The Master Craftsman

I found Robert satisfied—he used the word himself—with his first success.

‘I could have desired nothing better,’ he said, ‘than such a chance. So far as I can learn, there will be a good many more such chances before long. What does Isabel say? But, of course, she takes no interest in the subject.’

‘Would you like a woman’s opinion, Robert?’

‘I don’t know. Women don’t count for much in politics, or in anything else, as far as judgment goes.’

‘The woman I know counts for a great deal. She is an old friend of mine—a friend from childhood. She is the daughter of a Prime Minister, and the widow of a Secretary of State, and she is an ardent politician. Well, Robert, she is a very charming woman, too. I took her to Shadwell to hear you speak. She came again that night when you fought the rushers, and she was in the House last night. And she commands me to bring you to her next “At Home.”’

‘Oh,’ said Robert.

‘You are quite wrong—absurdly wrong—in your views of women. They may be extremely useful in politics; they have often played a great part. A certain Delilah was a politician, I believe. She coaxed a giant out of his sense and his secret.’

‘Are you going to get me coaxed out of my strength?’

‘Not a bit. I am taking you to a woman who will add to your strength if you are so happy as to win her interest.’

‘A party politician?’

‘Certainly—a party politician, as you will be before long.’ He shook his head. ‘For the rest, the less important affairs, she is a most delightful person, handsome and rich. The way to her friendship is to be strong, capable, and ambitious. You are all three. She is prepared to welcome you. Of course you will come?’

We were dining at my club. I do not think that there was anything in the quiet, assured manner of my cousin Robert to make anyone suspect that three months before this man had never even possessed a dress-coat, had never seen a dinner properly served, had never tasted claret, and had never dined after one.

‘Of course, I know,’ he said slowly, ‘what you mean by this invitation; it means that you think I may now enter a drawing-room.’

‘Partly. You can never be taken for a man born and brought up in the Eton and Trinity way. You don’t desire such a thing. But you are now one who has the bearing and the speech of a gentleman.’

‘I will go with you; I am not afraid of being dazzled either by a woman’s face or by her finery, or by a man’s titles, nor any airs and affectations, nor by the languid superiority of some of your fellows. I know my own value, and that, I take it, is the best foundation possible for courtly manners. And so you think I am polished enough for a drawing-room, do you?’

‘Not polished, but finished. If you went farther you would lose your natural manner. You could never lose the form and figure which proclaim your strength. Your big head, your broad shoulders, your short, curly hair, your square beard, your deep-set eyes—I swear that you are just the strongest-looking man in the world.’

Robert laughed. No one, not even the strongest-looking man in the world, dislikes being described as looking what he most desires to be.

Lady Frances’s rooms were already well filled when we arrived; later they were crowded. She welcomed me with her customary kindness. ‘I shall never cease to reproach you,’ she said; ‘but I have forgiven you.’

She was dressed in all her splendour—a blaze of diamonds, a vision of silk (if it was silk), of velvet (if it was velvet). She might have stood to Robert for some great Court lady. Her queenly stature, her noble figure, her large head and ample cheek, set off her splendid dress. She looked as if this was the only dress she ought to wear; she looked indeed a grande dame de par le monde.

I presented my cousin. For the moment Robert was staggered. I saw upon his face an expression of weakness quite new to him. It was the weakness of the strong man in the presence, for the first time, of the queenly woman.

She received him with gracious courtesy.

After a few words, I left Robert to talk a little with his hostess. While they stood together, there entered a little old man with shaggy white eyebrows, keen eyes, and a white mane and a big head—a leonine person. Frances shook hands with him, and then turned to Robert.

‘Mr. Burnikel,’ she said, ‘let me introduce you to Lord Caerleon. Mr. Burnikel is Member for Shadwell, and a cousin of your friend, Sir George.’

Lord Caerleon shook hands with him. ‘On our side, Mr. Burnikel, I hope.’

‘I have entered the House as an Independent Member,’ said Robert sturdily.

‘Oh!’ Lord Caerleon replied dryly. ‘Yes, I have known several young men announce that intention; but they change it—they change it. There is a good deal to be got out of the House by an ambitious man who goes the right way to work—a great deal: distinction and recognition, that is something; place and power, that is something. You are a lawyer, perhaps.’

‘No; I am not a member of any learned profession. I am a Master Craftsman—by trade a boat-builder.’

‘Oh!’ Lord Caerleon refrained from the least expression of surprise. ‘But one may imagine that every young man who goes into the House is actuated by some ambition.’

‘My ambition is to make a mark in the House—and out of it,’ said Robert.

‘Then, sir, I wish you every success; and you will speedily discover that, in order to make that mark, you must join a Party—that is, our Party—my Party.’

Lord Caerleon left him and walked over to me. He was a former friend of my grandfather, the Judge. ‘Is that your cousin, George?’ he asked—‘that tall, good-looking fellow over there, Member for Shadwell?’

‘He is my cousin, certainly, though rather distant.’

‘Oh! He said he was a—a—a boat-builder. Did he speak some kind of allegory?’

‘A hundred years ago my great-grandfather and his great-grandfather were partners in a boat-building-yard. At the same time, if I remember rightly, your great-grandfather, Lord Caerleon——’

‘Was unknown. Certainly. Yet one does not expect to see an actual boat-builder in a place like this, and looking and talking like a gentleman. You and I, Sir George, belong to the third generation of those who were born in the purple of gentlehood. This man says he is a Master Craftsman. Do we receive the man with a plane and a chisel in our drawing-rooms?’

