THE ELECTION AT BASLEHURST.
Towards the end of September the day of the election arrived, and
with it arrived Luke Rowan at Baslehurst. The vacancy had been
occasioned by the acceptance of the then sitting member of that
situation under the crown which is called the stewardship of the
manor of Helpholme. In other words an old gentleman who had done his
life's work retired and made room for some one more young and active.
The old member had kept his seat till the end of the session, just
leaving time for the moving for a new writ, and now the election was
about to be held, almost at the earliest day possible. It had been
thought that a little reflection would induce the Baslehurst people
to reject the smiles of the Jew tailor from London, and therefore as
little time for reflection was given to them as possible. The wealth,
the liberal politics, the generosity, and the successes of Mr. Hart
were dinned into their ears by a succession of speeches, and by an
overpowering flight of enormous posters; and then the Jewish hero,
the tailor himself, came among them, and astonished their minds by
the ease and volubility of his speeches. He did not pronounce his
words with any of those soft slushy Judaic utterances by which they
had been taught to believe he would disgrace himself. His nose was
not hookey, with any especial hook, nor was it thicker at the bridge
than was becoming. He was a dapper little man, with bright eyes,
quick motion, ready tongue, and a very new hat. It seemed that
he knew well how to canvass. He had a smile and a good word for
all,--enemies as well as friends. The task of abusing the Cornbury
party he left to his committee and backers. He spent a great deal of
money,--throwing it away in every direction in which he could do so,
without laying himself open to the watchful suspicion of the other
side. He ate and drank like a Christian, and only laughed aloud when
some true defender of the Protestant faith attempted to scare him
away out of the streets by carrying a gammon of bacon up on high.
Perhaps his strength as a popular candidate was best shown by his
drinking a pint of Tappitt's beer in the little parlour behind the
bar at the Dragon.
"He beats me there," said Butler Cornbury, when he heard of that
feat.
But the action was a wise one. The question as to Tappitt's brewery
and Tappitt's beer was running high at Baslehurst, and in no stronger
way could Mr. Hart have bound to him the Tappitt faction than by
swallowing in public that pint of beer. "Let me have a small glass of
brandy at once," said Mr. Hart to his servant, having retired to his
room immediately after the performance of the feat. His constitution
was good, and I may as well at once declare that before half an hour
had passed over his head he was again himself, and at his work.
The question of Tappitt's beer and Tappitt's brewery was running
high in Baslehurst, and had gotten itself involved in the mouths of
the people of Baslehurst, not only with the loves and sorrows of
poor Rachel Ray, but with the affairs of this election. We know how
Tappitt had been driven to declare himself a stanch supporter of the
Jew. He had become very stanch,--stanch beyond the promising of his
own vote,--stanch even to a final sitting on the Jew's committee,
and an active canvasser on the Jew's behalf. His wife, whose
passions were less strong than his own and her prudence greater, had
remonstrated with him on the matter. "You can vote against Cornbury,
if you please," she had said, "but do it quietly. Keep your toe in
your pump and say nothing. Just as we stand at present about the
business of Rowan's, it would almost be better that you shouldn't
vote at all." But Tappitt was an angry man, at this moment
uncontrollable by the laws of prudence, and he went into these
election matters heart and soul, to his wife's great grief. Butler
Cornbury, or Mrs. Butler Cornbury,--it was all the same to him
which,--had openly taken up Rowan's part in the brewery controversy.
A rumour had reached Tappitt that the inmates of Cornbury Grange had
loudly expressed a desire for good beer! Under such circumstances it
was not possible for him not to rush to the fight. He did rush into
the thick of it, and boasted among his friends that the Jew was safe.
I think he was right,--right at any rate as regarded his own peace
of mind. Nothing gives a man such spirit for a fight, as the act of
fighting. During these election days he was almost regardless of
Rowan. He was to second the nomination of the Jew, and so keen was
he as to the speech that he would make, and as to the success of what
he was doing against Mr. Cornbury, that he was able to talk down his
wife, and browbeat Honyman in his own office. Honyman was about to
vote for Butler Cornbury, was employed in the Cornbury interest, and
knew well on which side his bread was buttered. Sharpit and Longfite
were local attorneys for the Jew, and in this way Tappitt was thrown
into close intercourse with that eminent firm. "Of course we wouldn't
interfere," said Sharpit confidently to the brewer. "We never do
interfere with the clients of another firm. We never did such a thing
yet, and don't mean to begin. We find people drop into us quick
enough without that. But in a friendly way, Mr. Tappitt, let me
caution you, not to let your fine business be injured by that young
sharper."
