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| author | pgww <pgww@lists.pglaf.org> | 2026-06-26 06:03:41 -0700 |
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| committer | pgww <pgww@lists.pglaf.org> | 2026-06-26 06:03:41 -0700 |
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diff --git a/3409-h/3409-h.htm b/3409-h/3409-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f3591da --- /dev/null +++ b/3409-h/3409-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,21437 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8" /> +<title>Barchester Towers | Project Gutenberg</title> +<style type="text/css"> + body {color:black; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + margin-top:100px; + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align:justify; } + h1, h2, h3, h4 {text-align: center; + clear: both; } + hr.narrow { width: 40%; + text-align: center; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; } + hr { width: 100%; } + blockquote { font-size: large; } + blockquote.med { font-size: medium; } + table {font-size: large; + text-align: left; } + p {text-indent: 4%; } + p.noindent { text-indent: 0%; } + .center { text-align: center; } + .ind2 { margin-left: 2em; } + .ind5 { margin-left: 5em; } + .ind8 { margin-left: 8em; } + .ind10 { margin-left: 10em; } + .ind12 { margin-left: 12em; } + .ind15 { margin-left: 15em; } + .jright { text-align: right; } + + .small {font-size: small; } + .smallcaps { font-variant: small-caps; } + a:link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:red; + text-decoration: underline; } + pre {font-size: 75%; } +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 3409 ***</div> + +<h1>BARCHESTER TOWERS</h1> + +<p> </p> +<h4>by</h4> + +<h2>ANTHONY TROLLOPE</h2> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h4>First published in 1857</h4> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1"> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">I. </td> <td><a href="#c1" >Who Will Be the New Bishop?</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">II. </td> <td><a href="#c2" >Hiram's Hospital According to Act of Parliament</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">III. </td> <td><a href="#c3" >Dr. and Mrs. Proudie</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">IV. </td> <td><a href="#c4" >The Bishop's Chaplain</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">V. </td> <td><a href="#c5" >A Morning Visit</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VI. </td> <td><a href="#c6" >War</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VII. </td> <td><a href="#c7" >The Dean and Chapter Take Counsel</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VIII. </td> <td><a href="#c8" >The Ex-Warden Rejoices in His Probable Return<br />to the Hospital</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">IX. </td> <td><a href="#c9" >The Stanhope Family</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">X. </td> <td><a href="#c10">Mrs. Proudie's Reception—Commenced</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XI. </td> <td><a href="#c11">Mrs. Proudie's Reception—Concluded</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XII. </td> <td><a href="#c12">Slope versus Harding</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIII. </td> <td><a href="#c13">The Rubbish Cart</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIV. </td> <td><a href="#c14">The New Champion</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XV. </td> <td><a href="#c15">The Widow's Suitors</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVI. </td> <td><a href="#c16">Baby Worship</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVII. </td> <td><a href="#c17">Who Shall Be Cock of the Walk?</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVIII. </td> <td><a href="#c18">The Widow's Persecution</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIX. </td> <td><a href="#c19">Barchester by Moonlight</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XX. </td> <td><a href="#c20">Mr. Arabin</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXI. </td> <td><a href="#c21">St. Ewold's Parsonage</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXII. </td> <td><a href="#c22">The Thornes of Ullathorne</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXIII. </td> <td><a href="#c23">Mr. Arabin Reads Himself in at St. Ewold's</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXIV. </td> <td><a href="#c24">Mr. Slope Manages Matters Very Cleverly at Puddingdale</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXV. </td> <td><a href="#c25">Fourteen Arguments in Favour of Mr. Quiverful's Claims</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXVI. </td> <td><a href="#c26">Mrs. Proudie Wrestles and Gets a