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The  Premier  and  the  *^ 
Painter  if  ^  ^  *  a  Fantastic 
Romance  *  *  by  I.  Zangwill 


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Chicago  and  New  York  «  « 
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R,  LENOX  AND 
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Ck>p7right  18M,  by  Band,  McNaUy  A  Co. 


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PREFACE. 

In  the  writing  of  History  we  may  distinguish  roughly  three 
methods ;  the  first,  of  Picturesque  or  Prejudiced  Narration ;  the 
second,  of  Philosophic  Narration ;  and  the  third,  of  Scientific  or 
Factual  Narration;  and,  though  all  have  co-existed,  the  three 
methods  have— broadly  speaking — ^been  sequent  in  their  appear- 
ance on  the  scientific  platform. 

By  classifying  histories  according  to  their  respective  methods, 
three  species  are  obtained :  the  first  is  composed  of  those  works 
which  contain  all  the  essentials  of  Historiography  except  the  facts ; 
the  second  comprises  all  works  in  which  historical  facts  are 
exhibited  as  containing  a  philosophy  of  their  own,  or  proving 
that  of  the  writer;  the  third  consists  of  those  works  which  present 
Truth  naked  and  unashamed. 

But  Scientific  Narration  has  hitherto  lacked  extreme  Special- 
ization, and  it  is  in  the  thorough  application  of  Specialization  to 
History  that  what  little  originality  the  present  work  may  have 
consists.  Though  no  greater  mistake  could  be  made  than  to  con- 
found this  minute  study  of  a  brief  episode  in  the  career  of  the 
Elder  Floppington  with  that  extinct  literary  type,  the  "  historical 
romance/'  yet  the  blunder  is  excusable  when  it  is  considered  that 
the  new  method  attempted  by  the  present  work  is  simply  a  navel 
method  of  writing  history,  and  that  real  personages  and  real  events 
are  for  the  first  time  treated  with  the  fulness  of  domestic  and 
political  detail  hitherto  accorded  only  to  the  creations  of  fiction. 
The  advantages  of  this  innovation  are  obvious.  So  long  as 
historical  figures  are  not  shown  in  their  work-a-day  environment, 
in  all  their  manifold  relations  to  their  fellow-creatures  of  every 
grade,  so  long  will  it  remain  impossible  to  understand  the  work-a- 
day  motives  which  haVe  made  our  national  history  what  it  is. 

The  writer  need  say  little  of  the  Herculean  labour  involved  in 
thus  recording  the  history  of  almost  a  quarter  of  a  year,  and  he 
cannot  hope  that  his  existence  will  be  prolonged  sufficiently  to 
enable  him  to  complete  his  projected  magnum  opus,  dealing  with 


t 


PRE  FA  CS. 

eleven^and-a-half  days  of  what  is  usually  considered  a  httmdrum 
and  uneventful  year.  The  subjoined  list  of  authorities  includes 
less  than  a  hundredth  part  of  the  volumes  and  newspapers  con- 
sulted by  him,  and  is  intended  chiefly  as  a  guide  to  those  readers 
whom  the  present  work  may  stimulate  to  extend  their  acquaintance 
with  a  most  fascinating  period  of  our  annals. 

The  writer  may,  without  undue  immodesty,  claim  that  for  more 
than  twenty  years  he  has  been  trying  to  familiarize  himself  with 
that  epoch,  to  impregnate  himself  with  its  customs,  its  politics,  and 
its  literature — in  a  word,  to  live  in  it — a  task  he  has  found  by  no 
means  easy ;  and  if  his  work  prove  sufficiently  graphic  to  charm 
one  reader  into  the  belief  that  he,  too,  is  living  in  it,  he  will  feel 
amply  repaid  for  his  long  and  dusty  researches.  He  hopes  that  the 
footnotes  will  explain  all  phrases  of  any  real  difficulty ;  but,  should 
he  have  overlooked  any  obscurities,  he  hopes  the  reader  will  do  the 
same,  and  he  promises  to  clear  up  all  such  in  a  future  edition. 

As  he  has  throughout,  and  in  the  accompanying  list,  recognised 
his  obligations  to  modern  authors,  it  would  be  supererogatory  to 
enumerate  them  here ;  but  he  cannot  refram  from  expressing  his 
indebtedness  to  Charles  Chesterfield,  Esq.,O.K.,  Rector  of  Grimsby 
University,  for  his  kind  revision  of  the  whole  work,  his  suggestion 
of  numerous  improvements,  and  especially  for  his  aid  in  the 
preparation  of  the  epitome,  which  is  issued  simultaneously  with 
the  present  work  as  a  compendium  for  schools  and  colleges. 


PREFACE   TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 

In  thanking  the  critics  and  the  public  for  the  cordial  reception 
they  have  given  this  history,  it  is,  perhaps,  due  to  my  readers 
to  mention  the  ingenious  theory  of  a  recent  writer  in  the  Old 
English  Historical  Review,  who,  while  praising  my  industry  as 
a  compiler,  wonders  my  new  facts  did  not  lead  me  to  see  that 
the  Premier  and  the  Painter  exchanged  places  (I).  He  explains 
away  obvious  inconsistencies  by  the  further  hypothesis  of  un- 
foreseen temporarily  -  necessitated  readoptions  of  their  native 
(sic)  rdles  in  Caps,  v.,  vii.,  viii.,  and  ix.  of  Book  IV.  The  re. 
viewer  surely  forgets  how  &r-fetched  and  improbable  all  this  is; 
and  I  am  still  content  to  present  Truth  naked  of  theory  and 

unashamed. 

J.  F.  B. 


&' 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION, 

This  edition  of  what  was,  roughly  speaking,  "  My  First  Book," 
differs  only  by  a  phrase  or  two  from  the  original  editions  published 
under  the  joint  pen-name  of  J.  Freeman  Bell.  Although  there  is 
much  of  my  own  share  of  the  work  which  I  could  not  better  to-day 
— for  a  writer  does  not  always  improve  with  age — ^there  is  more 
which  I  should  like  to  alter ;  so  much,  in  fact,  that  I  have  had  to 
leave  the  text  untouched,  in  order  not  to  write  a  different  book. 
After  all,  one  owes  some  reverence  to  one's  dead  youth.  I  need 
scarcely  say  an3rthing  here  of  the  genesis  of  this  satirical,  political, 
and  philosophical  fantasia,  since  I  have  so  recently  explained  in 
the  Idler  how  it  grew  under  my  hand  out  of  a  ''  Shilling  Skit " 
which  I  planned  with  a  friend,  and  which,  through  seven-eights 
of  the  writing  being  left  to  me,  evolved  into  an  outlet  for  all 
the  ferment  and  audacity  of  youth 

'*  In  the  brave  days  when  I  was  twenty-one.** 

From  a  practical  point  of  view,  the  great  mistake  of  the  book  it 
the  sacrifice  of  lucidity  to  super-subtle  satire  by  our  reluctance  to 
state  straight  out  that  the  world-weary  Premier  and  the  ambitious 
House-Painter  agreed  to  change  places  for  a  period,  at  the  end  of 
Cap.  i. ;  that  owing  to  an  unexpected  consequence  of  this 
compact  the  real  Premier  had  to  call  upon  Lady  Harley  to  warn 
her  against  the  love  of  his  artisan  double  (Book  IV.,  Cap.  v.) ; 
while  as  a  result  of  the  further  "unforeseen  contingency"  of 
the  next  Chapter,  the  Painter  was  compelled  to  go  home  again  for 
a  night  to  his  mother's  cookshop  (Book  IV.,  Caps.  vii.  and 
viii.) — ^just  the  very  night  of  the  second  reading  of  his  Female 
Franchise  Bill,  over  which  the  real  Premier  was  thus  reluctantly 
forced  to  preside  (Book  IV.  Cap.  ix.).  Missing  these  obvious 
points,  many  readers  lost  themselves  in  the  labyrinth  of  resultant 
complications,  though  I  still  think  the  method  of  narration  by 
indirect  suggestion  not  without  compensations  for  the  subtle. 


PREFA  CB. 

In  drawing  up  the  main  outlines,  we  thought  the  real  Premier's 
trick  of  philosophic  reverie,  as  contrasted  with  the  go-ahead 
style  of  the  working-man  Premier,  amply  sufficient  to  tell 
the  reader  which  was  which,  whenever  either  appeared. 
Surely  Cowen,  at  least,  was  old  enough  to  know  better ;  not  to 
expect  any  assistance  from  the  audience.  I  cannot  conclude 
without  remarking  on  the  shamelessness  with  which  History  has 
plagiarised  from  a  romance  conceived  nearly  a  decade  ago,  or  with- 
out thanking  those  critics  and  readers  who  on  the  first  appearance 
of  this  book  more  than  five  years  ago  were  generous  in  praise  of 
the  unknown  ''Freeman  Bell."  Dr.  Nichol  has  accused  me  of 
sneering  at  the  late  James  Runciman,  because  in  a  leader  in  the 
Family  Herald  Kn^.  elsewhere,  he  said  that  "The  Premier  and  the 
Painter  "  was  the  most  brilliant  book  of  the  generation.  But  Dr. 
Nichol  misunderstood  my  reference.  I  am  deeply  grateful  to  the 
dead  man  I  never  saw — he  had  courage,  if  not  balanced  judgment, 
and  he  did  not  wait  till  Mr.  Bell  was  dead  to  praise  him 
immoderately.  I  only  regretted  that  the  organs  he  praised  him 
in  were  so  uninflnential,  that  for  long  years  after  the  publication 
of  ''the  most  brilliant  book  of  the  generation/'  I  was  the  only 
editor  with  whom  Mr.  Bell's  work  was  in  request. 

I.  ZANGWILL. 


FOR   THE  GENTLE  AMERICAN    READER. 


Sometimes  when  I  am  dreaming  wildly,  I  tell  myself  that  I  am 
asleep,  and  then,  surprised  to  find  myself  simultaneously  awake  and 
asleep,  I. proceed  to  explain  to  myself  by  careful  psychological  analysis 
how  it  comes  that  I  have  the  illusion  of  being  awake  when  I  am  really 
asleep,  or  the  illusion  of  lively  movement  when  I  am  really  quiescent. 
I  have  not  seldom  carried  on  long  trains  of  scientific  reasoning  while 
unable  to  stir  hand  or  foot,  seeming  to  myself  to  have  endless  outer 
husks  of  personality,  the  final  ME  wrapped  up  in  countless  layers  of 
mental  tissue  paper,  like  something  very  small  but  very  precious. 
Whether  my  brother  novelists  suffer  similarly  from  their  sub-conscious- 
ness or  over-consciousness  I  know  not ;  though  I  fancy  this  complexity 
must  have  something  to  do  with  the  power  of  character-creation.  But  I 
am  certain  it  was  this  same  power  of  standing  outside  myself  that 
enabled  me,  a  shy  youth  writing  his  first  book,  to  hit  off  a  passing 
character  in  **The  Premier  and  the  Painter"  in  words  which  I  knew 
well  at  the  time  constituted  a  candid  criticism  of  myself  and  my  own 
book.  "  He  had  signalised  himself  and  his  ignorance  by  writing  a 
flippant  satire  on  everything  under  the  sun  in  the  form  of  a  political 
burlesque,  and  his  shyness  in  society  was  only  equalled  by  his  audacity 
on  paper."  Perhaps  "flippant"  is  not  quite  the  right  adjective. 
•  *  Sardonic  "  were  a  truer  description  of  this  elaborate  —  this  too  elaborate 
— mockery  of  human  affairs  and  political  machinery,  this  grimly  ironical 
impeachment  of  the  pretentious  babble  we  style  history.  There  is  some- 
thing akin  to  the  teaching  of  Browning's  "  Ring  and  the  Book  "  in  the 
moral  of  the  whole,  as  there  is  something  of  the  same  attempt  to  view  an 
episode  exhaustively  from  every  side.  **  The  simple  facts  were  inter- 
preted as  variously  as  if  they  had  been  parts  of  the  life  of  Hamlet  and 
had  never  happened  at  all"  (p.  285).  I  make  this  comparison  with 
Browning's  poem  because  nobody  else  has  ever  seen  any  relation  between 
the  two  books — except  in  bulk.  Indeed,  and  to  speak  in  all  seriousness, 
no  critic  has  ever  understood  this  or  any  other  of  my  books.  I  would 
go  on  remedying  this  defect  of  criticism  in  the  case  of  "The  Premier 
and  the  Painter  " —  which  is  so  supersubtle  that  I  can  almost  forgive  the 
critics — but  then,  being  conscientious,  I  should  have  to  read  the  book 


PREFACE, 

myself,  and  that  no  power  on  earth  shall  induce  me  to  do,  not  eren  the 
part  due  to  my  collaborator.     I  would  as  lief  rewrite  the  book. 

Suffice  it  then  to  say  that  the  political  portions  of  the  story,  thong^h 
they  have  deceived  British  politicians,  were  done  from  that  refined  form  of 
ignorance  which  ladies  call  intuition,  that  I  had  never  seen  a  political 
salon,  had  never  heard  a  political  speech  in  my  life,  nor  ever  attended  a 
debate  in  Parliament.  To  this  day,  indeed,  though  I  have  inspected 
Cabinet  ministers,  I  have  never  seen  the  House  of  Conunons  from  the 
inside.  Nevertheless,  the  course  of  political  history  was  curiously  fore- 
shadowed in  this  intuitional  work.  The  decay  and  fall  of  an  eminent 
statesman  were  prognosticated  when  he  was  still  a  dominant  force;  the 
Irish  question  was  made  the  crisis  of  the  plot  ere  Mr.  Gladstone  had 
taken  it  up,  and  if  a  Home  Rule  bill  is  not  ultimately  brought  in  by  the 
Conservative  party,  why,  then,  you  shall  say  that  prophecy  has  died  oat 
of  Israel. 

But  the  East  End  portions  of  the  book  rest  upon  a  solid  basis  of  inti- 
mate knowledge;  if  I  did  not  know  Belgravia  I  knew  Bethnal  Green, 
though  at  bottom,  of  course,  Mrs.  Dawe  and  her  cookshop  are  as 
imaginative  creations  as  the  Right  Hon.  Arnold  Floppington  and  his 
Cabinet.  In  case  you  have  not  read  the  preceding  preface — or,  being  a 
critic,  intend  to  skip  the  following  book  —  let  me  add  that  the  title  refers 
to  a  Tory  premier  and  a  Radical  house-painter,  who  once  (in  an  unwritten 
episode  of  the  history  of  England),  finding  themselves  ''doubles," 
exchanged  places  for  a  season,  each  undertaking  to  do  the  other's  work. 
The  tangle  of  tragi-comic  situations  that  ensued,  further  complicated  by 
their  having  to  change  back  again  just  for  one  important  occasion,  is 
the  theme  of  the  fantastic  romance,  which  I  hereby  commend  to  the 
guileless  American  reader  in  the  fullest  confidence  that  he  will  find  much 

to  interest,  amuse,  bore,  and  bewilder  him. 

I.  ZANGWILL. 

London,  January,  1896. 


CONTENTS 


OIAF. 

L 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIIL 


BOOK  L 

WITH  TRS  COGERS       •••••••  I 

JACK  DAWS  AT  HOME.         ••••••  0 

THE  CABINET  TRICK    .         •         •         •         •         »          •  l8 

THE  PREMIER  AT  HOME       ••••••  27 

THE  KEWBRIDOE  SALON      •         •         •         •         •         •  53 

BEAUTY  AND  BRAINS  •••••••  43 

TRANSFORMATION          •         «         •          •         «         •         •  5' 

BACCHUS  AND  VENUS  •         •         •         •         •         •         •  5^ 


BOOK    11. 

L  MRS.  DAWS  ON  POLITICS  AND  MATRIMONY 

U.  THE  PAINTER  PAINTS  A  LION     • 

III.  ARCADIA 

nr.  PLOT  AND  PASSION 

V.  THEOLOGY  AND  MEDICINE  •         •         •         • 


64 

74 
81 

85 
97 


BOOK  III. 

I.  THE  PREMIER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT 

II.  THE  CABINET  COUNCIL 

III.  LOVE  AND  SUFFRAGE. 

IV.  HISTORY  IN  BLACK  AND  WHITE 
V.  STAINS  OLD  AND  NEW 

VI.  THE  AUTOCRAT  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE 

VII.  CONFIDENCES         ...... 


102 

"3 
122 

126 

136 

143 
165 


BOOK  IV. 

1.     SALLY    AND    THE    PAINTER    GO    THROUGH     PERILS 

TOGETHER .         .  ty$ 

IL     LIFE  BEHIND  THE  COUNTER 185 

III.  RESUMES  THE  HISTORY  OF  MOUNTCHAPEL        •         •  193 

IV.  BARDOLPH  GOES  A-WOOING           .          .          .         .         .200 
V.     WEAVING  THE  NET        ....••»  212 

VI.     AN  UNFORESEEN  CONTINGENCY.          •         •         •         •  220 

VII.     THE  SORROWS  OF  AN  UNDERTAKER  •         •         •         •  226 


CONTENTS 


CHAT. 
VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 
XIII. 


THE  PAIKTBR  DESPAIRS  OP  THE  PBOPLI 

AY  OR  NO? 

THE  ROMANCE  OP  A  HOUSEMAID  • 
THE  KEY  OP  THE  DEVIL'S  DOOR  • 
A  SOCIAL  SOCIALIST  .... 
THE  CITY  OP  DREADFUL  NIGHT  . 


234 

341 
251 
261 
269 
276 


BOOK  V. 

t  RUMOUR'S  HUNDRED  TONGUES  .         •         «         •         .  283 

IL  PLOPPINGTON'S  APOLOGIA   ••••••  287 

IIL  A  PAMILY  GROUP           .         • 500 

IV.  A  COCKNEY  COURTSHIP        ••••••  307 

V.  THE  VAGARIES  OP  A  HAT  ••••••  312 

VL  IN  THE  UONS*  DEN      .••••••  314 

VIL  A  CLASSICAL  CONSPIRATOR           •         •         •         •         •  319 

VIII.  "for  AULD  LANG  SYNE" .327 

IX.  THE  PAINTER  TAKES  A  REMARKABLE  OATH     •         •  333 


BOOK   VI. 

L  A  MAN*S  HEART   •         •         • 340 

IL  A  NOVEL  DILEMMA      •         • 343 

III.  SALLY  WRITES  A  TELEGRAM 349 

IV.  CALM  CONVALESCENCE 361 

V.  TOUT  PASSE,  TOUT  CASSE,  TOUT  LASSE     •         .         .  366 

VL  THE  HALL  OF  FLIRTATION 373 

VIL  THE  PAINTER  IS  DISOWNED 377 

VIII.  A  COOL  TWO  THOUSAND 383 

IX.  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  HOMELESS  PAINTER    .         •  386 

X.  AT  THE  LATIN  PLAY 393 

XL  THE  PRODIGAL  SON      .  • 399 

XII.  A  NOCTURNAL  VISITOR 4^6  , 

XIIL  AVE  ATQUE  VALE •  414 


BOOK    VII. 


I.  A  NATIONAL  TRAGEDY          .•••••  419 

II.  UNE  CAUSE  C^LiBRE   ..•••••  423 

III.  SENSATIONAL  REVELATIONS 430 

IV.  A  PIECE  OF  SYNTHESIS 445 

V.     DEAD  MEN'S  SHOES 465 

VL     NON  OMNIS  MORIAR 477 

VII.      A  SLEEPLESS  CITY 486 

Vlll.  THE  CONCLUSION  OF  THE  WHOLE  MATTER         .          ,  496 


THE 

PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 


iSook  s. 


CHAPTER  L 

WITH  THE  COGBRS. 

(P'SHL  Hekker  I   *Ave  the  Hekker^  sir !    Dissensions 
in  the  Kabbernet ! " 

It  was  a  dull  evening  in  May ;  the  sort  of  evening 
of  which  London  appears  to  have  a  monopoly,  which 
is  not  grudged  it  by  the  rest  of  the  country.  The 
almanacs,  with  one  accord,  and  a  unanimity  worthy 
of  better  things,  assured  all  who  chose  to  look  at  them  that  the 
season  called  summer  was  about  to  dawn  upon  the  metropolis. 
But  Nature,  in  London  at  any  rate,  treats  almanacs  with  con- 
tempt. A  cold  wind  was  blowing  vigorously  along  the  streets, 
making  the  diary-deluded  pedestrian  wish  that  he  had  brought  his 
overcoat  with  him,  and  causing  him  to  look  enviously  at  those 
who  had  ignored  the  calendar.  A  drizzly  rain  was  falling  in  an 
undecided,  hesitating  fashion,  as  if  not  comfortable  in  its  mind 
as  to  its  having  any  right  to  be  where  it  was.  The  streets,  never- 
theless, were  full  of  people  hurrying  to  and  firo  ;  though  but  few 
of  them  stopped  to  buy  the  evening  papers  of  the  eager  news- 
vendors,  who  shouted  and  displayed  their  contents  bills  with  an 
ever-growing  conviction  of  the  inferiority  of  politics  to  other  forms 
of  crime.  ''Dissension  in  the  Cabinet"  might  be  printed  in 
the  biggest  of  type,  with  "  rumour  of  in  the  smallest ;  but  the 
hurrying  wayfarers  wanted  to  get  home.  The  ordinary  English- 
man might  be  fairly  enough  described  as  a  political  animal.  It 
would  be  far  more  true  thsui  to  describe  him  as  a  cooking  animal, 
which  some  rash  scientist  has  done.  But  in  the  year  of  disgrace 
with  which  this  history  deais^he  was  used  to  having  lus  evening  newsP 


2  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

fore  highly  spiced.  Wars,  and  rumours  of  wars,  had  beguiled  him 
into  parting  with  stray  coppers  for  the  purchase  of  "specials"  and 
"  extra-do. ;  ^  and  now  such  mild  fare  as  family  jars  in  the  Cabinet 
failed  miserably  to  tempt  the  "halfpennies'*  from  their  snug  retreat 
in  breeches-pockets. 

Besides,  the  members  of  the  Cabinet  were  continually  dis- 
agreeing. Scarcely  a  day  passed  without  the  political  atmosphere 
being  darkened  by  reports  that  this,  that,  or  the  other  Minister 
was  about  to  resien.  But  none  of  them  did.  And  so  the  indignant 
Briton  began  to  feel  that  Ministers  were  playing  it  rather  low  upon 
him,*  and  made  up  his  mind  that  the  Ministry  might  hang  together 
— figuratively,  of  course — or  go  to  pieces,  or  do  anything  else  it 
pleased,  so  long  as  it  didn't  impose  any  extra  taxes,  without  his 
troubling  himself  in  tiie  least  about  the  matter. 

"  Hskker,  sir— just  out  sir,  sp'shl,  sir  1 "  panted  a  youthful  but 
leather-lunged  street  Arab,  brandishing  a  copy  of  the  evening  paper 
in  the  face  of  a  gentleman,  who,  with  hat  drawn  down  over  his 
brows,  and  chin  on  breast,  was  walking  slowly  eastward,  looking 
nervously  about  him  at  intervals,  as  if  he  feared  recognition. 

"  Wha^  in  to-night,  my  lad  P''  he  said,  taking  a  paper  of  the 
youngster. 

"'Orful  row  at  to-day's  Kabbemet — rqfflar  scrinmiage^  sbv* 
replied  the  lad,  with  a  grin. 

"Anybody  hurt?" 

"  They  don't  go  at  it  with  fists,  sir.  Hekher^  yes,  sir.  But  old 
Floppy'll  have  to  give  some  on  'em  the  kick  out,  or  else  chuck 
up  the  sponge,''  was  the  reply,  given  with  the  air  of  conviction  and 
superior  knowledge  characteristic  of  people  talking  on  a  subject  of 
which  their  ignorance  is  almost  phenomenal,  if  any  degree  of 
ignorance  could  fairly  merit  that  adjective. 

'*  I  should  let  Floppy  know,  if  I  were  you,"  said  the  stranger, 
with  grim  sarcasm,  as  he  strode  on,  leaving  the  newspaper  lad 
staring  at  him,  and  whistling  contemplatively  as  he  stared.  Then 
muttering,  "  I've  seen  that  mug  afore,"  he  dropped  the  contemr'v 
tive  whistle,  and  resumed  the  ear-splitting  busmess  cry. 

"  So  Floppy  had  better  kick  some  of  them  out  or  throw  up  the 
spon^.  Easily  said,  my  lad,  easily  said  ;  but  the  doing  of  it — ay, 
there's  the  rub." 

"  What  a  night  for  May ! "  he  murmured,  as  he  drew  his  coat- 
collar  higher  up,  and  let  his  chin  sink  lower  down.  "  Nature's  as 
inconsistent  as  myself,  but  more  permanent.  I  wonder  whether 
the  modem  philosophy  is  right,  and  that  even  Nature  is  not  un- 
conscious.    If  so,  to  judge  by  myself,  she  must  regret  ever  having 

*  It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  this  phrase,  now  used  by  the  gravest  writers, 
was.  at  the  period  treated  of,  considered  an  American  vulgarism.  See  last 
edition  of  PugiVs  '*  History  of  Modem  Idioms."  The  distich  of  Drychurch 
(who,  with  something  of  Pope's  condensed  brilliancy,  combines  not  a  little  of 
nil  scurrility)  will  be  fresh  in  every  one's  memory  : 

"  For  classic  phrases,  like  patrician  clans. 
Owe  birth  to  scoundrels  and  to  harridanii'* 


WITH  THE  COGERS  3 

allowed  mankind  to  evolve  speech.  That  boy  is  right ;  the  times 
are  out  of  joint.  Oh,  cursed  spite,  that  ever  I  was  born  to  set  them 
right !  Even  Hamlet  hadn't  a  Cabinet  to  tackle,  where  every  man 
is  for  himself,  though  all  say  they're  for  the  State.  The  State's 
for  them,  rather/'  he  chuckled. 

This  soliloquy,  which  wasn't  rattled  straight  off,  but  ran  discon- 
nectedly and  jerkily  through  the  mind  of  the  Unknown  but  not  the 
Unknowable  as  he  strode  along  the  Strand,  will  ere  this  have  let  the 
discriminating  reader  into  the  secret  of  his  identity.  Mysteries  are 
bores  and  best  avoided.  The  gentleman  was  Floppy  him  self.  "  Floppy" 
was  the  abbreviation  more  or  less  affectionately  used  by  all  classes 
when  speaking  of  the  Right  Honourable  Arnold  Floppington. 

The  Right  Honourable  Arnold  Floppington  was  Premier  of  an 
Empire  on  which  the  sun  never  set,  and  in  the  centre  of  which  it 
occasionally  manifested  evident  indisposition  to  rise.  He  belonged 
to  a  family,  whose  members  took  to  politics  as  a  matter  of 
course.  A  House  of  Commons  might  have  existed  without  a 
member  of  the  Floppington  family  on  its  benches  ;  but  the  experi- 
ment was  never  tried.  He  belonged  to  one  of  the  two  great  parties 
into  which  the  State  was  divided.  He  was  bom  a  "little  Conser- 
vative," and  as  years  rolled  on  he  became,  in  every  sense  of  the 
term,  a  big  one.  Family  connections,  brilliant  oratory,  and, 
perhaps,  the  mutual  jealousies  of  stronger  if  not  abler  men,  had 
made  him  the  leader  of  his  party.  By  instinct  and  training  he  was 
an  old-fashioned  Tory,  but  being  of  a  reflective  turn  of  mind,  he 
could  not  escape  from  living  in  a  state  of  doubt,  honest  enough,  it 
is  true,  but  in  which  his  enemies  did  not  believe  there  lived  more 
faith  than  in  the  accepted  party  creeds.  And  if  his  enemies 
doubted  his  honesty,  his  friends  were  not  always  sure  of  his  sanity. 
Once  at  the  epoch  oif  a  general  election,  his  then  opinions  happened 
by  a  strange  coincidence  to  be  those  of  the  majority  of  the  electors, 
and  very  much  to  his  own  surprise  he  became  Home  Secretary  in 
a  Conservative  Cabinet  But  unfortunately  the  Minister's  opinions 
we^  constantly  in  a  state  of  Rux,  and  so  he  had  not  held  office 
long.  And  now  when,  having  by  his  opposition  brought  about  the 
defeat  of  the  Reform  Bill  of  the  Liberals,  he  had  with  much  hesi- 
tation consented  to  form  an  Administration,  he  still  retained  his  old 
habits  of  conscientiousness,  and  was  still  liable  to  be  tossed  about 
on  the  ** fell  incensed  points'*  of  opposite  opinions.  Wherefore 
seeing  that  his  colleagues  had  only  one  opinion,  that  it  was  better 
to  be  in  office  than  in  opposition,  the  reports  of  dissension  in  the 
Cabinet  naturally  had  quite  enough  truth  in  them  to  deprive  the 
morning  papers  of  the  pleasure  of  contradicting  the  evening  ones. 

The  rain  having  stopped,  the  wind  having  ceased  from  troubling, 
and  the  hats  being  at  rest,  the  unwonted  calm  caused  him  to  look 
up  from  his  reverie.  He  had  reached  that  joint  shrine  of  Thespis  and 
Venus,  the  Gaiety  Theatre.  The  notices  "Stalls  full,"  *^ Dress 
Circle  full,"  attracted  him.  He  smiled  at  the  thought  of  the 
people  whom  he  had  found  it  so  hard  to  govern,  enjoying  them- 
selves, regardless  of  him  and  his  government 

B   2 


V 


4  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

"  Foolish  theory  of  Hobbes,"  he  thought,  "  that  the  Common- 
wealth  is  a  gigantic  man.  In  this  case  the  head  aches,  while  the 
legs  dance.  If  the  gigantic  man's  head  ached  like  mine,  the  only 
dance  his  legs  would  care  for  would  be  the  *  Danse  Macabre.*" 

He  was  now  in  Fleet  Street,  where  he  would  have  had  a  glorious 
view  of  St.  PauPs,  had  it  not  been  for  the  rapidly  gathering  shades 
of  night,  and  the  intervention  of  a  railway  bridge :  a  piece  of  bar- 
barism which  we,  in  our  more  aesthetic  age  and  with  our  improved 
means  of  locomotion,  can  hardly  comprehend. 

Unthinkingly  turning  a  comer,  he  found  himself  in  a  side 
street,  and  paused  to  look  at  a  bill  displayed  in  the  window  of  a 
public-house.  From  it  he  learnt  that  the  "Antient  Society  of 
Cogers  "  held  their  meetings  there ;  that  the  meetings  were  open  to 
the  public,  and  that  strangers  were  invited  to  take  part  in  the  dis- 
cussions, which  were  on  politics.  "  The  Antient  Society  of  Cogers  " 
was  well  known;  but  the  Right  Honourable  Arnold  Floppington 
had  never  heard  of  it  The  subject  for  debate,  "  The  Events  of  the 
Week — Will  Mountchapel  resign  ?  "  attracted  him  and  roused  him 
from  the  train  of  thought  into  which  he  had  fallen.  To  hear  what 
that  abstraction  "the  People"  had  to  say  on  the  great  question  of 
the  day  would  be  a  novelty  He  knew  that  in  a  sort  of  theoretical 
fashion,  he  and  his  Cabinet  were  supposed  to  carry  out  the  wishes  of 
'*  the  People."  But  he  also  knew,  that  neither  he  nor  his  colleagues 
ever  got  to  know  at  first  hand  what  "  the  People  "  really  said  and 
thought.  That  only  reached  him  after  passing  through  many 
media,  and  being  refracted  out  of  all  shape  in  the  process. 

"Haroun  Alraschid  be  my  guide,"  he  murmured,  as,  without 
stopping  to  think  of  consequences,  he  walked  boldly  in. 

He  found  himself  in  a  long,  narrow  room,  with  a  row  of  tables 
at  each  side,  and  another  row  down  the  centre.  At  these  tables 
were  seated  some  thirty  or  forty  men,  busily  engaged  in  smoking 
and  drinking.  They  were  listening  gravely,  as  befitted  members  of 
so  ancient  a  Society,  to  a  speaker  who  eked  out  the  feebleness  oi 
his  arguments  by  the  violence  of  his  gesticulations.  At  the  end  of 
the  room  sat  the  "  Grand,"  whose  duty  it  was  to  keep  order,  and 
see  that  no  speaker  exceeded  the  regulation  time  of  twenty  minutes; 
though  when  the  speaker  did  not  please  those  assembled,  loud 
cries  of  "Time  "  were  heard  before  the  twenty  minutes  had  expired 
It  was  noticeable,  moreover,  that  those  who  had  most  to  say,  never 
took  long  in  saying  it 

Dropping  into  a  quiet  corner  seat,  the  Right  Honourable  Arnold 
Floppington  seemed  to  realise  what  he  had  done.  He  might  at 
any  moment  be  recognised,  as  his  portrait  figured  in  the  shop- 
windows  side  by  side  with  those  of  the  fashionable  beauties  ; 
though  it  must  be  reluctantly  admitted  that  it  did  not  sell  so  welL 
Having  gone  so  far  however,  he  determined  to  see  it  out,  and  hear 
what  treatment  he  and  his  colleagues  would  meet  with.  Hiding  his 
face  as  much  as  possible  by  leaning  it  upon  his  hand,  he  called  the 
waiter,  and  ordered  a  tankard  of  bitter.  He  had  often  dilated  on 
the  noble  part  that  beverage  had  played  in  making  the  British 


/\ 


y  B  COGERS  $ 

workman  what  he  was  ;  he  hau,*  lirhen  in  opposition,  objected  to  its 
being  taxed ;  he  had  done  everything  but  taste  it  After  doing  so, 
he  determined  to  tell  his  Chancellor  to  tax  chemicals  in  his  next 
Budget. 

Cries  of  "  Time  *^  roused  the  Premier  from  the  fit  of  abstraction 
into  which  the  People's  beer  had  cast  him.  He  looked  up,  not 
knowing  what  the  cries  might  mean.  He  soon  learnt  they  denoted 
that  the  audience  had  had  enough  of  the  gentleman  who  was  ad- 
dressing them,  and  after  a  peroration  which  failed  to  be  heard 
above  the  din,  the  unfortunate  debater  subsided. 

Scarcely  had  he  done  so  when  loud  cries  of  "Floppy!  Floppy!" 
resounded  throughout  the  roonu  The  Premier  looked  up,  and  fdt 
himself  turning  pale,  He  had  hoped  he  would  not  be  recognised  ; 
he  had  not  for  a  moment  thought  that,  if  recognised,  he  would  be  thus 
addressed  by  the  democracy.  He  had  coquetted  with  democracy, 
it  is  true,  but  he  never  forgot  that  he  was  allied  to  Conservatism. 
Among  his  many  changing  veins  of  thought,  democracy  had  found 
a  place.  But  such  democratic  familiarity  was  like  to  make  him 
an  oligarch  for  ever. 

Involuntarily  he  seized  his  hat,  determined  to  leave  the  place, 
when  loud  cheers  following  the  words  "  Mr.  Chairman  and  gentle- 
men "  made  him  pause.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  a  plainly- 
dressed  man  had  risen  to  address  the  assembly.  The  Premier 
rubbed  his  eyes.  Was  he  dreaming  ?  For  in  this  man,  despite  the 
obscuring  difference  of  dress,  he  saw  his  fetch,  his  wraith,  his  double, 
his  living  image.  The  puzzle  was  solved.  This,  then,  was  "  Floppy." 
The  man's  marvellous  resemblance  to  himself  had  struck  the 
habitues  of  the  place^  and  hence  they  had  playfully  presented  him 
with  the  name  by  which  the  Right  Hon.  Arnold  Floppington  was 
usually  spoken  of. 

*'  Mr.  Chairman  and  gentlemen,'*  said  the  man  in  the  dulcet 
high-pitched  tones  of  the  bom  orator,  "  I  shall  be  very  happy  to 
discuss  the  question  when  I  have  finished  discussingjny  supper."  He 
pointed  downward  to  his  plate  of  bread  and  cheeSe,  with  the  easy 
grace  of  a  man  sure  of  his  position,  and  the  burst  of  laughter  and 
applause  that  followed  the  unconventional  remark  proved  unmis- 
takably that  he  was  a  prime  favourite  in  the  room.  The  rule  of 
the  alternation  of  speakers  of  opposite  politics  was  even  relaxed 
for  the  nonce,  for  as  no  Conservative  ventured  consciously  to 
precede  so  satirical  an  opponent,  a  Radical  was  permitted  to  act  as 
a  stop-gap  till  the  nonchalant  Jack  Dawe  (for  such  was  "Floppy's" 
real  name)  was  ready  to  charm  the  expectant  audience. 

The  Premier  did  not  carry  out  his  resolution  of  instant  depar- 
ture. He  could  not  tear  himself  away.  The  scene  had  a  weird 
fascination  for  him.  His  eyes  rested,  by  an  irresistible  attraction, 
upon  the  remarkable  lineaments  of  his  double;  the  features  so 
strangely  like  his,  but  the  whole  face  so  alive  with  confident  strength. 
The  few  words  spoken  by  the  man  had  moved  him  strangely— the 
same  trumpet-like  clearness  of  tunbre  which  he  himself  conmianded 
in  moments  of  impassioned  oratory,  thrilled  in  the  tones  of  his 


■ 


r 


\ 


6  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

wraith — and  he  felt  himself  chained  to  his  seat  by  a  morbid  desire 
to  hear  what  this  almost  mysterious  being  would  say  of  him. 

En  cUUndanty  the  feeble  diatribe  of  the  stop-gap  fell  upon  his 
patient  ears ;  but  they  were  too  hardened  to  tingle. 

He  hesupd,  as  he  had  often  heard  in  tiie  House  of  Commons, 
that  everything  he  had  done  was  wrong ;  and  cynically  reflected 
that,  if  it  were  so,  the  doctrine  of  chances  must  have  treated  him 
shabbily.  As  moreover,  he  had,  on  certain  points  of  detail,  fol- 
lowed diametrically  opposite  policies,  he  felt  there  was  a  flaw.some- 
where  or  other ;  but  whether  in  him,  in  his  opponents,  or  in  Nature 
herself  he  had  never  been  able  to  determine  satisfactorily.  What 
gave  him  a  good  deal  of  rather  melancholy  amusement  was  to  find 
that  he  was  held  responsible  for  everything,  while  his  colleagues 
were  quietly  ignored.  He  knew  it  was  perfectly  constitutional,  but 
as  he  had  not  unfrequently  done  little  more  than  serve  as  the 
coloured  glass  through  whidi  the  lights  of  his  colleagues  shone,  he 
couldn't  resist  appreciating  the  joke.  He  grew  somewhat  more 
interested  when  the  speaker  touched  upon  his  want  of  decision. 

''If  the  Prime  Mmister,"  he  thundered  forth,  ''doesn't  know 
what  he  wants,  we  know  what  we  don't  want — and  that's  hfm  1 
Why  doesn't  he  make  up  his  mind?" 

"  If  it  were  only  as  easy  as  making  up  one's  ^e,"  muttered  the 
Premier  disconsolately. 

"  How  much  longer  is  this  weathercock  going  to  tax  pur 
patience?" 

A  voice  with  a  strong  Irish  broc^ue  : 

"  Hear,  hear  I  Floppy's  finished  his  supper."  *    • 

Laughter,  and  some  confusion.  The  speaker,  perceiving  that 
his  opportunity  was  over,  dashed  at  once  into  his  peroration  : 

"  But '  if  s  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  any  good,' "  be  cried ; 
"  and  if  the  wind  which  blows  about  this  weathercock  stamps  the 
Ministry  with  indelible  disgrace,  and  crowns  the  Opposition  with 
victory  amid  the  crumbling  ruins  of  the  Ministerialists,  1  for  one 
will  call  down  blessings  on  its  head  ; "  and  striking  the  table 
emphatically,  he  sat  down  amid  good-humoured  applause,  which,  a 
moment  afterwards,  swelled  into  an  outburst  of  tremendous  cheer- 
ing as  Jack  Dawe  slowly  rose  to  his  feet. 

Unmoved  by  the  enthusiastic  salvo  to  which  he  was  probably 
accustomed,  the  man  stood  facing  his  audience,  the  central  figure 
in  the  cloud-wreathed  atmosphere,  his  right  hand  resting  upon  the 
rim  of  a  pewter-pot,  with  the  alcoholic  contents  of  which  he  was 
wont  to  moisten  his  lips  from  time  to  time.  The  Premier,  still 
magnetised  by  the  subtle  influence  of  the  strange  personage  he  had 
chanced  upon,  bent  forward  eagerly  as  though  feverishly  anxious 
not  to  miss  a  syllable  of  the  coming  speech.  In  the  intensity  of 
his  interest,  he  almost  forgot  his  dread  of  recog^^ition,  and  he 
utterly  missed  the  quaint  and  somewhat  old-fashioned  charm  of  the 
scene— the  archaic  simplicity  of  the  tableau,  made  up  of  the  rows 
of  flushed,  excited  faces  of  almost  every  type  of  physiognomy,  and  of 
all  ages  from  seventeen  to  seventy ;  the  background  of  imitation- 


WITH  THE  COGERS  7 

,.  ••  •  . 

painted  pajielling ;  the  long  tables  glittering  with  half-empty  glasses, 
atfd  with  hug^  tankards  of  shandy -gaff ;  the  whole  veiled  m  nebulous 
folds,  pictiiresquely  relieved  here  and  there  by  the  red  glow  of  cigars 
and  cigai:ett€S,orthe  artistic  colouring  of  the  more  or  less  grotesquely- 
shaped  ^fpes.^* 

•  T^hei.  m to,  whose  oratory  was  now  for  the  first  time  to  stir  the 
pulses  cif  g  listener  of  exalted  position^  was  only  a  house-and-sign- 
painter;,  -  'B^it  in  politics  he  could  have  given  lessons  to  many  of 
those!  ifthp  Vere  bent  upon  educating  their  masters.  He  was  in 
many.  respe<?ts  a  workman  of  the  best  type— studious,  thoughtful, 
and  a  thorough  master  of  his  business.  His  intellectual  faculties 
were  of  a  high  order,  and  his  debating  powers — not  by  any  means 
.the  same  tmng— had  been  proved  m  many  a  tough  encounter, 
where  his  extreme  Radicalism  had  held  its  ground  against  all 
c6mer.s  by  dint  of  a  rare  talent  for  satire,  and  a  sledge-hammer 
force  of  expression.  The  first  half-dozen  sentences  of  his  double 
convinced  Floppington  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  a  speaker  of 
a' different  stamp  from  his  predecessors,  and  of  one  whose  intrinsic 
ippnts  called  for  attention  to  his  remarks,  apart  from  the  interest 
exdjted'f)y  his  personality. 

.."•J  li^ould  willingly  echo  the  concluding  sentiment  of  the  gentle- 

TCidA  who  hUs  just  sat  down,"  he  began,  amid  a  continuous  current 

of  m6reof.  leSs  boisterous  laughter,  '*  were  it  not  that  its  metaphors 

'  were  as  mixed  as  the  ideas  cMf  the  gentleman  who  preceded  him. 

Melajflior&  have  a  bad  habit  of  being  mixed,  though  their  intentions 

are  ^ei\erally  good.     Mr.  Rowley's  comparison  of  Mr.  Floppington 

'  4o  af  \^then:ock  is  true,  if  not  new.    A  weathercock  at  the  top 

of*t&e  Cfiurch  is  all  very  well  (in  fact  only  a  weathercock  could 

femain  there  for  a  day) ;  but,  as  Mr.  Rowley  rightly  declared,  it  is 

'  dutt>f  place  at  the  head  of  the  State.    But  when  he  proceeded  to 

:'  4ocp9^  lk.Q  Weathercock  in  question  of  taxing  our  patience,  I  could  not 

'"^h^lp'spe^Ulating  on  the  exact  fiscal  abilities  of  a  vane,  and  I  came  to 

the  -conclusion  that  the  only  bond  of  connection  between  it  and  a 

-  Chancellor  of  Exchequer  was  the  ignorance  of  arithmetic.    Mr. 

Rowley  might  suggest  to  Sir  Stanley  Southleigh  the  advisability  of 

imposing  a  tax  upon  patience,  though  perhaps  it  would  be  too 

direct  to  suit  that  great  financier.    We  are  a  long-suffering  people 

— ^"we  hlave  stood  hereditary  legislators  long  enough  to  prove  that — 

but  I  don't  think  the  receipts  would  be  very  great  nevertheless. 

England  expects  every  man  to  pay  his  duties,  and  we  should  not 

quite  refuse  to  submit  to  an  extra  one  ;  but  what  I  am  afraid  of  is, 

that  our  impatience  at  the  new  demand  would  seriously  interfere 

with  the  official  estimate  of  our  normal  amount  of  the  conmiodity 

under'taxation.  Mr.  Chairman,  I  am  aware  I  am  digressing ;  but  if 

I  were  to  remain  in  the  route  which  the  debate  has  been  allowed  to 

drift  into,  I  should  have  no  chance  of  getting  to  the  real  issue  at  alL 

I  have  noticed  it  as  a  remarkable  peculiarity  of  the  subjects  down 

for  discussion  in  this  room,  that  they  have  a  rude  habit  of  leaving 

directly  we  are  assembled,  and  of  going  off  to  spend  dieir  evenings 

elsewhere."    (Loud  laughter.) 


8  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

With  these  bantering  words  of  introduction,  the  s|;^altes  enter^ 
upon  an  elaborate  and  philosophical,  yet  amusingly*cOudhed  dis>-*'* 
quisition  upon  the  political  situation.     Ever  and  an9n  i^ilff* bursts. • 
of  cheering  and  laughter  escaped  from  his  listenerS'^fl-opi'air'but  , 
that  one  pathetic  figure  in  the  comer,  the  poor,  palliijstmn^er'  \ifha 
leaned  his  throbbing  brow  upon  his  burning  palm.,    A%-yaat''S^wfy . 
warmed  to  his  worl^  his  remarks  became  less  and  l«s^g«Qerai,*and  . 
at  last  he  found  himself  dissecting,  wijth  remorseless  ^al{)ei,  t<he  . 
whole  public  career  of  the  Hon.  Arnold  Floppingtoft.    ^Ife  list 
speaker  had  also   cut  up  the  Premier ;    but  with  "wliat '] inferior  ■ 
weapons  I    His  previous  tenure  of  the  Home  SecretarysKip ;  hfe  ' 
factious  opposition  to  the  Radical  Reform  Bill ;    hjs  overthrow 
of  the  last  Government;   the  feigned  hesitation  of  his*  accept;.* , 
ance  of  office  ;    his  own  Reform  Bill ;    his    difficulties  *  with  •'his  ' 
Cabinet ;  were  all  passed  in  review.    The  intricacy  of  his  'nK)ti>«es  ' 
was  laid   bare ;    his   weaknesses   and   his    inconsistencies*  Vere 
exposed;  his  incompetence  was  painted  in  the  most  gla'ring  c61dUr§^  . 
and  his  whole  life  was  made  to  point  the  evils  of  the  system-  of 
administration  under  which  a  man  so  hopelessly  behiftd  thf,tij^«^ 


victory  after  the  dissolution— whether  it  be  precipitated,  as  it  aftnost  ,'• . 
certainly  will  be,  by  the  defeat  of  the  Reform  Bill,  or  'w^ietperjjj  't^t^h ,  •  * 
place  in  the  naturaJ  course  of  events.    This  is  the  man^whcfee'^^ver- 
ing  and  antiquated  principles  are  to  secure  a  triumph^n^ipaj(yi^v'ih  ,  'J. 
the  next  Parliament.     Let  me  tell  my  Conservative*  frieai^  fhat*     l 
their  hopes  are  as  hollow  as  their  arguments.     So  long*as  F^ppir(|[;   «^. 'C 
ton  remains  what  he  is,  so  long  as  Mountchapel  remains  what  Jl^*i%  •  ,•> 
so  long  the  Cabinet  Chamber  would  be  not  the  bui:eau,qf  {Joveyn»    '•'" 
ment  but  the  arena  of  contending  ambitions,  an({  s6toA^&»fti0b^ 
servatism  has  no  better  leaders  than  these  two  men,  sq  long^'sf  sfarfileC.'J^. 
Conservative  Administration  is  an  impossibility.     NOr  would**^en  yyi'. 
the  retirement  of  one  of  then*  mend  matters  in  the*  least.  ;  FJ^ipM'.  'j<^- 
pington,  with  Mountchapel  in  opposition,  would  be  A  ludicrous  and .  v" 
pitiable  sight;  but  the  sight  of  Mountchapel  at  the  he'Ipi  8{  iHe    ' 
vessel  of  state  would,  if  possible,  be  still  more  ludicrous  and  pitiable^ 
The  gorge  of  this  great  nation  would  rise  in  disgust  at  the  spectacle. 
But  if  by  a  wild  stretch  of  imagination  one  could  conceive?  the 
Premier  as,  to  apply  the  sinewy  language  of  Milton,  rousiilg  him- 
self like  a  strong  man  after  sleep,  or  as  an  eagle,  mewrhg'his  ifyghty 
youth  and  kindling  his  endazzled  eyes  at  the  lull  midday  beam  ;"ricl-  • 
ding  himself  of  the  incubus  of  his  Foreign  Secretary  (thQugh  it  * 
might  be  well  to  retain  the  valuable  unscrupulousnessbf^hatr^-  • 
markable  politician),  and  opening  his  ears  to  the  imperious  demands 
of  modem  democracy  instead  of  dulling  them  with  the  dismal 
drone  of  mummified  ecclesiastics;  if,  I  say,  there  was  thp  remotest 
probability  of  this,  why,  then  there  might  be  some  hope*  foj  Con- 
servatism; but,  as  it  is,  the  confidence  of  Tories  in  their  continued 
political  existence  resembles  the  state  of  mind  of  tto  pati^^te  in  a 


yACIC  DAWE  AT  HOME  9 

galloping  consumption.  And  I  claim  to  have  acted  as  a  true  friend 
in  warning  them  of  their  impending  fate,  in  directing  them  to  wind 
up  their  aifatrs,  and  in  adjuring  them  to  reflect  on  their  sins ;  and 
if  I  have  not  attempted  to  sotten  their  last  hours  by  the  usual 
shadowy  suggestions  of  a  certain  but  distant  resurrection,  it  is 
because  the  attempt  would  not  soothe,  but  only  terrify  them  by  re- 
minding them  of  the  awful  proximity  of  the  hour  of  resurrection  to 
the  Day  of  Judgment" 

When  the  protracted  cheering  that  followed  Jack  Dawe*s  re- 
sumption of  his  seat  had  subsided,  a  supporter  of  tiie  Ministry 
rose,  who  sarcastically  suggested  that  no  doubt  the  country  would 
be  much  better  governed  if  their  friend  Floppy  were  to  replace  the 
head  of  the  Government  "  Floppy's  friends  cheered  this  suggestion 
vigorously—one  of  them  calling  out  "  he  couldn't  do  worse,  if  he 
tried  his  level  best" 

The  Premier  sat  motionless  in  his  comer.  He  screened  his 
face  from  view.  Could  it  have  been  seen,  its  strange  expression 
would  have  puzzled  the  beholder.  He  was  watching  his  wraith  with 
an  odd,  half-sad,  somewhat  feverish  expression  and  with  a  strange 
unhealthy  glitter  in  his  eyes,  as  though  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
assembly  had  communicated  itself  to  his  jaded  spirit ;  and  when 
Jack  Dawe,  after  looking  at  his  watch,  quitted  the  room  amid  a 
renewed  burst  of  cheering,  he  was  followed  by  the  Right  Hon. 
Arnold  Floppington. 

What  would  not  the  fashionable  diarist  have  given  to  know  that 
the  Premier,  that  night,  had  to  be  helped  to  his  bedroom  by  sug» 
gestively-winking  servants  ? 


CHAPTER   II. 

JACK  DAWE  AT  HOMS. 

Rosy-fingered  Mom  had  been  long  tapping  on  the  window- 
panes  before  Jack  Dawe  awoke  and  rubbed  his  eyes— presumably 
from  sleepiness.  He  had  not  slept  well  The  Cogers-  that  arena 
where  epithets  had  last  night  engaged  in  deadly  combat— had,  in 
the  mysterious  fashion  well  known  to  sufferers  from  nightmare, 
transformed  itself  into  a  Protean  something  which  weighed  heavily 
and  vaguely  upon  him  in  all  his  fantastic  doings  in  dreamland. 
And  now  in  the  clear  sunlight  the  something  translated  itself  in  a 
flash  into  its  original,  and  the  whole  scene  rose  before  him  while 
cries  of  "  Floppy  "  reverberated  in  his  ears.  A  shade  of  anxiety 
followed  by  a  faint  smile  appeared  on  his  face  as  he  fell  back  mur- 
muring "  Rest  I  Rest  1 "  Then  his  eyes  wandered  over  the  gaudily- 
papered  room,  the  walls  of  which  were  further  adorned  by  an 


lo  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

almanac,  a  few  lithographs,  a  small  pipe-rack,  several  Board 
School*  certificates  of  a  highly  eulogistic  nature,  and  a  lax]ge  portrait 
of  Mr.  Bradlaugh,  then  at  the  height  of  his  popularity.  Over  the 
head  of  the  bed  was  a  small  hanging  bookcase  on  which  were 
ranged  Swinburne's  "Songs  before  Sunrise,"  "Odes  and  Ballads," 
Mill's  "  Logic,"  Paine's  "  The  Rights  of  Man,"  SheUe/s  "  Queen 
Mab,''  Mill's  "  Subjection  of  Women,"  IngersoU's  "  Letters,"  Mill 
on  "  Representative  Government,"  Gilbert's  "  Plays,"  some  bound 
volumes  of  "  Progress,**  (a  Freethought  magazine  of  the  period), 
and  a  few  works  of  an  educational  and  a  non-literary  character. 
"  Blessed  is  he,"  thought  Jack  when  he  had  surveyed  for  a  moment 
the  backs  of  these  volumes,  "  who  can  catch  a  truth  with  a  small 
*  t,'  and  label  it  *  Truth  *  with  a  capital  *  T,'  and  thus  armed  con- 
front the  world !  In  reality  truth  is  as  many-sided  as  myself,  and  as 
h  ated."    With  this  mournful  reflection  he  jiunped  out  of  bed. 

Assuredly  a  middle-aged  man  ought  not  to  have  gazed  at  him- 
self in  the  glass  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  as  our  friend  did  when 
dressed.  But  although  the  Preacher  pronounced  that  "all  is  vanity^ 
it  is  probable  that  this  dictum  was  based  on  his  experience  of  his 
better  halves,  and  it  is  doubtful  how  far  it  applies  to  men  of  a 
philosophical  cast  when  lost  in  their  reflections.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
Mr.  Dawe,  on  the  termination  of  his  reverie,  as  we  shall  mercifully 
call  it,  proceeded  downstairs  with  uncertain  steps.  One  flight  was 
all  that  he  had  to  descend,  and  it  led  into  a  small  parlour  dominated 
by  stuffed  birds  flying  under  a  vitreous  sky.  These  were  benevo- 
lently looked  down  upon  by  the  counterfeit  presentments  of  a  mild- 
eyed  man  in  black  with  a  bright  badge  on  his  breast,  and  of  a  stout 
sharp-lookmg  woman  in  blue ;  and  the  flesh  and  blood  and  bones 
of  the  latter  sat  on  a  horsehair  couch  and  devoured  eggs  and 
bacon.  She  was  now  flabbier  than  her  picture,  and  the  sharpness 
had  migrated  from  her  nose  and  cheeks  and  dwelt  entirely  in  her 
gray  eyes. 

"  You're  early.  Jack,"  she  exclaimed  ere  he  had  entered.  "  The 
bacon's  getting  cold."  This  was  not  spoken  satirically,  for  Jack 
generally  breakfasted  on  a  second  supply,  which  was  even  then 
getting  up  heat  in  the  kitchen,  which  lay,  for  reasons  that  will 
soon  be  obvious,  between  the  parlour  and  the  shop. 

"Good  morning,"  said  Jack  advancing,  and  might  have  said 
more  had  not  his  breath  been  stopped  by  a  tremendous  hug  ac- 
companied \iy  a  sonorous  kiss.  It  was  not  Mrs.  Dawe's  habit  to 
favour  him  with  this  matutinal  salute  ;  but  on  this  occasion  there 
was  such  a  strange  look  of  worry  in  his  face  and  such  a  new 
tenderness  in  his  eyes,  and  she  had  done  such  a  "  roaring "  trade 
the  night  before,  that  the  dormant  maternal  instinct  was  aroused. 
He  disengaged  himself  from  the  unaccustomed  embrace,  blushing 
all  over  and  much  disturbed,     "  Oleum  redoUt^*  he  reflected.    "  As 

*  Board  Schools  were  establishments  in  which  what  in  that  age  passed  for 
education  was  doled  out  in  annual  instalments,  paid  for  by  Government,  at 
rates  varying  from  seventeen  to  twenty-five  shillings  per  instalment.  These 
figures  are,  of  course,  those  of  the  old  pre-dedmal  system. 


JACK  DAWE  AT  HOME  li 

they  said  of  my  speeches,  she  smells  of  the  oil    And  her  teeth  1 
As  corrupt  as  a  Greek  play  and  as  irregular  as  its  verbs  !  * 

But  remorse  speedily  seized  upon  his  tender  heart,  and  he 
murmured  :  "  It  is  a  small  price  to  pay  for  rest  He  who  wotdd 
eat  lotuses  must  not  spurn  the  plate  they're  offered  in." 

''  Eat  lettuces  1 "  exclaimed  his  mother  who  had  caught  the  last 
sentence ;  "  I  didn't  know  as  you  was  fond  of  'em." 

"  Never  mind,"  he  said  gently,  taking  a  seat  before  the  small 
round  table.    "  And  what  am  I  to  have  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  can  have  some  of  this  'ere  cold,  or  you  can  wait  tiil 
Sally  brings  your  own." 

He  frowned  at  standing  once  more  by  the  cross-roads  of  action ; 
but  began  mechanically  to  examine  the  logical  alternatives. 

**  Then  there  are  two  courses,"  he  conunenced. 

"  Bless  the  boy ;  he  knows  verjr  well  we  only  ''ave  one  for 
breakfast,"  she  ejaculated.   "  Szdly,  bring  in  master's  breakfastpf  it's  < 
ready.     But  what's  a  matter  with  you?     Are  you  caught  cold? 
Oh,  there  she  is.    You'll  find  that  pnme." 

*'  Thank  you,"  said  Jack  with  a  gracious  smile,  as  a  slipshod 
girl  with  dishevelled  hair  and  smudgy  countenance  laid  a  plate  of 
fried  eggs  and  bacon  before  him.  To  a  hungry  man  the  savour  of 
these  dainties  was  not  unappetising,  and  the  plate  which  held  them 
was  of  unimpeachable  cleanness,  contrastmg  sharply  with  the 
slovenly  appearance  of  that  from  which  Mrs.  Dawe  was  eating.  It 
was  evident  that  the  son  was  somewhat  more  finical  and  squeamish 
than  the  mother.  "  No,  thank  you.  Don't  trouble.  I  dare  say 
this  coffee  will  be  warm  enough  for  me.  Will  you  be  so  kind  as 
to  bring  me  a  spoon  ?  " 

"  Well,  are  you  hever  going  for  that  spoon  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Dawe 
irritably.  "  D'ye  suppose  I  pays  ye  for  openin'  your  tater-trap  like 
a  Alleylujey  Sister  ? " 

For  the  girl  had  flushed  deeply.  The  unwonted  carmine  over- 
spread her  face  and  neck.  The  room  had  grown  misty  to  her 
eyes. 

Without  a  word  she  rushed  into  the  kitchen,  seized  a  tea-spoon, 
polished  it  vigorously,  and  was  back  again  with  it  in  less  than  a 
dozen  seconds. 

"What  an  active  girl  I"  said  Jack,  with  an  approving  smile. 
«•  Thank  you,  Sally." 

^  I've  done  your  boots,  master,"  said  Sally  huskily.  She  struggled 
for  a  moment  with  a  lump  in  her  throat  before  she  was  able  to  add, 
**  They're  under  the  table.  I  couldn't  shine  'em  any  better  'cos  the 
leather's  too  new."  Ducking  her  head  she  brought  them  up  for  his 
inspection,  trembling  a  little  from  force  of  habit  before  submitting 
her  work  to  her  usually  imperious  taskmaster. 

"  Polish  comes  with  age,"  he  murmured  reflectively.  **  You 
couldn't  shine  them  any  better  I "  he  cried  in  admiration.  **  Would 
we  all  had  as  little  to  apologise  for  1  Your  ideals  must  be  high 
indeed,  if  this  brilliant  lustre  doesn't  satisfy  you.  What  a  treasure 
you  would  be  in  a  prodigal  servants'  ksdl,  although— ^     An 


12  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

almost  imperceptible  shudder  concluded  the  sentence.  Decidedly 
the  lissom  charm,  the  piquant  freshness,  the  shining  purity  of  the 
neat-handed  Phyllis  was  absent  from  Sally's  person,  or  if  latent, 
very  latent  indeed. 

"  When  youVe  done  showin*  off  them  boots  as  if  you  was  the 
Museum,"  Mrs.  Dawe  cried  brutally,  though  her  eyes  twinkled  a 
little  with  dim  comprehension  of  her  son's  satire.  "P'raps  you 
wishes  you  was.  I  know  you'd  like  to  'ave  a  p'liceman  to  look 
arter  ye,"  she  chuckled  grimly. 

"  I  never  I"  said  Sally,  with  high-pitched  and  fiery  indignation. 
"'E  only  come  to  arx  if  I'd  seen  a  one-armed  man  with  a  tambourine 
as  was  wanted  for  the  card-trick,  and  'e  paid  for  'is  plum-duff  with 
a  kick  with  a  *ole  in  it." 

"  Hush,  hush,"  said  Jack,  who  had  ceased  stirring  his  coffee  in 
surprise.  **  You  must  not  excite  yourself  like  that,  my  good  girL 
I  do  not  think  your  mistress  was  accusing  you  seriously,  so  there's 
really  no  need  to  defend  yourself  so  loudly." 

The  maid-of-all-work  stared  dumbly  at  her  master ;  the  glitter- 
ing *'  Wellingtons  "  almost  fell  from  her  hands.  The  suavity  of  the 
reproof  was  too  much  for  her  perfervid  condition. 

The  intensity  of  the  girl's  gaze  infected  Mrs.  Dawe.  She  bent 
her  sharp,  gray  eyes  upon  her  son,  and  a  puzzled  look  came  over 
her  broad  visage.  The  sign-painter  seemed  uneasy  under  this  dual 
scrutiny.  He  bent  his  head  over  the  smoking  viands  and  took  up 
his  knife  and  fork. 

Suddenly  the  old  woman's  face  lit  up  with  an  expression  of 
relief. 

**  Why,  Jack  I"  she  exclaimed.    "  Where's  your  Sunday  togs  ?" 

"  Eh,"  he  said,  looking  up  vaguely.     "My  Sunday  togs  ?  " 

"  Bless  the  boy,  ain't  to-day  Sunday?  And  you  such  a  swell  in 
your  new  trousers  I" 

•*  Oh  ! "  said  Jack. 

"  This  comes  o'  bein*  out  late.  You  wake  up  without  your  wits. 
But  come,  don't  let  your  bacon  spoil.  You  can  change  afterwards. 
Oh,  I  forgot.  'Ere's  your  Rejeree  and  your  Lloyd* si  Let  me  know 
if  there's  any  good  murders  on." 

He  took  the  newspapers  which  his  mother  handed  him  and  laid 
them  aside  with  a  sigh.  She  started  and  turned  pale.  "  Break- 
fast without  politics  1     Is  there  anything  a  matter,  Jack  ?  " 

"  I  feel  a. trifle  worried,"  he  replied,  "  and  I  have  no  wish  to  be 
worried  further  by  the  criticisms  of  the  Sunday  Press." 

Mrs.  Dawe  stared.  Then  seeing  his  lips  move  she  said  anxi- 
ously :  '*  Why,  you're  a  tremblin'  all  over." 

**  No,  no  ;  I  am  merely  saying  grace." 

The  crash  which  followed  this  announcement  was  caused  by 
the  rapid  decline  and  fall  of  Mrs.  Dawe's  knife  and  fork.  Jack 
smiled. 

"  It's  disgraceful ! "  she  exclaimed,  re-assured,  "  to  give  a  body 
such  a  turn  by  your  jokes.  I  thought  you  had  one  boot  in  the 
grave  already.    As  your  father  used  to  say,  *  when  a  man  is  took 


JACK  DAWE^  AT  HOME  13 

religious  it's  a  sig^n  he's  took  bad/  Rest  his  soul  I  he  didn't  believe 
in  nothing,  he  didn't,  and  he'd  maintain  them  principles  in  this 
world  or  the  next  He  used  to  say  as  my  services  'd  be  wanted 
down  below,  as  I  was  such  a  hexcellent  frier  and  roaster,  which — 
not  as  it's  me  as  says  it — there  isn't  in  the  kingdom,  if  modesty  will 
allow  me  to  say  it." 

"  I  have  noticed,"  said  Jack,  "  that,  as  a  rule,  those  only  are 
modest  who  have  something  to  be  modest  about." 

"  Well,  I  'ave  got  something  to  be  modest  about,"  responded 
Mrs.  Dawe  proudly ;  "  and  that's  why  I  ses  it.  I  can't  do  better 
than  believe  in  the  same  nothing  as  my  late  husband.  And  as  I 
was  a-sayin*  to  Salvation  Polly  only  yesterday,  in  my  business  I  don't 
trust  nobody,  and  in  my  religion  it's  the  same.  And  as  for  sayin' 
grace,  it's  all  humbug.  My  customers,  ses  I,  don't  say  grace,  for 
they  know  if  they  get  a  square  meal  they've  earned  it,  and  no  thanks 
to  nobody.  When  I  sees  the  poor,  famishin*  young  *uns  a  flattenin* 
their  noses  against  my  windows,  and  a  smellin'  the  pork-pies, 
thinks  I  to  myself  it  ain't  true  what  your  folks  says  that  He  gives 
food  to  the  young  ravenous  when  they  cry.  They  can  cry  till  their 
eyes  is  as  red  as  their  fathers'  noses  ;  and  pork-pies'U  be  as  far  off 
as  ever."  Then  she  rolled  up  her  sleeves,  much  to  Jack's  alarm. 
"  Eat  away,  my  boy,  1  must  get  to  work  now  ;  people's  stomachs 
never  takes  no  rest,  Sunday  or  any  other  day,  does  they,  Jack  ? 
And  what  did  they  talk  about  last  night  ?  More  politics,  I  suppose. 
Ah,  Jack,  don't  eat  my  'ead  off  if  I  asks  ye  not  to  waste  so  much 
time  on  politics — it  takes  you  away  from  your  work.  Not  that, 
thank  Gord,  you  can't  be  idle  a  day ;  still  politics  is  only  for  them 
as  ain't  got  to  get  a  honest  living."  Here  Mrs.  Dawe's  features 
assumed  a  timid,  conciliatory  expression,  narrowly  verging  on  the 
apologetic. 

**  That  is  very  true,"  said  Jack,  with  a  grim  smile. 

"  I'm  glad  you're  a-comin'  round  to  common  sense,*  said  his 
mother,  at  once  surprised  and  emboldened  by  the  passiveness  with 
which  these  tentative  remarks  were  received.  "  Your  dear  father 
took  as  much  interest  in  politics  as  you  ;  but  did  he  let  it  ruin  him 
as  it  well-nigh  does  you  ?  Not  he.  He  just  took  his  sovereign 
whenever  there  was  an  election  on  and  marked  the  paper  accord- 
ing,— doing  a  good  stroke  of  work  he  used  to  call  it,  ha !  ha !  ha  ! " 

**  You  are  right,  mad —  mother.  I  have  wasted  too  much  time  on 
it  already." 

"Yes,  and  when  you  might  ha*  been  doin'  something  nicer, 
Jack."  Here  Mrs.  Dawe  beamed  benevolently  on  her  son  and 
winked  at  him. 

"Nicer!"  said  Jack. 

Mrs.  Dawe  winked  again,  looked  at  the  picture  of  her  departed 
husband  and  beamed  with  increased  vigour. 

"  Yes,  you  hav'  been  neglectin'  your  duty  1 " 

"Havel?"  said  Jack. 

**  You  know  you  have.     Poor  thing  I  • 

•  Poor  thing  I "  said  Jack. 


14  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

**  Yes,  I  means  it   Poor  thing  1  You  have  ill-treated  her  shame-  , 
fuL" 

"  Ill-treated  ?"  said  Jack. 

"  You  promised  to  finish  the  business  months  ago ;  but  you've 
been  so  busy  with  your  politics,  I  do  believe  it's  gone  clean  out  of 
your  'ead." 

"  Oh,  th^  business,"  said  Jack. 

^  Yes,  she  was  here  yesterday,  and  she  complained  bitterly  of 

your  neglect  while  you  was  at Oh,  drat  them  church  bells, 

diey  seem  to  say  if  you  won't  sleep  in  church,  you  shan't  sleep 
nowhere  else— that's  one  of  your  father's,  Jack  I  *' 

*'  So  she  wants  the  job  done  ?  "  said  Jack. 

''Yes,  she  does  ;  and  the  quicker  it's  done  the  better,  she  said; 
and  so  say  I,  and  so  say  all  ot  us,  I  hope.  You're  forty  now,  and 
life  is  short" 

"  And  art  long,**  mused  Jack.  "  Though  I  doubt  whether  what 
this  lady  requires  would  be  entitled  to  the  denomination."  "  Well 
then,"  he  said  aloud,  "  you  can  tell  her  the  next  time  you  see  her 
that  I'm  ready  to  do  whatever  she  wants." 

**  Oh,  that's  a  dear  Jack  I "  and  she  smothered  him  with  oily 
kisses.  "  I  likes  to  see  my  son  do  what's  right  and  proper.  And, 
Jack,  you'll  see  what  a  dinner  I'll  give  you.     TU  cook  it  myself." 

With  this  threat  she  released  him  from  her  maternal  embraces. 
"And  now,  mother,"  he  said,  rising,  "  111  dress  and  go  to  church." 

For  a  moment  her  heart  stocKl  still  and  the  old  alarm  seized 
her. 

"  Jackl"  she  panted,  but  remembering  his  specific  declaration 
that  he  was  not  ill  she  let  her  face  broaden  into  a  smile.  "  That^s 
twice  in  one  morning,"  she  said.  "  What's  the  c^ood  o'  tryin'  to 
make  a  fool  o'  your  mother  ?  Why,  Natui'  couldxrt  do  it,  and  she 
'ad  the  fust  try.  My  gracious,  wouldn't  they  stare  to  see  Jack 
Dawe  at  St  John's  ?  " 

"  I  know  I  have  never  been  to  St  John's  before,  but  that  is  no 
reason  against  my  going  there  now.  Jack  Dawe  has  changed  his 
opinion.  In  other  points,"  he  added,  seeing  her  emotion,  "  I  am 
willing  to  make  large  concessions;  but  this  point  is  vitaL" 

Mrs.  Dawe*s  face  blazed  with  astonishment  and  anger,  for  there 
was  the  old  expression  on  the  face  of  her  son,  that  look  of  deter- 
mination which  she  dreaded  and  from  which  she  knew  there  was 
no  appeal  But  the  greatness  of  the  issue  moved  her  to  fight  to 
the  bitter  death.  1  hose  who  have  known  the  anguish  caused  by 
a  son's  deserting  the  faith  of  his  forefathers,  the  religion  in  which 
he  has  been  bom  and  bred,  will  sympathise  with  the  poor  old 
woman,  in  danger  of  being  cut  off  by  her  son's  infidelity  from  all 
spiritual  communion  with  him  in  her  declining  years.  Moreover 
there  seemed  something  strangely  pliant,  wavering,  and  meek,  about 
him  that  mominp^,  strongly  in  contrast  with  his  wonted  imperious- 
ness.  The  astonishing  quiescence  with  which  he  had  already  g^ven 
way  in  an  important  matter  a  moment  ago,  invited  her  to  fresh 
victories  while  the  humour  lasted— to  make  hay  before  the  erratic 


JACK  DAWE  AT  HOME    .  fj 

sun  sank  below  the  horizon  for  an  indefinite  period.  So  she  risked 
the  combat.  **  Go  to  church  1  **  she  cried.  "Can't  /make  your  flannel 
waistcoats  ?  Do  we  stand  in  need  of  any  charity  ?  It's  only  a  step 
from  the  church  to  the  workus.  And  don't  you  remember  what 
your  father  told  the  parson  ?  '  I  don't  ^o  to  church,'  ses  he,  *that  I 
may  keep  out  o*  temptation.'  '  Temptation  I '  ses  the  parson.  *  Yes, 
ses  your  father, '  them  as  goes  to  oiurch  is  temptea  to  put  a  bad 
'apenny  in  the  plate.  And  besides/  ses  your  father,  which  I  knowed 
politics  would  make  you  wander  from  the  right  path ;  *  besides,  ses 
yourrfather,  *I  don't  believe  in  nothing,  thank  Gord,  I  don't ;  and  a 
man  as  would  g^o  to  church  without  meaning  it,  would  rob  a  church 
mouse.'  So  sit  down  and  finish  your  cor^."  She  laid  her  plump 
hand  tentatively  upon  his,  and  not  finding  it  rudely  shaken  off,  she 
pressed  him  down  lightly  as  though  he  were  the  dough  of  a  pie- 
crust. 

"  He  was  doubtless  a  very  straightforward  man,"  he  observed, 
settling  down  meekly  and  tliinking  that  there  was  plenty  of  time 
to  temporise.  Her  eyes  twinkled  with  triumph  ;  but  the  historical 
weapon  was  too  dear  to  be  laid  aside,  merdy  because  it  had 
vanquished  the  enemy.  She  continued  her  survey  of  her  late 
husband's  religious  and  theological  opinions,  as  though  her  son  had 
never  heard  them  before. 

"  That  he  was,"  she  replied ;  "  and  he'd  always  let  you  know  'is 
mind.  '  I  don't  keep  my  views  to  myself,'  he  used  to  say ;  *  I  lets 
other  folks  look  at  them.  I  makes  my  private  view  a  public  view.' 
And  when,  under  my  management,  this  cookshop  began  to  thrive 
more  than  it  'ad  ever  done  in  his  family,  his  views  was  more  so 
than  ever.  He  didn't  'ide  his  light  under  a  bushel  of  lies,  he  didn't. 
And  with  sich  a  father,  Jack,  you  wants  to  go  to  church  !  Shame 
on  you  I  It's  enough  to  make  'im  turn  in  'is  grave.  It's  enough  if 
a  man  goes  three  times  in  his  life—once  when  he's  bom,  once  when 
he's  married,  and  once  when  he's  dead." 

Jack  could  not  help  smiling  at  this  maternal  bull ;  not  the  last 
specimen  of  the  Hibernian  breed  which  ranged  and  occasionally 
escaped  from  their  stalls  in  Mrs.  Dawe's  brain.  Mrs.  Dawe  had 
now  gone  into  the  kitchen,  whence  a  mingled  odour  of  roast  pork  and 
beef-steak  pudding  began  to  enter  on  currents  of  air  that  continued 
to  vibrate  with  her  rather  shrill  tones.  She  was  up  to  her  elbows  in 
dough  and  up  to  her  neck  in  reminiscence.  Ever  courteous,  ever 
shrinking  from  giving  pain.  Jack  Dawe  sat  there  with  as  grave 
attention  as  he  would  have  given  to  the  Queen.  Dusty  rays  darting 
from  the  back-yard  lit  up  his  stained  white  suit,  and  nis  long  white 
hands,  and  his  careworn  white  face,  and  his  dark  eyes  full  of  dreamy 
pain. 

*'The  parson  was  always  a-arguin'  with  him,**  continued  the 
voice  in  the  kitchen.  "  Many  a  set-to  they  used  to  have  in  the  Park. 
When  their  opinions  smashed  together  the  shock  was  terrible— the 
parson  was  always  thrown  off  the  track  and  damaged  severely. 
'Parson,*  your  &ther  would  say,  when  he  eot  talkin'  about  the 
delights  of  'eaven  and  scornin'  this  world,  'parson,  you  are  like 


i6  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

them  poo^ilists  as  sometimes  sees. stars  when  they  can't  see  what's 
under  their  noses.  Your  doctrines  is  as  'ard  to  swallow  as  Mrs. 
Prodgers's  dumplins— and  you  should  only  try  one  of  'em.  Jack. 
Them  dumplins  of  hers  is  a  'elpin'  my  custom  beautifuL  But 
them  as  eat  her  widdles  must  stomach  'em  as  best  they  can. 
'  You're  always  a  sayin',  parson,  that  life  is  a  dream,  and  that's  why 
you  i^ve  us  your  sermons  to  make  your  words  come  as  true  as 
possible.'  Ha  I  ha !  ha  !  Sharp  man,  your  father.  Sally,  the  soup 
is  bilin'  I  Drat  that  girl,  you  never  see  her  when  you  want  her,  oi 
want  her  when  you  see  her." 

Even  this  interruption  did  not  lon^  check  the  flow  of  Mrs. 
Dawe's  recollections.  Jack  had  fallen  into  a  reverie  on  the  Atha- 
nasian  Creed,  when  the  words,  "  Your  father  said,"  aroused  him. 

*'  My  father  must  have  been  a  modern  Socrates,"  he  thought, 
gazing  up  at  the  mild-eyed  man  with  the  bright  badge  on  his  breast; 
"only  he  probably  died  from  drinking  beer  instead  of  hemlock.  I 
will  listen  to  what  oral  tradition  records  of  him  before  the  apotheosis 
of  time  surrounds  him  with  legendary  halo." 

Singularly  enough  the  next  words  related  to  the  fluid  unknown  to 
classic  democracy. 

"  *  No,'  said  your  father,  *  I  sleeps  at  'ome  of  a  Sunday.  Ten 
sermons  ain't  in  it  with  a  pint  of  beer.  Life  a  dream,  indeed  1 
Them  as  says  that  life's  a  dream  usually  behaves  as  ridiklus  as  if  it 
was.'  '  All  right,  my  man,'  ses  the  parson.  '  Do  you  ever  think  of 
what  comes  after  death  ? '  '  Often  and  often,'  ses  your  father ; 
'  and  I'm  saving  up  to  'ave  the  thing  done  'andsome.'  The  parson 
groaned«  He  was  licked  again.  And  when  your  father  winked  to 
his  mates,  he  grew  desperit,  and  he  said:  'The  time'll  come  as 
youll  sit  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  for  this.'  Your  father  grinned. 
^  D'ye  think  I'm  going  to  be  a  dustman  late  in  life  ? '  he  says.  '  I 
sticks  to  house-paintin'.'  There  was  a  roar  at  this.  '  And  the  parson 
walked  away,'  said  your  father,  *  as  solemn  as  a  funeral  plume.* " 

"  And  this  is  Demos,"  thought  Jack  mournfully,  as  he  sipped 
his  coffee.  ^  Squalid  as  their  lives  seem  to  be,  they  make  them 
loathlier  by  their  meagre  positivism.  The  finer  aspects,  the  spiritual 
mysteries  of  existence  are  to  them  unrevealed.  And  how  can  any 
Government  influence  them  unless  it  sinks  to  their  level?    As 

Tacitus  finely  said No,  I  will  take  no  more  coffee,  thank 

you." 

"  But  ifs  the  finest  corfy,  and  I  gave  one-and-eight  a  pound  for 
it ;  and  your  other  two  cups  '11  be  wasted,"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Dawe. 

She  had  dislocated  Jack's  reflections  by  hovering  suddenly  over 
him  with  the  half-inverted  coffee-poL  Her  bare  arms  were  thickly 
sown  with  particles  of  dough,  and  a  solitary  currant  clung 
desperately  to  her  right  elbow. 

'*  I  don't  care  for  any  more,"  Jack  protested  feebly.  "  Give  it 
to  the  girl." 

"  Give  it  to  Sally  1  Why,  lor*  bless  you,  that  gal  couldn't  hap- 
preciate  one-and-eightpenny  corfy  !  It  would  be  sheer  waste.  I'd 
rather  throw  it  in  the  dusthole  at  once,  or  drink  it  myself." 


JACK  DAWE  AT  HOME  Vf 

In  the  violence  of  her  denunciation  of  her  unaesthedc  maid-of- 
all-work,  the  solitary  currant  became  detached  from  her  elbow  and 
dropped  into  Jack's  plate.  This  event  turned  her  thoughts  in  a  new 
and  grave  direction. 

"  And  youVe  hardly  touched  your  ham  and  eggs,  neither.  Oh, 
dear,  dear,  this  will  never  do  ! " 

*•  And  yet  here  was  the  great  spiritual  force  of  the  century," 
thought  Jack,  with  a  pitying  contempt  for  the  poor  critic  of  the 
Edinburgh  Review.  "  Would  that  I  had  never  quitted  poetry  for 
politics  I  But  Matthew  Arnold  spoke  truly  when  he  said  that 
*  Wordsworth's  eyes  avert  their  ken  from  half  of  human  fate.' " 

He  sighed  wearily ;  the  burthen  of  the  mystery  of  all  this  un- 
intelligible world  weighed  heavily  upon  him  after  a  momentary 
inward  vision  of  calm  peaks  and  waters  irradiated  by  the  light  that 
never  was  on  sea  or  land  ;  and  he  ate  a  morsel  of  ham. 

"  Thafs  better,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe,  who  stood  anxiously  by. 

After  a  moment's  silent  reverie,  he  sighed  again,  and  murmured 
bitterly,  **  My  cup  is  full." 

**  No,  it  isn't ;  it's  empty,"  cried  Mrs.  Dawe,  proceeding  to  refill 
it  with  cheerful  alacrity.  * 

'*  Shall  I  cut  some  more  bread  and  butter  ?  A  man  must  eat, 
even  if  it  goes  against  the  grain.  As  your  father  used  to  say,  and 
well  was  his  words  worth  listenin'  to ^" 

"  Eh  ?  "  cried  Jack  with  a  start.  "  Wordsworth  1  What  was  it 
he  said?" 

**  Why,  he  said  we  'ang  on  to  life  by  our  teeth." 

"  Hang  on  to  life  by  our  teeth  1 "  repeated  Jack  wonderingly, 
**  Where  did  he  say  that — in  *  The  Excursion  '  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes  and  no.  It  was  a  fav'rit  sayin'  of  his,  and  some- 
times he  said  it  at  'Amstead  'Eath,  in  course." 

"  That  must  have  been  at  Coleridge's  house,"  thought  Jack. 

**  But  the  fust  time  he  said  it,"  continued  Mrs.  Dawe,  "  was  in 
this  very  parlour !" 

**  What,  here  ?  "  ejaculated  Jack,  in  a  tone  of  incredulity  mingled 
with  awe.  "  He  could  never  have  been  here."  He  stopped  abruptly. 
A  poet  might  well  be  eccentric,  too. 

•*  Well,  that's  good  I"  exclaimed  his  mother ;  "why,  you  know 
he  lived  and  died  here,  man  and  boy,  all  his  life,  and  his  mother 
kept  the  cookshop  afore  me;  and  when  she  died  he  took  a  wife  just 
to  keep  on  the  business,  and  you  should  see  him  make  a  pork-pie 
almost  as  well  as  I  can.  You  haven't  inherited  them  talents,  Jack. 
You  can  make  poetry,  but  I'm  blessed  if  you  can  make  pork-pies." 

This  juxtaposition  of  the  poet  of  nature  and  the  pork-pies  of  art 
was  too  absurd  not  to  make  Jack  suspect  some  misunderstanding, 
but  clouds  of  bewilderment  still  overshadowed  his  countenance. 
The  line  "And  custom  lie  upon  thee  with  a  weight.  Heavy  as  frost 
and  deep  almost  as  life,"  could  hardly  be  supposed  by  the  maddest 
commentator  to  contain  a  hint  of  its  author's  misery  at  keeping  a 
thriving,  but  uncongenial  cookshop.  After  swallowing  a  few  more 
fragments  of  ham  to  save  the  credit  of  his  voracity.  Jack  found  to 


l8  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

his  amazement  that  his  coffee  was  untouched.  He  could  have 
sworn  that  he  had  drunk  it.  However,  he  gulped  it  down  as  fast  as  he 
could,  reflecting  on  the  uncertainty  of  evidence  as  of  everything 
else. 


CHAPTER    HI. 

THE    CABINET  TRICK. 

The  Bethnal  Green  Road  derived  its  name  from  the  almost  total 
absence  of  verdure  which  was  everywhere  conspicuous.  In  one  or 
two  front  gardens  a  few  sickly  blades  of  grass  maintained  a  pre* 
carious  existence,  but  they  were  rebuked  by  the  stony  frowns  otthe 
grim  houses  around.  There  were  several  churches,  and  in  super- 
fluous illustration  of  Defoe's  epigrani,  many  public-houses.  A 
Grecian  ghost  might  almost  have  imagined  the  latter  to  be  Acade- 
mies and  the  barmen  Philosophers,  so  vast  was  the  attendance 
of  the  Intelligent  British  Workman  of  the  epoch ;  and  (o  complete 
the  illusion,  the  inscriptions  **  Private  Bar/'  "  Public  Bar,"  might 
well  be  deemed  to  relate  to  esoteric  and  exoteric  discourses 
respectivelv.  And,  indeed,  it  was  a  fact  that  in  them  the  Intelli- 
gent Britisn  Workman  of  the  epoch  congregated  for  symposia,  in 
the  course  of  which  much  criticism  was  expressed  on  all  subjects, 
by  means  of  an  epithet  which  like  a  skeleton  key  opened  all  locks 
that  hindered  the  passage  of  thought.  The  uses  of  this  adjective 
were  as  numerous  as  Uiose  of  the  bamboo — to  put  the  matter 
briefly,  it  was  "  all  things  to  all  men."  The  walls,  whose  cars — if 
polite— must  have  been  shocked  by  it,  were  gay  with  paint  and 
coloured  glasses,  and  they  closed  round  a  scene  of  ravishing  glitter 
and  gaiety. 

Except  for  these  "Palaces  of  Delight "  the  road  offered  little 
that  was  attractive.  It  was  one  of  those  dull,  dirty,  thriving  business 
streets  which  may  be  philosophically  regarded  as  a  natural  out- 
growth of  the  bastard  civilisation  of  that  age.  On  Saturday  nights 
and  Sunday  mornings  one  side  of  it  did  duty  as  a  market,  being 
fringed  with,  stalls,  whose  bawling  proprietors  might  fairly  be 
supposed  to  do  a  **  roaring  trade."  Its  sanitary  arrangements  were 
assiduously  presided  over  by  an  Inspector  who,  however,  suffered 
from  a  defect  analogous  to  that  to  which  Charles  Lamb  confesses 
— he  had  no  nose. 

It  was  in  a  small  shop  near  one  extremity  of  the  road  that  Mrs. 
Dawe  supplied  the  necessaries  and  luxuries  of  life  to  the  labourers 
who,  although  on  the  margin  of  subsistence,  showed  their  ignorance 
of  political  economy  by  consuming  both.  The  house  was  one  of  a 
group  of  three,  one  storey  high,  whose  lofty  neighbours  rose  on 
each  side  like  the  turrets  ot  a  castle.  Over  the  shop  window  might 
be  seen  the  majestic  legend  recently  painted  afresh  by  Jack  Dawe 
in  letters  of  gold,  "The  Star  Dining  Rooms.*   Through  the  blurred 


I 


THE  CABINET  TRICK  19 

glass  the  *  young  ravenous  "  could  take  a  delicious  peep  at  the 
mysteries  of  the  interior :  the  most  prominent  objects  being  two 
copper  pans  and  a  sprinkling  of  plates,  not  scrupulously  clean,  but 
unscrupulously  dirty,  containing  roley-poley  pudding  and  other 
dainties,  **  the  murmurous  haunt  of  flies  on  summer  eves."  The 
panes  themselves  seemed  to  have  received  multitudinous  scratches 
m  some  street  affray,  and  to  be  covered  with  strips  of  sticking- 
plaister,  longitudinally,  horizontally,  and  at  angles  acute  and  obtuse. 
Each  strip  tempted  the  passer-by,  however,  with  Circean  blan- 
dishment, to  partake  of  the  sensual  feast  Three  notes  of  excla^ 
mation  emphasised  the  statement  that  the  establishment  was  noted 
for  supplying  Good  Articles,  **  A  la  mode  Soup  "  tickled  the  palate 
with  dreams  of  vague  delight  More  definite  were  the  announce- 
ments :  "  Hot  Joints  from  12  till  2,"  "  Plate  of  Meat  and  Vegetables, 
6d. ; "  «  Beef  Steak  Pudding,  3d. ; "  and  "  All  Joints  4d.  and  6d/' 
Presumably  dearer,  because  unpriced,  were  "  Roast  Pork,"  "  Steak 
and  Kidney  Pie,"  and  **  Leg  of  Beef  Soup.**  Lastly,  the  intimation, 
''All  Dinners  sent  out,"  must  doubtless  have  had  its  effect  in  increas- 
ing Bethnal  Green  bachelordom. 

As  Jack,  without  iterating  his  intentions,  stepped  out  into  the 
street,  he  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  The  fresh  air  was  welcome  after 
the  close  odours  of  the  Astrsean  cookshop,  and  he  was  a  little 
bored  and  greatly  shocked  by  the  materialism  so  frankly  expressed 
by  his  mother,  who  hitherto  had  had  little  occasion  to  reprove  him 
for  wandering  from  the  right  path.  There  were  few  persons  abroad, 
and  still  fewer  bore  Prayer-Books  to  indicate  their  destination. 
The  clamorous  peals  of  the  bells  were  unheeded  by  the  majority  of 
the  residents,  and  unneeded  by  the  minority.  One  of  the  latter 
was  a  decrepit  old  lady,  with  a  huge  Psalter,  who  was  tottering  along 
to  St  John's  Church,  which  fronted  the  end  of  the  road,  but  who 
slipped  down  when  very  near  her  destination.  Jack,  who  had  been 
following  her,  picked  her  up  and  offered  her  his  arm  for  the  rest  of 
the  way,  which  favour  she  accepted  rather  suspiciously.  Just  then, 
mingling  strangely  with  the  restless  jangle  of  the  bells,  arose  the 
rude  harmony  of  a  music-hall  chorus,  given  con  brio,  from  behind  a 
partition  consisting  of  tarred  planks  rudely  joined  together.  The 
frequent  interludes  suggested  that  this  al  fresco  performance  was 
a  religious  service,  and  that  the  music  was  sacred.  The  originsd 
jingle  of  the  air  was  retained,  but  it  now  produced  an  impression  of 
decorous  vivacity  fronj  its  being  invested  in  verbal  garments  of  an 
ecclesiastical  cut  High  up,  and  written  in  huge  printing  letters, 
and  in  ink  whose  darkness  could  be  felt,  one  might  read  the  follow- 
ing mysterious  announcement : 

On  Sunday  — 

THE   CITY   IN   FLAMES. 

Come  and  See.    7  o'clock. 

On  Sunday  — 

THE   HALLELUJAH  MAN, 

From  Sheffield 

And  the  Devonshire  Cook 


C  • 


90  THE  PREMIER  AND  7 HE  PAINTER 

During  the  pauses  of  haimony  a  loud  voice  was  heard  ^  holdii^ 
forth,"  and  the  curious  folks  who  were  peeping  through  the  chinks  in 
the  door  could  see  the  owner  of  the  voice  standing  on  a  barren 
undulating  piece  of  ground  and  gesticulating  wildly.  At  the  conclu- 
sion of  each  of  his  brief  addresses  he  demanded  hoarsely,  ''Why  not, 
dear  brethren?^  and  the  chorus,  taking  up  the  riddle,  awoke  the 
echoes  with  a  somewhat  solenm  effect  in  the  quiet  Sunday  ^r. 
lack's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  he  was  thrilled  by  an  indescribable 
sensation  at  the  thought  of  these  poor  fanatics  working  out  their 
^'  *  scheme  of  life  in  their  own  rude  way,  and  lacking  in  their  religion 
^  those  elements  of  culture  and  delicacy  which  had  no  place  in  the 
rest  of  their  existences. 

"  And  this,  too,  is  Demos,"  he  thought,  as  he  took  the  old  lady 
across  the  road  to  the  church.  **  Not  entirely  is  the  spiritual  in- 
stinct dead  in  the  people.  With  good  paternal  government  much 
may  still  be  done  to  raise  them.  Plato  doubtless  sacrificed  Truth 
to  perfection  of  parallelism  with  his  psychological  triplicity  when 
he  found  the  senses  a  sufficient  analogue  of  the  lowest  class  in  his 
Republic.    Christianity " 

"  Hullo,  old  fellow,  where  are  you  off  to  ?  *  cried  a  hearty  voice 
in  a  tone  of  surprise.  Jack  stopped  as  he  was  passing  through  tiie 
gateway  and  responded  mechanically,  '*  I  have  promised  to  read 
tiie  lessons  for  the  day.'' 

His  interlocutor,  who  was  a  young  man  with  a  red  and  hairy 
fiace,  burst  out  laughing  with  boisterous  enioyment. 

"  Perhaps  you're  going  to  get  married  ?'  he  said,  when  he  could 
once  more  command  his  breath. 

The  old  lady  looked  up  indignantly.  Jack,  who  was  by  this 
time  roused  from  his  reverie^  explainea  that  he  was  helping  his 
companion  into  church.. 

'that's  right,"  said  the  young  man  with  good-humoured  sarcasm. 
"  Do  you  feel  your  head  burning,  Mrs.  Prodgers  ?  Coals  of  fire  in 
this  weather  are  a  little  out  of  season.  But  I  say.  Jack,  are  you 
coming  out  for  a  walk  now  or  p^oing  back  home  ?  " 

"  I  can't  come  out  now,"  said  Jack. 

'^  Au  revoirj  then.  I  suppose  I  shall  see  you  to-night  at  the 
Monarch  ?  You  know  William  Morris  is  going  to  lecture  there  on 
'Art  and  Socialism' — how  to  make  the  world  an  earthly  paradise,  I 
suppose.  Ha,  ha,  ha  1 "  And  the  hairy  young  man  walked  on,  too 
much  immersed  in  admiration  of  his  own  joke,  and  in  reflecting 
as  to  the  best  method  of  introducing  it  in  the  discussion  which 
would  follow  the  lecture,  to  note  that  his  friend  did  not  make  any 
reply. 

As  Jack  Dawe,  with  the  old  lady  on  his  arm,  entered  the  church, 
the  vicar,  who  had  just  come  in,  stood  rooted  to  the  spot  A  huzz 
of  astonishment  was  heard,  and  here  and  there  people  stood  up  in 
their  pews  and  whispered  to  their  neighbours.  Immediately  all 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  him;  those  who  had  never  heard  of  him 
being  quicklv  apprised  of  his  character.  For  a  moment  Jack  was 
•    alarmed,  and  he  turned  round  as  if  to  make  his  exit     In  an  instant 


THE  CABINET  TRICK  %% 

the  vicar,  a  white-haired,  benevolent-looking  old  gentleman,  was  at 
his  side,  and  with  tears  in  his  voice  besought  him  to  remain.  "  I 
can  guess,"  he  said,  "  what  chance  act  of  kindness  has  led  your 
steps  hither,  but  the  Omnipotent  works  by  just  such  means.  Who 
knows  what  seeds  of  Faith  the  holy  influences  of  the  spot  may  sow 
in  your  spirit  ?  Often  have  those  who  came  to  scoff  remained  to 
pray,  and  though  I  am  far  from  attributing  to  you  the  former  in- 
tention, I  hope  you  will  remain  at  least  to  listens  Well  might  the 
good  man's  voice  falter  at  the  prospect  of  saving  an  immortal  souL 
For  hsdf  a  century  he  had  worked  in  this  squalid  neighbourhood, 
with  scant  remuneration;  often  wasting  his  energies  on  the  desert 
air,  yet  never  totally  despairing  of  his  stubborn  flock.  It  was  he 
whom  Matthew  Arnold  has  immortalized  in  one  of  his  sonnets,  by 
describing  a  rencontre  with  him  in  Bethnal  Green.  The  poet 
found  him  pale  with  overwork,  but  '*  much  cheered  with  thoughts 
of  Christ — the  living  bread." 

That  inoflensive-looking  man.  Jack's  father,  had  always  been  a 
thorn  in  his  side,  and  by  his  satirical  and  epigrammatic  powers 
had  greatly  counteracted  the  clergyman's  influence  among  many  of 
the  most  intelligent  artisans  of  the  neighbourhood.  At  his  death, 
which  took  place  about  twenty-five  years  before  the  commencement 
of  this  history,  his  adversary  read  the  Funeral  Service  over  him 
and  prayed  for  the  repose  of  his  soul.  The  son,  who  was  then 
fifteen,  had  been  carefully  trained  up  by  his  father  in  the  way  he 
should  go,  and  when  he  was  old  he  did  not  depart  from  it — at  least 
before  this  very  day.  But  whereas  the  father  had  confined  his 
aggressions  to  religion,  the  son  showed  himself  as  doughty  a 
warrior  in  the  logomachy  of  politics  as  in  that  of  theology. 

Absorbed  in  social  studies,  he  shunned  the  billiard-room  and 
the  dancing  saloon,  and  indeed  most  places  of  amusement  He 
had  once  been  attacked  by  the  bicycle  mania,  and  he  still  occasion- 
ally rode  out  on  a  fine  spider  machine ;  but  on  the  whole  he  pre- 
ferred to  spend  his  evenings  in  impugning  or  defending  the 
Government,  according  as  his  party  was  in  or  out.  When  there 
was  no  debate  on  within  a  three-mile  radius,  he  read,  or  (though 
much  less  frequently)  went  to  the  theatre.  Whenever  The  Weekly 
Dispatchy  a  popular  Sunday  journal,  offered  its  prize  of  two  guineas 
for  political  verses,  his  attempts  either  carried  off  the  prize,  or 
received  the  honour  of  print  These  were  not  his  only  appearances 
as  an  author.  Inheriting  the  audacious  profanity  of  his  parents,  he 
utilized  the  literary  powers  developed  by  the  training  of  the  Board 
School  to  concoct  lampoons  and  pasquinades  for  a  coarsely  satiri- 
cal journal,  entitled  The  Freethinker.  So  great  was  his  local  fame 
that  he  had  once  been  Premier  in  a  Local  Parliament,  which  carried 
on  the  business  of  the  realm  in  a  dancing  academy  on  off-nights. 
And  when  in  office,  the  appalling  social  and  political  reforms  that  he 
carried  had  well-nigh  wrought  a  revolution  in  the  country.  Defeated, 
however,  on  the  question  of  Female  Franchise,  he  was  forced  to 
resign.  All  his  measures  were  at  once  repealed  by  the  new 
Ministryi  and  the  country  was  saved  from  ruin. 


1 


22  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

The  vicar  was  well  acquainted  with  Jack's  abilities,  and  re- 
gretted all  the  more  that  ''the  wrong  party"  should  have  got  hold 
of  him  and  them.  If  he  could  only  be  brought  under  other  than 
his  early  influences,  if  the  stubborn  shell  of  unbelief  could  be 
pierced  through,  the  vicar  believed  there  would  be  found  a  religious 
neart  underneath.  And  from  him,  how  would  the  wave  of  Faith 
spread  among  his  friends  and  followers  1  Throbbing  with  intense 
emotion,  the  old  man  felt  the  divine  influx  of  inspiration  flood  his 
soul,  as  in  his  young  days  when  his  whole  being  vibrated  with 
passionate  thoughts  that  struggled  for  splendid  utterance.  He 
threw  aside  the  carefully  prepared  sermon,  and  abandoned  himself 
to  the  torrent  He  took  two  texts  :  "  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  are 
weary  and  I  will  give  you  rest,"  and,  **  The  fool  hath  said  in  his 
heart,  *  there  is  no  God,*  ^  and  sounded  these  two  chords  of  emo- 
tional and  rational  argument  with  the  greatest  skill  and  effect. 
Now  his  tones  trembled  with  pathos,  now  they  thundered  in  im- 
passioned denunciation  of  the  wilful  blindness  of  unbelief.  Now 
low  and  pleading  they  thrilled  the  audience,  and  affected  them  to 
tears;  anon  they  carried  everybody  along  in  a  stream  of  irresistible 
reasoning. 

At  first  Jack  felt  himself  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes,  and  was  pain- 
fully aware  that  the  sermon  was  aimed  solely  at  himself;  but  he 
soon  lost  all  such  self-conscious  thoughts  in  the  exquisite  delight 
he  felt  at  so  powerful  and  felicitous  an  exposition.  He  wept  with 
the  rest  at  the  melting  pathos  of  the  preacher's  appeal,  and  was 
fired  to  sympathetic  indignation  at  the  eloquent  portraiture  of  the 
stiff-necked  race  of  infidels. 

The  audience  streamed  out  of  the  church  at  last,  many  feeling 
themselves  so  spiritually  set  up  by  the  magnificent  sermon  as  to 
be  able  to  dispense  for  some  time  with  religious  thought. 

The  vicar  who  had  seen  Jack  apply  a  handkerchief  to  his  eyes 
came  up  to  him,  determining  to  strike  while  the  iron  was  hot.  Jack 
awaited  his  approach  with  mingled  feelings  of  pleasure  and  regret ; 
he  was  pleased  with  the  beauty  of  the  discourse,  and  he  regretted 
that  the  discourser  should  be  no  spiritual  star,  but  only  *^a  dim 
religious  light" 

"  Mr.  Dawe,*'  said  the  clergyman,  "  I  propose  to  call  upon  you 
to-morrow  evening." 

**  I  shall  be  extremely  delighted  to  see  you,"  said  Jack,  shaking 
hands  with  him.  **  I  was  much  affected,  I  assure  you,  by  your 
excellent  sermon.  And,"  he  added  as  he  turned  away,  "  I  promise 
you  the  next  vacant  deanery  at  my  disposjil.''  And  he  hurried  off 
to  avoid  a  shower  of  thanks. 

Jack  would  have  been  distressed  to  see  the  look  of  pain  that 
crossed  the  benevolent  features  of  the  good  old  man.  All  his  lofty 
enthusiasm  was  shattered  in  an  instant,  and  the  reaction  after  his 
violent  efforts  was  so  great  that  he  tottered  and  nearly  fell.  "  Like 
father,  like  son,"  he  murmured  with  despairing  sadness.  "  No  re- 
spect for  my  grey  hairs.  He  sat  in  the  seat  of  the  scomer  and 
wept  fictitious  tears.  Help  me,  O  my  God,  to  save  this  sinful  soul  I  ^ 


THE  CABINET  TRICK  23 

Happily  unconscious  of  the  misery  he  had  caused  his  faithful 
shepherd,  the  incorrigible  Jack  pursued  his  way  homewards  alter 
bidding  "good  bye  "  to  Mrs.  Prodgers,  who  surlily  declared  herself 
able  to  wsdk  home  without  any  assistance.  Before  her  departure, 
however,  she  had  hinted  to  Jack  that  it  would  have  done  his  mother 
good  to  hear  the  sermon  instead  of  breaking  the  Lord's  Sabbath 
and  getting  other  people's  customers  away  from  them  for  that  day. 

The  road  was  now  much  livelier  than  before  church  time.  A  con- 
stant succession  of  funerals  of  people  in  all  grades  of  death  provided 
the  masses  with  "  amusement  blended  with  instruction.**  A  gloomy, 
bustling  gaiety  was  in  the  air.  Some  "  criticism  of  life,'*  and  espe- 
cially of  the  end  of  it,  could  be  heard  in  which  the  epithet  of  all 
work  played  a  prominent  part  The  fringe  of  stalls,  too,  had  grown 
thicker.  There  were  dealers  in  new  china,  ice-cream  vendors,  fish- 
mongers, and  butchers ;  there  were  learned-looking  quacks  with 
lots  of  rhubarb,  quinine,  pills,  and  Parliamentary  eloquence.  There 
was  one  quack,  moreover,  who  was  regarded  with  intense  jealousy 
by  his  professional  brethren — for  he  was  a  specialist  who  had  con- 
fined himself  to  the  maladies  curable  by  sarsaparilla.  There  were 
fruit  vendors  with  undersized  pints  of  Spanish  nuts  ;  there  were 
costermongers  with  a  perspective  of  greens  vast  enough  to  vindi- 
cate the  right  of  the  road  to  its  ancient  honourable  title ;  there 
were  artificial-flower  girls  trying  hard  to  make  the  lovely  rose  go, 
though  not  in  a  Wallerian  sense  ;  there  were  other  dealers  who 
did  not  come  under  any  definite  genus,  being  what  Bacon  calls 
•'  bordering  instances,"  though  all  might  fairly  claim  that  name ; 
there  were  men  with  small  aquaria  in  whose  green  depths  vegetable 
matter  floated  the  fluid  which  was  called  lemonade  being  drained 
off  by  pipes  into  glasses  and  thence  into  mouths  in  return  for  half- 
pence ;  then,  too,  there  were  popular  processions, chiefly  of  children, 
bearing  foaming  jugs  of  the  staff  of  life,  or  smoking  tins  of  baked 
meat  and  potatoes,  the  lictors  waiting  at  home  to  administer  punish- 
ment in  case  of  surreptitious  quaffs  or  bites.  With  few  exceptions 
the  shops  open  were  those  more  or  less  directly  connected  with  the 
Sunday  dinner :  a  few  put  lip  three  or  four  shutters  as  if  only  in  half 
mourning  for  the  death  of  business  activity  on  that  day. 

Amid  this  stir  of  life  and  death,  under  the  burning  sun,  along 
the  dusty  pavement,  Jack  stalked  on,  regarding  the  scene  from  time 
to  time  with  the  greatest  interest.  Everything  was  text  to  him  for 
long  internal  commentary,  as  tedious,  wandering,  and  learned  as  if 
intended  for  publication.  His  thoughts  flashed  from  the  public- 
house  to  the  Pyramids  ;  from  *Arry  to  Aristophanes  and  Aristotle  ; 
from  the  quacks  to  metaphysics  and  politics  ;  and  from  "  cream 
and  strawberries  'apenny  a  glass  "  to  the  cool  valley  of  Haemus. 

"  O  qui  me  gelidis ^*  he  muttered. 

"  Pretty  well,  thank  you.  How's  yourself?'*  said  a  short,  stout 
man  with  a  clay  pipe  in  his  mouth  and  a  paper  in  his  hand.  Jack 
started  violently,  and  said  he  was  better  than  he  had  been  for  a 
longtime. 

«  That's  right,  old  chap." 


34  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

Jack  was  passing  on  again  when  his  friend  exclaimed  somewhat 
reproachfully,  **  You  don't  ask  after  the  old  woman  !  " 

"  The  old  woman  ?  "  cried  Jack.  ^  I  have  but  this  moment  left 
her !  She  seems  too  feeble  to  go  out  alone,  but  she  didn't  hurt 
herself  much  !  *' 

"'  What!"  gasped  the  man,  opening  his  mouth  in  utter  oblivious- 
ness of  his  pipe  which  fell  and  was  smashed  into  a  hundred  pieces. 
**  :^he  went  out  this  morning  after  I  left  and  didn^t  hurt  herself 
much!^ 

*'  The  facts  are  as  I  have  stated  them." 

*^  O  my  poor  Sally  I  She  must  have  been  mad.  And  that  con- 
founded Mrs.  Gamp,  what  was  she  up  to,  I  wonder  ?  " 

**  Of  course  she  ought  to  have  gone  with  her  to  look  after  her." 

The  man  stared  at  Jack  suspiciously,  but  not  a  muscle  stirred 
in  his  innocent  countenance,  which  was  overshadowed  by  an  expres- 
sion of  pitying  concern.  After  a  minute's  silence  the  stout  man 
gasped  •*  Well,  Pm  blowed,  and  where  the  devil  did  she  go  to  ?  " 

**  To  church,  of  course,"  responded  Jack. 

The  man  heaved  a  sighed  of  relief  and  then  burst  into  a  fit 
of  laughter.  "  You  are  a  oner !  **  he  said  admiringly.  "  Always 
some  joke  about  church  when  one  least  expects  it." 

'^  I  assure  you  I  meant  no  joke,"  said  Jack  in  a  horrified  tone, 
which  caused  his  friend  another  roar. 

'*  Well,  Pm  blowed,"  he  said  again.  "  Hang  it  all,  you  ought 
to  go  on  the  stage,  Jack.  IVe  no  doubt  you  could  play  the  most 
burlesque  parts  without  a  grin  or  laughing  in  your  sleeve." 

"  There  may  be  some  truth  in  what  you  say,"  said  Jack  moodily. 

"  Tm  blowed  if  there  ain't  a  lot  of  truth  in  it,"  said  the  man,  at 
which  asseveration  Jack's  face  grew  several  shades  moodier. 

"  Well,  ta-ta.  Jack.  I'll  go  and  look  after  the  old  woman,  for 
to  tell  the  truth  you  did  give  me  a  bit  of  a  turn.  While  she  was 
about  it  yesterday  she  might  have  had  triplets  instead  of  twins, 
tiiough  it  would  be  a  bad  look-out  when  the  Queen's  money  was 
gone.  Now,  in  the  Republic  that  you  are  always  clamouring  for, 
who  would  do  all  that  ?  If  my  wife  promises  to  go  on  in  that  way, 
I'm  blowed  if  I  don't  turn  Tory  and  support  our  glorious  Constitu- 
tion. Good  bye."  And  he  hurried  off  home,  where  he  found  his  wife 
asleep  and  Mrs.  Gamp  (who  had  counted  upon  two  hours'  freedom) 
carrymg  into  effect  the  principles  of  Communism  by  imbibing  her 
patient's  brandy. 

'^  I  suppoge,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp  with  drunken  dignity,  "  that  I 
may  test  the  kvolity  of  the  licker  afore  I  lets  the  dear  critter  pison 
herself.  There's  some  'usbands,"  here  she  disdainfully  spat  out  a 
few  drops  of  spirit  on  the  new  carpet,  "  as  thinks  hany  thing  good 
enough  for  the  pardners  of  their  buzoms  when  they're  layin*  on  the 
wirgin  of  death.  *Oh,Sairey,'Mrs.  Harris  used  to  say  tome,  which  I  am 
bound  to  say  I  was  alius  much  depressed  by  her  words  which 
was  worth  their  weight  in  gold,  'Sairey,  I  don't  know  how  you  can 
take  so  much  trouble  for  the  small  sellery  and  the  no  perkwisits 


THE  CABINET  TRICK  95 

that  mean  folks  puts  you  off  with.    Yet  your  successes  alius  exceeds 
my  wildest  expectorations.'  ** 

Meanwhile  Jack  Dawe,  unconscious  of  the  mischief  he  had 
done  to  this  respectable  Lucina,  was  in  a  state  of  utter 
collapse  from  several  causes.  He  had  not  yet  recovered  from 
this  condition  of  intense  dejection  and  self-aissatisfaction,  when 
another  cheery  cry  of  "  Momm£^,  Jack  "  and  a  vigorous  handshake 
made  him  wince. 

The  new-comer  was  a  man  whose  jovial  face  readily  lent 
itself  to  broad  grins,  and  it  was  much  distended  by  one  of  them  at 
the  present  moment 

"  Seen  the /?^/5rw/  yet?"  he  cried.  "Sims*  is  awfully  funny 
this  week — he  must  have  had  a  bad  bilious  attack." 

'*  He  generally  suffers  from  a  cold,  I  believe,"  said  Jack ;  ^but 
I  never  heard  that  he  was  funny." 

^^  What  I  Oh,  of  course,  he's  not  a  patch  on  you.  Since  when 
have  you  put  on  these  lofty  critical  airs  ?  I've  seen  you  roar  with 
laughter  at  his  sayings,  anyhow." 

**  That's  impossible,"  said  Jack  calmly,  "  for  he  never  says 
anything." 

*'  £h ! "  exclaimed  the  Refereader.  "  Come  now,  don't  try  that 
on  me,  I'm  up  to  snuff,  old  man.  Why,  you  said  last  Sunday  that 
he  was  well  worth  listening  to  on  any  theme.  You  don't  see  any 
green  in  my  eye  since  then,  I  hope." 

'^  I  grant  he  is  but  a  wreck  of  himself.  But  it  is  surely  cruel  to 
call  him  funny,"  said  the  painter,  disregarding  the  last  question. 

"So  he  IS.  Why,  look  here — and  here — there  I''  cried  the 
enthusiast  in  a  state  of  great  excitement,  pointing  out  paragraph 
after  paragraph  of  a  series  of  notes,  headed  '*  Mustard  »nd  Cress," 
to  the  amazed  Jack,  who  had  hitherto  been  ignorant  of  the  literary 
powers  of  the  great  bass.  It  needed  not  the  signature  of  '*  Dagonet " 
to  convince  him  that  the  singer  had  made  a  fool  of  himself  in  his 
old  age.  This  persuasion  was  at  first  intensified  by  the  feeling  of 
bitterness  with  which  he  read  the  following  epigram. 

"  I  consider  myself  in  honour  bound  to  resist  to  the  utmost  of 
my  power  any  such  proposals  for  giving  the  Franchise  to  Women." 

*'  Letter  ef  the  Premier  to  a.  Constituemt, 

^  Floppy  once  again  declares  he's  bound  by  honour, 
But  at  slipping  bonds  he  can  Creation  lick 
When  the  coors  in  Downing  Street  are  next  thrown  opeii« 
You  will  find  that  he  has  done  *The  Cabinet  Trick.' " 

Jack  read  and  re-read  this  with  brow  afrown  and  cheek  blush- 
ing with  shame  and  anger.    Then  his  face  grew  sad,  and  in  his 

^  A  popular  journalist  and  dramatist  of  the  period—afterwards  member 
for  a  Metropolitan  borough.  Not  to  be  confounded  vdth  Sims  Reeves,  a 
famous  bass,  not  a  baritone  (as  the  author  of  **  Social  Life  in  the  Reign  of 
Victoria  "  affirms),  who  seems  to  have  been  referred  to  amongst  his  friends  b> 
bis  Christian  name. 


26  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

eyes  there  was  a  look  of  infinite  weariness.    He  put  his  hand  to 

his  aching  forehead. 

'*  You're  not  going  to  be  ill,  old  man  1 "  said  the  Refereader,  who 
was  narrowly  watching  the  effect  of  the  joke. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Jack,  with  a  feeble  smile ;  "  it  is  very  biting.** 

^  Which  is  a  treat  for  those  not  bitten.  I  thought  that  would 
bring  you  round.  But,  I  say,  d*ye  think  the  Premier  reads  the 
Referee  ?  Because,  if  so,  wouldn't  I  give  something  to  see  his 
phiz  when  he  reads  that ! "  Grinning  at  the  idea  the  jovial 
man  walked  on,  leaving  Jack  to  thread  his  way  amid  the  throng 
like  a  man  in  a  dream. 

Soon,  to  his  delight,  a  whiff  of  hot,  many-odoured  air  informed 
him  that  he  was  near  home.  He  staggered  through  the  crowd  of 
customers  in  the  shop  and  let  himself  fall  into  the  arm-chair  in  the 
back  parlour  with  a  crash  that  made  the  welkin  (of  the  stuffed 
birds)  ring. 

"Jack,  Jackl  what's  a  matter?"  cried  Mrs.  Dawe, rushing  in 
with  a  gigantic  ladle  in  her  hand,  and  embracing  him  with  it.  **  I 
knew  all  along  as  you  was  queer.  As  I  was  just  a-sayin  to  Mr. 
Green,  it's  too  much  politics— and  his  head  was  always  weak.  If 
that  boy  goes  and  dies  I  shall  never  forgive  him." 

"  Only  a  slight  head-ache,  mother.     I  think  I  will  go  to  bed." 

"Well,  you  know  my  sentiments — you're  ill  from  too  much 
politics." 

She  shook  her  head  and  her  ladle  at  him  in  grave  reproof. 
Her  large,  fat  face  worked  with  contending  emotions  of  pity  and 
rebuke.  Her  cheeks  were  humid,  but  whether  with  tears  or  per- 
spiration it  was  difficult  to  ascertain.  She  kissed  him  and  ran  into 
the  shop.  Much  relieved  at  her  departure  he  mounted  the  stairs 
feebly,  and  got  into  bed.  For  once  Mrs.  Dawe  ate  her  Sunday 
dinner  without  him,  and  the  dainty  morsels  were  swallowed  with 
much  pain  owing  to  a  lump  in  her  throat  caused  by  her  son's 
wasteful  inability  to  partake  of  the  tempting  viands,  which  would 
now  have  to  be  disposed  of  at  the  same  price  as  the  inferior 
articles  on  sale  in  the  shop. 

All  the  afternoon  Jack  had  Gilbert's  Plays  open  on  a  pillow ; 
but  he  read  little,  for  his  thoughts  gave  him  no  peace.  Now  and 
again  he  sought  a  brief  respite  by  gazing  through  the  window- 
panes  at  the  varied  scene  without 

"  Generous  impulse  of  an  inconsistent  soul  I "  he  cried  suddenly 
when  the  lamplighter  was  going  his  rounds.  "  Say  rather,  cowardly 
desertion  of  post  and  principle ! " 

He  lay  back  wearily  upon  the  pillow.  Silence  was  falling  upon 
the  road  now — a  silence  occasionally  broken  by  the  banging  of 
drums  and  the  squeaking  of  flutes  and  the  wondering  dull  murmur  of 
crowds  of  hurrying  boys.  At  last  these  sounds  too  ceased,  and 
nothing  was  audible  save  rare  approaching  and  receding  footsteps. 
He  heard  the  shutters  put  up  and  barred,  and  soon  after,  his  mother 
entered  the  room,  but  finding  him  asleep  she  departed  on  tiptoe. 
Then  he  opened  his  eyes  again.    The  room  was  filled  with  the  glory 


THE  PREMIER  AT  HOME  27 

of  the  moonlight,  and  he  could  see  the  clear  stars  high  up  in  the 
cloudless  blue.  It  was  a  perfect  night,  a  harbinger  of  summer  nights 
to  come  ;  and  a  divine  calm  seemed  to  lie  even  upon  the  fever  and 
fret  of  London. 

But  for  Jack  there  was  no  rest  Far  into  the  night  he  lay  toss- 
ing and  turning  from  side  to  side,  and  from  time  to  time  his  lips 
formed  the  words  :  "  The  Cabinet  Trick." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  PREMIER  AT  HOME. 

**  Uneasy  lies   the  head  that  wears  a  crown,"  would  appear  to 
have  been  as  true  of  most  sovereigns  at  the  period  treated  of  in 
this  history,  as  it  has  been  at  most  other  penods.    We  find  from 
contemporary   records    that  loyal   and    devoted    subjects    were 
frequently   impressed   with  the  idea   that  this  earth — abode  of 
strife,  imperfection,    uncharitableness,    and    trouble  —  was    not 
good  enough  for  sainted  majesty  to  dwell  in ;    and  as  sainted 
majesty  was  never  of  the  same  way  of  thinking,  but  inclined  to  the 
opinion  that  a  crown  on  this  earth  was  infinitely  preferable  to  the 
potentiality   of  one  in  any   other,  loyal  and    devoted    subjects 
frequently  resorted  to  violent  and  explosive  methods  of  influencing 
sainted  royalty's  actions,  if  not  sainted  royalty's  thoughts.    This 
had  a  tendency,  explicable  on  natural,  scientific,  and  other  grounds, 
to  make  sainted  royalty  lead  a  most  uncomfortable  existence  ;  an 
existence  made  up  chiefly  of  cold  shivers  and  precautions,  with 
occasional  narrow  escapes  to  vary  the  monotony.     The  contem- 
porary records  from  which  we  gather  these  facts  differ,  it  must 
honestly  be  admitted,  among  themselves  in  numerous  ways.    This, 
however,  does  not  in  any  way  detract  from  the  truth  of  the  facts. 
On  the  contrary,  it  is  an  axiom  cordially  admitted  without  reserva- 
tion by  historians,  that  no  event  can  be  considered  really  to  have 
happened,  unless  the  accounts  of  it  contain  numerous  discrepancies. 
For,  it  is  argued,  and  very  justly,  different  men  describing  the  same 
thing  could  not  possibly  agree,  unless  there  were  collusion  and 
fEdsificadom 

It  has  been  reserved  for  the  country  that  gave  birth  to  the  poet 
whose  dictum  we  have  quoted,  to  deprive  it  of  universal  application. 
The  head  that  wore  the  crown  in  England  lay  very  easily  indeed. 
It  may  occasionally  have  been  troubled,  it  is  true,  by  visions  of 
having  to  spend  a  few  days  in  London ;  of  ladies  who  did  not 
expose  enough  of  the  upper  part  of  their  persons  to  the  gaze  of 
samted  royalty ;  and  of  Englishmen  who,  despite  all  that  Oscar 
Wilde**^  and  the  example  of  the  Highlands  could  do,  stuck  to 

*  A  gentleman  who  became  famous  at  this  period  —  by  objecting  to 
trousers. 


28  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

breeches  with  the  dogged  resolution  of  their  race.  But  still  these 
troubles,  real  though  they  were,  were  not  enough  to  make  the  royal 
head  lie  uneasily.  It  was  the  Ministers  whose  heads  should  do  all 
the  uneasy  lying;  according  to  the  theory  of  the  Constitution ;  and 
they  did  it  easily,  if  opposition  statements  are  to  be  believed.  All 
the  troubles,  cares,  and  responsibilities  of  royalty  fell  on  their 
shoulders,  owing  to  the  happy  working  of  that  oft-quoted  intangi- 
bility, the  British  Constitution,  which  has  defied  alike  the  battle 
and  the  breeze,  the  historian  and  the  legislator. 

The  morning  sun  that  peeped  into  the  window  of  the  room  in 
Downing  Street  where  the  Premier  was  slumbering,  might  reason- 
ably have  expected  to  gaze  upon  a  head  tossing  restlessly  under  the 
weight  of  vicarious  royalty.  But  no  such  sight  met  the  orb  of  day. 
The  Premier  was  sleeping  with  the  calm  of  an  innocent  child.  No 
visions  of  irate  opposition  appeared  to  trouble  him ;  the  cabals 
against  his  authority,  the  petty  intrigues  that  do  so  mudi  to  em- 
bitter the  statesman's  life,  did  not  affect  his  slumbers.  His  breath 
did  not  come  fitfully,  or  jerkily ;  it  was  the  breathing  of  an  un- 
troubled spirit,  which  the  cares  of  the  world  passed  by.  Deep  and 
regular,  it  might,  by  the  unimaginative  spectator  and  auditor  of  the 
Ministerial  repose,  have  been  dubbed  a  good,  steady  snore ;  but  to 
the  penetrating  gaze  of  the  philosopher,  it  was  symbolic  of  the 
peace  that  passes  most  people  s  understanding.  Even  a  snore  may 
teach  much  to  the  man  who  looks  beneath  the  surface  of  things, 
and  is  not  satisfied  with  knowing  the  mere  physical  chain  of  causa- 
tion which  precedes  the  coming  into  bemg  of  a  snore.  The 
philosophy  of  snoring  has  yet  to  be  given  to  an  expectant  world. 

The  door  opened  gently,  and  a  tall,  handsome  man  entered  the 
room,  and  advancing  towards  the  sleeper,  placed  a  hand  upon  his 
shoulder.  This  was  John  Tremaine,  the  Premier's  private 
secretary,  and,  in  the  opinion  of  many  whose  opinion  was  entitled 
to  respect,  the  real  Premier.  The  Premier  had  other  private 
secretaries,  who  indited  the  numberless  notes,  in  which  the  Right 
Hon.  A.  Floppington  presented  his  compliments  and  remained  their 
obedient  servant,  to  some  obscure  and  inauisitive  individuals,  who 
revelled  in  such  glory  as  was  to  be  derived  from  the  snubbing  such 
missives  generally  conveyed.  But  John  Tremaine  managed  all  his 
\.  private  affairs;  engaged  and  dismissed  the  servants;  paid  his 
bills ;  signed  his  cheques  ;  and,  it  was  jocularly  whispered  amongst 
those  more  intimate  with  the  Premier,  would,  if  events  called  for 
such  a  sacrifice,  conduct  the  Premier's  courtship,  and  represent  him 
at  the  altar.  He  was  connected  in  some  fashion  or  other  with 
most  of  the  noble  families  of  England,  and,  when  at  Cambridge, 
had  devoted  himself  for  some  weeks  to  the  study  of  the  Integral 
Calculus ;  not  from  any  ambition  of  becoming  Senior  Wrangler,^ 
but  because  he  thought  it  opened  up  a  possible  means  of  ascertain- 
ing the  number  of  his  cousms.  He  was  on  the  best  of  terms  with 
the  leading  men  of  all  shades  of  thought,  political  and  otherwise, 

*  The  title  borne  by  the  candidate  who  obtained  the  highest  place  in  a 
mathematical  examination  at  Cambridge  University. 


THE  PREMIER  AT  HOME  29 

and  was  thus  in  a  position  to  keep  the  Premier  well  posted  up  in 
all  that  was  going  on.  In  addition  to  this,  his  general  intimacy 
with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  enabled  him  to  conduct  deli- 
cate negotiations  without  attracting  undue  attention.  Somehow  or 
other,  he  managed  to  get  wind  of  sdl  the  little  secrets — a  knowledge 
of  which  is  such  a  help  in  the  game  of  politics  ;  and  had  Flopping- 
ton  been  a  man  of  stronger  will,  with  the  help  of  Tremaine's  omni- 
science he  might  have  made  himself  almost  omnipotent.  To  wind 
up,  all  the  records  of  this  period  to  which  we  have  had  access  com- 
bine in  depicting  him  as  having  for  his  master  a  more  than  filial 
love  and  devotion. 

The  Premier  started  impatiently  as  he  felt  the  hand  of  Tremaine 
on  his  shoulder,  and  turned  half  round  in  the  bed.  He  was  in  that 
nebulous  borderland  betwixt  waking  and  sleeping,  that  twilight  of 
human  day  and  night,  in  which  the  real  and  the  non-real  mingle,  and 
waking  and  sleeping  thoughts  confuse  the  half-awakened.  Then, 
as  John  Tremaine  said  laughingly,  "You're  very  late  this  morning, 
sir.  You  mustn't  wander  off  all  alone  at  night  again,''  the  Premier 
sat  up,  rubbed  his  eyes,  looked  around  as  if  his  surroundings  were 
strange  ;  then  he  bent  his  gaze  earnestly  upon  Tremaine,  and  said  : 
"Where  am  I?" 

"  I'm  afraid  you're  not  very  well  this  morning,"  replied  Tre- 
maine ;  who  added  to  himself :  '*  I  hope  to  goodness  those  men 
downstairs  will  hold  their  tongues.  What  indiscretion  has  he  been 
committing?" 

The  Premier  paused,  as  if  pondering  over  Tremaine's  sugges- 
tion. The  official  habit  of  suspecting  a  snare  lying  perdu  beneath 
the  most  innocently-worded  phrase,  was  so  strong  upon  him,  that, 
even  when  semi-somnolent,  he  did  not  answer  hastily.  But  at  last, 
as  if  the  suggestion  of  illness  afforded  him  relief  from  the  per- 
plexities which  had  been  making  themselves  visible  on  his  face,  he 
replied : 

"  You  are  right.     I'm  not  at  all  well.     I  don't  quite  feel  myself 

til  is  morning.     But  it  will  soon  wear  off,  and  then " 

"  Then  you'll  be  yourself  again,"  cheerily  responded  Tremaine, 
adding :  **  Now,  never  mind  church  to-day.  Just  have  a  doze  for 
a  bit,  and  I'll  send  you  up  some  tea  and  toast ; "  and  turning 
briskly  on  his  heel,  he  left  the  room,  muttering  :  '*  He  does  look 
shockingly  seedy.    What  could  he  have  been  doing  last  night  ?  " 

Left  alone,  the  Right  Honourable  Arnold  Floppington  raised 
himself  on  one  elbow,  and  pondered  the  situation.  The  effects  of 
the  previous  night's  adventure  had  not  worn  off;  and  he  still 
appeared  strangely  agitated.  He  had  suddenly  descended  from 
his  habitation  in  cloudland — from  the  official  atmosphere  in  which 
everything  was  rarefied  into  unreality,  and  had,  at  one  plunge, 
found  himself  in  the  thick  of  the  every-day  working  world.  The 
familiar  tone  in  which  he  was  spoken  of,  the  freedom  with  which 
he  had  been  criticised,  had  all  jarred  upon  him,  coming  as  they 
did)  not  from  his  equals,  but  from  men  whom  he  and  his  had  looked 
down  upon  as  poor  creatures  bom  to  worl^  and  vote^  and  die. 


30  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

while  their  superiors  thought  and  legislated  for  them  in  a  kindly 
tehion,  which  merited  reverence  and  gratitude.  Democracy,  not 
as  a  rhetorical  abstraction,  but  in  the  concrete,  had  brought  home 
to  him  the  underlying  common  humanity  of  mankind.  As  in  a 
flash  his  vision  had  been  purified,  he  had  gazed  straight  into  the 
very  innermost  heart  of  things ;  and  that  one  night's  adventure  had 
surely  done  more  to  make  him  a  true  leader  of  men,  than  all  the 
years  he  had  spent  wandering  amidst  the  involuted  commonplaces 
of  officialism.  A  moral  and  spiritual  change  was  taking  place  in 
the  Premier.  He  was  wearied  with  the  struggle  of  contending 
forces  ;,and,  at  length,  relaxing  his  hard,  fixed  gaze,  and  murmur- 
ing gently  :  "  It  wiU  be  best  to  stay  in  my  room  for  awhile  ;  it  will 
give  me  time  to  learn  and  think,"  his  head  fell  back  upon  the 
pillow,  and  he  dropped  into  a  gentle  slumber,  from  which  he  was 
awakened  by  the  entry  of  a  servant  with  tea  and  toast.  This  was 
one  of  the  men  who  had  witnessed  the  Premier's  entry  home  the 
previous  nip;ht ;  and  it  was  with  the  faintest  suspicion  of  a  smile, 
which  all  his  training  failed  completely  to  conceal,  that  he  inquired 
how  his  master  felt. 

"  Not  very  well,  thank  you  "  was  the  reply.  "And— Thomas — 
bring  me  up  tiie  Referu? 

James  stared,  btartledout  of  all  propriety,  not  so  much  at  being 
called  Thomas,  for  the  Premier  left  the  management  of  his  domestic 
affairs  so  completely  in  Tremaine's  hands,  that  his  not  knowing  his 
servant's  name  or  surname  was  not  surprising,  but  at  being  asked 
for  the  Referee,  He  read  it  himself,  and,  if  truth  must  be  told, 
enjoyed  the  merciless  chaff  to  which  his  master  was  subjected  weekly 
in  its  columns ;  but  that  he,  himself— the  Right  Honourable  Arnold 
Floppington — should  desire  to  see  it,  was,  as  he  afterwards  expressed 
it  to  his  fellow-servants,  **a  twister."  He  recovered  himself  suf- 
ficiently to  say,  ^  Yes,  sir,'*  and  left  the  room,  decided  to  read  his 
Referee  very  carefully  that  week,  as  he  felt  sure  there  must  be 
something  unusual  in  it.  In  a  very  short  time  he  returned  with 
the  wished-for  paper,  and  left  the  Premier  to  his  tea  and  toast  and 
reading.  Not  very  much  progress  had  been  made,  for  tea  and 
toast  did  not  seem  altogether  to  the  Premier's  taste,  when  Tre- 
maine  entered  the  room  and  barely  had  time  to  say,  "  Sir  William 
has  come,  sir.  I  thought  it  best  to  send  for  him  at  once,"  when  he 
was  followed  by  the  gentleman  in  Question. 

Sir  William  Lancet,  usually  spoken  of  as  Sir  William,  was  one 
of  the  leading  fashionable  physicians  of  London  at  the  time — a  tall, 
well-set-up  man,  slightly  grizzled,  and  showing  signs  of  age,  but 
sprightly  and  youthful  in  manner  and  bearing.  He  knew  as  much, 
or  as  little,  as  most  members  of  the  profession,  of  the  ailments  to 
which  flesh  is  heir  ;  but  he  was  imbued  with  a  profound  belief  in 
the  recuperative  powers  of  Nature  and  the  potentialities  of  self- 
repair  possessed  by  the  human  body.  He  therefore  interfered  as 
little  as  possible,  either  by  medicine  or  otherwise,  with  Nature's 
healing  efforts,  and  acquired  considerable  reputation  by  so  doing. 


THE  PREMIER  AT  HOME  ^i 

His  manner  was  brisk  and  cheerful ;  he  had  a  confident  way  of 
speaking;  which  inspired  confidence  in  the  patient,  who  felt  that 
with  such  an  ally,  it  would  have  to  be  an  exceptionally  vigorous 
disease  that  did  not  at  once  lav  down  its  arms  and  retire  worsted 
from  the  contest  Diet  be  laid  great  stress  upon,  and  little  cards 
containing  lists  of  prohibited  viands  were  placed  at  the  side  of  the 
wunu  by  his  noble  patients  when  dining  out 

*'  The  sdiool  of  medicine  of  which  I  am  a  humble  member/'  he 
used  to  say,  **  is  scientific,  not  empirjcaL  Medicine  need  no  longer 
be  a  struggle  between  disease  and  nasty  stuff  in  bottles,  tYie  patient 
being  the  sufferer  whichever  be  the  conqueror." 

This  was  the  gentleman  who,  advancing  to  the  bedside,  looked 
searchingly  into  the  Premier's  face,  and  said  beamingly  : 

"  Well,  Mr.  Floppington,  and  how  arc  we  this  morning  ?  "  This 
manner  of  identifying  himself  with  the  patient  had  been  no  unim- 
portant ^Eictor  in  earning  him  the  confidence  of  his  distinguished 
patients. 

''Just  the  least  bit  out  of  sorts  :  slight  headache— nothing  worth 
talking  of,"  replied  the  Premier. 

While  listening  to  the  reply,  Sir  William  had  felt  the  patient's 
pulse  and  inserted  a  small  thermometer  under  his  armpit  Then 
waiting  a  few  moments,  he  took  it  out,  looked  at  it,  shook  his  head 
solemnly  and  asked  to  see  the  Premier's  tongue.  His  view  of  this 
made  him  shake  his  head  solemnly  once  more,  and  then  seating 
himself  by  the  Premier's  bedside,  he  said  gravely  : 

"  Now,  this  won't  do.  We're  feverish  ;  we've  been  unduly 
exciting  ourselves,  getting  heated,  and  then,  a  chill  following,  we 
are  queer.  Slight  enough,  perhaps ;  nothing  to  worry  about,  and 
yet  without  careful  treatment  most  serious  consequences  may 
ensue.     Now,  am  I  not  right  ?" 

"  Pretty  near  the  mark,"  said  the  Premier.  "  I  suppose  I  had 
better  stay  in  bed  for  the  day." 

**  For  the  day  1 "  repeated  Sir  William,  in  tones  which  curiously 
blended  astonishment  and  deprecation,  "  for  three  or  four  days. 
My  dear  sir,  your  life  is  a  precious  one.  I  have  attended  you 
very  many  years,  and  understand  your  constitution.  You  have 
ereat  nervous  energy  ;  but  you  must  not  allow  yourself  to  be  de- 
luded by  it  into  the  belief  that  you  are  physically  strong.  You 
must  have  rest,  and  plenty  of  it." 

Mr.  Floppington  made  a  gesture  of  impatience,  and,  but  for  the 
restraints  which  civilisation  imposes  on  the  natural  man,  would 
have  said,  ^  Silly  old  woman  I "  Sir  William  took  no  heed  of  all 
this  ;  but,  being  started  on  a  pet  subject,  went  on  placidly  : 

*^  Now  that's  an  important  point  by  the  way,  mat  study  of  the 
constitution.  We  are  called  in  to  see  a  patient ;  we  know  nothing 
of  his  constitutional  peculiarities  ;  we  treat  him  according  to  rule  ; 
but  as  the  old  proverb  has  it :  '  one  man's  medicine  is  another 
man's  poison,'  and  he  succumbs.  Now  if  we  had  been  called  in  to 
that  patient  when  a  child,  had  watched  him  growing  from  babydom 


1 


53  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

to  childhood,  from  childhood  to  manhood,  and  from  manhood  to 
middle  age,  we  should  have  known  exactly  how  to  treat  him. 
Unless  we  can  get  that  thorough  knowledge  of  a  patient's  consti- 
tution, we  work  in  the  dark." 

^  I  suppose  the  difficulty  of  the  pursuit  of  medicine  is,  that  so 
few  patients  live  long  enough  to  allow  you  to  obtain  that  know- 
ledge of  their  constitution  which  you  so  desire,"  said  the  Premier. 

*'  Just  so,  just  so,"  briskly  replied  Sir  William,  unconscious  of 
the  implication  of  the  Premier's  reply,  "  but  we're  getting  over  it 
by  degrees.  Now  there  are  some  patients,  like  yourself  for  ex- 
ample, who  have  been  under  my  care  twenty  years  or  more,  and 
I'm  now  in  a  position  to  know  how  to  treat  them.  I  know  every 
minute  peculiarity  of  their  constitutions." 

**  Fortunate  mortals,"  said  the  Premier  wearily;  "  I  never  knew 
before  how  much  I  had  to  be  thankful  for.'* 

Just  then  the  doctor  caught  sight  of  the  paper  lying  on  the 
bed. 

"  Reading  that !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  no  wonder  we  are  feverish 
and  excited.  We  really  must  not  read  these  irritating  remarks. 
Now  go  to  sleep,  and  I'll  see  you  to-morrow.  Good-bye."  And 
off  he  strode,  giving  Tremaine,  who  left  the  room  with  him,  copious 
instructions  as  to  the  course  to  be  pursued,  and  a  careful  descrip- 
tion of  the  Premier's  state  of  health,  which  enabled  him  to  forward 
the  following  announcement  to  appear  in  Monday's  papers  : 

"The  Right  Honourable  Arnold  Floppington  is  confined  to 
his  room  with  a  slight  cold,  accompanied  by  feverish  symptoms. 
Sir  William  Lancet  has  called,  and  is  of  opinion  that  a  few  days' 
rest  will  be  all  that  is  required  to  restore  the  Premier  to  his  usual 
health." 

Talleyrand,  when  informed  of  the  illness  of  a  statesman,  was  in 
the  habit  of  inquiring :  '*  Now,  why  is  he  ill  ? "  But  even  that 
astute  cynic  would  hardly  have  been  able  to  discover  any  deep, 
diplomatic  reason  for  the  Premier's  indisposition  at  this  juncture. 
The  ordinary,  plumb-line  of  the  man  of  the  world  would  have  failed 
lamentably  to  fathom  the  soul  of  the  simple-minded  Floppington. 


i 


THE  KEW BRIDGE  SALON  sy 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  KEWBRIDGE  SALON. 

'*  Floppington  is  more  eccentric  than  ever/'  said  Sir  Stanley 
Southleigh. 

**  He  is,  though  it's  a  puzzle  to  me  what  his  object  can  have 
been  in  being  eccentric  at  alL  I  am  sure  he  would  have  been 
Premier  without  it,"  replied  Lord  Bardolph  MountchapeL  "  He 
can  plead  nothing  in  extenuation — not  even  genius.  Even  the 
leader  of  the  Opposition  would  not  accuse  him  of  that ; "  and 
the  speaker  laughed  heartily.  Sir  Stanley,  however,  continued  to 
look  grave,  as  if  his  estimate  of  the  Premier  was  not  identical  with 
Mountchapel's. 

Sir  Stanley  Southleigh  was  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer. 
He  was  a  genial,  mild-tempered  sort  of  man,  who  was  believed  to 
be  a  great  financier.  By  making  debts  which  his  successors 
would  have  to  pay,  he  enabled  his  party  to  point  proudly  to  the 
smaUness  of  their  expenditure  as  compared  with  that  of  their 
opponents.  His  unfaihng  courtesy  had  earned  him  the  respect  of 
the  Opposition,  which  he  may  have  found  some  compensation  for 
the  tendency  to  snub  him  largely  developed  amongst  the  Ministe- 
rialists. Conservatism  was  to  him  the  fly-wheel  of  the  political 
machine  ;  and,  as  such,  a  most  useful  and  indispensable  part  of  it. 
He  was,  consequently,  out  of  sympathy  with  those  who  wished  to 
unite  the  functions  of  fly-wheel  ana  driving-wheel  in  one  somewhat 
incongruous  combination. 

Lord  Bardolph  Mountchapel  was  a  man  of  quite  a  different 
type.  He  was  a  younger  son  of  a  noble  house,  the  founder  of  which 
had  been  distinguished.  His  descendants  reverenced  him  with 
almost  Chinese  veneration,  and  had,  in  consequence,  carefully 
abstained  from  doing  anything  notable  themselves,  for  fear  of 
overshadowing  his  reputation.  It  was  a  striking  instance  of  noble 
self-sacrifice.  Lord  Bardolph,  however,  had  not  a  particle  of 
reverence  in  his  composition,  and  had  determined  that  the 
reflected  greatness  of  this  progenitor  should  not  satisfy  him.  He 
cast  aside  the  femily  tradition,  and  boldly  ventured  on  the  stage  of 
politics.  He  had  joined  the  Conservative  party ;  but  he  deter- 
mined to  make  it  go  ahead.  Wesley  didn't  see  why  the  devil 
should  have  all  the  good  tunes;  and  Lord  Bardolph  didn't  see  why  the 
Liberals  should  have  all  the  reforms.  He  had  elevated  inconsis- 
tency to  the  rank  of  a  science.  Like  all  English  gentlemen,  he  < 
had  a  fondness  for  horse-racing.  He  had  observed  that  the 
gentlemen  who  occupied  the  position  of  prophets  on  the  sporting 
journals  never  pinned  their  faith  to  one  horse.  They  suggested^ 
different  horses,  in  different  issues  of  their  journal,  as  the  winners. 
By  so  doingy  thev  were  always  able  to  boast,  with  truth,  that  they 
had  **  spotted  ^  tne  winner.  Lord  Bardolph  had  not  fiuled  to  notice 


34  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

how  wisdom  was  thus  justified  of  her  children,  and  *he  adopted 
the  same  tactics  in  politics.  By  advocating  different  policies  of  a 
most  contradictory  character  at  different  times,  he  was  always  in  a 
position  to  quote  instances  of  his  own  foresight.  The  chameleon  of 
politics,  he  was  always  able  to  maintain  that  he  had  sported  any  given 
colour.  He  was  the  Foreign  Secretary.  Nobody  quite  knew  why 
he  had  been  appointed  to  this  important  post  The  only  reason 
given  for  it  was  that  he  had  asked  for  it,  and  that  the  Premier  had  not 
dared  to  refuse  him.  He  was  a  Past  Master  in  the  art  of  translating 
the  dialect  known  as  Billingsgate  into  English  fit  for  ears  polite  ; 
and  a  man  who  could  do  that  was,  as  English  politics  went  in  that 
age,  a  most  obviously  heaven-born  statesman.  Captious  critics 
grumbled  at  his  want  of  knowledge.  It  was  objected  that  he  was 
not  quite  clear  on  the  relative  position  of  the  countries  with  which 
he  had  to  deal ;  and  that  he  had  on  one  occasion  threatened  to 
send  the  fleet  to  a  country  without  an  inch  of  sea-board.  But  such 
critics  only  betrayed  their  own  ignorance.  If  he  had  possessed 
more  knowledge,  he  would  have  met  with  less  success.  Knowledge 
would  have  brought  reflection ;  and,  in  politics,  the  man  who 
reflects  is  lost. 

The  gentlemen  thus  introduced  to  the  reader  were  standing, 
chatting  with  several  other  members  of  the  Administration,  in  the 
salon  of  the  Duchess  of  Kewbridge.  Her  husband,  as  became  a 
Duke,  was  an  important  member  of  the  party  ;  so,  of  course,  he!d 
office.  He  did  not  care  a  brass  farthing  about  politics.  It  was 
open  to  question  whether  he  cared  a  brass  farthing  about  anything; 
but  he  was  never  tired  of  saying  *' noblesse  oblige,"  and  he 
felt  that  his  position  demanded  of  him  that  he  should  help  to 
govern  the  country.  It  was  a  source  of  surprise — not  unmingled 
with  sadness— to  find  that  the  country  did  not  appreciate  the  sacrifice 
at  its  true  value ;  and  that  the  Radical  papers  often  wrote  of  him, 
as  they  wrote  of  the  inferior  mortals  who  felt  that  they  were 
honoured  in  being  entrusted  with  a  share  in  the  government  of  the 
country,  and  not  that  they  conferred  honour  upon  the  country  by 
condescending  to  mismanage  its  affairs. 

If  the  Duke,  however,  looked  upon  politics  as  one  of  the 
necessities  of  his  elevated  rank,  the  Duchess  took  quite  a  differ- 
ent view  of  the  matter.  She  was  a  politician  to  her  finger-tips. 
To  take  part  in  an  intrigue,  which  had  for  its  object  the  coaxing 
over  of  some  refractory  member  of  the  Cabinet,  or  the  detach- 
ment from  their  party  of  some  recalcitrant  adherents  of  the 
Opposition,  was  the  very  breath  of  her  nostrils.  She  looked  upon 
politics  as  a  game  of  skill ;  and  had  an  all-absorbing  desire  to 
know  what  were  the  real,  as  opposed  to  the  ostensible,  motives 
which  dictated  the  moves  of  the  players.  This  desire  was  frequently 
gratified,  and  no  one  was  more  behind  the  scenes  than  Her  Grace* 
Her  name  had  not  figured  in  the  newspapers  when  the  names  of 
the  members  of  the  Administration  were  published.  But  then, 
although  the  name  of  the  prompter  does  not  figure  on  the  programme^ 
there  is  no  person  whote  services  are  more  imDortant. 


THE  KEW BRIDGE  SALON  3$ 

The  laudatores  temporis  <icti  were  fond  of  saying  that  the 
political  salon  had  died  with  Lady  Palmerston.  Her  Grace  thought 
differently,  and  with  reason.  She  held  regular  receptions,  at  which 
one  might  confidently  rely  upon  meeting,  if  not  everybody  who 
was  anybody,  yet  a  goodly  number  of  somebodies  ;  for,  in  com- 
pounding even  her  least  exclusive  social  olla  fodrida^  the  Duchess 
always  threw  in  enough  celebrities  to  make  provincial  nobodies  feel 
that  they  were  at  last  moving  in  the  society  of  their  intelleciual 
equals.  Ministers  and  leaders  of  the  Opposition  formed  friendly 
little  groups,  where  little  comedies  to  be  enacted  in  the  House  for 
the  edification  of  the  public  were  carefully  rehearsed.  Members 
of  the  diplomatic  corps  dropped  in,  and  tried  their  best  to  deceive 
each  other.  In  order  to  do  this  successfully,  they  told  the  truth. 
Civilised  man  finds  this  more  effective  than  falsehood;  and, 
additional  advantage,  there  is  less  strain  on  the  memory. 

There,  too,  the  "  small  fry  "  of  the  political  world  were  eager  to 
show  themselves.     It  was  doubtless  a  great  pity  that  any  member 
of  the  Conservative  party,  who    had  a  seat   in   the  House  of 
Commons,  should  not  have  been  in  what  it  was  customary  to  term, 
Society,  with  a  capital  "  S " ;    that   Society  whose  doings   were 
chronicled  in  the  Morning  Post^  the  Worlds  and  other  long  defunct 
journals,  whose  readers  used    to  take  an  all-absorbing  interest  in 
such  items  of  information  as,  that  His  Grace  the  Duke  of  Mangold 
Wurzel  intended  to  wear  a  white  hat  for  the  rest  of  the  season  ;  or 
that  the  Countess  of  Leicester  Square  preferred  quill  toothpicks  to 
all  others.    But  however  sad  it  might  be,  it  was  a  fact  that  many 
Conservative   M.P.'s  were  not  in  Societjr.     Such  men  had  spent 
their  money,  and  lost  their  self-respect  in  order  to  get  into  the 
House  ;  but,  if  they  had  visions  of  the  two  letters  after  their  names 
opening  to  them  the  doors  of  certain  big  houses,  these  visions  had 
proved  as  unsubstantial  as  visions  have  an  unpleasant  habit  of 
being.    Still,  they  had  to  be  kept  in  good  temper— the  men,  not 
the  visions — and   shown  some  little  consideration;   and  so  they 
had  the  attrie  to   Her   Grace's  political   receptions,  where   they 
were  in  the  world,  if  not  of  it ;  and  where  they  made  themselves 
conspicuous  by  their  endeavours  to  look  quite  at  ease  and  comfort- 
able.     They   felt    dutifully   grateful   for    the    honour    conferred 
upon  them ;  and  Her  Grace  had  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  if 
some  of  her  guests  were  not  all  they  should  have  been,  yet  she  was 
instrumental  in  keeping  the  Party  together,  and  patching  up  many 
a  little  rift  in  the  Tory  lute,  that  might  have  made  the  Tory  music 
very  discordant,  though  it  failed  to  silence  the  instrument. 

This  particular  night,  the  rooms  were  unusually  crowded,  and 
there  were  all  the  signs  of  unusual  excitement.  The  Ministrjr  had 
introduced  a  new  Reform  Bill.  The  last  Ministr^r  had  also  intro- 
duced a  Reform  Bill,  the  most  prominent  part  of  which  was  a  limited 
concession  of  the  franchise  to  women.  But  the  then  Opposition 
had  defeated  them.  Women's  suffrage  was  not  a  thing  the  Con- 
stitutional party  could  tamely  permit.  They  predicted  the  inevi- 
table ruin  of  our  great  and  glorious  Constitution,  if  any  woman  had 

D  a 


36  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

a  vote.  They  harrowed  the  feelings  of  the  country  by  heart-rending 
pictures  of  Britannia  ceasing  to  rule  the  waves,  and  being  reduced 
to  the  sad  necessity  of  pawning  her  trident  They  drew  maps  in 
which  the  Atlantic  Ocean  fraternised  with  the  North  Sea,  no 
British  Isles  intervening  to  check  their  lovine  embrace.  They 
revelled  in  descriptions  of  "Red  Ruin,  and  me  breaking-up  of 
laws,"  and,  drawing  largely  on  their  own  minds,  became  painfully 
familiar  with  chaos.  They  repeated  eui  nauseam  the  impassioned 
arguments  of  their  leader,  Floppington,  till  the  fine  images  of  the 
great  orator  grew  tedious  to  the  ear.  Having  done  all  this  they, 
in  due  course,  reaped  the  reward  of  virtue,  and  were  admitted 
to  have  qualified  themselves  to  introduce  a  Reform  Bill  of  their 
own. 

It  goes  without  saying,  that  save  for  the  absence  of  any  provi- 
sion for  female  suffrage,  it  was  rather  more  Radical  than  the 
measure  upon  which  the  Liberals  had  been  defeated.  It  goes 
equally  without  saying,  that  the  Radicalism  was  due  to  the  pressure 
exercised  upon  the  Premier  by  his  colleagues. 

So  for,  all  had  been  happiness  and  concord.  But  it  was 
whispered  that  some  bold  spirits  in  the  Ministry  wanted  to  go 
further  still.  It  was  an  open  secret  in  well-informed  political  circles 
that  Lord  Bardolph  Mountchapel  and  his  following  were  determined, 
notwithstanding  their  recent  opposition  to  the  limited  Liberal 
measure,  to  introduce  a  clause  unconditionally  enfranchising 
women,  and  that  the  Premier  and  the  rest  of  the  Cabinet  were 
convinced  they  had  gone  as  far  as  they  consistently  could.  Hence 
the  rumours  of  dissensions  in  the  Cabinet,  and  all  the  excitement 
consequent  upon  them.  Would  Lord  Bardolph  resign,  or  would 
the  Premier  give  way?  was  the  question  upon  every  one's  lips. 
When  the  Daily  News  one  morning  announced,  "  it  is  rumourad 
that  an  influential  member  of  Her  Majesty's  Government  has 
threatened  to  resign  if  the  Reform  Bill  does  not  provide  for  the 
complete  enfranchisement  of  women,"  people  were  doubtful  what 
truth  there  might  be  in  such  rumours.^  But  when  the  Standard, 
the  following  morning,  announced  that  it  was  enabled/'  on  the  best 
authority,  to  contradict  the  rumours  to  which  a  contemporary  had 
given  currency,"  everybody  was  convinced  that  a  split  in  the 
Cabinet  was  imminent 

The  ladies  and  gentlemen,  therefore,  who  were  at  Her  Grace's 
reception, formed  into  little  groups,  by  which  the  situation  was  eagerly 
discussed.  The  Premier  prided  himself  upon  looking  at  all  sides 
of  a  question.  He  did  not  look  at  them  all  at  once  though,  but 
in  turn,  and  not  even  his  colleagues  knew  which  particular  aspect 
of  a  question  he  was  regarding  at  any  particular  moment.  This 
charming  variability  gave  his  proceedings  an  interest  they  might 
not  otherwise  have  commanded  ;  and  speculations  as  to  what  he 
would  do  next,  had  replaced  the  solution  of  acrostics  as  the  pet 
amusement  of  the  readers  of  Society  journals.  In  nothing  was 
the  difference  between  the  Premier  and  Lord  Bardolph  more 
marked  than  in  the  one  quality  they  had  in  common.    Lord 


THE  KEW BRIDGE  SALON  37 

Bardolph  was  consistent  in  his  inconsistency  ;  the  Right  Hon. 
Arnold  Floppington  was  not. 

"  Floppington  certainly  is  more  eccentric  than  ever,"  said  the 
Right  Honourable  William  Jones.  He  was  Secretary  at  State  for 
"War  ;  a  position  for  which  he  was  eminently  fitted,  as  he  had  made 
a  large  fortune  in  the  wholesale  drug  trade.  He  was  a  little  man, 
with  pale  blue  eyes,  an  aquiline  nose,  of  which  he  was  very  proud,  as 
he  believed  it  resembled  the  great  Duke  of  Wellington's,  and  wiUi 
a  calm  placid  way  of  answering  questions,  which  the  chronic  state 
of  his  department  rendered  invaluable.  His  mind  was  a  mirror 
which  reflected  with  tolerable  fidelity  that  of  Lord  Bardolph,  by 
whom,  indeed,  he  had  been  forced  upon  Floppington  when  the 
Ministry  was  forming.  ''  I  am  told,"  he  continued,  *'  that  the  other 
morning  being  pestered  with  inquiries  about  what  he  would  like 
for  breakfast,  he  actually  cried  out, '  fry  me  some  eggs  and  bacon 
and  be  done  with  it.'  The  story  ends  there,  so  I  do  not  know 
whether  he  got  his  fried  eggs  and  bacon  or  not  If  he  did,  he  can't 
have  the  hyper-squeamish  stomach  I  have  always  credited  him  with." 

''I  daresay  he  did,"  said  Lord  Bardolph,  laughing.  "That 
fellow  Tremaine  would  go  though  fire  and  water  for  him  ;  you 
know  the  debt  of  gratitude  he  owes  him.  If  Floppington  wanted 
the  moon  his  secretary  would  at  once  commence  negotiations  with 
the  man  in  possession.  And  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  the  story's  truer 
than  the  majority  of  the  anecdotes  you  pick  up.  As  that  pedantic 
Jorley  says,  *  Many  a  man  begins  the  voyage  of  life  with  queasy 
susceptibilities  and  ends  it  a  cannibaL'  Floppington  began  by 
kicking  against  'Tory  Democracy,'  and  here  he  is  appealing  to 
the  plebeian  heart  through  the  medium  of  its  stomach." 

•*  I  told  the  story  to  Rockin^ton,"  observed  Sir  William  reflec- 
tively ;  "  and  with  his  usual  straming  to  be  witty,  he  made  a  stupid 
remark  about  the  eggs  being  laid  by  a  canard^ 

**  1  haven't  seen  the  Premier  since  the  last  Council,"  put  in  Sir 
Stanley,  '*  but  I,  too,  hear  strange  things  of  him.  He  has  passed 
some  intimate  friends  without  seeing  them.  He  walks  about  gazing 
into  vacancy,  or  as  one  of  his  secretaries  described  it,  trying  his 
hardest  to  look  into  the  middle  of  next  week.  He  was  always 
absent-minded,  but  now  he  really  seems  to  have  forgotten  who 
he  is." 

'*  Self-knowledge  is  the  highest  of  all  knowledge,"  laughed 
Lord  Bardolph,  **  and  our  let-dare-not-wait-upon-I-would  Premier 
has  not  yet  attained  to  it" 

''  I  wonder  whether  hell  remain  firm  in  his  opposition  to  the 
Woman  Suffrage  Clause,"  said  the  Right  Honourable  William 
Jones ;  *'  he  was  determined  enough  at  the  last  Council,  but  pos- 
sibly at  the  next,  he  may,  as  he  has  so  often  done  before,  tell  us 
that  he  sees  the  matter  in  a  different  light." 

"  He's  very  fond  of  the  cold  dry  light  of  intellect,"  said  Sir 
Stanley,  **  but  his  mind  unfortunately  is  a  very  prism.  If  he  would 
only  use  monochromatic  light  now." 

**  Oh,  I  believe  he's  determined  this  time^"  interposed  Lord 


38  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

Bardolpb.  *'  My  veiled  threat  of  resignation  put  his  back  up.  and 
to  do  him  justice,  I  don't  think  he'll  yield  to  threats.  His  sus- 
ceptibility to  argument  has  probably  rendered  him  callous  to  other 
and  generally  more  effective  modes  of  inducing  a  change  of  opinion. 
You  see  determination  is  such  a  novel  sensation  to  him,  that  the 
charm  of  it  may  induce  him  to  be  untrue  to  himself,  and  determine 
him  to  be  determined." 

''And  what  shall  you  do  then  ?^  asked  Sir  Stanley. 

"  However  painful  it  may  be  to  go  against  the  wishes  of  one's 
leader,  I  feel  I  have  no  choice.  I  have  committed  myself  too 
deeply  on  the  question  to  change  now." 

"  I  wasn't  aware  you  found  such  difficulty  in  altering  your 
policy,"  replied  Sir  Stanley,  with  mild  sarcasm.  "  But  if  you  don't 
wish  to  expose  yourself  to  the  dread  necessity  of  every  now  and 
again  boxing  almost  the  whole  of  the  compass,  why  don't  you 
steer  a  middle  course,  so  that  you'll  never  have  to  deviate  more 
than  a  few  points  ?  Besides,  you  know  what  the  poet  says  about 
*  the  falsehood  of  extremes '  ?  " 

'*  Certainly;  and  I  quite  agree  with  him,'*  said  Lord  Bardolph, 
with  a  curious  smile.  "And  henceforth  I  intend  to  act  difTerentlv. 
I  have  found  out  the  average  elector  can't  comprehend  extremes.^ 

**  Then  you  will  give  way  on  the  Woman  Question  ?  *'  cried  Sir 
Stanley  eagerly. 

*'  Not  exactly  that ;  but  one  extreme  at  a  time  will  content  me 
for  the  future,"  he  replied,  with  a  malicious  gleam  in  his  eyes.  ^*  It's 
in  the  plural  that  the  danger  lies.  And  for  the  moment  my  views 
are  extreme  upon  just  that  point" 

**  I  don't  understand  the  new  Toryism,"  said  Sir  Stanley,  as  he 
turned  to  leave  the  group.  ^  You'll  be  advocating  the  abolition  of 
the  House  of  Lords  next" 

'*  Not  while  you  and  other  friends  of  mine  are  in  the  House  of 
Commons,"  meaningly  replied  Lord  Bardolph ;  and  then,  he  and 
the  Right  Honourable  William  Jones  being  left  together,  he 
indulged  in  a  suppressed  burst  of  laughter;  of  which  the  Right 
Honourable  William  Jones  gave  a  moderately  successful  imitation. 
They  were  the  leading  representatives  of  the  new  Toryism,  and 
the  frank  confession  that  it  was  unintelligible  to  the  old  school 
afforded  them  genuine  gratification. 

'*  But  don't  you  think  it  will  be  a  mistake  to  push  your  resis- 
tance too  far  ?  Will  it  not  damage  us  in  the  eyes  of  the  country  ? 
What  about  public  opinion  ?"  said  the  Right  Honourable  William 
Jones  when  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  was  out  of  ear-shot 

"  And  pray  what  are  the  eyes  of  the  country  ?  "  demanded  Lord 
Bardolph.  '*  The  country  is  a  gigantic  abstraction.  Let  us  analyse 
it.  For  political  purposes  this  abstraction,  about  which  so  much 
has  been  said,  which  is  quoted  so  largely,  which  is  addressed  so 
magniloquently,  for  which  any  number  of  practical,  shrewd,  hard- 
headed  men  of  the  world  profess  to  be  ready  to  sacrifice  themselves, 
is  a  few  millions  of  men,  ordinary  mortals.  What  is  their  object  in 
life  ?    To  live  on ;  and,  therefore,  to  get  the  bread  and  butter  with- 


THE  KEWBRWGE  SALON  39 

out  which  life  is  impossible.  Some  few  of  us,  the  lucky  ones,  my- 
self among  the  number,  have  the  dead  hands  of  those  who  have 
gone  before  holding  out  to  us  our  bread  and  butter  from  their 
graves.  The  rest  of  this  abstraction,  the  people,  are  daily  digging 
their  own  graves  in  the  struggle  for  bread  and  butter.** 

**  Well  ?  **  murnwired  the  Right  Honourable  William  inquiringly, 
and  looking  rather  confused  ;  for  to  tell  the  truth,  he  rather  sus- 
pected some  allusion  to  the  business  he  had  carried  on,  in  all  this 
talk  about  bread  and  butter  and  graves. 

**  Well,  ihey  haven't  therefore  either  the  time  or  the  opportunity 
to  form  any  opinion  of  their  own  about  politics,  the  way  in  which 
they  are  governed,  or  misgoverned,  as  every  Opposition  says  of 
every  Government  in  turn.  They  have  eyes,  but  they  see  not ; 
ears  have  they,  but  they  hear  not,  save  and  except  through  the 
skilfully  devised  medium  which  goes  by  the  name  of  public  opinion. 
This  is  manufactured  in  laige  (Quantities  by  editors  of  newspapers 
in  their  colunms,  and  by  politicians  on  the  platform.  It  has  made 
things  false  seem  true ;  cheated  through  eye  and  through 
ear.  Now  in  order  that  the  eyes  of  the  people  shall  view  my  con- 
duct in  this  matter  in  the  right  light,  that  is  to  say,  the  light  I  wish 
them  to  view  it  in,  I  have  taken  good  care  to  manufacture  a  very 
large  amount  of  public  opinion,  whose  quality,  therefore,  I  am  in 
a  position  to  guarantee.'' 

"What  are  your  lowest  terms  for  the  article  ?  "  put  in  the  War 
Minister,  who  dearly  loved  what,  with  the  courage  befitting  his 
post,  he  ventured  to  call  a  joke. 

Lord  Bardolph  calmly  ignored  his  satellite's  witticisms,  and 
went  on  : 

"  If  then  Floppy  indulges  in  the  unwonted  luxury  of  a  back- 
bones, and  evolves  from  the  molluscous  into  the  vertebrate  class  of 
beings,  I  shall  resign.  The  Ministry,  I  flatter  myself  will  not  be 
long  in  going  to  pieces.  As  for  myself,  a  large  proportion  of  the 
people,  looking  at  me  through  the  medium  of  my  specially  pre- 
pared public  opinion,  will  be  convinced  that  I  am  the  only  man 
to  whom  they  can  look  for  political  guidance.  I  shall  appear  as 
the  statesman  who  saw  that  it  was  unjust  to  hinder  the  fairer  half 
of  humanity  from  indulging  in  the  exquisite  pleasure  to  be 
derived  from  dropping  a  voting  paper  into  the  ballot-box. 
There  is  a  swift  flowing  tide  in  the  direction  of  the  total  enfran- 
chisement of  women.  I  shall  take  it  at  the  flood,  and  have  no 
doubt  it  will  lead  me  to  fortune.'' 

"You  know,  my  dear  Mountchapel,that  I  have  always  followed 
you,  and  always  will.  But  really  now,  for  us  to  advocate  the  en- 
franchisement of  women — such  a  revolutionary  measure  1 — is  simply 
flying  in  the  face  of  the  principles  of  the  party  to  which  we  belong; 
not  to  speak  of  our  having  objected  to  that  small  modicum  of  en- 
franchisement offered  by  the  late  Government" 

«  Principles  were  made  for  men  and  not  men  for  principles," 
sententiously  observed  Lord  Bardolph.  "Besides,  when  we  are 
alone,  we  two  may  drop  the  usual  cant.    There  is  but  one  principle 


40  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

in  politics — ^to  get  power.  The  present  is  an  age  of  demo- 
cracy ;  which  means,  I  have  been  told,  '  government  by  the  people 
for  the  people' — translated  into  IjaCdxk—populus  vult  decipi  et 
decipitur,  1  he  Doctor  wouldn't  have  passed  that  in  the  good  old 
days ;  but  it  is  faithful,  if  not  literal,  notwithstanding.  To  my 
mind,  rival  statesmen  are  like  rival  tradesmen.  The  people,  who 
are  our  customers,  want  certain  things  done,  certain  measures 
passed  They  think.  Heaven  alone  knows  why,  that  they  will  get 
their  bread  and  butter  easier  if  plenty  of  work  is  given  to  the 
Queen's  printers,  if  more  Acts  are  added  to  the  Statute  Book. 
"We  must  supply  their  wants.  We  must  assure  the  public  that  the 
Opposition  firm  is  composed  of  men  ignorant  of  the  business, 
whose  charges  are  exorbitant,  whose  goods  are  unsatisfactory,  and 
^hat  we,  and  we  alone,  are  capable  of  supplying  Acts  of  Parliament 
-*  first-rate  quality  and  finish  at  reasonable  rates,  with  punctuality 
and  dispatch.  Whoever  does  not  share  my  views  may  hug  him- 
self with  the  consciousness  of  superior  virtue,  but  as  a  statesman 
he  had  better  ]^ut  up  the  shutters.* 

The  War  Minister  stared  in  undisguised  astonishment  as  this 
battalion  of  words  hurled  itself  upon  his  auditory  apparatus.  He 
had  all  along  felt  that  the  policy  of  his  leader  and  fnend  was  sadly 
lacking  in  principle  ;  a  sort  of  sub-consciousness  that  this  reduction 
of  politics  to  the  level  of  auctioneering  was  unworthy  of  gentlemen 
at  times  disturbed  hinu  He  was  the  unhappy  possessor  of  a  con- 
science. It  was  not  a  very  big  one*  it  is  true,  and  its  pricks  were 
not  of  a  vigorous  description,  so  that  he  never  experienced  much 
difficulty  in  ignoring  them  ;  but  this  frank  exposition  of  what  his 
poor  little  weakling  conscience  now  and  then  tried  to  tell  him 
rather  staggered  him.  What  he  would  have  replied  is  uncertain, 
for  just  as  he  was  on  the  point  of  giving  vent  to  his  thoughts,  the 
Duchess  joined  thenL 

*'  And  so,  Bardolph,  vou  really  persist  in  your  ridiculous  fad  of 
giving  women  a  vote  ?  she  said,  addressing  him  in  the  tone  a 
mother  might  adopt  towards  a  disobedient  child  Truth  to  tell, 
she  looked  upon  Lord  Bardolph  as  the  naughty  boy  of  the  party, 
who  ought  to  have  been  whipped  and  put  to  bed  when  he  made  a 
noise,  instead  of  being  allowed  to  stay  up  with  his  elders  to  quiet 
him# 

"  Certainly,  Duchess,"  half-mockingly  replied  Lord  Bardolph* 
"  I  do  not  believe  in  half  measures.  We,  that  is  to  say,  the 
Ministry,  have  wisely  awakened  to  the  fact  that  to  oppose  the 
Spirit  of  Progress  is  about  as  wise  as  attempting  to  mop  up  the 
Atlantic,  like  a  good  old  lady  of  whom  you  may  have  heard." 

He  looked  inquiringly  at  the  Duchess,  as  if  he  expected  her  to 
claim  acquaintance  with  the  lady  in  question.  Finding  she  did 
not  do  so,  he  resumed  : 

"  The  Spirit  of  Progress  (with  a  capital  P,  you  know^  demands 
that  all  who  have  to  obey  the  laws  shall  have  a  voice  in  msdking 
them.  W(&nen  have  to  obey  the  laws,  therefore  they  should  have 
a  voice  in  making  thenu" 


THE  KEWBRIDGE  SALON  41 

^  Stuff  and  nonsense  I "  said  Her  Grace.  '*  It's  quite  time 
enough  to  give  the  people  what  they  want  when  they  get  trouble- 
some, and  organise  processions,  and  are  likely  to  break  windows. 
Then,  I  am  glad  to  say,  we  have  shown  ourselves  as  ready  as  the 
Opposition  to  do  what  is  right  and  proper ;  but  women ^ 

**  Well,  but  women?" 

^  Women  haven't  made  any  fuss  about  the  vote.  I  don't  believe 
any  of  them  want  it.  Why  should  you  cause  a  lot  of  bother  to 
give  women  what  they  don't  want,  and  haven't  asked  for  ?  " 

"  Haven't  they  ?  What  about  woman's  rights  meetings  ?  What 
about " 

*'  Spare  me  the  recital  of  that,  I  beg  you.  A  lot  of  unattractive, 
nxasculine  women  may  have  identified  themselves  with  this  move- 
ment ;  unable  to  exercise  the  power  legitimately  theirs,  they  seek 
after  the  franchise  1 ''  vehemently  exclaimed  the  Duchess.  *'  But 
women,  with  women's  charms,  want  it  not." 

*'A11  charming  women  are  not  like  yourself,"  responded  Lord 
Bardolph  with  a  bow.  "  You  know  the  text,  *  Unto  them  that  have 
much,  shall  much  be  given.*  Its  truth  lies  in  this — ^that  those  who 
have  much  are  always  wanting  more,  and  are  not  satisfied  till  they 
get  it    You  perceive  the  application  ?  " 

"  Scarcely." 

"  The  poor  man  is  content  so  long  as  he  has  the  barest  neces- 
saries of  life.  It  is  the  rich  man,  able  to  gratify  every  wish,  that 
thirsts  for  more  gold.  And  so  it  is  the  women  richly  dowered 
with  all  the  graces  that  charm  man  and  give  her  power  over 
him,  who  long  for  the  vote  that  shall  give  them  actual  poUtical 
power.*' 

"  You  cannot  persuade  me  that  women  want  the  franchise.  To 
initiate  change  is  opposed  to  all  our  principles.  Your  action  may 
prove  embarrassing  to  the  party.  You  are  playing  some  game  of 
your  own," 

'*  Your  Grace  is  pleased  to  be  severe  ;  but  you  are  mistaken  in 
my  motives.  I  simply  believe  that  the  course  I  recommend  is  best 
for  the  party  and  the  country.'*  And  so  saying.  Lord  Bardolph 
slowly  sauntered  away. 

The  Duchess  and  the  Right  Honourable  William  Jones,  who 
had  been  nervously  silent  during  Uiis  conversation,  stood  looking 
after  him. 

"He's  as  enthusiastic  about  women's  rights  as  Gwendolen 
Harley  herself,'*  said  Her  Grace. 

"  Why,  there  she  is  1 "  said  the  Right  Honourable  William, 
turning  round  ;  "  and  Bardolph's  talking  to  her." 

"  Um  1 "  said  the  Duchess,  as  she  bent  her  eyes  on  the  Foreign 
Secretary  and  his  fair  companion. 

The  War  Minister  looked  at  her,  and  then  at  them.  Then  a 
gleam  of  intelligence  set  out  on  a  journey  over  his  face  as  he 
reflectively  muttered,  '*  Oh  1  * 


» *« .? 


A 


^ 


4a  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

CHAPTER  VI. 

BEAUTY  AND  BRAINS. 

A  GRSAT  man  is  dependent  for  much  of  his  greatness  on  his  making 
his  entry  into  the  world  at  a  fitting  time.  Through  not  attending  to 
this  essential  requisite,  many  a  man  has  gone  to  his  grave*  if  not 
unwept,  "unhonoured  and  unsung.''  "Die  sum  which  Milton 
received  for  *'  Paradise  Lost  ^  cannot  be  called  excessive  ;  but  had 
Milton  lived  later,  it  is  doubtful  whether  he  would  have  received 
anything  at  all ;  in  all  probability,  he  would  have  had  to  publish 
his  monumental  work  at  his  own  risk,  and  would  certainly  have 
been  a  loser  by  the  venture,  for  people  would  not  think  it  a  duty, 
in  the  case  of  a  modem  writer,  to  place  the  great  epic  poem  on 
their  shelves,  though  they  never  took  it  down.  No  better  advice 
could  therefore  be  given  to  those  who  wish  to  become  great,  than 
the  counsel  to  be  very  careful  in  selecting  the  period  of  their 
birth. 

This  is  true  of  all  departments  of  human  greatness,  and  not  of 
literature  alone.  Helen  of  Troy  was  doubtless  a  very  beautiful 
woman.  By  being  bom  at  an  early  period  in  the  history  of  the 
world  she  contrived  to  be  immortalised.  In  the  prosaic  epoch 
with  which  this  history  deals,  she  might  have  figured  in  the  columns 
of  the  Society  journals,  have  set  the  fashions,  and  received  that 
highest  of  all  tributes  to  feminine  charms,  the  innocently- worded 
query  of  other  women  as  to  what  the  men  could  see  in  her.  But 
she  would  not  have  set  two  peoples  by  the  ears,  or  been  handed 
down  to  posterity  by  a  great  singer. 

Lady  Gwendolen  Harley  opened  her  eyes  for  the  first  time  a 
little  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  before  the  ministry  of  the 
elder  Floppington  ;  and  though  she  played  a  prominent  part  in  the 
world,  it  IS  not  what  it  would  have  been  had  she  graced  less  prosaic 
times.  She  was  of  medium  height ;  the  meaning  of  which  often- 
used  phrase  appears  to  be  that  short  people  thought  her  rather  tall, 
and  tall  people  rather  short  Her  figure  was  well  rounded  and 
exc^uisitely  proportioned,  with  a  waist  whose  lines  would  have 
delighted  Pheidias  himself,  from  which  it  follows  that  it  could  not 
have  been  squeezed  into  a  nineteen-inch  corset  She  had  a  charm- 
ing face,  perhaps  a  shade  paler  and  more  thoughtful  than  was 
consistent  with  perfect  physical  health,  but,  nevertheless,  not  lack- 
ing the  sweet  fiush  of  rose  on  its  lily  fairness  ;  eyes  of  lustrous 
gray,  now  sparkling  with  intellect,  now  liquid  with  emotion^  but 
at  all  times  the  windows  of  a  noble  soul,  fearless  and  true ;  a  mouth 
not  too  small  *'  for  human  nature's  daily  food  ; "  a  nose  with  finely- 
curved  nostrils,  and  a  somewhat  lofty  brow  crowned  by  a  mass  of 
light  chestnut  hair. 

The  daughter  of  a  man  who  had  held  high  office  in  the  State 
she  had  early  married  a  rising  politician,  who  was  unfortunately  cut 


!« 


BEAUTY  AND  BRAINS  43 

off  before  promise  had  ripened  into  performance.  A  widow  and  an 
orphan,  she  had  found  consolation  in  the  emancipation  of  woman. 
She  tlmw  herself  into  the  cause  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  her 
nature.  Had  she  been  a  mother,  she  might  have  given  up  to  baby 
what  was  meant  for  womankind.  As  it  was,  she  made  the  raising 
of  the  status  of  woman  the  business  of  her  life.  She  wrote  articles, 
in  which  she  dwelt  almost  lovingly  upon  the  wrongs  to  which 
woman  was  subject,  upon  the  disadvantages  under  which  she 
laboured,  because  she  had  to  submit  to  laws  made  for  her  by  man, 
and  man  alone.  Her  friends  sometimes  said  that  success  in  her 
mission  would  be  the  greatest  misfortune  that  Fate  could  have  in 
store  for  her.  Life,  without  any  of  the  wrongs  committed  by  tyrant 
man  to  expatiate  upon,  would  be  dull  and  vapid  indeed. 

There  was  some  truth  in  this.  It  is  sad  to  think  what  would 
become  of  all  those*  who,  from  the  pulpit  and  from  the  printing 
press,  are  alike  engaged  in  endeavouring  to  make  the  world  moral, 
if,  by  some  miraculous  agency,  their  words  took  effect  A  perfect 
world,  with  nothing  to  find  fault  with,  is  too  dreadful  to  contem- 
plate ;  and  more  dreadful  to  reformers  of  all  descriptions  than  to 
any  one  else.  Evidently  it  is  only  the  hopelessness  of  their  efforts 
which  induces  them  to  persevere. 

Undeterred  by  such  thoughts  as  these,  or  the  banter  of  her 

friends,  she  brought  all  the  resources  of  a  clear  intellect,  a  bright 

wit,  and  a  noble  enthusiasm  to  the  work  she  had  set  herself— the 

raising  of  woman  to  a  position  of  equality  with  man.    Her  ideal 

was : 

"Everywhere 
Two  heads  in  council,  two  beside  the  hearth. 
Two  in  the  tangled  business  of  the  world  ; " 

and  so  earnestly  had  she  worked,  that  the  enfranchisement  of 
woman  was  already  within  the  sphere  of  practical  politics.  Indeed, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  unfortunate  opposition  of  Floppington,  she 
would,  ere  this,  have  reaped  the  first-fruits  of  her  labours. 

Her  friends  wanted  her  to  marry  again.  They  regarded  her 
views  on  the  woman  question  as  a  maJady  for  which  marriage 
would  prove  an  efficacious  cure.  Violent  diseases  need  violent 
remedies. 

As  yet,  however,  she  had  not  complied  with  the  wish  of  her 
friends.  Having  adopted  advanced  views  as  to  the  rights  of  her 
sex,  she  included  the  right  to  please  herself  amongst  them,  and, 
with  the  selfishness  inherent  in  the  very  best  of  us,  meant  to  avail 
herself  freely  of  it.  Young,  beautiful,  clever,  and  possessed  of  an 
ample  fortune,  society  was  all  before  her  where  to  choose ;  and 
though  many  men  were  known  to  declaim  against  strong-minded 
women,  not  one  of  them  but  would  have  been  too  glad  to  have  the 
chance  of  proposing  to  the  leader  of  the  much-maligned  portion  of 
the  sex.  As  she  was  strong-minded,  however,  they  did  not  get  the 
chance. 

Nevertheless,  society  in  general,  and  her  friends  in  particular, 
felt  certain  that  sooner  or  later  she  would  marry.    They  took  an 


44  THE  PKJlMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

interest  in  her,  of  which  she  was  quite  ignorant,  and  for  which  she 
would  not  have  been  grateful  had  she  known  it  And  Society  had 
made  up  its  mind— not  an  extensive  operation — ^that  the  happy 
man  would  be  the  Premier  of  England ;  but  whether  the  Premier 
in  esse  or  the  Premier  in  posse  was  uncertain.  In  a  word,  the 
enjoyment  of  the  position  of  wife  of  the  Premier  was  to  be  hers. 
Whether  she  would  enter  upon  it  at  once  as  the  wife  of  Floppingtoo, 
or  await  the  reversion  of  it  as  the  wife  of  Lord  Bardolph  Mount- 
chapel,  it  was  open  to  her  to  decide :  that  much  freedom  of  action 
was  allowed  her, — no  more. 

As  therefore  Lady  Gwendolen  and  Lord  Bardolph  stood  chat- 
ting together,  many  pairs  of  eyes  were  directed  towards  them. 
Animated  groups  filled  the  spacious  rooms.  Ministers,  ambassa- 
dors, distinguished  foreigners,  the  rank  and  beauty  and  wealth  of 
England  were  gathered  there ;  the  majority  discussing  horse-racing 
or  the  latest  scandal  when  they  had  grown  tired  of  airing-  their 
political  sagacity.  The  love  of  gossip  is  deeply  implanted  in  the 
human  heart.  Peer  and  peasant  alike  share  it ;  which  accounts  for 
the  universal  abuse  which  is  its  fate.  Do  we  not  all  hasten  to  read 
Memoirs  and  Reminiscences^  so  that  we  shall  not  speak  in  ignorance 
when  condemning  alike  their  contents,  and  the  depraved  taste  to 
which  they  pander  ?  And  as  these  pairs  of  eyes  were  directoi 
towards  them,  be  sure  the  owners  did  not  fail  to  jump  at  conclusions. 
That  is  a  form  of  athletics  we  are  all  addicted  to.  One  can  succeed 
in  it  without  training.  But  there  were  restless  figures  here  and 
there,  whose  mental  gymnastics  did  not  take  this  conventional 
form.  An  archbishop  was  discussing  the  indecent  suggestions 
afforded  to  impure  minds  by  ballet-dancing,  as  tested  by  his  own 
intuition;  a  brilliant  landscape-painter  was  priding  himself  on 
never  having  painted  Nature  from  the  nude;  a  professor  of  Eso- 
teric Buddhism  was  expounding  the  successive  re-incarnations  of 
spirits  on  their  upward  course  from  Liberalism  to  Conservatism ; 
an  Egyptologist  whose  fondness  for  antiquities  made  him  an  enthusi* 
astic  lover  of  high  old  Toryism,  was  boring  an  interested  group 
with  his  solution  of  cryptogramic  papyri;  a  disciple  of  Maurice  was 
boasting  of  his  humility  to  an  mfidel  native  Indian,  whom  the 
Carlton  was  going  to  put  up  at  the  autumn  elections;  an  able 
editor  was  busily  engaged  in  a  series  of  confidential  conversations, 
in  which  the  confidences  were  all  on  one  side;  a  fascinating 
member  of  that  once  celebrated  league,  which  turned  '^a  prim- 
rose by  the  river's  brim  '*  into  a  pitcher-plant  for  luring  in  the 
unwary,  was  endeavouring  to  strengthen  the  political  faith  of  a 
somewhat  slippery  adherent  by  skilfully  avoiding  any  reference  to 
politics. 

But  the  scope  of  this  history  sternly  vetoing  indiscriminate 
eavesdropping,  the  historian  must  reluctantly  leave  in  the  silence 
which  sooner  or  later  overtook  them  these,  and  many  other 
ardent  talkers  who  have  long  since  crumbled  into  dust : — ^is  not 
Kewbridge  House  too,  with  all  its  glories,  a  dream  of  the  past ;  its 
heartburnings  and  its  airy  badinage,  its  galaxies  of  beauty  and  wit, 


r 


BEAUTY  AND  BRAINS  45 

Its  very  dulnesses  alike  sanctified  by  the  glamour  of  intervening 
centuries? 

*'  At  last  I  pay  my  homage  to  the  goddess  of  the  cause,  nay, 
bum  incense  at  her  shrine  of  which  I  am  the  priest,"  laughingly 
said  Lord  Bardolph  to  Lady  Gwendolen,  looking  at  her  however 
with  an  earnestness  that  belied  the  lightness  of  his  tone. 

"The  goddess  accepts  your  homage,"  she  answered  with  a 
winning  smile ;  "  but  have  the  goodness  to  refrain  from  burning  the 
incense  of  flattery.  Priests  are  too  much  addicted  to  that  sort  ot 
thing;  and  the  dwellers  on  Olympus  are  weary  of  hearing  their 
praises  sung  by  mortals.  Gods  and  goddesses,  you  know,  may  not 
be  too  clever,  but  they  possess  more  intelligence  than  most  of  their 
worshippers  appear  to  credit  them  with." 

*'  The  incense  I  burn  is  that  of  truth,''  replied  Lord  Bardolph  in 
a  mock  heroic  tone. 

*•  Then  be  careful  lest  its  novelty  prove  too  much  for  my  un- 
accustomed nerves,**  said  Lady  Gwendolen.  *'  But  let  us  descend 
from  the  empyrean,  and  tread  the  earth.  Is  it  true  that  you  intend 
to  resign  ?  " 

**  It  is,"  he  replied,  lowering  his  tone  confidentially. 
"Why?" 

**  Surely  you  know,"  he  said,  with  tender  reproach.  "  Ministers 
of  different  creeds  never  pull  together  well,  especially  when  one  of 
them  has  just  been  converted  to  the  faith  he  professes.    So  unless 

I  can  make  a  proselyte  of  my  fellow  minister ** 

"  But  will  he  remain  firm  ?  He  is  so  very  vacillating,"  she  said 
musingly ;  and  a  shade  of  sadness  came  over  her  face,  but  whether 
in  sorrow  for  the  Premier's  vacillation  or  in  fear  lest  he  should 
prove  firm,  it  would  be  difficult  to  determine.  Probably  both  emo- 
tions swayed  her  equally  at  the  moment.  Emotions  have  a  logic 
of  their  own,  and  Lady  Gwendolen  had  never  paused  to  analyse 
her  own  wishes ;  never  thoroughly  realised  their  inconsistency  and 
never  mentally  faced  the  situation  in  the  event  either  of  his  yield- 
ing or  of  his  remaining  firm. 

"  I  think  he  will,"  replied  Lord  Bardolph,  endeavouring  to 
answer  indifferently  ;  and  yet  unable  to  prevent  a  note  of  triumph 
becoming  audible  to  the  keen  ears  of  his  companion.  "It  was  not 
without  difficulty  that  I — that  is  to  say,  we — induced  him  to  decide 
for  a  Reform  Bill  at  all.  His  mind  kept  the  pros  and  cons  of  it 
dancing  up  and  down,  like  a  juggler  with  balls.  The  pros  had  it 
at  last  The  pros  of  woman  suffrage,  however,  have  not  been  so 
fortunate.  I  have  tried  to  convince  him  of  its  necessity,  but  in 
vain.  But  I  do  not  wonder  that  I  should  have  failed,  when  possi- 
bly  ",  and  he  stopped,  as  though  afraid  to  venture  to  put  his 

thought  into  words. 

She  knew  what  he  was  about  to  say,  as  well  as  if  he  had  finished 
the  sentence.  A  slight  blush  tinged  her  cheek,  and  then  left  her 
pal&  as  she  unconcernedly  said  : 

*•  When  possibly " 

''You,  the  high  priestess  of  the  cause  had  failed,"  he  said, 


46  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

lowering  his  gaie,  and  yet  never  losing  sight  of  her  face  for  a 
moment  He  had  a  purpose  in  every  word  he  uttered ;  and  marks- 
man nev^  scanned  target  more  eagerly,  than  he  did  her  counte- 
nance. 

If  he  expected  her  to  betray  any  trace  of  disappointment  or 
annoyance,  his  expectation  was  not  gratified. 

She  laughed  gaily  as  she  replied : 

^^  Bat  a  few  short  minutes  ago  I  was  a  goddess,  now  J  am  but 
a  priestess.  How  are  the  mighty  fallen  ! "  Then,  with  just  the 
slightest  suspicion  of  malice  in  her  tones,  she  added  :  '^  Not  every 
one  is  so  readily  converted  as  yourself.  But  have  you  fully  weighed 
all  the  consequences  of  your  action  in  retiring  from  the  Ministry?" 

''  I  have  espoused  the  extension  of  the  franchise  to  women  too 
strongly  to  admit  of  my  remaining  a  member  of  a  Cabinet  which 
will  not  introduce  it  into  the  Reform  Bill.  My  honour  is  at  stake. 
It  may  be  that  I  am  ruining  my  hopes  of  a  political  career  by  my 
devotion  to  you — to  your  cause.  But  I  have  put  my  hand  to  the 
plough  and  I  cannot,  in  honour,  draw  back.'' 

'*  Your  sentiments  and  your  conduct  alike  do  you  credit,"  said 
she,  with  a  mocking  inflection  that  took  some  of  the  charm  from 
the  compliment  '^  But  it  is  not  improbable  that  your  pessimistic 
anticipations  may  never  be  realised.  You  may  perhaps  find,  if  you 
will  pardon  the  perversion  of  the  Laureate's  words — 

'  That  politicians  rise  on  stepping  stones 
Of  flouted  chiefs,  to  higher  things.' " 

''That  poor  Laureate !  I  often  wonder  whether  his  lines  are  so 
frequently  perverted  because  he  is  popular ;  or  whether  he  is  popu- 
lar because  his  lines  lend  themselves  so  readily  to  perversion.  I 
incline  to  die  latter  view  myself/'  said  Lord  Bardolph,  with  simu- 
lated gaiety.  Then  changing  his  tones  he  said  seriously :  "  1 
know  you  approve  my  action  ;  why  then  so  harshly  misjudge  my 
motive  ?  You  know  how  I  value  your  good  opinion  ;  you  know " 

"Really  you  misunderstand  me,"  replied  Lady  Gwendolen, 
evidently  anxious  to  prevent  the  conversation  taking  the  turn 
Lord  Bardolph  seemed  eager  to  give  it  "  I  do  not  misjudge 
your  motives.  On  the  contrary,  I  wished  to  give  you  some  en- 
couragement by  reminding  you  of  the  possibility  that  your  virtue 
might  not  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  its  own  reward.'* 

*^  Enfin  je  U  irouve^^  joyfully  exclaimed  a  shrill,  feminine 
voice. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  have  had  any  trouble,  Madame  Drapeau- 
rouge,"  responded  Lady  Gwendolen,  beaming  gracious  welcome  on 
a  weazened,  scraggy  personage.  "  The  rooms  are  certainly  more 
crowded  than  I  remember  them  for  a  long  time/* 

*'  Oui,  All  the  world  expects  Monsieur  Floppington,  nUst  a 
pas  f    Do  you  believe  that  he  will  arrive  ?" 

*^  I  really  don't  know,"  murmured  Gwendolen,  blushing,  her 
heart  beating  a  trifle  more  rapidly  at  the  suggested  prospect. 

**  He'd  do  better  to  stick  to  his  St.  Augustine,"  thought  Lord 


BEAUTY  AND  BRAINS  47 

Kf  ottfitchapeL  sauntering  away  in  disgust.  "  I  didn't  bargain  for 
tlie  old  hermit  turning  up  again." 

''  What  a  contrast  between  those  two  ladies  under  the  chandelier ! 
\Aaio  are  they?" 

*'Yes.  Bringing  them  together  is  a  master-stroke  of  the 
IDuchess's.  The  angelically  beautiful  one  is  Lady  Harley,  and  the 
devilishly  ugly  one  is  Madame  Drapeaurouge.''  The  querist  was  a 
young  newly-imported  Gum-sucker.'*  At  home  he  had  signalised 
himself  and  his  ignorance  by  writing  a  flippant  satire  on  every- 
thing under  the  sun  in  the  form  of  a  political  burlesque,  and  his 
shyness  in  society  was  only  equalled  by  his  audacity  on  paper.  His 
interlocutor  was  the  famous  Marquis  of  Rockington,  whose  tragic 
fate  has  made  kim  so  popular  a  historical  character,  though  his 
colloquial  powers  and  his  escapades  alone  would  have  ensured  him 
such  immortality  as  is  conferred  by  frequent  mention  in  the 
memoirs  of  the  period.  He  was,  as  everybody  knows,  a  violent 
Tory  ;  but  it  would  seem  that  his  principles  were  based  more  upon 
an  instructive  repugnance  to  those  of  the  canaille  than  upon 
reason.  He  loved  Conservatism,  although  he  knew  it  was  ridicu- 
lous, and  hated  Liberalism  because  it  was.  The  absurdity  of  the 
one  was  the  cobweb  round  port,  that  of  the  other  the  cobweb  in 
the  garret-window.  His  face — which  has  been  preserved  for  us  by 
the  pencil  of  Erlyon— was  disfigured  by  a  squint,  so  that  he  was 
singularly  successful  in  his  amours  ;  and  his  mental  observation  of 
people  had  frequently  the  same  obliqueness  as  his  physical  Having 
a  sharp  eye  for  dulness  and  a  dull  eye  for  sharpness,  he  was  a  man 
to  whom  Truth  was  indeed  a  friend,  but  Epigram  a  boon  com- 
panion. He  was,  therefore,  a  causeur^  and  of  the  type,  even  then 
almost  extinct,  of  those  who  do  not  reserve  all  their  talk  for  print. 
Authors  found  conversation  with  him  very  inspiring  ;  but  he  had 
apparently  not  succeeded  in  inspiring  himself  to  sufficient  flights 
of  dulness  to  satisfy  an  English  audience.  A  comedy  which  he 
had  produced  at  the  Haymarket,  had  been  damned  for  its  wit ;  but 
as  a  compensation,  a  play  of  his,  which  had  been  brought  out  at 
the  Oddon,  had  been  hissed  off  the  boards  for  its  immorality.  But 
his  literary  life  had  been  the  least  part  of  his  existence.  He  had 
roved  over  the  world  for  adventure ;  in  his  own  words, "  a  personifi- 
cation of  peripatetic  many-sided  aimlessness." 

**  Madame  Drapeaurouge,  the  famous  Republican !  *  cried 
Oudeis,  for  such  was  the  satirist's  modest  nom  de  guerre,  "  Im- 
possible !     How  came  she  here  ?  " 

'*  As  a  warning  to  ladies  of  the  effects  of  RadicalisnL  No  one  is 
here  without  some  reason.  For  instance,  that  lady  in  green  assists 
our  cause  in  quite  an  original  way.  She  is  a  high-class  spiritualist 
medium,  with  a  large  acquaintance  amongst  ghosts  of  the  best 
families,  and  she  locates  all  the  deceased  Radicals  in  ShSol,  as  the 
modern  version  hath  it    Apropos,"  added  the  Marquis  quickly 

*  This  was  the  name  given  to  the  natives  of  Victoria,  a  province  of  the 
great  Australian  Empire,  which  at  this  time  was  a  comparatively  insignificant 
dependency  of  Britain. 


48  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

seeing  the  dawning  suspicion  on  the  listener's  &ce  ;    ^  there  it 

Bishop  Worldleigh,  one  of  the  revisers." 

'^  From  what  Pve  heard  of  him,  he  wouldn't  mind  beings  trans- 
lated afresh  himself,"  said  Oudeis,  unconsciously  plagiarising  from 
his  ovmjeu  d* esprit.  "  But  a  revised  version  of  Aim  could  not  but 
be  an  improvement,  whereas—' 

^'  Take  care.  If  he  overhears  you  making  fun  of  him,  he  will 
mistake  you  tor  one  of  his  friends,  and  buttonhole  you." 

*'  Well,  tell  me  about  Lady  Harley.  I  have  been  watching  her 
eyes.    What  laughing  tenderness  I " 

'*  Young  man,  don't  be  poetical  and  don't  fell  in  love.  Her  lady- 
ship, it  is  whispered,  is  to  be  led  to  the  altar  by  nothing  under  a 
Prime  Minister,  and  it  is  hardly  likely  she  will  wait  for  you.  She 
is  a  special  study  of  mine — and  I  perceive  of  yours  too — it's  so 
rare  to  find  a  woman  who  unites  blue  stockings  with  blue  blood, 
and  beauty  with  both.  She  is  proud  without  being  vain,  and  I 
suspect  she  is  emotional.  She  loves  to  talk  to  poets,  and  see,  she 
is  even  now  turning  to  the  young  sonneteer  of  the  National  Review, 
If  only  she  would  insist  less  on  adding  to  the  burdens  of  her  sex 
by  giving  them  the  responsibility  of  a  vote  I  But  there  is  this  dif- 
ference between  a  man's  hobby  and  a  woman's — 2l  man  is  vul- 
garised by  his  hobby,  a  woman  beautifies  hers.  Tis  pleasant  to 
talk  to  her.  We  live  in  an  ocean  of  lies,  and  only  occasionally 
come  to  the  surface  to  breathe." 

''And  do  you  mean  to  say  that  Floppington  aspires  to  her 
hand?" 

''So  his  rivals  fear,  or,  perhaps  I  had  better  say  feared,  for  I 
understand  that  since  he  began  to  lead  the  opposition  to  the  Fe- 
male Sufirage  Reforms  of  the  late  Government — mind,  I  didn't  say 
because — there  has  been  a  coldness  between  them.  If,  as  expected, 
he  turns  up  to-night  (which  I  doubt,  for  he's  not  appeared  in  society 
for  months),  their  meeting  ought  to  be  dramatic,  and  I  should 
advise  you  to  keep  your  eye  on  it." 

"It  seems  harder  to  believe  she's  in  love  with  him  than  that 
he's  in  love  with  her.  I  wonder  what's  the  source  of  the  attraction 
— ^his  gravity  ?  " 

"  Don't  pun,  there's  a  good  fellow.  No  present-day  pun  can  be 
old  enough  to  be  original" 

"  WeU,  I  won't,  though  I  was  really  in  earnest  But  if  it  isn't 
his  gravity  that  she  admires,  what  tf  it?  Perhaps  she  reverences 
his  age.     It  must  be  twice  as  great  as  hers." 

"  My  dear  boy,  in  the  first  place  no  one  thinks  age  venerable 
till  he  is  old  himself;  and  in  the  second,  there's  not  more  ^an 
fourteen  years'  difference  between  thenL    She  is  a  widow  of ^' 

"  Twenty-two,  at  most" 

^  Twenty-eight,  at  least  And  he  is  about  forty-two,  and  mar- 
vellously young  for  his  position.'' 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  him  making  such  rapid  headway,  when  I 
consider  the  strength  of  his  ambition.  A  man  that  preferred  office 
to  Lady  Harley " 


BEAUTY  AND  BRAINS  49 

'*They  do  say  he's  a  wonderful  opportunist,  but  I  don't  believe 
it,  unless  perhaps,  the  greatest  opportunist  is  he  who  resigns  at 
the  most  inopportune  moment ;  for  though  he  resigned  his  Home 
Secretaryship  m  the  last  Conservative  Cabinet  when  the  Ministry 
was  at  the  zenith  of  its  popularity,  it  turned  out,  as  few  had  fore- 
seen till  after  the  event,  that  he  had  been  far-sighted  enough  to 
descry  the  coming  turn  in  the  tide  of  opinion.  But,  as  Premier, 
he  has  made  a  horrible  mess  of  everj^hing,  as  you  laiow.  He 
has  had  his  day,  though  to  be  sure  it  was  not  an  Arctic  one, 
and  in  all  likelihood  his  Premiership  will  be  as  much  a  failure  as 
his  verses  are  :  we  shall  never  see  a  second  edition  of  either.  He 
is  a  Christian  as  well  as  a  poet,  so  how  could  he  expect  to  manage 
a  Cabinet  ?  I  will  sa^r  this  for  him,  though,  that  he  is  thoroughly 
consistent  all  round  in  his  want  of  originality.  He  took  his 
Christianity  from  Coleridge,  his  poetry  from  Wordsworth,  and 
his  politics  from  the  Family  Bible,  and  —  and  the  family 
'scutcheon." 

^  But  his  speeches  are  surely  original  ?  How  they  glow  with 
the  spirit  of  the  highest  traditions  of  Toryism  I  How  he  stirs  the 
blooa  when  he  calls  upon  his  hearers  to  maintain  the  power  and 
the  glory  of  England,  or  to  preserve  the  integrity  of  the  Empire  I 
In  Victoria  we  look  upon  them  as  models  of  oratory." 

^  Models  of  high  falutin' ! "  replied  Roddngton  disdainfully. 
''  We  shall  lose  the  next  election  through  him,  any  way  ;  just  when 
there  was  a  rift  in  that  cloud  of  vulgar  blatant  demagoguism 
which  has  so  long  overshadowed  the  political  firmament  I  hope 
his  career  will  bring  home  the  much  needed  lesson  that  a  man 
will  not  necessarily  make  practical  speeches  in  office,  because 
he  has  made  poetical  ones  in  opposition.  The  only  (qualification 
Floppinp^on  has  for  his  post,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  is  his  trick 
of  reverie,  which  often  makes  him  miss  the  sense  of  a  long  ques- 
tion. You  smile,  but  you  mustn't  think  I  am  talking  cynically. 
On  the  contrary,  I  am  in  one  of  my  most  sentimental  moods 
to-night.  Whether  Lady  Harley  is  to  blame  for  it  I  don't  know, 
but  really  I  never  felt  so  sympathetic  towards  the  poor  Premier 
before.  I  have  already  risked  my  reputation  by  maintaining 
that  he  was  sincere,  and  now  I  don't  mind  avowing  that  though 
he   often  irritates  me  by  his  ineptitude,  I   pity  him  from  the 

bottom  of  my What  a  nuisance  these  popular  idioms  are, 

you  are  forced  to  talk  of  your  heart  or  your  soul  whether  you 
have  got  them  or  not?  Poor  Floppington,  stung  by  a  million 
criticasters,  and  worried  by  a  hundred  anxieties  !  He  always 
reminds  me  of  a  delicate  hot-house  plant  struggling  in  the  cold 
air  amid  a  crowd  of  hardy  perennials.  But  this  last  remark 
strictly  entre  nous  /  " 

''  Why  ?  "  inquired  Oudeis  in  astonishment 

'*  Because  the  comparison  is  trite  !    But  it's  the  one  that  natur 
ally  occurs  to  me  for  all  that.    Yes,  Floppington  is  no  more  fitted 
for  his  place  in  the  Cabinet  than  he  is  for  anything  else,  save  the 
scriptorium  of  a  mediaeval  monastery.    He  is  a  pure  survival  of  the 


56  THE  PREMTEn  AND  THE  PAINTER 

ages  of  faith ;  which  is  all  the  more  surprising,  because  bis  family 
has  always  been  so  worldly/' 

''  According  to  you,  tlien,  a  place  in  the  Cabinet  of  a  Muse«n 
would  be  the  most  appropriate  situation  for  him.  But  surely  his 
Reform  Bill  is  advanced  enough." 

^  Granted ;  but  what  does  that  prove  ?  Why,  thi&  That  his 
distrust  in  himself  makes  him  defer  to  the  dogmatic  opinioRS  of 
his  colleagues.  1  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  the  g^uidias 
spirit  of  tbe  Reform  Biil  is  Mountchapel,  and  I  quite  believe  the 
report  that  he  is  trying  his  hardest  to  worry  his  chief  into  com- 
pliance with  his  new  policy  of  extending  its  articles  to  women." 

*<  Do  you  think  he  will  succeed  ?  '* 

'^  Quien  sahe  ?  But  if  our  principles  cannot  win  the  battle^  save 
by  assuming  the  helmet  of  invisibility,  or  by  dressing  themselves 
in  the  uniform  of  their  enemies,  then  may  the  devil  save  us  from 
such  victories,  say  I.  If  Hodgje  and  the  buttermao  are  to  regulate 
my  morals  and  my  taxes,  why,  the  sooner  we  give  up  pretendia^f 
that  Conservatism  exists  to  keep  off  the  reign  of  pcagreatic  dvkiess 
the  better.  Let  us  emblazon  on  our  banner,  Vive  la  biUsey  aad  the 
country  will  follow  us  to  a  man.  Vm  sure  I  don't  see  why  Momit- 
chapel's  Reform  Bill — I  sa^  Mount  chapel's  advisedly — drew  the 
line  at  criminals  and  imbeciles.  They  have  just  as  much  claim  to 
enfranchisement  as  the  dustmaa  and  the  ploughboy,  perhaps  more. 
Criminals  have  acquired  by  experience,  more  or  less  dearly  bought, 
a  familiarity  with  our  laws  which  should  give  their  vote  special 
value.  As  for  imbeciles,  their  admission  into  the  ranks  of  the 
electorate  would  afford  a  much-needed  excuse  for  many  of  the 
proceedings  of  the  L^islature.  Tor^^  democracy,  indeed  I  If 
Mountchapel  doesn't  ruin  himself,  he  will  ruin  the  party." 

**  Then  you  think  his  policy  short-sighted  ?  " 

''Very.  It  does  not  even  recognise  the  author  of  its  being; 
or  at  least  it  affects  not  to." 

'*  Perhaps  he  hopes  to  flatter  the  Radicals  by  imitating  them, 
and  so  to  conciliate  all  parties." 

^  I  don't  credit  him  with  anything  so  subtle  as  the  sycophancy 
you  suggest  The  rogue  is  simply  trying  to  unite  the  principles  of 
Toryism  with  the  want  of  principle  of  the  Birmingham  school,  and 
between  two  schools  the  party  may  fall  to  the  ground." 

*'  But  I  understand  that  the  other  side  is  ready  to  snatch  him 
up.    He  is  not  a  drug  in  the  market." 

''He  is  not;  but  the  Tory  leaders  take  him  as  a  drug  with 
many  grimaces,  but  in  the  hope  he'll  do  them  some  good.  For 
my  part,  I  believe  he's  a  quack  medicine.  At  best,  he's  a  spurious 
imitation  of  the  Screwnail  Elixir,  and  we  should  beware  of  him 
accordingly." 

^  Haven't  we  had  too  big  a  dose  of  Mountchapel  ourselves  to- 
night ?  "  smilingly  suggested  Oudeis. 

*'I'm  aware  you  want  to  talk  about  Lady  Harley,"  replied 
Rockington,  a  trifle  piqued.     "  Perhaps  you'd  better  talk  to  her." 

^  I  don't  see  much  chance  of  getting  a  word  in,"  said  Oudeis 


TRANSFORMATION  yt 

ruefully,  glancing  in  her  direction^  '*  even  if  I  had  been  introduced, 
which  I  haven't.  But  she  catCt  be  twenty-eight.  It  would  be 
impossible  for  her  to  look  so  young.'' 

"In  the  dictionary  of  youth,  there  is  no  such  word  as  im- 
possible. For  aught  I  know  she  may  be  thirty,"  responded  Lord 
Rockington,  moving  off  through  the  crush. 

"  Une/emme  a  rage  qt^elleparatt  avoir ?  cried  Oudeis. 

**  Une  femme  fia  jamais  Page  qu'elle  paratt  avoir^**  retorted 
Rockington,  turning  his  head.  "Well,  Duchess,  didn't  I  pro- 
phesy you  wouldn't  get  the  lion  out  of  his  jungle  of  Parliamentary 
papers,  after  all?    Next  week,  perhaps,  when  he's  resi!i:ned " 


CHAPTER  VII. 

TRANSFORMATION. 

Lord  Rockington,  though  he  expected  the  meeting  between 
Lady  Harley  and  the  Prime  Minister  to  be  dramatic,  was  not 
aware  of  all  the  grounds  of  his  own  expectation.  Should  it  take 
place,  dramatic  it  would  certainly  be,  though  not  in  the  vulgar 
sense  of  the  word.  The  characters  would  strike  no  attitudes,  group 
themselves  into  no  tableaux.  But  for  complicated  play  of  emotion, 
and  for  shock  and  interaction  of  passions,  the  situation  would 
be  as  dramatic  as  possible.  Nobody  but  the  two  chief  personages 
of  the  drama  thetnselves  knew  the  precise  nature  of  their  amorous 
relations ;  indeed,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  even  their  own  know- 
ledge was  perfectly  definite.  To  judge  by  the  sequel,  each  seems 
to  have  had  his  or  her  own  view  of  the  depths  of  their  intimacy. 
Anyhow,  however  far  matters  had  gone  between  them,  this  much 
was  certain,  that  the  mild  importunities  of  the  unenterprising 
Premier  had  never  quite  overcome  Lady  Gwendolen's  fatal  objec- 
tion to  him  on  the  score  of  incompatibility  of  belief,  for  the 
Enfranchisement  of  Women  was  almost  a  religion  with  its  beauti- 
ful champion.  But  Her  Ladyship  knew  no  more  than  the  veriest 
outsider  why  Floppington's  appearances  in  Society  —  always 
extremely  rare — had  ceased  altogether  on  his  taking  office ;  or 
why  he  had  not  called  upon  her  since  the  beginning  of  his  vigorous 
crusade  against  the  Radical  Reform  Bill.  In  moments  of  buoyancy, 
she  put  his  absence  down  to  the  pressure  of  business  ;  in  seasons 
of  despondency,  to  a  mistaken  belief  that  she  could  never  forgive 
him  for  overthrowing  her  cause.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  that  he 
might  fear  the  living  argument  of  her  personality,  the  intoxicating 
mag^c  of  her  liquid  eyes. 

Meanwhile,  Lord  Mountchapel  had  improved  the  opportunity. 
Although  always  an  admirer  of  Gwendolen,  he  had  repressed  the 

E   2 


$2  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

nascent  passion  for  one  whose  afTections  were  by  all  accoants  fm- 
engaged,  and  had  staunchly  supported  Flopptngton  in  the  anti- 
suffrage  coarse  which  led  to  office.  But  when  he  was  left  in 
possession  of  the  field,  his  admiration  rapidly  changed  into  love, 
and  he  set  himself  to  win  the  object  of  his  affections.  He  had  not 
advanced  very  far  as  yet,  though  he  had  undoubtedly  made  a 
certain  headway.  He  had  succeeded  in  turning  a  conventional 
acouaintanceship  into  a  somewhat  intimate  friendship  hy  confiding 
to  her  his  conversion  to  the  cause ;  and  it  would  be  too  bad  d 
Floppington  to  reappear  on  the  scene  and  perhaps  renew  his 
relations  with  her.  The  onl^  consolation  he  would  have  would  be 
the  reflection  that  the  Premier  had  in  all  likelihood  handicapped 
himself  fatally  by  his  conscientious  objections  to  Woman  Suffrage: 

This  consolation  he  was  soon  compelled  to  administer  to  his 
chafed  spirit^  for  on  emerging  from  the  depths  of  an  enthralling 
conversation  with  the  editor  of  the  TimeSy  and  from  the  comer  in 
which  it  had  been  carried  on,  he  found  that  the  guests  were  neariy 
all  gathered  in  the  next  room,  an  apartment  of  noble  dimensions, 
ornamented  with  the  most  exquisite  taste,  though  not  after  the 
ephemeral  fashion  of  the  period.  The  various  detached  groups,  of 
which  the  company  had  previously  been  composed,  had  coalesced 
Evidently  somebody  of  importance  had  arrived ;  and  as  he 
approached  the  outer  fringe  of  the  crowd,  he  saw  to  his  vexation 
that  it  was  the  Premier.  He  was  the  centre  of  attraction  to  which 
all  these  human  atoms  had  gravitated  ;  and,  if  the  truth  must  be 
told,  the  atoms  had  drawn  somewhat  too  close  to  be  pleasant. 

The  Premier  looked  rather  hot  and  excited.  And  yet  he  looked 
better  than  on  the  night  he  visited  the  Cogers.  The  careworn  air, 
the  aspect  of  weariness,  the  appearance  of  being  perpetually  engaged 
in  the  study  of  some  intricate  problem,  the  solution  of  which  con- 
tinusdly  baffled  him,  had  all  disapoeared.  He  had  all  the  air  of  a 
man  who  has  seen  the  storm-clouds  of  doubt  roll  away,  and  has 
gained  a  glimpse  of  eternal  truth  that  had  been  long  hidden  from 
him  ;  he  was  bright,  alert,  active. 

This  important  change  for  the  better  was  of  course  noticed  by 
everybody,  and  everybody,  equally  of  course,  commented  on  it  in 
more  or  less  decorous  whispers  to  his,  or  her,  nearest  neighbours. 
His  Grace  the  Duke  of  Kewbridge  noticed  it,  and  said  to  his  wife: 
"  He  has  made  up  his  mind  to  let  Bardolph  do  his  worst.  He  must 
have  been  dreadfully  worried  about  it,  certainly ;  and  no  doubt  it 
was  the  cause  of  his  prostration  last  Sunday.     But  it  would  have 

been  worse  than  suicide  to  have  gfiven  way  to  him ;  it ^"  but  here 

he  got  excited  and  raised  his  voice,  so  Her  Grace  playfully  placed 
her  ducal  hand  upon  his  ducal  mouth  ;  and  the  ducal  eloquence 
subsided  into  an  inarticulate  murmur,  just  as  the  ducal  pronouns 
were  getting  very  much  mixed. 

His  Grace  had  no  warrant  for  his  remarks ;  but  they  put  into 
words  not  only  his  own  thoughts  and  wishes  but  the  Noughts 
of  almost  every  one  present.  The  editor  of  the  Standard,  who 
had  just  dropped  in,  must  have  arrived  at  the  same  explanation  of 


TRANSFORMATION  53 

the  Premier's  improved  bearing,  for  in  the  very  next  issue  of  that 
weighty  journal  a  paragraph  appeared  to  the  effect  that — on  the 
very  best  authority — it  was  anticipated  that  Lord  Bardolph  Mount- 
chapel  would  very  shortly  place  his  resignation  in  the  hands  of  Her 
Gracious  Majesty.  And  not  content  with  this,  there  was  a  leader 
in  which  the  resolution,  foresight,  and  other  qualities  of  the  Premier, 
were  lauded  to  the  skies  ;  while  the  presumption,  impertinence,  and 
ignorance  of  Lord  Bardolph  were  duly  scarified.  The  article 
wound  up  with  a  brilliant  flourish,  in  which  the  world  was  reminded 
that  it  was  a  great  man  who  remarked  "  //  t^y  a  point  (Vhomme 
indispensable ; "  and  that  it  was  left  for  Lord  Bardolph  to  assume 
the  contrary. 

Lord  Bardolph  knew  nothing  of  the  rod  the  next  morning's 
newspaper  had  in  store  for  him.  He  was  in  happy  ignorance  of 
that  as  of  most  other  things.  And  as  he  neared  the  Premier, 
-whose  animated  talk  was  keeping  a  throng  of  listeners,  he  whispered 
to  Lady  Gwendolen,  who  had  left  Madame  Drapeaurouge  and  who 
now  found  herself  at  his  side  : 

"  Floppington's  very  hvely.  He  has  evidently  quite  recovered 
from  his  indisposition.  I  wonder  if  he's  holding  forth  on  his  pet 
philosopher,  a  German,  Haydn  I  think  they  call  him." 

"  Hegel  I  think  you  mean." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that's  right.  Floppington  talked  to  me  about  him 
one  night.  He  started  with  a  medium-sized  zero,  and  evolved  the 
universe  from  it,''  said  Lord  Bardolph,  summing  up  the  secret  of 
Hegel  in  the  complacently  condescending  manner  he  adopted  in 
his  treatment  of  most  subjects.  It  was  an  important  factor  in  his 
success. 

As  they  joined  the  Premier's  listeners,  that  gentleman  paused 
for  a  moment  to  give  them  a  beaming  glance  of  welcome ;  and 
then,  rummaging  in  the  tail  pocket  of  his  coat,  he  resumed  : 

"Then  you  certainly  don  t  read  the  Ref,,  for  in  this  week's " 

"The  what  ?"  interrupted  Her  Grace,  perfectly  astounded. 

"  The  Referee^  I  mean,"  said  the  Premier,  whose  search  in  his 
pocket  had  proved  successful ;  and  he  flourished  a  copy  of  the 
journal  in  question  as  he  spoke. 

**  That  rag  I "  contemptuously  exclaimed  Sir  William  Jones. 

"  It's  not  rag,  Sir  William,"  mildly  interposed  Sir  Stanley 
Southleigh,  "  I  inquired  into  the  matter  in  connection  with  my 
last  Budget  I  believe  it's  hemp  or  esparto  grass,"  and  the  Chancellor 
of  the  Exchequer  looked  wonderingly  round  as  a  hearty  laugh  greeted 
his  remark.  Sir  Stanley  had  never  been  able  to  divine  why  people 
laughed  when  he  did  not  make  a  joke,  while  they  remained  perfectly 
stolid  and  unmoved  when  he  uttered  witticisms  the  concoction  of 
which  had  consumed  much  midnight  oil. 

"  Rag  indeed !  I  always  read  it,"  said  the  Premier,  waxing 
enthusiastic.  "  It  wouldn't  be  Sunday  without  my  Ref,  After  the 
hard  work  of  the  week,  it's  delightful  to  lie  in  bed  Sunday  morning, 
with  a  pipe  in  my  mouth,  and  hear  the  clock  strike  ten  as  I  rea4 
*  Mustard  and  Cress.'" 


54  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

Scientific  men  have  demolished  the  thunderbolt,  and  have 
proved  that  it  does  not  exist,  that  it  cannot  exist,  and  that  it  never 
did  exist.  They  may  be  right ;  but  in  publishing  this  conclusioD 
thev  have  been  strangely  neglectful  of  the  vested  interests  of 
authors.  Imagine,  therefore,  dear  reader,  that  despite  all  men  of 
science  have  said  and  done,  the  thunderbolt  has  a  real,  tangible 
existence.  Imagine  that  one  of  the  greatest  possible  dimensions 
had  plunged  down  the  ducal  chimney  and  deposited  itself  at  the 
very  feet  of  the  assembled  guests ;  imagine  the  consternation  it 
would  cause;  and  then  you  would  have  but  a  feeble  idea  of  the  con- 
sternation the  Premiei^s  avowal  had  upon  those  who  listened  to 
him.  The  thought  occurred  simultaneously  to  many  of  them  that 
his  many  eccentricities  had  culminated  in  this — which  admitted  of 
only  one  explanation — lunacy,  and  that  had  he  not  been  Premier, 
this  explanation  would  have  been  forthcoming  earlier. 

The  Premier  stopped  waving  the  Referee  as  he  caught  sight  of 
the  horror-stricken  faces  round  him.  He  paused  for  a  moment  as 
if  puzzled,  and  then  burst  into  a  peal  of  Homeric  laughter. 

''  Ah,  ah,  ah  1 "  he  gasped  when  he  could  speak.  **  Did  you 
think  I  was  speaking  of  myself?  I  was  only  quoting  the  words 
addressed  to  me  by  an  artisan,  whose  acquaintance  I  made  some 
time  back,  when  I  went  on  a  '  slumming  expedition ; ' "  and  he 
laughed  again.  Giving  his  hearers  time  to  recover  their  wonted 
composure,  he  continued  gravely  and  earnestly  :  **  And  that  is  the 
way  thousands  of  workmen — men  who  vote,  who  may  by  their 
votes  sway  the  destinies  of  this  empire — spend  the  Sabbath  morn. 
Ah,  my  Lord  Bishop,''  he  said  reproachfully,  turning  to  Bishop 
Worldleigh,who  stood  by  him,  **how  is  it  the  Church  fails  to  reach* 
these  men— that  it  has  not  the  slightest  influence  on  their  lives? 
It  should  not  be  so  ;  for  if  you  cannot  make  poor  men  believe 
they  will  be  better  off  in  the  next  world,  they  will  be  Radicals  in 
this." 

'*  I  think  you  judge  too  hastily,"  said  the  portly  Church  dignitary, 
in  a  somewhat  offended  tone.  "-Ear  pede  Herculem  is  not  a  mode 
of  reasoning  to  be  adopted  with  safety ;  and  though  you  have 
made  the  acquaintance  of  an  artisan  who  stays  in  bed  on  the 
Sabbath  to  read  the  periodical  you  hold  in  your  hand,  I  do  not 
hesitate  to  afHrm  that  the  Church  does  not  fail  to  reach  the  labour- 
ing man." 

"Well,  then,  it  is  the  labouring  man  who  fails  to  reach  the 
Church,"  briskly  retorted  the  Premier,  laughing  heartily  at  his  own 
joke.  Some  of  those  standing  round  laughed  also.  But  many, 
from  an  inward  conviction  that  the  subject  Was  a  religious  one,  put 
on  that  expression  of  mingled  sorrow  and  deprecation  usually  seen 
on  the  faces  of  mourners,  who  know  they  will  be  considerably 
benefited  by  the  reading  of  the  will 

**This  number,"  continued  the  Premier,  when  the  owners  of 
both  sorrowful  and  laughing  countenances  had  reduced  their  pos- 
sessions to  the  normal  condition,  '*  was  sent  to  me  by  some  enthusi- 
astic Radical  who  thought  it  might  do  me  good  to  know  what  was 


TRA  NS FORMA  TION  5  5 

thought  of  me.  I  only  wonder  that  he  did  not  head  it  *  Sinner, 
repent ! '  or  *  Know  what  awaits  thee !  *  What  do  you  think  of 
these  lines  ?  "  and  he  gravely  recited  as  follows  : 

"  Floppy  once  agaiA  declares  he's  bound  by  honour. 
But  at  slipping  bonds  he  can  Creation  lick. 
When  the  doors  in  Downing  Street  are  next  thrown  open. 
You  will  find  that  he  has  done  'The  Cabinet  Trick.    ' 

A  merry  peal  of  laughter  greeted  the  recital,  in  which  the 
Premier  himself  joined.  All  present  felt  the  applicability  of  the 
verse,  though  they  did  not  quite  realise  the  meaning  of  the  hint 
conveyed  in  the  last  line.  This  was  excusable,  however,  as  the 
writer  himself,  unless  gifted  with  more  of  the  prophetic  spirit  than 
was  generally  supposed  to  be  available  for  modem  use,  could  not 
have  been  any  wiser  than  his  readers.  Lord  Bardolph,  in  a  semi- 
audible  tone,  whispered,  "  Floppy  to  a  T."  But  many  present  had  an 
ill-defined  feeling,  for  which  they  could  not  have  accounted,  that  the 
application  of  the  lines  was  rather  past  than  present  It  may  have 
been  imagination,  which  we  all  know  plays  us  strange  tricks  ;  but 
some  subtle  change  seemed  to  have  operated  in  the  Premier. 
Outwardly  he  was  the  same ;  but  those  who  looked  beneath  the 
surface  were  vaguely  conscious  of  a  spiritual  change.  So  might 
Henry  V.  have  appeared  to  those  who,  knowing  him  as  a  madcap 
Prince,  gazed  upon  him  as  he  announced  his  intention  to 

"  Mock  the  expectation  of  the  world, 
To  frustrate  prophecies,  and  to  raze  out 
Rotten  opinion,  who  hath  writ  me  down 
After  my  seeming." 

*'  I  am  told,"  went  on  the  Premier,  "  that  I  am  made  fun  of  in 
this  fashion  weekly,  so  that  I  can  conscientiously  reconunend  some 
of  my  friends  to  become  subscribers." 

'*  Really,"  said  His  Grace,  who,  as  a  member  of  the  Cabinet, 
felt  that  he  ought  to  say  something  ;  '*  really,  I  think  this  is  going 
too  far.  Liberty  of  the  Press  is  all  very  well,  all  very  well,  but  this 
is  license  ;  and  license  should  be  put  down,  really  should  be  put 
down."  His  Grace  had  a  knack  of  repeating  words  and  short 
phrases.     He  thought  it  gave  them  emphasis. 

"  Oh  dear  no  ! "  laughed  the  Premier.  *'  What  for  ?  I  dare  say  it 
amuses  the  writer ;  I  suppose  it  amuses  his  readers ;  and  I  am  sure 
it  amuses  me." 

At  this  moment  one  of  the  Premier's  private  secretaries,  who 
had  been  hovering  uneasily  round  the  edge  of  the  group  of 
listeners  surrounding  the  Premier,  succeeded  in  his  long-con- 
tinued endeavours  to  catch  the  Premier's  eye.  He  would  have 
done  so  sooner,  but  for  the  fact  that  the  visual  organ  of  the  First 
Minister  of  the  Crown,  unlike  that  of  the  Speaker,  is  unused  to 
being  caught ;  and  judging  from  its  expression,  it  did  not  relish  the 
process.     However,  business  is  business,  and  so,  jestiiagly  uttering 


S6  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

a  few  words  about  the  cares  of  State  pursuing  him  everywhere, 
the  Premier  took  his  secretary's  arm,  and  retired  into  a  smaller 
room. 

The  withdrawal  of  the  centre  of  attraction  led  to  the  breaking 
up  of  the  aggregation  of  human  atoms  into  its  constituent  parts. 
The  great  cluster  resolved  into  small  clusters,  the  atoms  com- 
posing which  were  one  and  all  busily  engaged  in  talking  about 
the  Premier,  till  some  one  or  other  brought  the  news,  which 
diffused  itself  rapidly  bv  some  law  as  yet  unl^own  to  philosophers, 
that  some  noble  lord  had  married  his  sister's  maid.  This  bit  of 
intelligence  rapidly  deposed  the  Right  Honourable  Arnold 
Floppington  from  the  position  he  had  previously  occupied  as 
food  for  conversation. 

His  business  over — it  did  not  occupy  ten  minutes — and  his 
secretary  gone,  the  Premier  remained  seated  in  the  chair  which  he 
had  taken  in  order  to  hear  what  his  secretary  had  to  say.  It  was 
a  comfortable  chair,  if  not  exactly  what  the  possessor  of  an  artistic 
eye  would  call  a  beautiful  one.  But  it  fulfilled  the  functions  of  its 
being.  One  could  sit  in  it  with  a  pleasant  sense  of  being  at  rest, 
instead  of  being  tortured,  as  is  often  the  case  with  chairs  that 
please  the  artistic  eye,  by  the  thought  that  Nature  must  have  made 
the  human  body  fearfully  and  wonderfully — angular.  And,  there- 
fore, on  the  Socratic  theory  at  any  rate^  it  might  lay  claim  honestly 
enough  to  the  possession  of  beauty.  A  screen  stood  almost 
directly  in  front  of  it,  and  so,  nearly  hid  its  occupant  from  view. 
From  the  other  room  there  floated  in  the  buzz  and  hum  of  conver- 
sation, and  the  frou-frou  of  ladies'  dresses.  But  the  Premier 
remained  in  the  comfortable  chair,  and  showed  no  inclination  to 
move  out  of  it.  His  eyes  were  half-closed,  and  a  cynical  smile 
played  timidly  round  the  comers  of  his  mouth  ;  and  his  lips  half- 
parted  as  a  peal  of  laughter  made  itself  audible.  Perhaps  he  was 
thinking  with  how  little  wisdom,  and  with  how  little  honesty  the 
world  is  governed.  The  old  careworn,  irresolute  look  was  on  his 
face.  He  had  given  the  best  years  of  his  life  to  politics,  and 
possibly  he  was  reflecting  on  his  folly,  and  wondering  whether  it 
was  worth  the  constant  fret  and  worry,  in  order  to  be  lampooned 
by  an  irresponsible  writer  in  a  Sunday  paper.  If  he  and  that 
writer  could  only  change  places  for  a  time,  the  lesson  might  do 
some  good  to  the  irresponsible  wielder  of  the  pen.  Or  perhaps  he 
was  not  thinking  at  all,  but  only  indulging  in  the  luxury  familiarly 
spoken  of  as  "  forty  winks.*' 

The  latter  supposition  must  be  reluctantly  admitted  as  the  more 
probable,  for  when  a  low,  soft  voice  gently  uttered  his  name,  he 
jumped  to  his  feet,  and  rubbed  his  eyes  vigorously,  as  if  he  were 
polishing  up  their  lenses. 

"I  am  pleased  to  find  you  alone,"  continued  the  sweet  voice 
which  belonged  to  Lady  Gwendolen.  "I  have  been  hoping  for 
a  few  words  with  you,  but  you  have  hitherto  been  unapproach- 
able. How  is  it  1  have  not  seen  you  for  so  long  ?"  she  added^ 
her  voice  unconsciously  taking  a  tenderer  inflection.    ''£veii  i« 


TRANSFORMATION  57 

yon  had  no  leisure  for  morning  calls^  this  is  not  the  first  Wed- 
nesday of  the  session.'' 

*'I  really  couldn't  manage  to  come  here  before,"  replied  the 
Premier,  with  a  strange  look  of  earnestness.  '^Heaven  knows 
how  gladly  I  should  have  jumped  at  the  chance  if  it  had  been 
offered  to  me.     I  assure  you  I  took  the  very  first  opportunity." 

Lady  Gwendolen's  eyes  sparkled  with  delight  and  a  tender 
expression  came  over  her  face.  That  there  should  be  a  breach 
between  them  on  account  of  his  political  conduct  had  plainly 
never  occurred  to  him.  It  was  only  her  own  feverish  imagina- 
tion that  had  conjured  up  the  spectre.  The  busy  statesman  had 
always  been  longing  to  see  her. 

**Yott  are  looking  better  now  than  then,"  she  said,  surveying 
him  affectionately.  *'  You  have  lost  that  haggard,  worn  air,  which 
made  your  friends  fear  for  your  health.  I  did  not  expect  to  find 
you  looking  so  well,  especially  after  your  recent  illness." 

"  My  recent  indisposition,"  corrected  the  Premier.  **  The  in- 
disposition in  question  prevented  me  from  going  to  church,  but  I 
do  not  believe  it  affected  me  much  otherwise.     It  certainly  wasn't 

serious.    Still  late  hours  and  talking  politics  at  the  Co ,  at  the 

Commons,  tell  upon  the  most  robust  constitution  sooner  or  later. 
But,  I  believe " — with  a  mocking  smile,  the  meaning  of  which 
Lady  Gwendolen  could  not  fathom — "  I  believe  I  am  myself  again. 
How  hot  it  is  here  ! "  he  added,  with  an  evident  desire  to  change 
the  subject 

^  Let  us  go  into  the  conservatory  then ." 

Without  another  word  he  offered  her  his  arm  ;  and  as  they  dis- 
appeared in  the  conservatory,  Lord  Bardolph  and  the  Duchess 
came  into  the  room  in  search  of  the  Premier.  Lord  Bardolph,  with 
an  ugly  frown  on  his  face,  was  about  to  follow  them,  when  the 
Duchess  touched  him  lightly  on  the  arm. 

**  For  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  regret  being  a  woman.  I  wish 
1  were  a  man,"  she  said 

'*  Why  ?  "  said  Lord  Bardolph,  forgetting  his  annoyance  for  the 
moment  in  his  astonishment  at  this  speech  from  the  Duchess. 

"  Because  I  should  like  to  plunge  my  hands  in  my  trousers' 
pockets,  and  indulge  in  a  long,  low  whistle.* 


- 


58  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 


CHAPTER  VI 11. 

BACCHUS  AND  VENUS. 

**This  is  delightful,"  said  Lady  Gwendolen,  as  she  entered  the 
conservatory.  **  What  a  contrast  I  ** 

Lady  Gwendolen  was  right.  The  contrast  was  great.  The 
gorgeous  salons  they  had  quitted  were  oppressively  hot  and  daz- 
zlingly  light.  The  air  was  vibrating  with  whirling  passions,  con- 
flicting ambitions,  repressed  emotions.  It  pulsated  with  life,  the 
keen,  eager,  restless,  almost  feverish  life  of  London  Society. 
Here  in  the  conservatory  all  was  repose.  The  atmosphere  was 
still — by  contrast  almost  painfully  so — and  redolent  of  the  odours 
of  many  blossoms,  that  brought  with  their  fragrance  a  delicious 
sense  of  peacefulness  and  rest.  The  pale  blue  light  of  the  moon 
fell  upon  huge  spreading  ferns  and  rare  plants,  and  cast  their 
shadows  in  weird  forms  upon  the  chequered  floor.  It  threw  a 
ghostly  radiance  upon  the  marble  figures,  whose  cool,  glossy  white 
contrasted  so  well  with  the  green  foliaee.  And  then,  as  a  cloud 
flitted  across  the  moon's  face,  all  would  be  darkness,  with  vague, 
shadowy  figures  that  the  imagination  involuntarily  clothed  with 
the  life  of  pixies  and  gnomes.  The  plashing  of  a  fountain  feU 
slumberously  on  the  ear  with  an  indescribably  soothing  effect. 
The  busy  hum  of  life  from  without  barely  stirred  the  sleeping  air. 
The  keynote  of  the  harmony  was  repose.  It  was  a  place  in  which 
to  commune  with  one's  own  heart  and  be  still. 

Lady  Gwendolen  seated  herself,  and  looked  up  at  the  Premier, 
who  stood  leaning  against  a  pillar.  It  may  have  been  the  moon- 
light, or  it  may  have  been  fancy,  but  her  face  had  lost  its  vivacity, 
her  eyes  had  lost  their  sparkle.  They  were  fixed  upon  the  Premier's 
face  with  a  look  of  intense  interest — the  look  that  a  woman  only 
bestows  upon  the  man  who  is  her  ideal — but  with  something  of 
sadness  in  it,  too,  as  though  he  had  not  yet  reached  the  height  on 
which  she  would  fain  have  placed  him.  She  felt  that  his  abilities 
were  worthy  of  the  great  post  he  held,  that  his  lofty  morality  made 
him  the  very  Bayard  of  statesmen;  but  his  vacillation,  the  result  of 
his  earnest  endeavours  never  to  judge  hastily,  destroyed  all  the 
power  for  good  he  might  have  been  expected  to  exert,  and  reduced 
him  to  the  level  of  a  party-leader,  who  followed  more  often  than 
led.  But  that  night,  she,  in  common  with  every  one  else,  had 
noticed  the  change  for  the  better  in  him ;  and  now  that  they  were 
together,  she  could  not  altogether  repress  her  anxiety  lest  it  had 
been  but  a  passing  phase  of  his  many-sided  character. 

As  he  stood  there,  it  appeared  probable  enough  that  this  was 
indeed  the  case.  All  his  confidence  was  gone.  He  seemed 
strangely  troubled,  and  ill  at  ease.  But  then  a  tite-d-iite  by  moon- 
light, in  a  dimly-lighted  conservatory,  with  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful women  in  EngUnd  is^  however  pleasurable,  apt  to  b^  burdenccl 


r 


BACCHUS  AND   VENUS  59 


with  momentous  consequences.     The  more  exquisite  the  enjoy- 
ment, moreover,  the  nearer  to  that  melancholy  which  is  the  under-  ' 
current  of  all  pleasurable  emotion  ;  so  that  the  Premier's  agitation 
was  easily  accounted  for. 