Mr. Tappitt found this to be very kind,--and very sensible too. He
gave no authority to Sharpit on that occasion to act for him; but he
thought of it, resolving that he would set his shoulders firmly to
that wheel as soon as he had carried through this business of the
election.
But even in the matter of the election everything did not go well
with Tappitt. He had appertaining to his establishment a certain
foreman of the name of Worts, a heavy, respectable, useful man,
educated on the establishment by Bungall and bequeathed by Bungall
to Tappitt,--a man by no means ambitious of good beer, but very
ambitious of profits to the firm, a servant indeed almost invaluable
in such a business. But Tappitt had ever found him deficient in
this,--that he had a certain objectionable pride in having been
Bungall's servant, and that as such he thought himself absolved from
the necessity of subserviency to his latter master. Once a day indeed
he did touch his cap, but when that was done he seemed to fancy that
he was almost equal to Mr. Tappitt upon the premises. He never shook
in his shoes if Tappitt were angry, nor affected to hasten his steps
if Tappitt were in a hurry, nor would he even laugh at Tappitt's
jokes, if,--as was too usual,--such jokes were not mirth-moving in
their intrinsic nature. Clearly he was not at all points a good
servant, and Tappitt in some hours of his prosperity had ventured to
think that the brewery could go on without him. Now, since the day
in which Rowan's treachery had first loomed upon Tappitt, he had
felt much inclined to fraternize on easier terms with his foreman.
Worts when he touched his cap had been received with a smile, and
his advice had been asked in a flattering tone,--not demanded as
belonging to the establishment by right. Then Tappitt began to talk
of Rowan to his man, and to speak evil things of him, as was natural,
expecting a reciprocity of malignity from Worts. But Worts on such
occasions had been ominously silent. "H--m, I bean't so zure o'
that," Worts had once said, thus differing from his master on some
fundamental point of Tappitt strategy as opposed to Rowan strategy.
"Ain't you?" said Tappitt, showing his teeth. "You'd better go now
and look after those men at the carts." Worts had looked after the
men at the carts, but he had done so with an idea in his head that
perhaps he would not long look after Tappitt's men or Tappitt's
carts. He had not himself been ambitious of good beer, but the idea
had almost startled him into acquiescence by its brilliancy.
Now Worts had a vote in the borough, and it came to Tappitt's ears
that his servant intended to give that vote to Mr. Cornbury. "Worts,"
said he, a day or two before the election, "of course you intend to
vote for Mr. Hart?"
Worts touched his cap, for it was the commencement of the day.
"I don't jest know," said he. "I was thinking of woting for the young
squoire. I've know'd him ever since he was born, and I ain't never
know'd the Jew gentleman;--never at all."
"Look here, Worts; if you intend to remain in this establishment I
shall expect you to support the liberal interest, as I support it
myself. The liberal interest has always been supported in Baslehurst
by Bungall and Tappitt ever since Bungall and Tappitt have existed."
"The old maister, he wouldn't a woted for ere a Jew in
Christendom,--not agin the squoire. The old maister was allays for
the Protestant religion."
"Very well, Worts; there can't be two ways of thinking here, that's
all; especially not at such a time as this, when there's more
reason than ever why those connected with the brewery should all
stand shoulder to shoulder. You've had your bread out of this
establishment, Worts, for a great many years."
"And I've 'arned it hard;--no man can't say otherwise. The sweat
o' my body belongs to the brewery, but I didn't ever sell 'em my
wote;--and I don't mean." Saying which words, with an emphasis that
was by no means servile, Worts went out from the presence of his
master.
"That man's turning against me," said Tappitt to his wife at
breakfast time, in almost mute despair.
"What! Worts?" said Mrs. Tappitt.
"Yes;--the ungrateful hound. He's been about the place almost ever
since he could speak, for more than forty years. He's had two pound a
week for the last ten years;--and now he's turning against me."
"Is he going over to Rowan?"