Fall</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXVII. </td> <td><a href="#c27">A Love Scene</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXVIII. </td> <td><a href="#c28">Mrs. Bold is Entertained by Dr. and Mrs. Grantly<br />at Plumstead</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXIX. </td> <td><a href="#c29">A Serious Interview</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXX. </td> <td><a href="#c30">Another Love Scene</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXXI. </td> <td><a href="#c31">The Bishop's Library</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXXII. </td> <td><a href="#c32">A New Candidate for Ecclesiastical Honours</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXXIII. </td> <td><a href="#c33">Mrs. Proudie Victrix</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXXIV. </td> <td><a href="#c34">Oxford—The Master and Tutor of Lazarus</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXXV. </td> <td><a href="#c35">Miss Thorne's Fête Champêtre</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXXVI. </td> <td><a href="#c36">Ullathorne Sports—Act I</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXXVII. </td> <td><a href="#c37">The Signora Neroni, the Countess De Courcy,<br />and Mrs. Proudie Meet Each Other at Ullathorne</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXXVIII. </td> <td><a href="#c38">The Bishop Sits Down to Breakfast, and the Dean Dies</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXXIX. </td> <td><a href="#c39">The Lookalofts and the Greenacres</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XL. </td> <td><a href="#c40">Ullathorne Sports—Act II</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XLI. </td> <td><a href="#c41">Mrs. Bold Confides Her Sorrow to Her Friend Miss Stanhope</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XLII. </td> <td><a href="#c42">Ullathorne Sports—Act III</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XLIII. </td> <td><a href="#c43">Mr. and Mrs. Quiverful Are Made Happy.<br />Mr. Slope Is Encouraged by the Press</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XLIV. </td> <td><a href="#c44">Mrs. Bold at Home</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XLV. </td> <td><a href="#c45">The Stanhopes at Home</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XLVI. </td> <td><a href="#c46">Mr. Slope's Parting Interview with the Signora</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XLVII. </td> <td><a href="#c47">The Dean Elect</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XLVIII. </td> <td><a href="#c48">Miss Thorne Shows Her Talent at Match-making</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XLIX. </td> <td><a href="#c49">The Beelzebub Colt</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">L. </td> <td><a href="#c50">The Archdeacon Is Satisfied with the State of Affairs</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">LI. </td> <td><a href="#c51">Mr. Slope Bids Farewell to the Palace and Its Inhabitants</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">LII. </td> <td><a href="#c52">The New Dean Takes Possession of the Deanery,<br />and the New Warden of the Hospital</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">LIII. </td> <td><a href="#c53">Conclusion</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> + + +<p><a name="c1" id="c1"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> +<h3>Who Will Be the New Bishop?<br /> </h3> + + +<p>In the latter days of July in the year 185––, a most important +question was for ten days hourly asked in the cathedral city of +Barchester, and answered every hour in various ways—Who was to be +the new bishop?</p> + +<p>The death of old Dr. Grantly, who had for many years filled that +chair with meek authority, took place exactly as the ministry of Lord +–––– was going to give place to that of +Lord ––––. The illness of +the good old man was long and lingering, and it became at last a +matter of intense interest to those concerned whether the new +appointment should be made by a conservative or liberal government.</p> + +<p>It was pretty well understood that the outgoing premier had made his +selection and that if the question rested with him, the mitre would +descend on the head of Archdeacon Grantly, the old bishop's son. The +archdeacon had long managed the affairs of the diocese, and for some +months previous to the demise of his father rumour had confidently +assigned to him the reversion of his father's honours.</p> + +<p>Bishop Grantly died as he had lived, peaceably, slowly, without pain +and without excitement. The breath ebbed from him almost +imperceptibly, and for a month before his death it was a question +whether he were alive or dead.