Phineas Redux

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER LXXV.

  THE TRUMPETON FEUD IS SETTLED.

  In these fine early autumn days spent at Matching, the greatTrumpeton Wood question was at last settled. During the summerconsiderable acerbity had been added to the matter by certainarticles which had appeared in certain sporting papers, in which thenew Duke of Omnium was accused of neglecting his duty to the countyin which a portion of his property lay. The question was argued atconsiderable length. Is a landed proprietor bound, or is he not,to keep foxes for the amusement of his neighbours? To ordinarythinkers, to unprejudiced outsiders,--to Americans, let us say, orFrenchmen,--there does not seem to be room even for an argument. Bywhat law of God or man can a man be bound to maintain a parcel ofinjurious vermin on his property, in the pursuit of which he finds nosport himself, and which are highly detrimental to another sport inwhich he takes, perhaps, the keenest interest? Trumpeton Wood was theDuke's own,--to do just as he pleased with it. Why should foxes bedemanded from him then any more than a bear to be baited, or a badgerto be drawn, in, let us say, his London dining-room? But a good dealhad been said which, though not perhaps capable of convincing theunprejudiced American or Frenchman, had been regarded as cogentarguments to country-bred Englishmen. The Brake Hunt had beenestablished for a great many years, and was the central attraction ofa district well known for its hunting propensities. The preservationof foxes might be an open question in such counties as Norfolk andSuffolk, but could not be so in the Brake country. Many things are,no doubt, permissible under the law, which, if done, would show thedoer of them to be the enemy of his species,--and this destructionof foxes in a hunting country may be named as one of them. The Dukemight have his foxes destroyed if he pleased, but he could hardlydo so and remain a popular magnate in England. If he chose to puthimself in opposition to the desires and very instincts of the peopleamong whom his property was situated, he must live as a "man forbid."That was the general argument, and then there was the argumentspecial to this particular case. As it happened, Trumpeton Woodwas, and always had been, the great nursery of foxes for that sideof the Brake country. Gorse coverts make, no doubt, the charm ofhunting, but gorse coverts will not hold foxes unless the woodlandsbe preserved. The fox is a travelling animal. Knowing well that"home-staying youths have ever homely wits," he goes out and sees theworld. He is either born in the woodlands, or wanders thither in hisearly youth. If all foxes so wandering be doomed to death, if poison,and wires, and traps, and hostile keepers await them there insteadof the tender welcome of the loving fox-preserver, the gorse covertswill soon be empty, and the whole country will be afflicted with awild dismay. All which Lord Chiltern understood well when he becameso loud in his complaint against the Duke.

  But our dear old friend, only the other day a duke, Planty Pall as hewas lately called, devoted to work and to Parliament, an unselfish,friendly, wise man, who by no means wanted other men to cut theircoats according to his pattern, was the last man in England to puthimself forward as the enemy of an established delight. He did nothunt himself,--but neither did he shoot, or fish, or play cards. Herecreated himself with Blue Books, and speculations on Adam Smith hadbeen his distraction;--but he knew that he was himself peculiar, andhe respected the habits of others. It had fallen out in this wise. Asthe old Duke had become very old, the old Duke's agent had graduallyacquired more than an agent's proper influence in the property; andas the Duke's heir would not shoot himself, or pay attention to theshooting, and as the Duke would not let the shooting of his wood, Mr.Fothergill, the steward, had gradually become omnipotent. Now Mr.Fothergill was not a hunting man,--but the mischief did not at alllie there. Lord Chiltern would not communicate with Mr. Fothergill.Lord Chiltern would write to the Duke, and Mr. Fothergill became anestablished enemy. Hinc illae irae. From this source sprung all thosepowerfully argued articles in _The Field_, _Bell's Life_, and _Landand Water_;--for on this matter all the sporting papers were of onemind.

  There is something doubtless absurd in the intensity of the worshippaid to the fox by hunting communities. The animal becomes sacred,and his preservation is a religion. His irregular destruction is aprofanity, and words spoken to his injury are blasphemous. Not longsince a gentleman shot a fox running across a woodland ride in ahunting country. He had mistaken it for a hare, and had done the deedin the presence of keepers, owner, and friends. His feelings were soacute and his remorse so great that, in their pity, they had resolvedto spare him; and then, on the spot, entered into a solemn compactthat no one should be told. Encouraged by the forbearing tenderness,the unfortunate one ventured to return to the house of his friend,the owner of the wood, hoping that, in spite of the sacrilegecommitted, he might be able to face a world that would be ignorantof his crime. As the vulpicide, on the afternoon of the day of thedeed, went along the corridor to his room, one maid-servant whisperedto another, and the poor victim of an imperfect sight heard thewords--"That's he as shot the fox!" The gentleman did not appear atdinner, nor was he ever again seen in those parts.