"I don't know where the d---- he's going. He's going to vote for
Butler Cornbury, and that's enough for me."
"Oh, T., I wouldn't mind that; especially not just now. Only think
what a help he'll be to that man!"
"I tell you he shall walk out of the brewery the week after this, if
he votes for Cornbury. There isn't room for two opinions here, and I
won't have it."
For a moment or two Mrs. Tappitt sat mute, almost in despair. Then
she took courage and spoke out.
"T.," said she, "it won't do."
"What won't do?"
"All this won't do. We shall be ruined and left without a home. I
don't mind myself; I never did; but think of the girls! What would
they do if we was turned out of this?"
"Who's to turn you out?"
"I know. I see it. I am beginning to understand. T., that man would
not go against you and the brewery if he didn't know which way the
wind is blowing. Worts is wide awake,--quite wide; he always was. T.,
you must take the offer Rowan has made of a regular income and live
retired. If you don't do it,--I shall!" And Mrs. Tappitt, as she
spoke the audacious words, rose up from her chair, and stood with her
arms leaning upon the table.
"What!" said Tappitt, sitting aghast with his mouth open.
"Yes, T.; if you don't think of your family I must. What I'm saying
Mr. Honyman has said before; and indeed all Baslehurst is saying the
same thing. There's an offer made to you that will put your family on
a footing quite genteel,--no gentlefolks in the county more so; and
you, too, that are getting past your work!"
"I ain't getting past my work."
"I shouldn't say so, T., if it weren't for your own good,--and if
I'm not to know about that, who is? It's all very well going about
electioneering; and indeed it's just what gentlefolks is fit for when
they're past their regular work; And I'm sure I shan't begrudge it so
long as it don't cost anything; but that's not work you know, T."
"Ain't I in the brewery every day for seven or eight hours, and often
more?"
"Yes, T., you are; and what's like to come of it if you go on so?
What would be my feelings if I saw you brought into the house struck
down with apoplepsy and paralepsy because I let you go on in that way
when you wasn't fit? No, T.; I know my duty and I mean to do it. You
know Dr. Haustus said only last month that you were that bilious--"
"Pshaw! bilious! it's enough to make any man bilious!"
"Or any dog," he would have added, had he thought of it. Thereupon
Tappitt rushed away from his wife, back into his little office,
and from that soon made his way to the Jew's committee-room at the
Dragon, at which he was detained till nearly eleven o'clock at night.
"It's a kind of work in which one has to do as much after dinner as
before," he said to his wife when he got back.
"For the matter of that," said she, "I think the after-dinner work is
the chief part of it."
On the day of the election Luke Rowan was to be seen standing in the
High Street talking to Butler Cornbury the candidate. Rowan was not
an elector, for the cottages had not been in his possession long
enough to admit of his obtaining from them a qualification to vote;
but he was a declared friend of the Cornbury party. Mrs. Butler
Cornbury had sent a message to him saying that she hoped to see him
soon after the election should be over: on the following day or on
the next, and Butler Cornbury himself had come to him in the town.
Though absent from Baslehurst Rowan had managed to declare his
opinions before that time, and was suspected by many to have written
those articles in the "Baslehurst Gazette" which advocated the right
of any constituency to send a Jew to Parliament if it pleased, but
which proved at the same time that any constituency must be wrong to
send any Jew to Parliament, and that the constituency of Baslehurst
would in the present instance be specially wrong to send Mr. Hart to
Parliament. "We have always advocated," said one of these articles,
"the right of absolute freedom of choice for every borough and every
county in the land; but we trust that the day is far distant in
which the electors of England shall cease to look to their nearest
neighbours as their best representatives." There wasn't much in the
argument, but it suited the occasion, and added strength to Rowan's
own cause in the borough. All the stanch Protestants began to feel a
want of good beer. Questions very ill-natured as toward Tappitt were
asked in the newspapers. "Who owns The Spotted Dog at Busby-porcorum;
and who compels the landlord to buy his liquor at Tappitt's brewery?"
There were scores of questions of the same nature, all of which
Tappitt attributed, wrongly, to Luke Rowan. Luke had written that
article about freedom of election, but he had not condescended to
notice the beer at the Spotted Dog.
