<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<h1>PHINEAS FINN</h1>
<h4>by</h4>
<h2>ANTHONY TROLLOPE</h2>
<hr/>
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<p> </p>
<h3>VOLUME I</h3>
<h3>CHAPTER I</h3>
<h3>Phineas Finn Proposes to Stand for Loughshane<br/> </h3>
<p>Dr. Finn, of Killaloe, in county Clare, was as well known in those
parts,—the confines, that is, of the counties Clare, Limerick,
Tipperary, and Galway,—as was the bishop himself who lived in the
same town, and was as much respected. Many said that the doctor
was the richer man of the two, and the practice of his profession
was extended over almost as wide a district. Indeed the bishop
whom he was privileged to attend, although a Roman Catholic,
always spoke of their dioceses being conterminate. It will
therefore be understood that Dr. Finn,—Malachi Finn was his full
name,—had obtained a wide reputation as a country practitioner in
the west of Ireland. And he was a man sufficiently well to do,
though that boast made by his friends, that he was as warm a man
as the bishop, had but little truth to support it. Bishops in
Ireland, if they live at home, even in these days, are very warm
men; and Dr. Finn had not a penny in the world for which he had
not worked hard. He had, moreover, a costly family, five daughters
and one son, and, at the time of which we are speaking, no
provision in the way of marriage or profession had been made for
any of them. Of the one son, Phineas, the hero of the following
pages, the mother and five sisters were very proud. The doctor was
accustomed to say that his goose was as good as any other man's
goose, as far as he could see as yet; but that he should like some
very strong evidence before he allowed himself to express an
opinion that the young bird partook, in any degree, of the
qualities of a swan. From which it may be gathered that Dr. Finn
was a man of common-sense.</p>
<p>Phineas had come to be a swan in the estimation of his mother and
sisters by reason of certain early successes at college. His
father, whose religion was not of that bitter kind in which we in
England are apt to suppose that all the Irish Roman Catholics
indulge, had sent his son to Trinity; and there were some in the
neighbourhood of Killaloe,—patients, probably, of Dr. Duggin, of
Castle Connell, a learned physician who had spent a fruitless life
in endeavouring to make head against Dr. Finn,—who declared that
old Finn would not be sorry if his son were to turn Protestant and
go in for a fellowship. Mrs. Finn was a Protestant, and the five
Miss Finns were Protestants, and the doctor himself was very much
given to dining out among his Protestant friends on a Friday. Our
Phineas, however, did not turn Protestant up in Dublin, whatever
his father's secret wishes on that subject may have been. He did
join a debating society, to success in which his religion was no
bar; and he there achieved a sort of distinction which was both
easy and pleasant, and which, making its way down to Killaloe,
assisted in engendering those ideas as to swanhood of which
maternal and sisterly minds are so sweetly susceptible. "I know
half a dozen old windbags at the present moment," said the doctor,
"who were great fellows at debating clubs when they were boys."
"Phineas is not a boy any longer," said Mrs. Finn. "And windbags
don't get college scholarships," said Matilda Finn, the second
daughter. "But papa always snubs Phinny," said Barbara, the
youngest. "I'll snub you, if you don't take care," said the
doctor, taking Barbara tenderly by the ear;—for his youngest
daughter was the doctor's pet.</p>
<p>The doctor certainly did not snub his son, for he allowed him to
go over to London when he was twenty-two years of age, in order
that he might read with an English barrister. It was the doctor's
wish that his son might be called to the Irish Bar, and the young
man's desire that he might go to the English Bar. The doctor so
far gave way, under the influence of Phineas himself, and of all
the young women of the family, as to pay the usual fee to a very
competent and learned gentleman in the Middle Temple, and to allow
his son one hundred and fifty pounds per annum for three years.