</p> + +<p>A trying time was this for the archdeacon, for whom was designed the +reversion of his father's see by those who then had the giving away +of episcopal thrones. I would not be understood to say that the prime +minister had in so many words promised the bishopric to Dr. Grantly. +He was too discreet a man for that. There is a proverb with reference +to the killing of cats, and those who know anything either of high or +low government places will be well aware that a promise may be made +without positive words and that an expectant may be put into the +highest state of encouragement, though the great man on whose breath +he hangs may have done no more than whisper that "Mr. So-and-So is +certainly a rising man."</p> + +<p>Such a whisper had been made, and was known by those who heard it to +signify that the cures of the diocese of Barchester should not be +taken out of the hands of the archdeacon. The then prime minister was +all in all at Oxford, and had lately passed a night at the house of +the Master of Lazarus. Now the Master of Lazarus—which is, by the +by, in many respects the most comfortable as well as the richest +college at Oxford—was the archdeacon's most intimate friend and most +trusted counsellor. On the occasion of the prime minister's visit, +Dr. Grantly was of course present, and the meeting was very gracious. +On the following morning Dr. Gwynne, the master, told the archdeacon +that in his opinion the thing was settled.</p> + +<p>At this time the bishop was quite on his last legs; but the ministry +also were tottering. Dr. Grantly returned from Oxford, happy and +elated, to resume his place in the palace and to continue to perform +for the father the last duties of a son, which, to give him his due, +he performed with more tender care than was to be expected from his +usual somewhat worldly manners.</p> + +<p>A month since, the physicians had named four weeks as the outside +period during which breath could be supported within the body of the +dying man. At the end of the month the physicians wondered, and named +another fortnight. The old man lived on wine alone, but at the end of +the fortnight he still lived, and the tidings of the fall of the +ministry became more frequent. Sir Lamda Mewnew and Sir Omicron Pie, +the two great London doctors, now came down for the fifth time and +declared, shaking their learned heads, that another week of life was +impossible; and as they sat down to lunch in the episcopal +dining-room, whispered to the archdeacon their own private knowledge +that the ministry must fall within five days. The son returned to his +father's room and, after administering with his own hands the +sustaining modicum of madeira, sat down by the bedside to calculate +his chances.</p> + +<p>The ministry were to be out within five days: his father was to be +dead within—no, he rejected that view of the subject. The ministry +were to be out, and the diocese might probably be vacant at the same +period. There was much doubt as to the names of the men who were to +succeed to power, and a week must elapse before a cabinet was formed. +Would not vacancies be filled by the outgoing men during this week? +Dr. Grantly had a kind of idea that such would be the case but did +not know, and then he wondered at his own ignorance on such a +question.</p> + +<p>He tried to keep his mind away from the subject, but he could not. +The race was so very close, and the stakes were so very high. He then +looked at the dying man's impassive, placid face. There was no sign +there of death or disease; it was something thinner than of yore, +somewhat grayer, and the deep lines of age more marked; but, as far +as he could judge, life might yet hang there for weeks to come. Sir +Lamda Mewnew and Sir Omicron Pie had thrice been wrong, and might yet +be wrong thrice again. The old bishop slept during twenty of the +twenty-four hours, but during the short periods of his waking +moments, he knew both his son and his dear old friend, Mr. Harding, +the archdeacon's father-in-law, and would thank them tenderly for +their care and love. Now he lay sleeping like a baby, resting easily +on his back, his mouth just open, and his few gray hairs straggling +from beneath his cap; his breath was perfectly noiseless, and his +thin, wan hand, which lay above the coverlid, never moved. Nothing +could be easier than the old man's passage from this world to the +next.</p> + +<p>But by no means easy were the emotions of him who sat there watching. +He knew it must be now or never. He was already over fifty, and there +was little chance that his friends who were now leaving office would +soon return to it. No probable British prime minister but he who was +now in, he who was so soon to be out, would think of making a bishop +of Dr. Grantly. Thus he thought long and sadly, in deep silence, and +then gazed at that still living face, and then at last dared to ask +himself whether he really longed for his father's death.