning of it would not be compatible with a seat in Parliament. He had a few thousand pounds with which he could pay for the contest at Tankerville, for the consequent petition which had been so generously suggested to him, and maintain himself in London for a session or two should he be so fortunate as to carry his election. Then he would be penniless, with the world before him as a closed oyster80 to be again opened, and he knew — no one better — that this oyster becomes harder and harder in the opening as the man who has to open it becomes older. It is an oyster that will close to again with a snap, after you have got your knife well into it, if you withdraw your point but for a moment. He had had a rough tussle81 with the oyster already, and had reached the fish within the shell. Nevertheless, the oyster which he had got was not the oyster which he wanted. So he told himself now, and here had come to him the chance of trying again.
Early in August he went over to England, saw Mr Molescroft, and made his first visit to Tankerville. He did not like the look of Tankerville; but nevertheless he resigned his place before the month was over. That was the one great step, or rather the leap in the dark — and that he took. Things had been so arranged that the election at Tankerville was to take place on the 20th of October. When the dissolution had been notified to all the world by Mr Daubeny an earlier day was suggested; but Mr Daubeny saw reasons for postponing82 it for a fortnight. Mr Daubeny’s enemies were again very ferocious. It was all a trick. Mr Daubeny had no right to continue Prime Minister a day after the decided expression of opinion as to unfitness which had been pronounced by the House of Commons. Men were waxing very wrath83. Nevertheless, so much power remained in Mr Daubeny’s hand, and the election was delayed. That for Tankerville would not be held till the 20th of October. The whole House could not be chosen till the end of the month — hardly by that time — and yet there was to be an autumn Session. The Ratlers and Bonteens were at any rate clear about the autumn Session. It was absolutely impossible that Mr Daubeny should be allowed to remain in power over Christmas, and up to February.
Mr Molescroft, whom Phineas saw in London, was not a comfortable counsellor. “So you are going down to Tankerville?” he said.
“They seem to think I might as well try.”
“Quite right — quite right. Somebody ought to try it, no doubt. It would be a disgrace to the whole party if Browborough were allowed to walk over. There isn’t a borough in England more sure to return a Liberal than Tankerville if left to itself. And yet that lump of a legislator has sat there as a Tory for the last dozen years by dint84 of money and brass85.”
“You think we can unseat him?”
“I don’t say that. He hasn’t come to the end of his money, and as to his brass that is positively86 without end.”
“But surely he’ll have some fear of consequences after what has been done?”
“None in the least. What has been done? Can you name a single Parliamentary aspirant87 who has been made to suffer?”
“They have suffered in character,” said Phineas. “I should not like to have the things said of me that have been said of them.”
“I don’t know a man of them who stands in a worse position among his own friends than he occupied before. And men of that sort don’t want a good position among their enemies. They know they’re safe. When the seat is in dispute everybody is savage88 enough; but when it is merely a question of punishing a man, what is the use of being savage? Who knows whose turn it may be next?”
“He’ll play the old game, then?”
“Of course he’ll play the old game,” said Mr Molescroft. “He doesn’t know any other game. All the purists in England wouldn’t teach him to think that a poor man ought not to sell his vote, and that a rich man oughtn’t to buy it. You mean to go in for purity?”
“Certainly I do.”
“Browborough will think just as badly of you as you will of him. He’ll hate you because he’ll think you are trying to rob him of what he has honestly bought; but he’ll hate you quite as much because you try to rob the borough. He’d tell you if you asked him that he doesn’t want his seat for nothing, any more than he wants his house or his carriage-horses for nothing. To him you’ll be a mean, low interloper. But you won’t care about that.”
“Not in the least, if I can get the seat.”
“But I’m afraid you won’t. He will be elected. You’ll petition. He’ll lose his seat. There will be a commission. And then the borough will be disfranchised. It’s a fine career, but expensive; and then there is no reward beyond the self-satisfaction arising from a good action. However, Ruddles will do the best he can for you, and it certainly is possible that you may creep through.” This was very disheartening, but Barrington Erle assured our hero that such was Mr Molescroft’s usual way with candidates, and that it really meant little or nothing. At any rate, Phineas Finn was pledged to stand.
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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ballot
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| n.（不记名）投票，投票总数，投票权；vi.投票 | |
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beaks
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| n.鸟嘴( beak的名词复数 )；鹰钩嘴；尖鼻子；掌权者 | |
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craving
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emoluments
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| n.报酬，薪水( emolument的名词复数 ) | |
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partisan
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patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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equity
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| n.公正，公平，（无固定利息的）股票 | |
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bestowal
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| 赠与，给与； 贮存 | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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equanimity
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advantageous
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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retired
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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peculiar
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retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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chancellor
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exchequer
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awed
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factious
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| adj.好搞宗派活动的，派系的，好争论的 | |
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interval
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conjuring
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sleight
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opposition
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retrenchment
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excellence
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constituents
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incompetence
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ferocious
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blessing
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questionable
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bishops
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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mustered
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的过去式和过去分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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capabilities
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| n.能力( capability的名词复数 )；可能；容量；[复数]潜在能力 | |
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endearment
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| n.表示亲爱的行为 | |
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treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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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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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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turmoils
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| n.混乱( turmoil的名词复数 )；焦虑 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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51
revelled
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| v.作乐( revel的过去式和过去分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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commissioners
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| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
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fickle
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| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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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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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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lieutenants
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| n.陆军中尉( lieutenant的名词复数 )；副职官员；空军；仅低于…官阶的官员 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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quotations
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| n.引用( quotation的名词复数 )；[商业]行情（报告）；（货物或股票的）市价；时价 | |
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antagonistic
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| adj.敌对的 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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fortifies
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| 筑防御工事于( fortify的第三人称单数 )； 筑堡于； 增强； 强化（食品） | |
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maxims
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| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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revolved
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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tussle
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| n.&v.扭打，搏斗，争辩 | |
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postponing
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| v.延期，推迟( postpone的现在分词 ) | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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84
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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85
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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86
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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aspirant
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| n.热望者；adj.渴望的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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