Of course such an article had considerable effect. It was apparent at once that there was ample room for an action for libel against the newspaper, on the part of Phineas Finn if not on that of the Duke. But it was equally apparent that Mr. Quintus Slide must have been very well aware of this when he wrote the article. Such an action, even if successful, may bring with it to the man punished more of good than of evil. Any pecuniary penalty might be more than recouped by the largeness of the advertisement which such an action would produce. Mr. Slide no doubt calculated that he would carry with him a great body of public feeling by the mere fact that he had attacked a Prime Minister and a Duke. If he could only get all the publicans in London to take his paper because of his patriotic and bold conduct, the fortune of the paper would be made. There is no better trade than that of martyrdom, if the would-be martyr knows how far he may judiciously go, and in what direction. All this Mr. Quintus Slide was supposed to have considered very well.
And Phineas Finn knew that his enemy had also considered the nature of the matters which he would have been able to drag into Court if there should be a trial. Allusions, very strong allusions, had been made to former periods of Mr. Finn’s life. And though there was but little, if anything, in the past circumstances of which he was ashamed—but little, if anything, which he thought would subject him personally to the odium of good men, could they be made accurately known in all their details—it would, he was well aware, be impossible that such accuracy should be achieved. And the story if told inaccurately would not suit him. And then, there was a reason against any public proceeding much stronger even than this. Whether the telling of the story would or would not suit him, it certainly would not suit others. As has been before remarked, there are former chronicles respecting Phineas Finn, and in them may be found adequate cause for this conviction on his part. To no outsider was this history known better than to Mr. Quintus Slide, and therefore Mr. Quintus Slide could dare almost to defy the law.
But not the less on this account were there many who told Phineas that he ought to bring the action. Among these none were more eager than his old friend Lord Chiltern, the Master of the Brake hounds, a man who really loved Phineas, who also loved the abstract idea of justice, and who could not endure the thought that a miscreant should go unpunished. Hunting was over for the season in the Brake country, and Lord Chiltern rushed up to London, having this object among others of a very pressing nature on his mind. His saddler had to be seen—and threatened—on a certain matter touching the horses’ backs. A draught of hounds were being sent down to a friend in Scotland. And there was a Committee of Masters to sit on a moot question concerning a neutral covert in the XXX country, of which Committee he was one. But the desire to punish Slide was almost as strong in his indignant mind as those other matters referring more especially to the profession of his life. “Phineas,” he said, “you are bound to do it. If you will allow a fellow like that to say such things of you, why, by heaven, any man may say anything of anybody.”
Now Phineas could hardly explain to Lord Chiltern his objection to the proposed action. A lady was closely concerned, and that lady was Lord Chiltern’s sister. “I certainly shall not,” said Phineas.
“And why?”
“Just because he wishes me to do it. I should be falling into the little pit that he has dug for me.”
“He couldn’t hurt you. What have you got to be afraid of? Ruat coelum.”
“There are certain angels, Chiltern, living up in that heaven which you wish me to pull about our ears, as to whom, if all their heart and all their wishes and all their doings could be known, nothing but praise could be spoken; but who would still be dragged with soiled wings through the dirt if this man were empowered to bring witness after witness into court. My wife would be named. For aught I know, your wife.”
“By G⸺, he’d find himself wrong there.”
“Leave a chimney-sweep alone when you see him, Chiltern. Should he run against you, then remember that it is one of the necessary penalties of clean linen that it is apt to be soiled.”
“I’m d⸺d if I’d let him off.”
“Yes you would, old fellow. When you come to see clearly what you would gain and what you would lose, you would not meddle with him.”
His wife was at first inclined to think that an action should be taken, but she was more easily convinced than Lord Chiltern. “I had not thought,” she said, “of poor Lady Laura. But is it not horrible that a man should be able to go on like that,