</p> + +<p>The effort was a salutary one, and the question was answered in a +moment. The proud, wishful, worldly man sank on his knees by the +bedside and, taking the bishop's hand within his own, prayed eagerly +that his sins might be forgiven him.</p> + +<p>His face was still buried in the clothes when the door of the bedroom +opened noiselessly and Mr. Harding entered with a velvet step. Mr. +Harding's attendance at that bedside had been nearly as constant as +that of the archdeacon, and his ingress and egress was as much a +matter of course as that of his son-in-law. He was standing close +beside the archdeacon before he was perceived, and would also have +knelt in prayer had he not feared that his doing so might have caused +some sudden start and have disturbed the dying man. Dr. Grantly, +however, instantly perceived him and rose from his knees. As he did +so Mr. Harding took both his hands and pressed them warmly. There was +more fellowship between them at that moment than there had ever been +before, and it so happened that after circumstances greatly preserved +the feeling. As they stood there pressing each other's hands, the +tears rolled freely down their cheeks.</p> + +<p>"God bless you, my dears," said the bishop with feeble voice as he +woke. "God bless you—may God bless you both, my dear children." And +so he died.</p> + +<p>There was no loud rattle in the throat, no dreadful struggle, no +palpable sign of death, but the lower jaw fell a little from its +place, and the eyes which had been so constantly closed in sleep now +remained fixed and open. Neither Mr. Harding nor Dr. Grantly knew +that life was gone, though both suspected it.</p> + +<p>"I believe it's all over," said Mr. Harding, still pressing the +other's hands. "I think—nay, I hope it is."</p> + +<p>"I will ring the bell," said the other, speaking all but in a +whisper. "Mrs. Phillips should be here."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Phillips, the nurse, was soon in the room, and immediately, with +practised hand, closed those staring eyes.</p> + +<p>"It's all over, Mrs. Phillips?" asked Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"My lord's no more," said Mrs. Phillips, turning round and curtseying +low with solemn face; "his lordship's gone more like a sleeping babby +than any that I ever saw."</p> + +<p>"It's a great relief, Archdeacon," said Mr. Harding, "a great +relief—dear, good, excellent old man. Oh that our last moments may +be as innocent and as peaceful as his!"</p> + +<p>"Surely," said Mrs. Phillips. "The Lord be praised for all his +mercies; but, for a meek, mild, gentle-spoken Christian, his lordship +was—" and Mrs. Phillips, with unaffected but easy grief, put up her +white apron to her flowing eyes.</p> + +<p>"You cannot but rejoice that it is over," said Mr. Harding, still +consoling his friend. The archdeacon's mind, however, had already +travelled from the death chamber to the closet of the prime minister. +He had brought himself to pray for his father's life, but now that +that life was done, minutes were too precious to be lost. It was now +useless to dally with the fact of the bishop's death—useless to lose +perhaps everything for the pretence of a foolish sentiment.</p> + +<p>But how was he to act while his father-in-law stood there holding his +hand? How, without appearing unfeeling, was he to forget his father +in the bishop—to overlook what he had lost, and think only of what +he might possibly gain?</p> + +<p>"No, I suppose not," said he, at last, in answer to Mr. Harding. "We +have all expected it so long."</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding took him by the arm and led him from the room. "We will +see him again to-morrow morning," said he; "we had better leave the +room now to the women." And so they went downstairs.</p> + +<p>It was already evening and nearly dark. It was most important that +the prime minister should know that night that the diocese was +vacant. Everything might depend on it; and so, in answer to Mr. +Harding's further consolation, the archdeacon suggested that a +telegraph message should be immediately sent off to London. Mr. +Harding, who had really been somewhat surprised to find Dr. Grantly, +as he thought, so much affected, was rather taken aback, but he made +no objection. He knew that the archdeacon had some hope of succeeding +to his father's place, though he by no means knew how highly raised +that hope had been.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Dr. Grantly, collecting himself and shaking off his +weakness, "we must send a message at once; we don't know what might +be the consequence of delay. Will you do it?'</p> + +<p>"I! Oh, yes; certainly. I'll do anything, only I don't know exactly +what it is you want."