‘He is a master of labour; he employs many men. I believe he will prove himself to be a Master Craftsman in the craft of oratory and debate. He is the strongest man, Lord Caerleon, the most courageous man, and the most finished man, that I know. You can’t dazzle him. You can’t frighten him. And I am quite certain, from his first speech, that he will carry away the House as he carries away his constituents. Look after him, Lord Caerleon. Don’t forget to reckon with him as soon as you can.’

Lord Caerleon looked at me thoughtfully, but made no reply. Half an hour later I saw that he was again talking with Robert.

Thinking of what the man was when first I knew him; how contemptuous of social conventions; how determined to go into the House as a rough craftsman; to set everybody right on all questions of labour and employers, knowing nothing whatever of the ways and manners by which alone anything real can be accomplished; and seeing the man in this salon, quiet and assured, yet strangely unlike the ordinary young man of the West End, I was elated to think of my success. To be sure, I had a pupil who was determined to learn. But, then, a well-bred manner is to some people impossible to learn, or to assume, if they work at it all their lives. To Robert the manner came easily.

‘He has the air,’ said Frances, reading my thoughts, because I was looking across the room, ‘of a man who has lived in the best society, but not our own. Has he lived in New York?’

‘No; he has only lived in Wapping—a distinguished suburb near the place where you heard him speak.’

‘Wapping has, then, I suppose, a curiously distinguished society of its own. Has Wapping a nobility, an opera-house, ladies of the world? Seriously, George, how did this man arrive at a distinguished manner as well as a distinguished look? You know—I told you—when I heard him speak. I made up my mind that he was a born orator.’

‘Well, Frances, he has practised a very honest trade; that prevents meanness; and he has read enormously, so that his level of thought is elevated; and he takes himself very seriously, so that he is self-confident; and he is quick to observe; so that, altogether, I think you may understand how he has arrived at his present manner.’

‘He is not a young man for a young lady. I introduced him to one just now, and they separated five minutes afterwards with a lively look of mutual repulsion. Perhaps he began by telling her, as he told Lord Caerleon, that he was a boat-builder.’

‘Very likely.’

Then I retired into a corner and looked on. I saw that Frances looked after this guest with a care which she seemed to bestow upon no others. She talked to him, she introduced him to people, especially to members of the House; and I saw that he was not dazzled—not in the least dazzled—by title, or by fine dress, or fine manners. It was impossible to condescend with such a man; most likely he condescended to the condescender.

‘I like it, George,’ he said, when we found ourselves together. ‘I like the crowd and the fine dresses and all. It is amusing. I don’t belong to it in the least. That makes it all the more amusing.’

‘And the women—how do you like them?’

‘Lady Frances is splendid! I do not see any other woman in the place.’

It was filled with women: some young and beautiful, some old and no longer beautiful; all well dressed, and most of them animated. But he had no eyes except for Lady Frances.

Presently all were gone; I alone remained behind.

‘Let us sit down, George, for a few minutes’ quiet talk. Come into the little room. You may have a cigarette, if you like. Now about that tall cousin of yours. Do you really think that he has the qualities necessary for success? It is not enough to fire off a speech now and then, you know.’

‘Well, he says he has these qualities. Whatever he says is always true. Quite a man of his word, you know. I think he has these qualities. The House loves a strong man beyond anything. Remember how they all turned round about Bradlaugh. Well, Bradlaugh was a strong man, if you like; and Bradlaugh knew a lot; but Bradlaugh in all his glory wasn’t, I really believe, a patch on my cousin Robert.’

Frances became thoughtful. ‘You know, George,’ after a pause, ‘I was bitterly disappointed that you did not go into politics. You would have had every kind of help. I cannot tell you half the dreams I had nourished about your success. Everything is possible for such a man as you. And you basely deserted us and went off boat-building. Oh, heavens!—boat-building!’

‘I did, Frances. I am a wretch.’

‘Well, the Party wants a few young men—good young men. If I can get that big, strong man, your cousin, to throw himself heartily into the Party, he may prove himself worthy of being looked after. Help me with him, George.’

‘What am I to do?’

‘Bring him to dinner with me. I will have a little dinner of you two first; then a little dinner alone with him; then a little dinner with one or two of the chiefs thrown in. Then—but you understand how a woman works in such a case. I want him for the Party.’

‘What will you offer him?’

‘I don’t know yet; we must see first what he is worth, and next what he wants. An ordinary young man would be contented with dining with me. He would then go home and dream of making love to me—they all do. Then he would come here and try to make that dream a reality. But a young man with a great future before him would want more than that. What would he want?’

‘One thing, Frances. Don’t speak to him just yet of place or salary. The man thinks nothing about money. Later on, when he discovers that his few hundreds a year won’t buy all things he wants, he will, perhaps, modify his views.’

‘What will tempt him, then?’

‘Power. He wants Power. He would be another Gladstone, another Bismarck. He desires Power about everything. The greatest presumption—the greatest audacity.’

Frances sighed. ‘Oh!’ she said, ‘if they had only made me a man! George, there is but one thing in the world that I desire, and that is Power. I could get it easily, even though I am a woman, if I had a husband strong and able and ambitious, and worth working for. Where is that man? You ought to have been such a man, George, but you’re not. You are only a common carpenter. Oh, the grovelling of it!’

‘I will become a cabinet-maker, if you like, Frances, and make the Cabinet in which my cousin is to sit.’