  Mr. Fothergill had become angry. Lord Chiltern, as we know, had beenvery angry. And even the Duke was angry. The Duke was angry becauseLord Chiltern had been violent;--and Lord Chiltern had been violentbecause Mr. Fothergill's conduct had been, to his thinking, not onlysacrilegious, but one continued course of wilful sacrilege. It maybe said of Lord Chiltern that in his eagerness as a master of houndshe had almost abandoned his love of riding. To kill a certain numberof foxes in the year, after the legitimate fashion, had become tohim the one great study of life;--and he did it with an energy equalto that which the Duke devoted to decimal coinage. His huntsman wasalways well mounted, with two horses; but Lord Chiltern would giveup his own to the man and take charge of a weary animal as a commongroom when he found that he might thus further the object of theday's sport. He worked as men work only at pleasure. He never misseda day, even when cub-hunting required that he should leave his bed at3 A.M. He was constant at his kennel. He was always thinking aboutit. He devoted his life to the Brake Hounds. And it was too much forhim that such a one as Mr. Fothergill should be allowed to wire foxesin Trumpeton Wood! The Duke's property, indeed! Surely all that wasunderstood in England by this time. Now he had consented to cometo Matching, bringing his wife with him, in order that the mattermight be settled. There had been a threat that he would give up thecountry, in which case it was declared that it would be impossibleto carry on the Brake Hunt in a manner satisfactory to masters,subscribers, owners of coverts, or farmers, unless a different orderof things should be made to prevail in regard to Trumpeton Wood.

  The Duke, however, had declined to interfere personally. He hadtold his wife that he should be delighted to welcome Lord and LadyChiltern,--as he would any other friends of hers. The guests, indeed,at the Duke's house were never his guests, but always hers. But hecould not allow himself to be brought into an argument with LordChiltern as to the management of his own property. The Duchess wasmade to understand that she must prevent any such awkwardness. Andshe did prevent it. "And now, Lord Chiltern," she said, "how aboutthe foxes?" She had taken care there should be a council of wararound her. Lady Chiltern and Madame Goesler were present, and alsoPhineas Finn.

  "Well;--how about them?" said the lord, showing by the fieryeagerness of his eye, and the increased redness of his face, thatthough the matter had been introduced somewhat jocosely, there couldnot really be any joke about it.

  "Why couldn't you keep it all out of the newspapers?"

  "I don't write the newspapers, Duchess. I can't help the newspapers.When two hundred men ride through Trumpeton Wood, and see one foxfound, and that fox with only three pads, of course the newspaperswill say that the foxes are trapped."

  "We may have traps if we like it, Lord Chiltern."

  "Certainly;--only say so, and we shall know where we are." He lookedvery angry, and poor Lady Chiltern was covered with dismay. "The Dukecan destroy the hunt if he pleases, no doubt," said the lord.

  "But we don't like traps, Lord Chiltern;--nor yet poison, noran
ything that is wicked. I'd go and nurse the foxes myself if I knewhow, wouldn't I, Marie?"

  "They have robbed the Duchess of her sleep for the last six months,"said Madame Goesler.

  "And if they go on being not properly brought up and educated,they'll make an old woman of me. As for the Duke, he can't becomfortable in his arithmetic for thinking of them. But what can onedo?"

  "Change your keepers," said Lord Chiltern energetically.

  "It is easy to say,--change your keepers. How am I to set about it?To whom can I apply to appoint others? Don't you know what vestedinterests mean, Lord Chiltern?"

  "Then nobody can manage his own property as he pleases?"

  "Nobody can,--unless he does the work himself. If I were to go andlive in Trumpeton Wood I could do it; but you see I have to livehere. I vote that we have an officer of State, to go in and out withthe Government,--with a seat in the Cabinet or not according asthings go, and that we call him Foxmaster-General. It would be justthe thing for Mr. Finn."

  "There would be a salary, of course," said Phineas.

  "Then I suppose that nothing can be done," said Lord Chiltern.

  "My dear Lord Chiltern, everything has been done. Vested interestshave been attended to. Keepers shall prefer foxes to pheasants, wiresshall be unheard of, and Trumpeton Wood shall once again be the gloryof the Brake Hunt. It won't cost the Duke above a thousand or two ayear."

  "I should be very sorry indeed to put the Duke to any unnecessaryexpense," said Lord Chiltern solemnly,--still fearing that theDuchess was only playing with him. It made him angry that he couldnot imbue other people with his idea of the seriousness of theamusement of a whole county.

  "Do not think of it. We have pensioned poor Mr. Fothergill, and heretires from the administration."

  "Then it'll be all right," said Lord Chiltern.

  "I am so glad," said his wife.

  "And so the great Mr. Fothergill falls from power, and goes down intoobscurity," said Madame Goesler.

  "He was an impudent old man, and that's the truth," said theDuchess;--"and he has always been my thorough detestation. But if youonly knew what I have gone through to get rid of him,--and all onaccount of Trumpeton Wood,--you'd send me every brush taken in theBrake country during the next season."

  "Your Grace shall at any rate have one of them," said Lord Chiltern.

  On the next day Lord and Lady Chiltern went back to Harrington Hall.When the end of August comes, a Master of Hounds,--who is really amaster,--is wanted at home. Nothing short of an embassy on behalf ofthe great coverts of his country would have kept this master away atpresent; and now, his diplomacy having succeeded, he hurried back tomake the most of its results. Lady Chiltern, before she went, made alittle speech to Phineas Finn.

  "You'll come to us in the winter, Mr. Finn?"

  "I should like."

  "You must. No one was truer to you than we were, you know. Indeed,regarding you as we do, how should we not have been true? It wasimpossible to me that my old friend should have been--"

  "Oh, Lady Chiltern!"

  "Of course you'll come. You owe it to us to come. And may I say this?If there be anybody to come with you, that will make it only so muchthe better. If it should be so, of course there will be letterswritten?" To this question, however, Phineas Finn made no answer.