</p> + +<p>Dr. Grantly sat down before a writing-table and, taking pen and ink, +wrote on a slip of paper as follows:—<br /> </p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto"><tr><td align="center"> +By Electric Telegraph.<br /> +For the Earl of ––––, Downing Street, or +elsewhere.<br /> +The Bishop of Barchester is dead.<br /> +Message sent by the Rev. Septimus Harding.<br /> +</td></tr></table> +</div> + + +<p>"There," said he. "Just take that to the telegraph office at the +railway station and give it in as it is; they'll probably make you +copy it on to one of their own slips; that's all you'll have to do; +then you'll have to pay them half a crown." And the archdeacon put +his hand in his pocket and pulled out the necessary sum.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding felt very much like an errand-boy, and also felt that he +was called on to perform his duties as such at rather an unseemly +time, but he said nothing, and took the slip of paper and the +proffered coin.</p> + +<p>"But you've put my name into it, Archdeacon."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the other, "there should be the name of some clergyman, +you know, and what name so proper as that of so old a friend as +yourself? The earl won't look at the name, you may be sure of that; +but my dear Mr. Harding, pray don't lose any time."</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding got as far as the library door on his way to the station, +when he suddenly remembered the news with which he was fraught when +he entered the poor bishop's bedroom. He had found the moment so +inopportune for any mundane tidings, that he had repressed the words +which were on his tongue, and immediately afterwards all recollection +of the circumstance was for the time banished by the scene which had +occurred.</p> + +<p>"But, Archdeacon," said he, turning back, "I forgot to tell +you—the ministry are out."</p> + +<p>"Out!" ejaculated the archdeacon, in a tone which too plainly showed +his anxiety and dismay, although under the circumstances of the +moment he endeavoured to control himself. "Out! Who told you so?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding explained that news to this effect had come down by +electric telegraph, and that the tidings had been left at the palace +door by Mr. Chadwick.</p> + +<p>The archdeacon sat silent for awhile meditating, and Mr. Harding +stood looking at him. "Never mind," said the archdeacon at last; +"send the message all the same. The news must be sent to someone, and +there is at present no one else in a position to receive it. Do it at +once, my dear friend; you know I would not trouble you, were I in a +state to do it myself. A few minutes' time is of the greatest +importance."</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding went out and sent the message, and it may be as well that +we should follow it to its destination. Within thirty minutes of its +leaving Barchester it reached the Earl of –––– +in his inner library. +What elaborate letters, what eloquent appeals, what indignant +remonstrances he might there have to frame, at such a moment, may be +conceived but not described! How he was preparing his thunder for +successful rivals, standing like a British peer with his back to the +sea-coal fire, and his hands in his breeches pockets—how his fine +eye was lit up with anger, and his forehead gleamed with +patriotism—how he stamped his foot as he thought of his heavy +associates—how he all but swore as he remembered how much too clever +one of them had been—my creative readers may imagine. But was he so +engaged? No: history and truth compel me to deny it. He was sitting +easily in a lounging chair, conning over a Newmarket list, and by his +elbow on the table was lying open an uncut French novel on which he +was engaged.</p> + +<p>He opened the cover in which the message was enclosed and, having +read it, he took his pen and wrote on the back of it—<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote> + <p class="noindent">For the Earl of ––––,<br /> + <span class="ind2">With the Earl of ––––'s + compliments</span><br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">and sent it off again on its journey.</p> + +<p>Thus terminated our unfortunate friend's chances of possessing the +glories of a bishopric.</p> + +<p>The names of many divines were given in the papers as that of the +bishop-elect. "The British Grandmother" declared that Dr. Gwynne was to +be the man, in compliment to the late ministry. This was a heavy +blow to Dr. Grantly, but he was not doomed to see himself superseded +by his friend. "The Anglican Devotee" put forward confidently the +claims of a great London preacher of austere doctrines; and "The +Eastern Hemisphere," an evening paper supposed to possess much +official knowledge, declared in favour of an eminent naturalist, a +gentleman most completely versed in the knowledge of rocks and +minerals, but supposed by many to hold on religious subjects no +special doctrines whatever. "The Jupiter," that daily paper which, as +we all know, is the only true source of infallibly correct +information on all subjects, for awhile was silent, but at last spoke +out. The merits of all these candidates were discussed and somewhat +irreverently disposed of, and then "The Jupiter" declared that Dr. +Proudie was to be the man.