And there was another quarrel taking place in Baslehurst, on the
score of that election, between persons with whom we are connected
in this story. Mr. Prong had a vote in the borough, and was disposed
to make use of it; and Mrs. Prime, regarding her own position as Mr.
Prong's affianced bride, considered herself at liberty to question
Mr. Prong as to the use which he proposed to make of that vote.
To Mrs. Prime it appeared that anything done in any direction for
the benefit of a Jew was a sin not to be forgiven. To Mr. Prong it
seemed to be as great a sin not to do anything in his power for
the hindrance and vexation of those with whom Dr. Harford and Mr.
Comfort were connected by ties of friendship. Mrs. Prime, who, of
the two, was the more logical, would not disjoin her personal and
her scriptural hatreds. She also hated Dr. Harford; but she hated
the Jews more. She was not disposed to support a Jew in Baslehurst
because Mr. Comfort, in his doctrines, had fallen away from the
purity of his early promise. Her idea was that a just man and a good
Christian could not vote for either of the Baslehurst candidates
under the present unhappy local circumstances;--but that under
no circumstances should a Christian vote for a Jew. All this she
said, in a voice not so soft as should be the voice of woman to her
betrothed.
"Dorothea," said Mr. Prong very solemnly;--they were sitting at the
time in his own little front parlour, as to the due arrangement of
the furniture in which Mrs. Prime had already ventured to make some
slight alterations which had not been received favourably by Mr.
Prong,--"Dorothea, in this matter you must allow me to be the best
judge. Voting for Members of Parliament is a thing which ladies
naturally are not called upon to understand."
"Ladies can understand as well as gentlemen," said Mrs. Prime, "that
a curse has gone out from the Lord against that people; and gentlemen
have no more right than ladies to go against the will of the Lord."
It was in vain that Mr. Prong endeavoured to explain to her that the
curse attached to the people as a nation, and did not necessarily
follow units of that people who had adopted other nationalities.
"Let the units become Christians before they go into Parliament,"
said Mrs. Prime.
"I wish they would," said Mr. Prong. "I heartily wish they would: and
Mr. Hart, if he be returned, shall have my prayers."
But this did not at all suffice for Mrs. Prime, who, perhaps, in the
matter of argument had the best of it. She told her betrothed to his
face that he was going to commit a great sin, and that he was tempted
to this sin by grievous worldly passions. When so informed Mr. Prong
closed his eyes, crossed his hands meekly on his breast, and shook
his head.
"Not from thee, Dorothea," said he, "not from thee should this have
come."
"Who is to speak out to you if I am not?" said she.
But Mr. Prong sat in silence, and with closed eyes again shook his
head.
"Perhaps we had better part," said Mrs. Prime, after an interval of
five minutes. "Perhaps it will be better for both of us."
Mr. Prong, however, still shook his head in silence; and it was
difficult for a lady in Mrs. Prime's position to read accurately the
meaning of such shakings under such circumstances. But Mrs. Prime
was a woman sufficiently versed in the world's business to be able
to resolve that she would have an answer to her question when she
required an answer.
"Mr. Prong," she said, "I remarked just now that perhaps we had
better part."
"I heard the words," said Mr. Prong,--"I heard the cruel words." But
even then he did not open his eyes, or remove his hands from his
breast. "I heard the words, and I heard those other words, still
more cruel. You had better leave me now that I may humble myself in
prayer."
"That's all very well, Mr. Prong, and I'm sure I hope you will; but
situated as we are, of course I should choose to have an answer. It
seems to me that you dislike that kind of interference which I regard
as a wife's best privilege and sweetest duty. If this be so, it will
be better for us to part,--as friends of course."
"You have accused me of a great sin," he said; "of a great sin;--of a
great sin!"
"And so in my mind it would be."
"Judge not, lest ye be judged, Dorothea; remember that."
"That doesn't mean, Mr. Prong, that we are not to have our opinions,
and that we are not to warn those that are near us when we see them
walking in the wrong path. I might as well say the same to you, when
you--"
"No, Dorothea; it is my bounden duty. It is my work. It is that to
which I am appointed as a minister. If you cannot see the difference
I have much mistaken your character,--have much mistaken your
character."
