“Do you remember the honest Quaker’s answer to the man of no party?” said Wharton.
“No.”
“I think it was about the year ‘40, when party disputes about Whig and Tory ran high—but no matter what year, it will do for any time. A gentleman of undeviating integrity, an independent man, just such a man as Mr. Vivian, offered himself candidate for a town in the east, west, north, or south of England—no matter where, it will do for any place; and the first person whose vote he solicited was a Quaker, who asked him whether he was a Whig or Tory?—‘Neither. I am an independent, moderate man; and when the members of administration are right, I will vote with them—when wrong, against them.’ ‘And be these really thy principles?’ quoth the Quaker; ‘then a vote of mine thou shalt never have. Thou seest my door, it leadeth into the street; the right hand side of which is for the Tory, the left for the Whigs; and for a cold-blooded moderate man, like thee, there is the kennel, and into it thou wilt be jostled, for thou beest not decided enough for any other situation.’”
“But why should the moderate man be condemned to the kennel?” said Vivian. “Was there no middle to your Quaker’s road? A stout man cannot be EASILY jostled into the kennel.”
“Pshaw! pshaw!” said Wharton: “jesting out of the question, a man is nothing in public life, or worse than nothing, a trimmer, unless HE JOINS a party, and unless he abides by it, too.”
“As long as the party is in the right, I presume, you mean,” said Vivian.
“Right or wrong’” cried Wharton, “a man must abide by his party. No power, and no popularity, trust me, without it!—Better stride on the greasy heads of the mob than be trampled under their dirtier feet. An armed neutrality may be a good thing, but an unarmed neutrality is fit only for fools. Besides, in Russell’s grand style, I can bring down the ancients upon you, and tell you that when the commonwealth is in danger he cannot be a good man who sides with neither party.”
“If it be so necessary to join a party, and if, after once joining it, I must abide by it, right or wrong, for life,” said Vivian, “it behoves me to consider well, before I commit myself; and, before I go into the ranks, I must see good reason to confide, not only in the abilities, but in the integrity and public virtue of my leader.”
“Public virtue! sounds fresh from college,” said Wharton; “I would as soon, and sooner, hear a schoolboy read his theme as hear a man begin to prose about public virtue—especially a member of parliament. Keep that phrase, my dear Vivian, till some of the treasury bench come to court you; then look superb, like a French tragic actor, swelling out your chest, and throwing the head over the left shoulder—thus—exclaim, ‘Public virtue forbid!’—practise! practise!—for if you do it well, it may be worth a loud huzza to you yet; or better still, a snug place or pension. But stay till you’re asked—stay till you’re asked—that’s the etiquette; never till then let me hear public virtue come out of your lips, else you’ll raise suspicion of your virtue, and lower your price. What would you think of a pretty actress who began to talk to you of her reputation before you put it in any danger? Oh, Vivian! my honest fellow! unless you would make me think you no better than thousands that have gone before you, never let me hear from your lips again, till the proper time, the hypocritical state phrase—public virtue.”
“I had always, till now, understood that it was possible to be a patriot without being a hypocrite,” replied Vivian; “I always understood that Mr. Wharton was a patriot.”