Dr. Finn, however, was still firm in his intention that his son
should settle in Dublin, and take the Munster Circuit,—believing
that Phineas might come to want home influences and home
connections, in spite of the swanhood which was attributed to him.</p>
<p>Phineas sat his terms for three years, and was duly called to the
Bar; but no evidence came home as to the acquirement of any
considerable amount of law lore, or even as to much law study, on
the part of the young aspirant. The learned pundit at whose feet
he had been sitting was not especially loud in praise of his
pupil's industry, though he did say a pleasant word or two as to
his pupil's intelligence. Phineas himself did not boast much of
his own hard work when at home during the long vacation. No
rumours of expected successes,—of expected professional
successes,—reached the ears of any of the Finn family at
Killaloe. But, nevertheless, there came tidings which maintained
those high ideas in the maternal bosom of which mention has been
made, and which were of sufficient strength to induce the doctor, in
opposition to his own judgment, to consent to the continued
residence of his son in London. Phineas belonged to an excellent
club,—the Reform Club,—and went into very good society. He was
hand in glove with the Hon. Laurence Fitzgibbon, the youngest son
of Lord Claddagh. He was intimate with Barrington Erle, who had
been private secretary,—one of the private secretaries,—to the
great Whig Prime Minister who was lately in but was now out. He
had dined three or four times with that great Whig nobleman, the
Earl of Brentford. And he had been assured that if he stuck to the
English Bar he would certainly do well. Though he might fail to
succeed in court or in chambers, he would doubtless have given to
him some one of those numerous appointments for which none but
clever young barristers are supposed to be fitting candidates. The
old doctor yielded for another year, although at the end of the
second year he was called upon to pay a sum of three hundred
pounds, which was then due by Phineas to creditors in London. When
the doctor's male friends in and about Killaloe heard that he had
done so, they said that he was doting. Not one of the Miss Finns
was as yet married; and, after all that had been said about the
doctor's wealth, it was supposed that there would not be above
five hundred pounds a year among them all, were he to give up his
profession. But the doctor, when he paid that three hundred pounds
for his son, buckled to his work again, though he had for twelve
months talked of giving up the midwifery. He buckled to again, to
the great disgust of Dr. Duggin, who at this time said very
ill-natured things about young Phineas.</p>
<p>At the end of the three years Phineas was called to the Bar, and
immediately received a letter from his father asking minutely as
to his professional intentions. His father recommended him to
settle in Dublin, and promised the one hundred and fifty pounds
for three more years, on condition that this advice was followed.
He did not absolutely say that the allowance would be stopped if
the advice were not followed, but that was plainly to be implied.
That letter came at the moment of a dissolution of Parliament.
Lord de Terrier, the Conservative Prime Minister, who had now been
in office for the almost unprecedentedly long period of fifteen
months, had found that he could not face continued majorities
against him in the House of Commons, and had dissolved the House.
Rumour declared that he would have much preferred to resign, and
betake himself once again to the easy glories of opposition; but
his party had naturally been obdurate with him, and he had
resolved to appeal to the country. When Phineas received his
father's letter, it had just been suggested to him at the Reform
Club that he should stand for the Irish borough of Loughshane.</p>
<p>This proposition had taken Phineas Finn so much by surprise that
when first made to him by Barrington Erle it took his breath away.
What! he stand for Parliament, twenty-four years old, with no
vestige of property belonging to him, without a penny in his
purse, as completely dependent on his father as he was when he
first went to school at eleven years of age! And for Loughshane, a
little borough in the county Galway, for which a brother of that
fine old Irish peer, the Earl of Tulla, had been sitting for the
last twenty years,—a fine, high-minded representative of the
thorough-going Orange Protestant feeling of Ireland! And the Earl
of Tulla, to whom almost all Loughshane belonged,—or at any rate
the land about Loughshane,—was one of his father's staunchest
friends! Loughshane is in county Galway, but the Earl of Tulla
usually lived at his seat in county Clare, not more than ten miles
from Killaloe, and always confided his gouty feet, and the weak
nerves of the old countess, and the stomachs of all his domestics,
to the care of Dr. Finn. How was it possible that Phineas should
stand for Loughshane? From whence was the money to come for such a
contest? It was a beautiful dream, a grand idea, lifting Phineas
almost off the earth by its glory. When the proposition was first
made to him in the smoking-room at the Reform Club by his friend
Erle, he was aware that he blushed like a girl, and that he was
unable at the moment to express himself plainly,—so great was his
astonishment and so great his gratification. But before ten
minutes had passed by, while Barrington Erle was still sitting
over his shoulder on the club sofa, and before the blushes had
altogether vanished, he had seen the improbability of the scheme,
and had explained to his friend that the thing could not be done.
