Parliament opened that year on the twelfth of February and Mr Palliser was one of the first Members of the Lower House to take his seat. It had been generally asserted through the country, during the last week, that the existing Chancellor1 of the Exchequer2 had, so to say, ceased to exist as such; that though he still existed to the outer world, drawing his salary, and doing routine work — if a man so big can have any routine work to do — he existed no longer in the inner world of the Cabinet. He had differed, men said, with his friend and chief, the Prime Minister, as to the expediency3 of repealing4 what were left of the direct taxes of the country, and was prepared to launch himself into opposition5 with his small bodyguard6 of followers7, with all his energy and with all his venom8.
There is something very pleasant in the close, bosom9 friendship, and bitter, uncompromising animosity, of these human gods — of these human beings who would be gods were they not shorn so short of their divinity in that matter of immortality11. If it were so arranged that the same persons were always friends, and the same persons were always enemies, as used to be the case among the dear old heathen gods and goddesses — if Parliament were an Olympus in which Juno and Venus never kissed, the thing would not be nearly so interesting. But in this Olympus partners are changed, the divine bosom, now rabid with hatred12 against some opposing deity13, suddenly becomes replete14 with love towards its late enemy, and exciting changes occur which give to the whole thing all the keen interest of a sensational15 novel. No doubt this is greatly lessened16 for those who come too near the scene of action. Members of Parliament, and the friends of Members of Parliament, are apt to teach themselves that it means nothing; that Lord This does not hate Mr That, or think him a traitor17 to his country, or wish to crucify him; and that Sir John of the Treasury18 is not much in earnest when he speaks of his noble friend at the “Foreign Office” as a god to whom no other god was ever comparable in honesty, discretion19, patriotism20, and genius. But the outside Briton who takes a delight in politics — and this description should include ninety-nine educated Englishmen out of every hundred — should not be desirous of peeping behind the scenes. No beholder21 at any theatre should do so. It is good to believe in these friendships and these enmities, and very pleasant to watch their changes. It is delightful22 when Oxford23 embraces Manchester, finding that it cannot live without support in that quarter; and very delightful when the uncompromising assailant of all men in power receives the legitimate24 reward of his energy by being taken in among the bosoms25 of the blessed.
But although the outer world was so sure that the existing Chancellor of the Exchequer had ceased to exist, when the House of Commons met that gentleman took his seat on the Treasury Bench. Mr Palliser, who had by no means given a general support to the Ministry26 in the last Session, took his seat on the same side of the House indeed, but low down, and near to the cross benches. Mr Bott sat close behind him, and men knew that Mr Bott was a distinguished27 member of Mr Palliser’s party, whatever that party might be. Lord Cinquebars moved the Address, and I must confess that he did it very lamely28. He was once accused by Mr Maxwell, the brewer29, of making a great noise in the hunting field. The accusation30 could not be repeated as to his performance on this occasion, as no one could hear a word that he said. The Address was seconded by Mr Loftus Fitzhoward, a nephew of the Duke of St Bungay, who spoke31 as though he were resolved to trump32 poor Lord Cinquebars in every sentence which he pronounced — as we so often hear the second clergyman from the Communion Table trumping33 his weary predecessor34, who has just finished the Litany not in the clearest or most audible voice. Every word fell from Mr Fitzhoward with the elaborate accuracy of a separate pistol-shot; and as he became pleased with himself in his progress, and warm with his work, he accented his words sharply, made rhetorical pauses, even moved his hands about in action, and quite disgusted his own party, who had been very well satisfied with Lord Cinquebars. There are many rocks which a young speaker in Parliament should avoid, but no rock which requires such careful avoiding as the rock of eloquence35. Whatever may be his faults, let him at least avoid eloquence. He should not be inaccurate36, which, however, is not much; he should not be long-winded, which is a good deal; he should not be ill-tempered, which is more; but none of these faults are so damnable as eloquence. All Mr Fitzhoward’s friends and all his enemies knew that he had had his chance, and that he had thrown it away.
