CHAPTER XXII
Sir Roger Is Unseated
After this, little occurred at Greshamsbury, or among Greshamsburypeople, which it will be necessary for us to record. Some notice was,of course, taken of Frank's prolonged absence from his college; andtidings, perhaps exaggerated tidings, of what had happened in PallMall were not slow to reach the High Street of Cambridge. But thataffair was gradually hushed up; and Frank went on with his studies.
He went back to his studies: it then being an understood arrangementbetween him and his father that he should not return to Greshamsburytill the summer vacation. On this occasion, the squire and LadyArabella had, strange to say, been of the same mind. They both wishedto keep their son away from Miss Thorne; and both calculated, thatat his age and with his disposition, it was not probable that anypassion would last out a six months' absence. "And when the summercomes it will be an excellent opportunity for us to go abroad," saidLady Arabella. "Poor Augusta will require some change to renovate herspirits."
To this last proposition the squire did not assent. It was, however,allowed to pass over; and this much was fixed, that Frank was not toreturn home till midsummer.
It will be remembered that Sir Roger Scatcherd had been electedas sitting member for the city of Barchester; but it will also beremembered that a petition against his return was threatened. Hadthat petition depended solely on Mr Moffat, Sir Roger's seat no doubtwould have been saved by Frank Gresham's cutting whip. But suchwas not the case. Mr Moffat had been put forward by the de Courcyinterest; and that noble family with its dependants was not to go tothe wall because Mr Moffat had had a thrashing. No; the petition wasto go on and Mr Nearthewinde declared, that no petition in his handshad half so good a chance of success. "Chance, no, but certainty,"said Mr Nearthewinde; for Mr Nearthewinde had learnt something withreference to that honest publican and the payment of his little bill.
The petition was presented and duly backed; the recognisances weresigned, and all the proper formalities formally executed; and SirRoger found that his seat was in jeopardy. His return had been agreat triumph to him; and, unfortunately, he had celebrated thattriumph as he had been in the habit of celebrating most of the verytriumphant occasions of his life. Though he was than hardly yetrecovered from the effects of his last attack, he indulged in anotherviolent drinking bout; and, strange to say, did so without anyimmediate visible bad effects.
In February he took his seat amidst the warm congratulations ofall men of his own class, and early in the month of April his casecame on for trial. Every kind of electioneering sin known to theelectioneering world was brought to his charge; he was accused offalseness, dishonesty, and bribery of every sort: he had, it was saidin the paper of indictment, bought votes, obtained them by treating,carried them off by violence, conquered them by strong drink, polledthem twice over, counted those of dead men, stolen them, forged them,and created them by every possible, fictitious contrivance: there wasno description of wickedness appertaining to the task of procuringvotes of which Sir Roger had not been guilty, either by himself orby his agents. He was quite horror-struck at the list of his ownenormities. But he was somewhat comforted when Mr Closerstil told himthat the meaning of it all was that Mr Romer, the barrister, had paida former bill due to Mr Reddypalm, the publican.
"I fear he was indiscreet, Sir Roger; I really fear he was. Thoseyoung men always are. Being energetic, they work like horses; butwhat's the use of energy without discretion, Sir Roger?"
"But, Mr Closerstil, I knew nothing about it from first to last."
"The agency can be proved, Sir Roger," said Mr Closerstil, shakinghis head. And then there was nothing further to be said on thematter.
In these days of snow-white purity all political delinquency isabominable in the eyes of British politicians; but no delinquency isso abominable as that of venality at elections. The sin of bribery isdamnable. It is the one sin for which, in the House of Commons, therecan be no forgiveness. When discovered, it should render the culpritliable to political death, without hope of pardon. It is treasonagainst a higher throne than that on which the Queen sits. It is aheresy which requires an _auto-da-fe_. It is a pollution to the wholeHouse, which can only be cleansed by a great sacrifice. Anathemamaranatha! out with it from amongst us, even though the half of ourheart's blood be poured forth in the conflict! out with it, and forever!