But to his increased astonishment, his friend made nothing of the
difficulties. Loughshane, according to Barrington Erle, was so
small a place, that the expense would be very little. There were
altogether no more than 307 registered electors. The inhabitants
were so far removed from the world, and were so ignorant of the
world's good things, that they knew nothing about bribery. The
Hon. George Morris, who had sat for the last twenty years, was
very unpopular. He had not been near the borough since the last
election, he had hardly done more than show himself in Parliament,
and had neither given a shilling in the town nor got a place under
Government for a single son of Loughshane. "And he has quarrelled
with his brother," said Barrington Erle. "The devil he has!" said
Phineas. "I thought they always swore by each other." "It's at
each other they swear now," said Barrington; "George has asked the
Earl for more money, and the Earl has cut up rusty." Then the
negotiator went on to explain that the expenses of the election
would be defrayed out of a certain fund collected for such
purposes, that Loughshane had been chosen as a cheap place, and
that Phineas Finn had been chosen as a safe and promising young
man. As for qualification, if any question were raised, that
should be made all right. An Irish candidate was wanted, and a
Roman Catholic. So much the Loughshaners would require on their
own account when instigated to dismiss from their service that
thorough-going Protestant, the Hon. George Morris. Then "the
party,"—by which Barrington Erle probably meant the great man in
whose service he himself had become a politician,—required that
the candidate should be a safe man, one who would support "the
party,"—not a cantankerous, red-hot semi-Fenian, running about to
meetings at the Rotunda, and such-like, with views of his own
about tenant-right and the Irish Church. "But I have views of my
own," said Phineas, blushing again. "Of course you have, my dear
boy," said Barrington, clapping him on the back. "I shouldn't come
to you unless you had views. But your views and ours are the same,
and you're just the lad for Galway. You mightn't have such an
opening again in your life, and of course you'll stand for
Loughshane." Then the conversation was over, the private secretary
went away to arrange some other little matter of the kind, and
Phineas Finn was left alone to consider the proposition that had
been made to him.</p>
<p>To become a member of the British Parliament! In all those hot
contests at the two debating clubs to which he had belonged, this
had been the ambition which had moved him. For, after all, to what
purpose of their own had those empty debates ever tended? He and
three or four others who had called themselves Liberals had been
pitted against four or five who had called themselves
Conservatives, and night after night they had discussed some
ponderous subject without any idea that one would ever persuade
another, or that their talking would ever conduce to any action or
to any result. But each of these combatants had felt,—without
daring to announce a hope on the subject among themselves,—that
the present arena was only a trial-ground for some possible
greater amphitheatre, for some future debating club in which
debates would lead to action, and in which eloquence would have
power, even though persuasion might be out of the question.</p>
<p>Phineas certainly had never dared to speak, even to himself, of
such a hope. The labours of the Bar had to be encountered before
the dawn of such a hope could come to him. And he had gradually
learned to feel that his prospects at the Bar were not as yet very
promising. As regarded professional work he had been idle, and how
then could he have a hope?</p>
<p>And now this thing, which he regarded as being of all things in
the world the most honourable, had come to him all at once, and
was possibly within his reach! If he could believe Barrington
Erle, he had only to lift up his hand, and he might be in
Parliament within two months. And who was to be believed on such a
subject if not Barrington Erle? This was Erle's special business,
and such a man would not have come to him on such a subject had he
not been in earnest, and had he not himself believed in success.