In the Queen’s Speech there had been some very lukewarm allusion37 to remission of direct taxation38. This remission, which had already been carried so far, should be carried further if such further carrying were found practicable. So had said the Queen. Those words, it was known, could not have been approved of by the energetic and still existing Chancellor of the Exchequer. On this subject the mover of the Address said never a word, and the seconder only a word or two. What they had said had, of course, been laid down for them; though, unfortunately, the manner of saying could not be so easily prescribed. Then there arose a great enemy, a man fluent of diction, apparently39 with deep malice40 at his heart, though at home — as we used to say at school — one of the most good-natured fellows in the world; one ambitious of that godship which a seat on the other side of the House bestowed41, and greedy to grasp at the chances which this disagreement in the councils of the gods might give him. He was quite content, he said, to vote for the Address, as, he believed, would be all the gentlemen on his side of the House. No one could suspect them or him of giving a factious42 opposition to Government. Had they not borne and forborne beyond all precedent43 known in that House? Then he touched lightly, and almost with grace to his opponents, on many subjects, promising10 support, and barely hinting that they were totally and manifestly wrong in all things. But —. Then the tone of his voice changed, and the well-known look of fury was assumed upon his countenance44. Then great Jove on the other side pulled his hat over his eyes, and smiled blandly45. Then members put away the papers they had been reading for a moment, and men in the gallery began to listen. But —. The long and the short of it was this; that the existing Government had come into power on the cry of a reduction of taxation, and now they were going to shirk the responsibility of their own measures. They were going to shirk the responsibility of their own election cry, although it was known that their own Chancellor of the Exchequer was prepared to carry it out to the full. He was willing to carry it out to the full were he not restrained by the timidity, falsehood, and treachery of his colleagues, of whom, of course, the most timid, the most false, and the most treacherous46 was — the great god Jove, who sat blandly smiling on the other side.
No one should ever go near the House of Commons who wishes to enjoy all this. It was so manifestly evident that neither Jove nor any of his satellites cared tuppence for what the irate47 gentleman was saying; nay48, it became so evident that, in spite of his assumed fury, the gentleman was not irate. He intended to communicate his look of anger to the newspaper reports of his speech; and he knew from experience that he could succeed in that. And men walked about the House in the most telling moments — enemies shaking hands with enemies — in a way that showed an entire absence of all good, honest hatred among them. But the gentleman went on and finished his speech, demanding at last, in direct terms, that the Treasury Jove should state plainly to the House who was to be, and who was not to be, the bearer of the purse among the gods.
Then Treasury Jove got up smiling, and thanked his enemy for the cordiality of his support. “He had always,” he said, “done the gentleman’s party justice for their clemency49, and had feared no opposition from them; and he was glad to find that he was correct in his anticipations50 as to the course they would pursue on the present occasion.” He went on saying a good deal about home matters, and foreign matters, proving that everything was right, just as easily as his enemy had proved that everything was wrong. On all these points he was very full, and very courteous51; but when he came to the subject of taxation, he simply repeated the passage from the Queen’s Speech, expressing a hope that his right honourable52 friend, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, would be able to satisfy the judgment53 of the House, and the wishes of the people. That specially54 personal question which had been asked he did not answer at all.
But the House was still all agog55, as was the crowded gallery. The energetic and still existing Chancellor of the Exchequer was then present, divided only by one little thin Secretary of State from Jove himself. Would he get up and declare his purposes? He was a man who almost always did get up when an opportunity offered itself — or when it did not. Some second little gun was fired off from the Opposition benches, and then there was a pause. Would the purse-bearer of Olympus rise upon his wings and speak his mind, or would he sit in silence upon his cloud? There was a general call for the purse-bearer, but he floated in silence, and was inexplicable56. The purse-bearer was not to be bullied57 into any sudden reading of the riddle58. Then there came on a general debate about money matters, in which the purse-bearer did say a few words, but he said nothing as to the great question at issue. At last up got Mr Palliser, towards the close of the evening, and occupied a full hour in explaining what taxes the Government might remit59 with safety, and what they might not — Mr Bott, meanwhile, prompting him with figures from behind with an assiduity that was almost too persistent60. According to Mr Palliser, the words used in the Queen’s Speech were not at all too cautious. The Members went out gradually, and the House became very thin during this oration61; but the newspapers declared, next morning, that his speech had been the speech of the night, and that the perspicuity62 of Mr Palliser pointed63 him out as the coming man.
He returned home to his house in Park Lane quite triumphant64 after his success, and found Lady Glencora, at about twelve o’clock, sitting alone. She had arrived in town on that day, having come up at her own request, instead of remaining at Matching Priory till after Easter, as he had proposed. He had wished her to stay, in order, as he had said, that there might be a home for his cousins. But she had expressed herself unwilling65 to remain without him, explaining that the cousins might have the home in her absence, as well as they could in her presence; and he had given way. But, in truth, she had learned to hate her cousin Iphy Palliser with a hatred that was unreasonable66 — seeing that she did not also hate Alice Vavasor, who had done as much to merit her hatred as had her cousin. Lady Glencora knew by what means her absence from Monkshade had been brought about. Miss Palliser had told her all that had passed in Alice’s bedroom on the last night of Alice’s stay at Matching, and had, by so doing, contrived67 to prevent the visit. Lady Glencora understood well all that Alice had said; and yet, though she hated Miss Palliser for what had been done, she entertained no anger against Alice. Of course Alice would have prevented that visit to Monkshade if it were in her power to do so. Of course she would save her friend. It is hardly too much to say that Lady Glencora looked to Alice to save her. Nevertheless she hated Iphy Palliser for engaging herself in the same business. Lady Glencora looked to Alice to save her, and yet it may be doubted whether she did, in truth, wish to be saved.