</p> + +<p>Dr. Proudie was the man. Just a month after the demise of the late +bishop, Dr. Proudie kissed the Queen's hand as his successor-elect.</p> + +<p>We must beg to be allowed to draw a curtain over the sorrows of the +archdeacon as he sat, sombre and sad at heart, in the study of his +parsonage at Plumstead Episcopi. On the day subsequent to the +dispatch of the message he heard that the Earl +of –––– had consented to undertake the +formation of a ministry, and from that moment he knew that his chance +was over. Many will think that he was wicked to grieve for the loss of +episcopal power, wicked to have coveted it, nay, wicked even to have +thought about it, in the way and at the moments he had done so.</p> + +<p>With such censures I cannot profess that I completely agree. The +<i>nolo episcopari</i>, though still in use, is so directly at variance +with the tendency of all human wishes, that it cannot be thought to +express the true aspirations of rising priests in the Church of +England. A lawyer does not sin in seeking to be a judge, or in +compassing his wishes by all honest means. A young diplomat entertains +a fair ambition when he looks forward to be the lord of a first-rate +embassy; and a poor novelist, when he attempts to rival Dickens or rise +above Fitzjeames, commits no fault, though he may be foolish. Sydney +Smith truly said that in these recreant days we cannot expect to find +the majesty of St. Paul beneath the cassock of a curate. If we look to +our clergymen to be more than men, we shall probably teach ourselves to +think that they are less, and can hardly hope to raise the character of +the pastor by denying to him the right to entertain the aspirations of +a man.</p> + +<p>Our archdeacon was worldly—who among us is +not so? He was ambitious—who among us is ashamed +to own that "last infirmity of noble minds!" He was avaricious, my +readers will say. No;—it was for no love of lucre that he wished to be +Bishop of Barchester. He was his father's only child, and his father +had left him great wealth. His preferment brought him in nearly three +thousand a year. The bishopric, as cut down by the Ecclesiastical +Commission, was only five. He would be a richer man as archdeacon than +he could be as bishop. But he certainly did desire to play first +fiddle; he did desire to sit in full lawn sleeves among the peers of +the realm; and he did desire, if the truth must out, to be called "My +lord" by his reverend brethren.</p> + +<p>His hopes, however, were they innocent or sinful, were not fated to +be realized, and Dr. Proudie was consecrated Bishop of Barchester.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2" id="c2"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> +<h3>Hiram's Hospital According to Act of Parliament<br /> </h3> + + +<p>It is hardly necessary that I should here give to the public any +lengthened biography of Mr. Harding up to the period of the +commencement of this tale. The public cannot have forgotten how ill +that sensitive gentleman bore the attack that was made on him in the +columns of "The Jupiter," with reference to the income which he +received as warden of Hiram's Hospital, in the city of Barchester. +Nor can it yet be forgotten that a lawsuit was instituted against him +on the matter of that charity by Mr. John Bold, who afterwards +married his, Mr. Harding's, younger and then only unmarried daughter. +Under pressure of these attacks, Mr. Harding had resigned his +wardenship, though strongly recommended to abstain from doing so both +by his friends and by his lawyers. He did, however, resign it, and +betook himself manfully to the duties of the small parish of St. +Cuthbert's, in the city, of which he was vicar, continuing also to +perform those of precentor of the cathedral, a situation of small +emolument which had hitherto been supposed to be joined, as a matter +of course, to the wardenship of the hospital above spoken of.</p> + +<p>When he left the hospital from which he had been so ruthlessly +driven, and settled himself down in his own modest manner in the High +Street of Barchester, he had not expected that others would make more +fuss about it than he was inclined to do himself; and the extent of his +hope was, that the movement might have been made in time to prevent any +further paragraphs in "The Jupiter." His affairs, however, were not +allowed to subside thus quietly, and people were quite as much +inclined to talk about the disinterested sacrifice he had made, as they +had before been to upbraid him for his cupidity.