'*  They  tell  me,"  said  Lady  Gwendolen,  at  length  breaking  the 
silence,  which  was  almost  oppressive,  **that  you  are  still  determined 
to  resist  the  demand  for  Woman  Suffrage."  She  said  this  half- 
reproachfiilly,  as  though  she  expected  to  have  heard  his  determina- 
tion from  himself,  and  not  from  the  impersonal ''  they,''  responsible 
for  so  many  rumours.  '^  I  am  glad,  and  sorry,  if  that  be  possible, 
at  the  same  time." 

"  That  is  strange.    Why  ?  " 

"Can  you  ask ?  I  am  sorry  because  your  determination  delays — 
only  delays,  mind — the  final  success  of  the  cause  I  have  so  much 
at  heart." 

"And  glad?" 

He  was  evidently  determined  to  force  the  confession  from  her 
beautifiil  lips.  Well,  he  was  welcome  to  what  pleasure  he  could 
extract  from  the  sweet,  shy  response. 

"  Glad,  because  I,  I — ^am  your  friend  ;  and  I  am  proud  to  see 
you  defy  those  who  would  force  you  to  abdicate  your  position  as 
leader,  or  hold  it  on  sufferance.  Such  a  situation  would  be  un- 
worthy of  you.  That,  sir,"  she  concluded  with  mock  stateliness, 
tossing  her  head  with  a  charming  affectation  of  wounded  dignity, 
"is  why ;  and  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  have  got  the  better  of 
your  vacillation,  and  at  last  are  a  changed  man." 

"  You  are  right,  I  am  a  changed  man,"  said  the  Premier,  sud- 
denly brightening  up  and  straightening  himself.  ''And  if  Lord 
Bardolph  thinks  that  I  am  going  to  dance  while  he  pulls  the 
strings.  Lord  Bardolph  will  come  a  pretty  considerable  cropper." 

Lady  Gwendolen  looked  somewhat  astonished  at  this  fresh,  free, 
vigorous,  and  unconventional  use  of  the  vernacular.  Truth  to  tell, 
the  Premier's  speech  was  ordinarily  deeply  tinged  with  philo- 
sophical terms,  and  apt  to  be  vague  and  hazy.  This  departure  in 
the  direction  of  plain,  if  not  altogether  classical  English,  was 
rather  to  be  welcomed  than  condemned  ;  and  so,  after  just  a 
momentary  hesitation  Lady  Gwendolen  decided. 

The  Premier  waved  his  hand  in  the  direction  of  a  statue  of 
Bacchus,  the  laugh  on  whose  carven  image  might  have  discon- 
certed him  and  disturbed  the  even  flow  of  his  oratory.  Luckily,  it 
was  in  a  dark  comer,  and  so  he  proceeded,  regardless  of  the  laugh- 
ing god. 

"  1  intend  having  my  own  way  in  the  Cabinet  for  the  future.  I 
have  to  bear  all  the  responsibility,  and  I  don't  intend  being  respon- 
sible for  the  policy  of  other  people  any  longer."  He  was  confident 
enough  now,  and  the  ring  of  earnestness  and  conscious  power  in 
his  tone  showed  that  he  meant  what  he  said,  afid  was  capable  of 
action  in  accordance  with  his  words. 

"The  great  thing,"  he  continued,  again  waving  his  hand  towards 
the  dark  comer|  where  a  stray  beam  of  moonlight  for  a  second 


6o  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

made  the  Bacchus  visible, ''  is  to  make  up  your  mind|  and  let  the 
rest  of  the  Cabinet  see  that  you  have  done  so.  There  will  not  be 
much  opposition  then.  A  Minister  may  threaten  to  resign ;  but 
if  you  take  him  at  his  word,  he'll  be  as  much  disappointed  as  the 
lady  whose  lover  foolishly  forgets  that  her  '  no '  is  only  an  indirect 
way  of  saying  *  yes.' " 

By  the  light  of  the  moon,  a  blush  might  have  been  seen  to 
flicker  over  Lady  Gwendolen's  cheek  as  he  uttered  these  words, 
and  she  looked  keenly  at  him,  as  though  half  suspecting  some 
hidden  application.  But  he  continued  calmly  in  the  self-possessed, 
unhesitating  style  so  eminently  uncharacteristic  of  the  man. 

*'  In  politics,  as  in  most  other  affairs,  he  who  hesitates  is  lost. 
My  motto  is, '  Do  the  right  thingi  if  you  can ; '  but  it  will  be  better 
for  the  country  to  do  the  wrong  one  than  to  flounder  about  doing 
nothing  in  futile  search  after  what  is  right" 

''  How  your  views  have  changed  I  When  last  we  talked 
together" — and  an  under-current  of  regret  seemed  mingled  with 
the  musical  flow  of  the  words — '*  you  thought  and  spoke  so  dif- 
ferently.   Then  it  was,  *  Do  what  is  right,  come  what  may.' " 

"  Well,  don't  I  say  so  still  ?  If  it  is  better  for  the  country  that 
I  should  do  the  wrong  thing  rather  than  nothing  at  all,  don't  you 
see  that  the  wrong  thing  becomes  the  right  ?  It  is  not  the  contrast 
of  the  right  thing  with  the  wrong  thing  that  I  am  now  speaking  of, 
but  simply  die  alternative  of  anything  or  nothing.  If  I  did  not 
add  this  rider  to  my  motto  at  our  last  conversation,  it  was  because 
I  had  then  had  no  real  experience  of  practical  life.  Since  I  have 
taken  on  my  shoulders  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of  the  Premier- 
ship, I  have  discovered  that  Life  spells  Action,  and  not  Thought ; 
that  there  is  no  standing  still  in  it ;  and  so  I  am  not  likely  to  under- 
rate the  value  of  determination  in  future,"  philosophised  the  Pre- 
mier, his  words  ringing  out  clearly,  almost  sharply,  in  the  stillness 
of  the  conservatory.  '*  But  for  my  want  of  determination,  a  whipper- 
snapper  like  Lord  Bardolph  would  not  have  talked  of  making  and 
unmaking  Cabinets.  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  added  with  a  sudden 
change  of  tone,  "  I  forgot  that  you  and  Lord  Bardolph ^ 

With  a  sudden  movement,  Lady  Gwendolen  rose  to  her  feet, 
her  eyes  blazing  with  anger,  rather  at  the  apology  indeed  than  at 
the  disparaging  manner  in  which  Lord  Bardolph  had  been  spoken 
of,  though  in  both  the  Premier  had  shown  himself  strangely  deficient 
in  his  usual  gracious  tact 

"  You  mistake.  Lord  Bardolph  is  nothing  to  me."  Then,  as  if 
feeling  she  had  said  too  much,  she  sat  down  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

The  Premier  was  deeply  moved.  The  sight  of  this  beautiful 
woman,  physically  and  intellectually  the  highest  development  of 
her  sex,  wounded  almost  to  tears,  and  by  him,  stirred  tender  chords 
within  his  breast  He  bent  over  her,  and  whispered  gently,  '*  Dear 
Lady  Gwendolen,  forgive  me." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,"  she  answered ;  forewoman-like,  she 
foigot  the  sting  to  her  pride  in  her  joy  at  having  him  address  her 


r 


BACCHUS  AND  VENUS  6i 


thus  tenderly.  Then,  too,  must  there  not  have  heen  a  little  out- 
burst of  jealousy  in  his  words  ?  What  but  jealousy  could  have 
made  him  speak  his  inmost  thoughts  so  openly  of  one  who  was  a 
colleague?  And  she  was  more  pleased  at  the  jealousy,  than  hurt 
at  what  he  had  implied.  The  scent  of  the  rose  was  well  worth  the 
prick  df  the  thorn. 

^  Let  us  forget  Lord  Bardolph,"  she  said,  smiling  at  him,  as,  his 
£u:e  still  full  of  contrition,  he  g^ed  upon  her.  ''  I  like  to  hear  you 
talk  of  yourself  I  love  to  hear  you  speak  so  boldly  of  what  you 
will  do.  I  am  proud  to  think  that  I  may  have  helped  to  waken  you 
to  a  traer  consciousness  of  your  own  powers,"  and  her  voice  sank 
to  a  gentle  whisper. 

The  moonlight  fell  full  upon  her  lovely  face,  as  she  spoke  thus. 
Ah!  moonlight  and  beauty,  what  have  you  not  to  answer  for? 
Premiers  are  but  mortal  men,  and  as  Floppington  gazed  into  the 
crystal  depths  of  her  eyes,  his  hand  pressed  hers  tenderly. 

^  You  shall  be  my  good  angel,"  he  said.  ^  I  will  be  guided  by 
you." 

She  did  not  resent  the  gentle  pressure  of  his  hand  on  hers,  as 
she  replied :  ''  I  would  not  have  you  act  against  your  convictions 
for  my  sake.  If  I  thought  you  could  be  tempted  even  by  me,  to 
be  false  to  yourself,  I  could  not — you  would  forfeit  my  good  opinion. 
No,  on  one  question  at  least  we  must  be  content  to  differ ;  the 
question  to  wnich  I  mean  to  devote  my  life." 

"But  we  do  not  differ." 

Lady  Gwendolen  jumped  to  her  feet,  snatching  her  hand  almost 
violently  from  his.  Had  she  heard  aright  ?  She  stood  staring  at 
him  blankly.  A  whirl  of  conflicting  emotions  surged  within  her 
brain,  and  she  pressed  her  hand  to  her  forehead,  and  it  was  as  one 
in  a  dream  that  she  repeated  his  words, ''  but  we  do  not  differ  ! " 

"  No,  I  am  at  one  with  you  in  the  Enfranchisement  of  Woman. 
It  is  a  burning  shame  that  she  should  have  no  voice  in  the  making 
of  laws  which  she  must  obey ;  which  weigh  often  enough  more 
heavily  on  her  than  on  man.  It  is  a  wron^  that  has  endured  too 
long.  It  must  be  righted  now  ; "  and  his  voice  thrilled  as  he  spoke, 
and  he  shook  his  hand  as  if  threatening  the  Bacchus,  who  still 
laughed  on. 

Still  the  same  dazed  look  in  her  eyes.  Was  she  dreaming? 
No,  all  around  seemed  real  enough.  The  moonlight  played  on 
fern  and  palm.  The  plash  of  the  fountain  sounded  painfully  loud,  as 
she  murmured  :  "  But  when  we  were  last  together,  you  said  it  was 
impossible." 

^  I  said ^^he  paused  irresolute  for  a  moment,  then  with  a 

gesture  of  determination  he  said  in  low  tones,  vibrating  with 
emotion  :  **  Why  should  I  hide  it  from  you  any  longer  ?  Happily 
1  need  no  longer  veil  my  olden  fears  from  you,  for  fear  you  should 
laugh  them  away.  Now  that  I  have  myself  proved  their  hollow- 
ness,  I  need  no  longer  hesitate  to  expose  my  apprehensions.  You 
must  know,  then,  that  I  was  never  so  opposed  to  the  Enfran- 
chisement of  Women  as  you  seem  to  have  imagined.** 


63  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

"But  considering  that  in  all  our  conversations  you  paiaded 
your  three  or  four  objections  with  obstinate  vehemence,  and  that 
you  wrecked  the  late  Government  on  the  question,"  she  ejaculated, 
scarcely  knowing  what  to  think,  and  all  her  joy  in  his  conver- 
sion swallowed  up  in  the  terrible  doubt  of  how  the  world  would  take 
such  apparently  shameless  inconsistency.  Would  it  not  have  been 
better  if  he  had  not  budged  from  his  unsound  convictions  ?  Yet 
what  but  this  right-about  face  had  she  been  hoping  and  praying 
for  all  along  ? 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  he  interrupted  hastily.  "But  listen  before 
you  condemn  me.  No,  I  was  not  so  inimical  as  you  thought  to  the 
objects  of  your  association.  If  I  was  so  alive  to  the  objections  to 
it,  it  was  because  I  dreaded  that  I  was  too  alive  to  the  arguments 
in  favour  of  it.  Some  of  my  dearest  friends  were  staunch  advo- 
cates of  it — you  know  the  cynical  moralists  say  that  the  wish  to 
believe  is  the  father  to  the  belief —the  influence  is  subtle  and  often 
unsuspected.  I  believed  in  the  justice  of  your  cause  ;  but  my 
knowledge  of  this— this  cynical  analysis — led  me  into  the  opposite 
extreme.  I  was  misled  by  the  fear  of  being  misled.  But  since  I 
last  saw  you  I  have  exorcised  the  phantom  fear  and  looked  things 
straight  in  the  face." 

He  made  the  explanation  awkwardly,  almost  blunderingly ;  but 
this  very  awkwardness,  suggestive  as  it  was  of  infinitely  delicate  re- 
ticences, heightened  the  emotion  of  the  listener,  affected  almost  to 
tears  by  the  confession  itself.  What  a  sudden  light  was  flashed  over 
their  past  interviews  and  over  his  life  !  The  tragedy  of  a  man's  soul 
was  revealed  by  these  few  reluctant  sentences,  its  pathos  softened  only 
by  the  thought  that  poetic  justice  was  to  be  dealt  out  at  last.  Little 
wonder  that  his  health  had  threatened  to  give  wa)'.  At  this  moment, 
Lady  Gwendolen  felt  immeasurably  inferior  to  her  lover.  Surely  love 
should  have  cleared  her  vision,  if  she  lacked  kindred  nobility  of  spirit 
to  read  the  secrets  of  his  souL  How  she  had  made  him  suffer  by 
making  herself,  however  indirectly,  a  reward  for  the  profession  of 
her  miserable  doctrines  !  Ought  she  not  to  have  divined  that  to  a 
man  of  his  Quixotic  temperament,  of  his  quintessential  conscien- 
tiousness, the  prospect  of  gain  was  almost  enough  to  turn  the  scale 
on  the  other  side  ?  How  she  had  misunderstood  him !  Yet  no 
word  of  reproach  had  passed  his  lips.  Intense  feeling  kept  her 
silent.  Unconscious  of  her  remorseful  condition,  and,  perhaps, 
mistaking  her  silence  for  incredulity,  Floppington  went  on  :  **  There 
is  another  motive  which  swayed  me — a  motive  which  I  call  right, 
but  which  the  world  may,  for  aught  I  know,  call  wrong.  Even  at 
the  risk  of  crushing  individual  measm-es,  I  felt  how  unsafe  it  was  to 
allow  the  reins  of  power  to  remain  in  the  hands  of  the  Radicals ; 
men  whose  reckless  driving  will  sooner  or  later  destroy  religion,  and 
all  that  you  and  1  hold  sacred.  They  will  scoff  at  me  as  incon- 
sistent, not  perceiving  the  larger  consistency  of  my  course.  But  I 
must  bear  my  cross,"  he  said  with  infinite  sadness.  A  sublime 
light  shone  in  his  eyes;  the  spiritual  fire  that  illumines  the  face  of 
a  martyr. 

**  Let  the  world  think  what  it  will,"  she  cried,  ineffably  touched, 


F 


BACCHUS  AND    VENUS  63 

her  whole  spirit  vibrating  under  the  penetrating  charm  of  his 
mellow  accents.  "  There  is  one  at  least  who  would  stake  her 
life  on  your  honour." 

The  Premier  gave  her  a  smile  of  gratitude.  He  was  un- 
doubtedly glad  to  have  retained  her  sympathy,  especially  as  she 
had  appeared  so  shocked  at  his  inconsistency. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  very  rash,'*  he  said  with  cheery  good- 
humour,  as  if  ashamed  of  his  display  of  emotion.  "  You  mustn't 
risk  your  life,  you  know,  before  your  society  has  to  wind  itself  up 
CD  account  of  having  nothing  more  to  make  capital  of." 

A  faint  smile  crossed  her  face,  and  then  she  trembled  with  an 
overpowering  influx  of  almost  delirious  joy. 

"And  you  will  add  the  clause  to  the  Billr''  she  said  eagerly, 
her  eyes  bright  with  happiness,  yet  humid  with  unshed  tears 
brimming  up  from  a  full  heart  beating  with  other  and  sweeter  than 
political  hopes.  Then,  half-sadly  she  added:  '*  But  what  will  Lord 
Bardolph  say  ?  Will  it  not  be  a  triumph  for  him  ?  For  he  will 
think  you  have  yielded  to  his  threats." 

''  If  he  thinks  that,  he  will  discover  his  mistake  very  soon," 
replied  the  Premier  evasively.  "  If  his  Lords&ip  doesn't  know  he's 
the  fly  (m  the  wheel,  let  him  keep  his  place  unmoved  till  the  next 
tuiro.  Like  Charles  the  First,  he  will  be  crushed  by  the  Revolution." 

A  merry  laugh  rippled  from  Lady  Gwendolen's  lips;  but  it  was 
QOt  so  Qiuch  a  tribute  to  the  Premier's  grotesque  way  of  putting 
ihings  as  an  outlet  for  the  waves  of  delight  that  surged  within  her 
brain. 

The  Premier  laughed  too ;  the  humorous  aspect  of  the  whole 
j^air  appealed  much  more  strongly  to  him  than  to  her.  But  his 
face  grew  grave  as  he  said:  *'  We  shall  have  a  hard  fight.  I  «haU 
have  many  prejudices  arrayed  against  me.  My  own  men  will 
desert  me.  May  I  count  upon  your  influence  ?  You  were  no  doubt 
brought  into  communication  with  the  leading  Radicals,  without 
whose  supp(^  I  could  not  hope  to  do  anything.  Fate  has  created 
in  you  a  valuable  intermediary  between  the  rival  camps,  and  I 
should  like  to  commence  negotiations  with  the  enemy  as  soon  as 
possible.    You  will  smooth  my  path,  will  you  not  ?  " 

**  Always.  You  know  I  am  yours  entirely,"  impulsively  burst 
forth  Lady  Gwendolen,  stretching  out  both  her  bands  and  taking 
hold  of  his. 

How  beautiful  and  noble  she  looked  as  she  stood  there  in  the 
pjale  light,  her  face  radiant  wi^h  happiness  and  aglow  with  enthu- 
siasm. Of  what  lofty  deeds  would  not  a  man  be  capable,  inspired 
by  her  I  As  the  Premier  gazed  at  her  and  felt  the  soft  warm  clasp 
of  her  hands,  he  was  thrilled  to  the  core  by  a  strange  emotion,  in 
which  soniething  of  vague  and  indefinable  sweetness  was  blent  with 
an  almost  solemn  perception  of  the  beauty  of  high  endeavour  :  as 
if  the  sweet  seriousness  of  Gwendolen's  face  had  spiritualised 
itself  in  his  mind.     He  bowed  reverently  and  kissed  her  hand. 

At  that  moment  a  cloud  passed  over  the  face  of  the  moon,  and 
hid  the  Premier's  earnest  expression  from  the  view  of  the  mocking 
Bacchus. 


^ 


Ilo0k  H. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MRS.  DAWE  ON  POLITICS  AND  MATRIMONY. 

ACK  DAWE,  as  the  reader  already  knows,  occupied 
the  humble  yet  occasionally  lofty  position  of  a 
house-and-sign  painter.  His  earnings  were  suffi- 
ciently large  to  prevent  him  crossing  the  boundary- 
line  between  Ultra-Radicalism  and  Socialism,  even  if 
he  had  not  been  the  sole  heir  of  an  ancient  demesne. 
His  professional  reputation  was  unsullied  by  a  single  blotch  of 
paint  in  the  wrong  place,  and  it  was  achieved  after  a  long  and 
arduous  preparation  in  youth.  A  touch  of  artistic  instinct  lifted  his 
lions  and  cows  far  above  the  vulgar  herd.  His  griffins  and  unicorns 
seemed  to  have  been  photographed  from  life,  and  their  air  of  vitality 
was  such  as  to  vindicate  their  originals'  claims  to  reality,  and  to  tlie 
right  of  sending  representatives  to  the  International  Assembly  at 
the  Zoo.  His  letters  over  shop- windows  were  remarkable  for  bold 
experiment  in  perspective.  His  native  road  contained  many  illus- 
trations of  his  genius,  notably  a  blue  beer-barrel,  which  occupied 
the  centre  of  a  white-painted  wall.  The  magnificent  scale  of  the 
work  called  forth  all  his  powers.  Of  him,  as  of  Shakespeare,  no 
man  can  say  that  he  had  a  great  opportunity  without  rising  to  the 
height  of  it.  An  eminent  art  critic,  to  whom  it  was  pointed  out  as 
an  early  work  of  Turner's,  said  of  it  ("  Modern  Sign-Painters," 
Vol.  VI.,  pp.  35-6),  **It  would  be  impossible  to  overpraise  the 
wholly  admirable  chiaroscuro,  the  subtle  tinting,  exquisite  in  its 
delicate  gradations  to  finer  and  finer  shades  of  blue,  caught  from 
his  accurate  observation  of  the  Maiden  Lane  skies,  the  vigorous 
and  ideally-realistic  rendering  of  the  bunghole,  and  the  highly 
imaginative  details  which  make  of  the  tap  a  vision  of  sensuous 
beauty  surcharged  with  high  poetic  meaning.  In  reality,  and  m 
.  esteem,  this  blue  beer-barrel  is  the  greatest  spiritual  painting  of 
our  time."  Happy  the  artist  who  has  himself  for  Hanging  Com- 
mittee, whose  gallery  is  the  town,  who  has  the  world  for  spectator  I 

Jack  Dawe  received  two  orders  by  the  first  post  on  the  Monday 
morning  which  followed  his  sleepless  night.    His  mother  brougbt 


r 


MRS.  DAWE  OPf  POUTTCS  AND  MATRTMONY   65 


Uiem  in,  treading  gingerly  in  immense  list  slippers  (a  size  too  small), 
for  Jack  had  not  risen  with  the  newsboy,  the  London  lark.  She 
found  him  with  his  face  turned  to  the  wall,  and  with  his  eyes  tightly 
dosed  Depositing  the  post-cards,  together  with  the  Daily  News, 
on  the  table,  she  left  the  room,  murmuring,  "  Poor  boy,  he  sha'n't 
go  to  work,  not  if  they  stand  on  their  'eads  for  'im,  'cos  it's  better 
to  knock  up  your  work  for  a  day  than  yourself  and  your  work  for  a 
week.  I'm  sorry  I  blowed  Hm  up  yesterday  for  neglecting  his 
business.  Yet  he  agreed  with  me  that  politics  ain't  for  those  as  has 
got  to  get  a  honest  living.  PVaps  when  he's  better  I  shall  be  able 
to  make  him  spoon  instead  of  spout." 

No  sooner  was  she  gone  than  Jack  extended  a  feverish  hand  and 
clutched  the  post-cards,  for  anything  was  welcome  to  him  after  the 
intense  mental  conflict  of  the  night,  which  had  ended  in  a  dull 
quiescence  induced  by  sheer  weariness.  One  demanded  his  imme- 
diate presence  in  Poplar  to  paint  some  doors  and  shutters  green, 
with  the  intimation  that  the  job  would  not  be  saved  for  him  later 
than  ten.  The  other  was  from  an  old  friend  in  the  Whitechapel 
Road— a  publican — who  informed  him  that,  in  a  recent  storm,  his 
signboard  had  been  blown  down  and  smashed  to  pieces,  in  common 
with  the  noble  lion  that  he  had  been  so  pleased  with  ;  he  therefore 
requested  the  artist  to  portray  another  at  his  convenience,  any  time 
during  the  week. 

''After  all,"  mused  Jack,  '^ painting  doors  green  is  better  than 
making  Mountchapel's  face  of  that  colour  with  envy,  and  painting 
lions  is  better  than  living  in  a  den  of  vdld  beasts." 

And  lo,  he  found  himself  suddenly  chuckling,  much  to  his  own 
surprise,  and  he  blushed  as  he  saw  the  field  of  unsuspected  motive 
laid  bare  in  a  momentary  flash. 

^  He'll  meet  his  match !  "  he  cried,  with  a  glee  he  could  not 
repress.  *'  He'll  meet  his  match,  and  at  his  own  weapons.  'Tis 
Greek  against  Greek." 

And  in  a  moment  the  heavy  clouds  of  depression  rolled  away, 
and  a  feverish  gaiety  filled  his  soul.  "  Fool  that  I  was ! "  he  cried, 
''to  spend  the  night  in  sighs,  when  I  should  rejoice !  For  three 
months  the  calm  reahns  of  Thought  and  Poetry  once  more  open  to 
me;  action  unnecessary,  sav^  of  a  novel  and  refreshing  kind  ;  the 
study  of  Humanity  possible,  and  perhaps  its  spiritualisation.  Euge^ 
omuy  eugey  thou  hast  found  the  Elixir  of  Life,  thou  hast  got  back 
thy  youth !  This,  this  is  the  land  of  the  Lotophagi,  who  eat  flowers 
as  food ! "  And  he  was  about  to  jump  out  of  bed,  light-hearted,  and 
filled  with  mercurial  vivacity,  when  the  entrance  of  Mrs.  Dawe 
caused  him  to  postpone  his  intention. 

*'  Good  gracious  me  ! "  she  said,  in  much  alarm,  occasioned  bv 
her  overhearing  the  last  two  sentences.  **  The  boy  is  gone  mad, 
a-talkin'  of  witchcraft  and  the  devil !  And  what  flowers  do  we  eat 
except  cauliflowers  ?" 

**  Reassure  yourself;  I  am  perfectly  well,"  he  said  gaily. 

"It  don't  seem  like  it,"  she  said  dubiously.  ** There's  been 
iomething  queer  about  you  ever  since  yesterday  mornin' ;  I  can't 

f 


1 


66  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

quite  make  out  what  it  is.  You  don't  look  quite  right  about  the 
eyes,  and  your  face  is  paler  than  it's  been  for  years,  VVve  you  been 
whitewashing  yourself  ?  " 

He  smiled  faintly.  ''  I  am  afraid  many  people  would  consider 
that  impossible." 

"  Well,  you  ain't  yourself,"  she  continued,  with  some  asperity, 
**  and  Tm  sure  it's  all  over  goin'  to  talk  politics.  I  wish  you'd 
never  'ad  nothing  to  do  with  'em." 

The  words  escaped  Mrs.  Dawe  involuntarily,  and  she  paused 
half-affrighted  when  she  had  uttered  them.  It  was  true  her  mild 
expostulation  of  the  day  before  had  escaped  the  stem  filial  reproof 
which  she  felt  her  audacity  deserved  ;  but  she  could  not  expect 
such  luck  twice.  Judge,  tnen,  of  her  surprise  when  her  son  ex- 
claimed earnestly,  "  So  do  I ! "  She  uttered  a  cry  of  joy.  Then 
she  remembered  it  must  be  his  physical  weakness  that  modified 
his  natural  imperiousness.  Her  mood  softened,  the  acridity  of  her 
tones  died  away,  but  she  was  not  one  to  lose  an  opportunity.  **  Ah, 
Jack,  I'm  glad  you've  got  sense  enough  to  see  there's  some  left  in 
your  poor  old  mother.  If  you  'adn't  been  so  'eadstrong  you'd  been 
a  'appier  man,  and  somebody  else  'ud  been  a  'appier  woman." 

The  painter's  eyes  gleamed  with  a  sad,  tender  light. 

"As  your  late  father  said,"  continued  Mrs.  Dawe,  perceiving 
the  impression  she  had  wrought :  " '  A  man  with  a  weak  'ead  can't 
afford  to  be  'eadstrong,'  and  your  'ead  was  alius  too  weak  for  poli- 
tics. Not  as  I  wishes  to  insinuate  that  you  don't  take  arter  me. 
You're  clever  enough  in  your  own  way,  but  I've  'eard  that  to  get 
on  in  that  line  of  business  you  must  be  too  clever  by  'arf.  And 
when  politics  spiles  your  appetite,  as  well  as  wastes  your  time,  it's 
'igh  time  to  give  it  up.  It  don't  make  no  difference  to  me,  whether 
the  Liberals  or  the  Conservatives  is  a-ruinin'  the  country,  and  I 
don't  see  what  it's  got  to  do  with  you.  Floppy's  a  rascal,  and 
trade's  as  bad  as  'imself,  but  I  don't  see  that  sore  throats  is  likely 
to  benefit  any  business  except  doctors  ! " 

**  Well,  you  will  be  pleased  to  hear  that  I  intend  taking  a  long 
rest  from  politics,"  he  observed  kindly. 

"  Fortune  smiles  indeed  upon  my  determination ! "  he  reflected. 
"  'Tis  an  unexpected  happiness  to  be  able  to  brighten  her  sordid 
existence  by  doing  nothing  to  effect  that  object.  The  saint  malgri 
luiP^  But  had  he  foreseen  the  long,  half-delirious  hug  that 
awaited  him,  accompanied  as  it  was  by  inarticulate  sounds  of  de- 
light, he  would  not  have  forgotten  that  every  pleasure  has  its 
price. 

"That's  my  dear  old  Jack!"  she  cried,  when  she  had  exhausted 
herself  and  him.  "  It  reminds  me  of  the  good  old  times  when  I 
used  to  spank  you.  Ah,  you  was  a  wicked  boy  sometimes,  Jack, 
even  afore  you  took  to  politics.  D'ye  remember  when  you  stole  a 
baked  potato  as  took  all  the  skin  off  your  hand  when  you  was 
taking  the  skin  off  of  it,  and  your  father  said  you  was  punished 
nat'rally,  as  Roosso  recommended;  but  I  said  that  the  nat'ral  punish- 
ment was  not  in  the  hands  but  only  in  that  part  of  the  body  created 


ifltf .  DA  WE  ON  POUTICS  AND  MA  TklMONY  67 

on  porpo'se  for  it^  and  your  father  said» '  P  Vaps  you're  right,  spare 
the  slipper  and  spile  the  child.' "  Here  Mrs.  Dawe  paused  to  take 
breath,  and  smiled  with  the  air  of  a  law  of  nature  apologising  for 
its  harsh  conduct  on  the  ground  of  benevolent  intentions.  Jack 
smiled  too,  not  the  smile  of  forgiveness  blent  with  security  with 
which  one  receives  one's  old  schoolmaster,  but  a  smile  of  amuse- 
ment at  teleological  views  such  as  Bacon  declared  to  have  strangely 
defiled  philosophy. 

"  Shall  I  bring  you  up  your  breakfast  or  will  you  come  down- 
stairs ? "  said  Mrs.  Dawe,  suddenly  reverting  to  actuality  and  the 
present.  "  It's  a  lovely  day  (though  rather  hot  for  cooking),  and  you 
can  go  in  the  Park  if  you  ain't  ekal  to  paintin'.  We  ain't  so  poor 
as  2dl  that,  though  there  was  five  pounds  of  meat  over  yesterday, 
and  I'm  afraid  it'll  turn." 

**  If  you  will  kindly  prepare  the  meal,"  said  Jack,  "  I  will  be 
down  immediately.  Plain  bread  and  butter,  please,  without  ham 
and  eggs." 

"No  ham  ! "  she  cried  reproachfully.  "  Why,  I've  got  such  a 
lovely,  streaky  bit  this  morning,  fit  for  the  Pry  Minister  hisself." 

"  What  will  do  for  the  Postmaster-General,"  said  Jack  with  a 
malicious  smile,  "  will  not  do  for  me." 

"Well,  I  know  what  I'll  do  then.  I'll  brile  you  a  two-eyed 
steak,  as  old  Charley  calls  'em,  a  real  Yarmouth  one  as  I  bought 
fresh  yesterday  artemoon,  provided  the  weather  ain't  been  too 
much  for  it" 

So  saying  she  left  the  room,  and  Jack  began  to  dress.  A  few 
moments  later,  voices  were  heard  in  loud  expostulation,  and  the 
House  of  Commons  rose  vividly  to  his  mind.  Mrs.  Dawe  appeared 
to  be  accusing  Sally  of  ingratitude  and  dishonesty,  declanng  that 
she  must  have  ruined  her  many  times  over  unbeknown  to  her.  The 
girl  was  even  more  shrilly  protesting  that  without  her  the  business 
would  have  gone  to  the  dogs,  and  that  she  had  thrown  it  out  be- 
cause it  was  ''  no  good ; "  and  her  mistress  retorted  that  without 
her^  she  would  have  gone  to  the  dogs,  and  that  she  would  be  thrown 
out  because  she  was  "  no  good."  She  followed  this  up  by  warning 
Sarah  against  giving  her  "  any  more  of  her  sauce,"  and  by  remind- 
ing her  of  the  proverb  (which  she  had  just  adapted  from  another) 
that  "  cheeking  never  prospers." 

Jack  on  coming  down  to  breakfast  found  his  mother  flushed, 
panting,  and  perspiring,  while  Sally  could  be  heard  viciously  bang- 
ing together  saucepans  in  the  kitchen  under  pretence  of  cleaning 
them. 

"  There  ain't  no  bloater,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 
"That  wiper  that  I  suckled  at  my  buzzum  has  gone  and  bolted  it" 

"  Thank  God ! "  murmured  Jack. 

•*You  must  help  yourself,"  she  added,  "for  I'm  busy  inside." 

«*  Thank  God  ! "  repeated  Jack. 

Left  to  himself  he  unfolded  the  Daily  News  and  reperused  one 
of  its  leaders  with  much  satisfaction. 

"The  news  of  the  indisposition  of  the  Premier,"  it  said,  "follow- 

F  2 


68  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

ing  immediately  upon  the  rumour  of  a  stormy  Cabinet  meeting,  is 
sufficiently  pathetic  in  its  significance.  '  O  that  mine  enemy  would 
write  a  book/  is  no  longer  a  cry  of  dark  meaning  in  these  days  of 
universal  paper-staining.  *0  that  mine  enemy  would  wreck  a 
Ministry/  has  a  truer  ring  of  infinite  malevolence.  *  Worry,'  is  the 
laconic  but  pregnant  phrase  in  which  Sir  William  Lancet  is 
reported  to  have  summed  up  the  state  of  the  case  to  a  friend,  and 
whosoever  has  followed  Mr.  Floppington's  career  from  the 
moment  he  returned  from  Balmoral  pledged  to  manufacture  an 
Administration  from  the  antagonistic  materials  at  his  command,  will 
for  once  unhesitatingly  endorse  the  view  of  a  disciple  of  Galen  and 
Hippocrates.  Who  does  not  remember  the  affecting  picture  of  the 
new  Premier  escaping  for  a  few  minutes  from  the  invidious  task  of 
selecting  his  Cabinet  and  rushing  into  the  Park,  literally  ^sping  for 
breath  ?  And  since  then,  every  day  has  demonstrated  his  inability 
to  harmonise  the  heterogeneous  elements  that  make  up  his  Cabinet 
and — himself.  Surely  he  cannot  still  retain  any  hope  that  his 
Reform  Bill  will  ever  advance  beyond  a  first  reading.  Striking  as 
are  the  defects  of  this  measure  (and  we  have  already  pointed  them 
out  ctd  nauseam)  we  do  not  deny  that  an  abler  man  might  have 
pulled  it  through  the  House.  Mr.  Floppington  is  constitutionally 
unfitted  for  his  present  post,  however  respectable  his  talents.  Give 
him  a  sentimental  theme  to  rhapsodise  about,  and  he  will  astonish 
you  by  superficial  brilliances.  Set  him  a  problem  in  practical 
politics,  and  he  breaks  down  hopelessly.  Still  we  should  be  un- 
feignedly  sorry  if  the  state  of  Mr.  Floppington's  health  necessitated 
his  retirement  from  Parliament  He  is  a  valuable  member  of  the 
House,  though  such  a  mere  ornament  in  a  Government  It  will  be 
remembered  that  in  the  Indian  drama  of  Hari CHANDRA  (which 
deals  in  its  own  rude  way  with  the  problems  of  JOB  and  of  our 
modem  Faust)  Wis  Wamitra "  Jack  did  not  pursue  the  re- 
condite illustration  any  further.  The  first  few  sentences  made  him 
quite  happy,  and  even  the  shame  he  felt  at  hearing  for  the  first  time 
of  Wis  Wamitra  could  not  dispel  his  content  As  he  confessed  to 
himself,  he  could  not  be  expected  to  be  as  omniscient  as  journalists, 
who  are  as  polyglot  as  certain  bibles,  if  not  as  holy.  Psychologists 
warn  us  against  the  phrenological  fallacy  of  localising  the  mental 
powers,  but  it  is  certain  that  the  memory  of  the  modem  man  is  \ 
localised— on  his  bookshelves. 

After  breakfast  Jack  strolled  into  the  kitchen,  but  the  heat  of  a 
roaring  fire,  on  which  stood  an  open  cauldron,  forced  him  to  retreat 
into  the  parlour. 

"  You  won't  go  to  work,  will  you  ?  "  cried  his  mother,  who  was 
peeling  potatoes. 

"  There  is  much  to  be  said  pro  and  con^  he  replied  musingly. 
"  Where  are  my  brushes  ? '' 

**  Why,  where  should  they  be  ?    Nobody's  moved  them." 

"  1  don't  see  them,"  said  Jack. 

"Great  'eavens  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Dawe,  rushing  in  with  a  nude 
potato.    "  Who  could  ha'  stoled  them  ?  Why,"  she  continued,  after 


MRS.  DA  WE   ON  POLITICS  AND  MA  TRIMONY    69 

a  rapid  glance  into  the  back-yard,  *^  there  they  are,  under  the  shed 
all  right.'' 

"  Why,  so  they  are ! "  he  cried,  lugging  in  a  couple  of  paint-pots 
and  regarding  them  with  much  interest.  "  Who  will  ever  paint  me 
in  my  true  colours  ?"  he  was  thinking.  "What  is  dishonest  bio- 
graphy but  a  painting  white  or  a  painting  black  ;  honest  biography 
bat  a  piebald  painting  that  makes  the  man  into  a  clown ;  and  auto- 
biography but  a  rouging  of  one's  face  ?  '*  He  took  a  pot  in  each 
hand  and  entered  the  kitchen  on  his  way  out  "  It  can  be  but  a 
very  rude  art,"  he  muttered  ;  *  and  I  could  sketch  pretty  well  as  a 
schoolboy.''  He  was  mistaken  in  this  modest  depreciation  of  his 
profession,  as  has  been  shown  by  the  criticism  quoted  above. 
The  artist  may  be  rude  (when  ill-paid)  but  not  the  art.  "  A  mere 
twirling  of  the  brush  would  probably  suffice  to  paint  a  door,"  he 
continued,  whirling  the  brush  round  in  the  pot  and  splashing  the 
paint  all  over  the  kitchen. 

"  Lor*  bless  the  boy,"  Mrs.  Dawe  exclaimed,  very  red  in  the 
face  (at  intervals),  "  I  saw  a  tiny  drop  fly  into  the  soup."  And  the 
unfortunate  cook  found  herself  reproached  the  next  day  for  not 
reproducing  the  novel  and  subtle  flavour  which  had  characterised 
the  soup  of  the  day  before.  But  as  it  is  not  given  to  mortal  cooks 
to  read  the  future,  Mrs.  Dawe  exclaimed  angrily,  ''  It's  gettin'  a 
little  red." 

Jack  peered  anxiously  into  the  cauldron,  without,  however,  per- 
ceiving the  least  rubicund  trace. 

"  I  don't  see "  he  began. 

"  In  course  you  don't,"  she  interrupted  harshly.  "  Why  don't 
you  keep  your  eves  open  ?  A-splashin'  about  in  the  paint  as  if 
you  was  a  duck ! 

He  cowered  visibly  under  her  wrath.  The  pots  trembled  in 
his  hands. 

"Well,  my  good  woman,"  he  observed  mildly,  "if  I  have 
spoilt  the  soup  I  am  willing  to  make  compensation.  Would  a 
sovereign  cover  the  damage  ?  "  he  added,  smiling  grimly  ;  "  or  the 
matter  can  be  referred  to  arbitration  ! " 

Mrs.  Dawe  burst  into  tears,  at  which  unexpected  event  her  son 
was  utterly  confounded.  Long  as  he  had  known  his  mother,  he 
was  not  yet  familiar  with  all  her  idiosyncrasies.  "  As  if  I  cared 
about  the  spilin'  of  the  soup  1 "  she  sobbed. 

"  What,  then,  is  it  ?  "  he  inquired  in  amaze. 

"  It's — the  soup— bein'  spiled  that — I  care  about.  I  can't  get 
any  more — done — ^in  time— for  sendin'  out — ^and  I'll  get—  a  name 
like  Mrs.  Prodgers." 

"Mrs.  Prodgers!"  cried  Jack,  hoping  to  change  the  subject, 
" "  saw  her  yesterday,  poor  old  woman !  " 

"Poor  old  woman,  indeed  I "  cried  Mrs.  Dawe, drying  her  eyes. 
"  te  ought  to  be  briled  on  her  own  gridiroa  She's  always  a- 
ci    lin'  you  and  me  behind  our  backs." 

'^  Well,  she  fell  on  her  own  yesterday,  poor  thing  I " 

'^  Fell  on  her  back ! "  screamed  Mrs.  Dawe  gleefully.    "  Did 


1 


70  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

she?    Tell  me  the  truth.  Jack.    Don't  play  with  your  poor  old 
mother's  feelin's ! " 

^  Do  you  suppose  I  would' make  such  a  statement  if  it  were  not 
true  ?    She  seemed  a  good  deal  hurt." 

*'It's  a  punishment  on  her,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe  solenmly,  ''for 
goin'  to  church  on  a  Sunday  instead  of  attendin'  to  her  business, 
and  for  trying  to  take  {people's  customers  away  from  them  by  pre- 
tendin'  to  be  more  religious  and  consekently  more  reliable.'' 

*'  Whatever  do  you  think  ?  "  cried  a  neighbour,  rushing  uncere- 
moniously into  the  kitchen.  ^  Fm  a-emptyin'  out  my  front  bed- 
room !  **  * 

The  neighbour  was  a  small  woman  with  black  eyes.  Black 
eyes  are  normal  in  all  Oriental  regions,  and  so,  of  course,  very 
common  in  the  East  End  of  London. 

"  A-emptyin'  out  your  front  bedroom  ! "  echoed  Nfrs.  Dawe,  as 
if  the  stability  of  nations  had  been  shaken.    ''  What  for  ?  ** 

"  Whv,  it's  in  this  way,*  said  the  small  woman  in  much  excite- 
ment. ''Three  wedcs  ago  my  gal  Jane  comes  home  from  work 
with  her  finger  tied  up.  '  What's  a  matter  ? '  ses  I.  '  I've  cut  my 
finger,'  ses  she.  '  Bad?'  ses  I.  '  Bad,'  ses  she.  A  week  arter  I 
ses  to  her, '  Ain't  ye  going  to  take  that  dirty  rag  o£f  ?  Your  finger 
must  be  better.'  But  she  wouldn't,  and  kept  it  on  till  this  momin'. 
The  sight  of  it  aggravated  me  fearfully,  and  this  momin'  I  pulled 
it  off  in  a  temper.  And  what  should  I  see  on  that  'ere  finger  but  a 
weddin'  ring ! " 

"Good  'eavensi"  gasped  Mrs.  Dawe.    "And  Jane  is  married?" 

*^  Married  I"  said  the  woman  grimly.  "  And  I  ses  qufetly,  seein' 
it  was  no  use, '  And  who's  your  'usband  ? '  '  Billy  Simpson,'  ses  she 
as  bold  as  brass.  '  And  where  d'ye  live  ? '  '  Nowheres  at  present,' 
ses  she.  '  We  bought  some  fiimiture,  but  we  'ad  to  leave  it  in  the 
shop,  and  if  you'll  let  us  'ave  your  front  bedroom,  mother,  we'll 
bring  it  'ome.'  And  just  now  my  blessed  son-in-law  walks  in, 
smokin'  a  pipe  quite  comfortable  like.  '  Mother,'  ses  he,  '  I'll  give 
you  'arf-a-crown  a  week  for  the  room,'  and  so  I  diought  it  was  best 
to  say  nothing." 

**  There  you  was  right,**  said  Mrs.  Dawe.  "  As  I  often  tells  my 
customers  when  they  grumble  about  the  beef,  you 'must  make  the 
best  of  what  you've  got,  for  what's  done  can't  be  underdone." 

"  And  as  I  shall  be  in  a  bother  at  'ome  to-night,"  continued  her 
practical  neighbour,  ^  I've  come  to  see  if  you  can't  buy  this  order 
for  the  Foresters^.  Me  and  Jane  was  a-goin'  to-night,  but  we  can't 
now.    Admit  two  to  the  balcony — you  can  'ave  it  for  fourpence." 

"  What  do  you  say,  Jack  ?  Wny,  where  is  he  ?  Jack !  Jack ! 
Oh,  there  you  are  !  Come  'ere.  'Ere's  Mrs.  Green  wants  to  sell  a 
order  for  the  Foresters'.  Shall  we  go  to-night,  you  and  me,  and 
leave  Sally 'ere?" 

*^  llie  Foresters' ! "  said  Jack  wonderingly.  ^  What  is  there  to 
be  seen  there  ?  " 

"Why,  fust  of  all,"  replied  Mrs.  Green  quickly,  "therc^s  the 
Great  Macdermott ;  and  then  there's  Jenny  Lee,  the  Vital  Spark ; 


! 


MRS.  DAIVE  ON  POLITICS  AND  MATRIMONY   71 

and  there's  the  l^ounding  Brothers  of  Bokhara ;  and  there's  Nemo, 
the  wentrQoauist,  with  his  nig^^er,  and  his  old  woman,  and  his  little 
dog  that  barks  whenever  the  nigger  laughs  ;  and  I  dunno  what  else, 
and  aU  for  fi'pence.* 

"Fourpence  you  said/'  cried  Mrs.  Dawe  indignantly.  ''But  / 
don't  want  to  go,  Jack ;  I  leaves  it  to  you." 

^'  Well,  I  don't  think  I  should  find  much  entertainment  there," 
replied  her  son.    '^  No,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Green." 

"There,  did  you  ever  see  the  likes  o*  that  ?"  Mrs.  Dawe  burst 
out  *^l  do  'ave  so  much  enjoyment,  as  you're  a  witness,  Mrs. 
Green ;  and  whenever  I  wants  to  go  out  for  a  night,  this  brute  of 
a  son  o'  mine  wants  to  stay  at  home." 

"  It's  a  shame ! "  said  Mrs.  Green ;  and  Jack  quailed  beneath 
four  scornful  eyes. 

"  And  I  forgot,"  she  added  compassionately,  "  there's  the  un- 
happy nobleman,  Sir  Roger;  and  you  would  sa  enjoy  yourself, 
Mrs.  Dawe.    Good  momin'  to  you." 

''Stop,  stop  !"  cried  Jack  frantically.  ^ If  Sir  Roger  is  there, 
PUea" 

**That?s  just  like  you,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe.  "  When  you  'ear  as 
there's  something  as  yot^d  like  to  see,  you  wants  to  go.  I've  arf  a 
mind  not  to  go  for  your  pleasure.  'Owsoever,  Mrs.  Green,  if  you 
likes  to  tsd&e  thrippence  for  it,  I  don't  mind  givin'  it,  for,  as  you 
see,  I  don't  care  much  about  it" 

''Well,  I'm  not  the  one  to  quarrel  about  a  penny,"  said  Mrs. 
Green.    **  'Ere  you  are  ! " 

''Hooray,  Jack!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dawe,  when  she  was  gone. 
"  I've  been  that  longin'  to  see  Tichbome,  you  can't  telL  I'd  ha' 
given  a  bob  for  it  any  time  this  ten  years.  So  mind  you're  'ome  in 
time— seven  at  the  latest" 

"Very  well,"  said  Tack  resignedly.    '^If  I  must  go  to  see  the 

impostor,  I ^    And  then  he  stopped  and  blushed. 

"  Now  wasn't  that  clever  of  Jane  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Dawe,  changing 
the  subject     "  I  shouldn't  think  she  'ad  it  in  her." 
<*  What  did  she  do  ?"  said  Jack. 

"Why,  didn't  you  'ear?"  she  replied.  "She  went  and  got 
married  on  the  sly,  unbeknown  to  her  mother.  Fancy  me  not  bein' 
at  your  weddin' !  It's  almost  as  strange  as  not  bein'  at  your  own 
iiineraL    Ha,  ha,  ha  I " 

Why  did  the  laugh  end  almost  in  a  sob,  and  a  strange  prophetic 
shiver  thrill  mother  and  son  ? 

"I'm  a  old  woman,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe,  with  sudden  gravity, 
"and  if  you  don't  make  haste  about  it,  I  shall  be  nailed  down  afore 
you're  tied  up.  I've  been  waitin'  for  it  for  years.  Your  father 
used  to  say,  *  Don't  let  that  boy  be  a  bachelor.  Tell  him  if  I  should 
die  afore  my  time  (and  his  words  was  true,  Jack,  for  when  you  was 
six  feet  high  he  was  sue  feet  low),  tell  him  that  it's  ungrateful  to  his 
posterity,  for  how  would  he  like  it  if  /  had  kept  a  bachetor  ?'  Twenty- 
one  is  the  time  when  a  man  as  can  afford  it  is  of  age  to  marry. 
Them  as  the  gords  love  marry  yoiu^" 


'^ 


72  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

''  I  wish  I  could,"  sighed  Jack,  whom  his  mother's  remarks  had 
sent  in  to  a  mournful  day-dream.   *'  I  suppose  the  gods  don't  love  me." 

"  Well,  the  girls  does,  anyhow,"  retorted  Mrs.  Dawe. 

"  Possibly — for  my  position.    But  then  I  don't  love  them." 

'  Except  one,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe  insinuatingly. 

"  Except  one,"  he  repeated  sadly  ;  "  and  her  I  can't  marry." 

"  Can't  marry  her  I "  cried  Mrs.  Dawe,  nearly  cutting  her  finger. 
*•  What's  a  matter  now  ?  " 

"  I  could  not,  without  violating  my  conscience  and  sense  of 
honour,"  he  answered,  with  a  sad  smile. 

"  Eh  ?  Just  listen  to  the  boy  !  You  can't  marry  her  without 
wiolating  your  conscience  and  sense  of  honour ;  and  if  you  don't 
marry  her,  you'll  prove  you've  got  neither.  It  makes  me  giddy  to 
think  on  it.  You're  treading  on  the  corns  of  a  dilemma,  Jack,  and 
sich  things  is  alius  very  painJfuL" 

But  Jack  was  no  longer  listening.  He  was  immersed  in  a  pro- 
found reverie,  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  his  lips  were  moving ; 
and  in  place  of  Mrs.  Dawe,  greasy,  fat,  paint-spotted,  loquacious, 
arose  a  vision  of  radiant  beauty,  a  face  exquisitely  mobile,  with 
tender  gray  eyes,  in  which  love  and  pity  were  strangely  blent  with 
a  certain  wild  enthusiasm.  '^  I  thought  I  had  completely  conquered 
it,"  he  was  murmuring ;  *'  but  a  casual  word  has  revived  it  in  all 
its  intensity.  Yet  for  months  I  have  not  seen  her  face,  fearing  lest 
I  should  take  the  gleam  of  her  eyes  for  the  light  of  truth,  and  the 
music  of  her  voice  for  the  voice  of  reason.    Oh,  eternal  contest  of 

Cassion  and  duty !  Yet  am  I  not  unhappy  in  the  renunciation ; 
ut,  with  Romola,  I  can  only  tell  my  happiness  from  misery  by  its 
being  what  I  would  choose  before  everything  else,  because  my  soul 
sees  it  is  good." 

*^  Well,  this  is  a  rum  go,"  cried  Mrs.  Dawe,  looking  up  suddenly. 
"  Why,  the  boy  is  a-cryin'  1 " 

**  Two  things  there  are,"  said  Jack,  uttering  the  guttural  German 
in  a  low,  solemn  tone,  while  a  samt-like  cakn  overspread  his  worn 
features,  '*  which,  the  oftener  and  the  more  steadfastly  we  consider 
them,  fill  the  mind  with  an  ever  new,  an  ever  rising  admiration  and 
reverence  :  the  starry  heaven  above,  and  the  moral  law  within." 

"  'Eaven  alone  knows  what's  a  matter  with  him,"  cried  Mrs. 
Dawe,  with  exasperation  tempered  by  bewilderment,  *'  a-grumblin' 
and  a-croakin'  as  if  he  lived  on  frogs,  like  them  dirty  Pollywoos, 
and  all  'cause  a  pretty  gal  is  in  love  with  him.  And  you  won't  'ave 
her,  eh?" 

**•  I  have  long  given  up  all  hope,"  responded  Jack,  in  a  semi- 
automatic fashion. 

"  Well,  she  ain't,  and  /  ain't,  and  we'll  soon  let  you  know,"  d^  is 
the  angry  reply.  "  Why,  you  couldn't  set  eyes  on  a  finer  gal,  not 
even  if  you  was  to  search  till  you  was  blind.  And  she's  got  such  a 
good  place  now.     She's  too  good  for  you,  that's  what  she  is." 

*'  She  is,  indeed,"  asserted  Jack  warmly,  his  eyes  still  fixed  on 
an  inward  vision. 

*^  Then  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  for  not  marryim 


r 


MRS.  DAWE  ON  POLITICS  AND  MATRIMONY    73 

her,"  said  his  mother  somewhat  iUogically;  "and  arter  keepin' 
company  with  her  for  years,  too  I " 

"I  have  already  told  you "    At  this  point  Jack  started, 

awoke,  and  stopped. 

"  You're  a  hass,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe  shortly.  She  stopped  to  skim 
the  soup,  and  continued  :  "  A  gal  in  a  thousand,  and  if  you  throw 
away  this  dirty  water,  you'll  never  catch  another  fish  like  'er.  And 
so  heddicated !  And  so  mad  in  love  with  you !  Why,  when  I  told 
'er  on  Saturday  night  that  you  was  gone  out  again  'cause  you  was 
alius  engaged  with  politics,  I  thought  she'd  a  had  a  fit ;  and  she 
said  she  wished  politics  was  a  girL'' 

"Why?"  cried  Jack,  startled. 

^So  that  she  might  scratch  her  eyes  out,  you  know.  That'll 
show  you  how  much  she  loves  you  ;  and  if  you  love  her,  why,  make 
an  end  of  it  at  once.'' 

"  But  I  don't  love  her,"  said  Jack,  meditatively  watching  Sally, 
who  was  furtively  trying  to  mount  a  bicycle  in  the  yard,  which  was 
out  of  her  mistress's  line  of  vision. 

"That  don't  matter,"  was  the  unexpected  response.  "  You  must 
do  that  afterwards.  As  your  father  said,  you  needn't  marry  the 
gal  you  love,  but  you  must  love  the  gal  you  marry.  And  why 
shouldn't  you  love  her?  She's  none  of  your  Mrs.  Prodgers's 
sausages.  She's  good  stuffin*  in  a  neat  brown  skin— a  broonet 
asll  be  faithful  to  death  ;  none  of  your  blondes,  fair  but  false,  like 
new  tombstones,  as  your  father  said.  Mark  my  words,  Jack,  them 
as  looks  as  lively  as  kittens  is  often  as  wicious.  Marriage  often 
turns  turtle-doves  into  cats  and  dogs.  And  you've  kept  company 
with  her  so  long  that  you  know  all  her  ins-and-outs.  And  yet,  tell 
me.  Tack,  have  you  ever  found  anything  wrong  in  her  ?  " 

"Never,"  said  Jack,  with  a  slight  smile. 

**  There !  '*  said  Mrs.  Dawe  triumphantly.  **  You're  quite  safe 
—for,  as  your  father  said,  marryin'  in  haste  is  like  buyin'  a  'ouse 
without  lookin'  at  the  drainage.  You  must  either  part  or  die  afore 
your  time.  But  this  gal — Lor*  bless  you,  sh^ll  never  make  cinders 
of  your  meat." 

The  heat  of  the  kitchen,  combined  with  his  mother's  gabble,  had 
by  this  time  given  Jack  a  headache.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  weary 
brow. 

"  At  present  you're  a  trifle  skittish,"  she  continued. 

"  Me  miserum  \ "  gasped  Jack,  "  skittish  ! " 

"And  if  you  was  to  marry  'Lizer,  you'd  be  settled." 

"  Verum  est^  it  is  too  true,"  groaned  Jack.  "  I  certainly  didn't 
bargain  for  any  'Lizer,"  he  muttered. 

"And  I'll  give  you  the  business,  and  send  Sally  packin',  and 
'Lizer  and  me'll  attend  to  the  cookin',  and  you  needn't  go  out,  but 
naake  yourself  generally  useful  about  the  shop.  You're  in  a  position 
to  marry,  I'm  sure.  Not  like  Bill  Simpson,  who  ought  to  ha'  been 
warned  in  the  words  your  father  said  to  a  poor  young  chap  fifty 
years  ago — 'Arter  the  union,'  ses  your  father,  *  the  Union.'  Yes, 
that  Jane  Green  is  a  fool  for  all  her  cleverness." 


74  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

Here  Jack  resolutely  put  on  his  hat  and  took  ap  his  painting 
apparatus. 

**  Well,  if  you  will  go,  mind  you're  'ome  at  seven  at  latest,** 
cried  his  mother.  "  I  wouldn't  miss  Tichbome  for  the  world, 
though  it's  certainly  a  risk  to  leave  Sally  all  alone.  If  she  don't 
take  a  good  penny  for  herself,  she  may  take  a  bad  'un  for  me.  Good- 
bye, and  mind,  if  you  don't  make  up  your  mind,  I  shall  worry  you 
till  you  do." 

The  rapidity  of  Mrs.  Dawe's  encroachments  would  have  made 
her  reputation  in  a  higher  field.  It  was  only  a  day  since  her  son 
had  shown  the  faintest  symptoms  of  allowing  himself  to  be  pecked 
at  by  the  maternal  hen,  ana  here  she  was  already  reasserting  the 
empire  she  had  long  ceased  to  wield.  It  is  surprising  how  quickly 
the  human  animal  accommodates  itself  to  changed  relations,  and 
how  soon  it  forgets  that  they  were  ever  different. 

"  I  was  on  to  you  enough  when  you  didn't  marry  her**  (Mrs. 
Dawe's  suppressed  desires  took  the  solidity  of  actual  occurrences, 
when  looked  at  through  the  stereoscope  of  memory),  ^'  but  now  that 
you  say  you  won'iy  you've  jumped  from  the  frying-pan  into  the  fiite. 
You'll  get  not  a  moment's  peace." 

'*  Not  a  moment's  peace,"  echoed  the  unhappy  painter  as  he 
strode  through  the  shop.  *'  No  peace  even  with  ^Vhonour.  Truly 
have  I  jumped  from  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire." 


CHAPTER  IL 

THE  PAINTER  PAINTS  A  LION. 

^  I  WILL  beg^n  with  the  tail,"  said  Jack  Dawe  to  himself. 

He  was  perched  on  a  ladder  confronting  a  huge  signboard.  The 
blazing  rays  of  the  sun  beat  fiercely  upon  his  battered  broad-brimmed 
white  felt  hat,  and  he  was  already  **  spotted  like  the  pard."  Below 
him  slept  drowsy  Whitechapel — not  in  calm  slumber  but  in  the  un- 
easy sleep  of  a  somnambulist.  Nobody  seemed  awake,  yet  every- 
body was  working,  or  going  to  work,  or  coming  back  from  it  The 
mud  of  Saturday  was  dried  up,  and  seemed  to  form  an  integral  or  a 
fractional  part  of  the  road.  Dogs,  preceded  by  their  tongues, 
strolled  languidly  along,  and  from  some  unexpressed  law  of  prece- 
dence, everybody  made  way  for  them.  It  was  just  noon,  and  tliirst 
reigned  supreme. 

Jack  Dawe  had,  immediately  on  his  elevation,  clutched  his  brush, 
and  was  just  beginning  to  make  a  dab  on  the  white  surface,  when 
it  struck  him  that  a  little  preliminary  reflection  would  be  advisable. 
The  reflection  had  begun  well,  but  in  a  short  time  it  had  strayea 
away  into  quite  other  fields  of  thought  (passing  on  its  way  under 
the  tunnel  of  theology).  Occasionally  it  deviated  into  painting, 
but  only  for  an  instant.  At  last,  after  the  lapse  of  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  a  shrill  voice  inquired, ''  Well,  master,  when  are  you  a-goiQg 
to  begin?" 


r 


THE  PAINTER  PAINTS  A  LTOS  75 


Looking  down,  he  perceived  to  his  horror  a  crowd  of  small  ragged 
boys,  and  of  smaller  ragged  girls  carrying  large  babies,  gazing  up- 
wards with  expectant  eyes,  while  frqm  a  whitewashed  court  at  the 
side  of  the  public-house,  a  row  of  close-pressed  faces  was  lit  up  with 
eager  anticipation.  To  have  beheld  a  nascent  and  chaotic  lion 
assuming  form  and  colour,  and  growing  each  moment  more  and 
more  terrible  under  the  creator's  hand,  would  be  something  to  brag 
about  to  their  playmates. 

"  The  sanctity  of  the  atelier  is  invaded,"  he  murmured  grimly. 
"  I  must  to  work,  else  my  critics  will  be  impatient  But  how  shall 
I  begin  ?  This  work  is  not  unpleasant  after  all,  if  it  were  only  a 
little  cooler.  If  peace  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  house  it  can  be 
attained  on  the  ladder.  High  up  on  the  concrete  ladder  dwells  calm, 
high  up  on  the  social  ladder,  unrest.  Better  be  pestered  by  young 
rascals  in  the  open  air  than  by  old  ones  in  the  torture  chamber." 

"Well,  how  are  you  getting  on,  old  man?"  inquired  the  pro- 
prietor, sauntering  out  in  his  shirt-sleeves.  "  Hullo  !  Why,  you 
haven't  begun  yet  ?  " 

"No— o,"  said  Jack,  with  a  start,  **  I — you  see — I — it's  so  hot." 

The  proprietor  took  the  hint,  disappeared,  and  immediately  re- 
appeared with  a  foaming  tankard  of  beer. 

"  Take  a  pull  at  that,"  he  said.    "  That'll  make  you  right" 

Jack  shuddered.    **  No,  thank  you,*'  he  stammered. 

"  Good  heavens.  Jack  I  Surely  you  haven't  joined  the  tee- 
totalers, who  are  tempted  by  the  devil  to  take  the  oread  out  of  our 
mouths?'' 

"  You  mean  the  beer  out  of  your  customers'  mouths/  said  Jack 
fiseUy. 

^  Ha  !  ha  !  ha !  Good,  my  boy.  I  can  enjoy  a  joke  even  against 
myself  But  d'ye  remember  when  you  said  you  wouldn't  take  the 
pledge  because  you  weren't  a  pawnbroker  ?  Well,  that  joke  has  gone 
the  round  of  the  entire  profession,  and  your  health  has  been  drunk 
in  every  bar  in  London  for  it  Lord,  you  don't  know  how  celebrated 
you  are.  You've  done  more  harm  to  the  League  by  your  chaff  than'U 
be  repaired  in  a  hurry.  Come  on  1  Take  a  good  swig,  and  don't 
try  any  of  your  larks  on  me." 

Unable  to  resist,  Jack  put  the  pewter  to  his  lips.  He  was  pretty 
thirsty,  and  somehow  the  fluid  seemed  cool  and  inviting,  and  he 
drained  the  pot 

The  proprietor  received  back  the  empty  tankard  with  a  knowing 
gria  "Run  away  to  school,  you  young  vagabonds,"  he  cried, 
threatening  to  throw  it  among  the  throng  (which  if  he  bad  done  he 
would  never  have  seen  it  more),  and  much  to  Jack's  relief  the 
juvenile  crowd  fled  in  all  directions. 

It  was  when  left  alone  that  Jack  made  the  observation  which 
commences  this  chapter : 

**  I  must  begin  with  the  tail." 

So  saying,  he  made  a  rough,  almost  perpendicular  smear  to 
represent  a  raging  taiL  Then  he  paused  and  viewed  the  tail 
critically. 


76     THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

'Mt  is  the  easiest  part  of  the  animaly"  he  said,  ''and  yet  it 
doesn't  seem  natural" 

He  paused  for  another  minute,  lost  in  thought. 

*^  Fool  that  I  am ! "  he  cried.  "  Of  course  it's  unnaturaL  Who 
ever  saw  an  unowned  raging  tail  ?  The  unnatural  is  that  which 
departs  from  normal  associations.  And  what  does  '  Nature ' 
connote  as  opposed  to  '  Art,'  unless  it  be  the  primitive  associa- 
tions  only  ?  "  Then  he  gave  a  curl  to  the  smear,  but  the  result  was 
unsatisfactory.  He  had  often  made  the  British  lion  wag  his  tail, 
but  painting  that  tail  was  a  task  that  called  for  higher  powers. 

*'It  seems  a  very  weak  tail,"  he  observed  confidentially  to 
himsel£  ''My  animal  will  not  be  like  the  Conservative  party, 
which  is  at  present  strongest  in  the  tail.  My  talent  seems  to  have 
grown  rusty.  Yet  at  school  my  caricature  of  the  Head  was  good 
enough  to  get  me  into  a  scrape." 

He  paused  once  more.  A  flood  of  recollections  poured  upon 
his  soul — the  good  old  times,  his  old  schoolfellows,  nis  old  suc- 
cesses. The  hot  air  was  filled  with  shadows.  With  tears  in  his 
eyes,  he  began  to  recite  from  iEschylus  the  sacrifice  of  Iphigenia. 

Every  moment  the  doors  of  the  public-house  swung  on  their 
hinges,  and  men  and  women,  wiping  their  mouths  with  satisfaction, 
or  licking  their  lips  in  anticipation,  stared  at  the  painter,  who, 
waving  his  brush  about  frantically,  was  uttering  gibberish  in  tones 
of  melting  pathos. 

"  And  plain  as  a  picture  fain  to  speak."  The  line  recalled  him 
to  reality.  A  boy  was  screaming  somewhere  below,  and,  looking 
down,  he  found  he  had  not  been  alone.  The  same  youthful  spec- 
tators were  gazing  at  him  with  rapt  awe,  and  one  was  sitting  on  the 
pavement,  rubbing  his  eyes,  and  crying  loudly. 

*'  You  brute !  "  cried  a  slatternly  woman  in  a  plaid  shawL  '*  I 
seed  you  a-dashin'  the  paint  into  the  poor  children's  eyes  all  the 
while  I  was  a-comin'  up  the  road,  A-grudgin'  'em  the  sight  of  your 
rotten  picture  I " 

''  Go  away,  my  good  woman,"  said  Jack  mildly.  "  You  are 
under  a  delusion." 

*'  I'm  under  your  ladder,"  retorted  the  woman,  violently  shaking 
it,  "  and  s'elp  me  Bob  if  I  ain't  a  good  mind  to  chuck  yer  down  ! " 

'*  Go  away  ! ''  repeated  Jack,  much  alarmed,  and  feeling  in  his 
pocket. 

The  woman  saw  the  action,  and,  picking  up  the  screaming  small 
boy,  she  embraced  him  passionately.  *'My  poor  Bobby  I"  she 
cried.  '*  I'll  'ave  the  law  on  the  brute  for  this !  Keep  still,  you  little 
devil ! ''  she  added,  sotto  voce,  to  the  child,  who  had  vague  fears  of 
being  kidnapped,  and  who  writhed  accordingly.  "  Keep  still,  d'yer, 
or  I'll  bang  yer  *ead  on  the  pavement  for  yer ! " 

"  After  all,"  thought  Jack  compassionately,  **  maternal  affection 
b  common  to  all  ranks,  and  perhaps  I  did  hurt  the  poor  lad."  And 
he  threw  the  woman  half-a-crown. 

"  You  little  liar ! "  she  exclaimed,  releasing  the  child,  who  fled 
away  as  last  as  his  legs  could  carry  hinu     ''What  d'ye  mean 


r 


THE  PAINTER  PAINTS  A  LION  77 


hf  cryin',  when  the  gentleman  didn't  mean  to  'urt  yer?''  So 
saying,  she  winked  at  Jack,  and  crossed  the  road  to  the  opposite 
pablic-house. 

"  I  must  really  get  on/'  thought  Jack ;  "  the  body  can  be  done 
with  a  few  strokes." 

He  worked  away  vigorously  for  five  minutes.  Formless  dabs  of 
red  paint  were  added  to  formless  dabs,  till  the  whole  began  to  grow 
into  an  elongated  ovaL  But  now  he  discovered  that  the  tail  was 
really  unnatural,  for  he  had  made  it  about  a  quarter  of  the  width 
of  the  space  allotted  to  the  body,  and  he  did  not  know  how  to 
diminish  it. 

**  It  is  Destiny,*'  he  said.  "  Hitherto  Fate,  working  by  a  re- 
markable harmonie  priilablie^  has  driven  us  both  into  this  course. 
But  the  hartnonie  seems  to  fail  here.  If  it  is  the  greatest  art  to 
conceal  art,  I  have  achieved  perfection,  for  I  have  concealed  mine 
beyond  all  chances  of  discovery."  An  organ  commenced  to  play  as 
Jack  began  on  the  head,  and  unconsciously  his  brush  jerked  up  and 
down  in  time  to  the  music. 

^V(E  mihi!^  he  sighed.  **  How  hide  these  horns?  I  shall 
have  to  give  the  poor  animal  water  on  the  brain."  At  this  point  he 
heard  a  long,  low  whistle.  It  came  from  his  employer,  who  was 
looking  up  in  speechless  astonishment. 

**  What  do  you  call  that  ?"  he  said  at  last.   "  That  ain't  a  lion  I ' 

**0f  course  not,"  replied  Jack  feebly.  "It  is  a — ^a  lion  in 
embryo." 

'•A  lion  where?" 

"  Unfinished,  you  know— before  birth,"  he  explained. 

"  And  d'ye  mean  to  tell  me  that  lions  have  horns  befoic  hVth  1  ^' 

"  Some  lions  have,"  said  Jack,  with  logical  accuracy. 

"Well,  you  know  more  about  them  than  I  do,  old  man.  But  stop 
it  now, and  come  and  have  a  chop  with  me  inside;  it's  dinner-time." 

Nothing  loth,  Jack  descended  and  ate  the  chop,  amid  a  sullen 
silence  that  much  disturbed  his  friend  and  ''the  missus,"  the  latter 
of  whom  kept  plying  him  with  ale  to  enliven  him. 

**  You're  sure  you  ain't  ill,  old  man  ?  "  the  publican  said  earnestly, 
when  Jack  was  preparing  to  remount.  "  Because  if  you  are,  you 
can  finish  it  when  you're  better,  and  when  you  can  handle  the  brush 
better." 

^  I  assure  you,"  protested  Jack,  *'  I'm  handling  the  brush  better 
t«Miay  than  ever  before." 

"Think  so?"  said  the  publican  doubtfully.  "  It  looks  funny. 
However,  you  know  your  own  business  best." 

The  crowd  was  anxiously  waiting,  and  a  slight  cheer  greeted 
his  arrival.  **  They  will  see  it  out  to  the  bitter  end,"  he  thought. 
No  sooner  was  he  in  position  than  it  struck  him  that,  by  giving  the 
lion  an  unusually  flowing  mane,  the  horns  might  be  utilised  as  hair. 
He  set  to  work  with  extra  vigour. 

"Toot-a-tootle,  toot-a-tootle,  bang !  bang !"  The  former 
mellifluous  strains  suddenly  broke  out  from  a  paper-covered  comb, 
played  by  a  aian  whose  beating  of  a  drum  produced  the  latter. 


^ 


78  TWE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 


**  Punch  and  Judy ! "  exclaimed  the  children  in  a  breath,  and 
some  rushed  to  the  new  attraction.  But  many  still  refused  to 
budge,  and  followed  the  growth  of  the  lion  with  keen  excitement. 

"  At  last ! "  exdaim^  Jack  bitterly.  "  At  last  I  am  an  equal 
attraction  with  a  Punch  and  Judy  man."  He  finished  the  head 
quickly,  and  surveyed  the  whole  with  a  puzzled  look. 

*'  There  seems  to  be  something  wanting,  but  I  don't  know  what 
it  is,"  he  murmured.  "  Ha  I  How  foolish  I  I  forgot  the  eyes." 
He  inserted  two  green  spots,  descended  the  ladder,  and  called  the 
publican. 

"  Finished  ?  "  said  the  latter.    Jack  nodded. 

''  All  right,  111  be  out  in  a  minute." 

"  Ha  !  ha !  ha  ! "  roared  the  proprietor,  holding  his  sides. 

^*  If  s  a  good  lion  enough,"  said  Jack  moodily.  ''  Look  at  the 
head." 

"  I  don't  say  anything  against  the  head,  old  man.  But  wheris 
ike  legs  f' 

Jack  ran  up  the  ladder  without  saying  a  word,  but  looking  very 
dazed.     In  a  xew  minutes  he  had  supplied  the  missing  meml^rs. 

"  Well,  it  looks  a  little  better  now.  Jack,"  said  the  publican 
after  a  critical  examination.  *'  Perhaps,  after  all,  I  should  have 
had  more  custom  if  you  had  left  the  lion  without  any  legs.  But 
candidly  speaking,  old  man,  don't  you  think  it's  a  leetle  different 
from  the  last  one?" 

Jack  was  silent.  Suddenly  he  had  a  brilliant  idea  which  recalled 
the  painter  in  his  best  days. 

**  You  have  heard  of  Evolution  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Eva  Lution  ?  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  publican  readily.  **  She's  the 
woman  that  says  we  come  from  monkeys,  ain't  she  ?  " 

"  And  do  you  believe  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  it's  true  enough.    Some  of  us  do." 

"  Now,  how  long  is  it  since  I  painted  your  last  lion  ?  "  he  asked, 
with  a  confidence  probably  bom  of  a  brain  heated  to  unusual 
activity  by  his  recent  potations. 

"  Well,  it  might  be  three  years  and  it  might  be  more." 

"Now  don't  you  see  that  in  three  years  lions  will  develop?" 
said  Jack. 

*'  Is  that  it  ?  "  said  the  puzzled  publican. 

"  That  is  it,"  replied  Jack  decisively,  though  wondering  not  a 
little  at  his  own  audacity.  "You've  no  idea  what  changes  can 
come  over  lions  in  three  years." 

"Ah,  well,  I'll  take  your  word  for  it.  Here's  your  money. 
Good-bye,  old  man.  Have  another  glass  ?  That's  right.  Good- 
bye, and  drop  in  now  and  again." 

What  was  this  sudden  dimness  that  made  all  objects  sway 
before  Jack's  eyes  as  he  walked  down  the  Cambridge  Road  ?  He 
got  down  the  road  as  best  he  could  till  he  reached  the  grounds  of 
the  Bethnal  Green  MuseunL  It  was  four  o'cloclc  In  five  minutes 
he  would  be  at  home.  But  he  would  first  sit  down  on  a  bench  and 
rest  for  a  moment,  placing  his  paint-pots  beside  him.    When  be 


r 


THE  PAINTER  PAINTS  A  LION  79 

awdoe  he  felt  a  trifle  numbed.  He  looked  at  his  watch  sleepily — 
half-past  eight  o'clock. 

''I  must  have  slept  for  some  time/'  he  muttered.  " But  how 
did  I  get  here  ?  I  don't  remember  anything  after  1  turned  out  of 
Whit^:hapel  Road.  How  my  head  aches ! ''  He  staggered  home. 
Mrs.  Dawe  was  standing  weeping  at  the  door  of  the  cook-shop, 
attired  in  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  ran  forward  to  meet  him,  her  eyes 
Uazing  with  fiiry. 

^Is  this  seven  o'clock?"  she  shrieked;  ''and  I  have  been 
waitin'  'ere,  dressed,  since  six  o'clock,  like  a  waxwork." 

*^  It*s  half-past  eight,"  he  said,  a  little  thickly.  "  Where  are 
you  going  ?  " 

''Good  'eavens,  he*s  forgotten  where  I'm  goin'  1"  she  screamed. 
"Why,  you're  drunk,  you  beast !  ** 

Tack  drew  himself  up. 

''  I'm  not,"  he  said  indignantly. 

"You  are,"  she  shrieked,  wringing  her  hands.  "  I  knew  what 
'ad  'appen  if  you  went  to  church  yesterday.  But  it's  my  fault,  it's 
my  fault  for  not  marryin'  you  off  as  your  father  wanted.  Spare  the 
wife,  he  used  to  say,  and  spile  the  man.  And  I  won't  spile  you  no 
more.  Jack,  not  if  I  has  to  drag  you  to  church  by  the  'air  o'  your 
'ead." 

With  trembling  footsteps  Jack  was  seeking  to  hide  himself 
indoors,  when  a  terrible  exclamation  made  him  turn  pale,  look 
quickly  round,  and  sink  miserably  into  an  empty  caulcuron. 

"  You  drunken  beast,"  shrieked  his  mother,  "  whenfs  your  pots 
a$ui  brushes  f  ^ 

It  may  be  doubted  whether,  throughout  the  vast  realm  ruled 
over  by— well,  to  discard  fictions,  by  the  Right  Honourable  Arnold 
Floppington,  any  man  crept  into  his  bed  that  night  more  miserably 
self-dissatisfied  than  that  intelligent  house-and-sign  painter,  Jack 
Dawe.  Painful  as  the  events  of  the  day  had  been,  they  were 
capped  and  the  images  of  them  deadened  by  the  horrible  climax 
of  its  close. 

When  Jack  Dawe  and  his  mother  arrived  at  the  Foresters' 
Music-hall  (an  average  specimen  of  those  now  obsolete  places  of 
entertainment),  they  found  that  "the  Claimant"  (whose  memory 
has  survived  how  many  immortals  1)  had  already  taken  his  turn. 
This  was  the  last  straw,  and  Mrs.  Dawe,  in  her  just  indignation, 
lost  any  lingering  vestiges  of  that  dread  of  her  son  which  only  a 
few  days  ago  had  sufficed  to  curb  her  aggressive  spirit  in  all  but 
her  most  impetuous  moments.  The  painter  needed  all  his  powers 
of  inattention  to  cope  with  the  moroseness  of  the  old  woman  who, 
conspicuous  by  her  flaunting  shawl  and  bonnet,  sat  beside  him  on 
a  wooden  bench  and  interlarded  the  performance  with  more  or  less 
audible  remarks.  The  balcony  was  occupied  by  men  and  boys  in 
fustian  and  corduroys,  a  sprinkling  of  better  class  people,  and  a  fair 
proportion  of  young  women  accompanying  their  sweethearts.  The 
atmosphere  reeked  with  smoke,  and  was  heavy  with  alcoholic  scents. 


8o  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

Downstairs,  "  gents'*  sat  in  luxurious  stalls  and  sipped  ale  or  spiritSi 
or  even  champagne,  and  there  was  a  general  sense  of  gilding^  and 
looking-glass.    There  was  a  chairman  whose  hand  was  continually 
being  shaken  by  new-comers,  who  had  the  air  of  asserting  thereby 
a  familiarity  with  the  mysterious  world  behind  the  scenes.     This 
functionary  held  a  hammer  with  which  he  tapped  on  a  table,  hot 
with    the  auctioneering  signification  of   "Going,"  but  with   the 
opposite  meaning  of  ''Coming."    He  also  used  it  to  lead  the 
applause  and  to  restore  order.    The  entertainment  was  fairly  inno- 
cent, and  where  it  was  unrefined  it  but  reflected  the  general  coarse- 
ness of  the  working  man  of  the  period  before  he  had  been  humaniscKl 
by  the  spread  of  People's  Palaces  and  University-Extension  Lec- 
tures.   The  g^eat  philanthropic  movement — the  civilisation  of  the 
English  aborigines,  as  Maxville  has  called  it — was  then  in  its  in- 
fancy, and  "beer  and  skittles"  was  the  highest  ideal  of  mortal 
beatitude  (as  is  evident  from  a  proverb  now  fallen  into  desuetude). 
A  rouged  and  powdered  "  serio-comic  "  lady,  in  the  voluptuously- 
cut  evening  dress  then  in  vogue,  flashed  upon  the  stage,  realising 
the  vague  visions  of  romantic  costermongers,  singing  and  dancing 
with    saucy  archness — a  very  dream   of  delight,  recalling    the 
halycon  days  of  youth  to  blear-eyed  coal-heavers.     Then  came 
some  clever  legerdemain,  conjuring,  and  ventriloquism,  with  inter- 
ludes of  comic  singing  (the  last  neither  comic  nor  singing,  though  it 
more  than  passed  muster  in  both  respects,  being  received  with  un- 
bounded cachinnation).    At  last  the  sensation  of  the  evening  ap- 
peared in  the  person  of  "  The  Great  Macdermott,"  still  known  to 
students  of  philology,  anthropology,  and  comparative  mythology, 
as  the  High  Priest  of  a  Neo-Pagan  cult  entitled  Jingoism  ;  and  it 
was  during  his  tenure  of  the  stage  that  the  ridiculous  and  lament- 
able incident  took  place  which  formed  a  fitting  climax  to  a  day  so 
auspiciously  begun.    The  series  of  misadventures  which  had  be- 
fallen the  painter,  supplemented  by  the  captious  observations  of 
the  peevish  old  lady  at  his  side,  had  driven  him  to  such  a  state  of 
des[>eration  that  nothing  but  a  strong  sense  of  duty  would  have  re- 
tained him  in  his  filial  attendance  upon  her ;  his  head  was  throb- 
bing with  a  dull  pain,  his  brain  was  distracted  by  feverish  and 
remorseful  thoughts,  his  soul  was  sick  at  the  indelicacy  and  silliness 
of  much  of  the  bufibonery,  and  he  was  depressed  by  the  coarseness 
of  moral  fibre  displayed  by  the  audience.    The  illustrious  artiste 
was  in  the  middle  of  a  "  topical  song,"  a  species  of  composition  in 
which  success  depended  on  the  discovery  of  a  telling  phrase  ;  which 
found,  rhythm,  music,  and  sense  were  superfluous,  though  these  re- 
dundancies were  sometimes  present.    The  chorus  of  this  particular 
specimen,  which  chorus  he  rarely  deigned  to  sing,  but  which  the 
audience  bawled  out  to  the  waving  of  his  hand,  triumphantly  and 
arrogantly  asserted  that  something  would  knock  something  else 
into  the  middle  of  next  week  or  be  knocked  by  it  into  the  same 
time.    After  John  Bull  and  various  other  persons  and  things  had 
played  an  active  part,  and  Pnnce  Bismarck  and  various  other  per- 
sons and  things  passive  parts  in  the  process  described,  the  lyrical 


r 


ARCADIA  8 1 


inspiration  culminated  in  a  vigorous  panegyric  on  the  Premier,  who 
was  placed  in  the  former  category,  and  was  represented  as  capable 
of  performing,  or  about  to  perform,  the  operation  indicated  upon 
sundry  statesmen  of  his  acquaintance  who  wished  to  ruin  English 
women  by  giving  them  votes.  At  the  mention  of  Floppington  the 
audience  (like  all  music-hsdl  audiences.  Conservative  to  the  back- 
bone) could  no  longer  contain  themselves  ;  they  rose  at  the  singer  ; 
the^  huzzahed  themselves  hoarse ;  they  waved  their  hats  and  rattled 
their  sticks  and  umbrellas  ;  and  then  abandoning  themselves  to  a 
irenzy  of  delight  they  sang  the  Floppington  chorus  three  times 
over,  while  the  artiste  looked  complacently  on  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  is  sure  of  his  effects.  But  amid  all  the  enthusiasm  one  solitary 
dissentient  hiss  made  itself  heard.  It  proceeded  from  that  fiery 
Radical,  Jack  Dawe.  His  unutterable  and  contemptuous  disgust 
had  completely  overturned  his  mental  equilibrium.  That  these 
people,  who  had  never  studied  the  man  as  he  had,  whose  gross 
tastes  utterly  shut  them  out  from  the  comprehension  of  the  Premier's 
motives,  whose  sympathies  were  utterly  worthless  as  a  test  of  worth, 
that  these  ignorant  and  coarse-grained  creatures  should  presume 
to  patronise  Floppington,  and  that  the  singer  should  pitch  so  false 
a  note  of  adulation,  worked  him  into  one  of  those  irrational  fits 
whose  occasional  recurrence  at  long  intervals  in  this  history  will 
show  what  unknown  and  tenebrous  depths  lay  beneath  his  placid 
exterior.  The  sound  of  disapprobation,  the  provocation  of  it 
magnified  manifold  by  its  singleness,  raised  the  passions  of  the 
audience  to  fever-heat  Cries  of  "Turn  him  out,"  resounded  from 
all  quarters.  This  absurd  failure  of  logic  and  justice  completed  the 
painter's  irritation.  He  repeated  his  hiss,  and  the  orders  for  his 
removal  redoubled  in  intensity.  He  persisted  in  his  hissing,  and 
was  accordini^ly  ejected  from  the  premises  amid  a  scene  of  inde- 
scribable exatement  to  which  Mrs.  Dawe  contributed  not  a  little 
As  soon  as  the  disturber  was  removed,  the  audience  (including 
Mrs.  Dawe,  who  would  have  her  money's  worth,  and  who  was  cap- 
tivated by  the  lilt)  set  to  with  tenfold  enthusiasm,  and  declared 
over  and  over  ag^in,  to  the  ever  accelerated  waving  of  the  vocalist's 
hand,  that  Floppington  was  able  to  knock,  and  would  knock,  divers 
politicians  into  the  middle  of  next  week. 


CHAPTER  IIL 

ARCADIA. 

A  WEEK  of  idleness  for  Jack  Dawe — a  week  of  delicious  saunterings 
through  sunny  lanes,  whose  simple  and  contented  inhabitants 
greeted  him  pleasantly  as  he  walked  along,  musing  yet  not  unob- 
servant; of  pensive  rambles  through  quaint  courts,  where  the 
oiunbling  walls  were  eloquent  with  Uie  picturesque  pathos  of  an- 
tiquity ;  of  afternoon  wanderings  in  shady  alleys,  where  loose-clad 
loungers  filled  the  quiet  air  with  £Euitastically  wreathed  cloudlets  of 

O 


n 


S3  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 


smoke,  and  sipped  cool  tankards  with  easy,  epicurean  abandon  ;  of 
delightful  promenades  in  starry  groves,,  where  the  solemn  evening 
air  was  stirred  by  sweet  strains  of  music,  and  where  the  pale 
moonlight  fell  in  calm  beauty  on  the  forms  of  maidens  whirling  in 
the  rural  dance  ;  where  satyrs  frolicked,  and  youth  engaged  in 
light-hearted  wrestlings,  and,  with  quick  dexterity,  hurl^  the 
graceful  dart  of  banter ;  of  nocturnal  walks  under  die  awfi^ 
mystery  of  the  stars,  when  London  was  hushed  as  in  the  dull, 
heavy  slumber  of  a  sick  man,  and  the  church-steeples  rose  weirdly 
in  the  air,  though  the  cloudless  moon  suffused  Uie  earth  with  a 
silvery  sheen  ;  when  all  sound  had  ceased  save  occasional  snatches 
of  melodious  song,  and  the  steady  tramp  of  the  watchman,  and  the 
bewitching  accents  of  the  daughters  of  Hesperus.  It  was  a  week 
fertile  in  reflections.  Walking  through  these  wondrous  regions,  he 
felt  his  life,  his  experience,  his  conceptions  of  the  universe,  expand. 
He  saw  new  meanings  in  the  poet  reverenced  from  youth,  he  was 
awed  by  the  opening  of  bottomless  depths  as  he  wandered  in  un- 
dreamed-of spots  where  Nature's  every  sight  and  scent  and  sound 
was  sweet  He  marvelled  at  the  equality  with  which  the  Great 
Mother  treated  her  children,  and  still  more  at  the  truly  wondrous 
and  wholly  feminine  address  by  which  she  had  been  able  to  persuade 
so  cool  a  nead  as  Paley's  of  the  fact 

Yet  could  not  his  Nature-worship  have  been  so  deep  a»  he 
thought  it,  for,  far  from  yielding  to  all  the  charms  that  she  dis- 
played to  him  in  his  daily  pilgrimages,  he  was  frequently  disgusted, 
and  occasionally  horrified.  The  manners  of  the  peasantry  filled 
him  with  alternations  of  pity  and  indignation.  The  sunny  lanes, 
the  quaint  courts,  the  shady  alleys,  the  star-lit  groves — ^why  was  he 
not  soothed  by  their  peaceful  beauty,  and  refreshed  in  spirit  by 
their  fair  repose  ?  What  was  this  new  sadness  that  filled  his  soul 
when  he  murmured  his  favourite  lines  : 

**  For  Nature  never  did  betray 
The  heart  that  loved  her." 

Had  he  auite  lost  the  old  sense  of  glory  in  the  grass,  of  splen- 
dour in  the  nower  ?  And  had  that  divine  power — precious  posses- 
sion of  the  spiritual  man — been  lost  by  the  sullying  of  his  purity? 
Alas,  that  we  should  have  to  record  it !  Not  only  had  the  once 
industrious  workman  become  a^/2<^i^»r,buthelivedin  an  atmosphere 
of  deceit  ya  which  deUcate  feelings  might  well  be  asphyxiated.  In 
the  morning  he  left  home,  balanced  between  two  resplendent  paint- 
pots  (freshly-bought) ;  late  at  night  he  returned  home,  balanced 
between  two  empty  paint-pots  ;  during  the  day  he  walked  about 
unencumbered  by  pamt-pots.  He  took  his  meals  in  distant  dining- 
rooms,  choosing  restaurants  of  a  dass  that  must  have  been  beyond 
his  means.  One  morning  he  was  perforce  detained  at  home  to 
write  brief  letters  of  refusal,  on  the  ground  of  excess  of  business; 
and  his  mother  made  good  use  of  the  opportunity  to  carry  out  her 
threat  of  worrying  him  into  marriage  or  the  grave.  During  the  rest 
of  the  week  he  had  kept  out  of  her  way.  Armed  with  a  latch-key, 
he  had  been  able  to  defend  himself  against  her  tongue. 


r 


ARCADIA       '  83 


Yet  he  did  not  spend  a  happy  week.  Traft,.he  learnt  much  ;  he 
was  often  interested,  and  now  and  then  an:Aised.  In  all  these 
respects  he  was  sensible  of  a  vast  contrast  between  his  present  idle 
existence  and  the  busy  life  he  had  led  hitherto.  But  his  heart  sent 
up  many  despairing  cries  to  Heaven — and  this,  too,  was  strange, 
for,  as  the  reader  knows,  he  had  never  cried  to  Heaven  before. 

Sunday  came  round  once  more ;  once  more  the  church  bells 
rang ;  and  once  more  Jack  went  over  to  the  minority.  The  vicar 
stared  at  him  with  a  puzzled  look,  then  sighed,  and  turned  away 
his  head.  The  calm  of  the  church  was  soothing  after  his  weary 
pilgrimage.  As  he  entered,  a  sudden  dimness  came  over  him,  he 
bowed  humbly,  and  returned  to  the  fold.  The  solemn  roll  of  the 
organ,  the  sweet  voices  of  the  choir,  the  sunlight  streaming  through 
the  stained  glass  dappled  with  leafy  shadows,  these  had  their 
wonted  effect.  The  new  associations,  linked  by  a  myriad  electric 
chains  of  emotion,  banded  themselves  together  against  the  old 
and  conquered.  By  the  time  the  service  was  over,  the  rays  of  sun 
li^t  had  given  place  to  serried  lines  of  rain ;  but  Jack  hardly 
noticed  the  change.     He  walked  home  in  deep,  contrite  thought. 

"De  Tocqueville  was  right,"  he  reflected,  as  he  entered  the 
shop,  "  when  ne  corrected  his  first  opinion,  and  placed  doubt  at  the 
head  of  human  evils.  But  henceforth  I  falter  no  more.  The  truths 
one  so  glibly  repeats  ere  one  has  felt  their  meaning,  must  be 
doubted  to  be  believed.  Life  is  based  on  suffering,  and  in  suffering 
must  we  seek  the  solution  of  the  mystery  of  existence." 

**  Why,  Jack,  you're  wringin'  wet,"  cried  his  mother,  who  was 
rapidly  piling  up  potatoes  and  pudding,  and  doing  an  enormous 
trade ;  "you  won't  be  able  to  go  out  on  your  bicycle.  But  *  it's  an 
ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  any  good,'  as  your  father  said,  and  I've 
been  wantin'  to  talk  to  you  all  the  week  about  something  partik'ler, 
but  you've  been  that  busy  I've  never  been  able  to  get  a  word  with 
you,  like  a  eeL" 

Jack  turned  pale,  and  for  an  instant  meditated  flight ;  the  next, 
he  smiled  sadly.  "Life  is  based  on  suffering,"  he  repeated  to 
hhnself. 

"I  believe  you,  my  boy,"  cried  Mrs.  Dawe,  smiling  in  self- 
approval,  as  she  issued  her  plates  without  a  moment's  cessation. 

"I  believe  you,  my  boy,"  cried  the  company  generally,  with 
much  mutu^  winking. 

"  They  are  poor,  they  have  suffered,  they  know,  they  have  found 
spiritual  truth,"  thought  Jack,  with  a  flash  of  intuition.  Evidently 
they  were  aU  earnestly  acquiescent,  from  the  doddered  old  man 
with  the  rat  on  his  cheek,  who  was  eating  peas  with  his  knife,  to 
the  flash  youth  of  sixteen  in  his  Sunday  paper  collar,  who  was 
leering  suggestively  at  a  soup-swallowing,  wide-mouthed  maiden  of 
thirty. 

"  Without  sufferings,"*  croaked  the  old  man  who  was  infested 
by  the  pictorial  parasite,  "  the  world  couldn't  stand  a  day." 

"'Ear,  'ear  I''  from  the  company. 

*  *'  Sufferiug  "  was  the  pronunciation  given  by  the  Cockney  lower  orders 
to  the  name  of  the  standard  gold  coin  of  the  period. 

G  Z 


84      THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

*'  In  what  a  transcendental  and  mystic  shape  this  cabalist  puts 
his  views/'  thought  Vack,  passing  through  the  crowd  and  retiring-  to 
his  room.  He  wasMnuch  cheered  by  the  general  intellectual  an<l 
spiritual  level  evidenced  by  this  consentience  of  the  company,  an<i 
it  was  a  much-needed  corrective  and  counteractive  to  the  ex- 
periences of  the  past  week,  going  far  to  endorse  the  results  of  liis 
morning's  reflections.  "  One  is  always  dazzled  by  a  first  glance  at 
evil,  as  at  beauty,**  he  observed  to  the  heedless  walls.  Especially 
was  he  pleased  with  his  mother's  approval  of  the  sentiment  "  Pls 
well  as  I  thought  myself  religious  when  I  was  not,**  he  added,  a^ 
he  washed  his  face  vigorously,  ^*  so  may  she  be  religious  while  she 
thinks  she  is  not."  It  was,  therefore,  just  as  well  that  he  did  not 
hear  her  dilating  on  the  text. 

''Without  sufferings,"  she  was  remarking,  while  the  audience 
looked  up  to  her  with  such  rapt  admiration  that  SaUy  was  all  but 
sent  round  with  a  second  supply  of  black-pudding — ''witiiout 
sufferings  life  would  go  to  the  dogs.    If  it  wasn't  for  sufferings, 
would  I  fry  myself  over  the  fire  for  you  like  Sally  Mander  ?    If  it 
wasn't  for  sufferings,  would  a  man  get  'ard  labour  for  stealin'  ?" 
("  Hooray  ! "  from  a  small  boy  who  was  meditating  the  purloining- 
of  a  saveloy,  but  who  quailed  beneath  the  Argus  eyes  of  the  shop- 
keeper.)   "Would  the  Queen  sit  in  a  'eavy  crown, 'oldin' a 'eavy 
spectre,  in  all  weathers,  if  she  didn't  get  her  screw  reggylar  ?    Why- 
is  one  man  poor  and  another  rich  ?    Why  ?  " — the  speaker  paused 
rhetorically — "Because  one's  got  money,  and    the  other  ain'L** 
(Immense  enthusiasm.)    "Why  has  one  man  got  to  shine  other 
people's  boots,  while  another  wouldn't  stoop  to  shine  his  own?" 
(*^  'Ear,  'ear !    Bravo  ! "  from  a  shoeblack,  who  immediately  re- 
pented of  his  zeal,  for  his  soup  went  the  wrong  way.)    "  Tell  me 
that,"  continued  Mrs.  Dawe  fiercely,  stamping  her  foot  dramatically, 
"one  man's  got  to  eat  humble-pie " 

"  Pork-pie,  you  mean,"  said  the  doddered  old  man,  chuckling. 

Mrs.  Dawe  glared  at  him,  and  the  youth  in  the  paper  collar 
cried,  "  Shut  up."  The  old  man  subsided  into  his  peas,  snivelling 
pathetically. 

"One  man's  got  to  eat  humble-pie,"  repeated  the  oratress, 
''  while  another  can  be  as  proud  as  Satan,  or  his  wife  Lucy  Fer. 
It's  'cause  one's  got  money  in  his  stockin',  and  the  other  ain't  even 
got  a  spare  stoclun'  to  put  it  in  if  he  had  it,  that's  aLL  I  don't  be- 
lieve in  nothing,  thank  Gord  I  don't,  but  my  poor  'usband  used  to 
say — none  of  you  'ere  knowd  'im  except  Bill  Brown"  (Bill  Brown  was 
the  old  man,  and  this  mention  of  him  restored  at  once  his  promi- 
nence and  his  self-respect),  "  'cause  he  died  long  sufore  your  time, 
and  man/s  the  things  he  said  sitting  on  this  'ere  very  counter,  and 
well  do  I  remember  once  when  he  smashed  a  dish  as  fell  on  a  boy's 
head  and  cut  it  open,  as  made  everybody  roar." 

"  Will  you  kindly  repeat  the  remark  your  late  husband  made?" 
said  a  c][uiet  young  man  with  silver  studs  and  a  green  tie,  who 
prided  himself  on  his  company  manners,  "  1  didn't  quite  catch  it* 

**  I'm  sure  I  spoke  loud  enough/'  said  Mrs.  Dawe;  "  He  said, '  I 


PLOT  AND  PASSION  8$ 

don't  believe  in  nothing^  thank  Gord  I  don't ;  but  I  do  believe  in 
money.'" 


«< 


"  Thank  you  very  much,  madam,"  said  the  quiet  young  man, 
and  will  you  oblige  me  with  another  hayputh  of  peas  ?  " 

"You  know  I  don't  make  less  than  a  pennuth,"  returned  Mrs. 
Daive.  "  And  if  I  lets  you  'ave  it  this  time,  you  mustn't  make  a 
practice  of  it" 

**  You  may  rdy  on  my  honour,  madam,"  said  he,  putting  his 
hand  to  his  heart 

When  the  press  grew  less,  Mrs.  Dawe  left  Sarah  as  chief  of  the 
commissariat  department,  and  retired  to  the  back  parlour  to  dine 
with  her  son. 

Jack  was  very  happy.  The  reaction  from  his  anguish  during 
the  past  week  was  so  great,  that  he  chatted  with  his  mother  quite 
gaily.  He  even  allowed  her  without  wincing  to  dart  a  few  hymeneal 
arrows  at  him,  and  he  said  grace  internally  so  as  not  to  alarm  her. 
It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  he  could  convert  her  as  rapidly  as  a 
Board  School  boy  converts  a  vulgar  fraction. 

After  dinner,  Mrs.  Dawe  put  the  finishing  stroke  to  his  happiness. 
She  left  him.  Perhaps  she  thought  she  had  done  enough  sharp- 
shooting.  Or  more  probably  she  felt  her  victim  was  safely  trapped, 
and  she  wished  to  roll  on  her  tongue  the  delicate  morsel  of  poten- 
tiality as  well  as  to  sharpen  her  weapons  on  her  husband's  grind- 
stone. 

Jack  stretched  himself  on  the  sofa  and  gazed  at  the  stuffed  birds. 
Returning  from  a  ramble  in  the  African  forests,  and  from  an  inter- 
view with  Hannibal,  he  fell  to  thinking  of  the  small  man  with  the 
bright  badge  on  his  breast,  and  being  in  a  wondrous  charitable 
mood  he  felt  very  kindly  towards  him,  too.  Then,  with  a  peaceful 
smile  on  his  weary  face,  such  as  had  not  been  seen  on  it  for  months, 
he  fell  into  a  calm,  dreamless  sleep. 

Sleep,  Jack,  sleep  while  thou  canst ;  for  lo  I  the  nights  come  where- 
in sleep  shall  be  sought  and  often  in  vain.  Sleep,  Jack,  sleep,  for 
bitter  shall  be  thy  awakening.  For  behold  the  nights  come,  where- 
in, if  thou  dreamest,  a  face  shall  haunt  the  visionary  halls  of  sleep 
—a  woman's  face,  dark,  with  fierce  and  passionate  eyes  full  of  the 
vrild  glory  of  the  South. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

PLOT  AND  PASSION. 

"And  here,  Mrs.  Dawe,  is  the  answer."  The  speaker  was  a  tall 
young  woman,  coquettishly  attired  in  a  black  cashmere  dress,  a 
^jg[e  cape,  and  a  Princess  bonnet,  for  the  shape  of  which  last  the 
curious  reader  is  referred  to  Myrds  Journal  in  the  British  Museum. 
Round  her  shapely  brown  throat  glittered  a  snowy-white  collar 
>*lieved  in  front  by  a  dainty  silver  brooch,  and  in  her  hand,  which 
flayed  a  most  refreshing  contrast  of  black  silk  glove  and  creamy 


86  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

tumed-up  cuff,  she  held  a  most  bewitching  parasoL  The  rain  had 
now  ceased,  and  Nature  was  as  bright  as  the  maiden's  face.  From 
both,  douds  had  recently  passed  away.  The  girl  had  arrived  at  the 
cookshop  with  looks  as  black  as  night,  and  with  a  most  determined 
expression  of  countenance.  Her  dark  eyes  glittered  dangerously, 
her  pretty  lips  were  pressed  tightly  together,  and  that  dark-red  hue 
whicn  is  so  lovely  on  a  brunette's  cheek,  glowed  with  unwonted  in- 
tensity. But  Mrs.  Dawe's  tidings  had  restored  serenity,  and  all 
was  sweetness  and  light. 

"  It's  no  use,  my  dear'Lizer,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe,  rejecting  the  prof- 
fered journal  "You  know  I  can't  read  and  write;  not  as  I  regrets 
it  to  be  sure,  for,  as  my  late  'usband  said, '  a  man  as  can't  read  and 
write  is  more  likely  to  make  his  mark  than  a  man  as  can.'  D'ye 
twig?* 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  Eliza,  trying  hard  to  convert  an  expression 
of  perplexity  into  one  of  admiration.     "  How  true  !     How  sweet!" 

"And  if  I  had  gone  to  school  and  learnt  to  read,"  continued 
Mrs.  Dawe,  "what  would  be  the  use  of  reading  to  me  at  my  age? 
Why,  I'm  glad  of  a  nap  as  soon  as  I've  got  a  moment's  rest,  and  I 
falls  asleep  in  a  second.     I  don't  want  no  book,  I  don't" 

"  A  lady  like  you,"  remarked  Eliza  suavely,  "  has  no  need  of 
books  such  as  a  poor,  simple  person  like  myself  feels.  Your  mind 
is,  if  you  wiU  pardon  me  the  flattery — for  I  assure  you  I'm  speaking 
only  the  plain  truth —your  mind  is  a  book  whidi  you  are  never 
finished  reading,  for  it  is  always  to  be  continued  in  our  next  You 
don't  want  to  know  what's  in  other  journals." 

"You've  hit  me  off  hexact,  'Lizer,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe  compla- 
cently. "  And  now,  do  read  what  the  Headitur  says,  for  I'm  dyin' 
to  'ear  it" 

Eliza  coughed,  and  then  read  the  following  without  the  faintest 
blush,  either  native  or  exotic : 

"A  Slighted  Fair  Old  Reader.  {Thafs  me,  Eliza  Bathbnll) 
You  must  act  very  cautiously  for  fear  of  provoking  an  irreparable 
breach  [as  if  I  cared)^  as  you  say  you  have  loved  him  sincerely  for 
two  years  and  three  months.  Our  advice  is  to  appeal  delicately  to 
his  sense  of  honour;  and  if  this  fails,  to  throw  yourself  openly  on  his 
mercy,  at  the  same  time  taking  care  to  let  him  know  that  you  wiU 
show  him  none  yourself.  But  once  more  we  say.  Be  cautious.  Write 
again.    We  think  with  you  that  you  have  been  badly  treated." 

"  Badly  treated  !"  exclaimed  the  widow.  "  Badly  ain't  the  word 
for  it.  He's  neglected  his  dooty  shameful,  and  if  my  old  man  had 
treated  me  like  that  when  we  was  keepin'  company  I'd  ha'  bashed 
his  hat  in,  'usband  or  no  'usband.  He's  used  you  like  a  umbrella, 
only  using  you  when  it's  raining.  That  Headitur  is  a  man  who 
knows  what  he's  about,  and  I've  a  good  mind  to  send  him  them  two 
pork-pies  IVe  got  over,  done  up  in  brown  paper  and  tied  neat  with 
red  string,  if  you  think  he'd  pay  the  carridge." 

"  Don't  mention  pork-pies,"  said  Eliza  with  a  deprecatory  snig- 
ger, "  for  the  thought  of  your  cookery  always  makes  my  mou& 
water." 


PLOT  AND  PASSION  87 

^And  mine  too/'  said  Mrs.  Dawe  naively,  ^although  I  stuffs  'em 
myself.    And  I  think  we'll  have  one  each  and  cliear  off  the  stock." 

"And  now,"  continued  Mrs.  Dawe  when  the  pork-pies  had  gone 
over  to  the  majority, ''  shall  I  tell  him  you're  here  ?  Hark  at  him 
snorin'  away  inside  1  He's  been  asleep  since  two,  and  now  it's  near 
six,  as  if  he  was  paid  for  it  so  much  a  hour.  And  you  take  my 
tip  and  do  as  the  Headitur  says,  which  is  so  sensible  and  sich  as  I 
would  ha'  advised  you  myself  if  you'd  ha'  asked  me." 

''  But  you  say  it*s  all  right  now  and  he's  given  up  politics,  and 
his  heart  is  fancy-free  except  for  me." 

"  Never  you  mind  that,"  replied  Mrs.  Dawe  stoutly.  "  What's 
good  advice  yesterday  can't  be  bad  to-day,  don't  that  stand  to 
reason  ?  You  tells  him  delicatelv  that  he's  got  no  sense  of  honour 
if  he  don't  do  what's  right — thatrs  the  first  thing." 

**  Ye-es,"  murmured  Eliza. 

"Then  you've  got  to  throw  yourself  on  his  lap  and  show  him  no 
mercy  if  he  resists— that's  number  two ;  and  then  you've  got  to 
write  again.  All  that  is  very  easy.  But  111  tell  you  what's  much 
easier,"  cried  Mrs.  Dawe,  struck  by  a  brilliant  idea, ''  let  him  read 
the  paper  and  it's  as  good  as  done." 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Eliza  quickly,  "  that  wouldn't  do  at  alL" 

"  I  don't  see  it,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe  coldly, "  if  you  let  him  see 
what  you're  goifi  to  do,  you  won't  have  the  trouble  of  doin'  it" 

The  philosophic  and  diplomatic  profundity  of  this  remark  over- 
powered Eliza,  who  could  only  murmtu:  feebly  : 

"  That  is  true." 

"  Howsoever,"  added  Mrs.  Dawe  with  a  willingness  to  compro- 
mise that  would  have  delighted  John  Morley  in  his  early  days, 
"what's  true  of  other  men  may  not  be  true  of  Jack.  He's  a  queer 
customer  sometimes,  though  1  believe  his  'art's  in  the  right  place 
under  his  liver  arter  alL  Anyhow,  do  as  pleases  you — *  every  man  t  > 
his  taste'  as  my  'usband  used  to  say.  I'll  go  and  wake  him,  and  1 
wish  you  luck." 

So  saying,  Mrs.  Dawe  shuffled  towards  the  parlour.  But  ere 
she  reached  it  she  turned  back  to  observe  to  her  prospective 
daughter-in-law :  "  And  I  should  like  to  see  you  married  quick, 
'cause  you  see  these  'ere  slippers  is  gettin'  too  old,  and  they'll  come 
in  'andy  afore  I  sells  'em  to  tiie  china-woman." 

Full  of  this  laudable  desire  Mrs.  Dawe  entered  the  parlour  and 
shook  her  son  roughly. 

"  All  right,"  he  murmured  sleepily.  "Is  that  fellow  Partlet  done 
yet?"  Then  yawning  tremendously  he  sat  up  and  stared  around 
him. 

"  Wake  up,"  cried  his  mother.    "  There's  glorious  news  ! " 

"Indeed!"  he  said,  brightening  up.  "Has  Mountchapel 
yielded?" 

"  What  nonsense  you  do  talk !  It's  much  more  glorious  than 
Aat    The  gal  you  love  is  here." 

"  Impossible  ! "  cried  Jack.  "  How  could  she  know  I  was  here  ? 
God  bless  her  ! " 


88 


THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 


"Gord  bless  'er.'*  echoed  Mrs.  Dawe  delightedly.  "She^s  a 
dear,  lovely  critter.*; 

^'  But  how  do  you  know  it's  she  ?  "  said  Jack  suspiciously.  **  You 
must  be  making  a  mistake." 

"A  mistake!"  shrieked  Mrs.  Dawe.  "You'll  be  tellin'  me  I 
don't  know  my  own  son  next ! " 

At  this  exclamation  the  last  scales  of  sleep  fell  from  Jack's  eyes, 
and  his  brow  grew  gloomy  with  disappointment 

"What  a  fool  I  was  to  think  she  would  come  here  I "  he  muttered. 

"  What  a  fool  you  are  now,"  cried  Mrs.  Dawe  sharply  ;  ^  for  as 
sure  as  your  name  is  Jack  Dawe  she's  a-waitin'  in  the  shop  that 
longin'  to  see  you  that  she  couldn't  sleep  for  weeks,  and  come  all 
the  way  from  'Arley  'Ouse  a-purpose." 

Jack  started,  and  his  cheeks  flushed  with  joy. 

"From  Harley  House!"  he  exclaimed.  "It  is  she!  Noble 
girl!  She  has  sought  me  out  She  has  risked  herself  in  these 
wilds  with  her  usual  scorn  of  conventionality !  Oh,  why  did  I  not 
confide  in  you,  my  better  self?  Oh,  my  darling !  how  in  the  fire  of 
thine  eyes  is  ail  but  my  love  consumed  ! " 

Mrs.  Dawe  rushed  rapturously  into  the  shop.  **Now's  your 
time  to  fix  the  day,  'Lizer,"  she  whispered  breathlessly ;  "  he^s  'ead 
over  'eels  in  love  with  your  eyes." 

Eliza  snatched  up  a  tin  pan,  looked  at  her  eyes,  gave  a  few 
hurried  touches  to  her  hair,  adjusted  her  parasol,  called  up  a  look 
of  indifference,  and  strolled  nonchalantly  into  the  parlour. 

Jack  was  standing  at  the  door,  his  eyes  filled  wiA  tears  of 
sacred  joy.  A  feminine  form  painted  itself  in  blurred  tints  on  his 
retina.  But  yet  how  well  he  saw  every  detail  of  her  marv^ous 
figure  and  of  her  sfiriiuelU  face  with  its  exquisite  features,  its 
tender  mouth,  and  its  dreamy  eyes  strangely  lit  up  with  a  wild 
radiance — ^what  need  had  he  of  eyes  to  see  these  oft-imaged  traits  ? 
He  felt  all  his  soul  helpless  beneath  her  influence,  and  drawn  to 
her  as  the  waters  to  the  moon. 

**  Ask  me  no  more,"  he  whispered,  "for  at  a  touch  I  yield." 

Eliza  took  the  hint  and  supplied  the  toudL  In  an  instant  they 
were  folded  in  each  other's  arms.  All  Jack's  being  thrilled  in 
ecstatic  rapture.  Never  before  had  he  felt  her  warm  cheek  touch 
his,  or  his  spirit  faint  under  the  heavy  scents  of  her  hair  rich  with 
spices  of  the  South.  He  forgot  truth,  honour,  life,  death,  time, 
place,  and  all  but  her.  He  clasped  her  more  tightly  to  his  heart, 
"  and  their  four  lips  became  one  burning  mouth." 

There  was  a  moment  of  delicious  silence. 

Jack's  brain  was  in  a  ferment — the  isolated  elements  of  experi- 
ence were  linked  by  an  electric  chain  that  lit  up  the  dark  places  of 
the  universe. 

"  Love  is  the  principle  of  existence."  At  last  he  had  found  U 
mot  de  Uni^me, 

"  Oh,  this  is  prime.  Jack,"  sighed  Eliza ;  "  this  is  like  the  olden 
times  when  we  were  first  betrothed.     Give  me  anotlier." 

A  fierce  spasm  of  pain  crossed  Jack's  melancholy  countenance 


r 


PLOT  AND  PASSION  89 


—he  turned  deadly  pale  and  staggered  back— *then  he  blushed  a 
fiery  red  and  tried  to  disengage  himself.  \ 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Jack,"  cried  Eliza,  holding  up  her  lips  in 
demand  for  an  encore.  *'  There's  nobody  looking.''  And  abandon- 
ing passivity  for  activity  she  attempted  a  kiss  that  just  grazed  the 
extremity  of  bis  rapidly-retreating  chin. 

For  a  moment  the  usually  glib  Jack  could  hardly  find  fit  expres- 
sion. Nothing  in  his  political  training  had  prepared  him  for  such 
an  amorous  contretemps  as  this — ^for  in  politics  love's  antithesis 
was  the  master-passion.  Truly  had  he  suffered  in  the  pays  de 
Vamour^  comparative  stranger  that  he  was.  Young,  he  had 
neglected  the  opportunity  of  studying  the  customs  of  the  country  ; 
ol^  he  could  not  gracefully  extricate  himself  from  so  simple  a 
situation.  That  he,  of  all  men  in  the  world,  should  have  kissed 
the  wrong  person  seemed  to  him  an  event  without  precedent  (and 
perhaps  he  was  right),  and  he  was  naturally  indignant  with  fate  at 
so  unparliamentary  a  proceeding  on  its  part. 

^  I — I — beg  a  thousand  pardons,"  he  stammered  at  last,  and  his 
voice  was  hoarse  with  shame  and  disappointment.  ''  I  am  infinitely 
grieved.    It  was  an  accident,  I  assure  you,  my  dear  m " 

"Well,  you  ought  to  crave  forgiveness,"  retorted  £hza,  "jerking 
your  head  back  in  that  fashion  just  as  I  was  imprinting  a  loving 
kiss.  You  don't  deserve  to  get  another  any  more,  '00  naughty  boy, 
'00,"  she  added  with  reproachful  tenderness. 

"This  is  too  much,"  groaned  Jack,  breaking  away  from  her 
desperately,  throwing  his  wonted  chivalry  to  the  winds  and  retreat- 
ing behind  Mrs.  Dawe's  arm-chair.  But  Eliza  followed  him  laugh- 
ingly, and  taking  his  head  in  her  arms  she  began  to  smooth  his 
cheek  with  her  gloved  hand,  murmuring  affectionately:  "  And  did 
'e  poor  Jacky  fink  I  really  meant  not  to  give  him  no  kissy-wissies 
never  no  more  ?  " 

"  Good  God,  miss ! "  he  cried,  unceremoniously  removing  his 
head,  "for  heaven's  sake  don't  talk  to  me  like  that." 

Jack  could  tolerate  babies,  he  even  regarded  them  with  mystical 
reverence.  But  baby-language,  even  though  invested  with  the 
classic  grace  of  a  Lytton,  gave  him  an  acuter  shock  than  a  wrong 
accent  in  Latin  or  Greek  would  give  a  scholar. 

"  Miss ! "  exclaimed  Eliza  in  a  tone  of  angry  reproach.  "  For 
heaven's  sake  don't  talk  to  me  like  that,  sir." 

"  I — I  beg  pardon,  m^dam,  I-:-I  thought ^" 

"  Madam .? "  Eliza's  voice  had  become  a  little  grim,  and  Jack 
trembled  beneath  her  flashing  black  eyes.  "But  I  deserve  it  all 
for  my  folly,"  he  thought,  "and  for  yielding  to  passion,  vile  wretcli 
that  I  am.  As  iEschylus  observed,  the  doer  must  suffer,  though 
the  gods  sometimes  resort  to  strange  retributive  devices." 

"Then  you  are  not  married.  I  thought  so  at  first,"  he  observed, 
trying  to  assume  a  cool,  conversational  tone. 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Eliza,  with  a  slow  smile.  "  This  is  another  of 
your  jokes.  He  !  he !  he  !  How  exquisite  !  No,  Tm  not  married. 
Jack,"  she  added  coaxingly ;  "  but  we're  going  to  be,  ain't  we. 


90  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

darling?"    And,  With  a  sweet  smile,  she  laid  her  head  on  his 
shoulder,  and  look^  up  lovingly  into  his  eyes. 

"  I  shall  go  mad/'  thought  Jack,  his  head  throbbing,  and  the 
arteries  on  his  forehead  swelling  with  suppressed  emotion.  "  My 
punishment  is  greater  than  I  can  bear.'' 

**  Oh,  Jack  \ "  sighed  Eliza  ecstatically.  "  Oh,  if  my  head  could 
only  lay  on  your  bosom  for  ever  !  Oh,  1  am  truly  blessed  !  Never 
had  girl  like  me  so  noble  and  so  faithful  a  lover,  and,  in  return, 
never  has  a  heart  beat  truer  than  mine.  In  misfortune  I  will  never 
desert  you,  and,  should  adversity  come,  I  would  welcome  it  to  be 
able  to  say  to  you,  *  Jackey,  my  own  true  loved  one,  wait  till  the 
clouds  roll  by.* " 

This  prospective  picture  affected  her  so,  that  she  burst  into 
tears. 

**•  And  this,"  thought  Jack  in  horrified  disgust,  "  is  the  creature 
that  Mountchapel  would  give  the  franchise  to  I  *  **  My  poor  girl ! " 
he  exclaimed, ''  can't  you  see  you're  making  a  mistake— no,  no,  I 
don't  mean  that— I  mean  I  can't  marry  you.  So  go  away,  my — my 
dear  Eliza,  now  be  reasonable  and  go  away.  I  can't  marry  you — I 
can't  indeed" 

At  these  terrible  words  Eliza  sprang  away  from  him  and  to  her 
full  height,  and  glared  savagely  at  him. 

*'You  can't  marry  me?"  she  shrieked,  raising  her  parasol 
threateningly.  ''Say  that  again,  you  vagabond,  and  we'll  die 
together ! " 

•*  I  don't  believe  in  nothing,  thank  Gord,  I  don't !  *  Mrs.  Dawe's 
voice  might  have  been  heard  exclaiming  at  this  juncture.  '*  And  I 
don't  want  no  shepherds  a-lookin'  arter  me  as  if  I  was  a  baby.  Nor 
my  son  neither.  He'd  be  that  wild  if  you  was  to  disturb  him  now 
I  wouldn't  answer  for  the  consikkences.  Now,  don't  you  try  to 
soft-soap  me !  You  won*t  get  round  me  ;  I'm  too  fat   Hal  ha!  ha!" 

But  the  lovers,  with  all  the  egotism  of  their  tribe,  were  too 
intent  on  their  own  feelings  to  pay  any  attention  to  the  vigorous 
dialectic  that  was  being  waged  in  the  shop. 

"  Say  that  again  ! "  repeated  Eliza  hysterically, ''  and  you  shall 
wed  a  corpse !  '* 

On  Jack  refusing  to  accede  to  her  request  and  to  take  the 
nuptial  consequences,  she  staggered  to  the  sofa,  and  was  plumping 
down  in  a  swoon  when  she  observed  a  paper  upon  it,  much  crumpled 
from  Jack's  having  inadvertently  lain  upon  it.  Struck  by  a  sudden 
thought,  she  stopped  and  pulled  a  journal  from  her  pocket,  looked 
at  it,  and  said  humbly :  ^  I  crave  your  forgiveness,  Jack.  My 
great  love  mastered  me." 

**  Come  now,  that's  a  little  more  sensible,"  said  Jack.  "  Put 
down  tiiat  parasol,  there's  a  good  girL  Now  sit  down  on  the  sofai 
and  calm  yourself." 

''Oh,  I  am  calm, Jack,"  she  said  rapidly,  meekly  obeying  his 
directions.  "  I  know  I  haven't  been  very  cautious,  but  I  haven't 
provoked  an  irreparable  breach,  have  I,  darling  ?  I  know  I'm  very 
passionate  at  tiines,  like  all  my  sex." 


r 


PLOT  AND  PASSION-  ,  91 


*Yes,  yes,  Eliza,  you  are  a  little  too  passionate ;  and  if  all  your 
sez  are  like  that»  Heaven  alone  knows  what  politics  will  become 
when ^ 

"  Well,  I  don't  say,"  she  interrupted,  with  ill-concealed  pride, 
'*that  all  women  have  feelings  as  vivid  and  as  easily  stirred  as  my 
own.  Few  women  can  love  as  passionately  as  me.  Oh,  those 
were  happy  times  when  our  affections  were  young  1  ^ 

''Oh,  don't  cry  any  more,"  said  Jack  hastily,  foreseeing  the 
coming  tempest  by  a  small  handkerchief,  no  bigger  than  a  man's 
hand,  that  appeared  on  the  horizon. 

'*  Well,  as  it  affects  you  so  much,  my  darling,  I  will  try  not  to," 
said  Eliza,  choking  down  her  emotion  very  audibly,  '*  though  tears 
would  be  a  relief  to  my  overcharged  heart." 

Jack's  eyes  grew  moist.  **  Poor  creature  I "  he  thought,  "  she 
seems  very  much  affected ;  and,  indeed,  she  is  very  unfortunate. 
Such  a  pretty  girl,  too." 

^And  when  we're  married.  Jack,"  continued  Eliza,  '^  I'll  never 
cry  except  you  particularly  wish  it.  And  you'll  be  a  good  husband 
to  me,  won't  you,  dear  ?  " 

'*  Now  do  calm  yourself,  Eliza,"  said  Jack,  quite  overcome  by 
the  meek  pathos  of  her  words.  '^  She,  too,"  he  was  thinking, ''  has 
constructed  her  glittering  dome  of  many-coloured  glass  to  stain 
the  white  radiance  of  the  future,  and  shall  it,  alas  1  be  shattered 
too?" 

^\  am  calm,"  she  replied,  "  but  I  can't  help  being  excited,  to 
think  however  in  the  world  I  can  get  my  things  ready  at  such  short 
notice.    But  I'll  try  my  best  not  to  disappoint  you." 

"  What  things  ? "  said  Jack,  though  with  a  glimmering  of  the 
truth. 

"My  trow-see-aw,  you  stupid  old  darling.  You  can't  expect 
me  to  marry  you  as  I  am." 

"  You  can't  expect  me  to  marry  you  as  I  am,"  retorted  Jack, 
frowning.     "In  fact,  I  can't  marry  you  at  all." 

The  girl  breathed  hard.  "  Be  cautious,  be  cautious,"  she  re- 
peated to  herself. 

"  And  is  all  my  appeal  to  your  sense  of  honour  thrown  away, 
then?"  she  exclaimed  indignantly.  "Look  here,"  and  she  drew 
out  of  her  breast  a  heap  of  letters  tied  up  with  a  lock  of  hair. 
"Look  at  this  :  'Yours  till  death,  Jack  Dawe.'  'Your  devoted 
lover.  Jack  Dawe.'  Yes,  look  at  it  well.  You  are  Jack  Dawe,  and 
you  must  accept  the  situation." 

"  Her  reasoning  is  not  unsound,"  thought  Jack.  "  However,  I 
will  examine  into  the  premises." 

"  WeU,  well,  my  good  girl,"  he  said  aloud,  "  we'll  talk  it  over." 

"You  didn't  say  I  was  a  good  girl  in  these  letters,"  she  ex- 
claimed, unable  to  repress  her  anger.  "  They  were  written  fit  for 
a  princess  to  receive ;  and  I'm  sure  all  the  other  girls  were  jealous, 
and  said  you  must  be  a  prince  in  disguise.  Once  upon  a  time  I 
was  your  black-eyed  devil,  your  rosy  and  rapturous  Saccharissat 
your  adorable  Aspasia,  your  clinging  Cleopatra,  your- 


92  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

**  Enough  ! "  cried  Jack.  "  And  how  long  have  you  loved  me  ?  ** 
he  continued,  in  a  calm,  judicial  tone. 

*^  All  my  life ;  but  especially  for  the  last  two  years  and  three 
months." 

"  Why  especially  during  that  time  ?  " 

^  Because  it  is  exactly  two  years  and  three  months  since  I  first 
saw  you  ;  but  I  always  loved  you  and  dreamed  of  vou." 

"Ah!"  said  Jack,"  and  how  long  have  I  loved  you?  Be 
precise,  if  you  please.* 

"  Well,  with  your  sense  of  honour.  Jack,  you  wouldn't  have 
written  these  verses,  dated  exactly  two  years  and  two  months  ago, 
if  you  didn't  really  love  me— or  these — or  these." 

"Enough!"  cried  Jack,  when  he  had  read  the  passionate 
effusions.  "  I  am  convinced.  Any  judge  would  think  with  me, 
and  no  jury  would  disagree  on  the  subject  I'll  do  my  best  for 
you — you  may  depend  on  me.  What  is  fair  is  fair  ;  and  you're  a 
pretty  girl,  too,  whom  no  man  need  be  ashamed  to  call  his  wife. 
You  shall  have  your  way  in  three  months  at  most." 

With  a  low  cry  of  joy,  Eliza  ran  to  him  and  kissed  him  pas- 
sionately, and  clung  to  him  in  loving  gratitude. 

"  Ofai,  Jack,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I'm  so  glad  I  appealed  to  your 
sense  of  honour.    And  you  promise  me  that  in  three  months " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  promise,"  he  said  hastily,  trying  to  worm  himself 
gently  out  of  her  embraces,  but  making  very  gradual  progress. 
"  But  I  want  you  to  promise  me  something  in  return." 

"  Anything  you  like,  Jack  ;  and  I  will  gladly  grant  it  you." 

"  Well,  you  mustn't  come  to  see  me  during  the  three  months. 
I — I'm  so  busy." 

Eliza  made  a  moue  and  a  move  of  one  hand  towards  the 
dreaded  pocket-handkerchief. 

"Oh,  Jack,  you're  too  cruel,"  she  said,  in  trembling  tones. 
** What,  never?" 

"  Well,"  he  said,  relenting  ;  "  well,  hardly  ever.  Once  or  twice 
at  most,  you  know.  I  have  a  very — high  respect — ^love,  you  know, 
for  you,  but " 

"Well,  I'm  satisfied,  darling,"  she  cried,  stopping  his  mouth 
with  a  kiss,  "  to  be  your  black-eyed  little  devil  ag^in." 

"  Mrs.  Dawe ! "  she  shouted.  "  I  want  you  to  promise  me  again 
in  her  hearing,"  she  explained.    "  Only  to  make  sure,  you  know." 

"Yes,  my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe,  opening  the  door  and  uttering 
a  cry  of  joy  as  she  beheld  the  lovers.  The  vicar  stood  behind  her. 
Shaken  in  his  belief  in  Jackfs  obduracy  by  his  reappearance  at 
church  that  morning,  he  had,  after  earnest  prayer,  resolved  to  have 
a  spiritual  talk  with  him;  and  had,  by  a  little  judicious  flattery  of 
Mrs.  Dawe's  cooking,  using  temporal  weapons  for  the  glory  of 
Heaven,  at  length  overcome  her  scruples  and  obtained  access 
through  the  shop. 

*'  Don't  mind  me,  my  children,"  he  said,  beaming  benevolently 
on  the  affianced  pair,  the  girl  embracing  the  man  with  a  sweet 
smile  on  her  face.  "  Don't  mind  me,  I've  done  the  same  when  I  was 
young." 


PLOT  AND  PASSION  93 

^  Now  there  will  be  no  difficulty  in  waking  his  soul  to  faith/'  he 
said  to  himself.  ^'  What  is  it  that  Clough  says  somewhere  about 
married  people — that  they  all 

Incline  to  think  there  is  a  God, 
Or  something  very  like  him/' 

On  perceiving  the  clergyman,  Jack  wriggled  out  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan bower  formed  by  his  sweetheart's  arms,  feeling  totally  out 
of  harmony  with  this  environment  But  he  was  glad  of  the  appear- 
ance of  the  visitor — in  itself  and  in  its  effects.  At  one  stroke  it 
terminated  a  disagreeable  interview,  and  initiated  an  agreeable. 

*'  My  dear  sir/'  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand  amicably,  ^*  I  am 
delighted  to  see  you.    Will  you  take  this  arm-chair  ?" 

^He  would  ^&t  you,"  put  in  Mrs.  Dawe  apologetically ;  ''  though 
1  told  him  we  was  honest  folks,  as  didn't  want  nothing  to  do  with 
religion." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Dawe,"  protested  Eliza,  a  shade  more  independently 
than  before.  "But  we  must  get  married  in  church,  and,"  she 
added  in  a  whisper,  and  with  a  slight  blush,  '*  supposing  you  were 
to  become  a  grandmother,  you  would  surely  be  wanting  to  have  the 
babe  christened,  especially  after  I  have  l^een  months  picking  out  a 
name  for  him,  and  looking  through  all  the  numbers  of  the  London 
Reader^ 

•'  You  are  wrong,  *Lizer,"  replied  Mrs.  Dawe  loudly  ;  committing 
an  ignoratio  elenchi,  and  forgetting  propriety  in  her  indignation. 
"You  don't  want  no  London  Readers  while  I'm  'ere  to  tell  you  what's 
right  and  proper.  It's  the  custom  in  my  late  'usband's  family  for 
the  name  to  dissend  from  father  to  son  accordin'  to  the  Fifth  Com- 
mandment. It  isn't  as  I  cares  about  the  Commandments,  but  I'm 
sure  something  'ud  'appen  to  the  child  if  we  didn't  call  it  Jack 
Dawe."  Jackfs  head  was  turned  away,  so  that  his  face  could  not 
be  seen  by  the  vicar,  who  for  his  part  was  attentively  surveying 
the  bicycle  in  the  back-yard. 

*7ack  Dawe!"  cried  Eliza.  "  They're  both  very  good  names,  but 
do  you  think  I'd  have  a  child  of  mine  put  off  like  a  pauper  with 
only  two  names  ?  Why,  Oliver  Twist — as  you  may  have  heard  of, 
Mrs.  Dawe — asked  for  more" 

"ITien  I  hope  he  didn't  get  it,  the  discontented  rascal.  Why, 
I've  Uved  all  my  life  with  only  two  names,  and  no  one  never  heard 
me  grumble.  And  how  many  names  do  you  want  to  weigh  the 
poor  little  thing  down  with  ?" 

**  Three  at  least,"  replied  Eliza.  "  I  know,"  she  added  with 
honest  pride,  "  that  I've  only  had  two  myself.  But  because  I  was 
neglected  is  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  strive  to  bring  up  my 
children  better." 

**  Three ! "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Dawe.  "  Well,  I  can  only  warn  you 
in  the  words  of  my  late  'usband,  '  two's  company  and  three's  none.' 
And  what's  your  third  name,  pray  ?  " 

Eliza  looked  mysterious.  '^  I  couldn't  find  anything  suitable  in 
the  London  Rectderi^  she  began. 

''  I  told  you  so,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Dawe  in  triumphant  contempt 


94  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

*  And  I  was  for  a  considerable  period  weltering  in  the  deptiis 
of  despair,  when  one  day  as  I  was  in  a  shop  baying  a  parasol,  and 
couldn't  find  one  to  my  liking,  and  the  shopman  was  quite  polite 
when  I  walked  out  without  purchasing,  which  was  hardly  to  be 
expected,  the  right  name  darted  to  my  lips  like  a  flash.  It'll  read 
beautiful — Jack  F.  Dawe ." 

"  But  what  is  the  other  name?"  said  Mrs.  Dawe. 

"  l*m  telling  you.  Jack  Floppington  Dawe.  Jack  F.  Dawe — 
don't  you  see  ?  What  do  you  say,  Jack  ?  Isn't  it  appropriate  and 
high-sounding?" 

Jack  murmured  something  which  would  have  been  unintelligible 
even  if  Mrs.  Dawe  had  not  completely  drowned  it  by  a  vigorous 
exclamation  of  "  Floppington !  Why  Floppington  ?  I  calls  it  a 
very  vulgar  name — sounds  like  Flopping  Down,  Flopping  Down." 

"But  it's  so  appropriate,"  protested  Eliza,  "that  Jack's  boy 
should  be  called  after  Floppington." 

"  After  Floppington  I "  cried  Mrs.  Dawe  in  pretended  amazement 
"  Why,  who  is  Floppington  ?  *' 

The  vicar  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise.  '*  Surely  you 
must  know  Floppington,"  he  said.    Mrs.  Dawe  shook  her  head. 

"  Why,  I'm  sure  you  do,"  cried  Eliza  indignantly.  "  He's  the 
Prime  Minister,  and  as  everybody  says  Jack  is  so  like  him,  as  if 
they  were  brothers ^ 

"  Of  course  there's  a  good  deal  of  exaggeration,  Mr.  Dawe," 
said  the  vicar,  turning  to  him  with  a  smile,  "  in  the  resemblance 
that  peoi)le  pretend  to  find  between  you  and  the  Premier — that  sort 
of  thing  is  always  exaggerated,  and  it's  only  natural.  Now,  to  me, 
and  it  is  perhaps  that  my  observation  is  more  subtle  than  most 
people's,  ignoring  the  strongly-marked  features  for  those  less  obtru- 
sive parts  where  idiosyncrasy  shows  itself — to  me,  I  say,  you  appear 
actually  different  types.  If  you  have  studied  Botany,  you  will  have 
remarked  that  it  is  not  by  the  most  obvious  resemblances  that  we 
classify  our  genera." 

"  In  reading  Mill's  chapter  on  Classification  last  week,"  said 
Jack,  "  I  was  much  struck  by  the  inutility  of  attempting  to  draw 
rigid  lines  of  demarcation,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  by  applying 
the  principle  of  evolution  to  character ^" 

**  Ha  ! "  said  the  vicar  with  satisfaction,  "  how  soon  has  Mill's 
Logic  fallen  out  of  date ;  and,  believe  me,  his  views  on  theology 
will  not  find  acceptance  much  longer." 

"  Floppington  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Dawe,  who  had  by  this  time  con- 
descended to  recognise  his  existence.  "Well,  I  does  remember 
once  when  I  was  out  with  Jack,  a  boy  called  him  Floppinton  and 
threw  mud  at  him,  but  as  for  your  saying,  'Lizer,  that  they're  like 
two  brothers,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

"  I  am  sure  I  meant  no  harm,  madam,"  said  Eliza  humbly, 
"  and  I  am  only  repeating  what  everybody  says." 

"  Parrots  never  says  nothing  good,"  retorted  Mrs.  Dawe  senten- 
tiously.  "And  besides,  from  all  I've  heard  of  this  'ere  Floppinton, 
not  to  speak  of  music  'alls,  as  is  too  full  of  drink  to  be  rcdied  on,  I 


I  PLOT  AND  PASSION  95 

ifaoald  be  ashamed  to  call  sich  a  one  my  son.    He  ain't  worthy  to 
fick  my  Jack*s  boots.*' 

''Beware  of  hasty  judgments,  my  dear  madam,**  interposed  the 
Ticar.  "  Your  son  is  no  doubt  an  estimable  man,  but  he  seems 
grieved  himself  at  such  an  atrocious  comparison.  Let  him  that  is 
guiltless  cast  the  first  stone.  The  Premier  may  not  be  perfectly 
sincere ;  indeed,  though  far  be  it  from  me  to  judge  him,  I  am  sure 
he's  dishonest  and  given  to  paltering  with  his  conscience  ;  but  then 
public  life  is  always  private  sin,  and  we  all  live  in  glass  houses." 

"Pm  sure  some  on  us  do,"  Mrs.  Dawe  burst  forth,  '*  a-lecturing 
the  others  as  cool  as  cucumbers.  But  /  ain't  a  politician  or  a 
parson,  thank  Gord !  and  I  can  speak  my  mind.  I've  been  told  by 
persons  whose  words  I  can  take^ — here  Mrs.  Dawe  looked  wither- 
iogly  at  the  vicar — ''  that  this  vagabond  of  a  Floppinton  has  been 
and  gone  and  ruined  the  country.  His  measures  was  all  short.  If 
a  poor  shopkeeper's  weights  was  as  false,  he^d  ha'  got  dragged  up  and 
fined  'eavily  long  ago.  Ask  any  business  person  ow's  business,  and 
see  what  they'll  t^  you.  Why,  since  Floppy's  been  Pry  Minister, 
bread's  rose  awful.    He'll  spile  every  blessed  'arvest." 

**  What  nonsense  I "  cried  the  vicar,  lifting  up  his  hands  in  pious 

horror,  "surely  every  one  knows  that  only  Providence  can  do  that." 

"Well,  I'm  sure  he's  quite  as  wicked  as  Providence,"  retorted 

Mrs.  Dawe,  '*  and  from  what  I've  heard,  I'd  lay  odds  he's  wickeder. 

Why,  he's  the  cause  of  all  them  Irish  murders." 

"This  is  perfectly  absurd,"  cried  the  irritated  vicar.  "Now, 
who  could  have  told  you  that  ?" 

"  Why,  one  who  knows  more  o^  politics  in  his  little  finger  than 
you  in  your  whole  body,  though  he  promised  me  when  he  was 
going  mad  to  get  married  and  give  it  up.  There  he  sits.  He 
knows  better  than  anybody  else  what  a  rascal  Floppy  is — except 
himself,  of  course.    Ha,  ha,  ha  I " 

"  Mr.  Dawe,"  said  the  vicar  severely,  ''  you  ought  to  know 
better  than  to  make  these  libellous  statements.  He's  not  so  bad 
but  what  he'd  be  terribly  grieved  even  to  hear  that  such  crimes  are 
attributed  to  him.  We  should  beware  of  grieving  our  fellow  man." 
"And  yet  you  come  lecturin'  to  him,"  cried  Mrs.  Dawe.  "  I'm 
sure  Jack  sticks  to  what  he  said." 

"  Not  if  he  is  sensible,"  said  the  vicar,  frowning  at  hiuL 
"  I — I  am  sure  I  don't— don't  recollect  saying  anything  of  the 
land,"  stammered  Jack. 

"  Oh,  Jack  I  fie,  for  shame  1 "  cried  his  mother.  "  I  can  see  the 
parson's  converted  you — you're  tellin'  crackers  already.  You  know 
you  said  it  sittin'  on  that  chair  with  the  loose  leg,  and  you  fell  down 
a"  you  said  it;  and  when  you  got  up  and  was  rubbin'  yourself  all 
0  ^r  your  back  you  ses,  'Floppy  changes  his  policies  like  his 
s!  rts — when  one  looks  a  bit  dirty  he  gets  another.'  And  I  ses  to 
y  I, '  But  what  does  he  do  with  the  dirty  ones  ?  Throw  'em  away  ?' 
0,'  ses  you,  '  but  he  has  'em  wash^  and  mangled  till  they  looks, 
11  5  new,  and  then  he  claims  they're  the  same.'  You  know  you 
\  K8  him  like  pison,  and  got  yourself  kicked  out  of  the  Foresters' 


96  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

last  week^  and  spiled  my  pleasure,  because  your  feelings  was  so 
strong.  And  do  you  think,  'Lizer,  Pd  have  the  disgrace  in  my 
family  of  havin'  a  grandchild  called  Floppinton,  and  havin'  it 
stuck  right  in  the  middle  of  his  name,  too  ? '' 

"  But  it  sounds  nice,"  said  Eliza  sulkily.  "  And  who  knows 
what  luck  he  might  have — he  might  become ^^ 

**  Pry  Minister  ?  Gord  forbid ! "  interrupted  Mrs.  Dawe.  "  You 
might  as  well  make  him  a  Harchbishop  at  once." 

"  But  Jack  is  so  like  the  Premier,**  still  protested  Eliza ;  "  and  I 
love  him  all  the  more  for  it" 

*'The  imagination  of  man,  and  woman  too,  is  evil,"  interrupted 
the  vicar  ;  "  and,  my  child,  I  do  not  think  your  future  husband 
looks  quite  pleased  at  your  remarkable  sentiments." 

The  next  moment  Jack  darted  an  angry  but  unobserved  glance 
at  the  vicar  for  his  interference,  for  Eliza  came  up  to  him  and 
began  stroking  his  fiace. 

''  Don't  look  so  sulky,  darling,"  she  said  ;  "  not  that  it  isn't  nice 
to  see  you  lowering  like  a  majestic,  rainy  sky.  I  was  only  joking. 
I  would  rather  kiss  you  than  ten  Floppys."  And  she  translated  her 
words  into  action. 

"  This  is  my  good-bye,"  she  added  ;  ''  for  I  must  get  back  to 
Harley  House  " 

Fatal  name !  How  vividly  it  brought  before  Jack's  mind  the 
appalling  contrast  between  the  first  kiss  and  the  last ! ' 

"  Good-bye,  dear  Mrs.  Dawe,"  said  Eliza,  kissfng  her  on  both 
cheeks  with  affection  tempered  by  deference.  *'  I  can't  tell  you  how 
happy  I  feel.     My  heart  is  as  light  as  a  bird." 

"  And  mine's  as  li^ht  as  a  feather,"  replied  Mrs.  Dawe,  returning 
the  dual  salutation  with  affection,  tempered  by  superiority.  "  And 
it  would  be  as  light  as  a  air-balloon,  if  you  didn't  argy  so  much. 
My  late  'usband  used  to  say  *  that  fightm'  with  argyments  ain't 
necessary  in  a  woman's  spear.  They  *as  their  'ousehold  duties, 
and  besides  them  there's  nothin'  to  argy  about  but  dress,  and  then 
argyments  ain't  allowed,  for  it's  the  fashion  to  follow  the  fashion.' 
Not  that  it's  any  ^ood  in  a  man's  spear  neither.  Many's  the  time 
he's  argyed  with  'is  mates  that  argyin'  to  convince  anybody — and 
especially  a  parson — is  like  pourin'  a  pint  of  depillory  fluid  over  a 
baJd  'ead  and  expectin'  to  see  a  bushel  of  'air  spring  up." 

"  Alas  for  the  House  of  Commons  1  if  that  be  true,  as  it  may 
possibly  be,"  thought  Jack,  looking  at  the  vicar,  who  was  nodding 
his  head  approvingly  and  murmuring :  '*  By  faith,  not  words,  are 
ye  saved." 

"  I  shall  take  care  to  remember  your  advice,  dear  Mrs.  Dawe," 
replied  Eliza.  ^'Although  I  have  not  a  bald  head  at  present,  the 
time  may  come  when  your  lamented  husband's  words  will  prove 
useful.    Good-bye." 

Curtseying  to  the  vicar,  Eliza  hastened  into  the  shop,  for  she 
heard  the  roll  of  a  '*  'bus."  The  'bus  was  heard  to  stop  at  the  door 
and  the  conductor  to  cry  ^  Right."  Then  a  sudden  thought  struck 
Mrs.  Dawe^  and  she  rushed  into  the  street.    The  'bus  had  started 


THEOLOGY  AND  MEDICINE  97 

and  was  rapidly  diminishing  on  the  horizon.    ^*  Hi ! "  cried  Mrs 
Dawe.    "Stop!    Hi !» 

The 'bus  came  slowly  to  a  standstill  Mrs.  Dawe  hurried  up 
with  as  quick  a  waddle  as  her  corpulency  and  her  tight  old  slippers 
would  allow,  and  reached  it  gasping  for  breath. 

**'Lizer/'  she  panted,  putting  her  head  through  the  window. 
"  Suppose — it  should — be  a  girl — after  alL* 

Eliza  turned  pale  and  put  her  hand  to  her  heart 

"  It  all  comes  from  argying  too  much,"  observed  Mrs.  Dawe 
compassionately  to  the  alarmed  occupants.  "  And  ntver^  my  poor 
'Lizer^  as  my  late  husband  used  to  say,  **  'never  count  your  eggs 
before  the/re  chickens.'" 


CHAPTER  V. 

THEOLOGY  AND  MBDIONX. 

"By  faith,  not  words,  are  ye  saved,"  repeated  the  vicar  musingly, 
proud  of  the  mot  ^  1  am  speaking  to  you,  mv  dear  Mr.  Dawe,  as 
one  who  would  wish  nothing  better  than  to  help  a  man  of  your 
ability  with  his  own  experience.  No  arguments  can  induce  the 
spiritual  condition,  any  more  than  they  can  persuade  a  deaf  man 
that  Beethoven  is  divine.  As  Pascal  pointed  out  lon^  ago,  our 
simplest  notions  admit  of  no  real  definitions.  And  this  is  the  only 
point  on  which  I  have  been  able  to  agree  with  a  recent  writer,  called 
Professor  Drummond,  who  argues  that  the  spiritual  life  is  equally 
incapable  of  definition." 

^  Indeed ! "  said  Jack,  much  interested,  and  settling  down  for  an 
enjoyable  talk  with  one  who  was  evidently  a  man  of  culture  and 
g^eral  reading.  "And  pray  what  was  your  opinion  of  the  book  as 
a  whole  ? " 

*'  I  opened  it  at  boiling  point  of  enthusiasm,''  replied  the  vicar, 
''and  left  off  at  zero.  It  is  neither  religion  nor  science — in  short, 
'tis  Gcaieral  Booth  mas<][uerading  as  Herbert  Spencer." 

"  There's  some  truth  m  your  epigram,"  said  Jack ;  **  yet  you  seem 
to  depreciate  General  Booth  somewhat  unduly.  Whatever  his 
motives  may  be,  he  certainly  does  more  good  among  the  people 
around  us  than  Herbert  Spencer." 

*'  I  confess  I  do  not  see  the  point  of  the  satire,*  remarked  the 
Wear,  looking  displeased. 

**  My  dear  sir,"  returned  Jack,  "  I  honestly  assure  you  it's  a  very 
neat  epigram." 

**  You  have  read  the  book,  then,"  cried  the  vicar,  forgetting  in- 
dignation in  astonishment. 

''  Most  certainly,"  was  the  reply.  '^  Do  you  think  I  could  afford 
to  miss  it?" 

The  vicar  made  no  reply — he  could  not  speak. 

**  Everybody  spoke  so  highly  of  it,"  Jade  continued,  "  that  I 
devoured  it  in  the  very  first  interval  permitted  by  the  cares  of 
business." 


98  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

"And  I  presume  you  read  it  with  a  predisposition  to  ridicule  It 
in  the  brutal  style  of  Bradlaugh  or  Foote  ! " 

"  As  to  thc'gentlemen  you  mention,"  replied  the  painter,  "  I  have 
never  read  any  of  their  writings,  nor  am  1  anxious  to  do  so,  for  I 
am  given  to  understand  that  they  do  not  argue  with,  but  laugh 
coarsely  at  you.  I  hope  1  am  always  open  to  reasoning  but  coarse 
satire  would,  I  should  think,  have  no  effect  upon  me.  And  in 
accordance  with  my  ordinary  custom  I  read  Natural  Law  in  tlu 
Spiritual  World  in  a  most  susceptible  temper — anxious,  indeed,  to 
harbour  any  legitimate  reconciliation  between  religion  and  so-called 
science ;  and  I  found  the  analogies  it  disclosed  wonderfully 
suggestive." 

*•  Indeed!"  cried  the  vicar;  "then  I  congratulate  you  on  a 
receptivity  for  which  I  had  not  given  you  credit  To  desire  truth 
is  to  partially  attain  to  it.  It  is  half  the  battle ;  and  with  the 
blessing  of  God  we  shall  speedily  rout  the  deadly  hosts  of  sense." 

"The  deadly  hosts  of  sense,"  repeated  Jack  musingly,  not 
oblivious  of  Eliza ;  and  the  vicar  writhed  under  his  own  words, 
which  seemed  to  acquire  new  meaning  in  an  adversary's  mouth. 

"  In  a  world  of  mystery,"  he  said,  *'  it  is  idle  to  rely  on  so-called 
common -sense.  Common-sense  deals  but  with  the  limited  and 
clearly-defined,  and  can  never  attain  to  the  unlimited.  The  eye  of 
the  soul  sees  no  trimly-cut  Dutch  garden,  but  a  vague,  majestic 
prairie  stretching  out  into  infinity.  With  Aquinas,  we  must  believe 
m  order  to  know,  and  with  St  Paul ^ 

"  Pardon  me,"  interrupted  Jack, ''  was  it  not  Anselm  who  said  : 
\Credoutsciam'l^ 

''You  are  right,*'  replied  the  rector  in  much  astonishment 
"  But  how  is  it  you  are  so  well-informed  ?  " 

*Mn  youth,"  replied  Jack  modestly,  "  I  made  some  acquaint- 
ance wim  mediaeval  theology.  I  was  always  anxious  to  gain  some 
acquaintance  with  every  form  of  thought" 

"  Great  Heavens  1  *'  cried  the  rector.  "  And  yet  you  were  un- 
influenced by  the  products  of  the  age  of  Faith  ?" 

'*  Was  that  possible  ?  I  could  not  but  find  repose  in  the  moral 
submissiveness  of  a  Lanfranc,  nor  be  uninspired  by  the  love  of 
righteousness  that  breathes  through  the  writings  of  an  Anselm.  Of 
Abelard's  books  I  confess  to  have  learnt  most  from  his  Autobio- 
graphy. The  Angelical  Doctor  was  overwhelmingly  convincing 
on  many  points  when  I  read  him,  but  the  impression  was  feeble  after- 
wards— in  the  multitude  of  reasons  there  was  confusion.  At  one 
time  I  was  much  attracted  by  the  mysticism  of  Bonaventura  and 
St  Bernard." 

*'  I  confess  my  own  reading  has  not  been  so  extensive  as  yours," 
said  the  rector,  in  a  tone  of  incredulity  blent  with  astonished  belief. 
''  I  have  been  more  of  a  man  of  action  than  you.  Except  St 
Augustine ^" 

•*Yes,  he's  always  a-readin',"  put  in  Mrs.  Dawe,  opening  the 
door  and  admitting  herself  and  a  curiously  complex  and  many- 
scented  odour,     "  He's  got  a  book  called  *  Songs  Afore  Sunrisei' 


THEOLOGY  APfD  MEDIClNJt  M 

and  long  afore  cockcrow  he  does  read  it,  too.  But  I  don't  mind 
tiiat,  'cause  when  he  reads  it  to  me  I  always  feels  like  I  could  do  a 
jig  to  it ;  it's  as  good  as  'avin'  Jimmy  playin'  on  the  fiddle.  Drat 
youy  you  needn't  knock  so  loud  on  the  counter  as  if  you  was  a  post- 
man—d'ye think  I'm  as  deaf  as  a  post  ?" 

**  Swinburne  and  Aquinas  I "  thought  the  rector.  *'  My  young 
friend's  tastes  are  singularly  catholic.  His  mind  must  resemble 
the  compound  scent  of  his  mother's  cookery.  That  such  talent 
and  suc&  culture  should  be  found  in  a  house-painter !  And  if,  as 
is  likely,  his  companions  are  equally  intelligent,  I  fear  me  a 
Democracy  is  irresistible." 

*<  You  spoke  of  Augustine  just  now,"  said  Jack,  after  a  medita- 
tive pause.  "  What  new  depth  of  meaning  I  find  already  in  him  I 
Never  before  had  I  comprehended  Love,  Sin,  Suffering.  Only 
when  he  has  felt  in  himself  the  struggle  of  Evil  with  Good"  (and  he 
thought  of  Eliza),  ^'  and  has  himself  been  racked  by  religious  doubt " 
(and  his  mind  ran  rapidly  over  the  incidents  of  the  past  week), 
**  only  then  is  a  man  able  to  do  justice  to  those  wonderful  'Con- 
fessions.'" His  voice  ^tered,  and  the  rector's  suspicions  were 
banished  by  its  genuine  sadness.  He  forgot  all  Jack's  satirical 
and  mimetic  powers,  the  feigned  tears  in  church,  the  gravely- 
uttered  praise  and  promise  of  promotion,  he  saw  only  his  soul 
suffering  and  longing  for  light 

**  Yott  have  at  last,  then,  begun  to  doubt  the  teachings  of  your 
cfaildhood,  my  son  ?  "  he  cried  jovfiilly. 

^  Alas,  yes,"  was  the  mournful  reply. 

"  Nay,  grieve  not,"  said  the  vicar,  shocked  once  more  at  such 
hardened  infidelity.  *'  Rather  rejoice  with  me  at  the  methods  God 
has  seen  fit  to  employ  to  illumine  your  soul." 

*'  Though  doubt  was  terrible,  I  have  learnt  much  from  it,"  said 
Jack,  ''and  I  rejoice  that  you  have  come  to  strengthen  me  at 
such  a  crisis." 

Sacred  joy  and  thanksgiving  filled  the  heart  of  the  venerable 
dergyman.  Obeying  a  sudden  inspiration,  he  knelt  down  and  in 
trembling  tones  repeated  for  another  the  aspiration  of  the  dying 
Goethe  for  more  light.  It  was  a  solemn  scene,  and  when  the  grey- 
haired  rector  rose  with  streaming  eyes.  Jack  was  ineffably  touched. 

**  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  the  parson's  old  woman,"  thought  Mrs. 
Dawe,  who  in  the  midst  of  her  duties  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
scene  through  the  glass  of  the  sitting-room  door, ''  if  she's  got  the 
job  of  patching  up  the  knees  of  his  trousers.  If  he  often  does  that 
when  he  gets  a  new  pair,  it's  never  too  early  to  mend." 

"I  should  have  some  hope  in  Democracy,"  said  the  rector 
wh*n  he  was  calmer,  "  if  it  did  not  promise  to  ignore  any  Higher 
O  itroL" 

*It?s  pourin'  cats  and  dogs,"  remarked  Mrs.  Dawe,  re-entering 
th  room,  '*  and  I'm  a-feared  'Lizer  with  her  parasol  '11  get  wet  to 
th  skin.  Not  that  you  seems  to  care  much,  sittin'  comfortable  on 
yo  r  sophy.  But  I  wants  some  paper  to  wrap  up  some  vead  and 
ht  1  pie  for  Mrs.  Trotters.    I  thought  I  saw  some  lyin'  about  'ere 

H   8 


2-38250J* 


•   / 


too  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

afore."  Casting  her  eyes  anxiously  about,  Mrs.  Dawe  disappeared 
under  the  table. 

''  My  own  hope/'  said  Jack,  disregarding  the  interruption,  *'  is 
that  we  shall  some  day  return  to  the  admirable  constitution  of  the 
ancient  Jews — I  mean  a  Theocracy.  A  very  visionsury  ideal,  I  grant 
you,  but  the  hours  we  spend  in  Utopia  are  the  happiest  of  our  uves. 
In  my  theological  writings ^ 

^  You  have  written  on  theology  ?**  gasped  the  vicar. 

"  As  a  student  and  layman  merely,  of  course.  In  them  I  have 
always  advocated  a  union  of  Church  and  State.^ 

"  I  could  ha'  swore  it  was  in  'ere,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe,  reappearing 
empty-handed  from  under  the  table.  "  Why,  Jack,  you're  a-sittin' 
on  it,  I  do  believe.  Yes,  that's  it  You  don't  want  it,  do  you  ? 
Don't  be  frightened,  this  ain't  the  number  of  the  Fru  Thinker 
that's  got  your  thing  in  it  about  the  Angel  Gaybrill  and  the  Hokey- 
Pokey — ^ha !  ha  1  ha  I  It  makes  me  laugh  whenever  I  thinks  of  it 
What  are  you  opening  your  mouth  like  a  fish  for  ?  I'm  sure  it  ain't 
— 'cause  this  one's  got  a  picture  of  a  angel  standin'  on  'is  'ead  and 
a  little  chirrup)  goin'  round  with  the  'at,  while  the  one  your  poetry 
was  in  'ad  a  pictur  of  the  devil  in  'is  cookshop — ^and,  of  course,  I 
remembers  it  particular.  Well,  if  I  don't  call  that  manners  for  a 
parson  to  run  out  like  a  madman  in  a  strait-waistcoat  without 
sayin'  good  evenin'.  Why,  he's  been  and  forgot  'is  umbreller  in 
'is  'urry.  Tould  serve  'im  right  if  he  got  drenched  to  the  skin, 
poor  old  man.    Hi !  Parson  1  Hi ! " 

A  moment  afterwards,  Mrs.  Dawe,  with  dripping  hair,  rushed 
back  into  the  parlour  in  a  state  of  great  indignation. 

^  May  I  be  crushed  to  a  jelly,"  she  exclaimed,  addressing  her 
son,  who  was  lying  prostrate  on  the  sofa,  his  mild  countenance  wan 
with  despair,  "  if  ever  that  man  darkens  my  back  parler  agen.  I 
^ot  wet  to  give  'im  back  'is  rubbishin'  umbreller,  and  he  took  it 
like  a  sleep-walker  on  a  tight-rope,  without  a  word  of  thanks.  He 
must  be  a  nice  man  to  'ave  in  a  'ouse.  I  pity  'is  old  woman  and 
tiie  little  'uns  if  that's  the  sort  of  father  they've  got  to  put  up  with. 
I  remembers  when  I  was  married,  a  second  cousin  of  your  father 
on  the  mother's  side,  a  nice  little  chap  he  was,  he  burst  a  blood- 
vessel ten  years  ago,  singing  a  song  that  began  : 

'The  minister's  boy  to  the  war  'as  gont, 
'Is  sword  he  'as  girded  on  'im.' 

and  Fm  sure  I  don't  wonder  at  it  arter  to-day.  These  ere  two 
pages  '11  do  for  Mrs.  Ttotter.  You  can  'ave  the  rest  if  you  ain't 
read  'em  yet" 

Thrusting  the  remnants  into  Jack's  nerveless  hand,  she  with- 
drew into  the  shop  to  wrap  up  the  pie. 

Involuntarily  Jack's  eyes  scanned  a  few  lines  of  print  A  pointed 
logical  remark  roused  him  from  his  dull  lethargy — his  shattered 
energies  pieced  themselves  together — he  read  on.  The  arguments 
were  powerful,  scathing,  vindent,  coarse,  but  delivered  with  ar 
irresistible  air  of  contemptuous  superiority. 


THEOLOGY  AND  MEDICINE  lOI 

''Can  I  have  been  deceiving  myself  all  my  life,*  he  asked  him- 
self bitterly,  '*  and  were  my  eyes  opened  for  once  only  to  be  inmie- 
diately  closed,  unable  to  bear  the  light  of  truth?"  He  turned  to 
another  column  that  made  him  flinch  every  moment  under  cruel, 
Voltairean  sneers.  Then  he  found  some  brutal  jokes  under  whose 
weight  the  delicate,  dew-hung,  gossamer  web  of  Theology  was  rent 
to  pieces  and  shrank  to  naught  and  vanished  in  the  morning  wind. 
A  vigorous  and  enthusiastic  article  on  the  Religion  of  Man  thrilled 
him  with  pity  for  the  suffering  it  depicted,  and  with  noble  resolu- 
tions to  aid  in  relieving  the  temporal  wants  of  humanitv  in  lieu  of 
the  spiritual  Then  he  read  some  anecdotes  which  diilled  him 
^n.    He  dropped  the  paper. 

"  Is  the  trul[h  with  tiiese  men,  then  ?"  he  reflected.  "  Surely  1 
find  here  some  of  the  thoughts  I  hardly  dared  think  during  my 
weary  wanderings.  Alas,  is  the  Life  of  Man  but  a  wretched  dream 
and  Uie  Universe  but  a  soulless  bubble ;  and  must  I  spend  the  rest 
of  my  days  in  the  City  of  Dreadful  Night  ?  Then  is  Schopen- 
hauer right  and  Consciousness  an  evil  interruption  of  the  blissful 
repose  of  the  Unconscious.  What  is  man  that  he  should  dream  of 
righteousness,  and  of  power  over  Nature  ?  I  tiiought  my  soul  im- 
pregnable, and  lo !  to-day  it  yielded  at  the  first  assault  of  the  flesh 
—yielded  in  intention  if'^  not  in  actuality.  Where  is  the  grandeur 
of  the  moral  world  within  and  the  starry  universe  without  ?  Of  dust 
are  we  and  our  emotions,  of  dust  are  the  infinite  spheres,  and  to 
dust  shall  all  return.'' 

^  Jack,"  cried  Mrs.  Dawe,  who  had  re-entered  and  was  watching 
him  anxiously.  ^' Jack,  you  looks  very  ill  and  gloomy.  You  must 
takeapilL* 


^ 


1 


^0olt  XI£ 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE  PRSMIER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT. 

iT  was  Saturday  night  in  the  great  city.    As  it  hap- 
pened to  be  a  fine  night,  London  had  turned  out  into 
the  streets  and  other  places  in  search  of  amusement; 
and  all  open-air  entertainments  were  being  especially 
well  patronised.      For  listening  to  music,  without 
having  walls  around  one,  and  a  roof  above  one's 
head»  and  a  hot  and  vitiated  atmosphere  to  breathe,  was  a  pleasant 
novelty  in  those  days  when  scientific  knowledge  was  confined  to  a 
few  savants^  and  the  answers  to  examination  papers. 

The  theatres,  too,  were  fairly  fiill,  as  Saturday  night  was  so 
evidently  cut  out  by  the  social  arrangements  of  the  age  as  the 
night  on  which  people  could  best  enjoy  themselves,  that,  even  with 
the  mercury  making  frantic  attempts  to  escape  through  the  top  of 
the  thermometer  tube,  theatres  and  music-halls  might  rely  on  a 
decent  attendance  for  that  particular  night  of  the  week.    Aaodier 
source   of  amusement  for  vacant   minds  was   talking   politics. 
Chemistry  turns  all  sorts  of  waste  produce  to  account,  and  manu- 
factures things  of  beauty  from  the  refuse  of  our  manufactories. 
The  same  utilitarian  spint  must  have  been  at  work  in  those  Satur- 
day night  holidav-makers  who  mana|^  to  esctract  their  amusement 
from  political  philippics.      Ordinarily,  hot  weather  would,  para- 
doxiodly  enough,  have  cooled  the  ardour  of  these  gifted  beings, 
and  their  favourite  seat  would  oft  have  known  them  not    But  this 
particular  summer,  tilings  were  more  exciting  than  usual,  and  so 
summer  failed  in  its  wonted  eliminations.    And  on  this  particular 
Saturday  ni^ht,  the  conduct  of  the  Right  Honourable  A.  Floppington 
was  being  discussed,  as  warmly  as  die  heat  of  the  weather  would 
permit,  a&  over  the  metropolis,  for  on  the  following  Monday  would 
be  held  tiiat  Cabinet  Council  which  would  decide  whether  Flop- 
pington's  Ministry  was  to  go  to  pieces  or  not. 

All  this  did  not  trouble  the  Right  Honourable  Arnold  Flmming- 
ton  very  much.  The  bustle  and  excitement  of  the  outer  world,  the 
stir  of  the  motley  phantasmagoric  figures  shifting  restiessly  on  tiie 


r 


THE  PREMIER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT  103 


magic-lantern  of  the  gay  and  sombre  city,  evidently  failed  to 
penetrate  within  the  walls  of  No.  10,  Downing  Street,  where  the 
Premier^  not  yielding  to  the  general  desire  to  be  in  the  open  air, 
was  sitting  in  his  own  bachelor  snuggery,  which  was,  in  truth,  a 
very  sanctum  sanctorum.  It  was  a  small,  and  comfortably  rather 
than  elegantly  furnished  roonL  The  walls  were  lined  with  books  ; 
not  those  graves  of  information  called  Blue  Books,  printed  by  a 
grateM  country  in  the  interests  of  the  butter-man  ;  not  the  things 
in  book's  clothing  which  so  roused  the  ire  of  gentle  Elia  ;  but  real 
books,  the  work  of  the  lords  of  fancy  and  the  kings  of  the  imagi- 
nation. The  Premier  was  delighted  to  leave  the  stem  realities  of 
politics,  to  forget  ^  the  world  out  of  joint "  in  the  music  of  the  poets 
he  so  dearly  loved,  or  in  the  thoughts  of  those  metaphysicians 
whose  endless  and  resultless  speculations  had  so  strange  a  charm 
for  him.  From  the  top  of  the  book-shelves  there  looked  down 
opon  him  the  busts  ot  his  great  predecessors,  Pitt,  Peel,  and 
Beaconsfield. 

The  Premier  was  seated,  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  at  a  table  in 
&e  centre  of  the  room.  He  had  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  was 
lazily  puffing  rin^s  of  smoke,  which  he  watched  as  they  curled  up 
towards  the  ceiling ;  while  at  intervals  he  cast  his  eyes  upon  his 
book,  an  English  translation  of  Hugo's  Hemani, 

^  I  can  understand  what  it's  all  about  now,"  he  said  to  himself; 
"  but  I  couldn't  understand  a  word  when  I  saw  Sarah  Bernhardt 
play  in  it  at  the  Gaiety.  They  do  talk  French  so  dreadfully  fast,  to 
be  sure ;"  and  shaking  his  head,  as  if  in  condemnation  of  the  speed 
which  Frenchmen  employ  in  the  use  of  their  own.  language,  he 
resumed  his  book.  He  was  a  true  Briton  and  patriot,  and  &lt  in 
his  heart  of  hearts  that  he  could  have  given  them  a  few  hints  on  the 
subject  worthy  of  attention. 

He  read  and  smoked  on  quietly  for  a  few  minutes,  absorbed  in 
the  glowing  words  of  the  great  poet. 

Then  putting  down  his  book,  he  resumed  his  contemplative  gaze 
at  the  aspiring  smoke  rings,  and  his  soliloquy  at  the  same  time. 

^'Ah,"  he  continued,  "this  speech  of  Don  Carlos  before  the 
tomb  of  Charlemagne  is  superb.  I  wish  I  could  get  into  the  style 
for  my  next  speech.  I  fancy  it  would  make  them  sit  up  in  the 
House." 

It  will  have  been  already  observed  that  the  Premier's  language 
contained  many  strange  but  vigorous  figures  of  speech ;  and  he 
smiled  softly,  as  he  conjured  up  a  vision  of  the  Members  listening 
with  open-mouthed  astonishment  to  a  melodramatic  harangue. 

**  It  isn't  quite  the  style  of  Don  Juan^  which  Dizzy  thought 
proper  for  the  Commons,  nor  that  of  Paradise  Lost,  which  he 
deemed  most  suitable  for  the  Lords  ;  though  I  rather  think  if  the 
Paradise  Lost  style  were  common  there,  it  wouldn't  be  long  before 
they'd  bring  in  a  bill  for  their  own  abolition ;  but  I  think  it  would 
fetch  them ;"  and  he  stopped  his  soliloquy  for  a  moment  to  mix 
himself  some  whisky  and  water,  which  he  sipped  with  gusto. 

Refreshed  by  the  stimulating  drink— for  he  had  not  exceeded  in 


n 


104  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

the  matter  of  water — ^he  plunged  into  the  play  again,  and  for  a  time 
silence  reigned  in  the  room,  broken  only  by  short,  unintelligible 
sounds  that  issued  at  intervals  from  his  lips.  The  world  mijg^ht 
wonder  how  he  would  surmount  the  troubles  which  surrounded  him; 
his  countrymen  might  condemn  him  or  praise  him ;  he  was  in- 
different to  it  alL  The  cares  of  the  Empire  sat  but  lightly  on  his 
shoulders ;  and  not  a  thought  of  them  impaired  his  placid  enjoy- 
ment of  the  poet's  lines.  It  is  this  power  of  living  the  life  of  the 
moment,  which  makes  men  great 

'*  How  fine  the  finish  is,  too !  That  bit,  when  after  acting  in  a 
manner  wordiy  of  an  Emperor,  he  addresses  the  tomb  of  Charle- 
magne, and  asks  if  he  has  done  well,  is  splendid.^  I  wonder  whether 
he  found  clemency  pay,  though.  I  must  look  it  up  one  of  these 
days.  History  is  not  one  of  my  strong  points.  And  yet,  it  would 
not  be  altogether  out  of  place,  if  the  man  who  makes  histoiy  knew 
something  of  the  way  in  which  others  have  made  it  before  him.  It 
might  improve  the  quality  of  the  article,"  and  he  laughed  inwardly 
at  his  own  irony. 

He  put  down  the  book,  and  his  thoughts  wandered  to  the  past 
**  What  a  squeeze  there  was  to  get  in  £at  night,  to  be  sure !  The 
gallery  was  hadf-a-dollar,  and  how  the  people  crowded  to  pay  it ! 
But  it  was  worth  the  money  and  the  trouble  to  see  the  play,  acted 
as  it  was,  though  I  couldn't  make  out  a  word  they  were  saying. 
When  l^e  divine  Sarah  breakfasts  with  me  next  week,  I  must  teU  her 
that  I  went  to  the  gallery  to  see  her  play  Dofla  Sol,  and  111  give  her 
a  graphic  description  of  what  I  went  through.  She'll  think  me 
mad,  I  dare  say,  which  will  be  a  thoroughly  English  idea.  Curiously 
enough,  the  British  public  doesn't  Qiink  muc^  of  Floppy,"  and 
he  laughed  to  himself  at  this  frank  way  of  putting  matters.  He 
was  much  given  —  too  much  given,  most  people  said — to  intro- 
spection ;  but  he  didn't  introspect  flatteringly)  which  is  more  than 
can  be  said  of  most  men  who  are  as  philosophically  inclined. 

He  laughed  so  long  that  he  let  his  pipe  go  out  He  rose  to  take 
another  from  a  rack  suspended  over  the  mantel,  for  he  was  too  old 
a  smoker  to  smoke  a  hot  pipe.  Having  found  one  to  his  taste,  he 
leisurely  filled  it,  and  as  he  did  so,  a  fresh  train  of  thought  was 
started.  He  lit  the  pipe,  and  then,  instead  of  resuming  his  seat, 
he  set  to  walking  up  and  down  the  room  with  short,  jerky  strides. 
**  I  wish  Monday  were  here  and  gone,"  he  mused.  "  I  don't  half 
relish  that  Cabinet  Council.  However,  I  am  quite  decided  what  to 
do  as*  regards  Lord  Bardolph.  He  isn't  alone  in  the  •  Cabinet 
though,  I  think;  but  I  don't  care.  If  one  of  us  has  to  give  way,  the 
name  of  the  one  who  does  so  will  not  be — Floppington.  Won't  it 
be  a  joke,  though,  if  he  resigns,  and  then  finds  that  I  intend  giving 
women  the  franchise  after  all  ?  It  would  save  a  deal  of  trouble  if 
I  told  him  so  first ;  but  then  he  and  his  partisans  would  say  that  I  had 
caved  in,  and  my  influence  would  be  gone.  People  may  suggest 
what  motives  they  please  for  my  action  in  this  matter,  but  fear  of 
Lord  Bardolph  shall  not  be  one  of  them." 

He  stopped  m  his  hurried  walk  before  the  bust  of  Lord  Beacons- 


r 


THE  PREMIER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT  los 


fidd,  and  stood  looking  closely  at  the  Sphinx-like  countenance,  as 
if  eager  to  discover  what  that  great  Parliamentarian  thought  of 
the  matter. 

''You  had  a  pretty  hard  time  of  it,"  he  continued,  apostrophising 
the  bust,  "  but  you  conquered,  and  so  will  I." 

Again  he  started  pacing  the  room,  his  mind  still  busy  with  the 
thoughts  of  the  struggle  to  come ;  but  a  confident  smile  played 
about  his  lips,  and  showed  that  the  momentary  fit  of  despondency 
—if  sudi  it  could  be  termed — had  passed  away.  Then  his  pace 
slackened,  he  shook  his  head  at  the  bust  of  Lord  Beaconsfield,  and 
finally  resumed  his  seat.  He  did  not  feel  inclined  to  resume  his 
reading  of  Hernani\  and  for  some  moments  all  his  energies 
were  absorbed  in  the  struggle  to  find  a  thoroughly  comfortable 
position  in  his  chair ;  a  struggle  which  has  been  going  on  for 

S Aerations  without  the  requisite  development  being  evolved.  Our 
n  beyond  the  sea  have,  it  is  true,  hit  upon  a  fairly  successful 
device  in  reposing  the  heels  upon  a  table  or  mantel ;  but  this  is  to 
some  extent  independent  of  a  chair,  and  to  that  extent,  therefore, 
imperfect.  Hie  Premier  tried  it  however,  among  many  others,  but 
gave  it  up  with  a  sigh,  as  he  said  : 

"  I  never  could  feel  quite  comfortable  with  my  legs  up  in  the  air 
like  that.  One  must  be  born  to  it,  I  think,"  and  then,  with  a  vicious 
poll  at  his  pipe,  which  had  the  effect  of  making  the  room  as  cloudy 
as  his  ideas  were  said  to  be  by  his  opponents,  he  resumed  his 
thinking : 

"  Lord  Bardolph  disposed  of,  I  expect  the  rest  of  the  Cabinet 
will  let  me  have  my  own  way  in  the  matter  ;  they  will  sing  small 
when  they  find  I  am  not  to  be  frightened  by  him.  Then  there  is  the 
House  to  be  considered.  Will  the  measure  get  through  safely  P'' 
and  the  Premier  knitted  his  brows,  and  let  his  pipe  go  out,  as  he 
pondered  this  question.  ^  I  think  it  will,"  he  continued;  '*  the  party 
will,  of  course,  follow  the  Cabinet ;  and  the  Opposition—well," 
and  here  he  smiled  grimly,  *'  some  of  them,  at  any  rate,  are  too 
deeply  conmiitted  to  my  views  to  oppose  me.  But  what  a  sensation 
there  will  be  when  everybody  learns  that  Floppington  is  changed  ! 
Ah !  Lady  Gwendolen,  Lady  Gwendolen,  you  will  have  much  to 
answer  for,  but  the  gentleman  known  to  the  democracy  as  Floppy 
will  have  much  more  ;  ^  and  the  thought  of  the  respective  appor- 
tionment of  responsibility  between  I^dy  Gwendolen  and  himself 
apparently  afforded  him  much  amusement ;  for  he  laughed  heartily, 
as  though  coolly  making  the  Conservative  party  pass  Radical 
measures  was  a  practipal  joke,  and  not  a  serious  step  fraught  with 
gravest  consequences  to  his  country. 

**  They'll  say  that  Pm  as  devoid  of  principle  as  Bardolph,  after 
this,"  be  went  on  when  he  had  become  tired  of  laughing ;  ^'  but  the 
Conservatives  have  devoted  quite  enough  attention  to  the  preserva- 
tion of  antiquities.  Under  my  leadership  they  shall  now  turn  their 
bock  on  the  past,  and  face  the  future.  After  all,"  he  continued, 
mechanically  striking  a  match  and  relighting  his  pipe,  ^  it's  very 
easy  to  carry  on  government.    The  permanent  officials  rule  the 


io6  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

roast  in  the  departmental  work ;  and  as  for  legislation,  you  can 
carry  anything  you  want,  if  you  let  your  colleagues  in  the  Govern-* 
ment  fiilly  understand  that  you  intend  to  boss  your  own  show* 
Domestic  affairs  are  quite  safe  in  my  hands,  and  as  for  foreign  ones, 
Pm  Radical  enough  to  think  that  they  are  quite  secondary  as  a. 
general  thing.  There's  a  good  deal  more  fuss  than  importance 
about  them.  Still,  I  must  get  some  ideas  on  the  business  far 
Monday,  as  it  won't  do  to  let  Bardolph  have  his  own  way.  Besides, 
he  may  resign.  Let  me  see/'  and  he  got  up  and  began  reflectively 
turning  over  a  heap  of  papers.  At  last  he  settled  down  with  the 
Daily  Telegraph  in  his  hand.  "  Yes,  I'll  see  what  ideas  I  can  get 
from  the  D.T  about  this  latest  move  of  Bismarck's  ;"  and  crossing 
one  leg  over  the  other,  and  giving  vent  to  a  tired  sort  of  sigh,  he  set 
to  work  at  his  very  important  task. 

"  The  Island  of  BOBO,"  he  read,  "  is  situated  somewhere  in  the 
Indian  Ocean.  It  is  a  barren  rock,  of  such  ridiculously  small 
dimensions  that  none  of  the  maps  to  which  we  have  access  con- 
tains the  name ;  and  we  understand,  also,  thait  it  is  not  marked 
upon  any  of  the  maps  at  the  Foreign  Of&ce.  It  is  believed,  how- 
ever, to  be  identical  with  the  island  which,  under  the  name  of 
Ski-hi,  was  blown  up  by  internal  convulsions,  as  recorded  in  the 
ancient  Chinese  records.  The  date  of  this  event  is  variously  placed 
at  from  6300  to  6150  B.C  It  also  figures  prominently  m  the 
mythologies  of  India,  and ^* 

"This  won't  help  me,"  said  the  Premier,  running  his  eye  rapidly 
over  a  long  history  of  this  unknown  and  unmarked-on-any-map 
island,  in  which  the  part  it  had  played  during  the  empires  of 
Assyria  and  Persia  was  given  at  full  length,  with  the  introduction 
of  a  number  of  names,  containing  quaint  and  unpronounceable 
combinations  of  consonants,  which  led  the  reader  gently  on  to  the 
comparatively  modem  period  of  Greece,  Carthage,  and  Rome,  and 
so  by  a  series  of  easy  gradations  to  the  nineteenth  century.     *^  It's 

very  interesting,  and  the  writer  must  be  wonderfully  clever ;  but 

Oh,  this  is  more  practical ;"  and  he  took  up  the  thread  of  the 
article  again. 

"Altogether,"  he  read,  ^a  more  desolate  spot  cannot  be 
imagined.  No  waving  palms  lift  their  fronds  in  silent  adoration 
to  tropical  skies  ;  no  cocoanuts  afford  sport  to  countless  myriads 
of  monkeys  ;  no  sound  of  life  is  heard  upon  its  arid  wastes.  All  is 
desolation.  It  has  no  harbours  ;  and  if  it  had,  no  fleets  would  enter 
them.  But  the  German  flag  is  now  waving  over  this  barren  spot 
of  earth  ;  and  this  fact  at  once  raises  this  island  to  an  important 
position  in  the  geographical  world.  It  may  be  said,  'What  does  it 
matter  if  the  German  flag  does  wave  over  so  insignificant  and  so 
valueless  a  spot  ?'  It  may  not  matter  to  the  recreant  Englishman 
who  thinks  the  honour  and  glory  of  his  country  are  cribbed,  cabined 
and  confined  within  the  narrow  limits  of  the  British  Isles  ;  but  it 
does  matter  to  every  Englishman  who  thinks  with  pride  of  that 
greater  empire  upon  which  the  sun  never  sets,  and  who  feels  within 
his  bosom  that  patriotic  glow  which  tdls  him  that  there  is  not  on 


j 


THE  PREMIER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT  107 

the  globe  a  spot  of  land,  however  insignificant  and  barren,  but  that 
it  is  written  in  the  scroll  of  the  heavens  that  the  English  flag,  and 
not  the  German,  shall  wave  above  it  Prince  Bismarck  must  be 
inade  to  understand  this  clearly.  If  he  is  made  to  understand  the 
immutable  natural  destiny  of  England  by  diplomatic  means,  well 
and  good.  We  shall  rejoice  at  it  But  if  not — if  he  prove 
obstinately  blind  to  the  manifest  intentions  of  the  all-ruling  forces 
of  Nature,  then  it  must  be  England's  mission  to  open  his  eyes,  by 
the  roar  of  Woolwich  infants  belching  forth  their  iron  lessons  from 
the  turrets  of  our  iron  walls ! " 

The  Premier  dropped  the  paper  with  a  half-ludicrous  start  of 
amazement  on  reading  these  brave  words  ;  for  had  he  not  read 
in  another  paper,  but  the  day  previously,  that  the  English  Navy 
was  a  shadow,  a  skeleton,  utterly  incompetent  to  defend  the  shores 
of  England,  and  still  more  incompetent,  therefore,  to  attack  other 
shores  ;  and  had  not  this  other  paper  called  loudly  for  the  im- 
mediate impeachment  of  himself  and  the  First  Lord  of  the 
Admiralt)r,  if  they  did  not  at  once  make  the  navy  stronger  than 
the  combined  navies  of  Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  and  America  ?  He 
sat  gazing  sheepishly  into  vacancy  for  a  while,  in  a  vain  attempt  to 
reconcile  the  readings  of  the  different  days,  and  then  shook  his 
head  mournfully  as  he  said  : 

*'  I  shall  have  to  stick  to  one  paper  for  the  future,  and  tell  my 
secretaries  sa  Becoming  acquainted  with  the  contents  of  several 
is  so  very  confusing." 

And  havin|r  delivered  himself  of  this  truism,  the  Premier  sat 
thinking,  lookmg  reflectively  the  while,  as  was  his  wont,  at  the 
up-curling  rings  of  smoke. 

"  Perhaps  the  D.  T,  is  right  after  all,"  he  resumedj  "  and  self- 
assertion  is  as  valuable  in  foreign  affairs  as  I  know  it  is  at  home. 
Besides,  a  spirited  foreign  policy  is  one  of  die  traditions  of  the  party 
I  have  the  honour  to  lead ;  and  I  had  better  leave  them  a  shred  or 
80  of  their  old  professions  to  swear  by,"  and  then,  with  a  nod  of  his 
head,  as  if  to  imply  that  he  had  finally  dismissed  the  subject,  he 
took  up  his  book.  But  somehow  or  other  he  could  not  read.  The 
train  of  thought  into  which  he  had  wandered  since  he  had  been 
charmed  with  the  noble  speeches  of  Don  Carlos,  had  put  him  out 
of  harmony  with  the  world  of  the  drama.  The  real  world,  in  which 
he  moved,  and  lived,  and  had  his  being,  was  too  much  with  him ;  and 
it  was  with  an  air  of  discontent  with  himself  that  he  threw  down 
the  book,  and  let  his  thoughts  stray  as  pleased  them  best — all  will- 
power over  them  entirely  gone.  It  was  not  without  a  pitying  ex- 
clamation of  self-contempt  that  the  Premier  found  himself  forced  to 
let  his  thoughts  take  the  reins,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  a 
man  might  control  the  destinies  of  a  vast  empire,  but  not .  the 
mysterious  workings  of  his  own  brain.  For  some  time,  if  one 
might  judge  from  tifie  expression  of  his  face,  his  thoughts  were  not 
pleasing,  though  through  all  their  varying  phases,  the  look  of  calm, 
almost  assertive  self-reliance,  the  quality  in  which  till  very  recently 
he  had  shown  himself  so  deficient,  was  never  absent  But  gradually 


1 


io8  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 


his  face  softened,  and  a  tender,  wistful  look  came  into  his  eyes  as 
he  thought : 

**Ah,  Lady  Gwendolen,  your  cause  will  triumph.  But  in  the 
after  years  will  you  ever  think  of  the  ephemeral  May-fly,  the  poor 
insect  of  a  day  we  used  to  sing  about  at  school? '  And  as  he 
leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand,  the  air  of  assurance  vanished ;  he 
looked  worn,  and  haggard,  and  hesitating  as  of  yore. 

His  reverie  was  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the  doc»:,  followed  by 
the  entry  of  a  servant. 

'*  Lord  Bardolph  Mountchapel  wishes  to  see  you,  sir." 

^  To  see  me  ?"  said  the  Premier,  gazing  at  the  servant,  as  if  in  a 
dream.  "Ah,yes,"  he  continued,  "I  expected  him.  Show  him  in  here." 

The  servant  vanished  ;  the  Premier  sprang  to  his  feet  The 
interview  he  had  been  expecting,  and  upon  which  he  felt  so  much 
depended,  had  come  at  last.  He  hastily  emptied  his  glass  of 
whisky  and  water.  All  despondency  had  died  away.  He  was  his 
newer  and  better  self  again. 

Lord  Bardolph  entered,  and  the  two  shook  hands,  looking 
warily  at  each  other  the  while,  as  do  two  boxers  before  commencing 
to  fight.  Outwardly,  they  had  always  been  friends,  and  even  rather 
intimate  friends,  though  each  had  ever  been  conscious  of  some 
antagonism ;  but  this  had  never  been  allowed  to  interfere  with 
their  personal  relations.  Each,  too,  had  a  sort  of  admiration  for 
the  other.  The  man  who  could  not  make  up  his  mind  because  he 
thought  too  much,  felt  something  like  admiration  for  the  man  who 
made  up  his  mind  at  once  because  he  didn't  think  at  all 

"Whisky?"  said  the  Premier  interrogatively,  when  Lord 
Bardolph  had  settled  himself  comfortably  in  a  chair,  which  he  did 
with  an  ease  that  made  his  host  quite  envious. 

"  Thanks,  no,  I  don't  drink,"  was  the  reply.  "  You  see,  I  think 
of  founding  a  school  of  Conservative  abstainers,  as  a  set-off  against 
the  Radical  teeotallers." 

"  Have  you  sworn  off  smoking,  too  ?  " 

"  Na  Thank  goodness,  the  Radicals  all  smoke ;  so  I  feel  quite 
at  ease  with  my  conscience  in  doing  ditto,"  and,  suiting  the  action 
to  the  word,  he  lighted  up  a  choice  regalia  selected  from  the  box 
the  Premier  held  out  to  him.  But  you,"  he  continued,  looking  at 
the  Premier,  who  had  set  to  work  again  on  his  pipe,  ^  since  when 
have  you  smoked  that  thing  ?  " 

"  Since  I  was — I  mean  only  lately,"  returned  the  Premier  some- 
what confusedly  ;  "  really  good  cigars  are  so  very  expensive." 

"You  economical,  Floppington  I"  laughed  Lord  Bardolph.  "  Well, 
I  must  tell  Southleigh  in  time  that  he  may  reduce  his  estimate  of 
the  revenue  from  customs ; "  and  then  the  two  men  smoked  silently 
for  a  time.  At  length  the  silence  was  broken  by  Floppington,  who 
said  : 

"  What  do  you  think  of  doing  about  that  Bobo  business  ?  " 

'  Nothing,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

*'  Nothing  ? "  mechanically  repeated  the  Premier. 

^  Yes,  nothing.    The  fact  is/'  Lord  Bardolph  went  on,  "  thai 


r 


THE  PREMIER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT  109 


we're  too  near  the  election  to  do  anything  in  foreign  affairs  that 
may  compromise  us.  It's  right  to  try  and  make  die  other  side 
blunder  into  a  spirited  foreign  policy  when  they're  in  power  ;  but 
that's  no  reason  why  we  should  blunder  into  one  ourselves." 

The  Premier  seemed  puzzled  at  the  new  phase  of  Conservatism 
his  coUeague  was  developing.  No  doubt  the  hen  of  the  fable  that 
hatched  a  duckling  was  unable  to  account  for  the  fondness  her 
new-bom  offspring  manifested  for  water,  and  was  terrified  accord- 
ingly. Such  conduct  must  have  quite  transcended  her  range  of 
experience,  and,  if  a  hen  of  philosophical  tendencies,  have  caused 
her  to  rep^ard  the  theories  of  some  gallinaceous  John  Stuart  Mill 
with  suspicion  ever  afterwards.  But  though  no  fable  has  dealt  with 
it,  the  surprise  of  a  duck  that  hatched  a  chicken,  on  finding  the 
new-comer  had  an  invincible  objection  to  any  medium  less  solid 
than  terra  Jirmoy  would  be  equally  great,  though  contempt  would 
accompany  it  rather  than  terror ;  and  the  Premier's  bewilderment 
was  of  this  description. 

"  Surely,"  he  remonstrated,  *'  we  can't  allow  Bismarck  to  go  on 
annexing  without  even  a  protest  England  must  put  her  foot  down 
somewhere." 

"But  as  one  of  the  Radical  fellows  said,"  replied  Lord  Bar- 
dolph,  ^  England  isn't  a  centipede.  Deucedly  clever  remark  that 
1  feel  that  I  could  have  made  it  myself,"  he  went  on  musingly. 
^  But  i^s  just  like  the  Rads.  They  anticipate  my  wit  as  well  as  my 
policy." 

"  But  what  about  public  opinion  ?  "  said  the  Premier.  ''We  can't 
afford  to  run  counter  to  it  See  what  the  Telegraph  says,"  and 
he  took  up  the  paper  he  had  been  reading,  and  handed  it  to  his 
companion. 

'*  Just  like  you,  to  bother  with  public  opinion,"  sneered  Lord 
Bardolph,  "  as  if  you  didn't  know  how  it  was  got  up ;  as  if  you 
hadn't  taken  shares  in  a  newly  started  manufactory  of  the  com- 
modity yourself." 

''But  it  is  cowardly,"  said  the  Premier,  who,  however,  was 
apparently  reconciling  himself  to  the  non-intervention  Conserva- 
tism of  his  colleague.  "  As  you  said  in  one  of  your  speeches,  no 
Conservative  Minister  will  ever  shrink  from  defending  British 
interests,  whenever  and  by  whomsoever  attacked." 

"Did  I  ?"  queried  Lord  Bardolph,  '*  I  forget  But  you  flatter 
me  by  remembering  what  I  said.  I  thought  only  the  Opposition 
did  that,  when  they  want  to  be  disagreeable.  However,  as  we  are 
pledged  to  protect  British  interests,  and  we  have  persuaded  every- 
body that  we  are  only  too  eager  to  do  so,  our  non-intervention 
simply  shows — — " 

*  Our  inconsistency,"  interjected  the  Premier. 

"  Not  at  all ;  but  simply  Uiat  there  are  no  British  interests  to 
defend,*'  was  the  calm  reply. 

The  Premier  sat  quiet  a  few  moments,  smoking  reflectively  as 
he  allowed  this  new  version  to  sink  into  his  mind.  His  receptivity 
iad  readiness  to  respond  to  new  impressions  have  been  already 


HO  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

pointed  out    So  it  is  not  surprising  that  he  ended  by  agreeing 
with  Lord  Bardolpb,  as  Lord  B.  expected. 

'*  Perhaps  you  are  right,**  he  said  ;  then,  looking  up  and  throw- 
ing back  his  head  with  a  quick,  imperious  gesture,  he  went  on,  *'  I 
think,  therefore,  you  may  be  allowed  to  have  your  way  in  tfiis  affair." 
The  husband  of  patient  Griselda  could  hardly  have  been  more 
taken  aback  had  that  good  lady  suddenly  launched  out  in  the  style 
of  the  lamented  Mrs.  Caudle,  than  was  Lord  Bardolphby  the  words 
of  the  Premier,  and  the  tone  in  which  they  were  said.  There  was 
underlying  it  an  assumption  of  superiority,  a  tacit  taking  for  granted 
of  mastery,  that  set  the  teeth  of  Lord  Bardolph's  self-sufficiency  oa 
edge.  The  Premier  had  yielded,  it  was  true  ;  but  there  was  about 
his  very  yielding  something  of  stem  resolution  which  was  un- 
wonted, and  which  awoke  Lord  Bardolph  to  the  fact  that  victory  in 
the  struggle  he  contemplated  would  not  be  gained  so  easily  as  he 
had  anticipated.  As  he  sat  there,  watching  his  chief,  who,  busily 
intent  on  mixing  himself  another  glass  of  whisky  and  water,  appeared 
to  have  quietly  dismissed  the  whole  subject  from  his  thoughts,  he 
felt  a  foreboding  that  victory  might  not  be  his  at  all.  De  Paudace^ 
de  Paudace^  et  toujours  de  Paudace  had  been  his  motto  ;  and  he  had 
invariably  acted  upon  it,  and  with  success.  Was  it  about  to  fsdl 
him  now  ? 

Not  if  he  could  help  it  Fortified  as  he  was  by  the  knowledge  of 
the  support  he  knew  he  might  expect  from  many  of  the  members  of 
the  Cabmet,  and  relying  on  the  success  of  the  intrigue  into  which  he 
had  entered,  his  momentary  doubt  passed  away.  Other  thsui  poli- 
tical reasons,  too,  swayed  him  ;  and  it  was,  metaphorically  speaking, 
with  the  gloves  off  that  he  resumed  the  attack. 

"  By-3ie-bye,  Floppington,  you  had  an  awfully  long  t6te-k-t6te 
with  Lady  Gwendolen,  at  the  Duke's  the  other  night  Did  she 
convert  you  ?" 

"  Convert  me  !**  said  the  Premier  in  a  tone  of  laughing  astonish- 
ment; "why,  I  fancy  my  mind  was  made  up  on  the  question  of  Woman 
Suffrage  before  Lady  Gwendolen  gave  a  thought  to  it" 

"  I  dare  say  it  was.  But  that's  some  time  ago,**  said  Lord  Bar- 
dolph pointedly. 

^*  So  it  is  ;  and  yet  I  haven't  changed  my  views.  Curious,  isn't 
it,  Mountchapel?"  banteringly  replied  the  Premier.  "But  then, 
you  know,  it's  the  imexpected  that  always  happens." 

Lord  Bardolph  was  feeling  uncomfortable.  The  Premier  was 
evidently  enjoying  himself  at  Lord  Bardolph's  expense,  and  that 
gentleman  felt  considerably  aggrieved,  and  began  to  lose  his  temper. 
It  was  very  unwise,  no  doubt ;  but  the  phase  of  character  displayed 
by  the  Premier  was  so  utterly  unlike  all  previous  manifestations  that 
some  allowance  must  be  made  for  his  inexperience  in  dealing  with  it 
"Then  I  presume  you  do  not  see  your  way  to  falling  in  with 
my  views,  and  doing  as  I  wish,"  he  said,  a  tone  of  anticipated 
tnumph  breaking  in  his  voice.  He  felt  that  he  had  the  game  in  his 
hands.  If,  on  the  one  hand,  the  Premier,  vacillating  as  ever, 
yielded  the  point  at  issue,  his  own  position  in  the  Cabinet  and  ia 


THE  PREMIER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT  iii 

tiie  countiy  woiild  be  immensely  strengthened.  It  would  make  him 
Premier  in  all  but  name.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Premier  proved 
obdurate,  his  obduracy  would  be  softened  speedily  enough,  when 
he  found  Lord  Bardolph  was  not  alone  at  the  Council.  Lord  Bar- 
dolp^  in  fact,  didn't  see  what  course  but  acquiescence  was  open  to 
the  Premier,  when  he  should  find  himself  in  a  minority  in  his  own 
Cabinet ;  unless,  indeed,  he  informed  the  Queen  that  he  could  not 
continue  to  carry  on  Her  Majesty's  Government.  That  would  mean 
Floppington's  fall,  which  would  be  synonymous  with  Bardolph's 
rise. 

Politics  formed  the  weft,  his  love  for  Lady  Gwendolen  the  warp 
of  his  conduct,  and  so  deftly  was  the  web  woven  that  no  possible 
contingency  (as  far  as  Bardolph  could  see)  was  unprovided  for. 
Whether  Floppington  yielded  or  not,  an  increase  of  influence  in  the 
spheres  of  both  politics  and  love  must  inevitably  ensue. 

^d  yet,  carefully  as  he  had  laid  his  plans,  cautiously  as  he  had 
mapped  out  his  line  of  action,  confident  as  he  was  in  the  impossibility 
of  the  failure  of  his  intrigue,  an  under-current  of  doubt  kept  mingling 
with  his  anticipations  of  victory.  He  could  not  account  for  it.  He 
tried  to  shake  off  his  forebodings  as  foolish,  but  could  only  do  so 
momentarily.  They  had  vanished  as  he  uttered  the  last  few  words 
to  the  Premier ;  they  returned  with  the  Premier's  reply : 

'*  I  shall  be  only  too  pleased  to  do  as  you  wish,  when  your  wishes 
arc  coincident  with  mine." 

^'  I  don't  think  you  recognise  the  imponance  of  your  wishes  co- 
inciding with  mine,"  retorted  Lord  Bardolph,  who,  being  somewhat 
nettled,  was  led  on  into  saying  more  than  he  had  intended.  "  You 
can^  do  without  me." 

*'  Nor  with  you,  to  all  appearances,"  blandly  replied  Floppington. 

Redid  not  know  how  Bardolph  was  playing  his  game,  but  he  knew 
what  the  game  was  ;  and  he  knew  that  now  or  never  was  the  time 
to  assert  himself.  The  necessity  for  this  process  had  occurred  to 
him  often  enough  before ;  but  he  had  never  yielded  to  the  necessity. 

He  always  knew  the  right  thing  to  do,  but  never  did  it.  But  he 
did  it  this  time;  so  that  it  is  a  pedectly  fair  inference  that  he  must 
have  been  under  the  impression  he  was  doing  wrong. 

"  Let  us  understand  each  other,"  went  on  Lord  Bardolph  ;  "we 
are  alone  and  can  speak  openly.  If  you  think  you  can  do  without 
me,  you  are  at  liberty  to  make  the  experiment ;  but  I  prophesy  it 
will  be  a  failure." 

*'Is  Bardolph  also  among  the  prophets?"  asked  Floppington, 
with  that  coolness  which  generally  has  the  effect  of  exciting  heat  in 
the  person  addressed.  Lord  Bardolph  ignored  the  remark,  however, 
and  went  on  : 

^  If  you  want  to  keep  in  office —and  I  suppose  you  do — there  is 
c  y  one  course  open.  You  must  go  to  the  country  with  the  Radical 
]  gramme.  Thank  goodness  there  is  no  such  diing  as  political 
(  lyright  It's  all  very  well  talking  about  preserving  the  Consti- 
1  ion.  It*s  admirably  suited  for  the  peroration.  It  is  the  cheese 
t   help  digest  the  banquet    But  the  banquet  itself  must  consist  of 


1 


112  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

good,  substantial  promises  to  outbid  the  Radicals.  You  do  not  see 
this  fact.  I  do.  You  are  still  haunted  by  antiquated  superstitiot>s 
as  to  party  traditions  and  party  principles.  I  am  free  from  all 
such  weaknesses.  I  am  the  admitted  exponent  of  this  go-ahead 
Conservatism,  which  is  the  only  Conservatism  that  has  a  chanc& 
At  our  meetings  I  am  the  only  speaker  that  draws." 

''  Because  the  taste  for  burlesque  has  not  yet  died  out/'  said  the 
Premier,  who,  incredible  as  it  must  appear  to  all  who  know  anything 
at  all  of  Floppington,  seemed  bent  on  provoking  a  quarrel  wi£ 
his  colleague. 

^*  Because  people  are  tired  of  stick-in-the-mud  politics,"  almost 
screamed  Lord  Bardolph,  whose  temper  was  now  fairly  roused. 
'*  Because  people  are  sick  of  shilly-shally ;  because  people  want  a 
leader  whose  conception  of  leading  is  not  going  backwards. 
Without  me  you  can't  hold  the  reins  of  power  a  single  day ;  and 
you  must  have  me  on  my  own  terms,  or  not  at  all." 

"  Your  terms  are  too  high,  I  am  siraid,*'  said  the  Premier.  "You 
have  said  what  you  had  to  say ;  now  listen  to  me.  I  am  the 
Premier,  and  I  am  going  to  have  my  own  way  in  the  Cabinet.  If 
you,  or  any  one  else,  think  you  can  dictate  terms  to  me,  you  are 
mistaken.  As  Premier,  I  am— and  intend  to  continue — the  motive 
power  of  the  Ship  of  State.  You  appear  to  think  I  am  only  the 
figure-head.'' 

For  a  moment  or  so  Lord  Bardolph  wa^  dumb.  That  Flop- 
pington the  molluscous  should  speak  in  such  a  strain  was  im- 
possible. It  must  be  a  dream.  And  yet  it  was  the  real  flesh  and 
blood  Premier  that  stood  before  him,  for  he  had  risen  as  he  uttered 
the  last  words,  pale  and  defiant,  as  Lord  Bardolph  never  remembered 
to  have  seen  him  before.  As  he  called  to  mind  the  eccentricities 
he  had  recently  displayed,  the  thought  struck  him  that  Floppington 
was  mad.  But  an  instanl/s  reflection  convinced  him  that  the  man 
facing  him  was  sane  enough ;  a  man  of  inflexible  determination 
and  iron  will.  What  magic  power  had  wrought  the  transformation 
he  could  not  even  conjecture,  but  he  intuitively  recognised  that 
Floppington  was  his  master  ;  that  his  own  reckless  audacity  would 
simply  shiver  to  atoms  if  brought  into  collision  with  Floppmgton's 
newly-manifested  resoluteness.  The  game  was  slipping  from  his 
hands  in  the  very  moment  of  victory.  What  if  the  men  who  had 
promised  to  support  him  deserted  him  when  confronted  with  the 
new  Floppington  1  In  his  despair  he  threw  prudence  to  the  winds, 
and  played  his  last  card. 

"  Then  you  refuse  to  yield  to  my  wishes.  You  will  carry  out 
your  own  ideas." 

"  That  is  certainly  my  intention,"  answered  the  Premier,  who 
appeared  to  grow  cooler  as  Lord  Bardolph  became  more  and  more 
excited. 

**  You  had  better  think  twice  before  you  persist  in  this  latest  fad 
of  yours — obstinacy.  If  you  persist  in  opposing  me  I  shall  resign," 
and  as  he  uttered  the  threat  he  narrowly  watched  the  Premier's 
countenance  to  judge  its  effect  He  still  hoped  that  it  would  make 


r 


THE  CABINET  COUNCIL  113 


the  Premier  waver  ;  for  he  still  entertained  the  idea  that— despite 
his  apparent  defiance — the  fear  of  a  secession  from  the  Cabinet, 
and  luch  an  important  one  too,  would  shake  Floppington's  reso- 
lution.   But  he  was  mistaken. 

**  If  I  do  not  submit  to  your  dictation,  you  will  resign  ?** 

"Yes,"  blurted  out  Lord  Bardolph,  not  pausing  to  deprecate  the 
Premier's  mode  of  expression. 

"Then  resign,  and  be  d d,"  said  the  Premier,  now  thoroughly 

XDased.  '*  Good  night ;"  and  Lord  Bardolph,  too  surprised  to  utter 
a  word,  left  the  room,  and  found  himself  in  Downing  Street,  without 
having  the  ghost  of  an  idea  how  he  got  there. 

Ldt  alone,  the  Premier  resumed  his  seat  Mechanically  his 
ejfes  wandered  over  the  yet  open  pages  of  the  book  he  had  pre- 
vioosly  been  reading.  He  had  formed  the  bold  resolution  of  ridding 
himself  of  Lord  Bs^olph,  and  he'  had  succeeded.  For  some  few 
minutes  he  sat  thus,  exultant  at  his  victory,  and  yet  oppressed  by 
a  sense  of  the  responsibility  of  so  grave  a  step.  He  knew  that  he 
had  made  an  enemy  not  to  be  despised.  Shakinjg  off,  by  an  effort 
of  will,  tlie  despondency  that  followed  his  exultation,  he  rose  to  his 
feet,  determined  to  cut  out  the  path  he  had  proposed  to  himself,  be 
the  obstacles  in  that  path  what  they  might.  His  eyes  again  fell  upon 
the  bust  of  Lord  Beaconsfield,  the  inanimate  witness  of  the  strange 
scene  that  had  just  taken  place.  It  may  have  been  imagination,  for 
he  was  somewhat  unnerved  after  so  trying  an  interview,  but  to  his 
excited  gaze,  the  carven  face  seemed  to  smile  approval  of  his  daring ; 
the  spirit  of  his  great  j^redecessor  appeared  to  animate  the  figure, 
and  it  was  with  something  akin  to  awe  that  he  said  half  aloud,  half 
to  himself : 

"Great  Beaconsfield  1  have  I  done  well  ?* 


CHAPTER    IL 

THE  CABINET  COUNCIL. 

The  Premier  stood  in  the  lofty  Council  Chamber  —  the  mystic 
Rath-admmer,  into  which  no  profane  optic  ever  penetrated  while 
a  dozen  or  so  elderly  gendemen  were  busily  mismanaging  the  affairs 
of  the  Empire— the  studio  where  designs  for  monuments  of  human 
folly  were  turned  out  with  neatness  if  not  with  despatch.  To  the 
imaginative  eye  the  room  was  littered  with  torsos  of  legislative  acts. 
Summer  bdng  at  hand,  a  bright  fire  blazed  in  the  grate,  and  the 
Prime  Minister,  the  nominal  head  of  the  artistic  firm,  stood  with  his 
back  to  the  fireplace,  his  legs  bestriding  the  hearthrug  like  the 
Colossus  of  Rhodes,  his  hands  supporting  his  coat-tails.  This,  the 
fevoorite  attitude  of  Enp^lish  gentlemen,  is  doubtless  adopted  for  the 
unselfish  purpose  of  actmg  as  a  self-adjusting  screen  ;  and  from  the 
force  of  habit,  Floppington  took  up  the  position,  though  there  was 
none  yet  to  screen.  His  gaze  wandered  over  the  long  green  table 
with  Its  array  of  inkstands  and  blotting-paper,  the  latter  ready  to 


^^ 


ti4  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAtNTER 


absorb  the  contents  of  the  fonner  in  the  interests  and  at  the  expense 
ol  tiie  country,  and  he  felt  chilled  by  the  frigid  formality  of  the 
preparations. 

^'  I  suppose  if  s  all  right,''  he  murmured  in  a  discontented  tone. 
*'  But  how  much  pleasanter  it  would  be  if  there  were  pipes  and 
pewter  on  the  table !  These  meetings  so  often  end  in  smoke,  that 
it's  a  pity  they  cannot  be  accompanied  by  it  They  talk  much  more 
comfortably  at  the  ^  Cogers,'  and  do  less  damage.  I  am  sure  I  could 
get  on  much  better  without  these  fellows  discussing  my  plans.  I 
don't  half  like  this  fuss — I  hope  itll  all  go  well,  yet  somehow  it  makes 
me  uneasy.  But  hang  it  all,  what  have  I  to  fear?  Now  that  I  have 
tackled  Bardolph,  the  worst  is  over." 

And,  with  a  sudden  accession  of  eneigv,  he  turned  round  and 
began  poking  the  fire  vigorously,  when  he  neard  the  sound  of  ap- 
proachmg  footsteps.  He  dropped  the  poker.  "  It's  of  no  use 
deceiving  myself,"  he  muttered.  *'  I  feel  as  nervous  as  a  girl  going 
to  her  first  ball" 

^'  Good  morning,  Mr.  Floppington,"  cried  Sir  Stanley  Southleigh. 
"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  looking  so  well." 

'*  And  I  intend  to  look  well  after  the  country,"  said  the  Premier, 
laughing  somewhat  forcedly,  and  shaking  his  old  friend's  hand 
heartily.    "  And  how  is  the  revenue  getting  on  ?  " 

'*  So-so,"  replied  Sir  Stanley,  as  though  speaking  of  his  wife^s 
health.    '^  It  gives  me  great  anxiety." 

"  Oh,  don't  ^iw'worry  so  much,  old  fellow,"  said  the  Pemier.  **y// 
look  into  it  soon." 

Sir  Stanley  looked  at  him  with  a  bewilderment  that  was  not 
lessened  when  the^Premier  went  on  after  a  pause :  '*  Now,  what  do 
you  say  to  a  graduated  income-tax  ?  " 

Sir  Stanley  blew  his  nose,  hesitated  a  minute,  and  finally 
stammered  :  "  l*hat  is  a  question  I  am  not  prepared  to  answer 
without  notice." 

By  this  time  most  of  the  other  members  of  the  Cabinet  had 
arrived,  and  a  general  handshaking  was  taking  place,  accompanied 
by  a  lively  conversation  on  a  variety  of  topics,  amongst  which 
racing  appeared  to  take  the  most  prominent  part.  Nobody  seemed 
inclined  for  business,  and  it  was  with  a  look  of  pladd  resignation, 
half  pathetic,  half  comical,  that  the  members  of  the  Cabinet  obeyed 
the  intimation  of  the  Premier  that  a  Cabinet  Council  might  not 
inappropriately  devote  some  of  its  time  to  a  consideration  of 
political  questions. 

**  We  cannot  wait  longer  for  Lord  Bardolph  "  said  the  Premier, 
when  all  were  seated ;  '^  we  are  already  somewhat  late." 

Several  of  the  Ministers  looked  curiously  at  each  other  as  the 
Premier  spoke,  and  a  smile,  suggestive  of  sometibing  amusing  to 
come,  flitted  over  their  countenances.  It  was  but  momentary ; 
nevertheless  it  did  not  escape  the  notice  of  Floppington,  who,  in 
his  turn,  indulged  in  that  saturnine  smile  which  boded  mischiel 

"  But,"  said  Sir  Stanley,  *^  we  can  scarcely  discuss  our  line  of 
action  in  connection  with  the  Bobo  difficulty  in  his  absence." 


THE  CABINET  COUNCIL  ItJ 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  the  Premier,  "  He  and  I  chatted  over  it  the 
other  night.  Lord  Bardolph  thinks  we'd  better  not  interfere,  and 
IVe  allowed  him  to  please  himself  in  the  matter.** 

The  Ministers  looked  at  each  other  again ;  this  time  with  a 
stare  of  blank  astonishment  in  place  of  the  smile.  They  had  often, 
amongst  themselves,  regretted  that  Floppington  was  hardly  strong 
enough  for  his  position  ;  that  he  was  led  instead  of  leading,  and 
that  he  could  never  make  up  his  mind  to  face  responsibility^ ;  and 
thjw  had  frequently  compared  his  invertebrate  condition  widi  the 
stiff  backbone  which  characterised,  or  was  supposed  to  characterise, 
the  Foreign  Secretary.  The  cool,  masterful  tone  in  which  he  now 
spoke,  the  assumption  of  autocratic  authority,  and  the  tacit  impli- 
cation that  the  Cabinet  existed  simply  to  ratify  his  decisions,  sur- 
prised them  so  much  that  they  were  unable  at  the  moment  to  feel 
the  wound  inflicted  upon  their  self-love. 

"What,  knuckle  under  to  Bismarck?"  burst  in  the  Home 
Secretary;  "we,  the  great  Conservative  party,  to  swallow  a  peace- 
at-any-price  policy?* 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  interposed  Floppington  mildly  ;  "  we 
simply  give  up  a  war-at-any-price  policy.  I  can't  see  that  it  matters 
a  rap  to  us  whether  the  German  flag  flies  over  a  barren  rock  or 
not" 

"  But  surely  well  instruct  our  Ambassador  to  protest?"  ejacu- 
lated the  Irish  Secretary. 

"What  for?  Are  you  prepared  to  fight  Germany  about  this 
matter  ?  If  so,  well  and  good.  But  if  you're  simply  going  in  for 
the  traditional  spirited  foreign  policy,  which  consists  in  writing 
angry  despatches,  and  having  a  hasty  look  round  to  see  if  we  have 
any  guns  that  will  go  off  without  hurting  our  own  men,  I,  for  one, 
object  to  any  longer  treating  foreign  policy  as  a  farcical  comedy. 
Spirited  foreign  policy,  indeed  I  Dutch-courage  foreign  policy  would 
be  nearer  the  mark.* 

The  determined  air  of  the  Premier  had  its  effect  Sir  Stanley, 
though,  made  a  feeble  protest :  "  Surely  we  are  not  going  to  allow 
it  to  be  said  that  we  are  afraid  ?  Just  think  what  we  should  have 
said  had  a  Radical  Government  acted  in  this  meek  fashion." 

"  Very  much  the  same  as  we  should  have  said  had  they  acted 
in  a  coclqr  fashion.  It  is  a  maxim  of  our  glorious  Constitution  that 
the  King  can  do  no  wrong,  and  his  Ministers — no  right." 

His  colleagues  laughed  in  an  embarrassed  fashion  at  their  chiefs 
sally.  They  evidently  did  not  relish  the  cavalier  way  in  which  they 
were  being  treated  ;  and  the  Premier  must  have  guessed  as  much, 
for  he  continued : 

"  I'm  responsible  for  the  poli  y  of  the  Government,  I  believe;  and 
mdess  you  can  give  me  a  bettei  reason  for  altering  it  than  a  craven 
fear  of  what  the  Radicals  may  say,  further  discussion  will  be  waste 
of  time.  Besides,  I  may  remind  you  that  Lord  Bardolph  is  in 
complete  accord  with  me  on  this  point "  with  a  slight  but  percep- 
tible emphasis  on  the  ^  this."  ^  There  is  not  the  shghtest  need  for 
Mrong  BMasnres," 

I  t 


Ii6  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

**  Quite  so,"  eagerly  put  in  the  Right  Honourable  William  Jones. 
**  We  don't  want  to  fight" 

**  I  think  Mr.  Floppington  is  right,"  said  His  Grace  the  Duke 
of  Kewbridge.  **  We  have  too  often  in  the  past— too  often  in  the 
past  been  identified  with  what,  for  want  of  a  better  term,  I  may  call 
'  Macdermottism.'  It  will,  in  my  opinion,  take  the  wind — take  the 
wind  out  of  the  Radical  sails,  if  we  can  infringe  their  monopoly  of 
peace  principles — infringe  their  monopoly  of  peace  principles." 

No  furtiier  objection  was  raised.  The  attitude  of  Floppington 
and  the  support  it  met  with  from  the  Duke  and  from  Mountchapel, 
effectually  silenced  remonstrance,  and  with  a  ^  Well,  wdU,  we  had 
better  leave  it  to  you  and  the  Foreign  Secretary  "  from  Sir  Stanley, 
the  discussion  ended.  Perhaps  its  most  important  result  was  die 
conviction  it  sent  home  into  the  minds  of  every  one  of  the  Ministers 
that  Floppington  meant  to  rule  in  reality  as  well  as  in  name.  T^ 
determination  might  be  but  tenoporary  ;  he  might  soon  rdapse  into 
his  old  vacillating,  reflective,  and  dreamy  style  ;  but  for  the  moment, 
at  any  rate,  they  were  subdued  by  his  stronger  wilL  By  fits  and 
starts  he  had  been  resolute  on  previous  occasions— taking  up  the 
attitude  with  the  same  imexpectedness  as  his  opinions  ;  bat  this 
time  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  reasoned  himself  into  makii^  a  serions 
effort  to  assert  himself.  This  was  the  more  strange  on  account  of 
the  overwhelming  difficulties  of  his  position,  both  in  the  Cabinet 
and  in  Parliament.  And  it  was,  perhaps,  characteristic  of  the  man 
and  conclusive  evidence  of  his  unfitness  for  affairs,  that  he  should 
have  been  weak  enough  to  choose  so  £atally  inopportune  a  moment 
for  vindicating  his  strength.  However,  time  would  clear  np  the 
puzzle  of  the  Premier's  apparent  metamorphosis,  every  moment 
would  clarify  their  yet  hazy  impressions,  and  they  could  afford  to 
wait  the  development  of  the  drama. 

At  this  juncture  Lord  Bardolph  hurriedly  entered  the  room,  and 
apologising  for  being  unpunctual,  took  his  seat  at  the  Council 
table  The  Premier  watdied  him  keenly  from  under  his  bushy 
eyebrows,  and  Lord  Bardolph  moved  uneasily  and  shifted  in  his 
place.  He  was  evidently  ill  at  ease  The  conversation,  dropped 
as  he  entered,  was  not  resumed.  Those  in  the  secret  knew  that 
Lord  Bardolph  was  about  to  make  an  important  statement ;  those 
not  in  it,  had  an  intuition  that  something  of  grave  import  was 
going  to  happen.  And  so  a  hush  fell  on  them,  a  hush  of  expect- 
ancy, a  stillness  fraught  with  varied  hopes  and  fears.  It  was 
broken  by  Lord  Bardolph  addressing  the  Premier. 

''  I  presume  you  have  not  mentioned  anything  of  our  conversa- 
tion," he  said. 

'*  Only  that  part  of  it  which  referred  to  the  Bobo  affair,"  replied 
the  Premier.  "Our  interview  closed  with  an  announcement  of 
your  intentions,  and  I  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  say  anything  about 
them." 

There  was  a  touch  of  savage  triumph  in  Floppin^on's  voices 
as  he  made  this  reply,  whidi  to  some  extent  behed  die  ex- 
aggerated cahnness  of  his  demeanour.    All  present  felt  that  there 


r 


THE  CABINET  COUNCIL  \Vf 


bad  been  a  struggle  for  the  mastery  between  him  and  Mount- 
chapel,  and  that  he  had  gained  the  victory.  This  was  very  em- 
barrassing to  those  who  may  best  be  described  as  Mountchapelites. 
They  had  laid  their  plans  and  based  their  calculations  on  certain 
hypotheses,  which  they  had  taught  themselves  to  look  upon  as  cer- 
tainties. If  the  Premier  gave  way  on  the  question  of  the  extension 
of  the  fianchise  to  women — and  this  was  thought  no  unlikely  con- 
tingency, as  he  had  often  proved  most  squeezable  after  a  show 
of  rigidity — the  ascendency  of  Lord  Bardolph  would  be  unques- 
tioned ;  and  the  Premier  would,  in  the  eyes  of  the  country,  be  a 
nonentity  in  the  Cabinet  of  which  he  was  the  nominal  head.  If, 
inconsistent  in  inconsistencv,  he  remained  steadfast  and  adhered  to 
his  resolve.  Lord  Bardolpn's  resignation,  which  would  inevitably 
follow  in  that  case,  must  prove  a  fatal  blow.  The  Cabinet  might 
stagger  on  without  him,  but  it  was  an  open  secret  that  bis  defection 
would  be  the  signal  for  the  defection  of  his  followers  in  the  Ministry, 
and  Floppington  would  find  his  power  shattered,  and  himself  dis- 
credited. So  that  die  Mountchapelites  fondly  hugged  themselves 
with  the  delusion  that  they  were  playing  a  game  which  they  were 
bound  to  win  in  one  eventuality,  and  their  opponent  to  lose  in  the 
other.  The  indifference  of  the  Premier  to  L<>rd  Bardolph's  resolve, 
his  obvious  you-may-go-to-the-patron-saint-of-politics  air,  and  the 
altogether  indefinable  but  perfectly  appreciable  change  in  his  style 
and  bearing,  struck  them  therefore  with  dismay.  Their  feelings 
must  have  been  very  much  like  those  of  the  gentleman  who  learned 
swimming  by  stretdiing  himself  out  on  the  table,  and  imitating  the 
movements  of  a  frog  in  a  basin  in  front  of  him,  when  he  first  tested 
practically  the  difference  between  swimming  on  a  solid  and  in  a 
floid.  A  conviction  of  the  instability  of  all  things  mundane  flashed 
upon  them,  and  they  felt  witih  Heradeitus  that  there  is  nothing 
fixed,  nothinjg^  stable. 

While  thinking  all  this,  they  had  naturally  kept  silence,  and  in 
this  had  been  followed  by  those  of  the  Cabinet  who  were  not 
Mountchapelites,  but  who  could  see  that  something  strange  was 
happening.  At  last  Mountchapel  rose,  doing  his  best  to  appear 
at  ease,  and  to  maintain  that  outward  aspect  of  calm  and  cool- 
ness which  had  placed  no  unimportant  part  in  making  his  re- 
putation. The  British  public  dearly  loved  a  lord ;  they  perhaps 
even  more  dearly  loved  a  **  plucky  'un,"  or  a  **  cheeky  'un ; "  and 
when  the  two  were  combined  in  one  and  the  same  person,  what 
wonder  that  the  British  public  exhibited  tendencies  to  worship  the 
combination  ? 

"  Mr.  Floppington,'^  commenced  Lord  Bardolph,  "has  already, 
I  understand,  put  you  in  possession  of  our  views  on  the  Bobo  busi- 
ng I.  We  happen  to  agree  upon  that,  and  I  presume  the  Govem- 
m   It's  line  of  action  has  been  agreed  to.'' 

There  was  a  feeble  muttering  of  "  Hear,  hear,"  and  "  Just  so," 
fr  1  lus  colleagues,  who  were  all  intently  watching  him,  as  he 
n     ously  proceeded  : 

'In  the  course  of  a  conversation  I  had  with  Mr.  Floppington 


Ii8  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

the  other  night,  I  found  that  there  was  no  prospect  of  the  altera- 
tion which  you  all  know  I  so  ardently  advocate  being  made  in  the 
Reform  Bill  I  have  strained  every  nerve  to  prevent  any  rupture 
in  the  Cabinet,  the  disastrous  effects  of  which,  to  the  party  and  to 
the  country,  I  know  too  well.  But  Mr.  Floppington  finds  it  abso- 
lutely impossible  to  adopt  my  proposal" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  intei|)osed  the  Premier,  ^  I  merely  said  I 
intended  to  have  my  own  way  in  the  matter." 

"  Mr.  Floppington  is  an  adept  at  hair-splitting,*  replied  Lord 
Bardolpb,  evidently  irritated  at  being  unable  to  irritate  the  Premier, 
or  draw  any  signs  of  emotion  from  him.  ^  Whatever  the  words  he 
used,  they  conveyed  to  my  mind  the  idea  that  it  would  be  impos- 
sible for  me  to  continue  longer  a  member  of  a  Cabinet,  which 
neglects  a  measure  of  which  personally  I  have  been  one  of  the 
staunchest  advocates.  To  hold  office  longer  would  be  dishonour- 
able. I  have  therefore  no  choice  but  to  take  the  necessary  steps 
to  place  in  Her  Majesty's  hand  my  resignation  of  the  post  in  her 
Government  I  have  the  honour  to  hold." 

A  murmur,  not  of  astonishment,  as  the  declaration  was  not  un- 
expected, but  yet  of  something  bordering  on  it,  ran  round  the  table  ; 
but  it  was  instantly  hushed  as  Lord  Bardolph  continued : 

'^  I  need  not  say  what  regret  and  pain  it  causes  me  to  be  thus 
compelled  to  sever  my  connection  with  colleagues  with  whom  I 
have  always  worked  in  perfect  harmony,  and  to  part  from  a  chief 
who  has  always  commanded  my  admiration  as  a  leader,  and  my 
warmest  regard  and  esteem  as  a  friend." 

All  eyes  were  turned  to  the  Premier,  as  these  words  were  uttered 
in  a  tone  that  all  felt  was  not  in  consonance  with  the  sentiments 
expressed ;  for  all  knew  that  strong  personal  feeling  was  no  in- 
significant £actor  in  the  motives  actuating  Lord  Bardolph.  Flop- 
pingtoUi  however,  if  conscious  of  this,  betrayed  it  in  no  wise  as  he 
said : 

''I  can  cordially  reciprocate  the  regret  expressed  by  Lord 
Bardolph.  It  pains  me  to  lose  a  colleague  who  is  a  source  of 
strength  to  any  Government ;  but  I  must  submit  to  the  force  of  cir- 
cumstances and  of  the  reasoning  which  has  induced  him — not,  I 
am  aware,  without  grave  consideration— to  take  so  important  a 
step." 

Several  other  members  expressed  themselves  in  similar  terms  ; 
and  one  or  two  suggested  that  possibly  Lord  Bardolph  might  be 
induced  to  reconsider  his  decision.  But  very  little  discussion 
proved  the  impossibility  of  any  such  reconsideration  ;  the  Premier 
m  his  blandest  tones  regretting  that  the  determination  at  which  he 
had  arrived  apparently  precluded  Lord  Bardolph  from  working 
with  hinif  and  Loni  Bardolph  cordially  agreeing  in  all  that  the 
Premier  said.  A  desultory  conversation  ensued,  in  which  the 
details  of  the  steps  to  be  taken  in  connection  with  the  resignation 
were  agreed  upon.  Lord  Bardolph  then  took  his  leave,  giving  some 
of  his  colleagues  a  meaning  glance  as  he  left,  the  significance  of 
ntbich  did  not  escape  the  Premier. 


THE  CABINET  COUNCIL  119 

A  coostrained  silence  followed  his  departure.  What  was  to 
come  next  ?  Some  had  intended  following  Lord  Bardolph's  lead/ 
and  tendering  their  resignations  also ;  but  an  intuition,  if  sudi  it 
may  be  caUed,  impelled  them  to  wait,  and  to  do  nothing  rashly. 
It  warned  them  that  the  Premier,  in  his  new  mood,  might  prove  an 
micomfortable  sort  of  person  to  quarrel  with  or  to  defy,  and  they 
obeyed  its  monitions.  Floppington  at  length  addressed  his  col- 
IcEil^es,  his  eyes  roving  restlessly  from  face  to  face,  as  if  he  were 
anxious  not  to  miss  the  least  shade  of  expression  that  his  words 
might  cause  to  flicker  over  their  countenances. 

^  The  next  point  we  have  to  consider  is  the  Reform  BilL  In  its 
present  form,  I  am  afraid  it  does  not  stand  too  good  a  chance  df 
steerii^  clear  of  the  rocks  and  quicksands  that  beset  it  On  the 
one  hand,  we  have  those  of  our  friends  who  are  afraid  to  venture 
into  the  paths  of  refomL  They  are  hide-bound  in  tradition,  and 
do  not  seem  to  recognbe  the  fact  that  Conservatism,  if  it  is  to  be  a 
power,  must  advocate  and  promote  change  as  actively  as  Radicalism. 
Of  course,  there  is  a  vital  distinction,**  he  continued  smilingly, 
noticing  ^t  some  of  those  seated  round  the  green  table  looked  as 
if  they  were  disposed  to  disagree  with  him  ;  ''the  changes  we  bring 
about  are  improvements,  those  brought  about  by  Radicals  are 
revolutions." 

A  hearty  "  Hear,  hear  I "  from  the  more  youthful  members  of 
the  Cabinet  greeted  this  explicit  statement  of  a  vital  distinction, 
while  the  elder  ones  contented  themselves  with  a  subdued  rumbling 
murmur  of  applause. 

"  Our  bil^"  went  on  the  Premier,  "  may  fail  to  win  the  approval 
of  the  older  school  of  Conservatives  ;  but  I  have  every  reason  to 
believe  that  they  will  not  fail,  when  the  critical  moment  comes,  to 
remember  that,  on  principle,  we  have  always  placed  party  discipUne 
before  principle." 

*'  Quite  so,"  said  Sir  Stanley ;  then,  suddenly  awaking  to  the 
implications  involved  in  the  Premier's  words,  he  would  have  entered 
upon  an  explanation,  but  his  friends  laughed  heartily  at  what  they 
thought  one  of  Floppington's  litde  jokes.  A  species  of  humorous 
depreciation  of  himself  and  party  was  eminently  characteristic  of 
their  philosophical  Chief. 

**  On  the  other  hand,"  resumed  Floppington,  '^  there  are  those 
sunongst  us,  among  the  party  as  well  as  around  this  table,  who 
think  the  Bill  does  not  go  far  enough  ;  they  think,  not  altogether 
without  reason,  perhaps^  that  to  make  a  measure  of  progress 
essentially  Conservative  m  the  truest  and  best  sense  of  the  term,  it 
should  be  so  complete,  so  thorough,  as  to  leave  no  excuse  for 
officious  meddling  Radicals  to  tinker  it,  under  the  pretence  of 
mending  it,  hereafrer.  lliese  Conservatives  will  not  support  our 
Bin,  because,  in  refusing  to  extend  the  franchise  to  women,  it  does 
lea^  opportunities  for  improveinents  hereafter.  They  will  join  with 
die  Radicals,  and,  when  united  in  opposition  against  us,  with  a  pos- 
sible addition  to  their  ranks  from  men  who  are  timorous  if  honest 
oembers  of  our  party,  to  say  nothing  of  the  PanielliteSy  it  will  be 


1 


I20  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 


difficult,  perhaps  impossible,  for  us  to  pass  our  great  measure  of 
reform.** 

The  Ministers  were  listening  with  all  their  ears.  The  situation, 
as  expounded  by  Floppington,  was  no  new  one.  It  had  been  im- 
pending for  some  time  past ;  but  some  means  of  getting  over  the 
difficulty  must  have  suggested  itself  to  the  Premier,  for  surely  all 
this  talk  was  but  the  preliminary  to  pointing  out  a  road  whereby  to 
escape  from  the  impasse.  And  yet,  with  Lord  Bardolph  out  of  the 
Cabmet,  what  could  this  road  be  ? 

*'  I  need  not  say  that  all  these  circumstances  have  been  duly 
weighed  by  me.  I  have  long  been  aware  that  some  among'  you  are 
in  favour  of  extending  the  suffrage  to  women,  though,  with  a  for- 
bearance for  which  I  cannot  thank  you  enough,  you  have  refrained 
from  thrusting  your  convictions  forcibly  upon  me.  The  time  has 
come  when  I  may  candidly  admit  to  you  that  1  fully  see  the  neces- 
sity of  making  this  concession  to  the  wishes  of  so  many  of  our 
supporters." 

Here  the  Premier  paused  for  a  second,  coolly  scanned  the  faces 
of  his  colleagues,  who  might  one  and  all  have  sat  as  models  for  a 
picttu-e  to  be  entided  Dumbfoundered,  and  then  calmly  resumed  : 

'*  I  shall  therefore,  with  your  consent,  on  which  I  feel  sure  I  may 
reckon  in  advance,  arrange  for  the  acceptance  in  Conunittee  by 
the  Government,  of  a  clause  enacting  the  desired  change  with 
regard  to  the  admission  of  women  to  the  suffiage.    We  shall, 

Eerhaps,  alienate  the  support  of  some  of  our  party  ;  though,  as  I 
ave  already  said,  I  have  every  hope  of  party  discipline  preventing 
any  unfortunate  display  of  independence.  But  we  shall  secure  the 
adhesion,  on  the  other  hand,  of  many  valued  followers,  who,  in 
common  with  the  noble  lord  who  has  seen  fit  to  leave  the  Govern- 
ment, have  long  been  warm  advocates  of  the  change  I  am  now 
prepared  to  adopt  Moreover,  our  Radical  friends,  the  enemy,  will 
be  m  honour  bound  to  support  us.  They  may  use  strong  language 
as  to  our  presumption  in  carrying  what  they  have  been  pleased  to 
consider  a  Radical  measure  ;  but  they  dare  not  oppose  the  measure 
because  it  is  the  work  of  Conservative  men.  They  always  arrogate 
to  themselves  the  consciousness  of  superior  virtue  in  politics,  and  it 
is  only  fair  they  should  have  for  once  an  opportunity  of  displaying 
that  superiority  to  purely  personal  and  party  considerations, of  which, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  have  done  little  else  than  boast.  Really 
Screwnail  and  his  friends  will  be  under  an  obligation  to  us  for  giving 
them  the  chance.  With  their  support,  then,  in  the  bargain,  we 
may,  I  think,  rely  on  our  measure  being  safely  passed  through  the 
House."  And  with  these  words  the  Premier  resumed  his  seat 

A  short  silence  followed.  The  members  of  the  Cabinet  looked 
at  each  other,  one  idea  informing  all  of  them,  one  question  on  the 
tip  of  every  toneue.  The  Right  Honourable  Arnold  Floppington 
waited  calmly  for  the  question  which  he  knew  must  come,  sitting 
Sphinx-like,  gazing  inunovably  straight  in  front  of  him,  with  an 
admirable  air  of  not  knowing  what  was  to  follow.  Then  the  short 
silence  was  broken.    Sir  Stanley,  feeling  by  some  subtle^ indefinable 


r 


THE  CABINET  COUNCIL  121 


consciousness  that  all  were  expecting  him  to  translate  their  one  and 
only  thought  at  the  moment  into  words,  said : 

^But  why,  if  you  have  come  round  to  this  view  of  the  question, 
has  Lord  Bardolph  resigned  ?    It  is  inexplicable." 

The  quiet,  business-like,  passionless  tone  in  which  the  statement 
of  the  Premier's  policy  had  been  made,  was  abandoned  in  a  moment. 
Scarcely  had  the  question  for  which  he  had  been  waiting  left  Sir 
Stanley^s  lips,  than  he  jumped  to  his  feet,  his  frame  vibrating  with 
energy,  his  voice  trembling  with  triumphant  emotion,  as,  one  hand 
on  the  table  before  him,  the  other  pointed  half-menacingly  at  the 
£ices  confronting  him,  he  replied : 

'*  Why  did  L^rd  Bardolph  resign  ?  I  will  tell  you.  Because  I 
am  not  the  man  he  thought  me ;  because  I  knew  every  detail  of  his 
plans,  every  winding  of  his  schemes.  He  fancied  to  force  me  to 
grant  women  suffrage,  so  that  he  might  pose  before  the  country  as 
Uie  actual  Premier,  while  I  was  but  a  puppet  whose  strings  he  con- 
descended to  pulL  Of  my  own  initiative  I  have  taken  the  step 
announced  to-day.  Had  I  done  so  ^with  Lord  Bardolph  in  the 
Cabinet, his  plot — in  appearance  at  any  rate — would  have  succeeded. 
It  was  evident  that  one  of  us  must  perforce  cease  to  be  a  factor  in 
the  Ministry,  and  I  was  determined  that  it  should  not  be  myself. 
I  kept  back,  then,  my  resolution  on  the  Suffrage  Bill ;  and  when 
Lord  Bardolph,  in  the  interview  to  which  he  has  alluded,  asked  if 
1  mtended  doing  as  he  wished,  I  replied  that  I  intended  having  my 
own  way  in  the  matter.  I  naturally  regret  that,  with  the  ill- 
considered  impetuosity  of  youth.  Lord  Bardolph  should  have  rushed 
to  the  conclusion  that  my  way  and  his  way  were  different  ways ; 
hot,  having  done  so,  it  was  inevitable  that  he  should  leave  me  the 
burden  of  governing  without  him,  a  burden  I  do  not  think  beyond 
my  strength." 