"Do you mean to say that nobody but a clergyman is to know what's
right and what's wrong? That must be nonsense, Mr. Prong. I'm sorry
to say anything to grieve you,--" Mr. Prong was now shaking his head
again, with his eyes most pertinaciously closed,--"but there are some
things which really one can't bear."
But he only shook his head. His inward feelings were too many for
him, so that he could not at the present moment bring himself to give
a reply to the momentous proposition which his betrothed had made
him. Nor, indeed, had he at this moment fixed his mind as to the step
which Duty and Wisdom combined would call upon him to take in this
matter. The temper of the lady was not certainly all that he had
desired. As an admiring member of his flock she had taken all his
ghostly counsels as infallible; but now it seemed to him as though
most of his words and many of his thoughts and actions were made
subject by her to a bitter criticism. But in this matter he was
inclined to rely much upon his own strength. Should he marry the
lady, as he was still minded to do for many reasons, he would be to
her a loving, careful husband; but he would also be her lord and
master,--as was intended when marriage was made a holy ordinance. In
this respect he did not doubt himself or his own powers. Hard words
he could bear, and, as he thought, after a time control. So thinking,
he was not disposed to allow the lady to recede from her troth to
him, simply because in her anger she expressed a wish to do so.
Therefore he had wisely been silent, and had shaken his head in
reproach. But unfortunately the terms of their compact had not been
finally settled with reference to another heading. Mrs. Prime had
promised to be his wife, but she had burdened her promise with
certain pecuniary conditions which were distasteful to him,--which
were much opposed to that absolute headship and perfect mastery,
which, as he thought, should belong to the husband as husband. His
views on this subject were very strong, and he was by no means
inclined to abate one jot of his demand. Better remain single in
his work than accept the name of husband without its privileges!
But he had hoped that by mingled firmness and gentle words he might
bring his Dorothea round to a more womanly way of thinking. He had
flattered himself that there was a power of eloquence in him which
would have prevailed over her. Once or twice he thought that he was
on the brink of success. He knew well that there were many points in
his favour. A woman who has spoken of herself, and been spoken of,
as being on the point of marriage, does not like to recede; and his
Dorothea, though not specially womanly among women, was still a
woman. Moreover he had the law on his side,--the old law as coming
from the Scriptures. He could say that such a pecuniary arrangement
as that proposed by his Dorothea was sinful. He had said so,--as he
had then thought not without effect; but now she retaliated upon him
with accusation of another sin! It was manifestly in her power to
break away from him on that money detail. It seemed now to be her
wish to break away from him; but she preferred doing so on that other
matter. He began to fear that he must lose his wife, seeing that he
was resolved never to yield on the money question; but he did not
choose to be entrapped into an instant resignation of his engagement
by Dorothea's indignation on a point of abstruse Scripturo-political
morality. His Dorothea had assumed her indignation as a cloak for her
pecuniary obstinacy. It might be that he must yield; but he would not
surrender thus at the sound of a false summons. So he closed his eyes
very pertinaciously and shook his head.
"I think upon the whole," said she again, "that we had better make up
our minds to part." Then she stood up, feeling that she should thus
employ a greater power in forcing an answer from him. He must have
seen her motion through some cranny of his pertinaciously closed
eyes, for he noticed it by rising from his own chair, with both his
hands firmly fixed upon the table; but still he did not open his
eyes,--unless it might be to the extent of that small cranny.
"Good-bye, Mr. Prong," said she.
Then he altered the form of his hands, and taking them from the table
he dashed them together before his face. "God bless you, Dorothea!"
said he. "God bless you! God bless you!" And he put out his hands as
though blessing her in his darkness. She, perceiving the inutility of
endeavouring to shake hands with a man who wouldn't open his eyes,
moved away from her chair towards the door, purposely raising a sound
of motion with her dress, so that he might know that she was going.
In that I think she took an unnecessary precaution, for the cranny at
the corner of his eye was still at his disposal.
"Good-bye, Mr. Prong," she said again, as she opened the door for
herself.
"God bless you, Dorothea!" said he. "May God bless you!"
Then, without assistance at the front door she made her way out
into the street, and as she stepped along the pavement, she
formed a resolve,--which no eloquence from Mr. Prong could ever
overcome,--that she would remain a widow for the rest of her days.