</p> + +<p>The most remarkable thing that occurred was the receipt of an +autographed letter from the Archbishop of Canterbury, in which the +primate very warmly praised his conduct, and begged to know what his +intentions were for the future. Mr. Harding replied that he intended +to be rector of St. Cuthbert's, in Barchester, and so that matter +dropped. Then the newspapers took up his case, "The Jupiter" among the +rest, and wafted his name in eulogistic strains through every +reading-room in the nation. It was discovered also that he was the +author of that great musical work, <i>Harding's Church +Music</i>,—and a new edition was spoken of, though, I believe, never +printed. It is, however, certain that the work was introduced into the +Royal Chapel at St. James's, and that a long criticism appeared in the +"Musical Scrutator," declaring that in no previous work of the kind had +so much research been joined with such exalted musical ability, and +asserting that the name of Harding would henceforward be known wherever +the arts were cultivated, or religion valued.</p> + +<p>This was high praise, and I will not deny that Mr. Harding was +gratified by such flattery; for if Mr. Harding was vain on any +subject, it was on that of music. But here the matter rested. The +second edition, if printed, was never purchased; the copies which had +been introduced into the Royal Chapel disappeared again, and were laid +by in peace, with a load of similar literature. Mr. Towers of "The +Jupiter" and his brethren occupied themselves with other names, and +the undying fame promised to our friend was clearly intended to be +posthumous.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding had spent much of his time with his friend the bishop; +much with his daughter Mrs. Bold, now, alas, a widow; and had almost +daily visited the wretched remnant of his former subjects, the few +surviving bedesmen now left at Hiram's Hospital. Six of them were +still living. The number, according to old Hiram's will, should +always have been twelve. But after the abdication of their warden, +the bishop had appointed no successor to him, no new occupants of the +charity had been nominated, and it appeared as though the hospital at +Barchester would fall into abeyance, unless the powers that be should +take some steps towards putting it once more into working order.</p> + +<p>During the past five years, the powers that be had not overlooked +Barchester Hospital, and sundry political doctors had taken the +matter in hand. Shortly after Mr. Harding's resignation, "The Jupiter" +had very clearly shown what ought to be done. In about half a column +it had distributed the income, rebuilt the buildings, put an end to +all bickerings, regenerated kindly feeling, provided for Mr. Harding, +and placed the whole thing on a footing which could not but be +satisfactory to the city and Bishop of Barchester, and to the nation +at large. The wisdom of this scheme was testified by the number of +letters which "Common Sense," "Veritas," and "One that loves fair +play" sent to "The Jupiter," all expressing admiration and amplifying +on the details given. It is singular enough that no adverse letter +appeared at all, and, therefore, none of course was written.</p> + +<p>But Cassandra was not believed, and even the wisdom of "The Jupiter" +sometimes falls on deaf ears. Though other plans did not put +themselves forward in the columns of "The Jupiter," reformers of church +charities were not slack to make known in various places their +different nostrums for setting Hiram's Hospital on its feet again. A +learned bishop took occasion, in the Upper House, to allude to the +matter, intimating that he had communicated on the subject with his +right reverend brother of Barchester. The radical member for +Staleybridge had suggested that the funds should be alienated for the +education of the agricultural poor of the country, and he amused the +house by some anecdotes touching the superstition and habits of the +agriculturists in question. A political pamphleteer had produced a +few dozen pages, which he called "Who are John Hiram's heirs?" +intending to give an infallible rule for the governance of all such +establishments; and, at last, a member of the government promised that +in the next session a short bill should be introduced for regulating +the affairs of Barchester and other kindred concerns.