On the third day of his canvass Arthur Fletcher with his gang of agents and followers behind him met Lopez with his gang in the street. It was probable that they would so meet, and Fletcher had resolved what he would do when such a meeting took place. He walked up to Lopez, and with a kindly smile offered his hand. The two men, though they had never been intimate, had known each other, and Fletcher was determined to show that he would not quarrel with a man because that man had been his favoured rival. In comparison with that other matter this affair of the candidature was of course trivial. But Lopez who had, as the reader may remember, made some threat about a horsewhip, had come to a resolution of a very different nature. He put his arms akimbo, resting his hands on his hips, and altogether declined the proffered civility. ‘You had better walk on,’ he said, and then stood, scowling, on the spot till the other should pass by. Fletcher looked at him for a moment, then bowed and passed on. At least a dozen men saw what had taken place, and were aware that Mr Lopez had expressed his determination to quarrel personally with Mr Fletcher, in opposition to Mr Fletcher’s expressed wish for amity. And before they had gone to bed that night all the dozen knew the reason why. Of course there was someone then at Silverbridge clever enough to find out that Arthur Fletcher had been in love with Miss Wharton, but that Miss Wharton had lately been married to Mr Lopez. No doubt the incident added a pleasurable emotion to the excitement caused by the election at Silverbridge generally. A personal quarrel is attractive everywhere. The expectation of such an occurrence will bring together the whole House of Commons. And of course this quarrel was very attractive in Silverbridge. There were some Fletcherites and Lopezites in the quarrel; as there were able Du Boungites, who maintained that when gentlemen could not canvass without quarrelling in the streets they were manifestly unfit to represent such a borough as Silverbridge in Parliament; – and that therefore Mr Du Boung should be returned.
Mr Gresham was in the town that day, though not till after the occurrence, and Fletcher could not avoid speaking of it ‘The man must be a cur,’ said Gresham.
‘It would make no difference in the world to me,’ said Arthur, struggling hard to prevent signs of emotion from showing themselves in his face, ‘were it not that he has married a lady whom I have long known and whom I greatly esteem.’ He felt that he could hardly avoid all mention of the marriage, and yet was determined that he would say no word that his brother would call ‘howling’.
‘There has been no previous quarrel, or offence?’ asked Gresham.
‘None in the least’ When Arthur so spoke he forgot altogether the letter he had written; nor, had he then remembered it, would he have thought it possible that that letter should have given offence. He had been the sufferer, not Lopez. This man had robbed him of his happiness; and, though it would have been foolish in him to make a quarrel for a grievance such as that, there might have been some excuse had he done so. It had taken him some time to perceive that greatly as this man had injured him, there had been no injustice done to him, and that therefore there should be no complaint made by him. But that this other man should complain was to him unintelligible.
‘He is not worth your notice,’ said Mr Gresham. ‘He is simply not a gentleman, and does not know how to behave himself. I am very sorry for the young lady; – that’s all.’ At this allusion to Emily Arthur felt that his face became red with the rising blood; and he felt also that his friend should not have spoken thus openly, – thus irreverently, – on so sacred a subject. But at the moment he said nothing further. As far as his canvass was concerned it had been successful, and he was beginning to feel sure that he would be the new member. He endeavoured therefore to drown his sorrow in this coming triumph.
But Lopez had been by no means gratified with his canvass or with the conduct of the borough generally. He had already begun to feel that the Duchess and Mr Sprugeon and the borough had thrown him over shamefully. Immediately on his arrival in Silverbridge a local attorney had with the blandest possible smile asked him for a cheque for £500. Of course there must be money spent at once, and of course the money must come out of the candidate’s pocket. He had known all this beforehand, and yet the demand for the money had come upon him as an injury. He gave the cheque, but showed clearly by his manner that he resented the application. This did not tend to bind to him more closely the services of those who were present when the demand was made. And then, as he began his canvass, he found that he could not conjure at all with the name of the Duke, or even with that of the Duchess; and was told on the second day by Mr Sprugeon himself that he had better fight the battle ‘on his own hook’. Now his own hook in Silverbridge was certainly not a strong hook. Mr Sprugeon was still of opinion that a good deal might be done by judicious manipulation, and went so far as to suggest that another cheque for £500 in the hands of Mr Wise, the lawyer, would be effective. But Lopez did not give the other cheque, and Sprugeon whispered to him that the Duke had been too many for the Duchess. Still he had persevered, and a set of understrappers around him, who would make nothing out of the election without his candidature, assured him from time to time that he would even yet come out all right at the ballot With such a hope still existing he had not scrupled to affirm in his speeches that the success of his canvass had been complete. But, on the morning of the day on which he met Fletcher in the street, Mr Du Boung had called upon him accompanied by two of the Du Boung agents and by Mr Sprugeon himself, – and had suggested that he, Lopez, should withdraw from the contest, so that Du Boung might be returned, and that the ‘liberal interests’ of the borough might not be sacrificed.