Such is the language of patriotic members with regard to bribery;and doubtless, if sincere, they are in the right. It is a bad thing,certainly, that a rich man should buy votes; bad also that a poor manshould sell them. By all means let us repudiate such a system withheartfelt disgust.
With heartfelt disgust, if we can do so, by all means; but not withdisgust pretended only and not felt in the heart at all. The lawsagainst bribery at elections are now so stringent that an unfortunatecandidate may easily become guilty, even though actuated by thepurest intentions. But not the less on that account does anygentleman, ambitious of the honour of serving his country inParliament, think it necessary as a preliminary measure to providea round sum of money at his banker's. A candidate must pay for notreating, no refreshments, no band of music; he must give neitherribbons to the girls nor ale to the men. If a huzza be uttered inhis favour, it is at his peril; it may be necessary for him to provebefore a committee that it was the spontaneous result of Britishfeeling in his favour, and not the purchased result of British beer.He cannot safely ask any one to share his hotel dinner. Bribery hidesitself now in the most impalpable shapes, and may be effected by theoffer of a glass of sherry. But not the less on this account does apoor man find that he is quite unable to overcome the difficulties ofa contested election.
We strain at our gnats with a vengeance, but we swallow our camelswith ease. For what purpose is it that we employ those peculiarlysafe men of business--Messrs Nearthewinde and Closerstil--when wewish to win our path through all obstacles into that sacred recess,if all be so open, all so easy, all so much above board? Alas! themoney is still necessary, is still prepared, or at any rate expended.The poor candidate of course knows nothing of the matter till theattorney's bill is laid before him, when all danger of petitions haspassed away. He little dreamed till then, not he, that there had beenbanquetings and junketings, secret doings and deep drinkings at hisexpense. Poor candidate! Poor member! Who was so ignorant as he!'Tis true he has paid such bills before; but 'tis equally true thathe specially begged his managing friend, Mr Nearthewinde, to bevery careful that all was done according to law! He pays the bill,however, and on the next election will again employ Mr Nearthewinde.
Now and again, at rare intervals, some glimpse into the innersanctuary does reach the eyes of ordinary mortal men without;some slight accidental peep into those mysteries from whenceall corruption has been so thoroughly expelled; and then, howdelightfully refreshing is the sight, when, perhaps, some ex-member,hurled from his paradise like a fallen peri, reveals the secret ofthat pure heaven, and, in the agony of his despair, tells us allthat it cost him to sit for ---- through those few halcyon years!
But Mr Nearthewinde is a safe man, and easy to be employed with butlittle danger. All these stringent bribery laws only enhance thevalue of such very safe men as Mr Nearthewinde. To him, stringentlaws against bribery are the strongest assurance of valuableemployment. Were these laws of a nature to be evaded with ease, anyindifferent attorney might manage a candidate's affairs and enablehim to take his seat with security.
It would have been well for Sir Roger if he had trusted solely toMr Closerstil; well also for Mr Romer had he never fished in thosetroubled waters. In due process of time the hearing of the petitioncame on, and then who so happy, sitting at his ease at his LondonInn, blowing his cloud from a long pipe, with measureless content, asMr Reddypalm? Mr Reddypalm was the one great man of the contest. Alldepended on Mr Reddypalm; and well he did his duty.
The result of the petition was declared by the committee to be asfollows:--that Sir Roger's election was null and void--that theelection altogether was null
and void--that Sir Roger had, by hisagent, been guilty of bribery in obtaining a vote, by the paymentof a bill alleged to have been previously refused payment--that SirRoger himself knew nothing about it;--this is always a matter ofcourse;--but that Sir Roger's agent, Mr Romer, had been wittinglyguilty of bribery with reference to the transaction above described.Poor Sir Roger! Poor Mr Romer.