All  were  silent.  The  Premier's  tone  was  almost  insolent,  but 
those  who  had  plotted  against  him  dared  not  say  anything  ;  those 
who  were  true  to  him  forgave  all  in  their  delight  at  seeing  him  exert 
that  long-latent  power  with  which  they  had  always  credited  him. 
He  continued : 

^  One  word  more,  gentlemen.  Lord  Bardolph  was  not  alone  in 
his  plans.  He  hoped  that  some  of  his  colleagues  would  support 
him  ;  without  that  hope,  even  his  audacity  might  have  shrunk  from 
the  game  he  was  playmg,  from  staking  so  much  on  the  hazard  of  a 
die  If,  therefore,  any  gentlemen  present  wish  to  resign,  I  shall  be 
obliged  if  they  will  do  so  at  once.  Her  Majesty,  too,  will  save  time 
by  accepting  their  resignations  wholesale." 

Two  or  three  of  the  Ministers  wriggled  uncomfortably  in  their 
chairs  as  the  Premier  was  speaking.  They  were  not  at  all  sure 
that  he  would  refrain  from  mentioning  names,  and  though  they  had 
not  scrupled  to  plot  against  him,  they  nervously  shrank  from  being 
found  out.  It  is  satisfactory  to  perceive  from  this  that,  though 
politicians,  they  were  not  altogether  devoid  of  some  lingering 
traces  of  morality.  And  it  was  with  an  almost  audible  sigh  of 
relief  that  they  saw  the  Premier  resume  his  seat,  saying : 


122  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

"  This,  gentlemen,  concludes  our  business  for  to-day.  At  our 
next  meeting  I  shall  lay  before  you  the  text  of  the  clause  I  propose 
the  Government  shall  agree  to  support  I  presume  it  will  be  the 
work  of  a  united  Cabinet." 


CHAPTER  IIL 

LOVE  AND  SUFFRAGE. 

When  the  relative  positions  of  the  man  and  the  woman  come  to  be 
reversed,  the  latter  becoming  the  '*  superior  sex,"  and  the  former, 
presumably,  the  "  better  half''  of  the  connubial  unity,  the  amorous 
I* fair  one"  (if  indeed  the  title  be  not  inherited  by  the  nude)  niay 
indite  sonnets  to  her  beloved's  eyebrow,  and  the  masculine  charms 
may  at  length  meet  with  poetic  appreciation.  The  feminine  eye 
has  too  long  had  the  vested  right  of  misleading  the  mom,  or  of 
abashing  the  constellations  ;•  the  feminine  face  has  too  long  pos- 
sessed the  monopoly  of  floriculture :  these  women's  rights  are  men's 
wrongs.  Still  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  ladies,  when  justifying 
their  choice,  make  up  for  their  reticence  as  to  our  physical  traits  by 
flattering  our  moral  features,  which,  as  they  are  less  apparent,  are 
less  able  to  contradict  the  ideal  portrait. 

Seldom  has  a  finer  opportunity  of  glorifying  her  lover,  sah/a 
conscientia^  fallen  to  the  lot  of  a  woman  than  that  which  Lady 
Harley  was  now  taking  by  the  forelock.  Since  the  riunion  in  the 
Duchess's  salon,  she  had  neither  seen  the  Premier  nor  heard  from 
him.  She  had  passed  most  of  the  time  in  a  state  of  girlish  lig^ht- 
heartedness  and  vivacity.  Full  of  her  two-fold  secret,  she  seemed 
to  herself  (for  science  was  among  her  accomplishments)  to  breathe 
a  non-nitrogenous  atmosphere.  It  was  a  delightful  experience,  too, 
though  curiously  verging  on  the  pathetic,  to  attend  a  meeting  of 
the  National  Society  for  Women's  Suffrage  and  to  listen  to  half- 
enthusiastic,  half-despairing  reports  and  discussions.  The  goal 
seemed  still  far  off  to  these  earnest  workers,  the  recently  manifested 
strength  of  antagonism  to  the  enfranchisement  of  women  had 
saddened  them,  and  some  of  them  were  reconciled  to  the  belief 
that  the  rumoiu*  of  success  would  never  penetrate  the  silence  of 
their  graves.  There  was  one  sickly,  elderly  lady  whose  noble  self- 
sacrifice  for  the  cause  (the  circumstances  were  known  to  Lady 
Harley,  but  not  to  the  world,  which  ridiculed  her)  had  greatly 
stimulated  her  to  her  own  humble  efforts.  But  hope  had  fled  with 
health,  and  her  work  was  now  limited  to  electrifying  her  friends 
by  the  lightnings  of  her  bitter  indignation.  How  Lady  Harley 
would  have  liked  to  tell  the  poor  creature  that  the  day  had  come  I 
But  she  restrained  herself.  In  a  few  days  they  would  know  alL 
Tears  started  to  her  eyes,  and  she  was  thrilled  by  the  pathos  of 
long-deferred  success.  She  said  a  few  hopefid  words,  reminding 
them  of  the  reports  that  were  in  the  air.  More  she  dared  not  say, 
and  even  while  speaking,  a  dreadful  chilling  doubt  mvaded  her  soul* 


r 


LOVE  AND  SUFFRAGE  133 


What  if,  after  all,  the  Premier  underwent  another  phase  ?  Was  it 
not  incredible  that  at  one  stroke  Fate  would  ensure  her  own  happi- 
ness and,  in  some  measure,  that  of  all  other  women  ?  And  if  ne 
did  undergo  another  phase,  the  ultimate  success  of  their  movement 
would  be  as  distant  as  the  most  pessimistic  Member  imagined. 
For,  while  Floppington  retained  his  supremacy  over  the  House 
(and  his  influence,  being  due  to  the  magic  of  his  oratory,  was  inde- 
pendent of  his  possession  of  office),  she  knew  that  it  would  be  well- 
nigh  impossible  to  obtain  the  coveted  measure  if  he  should  put 
himself  at  the  head  of  the  Opposition.  A  charm  so  potent  that  it 
had  temporarily  withdrawn  not  a  few  of  the  Liberals  from  their 
allegiance  was  not  to  be  counteracted  without  *'  backward  mutter- 
ings  of  dissevering  power"  from  the  enchanter  himself.  With  his 
advocacy,  however,  with  the  aid  of  his  eloquence,  which  could  not 
£ul  to  convince  the  members  of  his  own  party  and  add  them  to  the 
already  convinced  Liberals,  it  would  be  easy  to  free  the  ladies,  at 
present,  so  to  speak. 


«• 


In  stony  fetters  fixed  and  motionless.' 


Her  conscience  sometimes  plied  her  with  uneasy  queries  as  to 
whether  she  had  sold  herself  for  the  benefit  of  her  sex.  After  im- 
partial examination,  however,  she  acquitted  herself  of  the  chai^ge 
on  the  plea  that  she  had  loved  him  in  his  character  of  man,  irre- 
spective of  his  character  of  political  animal,  and  had  only  refused 
to  unite  her  life  with  his  because  she  felt  that  it  would  be  a  sort  of 
desertion  of  her  colours  to  merge  her  political  personality  in  one 
so  diverse.  And  she  might  feel  not  the  less  of  honest  pride  in  this 
heroic  self-sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  principle,  because  it  had  ceased 
to  be  necessarv.  It  thus  appeared  that  her  conscience  had  been 
over-busy,  and  it  now  received  an  effectual  snub  which  somewhat 
diminished  its  officious  zeal. 

But  on  the  mV>ming  wherewith  this  chapter  deals,  all  doubts 
were  set  at  rest  by  a  glorious  announcement  in  the  Standard  which 
almost  compensated  for  her  slight  disappointment  at  not  having 
received  during  the  week  some  hastily  scrawled  note  addressed 
from  the  House,  such  as  she  thought  she  had  a  right  to  expect. 

*^  We  miderstand,"  ran  the  obviously  official  paragraph,  ^  that 
at  the  Cabinet  Council  held  yesterday,  it  was  unanimously  resolved 
not  to  resist  the  introduction  into  the  Franchise  Bill  of  a  clause 
extending  the  franchise  to  women,  should  such  an  amendment  be 
proposed  in  Committee.  It  is  expected  that  the  Opposition  will 
be  conciliated  by  this  deference  to  their  views,  and  the  second 
reading  of  this  long-debated  Bill  may  now,  therefore,  be  regarded 
as  a  certainty.  It  is  supposed  that  the  first  part  of  the  sitting  was 
taken  up  with  Lord  Bardolph  MountchapePs  explanation  of  the 
motives  of  his  resignation.  His  lordship  left  at  half-past  two, 
probably  immediately  after  his  explanation,  and  was  received  with 
cheers  by  a  crowd  which  had  assembled  to  watch  the  arrival  and 
departure  of  the  Ministers.  The  sitting  terminated  at  a  few  minutes 
before  three.* 


124  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

The  other  dailies  were  all  at  sea,  and  destitute  ^  diis  compass, 
they  floundered  about  wildly.  It  had  long  been  suspected  that  the 
Foreign  Secretary  and  his  chief  were  at  loggerheads,  but  it  was 
thought  that  the  unsuccessful  career  with  the  small  chances  of  life 
of  the  Reform  Bill  was  at  the  bottom  of  their  differences.  So  it 
was  a  huge  joke  to  the  world  at  large,  which  had  read  the  Standard^ 
and  which  saw  that  Mountchapel  was  the  only  honest  man  in  the 
Cabinet,  to  peruse  the  dogmatic  leaders  of  the  other  journals,  which 
gravely  laid  it  down  that  Floppington's  reluctance  to  follow  him  in 
his  inconsistent  willingness  to  enfranchise  the  female  sex  had  forced 
him  to  resigpi  his  ponfolio.  One  could  hardly  imagine  a  more 
delicious  commentary  on  these  dogmatic  utterances  than  the 
glaring  evidence  of  their  incorrectness  supplied  by  the  paragraph 
in  the  ministerial  organ.  Nevertheless,  the  next  day  they  were  as 
omniscient  as  ever. 

As  for  the  astounding  alteration  in  the  ministerial  progranmie, 
and  consequently  in  the  ministerial  fortunes,  it  would  require  a 
volume  to  reproduce  the  hundreds  of  colunms  of  praise,  or  of  blame, 
or  of  both  in  varying  proportions.  An  eloquent  denunciation  of 
the  Premier's  tergiversation  will  be  found  in  Oullman's  ^  Memoirs 
of  Mountchapel,'  and  an  eloquent  defence  in  Prosie's  ^  Short 
Sketch  of  the  Ministry  of  the  Elder  Floppington."  Floppington 
himself  went  on  his  impassive  wa^»  displaying  the  iron  will  of  a 
Bismarck,  and  indifferent  alike  to  mvective  or  laudation.  Had  it 
not  been  for  an  accidental  opportunity  outside  the  House,  he  would 
probably  never  have  broken  his  austere  and  stoical  silence. 

From  the  Standard  Gwendolen  turned  to  the  other  journals,  to 
find  them  one  and  all  weltering  in  that  slough  of  ignorance  wludi 
has  been  described,  and  without  a  suspicion  of  the  intentions  of  the 
Government  whose  speedy  disintegration— now  that  it  had  lost  its 
tower  of  strength— they  prophesied  with  no  uncertain  tone.  The 
Franchise  Bill  would  be  rejected  by  a  majority  of  at  least  one 
hundred,  made  up  of  Liberals  and  Pamellites  ;  Parliament  wcMild 
dissolve,  and  the  brief  period  of  Tory  ascendency  would  be  at  an 
end.  They  had  evidentljr  received  no  inkling  of  the  *'  wise  con- 
cession "dexterously  eulogised  by  their  Conservative  contemporary. 
The  exhaustive  ignorance  of  the  rest  of  the  press  gave  Gwendolen 
a  curious  feeling  of  illusion.  She  almost  felt  that  she  was  dreaming 
the  good  news.  But  no,  that  was  impossible.  As  she  glanced 
casually  over  the  papers  she  felt  that  she  was  incapable  of  inventing, 
even  in  sleep,  the  ancient  histonr  which,  alive  with  capitals,  glared 
at  her  from  the  serried  lines  of  the  Daily  Telegraph,  Besides,  she 
remarked  a  few  errors  in  one  of  the  leaders  of  another  journal — 
though  not  enough  to  allow  it  to  be  mistaken  for  an  ordinary  article 
— and  she  knew  that  in  dreamland  such  self-criticism  is  rare.  But 
though  she  soon  began  to  laugh  sofdy  and  joyously  to  herself  at 
her  absurd  doubts,  everything  did  not  yet  wear  the  clarity  of 
morning.  There  was  a  mysterious  unreality  about  Lord  Bar- 
dolph^s  resignation  which  still  puzsled  her.  The  conclusion, 
natund  to  every  one  else,  that  his  retirement  the  day  after  a  mo- 


r 


LOVE  AND  SUFFRAGE  125 


mentODS  Cabinet  Council  could  be  no  mere  coincidence,  but  the 
result  of  antagonism  to  the  determinations  of  that  assembly,  was 
not  natural  to  one  to  whom  he  had,  weeks  ago,  confided  the  secret 
of  his  conversion.  She  could  not  entertain  such  a  supposition  for 
an  instant  The  Standard^ ytYiv^  alone  might  have  supplied  the 
solution,  was  evidently  as  ignorant  as  the  rest  of  the  press  was 
confident,  hinting  vaguely  at  a  difference  between  the  Premier  and 
Uie  Foreign  Secretary  as  to  the  method  of  dealing  with  the  Bobo 
difficulty ;  and  she  was  too  full  of  pleasurable  excitement  to  rack 
her  brain  for  other  hypotheses.  No  sooner  had  she  finished  her 
perusal  of  the  morning  papers  than,  afire  with  love  and  gratitude, 
she  betook  herself  to  her  desk  to  write,  in  the  first  flush  of 
enthusiasm,  the  leading  article  for  the  next  issue  of  the  monthly 
magazine  devoted  to  the  enfranchisement  of  women,  and  it  was 
then  that  she  enjoyed  the  exquisite  pleasure  of  writing  prose 
dithyrambs  on  her  lover. 

As  if  in  revenge  for  previous  criticism,  this  asserted  that  he  had 
never  done  anything  wrong,  that  in  all  his  aberrations  he  had  fol- 
lowed the  Jack  o'  Lantern  of  conscience  ;  that  Humanity— and 
especially  the  long-oppressed  half  of  it — owed  him  an  eternal  debt ; 
that  no  nobler  spirit  had  ever  swayed  the  destinies  of  the  nation;  in 
short,  to  read  it  you  would  have  thought  that  the  man  was  just  dead. 

This  rhapsody  was  foamed  out  at  the  point  of  a  spluttering  quill 
by  her  ladyship  while  seated  in  her  study— for  she  had  early  appro- 
priated to  herself  a  chamber  for  this  masculine  purpose,  nor  could 
it  be  distinguished  from  the  den  of  the  ordinary  male,  save  by  the 
absence  of  pipes  and  litter. 

Her  morning  dress  was  very  plain,  but  then  as  she  was  not,  the 
absence  of  ornament  served  only  to  set  off  her  charms,  which  were 
such  as  perhaps  an  exceptional  woman  here  and  there  might  have 
prderred  to  a  vote.  Excitement  and  happiness  had  lent  a  lovely, 
delicate  flush  to  her  usually  pale  cheeks,  and  a  bewitching  sparkle 
to  her  usually  dreamy  eyes. 

The  leader  finished,  the  fair  writer  laid  down  her  pen,  and  con- 
templated the  MS.  It  was  written  in  as  well  as  ^  a  beautiful 
hand,  and  each  letter  was  unmistakably  itself,  and  quite  unindebted 
to  its  neighbours  for  its  legibility.  There  were  no  erasures,  because 
there  was  no  laboured  composition ;  there  was  a  direct  route  between 
her  heart  and  the  point  of  her  pen,  and  her  thoughts  travelled  ex- 
press along  it.  Yet  on  re-reading  her  work,  she  found  that  the 
execution  fell  far  short  of  the  conception.  But  she  must  defer  touch- 
ing it  up,  for  many  daily  duties  claimed  her  attention.  She  retiuned 
to  the  charge  on  the  first  opportunity,  which  did  not  present  itself 
till  nearly  four  p.m.— by  which  early  hour,  by  a  happy  accident,  all 
her  usual  visitors  had  come  and  gone — fiiU  of  new  enthusiasm  ready 
to  vent  itself  in  words.  She  settled  to  her  desk  once  more,  and 
began  "toning  up"  her  fervent  sentences.  Immersed  in  ^is 
agreeable  occupation,  with  the  image  of  the  Premier  ever  before 
her,  she  suddenly  woke  to  find  that  the  bodily  man  himself  had 
called  and  was  waiting  to  see  her.     Her  heart  gave  a  great  leap  of 


1 


126  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 


joy  ;  he  had  kept  his  word,  he  had  taken  up  the  cause  of  her  sistersi 
and  now  he  was  come  to  claim  her  gratitude,  her  collaboration,  her 
sympathy,  her  love.     Determining  to  receive  him  where  she  was,  in 
the  study  where  the  happiest  hours  of  her  life  had  been  passed,  she 
put  his  praises  into  her  desk,  and  her  pen  into  its  receptacle  on  the 
richly  cnased  silver  inkstand  wluch  her  grandfather  had  bought  in 
Venice  to  serve  as  an  ancient  heirloom— the  family,  though  nch  in 
genuine  ancestors,  being  rather  out  of  other  antiquities — and  re- 
placed the  books  she  haia  been  referring  to  in  their  exact  homes  on 
the  shelves.    Even  at  this  supreme  moment  she  had  that  soid  for 
detail  which  marks  great  genius  or  great  mediocrity ;  but  she  had 
the  soul  of  the  artist,  for  she  felt  that  her  rhapsodical  abilities  would 
be  raised  to  a  much  higher  power  by  the  coming  interview,  and 
also  die  soul  of  a  woman  in  so  far  as  that  expresses  itself  by  a 
heightened  colour,  a  quickened  pulse,  a  pleasing  fear,  and  a  great 
rush  of  tender  thoughts  and  recollections.    The  pale,  wistful  face  of 
the  Premier,  the  premature  furrows  on  his  brow,  the  slightly  stoop- 
ing figure,  as  they  now  rose  before  her  nearly  with  the  vividness  of 
reality,  roused  that  almost  maternal  feeling  of   pity,  which  in  a 
woman  is  akin  to  love.    Hers  should  be  the  envied  task  of  smooth- 
ing those  lines  of  care,  of  invigorating  and  encouraging  that  jaded 
spirit ;  a  fair  vista  of  happiness  stretched  down  the  years  that  were 
to  be  fruitfid  in  noble  work  and  lofty  thought    His  soul,  weary  d 
the  pursuit  of  Truth  under  difficulties  in  the  clamour  of  the  forum, 
would,  haply,  receive  new  light  from  the  glimmer  of  the  fire  on  the 
shrine  of  Vesta. 

The  clock  began  to  strike  four ;  the  Premier's  footsteps,  felling 
with  slow  and  ^ave  precision,  were  heard  outside,  and — her  lady- 
ship, at  the  last  instant,  turned  involuntarily  to  the  mirror,  forgetting 
she  was  not  in  her  boudoir.  She  had  an  inaccurate  feeling  that  her 
hair  must  be  rumpled,  but  there  was  no  looking-glass  to  which  to 
turn  for  help.  Such  an  article  had  been  strictly  ^uiished  from  it, 
probably  as  likely  to  cause  reflections  antagonistic  to^'^ genius  loci. 
^'One  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world  kin.''  Under  a 
similar  lack  of  this  necessary  of  life,  mistress  and  maid  displayed 
equal  ingenuity. 

Eliza  Bathbrill,  on  the  eve  of  a  love- meeting  with  Jack  Dawe, 
consulted  a  tin  pan. 

Lady  Harley,  on  the  eve  of  a  love-meeting  with  the  Honourable 
Arnold  Floppington,  consulted  a  silver  inkstand. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HISTORY  IN  BLACK  AND  WHITS. 

At  the  last  stroke  of  four  the  Premier  entered  the  study.  It 
was  as  if  he  had  timed  himself  to  arrive  at  that  hour.  A  man  who 
shared  the  love  of  Lucretius  for  getting  at  the  causas  rgrum  might 


HISTORY  IN  BLACK  AND  WHITE  \Xf 

rcisonabJy  reftise  to  accept  the  coincidence  as  accidental;  and 
were  he  furthermore  acquainted  with  the  logical  habits  of  mind  of 
the  Premier,  he  might  even  suspect  that,  since  the  fashionable  time 
for  visits  was  between  three  and  five  in  the  afternoon  (as  the  books 
of  etiquette  radier  paradoxically  laid  it  down),  the  great  Minister 
had  extracted  the  definite  from  the  indefinite  by  taking  the  arith- 
metical mean.  Could  it  be  that  he  regulated  his  conduct  by  the 
canons  enunciated  by  those  "  Members  of  die  Aristocracy"  whose 
literary  performances  displayed  at  once  the  emptiness  of  their  in- 
tellects and  their  purses  ?  Stirely  not  1  For,  take  the  crucial  test 
of  deportment  in  society,  and  in  the  street ;  what  can  be  subtler  in 
social  philosophy  than  die  degrees  of  intimacy  with  which  a  man 
mast  piow  and  address  others  ?  Yet,  as  we  have  already  seen,  the 
Premier  seemed  to  know  everybody,  and,  dictu  horrendum^  to  speak 
to  people  to  whom  it  was  certain  he  had  never  even  been  introduced. 
This  conduct  the  shrewd  observer  would  probably  set  down  to  that 
sudden  thirst  for  popularity  and  that  conservatively-democratic 
spirit  which  the  Premier  had  latterly  given  evidence  of,  though  he 
might  doubt  its  efficacy  in  flattering  the  multitude  of  small  men ; 
for  the  Premier  not  unfrequently  displayed  such  an  extraordinary 
ignorance  of  their  petty  careers  as  to  deserve,  in  their  eyes,  the 
imputation  of  being  i^orant  of  modem  history,  and  in  the  effort 
to  grasp  this  multiplicity  of  detail,  muddled  himself  so  completely 
as  to  injure  his  memory  of  even  recent  transactions  and  conversa- 
tions with  his  best  friends  and  warmest  supporters. 

The  Premier  entered  the  room,  hat  in  hand ;  the  stem  footman 
retired,  and  the  lovers  were  left  alone. 

With  a  sweet  smile  of  welcome,  Lady  Harley  advanced  to  meet 
him,  and  gave  him  her  hand. 

"  In  the  name  of  my  sex,"  she  exclaimed,  in  low,  silvery  accents, 
**  I  thank  you." 

'*  Don't  mendon  it,  don't  mention  it,"  said  the  Premier  hastily, 
dropping  her  hand  after  a  limp  pressure. 

Did  her  ladyship  feel  slighdy  disappointed  at  her  lover's 
neglect  to  take  advantage  of  the  privileges  of  his  position,  if  only 
to  the  extent  of  a  tighter  squeeze  of  the  hand  ?  Not  at  all ;  for  did 
she  not  immediately  tell  herself  that  she  reverenced  him  the  more 
for  it,  and  that  she  must  try  to  lift  herself  to  his  height  ?  She 
credited  him  with  an  ideal  purity  which  was  beyond  her  who  was 
fascinated  by  the  mystic  glamour  which  Rossetti  had  thrown  around 
Cupid,  with  the  effect  of  apparently  transforming  the  mischievous 
little  god  of  paganism  into  a  mediaeval  angel. 

"  He  is  indeed  a  preux  chevalier^*  she  reflected,  as  she  looked 
at  him  nervously  twirling  his  hat  round  ;  "  a  modem  Knight  of  the 
Round  Table,  who  has  passed  his  life  searching  for  the  Holy  Grail. 
Never  have  those  lips  touched  the  face  of  a  woman."  Then  a 
gleam  of  humour  played  about  the  comers  of  her  mouth  as  she 
teflected  merrily  that  a  man  so  utterly  sans  neproche  was  almost 
wasted  on  her  who  had  not  a  grain  of  jealousy  in  her  composition. 


\ 

j! 


128  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

and  that  he  would  be  a  god-send  to  a  female  Leontes,  who  could 
in  turn  be  utterly  sans  peur  of  the  slightest  infidelity. 

Yet  how  love  that  was  sure  of  its  eartiUy  goal  had  already 
changed  even  him !  Seen  in  the  broad  daylight,  what  new  vigour 
seemed  to  dwell  in  the  face,  what  unwonted  erectness  in  the  figure ! 
But  had  this  assertive  vitality  been  purchased  at  the  price  of  other 
qualities  ?  She  would  fain  have  answered  in  the  negative  ;  yet,  as 
the  interview  proceeded,  she  could  not  but  thiiik  that  an  indefinable 
something  had  vanished,  a  certain  cachet  oi  aristocratic  reserve  and 
delicate  modesty— perhaps  the  fair  but  unsound  fruit  of  indecision, 
which  could  not  be  expected  to  co-exist  with  definite  views 
and  specific  action.  Nor  could  the  eyes,  which  had  once  gazed 
unflinchingly  on  the  sun  of  truth,  retain  the  dreamy  poetry  kA 
yore. 

"  Pray  sit  down  and  let  us  talk,"  she  cried  gaily,  **i^  indeed,  the 
State  will  allow  me  three  minutes  of  you." 

"  The  State  allow!"  he  replied  with  contemptuous  pride.  "  The 
State  is  not  my  master.    I  am  the  master  of  die  State.'' 

He  was  nothing  loth  to  talk ;  in  truth,  he  had  come  for  that  pur- 
pose. He  considered  her  a  most  interesting  woman,  and  he  felt  a 
strong  intellectual  attraction  towards  her.  He  thought  her  pretty, 
too,  and  indeed  she  looked  quite  fairy-like  to-day  in  her  d^ty  gown 
of  cream  tussore  silk  : 

"  Clothed  in  white  samite— mystic,  wonderful." 

But  physically  she  was  hardly  "  his  style  " ;  she  was  too  blonde^ 
too  ethereal  Yet  when,  in  the  salon  of  the  Duchess  of  Kewbridge, 
finding  him  at  one  with  her  and  her  society  on  the  vital  question 
of  female  enfranchisement,  she  had  said  :  "  You  know  I  am  yours 
entirely,"  the  admiring  glance  which  accompanied  this  offer  of 
aid  had  thrilled  him  perhaps  a  little  more  than  if  it  had  been  shot 
from  an  eye  less  bright  The  subtle  emotion  of  the  moment,  with 
its  dim  revelation  of  new  spiritual  perspectives,  had  been  transitory 
and  hard  to  recall.  Though  he  had  not  been  unconscious  of  a 
certain  curious  fascination,  the  feeling  was  as  placid  as  it  was  novel 
When  her  image  had  fiitted  before  his  mental  vision  in  the  busy 
hours  of  the  past  week,  the  thoughts  it  called  up  were  tender 
rather  than  deep.  And  now,  as  he  sat  in  this  sunny  room  with  its 
dainty  bric-k-brac,  its  brighdy-bound  volumes,  and  its  mistress, 
whose  mere  presence  would  have  lighted  up  the  dustiest  library, 
and  distractea  the  attention  of  the  veriest  Dryasdust,  he  experienced 
the  same  quiet  and  unanalysable  charm. 

Gwendolen  made  him  sit  on  her  own  chair  before  her  desk,  and 
found  great  satisfaction  in  gazing  at  him  installed  there  as  her  lord 
and  master,  and  she  vowed  to  endeavour  to  realise  the  fine  image 
of  the  reigning  Laureate,  and  be  to  him  ^  as  noble  music  is  to 
noble  words." 

After  a  few  monlents  of  contented  silence  she  said  softly :  ^  Jt 
there  any  danger  of  defeat  ?  " 


HISTORY  m  BLACK  AND   WHITE  129 

**  In  what  direction  could  the  danger  lie  ?  Pll  answer  for  the 
Consenratives,  and  surely  the  Liberals  can't  refuse  their  help  to 
enable  me  to  achieve  a  reform  which  they  professed  to  have  so  much 
at  heart  They  won't  go  in  for  a  sort  of  dog-in-the-manger  policy ; 
'We  couldn't  pass  it,  therefore  you  sha'n't.'  Besides,  I  count  on 
your  influence  for  overcoming  any  tendencies  in  that  direction." 

*'  I  suppose  women  are  more  timid  than  men.  I  confess  that  at 
oioments  it  all  seems  to  me  too  good  to  be  true/'  she  said  with  a 
pensive  smile. 

'*  Nothing  is  too  good  to  be  true,  except,  perhaps,  the  morality 
of  a  bishop.  You  mustn't  be  influenced  by  such  superstitious 
fancies,  either  for  hope  or  despondency,  /am  confident  because  I 
have  looked  facts  in  the  face." 

**  But  £acts  are  Janus-headed,"  she  pleaded  laughingly.  "  And 
the  best  physiognomist  ma^  overlook  one  of  the  faces  altogether, 
or  even  if  one  face  is  a  sufficient  index,  the  fects  may  have  their 
head  screwed  the  wrong  way  on.  As  far  as  I  can  understand  your 
btentions,  you  are  alx>ut  to  give  us  woman  suffrage  pure  and 
ample,  and  I  can't  help  being  uneasv  lest  the  Liberals  may  refuse 
to  &II0W  you  so  far.  For,  as  you  know,  their  projected  gift  was 
much  more  conditionaL" 

**!  have  thought  of  that,  too,  and  a  )iost  of  essayists  and  jour- 
nalists are  already  at  work  to  point  out  the  illogicauty  and  incon- 
sistency of  such  a  course.  They  will  show  that  to  the  man  who  is 
honestfy  convinced  of  the  electoral  rights  of  woman  there  is  no 
half-way  house,  no  halting-place.  Matthew  Arnold  said  to  me  the 
other  day  :  '  The  English  do  not  think  clear  or  see  straight ; '  but 
1  daim  to  be  an  exception,  for  when  I  was  once  convinced  of  the 
principle  I  tracked  it  to  its  remotest  issue,  and  I  hope  to  go  on 
putting  a  healthful  pressure  on  my  countrymen  till  what  is  now  the 
exception  proves  the  rule.  When  the  Liberals  do  anything,  they 
only  illustrate  the  good  old  plan  of  *  how  not  to  do  it.'  They 
don't  realise  that  two  half-measures  are  never  equal  to  a  whole 
one.  They  seem  to  fancy  that  political  arithmetic  follows  the  laws 
of  the  avoirdupois  table." 

Gwendolen  smiled. 

''Well,  at  the  risk  of  another  rebuke  for  my  superstition,  I 
must  avow  that  I  have  doubts  about  the  attitude  of  the  House 
of  Lords.  It  did  not  appear  too  favourably  disposed  towards 
even  that  modicum  <tf  enfranchisement  offered  us  by  Uie  late 
Government" 

''I  won't  rebuke  you  for  that,'*  said  the  Premier  graciously, 
''because  I  may  educate  you  out  of  it.  I  have  a  plan  in  my  head 
for  extirpating  one  deeply-rooted  superstition  at  least.  I  don't 
mean  die  House  of  Lords,  though,  to  be  sure,  that  is  a  superstition 
in  more  than  one  sense,  a  sort  of  horse-shoe  supposed  to  guard  the 
Constitation  from  the  malevolence  of  democratic  witchcraft.  But  I 
viZf  rebuke  you  for  your  ignorance  of  modem  politics.  Don't  you 
know  diat  the  House  of  Lords  will  never  veto  a  Bill  Introduced  by 


IJO  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

me  ?    Besides,  it  never  really  resists  a  reform  in  the  long  ran.     As 
Swinburne  says : 

'  For  whatever  a  man  of  the  sons  of  men 
Shall  say  to  bis  heart  of  the  lords  above. 
They  have  shown  him  verilv,  once  and  again, 
MarveUous  mercies  and  infinite  love.' " 

Lady  Harley  smiled  a  little  at  this  application  of  the  poet's 
lines ;  but  there  were  clouds  upon  her  brow. 

"  But,  Arnold,  you  don't  seriously  believe  that  so  many  of  our 
common  friends  in  that  assembly  are  swayed,  not  by  thorough 
judgment,  but  by  blind  favouritism  ?  ^ 

**  I  don't  deny  the  thoroughness  of  their  judgement,"  he  said, 
with  an  embarrassed  laugh.  ^  The  blind  favouritism  which  they 
display  is  the  best  proof  of  it." 

'*  I  was  sure  you  were  joking,  Arnold,"  said  Gwendolen  with  an 
air  of  relief.  *'  I  do  think  the  House  of  Lords  represents  all  that  ia 
best  in  the  theoretical  and  practical  intellect  of  England.  Of 
course,  it's  only  an  opinion.  I  don't  profess  to  have  studied 
Freeman  or  Maine  verv  deeply.  (Wasn't  it  you  that  made  me 
read  Maine,  by-the-by  ?}  I  wasn't  going  to  fly  in  the  face  of  my 
own  theory  of  the  sexual  differentiation  there  ought  to  be  in 
politics  when  we  get  our  vote — my  own  doctrine  that  a  woman's 
views  should  be  limited ** 

"They  are  limited,"  interrupted  the  Premier  sharply,  radier 
piqued  by  the  outburst  of  feminme  prejudice. 

Lady  Harley  looked  up  at  him  in  surprise.  **  To  the  subjects 
she  is  able  to  understand  oetter  than  men,"  she  concluded.  **  That 
is  to  say,"  she  added  in  revenge,  ^  they  should  be  iviflimited." 

''And  so  they  are,"  he  replied  curtly,  "for  they  are  usually 
vague  and  formless.* 

She  £[ave  in  with  another  good-humoured  smile.  She  could 
find  nothmg  to  reply,  and  wondered  why  she  had  not  enjoyed  more 
this  delicate  fencing,  and  how  she  could  have  been  fool  enough  to 
momentarily  mistake  badinage  for  impoliteness.  Perhaps  it  was 
that  she  had  not  hitherto  found  him  quick  at  repartee,  though 
occasionally  able  to  p^^  adroitly.  His  ordinary  conversation  was 
tinged  with  humorous  melancholy  rather  than  sparkling  with  wit. 

"  Are  you  going  to  write  a  comedy  ?"  she  asked  satirically. 

''I  took  part  in  one  yesterday,"  he  replied.  ''At  the  Cabinet 
Council." 

She  laughed 

"  You  are  getting  cynical  1  hope  we  women  are  not  the  cause 
of  it" 

"  Oh  no.    You  have  not  been  able  to  become  office-seekers  yet' 

"  Trust  me,  we  shall  purify  and  soften  the  struggle  for  powet. 
But  tell  me — what  sort  of  a  comedy  ?  " 

"Well,  the  dialogue  was  heavy,  but  the  situations  were  de- 
cidedly good." 

"  Especially  yours." 


r 


HISTORY  IN  BLACK  AND   WHITE  131 


''Especially  mine.  I  believe  I  am  the  only  one  who  strives 
to  play  seriously,  and  yet  they  do  not  think  me  a  good  actor.  But 
we  have  managed  a  thing  generally  considered  impossible." 

"How  is  that?" 

''Why,  we  play  successful  English  comedy  without  love  in  it. 
There^s  not  the  least  bit  of  love  between  any  of  the  characters,  and 
yet  there  is  every  prospect  of  a  long  run." 

"  That  is  clever,  but  too  savage,"  said  Lady  Gwendolen.  "  To 
speak  thus  of  your  colleagues !  " 

A  strange  dissatisfaction,  an  ominous  foreboding  was  chilling 
her  amorous  enthusiasm,  yet  she  set  everything  down  to  a  certain 
feverish  gaiety  which  she  thought  she  could  read  in  the  Premier's 
eyes.  Her  "parfait  knyghte,"  speaking  thus  cynically  of  the 
highest  duties  of  State,  was  showing  himself  in  a  new  and  not 
altogether  pleasing  light.  Surely,  Sir  Galahad  never  made  jokes 
on  bis  noble  companions. 

Yet  she  was  mistaken  if  she  inferred  that  the  Premier  thought 
lightly  of  the  responsibilities  of  his  lofty  station ;  like  most  cynicism, 
his  excluded  the  utterer,  and  all  his  heart  and  soul  was  in  the 
reforais  which  he  was  planning  or  carrying  out 

Lady  Harley  was  glad  that  the  conversation  had  at  length 
drifted  into  love. 

"  If  you  have  worked  so  long  together  without  love,**  she  con- 
tinued after  a  pause,  "  what  might  you  not  have  done  with  it  ?  ** 

"  Why,  done  with  politics,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Politics,  properly 
so-called,  would  have  ceased  to  exist,  but  the  work  of  Government 
reform  would  have  advanced  with  electric  strides.  But  I  think  I 
must  modify  my  criticism  on  my  colleagues.  As  a  rule,  we  Con- 
servatives love  one  another  much  better  than  the  Liberals  do. 
Our  mutual  attachment  is  strong  enough  to  overcome  even  grave 
differences  of  opinion  ;  we  don't  break  up  the  party  for  the  sake  of  a 
few  scruples ;  we  don't  shatter  ourselves  into  independent  units  each 

with  his  private  fad  ;  and  if  our  love  is  not  stronger  than  death ^" 

He  paused  to  take  breath,  and  the  air  ceased  for  a  moment  to 
vibrate  with  his  loud,  strident  tones,  and  to  be  agitated  by  the 
emphatic  sway  of  his  gesturing  left  hand,  which  described  irregular 
geometrical  figures  with  the  tall  hat  which  he  held  in  it  With  his 
right  hand  he  now  mechanically  took  up  a  goblet  of  ancient  Vene- 
tian glass  which  stood  on  the  desk,  and  put  it  so  rapidly  to  his  lips 
that  he  had  half-drained  its  contents  before  a'  look  of  surprise 
appeared  on  his  countenance,  and  he  set  it  down,  evidently  some- 
what annoyed  with  himself  for  taking  it  up.  No  one  who  is  aware 
of  Carlyle's  opinion  of  the  quality  of  London  water  in  those  days 
will  be  surprised  to  learn  that  he  found  the  liquid  disappointing. 

ady  Harley  was  staring  at  him,  quite  puzzled  by  this  irony 
*h  S  yet  appeared  so  earnest. 

You  speak  harshly  of  our  party,"  she  said  at  last,  seeing  that 
he  as  disconcerted.  "  But  1  can  partially  understand  your  bitter- 
nes  You  must  not  expect  all  our  class  to  rise  to  your  height  of 
■n    tishness.'    These  sympathetic  words  did  not  suffice  to  dissi- 

K  8 


132  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

pate  the  clouds  of  self-dissatisfaction  that  rested  on  the  Premier's 
brow. 

He  replied  hurriedly  :  '*As  you  say,  it  is  our  own  party,  but 
that  should  not  blind  me  to  their  defects.  But  they  have  had  their 
own  way  too  long,  they  shall  now  be  carried  along  willy-nilly  on 
the  torrent  of  my  reforms.** 

'*  I  am  glad  to  see  you  so  resolved,**  she  said,  looking  at  him 
tenderly,  "  for  the  sake  of  my  sex,  and,"  she  added,  with  a  blush, 
and  an  irresistibly  lovely  abasing  of  her  eyes,  '*  myself.**  Some- 
how the  conversation  showed  a  strong  tendency  to  <mft  away  from 
a  certain  subject,  and  this  could  not  be  entirely  permitted. 

"  The  social  organism,**  he  continued.  "  shall  no  longer  wait  for 
those  changes  of  Government  which  are  as  necessary  for  its  health 
as  changes  of  underclothing  are  essential  to  that  of  the  individual 
organism.  For  years  I  have  studied  the  defects  of  the  British 
Constitution " 

"And  neglected  those  of  your  own,"  she  interrupted  with  gentle 
reproach.  **  These  lines  on  your  brow  * — she  rose  and  passed  her 
hand  lightly  over  his  forehead — "tell  a  sad  tale  of  over-work 
prompted  by  noble  motives.** 

The  Premier's  face  brightened  under  the  efiiisive  sympathy  of 
her  touch.  "  I  am  certainly  not  suffering  from  ^2/^r-pressure  now,** 
he  said,  for  like  other  great  men,  notably  the  People's  Bill  (Shake- 
speare), he  dearly  loved  a  pun. 

Lady  Harley  laughed  a  low  laugh  of  delight  Decidedly  the 
preux chevalier  was  improving,  and  would  unbend  to  her,  though  to 
all  other  women  as  magnificently  stiff  as  a  Court  elegiac 

"  But,  seriously,  you  know  how  precious  your  health  is  to  your- 
self  and  to— others,"  she  said. 

"  I  know  how  necessary  I  am  to  the  State,**  he  replied  earnestly. 
"  But  do  not  be  alarmed,  I  was  never  better  in  my  life." 

She  put  what  was  presumably  a  second  compliment  laughingly 
aside,  and  said  with  tender  admonition  : 

"  I  will  not  have  )rou  worried  too  much.  You  shall  not  entirely 
subordinate  the  physical  to  the  mentaL" 

"  I  do  not  now,**  he  replied.    **  I  assure  your  ladyship— *• 

"  Gwendolen,"  she  interrupted  sweetly. 

How  kind  she  was  !  What  a  pity  she  was  so  fair  and  delicate  I 
As  it  was,  she  set  the  chords  of  tender  emotion  vibrating-  in  his 
breast. 

^'  1  assure  you,  Gwendolen,"  he  recommenced,  "  that  I  do  take 
exercise,  and  in  spite  of  a  thousand  worries,  of  many  of  whidi  you 
know  nothing,  I  feel  more  vigorous  and  active  than  ever  before. 
My  strength  and  courage  seem  to  rise  to  the  height  of  the  work  I 
have  to  do.  My  constitution,  as  you  sympathetically  observe,  is  not 
good,  and  it  is  true  that  I  neglected  it  in  early  life  ;  but  I  hope  to 
make  up  for  that  now.  Since  the  bicycle  has  become  popular  I 
have  taken  exercise  in  that  form  as  frequently  as  possible." 

"  On  a  bicycle ! "  she  exclaimed.    There  seemed  to  be  som«- 


HISTORY  IN  BLACK  AND  WHITE  133 

thing  absurdly  unheroic  in  the  idea  of  Sir  Galahad  careering 
through  the  streets  of  London  on  that  unclassical  steed.  But  she 
told  hers^f  that  this  was  mere  prejudice ;  that  modernity,  like 
youth,  was  a  fiault  that  would  mend  as  the  bicycle  grew  older,  and 
received  the  consecration  of  the  past 

"  On  a  bicycle ! "  she  repeated.  "  But  how  is  it  I  have  never 
heard  of  that  before  ?  " 

"You  see/'  he  stammered  hesitatingly,  for  he  was  doubtless 
rehctant  to  reveal  his  wealmess,  "I — I  should  be— continually 
caricatured  on  m^  bicycle — Floppy  overturned,  and  sprawling,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thmg,  in  cartoons,  you  know.  You  must  keep  what 
I*ve  told  you  as  a  secret" 

"  I  will  if  you  wish  it    But  how  do  you  avoid  detection  ?  '* 

^  In  the  gray  dawn  I  slip,  out  of  Downing  Street,  procure  my 
bicyde,  whidi  I  keep  at  a  stable  in  an  obscure  street,  ride  through 
DX^own  districts  for  an  hour,  then  return,  letting  myself  in  with 
my  latch-key,  often  to  the  suspicion  of  the  pee — the  peevish  police- 
man on  his  beat" 

This  picture  of  the  stealthy  proceedings  of  the  great  legislator 
made  them  both  laugh. 

**  Wdl,  I  am  glad,"  said  Lady  Harley,  *^  that  you  do  not  neglect 
yoar  health." 

''And  necessity  makes  me  take  my  exercise  at  the  healthiest 
hour,*  added  the  Premier.  "  I  assure  you,  Gwendolen,  it  is  a  most 
delightful  sensation,  that  of  careering  along  in  the  early  mom  like 
the  wind,  with  head  erect  and  fearless  of  interruptions.  I  often  say 
to  myself  that  it  is  thus  I  will  urge  on  my  Ministerial  career  while 
it  lasts." 

''While  it  lasts!  Do  you,  then,  fear  defeat  at  the  coming 
General  Election  ?  " 

"  Hardly.  I  shall  move  heaven  and  earth  to  secure  our  con- 
tmuance  in  power  when  Parliament  dissolves  after  I  have  passed 
the  Reform  Bill,  and  what  other  reforms  I  can  squeeze  into  the 
short  time.  Then  I  shall  retire,  knowing  that  I  leave  my  work  in 
good  hands." 

"  Retire  ! "  ejaculated  Lady  Harley,  in  supreme  astonishment 
And,  indeed,  there  was  occasion  for  amazement.  To  hear  the 
descendant  of  a  long  line  of  English  statesmen  calmly  announcing 
his  determination  to  retire  from  active  life  just  when  the  ball  was 
at  his  foot,  and  when  the  responsibilities  of  office  had  at  last 
awakened  him  to  a  consciousness  of  his  own  strength,  overwhelmed 
the  woman  living  amid  the  thick  of  contemporary  politics,  and 
ambitious  for  the  man  she  loved.  Had  he  alleged  that  Nature  cried 
aloud  for  repose,  her  mind  would  have  been  easy ;  but  as  he  was  in 
die  prime  of  life,  there  was  some  chance  of  his  carrying  out  his 
threat  But  her  amazement  was  instantaneously  dissipated  by  a 
flash  of  comprehension. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Premier  gravely.  "  My  mantle  will  fitly  fal 
on  the  shoulders  of  Lord  Bardolph  Mountchapd— the  Radicals  are 


134  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

so  slow.  He  was  superfluous  in  the  present  Cabinet,  and  so  he  has 
retired.  In  the  next  he  will,  whether  nominally  or  not,  be  at  the 
head  of  affairs." 

"  Mountchapel !  ^  she  exclaimed.  In  the  midst  of  a  tumult  of 
emotions,  she  could  not  help  feeling  that  the  poor  fellow  deserved 
some  compensation  for  having  lost  her.  For  what  woman  is  igno- 
rant of  how  she  affects  her  masculine  environment  ?  But  at  the  same 
time  she  felt  that  her  own  worldly  spirit  would  never  rise  to  such 
unselfishness  as  to  permit  her  future  husband  to  abandon  to  another 
the  first  position  in  the  world.  She  knew  his  rare  nobility  of  soul 
had  led  him  to  overlook  her  own  eager  interest  in  public  lifc^  her 
own  earthly  ambitions,  and  to  think  she  would  be  happier  if  he 
were  hers  alone,  and  not  the  State's.  But  she  would  not  spoil  the 
ecstasy  of  the  moment  by  terrestrial  considerations.  There  was 
plenty  of  time  to  disabuse  him  of  his  Quixotic  notions,  and  induce 
him  to  discard  his  chivalrous  resolve.  For  the  moment  she  sur- 
rendered herself  to  the  intoxication  of  the  thought  that  he  was 
willing  to  sacrifice  the  delights  of  power  for  her  sake.  Epicurean 
that  she  was,  she  put  the  question  point-blank,  that  she  might  enjoy 
the  answer. 

"  And  what  is  the  reason  of  your  retirement  ?  • 

The  Premier  looked  embarrassed. 

"  That  is  a  delicate  question,"  he  answered  m)rsterious1y. 

Lady  Gwendolen  saw  a  world  of  tenderness  in  his  eyes  as  he 
said  this. 

''  Could  I  guess  ?  "  she  inquired  sweetly,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  Not  if  you  tried  ever  so  hard,"  replied  the  Premier  emphati- 
cally. 

The  delicately  playful  turn  which  the  conversation  was  taking 
enchanted  Lady  Harley.  The  stern  Minister  could  then  even  enter 
into  that  fancifiil,  innocent  gaiety  so  dear  to  the  hearts  of  lovers, 
and  possible  only  where  there  is  a  perfect  common  understanding. 

*'*'  Will  nothing  shake  your  resolution  to  retire  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Nothing."  As  the  word  left  his  lips  he  brought  his  right  fist 
down  on  the  desk  with  startling  vehemence.  '^  What  an  old  muddler 
I  am  ! "  he  muttered. 

'^ Nothing!"  she  repeated,  pleased  with  his  demonstrative 
affection.  "  Not  even,"  she  added  slyly,  "  if  a  certain  event  did  not 
take  place." 

"  I  was  mistaken  in  annoimcing  my  determination  so  emphati- 
cally," he  said  hurriedly,  much  to  her  delight.  ''  I  have  just  seen  a 
possibility  which  would  render  it  inexpedient  to  resign.  But  my 
continuance  in  office  wilL^ot  materially  alter  the  aspect  of  affairs  ; 
for  in  that  case  I  foresee  the  loss  of  all  my  energy  with  the  sure 
ascendency  of  Mountchapel  as  in  the  former  case,  so  that  I  shall 
still  do  my  best  to  secure  our  return." 

"  Then  unless  you  resign,  you  will  be  left  a  shadow  of  your 
present  self." 

''That  is  the  alternative." 


HISTORY  IN  BLACK  AND    WHITE  135 

Was  ever  flattery  more  subtly  convejred?  Could  the  most 
gallant  freauenter  of  the  Frendh  salon  in  its  palmiest  and  most 
eophuistic  aays,  have  found  a  more  delicate  way  of  telling  her  that 
without  her  love,  life  would  not  be  worth  living,  but  that  its  flame 
would  flicker  on  wearily  in  its  old  way  till  it  went  out  ?  She  remained 
silent,  but  her  looks  were  eloquent  The  Premier  appeared  anxious 
to  change  the  subject. 

"The  present  Conservative  programme — which  we  intend  to 
stick  to  this  time,  though  the  Acts  have  never  yet  answered  to  their 
descriptions — contains  these  chief  points  as  a  foretaste  of  future 
changes :  Annual  Parliaments,  Payment  of  Members ** 

"These  were  demanded  by  tlie  workmen  in  the  Five-point 
Charter,  and  rejected  then,  were  they  not  ?"  inquired  Lady  Harley. 

"They  were  rejected,  and  shall  I  tell  you  why?" 

•*  If  you  please.** 

**  Becadse,**  explained  the  Premier  grimly,  '*  in  those  days  the 
Conservative  workmg-man  had  not  been  invented.  The  poor  men 
made  the  mistake  of  appealing  to  Radical  demagogues  instead  of  to 
the  gentlemanly  instincts  of  the  Tories.  But  now  the  latter  are 
eager  to  atone  for  the  past,  and  as  Fate  has  made  n\e  their  repre- 
sentative, I  shall  cany  out  their  laudable  desires  to  the  full.  I  know 
their  perpetual  anxiety  for  a  reinvestigation  of  the  principles  of 
political  economy,  so  I  shall  organise  commissions  of  inquiry  on 
various  topics."  He  smiled  sardonically  as  he  said  the  last  two  words. 
"  If  possible,  I  shall  deal  immediately  with  the  great  questions  of 
finance  ;  and  first  as  to  the  Income  Tax  "—he  had  become  excited 
hy  this  time,  and  his  left  hand  was  in  vigorous  rotatory  action — '*  I 
shaU  probabljr  propose  a  graduated  tax  with  the  first  rune  of  the 
ladder  verv  high  up.  After  careful  consideration  of  Mill^^  argu- 
ments I  ao  not  believe  that  he  has  made  out  his  case  against  it 
He  was  too  much  misled  by  that  fictitious  automatic  regularity 
which  Ricardo  pretended  to  have  discovered  in  the  action  of  human 
motives.  As  if  a  growing  tax  would  hinder  the  growth  of  capital ; 
a  man  might  as  well  grumble  that  his  shadow  grew  taller  with  him, 
or  cut  off"  his  nose  to  spite  his  spectacles,  as  my  father " 

A  crash  drowned  the  last  words.  Unaccustomed  to  orate  hat 
m  hand,  he  had  not  accurately  measured  distances,  and  in  its  orbit 
the  hat  now  came  into  collision  with  the  goblet  of  water  which  he 
had  carelessly  placed  down  on  the  edge  of  the  desk.  The  glass  was 
swept  on  to  the  silver  inkstand,  whose  venerable  antiquity  did  not 
save  it  from  accompanying  the  glass  to  the  floor.  The  white  samite, 
mystic,  wonderfid,  of  Lady  Harle/s  robe  was  desecrated  by  splashes 
of  ink  and  water,  and  the  bright  carpet  displayed  a  polygonal  black 
stain.  The  Premier  escaped  unspotted,  but  his  hat  was  ruined  and 
reduced  to  the  level  of  those  ot  some  of  his  colleagues.  He  sat 
gazing  speechlessly  at  the  havoc  he  had  wrought 

Lady  Harley  burst  into  a  merry  laugh. 

"  I  feared  )rour  reforms  would  end  in  destruction,"  she  exclaimed. 

The  Premier  did  not  reply.  He  stooped  down  moodily  to  pick 
«p  the  fragments* 


136  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

"  Oh,  pray  don't  trouble  to  do  that,"  she  said.  "  Pll  send  in  a 
housemaid.  I  hope  you  are  not  going  yet,  I  am  so  interested  in 
the  ^aduated  Income  Tax ;  and  if  you  will  excuse  me  a  few  minutes 
I  will  change  my  dress." 

"I  am  so  sorry  that  the  accident  occurred,"  observed  the  Premier 
simply.    "It  deprives  me  of  your  company  Ifor  a  few  minutes," 

"  Thank  you."  She  made  him  a  laughingly  elaborate  curtsey, 
and  quitted  the  study. 

Tnose  Comtists,  who  are  still  striving  to  extract  (not  painlessl^r) 
the  philosophy  of  history,  are  kindly  requested  to  mark  the  mani- 
fold, immensely  complex  and  far-reaching  consequences  of  the  fiUl 
of  an  inkstand. 


CHAPTER  V. 

STAINS  OLD  AND  NEW. 

"  What  exquisite  delicacy  I "  exclaimed  the  Premier,  as  he  looked 
at  the  d^ris  that  strewed  the  carpet.  These  words  did  not  refer 
to  the  workmanship  of  the  ghttering  fragments  of  Venetian 
glass,  but  to  the  courteous  nonchalance  and  merry  carelessness 
with  which  Lady  Gwendolen  had  treated  the  catastrophe.  "At 
last  I  meet  a  woman,"  he  thought,  "  who  does  not  become  utterly 
irrational  the  moment  a  breakage  occurs.  Shall  I  ever  forget  the 
row  when  I  broke  that  blue  and  gold  tea-cup  ?  I  have  never  dared 
to  touch  another  since.  And  yet  I  paid  for  it  three  times  over.  J 
wonder  how  much  this  goblet  was  worth.  I  must  replace  it  as  soon 
as  possible.  What  a  sweet,  and  tender,  and  talented  woman  she 
is,  to  be  sure  ;  so  quick  to  give  and  take,  and  so  able  to  understand 
my  views  on  the  Income  Tax  1  Actually,  a  woman  that  one  can 
talk  to  without  once  speaking  about  love  !  And  she  isn't  a  bit  proud. 
The  aristocrats  are  not  so  bad  as  they're  painted,  after  all ;  her 
gentle  courtesy,  and  refined  grace,  and  delicate  charm  are  irre- 
sistibly winning.  I  feel  that  this  interview  has  given  me  strength 
to  fight  the  battle  of  the  oppressed.  What  matters  if  I  must  vanish 
like  a  bubble  on  the  breast  of  the  river  so  long  as  the  stream  flows 
onwsurd  ?  I  shall  die  forgotten,  but  not  forgetting,  O  my  coimtry !" 
tie  stood  for  a  moment,  stirred  to  the  soul  by  a  rush  of  lofty 
emotions.  Whatever  of  unselfishness  existed  in  his  complex  per- 
sonality now  welled  up  pure  and  fresh,  forcing  its  way  through  the 
overlying  strata  of  pnde,  prejudice,  sense  of  power,  desire  for  self- 
applause,  and  a  score  of  other  feelings  that  choked  its  silver 
current  And  it  was  to  Gwendolen  that  was  due  this  awakening 
of  the  finer  chords  of  his  spirit,  now  vibrant  with  tender  emotion 
and  noble  resolution.  Such  an  intellectual  camaraderie  with  a 
woman  who  was  bewitching  and  beautiful,  and  from  whom  seemed 
to  emanate  an  exquisite  aroma  of  purity  and  delicacy,  would,  b« 
felt  sure,  lessen  the  cares  of  office  and  brighten  the  short  tenure  ol 
power  that  yet  remained  to  him. 


r 


STAINS  OLD  AND  NEW  137 


"  Oh,  what  can  I  give  you  in  return,  my  good  angel  ? "  he  ex- 
claimed aloud.     "  Except  a  vote/'  he  added  smilingly.  * 

"  Oh,  Jack,  what  a  romantic  coincidence !  How  came  you  here? 
And  dressed  like  a  real  aristocrat,  too  1 "  exclaimed  Eliza  all  in  a 
breath,  as  she  entered  through  the  half-open  door.  Her  lovely 
faoe  was  in  a  glow,  and  her  dark  eyes  were  gleaming  with  the 
excitement  of  the  surprise.  Her  shapely  arms  were  bare  to  the 
well-moulded  elbow,  the  sleeves  having  been  rolled  off  their  creamy 
plumpness  for  the  better  performance  of  her  lustral  functions. 

Her  sudden  irruption  greatly  startled  the  Premier.  For  a 
moment  he  could  only  stare  at  her  in  such  horrified  surprise  as  the 
rudeness  of  the  matter  and  manner  of  her  speech  might  well 
occasion. 

^  Hush,  hush ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  his  emotions  would 
allow  him  to  speak.  ^  You  must  not  speak  to  me  like  that.  You 
mustn't  speak  to  me  at  all" 

Eliza's  face  fdl,  and  the  corners  of  her  mouth  twitched 
ominously. 

"  Oh,  you  are  cruel,**  she  cried ;  "  and,  besides,  you  asked  me 
what  you  could  give  me.     I  don't  want  a  vote ;  give  me  a  kiss.*' 

"Shut  up,"  cried  the  irritated  Minister.  **  I've  told  you  once 
not  to  bother  me,  and  isn't  that  enough  ?" 

"  You  did,  Jack,"  replied  the  housemaid  humbly ;  "  and  with 
sorrow  at  my  heart  I  promised  to  obey  you,  and  hardly  ever  come 
«to  see  you 'tor  three  months.     But  now  that  you  have  come  to  see 
wl" 

"  Don't  be  a  fooL    How  can  you  think  I've  come  to  see  you  ?  " 

"  I  know  you  have  been  speaking  to  her  ladyship  ;  but  I  am 
sure  you  spilt  the  ink  on  purpose  to  get  an  opportunity  of  speaking 
to  me."* 

The  great  Minister  glared  at  her  speechlessly.  The  over- 
whelming audacity  of  this  idea  took  his  breath  away. 

**  I  don't  c^re  now,"  cried  Eliza  rapturously,  answering  what  was 
perhaps  a  passionate  look  of  love  with  one  ot  tenfold  intensity,  "  I 
don't  care  now  whether  you've  got  a  sense  of  honour  for  me  to 
appeal  to  or  not  You  see  you  can't  live  without  your  Eliza,  you 
dear  old  Jack *' 

"  Don't  call  me  Jack  ! "  interrupted  the  Premier,  trembling  with 
suppressed  rage  and  excitement 

The  light  of  joy  died  suddenly  out  of  the  girl's  fece — at  one 
stride  came  the  dark. 

"What,  not  even  that  ?"  she  pleaded  piteously. 

**  You  are  mad  I  My  name  is  not  Jack,"  cried  the  Honourable 
Arnold  Floppington  brutally.     "  Oh,  of  course,  you  are  going  to  cry." 

"  I  am  not.  Jack." 

**  Once  for  all,"  hissed  the  Premier,  "  I  tell  you,  never  call  me 
Jackl" 

"What  then?    Mr.  D ?" 

•*  Nothing  at  all.  Call  me  nothing  at  alL  Don't  address  me  at 
an.    Do  your  work,  and  go,  and  don't  talk." 


138  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

This  last  peremptory  remark  was  too  much  for  the  girl's  f( 
ings,  and  she  ^rtively  wiped  away  a  genuine  tear  with  a  comer 
the  duster.    That  her  emotion  did  not  assert  itself  in  a  more  vioh 
manner,  can  only  be  explained  by  a  certain  air  of  hauteur  in 
Premier  which  seemed  to  act  repressively  upon  all  nascent  oul 
bursts  of  passion. 

^'  Do  your  work,"  repeated  the  Premier  a  shade  more  £fently. 
**  You  were  sent  to  wipe  up  ink,  not  tears." 

*^  I  will,  darling,"  said  Eliza  in  a  tone  of  angelic  sweetness.  '*  I 
have  sworn,  without  waiting  like  most  girls  for  the  ceremonial,  to 
love,  honour,  and  obey  you.  If  you  order  me  to  wipe  up  the  ink,  I 
will  do  sa" 

''  It  is  not  for  me  to  give  orders  here.  That  is  for  your  mistress. 
So  wipe  it  up,  come." 

''  As  yoQ  have  ordered  it  now,"  replied  Eliza,  settling  down  to 
her  task,  **  I  wilL  Oh  my,  the  carpet  is  quite  spoiled  I  This  is  a 
mess ! " 

"Yes,  this  is  a  mess,"  murmured  the  Premier  with  rueliil 
humour,  as  he  listened  fearfully  for  the  returning  footsteps  of  Lady 
Gwendolen. 

And  in  truth  it  was  not  a  pleasant  predicament  for  a  Premier 
to  be  in. 

'^  My  sins  have  found  me  out,"  he  groaned. 

What  youthful  folly  was  it  that  now  clouded  his  brow  with  too 
late  remorse  ?  Could  he  be  suffering  from  the  effects  of  that  hey- 
day in  the  blood  which  Goethe  has  taught  us  to  regard  as  a  craving 
for  Experience  ?  But  then  how,  in  that  moral  nineteenth  century 
could  a  Minister  ever  be  in  danger  of  being  found  out  ?  Perhaps, 
however,  we  have  here  a  case  of  quasi-atavism.  Nature  having  in 
some  respects  reproduced  in  Floppington  a  Premier  of  the  old 
school  But  what  is  the  exclamation  that  bursts  suddenly  from  his 
lips,  at  the  end  of  a  rushing  train  of  recollections  ? 

"  D— n  Swinburne  1 " 

^  Oh,  Jack — I  mean  oh,  without  the  Jack,"  cried  Eliza  reproach- 
fully.   **  What  has  he  been  doing  to  you  ?  " 

Floppington  did  not  reply.  He  gazed  moodily  at  the  handsome 
housemaid,  who  was  rubbing  the  carpet  with  nonchalant  grace,  her 
white  cap  making  a  delightful  contrast  with  her  glossy,  neady- 
brushed  hair. 

^  Two  years  ago,"  he  mused,  ^  a  creature  such  as  this  could 
move  my  very  soul,  though  disgust  soon  supervened.  Strange  that 
a  few  months  of  imaginatively  sensuous  manhood  should  disturb  a 
life  long  setded  down  to  the  comparative  calm  of  politics." 

"  Do  tell  me  what's  the  matter  between  you  and  Swinburne," 
continued  Eliza,  pausing  and  turning  a  tenderly-beseeching  look 
full  upon  .him.  *Ms  he  a  rival  of  yours  that  I  do  not  know  of? 
Have  no  fear,  dearest  You  know  my  heart  is  yours.  It  shall 
never  be  his." 

''  I  wish  it  was,"  muttered  the  Premier,  and  smiled  grimly  at  the 
idea. 


I 
J 


STAINS  OLD  AND  NEW  139 

Eliza  noted  the  smile. 

"  You  see,"  she  observed  gently,  "  how  love  can  drive  the  storm- 
clouds  off  your  brow." 

''  What  a  diplomatic  little  minx  it  is ! "  thought  Floppington. 
"  By  what  insidious  steps  has  she  advanced  to  affectionate 
familiarity  with  me  already,  despite  my  chilling  reception  of  her  ! 
And  I  have  been  outflanked  by  her — I,  Prime  Minister  of  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland,  the  head  of  the  country  that  is  at  the  head  of 
the  world.  And  she  is  doing  her  work  with  provoking  slowness, 
as  if  awaiting  her  ladyship's  return.  And  I  suppose  etiquette  won't 
allow  me  to  cut  my  stick." 

"  Do  get  on  with  your  work,  my  good  girl,"  he  said  aloud,  de- 
ciding to  manceuvre  in  turn,  '^because  her  ladyship  may  return  at 
any  moment,  and  I  shouldn't  like  you  to  get  a  blowing-up  for  not 
bemg  finished." 

*'  Her  ladyship  never  blows  me  up,"  retorted  Eliza,  much  hurt  by 
the  shock  to  her  dignity ;  "  she  merely  reproves  me.  I  appreciate 
your  kindness,  but  I  wish  you  wouldn't  be  so  vulgar." 

Vulgar  I  He,  the  scion  of  one  of  the  noblest  English  families, 
the  illustrious  successor  of  the  Palmerstons  and  the  Derbys,  to  be 
called  vulgar,  and  to  be  put  into  an  apologetic  position  by  a  pert 
housemaid  presuming  too  much  on  her  good  looks !  This,  tnen, 
was  the  way  the  sex  requited  his  unselfish  exertions  to  give  diem  a 
louder  voice  in  the  affairs  of  the  nation. 

"  Don't  be  angry,  darling,"  pleaded  Eliza^  seeing  the  blackness 
of  his  brow.  ''  I  don't  blame  you  for  falling  into  the  mistake.  You 
haven't  lived  in  the  best  famihes,  you  know." 

"  I  vnsliyou  hadn't,"  he  growled. 

**Well,  I'm  sure  you  can't  complain  that  I  give  myself  any  airs 
on  account  of  my  superior  station,"  she  urged  meekly.  "  But  if 
you're  jealous,  say  the  word,  and  instead  of  waiting  three  months, 
I^  abandon  everything  and  gladly  share  your  humble  cottage  at 


once." 


"  No  doubt,"  he  sneered.  "  And  would  you  like  to  be  clad  in  a 
simple  white  dress,  and  stand  at  the  door  embowered  by  eglantine 
and  honeysuckle  .'*" 

"  Oh,  you  are  a  duck,"  cried  Eliza  enthusiastically.  **  However 
did  you  read  my  thoughts  ?  " 

"  By  reading  them  before  they  were  yours,"  he  replied  enigma- 
tically. "And  if  you  don't  want  to  ruin  your  chances  of  idyllic 
felicity,"  he  added  with  a  dangerous  glitter  in  his  eyes,  "  you'll  clear 
out  of  this  room  as  quickly  as  you  can,  and  keep  a  still  tongue  in 
your  head  about  the  relations  between  us.  I'm  here  on  business, 
a"d  I'm  not  supposed  to  waste  my  time  on  pleasure." 

"  You've  got  a  job  here  to  paint,"  she  cned,  clapping  her  hands. 
*•  I  shall  see  you  often,  then.  And  who  knows  how  many  nice  teet- 
a  "ets — I  beg  your  pardon,  Jack,  tSte-k-tetes— we  might  get  by  acci- 
d  It,  like  to-day." 

"  No,"  he  replied,  in  a  lugubrious  tone.  "  I  am  sorry  to  say 
ti  it  after  seeing  you  here  to-day  I  shall  never  be  able  to  come 
a   dn." 


1 


I4D  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

**  Poor  fellow  t''  she  sighed,  complacently  affected  by  the  genome 
ring  of  regret  in  his  tone.  "  Well,  111  make  up  for  it  by  coming  to 
see  you." 

A  silence  of  some  minutes  ensued,  during  which  Eliza  Bath- 
brill's  rubbings  and  the  Premier's  irritation  increased  in  intensity. 
Floppington  had  no  sooner  exchanged  these  few  familiar  remarks 
with  the  servant  than  he  bit  his  bantering  tongue.  It  was  as  though 
he  had  been  inadvertently  drawn  into  answering  questions  in  the 
House,  without  Ae  preliminary  invention  of  the  true  reply-  He 
probabl)r  felt,  too,  that  those  stores  of  afi&bility  which  were  so  useful 
tor  electioneering  purposes  were  wasted  on  one  of  the  people  who 
did  not  yet  possess  a  vote.  Moreover,  it  struck  him  too  late  that 
he  ought  to  have  refused  altogether  to  recognise  her. 

**  Well,  Pm  sure,  dear,  I  can't  get  this  stain  out,**  cried  Eliza. 

^  There  are  some  stains,  it  would  seem,"  thought  the  Premier 
bitterly,  ^  that  can  never  be  washed  out" 

He  looked  down  at  Eliza.  The  golden  sunlight  streamed  down 
upon  her,  and  she  was  in  an  attitude  not  unlike  that  of  the  Madeline 
of  Keats — but  he  smiled  grimly  at  the  touch  of  conmionness,  that 
potent  shatterer  of  romance,  which  was  imparted  by  the  nature  ci 
ner  occupation  to  a  maiden  who,  bom  under  more  frescoed  ceilings, 
might  have  swayed  poets  and  financiers  by  her  vacuous  beauty. 
Tbe  very  sunlight  seemed  vulgarised  by  her  presence,  and  instead 
of  lying  sacredly  and  reverently  on  this  delightful,  peaceful  shrine 
dedicated  to  the  nineteenth  century  god.  Cloture,  it  seemed  to  be 
glaringly  asserting  that  it  was  there  to  bring  out  ihe  earthly  beauty 
offlesh'tints.  He  frowned.  The  temple  was  deserted  of  its  goddess, 
and  a  rash  mortal  had  momited  on  the  empty  pedestaL  But  Eliza 
Bathbrfll  was  a  bad  dream  which  the  returning  reality  of  Lady 
Gwendolen  would  soon  displace,  and  die  Premier  felt  that  the 
mtmMvmis  quart  d^JUure  he  was  now  ^lending  would  educate  him  i^ 
an  even  wanner  appreciation  of  his  hostess.  Somehow  he  seemed 
to  realise  for  the  nrst  time  how  much  die  womanly  charm  of  the 
latter,  the  candour  and  tenderness  of  her  gray  ^res,  the  crystalline 
ruKg  of  her  laughter  had  vrongfat  upon  his  spirit.  In  the  first  thriH 
of  this  discovery  he  feh  that  during  die  remainder  of  the  interview 
and  for  the  lutnie»  he  would  never  be  able  to  letnm  to  that  half- 
coatMUDtuoas  aiid  wbMj  independoit  attitude  which  he  bad 
originally  ad<^ted 

^Fool  that  I  was»*  be  dioaglit,  *tD  speak  to  her  as  to  other 
womai!  Thoe  are  many  women  fitted  fiir  die  Haicm,  bat  few  for 
dwHoone.* 

This  i^lectioa  was  intended  to  glance  at  Efiia  Bathlnill,  but 
whedier  ^wed  paitkniariy  or  genenJhr  it  showed  the  Premiex's 
ignorance  of  human  nature.  Too  modi  is  osaaDj  iorgiven  to 
epigrammatic  ignorance^  so  it  is  just  as  wdl  to  lemaifc,  that  in  all 
ptobafaifity  Ehsa  wonkl  have  settled  down  (after  the  Sittrm  und 
it^ayof  die  Lmdim  ^ii«iSrr  period  of  her  devdi^mient)  into  die 
hum;  humdma  domesticity  which  follows  an  CBAHnastic  youth. 
hi5eirf>  her  coodact  coflapyws  fttyoaeah^r  ^^J^^  Cmwhul's.    She 


i 

J 


STAINS  OLD  AND  NEW  141 

saw  that  it  was  her  duty  to  love  the  highest,  and  accordingly  she 
loved  the  highest  she  could  find.  She  had  resisted  many  worldly 
temptations.  She  had  not  become  a  barmaid,  nor  even  an  actress. 
She  had  neither  hungered  after  the  mashers  of  the  Gaiety  Restaurant, 
nor  persuaded  the  .critics  that  beauty  is  dramatic  genius. 

The  disgusted  Premier  was  seeking  among  the  dead  a  refuge 
from  the  living — in  plain  language,  he  was  looking  at  the  books. 
The  scholarly  eye  of  the  man  was  £siscinated  by  the  well-laden 
shelves  filled  with  volumes  evidently  chosen  with  the  novel  inten- 
tion of  reading  them.  A  beaatifiilly-bound  copy  of  Rossetti's 
sonnets,  occupying  a  prominent  position,  attracted  his  attention. 
The  leaves  opened  and  remained  supine  with  that  facility  that  they 
can  only  gam  by  practice.  He  chanced  upon  the  exquisite.lines 
b^[inningy 

"  To  be  a  sweetness  more  desired  than  Spring.*' 

Enraptured,  he  read  the  sonnet  aloud.  As  he  was  conunencing. 
Lady  Gwendolen  appeared  noiselessly  at  the  half-open  door  of 
the  study.  On  heanng  the  first  syllables  in  tones  made  tender  by 
emotion,  she  paused  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  flow  of  the  magnificent 
words.  It  was  an  unexpected  pleasure  to  hear  her  lover  recite  a 
poem  so  appropriate  to  the  occasion,  and  to  find  that  he  who  had 
comprehended  only  Wordsworth  could  now  delight  in  more  passion- 
ate erotics.  At  last,  then,  he  understood  that  there  was  something 
sweeter  than  Nature,  and  that  was  Woman.  She  laughed  silently, 
with  that  laugh  of  delight  that  verges  on  tears. 

As  Eliza  heard  the  first  line  she  pricked  up  her  ears.  At  the 
second,  '^  a  bodily  beauty  more  acceptable,"  she  blushed  with  pride. 
The  reader  was  evidently  reading  at  her.  She  paused  from  her 
work  and  remained  motionless,  at  once  petrified  and  electrified. 
As  ^e  harmonious  sounds  ceased  and  the  spell  was  broken,  she 
sprang  to  her  feet 

**  Oh,  you  darling  Jack,"  she  cried.  "  It's  nearly  as  lovely  as 
the  poems  you  used  to  write  to  me.  Pll  never  doubt  you  any 
more." 

So  saying,  she  rushed  into  his  arms.  Startled,  he  dropped  the 
book  and  repelled  her  rudely.  At  the  same  instant  he  oecame 
conscious  that  steel-gr^  eyes  were  piercing  him  like  swords.  He 
turned  as  pale  as  Gwendolen  hersell 

"  Bathbrill,"  said  Gwendolen  in  piteous,  quivering  tones,  that 
even  indignation  could  not  render  firm.  "  Whiat  is  the  meaning  of 
this?" 

^  I  beg  pardon^  your  ladyship,"  said  Eliza  humbly.  ^*  This  is 
not  the  place  or  tune  for  love-making,  I  am  aware.  But  I  never 
ex  ected  to  see  Jack — I  mean  Mr.  Dawe — here,  and  my  feelings 
ov  xame  me.     It's  not  his  fault,  pray  don't  blame  him." 

rhe  terrible  suspicion  that  throbbed  in  Gwendolen's  heart  as 
sb  p,  physical  pain,  and  that  made  her  catch  her  breath,  was  turned 
ini  certainty.  She  gazed  wearily  at  Eliza,  and  the  fatal  beauty 
of  he  girl  was  burnt  into  her  brain  with  pencils  of  fire.    The 


142  THE  PREMIER  AND  TIfE  PAINTER 

caresses  that  her  entrance  had  made  him  refuse — doubtless  he  had 
lavished  them  often  enough  on  his  paramour,  this  wronged  g^rl  to 
whom  he  was  only  plain  Jack  Dawe.  Bitterly  did  she  remember 
her  late  unuttered  thought :  '*  Never  have  those  lips  touched  the 
face  of  a  woman."  And  that  it  should  be  this  of  all  women ! 
Le  preux  chevalier  \ 

'*  And  I  may  as  well  tell  your  ladyship  now,"  continued  Kliza, 
thinking  to  improve  the  situation,  and  speaking  at  her  lover  as  well 
as  to  her  mistress,  "  that  I  shall  leave  in  two  months,  as  we  are 
going  to  be  married.  Jack  has  been  always  putting  it  off,  but  he 
ha€  promised  me  faithfully  this  time." 

It  wanted  no  more.  "  The  vile  wretch ! "  Lady  Gwendolen 
longed  to  cry ;  but  her  tongue  refused  to  articulate  the  words.  She 
cast  an  agonised  look  at  the  Premier  and  his  victim.  She  saw^  that 
he  was  cowering  miserably  beneath  her  glance  ;  but  her  blurred 
vision  could  not  perceive  tne  hopeless  tears  that  trickled  down  his 
ashen  cheeks.  For  he  read  in  her  eyes  her  suspicion — and  the 
shattering  of  his  dreams. 

"  Very  well,  Bathbrill,"  said  Lady  Harley,  with  an  effort  **  You 
can  go." 

As  the  door  closed  upon  the  poor  girl,  Gwendolen  sank  into  a 
chair.  Her  eyes  were  closed.  X^e  Premier  rushed  forwards, 
thinking  that  she  had  fainted.  He  took  her  hand  to  chafe  it.  She 
snatched  it  away  fiercely,  opened  her  eyes,  and  flashed  a  look  of 
bitter  reproach  upon  him. 

"  I  am  innocent,  Gwendolen,"  he  pleaded  wildly ;  **  I  am 
innocent ! " 

"Ah,  why  did  I  hope  for  happiness?"  moaned  Gwendolen, 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  if '/  could  make  you  happy  I  would  die  ! "  he  cried.  "  I 
love  you,  Gwendolen.  I  am  a  nobody  ;  but  my  life  is  yours  to  do 
with  it  what  you  will.  I  have  no  hope  that  you  will  be  mine ;  but 
pray,  pray  believe  I  am  innocent." 

Lady  Gwendolen  lifted  her  head.  '^  Enough  of  this  pitiful  bur- 
lesque sentiment,"  she  said  in  a  low,  scornful  tone.  "  By  your  own 
confession,  you  are  a  skilful  comedian.  I  understand  many  .things 
that  puzzled  me  before  ;  my  eyes  have  been  opened." 

**  I  love  you,  Gwendolen  1 "  repeated  the  Premier  despairingly. 
"  I  am  innocent ! " 

Again  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"And  if  I  am  not  innocent  I  will  atone.  I  love  you ;  but  I  hope 
for  no  return  save  the  permission  to  dedicate  my  humble  life  to 
your  happiness.     What,  O  my  dear  lady,  can  I  do  for  you  ?  *' 

"You  can  ring  that  bell  in  the  right-hand  comer,"  replied 
Gwendolen  in  a  tone  of  utter  misery. 

In  a  second  the  Premier  had  done  so.  A  tall,  stately  footman 
appeared. 

"  Show  Mr.  Floppington  out,"  said  Gwendolen  apathetically. 

The  footman  stared,  and  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 

The  Premier  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  to(^  his  hat 


r 


THE  AUTOCRAT  J^  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE    143 

calmly^  made  an  elaborate  bow  to  Gwendolen,  and  left  the  fateful 
chamber.  In  the  hall  be  scowled  majestically  at  his  attendant, 
and  gave  him  half-a-soveretgn. 

^  If s  d— d  awkward  I  ^  he  muttered  furiously  as  the  door 
slamnwd  behind  him.  ^  It's  d— d  awkward  to  have  another  fellow 
lodkmg  like  you«    D— n  Jack  Dawe  1'' 


CHAPTER   VI. 

TRB  AUTOCRAT  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLB. 

'*Gooi>  gracious  me  ! "  said  the  Professor,  looking  round  nervously. 
"There  are  thirteen  of  us!**  The  Professor  was  a  man  who 
believed  that  consciousness  was  a  superfluity,  and  who,  abandoning 
the  search  for  a  great  central  and  unifying  verity,  taught  that  Truth 
was  only  to  be  found  in  atoms — from  which  it  should  not  be  hastily 
iderred  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  breaking  his  word. 

The  genial  host  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

'^You  have  a  quick  eye,  Mr.  Dailox,"  he  said.  ''In  fiict,  my 
intention  was  to  have  that  number  during  the  series  of  breakfasts 
I  intend  to  give,  in  the  hope  of  lajring  the  superstition  that  still 
baimts  the  minds  of  many.  I  wonder,"  he  added  jocularl)r, ''  which 
sphere  of  life  is  to  lose  a  shining  light — science,  or  painting,  or 
literature,  or  the  drama,  or  politics." 

'*  Don't  you  consider  politics  a  branch  of  the  drama  ? "  asked 
Mr.  Bab,  looking  curiously  around  the  table. 

''You  may  laugh,  Mr.  Floppington,"  intervened  the  Professor, 
evidently  contemp&ting  the  extinction  of  his  own  superfluous  con- 
sciousness with  anything  but  satisfaction  ;  ''  but  amid  the  mass  of 
saperstitions  it  is  extremely  illogical  to  suppose  that  there  would  not 
here  and  there  be  a  germ  of  truth." 

**  A  germ  of  truth  !  **  cried  Mr.  Dagon.  **  Do  you  mean  to  say, 
Kroiessor,  that  Truth  is  catching  ?  And  if  so,  do  you  propose 
inoculation  to  make  us  truth-proof?  " 

"  Why  not  V*  asked  Mr.  Bab.  ''  It  has  long  been  recognised  that 
Troth  is  a  disease  of  language." 

**  Mythology  is,  you  mean,"  corrected  Mr.  Claviger. 

**  Perhaps  he  wishes  to  insinuate  that  the  bulk  of  our  truth  is 
UTthology,"  interposed  the  Premier. 

But  &e  Professor's  train  of  thought  was  not  to  be  thrown  off  the 
tiack  by  these  interruptions.  ''  The  fact  that  any  superstition  has 
come  down  to  us  is,  on  Darwinian  principles,  a  proof  of  its  useful- 
ness." He  went  on  :  "  The  doctrine  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest 
is  as  applicable  to  the  history  of  religion  as  to  the '^ 

** Survival  of  the  fittest!"  Mr.  Dagon  exclaimed  contemptu- 
wsly.  ^  If  there  were  any  truth  in  that,  we  should  be  a  nation  of 
cplepticsj* 

Tne  Professor  paused  and  frowned,  but  Dfie  irreverent  Dagon, 


L 


144  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

supported  by  the  sympathetic  smile  on  the  venerable  countenance 
ot  Mr.  Claviger,  refused  to  be  sat  upon. 

'*  Survival  df  the  fittest  l**  repeated  Mr.  Gaviger  with  equal 
scorn.  "  Even  the  beautiful  regions  of  superstition  must  be  invaded 
by  the  demon  of  Darwinism,  which  can  explain  everything  we  don't 
want  explained.  Anyconnter-jtunper  could  have  written  the  'Origin 
of  Species'  if  he  had  a  mind  to  do  it" 

"Quite  so,"  said  Dagon  ;  "it's  only  the  mind  that  would  be 
wanting." 

"That  is  very  clever,"  murmured  Bab.  "A  quotation,  I 
presume." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  replied  Dagon,  "  we  haven't  all  got  good 
memones  enough  to  be  original.  Originality  is,  I  take  it,  only  un- 
detected plagiarism." 

"  Still,"  put  in  Sir  John  Momus,  the  illustrious  low  comedian, 
^  coincidences  will  happen  even  in  the  best-regulated  plagiarisms." 

"Moi,  savez-vous  que  je  suis  aifreusement  superstitieuse  ? " 
Interposed  the  great  French  tragedienne,  whom  Dagon  had  already 
secretly  dubbed  the  skeleton  at  the  feast. 

"  Before  discussing  superstition,"  said  the  host,  "  suppose  we 
define  it  It  seems  to  be  a  belief  in  that  part  of  the  supematuial 
in  which  the  definer  does  not  believe." 

"  Oh,  please  don't  be  so  clever,  Mr.  Floppington,"  pleaded  Nelly 
Shepherd,  pausing  in  her  manipulation  of  the  leg  of  a  fowL  ^  You 
are  as  unintelligible  as  the  lines  of  my  new  part" 

"  I'm  sure  I  intended  no  pun,"  said  the  Premier  in  a  hurt  tone. 
May  I  fill  your  glass  ?  "  His  sprightly  neighbour  assented  laugh- 
ingly, and  the  little  incident  seemed  to  remind  the  company  that 
they  had  assembled  for  more  than  a  feast  of  reason,  and  for  some 
moments  everybody  helped  everybody  else  with  that  lavish  expendi- 
ture of  unselfishness  which  causes  many  people  to  use  up  their 
whole  stock  at  table.  It  was  not  without  a  feeling  of  pnde  that 
Floppington  surveyed  the  snowy  expanse  of  cloth  glittering  with 
silver  and  precious  glass,  and  fragrant  with  flowers,  around  which 
sat  men  and  women  whom  he  had  admired  and  reverenced  for 
years.  The  sight  of  the  noiseless  servants  hovering  behind  the 
guests,  so  exquisitely  respectful  and  attentive,  so  alert  and  graceful 
in  their  movements,  added  to  his  serene  content.  For  a  moment, 
indeed,  a  frown  crossed  his  face.  But  this  was  probably  due  to  the 
vision  of  another  scene  which  flashed  upon  him,  suggested  by  con- 
trast—a scene  lacking  in  the  daintiness  and  refinement  which  sur- 
rounded him.  It  must  have  been  that  thought  of  hungry  mouths 
which  sometimes  hovers  about  the  table  of  Dives,  and  spoils  his 
luxurious  meals.  Whatever  the  thought  was,  it  was  transient  The 
Premier  busied  himself  in  helping  his  guests,  and  for  some  minutes 
there  was  that  silence  which  prevails  among  well-bred  people 
endeavouring  to  obscure  the  fact  that  they  are  masticating. 

Suddenly  Sir  John  Momus  was  observed  sitting  bolt  upright 
with  a  grave  expression  on  his  round  countenance,  as  if  he  had 
been  surprised  by  the  irruption  of  an  idea.    But  he  said  nothing 


THE  AUTOCRAT  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE    145 

till  Sir  Hugh  Erlyon,  the  President  of  the  Royal  Academy,  who 
was  the  comedian's  vis-d-vis^  taking  upon  himself  to  interpret  the 
general  sentiment,  observed  deferentially:  "You  were  about  to 
remark?" 

"  That  it  was  a  very  fine  day,"  replied  Sir  John,  his  eyes,  which 
were  fixed  on  vacancy,  dilating  into  a  perplexed  stare  as  a  current 
of  laughter^  musical  and  unmusical,  ran  round  the  table. 

''1^  me  there  is  nothing  ridicidous  in  the  occasional  reminder 
that  Nature  has  a  beautiful  picture  on  view,"  said  Sir  Hugh. 

'^  I  didn't  know  you  admired  Nature,"  observed  Mr.  Bab.  Sir 
Hugh  looked  up  in  horror  at  Mr.  Bab,  who  added  deprecatingly  : 
'^  I  <mly  mean,  you  know,  that,  as  an  artist,  she's  just  a  little  bit  too 
realistiCy  eh  ?  French  school,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Frankly, 
now.  Sir  Hugh,  do  you  think  you'd  make  her  an  R.A.  ?" 

Before  the  President  could  decide  this  delicate  question,  Momus 
mterposed  :  **  I  don't  know  about  making  her  an  R.  A.  But  she 
certamly  wouldn't  do  for  a  President  All  Aer  stars  are  remorse- 
lessly skied." 

''The  truest  art  is  to  conceal  art,"  sententiously  observed 
Momos's  friend.  Lord  Thespis,  who  since  he  had  been  raised  to 
the  peerage  had  b^^un  to  cultivate  an  oracular  habit  He  accom- 
pamed  the  remark  by  that  mysterious  and  winning  smile  which 
never  deserted  him,  even  when  he  thought  he  had  said  something 
originaL 

"The  truest  art  is  to  conceal  Nature,"  amended  a  quiet  voice, 
proceeding  from  the  Marquis  of  Rockington,  who  had  hitherto 
amused  hunself  in  talking  of  old  times  with  the  fair  tragedienne, 
and  who  now  began  to  show  the  cloven  hoof.  The  warm  friend- 
ship which  had  sprung  up  between  the  ultra-cynical  and  sceptical 
man  of  the  worla  and  the  orthodox  Minister  was  not  the  least 
remarkable  phenomenon  accompanying  the  Premier's  abandon- 
ment of  his  reserved  habits. 

"1  b^  your  pardon,"  said  Momus  firmly,  coming  to  the  defence 
of  his  friend,  with  the  natural  authoritativeness  of  a  man  who  was 
playing  every  night  in  a  classical  burlesque,  "the  Latin  originsd 

^  Art  or  Nature  *  responded  the  Marquis  in  a  bored  tone.  ''  You 
aitists  manage  to  conceal  both  to  pjerfection." 

"Unfortunately  for  satirists,"  interposed  Mr.  Claviger,  "the 
weakest  part  of  an  epigram  is  generally  the  truth  of  it  Surely  no 
one  will  now  venture  to  affirm  that  Turner  was  unfaithful  to  Nature. 
Look,  too,  at  the  glorious  effects  of  rain,  and  mist,  and  cloud,  de- 
paed  by  so  long  a  line  of  British  landscape  painters.." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  owing  to  the  climate  that  English  artists  have 
taken  so  naturally  to  water-colours  ?  "  put  in  Mr.  Dagon. 

"  Oh,  no  doubt  the  environment  largely  affects  the  artistic  in- 
stmcts  of  a  people,"  said  Mr.  Dallox. 

**0h,  do  please  explain  that  big  word,"  said  the  sprightly  Miss 
Shepheid,  with  an  ardi  side-glance  at  Mr.  Claviger,  who  smiled  in 
xedniL 


L 


146  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

The  Professor  laid  down  his  fork,  and  cleared  his  throat  with  an 
Albemarle  Street  cough. 

"£st-ce  (ju'il  va  nous  faire  un  cours?''  whispered  the  divine 
Sarah,  throwing  a  reproachful  glance  at  Miss  Shepherd. 

"  Never  mind,  old  boy,"  said  Nelly,  with  that  delightful  chic  in 
which  she  was  without  a  rival  '*  Til  let  you  off.  Besides,  you 
could  never  make  me  understand." 

"  Nonsense  ! "  said  the  Professor  sharply.  "  Have  you  not 
heard  that  my  books  are  noted  for  their  popt^lar  character  ?  " 

'*  I  never  knew  before  that  you  had  succeeded  in  making  the 
Lobster  a  popular  character,"  said  Dagon,  **  though  you  have  ana- 
lysed him  so  minutely  in  your  best-known  scientific  fiction.  To 
make  popular  characters  you  should  sketch  broadly  ^  la  Dickens. 
All  you  have  done  is  to  show  that  he  is  rather  a  queer  fish,  and  that 
we  all  knew  before." 

^  Anyhow,  he  makes  very  good  salad,"  said  Floppington.  And 
everybody  laughed,  which  encouraged  the  host,  who  had  hitherto 
been  somewhat  silent,  enjoying  the  conversation  as  if  he  had  paid 
for  it,  though  a  little  overpowered  by  the  talent  assembled  round 
his  hospitable  board. 

'^  I  always  endeavour  to  speak  the  language  of  the  people,  and  I 
am  sure  a  great  part  of  my  success  is  due  to  this  "  continued  the 
unrufHed  Professor. 

"  No  doubt,"  said  the  Marquis  drily.  "  The  most  popular  philo- 
sopher is  he  who  makes  people  think  they  think." 

"  For  my  part  I  must  confess,"  said  Mr.  Aldemey  Lightfoot,  de- 
sisting from  his  long  attempt  to  find  enough  rhymes  to  silver  to 
furnish  a  rondeau.  ''I  think  your  books  too  clear  to  be  of  any  value 
as  literature." 

"  I  cannot  serve  two  masters — Sense  and  Nonsense— at  once," 
replied  the  Professor  warmly. 

"  It  strikes  me  that  you  scientific  gentlemen  don't  always  serve 
the  master  you  think,"  said  Mr.  Claviger.  ^*  When  I  see  Miss 
Shepherd  dancing,  I  thank  Heaven  that  made  her  graceful  and 
happy,  whereas  the  eye  with  the  Evolution  squint  can  only  see  in 
her  a  cross  between  a  dodo  and  a  daddy-longlegs." 

Miss  Nelly  made  a  comic  money  whidi,  together  with  the 
ridiculous  description  of  her,  set  everybody  laughing.  But  Mr. 
Claviger  went  on  with  sombre  solemnity  : 

''  It  is  not  for  nodiing  that  ever  since  the  year  of  the  publication 
of  the  '  Origin  of  Species,'  the  sky  has  been  darkened  by  a  storm- 
cloud.  But  what  care  we  now  if  the  fathomless  depths  of  blue — 
the  visible  type  of  infinity  and  eternity— have  been  indignandy 
veiled  from  our  grovelling  vision  ?  Intent  on  the  physical  processes 
of  growth,  we  have  forgotten  the  breath  of  the  Spirit  Man  is  dead, 
but  the  '  featherless  biped '  who  is  left  alive  is  untouched  by  the 
beauty  of  the  Heavens  and  the  Earth.  Would,  at  least,  that  their 
beauty  were  untouched  by  him !  The  miserable  creature  must 
needs  scar  the  faces  of  both  with  lines  of  ugliness,  leaving  himself 
nothing  to  worship  but  Sunday,  and  he  goes  and  worships  that  in 


THE  AUTOCRAT  AT  THE  B  RE  A  KFA  STATABLE    147 

chorches  which  he  can't  even  pay  for.    If  he  had  the  least  gnun  of 
honesty,  he  would  rather  go  and  pray  in  the  coal-hole.*' 

**The  fourth  commandment  according  to  Claviger!"  cried  the 
Premier  in  a  horrified  tone.  '*  Remember  the  Sabbath  Day  to  keep 
it  coaley!  Mr.  Claviger,  do  you  know  you  are  shockingly 
inevercnt  ?  " 

"  And,  Mr.  Claviger,"  observed  the  Marquis  reflectively, "  if  man 
is  the  miserable  creature  that  you  say  he  is,  the  Society  for  the 
Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals  ought  to  see  that  the  discovery  of 
his  descent  is  kept  from  the  monkeys.  They  would  probably  be 
ashamed  of  their  newly-discovered  poor  relations.** 

For  once  Bab  smiled,  and  exclaimed,  without  seeing  till  too 
late  how  the  idea  might  have  been  furbished  up  for  his  next  comic 
opera: 

"  Yes  ;  imagine  what  a  shock  it  would  be  to  the  merry  Hunchi- 
nello  on  the  barrel-organ  to  learn  that  it  was  related  to  the 
oleaginous  organ-grinder.*' 

**  The  barrel-organ  is  a  much-maligned  instrument,"  said  Sir 
Arthur  Connor.  **  It  has  done  more  to  popularise  music  than  the 
pianoforte.  By  its  means  the  grand  compositions  of  the  great 
modem  masters  are  brought  home  to  the  very  poorest  It  makes 
its  way  into  dark  regions  where  no  pianoforte  has  ever  penetrated ; 
the  foulest  air  is  made  musical  with  gay  and  chorded  melody." 
"You  leave  out,"  said  Bab,  "that  it  is  more  quickly  learnt." 
*'And  leaves  less  scope  for  false  notes.  Perhaps  that*s  why  no 
genius  ever  plays  it "  added  Rockington. 

Mr.  Aldemey  Lightfoot  looked  up  from  his  plate. 
'*  Nothing  affected  me  more,"  he  said  simply,  '*  than  to  see  the 
little  children  in  a  squalid  court  kissing  the  hem  of  the  Italian's 
robe,  and  begging  him  to  go  on  playing  ;  evidently  regarding  him 
as  the  fountain  of  all  that  divine  sweetness.  It  was  a  subject  for 
the  Master." 

^Vm  sure  you  could  do  it  as  well,"  exclaimed  Floppington 
enthusiastically. 

Mr.  Lightfoot  shook  his  head. 

**  No  one  could  embody  the  touching  tenderness  of  the  theme  in 
ail  its  penetrating  pathos  and  infinite  ideality,  but  the  one  starry 
soul  whose  winged  verses  will  hold  him  for  ever  poised  in  the  pure 
ether  of  sacred  remembrance,  the  one  sweet  seraph  who  has  veiled 
his  awfiil  £aice  from  mortal  sight." 

"Would  you  mind  passing  the  salad,  Mr.  Lightfoot?"  said  Sir 
John  Momus. 

"  Well,  if  you  don't  think  you  could  make  anything  of  It,"  said 
the  Premier.  "  suppose  you  give  the  subject  to  Mr.  Dagon.  I  should 
be  so  proud  if  anything  said  at  my  breakfast-table  resulted  in  a  new 
ballad  of  Babylaiid." 

Mr.  Lightfoot  appeared  shocked,  and  passed  the  salad-bowl  with 
much  dignity. 

"  I ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Dagon.  "  I  hope  I  know  my  place  better." 
*^  Don't  be  so  modest,  Dagon,"  said  Mr.  Bab,  with  some  spite- 

L  a 


148  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

fulness.    "  No  one  could  possibly  make  a  better  thing  out  of  squalid 
courts  and  squalling  babies  than  you  do." 

''  Well,  if  they  could  I  should  Uke  to  see  it,"  cried  Floppington. 
^  Do  let  me  persuade  you  to  please  the  great  army  of  recitos,  of 
whom  I  am  one." 

"  Do  you  hear  that  ?"  said  Bab.  '*  Mr.  Floppington  wants  yon 
to  write  a  lesson  for  the  day." 

''  And  does  he  not  write  lessons  for  the  day  ?  "  Floppington  in- 
quired with  some  embarrassment. 

"  And  are  not  those  lessons  read  on  Sunday  too,  and  in  the 
Church  of  Humanity  ?  "  added  Lord  Thespis  solenmly. 

''  What  French  observer  was  it,"  interposed  the  Marquis,  ''who 
discovered  that  the  favourite  Sunday  dish  of  the  British  working 
classes  was  liver,  garnished  with  a  little  mustard  and  cress  ?  " 

^*For  shame!  "cried  Floppington;  'Mf  the  world  at  large  b 
interested  in  Mr.  Dagon's  dyspepsia,  it  is  because  he  has  a  heait 
of  gold." 

''  A  liver  of  gold,"  mimnured  Mr.  Bab.  ^  He  makes  money  out 
of  himself,  like  the  man  in  Dou|^las  Jerrold's  story." 

'*When  you  have  done  with  my  liver,  gendemen,"  said  Mr. 
Dagon,  smiling  good-humouredly. 

'*  I  am  sure  you  are  not  eating  an3rthing,  Mr.  Dagon/'  Flopping- 
ton said,  with  much  solicitude.  ''  Let  me  help  you  to  some  of  tins 
pdtidefoiegrusi* 

"  P&ti  iufoiigras  /"  gasped  Mr.  Dagon. 

**  It  is  delicious,"  urged  the  Premier. 

*^  It  is  indeed ! "  ssud  Mr.  Dallox  reverently.  '^The  gtjose,  whose 
liver  it  once  was,  must  have  died  happy,  knowing  that  by  its  deatii 
it  would  confer  the  most  exquisite  sensations  upon  poster " 

"That  was  because  it  was  a  goose,"  interrupted  Miss  ShephenL 

"  I  don't  believe  it  died  happy,"  said  Sir  Hugh,  "  but  it  iws 
doubtless  happy  to  die,  which  is  not  the  same  thing.  The  greatest 
coward,  suffering  so  from  enlargement  of  the  liver,  would  have  wel- 
comed death." 

**  Not  even  a  goose  liveth  unto  itself  alone,"  continued  the  Pro- 
fessor, whose  gift  of  happy  Scriptural  or  quasi-Scriptural  quotation 
had  endeared  him  to  the  Philistines.  "  Infinite  are  the  vibrations 
of  its  guttural  quack.  The  atoms  that  constitute  its  liver  have  nov 
passed  into  my  being,  to  be  invested  wiui  a  higher  collateraJ  con- 
sciousness, a  sublimer  capacity  for  emotion  and  understanding.'* 

"  From  which  it  logically  follows  that  your  next  lecture  vnli,  at 
bottom,  be  the  work  of  a  goose,"  Mr.  Claviger  burst  fordi. 

"  Yes,  why  not  ?  "  Mr.  Dallox  responded  calmly.     "All  forms  of 

matter  are  equally  sacred.    There  is  no  reason ^ 

"  But  surely,  Mr.  Dallox,"  interrupted  Mr.  Dagon,  "  you  dorft 
mean  to  class  yourself  among  the  scientific  quacks  of  Mr.  Clavigei's 
denunciations  ?  " 

"There  is  no  reason,"  repeated  the  Professor,  taking  no  notice 

of  the  impertinent  punster,  "  why  we  should  despise  any  of  the 

manifestations  of  protoplasm.    Rather  should  we  reverence  them.' 

^And  do  we  not  reverence  geese  ?"  the  Maiqnis  asked  biandlf. 


r 


THE  AUTOCRAT  AT  THE  BREAKF A  STATABLE    149 

"  Do  let  me  persuade  you ! "  again  pleaded  Floppington,  in  the 
silence  which  followed  this  remark. 

"  You  know  not  what  you  ask,"  Mr.  Dagon  replied.  "  I  thought 
e^rybody  knew  how  bitterly  opposed  the  atoms  of  my  liver  are  to 
the  introauction  of  those  of  any  foreign  liver." 

"What?  Is  pdt(i  de  foU  gras  indigestible?"  inquired  the 
Premier. 

"  Happy  mortal ! "  ejaculated  poor  Mr.  Dagon.  "  Where  igno- 
rance is  bliss,  'tis  folly  to  be  wise.  I  think  the  prayer  to  be  saved 
from  his  friends  must  have  been  first  framed  by  an  unhappy 
dyspeptic* 

"Perhaps  by  Carlyle?"  suggested  Rockington. 

**  I  am  glad  the  prayer  wasn't  granted,"  said  Lightfoot.  "  Mr. 
Froude  was  perfectly  right  to  unmask  that  canting  Calvinist,  to 
bnish  off  the  glory  of  grass  beneath  which  that  venomous  viper 
polluted  the  Arcadian  air  with  rancid  respiration." 

''The  happiest  men,  like  the  happiest  women,  are  they  that 
have  no  biography,"  said  Rockington. 

**  Still,  Tm  sure  Mr.  Floppington  intended  to  be  a  true  friend," 
interposed  Mr.  Bab.    *'  Simuia  similibus  curantur^ 

^  But  Fm  afraid,"  added  Momus, ''  that  our  friend  Dagon  is  an 
incurable  jester." 

*'  There  is  one  joke  at  least,"  said  Dagon  gloomily,  '*  that  I  ought 
to  have  been  allowed  to  make.  Suppose  you  had  got  to  discuss 
whether  life  was  worth  the  living.  Now  could  I  have  helped  saying 
that  that  depends  upon  the  liver  ?  " 

**  It  tf  hard,"  admitted  Bab,  "  that  in  a  question  of  literary 
coincidence,  the  prior  writer  always  gets  the  benefit  of  the  doubt." 

''The  Greeks  picked  upon  the  liver  as  the  seat  of  passion," 
observed  Sir  Hugh,  "  which  shows  that  their  popular  physiology 
was  in  advance  of  ours." 

"  All  such  popular  generalisations  point  to  a  great  truth,"  said 
the  Professor :  "  the  interconnection  of  physical  and  mental  pheno- 
mena. This  is  one  of  those  great  truths  which  are  known  to  all 
but  the  very  dull  or  the  very  philosophic.  Nature  is  simple — her 
great  £icts  are  patent  to  every  one  in  possession  of  his  five  senses." 

"  Fiddlestick ! "  cried  Mr.  Claviger.  *'  The  divine  human  soul 
is  not  bound  down  by  the  five  senses." 

"Well,"  admitted  the  Professor,  with  a  flash  of  latent  humoturin 
his  keen  gray  eyes,  "  at  least,  it  is  only  the  philosopher  that  can  go 
out  of  his  senses." 

"  It  is  better  to  be  out  of  one's  senses  with  Plato,  than  in  them 
with  Darwin,"  retorted  Mr.  Claviger.  **  I  will  never  believe  that  I 
am  related  to  a  blackbeetle." 

"  There's  no  answering  for  the  indiscretions  of  one's  ancestors,** 
murmiired  the  Marquis. 

"Oh,  you  disgusting  creature  1*  said  Nelly,  rapping  Mr. 
Claviger  across  the  knuckles  with  her  fork.  "Just  as  I  was  enjoy- 
ing this  oyster  sauce,  too.'' 

"You  mustn't  judge  by  appearances,"  said  the  Professor  im- 
pcessively,  "the  vital  genera  shade  off  into  each  other.    Tbt 


-^ 


150  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

Omithorhynchus  graduates  towards  Reptiles ;  the  Ichthyosaurians 
present  affinities  with  Amphibians,  in  their  turn  allied  to  Ganoid 
fishes.  The  Lancelet  or  Ainphioxus — oh  1 "  for  the  Professor,  too, 
had  received  castigation  from  the  irate  actress. 

Everybody  began  to  laugh  but  the  two  culprits,  who  rushed  at 
each  other  verbally  like  two  schoolboy  pugilists  whom  everybody 
is  trying  to  part.    Their  tones  grew  louder  and  louder. 

"  oSer,  gentlemen/'  cried  Floppington,  rapping  the  table  with 
his  closed  fist  like  the  chairman  at  tiie  smoking  concerts  in  public- 
houses. 

There  was  another  burst  of  laughter,  above  which  rose  the 
eager  clamour  of  the  lecturing  duet. 

^'  Order  I  Chair  I "  vociferated  Miss  Shepherd,  gulpiixg  down  a 
glass  of  champagne,  **  Order  I " 

"  Ces  gens  sont  tons  fous  I  ^  soliloquised  Sarah,  calmly  con- 
tinuing her  unfaltering  promenade  through  the  courses  marked  on 
the  chart  '*  Savez-vous,  M.  Floi)pington,"  she  said  in  low  silvery 
accents,  turning  towards  him  with  a  serpentine  movement,  ^'  9a 
commence  k  m'emb^ter.  £t  vous,  vous  ne  dites  rien  ?  Causons  1 
Vous  m'avez  vu  dans  Fidota  ?*' 

"  Oui,''  said  Floppington,  blushing. 

"  Je  ne  me  rappelle  pas,  cependant,  vous  y  avoir  vu.  Faut  que 
Tous  vous  soyez  blotti  dans  la  foule.** 

**  Oui,"  said  Floppington. 

^  Un  monarque  devrait  se  montrer  partout.    Vous  avez  tort 
de  rechercher  Pobscuritd    £t  moi  qui  ne  savaisl     Oil  la  vertu  va- 
t-elle  se  nicher  dans  le  monde  de  la  Gaiety,  car  vous  6tes  la  vertu 
personnifi^  n'est-ce  pas  ?  " 
'        '*  Oui,**  said  Floppmgton. 

Sarah  laughed  her  delicious  laugh.  ^  Cest  du  Hugo  tout  pur ! 
L'dtre  intelligent  fait  de  I'^goi'sme  une  vertu,  Pimb^cile  en  fait  unc 
yice.  Mais  qu'avez-vous  done  aujourd'hui,  M.  Floppington,  que 
vous  r^pondez  tout  en  monosyllabes?  Vous  n'6tes  pas  un  vrai 
diplomate.  Ne  savez-vous  pas  que  le  meilleur  moyen  de  se  taire, 
dest  de  parler?  Le  langage  ne  nous  fut-il  pas  donn^  pour 
d^guiser  nos  pens^es  ?'* 

"  Oui,"  said  Floppington. 

Sarah  clapped  her  hands.  "  Mr.  Floppington  falls  of  accord 
with  me,'*  she  cried.  *'Ah,  Monseigneur  Rockington,  you  have  then 
been  giving  him  of  your  lessons  ?" 

"Why,  what  new  heresy  has  he  been  guilty  of?"  inquired  the 
Marquis  from  the  other  end  of  the  table. 

"  He  says  language  was  ^ven  us  to  conceal  our  thoughts." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Marquis.  "  Really  these  gende- 
men  are  so  busy  quoting  their  books  that  I  can't  hear." 

"Well,   IVe  ailways  admitted "  began  Floppington,  and 

paused. 

**  Silence  I "  cried  Nelly.  "  Order  for  the  Chair  1  Order  for  Mr, 
Floppington ! " 

A  sudden  hush  fell  upon  the  company. 


THE  AUTOCRAT  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE    151 

**  He  says  that  language  was  given  to  us  to  conceal  our  thoughts,** 
repeated  Sarah. 

"Our  want  of  thought,''  murmured  Mr.  Claviger,  with  a  dis- 
dainful glance  at  the  Professor. 

"  Well,  I  do  say  it,*  cried  Floppington. 

^  Then,  ladies,  you  may  claim  your  gloves  !  ^  said  Bab.  ^  It 
was  distinctly  understood  that  the  slightest  allusion  to  politics 
should  be  punished." 

^  The  punishment  is  an  honour,"  said  the  Premier,  with  an  ad- 
miring glance  at  Mr.  Bab. 

The  ladies  bowed  gracefully. 

*'  Oh,  do  talk,  politics,"  said  Nelly,  looking  appealingl^r  at  the 
company.  "  Do  make  them  talk  politics,  dear  Mr.  Floppington," 
she  said,  putting  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Shall  I  unmake  my  own  laws  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  bother  your  laws ! "  cried  Nelly. 

The  company  looked  aghast,  but  the  courtly  Premier  preserved 
a  polite  smile. 

^  Miss  Shepherd  thinks  stolen  politics  sweetest,"  drily  observed 
the  Marquis. 

"  That's  another  forfeit ! "  cried  Nelly,  clapping  her  hands  and 
repressing  a  tendency  to  whistle  an  air  of  Meyer  Lutz. 

The  high  spirits  and  entrain  of  the  actress  seemed  to  exhilarate 
the  Premier.  He  poured  himself  out  another  glass  of  Perrier- 
Touet  "111  make  this  concession,"  he  observed  gaily.  "The 
ladies  shall  talk  the  politics  and  the  gendemen  buy  the  gloves." 

••How  jolly!"  Nelly  cried,  bursting  into  a  laugh.  "But  I'm 
afraid  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  subject" 

*'  What  a  promising  candidate  for  a  constituency  I "  exclaimed 
Sir  Arthur  Connor. 

"  Is  a  promising  candidate  a  candidate  who  promises?"  inquired 
Nelly.  "  Because  I'm  ready  to  promise  anything  except  marriage. 
But  really,  although  I'm  even  now  singinj^a  topic^  song — of  course 
in  the  Conservative  interest,  Mr.  Floppington — with  oh  I  such  en- 
thusiasm, I  confess  I  don't  know  the  difference  between  a  Libexal 
and  a  Conservative." 

"  That  is  not  your  fault,"  said  Bab ;  "  the  nomenclature  of  poli- 
tics is  of  a  very  unscientific  description." 

"  The  difference  is  simply  this,"  said  the  Marquis  :  "  the  Con- 
servative believes  that  Providence  is  on  his  side,  the  Liberal  that 
he  is  on  the  side  of  Providence." 

Everybodjr's  eyes  turned  to  the  Premier's  fece.  But  if  the 
student  of  divinity  was  shocked,  he  allowed  no  trace  of  the  emotion 
to  appear.  He  even  smiled  oractdarly  and  observed:  *'  I  firmly 
believe  that  Providence  is  giving  the  Tories  a  lift." 

"God  created  sex, and  man  politics/'  interposed  Sir  Hugh  Erlyon. 
^  For  my  part  I  prefer  the  natiual  division  of  humanity  to  the 
unnaturaJ." 

^  Politics  were  invented  to  keep  the  upper  classes  out  of  mis- 
chief" put  in  Mr.  Claviger  sententiously* 


iSa  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

^And  to  get  the  lower  classes  into  it/'  added  the  Marquis. 

'*  I  don't  think  the  unnatural  division,  as  you  call  it,  does  any 
harm/'  said  Sir  Arthur. 

'*  But  it  causes  so  many  other  divbions,''  exclaimed  Dagon. 

"  I  agree  with  Sir  Arthur,"  Lord  Thespis  remarked  witii  his 
mysterious  smile.    **  Great  minds  agree— to  differ." 

"  That  is  so,"  observed  Momus  earnestly.  "  My  friend  Thespis 
and  I  have  more  than  one  set  of  opinions  between  us." 

"  Well,  since  modesty  and  politics  are  the  order  of  the  day," 
said  the  Marquis,  *'  I  must  confess  that  I  disagree  in  toto  with  my 
right  honourable  friend,  Mr. 'Flopping ton,  on  the  very  vital  question 
of  representative  government." 

**Well,  for  my  part,"  said  tiie  host,  "I  detest  people  with 
dubious  views.  A  man  who  professes  to  belong  to  no  jparty 
usually  combines  the  defects  of  all.  So  out  with  your  tirade, 
Rockington.' 

'*  Society  is  to  be  nothing  but  a  Mutual  Administration  Society, 
forsooth  ! "  cried  the  Marquis.  *'  Govern  me,  and  I'll  govern  you. 
I  refuse  to  be  governed  by  Monsieur  Prudhomme  for  any  con- 
sideration whatever." 

"  Hear,  hear  1"  cried  Mr.  Dallox. 

The  Marquis  became  animated. 

^'  Democracy  is  nothing  but  an  offshoot  of  Positivism,  with  its 
deification  of  a  humanity  which  consists  largely  of  total  abstainers 
from  any  manifestation  of  its  better  qualities.  Everything  is  to  be 
regulated  by  the  combined  action  of  petty  National  or  pettier  Local 
Boards.  They  will  soon  be  wishing  to  depose  the  Creator,  and 
administer  the  affairs  of  the  universe  and  regulate  all  the  pheno- 
mena of  Nature  by  representative  government" 

"  Excellent  1 "  cried  the  Professor.  **  If  people  were  only  clear- 
headed enough  to  understand  that  that  is  the  logical  outcome  of 
their  attacks  on  the  oligarchical  and  monarchical  principles ! 
Government  by  average  opinion  is  only  a  circuitous  method  of 
going  to  the  devil." 

"And  by  any  other  method  they'd  go  there  straight ! "  cried  the 
Premier  with  flashing  eyes. 

**  You  forget.  Professor,"  interposed  Dagon,  "that  the  gentleman 
they're  going  to  is  a  Conservative." 

"  Oh,  oh  ! "  cried  Momus,  turning  to  his  friend,  who  was  then 
playing  Mephistopheles. 

"  I  don't  mean  that,"  said  Dagon  hastily.  "  I  mean  that  his 
Satanic  Majesty  would  naturally  be  an  enemy  to  the  Radicalism 
and  Republicanism  that  threatens  to  upset  all  thrones." 

"  WeU,  really,  Lord  Thespis,"  said  the  Premier,  "  I  never  could 
understand  why  you  were  one  of  us.  In  your  theatrical  character 
you  are  so  full  of  new  plans." 

"  He  believes  in  reform  in  no  direction  except  where  it  is  least 
necessary,"  said  Dagon. 

"  1  deny  the  analogy,"  said  Thespis.  ^  The  theatre  is  not  the 
worldt* 


ii 


THE  AUTOCRAT  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE    153 

^^  Pardannez-moi J^  cried  Sarah.  "All  the  world's  a  stage. 
What's  good  for  the  one  must  be  good  for  the  other.*' 

''  So  the  ladies  of  the  world  seem  to  think  who  paint/'  said 
Bah. 

"Ill  owe  you  one  for  that,  Mr,  Bab,*'  cried  Nelly  playfully. 
"You  know  I  paint,  and  I'm  no  more  ashamed  to  coi^ess  it  than 
Sir  Hugh  Erlyon  himself." 

"Miss  Shepherd  has  found  the  Elixir  of  Youth,"  said  Sarah. 

"  Thank  yon,"  cried  Nelly,  with  a  pretty  grimace. 

Mr.  Aldemey  Lightfoot  came  to  the  rescue. 

"What  is  earlier  bom  than  the  sunshine,  and  yet  what  is  more 

beautiful  ?     Eternally  ftesh  as ^" 

""  As  your  metaphor,"  interrupted  Bab. 

"Happily  the  comparison  won't  hold  in  detail,"  said  the  Premier. 
*  Miss  Shepherd  is  frequently  with  us." 

Nelly  laughed  in  ddight,  and  held  out  her  glass,  which  the 
Premier  filled.  The  other  guests  smUed  silently,  as  feeling  the  in- 
sincerity of  the  compliment,  for  the  Premier  had  never  taken  a 
course  of  Gaiety  burlesG[ue  even  medicinally.  They  felt  sure  he 
had  no  accurate  conception  of  Miss  Shepheid's  performances,  and 
that  he  had  (mly  add^  her  to  the  party  ior  the  sake  of  representa', 
tive  completeness — for  logical,  and  not  for  personal  reasons. 

"  Shc?s  certainly  a  wonderful  woman,"  Sir  Arthur  said  in  a  low 

tone  to  Mr.  Bab.    "  Her  skin  is  as  well  preserved ^" 

"  As  a  general's,"  concluded  Bab.  "  We  must  keep  that  You 
ought  to  get  up  a  good  jingle  for  that.  Her  skin  as  well  preserved 
as  a  general's — as  a  general's." 

Sir  Arthur  immediately  began  to  hum. 

**  Who^s  going  to  oblige  with  a  song  ?"  cried  Floppington,  catch- 
ing the  sounds. 

There  was  a  general  laugh  at  Sir  Arthur's  expense,  but  the 
Premier  seemed  to  be  as  disconcerted  as  the  musician. 

"  1  am  afraid  I  missed  that,"  said  Mr.  Aldemey  Lightfoot, 
starting  up.     "  I  do  believe  I  was  lost  in  thought" 

"No  wonder,"  murmured  Bab  ;  " it's  a  terra  incognita? 
"Is  anybody  going  in  for  Johannisberg?"  the  Premier  exclaimed 
hastily.     "  My  butler  tells  me  I  haven't  exhausted  the  bottles  pre- 
sented to  me  by  Prince  Bismarck." 

"  I  wonder  whether  he  gave  them  to  you  to  illustrate  his 
socialistic  priticiples  ?  "  observed  Dagon.  "  If  so,  he  is  more  con- 
sistent than  that  immensely  wealthy  Marquis  of  Dash  whom  I  was 
talking  to  the  other  day,  and  who  amazed  me  by  coolly  telling  me 
that  he  agreed  with  Proudhon,  that  la  propridti  dest  le  volP 

"1  don't  see  the  inconsistency,"  said  Mr.  Bab.  'Mfs  quite 
certain  he  never  took  any  trouble  to  acquire  property." 

"  I  don't  go  in  for  Socialism  "  said  Floppington  ;  ''  but  I  must 
confess  the  rule  of  society  seems  to  be,  that  to  him  that  hath  nothing 
to  do,  much  shall  be  given." 

"You  have  put  your  finger  on  the  pjlague-spot  of  Society,"  said 
Dagon  earnestly.    ^  Really,  Mr.  Floppington,  you  have  no  conce^ 


^ 


154  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

tion,  if  yoa  will  allow  me  to  say  so,  of  the  growing  bitterness  of 
feeling  in  the  lower  classes.  Living,  as  your  class  does,  in  its  clubs 
and  its  mansions,  it  isolates  itself  from  the  true  current  of  national 
life,  and— I  must  say  it  even  at  the  risk  of  displeasing  you — 
thereby  becomes  stagnant  and  foul." 

The  Premier  seemed  to  catch  his  enthusiasm.  ^  Go  it,  my  boy; 
give  it  to  us ! "  he  cried. 

The  adroit  way  in  which  the  Premier  rebuked  his  too  presump? 
tuous  guest  was  generally  admired,  and  almost  every  one  perceived 
the  subtle  reproof  implied  by  the  ironically  familiar  *'my  boy." 
There  was  a  moment's  constr^ned  silence,  which  was  broken  by 
Mr.  Dallox,  who  neatly  dragged  the  talk  out  of  its  dangerous 
course.  '^  I  have  been  thinking  of  your  remark  that  democracy 
was  an  offshoot  of  Positivisin,''  he  said  to  the  Marquis.  **  I  had  an 
idea  that  you  were  a  Positivist  yourself" 

*'  I  ?  "  cried  the  latter,    'M  am  a  student  of  mankind.'' 

Bab  laughed.  ^  Then  you  agree  with  me  that  Pythagoras  was  a 
fool  to  tell  a  man  to  know  himsdf." 

^  Yes.  It  would  make  most  people  as  miserable  to  know  them- 
selves as  not  to  know  their  richer  neighbours." 

*'  Yet  the  cynical  Pope  said  the  noblest  study  of  mankind  is 
'man,"  said  Thespis. 

''The  cynical  Pope  is  not  infallible,"  observed  Dagon. 

''The  noblest  study  of  nuuikind  is  woman,"  cried  Momus 
enthusiastically. 

A  pained  look  came  into  the  Premier's  eyes.  The  company 
observed  it,  and  Momus  looked  shamefaced.  ^ 

"  Qu'est-ce  que  c'est  que  le  cr^o  du  Positivisme?"  asked  Sarah. 

"  I'here  is  no  God  but  Humanity,  and  Harrison  is  his  prophett" 
answered  Bab  glibly. 

"  Le  Positivisme  dest  un  pas  en  arri^re,"  the  Marquis  explained 
to  the  tragedienne.  "Comte,  en  voulant  donner  sa  religion  k 
Fhomme,  avaitoubU^  que  dest  I'homme  qui  veut  donner  son  compte 
i  la  religion." 

Sarah  smiled. 

"  If  we  talk  French  to  her,"  said  the  Premier,  "  she  will  never 
learn  English.  I  think  I  shall  make  a  point  of  speaking  to  no 
foreigner  m  his  own  tongue.*' 

"  Carlyle  was  right  in  one  thing,*'  said  Mr.  Dallox.  *'  He  had 
none  of  this  preposterous  reverence  for  the  masses." 

"  He  wasn't  a  Newman,"  said  Momus. 

''He  was  fairly  Catholic  in  his  antipathies,"  said  Bab.  ^  No  one 
can  accuse  him  of  narrow-mindedness." 

"  Do  you  think  that  Catholicism  is  gaining  ground  in  society?" 
said  Lord  Thespis  to  Sir  Hugh. 

'*  There  is  only  one  religion  in  society,"  said  the  Marquis :  "  tree 
worship." 

"  Eh  ?  "  cried  the  Professor,  startled.  **  A  survival— what  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  Family  tree  worship,"  amended  Rockington. 


r 


THE  AUTOCRAT  AT  THE  BREAKFAST'TABLE    15^ 

''  In  all  its  branches,"  added  Momus. 

**  You  remind  me  of  one  of  the  best  things  I  ever  said  in  a 
speech,"  said  the  Premier  to  the  Marquis.  '*  Some  cad  had  been 
arguing  for  hereditary  legislation." 

The  guests  looked  at  one  another.  Was  the  Premier  un- 
consciously revealing  the  future  ? 

"  And  I  recollect  perorating  with  great  effect  as  follows :  '  And 
finally,  I  am  convinced  that  my  cocky  young  friend  has  as  little 
knowledge  of  history  as  of  the  good  society  he  eulogises.  The 
slightest  peep  at  Debrett  would  have  told  him  that  almost  all 
people  of  birth  trace  their  descent  either  to  an  ancestor  of  whom 
they  would  be  ashamed,  or  to  one  who  would  be  ashamed  of  them.' " 

^  1  don't  remember  reading  that  in  your  speeches,"  said  Sir  Hugh. 

"  No,"  said  the  Premier  with  a  forced  laugh.  "  That  was  in  Sie 
days  when  I  was  a  comparatively  unknown  man." 

^  It  is  strange  to  think,"  said  Lord  Thespis,  ''that  the  great 
men  of  the  next  decade  are  now  strugglin|f  unrecognised.  Truly — 
for  a  time  at  least — the  world  knows  nothmg  of  its  greatest  men." 

**And  it*s  not  satisfied  without  knowing  every  thing,**  added  Bab. 

'*  Rather  say,  its  greatest  men  know  nothing  of  the  world,"  said 
the  Premier  with  strange  bitterness,  "  for,  after  all,  the  world  of . 
culture  that  we  call  Society  is  the  only  real  world  for  an  intellectual 


man." 


^  You  seem  to  regret  your  long,  almost  total  seclusion,"  said  Sir 
Hugh  sympathetically. 

"  I  do,*'  said  the  Premier  simply.  "  I  regret  bitterly  the  long 
years  I  passed  cut  off  from  it  by  the  artificial  l^uriers  of  prejudice." 

"  The  world  rejoices  that  you  have  overcome  that  prejudice," 
said  Lord  Rockin^^on.    "It  cannot  bear  to  be  looked  down  upon." 

^  I  confess  I  did  look  down  upon  it,"  he  replied.  "  But  now  that 
I  have  come  to  know  it,  amid  much  that  is  hollow  and  rotten  I 
find  a  solid  substratum  of  delicate  and  refined  feeling,  of  noble 
action,  and  of  true  thought" 

The  sincerity  and  frankness  of  the  simple-minded  host  moved 
the  company  to  admiration. 

''  Yes,  the  old  order  has  much  that  is  good,  and  will  not  change 
80  quickly  as  the  Radical  imagines,"  mus^  Sir  Hugh.  "As  Schiller 
said  in  the  lines  you  so  beautifully  translated — ^as  I  wotdd  say  to 
every  hot-headed  revolutionist : 

'  Du  willst  die  Macht, 
Die  luhig,  sicher  thronende  erschUttem, 
Die  in  TerjAhrt  geheiligtem  Besits 
In  der    •    •    •    •' 

How  does  it  run  ?  " 

^  It's  as  much  as  you  can  expect  a  politician  to  do  to  remember 
his  own  speeches,"  said  Floppington. 

"  Surdy  no  one  expects  him  to  do  that,"  said  Bab.  *'  Politicians 
should  cultivate  badness  of  memory  by  all  available  methods." 

The  Premier  laughed.    "  That  is  like  Mark  Twain's  phrase. 


156  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

wish  he  wasn't  out  of  England  now,  by-the-by.  He  speaks  some- 
where of  a  man  devoting  his  life  to  the  acquisition  of  ignorance.'' 

*'The  phrase  is  not  so  paradoxical  as  it  seems,"  said  the 
Marquis.  "  Think  of  tiie  divinity  student's  laboriously  acquired 
knomaedge  of  theology." 

Sir  Hugh  sent  his  lordship  a  warning  glance,  but  the  latter  had 
already  tested  his  man,  and  had  never  known  a  sanaism  of  his 
resented  by  the  Premier. 

"  I  have  heard  most  of  the  great  preachers,"  he  continued ;  **  they 
are  all  so  lavish  ;  they  use  up  in  one  sermon  a  stock  of  ignorance 
which  could  be  spread  out  over  a  dozen." 

**That  comes  from  giving  over  Religion  to  a  prejudiced  body,"  said 
Mr.  DaUoac  "  Why  are  we  scientific  men  not  permitted  to  occupy 
the  pulpits  ?  I  consider  mysdf  a  preacher,  and  purposely  entitled 
a  work  of  mine  *  Lay  Sermons,'  to  show  that  I  thought  the  field  of 
Conduct  as  much  mine  as  any  ecclesiastic's." 

''To  me  the  objections  to  lay-preaching  seem  well  founded," 
observed  Mr.  Bab.  '*  Only  duly  qualified  practitioners  should  be 
allowed  to  administer  narcotics." 

The  Premier  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

''Would  they  administered  innoxious  narcotics  only ! "  said  Ligfat- 
foot .   *  It  is  poison  that  they  administer." 

At  this  exhibition  of  bad  taste  the  guests  looked  at  the  Prmnier, 
in  whose  eyes  tears  of  enjoyment  stood. 

"Oh,  no,  no! "  he  cried,  perceiving  their  glances.  " My  dear 
fellow,  remember  that  we  are  not  all  so  unprejudiced  as  you." 

The  exquisite  courtliness  of  this  rebuke  was  lost  upon  the  poet, 
who  launched  into  an  alliterative  diatribe,  while  Miss  Shepherd 
amused  herself  and  the  company  by  making  grimaces. 

"  Bother  the  spirit  of  reason  I  Don't  you  think  we've  had 
enough  of  reason,"  interrupted  Bab,  taking  advantage  of  a  ^lure 
of  bxeath  in  the  speaker.  "  Suppose  you  give  us  some  rhyme  for  a 
change." 

"  Hear,  hear ! "  from  the  company,  and  lauehter. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Lightfoot,"  urged  the  Premier,  ''do  let  us  hear  one  of 
your  forthcoming  poems." 

"  I  am  so  fond  of  poetry,"  said  Nelly,  looking  up  at  the  poet 
with  languishing  eyes. 

Mr.  Lightfoot  was  stammering  oat  a  refusal,  when  the  great 
tragedienne  exclaimed  :  "  Ah  si.  Monsieur  Lightfoot,  M.  Hugo  m'a 
tant  parie  de  vous." 

"  But  it  is  addressed  to  Death,"  said  the  poet,  softening,  "and 
perhaps ^ 

Sarah  broke  into  a  silvery  laugh.  '*  Moi  craindre  la  mort,  md 
qui  me  suis  suicid^e  tant  de  fois  I  Est-ce  que  cette  th^me  vous 
effraye.  Mademoiselle  Shepherd  ?** 

"  Miss  Shepherd  has  died  occasionally,  I  am  sure,"  said 
the  Marquis. 

"  I  warn  you  that  it  expresses  in  poetrv  the  ideas  I  have  just 
heeo  emnciating  in  prosc^"  said  Mr.  Ughtnxit 


THE  AUTOCRAT  AT  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE    157 

"  That  doesn't  matter ! "  said  Bab,  adding  soUo  voce:  **  Poetry 
it  none  the  worse  for  having  none." 

Without  further  prelude,  the  poet  b^an  in  a  thrilling  Toice» 
rising  and  felling  with  emotion,  the  following  verses : 

**T0  DEATH. 

^  O  HtUr,  Hind  Death  that  Hddest  us  hasten 

From  the  Heaven  0/ Earth  to  the  Hell  efHeaven^ 
From  sorrows  that  strengthen  to  joys  that  chasten. 

And  the  Stygian  sph^  of  the  virtues  seven. 
From  the  fiery  flcuh  of  the  sun  fierce-hearted 

To  the  sorrowfitl  sheen  of  the  Heavenly  bar; 
O  hitter t  blind  Death,  when  from  Earth  we  are  farted^ 

Make  us  as  blind  as  thine  own  eyes  are, 

*  -  O  diswtal,  dumb  Death  thatsHlUst  the  beauty 

Of  the  words  of  delight,  and  the  whispers  of  lovers^ 
And  the  clarion  call  to  sweet  Glory  and  Duty, 

And  the  thunderous  tones  that  defiance  discovers, 
Andgivestfor  shout  of  the  man  sea-hearted 

Sanctimonious  songs  from  each  sensual  star; 
O  dismal,  dumb  Death,  when  from  Earth  we  are  parted. 

Make  us  as  dumb  as  thine  own  lips  are. 

**  O  dreary,  deaf  Death  thai  drivest  us  mortals 

From  the  sacred  st^  sound  of  our  loves*  sweet  hisses 
To  the  passionless  praise  at  the  Heavenly  portals. 

From  the  proud  human  pain  to  the  blind  bovine  blisset. 
From  the  shrill  wild  sauna  of  the  wind  free-hearted. 

From  the  discords  that  soothe  to  the  concords  that  jar  ; 
O  dreary,  deaf  Death,  when  from  Earth  we  are  parted. 

Make  us  eu  deaf  as  thine  own  ears  are,** 

As  the  last  words  died  on  the  air,  Floppington,  the  Marquis,  and 
Saiah,  broke  into  rapturous  applause.  The  rest  of  the  company 
preserved  a  discreet  silence,  save  that  Momus  whispered  to  Dagon: 
^  I  wonder  whether  he'd  allow  me  to  sing  that  m  my  next  bur- 
lesque"; that  Bab  responded:  ''It  would  be  out  of  place;  it's 
funny" ;  and  that  Dagon  inquired  whether  the  poet's  dread  of 
going  to  heaven  wasn't  a  little  bit  superfluous. 

The  Premier  was  the  last  to  cease  rapping  the  table.  When  he 
had  done  so,  he  became  conscious  that  he  was  the  cynosure  of  all 

**  You  see  how  impartial  I  am,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  It  is  not  every 
critic  that  can  separate  the  form  from  the  matter.  Mr.  Aldemey's 
Uchiique  seems  to  me  perfect  I  recollect  once  trying  to  imitate 
him." 

''You  flatter  me,"  said  the  poet  ^  I  should  be  delighted  to  see 
the  result  Your  appreciation  of  delicate  efiects  of  harmony  is  well 
known  to  us  poets." 

"Oh,  it's  such  a  long  time  ago,"  said  the  gratified  Premier,  "but 
it  began  like  this — 

'  When  the  Peerage  and  Priests  and  Perpetual  Pensiem 
That  arefiame  to  the  flesh  shall  be  flesh  to  thefiame--^^ 


I5S  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 


A  suppressed  titter  ran  round  the  table  at  this  satirical  im- 
promptu. 

'*  Ah,  Mr.  Floppington,"  said  the  poet,  *'  would  that  you,  who 
have  a  giant's  strength,  used  it  to  bring  that  day  nearer !  " 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Lightfoot,"  responded  the  Premier  evasively,  **  you 
could  do  that  by  bringing  out  a  cheaper  edition  of  your  poems. 
The  present  price  is  simply  prohibitive  to  the  working  man." 

*'  Thank  God  !"  came  with  the  suddenness  of  a  bullet  from  Mr. 
Clavige'r's  lips.  *'  I  can  understand  the  pessimism  of  a  Leopardi, 
even  the  saddened  meliorism  of  one  to  whom  the  fair  breathing 
world  with  its  heroic  types  of  passion  and  strength  is  but  a  Penton- 
ville  omnibus.  But  the  modem  poet's  indecent  and  jubilant  jig  on 
the  grave  of  his  dead  faith  ! " 

"  It  is  not  the  death  of  hi^  faith  that  the  poet  celebrates  ;  it  js 
the  resurrection  of  his  manhood,^  cried  Mr.  Lightfoot,  erecting  his 
flabby-muscled  arm.  "  It  is  freedom  ;  it  is  the  glory  of  the  world, 
and  of  his  own  soul ;  it  is  the  unutterable  loveliness  of  man,  and  the 
ineffable  splendour  of  Nature  that  no  God  created  and  that  none 
can  destroy." 

'^  That  IS  going  too  far,"  interposed  Mr.  Dallox,  seeing  the  light- 
ning in  Mr.  Qaviger's  eye.  '*  May  I  venture  to  suggest  that  you 
have  not  yet  got  the  better  of  your  early  imprudence?  Agnosticism 
is  much  more  respectable  than  Atheism." 

'*  Respectability ! "  gasped  the  poet  '*  I  will  none  of  it  Re- 
spectability is  the  bugbear  of  little  minds." 

"  But  surely  good  taste  requires  moderation,"  said  the  horrified 
Professor. 

"Good  taste!"  shrieked  Mr.  Lightfoot  ^Good  taste  is  the 
canon  of  little  critics." 

**  Look  here,  Momus,  let  us  have  Trying  a  Magistrate^  said 
poor  Miss  Shepherd,  shuddering.  ''What  with  dismal,  dreary, 
deaf  and  dumb  death,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  I've  got  an  awful  fit  of 
tiie  blues.** 

The  Premier  looked  at  her  sympathetically. 

"  No  wonder,"  said  Mr.  Claviger.  '*  Death  is  neither  dismal, 
nor  dreary,  nor  deaf  and  dumb." 

*'  Lightfoot  has  evidently  personified  Death  as  a  funeral  mute," 
said  Mr.  Dagon. 

'*  Instead  of  a  majestic  and  awful  Angel,  leading  man  from  time 
to  eternity,"  added  Mr.  Claviger. 

**  Surely,  Mr.  Lightfoot,"  said  Sir  Hugh,  **  immortality  is  impe- 
ratively demanded  to  remedy  the  injustices  of  this  world. ' 

**  That's  calling  in  a  new  world  to  redress  the  balance  of  the 
old,  isn't  it  ?  "  asked  Floppington,  colouring  with  pleasure  at  the 
marked  effect  of  his  mot, 

*^  I  doubt  whether  any  one  nowadays  seriously  believes  in  his 
future  existence,"  put  in  tiie  Marquis. 

**  There  are  people  who  doubt  their  present,"  sneered  Mr. 
Qaviger.     '*  Great  sceptics  who  affirm  that  it  cannot  be  denied 


THE  AVTOCRAT  AT  THG  BREAKFAST-TABLE    159 

tiiat  nothing  can  be  affirmed  ;  bat  I  nerer  knew  that  any  one  took 
them  seriously." 

''Well,  I  am  convinced  the  modem  man  is  more  concerned 
about  his  stomach  than  his  soul,"  persisted  Rockington.  **He 
violates  the  decalogue,  but  he  would  shudder  at  infringing  the 
dietary  laws  of  his  doctor.** 

^  111  take  some  pdU  di  foU  gretsj*  called  out  Mr.  Dagon 
hastily. 

'*  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Marquis.  '*  I  was  thinking  of 
the  people  who  carry  their  text-books  of  religion  to  the  dinner- 
table  and  consult  them  piously  at  every  course.  Fortunately,  many 
of  them  read  the  Lancet,  and  can't  eat  even  the  most  digestible 
dishes  without  suspecting  germs,  and  adulteration,  and  what 
not!" 

''To  the  pure  all  things  are  pure,"  remarked  the  Premier  ;  and 
in  the  laughter  that  followed  this  apposite  (quotation,  he  drank  off 
another  gUss  of  champagne  to  hide  his  glowing  countenance. 

**  L'Angleterre  dest  la  religion  I  UAngleterre  c'est  la  morality  V* 
cried  Sarah  enthusiastically. 

"  C'est  vrai,"  said  the  Marquis,  "  very  few  of  us  break  more 
than  one  commandment  at  a  time." 

''There,  madame,  you  will  observe  the  superiority  of  our 
national  character,"  put  in  Bab.  "  We  believe  that  to  do  anything 
well,  we  must  do  one  thing  at  a  time." 

"  Observe  too,  madame,"  said  the  Marquis,  "  the  perfection  to 
which  we  have  carried  division  of  labour.  Such  of  us  as  can  afford 
it  are  moral  by  deputy.    We  are  great  lovers  of  Christianity  in 

others,  and  we  found  Sunday-schools ;  we  admire  chastity,  and 

But  I  will  not  enumerate. 

' Meae  (contendere  noU) 

StuItiUam  patiuntor  opes  ;  tibi  parvula  res  est' 

So  Horace  said  nearly  two  thousand  years  aga" 

"  He  was  old  enough  to  know  better,"  said  Nelly.  **  I  knew  it 
was  something  improper  by  your  quoting  it." 

^  I  suppose  if  Horace  had  written  nowadays  he  would  have  been 
as  obscure  as  his  own  allusions,"  observed  Dagon. 

"  Nonsense  I"  cried  Rockington.  "  Our  best  Society  poets  are 
to  Horace  as  water  unto  wine." 

"  A  Butler's  analogy  in  your  mouth  ! "  exclaimed  Dagon,  and 
the  ridiculous  pun  convulsed  the  company. 

"  Talking  of  analogies,"  said  the  Premier,  wiping  his  eyes  with 
his  napkin,  "  I  found  among  Mis— among  my  books  the  other 
day  a  most  curious  volume  of  American  origin.  The  writer  tried 
hard  to  prove  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity — how  do  you  think  ?" 

''By  asserting  it?"  said  the  Marquis. 

"Well,  it  came  to  that,"  answeredf  the  Premier,  smiling.  "  The 
proof  was  that  everything  in  Nature  runs  in  triads  :  sun,  moon, 
stars ;  man,  woman,  child  ;  and  so  on.    The  joke  was  that  nearly 


f6o  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

all  the  supposed  triads  were  purely  verbal  and  not  in  Nature  at  alL 
Spiritual  intoxication  had  made  the  writer  see  not  only  double  bot 
treble." 

Mr.  Claviger  was  staring  at  the  speaker  in  indignant  surprise; 
**  If  I  recollect  aright,  Mr.  Floppington,"  he  said,  **  it  was  your  in- 
fluential pufT  in  the  Nineteenth  Century  that  gave  the  book  its 
ephemeral  success  in  England.  Why,  you  said  it  was  a  most 
subtle  and  penetrative  book,  marking  an  era  in  theology." 

"  Ah  1 "  said  the  Premier  reflectively,  *'  it  is  by  these  landmarks 
that  the  retrospective  sotd  traces  its  progress.  Shall  animals 
evolve  and  not  man?  Shall  man  evolve  and  not  Floppington? 
Happily  I  have  learnt  to  base  my  faith  on  deeper  and  more 
logical  grounds." 

"  The  only  theological  analogy  I  ever  heard  that  would  bear 
examination,"  interposed  the  Marquis,  '*was  the  comparison  of  a 
Calvinist  Elect  to  a  successful  lottery  ticket." 

'*  It's  a  fine  thing  to  be  a  Calvinist  Elect,"  said  Bab  with  a 
sigh.  '*  I  once  knew  one  of  the  tribe.  After  a  long  and  happy  life 
he  got  entangled  in  a  succession  of  law-suits,  which  so  disgusted 
him  with  the  lawyers  that  he  committed  suicide  to  escape  their 
company  for  ever." 

''I  don't  believe  a  word  of  your  stories,"  said  Nelly,  laughing. 

^  I  admire  your  scientific  caution  "  said  Mr.  Dallox. 

^  Can't  somebody  oblige  by  unfolding  the  sun  myth  in  my 
story  ?  "  asked  Bab  anxiously. 

"  Scientific  caution  is  a  bugbear  that  makes  a  man  afraid  to 
trust  the  clearest  teachings  of  his  own  God-created  soul,"  said  Mr. 
Claviger. 

"  There  you  go ! "  said  the  Professor,  with  a  calm,  superior 
snule.    '*  A  man  must  look  before  he  leaps,  mustn't  he  ?  " 

"  But  he  needn't  look  through  a  microscope  ! "  cried  Mr. 
Claviger.  "  To  the  whole  man,  to  the  man  for  whom  all  your 
science  exists,  the  world  is  something  more  than  a  museum  of 
curious  phenomena,  which  life  was  given  us  to  label.  Your  demi- 
god Spencer  has  pigeon-holed  the  universe  very  neatly — but 
aprh  f  We  live  by  admiration,  hope,  and  love  ;  and  can  I  admire 
ferrocyanide  of  potassium,  or  put  my  trust  in  sewer-gas,  or  enter- 
tain a  passion  for  the  seventy  elements  ?"  * 

**  What  a  Don  Juan !  •'  whispered  Nelly.    . 

'*  You  can  love  gold  1 "  murmured  Dagon. 

"  Believe  me,"  concluded  Mr.  Claviger  earnestly,  "  it  is  only  by 
emotion  that  the  world  is  saved  from  being  ridiculous." 

^*  It  is  only  by  emotion  that  the  world  is  made  ridiculous," 
amended  Bab. 

"  And  it  is  only  by  ridicule  that  the  world  is  saved  finom  being 
emotional,"  added  the  Marquis. 

''Epigram  is  a  good  servant  but  a  bad  master,**  said  Lord 
Thespis,  ^and  I  am  afraid  you  gentlemen  have  been  enslaved  by 

*  This  was  (roughly  speaking)  the  number  of  elements  recognised  by  tht 
old  pre-Mandottian  chemistry. 


THE  AUTOCRAT  AT  THE  BREAKFASTTASLE    itx 

h.  For  my  part,  1  prefer  the  original  apophthegm  to  your  revised 
versions.'' 

"Revised  versions  are  always  in  need  of  revision,"  said  the 
Premier.  *^  I  am  afraid  the  gentlemen  who  undertook  the  recent 
revision  of  the  Bible  have  done  more  to  unsettie  faith  by  their 
action  than  the  entire  secular  press  has  succeeded  in  doing  during 
the  last  decade." 

'*  Why  ?"  inquired  Sir  Hv^h  in  much  astonishment 

''You  see  it  hrings  so  strongly  before  people'sminds  that  the 
Bible  wasn't  written  in  English." 

**  I  wonder,"  put  in  Rockington  reflectively,  **  whether  they  were 
trying  to  prove  the  Bible  verbally  inspired  by  substituting  words 
of  their  own." 

"  It  reminds  me  of  the  Scotch  Professor/'  said  Dagon,  ^  who  in 
hb  lectures  on  '  Poetry  as  Criticism  of  life,'  proves  that  if  you 
remove  the  violent  Radical  passa^res  all  the  poets  are  Tories." 

*'Mafs  definition  of  poetry  is  better  Imown  than  his  poetry 
itself"  observed  Sir  Hugh. 

"His  strong  point  seems  to  be  weak  definitions,"  observed  the 
Marquis.  ^  Fancy  an  old  Irish  beggar-woman  whom  you  have 
just  relieved  coming  out  with  '  Och,  and.  may  the  Power  not  our- 
sUf  tiiat  makes  for  Righteousness  bless  you  and  your  childer.' 
But  what  will  we  not  worship,  now  that  our  religion  is  gone  ?" 

"  I  had  the  honour  of  dining  the  other  day  in  the  company  of 
the  King  of  Whytawai,"  said  Sir  Hugh,  "  and  both  at  the  dinner 
and  at  the  reception  his  Sable  Majesty  was  the  focus  of  enthusiastic 
interest  That  sort  of  thing  seems  to  me  worse  dian  even  the 
worship  of  blue  china." 

"  There's  a  man  of  good  taste  for  you.  Professor,"  cried  Bab. 
"He  is  a  cannibal  of  a  high  order,  by  all  accounts.  In  him  you 
have  the  love  of  humanity  in  its  purest  and  most  primitive  form." 

**  But  his  love  is  of  the  fleshly  school,"  added  Dagon. 

"  Some  people  are  bom  to  greatness,"  said  Nelly ;  "  some 
achieve  greatness " 

"But  most  thrust  it  on  others,"  concluded  Lord  Thespis. 

**  Oh,  you  are  rude ! "  cried  Nelly.  "  Taking  the  words  out  of 
my  mouth." 

**  But  you  didn't  want  them  to  remain  there,"  said  the  Premier 
chuckling. 

"It  has  often  struck  me,"  said  Sir  Arthur,  "that  the  intro- 
tioction  of  quotation  marks  into  a  musical  score  would  be  an 
advantage." 

"They  would  be  quite  unnecessary  in  your  own  case^"  said 
Dagon  gravely. 

"  But  still  one  occasionally  feels  the  want  of  them,"  said  Sir 
Arthur.  ''There  are  times  when  one  could  better  express  his 
meaning  by  the  help  of  a  quotation." 

"The  absence  of  quotation  marks  is  shared  by  converaeition, 
too!"  observed  Sir  Hugh. 

"Music  and  conversation  are  even  more  intimately  related  than 

M 


i63  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

that,"  said  the  Marquis. ,  **  At  least,  that  has  been  my  experience  as 
an  observer.  I  say  observer  because  I  have  no  ear.  To  me  music 
b  the  most  gratuitous  of  all  forms  of  noise." 

**  Gratuitous  I "  exclaimed  Nelly  ;  '*  when  Patti ^ 

There  was  a  burst  of  laughter,  amid  which  Dagon  could  be 
heard  protesting  that  music  W€ts  gratuitous,  for  one  simply  got 
notes  in  exchange  for  gold. 

**  No  ear,"  mused  Sir  Arthur.  '*  Well,  it  has  its  compensations. 
The  music  of  the  future  is  no  worse  to  him  than  the  music  of  the 
present* 

*'  1  am  interested  neither  in  the  music  of  the  future  nor  the 
future  of  music^''  said  the  Marquis.  "At  least,  only  to  the  extent 
of  wishing  that  it  may  have  none." 

*^Absit  omen!"*  cried  Sir  Arthur.  "But  I  admit  that  if  the 
music  of  the  future  is  to  be  the  music  of  the  future,  music  will  have 
no  future,  and  the  future  will  have  no  music" 

"Taurum  expellas  furci,  tamen  usque  recurret,"  said  the 
Marquis  laughingly.  "  I  really  think,  Mr.  Floppington,  my 
emendation  gives  a  much  more  pictorial  image  than  Horace's." 

"I  don't  go  in  for  worshipping  images— not  even  those  of 
poetry,^  said  ue  Premier,  with  a  somewhat  forced  laugh. 

"  Indeed  ! "  cried  Dagon.  "  I  understood  you  were  a  great 
admirer  of  Tennyson  1  ** 

"  Well,"  said  the  Premier  guardedly,  **  what  if  I  am  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing !  Only  I  thought  all  Englishmen  worshipped  the 
Idylls  of  his  manufacture.** 

'^  To  tell  the  truth,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Premier  with  a  sphinx- 
like smile,  "  I  really  don't  know  what  I  admire.** 

^  Most  people  admire  what  they  don't  know,**  said  Momus. 
^Oume  ignotum  pro  magnifico — ^yes,  myappetitc^s  most  terrific, 
oh  1  **  he  added  involuntarily. 

"  I  think  Tennyson  stands  quite  alone  in  present-day  English 
literature,*'  said  Bab. 

'*  He  has  feet  enough  to  stand  alone  1  **  exclaimed  Momus  and 
Dagon  simultaneously. 

"  Browning  is  surely  on  the  same  level,**  observed  Sir  Hugh. 

^  I  said  English  literature,**  said  Bab  coldly.  "  And  even  if  we 
are  to  take  foreign  poets  into  consideration,  timt  man  is  only  half  a 

goet  who  merely  writes  the  verse  and  leaves  it  to  a  Society  to  put 
I  the  meaning.^ 

*'  Poetry  was  not  written  to  afford  parsing  exercises  for  school- 
boys," said  Mr.  Lightfoot  angrily. 

"  Perhaps  that's  why  Society  is  so  tolerant  to  even  the  most 
antinomian  poetry,*'  said  Mr.  Dallox,  smiling.  "  It  knows  the  poet 
means  nothmg.** 

"  1  think  that  on  the  whole  modem  novelists  display  more 
invention  than  modem  poets,*  observed  Sir  Hugh. 

"And  modem  historians  than  modem  novelists,**  added  Dagon. 

"Truth  is  rarer  than  fiction,  but  I  don't  think  it's  stranger,** 
observed  Lord  Thespis. 


f-J 


THE  AUTOCRAT  AT  THE  BREAKFAST^TABLE    163 

•*  Truth  is  stranger  than  fiction,"  corrected  the  Premier 
oracularly.  **  Why,  even  within  my  experience  things  have  hap- 
pened which  nobody  would  believe,  which  would  even  be  declared 
impossible,  but  wmch,  in  reality,  are  much  more  possible  than 
probable.  I  have  known  the  wildest  attempts  succeed  by  their 
very  audacity." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  the  cause  of  the  success  of  American  fiction," 
said  the  Marquis  ;  *'  for  I  think  it  requires  the  highest  audacity  on 
the  part  of  an  author  to  venture  to  be  so  tame." 

*'  /  like  American  cheese  better  than  American  fiction,"  said 
FloppingtQn.  **  No  Boston  man  would  dare  to  rise  to  the  height 
of  a  reaUy  great  argument  such  as  I  could  suggest.  Greatness  in 
a  book  seems  to  the  Yankee  mind  to  mean  a  collection  of  little- 


nesses.'* 


"  I  anticipate  a  great  development  in  Transatlantic  novel- 
,  writing,"  said  Dagon.  '*  One  day  we  shall  read  announcements 
like  t&s :  '  The  Portrait  of  a  Peer,  a  novel  in  two  libraries,  by 
Henry  Howells.'" 

''At  that  rate  Richardson  will  soon  cease  to  be  a  classic," 
exclaimed  Bab.    "He  will  beg^n  to  be  read." 

"  Still,  even  American  fiction  is  better  than  our  modem  novel 
of  culture  (displaying  any  culture  indeed  but  that  of  the  art  of 
fiction),  with  its  sham  aesthetics  and  its  picked-up  philosophical 
jargon,"  said  Dagon. 

^  Yes ;  what  do  they  mean  by  putting  in  such  words  as 
*  Hypostatisation  *  ?  "  said  Nelly. 

"What  do  they  mean?"  cried  the  Marquis.  *' Evidently  you 
skipped  the  preface,  or  you  would  have  read  these  words  :  '  If  the 
author  only  succeeds  in  sending  one  human  being  to  his  dictionary, 
he  will  feel  he  has  not  written  wholly  in  vain.' " 

**  If  all  quotation  were  banished  firom  the  face  of  the  earth," 
intervened  Mr.  Claviger,  who  had  been  sitting  with  corrugated 
brow,  "we  should  have  far  more  independence  of  thought  I  mean 
quotation  in  the  widest  sense,  so  as  to  get  rid  of  party  shibboleths, 
scientific  catchwords  and  cut-and-dried  opinions  of  every  descrip- 
tion." 

"  Vous  voulez  done  faire  un  monde  de  Trappistes,"  cried  Sarah. 

**  Is  it  not  strange,"  continued  Mr.  Claviger,  turning  reflectively 
to  the  Professor,  ^'  that  men  should  put  a  formula  into  their  mouths 
to  steal  away  their  brkins  ? " 

*^  I  should  say  only  those  do  it  who  have  none  to  steal,"  said 
Bab. 

"  Many  people  talk  glibly  of  an  inspired  musician,  an  inspired 
poet,"  said  the  Premier,  "as  if  that  settled  it,  when  the  real  question 
seems  to  be,  inspired  by  whom  ?  " 

" Exactly  so,"  said  Thespis.  "That  is  where  the  other  arts  have 
*  the  advantage  over  acting.  In  the  actor  alone  is  the  spontaneity 
of  inspiration  actually  made  manifest." 

"I  don't  see  that,"  said  Sir  Arthur.  "If  there  were  no  re- 
hearsal^ there  might  be  some  truth  in  it.    I  think  Diderot  and 

M   2 


i64  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

Lewes  have  smashed  up  all  that  stuff  about  the  passion  of  tb» 
moment" 

'*  You  have  not  kept  au  courant  with  the  latest  literature  on  the' 
subject,"  replied  Thespis  in  a  hurt  tone.  '*  I  sent  you  my  pamphlet 
I  believe." 

'*  What  is  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Claude  on  the  point  ?"  inquired 
the  Premier. 

'*  What  makes  you  ask  that  ?  "  said  Thespis. 

"  Oh,  I  thought  he  wotQd  go  the  whole  hog  in  the  competition 
with  you,"  said  the  Premier.  **  By-the-by,  what  makes  him  always 
play  the  same  old  part  under  different  names  ? '' 

"He  evidently  believes  that  a  brave  man  struggling  with  adver- 
sity is  a  sight  for  the  gods,"  replied  Daeon. 

'*  If  that  is  so,  he  must  have  scored  tremendously  in  Hamlet," 
suggested  Thespis  slily. 

The  Premier  laughed  boisterously,  and  the  chiming  of  a  marble 
dock  mingled  with  his  cachinnations. 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "*  cried  Nelly.   "  The  Mating ! " 

Sir  John  Momus  and  Lord  Thespis  started  to  their  feet  in  con* 
sternation,  and  looked  at  each  other's  faces  and  watches. 

"  Oh,  you  two  are  all  right !  You're  only  down  for  monologues," 
cried  Nelly.    "  I  woiddn't  miss  poor  Ben*s  Ben  for  any  money." 

"And  I  promised  to  be  a  juror  in  Trial  by  Jury^  said  Dagon. 

"  Don't  worry  !  There'll  be  plenty  of  Jewry,"  said  Momus,  **to 
do  honour  to  one  of  its  body."  ! 

The  Premier,  inwardly  cursing  the  matinee,  accompanied  Miss ' 
Shepherd  to  the  door.  "  Good-bye,"  he  said  ;  **  you  didn't  enjoy 
yourself  Oh,  I  could  see  you  were  bored.  I  am  afraid  the^ 
company  was  badly  mixed.  But  it's  my  first  trial,  Nelly,  you  see. 
I  shan't  ask  you  to  meet  such  serious  people  again.  We  shall  have , 
a  rare  old  time  of  it,  all  to  ourselves,  eh,  Nelly  ?  Well,  good-bye. 
Always  glad  to  see  you." 

"  What  a  stunning  good  fellow  he  is,  when  you  come  to  kno«r 
him ! "  soliloquised  Nelly,  as  she  was  whirled  towards  the  Strand. 
'^  Who  would  have  thought  it  ?  I'll  join  the  Primrose  League  this 
very  day,  and  get  Famie  to  put  an  extra  verse  to  my  topical  song." 

When  the  Premier  returned  to  his  guests  he  found  them  discuss- 
ing the  influence  of  Judaism  on  Art,  and  commenting  on  the  fact 
that  while  there  were  great  Jewish  names  in  music,  in  acting,  and 
in  poetry,  painting  seemed  to  be  uninfluenced  by  Semitisnu  The 
Professor  was  laying  it  down  that  the  reason  was  that  Jews  had 
been  too  subjective  for  centuries,  and  had  withdrawn  themselves 
from  the  observation  of  external  nature.  They  could  produce  great 
philosophers  like  Spinoza,  but  they  would  have  to  wait  long  im  a 
man  with  equal  grasp  of  the  objective  world. 

"  I  was  much  interested  in  the  discovery  that  Jews  have  had  no 
influence  on  painting,"  observed  the  Marquis  laughingly,  wheo 
ererybody  had  said  his  say,  "because  it's  a  favourite  dieoryof 
mine  that  modem  Art  is  essentially  Mosaic" 

"  I  don't  quite  see  the  force  of  the  pun,"  observed  Dagon. 


r 


CONFIDENCES  165 


"It's  not  a  pun,"  protested  the  Marquis. 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  the  point  of  the  paradox,"  said  Mr.  Claviger 
m  a  puzzled  tone.    '*  Modem  Art  essentially  Mosaic  ?" 

"Yes.  The  more  I  see  of  modem  Art,  and  especially  of 
spiritualistic  and  allegorical  Art,  the  more  convinced  I  am  of  the 
truth  of  my  theory.  Mr.  Dallox  will  correct  me  if  I  quote  the 
Mosaic  Art  canons  wrongly  :  'Thou  shalt  not  make  unto  thee  any 
likeness  of  anything  that  is  in  the  heaven  above,  or  that  is  in  the 
earth  beneath,  or  that  is  in  the  water  under  the  earth.'*' 

The  Premier's  enjoyment  of  the  remark  was  intense.  Tears 
ran  down  his  cheeks,  and  he  swallowed  some  more  wine  in  his 
delight.  '^I  don't  think  the  lower  classes  would  stand  any 
Mosaicism  in  their  Art,"  he  observed  as  soon  as  the  laughter  had 
subsided.  "You  wouldn't  think,  Sir  Hugh,  that  I  know  some- 
thmg  of  Art  practically." 

'*  Indeed ! "  said  Sir  Hugh,  much  interested,  and  with  visions  of 
making:  the  Premier  an  R.A.,  and  himself  an  EarL  *'  Do  yon 
paint?* 

**  I  hav4  painted,"  replied  the  Premier,  "  though  of  course  I 
have  never  exhibited.  In  the  partial  eyes  of  my  poor  mother,  I 
might  have  attained  a  high  place  in  the  profession." 

*'  Well,  I  am  sure  there  were  few  better  judges  of  pictures 
in  England,'  said  Sir  Hugh.  "  I  don't  forget,  Mr.  Floppington,  how 
she  patronised  me  when  I  was  young  and  unknown,  and  prophesied 
that  I  would  one  day  get  to  the  top  of  the  ladder." 

"  Well,  I  gave  up  dimbing  the  ladder,"  said  the  Premier,  ^  and 
I  can't  say  I  regret  it.  I  certainly  prefer  cabinet-making  to  paint- 
ing," and  he  laughed  boisterously.  '*  I  am  afraid  people  wouldn't 
stand  my  pictures  in  their  dining-rooms,"  he  added. 

"  I  don't  know  that  they  would  be  worse  than  the  majority," 
said  the  Marquis,  smiling.  ^  As  a  rule,  the  worst  use  you  can  put 
a  picture  to  is  to  hang  it."  ^ 

"And  the  best  use, O  Philistine?"  queried  Sir  Hugh  scornfully. 

"  Sell  it  I "  exclaimed  the  Marquis.  And  more  hilarity  followed. 

But  the  departure  of  Miss  Shepherd  had  disintegrated  the 
party,  and  shordy  afterwards  the  Premier  was  left  alone  to  solilo- 
quise like  Marius  before  the  mins  of  the  breakfast 


CHAPTER   VIL 

CONFIDENCES. 


For  a  few  minutes  the  Premier  remained  grinning  at  the  parting 
complaint  of  Mr.  Bab  that  he  had  had  no  opportunity  to  let  off  one 
of  his  best  impromptus,  but  soon  his  countenance  grew  thoughtful. 
"  I  wonder  whether  they  put  on  their  mental  Sunday-clothes,"  he 
murmured  ;  "  but  whether  their  conversation  was  forced  or  not,  I 
fed  that  I  can  talk  quite  as  intellectually  or  as  wittily  as  any  of 


i66  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

them.*  And  he  took  to  bestriding  the  room  with  feverish  steps,  his 
breast  swelling  with  a  new  sense  of  triumphant  power. 

He  began  to  meditate  a  lavish  hospitality.  His  bachelor  con- 
dition soon  recurred  to  him.  More  than  ever  he  saw  the  need  of  a 
woman  to  grace  his  hospitable  board,  to  be  queen  of  a  salon  which 
should  be  famous  throughout  Europe,  to  supplement  his  political 
successes  by  social  triumphs.  His  only  near  relative,  a  married 
sister,  was  travelling  with  her  husband  in  their  yacht,  and  drawing 
up  a  diary  of  her  tour  for  use  in  Sunday-schools.  With  the  rest  of 
the  family  he  fraternised  hardly  at  all.  They  were  a  keen*  worldly 
lot.  He  had  never  mixed  much  with  them,  and  now  that  he  was 
Prime  Minister  he  thought  it  better  to  have  as  little  to  do  with 
them  as  possible.  He  had  a  horror  of  doing  anything  for  his 
family,  were  it  even  giving  away  the  smallest  Colonial  appointment 
He  for  one  would  be  clean-handed.  The  homy-handed  should 
have  nothing  to  reproach  him  with.  Was  it  strange  that  the  image 
of  Gwendolen  hovered  before  him  now  and  saddened  his  gay  mood? 
If  he  could  have  seen  her  sweet  face  on  the  other  side  of  the  table 
instead  of  the  grave  countenance  of  the  popular  comedian  I  Once 
more  he  wrestled  with  his  despair. 

The  entrance  of  Tremaine  roused  him.  The  secretary's  face 
flared  with  news  like  the  contents  bill  of  an  evening  paper. 

"Ah,  Tremaine!"  said  the  Premier.  "I  am  so  sorry  you 
couldn't  breakfast  with  us." 

"Whafs  the  odds?"  cried  Tremaine.  "Business  before  pleasure. 
Did  it  go  off  all  right?" 

"  Stunning  on  the  whole.  Though  they  didn't  all  hit  it  off  as 
well  as  I  had  hoped." 

The  secretary  smiled  with  an  expression  of  superior  foresight 
Then  his  face  clouded.  "  It  is  as  I  feared,"  he  said.  "  Mount- 
chapel  has  put  himself  at  the  head  of  a  coalition  of  old  Tories  and 
Anti-Suffragist  Liberals,  and  he  expects  to  gain  over  many  of  even 
the  Suffragist  Liberals." 

"  Oh ! "  said  the  Premier  indifferently.  "  You  can  put  a  young 
head  on  old  shoulders,  you  see." 

Tremaine  did  not  smile  at  the  mild  joke.  He  simply  stared  at 
his  master.    The  latter  yawned  heavily  and  lit  a  cigar. 

"  I  suppose  there'll  be  awful  disappointment  at  Brooks',"  he  re- 
marked, puffing  listlessly  at  the  fragrant  regalia.  "  They  must  have 
expected  his  lordship  to  join  the  party  altogether.*' 

"  Oh,  I  know  there  was  some  negotiation.  Bailey  was  the  inter- 
mediary, but  it  seems  the  talking  it  over  led  to  nothing." 

"  I  never  for  a  moment  entertained  the  idea  that  he  would  join 
the  Liberals,"  said  the  Premier,  with  another  yawn.  "  The  fellow 
wants  to  be  cock  of  the  walk,  and  the  Liberals  have  so  many  fighting 
cocks  that  it  Wouldn't  pay.  But  I  thought  he  had  gone  too  far  in 
the  direction  of  Female  Franchise  to  recede.  What's  his  platform 
now  ?  " 

"  We  shall  know  for  sure  by  to-morrow,  but  I  believe  he  takes 
up  the  ground  that  there  is  no  adequate  security  for  your  accepting 


r 


CONFIDENCES  167 


die  clause  in  Committee,  after  the  House  has  given  you  a  majority 
on  the  second  reading.  I  had  some  conversation  with  a  Liberal 
who  had  been  at  the  meeting  this  morning,  and  he  let  drop  these 
significant  words :  *  There  are  ways  by  which  a  Government,  though 
ostensibly  working  hard  for  the  msertion  of  a  clause,  can  succeed 
in  failing  to  carry  it'  Of  course  I  at  once  saw  the  idea  of  the  com- 
bination." ^ 

The  Premier's  eyes  twinkled  with  enjoyment 

"^  A  master-stroke  1  ^  he  exclaimed  in  admiration.  ^  It  enables 
him  at  once  to  lead  those  who  want  the  suffrage  and  those  who 
don't,  and  widiout  loss  of  consistency  too,  even  in  the  eyes  of  his 
late  colleagues  in  the  Cabinet    If  s  really  splendid  1  ^ 

Tremaine  did  not  appear  to  sh'are  his  master's  impersonal 
delight 

'*Yes,  for  MountchapeL  I  see  plenty  of  rocks  ahead,"  he 
observed  moodily. 

"  On  which  hell  be  the  first  to  split" 

Tremaine  shook  his  head  gravely.  He  had  always  trembled  at 
the  inevitable  consequences  of  the  Premier's  audacity  in  making  an 
open  enemy  of  this  man,  though,  of  course,  he  did  not  dare  to 
reproach  him. 

"  It's  of  no  use  underrating  him,"  he  said.  **  You'll  have  a  hard 
fight  to  get  the  Suffrage  Bill  through  the  second  reading  now." 

"I'm  sick  already  of  the  beastly  long  discussion,"  said  the 
Premier.  "There's  too  much  freedom  of  speech  given  to  the 
twaddling  rank  and  file.    If  there  was  a  twenty  minutes'  rule  as 

there  is  at  the but  I  don't  intend  to  let  the  debate   run  on 

beyond  Monday,  and  that'll  be  too  long." 

"Why,  it's  been  an  unprecedentedly  short  debate,"  muttered 
Tremaine. 

"And  then  they'll  be  coming  with  other  confounded  amendments 
in  Committee,  not  satisfied  with  adding  on  the  Female  Franchise 
clause,"  grumbled  the  Premier.  "  It's  time  an  end  was  made  of  all 
that  bosh.  It's  lucky  I'm  a  Conservative,  and  the  Lords,  at  least, 
will  let  the  Bill  alone." 

The  secretary  looked  at  his  master  in  fresh  surprise.  "  But, 
surely,"  he  ventured  to  remonstrate,  "now  that  Mountchapel  is  to 
be  the  head  of  a  strong  faction " 

"  D— n  Mountchapel,"  cried  the  Premier.  "  That's  not  the  first 
time  you've  looked  at  me  as  if  I  were  only  fit  for  a  lunatic  asylum 
or  a  seat  in  the  House  of  Lords.  I  won't  stand  it,  do  you  hear  ? 
By  the  way  )rou  funk  about  this  and  fimk  about  that,  and  lecture 
me  as  if  I  didn't  know  my  book  better  than  fifty  secretaries,  one 
would  never  guess  that  /  was  the  man  at  the  head  of  the  affairs  of 
the  country.  Once  for  all,  am  I  the  Prime  Minister  of  England,  or 
are  you  ?  " 

During  this  extraordinary  outburst  the  secretary  was  too  be- 
wildered and  shocked  to  do  anything  but  stand  in  dazed  silence. 
But  when  it  was  over,  he  said  with  white  lips  :  "  I  understand,  sir. 
I  have  seen  it  for  some  time.    I  will  no  longer  obtrude  my  services 


i68  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

upon  you."  He  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  the  room  like, a  man  in 
a  dream.  A  crowd  of  thoughts  and  pleasant  memories  jostled  in 
his  consciousness.  How  he  had  once  revered  this  man  !  Some- 
how, the  tears  came  into  his  eyes.  Then  he  felt  himself  grasped  by 
the  ann. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Tremaine  ?  "  cried  the  Premier  anxiously. 
*'  Surely  you  won't  desert  me,  too.  You  know  I  can't  do  witibout 
you." 

The  ^oung  man  flushed  deeply.  To  be  entreated  thus  by  the 
proud  Minister  was  a  new  expenence.  But  he  had  been  wounded 
very  deeply.     Gently  detaching  his  arm,  he  moved  away. 

"  Don't  be  obstinate,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  the  Premier  in 
piteous  tones.  "  I've  got  so  much  to  consult  you  about  before  I  go 
down  to  the  House.  It  isn't  as  if  I  were  in  the  habit  of  blowing  you 
up  ;  I  mustn't  go  in  for  champagne  in  the  morning  any  more,  I 
see." 

A  pang  of  remorse  shot  through  the  secretary's  heart,  that 
he  had  exposed  the  Premier  to  the  humiliation  of  this  con- 
fession. His  conscience  told  him,  moreover,  that  he  had  some- 
times presumed  upon  his  position.  It  was  true  that  Flopping^on 
had  always  admitted  him  to  an  extraordinary  familiarity,  or 
rather,  perhaps,  it  was  his  own  strong  character  that  had  imposed 
this  intimacy  upon  his  master's  wea^ess.  Not  that  their  mutuaJ 
confidence  was  unprecedented.  He  knew  that  Lord  Beaconsiiedd's 
secretary  had  attained  to  an  almost  equal  familiarity.  Still,  in 
view  of  the  greater  self-reliance  and  confidence  that  seemed  to 
have  come  with  the  tenure  of  power,  ought  he  not  to  have  re- 
frained from  any  half-conscious  attempt  to  play  the  part  of  Mentor  ? 
Besides,  it  would  be  nothing  less  than  ungrateful  and  dishonour- 
able to  abandon  the  Premier  at  this  criticad  moment  Without  a 
word  he  turned  back  and  re-entered  the  room. 

**  That's  a  brick,"  said  the  Premier,  dropping  into  his  chair  with 
a  sigh  of  relief.  "  Have  a  cigar."  Still  without  a  word,  Tremaine 
took  a  ci^r,  and  for  some  moments  the  two  men  smoked  in  con- 
strained silence.  Each  in  his  own  way  was  strangely  afifected  by 
the  reconciliation. 

"  See  here,  Tremaine,"  said  the  Premier  suddenly.  "  I'm  glad 
this  has  happened  It'll  give  me  an  opportunity  of  coming  to  an 
explanation  with  you." 

The  secretary  could  not  repress  a  look  of  astonishment 

The  Premier  smiled.  "  There  you  are  again  !  That's  just  the 
look  that  has  been  annoying  me  for  days  past.  You're  not  a  diplo- 
matist We  were  talking  about  that  over  breakfast— not  about  you, 
but  about  the  use  of  language  for  concealing  one^s  thoughts,  and  I 
suppose  facial  expression  was  given  us  for  the  same  purpose." 

The  young  man  took  the  good-humoured  hint  **  What  the 
devil  is  he  driving  at  now  ?  "•  he  thought 

"  To  put  it  plainly,  Tremainej"  continued  the  Premier,  dropping 
his  bantering  manner,  and  darting  a  sudden,  straight  glance  into 
the  othei's  eyes.    ^  You  iSnd  me  changed" 


r 


CONFIDENCES  169 


I      The  secretary  laughed  uneasily.    '*  Well,  I  do  somewhat,"  he 
admitted 

^'In  what  respects?"  said  the  Premier,  in  a  voice  firm,  but 
|iist  a  shade  tremulous.  He  still  kept  his  piercing  gaze  fixed  on 
die  secretary,  who  in  his  embarrassment  had  ceased  smoking.  '*  I 
am  anxious  to  know  how  I  impress  the  world.  I  want  the  truth 
ibom  you,  Tremaine,  for  I  shall  get  it  from  nobody  else.^ 

**  Well,  sir,"  answered  the  secretary  hesitatingly.  "  You  are  a 
trifle  more  imperious,  perhaps,  than  of  old.  And — ^and—  of  course 
lyou  have  become  much  more  of  a  Society  man.  You  Ve  gone  out 
imore  in  a  fortnight  than  you  used  to  do  in  a  year.  And  your 
spirits  are  better,  and  you  make  more  jokes.  And — I  really  believe 
IthafsalL" 

<<  On  ^our  word  of  honour  ?"  said  the  Premier,  with  a  gleam  of 
itrhunph  m  his  eyes. 

I      '*  Well,  you  are  a  little  more  slangy  than  you  used  to  be." 
\      **  Ha !  ha !  ha  1 "  roared  the  Premier.    **  You  noticed  [that,  did 
you  ?    Yes,  I  think  I've  done  that  part  of  the  business  to  perfection. ** 
,He  was  convulsed  with  laughter.    All  sorts  of  strange  suggestions 
flashed  through  Tremaine's  mind. 

"Well,"  said  the  Premier,  recovering  himself  with  difficulty,  "  I 
suppose  you  are  curious  to  know  the  reason  of  the  change." 

Tremaine  looked  offended.    *'  I  hope  I  am  not  liable  to  im- 
;  proper  curiosity,  sir,"  he  said.     ^  Nor  do  I  desire  to  seek  your 
confidence  on  any  point  not  connected  with  my  duties." 

"That's  all  rot,  as  somebody  I  know  used  to  say.     It's  not 
!  in  human  nature.     Between  us  two  there  ought  to  be  perfect  frank- 
ness and  no  tomfoolery.    Anyhow,  I  am  going  to  let  you  into  the 
I  know,  for  I'm  sure  you'll  respect  my  secrets.    You've  read  Martin 
\  ChuzzUwitV^    Tremaine  shook  his  head.    '*Wel^  Our  Mutual 
Friend}^ 

**No,"  said  Tremaine,  lightly,  but  in  reality  trembling  with 
cariosity.     ^  I  don't  read  any  fiction  but  our  own  protocols." 

"  You  org  a  duffer,  spoiling  my  illustrations  like  that.  Well,  to 
oit  it  short,  if  I  am  not  the  old  Floppington  you  used  to  know,  the 
reason  is,  that  I  9XSi  playing  a  part,  I  thought  I'd  make  you  open 
your  eyes.    Well,  this  is  how  it  all  came  about    A  couple  of  months 

ago,  when  things  were  as  black  as  night  for  my  Ministry " 

•*  They  are  just  as  black  now,"  said  the  secretary. 
The  Premier  laughed.     "That's  all  you  know  about  it,  my  boy. 
Take  a  match.    You  have  let  your  cigar  go  out    There  had  been 
a  Cabinet  Council  in  the  morning,  at  which  Mountchapel  hinted  at 
resignation  if  I  didn't  let  him  have  his  own  way.    As  that  was 
impossible,  I  had  almost  determined  to  resign  myself.    The  night 
came,  and  I  had  not  yet  decided  what  to  do.    At  last  I  dashed  out 
into  the  street  and  went  for  a  walk  in  the  hope  of  getting  rid  of  a 
splitting  headache,  and  to  see  if  things  would  be  clearer  in  the  cool 
air,  and  at  last  found  myself  in — in  Fleet  Street" 
'^  A  long  walk,"  murmured  the  enthralled  listener. 
*^  I  believe  you.  All  at  once  my  attention  was  attracted  by  a  bill 


I70  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

in  a  public-house  window,  stating  that  the  subject  for  the  nig^ht'f 
debate  was:  *Will  Mountchapel  resign?'  Obeying  a  sudden 
whim,  I  drew  my  hat  over  my  eyes  and  went  in." 

"Why,  it's  just  like  the  Arabian  Nights /^  cx\t^  Tremaine; 
''  Like  what*s-his-name  and  his  vizier.  I  am  sorry  I  wasn't  with 
you  to  complete  the  parallel." 

"  Haroun  Alraschid  is  the  man  you  mean.     It  struck  me  at  ] 
the  time.    Well,  entering,  I  found  myself  in  a  long  room  with  \ 
mirrors  all  round  it,  and  benches  laden  with  decently  dressed  men,  I 
nearly  all  eating  or  drinking  at  little  tables,  or  having  done  so,  or 
about  to  do  so.     My  entrance  attracted  no  attention.    The  room 
was  crowded.    There  was  a  fellow  on  his  legs  addressing  a  sort  of  | 
Mr.  Speaker  ;  and  so,  on  securing  a  bit  of  table,  I  ordered  my  pint  j 
of  beer  as  I  saw  I  was  expected  to  do,  and  burying  my  head  in  my  | 
hands  and  sipping  my  beer  slowly,  I  listened.    You  are  interestec^  | 
eh  ?    Oh,  1  know  what  you're  smiling  at    You  beg^in  to  remember  \ 
that  Saturday  night  ?  Well,  yes,  you  Ve  guessed  right     I  did  finish  ! 
the  beer — quite  unconsciously  in  my  excitement    The  fact  was  j 
that  the  man  was  an  uncommonly  clever  chap,  in  proof  of  which  I  ' 
need  only  tell  you  that  he  predicted  that  I  would  never  pass  the 
Bill  unless  I  added  this  Female  Franchise  clause  to  it   Well,  I 
have  often  been  smashed  up  in  the  Commons  and  elsewhere,  but  I 
was  dissected  by  this  fellow.    The  metaphor  well  expresses  the  dif- 
ference.   My  enemies  in  the  House  pounded  me  to  annihilate  me.  ^ 
This  fellow — whom  I  honestly  reckon  the  best  friend  I  ever  had— 
this  fellow  cut  me  up  only  to  demonstrate  scientifically  where  I 
was  diseased.     He  took  my  whole  life  to  pieces  and  analysed  me 
till  I  blushed  in  my  hat     He  asked  how  it  was  that  a  man  who 
had  come  into  office  with  a  majority  at  his  back— a  man  of  such 
reputed  high  principle  and  oratorical  power — couldn't   keep    a 
Ministry  together  for  three  months?    And  he  answered  his  own 
questions  in  a  style  that  almost  made  me  feel  he  was  more  fitted 
lor  my  post  than  myself.    He  pointed  out,  in  elaborate  detail,  how 
and  where  I  had  gone  wrong  ;  and,  better  still,  how  I  could  ^et 
right  again.    Little  by  little  l]be  man's  enthusiasm  took  possession 
ot  me.     My  heart  throbbed  with  fierce  determination.    And  when 
the  speaker  sat  down  amid  well-deserved  plaudits,  I  dashed  into 
the  street — another  man.    Yes,  another  man,"  repeated  the  Premier 
solemnly.  **  I  entered  the  room  resolved  to  resign.  I  left  it  resolved 
to  rule  I  had  a  strange  feeling  that  Providence  must  have  directed 
my  steps — you  know  I  was  always  a  religious  man,  Tremaine — and 
I  determined  to  be  guided  by  the  audible  voice  of  Heaven."    The 
Premier  rose,  and  began  to  pace  the  room.      His  words  came 
quickly  and  passionately.    ''  Tne  man  said  :  '  Let  him  get  rid  of 
Mountchapel  and  assert  himself  more.'    I  have  got  rid  of  Mount- 
chapel and  asserted  myself  more.    The  man  said  :  '  Let  him  add 
the  Female  Suffrage  clause.'    I  have  pledged  myself  to  accept  the 
clause  as  an  amendment    The  man  said :  *•  Let  him  drop  his  poetry 
and  be  a  Minister  of  the  people.'     I  have  dropped  my  poetry,  and 
am  trying  to  become  a  Minister  of  the  people^ 


CONFIDENCES  171 

'^  You  understand  now  what  I  meant  by  saying  I  was  playing  a 
part.  In  opposition  to  my  nature  I  am  schooling  myself  in  every 
possible  way  to  be  a  practical  man  of  the  world,  as  my  heaven- 
sent adviser  directed  me.  Perhaps  in  time  habit  will  give  me  a 
second  nature,  and  I  shall  cease  to  play  a  part.  In  the  meantime, 
the  belief  that  God  is  with  me  has  made  me  strong,  though  I  am 
weak  ;  resolute,  though  I  am  wavering ;  confident^  though  I  am 
doubtfuL  The  &ith  that  inspired  Joan  of  Arc  inspires  me.  Fear, 
distrust,  doubt,  cannot  chiU  me  with  their  icy  touch.  I  shall 
triumph." 

The  sublime  conviction  of  this  last  cry  sent  an  electric  shock 
through  the  breathless  listener.  Involuntarily  he  extended  his 
hand  m  congratulation,  and  the  Premier  clasped  it  with  an  emotion 
he  made  no  effort  to  conceal.  At  this  moment  Tremaine  felt 
ready  to  make  any  sacrifice  for  his  beloved  master. 

^'  As  for  the  slang,"  said  the  Premier  with  a  forced  lightness  that 
the  secretary  well  appreciated,  ^  I  have  made  a  special  study  of  it 
A  Minister  of  the  people  must  speak  the  language  of  the  people." 

**  Well,  really,"  said  Tremaine,  smiling,  **  you  speak  it  like  your 
mother  tongue." 

**  Whatever  is  worth  doing  is  worth  doing  well.  I  think  I  could 
give  you  points,  though  I  admit  I  have  learnt  something  from 
you." 

Tremaine  blushed.  ''And  now  I  can  learn  something  from 
you.    Where,  in  Heaven's  name,  did  you  pick  it  all  up  ?  " 

**  Society  novels,  my  boy.  See  what  you  miss  by  not  reading 
fiction."  Tremaine  laughed.  "All  the  Treasury  clerks  read  fiction," 
said  the  Premier,  "  though  they  are  ashamed  to  confess  it,  for  they 
hide  their  novels  whenever  I  look  in.  By-the-by,  I  shall  want  an 
extra  private  secretary." 
"  Why  ?"  asked  Tremaine. 

**  You  see,"  replied  the  Premier  nonchalantly,  "  I  really  can't  see 
any  fit  man  to  succeed  Mountchapel  at  the  Foreign  Office,  so  I  am 
going  to  take  the  work  on  my  own  shoulders." 

This  starding  announcement  took  away  the  secretary's  breath. 
He  stared  at  the  intrepid  Minister  in  mingled  admiration  and 
amazement 

"  There's  nothing  to  fiink  about,"  said  the  Premier,  with  a  bright 
smile.  "  I  shall  get  Grantley  to  post  me  up  in  no  time.  What's 
an  extra  department  ?  Besides,  it  saves  dissension  in  the  Cabinet, 
don't  you  know  ?    I  can't  be  in  a  minority  of  one  any  more." 

The  secretary  could  not  resist  the  infection  of  his  master's 
spirits.  He  smiled  too.  **  But  the  Press  will  protest,"  he  ventured 
to  urge. 

"  The  Press  protest  ?"  demanded  the  Minister  haughtily.  "  Do 
you  think  I  care  a  snap  of  the  fingers  for  the  opinions  of  the  Press? 
What  right  have  the  seedy  scribblers  or  the  editorial  nobodies  one 
meets  in  drawing-rooms  to  interfere  with  my  disposal  of  the  offices 
at  my  command  ?" 

^  As  representatives  of  the  public,"  murmured  the  secretary; 


172  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

''Representatives  of  the  public.  Yes,  I  know,**  said  the 
Premier  with  a  disdainful  laugh.  '*  Pothouse  journalists  !  And 
what  in  Heaven's  name  can  they  find  to  say  ?" 

'*  Why,  that  the  Constitution  demands  that  the  two  offices  should 
be  separate,  because  in  all  important  matters  the  Secretary  of 
State  for  Foreign  Affairs  should  consult  and  should  defer  to  the 
Head  of  the  Government'* 

''  Well,  it  seems  to  me  that  there*s  no  danger  of  that  article 
being  violated  now  that  Mountchapel's  gone,"  replied  Floppington 
sharply;  "I  can't  act  without  consulting  myself,  can  I  ?" 

Tremaine  dared  not  say  more.     He  changed  the  subject 

"  By-the-by,"  hft  cried,  "  I  had  almost  forgotten.  There's  a 
letter  from  Ponsonby  grumbling  about  the  delay  in  selecting  the 
new  Mistress  of  the  Robes." 

*^  Bother  the  new  Mistress  of  the  Robes  and  ker  mistress  too ! " 
cried  the  Premier  irritably.  "As  if  I  haven't  got  enough  trouble 
with  her  reports !  These  humbugging  litde  appointments  are 
enough  to  drive  a  man  mad.  If  it  wasn't  for  the  pleasure  of  having 
these  big  pots  under  one's  thumb,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  ''  I'd 
chuck  the  blooming  thing  up  in  disgust  But  after  all,  they  come 
in  very  handy  at  a  crisis  like  this." 

This  last  reflection  was  not  uncalled  for.  Indeed,  he  intended 
to  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  secure  the  second  reading  of  his  Bill, 
and  the  passing  of  his  measures  generally.  During  &e  whole  of 
his  term  of  office  he  was  an  ever-spouting  fount  of  honour,  ejecting 
profuse  side-streams  of  stars  and  ribbons,  of  Commissionerships 
and  Colonial  Governorships,  together  with  smaller  jets  of 
baronetages  and  peerages,  while  a  great  shining  central  column 
dashed  its  spray  to  the  skies,  fiascinating  the  heaven-seeking  gaze  * 
of  devout  Churchmen.  It  is  not  every  Prime  Minister  who  is  lucky 
enough  to  be  able  to  keep  this  glittering  central  jet  at  work,  as  its 
subterranean  machinery  is  only  kept  in  order  by  the  breaking  down 
of  other  mechanisms. 

Sir  Archibald  Alison  wrote  many  ponderous  volumes  to  prove 
the  first  half  of  Rockington's  epigram — that  Providence  was  on  the 
side  of  the  Tories  ;  but  an  unl^lieving  generation  had  grown  up 
who  knew  not  Alison,  and  were  consequently  ignorant  of  the 

golitical  leanings  of  Providence.  To  them,  this  great  truth  must 
ave  been  brought  home  by  the  amount  of  ecclesiastical  patronage 
that  fell  to  the  share  of  Floppington.  His  opponents  had  been  in 
office  a  long  time  before  an  adverse  division  in  the  House  and  in 
their  own  ranks  had  compelled  them  to  retire  to  the  cool  shades 
of  opposition.  During  that  period  it  was  noticeable  that  the 
Bishops  were  given  to  flying  irreverently  in  the  face  of  the 
Psalmist's  statistics  of  mortality.  They  went  on  clinging  to  the 
Church  long  after  they  were  able  to  enter  one  unaided,  the  props 
of  the  Church  being  themselves  in  need  of  propping  ;  while  as  to 
minor  dignitaries,  it  was  noticed  that  the  Canons,  being  of  Govern- 
ment manufacture,  did  not  go  off;  and  the  Deans  must  have  con- 
siderably increased  the  dividends  of  the  insurance  companies. 


CONFIDENCES  173 

Tbis  was  very  sad.  Liberal  Churchmen  were  getting  tired  of  wait- 
ing, forgetting  that  they  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait.  But 
no  sooner  had  the  Liberals  gone  out  and  the  Conservatives  come 
in,  than  all  was  changed.  It  is  true  that  in  the  early  months  of  the 
new  Ministry  things  ecclesiastical  went  on  as  usual  Nature  does 
not  make  changes  by  leaps.  But  when  the  English  summer  came, 
then,  as  the  Member  for  Queeropolis  brutally  put  it,  the  ecclesiastics 
migrated  in  shoals  to  a  warmer  clime ;  and  Floppington  found 
himself  with  quite  a  plethora  of  patronage  at  his  disposal.  The 
party  enjoyed  it,  without  a  doubt ;  but  Floppington  did  not  The 
many  rival  claims  he  had  to  dispose  of  as  each  piece  of  preferment 
fell  vacant  worried  him.  He  seemed  to  have  the  great  drawback 
to  a  man  in  authority  of  being  conscientious.  Perhaps  he  had  an 
exaggerated  idea  as  to  the  duties  and  qualifications  of  a  bishop  or 
a  dean ;  but  certainly  he  could  not  be  brought  by  his  supporters  to 
see  that  being  the  second  cousin  of  a  duke  who  had  subscribed 
liberally  to  the  election  fund  at  the  Carlton,  gave  a  man  a  prima 
facie  right  to  a  bishopric  or  a  deanery.  '*A  man  should  have 
something  of  the  apostolic  spirit,"  he  said  to  Tremaine  ;  and  he 
shook  his  head  in  a  dissatisfied  way  when  that  gentleman  calmly 
repUed  :  ^  Quite  so ;  but  it's  as  easy  to  find  it  in  the  second  cousin 
of  a  staunch  Tory  as  anywhere  else,  especially  if  you  look  for  it." 
Still,  on  the  whole,  he  managed  fairly  well ;  though  when  he  con- 
ferred an  important  appointment  on  a  Radical,  his  supporters  felt 
dissatisfied.  They  thought  that  when  Providence  showed  such  an 
evident  desire  to  be  saved  by  Tory  Ministers,  it  bordered  on  blas- 
phemy to  refuse  to  g^tify  it.  But  then  Floppington  got  a  good 
deal  of  praise  for  his  impartiality,  which  consoled  him  and  pleased 
the  party.  They  felt  it  a  great  tiling  to  be  led  by  a  man  who  could 
rise  superior  to  mere  considerations  of  party,  provided  he  didnH 
rise  too  frequently. 

But  much  of  this  impartiality  was  yet  to  vent  itself.  Up  to  the 
present  period  of  our  history  he  had  done  little  to  earn  the  ingrati- 
tude of  the  receivers  of  his  patronage.  But  now  the  news  that 
Lord  Bardolph  Mountchapel  was  organising  a  faction  against  him 
reminded  him  afresh  of  the  necessity  of  looking  after,  if  not 
exactly  the  waverers,  yet  their  brothers,  and  their  cousins,  and  their 
uncles.  It  struck  him  that  the  few  hours  which  would  elapse  before 
he  went  down  to  the  House  could  not  be  better  employed  than  in 
going  over  his  lists  of  appointments  and  applicants,  the  latter 
known  to  him  in  ways  ranging  through  infinitely  subtle  gradations 
from  direct  demand  to  indirect  refusal. 

He  whistled  occasionally  as  he  went  on,  but  not  from  want  of 
thought  Now  and  then  he  dictated  a  letter  to  Tremaine,  or  gave 
him  a  rough  draft  which  was  passed  on  to  the  assistant  secretaries 
m  an  adjoining  room. 

''It's  awfully  hot,**  said  Floppington,  pausing  for  an  instant 
^  I  think  I  could  work  better  without  my  coat"  He  took  it  off, 
and  shong  it  carelessly  over  the  back  of  a  chair.  "All  real  working 
men  work  in  their  shirt-sleeves  in  this  weather.  You'd  better  do 
yitto*^ 


174  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

'*  Pm  not  very  hot,"  said  Tremaine,  smiling.  ''  If  a  national 
crisis  should  arise  now,  you  would  be  found  somewhat  like 
Cincinnatus." 

'^  Except  that  I  should  be  a  dictator  already,**  replied  the 
Premier  with  a  hearty  laugh*  "  I  wonder  how  many  people  in 
England  would  accept  a  Garter  on  condition  of  wearing  the  full 
robes  in  addition  to  their  ordinary  clothing  all  through  the  Dog 
Days." 

^  Let  me  see,"  mused  the  secretary.  **  The  male  population 
of  England  is  twelve  millions." 

"  Mosdy  fools,"  added  the  Premier  laughingly.  "  Well,  I 
dare  say  you're  right.  An3rhow,  the  male  population  serves  to  re- 
cruit the  Upper  House,  whither  Blenkinsop  will  appropriately  lead 
the  way.  You  know  his  mania  for  shaking  hands  with  real  live 
lords.  Well,  he  will  soon  be  able  to  gratify  it  by  shaking  himself 
by  the  hand  from  early  morn  tiU  late  eve."  - 

'*  Blenkinsop  to  receive  a  peerage ! "  cried  the  secretary,  in  one 
of  those  fits  of  irrepressible  surprise  for  which  he  had  just  been 
reproached.    "  Blenkinsop  ! " 

*'  I  don't  see  why  he  should  be  debarred  from  the  honour,"  the 
Premier  answered  with  comic  indignation.     '*  He's  done  nothing !" 

Tremaine  smiled  £untly.  ^  No,  indeed,"  he  said.  "  He  hasn't 
even  made  himself  obnoxious." 

''If  promotions  were  made  on  the  principle  of  rewarding 
obnoxiousness,"  replied  the  Premier  reflectively,  "what  did  not 
the  Parnellites  deserve  at  the  hands  of  the  late  Government  ?  " 

"  They  would  deserve  the  same  from  any  Government  It  be- 
comes increasingly  plain  every  day  that  they  vote  against  any 
English  Ministry  whatever  its  creed.  Mr.  Pamell  will  probably  be 
known  in  history  by  a  name  analogous  to  Warwick's — the  Ministry- 
Maker  or,  better  still,  the  Ministry-Breaker.*' 

The  Premier  was  surveying  his  confidential  secretary  with  an 
amused  smile. 

"Never  prophesy  unless  you  know,"  he  said,  with  bantering 
condescension.  "As  a  matter  of  fact  the  Parnellites,  after  having 
shown  themselves  the  truest  friends  of  the  Conservatives  by  voting 
with  them  against  Female  Suffrage  and  bringing  them  into  power, 
will  now,  by  remaining  staunch  and  voting  with  them  for  it,  keep 
tbem  in  power." 

Tremaine's  expression  of  utter  amazement  sent  Floppington  into 
fits  of  laughter.  After  a  moment  the  secretary's  face  took  on  a 
sympathetic  radiance.  The  conviction  of  victory  with  which  his 
whole  being  had  momentarily  vibrated  at  the  "  I  shall  triumph  "  of 
Floppington,  again  penetrated  his  soul,  but  this  time  the  impression 
was  calmer  and  more  likely  to  last 


§ook  leik 


CHAPTER  L 

SALLY  AND  THE  PAINTER  GO  THROUGH    PERILS  TOGETHER. 

ACK  DAWE  did  not  take  the  pill  his  mother  recom- 
mended, and  his  mental  atmosphere  continued  over- 
cast by  the  November  fog  of  pessimism.     He  walked 
about  listlessly  for  days,  with  the  aspect — but  not,  alas, 
with  the  unconsciousness — of  a  somnambulist.  As,  with 
haggard  and  feverish  looks,  he  stalked  aimlessly  along 
the  squalid  regions,  he  might  well  have  seemed  their  soul  of  misery  in- 
carnate. Sleep  received  him  grudgingly,  and  regaled  him  with  visions 
of  Eliza,  who  alternately  shrivelled  him  up  with  the  scornful  fire  of 
her  fierce  black  eyes,  and  maddened  him  with  the  tender  dialect  of 
the  nursery.     Of  that  other  face,  with  the  dreamy  gray  eyes— which 
the  humble  painter  had  probably  first  caught  sight  of  in  a  box  at 
the  Lyceum — Somnus  vouchsafed  not  a  glimpse;  a  fit  punishment 
for  his  infidelity  to  Eliza  and  his  presumption  in  looking  so  high. 
A  cat  may  look  at  a  king,  and  a  painter  at  an  heiress  ;  but  only 
to  paint  her,  dien  eniendu.    When  morning  came  he  rejoiced  that 
night  was  gone ;  when  evening  came  he  was  glad  that  it  was  near. 
Coming  down  in  his  slippers  one  morning  to  breakfast,  he  found,  to 
his  surprise,  everything  dark.     A  few  rays  of  sunlight  stealing 
through  chinks  in  the  parlour-shutters  showed  that  outside  it  was 
day,  £ough  they  did  not  diminish  the  obscurity. 

"It  is  perhaps  thus  with  the  few  gleams  of  intuition  which 
traverse  the  darkness  of  the  spirit,"  mused  Jack,  softly  descending 
the  last  stair.  "  They  do  not  dispel  it,  but  point,  maybe,  to  a  great 
Source  of  Light  somewhere.  Or,"  he  added,  with  a  melancholy 
smile,  "  these  rays  resemble  the  glittering  speeches  of  my  early  days, 
which  were  more  concerned  to  prove  the  brilliancy  of  their  source 
than  to  light  up  the  questigns  at  issue." 

He  threw  open  the  shutters,  and  hearing  a  scampering  of  tiny 
feet,  he  turned  round  in  time  to  see  the  ^  vanishing  point ''  of  a 
tail. 

"  At  least,"  he  muttered,  "  I  have  not  skulked  into  a  hole,  fearing 
the  light  of  Truth.     Steady,  my  child,  steady  I " 


176  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

The  last  remark  was  prompted  by  a  bound  into  the  parlour  that 
made  the  stufied  birds  tremble  on  their  perches,  and  Mrs.  Dawe 
and  her  late  husband  clatter  ominously  agiainst  the  green  and  gold 
walL  Sally,  slipshod,  with  defiant,  unwashed  £ace,  dishevelled  hair, 
grimy,  tumed-up  nose,  and  panting  bosom,  almost  fell  into  his  arms, 
unable  to  recover  herself  after  clearing  three  stairs  at  a  jump. 

"  /  don't  care,"  cried  Sally  breathlessly.  '^  I  wish  it  was  twelve 
o'clock  instead  of  nine  ;  and  a  jolly  good  job  too  ! " 

*'  Have  you  overslept  yoursdf  ?'*  asked  Jack  mildly. 

^  What  rot !  Overslept  myself,  indeed  1  No,  it's  all  over  my 
dreams  which  was  'strorainary  long,  that^s  all." 

*'  Your  dreams !  And  what  are  they  about  ?  "  Jack  inquired 
with  amused  interest. 

'*  You !  "  Sally  jerked  out  with  a  sullen,  defiant  bluntness. 

'*  Me ! "  said  Jack,  smiling.  ''  Why,  my  good  girl,  what  can  you 
dream  about  me  ?  " 

'*  Don't  call  me  a  good  girl,  'cos  I  ain't,"  returned  Sally  snap- 
pishly. "  Lately  youVe  been  that  gentle  with  me  that  I  can't  bear 
It  no  longer.  You  never  used  to  speak  a  good  word  for  me  with 
the  old  'un  before,  or  say  '  Thanky '  when  I  brings  yer  yer  boots,  as 
if  I  was  a  homed  lady,  and  youll  have  to  drop  it ;  d'yer  ?  " 

Her  indignation  brought  tears  into  her  eyes. 

''My  dear  child,"  said  Jack,  who  stood  amazed  before  this 
singular  outburst,  "whatever  has  put  such  ridiculous  ideas  into 
your  head  ?  " 

*'  Dunno.  P'raps  they  growed  overnight"  In  spite  of  the 
hard  sullenness  of  the  tone,  her  voice  trembled  a  little; 

**  Then  you  had  ridiculous  dreams.  All  dreams  are  nonsense, 
you  foolish  g^irl ! " 

"  This  wasn't  no  nonsense,  and  I'd  dream  it  again  if  I  'ad  the 
chance.    You  see  this  'ere pin." 

'*  Yes,"  said  Jack,  looking  curiously  at  a  long  white  pin,  which 
Sally  had  extracted  from  the  bosom  of  her  dress. 

'*  Oh  my,  didn't  she  scream  1 "  cried  Sally  voluptuously. 

"Who?" 

**Why, 'er." 

"Eliza?   Vou  pricked  Eliza  I" 

"  Pricked  ain't  the  word.  You  see,  she  was  sittin'  with  yon  on 
this  *ere  sophy  with  'er  arm  round  your  neck,  and  as  I  was  in  the 
yard  a-deanin'  the  knives  and  forks  I  'eard  'er  a-spoonin'  through 
the  open  window,  and  all  at  once  I  takes  out  this  'ere  pin  and  runs 
it  right  into  'er  shoulder.  She  g^ve  such  a  screech  I  woke  up  in  a 
fright;  and  when  I  looked  out  of  a  window  and  see  Tim  Popper  plav- 
in'  'is  whistle  and  carryin'  'is  books,  I  knowed  it  was  nine  o'docM, 
and  I  rushed  down." 

"  But,  my  dear  child,  you  acted  very  wrongly  in  wounding  an 
innocent  young  woman  for  no  reason  whatever." 

*'  Oh,  go  it,  I  Imowed  you'd  take  'er  part" 

'*  But  just  consider  the  question  logically.  You  should  not  be 
cruel,  even  in  dreams ^ 


r 


THROUGH  PERILS  TOGETHER  177 


"rn  dream  what  I  like  without  asking  your  leave,"  retorted 
Sally. 

*'  You  are  not  amenable  to  reason,"  said  Jack,  still  mildly. 
"  Instead  of  being  sorry  and  your  conscience  pricking  you ^* 

"  I'd  prick  Vr  with  mjr  conscience  if  I  'ad  the  chance,"  cried  the 
irritated  Sally,  bursting  mto  loud  sobs 

''  Hush^  my  poor  girl,"  whispered  Jack,  in  wondering  alarm. 
He  felt  as  impotent  before  the  complexities  of  the  female  character 
as  before  those  of  his  own. 

The  admonition  but  increased  her  sobs  in  volume  and  in 
intensity. 

"  Hush,"  he  repeated,  "  you'll  wake  Mrs.  Dawe." 

The  sobs  ceased  immediately.  Supreme  surprise  excluded  all 
other  emotion. 

"  What,  aint  she  up  ?  "  gasped  Sally.    "  Then  she's  dead  \ " 

^  Dead  1 "  gasped  her  son,  turning  deadly  pale  as  the  horror  of 
the  situation  Sashed  across  him.  Dead  thus  suddenly,  without 
saying  farewell  to  her  only  child  1 

'*  Impossible  t "  he  cried. 

^  That's  why  I  never  yerd  'er  this  momin',  and  that's  why  I 
never  waked.  For  the  ten  yeers  I've  been  'ere  she's  alius  been  up 
at  six." 

"  But  she  may  be  ill,"  urged  Jack. 

"  111,  what  rot  I "  cried  Sally.    **  She  never  was  ill  in  'er  life  I  " 

Jack  had  by  this  time  recovered  some  of  his  equanimity. 
"What  a  striking  illustration,"  he  remarked  to  Sally,  **your  mind 
is  of  Mill's  theory  of  unbroken  experience  ! " 

"  What  rot  I '  returned  Sall)r.  "  I  never  'ad  a  week  of  unbroken 
experience  in  my  life.  Arx  missus.  And  we  don't  keep  no  cat, 
worse  luck." 

So  saying  she  was  rushing  upstairs,  when  a  shrill  shriek  of 
**  Sally  1 "  from  the  upper  regions  made  her  heart  go  pit-a-pat  as 
though  she  had  heard  a  voice  from  the  ^ave. 

**  Well,  did  you  ever?"  queried  Sally.  As  this  is  one  of  the 
({uestions  which  have  this  in  common  with  the  problems  in  preten- 
tious philosophical  books,  that  no  one  expects  an  answer  to  them, 
Jack  did  not  give  any.  Besides,  the  Teutonic  vagueness  of  the 
phraseology  rendered  doubtful  the  precise  question  at  issue. 

"  Oh,  you're  'ere  at  last,"  cried  Mrs.  Dawe,  sitting  up  in  bed  as 
Sally  entered.  Her  face,  massy,  large,  and  round,  like  Satan's 
shidd,  was  covered  with  discordant  beads  of  perspiration  and  oil, 
and  topped  by  a  dirty  cotton  nightcap.  The  room  was  large  and 
square,  covered  with  discordant  strips  of  carpet,  and  topped  by  a 
dirty  ceiling. 

**  I  came  as  quick  as  I  could.  What's  a  matter  a-shriekin'  like 
that?"  said  Sally.    *' I  thought  you  was  dead." 

'*  I  know  you'd  murder  me  if  you  could,"  cried  Mrs.  Dawe, 
"a-lettin'  me  odl  you  for  hours.  You'd  walk  a  jolly  sight  quicker 
at  my  funeral" 

**  What  rot  I    You  know  you've  got  to  creep  along  at  a  funeraL" 

N 


^ 


f7«  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 


^  Yon  hussy  t  To  mention  about  my  funeral,  indeed  !  It  makes 
my  flesh  creep — but  I'll  show  you  who's  got  most  life  in  'er." 

Suiting  the  intention  to  the  words,  Mrs.  Dawe  tried  to  jump  out 
of  bed,  and  fell  back,  groaning. 

**  Oh,  my  'ead,"  she  moaned,  **it*s  a-tumin'  round  like  the  merry- 
go-rounds  in  the  Park." 

^Oh,  what's  a  matter,  dear  missus?"  cried  Sally  anxiously, 
running  to  the  bedside.  ^  Shall  I  go  for  the  doctor  ?  Shall  I  fry 
you  a  bloater  ?    Shall  I ^ 

"  Lift  up  my  'ead,  you  fool,"  cried  Mrs.  Dawe  sharply, "  and 
prop  up  my  back.  D'you  think  Tm  going  to  lay  down?  That's 
better.    What's  the  time  ?  " 

'*  Half-past  eleven,"  replied  Sally  with  an  air  of  reproachful 
superiority.  Her  audacious  retroussd  nose,  shaded  at  the  point  by 
a  black  smear,  jerked  itself  towards  the  ceiling  as  she  made  the 
statement. 

Mrs.  Dawe's  eyes  dilated  with  horror  and  shame,  and  she  made 
another  ineffectual  attempt  to  rise,  'f  Why  didn't  you  wake  me?" 
she  gasped. 

'*  When  I  come  in  at  six,"  replied  Sally,  with  the  childlike  bland- 
ness  of  the  Heathen  Chinee,*'  you  was  that  sound  asleep  that  I  thinks 
to  myself, '  Poor  thing  !  it's  a  pity  to  wake  *er.'  So  I  arxed  Jadk, 
and  he  ses, '  Can't  you  manage*,  yourself,  for  once  ?  Let  'er  sleep, 
she  works  so  'ard.'    So  I  done  everything  as  quiet  as  I  could." 

"  It's  just  like  Jack !  If  he'd  only  ha'  let  you  wake  me  then,  I 
might  ha'  been  all  right.  I'll  pick  that  little  bone  with  him  when  I 
see  'im." 

Sally  bit  her  lips  with  vexation.  In  her  anxiety  to  do  Jack  a 
good  turn  she  had,  like  a  coward,  transferred  the  blame  to  his 
shoulders. 

"  It's  lucky  I  bought  everything  last  night,"  resumed  Mrs.  Dawe. 
"  Have  you  stuffed  the  big  plum-pudding  with  the  pennuth  of  plums 
in  the  brown  bag  under  the  counter,  and  chipped  the  cold  potatoes, 
and  warmed  the  beans  in  the  blue  dish,  and ^ 

**  It's  all  done,  every  inch  on  it,  missus.  And  I've  put  on  that 
nice  joint  of  beef  for  the  allimud  soup — r-^ 

"The  beef !"  shrieked  Mrs.  Dawe.  "The  ninepenny-apenny 
beef  I    Why,  I  bought  that  for  mysel£" 

"  D'yer  think  I'm  a  fool?"  responded  Sally  calmly.  "  It's  the 
same  beef  that  was  in  last  Sunday's  mock-turtle.  And  I've  scrubbed 
the  shop,  too,  so  that'll  save  me  doin'  it  to-morrow,  the  usual  day, 
though  it  his  a^gravatin'  the  way  people  won't  wipe  their  feet,  even 
if  they  see  it's  just  been  cleaned." 

"  It  is  aggravatin'— and  what  always  puzzled  my  late  'usband," 
put  in  Mrs.  Dawe,  mollified  by  the  girl's  zeal,  *^  was  'ow  the  devil 
people  can  walk  about  with  such  innocent  faces  and  such  dirty  boots. 
But  I  aint  a-goin'  to  lay  in  bed  ill  at  my  time  of  life  ;  111  try  to 
get  up." 

"  Oh,  don't,  missusy  dont,"  cried  Sally.  "You're  tremblin'  all 
over." 


THROUGH  PERILS  TOGETHER  179 

"I  must    I  ain't  tremblin'  a  bit* 
•*  You  shan't    You're  ill." 

^  'Ow  can  I  be  ill  when  there's  no  one  to  look  after  the  bizness  ? 
It  aint  nat'raL" 

•*  There's  me  I  And  there's  Jack  been  servin'  all  thfc  mornin'  and 
doin'  a  roarin'  trade  with  the  'ot  peas." 

**With  the'ot  peas?*  cried  Mrs.  Dawe  eagerly.  "I  knowed 
they'd  take." 

"  But  'e's  goin'  out  now,"  added  Sally.  "  I  see  'im  just  take  *i« 
paint-pots.     I  can  serve,  missus." 

"  I  dunno  so  much,"  replied  Mrs.  Dawe  suspiciously.  "'Owso- 
ever,  I  wants  a  cup  o'  tea,  'cause  there's  something  buzzin'  inside 
ihy  forred,  so  let  Jack  bring  it  up  in  a  jiffy.  Jack,  mind,  not  you. 
Let  Hm  make  'aste,  or  111  'ave  to  come  down  myself.* 

Sally  bounded  downstairs,  overturned  Jack,  who  was  on  his 
knees,  rushed  to  the  cupboard,  opened  it,  and  dragged  out  the  tea- 
caddy,  all  in  a  minute.    '*  Whtre's  the  teapot  ?  "  she  gasped. 

"  You're  in  a  great  hurry,  my  child,"  observed  Jack  as  he  picked 
himself  up.    "  How  is  Mrs.  Dawe  ?" 

^  Can't  speak,"  panted  Sally.  **  Drat  the  spoons,  where  are 
tbey?" 

**  But  I  heard  her,*  said  Jack. 

''  She  said  she'll  be  down  if  you  don't  bring  her  up  a  cup  of  tea 
at  once.  She  thought  it  was  made^  you  know.  She  can't  get  up. 
Oh,whatshallldo?» 

^  Do  not  be  so  distressed,*  said  Jack  soothingly.  ^  I  dare  say 
if s  nothin^^  serious.* 

^ Ain't  It,  oh  my  eye!*  responded  Sally.  ''I'm  in  for  it  if  she 
comes  down." 

''Sally,*  screamed  the  voice  from  above,  "is  Jack  comin  with 
that  tea?" 

"  Oh,  lor,"  murmured  Sally  ;  "  and  the  fire  not  alight  yet  I  * 
"Can  I  help  you  ?"  inquired  Jack  with  sympathetic  politeness. 
"Quick,  make  the  fire,^  Sally  gasped,  '^ while  I  fills  the  kettle 
md  measures  out  the  tea." 
Jack  hesitated. 

"  Sally !  *  cried  the  voice  again. 

Jack  rushed  into  the  shed  and  reappeared  in  an  instant  laden 
with  coal  and  wood. 

"At  last  my  honour  is  hopelessly  blackened,"  he  murmured 
grimly,  as  he  caught  sight  of  his  face  (which  now  rivalled  Sally's) 
m  the  chimney-glass. 

He  threw  his  burden  into  the  grate  in  a  promiscuous  heap,  tore 
off  a  page  of  a  newspaper  which  was  lying  on  the  table,  ignited  it, 
And  placed  it  on  the  top  of  the  grate.  A  momentary  flare,  and  the 
papa*  was  consumed. 

** Oh,  ain't  you  clever?"  contemptuously  cried  Sally,  dashing 
in  from  the  kitchen  with  a  very  small  kettle  of  cold  water.  "  You 
ttust  put  the  paper  under,  quick." 

"The  fire  of  Revolution,  too,"  mused  Jack  as  he  hastily  lit 

N   2 


1 


i«o  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 


another  sheet,  ''will  be  lit  up  from  the  bottom."  Thus  speakings ^ 
he  set  fire  to  the  red  fringe  which  depended  from  the  mantelpiece^! 
without  perceiving  it,  and  tried  to  ram  the  paper  under  the  tniddyi 
wedged  mass  that  stuffed  up  the  grate. 

**  Lord  a  mussy  on  us,  exclaimed  Sally,  briskly  turning  the 
kettle  into  a  fire-engine.  "  Get  out  of  the  way,**  she  exclaimed 
rudely.    "  And  get  a  cup  and  saucer,  quick." 

Jack  Dawe  sighed  and  meekly  obeyed  the  maid  of  all  work. 

'^  Jack  I "  cried  the  voice,  trembling  with  indignation. 

**  It's  all  right,  missus,"  Sally  screamed  back.  **  Jack  says  yov 
must  'ave  a  extra  good  cup,  so  we're  a-makin'  of  it" 

*'  I  won't  wait  'ere  much  longer,"  the  voice  replied  with  angry 
determination. 

Sally  speedily  differentiated  the  chaotic  mass  in  the  grate,  and 
applied  alight 

Her  master,  a  blue-and-gold  cup  and  saucer  in  hand,  stood 
anxiously  surveying  the  scene. 

As  the  paper  blazed  up,  new  hope  was  kindled  in  both  their 
breasts. 

But  the  next  moment  hope  and  the  flame  died  away  together. 

^  IVe  been  and  wetted  the  sticks  when  I  was  making  out  the 
mantelpiece,"  cried  the  exasperated  girl,  with  an  oath.     '^  Run  for 


some  more." 


'*  Hush  I "  said  the  horrified  Jack,  running  to  get  the  bundle  (rf 
wood,  but  the  admonition  was  lost  in  another  cry  of  "  Sally  t  Jackl 
Are  you  deaf?" 

In  a  second  the  dexterous  Sally  had  the  wood  in  a  blaze.  Then 
arming;  Jack  with  the  bellows,  she  hastily  got  everything  ready  for 
the  critical  moment  when  the  kettle  should  boil.  Jack  puffed 
vigorously  away,  and  produced  an  immense  volume  of  smokft 
Suddenly  Sally  uttered  an  exclamation.  "Why,  what  idjuts  w« 
are!    The  gas!" 

Quick  as  thought,  she  turned  the  gas  on  to  the  full,  and  snatdi* 
ing  up  the  kettle  held  it  over  the  flame.  Jack  looked  on  in  helpless 
admiration. 

'*  Froude  is  right,''  he  murmured.  '*  Action  is  greater  than 
speech." 

« It's  nearly  done,  missus,"  Sally  screamed  ;  '*  only  we're  that 
busy  in  the  shop." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  tea  was  ready.  Milk,  sugar,  spoon,  were 
inserted — the  fight  against  time  had  been  won. 

"  Saved  ! "  gasped  Sally,  falling  exhausted  into  an  arm-chair, 
as  Jack,  grasping  tiie  saucer  tightly,  began  to  mount  the  stairs  with 
cautious  rapidity. 

''  How  an  external  interest  takes  one  out  of  himself!"  he  was 
reflecting.  *'  It  is  thus  true,  as  Hegel  says  in  his  transcendental 
exposition  of  Christianity,  that  only  by  going  out  of  ourselves  are 
we  saved." 

At  this  point,  having  reached  the  top  of  the  staircase,  he 
attempted  to  ascend  an  imaginary  step,  stumbled,  and  let  the  cup 
go  out  of  the  saucer  without  being  able  to  save  it 


THROUGH  PERILS  TOGETHER  i8i 

"  O  Lor* ! "  gasped  Sally  as  she  heard  the  crash.  ^  He's  been 
and  gone  and  done  it  I  " 

"Jack!"  screamed  Mrs.  Dawe,  "if  youVe  smashed  any  o'  the 
blne-and-gold  service,  don't  come  near  me  for  love  or  money  I  Let 
me  die  in  peace." 

Jack  hastily  gathered  up  as  many  fragments  as  he  could  see, 
and  bore  them  mournfully  downstairs. 

Sally,  crushed  by  defeat,  with  pallid  but  firmly-set  features, 
threw  them  hastily  into  the  dust-hole.  Not  for  a  single  moment 
did  the  brave  girl's  presence  of  mind  desert  her.    Shouting  out  \ 

that  she  had  fallen  down  and  dropped  a  tin  pan,  she  firmly  poured  *{ 

out  the  rest  of  the  liquid  into  the  cup  which  trembled  in  her 
master's  hand. 

But  it  was  too  late.  Mrs.  Dawe's  shuffling  step  was  heard  on 
the  landing  above.  The  old  woman  was  unable  to  bear  the  un- 
certainty of  the  fate  of  the  blue-and-gold  service ;  her  dauntless 
energy  had  conquered  physical  weakness.     She  was  coming. 

"  Cut ! "  whispered  the  devoted  Sally.  "  Here's  the  paint-pots." 
She  dragged  them  in  hurriedly  from  the  shed.  "Ill  say  you  went 
om  long  ago." 

'•  Never ! "  replied  Jack,  setting  them  down  firmly  in  the  comer. 
^  ^  I  will  not  desert  you,  my  child.     It  is  not  your  fault* 

She  thanked  him  by  a  look. 

"Then  stay  here,"  she  whispered,  "and  keep  'er  out  o'  the 
diop  till  I  takes  down  the  shutters.    Try  to  get  'er  up  to  bed." 

Jack  obeyed  instinctively,  as  one  always  obeys  the  bom 
eommander. 

He  took  up  his  position  with  his  back  to  the  glass  of  the  door 
of  commimication,  and  with  beating  heart  awaited  his  mother's 
Approach. 

She  came  like  Night. 

''  D'you  call  this  a  tin  pan  ?  "  she  shrieked,  before  she  was  well 
vidiin  the  room. 

Her  son  looked  at  the  fragment,  which  she  thrust  into  his  eyes, 
,  and  hung  his  head  on  his  breast 

'^'Ow  dared  you  touch  the  blue-and-gold  set  ?  Ain't  I  warned 
you  a  million  times  not  to  lay  a  finger  on  'em  ? " 

Then,  looking  round,  her  voice  took  a  higher  range  with  each 
successive  discovery. 

"A  fire  in  my  best  room,  a-spilin'  all  the  furniture,  as  if  the  one 
>  in  the  kitchen  ain't  good  enough  I    The  gas  blazin'  away  in  broad 
;  day  as  if  it  was  below ! !     I'm  ruined  1 1 1    The  paint-pots  on  the 
new  carpet,  and  the  mantelpiece  set  on  fire  ! !  ! !    And  you've  gone 

'  burnt  the  only  Free  Thinker  I  ever  loved  'cause  it  'ad  that 

cture  of  the  Devil  in  his  Cookshop,  just  to  spite  me  ! ! ! ! !    This 

all  one  gets  by  bein'  ill.    But  irs  all  over  yer  not  wakin'  me 
momin'.    Jsuck,  you  wicked,  foolish  boy,  you've  killed  your 
July  mother." 
With  these  ominous  words,  Mrs.  Dawe,  having  by  this  time 

5rtaxe<!i  Nature's  endurance,  fell  forwards  on  the  sofa. 

Q^iYering  under  the  accusation,  and  acutely  conscious  that  i( 


1 


l«2  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 


was  not  altogether  false,  Jack  rushed  to  the  couch  and  lifted  up  her 
head.  The  globular  mass  drooped  heavily  on  his  arm  ;  she  had 
fainted.  Turning  in  frantic  remorse  to  the  table,  he  seized  the 
second  blue-and-gold  teacup  and  dashed  its  heated  contents  into 
her  pallid  countenance. 

Little  did  Mrs.  Dawe  think,  when  she  clamoured  for  the  cup  of 
tea,  that  she  would  receive  it  in  this  fiishion.  The  divinity  student 
may  draw  the  obvious  moraL  But  the  two-and-eightpenny  Bohea 
(surpassing  in  quality  the  coffee  that  the  poor  woman  had  recently 
declared  wasted  on  Sally,  and  better  thrown  away — alas  I  how  do 
our  words  return  to  us  with  stings  in  their  tails!)  produced  no  effect 
except  upon  the  gorgeous  carpet  and  the  horsehair  covering  of  the 
sofa. 

Again  Jack  looked  wildly  round — for  something  fluid  to  throw 
over  his  mother— his  eye  fell  on  the  paint-pots.    Poor  Mrs.  Dawe ! 

Luckily  at  this  instant,  Sally,  after  a  cautious  peep  through  the 
door,  flung  it  open  and  burst  into  the  room  in  wild  consternation. 

Jack  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief—all  would  be  well  now.  With 
such  confidence  had  the  noble  girl  inspired  him  in  so  short  a  time  1 

**  Oh,  my  poor  missus,"  sobbed  Sally,  bending  over  the  inani- 
mate form,  her  long  dishevelled  hair  floating  vaguely  over  her 
mistress's  &t  &ce  with  its  corpse-like  hue.  ^  Oh,  my  poor  missus,  I 
said  you  was  dead  the  moment  you  didn't  get  up — and  I  was  right" 

But  there  was  no  time  for  grief  now. 

''  Some  water  I "  she  commanded,  loosening  the  dress  which 
Mrs.  Dawe  had  hastily  assumed.    '*  Lots  of  it" 

Jack  hastened  to  nil  a  large  soot-covered  saucepan,  and  set  it 
down  on  the  floor  near  the  sofa. 

"Why  didn't  you  bring  a  pan?"  said  Sally  sharply.  •'YooTl 
ruin  the  carpet." 

The  streams  of  tears  were  dry  on  her  face  now,  but  their  beds 
were  plainly  marked  by  contrast  with  the  sooty  regions  around. 
She  dipped  her  hand  into  the  saucepan  and  bathed  the  cold  brow 
of  her  mistress,  waiting  between  each  application  of  the  liquid  to 
see  its  effect.  During  one  of  these  intervals  she  observed  Jack's 
eyes  fixed  on  her,  and  immediately  afterwards  catching  sight  of 
her  face  in  the  saucepan,  she  applied  the  water  to  her  own  counte- 
nance instead  of  to  its  original  destination,  and  wiped  hersdf 
hurriedly  with  her  greasy  apron.  If  the  ruling  passion  is  strong  in 
death,  it  is  especially  strong  when  the  death  and  the  passion  are 
divided  between  two  persons.  O  all-potent  Vanity,  that  pressest 
into  thy  service  a  saucepan  of  water,  a  tin  pan,  a  silver  inkstand  1 

Presently  Mrs.  Dawe  gave  a  sigh  and  opened  her  eyes. 

iack  uttered  a  cry  of  joy.  "  A  truly  wonderful  girl,"  he  thought, 
o  seems  to  do  the  nght  thing  by  instinct — would  we  dreamers 
were  equally  blessed !  Under  this  humble  exterior  lives  (as  her 
true  complexion  lived  under  the  soot)  a  pure  and  fearless  spirit 
Pruthfulness,  Veracity  as  of  one  of  Carlyle's  heroes,  looks  from  her 
eyes.  With  education,  with  meditation  on  the  eternal  verities 
inarticulate  as  yet  to  the  ear  of  her  soul,  but  ever  striving  to  get 


r 


THROUGH  PERILS  TOGETHER  183 


themselves  heard,  with  listening  to  the  Silences,  what  noble  woman- 
hood might  not  emerge  from  this  dreary  girlhood !  By  the  side  of 
her,  that  dreadful  Eliza  Bathbrill  appears  but  emptiness  and 
discord." 

^  Jack,"  groaned  Mrs.  Dawe,  passing  her  hand  over  her  humid 
forehead,  '*put  up  the  umbreller,  but  beware  of  squalls.  It's  a 
ill  wind  as  blows  umbreller-makers  no  good,  as  your  father " 

She  dosed  her  eyes  again  and  fell  back  exhausted.  A  dead 
silence  ensued,  disturbed  only  by  the  splash  of  another  handful  of 
water. 

'*  My  poor  'cad,**  she  muttered,  reopening  her  eyes  after  a 
moment  of  anxious  suspense.  *'  It  never  felt  like  this  afore— seems 
as  if  it  was  somebody  else's  'ead.  But  two  'eads  is  better  than  one. 
Is  that  tea  a-comin\  Jack  ?"  She  raised  herself  on  her  elbow  and 
gazed  vaguely  round. 

**  It's  all  right,"  cried  Sally  cheerfully.  *'  'And  over  the  cup, 
Mr.  Dawe." 

''  It's  s — spilt,"  stammered  Jack,  cowering  under  her  antici- 
pated scorn. 

••What's  a  matter,  Sally?"  inc^^uired  Mrs.  Dawe  feebly.  "  What 
are  yer  a-kneelin'  on  the  floor  for,  like  the  parson  the  day  he  runned 
away  and  forgot  'is  umbreller — corduroy  trousers  can't  stand  it — 
let  alone  yours." 

**  You're  ill,  missus,"  replied  Sally.    *  You  must  go  to  bed." 

"  Go  to  bed  1 ''  cried  Mrs.  Dawe,  jjartially  recalled  to  reality  by 
the  horror  of  the  idea.    *'  And  the  business  ?" 

"Jack  is  lookin'  arter  that." 

"Come  'ere.  Jack."    He  obeyed,  and  received  a  maternal  kiss. 

sellin' 

you  take 

'eap  o'  money  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  cried  Sally.    "  You  must  'umer  'er,"  she  whispered. 

"  But  you  needn't  give  'em  a  'eap  o'  peas  for  their  money.  And 
above  all  spare  the  winegar— it  am't  good  for  their  digestions. 
Lean  down.     I've  got  summat  to  tell  you." 

He  put  his  ear  to  her  mouth. 

"  Beware  of  Sally,"  she  breathed  ;  "  and  look  arter  the  till" 

*'And  now,"  she  added  aloud,  *'  that  you've  promised  to  take  the 
shop  for  the  artemoon,  I'll  go  to  bed." 

She  rose,  made  a  few  steps,  staggered  and  fell  into  Jack's  arms. 

"  We  must  carry  'er,"  said  Sally.  **  I'll  take  'er  'ead,  'cause  I 
can  walk  backerds  better  than  you." 

"  It  will  be  too  heavy  for  you,"  said  Jack  hastily. 

"Yer  very  kind,"  replied  Sally;  "but  yer  might  drop  it  The 
legs  don't  matter." 

'*  Men  always  drops  women  when  they're  tired  of  'em,*  groaned 
Mrs.  Dawe. 

"  But  111  be  very  careful,"  said  Jack,  cutting  the  question  short 
by  seizing  the  head. 

He  was  very  proud  of  this  decisive  action,  as,  staggering  under 


i^ome  'ere,  jacK.'  ne  ooeyeo,  ana  receivea  a  maicma 
"You  won't  go  out  to-day,  Jack,  'specially  as  the  'ot  peas  is 
like  wildfire,  all  out  oi  my  own  'ead,  too.  'Ow  much  did  yoi 
this  mornin'  ?    A  'eap  o'  money  ?  " 


1 84  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

the  weight,  he  gingerly  made  the  backward  ascent,  SaUy  bringing  up 
the  rear  of  the  procession. 

"  Can  it  be,**  he  reflected,  **  that  the  world  gives  one  only  what 
he  takes  ;  and  that  in  the  same  peremptory  fashion  one  could  get 
to  the  head  of  the  body  politic,  and  keep  it  too?  Wise  Mountchapel  !** 

They  deposited  Mrs.  Dawe  on  the  bed. 

"  Go  for  the  doctor !  '*  ordered  the  maid  of  all  work.  Jack  went 
for  the  doctor.  Sally  put  her  mistress  to  bed,  and  waited  anxiously 
for  Dr.  Thomas,  though  an  under-current  of  ^  Jack "  ran  through 
her  mind.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  had  tasted  the  sweets 
of  power ;  not  of  that  vulgar  power  which  is  obeyed  grudgingly, 
but  of  that  gentler  force  which  in  this  case  seemed  to  render  Jack 
as  pliant  as  wax,  and  as  obedient  as  a  party  man.  The  old  awe 
with  which  she  had  once  regarded  him  had  been  shaken  by  his 
sweet  reasonableness  and  delicate  chivalry  during  the  past  few 
weeks,  and  the  last  remnants  had  just  been  destroyed  by  the 
maternal  contempt  that  his  awkwardness  excited.  There  was  still 
a  vast  gap  between  them,  of  course  ;  but  what  firmer  bridge  than 
the  common  memory  of  common  danger  ? 

Presently  Dr.  Thomas  came,  saw,  and  prescribed.  Sally,  armed 
with  hieroglyphics,  was  despatched  in  haste  to  the  surgery.  On 
her  way  through  the  parlour.  Jack,  who  was  ruefully  surveying  his 
grimy  face  in  the  glass,  stopped  her. 

"  How  is  she  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"He  says  she's  bad,  but  'e  'opes  she'll  be  all  right." 

"  A  mdiorist,  like  George  Ehot,"  observed  Jack.  "  Sally,  do  you 
know  1  consider  you  a  very  extraordinary  girl  ?  You  have  b^iaved 
like  a  heroine.     How  shall  1  reward  you  ?  " 

"  By  tellin'  me,"  was  the  blunt  reply,  "  who  yer  like  best,  me  or 
'Lizer?" 

Jack  smiled  at  the  natveU  of  the  question. 

"  Ingenuous  soul,"  he  thought,  "where  Nature's  innocent  in- 
stincts are  still  free  from  the  veneer  of  conventionality  1 " 

The  instinct  for  poetry  is  one  of  Nature's  strongest,  if  not  most 
innocent  In  tender  moments  scraps  of  Rossetti  sang  themselves 
in  Lady  Gwendolen's  brain  as  she  gazed  into  the  eloquent  eyes  ot 
the  Hon.  Arnold  Floppington.  Gazing  into  Jack's  eyes  now,  Sally 
chanted  sofdy  to  herself  the  classic  lines : 

*'  Stand  upright  upon  yoor  feet 
And  choose  the  one  that  you  love  best." 

"  I  like  you  very  well,"  replied  Jack,  seizing  the  opportunity, 
"  but  you  see  Eliza  is  educated,  and  so  must  you  be.  I'll  see  what 
I  can ^ 

"  But  supposen,"  interrupted  Sally  eagerly,  "  I  could  read  and 
write,  too ;  which  would ?" 

"Education  means  more  than  reading  and  writing,  my  dear 
child     Reli " 

"  Well,  suppose  I  knowed  everything,"  urged  Sally,  determined 
to  press  the  point,  "  would  yer  like  me  as  well  as  her  ?" 


r 


LIFE  BEHIND   THE  COUNTER  185 


"  Better,  my  child,  better." 

Sally  uttered  a  cry  of  joy. 

"  PU  begin  this  very  day.    Will  yer  learn  me  ?  * 

"  Gladly  "  replied  Jack,  his  face  brightening  at  the  thought  of  a 
definite  work  to  do,  and  his  eyes  filling  with  tears  at  the  enthusiasm 
for  knowledge  on  the  part  of  the  poor  drudge. 

Sally  uttered  another  exclamation  of  delight,  seized  his  hand, 
put  it  to  her  lips,  and  danced  through  the  shop  into  the  street. 


CHAPTER  II. 

UFE  BEHIND  TH£  COUNTER. 

Behold,  then,  Jack  Dawe  installed,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
behind  the  counter  of  the  Star  Dining  Rooms.  In  point  of 'fact, 
Mrs.  Dawe  had  never  before  had  occasion  to  demand  his  services 
in  this  respect,  nor  to  interfere  in  any  way  with  his  daily  duties. 
As  Sally  remarked,  illness  never  made  its  appearance  in  her 
mistress's  oig^anism,  which  was  in  such  a  state  of  physical  perfection 
as  to  go  through  its  daily  and  yearly  cycles  of  work  with  the  punc- 
tuality of  a  planet — whence,  perhaps,  the  name  of  the  establishment 
No  wonder,  then,  that  its  sudden  failure  to  appear  at  the  shop  in  its 
diurnal  orbit  should  have  been  ascribed  by  Sally  to  complete 
extinction,  not  to  say  evaporation. 

As  Mrs.  Dawe  insisted  on  Sally's  staying  with  her  whenever  the 
girl  was  not  actually  engaged  in  cooking,  there  was  no  alternative 
for  Jack  but  to  take  his  mother's  place.    We  blush  to  record  it,  but 
the  reader — who  will  probably  by  this  time  have  discovered  in  him 
tbe  not  unusual  combination  of  lofty  views  with  colossal  laziness — 
will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  he  grumbled  internally  at  the  work 
both  as  work  and  as  derogatory  work  !    Derogatory,  forsooth  I  The 
priggishness  of  the  nouveaux  riches  is  as  nothing  to  that  of  the 
nouveaux  instruits.    What  right,  moreover,  had  he  to  grumble  who 
had  brought  down  this  infliction  on  his  own  head  by  lying  in  bed 
late,  and  not  going  to  work  at  the  same  hour  as  his  professional 
brethren?  In  truth, it  would  not  have  been  easy  to  find  his  equal  in  t  he 
dolcefar  niente  line,  even  amongst  the  hardest-worked  functionaries 
of  the  Royal  Household.  The  trifling  physical  exertion  of  fishing  up 
Irish  stew  caused  this  hyper-sensitive  being  the  extremest  agony ; 
he  served  up  a  dish  of  French  beans,  not  at  all  heavy,  with  stifled 
groans ;  he  ladled  out  the  ^2  la  mode  soup  with  a  face  as  woebegone 
as  if  he  were  buying  the  liquid  instead  of  selling  it     Utterly  re- 
gardless of  his  mother's  hard-earned  hoards,  he  gave  one  half  of  the 
customers  too  much  change,  and  the  other  half  too  little  ;  the  latter 
cc  aplained  of  the  injustice,  the  former  did  not.     Mrs.  Dawe's  till 
sii  fered,  and  was  purified  and  cleaned  out  accordingly.     Destitute, 
to  ,  of  the  smallest  esprit  de  corfSy  he  dragged  his  mother's  reputa- 
ti<  \  in  the  dust.    Unable  to  distmguish  by  sight  between  the  various 
g<  ^era  of  Bethnal  Green  pastry,  unskilled  in  judging  of  the  interior 


I 

i 


i86  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

by  the  indications  afforded  by  the  formation  of  the  crust,  he  made 
guesses  as  to  what  was  wanted,  as  wild  and  random  as  if  he  were  a 
Prime  Minister  serving  out  Acts  of  Parliament,  instead  of  a  waiter 
serving  out  meat-pies.  Ministers  of  every  kind  are  notorious  for 
proportionmg  the  intensity  of  their  dogmatism  to  that  of  their 
Ignorance,  but,  to  give  Jack  his  due,  he  did  not  insist  that  a  man 
was  eating  eel-pie  when — with  much  use  of  sanguinary  language — 
the  man  brought  the  yawning  compound  full  of  parti-coloured 
morsels  of  ham  into  close  proximity  to  his  nose,  and  ordered  him  to 
see,  taste,  and  smell  it. 