At twelve o'clock on the morning of the election Mr. Hart was
declared by his own committee to be nine ahead, and was admitted
to be six ahead by Mr. Cornbury's committee. But the Cornbury folk
asserted confidently that in this they saw certain signs of success.
Their supporters were not men who could be whipped up to the poll
early in the day, whereas Hart's voters were all, more or less, under
control, and had been driven up hurriedly to the hustings so as
to make this early show of numbers. Mr. Hart was about everywhere
speaking, and so was Butler Cornbury; but in the matter of oratory I
am bound to acknowledge that the Jew had by much the mastery over the
Christian. There are a class of men,--or rather more than a class,
a section of mankind,--to whom a power of easy expression by means
of spoken words comes naturally. English country gentlemen, highly
educated as they are, undaunted as they usually are, self-confident
as they in truth are at the bottom, are clearly not in this
section. Perhaps they are further removed from it, considering the
advantages they have for such speaking, than any other class of men
in England,--or I might almost say elsewhere. The fact, for it is a
fact, that some of the greatest orators whom the world has known have
been found in this class, does not in any degree affect the truth of
my proposition. The best grapes in the world are perhaps grown in
England, though England is not a land of grapes. And for the same
reason. The value of the thing depends upon its rarity, and its value
instigates the efforts for excellence. The power of vocal expression
which seems naturally to belong to an American is to an ordinary
Englishman very marvellous; but in America the talking man is but
little esteemed. "Very wonderful power of delivery,--that of Mr.
So-and-So," says the Englishman, speaking of an American.
"Guess we don't think much of that kind of thing here," says the
Yankee. "There's a deal too much of that coin in circulation."
English country gentlemen are not to be classed among that section of
mankind which speaks easily in public, but Jews, I think, may be so
classed. The men who speak thus easily and with natural fluency, are
also they who learn languages easily. They are men who observe rather
than think, who remember rather than create, who may not have great
mental powers, but are ever ready with what they have, whose best
word is at their command at a moment, and is then serviceable though
perhaps incapable of more enduring service.
At any rate, as regarded oratory in Baslehurst the dark little man
with the bright new hat from London was very much stronger than
his opponent,--so much stronger that poor Butler Cornbury began
to sicken of elections and to wish himself comfortably at home at
Cornbury Grange. He knew that he was talking himself down while
the Israelitish clothier was talking himself up. "It don't matter,"
Honyman said to him comfortably. "It's only done for the show of the
thing and to fill up the day. If Gladstone were here he wouldn't talk
a vote out of them one way or the other;--nor yet the devil himself."
This consoled Butler Cornbury, but nevertheless he longed that the
day might be over.
And Tappitt spoke too more than once,--as did also Luke Rowan, in
spite of various noisy interruptions in which he was told that he was
not an elector, and in spite also of an early greeting with a dead
cat. Tappitt, in advocating the claims of Mr. Hart to be returned to
Parliament as member for Baslehurst, was clever enough to introduce
the subject of his own wrongs. And so important had this brewery
question become that he was listened to with every sign of interest
when he told the people for how many years Bungall and Tappitt had
brewed beer for them, there in Baslehurst. Doubtless he was met by
sundry interruptions from the Rowanites.
"What sort of tipple has it been, T.?" was demanded by one voice.
"Do you call that beer?" said a second.
"Where do you buy your hops?" asked a third.
But he went on manfully, and was buoyed up by a strong belief that he
was fighting his own battle with success.
Nor was Rowan slow to answer him. He was proud to say that he was
Bungall's heir, and as such he intended to continue Bungall's
business. Whether he could improve the quality of the old tap he
didn't know, but he would try. People had said a few weeks ago that
he had been hounded out of Baslehurst, and did not mean to come back
again. Here he was. He had bought property in Baslehurst. He meant
to live in Baslehurst. He pledged himself to brew beer in Baslehurst.
He already regarded himself as belonging to Baslehurst. And, being
a bachelor, he hoped that he might live to marry a wife out of
Baslehurst. This last assurance was received with unqualified
applause from both factions, and went far in obtaining for Rowan that
local popularity which was needful to him. Certainly the Rowan
contest added much to the popular interest of that election.
At the close of the poll on that evening it was declared by the mayor
that Mr. Butler Cornbury had been elected to serve the borough in
Parliament by a majority of one vote.