There was an opening ready, an opening to this great glory,—if
only it might be possible for him to fill it!</p>
<p>What would his father say? His father would of course oppose the
plan. And if he opposed his father, his father would of course
stop his income. And such an income as it was! Could it be that a
man should sit in Parliament and live upon a hundred and fifty
pounds a year? Since that payment of his debts he had become again
embarrassed,—to a slight amount. He owed a tailor a trifle, and a
bootmaker a trifle,—and something to the man who sold gloves and
shirts; and yet he had done his best to keep out of debt with more
than Irish pertinacity, living very closely, breakfasting upon tea
and a roll, and dining frequently for a shilling at a
luncheon-house up a court near Lincoln's Inn. Where should he dine
if the Loughshaners elected him to Parliament? And then he painted
to himself a not untrue picture of the probable miseries of a man
who begins life too high up on the ladder,—who succeeds in
mounting before he has learned how to hold on when he is aloft.
For our Phineas Finn was a young man not without sense,—not
entirely a windbag. If he did this thing the probability was that
he might become utterly a castaway, and go entirely to the dogs
before he was thirty. He had heard of penniless men who had got
into Parliament, and to whom had come such a fate. He was able to
name to himself a man or two whose barks, carrying more sail than
they could bear, had gone to pieces among early breakers in this
way. But then, would it not be better to go to pieces early than
never to carry any sail at all? And there was, at any rate, the
chance of success. He was already a barrister, and there were so
many things open to a barrister with a seat in Parliament! And as
he knew of men who had been utterly ruined by such early mounting,
so also did he know of others whose fortunes had been made by
happy audacity when they were young. He almost thought that he
could die happy if he had once taken his seat in Parliament,—if
he had received one letter with those grand initials written after
his name on the address. Young men in battle are called upon to
lead forlorn hopes. Three fall, perhaps, to one who gets through;
but the one who gets through will have the Victoria Cross to carry
for the rest of his life. This was his forlorn hope; and as he had
been invited to undertake the work, he would not turn from the
danger. On the following morning he again saw Barrington Erle by
appointment, and then wrote the following letter to his
father:—<br/> </p>
<blockquote>
<p class="jright"><i>Reform Club, Feb., 186––.</i></p>
<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Father</span>,</p>
<p>I am afraid that the purport of this letter will startle you, but
I hope that when you have finished it you will think that I am
right in my decision as to what I am going to do. You are no doubt
aware that the dissolution of Parliament will take place at once,
and that we shall be in all the turmoil of a general election by
the middle of March. I have been invited to stand for Loughshane,
and have consented. The proposition has been made to me by my
friend Barrington Erle, Mr. Mildmay's private secretary, and has
been made on behalf of the Political Committee of the Reform Club.
I need hardly say that I should not have thought of such a thing
with a less thorough promise of support than this gives me, nor
should I think of it now had I not been assured that none of the
expense of the election would fall upon me. Of course I could not
have asked you to pay for it.</p>
<p>But to such a proposition, so made, I have felt that it would be
cowardly to give a refusal. I cannot but regard such a selection
as a great honour. I own that I am fond of politics, and have
taken great delight in their study—("Stupid young fool!" his
father said to himself as he read this)—and it has been my dream
for years past to have a seat in Parliament at some future time.
("Dream! yes; I wonder whether he has ever dreamed what he is to
live upon.") The chance has now come to me much earlier than I
have looked for it, but I do not think that it should on that
account be thrown away. Looking to my profession, I find that many
things are open to a barrister with a seat in Parliament, and that
the House need not interfere much with a man's practice. ("Not if
he has got to the top of his tree," said the doctor.)</p>
<p>My chief doubt arose from the fact of your old friendship with
Lord Tulla, whose brother has filled the seat for I don't know how
many years. But it seems that George Morris must go; or, at least,
that he must be opposed by a Liberal candidate. If I do not stand,
some one else will, and I should think that Lord Tulla will be too
much of a man to make any personal quarrel on such a subject. If
he is to lose the borough, why should not I have it as well as
another?</p>
<p>I can fancy, my dear father, all that you will say as to my
imprudence, and I quite confess that I have not a word to answer.