Only  in  Art  criticism  is  such  insistence  possible. 

**  Can  it  be,"  he  asked  himself  mournfully,  as  his  first  customery 
who  was  a  dirty  little  boy,  pointed  out  that  a  sausage  was  not  pre- 
cisely identical  with  a  saveloy, "  that  I  am  unfitted  for  whatever  part 
I  undertake  to  play?  So  it  has  always  seemed.  I  am  always 
making  absurd  mistakes  in  everything,  even  when  the  task  appears 
of  the  simplest,  as  now.  Would  the  consequences  were  always  as 
harmless  as  now  !  Poor  old  vicar  P  He  sighed  bitterly,  and  over- 
turned a  huge  salt-cellar. 

**  To  judge  by  results  I  must  have  been  doing  that  unconsciously 
all  my  life,"  he  reflected,  with  a  sad  smile  irradiating  his  melancholy 
though  delicately  noble  countenance,  and  illuminating  his  dreamy 
eyes  with  a  pathetic  brightness.  '*  Tis  strange  how  old  supersti- 
tions cling  to  one,  and  how  the  practical  superstitions  of  the  old 
religions  survive  the  faiths  themselves,  as  though  they  were 
the  osseous  skeletons  that  lived  when  the  superstructures  of  once 
glowing  flesh  have  long  since  crumbled  to  dust — 1  beg  your 
pardon  1 " 

The  first  ragged  little  boy  had  vanished  (in  company  with  the 
greater  part  of  the  plateful  of  smoking  sausages),  and  there  stood 
m  his  place  another  ragged  little  boy  (sent  by  him  to  put  the  finish- 
ing touches  to  his  work),  but  Jack  Dawe  did  not  notice  the  differ- 
ence. The  little  imp  had  just  completed  his  annexations  when 
Jack  perceived  his  presence.  But  the  boy  preserved  wonderful 
equanimity.  He  was  one  of  the  shining  lights  of  the  Board  School 
round  the  corner,  which  always  put  him  forward  as  a  show  boy. 
Incredible  as  it  appears,  it  is  a  well-authenticated  fact  that  the  best 
educationists  of  the  age  expected  that  the  multiplication  table  would 
moralise  the  masses. 

« 'Aypenny  plate  of  peas,  please,"  he  demanded  calmly,  knowing 
that  Mrs.  Dawe  did  not  "make  ayporths,"  and  so  foreseeing  a 
dignified  exit 

To  his  alarm  Jack  began  shovelling  peas  upon  peas  into  a  plate. 
Every  instant  the  danger  of  the  discovery  of  the  empty  plate 
increased  ;  delay  would  be  fataL 

"  D'yer  call  that  a  'ayporth  ?  •  said  the  show  boy,  rejecting  the 
heap  with  feigned  contempt,  but  determining  to  let  his  friends  know 
of  the  revolution  in  the  business.  "  Whyn't  yer  give  a  feller  valley 
for 'is  money?  Blest  if  I  don't  change  my  cookshop."  With  this 
Delphic  double  entente  he  was  quitting  the  shop  when  Jack  observed 


r 


UFE  BEHIND  THE  COUNTER  187 


mildly  ^though  with  much  internal  approbation  of  his  own  business 
powers  ) :  '*  Come  back !  You  haven't  paid  me  for  the  saveloy." 

The  boy  heard  no  more  than  the  first  two  words  ;  he  was  off 
like  a  shot,  leaving  Jack  staring  blankly  at  the  vacant  doorway. 

''  The  political  economists  tell  us,"  he  muttered  at  length, ''  that 
Society  is  based  on  the  universal  desire  to  get  something  for  some- 
thing else ;  this  theory  would  do  for  primitive  times,  but  as  the 
higher  civilisation  advances,  is  there  not  a  universal  desire  to  get 
something  for  nothing  ?  The  invention  of  printing  is  thus  utilised 
for  puffery  ;  the  buiglar  profits  by  the  latest  scientific  discoveries, 
and  is,  strange  to  say,  among  the  best  educated  men  of- 


"  Come  along,  you  little  wagabond.  '£re  he  is,  Mrs.  Dawe — I 
beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Dawe — I  'ope  Mrs.  Dawe  isn't  ilL  He  just 
run  into  my  arms."  So  saying,  the  policeman  dragged  in  the  small 
boy  by  the  ear. 

^  I  suspected  summat,"  he  added.  ^  Turn  out  your  pockets,  you 
young  scamp." 

^  I  shan't,"  screamed  the  boy,  struggling  hard  for  liberty.  ^  Leave 
me  go,  or  I'll  'ave  yer  locked  up." 

The  sublime  audacity  of  this  threat  took  away  the  policeman's 
breath. 

'^  Lock  me  up,"  he  gasped.  In  an  instant  the  boy  had  writhed 
from  his  grasp.  But  only  for  an  instant  He  darted  after  him 
and  brought  him  back,  bodi  panting  for  breath. 

Sight  greasy  saveloys,  brown,  savoury,  smoking,  were  now 
brought  to  light 

"  You  dare  touch  my  saveloys ! "  cried  the  boy,  still  defiantly. 
"Ill  take  yer  number  if  yer  does;  I  bought  'em  at  a  place  m 
Whitechapel. 

*'  Boy,"  said  the  policeman  solemnly,  ^  they  are  still  smoking. 
Where  do  you  expect  to  go  when  you  die  ?  " 

^  Not  before  the  be^"  cried  the  boy,  breaking  down  at  last 
''Don't  take  me  before  the  beak— 111  tell  the  truth.  The  other  boy 
who  was  'ere  first  give  'em  to  me." 

Jack  looked  sad.  "  You  grieve  me,  my  boy,"  he  said,  **  by  your 
£alsehood.  You  know  there  was  no  other  boy  here  before  you.. 
However,  I  suppose  you  are  hungry  ?  " 

"Ain't  'ad  nuffin'  to  eat  for  three  days,"  cried  the  boy  eagerly. 
"Father  and  mother  is  dead,  and  I've  got  three  little  brothers." 

"  Poor  fellow  I "  cried  Jack.  "  I  thought  as  much.  Take  some 
potatoes.  Excuse  me  for  offering  you  cold  ones,  to-day's  are  not 
ready  yet.     But  why  did  you  not  ask  ?" 

^  Why,  it's  all  gammon,  Mr.  Dawe,"  exclaimed  the  horrified 
policeman  ;  "  his  father  keeps  a  ice-cream  stall,  and  rubs  his  face 
with  walnut-juice  to  imitate  a  Italian  at  the  top  of  the  road.  There 
you  are,  he's  bolted  again."  And  the  zealous  functionary  was  dash- 
ing out  again  in  pursuit,  when  Jack  cried :  "  Let  him  go^  if  you 
please." 

"  Let  him  go  !    After  taking  eight  saveloys  for  nothing  ! " 

"Excuse  mei"  replied  Jack,  politely  but  firmly, "  he  did  not  take 


I 


1 


l88  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 


them  for  nothing.  In  the  first  place,  he  taught  me  to  distinguish 
between  a  sausage  and  a  saveloy.  And  in  the  next,  his  abstraction 
of  them  supplied  me  with  food  for  reflection  on  the  nexus  that 
binds  together  modem  society,  and  I  found  it  to  be  the  possibilities 
which  gregariousness  affords  of  over-reaching  your  neighbour. 
Good  morning." 

The  policeman  left,  tapping  his  forehead  significantly. 

^  I  heard  he  was  a  bit  cracky,"  he  muttered,  '*  never  cracking 
his  jokes  in  the  shop  at  dinner-time  as  he  used  to  do,  and  behaving 
strange .  all  round.  But  I  never  thought  he  was  as  bad  as  this. 
You  never  know  what  to  expect  of  them  political  fellers  I  And  don't 
he  look  old  and  ill !  I  wonder,"  he  added,  resuming  his  beat, 
"  what  'ud  become  of  our  wives  and  families  if  all  thieves  was 
offered  cold  potatoes  with  apologies." 

As  dinner-time  approached,  the  straggling  line  of  customers 
began  to  be  changed  into  a  more  and  more  serried  file.  The 
invading  tide,  beginning  with  wavelets  of  small  boys,  and  creeping 
up  steadily  and  surely, gradually  overflowed  the  high-water  mark  of 
Jack*s  powers  of  attention.  The  diversity  and  multiplicity  of  the 
orders  drove  him  to  distraction.  Thought  was  completely  sub- 
merged, not  a  single  reverie  could  raise  its  head  above  water.  The 
'*  bore  "  was  at  its  height  a  few  minutes  after  one,  and  the  appear- 
ance of  Sally  at  this  juncture  was  as  welcome  as  that  of  an 
additional  customer  was  unwelcome. 

Sally,  who  came  to  take  stock,  remained  to  serve,  and  took  the 
tide  at  the  flood.  Instead  of  returning  at  once  to  her  sick  mistress 
with  news  of  how  the  day  was  going,  the  girl— encouraged  by  the 
glad  smile  with  which  Jack  greeted  her,  and  seeing  his  infantile 
impotence— joyfully  lent  a  hand.  Her  self-sacriflce  was  not  lost 
upon  Jack,  who  knew  well  how  the  vials  of  his  impatient  mother's 
wrath  were  filling  upstairs. 

Relegated,  temporarily,  to  the  single  function  of  dispensing  the 
hot  peas,  on  which  there  was  a  tremendous  run,  he  worked  away 
more  manfully,  occasionally  stealing  an  admiring  look  at  the 
devoted  and  dexterous  drudge,  who,  smiling  from  pure  lighthearted- 
ness,  was  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  at  the  same  instant. 

Without,  the  midday  sun  was  heating  the  dreary  road  to  un- 
healthy sultriness,  and  the  glorious  blue  sky,  strewn  with  the  most 
delicate  cloud -gossamer,  daintily  woven  into  structures  of  faery, 
looked  down  on  another  expanse  strewn  with  litter  and  disease- 
germs.  Within,  one  perceived  an  atmosphere  laden  with  clouds  of 
steam,  with  odours  more  or  less  subtle  and  intermingled,  proceeding 
from  the  eaters  as  well  as  from  the  eaten,  and  with  the  breaths  of 
unwashed  adults  and  children  ;  the  sounds  of  a  score  of  munching 
mouths,  the  clatter  of  knives  and  forks  and  spoons  and  plates,  the 
rattle  of  money,  the  gurgling  and  sucking-in  of  soup,  the  orders — 
ranging  from  fortissimo  to  pianissimo— the  bursts  of  laughter,  the 
half-inaudible  remarks  spoken   with   full    mouths,  the    inchoate 

auarrels  about  '*  shoving "  and  the  monopoly  of  too  much  ro<tm ; 
le  frequent  sighs  of  the  master  of  the  shop,  whose  brow 


r 


LIFE  BEHIND  THE  COUNTER  189 


externally  and  ached  internally ;  and  through  all  the  din  a  con- 
tinuous current  of  conversation  on  the  one  topic  of  which  the 
morning  papers  were  full.  Some  of  this  discussion  shall  be  faith- 
fully reported,  with  the  exception  of  ornamental  superfluities. 

^  I  don't  see  what  a  woman  wants  with  a  wote,"  observed  a 
burly  man  with  a  ragged  black  beard.  '^  It's  a-flyin'  in  the  face  of 
Providence,  which  orders  that  women  should  have  the  kids^  and 
men  the  wotes.  A  nice  thing  if  you  wote  one  way  and  your  old 
iroman  another— the  blessed  Act  '11  make  no  end  of  family  quarrels, 
as  if  there  wasn't  enough  already." 

"  That's  all  my  eye,*  replied  a  tall,  thin  man  with  a  veiy  red 
nose.  **'  There  needn't  be  no  family  quarrels  at  all  about  it  If  my 
old  woman  don't  wote  as  I  want  'er,  111  give  'er  a  black  eye  that'U 
stop  'er  going  outside  the  door  to  wote  a,t  all.  Family  quarrels, 
indeed !     You  Tories  always  exaggerates." 

'*  Get  out  with  you  for  a  pair  of  fools,"  interposed  the  man  with 
the  rat  on  his  cheek.  "If  you  stop  your  wife  woting  you  diminish 
your  income.  As  a  married  man  I  value  the  Act  at  I  don't  know 
how  many  extra  hsdf-pints  for  me  a  year." 

"  Yah  I  We've  got  you,  then ! "  exclaimed  the  shrill  treble  of  a 
withered  old  charwoman.    "  We  won't  marry  you  !" 

^  I  don't  think  you  will^  old  gal,"  cried  a  young  man  in  a  paper 
cap.  Thei  e  was  a  general  burst  of  laughter  mingled  with  applause 
that  made  the  young  man  blush  and  roused  Jack's  dormant 
fiunilties. 

**ilave  I  done  anything  foolish?"  was  the  first  thought  that 
suggested  itself  But  a  few  minutes'  listening  convinced  him  that 
the  laughter  had  not  been  directed  at  him.  It  also  naturally  enough 
gave  him  rather  a  shock  to  find  under  discussion  a  subject  on 
which  he  had  himself  reflected  lengthily,  and  at  the  discovery,  a 
rapid  succession  of  vivid  images  and  trains  of  thought  coursed 
through  his  mind.  The  debate,  which  was  good-humoured  on 
the  whole,  and  far  from  dull,  seemed  to  be  the  freer  for  the  ab- 
sence of  Mrs.  Dawe,  who  was  wont  to  come  down  on  the  orators 
with  the  sledge-hammer  of  posthumous  aphorism ;  even  the  silent 
members  ventured  to  express  their  opinions. 

"^d  with  all  due  deference  to  the  Honourable  Arnold  Flopping- 
ton,"  concluded  the  polite  young  man  in  the  paper  collar,  who  had 
modestly  waited  till  nearly  everybody  else  had  spoken,  "  I  think 
he's  a  great  fool ;  don't  you,  Mr.  Dawe  ?  "  He  paused  and  looked 
at  the  hitherto  silent  Jack,  with  the  reverence  of  a  disciple.  The 
last  word  remained  to  be  spoken. 

Jack  started  at  the  sudden  appeal  to  his  judgment,  but  was  silent 

**  Don't  you  think  he's  a  great  fool  ?"  repeated  the  young  man 
in  istonished  disappointment 

^  I  am  sure  he  is,"  replied  Jack. 

The  company  gave  a  buzz  of  applause^  and  the  young  man 
CO  )ured  with  pleasure. 

But  there  was  one  recalcitrant  member.  This  was  the  rat- 
li  len  man,  who  had  a  personal  grudge  against  Jack  Dawe. 


[ 


190  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

**^  I  don't  see  it  at  2Xi^  he  remonstrated  stoutly. 

**  Then  your  mind  is  illogical,  my  friend,"  replied  Jack  calmly. 

"  I  ain't  so  mad  as  you,"  sulkily  answered  the  man,  who  would 
never  have  dared  to  make  such  a  remark  in  Mrs.  Dawe's  presence. 

"Silence  I"  cried  the  polite  young  man. 

"  Shut  up  I "  screamed  Sally,  "  or  I'll  chuck  the  soup  in  yer 
ugly  face." 

"  I  ain't  going  to  shut  up,"  muttered  the  man.  ^  I  ain't  going 
to  be  silenced  by  a  stuck-up  Radical.  I  maintain  that  Floppy  ain't 
a  fooL  Floppy  'd  make  ten  of  the  likes  of  him  any  day.  Floppy 
knows  what  he's  about." 

"  That  shows  your  mind  is  illogical,"  retorted  Jack,  warming 
up.  "  He  ^r  a  fool,  and  he  doesn't  know  what  he's  about  For  if 
you  looked  at  the  matter  logically  you  would  see  plainly  that  he 
should  either  have  allowed  the  su£^ge  to  be  given  to  women  long 
ago,  or  that  he  should  never  have  permitted  it  to  be  introduced 
at  all." 

'*  Oh,  of  course,  that's  always  the  way  with  you  Radicals.  You're 
all  as  alike  as  the  peas  I'm  eating.  Now  I'd  wager  Mr.  Dawe, 
that  when  the  Radicals  introduced  something  of  the  sort  you  were 
among  the  first  to  praise  it  to  the  skies  and  to  abuse  Floppy  for 
opposing  it.    Whatever  Floppy  does  is  wron^  with  you." 

^  It  is  not  so,"  replied  Jack  earnestly.  "  I  judge  the  man  by  his 
works,  and  not  his  works  by  the  man.  And  in  sober  truth,  what- 
ever he  does  is  wrong.  But  why  argue  with  a  prejudiced  man  Uke 
you  ?  As  for  this  female  suffrage  business,  your  mention  of  peas 
made  me  reflect  that  modem  politics  is  like  a  game  of  thimble-rig 
— one  never  knows  under  which  thimble  the  pea  of  reform  will  be 
found.    The  Conservatives " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you're  speechifying  about,  old  man,^  ex- 
claimed a  young  man  with  a  good-humoured  visage,  rushing  into 
the  shop,  "  but  I  suppose  it's  all  right  I'll  take  a  plate  of  those 
peas,  Jack,  quick." 

Jack  stopped  short  in  his  harangue  and  mildly  built  up  a  broad- 
based  pyramid  of  peas  to  such  a  height,  even  for  him,  that  Sally 
rushed  forward  to  stay  his  generous  spoon. 

His  measures  would  certainly  have  maddened  his  mother  now, 
ruinous  as  they  were  before. 

"  No,  you  don't,"  cried  the  young  man,  whisking  the  plate  out 
of  Jack's  hand,  and  bolting  its  contents  all  down  in  a  few  seconds, 
to  Uie  admiration  of  the  company. 

"  Give  us  another,  Mrs.  Dawe,"  he  cried — "  I  mean  Jack.  But 
hang  me  if  you  ain't  like  an  old  woman  altogether  now  1 " 

**  Ha  !  ha !  ha  1 "  roared  the  rat-ridden  man,  while  Sally,  who 
was  sluicing  the  dirty  plates,  started  up  with  flashing  eyes. 

**  Where's  your  old  jokes?"  continued  the  young  man.  "And 
why  don't  you  come  to  the  'Cogers'  anymore?  We  mils  you 
awfully.  By  Jingo,  you  must  come  to-night !  What  a  g^and 
opportunity  you'd  have  of  slinging  into  Floppy !  It  just  wants  to 
be  done  in  your  style.    We  shall  lose  a  treat    And  itll  be  specially 


r 


LtrE  BEHIND  THE  COUNTER  191 


apropos.  We  ought  to  make  a  field-night  of  it  in  imitation  of  the 
Commons,  and  we  don't  want  a  lot  of  prosy  duffers  to  spoil  such  a 
splendid  opportunity.  They  made  enough  mull  of  Floppy's  jockey- 
ing Bardolph  Moantchapel  out  of  the  Cabinet  How  differently 
you  would  have  handled  that  theme,  now  I "  The  young  man 
heaved  a  regretful  sigh.  **  Don't  let  this  slip,  anyhow." 
"  What  opportunity  ?  •  inquired  the  painter  wearily, 
**  Why,  the  subject  for  to-night  is  the  Governmental  Concessions. 
And  d'ye  mean  to  say  you  haven't  heard  the  rumour  about  Floppy's 
marriage  ?  It  first  appeared  in  last  week's  Truthy  I  think.  They 
say  he's  going  to  get  sphced  to  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  Woman 
Suffrage  Movement — Lady — what's  her  name? — Lady  Harley. 
Two  and  two  are  four,  ain't  they,  Jack  ?  " 

For  an  mstant  the  close  steamy  shop,  with  its  fumes,  and  its 
uncouth  crowd  with  their  munching  jaws  vanished,  and  by  some 
link  of  association  a  pale  dreamy  face  shone  before  Jack's  eyes 
through  a  mist  of  tears.  He  staggered,  and  a  cry  of  sharpest 
pathos  rent  the  air  : 

••  Oh,  Gwendolen  I  oh,  my  love !  * 
A  roar  of  laughter  greeted  this  transpontine  effort. 
"Bravo,  Jack  I "  cried  the  young  man  in  a  burst  of  admiration. 
**  Do  that  again  to-night  and  you'll  bring  down  the  house.  I've 
never  seen  you  do  anything  so  &nny  in  your  life.  But  go  on  :  'Oh, 
Gwendolen  1  oh,  my  love,  give  me  your  hand,  and  I'll  give  your 
grandmother  a  vote.' " 

^  I  can't  stop  up,  missis,"  cried  Sally,  as  die  clock  was  striking 
three.  **  I  can't  do  more  than  run  up  and  see  to  you  every  now 
and  agen  ;  we  was  never  so  busy  in  all  our  borned  days.  And 
everybody  is  a-sayin'  as  'ow  the  cookery  is  better  than  they  ever 
tasted  afore." 

The  intense  delight  depicted  on  Mrs.  Dawe's  face  during  the 
utterance  of  the  greater  part  of  this  sentence  vanished  as  she  felt 
the  sting  it  carried  in  its  tail 

**  You're  a  liar ! "  she  exclaimed,  turning  purple  in  the  face. 
''You  can  no  more  cook  than  I  can— than  I  can  fly.  The  only 
dish  you  can  do  is  Irish  stew,  and  a  nice  mess  yer  make  o'  that, 
toa" 

"  Well,  I  made  a  nice  mess  of  it  to-day,  anyhow^"  replied  Sally, 
grinning.  "  And  Jack's  doin'  a  roarin'  trade  in  it  this  very  moment. 
It's  as  much  as  ht  can  do  to  take  the  money." 

"  Crow  away,  my  gal,  when  you've  got  your  missus  on  the  heap. 
But  it  isn't  no  dust-heap  ;  I  ain't  yet  carted  out  as  rubbish  into  the 
dmitery.  We'll  see  who's  got  most  life  in  'er  yet.  Crow  away, 
Sally,  but  remember,  as  my  late  'usband  said,  the  cheekiest  cock 
don't  crow  when  he's  stuffed." 

So  saying,  Mrs.  Dawe  vindicated  her  vitality  by  once  more 
jumping  out  of  bed. 

"Very  good,"  said  Sally  sullenly,  "if  you  will  kill  yerself,  yer 
must  take  the  consikkences.  Y'ain't  a-goin'  down  in  your  bed- 
gownd  1 " 


192  THE  PRkMtER  AND  THE  PAWTEtt 

"  I  ain't  a  hopera  singer,  ham  I  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Dawe  with 
indignation,  as  she  staggered  out  through  the  door.  "  I'm  goin'  to 
listen  'ow  many  asks  for  Irish  stew,  that's  all." 

Sally  received  the  information  with  a  tremulous  quiver  of  the 
lips,  an^  the  old  defiant  look  came  into  her  face.  There  was  a 
moment  of  intense  silence,  broken  only  by  the  loud  beating  of  the 
girl's  heart,  and  the  stertorous  breathing  of  the  old  woman. 

**  Why,  Sally,"  shrieked  Mrs.  Dawe,  "  I  don't  'ear  a  customer 
in  the  shop ! " 

"You  must  be  very  ill  indeed,  mum,"  said  Sally  compas- 
sionately, *'for  there's  a  dozen  if  there's  one.  Did  yer  teil  the 
doctor  as  you  was  deaf?" 

For  answer,  Mrs.  Dawe  snatched  up  a  blanket,  enveloped  her- 
self in  it,  and  rushed  down  the  stairs  dragging  Sally  bdiind  her 
tugging  at  the  blanket  to  keep  her  back. 

"Oh  'Eavens,  Tm  ruined  1"  cried  the  distracted  old  woman, 
beginning  to  wring  her  hands  as  she  at  once  perceived  the  shop 
completely  deserted,  the  shutters  up,  and  the  ooor  closed  though 
not  bolted.  "  I'm  robbed.  Where's  Jack  ?  My  own  son  leavin'  the 
business  at  the  mercy  of  the  neighbours  !    I'm  ruined  ! " 

"What,  ain't  Jack  here?"  said  Sally  innocently.  "Then  he's 
just  this  moment  gone." 

"  Gone  I "  she  screamed.  "  And  so  is  the  business.  And  Where's 
he  gone,  the  vagabond  ?  " 

"Oh,  missus,  he's  got  such  a  wonderful  order.  I  seed  the 
tellygraph  come.  Jack  said  it  would  bring  *im  a  mint  of  money, 
and  he  told  me  he  was  goin'  to  paint  it  soon,  and  while  I  was  up 
just  now  he  must  have  served  all  the  customers  and  shut  up  the 

shop,  and  so "    Sally's  breath  and  inventive  powers  failing  at 

the  same  time,  she  stopped. 

Her  mistress,  without  heeding  her,  had  rushed  to  the  till.  A 
scanty  sprinkling  of  coppers  alone  redeemed  the  bottom  from 
bareness. 

"He's  took  all  the  silver,"  Sally  hastened  to  say,  seeing  the 
deadly  horror  of  Mrs.  Dawe's  expression.  "  He  knowed  he  couldn't 
trust  me." 

"  Fiddlesticks ! "  cried  Mrs.  Dawe ;  "  you've  been  tellin'  me  a 
large  parcel  of  lies.  It's  'cause  you  never  taken  no  more,  not 
'cause  he  couldn't  trust  yer.  D'ye  think  I'd  a  picked  yer  out 
when  yer  was  that  'igh  if  I  didn't  know  yer  was  honest  and  truthful 
as  the  day  ?  No,  you  never  taken  no  more  ;  you  see  yer  can't  do 
without  the  old  woman,  arter  all."  This  reflection  gave  her  such 
acute  pleasure  as  almost  to  counterbalance  the  shock  administered 
by  the  emptiness  of  the  tilL  She  turned  round  suddenly  to  enjoy 
her  triumph  in  Sally's  humiliated  countenance,  and  instead  —poor 
creature — discovered  the  girl  in  the  act  of  furtively  concealing  the 
paint-pots.  She  raised  her  eyes  in  horrified  astonishment,  and  the 
blanket  slipped  off  her  shoulders  to  the  ground. 

"  That  undootiful  jackanapes,"  hysterically  sobbed  the  woman 
in  dirty  white  ;  "  he  am't  gone  to  paint  at  all.     I  know  what  it  is — 


r 


RESUMES  THE  HlSTOnV  OF  MOUNTCHAPEL  193 

he's  gone  to  get  drunk  again,  like  the  day  he  went  to  the  Foresters', 
when  he  lost  his  paint-pots.  He  only  cares  for  his  own  pleasures, 
he  does ;  he  don't  valley  the  money  I  eamt  by  the  sweat  of  my 
brow,  cookin'  all  day  long,  a  bit  He  goes  and  shuts  up  my  shop 
in  the  middle  o*  the  day  to  go  on  the  spree.  Oh,  oh !  and  my  good 
name  and  all  the  custom'll  go  to  that  ugly  Mrs.  Prodgers ;  oh,  oh!" 
—here  Mrs.  Da  we  could  utter  nothing  but  sobs  for  some  time — *'  a 
spiteful,  mean,  religious  old  cat,  who  would  pray  for  you  behind 
your  back — pray  for  you  behind  your  back." 

The  thought  of  being  eclipsed  by  a  woman  who  would  do  this 
was  too  dieadfiil  to  allpw  of  any  other  idea  being  contemplated 
for  some  time. 

"  Pll  go  to  bed^  the  broken-hearted  creature  moaned  threaten- 
ingly ;  "y/^^<?  A?  ^</." 

SaJly  sat  at  the  bedside  all  the  afternoon  with  humid  eyes, 
attending  on  her  mistress  with  the  gentleness  of  an  unprofessional 
nurse. 

Mrs.  Da  we  sobbed  for  a  long  time  in  sullen  despair,  refusing  all 
her  handmaid's  tender  ministrations.    At  last  she  fell  asleep. 

Then  Sally  got  a  number  of  the  Freethinker^  and,  in  the  inter- 
vals of  readjustm|^  the  blankets  which  the  uneasy  slumberer  was 
continually  throwmg  off,  she  studied  the  formation  of  the  letters  of 
the  alphabet 


CHAPTER   III. 

RESUMES  THE  HISTORY  OF  MOUNTCHAPEL. 

Never  in  the  whole  course  of  his  career  had  Bardolph  received 
such  a  knock-down  blow  as  that  administered  by  the  mild  sentences 
of  the  Standard  paragraph.  The  calm,  deliberate,  official  tone 
made  him  shudder  with  the  conviction  of  impotence,  and  when  the 
first  shock  of  pure  surprise  was  over,  he  felt  like  some  Arctic  voyager 
hemmed  in  between  inexorable  icebergs  advancing  surely  and 
majestically  to  crush  him  to  powder.  Nothing  in  his  experience, 
even  of  himself,  had  prepared  him  for  the  sublime  audacity  of  the 
coup  dealt  him  by  the  astute  and  wily  diplomatist  whom  he  had 
imprudently  quarrelled  with.  He  had  expected  a  visit  from  one  or 
other  of  hb  colleagues  after  the  Cabinet  Council ;  but  the  omission 
of  one  and  all  to  put  in  an  appearance  had  not  made  him  very  un- 
easy. Had  he  known  how  overwhelmed  they  were  in  all  senses  by 
the  now  historical  proceedings  of  that  Council,  he  would  not  have 
been  so  overwhelmed  himself  by  surprise,  indignation,  alarm,  and 
remorse.  And  the  first  emotion  was  never  absent  from  his  agitated 
0  isciousness.  Not  even  the  epigrammatic  Frenchman  who  has 
t;  ight  us  to  expect  nothing  but  the  unexpected  could  have  been 

0  re  surprised  at  the  occasional  falsification  of  his  anticipations 
t^  in  was  the  pragmatic  Englishman  at  the  failure  of  his  own 
11  ight    That  Floppington — he  the  dreamer,  the  prize-poet,  the  one 

1  n  that  could  awe  the  frivolous  Commoners  with  solemn,  religious 


194  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

gerorations,  the  simple-minded  scholar  with  the  gentle  vein   of 
amorous  melancholy — ^that  this  man  should  have  all  along  been 
as  consummate  an  intriguer,  as  worldly  a  man  and  politician  as 
himself,  lowered  his  view  of  human  nature  and  galled  him  to  the 
quick.    Bardolph  had  imagined  that  his  web  was  so  cunningly 
woven,  that  while  every  fibre  was  linked  with  and  strengthened  by 
every  other,  each  was  at  the  same  time  independent  of  the  rest. 
He  did  not  want  the  Conservatives  to  be  beaten  at  the  coining 
General  Election,  and  what  better  catchword  than  Female  Suffrage^ 
pure  and  simple  ?    He  did  not  want  the  Premier  to  take  office  again, 
and  how  could  he  better  cut  the  ground  from  under  his  feet  than 
by  advertising  Female  Suffrage  as  an  essential  plank  in  the  Tory 
platform  ?    He  did  not  want  Lady  Harley  to  risk  her  happiness  in 
the  incompetent  hands  of  Floppington,  and  how  could  he  better 
ingratiate  himself  with  her  than  by  posing  as  a  martyred  convert 
to  Female  Sufhrage,  whose  conscience  would  not  allow  him  to 
retain  his  position  in  an  unjust  Administration  ?    And  yet  with  one 
shameless  stroke  his  rival  had  severed  the  triple  strands.    The  gpod 
election  cry  would  be  spoilt  in  advance ;  the  promissory  note  would 
be  discounted ;  and  it  would  be  hard  to  find  another  prospect 
equally  alluring.    Whatever  of  prestige  and  gratitude  was  to  be 
gained  by  the  gift  of  the  Franchise  would  attach  to  his  chief,  who 
had  coolly  filched  from  him,  at  once  his  motive  of  opposition  and 
his  enlightened  principles.    And  in  the  game  played  for  love,  he 
had  conquered  him  by  the  Grecian,  and  therefore  un-English 
method  of  appropriating  the  trumps  and  substituting  them  for 
the  worthless  cards  of  the  other  suits.    But  not  content  with  the 
destruction  of  the  ambitions  of  his  underling,   the  unscrupulous 
Minister  had  endeavoured  to  annihilate  even  the  comparatively 
humble  political  status  to  which  he  had  laboriously  attained.     He 
had  forced  him  to  leave  the  Cabinet  under  the  impression  that  he 
was  resigning  because  of  his  disagreement  with  him,  and  then  by 
an  unparalleled  manoeuvre  he  had  cut  away  the  basis  of  the  dis- 
agreement and  left  the  unhappy  Ex-Minister  in  a  position  which, 
from  one  point  of  view,  was  as  ridiculous  as  it  was  humiliating. 

What  lurid  light  the  self-revelation  of  the  Premier  threw  upon 
the  events  of  the  past  few  months,  from  the  day  on  which  he  had, 
with  Cromwellian  reluctance,  accepted  the  virtual  sovereigpi  power 
of  the  Constitution!  The  masterly  hypocrisy  of  Fiopping^on's 
dealings  with  his  Cabinet  filled  his  late  Secretary  for  Foreign 
Aifairs  with  disgust.  Wise  after  the  event,  Bardolph  recalled 
certain  long-distant  observations  of  the  Premier,  displaying  flashes 
of  satirical  insight  which,  though  they  had  startled  him  somewhat 
at  the  time,  he  had  passed  over  too  carelessly.  It  was  evident  now 
that  the  Premier  had  always  been  aware  of  his  cabals,  and  could 
not  refrain  from  occasionally  letting  slip  a  sub-cynical  remark, 
which  seemed,  even  when  uttered,  to  point  to  a  passively  humorous 
tolerance  of  the  situation.  Bardolph  ground  his  teeth  at  the 
recollection  of  these  phrases,  the  product  not  of  self-conscious 
impotence  as  he  had  imagined,  but  of  dormant  power. 


ItEStrU£S  THE  HISTORY  OP  MOUNTCHAPSL  t^t 

But  if  Floppington  imagined  he  had  done  with  Lord  Bar* 
dolph  either  in  the  sphere  of  politics,  or  in  the  realm  of  love,  he 
was  greatly  mistaken.  If  he  chuckled  at  the  finesse  by  which  he 
had  disarmed  the  certain  opposition  of  an  Ex-Minister  to  the  strug- 
gling ministerial  measure,  it  could  only  be  because  he  had  not 
gauged  the  Protean  resources  of  his  antagonist  Defeat  could  not 
wither  the  noble  lord,  nor  conscience  stale  the  infinite  variety  of 
his  policy.  Like  that  ingenious  toy,  the  bottle  imp,  it  was  impos- 
sible to  knock  him  down.  He  gave  his  contemporaries  such  an 
impression  of  superabundant  vitality  that  it  was  understood  that  if 
you  cut  him  up  each  fragment  would  assume  independent  life. 
Whether  this  excessive  modifiability  of  function,  this  physical 
Jack-of-all-trades-ism,  was  only  the  obverse  of  defective  organisa- 
tion shall  be  left  an  open  question ;  but  it  may  be  pointed  out  to  the 
scientist  that  the  better  organised  a  political  party  is,  the  greater 
and  not  the  less  is  the  homogeneity  of  the  parts. 

Bardolph,  being  thus  brinuning  over  with  vitality,  was  far  fi*om 
giving  up  the  ghost  Not  only  did  he  hit  upon  a  plan  which  enabled 
him  to  offer  a  determined  resistance  to  the  second  reading  of  the 
Reform  Bill,  but  with  his  usual  ingenuity  he  utilised  his  opposi- 
tion for  the  apparently  impossible  purpose  of  posing  as  a  con- 
sistent and  lofty-minded  statesman  and  of  retaining  the  favour 
of  Lady  Harley. 

But  before  me  general  conflict  in  the  House  grew  to  a  head,  and 
before  the  hostile  armies  divided  for  the  bloodless  fray,  Bardolph 
had  the  luxury  of  a  duel  with  his  hated  rival.  Every  Ex- Minister 
has  his  night,  and  by  the  laws  of  the  combat,  Bardolph  was  al- 
lowed his  innings  first ;  and  for  an  hour  and  a  half  he  did  nothing 
bat  make  savage  thrusts,  and  administer  vigorous  prods,  and  deal 
vicious  digs  at  his  unresisting  opponent  with  a  keen,  brightly- 
polished,  poisoned  dagger,  or  belabour  and  thwack  him  with  a 
ponderous  and  crushing  sledge-hammer.  Marvellous  to  relate, 
Floppington  bore  the  blows  and  the  stabs  without  moving  a  muscle. 
A  contemptuous  and  placid  smile  dwelt  upon  his  passive  coun- 
tenance, as  though  he  were  guarded  by  invisible  mail.  The  invul- 
nerability of  his  enemy  maddened  the  already  wildly-slashing 
swash-buckler.  But  in  vain  he  foamed  at  the  mouth.  His  scath- 
ing virulence  did  not  seem  to  scathe  anybody  but  himself,  for  his 
righteous  and  justifiable  indignation  grew  unnghteous  and  unjustifi- 
able under  the  extravagance  of  its  manifestation. 

At  last  the  young  champion  sank  down  upon  a  bench  exhausted, 
and  the  imperturbable  Minister,  rising,  answered  him  with  winged 

wordsw 

Never  had  Floppington  addressed  the  House  with  so  majestic 
a  mien,  or  so  dignified  an  air»  as  that  assumed  by  him  at  the  com- 
mencement and  the  conclusion  of  his  famous  reply  to  the  grave 
accusations  of  Mountchapel ;  and  even  in  the  middle  of  it,  though 
he,  perhaps,  marred  its  classic  severity  by  his  late-born  love  for 
popular  phraseology,  his  manner  never  lost  its  haughty  serenity. 
So  must  have  fronted  the  tribunal  of  his  fellow-dtixens,  that  old 


196  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

Roman  worthy  who,  for  all  refutation  of  the  charges  brought 
against  him,  was  content  to  deny  their  truth. 

The  Premier  began  by  administering  a  severe  reproof  to  the 
peccant  Cabinet  Minister  for  the  breach  of  confidence  committed 
by  him,  in  revealing  the  secrets  of  the  Cabinet  and  publishing  to 
the  world  the  private  discussions  of  its  members.  He  regretted 
that  the  noble  lord  should  have  so  far  forgotten  what  was  due  alike 
to  himself  and  his  colleagues,  and  more  particularly  to  the  Head  of 
Her  Majesty's  Government,  as  to  have  allowed  himself  to  use  his  im- 
perfect recollections  of  confidential  conversations  for  the  purpose  of 
substantiating  certain  charges  which  he  had  thought  it  necessary  to 
bring  against  his  late  chief  and  some  of  his  late  colleagues. 

**  Such  behaviour,''  said  the  Premier,  thumping  the  table  em- 
phatically, "is  unprecedented" — and  somebody  crying  "  Question  ?** 
he  added  amid  laughter — '*  at  least  in  my  short  experience  of  the 
House." 

The  right  honourable  gentleman  went  on  to  express  his  con- 
viction that,  in  time,  the  noble  lord  would  himself  see,  and  even 
acknowledge,  with  what  imprudence  and  indiscretion  he  had  acted 
Then  drawing  himself  up  with  a  sudden  accession  of  august  in- 
dignation : 

^'  Meantime,  sir,''  he  cried,  "  the  noble  lord  has  forced  upon  me 
the  necessity  of  unveiling  to  the  world  the  relations  between  mysdf 
and  him,  and  as  he  has  courted  public  scrutiny  so  far  as  to  exhibit 
a  caricature  of  them,  he  cannot  complain  if  I  correct  the  coarseness 
of  his  strokes,  and  convert  his  daub  into  a  faithfiil  portrait.  The 
issue  raised  by  the  member  for  Wadding  is  altogether  false.  He 
has  trailed  the  red  herring  of  Women's  Suffrage  across  the  track, 
and  given  a  fishy  complexion  to  the  straightforward  facts."  (Laughter.) 
'*  All  I  shall  say  on  the  point  is  that  his  secession  from  my  Ministry 
was  quite  unconnected  with  any  specific  political  question,  but  was 
due  to  the  impossibility  of  the  noble  loni's  working  harmoniously 
with  myself  and  the  rest  of  his  colleagues.  The  late  Secretary  for 
Foreign  Affairs  seemed,  in  his  independence  and  self-sufEciency,  to 
have  taken  Palmerston  as  a  model,  and  he  endeavoured  to  impose 
his  wishes  on  the  rest  of  the  Cabinet.  The  noble  lord  forgot  that  I 
was  no  more  a  replica  of  Grey  than  he  of  Palmerston."  (Cheers 
and  laughter.)  "  The  experiment  of  dual  control  appeared  to  me 
as  little  satisfactory  in  home  as  in  foreign  politics.  Sir,  this  is  the 
sole  and  sufficient  explanation  of  the  disagreement  between  me  and 
my  late  colleague,  who  seems  to  forget  the  logical  canon,  that  ex- 
planations are  not  to  be  multiplied  beyond  necessity."  (Laughter 
and  cheers.)  "We  did  not  disagree  on  the  woman  clause  in  the 
Reform  Bill  because  it  takes  two  to  make  a  disagreement,  and  we 
had  both  grown  convinced  of  its  necessity."  (Cheers.)  **  Nor  did 
I  extract  his...Nestorian  counsels  (laughter)  under  false  pretences, 
and  then  repudiate  their  author  as  he  imagines.  Let  me  tell  him 
that  I  had  determined  upon  my  present  policy  long  before  he  had 
i  he  faintest  conception  of  his  own  views.*'  (Cheers  and  laughter.) 
"  Let  me  tell  him— what  he  knows  as  well  as  I  do — that  he  resigned 


RESUMES   THE  HISTORY  OF  MOUNTCHAPEL  197 

because  I  was  compelled  to  intimate  to  him  that  two  Premiers  in  a 
Cabinet  were  one  too  many,  and  that,  in  my  opinion,  two  Heads 
were  not  better  than  one."  (•*  Hear,  hear,"  and  laughter.)  "  But  the 
noble  lord  has  not  confined  his  denunciations  to  me.  Her  Majest/s 
Government  as  a  whole  he  has  essayed  to  scarify.  He  has  pre- 
dicted that  under  that  organised  hypocrisy,  as  he  has  with  such  origi- 
nality termed  it  (laughter),  the  country  will  go  to  the  devil  Sir,  the 
member  for  Wadding  has  long  been  the  Old  Moore  of  politics 
(loud  laughter) ;  but  if  he  fancies  that  the  country  will  follow  him 
immense  laughter)  in  his  distrust  of  Her  Majesty's  Government 
(more  laughter)  I  shall  not  attempt  to  disturb  his  cheerful  £uth." 
(Laughter.)  "The  Laureate,  in  a  celebrated  passage  of  In  Memoriam 
—and  what  more  appropriate  poem  could  be  cited  on  the  present 
occasion?  (loud  and  prolonged  laughter) — says : 

'  Leave  thou  thy  sister  where  she  pimySi 
Her  early  Heaven,  her  happy  views. 

If  we  alter  the  sex  throughout  the  couplet,  and  change  prays  to 
prophesies,  and  throw  in  the  member  for  Wadding's  devil  in  ex- 
change for  Tennyson's  heaven,  the  verses  will  express  my  senti- 
ments exactly."    (Loud  laughter.) 

*^So^  although  1  do  not  share  the  noble  lord's  belief  that  Govern- 
ment without  the  noble  lord  is  only  a  roundabout  method  of  going 
to  the  devil  (laughter),  I  shall  follow  the  spirit  of  the  poet's  i^vice 
by  leaving  the  noble  lord  where  he  prophesies,  and  making  no 
attempt  to  dispossess  him  of  his  devil  (loud  laughter)  or  of  his  happy 
views.  I  feel  sure  he  will  extend  a  similar  tolerance  to  my  own 
faith.  Weakened  as  Her  Majesty's  Government  undoubtedly  is  by 
the  retirement  of  the  noble  lord.  I  believe  it  will  still  be  able  to 
totter  on."  (Laughter.)  '*  While  I  sincerely  deplore  the  loss  of  the 
coadjutorship  of  the  noble  lord,  I  console  myself  by  the  hope  that 
in  process  01  time,  when  the  noble  lord  is  cured  of  the  excesses  and 
impetuosities  of  youth  ;  when  the  rigorous  discipline  of  life  shall 
have  taught  him  the  lesson  that  self-will  pushea  to  the  verge  of 
egotism  is  not  quite  the  same  thing  as  resolution;  when  in  the 
course  of  years  he  settles  down  into  the  sober  and  solid  wisdom  of 
a  late  maturity;  and  when  study  shall  have  given  him  a  profounder 
mastery  of  Imperial  and  financial  questions;  his  undeniable  talents, 
his  unauestionable  ability  in  debate,  will  qualify  him  to  again  render 
v^uable  services  to  the  State."  (The  right  honourable  gentleman 
resumed  his  seat  amid  cheers  from  all  parts  of  the  House,  having 
spoken  for  ten  minutes.) 

While  the  grave  senators  were  convulsed  with  merriment, 
Banlolph  was  convulsed  with  more  malignant  passions.  The  formid- 
ab  \  indictment  of  dishonourable  conduct  which  he  had  preferred 
a^i  nst  the  Prime  Minister,  and  which  had  at  first  made  a  weighty 
bn  ression  upon  the  House,  had  temporarily,  at  least,  degenerated 
int  a  subject  of  inextinguishable  laughter.  Floppington  delivered 
his  speech  in  his  newest  manner,  with  his  latest  innovations  in 
dr.  Tiatic  gesture  and  rhetorical  pause.    Despite  the  dignified  tone 


198  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

of  the  bulk  of  the  speech,  the  timid  hesitativeness  of  his  applica- 
tion of  the  epithet  **  Nestorian,"  the  half-frightened  stopping  short 
aiter  "  if  the  country  will  follow  him,''  as  though  he  had  just  per- 
ceived the  implication,  the  mournful  tone  of  his  reference  to  In 
Memoriam^  recalled  the  methods  of  American  humorists  on  the 
lecture-platform,  rather  than  of  the  great  Christian  orator  of  earlier 
debates,  with  his  solemn  invocations  and  his  lambent  flashes  of 
melancholy  humour.  Poor  Bardolph  writhed  under  the  excoriating 
lash  of  Floppington's  contempt  He  could  have  borne  anything 
sooner  than  this  frank  avowal  of  the  Premier's  ability  to  dispense 
with  the  services  of  one  who  had  hitherto  been  zegarded  as  indis- 
pensable to  a  Tory  Ministry.  So  lightly  did  his  late  chief  appear  to 
value  him,  that  he  would  not  even  condescend  to  take  him  seriously, 
and,  refusing  to  bandy  arguments  with  him,  had  treated  his  preten- 
sions with  lofty  arrogance,  airy  badinage,  and  unstatesmanlike 
sarcasm.  The  public  humiliation  was  intolerable,  and  could  not 
fail  to  damage  powerfully  his  political  status.  The  Ex-Secretary 
was  an  emotional  creature  at  bottom.  He  could  not  imitate  the 
external  immobility  of  his  adversary.  He  shifted  about  in  fiery 
restlessness  and  twisted  his  moustache  fiuiously.  The  Radicals, 
who  had  appeared  sympathetic  at  first,  had  ended  by  joining  in  the 
hearty  laughter  at  his  expense.  He  had  not  bargained  for  the 
simple  outspokenness  of  the  Premier,  whose  statement  was  tanta- 
mount to  the  assertion  that  the  Foreign  Secretary  had  been  virtually 
deposed  from  his  lofty  position.  He  darted  fierce  glances  at  the 
Treasury  Bench,  and  vowed  vengeance  on  his  unprincipled  colleagues, 
especially  on  those  who  were  his  friends.  None  of  the  latter  had,  as 
yet,  sent  in  their  resignations.  The '  fact  was  that  they  admitted 
the  justness  of  their  chiefs  standpoint  The  older  members  who 
had  served  in  the  last  Conservative  Government,  had  all  along  been 
wondering  at  the  dominating  tone  assumed  by  the  pert  youngster, 
the  new  man,  ignorant  or  disdainful  of  the  traditions  of  the  Cabinet, 
and  at  the  patience  with  which  the  Premier  had  tolerated  the  insub- 
ordination of  his  inferior.  It  was  now  plain  to  his  fellow  Ministers 
that  the  attitude  assumed  by  Lord  Mountchapel  on  the  Women's 
Suffrage  question  had  been  the  last  straw  that  broke  the  back  of 
even  so  long-su£fering  a  camel  as  the  Right  Honourable  Arnold 
Floppington. 

The  views  of  these  gentlemen  found  expression  in  a  peculiarly 
bitter  article  in  the  next  day's  Standard,  which  obviously  took  its 
cue  from  the  speech  of  the  Prime  Minister.  After  commenting 
severely  upon  the  indiscretions  of  the  youthful  £x-Minister,  whom 
it  characterised  as  an  '^  overgrown  schoolboy,"  it  proceeded  to  treat 
the  whole  affair  as  burlesque,  and  as  necessitating  a  like  levity 
in  the  handling  of  it  "  Mr.  Floppington  was  well  advised,"  it 
said,  ^  in  refusmg  to  continue  the  critical  discussion  of  the  actions 
of  an  imaginary  being.  If  the  House  were  in  the  habit  of  sitting 
for  the  purpose  of  analysing  the  creations  of  fiction,  no  doubt  MR- 
Floppington  could  add  a  valuable  quota  to  the  discussion  of  the 
noble  lord's  conception  of  Mr.  Floppington,  since  his  total  absence 


RESUMES  THE  HISTORY  OF  MOUNTCHAPEL  199 

of  relation  to  the  character  under  analysis  would  be  a  guarantee 
of  impartiality.  The  utterances  of  the  Member  for  Wadding  have 
long  revealed  an  embryonic  talent  for  origination,  but  never  before 
— we  speak  under  correction — had  his  genius  flashed  forth  so  deci- 
sively as  last  night,  and  it  ought  not  to  be  long  before  his  speeches 
appear  in  the  appropriate  three  volumes  of  the  moral  Mudie.* 
Only  an  Italian  improvisatore  of  the  highest  order  could  rival  him 
in  his  rapid  invention  of  character,  dialogue,  and  incident,  and  all 
the  while  his  eye  rolled  in  the  fine  frenzy  which  we  have  been 
taught  to  associate  with  the  process  of  giving  to  airy  nothings  a 
local  habitation  and  a  name.  It  was  well  that  the  unsullied  repu- 
tation of  the  great  statesman  who  directs  the  destinies  of  the  nation 
reassured  his  supporters,  or  they  would  have  passed  several  bad 
quarters  of  an  hour  while  the  late  Foreign  Secretary  was  making 
his  clumsy  but  forcible  onslaught  And  their  faith  was  fully  justi- 
fied in  the  sequel.  Lord  Bardolph  Mountchapel,  like  all 
ambitious  poets,  attempted  the  historical  drama,  but  the  demands 
of  art  caused  him  to  overdraw  his  villains  and  throw  too  spiritual 
a  halo  over  his  martyrs.  After  the  literary  historiographer  usually 
comes  the  prosaic  investigator  ;  after  the  sprightly  man  of  romance 
the  dull  man  of  facts  ;  and  it  frequently  turns  out  that  the  villains 
are  no  worse  than  the  martyrs,  and  the  martyrs  no  better  than  they 
should  be.  But  rarely  does  the  man  of  facts  tread  so  fast  on  the 
heels  of  the  artist  as  he  did  last  night  How  the  noble  lord  could 
have  ventured  upon  misrepresentation  so  gross  in  the  face  of  the 
knowledge  that  immediate  contradiction  and  exposure  was  inevit- 
able, it  is  difficult  to  understand ;  but  his  conduct  is  of  a  piece  with 
his  wonted  policy  of  living  from  hand  to  mouth.  Nothing  is  so 
&vourable  to  discontent  as  resignation,  and  the  Ex-Minister 
evidently  sacrificed  everything  to  the  promptings  of  spleen  and 
dissatisfaction.'' 

Even  the  Daily  News^  which  took  the  passage  of  arms  far  more 
seriously,  and  spoke  of  it  in  language  far  more  cautious,  accepted 
in  the  main  the  undisguised  avowal  of  the  Premier  that  he  and 
Mountchapel  could  not  (as  the  pressmen  put  it)  run  in  a  team,  and 
that  they  were  forced  to  separate  by  incompatibility  of  tempera- 
ment ;  while  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  crystallised  much  fluid  thought 
by  pithily  suggesting  that  in  the  Premier's  opinion  the  machine 
of  Government  was  not  a  Sociable,  and  that  Floppington  preferred 
to  skelter  down-hill  alone. 

By  the  Opposition,  indeed,  the  fall  of  Mountchapel  was  hailed 
irith  more  or  less  open  delight  Not  only  must  it  weaken  the 
Government,  but  also  it  held  out  some  prospect  of  the  desertion  of 
a  formidable  adversary  to  their  own  ranks.  The  audacity  and  inde- 
pendence of  the  Premier  impressed  as  much  as  they  astonished  the 

*  The  allusion  is  to  Mudie's  Lihrary,  a  philanthropic  institution  founded 
for  the  purpose  of  compelling  authors  to  expand  a  word  into  a  sentence,  a 
sentence  into  a  page,  and  a  page  into  a  volume  (to  reverse  the  saying  of 
Joabert),  in  order  that  the  supply  of  reading-matter  might  not  run  short ;  and 
alio  aerfiag  as  a  succedaneum  for  the  absent  censorship  of  the  Press. 


200  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

House ;  and  even  the  mental  sluggards  iHiom  the  annonnomieof 
of  the  ministerial  intentions  had  (ailed  to  aroose  hegan  to  recognise 
Uiat  their  conceptions  of  *^  Floppy''  most  be  overhauled. 

Follomng  hard  upon  the  unpleasant  incident  in  the  House  tihefe 
came  to  Bardolph  the  unpleasant  rumour  that  a  marriage  had  been 
arranged  between  the  Premier  and  Lady  Harley.  The  mmoar 
was  to  some  extent  confirmed  by  some  remarks  in  the  number  <»f 
Truth  which  appeared.after  the  Cabinet  CounciL  Tins  smart  Society 
journal,  in  some  respects  the  prototype  of  the  **"  Causerie  **  l#*gtflfti 
that  played  such  an  important  part  in  the  social  life  of  the  r^n  of 
Albert  I.,  asserted,  ^  on  good  authority,**  that  now  that  woman  was 
to  have  a  vote,  the  Premier  was  to  have  a  wife;  and  inqaifed 
satirically  whether  he  had  vowed  to  remain  a  bachelor  so  Imig  as 
every  possible  partner,  whatever  her  beauty  or  talents,  must  be 
devoid  of  the  crowning  grace  of  suffrage.  The  next  paragiapli 
congratulated  Lady  Harley  on  the  prospective  victory  of  ber 
cause. 

This  blow  was  not  calculated  to  lessen  the  rancorous  acdvity  of 
his  opposition  to  the  Reform  Bill  As  Tremaine  had  shrewdly 
divined,  he  was  leading  a  sort  of  patchwork  coalition,  the  ompo- 
nents  of  which  were  ovXy  united  by  a  common  desire  to  throw  out 
the  measure.  It  was  not  till  the  night  preceding  that  on  wfaidi  it 
was  almost  certain  that  the  division  would  be  taken  that  contia' 
dictory  reports  reached  his  ears  concerning  the  Premier's  marriage. 
For  gibing  the  heel  of  Truth  came  the  World  with  a  plajM 
rebuke  of  its  rival,  and  stating,  **  on  higher  authority,"  tnat  fax 
from  there  being  any  truth  in  the  malicious  insinuations  that  the 
Minister's  head  had  been  unduly  influenced  by  his  heart,  there  was 
even  a  coolness  between  him  and  the  lady  in  question. 

Bardolph  determined  to  pay  Gwendolen  a  visit  the  very  next 
day,  in  order  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  how  the  ground  lay ;  amd  for 
other  reasons.  It  was  perhaps  prudent,  in  view  of  Inture  contiii- 
gencies,  to  make  clear  to  her  the  grounds  of  his  opposition.  More- 
over, he  had  not  met  her  since  the  Dudiess's  reception,  and  he 
hungered  for  a  sight  of  her  faLce  and  a  quiet  talk  to  soothe  bis 
troubled  spirit  Despair  had,  indeed,  almost  stung  him  to  the 
proposing  point 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BARDOLFH  GOES  A-WOOINa 

It  is  wen  that  so  few  people  are  able  to  read  their  own  biographies, 
for,  thoufi^h  less  fdse  tnan  their  autobiographies  the  enors  genecilly 
lean  to  me  wrong  side.  And  although  the  writer  has  been  able  to 
find  no  contemporary  volume  devoted  to  the  life  of  Lady  Hader, 
the  remark  will  still  apply  to  the  ana  concerning  her  which  appeared 
from  time  to  time  in  the  contemporary  press.  It  was  well,  tbefl« 
that  she  was  not  In  the  habit  of  lookii^  at  herself  in  the  distotODg 


BARDOLPH  GOES  A-WOOING  201 

mirror  of  ephemeral  literature,  for  at  one  period  she  would  have 
found  her  lineaments  invested  with  an  expression  of  appealing 
piteousness  which  she  was  utterly  incapable  of  assuming.     Lady 
Gwendolen  was  not  one  of  those  social  nobodies  who  resemble 
amateur  authors  in  their  eagerness  to  see  their  names  in  print,  and 
whose  selfishness  leads  them  to  such  extremes  of  altruism  that  they 
are  anxious  to  be  a  bonne  bauche  "in  everybody's  mouth,"  rather 
than  that  the  supply  of  scandal  should  run  short.     So  when,  as  hap- 
pened in  the  course  of  time,  a  certain  amount  of  commiseration 
began  to  be  felt  for  her,  her  ignorance  of  its  existence  prevented 
her  from  enjoying  this  sympathy  of  the  public.     But  she  did  not 
suffer  the  less  because  this  compassion  was  wanting.    She  bled  in 
silence*  like  the  wounded  fawn,  whose  cries  would  only  bring  the 
hunters  on  its  track.    For  some  days  after  her  miserable  discovery 
she  remained  in  a  state  of  utter  prostration.     Floppington  had 
been  to.  her  the  embodiment  of  her  ideals  of  honour,  delicacy, 
chivalry  ;  and  with  the  fall  of  the  concrete  man,  it  seemed  at  first 
as  if  these  ideals,  too,  had  been  shattered.    The  thought  that  her 
life  would  not  be  an  utter  failure,  since  she  was  soon  to  see  the 
emancipation  of  her  sex,  afforded  her  but  little  comfort  in  those 
dark  days.     She  realised  now  how  much  selfish  joy  had  entered 
into  that  sacred  rapture  which  had  been  hers  when  the  Premier 
announced  to  her  the  change  in  his  views.     How  childish  seemed 
now  that  &rst  moment  of  delicious  two-fold  anticipation  !  The  cool, 
fragrant  conservatory,  with  its  waxen  exotics,  often  rose  dimly 
before  her  through  a  mist  of  tears,  but  darkness  reigned  therein, 
save  where  a  ray  of  moonlight  fell  upon  the  mocking,  stony  counte- 
nance of  Bacchus. 

Life  without  love  seemed  a  poor  thing  to  one  whose  intellect, 
keen  as  it  was,  always  worked  on  the  lines  laid  down  by  emotion. 
It  was  true  that  she  had  let  the  Premier  understand  that  she  could 
never  be  his  so  long  as  he  was  of  his  old  mind  on  the  Woman 
Question,  but  the  voluntary  breach  was  very  different  from  the 
present.  That  had  all  the  exquisite  pleasure  of  renunciation  com- 
bined with  the  soothing  hope  that  it  would  sooner  or  later  be  un- 
necessary. Bitterly  disappointed  in  her  first  marriage,  she  cherished 
unconfessed  visions  of  future  happiness.  No  sooner  was  the  first 
shock  of  marital  bereavement  over,  than  there  sprang  up  in  her 
soul  an  aftermath  of  the  earnest  aspirations  and  high  ideals  of  her 
girlhood.  And  now  once  again  the  fatal  sickle  of  conventional 
immorality  had  remorselessly  cut  down  the  golden  harvest. 

A  week  passed  before  Gwendolen  could  settle  down  to  her  old 
life.  Making  a  resolute  effort  to  shake  off  the  past,  she  sat  down 
one  afternoon  to  answer  her  neglected  correspondents.  As  she 
c  ened  her  desk,  she  perceived  her  unrevised  eulogy  on  the 
I  emier.  She  took  it  up  with  a  sigh,  and  read  it  through  with 
\  If-humorous  scepticism.  It  seemed  to  belong  to  a  world  of 
i  iam  in  which  she  had  dwelt  ages  ago,  and  to  which  she  could  no 
1  >re  return  than  to  the  innocent  days  of  childish  happiness.  But 
i   perusal  wrought  a  good  effect.    It  appealed  to  her  sense  of  fun. 


2oa  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

The  rhodomontade,  silly  and  false  as  it  now  appeared  to  her,  die 
could  yet  look  at  with  the  melancholy  but  humorous  tolerance  of 
larger  experience.  The  fresh  fount  of  brightness  and  merriment 
which  often  sparkled  through  her  seriousness  could  not  but  pre- 
serve her  from  protracted  mental  unhealthiness.  With  naif 
mockery,  half  pity  of  herself,  she  thought  of  those  lofty  expectations 
of  masculine  virtue  which  she,  now  grown  worldly- wise»  would, 
never  more  entertain ;  of  the  self-deception  which  made  her  admire 
the  delicate  Galilean  compliments  of  her  lover  while  longing  for 
one  word  of  healthy,  honest  passion ;  and  of  her  wilfully-blind  mis- 
interpretation of  that  presumptuous  rudeness  which  he  had  never 
shown  till  he  thought  nimself  certain  of  her  hand. 

It  was  a  dull,  cold  day,  and  a  cheerful  fire  gave  cosiness  to  the 
study.  Lady  Gwendolen  tore  up  the  paper  into  small  bits,  and 
musingly  burnt  the  fragments,  one  by  one.  By  the  time  the  last 
morsel  was  consumed  she  had  persuaded  herself  that  her.  love  for 
Floppington  was  equally  annihilated,  that  she  was  now  perfectly 
calm,  and  that  her  tinsd  freedom  from  illusions  and  conflicting 
interests  would  enable  her  to  devote  the  rest  of  her  life  to  the 
service  of  humanity.  The  half-checked  thought  even  crossed  her 
mind  that  she  might,  in  years  to  come,  make  a  muriate  de  conve- 
nance  (for  love  was  plainly  a  delusion),  with  the  proviso  that  the 
"convenience"  should  be  tested  by  the  additional  possibilities  of 
well-doing. 

It  was  while  smiling  sadly  at  this  not  inglorious  substitute  for 
romance  in  life  that  she  was  informed  Lord  Bardolph  Mount- 
chapel  had  called  to  see  her.  She  started,  and  sent  back  a 
message  that  she  was  unwell.  Then,  with  her  usual  impulsive- 
ness, she  recalled  the  servant  and  said  she  would  see  him  where  she 
was.  It  suddenly  flashed  across  her  that  here  was  one  more 
sufferer  by  the  Premier's  duplicity.  In  a  dull  sort  of  way  she  had 
glanced  through  the  newspapers  during  that  week  of  hyper-sensitive 
shrinking  from  all  contact  with  the  outside  world,  and,  though 
startled,  she  had  not  been  amazed  to  learn  the  true  reason  of  her 
friend's  resignation  of  his  secretariat.  It  goes  without  saying,  that 
she  was  more  inclined  to  credit  the  story  of  the  man  with  the 
grievance;  and,  while  she  could  not  repress  a  feeling  of  admiration 
for  the  courageous  frankness  of  the  Premier's  defence,  she  still  felt, 
and  was  not  alone  in  feeling,  that  he  had  shirked  the  impeachment 
of  his  methods  of  getting  rid  of  an  undesirable  colleague.  Surely 
nothing  but  a  pure  love  of  intrigue,  such  as  animated  Pope,  could 
have  induced  him  to  dismiss  a  subordinate  by  the  needlessly  round- 
about plan  of  pretending  to  disagree  with  hmi  upon  an  important 
question.  Or  had  he  been  unable  to  find  a  decent  pretext  for 
dismissing  him,  and  so  resorted  to  an  unprecedented  manoeuvre, 
counting  upon  the  unpleasantness  of  the  Ex-Minister's  position  to 
ensure  his  silence  ?  Anyhow,  one  thing  was  plain.  The  younger 
politician  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  sharp  practice  of  the  old  par« 
liamentary  stager.  She  had  not  followed  the  debate  on  the  Reform 
Billy  nor  the  kaleidoscopic  combinations  of  parties ;  taking  it  fat 


r 


BARDOLPH  GOES  A-WOOING  203 

certain  that  the  second  reading  would  he  carried.    Had  she  done 
so^  she  might  not  have  thought  the  conduct  of  Lord  Mountchapel 
so  childlike  and  bland.    As  it  was^  she  felt  herself  drawn  towards 
him  more  than  ever  by  the  magnetism  of  common  suffering.  When 
he  entered  the  cosy  room  she  went  to  meet  him  with  a  tender  smile 
of  welcome.    She  gave  him  her  hand  sympathetically,  and  allowed 
him  to  retain  it  for  a  moment,  feeling  somehow  strengthened  by 
the  air  of  determination  and  jauntiness  visible  upon  his  vivacious 
countenance.    The  mercurial  Bardolph  had  had  time  to  recover 
from  the  effects  of  his  recent  duel,  and  he  had  found  balsam  for 
his  wounds  in  the  support  of  a  portion  of  the  press  (notably  the 
Times)  and  in  the  thought  of  the  coming  defeat  of  the  Reform 
Bill    Gwendolen's  feelings  soon  passed  from  pity  to  admiration. 
The  smartness  of  his  dress,  the  gay  rose  in  his  button-hole,  the 
brightness  and  directness  of  his  glance,  the  erectness  of  his  well- 
poised  head,  all  pointed  to  an  internal  consciousness  of  power. 
She  began  to  wonder  whether  her  opinion  of  this  blunt,  cynical 
man  of  the  world,  who  made  no  pretensions  to  superfine  emotions, 
did  not  need  revision.    A  woman,  who  had  already  blundered  so 
fatally  in  her  reading  of  character,  could  not  but  have  her  con- 
fidence in  her  own  powers  rudely  shaken. 

Smiling  still  more  winningly  in  her  remorse  she  motioned  him 
to  a  chair.     Bardolph's  mind  was  as  sensitive  as  the  Stock  Ex- 
change.    Small  forces  could  produce  in  it  what  seemed  to  less 
delicate  minds  disproportionate  effects.    Thus,  though  he  had  been 
impressing  upon  the  Premier  how  necessary  it  was  that  the  Con- 
servatives should  give  woman  a  vote,  yet,  when  he  found  himself 
juggled  out  of  the  Cabinet,  he  saw  the  danger  of  entrusting  the 
retorai  of  the  franchise  to  a  party  containing  men  so  unprincipled. 
The  moment  seemed  propitious  for  benefiting  his  country  by 
imitating  the  r61e  of  Disraeli  versus  Peel  in  circumstances  sur- 
prisingly parallel,  except  in  the  one  fact  that  he  himself  agreed  in 
the  abstract  with  the  principle  to  whose  success  he  was  so  violently 
opposed.    This  exception  necessitated  a  change  of  method,  but 
not  a  diminution  of  rancour,  and  he  at  once  organised  a  strong 
faction  of  all  those  opposed  to  female  franchise,  basing  his  own 
antagonism,  as  has  already  been  explained,  on  his  disbelief  in  the 
genuineness  of  the  ministerial  promises ;  and,  as  is  often  the  case,  up 
to  the  last  moment  both  parties  felt  certain  of  victory.     But  when 
he  heard  the  contradiction  of  Gwendolen's  engagement,  he  began 
to  feel  a  reviving  sense  of  the  undesirability  of  procrastination  in 
so  important  a  reform,  and  a  reluctance  to  allowing  it  to  pass  into 
the  hands  of  the  Liberals.    He  determined  to  offer  himself  at  once 
in  marriage  to  her  ladyship,  and  if  she  accepted  him  to  defer  to  her 
views  on  the  subject    Should  she  think  his  well-meant  opposition 
was  doing  harm  to  her  cause,  he  was  prepared,  even  at  the  eleventh 
hoar,  to  throw  it  up  and  save  the  Bill,  whose  fate  he  felt  sure  was 
m  his  hands.    This  course  could  easily  be  made  to  redound  to  his 
credit    There  would  be  no  inconsistency  in  his  voting  for  the 
second  reading ;  indeed,  he  knew  that  bets  had  been  offered  that 


i 


204  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

he  would  vote  for  it  in  the  end.  He  would  then  appear  as  a  man 
who,  in  his  magnanimity^,  refrained  from  breaking  up  the  party,  and 
was  not  ashamed  of  giving  way  to  the  majority,  even  at  the  last 
moment.  The  reflected  light  thrown  on  his  past  action  would 
show  how  uniust  had  been  the  suspicion  of  personal  motives. 

On  the  other  hand,  Gwendolen's  refusal  of  his  suit  would  prove 
that  she  meant  to  marry  Floppington  after  all,  and  there  woidd  be 
no  reason  why  he  should  desist  from  harassing  a  renegade  aud 
defeating  his  measures,  for  the  sake  of  a  flirt  with  unsound  views  on 
political  expediency. 

'*  Of  course  you  will  be  in  the  Gallery  to-night,"  was  his  first 
remark. 

**  No,"  replied  Gwendolen  simply.    "  Why  should  I  ?  " 

'*  I  thought  you  would  care  to  hear  Flopping^on's  speech,"  he 
replied  bluntly. 

She  started  slightly,  and  coloured  up.  The  name  seemed  to 
rankle  her  wound  afresh. 

'*  Indeed  ?"  she  murmured,  with  a  show  of  indifference. 

Bardoiph,  who  had  watched  her  sharply,  pierced  through  the 
assumption.  ''Is  it  possible,"  he  exclaimed,  ''that  you  will  be 
absent  on  so  critical  an  occasion  ?" 

"What,  is  the  debate  over,  then?"  cried  Gwendolen,  startled 
into  excitement 

"To-night,  in  all  human  probability,"  returned  Bardoiph,  "the 
division  on  the  second  readmg  will  be  taken,  and  if  the  Govern- 
ment get  a  majority — well,  you  know  what  they  promise  1  ^ 

"To-night  1"  echoed  Gwendolen,  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  Didn't  you  know  it  ?  "  asked  he,  in  intense  surprise. 

"  No,"  she  returned.  "I — 1  have  been  so  busy  at  home  all  the 
week  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  give  sufficient  attention  to  the 
course  of  events.  But  I  shall  certainly  be  present  if  that  is  the 
case." 

Ere  she  had  finished,  the  young  statesman,  with  his  usual 
decisiveness,  had  taken  a  complete  diagnosis  of  her  mental  con- 
dition. There  had  undoubtedly  been  an  irreparable  breach 
between  the  lovers,  and  her  affection  had  changed  to  indifferenoe^ 
perhaps  to  loathing.  To  conceal  his  exultant  perturbation,  he 
said  the  first  thing  that  came  to  his  lips— a  jumble  of  classical 
reminiscences  in  the  worst  taste. 

"Then  Demosthenes  will  be  cheered  by  the  presence  of 
Egeria." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Gwendolen  coldly. 

"  Then  I  suppose  the  allusion  is  wrong,"  he  observed  lightly. 
"  Unfortunate  man  that  I  am,  my  friends  are  always  down  on  my 
classical,  and  my  enemies  on  my  political  facts.* 

Gwendolen  hastened  to  change  the  subject  "  Will  you  speak  ? ' 
she  inquired. 

"  Certainly.  I  have  reserved  myself  for  to-night "  he  answered 
with  calm  determination. 

"  And  which  side  do  you  take  ?  You  oppose  us  now,  perhapsi" 
she  said  languidly. 


r 


BARDOLPH  GOES  A- WOOING  2c; 

**  Lady  Harley  I  *'  Bardolph  half  rose  from  his  chair  and  threw 
a  look  of  eloquent  reproach  at  Gwendolen,  who  was  gazingly  wist- 
fuUy  into  the  fire.  •*  Et  tu,  Brute?'*  he  exclaimed  bitterly.  " Is 
Saul  also  among  the  proph —  I  mean,  are  you  among  those  who 
think  evil  of  me,  and  are  ever  impugning  my  motives  ?  I  am 
opposing  the  Premier,  it  is  true,  but  not  you — oh,  I  hope  never  you! 
^d  I  thought  that  you,  at  least,  would  do  justice  to  the  purity  of 
my  motives. 

Gwendolen  was  moved  by  the  ring  of  pathos  and  sincerity  in 
the  words.  *'  Pardon  me  if  I  have  wronged  you,''  she  said  gently. 
''But  so  far  am  I  from  impugning  your  motives  in  opposing  the 
Premier,  that  excepting,  indeed,  your  passage  of  arms  with  him 
last  week,  I  did  not  know  you  were  doing  so.  And  I  can  to  some 
extent  sympathise  with  your  action,  knowing  as  I  do  how  badly 
you  have  been  treated." 

An  irrepressible  smile  of  triumph  flitted  across  his  face.  '*  Yes,'' 
he  exclaimed  eagerly,  ^  I  have  been  vilely  betrayed  and  duped." 
How  strange  it  was  that  her  best  friends  were  always  destined 
to  hamper  the  success  of  her  cause  ?  Yet  she  received  the  news  of 
Bardolph's  antagonism  with  indifference,  feeling  it  not  tmnatural 
and  confident  of  its  inefficacy. 

''  But  you  cannot  en>ect  me  to  sympathise  with  your  aims,'' 
she  went  on,  smiling  sadly.  ''  For  even  if  your  opposition  is  to  the 
Premier  and  not  to  us,  you  mast  see  how  the  course  you  say  you 
are  taking  injures  the  cause  you  professed  to  have  at  heart." 

**  Ah,  Lady  Harley,"  replied  Bardolph  reproachfully,  **  I  am 
sorry  to  hnd  you  taking  that  superficial  view.  You  were  right  in 
saying  you  have  not  kept  au  caurant  with  the  march  of  events. 
But  when  you  have  heara  my  speech  to-night,  you  will  confess  that 
1  am  the  truest  friend  of  your  cause.  And  you  will  rejoice  with 
me,  when,  as  I  anticipate,  the  Government  is  beaten,  or  wins  by  so 
small  a  majority  that  the  Reform  Bill  will  have  to  be  dropped." 

''The  Government  beaten ! "  Gwendolen  exclaimed  in  alarmed 
astonishment  Was  it  the  irony  of  fate  that  one  of  her  lovers 
should  always  be  the  instrument  of  destroying  her  hopes,  on  the 
very  eve  of  their  fulfilment  ?  She  looked  at  Bardolph  with  an  ir- 
repressible flash  of  indignation.  ''I  thought  an  enormous  majority 
of  the  members  agreed  with  you  ?  "  she  said  a  trifle  maliciously. 

**  Yes,  so  they  do,"  he  replied  nervously.  **  We  are  nearly  all 
agreed  on  the  principle.  But  you  see  many  men  believe  that  after 
the  experience  of  Ministerial  manoeuvres  afforded  by  the  treatment 
of  me,  the  Government  are  not  to  be  trusted  to  keep  their  promise 
of  getting  the  Female  Sufirage  clause  inserted  in  Committee.  You 
m  n  ac^owledge.  Lady  Harley,  that  they  have  good  reason  for 
re  ising  to  vote  on  what  is  probably  a  false  issue.  There  never 
w:  \  such  a  curious  division— nor  such  a  strange  jumble  of  parties. 
N  body  thinks  of  Uie  actual  Reform  Bill  at  all.  Everybody  is 
g<  Ag  to  vote  for  or  against  a  clause  which  is,  as  yet,  non-existent, 
ai  I  which,  I  honestly  believe,  will  never  be  added  to  Flopping:  on's 
n  isure.    He  is  trying  to  hoax  the  House  into  assuring  the  pass- 


I 


^ 


8o6  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 


ing  of  his  Bill,  and  if  he  succeeds,  why,  you  may  take  the  word 
of  a  practical  politician  for  it»  that  the  enfranchisement  of  your 
sex  will  be  indefinitely  postponed.  You  see,  then,  that  I  am  working 
with,  and  not  against,  your  cause." 

The  earnestness  of  Bardolph's  accents  wrought  a  visible  im- 
pression upon  Gwendolen.  He  saw  the  advantage  he  had  gained 
and  continued  meaningly : 

"  But  I  am  not  inflexible,  Lady  Harley.  I  have  acted  according 
to  my  best  judgment,  and  I  have  given  you  the  grounds  of 
my  action.  But  I  may  be  wrong  in  doubting  the  sincerity  of  the 
Government  You  may  have  reasons  for  trusting  it,  and  if  you 
think  I  am  doing  your  cause  more  harm  than  good,  I  am  ready 
to  reconsider  my  opposition.  That  is  why  I  thought  it  right  to  see 
you  before  the  irrevocable  division,  and  to  ask  your  advice  as  a 
leader  of  the  cause.  I  could  not  find  time  to  come  before,  but  it  is 
not  too  late  yet  If  I  intimate  to  my  adherents  that  I  have  seen 
reason  to  believe  the  intentions  of  the  Government  are  honest, 
they  will  follow  me  into  the  Ministerial  lobby  in  a  body — that  is, 
of  course,  except  the  independent  members  and  the  old  Tories, 
who  are  against  the  principle  of  the  proposed  clause.  Even 
though  I  were  to  be  the  butt  of  the  entire  kadical  press  for  my 
sudden  revolution  (and  the  Radical  press  exists  only  to  misrepre- 
sent me),  I  would  bear  all  that  and  more  for  your  sake,  Gwendolen." 
He  uttered  the  name  quickly  and  tentatively,  and  lingered  over  the 
preceding  words. 

'*  How  can  I  tell  what  is  best  ?  "  she  asked  mournfully,  ignoring 
the  last  phrase  altogether.  ^'  If,  as  you  say,  so  many  men  mistrust 
the  Government,  there  must  be  some  grounds  for  their  want  of 
confidence.  And  if  we  should  gain  nothing  by  the  Premier's  par- 
liamentary victory ^    She  sighed,  and  did  not  complete   the 

sentence. 

An  awkward  silence  of  some  minutes  ensued.  A  sudden  dim- 
ness fell  upon  the  study  and  a  heavy  driving  rain  dashed  ag^ainst 
the  window  panes.  Gwendolen  shivered  drearily.  "Will  you 
come  to  the  fire  ?  "  she  asked. 

Bardolph  drew  his  chair  to  a  comer  of  the  fire  and  sat  down 
opposite  Gwendolen.  Her  delicately-cut  mobile  face  was  very 
pale,  and  the  ruddy  firelight  flickering  over  it  invested  it  with  a 
weird  charm.  Her  eyes  appeared  to  have  g^own  larger  and  more 
pathetic  The  halo  of  a  saint  who  had  done  with  earthly  joys 
seemed  to  surround  her.  Bardolph  did  not  break  the  delicious 
silence.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  could  be  satisfied  to  remain 
there  for  ever  with  her,  out  of  the  storm.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  repose  seemed  better  than  action.  He  had  come  to  ask 
her  to  be  his  wife,  but  he  could  not  utter  the  words  for  fear  of 
cutting  short  those  divine  moments  of  quasi-domestic  bliss. 

Gwendolen,  for  her  part,  was  thinking  of  her  visitor's  factious 
opposition  to  the  Reform  Bill.  At  one  moment  she  thought  his 
fears  of  treachery  justified;  at  another,  she  reflected  on  the  purity 
of  the  Premier's  career  up  to  a  few  days  ago,  and  was  tortuied 


BARDOLPff  GOES  A^WOOING  «o7 

wkh  disquieting  suspicions  that  even  in  the  Mountchapel  affair 
he  might  be  found  guiltless  were  all  known.  She  knew  that  men 
whose  private  lives  would  not  bear  investigation  had  often  served 
their  country  feiithfully,  and  she  asked  herself  whether  it  was  fair 
to  test  Uie  sincerity  of  his  promises  to  the  public  by  her  personal 
knowledge  of  his  character.  After  all,  might  not  MountchapeFs 
attitude  needlessly  delay  a  great  reform  ?  And  was  Mountchapel 
himself  quite  sincere  ?  She  had  always  repressed  any  suspicion  of 
him,  though,  as  in  her  last  talk  with  him  at  the  Duchess's,  she  had 
now  and  again  transfixed  him  with  a  playful  dart  He  had  certainly 
confided  to  her  his  changed  views  on  the  enfranchisement  of 
woman  before  any  of  the  other  Ministers  had  made  the  least  sign 
of  concession,  and  now  he  had  to  all  appearance  suffered  some- 
thing of  martyrdom  for  the  cause.  But  what  had  made  him  come 
over  so  unexpectedly  in  the  first  instance  ?  At  last  she  observed 
musingly : 

^  Thinking  doesn't  seem  to  help  one  much.  You  come  to  me 
for  advice,  and  it's  so  hard  to  give  it,  despite  the  cynics.  Perhaps 
I  could  make  up  my  mind  better  if  I  were  sure  you  were  quite  frank 
with  me.  Forgive  my  bluntness.  Lord  Bardolph,  but  there  is 
no  need  for  pretence  between  friends — and  we  are  friends,  are 
we  not  ? — and  the  interests  at  stake  are  too  great  to  be  risked 
li^tly.'' 

Bardolph's  heart  bounded  vigorously  at  this  remark.  Accus- 
tomed as  he  was  to  receive  people's  slightest  observations  as  though 
they  were  political  manifestoes,  and  to  see  in  them  all  sorts  of 
suggested  subtleties  and  iquivoques^  the  implications  of  this  remark 
removed  his  last  doubt. 

Refusal  of  his  suit  was  impossible  now.  The  woman  had  evi- 
dently made  as  sharp  a  right-about-turn  in  love  as  the  man  in 
politics.  He  settled  himself  more  comfortably  in  his  chair,  and 
warmed  the  hand  he  was  about  to  offer  to  her  ladyship. 

It  was  with  a  mental  vision  of  himself  gleefully  tearing  up  the 
projected  speech  which  he  was  carrying  in  his  pocket,  that  he 
replied  after  a  pause : 

"  Dear  Lady  Harley,  how  can  I  be  franker  with  you  ?  In  my 
hands  Ues  the  fate  of  the  Reform  Bill.  I  have  transferred  the 
decision  to  you,  and  it  is  for  you  to  raise  or  lower  your  thumb." 

**  You  have  certainly  sketched  the  situation  frankly,"  she  said 
with  a  quiet  smile.  "  But  you  forget  that  I  am  dependent  upon  you 
for  the  data  of  my  decision.  You  are  an  ex-gladiator  with  an  inti- 
mate acquaintance  with  the  champions  of  the  arena,  whom  I,  for 
my  partf  know  only  in  their  non-professional  character.  And  if  you 
assure  me,"  she  added  with  sudden  determination,  '^that  the 
combatant-in-chief  is  fighting  unfairly,  and  that  you  have  no 
itrrQre  pensie  in  informing  me  of  it,  but  are  actuated  by  a  pure  love 
of  justice,  why,  I'll  take  your  word,  and  there's  an  end  of  it." 

'*Well,  I  can  assure  you  of  this,"  he  answered  earnestly: 
^  Floppington  never  swerved  from  his  opposition  to  your  cause, 
though  I  pointed  out,  time  after  time,  that  he  was  flying  in  the  face 


1 


2o8  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 


of  justice,  and  the  good  of  the  pacty.  And  it  is  impossible  to  believe 
that  he  changed  his  mind  so  suddenly.  Even  if  he  was  goaded  into 
promising  the  extra  clause,  his  conscience  would  not  allow  him  to 
keep  his  promise." 

Gwendolen  could  not  help  smiling  again  at  this  paradox,  as  well 
as  at  the  naivetioi  Bardolph's  use  of  double-edged  argument. 

"  But  you  changed  your  mind  quite  as  suddenly/'  she  said  slily. 
'*  Come,  my  lord,  ^  your  true  self,  and  tell  me  candidly  why  you 
gave  us  yoiu  support." 

Her  truthful  gray  eyes  looked  at  him  banteringly,  yet  gravely. 
He  was  silent.  He  felt  unable  to  make  one  of  his  glib  replies ; 
something  told  him  that  the  moment  was  one  in  which  she  would 
instinctively  recognise  a  sham,  and  that  to  give  her  his  confidence 
was  to  enter  into  closer  relations  with  her.  Perhaps,  indeed,  her 
suspicion  that  he  had  never  been  quite  open  with  her,  had  always 
kept  a  certain  impassable  gulf  between  them.  But  he  feared  to 
shock  those  delicate  cloistral  scruples  that  had  never  known  the 
necessities  of  practical  politics. 

''  Prav  do  not  torture  your  brain  for  a  compliment,"  said  Gwen- 
dolen. ^  I  will  take  it  for  granted  that  you  thought  the  cause  could 
not  be  wrong  because  /  was  always  in  the  right  But  what  else 
wrought  your  conversion  ?* 

Still  he  was  silent.  But  he  reflected  that  as  they  were  going  to 
be  one,  her  portion  of  the  unity  must  be  approximated  in  character 
to  his,  and  the  sooner  the  better.  The  window  rattled  impatiently 
for  his  answer. 

^'  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  know  my  sentiments  exactly,'' 
he  burst  out  '*  If  representative  government  be  not  a  fiction,  the 
business  of  us  legislators  is  to  represent  The  people  wish  for 
reforms,  and  I  see  no  reason  why  the  honourable  duty  of  carrying 
out  their  desires  should  not  be  undertaken  by  whosoever  can 
manage  to  get  to  the  front.  Well,  I  have  got  to  die  front,  but  I  am 
young  and  ambitious.  That  seat  in  the  Cabinet,  which  would  have 
satisfied  most  men,  never  contented  me.  1  want  to  be  at  the  head 
of  affairs.  It's  very  natural.  In  fact,  it  is  only  another  phase  of 
the  universal  competition  of  life,  as  you  would  know  had  you  studied 
concrete  politics  as  I  have.  Each  of  the  two  parties — like  rival 
shop-keepers — endeavours  to  get  the  temporary  monopoly  of  the 
manufacture  of  Acts  of  Parliament,  the  reward  being  honour,  and 
sometimes  pelf.  The  supply  is  determined  by  the  demand,  as  it  is 
in  everything  else.  So  it  really  doesn't  matter  what  party  is  in 
power  except  to  the  leaders,  and  the  public  gets-  its  reforms  and  is 
satisfied.  I  do  claim  to  be  honestly  convinced  that  woman  should 
be  enfiranchised,  but  I  don't  deny  that  the  ever  growing  demand  for 
female  suffrage  hastened  my  conviction  of  its  justice.  But  even 
supposing  I  was  influenced  only  by  the  consideration  that  as  a 
representative  I  was  bound  to  supply  the  demand,  would  that  make 
any  difference  to  the  newly  enfrandiised  sex  ?  Well,  then,  that  is 
the  position  I  take  up.  The  distinctions  between  Conservatives  and 
Liberals  have  grown  obsolete.    There  are  plenty  of  signs  that  the 


r 


BARDOLPH  GOES  A- WOOING  209 


Conservatives  are  at  last  tired  of  being^  perpetually  told  by  the 
Radical  policeman  to '  move  on/  and  of  being  badgered  from  reform 
to  reform.  Well,  we  now  move  on  so  fast  that  the  Radical  police- 
man can't  catch  up  to  us,  but  toils  laboriously  after  us  in  the  path 
of  reform.  I  might  even  say  that  the  distinctions  have  been  re- 
.  versed,  for  nowadays  the  Liberal  talks  of  going  forward  and  stands 
still,  while  the  Conservative  talks  of  standing  still  and  goes 
forward." 

He  had  risen  in  the  excitement  of  exposition,  and  now  stood 
eagerly  bending  over  her  chair.  He  felt  he  was  carrying  his  hearer 
with  him,  and  he  was  glad  he  had  taken  the  bold  determination  to 
allow  no  humbug  in  future  between  himself  and  her.  ''  Believe  me. 
Lady  Harley/'  he  said  earnestly, ''  to  think  differently  from  me  is  to 
live  m  a  world  of  dreams.  The  belief  in  political  ideals,  which  each 
party  exists  to  expound  and  to  pursue,  dies  away  with  all  the  other 
beautiful  delusions  of  youth.** 

Gwendolen  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  His  last  words 
touched  a  now  familiar  discord.  Alas  !  it  was  all  too  true.  Life, 
'  always  seeking  for  ideals  which  it  was  never  to  find,  seemed  so 
dreary,  so  dreary,  and  to  be  fitly  symbolised  by  the  chill  rain  and 
by  the  mournful  wind  that  sobbed  without ;  while  the  existence  of 
common  people  was  like  the  red,  comfortable  glow  of  the  cheerful 
fire.  Why  could  she  not  resign  herself  to  the  workaday  felicity  of 
the  practical  folk  who  took  life  as  they  found  it ;  why  was  she 
destined  to  be  always  unhappy  ?    She  raised  her  bead. 

"  I  am  very  ignorant  of  that  concrete  world  you  speak  o^'*  she 
said  humbly,  "  but  illusion  is  the  salt  of  life,  and  1,  at  least,  could 
not  live  utterly  devoid  of  it." 

''That  is  another  illusion  of  yours,^  replied  Bardolph,  with 
good-natured  superiority.  **You  will  soon  get  an  acquired  taste 
for  some  more  modern  substitute  for  that  salinity.  When  a  man 
of  the  world  loses  his  illusions,  he  devotes  himself  to  spreading 
abroad  die  illusion  that  he  still  possesses  them.  He  scatters  what 
you  call  the  salt  of  life  very  liberally,  and  the  stupid  buffaloes  con- 
gregate in  public  places  to  lick  it  He  who  would  retain  his  fellow- 
ship in  die  University  of  Politics  must  not  wed  himself  for  life  to 
a  principle.  He  may  flirt  with  all  without  much  danger,  but  it  is 
safest  to  dispense  with  them  altogether.  To  put  the  matter  in  a 
ntttsheU,  the  first  principle  for  a  modem  politician  is  to  have  none." 
Gwendolen  was  looking  sadly  at  the  fire.  A  reaction  aeainst 
this  brutally-cynical  Bardolph  was  beginning.  Her  eyes  filled  with 
tears  at  the  thought  of  all  that  might  have  been,  and  her  mind  with 
tender  memories. 

^  I  am  grieved  to  hear  such  a  report  from  a  practical  politician," 
she  said  softly.  '*  Especially,"  she  added,  with  a  slight  blush,  "  as 
my  previous  experience  of  Ministers  had  taught  me  that,  in  their 
public  career  at  least,  principle  is  sometimes  adhered  to  in  the  face 
of  temptation.  And  I  always  understood  that  nowadays  the 
standard  of  honour  has  been  raised— men  do  not  sell  themselves 
for  round  sums,  as  in  the  time  of  Walpole." 


I 


Uo  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAWTER 

^  It  is  not  the  standard  of  honour  that  is  higher,  it  is  the  standard 
of  self-valuation.  Nowadays,  we  think  no  round  sum  could 
purchase  us.  Sometimes,"  he  continued  slowly, ''  'tis  but  a  smile 
of  the  Siren  of  Politics  that  we  crave." 

^  From  what  you  tell  me  of  her  powers  of  transformation,  this 
Siren  of  Politics  must  be  a  veritable  Circe." 

^'  She  is,"  cried  Bardolph  enthusiastically. 

This  remark  appealed  so  much  to  Gwendolen's  sense  of  die 
ridiculous  that  she  burst  into  a  laugh  that  had  somewhat  of  the 
merry  ring  of  yore.    But  she  checked  herself  half-way. 

"  I  suppose  Fm  wrong  again,"  he  said  ruefully.  "  But  I  repeat, 
everv  man  has  still  his  price." 

'*  Not  every  man,"  said  Gwendolen  in  a  low  tone,  which  was 
almost  a  whisper.  '*  There  are  some  who  are  to  be  bought  neither 
by  power  nor  its  emoluments." 

"Then  thejr  are  bought  by  love"  replied  Bardolph,  unthink- 
ingly accentuating  each  word,  or  rather  thinking  only  of  his  own 
case. 

Gwendolen  started  and  flushed  deeply  in  righteous  indignation. 
**It  is  not  true,"  she  exclaimed  hotly.  "He  changed  from  con- 
viction, like  Peel  in  the ^  she  stopped  suddenly. 

It  was  now  Bardolph's  turn  to  start.  "The  devil,"  he  ejacu- 
lated mentally, "  is  it  only  a  lovers'  quarrel  after  all,  and  have  1 
been  wasting  my  time  ?  "  "  When  I  say  every  man,"  he  said  aloud, 
"  I,  of  course,  do  not  speak  of  men  like  Floppington,  who  before 
the  strange  aberration  which  led  him  to  manoeuvre  me  out  of  the 
Cabinet,  was  the  soul  of  honour.  Putting  that  aside,  he  is  the  only 
honest  politician  I  have  ever  known,  and  in  fact  the  exception 
that  proves  my  rule.  And  don't  you  remember  how  I  explained  to 
you,  a  few  moments  ago,  my  fears  that  this  very  honesty  will  keep 
him  from  giving  you  the  promised  clause  ?  *' 

He  paused  and  looked  down  at  Gwendolen,  whose  head  was 
turned  away.  She  was  distressed  and  ashamed  of  her  passionate 
outburst  That  Bardolph's  guess  was  perhaps  accurate,  only 
added  an  extra  sting  to  her  pain. 

"  It's  all  up  !"  he  thought,  with  a  suppressed  groan,  as  he  gazed 
around  the  bright  room  shut  in  from  all  worldly  troubles  as  from 
the  wind  and  rain — at  the  empty  chair  by  the  fireside  in  which  he 
had  passed  those  moments  of  transitory  rapture.  "  Confound 
Floppington  I  Not  content  with  filching  my  policy,  he  has  stolen 
the  woman  I  love  !  Traitor,  you  shall  writhe  to-nighty  despite  year 
stoical  pretences." 

IJe  looked  at  his  watch,  feigned  to  start,  and  took  up  his  hat 

"  I  fear  I  must  go.  Good-bye,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand. 
She  gave  him  hers.    He  held  it  for  a  moment. 

Something  in  her  eyes — a  look  of  remorse,  bordering  on  tender- 
ness— made  him  retain  it  just  as  he  was  about  to  drop  it. 

"  Look  here,  Gwendolen,"  he  cried, ''  I'm  not  going  to  make  a 
fool  of  mvsel£  I  came  to  tell  you  I  love  you,  and  I  all  but  went 
away  wiuout  teUing  yoo.    You  know  very  well  I  have  loved  yoo 


r 


BARDOLPH  GOES  A-WOOING  211 


for  some  tune.  Will  you  accept  me  ?  To  judge  by  the  daily  abuse 
dfme  I  am  sure  of  the  Premiership.  I  shall  rule  England,  and  you 
will  rule  me,  for  you  know  I  am  helpless  in  your  hands.  Will  you 
accept  me  ?  " 

Gwendolen  had  months  ago  foreseen  the  possibility  of  this  offer, 
but  she  did  not  expect  its  realisation  either  in  such  a  shape  or  at 
such  a  time.  Conflicting  emotions  kept  her  silent  When  it  came 
to  the  point,  the  thought  of  allying  herself  with  this  of  her  two 
lovers  brought  a  re^nilsion  of  feeling.  Bardolph  still  kept  pos- 
session of  her  hand.  He  began  to  hope  that  the  silence  gave 
consent. 

^  I  cannot  make  up  my  mind  so  suddenly,"  she  faltered. 

"  Why  not,  Gwendolen  ?  *'  he  asked  tenderly. 

Again  she  found  nothing  to  reply,  and  Bardolph  was  preparing 
to  cut  the  situation  short  by  clasping  her  passionately  in  his  arms, 
when  the  butler  entered,  bearing  a  card.  With  a  smothered  oath 
he  dropped  her  hand. 

"  Mr.  Floppington  ! "  cried  Gwendolen,  involuntarily  flushing 
scarlet,  and  then  turning  paler  than  before.  "  Oh  no,  I  cannot 
see  him.     I  can  never  see  him  any  more  ! " 

Not  a  muscle  moved  in  the  butler's  stolid  countenance  till  he 
arrived  outside.    Then  he  grinned  and  winked. 

"  Gwendolen  ! "  exclaimed  Bardolph,  in  feverish  exultation, 
"  say  you  consent ! ' 

But  Gwendolen  had  thrown  herself  into  a  chair,  and  was 
sobbing  convulsively.  He  went  to  her  and  stood  for  a  moment 
looking  at  her  helplessly.  She  controlled  her  emotion  with  an 
effort  as  he  leant  over  her. 

*^  Gwendolen ! "  he  cried,  distracted  by  alternations  of  confi- 
dence and  alarm.  "You  are  troubled.  Give  me  the  right  to 
protect  you." 

**  Forgive  me  if  I  wound  you,  dear  Lord  Bardolph,"  she  replied 
softly,  **  but  I  shall  never  marry  again." 

Her  beautiful  eyes  looked  at  him  pleadingly,  her  mouth 
quivered  with  emotion.  She  seemed  so  weak  and  helpless  that 
her  determination  had  an  ironically  pathetic  effect,  and  fell  lightly 
upon  Mountchapel's  ears. 

"  No,  Gwendolen,"  he  exclaimed  passionately,  *'  I  cannot 
believe  that  you  will  be  so  cruel." 

He  bent  over  her  in  imperious  tenderness.  She  was  so  weak 
and  overcome  at  the  moment  that  she  felt  herself  in  danger  of 
being  dominated  by  his  stronger  will.  Not  thus  had  Floppington 
wooed  her.  She  felt  her  energies  of  resistance  giving  way.  Her 
womanly  gentleness,  that  shrank  from  paining  him,  unfitted  her  to 
n  >ulse  him  decisively,  even  if  a  certain  hesitation  had  not  been 
c  gendered  in  her  by  the  expansion  of  her  experience.  But  she 
n  1st  conquer  the  lethargy  that  was  creeping  over  her.  Bardolph 
Si  7  that  she  was  yielding. 

"  You  will  not  refuse  to  ensure  my  happiness  and  to  entrust 
y  ir  own  to  my  keeping,"  he  went  on.    "  Dearest  Gwendolen,  I 

F  9 


1 


212  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 


have  unveiled  my  soul  to  you.    You  will  not  refuse  to  share  and 
sweeten  the  struggle  for  power." 

He  saw  a  change  come  over  her  face  as  he  finished  the 
sentence,  an  expression  of  resolute  calm  blent  with  a  tinge  of  relie£ 
Her  lips  parted  for  the  &rst  time  since  she  had  declared  her  inten- 
tion of  remaining  in  her  desolate  widowhood.  His  heart  beat 
quickly  with  the  prevision  that  in  another  moment  that  divine  form 
would  be  clasped  in  his  embrace,  those  beautiful  lips  pressed  dose 
to  his. 

^  What  is  it  now  ?  "  she  asked  in  tranquil,  passionless  tones. 

Bardolph  turned  his  head  quickly,  and,  to  his  horror  and 
disgust,  he  beheld  the  same  domestic  tendering  a  card  to  his 
mistress.  ''He  won't  go  away.  He  said  will  you  please  read 
what's  on  the  back." 

Gwendolen  took  the  card,  and  read  as  follows : 

''  As  ^ou  value  the  happiness  of  your  life,  give  me  one  miniite 
— Floppmgton." 

This  enigmatical  sentence,  coining  upon  her  at  the  critical 
moment  when  the  happiness  of  her  life  was  at  stake,  affected  her 
with  the  solemnity  of  some  divine  oracle.  A  wild  hope  that  her 
old  love  was  guiltless  instantaneously  flashed  through  her  excited 
brain.     She  shook  with  nervous  tremor. 

''  I  will  see  him,''  she  breathed. 

"^  Adieu,  Lady  Harley,"  exclaimed  Bardolph  harshly.  ^  I  fear  I 
have  been  wasting  too  much  of  your  time.** 

''  No  ;  if  you  are  my  friend,  stay.  I  shall  be  stronger.  He  will 
be  £one  in  a  minute,"  uie  replied  incoherently. 

''  As  you  will,**  he  said  sullenly. 

She  made  no  jeply.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  doorway, 
watching  for  her  fallen  lover.  In  a  moment  he  appeared,  and  at 
the  woefiil  sight  her  overstrung  nervous  system  gave  way,  and  she 
sank  back  on  her  chair  in  a  swoon ;  for  his  face  was  the  white 
face  of  a  phantom,  and  his  eyes  were  sunk  deep  in  his  head,  and 
the  flesh  had  faded  from  his  cheek-bones.  His  clothes  hung  loosely 
upon  him  as  though  his  body  had  shrunk,  and  they  exhaled  the 
damp.  But  what  words  can  paint  the  horror  of  his  haggard  glance 
in  which  one  seemed  to  read  the  concentrated  misery  Si  the  human 
race? 


CHAPTER  V. 

WEAVING  THE  NET. 

The  astonishment  of  Lord  Bardolph  Mountchapel  at  the  ghasdy 
spectacle  of  the  Premier  was  so  intense  that  he  stood  riveted  to  the 
spot,  staring  dumbly  at  his  former  chief,  and  not  noticing  the  con- 
dition of  Lady  Harley.  His  well-tested  principle  of  niiadmiran 
broke  down  at  last,  as  well  as  his  incapacity  for  failing  to  under- 
stand anything  under  the  sun.  He  even  forgot  for  a  moment  hif 
bitter  imtation  at  an  interruption  so  inopportuM 


WEAVING  THE  NET  213 

The  Premier,  for  his  part,  started  back  on  seeing  Bardolph — 
the  surprise  was  evidently  mutual.  Both  seemed  to  feel  the 
delicacy  of  the  situation ;  and  Mountchapel  wondered  what  tone 
it  was  best  to  take  with  the  man  who  had  ousted  him  from  the 
Cabinet,  and  whom  he  was  perhaps  to  oust  from  the  Premiership 
that  very  night,  unless  the  line  taken  by  Lady  Harley  should  yet 
interfere  with  his  scheme  of  revenge  in  the  few  hours  still  remaining. 

For  he  was  by  this  time  wrought  up  to  such  a  pitch  of  amative- 
ness  that  he  had  determined  to  forego  his  opposition  to  the  Premier 
in  the  event  of  her  ladyship's  consent  to  his  suit  He  told  himself 
that  he  would  be  generous  m  his  joy;  and,  lost  in  contemplation  of 
the  altitude  of  his  sentiments,  his  inner  vision  was  turned  away 
from  the  earthly  fact  that  since  Gwendolen  had  manifested  more 
than  an  inkling  of  distrust  in  his  motives  on  this  particular  question, 
ma|rnanimity  would  pay  better  than  rancour  from  all  points  of  view, 
pohtical  or  amorous,  ii^  then,  he  should  end  by  leading  a  large 
section  of  his  following  into  the  Governmental  lobby,  he  would  find 
it  awkward  in  view  of  possible  reconciliations  to  have  still  further 
widened  the  breach  between  himself  and  the  Prime  Minister.  On 
the  other  hand,  if  he  should  be  left  free  to  wreck  the  Ministry  after 
all,  it  would  be  humiliating  to  have  done  anything  to  fill  up  the  gap, 
or  to  have  treated  Floppington  with  anythmg  but  lofty  contempt 
The  problem  of  how  to  behave  was,  therefore,  not  easy.  It  was, 
indeed,  a  problem  that  baffled  all  his  political  sagacity,  and  reduced 
his  usually  clear-cut  ideas  to  an  indecisive  pulp.  Never  before 
had  he  stood  "by  the  parting  of  the  ways"  so  doubtful  as  to  the 
route  he  would  ultimately  follow.  He  fumed  at  the  fate  which 
left  him  at  this  crisis  ignorant  whether  Gwendolen  would  be  his 
or  Floppington's,  ignorant  whether  his  principles  would  force  him 
to  support  the  Reform  Bill  or  to  oppose  it,  and  ignorant  whether 
he  was  to  be  the  Premier's  henchman  or  his  adversary.  And  to 
think  that  in  a  moment  more  he  might  have  acquired  definite  views 
on  all  these  points  1 

The  Premier  cut  the  knot  After  an  instant's  hesitation  he 
advanced  into  the  room  and  extended  his  hand,  which  shook 
tremulously. 

Bardolph  was  thunderstruck.  Could  the  Premier,  in  his  well- 
founded  dread  of  defeat,  be  desiring  a  compromise  ?  And  did  he 
fear  him  sufficiently  to  gulp  down  his  hatred  and  make  the  first 
overtures  ?  And  what  meant  that  deadly  pallor  and  woe-begone 
air  ?  Had  there  been  a  hopeless  breach  with  Gwendolen,  and  did 
the  unfortunate  man  feel  his  happiness  being  undermined  in  all 
directions? 

Feeling  that  a  smile  of  triumph  was  irresistibly  dawning  on  his 
countenance,  be  utilised  it  as  one  of  welcome,  and  after  a  moment 
of  intensely  rapid  reflection,  he  put  out  his  hand  in  return. 

''Has  the  beggar  been  touching  himself  up  with  chalk,"  he 
l^ght,  "  and  getting  himself  measured  for  clothes  too  big  for  him 
in  order  to  appeal  ad  Gwendolen's  misericordiam^  as  he  is  now 
doing  to  mine?    He's  artful  enough  for  ten  Premiers.* 


2T4  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

But  the  grasp  of  the  Premier's  burning  hand  dispelled  this 
idea. 

"  He's  really  ill,  the  fool  I "  Bardolph  admitted  to  himself. 
**  No  wonder  he's  knocked  himself  up.  The  tremendous  amount 
he's  done  lately  1  He  works  as  if  he  were  paid  by  the  job.  He 
can't  take  things  easily.  And  then  he  worries  even  about  his  love 
affairs,  and  makes  a  mull  of  them.  While  I  make  business  into 
pleasure,  he  makes  pleasure  into  business.  He  won't  be  in  very 
good  form  to-night,  that's  evident." 

Soliloquising  thus  complacently,  he  shook  the  Premier's  hand 
with  a  dignified  cordiality  that  committed  him  equally  to  alliance, 
to  antagonism,  and  to  neither.  Floppington  took  no  notice  of  the 
£x- Minister's  nuances^  but  turned  to  Gwendolen,  of  whom  he  had 
caught  but  a  blurred  glimpse — the  first  brief  vision  of  a  white 
figure,  and  a  pale,  angelic  tace,  played  upon  by  the  ruddy  tints  of 
tongues  of  flame.     He  bent  upon  her  a  look  of  infinite  tenderness. 

"  Pardon  me  for  forcing  myself  upon  your  ladyship,"  he  began 
in  grave,  trembling  tones,  **  but  the  greatness  of  the  necessity  must 
be  my  excuse  for  refusing  to  accept  your  decision." 

Bardolph  writhed  under  this  humiliation  of  his  rival.  Surely 
the  irony  of  fate  would  not  allow  the  breach  to  be  healed  in  his 
presence.  He  turned  his  back  on  the  Premier  and  stared  at  the 
window-panes,  down  which  the  rain -drops  were  now  coursing  more 
slowly.  **  The  man  who  humbles  himself  before  a  woman,"  he 
moralised,  "  dishonours  his  sex."     Gwendolen  did  not  stir. 

**  I  hope  my  message  did  not  alarm  you Good  God,  what 

have  I  done  ? " 

The  sharp  cry  of  remorse  startled  Bardolph.  He  turned  his 
head  and  saw  his  rival  peering  anxiously  into  Gwendolen's  face. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  "  whispered  the  Premier  hoarsely.  "  She 
has  fainted ! " 

For  answer  Bardolph  rang  the  bell  with  violence.  Then,  push- 
ing the  unresisting  Floppington  unceremoniously  aside,  he  bent 
over  the  helpless  form  and  gazed  at  the  unearthly  beauty  of  the 
motionless  face.  The  wind  gave  a  final  sob  and  died  out,  and  the 
sky  began  to  lighten. 

**A  curse  seems  to  fall  on  whomsoever  I  would  love  or  be- 
friend," mused  Floppington  bitterly.  "  I  must  have  the  evil 
eye." 

When  assistance  came,  he  looked  on  passively,  though 
anxiously,  while  Bardolph  briskly  superintended  the  restorative 
measures  ;  the  young  statesman  showing  alike  his  common-sense 
and  his  science  by  ascribing  her  ladyship's  prostration  to  the  heat 
of  the  fire,  and  by  ordering  the  affrighted  servants  to  open  the 
window. 

"  Again  I  find,"  reflected  the  Premier,  "  that  speech  is  silvern, 
and  action  golden." 

At  last  quivering  eyelids  foretold  Gwendolen's  return  to  con- 
sciousness. Bardolph  had  the  window  closed,  dismissed  the 
domestics,  and  tenderly  bathing  her  forehead,  he  awaited  the 


WEAVING   THE  NET  215 

J 

moment  of  grateful  illumination  in  her  eyes.  But  when  she  opened 
them  and  perceived  Bardolph,  a  look  of  wonder  came  into  them. 

"  Arnold  1  ^  she  murmured.  "  Where  are  you  ?  I  dreamt  you 
were  here." 

She  closed  her  eyes  again. 

Bardolph's  brow  grew  as  black  as  night.  He  looked  sharply 
at  the  Premier,  who  stood  a  few  yards  off.  Instead  of  the  expected 
look  of  tender  exultation,  he  read  only  one  of  hopeless  misery. 
Could  the  words  not  have  reached  him  ? 

With  a  prolonged  shudder,  Gwendolen  raised  her  head  and 
looked  round  the  room.  As  her  gaze  rested  on  the  Premier  she 
received  a  fresh  shock,  and  she  understood  what  had  happened. 
At  the  sight  of  the  gaunt,  hollow-eyed,  careworn  man,  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  and  an  expression  of  womanly  pity  and  loving 
tenderness  came  over  her  face. 

The  Premier  caught  the  glance,  and  their  eyes  met.  He  made 
a  step  forwards. 

'*  Gwendolen  I "  he  cried  in  tones  of  searching  pathos. 

**  I  will  not  intrude  upon  your  ladyship  any  longer,"  sneered 
Bardolph.  "Good-bye,  Lady  Harley.  Adieu,  Mr.  Floppington ;  we 
shall  meet  again  to-night." 

The  parting  threat  of  his  rival  was  lost  upon  the  Premier.  His 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  Gwendolen  with  a  look  of  hopeless  yearning. 
She  was  deadly  pale,  and  tremblin^^  under  a  rush  of  formless 
emotion  and  indefinite  thought.  Pity  was  vaguely  blent  with 
anger  softened  by  time  to  despairing  regret,  and  with  a  shuddering 
sense  of  relief  at  having  awakened  from  a  bad  dream  when  on  the 
point  of  falling  into  some  bottomless  gulf.  The  havoc  wrought 
upon  the  Premier  by  her  dismissal  of  him  touched  her  woman's 
soul  to  sympathetic  tenderness,  and  with  renascent  love  came  a 
dim  revival  of  that  belief  in  his  nobleness  with  which  it  had  always 
been  associated.  Swifter  and  swifter  ran  the  current  of  old  emotion 
till,  with  a  sudden  impulse  of  divine  forgiveness,  she  stretched  out 
her  hand  in  reckless  self-abandonment  to  the  torrent,  and  in  her 
tender  eyes  and  tremulous  lips  one  read  a  lofty  but  passionate 
spirit  moved  to  its  depths.  But  as  the  feverish  hand  of  her  lover 
touched  hers,  a  feeling  of  mortal  sickness  came  over  her,  for  the 
contact  seemed  to  burn  the  man's  impurity  into  her  own  blood, 
and  there  seemed  to  emanate  from  his  very  garments  something 
of  coarse  dissipation,  offensive  no  less  aesthetically  than  morally, 
at  which  all  the  purity  and  delicacy  of  her  nature  revolted ;  and 
the  terrible  details  of  his  baseness  flashed  upon  her  anew.  She 
drew  away  her  hand  quickly  with  an  irrepressible  shudder  of 
disgust 

'*0h!  why  have  you  come  here?"  she  cried  in  heartrending 
tones,  in  which  indignation  vainly  struggled  with  renewed  despair. 
"  I  cannot,  I  cannot  forgive  you." 

A  wild  startled  look  shot  across  the  Premier's  countenance. 

**  Good  God  1 "  he  exclaimed.  "  You  know  ? "  A  nervous 
trembling  seized  him  afresh^  and  the  pallor  of  his  face  |;rew  deeper. 


2i6  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

Gwendolen  was  struggling  with  a  desire  to  burst  into  a  wild 
flood  of  tears.  But  the  sight  of  his  cowardly  agitation  froze  her  to 
an  icy  calm. 

She  flashed  a  chilling  look  of  contempt  upon  him. 

^  Did  you  then  entertain  any  hope/'  she  said  slowly  and  bitterly, 
''that  I  have  not  guessed  all  ?  Dupe  as  I  have  been,  I  am  not  so 
simple  as  not  to  know  everything  now>  Mr.  Jack  Dawe." 

The  Premier  winced  at  the  name  as  if  a  red-hot  iron  had 
touched  him,  but  the  start  which  he  gave  was  as  much  due  to 
astonishment  as  to  agony.  Gwendolen  saw  that  he  writhed  under 
the  recall  of  his  baseness,  and  in  her  present  mood  of  righteous 
indignation,  the  painful  fascination  of  inflicting  deserved  punishment 
added  pungency  to  the  lash  of  scorn. 

Floppington  stood  before  her  with  bowed,  contrite  head.  He 
was  silent  from  agitation  and  indecision  as  to  what  to  say.  He 
opened  his  mouth  and  shut  it  again  with  a  perplexed,  hesitating 
expression.  There  seemed  something  tragically  ridiculous  about 
the  man.  A  sudden  semi-hysterical  fit  of  sneering  laughter  seized 
her. 

*'  These  be  thy  gods,  O  Israel ! "  she  exclaimed.  **  This  is  the 
nobler  sex  which  woman  cannot  replace  at  the  Council-board 
There  stands  he  silent  whose  every  word  is  hung  upon  by  the 
gullible  country  he  has  so  long  deceived.'' 

**  Deceived,  Lady  Harley  ?  **  cried  the  Premier  piteously. 

**  Yes,  deceived  ! "  replied  Gwendolen  hotly.  "  Where  is  the 
world  to  look  for  models  if  not  in  its  leaders  ?  And  you  could 
preach  the  loftiest  morality  in  your  speeches,  while  in  your  inner- 
most heart  you  were  capable  of  deeds  that  you  tried  to  hide  from 
all  the  world.  You  have  betrayed  he  trust  of  a  whole  nation.  But 
why  do  I  discuss  this  loathsome  subject  with  you?"  she  added 
with  a  shudder.  *'Your  conscience  must  be  fatally  blunted  if  it 
tells  you  otherwise.'' 

"  I  always  relied  on  your  clearer  intuition,"  said  the  Premier 
earnestly,  '*  and  I  will  trust  it  now.  But  God  knows  if  I  sinned,  it 
was  in  carelessness.  I  followed  the  mere  whim  of  the  moment,  and 
bitterly  have  I  repented  it  since.  As  I  wandered  about  London  on 
the  fatal  night  of  our  rencontre,  world-weary,  sick  of  the  din  and 
contest  of  politics,  its  lies,  and  its  endless  intrigues,  a  fever  in  my 
blood — oh  1  who  but  myself  can  gauge  the  strength  of  the  terrible 
temptation  to " 

"  Sir !  "  interrupted  Gwendolen.  "  You  forget  yourself !  Would 
it  not  be  better  to  reserve  these  details  for  your  boon  companions  ? ' 

How  chill  her  heart  and  the  room  had  grown  !  Yet  there  was 
a  bright  fire  leaping  in  the  grate,  and  the  rain  had  ceased,  leaving 
behind  a  sunny  freshness  as  of  early  spring,  and  outside,  moist- 
feathered  birds  were  twittering  among  the  glistening  dripping 
leaveSi  Not  for  her  would  the  dark  hours  any  more  glide  into 
light  and  song.  As  she  uttered  the  last  word  she  wished  that  she 
had  not  been  weak  enough  to  admit  him  once  more.  In  time  she 
might  have  grown  to  believe  again  in  iome  substratum  of  delicaqTi 


i 


WEAVING  THE  NET  217 

I 

honour,  refinement,  not  destroyed  by  an  isolated /aux  pas.  But 
now  all  such  tender  webs  of  soothing  thought  were  for  ever  im- 
possible. 1,1  was  plain  that  his  nature  was  vulgarised  and  debased 
to  the  core. 

A  spasm  of  pain  distorted  the  Premier's  countenance.  "  You 
judge  me  harshly,**  he  replied  humbly.  "  *Tis  true  I  have  deceived 
the  world,  but  what  evil  have  I  done  that  cannot  be  repaired  ?" 
**  You  are  right  Nothing-  is  lost,  saufVhonneurP 
^^Dhonneur  I "  echoed  Floppington  in  dismay ;  "  surely  you  are 
exaggerating.  I  cannot  believe  I  have  been  guilty  of  anything 
really  dishonourable.    Acjuinas  himself,  who  was  the  first  to  lay 

such  stress  on  the  subjective  side  of  moral  action " 

Surprise  and  indignation  had  rendered  Gwendolen  momen- 
tarily speechless ;  but  when  she  heard  this  impudent,  casuistic 
appeal  to  the  Angelic  Doctor,  all  her  ardent  nature  flashed  out  in 
lightning  that  made  die  Premier  quail  before  the  dark  recesses  of 
his  spirit  which  it  illuminated. 

**  It  is  not  really  dishonourable  to  lower  yourself  to  the  level  of 
an  imtutored  peasant;  it  is  not  really  dishonourable  to  masquerade 
in  another  man*s  name,  leaving  State  affairs  to  regulate  themselves 
as  best  they  may ;  it  is  not  dishonourable  to  trail  the  reputation  of 

a  noble  family  in  the  dust ;  nor  to " 

"  Oh,  spare  me,  spare  me ! "  he  entreated,  cowering  before  her 
arrowy  glance  and  holding  his  hands  before  his  face  as  if  to  ward 
off  the  shower  of  verbal  darts ;  "  I  did  not  think  of  all  that.  Spare 
me!'' 

"  Spare  you ! "  cried  Lady  Gwendolen ;  and  her  words  were 
dagger-thrusts.  "And  did  you  spare  me  when  you  made  me  a 
subject  of  ridicule,  of  scandal  in  my  own  house  ?  Did  you  bestow 
a  thought  upon  what  your  infamous  conduct  would  probably  ex- 
pose meX.o'i    Did  you " 

The  Premier  interrupted  her  by  a  cry  of  pain.  **  Oh,  my  God," 
he  thought,  "  what  madness  was  mine !  1  who  would  die  to  save 
her  pain  have  recklessly  exposed  her  to  all  this  !  What  must  her 
delicate  spirit  not  have  suffered  I  Yet  God  knows  I  thought  our 
lives  sundered  beyond  the  possibility  of  such  an  intimacy." 

"Did  you  not  subordinate  all  other  considerations,  great  or 
little,  to  your  own  selfish  desires  ? " 

"  I  did,  1  did,"  moaned  the  Premier.  "  I  was  blind,  but  you 
have  opened  my  eyes." 

He  uncovered  his  face  and  stretched  out  his  hands  towards  her 
in  piteous  supplication. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone  that  vibrated  with  infinite 
pathos.  "  If  you  knew  what  I  have  suffered  1  Forgive  me  1 " 
Gwendolen  was  moved  in  spite  of  herself. 

"What  is  my  wrong  beside  hers?"  she  said  softly.  "Ask  her 
to  forgive  yc    ! " 

"  What  do  /ou  mean  ?  "  said  the  Premier  with  an  air  of  inno- 
cence that  irritated  Gwendolen  afresh,  and  sent  through  her  a 
thrill  of  indignant  pity  at  ^11  th^  countless  $ufierin|^8  of  her  sex^ 


L 


2i8  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

**  I  have  wronged  no  woman  but  you."    Gwendolen  looked  straight  ] 
into  his  eyes  and  said  with  bitter  reproach :  J 

"Is  it  not  wrong,  then,  according  to  your  remarkable  code,  to  ] 
persuade  a  poor  housemaid  that  you  are  going  to  marry  her  in  three  ^ 
months  ?"  The  Premier  did  not  flinch  before  her  withering  glance. 
She  saw  a  proud  look  of  low  cunning  in  his  eyes  and  a  wicked 
smile  playing  round  the  comers  of  his  mouth,  as,  after  a  sigh  of  re- 
lief, he  said  with  the  easy  affability  of  an  accomplished  rou^ : 

"Is  that  all  ?  Now,  whatever  wrongs  I  have  really  committed, 
I  cannot  see  that  I  did  anything  blameworthy  there.  I  acted  for 
once  like  a  man  of  the  world  :  at  one  stroke  I  ensured  my  own 
repose  and  her  happiness.  Of  course,"  he  concluded,  breaking 
into  a  melancholy  little  laugh,  "you  don't  suppose  I  ever  meant 
to  marry  the  girl." 

Gwendolen  started  from  her  chair,  her  sweet  face  rigid  and 
pale,  her  gray  eyes  flashing  fire,  her  figure  drawn  up  in  regal 
majesty,  her  imperious  forefinger  pointing  to  the  door. 

At  the  shock  of  this  attitude  the  Premier's  heart  almost  ceased 
to  beat.  "  Don't  send  me  away,"  he  cried  wildly.  "  I  don't  under- 
stand it  alL     I  have  so  much  to  say  to  you." 

Still  the  imperious  forefinger  pointed  to  the  door  while  she 
made  a  movement  towards  the  bell. 

"  Gwendolen  ! "    The  cry  was  wrung  from  his  innermost  heart 

The  forefinger  was  relaxed,  and  the  hand  fell  to  her  side.  "If 
you  liave  really  anything  to  say  "  she  said  after  an  instant's  silence, 
"  I  will  listen  to  you  for  five  minutes.    Then  we  part  for  ever." 

"  For  ever  ! "  The  Premier  looked  round  the  room  in  a  dazed 
fashion.  He  was  conscious  of  serried  rows  of  rich  morocco  bind- 
ings, and  of  workaday  chairs  and  fire-irons  ;  but  all  this  concrete- 
ness  seemed  curiously  out  of  harmony  with  the  dream-like  minor 
key  in  which  his  inner  life  was  playing  itself  out.  Mechanically  he 
went  to  the  window  and  opened  it,  admitting  a  rather  chill  breeze. 
He  closed  it  immediately,  and  then  walked  to  the  fireplace  and 
stood  looking  reflectively  into  the  fairy  structures  and  arcades  of 
red-hot  coal.  All  at  once  he  turned  round  and  found  Gwendolen's 
eyes  fixed  curiously  upon  him.  He  started.  "  For  ever !  *  he 
repeated  musingly.  "  So  much  for  human  vaticination.  Do  you 
remember,  Lady  Harley,  my  prophecy  that  your  sex  would  have  to 
wait  for  ever  for  its  enfranchisement  ?  " 

"  I  never  thought,"  said  Gwendolen,  sadly,  "  that  the  day 
would  come  when  I  should  wish  that  we  were  indebted  for  this 
act  of  justice  to  some  other  man  than  you." 

"  'Tis  true  I  am  the  agent,"  replied  Floppington,  "  but  a  very 
indirect  agent  My  own  opinions  are  unchanged.  You  know  why 
I  allowed  it  to  be  introduced.  It  was  part  of  our  agreement 
to ^ 

"  I  deny  it !  There  was  no  agreement,"  exclaimed  Gwendolen 
passionately.  "  I  thought  that  you  had  altered  from  conviction, 
though  I  know  better  now.  Did  you  think  to  buy  me  thus  ?  Or 
did  vou  fear  that  Bardolph  Mountchapel  was  too  strong  for  you  ?  ' 


i  WEAVING   THE  NET  219 

"You  are  mistaken,"  replied  the  Premier,  mildly.  "  I  agreed  to 
let  him  have  his  own  way  just  for  the  sake  of  the  experiment." 

"  A  very  paltry  evasion  of  my  last  question  and  one  worthy  of 
you.  You  allowed  him  to  prepare  the  public  mind  and  to  per- 
vade the  Cabinet  to  the  new  course— in  fact,  it  is  to  him  that 
the  gratitude  of  our  sex  is  due  and  not  to  you.  And  all  the  while 
^ou  knew  you  intended  ultimately  to  oust  him  out  of  his  office  so 
tiiat  you  might  reap  all  the  glory  of  his  great  measure  ! " 

The  Premier  was  about  to  protest,  but  Gwendolen  went  on 
rapidly  :  **  Perhaps  you  are  going  to  say  it  was  not  dishonourable 
to  play  such  a  trick  as  you  did  on  Mountchapel ! " 

"  That  can  hardly  be  called  a  trick,"  returned  the  Premier  with 
the  faintest  suspicion  of  a  mischievous  smile.  "I  certainly  paid 
him  back  in  his  own  coin,  unchristian  though  it  may  have  been, 
and  I  cannot  honestly  say  that  I  regret  that  he  has  lost  his  place 
'  in  endeavouring  to  deprive  me  of  mine.  He  met  his  match.  Be- 
sides, all's  fair  in  love  and  war,  they  say." 

I  **Ahl"  ejaculated  Gwendolen,  scornfully.  "At  last  a  ray 
of  truth  1  Is  it  thus  that  you  revenge  yourself  on  a  rival, 
sir  ?  Thank  Heaven  that  our  interview  is  at  an  end."  She  rang 
the  bell.    An  electric  shock  seemed  to  pass  through  the  Premier. 

^  I  deeply  regret  having  intruded  my  presence  upon  you,"  he 
said  quickly  and  with  infinite  humility.  ''How  could  I  foresee 
that  my  visit  would  be  as  superfluous  as  it  has  proved  ?  I  did  not 
mean  to  take  up  your  time  in  discussing  my  political  rival.  It 
must  be  plain  to  you  that  I  came  to  show  you — I  know  not  ex- 
actly how,  for  I  had  sworn  to  tell  no  one — that  the  man  whom 
rumour  declares  to  have  replaced  me  in  yotu*  affections,  my  rival 
in  love,'*  a  faint,  sad  smile  passed  over  his  face  as  he  said  the 
words,  "  is  an  impostor,  or  at  least  not  what  he  pretends  to  be,  and 
that,  of  course,  you  mustn't  marry  him." 

"How  now?"  exclaimed  Gwendolen,  flushing  deeply.  "Will 
you  dictate  to  me  ?  Am  I  to  give  my  heart  where  you  choose  ?  If 
you  had  a  spark  of  gentlemanly  feeling  in  you,  you  would  have 
spared  me  this  last  insult  of  interfering  in  my  love  affairs." 

"  You  must  not,"  he  repeated  in  wild  astonishment ;  "  you 
don't  know  him  ;  he  is  vulgar,  uncultivated,  a  stranger  to  refine- 
ment" 

"Continue  to  heap  indignities  on  the  head  of  a  defenceless 
woman,"  interrupted  Gwendolen  in  low  tones  vibrating  with  in- 
tense scorn.  "  But  what  is  to  be  expected  of  one  who  slanders 
the  absent  ?  You  to  constitute  yourself  a  judge  of  refinement ! 
You  to  dare  speak  thus  of  a  man  who  was  magnanimous  enough 
to  praise  you  far  beyond  your  deserts  ! " 

"  He  magnanimous  enough ! "  gasped  the  Premier. 
"  Unable  to  win  by  fair  means  you  resort  to  foul,  in  love  as  well 
J8  politics.  Well  would  it  be  for  the  country  if  you  made  way  for 
oim  altogether.  Mine  would  not  then  be  the  only  grateful  sex." 
^1  said  the  last  words  very  calmly,  for  a  footman  had  just 
ei  BTcd. 


i 


320  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

^\i  I  made  way  for  him  altogether!"  repeated  Flopping^toiiy 
disregarding  the  domestic,  who  was  welling  over  with  delightful 
excitement  '*  Is  this  your  real  opinion  ?  Do  you  think  it  would 
be  better  for  the  country  ?" 

^  Most  decidedly,**  she  replied,  quietly.  **  Adieu,  Mr.  Flopping- 
ton !    Pour  toujours  I  ** 

His  lips  twitched  painfully.  He  moved  slowly  towards  her  as 
if  intending  to  take  her  hand.  She  remained  pmectly  rigid,  her 
delicate  fingers  grasping  a  chair  tightly  to  keep  herself  from  trem- 
bling. Her  gray  eyes  were  cast  down,  but  as  he  came  close  to  her, 
they  were  raised  to  his  with  a  hard,  glittering  expression  that 
seemed  to  interpose  a  bar  of  steel  against  his  further  progress. 

*'  My  punishment  is  greater  than  I  can  bear,"  said  the  Premier 
in  a  whisper  that  was  half  a  sob.  ^  You  will  at  least  keep  the 
secret  you  have  surprised." 

Gwendolen  shuddered  perceptibly,  but  made  no  answer.  Her 
eyelids  drooped  once  more. 

"  What  is  done  cannot  be  undone,*  he  pleaded  humbly.  "  It  is 
not  my  secret  alone." 

She  raised  her  eyes  again  and  flashed  upon  him  a  look  of 
fierce,  contemptuous  indignation.  ''It  wanted  but  that,"  she 
said  bitterly,  nevertheless  retaining  enough  self-possession  to 
speak  French;  ^  but  since  you  must  have  a  cat^orical  answer,  yes, 
I  will  keep  your  shameful  secret" 

A  twinge  of  pain  shot  across  the  Premier's  face.  He  grazed  at 
the  pallid,  firm-set,  unquivering  mask  tiiat  hid  a  world  of  agony 
behind  its  cruel,  white  beauty,  and  he  bowed  his  head  as  if  before 
some  stony  image  of  remorseless  and  unexultant  Justice. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AN  UNFORESEEN  CONTINGENCY. 

The  afternoon  continued  fine.  There  was  a  softness  and  coolness 
in  the  air  after  the  rain  and  in  the  dear  light  the  faded  fiiguies 
of  houses  stood  out  with  a  delicacy  of  outline  that  made  them 
almost  picturesque.  Yet  to  the  bent  figure  walking  slowly  along 
d^e  busy  pavement,  the  atmosphere  was  charged  with  a  wistful  pathos, 
and  thick-shadowed  with  olden  memories.  Faces  that  had  long 
fallen  into  dust,  voices  whose  musical  or  unmelodious  ring  vibrated 
no  more  save  for  the  ear  of  remembrance,  scenes  hallowed  by  the 
mystic  glamour  of  childish  association,  these  accompanied  him  as 
he  almost  unconsciously  threaded  his  way  through  the  throng  d 
pedestrians.  The  present  had  vanished,  nor  did  he  ask  himself 
why  his  mind  was  not  busy  with  it  The  events  of  that  day  or  of 
the  day  before,  or  of  the  past  week,  seemed  to  him  to  belong  to  the 
life  of  somebody  else,  and  to  concern  him  no  more  than  a  tragic 
story  one  vaguely  remembers  to  have  listened  to  with  dull  apathy. 
But  something  had  thawed  the  frozen  stream  of  forgotten  esq^enoe 


AN  UNFORESEEN  CONTINGENCY  221 

\%oA  it  barst  into  life  and  motion.  Aspiration,  struggle,  failure, 
[regret — so  ran  the  gamut  of  his  life,  which  year  after  year  did  but 
I  reproduce  in  different  keys  or  with  other  discords.  He  had  settled 
;  down  surveying  his  past  with  the  quiet  mournfulness  of  the  philo- 
'  sophic  observer  by  the  time  he  reached  the  Bethnal  Green  Road, 
I  down  which  he  forgot  to  turn. 

"Finds  himself  a   fool   at   forty,"  he   muttered    "Twould 

I  probably  be  the  same  if,  like  cats,  we  could  make  nine  experiments 

in  the  art  of  living.    Yet  it  seems  hard  to  have  had  only  one  life  to 

^  bungle.     Too  late  have  I  found  that  each  man  belongs  by  nature 

I  to  one  of  two  classes — the  first  formed  for  action,  the  second  for 

critidsnL     The  function  of  the  former  is  to  do  all  the  work  of  life, 

I  that  of  the  latter  to  find  fault  with  it  when  done.    By  these  two 

agencies,  each  as  indispensable  as  the  other,  does  the  world's 

work  progress — ^and  I  wishing  to  play  a  part  in  both — I  beg  your 

pardon  ! " 

"  Whyn't  yer  look  where  yer  a-goin'  to  ? "  growled  a  juvenile 
voice. 

Jack  Dawe  looked  at  the  small  boy  who  was  wiping  beer-splashes 
off  his  grimy  garments.  It  was  the  hero  of  the  saveloys.  The 
recognition  was  mutual. 

"  If  yer  don't  pay  for  that  'ere  champagne  yer  spilt,"  cried  the 
boy,  whirling  the  can  rapidly  to  show  off  his  power  of  retaining  the 
contents,  '*  TU  have  yer  locked  up,  s'elp  me  Bob  I  will." 

The  sight  of  the  lad  brought  Jack  back  with  a  shock  to  the 
xealities  of  life.  The  heat  and  effluvia  of  the  dinner  in  the  shop 
came  upon  him  with  almost  the  intensity  of  actuality,  and  his  gorge 
rose. 

Then  with  the  ima^e  of  the  dining-rooms  came  that  of  their 
sick  proprietress,  and  with  a  self-reproachful  frown  he  strode  forward 
more  rapidly. 

**  Come  back,*  shrieked  the  boy,  with  an  excellent  imitation  of 
Jack's  morning  manner  and  matter.  '^  Ye  haven't  paid  me  for  that 
champagne ! " 

Some  passers-by  looked  on  admiringly,  but  Jack  merely 
quickened  his  step. 

**Stop  thief!"  cried  the  boy,  running  a  few  yards  after  him. 
Jack  smiled  a  smile  of  humorous  melancholy,  tolerant  alike  of  the 
boy  and  of  his  admirers. 

^  Tis  but  Mountchapel  in  miniature,"  he  murmured. 
Suddenly  a  bright  idea  struck  the  small  boy.  He  put  his  hand 
into  his  pocket  and  drew  out  a  huge  pellet  which  he  hurled  at 
the  high  hat  of  the  pedestrian.  The  large,  mealy  Regent  caught 
the  target  neatly  between  brim  and  crown,  and  there  crumbled 
into  floury  dissolution,  ruining  the  glossy  silk  in  its  own  destruc- 
tion. It  was  the  cold  potato  Jack  had  given  him  after  freeing 
bim  from  the  grasp  of  the  policeman.  Jack  staggered  under 
the  force  of  the  blow.  Recovering  himself,  he  took  off  his  hat 
t&d  looked  at  it  ruefully. 

''Said  I  not  he  was  an  embryonic  Mountchapel?"  he  muttered. 


I 


222  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

He  was  replacing  it  on  his  head,  when  a  distant  valedictory  cry  ol 
*'  Yah,  what  a  swell ! "  was  borne  to  his  ears.  He  started  slightly. 
*'  Thanks,  thanks  to  thee, my  worthy  friend,  for  the  lesson  thou  hast 
taught,"  he  murmured  witik  a  sad  smile.  ^^  It  is  thus  that  good 
is  still  evolved  out  of  ill." 

Looking  about  now,  fully  awake  to  the  outer  worlds  he  dis- 
covered that  he  had  gone  too  far,  so  he  determined  to  go  down  the 
Hackney  Road,*  which  ran  almost  parallel  to  the  Bethnal  Green, 
and  then  skirt  round  into  the  latter. 

^  It  is  too  late  now  to  go  back,"  he  said  aloud.  He  walked  on 
in  silence.  Suddenly,  as  he  was  passing  a  hat  shop,  he  turned  into 
it,  and  reappeared  in  a  few  moments  wearing  a  soft  sombrero  more 
in  keeping  with  his  daily  functions,  and  at  the  same  time  free  from 
the  static  seediness  imparted  to  the  other  by  the  dynamic  force  of 
the  potato.  He  next  crossed  the  road,  and  entered  a  large  clothing 
estabhshment.  Here  he  exchanged  his  morning  coat  (which  was 
as  ill-fitting  in  every  particular  as  if  the  wrong  measure  had  been 
carefully  taken  express)  for  a  long,  loose  paletot,  which  fitted  any- 
body because  it  fitted  nobody.  It  was  evident  that  the  small  boy*s 
satire  had  struck  home.  His  ill-considered  ambition  to  emulate 
Pelham  had  brought  upon  him  the  abhorrent  indignation  of  a 
youthful  Carlyle,  and  he  had  hastened  to  rid  himself  of  garments  so 
obnoxious  to  a  juvenile  hater  of  cant  and  pretence.  Hence,  doubt- 
less, the  thanks  and  the  theological  soliloquy  recorded  above.  But 
had  he  known  the  wretched  effect  he  produced  in  his  swellish 
clothes,  he  would  not  have  needed  the  boy's  reproof  to  make  him 
lay  them  aside  together  with  his  foppish  ambition.  To  escape 
being  ridiculous  he  must  either  change  his  mind  or  his  tailor. 

Once  more  attired  with  befitting  simplicity,  he  struck  forward 
with  extra  vigour,  fretting  internally  at  the  scant  progress  he  made. 
That  he  should  be  conscious  of  the  length  of.  the  route  was  a 
healthy  sign  ;  but  that  he  was  not  entirely  out  of  the  clouds  was 
proved  by  the  surprise  with  which  he  remembered  the  existence  of 
onmibuses  when  one  rumbled  past 

He  stood  still  till  there  was  some  danger  of  being  left  behind, 
then  he  rushed  madly  forwards ;  typifying  thus  the  procedure  of 
Conservatives  like  Floppington. 

While  he  is  rolling  homewards  we  shall  have  time  to  point  a 
moral,  even  if  we  do  not  adorn  the  tale  by  so  doing.  Facilis  descensus 
Avernil  By  what  imperceptible  gradations  has  the  humble 
painter  descended  from  honest  daily  work  to  aimless  vagabondage, 
thence  to  contempt  of  his  mother's  occupation,  thence  to  desertion 
of  his  post  and  his  sick  mother,  and  lastly  to  masherdom  !  And  as 
his  means  could  not  have  been  extensive  he  must  necessarily  have 
belonged  to  that  needy  but  noble  species  of  the  race  which  elects 
for  plain  living  and  high  collars. 

At  the  bottom  of  Hackney  Road  Jack  alighted,  and  turned 
sharply  to  the  right     A  few  minutes  more,  and  he  was  ascending 

*  For  this  and  other  localities  mentioned  in  the  text,  see  Bigwood's  "  Map 
of  Old  London." 


AN  UNFORESEEN  CONTINGENCY  ?/ts 

his  native  road.    Here  and  there  he  observed  shop  fronts  whose 
l^orv  was  partially  ecHpsed  by  shutters. 

**They  that  look  out  of  the  windows  shall  be  darkened,"  he  said 
solemnlv.  "  Peace  be  to  thy  soul,  whosoever  thou  art!  If  thou  didst 
not  find  life  worth  the  living,  mayst  thou  find  death  worth  the 
dying  P 

"  Who  is  dead  ?*  he  asked  of  a  little  unkempt  girl  who  stood  at 
the  door  of  one  of  the  shops  which  were  in  mourning. 

"  The  woman  in  the  cookshop,"  was  the  reply. 

Jack*s  heart  ceased  to  beat,  but  even  in  the  first  rush  of 
thronging  thoughts  came  an  interrogation  as  to  why  the  dread 
truth  had  not  instantly  burst  upon  a  mind  broo'ling  upon  sickness. 

"  Mrs.  Da  we  ?"  he  inquired  breathlessly. 

"  That's  her  "  said  the  girl. 

« My  God !  '''he  ejaculated.'  «  What  shaU  I  do ?"  He  walked 
on  slowly  in  mournful  agitation.  He  shivered  in  the  warm  air,  for 
he  felt  the  piercing  blast  of  the  bleak  February  day  when  he  saw 
the  sodden  earth  flattened  on  his  father's  grave.  The  sunlight  was 
darkened  by  dull  lines  of  rain,  and  through  the  gray  mist  he  heard 
the  iron  bell  that  seemed  to  translate  into  sound  all  the  ineffable 
dreariness  of  the  day  and  his  spirit.  Above  the  rattle  of  wheels 
and  the  buzz  of  life  he  caught  the  high,  vibrating  tones  in  which 
the  minister  uttered  the  solemn  words — words  which  had  ever  since 
been  associated  with  the  timbre  of  his  voice—"  And  the  spirit 
return  to  the  God  who  gave  it." 

•*  Dead  1 "  he  muttered.  "  Cut  off  without  warning,  and  even  I 
not  at  thy  bedside  to  admonish  thy  parting  soul !  Well,  O  wise 
Rabbi,  mightest  thou  say  :  *  Repent  one  day  before  thy  death.' 
.  May  He  whom  thou  hast  denied  receive  thee  into  His  in- 
finite mercy.  Poor  lonely  Mrs.  Dawe,  whose  son's  ways  could  not 
be  thy  ways,  nor  his  words  thy  words ;  and  from  whom  thou  wast 
divided  in  thy  death  as  in  thy  life.  Poor  unit  of  the  vast  multitude 
of  Demos,  how  little  those  who  quarrelled  over  making  laws  for 
thee  knew  of  thy  limited  life— limited,  yet  so  much  to  thee— of  the 
spiritual  blight  that  ate  into  thee  amidst  thy  material  prosperity,  or 
of  the  years  of  ceaseless,  unrepining  drudgery,  lightened  by  no 
larger  hope  than  the  petty  gains  of  day  by  day.  Faithful  to  thine 
husband  whose  words  yet  live  upon  thy  lips,  how  often  wast  thou 
wont  to  set  the  counter  in  a  roar !  But  thou  hast  joined  him  now 
where  thy  mots  avail  rot,  nor  thy  cunning  cookery,  nor  thy  succu- 
lent sausages.  What  \JTofits  it  now  that  Mrs.  Prodgers  is  deserted 
of  her  customers,  or  that  the  fame  of  thy  pork-pies  will  survive 
thee  ?  What  to  thee  is  the  beauty  of  thy  stuffed  birds  and  thy 
Brassels  carpet,  what  the  glory  of  thy  blue  and  gold  tea-set  ?  .  .  . 
But  who  am  I  to  moralise  on  thee,  I,  whose  shifting  life,  querulous, 
restless,  useless  .  .  .  noxious  to  the  happiness  ...  of 
others  ...  is  as  a  shadow  to  the  concrete  definiteness  of 
thi  le?" 

A  sob  that  overmastered  him  and  half-surprised  him,  internipted 
hi!  reflections.   Looking  up,  he  found  that  he  had  reached  his  home. 


i 


294  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

Some  children  were  trying  to  peep  through  the  closed  shutters^ 
if  they  thought  to  see  the  corpse  behind  them.  As  Jack  pauscsd  a£ 
the  shop  door  and  lifted  up  his  hand  to  knock,  they  turned  theiri 
attention  to  him  as  a  connecting  link  between  themselves  and^ 
the  dread  unknown,  and  watched  him  with  mingled  awe  and 
curiosity, 

"  That's  Mm,"  he  heard  one  whisper.    "  Ifs  'ts  mother^ 

"Don't  you  wish  you  was  'im,  Bill?"  replied  another.  "To  ride 
in  a  carriage  all  to  yourself." 

Jack's  hand  dropped  to  his  side. 

**  Of  what  use  is  it,"  he  thought,  **  to  go  in  now  ?  I  had  better 
arrange  about  the  funeral,  and  get  the  sad  task  over  this  very 
afternoon." 

He  stood  still  in  anxious  meditation.  Then,  suddenly  conscious 
again  of  the  staring  group  of  children,  he  started,  and  looked  at 
them  sadly.  How  used  he  was  to  grimy  pinafores,  patched  knicker- 
bockers, and  pinched  faces ! 

"  Whereas  .  .  .  and  whereas  ..."  he  muttered  bit- 
terly. "A  coach  and  four !  Nay  ;  a  herd  of  buffaloes  are  daily 
driven  through  them  all !  After  so  many  years  of  philanthropic 
effort,  so  many  yards  of  barren  words  !  You  would  like  a  ride^ 
would  you?"  he  said  aloud,  putting  his  hand  into  his  pocket. 

The  children  looked  at  each  other  suspiciously,  then  by  common 
consent  they  turned  tail  and  fled,  scared  like  timid  animials  by  the 
unexpected. 

Jack  was  looking  blankly  after  them  when  an  omnibus  rolled 
up,  and  he  sprang  into  it,  as  though  its  advent  had  determined  his 
course.  The  vehicle  was  almost  empty,  and  he  threw  himself  into 
a  comer.  As  the  'bus  started  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  window 
of  his  own  bed-room,  with  the  solitary  pot  of  mignonette  on  tbe  sill, 
and  his  thoughts  travelled  into  the  adjoining  room  and  rested  upon 
the  plump,  white,  stony  face,  made  solemn  by  death.  He  buried 
his  head  m  his  hands. 

The  sound  of  his  mother's  name  roused  him  from  his  reverie. 
Glancing  round,  he  found  the  conveyance  full,  and  himself  wedged 
tightly  into  his  corner.  His  nostrils  were  assailed  by  a  strong 
smell  of  fish,  and  his  ears  by  a  dialogue  which  was  being  carried 
on  by  two  feminine  voices  issuing  from  the  other  end  of  the  bench  on 
which  he  sat. 

"  Poor  old  soul !  To  be  took  so  sudden.  All  last  week  she  was 
in  the  best  o'  sperrits.  Only  yesterday  she  was  that  'arty  she 
threatened  to  'ave  a  beggar  locked  up— and  to-day  she's  dead  ! " 

"  Her  old  man  was  took  all  of  a  *eap,  just  the  same.    It  runs  in 
the  blood.    I  lay  Jack  goes  off,  too,  like  a  barrel  o'  gunpowder. 
Yes,  a  barrel  of  gunpowder—  mark  my  words,  Betsy  Baker — for  as 
sure  as  eggs  is  eggs  he'll  blaze  up  like  Old  Nick." 
•*  Blaze  up  ?"  echoed  Betsy  Baker. 

'*  Blaze  up— or  I'm  no  prophet !  That  man  has  took  to  drink  </ 
late,  and  from  what  I  'ear  he  guzzles  enough  to  burn  up  a  'orse.  My 
Bill  seed  'im  one  day  when  he  was  buildin'  in  'Aggerston.      H^ 


J 


r 


AN  UNFORESEEN  CONTINGENCY  I25 


didn't  'ave  no  paint-pots,  and  'e  was  walkin'  along,  knockin'  agin 
everybody,  and  drunk  as  a  lord.  Another  time,  one  o'  Bill's  mates 
met  im  in  'Ackney  Wick,  in  a  fit  of  Delilium  Trimmings,  a-talkin' 
tolsself.* 

''On  a  workin'-day  ?"  inauired  Betsy  Baker. 

"  Yes,  and  on  a  Wednesday — not  even  on  a  Monday.  He  was 
on  the  booze  agin,  and  without  'is  pots  and  brushes." 

**  Shame ! "  exclaimed  Betsy  Baker.  **  The  man  as  gets  drunk 
except  on  a  Saturday  night  is  a  beast" 

''  Right  you  are,  Betsy !  As  we  learnt  at  Sunday  School,  '  six 
days  shalt  thou  labour,  and  the  seventh  thou  shalt * " 

The  voice  stopped  in  evident  confusion,  and  went  on  in  a  dif- 
ferent tone  : 

''  I  dare  say  the  old  woman  knew  it,  for  all  she  looked  so  jolly, 
and  as  I  said  to  Mrs.  Prodgers  when  she  argyfied  that  it  was  'cause 
Mrs.  Dawe  was  a  Bradlaugh,  as  I  said  to  her,  ses  I  :  '  Mark  my 
words,  Mrs.  Prodgers,'  ses  I, '  that  Jack  'as  been  the  death  o'  her, 
or  I'm  no  prophet.'  The  fust  time  that  she  found  out  he  had  took 
to  drink,  that  night  he  was  chucked  out  o'  the  Foresters',  it  made 
'er  nigh  mad.  She  loved  'im  like  the  'air  of 'er  'ead,  and  to  see  'im 
go  wrong  and  pine  away  to  a  shadow,  all  in  a  few  weeks,  cut  'er  to 
the  bone." 

"There  may  be  some  truth  in  that,  Mrs.  Green  ;  but  I  'eard 
another  story.  They  say  that  this  Eliza  Bathbrill  he  used  to  be  so 
sweet  on  'as  chucked  'im  up,  since  he  went  to  the  devil,  and  the 
old  woman  who  'ad  set  'er  'eart  on  the  match  died  of  a  broken 
'eart" 

"You've  got  it  quite  wrong,  Betsy.  It  was  the  old  woman  that 
chucked  up  Elizer 'cause  she  was  that  extravagant  with  'er  silks 
and  satins  that  you  may  lay  your  life  Jack  paid  for  'em.  Many  and 
many  a  row  she  *ad  wiA  Tack  about  it,  but  'e  wouldn't  give  'er  up, 
and  that  was  the  broken  art  she  died  of,  not  the  oiieyou  mention." 

"You  none  of  you  know  nothing  about  it,"  chimed  in  a  third 
voice  with  some  asperity.  "  It  was  Jack  that  chucked  up  Elizer  to 
spite  "is  mother  for  jawin'  'im  for  spendin'  all  'is  wages  in  drink." 

•'Any'ow/'  summed  up  Mrs.  Green,  "it's  all  'is  doin's  which- 
ever way  you  look  at  it.  The  old  woman  'as  'ad  enough  trouble  to 
turn  'er  'air  gray  twice,  even  if  it  'adn't  been  gray  any  time  this  ten 
years.    That  Jack  'as  been  the  death  of  'er,  or  I'm  no  prophet." 

Jack  was  cowering  in  his  corner,  his  sombrero  drawn  over  his 
fordieady  his  paletot  buttoned  to  the  throat,  his  head  turned  away 
to  avoid  detection. 

"Am  I  the  Canon  or  Guido  Franceschini  ? "  he  asked  himself. 
'  My  concerns  certainly  seem  as  explicable  in  as  many  ways  as 
th  se  of  the  people  in  the  Ring  and  the  Book,  And  more  than 
til  se  are  doubtless  busy  with  me !  I  wonder  how  Browning  would 
tei  n^  story.  Shall  I  ever  let  him  know  of  the  opportunity  of 
gi  ning new  laurels?" 


2a6 


THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  SORROWS  OF  AN  UNDERTAKER. 

The  same  evening  a  cab  dashed  up  to  the  ^'  Star  "  dining^-r< 
and  a  figure  attired  in  a  loose  paletot  and  a  spreading  sombrer^ 
jumped  briskly  out,  pushed  double  his  fare  into  the  hand  of  th^ 
driver,  and  strode  in  two  steps  to  the  shop  door.  The  look 
anxie^,  worry,  and  even  irritation  on  his  face  was  intensified  whc 
he  was  stopped  by  a  meek  man  in  black ;  but  any  feeling 
resentment  at  the  interruption  was  momentary,  for  he  paused  an( 
said : 

"Well,  Mr.  White?'' 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  Mr.  Dawe,'*  said  Mr.  White,  "  to  be  com! 
polled  to  make  this  mournful  call,  and  I  sincerely  sympathise  witl 
your  distress ;  but  I  know  the  deceased  lady  would  not  like  t^ 
employ  any  other  undertaker  than  the  one  who  gave  her  sucl 
satisfaction  when  he  buried  her  husband.  Fearing  that  in  youj 
trouble  you  might  forget  me^  I  ventured  to  anticipate  rivals  ijf 
these  days  of  competition,  when  we  shall  perhaps  soon  have  people 
ordering  their  funerals  at  co-operative  stores,  or  cremating  themj 
selves  because  it  is  cheaper,  or  exporting  their  bodies  abroad  for  th<' 
benefit  of  the  foreigner " 

"  Don't  impugn  Free  Trade ;  you  shall  have  the  order,''  inten 
rupted  Jack. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  sir.     Will  you  kindly  look  at  this  care 
and  choose  your  style?  We  do  it  in  deal,  without  plumes,  for  thn 
ten  ;  but   I   could  not  honestly  recommend  it.      Note  how  fai 
superior,  in  the  matter  of  gold- headed  nails,  waving  plumes,  am 
artistic  hearse,  is  our  nine-ten  funeral.    Take  my  word  for  it,  N 
Dawe,  in  coffins,  as  in  everything  else,  a  really  good  article 
economy  in  the  long  run." 

"  Let  her  have  the  nine-ten,  poor  old  soul,"  replied  Jack. 

"You  are  a  good  son,  sir,"  said  Mr.  White,  much  affected, 
will  do  my  best  for  her  and  for  you,  and  bury  her  in  such  style  that 
you  shall  not  regret  it.     Were  all  sons  like  you,  sir,  we  undertakei 
would  have  no  reason  for  grumbling  that  business  is  bad." 

Jack  started  as  if  stung,  and  his  face  flushed  with  self-re^J 
proachful  shame. 

"  You  are  right,"  he  thought  bitterly.     "  Poor  mother  I "     Th< 
long  years  of  childhood  flashed  across  his  mind,  ere  a  thoug^htfull 
manhood  had  somewhat  sundered  their  lives.      He  knew  that  her, 
love  for  him  had  never  failed,  and  of  the  associations  ot  forty  years, 
only  the  tender  reminiscences  now  stood  out  clearly,  bathed  in 
sacred  light 

*'Has  my  neglect  hastened  her  end?"  he  asked  himself.  "And  1 1 
was  not  even  at  her  death-bed ! "  Struggling  with  such  thoughts  asj 
these,  he  replied  negligently,  '*  Business  bad  then  ?  '* 


a 


r 


THE  SORROWS  OF  AN  UNDERTAKER        227 


''As  gloomy  as  it  can  well  be,  sir.  Ifs  enough  to  drive  an 
undertaker  to  suidde." 

"  To  give  himself  a  job  ?  "  asked  Jack.  His  impatience  to  enter 
had  given  place  to  a  certain  reluctance,  and  he  seemed  to  grasp  at 
the  opportunity  of  staving  off  the  dreaded  moment,  at  least  till  he 
grew  cahner  internally. 

"No,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  White,  "but  because  he  can't  get  a 
livmg." 

"  Out  of  death  cometh  life,"*  murmured  Jack. 

**  Everything  is  against  us  lately,"  proceeded  the  undertaker. 
'*  For  one  thing  I  observe  that  the  marriage  rate  is  falling  seven 
per  cent." 

"  I  should  have  imagined  the  death  rate  would  have  interested 
you  more,  unless  you  think  that  marriage  and  suicide  are  con- 
nected." 

'^  It  isn't  that,  sir.  But  marriage  brings  into  the  world  more 
people  to  die,  you  see.  And  if  people  defer  marriage  till  they  can 
afford  it,  the  children  are  more  likely  to  grow  up  to  benefit  our 
posterity  instead  of  us.  Then,  sir,  look  at  the  newfangled  fuss 
they  are  making  nowadays  about  Horrible  Londons  and  Bitter 
Cries.  The  slums,  hotbeds  of  immorality  and  unhealthiness 
as  they  are,  are  the  very  best  fields  of  infant  and  adult 
mortality.  In  short,  sir,  what  with  the  spread  of  sanitary 
knowledge  and  the  extension  of  medical  science,  people  are  kept  so 
healthy ^" 

^  That  were  it  not  for  quack  medicines  and  elixirs  of  life  your 
occupation  would  be  gone." 

Mr.  White  stared  and  concluded  as  though  he  had  not  been 
interrupted : 

"That  the  good  old  epidemics  are  impossible." 

''I  am  glad  he  has  reminded  me,*  thought  Jack,  "  1  must  take 
up  the  Slums  Question."  Then,  feeling  a  little  better  able  to 
endure  the  mute  reproach  on  the  dead  face  of  his  mother,  he 
knocked  sharply  at  the  door  with  his  closed  fist.  There  was  no 
answer. 

"  That  girl  of  yours  is  awfully  cheeky,  if  you  will  allow  me  to 
say  so,'*  observed  Mr.  White.  "  I  knocked  for  ten  minutes  before 
I  could  get  an  answer.  Then  she  looked  out  of  the  upper  window 
and  asked  what  I  wanted.  When  I  stated  my  business  she  asked 
me  who  sent  for  me,  and  why  I  poked  my  nose  where  I  wasn't  wanted, 
and  other  saucy  things,  and  at  last  said  I  was  drunk  and  shut 
down  the  sash.  I  went  next  door  to  ask  whether  any  other  unHer- 
taker  had  called.  The  shopkeeper  said  not  as  far  as  he  knew. 
He  was  a  busy  man,  and  the  first  he  heard  of  the  sad  affair  was 
fi'om  a  customer,  who  asked  him  who  was  dead  next  door. 
Knowing  that  the  old  lady  had  not  been  able  to  serve  in  the  shop, 
he  at  once  guessed  the  truth.  He,  too,  has  been  knocking  here, 
but  could  not  get  in  at  once  ;  and,  having  no  time  to  spare,  went 
away.  That  girl  is  not  to  be  trusted,  sir,  tor  to  my  own  knowledge 
!  "veral  persons  who  saw  you  rush  frantically  along  the  road  this 

Q  2 


228  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

afternoon  in  search  of  the  doctor,  and  whose  inquiries  you  did  not 
answer  in  your  grief  and  anxiety,  were  served  in  the  same  rude 
way — either  not  answered  at  all  or  shouted  at  to  go  away/' 

Jack  shook  the  door  violently.  Still  no  reply.  A  look  of  pain 
came  into  his  eyes. 

'<  I  deserve  to  be  shut  out,"  he  thought,  and  emotion  over- 
powered him  once  more. 

**  He  does  look  ill,"  reflected  Mr.  White.  *|But  not  so  much 
as  I  had  been  led  to  believe  by  those  who  met  him  this  afternoon. 
They  said  he  was  like  a  ghost,  but  that  must  have  been  through 
fright.    But  I  mustn't  grumble." 

'*  Shall  I  take  the  measurement  at  once,  sir  ?  "  he  asked  aloud. 

"  No,  no  !'*  replied  Jack  hastily.  He  hesitated,  and  then  added: 
"  Well,  perhaps  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  accompany  me  at 


once." 


"  Ah,  sir,  it  is  a  sad  task  for  us  to  bury  friends.  We  do  not 
pretend  to  regret  the  death  of  strangrers,  but  when  a  family  is  en- 
deared to  us  by  burying  all  its  members  in  turn'' — he  stopped  to 
wipe  away  a  tear  and  then  proceeded  with  more  resignation — *'  our 
only  consolation  is  the  knowledge  that  we  have  done  our  duty  by 
them." 

Jack  was  about  to  knock  a  third  time  when  a  shrill  voice  de- 
scended upon  them. 

**  Y'ain^t  gone  yet?"  it  screamed.  "  If  ye  don't  sling  yer  'ook 
in  a  jiffy,  I'll  chuck  a  pail  o*  water  over  yer,  ye  black,  drunken 
beast." 

Then,  putting  her  head  out  of  the  window,  Sally  caught  sight 
of  her  master  and  uttered  a  cry  of  joy.  In  another  moment  the 
door  was  flung  open,  and  she  appeared  on  the  threshold  with  a 
scrap  of  newspaper  in  her  hand.  Jack  stepped  in  and  Mr.  White  was 
following  him,  but  Sally  snatched  up  a  ladle  and  repulsed  him 
indignantly. 

"  Sally  I "  exclaimed  Jack,  darting  an  imperious  look  at  her. 
«  Come  in,  Mr.  White." 

The  girl  shrunk  under  the  glance,  and  lowered  the  ladle. 

**  What  does  he  want  'ere  ? "  she  murmured  sullenly. 

"  Mind  your  own  business,"  cried  Jack  sharply. 

At  this  unwonted  reproof  the  tears  came  into  Sally's  eyes,  and 
she  stood  still  in  silent,  grieved  astonishment. 

Jack  was  looking  curiously  round  the  darkened  shop,  with  a 
mixture  of  conflicting  emotions.  The  presence  of  death  seemed  to 
invest  the  well-known  objects  with  strangeness  and  pathos. 

*^  Where  is  she  ?  "  he  said  gently. 

*Mn  her  own  room,  of  course  "  replied  Sally  shortly,  only  half- 
repressing  a  sob. 

Jack  was  moved  by  her  griefl 

''It's  a  reproach  to  my  coldness,"  he  thought.  ^Ah  !  surely 
nothing  dies  but  something  mourns." 

''  You  can  stay  here,  Sally,"  he  said  aloud.  "  Follow  me;  Mr. 
White." 


r 


THE  SORROWS  OF  AN  UNDERTAKER        229 


Passing  through  the  kitchen,  he  walked  through  the  small 
parlour  with  a  shudder  doubtless  occasioned  by  the  cold,  desolate 
appearance  of  the  fireless  room.  He  paused  a  moment  to  gaze  at 
the  oil-painting  of  his  dead  parent,  and  turned  away  to  the  stufifed 
birds  with  anodier  shudder.  Remorse  seemed  to  seize  upon  him 
once  more,  for  he  murmured  : 

"  Why  did  I  ever  leave  her  ?  Whether  I  am  at  all  guilty  in  the 
matter  of  her  death  or  not,  I  have  ruined  my  own  life.  I  can  never 
be  happy  here  any  more.  This  room,  that  once  seemed  to  me  so 
sweet  a  place  to  rest  in " 

Sally  interrupted  his  reflections  by  putting  her  head  into  the 
room,  and  asking  the  two,  in  a  humble  tore,  to  tread  softly.  She 
still  held  the  ladle  in  her  right  hand,  but  listlessly  and  almost  un- 
consciously, so  that  it  hung  down  with  the"  inertness  of  a  beaten 
dog's  tail ;  and  her  glib  tongue  was  silenced  by  the  half-conscious- 
ness of  a  fence  of  dignity  and  authoritativeness  round  her  master 
—a  superiority  to  interrogation  and  advice  which  recalled  certain 
experiences  of  days  she  had  hoped  gone  by  for  ever. 

The  two  men  obeyed  the  reverent  instructions  of  the  household 
drudge.  Hat  in  hand  they  mounted  the  narrow  stairs.  The  shadow 
of  death  seemed  to  lie  upon  their  dark  windings,  and  its  coldness 
npon  the  small,  square  bleak  landing  upon  which  the  three  bed- 
rooms opened.  The  air  was  charged  with  vague,  mysterious  noises 
that  made  them  both  shudder  with  a  ghastly  awe  they  felt  to  be  un- 
reasonable. Jack  paused  with  his  hand  on  the  door  of  the  room 
where  the  dead  woman  lay.  A  sudden  superstitious  sense  that  the 
corpse  was  stirring  restlessly  in  its  bed  seized  upon  him,  and  many 
weird  fencies  that  had  haunted  his  childhood  chilled  his  blood. 

Smiling  scornfully  at  his  folly,  he  threw  open  the  door.  The 
last  rays  of  the  dying  sun  rested  upon  the  tawdry  room,  and  lit  up 
that  white  upturned  face  on  die  pillow,  that  redeemed  by  its  so- 
lemnity the  meanness  and  bareness  of  the  apartment. 

The  whole  scene  flashed  upon  his  vision  in  the  tenth  of  a  second, 
and  ere  his  hand  had  loosed  its  hold  of  the  door,  a  slight  movement 
seemed  to  s^^itate  the  face  of  the  corpse,  and  a  loud  snore  was 
borne  to  his  ears.  He  started,  turned  pale  with  excitement,  and 
tightened  his  grasp  on  the  knob.  At  the  same  time  Mr.  White 
gave  vent  to  a  bitter  cry  of  astonished  disappointment : 

** Why,  she's  alive  I'* 

Jack's  paUor  turned  into  a  flush  of  hot  indignation.  ''  The  cruel 
trickster !  ^  he  cried.  He  stopped  short  and  passed  a  hand  over 
his  brow  in  bewildermeiit  "  But  they  all  thought  so,"  he  mur- 
mured. **  Can  I  have  been  deceived  in  common  with  the  whole 
peighbourhood  ? "  He  pulled  out  his  watch  sharply  and  glanced  at 
it  With  a  half-suppressed  oath  he  thrust  it  back  into  his  pocket 
An  ixpres^on  of  grim  determination  came  over  his  £ice.  ''It  was 
2(  rioas  coincidence  that  she  should  just  die  to-night/ ran  his 
tiK  ights,  **  and  so  I  felt  even  at  the  first  shock  of  the  news.  My 
in  \tion  was  excusable  after  all.  Who  knows  the  mischief  this 
&u    do?"    He  glanced  at  the  undertaker,  who  was  staring  frown- 


230  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

ingly  at  the  unconscious  sleeper.  ''  But  PlI  soon  settle  his  hash  for 
him  "  he  murmured.  "  Mr.  White/*  he  added,  raising  his  voice, "  I 
am  very  sorry  that  you  should  have  come  on  a  fooPs  errand."  As 
he  made  the  remark  his  eyes  naturally  wandered  to  the  pale  face  of 
his  mother,  and  the  flush  of  indignation  on  his  own  face  deepened 
into  one  of  shame  as  it  flashed  upon  him  that  his  first  thought  had 
not  been  that  of  joy  at  her  being  still  alive.  Poor,  hard-worldng, 
gray-haired  mother !  How  iU  she  looked !  At  best  she  could  not 
be  with  him  long. 

"  A  fool's  errand ! "  repeated  Mr.  White,  forgetting  the  above 
fact  in  his  anger.  '^  Then  this  is  another  of  these  jokes  of  yours  of 
which  I  have  heard  so  much.  None  but  an  Atheist  would  play 
such  a  practical  joke  on  his  own  mother,  not  to  mention  the  whole 
neighbourhood.  But  I'll  have  the  law  on  you,  and  you  shall  pay 
dearly  for  wasting  the  time  of  an  undertaker,  whose  hands  are  mil, 
and  to  whom  every  instant  is  precious." 

'*  That  will  do,  sir.  My  time  is  more  valuable  than  yours,  and 
if  you  have  anything  more  to  say,  I  must  refer  you  to  my  secretary." 
He  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  last  word,  as  if  to  add  to  the 
effect,  and  completed  it  with  a  mysterious  and  irritating  smile. 

"  You  may  laugh  now,  Mr.  Dawe,  but  he  laughs  best  who  laughs 
last.  I  can  well  understand  that  a  man  who  would  make  fun  of 
death  would  make  fun  even  of  an  undertaker  who  has  buried  all  the 
best  families  in  Bethnal  Green.     I  sincerely  rejoice ^ 

His  angry  countenance  was  turned  towards  Jack's,  and  his  tones 
increased  each  instant  in  shrillness. 

Suddenly  a  look  of  alarm  came  over  Jack's  face,  he  shot  a  warn- 
ing, threatening  glance  at  the  irate  Mr.  White,  and  whispered 
"  hush  "  imperiou^y. 

"  No,  sir,  I  will  not  hush.  I  repeat  I  sincerely  rejoice  that  I  did 
not  bury  your  mother  and  lower  my  rep ^ 

"  Bury  me  I"  gasped  Mrs.  Dawe.  She  sat  bolt  upright  with  the 
blankets  tucked  round  her  like  an  Indian  squaw.  Her  eyes  dilated 
with  horror  and  indignation,  and  her  gray  hairs  stood  up  rigidly 
and  perceptibly  raised  the  level  of  her  dirty-white  nightcap. 

'•Bury  me  alive !  Help  I  Police  !  Sally !  My  own  son  has 
brought  Mr.  White  to  bury  me  alive,  like  he  buried  my  husband, 
'cause  he's  tired  of  waiting  for  the  property.  But  you  shanUy  you 
Irish  assassin,  you  shan't  murder  your  poor  old  mother  not  while  Pm 
alive.  Youll  'ave  to  wait  long  for  the  property.  Help !  You  shan't 
bury  me,"  she  shrieked,  seizing  a  pillow  and  flourishing  it  threaten- 
ingly, "  you  shan't  bury  me  not  if  I  die  for  it"  The  pillow  fell 
from  her  hand,  and  she  sank  back  exhausted  by  the  violence  oif  her 
ravings. 

Jack  went  to  her  and  kissed  her.  ''  Don't  be  a  fool,  mother," 
he  said  soothingly.    "  Who  wants  to  bury  you  ?" 

"  You !  "  she  cried.  "  Don't  gi'mme  me  any  o'  your  crocodile 
kisses  I  What  *ave  you  brought  Mr.  White  'ere  for  ?  But  thank 
Gord,  I've  woke  up  in  time  to  smash  up  your  plans  and  your  cauffins 
too.    It  ain't  my  deal }  et,  as  your  father  used  to  tay." 


J 


THE  SORROWS  OF  AN  UNDERTAKER        231 

**  Mr.  White,  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  retire  now,"  said 
Jack  severely, "  or  are  you  not  satisfied  with  the  mischief  you  have 
done  ?  "    But  that  functionary's  resentment  had  not  yet  abated. 

**  I  am  glad  to  see  you  suffer  by  your  own  joke,''  he  replied. 
'*  But  before  I  go  I  demand  some  compensation.  You  have  ordered 
a  nine-ten  funeral,  and,  as  a  matter  of  business,  I  can  claim  that 
that  funeral  shall  take  place." 

"With  pleasure,"  responded  Jack  cheerfully ;  "if  you  will  per- 
form the  r61e  of  corpse.  And  unless  you  are  prepared  to  undertake 
your  own  funeral  at  a  day's  notice,  you  had  better  clear  out" 

**  Pranks  are  expensive,'*  returned  Mr.  White  stolidly.  "  I  claim 
a  sovereign  at  least." 

The  last  words  died  away  in  an  inarticulate  gurgle,  and  he 
staggered  under  the  weight  of  the  pillow  which  Mrs.  Dawe  had 
hurled  at  his  face. 

^A  sufTerin'  1**  she  shrieked.  ''Then  it's  you  at  the  bottom  of 
Ais ;  ye  want  to  rob  poor,  honest^  folks,  ye  thief,  and  steal  the  skin 
off  their  backs,  and  turn  their  own  sons  agin  them,  just  for  the  sake 
of  a  job.  But  I  won't  be  buried  by  you,  nor  the  likes  o'  ye,  not  if  I 
W  to  live  a  'undred  years  to  escape  ye ! " 

She  stopped  suddenly  to  listen  to  Sally's  shrill  vociferations, 
and  the  sounds  of  a  scuffle  below. 

"  Yer  shan't  go  up  I "  Sally  was  screaming.  "  Y'ain't  a-goin'  to 
worry  Im  no  more  ;  ye  know  'e  don't  want  you.  Don't  stick  your 
bonnets*  and  your  silks  and  satins  in  my  eyes.  '£  says  I'm  worth 
twenty  0^  you  any  day.  Stealin'  in  like  a  'ighway  robber,  just 
because  Pa  forgotten  to  bolt  tJie  door." 

Mr.  Whitk. — ^"This  is  assault  and  battery  !  Ill  have  the  law 
on  both  of  you  1  Your  neighbours  shall  hear  of  this  disgraceful 
conduct*  Mr.  Dawe.    You  shall  suffer  for  it"    {Da  capo.) 

EuzA  Bathbrill. — ''You  impertinent  minx,  stand  out  of  my 
way,  or  you  shan't  stay  in  tUs  house !  Put  down  that  ladle,  you 
diameless  hussy,  ^nd  go  and  wash  your  dirty  face  !  Let  me  pass, 
or  I  call  Mr.  Dawe  instantly,  and  blast  your  career  at  one  fell  blow ! 
Don't  come  near  me,  you  ragged  slut,  you  tatterdemalion  !  I  am 
the  mistress  here  now  that  Mrs.  Dawe  is  dead ! "    (And  so  forth.) 

Mrs  Dawe.— **  Forgotten  to  bolt  the  door  I  Thieves  1  I'm 
rained.  Oh,  Jack,  you  wretch,  you  villain  I  I  can  never  forgive 
you  what  you  have  done  to-day.  You  shut  up  the  shop,  and  leave 
the  door  open,  don't  tadce  any  money  in,  and  leave  it  all  go  out ; 
you  bum  my  mantelpiece  and  my  Fru  Thinker^  spoil  my  carpet, 
waste  my  gas,  and  break  another  blue-and-gold  teacup,  and  then, 
to  prevent  me  finding  it  all  out,  ye  want  to  bury  me  sdive.  But  I 
w-nt  be  buried  alive,  Mr.  White."    {Et  cetera.) 

Sally. — *'  Don't  lift  up  yer  parasol  to  me,  'cause  ye^  begin 
w  li  the  wrong  party  1  Yah,  my  fine  lady,  'ow  did  ye  like  that  pin 
I  ug  into  ye  last  night  ?  My,  didn't  yer  squeal  like  a  pig !  Don't 
y<  try  to  slip  past  now,  or  I'll  spile  your  beauty  with  a  sutty  fryin'- 
p  1.  Mrs.  Dawe  dead!  Wouldn't  ye  like  itl  Ye're  off  your 
d  mpl    Keep  off,  d'yer?"    (Dacapo^ 


2^  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

Jack  Oawe  (soliloquises).—"  This  house  is  a  Bedlam  I  What 
a  home !  Alas  1  I  feel  more  than  ever  how  vulgar  it  is.  Great 
Beaconsfield,  will  they  never  stop !  And  I  must  stay  here  listening 
to  this  petty  babble,  while  in  another  place  the  great  battle  of 
women's  suffrage  is  being  fought.  It  sdmost  drives  me  mad !  * 
(And  much  more.) 

The  quartet,  together  with  its  inaudible  accompaniment  of 
soliloquy,  was  abruptly  terminated  in  the  midst  of  a  fortissimo 
passage  by  a  howl  of  disappointment  This  last  note  brought  to  a 
fittingly  sombre  and  ghastly  climax  one  of  those  vre\x6.fantaisies  de 
diabU  which  only  the  melancholy  genius  of  the  English  lower  orders 
of  that  day  was  capable  of  extemporising  in  their  full  perfection. 
This  particular  performance,  however,  was  rather  different  from  the 
ordinary,  which  was  al fresco ^  and  in  which  the  themes  of  the  one 
singer  were  taken  up  by  the  other  with  the  finest  instinct  of 
harmony,  so  that  the  most  complicated  fugues  chased  their  own 
tails  till  the  tap  of  the  imperious  biton  brought  the  music  to  a 
sadden  close. 

The  bowl  came  from  Sally.  Eliza's  righteous  indignation  had 
left  her  no  ears  except  for  her  own  voice ;  but  when  Mrs.  Dawe 
made  an  unprepared  transition  into  her  shrillest  key,  she  caught 
the  speaker's  ear,  and  blanched  her  cheek.  It  would  seem  then 
that  tne  old  lady  was  not  dead,  but  shrieking.  Eliza  was  startled, 
but  not  altogether  displeased.  Although  Jack  had  at  last  consented 
to  approximately  "  name  the  happy  day,"  she  feared  he  might  yet 
slip  through  her  fingers,  and  even  the  joy  of  his  inheritance  of  the 
business  was  not  sufficient  to  counterbalance  this  dread.  Mrs. 
Dawe  was  a  strong  ally ;  and,  all  things  considered,  it  would  be 
kinder  for  her  to  defer  her  decease  till  after  the  marriage  than  to 
leave  Jack  to  the  imperceptible  impulses  of  his  "  sense  of  honour." 
Her  heart  swelled  with  a  genuine  joy  which  she  felt  to  be  all  the 
more  noble  that  she  would  have  been  the  gainer  by  Nfrs.  Dawe's 
death,  and  she  burned  to  congratulate  that  personage  on  her  indif- 
ference to  rumour.  Excitement  lent  her  audacity  and  agility,  and 
she  flashed  under  the  uplifted  ladle  and  was  half  up  the  stairs 
before  her  adversary  realised  what  had  happened.  Sally  gave 
chase,  but  too  late.  A  moment's  wild  commotion  on  the  staircase, 
and  Eliza  rushed  frantically  into  the  room,  shut  the  door  with  a 
bang  and  fell  breathless  into  Jack's  arms  with  a  cry  of  "  Save  me, 
my  love."  Hardly  had  she  done  so  when  the  door  was  again  burst 
open,  and  Sally,  fire  in  her  eyes,  and  a  ladle  in  her  hand,  made  for 
her  cowering  prey.  Mrs.  Dawe,  seeing  the  danger  of  her  favourite, 
neatly  dispossessed  the  drudge  of  her  weapon  as  she  flew  past,  and 
whirled  it  round  in  the  direction  of  Mr.  White  with  an  exclamation 
of  reproach.  The  latter  leapt  just  beyond  its  whizzing  circuit  and 
retreated  to  the  door  with  renewed  menaces.  The  duel  between 
the  undertsJcer  and  his  corpse  recommenced ;  both  parties  making 
occasional  lunges  at  Jack  ;  one  of  Jack's  arms  was  around  Eliza, 
who  was  resting  upon  his  bosom  apparently  in  a  swoon,  and  the 
other  was  keeping  off  the  irate  Sally,  who,  unable  to  effect  anything 


THE  SORROWS  OF  AN  UNDERTAKER        233 

vi  St  armts,  burst  into  heartrending  sobs,  and,  brandishing  the 
fragment  of  newspaper,  incoherently  demanded  a  reading  lesson. 
And  amid  all  the  din  and  horror  of  the  scene,  cheers  and  counter 
cheers  rang  in  the  ear  of  fancy  and  chafed  his  soul,  and  filled  it 
with  bitter  indignation. 

**  Great  Beaconsfield ! "  he  thought.  **  The  whole  house  is 
disorganised — my  mother  scolds  me  as  if  I  were  a  child — this  in- 
fernal girl  chooses  to  faint  on  my  breast,  a  liberty  she  would  never 
have  dared  to  take  a  month  ago — and,  worst  of  all,  this  unwashed, 

miserable  Sally  has  the  d d  cheek  to  kick  up  a  devilish  row  and 

attack  people  with  ladles  in  my  very  presence,  besides  clamouring 
for  free  education,  as  if  /  was  bound  to  teach  her  because  I  have 
advocated  it.  A  nice  return  of  evil  for  good !  While  I  have  been 
working  like  a  horse  and  without  a  single  mistake,  I  find  evervthing 
topsy-turvy  here.  If  I  don't  bestir  myself  while  I  have  the  chance, 
the  house  will  become  utterly  unbearable,  and  if  I  once  leave  it  I 
shall  never  be  able  to  return." 

Eliza,  on  hearing  the  news  from  her  brother,  with  whom  she  was 
staying  (having  been  dismissed  from  her  place  a  week  ago  and 
paid  in  lieu  of  notice),  had  donned  a  black  dress  and  a  plain  bonnet 
hastily  decorated  with  crape,  and  wended  her  way  to  the  desolated 
home.  The  sobriety  of  her  present  costume  gave  her  the  de- 
meanour of  a  Puritan,  but  of  a  Puritan  whom  the  merry  monaiK:h 
would  have  longed  to  convert  to  his  more  orthodox  Christianity. 
It  toned  down  the  passion  of  her  dark  eyes,  touching  with  a  gleam 
of  tenderness  and  purity  those  orbs  in  which  a  poet  might  think  to 
read  the  secret  of  the  universe.  But  at  this  moment  Jack  was  not 
dazzled  by  her  beauty,  not  because  her  eyes  was  shut  but  because 
his  were  open.  His  first  action  was  to  deposit  the  burden  in  the 
arms  of  Mrs.  Dawe,  who  therefore  hurled  the  ladle  at  Mr.  White 
as  the  readiest  means  of  getting  rid  of  it.  As  she  took  careful  aim 
at  him,  the  weapon,  in  accordance  with  the  law  of  projectiles,  struck 
Sally  at  the  other  end  of  the  room.  Her,  staggering  under  the 
shock.  Jack  took  by  the  nape  of  the  neck  and  dropped  downstairs. 
This  euiibition  of  stmg  froid  moved  Mr.  White  in  more  senses 
than  one.  Fiat  experimentum  in  corpore  9^172^  thought  the  undertaker, 
who  naturally  knew  something  of  the  dead  languages.  Seeing  that 
nothing,  or  rather  something,  was  to  be  got  by  delay,  he  retired 
disgracefully,  leaving  the  enemy  in  possession  of  the  bedchamber; 
and  a  motley  audience  outside  was  soon  entertained  by  the  story 
of  his  wrongs,  involving  as  it  did  another  fact  of  unprecedented 
interest. 


*■! 


I 


S34  TJiE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THB  PAINTER  DESPAIRS  OF  THE  PBOPLB. 

The  news  spread,  and  everywhere  the  shutters  retreated  at  its 
approach.  Combined  with  the  natural  rejoicing  (not  because  Mrs. 
Dawe  was  such  a  favourite,  but  from  the  reaction)  were  a  sense  of 
irritation  as  at  having  been  cheated  out  of  pity,  and  a  natural 
sympathy  with  the  undertaker.  Still  it  was  felt  that  the  latter  had 
acted  injudiciously  in  quarrelling  with  a  potential  nine-ten  funeral. 

Ail  the  next  day  and  during  the  week,  httle  parties  from  her 
greatest  cronies  to  her  most  casual  acquaintances  called  to  gaze 
upon  the  woman  who  had  survived  her  own  death.  These  did  her 
as  much  harm  as  if  they  had  been  the  mothers,  and  sisters,  and 
aunts  of  a  Funeral  Association. 

Dr.  Thomas,  calling  in  the  evening,  soon  after  his  patient's 
revival,  summarily  expelled  an  advance-party  of  such,  and  tem- 
porarily dispelled  the  knots  of  outsiders  that  had  congregated  round 
the  shop.  All  the  rest  of  the  week  the  business  was  magnificent, 
but  it  was  not  Jack  that  conducted  it  Eliza,  who  came  to  bury 
Mrs.  Dawe,  remained  to  praise  her  and  to  serve  in  her  stead.  For 
although  Dr.  Thomas  said  that  Mrs.  Dawe  must  not  be  worried, 
and  that  he  could  not  answer  for  the  consequences  if  the  noisy 
shop  were  kept  open,  Dr.  Brown,  whom  Tack  also  called  in,  said 
that  she  must  not  worry,  and  that  he  could  not  answer  for  the  con- 
sequences if  it  were  kept  shut.  Mrs.  Dawe  accused  the  former  of 
wishing  to  ruin  her,  and  the  latter  of  neglecting  her;  and  they  would 
both  have  refused  to  attend  but  for  the  pacificatorv  remonstrances 
of  her  son,  the  smallness  of  their  practice,  and  their  common 
belief  that  the  other  would  treacherously  endure  the  humiliation  of 
return.  The  unhappy  Jack  was  likewise  constantly  twitted  with 
desiring  to  destroy  her  by  Hying  in  the  face  of  his  fathei^s  axiom : 
"  Between  two  doctors  one  falls  into  the  ground."  But  we  are 
anticipating. 

Some  mysterious  instinct  must  have  informed  Eliza  that  Jack 
had  dropped  Sally,  for  she  opened  her  eyes  just  in  time  to  witness 
Mr.  White's  retreat  The  ladies,  being  in  need  of  mutual  consola- 
tion, kissed  each  other  profusely. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Mrs.  Dawe,"  cried  Eliza,  "  I  am  so  grieved  to 
find  you  ill, especially  as  I  came  here  to  tell  you  good  news.  I  have  left 
my  place  tiiis  very  day  in  order  to  prepare  my  trow-see-atv  for  oui 
wedding,  which,  as  you  know,  takes  place  in  about  two  months." 

Jack  started,  then  frowned,  and  bit  his  lips  as  a  flood  of  bitter 
memories  poured  upon  him. 

'*  Yes,"  he  thought,  '*  I  remember  she  said  so  theiu  the  infernal 

little  jade.    Was  there  ever  such  a  d d  piece  of  foolishness  as 

making  her  a  fresh  promise  of  marriage  ?  What  claim  after  all 
has  she  upon  me  ?    My  punishment  is  greater  than  I  can  bear. 


THE  PAINTER  DESPAIRS  OF  THE  PEOPLE    235 

She  has  done  me  irreparable  mischief ,  she  has  been  a  drag  upon 
my  career." 

'^  What  I "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dawe.  ^  And  didn't  you  know  I  was 
dead?" 

**  No,"  replied  Eliza.    "  What  do  you  mean  ?  ■ 

Mrs.  Dawe  burst  into  tears. 

^I  wish  I  was,"  she  sobbed,  '*  I  wish  I  was  and  they  'ad  buried 
me  alive,  I  should  'ave  been  well  out  of  it.  I  am  tired  of  un- 
grateM  sons,  and  I  would  rather  be  buried  and  layin*  with  my 
'ead  on  the  cold  tombstone  than  on  the  buzzom  that  1  nussed  from 
a  child." 

"  Look  here,  mother,"  interrupted  Jack.  "  If  you  are  going  on 
like  that  I  shan*t  stay  in  the  house." 

She  sobbed  on,  Eliza  vainly  uttering  neutral  soothing  mono- 
syllables. 

"Very  well,"  l^c  said,  with  icy  determination.  "Then  I'm  off 
to  the  Cogers." 

"  I  don't  care  if  you  go  mad  now,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe.  "  Go  and 
spout  as  much  as  ye  like  now,  though  ye  promised  me  not  to  go 
no  more  ;  but  a  man  as  wouldn't  mind  breaking  'is  poor  old  mothePs 
'eart  can't  be  expected  to  care  about  breaking  a  promise.  Go  to 
the  Cogers  and  break  yer  'ead  over  politics,  go  on." 

"There  you  go,  talking  rot   again!"   he  cried  desperately. 

"  Don't  ye  remember  politics  made  ye  neggelect  yer  painting  ?  " 
she  said  indig^^antly. 

"  Yes,  I  do,  and  a  good  job  too." 

"  A  good  job  !  I  tell  ye  again,  politics  is  only  for  those  as  ain't 
got  to  get  a  'onest  living.  Besides,  you  could  never  do  no  good  in 
politics,  yer  'ead  is  too  weak." 

"The  world  is  not  of  your  opinion,  mother,"  he  answered  with 
proud  disdain. 

"  The  world  1  Who's  to  know  what  ye  can  do  and  what  ye 
can't  better  than  yer  mother,  who  knowed  ye  before  anybody 
else  ?    Ye  can  bury  me  alive,  can't  ye  ? " 

The  thought  renewed  her  momentarily-interrupted  sobbing,  and 
Jack  shuddered. 

•*  Shut  up  ! "  he  cried  savagely.  •*  Good-bye,  I'm  not  going  to 
stand  it*'    And  he  threw  open  the  door. 

"Go  on  I"  shrieked  Mrs.  Dawe.  "Thank  Gord  I've  got  a 
daughter  if  I  ain't  got  a  son.  Go  on !  Leave  yer  dyin'  mother 
and  get  drunk,  ye  beast,  as  ye  did  at  the  Foresters'.  Everybody 
knows  what  a  drunkard  ye  are." 

Jack  staggered  under  the  blow.    "  Drunkard  1 "  he  gasped. 

He  slammed  the  door  furiously,  and  was  rushing  downstairs 
when  something  moved  him  to  enter  his  own  room.  He  stood 
with  his  hand  on  the  knob,  in  angry  thought  "  As  you  make  your 
bed  you  must  lie  on  it "  he  murmured  bitterly.  "  It's  a  fine  situa- 
tion when  I  come  to  take  stock  of  it :  Eliza  present  and  odiously 
a^ssertive,  and  expecting  marriage  in  two  months ;  my  mother  iU 
berself  and  treating  me  like  a  baby  ;  Sally  perfectly  mad ;  my  very 


L 


1 


236  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

movements  constrained  by  a  mad  promise ;  and,  best  of  all,  hem 
am  I  with  the  reputation  of  a  drunkard  I " 

Throwing  open  the  door,  he  looked  curiously  into  his  room,  a 
if  he  expected  to  find  it  as  changed  as  everything  else.  From  the 
leap  of  Sally  into  the  parlour  in  the  mommg  tUl  her  involuntary 
fall  therein  in  the  evemng,  the  day  had  been  full  of  crowded  hours' 
of  excited  life.  The  perils  and  catastrophes  of  the  forenoon,  the 
descent  of  Mrs.  Dawe  and  her  helpless  ascent,  the  scenes  with 
Sally,  the  unwonted  attendance  in  the  shop  with  all  its  novelty  and 
its  varying  incidents,  criminal  and  professional,  the  debate  oa 
woman's  suffrage,  the  disgusted  abandonment  of  his  duties,  the 
agitated  promenade,  the  return,  the  reception  of  the  bad  news,  the 
frantic  rush  into  the  omnibus,  the  secona  return,  the  colloquy  witk 
the  undertaker,  the  discovery  of  Mrs.  Dawe's  true  condition,  the 
quarrel  with  Mr.  White,  the  affray  between  Sallv  and  Eliza,  the 
nunting  of  the  latter  on  his  bosom,  the  disposal  of  the  former,  the 
unbearable  reproaches  of  his  mother — what  wonder  that  these 
numerous  events  produced  an  illusion  of  the  sense  of  duration  and 
that  it  seemed  to  him  years  since  he  had  last  seen  the  little 
dingily-papered  bed-roonL 

Nothing  was  altered.    The  pot  in  which  flourished  the  solitary 
mignonette  glowed  redly  in  the  dusk,  the  jug  and  basin  showed 
shost-like  in  the  gloom  of  their  comer,  the  dark  outlines  of  the 
iron  bedstead  were  dimly  felt  from  the  luminous  presence  of  the 
cream-coloured  quilt,  the  pipe-rack  over  the  mantelpiece  gleamed 
with  its  long  clay  pipes,  and  the  small  hanging  bookcase  was^ 
revealed  by  the  vague  glimmer  of  a  few  brighdjr-boimd  volumes,  i 
With  the  unhesitating  instinct  that  comes  of  familiarity,  he  walked  i 
over  to  the  bookcase  and  ran  his  hands  along  the  well-loved  books  \ 
with  a  strange  sense  of  pathos.    He  knew  them  all  by  the  touch,  | 
and  the  feel  of  each  of  them  was  like  the  grasp  of  the  hand  of  an  old 
friend.    How  dear  they  were  to  him,  one  and  all,  in  their  different 
ways.    There  was  Mill,  so  advanced  on  the  whole,  but  yet  so 
tentative  and  sober  sometimes,  with  a  giant's  strengUi  for  demo- 
lition, but  not  using  it  as  a  giant    Jack's  own  mind  had  not  this 
largeness,  diis  tolerance  of  intolerance,  nor  any  dubiety  in  its  own 
conclusions.  These  numbers  of  Progress  were  more  the  expression 
of  himself  with  their  scornful  rejection  of  the  fetishes  that  made 
life  sacred  and  beautiful  to  many,  with  their  passionate  enthusiasm 
for  democracy  and  their  fiery  denunciations  of  oligarchy.    Then 
there  was  Swinburne,  the  interpreter  of  all  this  congenial  one- 
sidedness  in  mighty  verse  of  rushing  metre  and  misty  magnificence. 
The  poet's  lofty  indignation  and  bitter  invective  on  the  one  handl, 
and  his  Pagan  sensuousness  on  the  other,  had  often  moved  his 
spirit  to  corresponding  passion ;  but  he  had  only  vaguely  unde^ 
stood  the  mystic  panUieism  at  therootof  botlL  the  spiritual  ms- 
terialism,  the  keen  delight  in  existence,  and  the  deification  of  lov& 
Perhaps  this  lack  of  receptivity  was  more  than  compensated  for  by 
a  superior  sense  of  humouri  fun,  and  satire,  which  he  had  inherited 


THE  PAINTER  DESPAIRS  OF  THE  PEOPLE    237 

frmn  his  father,  and  which  made  the  New  Pilgrinis  Progress  a 
rival  to  Swinburne  in  his  affections. 

He  lingered  long  in  the  darkness  with  his  hand  on  the  bookcase. 
There  was  a  sense  of  restfulness  in  the  caressing  attitude,  and  the 
silence,  broken  only  by  a  few  murmurous  sounds,  somewhat  soothed 
his  irritation ;  but  he  was  still  agitated  by  tumultuous  thought  At 
last  he  went  to  the  window  and  threw  it  open.  The  night  was  warm 
and  heiavy,  but  rather  dark.  He  leant  out  of  the  window  and  gazed 
along  the  dusky  stretch  of  street,  shot  here  and  there  with  points  of 
fire  in  mid  air,  and  quivering  on  both  sides  with  occasional  "^^y^x- 
vagal  fresco  gas  flames.  At  frequent  intervals  bright  masses  of 
light  betokened  the  presence  of  public-houses.  A  louder  hum  rose 
to  his  ears,  and  the  subtle  scent  of  the  solitary  mignonette  impreg- 
nated the  air  near  him.  Sitting  thus  musingly  he  suddenly  became 
conscious  that  he  had  a  book  in  his  hand,  and  the  next  instant  was 
aware  that  it  was  Songs  before  Sunrise, 

"  Your  battle  shall  be  fought "  he  cried,  grasping  the  book  with 
fierce  determination, "  but  oh,  how  slow  it  all  is  I  Once  upon  a  time 
I  used  to  think  that  if  I  could  be  king  for  a  day,  I  would  make  this 
the  best  of  all  possible  worlds  by  instantaneous  reforms.  In  that 
time  all  the  tyrant;>  could  be  executed,  Virtue  universally  rewarded, 
and  Vice  punished.  Alas  for  the  childish  dream.  Life  is  no  fairy- 
tale, but  a  cruel  comedy  of  errors,  a  muddle  where  the  fools  have 
seized  upon  the  duties  meant  for  the  wise,  and  the  wise  have  been 
thrust  into  the  places  of  the  fools,  and,  unkindest  cut  of  sdl !  they 
have  got  so  rooted  into  their  surroundings,  that  an  attempt  to  change 
places  must  bring  unhappiness  to  both."  He  had  risen  in  his 
excitement,  and  he  now  walked  to  the  fireplace  and  lit  the  gas, 
before  resuming  his  position  at  the  window.  He  opened  the  book, 
intending  to  read,  when  the  night  was  disturbed  by  the  distant 
strains  of  an  advancing  band  and  the  softened  roar  of  a  somewhat 
weird,  popular  chorus.    A  convulsive  shudder  agitated  his  frame. 

"  Tnere  is  the  enemy  1 "  he  exclaimed  bitterly.  "  But  I  will  crush 
them,  them  and  their  sympathisers  in  the  Church,  and  the  Church 
itself.  The  knotted  cords  stood  out  in  his  forehead  as  he  made 
this  determination  to  do  the  little  in  his  power  to  disestablish  that 
mighty  institutioiL 

Louder  and  louder  grew  the  sounds,  he  caught  the  outlines  of 
waving  banners,  and  a  few  incessantly  repeated  words  now  became 
audible  :  "  When  we  end  the  journey  we  shall  wear  a  crown,  O 
Jerusalem  ! " 

"  Wear  a  crown  I "  he  muttered.  *'  You  are  welcome  to  your 
heavenly  ones  ;  but  we  shall  soon  get  rid  of  the  few  earthly  crowns 
that  remain,  eh  Swinburne  ?....** 

The  procession  passed,  and  the  road  was  once  more  left  to  its 
dreariness.  He  turned  over  the  pages,  but  he  could  not  read.  He 
kept  looking  out  into  the  darkness,  watching  the  dimly-descried 
figures,  the  frowsy  workmen  trudging  home  with  their  tools ;  the 
coarse,  reckless  factory  girls  ;  the  nondescript  shifting  crowd  that 


238  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

stopped  and  stared  at  the  notorious  shop ;  the  shabby  women 
carrying  baskets  of  potatoes  ....  never  in  his  most  passionate 
moods  had  he  so  strongly  felt  the  meanness  and  misery  of  the  life 
that  surrounded  him,  and  of  his  own  existence.  It  was  all  so 
hopeless,  so  hopeless. 

And  his  mother  j  Compared  to  that  of  many  of  her  neighbours 
her  condition  was  prosperous.  But  what  was  physical  want  to  the 
want  she  shared  with  them — ^the  lack  of  refinement,  culture,  deli- 
cacy, of  all  that  makes  human  beings  other  than  a  plexus  of  animal 
functions  ?  The  ineffable  blankness  and  weariness  of  comfortable 
bourgeois  existence  appalled  his  spirit.  And  for  i^/ycomfortable 
bourgeois  existence,  an  immense  pity  now  seized  him.  But  he  felt 
with  novel  keenness  the  flatness,  the  narrow  limitations  of  both — 
mental  and  moral  poverty  was  the  lot  of  the  people  of  his  perora- 
tions, whatever  their  physical  condition.  Not  that  it  was  their 
fault ;  centuries  of  misgovemment,  of  unjust  social  laws,  were  re- 
sponsible for  this  dulness.  Everything  would  be  remedied,  now 
that  they  were  allowed  to  legislate  for  themselves,  if  they  only 
had  the  sense  to  send  to  Parliament  such  men  as  himself,  who  knew 
what  they  wanted  better  than  the  dullards  themselves.  But — and 
he  ground  his  teeth  at  the  reflection — the  fools  would  not  choose 
their  representatives  out  of  their  own  class.  Here  was  a  man 
whose  heart  had  always  beat  in  sympathy  with  them,  who  was 
unselfishly  prepared  to  devote  himself  to  their  happiness  ;  and 
yet  what  chance  would  he  have  had  of  entering  Parliament  if  he 
had  presented  himself  for  election  in  the  ordinary  way  ?  .  .  .  . 
Woman  Suffrage,  Manhood  Suffrage,  what  was  the  good  of  ii  sdl  if 
the  people  still  went  on  in  their  old  stupid  way,  dazzled  by  wc^th 
and  making  a  wrong  use  of  their  new  powers  by  excluding  the  few 
specially  gifted  individuals  they  chanced  to  proauce  ?  The  women 
were  about  to  be  enfranchised,  it  was  true,  but  to  whom  would  they 
give  their  votes — to  him  who  had  always  advocated  their  cause,  or 
to,  say,  Floppington,  who  had  reluctantly,  after  years  of  opposition, 
yielded  to  a  pressure  to  which  he  had  more  or  less  contributed  ? 

A  never-before-felt  disbelief  in  the  lauded  instincts  of  the  people 
overpowered  hiuL  He  gazed  stonily  out  into  the  street,  his  brow 
frowrang,  his  face  distorted  with  gloomy  pain.  Never  before  had 
the  **gcK>d  time''  prophesied  by  Radical  bards  seemed  so  near  at 
hand-  never  before  had  so  thorough  a  friend  of  the  people  been  at 
the  helm  of  state,  ready  to  turn  to  solid  fact  all  the  golden  visions 
of  dreaming  democracy — and  never  before  had  Jack  Dawe*s  ardent 
nature  been  so  chilled  by  despair  of  Progress  1  The  night  of  the 
second  reading  of  one  of  the  greatest  Reforms  in  history  was  the 
night  of  his  first  unfaith  in  reform  ! 

With  this  sudden  cynicism  came  a  renascence  of  irritation.  He 
turned  over  the  leaves  of  his  book  petulantly,  scanning  a  rtietorical 
line  here  and  there  with  an  mcredulous  smile.  Even  the 
darinely  infidel  passages  failed  of  their  old  effect 

'*  If  religion  were  true,  too,  after  all ! "  he  murmured  with  a 
strange  smile  of  self-mockery.    At  last  he  came  to  a  poem  which 


THE  PAINTER  DESPAIRS  OF  THE  PEOPLE   239 

arrested  him.  It  was  not  one  of  his  favourites,  and  indeed  had 
always  seemed  to  him  rather  meaningless  even  in  the  earliest  days 
of  that  passion  for  Eliza  which,  at  the  best  of  times  largely 
factitious,  was  now  for  ever  dead.  But  from  the  new  tone  of  his 
thoaghts,  or  from  whatever  other  cause  it  might  be,  he  now  read 
and  re-read  the  verses,  lingering  with  particular  emotion  over  the 
last  stanza. 

*'  I  that  have  lore  and  no  more 
Give  you  but  love  of  you,  sweet. 
He  that  hath  more  let  him  give ; 
He  that  hath  wings  let  him  soar* 
Mine  is  the  heart  at  your  feet 
Here,  that  must  love  you  to  live." 

The  tears  came  into  his  eyes,  and  the  expression  of  oain  gave 
way  to  one  of  tenderness.  His  moodiness  and  irritation  fled  before 
a  rapture  of  abnegation,  a  humble  consciousness  of  inferiority,  a 
trust  in  the  purity  and  nobility  of  human  nature  The  sununer 
night  was  filled  with  beauty  and  the  soft  air  with  calm.  The  star- 
light lay  sacredly  upon  the  squalid  road  and  upon  the  human 
figures  that  flitted  across  it 

After  a  few  minutes  he  rose  gently,  put  out  the  gas,  and  went 
into  his  mother's  room.  Eliza  was  sitting  bv  the  bedside,  patiently 
adjusting  the  pillows  as  Mrs.  Da  we  tossed  to  and  fro  in  uneasy 
sleep.  He  bent  over  his  mother  and  kissed  her.  Then,  bringing 
in  a  diair  from  his  own  room,  he  sat  down  and  watched  her  struggles 
with  a  pitying  eye. 

To  Eliza  he  said  a  few  kind  words,  but  the  hitherto  dormant 
feminine  instinct  of  nursing  was  aroused,  and  the  girl  warned  hira 
not  to  awaken  the  sleeper.  Still  further  moved  by  this  novel  trait, 
he  sat  for  ten  minutes  in  thoughtful  silence.  At  the  end  of  this 
time  he  grew  weary  of  inactivity,  and  seeing  that  he  could  do  no 
good,  quitted  the  room  and  re-entered  his  bedchamber.  The  old 
uneasiness  had  seized  upon  him,  he  couldi  not  rest.  He  could  not 
forget  that  this  was  the  great  night  of  the  Debate  on  the  Reform 
Bill.  He  had  so  longed  for  it,  and  so  looked  forward  to  be  present 
at  it  He  was  so  interested  in  the  question,  it  had  occupied  so 
much  of  his  attention !  And  now  to  be  shut  out  of  participation  in 
the  moment  of  triumph  !  He  walked  up  and  down  the  room  with 
impatient  strides.  The  darkness  was  transformed  to  brilliant  light; 
the  small  apartment  swelled  into  a  vast,  lofty  hall  crowded  with 
the  intellect  and  the  beauty  of  England.  There  was  the  stir  of 
life,  the  rustle  of  intense  excitement,  the  low  buzz  of  enthusiasm  and 
interest  And  now  a  sudden  hush  falls  on  the  vast  assembly,  to 
be  broken  by  ringing  cheers  that  stir  the  orator's  blood  and  lift  his 
soul  to  the  sublimest  heights  of  eloquence.  It  is  the  Premier  that 
has  risen.  Princes  and  peers,  scientists  and  historians,  duchesses 
and  countesses,  ambassadors  and  envoys,  generals  and  admirals 
hang  in  breathless  silence  upon  the  inspired  words  of  the  great 
commoner.     Again  and  again  unanimous  plaudits  shake  the  roof 


i 


'V     , 


240  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

as  that  silvery  voice  trembles  with  pathos  or  rises  like  a  trumpet  in 
righteous  denunciation.  So  vividly  was  the  scene  present  to  him 
that  he  saw  the  gleam  of  stars  and  orders  and  caught  the  flash  of 
diamonds. 

And  to  miss  all  this  through  a  false  rumour  whose  incorrectness 
he  had  not  discovered  till  too  late  I  It  would  be  useless  to  attempt, 
to  gain  admission  now ;  all  his  anticipatory  trouble  was  nullified 
by  this  deception.  He  clenched  his  fists  and  set  his  teeth  at  the 
thought.  Half-an-hour  afterwards  he  was  still  pacing  up  and 
down  in  the  darkness  like  a  caged  lion.  Filled  with  tumultuous 
passion  his  thoughts  grew  wilder  and  wilder.  At  every  step  bitter 
exclamations  burst  from  him,  furious  expressions  of  contempt  and 
indignation.  All  at  once  he  stopped  with  sudden  resolution. 
He  dashed  his  hat  on  his  head  and  hurried  downstairs.  As  he 
approached  the  parlour  he  heard  a  low,  melancholy  sound  like 
the  inarticulate  moaning  of  a  wild  beast  With  a  nervous  thrill 
he  impatiently  struck  a  match.  In  the  momentary  flare  he  saw  an 
inexpressibly  grimy  form,  cowering  in  a  comer.  The  face  was  pale, 
stony,  and  sullen,  the  eyes  wild  and  bloodshot,  the  hair  dishevelled, 
and  the  hands  knotted  convulsively  together.  He  shuddered  in 
disgust  Turning  round  towards  the  fireplace  he  beheld  his  paint- 
pots  and  shuddered  again  ;  and,  as  the  match  gave  its  last  nicker, 
It  might  have  been  overwrought  imagination  that  showed  him 
another  white,  ghastly  &ce  glaring  savagely  at  him  from  under  a 
light  sombrero. 

*'  Oh,  master,"  cried  Sally,  starting  up  and  laying  a  hand  on 
his  arm.    "  Whafs  a'  matter  ?    Yer  ill.'* 

He  shook  her  off  rudely,  strode  into  the  shop,  opened  the  door 
which  he  found  unbolted,  and  hurried  into  the  street,  unceremo- 
niously cutting  his  way  through  the  little  gossiping  crowd.  There 
was  a  murmur  of  remonstrance.  The  hero  of  the  saveloys  was 
among  the  group,  and  the  existing  discontent  found  in  hint)  a  genius 
to  express  it  Spontaneously  there  came  to  him  a  derisive  phrase, 
and  the  more  he  pondered  it  afterwards  the  more  ben  trovato  it 
seemed.  As  he  thought  of  the  lofty  pyramids  of  peas,  and  the 
almost  immoral  pennyworths  of  pudding,  what  wonder  if  the 
coarsely  expressive  hoot  suddenly  changed  into  the  definite  cry 
of  "  Mad  Jack ! » 

Jack  started  as  the  words,  followed  by  a  jeering  laugh  of  ap- 
proval, reached  his  ears. 

'*  Mad  Jack  ! "  he  repeated  grimly.  "  Yes,  mad  if  you  will ;  hot 
there  is  method  in  his  madness.  Mad  Jack  1  Truly  has  he  all  die 
cunning  of  insanity  1 " 


n- 


AY  OR  NOt  141 

CHAPTER   IX 

AY  OR  NO? 

Ik  return  for  the  privilege— so  coveted  by  Jack  Dawe— of  being 

{Hesent   at  the  memoraUe  division,  the  reader  is  requested  to 

possess  such  soul  as  he  has  in  i>atience,  while  the  writer  goes  back 

a  little  to  recapitulate  summarily  the  effects  of  the  sudden  change 

of  firont  on  ^e  part  of  the  Government     Designated  masteriy 

strategy,  or  disgraceful  opportunism,  according  to  the  special  bent 

of  the  designator,  it  hao,  of  course,  altered  the  whole  aspect  of 

affidrs,  and  had  knocked  on  the  head  all  the  forecasts  as  to  the  fate 

of  the  BiU,  which  editors,  local  politicians,  and  the  general  public 

had  been  happily  and  harmlessly  engaged  in  forming.    To  their 

credit,  be  it  said,  they  did  not  long  stagger  under  this  unexpected 

blow.     They  rallied  quickly,  and  were  speedily  engaged  in  drawing 

op  fresh  prognostications  conformable  to  the  new  condition  of 

things  political ;  betraying  in  this  as  in  other,  if  less  vital  matters, 

that  power  of  rising  superior  to  the  buffets  of  adverse  fortune,  which, 

;  in  the  opinion  of  the  writers  of  that  age,  shared  with  the  abundance 

I  of  coal,  the  freedom  of  the  Press,  and  the  Corporation  of  the  City 

i  of  London,  the  honour  of  making  England  great. 

I        The  general  opinion,  an  opinion  supposed  to  be  shared  by  the 

I  official  whips,  was  that  the  change  was  in  favour  of  the  Government, 

I  though  whether  it  would  do  more  than  merely  decrease  theii 

I  minority  was  a  moot  pointy  the  probabilities  of  ministerial  success 

I  varying  daily  in  harmony  with  the  incessandy  shifting  combinations 

of  politick  atoms.    It  had  already  alienated  some  of  their  old  and 

staunch  supporters,  it  is  true.    But  these  were  veterans,  whose 

joints  were  stifi^  and  back-bones  ri^d,  and  who  were  unfitted  for 

the  rapid  evolutions  of  modem  political  warfare.    The  number  of 

the  irreconcilables  was  moreover  very  smalL    J[ohn  Tremaine  had 

been  busy  among  those,  who,  it  was  feared,  might  not  take  kindly 

to  the  new  Conservatism.    He  pointed  out  that  to  turn  out  men 

with  whom  you  disagreed  on  only  one  point,  to  replace  them  by 

men  with  whom  ^ou  agreed  on  only  one  point,  was  conduct  utterly 

unworthy  of  sensible  men,  conduct  suitable  only  for  faddists  and 

Radical  sentimentalists.    This  argument  had  worked  wonders,  and 

they  agreed  not  to  be  dissentients.    It  was  not  that  they  hated 

Woman  Suffrage  less,  but  that  they  loved  their  party  more.    Had 

it  not  been  for  the  almost  certain  defection  of  the  Mountchapel 

faction,  the  few  who  were  unmoved  by  Tremain^s  reasoning  would 

have  been  more  than  counterbalanced  by  the  accession  of  strength 

the  Radical  vote  would  give  the  Government,  for  the  Radical  leader 

har^.  announced  his  intention  to  support  the  Ministry. 

This  announcement  was  very  welcome,  though,  as  ever  in 
hu  nan  concerns,  there  was  an  cUiquid  amari  in  the  proffered  cup 
of  ladical  aid.    For  Screwnail,  in  his  powerful  speech,  had  spoken 


L 


342  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

freely  as  was  his  wont    "I  will  support  this  measure,*  he  said, 
'*  because  it  is  a  good  measure,  a  measure  I  have  always  cod* 
sistently  advocated,  and  one  that,  to  my  mind,  can  only  be  fraught 
widi  the  best  results.   But  though  I  go  into  the  lobby  with  Ministers, 
the  one  pang  of  regret  I  shall  feel  in  recording  my  vote  in  favour 
of  one  of  the  dearest  aspirations  of  my  life  will  be,  that  I  am  in  the 
same  lobby  with  men  who  have  taken  uf)  this  movement,  as  before  | 
they  opposed  it,  from  sheer  want  of  principle ;  who  have  no  solitary ' 
shred  of  heart  or  conscience  ;  who  look  upon  legislative  measures  | 
as  means  to  keep  themselves  in  power,  and  who,  to  secure  that  I 
end,  readily  juggle  and  palter  with  the  destinies  of  this  great  | 
£mi>ire.    Not  the  least  amongst  die  benefits  I  hope  from  thej 
admission  of  women  to  the  Stuflfrage  will  be  the  introduction  of  some ; 
measure  of  purity  into  pK>litical  Ufe,  so  that  it  shall  in  the  future ', 
be  impossible  for  a  Minister  to  rule  who  is  swayed  by  party  and  j 
personal  motives  alone.    And  the  Nemesis  that  dogs  the  footsteps ' 
of  the  wrong-doer  will  decree  that  the  Minister,  who,  inspired  by 
unworthy  motives,  has  given  women  direct  political  influence,  has 
in  that  very  act  signed  the  political  death-warrant  of  hknself  and 
his  imitators."    Altiiough  Floppington  was  hit  very  hard  by  all  this, 
especially  the  allusion  to  person^  motives  (which  was  generally 
felt  to  be  in  bad  taste)  he  did  not  reply,  but  smiled  good-temperedly, 
and,  it  was  reported,  said  to  a  colleague,  "  If  he  only  knew  every- 
thing, how  differently  he'd  talk ;"  which  was  generally  thought  to  be  < 
a  very  vague  but  also  a  very  profound  remark.    Screwnail,  however, 
did  not  go  unanswered.    His  remarks  as  to  the  inconsistency  oJP 
the  Cabinet  were  not  dealt  with;  but  his  condemnation  of  its 
motives  led  the  Minister  who  replied  to  taunt  him  with  the  implied 
purity  of  his  own  motives  and  the  general  assumption  of  moral 
superiority  which  his  tone  conveyed. 

*'  He  cannot  shake  himseli  free  from  commercial  associations," 
said  the  Minister,  "  morality  is  to  him  like  any  other  commodity ; 
and  so  he  thinks  that  Brummagem*  morality,  like  other  Brum- 
magem productions,  may  be  palmed  off  by  means  of  bold  and 
sufficient  advertising.* 

This  sally  was  much  applauded,  and  the  Government  were  felt 
to  have  the  best  of  the  argument  That  the  rights  and  wrongs  of 
any  question  could  be  settled  by  gendemen  calling  each  other 
names  does  not  appear  a  very  logical  proposition ;  but  as  Parlia- 
mentary Government  was  admitted  to  be  a  great  success,  it  must 
have  had  merits  not  apparent  to  the  modem  logical  vision. 

Lord  Bardolph,  it  was  generally  known,  would  vote  against  the 
Bill,  and  go  into  the  same  lobby  as  the  old  Tories,  whom  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  speaking  of  disrespectfully  as  fossils ;  with  which 
petrified  beings  would  be  further  associated  for  the  nonce  a  small 
number  of  Free-lances  and  a  large  number  of  Liberals.  The  mantle 
of  Beaconsfiel<^  whidi  had  fallen  on  the  shoulders  of  the  temporary 

*  A  term  supposed  to  be  a  corruption  of  Birmingham,  and  applied  d^ 
lisiTely,  for  what  reason  is  not  known,  to  the  manufactured  produciioBS  of 
tettowa. 


AV  OR  Not  243 

leader  of  tbe  Opposition,  was  indeed  a  garment  of  many  colours* 
No  surprise  was  felt  that  his  lordship  should  vote  against  the 
Minister  who  had  out-played  him  in  the  little  game  of  bluff  they  had 
been  indulging  in.  The  only  conjecture  was  as  to  how  he  would 
conceal  the  cynicism  which  prompted  his  opposing  a  measure  of 
which  he  had  been  one  of  the  foremost  champions,  in  order 
to  gratify  his* spleen  against  the  man  who  was  supporting  it 
Public  opinion,  however,  backed  the  noble  lord  to  square  the  diffi- 
culty neatly. 

So  far,  therefore,  the  elements  of  the  problem  were  constant,  to 
use  the  language  of  the  mathematician  ;  but  in  the  Irish  party,  the 
variable  existed.  These  formed  a  resolute,  compact  body  of  men, 
about  eighty  in  number,  and,  therefore,  amply  sufficient  to  turn  the 
scale  in  any  division,  carried  out  upon  the  ordinary  lines  of  party 
cleavage.  They  had  one  object  in  view,  and  only  one,  to  wring 
certain  concessions  from  the  English  Government.  This  steadfast- 
ness of  purpose  made  it  exceptionally  difficult  to  prophesy  what 
would  be  their  course  of  action  upon  any  particular  question,  and 
this  applied  to  the  new  Reform  Bill.  Would  the  prospects  of  Home 
Rule  be  furthered  or  retarded  by  supporting  the  Government,  was 
the  question  would-be  prophets  had  to  answer,  and,  as  the  connec- 
tion between  the  data  was  somewhat  recondite  and  obscure,  it  is 
not  matter  for  wonder  that  solutions  of  the  most  contradictory 
character  were  evolved  by  rival  seers.  Some  believed  they  would 
support  Lord  Bardolph,  who  was  understood  to  be  of  opinion  that 
Conservatism  was  connected  with  the  verb  "  conserve  ;"  that  "  con- 
serve" meant  "to  keep,"  and  that  therefore  a  Conservative  was 
one  who  kept  all  such  ideas.  Radical  or  otherwise,  Home  Rule 
amongst  thein,  as  promised  to  be  politically  remunerative.  He  had, 
moreover,  been  seen  in  communication  with  certain  members  of 
the  Irish  party,  speaking  to  them  in  dark  comers,  and  holding 
mysterious  confabulations  in  retired  nooks  :  all  circumstances 
pregnant  with  food  for  Gossip's  insatiable  appetite.  But  then 
Tremaine  was  known  to  be  a  warm  friend  of  the  Irish  leader;  and 
some  conjectured  that  this  friendship  was  not,  as  it  really  was, 
purely  personal,  but  was  inspired  by  the  deep  sagacity;  of  Flop- 
pington,  who  would  thus,  without  attracting  undue  notice  to  his 
manoeuvres,  be  enabled  to  coquet  with  the  Home  Rule  party. 

The  important  character  of  the  debate  and  the  uncertainty  the 
representatives  of  Erin  brought  into  calculations  as  to  the  probable 
result,  caused  a  good  deal  of  excitement  And  when  it  was  under- 
stood that  honourable  members  had  finished  giving  their  own 
versions  of  the  leading  articles  of  the  leading  newspapers  to  a 
much-suffering  Speaker,  and  that  only  the  member  for  Wadding 
and  the  Premier  remained  to  speak,  everybody  tried  to  get  admis- 
sion into  the  House  to  be  a  witness  of  the  closing  scene  of  the  great 
agitation.  From  princes  of  the  blood  downwards,  every  class  in 
the  nation  was  represented  in  the  spaces  devoted  to  those  not 
•nembers  of  the  House,  where  they  made  experiments  as  to  the 
'mount  of  heat,  discomfort,  and  vitiated  air  that  the  human  frame 

R  % 


244  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

coidd  support  before  succumbing  ;  and  for  every  individual  forto- 
nate  enough  to  Uius  aid  the  cause  of  science,  there  were  at  least  a 
thousand  who  were  wofully  disappointed  because  they  could  not| 
also  contribute  to  the  advancement  of  learning.     But  even  tran* 
cendentalists  have  to  content  themselves  with  taUdng  and  theorising 
of  space  of  many  dimensions.    Ordinary  space  of  three  dimensions ; 
is  all  that  is  available  for  occupation  by  human  beings,  and  conse- 
quently only  a  given  number  of  persons  can  be  present  on  any 
important  occasion.    Even  in  our  more  enlightened  age,  space  of' 
four  dimensions  is  not  yet  a  reality.    We  can  only  hopefully  antid- 1 
pate  the  time  when  it  shall  have  replaced  the  inconvenient  form  of  i 
space  now  tolerated ;  and  when  the  whole  nation,  if  desirous  of  die  i 
process,  shall  be  comfortably  stowed  away  in  an  ordinary  drawing- 
room.    Then,  as  now,  crowding  was  uncomfortable,  and  so  the 
rank,  and  fashion,  and  beauty,  and  intellect  that  squeezed  and 
perspired  to  be  present  on  the  last  night  of  this  debate,  doubtless 
felt  Uiat  there  was  something  patriotic  in  the  sacrifices  of  comfoit'' 
they  were  making. 

The  members. of  the  House,  however,  thought  differently,  and 
the  House  was  comparatively  empty.  Orator  after  orator  had 
dwelt  at  much  length  upon  the  vital  importance  of  the  changje  tiiey 
were  discussing.  Supporters  and  opponents  had  concurred  in  this 
one  thing,  at  any  ratc^  that  the  whole  civilised  world  was  deeply 
concerned  in  it ;  that  humanity  from  the  frozen  pole  to  the  torrid 
zone  was  hanging  upon  the  words  of  English  legislators ;  nay, 
some  of  the  more  perfervid  had  boldly  described  the  whole  solar 
system  as  deeply  absorbed  in  theprospects  of  the  struggle,  and  as 
likely  to  have  their  revolutions  afiected  by  the  revolution  projected 
in  England.  And  yet  the  men,  who  thought  and  said  and  pre- 
sumably believed  all  this,  were  not  in  the  House  absorbed  in  meir 
work.  The  Parliamentary  machine  was  a  curious  one.  The  com- 
ponent parts  had  various  ways  of  aiding  in  the  l^slative  achieve- 
ments of  the  whole  ;  and  when  seated  comfortably  in  the  smoking, 
room,  in  an  atmosphere  almost  as  nebulous  as  the  primeval  chaos 
from  which  the  smoking-room  and  himself  had  been  evolved,  an. 
M.P.  was,  in  reality,  doing  his  share  as  a  wheel  or  lever  to  the  best 
of  his  ability.  For  most  work  was  gone  through,  as  we  learn  from 
contemporary  writers,  when  the  attendance  in  the  actual  legislative 
Chamber  was  sparse.  A  full  House  meant  lots  of  talk,  possibly  on 
some  bit  of  spicy  personal  gossip,  but  very  little  work ;  and  the 
most  important  of  the  duties  of  Parliament,  that  of  voting  supplMS, 
was  generally  carried  on  in  an  almost  empty  House.  Paraoozical 
it  may  seem,  but  it  is  nevertheless  true,  that  in  legislative  efficiency 
the  whole  was  not  greater  than  the  part,  and  unlike  other 
machines,  the  law-making  one  did  not  gain  in  Power  what  it  lost 
in  Time. 

Over  and  above  these  general  reasons,  there  was  a  special  one 
why  the  uncomfortably-crowded  visitors  looked  down  upon  a  scene  of 
ease  and  comfort ;  on  members  stretching  themselves  at  full  leI]gtl^ 
and  contorting  their  bodies  into  all  Vm&  of  knots  and  twists.    As 


AY  OR  NOf  245 

already  stated,  it  had  been  arranged  that  Lord  Bardolph  and  the 
Premier  were  to  close  the  debate,  and  that  the  division  should  be 
taken  immediately  after  the  Premier's  speech.  But  the  Premier 
had  not  yet  arrived.  Lord  Bardolph,  lolhng  lazily  on  a  back  bench, 
refused  to  speak  in  his  absence,  and  so  the  Whips  had  to  keep  the 
ball  of  debate  rolling  in  the  meanwhile.  Various  members,  some 
glad  of  the  opportunity  of  speaking,  others  the  reverse,  got  upon 
their  legs  in  obedience  to  the  earnest  entreaties  of  the  Whips,  and 
displayed  great  if  not  altogether  unsuspected  powers  of  emptying 
the  House  of  Commons.  Meanwhile,  much  consternation  prevailed 
amongst  the  official  ring.  A  messenger,  who  had  been  sent  to 
Downing  Street,  returned  with  the  message  that  the  Premier  had 
gone  out  early  in  the  afternoon,  hurriedly,  and  had  left  no  word 
with  Mr.  Tremaine  as  to  bis  movements.  And  thus  it  was  that  the 
evening  came  on,  and  that  the  setting  sun  looked  down  upon  a 
House  of  Commons,  bored,  and  wearied,  and  anxious  for  the 
termination  of  an  important  and  epoch-making  debate  ;  yet  sus- 
tained by  a  sub-consciousness  that  something  unusual  had  hap- 
pened, or  would  happen,  as  member  after  member  looked  in,  and 
iound  that  Smith,  or  Jones,  or  Robinson  was  still  prosing,  and  that 
the  Premier  was  stiU  absent  from  the  Treasury  Bench. 

Suddenly  a  change  came  o'er  the  scene.  The  parboiled 
"strangers,"  shaking  off  the  lassitude  that  had  mastered  them, 
craned  forward  with  looks  of  eager  excitement.  Honourable 
members  came  trooping  in  hurriedly,  springing  up  as  if  by  magic, 
till,  in  a  very  few  moments,  the  House  was  uncomfortably  full, 
many  members  having  to  do  as  best  they  could  without  seats  ;  for 
an  eminently  practical  people  had  a  chamber  for  the  meeting  of 
their  l^slative  assembly  which  contained  fewer  seats  than  there 
were  members,  acting  upon  the  maxim,  true  enough  as  a  rule,  that 
di  non  apparentibus  et  de  nan  existentibus  eadem  est  ratio. 

The  Premier  had  come.  Slipping  in  quietly  behind  the 
Speaker's  chair,  he  had  taken  his  usual  place.  It  was  at  once 
noticed  that  he  looked  ill  and  worried  ;  he  kept  for  a  few  moments 
hurriedly  glancing  round  him,  as  if  unaccustomed  to  the  place,  and 
then  sank  back  into  a  heap  of  loosely-fitting  garments,  from  which 
protruded  a  pair  of  nervously-twitching  hands.  His  colleagues 
r^arded  him  anxiously,  and  with  sage  shakes  of  the  head 
whispered  among  themselves  that  they  feared  his  recent  display  of 
will  and  energy  had  been  but  a  spurt,  and  that  he  could  keep  it  up 
no  longer.  And  then  the  gentleman  in  possession  of  the  House, 
as  he  caught  sight  of  the  Premier,  felt  that  his  mission  was  ended, 
that  he  need  no  longer  talk  against  time ;  and,  without  waiting  to  do 
more  than  finish  the  sentence  he  was  engaged  in,  he  subsided  into 
liis  seat.  A  murmur  of  excitement,  then  a  hush,  and  the  words, 
**  Mr.  Speaker,"  in  Lord  Bardolph's  clear,  hard,  and  assertive  voice, 
made  themselves  heard  from  benind  the  Treasury  Bench. 

Loxd  Bardolph  did  not  waste  time,  but  at  once,  and  without  any 
preliminary  skirmishing,  announced  his  intention  to  vote  against 
the  second  reading  of  the  Bill. 


2a6       the  premier  and  the  painter 

"  I  am  not  skilled,''  he  said,  "  in  the  arts  of  deception.  I  cannot 
twist  language  to  conceal  my  Uioughts  ;  nor  can  I  keep  the  whole 
world  in  the  belief  that  I  intend  one  thing,  and  then,  suddenly, 
without  a  word  of  warning,  veer  round  and  do  another.     I  leave  | 
these  arts  to  other,  and  possibly,  abler  men." 

Here  he  looked  full  at  the  Premier,  who,  however,  never  stirred 
from  the  position  he  had  assumed  on  his  entry. 

"Therefore,"  continued  his  lordship,  "I  may,  without  prcamWc^ 
declare  my  intention  to  vote  against  the  Government  to-night." 

He  went  on  to  point  out  how  much  there  was  in  the  Bill  with  ; 
which  he  was  in  fullest  sympathy  ;  much  which  he  had  advocated  j 
and  helped  to  put  into  the  very  shape  in  which  it  now  presented  | 
itself. 

"  I  regard  it,"  he  exclaimed  fervently,  "  with  almost  paternal 
love.  But  for  one  defect,  the  absence  of  any  provision  for  the  ad- 
mission of  woman  to  the  duties  and  rights  of  citizenship,  I  should  , 
never  have  quitted  my  post  in  the  Government,  and  might  have 
stood  sponsor  for  a  really  genuine  Reform  Bill.  But  it  was  not  to  be,' 
said  his  lordship,  endeavouring,  not  unsuccessfully,  to  infuse  some 
pathos  into  his  naturally  unsympathetic  voice.  "  I  need  not  re- 
capitulate the  circumstances  which  led  to  my  secession  from  the  \ 
Ministry.  But,  sir,  scarcely  had  I  quitted  office,  hardly  bad  the 
echo  of  my  footsteps  ceased  to  sound  in  the  Council  Chamber,  than 
the  Head  of  Her  Majesty's  Government  executed  a  marvellous 
strategic  movement,  and,  at  an  early  stage  of  this  debate,  it  was 
announced,  on  behalf  of  the  Government,  that  a  clause  g^nting 
the  franchise  to  women  would  be  introduced  in  Committee,  and 
receive  Government  support.  This  was  said  authoritatively.  The 
right  honourable  gentleman,  the  leader  of  this  House,  who,  I  under- 
stand, will  follow  me,  will  doubtless  repeat  this  assurance,  and  may 
even  accompany  the  declaration  with  one  of  those  psychological 
analyses,  with  which  he  is  ever  ready  to  explain  away  his  many 
vacillations  and  inconsistencies.  It  remains  therefore  for  me,  in 
such  plain,  simple  English  as  I  may  command — for  I  lay  no  pre- 
tensions to  the  scientific  jargon  of  my  right  honourable  friend— to 
explain  why  I  now  declare  my  intention  not  to  vote  for  the  second 
reading,  when,  apparently,  all  that  I  have  so  strenuously  contended 
for  is  granted.  Some,  I  know,  will  attribute  my  action  to  personal 
motives.  They  will  think  I  am  actuated  by  feelings  of  revenge. 
In  the  exercise  of  my  duty,  I  will  not  shrink  from  misrepresenta- 
tion, and  I  will  do  what  I  think  right,  how  cruelly  soever  my  motives 
may  be  misconstrued.  I  have  no  confidence  in  the  Government 
I  am  no  believer  in  sudden  conversions,  and  think  political  hysteria 
as  objectionable  as  religious  hysteria.  I  am  not  going  to  support 
the  second  reading  of  this  Bill  blindfolded ;  and  then,  for  what  to 
my  mind  is  the  most  important  of  its  provisions,  open  my  mouth 
and  swallow  thankfully  what  the  Government  choose  to  give.  Who 
is  to  know  what  this  clause  will  be  which  they  promise  ^all  be  in- 
troduced in  Committee?  What  guarantee  have  we  that  it  will 
secure  a  majority?    None ;  absolutely  none  whatever !    When  a 


AY  OR  NOf  2A7 

Reform  Bill  makes  due  and  proper  provision  for  the  enfranchise- 
ment of  women  I  will  support  it  heartily,  no  matter  who  or  what 
the  authors  may  be.  But  1  will  have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
this  Bill,  which  omits  all  reference  to  that  vital  question,  but  whose 
authors  promise  they  will  propose  something,  which  is  pretty  certain 
to  be  rejected,  to  effect  the  desired  object." 

His  lordship  concluded  with  an  eloquent  peroration,  in  which 
he  invoked  various  abstract  substantives  to  bear  witness  to  the 
purity  and  fidelity  of  his  conduct ;  and  sat  down  amidst  long- 
continued  plaudits.  His  audience  all  thought  he  had  acted  with 
skill  and  tact  in  a  difficult  situation ;  he  himself  had  but  one  idea 
which  surged  to  and  fro  in  his  brain,  keeping  time  with  the  music 
of  the  cheers : 

"What  will  yA^  think?* 

The  Premier  rose  slowly,  hesitatingly,  limply ;  his  whole  bearing 
in  glaring  contrast  with  his  demeanour  on  the  last  occasion  he  had 
crossed  swords  with  Lord  Bardolph  in  public.  A  feeling  something 
like  pity  welled  up  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  gazed  upon  him ;  one 
thought  flashed  through  all  minds — the  Bill  was  doomed.  The 
Premier  must  have  learnt  the  well-kept  secret  of  the  Parnellites, 
and  knew  that  they  had  decided  to  support  his  rival.  This — and 
this  alone — seemed  a  feasible  explanation  of  his  dejection.  And 
when  he  spoke  the  contrast  was  deepened.  The  brightness  had 
left  bis  voice ;  it  was  clear,  penetrating,  musical  as  ever,  but  its 
vivid  vibratory  tones  were  gone,  there  was  something  suppliant 
in  its  modulations,  as  befitted  an  oration  that  was  explanatory, 
almost  apologetic  He  reviewed  the  provisions  of  the  Bill,  briefly 
criticising  the  objections  that  had  been  raised  by  preceding 
speakers.  But  he  felt  that  the  one  point  for  which  all  were  waiting, 
and  in  comparison  with  which  all  else  was  leather  and  prunella, 
was  the  promised  clause.  He  admitted  that  those  who  had  charged 
him  with  inconsistency  had,  at  least,  a  show  of  reason  on  their  side ; 
but  he  pointed  out  that  responsible  Ministers  must  be  largely 
guided  by  practical  considerations.  There  was  such  a  thing  as 
spoiling  the  ship  by  being  parsimonious  in  tar,  and  so  the  great 
measure  of  reform  which  he  had  been  desirous  of  inaugurating 
might  have  suffered  total  shipwreck  had  he  foolishly  insisted  on  dis- 
regarding the  wishes  of  so  many  who  were  at  one  with  him  on  the 
remainder  of  the  measure. 