Poor Mr Romer indeed! His fate was perhaps as sad as well might be,and as foul a blot to the purism of these very pure times in whichwe live. Not long after those days, it so happening that someconsiderable amount of youthful energy and quidnunc ability wererequired to set litigation afloat at Hong-Kong, Mr Romer was sentthither as the fittest man for such work, with rich assurance offuture guerdon. Who so happy then as Mr Romer! But even among thepure there is room for envy and detraction. Mr Romer had not yetceased to wonder at new worlds, as he skimmed among the islands ofthat southern ocean, before the edict had gone forth for his return.There were men sitting in that huge court of Parliament on whosebreasts it lay as an intolerable burden, that England should berepresented among the antipodes by one who had tampered with thepurity of the franchise. For them there was no rest till this greatdisgrace should be wiped out and atoned for. Men they were of thatcalibre, that the slightest reflection on them of such a stigmaseemed to themselves to blacken their own character. They could notbreak bread with satisfaction till Mr Romer was recalled. He wasrecalled, and of course ruined--and the minds of those just men werethen at peace.
To any honourable gentleman who really felt his brow suffused witha patriotic blush, as he thought of his country dishonoured by MrRomer's presence at Hong-Kong--to any such gentleman, if any suchthere were, let all honour be given, even though the intensity of hispurity may create amazement to our less finely organised souls. Butif no such blush suffused the brow of any honourable gentleman; if MrRomer was recalled from quite other feelings--what then in lieu ofhonour shall we allot to those honourable gentlemen who were mostconcerned?
Sir Roger, however, lost his seat, and, after three months of thejoys of legislation, found himself reduced by a terrible blow to thelow level of private life.
And the blow to him was very heavy. Men but seldom tell the truth ofwhat is in them, even to their dearest friends; they are ashamed ofhaving feelings, or rather of showing that they are troubled by anyintensity of feeling. It is the practice of the time to treat allpursuits as though they were only half important to us, as thoughin what we desire we were only half in earnest. To be visibly eagerseems childish, and is always bad policy; and men, therefore,nowadays, though they strive as hard as ever in the service ofambition--harder than ever in that of mammon--usually do so witha pleasant smile on, as though after all they were but amusingthemselves with the little matter in hand.
Perhaps it had been so with Sir Roger in those electioneering dayswhen he was looking for votes. At any rate, he had spoken of his seatin Parliament as but a doubtful good. "He was willing, indeed, tostand, having been asked; but the thing would interfere wonderfullywith his business; and then, what did he know about Parliament?Nothing on earth: it was the maddest scheme, but nevertheless, he wasnot going to hang back when called upon--he had always been rough andready when wanted,--and there he was now ready as ever, and roughenough too, God knows."
'Twas thus that he had spoken of his coming parliamentary honours;and men had generally taken him at his word. He had been returned,and this success had been hailed as a great thing for the cause andclass to which he belonged. But men did not know that his inner heartwas swelling with triumph, and that his bosom could hardly containhis pride as he reflected that the poor Barchester stone-mason wasnow the representative in Parliament of his native city. And so, whenhis seat was attacked, he still laughed and joked. "They were welcometo it for him," he said; "he could keep it or want it; and of thetwo, perhaps, the want of it would come most convenient to him. Hedid not exactly think that he had bribed any one; but if the bigwigschose to say so, it was all one to him. He was rough and ready, nowas ever," &c., &c.
But when the struggle came, it was to him a fearful one; not theless fearful because there was no one, no, not one friend in all theworld, to whom he could open his mind and speak out honestly whatwas in his heart. To Dr Thorne he might perhaps have done so had hisintercourse with the doctor been sufficiently frequent; but it wasonly now and again when he was ill, or when the squire wanted toborrow money, that he saw Dr Thorne. He had plenty of friends, heapsof friends in the parliamentary sense; friends who talked abouthim, and lauded him at public meetings; who shook hands with him onplatforms, and drank his health at dinners; but he had no friendwho could sit with him over his own hearth, in true friendship, andlisten to, and sympathise with, and moderate the sighings of theinner man. For him there was no sympathy; no tenderness of love; noretreat, save into himself, from the loud brass band of the outerworld.