This was a heavy blow, and one which Ferdinand Lopez was not the man to bear with equanimity. From the moment in which the Duchess had mentioned the borough to him, he had regarded the thing as certain. After a while he had understood that his return must be accompanied by more trouble and greater expense than he had at first anticipated; – but still he had thought that it was all but sure. He had altogether misunderstood the nature of the influence exercised by the Duchess, and the nature also of the Duke’s resolution. Mr Sprugeon had of course wished to have a candidate, and had allured him. Perhaps he had in some degree been ill-treated by the borough. But he was a man, whom the feeling of injustice to himself would drive almost to frenzy, though he never measured the amount of his own injustice to others. When the proposition was made to him, he scowled at them all, and declared that he would fight the borough to the last. ‘Then you’ll let Mr Fletcher in to a certainty,’ said Mr Sprout Now there was an idea in the borough that, although all the candidates were ready to support the Duke’s government, Mr Du Boung and Mr Lopez were the two Liberals. Mr Du Boung was sitting in the room when the appeal was made, and declared that he feared that such would be the result. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ said Lopez; ‘I’ll toss up which of us retires.’ Mr Sprout, on behalf of Mr Du Boung, protested against that proposition. Mr Du Boung, who was a gentleman of great local influence, was in possession of four-fifths of the liberal interests of the borough. Even were he to retire, Mr Lopez could not get in. Mr Sprout declared that this was known to all the borough at large. He, Sprout, was sorry that a gentleman like Mr Lopez should have been brought down there under false ideas. He had all through told Mr Sprugeon that the Duke had been in earnest, but Mr Sprugeon had not comprehended the position. It had been a pity. But anybody who understood the borough could see with one eye that Mr Lopez had not a chance. If Mr Lopez would retire Mr Du Boung would no doubt be returned. If Mr Lopez went to the poll, Mr Fletcher would probably be the new member. This was the picture as it was painted by Mr Sprout, – who had, even then, heard something of the loves of the two candidates, and who had thought that Lopez would be glad to injure Arthur Fletcher’s chances of success. So far he was not wrong; – but the sense of the injury done to himself oppressed Lopez so much that he could not guide himself by reason. The idea of retiring was very painful to him, and he did not believe these men. He thought it to be quite possible that t
hey were there to facilitate the return of Arthur Fletcher. He had never even heard of Du Boung till he had come to Silverbridge two or three days ago. He still could not believe that Du Boung would be returned. He thought over it all for a moment, and then he gave his answer. ‘I’ve been brought down here to fight, and I’ll fight it to the last,’ he said. ‘Then you’ll hand over the borough to Mr Fletcher,’ said Sprout, getting up and ushering Mr Du Boung out of the room.
It was after that, but on the same day, that Lopez and Fletcher met each other in the street. The affair did not take a minute, and then they parted, each on his own way. In the course of that evening Mr Sprugeon told his candidate that he, Sprugeon, could not concern himself any further in that election. He was very sorry for what had occurred; – very sorry indeed. It was no doubt a pity that the Duke had been so firm. ‘But,’ – and Mr Sprugeon shrugged his shoulders as he spoke, – ‘when a nobleman like the Duke chooses to have a way of his own, he must have it.’ Mr Sprugeon went on to declare that any further candidature would be waste of money, waste of time, and waste of energy, and then signified his intention of retiring, as far as this election went, into private life. When asked, he acknowledged that they who had been acting with him had come to the same resolve. Mr Lopez had in fact come there as the Duke’s nominee, and as the Duke had no nominee, Mr Lopez was in fact ‘nowhere’.
‘I don’t suppose that any man was ever so treated before, since members were first returned to Parliament,’ said Lopez.
‘Well, sir, – yes, sir; it is a little hard. But, you see, sir, her Grace meant the best. Her Grace did mean the best, no doubt. It may be, sir, there was a little misunderstanding; – a little misunderstanding at the Castle, sir.’ Then Mr Sprugeon retired, and Lopez understood that he was to see nothing more of the ironmonger.
Of course there was nothing for him now but to retire; – to shake the dust off his feet19 and get out of Silverbridge as quickly as he could. But his friends had all deserted him and he did not know how to retire. He had paid £500, and he had a strong opinion that a portion at least of the money should be returned to him. He had a keen sense of ill-usage, and at the same time a feeling that he ought not to run out of the borough like a whipt dog, without showing his face to any one. But his strongest sensation at this moment was one of hatred against Arthur Fletcher. He was sure that Arthur Fletcher would be the new member. He did not put the least trust in Mr Du Boung. He had taught himself really to think that Fletcher had insulted him by writing to his wife, and that a further insult had been offered to him by that meeting in the street. He had told his wife that he would ask Fletcher to give up the borough, and that he would make that request with a horsewhip in his hand. It was too late now to say anything of the borough, but it might not be too late for the horsewhip. He had a great desire to make good that threat as far as the horsewhip was concerned, – having an idea that he would thus lower Fletcher in his wife’s eyes. It was not that he was jealous, – not jealous according to the ordinary meaning of the word. His wife’s love to himself had been too recently given and too warmly maintained for such a feeling as that But there was a rancorous hatred in his heart against the man, and a conviction that his wife at any rate esteemed the man whom he hated. And then would he not make his retreat from the borough with more honour if before he left he could horsewhip his successful antagonist? We, who know the feeling of Englishmen generally better than Mr Lopez did, would say – certainly not. We would think that such an incident would by no means redound to the credit of Mr Lopez. And he himself, probably, at cooler moments, would have seen the folly of such an idea. But anger about the borough had driven him mad, and now in his wretchedness the suggestion had for him a certain charm. The man had outraged all propriety by writing to his wife. Of course he would be justified in horsewhipping him. But there were difficulties. A man is not horsewhipped simply because you wish to horsewhip him.