"  The  member  for  Wadding,**  he  said,  and  here  for  the  first 
time  he  quickened  into  something  like  animation,  his  voice* 
vibrating  with  strange,  indignant  bitterness,  *'  does  not  believe  in 
sudden  conversions.  No  more  do  I.  But  then  he  has  no  right  to 
assume  that  the  conversion  of  the  Government  was  sudden.  It 
must  have  been  the  result  of  a  slow  and  long  continued  process  of 
thought,  the  outcome  of  long  continued  and  prolonged  deliberation 
for  the  end  of  which  his  lordship  was  too  impatient  to  wait**  He 
continued  to  defend  the  course  taken  by  the  Ministry,  still  in  the 
same  strange,  tentative  fashion  (more  as  if  endeavourmg  to  excuse 
bis  colleagues  to  himself  than  himself  and  his  colleagues  to  the 


248  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

country),  but  it  was  noticed  as  significant  that  he  did  not  say  one  wort 
in  defence  of  the  promised  clause/^r  j^— did  not  utter  one  syllable  in; 
vindication  of  the  justice  of  the  reform  it  attempted,  while  the  whole 
apologia  was  wanting  in  heart  Towards  the  conclusion  he  again . 
dealt  with  Lord  Bardolph,  and  again  he  shook  off  his  lassitude,  and] 
spoke  with  somewhat  of  his  old  verve  and  fire.  "The  noble  lord] 
said,"  he  remarked,  "  that  he  would  not  shrink  from  misrepresen-  ; 
tation.  He  has  not  done  so,  for  he  has  misrepresented  his  late  I 
colleagues.  He  says  he  has  no  confidence  in  them,  and  if  there  is 
any  re^  meaning  in  his  inuendoes,  he  implies  either  that  we  will 
not  keep  our  promise  to  introduce  the  clause  enfranchising  women, 
or  else  that  we  will  so  word  it  as  to  secure  its  rejection,  and  that 
our  promised  support  of  it  is  a  sham.  It  is  unnecessary  for  any 
English  Minister  to  reply  to  such  charges.  Not  even  the  feet  that 
they  are  made  by  one  who  has  held  ofl&ce  under  the  Crown  can 
raise  them  above  contempt.  The  noble  lord  has  worked  with  the 
men  he  thus  stigmatises  for  some  time.  It  says  but  little  for  his 
penetration  that  he  should  not  have  made  the  discovery  of  their 
true  character  sooner ;  it  says  something  for  the  motives  which 
have  actuated  him,  and  which  he  deprecated,  that  he  should  have 
made  and  published  the  discovery  after  leaving  them  ;"  and  with  a 
peroration  of  the  usual  type  as  to  the  result  of  the  debate,  the 
Premier  resumed  his  seat,  leaving  upon  his  hearers  the  impression 
that  he  spoke  as  a  defeated  man. 

Then  the  rush  to  the  lobbies  took  place,  and  those  who  were 
last  noticed  how  the  Pamellites  were  voting.  A  short  interval,  and 
then  members  trooped  back  excitedly  to  their  places.  The  stream 
of  "No's"  thinned,  while  that  of  "Ay's"  was  yet  in  full  and 
vigorous  tide.  Before  the  tellers  for  the  Government  stood  before 
the  Speaker's  table  the  result  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  Still, 
the  breathless  hush  of  repressed  excitement  hung  over  the  assembly 
till  the  numbers  were  announced,  and  it  was  known  that  the 
Government  had  a  majority  of  thirty-nine.  The  Pamellites  had 
voted  with  the  Government;  the  Premier  had  outbid  Lord 
Bardolph.  Then,  throwing  off  all  restraint,  honourable  members, 
staid  and  veteran  legislators,  jumped  upon  the  benches,  tossed  their 
hats  in  the  air,  and  made  hideous  and  inarticulate  noises  that 
Pandemonium  might  have  envied,  and  tried  in  vain  to  rival.  Lord 
Bardolph  shook  his  fist  at  the  leader  of  the  Irish  party,  who  smiled 
calmly,  serenely,  inscrutably.  And  amid  all  the  din,  the  cheers  of 
triumph,  the  counter  cheers  of  those  who  tried  to  make-believe  that 
defeat  was  as  welcome  as  victory,  the  congratulations,  the  hand- 
shakes, and  the  despondent  head-shakes,  one  figure  sat  still  and 
unmoved.  His  head  bent  down,  an  expression  of  sadness  on  his 
worn  features,  his  whole  being  a  prey  to  a  lassitude  that  betokened 
despair,  dejected  and  not  elated  by  the  victory  which  he  had  gained, 
though  a  few  weeks  ago  victory  had  appeared  impossible,  the 
Premier  wrote  his  usual  despatch  to  the  Sovereign. 

The  moon  was  shining  above  the  terrace,  though  the  sun  bad 


AY  OR  NOT  249 

pot  yet  set.  The  sky  was  crimson  overhead,  a  burning  depth  of 
colour  shading  away  into  impalpable  and  indefinable  tints.  A 
I3xin,  vapoiuy  mist  was  rising  irom  the  river,  hanging  like  a  film'  of 
Bsnoky  lace  over  the  brown  water,  tinged  with  a  chocolate  reflection 
o£  the  evening  sky.  Through  it,  softened  and  beautified  by  its 
veiling,  the  south  side  of  the  river,  its  factories,  its  hospitals,  its 
wrliarves,  loomed  blackly  forth  ;  while  the  rushing  of  the  steamers 
and  the  whishing  of  oars  came  softly  upwards.  The  terrace  was 
deserted,  save  for  Lord  Bardolph  pacing  hurriedly  up  and  down, 
liis  whole  figure  vibrant  with  expectancy.  The  debate  over,  dinner 
lia.d  proved  too  strong  an  attraction  to  honourable  members,  who 
found  that  empty  stomachs  were  as  imperious  as  empty  heads. 
As  he  turned,  he  caught  sight  of  a  lady  advancing  towards  him. 
He  quidcened  his  step,  and  stood  before  her.  ^  ''Well  ?"  was  all  he 
said,  and  then,  turning,  he  walked  on  by  her  side. 

His  monosyllabic  question  remainea  unanswered.  Lady  Gwen- 
dolen was  too  agitated  to  speak.  She  had  consented  to  see  him  on 
the  terrace  after  the  debate  ;  she  had  braced  herself  for  the  inter- 
view, and  she  shrank  from  it  And,  as  they  paced  side  by  side,  a 
surging  tide  of  conflicting  emotions  kept  her  silent,  till  at  length 
Lord  Bardolph  spoke  agam. 

"Am  I  to  congratulate  vou  on  your  victory P**  he  said,  half 
earnestly,  half  mockingly.  "  The  Pamellites  are  your  champions, 
and  have  kept  the  Government  in." 

^  I  do  not  know,"  she  answered  slowly,  speaking  scarcely  above 
her  breath.  ''  I  have  so  often  pictured  this  debate  to  myself,  in- 
dulged in  fond  visions  of  the  tnumph  of  my  sex ;  and  now  that  it 
is  come,  I  am  not  glad— I  am  perplexed — I  am  sad." 

'*  Then,  I  shall  not  congratulate  you,"  replied  Lord  Bardolph. 
He  was  gaining  confidence.  The  Premier's  attitude,  his  tone 
throughout  the  debate,  the  utter  absence  of  more  than  a  solitary 
spark  of  his  old  vigour,  had  all  told  Lord  Bardolph  their  tale.  He 
alone  knew  why  the  Premier  sat  dejected  in  the  moment  of  victory, 
why  no  flush  of  gladness  had  passed  over  his  visage  when  the 
numbers  were  announced.  The  reconciliation,  for  which  Flopping- 
ton  had  hoped,  had  failed  to  come  to  pass.  And,  while  the  know- 
ledge sent  the  blood  pulsing  madly  through  his  veins,  while  his 
whole  being  trembled  with  eager  delight,  he  felt  a  throb  of  pity  for 
that  rival  who  had  lost  the  prize  he  now  felt  sure  of  gainmg,  for 
him  to  whom  victory  bad  brought  the  sting  and  bitterness  of  heart- 
breaking defeat ;  and  he  dimly  comprehended  the  tragic  irony  of 
the  situation  that  a  leader  of  men  should,  for  the  sake  of  a  woman, 
have  thrown  to  the  winds  his  reputation  for  statesmanship  and 
honesty  of  purpose,  and  have  made  the  sacrifice  in  vain. 

*'  I  am  afraid  you  were  right  this  morning,"  said  Lady  Gwen- 
dolen. **  This  victory  of  my  cause  is  but  a  sham,  and  we  are  no 
nearer  enfranchisement  than  we  were.  The  promised  clause  is  but 
a  political  device,  that  will  be  kept  to  the  letter  and  broken  in  the 
spint." 

**  Tnie^"  said  Lord  Bardolph.    *'  Did  you  notice  how  he  avoided 


2  so  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

uttering  one  word  on  the  great  question ;  hpw  he  kept  silent  on 
that  point?" 

Had  she  noticed  it  ?  As  the  Premier  spoke,  every  word  of  his 
defence  stabbed  her  to  the  heart  When  he  opposed  the  mea- 
sure she  loved  him ;  had  he  supported  it  from  conviction,  she 
would  have  loved  him  still.  But  despite  his  mendacious  senti- 
mental apologetics  on  that  ni^ht  at  the  Duchess's,  it  was  now  plain 
to  her  that  he  had  supported  it  because  he  thought  it  expedient,  as 
well  from  amorous  as  from  political  motives.  And  she  despised 
him  for  so  misreading  her  as  to  believe  she  could  be  bought  thus. 
As  his  nerveless,  fibreless  defence  went  on,  as  he  laid  it  bare  in  ail 
its  sordid  trimming  to  partizan  exigencies,  she  wondered  afresh 
whether  this  could  be  the  Bayard,  the  preux  Chevalier  whom 
she  had  been  proud  to  love.  And  her  heart,  throbbing  though  it 
was  with  unselfish  hope,  died  within  her,  as  there  flashed  once 
more  before  her  those  other  scenes  which  reminded  her  that  the 
preux  Chevalier  had  ceased  to  be  one  in  private  life  as  in  politics, 
that  the  chivalry  and  nobility  had  gone,  and  that  she  had  been  on 
the  point  of  givmg  her  soul  in  keeping  to  a  simulacrum  of  virtue,  to 
a  ghastly  mockery  of  honour ;  and  as  such  shreds  of  illusion  as  still 
clung  to  her  even  after  the  terrible  scene  of  the  morning  dropped 
from  her  at  the  last  revolting  discovery  that  he  was  trying  to  back 
out  of  the  promised  enfranchisement  of  her  sex,  in  order  to  avenge 
upon  all  women  the  disdain  of  one. 

The  Premier  was  utterly  unworthy  of  confidence.  Had  he  but 
made  a  less  despicable  display  of  wounded  egotism,  had  he  at 
least  had  the  manly  courage  to  carry  through  under  the  new  cir- 
cumstances what  he  had  undertaken  under  the  old,  he  might 
still  have  retained  some  vestige  of  her  respect  But,  alas,  the  self- 
appointed  champion  of  her  cause  was  its  most  insidious  enemy. 
It  was  the  man  who  had  denounced  him,  who  had  just  voted 
against  woman  suffrage,  that  was  the  real  friend  of  her  sex.  It 
was  the  cynic  who  had  repudiated  the  possession  of  principle 
that  alone  obeyed  his  conscience.  She  shivered  with  remorseful 
recollection  of  her  shallow  misreading  of  Lord  Bardolph's  noble 
disclaimer  of  nobility. 

Not  a  passing  shade  flickering  over  her  mobile  countenance 
had  escaped  the  attention  of  her  companion.  He  saw  she  was 
shaken  and  yielding ;  and  thinking  "  now  or  never,"  he  boldly  put 
his  fate  to  the  touch. 

"  Lady  Gwendolen,"  he  said,  real  intense  passion  thrilling  in 
his  tones,  ^  I  asked  you  a  question  this  morning,  I  ask  it  again. 
I  love  you.  With  you  by  my  side,  I  feel  strong  enough  to  do  any- 
thing.   Can  you  not  love  me  ?  " 

"No,  no,"  she  murmured  agitatedly,  **  do  not  ask  me.  You  do 
not  know ;  you  cannot " 

**  I  do  know.  Lady  Swendolen,  I  do.  Love  has  opened  my 
eyes.  But  think — I  say  nothing  of  your  life  darkened  and 
shadowed.  You  are  too  unselfish  to  be  swayed  by  thoughts  of 
that    But  think  of  the  cause  you  have  at  heart ;  think  of  how  in« 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  HOUSEMAID  251 

spired  by  your  love  my  life  would  be  consecrated  to  the  removal  of 
injustice." 

He  paused.  She  was  under  the  spell  of  his  earnest  words ; 
magnetised  by  the  manly  power  that  appeared  to  inform  him.  She  was 
troubled.  Would  it  not  be  selfish  to  sacrifice  him  and  the  cause  to 
ber  disappointment  ?  She  must  rise  above  mere  considerations  of 
self.  Nay,  could  she  even  be  certain  that  she  did  not  love  him  ? 
Her  ideal  of  manhood  had  been  shattered  by  the  Premier ;  it  was 
not  the  Premier  alone,  it  was  manhood  that  was  disgraced  in  her 
eyes.  But  now,  as  Lord  Bardolph  spoke,  love  and  honour  and  truth 
appeared  to  breathe  in  his  utterances ;  she  saw  him  not  as  he  was  ; 
her  weakened,  excited  fancy  draped  him  with  the  manly  motives 
she  had  almost  lost  faith  in.  And  it  was  to  an  ideal  Lord  Bardolph, 
a  Lord  Bardolph  the  product  of  her  own  pure  imagination,  that 
she  at  length  said :  *'  Yes.'' 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  HOUSEMAID. 

"So  ye  see,  Eliza,"  concluded  Mrs.  Dawe,  "that  with  Jack's 
tumin'  up  'is  nose  and  chuckin*  up  the  shop,  and  worriting  Sally 
into  soup-ladles,  the  business  is  like  to  go  to  the  dogs — not  the 
dogs  to  die  business  as  my  'usband  said  of  Mrs.  Prodgers'  sausages. 
The  moment  my  heye  is  off  that  gal  I  sees  *er  up  to  little  duffs  and 
tricks  no  good  to  'er,  but  just  for  the  sake  of  cheatin'  me,  which 
would  make  'er  fortune  if  done  honesdy  in  the  way  of  business. 
The  moment  my  heye  is  on  'er  she  cleans  'er  saucepans  like  a  busy 
bee,  or  makes  dumplins  like  a  madman  in  a  strait  waistcoat" 

"  Then  I  had  better  take  charge  of  the  shop  till  you  are  better," 
observed  Eliza  decisively. 

Mrs.  Dawe  rose  on  her  pillow,  and  looked  at  her  suspiciously 
before  replying : 

"  I  don't  say  Sally  would  lay  a  finger  on  a  'aypenny  that  wasn't 
'ers  except  it  belonged  to  'er  honestly.  'Owsoever,  no  reasonable 
being  wants  to  cut  off  'is  nose  to  spite  'is  spectacles— unless  he's  a 
fool.  What's  mine  is  Jack's,  and  what's  Jack's  is  youm,  and,  con- 
sikkently,  whafs  youm  is  mine.  But  for  all  that  yer  not  fit  to 
take  my  place— and  show  me  the  woman  in  the  whole  world  who 
is !    Ye  can't  cook  no  more  than  Adam." 

**  I  know  I  can't,"  said  Eliza  meekly,  **  because  I  was  always 
brought  up  as  a  housemaid,  and  I  hope  I  always  knew  my  place 
better  than  to  cook  as  well.  But  I  don't  want  to  cook  any  more 
than  Adam  did.  I've  got  Sally  to  cook  for  me,  just  as  he  had 
Eve." 

"  More  fool  she  not  to  'ire  a  gal,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Dawe. 

"  How  could  she?  She  was  the  first  woman—lady,  I  mean- 
that  ever  lived," 


"1 


252  THE  PREMJER  AND   THE  PAINTER 


''Ho!  ho!  ho!  ho!*  chuckled  Mrs.  Da  we.  ''Fancy  the  fust 
lady  in  the  land  doin'  'er  own  'ousework  I  After  marryin'  a  man, 
too,  who  'ad  just  come  into  such  large  estates  before  there  was  any 
lawyers  to  do  Mm  out  of  'enL  But  now  I  come  to  think  on  it,  there^s 
no  wonder  Adam  and  Eve  weren't  too  proud  to  wait  on  theirselves, 
for,  as  my  late  'usband  said, '  they  couldn't  trace  Uieir  dissent  to 
theConkyrer!'" 

"  Then  that  settles  it ! "  cried  Eliza.  "  But  I  can  stay  here 
serving  till  the  shop  shuts,  occasionally  running  up  to  look  after 
your  comfort  How  fortunate  it  is  that  I  left  my  place  in  time ! 
Jack  couldn't  be  expected  to  desert  his  painting  and  stand  behind 
the  counter.  And  when  the  shop  shuts  he  can  see  me  home  every 
night    It  will  be  delightful !  *» 

**  Every  night  ?  Delightful  ?  "  echoed  Mrs.  Dawe  reproachfully. 
"  It's  just  like  you,  'Lizer,  to  wish  a  poor  lone  woman  to  lay  'ere 
years  upon  years  while  things  is  goin'  as  wrong  as  a  crab.  But  I've 
never  been  ill  afore,  except  when  I  was  a  in£uit  without  an^  sense, 
and  I  ain't  a  goin'  to  stand  it  I  mustn't  get  up  for  a  week,  mdeed ! 
How  does  Dr.  Thomas  know  I  mustn't  ?  It  can't  be  right  a  person 
should  lay  in  bed  for  a  week.  A  nice  state  of  affairs  if  all  the 
world  'ad  to.  Why,  all  the  businesses  would  go  bamkrupt ! 
But  you  are  only  thinkin'  of  your  Jack  seein'  ye  'ome.  I  Imow 
ye'd  both  be  glad  to  see  me  to  my  long  'ome — — * 

'*Hush,  hush,  dear  mother.  You  know  you  mustn't  talk." 
Eliza  soothingly  smoothed  her  face  and  tucked  her  in ;  but  in  vain. 

"  Mustn't  talk,  indeed !  The  doctor  only  said  that 'cause  hecouldn't 
stand  my  tellin'  'im  truths  as  ugly  as  the  nose  on  'is  face.  And  as  for 
Jack  seein'  ye  'ome,  if  he  comes  'ome  as  he  did  last  night,  a  nice 
time  for  you  and  'im  to  be  gallivantin'  together.  I  'eard  'im  come 
in,  and  just  as  he  was  strikin'  a  match  m  'is  bedroom  the  dock 
strudc  two.  This  is  what  comes  from  indulgin'  boys.  As  mv 
'usband  said  :  '  The  devil's  door  is  opened  by  a  latch-key.'  I  shall 
take  it  from  'ini,  see  if  I  don't  I've  'ad  my  own  way  for  some  time 
and  managed  'im  as  if  I  was  'is  wife  instead  of  'is  mother,  and  I 
mean  to  be  missus  in  my  own  cook-shop  as  long  as  there's  a  drop 
of  gravy  in  my  joints.  Last  night  he  tried  to  come  'is  old  tricks 
and  be  masterful  agen,  but  did  you  see  'ow  I  shut  'im  up  by  not 
answerin'  'im  %  He 'ad  to  run  out  o'  the  room.  And  jolly  sorry  he 
was,  too,  by  the  way  he  kissed  me  this  momin'  before  goin'  to 
work,  and  while  he  was  sayin'  'good-bye,'  he  looked  at  me  as 
solemn  as  if  I  was  never  to  see  'im  no  more,  and  there  was  tears 


ye  take  care  you  will  find  yerself  in  the  wrong  shop.  All  the 
Dawes  are  fond  of  'avin'  their  own  way ;  we  can't  abear  to  he 
crossed.  We  ain't  very  talkative  (except  my  late  'usband  and  my 
son),  but  we  knows  what  we  wants  and  we  sees  that  we  gets  it 
Even  my  late  'usband  was  fond  of  Ms  own  way,  only  I  was  fondtff 
and  he  was  that  busy  sayin'  things  (over  and  over  agea  he  said 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  HOUSEMAID  253 

the  same  things  as  if  he  was  a  preacher)  that  he  'ad  no  mind  to 
interfere  with  me.  Now  that's  what  ye  must  do  with  Jack— en- 
courage hun  to  say  things  about  other  people,  and  he'll  leave  ye 
alone.  And  when  he  says  so  and  so  ought  to  be  done,  it's  no  use 
contradictin'  'im  then,  ye  must  always  contradict  'im  beforehand. 
Once  he^s  made  up  'is  mind  to  a  thing,  the  boy's  as  obstinate  as  a 
bull,  and  even  when  he  was  young  Ms  father  found  that  out,  for  he 
said  I  was  alius  bringin'  forth  bulls,  when  I  only  'ad  one,  though  to 
be  sure  that  one  is  as  pig-'eaded  as  a  dozen  bulls." 

^*  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Dawe,"  said  Eliza,  ''and  now  here  is  your 
medicine." 

"  A  nice  way  of  thankin'  me,"  grumbled  Mrs.  Dawe.  "  I  wonder 
'ow  much  he's  goin'  to  charge  for  that  little  bottle.  He  only  sends 
me  a  thimbleful  at  a  time  to  run  up  the  bill  more.  I  don't  want  no 
luxuries,  only  plain  medicine ;  but  hell  chaige  for  it  as  though  it 
was  fit  to  be  put  on  the  Queen's  table.  It's  a  great  shame  a  woman 
should  take  to  drink  in  'er  old  age  and  ruin  'erself  when  she  don't 
want  to.  There  ought  to  be  a  Blue  Ribbon  Army  to  fight  agen  the 
doctors.  As  my  late  'usband  said :  '  Medicine  is  like  creeds ;  ye've 
got  to  swallow  'em  both,  and  little  good  they  does  ye.' "  So  saying, 
she  swallowed  the  draught. 

Eliza  was  thus  installed  in  the  shop,  and  had  a  foretaste  of  her 
future  position,  as  Dante  had  of  Paradise.  She  was  a  woman 
worthy  of  alliance  with  the  house  of  Dawe,  being  blessed  with  an 
equal  fondness  for  having  her  own  way.  She,  too,  knew  what  she 
wanted,  and  saw  that  she  got  it.  Jack  to  a  dowerless  girl  was  a 
lover  who,  except  in  age  (in  which  superiority  is  often  inferiority), 
was  superior  to  every  other  likely  man  she  had  ever  met  He  was 
good-looking  even  wtien  one  saw  him  at  work  on  lions  and  unicorns, 
and—  startling  paradox— when  the  paint  was  washed  off  his  face, 
he  was  almost  handsome.  And  when  he  was  laying  down  the  law 
on  political  matters,  Eliza  felt  proud  of  the  noble,  intellectual 
expression  on  his  animated  countenance.  Then,  too,  his  re- 
semblance to  the  Premier  invested  him  with  a  faint  halo  of 
disguised  Princeship,  that  caused  her  youthful  fancy  to  please 
itself  with  a  hundred  dreamy  webs  of  ideality. 

Moreover,  no  heroine  of  her  acquaintance  had  had  a  more 
ardent  lover  in  the  fiery  days  when  affection  was  new.  What 
brother  painter  (from  R.A  to  'Arry)  could  lend  himself  more 
tenderly  to  all  the  romance  of  passion — the  exquisite  rainbow  tints 
on  the  bubble  of  Love  ?  What  brother  poet  could  indite  amorous 
verse  of  softer  splendour,  or  more  rapturous  encomium  ?  When,  in 
addition  to  all  these  formative  elements  of  tender  emotion,  the 
cook-shop  is  thrown  in,  there  seem  almost  superfluous  raisons  d^itre 
for  that  whose  existence  is  often  best  explained  by  the  absence 
of  any. 

That  this  ardotu*  had  gradually  cooled  on  the  male  side  was  due 
to  no  fault  of  hers,  unless  excess  of  affectionateness  be  one.  The 
dynamic  energy  that  blazed  forth  as  anger  in  moments  of  irritation 
flashed  out  as  love  in  instants  of  tranquillity.    But  the  limitations, 


L 


^ 


254  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 


for  which  she  was  not  responsible,  chafed  the  sensitive  Jack  wben 
his  love  grew  old  enough  to  know  better,  and  to  be  ashamed  if  its 
youthful  outbursts.  Eliza  lacked  the  infinite  variety  of  Cleopatra, 
and  at  that  critical  period  of  his  existence  it  was  Cleopatra,  more 
char,  any  other  woman,  that  seemed  to  him  to  express  the  ideal  of 
femininity.  He  bitterly  regretted  his  engagement  to  her,  and  cook 
to  treating  her  with  contemptuous  rudeness  in  the  hope  of  a  breach. 
His  visits  ceased,  his  answers  to  her  letters  grew  curt.  But  Eliza 
had  the  rare  virtue  of  Fidelity,  and  though  her  visions  of  personal 
happiness  were  obscured,  she  retained  her  belief  in  the  desirability 
of  things  in  general.  Reversing  the  conventional  functions  of  Hero 
and  Lender,  she  descended  upon  her  lover  like  a  Grecian  goddess 
(whenever  she  could  leave  her  "place").  To  escape  her,  Jack 
betook  himself  to  the  Cogers*  whenever  he  could,  and  on  Sundays 
fled  on  his  bicycle,  which  had  grown  rusty  from  disuse.  The 
nymph  could  therefore  only  register  an  occasional  success  in  the 
pursuit  of  her  sweetheart,  and  even  when  caught  he  was  as  coy  as 
Adonis,  and  far  more  insulting  in  his  rebuffs.  It  was  often  all  but 
impossible  to  restrain  herself  from  tearing  his  eyes  out ;  but,  while 
there  was  a  gleam  of  hope,  and  while  Mrs.  Dawe  was  on  her  side, 
this  must  be  reserved.  The  marriage  was  put  off  indefinitely,  and 
at  last  things  came  to  a  dimax.  The  poor  girl  saw  the  gratification 
of  one  of  her  ambitions — she  obtained  a  situation  in  such  a  great 
house  as  Lady  Harley's.  But  all  her  proud  joy  was  dulled  by  Jack's 
conduct  The  letter  she  wrote  to  him  announcing  the  news  was 
unanswered,  and  she  could  not  get  a  holiday  for  a  month.  So  long 
a  period  of  totally  severed  life  could  not  but  complete  the  estrange- 
ment, and  she  was  not  familiar  enough  with  her  surroundings  to 
find  means  of  getting  away,  such  as  she  afterwards  discovered.  In 
this  crisis  she  wrote  to  the  Editor  of  the  London  Reader^  but  the 
Editor,  whose  fingers  were  already  in  hundreds  of  amorous  pies, 
was  slow  to  reply.  An  unexpected  opportunity  enabled  her  to  dart 
down  to  her  lover's  demesne  on  the  Saturday  on  which  this  history 
opened.  Unfortunately  he  was  at  the  Cogers',  and  the  poor  girl 
was  again  baffled.  At  last,  however,  her  ho£day  came  ;  and,  armed 
by  this  time  with  the  Editor's  advice,  she  hastened  to  the  Star 
Dining  Rooms  once  more.  She  came,  a  bitter  woman,  and  left,  a 
happy  girl.  Just  reward  of  sublime  Patience !  The  only  draw- 
back to  her  happiness  was  the  rankling  doubt  suggested  by  Mrs. 
Dawe  as  to  the  sex  of  her  firstborn.  The  prohibition  against 
frequent  visits  took  little  from  the  rapture  of  success.  In  the  first 
place,  Obedience  would  make  a  virtue  of  necessity,  and  in  the  next, 
she  felt  that  the  pertinacity  which  had  carried  her  so  far  would 
carry  her  further  if  required.  On  the  Editor  she  showered  much 
gushing  gratitude,  promising  him  a  piece  of  bridecake  in  three 
months,  and  herself  that,  in  future  moments  of  trial,  she  would 
persist  in  the  meekness  of  spirit  which  had  realised  the  hope  that 
her  natural  passionateness  would  have  destroyed. 

As  she  now  stood  behind  the  counter,  with  an  imperative  eye 
on  the  sullen  and  smutty  Sally  (whom  nothing  but  Jack's  stem 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  HOUSEMAID  255 

tlireat  of  dismissal  liad  set  to  work  that  moming),  she  felt  that 
doubt  was  no  longer  possible,  if,  indeed,  any  vestige  of  it  could 
remain  after  his  tender  reading  of  that  poem  to  her  at  Lady 
Harle/s.    A  new  series  of  tender  familiarities  with  her  lover  had 
culminated  in  a  swoon  in  his  arms.    With  his  old  chivalry  he  had 
protected  her  from  an  insane  adversary,  whom  he  had  dropped 
downstairs  in  the  approved  heroic  fashion  (Sally  took  for  the 
nonce  the  proportions  of  a  wild  bull  at  least).    And  last  night  he 
had  come  mto  the  sick  room  with  such  a  look  of  tenderness  for  her 
in  his  eyes,  that  she  felt  any  manifestations  of  similar  emotion 
superfluous  on  her  part.    Anxious  to  concentrate  her  attention  on 
the  nascent  intuitions  of  nursing,  she  allowed  a  wish  for  silence  to 
escape  her,  and  did  not  repent  when  she  saw  his  quick,  responsive 
obedience.     The  scene  was  vividly  present  to  her  now,  and  her 
heart  leapt  lightly  with  triumph.    She  was  glad  that  the  constant 
irmption  of  Mrs.  Dawe's  cronies  and  acquaintances  into  the  sick 
room  rendered  frequent  ascents  thither  unnecessary.    The  novelty 
of  Nightingaleism  had  worn  off,  and  she  was  weary  of  the  restlessly- 
tossing,  querulous  old  woman  in  the  dull,  tawdry  bedchamber,  with 
its  cracked  wine-glass,  dirty  spoon,  and  dusty  phiaL    The  busy 
shop  was  more  in  harmony  with  the  dancing  heart  of  Youth,  with 
the  stir  of  entrance  and  exit,  the  sense  of  touch  with  the  bustle  of 
outside  life,  and  the  panorama  of  admiring  faces.     For  the  girl 
drew ;  and  in  the  unprecedented  earnings  of  the  day,  her  presence 
was  almost  as  potent  a  causal  element  as  the  return  to  life  of  Mrs. 
Dawe.     It  is  the  mark  of  perfect  beauty  to  appear  improved  by 
every  change  of  vesture,  and  Eliza,  arrayed  in  a  white  apron,  stood 
the  test  admirably,  and  seemed  an  exquisite  incarnation  of  idyllic 
simplicity.    The  till  groaned  under  piles  of  coppers,  and  her  heart 
swelled  with  its  contents. 

Jack  did  not  appear  in  the  shop  till  the  evening,  much  to  the 
disappointment  of  the  admirers  of  his  innovations,  and  even  then 
he  only  lingered  a  moment.  The  ^  new  dispensation  "  of  rations 
had  been  as  brief  as  a  French  rigime.  The  floods  of  soup  resumed 
their  normal  price,  the  old  landmarks  reappeared,  and  the 
boundaries  between  pennyworths  and  twopennyworths  became 
once  more  visible. 

On  seeing  Eliza,  Jack  started. 
**  Good-evening,  Jack,"  said  Eliza  sweetly. 
**  Good-evening,"  replied  Jack  politely.    **  I  did  not  expect  to 
see  you.'' 

*'  Did  you  think  I  would  desert  you  in  the  hour  of  trial  ?  A 
halfpenny  change,  thank  yotu  Do  I  not  know  how  repugnant  it  is 
to  your  aristocratic  nature  to  serve  behind  the  counter?  So, 
darling,  I  have  determined  to  suffer  instead.  We  don't  sell 
bloaters.    You'll  get  beauties  three  doors  up." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  child,"  said  Jack,  visiblv  affected  by  this 
altruism.  "  I  had  come,  after  much  debate,  to  the  conclusion  that 
it  behoved  me  to  fulfil  all  the  duties  of  that  position  in  life  in  which 
1  find  mysdl    But  I  will  not  deny  that  I  accepted  tiiese  kitchen 


156  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

duties  not  with  pleasure,  but  for  the  humiliation  of  the  spirit,  and 
as — what  shall  I  say  ?— a  Fierv  Baptism.'' 

"  Good  gracious,  Jack,  yoirre  not  going  to  turn  Baptist  ?" 

'*  You  appear  alarmed,"  said  Jack,  smiling  benevolently,  and 
with  a  delightful  sense  of  escape  from  thraldom.  "  Why  should  I 
not  turn  Baptist  ?  " 

"  You  can't  mean  it  I "  protested  Eliza  anxiously.  "  There's  a 
Baptist  butler  at  Lady  Harley's,  and  of  all  the  stingy,  ugly 
wretches Tell  your  mother  I  can't  cut  it  any  leaner." 

Eliza,  bending  over  the  savoury  joint,  missed  the  sudden  flush 
on  her  lover's  cheek,  nor  did  she  catch  the  low  murmur  cf  *'  The 
riddle's  solved,  hinc  ilia  lachrytna!*^  But  soon  his  fece  was 
clouded  by  perplexity  ;  he  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand  and  stood 
thinking.    '^It  is  not  at  all  clear,"  he  said  dubiously. 

'*  That's  what  Pm  always  telling  Mrs.  Dawe,"  grumbled  a  stout 
man  with  his  spoon  in  his  hand.  ^  The  soup  is  so  fuU  of  litde 
bones  that  there's  sure  to  be  an  inquest  one  of  these  days." 

Eliza  shot  a  reproachful  glance  at  Jack.  She  could  not  under- 
stand this  failure  of  esprit  de  corps.  And,  indeed,  a  world  in  which 
people  should  criticise  themselves  instead  of  one  another  might 
well  seem  to  violate  the  conditions  of  possibility. 

The  f>ainter  caught  the  look  and  an  alarmed  light  flashe  i  into 
his  eyes,  instantly  succeeded  by  an  expression  of  remorseful  pain. 
*'  You  are  no  longer  at  Lady  Harle/s  ?''  he  asked  in  the  hopeless 
tone  with  which  one  courts  a  dreaded  answer  too  well  foreknown. 

Eliza  raised  her  head  once  more,  and  exclaimed  lovingly: 
'Oh,  you  dear  stupid  old  Jack,  didn't  I  tell  you  that  yesterc&y? 
How  could  I  be  here  if  I  was  there  ? "  She  shook  the  carving- 
knife  playfully  at  him,  and  laughed  a  low,  silvery  laugh  of  enjoy- 
ment The  airy  grace  of  the  flourish,  the  brightness  of  her  face, 
and  the  charm  of  her  laughter  wrought  upon  Jack,  and  he  brushed 
away  a  tear.  "  Poor  girl  I "  he  thought  "  She  opposes  a  brave 
heart  to  misfortime.  Hers  is  a  fine  nature  at  bottom,  though  she 
be  liable  to  volcanic  outbursts.  But  these  are  perhaps  neces- 
sary to  show  the  intensity  of  those  bright  spirits  which  are  in  danger 
of  the  suspicion  of  superficiality." 

"You  shall  not  suffer,"  he  said  resolutely.  "I  will  make 
amends.  I  will  see  that  you  get  another— and,  if  possible,  a  better 
— place." 

Eliza  saw  the  joke,  and  her  eyes  brimmed  over  with  fun. 

'*  I  don't  think  my  last  mistress  will  give  me  a  character,"  she 
observed  slyly. 

**  That  need  not  trouble  you,"  replied  Jack  in  grave  reassurance; 
"  it  will  be  enough  if  /  recommend  you.  You  will  be  engaged 
without  further  inquiry." 

Eliza  laughed  again,  partly  with  delight  and  partly  at  the  pun. 
Then,  checking  herself,  she  said  with  a  pout :  "But  I  have  been 
engaged  so  long  that  I  am  quite  tired  of  it." 

Jack  looked  sad. 

"  I  can  quite  understand  that  1 "  he  said  sympathetically,  as  tl>9 


r 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  HOUSEMAID  257 


long  years  of  dnidgery  flashed  across  his  mind.     '^  Poor  bright 
young  creature,  meant  for  the  sunshine  and  the  open  air." 

Eliza  felt  a  thrill  of  self-pity.  .  *'  I  don't  ask  for  the  sunshine  and 
the  open  air,"  she  said,  with  quivering  lips.  ^  ''  I  onl)r  want  to  be 
settled  in  my  new  life ;  I  hate  this  delay,  this  uncertainty.  And  I 
don't  mind  working  ever  so  hard  then." 

Jack  blushed.  "  She  reads  me  a  lesson,**  he  thought.  ^  Carlyle 
taught  truly  that  idleness  is  the  root  of  evil  The  healthv,  human 
soul  cannot  endure  the  burden  of  aimless  days,unsanctified  oy  work." 
Eliza  rounded  the  counter  by  a  swift,  graceful  movement,  and 
stood  before  Jack,  turning  a  seductive  face  up  to  his,  her  hands 
dasped  togedier,  and  her  softly  flashing  eyes  humid  with  love 
and  tender  beseechment  The  shop  was  momentarily  empty  of 
customers. 

''Can't  it  be  before  six  weeks  ?"  she  pleaded. 
''  Certainly,  my  dear.    There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  have 
to  wait  more  than  a  fortnight  or  a  month  at  most" 

EHza  seized  his  hand  and  rained  burning  kisses  upon  it.  "  Oh, 
say  it  again,  say  it  again,"  she  cried,  "  and  ease  a  suffering  heart." 
The  fervency  of  her  gratitude  was  slightly  disconcerting  to  Jack, 
but  he  patted  her  hair  kindly  with  his  disengaged  hand,  as  he 
replied  sadly  :  '*  Do  you  doubt  me,  child  ?  Know  that  my  word  is 
sacred.  Did  I  not  hold  my  pledge  inviolate  you  would  never  more 
have  seen  me  here." 

"I  know,  I  know  your  sense  of  honour,"  murmured  Eliza, 
meeting  his  pensive  gaze  with  eyes  welling  over  wi^  tenderness. 
''You  never  meant  to  wrong  me." 

"  Meant  to  wrong  you  ? "  said  Jack  softly.  "  God  knows  I 
never  meant  to  wrong  any  one,  But,  alas !  whom  have  I  not  in- 
jured?" He  paused  in  melancholy  retrospect,  and  added:  "I 
have  injured  you,  child,  but  I  will  do  my  best  to  brighten  your 
future  existence." 

"And  I  to  brighten  yours,"  returned  Eliza,  looking  up  to 
lum  again,  with  a  bright  glance  of  affection  and  gratitude.  She 
still  held  hb  hand  in  hers,  and,  lulled  to  a  trance  of  happy  con- 
fidence, was  content  not  to  disturb  this  moment  of  calm  though 
deep  delight  by  the  more  passionate  manifestations  of  amorous 
inebriety.  She  seemed  once  more  to  breathe  the  air  of  the  dream- 
land 01  early  love,  and  had  a  delightful  feeling  of  being  in  a 
serial,  and  a  curious  but  delicious  sense  of  having  to  be  continued 
in  our  next. 

The  poor  girl's  gratitude  touched  the  painter  and  softened  his 
despairing  mood.  "  She  brighten  my  life ! "  he  thought,  smiling 
sadly.  ''Yet,  why  despise  the  impulsive  movement  of  grateful 
emotion  ?  'Tis  in  these  moments  mat  soul  speaks  to  sotu  ;  and 
shall  I  reject  such  offering,  I,  whom  no  one  else  in  the  world 
wishes  well  ?"  But  ere  he  could  reply,  Eliza's  temporary  Paradise 
was  lost  by  a  demand  for  apple-dumplings,  and  she  could  not  help 
eyeing  the  customer  with  irritation.  She  felt  vaguely  that  some- 
thing was  wrong  somewhere  in  a  universe  so  mudi  more  unlady- 


S58  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

like  than  that  constructed  by  the  female  novelist  The  web  of  ex- 
istence was  no  better  than  an  amateur  patchwork  quilt,  if  it 
permitted  affairs  of  the  heart  and  affairs  of  the  stomach  to  be 
mterwoven  in  this  blundering  fashion. 

A  few  minutes  of  silence  ensued  before  the  man  got  rid  of  the 
dumplings,  and  the  lovers  of  the  man.  Then  Jack,  who  had  been 
anxiously  watching  his  betrothed,  said  :  '*  I  can  see  you  don't  like 
life  behind  die  counter.  It  would  only  pain  you  to  serve  instead  of 
me,  and  I  have  no  right  to  demand  such  a  sacrifice  from  one  meant 
by  Nature  for  happier  things/* 

"  Sacrifice  1 "  cried  Eliza,  paling.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  Is  it 
a  sacrifice  to  work  for  one  you  love  and  honour  ?  I  do  not  care 
what  Nature  meant  me  for,  I  desire  nothing  better ;  I  am  happy 
in  my  choice." 

'*  Noble  creature ! "  thought  Jack.  **  Vainly  would  she  conceal 
what  I  know  by  sad  experience.  And  did  she  not  say  just  now 
that  she  would  suffer  for  me  ?  Ought  I  then  to  take  advantage  of 
her  devotion  ?  'Tis  a  difficult  problenL  I  do  not  know  whether 
Kant's  formula  will  avail  me  here.  'Act  so  that  thy  conduct  may  be 
a  law  to  all  beings  under  similar  circumstances?  Ay,  there's  the  rub. 
Quasitum — ought  I    or  Eliza  to  serve    Demos  with  sausages? 

Data— given  a  man  bom  for  failure  in  higher  things ^    The 

thread  of  thought  was  suddenly  snapped  by  a  violent  shudder  and 
a  grimace  of  disgust  as  the  horrors  of  the  day  before  flashed  upon 
him.  "'Tis  vain  to  struggle,"  he  resumed.  "Yet,  let  me  not  f^ 
into  the  common  error  of  niistaking  prejudices  for  moral  intui- 
tions." He  frowned,  and  Eliza's  blood,  already  chilled  by  the 
shudder  and  the  grimace,  ran  colder  than  ever.  In  the  brief  interval 
while  the  man  was  eating  his  apple- dumplings,  what  had  occurred 
to  cause  this  sudden  change  of  attitude  ?  She  was  sure  she  had 
done  nothing  wrong.  Perhaps  he  really  thought  she  ought  to  look 
higher.  If  so,  she  must  reassure  his  morbidly-conscientious  mind. 
She  felt  (somewhat  ungratefully)  that  she  would  be  happier  if  he 
took  less  care  of  her  happiness. 

'*  Yott  shall  not  get  rid  of  me,"  she  exclaimed  passionately. 
"  My  duty  lies  here." 

Jack's  brow  cleared.  "  She,  too,  has  been  busy  with  the  ethical 
problem,"  he  thought  *'  I  will  abide  by  her  more  instinctive  decision." 

**  Eliza,"  he  replied  gravely,  **  I  accept  the  sacrifice,  for  it«  « 
sacrifice ^ 

"  Speak  not  of  it,"  interrupted  Eliza,  with  equal  irradiation  of 
countenance.    *'  Ambition  yields  to  love." 

**  A  noble  sentiment,  child,"  responded  Jack.  *•  What,  indeed, 
would  existence  be  without  these  little,  nameless,  unremembered 
acts  of  kindness  and  of  love  ?  But  they  shall  not  be  unremembered 
by  me.  I  confess  I  have  wronged  you  in  thought  as  well  as  in 
action,  but  henceforth  you  may  command  me." 

The  remorseful  and  apolopfetic  condition  of  her  lover  moved 
Eliza's  womanly  soul  to  the  quick.  The  sight  of  the  strong  man  ifl 
a  moment  of  weakness  called  forth  an  effusion  of  love  and  pitjTi 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  HOUSEMAID  259 

and  the  impression  was  the^  stronger  for  its  novelty.  She  leaned 
across  the  counter  to  him  with  an  impulsively  caressive  action  not 
the  less  spontaneous  because  accompanied  by  a  subconsciousness 
of  the  resemblance  of  the  scene  to  an  illustration  in  the  London 
Reader  (with  the  substitution  of  a  stile  for  the  counter).  Ere  Jack 
could  divine  the  bliss  in  store  for  him,  her  soft  arms  were  round  his 
neck,  her  soft  cheek  was  pressed  to  his,  and  her  soft  voice  murmured 
in  his  ear :  "It  is  you  that  shall  command  me^  my  own  darling  Jack." 
The  situation  was  charming  in  its  natveti,  'Twas  a  beautiful  picture 
of  innocent  candour  set  off  by  the  nineteenth-century  convention- 
alities around  them,  a  precious  moment  of  stolen  love  perilously 
poised  between  the  past  and  the  future  of  custom.  But  the  Beautiful 
cannot  be  attained  without  effort,  and  in  this  case  it  was  not  attained 
without  Eliza  standing  on  tiptoe  and  stretching  forward  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  come  into  contact  with  other  things  besides  Tack's 
^e,  to  wit,  a  dish  of  steaming,  rich,  brown,  greasy,  odorous 
potatoes.  For  the  moment,  however,  she  heeded  them  not  any 
more  than  she  would  have  heeded  the  pressure  or  scent  of  hawthorn 
bushes,  and  their  effect  was  at  least  equally  picturesque.  An  im- 
pressionist could  not  wish  for  a  better  subject 

As  for  Jack,  his  emotions  maybe  best  described  as  indescribable. 
But  ere  his  warring  impulses  could  agree  among  themselves,  the 
Ute-h-tite  in  its  literal  sense  was  disturbed  by  a  crash  tiiat  shook 
the  windows. 

"  You  cat  I "  shrieked  Eliza,  releasing  Jack  and  embracing  her 
toes  instead.  The  ddbris  of  two  large  willow-pattern  soup-plates 
strewed  the  floor. 

"  Why  was  your  toes  in  the  way  then  ?"  retorted  Sally,  darting 
an  indigpiant  look  at  her  new  mistress,  whom  the  audacity  of  the 
remark  rendered  speechless. 

"Are  you  hurt?''  inquired  Jack  politely  ;  though  conscious  of  a 
feeling  of  relief. 

For  reply  Eliza  leaned  against  the  wall  with  shut  eyes  and 
tightly-pressed  lips. 

Jack  felt  a  sympathetic  twinge.  '*  Is  it  the  law  of  life/'  ue 
reflected,  "that  one's  good  is  another's  evil,  and  pain  is  always  the 
obverse  of  pleasure  ?  "  Suddenly  he  caught  sight  of  Sally  grinning 
in  intense  enjoyment 

"Sally,"  he  said  as  severely  as  unreasoning  gratitude  would  allow, 
"  if  you  have  sinned  through  carelessness,  you  need  not  aggravate 
your  crime." 

"Why  shan't  I  ?  She  haggravates  tne^  returned  Sally.  "  Besides, 
she's  only  shammin'  Abram.  I  didn't  drop  'em  'ard  enough  to  'urt 
»e-" 

"  You  minx  ! "  screamed  Eliza,  starting  into  activity.  "  Then 
y  a  admit  you  dropped  them  on  purpose.'' 

"No  I  didn't  I  only  dropped  'em  on  yer  toes.  Shouldn't 
1  ar  such  thin,  kid  boots.  I  can't  'elp  droppin'  'em,  can  I  ?  Two 
tl  Qgs  is  bound  to  go  in  a  week«  and  if  it  ain't  plates  why  then  it's 

c   M." 

9  9 


"1 


i6o  THE  Pl^EMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 


'Ms  Fatalism  induced  by  the  knowledge  of  the  Law  d 
Averages  ?''  thought  Jack. 

'*  The  lazy,  impertinent  rapscallion  I "  cried  Eliza,  stamping  her 
foot  in  majestic  indignation.    *'  I  wonder  you  keep  her.** 

But  Jack  was  still  musing  on  Fatalism.  Sally  put  her  arms 
akimbo  and  tossed  her  head. 

*'  Keep  me,  indeed  ! "  she  exclaimed,  swaying  her  body  from 
right  to  left  in  an  irritating  fashion.  ''  I  keeps  myself  by  'onest 
work.     More  likely  *e  keeps  you." 

"  Tack,"  cried  Eliza,  hysterically,  '^  dismiss  that  girl  at  once.* 

"  Eh/'  replied  Jack,  looking  up  vaguely. 

'*  Dismiss  that  girl  at  once.    I  insist  upon  it,"  repeated  Eliza. 

Jack  hesitated.  '*I  can  hardly  take  such  an  important  step 
without  due  reflection,"  he  replied ;  ^  but  I  promise  you  the  matter 
shall  have  my  fullest  attention." 

'*  She  ought  not  to  stay  in  the  house  another  instant  I  don't 
see  what  reasons  there  can  be  for  her  remaining  another  instant.* 
Sally  still  maintained  her  irritating  attitude,  and  she  increased  its 
effect  by  a  confident  p^rin.  It  was  true  that  in  the  morning  Jack 
had  threatened  her  with  expulsion ;  but  now  that  he  had  returned  in 
an  obviously  gentler  mood,  she  felt  that  the  threat  was  of  a  piece 
with  the  temporary  dementia  of  the  previous  evening. 

''  Well,  for  one  thing,"  replied  Jack  slowly,  '^  you  see  one  has  an 
affection'' — Sally's  grin  broadened  with  delight — ''for  old  re- 
tainers." 

Sally's  face  fell 

"  I  ain't  a  old  retainer,"  she  cried.  ''  Pm  as  young  as  she  is, 
any  day.  /  don't  want  no  powder,  /  don't,  except  a  sedlitz  powder, 
and  that  goes  mside." 

"  You  ought  to  have  gunpowder  inside  yoU|"  retorted  Eliza,  ex- 
asperated almost  beyond  endurance,  ^'ai^a  Pd  like  to  put  a 
match  to  you." 

"  Yah  ! "  chanted  Sally.  **  Guy  Fox,  Guy !  put  'er  up  the  chim- 
bly  pot  and  there  let  'er  die ! " 

*'  You  ignorant,  uneducated  creature,"  replied  Eliza  with  infinite 
disdain.    '*  You  don't  even  know  whether  Guy  Fawkes  was  a  man 


or  a  woman." 


"  If  ye  think  I  can't  read  and  write  as  well  as  you "  retorted 
Sally,  "  ye're  jolly  well  mistaken,  'cause  Master  Jack's  promised  to 
learn  me." 

Eliza  started,  and  turned  upon  Jack  a  look  compounded  of 
stupefaction,  sorrow,  horror,  and  wrath. 

*^  You  promised  to  teach  her ! "  she  gasped.    *'  It  is  fidse !  * 

"  I — I  did  make  a— sort — of— a  promise,"  he  stammered. 

Eliza  interrupted  the  avowal  by  a  dramatic  gesture  of  despair. 

•*  Then  it  is  true  I "  she  whispered  hoarsely. 

Jack  quivered  beneath  her  contemptuous  glance.  - 

'*  You  don't  think  it  wrong  ?"  he  inquired  anxiously,  all  kinds  of 
vague,  uneasy  ideas  flitting  through  his  mind. 


THE  KEY  Of  THE  DEVIVS  DOOR  961 

"Wrong?"  echoed  Elixa,  with  a  high,  scornful  laugh,  ** oh  no^ 
it  isn't  wrong  to  destroy  the  value  of  education.'' 

"Eh?"  cried  the  puzzled  painter. 

"  Whatfs  the  good  of  being  able  to  read  and  write  if  everybody 
can  ?  What  right  have  servants  to  be  educated  ?  Why,  they^U 
think  themselves  as  good  as  their  mistresses.  The  worla  will  be 
turned  upside  down." 

Tack  stared. 

**  You  think  servants  should  not  be  educated^"  he  said. 

^  Decidedly  not,''  returned  Eliza  with  a  proud  toss  of  the  head. 

^  But  j^^w  are  educated,  and  are  noKyau  a  servant  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"A  servant  I  ^  she  exclaimed  indignantly.  *M  am  no  longer  a 
servant  to  be  tyrannised  over  by  a  capricious  mistress.  Now  that 
I  am  a  mistress  myself  why  do  you  remind  me  of  the  unhappy 
past?* 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  KEY  OF  THE  DEVIL'S  DOOR. 

''GOOD^EVENING,  Mr.  Dawe,"  said  Mrs.  Green,  as  she  entered  the 
shop  from  the  kitchen,  having  been  sitting  upstairs  with  three  or 
four  other  females ;  for,  as  has  already  been  told,  when  Mrs.  Dawe 
woke  up  that  morning  she  found  herself  famous,  from  the  mere  fact 
of  waking  up  at  alL 

The  body  of  gossips,  which  was  perpetually  changing  (though 
so  continuously,  and  with  such  substitution  of  similar  atoms  as  to 
maintain  a  kind  of  unbroken  identity),  first  roused  the  suffezer's 
;n>irits  b]^  the  inspiration  oiits  presence,  and  then  lowered  them  by 
the  inspiration  of  her  oxygen.  What  wonder,  therefore,  if  the 
heaviness  of  the  atmosphere,  and  perhaps  of  the  conversation, 
weighed  at  times  upon  her  so  that  she  slept  with  equal  heaviness. 

*^  I  sun't  inquisitive,"  said  Mrs.  Green,  pausing  on  her  way  out, 
and  surveying  the  gfOnp  with  compound  interest.  **  But  Mrs. 
Dawe  woke  up  in  a  uright  and  said  she  dreamt  that  yoUt  Mr.  Dawe, 
was  smashin'  up  the  business ;  and  we  'ad  a  'ard  job  to  keep  'er 
from  rushin'  downstairs,  and  we  swore  there  was  nothing  a-matter, 
and  then  she  quieted  a  bit,  and  said  she  must  a-bin  dreamin' !  But 
we  sdl  knew  it  was  crockery,  'cause  plates  and  dishes  is  slippery 
customers  to  deal  with.  If  you  was  already  married" — here  Mrs. 
Green  sighed,  not  smiled — **  I'd  a-known  you  was  dirowin^  things  ; 
and  if  my  dat^hter  'adn't  tried  to  'ide  'er  weddin'-ring  by  pretendin' 
to  a-cttt  'er  finger,  she  might  still  a-bin  a  'appy  gal,  in  as  good  a 
place  as  one  could  wish  to  'ave,  at  leven  bob  a  week,  and  a 
eicunnon  to  the  Forest  once  a  year." 

This  interruption  relieved  the  prevailing  moral  tension.  Eliza 
assumed  an  air  of  impenetrable  hauteur,  but  Sally,  preserving  the 
OQntovr  of  a  two-handled  vase,  sent  her  a  saucy  leer  of  smiling 


26s  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

triumph,  preceded  by  a  wink  and  a  slight  toss  of  the  head,  Intended 
for  the  edification  of  Mrs.  Green.  By  this  gesture-language,  well 
understood  of  the  people,  the  good  lady  obt^ed  more  &an  an 
inkling  of  which  way  the  wind  lay.  Eliza  was  fully  aware  of  the 
fact,  and  pretending  to  have  missed  the  sense  of  Sally's  expressive 
observation,  she  examined  the  suddenly-perceived  stains  on  her 
apron,  and  waited  impatiently  for  Mrs.  Green's  exit.  To  her 
horror,  however.  Jack  did  not  seem  to  share  her  views  as  to  the 
undesirability  of  a  stranger's  presence. 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,"  he  said,  '*  do  you  then  think  that  eleven 
shillings  a  week  and  an  annual  excursion  are  enough  to  make  a 
girl  happy?" 

"  Lor  bless  me  !  **  cried  Mrs.  Green  sharply.  **  Everybody 
can't  be  as  well  off  as  you  and  your  gal,  no  more  than  they  can 
afford  to  lay  out  nine-pun-ten  in  one  day  in  funerals.  Us  com- 
mon folk  must  put  up  with  silver  and  copper,  just  as  we  must  put 
up  with  bein'  mocked  at,  and  called  madam  by  people  as  I've  'eard 
called  by  wuss  names,  and  not  so  different  neither." 

'*  You  forget  yourself,"  exclaimed  Eliza  with  dignity. 

"  Ma'am,  if  you  please}*  Mrs.  Green  answered  her  with  proud 
disdain,  ^  like  all  my  other  tradespeople  does." 

.  "  I  am  very  sorry,  ma'am,"  interposed  Jack  in  much  distress ; 
''  I  assure  you  my  question  was  conceived  in  no  mocking  spirit,  but 
was  prompted  by  a  sincere  desire  to  ascertain  the  modes  of 
thought,  and  especially  the  standard  of  comfort  of  people  of  your 
status." 

Eliza  suppressed  a  smile,  compounded  of  enjoyment  of  the  sneer- 
ing irony  and  of  relief  from  the  shock  of  the  simulated  apology ; 
but  Mrs.  Green's  insight  was  not  so  keen. 

*'  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said,  mollified  by  the 
earnest  ring  of  the  words.  ''  I  don't  set  up  for  bein'  heddicated ; 
there  wasn't  no  Board  Schools  in  my  young  days  ;  though  p'r'aps 
my  Billy  might  know  what  you  mean  by  the  standard  o'  comfort 
Seems  to  me  it's  the  sixth,  for  I  know  he  got  least  whacked  in  it 
But  as  I  was  sayin',  the  gal  who  stepped  into  my  Jane's  shoes 
when  she  got  married  to  the  most  drunken  wagabond,  and  of  all 
wagabonds  a  drunkard  is  the  wusst  (beggin'  your  pardon,  which  no 
offence  is  meant),  she  was  glad  enough  of  the  chance  of 'leven  bob 
a  week,  for  nice,  easy  work  it  is,  too,  is  tailorin',  compared  to  some 
other  trades,  and  regular  nearly  'arf  the  year ;  and  only  from  ei^ht 
to  nine,  which  gives  a  gal  two  or  three  hours  to  eat  and  rest  in, 
except  when  they're  very  busy,  and  works  till  twelve." 

While  Mrs.  Green  was  talking,  a  few  straggling  customers  had 
entered — ^the  advanced  section  of  the  coming  army  of  supper- 
seekers — ^and  the  mutual  animosities  of  Sally  and  Eliza  were  tem- 
porarily quenched  to  meet  the  common  need. 

<*  Impossible  I  "  cried  Jack.  ^  The  recent  Act  only  permits 
such  work  till  eight  p.m." 

*'  Lor'  bless  me  1  The  gal  never  told  me  that.  But  she  was 
alius  a  sly  'un,  and  it  was  just  like  'er  to  get  married  on  die  sly. 


n 


THE  KEY  OF  THE  DEVWS  DOOR  263 

Only  till  dght  1  That  explains  things.  I  never  could  make  out 
'ow  she  could  ha'  found  time  for  courtin\" 

Found  time  for  courting !  The  unconscious  pathos  of  the 
phrase  went  to  Jack's  heart. 

A  man,  who  was  eating  mashed  potatoes  just  touched  by  the 
odour  of  roast  beef,  pricked  up  his  ears.  He  was  lean ;  he  was 
sharp-eyed  and  feverish  ;  he  was  out  at  elbows. 

**  What  nonsense  I "  he  interposed.  •*  You  must  be  very  ignorant 
if  you  don't  know  how  the  Capitalist  grinds  work  out  of  human 
machines.  Act  or  no  Act,  your  daughter  never  left  off  till  nine,  take 
wiy  word." 

**  Then  the  hussy  kept  back  the  money  she  got  for  overwork." 

'^  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  "  laughed  the  man.  *^  Money,  indeed  !  She 
was  lucky  to  have  the  overwork  to  da"  ^ 

^  Do  you  mean  to  say,  sir  ? "  inquired  Jack  anxiously, ''  that 
this  great  measure,  for  which  I  so  long  contended,  is  systema- 
tically violated  ? '' 

The  man  burst  into  another  roar  of  bitter  laughter. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  had  your  trouble  for  nothing,  not  that,  of 
course,  your  efforts  could  do  much — meaning  no  disrespect.  Why, 
bless  you,  I  know  all  the  tricks  these  small  workshops  are  up  to 
when  the  Inspectors  sometimes  come  round — and  who  shall  inspect 
the  Inspectors  ?  They  keep  'em  knocking  till  they've  turned  out 
the  gas  and  |^one  to  bed,  and  got  up  in  their  dressin'-gowns,  while 
the  girls  get  into  cupboards  and  what  not  I  have  hesuxl  of  a  case 
where  they  stowed  the  work  away  in  a  jiffy,  and  got  out  wine,  and 
oranges,  and  cards,  and  were  having  a  birthday  party  when  the 
officers  came  in.  An  Act  of  Parliament,  even  when  prompted  by 
the  best  motives,  is,  in  my  opinion,  a  thin^  invented  to  appease  the 
consciences  of  our  rulers.  It  costs  nothmg,  and  it  does  nothing, 
or,  at  most,  very  little ;  like  the  vow  of  reformation  which  makes 
one  feel  so  satisfied  with  himself.  Is  every  infant  vaccinated ;  are 
there  no  children  running  the  streets  or  slaving  under  taskmasters ; 
is  there  no  false  weight  or  measure ;  is  all  our  food  unadulterated  ; 
are  all  our  houses  in  perfect  sanitary  condition  ;  do  all  our  factories 

dose  at  eight;  is  there ?    But  you  appear  shocked.    Surely 

you  know  ^1  this !  " 

^  Latterly,  in  moments  of  despondency,  I  have  indeed  feared  that 
the  truth  was  such.  But,  on  reflection,  I  dismissed  the  idea  as  very 
much  exaggerated." 

**  Exaggerated  t "  cried  the  man,  in  a  voice  muffled  by  large 
fragments  of  potato.  ^  You  may  take  it  as  an  axiom,  sir,  that  the 
State  can  never  interfere  without  doing  more  harm  than  good." 

"Then  you  would  leave  the  millions  to  despair,"  said  Jack 
wearily. 

The  man's  lean  face  lit  up  with  animation,  and  his  eyes  glowed 
1  h  more  feverish  intensity.  He  hastily  gul^d  down  the  last 
n  irsels  of  potato,  which,  in  their  own  tyrannical  way,  had  been 
ii  oeding  his  freedom  of  speech. 

^  I  would  bid  the  millions  hope,  not  despairi"  he  cried. 


3<4  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

**Then  yoa  have  another  remedy  than  State  imtedeicnce?' 
asked  Tack,  catching  his  enthusiasm. 

''  Yes,^  said  the  man,  slowly  turning  to  depart,  '*  I  have !  We 
want  no  tinkering  legislation,  we  want  a  complete  recasting  of  the 
relations  of  Capital  and  Labour,  and  of  the  conditions  of  Society ; 
individual  selfishness  must  no  longer  be  the  key-stone  of  the  arch 
of  civilisation.  In  one  word,  sir,  we  want " — he  paused  drama- 
tically in  the  doorway,  while  every  gaze  was  bent  on  him — ^  we  want 
Sodaiism  I " 

His  eyes  flashed  with  the  fervour  of  a  prophet-martyr ;  his 
pinched  features  were  ardent  with  noble  emotion.  And  so,  ^nth  the 
unage  of  that  pale  face  flitting  before  their  vision,  with  the  sound  of 
those  fiery  words  ringing  in  their  ears,  he  left  them. 

^  But,  sir,"  Jack  burst  forth,  "  what  is  Socialism  but  State  inter* 
ference  raised  to  infinity  t^ 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  Who  is  that  man,  Jack  ?  "  inquired  Eliza. 

^  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Jack  ;  ^  but  he  is  certainly  an  honest, 
earnest,  unselfish,  well-informed  man,  though  far  from  sound  in  his 
economics.    What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

*'  I'm  sure  it's  not  my  fault,"  said  Eliza,  half  crying  with  vexa- 
tion.  '*  I  thought  vou  knew  him,  and  I  ioigot  for  the  moment  the! 
he  hadn't  paid  for  his  mashed  potatoes." 

Jack  was  staggered  for  an  instant  The  next,  a  flush  of  shame 
overspread  his  cheek.  "  I  am  sure  he  is  an  honest  man,"  he  said. 
*'  What  right  have  we  to  doubt  it,  because  in  the  heat  of  high  argu- 
ment he  forgot  base  mundane  matters?  Such  obliviousness  of 
earth,  perhaps  more  than  Fame,  is  the  last  infirmity  of  noUe 
minds,  which  doth  the  clear  spirit  raise  to  live  laborious  days." 

'*  Live  luxurious  days,  you  mean,"  cried  the  exasperated  Hebe, 
^at  other  people^s  expense— the  rogue  I " 

''You  ubel  him,"  said  Jack  mildly.  "  I  might  have  done  the 
same  myself." 

''  Oh  Jack,  for  shame;  You  would  never  have  robbed  a  poor 
old  woman." 

"I  do  not  mean  intentionallv.  Yet  had  I  echoed  Goethe^s 
remark  in  its  full  sense — who  niows?  If  I  had  been  in  his 
place^— " 

''  Don't  talk  nonsense^  Jack.  You  can  never  be  anybody  bet 
yourself." 

"  So  it  would  seem,"  he  replied  sadly,  ^  though  I  once  had  a 
higher  opinion  of  my  powers."  Then,  seeing  her  puzzled  face,  he 
added  quickly,  ^  but  you  need  not  take  the  petty  loss  so  mudi  to 
heart.    What  were  the  potatoes  worth  ?  " 

"Twopence." 

"  Here  is  a  shilling,"  said  Jack ;  ^  I  will  redeem  his  honour.' 

Eliza  laughed  merrily,  and  the  cloud  of  annoyance  vanished 
from  her  pretty  forehead.  ^  You  take  it  out  of  one  pocket  and  pot 
it  into  another,"  she  exclaimed. 


THE  KEY  OF  THE  DEVIDS  DOOR  26s 

^  PerhapSy"  said  Jack  moodily,  as  he  perceived  the  fidlacy,^yoa 
have  given  a  general  definition  of  benevolence." 

A  man,  who  had  entered  with  the  Socialist,  and  who  had  been 
listening  with  much  interest  to  this  duologue^  now  sauntered  out  with 
an  air  of  much  amusement,  and  his  departure  broke  up  the  group. 

And  now  there  was  a  sudden  stir  of  entry  as  well  as  of  exit,  for 
night  had  fallen,  with  its  balmy,  twinkling  splendour  and  its  sugges- 
tions of  rest  and  supper.  And  the  moon  from  its  peephole  in  the  clouds 
looked  down  among  other  things  on  an  Indian  file  of  appetites  such 
as  the  autocrat  in  it  might  envy.    And  savoury  dishes  leaped  out  of 
the  oven,  fully  prepared  for  the  fray,  like  Minervas  from  the  head  of 
Jove,  only  better  than  wisdom,  and  cauldrons  of  odorous  soup  dared 
the  descent  down  unknown  gullets,  and  lo !  there  arose  the  wonted 
sounds  of  much  gurgling,  and  carving,  and  munching,  and  lip- 
smacking.      And  the  two   Hebes  longed   for  Briareus  with  his 
hundred  arms ;  but  he  came  not,  and  Apelles  and  his  two  arms 
went  away.    For  his  soul  was  weary  and  desired  not  such  refresh- 
ment, neiUier  did  he  hanker  after  the  astral  flesh-pots.    Wherefore, 
staying  not  even  to  minister  to  the  needs  of  his  fellow  man,  he 
sought  tlie  upper  air.    And,  as  he  went,  he  spoih  all  the  charm  of 
Sappho's  line  :  '^  O  Hesperus,  thou  bringest  all  good  things,''  by 
adding  bitterly,  ^'and  the   sittings  of  the  Senate  among  them. 
Miserable  men,  who  have  deserted  their  ancient  convictions  for  the 
sake  of  power  and  at  the  bidding  of  a  reckless  upstart !  .  .  . 
Shame  on  me !    Do  these  unworthy  suspicions  yet  rankle  in  me  ? 
Do  I  not  know  too  well  the  base  emotions,  the  petty  jealousies  and 
mortifications  that   give   birth  to  them?     Why  should  not  his 
eloquent  advocacy  of  his  own  views  have  moved  them  as  it  once 
moved  me  ?  " 

The  ^ilure  of  an  attempt  to  ascend  an  imaginary  stair  cut 
short  his  reflections  and  informed  him  that  he  had  reached  the  last 
term  of  the  series.  As  he  turned  to  the  right  towards  his  own 
door,  the  chatter  of  voices  in  front  of  him  reminded  him  loudly  of 
his  duties  to  the  author  of  his  being.  These  authors  of  our  beings, 
by  the  way,  did  not  seem  sufficiently  protected  by  copyright  even  in 
their  own  country,  to  judge  by  the  instance  of  rival  editions  which 
this  history  hath  made  mention  of. 

Jack  knocked  at  the  door  and  received  a  quartette  of  invitations 
to  enter. 

Mrs.  Dawe  presented  at  this  moment  little  of  the  conventional 
appearance  of  me  invalid.  Perhaps,  to  do  so  requires  practice  like 
everything  else,  and  she  had  never  been  ill  before  in  her  life.  She 
struck  Jack  as  more  like  the  lady  of  the  Hdtel  RambouilUty  who 
held  receptions  in  her  bedchamber.  To  add  to  her  resemblance  to 
.  rUUnice^  she  wore  a  nightcap.  But  here  the  likeness  to  la  Marquise 

<  ded.    Mrs.  Dawe  was  not  given  to  euphemism,  nor  did  the  ladies 

<  her  court  dignify  her  nightcap  by  any  such  title  as  '*  the  innocent 
i  'complice  of  falsehood."    In  fact,  her  animation  at  the  moment 

is  due  to  some  scandalous  reminiscences  which  Mrs.  JoUikins,  a 


1 


•^ 


a66  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 


raconteuu  ci  a  high  order,  was  narrating  with  such  gusto  as  to 
give  her  the  air  of  two  posthumous  volumes.  And,  indeed,  it  was 
the  general  impression  that  she  '*  talked  like  a  book." 

On  Jack's  entry  there  was  a  suppressed  disappointment,  and  the 
leaf  of  JoUikins'  memoirs  was  turned  down.  It  was  felt  that  the 
session  was  at  an  end.  The  ladies  rose  to  go  with  a  reluctance 
creditable  alike  to  their  heads  and  to  their  hearts.  For  the  attraction 
was  purely  intellectual,  a  feast  of  reason  and  not  a  flow  of  bowl, 
Mrs.  Dawe  not  having  offered  them  even  a  taste  of  her  medicine. 

Jack  sat  down  on  one  of  the  vacated  chairs  and  fixed  a  curious 
glance  upon  his  mother  who  was  bubbling  over  with  amusement  at 
an  equivocal  stor^r.  He  seemed  reassured  to  find  her  so  improved, 
and  so  far  from  being  in  a  scolding  mood.  But  his  strange,  reflective 
observation  of  her  underwent  no  change.  He  could  not  get  rid  of 
the  sense  that  she  had  returned  from  the  grave — a  proceeding  highly 
unjustifiable  in  one  who  had  been  duly  philosophised  over — and  he 
was  engrossed  in  those  vast  speculations  which  have  ruined  some  if 
they  have  enriched  others.  All  at  once  Mrs.  Dawe  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  dismay. 

"  The  gas  ! "  she  exclaimed.  " Turn  down  the  gas.  That's  the 
wust  of  'avin'  folks  come  to  see  ye,  they  want  a  better  light  than  is 
good  for  their  eyes  or  the  gas  bill." 

Jack  obeyed  her  promptly.  The  room  was  stiflingly  hot,  and 
he  was  glad  to  find  motives  of  economy  doing  the  work  of  physio- 
logical reasons.  As  the  glare  dwindled  and  took  a  more  subdued 
tone,  Mrs.  Dawe's  spirits  received  an  inverse  exhilaration.  She 
even  forgot  the  dull  aching  pain  that  had  lain  with  her  all  day  on 
the  pillow,  and  that  was  the  only  intimation  vouchsafed  to  her  of 
the  presence  of  her  new  guest.  The  prompt  obedience  of  her  son 
encouraged  her  to  complete  the  victory  of  the  morning,  and  regain 
the  ground  lost  on  the  evening  before.  For  some  weeks  past, 
Mrs.  Dawe  had  tasted  of  power,  and  to  be  dethroned  from  the 
novelty  of  dictatorial  rank  without  a  moment's  warning  was  enough 
to  upset  a  stronger  mind  than  hers.  It  was  true  that  her  new 
kingdom  had  only  one  subject,  but  then  she  could  boast  of  the 
unity  of  the  nation.  Her  rule  might  be  considered  despotic^  but 
was  she  not  the  mother  of  her  people  ?  This  close  relationship  to 
her  subjects  did  not,  however,  avail  to  mitigate  her  rancour,  when 
they  rose  as  one  man  and  defied  her —a  proof  that  the  love  of  power 
is  greater  than  the  power  of  love. 

Mrs.  Dawe,  in  short,  could  no  more  enjoy  life  without  her  whilom 
authority  than  any  other  historic  personage  under  similar  conditions, 
and  there  were  precedents  to  warrant  an  attempt  to  regain  it 
Napoleon  indeed  failed,  but  we  have  it  on  classical  authority  that 
Dionysius  became  a  schoolmaster  at  Corinth. 

"Jack,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe  in  solemn,  bleating  tones,  "ye  was 
out  late  last  night." 

Jack  flushed,  but  said  nothing.  What  scenes  were  these  that 
rose  before  him,  what  pictures  for  ever  hung  in  the  private  galleriei 
of  memory  ? 


r 


THE  KEY  OF  THE  DEVI  US  DOOR  267 


^  Two  o^dock  is  a  time  when  all  honest  people  is  abed." 

"  Yoa  are  right  •  M.P.'s  are  excluded  from  that  category,"  Jack 
remarked,  still  with  a  contemptuous  bitterness  that  would  not  yield 
to  reason. 

''  Hexactly.  And  as  you  ain't  neither  a  M.P.  nor  a  cat,  you've 
got  no  call  to  be  out  late  screechin'  in  Parliament,  or  on  the  tiles.** 
Mrs.  Dawe's  tone  became  sharp  and  peremptory  as  soon  as  she 
heard  Jack  assent  to  the  correctness  of  her  views,  but  for  once  she 
struck  a  false  note. 

*'  I  do  not  see,  madam,"  he  replied  with  proud  politeness,  *'  that 
the  hotu^  I  keep  are  any  business  of  yours." 

Mrs.  Dawe  turned  pale.  Had  matters  then  irrevocably  re- 
turned to  the  stattis  ante  yuo  ?  The  crisis  was  delicate,  but  in 
the  current  of  angry  emotion  prudence  was  drowned  while  trying 
to  cross  it,  and  Mrs.  Dawe  burst  forth  :  '*  I  don't  see  they're  any 
business  of  yours,  neither.  A  man  as  is  got  a  old  mother  to  keep 
on  the  brink  o*  the  grave  can't  afford  to  knock  'isself  up  for  the 
next  momin'  till  he  goes  on  the  parish,  for  /  can't  afford  to  keep  ye. 
As  yer  late  father  said  (though  to  be  sure  he  was  never  late  till  he 
was  dead)  it's  all  very  well  for  the  moon  and  stars  to  keep  late 
hours,  they  ain't  got  no  work  to  do  by  day.  When  I  was  young,  I 
no  more  thought  of  ffyin'  in  my  mothei^s  face  when  she  asked  me 
to  be  'ome  early  than  I  thought  of  flyin'.  I  ain't  by  no  mcaiis  a  old 
woman  yet,  and  I've  got  plenty  o'  life  in  me;  but  I  feel  that  I  shall 
soon  be  gone,"  here  Mrs.  Dawe  broke  down  and  began  to  sob, 
"and  then  my  blood  will  be  on  your  shoulders." 

A  woman's  tears  are  known  to  be  her  most  potent  engines  of 
war.  What  assertions  will  not  a  man  swallow  when  these  lustrous 
drops  provide  the  necessary  grain  of  salt  ?  And  while  the  male 
animal  is  barking  out  his  absolutely  unanswerable  argument,  does 
not  the  '*  crusher  "  say  in  its  tremblmg  heart :  Aprh  nun  U  diluge  f 
What  are  the  dykes  and  seawalls  of  logic  before  this  briny  flood  ? 

Jack  was  thrown  off  his  lofty  pedestal  by  the  shock,  and  he 
looked  uneasily  at  his  shoulders.  His  heart  smote  him  somewhat 
at  the  thought  of  a  possible  neglect  of  duty  on  his  part  So  he 
replied  gently  :  "  Come,  come,  you  are  ill  and  must  not  excite 
yoursel£  You  must  take  more  care  of  yourself.  I  shall  see  that 
you  do." 

"  A  lot  you  takes  care  o'  me  or  o'  what  I  says.  D'ye  think  it 
does  me  good  to  keep  awake  worritin'  for  ye,  and  waitin'  to  'ear 
yc  come  in  till  two  o'clock  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  especially  in  your  present  condition.  But  I  am 
not  aware  that  I  ever  came  m  so  late.' 

*'  Well,  did  I  hever  'ear  so  howdacious  a  lie  !  It  was  lucky  I 
was  awake  last  night  and  'eard  the  clock  strike  two  and  'arf  expected 
it  to  strike  three  only  it  didn't  with  my  own  ears.  P'raps  ye'U  say 
ye  didn*t  want  to  bury  me  alive  next !  Ah,  I  thought  ye  couldn't 
deny  it  A  gtiilty  conscience  is  like  bilin'  water  to  a  lobster,  as 
your  father  said." 

"  Well^  welly"  said  Jack,  shrinking  from  this  triumphant  re 


i 


a68  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

proof.  ^  I  shall  not  be  out  so  late  again,  as  far  as  lies  in  my  power 
that  is." 

*'  Then  I  tell  ye  what,  Jack,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe,  with  eager  ey^ 
gleaming  with  victory.  '*  I  don't  want  yer  promises  to  be  like  m^ 
piecrusts  but  like  Mrs.  Prodgers',  which  ye  can't  break  if  ye  try 
ever  so  'ard.    So  you'd  better  let  me  mind  yer  latchkey  for  ye.* 

'*  I  am  not  accustomed  to  have  my  words  doubted — at  least  not 
so  explicitly." 

**'Tain't  yer  words  I  doubt,  my  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe  earnestly. 
"  It's  yer  deeds.  If  ye  think  ye  could  slip  in  quietly  any  time  ye 
like  ye  might  be  easily  tempted  to  forget  yer  duty,  but  if  ye  knew 
ye  couldn't  get  in  without  wakin'  everybody  ye  might  be  more 
careful." 

The  cloud  on  Tack's  face  deepened  ''How  keenly  she  inter- 
prets the  past  1 "  he  reflected  mournfully.  *'  Again  that  cruel  but 
too  true  charge— easily  tempted  to  forget  my  duty." 

^'  And  remember.  Jack,''  continued  Mrs.  Dawe,  with  ghost-like 
solemnity^  *'  rememb^  yer  late  father's  words—  the  Devil's  door 
opens  with  a  Latchkey." 

A  malicious  smile  flickered  for  an  instant  round  Jack's  mouth,  to 
be  quenched  by  a  sigh. 

^  Believe  me,  it  was  the  wust  day  of  yer  life  when  ye  asked 
for  that  latchkey.  If d  been  better  if  ye'd  never  got  it;  but  ye  alius 
would  'ave  yer  own  way,  and  who  could  xtiyj&^you.  anything?  If 
ye  knew  what's  good  for  ye,  ye'd  ^ve  it  up  at  once." 

*'  I  cordially  agree  with  you  in  every  respect,"  replied  Jack 
grimly,  yet  with  an  air  of  reverie.  '*  Unfortunately,  however,  I  am 
afraid  my  sense  of  honour  will  not  allow  me  to  follow  your  advice." 

*'  Well,  of  all  the  strange  things  7 W  seen,"  gasped  Mrs.  Dawe, 
"your  sense  .of  honour  is  the  funniest ;  sometimes  it's  in  two  places 
at  once,  and  sometimes  it  ain't  to  be  found  'igh  or  low.  It  ought  to 
be  in  a  show,  it  ought.  Whenever  ye're  quite  licked,  and  I'm 
lookin'  to  see  ye  chuck  up  the  sponge,  up  ye  chucks  yer  sense 
of  honour  instead.  Ginrnie  the  latchkey  this  minute,  and  d  n 
yer  sense  of  honour." 

Jack  looked  shocked,  and  even  frightened. 

^  You  can  have  the  latchkey,"  he  said  hastily,  '*  I  don't  want  to 
use  it  any  more." 

His  mother's  face  flushed  with  triumph,  and  she  fell  back 
exhausted.  Jack  felt  in  his  right  waistcoat  pocket  and  frowned. 
Evidently  the  key  was  not  in  its  usual  receptacle.  He  tried  the 
left  pocket,  but  it  was  not  there.  Nor  was  it  in  the  upper  pocket, 
nor  in  his  inner  coat  pocket,  nor  in  his  breast  pocket,  nor  in  either 
of  his  trousers'  pockets.  He  recommenced  the  search,  and  his 
brow  darkened  to  a  deeper  and  deeper  black  as  the  returns  fsooi 
each  intensified  the  probability  of  failure.  The  watcher's  brow, 
too,  went  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  shades,  except  for  one 
moment,  ,when  her  whole  face  lit  up  at  the  sight  of  a  handsome 
purse  which,  if  purses  are  to  judged  by  their  looks,  betokened  an 
interior  ;a8  well  lined  as  an  alderman's. 


J 


r 


A  SOCIAL  SOCIALIST  269 


*Come  fbrdi,  ruiner  of  many  liv«s,*  he  muttored,  fumbling 
impatiently.  '^Who  shall  estimate  all  the  mischief  thou  hast 
done!* 

•'  Look  'eie,  Jack,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe  sharply*  wearying  of  the 
pantomime,  **if  ye  think  to  put  salt  on  my  tail,  ye'll  find  ycVe  only 
pat  pepper  on  my  tongue.  Give  me  the  key  I  tells  ye,  and  thank 
Gord  ye  ain't  got  a  fool  for  a  mother." 

Jack  bit  his  lips.  '*  There  is  nothinc^  on  earth  like  suspicion/' 
be  thought,  '*  for  irritating  yourself  and  your  victim  at  the  same 
time.* 

^  I  must  have  lost  the  key,**  he  said  sternly ;  ^  and,  as  I  can't  use 
it^  it^  all  the  same  as  if  you  had  it.* 

"  Ye're  a  liar,*  screamed  Mrs.  Dawe,  "it's  in  yer  purse ;  ye 
know  it  is.'* 

Jack  turned  as  red  as  fire.  With  an  impulsive  movement  he 
drew  out  lus  purse  and  threw  it  open,  displaying  a  gleaming 
cylinder  of  sovereignSy  whose  volume  precluded  the  possibility  of 
tibe  presence  of  such  an  article.  Then  he  closed  it  with  a  snap, 
turned  on  his  heel,  smd  left  the  room  in  high  dudgeon^  leaving 
Mrs.  Dawe  in  speechless  astonishment. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  SOCIAL  SOCIALIST. 

His  gjiwi^Ma*  movements  hurried  him  downstairs,  and  in  an  instant 
he  found  himself  in  the  parlour,  wondering  why  he  had  come  there. 
He  paused. 

^  More  rash  steps/*  he  said  with  a  self-mocking  smile.  "  After 
aU,  what  matters  the  talk  of  a  sick,  fretfiil  old  woman?  I  should 
have  been  more  considerate.  Thus  always  comes,  reason  after 
impulse^ — ^though  it  usually  devotes  itself  to  justifying  the  action  of 
its  predecessor.  What  Frenchman  was  it  that  asked  whether  he 
would  be  less  the  toy  of  chance  because  chance  had  its  seat  within 
the  mind  instead  of  without?  Truly  a  pregnant  remark  which 
Spinoza ^ 

'*  A  g^reat  speaker,  is  he  now  ?"  came  at  the.  moment  from  the 
shop,  in  tones  which  thrilled  Jack  to  the  marrow.  *'  I'm  so  sorry  I 
can't  see  him  to-night.  But  I'm  glad  to  hear  he's  an  orator.  All 
the  better  for  the  Cause  when  I  do  convert  him.  We  want  ^  tongues 
of  fire '  like  those  '  on  Harlech  gleaming '  as  tihe  poet  writes." 

''Roast  tongues  Is  one-and-twopence  a  pound,"  interposed 
Sally. 

^  The  fier^r  tongues  I  mean  are  worth  more  than  that,  my  girl," 
replied  the  voice. 

*'Then  they  must  be  very  long.  Missis's  'usband  used  to  say 
that  cooked  tong^ues  is.  the  only  ones  as  are  the  better  for  bein' 
loBgcri 


870  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

A  boisterous  laugh  ensued  ;  but  the  owner  of  the  voice  did  ii( 
feel  with  the  crowd. 

^  This  is  the  abode  of  genius/'  he  said  in  hushed  tones,  whei 
the  guffaw  had  subsided. ''  I  remove  my  hat  in  awe  and  reverence.^ 

"If  you  took  my  advice  you'd  never  put  it  on  again,*  old  znan,^ 
cried  another  voice. 

A  second  burst  of  laughter  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
the  master  of  the  shop. 

The  painter-purveyor's  eyes  took  in  the  group  in  a  second.  Hi 
eyes  rested,  moist  with  emotion,  upon  the  keen,  fearless  &ce  of  tt 
Socialist,  pathetically  set-off  by  his  threadbare  garments,   bol 
seeming  to  have  frayed  themselves  away  with  enthusiasm.     Th< 
they  turned  and  shot  a  bolt  of  honest  indignation  upon  the  uni 
wavering  countenance  of  Eliza. 

^  Good  evening,  sir,"  said  the  Socialist,  his  face  lighting  up  wit! 
jov.  "  Here  I  am,  back  again,  like  a  bad  penny,  or  &e  Fair  Trade 
fallacy.    You  will  have  guessed  why  I  have  returned  t " 

Jack  quailed  before  &e  clear  glance  which  die  man  fixed  u[ 
him.    Blushing  at  the  recollection  of  his  momentary  suspicion,  an( 
at  the  necessity  of  white  unveracity  if  he  would  not  put  the  man  t< 
shame,  he  replied : 

*'  To  continue  the  argument  ?  I  assure  you  I  have  leamt  some- 
thing from  the  discussion." 

'*  So  have  I — always  to  settle  the  ;f  s.  d.  before  coming  to  the 
Q.  e.  d."  said  the  man,  turning  the  disagreeable  comer  with  a  dex- 
terity that  aroused  Jack's  envy,  and  with  a  philosophic  smile  that 
won  his  heart.  '*  When,  ah  !  when,  shall  we  have  a  state  of  society 
in  which  the  Q.  e.  d.  shall  come  before  the  £^  s.  d.,  where  intellect 
shall  have  the  precedence  over  wealth,  where  Pluto  shall  yield  to 
Minerva  ?  At  present,  sir,  the  political  fobric  is  based  neither  upon 
the  twelve  tables  of  Rome,  nor  upon  the  two  tables  of  Sinai— out 
upon  the  interest  tables  of  the  ready  reckoner.  Were  not  this  the 
case,  we  should  be  not  misled  by  a  plutocracy,  but  glided  by  a 
brainocracy,  as  in  Fourier's  scheme.  We  should  not — in  all  candour 
be  it  spoken — have  men  like  you  languishing  in  the  uncongenial 
atmosphere  of  a  cook-shop,  while  men  like  Floppington  are  allowed 
to  imperil  the  destinies  of  so  many  millions  of  their  fellow  beings. 
.  .  .  Nay,  sir,  I  hope  you  are  not  offended  by  plain-speaking. 
Truth,  unlike  murder,  will  out ;  and,  if  I  have  been  rightly  informed, 
I  but  re-echo  sentiments  which  you  have  expressed  with  a  commend- 
able absence  of  that  false  modesty  which  is  the  bastard  child  of 
pride.  I  rejoice,  sir,  to  see  the  torrent  of  ambition  plunging  even 
more  restlessly— not  that  I  wish  to  reproach  you  with  want  ol 
ardour— out  of  its  ancient  course,  and  if  Heaven  would  give  me 
strength  to  turn  its  stream  in  the  direction  of  justice,  I  shall  die 
not  aU  unhappy." 

There  was  a  thrill  in  his  voice  and  a  tear  in  his  eye  as  his 
solemn  accents  died  away. 

Jack's  hand  was  over  his  throbbing  eyelids  and  his  worn  figuiie 
was  bowed  over  a  vegetable  tureen. 


A  SOCIAL  SOCIALIST  271 

••Nd,**  he  decided.  "How  could  he  mean  it  as  a  reproach? 
Thus,  then,  aO  the  wpnl  says  I  was  right  (in  that  respect  ^t  least) 
either  directly  or  by  implication.  Opinions  tegina  del  numdo^  have 
I  anticipated  thy  commands  ?  .  .  .  I  have  known  the  incense 
of  adulation  wafted  from  the  happy  isles  as  I  swam  the  sea  of 
thought  Yet,  what  am  I  but  a  child  amid  its  depths  and  cur^ 
rents  ?  And  if  a  fellow-swimmer  has  made  for  himself  a  chart  by 
which  to  steer  his  course  shall  I  not  profit  by  it,  instead  of  drifting 
aimlessly  by  the'  light  of  the  Will-o'-the-wisp  of  my  own  reason  ? 
•  .  .  'Tis  no  wonder  that  he  is  right,  as  the  voxpopuli  declares. 
'  Truth  hath  he  found  in  huts  where  poor  men  lie.'  Is  it  not,  then, 
the  decree  of  Providence  that  I  am  now  destined  to  come  to  the 
end  of  my  search,  after  much  buffeting  ?  At  last  I  recognise  the 
Etzbah  Elohim  that  pointed  my  path  hither.  Let  me  then  refuse 
welcome  to  no  soul-guest,  lest  Wisdom  be  among  them.'' 

Having  come  to  this  determination,  he  begged  the  stranger,  if 
he  could  spare  the  time,  to  favour  him  with  his  company  within, 
for  the  purpose  of  discussing  matters  too  weighty  for  a  popular 
assemblage.  He  felt  that  a  great  argument  could  be  raised 
neither  from  the  vapours  of  soup,  nor  from  the  fumes  of  cabbage. 
The  offer  was  accepted  after  some  hesitation,  and  the  two,  the 
heart  of  each  swelling  with  solemn  joy,  quitted  the  shop  amid  the 
mutual  winking  of  the  customers  and  the  suspicious  looks  of  Eliza. 
The  man  dropped  into  the  comfortable  arm-chair  which  Jack 
assigned  to  hini,  nestled  within  its  capacious  arms,  crossed  his  legs 
and  sighed,  while  Jack  lit  the  gas  and  opened  the  window  to  admit 
the  salubrious  breeze  from  the  backyard. 

''You  seem  to  think,"  began  die  host,  leaning  thoughtfully 
against  the  mantelpiece,  "  that  you  hold  the  recipe  for  Univers^ 
Justice.  If  this  be  Socialism,  I  must  repeat  that  you  have  yourself 
argued  for  the  impotence  of  State  action.  How  do  you  reconcile 
your  views  ?  " 

"The  present  impotence  is  due  to  the  clashing  of  private  in- 
terest with  public  expediency,  in  many  departments.  (It  does  not 
exist  to  any  great  extent  in  the  region  of  crime,  for  example.) 
When  the  former  ceases  to  exist,  there  will  be  an  unimpeded  force 
working  for  good." 

This  seemed  to  his  hearer  a  pregnant  remark,  and  it  proved 
itself  to  be  so  by  being  delivered  of  several  fine  masculine  ideas 
which  kept  Jack  busily  attending  to  them  for  several  minutes. 
During  this  interval  of  silence,  his  soul-guest  surveyed  the  parlour 
iiirtivdy.  The  Brussels  carpet,  the  gilded  pier-glass,  the  stuffed 
birds,  sul  excited  his  disapprobation. 

"Ah,  sir,"  he  said  suddenly,  *' you're  too  comfortable  here. 
If  s  not  amid  its  luxuries  that  one  can  see  the  miseries  of  our  civili- 
sation— the  very  chairs  and  tables  fight  against  refomL  In  fact,  if 
lotory  were  thus  to  penetrate  into  the  lowest  strata  of  soc^ty  I 
should  see  very  little  hope  of  its  reconstruction."  He  heaved  a 
despairing  sigh. 

"Am   I   not  yet  in  huts  where  poor  men  lie?"  murmured 


L 


172  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

Jack.  "  I  am  sorry,  sir,  I  have  no  worse  acconunodation  to  dfier 
you.  Perhaps  your  own  apartments  will  be  more  congenial  to  im* 
prejudiced  thought    Or,  riiall  we  adjourn  to  the  backyard  ?" 

The  man  darted  a  curious  look  at  him  from  the  comer  of  fats 
right  eye. 

"  I  am  afraid  we  must  manage  to  make  this  do,"  he  replied 
after  a  pause.  '*  Luckily,  the  true  fdiilosopher  is  indifferent  to  his 
surroundings,  easily  content  and  apt  to  make  the  best  of  evezy- 
thing.  As  for  my  apartments,  I  have  no  residence  of  my  own  to 
which  I  could  invite  a  friend— may  I  venture  to  call  you  a  friend  ? 
Thank  you,  sir.  Nor,  even  if  I  had  the  space,  have  I  any  ooeans 
of  entertaining  him  in  a  fitting  manner ;  my  own  meals  being  taken 
in  public,  as  you  are  aware." 

Jack  started,  and  his  hand  wandered  involimtarily  about  as  if 
in  search  of  something. 

*'  Can  I  help  you  ?  *'  inquired  the  guest  anxiously. 

*'  Pray  forgive  me  for  my  inattention,*  said  Jack  in  remorsefol 
tones.  ^  You  will  take  a  glass  of  wine.  I  have  some  very  fine 
Johannisberg,  a  present  from  Prince  Bismarck." 

A  lightning  gleam  lit  up  the  Socialist's  eyes,  and  died  away 
immediately. 

'*  Oh,  no,  no !  *  he  answered  vehemently,  just  as  Jack  desisted 
from  his  search  and  looked  blankly  around.  ^  I  could  not,  thank 
you.  I  do  not  want  anything  after  my  supper  which  you  saw  me 
take.  Blessings  on  those  mashed  potatoes  which  were  the  Hieans 
of  uniting  our  fives.* 

"  How  Nature  utilises  the  animal  instincts  for  nobler  purposes," 
Jack  was  thinking  as  he  answered  with  a  pathetic  remembrance  of 
the  meagre  meal :  '^  You  will  at  least  join  me  in  my  supper  ?  " 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"You  are  very  proud,"  said  Jack  with  a  winning  smile  ;  ''and 
not  content  with  rejecting  the  classical  principle  of  the  symposium^ 
in  vino  Veritas— yo\x,  violate  the  still  more  popular  axiom  that  man 
was  not  bom  to  eat  alone" 

**  Say  no  more.  No  one  shall  call  me  proud,"  was  the  proud 
response.    "  Command  me  as  you  please." 

"Then  I  command  you  to  command  what  you  please^*  said 
Jack  gaily.  "  Bread  is  more  than  the  staff  of  life,  it  is  the  cement 
of  friendship.  It  is  thus  that  the  material  universe  subsorves  the 
spiritual ;  nay,  even  symbolises  it,  as  Swedenborg  perceived.  Though 
I  must  confess  that  his  efforts  after  perfect  parallelism  seem  to  me 
as  useless  as  Hegelian  attempts  to  deduce  inanimate  Nature.  These 
magnificent  conceptions  are  but  depoetised  by  detail,  like  the 
similes  of  Donne,  which  even  Johnson " 

An  exclamation  of  alarm  from  his  guest  interrupted  him,  aad  he 
stopped. 

"Oh  pray,  continue,"  cried  the  man.  ''I  merely  thought  IlK 
girl  was  going  to  drop  a  cauldron  of  soup  as  she  passed  iliroiigb 
the  kitchen.  She  seems  very  reckless.  It  would  be  a  pity  (owastt 
such  odorous  soup." 


A  SOCIAL  SOCIAUST  273 

"Sally!"  cried  Jack.  In  a  second  the  girl  was  at  his  side, 
looking  mutely  up  to  him  like^a  faithful  dog.  Her  face  was  flushed 
and  perspiring,  and  cross-barred  with  black ;  but  it  grew  almost 
white  with  indig^iation  when  Jack  administered  a  mild  rebuke  and 
bulged  her  to  be  more  careful. 

*He*s  a  liar  P*  she  shrieked.  "  Everybody's  agen  fne,  I  ain't 
bin  near  the  kitchen  for  the  last  five  minutes. ''  This  shameless 
mendacity  provoked  a  second  reproof,  which,  in  its  turn,  provoked 
ibrther  protestations,  until  at  last,  the  question  at  issue  having 
gradually  been  transformed  into  another,  he  pacified  her  by  assuring 
her  that  he  had  every  confidence  in  her  |^[>od  intentions,  and  she 
letoraed  as  light-hearted  as  she  came. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  this  interruption,"  resumed  Jack.    *'  You 

were  saying,  I  believe,  that  Dr.  Johnson " 

The  man  stared,  but  answered  as  he  buttoned  his  coat :  ''My 
observation  will  keep  for  another  time.  I  will  not  detain  you  any 
longer  from  your  supper.    Good  night,  sir." 

Instead  of  taking  the  proffered  hand.  Jack  dashed  his  own  to 
his  brow  and  ran  frantically  into  the  shop. 

**  Sally  t "  he  cried.  *'  Lay  supper  tor  two  inside.  Bring  the 
best  you  have." 

''We  ain't  got  no  best,"  whispered  Sally.  "  I  must  cook  it 
'specially.    But  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  cook  for  HtnJ* 

"Don't  be  obstinate,  Sally,"  he  pleaded.  Sally  melted  im- 
mediately. 

"Well,  mind  you  gives  'im  the  bones,"  she  murmured. 
Jack  returned  to  his  |^est,  and,  after  profuse  apologies,  suc- 
ceeded in  reseating  him  m  tlie  arm-chair.  The  little  tussle  with 
his  host  seemed  to  rouse  the  man's  spirit,  for,  from  this  moment 
till  supper  was  brought  in,  he  was  unflagging  in  rhetoric,  reasoning, 
and  repartee.  And  if  he  was  silent  during  the  meal  it  was  only  due 
to  the  lengthen  his  host's  monologues,  which  politeness  forbade  him 
to  interrupt.  Once,  indeed,  his  otherwise  mental  commentary  took 
the  form  of  a  whistle  stifled  in  its  birth.  This  was  when  Jack  ex- 
pounded his  views  on  the  German  criticisms  of  Genesis.  It  subse- 
(juently  transpired  that  his  own  opinions  on  those  points  were  almost 
identical,  and  he  sneered  at  Natural  Selection  (as  became  a 
^ialist  and  a  Christian),  to  find  himself  gently  rebuked  for  in- 
tolerance of  what  might  be  a  partial  truth. 

Jack  was  delighted  to  discover  that  his  guest  was  no  secular 
Communist,  but  one  of  the  school  of  Maurice  and  Kingsley.  He 
got  down  his  long,  gleaming  clay  pipes  from  the  rack  in  his  bedroom 
where  they  had  lain  unsmoked  for  weeks,  despatched  Sally  for  a 
^cket  of  Old  Judge  (a  tobacco  recommended  by  his  friend),  and 
tpe  cuiiously*assorted  pair  passed  a  most  convivial  and  argumenta- 
tive evening  in  nubibus.  Each  appeared  to  find  the  other  charm- 
^St  ^nd  there  was  a  reciprocal  infiuence  of  thought  on  thought,  a 
^^^^ounon  flexibility  of  opinion,  and  a  mutual  modifiability  which 
^as  enjoyable  as  it  was  rare.  On  the  whole,  however,  the 
^^^^^i'^  maintained  a  conscious  and  oracular  superiority  over  his 


L 


^4  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

friendly  opponent  His  utterances  were  more  ex  cathedrd^  HteraSy 
as  well  as  metaphorically,  for  Jack  y^dked  about  the  room  for  the 
most  part,  while  he  remained  plmnped  in  the  soft  recesses  of  the 
arm-chair.  Just  when  the  conversation  had  reached  the  apogee  of 
interest,  he  looked  at  the  gilt  dock  ticking  brazenly  with  loud  in- 
accuracy and  declared  that  he  had  vastly  overstayed  his  time. 
Despite  Jack's  entreaties  he  buttoned  himseu  up  resolutely,  and  the 
last  few  moments  were  spent  in  straggling  conversation  on  various 
topics.  The  beauty  and  intelligence  of  the  oil-painted  faces  of  his 
host's  progenitors  came  in  for  a  meed  of  praise,  and  the  news  of 
the  mothePs  illness  was  received  with  becoming  regret.  A  light 
allusion  to  the  nobility  and  unselfishness  of  countenance  of  the  head 
waitress  developed  into  a  lengthy  appreciation  under  the  warmth  of 
Jack's  smile  of  assent 

^  I  cannot  promise  to  come  again  for  some  time,"  he  said  at  last, 
**butas  you  say  you  are  always  at  home  in  the  evening,  I  shall 
endeavour  to  form  your  mind  whenever  I  can.  I  wish  you  a  very 
good  night,  sir."  He  made  a  few  steps  into  the  shop,  plunged  his 
hands  into  his  pockets  and  straightened  his  shoulders  for  the  home- 
ward walk.    Then  he  stopped  with  a  jerk  and  turned  on  his  heels. 

"  How  stupid  I "  he  cned,  coming  towards  Jack  with  an  annoyed 
air.  "  I  find  I've  unconsciously  put  the  rest  of  the  Old  Judge  into 
my  pocket.    Yours  is  the  proper  place  for  it" 

"  You  are  welcome  to  it,  my  dear  sir,"  returned  Jack.  ^  I  am  a 
poor  smoker  myself." 

^*  Nonsense,  sir,"  cried  the  Socialist  with  equal  heartiness.  "  It 
would  be  inconsistent  with  my  convictions  to  keep  it  alL  No,  sir, 
we  share  and  share  alike." 

With  these  words  the  Socialist  drew  out  the  mass  of  sweet- 
smelling  weed  and  proceeded  to  divide  his  friend's  property  ¥ntfa 
the  utmost  conscientiousness.  So  strict  was  his  sense  of  justice, 
that  there  was  not  a  fibre^s  breadth  of  difference  between  the  two 
portions.  Jack  watched  the  progress  with  an  ever-growing  admira- 
tion of  his  guest's  scrupulosity,  and  he  allowed  the  man  to  ram  his 
share  into  his  pocket  without  further  protest  Then  the  Socialist 
stowed  away  his  own  half  hurriedly  (for  it  was  now  eleven  o'clock), 
and  bade  him  a  hasty  adieu,  almost  overturning  the  shutter-bearing 
Sally  in  his  exit 

Eliza  came  into  the  parlour,  fagged  and  dead-beat 

"  Oh,  Jack,"  she  cried, ''  what  a  roaring  trade  you  do  do  !  I  am 
glad  for  your  sake  ;  but  the  work  is  dreadful.  It  is  wonderful  how 
you  can  do  for  love  what  you  would  not  do  for  money." 

**  Poor  girl,"  said  Jack,  passing  his  hand  over  her  hot  forehead. 
*^  Have  you,  too,  discovered  that  barter  is  not  the  one  principle  of 
existence  ?  But  a  noble-minded  man,  a  seer  indeed,  has  set  me 
hoping  that  the  reign  of  universal  love  is  at  hand.  Nay,  Sally,  why 
march  you  like  a  regiment  of  cavalry?  Fie,  fie,  unknit  that 
threatening,  unkind  brow." 

''  You  are  too  kind  to  her,"  murmured  Eliza,  leaning  back  witli 
closed  eyes  on  Jack's  shoulder.    *'  Oh,  I  am  so  tired*'' 


J 


r^ 


A  SOCIAL  SOCIALIST  175 

*  Serve  ye  right,*  snapped  Sally.  "  I  could  a-done  everything 
without  ye.     One  pair  of  'ands  is  enough." 

**  Then  ydu  are  not  wanted,"  retorted  Eliza,  "  and  the  quicker 
you  take  your  departure  the  better."  With  these  words  and  a  dis- 
dainful glance  she  went  upstairs  to  say  good  night  to  Mrs.  Dawe 
and  to  put  on  her  things. 

At  the  sight  of  the  proudly-mounting  symmetrical  back  Sally 
put  her  oleaginous  apron  to  her  eyes. 

**  Don't  cry,"  exclaimed  Jack.  "  You  shall  not  be  dismissed,  so 
yon  may  disregard  her  inuendoes.  Now  you  are  crying.  Oh 
dear,  this  is  very  annoying.  I  wish  I  could  promote  a  better 
understanding  between  you .  There,  do  calm  yourself,  my  child. 
All  quarrels  are  the  result  of  misconceptions,  I  assure  you,  while 
hearts  are  longing  for  each  other.  Moreover,  remember  that  your 
littie  troubles  are  but  a  ^rain  to  the  misery  of  humanity." 

"  Suppose  it  is  a  grain,"  sobbed  Sally.    **  Ain't  I  a  grain  too  ?" 

The  astonishing  profundity  of  this  remark  (spoilt  though  it  was 
by  the  subsequent  addition  of  "  and  as  good  a  grain  as  'er  any  day") 
staggered  Jack. 

"Said  I  not  there  were  wondrous  potentialities  in  her?"  he 
thought.     '*  I  must  set  to  work  upon  her  education  without  delay." 

Sally,  being  informed  of  this  determination,  dried  her  eyes. 
''And  you  mustn't  believe  the  lies  she  tells  ye  when  yer  seein'  'er 
ome,"  she  postulated. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Jack,  putting  on  his  overcoat  in  a  flurry 
and  looking  somewhat  dazed. 

Eliza  came  down  equipped  for  the  walk,  veiled,  gloved, 
parasoled,  ladylike.  An  mteresting  languor  pervaded  her,  and  her 
liquid  eyes  swam  lustrously.  She  took  Jack's  arm  and  moved 
gracefully  through  the  shop  and  conducted  him  into  the  street 
Then,  without  a  word  to  Sally,  who  stood  at  the  door  looking 
after  them  with  little  thrills  and  shivers  and  shudders  and  eye- 
dartings,  she  walked  down  the  deserted  road,  with  slow,  minang 
steps,  leaning  proudly  on  her  lover's  arm. 

That  night  she  slept  with  great  perseverance,  and  would  not  be 
tnmed  aside  from  the  thorough  performance  of  her  nocturnal 
ianctions,  even  by  the  most  tempting  dreams— and  there  were  not 
a  few  of  Love's  young  ones  hovering  about  her  pillow.  This  sound 
practice  is  much  to  be  commended— indeed,  the  unflagging  ardour 
vith  which  Eliza  carried  on  any  sleep  which  she  had  once  begun, 
never  giving  over  till  she  had  completely  finished  it,  howsoever  long 
it  took  her,  made  her  a  model  of  sturdy  resolution.  Still,  to  prevent 
discouragement  to  many  a  struggling  aspirant,  it  must  be  admitted 
titat  the  heroine  was,  on  this  occasion  at  least,  greatly  aided  by 
circumstances.  The  hour  came,  and  the  woman.  But  had  Fortune 
not  provided  her  with  the  opportunity  of  earning  Mrs.  Dawe's  bread 
literally  by  the  sweat  of  her  brow,  it  is  not  improbable  that  her 
lare  force  of  spirit,  her  unique  talent  for  slumber,  would  have 
effected  a  similar  result 


T  a 


L 


^6  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE  CITY  OF  DREADFUL  NIGHT, 

Eleven  o^clock,  and  a  glorious  night !   Windy  withal,  and  somi 
when  sputters  of  inky  cloud  spread  over  the  sky  as  over  a  fin 
ment  of  blotting-paper— hiding  the  pure,  argent  disc  of  Heave 
own  mintaj^e.     Free  of  Eliza,  Jack  once  more  had  eyes  for 
beauty  of  wild  skies,  and  the  dusk  sadness  of  streets.    An  aftergloi 
of  the  evening's  enthusiasm  warmed  his  heart,  and  with  qui( 
thoughts,  and  slow  steps,  he  paced  the  almost  deserted  pavemei 
that  coiled  round  and  then  slunk  away  from  the  keeping  Victoi 
Park.   He  forgot  the  flight  of  time  and  the  want  of  a  latchkey ; 
the  landscape,  with  its  twinkling  perspectives  and  reeling  figi 
often  tempted  him  out  of  himselfl 

Crouched  beneath  the  tangled  jungles  of  Ni^ht,  the  serpents 
streets  lay  numb  and  torpid.    Yet  were  many  ahve  at  £uiged  h< 
and  poisonous  tail,  and  occasionally  a  central  ganglion  quiverc 
with  vitality.     For  the  demon  of  alcohol  had  galvanised  them  witb^ 
his  electric  thrill,  and  touched  them  with  unholy  fire.     The  public- 
houses  were  fiiU,  and  many  a  one  vomited  brawling  choruses.  I 
Before  the  glistening  bars,  Disease  held  his  ghastly  revels,  white! 
Death  grinned  in  the  comer  and  rubbed  his  hands.  ^ 

Mushrooms  in  growth,  and  toadstools  in  operation,  they  studded  i 
the  meadows  of  stone,  flaunting  and  bright-eyed  as  poppies,  and, 
like  them,  offering  to  drowse  die  wakeful  care.  WiUiout,  waited  \ 
frequently  meek-eyed  women  or  children,  or  more  rarely,  meek-i 
eyed  men.  The  attitude  of  unconscious  martyrdom  was  eloquent ! 
of  the  Past,  and  in  the  multiplying  mirror  of  Jack's  consciousnesSyl 
their  patient  figures  stood  watching  in  wistfid  silence  trough  how  \ 
many  nights  and  years.  ...  J 

There  was  a  slimy  canal  trailing*  away  in  phosphorescent  black-  \ 
ness.     By  day  it  did  its  dull,  tedious  work — it  was  something  in  < 
the  coal  trade — but  at  night  it  put  ofl"  all  restraint,  and  came  out  in  ; 
its  true  colours  as  a  ghoul,  a  vampire,  that  sucked  the  blood  out  of  i 
a  man's  face,  and  made  the  pale  wretch  shudder  with  superstitious 
awe  and  foreboding.    Yet  malarious,  grimy,  and  loathsome  as  it 
appeared,  many  a  mortal  had  found  its  sluggish  breast  the  sweetest 
resting-place.    The  fascination  of  silence,  dreariness,  and  depth 
took  hold  of  Jack,  and  he  leaned  over  the  parapet  and  gazed  into 
the  slumbrous  waters. 

But  no  East  End  canal  could  be  serious  long.  Whatever  look  • 
of  solemnity  and  barren  forlornness  it  endeavoured  to  assume,  its 
terrors  were  lost  on  a  gang  of  noisy  revellers  who  now  passed  over 
it  In  vain  its  shadows  folded  their  arms  austerely,  and  drew  their 
togas  round  them.  It  could  not  keep  its  countenance  before  men 
for  whom  Earth  had  neither  weirdness  nor  mystery.  The  awfiil 
despair  and  melancholy  died  out  of  its  eves,  its  sombre  vttoli^ 
yamshed,  and  it  returns  to  a  dull  and  muady  bUmkiu 


J 


TH&  CITY  OF  DREADFUL  NIGHT  vfl 

*  They  are  happy,  these  beatified  oysters,*  said  Jack. 
They  were,  these  sponges  of  a  larger  jp^wth,  and  more  delibe- 
ite  imbibition.  '*  Let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  to-morrow  we  work.* 
^Thus,*  says  an  essayist  of  the  period,  ''runs  the  unspoken 
o  of  many  a  British  workman,  who  lengthens  his  days  by  honour* 
his  father  and  mother,  and  stealing  a  few  hours  from  the  night 
they  did.  ^  And  if  he  cannot  sip  Falemian  with  Horace  or 
np^^e  with  Tom  Moore,  he  can  swill  beer  with  fellows  as  jolly 
b  either.  Then  he  sings  light,  laughing  lyrics  of  love,  with  un- 
betrical  choruses,  where  the  syllables  must  form  improper  liaisons 
i  come  under  the  tune — an  evil  that  philosophers  tell  us  always 
pises  from  overcrowding — and  where  grammatical  forms  that  can 
liver  agree  in  more  polite  society  dwell  together  in  friendliest  con- 
fhd.  His  notions  of  musical  harmony  are  confined  to  singing  the 
lody  an  octave  lower  than  his  companions,  or  in  a  different  key 
m  theirs ;  and  should  he  by  any  chance  attempt  a  few  chords, 
proves  all  the  rules  by  supplying  all  the  exceptions.  Notes  that 
\  like  husband  and  wife,  in  too  intimate  connection  to  harmonise 
,  ^ether,  make  ineffective  attempts  at  fraternising,  while  consecu- 
Sfe  fifths  tread  on  each  other's  heels." 

With  the  passing  of  this  cheerful,  straggling  procession  the 
Canal  reasserted  itself,  and  tried  to  brazen  out  its  momentary  lapse 
bto  prosaic  griminess.  In  the  warm  air  it  breathed  out  its  soul  in 
Itrange  sepukhral  scents,  while  overhead,  dull,  bloated,  bedraggled 
idouds  lay  like  ghastly  corpses  lazily  drifting  on  aerial  tides. 

Jack  shuddered.  The  silence  and  loneliness  were  intensified 
by  the  dying  away  of  the  rough  notes  and  the  tramp  of  feet  His 
itterves  were  overstrung  by  the  incidents  of  the  last  few  days. 
There  was  oppression  in  the  heavy  air,  and  the  lurid  darkness  was 
IfiDed  with  shapes,  and  impalpable  forms  in  his  rear  closed  around 
|bim.  The  Universe  was  a  charnel-house,  and  he  the  only  living 
^^erson  in  it.  Everywhere  was  corruption,  putrescence,  death.  He 
pade  a  step  forward.  That  fiatint  glow  far  ahead,  how  welcome  it 
Nn»  with  its  suggestions  of  life  and  cheerfulness  I  And  if  it 
jttggested  boisterousness  too,  why,  aggressive  vitality  was  better 
'tiun  none  at  all  Even  under  the  pressure  of  formless  awe,  he  was 
not  unconscious  of  a  new  insight  into  the  motives  which  drove  the 
I  men  he  had  just  sneered  at  to  the  public-house.  The  dreariness 
l<^his  surroundings  might  well  symbolise  the  misery  of  their  home* 
Inres,  and  the  plaintive  thought  stirred  him  like  a  dying  cadence  of 
nmsic  to  noble  remorse  and  larger  sympathy.  The  sound  of 
distant  footsteps  arrested  his  own.  He  peered  through  the  gloom, 
And  lo^  advancing  fearlessly  in  the  midst  of  all  these  terrors,  was  a 
ttiaD,  barefooted  maid.  On  she  came  with  steady  stride,  an  image 
pf  mirity  and  innocence^  like  Una  in  the  Enchanted  Forest,  and 
1ft  ner  band  she  swung  a  beer-can. 

"A  little  child  that  lightly  draws  its  breath— what  does  it  know 
<if death?*  murmured  Jack.  Her  clear  eyes  returned  his  glance 
^abashed.  She  was  very,  very  little,  and  had  an  old-foshioned 
ik.   Her  dress,  like  "  the  douds  in  the  night  rack,*  was ''  ragged 


fr«  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

and  brown.*  The  quaint  candour  of  her  interrogative  scmt 
amused  Jack^  whose  heart  had  already  gone  out  to  the  dear  lit 
thing  who  walked  unmoved  where  he  had  feared  to  tread. 

'vHow  old  are  you,  my  child  ?  "  he  in<iuired  kindly. 

^*  I'm  more  than  seven,*  sharply  replied  the  little  maid,  t< 
harhead. 

<<  Do  you  go  to  school  ?"  he  asked,  laying  a  gentle  hand  uj 
her  shoulder.    The  small  figure  palpitated  under  his  touch. 

*<  lis  ont  U  tnmhUment  des  feuiUes!*  thought  Jack.  '*  It  i| 
infinitely  suggestive  that  men  so  diverse  as  Victor  Hugo  aoj 
Wordsworth  should  find  their  point  of  contact  in  reverence  for  tbd 
c^ild.  It  is  not  enough  for  die  races  to  feminise  themselves  ad 
Ruian  says.    They  must  become  as  little  children.* 

All  the  arch  ro|;uery  was  gone  out  of  the  girl's  face. 

"  Ob,  please^  sir/'  she  screamed  as  soon  as  her  breath  came 
back.  'M  was  only  larkin'.  I  ain't  five  yet  I  didn't  know  vi 
ypu  was  the  School  Board.    Five  next  Chrismus,  'onner  bright' 

She  jerked'  herself  from  under  his  arm,  but  Jack  caught  ha 
with  a  quick  action. 

''My  poor  child,"  he  said,  ''do  not  be  frightened  of  me 
Will  your  mother  buy  you  a  pair  of  boots  if  I  give  you  tJitt 
money  ?  * 

The  barefooted  maid  looked  up,  still  fluttering. 

"  D'ye  mean  it  ?*  she  a^ed  cautiously. 

"  Of  course." 

"'Onner  brijjht?" 

"  Honour  brighf  As  he  said  the  words  a  pang  traversed  btfE 
heart,  and  somehow  the  words  sauf  Pkonneur  tingled  in  his  earj 
"  What  will  your  boots  cost  ?  *  he  added  abstractedly. 

"May  be  fifteen  bob^  may  be  a  quid,"  rephed  the  chil4 
©rompUy. 

Jack  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  For  some  time  he  fumblea 
amid  meshea  of  tobacco.  Then  gradually  a  look  of  astonishmciil 
came  over  his  face  as  be  realised  that  his  purse  was  g^ne— goM 
under  the  very  nose  of  the  Old  Judge.  But  amidst  idl  the  c(»^ 
stemadon  of  the  discovery,  the  disappointment  of  the  litde  gift 
was  vividly  present  to  him. 

"  Don't  fret,  child,"  he  said,  smoothing  her  tangled  locks ;  "1 
have  mislaid  my  purse,  and  have  nothing  with  me  but  paper ;  but  if 
you  will  come  with  me  to  my  house " 

"  Now  what  little  game  are  you  up  to,  eh?"  cried  a  rough  vok& 
At  the  same  momient  Jack's  arm  was  rudely  seized  by  a  belmeted 
apparition  in  blue  that  seemed  to  have  just  been  solidified  out  d 
the  environing  darkness. 

Angels  and  Ministers  of  grace  defend  him ! 

An  electric  shock  of  repulsion  thrilled  through  his  being  as  tte 
bnll's  eye-  flashed  full  in  his  face.  His  eyes  darted  indignant 
lightnings^ 

*  How  dare  yoii?"  he  exclaimed  haugbtily»    ^Unhand  me  1' 


'  THE  CITY  OF  DREADFUL  NIGHT  199 

Hie  policeman  flinched  before  bis  angry  scorn.  But  he  had  n»t 
tramped  a  London  beat  ten  years  for  nothing. 

"'  Lot'  bless  you,*  he  said  good-humouredly ;  ^  It'a  no  goed 
coming  that  dodge  on  me,  I've  had  my  eye  on  you  for  some  time, 
and  when  I  hear  a  female  screamin'  at  this  hour  and  come  up  and 
find  it's  you,  why  it  looks  a  bit  suspicious,  dont  it  now  ?" 

The  violent  shock  of  horror  and  antipathy  at  this,  his  .first 

contact  with  the  dread  majesty  of  the  law,  subsided  even  as  the 

*  constable  was  addressing  him,  and  never,  henceforward,  did  his 

I  pride  shrink  up  in  all  its  pores  with  such  unutterable  disdain  as 

^  -on  this  occasion.    //  fi^^t  ^  U  premur  pas  qui  ci^U. 

**  From  your  point  of  view,"  he  replied  mildly,  "  I  admit  that 
it  does.*' 

"  This  is  a  soft-sawdery  chap,"  reflected  his  captor. 

''But,"  continued  Tack,  ''now  that  I  tell  you  that  you  have  made 
a  mistake,  you  will  please  move  on." 

*^  Me — ^move — on  I "  gasped  J  50.  *'  Not  till  I  know  more  about 
this  afiaur  anyhow.  Tell  me,  my  little  dear,  what's  he  been  sayin' 
to  you  ?    Has  he  been  trying  to  take  away  yotur  change  ?" 

The  little  dear  spoke  up  sharply.  The  unworthy  trick  of 
daiighng  a  visionary  pair  of  ooots  before  her  glistening  eyes  had 
cut  her  to  the  heart. 

*'As  I  was  a-goin'  'ome  with  the  supper-beer,"  she  said,  **?e 
stopped  me  and  wanted  to  know  'ow  old  I  was/' 

He  turned  his  lantern  on  Jack  with  fresh  interest 

"What  a  sickly  debauched-looking  face,*'  he  thought.  "I 
shouldn't  like  to  have  kis  sins  to  answer  for." 

"  So  then,"  proceeded  Una,  "'e  arxed  me  if  I  went  to  school, 
and  if  I  would  like  a  pair  of  boots,  and  wen  I  ses  '  yes,'  'e  ses  'e's 
'lost  his  purse.'"  The  disappointment  was  too  keen,  and  she  broke 
down  and  sobbed  bitterly,  and  diluted  the  Barclay  and  Perkins. 

**  My  poor  child  I "  said  Jack,  much  afiected.  ''  If  you  will  give 
me  your  name  and  address  you  shall  be  amply  compensated.  The 
child  has  spoken  the  exact  truth,^  he  added,  turning  to  the  police- 
man. ''Truth  is  the  natural  instinct  of  the  young  som,  which  comes 
trailing  clouds  of  glory.  You  see,  therefore,  that  you  are  guilty  of 
a  misapprehension. 

J  30  was  not  inclined  by  any  means  to  admit  this  either 
m  Its  mental  or  its  physical  sense,  but  before  he  could  speak, 
lack  went  on  :  "  But,  although  you  are  mistaken  in  this  instance,  I 
rejoice  to  have  had  this  practical  testimony  of  the  zeal  of  an  often- 
aoused  body  of  men.  1  shall  remember  your  number  and  recom- 
mend you  at  head-quarters  for  promotion." 

J  30  had  had  many  a  strange  experience  but  never  such  a  one 
asdiis.  He  stared,  he  dropped  his  hold  of  Jack's  arm,  he  grew 
frightened  and  coxifiised.  Surely,  here  was  something  more  than 
daS,  or  the  stratagetics  of  injured  innocence.  The  sincere  and 
BDtfaoritative  ring  of  the  words  carried  alarmed  conviction  even  to 
pnjudiced  ears.    Nay,  as  he  looked  again,  was  there  not  a  noble 


i8o  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

dignity  in  the  pale'  face,  a  condescending  majesty  in  the  bent  figure 
y^haH  a  fool  he  had  been  !  But  Fortane  favours  fools,  and  surely  tfaeqt 
was  no  cause  for  remorse — rather  was  there  reason  for  rejoicing.  Tht 
mysterious  stranger  seemed  to  recognise  that  he  had  done  his  duty,  aai 
had  even  promised  him  advancement. 

''  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  faltered.  "  Even  a  poHceman  is  liable 
to  mistakes  now  and  then." 

*'  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  Jack  fervently.  "  You  have 
done  your  duty.    Would  we  could  all  say  as  much  ! " 

"As  for  promotion,  sir,  I  never  expected  it,"  he  responded  wilki 
truth.  This  non-expectancy  was,  of  course,  the  natural  state  oC' 
mind  in  one  who  was  conscious  of  having  alwajrs  deserved  it.  Hov; 
indeed,  could  he  anticipate  that  he  would  blunder  into  it  like  Shadvdl 
into  sense? 

"There  is  nothing  certain  but  the  unexpected,"  said  Jack  moi- 
ingly. 

"Well,  I  shall  be  glad  of  it,  for  the  sake  of  my  wife  and  chil- 
dren, if  it  does  come.  Much  as  I  should  value  the  honour,  I  needs^ 
tell  you  that,  as  a  family  man,  I  shall  value  the  rise  more.  Twentj- 
eight  shillings  a  week  is  hardly  enough  to  keep  ten  bodies  and  sods 
together." 

"  Twenty-eight  shillings  a  week,"  muttered  the  painter  bitterly,  '*  for 
guarding  the  commonweal  in  the  concrete.  And  for  neglecting  the  com- 
monweal in  the  abstract  the  first  Minister  of  the  Crown  gets "* 

He  paused  suddenly,  perceiving  that  the  policeman  had  overheard  his 
reflections. 

"  With  all  due  respect,  sir,"  said  the  officer,  *'  it  would  be  ungrateful 
in  a  policeman  to  admit  that  Floppington,  God  bless  him,  has  beea 
neglectin'  his  duty,  after  that  Bill  of  his." 

Jack's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  but  he  replied  warmly:  "  Honour 
where  honour  is  due.  Floppington  had  little  to  do  with  the  Act 
you  refer  to.  Because  he  happened  to  be  Prime  Minister,  yon 
must  not  suppose  that  all  the  good  was  done  by  him**  He  paused, 
and  added  with  bitterness:  "As  for  all  the  evil,  that  of  coarse 
\%hu  work  only."  Then,  taking  Una's  name  and  address,  he  patted 
her  kindly  on  the  head  and  sent  her  home  with  fresh  hope.  He 
watched  the  little  form  tripping  gaily  along  the  cold  stones  till  it 
was  lost  in  the  gloom,  and  his  heart  swelled  with  emotion  at  the 
vision  of  Truth  and  Cheerfulness  incarnate.  He  pictured  the  squalid 
home  lit  up  by  her  presence,  the  rough  father  and  mother  softened  by 
her  innocence.  But  had  he  foreseen  the  '  *  whacking  "  she  got  for ' '  bein' 
so  long  with  the  beer  and  spilin'  the  supper,  and  then  tellin'  a  'eap 
of  crackers  to  get  out  of  it,"  he  would,  perhaps,  have  found  it  d 
apiece  with  his  previous  experience,  and  might  have  indulged  hi 
philosophical  reflections. 

The  voice  of  J  30  broke  the  silence. 

"  You  said  something  about  missing  your  purse.  Can  you  think  d 
how  it  went?  I  mean  —  for  instance,  did  you  notice  any  one  brasbinjf 
near  you  ?  " 

"  It  does  not  matter,"  interrupted  Jack. 


i 


r 


TflE  CITY  OF  DREADFUL  NIGHT  281 

**  Excuse  the  presumption,  sir.  I  do  not  wish  to  inquire  who 
;  you  are,  but  if  you  want  to  explore  these  regions  you  should  provide 
'  yourself  with  an  escort.    By  applying  to  our  inspector " 

**  Thank  you,"  replied  Jack  abruptly,  "  I  prefer  to  go  alone.  Good 
night ! " 

*'  Good  night,  sir/'  cried  the  Doliceman.  •*  Beg  pardon,  sir, 
and  thank  you.    Good  night,  sir ! 

With  these  words  the  functionary  resumed  his  measured  tramp, 
having^  supplied  a  noteworthy  disproof  of  the  caviller's  assertion 
that  the  Force  is  no  remedy.  And  in  the  exuberance  of  his  heart, 
for  the  rest  of  the  night  he  rattled  windows  and  shook  doors  like  a 
small  earthquake. 

Jack  did  not  go  far.  The  same  public-house  still  beckoned 
invitingly  ahead,  but  it  had  lost  its  attractions.  That  temporary 
irrational  fit  of  superstitious  dread  which  occasionally  seizes  on  the 
strongest  intellect  was  over  now,  and  somehow  the  last  words  of 
J  30  had  sent  his  thoughts  into  retrospective  channels  and  raised 
emotions  of  such  depth  that  fear  was  swallowed  up  and  drowned. 
As  quick  thoughts  came  and  went,  came  and  stayed,  poisoning  his 
very  blood  and  setting  his  veins  on  fire,  he  seemed  for  the  first 
time  to  realise  his  own  misery. 

The  scene  in  Parliament,  which  had  so  occupied  his  mind  on 
the  previous  night,  was  again  present  to  his  fevered  brain,  but  wiih 
increased  vividness  ;  and  as  that  picture  faded,  others  associated 
with  it  flashed  and  flamed,  and  burnt  themselves  in  fiery  images  on 
the  night  He  staggered,  and  had  to  support  himself  against  the 
railing  of  a  house.  The  minutes  passed,  and  still  the  pictures 
flashed  and  waned. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  road  the  shrouded  Park  stretched  away, 
the  trees  linked  by  darkness  to  fictitious  unity,  and  the  sombre 
leafage  stirring  restlessly.  The  firs  bent  solemnly  towards  the 
poplars  in  the  opposite  gardens,  as  if  to  catch  the  whispers  of  their 
leaves.  The  tall  poplars  drew  back  before  them,  disturbing  the 
long  gaunt  shadows  with  which  thev  had  trellised  the  facades.  A 
gay  chorus,  that  issued  from  the  glow  of  light  at  the  end  of  the 
street,  took  sadness  and  mystery  from  distance,  and  the  rustle  of 
the  wind  mingled  mournfully  with  it. 

And  now  the  visions  changed.  Surely  this  was  not  the  pano- 
rama of  his  own  life,  these  scenes  of  pain  and  disease  and  death  ? 
Rather  were  they  phantoms  conjured  up  by  the  words  of  the 
Socialist,  these  miserable  interiors  where  human  beings  huddled 
and  quarrelled  till  they  were  carted  away  to  wider  quarters.  What 
else,  m  sooth,  was  that  monotonous  series  of  buildings,  high  or  low, 
broad  or  narrow,  where  mom  or  eve,  in  sunshine  or  fog,  by  daylight 
or  gaslight,  hasting,  unresting,  iron  wheels  were  turning,  grinding 
out  young  lives  ?  Was  it  the  blood  throbbing  in  his  veins  that 
made  him  hear  the  ceaseless  whirr  of  the  machinery,  or  did  the 
notes  of  the  distant  chorus  and  the  restless  rustle  of  the  wind  shape 
themselves  into  its  remorseless  pulsations  ? 

Midnight-— announced  by  the  brazen  tongues  of  drunken  women, 


k 


^ 


s8s  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTfiR 


and  trolled  from  the  beery  mouths  of  reeling  men  staggering  from 
their  lost  paradise,  whose  gates  closed  behind  them.  They  were 
coming  his  way,  these  fallen  mortals,  with  clamorous  laughter  and 
ribald  shouting.  On  they  straggled,  like  the  rout  of  Comus,  without 
a  leader,  the  enchanter  being  left  behind,  yawningly  contemplating 
his  crowded  tills. 

Frowsy,  with  dishevelled  tresses  streaming  on  the  wind,  two 
girls,  quite  young,  but  with  a  debauched,  womanly  expression, 
danced  along  before  the  rest,  hoarsely  chanting  a  doggrd  music- 
hall  ballad.  As  they  came  near,  Jack  recognised  in  them  the  staff 
of  which  his  dreams  were  made.  He  had  often  seen  them  going  to 
work  in  the  morning,  carrying  their  dinners  wrapped  up  in  sheets 
of  fiction.  These,  then,  were  the  factory  girls,  the  victims  of  the 
Juggernaut  Car  of  the  modem  religion  of  Supply  and  Demand, 
ground  beneath  its  wheels  without  the  hopes  that  soften  the  anguish 
of  the  Hindoo.  Was  it  to  be  expected  that  they  should  "  live  with- 
out opiiun,"  or  seek  purer  sources  of  joy  in  their  scanty  moments  di 
leisure  ? 

Emotion  overpowered  him.  The  whole  scene  with  its  rowdy 
figures  became  one  blur  to  his  eyes  ;  he  raised  his  hands  in  suppli- 
cation and  blessing.  Blinded  by  tears,  through  the  surging  words 
of  unspoken  prayer,  he  heard  them  calling  to  him  with  coarse^ 
reckless  laughter.  And  then  he  felt  their  hot,  panting  breaths  close 
upon  him,  reeking  in  the  heavy  air,  and  they  seemed  to  have 
recognised  him,  for,  as  he  brushed  the  tears  away  from  his  eyes,  a 
jeering  cry  broke  upon  his  ears  : 

"  Mad  Jack  1 " 

He  turned  and  gazed  into  their  flushed,  dissolute  faces  with  « 
look  of  inefiable  pity. 


J 


•%*   N. 


$0Ok   % 


CHAPTER  I. 

rumour's  hundred  tongues. 

[HE  Bobo  difficulty  was  approaching  solution.    After 

some  weeks  of  ceaseless  telegraphing,  questioning, 

vapouring,    ranting,    reasoning,   and     manoeuvring, 

fluttering  half  the  embassies  of  Europe,  it  began  to 

leak  out  that  the  island  in  dispute  had  no  material 

existence,  and  as  no  nation  had  as  yet  committed  itself 

to  insolent  despatches,  manifestoes,  or  ultimatums,  there  was  at 

least  a  reasonable  hope  that  the  diplomatists  would  bring  their 

negotiations  to  an  amicable  issue. 

Meantime,  the  Reform  Bill,  amended  as  the  Prime  Minister 
had  promised,  had  received  the  signature  of  the  Sovereign.    Every 
man  or  woman,  not  a  criminal  in  confinement,  nor  a  lunatic,  was 
now  seised  of  a  vote  as  soon  as  he  or  she  had  attained  the  age  of 
twenty-one ;  though,  as  an  illustration  of  how  Nature  disposes  what 
statecraft    proposes^   it  may  be  pointed  out  that  only  a  small 
minority  ot  unmamed  women  laid  claim  to  their  new  privilege. 
The  triumph  of  Floppington  in  piloting  into  port  so  vast  a  measure, 
though  his  party  was  in  a  helpless  minority,  and  though  he  had  had 
to  contend  with  an  envenomed  and  splendidly-organised  Opposition, 
raised  him  immensely  in  the  eyes  of  the  country.    Moreover,  the 
threatened  disintegration  of  the   Ministry  had  not  taken  place. 
The  Ministers,  who  had  temporarily  wavered  in  their  allegiance, 
owing  to  the  disturbing  influence  of  Mountchapel,  were  conscience- 
stricken  when  they  discovered  that  Floppington  was  a  rising  and  not 
a  waning  force.   They  thought  almost  with  tears  of  their  long  attach- 
ment to  that  noble-minded  man,  and  penitently  resolved  to  have 
nothing  more  to  do  with  the  late  Foreign  Secretary,  at  least  for  the 
pi  isent    Bardolph's  political  fortunes  were  for  the  moment  despe- 
n  e.    His  faction  had  hopelessly  broken  down.  After  its  defeat,  one 
pi  rt  of  it  had  gone  back  to  the  right  and  the  other  to  the  left,  and 
It  leader  was  left  stranded.   The  young  and  vigorous  Conservatives^ 
^  0  had  not  very  long  ago  looked  upon  him  as  the  only  man  who 
G    ^  give  new  life  to  the  cause,  and  upon  the  Premier  ^  Ih^ 


284  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER  \ 

personification  of  incompetence^  saw  that  they  had  under-esti inatej| 
the  subtle  transforming  influences  of  power,  and  recognised  witlv 
joy  that  the  new  Floppington  had  out-Bardolphed  Bardolph  io^ 
audacity.  The  desertion  of  the  Ex-Minister  by  the  Old  Toriesj 
was,  if  possible,  even  more  complete.  Though  they  had  temporarily 
allied  themselves  with  him  to  oppose  the  promised  amendment  theif 
motives  were  not  his  motives,  and  even  at  the  moment  ot  their 
common  defeat  they  experienced  a  secret  joy  at  the  downfall  of  the 
whippersnapper,  the  arrogant  bantling  against  whom  they  bad; 
always  cherished  a  deadly  hatred ;  and  the  recurrent  attacks  upon; 
him  in  their  evening  paper  marked  the  venting  of  their  longt; 
repressed  rancour,  worst  of  all,  the  causes  of  the  split  in  thei 
Tory  camp  having  ceased  to  exist,  they  were  now  ready  to  lend  a 
loyal  support  to  Floppington. 

Thus  the  only  results  of  Bardolph's  political  intrig^s  had  been 
first  to  make  the  Cabinet,  and  then  the  party,  thorougUy  unanimous. 
To  have  been  entrapped  when  he  thought  he  was  setting  gins  for 
his  riva^  to  have  taken  no  single  step  that  did  not  contribute  to  the 
popularity,  influence,  and  resources  of  that  rival,  these  were  surely 
the  bitterest  drops  in  his  cup  of  humiliation.  In  one  point  alone 
he  had  beaten  the  Premier;  but  it  was  a  success  that,  in  his  opinion, 
counterbalanced  all  his  defeats.  Gwendolen  was  to  behis.  The  victory 
he  had  won  was  irrevocable,  while  the  triumphs  of  his  adversary 
were  infinitely  precarious,  and  perpetually  liable  to  reversaL  BoC, 
still  there  was  no  getting  over  the  ract  that  for  the  moment  at  least' 
his  star  had  paled  before  Floppington's. 

The  inunense  interest  excit^  by  the  Premier  in  the  con-, 
temporary  mind  was  not  due  simply  to  his  political  career.    The| 
audacity  with  which  he  seized  on  the  ideas  which  were  ''  in  the  air* 
where  their  original  owners  had  allowed  them  to  escape ;  thei 
stability  of  his  Cabinet,  despite  the  loss  of  its  strongest  member ; 
the  thoroughness  of  his  reorganisation  of  the  Conservative  party, 
now  more  compact  than  at  any  previous  period  since  the  retirement 
of  Beaconsfield ;  these  topics,  interesting  as  thev  were,  were  not 
so  eagerly  canvassed  as  the  more  dubious  items  tnat  hovered  from 
lip  to  lip. 

Rumour  had  indeed  been  very  busy  with  the  name  of  Flopping- 
ton during  the  last  six  weeks  or  sa  Far  and  wide  spread  the  news 
she  told,  for  she  has  the  largest  circulation  in  the  world  as  well  as 
the  greatest  inaccuracy.  She  said  he  was  developing  various 
small  idiosyncrasies,  though  she  whispered  the  particulars  of  them 
to  a  select  coterie  only,  putting  ofl"  the  world  at  lai^ge  with  the  hint 
of  a  general  difiiised  eccentricity.  She  said  that  his  new  activity 
in  the  House  was  paralleled  by  his  restless  participation  in  the  life  of 
society.  She  said  that  he  was  engaged  to  Laay  Harley,  that  the 
match  had  been  broken  off,  that  he  had  never  been  engaged  to  her 
at  all,  and  that  the  lady  in  question  was  about  to  wed  Lord  Bardolph 
MountchapeL  This  last  item,  being  confirmed  by  the  silence  of  toe 
parties  interested,  profited  Bardolph  not  a  little.  A  reflex  of  the 
popularity  of  die  channing  lady  he  was  going  to  lead  to  the  altsr 


r 


RUMOUR'S  HUNDRED  TONGUES  285 


inadiated  the  partially-edipsed  statesman.  He  had  been  further 
damaged  by  the  good  faith  displayed  by  Floppington,  which  niade 
his  own  vaunted  unfiuth  in  the  Premier  appear  the  result  of  spite,  and 
weakened  the  belief  of  the  millions  in  uie  sincerity  of  his  advocacy 
of  die  cause  of  woman.  But  the  manifest  confidence  of  Lady 
Harley  in  his  earnestness  restored  that  of  the  world  at  large. 
Gwendolen's  many  gracious  acts  of  kindness  had  endeared  her  to 
the  masses,  and  her  successful  struggle  for  Female  Suffrage  lent 
additional  piouancy  to  her  union  with  its  noble  champion. 

Thus  mc  Kumour  for  the  present.  But  the  gods  were  busily 
narsing  on  their  knees  (poor  henpecked  Olympians  I  were  the  god- 
desses gadding  about  in  fashionable  spheres  ?)  young  events  soon  to 
he  let  loose  on  the  world  and  £&ted  to  electn^  it  with  a  series  of 
sensations,  the  like  whereof  hath  been  granted  to  no  generation 
before  or  since. 

From  the  rise  of  this  sun  to  power  even  to  the  going  down 
thereof,  the  political  and  social  barometer  portended  lively  weather, 
occasionally  culminating  in  earthquake  with  shocks  neither  few  nor 
gentle.  Never  before  had  editors  such  a  good  time  I  Had  he 
remained  in  the  zenith,  the  silly  season  wotdd  have  disappeared 
from  the  journalistic  almanac  For  in  the  sale  of  newspapers  he 
was  a  most  valuable  dement,  even  before  certain  suspidons  fell 
npon  him.  To  use  the  language  of  the  chemists,  he  was  equivalent 
to  a  huge  number  of  atoms  of  crime  and  to  a  small  number  of 
atoms  of  divorce.  He  was  even  capable  of  displacing  one  molecule 
of  indecency. 

It  was  on  the  Premier's  love  affairs  that  Rumoui's  hundred 
toitfues  were  wagging  most  busily,  each  in  contradiction  of  the  rest, 
and  so  many  were  the  theories  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  goddess  had 
''taken  on  "  a  f^  exte  tongues  for  the  occasion. 

The  simple  facts  were  interpreted  as  variously  as  if  they  had 
been  parts  of  the  life  of  Hamlet,  and  had  never  happened  at  all 
The  morning  papers,  as  was  their  wont,  preserved  a  discreet  silence 
when  all  the  world  was  longing  for  a  word  of  comment.  The 
Society  journals  allowed  enough  traces  of  their  ignorance  to  be 
▼isible  to  persuade  everybody  that  their  information  was  complete. 
But  at  last  the  general  journalistic  reserve  was  rudely  shaken  off  by 
City  Gossip,  which  came  out  with  an  accurately  false  account  of  the 
whole  affair,  headed  **  Immorality  in  the  Cabinet."    It  demanded 

Ae  reason  why  the  lovely  E B had  been  dismissed  from 

her  situation  at  Lady  G— —  H ^s  ?  The  number,  being  instantly 

suppressed,  had  asaleequallingthat  of  the  recently-completed  Revised 
Version,  besides  similarly  varying  in  price  from  a  shilling  to  a 
guinea ;  and  the  purchasers  of  the  two  were  not  so  distinct  as  the 
present-day  reader  might  imagine.  The  bad  thought  it  was  too 
good  to  be  true,  and  the  good  that  it  was  too  bad  to  be  false.  It 
was  felt  with  joy  by  many  Liberals,  with  sorrow  by  many 
ConsenrativeSi  tliat  the  Premier  had  supplied  a  powerful  argument 
for  Uberalism. 

But  it  was  reserved  for  a  later  generation  to  know  the  truth,  or 


aS6  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

what  is  still  considered  sudi  by  flippant  magazine  writers ;  for 
not  the  notorious  Mr.  Postscena  engaged  on  those  posthumous 
memoirs  which  he  intended  to  bring  out  as  soon  as  he  was  old 
enough  to  know  better  ?  Does  not  this  chronique  scandaleuse  bid 
us  eschew  the  crude  theories  of  the  vulgar  m  favour  of  the  subtler 
scandal  which  appeals  to  the  educated  palate,  and  which  runs  that 
the  Premier,  who  had  lately  grown  fond  of  power,  had  entered  into 
a  secret  arrangement  by  which  Ladjr  Harley  was  given  up  to  Lord 
Bardolph,  on  condition  of  his  retiring  from  the  Gibinet,  and  that 
the  tatter's  attack  on  Floppington  was  purely  Jesuitical  ? 

This  hypothesis  has  the  nierit  of  connecting  several  disparate 
events;  but  as  it  does  not  readily  square  with  the  sequel,  the  present 
writer  has  reluctantly  abandoned  it  as  untenable,  preferring  tibe 
methods  of  the  shoals  of  reviewers  who  have  explained  everything 
on  purely  natural  grounds  without  the  deus  ex  tnachind  of  a  secret 
treaty.  With  the  most  painfully  precise  psychological  analysis, 
many  of  these  have  irrefutably  demonstrated  that  the  changes  in 
the  Premier's  attitude  towards  political  problems  were  necessary 
points  in  the  evolution  of  his  personality,  and  that  they  might  have 
been  predicted  by  the  philosophic  observer. 

With  equal  profundity  it  has  been  shown  by  others  that  the 
development  of  Conservatism  during  the  latter  period  of  tiie 
Ministry  of  the  elder  Floppington  was  not  due  to  the  man  at  all, 
but  was  the  inevitable  result  of  the  antecedent  state  of  Anglican 
factions,  foreign  relations,  society,  religion,  ideals,  and  other  ab- 
stractions. It  was  rightly  pointed  out  by  Professor  Seeley  that  to 
attribute  this  expansion  to  Floppington  (the  mere  exponent  of  the 
progress)  was  to  mistake  the  shadow  for  the  substance.  All  right- 
thinking,  that  is,  all  scientific  minds  would  admit  that  had  this 
particukr  Premier  never  been  bom,  English  Conservatism  would 
have  had  a  similar  history.  Thus  the  then  chief  of  the  prophets 
who  never  prophesy  until  they  know. 

But  for  a  marvel  of  constructive  skill  the  curious  reader  must  go 
to  the  Life  of  Floppington^  by  M.  N.  Dacks.  It  is  as  ingeniou^y 
put  together  as  any  of  Fanton's  fictions.  Wonderful  as  is  the  fiist 
volume,  it  is  utterly  eclipsed  by  the  second,  in  which  the  writer's 
inventiveness,  far  from  being  exhausted  by  a  first  flight,  is  fresher 
than  ever.  The  brilliancy  of  the  book  is  at  its  maximum  at  the 
present  point  of  the  Premier's  history,  despite  the  entire  failure  tH 
documentary  evidence,  except  letters  of  the  most  formal  description 
merely  signed  by  the  Premier.  Hardly  the  smallest  scrap  in  the 
Premier's  handwriting  during  this  period  has  been  forthcoming ; 
the  pressure  of  extraordinary  public  business  would  seem  to  have 
prevented  familiar  and  unreserved  epistolarv  intercourse  of  any 
description ;  yet,  for  all  that,  the  biographer  has  been  able  to  give 
the  world  a  highly  consistent  account  of  a  period  of  inconsistency. 
Though  the  present  historian  cannot  agree  with  even  one  of  Mr. 
Dacks's  conclusions,  he  cannot  refrain  from  paying  his  humble 
tribute  to  the  fine  qualities  of  style  that  characterise  this  ever- 
memorable  production* 


r 


nOPPINGTON^S  APOLOGIA .  287 


CHAPTER  II. 

floppington's  apologia. 

Gratitude  is  not  only  a  lively  sense  of  future  favours,  it  is  also 
frequently  a  dismal  sense  of  past  benefits.  1  he  more  the  donor  of 
thm  is  likely  to  feel  the  burden  of  ingratitude,  the  more  the 
recipient  feels  the  fardel  of  gratitude.  Poor  conscientious  protigis 
and  proUgies^  who  have  taken  the  cross  upon  your  shotdders,  and 
totter  alofog ;  how  many  of  your  careers  have  been  ruined  by  being 
made ! 

Should  there  be  any  one  in  the  world  who  doubts  that  gratitude 
is  a  burden,  he  or  she  may  be  asked  to  explain  why  it  is  that  people 
are  so  anxious  to  get  rid  of  it  ?  The  present  of  to-day  is  redeemed  by 
die  present  of  to-morrow ;  the  dinner  of  yesterday  is  balanced  by  the 
dinner  to  come  ;  the  butter  of  the  proposer  of  the  toast  is  repaid 
by  the  butter  of  the  responder. 

The  mmrking  of  this  speedy  compensation  principle  was  seen  in 
die  promptness  with  which  the  Women  of  England  endeavoured  to 
pay  off  their  debt  to  the  man  who  had  given  them  the  Suffrage. 
And  just  as  in  our  last  instance  one  might  in  those  days  have  got 
oleo-margarine  as  an  equivalent  for  his  best  Devonshire,  so  Flop- 
ph^on,  in  return  for  his  great  exertions  in  Committee,  got  nothing, 
in  the  first  instance  at  least,  but  a  pair  of  magnificentiy-embroidered 
slippers  (a  fragment  of  the  crewel- work  having  been  done  by  the 
most  cunning  female  artists  of  every  town  in  the  kingdom)  together 
with  a  i^orgeous  gold-tasselled  night-cap  of  surpassing  splendour 
and  Oriental  magnificence,  wrought  by  a  like  plurality  of  fair 
workers,  and  accompanied  by  sumptuously -boimd  copies  of  the 
works  of  every  great  woman  writer  of  the  century ;  the  whole  pur- 
diased  by  means  of  a  penny  subscription  throughout  the  country, 
without  distinction  of  rank  or  aught  but  sex.    For  of  course  no  one 
who  couid  not  make  out  a  claim  to  femininity  was  allowed  to  con- 
tribute, though  the  needy  fathers  of  many  daughters  grumbled  a 
htde  all  the  same.    The  total  amount  collected  was  far  in  excess 
of  the  cost  of  the  gifts,  and  the  surplus  was  to  be  devoted  to 
founding  a  Floppington  Scholarship  for  Women  in  the  London 
University,  which,  it  must  be  remembered,  was  at  that  period  the 
only  University  that  had  thrown  open  its  degrees  unconditionally 
to  women.    This  scholarship  was  to  be  held  by  die  female  candi- 
date wfato  stood  highest  in  the  honours  list  ot  the  matriculation 
examinaiion. 

The  presentation  was  arranged  to  take  place  in  Floppington's 
own  constituency,  where  the  idea  had  originated.  The  occasion 
was  expected  to  be  memorable.  A  great  speech  was  anticipated 
by  the  townsmen  from  their  illustrious  member,  whom  they  had  not 
seen  since^  his  re-election  on  taking  office.  His  success  had  ex- 
ceeded their  wildest  expectations,  and  they  were  prepared  to  give 


288  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

him  a  roval  welcome.    Never  before  had  Floppington  muet  widi 
even  a  tithe  of  the  enthusiasm  which  now  attended  him. 

His  progress  to  the  rendezvous  was  one  long  triumph.  At  every 
station  deputations  awaited  him  from  the  newly-enfrancfaised 
women  of  the  town,  and  his  few  words  of  reply  were  cheered  by 
closely-packed  Uiousands.  Miles  upon  miles  of  his  route  were 
lined  by  enthusiastic,  excited  throngs,  who  shouted  themselves 
hoarse.  Men  and  women  risked  their  lives  in  the  desire  to  be  an 
inch  nearer  to  him.  From  passing  engines,  drivers  and  stokers 
huzzahed  and  waved  their  handkerchiefs.  Grimy  pitmen  ascended 
from  the  under-world  to  greet  him  as  he  flew  past  in  his  luxurious 
saloon  carriage.  Stone  and  iron  bridges  seemed  in  danger  of  col- 
lapsing under  the  weight  of  countless  multitudes.  Wherever  there 
was  a  locus  standi^  the  whole  population  turned  out  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  man  whose  name  but  a  few  brirf  months  ago  had 
been  a  by-word  for  weakness,  and  who  appeared  to  have  finally 
extinguished  all  the  bright  hopes  ever  entertained  of  him.  Such 
are  the  unforeseen  turns  in  the  tide  of  popular  opinion. 

Floppington  arrived  at  his  constituencv  an  hour  behind  thne. 
No  one  had  bargained  for  the  unparalleled  enthusiasm  on  the 
route.  Despite  the  immense  strain  he  had  undergone,  he  appeared 
bright  and  smiling,  and  not  at  all  fatigued.  The  penalties  of  power 
must  have  weighed  lightly  upon  himu  An  exultant  glow  sufiiised 
his  finely-moulded  features.  The  only  drawback  to  his  happiness 
was  the  knowledge  that  Lady  Harley  would  be  absent  on  the  plea 
of  illness.  The  papers  had  commented  on  the  cruel  irony  of  Fat& 
which  was  keeping  awa;^  from  the  great  occasion  the  lady  who  had 
perhaps  most  to  do  with  the  creation  of  its  raison  cPitre,  The 
Premier  agreed  with  the  sentiment,  but  to  him  the  cruel  irony  of 
fate  had  another  signification  and  a  wider  meaning.  He  knew,  too, 
that  Lady  Harle/s  absence  was  due  to  her  desire  to  avoid  him. 
But,  happilyr,  the  contagion  of  the  universal  exhilaration  temporarily 
banished  bis  sadness,  and  the  last  vestiges  of  melancholy  were 
removed,  strange  to  say,  by  his  perusal  auring  the  route  of  the 
comic  papers,  whenever  be  had  the  opportunity.  The  fact  was,  that 
the  great  statesman  found  acute  enjoyment  in  reading  Aunt 
Towzer's  or  Mr.  Punch's  reports  of  his  doings,  or  seeing  himself 
satirised  in  half-a-dozen  cartoons.  His  delight  in  these  things  was 
second  only  to  his  keen  pleasure  and  amusement  in  reading  the 
equally  funny  caricatures  of  his  conduct  whidi  appeared  in  the 
serious  journals.  He  even  began  to  resume  his  readings  df  the 
Church  organs  (to  which  he  had,  indeed,  always  subscribed),  to  see 
how  he  affected  the  worlds  of  Orthodoxy  and  Dissent.  He  was  never 
happier  than  when  following  a  grave  exposition  of  his  motives, 
whether  in  the  civil  or  uncivil  (or  rather  the  religious)  press.  At 
such  times  a  saturnine  and  mysterious  smile  would  cross  his 
countenance,  and  occasionally  he  wotdd  burst  into  a  roar  of 
laughter,  hearty,  but  with  a  ring  more  or  less  bitter. 

The  delay  in  the  Premier's  arrival  only  intensified  the  en- 


pLOPPlNGTOirS  APOLOGIA  289 

timsiasm  of  t)ie  expectant  multitude.    The  town  was  en  flU.    As 

soon  as  the  express  was  signalled^  the  band  struck  up  **  See  the 

Conquering  Hero  comes."     The  crowd   pressed    forward    wi%'h 

tumi^tuous  billows  of  applause,  and  the  Premier's  carriage  was 

drawn  by  horny-handed  constituents  to  his  hotel,  amid  a  scene  of 

indescribable  excitement;    beneath  triumphal   arches    and  past 

Venetian  masts,  through  streets  gay  with  flowers,  and  flags,  and 

streamers,  and  embroidered  mottoes,  throbbing  with  the  thunder  of 

ten  thousand  throats  and  alive  with  the  flutter  of  hats  and  hand- 

;  kerchiefe.     All  remarked  the  new  strength  and  determination  in  the 

i  fece  of  their  Member  as  he  passed  slowly  onwards,  raising  his  hat 

I  ever  and  anon,  and  dispensing  affable  smiles  to  every  quarter  of 

the  compass. 

Though  the  day  was  a  public  holiday,  and  the  whole  populace 
;  was  abroad,  recruited  by  an  inflow  from  the  metropolis  and  from 
:  every  town  for  miles  around,  the  Premier  ventured  mto  the  streets 
I  in  the  interval  before  the  great  event,  leaving  the  hotel  by  a  back 
I  door.  For  a  few  moments  he  wandered  curiously  about,  examining 
I  the  town  as  if,  as  Tremaine  said  to  him,  he  had  never  seen  it 
I  before  in  his  life.  But  he  was  soon  recognised  and  mobbed.  He 
I  stood  the  crush  till  it  became  physically  unpleasant  Then  he 
I  ramped  into  a  passing  tram-car  with  the  natural  air  of  a  man  who 
I  had  been  accustomed  to  patronise  that  species  of  conveyance. 
>  Tremaine  and  the  Mayor,  who  accompanied  him,  were  horrified; 
[  but  the  great  man  only  smiled  grimly,  and  took  occasion  to  whisper 
I  to  \iL\sfidus  Achates: 
\       "  The  Democracy  dodge,  my  boy." 

As  for  the  lucky  occupants  of  the  vehicle,  the^  were,  of  course, 
I  instantly  transported  to  the  seventh  heaven — a  journey  not  often 
made  for  twopence.  The  conductor  insisted  on  paying  for  the 
herd's  ticket,  and  an  old  beldame,  who  sat  at  his  side,  surrep- 
tidously  snipped  off  a  fragment  of  his  coat-tails  with  a  pair  of 
scissors.  Around  the  triumphal  car  seethed  a  mass  of  humanity 
impeding  and  alarming  the  astonished  horses,  unconscious  of  the 
honour  thrust  upon  their  haunches.  But  Floppington  betrayed  no 
sign  of  impatience.  He  sat  listening  to  the  roar  of  the  multitude  and 
surve^n^  the  gay  streets,  where  the  preparations  for  the  evening's 
illuminations  were  in  progress.  He  re-entered  his  hotel  still 
unexhausted,  still  with  the  same  bright  smile  on  his  face,  and,  after 
sitting  some  time  on  the  steps  in  the  face  of  an  admiring  crowd,  he 
mounted  to  his  rooms. 

His  reception  by  the  great  assembly  of  the  afternoon  was,  if 
possibly  even  more  magnificent.  The  vast  hall  in  which  the 
proceedings  took  place  was  crammed  in  every  comer.  One 
thousand  five  hundred  ladies  and  one  thousand  five  hundred 
gentlemen  sat  in  reserved  seats.  For  the  other  thousand  seats  no 
tickets  had  been  issued.  These,  and  standing  room  for  a  thousand 
more,  had,  at  Floppington's  express  desire,  been  left  open  for  free 
competition,  and  from  early  dawn,  dense  masses  of  men  vibrant 


990  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

with  emotion  had  suiged  patiently  to  and  fro.  As  the  Premiet 
drove  slowly  towards  the  door  he  saw  that  the  building  was  sur- 
rounded as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 

The  audience  had  been  in  their  places  for  hours.  They  had 
sung  all  their  national  songs  twice  through  before  the  distant 
muffled  roar  of  the  thousands  without  announced  the  advent  d 
the  Premier.  The  sounds  grew  and  grew  in  volmne,  till  at  last 
they  swelled  to  a  mighty  organ-roll  of  sound,  and  Floppingtoii 
entered  die  hall.  Immediately  the  vast  assemblage  rose  to  thehr 
feet  as  one  man,  waving  their  hats  and  handkerchiefs,  and  cheering 
till  the  rafters  rang  again.  As  the  great  Minister,  sporting  a  huge 
bunch  of  primroses  at  his  button-hole,  took  his  place  on  the  platfonxL 
five  thousand  voices  burst  out  singing  "  For  he  s  a  jolly  good  fellow.* 
The  sweet  tones  of  the  women  mingled  with  the  rumbling  bass  ol 
the  men,  and  the  effect  was  sublime. 

Floppington  was  visibly  affected  As  the  homage  of  the  multi- 
nde  fell  upon  his  ears,  as  he  saw  every  eye  fixed  reverently  upon 
his,  it  was  borne  in  upon  him  that  monarchy  was  a  sham,  and  that 
republicanism  was  the  only  satisfactory  form  of  government  He 
gazed  around,  and  his  heart  swelled  and  his  eyes  grew  moist  with  a 
rush  of  unselfish  emotion.  Vast  projects  of  refonn,  vast  schemes 
for  benefiting  so  aj^reciative  a  humanity  surged  within  his  brain, 
as  he  took  in  the  grandeur  of  the  scene.  On  the  platform,  at  his 
side  and  behind  him,  were  ranged  the  noblest  of  England's  titled 
or  untitled  aristocracy  (many  of  whom,  as  he  knew,  had  intrigued 
for  the  honour  of  appearing  upon  it),  and  the  most  illustrious 
leaders  on  both  sides. 

Knights  and  ladies,  squires  and  dames  of  the  Primrose  League, 
wore  their  orders  on  their  breasts,  and  the  picturesque  effect  of 
the  ensemble  was  intensified  by  the  preponderance  of  the  gender 
sex,  which  made  the  platform  flash  with  a  continuous  galaxy  oi 
fair  women,  the  soft  sheen  of  whose  white  dresses  reposed  the  eye 
and  gave  a  cool  tone  to  the  picture.  The  hall  itself,  afiame  on 
all  sides  with  perspectives  of  excited  faces,  was  fragrant  with 
floral  decorations,  and  in  niches  along  the  walls  stood  statues  of  his 
most  illustrious  predecessors,  gilded  bv  the  bright  sunshine  thai 
streamed  lavishly  through  the  open  windows. 

The  proceedings  commenced  with  the  recital  of  a  fine  nebulous 
ode,  written  by  Mrs.  PfeifFer  for  the  occasion. 

This  over,  a  beautiful,  blushing  school-girl  advanced,  bearing  a 
magnificent  bouquet,  which  she  presented  in  the  name  of  the  adoles- 
cent generation  of  women;  declaring,  in  the  course  of  another 
poem,  that  the  girls  would  endeavour  to  live  up  to  their  vote, 
and  to  acquire  a  finished  political  education  in  all  its  branches. 

The  Premier  replied  that  he  was  deeply  moved  by  the  confidence 
of  the  school-girls  of  the  nation,  and  that  he  in  his  turn  would 
endeavour  to  live  up  to  that  confidence.  (Cheers.)  When  io 
future  harassed  by  the  weighty  cares  of  the  Empire^  he  would 
think  of  all  the  dear  little  girls  in  their  white  pixuifores  (cheers) 
whose  hearts  were  beating  in  sympathy  with  his,  and  whose  heads 


FLOPPINGTON'S  APOLOGIA  291 

were  throbbing  with  the  same  momentous  problems;  and  he  had 
no  doubt  he  would  be  solaced,  braced,  and  stimulated  by  the 
thought     (Loud  and  prolonged  cheers,  and  much  wiping  of  eyes.) 
He  trusted  that  the  school-girls  of  England  would  not  live  in  con- 
tented apathy  because  they  held  the  true  political  faith  themselves  ; 
he  hoped  that  they  would  not  rest  night  or  day  till  they  had  con- 
verted their  mothers  and  fathers  to  their  own  views— (cheers) — till 
they  had  uprooted  the  immature  fallacies  of  their  uncles  and  aunts 
—(cheers) — till  they  had  utterly  annihilated  the  crude  convictions 
of  their   grandfathers  and  grandmothers.     (Immense  applause.) 
Should  they  shrink  from  the  task  as  difficulty  as  impossible,  he 
would  direct  their  eyes  to  the  bright  example  of  the  Temperance 
tracts — (cheers) — to   the  illustrious  models   of  the  Sunday  story 
books.      (Cheers.)     Their  holy  religion  taught  them  that  nothing 
was  too  miraculous  to  have  happened  (cheers),  and  that  they  would 
find  that  little  children  had  redeemed  their  parents  from  evil 
(cheers),  and  why  should  they  not  exert  the  same  beneficial  influence 
on  politics  ?     (Cheers.)     Indeed,  he  would  venture  to  say,  if  the 
profanity   were   excused   him,  that  the   motto    of  Conservatism 
might  in  future  be  :  "  Unless  ye  become  as  little  children  ye  shall 
not  enter  the  kingdom  of  Toryism."    (Cheers.)    **  For  are  not  the 
articles  of  our  creed  within  the  comprehension  of  a  child  ?"  asked 
the  Premier.  ^  Is  it  not  the  adult  mind  that  refines  and  obscures  its 
beautiful  and  elementary  character?     Are  we  not  all  Tories  at  our 
mother's  breast  ?  (Cheers.)  To  adapt  the  phrase  that  the  poet  applied 
to  heaven,  does  not  Toryism  lie  about  us  in  our  infancy  ?  (Cheers.) 
Does  not  Toryism  lie   about  everything  in  heaven  and  earth  ? 
(Loud  cheers.)    I  say  that  Toryism  is  the  belief  taught  by  Nature 
herself,  the  belief  evidenced  by  every  act  of  the  young  before  the 
▼eneer  of  education  masks  the  elemental  instincts,  the  belief  of  all 
that  is  simple,  of  all  that  is  childish,  of  all  diat  is  unsophisticated. 
(Cheers.)     But,  alas!  the  child  grows  up  ;  the  beautiful  innocence 
of  his  soul  dies  away,  his  primeval  and  touching  simplicity  vanishes, 
^d  he  becomes  wise  with  the  wisdom  of  the  Radicals.     (Loud 
hisses.)     It  is  for  this  reason  that  I  say  unto  you,  school-girls  of 
England,  and  I  bid  you  make  it  known  to  die  school-boys  of 
England  (cheers),  that  on  you  is  laid  the  sacred  and  mighty  task  of 
forming  die  aging  intellect  of  the  nation,  that  on  you  rests  the 
divine  duty  of  implanting  the  seeds  of  truth  in  hearts  hardened 
and  turned  away  from  it  by  the  cruel  experiences  of  adult  life,  that 
to  your  hands  is  confided  the  solemn  function  of  recalling  your 
ciders  to  the  ancient  purity  of  their  faith,  of  making  them  innocent 
as  you  are  innocent,  simple  as  you  are  simple,  imsophistlcated  as 
you  are  imsophisticated.''    (Loud  and  prolonged  cheering). 

The  great  presentation  of  the  day  now  took  place  in  the  name 
of  the  Women  of  England,  who  begged  him  to  accept  some  slight 
marks  of  their  gratitude— for  they  could  never  hope  to  adequately 
i^y  his  exertions  in  their  cause — to  the  most  noble-minded  and 
large-hearted  Minister  of  the  century  (cheers) ;  to  the  statesman 
H/hom  the  world  honoured  for  the  comprehensiveness  of  his  viewSi 

U    8 


1 


29^  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

the  depth  of  his  loyalty  and  patriotism  (cheers),  the  thoroughness 
of  his  reforms  (loud  cheers),  and  the  staunchness  of  bis  Conserva- 
tism.   (Immense  enthusiasm.) 

The  ni^ht-cap,  the  slippers,  and  the  books  were  then  handed  to 
Mr.  Floppmgton  amid  the  plaudits  of  the  mighty  assembly.  The 
Premier,  m  reply,  said : 

^  Words  cannot  tell  how  deeply  I  am  moved  by  this  presenta- 
tion to  my  unworthy  self,  of  such  valuable  specimens  of  the  work 
and  the  works  of  the  women  of  my  country  (cheers),  dnd  by  the 
kind  language  of  the  address  which  accompanied  it.  I  don't  know 
why  the  millions  of  donors  have  chosen  me  for  this  great  honour. 
I  am  sure  I  have  had  little  to  do  with  the  extension  of  their 
privileges.  (No,  no.)  I  have  carried  the  measure  it  is  true 
(cheers)j  but  it  is  to  the  pioneers  of  the  movement  that  all  the 
honour  is  due.  When  I  recall  to  you  the  labours  of  the  noble  lady 
whose  unfortunate  absence  from  our  midst  on  this  interesting 
occasion  no  one  can  regret  more  than  I  (loud  and  prolonged  cheer- 
ing), when  I  remind  you  of  the  herculean — as  well  as  for  a  long 
time  the  Sisyphean — labours  of  all  connected  with  the  Female  Suf- 
frage Society  (cheers),  you  will  understand  that  it  is  not  an  excess  of 
modesty  that  prompts  my  disclaimer  of  merit,  but  a  right  measure 
of  appreciation  of  the  efforts  of  others.  (Hear,  hear.)  I  trust 
I  shall  not  be  considered  boastful  in  claiming  to  possess  the  latter 
quality.  As  a  true,  and,  I  fervently  hope,  a  typical  Tory,  it  is  my 
pride  that  I  am  not  indifferent  to  the  good  points  in  the  policy  even 
of  our  opponents.  (Cheers.)  But  vou  have  not  been  of  my 
opinion  in  regard  to  the  smallness  of  my  merits,  and  I  cannot 
grumble  at  being  in  a  minority.  (Laughter.)  Far  be  it  from  me 
to  accuse  the  fair  sex  of  unfairness.  (Laughter.)  No  doubt  the 
ladies  have  delights  in  store  for  all  who  deserve  them.  When 
I  survey  the  contents  of  this — Surprise  Packet  (laughter),  this 
gorgeous  night-cap,  these  voluptuous  slippers  ''—holding  them  up 
— "  I  am  overcome  with  emotion  ;  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  on 
my  head  or  my  heels  (laughter),  and,  consequently,  in  doubt  as  to 
which  article  goes  north  and  which  south.  (Loud  laughter.)  Bat 
crowned  with  this  magnificent  work  of  art — whichever  of  the  two 
it  be  (more  laughter)— and  shod  with  the  other — whichever  that 
other  be — I  may  proudly  claim  that  woman's  love  has  armed  me 
from  head  to  foot,  and  thus  accoutred  I  am  ready  for  tihe  fray. 
(Cheers  and  laughter.)  And  now,  as  my  emotion  subsides,  and 
my  sight  begins  to  clear,  I  feel  that  with  these  slippers  " — holding 
them  up — "  I  shall  be  able  to  beat  my  enemies  (laughter) — I  mean 
the  thought  of  these  slippers  will  enable  me  to  inflict  a  moral 
thrashing  on  my  adversaries.  When  I  survey  their  wondrous 
workmanship  —  if  the  masculine  substantive  be  permissible 
(laughter) — and  when  I  look  at  these  rows  of  intellectual  volumes,  I 
feel  that  this  presentation  of  the  Women  of  England  does  equal 
hoi'our  to  their  head  and  heart  (Laughter.)  And  what  shall  I 
say  of  this  gorgeous  and  tropical  vision"— holding  up  the  night- 


FLOPPINGTON'S  APOLOGIA  ^3 

cap^"  which  only  language  like  Mr.  Swinbnrae^s  could  adequately 
describe ;  this 

'  Naidiius-Uke  nimbui  round  my  nightly  nepenthe.' 

Surely  it  was  by  prevision  of  its  loveliness   that   Keats  wrote 
(laughter)  : 

'  A  thing  of  beaaty  is  a  joy  for  erer, 
Its  lovdiness  increases ;  it  will  never 
Pass  into  nothingness  but  still  will  keep 
A  hewer  quiet  for  us  {ixamining  tJU  imttriar)  and  a  skt^ 
Full  of  sweet  dreams  and  health  and  quiet  breathing.* 

Loud  lai^hter.)    I  hope  the  prediction  of  the  poet  will  be  realised. 
(Laughter.)  I  shall  certainl^r  tiy  to  bring  it  about  by  wearing  the  thing 
of  b^uty,  though,  at  first  sight  of  it,  I  must  confess  I  felt  tempted 
to  exclaim  what  the  countryman  exclaimed  at  the  first  sight  of  a 
cathedral :  *  That !  why,  dan^  it,  tha^s  too  magnificent  to  sleep  in.' 
(Laughter.)    But,  while  lost  m  the  magnificence  of  my  present,  I 
mast  not  fofget  to  thank  this  magnificent  assembly  for  its  kind  ap- 
preciation of  the  little  I  have  been  able  to  do  for  the  removal  of 
mequality  and  injustice  in  the  past  (cheers^  and  were  it  not  for  the 
fact  that  the  bright  sunshine  woos  you  wi^out  (no,  no  !),  I  might 
be  tempted  to  say  a  little  about  the  future.     (Hear,  hear,  and 
cheers.)    Well,  if  you  wish  to  expose  yourself  to  the   heat  of 
political  oratoiy  in  addition  to  that  of  the  weather,  I  trust  you  will 
not  blame  me  too  much  in  the  sequel,  and  diough  I  mav  be  held 
responsible  for  the  former,  I  hope  I  shall  not  ^  deemed  respon- 
sible for  the  latter.    (Laughter.)    I  have  no  wish  to  trench  upon 
the  privileges  of  Her  Gracious  Majesty,  whose  use  as  a  cloud-dis- 
peller  the  most  ardent  Republican  must  admit    (Laup^hter.)    And 
while  I  am  on  the  subject  of  Her  Majesty,  a  theme  inexhaustible 
to  all  the  other  subjects  of  Her  Majesty,  I  cannot  refrain  from  re- 
marking upon  the  monstrosity  of  the  fact  that  the  sex  which  pro- 
duced the  sovereign  of  an  empire  on  which  the  sun  never  sets 
(cheers),  a  sovereign,  than  whom  none,  I  make  bold  to  say.  has  ever 
been  dearer  to  the  people  of  this  great  country  (cheers),  a  sove- 
reign who  has  moreover  added  to  the  wealth  ot  English  literature 
by  wories  that  would  immortalise  her  did  she  not  immortalise 
them,  and  which,  I  am  not  surprised  to  see^  have  been  considered 
indispensable  to  this  collection  of  volumes  representative  of  the 
female  intellect  of  England  (loud  cheers) — ^that  die  sex  which 
counts  among  its  members  such  women  as  this  should  be  devoid 
of  a  vote,  and  that  Victoria  herself,  had  this  been  a  country  where 
power  sprang  not  from  birth  but  from  intellect,  would  have  been 
eebarrea  from  the  slightest  voice  in  the  affairs  of  the  nadon.   I  say 
that  in  rejecdng  diis  barbarous  Salic  law  of  suffrage  we  have  got 
rid  of  a  national  scandid.    (Loud  cheers,  the  audience  rising  and 
waving  hats  and  handkerchiefs.)    But  it  will  be  said,  nay,  it  has 
been  said,  with  what  venomous  rancour  you  all  know,  '  How  was 
k  tliat  your  convictions  on  this  point  were  a  short  time  ago  the 


294  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

exact  reverse  of  what  they  are  now  ? '  I  have  hitherto  been  silent 
Strong  in  my  integrity,  I  have  allowed  the  stream  of  indictment, 
not  o£y  on  this  but  on  other  subjects,  to  flow  by.  But  the  Women 
of  England  have  had  confidence  in  me  (cheers),  and  my  silence 
has  said  to  my  revilers,  '  a  man  trusted  by  the  unerring  instinct  of 
the  Women  of  England,  a  man  in  whom  the  pure  and  holy  heart 
of  womanhood  has  faith,  has  no  need  to  defend  himself  against 
your  infamous  charges.'  (Loud  cheering.)  But,  though  I  was  re- 
served with  my  enemies,  I  will  be  open  with  my  friends.  (Hear, 
hear.)  They  shall  know  the  grounds  on  which  1  have  based  and 
shall  continue  to  base  my  political  conduct 

^  And  let  me  premise  my  remarks  by  pointing  out  how  easy 
and  obvious  a  reply  I  could  make  to  my  detractors,  were  I  not 
more  concerned  to  lay  down  general  principles  of  political  action 
than  to  undertake  a  personal  and  perhaps  unnecessary  defence. 
(Hear,  hear.)  I  might  make  much  of  the  fact  that  the  measure  of 
female  suffrage  granted  by  the  present  Government  is  infinitely 
wider  than  the  meagre  concessions  of  the  Liberals.  (Cheers.)  I 
might  accentuate  the  contrast  generally,  by  a  review  of  the  centuries 
of  tinkering  Radical  legislation;  I  might  point  out  to  the  Radical 
party  that  in  political  arithmetic  two  half-measures  are  never 
equal  to  a  whole.  (Cheers.)  But  although  I  might  shield  myself 
behind  the  aegis  of  the  great  Conservative  principle  of  'Thorough,' 
I  will  never  allow  it  to  go  forth  to  the  world  that  I  wrested  the 
control  of  this  great  measure  out  of  the  hands  of  the  Liberals, 
because,  and  merely  because,  their  reforms  did  not  go  far  enough. 
Let  me  tell  the  Women  of  England,  that  the  Conservative  party 
has  been  influenced  by  higher  considerations  than  even  the  justice 
of  their  cause.  It  is  an  open  secret  of  practical  politics  that  the 
principle  of  a  proposed  reform  is  not  the  all  in  all  that  it  ap- 
pears to  weak-minded  enthusiasts —the  party  which  achieves  that 
reform  is  of  equal,  if  not  of  greater  importance.  A  Bill  passed 
by  the  Liberals  is  quite  a  different  thing  from  the  same  Bill  passed 
by  the  Conservatives.  I  opposed  the  men,  not  the  measures. 
(Cheers.)  Was  it  well  that  the  Liberals  should  be  allowed  to  bolster 
up  their  decaying  power  by  grudged  concessions,  or  was  it  not  better 
that  the  great  boon  of  suffrage  should  be  generously  granted  by 
the  Conservative  party — a  party  that,  strong  in  its  wesdth  and  in 
the  support  of  the  Upper  Chamber,  can  afford  to  maintain  in- 
dependence of  thought ;  can  afford  to  despise  the  solicitations  of 
the  hour  ;  can  afford  to  take  its  stand  upon  eternal  truth,  and  so 
stamp  its  reforms  with  the  signet  of  permanence.  (Cheers.)  For 
it  is  our  proud  boast  that  we  never  carry  a  measure  with  the  raw 
haste  of  the  Radicals,  that  we  never  yield  to  a  demand  for  reform 
before  we  are  thoroughly  convinced  of  the  necessity  ;  so  that  when 
we  do  set  our  minds  upon  a  thing,  the  world  feels  it  is  consecrated 
by  the  approbation  of  unprejudiced  minds,  and  it  is  done  at  once, 
and  once  and  for  ever.  (Cheers.)  When,  on  the  contrary,  the 
Liberals  carry  reforms,  all  is  different ;  and  to  so  intelligent  as 
audience  I  need  not  point  the  contrast  in  detail    (Hear,  hear.) 


r 


FLOPPINGTON'S  APOLOGIA  39$ 


Honourable  gentlemen,  whom  I  rejoice  to  see  on  the  platform,  and 
whose  conscientiousness  I  admire  though  their  poliucal  faith  may 
not  be  mine,  may  be  grieved  to  hear  me  talk  of  grudged  concessionSi 
They  will  ask  :  '  Have  we  not  willingl^r  enrolled  ourselves  under 
your  banner?'  But  let  me  sketch  briefly  the  history  of  that 
measure  to  these  gentlemen,  and  they  will  see  that  I  use  no  empty 
phrase.  When  did  this  measure  first  come  on  the  tapis  ?  Was  it 
introduced  by  a  Government  in  the  flush  of  youth  and  the  pride  oH 
life,  or  by  a  Ministry  in  the  decrepitude  of  old  age,  and  in  the 
agonies  of  approaching  dissolution  ?  (Cheers  and  laughter.)  Was 
the  Cabinet  prompted  by  the  love  of  justice  or  by  the  fear  of  defeat? 
Were  its  ears  open  to  the  appeal  of  the  downtrodden  or  inclined 
eagerly  to  catch  the  first  whispers  of  the  polling  booth  ?  Were  the 
tears  it  shed  over  the  fate  of  the  voteless,  genuine  salt,  or  were  they 
only  a  good  election  cry  ?  (Laughter  and  cheers.)  For  my  part  I 
beheve  they  were  the  drops  that  stand  in  the  oleaginous  optic  of  the 
pachydermatous  crocodile.  (Laughter.)  I  determined  that  I  would 
not  suffer  them  to  go  to  the  country  with  the  boast  of  recent  un- 
selfish reforms ;  and  though  I  had  grown  convinced  of  the  righteous- 
ness of  the  cause  (loud  cheers  and  sensation),  it  seemed  to  me  to  be 
made  unrighteous  by  being  upheld  by  Ministers  whose  only  chance 
of  supporting  diemselves  was  to  support  it  (Laughter.)  I  resolved 
not  to  permit  the  Liberals,  now  that  their  tenure  of  power  was  well- 
nigh  over,  to  mount  into  office  again  on  the  shoulders  of  a  popular 
measure  which  ought  to  be  pass^  indeed,  but  which,  if  passed  l^y 
them,  would  probably  lead  to  another  septennium  of  Rsulical  mis- 
rule, another  season  of  successful  incapacity  lor  their  leaders,  and 
another  period  of  political  purgatory  for  ours.  For  these  and  other 
reasons  which  I  need  not  mention,  I  saw  that  while  my  own  heart 
and  m^  perception  of  the  wrongs  of  women  were  impdling  me  to 
vote  with  the  Liberals,  a  truer  instinct,  and  a  higher  duty,  and  a 
wider  view  of  the  interests  of  the  country  as  a  whole,  demanded 
that  I  should  impede,  and  not  help  on,  ^e  desirable  refonn. 

^  It  behoved  me  to  obev  the  higher  law.  It  behoved  me  to  save 
my  country,  though  individual  measures  perished.  It  behoved  me 
to  put  myself  at  the  head  of  an  Opposition.  But,  alas  1  the  lower 
bstinct  of  temporary  and  partial,  rather  than  permanent  and 
universal  interests,  was  strong  within  me.  It  would  not  permit  me 
to  oppose  a  measure  with  which  I  agreed  After  all  I  am  weak  and 
human,  and  the  lower  instincts  prevailed  so  far  as  to  force  me  to 
examine  the  objections  to  the  measure,  to  penetrate  myself  with  the 
conviction  of  its  defects  and  to  be  ruthless  towards  my  personal 
prejudices.  It  was  a  hard  task,  but  I  succeeded  The  persistent 
adoption  of  a  hostile  standpoint  had  at  last  blinded  me  to  the 
strength  of  the  arguments  for  the  measure.  I  had  kept  my  eye 
so  long  on  the  silver  shield,  that  I  had  forgotten  there  was  a  golden 
side  to  it  Well,  as  you  all  know,  I  organised  the  drooping  Con- 
servatives, most  of  whom  have  proved  they  viewed  their  conduct 
as  I  did  mine,  by  voting  for  it  now;  the  Parnellites  voted  with  us  to  a 
man,  and  we  were  joined  by  just  enough  independent  or  revolted 


896  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

Liberals  to  convert  the  already  dwindling  Liberal  majority  into  a 
minority.  Our  success  surprised  no  one  more  than  myself.  I  felt 
sure  the  Government  could  have  made  a  stronger  fight.  Probably 
they  were  not  sorry  to  retire  and  throw  on  us  the  onus  of  our  un- 
popular victory,  and  the  responsibility  of  administering  affairs  for 
a  rew  months  before  the  General  Election,  and  thus  to  give  us  the 
opportunity  of  obscuring  their  mistakes  by  our  own.  They  did  not 
foresee  that  they  were  falling  into  their  own  trap,  and  that  they 
would  be  called  upon  to  aid  us  in  passing  the  very  reform  they  had 
iiEuled  to  carry.  (Cheers.)  When  Her  Majesty  did  me  the  honour 
to  send  for  me  to  Balmoral,  I  was  still  astonished  by  my  victory. 
I  had  no  definite  plans.  I  was  unwilling  to  hold  office  at  the  will 
of  the  late  Premier — for  my  faction  would,  of  course,  be  dborga- 
nised  by  the  re-gravitation  of  the  Liberal  atoms  to  their  original 
sphere,  and  my  own  party  would  be  in  that  hopeless  minority  in 
which  it  has  been  during  the  whole  of  this  Parhament  I  therefore 
declared  my  inability  to  form  an  Administration.  It  had  not  as  yet 
occurred  to  me  that  if  I  now  introduced  a  Female  Suffrage  measure 
the  Liberals  would,  for  the  sake  of  consistency,  be  compelled  to 
give  it  their  support.  You  all  know  what  happened.  Various 
combinations  were  tried  ;  a  coalition  Ministry  was  suggested,  but 
ultimately  I  consented  to  do  my  best  and  brave  the  consequences. 
I  first  introduced  a  comprehensive  measure  to  do  away  with  the  last 
injustices  of  male  suffrage,  with  the  idea  of  following  it  up  by  an 
equally  comprehensive  measure  dealing  with  the  female  franchise, 
for  I  was  now  able  to  see  the  reverse  side  of  the  shield.  ^  Finding, 
however,  the  world  and  the  House  eager  for  an  immediate  setde- 
ment  of  the  latter  question,  I  made  it  known  that  the  Government 
would  bind  itself  to  accept  a  clause  for  that  purpose  as  an  amend- 
ment in  Committee,  so  that  the  Bill  should  receive  the  support  of 
all  classes  of  politicians.  And  now  comes  my  justification  of  the 
phrase,  *  grudging  concessions.' 

'*  Many  of  the  Liberals— not  all,  I  am  happy  to  say,  as,  indeed,  the 
presence  of  Liberals  on  the  platform  will  testify  (cheers)— the  very 
men  who  had  professed  to  be  moved  by  the  wrongs  of  one-half  the 
human  race,  either  voted  against  the  Bill,  or  abstained  from  voting 
altogether.  (Groans  and  hisses.)  And  what  was  their  plea  ?  Why, 
nothing  but  the  miserable  excuse  put  forth,  I  ani  sorry  to  say,  by 
my  late  colleague,  Lord  Bardolph  Mountchapel  (hisses  and  cheers)^ 
nothing  but  the  shuffling  pretext  that  they  were  afraid  I  was  only 
trying  to  entrap  them  into  voting  for  the  second  reading,  that  it 
was  only  another  case  of '  Will  you  come  into  my  lobby,  said  the 
spider  to  the  fly  ? '    (Laughter.) 

**  I  trust  that  my  earnest  efforts  in  the  House  have  given  the  lie 
to  the  base  suspicion.  (Cheers.)  These  gentlemen  remind  me  of 
that  other  gentleman  in  a  book  which  will  be  known  to  most  of  you 
— I  mean  the  New  AraMan  Nights^  which  you  should  read  if  you 
haven't — the  gentleman  who  assiduously  cultivated  the  emotion  of 
fear.  (Laughter.)  Nelson,  according  to  the  poet,  was  afraid  of 
naught  save  fear;  but  the  only  fear  of  the  Anti-Sufiragists  was  lest 


FLOPPINGTON'S  APOLOGIA  297 

tbey  should  have  none.    (Laughter.)     I  can  imagine  Lord  Mount- 
cfaapel,  like  the  great  Turenne  before  the  battle,  ejaculating :  *  Ah, 
body  of  mine,  thou  tremblest ;  but  thou  shalt  tremble  still  more 
before  I  have  done  with  thee.'    (Loud  laughter.)   However,  though 
the  noble  lord  stole  some  of  my  old  Tones  who  were  opposed  to 
my  measure — and  I  hope  he  will  return  them,  now  that  he  has  no 
further  use  for  them  (laughter) — and  added  them  to  his  fearful  and 
terror-stricken  troops,  yet  his  ranks  fell  off  day  by  day,  and  the 
poor  survivors  had  to  exhort  and  encourage  one  another  to  keep 
up  their  fear.    (Loud  laughter.)    Still  the  Mountchapel  phalanx 
was  pretty  strong,  despite  its  state  of  chronic  panic.     My  Anti- 
Suffragist  Liberals  deserted  me,  but  as  their  place  was  supplied  by 
an   almost  equivalent  number  of  Suffragists,  that  didn't  matter. 
The   revulsion  of  the  Pamellites  from  their  recent  antagonism 
retained  them  in  their  adherence  to  our  party,  and  thus  we  were 
enabled  to  score  a  decisive  victory  over  an  Opposition  made  up  of 
all  those  who  feared  that  I  would  carry  Female  Suffrage,  and  of 
all  those  who  feared  I  wouldn't     (Cheers  and  laughter.)    As  you 
all  know,  we  had  a  majority  of  thirty-nine  on  the  second  reading, 
and  shortly  afterwards  the  measure,  amended  as  I  had  promised, 
became  law.    (Loud  and  continued  cheering.)    And  now,  after  this 
historical  r^sumS,  let  us  see  what  other  reforms  have  come  within 
the  range  of  practical  politics  since  I  took  office.     I  have  spoken  at 
length  on  the  past,  and  I  hope  1  have  not  said  too  little  on  the  present 
(laughter);  but  I  can  only  say  a  few  words  on  the  future.    The 
sands  of  the  session,  of  Parliament  itself,  are  fast  running  out,  but 
to  me  the  few  grains  that  remain  glisten  and  glitter  with  golden 
opportimities.     (Loud  cheers.)     I  thank  you  for  those  sounds,  they 
cheer  me  in  more  senses  than  one.    (Laughter.)     I  rejoice  to  be 
thus  strengthened  at  almost  the  beginning  of  my  ministerial  career, 
for  I  have  much  to  do,  many  battles  to  fight  (cheers),  and  perhaps 
not  even  the  fag-end  of  the  session  to  fight  them  in.    (No,  no.) 
You  say  *  No,  no  !  *  but  no  one  can  feel  more  deeply  than  I   do 
that  it  IS  only  by  the  will  of  the  late  Premier  that  I  hold  office.     I 
felt  that  it  would  be  so  when  I  accepted  it     I  know  there  is  nothing 
that  gives  me  the  right  to  retain  my  proud  position  but  his  consent. 
And  never  in  my  wildest  dreams  had  I  imagined  that  he  would 
ever  give  it  in  the  first  instance.     Perhaps  I  wronged  him  in  fearing 
that  he  would  withdraw  his  support  from  me  before  the  dissolution. 
He  has  not  lifted  up  his  voice  against  me  as  yet,  and  I  hope  be 
will  not  do  so  for  some  time.     It  may  be  that  he  has  taken  an  oath 
of  silence.     (Lauehter.)     It  may  be  that  he  has  determined  to  give 
me  rope  enough  to  hang  myself    (Laughter.)     It  may  be  that  I 
shall  use  that  rope  to  drag  his  reluctant  party  along  the  path  of 
true  reform.     (Loud  laughter.)     It  may  be  that  his  indignation  at 
the  sublime  use  to  which  a  hempen  cord  may  be  applied  will 
induce  him  to  take  the  dangerous  weapon  out  of  my  hands  too  soon, 
though  I  promise  him  some  trouble  it  he  attempts  it     (Laughter.) 
But  should  I  be  permitted  to  hold  my  place  longer  than  I  anticipate, 
every  extension  of  my  term  of  power  shall  be  an  extension  of  the 


998  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

privileges  of  the  oppressed.  (Cheers.)  I  know — none  better — the 
tendencies  of  moaem  Conservatism,  and,  as  it  has  fallen  upon  me 
to  interpret  them  and  to  give  them  full  and  uninterrupted  course,  I 
look  forward  to  a  career,  brief  it  may  be,  but  k>ng  enough  to  show 
that  chivalry  and  generosity  are  not  the  exclusive  possession  of  the 
Radicals.  The  Liberals  promise,  but  do  not  perform.  The  world 
shall  find  that  the  Conservatives  perform  without  promisiDg. 
(Cheers.)  We  do  not  come  into  office  under  pledge  to  carry 
reforms  (cheers),  we  do  not  stir  up  the  cupidity  of  the  masses  and 
secure  their  votes  by  promising  to  improve  their  condition,  but  if 
we  feel  that  it  is  desirable  to  do  so,  we  do  it  and  there's  an  end  of 
it  (Cheers.)  The  Conservative  party,  'on  evil  days  though 
fallen  and  evil  tongues,'  will  not  pause  in  the  good  work  for  fear 
of  gibes,  and  flouts,  and  sneers,  such  as  the  young  lions  of 
debating  rooms  or  the  younger  lions  of  journalism  have  assailed 
me  with,  but  which  I  am  sorry  to  tell  them  were  wasted  on  me^ 
possibly  because  I  have  not  wit  enough  to  feel  their  point 
(Laughter.)  No  ;  the  great  Conservative  party  is  not  to  be  turned 
aside  by  the  shafts  of  ridicule.  The  Laureate  has  denounced '  the 
craven  fear  of  being  great,'  but  there  is  a  worse  fear  than  that,  and 
that  is  the  craven  fear  of  doing  right    (Cheers.) 

'*  We  have  righted  die  wrongs  of  the  female  sex,  but  there  is  a 
nation  that  has  bisen  treated  like  too  many  unhappy  women,  a  nation 
whose  wrongs  are  yet  to  right — I  mean  Ireland.  (Sensation.) 
Sold  without  her  own  consent,  bartered  for  the  gold  of  her  un- 
welcome spouse,  betrayed  into  a  marriage  of  convenience,  and, 
worst  of  all,  after  the  union  treated  with  iMU'barous  harshness  and 
contumely — the  very  cruelty  she  has  been  subjected  to  would  alone 
entitle  her  to  a  judicial  separation.  (Immense  sensation.)  It  is 
time  that  the  scandal  of  an  unhappy  wedded  life  be  blotted  out  from 
the  sight  of  this  pure  and  moral  age.  (Liberal  cheers.)  That  justice 
which  Ireland  could  not  get  from  the  ranting  Radicals  she  shall  get 
from  the  calm  and  composed  Conservatives.  (Loud  and  pro- 
tracted cheering,  the  whole  audience  standing.) 

''  Knights  and  dames  of  the  Primrose  League  whom  I  see 
around  me,  it  is  one  of  the  objects  of  our  society  to  preserve  our 
holy  religion  from  the  attaclcs  of  modem  thought.  (Cheers.) 
And  how  can  we  best  defend  our  threatened  creed  ?  Is  it  by  rhe- 
toric, or  reasoning,  or  intellectual  refinements  ?  No ;  they  are 
bullets  that  shatter  themsdves  on  the  dense  mail  of  rational  scepti- 
cism, arrows  that  impinge  and  glance  off.  Let  us  not  be  Christians 
in  words  but  in  deeds.  (Cheers.)  Were  the  dogmas  of  our 
faith  impotent  to  resist  the  army  of  infidelity,  concrete  Christianity 
would  still  keep  it  at  bay.  (Cheers.)  It  is  not  our  creeds  that 
ennoble  our  lives,  it  is  our  lives  that  ennoble  our  creeds.  (Cheers.) 
We  cannot  be  Christians  while  we  suffer  injustice.  (Cheers.) 
We  cannot  be  Christians  while  we  would  put  together  those  whom 
God  hath  put  asunder.  We  cannot  be  Christians  while  we  retain 
under  our  yoke  a  nation  that  cries  aloud  for  justice  and  for 
independence     (Loud  and   protracted   cheers.)     We  may  havo 


r 


FLOPPINGTON'S  APOLOGIA  299 


wanclered  from  the  path  of  righteousness,  nay,  I  believe  we  did 
desert  our  principles  and  act  after  the  manner  of  the  crude  Radical 
reformer,  when  we  united  England  and  Ireland  instead  of  leaving 
them  in  statu  quo,  (Hear,  hear.)  fiut  if  we  have  wandered 
from  the  path  on  this  and  other  occasions  in  the  past,  no  one  can 
say  we  nave  perversely  refused  to  re-enter  it  We  may  have 
been,  perhaps,  a  little  obstinate  at  first,  but  we  can  honestly  claim 
that  in  the  end  we  have  always  yielded  to  the  influence  of  what  has 
been  eloquently  termed  '  the  power,  not  ourselves,  that  makes  for 
righteousness.'  (Clieers.)  Liberals  who  have  worked  with  us 
in  reforming  a  great  abuse,  help  us  in  reforming  a  greater.  You 
have  never  concealed  your  sympathy  with  Ireland,  you  have  made 
concessions,  some  of  you  are  known  to  be  in  favour  of  an  extension 
of  her  local  privileges,  but  you  have  one  and  all  shrunk  from  going 
to  the  root  of  the  matter.  You  have,  perhaps,  mistakenly  feared 
our  opposition.  But  now  I  appeal  to  you  to  follow  us  in  our  de- 
termined attempt  to  rid  the  earth  of  this  gigantic  wrong.  (Cheers.) 
And  I  call  upon  the  women  of  England  to  aid  us  in  our  sacred 
cause,  to  let  the  first  use  they  make  of  their  new  powers  be  a  noble 
and  generous  use — to  do  unto  others  as  they  have  been  done  by — 
to  prove  to  mankind  that  the  heart  of  woman  is  the  seat  of  justice 
— to  tell  the  world  that,  where  woman  has  a  voice,  there  the  allure- 
ments of  injustice  and  oppression  can  no  longer  make  themselves 
heard ;  to  show  to  the  universe  that  the  selfish  excuses  of  dishonour 
shrink  away  ashamed  before  the  scorn  of  her  generous  spirit,  and 
the  stainless  purity  of  her  souL  (Immense  applause.)  Women 
of  England !  You  have  said  that  you  could  never  adequately  repay 
me  for  my  exertions  in  your  cause.  Exert  yourselves  in  the  cause 
which  I  make  mine— the  cause  of  Liberty,  Justice,  and  Progress. 
Listen  to  the  voice  of  Liberty,  which  we  have  heard  thrilling  from 
the  snowy  summits  of  Switzerland  and  the  desolate  plains  of 
Poland,  and  which  now  again  calls  to  us  across  the  sea  from  the 
green  pastures  of  Ireland ;  help  me  to  restore  its  freedom  and  its 
happiness  to  a  captive  and  oppressed  nationality,  and  you  will  have 
repaid  me  to  the  full,  and  with  interest.*'  (Loud  and  prolonged 
cheering,  during  which  the  right  honourable  gentleman  resumed 
his  seat.) 

The  sensation  caused  by  this  speech  throughout  the  United 
Kingdom  of  England  and  Ireland  is  indescribable.  Every  day, 
for  weeks,  every  journal  had  a  leader  upon  it,  or  alluding  to  it. 
Although  it  was  nicknamed  Floppington's  Apologia,  the  discussion 
of  it  was  almost  confined  to  the  promise  of  its  impassioned  close. 
The  announcement  of  the  Conservative  desire  to  give  "  Home  Rule" 
to  Ireland,  came  upon  the  country  like  an  unexpected  bombshell 
In  a  few  days,  however,  it  began  to  be  discovered  that  the  bomb- 
shell might  have  been  foreseen  ;  the  magazines  began  to  certify 
that  after  all  it  was  made  of  inexplosive  materials,  and  it  was 
generally  agreed  that  it  would  save  England  fro.n  any  more  dyna- 
mite. At  3ie  same  time,  plenty  of  hints  were  forthcoming  to  the 
effect  that  the  Parnellites,  who  had  obviously  joined  Floppington 


y»  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

in  his  Anti-Suffrage  agitation  out  of  sheer  abstract  opposition  !• 
die  party  in  power,  had  been  gained  over  to  help  the  Conservative 
Ministry  by  means  of  a  secret  understanding.  Surprise  was  no 
longer  professed  at  the  astounding  inconsistency  of  the  Irish  party. 
Some  were  prepiured  to  specify  the  time,  and  even  the  scene,  of  the 
secret  treaty. 

In  less  than  a  fortnight  the  topic  of  Home  Rule  had  grown  old, 
and  a  very  wide-spread  persuasion  had  grown  up  that  Floppington 
might  be  trusted  to  know  what  was  best  for  the  country.  His 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  Sir  Stanley  Southleigh,  resigned, 
indeed;  but  everybody  knew  he  had  no  spirit  in  him,  and  the 
other  members  of  the  Cabinet  at  any  rate,  seemed  to  stick  to  their 
chief.  The  world  did  not  know  that  they  had,  as  a  body, — wiCk 
infinite  timidity—ventured  to  reproach  the  Premier  with  "  springii^ 
a  mine  upon  diem ; "  that  the  Premier  had  asked  them  to  hand 
him  in  writing  their  objections  and  their  alternative  plans  for  the 
pacification  of  Ireland,  and  that  he  had  pigeon-holed  their  manu- 
scripts very  neady  for  consideration  in  the  dim  and  distant  courses 
of  the  future. 

As  for  the  Liberals,  they  refused  to  commit  themselves  either 
to  opposition  or  to  acquiescence  before  they  had  the  proposed  measure 
before  them.  This  extreme  guardedhess  and  reserve  was  not 
maintained  by  Screwnail  and  a  few  Radicals,  nor  by  Lord  Bar- 
dolph  Mountchapel ;  but  their  respective  policies  will  be  indicated 
later  on.  Meanume  Floppington  had  added  to  his  reputation  for 
statesmanship  and  Parliamentary  prestige,  and  was  now  become 
the  most  popular  Premier  since  Pitt ;  in  short,  as  he  had  prophesied 
to  Tremaitie,  he  had  become  '^  The  People's  Minister." 


CHAPTER  IIL 

A    FAMILY    GROUP. 

"If  I  only  had  one  of  them  stalls,"  observed  Mrs,  Dawe,  casting  a 
longing  glance  in  an  oblique  direction,  '^  I  should  be  as  'appy  as 
youj^ack" 

Toe  corpulent  old  lady,  looking  litde  the  worse  for  the  medicine 
which  had  been  poured  into  her  during  her  recent  illness,  sat  with 
her  son  on  Ramsgate  sands,  and  no  one  who  had  been  asked 
which  of  the  two  was  the  convalescent  would  have  hesitated  to 
point  to  Jack.  Haggard,  emaciated,  by  reason  of  the  terrible 
anxieties  and  burdens  of  the  week  of  his  mother's  illness,  the  poor 
painter  was  listening  vacantly  to  her  remarks,  the  lapping  of  the 
waves,  the  confused  murmur  of  hundreds  of  tongues,  abrupt  peals 
of  laughter,  youthful  shouts,  the  distant  strains  of  a  comic  choius, 
and  the  softened  blare  of  a  brass  band.  Yet  the  despairing*  reck- 
less look  was  gone  out  of  his  face ;  the  unspeakable  magic  of  the 
ocean,  the  calm  of  summer  skies,  the  sacrea  .splendour  of  sunsets 
had  not  lost  their  old  power  over  his  troubled  spirit    Imbibing 


A  FAMILY  GROUP  301 

subtle  influences,  as  softly  as  a  flower  absorbs  the  sunlight, 
his  soul  was  gradually  soothed  to  chastened  resignation,  and  filled 
with  a  patient  trust  in  the  ultimate  rectification  of  his  petty  aflairs. 
The  resolute  abstention,  during  the  whole  of  his  holiday,  from  any 
contact  with  the  world  dirough  the  medium  of  the  Press,  had  also 
contributed  not  a  little  to  his  new  placidity.  He  did  not  think  the 
)uactaposition  of  Nature  and  the  newspaper  at  all  happy,  and  he 
feared,  moreover,  that  acquaintance  with  the  course  of  politics 
would  make  him  a  confirmed  cynic. 

^  As  'appy  as  you,"  repeated  Mrs.  Dawe,  *'  though  old  folks  'as 

AD  rig^ht  to  expect  to  be  as  lively  as  young  'uns,  'specially  when 

they're  eamin'  nothing,  and  bein'  robbed  from  top  to  bottom  by 

landladies,  and  lettin'  their  businesses  go  to  the  dogs,  and  'avin' 

sons  that  gives  away  sixpences  to  niggers  and  organ-grinders,  and 

blind  b^gars,  and  performin'  dogs,  arid  Punch  and  Judy  men,  and 

comic  singers,  as  if  they  was  tax-collectors,  when,  exceptin'  ttie 

chairs,  ye  can  see  everything  for  nothing.     Now,  a  stall  for  'ot 

peas  and  'am  sandwiches,  just  in  between  that  ice-cream  stall  and 

that  fruit-stall,  would  do  a  Saturday  night  trade  all  the  week,  besides 

improvin'  the  view  and  givin'  a  better  smell  to  the  air ;  and  if  I  had 

been  blessed  with  a  dootiful  son  he  might  marry  'Lizer  and  open  a 

branch  business  on  the  sands.    But  I  suppose  ye're  too  proud  to 

do  anything  except  break  yer  poor  mother's  'art.    And  to  think 

that  the  last  time  I  was  'ere  ye  wasn't  thought  of  I    We  was  on 

our  'oneymoon.  and  I  well  remembers  bury  in'  yer  late  father  in 

the  sand  up  to  is  neck,  poor  fellow.    He's  buried  further  up  now. 

It  was  years  and  years  ago  ;  but  there  was  just  as  many  fools  'ere 

wastin'  their  money,  and  the  sands  looked,  said  yer  fatiier,  like  a 

successful  fly-paper.    Look  out.  Jack !    If  ye   don't  move  up  a 

little  Igher  you'll  get  the  sea-water  over  yer  shoes  and  make  'em 

tight.    Don't  sit  on  that  chair,  Jacl^  theyll  charge  ye  a  penny  for 

it ;  they  thinks  visitors  is  reg'lar  gold  minds." 

Jack  moved  mechanically  to  the  higher  spot  to  which  his 
mother  had  cautiously  retreated,  threw  himself  on  his  back 
plunged  his  hands  into  the  sand,  letting  it  slip  through  his  fingers, 
i  and  closed  his  e]^es.  It  was  a  perfect  day.  The  heat  of  the  sun 
!  ekming  ardently  in  an  intensely  blue  sky  was  tempered  by  a  cool 
I  breese  that  fanned  his  weary  brow.  ^  The  murmurs  of  the  crowd 
I  sounded  far  ofifand  peaceful  to  his  tired  brain,  that,  heedless  even 
:  of  Mrs.  Dawe,  wove  the  dreamy  web  of  reverie. 

By  his  mothei's  desire— for  she  averred  she  could  not  enjoy  the 
seaside  without  the  local  colour  in  dress — he  was  attired  in  a  light 
check  suit,  beach  shoes,  and  a  broad-brimmed  straw  hat,  that 
metamorphosed  him  so  completely  as  to  render  the  hitherto  sedately- 
clad  painter  almost  unrecognisable.  She  herself  distended  a 
simple,  maidenly  dress  of  spotted  muslin,  a  white  chip  bonnet  with 
a  salmon-coloured  aigrette  and  very  broad  strings,  high-heeled 
boots  of  French  kid,  and  a  gorgeous  red  sunshade. 

''Thafs  right,  Jade  1"  she  exclaimed,  ^yer  shoes  are  safe  for 
'  Wan  houz  now.* 


I 


302 


THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 


"  Are  not  those  souls  wiser,"  soliloquised  Jack,  "  that  with< 
themselves  from  the  advancing  tide  oi  scepticism  which  they  kn^ 
will  but  contract  their  hearts  as  these  on-coming  waves  one's 
or  sap  the  sand  castles  they  find  such  pleasure  in  constructing?' 

"Won't  ye  'ave  a  sandwich?"  asked  Mrs.  Dawe  suddei 
producing  a  small  paper  parcel  "  It  wouldn't  do  leavin'  the 
meat  from  yesterday  m  the  cupboard,  when  I'm  sure  the  landiac 
got  another  key.  As  yer  father  said — though  to  be  sure  he  wai 
yer  father  then  and  wouldn't  be  if  he  knew  what  ye  were — if 
put  in  a  fowl  you  find  a  skeleton  in  the  cupboard." 

"  No,'  decided  Jack,  "  wiser  are  they  who  have  not  shrunk, 
have  dared  to  survev  the  skeleton  in  the  cupboard  of  the  Univei 
For  a  time  they  see  the  world  by  the  unearthly  light  of  its  phosphoi 
cence,  a  light  worse  than  darkness  ;  but  at  length  the  old  sunshi 
comes  back,  if  not  with  the  freshness  of  yore,  yet  with  a 
calm  in  its  rays.      Happiness,  Love,  are  henceforth  impos^ble 
me,  but  Peace  may  be  within  my  grasp.     Peace  it  was  I  souj^ 
and  perhaps  I  have  at  last  found  it.    In  this  quiet  brooding 
the  shore  of  the  great  sea,  I  possess  my  soul  once  more.    Dreai 
of  dreams,  bom  out  of  my  due  place,  if  not  time,  I  yet  strove 
set  the  crooked  straight     I  will  return  to  poetry,  leaving  m< 
practical  men  to  do  the  work  I  once  thought  to  do.     A  misei 
failure  in  action,  be  the  form  politics,  painting,  love-making, 
sausage-selling,  perhaps  I  shall  be  able  to  teach  in  song  irhalj 
have  learnt  in  suffering  ;  though  I  hardly  see  how  to  find  fit  lyric 
expression  for  my  experience  in  the  last  particular."      Smilii 
mournfully  at  the  idea,  he  opened  his  eyes  for  a  moment  at  a  splaj 
made  by  a  stone  which  his  mother  had  thrown  into  the  water 
illustrate  some  point  in  the  long  anecdote  she  was  telling  hi^ 
After  a  moments  survey  of  the  beautiful  glittering  expanse 
ocean  he  dosed  them  again,  sun-dazzled. 

"  If  this  divine  calm  only  lasts !"  he  thought,  with  a  strange  shh 
of  foreboding,  "but  I  fear  that  man's  happiness  in  its  highest  ml 
ments  han^rs  like  yonder  diamond-crested  wave,  ready  to  break  at 
be  shattered." 

" '  And  it's  just  the  same  with  yer  arguments,*  ses  your  fathe 
'  they  goes  to  the  bottom,  and  arter  a  few  moments  there  ain't 
mark  left'    But  the  parson  went  on  jawin'  and  yer  father  a-yai 
till  the  parson  ses  :  *  No,  sir,  this  is  all  pretendin'  on  your  part 
man  as  lives  in  a  civilised  country  must  believe  in  the  Script! 
*  Reason  why  he  just  needn't,'  ses  yer  father,  *  'cos  there  he 
get  blankets  and  rum  without  dealin'  with  your  people.'     Still 
parson  'eld  out  that  it  was  impossible  as  he  shouldn't  believe 
'em,  and  yer  father  quite  got  into  a  temper  and  offered  to  take  " 
Bible  oath  on  it"    Mrs.  Dawe  paused  to  wipe  the  crumbs  off 
mouth,  and  freed  thus  momentarily  from  the  sound  of  her  o^ 
voice,  she  was  able  to  detect  the  regular  breathing  of  her  so^ 
blent  with  the  slightest  soup^on  of  a  snore. 

"Why,  bl'^ss  the  boy!"  she  exclaimed.    *  They'll  say  Pm 
parson  next" 


r 


A  PAMILV  GROUP  JOJ 


Y    ^  Oil,  my  dear  Mrs.  Dawe !  *  cried  a  sweet  feminine  voice,  the 
JNmer  of  whidi  was  making  for  the  old  lady  with  extended  arms. 
\     Perceiving  her  advance,  Mrs.  Dawe  presented  her  red  sunshade 
Bke  a  bayonet  to  keep  her  at  bay.  ' 

*•  Stand  there  ! "   she  cried,  "  and  don't  move  for'ard  as    ye 

iy  my  life.    Answer  me  truly,  like  a  confessor,  and,  mind,  no 

s,  'cos  my  memory's  better  than  yourn.     Is  it  on  our  side  of  the 

i  ''No  signs  of  it,  Mrs.  Dawe.  There's  not  the  least  danger 
in  living  at  our  place,  I  assure  you,"  said  Eliza,  with  great  vehe- 
imence;  and  extended  her  arms  anew. 

"  Not  yet !    Is  it  on  the  other  side  ?  " 
i      **  Yes,  in  the  garret  let  out  over  Mrs.  Prodgers*  shop.** 

Mrs  Dawe's  £Eice  expanded  with  a  smile  of  joy. 

"  Then  she's  shut  the  shop,  I  suppose." 
I  *^  She  still  struggles  on,  though  custom  is  bad." 
i  "The  murderess  I"  Mrs.  Dawe  cried  in  a  burst  of  honest  in- 
kdignation.  "'  Per'aps,  though,  she  thinks  things  can't  be  worse  than 
fiefore^  for  I'm  sure  she  sold  pison."  Then  her  brow  darkening, 
i^And  I  ain't  diere  to  take  a  opportunity  that  don't  'appen  once  in  a 
jlilrtime.* 

\  •  Don't  think  of  it,"  pleaded  Eliza.  "  You  mustn't  risk  the 
hdanger.  What  would  Jack  do  without  his  mother?" 
I  "  Well,  it's  only  for  'is  sake.  I  ain't  afear'd  o'  the  danger,"  said 
[  Mrs.  Dawe  relenting.  "  And  if  s  only  for  'is  sake  that  I  consented 
to  go  where  there  was  no  small-pox,  and  try  to  get  back  my 
•ealth." 

^  Oh,  if  all  mothers  were  like  you  I "  murmured  Eliza,  manoeu* 
ning  round  the  sunshade  to  embrace  the  unselfish  matron. 

"Wait  a  minute,  'Lizer,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe,  bringing  her  weapon 
to  bear  on  the  newly-attacked  quarter.  "What  makes  ye  fidget 
about  like  a  'ungry  flea  on  a  statue  as  can't  get  a  bite  nowhere? 
Is  it  in  any  of  the  tumin's  near  us  ?  " 

"  It's  no  nearer  than  the  courts  near  the  Free  Library." 

"  Are  ye  tellin'  me  the  truth,  'Lizer  ?    On  yer  word." 

"  On  my  honour  as  Jack's  intended,"  replied  Eliza  earnestly. 

Mrs.  Dawe  silently  lowered  her  sunshade,  and  for  the  next  few 
minutes  Eliza  hugged  and  kissed  her  steadily  with  affectionate 
pity.    "  You  do  look  ill ! "  she  cried. 

**  I've  got  enough  to  make  me,  'Lizer,"  replied  Mrs.  Dawe  self- 
oompassionately. 

*'  And  don't  Jack  look  the  picture  of  health  ?  And  no  wonder, 
while  he  can  be  at  this  lovely  place  while  others  have  to  work  hard 
b  town.  Happy  man,  endowed  by  Providence  with  every 
blessing  I " 

"  Not  forgettin'  you,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe,  looking  admiringly  at 
her  intended  daughter-in-law,  who  did  not  blush,  but  whose  face 
grew  even  more  radiant  with  delight  than  before. 

Never  had  Eliza  looked  more  piquant ;  the  stormy  passion  of 
her  Southern  beauty  was  softened  to  a  charming  and  provoking 


L 


304  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

archness,  and  her  stylishly-cut  costume  enhanced,  if  it  did  not 
produce,  the  coquettish  effect.  The  tight-fitting  dress  of  navy-bhm 
serge,  trimmed  with  white'  braid,  brought  out  the  exquisite  curves 
of  her  figure,  and  the  smart  sailor's  hat,  adjusted  with  careless 
grace,  invested  her  with  the  saucy  charm  of  nautical  si^gestioiL 
Happy  Jack! 

"Ye  found  us  quick  at  the  spot  we  agreed  upon  last  week,* 
observed  Mrs.  Dawe. 

''Yes,**  replied  Eliza,  '^the  train  has  only  been  in  about  five 
minutes,  and  of  course  I  flew  straight  to  see  your  beloved  forms. 
Poor  Jack  t  Asleep  with  the  sun  right  on  his  face !  How  he  will 
be  surprised  to  find  me  here  when  he  wakes  up." 

She  sat  down  between  the  two,  shaded  Jack's  face  with  her 
parasol,  and  under  this  cover  smoothed  it  with  her  gloved  hand, 
and  then  suddenly  stooped  down  and  pressed  his  lips  lightly. 
'^  My  darling  1 "  she  murmured. 

'*  My  darling  1 "  responded  the  sleeper,  a  bright  smile  irradiating 
his  face. 

Mrs.  Dawe  and  Eliza  looked  at  each  other  meaningly  and 
beamingly. 

'^  He's  a-dreamin'  of  ye,"  said  the  former,  her  broad  &ce 
glowering  with  delight.  "  I  know  he  suspected  ye  was  coming, 
'cause  every  mornin'  we  goes  up  over  there  to  'ear  the  comic 
singers,  and  when  I  said  I  wanted  to  come  this  part  6*  the  beach, 
he  was  as  glad  as  can  be,  although  he's  dreadfully  fond  of  comic 
singers,  and  once  dragged  me  to  the  Foresters'  when  I  didn't  want 
to  go.  And,  besides,  the  fust  part  of  the  week  when  he  left  ye  he 
was  as  miserable  as  a  mute,  but  as  the  time  come  near  for  ^e  to 
come,  he  brightened  up  like  a  saucepan  when  Sally's  rubbm'  it, 
and  I'm  lookin'  on." 

'*  He's  a  dear,  good  fellow  t "  exclaimed  Eliza  enthusiastically. 
"Isn't  he.  Mrs.  Dawe?" 

"  Well,  he  could  be  if  he  liked,"  returned  the  old  woman,  in  a 
tone  milder  than  usual ;  "  if  he  only  made  up  his  mind  to  be  a  little 
more  like  his  father,  whose  taste  in  wives — not  as  I  wish  to  flatter 
him  'cause  he  was  my  'usband — was  as  good  as  mine  in  puddins ; 
and  I  can't  say  more  for  it  than  that  —  not  as  I  wish  to  flatter 
myself  on  my  knowledge  of  cookery  ! " 

The  subtle  implications  of  this  speech  bewildered  Eliza,  so  she 
smiled  sweetly. 

*' And  when,"  continued  Mrs.  Dawe,  smiling  back  to  her,  "Jack 
took  up  with  you  I  ses,  ses  I,  that's  the  girl  for  my  money ;  and 
there  is  a  decent  bit  c^  money,  as  I've  told  ye  agfin  and  ag*!!!. 
And  when  in  a  little  time  I  turns  up  my  toes,  and  the  sexton  turns 
up  the  ground,  why,  there  ye  are  in  as  fine  a  cook-shop  as  ye 
could  smell  for  miles  round." 

"  Oh  no  I "  protested  Eliza,  putting  her  arm  round  the  old 
woman's  neck.  "  Dear  mother  (may  I  call  you  mother  ?),  don't  talk 
of  dying.    You'll  live  to  be  an  old  woman  yet" 

"  Well,  my  father  and  mother  did,  certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Dtwe^ 


J 


r^' 


A  FAMILY  GROUP  305 


*S0|  p'raps,  if  my  son  don't  worry  me,  I  may  'ave  a  chance  too. 
But  you  shan't  regret  it,  my  dear." 

Eliza  made  no  reply  in  words,  but  she  pressed  Mrs.  Dawe  to 
her  side  till  the  head  of  that  worthy  personage  reposed  on  her 
lovely  bosom.  Then,  transferring  the  parasol  to  her  right  hand, 
the  smectionate  creature  toyed  with  Jack's  hair  with  her  left 

It  was  a  beautiful  family  picture,  fitted  to  stir  the  noblest  chords 
of  emotion  in  ti^e  photographic  breast  Framed  'mid  air  of  golden 
glow,  'twixt  sleeping  sea  and  sky,  it  was  a  poem  in  human 
characters — an  idyll  of  Peace. 

So  lovel)r  was  the  tableau,  so  harmonious  the  colours,  so 
artistically  distributed  the  light  and  shade,  so  graceful  the  atti- 
tudes, so  well  contrasted  the  figures,  that  a  peripatetic  photographer 
was  riveted  to  the  spot  with  admiration  and  reverence.  And  so 
thrilled  was  his  soul,  that  he  felt  there  could  be  no  outlet  for  the 
waves  of  feeling  save  by  transferring  the  high  and  holy  vision  to 
sensitised  paper,  and  thus  giving  permanence  to  an  otherwise  fleet- 
tng  dream  of  beauty.  Treading  softly,  so  as  not  to  disturb  the 
pictorial  postures  of  natural  instinct,  he  appeared  suddenly  at  Mrs. 
Dawe's  side,  bending  obsequiously  to  her  lower  level,  and  spreading 
out  in  his  hand  a  small  collection  of  masterpieces. 

"  Beautiful  day,  ladies,  for  your  portraits.  The  weather  is  per- 
fection.   You'll  never  get  such  a  chance  again." 

Photographers,  it  may  be  pointed  out,  are  the  most  contented 
people  on  earth  ;  indeed,  their  content  is  almost  saint-like. ,  For 
who,  even  in  England,  has  ever  heard  one  of  the  fraternity  give  the 
ghost  of  a  grumble  about  the  weather  ?  When  has  the  day  been 
other  than  perfect  ?  The  divine  no  less  than  the  layman  may  well 
take  a  lesson  from  their  infinite  capability  of  seeing  the  bright  side 
of  things.  If  the  day  is  cloudy,  the  light  falls  better  ;  if  cold,  the 
son  daales  less,  and  so  cuL  infinitum, 

Mrs.  Dawe  shook  her  head,  seeing  which  Eliza  just  managed  to 
suppress  an  eager  cry  of  assent 

*  111  take  the  whole  group  for  a  shilling  as  you  are,  and  without 
making  the  gent,"  urged  the  persuasive  artist  "  The  three  for  a 
bob  only,  frame  and  ^1.  It'll  make  the  most  beautiful  domestic  pic- 
ture you  ever  saw,  with  your  lovely  young  sister  in  the  middle,  and 
her  sweetheart,  I  presume,  on  the  left." 

"A  shillin' !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dawe.  "A  shillin' for  what  ye 
can  see  in  the  looking-glass  for  nothing  I  All  you  people  down  'ere 
ain't  satisfied  with  a  reasonable  profit,  which,  as  a  business  woman, 
I  don't  mind  ye  getting.  As  my  late  'usband  said, '  the  natives  o' 
the  seaside  are  like  them  animals  that  |^et  fat  in  summer,  and  sleep 
and  live  on  their  fat  all  through  the  winter.'  When  ye  takes  our 
likenesses,  I  don't  see  that  you  do  any  work  to  be  paid  for,  the  sun 
does  it.  Now,  when  my  son,  there,  draws  a  animal,  he  does  it  all 
'^th  his  own  'and." 

"  Well,  madam,  I'll  throw  you  in  a  foreground  of  sea,  and  a 
^^ground  of  difi  without  any  extra  charge.    I  can't  speak  any 


I 


^ 


3o6  T/TE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 


**  Oh  do,  mother,'  whispered  Eliza  impulsively.  **  You  know  I 
haven't  got  a  likeness  of  Jack.     Pll  pay  for  it." 

"  'Lizer  !"  said  Mrs.  Dawe  severely,  "  if  I  want  a  likeness  I  can 
pay  for  it  myself  When  me  and  my  late  *usband  was  done,  we  was 
done  in  oil,  as  became  keepers  of  a  cook-shop.  But  ye  know  that 
Jack's  never  'ad  %  likeness  taken,  and  wouldn't  allow  it  to  be  done 
now,  and  I  makes  it  a  pint  alius  to  give  in  to  his  wishes." 

"  Well,  ladies,  I  shall  wish  you  good  morning.  But  you  don't 
know  how  it  distresses  me  to  see  such  a  good  opportunity  lost 
Why,  you'd  make  more  than  a  picture—  you're  an  allegory,  that's 
what  you  are  ;  age,  youth,  and  middle  age  entwined  harmoniously 
in  loving  concord." 

"  Well,  if  I'm  a  allegryj*  said  Mrs.  Dawe,  relenting,  "  ye  may 
'ave  it  done,  'Lizer,  if  ye  like.  I  shan't  tell  Jack.  But,  remember, 
if  he  finds  it  out,  you're  responsible.  I  won't  pay  for  it  or  'ave  no- 
thing to  do  with  it" 

"Oh,  thank  you,  dear  mother !" exclaimed  Eliza. 

The  photographer  brought  his  camera  in  front  of  the  group, 
perilously  near  the  waves,  and  the  ladies  underwent  the  trying  pro- 
cess with  their  breasts  filled  with  a  pleasing^  anxiety  lest  the 
recalcitrant  member  should  awake.  For  an  instant  this  crisis 
seemed  at  hand,  for  Jack  yawned  heavily.  But  his  drowsiness  was 
too  strong,  and  once  more  he  slumbered  peacefully. 

"  As  I  predicted,  ladies,"  said  the  artist,  coming  towards  them 
with  a  carte  in  his  hand,  "  it*s  simply  exquisite,  and  I'll  take  another 
copy  to  show  to  all  future  parties,  if  you  don't  object." 

*'  I  don't  object  to  all  the  world  and  his  old  woman  seein'  my 
allegry,"  replied  Mrs.  Dawe ;  "  but,  since  we're  a-doin'  good  to  your 
business,  you  ought  to  pay  us  instead  of  us  payin'  you." 

** Isn't  there  something  wrong  about  Jack's  expression?"  ob- 
served Eliza  anxiously. 

The  remark  was  not  uncalled  for,  seeing  that  Jack's  yawn  had 
occurred  just  at  the  critical  moment. 

"  Wrong  ?"  echoed  the  artist.    "  Can  the  sun  go  wrong  ?" 

**  That's  the  way,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe.  •*  Blame  everything  on  to 
the  sun,  like  the  niggers  do  their  dirty  faces.  There  is  something 
wrong  for  all  that." 

Before  the  artist  could  make  a  reassuring  reply  Jack  yawned  again. 

**  Never  mind,"  cried  Eliza  hastily.     **  Frame  it  quickly." 

In  a  minute  more  the  portrait  was  mounted,  and  the  photo- 
grapher gone.  For  a  second  the  ladies  surveyed  the  stout,  girlish 
form  in  muslin,  the  elegant  womanly  figure  in  serge,  and  the  some- 
what distorted  countenance  of  the  philosophic  painter. 

Then  Eliza  kissed  the  image  of  her  lover,  hurriedly  concealed 
the  photo  in  her  breast,  and,  bending  down,  embraced  the  original- 
Jack  opened  his  eyes  sleepily. 

**  Oh,  my  own  darling  ! "  cried  Eliza.  "  Did  you  think  1  wotdd 
let  you  pine  here  alone?  Now  you  will  enjoy  yourself,  my  love ; 
oh,  how  we  will  enjoy  ourselves  together,  as  in  the  olden  times  when 
we  first  met  1    I  was  here  once,  some  years  ago,  with  my  brother, 


r 


A   COCKNEY  COURTSHIP  307 


and  I  know  eicactly  what  to  do.  You  shall  row  us  out  in  the  morn- 
ings and,  while  I'm  bathing,  you  can  hire  a  bicycle,  and  in  the 
afternoon  we  can  go  for  a  long  walk  over  the  cliffs,  or  on  the  sands, 
or  for  a  drive,  and  at  ni^ht  we  can  go  to  the  theatre,  or  promenade 
on  the  new  pier  where  there's  lots  of  girls  and  fellows  courting  like 
US,  and  we  can  go  for  lovely  excursions  to  Margate  and  the  Hall  by 
the  Sea,  and  we  can  go  to  Pegwell  Bay  and  have  tea  with  shrimps, 
and  we  can  go—" 

The  painter  listened,  and  his  eyeballs  dilated  with  horror. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  COCKNEY  COURTSHIP. 

The  subtly  pertinacious  Eliza  carried  out  her  programme  almost 
to  the  letter.  A  proposal  that  he  should  return  to  look  after  the 
business,  leaving  his  mother  under  the  care  of  Eliza,  brought  down 
on  Jack's  head  a  maternal  wail  to  the  effect  that  her  own  flesh  and 
blood  was  deserting  her  in  her  illness.  Mrs.  Dawe,  with  sublime 
sdf-abnegation,  managed  to  efface  herself  for  the  most  part,  probably 
with  a  sympathetic  remembrance  of  her  own  goings-on  in  the 
halcyon  days  of  courtship.  She  often  pleaded  fatigue  and  old  bones 
when  Eliza  wished  to  go  on  an  excursion,  and  till  their  return  re- 
mained on  the  sands  profuse  of  admiration  of  the  blackened 
minstrels,  if  sparing  of  money. 

Jack  first  resisted  Eliza's  monopolisation  of  his  attentions  and 
the  arrangements  she  proposed,  then  grew  tired  of  struggling,  and 
ended  by  proving  himself  in  the  wrong.  Each  stage  of  thought, 
miconsciously  changing  into  the  next,  sunmied  itself  up  by  a  formula 
which  sprang  like  a  wise  Minerva  out  of  Jack's  head  at  the  stimulus 
of  an  appropriate  simile. 

On  the  second  day  Eliza  dragged  him  to  Pegwell  Bay,  before 
he  had  time  to  recover  from  the  shock  of  her  arrival.  As  he  had 
determined  not  to  go,  he  went  The  endearments  of  the  route, 
combined  with  Eliza's  la\ash  admiration  of  the  scenery,  as  gushing 
as  if  Nature  were  a  third-rate  Academy  picture,  completely  destroyed 
whatever  beauty  it  might  have  possessed  for  the  finer  eye  of  the 
painter. 

"  You  do  what  you  like  with  me,"  he  groaned,  apostrophising 
Eliza  and  rejecting  the  plate  of  shrimps.  "My  will,  like  yon  strong 
wave,  advances  white-crested,  threatening,  and  dashes  itself  to  pieces 
on  the  first  rock." 

"  Oh,  how  lovely  1 "  exclaimed  \i\%  fiancee,  '^  It's  as  good  as  any- 
thing in  the  London  Reader.  But  do  have  a  shrimp.  Here's  a  nice 
fat  one — I've  picked  off  the  beard  and  the  tail  for  you.  There^  you 
must  have  it  I "  and  she  tried  to  cram  it  into  his  mouth. 

•*  Thus  have  I  mutilated  /^y^self ,"  spluttered  Jack. 

It  was  while  he  was  promenading  on  the  pier  with  Eliza  hanging 

X  9 


I 

L 


So«  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

on  his  z^naa  that  calmness  once  more  entered  his  souL  Immersed 
in  the  massive  harmony  of  ^^The  Lost  Chord,"  he  forgot  temporarih 
his  chattering  companion.  What  music  began,  a  cork  completed. 
Floating  from  the  moonlit  water  on  one  side  of  the  pier  across  the 
dark  masses  underneath,  and  emerging  into  the  sparkling  waves  on 
the  other  side,  it  encouraged  him  to  drift  passively  with  a  similar 
hope  of  Bnal  emergence. 

Henceforth,  the  torture  of  this  pleasure-week  grew  less  exc^uisite 
in  proportion  as  he  succeeded  in  projecting  his  astral  spirit,  if  not 
his  astral  body,  into  space  other  uian  that  which  surrounded  him. 
This  feat  was  not  difficult  to  one  who  could  utilise  the  most  ordinary 
remark  or  object  as  a  spring-board  to  the  empyrean. 

Another  escape  from  the  apparent  blind  alley  of  Eliza's  presence 
he  found  in  the  objective  pursuit  of  rowing.  Mrs.  Dawe  professed 
fears  of  drowning  or,  what  was  worse,  sea-sickness.  Eliza,  who 
alone  accompanied  him,  he  taught  to  steer,  and  the  novelty, 
combined  witn  the  perils  of  the  occupation,  kept  her  pretty  quiet 

The  lovers  were  blessed  with  the  most  marvellous  weather, 
whose  fairness  reached  its  climax  on  the  last  day  but  one  of  their 
holiday.  The  azure  of  the  sky  was  tenderly  set  off  by  golden-ed.sred 
dots  of  white  clouds,  and  the  boat  glided  gently  over  smsdl  diamond- 
crested  waves  in  a  to-flashing  track  of  shimmering  light  The 
faint  splash  of  Tack's  oars  as  they  lazily  dipped  into  the  beaudfiil 
blue  water  suddenly  ceased,  and  Eliza,  who  was  unnecessarily  busy 
at  the  tiller,  turning  round  found  that  he  had  fallen  back  upon  his 
oars  in  meditation.  Soft  currents  of  air  brought  to  him  a  message 
of  delicious  peace  and  wafted  to  his  ears  a  vague,  murmurous 
harmony  of  sweet,  far-off  sounds  that  filled  him  with  pleasurable 
sadness.  Once  more  the  old  weak  craving  for  rest  gently  stirred 
his  soul  under  the  brooding  tranquillity  of  the  sleeping  sky.  Eliza, 
too,  was  silent.  She  did  not  feel  the  tender  melancholy  that  affected 
Jack ;  to  her  the  scene  was  gay  and  her  emotion  was  one  of  pure 
delight,  polishing  her  faculties  to  a  brightness  like  that  of  Nature 
herself. 

^*  Why  do  we  examine  our  sorrows  under  a  microscope,"  Jack 
asked  himself, ''  or  shrink  at  each  prick  of  a  rose's  thorn,  neglecting 
the  flower  ?  The  girl  is  right.  I  have  promised  to  marry  her  in  two 
months.  Having  accepted  this  situation,  it  is  just  that  I  should 
take  all  its  consequences,  all  its  responsibilities.  Do  I  not  now 
enjoy  a  balsamic  calm  ?  If  I  enjoy  the  blessings  of  my  position, 
what  right  have  I  to  complain  of  its  evils  ?  Poor  Eliza  !  Her  fate 
is  indeed  cruel  t  What  a  travesty  I  have  caused  of  the  golden 
season  of  Light  and  Love  !  No  wonder  that  the  tender  lambent 
glory,  which  should  play  in  the  dark  eyes  of  one  who  stands  with 
reluctant  feet  where  the  brook  and  river  meet,  occasionally  changes 
into  the  masterfid  flash  which  awes  me  when  : 

Mqn  gSnie  Stonnd  tremble  devani  le  sien? 

''Look  out,  Jack!"  screamed  Eliza.  "Pull  away  for  yonr 
life" 

Jack  looked  up  quickly  and  smiled. 


r 


A  COCKNEY  COURTSHIP  309 

'*  There's  no  danger,  my  dear  child  1 "  he  said  kindly.  '*  It's  too 
feroflf." 

For  there  came  dashing  into  the  shimmering  light,  and  cutting 
it  furiously  and  sending  the  diamond  drops  flying  ail  round  it,  a 
huge  steamer  with  a  great  puffing  and  snorting  and  vomiting  of 
dark  smoke.  Standing  out  clear-cut  in  the  transparent  air,  with 
rude,  savage  impulse  it  cleft  its  way  through  the  huge,  watery 
masses,  ploughing  up  the  lazy,  soft-curling  waves  in  fierce,  barbaric 
splendour,  and  communicating  to  them  its  own  fiery  restlessness. 
The  sadness  of  the  tender  calm  of  the  azure  sky  was  dispelled  by 
the  mighty  vitality  of  the  monster,  that  brought  a  picturesque 
roughness  into  the  scene,  and  a  suggestion  of  healthy  life  and 
honest  work  ;  of  life  that  does  its  duty  without  weak  questionings, 
and  vain,  querulous  repinings. 

Drawn  by  the  magnetic  attraction  inherent  in  all  manifestations 
of  gigantic  force,  the  lovers'  eyes  followed  it  till  it  diminished  to  a 
sp^k.  On  went  the  glorious  vessel  in  a  beautiful  straight  line, 
without  the  slightest  apparent  pitching.  On,  as  with  a  rude,  con- 
scious life.  On,  rejoicing  in  the  wild  exercise  of  its  own  strength. 
The  great  wheel  went  round,  and  the  white  water  flashed  in  the  sun, 
and  the  delicate  machinery  throbbed  with  Titanic  throes. 

Eliza  shuddered. 

'*  Didn't  the  people  look  sick  I  *  she  exclaimed. 

Jack  made  no  reply ;  but,  his  heart  throbbing  with  the  hurtling  of 
mighty  thoughts,  he  dashed  his  oars  into  the  water  and  rowed 
fiiriously  along. 

"  Is  not  that  a  nobler  type  of  life  ?  "  ran  his  reflections.  "  Why 
have  I  deserted  my  post?  I,  who  once  left  my  books,  moved  by 
the  passionate  impulse  I  now  again  feel  to  guide  my  country—  in 
the  old  paths,  by  the  old  stars,  that  it  be  not  lost  in  the  dim  ways 
of  the  unknown  to  which  I  see  it  hastening.  Was  it  to  loll  here 
that  I  exchanged  Wordsworth  and  Plato  for  Statistics  and  Blue 
Books  ?  Shame  on  me  to  have  turned  aside  from  the  holy  vision 
of  the  perfect  state,  too  soon,  too  weakly  absmdoning  it  as  a 
mirage  1^' 

He  began  to  sketch  out  anew  an  ideal  commonwealth. 

A  shriek  of  Eliza,  followed  by  a  crash  that  threw  them  both  on 
their  backs,  put  an  end  to  the  reverie  of  the  imaginative  painter. 
The  incompetent  hand  at  the  helm  had  allowed  the  boat  to  strike 
heavily  on  a  miniature  reef,  bordering  part  of  the  coast  of  Thanet. 
A  plank  was  staved  in  and  admitted  the  water  slowly. 