While she was at Matching, and before Mr Palliser had returned from Monkshade, a letter reached her, by what means she had never learned. “A letter has been placed within my writing-case,” she said to her maid, quite openly. “Who put it there?” The maid had declared her ignorance in a manner that had satisfied Lady Glencora of her truth. “If such a thing happens again,” said Lady Glencora, “I shall be obliged to have the matter investigated. I cannot allow that anything should be put into my room surreptitiously.” There, then, had been an end of that, as regarded any steps taken by Lady Glencora. The letter had been from Burgo Fitzgerald, and had contained a direct proposal that she should go off with him. “I am at Matching,” the letter said, “at the Inn; but I do not dare to show myself, lest I should do you an injury. I walked round the house yesterday, at night, and I know that I saw your room. If I am wrong in thinking that you love me, I would not for worlds insult you by my presence; but if you love me still, I ask you to throw aside from you that fictitious68 marriage, and give yourself to the man whom, if you love him, you should regard as your husband.” There had been more of it, but it had been to the same effect. To Lady Glencora it had seemed to convey an assurance of devoted69 love — of that love which, in former days, her friends had told her was not within the compass of Burgo’s nature. He had not asked her to meet him then, but saying that he would return to Matching after Parliament was met, begged her to let him have some means of knowing whether her heart was true to him,
She told no one of the letter, but she kept it, and read it over and over again in the silence and solitude70 of her room. She felt that she was guilty in thus reading it — even in keeping it from her husband’s knowledge; but though conscious of this guilt71, though resolute72 almost in its commission, still she determined73 not to remain at Matching after her husband’s departure — not to undergo the danger of remaining there while Burgo Fitzgerald should be in the vicinity. She could not analyse her own wishes. She often told herself, as she had told Alice, that it would be better for them all that she should go away; that in throwing herself even to the dogs, if such must be the result, she would do more of good than of harm. She declared to herself, in the most passionate74 words she could use, that she loved this man with all her heart. She protested that the fault would not be hers, but theirs, who had forced her to marry the man she did not love. She assured herself that her husband had no affection for her, and that their marriage was in every respect prejudicial to him. She recurred75 over and over again, in her thoughts, to her own childlessness, and to his extreme desire for an heir. “Though I do sacrifice myself,” she would say, “I shall do more of good than harm, and I cannot be more wretched than I am now.” But yet she fled to London because she feared to leave herself at Matching when Burgo Fitzgerald should be there. She sent no answer to his letter. She made no preparation for going with him. She longed to see Alice, to whom alone, since her marriage, had she ever spoken of her love, and intended to tell her the whole tale of that letter. She was as one who, in madness, was resolute to throw herself from a precipice76, but to whom some remnant of sanity77 remained which forced her to seek those who would save her from herself.
Mr Palliser had not seen her since her arrival in London, and, of course, he took her by the hand and kissed her. But it was the embrace of a brother rather than of a lover or a husband. Lady Glencora, with her full woman’s nature, understood this thoroughly78, and appreciated by instinct the true hearing of every touch from his hand. “I hope you are well?” she said.
“Oh, yes; quite well. And you? A little fatigued79 with your journey, I suppose?”
“No; not much.”
“Well, we have had a debate on the Address. Don’t you want to know how it has gone?”
“If it has concerned you particularly, I do, of course.”
“Concerned me! It has concerned me certainly.”
“They haven’t appointed you yet; have they?”
“No; they don’t appoint people during debates, in the House of Commons. But I fear I shall never make you a politician.”
“I’m almost afraid you never will. But I’m not the less anxious for your success, since you wish it yourself. I don’t understand why you should work so very hard; but, as you like it, I’m as anxious as anybody can be that you should triumph.”
“Yes; I do like it,” he said. “A man must like something, and I don’t know what there is to like better. Some people can eat and drink all day; and some people can care about a horse. I can do neither.”
And there were others, Lady Glencora thought, who could love to lie in the sun, and could look up into the eyes of women, and seek their happiness there. She was sure, at any rate, that she knew one such. But she said nothing of this,
“I spoke for a moment to Lord Brock,” said Mr Palliser. Lord Brock was the name by which the present Jove of the Treasury was known among men.