I have told myself more than once, since last night, that I shall
probably ruin myself. ("I wonder whether he has ever told himself
that he will probably ruin me also," said the doctor.) But I am
prepared to ruin myself in such a cause. I have no one dependent
on me; and, as long as I do nothing to disgrace my name, I may
dispose of myself as I please. If you decide on stopping my
allowance, I shall have no feeling of anger against you. ("How
very considerate!" said the doctor.) And in that case I shall
endeavour to support myself by my pen. I have already done a
little for the magazines.</p>
<p>Give my best love to my mother and sisters. If you will receive me
during the time of the election, I shall see them soon. Perhaps it
will be best for me to say that I have positively decided on
making the attempt; that is to say, if the Club Committee is as
good as its promise. I have weighed the matter all round, and I
regard the prize as being so great, that I am prepared to run any
risk to obtain it. Indeed, to me, with my views about politics,
the running of such a risk is no more than a duty. I cannot keep
my hand from the work now that the work has come in the way of my
hand. I shall be most anxious to get a line from you in answer to
this.</p>
<p class="ind10">Your most affectionate son,</p>
<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Phineas
Finn</span>.<br/> </p>
</blockquote>
<p>I question whether Dr. Finn, when he read this letter, did not
feel more of pride than of anger,—whether he was not rather
gratified than displeased, in spite of all that his common-sense
told him on the subject. His wife and daughters, when they heard
the news, were clearly on the side of the young man. Mrs. Finn
immediately expressed an opinion that Parliament would be the
making of her son, and that everybody would be sure to employ so
distinguished a barrister. The girls declared that Phineas ought,
at any rate, to have his chance, and almost asserted that it would
be brutal in their father to stand in their brother's way. It was
in vain that the doctor tried to explain that going into
Parliament could not help a young barrister, whatever it might do
for one thoroughly established in his profession; that Phineas, if
successful at Loughshane, would at once abandon all idea of
earning any income,—that the proposition, coming from so poor a
man, was a monstrosity,—that such an opposition to the Morris
family, coming from a son of his, would be gross ingratitude to
Lord Tulla. Mrs. Finn and the girls talked him down, and the
doctor himself was almost carried away by something like vanity in
regard to his son's future position.</p>
<p>Nevertheless he wrote a letter strongly advising Phineas to
abandon the project. But he himself was aware that the letter
which he wrote was not one from which any success could be
expected. He advised his son, but did not command him. He made no
threats as to stopping his income. He did not tell Phineas, in so
many words, that he was proposing to make an ass of himself. He
argued very prudently against the plan, and Phineas, when he
received his father's letter, of course felt that it was
tantamount to a paternal permission to proceed with the matter. On
the next day he got a letter from his mother full of affection,
full of pride,—not exactly telling him to stand for Loughshane by
all means, for Mrs. Finn was not the woman to run openly counter
to her husband in any advice given by her to their son,—but
giving him every encouragement which motherly affection and
motherly pride could bestow. "Of course you will come to us," she
said, "if you do make up your mind to be member for Loughshane. We
shall all of us be so delighted to have you!" Phineas, who had
fallen into a sea of doubt after writing to his father, and who
had demanded a week from Barrington Erle to consider the matter,
was elated to positive certainty by the joint effect of the two
letters from home. He understood it all. His mother and sisters
were altogether in favour of his audacity, and even his father was
not disposed to quarrel with him on the subject.</p>
<p>"I shall take you at your word," he said to Barrington Erle at the
club that evening.</p>
<p>"What word?" said Erle, who had too many irons in the fire to be
thinking always of Loughshane and Phineas Finn,—or who at any
rate did not choose to let his anxiety on the subject be seen.</p>
<p>"About Loughshane."</p>
<p>"All right, old fellow; we shall be sure to carry you through. The
Irish writs will be out on the third of March, and the sooner
you're there the better."</p>
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