EUza  was  the  first  t '  struggle  to  her  feet,  and,  seeing  that  there 
was  no  danger,  she  exclaimed  : 

^  Good-bye,  my  love.  We  are  lost  1  But,  thank  God,  we  shall 
die  together." 

**  CUng  to  me.  I  can  swim,"  cried  Jack,  rising.  ^  Keep  nothing 
hut  your  head  above  water,  and  commend  yoursctf  to  God  who— 
why.  we  can  walk  to  shore  I " 

^  Impossible ! "  said  Eliza.  ^  I  should  be  sure  to  slip,  and  all 
ay  petticoats  would  get  wet" 


3IO  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

**  Nonsense  !    Lift  them  up.* 

**  Oh,  Jack,  I  told  you  once  before  not  to  be  so  vulgar.  Dont 
you  see  that  party  of  tourists  on  the  sands  looking  at  us?  I 
wonder  where  we  are  ! " 

"  That  queer  wooden  pier  along  way  to  the  right  must  belong  to 
Broadstairs,"  replied  Jack.  "  But  how  are  you  to  get  on  shore, 
then?'     . 

*'  You  must  carry  me,**  said  Eliza  decisively.  "I  am  as  light 
as  a  feather  ! " 

Jack  looked  despairingly  at  the  long  expanse  of  black,  slimy, 
moss-covered,  slippery  rocks  whose  frequent  clefts  and  interstices 
held  pools  of  salt  water,  and  whose  jagged  slopes  required  the  foot 
of  a  chamois. 

Then,  smiling  mournfully,  he  repeated  : 

''It  is  just  that  I  should  take  all  the  consequences  of  the 
position.** 

''  Well,  make  haste  then  I "  cried  Eliza  sharply, ''  for  the  water 
is  getting  up  to  my  ankles.     My  best  boots  are  spoiled,  and ^ 

Jack  seized  her  manfully  by  the  waist,  lifted  ner  up  as  high  as 
he  could  and  stepped  upon  the  reef.  With  infinite  patience  and 
trouble  he  picked  his  tired  way  towards  the  shore,  his  tendencies  to 
reverie  being  all  but  destroyed  by  the  dangers  of  the  padi  and  the 
heavy  weight  of  Eliza.  Yet,  when  he  had  accomplished  half  the 
task  safely,  he  found  himself  inquiring  whether  in  politics,  too, 
his  powers,  hitherto  inadequately  tried,  might  not  rise  to  a  perilous 
occasion,  and  whether  marriage,  with  the  consequent  sobering 
weight  of  a  wife,  and  the  responsibility  of  acting  for  the  happiness 
of  two,  might  not  be  the  best  condition  for  a  man.  A  sudden  slip 
and  a  convulsive  grasp  on  his  throat  warned  him  that  analogies 
were  dangerous.  Recovering  himself,  in  a  very  muddy  condition 
as  to  his  extremities  and  covered  with  black  tangled  seaweed,  he 
proceeded  with  greater  caution,  planting  his  feet  firmly  and  steady- 
mg  himself  at  each  step.  To  add  to  his  difficulties  tiie  wind  had 
by  this  time  freshened,  and  blew  with  some  force  against  him  in  a 
horizontal  direction ;  nor  did  the  heat  of  the  sun  decrease  his 
discomforts 

At  last,  to  his  delight,  a  young  man,  who  had  been  watching 
them,  set  forwards  to  meet  them,  just  about  the  time  that  Eliza's 
loveliness  began  to  be  visible  to  a  naked  eye  on  shore.  With  her 
own  permission — he  had  white  teeth  and  a  beautiful  blond  moos- 
ache— Eliza  was  transferred  to  his  fresher  muscles,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  three  were  safe  on  the  sands.  The  chivalrous  rescuer 
then  left  them,  gracefully  lifting  his  hat  to  Eliza,  who  gave  him  a 
fascinating  smile  of  thanks.  He  only  moved  a  few  feet  off,  how- 
ever, and  remained  scrutinising  Jack's  face  with  a  puzzled  air. 

Jack  sat  down  on  the  shore,  panting  for  breath  and  aching  in 
all  his  limbs,  which  were  covered  with  perspiration  so  profuse  that 
his  clothes  stuck  to  him. 

'*  The  boat  1  ^  cned  Eliza,  ''  we  shall  have  to  pay  for  it  as  it  is  I 
It  must  be  towed  in  1** 


A  COCKNEY  COURTSHIP  311 

A  sudden  startled  look  flashed  into  Jack's  eyes ;  hit  brow  grew 
dark. 

"  Let  it  drift !"  he  replied  moodily. 

*'  But,  Jack,''  exclaimed  Eliza  in  horrified  admiration  of  a  reck- 
lessness that  put  her  lover  on  the  level  of  the  Life-Guardsman  of 
feminine  fiction,  "  it'll  ruin  you  I " 

^  Ruin  ! "  he  laughed  bitterly  and  scornfully.  ^  Whose  fault  is 
it,"  he  burst  forth,  -  if  I " 

'*  It  wasn't  mine,"  whimpered  Eliza.  ^  I'm  sure  I  tried  to  turn 
it  the  other  way." 

"  No,  no  ;  it  wasn't  yours,"  said  Jack  kindly.  Then  he  added 
grimly  :  ^\i  \  put  an  ignorant  man  at  the  helm,  after  giving  him 
none  but  the  slightest  instruction  in  steering,  knowing,  too,  that  he 
is  reckless  and  loves  to  steer  amid  rocks,  who  can  wonder  if  de- 
struction ensue?    And  whose  is  the  fault,  whose  is " 

The  last  two  words  were  cut  off  in  a  singular  manner.  The  world 
is  aware  that  the  Parcse  are  not  above  playing  a  prank  now  and 
again,  and  holding  their  sides  as  they  think  of  &e  grimly  fantastic 
results  of  their  little  joke.    Waggish  old  maids  1 

It  has  been  already  remarked  that  Jack's  clothes  stuck  to  him. 
But  an  exception  must  now  be  made.  His  straw  hat  did  not.  That 
light  and  frisky  article  having  politely  waited  to  almost  the  termina- 
tion of  its  owner's  speech,  now  bounded  off  on  an  atrial  voyage, 
apbome  by  a  puff  of  wind  that  blew  it  in  the  direction  of  Rams- 
fi^te.  For  a  moment  Jack  |^azed  after  it  in  mute  horror.  No  one 
of  the  small  crowd  of  holiday  makers,  that  had  gathered  round, 
stirred.  An  anticipatory  grin  spread  over  every  face.  Starting  up. 
Jack  walked  after  it  ia  leisurely  pursuit,  for  it  was  nearing  the 
ground.  It  rested.  He  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  and  it  flew  from 
between  his  fingers,  and  the  irrepressible  laughter  of  the  group 
reached  his  ears.  Reddening  indignantly,  he  quickened  his  pace 
to  a  run  and  panted  along  the  hot  sands.  But  tne  hat  could  nave 
given  odds  to  Atalanta,  and,  like  Goldsmith's  horizon,  fled  as  he 
pursued. 

^  It  is  thus,"  he  thought  bitterly,  ^  that  the  philosopher  pursues 
the  Ideal  amid  the  laughter  of  the  jeering  crowd." 

By  this  time  the  hat  had  reached  a  point  where  the  cliffs 
stretched  out,  forming  a  small  headland,  and  Jack  hoped  that 
here  its  career  would  be  ruthlessly  barred.  Alas  1  it  was  not  so. 
Skirting  dexterously  around  the  base  of  the  cliff  it  was  lost  to  view 
on  the  other  side.  Jack  paused  for  breath  and  looked  back.  The 
group  was  barely  visible  m  the  distance. 

"  Shall  I  give  up  ?  "  he  muttered.  "  But  what  do  I  say  ?  Give 
up  on  the  very  da^^  when  I  have  determined  no  longer  to  be  con- 
quered bv  difficulties,  when  I  have  found  my  long-lost  resolution. 
And  shall  I  not  find  my  hat  ?    On,  man ;  on !" 

He  turned  the  corner. 

We  are  often  told  that  if  we  follow  our  noses  we  shall  be  right. 

^ick  did  follow  his  nose,  which  followed  his  hat,  and  the  pursuit 

d  him  into  one  of  the  oddest  positions  imaginable,  and  resulted 


512  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

in  consequences  absolutely  incapable  of  being  divined  by  the 
shrewdest  reader ;  in  consequences  at  which  the  present  historian 
has  never  ceased  to  be  surprised.    What  ultimately  happened  to 

Jack  from  the  chase  of  his  errant  head-gear  never  occurred  to  any 
uman  being  before,  and  will,  in  all  mathematical  probability,  never 
occur  again  till  the  universe  dissolves  like  the  baiseless  fabric  of  a 
vision. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  VAGARIES  OF  A  HAT. 

Jack  toiled  along  the  shore,  his  eyes  bent  upon  a  light,  volant 
object  that  respectfully  "kept  its  distance.'  He  was  as  much 
impeded  as  helped  by  his  feet,  for  they  stuck  every  now  and  again 
into  the  viscous  sand.  Such  little  accidents  passed  almost  un* 
perceived  by  a  man  who  was  busily  investigating  llie  subtleties  of 
the  ancient  puzzle  of  Achilles  and  the  Tortoise  in  relation  to 
Eleatic  monism  generallj^.  But  suddenly  a  negative  consciousness 
that  the  quarry  was  invisible  caused  him  to  stop.  Raising  his  eyes 
he  beheld  the  hat  descending  after  a  lofty  rise.  He  was  still 
watching  it  as  it  described  an  irregular  curve,  almost  grazing  the 
side  of  the  cliff,  when  hev  presto  1  it  disappeared  with  spectral 
rapidity.  The  paintei  rubbed  his  eyes,  but  the  hat  did  not  re- 
appear. In  nihil  nihil  fit;  he  rushed  to  the  vanishing  point  of  the 
curve  and  discovered  the  solution.  At  about  four  feet  from  the 
ground  he  saw  a  large  gap  in  the  chalk,  which  turned  out  to  be  the 
mouth  of  a  greenish  cleft  that  got  narrower  and  narrower  inter- 
nally till  one  could  barely  pass  an  arm  through  it,  and  ended  exter- 
nally in  a  perpendicular  surfoce.  Nearly  two  and  a  half  feet  to  the 
left  he  noticed  a  strangely-formed  cleft,  smaller  than  the  first,  but 
ending  in  a  similar  abrasion,  and  at  the  same  distance  above  was  a 
rough,  narrow  split  connecting  laterally  Uie  upper  extremities  of  the 
two  clefts.  How  far  the  diff  was  hollowed  out  by  the  action  of  the 
waves  he  could  not  determine.  Peering  into  the  cavity,  he  en- 
countered thick  darkness  ;  but  this  was  of  course  explicable  as  the 
effect  either  of  an  ultimate  snapping-together  of  the  jaws  of  the 
crevice  or  of  a  bend  in  its  formation.  The  recovery  of  his  head- 
gear was  evidently  hopeless— it  would  lie  entombed  till  the  rare 
opportunity  should  occur  of  taking  the  tide  at  the  flood,  and  rising 
into  the  daylight  on  the  crest  of  mighty  waves  such  as  had 
originally  carved  out  the  curiously  jagged  mouth  of  its  prison. 
Failing  this,  or  in  the  event  of  new  geological  changes  such  as  subsi- 
dence of  portions  of  the  cliff,  what  aeons  might  it  not  remain  buried? 
And  what  revolutionary  effects  upon  the  biology  of  the  dim  future 
might  not  be  produced  by  the  discovery  of  its  fossilised  remains  ? . 
^  One  more  failure,'*  sighed  Jack.  ''  Thus  sinks  the  Ideal  in  the 
depths  of  modem  materialism.  Is  this  an  omen  that  I  shall  ful 
always — that  action  is  impossible  to  me?    Would  Bruce  have 


r 

I 

I 


THE  VAGARIES  OF  A  HAT  313 

tried  again  if  he  were  in  my  position  ?  ^  He  leaned  upon  the  cliff, 
which  sloped  at  an  angle  of  sixty,  and  inserted  his  right  hand 
with  an  infinitesimal  hope  that  he  might  yet  find  his  hat  wedged 
lower  down  in  the  rock.  His  progress  was  soon  arrested  by  the 
narrowing  of  the  cleft,  his  bare  arm  being  unable  to  penetrate 
farther  than  an  inch  above  the  elbow  on  account  of  the  bulging  of 
his  coat-sleeve  at  that  point.  While  he  was  in  despair,  a  sudden 
gust  of  wind  that  sported  with  his  uncovered  silky  locks  reminded 
him  afresh  of  the  many  discomforts  of  the  inevitable  journey  to 
Broadstairs,  where  he  would  probably  find  hatters  existing  to  serve 
as  a  standard  of  insanity,  and  for  other  useful  pturposes.  With  a 
doggedness  worthy  of  better  hats  he  threw  off  his  coat,  as  if  for  a 
bout  with  Fortune.  Placing  the  stylishly-cut  garment  of  light 
tweed  on  one  side,  he  made  another  attempt  To  insert  his  arm  to 
its  iiill  extent,  it  was  necessary  to  lie  flat  upon  the  calcareous 
declivity.  The  hand  was  thus  just  enabled  to  make  the  vermicular 
bend  which  the  conformation  of  the  tunnel  rendered  necessary,  and 
the  long,  taper  fingers  groped  about  in  the  rock  like  so  many  small 
serpents. 

It  was  the  position  of  one  who,  with  bated  breath,  draws  the  lot 
which  means  to  him  Life  or  Death. 

Pause,  O  unconscious  Jack,  and  desist  from  thy  hopeless  task 
while  there  is  yet  time !  Better  were  it  for  thee  to  return  hatless 
or  shoeless,  nay,  it  were  even  better  for  thee,  disciple  of  Burke 
though  thou  b^st,  to  return  a  Sans-culotte  than  to  stay  and  face 
thy  swift-advancing  fate. 

Let  the  reader  who  doubts  the  desirability  of  this  last  alterna- 
tive remember  that  the  present  historian  is  a  Cassandra  who  never 
prophesies  unless  he  knows. 

For  suddenly  a  strange  click  was  heard,  followed  by  a  mysterious 
rumbling.  The.  wiifite  cliff  seemed  to  Jack's  excited  imagination  to 
be  whirling  round.  He  grew  dizzy  and  blind.  After  what  appeared 
an  age  of  confused  consciousness^  his  brain  grew  clearer  and  he 
felt  a  vague,  heavy  pain  in  his  nght  arm.  He  moved  it,  and  it 
slipped  along  a  rough  surface,  grazing  the  skin  and  drawing  blood 
in  places.  Kn  instant  afterwards  he  found  himself  falling  down  a 
frightful  abyss.  The  descent  occupied  about  one-twentieth  of  a 
second ;  and  much  to  his  surprise  he  alighted  safely  on  his  feet  with  a 
soft  splash.  Looking  about  in  a  dazed  fashion,  he  discovered  rays  of 
light  streaming  through  two  irregular,  but  somewhat  funnel-shaped 
openings,  the  larger  being  on  his  left  Behind  him  the  walls  of  the 
small  cavern  drew  together,  curved  round  to  the  right,  and  ended 
in  total  darkness.  In  a  moment  the  horrible  truth  burst  upon  him. 
By  some  inexplicable  convulsion  of  Nature,  the  cliff  had  opened 
and  closed  again  upon  him,  and  he  was  buried  alive  till  the  tide 
should  enter  the  cavity.  At  the  same  instant  he  trod  upon 
his  hat 

"  Fit  emblem  of  human  life,  of  the  Victor  conquered  by  Death, 
of  the  vanity  of  human  wishes,''  he  murmured  with  pale  lips, 
which|  however,  did  not  tremble.    ^  The  only  time  in  my  life  I  have 


314  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

been  successful  in  Action,  comes  Death  on  my  track.  ...  I 
would  have  chosen  a  less  lingering  death.  Yet,  I  shall  have  time 
for  meditation  before  passing  into  eternity,  and  soon  enough  the 
tide  will  cover  me."    lie  spread  his  hands  over  his  eyes. 

''  Is  this  the  end  of  all  my  life  of  struggle— of  all  my  search 
for  Truth — to  die  in  this  cave  ?  What,  if  from  this  cave  I  find  Truth 
at  last  with  Plato,  after  my  lifelong  seeing  of  shadows  ?  My  place 
on  earth  will  soon  be  filled    .    •    .    soon  be  filled  ?    .     .    .  " 

He  smiled  sadly.    '*  May  he  be  happier  in  it  than  I.     .    . 
I  am  quite  resigned.    ...     No  one  will  ever  know  what  has 
become  of  nu.    Poor  Jack  Dawe  1    No  one  will  grieve  for  me. 
No  one  ever  cared  for  me — Gwendolen!** 

As  the  last  name  issued  from  his  lips,  the  painter,  inconsistent 
to  the  last,  made  a  fiirious  rush  at  the  rocky  wall  of  his  prison  and 
dashed  himself  against  it  with  all  his  might  Alas,  the  stony  mass 
gave  not  the  slightest  quiver. 

A  sharp  cry  broke  n'om  the  hapless  man  : 

'^  I  die  unforgiven,  I  die  unforgiven,  the  death  of  a  coward— in 
dishonour  I " 

He  fell  upon  his  knees. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IN    THE    LIONS'    DEN. 

The  unfortunate  Jack  Dawe  had  barely  assumed  the  humble  atti- 
tude of  genuflexion,  accompanied  by  closed  eyelids,  when  he  heard 
a  repetition  of  the  rumbling  sound.  Instantaneously,  conflicting 
possibilities  set  his  brain  in  a  whirl.  Evidently  the  landslip  or  the 
internal  struggle  of  pent-up  forces,  or  whatever  geological  change 
was  taking  place,  had  not  yet  ceased.  He  would  be  overwhelmed 
by  falling  masses,  or  wedged  between  contracting  portions  of  cli£ 
Well,  perhaps  it  was  better  to  die  at  once  than  to  endure  the  pro- 
tracted agony  of  an  Andromeda.  But  what  if  the  cliff  in  labour  gave 
birth,  not  to  a  mouse  but  to  a  painter,  and  hurled  him  into  fi:ee 
space  ;  or  created  a  new  and  broad  opening ;  or  widened  the  exist- 
ing fissure  sufficiently  to  allow  of  his  escape  ? 

Before  he  had  time  to  open  his  eyes  fairly  or  rise  to  his  feet,  he 
was  almost  stunned  by  the  occurrence  of  the  first  of  the  alterna- 
tives which,  subdivided  as  it  was  into  two  variants,  came  to  pass  in 
both  forms  contemporaneously.  He  experienced  simultaneously 
the  shock  of  a  heavy  body  falling  upon  him  and  the  feeling  of 
compression  as  in  a  vice  between  two  firm  masses.  He  fell  back- 
wards, giving  himself  up  for  lost  His  head  struck  against  the 
wall  of  the  cave  with  that  deadened  concussion  caused  by  the 
transmission  of  force  through  some  intervening  medium ;  which,  in 
this  case,  was  singularly  soft 

''Curse  ye  for  an  awkward  divil,  whoever  you  are!**  crie^ 


IN  THE  LIONS*  DEN  315 

the  mediuniy  which  possessed  a  hoarse  voice  and  a  strong  Irish 
brdgue. 

Jack's  heart  heat  furiously  and  he  opened  his  eyes. 
The  medium  had  risen  to  its  feet,  and  Jack  caught  a  momentary 
glimpse  of  a  coarse,  pock-marked,  but  not  ill-dressed  man  of  about 
fifty,  with  a  red  scan  round  his  throat. 

**Is  there  a  way  out,"  cried  Jack  eagerly,  "or  are  you  lost  too?" 
The  man  whisded  reflectively  and  turned  pale.    ^  What's  the 
time?''  he  inquired. 

"  The  time  ?  "  repeated  Jack.    "  Is  the  tide ^ 

Quick  as  lightning  the  man  whisked  the  red  scarf  off  his  throat 
and  tied  Jack's  arms  tightly  to  his  sides.  Before  the  astonished 
painter  could  remonstrate,  he  found  himself  gagged  and  blindfolded. 
He  had  only  time  to  draw  a  few  laborious  breaths  through  the  un- 
accustomed channel  of  his  nose,  when  the  mysterious  sounds, 
ahready  twice  the  herald  of  the  unexpected,  were  heard  a  third 
time.  '  With  a  rough  turn  and  a  growl  of  ^  Get  out  of  the  way,  ye 
omadhaun  ! "  his  captor  whirled  him  round  and  sent  him  stagger- 
ing along  for  what  seemed  a  £ir  greater  distance  than  the  entire 
length  or  breadth  of  the  cave.  Still  he  retained  as  much  calmness 
as  was  compatible  with  the  rapid  changes  in  his  situation. 

*^  Is  it  possible  that  I  have  fallen  into  a  den  of  smugglers  ?  "  he 
thought.  '^  It  would  seem  that  this  is  an  artificial  cave,  or  one  with 
an  artificial  entrance.  But  I  don't  suppose  I've  fallen  from  the 
frying-pan  into  the  fire.  They  will  merely  exact  an  oath  of  secresy, 
I  suppose.  They  won't  murder  an  inoffensive  stranger.  Poor 
Southleigh,  I  know  how  the  revenue  worries  him.  Ought  I  to 
take  this  oath  ?  'Tis  wron^  ;  but  it  would  be  in  self-defence.  And 
what  says  tihe  honourable  Cicero,  after  Panaetius,  in  his  'De  Officiis'? 
Ah,  Casuist,  Casuist,  thou  knowest  how  thou  wouldst  dull  thy 
moral  sense  to  see  her  once  more."  He  ceased  from  all  definite 
reflection,  overpowered  by  a  rush  of  delirious  joy  that  scatteted 
reason,  delicate  conscientiousness,  and  every thmg  else  to  the 
winds. 

^  Here's  a  go,"  he  heard  the  man  whisper,  evidendy  in  the  ear 
of  a  new-comer.  "  Pat  Malone — he  lived  before  your  time,  a  very 
clever  fellow,  executed  in  '48 — he  always  used  to  say  it  would 
happen  some  time ;  but  he  never  lived  to  see  his  prophecy  come 
true."    A  chuckle  followed  these  words. 

''See  h¥rat  come  true?"  asked  another  voice  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

"Why,  didn't  oi  tell  ye?  Some  poor  divil  iv  a  tourist  has 
dhropped  in."  The  application  of  the  term  "  poor  divil "  to  him, 
seemed  to  Jack  to  indicate  a  fund  of  rough  tenderness  in  the 
heart  of  the  pock-marked  smuggler.  But  the  reply  of  the  hoarse 
whisperer  was  not  equally  reassuring. 

"  Och,  the  powers !    The  Sassenach  has  fallen  into  our  hands." 

"  Sure  it  was  me  that  fell  on  the  head  of  the  Sassenach/'  said 

the  first  comer,  with  a  crescendo  chuckle  that  seemed  to  increase 

in  volume  till  it  became  a  regular  rumble.    A  gust  of  cold  air  blew 


I 

V 


3i6  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

into  Jack's  £ace,  and  he  heard  the  men  rapidly  shuffling  nearer  to 
him.    The  next  instant  a  clear,  musical  voice  exclaimed : 

''  Which  scoundrel  of  you  all  has  been  leaving  his  coat  about? 
I  never  had  to  do  with  such  a  set ;  they  invite  discovery  ;  they  are 
as  careless  as  so  many  detectives.** 

''Sure,  discovery's  come  without  being  invited,**  laughed  the 
first  voice.  ^  >^d  oi  was  the  first  to  dhrop  on  him,  and  in  a  moighty 
unpleasant  fashion,  too,  knaling  on  the  ground  as  pale  as  his 
shirt-sleeves,  and  we  both  tumbled  over,  and  by  St  rathri<^  my 
spine  feds  as  sore  as  your  timper." 

'*  D— n  you  for  a  fool,**  cried  the  clear  voice  angrily,  ^  what 
are  you  jabbering  about  ?  ** 

"  Begorra,  and  itfs  thrue/'  put  in  the  hoarse  whisper.  "  One  iv 
the  cursed  Sassenachs  has  fallen  into  our  cave,*'  interpolated  the 
chuckling  whisper. 

Jack  heard  the  rapid  decisive  tramp,  deadened  by  sand,  of  ad« 
vancing  footsteps.  Then  an  oath  made  him  shudder,  and  he  was 
rudely  whirled  round  by  the  shoulders.  A  match  was  strudc  and 
brought  in  unpleasant  proximity  to  his  face. 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  poking  your  nose  into  other 
people's  affiiirs?**  incjuired  the  voice  whose  musical  timbre  he 
could  not  help  admiring. 

Jack  tried  to  explain,  and  produced  an  inarticulate  gurgle. 

"  What's  the  use  of  gagging  him.  Murphy ;  why  didn't  you 
despatch  him  at  once?**  cried  the  voice  sharply.  Jack*s  blood  ran 
cold.  The  last  comer,  who  was  evidently  in  authority,  seemed  to 
be  the  most  bloodthirsty  of  all.  He  could  not  quite  understand 
for  what  purpose  they  were  assembled.  Could  they  be  a  gang 
of  Irish  conspirators?  But  then  the  leader  was  certainly  an 
Enelishman. 

^' Sure,  and  hwat  would  oi  do  with  the  dead  corpse?"  replied 
Murphy. 

"  I*a  know  what  to  do  with  yours,  you  white-livered  sooundrdi' 
was  the  reply. 

"  None  iv  your  names,  ye  infernal  omadhaun,  or  oill  split  your 
skull  and  the  whole  concern  too,  bedad  oi  will,"  growled  Murphy, 
with  sudden  anger. 

^  Och,  praise  the  Holy  Mother,  oi'm  out  o*  this !  **  interjected  the 
hoarse  voice.  Jack  wished  he  was  too.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  listen 
to  a  quarrel  about  the  disposal  of  one's  body ;  but  a  fiiint  hope 
dawned  within  his  breast  that  part  of  the  drama  of  the  *'  Babes  m 
the  Wood**  would  be  re-enacted  for  his  benefit  Unfortunately,  how- 
ever, or  perhaps  fortunately,  the  leader  seemed  to  display  the  tip  of 
the  white  feather,  for  his  next  remark,  though  delivered  with  the 
same  arrogant  harshness,  ignored  the  point  at  issue. 

*'  Where's  Tim  and  Jacques  ?    Late  again,  I  suppose." 

^  You*re  glad  iv  it,  aiirt  you  ?  Another  opportunity  to  show 
your  authority  by  blowing  them  up  now  the  Captain's  away." 

''  Holy  Moses  I  don't  talk  iv  blowing  our  men  up,"  interposed 
the  h<Niise  voioe* 


J 


r 


IN  THE  LIONS*  DEN  317 


A  loud  laugh,  evidently  from  Murphy,  fell  upon  the  horrified 
Bars  of  the  captive  like  the  sound  of  a  ''  brazen  canstick  turned 
Dn  edge.** 

**  Curse  you  !  *  hissed  the  leader.  ''  Do  you  want  to  be  heard 
Mitside  ?    T^e  this  coat,  one  of  you,  and  get  inside." 

Seizing  Jack  tightly  by  his  collar,  he  vented  his  angry  feelings 
by  pushing  mm  forward  with  unnecessary  vigour.  Every  now  and 
igain  the  painter  felt  himself  splashing  about  in  a  pool  of  water,  or 
getting  entangled  in  seaweeds,  while  ms  companions  skirted  round 
such  uncomfortable  spots  with  a  complacent  sense  of  superior 
mion.  Once  he  was  propelled  against  the  rocky  wall,  ancf  then 
asked  with  an  oath  why  he  did  not  stoop.  Happily,  the  broad, 
diickly-folded  bandage  over  his  eyes  deadened  tne  shock.  He 
crawled  on  all-fours  (if  the  term  be  applicable  to  one  whose  arms 
are  bound  to  his  sides)  through  a  narrow  aperture,  reflecting  that 
he  had  all  his  life  been  trying  to  get  through  a  dead  wall  without 
success,  while  the  men  who  prospered  were  those  who  crawled 
iipder  it.  He  rose  to  his  feet  half-suffocated,  the  blood  surging  in 
bis  ears,  and  his  head  bursting.  The  upright  position  relieved  him 
somewhat,  and  he  was  able  to  mount  five  or  six  rough  steps  without 
Ming. 

"There  you  are — stand  there!"  cried  the  leader,  with  a  final 
fcopulsion  that  sent  him  staggering  along.  His  foot  tripped  over 
something  soft,  and,  with  a  thrill  of  horror,  he  fell  upon  a  prostrate 
body,  and  shuddered  in  all  his  limbs  at  the  contact  of  the  ghasdy 
thing.  The  recumbent  form  shook  him  off  with  an^^  vigour,  and 
be  rolled  helplessly  over  on  his  back,  and  lay  panting.  Whoever 
it  was,  was  not  dead,  but  sleeping— a  remark  which,  for  several 
reasons,  would  have  been  more  in  place  on  his  tombstone. 

^  What,  Captain,  you  here  ?  "  exclaimed  die  musical  voice.  ^  I 
reallv  beg  your  pardon.** 

You  usually  overwhelm  me  with  such  politeness,"  said  the 
Captain  sneeringly,  with  the  exaggerated  brogue  of  the  stage-Irish- 
man, into  or  out  of  which  he  seemed  to  slip  capriciously,  '*  that  this 
overwhelming  me  with  impoliteness,  in  the  form  of  some  dhrunken 
scoundhrel,  is  a  little  relief.    Let's  have  lights." 

Jack  heard  the  striking  of  more  matches,  and  presendy  a  dull 
glow  penetrated  vaguely  through  his  bandage.  He  wondered 
what  sort  of  man  the  Captain  was,  and  whether  he  would  gain 
by  his  presence^  and  he  waited  anxiously  for  the  inevitable 
inspection. 

*  Thaes  better,"  said  the  Captain.  "  Now  then,  whafs  this 
object?^'  He  spumed  Jack  with  his  foot  "But  stop!  Don't 
answer  me.  You  are  dying  of  curiosity.  So  am  I.  Like  Sir 
^ip  Sidney  at  Zutphen,  I  allow  your  diirst  to  be  satisfied  first 
1  have  seen  the  Old  Chief;  he  is  in  ecstasies.  Dreams  of  nothing 
but  courts  and  diplomacies  and  the  Irish  flag.  Rewards  certain  in 
that  direction,  come  what  may^  should  the  present  plan  miscarry. 
Mission  over,  came  back  in  time  for  meetmg — too  early,  in  fact 
Went  to  sleep,  and  was  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  just,  when  J 


{ 


3i8  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

dreamed  I  was  struggling  with  satyrs,  like  St  Patrick,  and  I  aw< 
to  find  this  miserable  cratur  rolling  over  me.'' 

^  What  d'ye  say,  Cap'n,  to  a  good  pull  o'  the  cratur  now  ?  " 
Murphy. 

Hearing  this,  Jack,  who,  on  the  mention  of  the  Old  Chief,  had 
given  himself  up  for  lost,  prepared  for  further  indignities.  But; 
nothing  happened  except  an  exclamation  of,  ^  Don't  mind  if  I  do* 
from  the  Captain,  followed  by  a  gurgling  sound. 

"  There,  no  one  can  say  that  that  cratur's  miserable!'*  exclaimed 
Murphy. 

'*  How  is  it  Jim  and  Jacques  haven't  turned  up  ?  "  inquired  thtt 
Captain.  , 

**  Don't  know,"  replied  the  lieutenant ;  *^  unless  they're  nailefl 
for  some  private  prank." 

''Hang  it  alll  that's  what  I  can  never  stand— preferring  iii>! 
dividual  interest  to  the  good  of  the  public,  and,  when  on  a  big  j6by 
getting  nabbed  for  some  trifling  affair.  It's  not  gentlemanly,  itii 
not  honourable.  However,  let  us  wait  and  see  ;  undue  haste  is  t9 
be  deprecated,  so  is  curiosity.  Let  us  make  ourselves  comfbrtabKe^ 
and  then  we'll  dispatch  this  beggar,  and  lastly,  pleasure  over,  w^ 
come  to  business." 

A  strong  odour  of  tobacco-smoke  began  to  be  borne  to  Jacl^s 
nostrils,  and  simultaneous  or  consecutive  gurglings  and  smackings 
of  lips  to  be  heard  in  different  directions.  ' 

"  Now  then,  Patrick  Donaghue  O'Connor,"  said  the  Captain  ia 
a  tone  of  enjoyment,  "  produce  the  prisoner !  ^ 

Jack  was  suddenly  pulled  to  his  feet  with  a  violent  tug,  and 
jerked  forwards. 

"  Come  closer,"  said  the  Captain.    ^  I  hear  you  came  to  see  m6 . 
We  didn't  expect  you ;  but  accidents  will  happen  in  the  best- 
regulated  caves." 

His  words  proved  true ;  for,  as  Jack  was  obediently  advancing,  he 
lost  his  balance  and  fell  off  the  ledge  of  what  seemed  to  be  a  small 
platform,  descending  with  all  his  weight  upon  some  hard  object 
The  Captain  uttered  a  cry  of  horror. 

"  Murderer  ! "  he  shrieked,  apostrophising  Jack.  '^  Our  blood  be 
upon  your  head ! " 

The  last  words  reached  Jack's  ears  with  the  feebleness  that 
comes  of  distance,  for  at  the  terrible  cry  of  their  chief,  the  men 
dropped  their  bottles,  bounded  down,  and  fled  with  him  like  hunied 
hares.  In  less  than  half-a-minute  the  last  echoes  died  away,  and 
Jack,  divining  what  had  happened,  was  left  calmly  .recumbent  on 
one  of  the  two  black  bags  which  stood  opposite  each  other  on 
narrow  ledges ;  waiting  for  the  explosion  that  would  blow  the  cave 
and  himself  to  smithereens.  So  many  rapid  vicissitudes,  each  with 
its  alternations  of  hope  and  fear,  in  one  day,  had  almost  exhausted 
his  capacity  for  emotion.  Danger  had  by  mis  time  lost  its  flavour 
and  grown  monotonous  to  his  palate.  He  had  been  shivering  too 
long  on  the  brink  of  death,  and  now  lay  in  passive  expectaticm  of 
the  final  push  into  the  icy  waters. 


J 


A  CLASSICAL  CONSPIRATOR  319 

^  *  After  all,"  he  thought,  ''what  is  Life  but  a  blind  groping  after 
Truth  ;  missing  which,  man  stumbles  upon  destruction  ?  Would 
Hiose  wretches  were  in  reality  chained  to  the  cave  as  Plato  figura- 
tively imagined,  that  they  might  at  least  share  my  fate." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  CLASSICAL  CONSPIRATOR. 

It  is  rather  irritating  when  a  man  has  resigned  himself  to  dying  by 
jj^ynamite  to  find  things  not  going  off  as  he  expected — especially 
when,  as  an  honest  man,  he  is  unfamiliar  with  the  habits  of  that 
jjdisreptitable  substance.    As  it  failed  to  blow  Jack  up  at  once,  he 
[wondered  whether,  as  with  some  human  beings,  a  long  antecedent 
^imouldering  were  necessary  to  an  explosion.    Live  and  learn,  says 
|.flie  proverb,  but  in  this  case  to  die  was  to  learn  if  this  were  so.    In 
!  momentary  anticipation  of  the  bitter  lesson,  he  remained  for  ages 
I  {to  use  the  common  hyperbole)  in  a  state  of  tension  that  would 
!  have  turned  the  average  hero's  hair  gray.    But,  in  harmony  with 
I  die  rest  of  his  life,  in  which  nothing  ever  turned  out  as  he  had  fore- 
cast it,  he  was  disappointed  once  more.    The  "mute,  inglorious" 
black  bag  rested  there,  "guiltless  of"  the  painter's  "blood,"  nor 
ever  woke  the  echoes  to  find  itself  famous.    At  lengdi  he  grew 
convinced  that  the  present  sample  of  the  deleterious  compound 
I  which  no  conspirator  should  be  without  was  like  the  village  idiots, 
the  purgative  pills,  and  the  martial  implements  of  the  period, 
"perfectly  harmless."     The  ruffians    bad   vanished,  and    for   a 
moment  he  thought  he  was  saved.    But  only  for  a  moment.    He 
had  already  escaped  death  thrice,  but  now  the  vision  of  its  imminence 
I  a  fourth  time  drew  from  him  as  near  an  approach  to  a  groan 
I  (necessarily  muffied),  as  he  could  produce  under  the  new  conditions. 
'  The  method  of  his  final  exit  would  be  similar  to  the  first,  but  with 
;  all  its  horrors  aggravated.    Already  he  felt  the  cruel  waters  moimt- 
\  ing  higher  and  higher,  while  he,  gagged,  blindfolded,  his  arms  tied  to 
his  sides,  lay  like  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  falling  and  rising  with  the  ebb 
I  smd  flow  ofthe  slowly-mounting  waves;  inanimate  to  all  appearance, 
\  hot,  like  the  trees  of  the  enchanted  forest  described  by  Dante,  alive 

and  quivering  with  pain. 
^  He  made  an  effort  to  rise,  with  a  vague  hope  of  reaching  the 
entrance  and  discovering  a  way  out ;  but  for  a  man  in  his  situation 
to  rise  to  his  feet,  the  muscles  of  the  calves  must  have  gone  through 
'  a  preparatory  course  of  gymnastics.  The  utmost  exertion,  together 
with  the  use  of  the  head  as  a  propeller,  could  only  push  him  a  few 
inches  backwards.  He  ceased  from  the  vain  attempt  A  few 
minutes  afterwards  he  heard  the  conspirators  returning.  His  heart 
leaped  widi  hope.  A  drowning  man  catches  at  a  straw,  and 
mnilarly  Jack  Dawe  clutched  at  the  very  chaff  of  society. 

It  is  at  this  point  that  the  present  historian  for  the  first  time 


3ao  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

regrets  his  office,  and  envies  the  more  brilliant  functions  of 
novelist,  and  it  is  only  the  consoling  reflection  that  his  labours 
more  likely  to  be  durable  that  induces  him  to  proceed  with  so 
paratively  tame  a  narration.    Unable  to  choose  his  hero,  or 
least,  to  change  him  when  chosen,  he  is  compelled  to  see 
wasting  the  most  sensational  opportunities,  and  he  cannot  stir 
finger  while  his  best  chapters  are  spoiled  by  the  demands  of  a 
veracity. 

For  let  us  make  the  impossible  supposition  that  this  history  is  a- 
mere  figment  of  the  imagination— do  but  see  what  could  be  doasl 
with  Jack  Dawe.     It  would  be  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  i 
him  to  set  free  his  arms  by  wriggling  or  by  persistent  rubbing 
the  red  scarf  against  the  jagged  wall,  combmed  with  violent  bur8fe>»{ 
ing  of  the  frayed  texture.    Tliis  done,  the  gag  and  bandage  vs»\ 
removed  with  facility.    Again  he  breathes  freely,  again  he  sees  the 
light  of  day.     He  perceives  some  steps  hewn  in  the  chalk,  ascend* 
ing  beyond  the  green  tide-mark  that  half  lines  the  walls.     He 
mounts  the  platform  where^  like  an  experienced  orator,  he  feeb 
safe.    He  then  winds  his  way  through  tortuous  passages  to  tiie 
entrance  of  the  cave,  but  fails  to  find  the  secret  spring.     However, 
he  is  sure  that  accident  will  befriend  him  sooner  or  later.     Mean- 
time he  improvises  a  flag  of  distress  out  of  the  red  scarf  and  a  stick 
left  behina  by  one  of  the  men.    This  will  be  seen  by  some 
pedestrian  on  the  sands — he  will  be  extricated,  or,  this  failing,  he 
will  be  supplied  with  food     Nature  will  thus  have  furnished  all  the 
externals  of  that  anchorite's  life  for  which  he  is  best  fitted^     Pilgri- 
mages will  be  made  to  the  cave,  the  palmers  being  laden  with 
reverence,  compassion,  food,  and  the  other  essentials  of  existence. 
Through  the  chinks  he  can  publish  to  the  world  the  fruits  of  lus 
meditations  in  the  shape  of  poems  and  essays-— and  Eliza  Bathbrifl 
will  be  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  cliff.   En  attendant^  the  tide  brii^ 
to  him  shell-fish,  edible  seaweed,  and  occasionally  a  few  dainties 
may  be  introduced.    Or  better  still,  he  might  be  cut  off  entirely 
from  human  aid  ;  and  the  same  tide  could  be  utilised  for  washing 
into  the  cave  whatever  was  wanted  for  his  comfort — ^a  complete 
batterie  de  cuisine^  wooden  pails  floated  out  of  the  grasp  of  careless 
children,  fragments  of  furniture,  saws,  and  nails,  and  glue,  waifs 
and  strays,  and  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  every  description.    Even 
the  great  difficulty  of  fresh  water  might  be  solved  by  the  entrance 
of  a  small  chemical  apparatus  for  extracting  it   from  the   sea- 
water. 

"  But  the  conspirators  will  return ! "  cries  the  carping  reader^ 
^  and  escape  is  impossible  all  the  same.  I  have  you  on  the  hip ! 
Your  romancing  powers  cannot  cope  with  this  difficulty,  and 
so  you  have  avoided  it !  " 

Stay  a  minute,  dear  reader,  it  is  just  at  this  point  that  the 
Pegasus  of  the  writer  longs  to  make  its  highest  flight  You  have 
forgotten  the  second  black  bag.  This,  and  not  the  first,  contains 
the  dynamite.  Armed  with  it.  Jack,  freed  from  all  his  bonds,  meets 
,^he  returning  scoundrels.    *^  Let  me  out,  or  I  dash  this  down  and 


A  CLASSICAL  CONSPIRATOR  321 

die  together.  Attempt  to  escape  and  to  leave  me  here,  and  I 
ditto.**  Fury  of  the  baffled  ruffians.  *'  Promise,  at  least,  not  to 
y  the  existence  of  the  cave."  '*I  promise  nothing,  and  give 
five  minutes  to  let  me  out  I  am  reckless.**  What  a  scene  for 
odrama  !  The  rugged  cave,  lit  by  weird  limelight ;  the  over- 
med  flasks  of  whisky  ;  the  platform  littered  with  inchoate  wheel- 
k;  the  picturesque,  scowling  band  ;  the  hero  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
lus  right  arm,  which  is  bare  to  the  shoulder,  and  displays  a  long, 
Moody  graze,  waving  a  black  bag  of  terrible  suggestiveness  ;  the 
puMt,  fierce  parley  ;  the  helpless  submission  of  the  gang,  and  the 

emph  of  the  right.  As  the  rocky  door  swings  open,  and  Jack 
»s  out  into  the  air,  a  free  man,  the  ear  of  fancy  is  stunned  with 
iie  roar  of  a  many-sounding  sea  of  applause.  Curtain— treble 
pcaUI 

But  Jack  was  not  the  man  to  do  anything  so  sensible.  He  had 
It  last  given  in  his  adhesion  to  the  principle  of  kdsses  faire, 

*'Said  I  not  undue  haste  was  to  be  deprecated  ?**  he  heard  the 
letuming  Captain  remark.  '*  Had  you  scoundrels  not  upset  my 
equanimity  by  the  rapidity  of  your  flight,  a  moment's  calm  reflec- 
jtion  would  have  convmced  me  that  the  portraits  were  in  that  bag 
I  and  the  dynamite  in  the  other.** 

I  "  Mafoi  /  **  laughed  a  new  voice,  evidently  belonging  to  Jacques, 
rif  ithad  been  de  odervay,  it  was  happy  that  I  was  late.  De 
[carlv  bird  catches  de  dynamite,  hein  f" 

*'  Ha,  here's  that  infernal  fool  again  !  '*  burst  forth  the  lieu- 
I  tenant  '*  I*m  afraid,  if  we  don't  get  rid  of  him  at  once,  he*ll  be 
\  diMne  some  more  mischief*' 

^Command  yourself,  Patrick  Donaghue  O'Connor,  sor !  **  said 
;  the  Captain.  "  It*s  not  his  fault.  Hoist  him  up.  We  will  pursue 
I  tibe  investigation.** 

i  "Och,  awirra,  awirral"  gasped  Murphy.  "All  the  cratur*s 
[spilt** 

"  Remove  the  gag,"  said  the  Captain,  when  Jack  stood  once 

more  before  him  on  the  platform  where  Murphy  had    rapidly 

I  beaped  up  in  one  corner  the  litter  of  half-finished  mechanical 

I  contrivances.     ''Now,  me  friend,"  he  continued  afrably,  ''your 

name?* 

Jack  hesitated.    He  heard  the  click  of  a  revolver. 
^  Jack  Dawe,"  he  replied  hastily. 
"Your  occupation  ?* 

**  I  am  at  present  a  house-and-sign  painter.** 
"Your  address?" 
**  I  live  in  London." 

"  Sor,"  said  the  Captain  solemnly,  "  as  ye  value  your  life  and 
me  time,  no  prevarrication.  I  am  a  man  of  Action  and  not  a 
man  of  >yords.''  In  substantiation  of  this  statement.  Jack  felt  a 
cold  steel  barrel  pressed  against  his  cheek,  and  with  a  shrinking 
at  heart  he  felt  that  although  he  had  never  been  entitled  to  make 
the  same  boast,  he  was  now  more  than  ever  restricted  to  words  and 
debarred  from  action. 


i 


32«  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

^My  present  address,"  he  replied,  ^is  in  the  Bethnal  Gteea 
Road,  at  the  Star  Dining  Rooms.'' 

^  How  came  ye  here?"  was  the  next  question.  "Are  ye  a 
Government  official  ?  " 

*'  I  assure  you  that  I  came  here  by  pure  accident.  My  hat 
blew  into  a  gap  in  the  cliff.  I  inserted  my  hand  in  the  hope 
of " 

^'Enough,**  interrupted  the  Captain.  ^^It's  an  ill  wind  that 
blows  nobody  any  good,  and  we're  in  want  of  recruits.  We  don't 
want  to  kill  you  if  we  can  help  it :  in  the  first  place,  because  we 
shan't  get  paid  for  the  job;  and  in  the  second,  because  we  have 
somethmg  big  on  hand,  and  we  can't  afford  to  run  unnecessary 
risks  that  might  spoil  what  I  hope  to  make  an  artistic  success,  ana 
a  chef'd^cBuvre  for  the  imitation  of  posterity.  You  see  I  am  plain 
with  you  because  you  will  leave  this  place  a  member  of  my  highly- 
paid  travelling  company,  or  not  at  all  Are  ye  handy  with  yoor 
fingers  ?  " 

**  N-o-o,"  stammered  Jack  wonderingly.  *'  At  least,  I  can't  say 
till  I  try." 

'^  Sensibly  answered,"  said  the  Captain.  ^  Know  anything  of 
clockwork,  now  ?  " 

^  No,'*  replied  Jack  abstractedly.  The  question  set  a  stanza  of 
*'  The  Cuckoo  "  buzzing  in  his  brain  : 

*'  No  bird,  bat  an  invisible  thing, 
A  voice,  a  mystery." 

A  sudden  vision  of  sunny  fields  and  of  the  days  that  were  no 
more,  filled  his  eyes  with  tears. 

"  That's  a  pity,"  said  the  Captain.  **  But  your  fingers  are  cut 
out  by  Nature  for  the  purpose,  they're  long  and  delicate.  Under 
my  tuition  youll  soon  be  able  to  construct  one,  won't  you  ?* 

"  Eh  ?  "  cried  Jack  with  a  start.    **  Construct  what  ?  " 

"An  Infe-r-r-nal  Machine,  ye  spalpeen,  of  course!"  growled 
Murphy. 

"An  infernal  machine  I "  gasped  Jack.  "  I  make  an  Infernal 
Machine  I     Never  1 " 

"  Sor,"  said  the  Captain  severely,  "  you're  an  Englishman,  and 
if  your  breast  is  swayed  by  pathriotic  motives,  belave  me  ye  cannot 
serve  your  counthry  better  than  by  jining  us.**  To  clench  this 
argument,  he  pressed  the  pistol  with  greater  force  against  Jack^s 
cheek. 

"  Sir,"  replied  the  painter  with  equal  severity.  "Above  all,  let 
us  clear  our  minds  of  cant  Retro  nu,  Sathanoy  with  thy  casuistry  1 
Even  were  my  sense  of  honour  to  permit  me  to  construct  an  infernal 
machine  as  a  legitimate  instrument  of  warfare,  my  conscience 
would  not  allow  me  to  use  it  in  your  service.  Sir,  my  politics  are 
radically  opposed  to  those  of  that  large  and  not  uninfluendal 
section  of  mankind  of  which  you  are  the  temporary  representativfii 
I  do  not,  sir,  question  the  motives  of  the  upholders  of  those  opinionsi 


A  CLASSICAL  CONSPIRATOR  3^3 

nor  do  I  deny  their  right,  or  rather,  I  willingly  concede  their  right 
to  come  to  such  conclusions  upon  imperial  questions  as  are  forced 
ttpon  them  by  those  data,  not,  I  venture  to  think,  uncontaminated  by 
prejudice,  which  are  apparent  to  what  I  cannot  refrain  from  calling 
me  superficial  glance;  but,  however  I  may  tolerate  them,  I  desire 
it  to  be  distinctly  understood,  sir,  that  I  am  not  in  harmony  with 
opinions  which,  if  carried  to  their  logical  extreme,  would  lead  to  the 
entire  disruption  of  the  empiiie,  the  fruit  of  so  many  centuries  of 
sdf-sacrifice,  so  vast  an  expenditure  of  the  treasures  of  industry  and 
of  the  blood  of  heroes.  Far  from  concurring  in  schemes  at  once 
so  impracticable  and  so  un-English,  it  is  with  extreme  disfavour 
that  I  view  the  attempts  of  the  Pamellites,  and  I  would  do  an^- 
tbing  in  my  power  to  hinder  that  repeal  of  the  Union  which,  sir,  is 
the  aim  of  yonr  own  efforts.  Judge,  then,  what  assistance  you  can 
expect  from  one  who  prefers  death  to  dishonour.  Sir,  I  thank  you 
for  the  patience  witii  which  you  have  listened  to  these  few  remarks. 
I  have  done.  Loose  your  trigp^er,  I  pray  you,  and  torture  me  no 
more."  He  ceased,  and  drawmg  himself  up  to  his  full  height, 
awaited  Death  for  the  fifth  time. 

A  moment's  solemn  silence  fbUowed  the  bold  speech  of  Jack 
Dawe. 

It  was  broken  by  a  hoarse  exclamation  of  ^  A  plucky  boy,  by 
me  sowl  I    That's  the  man  for  us.** 

**  Hold  your  pace,  Mick ! "  cried  the  Captain.  **  Jack  Dawe, 
(Fye  mane  what  you  say  ?" 

''Do  not  sedc  to  tempt  me  further,"  said  Jack.  ^You  are 
aheady  in  possession  of  my  views." 

**  Yon  would  do  everything  in  your  power  to  hinder  the  repeal 
of  the  Union,  eh  ?  ** 

''Sir,  do  not  sneer  at  a  fallen  foe.  Alas,  I  know  too  well,  that 
my  threat  must  remain  a  threat,  and  nothing  more.  If  you  have 
any  chivalry  in  you,  kill  me  at  once." 

Evidentiy  this  appeal  to  the  Captain's  delicacy  touched  the 
right  chord,  for  JacK  felt  a  sudden  relaxation  of  the  pressure  on 
his  cheek  and  a  burning  rush  of  blood  to  the  empty  capillaries. 

"  Sor,  I  admire  your  courage,"  said  the  Captain,  ^  and  it  shall 
never  be  said  that  a  man  of  the  wor-r-ld  like  meself  refused  to 
make  concessions.  Ye  have  a  conscientious  objection,  say  ye, 
to  constructing  an  infer-r-nal  machine.  Very  well,  I  accede 
to  your  own  terms.  A  conscientious  objection  is  a  thing  so  rarely 
met  with  that  one  can  afford  to  respect  it  when  he  does  come 
across  it." 

"  I  have  not  mentioned  any  terms,"  began  Jack.    **  I  altogether 

refose " 

^  SofUy,  softly ;  I  can't  afford  to  lose  a  man  with  the  sperrit  of 
'  Brian  Boru,  and  a  gift  of  the  gab  like  O'Connell's.     A  Jack  of 
Hearts  is  a  useful  card  in  a  pack,  eh,  my  boy  ?    Ye'U  listen  to  a 
little  eintle  persuasion  ;  ye're  open  to  argument,  aren't  ye  ?" 

"Alas,  too  much  so,"  groaned  Jack,  with  a  vivid  remembrance 
of  tiba  afternoon  when  be  read  the  fragments  of  the  Freeihinkir 

T  f 


3t4  THE  PREMIER  AMD  THE  PAINTER 

and  with  a  vaj^ue  fear  that  if  he  listened  too  attentively  he  might 
be  converted  in  this  case  too. 

*'  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  the  Captain  eagerly.  ^  But  before  I 
let  you  further  into  our  secrets,  as  I  must  do  in  the  course  oJF  the 
argument,  you  will  at  least  take  an  oath  not  to  betray  anything  yoa 
learn  or  have  already  learnt." 

**  I  warn  you,  you  are  wasting  your  breath.  However,  your  de- 
mand is  reasonable,  and  I  give  you  my  word  not  to  give  any  infor- 
mation ;  but  I  have  an  objection  to  swearing  on  such  occasions. 
Moreover,  an  honest  man  has  no  need  of  oaths ;  as  La  Bruy^ 
excellently  said,  his  character  swears  for  him." 

**  Are  ye  an  Atheist,  sor  ?" 

''God  forbid,"  cried  the  horrified  Jack.  ''But  I  respect  the 
third  commandment" 

"That  is  right,"  said  the  Captain  warmly.  "Well  have  no 
Atheists  in  our  society,  sor.  Shall  we  be  less  exclusive  than  the 
House  of  Commons?  That's  a  very  worthy  model,  sor,  a  very 
worthy  model  And  sure,  it's  not  taking  the  Lord's  name  in  vain," 
he  added,  baring  his^  head  reverently,  "  when  I'll  blow  yer  brains 
out  if  you  don't  take  it  at  once.  So  none  of  your  gammon.  Give 
me  the  Bible,  Mick.    Murphy,  untie  your  dirty  scarf." 

Both  orders  were  instantly  obeyed.  Mick,  who  was  the  hoarse 
man,  produced  a  small  well-thumbed  Bible,  which  he  kissed  and 
thrust  into  the  cramped  hand  just  set  free  by  Murphy.  The  latter 
was  also  proceeding  to  divest  Tack  of  that  wide  bandage  covering 
his  eyes  and  half  his  face  which  made  him  appear  like  an  image  of 
Justice,  when  the  Captain  repeated  his  favourite  adage  anent  undue 
haste,  adding  a  sarcasm  to  the  effect  that  Murphy's  beauty,  like  a 
map^ic-lantem,  could  be  better  appreciated  in  the  dark.  So  Jack  re- 
mained blind  while  he  swore  never  to  reveal  the  mysteries  of  the 
cave  and  of  the  wild  beasts  who  used  it 

"  Before  I  begin,"  said  the  Captain,  when  the  ceremony  was 
over,  "  yell  have  a  dhrop  of  stuff  to  wash  down  my  persuasions^ 
ve  know.  Sorry  the  whiskey's  spilt,  but  I've  got  a  flask  oi 
brandy." 

"  No,  thank  you ;  I'd  rather  not,"  faltered  Jack,  who,  however, 
was  almost  fainting. 

"  Hang  it  all,  me  boy.  I  can't  respect  any  one  who  won't  drink 
with  me.* 

Tack  yielded,  but  the  thought  that  he  was  accepting  hospitality 
at  the  hands  of  Irish  dynamiters  and  Anti- Unionists  almost  choked 
him.  Nevertheless,  truth  compelling  him  to  reply  in  the  affirmative 
to  the  complimentary  (question  of  whether  he  smoked,  he  was  forced 
to  accept  a  cigar,  which  he  found  of  the  finest  quality.  He  was 
given  a  seat  on  a  projecting  piece  of  diff,  and  the  puffings  and 
gtuvlings  recommenced  all  round  him. 

^  Now  that  we  are  all  comfortable,"  began  the  Captain,  aooentn- 
ating  his  cynical  phrases  with  cool  enjoyment,  and  pausing  eveiy 
now  and  then  to  smoke  his  regalia,  *^  I  pray  ye.  Jack  Dawe,  to  lend 
gie  your  ears,  and  the  rest  of  you  won't  lose  by  taking  a  lesson  il 


A  CLASSICAL  CONSPIRATOR  jaj 

die  art  of  political  persuasion.     And  I  ought  to  have  no  difficulty 
in  making  ye  change  your  occupation,  if  it  is  true,  as  Horace 

'Qui  iit  Maecenas  ut  nemo  contentus  Tivat 
Laudetque  dlTena  seqnentes?'  " 

A  buzz  of  admiration  went  round  the  group. 

**  I  beg*  your  pardon,"  said  Jack,  removing  his  cigar  from  his 
mouth,  "you  have  omitted  a  line  and  a  half— *Quam  sibi 
sortem '  ** 

*'  Bravo !  ^  cried  the  Captain.  "  We  shall  make  something- 
of  you.  A  tincture  of  the  humanities  ennobles  the  profession. 
But  hang  it  all  me  boy,  ye  can't  be  a  house-and-sign  painter. 
I  suspect  you've  already  gone  wrong.  All  the  better.  I  flatter 
meseli^  i!DKs€%  no  conspirator  like  a  classical  scholar  gone  wrong. 
Andy  as  ye  may  have  sdreadv  noticed,  we  are  conspirators." 

**  We  are,"  cried  Murphy  and  Mick  enthusiastically.  '*  God 
save  ould  Ireland." 

^  But,"  interposed  Jack,  ^how  can  I  join  an  Irish  gang  ?  I  am 
an  Englishman.*' 

**  Have  the  Irish  a  monopoly?"  asked  the  Captain  indignantly. 
"  No,  sor.    Free  trade,  sor,  in  conspiracy,  as  in  everything  else.  But, 
hless  your  innocence,  I  am  an  Englishman  mesel^  although  I 
spake  the  brogue  to  perfection.    I  am  an  Oxford  man,  sor,  and 
I  compated  for  the  Newdigate  in  the  same  year  that  Flopping- 
ton  gained  it    He  was  a  very  quiet,  religious  chap  in  those  days 
who  took  no  interest  in  politics,  keeping  away  from  the  debates 
of  the  Union,  and  I  never  thought  his  career  would  be  what  i 
has  been,  or  that  he  and  I  would  be  situated  towards  each  other 
as  we  are  at  the  present  moment.    But  business  is  business.    My 
second  in  command  is  a  Scotchman  without  my  linguistic  faculties, 
so  he  took  the  long  name  of  Patrick  Donaghue  O'Connor  to  make 
up  for  his  inability  to  accjuire  the  brogue.    Jacques  is,  of  course, 
a  Frenchman,  who  appreciates  Victor  Hugo  and  thinks  a  Parisian 
should  be  out  of  no  intrigue  that  amuses  him  and  relieves  suffering 
hamanity.     Murphy  is  a  true  Irishman,  because  otherwise  I  do 
not  think  he  has  intdligence  enough  to  make  bulls.    Mick  is  a 
more  suspicious  case— he  is  too  profuse  of  superficial  Irishisms. 
Jim,  who  hasn't  turned  up,  is  a  Cornstalk.    Finally,  were  you  out- 
side and  Murphy's  handkerchief  off  your  eyes,  you  would  perceive 
a  man  stolidly  rowing  up  and  down  in  a  large  boat,  in  case  of  the 
tide  giving  us  any  inconvenience.    That  is  a  Dutchman.    The 
cause  enlists  free  lances  from  all  nations.    Thus,  you  will  perceive 
that  there  is  only  one  undoubted  Irish  specimen  among  us.    We 
have  tried  to  get  more — at  Rossa's  desire ;  but,  if  I  had  my  own 
way,  I  would  say  to  unemployed  conspirators,   '  No  Irish  need 
apply.'    We  have  the  entrie  of  several  caves  similar  to  this  along 
the  English  coast    They  belonged  to  the  old  smugglers  ^many  of 
whom  were  thrown  out  of  work  by  Free  Trade).   The  one  m  which 
^  stand  is  ridt  in  tcadition,  and  if  yoa  have  naytlung  of  th^ 


i 


3^6  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

historical  spirit,  the  genius  loci  should  inspire  you  to  deeds  of 
heroism.  Among  others,  it  once  passed  into  the  hands  of  the 
celebrated  CVMulligan,  and  Cork  Soles  spent  several  days  here 
while  England  was  scoured  from  north  to  south  and  a  reward 
of  £itOcx>  was  offered  for  her  alive  or  dead.  Should  you  ever  be 
in  a  similar  predicament,  flying  from  injustice,  remember  this 
cave.  It  is,  as  you  will  presendy  perceive,  lighted  by  the  best 
wax  candles  ;  but  it  is  my  ambition  to  keep  pace  with  all  the 
modem  improvements  and  to  introduce  the  electric  light  here.  As 
for  the  ventilation,  you  need  have  no  fear,  it  is  managed  on  the 
best  scientific  principle,  that  of  the  double  shaft  used  in  mines, 
one  of  the  gaps  being  for  the  entrance  of  the  fresh  air,  and  the 
other  for  l£e  exit  of  the  fouL  At  the  same  time,  these  gaps 
permit  one  to  press  the  ingeniously-constructed  springs  which 
have  never  bemre  to-day  yielded  to  the  finger  of  an  outsider. 
Without  a  knowledge  of  the  exact  method,  no  ordinary  force  will 
sufiice  to  open  the  entrance— it  resists  the  strongest  waves.  You 
will  readily  see  how  much  safer  this  is  than  a  house.  No  house, 
in  fact,  is  safe  for  the  constructor  of  those  beautiful  instruments 
of  justice  known  as  infernal  machines ;  not  to  speak  of  the  pri- 
vacy of  meeting  attainable  here.  So  much  of  oursielves  and  our 
marine  residence.  But  you  have  allowed  your  cigar  to  go  out; 
permit  me  to  re-light  it.  Another  drop  of  brandy  ?  No  !  Well, 
it's  true  you  haven't  been  talking.  Til  take  a  mouthful  mysel£ 
Youi  health,  sor !    To  proceed Where  was  I  ?  * 

^  I  still  do  not  understand  exactly  your  functions,"  replied 
Jack.  "Do  you  merely  manufacture  the  machines,  or  do  you——?" 

"  Oh,  no  ;  I  go  further,  and  others  fare  worse.  To  cut  the 
matter  short,  I  am  the  only  authorised  agent  for  England  of  the 
great  O'Donovan  Rossa,  the  sharer  in  all  his  secrets,  the  partner 
in  all  his  anxieties.  And  me  literary  powers,  I  flatter  mesd^ 
have  done  him  substantial  service  by  me  leaders  in  the  Pilot 
and  other  publications.  He  is  a  man  of  the  purest  and  noblest 
character,  and  I  can  give  you  an  instance  of  his  heroism  and 
self-sacrifice  without  parallel  in  ancient  or  modem  history.  It 
was  on  his  suggestion  that  I  sent  out  Mrs.  Dudley  to  shoot  him. 
I  have  established  a  branch  firm  in  this  country  of  which  I  am 
manager.  The  partners  being  limited  to  a  few,  though  with  power 
to  add  to  their  number,  the  profits  are  exceedingly  high  to  make 
up  for  the  liability  being  unlimited.  These  gentlemen  —  for  as 
general,  I,  of  course,  like  Wolseley,  cannot  afford  to  undergo  anv 
danger — are  prepared  to  undertake,  at  a  moment's  notice,  and  with 
the  utmost  punctuality,  explosions  of  all  types,  from  the  minatory 
stillborn  explosion — if  the  term  be  allowed — that  accidentally  fails 
to  take  place,  through  all  degrees  up  to  the  recent  ^gantic  pyro- 
technic display  in  the  House  of  Commons,  Westmmster  Abbey, 
and  the  Tower  of  London,  simultaneously.  When  trade  is  slack, 
you  will  find  them  all  here,  producing  a  store  of  triumphs  of  manual 
dexterity  for  use  when  the  season  sets  in.  But  at  die  present 
moment  we  are  maturing  an  explosion  that  will  shake  Europe^ 


•'FOR  AULD  LANG  SYNE"*  327 

say,  the  world  to  the  centre,  as  it  has  not  been  shaken  since  our 
Russian  friends  thrilled  it  with  that  magnificent  coup  de  thJdtre^ 
that  hurled  Alexander  II.  out  of  it  Our  plot  is  still  in  its  infancy. 
To-day  we  arrange  the  details  :  Mick  and  Jacques  shall  watch  the 
bouse,  and  find  means  of  discovering  the  disposition  of  the  interior ; ' 
Murphy  and  Jim  shall  acquaint  themselves  with  the  habits  of  the 
victim  abroad ;  and  Patrick  Donaghue  O'Connor  shall  keep  an  eye 
on  them  alL  I  shall  have  much  to  do  to  allay  the  suspicions  of 
Pamell  by  adroit  intrigue,  and  to  you,  sor,  shall  be  allotted— both 
as  an  initiatory  ceremony  and  as*  a  special  mark  of  honour — the 
final  task  of  placing  in  position  the  mfemal  machine.  No,  sor, 
don't  disclaim  tiiie  honour,  or  ye  are  a  dead  man.  I  let  you  off  all 
share  in  the  construction  of  the  machine,  and  you  will  simply  have 
to  put  it  down  on  a  spot  that  will  be  indicated  to  you.  There's 
noUiing  in  the  world  simpler,  'asier,  or  more  innocent.  Don't  in- 
terrupt me,  sor ;  I'll  be  done  in  a  moment.  Gintlemen,  I  have 
brought  for  each  of  you  a  photograph  as  I  promised,  so  that  there 
shaU  be  not  the  slightest  difficulty  in  identifying  the  man.  Jacques, 
bring  me  that  black  bag  in  the  right-hand  corner.  There  you  are. 
Take  one  each.  Murphy,  remove  the  new  recruit's  bandage,  and 
give  him  a  photograph  to  look  at." 

Jack  stood  for  a  moment  dazzled  by  a  flood  of  light  and  unable 
to  see  the  portrait  he  held  in  his  hand.  As  his  visio*^  cleared,  he 
gazed  anxiously  upon  it.  His  worst  suspicions  were  confirmed. 
The  face  was  that  of  the  Right  Honourable  Arnold  Floppington, 
Prime  Minister  of  England.  He  could  not  refrain  from  uttering  a 
slight  cry  of  horror.  At  the  same  instant  a  unanimous  exclamation 
of  surprise  and  delight  burst  from  the  lips  of  the  gang. 

Jack  turned  deadly  pale,  overwhelmed  by  a  rush  of  thronging 
thoughts. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  panted, ''  in  God's  name,  abandon  your  cruel 
plan  of  assassination !  For  Heaven's  sake^  don't  make  me  the 
murderer  of  an  innocent  man  ! " 

For  the  sixth  time  that  day  the  painter  was  within  a  hair's 
breadth  of  death. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"for  AULD  LANG  SYNE."* 

A  DERISIVE  burst  of  laughter  greeted  this  petition,  delivered  in  the 
n^ost  heart-rending  tones.  The  brave  Jack  had  become  suddenly 
object  in  supplication. 

.  "  Mercy  \  ^  he  pleaded  wildly.  **  Mercy,  sir;  you  do  not  mean 
U— you  will  not  kill  an  innocent  man." 

"Och,  the  Holy  Virgin  be  praised  !**  cried  Mick,  looking  alter- 
nately from  Jack  to  the  portrait.  "  The  saints  have  delivered  the 
Sassenach  into  our  hands.     Let  us  give  thanks  to  the  Almighty." 

He  kndt  down,  the  open  Bible  in  his  band. 


328  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

''  Oui^  cui^  tendons  grActs  au  Dieu  des  bonnes  gensj^ 
Jacques,  following  his  example  with  a  sneer  only  visible  to  Jack,| 
who  shuddered  at  the  man's  profanity^ 

Instinctively,  the  rest  fell  on  their  knees,  silently,  with 
heads  ;  and  the  praise  of  God  went  up  from  the  secret  places  of 
earth,  and  harmonised  with  the  distant  organ-roll  of  the  might] 
ocean.   Hat  in  hand,  the  men  listened  devoutly  while  the  Capl 
with  a  solemnity  that  was  heightened  by  the  ruggedness  anc 
mystery  around,  ofTered  up  a  spontaneous  prayer,  the  effusion  of 
grateful  heart    With  expert  use  of  Scriptural  idiom— for,  unfoi 
nately,  the  received  liturgy  did  not  provide  for  occasions  of  thia 
kind — ^he  thanked  God  for  saving  him  and  his  servants  from 
many  perils  that  would  have  attended  the  performance  of  th( 
duty,  and  for  being  graciously  pleased  to  niake  the  light  of 
Premier's  countenance  shine  upon  them  at  the  present  juncture. 

Jack  gazed  curiously  around  him,  but  found  that  although  sight 
had  been  wanting  the  report  of  his  other  senses  had  been  suffi- 
ciently accurate.     He  stood  on  an  artificially-formed  platform  I 
surrounded  by  kneeling  conspirators,  all  of  gentlenuuily  appearanct^ 
well  dressed,  and  not  to  be  distinguished  from  a  congr^ation  at| 
All  Saints',  except  by  their  air  of  piety. 

A  commodious  arm-chair,  in  the  best  Early  English  style,' 
occupied  the  right-hand  corner,  its  indented  seat  pointing  to  its 
recent  evacuation  by  the  Captain.  A  few  stools  were  scattered 
about  for  the  use  of  his  inferiors.  In  the  left-hand  comer  stood  a 
heap  of  embrjronic  infernal  machines  together  with  the  necessary- 
tools.  Stuck  in  narrow  niches  along  the  curving,  dentated 
were  a  dozen  or  so  wax  candles  of  different  sizes,  corresponding  to 
the  conformation  of  the  holes.  The  altitude  of  the  ceUing  varied 
considerably,  but  in  no  part  did  it  fall  below  eight  and  one-third 
feet.  The  walls,  which  were  covered  with  the  incrustations  of  ages, 
amid  much  irregularity  ran  together  till  diey  formed  a  rude  dome- 
at  the  extreme  summit,  and  Nature  had  cunningly  carved  out  on 
their  surfaces  grotesque  protuberances  that  here  and  there  bore  a 
rouofh  resemblance  to  the  quaint  gargoyles  of  the  mediaeval 
builders. 

To  remove  the  cheerlessness  and  chilliness  of  tfie  place,  the 
centre  of  each  wall  bore  one  of  those  (innocent  little  girls  with 
which  Millais  used  so  constantly  and  successfully  to  appeal  to  the 
philoprogenitiveness  and  the  pockets  of  his  fellow-men.  Fallen  on 
the  ground  beside  the  arm-chair  was  a  small  red  volume,  the  Captain's 
favourite  vade-mecum.  Had  Jack  looked  at  it  he  would  have  found 
it  to  be  the  popular  edition  of'^Carlyle's  lectures  on  heroes,  opening 
spontaneously  on  ^  The  Hero  as  King."  The  exit  of  this  furnished 
part  of  the  cavern  was  marked  by  a  low,  dark  archwav. 

When  the  service  began,  Jack  ceased  respectfully  from  his 
entreaties. 

"  Even  in  these  men,*  he  thought,  "  die  spiritual  instinct  shines 
as  these  pure,  white  tapers  in  this  otherwise  Stygian  cave.  PerhapS| 
as  they  pray,  God  will  melt  their  heartf,* 


''FOR  AULD  LANG  SYNE''  329 

Now  or  never  was  the  time  for  Jack  to  seize  the  bag  of  dyna- 
mite ;  but,  far  from  being  alive  to  the  possibilities  of  the  situation, 
he  was  not  even  conscious  of  its  realities.  Only  when  he  heard  the 
fervent  gratitude  of  the  Captain  for  the  capture  of  the  Premier,  did 
he  begin  to  realise  the  terrible  mistake  the  conspirators  were 
making.  If  they  murdered  him  they  would  soon  discover  the  in- 
utility of  the  deed.  To  sacrifice  himself  by  allowing  them  to 
remain  under  the  impression  that  he  was  the  Premier  would  be 
useless.  No,  he  must  live  at  any  cost,  live  long  enough  to  warn 
their  intended  victim.  He  wrestled  with  his  scrupulosity — what  he 
would  not  stoop  to  do  to  preserve  his  own  life,  must  be  done  to 
save  that  of  another.  After  all,  were  those  who  had  put  them- 
selves outside  the  pale  of  society  entitled  to  that  maintenance  of 
compact  on  which  society  was  based  ?  Would  he  not  be  justified, 
then,  if  no  other  way  of  escape  presented  itself,  in  acknowledging 
himself  to  be  Floppington,  recanting  his  former  opinions,  and 
promising,  or  even  swearing,  to  give  self-government  to  Ireland  ? 
By  this  pardonable  ruse  he  might  persuade  the  Captain  to  release 
him,  and  the  real  Premier  would  in  all  probability  be  saved. 

Revolving  feverishly  the  arguments /r(7  and  con,Sind  rapidly 

running-  over  the  opinions  of  the  casuists  and  ethical  writers  of  all 

nations,  with  the  Categorical  Imperative  of  Kant  all  the  while 

droning  an  tmeasy  under-song,  he  heard  the  conclusion  of  the 

Captain's  thanksgiving  and  mechanically  intoned  a  fervent  Amen. 

*'  Cheeky  and  ironical  to  the  last ! "   laughed  the  Captain. 

"Floppington,  me  boy,  when  ye  blushingly  read  your  prize  poem 

of  *  Sinai '  to  a  distinguished  audience  cujus  magna  pars  fiii,  at 

least  to  judge  by  noise,  I  niver  thought  that  ye'd  come  to  this. 

Why,  ye'vegot  the  silf-possession  of— meself ;  and  knowing  ye  would 

ultimately  be  discovered,  you  took  it  out  in  satire.    Ye  want  to 

maintain  the  Union— eh  ?    Your  name  is  Jack  Dawe — ^because  ye 

are  a  jackdaw  in  borrowed  plumes,  eh  ?    Ha !  ha !  ha !    Be  jabers, 

1  can  hardly  belave  my  eyes  yet  that  I  have  got  you.     The 

wonderful  method  of  your  capture  is  enough  to  confute  Lucratius 

and  his  atoms,  and  demonstrate  Providence  to  that  irriverent 

rascal,  Bradlaugh.    I  assure  ye  I  was  much  affected  just  now  by 

me  own  iloquence.    Knaling  in  this  sacret  underground  cave,  I 

felt  like  one  of  the  early  Christians,  forgetting  temporsuily  that  I  was 

a  modern  one.     Tempora  muianiury  Floppington.     Cut  out  by 

nature  as  I  was  for  canonicals,  my  canonicals  were  never  cut  out 

for  me.    We  were  both  mint  for  archbishops ;  but  I  became  a 

dynamiter ;  and  you,  after  narrowly  escaping  a  cardin^'s  hat,  a 

Prime  Minister  ;  and  Pm  sure  of  the  two  you  do  the  more  harm. 

^aul  hath  slain  his  thousands  and  David  his  tens  of  thousands. 

That  little  war " 

"  Sir,"  interrupted  Jack  with  sudden  decision.    **  I  will  make  a 
last  effort  to  persuade  you  to  desist  from  your  designs.    You  are, 

alas,  an  educated  man '* 

**  Stay,  sor,  do  not  deprecate  education.    Remember,  that  you 
I  \  endeavourio^  to  give  the  masses  free  education ^"    Jack 


1 


330  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 


was  about  to  interrupt  him  again,  bat  he  waved  him  aside  im 
patiently  and  went  on.  ^  Let  me  tdl  ye,  sor,  that  ye  are  doing  my 
work  for  me.  A  conspirator  who  can't  rade,  and  write,  and  cipher, 
can  niver  take  high  rank  in  his  profession,  nor  command  more 
than  an  eighth  of  the  ordinary  wages.  Me  blessings  on  the  School 
Board." 

^  If  you  or  your  Chief,  Mr.  O'Donovan  Rossa,"  resumed  Jack, 
"  have  views  different  from  the  Premier's,  that  is  to  no  logical  mind 
a  reason  for  assassination.  The  man  dies,  but  his  arguments  you 
cannot  kill.    We  fight  nowadays  by  reason  and  not  by  force." 

*'  Sor,  reason  is  scarce  and  fighting  presses.  An  ounce  of 
dynamite  is  worth  a  ton  of  argument— »///ma  ratio  regutn — eh  ?  " 

Despite  this  dogmatic  assertion,  the  two  men,  strange  as  were 
their  relations,  being  both  ''argumentative  cusses,"  went  into  an 
elaborate  discussion  of  the  question,  the  dynamiter  and  his  intended 
victim  maintaining  all  the  amenities  of  debate.  Verily  is  Truth 
stranger  than  Fiction.  This  logomachy,  that  would  have  been 
ludicrous  if  it  were  not  so  tragic,  resembled  nothing  so  strongly 
(except  that  it  was  quite  different  from  them)  as  those  refinements 
of  wit  uttered  in  moments  of  intensest  passion  by  Gallican  lovers,  in 
that  age  of  pseudo-chivalry,  the  period  of  the  Fronde. 

^  Sor,"  said  the  Captain,  after  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  fierce  fight- 
ing, throughout  which  he  had  maintained  an  air  of  raillery,  and 
his  opponent  an  air  of  despairing  doggedness,  ^  in  conclusion,  I 
must  point  out  to  you  the  immense  assistance  we  have  been  to  the 
novelists,  and  the  consequent  advantage  to  the  whole  of  civilised 
mankind.  When  you  remember,  sor,  how  every  mithod  of  murder 
was  played  out,  how  weary  the  public  was  of  the  damnable  iteration 
of  dagger,  and  bowl,  and  gun,  you  will  see  what  an  immense  debt 
is  due  to  the  dynamiter.  He  is  to  the  story-teller  what  a  new  note 
would  be  to  the  musician,  a  new  colour  to  the  painter ;  the  founda- 
tion of  a  new  series  of  effects  inexhaustible  in  a  century.  Tell  me, 
sor,  is  there  any  recent  novel  of  merit  without  dynamite  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  replied  Jack,  *'  there  is  no  recent  novel  of  merit  even 
with  it  But  surely  you  cannot  be  unconscious  that  your  arguments, 
however  they  may  take  the  crowd,  are  baseless,  like  those  Indian 
conjurors  who  are  seen  suspended  from  nothing." 

*'  Well,  you  at  least  will  niver  live  to  see  me  suspended  from 
something  \^  cried  the  Captain,  beginning  to  tire  of  the  feline 
amusement  of  playing  with  his  prey.  And  as  a  cat  that  condescended 
to  bandy  words  with  a  mouse  concerning  the  right  of  consumption 
would  probably  summarily  put  an  end  to  the  argument,  especially 
if  aware  of  the  weakness  of  its  own  reasons,  so  the  Captain  now 
added : 

^  Enough,  sor !  As  I  said  before,  I  am  a  man  of  Action  and 
not  a  man  of  Words — having  got  you,  I've  the  best  of  rights  to 
kape  you — ^possission  is  nine  points  of  the  law.  Besides,  the  tide 
will  soon  turn — time  and  tide  wait  for  no  man,  you  know.  You  are 
a  brave  man,  Floppington,  ye  shall  have  a  soldiers  death — gin  tie- 
men,  charge  your  pistols.    1  give  you  five  minutes  to  make  your 


''FOR  AULD  LANG  SYNE^  331 

pace  with  Heaven ;  or,  stay,  as  ye  have  much  to  answer  for^  PU 

make  it  ten." 

Each  man  produced  a  small  revolver  from  an  inner  breast-pocket 

and  loaded  it. 

^In  the  multitude  of  shots  there  is  sureness,"  observed   the 

Captain  grimly.    He  took  a  heavy  gold  watch  out  of  his  pocket, 

and  held  it  in  his  hand. 

"  Gentlemen,"  cried  Jack,  "  I  pray  you  to  set  me  free.     I  have 

already  promised  to  hold  your  secrets  inviolate.    You  will  bitterly 

regret  my  murder.    You  may  assassinate  the  Premier  to-day,  but 

to-morrow  you  will  find  your  work  yet  to  do.    You  are  making  a 

grievous  mistake.     I  am  not  the  Premier." 

This  daring  assertion  took  away  the  Captain's  breath.  A  broad 
grin  appeared  on  the  countenances  of  his  men. 

^  Not  the  Premier,  eh  ? "  he  inquired,  with  good-humoured 

toleration  of  the  joke.    "  Who  the  diva  are  ye,  then  ?  " 

^  That  I  have  already  told  you.  I  am  the  most  unfortunate  man 
that  ever  lived.  Fate  for  years  has  never  wearied  of  pursuing  me. 
Not  content  with  the  sufferings  of  a  lover  of  literature  in  an  uncon- 
genial sphere,  it  created  in  the  person  of  the  present  Premier,  a  man 
who  (in  all  external  characteristics)  is  an  alter  ego.  If  it  were  not 
for  this  terrible  misfortune,  for  such  I  must  call  it  when  I  look  at 
its  dire  results,  I  should  not  be  in  my  present  plight.  It  is  this 
strong  resemblance  that  has  ruined  my  future." 

**The  resemblance  of  total  identity,"  said  the  Captain  with 
smiling  incredulity.  ^  Ye  have  wasted  two  minutes  praying  to  me 
instead  of  to  your  Maker." 

"  I  am  not  the  Premier,"  repeated  Jack.  "  I  swear  to  you  that 
if  I  were  I  should  ask  no  mercy  at  your  hands.  Consult  your  own 
common  sense — is  it  not  utterly  beyond  the  bounds  of  probability 
that  I  should  venture  to  palm  off  such  an  incredible  tale  upon  an 
intelligent  audience,  if  I  were  not  supported  by  the  consciousness 
of  its  truth?" 

*'  You  are  a  divilish  clever  fellow,  Floppington,  but  ye  have  to 
deal  with  a  cliverer.  Two-and-a-half  minutes.  Kape  a  still  tongue, 
and  don't  forfeit  my  respect  before  ye  die.  I  sdways  had  a  high 
opinion  of  your  honourableness,  even  when  rumour  was  loudest 
against  you.     I  still  remember  that  little  affair  at  College,  and  I 

I  should  regret  to  change  my  opinion  at  the  last  moment  I  cannot 
bear  to  have  all  my  Ideals  shattered.    Three  minutes." 

^  Too  late  you  will  find  I  have  spoken  the  truth.    It  is  not  from 

i  fear  that  I  ask  for  Life.  Death  has  no  terrors  for  me — I  am  weary 
of  Life,  but  I  would  wish  my  end  to  be  useful  to  my  fellow- 
creatures." 

I  ''There  I  have  the  advantage  of  you,"  sneered  the  Captain. 
**  My  end  cannot  but  be  so.    But  you  are  unreasonable,  Flopping- 

I    ton,  to  object  to  assassination.    Don't  ye  care  for  £une,  non  omnis 

s    moriar  snd  the  rest?  Ye  are  destined  to  be  one  of  those  men, 

;    Floppington,  who  are  only  remimbered  in  the  world  by  the  manner 

I    cf  their  laving  it    Your  late  accession  of  energy,  the  lape  of  a 


332  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

dying  flame,  will  be  misinterpreted  as  the  first  flaring  up  of  your 
rale  political  life.  You  will  be  pitied,  sir,  throughout  the  wor-r-ld ; 
your  faults  will  be  forgotten,  washed  away  in  your  blood  ;  you  will 
have  a  monument ;  and  hospital  wings  will  go  by  your  name. 
Heritor  of  unfulfilled  renown,  you  will  almost  be  another  case  of 
omnium  consensu  capax  imperii^  nisi  impet  Asset? 

*'  It  wanted  but  this/'  said  Jack  in  a  choking  voice,  ^  that  even 
by  my  death  I  cannot  save  other  lives  from  ruin — poor  mother  left 
desolate  in  her  old  age,  poor  sweetheart  deprived  of  her  lover.  If 
you  must  kill  me,  I  will  beg  for  my  life  no  longer.  But  I  have 
much  to  do  before  I  die.  Release  me,  I  pray  you,  and  I  promise 
to  return  to  this  spot  in  a  week's  time,  having  betrayed  none  of 
your  secrets." 

A  hearty  burst  of  laughter  greeted  this  na'fve  proposal  The 
Captain  was  the  only  serious  member  of  the  gang. 

"  Silence,"  he  cried,  *'  ye  don't  know  the  man.  Have  ye  never 
heard  of  Regulus,  ye  scoundrels  ?  That's  the  disadvantage  of  not 
having  a  classical  education.  I  belave  ye  mean  what  ye  say, 
Floppington,  and  at  the  present  moment  you  fully  intend  to  return; 
but  as  one  who  has  followed  your  career  with  the  interest  inspired 
by  the  foreboding  that  ye  would  some  day  supply  me  with  a  job,  I 
fear  that,  when  ye  are  at  home,  ye  will  see  the  other  sides  of  the 
question.  I  regret  not  to  be  able  to  oblige  ye  for  the  sake  of  auld 
lang  syne.  Nay,  more,  I  regret  I  undertook  the  business.  I  niver 
thought  I'd  fale  it  so  much.  I  niver  thought  I  should  be  in  at 
the  death,  ye  see,  nor  that  ye  would  part^e  of  my  hospitality. 
For  the  sake  of  old  associations  I  would  let  you  go.  But,  IDtt 
Cato,  I  stifle  my  falings  and  give  the  order  for  your  execution. 
What  I  have  undertaken,  my  conscience  as  a  business  man  will 
not  allow  me  to  dhrop.  Ye  are  a  brave  man,  Floppington,  and 
honourable.  I  admire  ye,  I  fale  for  you  ;  I  am  graved  at  the 
necessity;  but  Rossa  expects  every  man  to  do  his  duty.  Ye  have 
four  minutes  to  live.    Gmtleraen,  cock  your  pistols." 

''  For  die  last  time  I  ask  you  to  spare  me,"  cried  Jack. 

'^  I  have  a  mission  to  perform.  If  you  remain  in  power,  all  my 
Chief's  hopes  will  inevitably  be  blasted.  You  must  be  got  rid  of. 
You  are  in  his  way." 

'*  And  is  there  no  mode  of  getting  me  out  of  his  way  except  by 
murdering  me  ?  " 

''There  is  one,"  said  the  Captain  reflectively,  '^a  way  which  I 
should  prefer  for  various  reasons.  But,  knowing  your  sense  of 
honour,  I  have  not  ventured  to  put  it  to  vou.  But,  to  satisfy  mesel^ 
I  will    You  inust  take  an  oath  to  abandon  your  Irish  policy." 

"  Never ! "  cried  Jack  impulsively. 

"Said  I  not  so?  I  repeat,  Floppington,  ye  are  a  brave  and 
honourable  man.  Gintlemen,  take  steady  aim,  and  when  I  give  the 
word,  fire  simultaneously." 

Immediately  Jack  was  covered  by  the  four  pistols.  A  terrible 
silence  ensued,  broken  only  by  the  loud  tickings  of  the  Captain's 
watch* 


» 

\ 

THE  PAINTER  TAKES  A  REMARKABLE  OATH  333 

Jack  tried  to  think,  to  make  another  review  of  ethical  systemsy 
iMit  his  brain  was  in  a  whirl. 

**  One  minute  *  cried  the  Captain.  Each  man  ran  h'<;  eye  care- 
foUy  along  the  barrel  and  awaited  the  word  of  command.  "'  In  one 
minute,  gintlemen,"  said  the  Captain,  *'  our  task  will  be  over  and 
you  wiU  receive  your  fifties,  never  before  earned  so  easily.  As  for 
Jim,  I  shall  see.  Good-bye»  Floppington.  I  won't  ask  you  to 
shake  hands  with  me.    The  Lord  have  mercy  on  your  sowl.*' 

For  the  seventh  time  that  day  the  truly  unfortunate  painter 
had  given  up  all  hope  of  life,  and,  if  there  be  any  truth  in  the 
Pythagorean  instincts  of  popular  philosophy,  escape  was  at  length 
impossible. 

The  Captain  closed  his  watch  with  a  snap.  ^ 
^  Stay  ! "  cried  Jack  frantically.    "  Supposing  for  the  moment 
I  am  the  Premier,  what  is  it  you  want  me  to  do  for  Ireland  ?" 

"  Do  for  Ireland  1  I  don't  want  you  to  do  anything  for  Ireland. 
I  want  you  to  let  it  alone,  of  course." 

"  Let  it  sdone — give  it  autonomy,  you  mean  ?" 
^  How  a  man  in  your  situation  can  quibble  with  words  is  sur- 
prising,'* said  the  Captain  sternly.    "  To  put  the  thing  in  a  nut- 
shdl,  you  must  give  up  all   your  new-fangled   plans  and  return 
to  the  sound  policy  of  Beaconsfield,  and   every  other  English 
Minister.    No  cursed   English   statesman  shall  take  the  bread 
out  of  the   mouths  of  honest   men  with   impunity.     My    Chief, 
\    (^Donovan  Rossa,  is  determined  to    blow  to  smithereens  every 
statesman  that  shall  dare  to  try  to  restore  Ireland   to  Indepen- 
dence.   And  you,  sor,  have  been  the  first   English  politician  to 
\    throw  yourself  into  the  lion's  mouth.     Recant  instantly,   sor,  or 
I  give  die  word;  and  every  villain  that  ventures  to  follow  you, 
in  your  attempts   to  repale   the  Union,  shall  share  your  fate. 
Three  cheers,  gintlemen,  for  Ireland,  the  Union,  and  our  glorious 
leader." 

''  God  save  Ireland  1  Hoorah  for  the  Union !  Long  live 
O'Donovan  Rossa ! "  cried  the  men,  waving  their  hats  with  their 
left  hands,  and  covering  Jack  with  the  revolvers  they  held  in 
their  right 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  PAINTER  TAKES  A  REMARKABLE  OATH. 

"Sir,"  said  Jack,  passing  his  hand  feebly  over  his  forehead,  ''I  am 
afraid  I  do  not  quite  understand—will  you  please  explain  yourself 
further?" 

"  Oh,  you  know  very  well  what  I  mean,"  replied  the  Captain 
testily.  ^  You  have  lived  two  minutes  beyond  your  appointed  time 
already.  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  are  willing  to  accept  the 
conditions?" 

*'  I  am— open  to  argument,"  said  Jack,  still  dazed. 


334  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

^  Lower  your  pittob,  gintlemen  ;  but  keep  them  ready  for  use. 
I  will  try  my  persuasive  powers  once  more.    Know  then,  sor,  that 
by  your  racent  departure  from  the  healthy  instincts  of  English 
statesmanship,  ye  have  imperilled  the  fortunes  of  a  great  organisa- 
tion, and  more  particularly  of  its  directors.    When  the  first  news  of 
your  great  spache  at  Chester  reached  America,  the  Chief  tele- 
graphed to  me  at  once  to  prepare  to  blow  )re  up  in  case  ye  were  in 
earnest.  Ye  repated  your  mtentions  of  making  Ireland  independent 
only  yesterday.   I  have  the  Standard  in  my  pocket    Three  months 
ago,  sor,  we  should  have  had  no  fear  of  your  passing  such  a  Bill 
But  now  ye  seem  to  have  changed  from  a  political  Hamlet  to  a 
fiery  OtheUo  that  carries  eveiYthing  with  a  rush ;  ye  have  a  great 
following,  and  your  expressed  intentions  spread  dismay  through 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  States.    Think,^  sor,  of  the  thousands 
of  men —editors,  lecturers,  orators,  journalists,  publishers,  com- 
positors, spies,  standard-bearers,  dynamiters,  leaders,  poets,  di- 
rectors, agents,  derks,  treasurers,  and  gmployis  of  every  description, 
whose  existence  depinds  on  the  Cause,  and  whom  ye  would  throw 
out  of  work  marelv  for  the  gratification  of  your  own  sinse  of  what 
is  right    (Shame.)    Ye  take  the  bread  out  of  the  mouths  of  honest 
men,  from  O'Donovan  Rossa  himself  down  to  the  poorest  printer's 
divii.    (Applause.)    What  mercy  had  you  on  these  men,  sor ;  and 
what  mercy  can  you  expect  at  their  hands?    (Loud  applause.) 
That  you  should  want  to  give  the  Irish  what  they  ask  for  was  to  be 
expected  from  a  Utopian  dreamer  such  as  you.     Had  you.  known 
the  wor-r-ld,  sor,  as  I  know  it ;  had  you  known  human  nature  as  you 
know  books,  you  would  have  seen  that  you  were  taking  measures 
to  destroy  the  happiness  and  prosperity  of  Erin.    Learn,  sor,  that 
a  nation  loves  to  be  oppressed.    Oppression  is  the  finest  national 
cement ;  oppression  develops  patriotism,  self-sacrifice,  bravery,  the 
love  of  song,  and  all  the  noblest  instincts  of  humanity.     It  even 
con(]^uer8  the  passion  which  is  the  strongest  in  the  human  breast— 
aun  sacra  fames;  the  poorest  Irishman  sends  in  his  subscription 
to  the  fund  with  the  dieerfullest  alacrity.    And  you,  sor,  would 
remorselessly  crush  these  beautiful  traits — benevolence,  self-sacri- 
fice, the  martial  spirit,  the  love  of  country,  the  passion  for  heroic 
poetry,  under  your  administrative  heel !    (Hear,  hear.)     Do  you 
not  understand  that  the  two  chief  ingredients  of  human  nature  are  the 
love  of  grumbling  and  hope  ?    Your  melancholy  Jacques  g^rumbled 
at  having  to  share  the  privations  of  the  banished  Duke  ;  but  would 
he  return  to  Court  when  the  opportunity  came  ?    {Pas  si  bite^  ixom 
Jacques.)     Faith,  sor,  the  fact  is  that  Englishmen  who  have  the 
weather  cannot  understand  the  feelings  of  a  nation  that  has  no 
such  theme  of  complaint    '  But  Nature,'  says  Goldsmith,  Uie  pride 
of  Erin, '  is  a  mother  kind  alike  to  all,'  and  so  she  gave  Irishmen 
the  Union.    You,  who  are  in  no  danger  of  ever  losing  the  weatiie^ 
cannot  sympathise  with  those  whom  you  would  calmly  rob  of  all 
that  makes  life  best  worth  living  for.  Monster!  would  ye  give  the  Irish 
^hat  they  want,  and  thus  at  one  fell  blow  destroy  their  hopes  for 
iver?    Ye  want  to  reform  all  abuses,  and  so^  cruel  as  hell,  ye  io- 


r^ 


THE  PAINTER  TAKES  A  REMARKABLE  OATH  335 

scribe  as  your  political  motto,  Lasciate  ogni  speranza.  And  hope, 
sor,  is  the  telescope  by  means  of  which  we  see  beyond  the  horizon, 
narrow  or  distant,  of  our  every-day  life  ;  take  away  that,  and  we 
are  poor  indeed.  The  perfect  man  will  hope  to  return  to  monkey- 
hood.  Man  prefers  the  indefinite  to  the  definite  ;  he  would  rather 
hope  for  two  birds  in  the  bush  than  have  one  in  the  hand.  Now, 
sor,  what  Irishmen  want,  is  not  the  Repeal  but  the  Hope  of  it. 
The  demand  creates  the  supply,  and  the  Society  to  which  I  have 
the  honour  to  belong  (applause  from  Murphy  and  Mick)  has  under- 
taken to  supply  that  hofie.  It  sustains  it  by  the  repeated  conces- 
sions it  forces  ;  but  to  succeed  entirely  would  be  to  fail  miserably. 
We  shall  never  reach  our  professed  object — we  are  asymptotical 
to  it,  eh,  Floppington  ?  How's  that  for  high  ?  An  asymptote,  ye 
ignorant  scoundrels,  is  a  line  that  gets  nearer  and  nearer  to  a 
curve,  but  never  touches  it  I  will  not  insist  on  the  reflected  lustre 
cast  by  England's  prestige  on  the  Sister  Isle — a  lustre  that  it  would 
lose  by  the  severance  of  governments — nor  on  that  greater  loss  to 
England  itself  which  would  ensue  from  the  beginning  of  the  break- 
ing"  up  of  her  mighty  empire.  In  giving  Ireland  independence,  sor, 
you  are  a  traitor  to  your  counthry.  Now,  sor,  have  I  convinced 
you  or  not  of  the  folly,  the  cruelty,  the  treachery,  the  brutality,  the 
asininity,  and  the  impossibility  of  your  obstinate  desire  to  repeal 
the  glorious  Union  of  1800?  (Immense  applause.)  Make  your 
final  choice,  Floppington.  We  have  fought  you  as  you  desired,  by 
the  fair  weapons  of  ilo(][uent  argument ;  so  be  persuaded  or  die.  I 
prefer  that  ye  should  yield,  not  only  because  it  will  be  a  tribute  to 
me  powers,  but  also,  because  although  we  shall  have  had  the 
triumph  of  killing  you  our  motives  will  be  impugned,  even  if  the 
deed  is  put  down  to  our  credit.  Yet  it  is  something  that  you  at 
last  know  our  real  motives.     I  have  done." 

Jack  had  listened  to  this  long  address  with  ever-increasing 
bewilderment.  But  amid  the  farrago  of  pseudo-philosophic  axiom, 
raillery,  and  cynical  candour,  curiously  blent  with  self-deceptive 
apologetics,  one  thing  was  clear.  He  could  honestly  recant  opinions 
that  he  had  never  professed,  and  he  thanked  God  that  he  would  now 
be  enabled  to  save  the  life  of  the  threatened  Premier.  At  last  he 
had  something  to  live  for. 

So  when  the  Captain  concluded,  he  replied  eagerly  : 

/'Enough,  sir,  you  need  say  no  more  to  convince  me  of  the 
dangers  of  Repeal  I  will  take  the  oath  you  require,  and  you  may 
rely  on  my  not  divulging  any  of  your  secrets." 

'   A  bright  smile  illuminated  the  handsome  but  dissipated  counte- 
nance of  the  Captain. 

"  Thank  God  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Gentlemen,  ye  have  earned 
your  money  even  more 'asily  than  ye  expected.  Put  up  your  shoot- 
mg  irons.  Great  is  the  power  of  iloquence !  Floppington,  I  rejoice 
that  ye  have  spared  me  the  pain  of  not  sparing  ye.  I  alwaysl  iked 
ye,  m>m  College  upwards ;  but  our  paths  in  life  diven^ed,  and  our 
acquaintanceship,  which  was  always  of  the  slightest,  nickered  out. 
So  I  am  glad  to  have  had  this  opportunity  of  renewing  it  in  a 


336  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

manner  fraught  with  good  consequences  to  yourseTf,  who  are  saved 
from  folly  and  unwarned  assassmation ;  to  mesdi^  who  am  saved 
from  throuble  and  expinse  ;  to  England,  which  is  saved  from  de^ 
struction  ;  to  Ireland,  which  is  saved  from  unhappiness  ;  and  last, 
but  not  laste,  to  me  Chief,  O'Donovan  Rossa,  who  is  saved  from 
total  ruin.    Mick,  your  Bible  1" 

Jack  received  the  Bible  a  second  time. 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  swear  ?  ' 

**  Repeat  these  words  after  me :  *  /  hereby  swear  to  abandon  for 
ever  all  measures  for  giving  self-government  to  Ireland^  and  to  use 
all  my  personal  and  family  influence  to  oj^ose  any  such  measures 
proposed  by  statesmen  during  my  lifetime.  I  also  swear  to  advocate 
on  all  occasions^  and  to  the  utmost  of  my  power^  the  opposite  policy^ 
nudntaining  the  Castle  and  cUl  the  old  traditions  of  English  rule 
intact^  and  leaving  it  to  others  to  obtain  such  slight  concessions  as 
must  be  made  at  U>ng  intervals.  And  I  will  never  use  my  know- 
ledge of  <y  Donovan  Rossds  Society^  or  of  this  Cave^  for  amy  purpose 
whatever^  so  help  me  God?  ^ 

*'  Now  business  is  over,"  said  the  Captain,  when  J[ack  had  un- 
hesitatingly repeated  this  oath,  'M  should  like  a  little  pleasant 
chat  Murphy,  ye  rogue,  fork  out  your  whisky ;  Pm  sure  you've 
got  another  botde.  There,  I  thought  so.  Ye  won't  dhrink, 
begorra !  Well,  let  me  help  ye  on  with  your  coat.  What  a  state 
your  right  arm  is  in  ;  ye've  scratched  it  in  a  dozen  places ;  and  I 
see  at  one  spot  the  blood  is  trickling  slowly.  Ha,  ha  !  Excuse 
me  laughing ;  a  curious  idea  has  just  struck  me.  I  will  write  down 
the  oath,  and  you  shall  sign  it  in  your  blood.  It  will  be  something 
to  show  to  the  Chief  in  corroboration,  something  to  treasure  among 
the  archives  of  the  Society." 

Hastily  scribbling  off  the  words,  he  wiped  the  pen  carefully, 
dipped  it  into  the  wound,  and  handed  it  to  Jack,  who  stood 
perplexed. 

**  What  name  must  I  put?"  he  asked. 

'*  Floppington  alone  will  do,"  answered  the  Captain. 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Jack  Dawe,  **  if  you  wish  me  to  sign  in 
that  fashion,  I  will  do  so." 

No  sooner  had  Jack's  pen  formed  the  final  flourish,  after  pro- 
ducing a  not  inaccurate  imitation  of  the  Premier's  well-known 
autograph,  than  the  Captain  snatched  the  paper  out  of  his  hand 
and  examined  it  with  fiendish  glee. 

"  Ye  have  sold  your  sowl  1 "  he  exclaimed.  "'Tis  fitly  signed  in 
blood.  Ye  have  bartered  your  honour,  and  tampered  widi  your 
conscience.  Right  Honourable  Floppington,  prize-poet,  author  d 
'Sinai'  and  other  sacred  poems,  nineteenth  -  century  Bayard, 
exemplary  church-goer  and  reader  of  lessons,  ye  are  no  better 
than  meself."  He  laughed  a  sneering,  devilish  laugh,  in  which 
the  gang  joined  with  much  conscious  superiority. 

^'  There  is  one  point  about  which  I  am  still  not  dear,"  obsen^ 
Jack.  ''  If  the  Premier  giv#^s  Ireland  its  independence,  yoa 
threaten  to  blow  him  up?'' 


r" 


THE  PAINTER  TAKES  A  REMARKABLE  OATH  337 

•*  That  is  so.* 

*'  And  if  he  does  not  do  so,  you  equally  threaten  to  blow  him 
up?" 

"  Quite  so.    You  have  it  to  a  T." 

**  Now,  sir,  let  me  ask  you  if  that  is  not  illogical  ?" 

'*  Illogical  1  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Bless  ye,  the  second  blowing-up 
is  only  a  threat — the  assassination  of  a  Premier  is  one  of  those 
commodities  of  Hope,  which,  I  told  you,  are  the  speciality  of  our 
firm.  It  is  the  first  blowing-up  that  would  be  genuine ;  and  we 
are  glad,  as  I  said  before,  to  avoid  the  necessity,  from  the  danger 
of  our  motives  being  misunderstood." 

*' Thank  you,"  said  Jack,  "for  your  polite  explanation,  and  now 
I  should  like  to  terminate  the  interview." 

"Ye  seem  in  a  hurry  to  go,"  replied  the  Captain.  "Well,  I 
will  not  detain  you.  Drop  in  here  any  time  you  feel  inclined — 
whistle  'Auld  lang  syne,'  and  ^ou  shall  be  admitted.  Sorry  I 
haven't  a  card  a1x>ut  me,  but  it  reads  '  Frederick  Langley  St. 
Clair,  M.A.,  Practical  Mechanician.'  Charming  our  knowledge 
of  each  other,  isn't  it,  recalls  the  days  of  Jonathan  Wild,  doesn't 
it?  You  don't  invite  me  in  return,  I  see.  Delicacy  that  fears 
a  refusal,  I  suppose.  Of  course,  ye  are  aware  that  should  you 
bresdc  the  oath  (though,  I  belave,  as  gintlemen,  we  can  rely  on 
each  other  without  fear)  it  is  impossible  to  escape  our  Organi- 
sation, whose  networks  ramify  through  England.  Sooner  or  later 
ye  will  be  hoist  with  the  Insh  petard."  He  touched  a  spring — 
a  rocky  door  flew  open,  above  the  archway  through  which  Jack 
had  crawled. 

The  painter  gave  a  last  look  around  the  cave — he  saw  the  plat- 
form, the  two  black  bags,  the  pile  of  wheelwork,  the  candles,  the 
innocent  little  girls,  the  quaint  dome-like  roof,  and  the  grotesque 
natural  carvings  on  the  walls,  the  damp  floor,  with  here  and  there 
a  glossy  brown  strip  of  seaweed,  the  Captain's  arm-chair,  and  the 
gentlemanly-dressed  figures  of  the  gang,  some  seated  on  stools 
and  some  on  projecting  bits  of  cliff ;  all  their  faces  radiant,  but  the 
pock-marked  countenance  of  Murphy,  who  was  vulgarised  by  his 
red  scarf,  beaming  with  especial  complacency.  He  waved  a  polite 
adieu  to  his  hosts,  and  the  door  closed  behind  him  and  the  Captain, 
shutting  out  what  he  was  to  see  how  often  in  fevered  visions  of  the 
night. 

The  dynamiter  and  his  whilom  intended  victim  wound  their 
way  along  narrow  passages  till  they  reached  the  spot  which  Jack 
remembered  to  have  knelt  in  years  ago.  Here  he  observed  his 
once  smart  straw  hat,  now  muddy,  trampled  upon,  and  battered. 
He  picked  it  up  ruefully,  reflecting  on  all  he  had  gone  through  for 
its  sake  and  asking  why,  since  he  was  to  brave  peril  like  a  knight 
of  old,  it  was  not  given  to  him  to  do  so  for  a  more  glorious  object, 
say,  for  the  sake  of  a  fair  lady ;  and  also  whether  when  the  Ideal 
was  finally,  after  infinite  suflfering,  rescued  from  the  depths  of  mate- 
rialism, it  would  bear  equally  indelible  traces  of  its  falL 

The  Captain  whistled.     Two  answering  notes  were  heard.    He 


\ 


33«     THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

pressed  another  spring,  a  whirring  sound  followed  and  the  diff' 
shot  open.  He  touched  a  third  spring  and  it  remained  yawning. 
Jack  stepped  out  into  the  bright,  fresh  air — the  last  sight  he  saw 
was  the  Qiptain  waving  the  bloody  document  with  malicious  glee, 
and,  as  the  rock  closed,  he  heard  the  mocking  ring  of  his  sardonic 
laughter. 

But  the  laughter  did  not  last  long.  Scarcely  had  Jack,  con« 
scious  of  being  curiously  scrutinised  by  a  stout  gentleman  who 
was  resting  on  his  oars  near  the  shore,  turned  thtf^nd  in  the 
cliff,  intending  to  walk  to  Broadstairs,  when  a  slim,  elegant  young 
man  with  white  teeth  and  a  beautiful  blond  moustache  burst  into 
the  cave.  He  was  astonished  to  hear  the  passages  echoing  with 
joyful  exclamations,  snatches  of  song  and  bursts  of  Homeric 
lauehter. 

*'  What,  Jim  ! "  was  the  unanimous  cry  as  the  door  above  the 
archway  swung  open. 

**  You're  divilish  late,  Jim ! "  cried  the  Captain.  «*  But  I 
haven't  the  heart  to  scold  ye,  or  to  keep  ye  out  of  your  salary. 
Here's  your  fifty.    We're  off  to  fresh  woods  and  explosions  new." 

Jim  with  a  bewildered  air  took  the  money,  which  he  buttoned 
up  in  an  inner  breast-pocket  beside  his  revolver.  Then  he  ex- 
claimed :  •*  I've  had  such  an  adventure,  boys,  such  a  lovely  creature 
too.  Her  boat  smashed  on  that  reef  to  the  left,  and  a  middle-aged 
gent,  who  was  with  her,  had  to  carry  her  over  the  rocks.  Quiet 
chap  he  was,  looking  half-asleep,  and  the  very  picture  of  misery. 
When  I  saw  what  a  splendid  cargo  he  was  carrying — ^none  o^ 
your  d  d  creamy  babies,  but  a  dark-eyed  brunette  fiill  of  fire 
and  passion — thinks  I,  '  I  can  do  the  chivalrous  with  profit  here.' 
In  a  word  I  went  to  meet  her  and  relieved  the  gent.  As  I  was 
carrying  her,  as  slowly  as  I  could,  for  it  was  a  ticklish  situation, 
ha !  ha  !  ha !  half  my  pleasure  was  spoilt  by  my  brain  worrying 
about  her  companion.  I  was  sure  I  knew  his  phiz  well,  and  he 
looked  a  bit  like  a  hunted  conspirator.  He  sat  down  on  the 
sands,  and  I  kept  looking  at  him,  but  for  the  life  of  me  I  couldn't 
remember.  All  at  once  his  hat  blew  off,  and  he  ran  after  it,  and 
then  I  knew  him  by  this  week's  caricature  in  Punch  of  Flop- 
pington  running  away  from  his  old  opinions.  Captain,  if  you  bad 
seen  him  you'd  have  sworn,  as  I  did,  that  he  was  the  Premier." 

The  gang  broke  into  a  roar  of  enjoyment,  and  winked  sugges- 
tively at  one  another. 

"  Well,"  proceeded  Jim,  *'  I  waited  for  him  to  return,  but  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  passed  without  sight  of  him.  I  saw  the  girl 
ready  to  cry,  and,  anxious  to  find  out  the  truth,  I  spoke  to  her. 
She  called  her  lover — for  such  she  said  he  was-— a  brute,  and  said 
he'd  run  away  on  purpose.  I  offered  to  see  her  back  to  Ramsgate 
where  she  was  staying.  She  consented.  I  went,  and  returned  as 
quickly  as  I  could  ;  but  I've  got  her  London  address  which  I  mean 

to  keep  to  myself,  unless  the  Captain ^'* 

**  Well,  and  the  lover? ''  interposed  the  Captain  with  a  knowing 
grin 


THE  PAINTER  TAKES  A  REMARKABLE  OATH  ^y) 

*'  Oh,  I  made  a  mistake,  that  was  all.  The  girl's  name  is  Eliza 
Bathbri]!,  and  his  name  is  Jack  Dawe.  He  is  a  house-and-sign 
painter,  and  the  girl  told  me,  proudly,  that  he  was  said  to  resemble 
the  Premier.  I  saw  the  old  woman — his  mother — a  fat,  old  widow 
lady,  full  of  queer  sayings,  who  keeps  a  cook-shop  in  the  Betbnal 
Green  Road,  London  ;  and  left  her,  mad  with  anxiety,  as  to  what 
had  become  of  her  only  son.  Fancy  a  Premier  living  in  a  cook- 
shop  I     Ha  !  ha  1  ha  !    But  what's  the  matter  with  you  all  ?" 

For  the  Captain  had  turned  livid,  and  his  speech  was  momen- 
tarily paralysed,  while  a  look  of  dismay  spread  over  the  faces  of  all 
the  gang. 

**  What  in  the do  you  mean,  d— •  you  ?*•  he  cried  as  soon 

as  he  could  speak.    **  It  was  the  Premier  I " 

"  Hullo,  what's  up.  Captain  ?  How  could  it  be  the  Premier?  *' 
The  young  man  took  out  his  watch,  "  Don't  you  know— I'd  for- 
gotten it  myself  for  the  moment,  of  course— that  at  the  present 
moment  the  Premier  is  laying  the  foundation-stone  of  the  £no  Hospital 
for  dyspeptics,  a  hundred  miles  off?" 

llie  gang  broke  into  a  roar  of  disappointment  It  was  too 
true. 

"  Scoundhrels,  divils,  rogues  ! "  cried  the  Captain,  mad  with 
rage.    "  Give  me  back  that  money  I " 

A  low,  fierce  cry  of  determined  dissent  warned  him  not  to 
arouse  any  further  the  wild-beast  instincts  of  his  men.  It  was  a 
dangerous  topic 

The  Captain  flung  himself  into  his  arm-chair  with  a  crash. 

*'  Duped  by  a  house-painter  I "  he  shrieked,  convulsively 
crumpling  up  the  bloody  document  "With  my  own  help- 
tricked,  baffled,  betrayed  I' 


7      -' 


i 


§aak  9£ 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  man's  heart. 

I  HE  Dog  Days  were  come,  and  without  the  permission 
of  the  almanacs.  Before  them,  loosed  (unmuzzled) 
from  the  kennels  of  the  Year,  what  mortal  could  stand? 
Now  set  in  the  glacial  epoch  of  culinary  chronol<^; 
now  the  City  gentleman  fanned  his  brow  with  the 
penny  Japanese  fan,  and  dreamed  of  hammocks  and 
houris  ;  now  the  prosperous  bourgeois  pored  o^er  his  Bradshawand 
consulted  with  the  wife  of  his  bosooL 

The  sun  was  too  much  with  and  for  the  emasculated  men  of 
that  age,  and  they  might  have  been  excused  for  echoing  an  old 
complaint  of  Mrs.  Dawe's,  that  it  would  have  been  better  for  him 
to  reserve  his  energies  for  the  winter,  when  they  were  more  needed  ^ 
It  was  not  merely  the  discomfort  occasioned  by  the  warmth  of  his 
attentions  that  the  old  lady  grumbled  at.  Her  great  grievance  wai 
the  impossibility  of  getting  the  due  quantum  of  work  out  of  the 
machinery  which  constituted  herself  and  Sally.  Work,  indeed  1 
Nature  would  have  none  of  it  but  her  own.  She  invited  yon  to 
lounge  in  the  shadow  of  sun-glinted  leafage,  to  part  the  glassy 
wave,  to  watch  in  delicious  drowsiness  the  white  cliffs  and  douds 
sailing  past  vou  as  in  a  dream,  to  land  the  leaping  sahnoo,  to 
organise  the  laughing  picnic.  She  offered  you  rich  largess  of  sunny 
air,  and  golden  sky,  and  cool,  clear  water,  and  verdurous  arcade. 
At  your  peril  reject  the  offerings  of  the  gods ! 

Work  1  Sturdy  Scotsmen  lay  prostrate  'neath  Apollo's  glittering 
shafts,  unable  to  move  hand  or  foot,  though  their  banking  accounts 
depended  on  it ;  German  Gelehrien  snored  in  their  library  chairs ; 
French  philosophers  moderated  the  warmth  of  their  rhetoric ;  and 
Irish  insurgents  drank  more  and  said  less.  £ven  the  British  Pavior 
occasionally  paused  in  his  task. 


r 


A  MAN'S  HEART  34i 


But  amid  the  universal  supineness  there  was  left  one  body  of 
men,  whom  nor  heat  nor  cold  could  daunt ;  one  corps  of  the  army 
of  humanity  to  show  to  the  world  that  the  ancient  traditions  of 
England  were  not  a  dream  ;  one  house  of  Hellenic  heroes,  blind 
to  the  witching  splendours  of  sea  and  sky,  and  to  all  but  the  page 
of  Duty,  and  deaf  save  to  the  call  of  Glory.  Spartans,  fighting 
under  the  shadow  of  their  own  speeches,  heavy,  sun-darken- 
ing, they  alone  trembled  not  before  the  mightv  Sovereign  of  the 
Orient.  In  their  ancestral  parks  the  deer  drank  in  the  ambrosial 
air  with  proud  swelling  nostrils,  and  tossed  their  antlers  skywards ; 
the  buttorflies  flitted  lazily ;  the  fish  leaped  in  the  sunny  streams  ; 
the  flowers  and  birds  filled  the  air  with  perfume  and  song,  and  all 
the  young  world  rejoiced  in  its  strength.  But  they, ''  the  masters 
of  things,"  impelled  by  motives  understanded  not  of  the  baser 
creation,  under  the  sway  of  ethical  imperatives  unknown  to  the 
animal  world,  sat  on  beiches  and  made  articular  and  inarticulate 


Noble  Six  Hundred  1 

At  their  head,  the  great  Floppington  worked  like  a  modem 
Herakles.  Ever  at  his  post  in  the  House  when  his  presence  was 
necessary,  he  showed  himself  as  cunning  in  debate  as  in  pure 
oratory.  Triumph  trod  on  the  heels  of  triumph !  The  masterly 
vigour  of  his  rhetoric,  the  largeness  of  his  views,  the  clearness  of 
his  expositions,  the  trenchancy  of  his  sarcasm,  which  disdained  not 
the  idioms  of  tixe  people,  enshrined  every  speech,  as  soon  as  made, 
among  the  classics  of  oratory.  Almost  entirely  abandoning  the 
jejune  and  puerile  pseudo-poeticism  of  his  earlier  efforts,  the 
Minister  seemed  at  last  to  have  found  his  right  manner;  vague 
splendour  of  metaphor  was  exchanged  for  lucidity,  and  bairen 
spiritual  and  emotional  appeals  gave  place  to  facts  and  figures. 

It  was  not  surprising,  then,  that  the  Premier's  popularity  showed 
no  signs  of  falling  from  the  height  to  which  it  had  so  unexpectedly 
attained.  On  the  contrary,  it  went  on  steadily  rising,  every  by- 
election  going  steadily  in  his  favour.  The  gratitude  of  the  masses 
for  what  he  had  already  done,  and  their  lively  expectation  of  future 
favours,  sowed  the  seeds  of  (;^uite  a  novel  affection  for  him  which 
was  fostered  by  the  pertinacious  activity  with  which  he  kept  his 
promises  before  their  eves. 

The  philosophical  historian,  however,  must  needs  direct  atten- 
tion to  another  cause,  whose  action  upon  himself  no  one  wotdd, 
probably,  have  confessed.  The  paradoxical  world  loves  equally  to 
find  its  heroes  divine  or  human  ;  with  the  proviso,  in  the  latter  case, 
that  the  humanity  is  not  glaringly  obtruded,  but  remains  in  shadow, 
lending  a  delicious  vs^eness  to  the  picture.  The  alleged  gaianterie 
of  the  Premier  interested  the  people  ;  and  between  notoriety  and 
popularity,  as  between  genius  and  insanity,  the  partition  is  slight. 
Only  the  pen  of  a  Tacitus  could  do  adequate  justice  to  this  part  of 
the  subject 

But  whatever  the  reason  of  the  fact,  it  is  certain  that  never  had 
Plime  Minister  been  more  popular  in  the  House  or  out  of  it ;  and 


342  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

consequently  never  had  Prime  Minister  been  more  despotic  in  the; 
management  of  his  party  and  his  Cabinet.  It  is  not  too  miirh  to 
say  tluit,  from  the  date  of  his  address  to  the  Women  of  England, 
if  not  from  even  an  earlier  period,  his  career  was  watched  with 
bated  breath  by  the  whole  civilised  world.  The  marvellous 
manner  in  which  he  performed  the  dual  functions  of  Premier  and 
of  Foreign  Secretary  (to  set  aside  the  Treasury  as  a  sinecure),  the 
vast  and  complicated  reforms  he  was  projecting  in  every  branch  of 
Government,  and  the  way  he  found  time  under  all  the  pressure  of 
these  gigantic  tasks  to  take  part  in  social  gaieties  which  he  bright- 
ened by  the  lightning  of  his  wit,  excited  the  respectful  or  enthusiastic 
admiration  of  the  human  race. 

Yet  this  man,  the  beheld  of  all  beholders,  the  autocrat  and 
spoilt  child  of  England,  the  hope  and  darling  of  Ireland,  the  ad- 
miration of  the  world,  was  as  unhappy  as  the  least  among  the 
millions  whose  destinies  he  swayed.  For  often,  when  the  air 
resounded  with  the  clamour  of  applause,  the  memory  of  a  voice 
full  of  sweetest  music  filled  his  eyes  with  tears.  A  sensation  of  void 
and  emptiness  traversed  his  heart.  He  would  have  given  the 
world's  praise  for  one  word  of  approbation  in  those  tender  tones. 
Wistfully,  yet  hopelessly,  his  eyes  wandered  round  in  search  oi  a 
divine  face,  for  ever  flashing  before  him  yet  for  ever  vanished  and 
lost  That  beloved  form,  the  flower  of  womanhood,  the  delicate 
essence  of  all  beauty,  of  all  tenderness,  of  all  subtle  emotion, 
which  had  swayed  his  soul  like  some  new  planet,  had  gone  out  of  his 
life,  and  had  become  naught  but  a  refining  memory  and  an  aching 
regret. 

The  indiscretions  of  earlier  years  had  borne  bitter,  too  bitter, 
fruit  But  for  them  he  knew  that  he  might  still  have  felt  the  pres- 
sure of  her  hand,  and  looked  into  the  tremulous  brightness  of  her 
eyes. 

He  sought  for  her  in  the  salons  she  was  wont  to  illumine.  He 
was  indefatigable  in  attending  wherever  there  was  a  shadow  of  a 
chance  of  seeing  her.  He  was  among  the  first-comers  at  the 
Lyceum  premilre^  where  he  was  recognised  and  enthusiastically 
received,  but  where  she  he  came  to  see  was  not  to  be  found.  In 
vain  from  his  place  in  the  fourth  row  of  the  stalls  he  swept  the 
frescoed  horizon  with  the  opera-glasses  of  the  Duchess  in  the  next 
fauieuil:  lovely  faces  there  were  in  plenty,  but  not  the  lovelier  one 
he  sought  He  was  prominent  at  the  Browning  performance,  and 
at  the  Greek  play,  but  in  the  rows  of  spectacled  eyes  he  caught  no 
glimpse  of  hers^  shining  in  mute,  eloquent  contrast 

Disappointment  followed  disappointment  Lady  Harley  ap- 
peared no  more  in  public,  and  only  a  few  chosen  friends  dared 
intrude  upon  her  seclusion.  Yet,  after  each  failure,  his  conversa- 
tion was  only  more  brilliant,  his  wit  more  mordant  than  before. 
Society  congratulated  itself  on  his  final  disclosure  of  his  real 
cynical  self,  always  so  carefully  veiled  before  his  disappointment 
in  love.  His  bons  mots  were  quoted  on  every  hand,  ana  a  goodly 
share  of  the  floating  capital  of  jest  was  assigned  to  hun,  and  he  was 


i 


I  A  NOVEL  DILEMMA  343 

i  enrolled  among  the  noble  society  of  wits,  among  whom  the  humble 
j  author  divides  his  best  jokes.  It  was  only  by  this  bitter  flow  of 
\  satire,  and  by  the  enormous  tasks  which  he  set  himself,  that  he  was 
:  able  to  relieve  the  intensity  of  emotion,  the  ardency  of  longing,  the 
I  gnawing  dissatisfaction.     For  he  was  dissatisfied. 

What  was  it  all  worth  to  him,  this  power,  this  fame,  this  rest- 

^  less  luxury,  this  constant  companionship  of  beauty  and  intellect, 

this  free  interchange  of  thought,  and  gladiatorial  display  of  wii  ? 

I    How  old  all  this  had  grown  to  him,  how  stale,  how  everydlay !     Oh 

;   for  the  holiday  romance  and  glamour  of  the  land  of  dream  I 


CHAPTER   II. 

A  NOV£L  DILEMMA. 

Mrs.  D awe's  voice  sank  to  a  solemn  whisper. 

**  Can  ye  keep  a  secret,  'Lizer,  and  bear  a  blow  till  I  give  yer 
leave?" 

^^  Oh  I  do  not  keep  me  in  suspense.  Tell  me  at  once  what  is  the 
matter  with  my  dear,  dear  Jack,  that  I  may  fly  to  him.  I  can  bear 
anything,  even  a  secret" 

Mrs.  Dawe  borrowed  Eliza's  ear,  without  asking  leave,  and 
adjusting  it  into  close  relations  with  her  own  mouth  breathed  into 
it  one  terrible  dissyllable. 

Eliza's  body  recoiled  from  it  with  such  horror,  that  her  ear  was 
removed  to  the  furthest  comer  of  the  shop.    At  the  same  time  the 
roses  and  raptures  of  Ramsgate  fled  from  her  cheek,  and  were 
replaced  by  the  lilies  and  languors  of  Bethnal  Green. 
"It  can't  be  1 "  she  gasped.    "  You  are  mistaken  !  * 
Mrs.  Dawe  frowned. 

"  How  dare  ye  contradict,  you  ungrateful  hussy ! "  she  cried. 
"To  everybody  else  it's  brain-fever,  but  to yoUy  as  a  special Javour^ 

ifs  small-pox.    And  thatfs  what  I  get  by  my  kind ^^ 

Mrs.  Dawe  ceased  suddenly,  darted  a  warning  look  at  Eliza, 
and  weighed  out  some  smoked  beef. 

"  Yes,"  she  resumed,  when  they  were  once  more  alone.  "  To 
my  customers  it's  brain-fever,  but  to  you,  as  a  friend,  it's  small-pox. 
I  know'd  'ow  it'ud  be.  *Jack,'  ses  I,  *if  ye  will  drag  yer  poor 
ailin'  mother  away  from  these  'ere  lovely  sands,  as  is  doin'  her  a 
power  0^  good  ;  diough  landladies  is  as  greedy  as  pigs,  and  every 
blessed  thing  rises  out  o'  respect  to  the  visitors,  and  ye  can 
run  through  a  small  fortune  on  the  backs  of  donkeys  as  don't  want 
to  go;  and  want  to  go  back  to  Bethnal  Green,  and  throw  chloriddy 
lime  into  your  sinks,  Jack,'  ses  I,  *yer  poor  old  mother  won't 
be 'ere  much  longer.'    But  what  did  he  care  for  ^i^'eaith?    He 


L 


344  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

knowed  the  papers  said  they  were  dyin*  off  all  around  'ere  more 
and  more  every  day,  yet  for  all  that  he  ses  he  must  go  back,  and 
we  might  stay  there  ourselves,  two  unpurtected  females,  for  all  he 
cared.  And  I  could  no  more  stop  'im  than  I  could  stop  the  express 
we  travelled  in  ;  and  by  a  mistake  he  took  fust-^lass  tickets,  and 
they  wouldn't  change  'em.  But  I  would  'a  made  'em,  only  the  bell 
was  a-goin' ;  and  we  'ad  to  sit  on  sofas  and  lookin'-glasses  all  the 
way,  which  made  me  that  miserable  that  1  'ad  no  'eart  to  look  at 
the  cows.  And  now,  sure  enough,  every  word  as  I  sed  to  'im  'as 
come  true,  and  he's  down  with  the  small-pox,  though  vaccinated  by 
Dr.  Thomas  (old  Dr.  Thomas,  not  the  young  'un),  and  the  matter 
given  to  all  the  babies,  and  the  marks  on  'is  arm  is  there  to  prove 
it  to  this  day.  You  was  lucky,  'Lizer,  that  when  we  was  comin' 
'ome  from  the  station  yesterday,  you  could  get  out  o'  the  bus  at  the 
top  o'  this  dreadful  road,  where  there's  papers  in  every  window 
wamin'  you  to  muzzle  yerself  up  as  if  ye  was  a  mad  dog  ;  though, 
to  be  sure,  I  did  think  ye  was  comm'  'ome  with  us  instead  of 
boltin'  off  at  once  to  see  yer  brother,  not  as  you  could  be  expected 
to  chance  it,  after  what  that  woman  in  the  bus  was  a-tellin'  us  about 
everybody  running  to  be  vaccinated  as  if  they  was  babies  in  arms, 
and  catchin'  it  afore  they  could  get  there." 

"My  poor,  dear  Jack ! "  sobbed  Eliza.  **  Give  me  that 
vinegar." 

"You  ain't  a  'ot  pea,"  snapped  Mrs.  Dawe.  " There's  no  call 
to  be  frightened.  If  yer  conscience  is  clear,  and  you've  got  'oles 
in  your  arm,  ye  won't  get  *em  in  your  face.  'Tain't  them  as  makes 
cruet-stands  of  themselves  as  escapes.  Sally  wouldn't  drink  vinegar 
if  she  was  paid  a  pound  a  pint — she's  too  fond  of  sugar,  the  extra* 
vagant  minx — but  she  ain't  the  least  bit  afraid,  and  just  like  'er 
imperence,  for  she  never  was  vaccinated  in  all  her  bomed  days. 
She  sits  patiently  by  the  bedside,  coverm'  'im  up,  and  givin'  'im  'is 
medicine  like  a  dog." 

"  What  I "  exclaimed  Eliza.    "  You  let  Sally  nurse  him  ! " 

"She  wanted  a  'oliday,  poor  thing,"  Mrs.  Dawe  responded  com- 
passionately. "  Ye  see  she'd  really  been  worldn'  'ard  while  I  was 
at  Ramsgate,  and  done  a  tidy  stroke  of  business,  except  two 
'apennies  with  Pears'  soap  marked  on  'em,  which  no  one  'ud  take 
back.  When  she  begged  me  to  let  'er  nuss  'im  I  'adn't  the  'art  to 
refuse,  'specially  as  I  couldn't  trust  'er  without  my  eye  on  her.  It's 
'ard  to  be  parted  from  my  Jack ;  but  I  mustn't  think  o'  mesel^ 
when  my  only  boy  is  in  danger,  and  can  be  best  nussed  by  them  as 
ain't  too  anxious  to  do  it  properly,  nor  ain't  got  the  shop  layin'  on 
their  'eads.  Oh,  my  poor  boy,  to  think  that  arter  all  the  schoolin' 
ye've  'ad,  ye  shotdd  'a  made  your  old  mother  miserable  like 
this  ! " 

A  tear  stood  in  the  good  woman's  eye  as  she  concluded.  Then, 
presumably  tired  of  standing,  it  fell  and  buried  itself  in  a  basin  of 
soup. 

"How  is  he  now?"  sobbed  Eliza,  whom  faintness  had  driven 
to  the  door  in  search  of  fresh  air. 


J 


A  NOVEL  DILEMMA  345 

**  He's  unconscionable/'  returned  Mrs.  Dawe,  mournfully  watch- 
ig  the  wridening  circles  in  the  soup-basin,  "  he  don't  know  nothing 

don't — ^he's  talkin'  politics  all  the  while." 

^  Then,  I  could  do  no  good  by  seeing  him,  unhappy  girl  that 
am!" 

^  Not  a  bit    When  a  man's  delirious  he  looks  at  everybody  as 

they  was  poor  relations,  my  late  'usband  used  to  say,  not  that 

>r  relations  'as  any  right  to  be  sich.    He'd  only  make  yer  flesh 

ip  by  cryin'  out  about  a  lot  of  devils  murderin'  'im,  not  as  I  be- 
lieve it's  anythin'  but  blue  ones.  Sometimes,  he  shrieks  out  that 
be  won't  sign  the  pledge  not  to  touch  Irish  whisky,  no^  not  if  he 
dies  for  it." 

Eliza  shuddered.  ^  If  you  think  I  ought  to  command  myself 
for  his  sake,  I  will  obey  and  will  noi  go  near  him.  For  his  sake, 
Mrs.  Da  we.    Good-bye ;  if  I  can  I  wiU  come  soon.    Good-bye." 

Eliza  stepped  out  into  the  street,  but  turning  back  somewhat 
shamefacedly,  she  bent  her  head  over  Mrs.  Dawe's  face  and,  rapidly 
interposing  her  gloved  hand,  she  administered  a  loud  kiss  to  the  top 
of  her  thumb,  which  rested  lightly  on  the  oily  membrane  that  served 
the  old  lady  for  skin.  Then  she  glided  gracefully  through  the  open 
portal— gracefully,  although  her  heart  was  almost  broken. 

Her  poet  lover,  her  painter  hero,  attacked  by  the  small-pox  I 
What  ruder  shattering  for  a  maiden's  day-dream!  Their  h)ng- 
delayed  marriage  was  at  last  at  hand  ;  and  lo  !  death,  or,  worse  still, 
distortion  awaited  him.  Love  may  survive  the  death  of  the  object 
of  its  flame,  but  when  that  object  becomes  an  object  in  another 
sense,  a  pity  which  is  akin  to  hate  swells  the  tender  bosom. 

The  weather  was  glorious.  Even  the  squalid  road  seemed  to 
breathe  a  quiet,  restful  air,  and  to  lie  in  a  holy  calm,  under  the 
lovingly  o'er-arching  blue  of  heaven.  But  Eliza  had  not  the  Words- 
worthian  eye  of  her  lover,  and,  instead  of  musing  on  the  benefi- 
cence of  Nature,  she  hurried  along,  her  brain  whirling  under  dread 
possibilities.  The  sanitary  instructions  displayed  in  many  of  the 
windows  seemed  to  blaze  with  ominous  meaning,  and  the  passage 
of  a  ghastly-looking  small-pox  conveyance  chilled  her  blood.  Tne 
face  of  her  lover  swam  before  her,  scarred,  and  seamed,  and  pitted  I 
And  what  if  she  were  attacked  herself,  and  all  that  exquisite  tex- 
ture of  skin,  which  had  been  the  care  of  years,  destroyed  in  a 
moment  ?  Perhaps,  even  now,  she  was  bearing  with  her  the  germs 
of  disease.  The  thought  was  too  horrible  to  contemplate.  She 
had  kissed  Mrs.  Dawe  on  her  entry,  she  had  touched  her  on  her 
exit  With  a  trembUng  hand  she  drew  ofl'the  suspected  glove 
and  hurled  it  away. 

"  I  accept  th^  challenge^  Miss  Bathbrill,"  cried  a  musical  voice, 
the  owner  of  which  immediately  precipitated  himself  into  the  road, 
picked  up  the  glove,  and  stuck  it  jauntily  into  his  breast.  j 

Eliza  lookecL  up.    A  tall,  handsome  young  man,  with  a  blond  .j 

moustache  and  very  white  teeth,  stood  before  her,  hat  in  lumd, 
bowing  in  a  most  elegant  fisishion.  Eliza  gave  vent  to  an  exclama- 
tion of  pleased  surprise. 


346  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

^  Mr.  Mowbray ! "  she  cried  with  a  delicious  smile  of  welcome. 
Then  suddenly  the  smile  gave  place  to  a  look  of  horror,  as  she 
caught  sight  of  the  glove  dangling  in  his  vest 

**  For  Heaven's  sake,  beware  !"  she  cried  impulsively. 

"Of  what?"  queried  the  stranger,  devouring  her  with  his 
eyes. 

'*  Of  the  glove  1  Throw  it  down  instantly  as  you  value  your 
life ! »' 

Mr.  Mowbray's  face  lit  up  with  an  amused  interest.  **  By  St 
Patrick,"  he  said,  "  this  is  an  unexpected  adventure.  Sweet  Miss 
Bathbrill,  I  will  beware  of  nothing  that  comes  from  thee.  Come 
what  may,  this  glove  shall  be  mine  for  ever." 

With  these  gallant  words  he  drew  out  the  glove  and  pressed  it 
to  his  lips. 

Who  can  paint  the  tumult  in  Eliza's  breast  ?  Horror,  perplexity, 
pleasure,  shame,  and  a  certain  impersonal  delight  in  the  sensational 
and  unexpected  manner  in  which  Fate  had  twice,  within  a  few  days, 
intertwined  her  life  with  that  of  the  stranger,  agitated  her  bosom. 
Their  first  meeting  had  been  on  the  shore  of  the  mighty  sea,  and 
lo ! — coincidence  of  coincidences — they  came  together  again  in  the 
heart  of  the  great  city.  W^as  their  third  meeting  to  be  within  a 
hospital  ward  .^  Yet  lull  of  solicitude  as  she  was  for  the  fate  of  the 
darmg  stranger,  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  degrade  the  poetry 
of  the  situation  by  the  introduction  of  the  horrible  word  "  small- 
pox." In  a  confused  manner  there  flitted  through  her  mind  the 
rencontres  of  recent  fiction— the  mad  bull,  the  fierce  dog,  the  run- 
away horse  episodes  of  salvation,  the  genus  of  accidental  meetings 
in  woodland  recesses,  the  lost  traveller  variety,  and  the  oth,er  natuml 
and  unnatural  classes  known  to  every  reader — but  nowhere  could 
she  find  a  precedent  to  guide  her.  Here  was  emphatically  a  new 
and  original  situation  with  quite  a  novel  series  of  effects.  Here 
were  all  the  elements  of  the  illustrations  on  novelette  covers- 
gallant  youth,  beauty  in  distress,  fear  for  the  life  of  the  hero, 
avowed  admiration  of  the  heroine,  lips,  glove,  and  all  the  neces- 
sary properties — yet  the  kaleidoscope  of  lite  had  arranged  them  in 
permutations  hitherto  undreamed  of  by  the  novelist 

But  Eliza  rose  to  the  occasion,  and  cut  through  all  the  com- 
plications of  the  situation  with  one  clean  sweep.  With  an 
instinctive  savoir  faire^  that  amounted  to  dramatic  genius,  she 
exclaimed  :  "  You  saved  my  life  I     Shall  I  destroy  yours  ?" 

Then  as  his  face  grew  serious  and  perplexed  under  her  earnest- 
ness, she  added :  "  You  are  nursing  a  viper  in  your  bosom."  A 
startled  look  of  comprehension  flashed  into  the  young  man*s  eyes. 
He  plucked  forth  the  viper,  which  in  a  moment  'had  sucked  the 
blood  out  of  his  cheek,  and  hurled  it  down  a  side-street  Readers 
interested  in  its  fate  may  be  told  that  it  led  a  single  Ufe  ever  after, 
having  been  picked  up  by  a  young  girl  who  wore  it  on  state 
occasions,  no  one  suspecting  that  this  innocent-looking  article  had 
already  been  divorced,  and  that  its  whilom  partner  was  not  to  be 
found  in  itb  owner's  pocket 


.J 


A  NOVEL  DILEMMA  347 

The  fsital  glove  gone,  an  embarrassing  pause  ensued.  Eliza 
resumed  her  walk  and  the  stranger  walked  beside  her.  The  latter 
was  the  first  to  break  the  silence.  ''  I  trust  that  after  I  left  you,  you 
found  Mr.  Dawe  safe/'  he  remarked. 

This  dexterous  and  deUcate  change  of  subject,  showing  as  it  did 
that  the  stranger  comprehended  the  subtlest  emotions  of  the  inner 
life,  moved  Eliza  to  the  quick.     She  thanked  him  with  a  look. 

"  Safe  enough,  thank  you,"  she  said.  ^  But  he  had  evidently 
hurt  himself  among  the  slippery  rocks,  for  his  arm  was  wounded  in 
several  places.  ** 

*'  Indeed,"  observed  Mr.  Mowbray,  much  interested,  "  I  am 
sorry  to  hear  that.    And  how  is  he  now  ?  '* 

Eliza  shuddered.     Must  the  word  be  spoken  after  all  ? 
''  He  has  been  attacked  by  the — the  epidemic  which  is  raging 
in  the  neighbourhood.     I  have  just  come  from  him." 

The  stranger  edged  imperceptibly  away  from  his  lovely 
companion. 

*•  Did  you  find  him  very  bad  ?  "  he  inquired. 
'*  Very  ill  indeed,  I  was  told.    I  did  not  see  him  myself,  as  the 
sight  of  me  would  only  have  distracted  him." 

"  No  wonder.  It  would  distract  a  dying  saint."  Eliza  acknow- 
ledged the  compliment  with  a  smile. 

*'  Much  less  a  living  sinner  like  myself,"  continued  the  chivalrous 

tranger,  imperceptibly  edging  nearer  to  his  lovely  companion,  who 

had  now  grown  calm  enough  to  remember  to  open  her  dainty 

parasol.     **  I  hope  it  will  not  prove  serious,  and  that  he  may  soon 

be  restored  to  health  and  you." 

Eliza  cast  down  her  eyes.  '*  I  hope  so,"  she  murmured.  There 
was  she  knew  not  what  of  irritation  in  the  tone  in  which  he  uttered 
the  last  two  words,  something  of  calm  looking  down  as  from  a 
height  upon  her  and  her  poor  affairs  that  made  her  add  :  *'  For  his 
mother's  sake." 

The  stranger's  eyes  kindled,  and  his  mouth  twitched  with 
suppressed  enjoyment.  "Poor  old  lady!"  he  said.  ''She  has 
much  to  suffer.  I  remember  the  state  she  was  in  at  Ramsgate 
only  because  he  was  away  a  couple  of  hours.  She  must  have  been 
a  good  deal  frightened  when  he  returned  wounded,  and  told  her 
what  had  happened." 

''She  had  no  time  to  be  frightened,"  Eliza  replied  simply. 
*'  Because  the  moment  he  entered  he  astounded  her  by  telling  her 
he  was  going  back  to  London  by  the  next  train,  and  that  he  dared 
not  stay  a  moment  longer  in  the  place." 

The  stranger  looked  thoughtful  "And  he  did  not  tell  her 
why  ? "  he  asked. 

"  He  told  her  not  a  word  about  anything,  but  she  could  see 
that  the  accident  had  frightened  him  and  disgusted  him  with  the 
place." 

"  Poor  old  lady  1  *  repeated  the  stranger.  "  To  think  of  the 
torture  this  mysterious  silence  must  have  cost  her,  palpitating  with 
anxiety  as  she  was.    I  wonder  she  did  not  make  hun  speak." 


I 


34«  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

^  She  tried,"  remarked  Eliza  with  a  faint  smile.  ^  But  she  had 
to  give  it  up — he's  very  obstinate,  as  she  knows  by  old  experience; 
and  if  he  determines  to  do  anjrthing,  or  keep  a  secret,  nothing  in 
the  world  can  make  him  break  his  resolution. 

**A  very  admirable  trait  I*'  cried  the  stranger  heartily.  "For 
as  a  friend  of  mine  is  in  the  habit  of  saying,  'A  man  that  can 
keep  a  secret  is  as  rare  as  a  detective  that  can  discover  one.'  Not 
that,  of  course,  it  can  be  a  secret  of  any  real  importance.  I  suppose 
he  was  more  communicative  to  you  than  to  her.** 

Eliza  looked  vexed.  "  Hardly,"  she  replied.  ^  But,  if  you  ask 
me,  there  was  no  secret  to  communicate.  The  plain  truth  of  the 
matter  is  that  he  wanted  to  go,  so,  having  no  reasonable  excuse 
for  going,  he  remained  silent  What,  I  should  like  to  know,  cculi 
have  happened  to  make  him  want  to  go  ?  It's  absurd  on  the  fece 
of  it" 

"  On  the  face  of  it !  '^  echoed  the  stranger.  "  When  he  went  off 
in  pursuit  of  his  hat,  he  had  no  intention  of  returning  to  London 
that  day.  When  he  came  back  to  Ramsgate,  he  was  mad,  you  tell 
me,  to  catch  the  next  train.  Now  does  he  e]n>ect  you  to  believe 
that  melodramatic  incidents  occur  in  the  light  of  day  between 
Broadstairs  and  Ramsgate  ?  It's  ridiculous.  It  was  a  mere  whim 
of  his,  as  you  say.  Stay  I "  he  continued  thoughtfully,  ^  can  my 
presence  have  had  anything  to  do  with  his  resolution  ?  *' 

"Kn^r presence,"  exclaimed  Eliza.  "What  do  you  mean,  Mr. 
Mowbray?" 

Mr.  Mowbray  appeared  embarrassed.  He  looked  down  at  the 
ground  and  looked  up  timidl)r  at  Eliza. 

"  Never  mind ! "  he  said  in  evident  confusion.  "  Just  an  idea 
that  flashed  across  my  mind.  Of  course  it  would  have  been  absurd 
of  him  to  think  anything  of  the  kind." 

'^Anything  of  what  kind?"  murmured  Eliza,  blushing  beneath 
her  parasol. 

"  Still  it's  natural,"  soliloquised  Mr.  Mowbray  absently.  "When 
a  man,  no  longer  young,  has  a  precious  jewd  to  guard — but  no,  it 
could  not  have  been  that" 

At  this  point  he  gazed  up  thoughtfully  and  met  the  down-drop- 
ping glances  of  his  fair  companion,  and,  for  a  moment,  they  looked 
into  each  other's  eyes.  Then  Eliza  turned  away  with  a  petulant 
gesture^  blushing  more  deeply  than  before. 

'*  You  are  not  angry  with  me,  I  hope,  for  answering  your  ques- 
tion," Mr.  Mowbray  said  tenderly. 

"  Why  should  I  be  angry  with  you?"  murmured  Eliia. 

They  walked  on  together. 

"  The  Captain  was  right,"  reflected  the  young  man,  stealing  ad- 
miring glances  at  the  charming  brunette  at  his  side.  "  He  fled, 
fearing  our  vengeance  should  we  discover  his  trickery.  And  he  is 
a  man  who  can  keep  a  secret !  And,  to  prevent  any  immediate 
danger,  he  is  down  with  the  small-pox  1  And  perhaps  he  may  diel 
la;  Providence  playing  into  our  hands?" 


SALLY  WRITES  A   TELEGRAM  349 


CHAPTER  III. 

SALLY  WRITES  A  TELEGRAM. 

Sally's  tears  rained  down  on  the  white,  helpless  face  of  her  master. 
Suddenly,  hearing  the  voice  of  her  mistress,  she  snatdied  up  a  soup 
ladle  that  stood  in  the  comer  of  the  room,  and  ran  out  on  to  the 
landing.  Descending  a  few  stairs,  she  stretched  the  ladle  down- 
wards in  the  direction  of  the  parlour. 

^  Asleep  agen,"  a  voice  exclaimed.  **  Alius  a-spillin'  the  ice  'cos 
it  don't  come  out  of  j^^i^r  pocket — though  why  water  in  lumps  should 
he  dearer  than  water  in  pumps,  and  as  expensive  as  if  ye  could  get 
drunk  upon  it,  I  never  could  understand.  Ain't  I  told  ye  as  this 
cook-shop  melts  the  coldest  ice  in  a  minute,  not  to  speak  of  the  sun, 
and  it^s  a  wonder  'ow  Pve  stood  it  so  long.  Lift  the  ladle  steady 
now,  or  ye'll  slop  the  stairs  and  pay  for  the  ice  out  o'  yer  next 
'oliday ;  though  it's  only  'cos  doctors  is  fools  and  their  patients 
idiots  that  they  swallows  all  the  doctors  tells  'em  and  gives  'em ;  and 
what  good  ice  on  Is  bald  'ead  can  do  a  boy  who's  got  the  small-pox 
is  a  riddle-me-riddle-me-ree." 

Mrs.  Dawe's  medical  scepticism  was  grounded  on  the  assump- 
tion that  the  feverish  symptoms  of  the  invalid  were  those  of  the  first 
stage  of  small-pox. 

**  I^yer  think  I'm  a  baby,"  she  said  to  the  doctor  when  he  in- 
formed her  of  the  nature  of  her  son's  illness,  '*as  is  afraid  to  'ear 
the  truth  ?  What's  the  use  o^  yer  tellin'  me  lies  as  if  ye  was  paid 
for  it  like  a  lawver  ?  If  ye'd  charge  me  less  for  brain-fever,  I 
should  be  glad  if 'e  'ad  it ;  but  the  odds  are  ye^U  send  me  in  a  bill 
as  long  as  yer  face  'ud  be  if  I  didn't  pay  it  When  the  whole  of 
Bethnal  Green  is  laid  up  with  small-pox,  d'ye  think  it  likely  that 
just  my  boy  has  been  and  gone  and  got  the  brain-fever  ?  We  ain't 
that  sort  of  people.  No  one  in  my  family  ever  'ad  anything  o'  the 
kind,  and  we  ain't  used  to  'avin'  our  'air  cut  off  as  if  we  was  sen- 
tenced to  'ard  labour  ;  and  a  'ard  labour  enough  it  is  to  live  now- 
adays, without  'avin  to  pay  for  dyin',  besides  bein'  charged  for 
bram-fever  instead  o'  small-pox,  when  I'm  sure  it's  nothing  o'  the 
kind.  And  'ow  can  you  know  better  than  me  as  knowed  'im  when 
you  and  'im  was  as  small  as  that  'ere  big  saucepan  ?"  But  even  when 
a  week  had  passed  without  the  eruption  of  a  rash,  the  obstinate 
old  lady  would  not  utterly  abandon  her  thesis,  and  she  still  held 
out  for  a  latent  element  of  small-pox  compounded  with  Uie  brain- 
fever. 

As  Mrs.  Dawe  repeated  herself  as  much  as  she  repeated  her 
late  husband,  the  doctor  soon  got  to  know  the  gist  of  her  criticisms 
by  heart,  and  they  fell  on  his  ears  with  as  little  effect  as  the  stereo- 
typed phrases  of  a  liturgy.  In  Sally  he  found  an  embryonic  nurse, 
who  rapidly  developed  under  his  instructions  and  the  intensity  of 
her  interest  in  the  issue. 


350  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

Mrs.  Dawe,  though  she  soon  got  over  her  dread  of  infection, 
considered  herself  indispensable  to  the  business;  and,  as  she  shrank 
from  hiring  a  professional  attendant,  Sally  was  allowed  ahnost  to 
monopolise  the  ancillary  functions. 

She  sat  at  Jack's  bedside,  listening  to  his  ravings  prith  the 
terror  of  semi-comprehension.  What  always  darted  a  superstitious 
thrill  through  her  whole  being  was  to  hear  him  address  an  imagi- 
nary third  person,  and  expostulate  with  him  on  what  he  had  been 
doing ;  especially  when,  identifying  himself  with  that  third  person, 
he  seemea  to  be  justifying  himself  and  triumphantly  demolishing 
the  arguments  he  had  used  in  his  own  character.  Then  the  first 
self  would  say  :  "Your  logic  is  unassailable.     Mea  culpa  l^ 

Sometimes  he  became  more  insistent,  with  alternations  of  en- 
treaty. At  others,  he  seemed  to  be  haranguing  a  man  whom  he 
contemptuously  called  Mr.  Speaker,  and  then  he  would  talk  for 
houis  in  a  polysyllabic  jargon  of  which  Sally  could  only  understand 
a  word  here  and  there. 

Of  other  scenes  which  he  enacted  the  girl  could  make  still  less; 
they  seemed  to  refer  to  passages  of  his  life  which  lay  utterly  beyond 
her  ken.  The  doctor  was  none  the  less  puzzled  by  the  delirious 
utterances  of  his  patient,  on  the  few  occasions  when  they  took  place 
in  his  presence.  He  murmured  something  about  overwork,  and, 
learning  that  Jack  had  been  very  active  as  a  propagancQst  of 
Radical  doctrines,  he  warned  his  mother  against  allowing  him  to 
mingle  in  political  strife  ;  which  was,  to  her,  so  striking  a  proof  of 
the  doctor's  sapience,  that  she  began  to  think  that  the  proportion  of 
small-pox  must  be  very  small  indeed.  Once,  he  pried  into  Jack's 
books,  and  after  that  he  wondered  no  more.  For,  being  an  excep- 
tion to  the  proverbial  induction  anent  doctors,  and  retaining  a  belief 
in  Providence,  despite  the  nastiness  of  his  own  medicines,  he  made 
the  following  note  on  the  case  :  Overheated  imagination  brought 
on  by  drink  and  irreligious  fanaticism. 

Nursing  was  not  the  only  field  in  which  Sally  gave  signs  of 
latent  talent.  The  rapidity  of  her  progress  in  reading  and  writing 
would  have  gladdened  a  Board  School  teacher  as  much  as  it  would 
have  depressed  some  Inspectors  of  Schools.  AU  Jack  had  been  able 
to  do  for  her  before  leaving  town  was  to  make  her  a  copy  of  the 
letters  of  the  alphabet,  and  to  teach  her  to  call  them  all  by  theiz 
names. 

Sally  had  likewise  purchased  a  little  halfpenny  reading  book 
with  pink  covers,  full  of  monosyllabic  and  unmethodical  statements 
about  domestic  quadrupeds,  and  when  the  rest  of  the  household 
was  disporting  itself  at  the  seaside,  Sally  was  content  if,  after  a  tre- 
mendous day's  work,  when  she  had  shut  up  the  shop  late  at  night, 
she  could  exchange  some  of  her  hours  of  sleep  for  the  knowl^ge 
of  alphabetical  formations,  or  the  rudiments  of  reading.  When 
she  could  no  longer  hold  the  pen,  or  peruse  the  puerile  sentences, 
she  retired  to  bed  ;  treading  very  softly  from  an  irrational  fear  that 
Mrs.  Dawe  would  wake  up  and  want  to  know  what  she  meant  by 
burning  the  gas  till  that  hour  of  the  night.    A  beautiful  picture  she 


SALLY   WRITES  A    TELEGRAM  351 

made,  stalking  noiselessly  upstairs,  her  hair  falling  wildly  over  her 
shoulders,  her  dress  loosened  on  account  of  the  oppressive  heat, 
and  all  of  her  hody  that  was  visible  one  mass  of  ink — the  result  or 
her  midnight  studies  in  the  black  art.  It  was  a  pitiful  waste  of 
energ^y,  the  poor  girl's  patient  striving  to  imitate  every  whirl  and 
convolution,  every  flourish  and  blot  of  her  master's  copy.  But 
Sally's  eyes  were  unused  to  accurate  perception  of  form,  and  so, 
failing  to  produce  a  thorough  imitation,  she  acquired  a  much  better 
citirogrraphy  than  she  would  have  obtained  by  achieving  what  she 
considered  perfection.  And  therein  lies  a  moral  which  the  trans- 
cendentalist  is  at  liberty  to  discover  and  patent 

What  times  Jack  lay  in  a  heavy  sleep  and  nothing  could  be 
done  for  him,  Sally  would  take  the  pen  and  ink  off  the  mantelpiece 
and  smear  herself  industriously,  making  two  marks  on  her  person 
to  one  on  her  paper.  But  she  did  not  mind  bedaubing  herself  so 
long  as  she  could  keep  her  manuscript  fairly  clean,  a  task  for  which 
her  kitchen  education  had  unfitted  her. 

It  was  while  she  was  thus  engaged  that  Jack  awoke  one  day 
from  his  long,  delirious  dream. 

Suddenly,  with  thecuriousfeeling  that  somebody's  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  her,  she  looked  up  and  found  the  patient  staring  at  her  with 
a  new  light  in  his  eyes. 

Uttering  a  cry  of  joy  she  threw  down  the  pen  and  bent  over 
him. 

He  looked  up  into  her  face  with  an  expression^  of  piteous  in- 
quiry. His  lips  opened  tremulously  as  if  to  speak,  and  closed  again 
with  a  quiver.  Then  his  eyelids  shut,  too,  and  he  remained  quite 
still.  After  a  little  he  fell  into  a  quiet  sleep.  This  calm  slumber 
lasted  a  long  time,  but  all  the  while  Sally  never  ceased  to  watch 
his  face. 

Despite  her  gladness  she  felt  a  liunp  rising  in  her  throat  at  the 
thought  of  the  change  that  had  come  over  it.  The  lines  of  melan- 
choly humour  round  his  mouth  were  more  deeply  graved,  and 
transformed  into  lines  of  pain.  The  thin,  worn,  bloodless  counte- 
nance still  retained  its  nobility  of  aspect,  or  rather,  its  spirituality 
was  intensified,  as  if  the  high  endeavour  of  the  soul  and  not  the 
harpy  of  fever  had  been  struggling  with  the  hues  and  traits  of 
health. 

At  last  he  stirred,  and  awoke  once  more.  His  perplexed  eyes 
wandered  about  the  room,  hither  and  thither,  resting  for  an  instant 
on  the  bookstand,  or  the  pipe-rack,  or  the  pot  of  mignonette,  but 
seemed  to  recognise  nothing.  All  at  once  Uiey  kindled  like  a  flash 
(^  lightning. 

**  I'll  look  at  it  now,"  he  said  gently. 
"  Thank  Gord  I "  SaUy  ejaculated.    "  'E  knows  me  I " 
He  was  stretching  out  his  poor,  wasted  hand.    "  Bring  it  over, 
please,  Sally,"  he  said. 

'^  Yes,  master ;  yes,  master,"  cried  Sally,  sobbing  and  laughing. 
"  But  you  neexin't  look  at  it  now." 

"Needn't  look  at  it  now!"  he  repeated  slowly,  taking  the 


352  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

alphabetic  MS.  from  her.  ''Why,  Sally,  vouVe  lost  enough  time 
already  while  I  was  away.  Now  that  I  have  returned  we  must 
work  hard.  Mirum  est  I  This  is  a  wonderful  improvement !  Yoa 
have  a  positive  genius,  child.  Dominum  su^rastit  thoa  hast 
excelled  thy  master.    Will  you  teach  me  in  return,  Sally?" 

Sally  smiled  in  tolerance  of  this  nonsense,  and  whispered  glee^ 
fully  to  herself :  ^  '£  don't  not  know  nothing  no  more  !  '£  don^t 
not  know  nothing  no  more !  ^ 

^  And  you  have  found  time  to  do  all  this  in  a  week  ?  "  he  said, 
turning  over  the  copy-book  with  smiling  incredulity.  T  am 
afraid  you  must  have  got  some  of  the  pixies  to  do  it  for  you  while 
you  were  asleep." 

Sally  turned  an  indignant  scarlet,  and  tears  of  outraged  woman- 
liness came  into  her  eyes.  ''May  I  never  move,"  she  cried 
earnestly,  "  if  I  arxed  one  on  'em  to  do  it  for  me.  D^yer  think 
rd  tell  yer  a  whopper  to  make  yer  think  I  could  write  as  well  as 
'Lizer  ?  I  leaves  that  to  'Lizer  !  Why,  there  wasn't  'ardly  a  day 
that  I  didn't  do  'em  twice  over  when  you  was  away,  and  three 
times  night  or  day  when  you  was  ill.  Seven  twos  is  fourteen,  one 
and  tuppence ;  and  three  tens  is  thirty,  is  'arf-a-crown ;  is  three 
and  eight.    No,  I  mean  is — is-^ — " 

Here  Sally  lost  herself  entirely,  and  gazed  in  head-splitdng, 
dumbfoundered  bewilderment  at  the  copy-book,  feeling,  with  bitter 
shame,  that  she  had  failed  to  make  gooa  her  case.  But  in  Jack's 
face,  the  obverse  expression  of  triumphant  conviction  was  not  to 
be  found.  He  was  staring  at  Sally  in  a  painful  perplexity.  He  , 
put  his  hand  to  his  brow,  and,  feeling  the  ice  there,  a  gleam  of  light 
began  to  pierce  through  the  clouds  of  dubiety.  He  struggled  to 
sit  up. 

''God  bless  my  soul  I "  he  exclaimed  ;  " I'm  in  bed  I  * 

"In  course  ye  are,"  said  Sally,  somewhat  sullenly,  "/knows 
that,  even  if  I  can't  write  without  pbcies." 

"  In  bed ! "  repeated  Jack,  looking  round  the  room  afresh.  "I 
was  half-conscious  of  it ;  but  it  never  struck  me  as  strange.  It  is 
thus  perhaps  that  the  new-bom  infant  wakes  into  a  universe  which 
it  takes  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  when  it  grows  up  lives  among 
mysteries,  mistaking  the  Everyday  for  the  Absolute.  What's  the 
time.  Sally?" 

"  Don'  know." 

"  Look  at  my  watch  on  the  mantelpiece." 

"  Don'  go." 

"  Don't  go  ! "  echoed  Jack.  "  Nonsense !  Bring  it  here. 
There  is  no  effect  without  a  cause,  Sally." 

Sally  brought  the  watch  with  a  half-suppressed,  revengeful  erio, 
and  held  it  to  his  ear.  A  suspicion  of  a  sad  smile  played  round  the 
patient's  mouth. 

"  I  am  always  wrong,"  he  said.  "  It  has  indeed  stopped,  as  the 
Universe,  to  which  Paley  compared  it,  mav  fall  some  day  into 
eternal  stagnation.  Half-past  ten,  eh,  Sally  r  Is  that  right,  by  any 
chance?" 


SALLY  WRITES  A   TELEGRAM  353 

••What  rot!"  retorted  Sally.  " 'Ow  can  it  be  right  if  it's 
wrong  ?  * 

"  A  crude  question  that,'  my  child,"  replied  her  master,  "and 
unwortb3''  of  the  philosopher  I  thought  I  had  discovered  in  you.  Is 
it  not  half-past  ten  twice  a-day  ?  Why,  Sally,  you  are  denying  the 
principle  of  the  old  Conservatism.  A  watch  that  stands  still  is 
more  often  right  than  one  that  goes  too  fast  But  all  this  does  not 
explain  the  change  in  the  habits  of  this  usually  precise  mechanism. 
I  remember  winding  it  yesterday  morning  in.  the  train.  Have  you 
been  playing  with  it  r" 

Sally,  whose  mouth  had  been  wide  open  from  astonishment, 
kept  it  open  from  speechless  indignation.  The  series  of  dagger- 
thrusts  she  had  been  receiving — and  at  such  a  moment,  too— would 
have  made  her  black  in  the  face,  had  not  the  coating  of  ink  been 
first  in  the  field.  She  felt  that  the  delusion  under  which  her 
master  was  labouring  did  not  warrant  his  suspicions  of  frivolity  on 
her  part.  Sally's  world  was  very  real  to  her — she  had  a  hard  grasp 
of  the  £acts  of  life,  and  playfulness  and  lightness  of  touch  she  ap- 
prehended but  dimly.  So,  when  she  did  recover  her  breath,  she 
somewhat  paradoxically  burst  forth  :  "  Well,  Pm  blowed  1  D'yer 
expect  a  watch  to  work  for  ten  days,  when  there's  nobody  to  look 
aner  it  ?  'Ow  could  I  wind  it  ?  I  never  'ad  no  watch  in  all  my 
horned  days.  I  should  a'  made  it  go  wrong  in  its  inside.  I  know 
I  ^ould,  and  a  jolly  good  job  if  I  'ad.    There ! " 

This  last  adverb  seemed  to  have  little  connection  with  space, 
but  to  be  the  jerky  prelude  to  an  outburst  of  sobbing  and  a  storm 
of  rainy  tears  falling  through  the  drudge's  face-clasping,  extended 
fingers. 

"  Ten  days  I "  breathed  Jack,  and  then  there  was  nothing  heard 
in  the  room  but  the  crying  of  Sally. 

Presently  the  girl  felt  a  hot  hand  smoothing  her  tangled  hair 
and  passing  gendy  over  her  dewy  countenance.  She  did  not  move, 
but  a  thrill  ran  through  her. 

"  Forgive  me,  Sally,"  pleaded  a  low,  tremulous  voice.  **  I  did 
not  mean  to  hurt  you." 

SaUy  pressed  her  hands  convulsively  to  her  face,  as  if  en- 
deavouring to  keep  down  her  sobs  which  subsided  into  a  spasmodic 
panting. 

**  God  knows  I  should  be  the  last  to  cause  you  pain,"  conMnued 
the  trembling  tones.  '*  I  understand  what  has  happened.  I  have 
been  sick  unto  death,  with  no  one  in  all  the  world  to  care  for  me 
but  you— no  one  in  all  the  world." 

Sally  raised  her  head  for  the  first  time,  and  for  an  instant  her 
grimy  face  was  close  to  his.  Then,  covering  it  again  with  her 
hands,  she  burst  into  another  fit  of  sobbing,  so  violent  that  it  racked 
her  whole  frame. 

Jack  uttered  a  low  cry  of  pain.  "  Must  I  indeed  bring  sorrow 
wherever  I  go  ?  "  he  murmured. 

But  now  words  began  to  be  interjected  in  the  middle  of  the  girl's 
wild  sobbing.    **  W^hat — rot  1    There's — lots  of  other  gals — as  cares 

2    A 


354  ^^^  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

for  you — and  thinks— ye  cares  for — them — and  send  boys — with 
red  caps — to  know  'ow  ye  was — when  they  ought  to  'a  come— 
themselves — and  a  jolly  good  job  too  I  '* 

Here  Sally  raised  her  head  defiantly  and  found  the  tears  run- 
ning down  Jack's  cheeks.     He  brushed  them  away  quickly. 

"  Illness  has  left  me  weak,''  he  said,  gazing  with  quivering  lips 
into  empty  air. 

**  Master  ! "  exclaimed  Sally.  **  Don't  cry  !  She  ain't  worth 
it  1  Don't  cry,  or  I  shall  burst !  If  she  cared  two  'ot  peas  for  yer, 
she  wouldn't  'a  let  yer  lay  'ere,  dyin*  alone  !  " 

"  She  did  not  know,**  murmured  Jack.  "  She  did  not  know. 
But,  indeed,  I  did  not  deserve  that  she  should  come.  Oh,  my 
lost  love— my  lost  friend— with  whom  I  spoke  as  soul  to  soul." 
His  eyes  filled  with  tender  light.  "  You  did  not  know  or  yoa 
would  have  come  to  forgive  me— after  all— you  did  not  know."  He 
extended  his  anns  as  if  to  grasp  some  unseen  form  and  fell  back, 
his  hands  still  groping. 

Sally  gave  vent  to  a  sardonic,  semi-hysterical  laugh,  and  placed 
her  arms  akimbo. 

"Right  ye  are,  Mr.  Dawe!  She  didn't  know!  In  course 
not  I  She  don't  know  nothin',  she  don't !  Then  we're  plums  o'  the 
same  pudden.  /  don't  know  nothin',  I  don't  neither,  ye  know,  and 
if  yer  don't  know  yer  ought  to  for  ye  said  it.  Oh,  crikey !  ain't 
she  a  warm  member  I  and  ain't  you  a  fiat !  Why,  the  fust  day  as 
ye  was  taken  bad  she  come  'ere"— Jack  looked  up — "and  missis 
was  quite  mad  'cause  she  wouldn't  believe  you  'ad  the  small-pox." 
Jack  put  his  hand  to  his  head.  "And  missis  ses  to  me,  *'Lizer 
fancies  she  knows  everything.'"  Here  Jack  flushed  violwitly. 
"  *  If  there's  one  person  more  than  another,'  ses  missis,  '  as  I  cant 
abear,  it's  a  disbelievin'  one.'  But  'Lizer  did  believe  *er,  'cause  she 
never  come  since,  and  only  sent  boys,  and  said  she  couldn't  wait 
for  letters,  and  must  'ave  'em  run  back  to  save  missis  the 
stamps." 

''But  I  did  not  have  the  small-pox,  did  I?"  said  Jack, 
perplexed. 

*'  No,"  snapped  Sally.    ''  I  didn't  know  at  fust,  'cos  missis  said 

r\  did,  and  the  doctor  said  it  was  brain-fever.  There  was  rows, 
didn't  know,  so  I  could  only  nuss  yer." 

Jack  smiled  sadly. 

*•  *Tis  a  picture  of  life,  Sally,"  he  said.  **  Proud  Science  puts 
its  finger  on  the  pulse  of  humanity  and  says :  This  ails  you. 
Proud  Ignorance  says  :  This  ails  you.  So  they  wrangle.  Mean- 
while Love  says  nothing,  but  cools  the  burning  forehead,  and 
moistens  the  parched  tongue.  And  did  the  doctor  convince  missis, 
or  vice-versdf** 

"  Yes,  missis  sed^  ice  were  worser  than  anythink  for  small-pox, 
and  that  if  ye  died,  it  was  along  of  'im." 

Tack  smiled  faintly. 

"  Was  she  grieved  about  me  ?  "  he  inquired  gently. 


SALLY  WRITES  A   TELEGRAM  35$ 

'Oh, Jemima!  warn't  she!"  responded  Sally,  softened,  in  spite 
of  hers^  by  his  pathetic  accents.  ''  Why,  the  fust  two  days  she 
went  about  like  a  mad  thing.  She  was  so  miserable  that  she  didn't 
know  wluut  she  was  about  I  'eard  all  the  customers  grumblin'  as 
they  was  a-gettin'  short  measure.  She  used  to  cry  a  good  deal  the 
fiist  two  days  to  think  that  you'd  caught  the  small-pox,  and  that 
she  daren't  go  nigh  ye  'cause  you'd  got  it  very  bad,  and  if  she  was 
to  catch  it  and  die  there  'ud  be  no  one  to  look  arter  yer.  But 
arterwards  she  used  to  come  and  nuss  ye  a  little  instead  o'  me  ; 
and  when  ye  shrieked  at  'er  she  used  to  cry  a  lot  more,  and  blow 
me  up  'cause  I  couldn't  get  through  the  washin',  and  she  'ad  to 
wring  the  tears  out  o'  the  'ankerchers  and  let  'em  dry  'erself." 

The  sudden  silence  that  ensued  upon  the  termination  of  this 
speech  aroused  Jack  from  a  reverie  into  which  he  had  fallen. 

"  And  no  one  else  called  ?  "  he  inquired,  with  a  strange,  mocking 
expression. 

*'  Only  the  customers.  At  fust  they  was  frighten',  but  missis 
got  old  Boler  to  write  a  bill  in  large  letters  (she  didn't  know  as  I 
could  a  done  it,  if  it  was  spelled),  and  she  got  the  doctor  to  sign  it, 
and  she  put  it  in  the  winder  :  Brain-Fevei^  Within.  But  she 
was  that  worried  by  higgerant,  huneddicated  gals  and  chaps  a- 
wantin'  places,  that  she  sed  she  wished  there  was  a  devil  for  'em  to 
go  to,  instead  o'  .comin'  to  'er." 

**  Only  the  customers,"  repeated  Jack,  still  with  the  same  strange 
smile.  ''No  bulletins — no  theatrical  dying  in  the  sight  of  the 
public — with  the  lights  low — no  anxious  inquiries  from  all  lands — 
only  one  from  a  housemaid — were  it  not  ttetter  so?  One  half  of 
the  world  does  not  know  how  the  other  half  dies.  Nor  does  it 
matter  aught,  for,  whether  in  solitude  or  amid  crowds,  we  must  all 
die  alone." 

"  What  rot ! "  Sally  interrupted  roughly.  "  Ye  make  my  flesh 
creep.  If  ye  was  dead  ye  might  talk  like  that,  but  ye  ain't. 
You're  a-gettin'  better,  and  you'll  soon  be  up  and  doin',  and  ye  can 
go  away  to  Margate  agen  as  ye  was  invited." 

"Invited!" 

^  Yes.  I  forgot  to  tell  yer  there  was  another  caller  arter  all,  so 
ye  needn't  a-bin  so  down  in  the  mouth.  Three  days  ago  it  was, 
and  'e  axed  to  see  ye  'cos  'e  'ad  met  ye  at  Margate,  and  when 
missis  sed  ye  'ad  the  brain-fever,  'e  pulled  a  long  face  and  was 
very  sorry  to  'ear  about  the  devils  as  was  a-killin'  yer,  and  sed  as 
we  was  to  give  ye  a  invitation  from  Captam  somethink,  to  'is  wilier 
near  Widestairs  or  somethink Master,  master,  what  is  it  ?" 

For  Jack's  face  had  become  ghastly,  he  was  trembling  in  all 
his  limbs,  and  his  eyes  gleamed  with  a  wild  light.  He  tried  to 
speak,  but  no  sound  came  from  his  lips.  His  h^d  drooped  help- 
lessly on  the  pillow,  and  beads  of  perspiration  covered  his  brow. 
Sally,  trembling  little  less,  lifted  up  his  head  and  put  a  glass  to  his 
lips.  He  clenched  his  teeth  and  turned  feebly  away.  Then  his 
fips  began  to  move  and  he  muttered  :  *'  Oh,  my  God  I  am  I  his 


I 


556  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

murderer?    I  dread  to  know.^    He  closed  his  eyes  and  lay  so 

still  that  Sally  thought  he  had  fainted.  She  ran  to  the  window  zxA 
opened  it  more  widely,  admitting  larger  draughts  of  the  ridi 
summer  air.  Afar  off  a  barrel-organ  was  jingling  dirough  die 
airs  of  the  Mikado^  a  popular  comic  opera,  and  distance  lent  a 
drowsy  enchantment  to  its  metallic  tones.  Along  the  road  an 
omnibus  was  rumbling ;  the  alluring  cry  of  '*  Strawberry  Ice* 
resounded  at  intervals ;  the  flies  buzzed  round  the  window  panes ;  a 
dog  barked  now  and  then,  and  all  the  low  hum  of  a  sunny  after- 
noon was  wafted  in  through  the  window.  The  dread  intensity  of 
Jack's  thought  seemed  suddenly  to  have  lost  its  definiteness.  It 
became  a  mere  tortured  whirl  of  va£[ue  tumult ;  baseless,  shifting, 
and  with  a  nightmare-like  unconsciousness  of  the  reason  of  its 
existence.  Then  this,  too,  subsided,  and  his  overwrought  brain  ftil 
into  a  strange,  meaningless  peacefulness,  and  he  found  himself 
listening  dreamily  to  the  sounds  of  the  quiet  sultry  afternoon,  and 
floating  along  the  musical  current  of 

"  The  flowers  that  bloom  in  the  spring,  tm  la. 
Have  nothing  to  do  with  the  case." 

A  vigorous  shake  aroused  him  from  his  trance.  With  a  feeling 
of  vag^e  irritation  he  opened  his  eyes  and  found  that  Sally  was 
bending  over  him  in  agitation.  The  sight  of  the  girl  reknit  the 
snapped  thread  of  thought,  and  the  old  look  of  horror  flashed  into 
his  eyes. 

'*  You  are  right,  Sall)r,*'  he  cried.  **  I  am  mad  to  shirk  tbe 
question.  Every  moment  is  precious.  Tell  me,  have  they  murdered 
him?" 

Sally  stared  at  him  in  speechless  astonishment  His  wild, 
appealing  gaze  froze  her  blood.  It  was  plain  that  his  reason  was 
once  more  tottering. 

"Why  are  you  silent?"  he  cried,  seizing  her  arm  with  a 
convulsive  grasp.  "  Speak  f  he  commanded  almost  fiercely, 
"  speak  and  spare  me  not.** 

**  Oh,  master,**  gasped  Sally,  "  don't  excite  yersel£  ItTl  only 
make  ye  ill  again.** 

*'  My  God  !  **  he  cried  in  piercing  tones.  His  jaw  relaxed,  his 
eyes  took  a  glazed  look.  '*  Too  late  !  **  he  moaned.  ^  Too  late ! 
Better  to  have  died  than  have  waked  to  hear  this.**  He  broke 
into  a  torrent  of  wild  exclamations.  Sally  wrung  her  hands  in 
despair.    The  moment  was  terrible  for  both. 

"  For  I'm  going  to  marry.  Yum  Yuro* 

Yum  Yum,** 

rattled  the  barrel-organ;  the  bluebottles  droned  in  the  curtains;  and 
the  cry  of  "  Strawberry  Ice  **  still  resounded  at  intervals,  like  Che 
note  of  a  cuckoo. 

"  Ye  didn't,  master,  ye  didn't  1  '*  Sally  cried  frantically.  **  What 
rot  ye  dois  talk.    Ye  didn't  murder  nobody,  ye  wouldn't  oo-ao  mCb 


r 


SALLY  WRITES  A  TELEGRAM  357 


^Ns ;  ye  wouldn^t  murder  a  fly,  except  ye  was  in  yer  temper, 
«|^ch  ye  ainH  bin  since  ye  thrown  me  downstairs,  and  I  joUy  well 
^^served  it**  She  thrust  him  gently  from  his  half-sittirig  posture, 
«a4  laid  her  hand  lightly,  but  firmly,  on  his  head.  **  Lay  down/' 
'  lik  said  in  a  tone  between  coaxing  and  command,  **  lay  down,  that's 
a  good  boy,  and  'ave  a  jolly  good  snooze.  It's  all  my  fault.  The 
doctor's  orders  was  that  if  ye  wanted  to  talk  when  ye  was  gettin* 
better,  I  wasn't  to  let  ye,  and  'ere  I've  been  a-jabberin'  away  like 
one  o'clock..  Go  to  sleep  and  forget  all  about  that  rot." 

**  Forget ! "  murmured  Jack  bitterly.  **To  sleep,  perchance  to 
dream — av,  there's  the  rub."  ^ 

**  Yes,  said  Sally,  stroking  his  face  as  one  humours  a  fretful 
child.  **  It'll  rub  off  all  the  rubbidge.'*  He  shook  off  her  arm  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  *'Ye're  beginnin' agen  !"  cried 
Sally,  with  the  petulance  of  an  amateur  nurse.  **  Go  to  Sleep.  Ye 
can  dream  about  it,  can't  ye,  if  ye  must  think  about  it.  Dream 
Chat  yer  caught  and  get  hung  for  it,  and  then  ye  can  wake  ujp 


a  new  man." 


**  Leave  me,  Ssdly.    You  don't  understand,"  moaned  Jack. 

^  Oh,  no,  in  course  not !  It's  only  'Lizer  as  can  understand, 
ain't  it?  When  you  talks  nonsense  and  I  talks  sense,  ye  alius 
maikes  out  that  I'm  in  the  wrong.  Ain't  ye  got  sense  enough  to 
biow  ye're  mad  ?  You've  bin  'avin*  bad  dreams  for  days  and  days, 
and  now  ye  fancy  it's  all  true.  Why,  if  I  was  to  believe  all  I 
dreamed,  I  should  be  ten  times  as  much  a  lady  as  'Lizer,  and  know 
everything  in  the  world,  and  'ave  a  carriage  like  the  Lord  Mare,  abd 
millions  o'  pounds,  and  a  gal  of  my  own  to'elp  me  in  the  'ousework, 
and  marry — somebody ;  but  I  wakes  up  and  finds  it  all  rot,  like  0e 
poor  man  as  ye  once  read  about  to  missis,  five  years  ago  coine 
Christmas  Eve,  which  was  changed  for  a  lark  to  a  Sultana,  and  '^d 
every tiiink  o'  the  best,  and  ordered  everybody  about,  and  woke  up 
at  lak  like  a  fool,  and  that's  what's  a  matter  with  you." 

As  Sally  paused  to  take  breath,  she  found  Jack  gazing  at  her 
with  new  hope  in  his  eyes. 

^  Would  to  God  you  were  rights"  he  said.  ^  Can  I,  indeed,  have 
dreamed  all  this  ?    Has  it  all  b^n  a  fevered  vision  ? " 

'*  In  course  it  is,"  replied  Sally  cheerfully.  ^  Shut  up  now  and 
go  to  sleep." 

*'  If  it  be  a  dream,"  continued  Jack,  evidently  struck  by  the  new 
view, "  I  wonder  if  the  dream  dates  back  even  further,  as  in  Abou 
Hassan's  case.    Perhaps  I  am  dreaming  even  now." 

**  In  course  y*  are/'  again  assented  Sally.  ''  Yer  like  Abey 
Hassan,  I  didn't  remember  the  name  afore.  Go  to  sleep  and  wake 
vp  yer  own  self  again." 

For  an  instant  the  ecstasy  of  the  idea  overpowered  Jack.  The 
didl  curtain  of  misery. was  roiled  away  for  a  moment  and  he  felt  an 
iodescrRMible  sensation  of  joyous  freedom.  The  terrible  scenes 
tlutt  haunted  him  were  phantasies,  product  of  liie  dream-imagi* 
Mlita ;  te  iiad^K)t  pkdg«A  luauelf  to  Elim  Baili%rttl,^ie  threat 


I 


35S  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

e>$sibilities  of  life  were  still  before,  him.    His  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
ut  the  illusion  could  not  long  continuet    The  pictures  of  memocy 
were  too  vtvid»  >  He  sat  up. 

'*  Why  do  you  deceive  me  ?  "  he  cried.  *'  It  is  not  a  dreaoL  He 
is  dead* 

^  So  is  Queen  Anne,"  snapped  Sally.  ^  There's  nobody  else 
dead  oJT  your  acquaintance  'Ow  can  I  deceive  yer  if  I  don't  know 
what  yer  talking  about  ?  " 

Again  Jack's  eyes  lit  up  with  a  gleam  of  hope. 

'*  Sally/'  he  said  piteously  '^tell  me  the  truth.  Is  the  Premier 
yet  alive?" 

••The  what?" 

«  The  Prime  Minister  I  • 

"Who?" 

"  Floppington  !  The  Right  Honourable  Arnold  Floppington.' 

Sally  looked  puzzled.  The  gleam  of  hope  in  Jack's  eyes  became 
a  steady  glow.  He  must  have  jumped  to  a  too  hasty  conclusion. 
Surely  had  the  Premier  been  assassinated, his  name  would  have  been 
dinned  in  every  one's  ears.  But  he  had  been  too  often  deceived  to 
trust  the  voice  of  hope. 

'*  You  must  have  heard  of  Floppington,"  he  repeated  anxiously. 

Then  with  a  burst  of  inspiration  he  added,  '^  The  man  that  they 
say  looks  like  me." 

SalW's  iace  expanded  and  her  mouth  opened  in  relie£  **  D'yer 
mean  Floppy?" 

**  Yes,'  said  Jack  eagerly.    "  Is  he  alive  ?" 

"  Oh,  'im  I "  replied  Sally  contemptuously.  ^  The  man  thut  ! 
gives  away  French  cheese  to  women  and  spiles  all  the  English  { 
trade.  I  s'pose  'e  is.  I  'eerd  Pat  Murphy  argyfin'  about  'im  | 
as  if  'e  was  alive  the  other  day  in  the  shop,  and  singin'  'For  { 
*e's  a  jolly  good  feller,'  but  'e  was  drunk." 

'*  Then  he  has  not  been  murdered  ?  "  he  panted. 

"  Not  as  I  knows  on/'  responded  Sally.  The  revulsion  was  too 
great    He  sank  back  exhausted. 

^  Thank  God/' he  exclaimed.    Then  suddenly  sitting  up  again  : 
**But  you  have  been  secluded  from  the  world;  perhaps  the  news  ' 
has  not  yet  reached  you.    Is  there  a  newspaper  in  the  house  ?  " 

'*  Not  as  I  knows  on.*'  I 

^  Then  get  one  I    Any  one  will  da"  i 

Sally  looked  dubious.    *'  I  shall  have  to  bolt  through  tlie  M^op  ' 
oth  ways,  or  else " 

^  Then  I'll  go  for  one  myself,"  he  said.  Sally  quickly  drew  the 
coverings  over  him. 

^  Lay  down,"  she  said.    Then  adding  tenderlv,  ^  I  don't  mind 
boltin'  pr  you,"  she  darted  out  of  the  room  and  into  the  streets 
before  the  shrill  crv  of  '*  Sally"  was  borne  to  the  sick  man's  earfc  j 
For  some  mintites  Jack  lay  tossing  in  uneasy  suspense^  though  the  I 
keenness  of  his  mental  anguish  had  largely  subsided.  i 

^Ev«n  if  they  have  not  murdered  nim  yet,"  he  muttMed  iiNl« 


SALLY  WRITES  A   TELEGRAM  359 

denly,  **  the  sword  is  suspended  over  his  head,  and  may  fiUl  at  any 
instant.     I  must  go  to  him  and  tell  him  all." 

He  endeavoured  to  rise,  but  his  brain  was^  dizzy  and  a  mist 
swam  before  his  eyes  and  he  fell  back.  He  lay  quite  still  with 
dosed  eyes.  Presently  a  shock  traversed  his  frame.  ''  My  God  ! " 
he  murmtured.    ''  I've  sworn  not  to  divulge  their  secrets." 

At  this  moment,  Jack  heard  a  click  in  the  street  beneath.  His 
terrible  situation  in  the  Cave,  when  the  Captain  Rave  the  order  to 
cock  pistols,  was  instantly  recalled  to  him,  and  he  lived  again 
through  those  long  moments  in  the  few  seconds  which  elapsed 
between  the  click  of  the  barrel-organ  and  the  bursting  forth  of  a 
popular  waltz,  immediately  afterwards  the  music  cea^d,  and  he 
heard  his  mother's  voice  exclaiming  :  **  Ye  miserable  fiirriner,  not 
as  I  believe  you're  a  native-furriner,  what  d'yer  mean  by  tumin'  up 
'ere  ?    lust  read  that  'ere  Bill,  will  yer  ?  " 

^  I  don't  care  for  your  Bills,"  a  sullen  voice  exclaimed.  '^  I  don't 
see  why  I  shouldn't  earn  a  honest  penny  'cause  you  write  in  your 
window  '  Brain- Fever  Within,  the  best  in  Bethnal  Green.' " 

^  Ye  won't  get  anythin'  by  mixing  up  the  brain-fever  and  the 
soup.  Ye  won't  earn  a  'onest  penny  or  turn  a  'onest  penny  Ure. 
Don't  grin,  ye  aggrawatin'  monkey  I  You're  a  monkey,  that's 
what  ye  are,  and  ye  ought  to  sit  on  yer  own  organ.  Clear  off 
d'yer,  or  I'll  lock  yer  up  for  pretendin'  to  be  a  furriner  when  ye 
can  read  English  as  well  as~Sally !  What's  that  ^e're  'idin'  ?— as 
well  as  the  Queen.    You're  no  more  Italian  than  a  ice ^" 

Three  bounds  on  the  stairs,  and  Sally  was  once  more  in  the 
loom,  leaving  Mrs.  Dawe  still  wrangling  with  the  unfortunate 
musician.  Jack  clutched  the  paper  with  tremulous  hand,  but  the 
letters  swam  before  him.  After  a  while  they  steadied  a  little.  He 
tan  his  eye  rapidly  along  the  columns,  and,  luckily,  soon  lighted 
on  the  following  words  :  ^  The  Press  Association  understands 
that  at  yesterday's  Cabinet  Council  the  details  of  Mr.  Fiopping- 

ton's ^ — ^he  uttered  a  cry  of  joy — ^*^  measure  for  giving  Home 

Rule  to  Ireland "    The  paper  fell  from  his  hand. 

*'The  madman  persists  V  he  groaned.  He  made  another  effort 
to  rise,  but  a  horrible  sensation  of  iaintness  warned  him  that  he 
bad  already  overtaxed  himself,  and  that  if  he  would  not  lose  the 
chance  of  rescuing  the  threatened  Premier,  be  must  husband  his 
strengtli.    ^  A  telegraph  form—quidc  1 "  he  cried. 

*'  Got  none,"  said  Sally,  staring  at  him. 

^  A  piece  of  paper,  then  ;  the  clerk  shall  re-write  it." 

Sally  tore  a  leal  out  of  the  copv-book  and  gave  it  to  him.  Then 
she  dipped  the  pen  in  the  ink  ancl  made  a  blot  on  her  dress.  Jack 
took  the  pen,  and  sitting  up,  supported  by  Sally,  .put  it  to  the  paper. 
But  his  hand  shook,  and  after  he  had  made  a  trembling,  amorphous 
stroke,  the  quill  dropped  from  between  his  fingers. 

*'I  knowed  it,"  cried  Sally,  half  weeping  with  compassion. 
**  Ye're  worryin'  yerself  for  nothin'." 

**  Give  m«  the  pen  again,"  said  Jack. 


ySo  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

**  I  won't ! "  said  Sally,  snatching  h  away.  ** Ye  ain't  fit  to  writer* 

^  God  forgive  you,  Sadly,"  said  Tack  solemnly,  *'for  the  mischief 
you  are  doing.    Give  me  the  pen.' 

**  leU  kill  yer !'*  said  Sallv,  bursting  into  tears.    ^There,  takeit 

But  this  time  Jack's  sight  failed  entirely,  and  the  pen  groped 
piteously  in  Uie  air. 

''What  shall  I  do ?" he  cried  in  agonised  tones.  Tears  bom 
of  weakness  coursed  down  hi«  cheeks. 

**^ Master  I ''  Sally  exclaimed  wildly  ;  *«  can't  I  write  it  ?* 

"  You  ?  Heaven  1)e  thanked  !  Yes,  you  can  write  now.  How 
hicky  I  taught  you !  There  is  a  Providence  that  shapes  our  ends. 
But  you  only  know  the  letters  I  Alas  !  my  joy  was  premature^ 
my  last  hope  is  gone  ! " 

^  What  rot,  master !    Can't  ye  spell  all  the  words  to  me  ?  " 

Tack's  face  lit  up  with  joy  and  admiration. 

^You  are  my  good  angel  —  my  active  impulse.  You  are  a 
Wellington,  a  Napoleon  ;  while  I  am " 

''  Look  sharp  1 "  interrupted  Sally.  ^  I'm  ready.  Thought  ye 
was  in  a  hurry." 

^  Said  I  not  you  were  a  Napoleon  ?  But  I  must  think."  He  lay 
hack  and  shut  his  eyes. 

•*  What  for  ?"  queried  Sally. 

**  I  cant  write  without  thinking,"  Jack  explained. 

''But  writin'  is  like  talkin',  ain't  it  ? "  expostulated  Sally.  << No- 
body thinks  when  they  talks,  and  I  don't  see  why  they  should 
when  they  writes." 

''They  do  in  a  few  in$tances,  nevertheless,"  said  Jack  almost 
lightly,  so  comparatively  buoyant  were  his  spirits  now.  **  Capital 
A-s  y-o-u  v-a-1-u-e  y-o-u-r  1-i-f-e — stop  a  minute,  I  mustn't  tele- 
graph that,  it  will  raise  suspicion  in  the  office.  Tear  that  up.  I 
beg  your  pardon  for  troubling  you  so  much.  Now,  capital  R-i-g-h-t 
H-o-n.  F-l-o-p-p-i-Ti-g-t-o-n,  l>-o-w-n-i-n-g  S-t.  Capital  A-hi-n- 
d-o-n  Capital  I-r-i-s-h  p-o-l-i-c-y  a-t  o-n-c-e.  Capital  B-cw-a-r-n-e^ 
i-n  t-i-m-e.  D-o  n-o-t  s-t-i-r  a  s-t-e-p  t-i-1-1  I  w-r-i-t-e  m-o-f-e 
f-u-1-l-y.  There !  Run  at  once  !  You  will  find  some  money  in  mjr 
waistcoat  pocket" 

"There's  no  capital  J.D.,"  protested  the  amanuensis.  ''There 
ought  to  be  a  capital  J.  D.^  'cause  it's  on  your  'ankerchers." 

"  He  will  know  whom  it  is  from  by  the  name  of  the  office,"  be 
said  wearily.    "  I  am  parched.    Have  you  anything  to  drink  ? " 

Sally  hastily  squeezed  a  few  drops  of  lemon  into  a  glass  o^ 
water,  and  gave  it  to  him.    He  drank  it  eagerly. 

"  I'll  go  to  sleep,"  he  murmured,  "  and  try  to  ftid  strength  to 
write.    Run  nowy  my  dear  child. ** 

Sally  covered  over  his  hand  that  was  lying  bare,  touched  the 
superimposed  blanket  with  her  lips,  and  fled  downstairs  ashamed, 
and  blushing  through  her  ink. 

"Who  sends  this  ?"  said  the  clerk,  staring  at  the  caltgraphy. 

"  I  does,  in  course^"  said  SaUy,  with  a  grin  of  complacency. 


CALM  CONVALESCENCE  361 

**  Well,  of  all  the  cheek !"  gasped  the  clerk.  He  called  the 
post-'Office  employdsy  and  they  gathered  round  it  and  perused  and 
reperused  it,  and  looked  from  the  message  to  Ssdly  and  from  Sally 
to  the  message. 

**  Perhaps  ye'll  know  me  when  ye  sees  me,"  cried  Sally.  ^  I've 
got  summat  to  do,  young  man,  if  you  ain't." 

'*  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  sending  this  to  Floppington : 
'As  you  value  your  life,  abandon  Irish  policy  at  once.  Do  not  stir 
a  step  till  I  write  more  fully.'    Did  you  make  this  up  yourself?" 

"In  course  not,  ye  fool!"  Sally  replied  composedly.  "I've 
got  nothing  to  do  with  Floppy,  and  a  jolly  good  lob  too.  Tm  a 
respectable  gal,  and  can  choose  my  company,  and  I  wouldn't  be 
'ere  neither,  if  master  'adn't  sent  me." 

"Who's  master?" 

"  Mr.  Dawe  ! "  said  Sally  proudly.    «  Mr.  Jack  Dawe." 

The  employes  looked  at  one  another,  and  winked  and  smiled 
suggestively. 

"  So  that's  how  the  wind  blows,"  said  the  telegraph  clerk.  "  We 
have  heard  of  your  master,  my  dear." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

CALM  CONVALESCENCE. 

**  Hooray,  master ! "  cried  Sally,  rushing  into  the  parlour  with 
a  letter.  **!  can  read  all  the  invelope  and  write  a  jolly  sight  better, 
too.  Look  at  that  capital  J  puffin'  out  its  belly  like  a  crinoline,  and 
thirds  a  capital  D— Oh,  lor!"  and  Sally  laughed  with  good- 
natured  superiority. 

"At  last!"  exclaimed  Jack.  He  broke  open  the  seal,  read 
the  words  in  an  instant,  looked  bewildered,  read  them  again,  looked 
alanned,  and  let  the  paper  flutter  to  the  ground. 

Sally,  looking  anxious,  picked  it  up  and  inquired  :  "  Will  ye 
want  me  to  copy  the  answer  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,  I  do  not  think  I  can  say  anything  in  answer 
to  this."  He  heaved  a  sigh,  and  the  sympathetic  slavey  took  up  the 
harden  and  sighed  even  more  deeply. 

**  Drat  that  girl  I  "  exclaimed  a  voice.  "  It  takes  'er  'ours  to 
walk  from  the  shop  to  the  parlour  like  a  funeral  Oh,  'ere  y'are, 
my  lady !  Peel  them  taters,  will  yer,  and  do  it  as  if  the  skin  was 
yer  own*--don*t  take  more  off  than  necessary." 

'*  Perhaps  he  has  other  information,"  Jack  soliloquised.  Then 
he  k)oked  doubtful  and  read  the  letter  again.    It  ran  thu$ ; 


1 


362  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 


"  Dear  Sir, 

**In  reply  to  a  ielegiam  and  to  a  communication  marked. 
'  private,'  I  am  instructed  to  inform  you  that  Mr.  Floppington  hair 
had  them  under  his  careful  consideration.  So  far  as  he  can  under- 
stand your  meaning  from  your  cunningly-worded  and  intention- 
ally vague  statements,  he  regrets  t  be  unable  ''o  give  any  credence 
to  them.  He  has  on  the  rontrary  reason  to  believe,  and  is  of 
the  firm  opinion  that  this  is  but  another  ruse.  Mr.  Floppington 
begs  that  you  will  not  favour  him  with  any  more  such  com- 
munications. 

••lam.  Sir, 

'^  Yotur  obedient  Servant, 

"John  Tremaine.' 

^  He  has  reason  to  believe  that  this  is  but  another  ruse!  re- 
peated Jack.  ''  Can  it  be  a  ruse  after  all  ?  Perhaps  he  knows  more 
than  I  do  of  the  matter.  He  has  reason  to  believe — what  can  that 
refer  to  ?  Another  ruse^  he  says.  Evidently  he  has  been  experi- 
mented upon  by  others.  He  must  have  special  knowledge.  I 
understand  now  the  fearless  calmness  with  which  he  has  gone 
on  preaching  his  revolutionary  doctrines,  just  as  though  I  had  not 
warned  him,  while  I  have  been  sitting  on  thorns  dreading  that  he 
might  not  have  received  the  letter,  unable  to  go  to  him  and  forced 
to  think  deeply  at  the  risk  of  the  recurrence  of  the  fever,  in  order 
to  avert  the  pangs  of  suspense  which  were  certain  to  bring  it  back 
A  ruse  !  The  view  never  struck  me.  But  a  ruse  with  what  object  ? 
They  certainly  seemed  in  earnest  with  me.  Merciful  Heavens  I 
what  if  misled  by  fancied  knowledge,  scorning  their  threats,  he  is 
gofng  recklessly  to  his  doom  I " 

It  was  only  metaphorically  that  Jack  had  been  sitting  on  thorns 
during  the  fortnight  that  elapsed  between  his  dictating  die  letter  to 
Sally — for  that,  too,  he  was  unable  to  write — and  the  arrival  of  the 
response.  In  reality  he  had  not  been  sitting  at  all  for  almost  a 
week  of  it,  and  the  rest  of  the  time  his  seat  had  been  the  comfort- 
able arm-chair  whose  silent  eloquence  had  been  denounced  by  the 
socialist.  He  was  sitting  there  now,  surrounded  by  all  the  ^nsual 
and  intellectual  luxuries  of  the  bloated  capitalist— a  bottle  of  iced 
lemonade,  copies  of  the  Times^  the  Standard^  and  the  Daily  News^ 
a  box  of  cigars,  and  a  number  of  the  Nineteenth  Century. 

Enthroned  in  this  curule  chair  the  master  daily  sat  during  the 
sweet  season  of  convalescence,  dreaming  away  the  hours  in  high 
speculation  as  his  slothful  soul  loved,  and  only  now  and  then 
awaking  to  the  cruel  realities  of  the  situation ;  and  Sally  or  his 
mother  darted  in  occasionally  to  supply  his  wants,  or  to  suggest 
those  he  did  not  feel. 

Mrs.  Dawe  had  by  this  timesilently  abandoned  her  small-poxtheory. 
Perhaps  having  so  long  maintained  to  her  customers  the  delusion 
that  her  son  was  guilty  of  brain-fever  only,  she  began  at  last  to 
believe  in  her  own  doctrines.     Ecclesiastical  history  would  supply 


CALM  CONVALESCENCE  363 

many  a  parallel  to  her  psychological  condition.  But,  however  con- 
iditioned,  it  was  certain  that  she  had  undergone  a  change  of  faith  ; 
Ibr  ify  as  son^e  metaphysicians  have  maintained,  action  is  the  test  of 
belief,  how  otherwise  can  we  explain  her  quibbling  refusal  when  the 
doctor  triumphantly  told  her,  after  Jack  had  left  his  bed,  that,  to  be 
consistent,  sne  ought  to  burn  the  bedding  ? 

For  one  moment  she  stared  aghast — to  Mrs.  Dawe,  good  ortho- 
dox economist,  property  was  sacred,  and  the  thought  of  incendiary 
attacks  on  it  filled  her  soul  with  horror.    Then  she  burst  forth  : 
*'  Bum  the  bedding  I  ye  Irish  assassin  !    What  for?" 
**  G-g-erms  ! "   gasped  the  poor  doctor,  retreating  before  an 
uplifted  frying-pan. 

**Who  cares  for  yer  germs!"  Mrs.  Dawe  shrieked  con- 
temptuously, **or  yer  worms  either?  Don't  come  yer  tricks  over 
me.  1  shouldn't  wonder  if  ye  was  uncle  to  a  blanket  shop,  or  fust 
cousin  to  a  bed  business.  What's  it  done  to  be  burnt  ?  Don't  it 
go  to  church  ?  " 

The  doctor  winced  at  this  unexpected  attack  on  his  theological 
principles,  and  bitterly  regretted  his  mad  endeavour  to  tie  Mrs. 
Dawe's  genius  down  to  the  reasonings  of  formal  logic.  *'  I  don't 
want  to  bum  it,  madam,''  he  explained  deprecatingly.  '^  I  only  say 
that  if  you  really  believe  that  Mr.  Dawe  was  suffering  from  small- 
pox you  ought  to  burn  it     Small-pox  is  catching." 

"  Sense  ain't,  or  ye  wouldn't  talk  like  that  before  the  picter  o* 
my  late  'usband.     Who's  to  catch  it,  I  should  like  to  know  ?    No- 
body sleeps    in   his  bed  but   hisself,  and  everybody,  except  a 
doctor,  knows  that  no  one  can  get  the  small-pox  twice." 
,   **  Indeed !    And  will  the  bedding  never  be  washed  ?  " 

*  How  dare  ye,"  Mrs.  Dawe  interrupted  wrathfuUy,   "  how 
dare  ye  hask  such  a  question  to  the  cleanest  cook-shop  in  Bethnal 

Greeu  ?    Why,  I But  I'm  busy,    /can't  send  in  a  long  bill  for 

Ipokin'  at  a  long  tongue.     Besides,  even  if  somebody  else  could 
catch  it  they  couldn't  from  such  a  slight  attack  as  my  son' 
were  I " 

**  A  slight  attack,  indeed  !     How  do  you  know  it  was  a  slight 
attack?" 

"  'Cause  you  cured  'im,"  retorted  the  old  lady.    And  the  doctor 
collapsed. 

With  her  son  Mrs.  Dawe  was  le^s  fiery.  The  danger  in  which 
he  had  been  had  thrown  a  sacred  halo  round  hinu  She  wa 
heartily  rejoiced  to  ^see  him  down  again  in  the  old,  cosy  parlour. 
After  all  he  was  the  only  child  she  had  ever  had,  and  the  beautiful 
instinct  of  maternity  reasserted  itself  with  tenfold  power  alter  its 
brief  dormancy  during  the  early  dubious  stages  of  his  illness.  1 
Mrs.  Dawe  had  little  self-sacrifice  in  her  nature,  she  had  plenty  of 
affection — and  she  shed  tears  proiusely  over  her  boy,  calling  him 
her  darling  and  her  favourite  child,  and, offering  him  pancakes.  At 
tirst,  indeed,  she  ventured  to  condemn  his  reading  so  many  morning 
and  evening  newspapers.    One  day,  however,  the  doctor,  finding 


fii  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

Jack  engaged  in  their  perusal,  protested  against  her  permitting  him 
this  indulgence. 

^  My  dear  madam,"  the  doctor  said,  **  reading  is  hurtful'' 

'<  The  Bible,  too  ?*'  said  Mrs.  Dawe  slily. 

The  doctor  did  not  perceive  the  implied  sarcasm.  "  Not  so 
much  as  other  literature,"  he  said  hesitatingly  ;  ^  and»  if  he  must 
read,  that  (although  I  doubt  whether  he  will  care  for  it)  is  most 
fitting  for  his  condition." 

"  Would  it  do  him  good  to  sleep  durin'  the  day  ?  "  was  the  next 
innocent  question. 

"  By  all  means.    Let  him  have  as  much  sleep  as  possible" 

Mrs.  Dawe  could  contain  herself  no  longer.  Her  fat  sides 
shook  and  her  plump  shoulders  quivered  with  enjoyment.  The 
doctor  looked  at  her. 

'*  0*yer  know  what  I  should  do  if  I  saw  'im  readin'  the  Bible? 
I  wouldn't  pay  ye  a  penny." 

^  Why  not  ?  "  gasped  the  startled  doctor. 

^ 'Cause  I  should  say  ye  'adn't  cured  him  o^  the  brain-fever ! " 

After  this,  Jack  was  allowed  to  read  his  papers  in  peace.  He 
was  even  detected  writing, without  undergoing  a  verbal  snower-bath. 

The  painter  read  the  letter  of  the  Premier  a  third  time.  His 
agitation  diminished. 

'*He  seems  so  dogmatic,  so  positive,"  he  murmured.  ''He 
must  have  good  reason,  as  he  says,  for  refusing  to  be  alarmed  by 
my  letter.  His  cold  dogmatism  is  reassuring.  Perhaps  I  am 
troubling  about  a  trifle.  But  then,  where  is  the  ruse  ?  .  .  .  .  Can 
they  be  merely  trying  whether  his  Irish  policy  is  dtsinteresled 
before  giving  him  their  cordial  support?  ....  Perhaps  they  would 
not  have  murdered  me  after  alL    Threatened  men  live  long." 

The  painter  lit  a  cigar  and  smoked  it  reflectively.  When  he  had 
got  half  through  it  he  murmured :  ^  He  has  not  attended  to  the 
rest  of  my  letter.  Unless  it  be  a  reply  to  say  :  '  Mr.  Floppingjton 
begs  that  you  will  not  favour  him  with  any  more  such  communica- 
tions.' The  snub  is  deserved."  He  laughed  bitterly.  ^  The  siiub 
is  deserved,"  he  repeated. 

He  took  up  a  newspaper  at  random,  and  soon  became  immersed 
in  its  contents.  Ever  and  anon  exclamations  burst  from  him  ;  of 
surprise,  of  bitterness,  of  sarcasm,  of  pure  rhetoric,  of  scorn, 
or  of  humility  and  self-reproach.  Gradually  the  last  species  began 
to  predominate.  "  The  people  wish  it,"  he  cried.  *^Lg  toi  U  vin^ 
He  threw  down  the  paper.  ^  What  profits  it  to  read  more  ?  I  was 
wiser  at  first  in  eschewing  the  newspapers.  To  immerse  myself 
again  in  politics  would  be  to  destroy  what  raison  ^//nf  there  was  ia 
my  unhappy  resolve.  If  the  fear  did  not  still  haunt  me  that  every 
hour  may  bring  terrible  tidings,  I  would  withdraw  from  the  contem- 
plation of  a  world  in  which  I  have  no  piart  That  fear  is  happily 
growing  less —the  lapse  of  time,  the  absence  of  any  fresh  incident 
the  security  and  confidence  of  the  Premier  himself^  all  have  con- 
tributed to  render  tlie  once  vivid  images  of  danger  shadowy  and 


CALM  CONVALESCENCE  365 

^BBBtL  There  is  ytX  time  to  carry  out  my  intention  of  cutting  my- 
self temporarily,  if  not  entirely,  aloof  from  the  logomachy  of  poli- 
tics, and  retiring  into  philosophic  meditation.  I  am  afraid  the 
sttbiects  of  my  meditation  have  been  very  often  far  from  philo- 
sophic." The  smile  that  verges  on  tears  hovered  pathetically 
around  his  mouth.  The  panorama  of  his  recent  life  shifted  before 
him.  He  closed  his  eyes  and  let  the  scenes  flit  along,  and  his  mobile 
face  changed  as  often  as  they. 

^  Enough,"  he  cried  suddenly,  as  though  the  representation  of 
the  tragi-comed^  was  due  to  another's  volition.  *'  I  cannot  bear  it** 
He  turned  his  chair  to  the  table,  took  up  a  sheet  of  paper  half- 
covered  with  sprawling  sentences,  and,  thanking  God  that  this  was 
yet  left  to  him,  began  to  read : 

*'  The  indubitable  living  impulse  of  Faith  it  is  that  I  demand 
attention  for,  and  the  argument  is  one  which  agnostics,  despite 
their  elaborate  display  of  analysis,  have  rather  turned  away  from 
than  met  The  Christian  talks  of  the  spiritual  man,  the  biologist 
retorts  by  dissecting  a  spider.  This  as  a  caveat  to  my  scientific 
antagonists.  By  the  living  impulse  of  Faith,  I  mean  that  influx  of 
moral  strength  accompanied  by  an  inspired  clearness  of  perception, 

wherein  the  petty  miseries  of  life ^*     He  paused  suddenly, 

afirighted  by  a  wild  uncontrollable  burst  of  laughter  that  issued 
from  his  lips. 

He  threw  down  the  pen,  and  leaned  his  head  on  the  table. 
'*  The  illusion  of  manhood  succeeds  to  the  dreams  of  youth. 
What  is  life  but  a  worthless  bauble  encased  in  manifold  wrappings 
of  illusion  ?  Slip  one  off,  and  lo  .  another  is  found  in  its  stead. 
Why  do  I  deceive  myself?  A  failure  in  Action,  a  failure  in 
Thought,  bringing  misery  to  all  I  love  or  pity,  there  is  naught 
left  for  me — naught*' 

He  lay  there  muttering  brokenly,  and  the  dusk  closed  in  around 
him. 

The  shop  was  full  of  the  first  batch  of  supping  customers,  but 
the  bustle  and  clatter  sounded  far  off,  as  if  belonging  to  some  world 
uf  dream.     The  faint,  cool  breath  of  evening  stole  through  the 
window,  but  could  bring  no  calm  to  his  throbbing  brain. 
*'  Naught  ....  Except  to  marry  Eliza.^ 
He  burst  into  hysterical  laughter. 

^Poor,  patient  girl.  •  .  1  pity  thee.  Thy  fate  is  dark  as  my 
own." 

Meanwhile  the  darkness  of  the  room  grew  deeper,  and  the  veil 
of  night  hid  the  secret  of  his  pain  from  mortal  eyes.  Only  a  thin 
line  ^  moonlight  rested  upon  the  bent  form. 

When  the  last  rays  of  day  were  quite  dead,  the  gas  in  the 
kitchen  was  lit;  and  the  light  falling  through  the  glass  of  the 
parlour,  a  dreamy  semi-obscurity  reigned  in  the  room,  and  there 
was  a  strange  division  of  light  and  shadow.  The  half-light  fell 
upon  the  bowed  head  of  the  painter,  but  within  his  soul  ther^  was 
toe  same  terrible  darkness. 


366  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

Suddenly  he  felt  the  light  caressing  touch  of  a  gloved  hand 
upon  his  feverish  cheek.  He  started  up  with  a  wild  throbbing  of 
the  heart  A  woman's  fare,  sad  and  sweet  as  the  summer  nightt 
looked  into  his  through  the  gloom« 


CHAPTER  V. 

TOUT  PASSE,  TOUT  CASSE,  TOUT  LASSB. 

The  air  was  thrilled  with  the  music  of  tender  tones. 

'*  Are  you  better,  Jack  ?  " 

The  painter  started  back  before  the  beauteous  apparition. 

"  I  am  better,  thank  you,"  he  said  wearily. 

Then  there  was  silence  in  the  room.  The  woman  stood  there 
like  a  spirit,  her  loveliness  breaking  the  dark  to  beauty.  But  the 
man's  eyes  were  cast  down,  and  he  watched  the  sliadows  on  the 
floor.  Presently,  seeing  that  he  remained  motionless,  she  mur- 
mured in  reproachful  accents : 

"  You  do  not  ask  me  to  sit  down.** 

Her  words  seemed  at  last  to  affect  him,  for  he  raised  his  head 
quickly. 

'*  A  thousand  pardons,"  he  said  in  pained  tones.  **  Will  you 
take  my  seat  ?  You  will  And  it  very  comfortable."  He  was  rising, 
but  she  stopped  him. 

^*  No,  thank  you.  I  do  not  want  to  be  comfortable.  I  will  sit 
on  the  sofa." 

There  was  a  world  of  pathos  in  the  simple  words,  that  moved 
the  hearer  more  than  the  most  passionate  rhetoric  He  tried  to 
speak,  but  knew  not  what  to  say.  He  bent  his  head  once  mare 
and  fell  into  a  mournful  reverie  whose  bitterness  was  intensified 
by  the  consciousness  of  the  sad,  still  face  beside  hino. 

So  they  sat  side  by  side,  and  between  them  yawned  the  gulf 
of  silence.  Constrained  silence  was  between  these  two,  once 
linked  by  the  golden  bridge  of  loving  speech.  Was  the  old  love 
gone  so  utterly  that  no  remembrance  of  what  had  been  could  come 
to  soften  the  cold  rigidness  of  their  meeting  ?  Did  no  picture  of 
what  the  silver  moonlight  had  oft  looked  upon  frame  itself  anew  in 
the  dreary  dusk  of  the  chamber?  Did  no  memories  of  sweet 
kisses,  or  woodland  walks,  or  summer  mornings  in  the  Park,  at  tbe 
side  of  the  lake,  or  on  its  glassy  bosom,  shed  some  dying  fragrance 
over  the  hearts  they  had  once  gladdened  ? 

The  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  ticked  away  the  seconds— the 
seconds  they  had  so  often  passed  in  delicious  converse — but  the 
man  and  woman  sat,  each  m  mute  loneliness.   It  was  as  though 


r'- 


TOUT  PASSE,  TOUT  CASSE,  TOUT  LASSE    ^ 

the  ghost  of  their  old  love  hovered  between  them  and  frose  their 
once  warm  lips  to  silence. 

In  ^e  shop  the  nightly  bustle  was  at  its  height— the  clatter  of 
plates,  the  bursts  of  laughter,  the  exclamations  of  all  kinds  and  of 
an  pitches  brought  to  their  ears  the  busy  life  of  unromantic 
hunuinity.  No,  not  utterly  unromantic ;  for  was  it  not  the  omni- 
present, omnipotent  element  of  Love  that  gave  occasion  to  those 
very  guffaws,  prompted  as  thev  were  by  rough,  playful  sarcasn  on 
somebody's  young  man.  And  in  the  road  itself,  where  the  stars 
throbbed  in  the  unclouded  sky,  and  where  the  lamps  shone  like  the 
glowworms  of  some  voluptuous  tropical  clime,  were  there  not 
couples  on  couples  promenading  in  ecstatic  silence?  Truly  are 
there  silences  and  silences,  and  to  the  couple  in  the  little  back 
parlour  the  silence  was  oppressive  beyond  the  sharpest  speech. 
The  woman  was  the  first  to  speak. 

''Shall  I  light  the  gas?"  she  asked,  in  tones  of  ineffable 
sadness. 

''As  you  like.**  She  listened  eagerly  to  catch  the  slightest 
tremor  in  his  voice,  but  there  was  no  lingering  trace  of  emotion, 
naught  but  a  cruel,  hard  indifference.  She  made  a  movement 
towards  the  mantelpiece  and  groped  for  the  matches.  Her  com- 
puiion  did  not  follow  her  with  his  eyes— a  pang  traversed  her 
heart — the  graces  of  sinuous  movement  and  of  statuesque 
posture  thrillai  him  no  more,  for  him  the  old  feminine  charm  had 
evidently  died  with  his  love.  He  seemed  carved  in  stone.  She 
found  the  matches  and  struck  one.  It  flared  up  for  a  moment  and 
went  out  She  made  no  attempt  to  strike  another.  She  reseated 
herself  listlessly.  Perhaps  she  thought  that  the  dreariness  of  the 
room  was  more  in  harmony  with  the  weariness  of  their  spirits. 

The  momentary  flare-up  of  the  match  had  illumined  the  bowed 
head  of  her  whilom  lover.  It  seemed  to  her  that  he  had  never 
looked  so  old.  Surely  the  worn,  bent  figure  was  not  that  of  a  man 
in  his  prime,  rather  of  one  whose  thoughts  are  no  longer  of  love 
because  thev  are  no  longer  of  life. 

And  still  no  words  came  from  his  lips — and  he  never  knew  how 
she  was  longing  for  him  to  begin,  never  understood  that  she  whose 
syllables  were  once  his  sweetest  music  feared  to  break  the  silence. 

Ah  I  happy  lovers  that  arm-in-arm  saunter  in  the  road,  it  is 
well  that  your  bright  eyes  look  not  in  upon  this  spectacle.  For  to 
this  complexion  must  Love  come  at  last  Now  your  love  glows 
like  some  planet  new-create,  but  soon — ^ah,  soon  1 — ^it  will  grow 
cold ;  its  birds  dumb,  its  verdure  dead,  its  living  fountains  frozen 
into  eternal  silence.  Gather  the  roses  while  ye  may,  for  not  Time 
but  Love  is  flyine,  and  soon  there  shall  be  no  harvest  to  reap  but 
ashes  and  Dead  Sea  fruit 

Presently  the  woman  spoke  again,  and  in  her  voice  was  the 
concentrated  anguish  of  a  lifetime. 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me  ?* 

^  Nothing."    The  word  seemed  to  resume  all  the  flatness  and 


368  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

deadness  of  the  situation,  all  tbe  dull  aching  blank  of  lives  whenos 
Love  had  flown.  Some  consciousness  of  this  was  borne  in  even 
upon  the  coarser  perception  of  the  man,  for  he  shuddered  drearilv. 
All  the  delicate  quintessence  of  passion  that  saturates  with  subtle 
perfume  the  conunonp^ce  details  of  everydajr  life  was  evaporated 
Even  the  soft  ray  of  moonlight  that  streamed  in  from  the  backyard 
fell  garishly  upon  the  horsehur  of  the  sofa. 

The  silence  was  intolerable  to  the  woman. 

"  Mowbray  warned  me  to  be  cautious  "  she  thought.  ^  But  ft 
seems  that  two  can  play  at  that  game;" 

She  b^an  nervously  picking  at  the  rose  she  wore  in  her  bosom. 
She  was  not  unaware  of  the  picturesqueness  of  the  action,  and  the 
fragrant  petals,  as  they  fluttered  to  the  ground,  might  well  seem 
emblems  of  a  wasted  youth.    Amid  all  her  embarrassment  from  ,1 
the  difficulty  and  delicacy  of  the  situation,  there  was  in  her  at  the  J 
commencement  of  the  interview  a  delicious  over-consciousness  of ' 
its  pathetic  dreariness,  that  made  her  not  averse  from  prolonging 
it    But  at  length  the  charm  paled.    It  would  not  do  at  all  that 

iack  should  have  nothing  to  say  to  her.  His  neutrality  would 
eave  the  position  in  statu  quo.  And  the  st<Uus  quo  was  eminently 
unsatisfactory.  So  she  made  a  plunge.  It  is  the  peculiarity  oif 
conversation  that  a  subject  may  be  led  up  to  fitnn  any  commence- 
ment whatever,  and  Eliza's  first  words  were  random,  though  not 
purposeless. 

*^Jack  dear,"  she  said  sweetly*  'Mo  you  remember  the  night 
when  we  went  to  see  '  The  Private  Secretary'  ?" 

'^  1  beg  pardon,"  he  said,  starting  up.  **  You  want  to  see  my 
private  secretary?" 

She  bit  her  lips.  He  might  have  had  the  decency  to  refrain 
from  stupid  jokes.  It  was  evident  he  could  not  rise  to  the  senti- 
ment df  the  occasion.  A  moment  afterwards  he  was  even  smiling, 
which  made  the  dereliction  from  the  code  of  romance  graver 
still. 

"  Good,  faithful  Sally,"  he  muttered.  The  sweetness  of  Eliza's 
tones  grew  intensified. 

'^  Don*t  be  absurd,"  she  pleaded.  "  You  do  remember  diat 
night"  She  bent  her  beautiful  face  close  to  his,  and  in  her  eyes 
was  the  light  of  tender  memories. 

«  What  night  ?  "  he  asked  coldly. 

^  The  night  we  saw  '  The  Private  Secretary,'  and  came  home  in 

a  cab  because  it  was  raining  cats  and Oh !  such  a  fearful 

storm— don't  you  remember  ?  " 

^  No  ! "  At  the  brutal  replv  the  lovelight  died  out  of  her  eyes. 
She  turned  her  head  away.  All  the  woman  in  her  revolted  against 
this  forgetfulness,  whether  it  were  feigned  or  real  Then  su<Klenly 
sdie  broke  into  a  smile  of  triumph. 

**  You  are  very  cruel  to  me,  she  murmured  sadly. 

Jack  flushed  deeply.  '*  My  dear  child  !"  he  exdaimed  in  much 
agitation*     ''  Cruel  I     God  forbid!     Bat  you  aie  right     I  have 


TOVT  PASSE,  TOUT  CASSE,  TOUT  LASSE    369 

been  cni^  thnmgh  my  terrible  want  of  forethought    Thoughtless, 
Eliza,  I  have  been,  but  not  inteationaUy  cnieL" 

^  Oh,  you  have,  Jack,  you  have  ! "  she  said  in  a  choking  voice. 
His  tones  todk  a  sympathetic  tremor.     '^God  knows  I  have 
tried  to  do  my  best    You  do  not  know  all,  Eliza,  or  you  would 
pity  me." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  strange,  hard  glitter  in  her  eyes. 
'*  I  do  pity  you,  indeed  I  do.    When  you  were  ill  I  could  not 
lest     The  shock  prostrated  me.     I  kept  my  bed,  though  I  did  not 
add  to  your  mother's  anxieties  by  lettmg  her  know  my  condition  ! 
But  you  have  no  pity  for  me." 

"  You  wrong  me,  Eliza,"  he  said  in  a  pained  voice.  ^  Have  I 
been  unkind  to  you  in  aught?" 

''  Unkind  ?"  Eliza  repeated  with  bitter  scorn.  "  I  do  not  a$k 
lor  kindness.  I  would  rather  die  than  take  kindness  from  the 
hands  which  have  once  tendered  me  love." 

The  passionate  outburst  moved  Jack  even  as  it  had  moved  Eliza 
herself  m  tiiat  week's  London  yaumoL  His  eyes  filled  with  tears 
of  compassion. 

**  Poor  child  I "  he  said.    **  You  loved  me  so  much  then  ?** 
^  Never  heart  beat  truer  than  mine,  Jack.  To  think  that  but  a  few 
short  months  z%o  we  were  happv  in  our  mutual  love — and  now  I 
am  so  wretched— oh  !  so  wretched."    She  burst  into  tears. 

Overpowered  by  emotion,  Jack  rose  from  his  seat  and  began  to 
pace  the  narrow  room. 

** Don't  cry,**  he  said  in  fierce  entreaty.  ''You  madden  me. 
Great  God  I  am  I  responsible  for  this  misery,  too  ?  " 

'^  Responsible  ! "  she  cried  in  heartrending  tones.  ^  Why,  oh 
why  did  you  ever  come  into  my  life?  Would  I  had  never  seen 
70U." 

Tack  groaned.    ''  We  cannot  recall  the  past,**  he  said  bitterly. 
**  Oh  7  that  we  could  I    I  should  still  be  a  happy  light-hearted 
girl    Now  I  feel  so  old — so  old  and  weary.    What  had  I  done  to 
you  that  you  should  rob  me  of  my  innocent  happiness  ?"    Emotion 
checked  her  utterance.    She  buried  her  face  in  her  dainty  cambric 
handkcTchief,  and  sobbed  convulsively. 
The  painter  clenched  his  fist  in  agitation. 
''At  first,"*  sobbed  Eliza,  recovering  herself  with  an  effort,  "  I 
was  so  happy  because  I  believed  in  you  and  looked  up  to  you,  oh  I 
so  much.    You  were  so  good  to  me,  so  tender  and  true.    Now  you 
;  ue  another  man  altogether." 

The  painter  stood  still  suddenly.  "Another  man ! "  he  said. 
"  You  are  so  cold,  your  very  kindnesses  stab  me  to  the  heart 
Oh !  I  cannot  bear  it.  You  have  made  my  life  a  burden  to  me.  I 
cannot  cannot  bear  it  Why  prolong  my  torture  by  feigned  gentle- 
ness ?  Complete  your  work  at  once.  Say  you  hate  me."  Exhausted 
by  this  wild  appeal,  the  woman  broke  down  once  more. 

'*  Hate  you  I "    the  unhappy  painter   exclaimed  desperately 
''You  are  not  logical,  my  poor  child    If  you  believe  that 

a  i 


370  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

wrought  you  misery;  it  is  you  that  should  hate  me.    Say  yoa 
hate  me,  and  I  confess  I  deserve  your  hatred.    But  why  should 

Eliza  drew  a  deep  breath  and  clenched  her  teeth,  and  could  her 
companion  have  looked  beneath  the  delicate  cambric,  he  would 
have  seen  a  face  distorted,  not  by  weeping,  but  by  an  expression  dt 
angry  resolution  alternating  with  one  of  anxious  cunning. 

''  Hate  you  I "  she  cried,  accentuating  the  pronoun  with  in- 
expressible tenderness.  ^^Oo  you  think  I  could  \i^vtyout  Ah! 
you  little  know  the  heart  of  a  woman.  Why  should  I  be  ashamed 
to  own  it  ?  It  is  our  nature.  But  you  are  a  man  and  cannot  under- 
stand. With  us,  love  never  dies  but  with  life.  Strike  me  dead  at 
your  feet,  and  with  my  last  breath  I  will  confess  I  love  you,  and  I 
would  rather  die  by  your  hand  than  live  without  you."  | 

The  intensity  of  Eliza's  emotion  bewildered  the  painter.  He 
put  his  hand  to  his  brow. 

*'  Thy  love  to  me  was  wonderful,  passing  the  love  of  woman," 
he  murmured  dubiously.  "  Surely  not,  if  this  be  woman's  love .... 
I  am  a  man  and  cannot  understand;  yet,  oh  !  my  lost  love,  it  wotlld 
seem  that  I  have  sounded  greater  depths  than  you.  Alas,  for  the 
man  and  woman  whom  Fate  has  once  dissevered.  Always  it 
would  seem  the  love  of  one — God  help  that  one — ^remains  un- 
changed, undestroyed  even  by  cruelty,  while  the  other  turns  lightly 
to  fresh  woods  and  pastures  new." 

Out  of  the  comers  of  her  eyes  Eliza  watched  the  paintei^ 
though  she  could  not  catch  his  mutterings.  The  absence  of  any 
direct  response  to  her  last  tragic  outburst  emboldened  her.  tomake 
the  supreme  experiment.  It  was  a  critical  moment  She  turned 
pale  at  the  bought  of  how  much  depended  upon  what  would  happen 
m  it.     Never  did  mortal  stand  with  clearer  consciousness  at  the 

Earting  of  the  ways.  She  rose  wildly  from  the  sofa  and  stood  ^before 
im  with  arms  extended. 

'*  Jack  !"  she  cried  in  tones  of  piercing  pathos,  *'do  not  deiseit 
me !  You  will  not  leave  me  for  ever  }  Come  back  to  me,  come  to 
my  arms  again  and  be  my  old  lover  once  more." 

The  painter  gazed  at  the  lovely  face  wet  with  tears,  and  felt 
himself  trembling. 

Meanwhile  vsrithin  the  shop  the  hubbub  of  gorging  humanity 
went  on  as  though  no  tragedy  was  being  lived  through  a  few  feet 
off»  and  the  mistress  and  her  handmaid  darted  about  unconscious 
of  how  strangely  their  lives  were  to  be  affected  by  the  issue. 

The  painter  made  a  gesture  of  determination.  *'  Why  should  I 
deceive  you  ?"  he  cried.  His  tonesgrew  solemn.  "  My  poor  girl, 
you  have  cost  me  more  thought  than  you  imagine.  Your  old  lovo' 
will,  I  fear,  never  return  to  you  again." 

''  Oh,  my  heart ! "  gasped  the  poor  girL  She  fell  bade  on  the 
sofa  with  her  hands  on  her  bosom.  After  a  moment  she  raised 
herself  feebly  on  her  elbow,  and  in  the  faint  light  Jack  could  see 
that  her  teeth  were  set  and  her  face  was  rigid.    She  did  not  burst 


TOUT  PASSE,  TOUT  CASSE,  TOUT  LASSE     3^1 

into  wild  hysterical  exclamations  as  he  expected ;  now  that  the  blow 
liad  fallen,  she  seemed  to  be  summoning  all  her  strength  tq  bear  it 
''Is  this  your  boasted  sense  of  honour  ? "  she  asked  in  a  low  tone  of 
scorn  that  made  her  hearer  wince.  *Ms  this  the  fulfilment  of  even 
your  recent  promise  to  marry  me  in  three  months  ?  " 

"  I  did  promise,  but  it  was  unthinkingly,"  he  pleaded  htunbly. 
*'  I  had  no  right  to  make  the  promise,  indeed  I  had  not  1  might 
have  foreseen  how  circumstances  would  kill  love.  It  was  human." 
Then  in  a  burst  of  uncontrollable  emotion,  he  exclaimed  :  '^  I  have 
ruined  two  lives  by  my  folly." 

Eliza  started  up,  her  eyes  darting  fire.  "  How  dare  you  tell 
me  that  tiie  love  you  once  bore  me  has  ruined  your  life  ?  You 
were  never  worthy  of  me,  you  miserable  sign-painter!"  She 
stopped  suddenly  and  bit  her  lip.  "  Forgive  me,  my  own," 
she  said.  ''  Misery  has  driven  me  mad.  Oh,  this  is  some  awful 
dream  !  It  is  not  true,  my  darling.  Tell  me  that  your  heart  is 
still  mine." 

'*  I  pity  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  If  I  can  promote 
your  happiness  in  aught,  you  will  find  me  a  sure  friend.  Turn  your 
love  elsewhere,  my  dear  child,  for,  as  you  say,  I  was  never  worthy 
of  it.    Forget  me  and  be  happy." 

'*  Forget  I "  Eliza  exclaimed  bitterly.  She  leaned  against  the 
mantelpiece,  pale  and  statuesque.  '*  Heaven  forgive  you.  Do  you 
know  what  you  are  asking  ?  " 

The  sadness  of  his  face  grew  deeper.  He  bowed  his  head. 
"  Heaven  help  me,"  he  cried.    "  I  do  ! " 

Something  in  the  tones  made  her  pale  face  flush  violently.  She 
stretched  out  her  hand  and  caught  hold  of  his  arm.  "  Oh,  why  do 
you  desert  me  thus?"  she  exclaimed.  "There  is  some  strange 
leason— some  secret  you  are  hiding  from  me." 

He  struggled  to  free  his  arm,  but  she  clung  to  him.  "  I  will 
know,"  she  cried. 

"  Be  silent,"  he  said  sternly.  ''  You  must  bear  your  pain  even  as 
I  bear  mine." 

Eliza  uttered  a  shriek.    "  You  love  another ! " 

He  did  not  answer,  but  she  read  the  admission  in  his  eyes.  For 
a  moment  Eliza's  breast  was  the  arena  of  contending  passions — 
jealousy,  indignation,  scorn,  joy,  loathing  of  her  past  love,  were 
uppermost  by  turns  ;  but  it  was  jealousy  that  recurred  oftenest  in 
the  lightning  play  of  impulse.  She  cquld  not  trust  herself  to  speak. 
She  gave  him  one  glance  of  ineffable  disdain,  and  swept  towards 
the  door.  The  painter  was  moving  to  open  it,  but  she  waved  him 
back  and  threw  it  open  with  a  superb  gesture  of  wounded  pride. 
She  stopped  suddenly  on  the  threshold,  arrested  by  a  singular 
sight  Sally,  black  as  the  devil  with  ink  and  soot,  was  dancing  an 
Irish  jig  in  a  corner  of  the  kitchen.  In  one  hand  she  balanced  a 
heavy  saucepan,  while  the  other  waved  a  greasv  ladle.  Pit  patter, 
pit  patter,  pit  pat,  pit  pat,  went  her  feet  on  the  floor  in  a  Bac- 
chantesque  ecstasy  of  furious  motion,  and  she  acccompanied  her- 

2  B  8 


I 


372  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

self  by  hoarse  whispers  of  **  he  loves  me,  he  loves  me,  he  loves 
true." 

Eh'za  passed  through  the  kitchen,  bestowing  a  vindictive  glan( 
upon  the  light-hearted  and  light-footed  drudge,  who  halted  on  one' 
leg  on  perceiving  herself  observed,  and  brought  the  other  gradually 
to  the  ground  with  the  air  of  one  who  is  performing  an  ordinary 
series  of  motions.    Then  she  stuck  out  her  tongue  and  grinned  in 
saucy  triumph. 

But  £liza*s  breast  was  in  too  great  a  tumtdt  to  be  much  moved 
by  these  insults.  To  one  who  had  just  gone  through  a  tense  scene 
of  passion,  they  were  infantile.  So,  carefully  avoiding  any  contact 
with  the  girl,  or  her  appurtenances,  she  glided  into  the  shop. 

''Two  twos  is  four,  three  'aypence  change.  Going  already, 
'Lizer  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dawe. 

*'  Yes,"  answered  Eliza  loudly.  '*  Never  more  will  my  foot  cross 
this  threshold." 

"  Good  gracious,  'Lizer !  No  I  'aven't  got  to  give  ye  twopence 
change,  *cos  ye  owes  me  'aypenny.  If  yer  memory's  short,  I 
don't  see  why  my  till  should  be.  What's  a-matter  with  you, 
•Lizer  ?     Got  the  sulks  ?  " 

By  this  time  the  customers  were  interested  in  what  seemed  the 
tit-bit  of  a  family  quarrel.  They  even  ceased  masticating  the 
material  morsels  for  a  moment. 

"  Ask  your  son,"  the  injured  girl  replied.  Then,  with  quivering 
lips  (for  what  it  cost  her  to  sacrifice  her  pride,  no  one  knew  but 
herselQ)  she  said  in  a  lower  tone,  though  still  distinctly :  ^  We 
have  parted  for  ever.     He  loves  another." 

Mrs.  Dawe  staggered,  and  all  but  dropped  a  plate.  When  she 
recovered  herself,  Eliza  was  gone.  Murmurs  of  "  Shame  ! "  arose 
from  the  assembly,  most  of  whom  knew  how  long  the  two  had  kept 
company.  Mrs.  Dawe  rushed  into  the  parlour  to  expostulate  with 
her  son,  leaving  the  customers  to  discuss  the  romantic  story  with 
ever-growing  interest,  as  new  perspectives  unrolled  themselves,  and 
new  points  of  view  appeared.  It  was  universally  agreed  that 
nothing  else  was  to  have  been  expected  from  such  a  man,  and 
that,  indeed,  they  had  all  said  so  on  various  occasions  to  other 
people  who  were  not  present  on  this.  By  the  next  afternoon  all 
Bethnal  Green  Road  knew  thfit  Jack  was  involved  in  a  low  intrigue 
with  some  girl,  who  had  insisted  on  his  getting  rid  of  the  clog  of 
Eliza,  and  that  by  a  blackguardly  course  of  treatment  he  bad  at 
last  succeeded  in  doing  sa 


i 


THE  HALL  OF  FURTATION  373 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  HALL  OF  FLIRTATION. 

Eliza  walked  quickly  to  the  bottom  of  the  road,  and  entered  the 
Bethnal  Green  Museum,  where  a  mechanical  contrivance  ticked 
her  off  as  one  of  the  East  End  toilers,  whose  leisure  was  ennobled 
by  its  treasures  of  Art  and  Science.  Here  she  found  a  young  man 
impatiently  walking  up  and  down  amid  the  cases  on  the  ground- 
floor.  The  vast  hall  was  almost  deserted.  A  little  flirtation  was 
going  on  in  comers,  and  the  spectacle  of  a  couple  in  earnest  colloquy 
attracted  no  attention. 