In the evening, as he was sitting alone, he got a note from Mr Sprugeon. ‘Mr Sprugeon’s compliments. Doesn’t Mr Lopez think an address to the electors should appear in tomorrow’s Gazette, – very short and easy; – something like the following.’ Then Mr Sprugeon added a very ‘short and easy letter’ to the electors of the borough of Silverbridge, in which Mr Lopez was supposed to tell them that although his canvass promised to him every success, he felt that he owed it to the borough to retire, lest he should injure the borough by splitting the Liberal interest with their much respected fellow-townsman, Mr Du Boung. In the course of the evening he did copy that letter, and sent it out to the newspaper office. He must retire, and it was better for him that he should retire after some recognized fashion. But he wrote another letter also, and sent it over to the opposition hotel. The other letter was as follows:
SIR,
Before this election began you were guilty of gross impertinence in writing a letter to my wife, – to her extreme annoyance and to my most justifiable anger. Any gentleman would think that the treatment you had already received at her hands would have served to save her from such insult, but there are men who will never take a lesson without a beating. And now, since you have been here, you have presumed to offer to shake hands with me in the street, though you ought to have known that I should not choose to meet you on friendly terms after what has taken place. I now write to tell you that I shall carry a horsewhip while I am here, and that if I meet you in the streets again before I leave the town I shall use it.
FERDINAND LOPEZ.
Mr Arthur Fletcher.
This letter he sent at once to his enemy, and then sat late into the night thinking of his threat and of the manner in which he would follow it up. If he could only get one fair blow at Fletcher his purpose, he thought, would be achieved. In any matter of horsewhipping the truth hardly ever gets itself correctly known. The man who has given the first blow is generally supposed to have thrashed the other. What might follow, though it might be inconvenient, must be borne. The man had insulted him by writing to his wife, and the sympathies of the world, he thought, would be with him. To give him his due, it must be owned that he had no personal fear as to the encounter.
That night Arthur Fletcher had gone over to Greshambury, and on the following morning he returned with Mr Gresham. ‘For heaven’s sake look at that!’ he said, handing the letter to his friend.
‘Did you ever write to his wife?’ asked Gresham, when he read it.
‘Yes; – I did. All this is dreadful to me: – dreadful. Well; – you know how it used to be with me. I need not go into all that; need I?’
‘Don’t say a word more than you think necessary.’
‘When you asked me to stand for the place I had not heard that he thought of being a candidate. I wrote and told her so, and told her also that had I known it before I would not have come here.’
‘I don’t quite see that,’ said Gresham.
‘Perhaps not; – perhaps I was a fool. But we needn’t go into that. At any rate there was no insult to him. I wrote in the simplest language.’
‘Looking at it all round I think you had better not have written.’
‘You wouldn’t say so if you saw the letter. I’m sure you wouldn’t I had known her all my life. My brother is married to her cousin. Oh heavens! we had been all but engaged. I would have done anything for her. Was it not natural that I should tell her? As far as the language was concerned the letter was one to be read at Charing Cross.’
‘He says that she was annoyed and insulted.’
‘Impossible! It was a letter that any man might have written to any woman.’
‘Well; – you have got to take care of yourself at any rate. What will you do?’
‘What ought I to do?’
‘Go to the police.’ Mr Gresham had himself once, when young, thrashed a man who had offended him, and had then thought himself much aggrieved because the police had been called in. But that had been twenty years ago, and Mr Gresham’s opinions had been matured and, perhaps, corrected by age.
&nbs
p; ‘No; I won’t do that,’ said Arthur Fletcher.
‘That’s what you ought to do.’
‘I couldn’t do that.’
‘Then take no notice of the letter, and carry a fairly big stick. It should be big enough to hurt him a good deal, but not to do him any serious damage.’ At that moment an agent came in with news of the man’s retirement from the contest. ‘Has he left the town?’ asked Gresham. No; – he had not left the town, nor had he been seen by any one that morning. ‘You had better let me go out and get the stick, before you show yourself,’ said Gresham. And so the stick was selected.
THE PRIME MINISTER Page 37