“And what did Lord Brock say?”
“He didn’t say much, but he was very cordial.”
“But I thought, Plantagenet, that he could appoint you if he pleased? Doesn’t he do it all?”
“Well, in one sense, he does. But I don’t suppose I shall ever make you understand.” He endeavoured, however, to do so on the present occasion, and gave her a somewhat longer lecture on the working of the British Constitution, and the manner in which British politics evolved themselves, than would have been expected from most young husbands to their young wives under similar circumstances. Lady Glencora yawned, and strove lustily, but ineffectually, to hide her yawn in her handkerchief.
“But I see you don’t care a bit about it,” said he, peevishly80.
“Don’t be angry, Plantagenet. Indeed I do care about it, but I am so ignorant that I can’t understand it all at once. I am rather tired, and I think I’ll go to bed now. Shall you be late?”
“No, not very; that is, I shall be rather late. I’ve a lot of letters I want to write tonight, as I must be at work all tomorrow. By the by, Mr Bott is coming to dine here. There will be no one else.” The next day was a Wednesday, and the House would not sit in the evening.
“Mr Bott!” said Lady Glencora, showing by her voice that she anticipated no pleasure from that gentleman’s company.
“Yes, Mr Bott. Have you any objection?”
“Oh, no. Would you like to dine alone with him?”
“Why should I dine alone with him? Why shouldn’t you eat your dinner with us? I hope you are not going to become fastidious, and to turn up your nose at people. Mrs Marsham is in town, and I dare say she’ll come to you if you ask her.”
But this was too much for Lady Glencora. She was disposed to be mild, but she could not endure to have her two duennas thus brought upon her together on the first day of her arrival in London. And Mrs Marsham would be worse than Mr Bott. Mr Bott would be engaged with Mr Palliser during the greater part of the evening. “I thought,” said she, “of asking my cousin, Alice Vavasor, to spend the evening with me.”
“Miss Vavasor!” said the husband. “I must say that I thought Miss Vavasor — ” He was going to make some allusion to that unfortunate hour spent among the ruins, but he stopped himself.
“I hope you have nothing to say against my cousin?” said his wife. “She is my only near relative that I really care for — the only woman, I mean.”
“No; I don’t mean to say anything against her. She’s very well as a young lady, I dare say. I would sooner that you would ask Mrs Marsham tomorrow.”
Lady Glencora was standing81, waiting to go away to her own room, but it was absolutely necessary that this matter should be decided82 before she went. She felt that he was hard to her, and unreasonable, and that he was treating her like a child who should not be allowed her own way in anything. She had endeavoured to please him, and, having failed, was not now disposed to give way.
“As there will be no other ladies here tomorrow evening, Plantagenet, and as I have not yet seen Alice since I have been in town, I wish you would let me have my way in this. Of course I cannot have very much to say to Mrs Marsham, who is an old woman.”
“I especially want Mrs Marsham to be your friend,” said he.
“Friendships will not come by ordering, Plantagenet,” said she.
“Very well,” said he. “Of course, you will do as you please. I am sorry that you have refused the first favour I have asked you this year.” Then he left the room, and she went away to bed,
收听单词发音 |
1
chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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exchequer
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| n.财政部；国库 | |
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expediency
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| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
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repealing
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| 撤销，废除( repeal的现在分词 ) | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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bodyguard
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| n.护卫，保镖 | |
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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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venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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replete
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| adj.饱满的，塞满的；n.贮蜜蚁 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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beholder
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| n.观看者，旁观者 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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lamely
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| 一瘸一拐地，不完全地 | |
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brewer
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| n. 啤酒制造者 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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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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trump
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| n.王牌，法宝；v.打出王牌，吹喇叭 | |
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trumping
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| v.（牌戏）出王牌赢（一牌或一墩）( trump的现在分词 )；吹号公告，吹号庆祝；吹喇叭；捏造 | |
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predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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inaccurate
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| adj.错误的，不正确的，不准确的 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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taxation
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| n.征税，税收，税金 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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irate
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| adj.发怒的，生气 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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clemency
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| n.温和，仁慈，宽厚 | |
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anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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bullied
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| adj.被欺负了v.恐吓，威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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remit
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| v.汇款，汇寄；豁免（债务），免除（处罚等） | |
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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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oration
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| n.演说，致辞，叙述法 | |
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perspicuity
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| n.（文体的）明晰 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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67
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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fictitious
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| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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71
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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72
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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80
peevishly
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| adv．暴躁地 | |
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81
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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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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