•'  Well ! *  exclaimed  the  young  man.    "  Is  it  over?" 

She  gave  him  one  pathetic  glance,  then  averted  her  eyes  and 
sank  down  into  a  seat  behind  an  exquisite  Indian  vase. 

Mowbray  hovered  over  her  uneasily. 

"  What  IS  it,  my  darling  ?  *'  he  whispered. 

The  girl  looked  up  with  piteous  reproachful  gaze. 

"  You  are  overcome,*'  he  said  anxiously.  "  Compose  yourself, 
Bess.    You  shall  tell  me  at  your  leisure.'* 

The  composing  took  a  long  time,  during  which  Mowbray,  sur- 
rounded as  he  was  by  masterpieces  of  art,  had  eyes  for  nothing  but 
the  beauties  of  nature.  His  companion  sat  as  silent  as  a  statue, 
and  might  have  been  taken  for  one,  did  not  the  members  of  that 
apathetic  race  habitually  appear  wholly  in  white,  or  in  an  exaggerated 
evening-dress  for  ladies.  She  wore  gloves,  too — a  barbarous  custom 
adopted  by  no  self-respecting  statue.  Of  one  of  these  gloves — 
with  its  contents — Mowbray  managed  to  possess  himself,  and  he 
caressed  it  as  though  it  were  his  own  moustache. 

**  I  am  better  now,  Lionel,"  the  girl  says  at  last.  "  Oh  I  it  was 
cruel  to  make  me  suffer  so.** 

''  Suffer  so  !  **  he  repeats  with  an  indignant  gesture. 

She  smiles  sadly. 

"  You  do  not  understand,"  she  says  in  a  low  tone.  **  I  loved 
him  once.' 

As  she  makes  the  confession  her  thick,  voluptuous  eyelashes 
fell  over  her  dark  eyes.    His  grasp  tightens  convulsively. 

^  But  you  love  him  no  longer } "  he  asks  in  passionate  tones. 
Her  head  droops.  She  is  silent.  "My  own  Bess,"  he  cries, 
*  what  change  is  this  ?    Would  you  had  never  met  again ! " 

His  grasp  hurts  her  now,  but  no  sound  of  pain  escapes  from  her 
lips. 

**  I  went  to*him — you  know  with  what  purpose ^ 

" Don't  say  you  have  repented,  Bess!" he  interrupts  pleadingly. 
You  carried  it  out,  did  you  not  ?" 
But  she  continues,  as  though  she  has  not  heard :  '^  I  found  him 


374  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

sitting  in  the  twilight  on  a  low  chair,  looking  so  pale  and  feeble, 
that  the  love  I  had  thought  killed  by  a  new  affection  revived.  My 
heart  grew  full  of  pity  and  self-reproach.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I 
was  about  to  blast  his  life.  He  was  buried  in  reverie,  and  for  a 
little  time  I  stood  still,  overpowered  by  emotion.  At  last  I  put  my 
hand  to  his  feverish  cheek — he  turned,  and,  at  the  look  of  joy  that 
lit  up  his  eyes,  mine  filled  with  tears.  He  caught  me  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  away  my  courage.'' 

The  listener  makes  a  passionate  movement,  but  she  goes  on : 
"  *  My  love,*  he  cried,  *  I  thought  you  had  left  me  for  ever  1  In  the 
gloaming,  oh,  my  darling,  I  have  been  thinking  of  you.'  At  these 
words  all  the  tender  memories  of  die  Past  overwhelmed  me.  I 
thought  of  all  our  happy  hours  together,  and  I  felt  myself 
yieldmg." 

"  But  you  did  not  yield,**  he  bursts  forth. 

For  the  first  time  she  raises  her  eyes  to  his,  and  in  them  is  the 
hght  of  love  which  banishes  all  his  akrm. 

"  No,  darling  "  she  says,  **  I  did  not  yield." 

He  bends  down  suddenlv,  and  presses  a  kiss  on  the  ¥rarm  lips. 
Only  the  quaint  figures  on  tne  Indian  vase  saw  the  action  ;  but  the 
rajahs,  and  the  Begums,  and  the  nabobs,  and  the  Nautch  girls  were 
used  to  the  sight. 

''Among  the  recollections  which  flooded  my  soul  were  the 
delicious  days  we  spent  at  Ramsgate.  But  unfortunately  for  Jack, 
with  the  thought  of^them  came  the  thought  oiyauJ* 

He  pats  the  gloved  hand  affectionately. 

"  Yes,  dearest,*'  he  murmurs.  "  Shall  I  ever  forget  the  day  I 
took  you  back  to  Ramsgate  ?    And  you  had  not  forgotten.** 

"  No,*'  she  answers  simply,  "  I  had  not  forgotten.  The  thought 
of  you  made  me  strong  again.  I  felt  that  though  I  loved  him  well, 
I  loved  you  better." 

He  would  have  folded  her  in  his  arms,  but  the  passing  of  a 
policeman  prevented  the  ecstatic  movement.  There  was  a  pause 
till  the  functionary  had  vanished 

"  And  have  you  entirely  broken  off  with  him  yet  ?  **  he  asks 
more  calmly.    "  I  do  not  want  you  to  meet  him  again." 

''  I  shall  never  meet  him  again.*' 

"  But  you  didn't  manage  to  make  him  back  out  of  it  ?"  he  says, 
with  a  recurrence  of  anxiety.  "  After  that  welcome  he  gave  you  1 
don't  see  how  you  could.  And,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  did  not 
expect  that  you  would.  It  isn't  so  easy  to  change  an  ardent  lover 
into  an  enemy  in  a  few  moments." 

The  girl  breaks  into  a  low  laugh  of  triumph.    "  I  did,  though  1** 

**  You  little  Machiavelli  I  **  he  cries.    "  I  must  tell  the  Captain." 

He  stops  suddenly. 

"Who  is  the  Captain?**  she  inquires  curiously. 

''An  old  friend  of  mine.  And  I  hope  he'll  be  my  best  man," 
he  adds.  "  When  he  sees  you,  and  hears  of  this,  he  will  confess 
tiiat  you  are  an  acquisition.    And  you  will  be  1  ** 


r"' 


THE  HALL  OF  FLIRTATION  375 

^  Is  he  in  tbe  army,  or  in  the  navy?" 

'*  A  military  man,  Bess,  who  has  often  smelt  i^unpowder." 

^  He  must  be  a  brave  man  ! "  she  exclaims  enthusiastically,  her 
dark  eyes  flashing.  ^  I  think  if  I  were  a  man  I  should  love 
danger." 

"  Bravo  ! "  he  cries.  "  You  shall  be  our  Queen — our  good 
Queen  Bess.  I  am  a  man,  but  I  confess  I  love  you  better  than  I 
love  danger.*' 

*'  But  you  are  brave,"  she  remonstrates.  "  You  do  not  shirk 
danger.  Do  I  not  remember  that  day?  Jack,  Mr.  Dawe^  had 
none  of  that  devil-may-care  heroism.  He  painted  signs  from 
morning  to  night,  and  never  fell  from  the  ladder  in  his  life." 

"  You  will  be  happier  without  him,"  he  says  sympathetically. 
^  But  tell  me  how  you  managed  to  make  him  cut  the  knot". 

*'  The  plan  was  simple." 

''Or  he  was,"  he  interrupts.  Trom  the  way  he  played  his 
cards,  I  should  have  expected  him  to  see  through  it,"  he  tnought 
**  Suppose  I  am  the  Premier." 

His  face  broadened  with  a  smile  of  admiration. 

*'  And  it  was  you  that  suggested  it." 

"  I  ?  The  only  plan  I  could  think  of  was  to  commence  a 
quarrel  somehow,  and  then  keep  cool  and  let  him  make  all  the 
running." 

*'  I  mean  the  thought  of  you,"  she  says  with  a  smile.  ''And  of 
our  first  meeting.  Alter  some  loving  conversation  I  turned  the  talk 
on  the  events  of  that  day.  As  I  have  always  told  you,  he  is  a  most 
passionate  and  obstinate  man,  and  he  cannot  bear  to  be  crossed. 
When  I  recalled  the  way  he  had  deserted  me,  and  said  in  an 
mjured  tone  that  he  owed  me  an  explanation,  he  grew  dumb  of  a 
sudden." 

Mowbray  hangs  eagerly  upon  her  words.  "  Did  you  make  him 
tell  you  anything  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  If  he  had,  I  should  not  have  known  what  to  do.  Remember- 
ing his  reluctance  to  be  questioned,  I  hoped  to  irritate  him,  and  I 
did." 

Mowbray  nods  his  head  in  approval  "  You  had  only  one  card, 
but  that  was  trumps." 

"  Seeing  that  he  did  not  answer,  I  gently  but  firmly  insisted  on 
knowing.  He  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  but  all  at  once  he  started 
up  with  a  face  whose  horrible  expression  I  shall  never  forget 
'Woman,*  he  cried  savagely,  'why  do  you  torture  me  thus?* 
'  Torture  you,  my  darling,'  I  said  reproachfully.  '  You  must  have 
a  good  deal  to  be  ashamed  of,  if  a  simple  question  tortures  you. 
It  is  your  conscience  that  tortures  you,  not  my  question.' 
'Hold  your  tongue,*  he  shouted, ' mind  your  own  business.'  '  It  is 
my  business,*  I  answered  indignantly.  'As  vour  future  wife,  I 
demand  to  know  this  dread  secret*  I  could  not  have  made  a  better 
remark ;  for,  as  he  did  not  know  what  to  reply,  he  lost  his  head  com- 
pletely.   '  My  wife  shall  only  know  what  I  choose  to  tell  her/  he 


37«     THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

fcreamedy  hoarse  with  passion.  '  And  if  that  doesn't  suit  you,  find 
a  husband  who  will  tdl  you  all  the  girls  he's  flirted  wiUi  in  his 
life.'" 

^  By  St  Patrick,  he's  a  trump  to  keep  a  secret ! "  mutters  the 
listener.  ''  If  he  were  only  a  little  less  virtuous,  what  a  good  fellow 
he  would  be." 

^  His  last  words  stung  me  in  spite  of  myself,"  continues  Eliza. 
^  'All  the  girls  he  has  flirted  with,'  I  exclaimed  bitterly.  'And  have 
you,  pray,  flirted  with  anybody  else  ?'  '  What  if  I  have ! '  he  shouted. 
*  Perhaps  you  still  flirt,'  I  said  coldly.  '  Perhaps  I  do,'  he  answered, 
which  I  knew  was  a  deliberate  lie.  I  uttered  a  shriek.  '  You  love 
another,'  I  cried,  and  stayed  to  hear  no  more.  On  my  way  out  I 
took  care  to  let  Mrs.  Dawe  know  that  her  son  loved  somebody  else. 
AH  the  customers  heard  the  statement  and  saw  me  leave  the  shop 
with  an  injured  mien,  so  that  there  will  be  no  lack  of  witnesses." 

The  delighted  admiration  of  Mowbray  can  no  longer  be  re- 
strained.   He  clasps  her  passionately  to  his  breast. 

^  You  little  Machiavelli ! "  he  repeats.  *'  And  you  say  he  is 
well  off?" 

'*  When  we  were  first  betrothed,  two  years  and  five  months  ago, 
he  had  a  couple  of  hundred  in  the  Moorfields  Bank,  I  know,"  m 
says. 

He  kisses  her  again.  ''Two  years  and  five  months  ago!" 
he  says  wiUi  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "  He  has  treated  you  shame- 
fully." 

An  expression  of  revengeful  hatred  flits  across  her  face.  "That's 
the  trick,"  he  cries,  smiling.  "  That  will  fetch  the  jury."  Elia 
looks  up,  half  indignant,  but  meeting  the  silken  monstache,  the 
bright  eyes,  and  the  white  teeth  of  her  smiling  lover,  the  cloud  on 
her  brow  gradually  dissipates.  **'Pon  my  word,  Bess!"  says 
Mowbray,  "  one  would  think  you  loved  him  stilL" 

"Not  after  what  he  said  to-day!"  she  cries  with  sadden 
intensity.    "  I  hate  him ! "  She  stamps  her  dainty  foot. 

"That's  right!"  he  says.  "He  shall  pay  dearly  for  his 
whistle." 

"  I  should  like  to  ruin  the  scoundrel,"  she  hisses  through  her 
clenched  teeth. 

"May  I  be  hanged,"  he  mutters,  "if  the  copybooks  aren't 
right  after  all.  Honesty  is  the  best  policy,  for  you  can  steal  more 
by  law  than  agaimt  it." 


THE  PAINTER  IS  DISOWNED  377 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  PAINTER  IS  DISOWNED. 

Jack  was  up  early  the  next  day,  and  never  did  day  open  with 
brighter  auguries.  He  awoke  with  an  indescribable  sensation  of 
exhilaration.  The  sun  was  shining  through  the  slightly-opened 
window  of  his  bedroom  in  the  intense  silence  of  early  morn,  and 
there  was  a  suggestion  of  freshness  and  purity  in  the  yet  cool 
atmosphere.  Moreover  he  had  gone  to  bed  early  and  had  slept 
soundly.  But  this  exhilaration  was  not  entirely  due  to  the  effects 
of  physical  causes  upon  a  sensitive  organisation.  A  mental  load 
haa  been  lifted  from  his  oppressed  soul.  Eliza,  his  mother  had 
reproachfully  told  him,  would  in  all  probability  come  to  see  him 
no  more. 

He  got  up  and  dressed,  feeling  almost  young  again.  Then  he 
walked  buoyantly  to  the  window  and  threw  it  open  to  its  fullest 
extent.  He  stood  there,  looking  up  dreamily  at  the  long  perspec- 
tive of  red  chimney-pots,  and  the  terraces  of  sunny  tiles. 

*'  Dear  God,  the  very  houses  seem  asleep, 
ADd  all  that  mighty  heart  is  lying  stiU." 

As  he  said  the  words,  a  delicious  calm  stole  upon  hintL  The 
evils  of  life  vanished  in  the  contemplation  of  the  eternal  silence.   His 

Suerulousness  of  the  day  before  recurred  to  his  memory  as  a 
isordered  dream,  or  as  the  fretfulness  of  a  feverish  child.  "  I  have 
found  peace  at  last,"  he  cried.  *' Henceforth,  I  will  repine  no 
more.  In  man's  life,  too,  there  should  be  a  central  calm  subsisting 
at  the  heart  of  endless  agitation." 

He  leant  on  the  window-sill,  and  abandoned  himself  to  the 
ecstasy  of  speculation,  till  the  air  began  to  be  obscured  by  the 
smoke  of  a  hundred  chimneys. 

*'  No,  it  is  not  a  fiction,''  he  cried  suddenly,  "  this  living  impulse 
of  faith,  this  influx  of  moral  strength  accompanied  by  an  inspired 

clearness  of  perception,  as    it  has   been  defined   by  ?"  he 

paused  to  search  his  memory.  Suddenly  he  struck  his  brow  with 
his  hand.  ^  It's  my  own  definition,"  he  cried.  *'  I  should  have 
osed  the  morning  for  writing." 

He  hurried  downstairs  into  the  parlour  and  took  up  his  M S.  His 
mother  and  Sally  were  up,  but  they  were  busy  in  the  kitchen  and 
did  not  disturb  him.  After  reading  what  he  had  already  done,  and 
making  only  a  few  verbal  alterations  in  it,  he  continued  his  paper. 
For  more  tiian  an  hour  he  wrote  steadily,  his  hand  firm,  his 
brain  clear,  and  his  heart  full  of  satisfaction. 

The  voice  of  the  drudge  recalled  him  from  bis  intellectual 
excursion. 


i 


378  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

^'Ere's  another  one  !"  it  cried.    "  With  all  the  letters  pointy 
like  Mother  Shipton's  nose.'' 

"  Put  it  down,  Sally/'  he  said,  without  looking  up.  '^  Was  not 
evolution  known  to  St  Paul  ?  " 

'*  Dunno,''  said  Sally.    '*  I'll  arx  missis." 

"There!  I  have  lost  the  thread  and  must  re-read  it.  Is  not 
Hegel's  intuitive  idea  of  evolution  nobler ?  " 

"  Shall  I  fry  ye  some  eggs,  master  ?" 

Jack  groaned  and  threw  down  the  pen.  "  Do  what  you  will 
with  me,"  he  cried  with  humorous  resignation.  Even  tJie  loss  of 
the  thread  could  not  depress  his  mercurial  spirits.  He  took  up  the 
letter,  looked  curiously  at  the  envelope  and  opened  it  Sally,  who 
watched  his  face,  saw  a  smile  appear  upon  it^  but  a  moment  after- 
wards he  turned  deadly  pale.  The  epistle,  which  was  from  Eliza, 
ran  as  follows : 

**  Dear  Jack, 

'*  I  write  you  these  few  lines,  hoping  to  find  you  in  good 
health,  as,  thank  God,  it  leaves  me  at  present  You  heartless 
scoundrel !  You  shall  not,  with  impunity,  play  with  a  girl's  heart 
For  almost  two  and  a  half  years  you  have  been  destroying  my 
vouth.  Again  and  again  you  have  postponed  the  ceremony  at  the 
hymeneal  altar,  and  only  lately  I  left  an  excellent  place  in  order  to 
prepare  for  our  union.  You  have  ruined  my  career  in  every  respect 
All  the  bright  hopes  of  my  life  are  faded  and  gone.  I  sit  mid  the 
ashes  and  mourn.  In  my  desolation  I  solace  myself  by  reading 
your  letters.  Oh  I  how  they  glow  with  the  fire  of  Love  for  your 
supple  Sacharissa,  your  voluptuous  Venus,  your  clinging  Cleopatra. 
And  the  poetry  is  so  beautiful — I  cry  over  it  Do  you  remember 
that  serenade  ? 

*  Everything  sleeps  but  the  stars,  love^ 
The  white  moon  and  me. 
Waken  thou,  too,  my  beloved, 
Moon  of  Love's  sea.' 

**  I  remain, 

**  Ever  your  Loving  Lass, 

•*  Eliza. 
**  P.S.— I  shall  claim  ;£2,ooo  damages." 

The  painter  ate  no  breakfast  that  morning.  The  theological 
article  lay  untouched  by  its  author.  The  delightful  sensation  of 
exhilaration  died  away.  He  stretched  himself  on  the  sofa  in  a 
state  of  utter  prostration  and  tried  to  think.  He  did  not  as  yet 
realise  all  the  horror  of  his  position.  He  simply  felt  that  his  peace 
of  mind  had  fied  once  more,  and  that  innumerable  anxieties  and 
embarrassments  loomed  vaguely  in  the  fog.  In  this  condition  he 
was  found  by  his  mother,  with  the  fatal  missive  crumpled  up  in  his 
hand. 


THE  PAINTER  IS  DISOWNED  379 

"  Whatf s  a-matter,  Jade  ? '  she  cried.  "  Y'ain't  took  bad  again 
I  hope.  It's  all  yer  own  fault,  xeadin'  and  writin*  all  day  long,  as 
if  ye  was  a  Boara  School." 

For  answer  he  opened  his  hand  and  displayed  the  letter. 

''  The  vagabond  1 "  she  ejaculated.  "  I  should  like  to  know  what 

'e  means  by  sendin'  in  'is  bill  already,  what, with  income  taxes  and 

Queen's  taxes  a-worritin'  me  into  the  grave,  not  as  I  could  ever 

understand  why  we  should  pay  the  Queen's  taxes  for  'er.    Just  you 

see  that  'e  ain't  been  puttin'  it  on  and ;" 

"  It  is  from  Eliza,  he  interrupted  feebly. 
^  From  'lizer !  I  thought  she'd  be  lettin'  ye  have  a  piece  of 
her  mind,  and  ye  deserve  it,  for  the  way  ye've  treated  that 
sweet,  good  girl,  is  enough  to  make  her  turn  in  her  grave,  and  so 
lovely  too.  Ye've  been  'umbugging  'er  about  for  years,  poor  thing. 
When  she  came  into  the  shop  last  night,  she  was  as  white  as  the 
best  flour,  it  made  my  'art  bleed  to  see  'er.  Take  my  word,  Jack, 
you  will  be  sorry  for  this." 

^'  I  am  sorry  I  ever  had  anything  to  do  with  her.  She  is  bring- 
ing an  action  against  me  for  breach  of  promise  of  marriage.  She 
claims  ;£2,ooo  damages." 

Mrs.  Dawe  staggered.  Her  breath  forsook  her.  She  turned 
^  as  white  as  the  best  flour."  There  was  a  moment  of  dread  silence 
in  which  the  beating  of  the  old  woman's  heart  was  Uie  only  sound 
to  be  heard. 

"  j^2,ooo  damages  ! "  she  shrieked.  "  The  hungrateful  thief, 
the  highway  robber,  the  hextravagant  hussy.  So  that's  how  ye 
gets  yer  gloves,  and  parasols,  and  fallals,  ye  howdacious  pick- 
pocket 1  Did  yer  think  I  didn't  know  yer  character  all  along, 
settin'  up  for  a  ladv  ?  As  if  yer  could  deceive  the  old  woman,  ye 
sly,  ugly,  httle  cat'' 

^  My  dear  Mrs.  Dawe,"  said  Jack,  rising  up  in  excitement,  and 
striving  to  stem  the  torrent ;  ''  you  don't  do  her  justice,  indeed  you 
don't" 

'*  I  wish  I  could— she'd  be  breakin'  stones  at  Portland  in  a  week's 
time.    She's  no  better  than  a  common  thief." 

"  Nonsense  I "  cried  Jack  sharply.  "  She  is  a  highly  respect- 
able girL" 

Mrs.  Dawe  burst  ilito  tears.  '*  Sally  ! "  she  shrieked  in  agonised 
accents  :  '*  Is  there  no  one  in  the  world  to  stand  by  me  ?  'Ere's 
my  own  son  tumin'  agen  me — and  takin'  the  part  of  a  'ighway  robber 
— as  I  nussed  in  the  small-pox  and  the  brain-fever.  Oh  my  dear  late 
'usband,  why  did  ye  leave  yer  poor  lone  widder  ?" 

Jack  sprang  from  the  sofa  in  bewilderment.  The  vagaries  of  his 
mother  irritated  even  the  usually  mild  painter.  Despite  his  late 
experiences,  she  was  still  to  him  une  femme  incomprise,  "  For 
Heaven's  sake  be  logical,"  he  cried.  '^  It  she  thinks  herself  injured, 
as  I  confess  she  has  reason  to  do,  she  has  every  right  to  seek 
compensation." 

Mrs.  Dawe  uttered  a  groan,  and  seizing  the  lid  of  a  saucepan. 


38o  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

she  hurled  it  at  the  unfortunate  Sallv  who  had  come  at  her  cafl. 
"Madman!"  she  cried,  "why  ye'd  'ang  yerself  if  ye  *ad  the 
chance.  Perhaps  ye^ll  go  into  Court  and  tell  a  bnshdL  of  lies  to 
ruin  me.  Yes,  that's  it.  Ye're  in  a  plot  with  her  to  rob  me,  thats 
what  ye're  after,  ye  good-for-nothing  vagabond,  and  then  yeil 
fly  to  America  and  enjo^  the  damages  together.  But  Til  stop  yer 
little  game.  Til  let  the  jury  know  the  truth.  '£  never  was  engag«l 
to  'er  at  all,  yer  'ighness.  'E  never  was  a-courtin*  'er  at  all,  yer 
ludship.  It  was'er  as  was  a-courtin'  him  the  'ole  time,  yer  wusship, 
and  ye  ought  to  make  her  pay  the  damages  for  desertin'  'im,  yer 
honours.  '£  never  injured  'er  at  all,  yer  'ighness,  and  even  if  'e 
did,  'e  didn't  do  more  than  twopennorth  of  damages.  Wh^  even 
if  *e  broke  'er  'art,  is  any  woman's  'art,  yer  ludship,  worth  ^2,000? 
Is  it  a  'art  of  gold,  my  luds  and  gentlemen  ;  is  it  a  'art  that  can't  be 
replaced  under  £1^000  ?  The  Salvation  Army'U  give  'er  a  new  'art 
for  nothin' ;  and,  besides,  she  never  had  none  to  break.  And  if  ye 
mend  'ers,  yer  wusships,  ye  breaks  mine,  so  where's  the  justice, 
my  luds,  where's  the  justice  ?" 

**  There  does  seem  to  be  something  in  Galton's  doctrine  of 
hereditaiy  genius,"  murmured  Jack,  overcome  by  this  long  harangue. 
^  But  while  the  son  has  the  gift  of  Parliamentary  eloquence,  the 
mother  has  forensic  ability  of  a  still  higher  order.  That  defence  of 
hers  is  surely  an  epitome  of  much  special  pleading.  Whatever  you 
may  tell  the  jury,"  he  said  aloud,  ''you  will  gain  nothing  by 
defaming  an  innocent  girl,  you  will  only  make  the  damages 
heavier." 

''  An  innocent  girl !  Why  she  ain't  fit  to  come  into  a  decent 
'ouse,"  she  interrupted.  "Ye  must  marry  'er.  Jack,"  she  cried, 
whilst  the  big  round  tears  ran  down  her  smutty  face. 

''  That  is  impossible  ! " 

"'Ow  can  it  be  impossible  ?  There^s  you,  ain't  ye  ?  There's 
'Lizer,  ain't  there  ?  There's  a  Register  to  marry  ye,  ain't  there? 
Then  what  are  ye  talkin'  about?  And  where  ye  could  get  a 
'andsomer  gal,  or  a  sweet-tempereder,  I'm  sture  I  don't  kaow. 
Don't  tell  me  ye  loves  another.  No  man  ever  loves  another! 
Did  I  ever  marry  again  ?  Though  I'm  sure  I  could  'a  had  offers  as 
thick  as  pea-soup.  Ye  know  ye  was  dead  nuts  on  'er,  and  ready 
to  kiss  the  boot  she  walked  on." 

"  I  will  never  marry  her,"  he  said. 

There  was  the  old  obstinacy  in  his  tone  that  Mrs.  Dawe  knew 
so  well.  In  her  own  phraseology  you  might  just  as  well  knock 
your  head  against  a  bnck  wall,  unless  it  was  in  a  new  villa,  as  try 
to  make  him  say  yes  when  he  had  said  no,  or  no  when  he  had 
said  yes. 

"  Then  I'm  done  for  I "  she  cried  distractedly.  **  I  can't  go 
bankrupt  (I  never  'ad  no  'ead  for  figures),  and  I'll  be  ruin^ 
What's  to  be  done  1    Oh,  what's  to  be  done  ! " 

She  wrung  her  hands.    Jack  made  a  gesture  of  helplessness. 

^  How  should  I  know!  I  have  never  been  summoned  before' 
he  said. 


r 


THE  PAINTER  IS  DISOWNED  381 

•*  i>on't  tdl  lies,  Jack !  *  she  observed  reproachfully.  *•  If  yc'vc 
jfor^^otten  the  five  bob  ye  'ad  to  pay  for  overtumin'  the  old  apple- 
woman's  stall  with  yer  bicycle,  I  'aven't,  and  I  never  shall.  It's 
lucky  I  didn't  get*  a  lawyer,  for,  as  m^  late  |usband  said,  a  woman 
should  beware  of  a  lawyer,  except  'is  intentions  is  'onourable,  and 
then  he^s  a  good  match  ;  and  if  thaf  s  what  they  charge  for  a  dozen 
apples  as  skinny  as  'erself,  I  can  understand  them  chargin'  two 
thousand  quid  for  a  woman's  'art" 

^'  You  have  suggested  the  right  course.  I  must  have  a  lawyer. 
Everybody  does,  and  the  common  customs  of  mankind  point  on 
the  principle  of  utilitarianism  to  a  long-tested  usefulness." 

'*  Jack,"  said  Mrs.  Dawe  sternly,  "  ye  may  talk  big  words  to 
the  public,  but  pray  remember  as  I  knowed  ye  from  a  baby.  With 
that  tongue  o'  yourn,  I  don't  see  why  ye  shouldn't  be  yer  own 
lawyer,  and  save  a  little  from  the  wreck,  any'ow.  Ye  oughtn't  to^ 
care  a  rap  for  the  law,  and  never  be  locked  up,  like  a  M.P." 

''  Kven  an  M.P.  may  be  summoned  before  the  dread  majesty  of 
the  law,"  he  observed  grimly. 

"  Ye're  a-contradictin'  yerself !  Why  didn't  ye  alius  use  to 
say, '  M.P.'s  'ave  to  make  the  laws,  not  to  keep  'em.'  I  should  like 
to  see  myself  orderin'  myself  about  But  /ain't  goin'  to  get  out  of 
it  by  talkin'  about  M.P.'s.  '  A  lawyer  is  a  luxury,'  yer  late  father 
used  to  say,  and  honest  folk  can't  afford  it.  The  worse  yer  con- 
science is,  the  better  lawyer  ye  want." 

**And  as  my  conscience  is  very  bad—"  he  murmured 
feebly. 

<•  Ye've  got  no  chance*  and  it  'ud  only  be  throwin'  good  money 
arter  bad,"  she  retorted. 

He  made  a  gesture  of  weariness,  and  threw  himself  on  the  sofa 
agsun. 

**Wait,"  he  said.  ''Perhaps  it  is  only  a  threat.  The  worst 
evils  of  life  are  those  that  never  come." 

"  Those  that  never  come  I "  she  repeated^  staring  at  him.  "  Ye 
mean  diose  that  never  go.  You  make  no  mistake,  my  son.  'Lizer 
is  a  girl  as  obstinate  as  yerself.  If  'Lizer  says  she'll  damage  ye 
for  breach  o'  promise,  damaged  ye  is ;  and  if  'Lizer  says  she'll 
marry  ye,  consider  it  done." 

Flushed  with  indignation,  as  well  as  the  heat  of  ar^ment,  she 
flustered  out  of  the  room  to  attend  to  a  customer,  leaving  Jack  to 
meditate  upon  the  latter  hypothetical  case. 

The  customer  in  question  was  not  of  the  type  that  affected  the 
dingy  eating-house,  being  a  dapper  little  swell  in  a  light  tweed  suit 
Nor  was  the  time  of  day — too  early  for  dinner,  and  too  late  for 
breakfast — that  selected  by  the  devotees.  Still  it  was  possible  that 
the  stranger  had  come  for  a  snack  between  meals.  Mrs.  Dawe, 
feeling  very  upset  and  hysterical,  furtively  wiped  her  eyes  with  the 
comer  of  her  greasy  apron,  and  looked  inquiringly  at  the  stranger, 
with  that  air,  peculiar  to  shopkeepers,  of  holding  in  with  difficulty 
an  ardent  desire  to  fly  all  over  the  establishment 


582  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

^  Good-morning,  ma'am,"  said  the  swell  politely.  "  Have  I  the 
honour  of  speaking  to  Mrs.  Dawe  ?" 

"  Ye  'ave,**  said  Mrs.  Dawe.    **  What  can  I  serve  ye  with  ?  ** 

"  It  is  mine  to  serve,"  returned  the  swell,  smiling.  '^  I  am  your 
slave,  madam.** 

At  these  enigmatic  words  Mrs.  Dawe*s  heart  began  to  flutter. 
It  could  not  be  a  declaration  of  love,  she  felt  that  her  affection  for 
her  late  husband  precluded  that  possibility.  But  then,  what  meant 
those  gallant  words  ? 

"  Will  you  kindly  ask  your  son  to  step  in  here?**  he  continued. 

*'  What  d'yer  want  of  him  ?  Ye  can  talk  to  me,  can't  yer  ?  I 
don't  allow  'im  to  interfere  in  my  private  affairs." 

"  Quite  right ! "  said  the  swell  cheerfully.  **  But  this  isnt 
private.    Your  son  is  in,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"  Well,  you've  got  a  lot  of  sense,  ain't  ye  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Dawi 
angrily.    ''  D'yer  suppose  a  man  as  'as  just  come  out  of  small-po: 
and  brain-fever  by  the  skin  of  'is  teeth  can  walk  about  like  you, 
never  'ad  a  face  worth  sp'ilin',  nor  a  brain  worth  feverin'  ?  Voug! 
to  be  ashamed  o'  yerself  arxing  sich  questions  !  " 

^  Then  I  wish  to  speak  to  Mr.  Dawe,"  said  the  swell,  raisi 
his  voice. 

**  I  ham  Mr.  Dawe,"  she  cried.    "  And  worth  two  of  'im  any  dayJ 

At  this  moment,  Jack,  who  had  overheard  the  conversati 
appeared  at  the  kitchen  door.     He  darted  an  anxious  look  at 
stranger,  but,   failing   to   recognise   him,   his   face   resumed  i 
expression  of  vague  worry.    The  swell  quickly  drew  a  documc 
iiom  an  inner  breast  pocket,  and  made  a  dash  towards  the  paint 
But  Mrs.  Dawe,  rushing  round  the  edge  of  the  coimter,  intercepti 
him,  and  interposed  her  bulky  form  between  the  intruder  a 
his  prey. 

**  No,  yer  don't,"  she  cried,  panting  heavily,  with  her  hand 
her  heart  *'  Y'ain't  goin'  to  break  into  a  honest  woman's  'a 
like  that     My  son  ain't  in '* 

"  Nonsense !    That  is  your  son.    You  said  he  couldn't  go  o 
through  illness." 

*'  Nothing  o*  the  sort  I  arxed  ye  if  ye  thought  he  could  walk 
about  like  you  ?  Ye  wouldn't  think  it  but  'e  can.  D'yer  expect 
man  as  'as  'is  bread  to  earn  can  afford  to  lay  up  like  you  ?  Y'ouglit 
to  know  better." 

'*  I  know  better  than  to  believe  you,"  he  muttered.  ^  I  speak 
to  Mr.  Dawe,  do  I  not  ? "  he  said,  craning  his  head  over  the  old 
lady's  shoulder.    The  painter  hesitated. 

*'  Don't  y'  answer,  Jack,"  she  cried  magisterially,  rising  on  tip- 
toe to  intercept  the  stranger's  view  of  her  son. 

With  a  smile  of  triumph,  the  stranger  slipped  the  paper  througlii 
the  arch  of  Mrs.  Dawe's  right  arm.  Jack,  overcome  by  the  rush 
with  which  the  swell  carried  the  position,  accepted  it  passively ;  and 
before  his  mother  could  turn  round,  the  document  was  in  his  hand 
and  the  deliverer  thereof  gone; 


r 


A  COOL  TWO  THOUSAND  383 


••Ye  unilateral  villain  I"  she  shrieked,  staggering  against  the 
counter.  "  Ye're  no  son  o'  mine.  I  disowns  yen  Get  out  o'  my 
'ouse  or  I'll  brain  yer ! " 

Sbe  seized  a  frying-pan  and  flourished  it  frantically.  The 
painter  took  his  hat  meekly  and  tottered  into  the  street. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  COOL  TWO  THOUSAND. 


Peoplb  Stared  at  the  strange  figure  walking  feebly  along  the 
Bethnal  Green  Road,  absorbed  in  the  perusal  of  a  double  sheet  of 
paper,  folio  size,  the  outside  of  which,  carelessly  displayed  by  the 
unconscious  reader,  bore  the  insignia, 


QUEEN'S  BENCH  DIVISION. 
Bathbrill 
— V — 
Dawe. 


sntft  of  2ttmmon0« 

and  the  inside  of  which  informed  him  that  VICTORIA,  by  the 
Grace  of  God,  of  the  United  Kingdom  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland, 
Queen,  Defender  of  the  Faith,  commanded  him  to  cause  an 
Appearance  to  be  entered  for  him  in  an  Action  at  the  suit  of 
Elizabeth  Bathbrill,  within  eight  days  after  the  service  of  the  Writ 
upon  him.  He  was  also  bidden  take  notice  that  in  default  of  his 
so  doing,  the  Plaintiff  might  proceed  therein,  and  judgment  might 
be  given  in  his  absence. 

Such  of  the  passers-by  as  knew  him  of  old  hardly  recognised 
him.  To  them,  as  to  Eliza,  he  seemed  the  shadow  of  his  former 
sell  His  head  was  almost  bald,  and  his  light  sombrero  sank  down 
over  his  eyes.  His  eyes  alone  retained  their  brightness,  offering 
a  startling  contrast  to  the  deadness  of  the  rest  of  his  countenance. 
He  wore  his  white  work-a-day  coat,  smeared  with  red  and  blue 
stains,  and  his  feet  were  clad  m  gaily-embroidered  slippers.    His 


384  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

acquaintances  turned  aside  from  him  as  from  a  being  of  aaotber 
world  ;  some,  who  were  willing  to  forgive  the  cut  direct  with  whidi 
he  had  lately  treated  them,  would  have  spoken,  but  an  unaccount- 
able repulsion  from  this  ghastly,  muttenng  form  froze  the  words 
on  their  lips. 

Half-way  up  the  road  he  came  to  a  standstill,  at  the  comer  of 
a  street  "How  can  I  engage  a  lawyer,"  he  cried,  ** when  the  girl 
is  right?  Surely  I  ought  rather  to  engage  one  for  the  plaintiff." 
This  revolting  heresy,  which  if  it  were  to  spread  would  soon  cause 
Justice  to  disappear  from  the  earth,  was  no  whimsical  play  of  fancy, 
and  he  paused  to  consider  it 

Opposite  to  him  was  a  waistcoatless  man  leaning  against  a 
post,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  an  extinguished  clay  pipe 
m  his  mouth.  The  unconscious  force  of  example  induced  Jack  to 
adopt  a  similar  posture,  and  the  two  men  stood  at  their  posts  like 
sentries  guarding  the  entrance  to  the  dingy  defile. 

For  some  time  each  was  silent,  immersed  in  his  own  reflections. 
At  last  the  bare -chested  idler  looked  up  and  perceived  the 
slippered  lounger.  The  affinity  of  vagabondage  drew  their  eyes 
together. 

"  Got  a  light,  mate?"  inquired  the  man. 

Jack  thanked  him  with  a  glance  for  the  sympathetic  remark. 
''Only  a  feeble  glimmer,"  he  replied.  "And,  like  the  dying 
Goethe,  I  crave  for  more.  Unfortunately,  you  cannot  tell  me  what 
to  do." 

"  Can't  I  r '*  replied  the  man  with  a  stare. 

"You  do  not  know  the  circumstances,"  he  continued  sadly,  "so 
you  certainly  can't  tell  me  what  I  ought  to  do." 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  the  circumstances,"  answered  the  man, 
with  good-humoured  tolerance^  "  but  the  fust  thing  ye've  got  to  do 
is  to  chuck  over  the  bloomin'  match." 

It  was  now  Jack's  turn  to  stare.  He  left  his  post  and  went  over 
to  his  fellow-fain^nt 

•*  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  said.    "  How  do  you  know  my  affairs  ?  " 

The  man  winked  mysteriously  to  himself  as  if  to  apprise  him- 
self that  he  was  going  to  have  some  fun. 

"  Arx  no  questions,  and  ye'll  hear  no  lies,"  he  responded  with 
a  chuckle. 

There  was  a  sense  of  power  in  the  quiet  chuckle  that  made  Jack 
uneasy.  The  man  with  his  hairy  breast  seemed  to  have  grown 
strange  in  the  sunlight,  and  his  smokeless  pipe  to  be  charged  with 
the  secret  things  of  destiny. 

"  I  have  already  taken  your  advice,"  said  the  painter.  "  I  have 
thrown  over  the  match — ^not  blooming  now,  as  you  metaphorically 
express  it,  but  withered  and  leafless— and  now  my  perplexities  have 
only  increased." 

^  Off  his  chump  ! "  muttered  the  man.  "  Ye  must  'amour  them 
beggars." 

"  Never  mind,  mate  ! "  he  said  cheerfully.  *  A  pint  o*  bitterll 
put  ye  right" 


r 


A  COOL  TIVO  THOUSAND  3^5 


Jack  made  a  gesture  of  disgust  ''  Retro  Horati ! "  he  cried,  and 
walked  on  quickfy. 

*'  Could  ne  have  known  ?"  he  reflected.  ''Was  it  not  rather  a 
deduction  from  my  manifest  trouble,  that  I  was  involved  in  some 
distressing  affair,  and  not  improbably  one  connected  with  love  ? 
Yet  there  was  an  air  of  sincerity  in  the  man,  and  it  is  regrettable  that 
he  has  embraced  the  principles  of  Horace.  To  whom  can  I  now 
look  for  light  ?  My  own  conscience  is  the  only  oracle,  and  it  tells 
me  that  the  responsibility  for  all  this  suffering  is  mine,  and  mine 
only.  And  as  far  as  possible  I  ought  to  remedy  it  without  calling 
on  anybody  else.  And  if  one  of  the  victims  can  be  solaced  by 
money,  I  ought  to  be  grateful  for  the  opportunity  of  plastering  her 
wounds  with  bank-notes.  Would  to  God  all  tiie  other  wounds 
could  be  healed  as  easily.  But  do  I  say  easily  ?  I  foresee  some 
difficulty  in  getting  the  Ji^2,ooo,  but  I  shall  manage  it  if  she  will 
only  wait  a  little,  and  1  sincerely  trust  it  will  bring  her  more 
happiness  than  it  would  have  brought  me."  Arriving  at  this 
determination  and  the  post  office  simultaneously,  he  turned  into 
the  latter  to  carry  out  the  former. 

He  took  a  tdegraph  form  and  began  to  write  upon  it  with  an 
unsteady  pen. 

Miss  Eliza  Bathbrill, 

1 1,  Beech  Street,  Old  Ford. 
"  Stop  proceedings  at  once * 

He  paused.  '^  Man  is  at  once  the  cunningest  of  knaves  and 
die  most  credulous  of  fools,"  he  cried.  '*  He  perpetually  deceives 
himself,  yet  never  learns  to  distrust  himself.  Did  L  not  persuade 
myself  a  moment  ago  that  I  was  acting  from  a  pure  sense  of  justice, 
diough  my  real  motive  now  reveals  itself  as  an  invincible  re- 
pugnance to  publicity?"  A  shudder  traversed  his  frame,  and  he 
went  on  writing. 

''You  shall  receive  the  £2^00  when  Parliament  dissolves, 
at  latest  Jack  Dawe."  He  handed  it  to  the  clerk,  who 
read  it,  looked  curiously  at  the  sender,  and  whispered  something 
to  one  of  his  fellows,  who  passed  the  whisper  on  till  the  eyes  of  all 
the  employes  were  bent  upon  the  painter  with  amused  pity. 

"  He's  got  Parliament  and  Politics  on  the  brain,"  whispered 
one. 

''He's  always  ordering  things  in  a  hurry,"  smilingly  replied 
another.  "Abandon  Irish  Policy  at  once—stop  proceedings  at 
once— I  wonder  what  the  next  message  will  be.*' 

''How  long  has  he  been  like  that  ?"  inquired  the  first 

"You  are  a  Rip  Van  Winkle,  Johnny.  I  thought  all  the  world 
knew  all  about  it.  He  used  to  be  a  decent  sort  of  chap  till  lately, 
full  of  life  and  fun — a  sort  of  pal  of  my  brother  Tom  ;  they  used 
to  bike  together,  don't  you  know  ?  but  the  first  thing  that  ruined 
hun  was  getting  engaged  to  this  Eliza  Bathbrill  (and  it's  as  plain  as 

8  C 


I 


386  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

a  pikestaflF  that  there's  a  breach  of  promise  on — didn't  you  see  the 
writ  in  his  hand  ? )  At  first  he  was  clean  gone  on  her  (you  could 
see  with  half  an  eye  it  was  too  good  to  last),  and  dien  he  cooled  a 
bit  and  tried  to  back  out  and  he  couldn't,  and  he  went  in  for  politics 
ten  times  worse  than  before,  but  it  was  no  go.  He  was  as  miser- 
able as  ever,  and  at  last  he  took  to  drink,  and  it  gained  upon  him 
so  much  that  after  a  bit  he  chucked  up  work  altogether — ain't  you 
jealous,  Johnny  ?~and  boozed  all  day  long.  H^s  lost  all  his  old 
customers— lucky  for  him  the  old  woman  don't  know  it  or  there'd  be 
the  devil  to  pay.  The  scamp  used  to  go  out  with  his  paint-pots  in 
the  morning,  leave  'em  somewhere  all  day,  go  on  the  spree,  or  moon 
about ;  and  I  wasn't  a  bit  surprised  the  other  day  that  he  had  been 
laid  up  with  D.T.  And  now  the  ^rl  is  bringing  an  action  against 
him  and  serve  him  right,  though  it's  a  dam  cheek  of  her  to  ask  for 
£2poo.  And  mind  you  the  vagabond  offers  her  it,  though  if  he's 
got  ;^2oo  I'm  a  Dutchman.     And  what  the    devil    Ae  money 

can  have  to  do  with  the  Dissolution  of  Parliament ^ 

'*  Confound  it,  sir !  Am  I  to  wait  all  day  for  that  post  office 
order?"  growled  a  choleric  old  gentleman  who  had  written  a 
pamphlet  on  Liberal  Organisation  in  Bethnal  Green.  "The  in- 
capacity and  imbecility  of  these  Government  officials  is  something 
astounding.  That's  what  comes  of  having  a  Tory  like  Floppington 
in  power  1 " 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  HOMELESS  PAINTER. 

With  a  lighter  heart  the  notorious  lounger  in  the  embroidered 
slippers  began  to  retrace  his  steps.  Temporarily  free  from  the  in- 
cubus of  the  lawsuit,  his  thoughts  turned  again  to  his  almost 
finished  article.  He  remembered  with  pleasure  the  progress  he 
had  made  that  morning  and  he  promised  himself  that  he  would 
work  steadily  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  the  prospect  filled 
his  soul  with  a  calm  delight.  He  even  began  to  feel  hungry, 
which  reminded  him  that  he  had  eaten  no  breakfast  In  this  in- 
ternal condition,  the  fleshless  cheeks  and  trembling  paim  of  an  un- 
picturesque  beggar-woman  who  held  up  three  boxes  of  "  lucifers," 
appealed  more  intensely  to  him. 

"  Four  a  penny,"  she  chanted  in  hoarse,  cracked  tones. 

"Your  stock  is  very  small,"  he  observed,  fumbling  in  his 
pocket. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  pleaded  the  woman,  "  I  ain't  'ad  a  bit  o'  bread  for 
three  days,  and  five  famishing  little  'uns,  and  a  widow." 

**  Well,  I  will  purchase  all  your  stock." 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  HOMELESS  PAINTER    3S7 

The  woman  looked  up  aflfrighted.  "  For  the  love  of  God,  sir,** 
she  cried,  "don't  rob  me  ! " 

"^ob  youl **  he  said,  startled.  "Why,  here's  half-a-crown  for 
tbem." 

"  God  bless  you,  sir,  and  your  children,  and  may  you  never  come 
to  want.  But,  please,  sir,  only  take  two,  'cos  the  bobby  11  drag  me 
afore  the  magestrate  for  beggin' !  and  my  'usband's  doin'  two 
months  already." 

"  Oh  I "  exclaimed  the  astonished  painter.  *'  Then  these  matches 
are  only  for  show  j  Do  you  know,  my  good  woman,  you  strongly 
remind  me  of  those  sceptical  philosophers  who,  under  cover  of 
arguments,  cunningly  beg  the  question  ?  And  you  are  asking  me 
to  help  you  to  evade  the  law." 

The  woman  clutched  hold  of  his  sleeve.  "  Don't,  sir  1 "  she 
gasped.  **  Don't  give  me  in  charge  1  Oh,  my  poor,  starvin' 
children  !  'ouseless  and  'omeless  'cos  1  can't  pay  the  rent" 

Jack  shook  her  off  gently.  "  Have  no  fear,"  he  said,  taking 
one  box.  ''  There  is  no  law  to  prevent  me  paying  more  than 
the  market  price."  And  he  left  her  croaking  frantic  expressions 
of  gratitude. 

But  no  sooner  had  he  done  so  than  his  conscience  smote  him. 
"  Despite  my  quibble  "  he  thought,  "  have  I  not  made  myself  the 
accomplice  of  dishonesty  ?  And  even  if  I  had  given  the  half- 
crown  in  charity,  of  what  avail  the  pecuniary  gift  ?  Do  I  not  know 
^e  theories  of  philanthropists  as  to  how  real  help  should  be  given  ? 
And  what  of  real  help  have  I  ever  given  in  Bethnal  Green  ?  Spasm 
in  benevolence  is  of  no  more  value  than  spasm  in  poetry ;  and  when 
has  my  interference  been  other  than  spasmodic?  I  thought  to 
play  Providence,  but  Providence  has  played  with  me.  Wherever  I 
wished  to  help,  there  have  I  brought  misery ;  and  what  opportunities 
of  non-injurious  beneficence  I  have  had,  I  have  dreamed  away. 
Great  God !  why  didst  Thou  not  show  all  this  ignoble  suffering  to 
one  whom  it  would  have  inspired  to  noble  action  ?"  He  turned 
back  with  the  determination  of  interesting  himself  thoroughly  in 
the  case  of  the  poor  widow  and  her  five  famishing  children,  and 
just  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  ragged,  stooping  back,  vanishing 
through  the  swinging-doors  of  a  public-house.  He  made  a  gesture 
of  horror  and  despair,  took  a  few  hesitating  steps  forwards  and 
came  to  a  standstill  After  a  moment  he  walked  up  to  the  public- 
house  and  pushed  the  door  open ;  then  giving  one  glance  at  the 
half-filled  bar  with  its  frowsy  denizens  and  its  sloppy  counter,  he  let 
the  door  fall  to. 

*'  I  cannot,  oh,  I  cannot ! "  he  murmured,  shrinking  in  physical 
and  mental  disgust.  **  Honour  to  the  men  and  women  who  work 
amid  such  grossness.  Why  do  we  not  ennoble  these  men  whom 
their  deeds  ennoble?  In  vain  I  would  emulate  their  zeal,  I,  who 
can  never  be  more  than  a  philanthropist  in  kid  gloves.  I  could 
hdp  honest  poverty,  but  with  poverty  that  is  vicious  and  cunning 
how  could  I  deal  ?    '  Houseless  ana  homeless '  she  said  she  was 

2  c  a 


388  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

and  yet  she  spends  her  money  on  drink.  HousdeiSy  and 
homeless  ! " 

The  repetition  of  the  words  suddenly  diverted  his  thoughts 
from  the  recent  incident  and  from  the  prospective  exposition  of 
the  spiritud  principle  in  man,  and  resuscitated  the  vision  of  a 
globular  face  full  of  passion  and  perspiration  set  with  angry  blade 
beads,  the  swishing  of  a  wildly-working  frying-pan,  and  the  voci- 
ferations of  a  woman's  lungs  disowning  her  only  kith  and  kin. 

*'  It  is  I  that  am  houseless  and  homeless  !"  he  thought  "I 
am  forbidden  the  house,  and  I  was  thoughtlessly  returning  to  the 
lion's  den.  Well,  there's  an  end  of  it  I  am  done  with  my  mother 
(and  bride  too)  rather  sooner  than  I  expected,  and  from  no  attempt 
of  mine.  Whitlier  shall  I  go  now  ?  Anywhere,  sooner  than  to  that 
dreadful  shop.  I  could  sooner  bear  the  jeers  of  the  Parnellites,  the 
scorn  of  the  Reviews,  the  anger  of  a  riotous  mob  than  the  excori- 
ating criticisms  of  her  cutting  tongue  which  I  wince  under  and — 
cruel  paradox — ^feel  to  be  equally  merited  amd  unmerited.  But  I 
am  a  free  man  once  more,  and  fate  can  have  little  further  in  store 
for  me.    She  must  have  emptied  her  quiver." 

He  drew  a  sigh  of  relief  and  looked  up  at  the  blue  sky  in  that 
transitory  ecstasy  to  which  he  was  peculiarly  susceptible.  In  the 
midst  of  this  exaltation  of  spirit  the  remembrance  of  the  beggar- 
woman  obtruded  itself  upon  his  consciousness,  and  he  felt  a  strong 
rush  of  active  impulse  conquering  the  aversion  of  his  delicate 
sensitiveness.  He  threw  open  the  public-house  door  and  entered 
boldly. 

*'  Yer  right,  old  man,"  the  cracked  voice  of  the  chanting  match- 
seller  was  saying  to  a  slim  potman  in  his  shirt-sleeves.  ^  I  am  in 
luck's  way  for  I  met  a  cracked  painter  chap — leastwise,  he  looked 
sich — and  he  giv'  me  'arf-a-crown  for  a  box  o'  lights." 

''She  makes  me  the  personification  of  luck,"  he  thought 
bitterly. 

The  female — as  her  biographers  used  to  call  her — was  raising 
the  half-emptied  tumbler  of  Irish  cold  to  her  withered  lips  with  the 
easy  enjoyment  of  the  connoisseur,  when  a  curious  expression  on 
^e  potman's  face  made  her  turn  her  head  in  the  direction  of  the 
new  comer.  At  the  sight  of  Jack's  benevolently-beaming  counte- 
nance she  uttered  a  cry,  and  the  whisky  fell  from  her  hand  and 
mingled  with  the  heterogeneous  beverage  that  moistened  ^e 
counter.  He  had  followed  her,  the  spy,  the  detective  in  plain 
clothes  who  lured  poor  women  on  to  their  ruin.  Before  he  could 
say  a  word,  she  brushed  past  him  and  darted  into  the  street  At 
the  same  moment  a  man,  who  had  been  imbibing  the  ale  recom- 
mended by  the  lounging  disciple  of  Horace — probably  on  the 
homceopathic  principle  of  combating  bitter  with  bitter — set  down 
his  unexhausted  tankard  hastily,  and,  drawing  his  hat  over  his  eyes 
and  mopping  his  (iery-blushing  countenance  with  a  moral  pocket- 
handkerchief,  endeavoured  to  shufHe  out  on  the  traces  of  the 
female.    Nor  were  these  the  only  dfects  of  the  painter's  entry—* 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  HOMELESS  PAINTER    389 

whicU  seemed  to  be  almost  as  wonder-working  as  the  passing 
of  Pippa — ^for  the  venerable  vicar,  who  was  walking  by  at  that 
instant,  leaned  on  his  staff  and  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  Tis  as  I 
heard,"  he  muttered  ;  '*  he  goes  from  bad  to  worse.  So  early  in 
the  day  too  1  Once,  at  least  neat  and  sober,  he  is  become  the  very 
type  of  the  slipshod  sensualist,  who  flits  from  bar  to  bar  sipping  the 
sweets  of  each.    God  have  mercy  upon  him  ! " 

Unconscious  of  the  prayer  on  his  behalf.  Jack  turned  towards 
the  door  as  if  to  pursue  the  woman,  but  immediately  recognising 
the  inutility  of  such  a  proceeding  he  stood  still,  rendering  it  im- 
possible for  the  man  to  make  his  exit  unperceived.  While  the 
latter  was  hesitating  in  much  confusion,  Jack  put  his  hand  on  the 
door  and  the  man  began  to  breathe  freely  and  edged  into  a  comer. 
But  he  was  not  destined  to  escape  thus,  for  the  publican,  doubtless 
pitying  the  unquenched  condition  of  the  painter's  thirst,  called  out : 
'^Did  you  say  bitter,  Guv'nor?''  and*  made  Jack  turn  his  head  in 
the  direction  of  the  voice.  He  at  once  espied  the  man,  and  his  face 
lit  up  with  joy»  The  man  perceived  the  expression  and  turned 
deadly  pale.  He  g[athered  himself  up  for  a  rush  ;  but  before  he 
could  oury  out  his  intention  Jack  was  at  his  side,  holding  out  his 
hand.  In  a  stupefied  fashion  he  extended  his  own,  and  the  painter 
shook  it  heartily. 

**  I  thought  I  should  never  meet  you  again,"  he  cried.  •*  Yet 
you  promised  to  come  to  see  me.  How  is  it  you  have  not 
done  so  ?  " 

The  man  looked  at  him  suspiciously.  'M — I  have  been  so 
busy,''  he  stammered.    '*  But  I  intended  calling  on  you  soon." 

"  Do,  there's  a  good  fellow,"  replied  Jack.  "  And  let  me  have 
the  pleasure  of  looking  forward  to  another  delightful  evening." 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  genuineness  of  the  invitation,  and  the 
man  wiped  his  brow  with  restored  composure. 

"  That  pleasure  will  be  mine,"  he  said,  bowing  gracefully. 

**We  will  not  quarrel,"  responded  the  painter  smiling.  ^On 
your  own  principle  meum  is  fuum,"  The  Socialist  acknowledged  the 
mot  with  another  bow,  hiding  thereby  the  renewed  blush.  He  was 
little  changed.  His  garments  and  his  countenance  had  grown  more 
worn,  as  if  the  process  of  fraying  away  with  enthusiasm  had  been 
continuing  steadily  in  both— and  that  was  all. 

^  What  do  you  drink  ?"  he  inquired  dubiously. 

•*  Nothing,  thank  you." 

**  Oh,  do  have  something,  old  fellow,  or  I  shall  be  offended. 
You  were  going  to  have  a  drink,  you  know  you  were,  and  it's  so 
confoundecUy  hot  that  a  man  gets  thirsty  before  he  walks  a  quarter 
of  a  mile.  At  least  I  did,  so  I  dropped  into  the  first  pub.  Besides, 
old  Jones  expects  it"  So  saying  he  called  for  a  glass  of  bitter, 
which  was  accordingly  set  before  the  feebly-protesting  painter. 
He  could  not  help  reflecting  on  the  tangled  web  of  Fate,  and  on 
the  strange  route  by  which  this  glass  of  bitter  had  travelled  to  him 
despite  ^e  in4ignant  ^Ritto  HaraiV*  of  a  few  minutes  ago. 


V 


390  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

"  There  is  a  Providence  that  shapes  our  ends/'  he  muttered,; 
taking  a  bird-like  sip  of  the  liquid. 

''Say  rather  an  improvidence,''  said  the  Socialist,  casting-  a 
meaning  glance  in  the  direction  of  two  half-tipsy  women  who  were 
treating  each  other  ahemately. 

Jack  shuddered  at  the  aspect  of  their  bloated,  besotted  counten- ; 
ances.     He  turned  away  hastily ;  and  crying,  "  Come  into  the  fresh  ^ 
air,'*  hurried  into  the  street.  His  companion  stared  and  followed  him. 
"  Which  is  your  way  ?  "  the  man  inquired.     **  Going  home  ?  " 
The  painter  stopped.    "  Home  I  **  he  cried.     "  I  have  no  home 
— and  I  have  invited  you  to  it !"  j 

"  No  home  ! "  echoed  the  Socialist,  surveying  his  friend  frtMO  J 
sombrero  to  slippers.    **  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Circumstances  have  compelled  me  to  leave  the  cook-shop,  and  : 
I  have  not  yet  found  another  residence." 

**  You  are  not  out  of  work— or  money  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously. 
"  I   have  money,  but  not  all  I   require,"  Jack  said  smiling. ; 
**  However,  I  have  quite  enough  to  live  on  for  the  present" 

'*  Then  come  and  share  my  humble  apartment  and  make  me  i 
happy,''  he  cried.  "  I  will  take  no  refusal  Or  as  the  accommo-  i 
dation  is  scanty,  come  and  take  the  first  floor  and  make  Mrs.  \ 
Jenkins  happy,  and  we  will  take  our  meals  tojg^ether." 

Jack  hesitated.  ''Did  I  grudge  to  receive  your  hospitality?"' 
the  Socialist  said  reproachfully.  i 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  "  queried  Jack. 
**In  Hoxton." 
"Where's  that?" 

"  You  don't  know  Hoxton  !    Not  a  quarter  of  an  houi's  walk." 
"  That  will  do  then.     I  prefer  this  neighbourhood."  | 

^  I  can't  say  I  do.  The  cries  of  famished  humanity  ring  in  | 
my  ears." 

"  I  must  have  imbibed  the  genius  loci,  for  I  am  terribly  hungry*  j 
I  have  been  too  busy  to  breakfast" 

"  How  lucky !  Then  we  shall  be  able  to  breakfast  together.  I  \ 
know  a  ver^  decent  restaurant  in  Bishopsgate." 

The  pamter  needed  little  pressing,  and  his  companion  led  him  | 
to  a  well-appointed  establishment,  apologising  on  his  entry  for  the  | 
whiteness  of  the  napery  and  the  servility  of  the  waiters,  as  con- 1 
cessions  to  Jack's  want  of  socialistic  principles.    The  servility  of  the 
waiters  was  not  so  apparent ;  for  they  stared  at  the  shabby  couple, 
the  painter  in  his  piebald  coat  and  flowery  slippers,  and  the  Socialist 
in  his  threadbare,  rusty  black.    The  proprietor  eyed  them  suspi- 
ciously, thinking  that  the  respectability  of  the  house  was  at  stak& 
However,  it  was  an  hour  in  which  custom  was  infrequent,  and  there 
was  such  a  look  of  terrific  hauteur  about  the  less  picturesque  man 
of  the  two,  and  such  an  expression  of  easy  dignity  in  the  countenance 
of  his  companion,  that  the  man  began  to  fancy  he  saw  before 
him  some  disguised  Prince  and  his  feithful  vizier,  or  at  least  two 
gents  on  a  spree — ^a  possibility  that  was  turned  into  oeitainty  whea 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  HOMELESS  PAINTER    391 

Jack,  in  paying  the  bill,  gave  the  waiter  a  florin.     Nevertheless,  he 
was  glad  when  they  went  off,  unseen  by  any  of  the  habituis.    The 
supposed  vizier  now  bundled  his  master  into  a  tram-car,  and  the 
painter  sank  into  a  comer  seat  with  a  feeling  of  gratitude  at  having 
&llen   into  such  good  hands  and  being  spared  the  unpleasant 
necessity  of  spontaneous  action.    But  the  emotions  of  the  vizier,  as 
be,  too,  dropped  into  his  modicum  of  dingy,  crimson  velvet  were 
not  equally  agreeable.     He  had  all  the  air  of  having  fallen  into  a 
wasps'  nest;  the  wasps  consisting  of  half-a-dozen  girls  in  poke 
bonnets,  who  were  hymning  the  delights  of  heaven,  and  expressing 
in  soprano  and  contralto  tones  their  ardent  desire  to  suffer  for  the 
sins  of  their  neighbours  (perhaps  in  the  hope  of  profiting  by  the 
exchange).     For  the  moment  they  were  causing  suffering  rather 
than  bearing  it,  for  the  vizier  seemed  as  uncomfortable  under  their 
glances  of  recognition  and  surprise  as  a  mediaeval  man  in  the 
stocks.     In  vain  he  sought  distraction  in  silent,  exciting,  though 
melancholy  reminiscences  of  recent  gambling  transactions ;  he 
could  not  divert  his  thoughts  into  forgetfulness  of  the  presence  of  the 
altruistic  crew.  The  leader  of  the  party,  a  rather  pretty  girl, sharp-cut 
of  features  and  oldish  in  expression,  was  particularly  indefatigable  in 
producing  almost  imperceptible  winks,  especially  when  she  was  sing- 
ing a  high  note  with  the  transcendent  ecstasy  of  a  saint.    Jack, 
however,  did  not  notice  this  by-play,  being  filled  with  reverence  for 
the  fervent  aspirations  of  these  vestal  virgins,  and  he  was  quite 
shocked  when  the  conductor  in  clipping  his  ticket  observed  confiden- 
tially, "  Jolly  girls,  ain't  they  ?  'Livens  up  the  journey,  don't  it,  sir  ?  " 
When  one  rollicking  tune  was  finished,  the  singers  started  en 
another  with  the  mechanical  regularity  of  so  many  musical-boxes, 
but  without  even  the  momentary  pause  and  preliminary  tick  of 
those  ingenious   contrivances,  and  their  repertoire  was  not  yet 
exhausted  when  they  arrived  at  a  pretentious  structure  of  red  brick 
placarded  with  announcements  of^  an  approaching  assault  against 
the  devil  and  his  imps.   Here  the  tram-car  and  the  concert  stopped. 
The  girls  got  down,  several  of  them  shaking  hands  with  the  vizier 
.  (as  if  they  had  only  just  become  conscious  of  mundane  relations) 
and  addressing  him  as  Captain.    The  Princess  Ida,  if  the  leader  of 
the  female  brigade  may  thus  be  denominated,  furthermore  inquired 
"  Whether  he  had  put  his  togs  up  the  spout  ?" 

'*  What  did  she  mean  by  that  expression  ? "  exclaimed  Jack 
curiously. 

"  It's  only  her  jokes,"  returned  the  Socialist,  blowing  his  nose 
violently. 

*'  She  looked  very  serious,  though.    Why  do  they  all  call  you 
Captain  ?  " 

'*  Because  they  love  truth.    They  are  my  sisters,  in  a  spiritual 
sense  I  mean,  and  I  am  a  Captain  in  the  great  army  of  Ormuzd." 

**  You  surprise  me !    By  Ormuzd  you  meaA  General  Booth,  I 
presume  " 

^  i  do.    He  seems  to  me  one  of  the  few  earnest  men  that 


393  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

E reserve  the  country  from  corruption.  I  will  introduce  yoa  tt 
im." 

''  Thank  you/'  was  the  cold  reply.  ^  I  have  not  yet  settled  my 
opinion  of  him.  It  is  not  enough  for  a  man  to  be  earnest  The 
Premier  is  in  earnest,  yet  he  is  doing  deadly  mischiei" 

"  By  his  reported  Home  Rule  project,  you  mean?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  worst  But  the  whole  period  of  his  tenure  of 
office  has  been  a  Saturnalia,  turbulent  with  wild  license,  and  he  a 
veritable  Lord  of  Misrule." 

The  painter  became  animated,  his  voice  took  an  indignant  ring. 

"  But  he  only  interprets  the  wishes  of  the  country." 

**  That  is  the  only  consideration  that  consoles  me." 

•*  Consoles  you !    For  what  ?  "    The  painter  hesitated. 

"  I  could  not  bear  to  think  that  one  man'  should  have  the  power 
of  ruining  his  country." 

"  But  if  the  coundy  wishes  to  be  ruined  as  you  call  it ^ 

'*  That  is  the  result  of  your  miserable  ballot-box  principle.  As 
ICO  is  to  99,  so  is  Wisdom  to  Folly.  When  I  think  of  the  effects 
of  indiscriminate  suffrage,  even  when  limited  to  males,  I  cannot 
help  regretting  that  I  should  have  been  led  by  specious  logic  into 
supporting  it.  But  how  the  Premier  with  such  principles  has  been 
able  to  retain  office  for  a  month  in  sober  England,  is  to  me  a 
mystery.  Were  there  any  of  the  old  spirit  left  among  the  old 
Conservatives— Oh  that  I  could  lead  the  Opposition  and  prick  this 
empty  windbag,  and  denounce  with  prophetic  fire  the  iniquity  of 
his  measures  I " 

The  Salvationist  suppressed  a  smile. 

'*Were  your  ambitious  wish  gratified,  I  doubt  whether  yoa 
would  be  as  successful  as  you  imagine.  To  me  all  forms  ol 
Government  are  equally  futile  that  do  not  concern  themselves  with 
a  reconstruction  of  Society.  But  if  Floppington  has  not  re- 
constructed Society,  I  must  admit  that  he  has  reconstructed  the 
Conservative  Party." 

"  If  by  reconstructing  you  mean  rebuilding,  so  that  not  a  trace 
of  the  oiiginal  architecture  is  left,  I  agree  with  you,"  replied  the 
painter  bitterly. 

''No  one  expects  honour  among  politicians.  He  saw  that 
Toryism  was  played  out,  and  that  if  he  did  not  carry  Radical 
measures  he  would  have  to  give  place  to  those  who  would.  Would 
not  the  task  of  repealing  the  Union  have  inevitably  fallen  to  Screw* 
nail,  if  Floppington  had  not  suddenly  changed  his  whole  policy? 
Would  not  his  Ministry  have  gone  to  pieces  in  a  weekr  The 
progress  of  reform  is  not  to  be  resisted.  The  individual  who  heads 
It  is  of  little  importance." 

''The  individual  withers,  and  the  world  is  more  and  more," 
mused  Jack,  brightening  up  under  the  influence  of  these  con- 
siderations. He  sat  silent  for  some  time,  and  then  observed: 
"  This  movement  that  you  have  joined — does  it  not  interfere  with 
your  propagation  of  Socialism  ?" 


Al  THE  LATIN  PLAY  393 

*  Not  at  alL  I  have  always  been  a  Christian  Socialist.  As  a 
Salvationist,  I  would  rescue  the  soul ;  as  a  Socialist,  the  body.  But 
we  get  down  here ! " 

Socialism,  that  bugbear  of  the  era  under  consideration,  that 
bogey  whose  harmless  nature  becomes  daily  more  apparent,  could, 
in  the  painter's  lifetime,  count  some  of  the  noblest  of  mankind 
among  its  adherents,  exponents,  or  sympathisers.  But  these  were 
only  amateurs.  There  were  men  who  made  a  profession  of  Socialism 
in  more  senses  than  one. 

The  philosophic  painter  was  fully  aware  of  both  these  facts  in 
the  abstract.  But  the  concrete  Socialist  with  whom  he  was  now 
brought  into  contact  seemed  to  him  to  be  animated  by  the  dis- 
interested ardour  of  an  apostle.  That  he  had  joined  the  ranks  of 
the  much-abused  Salvationists  was  only  another  sign  that  he  was 
willing  to  undergo  martyrdom  for  his  principles.  So  when  Jack 
had  paid  Mrs.  Jenkins  a  week's  rent  in  advance,  and  the  door 
closed  behind  her  spare  form,  and  he  was  left  in  possession  of  his 
sitting-room  and  his  bed-room,  his  heart  swelled  with  gratitude  to 
Providence  for  its  kindness  in  removing  him  from  the  uncongenial 
atmosphere  of  the  Star  Dining  Rooms,  and  putting  him  down 
master  of  his  words  and  actions  in  the  society  of  an  intellectual  and 
noble-minded  man.  The  latter  had  retired  to  don  his  regimentals, 
so  that  the  painter  now  found  himself  alone.  MingHng  with  ^his 
new  feeling  of  independence  was  a  certain  mournful  consciousness 
of  absolute  severance  from  the  common  ties  of  humanity,  that 
feeling  of  solitude  in  the  midst  of  roaring  crowds,  whose  tragedy 
has  only  in  our  own  century  found  in  the  great  romance  of  Martney 
that  triumphant  expression  in  literature  which  the  cruder  tragedy 
of  physical  loneliness  had  long  ago  found  in  the  immortal  work  of 
Defoe.  He  could  not  help  thinking  with  how  little  fuss  he  might 
slip  out  of  existence. 

But  away  with  all  despondent  thoughts.  Was  not  a  new  life 
about  to  dawn  upon  him  ?  Had  he  not  at  lasr  found  rest  ?  And  as 
he  had  been  voluntarily  dismissed  from  his  filial  duties,  would  he 
not  be  able  to  enjoy  it  with  a  clear  conscience  ? 


CHAPTER  X 

AT  THE  LATIN  PLAY. 


When  the  Chartreuse  schoolboys  resuscitated  Terence's  Andria^ 
long  buried  in  the  cemetery  of  the  dead  languages,  Floppington 
took  his  seat  before  the  curtain  with  feelings  of  liveliest  anticipation. 
It  was  not  so  much  that  he  looked  forward  to  the  pleasurable 


394  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

revival  of  youthful  impressions.  His  emotions  were  more  stirred 
by  the  knowledge  that  at  last  there  was  a  reasonable  hope  of  seeing 
the  woman  he  had  simuhaneously  loved  and  lost  For  a  brother 
of  hers  was  going  to  clad  his  boyish  innocence  in  the  skin  of  that 
Davus  of  many  wrinkles,  who  is  the  chief  personage  of  those  olden 
comedies  where,  so  to  speak,  the  valets  are  heroes  to  their  masters. 
He  had  little  doubt  but  that  her  combined  interest  in  the  slave  and 
in  his  modern  representative  would  induce  her  to  be  present.  As 
visitor  after  visitor  arrived,  and  the  hall  filled,  Fioppington's  anxiety 
grew  intense.  If  to  see  her  would  give  him  a  pang,  not  to  see  her 
would  be  torture.  The  feverish  excitement,  half  pain,  half  pleasure, 
seemed,  now  that  there  was  little  chance  of  her  arrival,  to  have 
been  wholly  one  of  joyful  expectation,  and  for  the  moment  the 
awful  gulf  between  them  seemed  to  be  bridged  over,  and  they  were 
lovers  again.  Lovers  again,  as  when  amid  the  moon-silvered 
greenery  on  that  May  night,  she  had  charmed  him  with  sweet  and 
earnest  converse.  Allured  and  softened  by  the  magic  of  memory 
he  let  the  troubled  emotion  of  the  present  melt  into  the  calm 
rapture  of  the  past.  He  saw  her  again  under  the  shadows  of  the 
luxuriant  ferns,  a  living  and  breathing  shape,  fairer  than  all  the&ir 
shapes  that  gleamed  in  stone  around  them.  He  lived  over  again 
those  few  brief  moments,  even  more  delicious  in  retrospect  than  in 
reality.  What  mattered  it  to  him,  absorbed  in  the  consciousness 
of  that  divine  vision,  that,  outside  the  world  of  shadows,  the  pro- 
logue was  commencing,  and  that  his  less  learned  neighbours  were 
eagerly  watching  his  face  ?  For  who  has  not  heard  of  the  fun  and 
wit,  so  perfect  both  in  quality  and  quantity,  that  marked  the 
Chartreuse  political  risunU oi  the  year?*  And,  just  as  the  new 
comer  in  the  terra  incognita  of  society  watches  the  old  inhabitants 
to  see  when  to  use  his  fork,  so  did  the  people  who  were  old  enough 
to  have  forgotten  their  classics,  or  ignorant  enou'^h  to  quote  them, 
watch  the  Premier  and  a  few  other  savants  to  know  when  to  use 
their  risible  muscles. 

But  no  smile  appeared  on  the  Minister's  countenance.  Point 
after  point  was  made,  but  still  Floppington  sat  in  silence,  immersed 
in  other  scenes  than  th^t  around  him.  And  his  face  grew  full  of  a 
saintly  sadness,  born  of  the  tender  regret  whose  unsuspected 
presence  gives  sweetness  to  our  most  precious  memories.  The 
cheers  and  laughter  of  the  audience  fell  upon  his  heedless  ears  as 
the  swirl  of  the  wintry  storm  without  falls  on  one  reading  olden 
pictures  in  the  glowing  grate.  Again  and  again  hundreds  of 
curious  eyes  turned  involuntarily  towards  him,  but  fell  back  abashed 
before  that  impassive  demeanour,  that  pensive  calm. 

And  now  the  play  commenced,  and  Simo  and  Sosia  began  their 
duologue.  But  not  even  the  charm  of  hearing  Latin  as  she  was 
never  spoke  could  woo  the  Premier  from  the  cool  conservatory. 
Why  could  not  the  tite-ct-iite  have  lasted  for  ever  ?    Or,  at  least, 

*  The  Chartreuse  schoolboys  did  not  save  their  satire  for  the  Epilpgue  (as 
Coketon,  oonfoanding  them  with  the  Westminster  boys,  asserts). 


AT  THE  LATIN  PLAY  395 

vhy  should  he  not  now  prolong  the  delicious  dream  at  will  ?  But, 
alas,  the  remorseless  train  of  association  whirled  him  away,  and 
hurried  him  through  tunnels  of  politics  where  no  light  of  day  ever 
penetrated.  The  interview  with  Bardolph,  the  Cabinet  Council,  the 
precipitate  resignation  of  the  Minister  for  Foreign  Affairs,  all 
these  were  passed  over.  His  face  broadened  into  a  smile,  a  low 
laugh  of  triumph  broke  from  his  lips ;  and  a  loud  shout  of  merri- 
ment arose  from  those  in  his  vicinity.  The  first  act  was  trium- 
phantly tending  to  its  affecting  close. 

^*' Mentor  essemf    O  Mysis^  Mysis,    •    .    ." 

Poor  Pamphilus  paused  in  his  pathetic  reminiscences  and 
turned  as  red  as  fire.  Those  trembling,  earnest  tones,  those 
eloquent  gestures,  the  task  of  so  many  months,  were  they  only  to 
expose  him  to  mockery  and  shame  ?  And  then,  worst  sting  of  all, 
there  was  the  prompter  loudly  supplying  the  words  he  had  so  often 
spoken  even  in  sleep.  He  faltered  through  the  rest  of  the  scene, 
and  retired  indignant  and  almost  heartbroken  ;  and  nothing  but  the 
authoritative  persuasions  of  the  Principal  could  induce  him  to  go 
on  in  the  next  act.  But  a  fair  proportion  of  the  audience  was  now 
convinced  that  his  was  a  comic  part,  and  they  received  all  his 
attempts  at  pathos  with  the  suppressed  enjoyment  with  which  one 
listens  to  burlesque  declamation. 

Meanwhile,  Floppington,  soothed  by  the  soft  summer's  night  in 
which  his  imagination  had  been  roving,  gradually  reconciled 
himself  to  the  disappointment  of  Lady  Harley's  absence.  He  fol- 
lowed the  play  with  some  curiosity,  but  it  took  little  hold  of  his 
thoughts,  for  in  a  little  time  they  were  wandering  again. 

He  was  in  Gwendolen's  study.  The  rays  of  sunlight  streamed 
upon  the  cheerful  shelves,  and  artistically  gilded  the  backs  of  the 
books.  And  a  face  brighter  than  sunshine  smiled  upon  him.  The 
memory  of  that  smile  thrilled  him  now,  as  it  had  not  thrilled  him 
when,  only  half-conscious  of  its  subtle  effects,  he  had  answered  it  by 
gay  cynicism  or  almost  brutal  epigram.  Why,  oh  why,  had  he 
not  profited  by  the  opportunity  and  given  vent  to  the  more  tender 
emotion  which  was  agitating  his  breast  ?  His  unavailing  remorse 
was  not  checked  by  any  suspicion  that  the  tender  emotion  in 
question  had  not  been  agitating  his  breast,  at  least  not  with  its  present 
intensity.  Knowing  that  he  loved  her  now^  he  could  not  believe 
that  he  had  not  loved  her  from  the  first.  He  thought  that  love  had 
merely  come  to  him  by  a  route  new  to  his  experience,  and  in  the 
shape  of  what  seemed  a  purely  intellectual  attraction.  But  he  did 
not  know  that  it  was  only  at  the  sudden  juxtaposition  of  Eliza, 
with  its  irritating  recall  of  the  vanity  of  earlier  and  earthlier  senti- 
ment, its  sharp  contrast  of  ignoble  and  noble  charm,  that  the  latent 
passion  had  risen  into  higher  life  and  into  full  consciousness  of 
Itself. 

The  Minister  knit  his  brows  and  frowned.  The  sense  of  wasted 
opportunities  made  him  angry  with  himself.  But  this  phase  of 
emotion  was  evanescent — he  could  not  long  remain  the  object  of  his 


J96  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  FAINTER 

aim  tndignafion.  After  aD,  how  was  he  to  know  that  Aat  d— d 
Eliza  would  turn  op,  by  a  sort  of  dnunatic  injustioey  to  wither  fab 
hopes  in  the  bud?  Was  it  his  fuilt  that  the  yain  litde  minx  had 
caused  such  cnid  and  unmerited  suspicions  to  feJl  iq>on  him  ?  To 
think  that  he  must,  bjr  her  silly  sentimentality,  for  ever  be 
banished  from  the  presence  of  the  woman  without  whom  lifc^  how- 
ever momentarily  intoxicating,  was  at  bottom  hollow  and  vain ! 

He  clenched  his  fists  and  drove  his  nails  into  the  flesh.  It  was 
well  for  Eliia  that  she  had  not  been  tempted  to  witness  the  Comedy 
of  Terence.  Had  she  encountered  the  Premier  at  this  instant, 
there  would  have  been  enacted  a  comedy  far  more  piquant,  and 
not  likely  to  be  less  classical;  one  that  the  world  would  "not 
willingly  let  die.'' 

But  Eliza  was  not  there  any  more  than  Lady  Harley,  and  so 
his  wrath  wasted  itself  on  the  empty  air.  After  diffiising  itsdf 
among  the  People^  of  whom  in  their  general  commonness  and 
^  cussedness  "  she  seemed  to  his  distorted  thinkii^  to  be  the  ^fpe,  it 
gradually  died  away[. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  now  but  to  look  at  the  play.  *The 
play,**  says  an  old  dramatist,  whose  works  every  one  edits  and  no 
one  reads,  ^  the  play's  the  thing  wherein  FU  catch  the  conscience 
of  the  king ; "  and  that  it  had  such  an  effect  on  the  uncrowned  king 
of  England  was  shown  by  copious  yawns,  which  may  be  taken  to 
be  a  sign  of  a  conscience-stricken  condition  from  Uieir  constant 
appearance  during  sermons,  when  the  conscience  may  be  supposed 
to  be  most  fully  aroused. 

Yawning  is  the  most  contagious  of  facial  contortions,  and  Friar 
Tuck,  the  eminent  Scotch  dramatic  critic,  yawned  even  more  widely 
than  the  Premier  as  the  fourth  act  came  to  a  close.  He  took  out 
his  note-book  and  glanced  through  the  criticism  in  which  he 
had  just  been  filling  up  the  gaps  —  all  that  his  careful  prepa- 
ration the  day  before  rendered  necessary.  ^  Schiller,"  he  muttmd, 
^  Schiller,  with  his  usual  aesthetic  insight,  has  remarked  that  Uie 
higher  emotional  arts  have  their  origin  in  the  play  impulse.  Re- 
membering, too,  that  Lessing.  .  .  •  H'm,  I  think  all  tKat  part  will 
keep.  ...  As  for  Terence's  obligations  to  Menand^r,  we  are  con- 
fronted by  the  old  question  of  wl^t  constitutes  originality.  Is  there 
not,  in  short,  an  esemplastic  as  well  as  an  energising  originaJOity? 
....  So  far  so  good.  It  goes  without  saying  that  all  the  actors 
have  been  thoroughly  trained;  and  there  was  in  some  inajances 
something  visible  over  and  above  what  training  can  besto\iij^  First 
of  all  must  be  mentioned  Mr.  Greville,  whose  Davus  is  fA  fine  a 
creation  of  genuine  comedy  as  one  could  wish  to  see.  TW  cunning 
but  humorous  shiftiness  ot  the  old  slave,  his  alternations  of  fidelity 
and  self-seeking,  were  depicted  by  a  hundred  subtle  touches.  A 
hypercritical  student  might  perhaps  object  to  some  of  his  gestures 
as  too  modem  ;  but  we  for  our  part  are  content  and  thankful  to 
the  ^ods  (and  surely  one  may  address  the  deities  in  dealing  widi  t 
classical  play).    Mr«  Balden  made  an  earnest  and  manly  Pam* 


AT  THE  LATIN  PLAY  397 

pbilus.  •  •  .  Hum !  .  .  .  another  proof  if  any  were  wanted,  that 
the  old  Roman  drama,  if  only  represented  with  conscientious  care 
for  accessories,  can  still  please  a  nineteenth-century  audience." 

Mr.  Tuck  shook  his  head  in  compassionate  remonstrance  with 
himself  and  drew  his  pencil  through  many  of  these  passages  and 
altered  others.  The  second  edition  of  the  last,  for  instance,  contra- 
dicted the  first  just  as  if  it  had  been  an  evening  paper.  ''Another 
proof,"  it  ran,  ''if  any  were  wanted,  that  the  old  Koman  drama,  even 
when  presented  with  the  most  conscientious  care  for  accessories, 
cannot  please  a  nineteenth-century  audience.  The  connoisseurs, 
notoriously  the  Premier,  were  visibly  bored.  The  whole  thing  was 
flat,  dead,  and  heavy.  Nor  is  this  to  be  wondered  at  The  senti- 
ment of  Terence's  day  is  opposed  to  the  modern  spirit — not  in  that 
nobler  sense  in  which,  as  Hegel  puts  it,  opposition  fuses  into  larger 
agreement;  we  still  enjoy  the  Epic  of  Dante,  for  instance— the 
sexual  and  servile  relations  with  the  emotions  generated  by.  them 
are  twenty  centuries  ahead.  ...  Mr.  Greville  did  his  best  with  the 
ungrateful  part  of  Davus  ;  but  there  is  little  to  praise  except  his 
re^y  comic  gestures,  which  were  too  few  and  far  between  to  redeem 
hb  wooden  delivery.  To  tell  the  truth,  Mr.  Balden  could  maJce 
little  of  the  more  promising  Pamphilus.  ...  Of  course  we  are 
fully  prepared  for  a  deluge  of  uncritical  praise  and  insincere 
admiration,  but  let  the  reader  refuse  to  be  misled  by  it.  No  honest 
man  who  witnessed  the  performance  can  pretend  to  have  been 
edified  thereby,  and  perhaps  the  archaeological  ghouls  who  have 
temporarilv  galvanised  Terence,  will  now  allow  him  to  rest  in  peace 
in  the  shadow  of  his  royal  Aldines,  and  in  the  tomb  of  his  precious 
Elzevirs." 

Hurriedly  scribbling  off  these  remarks,  the  critic  made  his  way 
to  the  Prenuer,  carrying  with  him  a  bland  expression  of  deprecia- 
tion which  was  much  noticed  and  admired. 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  over-creetical,"  he  remarked  after  the  first 
greeting,  "but  I  certainly  find  this  verra  depressing." 

"  Sickening  1 "  said  Floppington,  with  a  gesture  of  weariness. 
"Who  the  devil  can  understand  it  ?" 

"You  are  right.  Tempora  mutaHtur,  What  does  the  nineteenth- 
century  man  know  of  the  Romans  as  they  really  lived,  of  the 
Romans  in  the  flesh  ?" 

"True.  He  knows  them  only  in  the  dry  Bohns,"  Floppington 
interrupted. 

"  The  verra  metaphor  I  intended." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  the  Minister,  with  a  diplomatic  smile.  "As 
for  the  actors,  Pve  seen  better  ones  at  the  Brit " 

"At  the  Brit  ?"  gasped  Mr.  Tuck. 

" ish  Museum,"  concluded    Floppington   calmly.      "The 

Mummies,  you  know.  There  isn't  that  superabundance  of 
gesture.** 

"  Ha-ha-ha! "  laughed  the  critic.  "You've  heet  the  verra  flaw 
that  distressed  me.    Perhaps  one  might  make  an  exception  in  favour 


39S  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

of  Davus?"  he  continued  cautiously,  hoping  to  profit  by  the 
Premier's  well-known  powers  of  delicate  psychological  analysis. 

''Not  at  all/'  replied  the  Premier.  "One  must  expect  that 
character  to  be  the  worst  represented,  for,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  no 
Englishman  can  represent  it." 

This  dictum  the  critic  received  with  a  respect  as  profound  as  he 
thought  it  was  itself.  He  shook  his  head  sagely,  but  before  he 
could  elicit  the  grounds  of  the  opinion,  the  curtain  drew  up  on  the 
fifth  act,  and  he  picked  his  way  to  his  place  with  pondering,  corru- 
gated brow.  The  result  of  his  meditations  appeared  next  day  some- 
what as  follows : 

"  And  if  Mr.  Greville  errs  by  defect  of  ftm,  he  errs  none  the  less 
by  excess  of  gesture.  So  lavish  is  he  in  this  respect  that  we  are 
convinced  that  if  he  had  to  enact  the  part  of  a  mummy,  he  would 
wink  at  least  three  times.  Perhaps,  however,  he  has  attempted  the 
impossible.  As  Coleridge  remarked  (and  who  but  the  subtle  analyst 
of  Othello  and  Leontes  could  rise  to  such  accurate  and  unfaltering 
visualisation  ?),  the  character  of  Davus  is  intrinsically  unactable  by 
an  Englishman.  The  more  one  ponders  this  dictum,  the  more  one 
confesses  its  truth.  For  is  not  the  personage  absolutely  unreaHs' 
able  by  the  Anglican  mind  ?  The  lighter  spirit,  the  less  stringent 
moral  relations  of  the  Frenchman  might,  haply,  overcome  this 
initial  difficulty,  but  for  the  thorough  perception  of  the  canny  and 
quaint  humour  of  Davus,  his  shrewd  worldUness,  and  his  mingling 
of  self-reliant  and  servile  impulses,  one  must  turn  to  America. 
The  ideal  Davus  would  be  a  liberated  American  slave  of  the  better 
sort  But  a  black  Davus  is,  as  Lamb  would  say,  not  a  man  to  like; 
and  so,  we  fear,  the  ideal  Davus  must  remain,  like  so  many  other 
ideals,  but  the  dream  of  the  visionary." 

**  1  don't  believe  he  saw  the  joke,"  soliloquised  the  Premier  when 
the  critic  left  him.  "  Not  that  it  was  a  very  good  one  for  me.  Still 
I  don't  suppose  Punch  will  find  anything  better  to  say  than  that 
Britons  can^t  be  slaves.  And,  by  the  way,  good  Mr.  Thomson  with 
your  Rule  Britannias,  it  seems  that  I  can  turn  your  Britons  round  my 
finger  pretty  much  as  1  choose." 

The  Premier's  behaviour  at  the  play  was,  during  the  next  few 
days,  the  theme  of  universal  comment.  He  knew  it,  and  gloried 
in  his  notoriety.  As  an  example  of  how  the  critic  was  criticised, 
we  make  the  following  extract  from  an  article  in  the  World,  entitled 
"Ministers  in  the  Pillory:" 

"It  was  said  of  a  certain  Government  that  its  members  had 
every  virtue  under  the  sun  except  resignation,  and  in  another  sense 
this  saying  might,  with  one  conspicuous  exception,  be  applied  to 
the  Ministers  of  the  present  Cabinet.  Instead  of  emulating  the 
serene  dignity  of  the  mastiff  of  Landseer's  picture,  they  have  always 
winced  before  the  yelping  of  any  puppy,  however  insignificant,  and 
have  not  hesitated  to  wield  tooth  and  claw  in  reply.  It  is  to  be 
hoped,  however,  that  the  quiet  contempt  with  which  the  Premier 
treated  the  savage,  if  wily  attacks  of  the  Chartreuse  wags,  will  have 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON  399 

some  effect  in  restraining  the  ebullitions  of  temper  of  those  who 
serve  under  his  banner.  Whether  it  was  good  taste  on  the  part  of 
the  youthful  politicians  to  let  fly  their  keen-tipped  arrows  at  the 
actually  present  form  of  the  Minister  (and  some  of  the  lines  might 
well  have  been  omitted  for  other  considerations),  is  questionable  ; 
but  there  can  be  no  question  as  to  the  polished  propriety  of  the 
Premier's  bearing  under  fire.  Where  the  Irish  Secretary  would 
have  visibly  auivered  with  suppressed  passion,  the  keenest  observer 
could  see  nothing  but  a  saintly  smile  on  the  face  of  Mr.  Flopptngton. 
Nor  will  those  who  were  present  soon  forget  the  exquisite  because 
silent  causticity  of  the  Premier's  reply.  Mr.  Floppington's  true 
vocation  is  the  stage.  Cynics  will  probably  exclaim  that  everybody 
admits  he  is  a  great  actor,  so  we  venture  to  forestall  the  tribe 
of  Diogenes  by  informing  them  that  we  refer  to  his  greatness  in 
facial  expression.  Lord  Thespis,  whose  attention  was  early  directed 
to  the  remarkable  by-play  off  the  stage,  remained  fascinated.  He 
asserts  that  as  the  play  proceeded,  the  Premier  (than  whom  no  one 
has  enjoyed  Terence  more  in  previous  years)  managed  to  mould 
his  featiu'es  to  every  nuance  of  non-enjoyment ;  running  through 
the  whole  gamut  with  the  most  delicate  half,  and  even  quarter 
notes.  Indifference,  ennui,  boredom,  sleepiness,  annoyance,  dis- 
gust, sense  of  the  ridiculous,  sneering  contempt,  flitted  with  subtle 
transitions  over  the  countenance  of  the  pantomin^ic  critic. 
Mephistopheles  himself  could  no  more.  Perhaps  the  old  gentle- 
men who  grumble  that  Floppington  has  gone  to  the  devil,  are  right 
But  if  so,  it  has  been  for  the  innocent  purpose  of  taking  lessons  in 
the  dramatic  art* 


CHAPTER  XT. 

THE  PRODIGAL  SON. 

The  painter  trudged  silently  at  his  mother's  side  through  the 
sleeping  streets,  and  wished  himself  deaf.  Yes,  Mrs.  Dawc  had 
regained  possession  of  her  truant  and  recreant  son,  and  the  method 
of  re-capture  was  characteristic  of  her.  She  had  stolen  him  from 
under  the  very  guns  of  the  enemy,  and  this  is  how  she  did  it. 
The  perpetual  interrogatories  and  reproachful  accusations  of  the 
keeper  of  the  cook-shop  having  apprised  her  numerous  circle  of  her 
son's  desertion  of  her,  their  curiosity  caused  unofficial  inquiries  to 
be  set  on  foot  in  all  the  quarters  of  London  in  which  any  of  them 
had  iiriends  or  acquaintances.  No  surprise  was  expressed  that  the 
peripatetic  painter  should  have  flown  off  at  a  tangent  from  his 
usual  orbit ;  the  quidnuncs  even  essayed  to  console  Mrs.  Dawe  by 
the  reflection  that  it  was  lucky  she  wasn't  his  wife^  for  it  wouldn't 


400  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

have  weighed  a  pin  with  the  heartless  runaway.  At  last  Mrs. 
Dawe  learnt  from  one  person  that  a  gentleman  resembling  her  son 
bad  been  seen  at  an  open  window  in  Hoxton,  and  from  another,  that 
a  speaker  named  **The  Converted  Painter"  was  advertised  to 
appear  the  same  night  at  a  midnight  meeting  at  a  Salvation  Hall 
in  the  same  district.*  Obeying  the  impulse  of  instinct,  the  horrified 
dame  repaired  to  the  place  of  assembly  as  soon  as  the  stress  of 
business  would  permit,  and  sure  enough  found  her  backsliding  son 
exhuming  the  lesson  of  his  spiritual  experiences  for  the  benefit  of  a 
motley  crowd.  The  presence  of  the  painter  on  the  platform  needs 
no  explanation  beyond  the  fact  that  he  had  never  had  any 
intention  of  appearing  there.  Captain  Bertram,  "  The  Reformed 
Rake,"  as  his  friend  was  called,  had  inveigled  him  into  his  some- 
what ambiguous  position  by  enticing  him  to  witness  one  of  his  bat- 
talion's pitched  fights  with  the  devil,  and,  relying  upon  his  weakness, 
had  taken  upon  himself  the  responsibility  of  announcing  him  with 
flourish  of  trumpet  The  painter  had  already  refused  the  tempting 
offer  of  a  Lieutenancy  with  the  privilege  of  adding  to  his  income 
by  a  percentage  on  the  sale  of  copies  of  the  War  Cry^  The 
Little  Soldier^  and  other  publications  of  the  Army,  and  he  felt  that 
it  would  be  ungracious  as  well  as  unworthy  of  a  student  of  life  to 
refuse  the  simple  invitation  to  be  present  at  a  prospective  destruc- 
tion of  the  citadel  of  the  Fiend  of  Darkness.  This  last  phrase 
was  the  very  language  of  the  heralding  placard,  for  the  most  illite- 
rate private  was  strongly  impressed  with  the  idea  of  preserving 
consistency  of  metaphor,  and  proudly  spoke  of  such  things  as 
"volleys,"  "knee-drills,"  "cannonades,"  "fusillades,"  and  "colours^ 
though,  in  curious  confusion  with  these  blood-and-thunder  figures 
of  speech,  there  ran  through  all  the  literature  and  oratory  of  the 
Salvationists  threads  of  Scriptural  tropes  and  of  every-day  popular 
and  even  vulgar  idiom  ;  the  various  filaments  blending  into  a  tissue 
of  equal  profanity  and  absurdity.  Indeed,  the  audacious  blasphemy 
of  the  writin^^s  of  the  members  of  this  commercial,  musical,  and  re- 
ligious association  transcended  even  the  hob-nobbingfamiliarity  with 
the  supernatural  displayed  in  all  civilised  ages  by  a  concrete-loving 
peasantry.  That  sermonette  of  Jack  Dawe's,  which  his  mother 
peremptorily  cut  short,  was  far  from  orthodox  in  its  vocabulary;  as 
was  painfully  felt  by  washerwomen  fresh  from  the  inspiriting  ad- 
dresses of  Black  Pudding  Lucy  and  the  Redeemed  Knife  Grinder, 
and  from  the  sensuous  images  of  the  latest  hymn.  It  would  pro- 
bably have  moved  few  to  weeping,  and  howling,  and  gnashing  of 
teeth,  and  still  fewer  to  frenzied  prostration  at  the  penitent-form ; 
so  that  when  the  Converted  Painter  was  interrupted  by  the  slap- 
dash entrance  of  a  red-shawled  personage,  who  must  have  seemed 

*  For  a  good  historical  and  descriptive  account  of  the  picturesque  move- 
ment headed  by  General  Booth,  see  a  German  monograph  on  the  Salvation 
Army,  of  which  a  faithful,  though  unidiomatic,  translation  has  just  been 
brought  out  by  the  State  Press,  and  which  is  responsible  for  the  ft»flttm^ti 
bsrs  reprodoced. 


L 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON  401 

a  Teiy  avatar  of  the  Spirit  of  Evil,  few  of  the  auditors  regretted 
t  :it  he  had  not  been  allowed  to  finish  his  subtle  illustration  of 
legeneration  by  reference  to  the  political  career  of  Floppington. 
They  enjoyed  more  the  eerie  humour  of  the  farce  which  followed 
the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Dawe — ^the  assemblage  thrown  into  inextin- 
guishable laughter  and  hopeless  confusion  by  the  relaxing  sight  of 
the  imperious  old  lady  fighting  her  way  sternly  to  the  pladform,  re- 
calling her  errant  son  to  his  duties  in  her  own  grotesque  fashion, 
lecturing  him  publicly  on  his  sins  of  omission  and  commission,  and 
marching  him  off  home  after  a  dignified  rebuke  to  the  body- stealers 
present,  and  a  sternly  contemptuous  denunciation  of  their  theo- 
logical teachings  and  the  immoral  tendencies  of  their  nocturnal 
gatherings. 

The  night  was  divinely  beautiful ;  and,  as  Jack  Dawe  walked 
along,  he  endeavoured  to  lose  himself  in  the  celestial  splendours. 
He  tried  to  look  up  at  the  far-sparkling  heavens  and  concentrate 
his  thoughts  on  the  calmness  of  the  planetary  system   that  had 
assembled  in  its  millions  for  a  midnight  meeting  in  the  firmament, 
where  all  the  stars  sat  together  in  mute  communion,  wrapt  in 
golden   silence  like  the   Quakers  of  Elia.    But  the  attempt  was 
vain.     The  discordant  voice  of  Mrs.  Dawe  broke  the  music  of 
the  spheres.    The  infinite  Universe  was  at  rest,  but  this  woman 
was  a  central  agitation  subsist  ng  at  the  heart  of  endless  calm. 
Her  invective  flowed  along  in  one  everlasting  flood,   not  weak 
and  washy,  but  strong  and  fierv.     It  was  like  Sheridan's  impeach- 
ment of  Warren  Hastings  for  length  and  passion,  and  every  now 
and  then  it  was  emphasised  by  the  irresponsible  whirl  of  the  huge 
umbrella  which  she  carried  as  a  protection  against  burglars,  gallants, 
mad  dogs,  and  rain.  The  painter  shivered  under  the  amused  glances 
of  the  policemen  and  the  few  belated  pedestrians ;  but  he  was  be- 
coming hardened.    By  his  public  humiliation  he  had  sounded  the 
bitterest  depths  of  degradation.    Nevertheless,  he  was  not  sorry 
when  the  well-known  Liliputian  cook-shop,  like  a  sunken  valley  in 
the  heart  of  its  Brobdingnagian  neighbours,  hove  in  sight    The 
door  was  open,  and  Sally  stood  outside  it,  slipshod  and  unkempt  as 
ever.    She  was  looking  anxiously  the  other  way,  but  hearing  the 
sound  of  footsteps,  she  turned  round,  uttered  a  cry  of  joy,  and  ran 
to  meet  the  wayfarers. 

"  Ye*vc  found  him ! "  Sally  ejaculated. 

"  Yes,  Pve  found  him  I "  Mrs.  Dawe  replied  in  hysterical  tones, 
viciously  pushing  the  unresisting  painter  before  her,  and  bundling 
him  into  the  shop.  "I  little  thought  a  son  o*  mine  would  ever 
grow  up  to  be  a  foundlin' ! " 

This  new  view  of  the  case  so  overcame  the  highly-wrought  mind 
of  the  old  lady  that  she  sat  down  on  the  counter  and  burst  into 
tears.  Her  son  made  no  attempt  to  kiss  them  away.  Shuddering 
at  the  contrast  between  his  old  home  and  the  comfortable  apart- 
ments he  had  just  quitted,  he  dragged  his  faltering  limbs  into 
the  parlour  and  threw  himself  on  the  so&  in  blank,  apathetic 

9  O 


402  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

despair.    A  moment  afterwards  a  band  was  placed  timidly  on  hisl 
shoulder. 

"  What  is  it,  Sally  ?  **  he  asked,  looking  up. 

"Never  mind,  master,"  said  the  girL  **Sit  up  and  'ave  yer 
supper." 

The  sympathy  of  the  drudge  was  to  his  spirit  as  a  fresh  well  in 
a  desert  of  dreary  misery. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  he  said,  much  moved.    **  I  have  no  appetite." 

Sally  began  to  whimper  : 

"  Arter  Pve  gone  and  fried  the  loveliest  sausages  ye  ever  smelt 
in  *onour  o'  yer  comin'  *ome." 

**  If  the  prodigal  son  has  no  appetite  he  cannot  eat  the  fatted 
calf." 

"  But  it  ain't  calf,"  protested  Sally. 

"  Y'hextravagant  hussy  ! "  interrupted  the  dreaded  voice  of  the 
mistress.  **  So  Tve  caught  yer  givin'  a  party,  and  a  ball,  and  a 
swarry,  when  the  cat*s  away,  ave  I  ?  All  the  two  gases  a-blazin',  and 
the  table  laid  for  supper.  And  where's  all  the  company  bolted  to? 
Or  was  it  a  case  of  two's  company  and  three's  none — a  young  man 
or  a  bobby  to  keep  off  other  thieves  ?" 

She  was  glancing  suspiciously  around,  lifting  up  the  covers,  and 
peering  into  the  sugar-basin  and  the  milk-jug. 

. "  Ye're  a  liar  I "  screamed  Sally,  stirred  to  her  depths  by  the 
last  insinuation.    '^  The  company  is  on  the  sofa." 

"  What,  that  vagabond  company  ?  Htf s  no  company  o' 
mine." 

"  What  rot  I    Ain't  you  Ms  mother  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  try  to  bamboozle  me,  'cos  ye  might  as  well  try  to 
catch  a  bullock  on  that  'ere  fly-paper.  When  that  supper  was  laid 
out,  'ow  did  ye  know  that  Jack  'ud  be  a  foundlin'  ?  " 

''  Summat  inside  'ere  told  me,"  said  Sally  earnestly,  laying  her 
hand  on  her  breast. 

"  Oh,  indeed !  I  didn't  know  as  ye  nourished  a  parrot  in  yer 
bosom.     P'raps  that's  where  all  the  sugar  goes  ! " 

"  P'raps  it  is,"  Sally  cried  defiantly. 

"  No  wonder  ye've  got  a  sweetheart  then,"  retorted  Mrs. 
Dawe. 

Tears  of  vexation  came  into  Sally's  eyes. 

**  I  ain't  got  no  sweet'art,"  she  protested,  "  and  ain't  going  to 
get  married  never ! " 

"  Coin*  to  be  a  old  maid,  eh  ?  " 

"  If  I  lives  so  long  1 " 

**  Ye  don't  expect  me  to  swallow  that  I "  said  Mrs.  Dawe  dis- 
dainfully. 

"  No,  it's  for  Jack,"  replied  Sally  innocently. 

"Don't  twist  my  words,  or  I'll  twist  yer  nose  for  ye.  No 
woman  'ud  be  a  old  maid  if  she  could  help  it  I've  been  married 
myself,  and,  though  I'm  a  widder  now,  do  I  regret  it?  NotatalL 
But  a  old  maid  is  a  widder  afore  'er  time.    But,  old  maid  or  no  old 


r^ 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON  4t>3 

maid,  yer  don't  catch  the  old  woman  goin'  to  Salvation  meetin's 
any  more,  leavin'  ye  to  lay  suppers  for  strange  gents." 

**  Is  Master  Jack  a  strange  gent  ?    Can't  1  lay  supper  for  'im  ?  ** 

"  Lay  supper  for  'im  1 "  repeated  Mrs.  Dawe  sconmiUy.  **  Teach 
yer  grandmother  to  lay  eggs." 

At  this  point,  there  being  a  failure  of  repartee  on  the  part  of 
Sally,  the  prodigal  son  was  able  to  interpose.  *^The  supper  was 
prepared  for  me,  but  I  have  no  appetite." 

"That's  you  all  over  !**  replied  Mrs.  Dawe,  turning  upon  him. 
"  When  people  goes  to  the  trouble  of  fryin'  the  best  sausages  for 
ye,  yeVe  got  no  stomach  for  'em.  All  you've  got  a  appetite  for  is 
'owlin'  'ims  all  night  as  if  ye  'ad  the  nightmare,  and  draggin' 
yer  poor  old  mother  out  o'  bed  to  run  about  like  a  fire-engine,  and 
if  ye  ain't  goin'  to  eat  'em  I  will" 

So  saying,  Mrs.  Dawe  sat  down  and  devoured  the  succulent 
viands,  Sally  watching  her  with  iU-concealed  indignation. 

*^  Just  you  get  up  to  bed,"  her  mistress  exclaimed,  pausing  with 
uplifted  fork.  "Ye'Il  be  fit  for  nothin'  in  the  momin'."  Sally 
obeyed  sulkily,  and  mother  and  son  were  left  alone. 

Mrs.  Dawe  finished  her  meal  leisurely.  Then  she  went  to  a 
drawer  and  took  therefrom  a  letter.  "Anger  is  short  madness,"  says 
the  great  classical  author,  Delectus;  and  on  this  occasion  Mrs. 
Dawe's  anger  conformed  to  definition,  for  its  fury  was  now  giving 
place  to  the  soothing  influences  of  the  sausages. 

**'Ere*s  a  letter  from  'Lizer,"  she  observed  more  gently.  **  Yer 
a  nice  son  to  run  away,  and  leave  me  all  the  trouble  of  this  'ere 
la*vsuit  as  if  it  was  me  that  breach  o*  promised  instead  o*  you.  I've 
arxed  all  about  it  for  ye." 

Ja(^  sat  up  immediately  much  interested,  and  took  the  letter. 
He  had  almost  forgotten  Eliza  during  those  three  days  he  was 
living  in  the  philosophic  calm  of  the  gods  of  Epicurus ;  but  now 
some  of  the  old  anxiety  revived.  ^  And  what  was  the  result  of 
your  inquiries  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Thmgs  ain*t  so  black  as  'Lizer  painted  'enL  I  don't  think 
therell  be  any  need  for  ye  to  appear  at  all." 

«  Thank  God  I    How  is  that  ?  " 

"'Cos  I  think  we'll  be  able  to  settle  it  She  ain't  the  fust  gal 
as  arxed  for  2,000  and  got  a  farden.  I've  been  to  'Lizer's 
brother,  for  I  couldn't  talk  to  'Lizer  without  fiyin'  in  her  face,  and 
let  'em  know  that  the  jury  ain't  such  fools  as  they  look  for.  And  'e 
promised  to  'ave  a  talk  with  'er  and  let  us  know  what  she  said,  and  I 
think  she^ll  be  glad  to  square  it  without  the  bother  and  the  disgrace 
of  going  into  Court ;  and  yesterday  this  letter  came  for  ye,  so  I 
want  ye  to  read  it  to  me,  and  I'll  warrant  she  won't  talk  so  big  now." 

The  painter  took  the  letter  and  read  aloud  as  follows  : 

"Dear  Jack, 

"  I  write  you  these  few  lines,  hoping  it  will  find  you  quite  well 
as  thank  God  it  leaves  me  at  present.    Your  cunning  attempt  to 

2  D  2 


4<54  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

overreach  me  shall  not  succeed.  Thinking  that  I  had  been  persuaded 
by  you  to  stop  proceedings,  you  then  sent  your  mother  to  endeavour 
to  compromise  for  a  paltry  sum.  But  you  will  find  you  have  only 
overreached  yourself.  The  telegram  you  sent  me  is  worth  its 
weight  in  diamonds.  When  the  jury  see  that  you  have  actually 
offered  the  two  thousand  pounds,  they  will  know  that  I  am  entitled 
to  them  at  least;  so,  by  the  advice  of  my  Solicitor,  I  shall  demand 
three  thousand." 

Mrs.  Dawe  was  struggling  to  speak— black  in  the  face  with  the 
effort. 

"  You  offered  her  2,000  !  "  she  burst  out. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack,  trembling  with  apprehension  of  the  coming 
storm,  and  feeling  that  he  had  really  made  a  fool  of  himself,  and 
put  himself  at  the  mercy  of  an  unscrupulous  girl. 

*'  Then  yeVe  brought  me  to  the  workus* !  '*  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Dawe,  wringing  her  hands.  And  she  unchained  upon  him  a  leash 
of  biting  epithets.  His  character  for  intelligence  was  torn  to  pieces. 
He  had  no  more  brains  than  an  apple-dumpling,  he  was  as  destitute 
of  common  sense  as  Mrs.  Prodgers'  pork-pies  of  pork  ;  she  would 
rather  have  had  an  elephant  for  a  son  in  a  lawsuit.  Further 
aggravated  by  Jack's  silence,  she  discovered  that  he  was  as  black- 
hearted as  an  old  frying-pan,  and  had  no  scruple  in  smashing  up 
an  old-established  business,  for  the  sake  of  enriching  a  good-for- 
nothing  girl,  who  had  hooked  him  by  her  pretty  face,  despite  his 
mothei^s  warnings,  and  whom  he  loved  still  Did  he  think  that  the 
old  woman  hadn't  all  along  known  that  disgraceful  plot  to  get  up  a 
sham  breach  of  promise  case,  and  pay  the  damages  out  of  her  hard- 
earned  savings  and  elope  to  America,  and  leave  her  to  lay  her 
weary  bones  in  a  pauper's  grave  ? 

"  You  are  talking  very  absurdly,"  said  Jack,  with  some  dignity 
''  And  in  any  case  I  do  not  see  that  the  money  would  come  out  of 
your  pocket." 

"  It*s  all  one,  y'  idiot !  This  is  Dawe  and  Son,  ain't  it  ?  Ye 
don't  forget  to  arx  for  yer  arf  profits  1  The  business  is  the 
business." 

'*  We  will  waive  that  point,"  said  Jack,  taken  somewhat  aback 
by  this  reasoning,  '*  I  can  only  repeat  that  in  offering  Eliza  what 
she  demanded  I  was  guided  principally  by  a  strong  objection  to 
appearing  in  Court." 

"  Then  see  what  ye've  done  for  yerself.  If  ye  'ad  left  it  to 
me,  I  would  a'  got  ye  out  o'  that  pickle.  But  in  course  ye  don't 
arx  nobody's  advice  but  yer  own.  Now  ye're  in  for  it  Ye*!!  have 
to  appear  and  be  the  laughin'  stock  of  the  country." 

**  But  I  will  not  appear,  come  what  may,"  replied  the  painter 
firmly. 

Mrs.  Dawe  grew  white  with  alarm.  ^  Was  her  son  once  more 
enunciating  one  of  those  olden  resolutions  from  which  he  never 
departed  ?    Her  tone  became  more  conciliatory. 


r ' 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON  405 

^  Now  just  you  listen  to  reason,  Jack.  Let  me  tell  ye  what 
IVe  found  out  about  the  law.  If  ye  don't  take  any  notice  of 
the  writ,  the  case  will  go  by  the  fault,  and  it'll  be  tried  afore  the 
SherifTs  Court,  and  therell  be  nobody  there  to  speak  for  ye,  and 
'Lizerll  'ave  it  all  'er  own  way,  and  set  up  a  carriage  out  of  our 
blood  and  sweat ;  and  if  ye  do  take  notice  and  send  up  a  lawyer, 
the  jury  will  think  ye  dare  not  stand  cross-examination,  and  you 
are  a  devil  and  'Lizer  a  angel,  and  the/ll  damage  ye  according." 

'*  Cross-examination ! "  As  tlie  horrible  potentialities  of  the 
process  flashed  upon  him,  a  cold  tremor  ran  through  all  his  mem- 
bers. '*  They  may  think  me  devil  as  much  as  they  like,"  he  said, 
•*  I  will  not  appear.** 

"  And  yet  they  say,  talk  6*  the  devil  and  he^s  sure  to  appear  1 '' 
groaned  Mrs.  Dawe.  **  I  alius  knowed  ye'd  be  the  ruin  o'  me ;  but 
that's  the  way  of  children  :  they  makes  ye  ill  the  day  they're  bom, 
and  worrits  ye  till  the  day  ye're  dead.  Oh,  why  did  ye  mterfere  1 
if  ye  'adn't  put  yer  finger  in  the  pie,  'Lizer  wouldn't  'a  got  such  a 
big  plum  ! " 

**  You  mistake  in  supposing  you  could  have  settled  it,"  said 
Jack,  who  had  been  glancing  over  the  rest  of  the  broken-hearted 
girrs  letter.  *'  She  savs  that  she  might  have  been  willing  to  com- 
promise had  I  not  had  the  cruel  auc&city  to  tell  her  that  I  loved  an- 
other. The  spirit  of  revenge  bums  in  her  breast,  and  she  says  that  no 
earthly  consideration  shall  prevent  her  dragging  me  into  Court.  I 
believe  she  means  it  She  always  appeared  a  passionate  girl,  and 
the  poets  have  taught  us  how  far  the  spreta  injuria  forma  can 
lead  one.  If  Virgil  could  exclaim,  *  Tantane  ira  ccelestibus  animisy 
is  it  surprising  that  a  woman  of  volcanic  temperament  should  de- 
termine to  avenge  herself  by  any  means  in  her  power  ?  " 

^*  IVe  already  told  ye  to  keep  yer  fine  words  for  them  as  didn't 
know  ye  from  a  baby,  when  ye  could  only  say  '  Mummy.'  I  don't 
know  what  ye  told  'Lizer  a  He  for ;  as  yer  late  father  said, '  lyin'  is 
never  so  bad  as  when  it's  no  good.'  If  ye  loved  another  gal,  ye 
could  no  more  'ide  it  from  me  than  ye  could  your  brain-fever,  and 
I've  seen  no  marks  of  it  And  I  don't  see  that  'Lizer  is  a  volcanic 
woman — she  don't  smoke,  does  she  ?  If  ye  called  'er  a  earthquaky 
woman,  upsettin'  the  oldest  cook-shop  in  Bethnal  Green,  ye'd  be 
about  right  And  if  she  sayi  ye  must  go  to  Courts  to  Court  ye 
must  go." 

"  Only  one  woman  can  conmiand  that,"  said  the  painter,  with  a 
melancholy  smile. 

'*  Then  I  am  that  woman,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dawe,  rising  in  regal 
majesty.  ^  To  Court  ye  shall  go  if  I  'ave  to  drag  ye  there  in  a 
wheelbiEUTow,  and  ye  shall  say  exactly  what  I  tells  ye." 

^  An  end  to  this  ! "  said  Jack,  also  rising.  *'  The  judgment  must 
go  by  default,  and  I  will  pay  the  damages." 

^  And  let  'Lizer  'ave  aU  Uie  lies  to  'erself,"  hissed  Mrs.  Dawe 
fiercely. 

'^  Welly  at  most,  I  shall  send  up  a  lawyer  to  represent  me,"  he 


4o6  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

said  good-humouredly,  glad  to  find  he  was  not  giving  way. 
^  Perhaps  there  should  be  no  taxation  without  representation.  But 
you  will  never  get  me  to  appear  in  person."  He  was  not  prepared  for 
the  reception  of  this  effusion  of  independence.  The  old  woman  lost 
her  head  entirely.  After  the  wild  revel  of  maternal  power  she  had 
been  enjoying  that  night,  to  be  defied  at  all  was  unspeakingly  gall- 
ing. But  to  be  defied  in  a  matter  of  such  vital  importance  was 
to  lose  more  than  authority.  The  timid  barn-fowl  will  fight  for  its 
young  ones,  and  Mrs.  Dawe.  who  was  by  no  means  timid,  abandoned 
herself  to  a  seizure  of  verbal  pugnacity,  shrinking  at  nothing  to 
defend  her  solitary  young  one  against  himself ;  to  say  nothing  of 
her  own  interests. 

Drawing  herself  up  with  the  prophetic  fury  of  a  Cassandra,  she 
launched  into  rhapsodical  objurgations  and  demoniac  denunciations 
of  the  evils  to  be.  The  painter's  hair  stood  on  end  as  he  listened  in 
awe-struck  silence  to  the  tale  of  the  intolerable  days  he  wocdd  be 
made  to  endure  before  the  trial.  Shaking  her  gray  hair,  quivering 
avith  electric  passion,  unresting  and  maniacal  of  gesture,  and  lavish  of 
rough  metaphor  and  uncouth  simile,  the  old  sibyl  declared  that  she 
would  not  fail  to  be  present,  and  that  if  he  did  not  accompany  her, 
he  was  no  longer  to  look  for  peace  till  the  sexton's  spade  battened 
down  the  clods  over  his  early  grave.  It  was  a  weird  and  unholy 
scene—and  the  clock  of  the  church  of  St.  John,  mournfully  striking 
two,  intensified  the  nocturnal  stillness  which  was  being  so  impiously 
disturbed. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  NOCTURNAL  VISITOR. 

At  last  his  mother  was  gone  to  bed.  The  striking  of  two  had 
warned  her  that  only  a  few  hours  of  sleep  remained,  and  she  pre- 
sently departed  with  a  final  burst  of  invective  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  the  author  of  the  epistle  against  the  Ibis.  Jack  sat  for 
some  time  rigid  and  silent,  his  hands  pressed  to  his  aching  brow. 
After  a  while,  muttering  "  There  is  no  help  for  it,''  he  rose,  opened 
the  drawer  of  the  table,  and,  after  some  search,  discovered  a  sheet  of 
letter-paper  and  an  envelope.  Then,  re-seating  himself,  he  began 
to  write. 

So  deep  a  stillness  now  reigned  within  and  without,  that  had  he 
not  been  engrossed  in  his  task,  the  silence  would,  by  contrast,  hav 
been  almost  oppressive.  The  scampering  of  a  mouse  across  th* 
floor  gave  him  a  little  startled  thrill.  His  nerves  were  unstrung,  fo 
hardly  had  he  resumed  his  momentarily-interrupted  writing  whei 
be  felt  himself  falling  under  the  spell  of  a  strange,  eerie  sensatio 


A  NOCTURNAL   VISITOR  407 

— the  consciousness  of  another  presence  in  the  room.  He  tried  to 
shake  off  the  feeling  and  concentrate  himself  on  his  letter ;  but,  as 
he  was  under  the  temporary  sway  of  an  unconquerable  aversion 
from  looking  round,  his  whole  soul  became  more  and  more  im- 
pregnated with  the  perception  of  an  alien  existence.  He  seemed 
even  to  catch  the  rhythmic  sounds  of  light  breathing.  Agitated  by 
a  confusion  of  shifting  ideas,  he  made  an  effort  and  turned  his  head, 
and  immediately  his  heart  almost  stopped  beating,  while  his  brain 
beg^n  to  whirl  under  a  rush  of  conflicting  hypotheses  and  emotions. 
At  his  side  stood  a  female  figure  draped  in  black.  The  face  was 
quite  strange  to  him.  It  was  young,  but  there  was  a  sad,  grave 
look  in  the  brown  eyes  ;  and  it  wore  a  fatigued,  oldish  expression. 
Nevertheless,  the  features  were  well  formed,  and  the  whole  counte- 
nance full  of  a  pensive,  melancholy  chann.  The  hair  was  arranged 
in  bands  with  Grecian  simplicity. 

The  apparition  stood  surveying  him  in  silence,  and  in  its  ex* 
tended  hand  it  held  a  roll  of  manuscript,  covered  with  hieroglyphics 
and  cabbalistic  inscriptions.  As  it  seemed  to  be  tendering  this  to 
him,  he  put  out  his  hand  boldly  and  took  it.  At  the  first  glance 
the  apparent  hieroglyphics  resolved  themselves  into  his  own  crabbed 
caligraphy.  It  was  his  neglected  essay  '*  On  the  Spiritual  in  Man,** 
and,  in  a  flash,  a  wild  hsdf-explanatory  theory  took  possession  of 
his  mind,  and  his  eyes  lit  up  with  sacred,  awed  rapture. 

'*  Speak ! "  he  cried  solemnly.  ^  Reveal  to  me  the  mystery  of 
thy  being,  and  of  man's." 

The  apparition  put  its  finger  on  its  lips. 

^  Say  not  thy  lips  are  sealed.  Whence  and  wherefore  comest 
thou?" 

The  figrure  opened  its  mouth  for  the  first  time,  and  breathed  the 
strange  words: 

"  Hush !    YeHl  wake  missis  I " 

"Wake  missis!"  gasped  the  painter,  in  tones  of  acute  dis- 
appointment mingled  with  surprise.    **  Why,  who  are  you  ?" 

-  The  sad  face  of  the  apparition  was  irradiated  by  a  beautiful 
blush,  the  melancholy  eyes  sparkled  with  joy,  and  a  low  laugh  of 
triumph  broke  from  its  lips. 

**  *E  don't  know  me  I "  it  muttered  to  itself  ecstatically. 

And  it  began  to  prance  about  in  silent  irrepressible  joy,  with 
light,  graceful  twirlings.  As  the  painter  watched  the  sinuous  un- 
dulations and  frolicsome  movements  of  the  grave  Grecian  ghost, 
his  irritation  began  to  give  way,  though  his  perplexity  remained 
undiminished. 

^  Surely  you  are  not  Sally  ?  **  he  exclaimed. 

"Ain't  I  ?"  inquired  the  apparition,  grinning  with  fresh  delight. 
**Who  d'yer  suppose  IVe  been  and  swopped  with?  Ye  don't 
know  me,  then,  but  only  my  clothes." 

"But  how  is  it  I  have  never  seen  you  dressed  thus  before?" 

"Ye  'ave,  master !  It's  my  goin'  out  dress.  I  wears  it  on  my 
day  out  every  Cbris'mus,  not  Chris'mus  Day  ye  know,  'cause  we're 


4o8  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

busy,  but  the  week  arter  when  everybody's  spent  their  money.  But 
ye  never  used  to  look  at  me  ihen^  she  added  with  arch  reproach. 

"  And  why  have  you  put  it  on  now  ? " 

The  drudge  was  silent,  but  her  cheeks  were  eloquent  The 
painter  could  not  read  the  message  written  in  letters  of  fire,  and  he 
continued  good-humouredly : 

^'  Did  you  dream  it  was  Christmas  and  your  day  out,  and  get  up 
and  array  yourself  in  your  splendours,  and  come  down  to  find  it  the 
middle  of  the  night  ?" 

'*  No,  master ! ''  said  the  girl,  instinctively  seizing  on  the  last 
question.    "  I  come  down  to  give  ye  yer  mess." 

^*  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  die  painter  ruefully. 

^  Ye  see,**  she  added  in  a  mystenous  whisper,  ^*  I  'ad  to  'ide  it 
for  fear  missis  should  wrap  up  pies  in  it" 

**  It  is  in  vain  to  struggle  against  Fate.  Perhaps  it  were  better 
to  let  it  fulfil  its  destiny  at  once.  But  you  were  wrong  to  disturb 
your  rest.    Could  you  not  have  given  it  to  me  by  day  ?" 

'*  There  was  no  chance  to  give  it  yer  while  missis  was  in  'ere 
with  ye,"  replied  Sally  glibly.  ^'And  I  thought  if  ye  didn't  'ave 
it  to-night,  ye  might  worry  over  it,  'cause  I  see  ye  takin'  so  much 
trouble  over  it,  and  I  thought  ye  might  'a  thought  ye'd  lost  it,  and 
while  I  was  waitin'  for  missis  to  go  to  bed,  I  &ought  I  might  as 
well  'ave  a  jolly  good  wash  and  when  I  was  clean  it  seemed  a  pity 
to  waste  all  that  clean  on  my  old  clothes,  so  I  ups  and  puts  on  my 
grand  dress,  and  just  as  I  were  a-doin'  up  the  last  'ook,  missis  took 
hers,  and  so  I  took  the  hopportunity." 

*'  Thank  you  for  your  trouble,"  said  Jack,  who  had  been  scepti- 
cally skimming  a  page  of  the  essay  while  this  explanation  was  going 
on,  and  who  appeared  shaken  by  the  force  of  his  own  reasonings 
at  the  close.  ^  And  now,  as  it's  so  late,  you  had  better  go  to  bed, 
and  for  the  same  reason  I  had  better  remain  up  and  finish  this 
article." 

Salljr's  l^ce  fell. 

'*  I  ain't  a  bit  sleepy,"  she  urged.  ^'  Can't  I  stay  up  and  wait 
upon  ye  while  ye  writes  ?  " 

"  You  are  very  obliging,  Sally,"  he  said.  **  But  really  I  have  no 
need  of  your  services.    Go  to  rest,  there's  a  good  girl" 

^  I  can't  rest ! "  Sally  cried  in  a  sudden  burst  of  anguish  ;  then 
she  stopped,  affrighted  by  the  sound  of  her  own  words. 

Jack,  catching  her  anxiety,  listened  for  any  signs  of  activity 
overhead ;  and  there  was  a  pause,  in  which  they  could  hear  the 
beating  of  each  other's  hearts. 

**  Can't  I  make  you  a  cup  of  cawfy  ? "  persisted  Sally  in  low 
tones.    "  You're  sure  to  want  some  cawfy."    ■ 

"  No,  thank  you,"  he  replied.  *'  Now,  Sally,  go  to  bed,  and 
leave  me  to  my  work.  I  must  finish  this  letter  ;  and,  by-the-b]r, 
you  had  better  copy  it  to-morrow.  I  shall  leave  it  for  you  in  its 
envelope  on  the  mantelpiece.    Good-night,  Sally." 

The  girl  gulped  down  a' lump  which  had  formed  in  her  throat 


A  NOCTURNAL   VISITOR  409 

"  Good -night,  master ! "  she  whispered.  Then  suddenly  turning 
back  with  plaintively-brimming  eyes  :  *'  Y'ain't  angry  wiUi  me  for 
puttin'  on  my  new  togs  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Angry,  my  child?  On  the  contrary,  I  am  pleased  to  see  that 
you  are  not  so  black  as  you  generally  paint  yourself. ,  Henceforth 
the  picture  of  you  which  I  shall  carry  with  me  will  be  one  pleasanter 
to  the  material  eye." 

A  burst  of  sunshine  dispelled  the  shadows  on  the  drudge's  brow. 

*'  '£'s  going  to  draw  a  picter  0'  me/'  she  told  herself  rapturously, 
**  and  carry  it  in  'is  buzzom." 

",  Then  ye  like  me  better  clean  I "  she  exclaimed. 

^  Decidedly,"  he  responded,  looking  at  the  eager  little  drudge 
with  an  amused  but  sympathetic  smile.  *^  You  have  convinced  me 
that  plainness  is  but  dirt-deep,  for,  under  the  influence  of  a  clean 
skin  and  a  neat  dress,  you  have  improved  vastly.  Upon  my  word, 
you  are  really  good-looking,  and  if  you  don't  take  the  greatest  care 
of  your  person  after  that,  you  are  no  true  woman.  But  I  am 
falhng  into  the  platitudes  of  shallow  cynics  ;  the  true  woman  knows 
well  Uiat '  The  soul  is  form,  and  doth  the  body  make.' " 

Sally  was  attitudinising  before  the  glass,  her  face  wreathed  in 
smiles. 

'*  And  'ow  do  ye  like  my  dress  ?"  she  said,  turning  towards 
him  with  a  new  feminine  expression  in  her  countenance,  that  look 
which,  after  so  many  years  of  dormancy,  was  at  last  awakened. 

"Very  nice,"  said  Jack  abstractedly,  his  fancj^  wandering  amid 
the  deserts  and  enchantments  drear  of  the  **  Faerie  Queene." 

The  girl  could  restrain  herself  no  longer.  The  long-repressed 
thought  burst  forth  into  passionate  speech : 

"  Ain't  I  a  lady  now  ?  "  she  demanded.  "  It's  only  'cause  'Lizer 
could  afford  it,  that  she  used  to  look  so  nice.  Ain't  I  as  good  as 
'er  now  ?  "  She  was  touching  his  coat  timidly,  and  looking  up  into 
his  face  with  her  large,  pathetic  eyes. 

"  God  forbid,  Sally !  I  hope  you  are  an  honest  girl.  But 
perhaps  I  wrong  her,"  he  added  musingly.  **  She  admits  she  has 
acted  by  the  advice  of  her  lawyer,  and  I  ought  to  forgive  her,  for 
she  loved  much." 

"  Much  what  ?  "  queried  Sally  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "  Rhino  ? 
Oh,  she's  a  sly  old  cat  is  'Lizer.  And  she's  been  and  gone  and 
summonsed  ye  as  if  ye  was  a  murderer,  is  she?  I'd  like  to 
murder  'er ! "    She  clenched  her  fists  viciously. 

"  You  should  not  harbour  such  desires,  Sally ;  the  girl  is  right 
from  her  point  of  view.     She  is  honestly  entitled  to  damages." 

"  And  I'd  like  to  give  'em  'er,  blowed  if  I  wouldn't  1  I'd  spile 
'er  beauty  for  'er." 

"  Hush,  SaUy ! " 

"  Ye've  alius  taken  'er  part,"  grumbled  the  girl.  *•  Even  arter 
she's  summonsed  ye." 

"  Sally,"  said  Jack  solemnly,  "you  have  yet  to  learn  the  duty  of 
a  Christian." 


4IO  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

"  What's  that  ?*  snapped  Sally. 

"  If  you  arc  smitten  on  one  cheek ^ 

"  Ye  smack  'em  on  the  other." 

"  You  must  turn  the  other." 

"  What  for  ?    To  see  who's  up  to  larks  ?  " 

"  To  be  smitten.* 

Sally  laughed  contemptuously.  "What  rot!  I  never  see 
anybody  do  that  except  Judy  when  Punch  whacks  'er.  And  yet 
this  is  a  Christen  country,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  Well  ?"  said  the  pamter  dubiously. 

"  Well,  what's  the  bobbies  for  then?''  asked  Sally  triumphantly. 

*^  Perhaps  you  are  taking  the  maxim  too  literally.  I  had  better 
give  you  the  more  abstract  precept.  *  Do  unto  others  as  you  would 
that  they  should  do  unto  you.' " 

"  There's  more  sense  m  that,"  she  muttered,  **  and  I  wish  I  'ad 
'er  'ere  to  claw,"  she  whispered  ferociously. 

"  You  don't  understand." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  does.  If  I  summonsed  ye,  I  couldn't  rest  till  I  was 
clawed  all  over  for  I'd  know  I  deserved  it." 

This  singular  argumenium  ad  feminam  was  uttered  with  such 
earnestness  that  the  painter  scarcely  knew  what  to  say.  He  could 
not  but  be  touched  by  the  faithful  servant's  attachment  to  his  cause 
and  by  her  unselfish,  if  mistaken,  zeal. 

"  You  would  not  deserve  it,"  he  said,  evading  the  point  at  issue, 
"  if  you  had  been  deserted  as  she  has  been." 

"  S'pose  she  were  deserted  !  She  oughter  consider  'crself  lucky 
to  'ave  been  loved  at  all." 

The  painter  looked  at  her  in  amaze.  "  What  would  Tennyson 
say  to  this?"  he  thought.  "Is  originality  but  the  appropriation 
of  the  common  sentiment?  This  girl  is,  undoubtedly,  full  of 
latent  genius,  and  if  I  did  nothing  else  of  good  it  ought  to  be 
my  task  to  educe  it.  I  have  long  recognised  this.  Yet  what  have 
I  done  f    Almost  nothing ! " 

"Is  I  a-goin'  to  be  a  witness  in  the  trial?''  inquired  Sally 
musingly. 

"Why  do  you  ask?" 

"'Cos  I  should  swear  blind  that  it  ain't  your  fault,  don't  ye 
see  ?  "  she  said  with  a  movement  of  cajolery. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?    How  could  you  show  that  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  found  out  yet,  but  I'd  think." 

"  Surely,  you  don't  mean  you  would  swear  untruths  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  in  course  not ! "  said  Sally,  imitating  his  tone  of 
pious  horror  and  bestowing  a  wink  on  the  canvas  countenance 
of  Mrs.  Dawe's  late  husband.  "  I  wouldn't  tell  a  lie  to  save  my 
life." 

"  My  dear  child  I "  exclaimed  Jack,  much  relieved.  "  I  rejoice 
in  the  soundness  of  your  moral  intuitions,  and  that  they  should  be 
present  when  moral  instruction  has  been  absent  is  a  strong  proof 


J 


A  NOCTURNAL   VISITOR  4n 

of  their  innateness.    Your  master  never  did  give  you  any  moral 
instruction,  did  he  ?  " 

**Ye  give  me  instruction  in  copy-books,  don't  ye  remember? 
Is  that  moral?" 

**  Well,  copy-books  are  usually  moral,"  replied  Jack  with  some 
embarrassment.  **  Arid  speaking  of  copy-books,  how  have  you 
been  getting  on  in  my  absence  ?  ^ 

**  I  couldn't  do  nothin',"  answered  Sally  with  a  pathetic  glance. 
'*  I  was  so  miserable.  I  would  a-runn'd  away  if  ye  'adn't  come 
back." 

**  Poor  child  ! "  he  said.  "  It  must  have  indeed  been  terrible 
to  be  left  alone  with  that  angry  old  woman,"  he  thought.  The 
compassionate  remark  raised  SaJl/s  self-pity  to  a  higher  pitch  and 
the  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

"  If  ye  was  to  go  away  agen,  I  should  take  pison,"  she  cried 
desperately. 

"  Hush !  You  must  not  talk  like  that,"  he  said,  alarmed  by  the 
thought  that  the  first  part  of  the  hypothesis  was  not  unlikely  to 
occur. 

**  Why  not  ?  Yer  said  iust  now  I  must  tell  the  truth,  didn't  yer? 
And  I  feeled  like  pisonih  myself  last  time." 

**  But  you  must  not  feel  like  that" 

"'Ow  can  I  help  what  I  feels  ?" 

"  Sally,"  said  the  painter  sternly,  "guard  your  spirit  against  the 
necessitarian  doctrines.    They  are  paralyzing." 

*•  I  wish  I  was  paralyzed,"  Sally  exclaimed  recklessly.  "May  I 
never  move  if  I  don't." 

"  Calm  yourself,"  said  her  master  gently.  "  The  suicidal  state 
of  mind  is  sinful." 

"  Can't  I  do  what  I  like  with  myself?"  said  she  sullenly. 

"  Decidedly  not  1  Man  may  mend,  but  not  end  himself.  Go  on 
cultivating  yourself,  my  child,  and  you  will  have  no  wish  to  root 
yourself  out,  to  continue  the  metaphor.  You  have  been  neglected, 
but  it's  never  too  late  to  mend." 

"  It's  never  too  early  to  end  1 "  she  retorted.  **  I  wish  I  was 
homed  dead  I " 

'*  You  grieve  me,  Sally.  It  is  sinful,  I  tell  you,  to  entertain  such 
thoughts." 

"  DVer  mean  to  say  that  I  mustn't  kill  myself?" 

"  I  do.  No  man  liveth  to  himself  alone.  We  are  all  bound  by 
infinite  ties  to  the  rest  of  humanity." 

"  But  nobody  wants  me ! "  Sally  burst  forth  ;  "  and  I  don't  want 
myself  neither  ! "    She  burst  into  tears. 

"  Your  condition  is  morbid,  my  dear  child,*'  said  Jack,  greatly 
distressed.  She  sobbed  silently  for  some  time,  and  every  sob  was 
a  stab  in  the  painter's  sympathetic  heart.  At  last  he  went  to  her 
and  took  her  hand  gently  to  calm  her,  and  her  fingers  closed  con- 
vulsively upon  his. 


412  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

*' Speak  no  more  of  death,"  he  said.  '^More  life  and  fuller 
— that  you  want.  You  must  get  wider  interests.  Live  in  the 
world  of  books  —  that  pure,  substantial,  and  good  world  of 
which  Wordsworth  speaks,  and  you  will  never  be  alone  any 
more." 

^  Books  is  rot***  Sally  said,  wiping  her  eyes  with  her  disengaged 
knuckles.  ^  What* s  a  good  of  readin'  that  a  dog  sat  on  a  log,  or  a 
fat  cat  is  not  a  'at  I  never  see  a  dog  on  a  log,  and  I  never  supposed 
a  fat  cat  were  a  'at'' 

^  Poor  child  1 "  said  the  painter,  his  ejres  growing  humid.  "  Is 
then  Literature —divine  Literature — nothing  to  you,  but  a  con- 
geries of  propositions  concerning  cats  and  dogs  ?  Be  it  my  task  to 
reveal  to  you  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth." 

^  I  ai'nt  'ad  a  old  'eaven  yet,"  murmured  Sally. 

'*  Indeed  you  have  not,"  he  said  compassionately.  ^  But  the 
future  is  before  you." 

"That  ain't  much  consolation.  It  can't  be  be'ind  me,  can 
it?" 

*'  No,  Mistress  Critic ;  but  I  mean  a  bright  future." 

''That's  better.  But  as  for  books,  I  don't  see  'ow books  11  make 
me  less  alone,"  she  continued  slyly.  ''  I'd  rather  keep  company  with 
you  than  with  a  million  books.'' 

*^  You  may  think  so  now ;  but  you  will  soon,  I  trust,  know 
better." 

She  shook  her  head  archly  and  pressed  his  hand.  ''Is  that 
rheumatic  old  man  'appy  that  keeps  the  bookstall  over  the  vray?" 
she  asked. 

''  Certainly,  if  he  sips  his  own  sweets.  Believe  me,  there  are 
people  who  would  rather  have  a  dead  book  talk  to  them  than  a 
living  man  1 " 

Sally  would  believe  anything  that  came  from  his  lips.  She  only 
wanted  to  sit  there,  holding  his  hand. 

"That's  nothin*,"  she  said.  "Some  kids  is  fond  o' playin' in 
simmitries.  Is  you  one  of  them  people  that  likes  to  talk  to  dead 
books  better  than  to  living  men  ?" 

"  To  a  large  extent.  I  love  my  books  beyond  almost  everything 
on  earth." 

"  Ye  laves  'em  1 "  echoed  Sally.    "  Well,  I've  yerd  o'  kissin'  the 

book ;  but  rd  rather  kiss  the  livin' ^    She  left  the  sentence 

incomplete,  as  expecting  the  sense  to  be  taken  up,  and  turned  her 
head  away  in  modest  anticipation. 

"Your  absurdities  are  delightful,"  said  the  painter  smiling. 
"  You  have  mistaken  the  exception  for  the  rule.  I  do  not  think  the 
greatest  book-lovers  and  bibliophiles — they  are  not  the  same  thing, 
Sally,  though  you  might  think  so  from  the  etymology — ever  kus 
their  books.  But,  bless  my  soul !  Is  that  the  church  clock  strikiog 
three  ?    You  will  get  no  sleep  at  all." 

"  I  don't  want  no  sleep/'  pleaded  Sally,  with  fluttering  heart 
"  I  wants  to  'ear  about  the  books."    The  painter's  face  filled  with 


/ 


A  NOCTURNAL   VISITOR  413 

triumph.    **  Didn't  I  say  you  would  soon  grow  interested  ?  But  it  is 
really  too  late  now." 

"  Didn't  yer  say  it's  never  too  late  to  mend  ?  **  she  urged.  "And 
I  wants  to  begin  to  mend  now.  If  yer  tells  me  what  to  read,  I  will 
read  'em  all  as  soon  as  I  can,  and  be  a  lady  more  than  ever." 

**  That  is  a  good  idea."  "And  when  1  am  gone "  he  thought, 
"  my  spirit  will  supervise  her  culture." 

*^  I  will  draw  up  a  list  of  twenty  at  once,"  he  said.  '*  It  wont 
take  long." 

''  Oh,  do  make  a  longer  one,"  she  cried.  He  smiled  at  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  young  disciple,  and  consented  to  make  a  selection 
of  the  best  hundred  b^oks.  How  the  drudge  was  to  obtain  them 
neither  thought  of  for  the  moment 

Sally  rose  with  alacrity,  found  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  the 
painter,  laying  it  upon  his  hsdf-finished  letter,  began  to  write.  Sally 
stood  behind  his  chair  watching  him,  with  one  hand  resting 
lightly  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Let  us  be  systematic,"  he  said,  "  and  begin  with  the  Ancients." 
"Who  are  they?" 

"  The  Greeks  and  Romans  who  lived  some  thousands  of  years 
2^o." 

Sally  opened  her  eyes.  "  What !  Could  they  write  ?  I 
thought  there  wasn't  no  School  Boards  then.  And  does  anybody 
read  'em  now  ?  *' 

**  Only  a  few  read  them;  but  a  good  many  parse  the  verbs. 
But  of  course  you  must  procure  the  English  translations.  Of  Plato's 
works,  the  Republic  will  be  best  for  our  purposes.  Aristotle's 
metaphysics— no,  it's  too  dry." 

"  I  ain't  afeared  o'  dry  physic,"  said  Sally. 
"  Then  you  shall  have  Hegel,  too.  That  will  make  three  ;  then, 
Epictetus,  ^schylus,  Sophocles,  some  of  Euripides — but  I  am  for- 
getting my  limited  field.  The  Georgics — that's  all  in  Latin  ;  Marcus 
Antomnus — and,  by  the  way,  I  mustn't  forget  the  Vedas.  For 
English,  first  and  foremost,  Wordsworth ;  then  Shakespeare,  and 
a  curious,  almost-forgotten  novel,  called.  The  Mould  of  Form, 

cbntaining  the  truest  touches.     The  Bible  of  course ^" 

"  But  what'll  missis  say  ? "  interrupted  Sally  in  awe-struck 
tones.  Their  voices  had  grown  loud  and  unrestrained,  and  her 
arm  had  gradually  all  but  coiled  round  her  master's  neck.  A 
pained  look  came  into  his  eyes. 

*'We  must  not  mind  what  missis  says,"  he  replied.  "She 
knows  nothing." 

"  I  didfit!  you  pair  o'  wipers  ! "  shrieked  a  terrible  voice  behind 
them.     "  But  thank  Gord  I've  found  it  out  afore  it's  too  late  I " 

The  guilty  couple  started  violendy,  and  the  inkbottle  was  over- 
turned on  the  table-cloth.  There  on  the  last  step  of  the  stairs 
stood  Mrs.  Dawe,  wild-eyed,  like  an  avenging  fury.  Her  bosom 
heaved  convulsively  under  her  dirty-white  nightgown,  and  beneath 
her  dingy  night-cap  her  gray  hair  bristled  with  horror. 


414  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

^  So  this  is  the  gal  ye've  damaged  me  for,  is  it  ?  **  she  cried. 
**  But  thank  Gord !     I've  stopped  the  elopement ! " 

The  "gal's  **  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  hermouth.  She  could  say 
nothing,  but  clung  affrighted  to  her  lover. 


CHAPTER  XII I. 

AVE  ATQUE  VALE. 

The  eventful  day,  on  which  the  Premier  was  to  ask  leave  to  intro- 
duce a  Bill  for  regulating  the  Government  of  Ireland,  dawned  bright 
and  fresh,  and  London  awoke  with  the  feeling  that  it  would  not 
sleep  another  night  without  learning  the  authentic  details  of  the 
measure,  the  prognostication  of  which  had  agitated  the  civilised 
world. 

The  excitement  throughout  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland,  was 
almost  unprecedented.  Never  had  the  stru<^gle  for  seats  in  the 
House  been  keener,  both  among  the  members  and  the  outside 
world.  Intellect,  wealth,  beauty,  rank,  intrigued  for  a  few  inches  of 
room,  and  the  new  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  was  on  the  point 
of  moving  that  the  House  should  be  farmed  to  the  highest  bidder, 
when  he  recollected  that  the  suggestion  would  give  more  iclat  to 
his  forthcoming  Budget.  The  Irish  Members  held  an  anticipatory 
wake  all  night  in  the  House  over  the  defunct  Act  of  Union,  and  the 
morning  found  them  carousing  on  the  Tory  benches.  Presently 
the  rows  became  covered  with  hats  (as  empty-headed  as  some  of 
their  owners)  which  kept  watch,  some  like  battered  old  guards,  and 
others  like  spruce  young  sentinels.  After  breakfast  the  members, 
the  knowing  old  stagers  in  smoking-caps,  and  the  green  ones  in 
their  own  hair  or  want  of  hair,  repaired  to  the  terrace,  where  a 
gymnastic  entertainment  was  in  progress.  Cunning  casuists  de- 
parted in  cabs,  to  return  at  eve.  Those  whose  consciences  were 
less  profound  amused  themselves  as  best  they  could ;  some  in  filling 
the  hats  with  Gospel  propaganda,  others  in  round  games,  and  others 
still  in  negro  theatricals. 

Around  the  House  was  gathered  from  an  early  hour  a  dense 
crowd  of  working-men  mingled  with  sightseers,  waiting  to  cheer 
the  Floppington  they  idolised.  The  morning  papers  were  filled 
with  Parliamentary  reports,  and  as  people  read  the  exciting  details, 
their  excitement  multiplied  itself  on  seeing  itself  in  print  Mean- 
time, the  Premier,  like  a  prudent  general,  kept  himself  as  retired 
in  person  as  he  was  reserved  in  speech.  Pressure  of  business  would 
not  yet  permit  relaxation.  All  the  world  wondered  at  and  applauded 
this  herculean  perseverance.    And  what  made  him  an  even  mora 


AVE  ATQUE  VALE  415 

impressive  figure  at  this  critical  juncture  was  the  many-sidedness  of 
the  man.  In  the  midst  of  a  session,  the  like  of  which  for  external 
activity  and  internal  intrigue  had  never  been  known  within  the 
memory  of  the  generation ;  when  the  Premier  had  rarely,  if  ever, 
failed  to  be  in  his  place  in  the  House  ;  when  he  had  delivered  great 
speeches  by  the  score  ;  when  he  had  passed  one  great  measure  and 
prepared  another;  that  he  should  yet  find  time  to  meet  the  scientists 
on  their  own  ground  and  demolish  their  flimsy  materialism — this 
raised  the  worid's  admiration  to  its  highest  pitch.  The  current 
number  of  the  Nineteenth  Century,  containing  the  article  which  had 
extorted  the  eulogies  of  theologians  of  all  sects,  and  which  had 
already  set  at  work  the  pens  of  eminent  physiologists  and  physicists, 
sold  by  tens  of  thousands.  Nor  did  the  Premier's  modest  disclaimer 
of  originality,  his  naive  confession  that  not  one  of  the  ideas  was 
his  own,  detract  from  the  fame  of  this  admirable  piece  of  work. 

While  the  Premier  was  preparing  for  the  great  effort  of  the 
evening,  Jack  Dawe  was  trying  to  avert  his  bitter  thoughts  by  the 
perusal  of  the  morning  papers,  but  the  attempt  only  intensified 
their  bitterness.  A  wave  of  custom  had  borne  off  his  mother  on  its 
foaming  crest,  and  he  was  left  in  the  little  parlour  in  momentary 
freedom. 

There  are  periods  of  anguish  which  the  most  circumstantial  of 
biographers  is  compelled  to  pass  by  in  respectful  silence,  and  only 
a  literary  vivisectionist  would  venture  to  lay  bare  the  quivering 
nerves  of  the  sensitive  painter,  or  calmly  anatomise  his  sufferings 
since  the  nocturnal  intrusion  of  Mrs.  Dawe.  Suffice  it  to  say  that 
his  every  action  was  regulated  with  the  most  ruthless  tyranny.  He 
was  never  allowed  to  exchange  a  word  with  the  poor  drudge,  grown 
more  unkempt,  slipshod,  and  smutty  than  ever,  who  occasionally 
sent  him  an  appesuing  look  of  utter  misery  that  cut  him  to  the 
heart ;  and  the  persistent  invective  with  which  he  was  deluged, 
both  on  account  of  his  presumed  relations  to  Sally  and  of  the  law- 
suit now  at  hand,  prostrated  him  physically  and  mentally,  so  that 
he  had  not  yet  been  able  to  resume  his  painting  (thus  affording  not 
the  least  among  the  many  minor  subjects  of  his  mother's  unjust 
reproach). 

What  wonder  if  the  idea  of  flight  had  been  gradually  growing 
more  and  more  definite ;  with  the  under-thought  of  an  after-rescue 
of  his  fellow-sufferer.  He  who  runs  away  may  live  to  run  away 
another  day,  and  the  partial  success  of  his  first  escape,  though  that 
was  rather  an  expulsion,  emboldened  the  poor  painter  to  meditate 
a  higher  flight. 

This  time  he  should  not  be  recaptured  so  easily  ;  he  would  quit 
the  metropolis  altogether,  and  bury  himself  in  some  obscure  village 
on  the  coast.  The  prospect  if  he  remained  at  home  was  indeed 
horrible  to  contemplate.  For  to  say  nothing  of  the  worry  and 
sick  hopelessness  of  this  Golgotha  in  other  respects,  the  bone  of 
contention  of  the  breach  of  promise  suit  was  forced  down  his  throat 
till  he  almost  choked.    Never  was  man  impaled  on  the  horns  of 


41 6  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

a  more  fearful  dilemma.  To  appear  at  the  trial  was  impossible. 
Cold  shivers  ran  through  him  when  he  thought  of  the  privacies,  of 
which  every  life  is  full,  laid  bare  before  Uie  world  in  that  fierce  light 
which  beats  upon  a  breach  of  promise  suit ;  of  the  inevitable 
sneering  recital  of  his  own  erotic  verses  and  all  the  endearing 
inanities  of  passion  ;  while  he  stood  quivering  under  the  cruel 
laughter  of  the  audience.  But  then,  if  he  did  not  appear,  he  felt 
that  his  reason  would  give  way  under  the  old  woman's  nagging,  now 
at  least  sometimes  temi>ered  by  persuasive  cajolery.  After  the 
damages  were  assessed  it  would  be  impossible  to  hve  under  the 
same  roof  with  his  mother,  and  to  delay  his  escape  was  only  to 
protract  his  torture.  He  must  allow  the  case  to  go  by  default,  and 
send  the  damages  to  Eliza  after  the  trial.  For  some  days  he  had 
bees  coming  down  in  his  best  clothes  with  the  idea  of  going  away  in 
them,  but  be  had  not  as  yet  wrought  up  his  activity  to  the  required 
tension.  The  mute  appeal  in  Sally's  eyes  and  the  remembrance  of 
her  wild  threats  had  always  detained  him.  But  that  recoilectioii 
was  growing  dim;  in  like  manner  as  the  threatened  assassination  o^ 
the  Premier  had  long  grown  shadowy  and  dreamlike  in  his  imagina- 
tion .  It  was  impossible  to  seriously  connect  the  super-vital  Minister 
or  the  active  little  drudge  with  the  idea  of  mortality.  Moreover,  a 
letter  received  the  day  before  had  somehow  doubled  the  strength  of 
his  determination.  As  the  painter  read  of  the  mad  enthusiasm  of 
the  country  for  the  disestablisher  of  the  empire,  and  incidentally 
for  the  disestablish/w^ff/,  he  clenched  his  fists  in  despair. 
But  as  he  read  on,  he  felt  himself  seized  by  the  feverish  ex- 
citement which  burned  in  the  common  breast.  That  longing  to 
be  present  on  the  great  occasion,  and  to  hear  the  great  orator, 
which  had  agitated  the  mind  of  royalty  itself,  and  whidi  had  so 
possessed  him  on  the  memorable  night  of  the  Second  Reading, 
again  kindled  his  spirit  in  a  passion  of  hopeless  desire.  It  was 
with  a  bitter  smile  that  he  began  to  reperuse  the  above-mentioned 
letter  which  he  now  took  from  his  pocket. 

"  Mr.  Floppington  has  even  asked  the  Speaker  to  allow  hhn  to 
place  you  under  the  grating  of  the  House;  but  this  could  not  be 
conceded.  He  begs  that  in  future  you  will  make  earlier  applica- 
tion " he  read.    "  O  gratitude  of  men  I "  he  cried,  "  art  thoa 

then,  in  very  truth,  nothing  but  a  lively  sense  of  future  favours  ! " 
And,  in  very  truth,  he  might  have  expected  more  courtesy  and 
consideration  from  a  man  whose  life  he  had  endeavoured  to  save. 
He  must  have  repeated  his  warnings,  indeed,  to  judge  by  anodier 
passage  of  the  letter  ;  and  it  was  to  be  expect^  that  the  occasion 
of  his  demand  for  a  seat  would  remind  him  of  his  olden  fears. 
"  Mr.  Floppington,''  ran  the  passage  in  question,  "again  begs  that 
you  will  cease  to  trouble  him  with  such  communications.  He  is  of 
opinion  that  the  case  you  now  put  is  yet  another  ruse,  and  he 
absolutely  refuses  to  take  the  steps  you  advise." 

But,  for  the  present,  Jack's  attention  was  engrossed  by  the  first- 
quoted  fragment    "  He  begs  that  in  future  you  vrill  make  earlier 


AVE  ATQUE   VALE  417 

application,'*  he  repeated  bitterly.  "  In  future  I  No,  Right 
Honourable  Floppington,  I  will  make  no  more  applications !  ^  He 
thrust  the  letter  into  his  pocket,  and,  ignonng  his  mother's 
exclamation  of  inquiry,  strode  into  the  street  to  cool  his  aching 
forehead,  and  dashed  against  a  young  man  whom  he  had  not  met 
since  the  Sunday  when  he  encountered  him  outside  the  church. 
The  young  man  looked  at  him  with  a  curious  pity,  and  put  out  his 
hand. 

*'  What's  the  hurry,  old  man  ?  "  he  said. 

The  painter  muttered  a  few  inaudible  words  and  was  passing 
on,  but  his  acquaintance  stopped  him. 

"  If  youVe  got  nothing  to  do  you  may  as  well  come  my  way.  I 
see  you've  got  your  best  togs  on.  Perhaps  you  are  going  to  see  the 
show.** 

"What  show?" 

**  Down  Westminster  way,  you  know.  Pm  taking  a  half-holiday 
to  see  an  the  big  pots  going  to  Parliament,  don't  jrou  know  ?  They 
say  tJie  Prince  of  Wales'll  be  there.  I  expect  it  will  be  a  swell 
affair.  Come  along,  old  chap,  and  give  Floppy  a  cheer  on  his 
way."  The  young  man  linked  the  painter's  arm  in  his,  but  it  was 
withdrawn  with  violence. 

**  Cheer  Floppington  ! "  gasped  Jack. 

"Why  not?" 

"Cheer  the  man  that  for  his  own  vain-glory  would  ruin  the 
country ! " 

"  Oh,  come !  I  ain't  quite  sure  that  I  agree  with  his  policy 
mysel£     But  you  can't  help  admiring  the  man." 

"  I  can  help  it,  and  I  do  ! "  he  said  furiously.  The  young  man 
struck  his  brow  with  his  palm. 

"  What  a  fool  I  am  ! "  he  cried.  "  Of  course,  Floppy  is  your  red 
rag.  Now  look  here,  Jack.  Let  me  give  you  a  bit  of  friendly  ad- 
vice. Don't  you  worry  your  head  so  much  about  Floppington.  It's 
unhealthy,  and  it'll  lead  to  no  good.  You  got  yourself  turned  out 
of  the  Foresters' for  hissing  him,  and  then  you  were  satisfied.  YouVe 
only  knocking  your  head  against  a  brick  wall.  There's  no  other 
Radical  so  down  on  him  as  you.  He's  a  great  man  ;  there's  no 
gainsaying  that." 

The  cSm  superiority  of  this  lecture  irritated  the  usually  com- 
posed painter  to  the  pitch  of  madness.  He  seemed  to  lose  his  balance 
coQipletely.  With  a  frenzied  laugh  he  bent  down  and  hissed  in  the 
lecturer's  ears  : 

"  He  a  great  man !     He  is  a  vile  impostor.'* 

"I  dare  say,"  replied  the  young  man  with  good-humoured 
tolerance.    "Well,  ta-ta,  if  you  will  be  pig-headed." 

**  But^  his  career  will  be  over  sooner  than  the  world  imagines," 
the  infuriated  painter  exclaimed. 

**  The  wish  is  father  to  the  thought,  old  chap ! "  said  the  young 
man,  laughing.    "  Ta-ta ! " 

He  had  not  taken  twenty  steps  when  the  painter  made  a  gesture 

2  £ 


41 8  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

of  despair,  tottered  back  into  the  parlour,  and  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands. 

"Is  all  this  torture  driving  me  mad?"  he  moaned.  '*  I  dare 
not  stay  here  another  day,  or  I  shall  lose  my  reason  altogether. 
....  Miserable  creature  of  impulse  that  I  am,  shall  I  never  guide 
myself  by  intellectual  principles  ?  Shame  on  me  to  have  reviled  a 
great  and  noble  man,  any  one  of  whose  days  is  a  fiery  reproach  to  my 
whole  life  oi  far  niente,  ...  My  God,  I  repent  The  harmonies 
of  the  universe  are  immeasurably  delicate.  Change  the  place  of 
any  two  notes  and  discord  enters  into  the  music  of  the  spheres." 
«♦♦♦«* 

The  Premier  ceased.  Por  three  and  a  half  hours  the  flower  of 
English  life  and  the  dUte  of  foreign  residents  and  visitors  had  been 
under  the  spell  of  the  magician  as  he  expounded,  in  immortal 
words,  his  magnificent  scheme.  It  was  a  wonderful  effort  of  con- 
structive statesmanship,  and,  as  the  great  Minister  sat  down,  a 
wild  delirium  of  applause  shook  the  building  to  its  centre.  For 
the  Premier,  used  as  he  was  to  being  the  focus  of  enthusiasm,  the 
moment  was  one  which  concentrated  the  rapture  of  a  lifetime 
Beyond  this  he  felt  that  life  had  now  nothing  to  offer. 

*♦♦««* 

The  same  evening  the  painter,  his  cadaverous  countenance 
proving  him  quite  unfit  for  his  enterprise,  glided  furtively  out  of 
the  *'  Star  Dining  Rooms,"  and,  turning  backwards  for  a  moment, 
he  raised  his  hands  towards  the  peaceful  evening  sky. 

^^  Ave  atque  vale^  be  said  in  low,  earnest  tones.  ^  Ave  atque 
vaU}' 


^O0k  ^IL 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  NATIONAL  TRAGEDY. 

F  the  Irish  Members  had  kept  their  anticipatory  wake 
over  the  Union  on  the  night  before  its  condemnation, 
their  constituents  waited  a  day  longer  before  abandon- 
ing themselves  to  the  performance  of  the  funeral 
rites.  But  when  the  telegraph  offices  sent  out  the 
news  that  "  the  darlint  Floppy "  had  given  the  lie  to 
ramour  by  exaggerating  its  wildest  exaggerations  ;  when  they  found 
that  they  were  to  be  separated  from  the  United  Kingdom  as  cleanly 
as  the  members  of  their  national  quadruped  were  cloven  asunder  by 
the  mechanical  contrivances  of  Porkopolis  ;  the  crowds  that  seethed 
around  the  offices  boiled  over.  And  as  a  child  takes  hold  of  a 
wooden  or  cardboard  man,  and,  acting  upon  the  mobile  anatomy, 
now  moves  its  legs,  now  extends  its  arms,  and  now  opens  its  mouth  ; 
so  did  the  spirit  of  joy  take  hold  of  Paddy,  and  cause  his  legs  to 
leap  in  triumph,  his  arms  to  elevate  themselves  in  blessing,  and  his 
mouth  to  open  for  the  emission  of  eloquence  or  the  reception  of 
whisky.  AH  night  long  the  streets  of  the  secessionist  towns  re- 
sounded with  the  music  of  '*  £rin-go-bragh  ^  and  other  national  airs, 
and  with  the  tramp  of  promenading  citizens.  Effigies  of  the 
people's  Floppy  were  carried  through  the  streets,  wreathed  with 
laurel  and  shamrock,  and  wrapped  in  green  and  American  flags,  and, 
if  an  occasional  affray  diversified  the  proceedings,  this  was  only 
what  was  to  be  expected  in  a  wake.  Morpheus  (locally  known  as 
Murphy)  fled  in  affright  and  sought  refuge  m  the  lecture  halls  and 
churches  of  the  Antipodes. 

Nor  was  the  excitement  in  the  Sister  Isle  of  England  much  less 
intense.  ^  Preparations  were  made  by  the  Conservative  and  a  few 
of  the  Liberal  associations  throughout  the  country  to  congratulate 
the  Premier  on  his  gigantic  and  daring  scheme ;  pens  were  busy  in 


420  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

every  newspaper  office  in  Great  Dritain,  describing  or  evolving  the 
scene  in  the  House,  and  writing  criticisms,  more  or  less  worthless, 
upon  the  reforms  projected ;  and  so  overcome  was  the  English 
Philistine  by  the  consciousness  of  his  own  ms^animitY*  that  be 
could  do  nothing  but  compare  notes  about  it  with  his  fellow- 
feelers. 

All  this  upwelling  and  ebullition  of  enthusiasm  was  delightfiiL 
Politics  is  the  poetry  of  the  average  man  ;  it  gives  him  a  wider  oat- 
look  and  lifts  him  above  the  sordid  cares  of  every  day ;  it  makes 
him  feel  that  he  is  an  important  unit  in  a  great  part^r  in  a  glorious 
nationality.  And  if  the  Politics  ^  la  mode  were  sometimes  devoid  of 
rhyme  or  reason,  they  only  offered  a  more  striking  parallel  to  much 
of  the  poetry  on  which  the  aesthetic  mind  was  nourished. 

On  this  occasion  the  promise  of  coming  excitement  was  even 
more  enchanting  than  the  actual  first-fruits.  The  Separation 
Bill  would,  of  course,  be  carried,  but  not  without  the  struggle 
which  was  the  sauce  to  the  titbit  It  was,  perhaps,  even  to  be 
regretted  that  the  contest  should  be  such  a  walk-over  for  Flop- 
pington.  The  fact  was  that  the  Minister  had  thrown  a  glamour 
over  his  countrymen.  His  influence  in  the  country  was,  in  short, 
equal  to  his  charm  in  society ;  and  that  is  not  saying  a  little^  Just 
as  on  his  coming  out  of  his  mistaken  reserve  and  shyness,  die 
magnetism  of  his  presence  attracted  to  him  a  host  of  new  friends, 
and  linked  his  old  ones  closer  to  his  soul  by  electric  chains ;  so  the 
parallel  transformation  of  his  political  personality,  the  new  vigour 
of  his  dialectic,  the  unaffected  directness  of  his  rhetoric,  and  the 
democratic  tendency  of  his  measures,  fascinated  the  universal 
heart  and  created  for  him  an  army  of  disciples  that  would  have 
followed  him  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  and  the  boundaries  of 
common  sense. 

Lord  Bardolph  bade  fair  to  ruin  his  popularity  by  his  bitter 
antagonism  to  the  Bill  The  last  thread  that  held  him  to  his  party 
was  now  snapped ;  for  not  even  the  most  Liberal  of  the  old  Tones, 
not  even  the  Conservative  least  reverential  of  the  Past,  could  find 
anything  but  approbation  for  this  great  measure,  undoing,  as  it  did, 
the  ill-advised  reforms  of  1800,  and  restoring  the  good  old  status  que 
ante.  Nothing  had  been  left  to  him  but  to  cast  in  his  lot  with  that 
hopeless  minority  which  Screwnail  was  leading,  and  whose  watch- 
word was  the  integrity  of  the  Empire. 

It  was  remarkable,  as  showing  the  singular  unanimity  of  the 
House,  that  even  these  few  hide-bound  Liberals  admitted  the  justice 
of  the  main  principle  of  the  Bill,  and  only  contended  that  a  clause 
should  be  inserted,  providing  for  the  immediate  construction  of  a 
Channel  Tunnel  to  prevent  the  total  severance  of  the  two  islands. 
Bardolph,  though  he  agreed  with  them  in  their  opposition,  did  not 
agree  with  its  raison  d*itre.  Like  a  solitary  star,  he  wandered 
across  the  political  firmament— erratic  as  a  comet,  but  without  the 
slighr^st  vestige  of  a  tail  And  as  the  dire  comets  of  the  Mantuan 
poet  foretold  the  horrors  of  civil  war,  so  did  this  fiery  meteor  thrill 
the  Hearts  of  spectators  with  dread  presages  of  internecine  conflict 


A  NATIONAL  TRAGEDY  421 

As  soon  as  the  first  rumours  of  the  coming  changes  began  to  circu- 
late, observers  noted  the  popularex-Ministerrevohring  in  his  eccentric 
path.  He  was  first  seen  in  Ireland  calling  on  the  men  of  Ulster  to 
strike  a  blow,  the  echoes  of  which  should  reverberate  to  the  utter- 
most comers  of  the  Universe ;  and,  wherever  he  went,  he  exhorted 
diem  wiUi  equal  vehemence  to  destroy  the  Constitution  for  the  sake 
of  preserving  the  Empire. 

Lord  Bardolph  was  by  no  means  unaware  of  the  danger  to  his 
popularity,  but  a  man  who  plays  to  break  the  bank  cannot  afford 
to  be  scrupulous  about  halfpence.  The  moment  a  reaction  took 
place — ^and  a  reaction  the  philosophical  Bardolph  felt  was  inevi- 
table— Bardolph  would  stand  alone,  the  only  man  who  had  not 
committed  himself  more  or  less  to  Home  Rule,  the  one  far-sighted 
and  lofty-minded  statesman  in  whom  the  country  could  have  con- 
fidence. 

A  reaction  did,  indeed,  come;  but  not  in  the  way  Bardolph  had 
imagined.  On  the  morning  after  Floppington's  great  speech  in  the 
House,  the  placards  of  the  papers  were  of  course  occupied  by 
staring  capitals,  all  connected  vnth  the  historical  proceedings  of  the 
evening  before.  But  when  the  second  editions  appeared,  as  on 
account  of  the  enormous  demand  they  very  soon  did,  the  lower 
portion  of  the  bills  was  devoted  to  such  titles  as  "  Mysterious  Ex- 
plosion at  5.30  A.M.  in  Westminster,"  ''  Fatal  Explosion  in  West- 
minster," etc.  The  third  editions  followed  almost  immediately  with 
"  Dynamiters  in  Westminster— blowing  up  of  a  stable — a  man 
killed."  By  this  time  the  evening  papers  were  out  with  equally 
sensational  headings.  But  this  startling  piece  of  news,  which 
would  have  been  a  godsend  to  proprietors  and  newsboys  at 
another  period,  fell  flat  What  the  Press  throughout  the  countty 
was  saymg  of  the  Premier's  measure ;  how  Ireland  received  it ; 
what  was  £he  state  of  feeling  in  America  and  on  the  Continent — 
these  were  the  topics  that  ^one  had  any  interest.  Not  even  the 
addition  to  the  bills  of  the  fifth  editions  of  '*  Strange  Rumours,"  or 
"  Startling  Rumours,"  or  "  Terrible  Rumours,"  had  any  appreciable 
effect  in  increasing  the  sufficiently  extraordinary  sales.  But  when 
the  public  of  the  fifth  edition  had  read  what  these  rumours  were,  a 
fearful  shock  of  horror  and  incredulity  traversed  its  mind.  The 
sixth  editions  sold  at  twopence,  and  were  exhausted  in  five  minutes. 
At  the  seventh  the  price  had  gone  up  to  si3q>ence,  and  the  bills 
announced  *'  Rumoured  Assassination  <^  the  Premier"  I  At  the 
tenth,  announcing  "  Assassination  of  the  Premier,"  and  edged  with 
black,  the  reign  <^  fancy  prices  began. 

Yet  even  then  there  were  people  who,  with  pale  lips  that  belied 
their  assurance,  asserted  that  the  report  was  nothing  but  a  canard. 
When  with  the  fifteenth  edition  of  the  PcUl  Mall  Gazettey  ''Escape 
of  the  Murderer  "  was  bawled  out,  it  seemed  as  if  London  had  gone 
mad.  People  fought  for  the  journals  in  the  streets,  and  the 
thoroughfares  were  crowded  with  loitering  masses  discussing  the 
terrible  tragedy  with  bated  breath,  or  clamorous  in  invoking  ven- 
geance OB  the  dastardly  assassin,  a  hitherto  unknown  Mr.  Jade 


42a  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

Dawe,  who  was  nowhere  to  be  found,  and  about  whom  nothing 
was  even  now  known  but  the  fact  that  a  reward  of  £2,000  was 
abeady  offered  for  his  arrest 

And  now  the  feverish  and  breathless  excitement  of  suspense 
and  doubt,  tempered  by  incredulity,  began  to  give  way  to  a  settled 
horror  and  a  hopeless  lamentation.  Yet  there  remained  that 
feeling  of  unreality  which  so  often  recurs  in  the  blankness  of 
bereavement  And  what  added  to  the  dreamlike  and  phantasma- 
goric effect  was  the  strange  and  uneasy  mental  undercurrent  of 
insecurity,  as  if  an  earthquake  had  shaken  the  city. 

Beauty  had  fled  from  the  deep,  brooding  blue  of  Heaven.  The 
wing  of  die  Angel  of  Death  had  passed  visibly  over  the  city,  ob- 
scuring the  golden  sunlight,  and  shadowing  the  mighty,  surging  sea 
of  panic-stricken  faces.  The  Angel  of  Death  had  passed,  leaving 
an  empire  shuddering  with  the  sense  of  national  disaster,  its  cities 
stirring  in  a  fever  of  restlessness  and  echoing  with  delirious  cries, 
its  heart  thick-pulsing  with  horror  ;  leaving  a  people  thrilling  with 
the  consciousness  of  a  national  tragedy  and  sublimated  by  pity  and 
terror,  a  people  awakened  to  a  new  perception  of  national  solidarity 
transcending  the  petty  differences  of  sect  and  creed.  The  narrowest 
mental  horizons  were  illumined  by  a  dawn  of  unselfish  emotion,  the 
dullest  of  egoists  stirred  by  the  vibrations  of  the  common  senti- 
ment It  was  as  though  a  new  pledge  of  brotherhood  had  been 
signed  with  the  blood  of  a  nation's  hero,  and  sanctified  by  a  nation*s 
tears. 

Sunset  came — a  rich  July  sunset — but  it  seemed  to  flame  in  the 
heavens  like  some  unholy  stain  of  blood.  And  still  the  same  stir, 
the  same  agitation,  the  same  hurrying  to  and  fro,  the  same  excited 
groups  and  dense  masses,  the  same  thirst  for  vengeance,  the  same 
frenzied  exclamations,  the  same  eager  inquiries,  the  same  ignorance 
of  aught  but  the  name  of  the  murderer  and  the  name  of  his  victim. 

And  so  the  day  closed — flags  everywhere  half-mast;  every  house 
and  shop  with  blinds  lowered  or  shutters  up ;  bits  of  crape  already 
worn  on  millions  of  arms  as  symbols  of  national  mourning;  the  very 
street  boys  sobered ;  the  omnibus  drivers  subdued  and  forgetting 
their  mutual  sarcasms ;  the  theatres  deserted ;  two  grand  society 
balls  postponed ;  the  Houses  adjourned  in  respect  and  moved  to 
tears  by  the  solemn  eloquence  of  Southleigh  and  Mountchapel;  the 
Conservatives  haggard  and  despairing ;  the  Liberals  horrified  and 
sympathetic;  the  War  Office  and  the  Treasury  Chambers  environed 
by  a  shifting  but  compact  crowd;  Little  Snale  Street,  Westminster 
— the  scene  of  the  explosion — utterly  impassable;  and  Bethnal 
Green  Road  alive  with  human  swarms  condensed  to  impenetra- 
bility in  and  around  the  '*  Star  Dining  Rooms  ; "  Scotland  Yard, 
with  the  eyes  of  the  world  upon  it,  harassed  and  palpitating  with 
feverish  activity  ;  the  telegraph  offices  besieged  by  the  crowd  and 
the  officials  breaking  down  under  the  influx  and  efflux  of  messages 
from  and  to  all  parts  of  the  world;  the  Stock  Exchange  troubled  by 
the  fall  of  Consols;  the  journalists  toiling  at  touching  up  the  long- 
prepared  obituaries  and  working  up  graphic  accounts  and  sensa* 


UNE  CAUSE  CiLkBRE  433 

donal  details;  every  stranger  suspected  of  every  other  and  furtively 
compared  with  the  photographs  and  descriptions  already  scattered 
broadcast  through  London  and  the  provinces ;  railway  stations, 
ports,  and  vessels  searched,  and  employes  questioned  to  weariness 
and  cautioned  to  distraction :— and  amid  all  this  excitement  and 
emotion  a  ceaseless  buzz  of  interrogation,  hypothesis,  conjecture, 
and  comment  on  the  motives  that  prompted  the  deed  and  on  the 
inexplicable  presence  of  the  Premier  in  Westminster  at  so  mys- 
terious an  hour,  and  the  ceaseless  dread  and  mournful  tolling  of 
the  bells  lending  sombreness  to  the  falling  shadows  and  dusky 
splendour  of  the  summer  night. 


CHAPTER  IL 

UNE  CAUSE  ciLkBRB. 

The  inquest  on  the  murdered  Premier  seemed  to  bring  the  greatest 
sensation  of  the  century  to  its  apogee.  Had  the  victim  b«en  the 
humblest  peasant,  the  extraordinary  revelations  made  thereat 
would  have  wrought  the  public  interest  and  curiosity  to  fever  heat ; 
but  the  lofty  position  of  the  great  Commoner,  the  pitiful  tragedy  of 
a  splendid  career  cut  short,  intensified  the  excitement  of  the  world 
and  stirred  up  the  least  susceptible  minds  to  indignation  and  com- 
passion. The  Separatist  Bill  was  forgotten.  A  mighty  wave  of 
emotion  swept  before  it  all  thoughts  but  those  of  vengeance  and 
lamentation. 

The  room  in  which  the  inquest  was  held  was  as  crowded  as  that 
other  chamber  where  so  few  days  ago  the  lips  now  dumb  had  en- 
thralled the  attention  of  the  noblest  and  the  wisest.  The  streets 
around  were  black  with  people  watching  the  entrance  of  the  cele- 
brities and  the  witnesses,  and  eagerly  discussing  the  probabilities 
of  the  capture  of  Jack  Dawe.  For  that  Jack  Dawe  was  guilty,  the 
public  mind,  with  its  usual  instinctive  judgment,  was  fully  per- 
suaded. The  evidence  before  it,  when  it  leapt  to  this  conclusion, 
was  of  the  most  meagre  description ;  but  it  was  of  a  character  ap- 
pealing to  the  popular  ima^nation  and  satisfying  its  rude  logical 
ideals.  What  more  damning  proof,  indeed,  of  a  man's  guilt  than 
that,  when  everybody  was  looking  for  him,  he  should  have  retired 
into  invisibility  ?  True,  the  motive  of  the  murder  was  yet  to 
find.  But  there  was  no  doubt  that  motives  would  be  forthcoming 
with  the  plentifiilness  of  blackberries  —  a  prevision  justified  by 
the  sequel  —  and  in  any  case  there  was  always  the  fanatic 
theory  to  fall  back  upon.  Moreover,  it  was  understood  that  the 
police  had  been  doing  very  well  indeed,  and  that  revelations  of  a 
highly  sensational  character  were  to  be  expected— all  of  which  was 
not  calculated  to  retard  the  feverish  rate  of  the  public  pulse.  The 
oewspaperS|  of  coutse,  while  fully  sympathising  with  the  popular 


424  'rHE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

sentiment  with  regard  to  the  murderer,  maintained  an  attitude  of 
judicial  calm  with  regard  to  the  suspected  person,  and  refrained 
from  imparting  any  details  of  the  new  infocmatioa  obtained  by 
Scotland  Yard,  for  fear  of  further  biassing  the  minds  of  their 
readers. 

For  a  complete  account  of  peiiiaps  the  most  remarkable  inquest 
ever  held,  by  reason  of  its  joint  psychological,  pathological,  dramatic, 
and  political  interest,  the  student  must  be  referred  to  die  journals 
of  the  period.  The  investigation,  which  occupied  three  days,  is  too 
lengthy  to  be  fully  reported  here ;  but  we  can  promise  any  one 
who  undertakes  the  task  of  perusing  the  contemporary  records  diat, 
thoug^h  he  will  have  to  read  a  score  or  so  of  closely-printed  columns, 
he  will  find  no  longueurs  in  them.  Every  thing  is  sharp  and 
poignant.  So  skilfully  was  the  questioning  conducted  that  hardly 
a  superfluous  item  of  evidence  is  to  be  found,  although,  of  course, 
there  is  some  iteration — ^in  this  case  more  damnatory  than  damn- 
able ;  almost  every  answer  fits  in  with  every  other  like  the  toothed 
wheels  of  some  inexorable  machine  of  vengeance ;  each  reply 
weaves  the  woof  or  warp  of  the  web  of  criminal  story  till  the  ter- 
rible tale  stands  out  woven  as  in  some  ghastly  Bayeux  tapestry. 
Even  the  few  flashes  of  the  Comedy  that  will  always  mingle  with  the 
Tragedy  fA  life  seem  only  like  the  lurid  play  of  lightning  that 
maltts  the  darkness  more  horrible,  or  like  the  gibbering  laughter 
on  a  maniac's  face. 

But  for  the  average  reader,  who  has  neither  time  nor  inclination 
for  diving  into  the  musty  records  of  the  past,  enough  must  be  repro- 
duced to  explain  the  verdict  of  the  exceptionally  intelligent  jury. 
Such  parts  of  the  inquiry  as  seem  worthy  of  further  narration  shadl 
be  transferred  from  the  Times'  report,  which  appears  on  the  whole 
to  be  the  most  accurate,  though  the  editorials  on  the  entire  subject, 
except,  indeed,  the  dignified  rebuke  of  the  occasional  levity  with 
which  so  solemn  an  investigation  was  carried  on,  seem  somewhat 
unworthy  of  the  traditions  of  the  leading  journal. 

After  the  somewhat  distorted  remains  of  the  deceased  had  been 
viewed,  the  inquiry  commenced  with  the  formal  identification  of 
the  body. 

The  first  witness  called  for  this  purpose  was  Mr.  Border  of 
Westminster.    He  deposed  that  for  the  last  ten  years  he  had  let 
out  traps,  bicycles,  etc.,  on  hire  at  24a,  Little  Snale  Street,  West- 
minster.  A  few  months  ago,  a  gentleman  came  to  him  who  desired 
to  hire  a  bicycle  for  two  hours  very  early  every  morning.     He  was 
not  in  the  habit  of  commencing  business  so  early;  but  as  the 
gentleman  paid  munificently,  he  used  to  open  his  stable  specially 
for  him.    (By  a  Juryman). — He  did  not  know  who  the  gentleman 
was  at  the  time.    He  was  not  much  interested  in  politics  himself 
thinking  Uiat  a  man  had  enough  to  do  to  mind  his  own  business 
without  minding  that  of  his  neighbours.  (A  laug^)   But  his  stabte 
boy  was  a  red-hot  Radical  (laughter),  though  he  was  an  honest  lac 
enough  (move  laughter,  the  recurrence  of  which  from  trifling  cause: 
was  perhaps  due  more  to  the  intense  excitement  and  silence  which 


UNE  CAUSE  Cil±BRE  425 

prevailed  than  to  any  real  levity),  and  some  weeks  after  the  boy 
directed  his  attention  to  the  strong  resemblance  between  the  mys- 
terious cyclist  and  the  caricatures  of  Floppy — he  meant  the  Hon- 
ourable Mr.  Floppington — and  further  observations  had  convinced 
him  of  the  identity  of  his  customer ;  but,  perceiving  that  the  Premier 
wished  to  remain  incognito,  he  had  held  his  tongue,  and  cautioned 
the  boy  to  do  the  same. 

The  Coroner. — "Then  no  one  but  your  two  selves  was 
aware  of  the  supposed  Premier's  visits  to  your  stables?" 

Mr.  Border. — "  The  boy  confessed  to  me  that  he  had  dropped 
mysterious  hints  as  to  his  political  connection  with  the  Prime 
Minister."    (Laughter.) 

The  Coroner.—**  But  you  made  him  drop  them  ?  " 

Mr.  Border. — "  No ;  I  made  him  drop  dropping  them.  He 
was  dumb  then." 

The  Coroner.—"  On  political  subjects  too  ?" 

Mr.  Border. — "  No  ;  he  talked  more  than  ever,  though  I  think 
he  went  over  to  the  Conservatives."    (Laughter.) 

The  Coroner.— "He  is  now  in  the  hospital  I  believe?" 

Mr.  Border.—*'  I  regret  to  say  he  is." 

The  Foreman  of  the  Jury.—**  Were  the  gentleman's  visits 
regular  ?  " 

Mr.  Border.—**  Pretty  regular." 

The  Foreman.— "  But  there  were  gaps?" 

Mr.  Border.—"  Oh,  yes." 

The  Foreman.  — **  Have  you  kept  a  record  of  the  dates  of  his 
visits  ?  " 

Mr.  Border.—"  Well,  I  can  get  at  them.** 

The  Coroner  (interposing). — **A  very  good  point.  Have 
you  your  books  here  ?  " 

Mr.  Border. — **  I  keep  a  note-book  in  my  pocket" 

The  Coroner.—"  On  the  22nd  of  last  month  the  House  sat 
till  seven  in  the  morning  and  the  Premier  was  present  till  the  close : 
did  the  gentleman  hire  a  bicycle  on  that  mornmg  ?  " 

Mr.  Border.— **  He  did  not" 

A  Juryman. — "  The  Premier  went  down  to  Devonshire  on  the 
occasion  of  the  celebration  in  honour  of  Sir  Stanley  Southleigh,  and 
stayed  there  two  days." 

The  dates  having  been  ascertained,  it  was  found  that  no  bicycle 
had  been  hired  on  either  of  those  days. 

A  Juryman  (who  was  a  Dissenter  and  a  Deacon). — **Did 
the  gentleman  ride  on  Sundays  ?  " 

Mr.  Border.—"  He  rode  frequently  on  that  day." 

Continuing  his  evidence,  the  witness  stated  that  being  in  the 
stable  on  the  morning  of  the  13th  instant,  he  heard  footsteps 
approaching  a  little  before  the  usual  time.  He  threw  open  the 
stable-door,  but  perceived  no  one.  At  the  time,  he  thought  it  was 
a  policeman,  though  he  now  suspected  it  must  have  been  that 
cowardly  dastard,  Dawe,  setting  the  infernal  machine.  Internipied 
and  told  to  confine  hiaiself  to  fact^,  he  said  that  about  three 


r\ 


436  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

minutes  after,  he  having  gone  into  the  yard  to  give  an  order  to  thi 
stable-boy  who  was  washing  himself  under  the  tap,  a  terrif 
explosion  took  place.  The  stable  was  partially  blown  up,  and 
the  contents  destroyed,  and  the  boy  was  severely  injured.  J 
himself  escaped  with  a  few  scratches.  On  making  his  way  into  1 
street  he  perceived  the  mangled  and  mutilated  body  of  the  deceas 
lying  across  the  pavement  All  the  nei|;hbourhood  was  of  coui 
awakened  by  the  explosion,  and  the  police  were  soon  on  the  spot«| 
He  could  not  positively  swear  that  the  deceased  was  the  gentleman 
who  hired  his  bicycles ;  still,  he  considered  the  face  sufficiently! 
recognisable,  and  the  clothing  resembled  in  texture  and  colour  the 
gendeman's  ordinary  attire.  The  build  of  the  body  was  similar, 
and  the  explosion  took  place  at  the  exact  moment  of  his  usual 
arrival  At  first  he  had  refrained  from  giving^  vent  to  his  terrible 
suspicion,  merely  saying  that  he  believed  the  victim  was  one  of  his 
customers,  but  die  improbability  that  a  private  person  had  been 
assassinated  in  this  oreadful  fashion,  grew  upon  him,  and  later  in 
the  day  he  imparted  his  dread  to  the  Superintendent^  who  im- 
mediately appeared  convinced. 

The  next  items  of  the  evidence  related  to  the  finding  of  the  body, 
upon  which  nothing  could  be  discovered  that  might  serve  to  identify 
the  deceased  except  two  latch-keys,  which  were  picked  up  on  the 
pavement 

The  Coroner.—**  What  do  these  fit  ?• 

The  Witness.— **  One  of  them  opens  the  door  in  Downing 
Street  (sensation),  the  use  of  the  other  we  have  been  unable  to 
discover." 

The  Coroner.—**  Have  you  tried  the  back  doors  ?* 

The  Witness.— ^  Yes,  and  we  have  tried  all  sorts  of  doors  in 
the  Premier's  country-houses,;  but  all  our  efforts  have  as  yet  been 
unsuccessful." 

The  Dissenting  Juror.—**  Are  there  no  other  houses  to 
which  the  Premier  had  the  right  of  ^^f/ri^  at  all  hours  ?"  (Sensation.) 

The  Witness.—**  I  do  not  know." 

The  Juror. — **  Perhaps  you  should  have  pursued  your  search 
m  the  houses  of  some  of  the  witnesses " 

Mr.  Cornelius  Drat,  Q.C,  who  watched  the  case  on  behalf 
of  Mr.  Floppington's  family,  interrupting,  protested  against  the 
insinuations  of  this  gentleman  of  the  jury. 

The  Coroner. — **  The  point  is  unimportant  It  is  enough  that 
one  key  fits  the  door  in  Downing  Street  Perhaps  the  other  was 
dropped  by  one  of  the  crowd." 

The  Juror  (muttering).—**  Very  likely.* 

Some  of  the  Premier's  servants,  who  appeared  much  affected, 
then  gave  evidence  as  to  their  master's  recently  acquired  habit  of 
early  rising,  and  taking  early  walks,  his  failure  to  return  at  the  usual 
hour,  and  other  such  details.  The  groom  was  then  called.  His 
evidence  was-  remarkable  as  being  the  first  to  veer  from  the 
uniformity  of  that  previously  given.  He  stated  that  to  the  best  of 
his  knowledge  his  master  had  never  ridden  on  a  bicycle  in  his  life. 


UNE  CAUSE  CiLkBRE  \rj 

Every  one  knew  that  it  was  no  easy  task  to  ride  such  a  machine, 
and  it  required  much  practice.  His  master  had,  however,  been  a 
thorough  horseman,  and,  indeed,  rode  a  spirited  animal 
The  Coroner.—**  Did  he  ride  frequently  ?  * 
The  Groom. — **  He  never  rode  in  the  Row  more  than  once  a 
week  (though  when  at  home  in  Chauncey  Park  he  rode  daily);  but 
during  the  last  few  months  he  seemed  to  have  given  up  riding 
entirely." 

The  Coroner. — *'  Do  you  mean  that  he  never  rode  on  horse- 
back once  ? " 

The  Groom. — **  He  said  he  would  do  so  once  and  I  got  the 
'oss  ready.  But  he  seemed  unwell,  and  had  some  difficulty  in 
mounting;  and  then  the  animal  began  to  rear  a  little  and  he 
scramble  off,  saying  that  he  felt  out  of  sorts  and  would  walk 
instead,  and  he  has  never  looked  at  the  Colonel  (that's  the  'oss)  since." 
A  Juror. — **  How  did  the  Premier  mount  on  the  occasion 
referred  to  ?  ** 

The  Groom  could  not  explain  verbally,  and  was  allowed  to  give 
a  description  in  pantomime. 

The  Juror  (triumphantly).—**  Was  not  that  the  natural  attempt 
of  a  man  who  had  for  some  time  been  neglecting  a  horse  for  a 
bicycle  ?" 

The  Groom  (with  dignity). — '*  I  know  nothing  about  bicycles. 

My  master  would  never  have  condescended  to  a  bicycle."  (Laughter.) 

Mr.  Border,  being  recalled,  testified  that  the  gentleman  had, 

from  the  first,  ridden  down  the  street  **  like  a  shot,"  and  must  have 

been  an  adept  in  the  art. 

The  Groom,  on  re-examination,  asserted  his  belief  in  his 
master's  total  ignorance  of  the  machine  in  question. 

These  directly  contradictory  statements  excited  immense 
interest. 

The  (Zoroner. — **  Still,  is  it  not  possible  that  Mr.  Floppington 
had  acquired  a  knowledge  of  bicycle-riding  unknown  to  you — 
practising  in  obscure  neighbourhoods  at  early  hours,  from  some 
anticipation  of  ridicule  and  loss  of  dignity?" 

The  Groom.--**  a  man  with  a  'oss  like  the  Colonel  don't  want 
all  at  once  to  ride  on  a  lump  of  old  iron." 

The  Coroner.— '*  But  you  have  yourself  stated  that  your 
master  ceased  to  use  the  ColoneL  Did  not  the  change  in  his  habits 
surprise  you  ?  " 

The  Groom  (after  considerable  hesitation).—**  No.'* 
The  Coroner  (sharply).—**  What  do  you  mean  ?    Why  not?* 
The  Groom. — '*  He  was  so  changed  all  round."    (Sensation.) 
*'  All  of  us  found  him  different" 

The  Coroner.—"  In  what  respect?" 
The  Groom. — **  In  almost  everything." 
The  Coroner.—**  Was  it  a  change  of  habits,  or  of  his  manner 
of  treating  you?" 

The  Groom.—**  Half  and  half.   He  was  more  jolly  in  one  way 
and  more  severe  in  another." 


428  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

Thb  Dissenting  Juror  (consulting  a  note-book).— '*  When 
did  this  change  commence  ?  " 

The  Groom.— '*  Some  months  ago.  I  tliink  it  was  after  a 
slight  illness." 

The  Dissentimg  Juror.—''  Was  it  anywhere  aboutihe  middle 
irfMay?" 

The  Ccaoner. — ''  You  need  not  ausswer  the  question.  It  wiU 
be  necessary  to  go  into  that  part  of  the  evidence  more  fully  later 
on.  At  piesent  we  are  concerned  with  the  bicycle  question,  and  I 
believe  that  Sir  William  Lancet  and  Lady  Harley  can  throw  a  little 
additional  light  upon  that" 

Sir  William  Lancet  deposed  that  a  few  months  ago,  he  cojidd 
give  the  «xact  date  if  necessary,  he  was  called  in  to  attend,  the 
Premier,  whom  he  found  suffering  from  a  general  vital  depression, 
brought  on  by  excessive  work  and  too  sedentary  a  life.  On  his 
second  visit  he  had  warned  him  that  if  he  did  not  yaSat  more 
exercise  his  system  would  break  down. 

*'  I  told  him  I  did  not  con»der  a  hebdomadal,  or  even  rarer  ride 
in  the  Row  sufficient  to  preserve  him  in  health.  I  also  gave  him 
certain  general  instructions  with  regard  to  mental  tone,  and  warned 
him  agamst  morbidity.** 

The  Coroner. — ''  Did  you,  as  his  doctor,  consider  him  of  a 
morbid  disposition  ?" 

Sir  W.  Lancet. — '^  Perhaps  morbid  is  hardly  the  word.  His 
psychosis  was  too  subjective,  his  central  ganglia  concentrated  dieir 
currents  of  energy  centripetally  instead  of  diffusing  them  centri- 
fugally  through  the  neurotic  fmmework." 

The  Coroner.— '*  In  plain  English,  he  was  too£>nd  of  thinkmg 
about  his  own  thoughts." 

Sir  W.  Lancet.—"  Well,  that  will  do  for  a  rough  description. 
I  warned  him  of  the  danger  of  such  mental  processes  to  a  man 
who  habitually  overworked  himself." 

The  Coroner.—"  Did  you  mean  that  you  feared  his  mental 
system  would  break  down,  too  ?  " 

Sir  W.  Lancet.— *•  Well,  it  is  difficult  to  answer  categorically." 

The  Coroner. — "The  point  will  no  doi^t  occupy  the  jury  at 
a  later  period.    Pray  continue  your  testimony.'' 

Sir  W.  Lancet.—"  There  is  not  much  to  add.  I  advised  him, 
therefore,  to  be  a  little  less  introspective,  and  to  take  things  a  little 
less  seriously.    He  promised  to  follow  my  advice  in  all  respects.** 

The  Foreman. — "  Perhaps  this  would  explain  the  change  in 
the  Premier's  manner.** 

The  Coroner.— "  Perhaps  so.  (To  SirW.  Lancet)  And  did 
he  take  any  additional  exercise?" 

Sir  W.  Lancet.— "On  the  contrary,  I  found  that  he  had 
stopped  his  usual  ride.  I  ventured  to  remonstrate  Math  him,  but  he 
asserted,  in  a  joking  fashion,  that  he  rode  a  good  deal ;  though  at 
the  time  I  thought  that  the  assertion  was  alto^^ether  a  jest  to  tun 
the  edge  of  my  reproach.    That  is  all  I  have  to  say," 


UNE  CAU^E  CtLkBRE  429 

A  Juror. — *'  Can  you  remember  the  exact  words  he  used  ?  ** 

Sir  W.  Lancet. — "  I  can ;  but  I  would  prefer  not  to  repeat 
them." 

The  Dissenting  Juror.—"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  they 
will  not  bear  repetition  ?" 

This  Coroner.— "I  think  that  as  the  point  is  important  they 
should  be  repeated  if  possible." 

Sir  W.  Lancet. — "  He  said,  *0h  don*t  fluiry  yourself,  doctor. 
I  assure  you  I  ride  my  steed  quite  as  hard  as  you  do  yom:  medical 
hobbies.'*    (Laughter.) 

The  Coroner. — "  Perhaps  he  meant  that  you  do  not  ride  any 
hobbies  at  all?" 

Sir  W.  Lancet. — "  I  do  not  think  he  meant  ^at."  (Laughter.) 

The  Coroner. — "It  seems  to  me  that  the  law-books  have 
neglected  to  discuss  the  value  of  repartee  as  evidence.  I  do  not 
think  I  need  detain  you  any  longer." 

Mr.  John  Tremaine,  the  private  secretary,  was  next  examined. 
But  he  had  little  to  add  on  the  point  in  (question,  although  it  was 
understood  that  he  was  subsequently  to  give  evidence  of  the  most 
important  description. 

An  irrepressible  buzz  of  interest  now  arose  on  all  sides,  and  for 
a  moment  there  was  a  most  disgraceful  confusion,  occasioned  by 
the  Coroner's  calling  on  Lady  Gwendolen  Harley.  Her  ladyship 
was  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  and  wore  a  thick  crape  veil  over  her 
face,  whose  deadly  paleness  was  only  made  more  apparent  by  it 
Her  evidence,  delivered  in  faltering  tones,  proved  the  Premier's 
habit  of  taking  bicycle  rides  in  obscure  districts  in  the  .early 
morning ;  he  having  confessed  the  fact  to  her  as  a  secret.  The 
Coroner  seeing  her  agitated  condition  did  not  press  her  with 
questions. 

The  last  witness  called  for  the  identification  was  Policeman 

X35. 

He  deposed  that  on  the  morning  of  the  13th  instant,  while 
making  his  rounds  about  5.15  a.m^  he  saw  the  Premier  leave  his 
residence  in  Downing  Street  (Rq)lying  to  a  juryman,  he  said 
that  the  Premier  could,  at  the  rate  he  was  walking,  have  arrived  at 
Little  Snale  Street  at  about  the  time  of  the  explosion  ;  and  the 
clothes  of  the  deceased  resembled  those  worn  by  the  Premier.)  He 
had  on  many  occasions  seen  the  Premier  go  out  at  that  hour  and 
return  at  about  7.30  a.m.,  and  let  himself  in  with  a  latch-key.  He 
had  noticed  that  these  occasions  never  came  after  very  late  sittings 
of  the  House,  or  after  the  Minister  had  been  indulging  in  social 
gaieties  till  an  early  hour,  and  he  had  naturally  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  Mr.  Floppington  preferred  taking  his  walks  before  the 
gaping  populace  was  abroad. 

The  Coroner.— '*  On  the  morning  of  the  13th  instant,  did  the 
Premier  appear  at  all  gloomy  ?  " 

X  35. — "  Oh  no  !  He  seemed  in  the  best  of  spirits,  whistling 
'  Wait  till  the  clouds  roll  by,  Jenny,'  and  he  said  *  Mornin'  I '  to  mc 


450  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

Tery  affiible.  and  no  wonder,  considerin'  the  wonderful  speech  hc*d 
made  the  night  before,  and  the ^ 

The  Coroner. — ''Never  mind  all  that  Was  he  always  in 
good  spirits  ?** 

X  35. — ^  Not  always.  Sometimes  he  looked  in  a  devil  of  a 
temper ;  but  whenever  I  saw  him  coming  back  he  was  in  a  good 
temper,  and  he  used  to  grin  to  himself  like." 

The  Dissenting  Juror. — "  Do  you  think  a  bicycle  ride  would 
produce  such  symptoms  of  satisfaction  ?  ^ 

X  35.—"  I  shouldn't  think  so.  Sometimes  he  glowered  all  oy«r 
with  delight,  and  laughed  low  to  himself,  as  if  thinking  of  something 
very  enjoyable." 

The  Coroner. — ^  Then  you  would  not  think  him  on  the  whole 
given  to  morbid  thought  ?  " 

The  Dissenting  Juror. — **  Did  you  ever  see  another  latch- 
key  in  his  hand,  besides  the  one  of  his  own  door  ?  " 

The  Coroner.—"  I  would  beg  Gentlemen  of  the  Jury  not  to 
interrupt  witnesses." 

X  35. — ^**  No,  I  only  saw  his  own  latch-key." 

The  Coroner. — ''  Have  the  goodness  to  answer  the  questions 

?ut  to  you.    You  saw  no,  or  at  most  few  signs  of  gloom  in  the 
^remier?" 
X  35. — **  Only  now  and  then." 

The  Coroner.—"  That  will  do." 

The  inquest  was  then  adjourned  till  the  next  day. 


CHAPTER  III. 

sensational  revelations. 

The  strangeness  of  the  revelations  made  on  the  first  day  of  the 
inc[uest — the  personal  details  elicited  concerning  the  Premier,  die 
evident  anxiety  of  the  Counsel  to  keep  the  questioning  off  certain 
lines— the  curious  explanation  of  the  mystery  of  the  Minister's 
presence  in  Westminster  at  so  early  an  hour — put  the  last  touch  to 
the  feverish  interest  and  morbid  curiosity  of  the  public.  The 
contradictory  assertions  as  to  the  cycling  powers  of  the  deceased 
(assuming  the  identity  of  the  victim  to  have  been  sufficiendy 
demonstrated)  caused  a  not  inconsiderable  number  of  people  to 
openly  declare  their  disbelief  in  his  alleged  riding,  and  to  hint  that 
Mr.  Border  had  obtained  indemnity  for  his  losses  in  compensa- 
tion for  the  value  of  his  evidence.  The  discussion  of  the  whole 
topic  became  a  temporary  factor  of  social  existence.  It  was 
served  up  at  every  meal — sauce  to  every  goose  and  gander  in  the 
kingdom. 

The  crowding  on  the  second  day  of  the  inquest  was,  if  possible, 
greater  than  on  the  first,  and  there  was  a  still  larger  attendance  <rf 


SENSATIONAL  REVELATIONS  431 

\ — the  fainting  of  several  of  whom  interrupted  and  diversified 
the  proceedings  from  time  to  time.  Outside,  the  streets  were  still 
blocked ;  to  the  great  disgust  of  the  r^>orter8,  who  were  thereby 
iini>eded  in  their  task  of  sending  on  their  accounts  by  detachments 
to  supply  the  quick  succession  of  the  editions  of  their  respective 

Cpers.  The  usually  peaceful  neighbourhood  was  further  invaded 
peripatetic  vendors  of  fruit,  sherbet,  ice-cream,  newspapers, 
doggerel  ballads  and  pamphlets.  Lives  of  Jack  Dawe,  the  notorious 
painter,  with  portrait,  and  a  coloured  wrapper  embellished  with  an 
illustration  depicting  the  ''  Star  Dining  Rooms"  in  Bethnal  Green 
Road,  could  be  obtained  in  six  rival  forms  for  the  small  sum  of  one 
penny^  each. 

Biographies  of  the  Premier  were  on  sale  in  similar  shapes,  and 
the  latest,  just  got  up  under  tremendous  pressure,  represented  him 
dashing  sdong  in  gaudy  colours,  and  in  the  full  glory  of  his  cycling 


The  ballads  (specimens  of  which  were  collected  at  the  time  by 
would-be  Macaulays)  were  for  the  moment  chiefly  devoted  to  a  plain, 
unvarnished,  and  coldlv  realistic  account  of  the  assassination,  and 
being  hoarsely  chanted  throughout  the  country  by  singers  prome- 
nading along  streets,  or  at  rest  like  nuclei  of  centripetsdiy-attracted 
masses,  the^  extorted  considerable  admiration  and  hal^nce.  They 
an  began  with  the  majestic  simplicity  of  a  Greek  drama  somewhat 
as  follows : 

"  Oh  1  listen  for  a  fearful  tale  unto  your  ears  I  bring, 
It  is  about  a  murder  dread,  that  1  have  to  sing. 
Poor  Floppington  by  wicked  hands  has  been  sent  up  aloft. 
But  England  will  see  that  the  assassin  will  pay  the  cost" 

The  poets  to  whose  genius  these  effusions  were  due  had  not  yet 
dismissed  their  afHatuses,  but  were  waiting  to  be  delivered  of  other 
verses  in  proportion  as  new  matter  arose.  And  on  the  second  day 
new  matter  enough  arose  to  inspire  a  laureate,  much  less  a  ballad- 
monger. 

The  first  witness  called  was  Mr.  John  Tremaine,  the  private 
secretary. 

He  stated  that  on  hearing  the  terrible  rumour  of  the  Premier's 
assassination,  his  mind  instantly  reverted  to  certain  communications 
which  had  passed  between  his  revered  master  and  a  Mr.  Jack  Dawe, 
and  bethought  it  right  to  make  certain  representations  to  the  police, 
which  induced  them  to  issue  a  warrant  for  die  arrest  of  the  said 
Mr.  Dawe.  The  sequel  was  known  to  the  world.  It  was  found 
that  the  bird  had  flown,  and  this  additional  suspicious  circumstance 
had  caused  a  large  reward  to  be  offered  for  his  apprehension.  He 
then  proceeded  to  relate  the  history  of  the  Dawe  correspondence. 
He  m^t  became  acquainted  with  the  name  of  Tack  Dawe  by  learn- 
ing through  an  inquiry  which  he  had  caused  to  be  made  at  the 
Bethnal  Green  Post  OfHce,  that  the  man  who  bore  it  was  the  sender 
of  an  extraordinary  anonjrmous  telegram  addressed  to  the  Premier, 
which  he,  as  his  confidential  secreury,  had  opened. 


432  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

The  Coronbr. — "Do  you  remember  the  words  of  tbc 
telegram  ?" 

ivlR.  T&EMAINS. — *'Thej  were  unforgettable.  'Abandon  Irish 
policy  at  once.  Be  warned  in  time.  Do  not  stir  a  step  till  I  write 
morefuUy.*"   (Sensation.) 

Th£  Coroner. — ^'  Did  you  show  this  to  Mr.  Floppington?" 

Mr.  Trrmains. — ''After  some  hesitation  I  did." 

The  Coroner. — ^  Why  did  you  hesitate  ?  **  _ 

Mr.  Trbmainjl^ — "  Lwas  in  the  habit  of  receiving  three  or  foux 
letters  a  day  «4iich,  in  the  exercise  of  my  discretion,  I  tore  up,  and 
I  hesitated  \<^ether  to  do  the  same  with  this.  But  the  tone  was  so 
audaciously  .imperious,  that  I  thought  it  best  to  show  it  to  Mr. 
Floppington." 

The  Coroner.— "How  did  he  take  it?" 

Mr.  Tremains. — "  He  was  terribly  annoyed,  and  did  not  con- 
ceal his  anger." 

The  Dissenting  Juror.—"  What  were  his  exact  words  ?" 

Mr.  Tremaine.— "  I  do  not  remember,  but  I  think  he  said 
'  Confound  the  fellow  !  That's  the  coolest  piece  of  cheek  I  ever 
heard  of  in  my  life.'" 

The  Dissenting  Juror. — ^"Are  you  sure  he  said  'Confound'?' 

Mr.  Tremaine. — "  I  said  I  tfUnk  he  said  'confound.'  I  asked 
him  whether  I  should  put  the  matter  into  the  hands  of  the  police  ? 
But  he  thought  it  was  not  worth  while,  though  he  remarked  that 
sudi  fellows  ought  to  be  taught  their  places.  Then  he  walked  up 
and  down  for  some  time  fumine,  with  Uie  telegram  in  his  hand,  and 
at  last  tore  it  up  with  much  indignation.  It  was  the  first  threaten- 
ing letter  he  had  ever  received,  and  no  doubt  agitated  him  the  more 
on  that  account.  When  he  grew  calm,  he  asked  me  to  inform  no 
one  of  the  strange  message — a  rather  unnecessary  request ;  though 
I  thought  it  within  my  duty  to  ascertain  the  name  of  the  sender, 
and  to  communicate  my  discovery  to  Mr.  Floppington,  though, 
when  I  did  so,  he  seemed  to  resent  being  reminded  of  so  apparently 
trivial  an  affair.  The  next  communication  from  Mr.  Dawe  was  in 
the  form  of  a  letter  marked  '  private.* " 

The  Coroner.— " Did  you  open  that  too?" 

Mr.  Tremaine. — "  Yes ;  the  Premier  trusted  his  correspond- 
ence entirely  to  me." 

The  Dissenting  Juror.— "Did  you  open  every  letter  marked 
'private'?" 

Mr.  Tremaine.—"  Yes ;  but,  after  the  recent  telegram  from  Mr. 
Dawe,  he  seemed  to  be  uneasy  lest  he  should  receive  other  com- 
munications from  him.  As  far  as  I  could  make  out,  he  felt,  though 
wrongly,  that  it  was  a  loss  to  his  dignity  that  I  should  read  svich 
humiliating  messages  as  threatening  letters.  He  even  had  the  i<  a 
of  reading  all  his  own  correspondence  himself ;  but,  as  this  was  i  i- 
possible,  he  exacted  from  me  a  promise  that  I  would  bring  to  1  n 
all  letters,  signed  Jack  Dawe,  unread.  In  consequence  of  this  I 
handed  him  altogether  two  letters  signed  in  th^  wa^v  botl)  H 
which  he  kept" 


SENSATIONAL  REVELATIONS  433 

Thb  Coroner. — ''Did  he  take  any  steps  with  sefefenee  to 
these?* 

MR.TREKAIKE.— ''No  \^  T  could  tell  from  the  replies  that  he  had 
been  ti^reatened  again ;  but  he  laughed  at  the  fears  whidi  I  rentitred 
to  respectfully  express,  and  said  that  he  had  been  upset  at  firsts  but 
that  he  was  now  sure  the  man  was  a  ham^ess  lunat£cy.and  might  be 
humoured." 

The  Coroner. — "  Did  you  write  the  replies  yoaalludtlo  9* 

Mr.  TREAf  aine.— "  At  the  Premieres  dictation." 

The  Coroner.—"  Cela  va  sans  direP 

Mr.  Tremaine, — ^"  I  beg  your  pardon.  It  was  only  a  very  few 
letters  whose  replies  were  dictated.  Many  wcfe  indicated  in  out- 
line ;  but  most  were  answered  at  my  private  dbcretion.  The  less 
important  letters  were  written  by  an.  assistant  private  secretary.  It 
was  only  to  his  own  friends  or  to  great  ptcsonages  that  Mr.  Flop*- 
pington  despatched  autograph  letters." 

The  Coroner.— '^  You  did  not,  I  understand,  see  the  con- 
tents of  the  two  letters.    You  merely  inferred  their  character  V* 

Mr.  Tremaine. — "  Quite  so.  But  that  my  inference  was  cor- 
rect was  proved  by  the  lucky  discoverv  of  the  letters  in  one  of  the 
late  Premieres  coats.  (Sensation.)  They  are  now  in  the  hands  or 
the  police." 

The  letters  being  produced^  the  Coroner  read  them  aloud. 

"The  Right  Hon.  Arnold  Floppington. 

*  (Extremely  Private  and  Confidential) 
••Sir, 

"  In  telegraphing  to  you  to  abandon  your  Irish  policy^a  policy 
which  I  confess  seems  to  me  as  unpatrioticasit  is  absuid — I  was  not 
giving  an  idle  command.  As  you  value  your  life  you  will  obey  it. 
Retract pi^licly  your  promises  if  you  do  not  wish  to  make  me  yow 
murderer.  I  can  say  no  more ;  but  can  only  pray  that  obstinacy 
will  not  cause  you  to  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  my  warning. 

•*  Believe  me,  Sir, 

'*  Ever  your  earnest  well-wisher, 

"Jack  Dawb.' 

The  reading  of  this  letter  produced  an  intense  excitement  The 
audience  felt  as  if  assisting  at  the  first  and  only  representation  of 
some  stirring  drama.  To  the  imaginative  eye  the  heated  room  ap- 
peared a  cavddron  in  which  History  was  visibly  making.  But  the 
first  letter  was  almost  thrown  into  the  shade  by  the  second,  which, 
bade  fair  to  make  History  of  the  kind  not  affected  by  Civil  Service 
Examiners  (perhaps  because  it  is  too  easily  remembered). 

"Whether  you  are  right,"  ran  this  extraordinary  epistle,  "to 
disregard  my  previous  communications,  time  will  show.  You  have 
certainly  remained  safe  so  far  ;  but  it  is,  to  say  the  least,  very  un- 
wise of  you  to  encounter  the  risk  of  being  blown  up  for  the  mere 
pleasure  of  shattering  the  greatness  of  your  country.    But  I  do  not 

%  W 


434  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

write  this  to  repeat  my  warnings.  Another  matter  of  a  very  pressing 
nature  causes  me  to  thrust  myself  again  into  your  busy  life,  and  I 
assure  you  that  I  would  not  have  felt  myself  justified  in  doing  so 
were  it  not  forced  upon  me.  A  difficulty  has  arisen  about  the  girl 
Eliza  Bathbrill  (sensation),  whom  I  have  but  lately  discovered  to  be 
devoid  of  honour  and  principle."  The  Counsel  for  the  family  of  the 
deceased  interrupting,  asked  the  Coroner  whether  it  was  necessary 
to  publish  any  more  of  the  contents  of  a  private  letter  than  that 
threatening  portion  which  had  already  been  read.  It  was 
evident  that  the  rest  of  the  letter  had  no  bearing  on  the  present 


Mr.  Middletop,  Q.C,  who  had  gratuitously  undertaken  to 
watch  die  case  in  the  interests  of  Jack  Dawe  (probably  for  the  sake 
of  the  splendid  advertisement),  protested  against  this  assertion, 
and  urged  that  for  various  reasons  it  was  necessary  that  the  rela- 
tions between  his  client  and  the  late  Premier  should  be  exposed  as 
much  as  possible. 

The  Foreman  stud  that  the  jury  thought  the  reading  should 
be  continued. 

The  Coroner  ruled  that  the  whole  of  the  letter  was  evidence, 
and  evidence  of  an  important  character,  giving  a  somewhat  new 
complexion  to  the  case. 

The  audience  breathed  freely  once  more.  There  was  at  this 
critical  moment  hardly  one  of  them  who  would  have  bartered  his 
seat  for  a  five-pound  note.  Should  there  by  any  chance  have  been 
a  croaking,  pessimistic  philosopher  among  them,  and  had  he  chosen 
the  moment  for  propounding  his  witless  conundrum :  '^  Is  Life 
worth  living  ? "  he  might  have  been  for  ever  silenced  by  die  one 
word :  "  Circumspice^  **  It  is  a  happy  world,"  he  would  have  said 
with  Paley,  "  it  is  a  happy  world  after  all."  Let  us  hope,  however, 
that  there  was  not,  for  uie  discovery  would  have  made  him  unhappy 
for  life.  The  reading  of  the  letter  was  then  continued  as  follows : 
**I  have  had  to  refuse  to  marry  her  for  reasons  which  you  wijl 
easily  understand.  It  was  not  till  too  late  that  I  discovered  your 
relations  with  her.  On  this  point  I  was  completely  uninformed 
Bitterly  as  I  have  the  right  to  reproach  you  for  the  trouble  you 
have  thereby  brought  into  my  life  (and  what  I  have  suffered  through 
vour  ancient  love  for  Eliza  Bathbrill  is  known  to  myself  alone),  I 
nave  hitherto,  as  you  know,  kept  silence  on  the  point,  nor  shall  I 
now  waste  words  of  reproach.  But  she  is  bringing  an  action  for 
breach  of  promise  against  me,  and  claims  ;£3,ooo  damages,  a  demand 
which  I  have  not  at  present  the  resources  to  meet,  even  if  she 
would  consent  to  compromise  the  matter.  She  has  sdready  refused 
;£2,ooo,  and  indeed  insists  on  dragging  me  into  Court  If  the  case 
comes  on,  you  will  of  course  understand  that  you  will  have  to 
appear.  There  is  no  need  for  me  to  enlarge  on  the  inevitableness 
of  that  step.  If  you  shrink  from  the  unpleasantness  of  the  position, 
you  had  better  try  what  v<7i^  can  do  to  conciliate  the  Plaintiff.  Yoo 
might  succeed  where  I  have  failed.    Perhaps  you  might  induce 


SENSATIONAL  REVELATIONS  435 

her  to  take  ;f2,5oa    Of  course,  I  leave  you  to  obtain  the  money, 
which  you  will  doubtless  be  able  to  do  without  difficulty. 

**  I  am.  Sir, 

*•  Yours  fiuthftilly, 

"Jack  Dawe.** 
P.S. — "  I  give  you  carte  blanche  to  expend  what  you  will  in 
averting  the  scandal. 

P.P.S.— "  Unless  you  are  afraid  of  my  presence  in  the  House, 
please  send  me  a  ticket  for  the  Speaker's  Gallery,  for  the  night 
when  you  are  to  expound  your '  Home  Rule  Bill.' " 

Mr.  Cornelius  Drat  begged  to  express  his  approval  of  the 
overruling  of  the  Coroner.  A  more  shameless  and  cynical  attempt 
at  extortion  had  probably  never  been  made  than  the  above,  with 
its  audaciously  naive  postscripts.  But  he  was  happy  to  say  that 
this  base  attempt  to  trade  on  the  chance  that  there  was  a  grain  of 
truth  in  certain  incredible  rumours,  had  met  with  the  success  it 
deserved,  as  would  be  evident  from  the  replies  preserved  by  Mr. 
Tremaine. 

Mr.  Middletop  protested  warmly  against  this  defamation  of 
his  client's  character.  If  Mr.  Dawe  diought  that  the  girl  in 
question  was  unfit  to  be  an  honest  man's  wife,  and  if  he  at  the 
same  time  realised  how  difficult  and  delicate  a  task  it  would  be  to 
prove  to  a  jury  the  justice  of  his  rejection  of  her,  it  was  not  to  be 
expected  that  he  should  tamely  submit  to  the  pecuniary  loss  brought 
upon  him  by  the  fault  of  another.  '*  De  mortuis  nil  nisi  bonunty^ 
cried  Uie  CounseL  ^  With  all  my  heart !  But  de  vivis  nil  nisi 
verunty  and  the  latter  surely  takes  precedence  of  the  former.  Fiat 
justitia  ruat  nomen^  let  justice  be  done  though  reputations  fall." 

The  opposition  Counsel  remarked  that  there  was  no  danger  of  the 
fall  of  any  but  legal  reputations.  (Laughter.)  His  learned  brother, 
disregaraing  the  interruption,  went  on  to  ur^e  that  no  attempt  had 
been  made  to  show  that  the  letters  in  question  were  really  sent  by 
Jack  Dawe.  He  wished  to  know  whether  the  handwriting  had 
been  compared  with  that  of  his  client  ? 

The  Coroner  replied  that  that  had  been  done  by  Mr. 
UnderdifTy  the  Expert  If  necessary,  that  gentleman  could  be 
called. 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C,  said  that  he  could  prove  that  Jack  Dawe  sent 
the  telegram  to  which  both  the  letters  referred. 

The  Foreman  thought  that  the  evidence  would  be  incomplete 
without  the  testimony  of  the  Expert 

Mr.  Undercliff  was  then  called,  and  deposed  that  he  had 
compared  the  two  letters  with  a  letter  written  by  Jack  Dawe,  kindly 
furnished  him  by  Miss  Bathbrill.  He  began  by  alluding  to  the 
remarkable  resemblance  of  the  chirograph y  of  this  last  letter  to 
that  of  the  Premier,  the  likeness  being  doubtless  due  to  that  strange 
similarity  of  physical  and  presumably  of  manual  conformation  which 
was  said  to  have  existed  between  the  two  men.    Passing  from  this 

9   F  9 


I 


436  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

curious  but  irrelevant  fact  to  the  actual  question,  he  found  that 
the  writing  of  the  letters  of  the  Premier  bore  in  all  essential  re- 
spects a  great  resemblance  to  that  of  the  letter  to  Miss  Bathbrill, 
though  superficially  there  was  a  good  deal  of  difference.  He  con- 
sidered there  had  been  some  attempt  at  disguising  the  hand,  but 
the  disguise  was  clumsy.  Thus  did  the  poor  man  swear  away  his 
reputation  ;  for,  as  it  presently  transpired  that  Sally  had  written  the 
letters,  the  Daily  Telegraph  came  out  next  day  with  a  scathing 
article  on  the  pretensions  of  him  and  his  class.  But  the  reader, 
who  remembers  that  Sally's  chirography  was  as  near  a  copy  of  Jack's 
as  she  could  attain  to,  will  no  doubt  feel  that  this  is  a  very  com- 
plicated world,  and  that  to  get  at  the  rights  of  things  is  a  task  be- 
yond the  powers  of  anybody  but  the  present  historian. 

The  Telegraph  Clerk  stated  that  the  telegram  had  been 
brought  to  him  by  a  girl,  who,  he  believed,  was  the  maid-of-all-work 
in  the  ''  Star  Dining  Rooms."  He  was,  of  course,  struck  by  the 
audacity  of  the  message  and  showed  it  to  his  feUow-derks. 

The  Coroner  said  he  would  not  call  the  servant-girl  at  this 
stage  of  the  proceedings  unless  the  learned  Counsel  wished  it 

The  learned  Counsel  replied  that  he  did  not  intend  to  dispute 
the  audiorship  of  the  letters. 

The  Private  Secretary  having  handed  the  Coroner  the  refrfies, 
they  were  next  read  aloud. 

These  the  reader  is  already  partially  acquainted  with,  but  that 
he  may  have  all  the  evidence  under  his  eye,  they  shall  now  be  re- 
produced in  full.    This  was  the  first : 

"Mr.  Jack  Dawe. 

"  Sir, 

'*  In  replv  to  a  telegram  and  a  communication  marked 
'private,'  I  am  instructed  to  inform  you  that  Mr.  Floppington  has 
had  them  under  his  careful  consideration.  So  far  as  he  can  under- 
stand your  meaning  from  your  cunningly-worded  and  intentionally 
vague  statements,  he  regrets  to  be  unable  to  jgive  any  credence  to 
them.  He  has,  on  the  contrary,  reasons  to  believe  and  is  of  the  firm 
opinion  that  this  is  but  another  ruse.  Mr.  Floppington  begs  that 
you  will  not  favour  him  with  any  more  such  conununications. 

« I  am,  Sir, 

"  Your  obedient  Servant, 

"John  Tremaine." 

The  second  answer  ran  as  follows  : 

**  Mr.  Jack  Dawe. 

"  Sir, 

"  Mr.  Floppington  has  given  your  letter  all  the  attention  it 
deserves.  H  e  regrets  that  you  should  have  still  thought  it  necessary 
to  allude  to  the  topic  of  your  first  letter.  He  is  of  opinion  that  the 
case  you  now  put  is  still  another  ruse,  and  he  absolutely  refuses  to 


SENSATIONAL  REVELATIONS  437 

take  die  stap&  you  advise.  Mr.  Flopptngton  again  begs  that  you 
will  cease  to  trouble  him  with  such  communications.  Widi  regard 
to  your  demand  for  an  order  for  the  Strangers'  Gallery,  for  July  I2thy 
Mr.  Floppington  regrets  that  despite  all  his  efforts  he  has  been 
unable  to  obtain  one  for  you.  Mr.  Floppington  has  even  asked  the 
Speaker  to  allow  him  to  place  you  under  die  grating  of  the  House, 
but  this  could  not  be  conceded.  He  b^s  that  in  future  you  will 
make  earlier  applicatioa. 

'*  I  am,  Sir, 

**  Your  obedient  Servant, 

*'JOHN  Fremains." 

MK.  Cornelius  Drat  called  attention  to  the  contemptuous  snub 
given  foy  die  icy  politeness  of  the  latter  reply  to  the  clumsy  attempt 
at  extordon.  That  the  Premier  suspected  collusion  between  the 
parties  to  the  direatened  suit  was  evidenced  from  his  characterising 
the  demand  as  a  ruse,  and  he  ventured  to  say  that  this  was  the 
view  that  would  be  taken  by  any  unprejudiced  mind.  The  Premier, 
though  probably  not  unconscious  of  the  lengths  to  which  a  woman 
would  go  in  selt-accusadon,  was  not  the  man  to  be  frightened  into 
paying  hush-money  by  the  threat  of  damaging  revelations. 

The  Dissenting  Juror.—"  Do  you  not  think  it  strange  that 
the  Premier  did  not  at  once  put  such  letters  as  these  into  the  hands 
of  the  police  ?  " 

Mr.  Tremaine.--"  Not  at  all.  With  regard  to  the  second,  he 
no  doubt  considered  it  extremely  inadvisable  to  aid  in  giving  pub- 
licity to  even  the  absurdest  of  rumours  concerning  himself.  A 
well-known  recent  case  ought  to  have  made  it  clear  that  there  are 
prurient  people  with  whom  to  be  suspected  is  to  be  guilty.  As  for 
the  first,  it  seems  to  me  (though  I  confess  I  do  not  quite  see  how 
the  theory  explains  all  its  phrases)  that  he  had  read  the  letter  as  a 
warning  and  not  as  a  threat — a  misreading  which  probably  cost 
him  his  life." 

Mr.  Middletop  protested  against  the  assumption  that  it  was  a 
misreading.  The  witness  had  said  that  the  Premier's  misreading 
had  probably  cost  him  his  life.  He  would  ask  the  jury  to  re- 
member that  a  misreading  of  it  on  their  part  would  probably  cost 
another  life.  To  assume  that  the  letter  was  meant  as  a  threat 
was  to  beg  the  whole  question.  Moreover,  it  would  be  observed 
that  the  reply  to  the  second  letter  did  not  by  any  means  deny 
the  justice  of  the  claim  in  the  event  of  a  breach  of  promise  case, 
but  refused  to  believe  in  the  reality  of  the  suit ;  a  disbelief  alto- 
gether mistaken. 

The  strange  link  of  connection  between  the  Premier  and  his 
supposed  murderer  afforded  by  their  respective  relations  to  Eliza 
Bathbrill,  supplied  a  new  element  of  dramatic  interest,  surcharging 
what  had,  at  first,  seemed  a  purely  political  trs^dywitha  romantic 
poetry,  and  lending  it  that  touch  of  universal  hmnaa  nature  which 
broi^ht  it  home  to  hearts  incapable  of  appreciating  the  sombre 
matif  of  political   fanaticism.      In  this  tense  condition  ol  the 


438  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

emotions  of  the  audience,  the  examination  of  Mrs.  Dawe  came  as  a 
reUe£  The  old  lady  was  naturally  the  object  of  much  commisera- 
tion, despite  the  gorgeousness  and  marine  character  of  her  get-up, 
and  the  complaints  which  she  began  to  make  as  she  waddled 
towards  the  witness-box. 

Mrs.  Dawe. — ^  I  axes  all  you  ladies  and  gentlemen  whether  it 
is  tight  to  dra^  a  poor,  lone  widder  and'er  gal  from  'er  bizness 
when  the  shop  is  crammed  with  new  customers  as  tight  as  allo'/«» 
from  mornin'  to  night,  and  pr'aps  thieves  among  'em  as'll  bamboozle 
Mrs.  Rogers' gal  like  lawyers?" 

The  Coroner. — *'  You  must  not  complain  to  the  audience." 

Mrs.  Dawe. — *'  I  don't  complain,  yer  wuship.  I  wishes  to 
thank  all  the  gentlemen  for  puttin'  picters  of  me  and  the  shop  in 
the  papers  as  if  we  was  Pears^  soap,  but  I  thinks  it  very  'ard  that 
Jacl^  who's  as  hinnocent  as  a  unborn  hunb,  should  be  stuck  up  on 
walls  and  shop-windows  as  was  never  stuck  up  in  his  life  .  .  .  £h  ? 
Take  a  oath  on  that  book  I    Not  if  I  knows  it,  young  man." 

The  Coroner. — "  You  must  do  so,  madam." 

Mrs.  Dawe.—**  Who  ses  so  ?  Ye  can  take  a  'orse  to  the 
water  but  ye  can't  make  him  swear."    (Laughter.) 

The  Coroner.—"  You  must  not  speak  like  that.  Do  I  under- 
stand that  you  refuse  to  take  an  oath  ?" 

Mrs.  Dawe.— <* By  the  memory  of  my  late  'usband,  I  does! 
'£  used  to  say :  *  Truth  lays  at  the  bottom  of  a  well,  and  a  oath  is  a 
bucket  with  its  bottom  knocked  out' "    (Laughter.) 

The  Coroner.— *<  Is  the  memory  of  your  husband  the  only 
objection  ?  "    (Laughter.) 

Mrs.  Dawe.— '*  It's  my  own  memory  thafs  the  objection. 
(Laughter.)  '£  used  to  say,  *  Darlin',  when  I  am  gone,  forget  the 
old  man  if  ye  likes,  but  remember  'is  principles.' " 

The  Coroner.—**  And  what  were  his  principles  ?" 

Mrs.  Dawe.—'*  He  was  a  Free  Thinker  and  so  am  I.  I  don't 
believe  in  nothing,  thank  Gord,  I  don't ! "  (Loud  and  continued 
laughter,  which  was  checked  by  the  Ushers  with  difficulty.) 

The  Coroner. — **  Surely  you  were  brought  up  as  a  Christian?" 

Mrs.  Dawe  (indignantly).—'*  I  wasn't  brought  up  as  a 
savage." 

The  Coroner.—**  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  don't  ke^ 
anything  now?" 

Mrs.  Dawe. — ^  Nothin'  except  a  cook-shop."    (Laughter.) 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C— **  She  means  that  she  worships  the  great 
God  Pan."    (Loud  laughter.) 

Mrs,  Dawe  (angrily). — **  I  didn't  come  'ere  to  be  made  fan 
of  by  a  man  with  more  'air  than  brains !  (Laughter.)  I  claims  to 
affirm." 

The  Coroner,  to  put  an  end  to  the  unseemly  levity  of  the 
audience,  allowed  the  imperious  old  lady  to  have  her  way,  and  the 
investigation  proceeded. 

Mrs.  Daws  then  deposed  (with  much  irrelevancy,  much 
much  confusion  of  metaphor,  and  much  grotesque- 


SENSATIONAL  REVELATIONS  439 

ness  of  simile)  that  her  son  was  a  hoase-and-sign  painter,  and  a 

bachelor,  living  with  her  and  having  a  share  in  the  business,  and 

that  she  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  him  since  the  evening  of  the 

1 2th  instant 

The  Coroner.— "When  did  you  first  miss  him  ?" 

Mrs.  Dawe. — **The  next  momin'  when  Ms  bacon  got  spiled, 

not  as  'e  cared  much  lately  for  my  best  dishes  and  titbits  like  a 

Irish  Priest  as  reduces  'is  flesh  for  the  race  'Eavenwards,  as  my  late 

disband  said." 

The  Coroner. — "  He  might  have  come  home  late  without 

your  knowing  it,  and  gone  out  early  again,  might  he  not  ?** 
Mrs.  Dawe. — '*  If  he  was  a  liar  he  might,  not  without." 
The  Coroner. — "  Have  the  goodness  to  explain  yourself.** 
Mrs.  Dawe.—"  'E  told  me  some  time  ago  *e*d  lost  'is  latch-key, 

and  'e  couldn't  get  in  through  the  key'ole  like  a  mouse,  could  'e  ? " 
The  Coroner.—"  You  evidently  don't  believe  in  the  loss." 
Mrs.  Dawe. — **  I  wish  it  was  true,  it  *ud  be  a  profit." 
The  Foreman. — "  Has  the  mysterious  latch-key  been  tried  on 

the  door  of  the  witness  ? " 

The  question  being  put  to  the  police  was  answered  in  the 

negative.    It  had  not  occurred  to  any  one  to  do  so. 

The  Coroner.—"  Would  you  know  the  key  if  you  saw  it  ?  " 
Mrs.  Dawe. — "  I  should  'ope  so.    Why  I  never  forgets  a  face." 

(Latighter.) 

llie  key  was  then  handed  to  the  witness  who  recognised  it  as 

her  son's.    (Sensation.) 

The  Coroner  remarked  that  the  possibility  of  its  having  been 

dropped  by  the  suspected  person  ought  to  have  suggested  itself  to 

somebody. 

The  Dissenting  Juror.^"  I  suggested,  yesterday,  that  the 

doors  of  some  of  the  witnesses  should  be  tried." 

The  Coroner  (coldly).—"  Your  ingenuity  does  you  credit* 

Mrs.  Dawe.—"  I  know'd  that  latch-key  'ud  be  the  ruin  of  'im." 

The  Coroner.—"  Was  he  often  out  late  ?" 

Mrs.  Dawe  (glancing  uneasily  around).—"  Dunna* 

The  Coroner.—"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

Mrs.  Dawe.—"  Dunno,  I  tells  ye."    (Laughter.) 

The  Coroner.— "Why  don't  you  know?" 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "'Cos  I  was  often  abed  and  asleep  long  afore  'e 

come  in." 

The  Coroner.— "What  time  do  you  go  to  bed  ?" 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "We  shuts  up  at  eleven  and  afore  I  gets  a  little 

supper — I  can't  find  time  to  eat  it  afore,  'cos  I'm  as  busy  as  a  bull 

in  a  chiney  shop ^" 

The  Coroner. — ^^  What  kept  him  out  so  late  ?" 

Mrs.  Dawe.—"  Politics  mostly." 

The  Coroner.—"  What;  was  he  an  M.P.  ?" 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "  I  wish  *e  was,  the  vagabond  I    (Laughter.)    'E 

used  to  waste  'ours  and  'ours  jabberin'  away  like  one  o'clock.* 

(Laughter.) 


440  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

The  Coroner. — "  Till  one  o'clock  you  mean." 

Mrs.  Dawe. — ''  No,  I  don't    Ye  don't  pump  me  like  tbaO 
(Laughter.) 

The  Coroner. — '*  He  was  a  red-hot  Radical,  I  believe » ' 

M RS.  Dawe.—**  Was  'e  ?  **    (Laughter.) 

The  Coroner. — **  You  must  answer  the  question." 

Mrs.  Dawe. — *'  I  wants  to  know  what  a  red-'ot  Radical  is  afore 
I  commits  myself. ' 

The  Coroner. — "Oh,  a  man  who  wants  a  lot  of  chai^^es^yoa 
know." 

Mrs.  Dawe. — ^'  Well,  *c  "was  very  pardcklar  about  'b  under- 
linen  (great  laughter),  and  lately  more  so  than  ever.  '£  wanted  a 
clean  shirt  a  day,  only  I  stood  out  that  it  Hid  ruin  me." 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C. — "  She  wished  to  live  dirt-cheapi"  (Laughter.) 

The  Coroner. — *'  Come,  come,  Mrs.  Dawe,  don't  pretend  to 
misunderstand.  You  say  that  he  took  great  interest  in  politics. 
You  must  have  heard  him  talk  on  the  su^'ect  at  home." 

Mrs.  Dawe.—"  I  ain't  deaf.'* 

The  Coroner. — "  Did  you  ever  hear  ium  violently  deaousce 
the  late  Premier?" 

Mrs.  Dawe.—"  No." 

The  Coroner. — "  On  your  oath,  Mrs.  Dawe  ?  * 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "^  I  ain't  taken  no  oath."    (Laughter.) 