The blow hit him terribly hard. It did not come altogetherunexpectedly, and yet, when it did come, it was all but unendurable.He had made so much of the power of walking into that august chamber,and sitting shoulder to shoulder in legislative equality with thesons of dukes and the curled darlings of the nation. Money had givenhim nothing, nothing but the mere feeling of brute power: with histhree hundred thousand pounds he had felt himself to be no morepalpably near to the goal of his ambition than when he had chippedstones for three shillings and sixpence a day. But when he was led upand introduced at that table, when he shook the old premier's handon the floor of the House of Commons, when he heard the honourablemember for Barchester alluded to in grave debate as the greatestliving authority on railway matters, then, indeed, he felt that hehad achieved something.
And now this cup was ravished from his lips, almost before it wastasted. When he was first told as a certainty that the decision ofthe committee was against him, he bore up against the misfortune likea man. He laughed heartily, and declared himself well rid of a veryprofitless profession cut some little joke about Mr Moffat and histhrashing, and left on those around him an impression that he wasa man so constituted, so strong in his own resolves, so steadilypursuant of his own work, that no little contentions of this kindcould affect him. Men admired his easy laughter, as, shuffling hishalf-crowns with both his hands in his trouser-pockets, he declaredthat Messrs Romer and Reddypalm were the best friends he had knownfor this many a day.
But not the less did he walk out from the room in which he wasstanding a broken-hearted man. Hope could not buoy him up as she maydo other ex-members in similarly disagreeable circumstances. He couldnot afford to look forward to what further favours parliamentaryfuture might have in store for him after a lapse of five or sixyears. Five or six years! Why, his life was not worth four years'purchase; of that he was perfectly aware: he could not now livewithout the stimulus of brandy; and yet, while he took it, he knew hewas killing himself. Death he did not fear; but he would fain havewished, after his life of labour, to have lived, while yet he couldlive, in the blaze of that high world to which for a moment he hadattained.
He laughed loud and cheerily as he left his parliamentary friends,and, putting himself into the train, went down to Boxall Hill. Helaughed loud and cheerily; but he never laughed again. It had notbeen his habit to laugh much at Boxall Hill. It was there he kept hiswife, and Mr Winterbones, and the brandy bottle behind his pillow. Hehad not often there found it necessary to assume that loud and cheerylaugh.
On this occasion he was apparently well in health when he got home;but both Lady Scatcherd and Mr Winterbones found him more thanordinarily cross. He made an affectation at sitting very hard tobusiness, and even talked of going abroad to look at some of hisforeign contracts. But even Winterbones found that his patron did notwork as he had been wont to do; and at last, with some misgivings, hetold Lady Scatcherd that he feared that everything was not right.
"He's always at it, my lady, always," said Mr Winterbones.
"Is he?" said Lady Scatcherd, well understanding what MrWinterbones's allusion meant.
&
nbsp; "Always, my lady. I never saw nothing like it. Now, there's me--I canalways go my half-hour when I've had my drop; but he, why, he don'tgo ten minutes, not now."
This was not cheerful to Lady Scatcherd; but what was the poor womanto do? When she spoke to him on any subject he only snarled at her;and now that the heavy fit was on him, she did not dare even tomention the subject of his drinking. She had never known him sosavage in his humour as he was now, so bearish in his habits, solittle inclined to humanity, so determined to rush headlong down,with his head between his legs, into the bottomless abyss.
She thought of sending for Dr Thorne; but she did not know under whatguise to send for him,--whether as doctor or as friend: under neitherwould he now be welcome; and she well knew that Sir Roger was not theman to accept in good part either a doctor or a friend who might beunwelcome. She knew that this husband of hers, this man who, withall his faults, was the best of her friends, whom of all she lovedbest--she knew that he was killing himself, and yet she could donothing. Sir Roger was his own master, and if kill himself he would,kill himself he must.
And kill himself he did. Not indeed by one sudden blow. He did nottake one huge dose of his consuming poison and then fall dead uponthe floor. It would perhaps have been better for himself, and betterfor those around him, had he done so. No; the doctors had time tocongregate around his bed; Lady Scatcherd was allowed a period ofnurse-tending; the sick man was able to say his last few words andbid adieu to his portion of the lower world with dying decency. Asthese last words will have some lasting effect upon the survivingpersonages of our story, the reader must be content to stand for ashort while by the side of Sir Roger's sick-bed, and help us to bidhim God-speed on the journey which lies before him.
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