The  Coroner. — "  Well  on  your  word  of  honour  as  a  lady, 
have  you  ever  heard  your  son  denounce  Mr.  Floppington  ?" 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "  Well,  if  ye  puts  it  in  that  way,  I  *aven't  (Great 
laughter.)  'E's  always  been  down  on  Floppy's  politics,  but  'e'd  no 
more  think  o'  layin'  a  finger  on  Um  than  I  would  o'  poUin'  off  them 
'ere  lovely  wigs."    (Laughter.) 

The  Coroner.— "He  was  engaged  to  a  Miss  Eliza  BathbriU,  was 
he  not?" 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "  I  didnt  come  *ere  to  'ave  salt  put  on  my 
wounds  while  a  lot  of  vagabonds  might  be  socialisting  the  cook- 
shop."    (Laughter.) 

The  Coroner. — "You  must  not  talk  like  that  You  must 
answer  my  questions." 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "  If  ye'd  only  put  proper  questions  I'd  answer 
ye  without  a  word.  (Laughter.)  '£  was  engaged  to  'er,  but  'e 
chucked  'er  up,  and  now  she's  been — ^leastways  she  wouldn't  'ave 
'im,  'cos  she  wanted  to  get  up  a  case  and  damage  'im  for  life." 

The  Coroner. — "  Let  us  have  the  truth.  Who  gave  whom 
up?" 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "  I  couldn't  tell  yer  if  I  tried  for  a  year.  They 
was  all  mixed  like." 

The  Coroner.—"  When  was  the  match  broken  off?* 

Mrs.  Dawe. — ^**  I  can't  remember." 

The  Coroner. — "  I  thought  you  had  a  good  memory  I  • 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "  D'ye  mean  to  say  I'm  a  liar  ?"    (Laughter.) 

The  Coroner. — "  It  is  evidently  impossible  to  get  anytbf  \ 
definite  oui  of  this  witness.     Happily  there  are  plenty  of  witnes!  i 


SENSATIONAL  REVELATIONS  441 

to  the  facts.  When  the  match  was  broken  off,  did  your  son  tell  you 
why  he  gave  her  up  ?" 

Mrs.  Dawe  (after  consideration). — ** I  gives  it  up* 

The  Coroner. — "  And  so  do  I.     You  may  stand  down." 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C. — ^"  I  should  like  to  ask  the  witness  a  few  ques- 
tions." 

The  Coroner. — "  I  wish  you  success."    (Laughter.) 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C — "  Miss  Bathbrill  summoned  your  son  for 
breach  of  promise.  Yet  you  say  you  can't  tell  which  gave  the  other 
up.  Now  what  is  your  private  opinion  of  the  case  ?  Don't  you 
think  it  was  got  up  between  them  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "  D'ye  mean  for  the  sake  o'  the  lawyers  ?  " 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C — "  No  ;  for  their  own.  Supposing — only  sup- 
posing, Mrs.  Dawe — they  thought  they  might  get  the  money  from 
some  other  person ?  " 

Mrs*  Dawe. — *'  The  vagabonds  !    I  guessed  as  much." 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C.  (triumphantly).— '*  We  will  leave  that  now 
Mrs.  Dawe.    Your  son,  I  gather,  did  not  always  treat  you  with  the 
respect  due  to  your  age  and  position.    He  declined  to  follow  your 
advice,  for  instance  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "  He  were  certainly  as  obstinate  as  a  customer 
with  a  bad  'aypenny.  If  'he  said  'e'd  do  a  thing,  'e'd  do  it  if  I 
stood  on  my  'ead  and  begged  'im  not  to,  and  he  always  'ad  'is  own 
way,  like  a  tram."    (Laughter.) 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C—"  Indeed  I  If  he  said  he'd  do  a  thing,  he'd 
do  it  I    What  things  for  instance  has  he  done  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dawe.— "  Ye  wouldn't  understand."    (Laughter.) 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C— "Yes,  I  would." 

Mrs.  Dawe — "Ye're  very  inquisitive.  (Laughter.)  If  my 
son  and  me  ain't  lived  like  Darby  and  Joan,  wha?s  it  got  to  do 
with  you  ?  I  might  as  well  ask  when  ye  give  yer  old  woman  a 
black  eye  last?"  (Loud  laughter,  which  was  instantly  suppressed, 
the  Coroner  threatening  to  clear  the  Court) 

The  Coroner. — "You  must  bridle  your  tong^ue,  my  good 
woman,  and  answer  the  questions  that  are  put  to  you." 

Mrs.  Dawk — "'Ow  can  I  answer  the  questions  if  I've  bridled 
my  tongue."    (Laughter.) 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C—"  Attend  to  me  if  you  please.  Your  son  is 
said  to  resemble  the  Premier.  Did  he  ever  refer  to  this  re- 
semblance?" 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "  Several  times,  but  mostly  in  joke." 
*  The  Foreman  asked  whether  the  photograph  on  the  bills  was 
authentic  ;  because,  if  so,  he  failed  to  see  any  great  resemblance. 

The  Coroner. — "  That  photograph  is,  I  understand,  an  en- 
larged copy  of  a  single  figure  in  a  family  group  belonging  to  Miss 
Bathbrill,  and  now  in  the  hands  of  the  police.  This  portrait  of 
Mr.  Dawe,  which  was  taken  at  Ramsgate,  is  the  only  one  in  exist- 
enc  e.    The  jury  may  see  the  original  if  they  like. 

The  Foreman  (after  the  portrait  had  been  handed  round.) — 
**  The  jury  do  not  think  that  any  one  would  see  the  resemblance  ki 


44fl  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

the  face  if  they  did  not  know  it  existed  The  figure  is  certainly 
similar.* 

The  Coroner. — ^*'A  slight  resemblance  to  so  celebrated  a. 
personage  would  naturally  be  exaggerated.  But  we  shall  presently 
nave  the  evidence  of  eye-witnesses  on  the  point" 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C. — **  Now,  Mrs.  Dawe,  can  you  remember  any 
of  the  jokes  your  son  made  on  the  subject  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dawe. — **'£  said  they  was  as  like  as  two  peas,  only 'e 
'oped  'e  wasn't  as  green  as  the  other."    (Laughter.) 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C. — "There's  many  a  serious  word  spoken  in 
jest  Mr.  Dawe  evidently  thought  himself  more  capable  than  the 
Premier." 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "  In  course  'e  did.  *E  said  once,  'e  wouldn't  be 
Floppy  for  ;£  100,000,  and  1  know  'e  meant  it,'cos'e  smashed  a  plate 
with  Ms  fist" 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C— "Then  he  ^«V/get  excited  about  the  Premier  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "  'E  was  a  good  deal  cut  up  over  *im  (laughter) ; 
but  'e  despised  'im  too  much  to  be  excited  about  'im,  and  so  did  I. 
If  my  pea  'ad  been  born  in  a  gold  plate  instead  of  a  chiney  one,  it 
'ud  a-made  a  better  Pry  Minister  than  the  other  by  long  chalks. ' 
(Laughter.) 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C. — **  How  long  ago  is  it  (as  nearly  as  you  can 
remember)  since  your  son  began  to  abuse  Mr.  Floppington  so 
violently  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "*0w  long  ago  is  it  (as  nearly  as  ye  can 
remember)  since  I  told  ye  that  my  son  never  abused  Mr.  Flop- 
pington violently  at  all  ?  (Laughter.)  Lawyers  should  'ave  good 
memories."    (Great  laughter.) 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C. — "  Well, carry  your  good  memory  back  to  the 
day  when  your  son  left  home.  Had  he  been  talking  about  the 
Premier  at  all  ?" 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "  Who  was  there  to  talk  to  ?  IVe  got  too  much 
sense  to  talk  politics,  and  I'm  sure  'e  didn't  have  no  conversation 
with  Sally." 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C.—"  How  could  you  be  sure  of  that  ?» 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "'Cos  I  didn't  allow  'im  to  say  a  word  to  'er." 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C— "Why  not?" 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "  'Cos  she  was  goin'  to  be  a  witness  in  the  breach 
o'  promise  case,  and  I  didn't  want  'im  to  prejudice  *er." 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C — ^**What  was  he  doing  during  that  day? 
Didn't  he  go  to  work  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "  No,  he  sat  nearly  the  'ole  day  reading  every 
blessed  paper." 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C — "  He  certainly  took  great  interest,  then,  in 
public  events,  if  he  neglected  his  work  and  did  nothing  but  read 
all  the  papers.    Did  you  say  nothing  to  him  about  his  idleness  ?" 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "  'E  wasn't  fit  to  go  out,  'cos  'e'd  'ad  the  brain- 
fever,  haggravated  by  grief,  'cos  the  whole  time  'Lizer  didn't  come 
to  see  'im  once,  not  to  speak  of  a  touch  o'  small-pox." 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C— «  Who  is  'Liier  ?» 


SENSATIONAL  REVELATIONS  443 

Mrs.  Dawe. — ^  The  gal  as  wants  to  damage  'im.* 
Mr.  Drat,  Q.C — "  I  see.    But  if  he  was  in  a  state  of  con- 
valescence, as  you  describe,  his  disappearance  must  have  frightened 
you  a  good  deal" 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "•  No,  it  didn't,  'cos  'e  disappeared  a  few  days 
afore  that,  only  I  dragged  'im  back  by  the  'air  of  'is  'ead." 
Mr.  Drat,  Q.C.—"  Where  did  you  find  hun  ?  " 
Mrs.  Dawe. — "At'Oxton,  at  a  midnight  meeting."     (Sensa- 
tion.) 

Mr.  MroDLlTOP.— "Of  Orangemen?"    (Sensation.) 
Mrs.  Dawe. — "  No ;  nor  applewomen  neither.     It  was  Sal- 
vation chaps  and  their  gals  a  'avin'  a  little  fun." 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C. — "And  what  was  your  son  doing  there?" 
Mrs.  Dawe. — "  Preachifyin\  the  wagabond,  fit  to  make  'is 
late  father's  'air  stand  on  end  in  'is  grave.  What's  the  good  of 
eddication  if  it  only  makes  children  think  they  know  better  than 
their  elders  ?  I  don't  believe  in  nothing,  thank  Gord,  1  don't ;  but 
chem  School  Boards  is  unsettlin'  everything."    (Laughter.) 

The  Coroner. — "  According  to  you,  he  was  ill  and  in  a  state 
of  religious  fanaticism  combined  with  an  intense  interest  in  politics. 
Did  you  suspect  he  wasn't  quite  right  in  his  head  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dawe. — "D*  ye  mean  'cos  'e  was  religious?   (Laughter.) 
If  'e  gets  into  a  scrape  it'll  be  Gord*s  punishment  on  'im  for  de- 
sertin'  the  faith  of  'is  fathers  and  mothers."    (Laughter.) 
The  Coroner. — "  1  think  you  had  better  stand  down." 
Mrs.  Dawe. — "  I  'opes  the  Queen  will  pay  me  for  my  two  days 
wasted." 

The  Coroner.— "  You  must  settle  that  with  Her  Majesty." 
(Laughter.) 

Mrs.  Dawe  (angrily).— "All  right,  I'll  take  it  out  of  the  Queen's 
taxes.  (Laughter.)  As  for  Jack,  'e's  as  innocent  as  a  sheep,  and 
though  ye've  lost  'im  and  don't  know  where  to  find  'im,  let  'im 
alone  and  'e'll  come  'ome  with  all  'is  tail  be'ind  'im."    (Laughter.) 

Mrs.  Dawe  then  withdrew  in  considerable  indignation,  and  die 
Court  adjourned  for  lunch.  On  the  resumption  of  the  sitting,  Sally 
appeared,  attired  in  her  Christmas  costume,  but  red-eyed  and  pale. 
She  repeated  the  oath  with  fervour,  making  only  one  slip  by  sub- 
stituting "  S'elp  me,  Bob  I "  for  the  customary  formula,  and  in  the 
intensity  of  her  earnestness,  throwing  in  an  additional  "May  I 
never  move,  if  I  don't,"  at  the  finish. 

She  began  her  answers  by  an  irrelevant  and  indignant  protest 
against  the  shameful  accusations  made  against  her  master,  who, 
she  declared  with  tears,  was  dead.  This  last  sentence,  being  at 
once  subjected  to  severe  criticism,  turned  out  to  be  merely  in- 
ferential. She  had  last  seen  her  master  on  the  evening  of  the  I2th 
instant  Her  account  of  how  he  had  spent  the  day  tallied  with 
that  of  her  mistress,  except  that  the  latter  had  not  referred  to  a 
short  walk  in  the  afternoon.  He  had  not  spoken  to  her  during  the 
day  because  her  mistress  had  forbidden  it  ;  she  did  not  know  why. 
(Master  Jack  was  frightened  of  **  missus,"  she  thought,  though  till 


444  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

lately  it  used  to  be  'Uhe  other  way  on."  That  was  probably  because 
Master  Jack  had  been  ill  a  good  deal,  though  to  be  sure  "missus* 
had  been  ill  too.)  '*  But  just  when  it  was  beginning  to  get  dark,"  pro- 
ceeded the  girl,  *'  he  come  into  the  kitchen  dressed  to  go  out,  and 
ses  to  me,  '  Remember  what  I  ses  to  ye  the  other  night  Keep 
up  yer  courage.'  '  Oh  master/  ses  1,  '  don't  worry  about  me ;  if  s 
only  you  that  I'm  troubled  about'  He  smiled  so  sad  and  soft,  it 
almost  made  me  cry.  '  I  shall  soon  be  out  o'  all  my  troubles, 
Sally  I '  'e  ses.  With  that  he  went  out  quick,  and  I  never  see  'im 
no  more,  and  I  knows  'e's  been  and  drownded  'isself."  A  burst  of 
sobbing  concluded  this  sentence.  *'  It's  all  'Lizer's  fault,**  Sally 
moaned,  "  it's  all  on  account  o'  'Lizer."  Interrogated  as  to  her 
meaning,  she  stated  that'Iizer  Bathbrill  was  the  cause  of  her  master's 
wretchedness.  He  did  not  love  her  a  bit — she  wouldn't  say  he 
hadn't  once  loved  her— but  now  he  hated  her  like  pizon,  because  he 
had  found  out  what  sort  of  a  girl  she  was.  (The  witness  had  to  be 
stopped  in  her  enumeration  of  efMthets.)  Though  she  knew  his 
feelings,  Eliza  was  always  coming  and  worrying  him,  and  at  last  be 
told  her  plain  out  that  he  loved  another.  (The  witness  had  over- 
heard some  of  the  final  interview.)  And  then  she  brought  an  action 
against  him  for  ;£2,ooo,  and  '*  missus "  worried  him  about  it  so 
much  that  he  went  and  drowned  himself,  after  leaving  the  witness 
in  the  way  already  described. 

The  Coroner.— "What  was  it  he  told  you  to  remember  the 
other  night?" 

Sally.-—'*  I  told  'im  I  was  miserable  and  I  wanted  to  kill  my- 
self, so  *e  give  me  a  piece  of  advice." 

The  Coroner. — "  What  was  the  advice  ? " 

Sally. — "  'E  told  me,  whenever  I  wanted  to  kill  myself  to  go 
and  read  a  book  (laughter) ;  so  'e  made  a  list  of  a  hundred  books 
for  me,  'cos  he  was  learnin'  me  to  read  like  a  lady." 

The  Coroner.— "That  was  certainly  very  kind.  Have  vou 
the  list  ?  " 

Sally. — "  Missus  burnt  it ;  but  I  remember  some  on  it  One 
on  *em  was  'Any  Stottel's  *  Physics,'  and  then,  when  'e  see  I  could 
swallow  that,  he  chucked  in  *  Eagle.*  *E  was  very  good  to  me  'e  was. 
And  then  there  was  the  Bible  and  '  Bimch  of  Keys.' "    (Laug-hter.) 

The  Coroner.— "Who?" 

Mr.  Drat,  Q.C. — "  Perhaps  she  means  Sophocles  ?" 

Sally. — "  Yes,  that  was  the  gentleman.  And  there  was  some 
widows  as  well" 

Mr.  Middletop. — "  The  Vedas,  perhaps  ?  "    (Laughter.) 

The  Coroner.—"  No  wonder  your  master  gave  you  that 
advice.  (Laughter.)  I  should  think  that  the  mere  presumption  on 
the  part  of  any  man  that  he  could  draw  up  a  list  of  a  hundred 
books  to  constitute  the  bulk  of  the  reading  of  any  one  else  would 
be  proof  positive  of  insanity.  (Laughter.)  Did  he  teach  you  to 
write  too  ? " 

Sally.—"  Yes.  and  I  wrote  two  letters  for  'im.* 

The  Coroner.— "To  whom?** 


A  PIECE  OF  SYNTHESIS  44$ 

Sally. — •*  To  Floppy."    (Sensation.)  , 

The  two  letters  being  handed  to  witness,  she  recognised  them 
as  those  she  had  written. 

The  Coroner. — ^  Mr.  Dawe^s  tuition  was  not  as  disinterested 
as  it  appeared.** 

Continuing  his  examination,  the  Coroner  elicited  farther  details 
of  the  highest  importance.  She  had  written  the  first  letter  from 
his  dictation,  the  second  she  had  copied. 

The  witness  then  related  with  as  much  precision  as  she  could 
command,  the  details  of  Jack  Dawe's  illness,  his  delirious  outcries 
thAt  devils  were  murdering  him,  and  his  rambling  monologues  com- 
mencing with  Mr.  Speaker ;  his  return  of  consciousness  followed  by 
wild  inquiries  as  to  whether  the  Premier  was  alive,  and  by  the  de- 
spatch of  the  telegram.  This  evidence  excited  immense  interest ; 
and,  as  the  drama  unfolded,  so  the  extraordinary  complexity  of 
motif  zxiA  incident  began  to  reveal  itself  to  the  obtusest  spectators. 
In  addition  to  the  usual  display  of  conventional  character  produced 
by  juridical  analysis,  to  the  laying  bare  of  stock  emotions  and  ttme- 
honoored  passions,  in  addition  to  the  antediluvian  motif  already 
apparent,  there  began  to  loom  in  the  distance  the  shadow  of  a 
motif  of  a  kind  unknown  alike  to  fiction  and  to  history. 

'*  Did  Mr.  Oawe  refer  to  Ireland  f**  the  Coroner  asked,  a  moment 
before  the  inquest  was  adjourned. 

And  Sally  answered  in  those  remarkable  words  which  formed  a 
fitting  ck>se  to  the  second  act  of  the  great  Tragi- Comedy  :  "  "£ 
used  often  to  say  when  'e  was  mad, '  Ireland  shall  not  have  Home 
Rule  though  I  die  for  it' " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

▲  PIECE  OF  SYNTHESIS. 

Slowly  but  surely  light  had  been  growing,  and  now  a  steady 
glare  illumined  the  depths  and  abysses  of  the  tenebrous  tragedy. 
But  by  the  end  of  the  investigation  every  nook  and  cranny  was 
flooded  by  the  shadow-dispelling  rays,  and  the  eye  of  the  world 
looked  long  and  lingeringly  on  strange,  psychical  secrets. 

That  the  interest  of  the  inquest  would  be  maintained  at  the 
same  high  level  till  the  finish  was  hardly  to  be  expected ;  the 
first  two  acts  had  been  so  full  of  sensations  and  surprises  that  one  felt 
that  the  Fates  must  have  exhausted  themselves,  and,  like  impru- 
dent authors,  had  so  injudiciously  distributed  their  fat  as  to  leave 
little  or  nothing  for  the  finish.  But  whoever  expected  a  collapse 
was  agreeably  disappointed ;  if  the  dialogue  was  less  pungent, 
and  the  setting  more  sombre,  the  action  was  more  bustling  and 
the  points  more  frequent ;  and  with  not  an  instant's  flagging,  the 
unrehearsed  drama  went  on  to  its  triumphant  conclusion.    The 


446  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

^ilt  of  Jack  Oawe  was,  it  will  be  remembered,  patent  to  an 
immense  majority  from  the  very  first ;  but  by  the  time  this  stage 
of  the  proceedings  was  reached,  the  minority  had  been  reduced 
to  a  handful  of  paradoxical  people;  one  of  whom  rushed  into 
print.  In  the  number  of  the  Times ^  from  which  the  contents  of 
the  last  chapter  have  been  taken,  there  is  a  curious  letter  signed 
•'  Fair  Play."*     A  copy  of  it  may  not  be  uninteresting : 

'*  Verily  there  is  nothing  so  benumbing  to  calm  common  sense 
as  the  irresponsible  chatter  of  the  multitude.  Let  them  once  get 
a  theory  into  their  stupid  heads,  and  it  is  as  difHcult  to  dislodge  it 
as  it  is  to  convince  critics  that  their  own  petty  experiences  of  life 
are  not  a  sufficient  test  of  the  possibility  of  incidents  or  of  charac- 
ters. When  I  hear  the  silly  clamour  of  the  crowd,  on  this  and 
other  subjects,  I  am  tempted  to  exclaim  (to  misapply  the  already 
proverbial  words  which  will  appear  in  your  issue  of  to-morrow, 
and  which  to  me,  at  least,  seem  to  hit  off  the  spirit  of  modem 
materialism  and  positivism  to  a  T),  *  I  don't  believe  in  nothii^, 
thank  God,  I  don't/  I  venture  to  say,  sir,  that  the  questions 
put  by  the  Coroner  to-day  showed  an  utter  misconception  of 
the  real  bearing  of  the  evidence.  There  was  only  one  man 
who  seemed  to  have  any  glimmering  of  correct  apprehension,  and 
even  with  him  the  glimmer  died  away  as  soon  as  it  appeared.  The 
question  of  Mr.  Dawe*s  Counsel,  *  Of  Orangemen  ? '  combined  with 
his  contention  that  the  messages  were  intended  as  warnings,  and 
not  as  threats,  shows  that  his  theory  is  substantially  one  with  that  I 
am  about  to  indicate.  But,  as  he  has  not  thought  fit  to  put  his  two 
utterances  together,  I  venture  to  assure  him  Siat  his  unfortunate 
hypothesis  is  not  so  wild  as  to  have  suggested  itself  to  no  one  but 
the  professional  champion  of  a  losing  cause.  On  the  contrary,  only 
by  a  prejudiced  misreading  can  the  letters  of  the  suspected  man 
be  regarded  as  threats.  They  are  warnings,  and  warnings  alone. 
Who,  that  listened  to  the  girl  Sally's  account  of  her  master's 
agonised  inquiry  on  awaking  from  his  long  fever,  of  his  immediate 
despatch  of  a  telegram,  and  then  of  a  letter,  can  doubt  of  the  fact? 
Note  the  irony  of  fate.  The  poor  house-painter  has  somehow  dis- 
covered a  project  against  the  Premier's  life ;  he  is  bound  over,  by 
oath,  to  keep  the  secret  on  peril  of  his  life.  The  horror  of  the 
situation  prostrates  him  with  brain-fever,  and  he  babbles  of  the 
devils  who  were  about  to  kill  him.  He  wakes,  and  his  first  thought 
is  of  the  threatened  man ;  he  telegraphs ;  he  writes  in  veiled 
oracular  phraseology,  almost  graring  the  breddng  of  his  oath. 
Mark  the  expression,  *  You  will  make  me  your  murderer,'  i^.  by 
not  changing  your  Irish  policy.  Now,  who  are  interested  in  the 
abandonment  of  his  policy  1  The  Ulsterites ;  and  the  plot  in  ques- 
tion has  been  hatched  by  a  few  desperadoes  among  them. 
•Absurd,'  I  hear  the  sapient  iiox  populi  cry.     No,  my  friends,  it  is 

*  From  a  little-known,  miscellaneous  volume  in  the  British  Museum,  in 
which  the  letter  is  reproduced  with  a  commentary  by  the  author,  it  wookl 
seem  that  ''Fair  Play"  was  the  pseudonym  of  a  popidar  noveliftt  of  Ibi 
period. 


A  PTECE  OF  SYNTHESIS  447 

you  that  are  absurd.     Have  you,  ihen,  heard  nothing  of  the  feeimg 
m  Ulster,  of  the  revolution  already  threatening  ? 

**  Charmed  by  the  magic  eloquence  of  the  great  statesman  whom 
Providence  has  taken  from  us,  have  you  no  ears  for  the  growing 
murmurs  of  discontent — a  discontent  that  might  lead  misguided 
men  to  fancy  that  in  murdering  the  Premier  they  were  putting  into 
action  the  unexpressed  sentiment  of  the  community?  Lingers 
there  in  no  one's  memory — it  is  fresh  in  mine — the  spirit-stirring 
address  of  a  young  politician,  who  may  learn  from  this  unexpected 
result  the  danger  of  rash  and  indiscriminate  rhetoric,  *  A  blow  will 
have  to  be  struck ;  a  blow  will  be  struck,  the  sound  of  whichj'  etc. 
"  Wdl,  sir,  a  blow  has  been  struck,  the  sound  of  which  has^  etc. 
'*  To  conclude,  I  assert  that  the  above  is  the  only  theory  that 
will  fit  all  the  facts.  On  any  other  hypothesis  how  can  you  explain 
the  words  frequently  uttered  in  deliriumi  '  Ireland  shall  not  have 
Home  Rule  though  I  die  for  it'  ?  What,  in  Heaven's  name,  could 
have  made  an  Englishman  willing  to  die  for  the  sake  of  Ireland  ? 
The  sentence  is  evidently  a  repetition  of  one  made  use  of  by  a  con- 
spirator, which  engraved  itself  on  the  memory  of  the  unhappy 
house-painter. 

^  But  I  know  well  I  am  crying  in  the  wfiderness.  The  force  of 
public  opinion  has  made  the  verdict  a  foregone  conclusion.  The 
cry  for  vengeance  is  natural,  but  in  the  nineteenth  century  we  can- 
not allow  Justice  to  be  as  blind  as  those  who  invoke  her. 

*'  P.S. — A  medical  friend  of  mine,  who  has  read  over  this  letter, 
tells  me  that  it  has  partially  converted  him.  He  suggests,  how- 
ever, an  alternative  theory.  Rejecting  the  idea  of  Jack  Dawe's 
having  discovered  a  plot  against  the  Premier  as  being  utterly  im- 
probable (and  I  admit  that  I  cannot  even  imagine  the  circumstances 
of  the  discovery),  he  thinks  that  the  man  may  have  been  under  the 
delusion  that  he  had  done  so,  conceiving  the  idea  in  that  excited 
state  of  his  brain  which  led  to  his  attack  of  cerebral  fever.  Such 
cases  are  not  rare  in  Mental  Pathology.  Hence  the  telegram,  etc 
However  this  may  be,  it  is  satisfactory  to  find  that  on  the  question 
of  the  intention  of  the  messages,  he  is  at  one  with  me." 

That  this  letter  attracted  some  attention  is  obvious  from  the 
Coroner's  reference  thereto ;  but  the  general  opinion  of  the  de- 
spised public  was  that  the  new  theory  was  rather  too  ingenious  to 
be  true.  And  the  public  had  very  soon  occasion  to  pride  itself  on 
its  discernment,  ana  to  pay  back  flout  for  flout  For  not  only  did 
the  vaunted  hypothesis  of  '^  Fair  Play  "  fail  altogether  to  cover  the 
nakedness  of  the  broad,  bare  facts  ehcited  on  the  last  day,  but  the 
popular  theory — very  much  modified,  but  still  claimed  by  the 
public — ^was  able  to  cover  every  atom  of  them,  and,  in  fact,  every 
particle  of  the  whole  body  of  evidence,  twofold,  and  even  three- 
fold. 

It  would  appear  that  on  the  evening  of  the  second  day  there 
was  a  widely- disseminated  report  that  Jack  Dawe  had  been 
captured.  The  savage  joy  that  was  loudly  expressed  in  all  quarters 
was  no  slight  indication  of  the  state  of  public  feeling,  and  acute  dis- 


44B  THE  PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

appointment  was  felt  when  it  was  discovered  that  the  report  was  a 
hoax,  and  that,  in  spite  of  the  most  determined  vigilance  on  the 
part  of  the  police,  no  traces  had  yet  been  obtained  of  any  one 
resembling  the  portrait  of  the  fugitive.  The  telegraph  offices  were 
kept  busy  widi  inquiries  from  all  parts  of  the  kingdom  and  the 
Continent     Much  excitement  prevailed  till  a  late  hour. 

The  first  witness  called  on  the  last  day  of  the  investigation  was 
Eliza  BathbrilL  As  the  elegant  form  of  the  quondam  housemaid 
advanced  gracefully  into  the  witness-box,  the  dense,  variegated 
mass  of  human  beings  stirred  as  with  the  passing  of  some  mighty 
breeze.  The  marvellous  loveliness  of  the  gurl  seems  to  have  thrilled 
every  heart.  Even  in  that  material  age  the  worship  of  beauty  was 
not  dead  ;  the  audience  rose  in  reverence  and  stood  on  the  benches 
in  awe.  An  impromptu  service  took  place  after  the  fashion  of  the 
period.  Opera-glasses,  which  had  long  superseded  psalters  iix  the 
expression  of  adoration,  were  devoutly  produced  on  all  sides.  It 
was  some  time  before  tbe  overcharged  emotions  of  the  crowd  could 
allow  the  purely  secular  business  to  proceed. 

But,  alas  !  never  did  the  true  historical  spirit  (carefully  brought 
with  them  by  the  audience)  —never  did  the  ardent  desire  To  Know 
(dominating  the  breasts  of  the  gloved  Eves  and  eye-classed  Para- 
celsuses)  meet  with  a  severer  check.  Not  only  did  Eliza  swear  that 
she  had  never  seen  the  Premier  in  her  life,  but  she  swore  it  so 
positively,  that  the  gladness  which  people  might  have  felt  at  the 
redemption  of  the  M mister's  reputation,  was  neutralised  by  the 
dread  lest  the  girl  should  be  perjuring  her  soul  and  perilling  her 
salvation. 

Outside,  indeed,  by  the  rude  millions  who  wexe  cut  off  from  the 
higher  emotions,  the  exculpation  of  their  idolised  and  martyred 
Floppington  was  received  with  no  such  modified  joy.  In  Ireland, 
where  he  had  already  been  canonised,  the  news  only  sharp)ened  the 
deadly  desire  for  vengeance.  The  rest  of  Eliza's  evidence  would 
have  little  novelty ;  and  even  at  the  risk  of  violating  the  good  old 
literary  canon  that  history  repeats  itself,  we  must  content  ourselves 
with  assuring  the  reader  that  Eliza  gave  as  true  a  version  of  the 
facts  as  was  possible  to  so  romantic  an  artist ;  excepting,  peihaps, 
her  assertion  that  uninterrupted  tenderness  had  reigned  between 
her  and  her  lover  till  the  day  of  the  mysterious  and  peremptory 
return  from  Ramsgate. 

Some  amusement  was  created  by  the  surprise  manifested  by  the 
witness  on  first  hearing  that  Mr.  Dawe  had  not  sutifered  from  small- 
pox after  all  Was  it  the  memory  of  a  wasted  glove  that  touched 
her  eyes  with  dreamy  softness  ? 

But  not  even  the  charm  of  Eliza's  artless  ^^«r^  picture — not  the 
interest  of  her  ingenuous  and  realistic  story  could  dissipate  the 
clouds  of  disappointment.  It  was  true  that  in  one  particular,  public 
expectation  had  been  more  than  fulfilled     But  what  if  Eliza  v>ai 

beautiful  as  a  Houri !     Beauty  is  but  skin-deep !    Then,  again, 

it  was  painful  to  the  refined  moral  intuition  to  discover  that  the 
Coroner  had  not  the  interests  of  Justice  at  heart,  and  that  the  da- 


A  PIECE  OF  SYNTHESIS  449 

senting  juror  was  rudely  suppressed,  and  the  cross-examination  of 
tlie  witness  conducted  on  lines  important  only  to  the  real  question 
at  issue.  The  result  of  this  jar  to  delicate  susceptibilities  was  to 
xnake  not  a  few  of  those  who  had  taken  part  in  the  late  impromptu 
service  orthodox  enough  to  disbelieve  in  the  object  of  their  adora- 
tion. Eliza's  denial  was  looked  upon  as  the  result  of  a  false 
modesty ;  and  they  loftily  refused  to  permit  the  Indignity  of 
History  to  suffer  by  the  mistaken  humility  of  a  housemaid. 

^'  I^on  omnis  moriari^  Eliza  might  have  proudly  sung  as  she  left 
the  scene  of  her  latest  triumph.  '*  I,  too,  shall  join  the  choir  in- 
visible, whose  scandal  ts  the  gladness  of  the  world."  And  more  than 
a  place  in  the  choir  invisible  awaited  her,  for  has  not  every  reader 
seen  her  niched  amid  the  very  visible  choir  at  Madame  Tussaud's, 
blooming  in  waxen  immortal  beauty  not  far  from  the  cerated 
countenance,  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought,  of  the 
Right  Honourable  Arnold  Floppington  ?  Well,  indeed,  had  she 
n^erited  die  immediately-granted  distinction  of  a  pedestal  in  our 
national  pantheon  (a  pantheon  where  the  gods  are  the  positivist 
deity  of  humanity,  vermicular  in  his  power  of  being  chopped  up 
into  fragments,  each  a  god  in  itself).  Who,  forsooth,  could  claim 
admittance  into  our  Catholic  Academy,  if  it  were  denied  to  the 
fiancde  of  a  murderer  and  the  alleged  mistress  of  a  Premier? 
The  management  knew  better  than  to  discourage  budding  talent  in 
that  fashion. 

A  motley  procession  of  figures  unknown  to  £eune  brought  up 
the  rear  of  the  irregular  army  of  witnesses. 

Mr.  Legge,  a  retired  barrister  and  an  hwbitwi  of  the  Cogers' 
Hall,  deposed  that  he  had  known  Jack  Dawe  for  some  time.  The 
man  was  one  of  the  naost  uncompromising  Radicals  whose  tirades 
the  walls  of  the  ancient  hall  had  ever  echoed.  He  was  also  an 
atheist,  and  very  fond  of  his  joke.  He  (the  witness)  had  always 
found  him  a  very  nice  fellow,  well-informed,  and  looked  up  to  by  a 
little  clique  at  the  Cogers  over  which,  being  naturally  of  a  domi- 
neering temper,  he  had  acquired  a  certain  authority.  Indeed,  on 
account  of  a  somewhat  striking  resemblance  to  the  late  Premier,  he 
was  ^uniliarly  called  ^  Floppy,"  by  which  nickname  only,  many  of 
the  frequenters  knew  him. 

The  Coroner.— "Did  you  ever  see  the  late  Premier  ?" 
Mr.  Legge. — "  Once  or  twice." 

The  Coroner. — "  What  were  your  own  impressions  as  to  the 
resemblance  ?  " 

Mr.  Legge. — "  It  was  a  general  resemblance  so  to  speak.  I 
don't  suppose  it  held  in  detail.  Then  again  the  difference  of  costiune 
gave  the  two  men  quite  a  different  air." 

The  Coroner. — **  Do  you  think  his  own  and  the  general  con- 
sciousness of  this  resemblance  had  some  subtle  e^ect  in  inflating 
Mr.  Dawe  and  making  him  sometimes  pose  as  if  he  were  the 
Premier  ?" 

Mr.  Legge.— *•  I  scarcely  think  that.  He  had  too  much 
sense  for  that" 

2  G 


450         THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

Tmb  Coroner.— "You  see,  a  feeling  of  that  kind  influences  a 
man  unknown  to  him.  Might  it  not  have  contributed  to  strengthen 
his  natural  desire  to  rule,  if  even  only  a  small  clique  ?" 

Mr.  Legge. — **"  I  should  say  there  is  something  in  that  view 
of  the  case.     It  is  likely  enough." 

The  Coroner.— *' You  say  he  had  much  sense.  But  for  all  that, 
was  there  any  feeling  in  your  debating  society  that  he  was  not 
altogether  right  in  his  head  "i^ 

Mr.  Legge. — "  It  never  struck  me  that  he  wasn't" 
The  Coroner. — "I  don't  doubt  for  a  moment  that  he  was 
sane  in  one  sense.  But  in  all  his  brilliant  wit,  all  his  fiery 
eloquence,  wasn't  there  something  feverish,  something  unhealthy? 
Was  there  any  feeling,  anyhow,  that  the  man  was  to  be  humoured 
somewhat?" 

Mr,  Legge.—**  Well,  there  was.  The  very  fact  that  he  was 
'  Floppy '  caused  us  to  pay  him  a  certain  half-mock  deference,  not 
after  all  much  unlike  that  which  one  pays  to  a  man  slightly  weak 
in  the  upper  storey.  And  I  do  think  that  casual  debaters  who 
knew  not  *  Floppy  'used  to  get  this  view  of  him." 

The  Coroner. — *'  Did  not  the  contrast  between  the  politics  of 
the  two  '  Floppingtons '  attract  attention  ?" 

Mr.  Legge.— ^'  Of  course.  It  was  even  said  that  Jack  Dawe 
consciously  aimed  at  being  as  much  unlike  Mr.  Floppington  in  the 
spirit  as  he  was  like  him  in  body.  And  really  it  seemed  as  if 
a  measure  had  only  to  be  introduced  or  advocated  by  the  latter  to 
be  instantly  violently  denounced  by  the  former.  We  used  to 
reproach  him  with  allowing  the  Premier  to  make  up  his  mind  for 
him."    (Laughter.) 

The  Coroner.— "Then  he  seems  to  have  regarded  the 
Premier  as  a  kind  of  bite  noire  f " 

Mr.  Legge. — ^  I  don't  say  that,  though  I  admit  he  seemed  to 
feel  a  sort  of  personal  antagonism  to  Mr.  Floppington  and  a  sort 
of  personal  triumph  in  demolishing  him,  especially  since  he  came 
into  office  last  year.  But  he  seemed  sincerely  to  be  of  opinion  that 
Mr.  Floppington  was  the  worst  type  of  y[\TL\%Xxx^fainiant^  devoid 
of  principle,  and  inheriting  all  the  worst  principles  of  Toryism, 
religion  among  them.  I  need  not  add  I  do  not  share  these 
opinions." 

The  Coroner.— "The  peculiarity  of  his  always  attacking  Mr. 
Floppington  must  have  added  to  the  feeling  that  he  was  a  little  off 
his  mental  balance." 

Mr.  Legge. — "  Perhaps  it  did." 

The  Coroner. — "  I  suppose  he  was  convinced  he  could 
govern  the  country  better  himself?" 

Mr.  Legge. — **  Who  is  not  in  his  secret  heart  ?" 

The  Coroner. — ^**  Well,  but  perhaps  he  wore  his  heart  upon 
his  sleeve  ?" 

^  Mr.  Legge. — "For  other  Dawes  to  peck  at?  (Laughter.) 
W^ell,  all  I  know  is  this,  it  got  to  be  a  favourite  bit  of  chaff  to 
interrupt  him  in  the  middle  of  a  diatribe  by  calling  out '  Hooray 


A  PIECE  OF  SYNTHESIS  4$l 

fur  the  Premier,'  and  then  he  would  bow  gracefully;  or  'You  could 
do  it  better/  and  then  he  used  to  draw  himself  up  and  say, '  I 
should  think  so  ; '  but  whether  it  was  chaff  for  chaff  1  couldn't  say, 
for  it  was  often  hard  to  tell  whether  he  was  in  earnest  or  not." 

Th£  Coroner. — ''  Your  debates  would  seem  to  be  rather  free- 
and-easy?" 

Mr.  L£GGE. — ^  Yes  ;  we  ape  the  House  a  good  deaL* 
(Laughter.) 

The  Coroner. — "  When  did  you  last  see  Mr.  Dawe  ?" 

Mr.  Legge. — ^**On  the  evening  of  the  second  reading  of  the 
Reform  Bill.  He  had  been  absent  for  some  time,  and  his  re- 
appearance was  welcomed." 

The  Coroner.— "Did  he  speak?" 

Mr.  L£gge. — ^^  Yes  ;  and  I  shall  never  forget  it.  Naturally, 
the  subject  of  debate  was  the  Reform  Bill  (I  must  premise  th?t 
my  previous  answers  were  based  on  my  general  experience  of  Mr. 
Da'Jire^and  that  his  behaviour  on  this  evening  was  quite  exceptional.) 
He  came  in  flushed  and  evidently  labouring  under  great  excite- 
ment. There  was  a  man  on  his  legs,  and  Mr.  Dawe  could  hardly 
restrain  himself  from  jumping  up.  The  audience,  seeing  his  im- 
patience, cried  '  Tinie ! '  (our  method  of  cl6ture>  and  then  Mr. 
Dawe  got  up,  trembling  with  concentrated  emotion.  As  usual,  he 
received  an  ovation,  and  we  were  all  prepared  for  a  magnificent 
oratorical  effort  What  was  our  surprise  to  find  that  he  made  not 
a  single  sarcastic  reference  to  the  last  speaker  ;  that  he  said  not  a 
word  for  or  against  the  Bill  which  he  had  always  been  advocating ; 
but  that  he  exhausted  invective  in  a  purely  personal  abuse  of  the 
Premier.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  the  conversion  of  the  Premier  to 
his  own  views,  by  removing  the  raison  d*itre  of  the  attacks  which 
were  the  delight  of  his  existence,  had  driven  him  mad.  He  was 
like  a  tiger  robbed  of  its  young.  He  said,  inter  alia^  that  the 
Premier  had  not  a  scrap  of  principle,  that  he  was  the  very  soul  of 
j^ousy  and  meanness,  that  he  stole  their  glory  from  those  to 
whom  it  was  due  by  appropriating  at  the  last  stage  the  reforms 
due  to  their  labour,  that  he  had  all  the  cunning  of  insanity,  etc.,  etc 
Even  his  friends  cried  '  Shame  t '  and  hisses  ran  rouna  the  room. 
At  the  unexpected  sounds  he  stopped  short,  and  dashing  his  fist 
violently  on  the  table  he  exclaimed  furiously :  '  Yes  ;  shame  on  the 
cruel  trickster.  Mark  my  words,  if  he  persists  in  remaining  at  the 
head  of  affairs,  I  will  hound  him  from  the  House.'  An  uproarious 
burst  of  laughter  followed  this  bombastic  threat.  He  glared  round 
madly  and  then  strode  out  of  the  hall  with  an  air  of  passionate 
contempt ;  and  he  has  never  shown  his  face  there  since." 

The  Coroner.—"  Do  you  think  he  was  drunk  ?  " 

Mr.  Legge. — "  I  can't  say.    He  was  such  a  moderate  drinke 
usually." 

The  Dissenting  Juror.—"  Is  it  possible  that  he  had  just 
become  acquainted  with  his  intended's  intrigue  ?  " 

The  Coroner.—"  With  the  alleged  intrigue  !  That  is  hardly 
likely^  considering  that  the  engaged  couple  took  a  seaside  holidaf 


45a  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

together  after  that  date.    The  affair  strikes  me  as  an  exaggerated 
phase  of  his  usual  antagonism." 

The  sitting  was  temporarily  suspended  at  this  point.  On  the 
resumption  of  the  investigation,  Mr.  Will  Combe,  manager  of  tlie 
Foresters'  Music  Hall,  deposed  that  one  evening  about  the  middle 
of  May,  he  had  been  forced  to  give  orders  to  his  *'  chucker-out  *  to 
eject  a  person  (who  appeared  to  be  half  drunk,  and  whose  name  be 
learnt  was  Mr.  Dawe;,  who  disturbed  the  performance,  and  almost 
caused  a  commotion  among  the  audience  by  persistendy  hissing 
references  to  the  late  Premier,  in  opposition  to  the  sense  of  the 
house. 

Mr.  William  Brown  (a  man  who  attracted  attention  by  the 
deformity  of  a  full-grown  rat  on  his  cheek),  said  that  he  mras  a 
frequent  customer  at  the  "  Star  Dining  Rooms."  Mr.  Dawe  had 
always  been  down  on  the  Premier,  but  ne\'er  so  much  as  lately. 
One  day,  he  remembered,  the  painter  was  particularly  bitter ;  there 
was  an  argument  in  the  shop,  in  which  the  witness  took  Mr. 
Floppington's  part.  (Laughter.)  He  would  swear  that  Mr.  Dawe 
had  made  use  of  the  words:  "Whatever  Floppington  does  is 
wrong."  This  witness  thought  Mr.  Dawe  bumptious,  conceited, 
and  feeble-witted,  and  not  a  bit  like  the  Premier.  He  was  a 
drunken  vagabond,  and  almost  broke  his  poor  mother's  heart 

Mr.  Thomas  Wilkins  deposed  that  he  had  known  Mr.  Dawe 
for  some  years,  he  (the  witness)  having  been  Foreign  Secretary  in 
his  Cabinet  at  a  local  Parliament,  and  had  been  rather  intimate 
with  him  till  a  few  months  ago ;  when  he,  in  common  with  the  rest 
of  the  neighbourhood,  had  found  a  marked  change  for  the  worse 
in  the  man.  The  house-painter  had  grown  reserved  and  moody, 
and  rarely  deigned  to  take  any  notice  of  his  numerous  acquaintances. 
He  used  to  walk  the  streets  vrith  an  air  of  gloomy  meditation ;  and 
in  fact  he  had  obtained  the  nickname  of  Mad  Jade" 

The  Coroner. — *^  Mad  Jack !  Then  the  impression  he  produced 
on  observers  was  that  he  was  insane" 

Mr.  Wilkins. — "  Not  quite  on  me  I  always  thought  the 
reason  was  he  had  something  on  his  mind.  I  remember,  for  instance, 
a  day  when  he  was  serving  m  the  shop  because  his  mother  was  ilL 
Well,  by  the  way  he  served,  it  was  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff  that  he 
was  only  awake  by  fits  and  starts.  He  gave  me  sixpenn'orth  of 
peas  for  a  penny.''    (Laughter.) 

The  Coroner. — "  At  that  rate  he  would  have  attracted  more 
customers  than  any  shop  in  the  kingdom." 

Mr.  Wilkins. — "Yes,  and  ruined  himself  quicker." 

The  Coroner. — **  Did  he  ever  deliver  invectives  against  Mr. 
Floppington  in  your  presence  ?  ** 

Mr.  Wilkins. — "Oh,  yes;  I  remember  telling  him  as  I  was 
eating  those  very  peas,  that  he'd  have  a  good  opportunity  of  sling- 
ing into— of  attacking  Mr.  Floppington,  if  he'd  only  come  up  to 
the  Cogers'  as  he  used  to  do.  He  took  my  advice,  and  came  up 
the  same  night ;  but  I  never  bargained  for  the  terrible  onslaught  he 

made." 


A   PIECE  OF  SYNTHESIS  453 

The  Coroner. — ^  Do  you  remember  when  this  was  ?  ■ 
Mr.  Wilkins. — "  Very  well,  because  it  was  the  evening  of  the 
second  reading  of  the  Reform  Bill.'' 

The  Coroner. — ^"That  onslaught,  then,  has  already  been 
described  to  us.    Do  you  remember  any  other  ?  " 

Mr.  Wilkins.—**  Yes,  I  do ;  but  before  I  tell  the  Court  about 
tty  1  should  like  the  jury  to  know  that  I  had  irritated  him  by  waving, 
so  to  speak,  a  red  rag  before  him.  Meeting  him  in  the  Bethnal 
Oreen  Road  on  the  day  of  the  Premier's  exposition  of  his  Irish 
policy,  I  asked  him  whether  he  would  come  and  cheer  him  on  his 
v^ay  to  the  House.  Of  course  I  ought  not  to  have  said  it,  after  that 
scene  at  the  Cogers',  but  as  I  was  on  the  way  myself,  it  was 
natural  to  unthinkingly  ask  him  to  accompany  me.  When  he 
indignantly  refused,  I  further  irritated  him  by  lecturing  him  on  his 
foolish  antagonism  to  a  great  man.  *  He  a  great  man  ! '  he  hissed 
in  my  ear.  '  He  is  a  vile  impostor  ! '  I  said  something,  I  don't 
remember  what,  and  then  in  furious  tones  he  added  these  words: 
*  Bat  his  career  will  be  over  sooner  than  the  worid  imagines.' " 
(Sensation.) 

A  few  further  questions  bearing  reference  to  the  alleged  resem* 
blance  between  the  Premier  and  the  painter  added  nothing  to  the 
evidence  already  elicited. 

Police  Constable  J  9,  who  was  next  called,  gave  it  as  his 
opinion  that  Mr.  Dawe  was  a  bit  cracked.  He  particularly 
remembered  an  occasion  when,  his  mother  being  ill,  the  painter 
was  serving  in  the  shop.  He  (the  witness)  caught  a  boy  with  eight 
saveloys  in  his  pocket,  stolen  from  the  cook-shop.  Mr.  Dawe  had 
not  only  ordered  the  vag^abond  to  be  released,  but  given  him  some 
cold  potatoes ;  talking  like  a  madman  to  explain  why  he  did  so. 

A  Brother  Cerulean  deposed  that  when  going  on  his 

beat  about  11.30  p.m.  on  the  25th  of  May  (he  remembered  the  date 

because  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  gone  on  that  beat),  he  noticed 

a  suspicious-looking  individual,  whose  identity  he  discovered  by 

accident  afterwards,  sauntering  along  in  the  neighbourhood  of 

Victoria  Park.     Shortly  afterwards,  hearing  cries  of  distress,  he  ran 

in  the  direction  of  the  sounds.    The  witness  then  proceeded  to 

relate  apologetically  the  Una  episode  already  known  to  the  reader. 

The  chief  force  of  the  evidence  lay  in  its  revelation  of  the  never- 

sltnnberisg  antagonism  to  the  Premier,  evinced  by  the  man's  being 

nnahle  to  bear  even  at  a  moment  of  personal  danger  the  slightest 

ca^ad  tribute  to  his  enemy.    **  Floppington  had  little  to  do  with 

tbe  Acts  you  refer  to.    Because  he  happened  to  be  Prime  Minister 

yon  must  not  suppose  that  all  the  good  was  done  by  him.    As  for 

all  the  evil,  that,  of  course,  is  his  work.**  Almost  equally  remarkable 

was  the  tone  taken  by  the  man  throughout,  especially  in  his  promise 

of  promotioa  to  the  credulous  policeman. 

The  Vicar  of  Bethnal  Green,  a  venerable-looking  old  man, 
stated  that  he  had  known  Mr.  Dawe  by  sight  and  hearsay  for  many 
rs,  though  he  had  never  spoken  to  him  till  recently.     Like  his 
before  him,  the  painter  was  the  evil  genius  of  the  parish| 


454  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

being  at  the  head  of  the  Atheistic  clique.  The  witness  then 
described  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  Atheist  at  church,  and  the 
•ermon  with  which  he  nad  attempted  to  move  him;  the  man^ 
apparent,  emotion,  and  his  congrattuation  at  the  ^nish. 

The  Coroner. — "  From  your  manner  you  seem  to  disbelieve 
in  the  genuineness  of  the  conversion." 

The  Vicar.^-^  Alas,  yes !  For  he  ended  his  congratulations  by 
promising  me  a  deanerv.'     (Sensation.) 

The  Coroner. — **  I  do  not  admit  the  soundness  of  your 
inference.  Surely  he  would  never  take  the  trouble  to  go  to  church 
merely  to  annoy  you  in  that  way." 

The  Vicar. — ^*  I  believe  he  entered  the  church  by  acckieot, 
having  given  his  arm  to  an  old  lady  who  bad  fallen  down.  Bu^ 
once  there,  he  thought  he  might  as  well  get  some  fun  out  of  it, 
though  I  must  say  I  brought  the  infliction  down  on  mvself  by  ask- 
ing him*  to  remain.  It  seems  that  he  was  very  fond  of  practical 
jokes,  and  that  nothing  was  sacred  to  him.  Mr.  White,  an  under- 
tsdcer  and  a  most  estimable  man,  has  assured  me  that  he  hoaxed 
him  into  a  belief  that  Mrs.  Dawe,his  own  mother,  was  dead,  merely 
to  enjoy  the  poor  man's  discomfiture.  Moreover,  I  have  other  grounds 
for  disbelief.  To  carry  the  joke  further,  the  painter  attended 
church  on  the  next  Sunday,  and  even  several  other  Sundays; 
till,  finding  that  I  was  not  to  be  caught,  he  dropped  the  bad  habit 
(Laughter!)  On  the  second  Sunday,  in  the  renewed  hope  of  effect- 
ing some  good,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  pay  him  a  domiciliary  visit 
I  found  Miss  Bathbrill  had  preceded  me,  and  I  inadvertendy 
intruded  upon  a  scene  of  tenderness."    (Laughter.) 

The  Dissenting  Juror.— ''Do  you  mind  explaining  what  is 
your  idea  of  a  scene  of  tenderness  ?  "    (Laughter.) 

The  Vicar. — '^  I  am  not  good  at  explanations  of  that  sort,  the 
vivid  imagination  of  the  Juror  will  probably  supply  the  deficiency. 
(Laughter.)  After  some  conversation,  m  the  course  of  whidi 
Mrs.  Dawe  blurted  out  some  libellous  accusations  against  the 
Premier,  which  her  son  disingenuously  declared  he  had  no  remem- 
brance of  making.  Miss  Bathbrill  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  her 
betrothed." 

The  Coroner. — "What  were  the  accusations  you  speak  of?" 

The  Vicar. — "  Oh,  de  omnibus  rebus  et  quibusdam  aUis.  I 
recollect  in  particular  that  he  charged  him  with  being  the  cause  of 
all  the  Irish  murders,  and  with  changing  his  politics  as  finc^uently 
as  his  shirts.  (Laughter.)  After  Miss  Bathbrill  had  gone,  f  had  a 
long  talk  with  Mr.  Dawe,  who  told  me  that  he  had  b^n  at  last  led 
to  doubt  the  faith,  or  rather  the  unfaith,  of  his  childhood,  and 
acknowledged  himself  grateful  to  have  my  help  at  such  a  crisis. 
All  the  while  I  had  an  undercurrent  of  suspicion  that  I  was  being 
hoaxed.  Certain  barbed  phrases  ought  to  have  convinced  me  « 
that,  not  to  speak  of  an  audacious  claim  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Dawe 
to  an  intimate  acouaintance  with  mediaeval  theology,  and  Patristic 
literature.  (Laughter.)  I  can  understand  the  laughter  of  the 
audience^  but  even  this  risky  statement  I  swallowed,  doubtl^d 


,   A  PIECE  OF  SYNTHESIS  45$ 

much  to  the  delight  and  much  to  the  surprise  of  the  joker^  whose 
heart,  I  fear,  is  wholly  perverted." 

The  Coroner. — '*  But  surely  a  layman  may  read  the  Fathers. 
Mr.  Dawe  is,  I  believe,  a  well-read  man  ;  but  even  supposing  he 
was  exaggerating  (as  we  all  naturally  do)  a  little  knowledge  he 
may  have  possessed,  a  knowledge  perhaps  acquired  on  purpose  to 
xefiite  defenders  of  the  faitit,  you  have  still  not  satisfied  me  that  the 
man's  conversion  was  not  genuine." 

The  disbelief  of  the.  Coroner  in  the  disbelief  of  the  painter 
caused  some  sensation,  but  the  drift  of  his  scepticism  was  not  as 
yet  apparent 

The  Vicar.—''  Well,  to  put  the  matter  briefly,  I  made  the  dis- 
covery that  the  man  was  in  the  habit  of  contributing  blasphemous 
articles  to  the  Freethinker!* 

The  Coroner. — ^*  But  the  point  was,  had  he  written  any  since 
he  had  come  to  church  ?" 

The  Vicar  (after  a  long  pause). — "  God  forgive  me  if  I  have 
wronged  him  and  turned  away  a  soul  seeking  light  1  (Sensation.) 
Indignation  overmastered  me,  I  hurried  away  without  thinking  of 
anything  but  my  hurt  dignity." 

The  Vicar  appeared  much  affected.  Was  he  indeed  responsible 
for  all  the  evil  that  had  followed  ?  After  he  had  somewhat  recovered, 
he  continued  his  statement  in  a  sad,  subdued  voice. 

But  the  rest  of  his  evidence  the  reader  has  in  great  part  already 
heard  at  first  hand  from  the  lips  of  inhabitants  of  Bethnal  Green,  such 
as  those  whom  the  Vicar  confessed  he  had  drawn  his  information 
from.  The  Vicar  of  course  came  into  contact  with  almost  all  shades 
of  public  opinion,  and  had,  without  active  inquiry  on  his  own  part, 
gathered  from  mutually-corroborative  witnesses  that  Mr.  Dawe  had 
given  up  work  altogether,  unknowii  to  his  mother,  as  he  went  out 
with  his  paint-pots  every  day«  depositing  them  at  a  shop  all  day, 
and  that  he  spent  the  day  in  aimless  mooning  about  the  neighbour- 
hood. The  Vicar's  own  observation  tallied  with  these  reports.  He 
had  several  times  seen  him  wandering  about  with  a  pale,  dissipated 
look,  though  he  did  not  appear  to  be  intoxicated.  On  one  occasion, 
however,  he  had  seen  him  enter  a  public^house  at  a  very  early  hour 
in  the  day,  when  he  should  have  been  going  to  work.  The  painter 
had  lately  been  prostrated  by  an  attack  of  brain-fever,  which  was 
currently  believed  to  be  due  to  drink. 

Mr.  Drew,  publican,  deposed  to  the  strange  painting  of  the 
legless  lion,  the  very  last  piece  of  work  done  by  the  painter. 

Mr.  William  Bertram  deposed  that  he  was  a  Captain  in  the 
Salvation  Army.  He  had  belonged  to  the  Army  for  about  a  month. 
His  first  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Dawe  dated  from  about  two  months 
ago,  when  his  conversation  seemed  to  have  iiiteresied  the  house- 
painter,  and  he  was  invited  to  sup  with  him.  He  soon  discovered 
that  his  host  was  a  very  educated  man  and  a  kindred  souL  He 
agreed  with  the  witness  in  taking  a  highly  spiritual  view  of  the 
universe  and  of  the  nature  of  man.  delivering  a  long  monologue 
on  the  education  of  the  soul  by  suffering. 


456  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

The  Coroner. — •*  Did  he  appear  sincere  in  his  views  ?"* 

Mr.  Bertram. — '*  I  don't  think  I  ever  met  a  more  earnest  man 
in  my  life  excepting  General  Booth.  He  spoke  as  one  inspired." 
(Sensation.) 

The  Coroner.— **  Was  there  a  note  of  repentance  in  what  be 
said?" 

Mr.  Bertram. — *^  Well,  yes,  there  was.  He  seemed  as  if  he 
was  just  realising  for  the  first  time  the  life  in  Christ" 

The  Coroner.— **  Did  you  observe  anything  strange  about 
him—  any  signs  of  a  hysterical,  perfervid  condition  ! ' 

Mr.  Bertram.— ''To  say  Uie  truth,  I  did  think  he  was  josta 
little  off  his  balance.  When  I  afterwards  learnt  that  he  had  once 
been  first  in  the  ranks  of  the  godless,  I  thought  the  shock  of  the 
change  had  temporarily  unsettled  him  somewhat." 

The  Coroner. — **  Was  your  impression  gained  from  his  whole 
conduct  or  from  anything  in  particular  ?  " 

Mr.  Bertram. — ^  Both.  He  startled  me  by  asking  me,  I  don't 
think  in  joke,  to  take  a  glass  of  some  Johannisberg,  presented  to 
him  by  his  friend  Prince  Bismarck."    (Sensation.) 

The  Coroner. — '^  Did  you  notice  his  alleged  resemblance  to 
the  Premier?* 

Mr.  Bertram. — **  I  saw  some  resemblance." 

The  Coroner. — ''  Did  it  not  strike  you  that  he  was,  consciously 
•r  not,  aping  the  Premier  ?  " 

Mr.  Bertram. — **  It  did  not  then,  but  it  does  now.  I  remember 
his  speaking  of  the  Short  Hours^  Bill  as  though  he  had  done  more 
than  advocate  it  in  debating  rooms,  ahnost  as  if  he  had  carried  it 
through  Parliament" 

The  Coroner. — ^  Did  he  ever  speak  against  the  Premier  io 
your  presence?" 

Mr.  Bertram. — ''  Oh  yes  I  Once  when  I  was  in  a  tram  with 
him." 

The  Coroner.—**  When  was  that  ? " 

Mr.  Bertram.—'*  Less  than  a  fortnight  ago.  I  had  lost  sight  d 
him  for  some  time,  and  we  met  by  accident  He  told  me  that  cir- 
cumstances compelled  him  to  leave  home,  and  so  I  asked  him  to 
share  mine.  He  accepted  the  offer  and  we  took  the  tram  to  my 
place." 

The  Coroner.—*'  What  do  you  think  caused  him  to  leave 
home  ?  " 

Mr.  Bertram.—'*  I  don't  know.  I  could  only  elicit  that  his 
home  life  was  intolerable" 

The  Coroner. — '*  Does  it  not  seem  then  that  religious  differences 
were  at  the  bottom  of  it  ?  Mrs.  Dawe  would  seem  to  be  beyond  the 
reach  of  grace,  while  be  had  become  an  ardent  Christian." 

Mr.  Bertram. — "  Your  supposition  is  extremely  probable,  and 
doubtless  the  fact  that  I  had  enlisted  in  the  Army  of  the  righteous 
helped  to  influence  him  to  share  my  home." 

The  Coroner. — ^"  May  I  ask  whs^t  had  induced  you  to  enlist  te 
that  Army?" 


A  PIECE  OF  SYNTHESIS  457 

Mr.  Bertram. — "  I  had  always  been  of  a  religious  turn,  and 
Mr.  Dawe's  inspired  eloquence  worked  upon  me  a  good  deal.  I 
believe  it  was  through  him  that  the  thought  of  joining  the  Army 
suggested  itself  to  me,  and  I  bless  Providence  that " 

Thk  Coroner. — "  Was  this  denunciation  in  the  tram-carat  all 

violent?" 

Mr.  Bertram. — "  Extremely  so.     He  said  the  Premier  was 
doing  deadly  mischief,  that  he  was  a  Lord  of  Misrule,  and  so  on. 
And  he  wished  to  God  he  could  lead  the  Opposition  and  hurl  him 
from  his  place.    *  Prick  this  empty  windbag,'  I  think  he  said." 
The  Coroner. — "  How  long  did  he  live  with  you?" 
Mr.  Bertram.—"  Three  days.*' 
The  Coroner. — "  How  came  he  to  leave  you  ?*' 
Mr.  Bertram. — "He  was  taken  back  by  his  mother.    He 
seemed  helpless  in  her  hands." 

The  witness  then  described,  amid  much  amusement,  the  scene 
at  the  Midnight  Meeting,and  the  events  that  led  to  it ;  not  forgetting, 
too,  the  ingenious  and  contemptuous  allusions  to  Floppington  which 
were  dragged  in  with,  said  the  witness,  the  constancy  if  not  with 
the  total  irrelevance  of  King  Charles'  Head  into  Mr.  Dick's 
manuscript 

Doctor  Thomas  deposed  that  he  had  been  called  in  to  attend 
Mr.  Dawe  in  an  attack  of  brain-fever  which  his  mother,  equally  at 
fault  in  religion  and  medicine,  had  at  first  contended  to  be  small- 
pox. The  doctor  corroborated  Sally's  testimony  as  to  the  delirious 
utterances  of  the  patient,  though  he  had  heard  only  a  few  of  them. 
On  looking  over  his  notes  on  the  case,  he  found  that  he  had  com- 
mented thus  :  Cerebral  fever  induced  by  drink  and  irreligious 
fanaticism.  Sharply  interrogated  as  to  the  latter  phrase,  he  con- 
fessed that  he  had  been  guided  by  the  contents  of  the  patient's 
book-case,  but  he  saved  his  credit  by  asserting  that  his  experience 
told  him  that  it  was  fanaticism  connected  with  religion.  Discover- 
ing, however,  the  patient's  infidelity,  it  had  struck  him  that  irre- 
ligious fanaticism  had  not  been  adequately  recognised  as  a  force  of 
aberration.  He  was  willing  to  admit  that  the  fanaticism  might 
have  been  religious. 

The  last  witness  called  in  this  never-to-be-forgotten  investigation 
was  Dr.  Maudsley,  a  writer  of  some  mark  in  physio-psychology 
and  an  authority  on  lunacy.  He  was  asked  what,  in  face  of  the 
whole  body  of  evidence,  was  his  view  of  the  man's  sanity  ?  In  the 
course  of  a  lengthy  reply,  the  witness  said  that  the  case  was 
the  most  extraordinary  he  had  ever  met  with,  and  as  pregnant  of 
meaning  to  the  mental  pathologist  as  it  was  bewildering  and 
inexplicable  to  the  idealist-psychologist,  and  that  he  intended  to 
incorporate  a  minute  study  of  it  into  the  next  edition  of  his 
"Pathology  of  Mind."  There  was  nothing  wonderful  in  the 
sudden  change  of  belief ;  the  boxing  of  the  intellectual  compass. 
There  was  a  class  of  mind,  which  he  had  thoroughly  analysed, 
^vhich  lived  in  a  pendulous  swing  from  extreme  to  extreme.  (The 
learned  doctor  then  went  on  to  expound  some  abstruse  theory 


I 
458  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

concerning  polar  opposites  which  the  reporters  seem  to  liave 
muddled,  for  the  present  writer  can  make  nothing  of  it)  The 
further  dissection,  being  reproduced  by  the  Coroner  in  his  summing 
up,  will  be  best  read  in  that  connection. 

In  answer  to  the  counsel  for  Jack  Dawe,  the  doctor  said  that  it 
was  an  absurd  and  a  &r-fetched  hypothesis  to  suppose  that  a  man 
would  blow  himself  up  to  avoid  the  appearance  of  suicide,  and  that 
the  suggested  causes  of  suicide,  viz. :  the  turning  of  the  Premier's 
brain  through  the  great  success  of  the  previous  night,  or  over- 
work, or  grief  at  the  alleged  rupture  between  him  and  his  old  love. 
\aAy  Gwendolen,  or  worry  caused  by  the  reports  circulated  con- 
cerning him,  or  all  these  causes  combined — were  almost  cut  off 
even  from  the  need  of  consideration  by  the  manner  of  his  death  ; 
that  such  indomitable  mental  and  physical  energy  as  that  displayed 
by  the  Minister  on  the  day  before  his  death  was  not  usually 
associated  with  suicidal  mania ;  and  that  a  man  engaged  in  the 
exhilarating  work  of  carrying  a  Bill  was  of  all  men  least  likely  to 
band  over  Uie  task  to  his  rivals. 

The  Coroner,  in  the  course  of  a  most  remarkable  and  lucid 
summing-up  which  is  here  of  necessity  much  condensed,  said  : 
*' Passing  from  the  question  of  the  identity  of  the  deceased  to 
the  question  of  how  he  came  by  his  death,  I  find  that  the  date  on 
which  this  strange  story,  whose  latest  chapter  a  whole  nation 
deplores,  began  its  tragic  course,  seems  to  be  Sunday  the  3rd 
of  May.  On  that  day,  by  the  inexplicable  decree  of  destiny* 
the  first  link  in  the  fatal  chain  of  circumstance  was  forged 
by  the  apparently  trivial  incident  of  the  fall  of  an  old  woman 
upon  the  pavement.  Jack  Dawe,  a  man  of  blameless  character, 
but  an  Atneist  and  an  advanced  Radical,  eloquent,  and  by  all 
accounts  intellectual  and  well-informed  above  his  station,  a 
moderate  drinker,  a  steady  workman,  prosperous,  and  intending  to 
make  a  marriage  of  love  in  three  months'  time,  Jack  Dawe  passes 
by ;  and,  yielding  to  a  natural  impulse  of  generosity,  picks  up 
the  old  woman  and  furthermore  conducts  her  into  church.  He 
is  about  to  retire,  but  unfortunately — as  the  lamentable  results 
proved  —  the  Vicar,  to  whom  it  is  superfluous  to  say  not  the 
slightest  blame  attaches  for  the  mischief  wrought  through 
his  zeal,  begs  him  to  remain.  The  reverend  gentleman  then 
brings  to  bear  all  his  eloquence  upon  the  impressionable 
and  intelligent  Freethinker  with  the  result  of  convincing  alike 
his  reason  and  his  heart.  Be  it  remembered  that  the  man  had 
probably  never  entered  a  church  in  his  life,  that  all  the  subtle 
influences  of  public  worship  were  felt  for  the  first  time  by  a 
chivalrous  and  lofty  soul,  brought  up  in  an  absolutely  godless 
fashion,  and  habituated  from  infancy  to  despise  the  doctrines  of 
our  holy  religion.  The  solemn  roll  of  the  organ,  the  sweet  voices 
of  the  choir,  add  their  effect  to  the  impassioned  address  of  the 
preacher,  and  the  Freethinker  leaves  the  sacred  edifice  a  changed 
man.  But,  strange  to  say,  the  very  man  who  has  wrought  this 
wonderful  conversion  refuses  to  beheve  in  it,  because  the  convert 


A  PIECE  OF  SYNTHESIS  459 

tells  him  that  he  shall  have  the  next  vacant  deanery  at  his  disposal 
Now  let  us  see  whether  this  scepticism  was  justified,  and  the 

Juestion  leads  on  to  a  new  fact  of  unprecedented  interest    Jack 
>awe,  strange  to  say,  resembled  the  Right  Honourable  Arnold 
Floppington.    However  slight  the  resemblance  may  have  been  (and 
on  this  point  witnesses  differ),  it  was  certainly  great  enough  to  cause 
him  to  be  familiarly   dubbed  ^Floppy.'    That  resemblances    of 
this  sort  do  exist,  is  shown  by  the  numberless  cases  of  mistaken 
identity ;  while  from  an  abstract  point  of  view,  it  would  seem  that 
partial  resemblances,  at  least,  must  occur.    A  friend  of  mine,  who 
was   Senior  Wrangler  of  his  year,  has  even  calculated  that  the 
possible  combinations  of  appreciably  different  human  physical 
characteristics  are  less  than  the  total  number  of  human  beings  in 
die  world ;  and  that,  therefore,  there  must  be  some  cases  of  absolute 
identity.    The  consciousness  of  the  resemblance  seems,  as  soon 
as  the  political  prominence  of  Mr.  Floppington  evoked  attention  to 
it,  to  have  given,  in  some  degree  at  least,  a  desire  to  emulate  the 
influence  of  that  eminent  man.  Mr.  Dawe  had  even  been  the  Premier 
in  a  local  parliament,  and  the  feeling  that  man  for  man  he  was  as 
good  as  his  quasi-rival  naturally  caused  him  to   mix  a  certain 
amount  of  personal  antagonism  with  that  antagonism  to  his  prin- 
ciples which  was,  perhaps,  equally  natural  to  a  working  man  and  a 
Freethinker.    Whether  ultimately,  in  an  already  unhealthy  state  of 
mind,  the  brooding  on  this  physical  resemblance  produced  the 
remarkable  illusion  that  he  was  the  Premier,  is  a  question  which 
has  naturally  suggested  itself  to  the  minds  of  all  who  heard  the 
evidence.    But  Dr.   Maudsley  has  replied  to  it  by  a  decisive 
negative,  and  I  certainly  do  not  venture  to  disagree  with  so  great 
an  authority.    But  there  is  a  question  of  detail  on  which  I  may, 
perhaps,  be  allowed  to  hold  an  opinion  even  against  him.    Dr. 
Maudsley  has  explained  the  items  of  evidence  relating  to  the  pro- 
mised promotions,  the  offer  of  the  Johannisberg,  and  the  occasional 
authoritative  tone  of  the  man,  on  the  theory  of  a  humorous  re- 
ference implied  by  it  to  his  resemblance  to  the  Premier;  a  momentary 
makebelieve  that  he  was  the  Premier,  which  the  observer  was 
supposed  to  be  mystified  by  or  to  enjoy,  according  as  he  was  in 
possession  of  the  key  or  not.     But,  while  this  satisfactorily  accounts 
for  the  other  cases,  it  seems  to  me  that,  taken  alone,  it  is  inadequate 
to  explain  why  Mr,  Dawe,  who  on  Dr.  Maudsley's  own  theory  was 
really  converted,  should  at  such  a  solemn  epoch  resort  to  his  well- 
worn  jocular  method.    The  explanation  lies  deeper.     Mr.  Dawe 
has  been  visibly  overcome  by  emotion  during  the  sermon.    But 
when  the  service  is  over  and  the  audience  begins  to  leave  the 
church,  the  charm  fades  and  he  awakes  to  find  that  he,  the  self- 
appointed  leader  of  free  thought,  the  man  who  has  set  the  table  on 
a  roar  with  jests  aimed  at  the  delusion  of  the  Christian  and  the 
hjrpocrisy  of  the  clergy,  has  been  seen  shedding  tears  in  the  very 
citadel  of  the  enemy.    A  momentary  revulsion  overpowers  him. 
Ashamed  of  his,  weakness,  he  thinks  to  pass  off  the  affair  as  a 
fatirioU   joke.     After   loudly   complimenting   the   preacher,  he 


4^0  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

ironically  exclaims :  *  I  promise  you  the  next  vacant  deanery  at 
my  disposal !  *  that  is  to  say,  ^  I  promise  you  what  you  deserve^ 
viz.,  notning.'  But  this  is  a  minor  detail.  It  is  at  any  rate  clear 
that  the  conversion  was  genuine.  The  effects  of  the  churchgoing 
remain,  despite  his  endeavours  to  laugh  them  ofL  The  whole  week 
he  thinks  of  it  He  endeavours  to  paint,  but  he  cannot  concentrate 
his  thoughts  on  the  painting.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  botches 
his  work  and  produces  a  shapeless  lion.  The  same  evening,  still 
under  the  burden  of  deep  thoughts  and  saddled  with  the  conscious- 
ness that,  unless  he  settles  his  doubts,  he  cannot  even  do  his  work, 
he  accompanies  his  mother  to  the  *  Foresters'  Music  Hall,'  having, 
perhaps,  taken  an  extra  glass  to  drown  his  new  cares.  The  constant 
eulogiums  of  Mr.  Floppington  bring  vividly  before  his  mind  the 
contrast  between  the  gratified  ambition  and  fancied  perfect 
happiness  of  the  Premier  and  the  unhappy  and  restless  condition 
of  one  not  unlike  him  in  form.  The  thought  is  one  that  henceforth 
often  recurs  to  the  hitherto  contented  sign-painter,  and  each  time 
with  additional  intensity,  till  at  last  a  jealousy  amounting  to  mania 
fires  his  soul.  Anyhow,  on  the  night  in  question,  his  disapprobation 
of  the  Premier's  policy,  combined  with  the  nascent  jealousy  which 
was  ultimately  to  master  him,  caused  him  to  hiss  the  singer  and  to 
be  ejected  from  the  halL  The  expulsion  no  doubt  rankled  in  his 
breast  and  increased  his  resentment  against  the  unfortunate  Premier. 
He  refuses  all  work,  and  walks  about  the  streets  meditating  upon 
the  doctrines  of  Christianity  and  his  own  blindness.  Sunday  comes 
round  and  he  goes  to  church  once  more,  penitent  and  believing,  and 
thus  courageously  confesses  his  changed  views.  The  Vicar  goes  to 
see  him  ;  but,  from  a  lamentable  misapprehension,  quits  his  house 
in  disgust,  leaving  the  poor  man  to  wrestle  with  his  own  soul, 
abandoned  even  by  his  own  cler|^man.  As  Dr.  Maudsley  has  told 
us,  his  was  one  of  those  minds  which  know  no  half-beliefs ;  passionate 
alike  in  love  and  hate,  in  faith  and  unfaith.  He  thinks  d&is 
spiritual  solitude  a  fit  punishment  for  his  years  of  incredulity,  and 
horror  seizes  him  at  the  thought  of  the  life  he  has  lived  and  of  the 
life  his  mother  still  lives.  He  abandons  his  work,  roams  about^ 
struggling  with  the  sense  of  sin,  brooding  over  the  idea  of  his  and 
her  and  his  father's  damnation.  Domestic  dissension  naturally 
ensues ;  his  mother  cannot  understand  him,  and  there  are  quarrels. 
Mark  the  pathetic  statement  of  the  servant :  ^  Master  was  afraid 
of  missus,  though  it  used  to  be  the  other  way  on.'  The  spiritual 
influence  of  Christianity  makes  him  more  subservient  to  his 
mother,  though  her  coarse  Atheism  wounds  him  to  the  quick  by  the 
vivid  suggestion  of  his  former  unregenerate  state.  Full  of  the 
fanatical  ideas  c^  the  ardent  convert,  he  even  attempts  some 
penances ;  eating  little,  and  rejecting  his  mother's  dainties.  In  t  s 
hysterical  condition,  says  Dr.  Maudslev,  cut  off  by  his  new  ct  - 
sciousness  from  his  old  friends,  and  by  his  old  faith  from  any  n<  r 
ones,  the  poor  man  naturally  takes  to  drink ;  and  what  wonder  f 
his  animosity  to  the  Premier  mingles  imperceptibly  with  his  wh<  e 
consciousness,  and  colours  the  very  current  of  his  thought,  so  U.   t 


A  PIECE  OF  SYNTHESIS  4^1 

the  mere  name  drives  him  to  furious  invective.  It  is  easy  to 
understand  the  impression  made  by  this  great  and  sudden  change 
on  all  who  knew  him ;  nor  is  it  at  all  surprising  that  he  should 
soon  come  to  be  known  as  '  Mad  Jack.' 

*^  Occasionally,  of  course,  he  has  what  may  fairly  be  called 

intervals  of  sanity,  and  in  one  of  these  he  impresses  one  of  the 

witnesses  as  a  most  earnest  man  ;  and  so  far  is  his  conversion 

from  being  a  joke  that  he  ediAes  the  stranger  with  a  spiritual 

discourse  so  inspiring  that  the  hearer  is  ultimately  led  to  join  the 

Salvation  Army.     He  has  abandoned  all  his  former  pursuits,  has 

given  up  politics  ;  but  a  notorious  change  of  policy  on  the  part  of 

the  Premier  affording  him  an  opportunity,  he  takes  the  suggestion 

of  a  former  friend  and  re-appears  at  'The  Cogers''  for  the  last  time, 

and  excels  all  his  previous  efforts  in  the  line  of  denunciation.    At 

this  stage  he  goes  out  of  town,  and  the  change  seems  to  do  him 

good.     He  spends  a  happy  week  with  his  sweetheart,  and  there  is 

some  chance  that  his  mental  equilibrium  will  be  restored,  when,  lo ! 

a  fresh  shock  of  tenfold  power  prostrates  him  oi.ce  more,  and 

hastens  on  the  tragedy  to  its  terrible  conclusion.    What  this  shock 

was  is  unknown  ;  but  there  are  strong  grounds  for  believing  that  it 

was  in  Ramsgate,  while  accidentally  separated  from  Miss  Bathbrill, 

that  the  report  (true  or  false)  of  her  liaison  with  the  Premier  first 

reached  his  ears. 

*'  It  is  not  necessary  for  the  purposes  of  the  present  inquiry  to 
know  whether  there  was  any  truth  in  the  rumour  which  it  were 
prudish  to  pretend  ignorance  of.     I  may,  perhaps,  be  allowed  to 
declare  my  own  belief  in  the  absolute  innocence  of  the  Premier ; 
the  positive  statement  of  a  witness  on  oath  must  take  precedence 
of  the  vague  reports  of  ignorance,  and  it  is  not  to  be  regretted  that 
the  base  scandal  was  brought  to  so  sharp  a  tesL    Would  all  false 
reports  were  as  easily,  so  to  speak,  corroded  and  detected  by  the 
add  of  an  oath  !     Miss  Bathbrill  is  living,  and  has  sworn  that  she 
never  saw  the  Premier  in  her  life.    The  Premier  is,  alas  !  dead, 
but  his  whole  life  swears  for  him.    Although,  therefore,  the  report 
was  absolutely  without  foundation,  unfortunately  its  effects  were  as 
great  as  if  it  had  been  Gospel  truth.     Imputed  evil  finds  a  readier 
ear  than  imputed  goodness ;  and  Mr.  Dawe  seems,  for  one,  to  have 
tb(»-oughly  believed  it    The  blowin|^-off  of  his  hat  at  the  seaside 
assumes  the  prmxnrtions  of  a  tragic  event  when  we  consider  its 
consequences.    The  pursuit  leading  him  beyond  Miss  Bathbrill's 
ken,  he  fell  in  with  somebody  Irom  whom,  in  some  way  or  other, 
he  first  learnt  the  report.     He  w'as  probably  taunted  with  it,  and 
the  horror  of  the  news,  combined  with  the  natural  irascibility  of 
his  temper,  caused  incredulous  excitement  and  indignation  which 
vented  themselves  in  a  fisticuff  encounter;  as  was  evidenced  by  the 
existence  of  slight  wounds  on  his  arm,  caused,  doubtless,  in  a 
struggle  in  the  neighbourhood  of  cliffs,  and  showing  that  his  coat 
had  been  ofL    But  he  seems  to  have  been  convinced,  despite  him- 
self ;  for,  on  re-appearing  at  his  lodgings,  he  behaves  in  an  insane 
ii^hion,  declaring  he  must  return  to  London  at  once,  and  brutally 


r 

L 


4«« 


THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 


exclaiming,  when  met  by  the  reluctance  of  his  mother  and  his 
sweetheart,  that  they  may  stay  by  themselves  for  all  he  cares.  He 
utters  no  word  of  reproach  to  Miss  Bathbrill ;  he  is  wounded  to  the 
soul ;  his  grief  is  too  great  for  vulgar  quarrels.  With  the  fierce 
determination  which  was  at  the  root  or  his  character,  this  fiery, 
wayward,  emotional  being  rushes  back  to  London  by  the  next 
train,  madly  projecting  an  instant  revenge  on  the  fancied  destrover 
of  his  happiness.  That  the  Premier,  whose  form  was  almost  his 
0¥m,  but  whose  fortunes  were  so  different,  who  bad  the  world  at  his 
feet,  who  lived  in  the  gratification  of  every  ambition,  blissful,  sdf- 
satisfied,  smugly  religious,  not  torn  to  his  vitals  by  fevearish 
alternations  of  faith  and  scepticism  ;  that  this  man,  of  all  men  in 
the  world,  should  have  robbed  him  of  his  one  ewe-lamb,  this 
reflection,  says  Dr.  Maudsley,  must  have  filled  his  heart  with  added 
bitterness  and  heated  his  brain  to  delirium.  Already,  though  they 
had  never  met,  their  lines  of  life  had  crossed,  and  unpleasantly  for 
the  poor,  ambitious  house-painter  ;  already  they  seemed  to  his  dis- 
satisfied spirit  to  be  almost  rivals,  and  now  the  pampered  minion 
of  fortune  had  by  the  cruel  favouritism  of  destiny  stolen  the  only 
treasure  which  made  the  poor  man's  life  worth  living.  Surely 
never  were  two  men  in  stranger  relations.  To  the  humbler  of  the 
twain  it  must  have  seemed  as  if  the  other  were  his  evil  genius. 

''  He  returns  to  London  thirsting|for  vengeance.  It  is  a  significant 
fact  that  he  indulges  in  the  unwonted  luxury  of  a  first-dass 
compartment.  He  has  done  with  life  now,  and  all  the  small 
economies  of  his  f}osition.  He  will  kill  this  man,  though  his  own 
life  pay  the  forfeit  As  he  sits  brooding  in  the  train  on  these 
dark  thoughts,  his  companions  endeavour  to  extract  the  reasons 
of  his  return ;  but  he  maintains  a  gloomy  silence.  He  will  say 
nothing  that  may  warn  them  of  his  deadly  intentions,  and  perhaps 
thwart  his  vengeance.  They  arrive  home,  but  overtaxed  Nature 
postpones  the  deed.  He  is  attacked  by  brain-fever,  brought  on, 
according  to  medical  authority,  by  drink  and  religious  fanaticism. 
How,  indeed,  was  Dr.  Thomas  to  divine  the  third  factor,  perhaps 
more  potent  for  the  moment  than  the  other  two  together?  And 
now  a  new  element  is  found  to  have  mingled  with  the  malarious 
current  of  his  thoughts.  The  pages  of  fiction  offer  us  no  more 
terrible  figure  than  this  living  and  breathing  Jack  Dawe,  this 
'Mad  Jack,'  tossing  and  raving  in  the  litde  bedroom  in^  the 
Bethnal  Green  Road.  Once  a  steady  and  unusually  intelligent 
workman,  a  moderate  drinker,  a  happy  lover,  with  heaps  of 
friends,  he  has,  in  a  few  short  weeks,  become  a  lounging,  slip- 
shod idler,  drinking  from  early  mom  to  late  eve,  to  drive  away 
the  thoughts  of  his  damnation  ;  alone  with  his  own  tortured  soul, 
suffering  from  his  unhappy  imagination  in  some  such  fashion,  says 
Dr.  Maudsley,  as  Bunyan  and  many  others  have  suffered,  believing 
himself  wounded  in  devilish  sport  by  his  evil  genius,  ana  thirstin; 
for  his  blood.  But  though  all  these  elements  manifest  their  exist 
ence  in  his  delirious  outcries,  there  are  some  which  are  no 
explicable  by  any  of  them,  nor  by  any  facts  of  his  past  life  knowi 


to  tis.    To  nnderstaDd  these^  we  most  remember  that  just  before 

Jack    Dawe  went   to  the  seaside^  the  Premier  had   promised 

the   Pamellites  a  thorough  measure  of  reform,  which   rumour 

(for  once  correct)  instandy  pronounced  to  be  nothing  less  than 

total  separation.    It  is  ahnost  certain  that  Jack  Dawe  would,  under 

any  circumstances,  have  been  violent  in  opposition  to  this  scheme 

of  his  quasi-nvaL    But  now  that  the  Protestants  of  Ulster  began 

to  complain  in  their  alarm  that  they  would  be  left  at  the  mercy 

of  a  Catholic  majority,  the  painter,  with  all  the  ardour  of  a  convert, 

was  convinced  that  his  enemy  was  insidiously  aiming  a  blow  at 

the  true  religion ;  and  the  conviction  added  one  more  drop  to 

the  already  overflowing  cup  of  bitterness.    It  was  the  thought  of 

this.  tha,t  was  most  present  with  him  before  the  shock,  and  that 

minified  most  indisseverably  with  the  image  of  the  Minister;  and 

in  his  delirium,  to  quote  the  subtle  analysis  of  Dr.  Maudsley,  'amid 

the' cries  of  the  victim  of  drink,  that  devils  wanted  to  murder  him, 

agcNonsed- cries  for  his  lost  love,  and  the  living  over  again  of  his 

oratorical  and  other  experiences,  the  frequent  recurrence  of  such 

excl^tnactions   as  ''Ireland   shall  not  have  Home  Rule,  though 

I  dii&fdr  it  I"  finds  its  explanation  in  the  well-known  psychological 

fadi':thatthe  deeper-grounded,  because  older,  cause  of  animosity 

pre4iominated  in  his  feverish  remembrance,  and  transferring  to 

its^.all  the  new  force  of  hatred,  it  piesented  itself  to  his  delirious 

cOfk^'dbqsness  as  the  sole  motive  of  his  confusedly-remembered 

in^ntiott  of  assassinating  the  Premier.'    So  far  Dr.  Maudsley; 

tibibugh'. •,  I. tnay  perhaps  remark  in  answer  to  an  assertion  in  a 

no|i>ri[oiEi^  let]ter  that  the  phrase  is  inexplicable,  that  it  might  even 

Ipe-ekpi^ned'as  a  grim  exclamation  of  triumph,  in  the  fact  that 

hi5  jeneni^s  reforms,  too,  and  the  fame  to  be  got  by  them,  would 

.beCput  a]i,  end  to  with  his  life  ;  though  I  do  not  pretend  that  this 

w'G^14  e;xpiain  the  sequel  as  it  has  been  explained  in  the  masterly 

foshiipA- of  the  great  authority  just  quoted. 

^^X^Xit  day  the  patient  wakes,  and  his  first  thought  is  of  the 
Prem'fer.  Has  he  assassinated  the  Minister?  What  has  happened  ? 
These  are  the  questions  he  puts  to  his  nurse.  Finding  that 
liLS'foe' is.  still  alive,  he  endeavours  to  rise;  but,  weakness  over- 
powerinjr  him,  he  dictates  a  threatening  and  imperious  telegram, 
forgetting  in  the  imbecility  of  his  yet  feeble  brain  that  he  is 
b^jdnaying  himself,  and,  in  accordance  with  Dr.  Maudsley's  theory, 
fbrgeit^gv-*o<>>  everything  but  the  fancied  and  much-magnified 
dil^'ger'oT^the  Protestants  of  Ulster,  and  his  own  deadly  enmity. 
':  '• .  '•  A'  fcf^.days  after,  he  dictated  a  letter  to  the  same  effect.  It  is 
to^be' ob^eifved  that  in  both  these  messages  the  tone  is  one  of 
impQtence.  .'  The  prostrate  man  resigns  himself  to  stopping,  if 
pbsjsible,  the  Irish  measure  by  threats,  though  determined  to  carry 
thetiiotit' iiyhen  he  can,  if  they  are  unheeded.  With  convalescence, 
howiivjett. comes  a  temporary  return  of  the  mental  balance  and  a 
reaictiim  'against  his  fit  of  dementia ;  and  though  he,  of  course, 
rem6mt>ers  the  terrible  news  that  drove  him  back  to  London,  he 
l^mai9s  quiescent,  contenting  him3elf  with  abusing  the  unfortunate 


464  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAlt/T£R 

Miss  Bathbrill  to  the  girl  Sally,  and  throwing  off  the  poor  innocent 
creature,  when  she  comes  to  see  him,  by  the  terribly  ironical  avowal 
that  he,  too,  loves  another.  He  has  received  in  the  meantime  an 
enigmatic  answer  from  the  Premier,  evidently  the  result  of  mis- 
conception ;  but,  though  still  nursing  his  many  grievances  in  the 
calm  hours  and  the  enforced  temperance  of  t£e  period  of  con- 
valescence, his  better  reason  and  his  new  religious  consciousness 
tell  him  that  he  has  fortunately  escaped  a  terrible  temptation.  He 
passes  his  days  peacefully  in  reading  and  writing,  and  it  seems  as 
if  the  much -tried  mental  system  of  the  man  has,  by  a  temporary 
breakdown,  been  saved  from  overthrow.  But,  lo  !  when  all  is  goings 
well,  Miss  Bathbrill,  justly  enough,  summons  him  for  breach  of 
promise.  The  hypothesis  of  a  got-up  case  cannot  for  a  moment  be 
entertained.  Mrs.  Dawe  did  not  understand  her  son — she  was 
evidently  trying  to  shuffle  out  of  the  fact  that  he  had  given  up 
Miss  Bathbrill,  just  as  she  tried  to  shuffle  out  of  the  admission  that 
she  did  not  get  on  well  with  him.  The  demand  for  damages  seenas 
to  the  defendant  to  be  adding  insult  to  injury,  but  on  reflection  he 
rejoices  thereat.  Still  in  the  ironical  mood  which  prompted  the 
confession  of  love,  he  offers  £2^000^  a  sum  he  did  not  possess,  but 
which  she,  angered  by  that  confession,  refuses.  Directly,  then,  the 
summons  seems  to  have  had  no  ill-effect  But  indirectly  it  has  led 
to  dissension  with  his  mother  which,  combined  doubtless  with 
religious  differences,  renders  his  home  intolerable.  The  poor 
convalescent  flees,  no  doubt  putting  this  misfortune,  too,  to  the 
score  of  Mr.  Floppington,  whom  he  denounces  to  Mr.  Bertram, 
and  whom  he  attacks  even  in  a  discourse  which  his  fanaticism  has 
prompted  him  to  give  at  a  midnight  meeting  of  the  Salvation 
Army. 

**  Taken  home  by  his  mother, '  The  Converted  Painter,'  as  he 
was  styled  on  the  bill,  writes  a  cold  and  sneenng  letter  to  his 
enemy,  full  of  studied  politeness,  icily  informing  him  diat  he,  the 
Right  Honourable  Arnold  Floppington,  will  be  subpoenaed  in  a 
vuJgar  breach-of-promise  suit,  gloating  in  anticipation  over  the 
writhings  of  the  hypocritical  Minister,  ironicsdly  suggesting  that  he 
should  buy  off  the  girl,  and  giving  him  carte  blanche  to  do  so. 
Feeling  that  he  has  the  Premier  under  his  thumb,  he  even  im- 
periously demands  an  order  for  the  Strangers'  Gallery. 

**  With  these  voluptuous  expectations  of  a  more  refined  and  a 
crueller  revenge  tiian  that  suggested  in  a  moment  of  passion,  what 
must  have  been  his  disappointment  and  frenzy  to  receive  a  letter 
no  less  icy  and  scornful  than  his  own  I  No  prospect  of  cross- 
examination  terrifies  the  blameless  Premier ;  but  to  Jack  Dawe  it 
seems  as  if  he  is  powerless  before  the  defiant  hauteur  and  im- 
penetrable armour  of  the  great  Minister  before  whom  Law  itsef' 
will  bend  in  respect.  There  is  no  revenge  but  that  in  his  owi 
hands. 

**  The  old,  long-buried  torrent  of  animosity  bursts  forth  once  moi 
in  tenfold  strength.  So  overpowered  is  he  by  angry  ^notion  tha 
he  cannot  refrain  from  openly  predicting  that  the  JE^cmier's 


DEAD  MEN^S  SHOES  465 

will  be  over  sooner  than  the  world  imagines.  To  add  fuel  to  the 
flame,  the  very  day  of  the  receipt  of  the  letter  happens  to  be  that 
of  the  declaration  of  the  long-threatened  Home  Rule  policy.  The 
detested  libertine  Minister  is  the  focus  of  a  nation's  enthusiasm ; 
and,  when  he  sits  down  after  his  great  speech,  princes  applaud  his 
mighty  eloquence  and  wondrous  statesmanship. 

**  During  the  day  Jack  Dawe  feeds  his  determination  on  the 
eulogies  and  enthusiasm  of  the  newspapers,  leaves  home  at  night, 
after  a  few  significant  words  to  the  servant,  and  has  not  been  heard 
of  since.  The  discovery  of  his  latch-key  on  the  pavement  of 
Little  Snale  Street,  however,  marks  one  point  of  his  course,  and 
leads  to  the  suspicion  that  he  had  hung  about  Downing  Street 
during  part  of  the  night,  and  followed  the  Premier  in  the  morning. 
No  evidence  has  indeed  been  forthcoming  to  show  by  what  means 
he  obtained  the  dynamite,  nor  was  such  evidence  to  have  been 
expected  ;  but  there  was  an  interval  long  enough  to  enable  him  to 
do  so  between  his  leaving  home  and  the  assassination  of  the 
illustrious  victim,  which  has  caused  the  strangest  and  saddest 
investigation  that  it  ever  was  my  lot  to  undertake." 

At  die  conclusion  of  this  wonderful  piece  of  synthesis,  as  the 
Telegraph  called  it,  the  jury  retired  ;  and,  after  an  absence  of  six 
minutes,  returned  a  verdict  to  the  effect  that  the  deceased  was  the 
Right  Honourable  Arnold  Floppington,  and  that  he  had  been 
assassinated  by  Jack  Dawe. 


CHAPTER  V. 

DEAD  MEN'S  SHOES. 

Lord  Bardolph  Mountchapel  was  angry  with  the  editor  of 
the  Times, 

*'  How,  in  Heaven's  name,"  he  asked  him,  **did  you  come  to  in- 
sert that  ifool's  letter  this  morning?  IVe  no  doubt  it  has  set  some 
people  seriously  wondering  what  I  really  meant  by  telling  the 
Orangemen  to  strike  a  blow,  and  fancying  my  words  have  influenced 
this  miserable  Jack  Dawe's  mind.  Especially  when  everybody 
thinks  that  I  owed  the  unfortunate  Premier  a  grudge,  and  when 
everybody  knows  that  sooner  or  later  I  must  step  into  his  shoes. 
The  Ministry  will  inevitably  go  to  pieces.  It  has  every  element  of 
disunion,  and  but  for  Floppington  would  not  have  held  together  a 
day.  He  really  seemed  to  have  bewitched  the  Party.  Goodness 
knows  how  this  may  damage  me  in  the  country.  But  I  have  every 
hope  in  die  coming  election.  The  principles  of  the  Fourth  Party 
will  triumph  I " 

The  Fourth  Party  was  Momntchapel,  and  Mountchapel  alone. 
But  though  its  organisation  was  far  from  perfect,  disagreement  and 
internal  dissension  bein^  not  unfrequen^  it  counted  a  not  incon- 

2  U 


466  THE  PkEMlER  AHD  THE  PAINTER 

siderable  following  in  the  country,  and   Bardolph's  pleasurable 
expectations  were  not  entirely  without  foundation. 

His  Lordship  had  dropped  into  the  Thunderer's  sanctum  on  his 
way  home  from  the  inquest  just  concluded.  After  a  few  minutes' 
conversation  with  the  harassed  editor,  dealing  with  the  extremely 
delicate  question  of  the  precise  tone  to  be  used  in  any  references  to 
him  at  this  critical  juncture,  and  the  frequency  of  such  references, 
he  jumped  into  a  hansom  and  ordered  the  man  to  drive  to  Harley 
House. 

Gwendolen  had  not  found  the  prospect  of  her  approaching 
union  by  any  means  so  delightful  as  it  appeared  to  Bardolph,  nor, 
although  it  was  indefinitely  postponed,  did  even  distance  lend 
enchantment  to  the  view. 

Impulse  is  as  good  a  guide  as  Reason,  for  there  is  as  much  chance 
of  going  wrong  by  obedience  to  one  as  to  the  other.  Gwen  cotdd  not 
regret  her  dismissal  of  the  Premier,  but  she  could  not  altogether 
suppress  a  doubt  as  to  whether  she  had  acted  wisely  in  linking 
her  life  with  that  of  his  rival.  Lord  Bardolph  indeed  played  the 
part  of  lover  to  perfection.  He  insisted  on  no  privileges,  made 
no  attempt  to  regulate  her  life  by  ante-nuptial  advice,  and  never 
insinuated  the  smallest  reproach  on  her  avoidance  of  Society.  So 
far  in  fact  from  rebuking  her  avoidance  of  Society  in  general,  he 
even  bore  patiently  her  neglect  of  his  own  in  particular,  and  her 
preference  of  that  of  Miss  Octavia  Hill  and  the  other  noble  women 
at  whose  disposal  she  had  put  her  purse  and  almost  all  her  time  ; 
and  he  refrained  from  parading  his  scepticism  upon  the  subject  of 
philanthropy,  or,  indeed,  of  any  other  supposed  virtue.  In  short,  he 
displayed  m  the  pays  de  Pamour  all  those  good  qualities  of  humility 
and  patience,  politeness  and  tolerance,  which  he  could  find 
no  market  for  in  the  world  of  politics.  Bardolph  might,  had  he 
reflected  thereupon  (which  he  didn't),  have  come  to  the  orthodox 
belief  that  virtue  is  its  own  reward,  ^so  happy  and  confident  did 
he  now  feel. 

Gwendolen  was  duly  grateful.  She  appreciated  the  delicacy 
and  the  tender  reserve  of  his  conduct,  and  she  felt  that  her  intuition 
on  the  terrace  was  justified — that  in  his  case  more  intimate  know- 
ledge revealed  his  better  aspects  and  showed  the  true  nature  that 
underlay  his  superficial  cynicism,  as  it  had  done  the  opposite  in  the 
case  of  his  rival  Yet,  strange  to  say,  neither  perception  gave  her 
an  unmixed  emotion.  She  did  not  love  Bardolph  nor  hate  the 
Premier  as  much  as  intellectual  reasons  demanded.  In  the  ocean 
a  surface-current  may  rush  with  much  velocity  northwards,  while 
all  the  while  the  great  stream  is  calmly  gliding  to  the  south. 
Gwendolen  would  not  look  below  the  surface  of  her  mind's  ocean  ; 
if  she  occasionally  hazarded  a  peep  she  instantly  drew  her  ey  s 
away  incredulous  and  horror-struck.  It  was  not  till  a  great  stoi  i 
arose  and  the  waves  were  tossed  heavenwards  and  the  sea  w  s 
sundered  to  its  depths  that  she  awoke  to  a  full  consciousness  of  t  e 
direction  of  its  current. 

For  the  phantom  of  the  Ideal  refused  to  be  laid.    Not  witho  t 


DEAt>  MEN'S  SHOES  aM 

a  stru^le  could  she  resign  herself  to  lose  touch  for  ever  of  the 
aspirations  and  the  unworldlinesses  of  youth  and  to  settle  down 
into  the  spiritual  limitations  of  average  matronhood.  The  one  man 
with  whom  she  had  hoped  to  live 

Twin-halves  of  a  perfect  heart  made  fast. 
Soul  to  soul  as  the  years  flew  past ; 

this  man  was,  on  his  own  confession,  a  cynical  hypocrite  and  a 
degraded  sensualist.    Yet,  despite  his  unblushing  avowals,  there 
were  moments  when  a  curious  feeling  of  unreality  and  hallucination 
came  over  her ;  she  sometimes  awoke  with  a  start  and  angry  with 
herself  from  a  reverie  in  which  the  delicious  Past  lived  over  again  ; 
and,  in  dreams,  she  wandered  with  him  in  dewy  gardens  where  his 
£Eu:e  shone,  transfigured  with  a  spiritual  light    Visions  and  reveries 
left  their  traces  on  her  waking  life,  gleams  of  muffled  splendour, 
dim  echoes  of  buried  music  that  by  contrast  provoked  an  ever- 
present  sense  of  blankness  :  the  same  gnawing  emptiness  that  fed 
on  the  Premier's  heart  and  which  she  endeavoured  to  forget  in  the 
bustle  of  philanthropy,  he  in  the  bustle  of  politics.    But  if  he  had 
completely  lost  sight  of  the  woman  he  loved,  his  doings  were  not 
equaJly  hidden  from  her.    With  a  strange  fascination  she  followed 
every  detail  of  his  marvellous  career,  pleading  to  herself  that  there 
was  no  reason  why  she  should  shut  her  eyes  to  modem  history. 
Floppington  was  only  a  name  to  her— the  name  of  a  public  man 
who  would  leave  his  mark  on  the  age,  and  in  whom  a  contemporary 
could  not  but  be  interested.    She  had  a  half-feeling  that  he  would 
at  some  time  or  other  betray  himself  to  the  deluded  world,  but,  in  the 
eminently  respectable  newspapers  that  she  read,  no  breath  of 
scandal  ever  touched  his  honoured  name.    At  first  the  statesman's 
success  seemed  to  her  to  stamp  with  truth  the  cynical  maxims  she 
had  learnt  from  Mountchapel,  but  after  a  time  it  went  on  intensifying 
her  vague,  unconfessed  dissatisfaction.    Between  her  and  Bardolph 
his  name  had  never  been  mentioned  but  once ;  when  the  £x-Minister 
had  with  culpable  carelessness  allowed  it  to  slip  in,  in  the  course 
of  an  unrestrained  conversation.     He  had  been  telling  her  of  his 
prospects  and  she  was  trying  to  identify  herself  with  his  ambitions, 
when  he  grumbled  that  the  Premier  was  trying  to  run  with  the  hare 
and  hunt  with  the  hounds  by  givinj^  away  the  pickings  of  office  to 
the  Liberals  and  dispensing  ecclesiastical  and  other  patronage  on 
the  unfair  principle  of  impartial  justice.  To  her  surprise,  Gwendolen 
felt  indignant  at  the  imputation  of  Machiavellian  motives  to  the 
Minister,  but  she  managed  to  restrain  herself.    The  Press  had, 
indeed,  been  eulogizing  his  purity  and  impartiality  ;  but  she,  who 
had  special  knowledge,  ought  not  to  have  been  carried  away  by  the 
enthusiasm  of  outsiders.     Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  did  not  her 
special  knowled^^  force  her  to  interpret  even  more  favourably  than 
the  outside  pubhc  certain  dubious  episodes  in  the  Premier's  career? 
When  she  read  his  '*  Apologia "  for  instance,  with  its  earnest  pro- 
carnation  of  the  political  maxim  that  the  righteousness  and  the 
utility  of  a  reform  depended  largely  upon  the  party  which  proposed 

a  H  a 


4fii  THE  PREMIEl^  AND  THE  PAWTER 

it,  the  nobility  of  its  apophthegms,  and  the  cry  for  a  practical 
Qiristianity  and  a  reign  of  justice,  made  her  doubts  of  his  sincerity 
waver.  Perhaps  he  had  been  consistent  right  through*  His 
opposition  to  Female  Suffrage  had  really  been  induced  by  lus  be- 
lief in  the  principle  he  had  enunciated,  together  with  another  cause 
hinted  at  m  his  speech,  but  unintelligible  to  anybody  but  herself 
namely,  the  dread  of  having  been  too  much  influenced  by  his  love 
for  her.  What  else,  indeed,  meant  the  words,  **  My  own  heart  and 
the  perception  of  the  wrongs  of  women  were  impelling  me  to  vote 
with  the  Liberals,"  and  had  she  not  been  wrong  to  suspect  that  he 
was  going  to  revenge  himself  on  her  by  backing  out  of  the  promise 
of  a  Female  Suffrage  Clause  ?  Had  he  not  on  tiie  contrary  exerted 
all  his  strength  to  carry  that  particular  clause  ? 

So  the  fateful  days  went  by  with  their  burden  of  perplexities  and 
duties.  Her  old  gaiety  was  gone,  the  old  rippling  laugh  and  the 
old  brightness  had  vanished,  but  sorrow,  and  the  sweet  sad  pleasure 
of  bringing  light  and  laughter  into  the  eyes  of  her  stricken  sisters, 
had  left  behind  a  sainUy  tenderness  that  had,  perhaps,  no  less 
charm. 

She  never  went  to  the  House  now.  Ardently  as  she  would  have 
desired  to  be  present  on  the  historic  ''Home  Rule**  night,  she  did 
not  dare  trust  herself  to  see  his  flashing  countenance  or  to  listen  to 
his  ringing  eloquence.  But  she  could  safely  read  the  speech  next 
morning  and  study  the  masterly  project  as  it  unfolded  itself  in  all 
its  marvellous  lucidity,  from  the  few  pregnant  words  of  introduction 
to  the  sublime  proclamation  of  eternal  justice  that  rounded  off  the 
dry  details  with  a  burst  of  organ-music. 

It  was  firom  the  lips  of  the  housemaid,  who  had  replaced  Eliza 
Bathbrill,  that  Gwendolen  learned  the  fatal  news.  The  girl  had 
been  out  for  something,  and  she  looked  so  white  and  agitated  that 
Gwendolen,  who  saw  her  passing  through  the  hall,  sympathetically 
inquired  what  was  the  matter. 

''  Oh,  your  ladyship,"  gasped  the  girl,  **  the  man  that  was  blown 
up — early  this  morning — in  Westminster — ^near  the  bicycle  stables 
—turns  out "  excitement  stopped  her  breath. 

"  Poor  thing  I "  thought  Gwen.    "  Her  lover,  perhaps  !* 

**  They  say  it*s — Mr.  Floppington  ! " 

Though  the  hall,  and  the  tall  tropical  ferns,  and  the  broad  oak 
staircase  surged  and  rocked  as  with  an  earthquake,  Gwendolen  did 
not  immediately  lose  consciousness.  The  '^  abysmal  depths  of 
personality"  were  laid  open  under  a  flash  of  lightning.  In  that  one 
instant  of  terrible  introspection,  she  understood  that  for  her  tbe 
wi>rid  was  for  ever  changed  ;  that  from  evanescent  glimmerings  of 
brightness,  it  had  grown  dark  again  with  the  darkness  of  the  day 
on  which  she  had  mourned  for  his  dead  honour ;  that  the  calm 
passionless  future  to  which  she  had  been  striving  to  reconcii 
herself  was  impossible. 

She  was  put  to  bfd,  but  she  refused  to  obey  her  doctor 
directions.  She  insisted  on  seeing  all  the  evening  papers  and  reac 
ing  every  line  of  the  terrible  tragedy  herselL    She  never  for  , 


DEAD  MEN*S  SHOES  469 

moment.)fi^  the  glimmer  of  hope  that  some  of  the  editors  professed 
to  entertain.  She,  if  no  one  else,  knew  what  had  taken  the 
murdered  Premier  to  Westminster.  An  mireasoning  passion  of 
love  and  regret  that  she  need  hide  from  herself  no  longer,  a  rush  of 
tender  recollections,  and  a  great  pity  stirred  her  soul  before  that 
sadden  and  awfiil  close  of  a  great  career  almost  at  its  apogee,  that 
consecrated  the  man's  imperfections  and  purified  his  memory  with 
a  baptism  of  blood. 

The  fiery  cry  for  reveng^e,  that  succeeded  the  first  shock  of  horror 
and  that  found  its  immediate  echo  in  the  Press,  thrilled  the  pulses 
of  the  invalid.  Oh  that  she  might  play  some  part  in  the  discovery 
of  the  perpetrators  of  the  foul  deed  1  But  when,  in  a  later  edition 
she  resud  the  name  of  the  suspected  murderer,  the  doctor's  warnings 
seemed  to  be  justified,  for  she  fainted  again.  What  dreadful 
mystery  was  this  ?  Who  was  this  Jack  Dawe,  whose  fatal  name  had 
been  burnt  into  her  brain,  seanng  and  withering  the  happiness 
of  her  life  ?  Was  she  to  be  so  cruelly  reminded  of  the  drear  past  at 
the  very  moment  when  death  bad  softened  it  to  her  memory?  Was 
it  only  the  merciless  irony  of  Fate  that  the  name  under  which  he 
had  chosen  to  masquerade  should  be  that  of  his  future  assassin,  or 
was  some  terrible  secret  involved  in  the  fact? 

Still  in  spite  of  medical  prohibition,  she  insisted  on  going  in 
person  to  give  her  evidence  at  the  inquest.  Full  of  a  feverish 
restlessness,  she  would  not  have  her  evidence  taken  down  at  home. 
On  her  return  she*  refused  to  succumb ;  and  sat  in  her  study, 
receiving  no  one,  not  even  Bardolph,  and  engaged  in  studying 
every  item  of  the  evidence  and  devouring  every  morsel  of  news 
and  every  scrap  of  rumour. 

Hie  relationship  between  Jack  Dawe  and  her  late  housemaid, 
which  the  proceedings  of  the  second  day  revealed,  coming  as  it  did 
with  the  fact  of  the  resemblance  between  the  assassin  and  his 
victim,  was  a  fresh  shock  that  set  ker  tortured  brain  whirling  with 
new  possibilities.  The  motive  of  the  murderer  was  now  becoming 
plain.  Apparently  the  world  had  long  known  the  disgraceful  story 
she  had  thought  locked  in  her  own  breast  Yet  the  dark  story  was 
not  growing  so  luminous  to  her  as  to  the  journalists.  Jack  Dawe 
— a  real  independent  entity  with  a  physical  resemblance  to  the 
Premier,  the  Premier  as  Jack  Dawe  carrying  on  an  intrigue  with 
Eliza  Bathbrill,  Eliza  Bathbrill  bringing  an  action  for  breach  of 
promise  against  the  real  Jack  Dawe,  the  false  Jack  Dawe  murdered 
m  jealousy  by  his  real  namesake  after  a  strange  correspondence 
between  the  two  men.    What,  merciful  Heaven,  did  it  all  mean  ? 

Definite  thought  failed  her  as  she  struggled  with  these 
complications,  one  foctor  of  which,  unknown  as  yet  to  the  world, 
would  doubtless  be  elicited  in  the  approaching  examination  of  the 
girl  in  question.  In  sleepless  anxiety  she  awaited  the  next 
morning.  At  one  moment  she  was  on  the  point  of  ordering 
her  carriage  and  going  off  to  the  scene  of  action ;  but,  her  own 
evidence  given,  she  could  not  bear  to  meet  the  scrutiny  of  the 
world  again.     Luckily  Eliza   Bathbrill  was   to  be  called  first, 


470  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

and  poor  Lady  Gwen  tried  to  wait  in  patience  till  the  first  batch  of 
evidence  could  reach  her.    Eliza's  evidence  was  in  print  almost 
as  soon  as  it  was  delivered,  and  editions  of  the  rival  evening 
papers  were  sent  post  haste  to  her  ladyship,  as  ordered,  within 
a  few  minutes  of  one  another.     In  an  instant  her  eager  eyes 
had    skimmed  the  report,  and  had  fastened  upon  the  critical 
question   put  by  the  dissenting  juror:    ''When    did    you   first 
become  acc^uainted  with  Mr.  Floppington  ?  '^    A  mist  swam  before 
her,  but  with   frantic  impatience   she    brought    the    wet   sheet 
close  to  her  aching  eyes  and  made  out  the  vaguely  looming 
words.    "  Mr.   Floppington  I     I   never  saw  Mr.   Floppington   in 
my  life   except  on  pictures,  and  then  he  did   look  something 
like  Mr.    Dawe."     A    dreadful  feeling    of  sickness  came    over 
her,  and  she  thought  she  was  going  to  faint  once  more,  but 
she  did  not.    She  remained  only  too  conscious  of  a  dull  physical 
anguish  and  of  the  sharper  thrusts  of  mental  pain.     Eliza's  denial 
seemed  to  pierce  and  run  through  her  like  a  stream  of  electricity, 
and   at   the  first  flash  the   conviction  of  the  murdered  man's 
innocence  filled  her  soul,  not  with  joy — that  might  come  later 
— but  with  an  awful  despair. 

She  laid  her  head  upon  her  desk  in  a  very  agony  of  remorse 
and  hopeless  longing.  "Arnold  !  May  God  forgive  me.  My 
poor  murdered  Arnold!"  she  moaned,  in  a  woe  too  deep  for 
tears. 

But  soon  memory  brought  a  touch  of  barren  consolation, 
if,  *  indeed,  the  bitter  reflections  it  induced  could  be  deemed 
consoling.  No,  she  had  not  made  so  tragic  and  irremediable 
a  mistake.  Fate  could  not  be  so  cruel  The  girl  might  have 
meant  to  tell  the  truth,  for  it  was  certainly  possible  that  she 
had  mistaken  the  Premier  for  her  lover ;  but  then  had  not  the 
Premier  admitted  his  guilt  and  begged  her  to  keep  the  secret  ? 
But,  again,  was  there  no  further  mystery,  nothing  but  a  coin- 
cidence in  the  concordance  of  the  two  names?  She  tried  to 
recall  the  past  in  precise  detail  She  saw  the  Premier  shrinking 
back  before  the  threatened  embrace  of  the  housemaid ;  but 
was  this  horror  simulated  as  she  had  thought  at  the  time,  or 
had  he  really  been  unconscious  of  her  own  presence  ;  or  even 
if  the  disgust  had  been  real,  had  it  been  due  to  innocence  or 
to  weariness  of  an  old  and  forgotten  amour?  And  if  he  had 
known  nothing  of  Eliza,  what  could  he  have  known  of  Jack 
Dawe  ?  How  else  explain  the  exclamation  of  "  Good  God, 
you  know ! "  when  she  mentioned  that  ominous  name  ?  How 
else  understand  the  series  of  confessions  or  the  shameless  apolo- 
getics that  followed?  Perhaps  some  other  and  subtler  link 
connected  him  with  Jack  Dawe  than  their  common  relationship 
Eliza  Bathbrill  ?  But,  no  1  That  was  impossible !  The  moi 
vividly  her  excited  brain  recalled  that  tragic  scene,  the  mo 
she  grew  convinced  that  the  actors  had  not  been  playing 
crobs-purposes.  Surely  it  had  not  been  a  ghastly  farce?  The 
were  misunderstandings  in  farces,  in  comedies,  in  novels,  restii 


r^ 


DEAD  MEN'S  SHOES  471 

on  the  doable  meaning  of  a  word,  or  on  some  slight  mistake — 
flimsy  and  improbable  misunderstandings  that  argued  a  want 
of  conmion  sense  in  those  who  fell  into  them,  and  that  could 
not  have  stood  the  test  of  five  minutes  natural  and  unforced 
conversation.  But  that  in  real  life  two  intelligent  persons  could 
have  been  at  cross  purposes  for  much  longer  than  that — the  one 
accusing  in  detail,  and  the  other  confessing  and  excusing  himself 
with  equal  detail,  and  both  looking  at  the  subject  from  all 
points  of  view,  individual  or  national — this  appeared  absurd  and 
utteiiy  incredible. 

Yet  there,  on  the  other  hand,  staring  her  in  the  face,  was 
the  emphatic  denial  of  the  person  most  implicated ;  couched  in 
language  which,  if  feigned,  was  of  an  ingenuousness  almost  beyond 
the  invention  of  a  housemaid. 

Once  more  the  cry  burst  from  her  lips  :  ^  Merciful  Heavens  ? 
'What  does  it  all  mean  ?  " 

She  began  to  pace  the  room  restlessly,  with  hurried,  aimless 
movements  that  symbolised  the  heaving  chaos  of  her  thoughts. 
And  now  the  intellectual  puzzle  was  giving  way  to  the  emotional 
problem  of  her  future  life.  For  her,  in  all  the  freshness  of  yQuth 
and  beauty,  there  was  nothing  now  but  the  gray  horizon  of 
renunciation.  WeU,  she  could  renounce  I  Nay,  was  it  even 
renunciation — this  exchange  of  worldly  and  selfish  happiness,  this 
soul-narrowing  Sgoisme  d  deux,  for  the  ecstasy  of  noble  action  that 
would  not  rest  till  every  wrong  of  her  sisters  was  washed  away. 
A  union,  even  with  the  most  spiritually-minded  of  men,  would 
inevitably  have  for  ever  brought  separation  from  the  larger  objects 
of  life.  The  thought  steeled  her  to  endurance.  She  sat  down 
again  at  her  desk  and  dashed  off  page  after  page  of  feverish 
eloquence.  How  long  she  wrote  she  never  knew,  but  gradually 
the  pen  began  to  falter  and  move  slowly  over  the  paper,  till  at  last 
it  fell  from  between  her  fingers,  and  she  burst  quite  suddenly  into 
hysterical  sobbing.  She  could  not  understand  why  she  was  crying, 
she  only  felt  a  drear  burden  of  numb  and  raw  misery,  and  a  vague 
consciousness  of  irrational  self-pity. 

A  reverberating  ring  at  the  bell  roused  her.  Something  told 
her  who  the  visitor  was,  and  the  verification  of  her  instinct  gave 
her  no  surprise.  She  could  not  think  of  seeing  Lord  Bardolph  in 
the  state  in  which  she  was.  But,  after  she  had  instructed  the 
servant  to  say  that  she  was  too  unwell  to  receive  anybody,  she 
suddenly  recalled  him  and  told  him  to  ask  his  lordship  to  wait 
in  the  drawing-room. 

No  sooner  had  the  servant  left  the  room  than  he  was  again 
recalled.  Gwendolen  was,  indeed,  in  a  pitiable  condition.  The 
reflection  that  Bardolph  had  a  right  to  see  her ;  the  knowledge 
that,  except  for  a  few  moments  at  the  inquest,  he  had  not  spoken 
to  her  for  many  days,  made  her  feel  humble  as  a  child  before  his 
long-suffering  gentleness.  The  refusal  of  the  interview  had  come 
to  her  lips  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  when  it  was  uttered  a  pang  of 
self-reproach  shot  through  her,  and  she  conquered  her  reluctance. 


k . 


471  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

But  immediately  afterwards  the  old  shrinking  from  the  meetix^: 
seized  upon  her,  and  she  stood  now  in  tremulous  hesitation  press- 
ing her  hands  nervously  together.  After  an  instant  of  concenttated 
thought,  which  was,  however,  more  a  rapid  play  of  emotion  than 
an  intellectual  balancing  of  motives,  she  made  a  gesture  at  once  of 
resolution  and  of  abandonment  to  impulse. 

Few  human  beings  behave  in  the  analysable  fashion  of  historical 
personages,  and  Gwendolen,  when  she  finally  determined  to 
receive  her  lover  as  she  was,  and  in  the  old  study  where  he  had 
first  declared  his  love,  could  of  all  persons  least  have  given  a  dear 
and  definite  statement  of  her  motives. 

He  came  in,  quiet  and  subdued,  and  saw  the  traces  of  tears  slie 
made  no  effort  to  conceal.  She  was  dressed  in  black,  without  a 
single  ornament,  and  her  white  face  glimmered  ghostlike.  G1o(msi 
and  pallor  were  alike  out  of  harmony  with  the  rich  sunlight  that 
flashed  without  the  darkened  chamber.  To  Mountchapel,  fi%sh 
from  the  bustle  of  outside  life,  it  seemed  a  pale,  cloistered,  but 
beautiful  saint  that  held  out  her  hand  and  flashed  a  patbedc 
welcome  from  her  sweet,  sad  eyes,  and  essayed  to  mould  her 
quivering  lips  to  a  smile  of  tenderness. 

He  took  her  soft,  white  hand,  burning  with  inward  fereTi  put  it 
gently  to  his  lips,  and  held  it  there  for  a  moment 

"  You  are  ill,  Gwendolen,**  he  said  tenderly. 

*'  No,  indeed,  I  am  not,"  she  said  trembling.  ^  Is  ijie  inquest 
over  ? • 

He  had  pretended  not  to  notice  the  mourning  she  wore. 
Kindred  nobility  of  soul  had  taught  him  both  to  understand  and  be 
silent.  She  was  deeply  touched  by  his  delicate  reserve  and 
strangely  affected  in  a  different  way  by  the  slight  caress.  A  prey 
to  contending  emotions,  she  regretted  too  late  that  she  had 
exposed  herself  to  the  anguish  of  this  meeting.  She  felt  that  she 
ought  to  ask  after  his  own  health,  but  the  trite  phrase  died  upon 
her  lips,  and,  half  to  her  own  surprise,  she  found  that  the  ever- 
present  subject  of  silent  thought  had  risen  into  speech. 

"  I  have  just  come  from  it,"  Bardolph  replied,  with  a  faint  accent 
of  dissatisfaction.  He  understood  well  enough  the  mute  confession 
of  that  simple  black  dress,  the  meaning  of  those  swollen  lids  ;  but 
prudence,  no  less  than  generosity,  demanded  generosity.  Gwen, 
he  thoug>t,  was  too  high-spirited  to  brook  the  smallest  remark  on 
her  unconventional  behaviour.  He  had  not  enough  insight  to  feel 
that  she  vi'ould  have  taken  even  bitter  reproach  with  childlike 
humility.     But  he  knew  that  he  could  afford  to  be  generous. 

He  had  'ong  seen  traces  of  the  coming  reaction  towards  herold  love 
^and  they  had  made  him  uneasy),  and  when  Floppington  was  ass2  si- 
nated  it  was  natural  that  the  reaction  should  reach  its  zenith,  lut 
it  was  equally  natural  that  his  uneasiness  should  fall  to  its  nadir,  or 
did  the  visible  intensity  of  Gwendolen's  grief  cause  him  any  al;  m, 
as  the  consciousness  of  it  was  borne  in  upon  him  at  the  first  gla  ce. 
He  himself  had  felt  greatly  shocked  at  the  tragic  end  of  the  m  n ; 
his  own  recollection  of  their  old  rivalry,  politick  and  amonxiSv  ad 


r 


DEAD  MEN'S  SHOES  473 

been  strangely  softened  by  it,  and  he  could  dimly  divine  how  one 
who  had  once  loved  him  would  be  affected.  Moreover,  her  afflic- 
tion would  only  give  him  the  chance  of  wooing  her  tenderly  back 
to  him.  But  as  he  felt  the  feverish  throbbing  of  the  blood  in  her 
veins,  and  the  trembling  of  her  hand  in  his,  a  genuine  alarm  seized 
upon  him.  She  did  not  take  enough  care  of  herself.  Her  transient 
grief  must  not  be  allowed  to  leave  permanent  effects  upon  her 
health.  She  was  his  own — this  pale,  fragile,  grief-worn  creature 
who  stood  before  him  in  all  her  delicate  loveliness— nothing  could 
come  between  them  any  more.  Sooner  or  later  she  would  share 
his  heardi  and  home.  He  knew  this,  and  yet  the  eager  demand 
which  at  once  turned  the  talk  so  abruptly  away  from  their  two 
selves  jarred  upon  him.  He  would  disburden  himself  of  his  news 
as  quickly  as  possible. 

"  The  coroner  summed  up  wonderfully,"  he  continued.  "It  was 
as  interesting  as  a  novel." 

"  And  the  verdict  ? "  she  broke  in  breathlessly,  too  excited  to 
resent  the  doubtful  taste  of  the  comparison. 

"  Ob,  that  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  Even  yesterday,  Jack 
Dawe*s  guilt  was  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff.  But  after  to-day's  evidence, 
it  was  as  plain  as — well,  as  a  mountain.     Poor  Flopping  ton ! " 

Gwen  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  "No  traces  of  the 
murderer  yet,  I  suppose  ?  "  she  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  No  ;  and  yet  he  must  be  in  London.  No  such  man  seems  to 
have  left  the  metropolis  on  or  after  the  13th.  He  must  be  a  clever 
fellow.  It  bears  out  Maudsle/s  opinion  that  he  wasn't  really 
insane  ;  at  least,  not  to  the  point  of  irresponsibility.  By  Jove,  it 
requires  a  cool  head  to  baffle  a  nation  of  detectives.  If  he  can 
only  lie  perdu  a  little  longer,  he  may  escape  altogether.  The 
public  voice  is  clamorous  for  vengeance  ;  the  public  eye  is  on  the 
alert ;  but  you  know  how  soon  enthusiasm  grows  cold.  After  a  bit 
things  will  begin  to  go  on  as  usual." 

Gwendolen  uncovered  her  face  and  he  could  see  that  her  eyes 
flashed  fire.  "  Oh  no,  God  will  not  let  him  go  unpunished  1 "  she 
cried  with  clenched  hands. 

Bardolph  scarcely  noted  her  words.  How  beautiful  she  was  in 
her  indignation,  her  pale  cheek  flushed  with  passionate  crimson  ! 

"  I  cannet  believe  that  he  will  escape,"  she  cried.  "  Shall  a 
great  nation  leave  unavenged  the  dastardly  murder  of  its  First 
Minister  ?  Bellingham  was  executed  within  a  week  of  the  assassina- 
tion of  Perceval." 

"Yes;  but  Bellingham  shot  the  Premier  in  the  lobby  of  the 
House— a  very  different  matter  from  dynamiting  him  in  Westmin- 
ster. By-the-by,  none  of  the  papers  seems  to  have  noticed  the 
curious  coincidence  that  the  foreign  secretaries  of  both  Cabinets 
resigned  shortly  before  the  assassination  of  their  chiefs.  Marquess 
Wellesley  then,  and  I  now.  I  wonder,"  he  continued  reflectively, 
"whether  the  coincidence  is  going  to  hold  further.  All  the 
Ministers  resigned  and  a  new  administration  was  formed  " 

But  Gwendolen  was  no  longer  listening.    She  had  gone  to  her 


474  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

desk  and  taken  from  it  the  illustrated  handbill  that  Scotland  Yard 
had  issued  in  tens  of  thousands.  She  was  scanning  the  wretched 
painter's  features,  although  the  face  had  haunted  her  since  she  had 
tirstseen  it,  and  she  wondered  that  amid  so  much  of  difference  it  should 
still  dimly  suggest  a  resemblance  to  the  countenance  of  the  victim. 

"With  that  in  every  house  in  the  kingdom,"  she  said,*' is  it 
possible  that  he  can  lurk  long  undetected  ?  And  if,  as  you  fear,  the 
public  heart  should  cease  to  beat  with  sympathetic  wrath,  I  will 
appeal  to  its  mercenary  instincts.'' 

"  The  Government  has  done  that  sufficiently,"  replied  Bardolph. 
"  But  if  you  think  it  will  do  any  good  I  will  offer  another  thousand 
myself." 

"  Oh  no  ! "  she  cried  impulsively.  **  Why  should  you  do  more 
than  any  other  private  person  ?  It  is  very  generous  of  you  ;  but, 
while  I  have  a  penny  of  my  own,  there  is  no  need  for  a  stranger  to 
interfere." 

"  Oh,  Gwendolen,"  he  said  reproachfully,  "  I  honour  you  for 
your  unconcealed  devotion  to  the  dead,  indeed  I  do.  But  surely 
you  must  know  that  whatever  interests  you,  interests  me.  And, 
moreover,  is  not  my  fortune  yours  ?  " 

He  tried  to  take  her  hand,  but  she  moved  away  slightly  and 
replaced  the  handbill  in  her  desk.  Her  face  was  hidden  from  him, 
but  it  had  grown  white  once  more.  She  stood  thus  a  moment, 
drawing  breath  painfully.  Then  she  turned  to  him  again  with 
compressed  lips  and  palpitating  heart.  In  the  turn  the  conversa- 
tion had  been  taking,  her  nervousness  had  vanished,  and  her 
access  of  indignation,  the  expression  of  which  gave  in  reality  an 
outlet  to  the  pent-up  fervour  of  her  love  and  longing,  seemed  to 
have  given  her  firmness  and  courage.  But  now  her  strength 
began  to  leave  her  once  more. 

"No,  Lord  Bardolph,"  she  managed  to  say,  ''do  not  think 
any  more  of  it."  She  made  an  effort  at  lightness.  "  I  won't  let 
you  rob  the  election  fund  at  the  Carlton." 

"It  would  serve  the  Club  right,"  he  said  bitterly,  "  if  I  treated 
it  as  shabbily  as  its  members  have  treated  me ;  but  a  day  of 
reckoning  will  come." 

"  When  they  will  groan  at  the  smallness  of  the  total,  do  you 
mean  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  miserable  attempt  at  a  smile. 

Bardolph  laughed  softly,  and,  encouraged  by  this  new  gaiety — 
a  clear  symptom,  by  the  way,  of  the  transitory  and  superficial 
nature  of  her  grief— he  bent  tenderly  towards  her,  and  laying 
his  two  hands  upon  her  shoulders,  he  looked  lovingly  into  her 
eyes,  murmuring :  "  That  is  how  I  like  to  hear  you  talk.  You 
looked  so  unwell  before,  I  was  really  frightened,  darling.  I  am 
afraid  you  have  been  worrying  too  much.  I  know  how  terrible 
the  shock  must  have  been,  but  you  must  not  ^ive  in  to  it  I'm  so 
glad  you're  trying  to  rally.  You  must  get  it  out  of  your  mind, 
darling,  for  your  own  sake — ^and  mine.** 

She  had  half  turned  away  her  head,  but  she  now  met  his 
glance  with  sorrowful,  unflinching  gaze. 


DEAD  MEN'S  SHOES  475 

^  I  shall  never  get  it  out  of  my  mind,"  she  said  slowly. 
"  Oh  yes  you  will,"  returned  Bardolph  cheerfully,  "  if  only  you 
don't  brood  over  it  so  much." 

*^  1  have  no  wish  to  forget  it"  she  whispered,  lowering  her  eyes 
once  more. 

''The  wish  is  not  always  father  to  the  thought,"  he  replied 
reassuringly.  "  Time  will  cure  you  of  the  remembrance.  Time 
is  the  ^reat  anodyne  that  you  must  take.  It  is  the  illusion  of 
mourning  to  think  itself  immortaL  Moriendum  est  omnibus. 
Your  grief  will  die  like  everything  else  under  the  sun." 

Gwendolen  raised  her  eyes  to  his  in  mute,  pathetic  appeal. 
Would  he  never  understand  ? 

*'  Except  love  1 "  she  breathed.  Then  with  a  sudden  access  of 
strength,  she  shook  herself  free  from  his  touch,  and  faced  him 
with  flashing  eyes  and  quivering  lips.  '^Oh,  Lord  Bardolph," 
she  cried,  '4t  is  unfair  to  you  to  hide  from  you  the  change  that 
has  come  over  me." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  he  replied  soothingly.  "  Of  course  such  a 
tragedy  has  moved  you.  But  it  will  pass,  and  I  will  do  my  best  to 
make  you  happy,  my  darling." 

Gwendolen  shook  her  head.  "  It  is  of  no  use  deceiving  myself 
or  you.  We  have  both  made  a  mistake.  Oh,  why  did  you  not 
leave  me  in  my  misery  ?  " 

''  I  have  made  no  mistake,  Gwendolen.  I  love  you.  I  shall 
never  regret  that  I  have  asked  you  to  be  mine.  The  mistake 
is  yours  ;  you  are  misreading  your  own  heart.  It  is  full  of  a  vast 
pity  at  the  blighting  of  a  great  career,  and  pity  is  akin  to  love." 

The  impressive  tone  in  which  Bardolph  analysed  her  from  a 
standpoint  of  calm  confidence  had  a  momentary  effect,  which  was 
intensified  when  he  added  earnestly : 

"My  afiection  is  too  deep  to  be  disturbed  by  any  surface 
changes  on  your  part  I  have  more  trust  in  your  inmost  soul  than 
you  have  yourself.  I  have  strength  for  both.  Have  I  not  been 
content  to  wait  in  patience  ?  And  I  am  content  to  wait  in  patience 
still."^ 

Gwendolen's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  How  hard  his  chivalrous 
faith  in  her  was  making  her  painful  task. 

"Would  to  God  you  read  my  heart  aright,"  she  exclaimed,  and 
her  tremulous  accents  fell  upon  Bardolph's  ears  like  a  strain  of 
music.  "  For  there  is  no  man  to  whom  I  would  more  willingly 
trust  it^  were  it  my  own  to  give.  Dear  Bardolph,  you  have 
taught  me  the  true  nobility  of  nature  that  underlies  your 
superficial  cynicism  ;  you  have  taught  me  to  honour  and  to  look  up 
to  you.    Your  wife  should  never  have  one  thought  for  another,  one 

regret  for  the  past     And   I "  her  voice  was  choked   with 

suppressed  sobs.    The  tears  fell  freely  from  her  eyes.    She  was 
.  distractmgly  lovely. 

"You  are  an  angel,  Gwendolen  1"  he  cried.  "Do  you  think 
my  love  is  to  be  daunted  by  these  delicate  scruples?  You 
exaggerate  your  own  fears.    You  know  well  that  you  are  the  only 


476  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

woman  in  the  world  to  me."    He  took  her  hand,  and  she  let  it  rest 
in  his.    She  was  moved  beyond  expression. 

'*  My  darling  1 "  he  went  on  passionately,  thrilled  again  by  the 
touch  of  her  burning  palm,  'Mo  not  sacrifice  my  happiness  to 
a  delusion.'' 

It  wounded  her  to  the  quick  to  hear  her  affianced  husband 
plead  thus  humbly,  as  though  she  had  never  consented  to  be  his. 
His  generosity  added  an  extra  sting  to  her  self-reproach  for  all  the 
misery  her  weakness  had  wrought. 

"  You  would  not  be  happy,"  she  faltered,  "  I  should  only  make 
you  as  wretched  as  myself.  I  have  made  you  unhappy  enough  by 
my  folly.'* 

^  If  that  is  your  only  fear»  dismiss  it  It  is  only  when  I  am 
with  you  that  life  seems  wortii  the  living.  It  is  you  that  have 
called  into  being  whatever  good  qualities  you  may  now  recognise 
in  me.  Will  you  cast  me  back  into  my  dreary  scepticism  ?  No, 
no,  Gwendolen.  You  will  have  pity  on  me.  You  will  not  undo 
your  work,  or  unmake  your  promise." 

A  great  wave  of  pity  overwhelmed  Gwendolen,  overwhelmed 
the  consciousness  flashed  upon  her  in  that  terrible  moment  in  the 
hall,  overwhelmed  all  but  the  remorseful  sense  of  her  own  cruelty 
and  the  sublime  promptings  of  self-abnegation. 

"  It  is  true,"  she  breathed,  **  I  have  promised  to  be  your  wifit— 
and  I  will  do  my  duty." 

Bardolph's  eyes  glittered  with  triumph.  He  bent  down  to  take 
her  in  his  arms  ;  but  suddenly,  as  if  moved  by  an  inspiration,  he 
dropped  her  hand  instead  and  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height 

^  No,  Lady  Gwendolen,"  he  cried  in  passionate  accents. 
'*  Because  I  love  you  so  much  I  will  not  accept  the  sacrifice.  I  was 
wrong  to  press  you.  I  did  not  think  your  regret — ^your  love— was 
so  deep  as  to  make  your  marriage  only  a  sacrifice  to  duty.  Forgive 
me!  I  will  no  longer  intrude  my  presence  upon  your  grief.  Till 
you  can  tell  me  with  your  own  lips  that  it  is  no  longer  a  sacrifice, 
let  us  be  strangers." 

Gwendolen  looked  up  to  him  humbly,  with  a  grateful  admiration 
that  made  him  long  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms  and  kiss  away  her 
tears,  but  he  restrained  himself. 

"  Forgive  me  I "  she  cried  in  her  turn,  **  I  was  wrong  to  offer 
you  a  heart  without  love,  and  you  acted  nobly  in  rejecting  it  Yoor 
intuition  is  clearer  than  mine.  May  God  give  you  strength  to 
conquer  your  unhappy  love  for  me.  But  let  us  not  be  strangers, 
dear  Bardolph.  There  is  no  danger  of  our  forgetting  ourselves 
again.  We  have  sounded  the  depths.  We  know  there  can  be  no 
true  union  between  us— none  that  could  satisfy  our  better  selv^— 
except  that  of  friendship.* 

"  No,  Gwendolen,"  he  said  with  confident  tenderness.  "  L  ire 
not  trust  my  better  self.  I  should,  perhaps,  worry  you  a  lin 
by  my  importunities.  Let  us  remain  apart  tLU^-till  all  this  as 
vanished  like  a  bad  dream,  and  I  can  hope  to  make  you  lovi  ae 
a  little." 


/^ 


NON  OMNIS  MORTAR  477 

He  saw  fresh  tears  upwelling  in  her  sofUy  flashing  eyes,  and  felt 
tliat  that  time  would  not  be  long  in  coming. 

**  Perhaps  you  arc  right,"  she  said  gently,  "it  will  be  best  to  try 
neither  to  meet  nor  to  avoid  each  other.  And  should — ^should  I 
change '  she  caught  her  breath,  "  I  will  be  as  candid  as  to-day. 
Believe  me,  oh  believe  me,  I  am  no  coquette  to  play  with  your 
happiness.  No  false  shame  shall  keep  me  silent  out  oh,  do  not 
hope  too  much.  I  will  try— yes,  I  will  try  to  foiget,  for  your  saJke, 
my  dear,  dear  friend." 

A  stiange  feding  of  admiration  of  his  own  highmindedness,  and 
a  delictoits  rapture  in  the  suppliant  and  apologetic  humbleness  of 
this  beautiful  creature,  sent  the  blood  coursing  ecstatically  through 
his  veins. 

^  Whether  you  change  or  not,"  he  said,  in  tones  vibrating  with 
emotion,  "  you  will  find  me  unchsinged— ever  longing  for  your  love 
—ever  waiting  patiently.    And  so-— good-bye." 

He  put  his  hand  into  hers,  and,  abandoning  herself  to  a  sudden 
impulse  of  gratitude,  she  touched  it  softly  with  her  lips.  Stirred  by 
an  equally  irresistible  impulse  he  folded  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed 
her  on  tbe  mouth  twice.  She  made  no  resistance,  but  he  put  her 
down  inmiediately  and  hurried  from  the  room,  trembling  with  the 
conviction  that  their  love  had  been  sealed  beyond  all  severance. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HON  OMNIS  MORIAR. 

Thb  preparations  for  the  funeral  of  the  Premier,  which  was  ta 
take  place  in  Westminster  Abbey,  had  been  rapidly  pushed 
forwards,  and  all  was  in  readiness  by  the  time  the  inquest  was 
over.  The  day  broke  dull  and  wind;^,  but  about  nine  o^clock 
the  sky  cleared,  the  sun  leapt  out  in  triumphant  glory,  and 
one  of  the  loveliest  of  sunmier  days  clad  itself  in  ail  its 
bright  vesture  to  welcome  the  melancholy  but  majestic  procession 
that  was  soon  to  defile  through  the  black-draped  streets  of  the 
great  city.  For  obvious  reasons  there  had  been  no  lying-in- 
state. The  murdered  Minister  lay  in  his  magnificent  coffin  at 
his  own  official  residence  at  Downing  Street,  where  a  few  of 
his  distant  relatives  (for  his  sister's  yacht  was  at  the  other  side  of 
the  globe)  had  helped  Tremaine  in  superintending  the  last  sad 
arrangements.  The  oak  of  the  coffin  was  invisible  under  a  mass 
of  fn^^rant  flowers — wreaths  from  the  Queen  and  other  European 
sovereigns,  from  Ministers  of  every  nation,  from  the  noblest 
families,  from  every  party  of  politicians,  from  schools  and  institu- 
tions, from  the  working  men  of  England,  from  the  women  of 
England,  and  a  huge  floral  structure  from  the  whole  Irish  nation, 
with   artistic   and  emblematic  interweaving  of  sprays  of  yew 


478  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

with  roses  and  shamrocks.  Poor  Floppington,  cut  off  after  so 
short  a  time  from  the  triumphs  of  ambition  and  the  selfishlf 
unselfish  delights  of  historic  action,  what  matter  to  thee  the 
honours  heaped  over  thy  unconscious  form !  Alas  I  not  in 
life  wast  thou  surrounded  with  the  sweetness  and  loveliness  which 
encompass  thee  now.  If  thou  hadst  some  moments  of  perfect 
happiness,  how  poor,  and  mean,  and  bounded  must  thine  earlier 
life  have  been  to  thy  restless  spirit,  pluming  for  the  eagle-flight 
it  was  only  permitted  to  begin  ?  After  all,  was  it  worth  while 
to  live,  bereft  of  the  love  of  her  whose  face  haunted  thee  in  dreams 
of  the  night — z.  vision  of  angelic  purity  and  high  thought— im- 
palpable as  a  mirage,  unattainable  as  the  distant  heavens,  alter- 
nately darkening  thy  soul  with  hopeless  longing  and  stirring 
it  to  lofty  endeavour  ?  Nay,  were  there  not  moments  when, 
looking  down  the  barren  stretch  of  the  future,  it  seemed  better  to 
thee  to  die  and  be  saved  from  the  fever  and  fret  of  existence? 
Well,  wished  for  or  not,  Pallida  Mors  has  knocked  at  thy  door  to 
point  anew  the  olden  lesson  that  the  mighty  of  this  world  are 
as  shadows  on  the  stream  and  the  glories  of  their  lives  as  transient 
as  the  hues  of  a  soap-bubble. 

Outside,  in  the  sunlight  that  would  never  more  gladden  tiiose 
poor,  blind  eyes,  the  procession  was  forming.  Ever  since  early 
dawn  the  great  city  had  been  pouring  out  from  its  reeking  courts 
and  lanes,  from  streets  and  roads  and  squares,  dreary  or  pleasant, 
from  its  million  haunts  of  luxury  or  squalor,  from  the  great  termini 
of  its  railway  lines,  a  restlessly-surgmg  crowd  that  pressed  into 
every  available  nook  and  cranny  of  the  streets  along  the  route.  The 
contment  and  the  provinces,  Wales,  and  Scotland,  and,  above  all, 
Ireland,  had  sent  contingents  to  swell  the  closely- wedged  throngs^ 
over  and  above  the  official  delegates.  London,  aflame  with  the 
splendour  of  the  morning  sunlight,  alert  and  astir  with  an  eager  and 
feverish  life,  was  in  curious  contrast  with  the  darkness  and  the  calm 
that  reigned  within  the  narrow  house  of  the  poor  dead  Premier. 

And  now  the  vast  procession  set  out  on  its  slow  and  solemn  jour- 
ney— through  streets,  lined  with  human  beings  along  the  footpaths, 
swarming  with  heads  at  windows,  black  with  forms  on  roofs  and 
galleries  and  scaffoldings,  tier  upon  tier,  and  gloomy  despite  the 
sunbeams  with  vistas  of  crape ;  past  clubs  and  mansions ;  along  busy 
thoroughfares  whence  death  had  banished  their  wonted  traffic  ;  tiU 
the  great  Abbey  came  in  sight  and  the  great  river  where  the  flags 
were  lowered  on  the  myriad  masts  and  where  from  afar  boomed 
sullenly  in  the  sultry  air  the  cannon  which  the  gray  old  Tower  was 
firing  off  from  its  weather-beaten  ramparts.    It  was  an  unforgettable 
spectacle — this  funeral  pjomp,  relieved  from  vulgarity  by  the  sr 
cerity  of  the  emotions  which  found  expression  in  it,  and  by  theawt 
silence  of  the  dense  multitudes;  this  procession  which  took  an  hoi 
and  a  half  defiling  past  any  given  pomt,  with  its  magnificent  bodie 
of  troops,  its  glittering  cavalcade  of  officials,  its  hundreds  of  dept 
tations,  its  long  files  of  working  men,  its  waving  banners,  its  almo 
endless  array  of  mourning  coaches  filled  with  iJbit  iUU  of  societ 


NON  0MNI3  MOktAR  479 

The  sieady,  mournful  tramp  of  thousands  of  feet,  minglijQg  with  the 
w^ail  of  the  music  and  the  tolling  of  the  bells  from  twenty  neighbour- 
ing spires,  was  indescribably  affecting.  As  the  colos£>al  car  ap- 
proached, containing  the  coffin  under  its  mountain  of  flowers,  every 
^nrhisper  was  hushed.  Amid  a  profound  silence,  every  one  that 
could  get  his  hand  to  his  hat  removed  it,  and  there  was  a  moment 
of  intense  sublimity  while  the  body  was  slowly  passing  onwards. 
But  there  were  grander  moments  when  the  corpse  reached  the 
venerable  Abbey  that  offered  it  the  inviolate  shelter  of  its  sanctuary 
and  the  companionship  of  the  noble  dead  who  had  preceded  it,  and 
the  body  of  clergymen  in  their  snowy  surplices  met  it  with  solemn, 
simultaneous  chanting ;  or  when  the  vast  congregation  audibly 
joined  in  the  Lord's  Prayer,  while  the  liberal  sunshine  streamed 
through  the  painted  glass  and  dappled  nave  and  choir  and  transept, 
or  fell  in  lines  of  gold  through  the  glazed  glories  of  the  marygold 
window  ;  or  when  the  great  organ  trembled  with  dirge-like  moaning 
or  swelled  high  in  triumphant  rapture,  till  groin  and  vault  and  pillar 
re-echoed  the  sacred  ecstasy  and  the  whole  mighty  Abbey  throbbed 
with  the  passionate  proclamation  of  immortality,  and  every  cheek 
was  wet  with  tears. 

The  service  was  almost  over — the  choir  was  singing  the  last 
hymn — when  an  incident  occurred  outside  that  attracted  little 
attention.  The  entrance  to  the  Abbey  had  been  kept  comparatively 
free  from  the  crowd  by  the  police.  All  of  a  sudden  a  man  was 
seen  struggling  through  the  press,  and  making  his  way  towards  the 
building.  Those  who  saw  his  face  never  forgot  its  ghastliness  to 
their  dying  day.  His  hat  had  fallen  off  in  the  struggle,  and  his 
scanty,  rough,  unkempt  hair  intensified  the  grim  uncouthness 
and  the  corpse-like  pallor  of  his  appearance.  For  the  rest,  he  was 
respectably  dressed,  and  he  had  a  wild  expression  which  did  not 
seem  to  be  the  result  of  ordinary  intoxication.  He  was  evidently 
labouring  under  strong  excitement  of  some  kind.  A  jovial-looking 
policeman  laid  his  hand  good-naturedly  on  his  shoulder. 

.  "It's  no  use,  my  man,"  said  the  genial  functionary.     "All  full 
inside." 

The  man  shook  the  arm  off  roughly,  and  dashed  forwards,  but 
the  policeman  caught  him  with  his  outstretched  hand.  '*Let  me 
go  I "  gasped  the  man.  "  I  must  go  in — I  must  see  him — to  beg 
his  pa^on  and  kneel  to  him — before  he  is  buried.  For  God's  sake, 
do  not  stop  me." 

"  Oh,  come  1 "  said  the  policeman  irreverently,  "  you've  had  a 
drop  too  much.    You  had  better  go  home  and  get  to  bed." 

"  Bed  I "  cried  the  man  wildly.  "  If  I  had  stopped  in  bed  when 
I  heard  it  this  moming^I  have  been  riding  all  day,  though  I  have 
been  ill — all  day  flying  to  his  corpse  on  the  wings  of  steam — and 
would  you  stop  me  now  ?    Oh,  God  forgive  you  for  your  cruelty ! " 

The  policeman  shook  his  head  pityingly.  ''You  ain't  the  sort 
of  chap  to  be  let  go  inside,"  he  soliloquised.  "  Look  'ere,"  he  said, 
^  there's  something  queer  about  you.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you've 
escaped  from  Colney  Hatch.    What's  your  name  and  address  ?'' 


48o  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

^  Ah  !  you  will  let  me  go  in  when  I  tell  you  who  I  am."  He 
bent  down  and  whispered,  '*  I  am  the  Right  Honourable  Arnold 
Floppington.*' 

The  policeman's  brain  whirled,  but  he  retained  his  hold  on  the 
man,  who  had  drawn  himself  up  in  momentary  dignity.  An  idea 
flashed  upon  him  that  made  his  breath  come  thick  and  fast,  and 
called  up  a  dim  perspective  of  wonderful  visions.  He  collected 
himself  with  an  effort,  and  peered  into  the  face  of  the  stranger. 
Trembling  with  agitation  he  tightened  his  grasp. 

*'  Come  round  the  other  way,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone ;  **  IH  let 
you  in  through  a  private  entrance." 

He  led  the  man  through  the  crowd,  retaining  composure 
enough  to  wink  meaningly  at  those  of  his  fellows  whom,  he  passed, 
and  conducted  him  quickly  into  a  deserted  back  streel 

Then  he  turned  upon  him  suddenly.  \  '•    ^x  n^-^; 

•*  Jack  Dawe/*  he  said  sternly.  I  j,  Aj  , 

The  man  shuddered  and  his  cheeks  flushed  with  crimson.  ' 

'*  He  was  mad,  after  all,  and  he's  more  like  Floppy  than  like 
his  own  picture,''  reflected  the  policeman,  with  gleaming  eyes,  and, 
slipping  the  handcuffs  on  his  wrists,  he  cried  triumphandy  : 

''Jack  Dawe,  I  arrest  you  for  the  murder  of  the  Right 
Honourable  Arnold  Floppington." 

The  man  burst  into  hysterical  laughter  so  wild  and  ghastly  that 
his  captor  shuddered. 

*'  Yes,  yes,"  he  cried,  *'  I  read  that  this  morning.  But,  you  see, 
it's  all  a  mistake.  /  am  the  Premier,  1  tell  you.  Where  is  th« 
private  entrance  ?  I  must  go  in.  Unloose  me  at  once,  for  the  love 
ofGod." 

He  made  a  dart  in  the  direction  whence  they  had  come,  his 
handcuffs  clanking  dismally.  The  policeman  gave  instant  chase, 
and  re- captured  him  at  the  very  comer  of  the  street  where  a 
moment's  more  running  would  have  brought  them  fidl  in  view  of 
the  dense  multitude  that  seethed  around  the  Abbey  and  all  about 
the  trailing  array  of  coaches. 

With  an  imperious  hand  he  dragged  him  peremptorily  back  a 
few  yards,  and  held  him  tightly  by  the  collar.  Captor  and  prisoner 
stood  for  an  instant  glaring  at  each  other  and  panting  for  breath. 

'* You're  lucky,"  gasped  the  policeman,  ''that  1  caught  you 
before  you  had  turned  that  comer.  You'd  have  been  a  dead  man 
by  now,  very  likely." 

''  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  gasped  the  man,  evidently  sobered  by 
the  violent  treatment  he  had  received,  and  impressed  by  the 
alarmed  accents  of  his  captor. 

''Mean?  Why  you'd  have  been  torn  to  pieces,  and  all  the 
corps  in  London  couldn't  save  you.  Why,  they  think  boiling  <'\ 
ain't  good  enough  for  you  I  No,  my  man,  if  you've  got  the  lea  : 
bit  of  sense  left  in  you,  you'll  come  along  o'  me  like  a  lamb,  an  . 
take  care  not  to  let  out  who  vou  are.  We'll  get  a  growler  in  . 
minute,  if  you'll  be  quiet,  and  1^1  do  my  best  to  get  yoa  safe  inl  \ 
Newgate  without  any  riot" 


NON  OMmS  MORIAR  481 

"  Into  Newgate  ?  "  cried  the  murderer,  his  face  lighting  up  with 
horror  and  indignation.    "  I  go  into  Newgate  ! " 

**  Itfs  no  use  crying  over  spilt  milk,  my  beauty,"  said  the 
policeman  grimly,  "  you  should  have  thought  of  that  before." 

**  Good  God  1"  the  prisoner  exclaimed  hoarsely,  **tbis  is  beyond 
a  joke.  There,  do  you  hear  those  sounds  ?  The  funeral  is  over. 
He  is  buried— buried,  and  you  have  stopped  me  from  going  in. 
On  you  lies  the  responsibility.  It  is  too  late  now."  He  groaned 
aloud. 

^  Stow  that,"  said  the  policeman  impatiently,  but  not  brutally, 
for  his  heart  was  light,  and  something  sang  within  his  brain,  and 
he  was  thinking  of  his  wife  and  children.  He  had  been  dragging 
his  limp  and  helpless  victim  along,  and  they  had  reached  a 
thoroughfare  out  of  the  route  of  the  procession,  but  still  crowded 
with  loiterers. 

"  Now  then,  Jack  Dawe,  keep  a  still  tongue  if  you  value  your 
life,"  he  whispered.  He  hailed  a  cab,  and  bundled  his  prisoner 
into  it. 

''Where  to?"  asked  the  driver,  flicking  his  whip  at  the  little 
crowd  that  had  gathered  round. 

"  Downing  Street,"  cried  the  prisoner.  The  policeman  clapped 
his  hand  over  his  mouth.  "Anywhere,"  he  shouted,  in  an  agony  of 
anxiety.  "Drive  out  of  this — ^keep  clear  of  the  crowd."  The 
vehicle  started  off.  When  they  were  rolling  rapidly  along,  the 
policeman  withdrew  his  hand,  pulled  up  the  windows,  and  drew 
down  the  blinds. 

"  For  God's  sake,"  gasped  the  almost  choking  prisoner,  "  don't 
direct  him  to  Newgate.  I  could  not  bear  it !  Listen  to  me.  Am 
I  not  speaking  calmly?  I  tell  you  I  am  Floppingtoh,  yes,  the 
Premier  himself.  Look  at  me.  You  have  eyes ;  m  Heaven's  name, 
look  at  me.  I  have  not  been  murdered.  You  laugh  at  me.  Great 
God,  you  laugh  at  me  I  'Tis  thus  that  Truth  is  always  received — 
with  ridicule  and  scepticism.  I  tell  you  again  I  am  the  Prime 
Minister." 

"  Then  you're  dead  and  buried,  so  shut  up,"  said  the  policeman 
grinning.    "Why,  don't  you  see  I'm  in  mourning  for  you ?" 

He  put  his  hand  to  the  checkstring  to  summon  the  driver,  but 
something  in  the  agony  of  the  prisoner's  countenance,  down  which 
the  cold  sweat  was  trickling,  made  him  pause  a  moment  in  pity. 
The  murderer  caught  the  changed  exj)ression. 

"  In  the  name  of  your  wife  and  children,"  he  entreated,  "  1  beg 
and  pray  you  to  believe  me.     I  have  not  been  murdered." 

'*  I  can  see  that,"  muttered  the  policeman,  beginning  to  smile 
alresh. 

"  Do  not  mock  at  me.  I  am  Mr.  Floppington—Mr.  Flopping- 
ton,  do  you  understand  ?  I  am  alive.  It  was  Jack  Dawe  that  was 
murdered,  not  I.  Oh !  my  God,  not  I.  Do  you  suppose  if  I  had 
been  Jack  Dawe  I  should  have  come  to  the  funeral?  Drive  to 
Downing  Street  at  once.  I  must  see  Tremaine—Tremaine,  my 
secretary.    He  will  soon  tell  you  the  mistake  you  are  making." 

2  I 


4S3  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

"Well,  this  is  a  rum  start/*  soliloquised  his  captor  uneasily. 
**  He  will  reward  you  for  your  kindness — Trcmaine.     I  honour 

Smr  obedience  to  duty,  but  it  is  all  a  mistake ;  I  know  there  is  a 
rge  reward  offered  for  Jack  Dawe — I  saw  it  in  the  train ;  but  you 
shall  not  suffer.  I  am  the  Premier.  I  will  see  that  your  zeal  is 
rewarded.    I  pledge  you  my  word.* 

The  policeman  shook  his  head  compassionately.  **  The  nearest 
police-station  I    Full  speed !  *  he  cried  to  the  Jehu. 

'^  Right !  *  The  driver  whipped  up  his  horse,  and  the  cab  rattled 
along  with  extra  rapidity. 

The  murderer  had  sunk  back  on  his  seat,  and  was  staring  at 
his  vis-d-vis  in  stony  resignation.  "  Policeman/'  he  said  in  cold, 
proud  accents,  "I  will  no  longer  deign  to  beg.  If  you  are 
determined  to  subject  me  to  this  further  indignity  I  can  do  nothing 
but  submit.  But  when  it  is  known — ^as  within  half-an-hour  it  wiU 
be  known — ^that  you  have  brought  the  head  of  Her  Majesty's 

Government  to  a  police-court  in  manacles ^    He  relapsed  into 

gloomy  silence  which  was  unbroken  for  some  minutes. 

^  Look  here/'  cried  the  policeman  suddenly,  '*  what  is  it  you 
want  me  to  do  ?    It's  no  use  asking  me  to  let  you  go,  you  know  ?" 

^  My  demands  are  of  the  simplest.  Drive  to  Downing  Street 
Let  Mr.  Tremaine  know  I  wish  to  see  him.  Bring  him  down  to 
me — ^and  you  will  discover  your  mistake  in  a  moment." 

"Well,  there's  no  harm  in  that,"  grumbled  the  policeman.  "I 
dare  say  Mr.  Tremaine  will  be  glad  enough  to  see  you.  But  I  warn 
you  the  longer  you  are  in  getting  safely  within  strong  stone  walls, 
the  more  risks  you  run  and  I  with  you.  But  I  don't  mind  doln'  it 
if  it'll  ease  your  mind,  on  condition  that  you  keep  dumb  when  there's 
any  stranger  to  hear  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  prisoner,  much  affected  *^  You  are  a 
good  and  noble  man.  It  is  thus  that  Truth  makes  its  way  even 
through  the  mists  of  prejudice.'* 

"  Not  the  police-station  I "  cried  the  policeman,  "  Downii^ 
Street"  The  cabby  growled  an  inaudible  reply,  and  lashed  his 
horse  savagely. 

"  I  suppose  I've  made  a  fool  of  myself,**  the  policeman  grumbled 
as  he  seated  himself  anew.  For  some  moments  the  two  sat  silent, 
jolted  and  bumped  by  the  comfortless  vehicle,  and  dazed  by  its 
rattle  and  din.  Both  were  rapt  from  the  land  of  reality  and 
absorbed  in  dreams,  and  the  prisoner's  visions  were  not  the 
pleasanter  of  the  two.  Ever  and  anon  his  lips  moved,  and  his 
mobile  face  flashed  and  darkened  with  emotion. 

"  Well,  Jack  Dawe,"  said  the  policeman,  starting  up  and  peeping 
under  a  raised  comer  of  the  blind,  "  in  another  few  minutes  ^ou 
will  have  an  interview  with  your  secretary  ;  and  when  he  as 
assured  you  that  you  are  dead  and  buried,  perhaps  you  will  t)e 
satisfied." 

"  My  secretary  ! "  cried  the  prisoner.  "  Are  you  driving  to 
Downing  Street  ?  " 

^  Well,  that's  good ! "  the  policeman  burst  out  with  a  laugh. 


NON  OMNtS  MORIAR  483 

••  Was  it  to  Downing  Street  I  told  you  to  drive  ?  No,  no  ;  I  ^d 
not  mean  Downing  Street  Tremaine  knows  nodiing.  He  knows 
no  more  than  you.  He  will  laugh  at  me,  like  you,  and  refuse  to 
believe  me.  How  can  I  explain  ?  How  can  I  make  him  under- 
stand ?  Perhaps  they  will  think  I  am  mad.  My  God  1  No,  you 
must  drive  to  Lady  Harle/s,  in  Piccadilly.  She  will  undeceive 
you.  Take  me  to  her.  She  will  not  refuse  to  see  me  for  this 
once — the  only  person  in  the  world  who  knows.  Trust  me  a  little 
lon^r.     Drive  to  Harley  House." 

The  wretched  man's  hands  shook  with  emotion.  His  handcuffs 
clanked  in  mournful  cadence. 

'*  It  strikes  me  you're  making  a  fool  of  me,"  said  the  policeman 
sternly.  "A  nice  thing,  to  go  and  frighten  Lady  Harley  with  the 
sight  of  a  object  like  you." 

'*  I  shall  not  frighten  her.  I  tell  you  she  will  not  be  surprised 
to  see  me" 

*•  I  dare  say  not,  but  I've  only  your  word  for  it  Her  ladyship 
won't  thank  me  for  bringing  the  scum  of  the  earth  to  see  her,  and 
upsetting  her  in  return  for  all  her  kindness  to  my  little  Poll  Whv, 
she  came  every  day  for  a  fortnight  to  nuss  that  gall,  and  now  she  s 
sent  her  to  the  seaside,  with  heaps  of  others." 

**  God  bless  her!"  cried  the  murderer,  his  eyes  filling  with  tears. 
*  She's  an  angeL* 

'*  Piccadilly,  Harley  House— quicker ! "  shouted  the  policeman 
desperately.  "  Slowed  if  this  ain't  the  rummest  go  I  ever  heard  of." 
A  vague  alarm  was  beginning  to  fill  his  breast.  The  man  was  not 
Floppington,  that  was  unquestionable.  But  what  if  he  were  nnt 
Jack  Dawe  after  all  ?  The  thought  was  too  horrible  to  contemplate. 
It  must  be  put  to  the  test  at  once.  Had  his  fare  been  other  than 
one  of  the  force  in  chaige  of  a  prisoner,  the  driver  would  have 
suspected  his  sanit)r.  As  it  was,  he  merelv  rapped  out  an  oath, 
and  whipped  his  animal  to  an  increased  velocity.  A  few  minutes 
more,  land  the  vehicle  came  to  a  standstill  behind  a  carriage 
which  stood  in  front  of  the  house.  The  policeman  jumped 
out  at  the  door,  and  called  to  the  driver  to  dismount  and  keep 
guard  for  a  moment.  He  had  caught  sight  of  Lady  Harley,  just 
about  to  pass  through  the  open  door  of  the  mansion.  He  dashed 
up  the  steps.    "  Lady  Harley ! "  he  said  breathlessly. 

Gwendolen  turned  her  head,  and  through  the  thick  black  veil  he 
could  see  the  traces  of  tears.  His  own  eyes  filled  with  sympathetic 
moisture. 

*^  Ah,  Parker  !"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  gracious  smile.    Then 
her  face  grew  anxious.    "  I  hope  there's  no  bad  news  from  Polly  ?" 
'*  No,  thank  God,  your  ladyship  ;  it's  not  that" 
**  Well,  what  can  I  do  for  you,  then  ?  " 

He  glanced  round  uneasily.  *'  Might  I  have  a  word  with  you 
in  private  ?" 

"  Certainly,  Parker.    Come  inside." 

'^  Oh,  your  ladyship,"  he  faltered^  ^  I  dare  not  leave  that  cab» 
It's  only  two  words  I  have  to  say." 


484  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

"Brown,  Saunders,"  said  Gwendolen,  "you  need  not  wait* 
The  domestics  retired  in  disgust.  Gwendolen  stepf>ed  into  the 
hall,  and  Parker  followed  her,  darting  furtive  glances  in  the 
direction  of  the  vehicle. 

"Well,  to  put  it  in  a  nutshell,  in  that  cab  I've  ^ot — Jack 
Dawc  I '' 

Gwendolen  turned  white.  Her  eyes  flashed  with  excitement, 
and  she  glanced  towards  the  vehicle.  Somehow  she  could  not  fed 
very  exultant.  Since  she  had  read  the  summing-up,  her  eager 
desire  for  revenge  had  died  away.  She  had  begun  to  feel  that  life 
was  a  hopeless  jimible,  and  that  fate  was  stronger  than  volition. 
"  Poor  creature  1"  she  murmured  involuntarily.  **  Miserable  sport 
of  destiny !  ** 

"Well,"  she  said  aloud,  "and  why  have  you  brought  him 
to  me  ? " 

^'  Because  he  begged  of  me  so  to  bring  him  here  before  taking 
him  to  prison,  that  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  refuse." 

"  To  bring  him  here  ? "  repeated  Gwendolen,  her  heart  beating 
quickly  under  the  thought  of  coming  revelations,  possible  solutions 
to  the  terrible  enigmas  that  had  been  harassing  her  night  and  day. 
"  Did  he  say  why?" 

**  Well,  you  see,  he*s  madder  than  the  coroner  thought.  He's 
been  trying  to  persuade  me  that  he  is  Mr.  Floppington,  that  he 
never  was  murdered  at  all,  that  it  was  Jack  Dawe  that  was  murdered 
and  a  lot  of  stuff  like  that'* 

"  Well  ? "  Gwendolen  was  trembling  as  with  ague.  She  caught 
hold  of  the  door  to  support  herself.  ) 

**  And  he  insisted  that  your  ladyship  could  prove  it — that  you 
knew  he  wasn't  dead.  My  God,  I  have  killed  her."  The  faithful 
policeman  caught  her  in  his  arms  as  she  swayed  forward. 

But  it  was  not  the  policeman's  words  that  had  wrought  this 
effect — it  was  a  ghastly  face,  that  suddenly  appeared  behind  the 
glass  of  the  vehicle  on  which  her  eyes  had  been  fixed. 

**  No,  it  is  nothing,  Parker,"  said  Gwendolen,  recovering  herself 
with  a  piteous  smile.  She  looked  again  towards  the  window  of  the 
cab.  The  face  had  vanished.  "  Your  words  conjured  up  a  vision 
to  my  heated  fancy,  and  for  a  moment  I  thought  it  was  real.  Go 
on." 

"  That's  all,  your  ladyship.  I  knew  the  scoundrel  would  frighten 
you."  He  clenched  his  fist.  "  But  I'll  say  this  for  him,  i?s  no 
wondei  he  drove  himself  mad,  for  when  you  look  at  him  close,  he's 
really  like  poor  Mr.  Floppington,  though  I  shouldn't  advise  your 
ladyship  to  look  at  him.  He's  got  a  look  on  him  that  'ud  frighten 
a  delicate  person  out  of  their  wits." 

Gwendolen's  tremblings  had  recommenced.  Her  whole  fra  e 
was  agitated.  Her  lips  twitched  nervously  and  her  eyes  sh^  e 
with  unhealthy  light. 

"  I  am  not  afraid.  I  will  see  him  if  he  desires  it  There  <  n 
be  no  danger." 

"No,  except  he  may  frighten  you,"  admitted  the.policem   u 


ffON  OMms  MORlAlt  4«S 

^  He's  handcufTed,  and  it's  a  tight  fit  toa   Not  that  any  one  would 
wish  to  harm  a  angd !" 

Gwendolen  made  an  immense  effort  of  wilL    She  ceased  to 
tremble.     Her  voice  was  almost  calm. 

^  Does  any  one  know  of  your  capture  ?" 

"  No,  your  ladyship,  I " 

**  Very  welL     Don't  say  anything  till  I  have  spoken  to  him.     I 
shall  be  in  here — alone."    She  opened  a  door  on  the  right  of  the 
hall.     ^*  You  will  send  him  in  and  wait  outside.     Perhaps  he  may 
really  have  something  to  tell  me.   You  will  do  this  for  me,  1  know." 
She  gave  him  a  pathetic  smile,  and.  without  allowing  him  time  to 
reply,  entered  the  room  indicated.    A  moment  afterwards  the  bare- 
headed prisoner,  with  a  strange  flush  of  excitement  lighting  up  his 
wan  features,  knocked  at  the  half-opened  door  with  his  forcibly- 
linked  hands,  and,  receiving  an  invitation  to  enter,  he  walked  softly 
forwards  with  bowed,  contrite  head,  and  trembling  in  all  his  limbs. 
For  half-an-hour  the  policeman  walked  up  and  down  in  intense 
excitement,  ready  to  dart  in  at  the  slightest  cry  of  alarm,  ruthlessly 
repressing  the  curiosity  of  the  impatient  cabby,  but  his  own  heart 
a  prey  to  a  very  fever  of  anxietv.     Now  and  then  he  saw  a  lootman 
or  a  housemaid  come  into  the  hall  and  look  about,  but  at  the  mute 
rebuke  of  his  stem  glance  they  walked  away  uneasily.    Up  and 
down,  to  and  fro  he  paced,  chafing.    What  did  it  all  mean  ?    Had 
he  not,  then,  made  himself  a  name  in  history  by  effecting  the  capture 
of  the  assassin  for  whom  England  had  been  scoured  in  vain  ?    But 
if  it  was  not  Jack  Dawe,  who  in  Heaven's  name  was  it  ?    The 
suspense  almost  drove  him  mad.    At  last,  the  door  of  the  room 
opened  and  Gwendolen  appeared  on  the  threshold.    There  was  a 
new  and  indescribable  expression  in  her  face — z,  strange  blending 
of  wonder  and  pity,  and  ecstasy  and  bewilderment. 

''  Parker,"  she  said,  with  her  beautiful  smile,  "  will  you  trust  me 
with  the  key  of  your  handcuffs  ?  And  will  you  take  this  message 
to  Mr.  Tremaine,  at  No.  lo,  Downing  Street,  and  bring  him 
back  immediately  in  your  cab  ?  And  I  know  1  can  rely  upon  your 
discretion  to  breathe  not  a  word  till  I  give  you  leave." 

Parker  groaned.  His  bright  visions  paled  and  vanished.  He 
pulled  out  the  key  like  a  man  in  a  dream,  and  jumped  into  the  cab. 
It  mattered  little  now  what  was  the  meaning  of  all  this  incoherent 
nightmare.  Yet  there  was  one  delicious  episode  in  it  which  made 
it  impossible  to  him  to  regret  his  strange  adventure.  In  some 
mysterious  way  or  other  he  was  helping  Lady  Harley.  Not  for 
worlds  would  he  infringe  her  slightest  command.  As  the  cab 
iolted  along,  its  whirr  shaped  itself  into  the  prattling  of  Polly.  The 
poor  policeman  held  her  wasted  hand,  and  looked  into  her  large 
brown  eyes. 


\ 


4M  THE  Pk^MtEk  AttD  THE  PAINTER 


CHAPTER  VIL 

A  SLEEPLESS  CITT. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  day  after  the  foneral,  and  the  Hoase 
of  Commons  was  again  crowded  from  roof  to  floor.  Not  an  inch 
of  space  was  to  be  had  in  or  under  any  of  the  galleries.  The  dis- 
tinguished strangers  who  had  come  over  to  assist  at  tiie  state 
ceremonial  were  with  difficulty  acconunodated.  The  Heir  Apparent 
occupied  his  usual  place  over  the  dock,  and  his  sons  sat  on  either 
side,  looking  curiously  down  on  the  sombre  scene  with  the 
penetrating  glance  of  the  literary  artist 

It  was  curiosity  that  was  responsible  for  the  great  gathering. 
**  What  will  the  Ministry  do  ?  "  was  the  question  canvass^  at  every 
dinner-table,  after  the  great  topics  of  the  inquest  and  the  ftineralhad 
been  drained  to  the  dregs.  In  the  smoking-room  at  Uie  National 
or  at  the  Reform,  the  talk  savoured  of  discontent  with  their  old 
apathy.  A  spirit  of  opposition  was  creeping  upu  It  was  axgaed 
that  the  Liberals  had  committed  themselves  to  very  little  on  the 
Separation  Question.  A  few  of  their  prominent  members  had, 
indeed,  while  reserving  their  opinion  till  Floppington's  measure 
was  before  them,  not  cared  to  disavow  their  sympathy  with  the 
proposed  reforms  in  the  abstract.  Had  the  Bill  been  permitted  to 
advance  to  a  later  stage,  it  was  even  possible  that  they  might  have 
been  definitely  entangled  in  the  bonds  of  acquiescence ;  but  as 
it  wasy  they  were  at  perfect  liberty  to  unite  with  that  section 
of  extreme  Radicals  under  Screwnail  which  had  from  the  fint 
refused  to  lend  itself  to  such  revolutionary  measures  as  the 
administrative  disjuncture  of  England  and  Ireland,  without  the 
proviso  of  a  physical  tunnel  of  connection.  It  was  chiefly  the 
very  old  and  the  very  young  members  of  the  party  who  were 
uneasy.  The  former  grumbled,  the  latter  chafed  at  their  political 
annihilation.  Both  felt  that  the  deceased  Premier  had  been 
an  incubus  that  had  prevented  them  from  breathing  freely. 

The  astute  Screwnail  had  perceived  his  opportunity.  He  had 
that  ver^  day  called  a  meeting  d  huts  clos^  in  one  of  the  Committee 
Rooms,  inviting  every  section  of  Liberalism  to  a  purdy  friendly  (Us- 
cussion  of  the  situation.  There  had  been  a  large  attendance,  and 
it  was  whispered  that  a  programme  of  common  opposition  had  been 
drawn  up  with  a  view  to  precipitate  the  dissolution.  At  the  Carlton 
the  talk  was  depressed  and  anxious.  Apart  from  the  personal 
gloom  into  which  the  loss  of  their  leader  had  plunged  them,  die 
members  seemed  to  be  weighed  down  by  the  intuition  of  t  le 
cominff  defeat  of  the  party.  Although  the  Conservatives  were,  jr 
the  adhesion  of  the  Parnellites,  stronger  in  numbers  than  ever  U 
was  felt,  and  tacitly  admitted,  diat  their  fortunes  were  almost  at  is 
low  an  ebb  as  they  had  been  in  the  period  immediately  following 
the  Qrst  reading  of  the  Reform  BiH    Floppington,  by  an  unex* 


A  SLEEPLESS  CITY  487 

pected  development  of  volitional  power,  had  galvanised  a  moribund 
party.  The  magnetism  of  his  imperious  personality  had  subdued 
the  Opposition  to  infantile  impotence.  But  now  the  spell  was 
broken.  Like  the  mesmerised  corpse  in  Foe's  weird  story,  it 
would  crumble  into  dust  as  soon  as  the  will  of  the  operator  was 
removed.  There  was  no  master-mind  to  take  his  place  ;  no  great 
Parliamentary  leader,  with  or  without  insight,  to  breathe  life  into 
its  failing  members.  Mountchapel,  had  he  remained  on  the  Minis- 
terial benches,  had  he  even  done  anything  less  than  endeavour 
to  incite  the  Ulsterites  to  rebellion,  would  have  been  invaluable  at 
this  juncture.     He  would  have  reigned  without  a  rival. 

But  Mountchapel  had  become  a  party  to  himself,  doingthat  which 
was  right  in  his  own  eyes.  He  had  not  been  able  to  foresee  the 
early  disappearance  of  Floppington.  He  could  predict  the  fate  of 
nations,  but  that  of  individuals  was  beyond  his  ken.  Moreover,  he 
had  staked  bis  all,  as  has  already  been  explained,  on  the  reaction 
against  Home  Rule.  That  reaction  was  at  hand ;  but,  lo  and 
behold  1  by  an  unfortunate  conjunction  of  events,  here  was 
Screwnail  wresting  the  agitation  out  of  his  leadership  that  very 
day,  and  by  all  accounts,  already  at  the  head  of  a  large  force  of 
adherents.  Bardolph,  in  his  character  of  Fourth  Party,  had  not 
attended  the  meeting.  The  announcement  of  it  had  blanched  his 
cheek,  and  when  he  heard  its  rumoured  results  a  deadly  sickness 
overcame  him,  as  he  realised  that  his  political  career  was  all  but 
crushed  for  ever. 

The  course  of  events  seems  often  enough  erratic  and  arbitrary, 
but  occasionally  the  philosophic  historian  is  able  to  trace  the 
unerring  action  of  some  guiding  finger ;  perhaps  no  stronger 
instance  of  this  exists  in  our  national  history  than  the  career 
of  MountchapeL  The  great  opportunist  appears  never  to  have 
made  a  move  on  the  Parliamentary  chess-board  that  did  not 
promise  victory,  speedy  or  remote ;  yet  Fate  always  had  some 
subtle  and  unforeseen  reply  which  upset  all  his  strategic  calcula- 
tions. It  almost  seemed  as  if,  had  there  been  only  a  single  pawn 
left  to  the  enemy,  he  would  have  been  mated  with  that. 

He  sat  now  m  his  new  place  below  the  gangway,  gnawing  his 
moustache  savagely  and  glaring  at  the  impassive  Screwnail,  and, 
despite  his  mercurial  disposition,  unable  to  rally  from  the  shock. 
Only  the  consciousness  of  Gwendolen's  love  sustained  him  at  this 
crisis  and  saved  him  from  utter  collapse.  Not  the  least  part  of  the 
curiosity  of  the  vast  audience  hovered  about  the  attitude  of  the 
Fourth  Party.  A  ruthless  and  scathing  speech  was  expected  from 
it,  and  its  moustache  was  the  focus  of  a  thousand  eyes. 

Ministers  looked  worn  and  haggard.  Anxious  consultations 
had  taken  place  amon^  them.  They  endeavoured  to  disguise 
from  themselves  the  feelmg  that  it  was  only  the  superhuman  energy 
of  their  late  chief  that  would  have  enabled  them  to  pass  the  Biu 
at  all,  and  that  Floppington,  and  he  alone,  would  have  dazzled 
the  country  into  accepting  its  principle ;  but  the  resolution  they 
finally  arrived  at  was  based  upon  that  unspoken  coavictiou.    The 


488  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

perspective  was  the  more  deplorable  from  the  feverish  visions  of 
olessedness  which  it  had  displaced.  They  had  sailed  the  seas  of 
office  six  months.  At  first  the  weather  had  been  rough ;  but  soon 
their  bark  had  righted  itself,  and  everything  promised  a  glorious 
voyage.  There  would  be  a  disembarkation  in  the  autumn  (when 
a  general  election  was  due),  but  immediately  afterwards  they 
would  resume  their  triumphant  progress.  It  was  very  hard.  The 
Liberals  had  ruled  the  waves  for  all  the  septennium  except  those 
meagre  six  months,  and  now  the  poor  Conservatives  were  con- 
demned to  see  their  admiral  fall  and  all  their  hopes  perish  with  him. 

To  the  eager  assembly  it  seemed  an  age  before  the  Chancellor 
of  the  Exchequer  rose  to  make  the  Ministerial  statement  But  at 
length  the  usual  preliminaries  were  got  through,  the  last  question 
was  answered,  and  amid  breathless  silence  the  statesman  who  had 
succeeded  Sir  Stanley  Southleigh  rose  to  address  the  House,  and 
every  face  turned  to  his.  The  House  at  this  moment  presented  a 
thrilling  but,  withal,  a  gloomy  spectacle.  The  scene  was  very 
different  from  that  of  a  few  nights  ago,  when  the  great  Minister 
had  unfolded  the  details  of  his  Irish  measure.  Then,  all  was 
pleasurable  exhilaration  and  excitement.  The  galleries  were  gay 
with  bright  colours  and  sparkled  with  jewels,  and  buttonholes  and 
corsages  were  adorned  with  flowers.  Now,  monotonous  rows  of 
black  fatigued  the  aching  vision.  Gloom  sat  upon  every  counte- 
nance.   The  whole  scene  was  sombre  to  the  last  degree. 

The  Chancellor  commenced  by  some  remarks  on  the  funeral  of 
the  day  before.  He  spoke  elocjuently  of  the  admirable  behaviour 
of  the  multitude,  and  the  sublime  effect  of  the  ceremony  on  the 
heart  of  the  nation.  Touching  next  on  the  other  political  aspects 
of  the  ceremony,  he  spoke  of  the  sympathy  of  the  Continent  as 
manifested  by  the  sending  of  representatives.  It  was  a  consolation 
in  their  suffering  to  see  that  the  hostile  tone  of  a  part  of  the 
English  Press  during  the  recent  Bobo  difficulty  had  not  disturbed 
the  good  feeling  of  Germany.  After  a  brief  reference  to  the  great 
assembly,  which  had  met  that  morning  at  the  Mansion  House 
to  determine  on  the  form  of  the  national  commemoration  of  the 
late  Premier;  he  proceeded  in  a  voice  broken  with  emotion  to 
explain  that,  owing  to  the  unsettling  of  the  public  mind  by  the 
tragedy  deplored  by  the  world,  and  also  in  view  of  the  lateness 
of  the  season,  it  had  been  thought  advisable  to  shelve  the  Separation 
Bill  for  that  session  (Irish  groans),  and  the  question  would  thus 
l)e  left  for  the  consideration  of  an  entirely  new  Parliament 
Following  the  only  precedent — ^happily  only  one  existed— the 
Ministrv  would  have  resigned ;  but,  as  a  dissolution  was  already 
at  hand,  they  had  resolved  to  remain  in  office,  and  to  wind  '  > 
the  affairs  of  the  session  as  rapidly  as  possible,  so  that  membc  s 
might  recruit  themselves  for  the  arduous  period  of  the  genei  I 
election. 

The  right  honourable  gentleman  resumed  his  seat  amid  i 
feeble  rumble  of  hear,  heirs.  The  programme  was  exactly  wh;  \ 
everybody  had  expected.    The  audience  breathed  deeply  after 


A  SLEEPLESS  CITY  489 

the  efTort  of  attention.  There  was  an  instant's  pause  before  the 
buzz  of  conversation  would  break  out  The  Speaker  looked  roui.d. 
None  of  the  members  had  risen  immediately.  At  this  moment  he 
felt  a  Presence  passing  behind  him,  he  saw  a  fearful  change  come 
over  the  faces  about  him,  and  a  second  afterwards  something 
caugkt  his  eye  that  caused  it  to  dilate  with  superstitious  horror. 
In  another  instant  the  electric  thrill  had  travelled  to  the  furthest 
extremities  of  the  Chamber.  An  awful  and  mysterious  shudder 
traversed  the  House.  Men  grasped  each  other  convulsively. 
Some  of  the  ladies  in  the  foremost  row  fainted.  For  one  terrible 
and  unforgettable  moment,  an  awestruck  silence  reigned — dead, 
unearthly  silence,  in  which  the  universal  heart  had  ceased  to  beat. 
There,  just  emerged  from  behind  the  Speaker's  chair,  stood  the 
murdered  Premier,  ghastly  in  death,  his  cheek  pale  with  the  sickly 
hue  of  the  grave.  Every  brain  throbbed  with  tumultuous  thought. 
£very  eye  was  glazed  and  fascinated  by  the  weird  and  unholy 
sight,  as,  bowing  to  the  Speaker,  the  Minister  seated  himself  upon 
the  Treasury  Bench,  addressing  a  smile.of  infinite  sadness  to  his 
colleagues,  who  fell  away  from  before  his  advancing  form. 

The  next  instant  a  cry  burst  from  a  thousand  throats,  mingled 
with  shrill  shrieks  from  above.    The  House  started  to  its  feet  as 
one  man.    A  scene  of  wild  and  indescribable  confusion  arose. 
The  Sergeant-at-Arms  rushed  forward,  followed  by  his  men.    The 
Speaker  in  his  flowing  robes  darted  from  his  chair,  to  find  himself 
inextricably  wedged  amid  a  solid  block  of  members  who  fought 
their  way  steadily  to  the  Treasury  Bench  ;  and  from  all  parts 
of  the  House  members  were  bounding  frantically  over  the  seats, 
and   struggling  in  the  same  direction.    The  immense  physical 
strength  of  the  member  for  Queeropolis  (who  had  an  awful  fore- 
boding that  it  was  a  real  apparition,  and  that  his  influence  with  the 
masses  would  be  gone)  stood  him  in  good  stead,  and  those  who 
had  prudently  followed  in  his  wake  were  among   the  first  to 
ascertain  that  the  form  was  solid  flesh  and  blood.    In  the  galleries 
the  excitement  was,  if  possible,  more  intense  from  the  difficulty 
of  getting  to  the  spot    The  Prince  of  Wales  was  hanging  over 
the   balcony,  just   saved  from  falling  by  the  exertions   of  the 
young  princes.      The  reporters  had  mounted  on  one  another's 
shoulders.    The  peers  were  invading  the  ground-floor  itself    The 
foreign  diplomatists  were  shrieking  with  vivid  gestures  in  a  very 
Babel  of  languages.    The  strong-minded  ladies  stared  through  the 
bars  and  left  their  feeble  neighbours  to  themselves.    The  people 
in   the  back  rows  had  poured  out  into  the  lobbies,  and  were 
pressing  irresistibly  in  the  direction  of  the  forbidden  Chamber. 
It  seems  marvellous  that  no  serious  accident  should  have  oc- 
curred.     To  add    to    the    din    and  consternation,  the  division 
bells    had    somehow   been    set    ringing,    and    a    few   members 
who    had    slipped    out   to    write   letters    Just    before   the   end 
of  the  Chancellor's  speech,  ran  from  the  library  or  the  reading 
room,  and  combated  desperately  with  the  crowd  ;  alarmed,  and 
unable  to  divine  what  possible  division  could  have  been  called. 


490  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

A  stately  old  Tory,  who  was  almost  suffocated  and  well-nlgli 
mangled  to  a  jelly,  called  out :  *'  I  spy  strangers,"  but  his  voice 
was  drowned  in  the  roar  and  jangle  of  voices.  The  poor  Speaker 
who  was  near,  panting  for  breath,  heard  him,  and  cast  him  a 
pathetic  glance.  The  Sergeant-at-Arms  from  afar  looked  at 
the  Speaker  in  wild  appeal,  as  though  imploring  to  be  allowed 
to  put  the  House  under  arrest  He  saw  the  mace  trodden  under 
foot  and  the  sacred  sand-glass  shivered,  to  atoms,  and  he  felt  that 
the  end  of  the  world  was  come.  Meanwhile,  the  miraculous 
report  had  spread  that  it  was  really  the  Premier  come  back 
to  life  —  and  bewildered  interjections  and  interrogations  flew 
about  over  the  heads  of  the  dense  assembly.  The  throng  around 
the  Premier  shouted  it  to  distant  members,  and  these  sluieked  it 
to  the  galleries,  and  the  front  rows  passed  it  on  to  those  behind, 
and  amazement  and  incredulity  reigned  supreme.  Energetic 
reporters  Hew  into  the  streets,  and,  silent  as  the  grave,  dashed  to 
their  offices.  And  now  the  Irish  members,  fighting  shoulder 
to  shoulder,  had  at  last  arrived  at  the  Treasury  Bench  where 
the  Premier,  his  hand  shaken  violently  by  every  one  who  could 
seize  upon  it,  his  body  felt  and  handled  by  the  rest,  sat  dumb  amid 
a  storm  of  questions* 

O'Rorke  was  the  first  to  touch  the  Minister,  and  he  burst 
into  tears  of  joy.  The  exultant  clamour  of  the  Anti-Unionists 
doubled  the  hubbub  and  din.  An  instant  after,  there  was  a 
momentary  lull ;  but,  when  the  Speaker  called  for  Order,  a 
derisive  roar  broke  from  the  Pamellites,  and  there  was  confusion 
worse  confounded — a  chaos  of  inarticulate  cries  interspersed  with 
bursts  of  tremendous  cheering.  The  House  had  gone  mad 
Never  before  or  since  have  our  parliamentary  records  been  dis- 
graced by  such  a  scene.  Happily  it  is  improbable  that  a  siilftlar 
episode  will  ever  occur  again. 

At  this  juncture — it  was  only  a  few  minutes  after  the  re- 
appearance of  the  Premier — the  member  for  Queeropolis  jumped 
.upon  a  bench,  and  exerting  all  the  herculean  force  of  those  sten- 
torian lungs  which  had  done  such  service  in  great  outdoor  demon- 
strations, called  Out :  ^'  Gentlemen,  the  ladies  are  in  danger."    His 
high-pitched  tones  dominated  even  the  roar  of  the  frantic  assemb^. 
A  wild    round   of  cheering  followed.     Then   the   House   grew 
suddenly  silent     Many  of  the  members  shamefacedly  sat  down 
wherever  they  found  themselves — others  rushed  into  the  lobby 
and    aided   in   restoring   order.     The  peers  and  tLc   strangers, 
distinguished  and  undistinguished,  were  violently  repelled,  and 
hastened  back  to  their  respective  galleries  to  secure  places.    A 
third  contingent  of  members  hurried  to  the  door  of  the  ladies* 
gallery,  where  by  this  time  those  who   had  fainted  had  bee 
conveyed.     Five  minutes  afterwards  a  semblance  of  order  ha 
been  obtained.    The  Speaker,  smoothing  his  crumpled  robes,  ha 
got  into  his  chair,  the  mace  had  been  picked  up,  and  the  membei 
heaped  promiscuously — friend^  and  foeS|  political  parties  blen 


A  SLEEPLESS  CITY  49t 

into  a  delightful  medley — ^were  amid  all  their  excitement  ruefully 
conscious  of  their  shapeless  or  hopelessly  strayed  hats. 

Then  all  at  once  the  Premier  was  seen  to  rise.  A  breathless 
hush  fell  upon  the  restless  assembly,  to  be  broken  immediately 
by  a  shrill  cry  from  Sacristan  of  "  Long  live  Mr.  Floppington." 
An  almost  hysterical  roar  of  laughter  followed,  and  then  the 
whole  audience,  moved  by  a  simultaneous  impulse,  rose  to  their 
feet  and  cheered  and  cheered  till  they  were  hoarse.  Tears 
streamed  down  many  a  cheek.    The  enthusiasm  was  sublime. 

The   Premier  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  and  immediately  a 

dead  calm  prevailed  once  more.    "Sir,"  began  the  Minister  in 

low  tones  which,  however,  in  the  almost  painful  silence  could 

be   heard  in  the  farthest  corners,  "in  rising  to  move  that  the 

House   do   now  adjourn,   I    have  to   apologise  to   you  and  to 

the  House  ('  No,  no,'  in  a  vast  shout,  and  the  Irish  members  began 

to  sing,  *  For  he's  a  jolly  good  fellow,'  but  were  roared  down  by 

the  indignant  cries  of  the  expectant  audience.    Never  probably 

since  language  had  been  given  to  politicians  had  a  speech  been 

listened  to  widi  such  an  agony  of  curiosity) — I  have  to  apologise 

for  the  shock  which  I  have  given  the  House.     (Cries  of  *  No,  no  ! 

You  were  quite  right,'  and  cheers.)    Had  1  foreseen  the  intensity 

of  that  shock  I  would  not  have  chosen  that  way  of  demonstrating 

my  existence.    (Laughter,  followed  by  tremendous  and  protracted 

cheering.)     I  returned  to  life,  so  to  speak,  yesterday,  a  little 

before  my  fimeraL    (Cheers  and  laughter,  which  the  orator  did  not 

appear  to  share,  for  his  countenance  retained  a  look  of  intense 

melancholy.)    My  condition  was  known  only  to  a  few  friends, 

and  on  consultation  with  them  it  was  decided  that  to  avoid  any 

danger  of  being  suspected  of  lunacy,  and  to  spare  the  world 

the  infliction  of  another  Tichbome  trial  (laughter),  it  was  best  to 

boldly  take  my  rightful  place  in  the  abrupt  and  decisive  &shion 

you  have  witnessed.     (Cheers.     A  voice  :  *  God  bless  you,'  and 

more  cheers.)    I  did  not  think,  sir,  that  I  should  have  the  same 

effect  on  honourable  members  as  on  the  officials  of  the  House, 

who  fled  on  all  sides  at  my  approach.    (Loud  laughter.)    I  am 

sorry  to  have  disappointed  gentlemen  who  may  be  members  of 

the  Psychical  Society.    (Immense  laughter.)    1  regret  the  good 

old  law  of  metaphysics  which  makes  it  impossible  for  me  to 

doubt  my   own    existence.     ^Laughter.)     Although   it   is   open 

to  any  one  else  to  assure  me  mat  my  consciousness  is  mistaken." 

(Much  laughter.) 

The  Premier  made  a  slight  pause  The  old  smile  of  melancholy 
humour  played  about  his  mouth,  in  place  of  the  cold  and  saturnine 
sneer  alternating  with  irritating  and  mysterious  smiles,  or  with 
haughty  superiority  and  conscious  power,  which  had  of  late  been 
the  dominant  expressions  on  his  countenance.  At  instants  there 
had  even  been  visible  traces  of  weakness,  a  wavering,  uncertain 
gleam  in  the  eyes,  a  faltering  in  the  silvery  tones,  and  a  rapid 

passing  of  waves  of  emotion  ov^r  the  face  as  cheers  on  cheers  roso 


492  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

and  swelled  in  majestic  volume ;  but  now,  as  soon  as  the  fim 
sentences  were  over,  the  orator  had  got  mto  touch  with  his  audience. 
His  tones  began  to  grow  louder  and  firmer,  his  eyes  to  light  up 
with  resolution,  and  his  haggard  face  to  lose  its  marble  paleness. 
And  now,  when  the  laughter  was  dying  away,  he  drew  himself  up 
with  a  sudden  gesture  ot  confident  strength,  and  faced  the  House 
with  a  strange,  solemn  expression  which  awed  the  audience  to  rapt 
silence.  ^'  God  knows  whether  it  would  have  been  better  had  I 
indeed  been,  as  the  world  imagined,  hurled  into  eternity,  and  that  I 
were  now  lying  at  rest  under  the  slab  of  the  great  Abbey  whose 
ancient  aisles  are  sleeping  in  the  sacred  stillness  of  the  summer 
afternoon.  Perhaps  it  were  to  be  wished  that  my  life  had  not 
contradicted  the  mournful  lines  of  the  Roman  poet : 

Soles  occidere  et  redire  possaot : 
Nobis  cum  semel  occidit  brevis  lux, 
Nox  est  perpetuo  una  dormienda." 

A  shiver  ran  through  the  House  at  the  ineffable  melancholy  of 
the  Premier's  intonation.  The  resumption  of  his  habit  of  Latin 
quotation  did  not  appear  strange.  All  surprise  was  swallowed  up 
in  the  feeling  that  be  had  fallen  again  into  his  old  vein  of  stately 
eloquence,  under  the  stimulus  of  the  great  opportunity.  Parlia- 
mentary veterans  held  their  breaths  in  a  spasm  of  curiosity  and 
expectation. 

**  Perhaps  it  were  better  that  my  light  had  gone  out  for  ever.  I 
have  returned,  however,  and  my  reappearance  among  men  is  no 
miracle,  there  is  nothing  in  it  but  what  is  capable  of  the  simplest 
explanation.  But  that  explanation  I  cannot  give,  and  I  throw 
myself  on  the  indulgence  of  the  House.* 

There  was  a  moment  of  dead  silence.  The  vast  audience  looked 
blankly  at  one  another.  Then  suddenly  a  tremendous  thunder  of 
cheering  rose  from  the  Irish  members,  who,  being  dispersed  through- 
out the  House,  communicated  the  infection  to  their  neighbours,  and 
the  cheering  was  taken  up  by  the  other  parties  and  flew  to  the 
galleries,  and  was  echoed  and  re-echoed  on  all  sides,  dying  away, 
and  ever  renewed,  sinking  and  springing  up  again  till  everybody 
was  hoarse  and  black  in  the  face.  At  last  the  Premier  made  a 
gesture  and  the  sounds  subsided  and  ceased.  But,  as  the  interior 
of  the  House  grew  silent,  a  dull  and  inarticulate  murmur,  like  the 
roar  of  a  distant  ocean,  became  audible  from  without.  It  was  the 
People  in  their  tens  of  thousands  come  to  cheer  their  idolised 
Minister,  and,  as  the  perception  of  the  fact  dawned  upon  the 
audience,  enthusiasm  seized  them  anew,  and  the  din  of  the  multitude 
within  answered  the  tumult  without  As  the  Premier's  ear  caught 
the  distant  roar,  a  shade  of  sadness,  almost  of  bitterness,  ws  ; 
observed  to  pass  over  his  face ;  but,  when  order  was  at  length 
restored,  he  went  on  in  tones  quivering  with  suppressed  emotion  : 

"  From  the  bottom  of  my  heart  I  thank  the  House  for  its  loyal 
trust.  But  I  shall  not  put  its  generosity  to  the  severe  test  <rf 
unqualified  reticence.    (Cheers.) 


A  SLEEPLESS  Cl'TY  493 

'*On   one  fundamental  point,  indeed,  my  lips  are  sealed.    I 
have  taken  an  oath  never  to  divulge  what  has  led  to  my  absence 
from  my  place  in  your  midst.     (Immense  sensation.)    I  have, 
indeed,  inadvertently  revealed  the  cause  to  one  person,  but  my 
conscience  acquits  me  of  intentional  violation  of  my  oath,  and  I 
have  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  secret  will  for  ever  remain 
locked  in  her  breast.    But  this  I  am  permitted  to  tell  the  House, 
that  the  mystery  is  very  transparent  and  cannot  long  baffle  the 
trained  intellects  of  a  nation.     I  do  not  expect  that  it  will  long 
remain  undiscovered ;  though  the  world  will,  of  course,  never  know 
from  me  that  its  conjectures  are  just.     It  is  true  that  experts  have 
hitherto  been  thrown  off  the  scent    But  that  was  owing  to  the  pre- 
supposition of  my  death,  and,  when  I  have  revealed  all  I  can,  there 
will  remain  litde  that  is  not  patent    To-day,  for  the  first  time,  I 
was  enabled  to  study  all  the  evidence  that  had  been  forthcoming  at 
the  inquest  over  my  supposed  remains.     I  discovered  that  it  was 
an  inquest  not  only  over  my  destroyed  physical  organisation,  but 
over  my  shattered  moral  character.     I  thank  God  that  both  are 
equally  unharmed.    (Tremendous  cheering.)    But  there  is  another 
reputation  which  has  been  attacked — that  of  a  man  who  is,  a1as» 
dead,  who  cannot  refute  the  calumny  that  makes  his  name  loathsome 
in  the  annals  of  the  human  race,  but  whose  fame  I  will  defend  with 
my  last  breath,  whose  memory  I  will  hold  in  reverence  till  my 
dying  day,  whose  unhappy  fate  will  torture  my  soul  with  the  pangs 
of  remorse  till  my  spirit  joins  his  in  the  awful  realms  of  the  un- 
known.   I  mean  the  murdered  painter — ^Jack  Dawe.    (Immense 
sensation). 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  he  will  forgive  me ;  I  cannot  forgive 
myself,  for  being  the  cause,  though,  God  knows,  the  innocent  cause 
of  his  death.  Some  malevolent  demon  must  have  forged  that  un- 
happy resemblance  to  me  which  led  to  his  assassination  in  my  stead 
by  mercenary  wretches,  brutal  and  debased  as  the  ancient  troglodyte 

races  whom  they  are  forced  to  imi " 

The  Premier  paused  and  looked  alarmed,  and  the  House  broke 
into  half-amused  cheering,  while  a  look  of  relief  and  intelligence 
began  to  spread  over  hundreds  of  puzzled  faces.  Rapid  remarks 
and  knowing  glances  were  cast  on  all  sides,  followed  by  a  general 
stir  of  amazement  and  excitement ;  and  the  roar  of  the  myriads 
without  made  itself  heard  again  like  the  booming  of  distant  cannon. 
The  Premier  resumed :  *'  I  regret  the  more  that  my  oath  should 
necessitate  silence  because  it  precludes  me  from  paying  that  tribute 
to  his  great  qualities  which  must  now  remain  for  ever  unspoken. 
But  it  is  my  consolation  to  foresee  the  not  distant  homage  and 
admiration  of  the  world,  when  the  last  veil  of  secrecy  shall  be  rent 
asunder  by  the  impatient  hands  of  a  million  investigators.  As  for 
me.  Heaven  knows  how  willingly  and  humbly  I  would  bare  my  in- 
most soul  before  this  mighty  assembly.  But  I  would  ask  it,  as  I  would 
ask  all  that  sliall  hereafter  find  me  not  altogether  guiltless  of  the 
death  of  a  noble-minded  man,  to  remember  what  I,  too,  have  suffered 
«-^exiIcd  from  tbe  ^igbt  of  th^  d^ar  fac^s  of  my  friends,  and  from  all 


494  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

the  luxuries  of  existence  and  buried  in  a  human  hell  where  crime 
and  pain  wandered  in  lurid  darkness  and  the  undying  worm  of 
drink  gnawed  at  the  bestial  heart,  where  the  material  insdncts  of 
humanity  clogged  the  grovelling  soul,  where  religion  had  little 
power  and  the  spiritual  had  vanished  from  man." 

The  Premier's  eyes  were  filled  with  the  old  dreamy  reverie 
and  fixed  on  an  inward  vision.  The  fascinated  assembly  hung 
upon  his  lips.  There  was  an  instants  profound  silence.  Then  the 
great  orator,  with  a  wild  gesture  that  thrilled  the  House,  and  with  a 
sublime  audacity  that  only  he  could  command,  burst  forth :  *'  0 
God,  fathomless  ruler  of  the  fathomless  universe,  when  wilt  Thoa 
suffer  all  this  evil  to  vanish  as  the  morning  mist  and  bare  to  us  the 
unclouded  splendour  of  the  firmament?  We  cry,  but  is  it  not 
ourselves  that  suffer  these  abominations  ?  Is  it  not  ourselves  that 
we  arraign  at  the  bar  of  divine  justice  ?  We  cry,  and  crying  see 
our  sands  of  life  run  out  and  nothing  done.  When  from  the  long 
travail  of  centuries  a  Christlike  soul  is  bom,  it  drifts  back  into  the 
eternal  silence  whence  it  came,  defeated  by  the  world's  disbelief  in 
its  mission — or  by  its  own.  Let  every  man  who  cares  to  make  the 
world  brighter  and  better  learn  the  lesson  taught  by  the  £eiilure  of 
so  many  noble  spirits,  living  and  dead.  Not  by  debates  nor  by 
empty  words,  not  by  windy  projects  nor  by  unreahsable  visions, 
shsal  we  banish  misery  and  vice  from  the  earth.  There  are 
doctrinaires  among  us,  spirits  pure  and  lofty,  but  blinded  by  the 
light  of  their  own  ideal,  who,  in  the  pursuit  of  justice  and  happiness, 
would  defy  the  inviolable  laws  of  Nature,and  setat  noughtithe  deepest 
instincts  of  humanity.  To  these  men  and  to  all  men  whose  lives 
are  sanctified  by  the  dream  and  inspiration  of  a  Perfect  State,  I  would 
say :  Keep  your  aspiration  and  your  dream,  but  abandon  your  wild 
and  for  ever  impotent  attempt  to  cut  your  fragment  of  Time  asunder 
from  the  centuries  before  it ;  from  that  Past  which  is  linked  to  us  by 
electric  bonds,  by  the  thrill  of  ancient  heroic  deed  and  purpose,  and 
by  the  noble  treasures,  material  and  spiritual,  that  it  has  bequeathed 
to  us.  Abandon  your  attempt^  I  say,  and  do  not  suffer  the  energies 
of  unselfishness,  the  water  of  life,  to  be  spilt  and  wasted.  Abandon 
it,  and  unite  with  us  who  would  seek  our  inspiration  not  in  idealised 
prospect,  but  in  idealised  retrospect,  not  in  a  godless  Future  but  in 
a  believing  Past  1  Again  I  see  order,  subservience,  control— the 
world  knit  by  a  million  golden  bands  of  mutual  gratitude,  the 
affection  of  master  for  man,  of  man  for  master,  the  great  social 
machine  whose  motor  shall  be  lave,  weaving,  with  its  myriad 
dovetailed  complexities  of  detail,  with  its  myriad  differing  powers 
and  the  delicate  adjustment  of  its  myriad  wheels  and  pins  and 
pulleys  and  bars — one  web  of  happiness.  So  shall  be  heard  in  the 
universe  the  rich  harmony  of  varying  chords,  not  the  one  dull  no  \ 
of  the  infinite  paroquet  to  which  Xenophanes  compared  Natur  . 
I  see  Peace  on  earth  to  all  men  of  goodwill  that  once  more  listtii 
to  the  message  of  the  Church  bells,  and  of  the  grassy  sim-lit  graves 
of  their  forefathers.  I  see  a  world,  wherein  Art  is  again  the  hand- 
maid of  ReUgion,    I  see  thousands  of  peaceful  firesides  ennohM 


A  SLEEPLESS  CirV  49J 

by  Music  and  Poetry  and  Painting  ;  with  the  old  household  gods, 
and  the  wife  at  the  hearth,  emblem  of  the  purity  and  delicacy  of 
home,  pleasanter  to  see  than  the  fire  in  winter.  This  is  the  dream 
wherewith  I  would  replace  the  sombre  reality ;  this  is  the  spiritual 
and  material  blessedness  with  which  I  would  replace  the  spiritual 
and.  material  poverty  of  the  people.  This  is  the  imperishable 
aspiration  that  I  cherish ;  this  is  the  only  vision  that  is  not  a  mirage ; 
this  is  the  only  ideal  which  is  not  beyond  our  grasp." 

The  Premier  stretched  out  his  hands  as  if  to  grasp  that  ideal ; 
a  convulsive  shudder  of  emotion  agitated  his  frame.  He  resumed 
his  seat  without  another  word.  Not  till  the  solemn  tones  ceased 
to  vibrate  in  their  ears  did  the  pent-up  feeling  of  the  audience  find 
vent  in  a  delirium  of  applause,  amid  which,  a  member  catching  the 
Speaker's  suggestive  glance,  got  up  and  seconded  the  adjournment, 
which  was  carried  nem,  con.  amid  an  irrepressible  buzz  of  excite- 
ment Then  O'Gormandy  called  for  three  cheers  for  Floppington, 
which  were  given  by  the  whole  audience,  standing  and  waving  hats 
and  handkerchiefs.  Then  three  more  cheers  were  given,  and  then 
three  more,  the  members  by  this  time  mounted  on  the  seats  and 
in  a  state  of  indescribable  excitement. 

The  hurried  exit  of  the  Minister  to  escape  the  attentions  of  his 
friends  caused  the  break-up  of  the  most  memorable  scene  in  our 
Parliamentary  annals.  Floppington  made  his  way  with  difficulty 
to  the  door  of  the  ladies*  gallery,  where  he  found  Gwendolen,  pale, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  but  wonderfully  changed  and  with  almost 
the  old  brightness  now  and  then  flashing  into  her  face.  No  one 
ever  knew — not  even  herself — ^how  narrowly  she  had  saved  the 
Premier  from  mental  and  physical  collapse ;  by  what  unwearied 
exertions,  and  what  exhaustless  courage  she  had  though  almost 
prostrated  by  the  shock  herself,  soothed  his  remorse,  conquered 
his  scruples,  and  nerved  him  to  encounter  the  House.  But  what 
would  not  her  mere  presence,  her  acknowledged  love,  have  done  ? 
Audacity  had  carried  the  day,  but  the  heat  of  the  struggle  was  not 
over  yet.  The  deluge  of  criticism  was  yet  to  come.  For  the 
moment,  however,  the  difficulty  was  how  to  get  the  exhausted 
Premier  away.  The  lovers  went  out  on  the  terrace  to  think  it 
over,  and  lo,  the  river  was  thronged  with  steamers,  and  boats,  and 
barges,  all  black  with  people  gazing  eagerly  in  the  direction  of 
the  House,  and  apparently  excited  by  the  monotonous  task.  They 
hurried  down  through  passages  and  courtyards,  and  met  the  Prince 
of  Wales,  who  was  hearty  in  his  congratulations  and  who  com- 
plained that  he,  too,  couldn't  get  out.  Hardly  any  of  the  members 
had  yet  left  the  building — they  were  scribbling  letters  or  telegrams, 
or  gathered  in  animated  groups.  Lord  Bardolph  Mountchapel 
was  one  of  the  first  to  go — and  his  face  was  livid. 

It  was  impossible  to  tire  out  the  waiting  multitudes.  They  were 
determined  to  see  the  resuscitated  Premier  with  their  own  eyes, 
and  nothing  would  baulk  them  of  the  sight.  So  the  Premier  sub- 
mitted at  last,  and  was  greeted  with  a  royal  welcome,  with  a  far- 
reaching  and  crashing  and  pealing  thunder  which  was  sublime  by 


496  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

its  volume ;  and  he  said  a  few  words  while  the  toiling  millions 
pressed  to  touch  his  garment ;  and  he  was  cheered  again  and 
again  ;  and  then,  still  amid  cheers,  the  iiorses  were  taken  out,  and 
he  was  drawn  home  through  streets  whence  every  sign  of  mourning 
had  vanished ;  through  streets  echoing  with  cheers,  and  thronged  at 
door  and  roof,  and  window  and  balcony,  on  pavement,  on  vehicles 
and  stands,  gay  with  the  flutter  of  hastily-adjusted  bunting  and  the 
streaming  of  improvised  flags,  and  restless  with  the  delirious 
clangour  of  joy-bells. 

And    how  the    placards    flamed    with  "Resurrection  of  the 
Premier/'  long  looked  back  upon  with  a  voluptuous  sigh  by  editors 
as  the  Ultima  Thule  of  attractive  headings  and  the  m  plus  ultra 
of  Catchhalfpennyism  ;  and  how  the  evening  papers  reached  their 
hundredth  editions  ;  and  how  the  whole  journalistic  world,  writers, 
compositors,  and  devils,  was  almost  thrown  out  of  gear  by  an 
epidemic  of  illness  due  to  overwork;  and  how  scores  of  Star  news- 
boys retired  and  set  up  public-houses  ;  and  how  Ariel's  girdle,  flash- 
ing the  news  over  head  and  under  sea,  awoke  answering  flashes  of 
congratulation  from  nations  and  sovereigns  ;  and  how  the  financial 
world  was  agitated  by  the  immediate  rise  in  Consols  ;  and  how  the 
two  hemispheres  could  talk  of  nothing  else  for  a  week  and  two 
days  ;  and  how  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  merry  England 
and  of  merrier  Ireland  the  night  of  the  Premier's  resurrection 
resounded  with  music,  and  blazed  with  bonfires  that  flashed  their 
yellow  glare  up  to  the  golden  stars  ;  and  how  the  great  metropolis 
could  not  sleep  for  joy  and  excitement ;  and  how  soon  afterwards 
there  was  a  national  holiday ;  and  how  the  TV  Deum  was  sung  in 
St  Paul's  Cathedral— is  it  not  written  in  the  Chronicles  of  the 
AngU? 


CHAPTER  Vm. 

THE  CONCLUSION  OF  THE  WHOLE  MATTER. 

The  Premier  was  right.  So  simple  a  mystery  could  not  longbaflie 
the  trained  intellect  of  England.  The  strange,  powerful  oration  of 
the  Minister  was  made  to  yield  up  all  its  latent  secrets.  The  Press 
teemed  with  hypotheses.  Analysts  trained  in  the  school  of  Wilkie 
Collins^  amateur  Lecoqs  of  every  age,  grade,  and  occupation, 
professional  detectives,  and  omniscient  journalists — all  tried  their 
nands. 

But  with  all  their  efforts,  no  substantial  addition  was  mat 
to  the  solution  discovered  at  an  early  stage  by  **  Fair  Play"  an 
published  in  the  Times,  '^Fair  Play''  began  his  letter  by  a  pardoi 
able  display  of  exultation.  There  is  no  keener  pleasure  than  i 
hear  the  world  confess  that  it  was  not  wiser  than  any  single  ma' 
provided  that  single  man  be  oneself.    Magna  est  Veritas  et  fn 


CONCLUSION  OF  THE    WHOLE  MATTER     497 

vaUbiL     Ought  not  the  world  to  go  down  on  its  knees  to  the 
outraged  manes  of  the  martyred  painter  ? 

After  this  preliminary  skirmishing  the  distinguished  novelist 
came  to  the  point.     It  was  evident  from  the  Premier's  speech  that 
the  bookish  Minister  had  come  more  directly  into  contact  with  the 
horrible  realities  of  life,  with  crime  and  brutality  and  degraded 
manhood,  than  ever  before,  and  they  had  moved  him  to  im- 
passioned invective.     Kidnapped  by  a  gang  of  Ulsterites  (and  that 
Ulsterites  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  business  he  had  maintained 
all  along,  for  who  but  they  had  any  interest  in  his  removal  from 
the  scene  of  legislation  ?),  he  had  been  imprisoned  in  a  cave  {vide 
his  inadvertent  allusion  to  debased  troglodytes),  which  he  had  so 
graphically  and  poetically  described,  *^  a  human  hell  where  crime 
and  pain  wandered  in  lurid  darkness.**    Here  in  the  company  of 
*' mercenary  wretches  "  he  had  spent  some  days  of  incarceration, 
loathing  his  fellow  troglodytes  and  gathering  from  their  talk,  or 
guessing,  what  the  world  was  thinking  of  his  disappearance.    "  We 
must  now  turn  from  the  denizen  of  Belgravia  to  the  denizen 
of  Bethnal  Green.      Here  lived  a  man  named  Jack  Da  we  whose 
moral  charactei  presents  a  curious  mixture  of  diverse  attributes. 
But,  now  that  he  is  cleared  of  the  imputation  of  murder,  we  are 
not  concerned  with  any  deep  analysis  of  his  character.    He  played 
a  remarkable  but  still  a  subordinate  part  in  the  tragi-comedy,  and 
the  questions  of  his  exact  feelings  towards  Mr.  Flopping^ton  and 
of  his  resemblance  to  him,  however  interesting,  are  of  little  import. 
"  Dr.  Maudsley  was  probably  right  in  holding  that  he  had  been 
converted ;  but  there  has  no  doubt  been  a  good  deal  of  exaggeration 
both  of  his  fanaticism  and  of  his  antagonism  to  the  Premier. 
Though  it  was  absurd  to  believe  that  his  ardent  Protestantism  had 
had  all  the  effects  attributed  to  it,  it  might  and  probably  did  cause 
him  to  neglect  his  work,  but  hardly  to  cherish  homicidal  intentions ; 
and  as  for  the  personal  hostility,  how  deep  that  was,  was  shown  by 
the  generous  warnings  he  gave  to  his  enemy,  though  suffering,  as  he 
thought,  the  greatest  wrongs  at  his  hands.     It  was  doubtless  the 
Premieres  consciousness  of  die  painter's  nobility,  combined  with  the 
feeling  that  had  he  not  treated  him  as  a  maniac  and  scornfully 
rejected  the  man's  warning,  he  might  have  still  been  sdive,  together 
with  his  evident  knowledge  that  he  had  met  his  death  tlurough 
endeavouring  to  save  him,  that  was  responsible  for  that  emotional 
outbreak  in  the  House,  that  eulogy  of  the  man,  and  that  unconcealed 
and  bitter  remorse.    That  the  letters  were  meant  as  warnings  no 
one  now  denies.    Jack  Dawe  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  con- 
spirators, somewhere  between  Kams^ate  and  Broadstairs  (where  it 
strikes  me  they  possess  a  cave  in  which  the  Premier  was  kept,  and 
for  which  diligent  search  ought  to  be  made). 

'*  The  scuffle  to  which  Jack  Dawe's  wounded  arm  testified  was  a 
scufHe,  not  with  a  candid  triend,  but  with  some  of  the  gang.  It  is 
ahnost  certain  that  he  had  been  mistaken  for  the  Premier  and  that 
he  had  been  let  go  when  the  mistake  was  discovered.  But  first  a 
terrible  oath  of  secrecy  had  doubtless  been  exacted  from  him — 


498  THE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

similar  to  the  oath  afterwards  taken  by  the  Premier.  Something 
of  this  I  divined  from  the  first ;  though  as  the  facts  of  the  mysterious 
return  froxxi  Ramsgate  only  came  out  after  my  letter  was  in  print,  I 
could  not  connect  it  with  my  original  theory ;  and  the  apparently 
overwhelming  weight  of  evidence  on  the  other  side  temporarily 
crushed  my  conviction  of  the  man's  innocence.  The  gloomy 
reticence  of  the  painter,  as  he  hurried  back  to  London  distracted 
by  the  necessity  of  making  some  effort  to  save  the  Minister  without 
violating  his  oath  (which  would  be  so  binding  to  a  recent  convert 
to  religion),  the  brain-fever  induced  by  the  awful  scenes  he  had 
gone  through — all  find  a  perfect  explanation  from  this  view.  How 
puerile  ana  forced  now  appear  the  motives  formerly  assigned  for 
his  obstinate  silence  on  the  homeward  route  and  his  failure  to 
reproach  Miss  Bathbrill.  There  is  no  need  to  follow  the  story  in 
detail 

''  The  dullest  reader  can  now  understand  the  feverish  exclama- 
tions, the  waking,  the  agonised  inquiries,  the  despatch  of  the 
cautiously-worded  telegram  and  letters  (in  the  last  epistle  the  writer 
for  the  first  time  referring  with  infinite  pathos  and  touching  resig- 
nation to  the  Premier's  supposed  intrigue,  and  not  unjustly  demand- 
ing that  he  should  endeavour  to  free  him  from  the  presumably 
audacious  attack  of  his  discarded  betrothed,  of  whose  misconduct 
he  had  probably  read  during  his  convalescence— when  as  witnesses 
have  told  us  he  hardly  did  anything  but  read).  The  Premier 
rejected  warnings  and  suggestions  alike,  and  the  painter,  having 
done  all  he  could,  was  compelled  to  wait  the  course  of  events. 
Unfortunately  the  conspirators  had  got  to  know  of  his  attempts. 
It  was  natural  that  they  should  keep  some  watch  on  his  movements. 
In  yesterday's  Pall  Mall  Gazette^  in  the  account  of  the  interview 
with  Mrs.  Dawe  and  Sally — amid  much  irrelevant  matter,  amusing 
enough  in  its  way  though— occurs  a  proof  of  this. 

"The  emissary  no  doubt  called  at  the  Telegraph  OflSce — we 
know  how  amused  and  excited  the  clerks  were  about  the  extra- 
ordinary telegram — and  by  keeping  his  ears  open  learnt  enough  to 
make  him  suspect  they  were  being  betrayed.  They  determined  to 
take  their  revenge.  And  now  mark  the  diabolical  ingenuity 
and  audacity  of  the  conspirators'  conception.  They  had  already 
arranged  to  assassinate  the  Premier,  but  his  resemblance  to  their 
other  intended  victim,  the  painter,  led  to  the  adoption  of  a  subtler 
scheme.  To  capture  the  Premier,  to  hold  him  unharmed,  yet  to 
make  the  world  believe  he  had  been  murdered,  was  a  master-stroke 
which  would  demonstrate  their  immense  power  and  strike  terror 
into  every  heart.  The  Minister  could  be  graphically  shown  what 
awaited  him  if  he  persisted  in  carrying  his  Home  Rule  Bill ;  he 
could  be  bound  over  to  reveal  none  of  their  secrets  under  threats  (rf 
actual  assassination,  and  then,  convinced  he  was  a  mouse  in  the 
paws  of  a  cat,  he  could  be  let  go.  At  the  same  time  there  was  a 
•|;rim  and  grotesque  humour  in  the  idea  which  must  have  appealed 
irresistibly  to  the  minds  of  its  originators ;  and  when  I  reflect  on  the 
sensation  caused  by  the  death  of  a  house«painter,  the  eloquenct 


CONCLUSION  OF  THE   WHOLE  MATTER      499 

^wasted  thereon,  and  the  magnificence  of  his  obsequies,  I  for  one 
cannot  help  being  tickled,  though,  God  knows,  not  oblivious  of  the 
tragic  side  of  the  affair.  That  this  aspect  was  not  unimportant  is 
shown  by  the  ghastly  joke  of  releasing  their  captive  just  in  time  to  go 
to  his  own  funeral.  How  the  wretches  must  have  enjoyed,  too,  the 
additional  sport  of  their  poor,  dead  victim  being  hunted  all  over 
£ngland  for  his_  own  murder.  The  conception  was  a  flash  of 
genius,  and,  like  all  great  ideas,  it  was  carried  out  by  the  simplest 
means. 

"  The  modus  operandi  was  probably  as  follows :  On  the  morning 

of  the  13th  of  July  Mr.  Floppington  was  captured  on  his  way  to 

the  stables  in  Westminster.    Jack  Dawe  had  been  seized  the  day 

before.    The  Premier  was  taken  into  a  house  in  the  neighbourhood 

of  the  stables,  where  he  found  the  painter.     No  stranger  and 

weirder  rencontre  is  to  be  found  in  fiction  than  the  first  and  last 

meeting  of  these  two  men — so  like  each  other  in  form,  so  different 

in  all  else,  connected  by  such  curious  relations,  both  unconscious 

of  what  was  to  be  done  with  them,  the  one  about  to  die,  the  other 

about  to  vanish  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  With  what  remorseful 

thoughts    must   the    Premier  have  beheld    the   painter  he  had 

despised  I    With  what  blended  emotions  must  the  painter  have 

gazed  upon  the  Premier  who  had  robbed  him  of  love  and  liberty, 

if  not  of  life  I    The  two  men  were  made  to  change  clothes — an 

exchange  which,  on  my  hypothesis,  would  be  absolutely  necessary ; 

and  the  fact  that  it  did  take  place  is,  d  posteriori^  an  almost 

convincing  proof  of  the  truth  of  that  hypothesis.     For  we  know 

that  the  clothing  worn  by  the  deceased  belonged  to  the  Premier  ; 

and  it  has  just  leaked  out  that  when  Mr.  Floppington  reappeared 

on  the  scene  he  was  habited  in  the  Sunday  garments  of  the  defunct 

house-painter.    After  the  exchange,  Jack  Dawe  was  drugged  and 

then  driven  in  a  closed  conveyance  to  the  corner  of  Little  Snale 

Street    Here  he  was  taken  out  and  noiselessly  conducted  towards 

the  stable,  supported  between  two  of  the  conspirators  as  though 

he  were  drunk.    At  the  stable- door  he  was  dropped,  the  train  of 

the  explosion  was  laid,  and  the  scoundrels  took  to  their  heels.   The 

Premier's  latch-key  had,  of  course,  been  transferred  to  the  painter 

in  the  change  of  dothes,  and  the  latter  seems  to  have  •  nan  aged  to 

retain  his  own  in  addition.     I  don't  give  the  assassins  credit  for 

putting  their  victim's  latch-key  near  the  body  on  purpose,  although 

that  is  a  possible  supposition,  considering  how  thick-spun  the 

farcical  tissue  was  already.    Such,  it  seems  to  me,  is  the  only 

possible  explanation  of  the  most  sensational  incident  of  modern 

history,  and  the  wildest  inventions  of  fiction  pale  before  the  bare 

facts  (as  facts  they  must  be)  elicited  by  this  impartial  survey  of  all 

the  evidence  at  our  disposal." 

The  accuracy  of  this  solution  ma^  be  gauged  from  the  fact  that 
it  has  been  incorporated  into  Enghsh  history ;  while  the  original 
verdict  has  become  a  stock  argument  against  circumstantial 
evidence.  For  some  years,  indeed,  no  jury  dared  convict  a 
murderer.    The  stronger  the  apparent  case,  the  more  probable 


500  THE  'PREMIER  AND   THE  PAINTER 

appeared  the  existence  of  improbable  circumstances  which  wotdd 
give  an  entirely  different  complexion  to  the  facts. 

The  reaction  in  favour  of  Jack  Dawe  led  to  a  subscription  list 
being  opened  in  every  newspaper  for  the  benefit  of  his  poor  mother, 
who  was  stated  to  be  almost  penniless.  Several  thousands  were 
immediately  collected,  Lady  Harley  and  the  Premier  heading  the 
list  with  independent  contributions  of;£5oo.  The  remains  of  the 
painter  were  also  removed  from  the  Abbey  and  buried  privately  in 
the  churchyard  of  St.  John's,  where  the  monument  erected  by  the 
Premier  to  commemorate  his  virtues  may  be  seen  to  this  day. 

After  his  death  his  works  rose  immediately  in  value.  The 
famous  lion,  in  particular,  was  acquired  by  a  local  show  at  the 
price  of  twenty  pounds. 

The  setting  up  of  the  memorial  was  not  the  only  graceful  act  of 
the  Premier,  for  he  managed  to  obtain  a  deanery  and  a  sergeantsbip 
respectively  for  the  Vicar  and  policeman  who  had  been  promised  pro- 
motion by  Jack  Dawe,  and  the  world  approved  the  happy  thought 
Lady  Harley  went  down  to  soothe  Mrs.  Dawe  as  best  she  could. 
At  the  same  time  she  purchased  Sally  (for  the  old  lady  made  a 
sort  of  claim  to  the  possession  of  her,  and  utterly  bewildered  Gwen 
by  her  arguments)  and  took  charge  of  her  future.  She  was  educated 
privately,  and  she  took  to  study — Mrs.  Dawe  used  to  tell  her 
neighbours —like  a  fish  to  oil.  No  one  knew  that  her  uncon- 
querable ardour  was  due  to  the  cherished  words  of  her  dead 
master.  She  soon  displayed  remarkable  powers  of  intellect,  and 
at  last,  though  late  in  life,  she  matriculated  at  the  London 
University,  coming  fourth  in  honours,  and  was  only  disqualified 
by  age  from  taking  the  Floppington  Scholarship  for  Women.  She 
did  not  graduate,  but,  obtaming  a  situation  as  head  ^mistress,  she 
displayed  great  interest  in  philosophy,  in  which  she  was  a  staunch 
admirer  of  the  common-sense  English  school,  and  she  wrote  many 
contemptuous  articles  in  various  minor  periodicals  to  refute  the 
bastard  theology  of  Floppington.  Altogether  a  dreadfully 
materialistic  person,  shrewd  and  business-like,  but  with  a  vein  of 
tenderness  at  the  bottom.  She  never  married,  though  she  had 
many  offers,  but  for  years  used  to  go  down  on  Sundays  to 
St.  John's  Churchyard,  to  the  grave  of  Jack  Dawe,  in  which  her 
heart  lay  buried.  The  monument  and  the  grass  around  were  kept 
in  good  order  at  her  expense.  This  was  the  only  sacrifice  of 
political  economy  that  Sally  made  to  sentiment 

With  regard  to  her  former  rival,  the  Pall  Mall  interviewer,  on 
calling  upon  her,  found  her  brother  almost  disconsolate.  Eliza 
Bathbrill  had  eloped  to  America  with  a  young  Australian  on  the 
day  after  the  resurrection  of  the  Premier,  leaving  a  letter  stating 
that  her  resolution  had  been  come  to  suddenly  the  evening  before,  is 
her  lover  had  to  start  immediately  to  claim  an  inheritance  which  fell 
to  him  by  the  death  of  a  relative,  of  which  he  had  just  heard.  He^ 
John  Bathbrill,  believed  the  story  was  true,  for  the  young  nian 
had  come  in  on  that  evening  with  a  very  white  face.  His  sister 
said  in  her  letter  that  since  there  was  now  no  chance  of  getting  any 


CONCLUSION  OF  THE    WHOLE  MATTER      501 

damages  from  the  defunct  Jack  Dawe,  there  was  nothing  to  lose 
by  going  abroad.  The  honest  fellow  added  that  he  sometimes 
felt  half  glad  of  her  departure,  because  since  the  inquest  had  made 
her  generally  known,  and  her  portrait  had  been  exhibited  in  the 
shops,  he  had  had  great  difficulty  in  keeping  off  the  swells,  old  and 
young,  who  haunted  the  neighbourhood. 

As  for  the  Premier  himself,  he  was  compelled  to  acquiesce  in 
the  shelving  of  the  Home  Rule  Bill,  or  at  least  he  made  no  effort 
to  proceed  with  it  during  the  remainder  of  the  session.  Veiy  sopn 
the  light  on  the  pinnade  of  the  Clock  Tower  went  out,  and  wit^ 
it  the  star  of  Conservatisnu  The  shock  which  the  PremiiCr  had 
undergone  (if  not  indeed,  as  some  hinted,  physical  fear)  made  him 
singularly  apathetic  on  the  subject  of  Ireland  during  the  electoral 
campaign.  Indeed,  he  seemed  to  be  almost  a  shadow  of  his  late 
self.  Moreover,  after  the  first  gush  of  joy,  there  was  an  u^de^ned 
feeling  that  the  Premier  should  be  contented  with  mere,  existence. 
This  was  probably  why  many  of  his  quondam  fri<^nd^,^  such 
as  Sir  Hugh  Erlyon,  Mr.  Dagon,  and  Mr.  Aldemey ,  ^i^bitfopt, 
bad  no  scruple  in  working  against  him  when  the  crisis,  canie. 
Mr.  Dallox,  however,  who  now  denounced  him  ii>  a  j private 
letter  to  a  friend  which  only  accidentally  sa^  ,,t^  jig.^ 
through  the  recipient's  sending  it  to  the  Press,  wa^  probably 
actuated  by  a  little  rancour  against  the  Minister  for  cpminj^ 
to  life  again,  and  so  spoiling  the  already  fulfilled  predictiQi^ 
of  the  superstition  anent  thirteen  at  table.  ^ut,.,iE^l  [tti^ 
same,  the  reaction  would  have  come  ;  and,  whatever  f^i^  hite^tions 
were,  he  never  more  had  the  opportunity  of  carryiixg.  tnein  OMt 
For  Screwnail  brought  in  the  reactionary  Radicals^  an4,  Liberals 
with  an  immense  majority  after  a  somewhat  unexciting  election, 
relieved  only  by  the  amusing  inconsistency  and  foaming  incoherence 
of  Lord  Bardolph's  electoral  address  —  a  mass  of  ruthless 
vindictiveness  explicable  only  as  the  work  of  a  man  robbed 
alike  of  the  woman  he  loved  and  of  the  place  he  coveted, 
conscious  of  his  rum»  and  abandoning  himself  to  the  recklessness  of 
dc|spair.  It  ^  characterised  the  Separation  Bill  as  a  monstrous 
mixture  of  imbecility,  extravagance,  and  political  hysterics,  a 
striking  tissue  of  absurdities  such  as  the  united  and  concentrated 
genius  of  Bedlam  and  Colney  Hatch  could  not  excel,  the  work  of  a 
middle-aged  man  in  a  hurry  to  get  married,  who  based  all  his  hopes 
on  the  suffrages  of  that  giddy-headed  and  brainless  sex  which  he 
had  added  to  the  electorate.  Yes,  the  Fourth  Party  was  smashed, 
pulverised,  and  destroyed.  The  only  drop  of  joy  in  its  cup  was 
the  defeat  of  Floppington,  who  resigned  forthwith,  and  shortly  after- 
wards accepted  a  peerage  on  bis  marriage  with  Lady  Harley.  For 
some  time  he  was  great  on  philanthropy  and  the  Slums  Question. 
But  he  had  no  practical  suggestions  to  offer  beyond  the  conversion 
of  the  masses  to  their  nominal  religion.  And  gradually  his 
enthusiasm  waned,  his  magic  eloquence  flashed  out  at  intervab 
fewer  and  farther  between,  and  he  settled  down  again  into  the  study 
of  musty  Coleridgean  metaphysics. 


t6it  TtlE  PREMIER  AND  THE  PAINTER 

In  his  later  years  he  was  much  interested  in  Lotze  and  in  James 
Hinton.  He  occasionally  wrote  a  poem  which  achieved  a  su€(^ 
cPesttme^  but  he  was  painfully  aware  of  the  truth  of  the  literary 
critiques  which  had  appeared  in  the  Academy  and  Athenaum  at 
his  supposed  death.  He  had  no  originality,  and  was  always  the 
weak  echo  of  greater  minds.  His  unhappy  habit  of  reflection,  too, 
induced  too  much  self-scepticism  to  enable  him  to  attempt  any  great 
work.  But  he  and  Lady  Harley  were  happy  in  their  children;  and 
when,  in  the  course  of  years,  he  died  in  the  sure  and  certain  hope 
of  a  glorious  resurrection,  his  former  assassination  and  his  one 
short  display  of  administrative  capacity  almost  forgotten,  he  had  the 
satisfaction  of  knowing  that  his  eldest  son  was  a  power  in  the 
nation. 

A  few  years  after  his  death  there  was  a  great  storm,  followed  by 
a  fall  of  cliff  between  Broadstairs  and  Ramsgate,  and  there  was 
revealed  to  the  world  a  cavern  full  of  winding  and  intricate 
passages  leading  to  an  inner  domed  chamber,  whose  rocky  walls 
were  strangely  adorned  with  a  series  of  illustrations  depicting  a 
number  of  little  girls  bearing  a  strong  family  likeness  to  one 
another.    An  Oxford  professor,  who  happened,  strangely  enough, 
to  be  familiar  with  recent  history,  recalled  to  the  public  mind  9ie 
unique  incident  in  the  life  of  the  Elder  Floppington,  and,  for  once, 
a  new  discovery  was  seen  to  corroborate  olden  records.     And  from 
that  time  to  this  no  one  has  ever  doubted  the  traditional  version  of 
the  great  events,  the  narration  of  which  has  engaged  the  pens  of 
our  most  illustrious  historians  and  biographers,  and  which  the 
present   writer,    trembling    a    little    at   bis   own    audacity,   has 
endeavoured  to  recount  afresh. 


THE  END 


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