</p> + +<p>The next session came, and, contrary to custom, the bill came also. +Men's minds were then intent on other things. The first threatenings +of a huge war hung heavily over the nation, and the question as to +Hiram's heirs did not appear to interest very many people either in +or out of the house. The bill, however, was read and re-read, and in +some undistinguished manner passed through its eleven stages without +appeal or dissent. What would John Hiram have said in the matter, +could he have predicted that some forty-five gentlemen would take on +themselves to make a law altering the whole purport of his will, +without in the least knowing at the moment of their making it, what it +was that they were doing? It is however to be hoped that the +under-secretary for the Home Office knew, for to him had the matter +been confided.</p> + +<p>The bill, however, did pass, and at the time at which this history +is supposed to commence, it had been ordained that there should be, as +heretofore, twelve old men in Barchester Hospital, each with 1s. 4d. a +day; that there should also be twelve old women to be located in a +house to be built, each with 1s. 2d. a day; that there should be a +matron, with a house and £70 a year; a steward with £150 a year; and +latterly, a warden with £450 a year, who should have the spiritual +guidance of both establishments, and the temporal guidance of that +appertaining to the male sex. The bishop, dean, and warden were, as +formerly, to appoint in turn the recipients of the charity, and the +bishop was to appoint the officers. There was nothing said as to the +wardenship being held by the precentor of the cathedral, nor a word as +to Mr. Harding's right to the situation.</p> + +<p>It was not, however, till some months after the death of the old +bishop, and almost immediately consequent on the installation of his +successor, that notice was given that the reform was about to be +carried out. The new law and the new bishop were among the earliest +works of a new ministry, or rather of a ministry who, having for +awhile given place to their opponents, had then returned to power; +and the death of Dr. Grantly occurred, as we have seen, exactly at +the period of the change.</p> + +<p>Poor Eleanor Bold! How well does that widow's cap become her, and +the solemn gravity with which she devotes herself to her new duties. +Poor Eleanor!</p> + +<p>Poor Eleanor! I cannot say that with me John Bold was ever a +favourite. I never thought him worthy of the wife he had won. But +in her estimation he was most worthy. Hers was one of those feminine +hearts which cling to a husband, not with idolatry, for worship can +admit of no defect in its idol, but with the perfect tenacity of ivy. +As the parasite plant will follow even the defects of the trunk which +it embraces, so did Eleanor cling to and love the very faults of her +husband. She had once declared that whatever her father did should +in her eyes be right. She then transferred her allegiance, and became +ever ready to defend the worst failings of her lord and master.</p> + +<p>And John Bold was a man to be loved by a woman; he was himself +affectionate; he was confiding and manly; and that arrogance of +thought, unsustained by first-rate abilities, that attempt at being +better than his neighbours which jarred so painfully on the feelings +of his acquaintance, did not injure him in the estimation of his wife.</p> + +<p>Could she even have admitted that he had a fault, his early death +would have blotted out the memory of it. She wept as for the loss of +the most perfect treasure with which mortal woman had ever been +endowed; for weeks after he was gone the idea of future happiness in +this world was hateful to her; consolation, as it is called, was +insupportable, and tears and sleep were her only relief.</p> + +<p>But God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. She knew that she had +within her the living source of other cares. She knew that there was +to be created for her another subject of weal or woe, of unutterable +joy or despairing sorrow, as God in his mercy might vouchsafe to her. +At first this did but augment her grief! To be the mother of a poor +infant, orphaned before it was born, brought forth to the sorrows of +an ever desolate hearth, nurtured amidst tears and wailing, and then +turned adrift into the world without the aid of a father's care! +There was at first no joy in this.</p> + +<p>By degrees, however, her heart became anxious for another object, +and, before its birth, the stranger was expected with all the +eagerness of a longing mother. Just eight months after the father's +death a second John Bold was born, and if the worship of one creature +can be innocent in another, let us hope that the adoration offered +over the cradle of the fatherless infant may not be imputed as a sin.</p> + +<p>It will not be worth our while to define the character of the child, +or to point out in how far the faults of the father were redeemed +within that little breast by the virtues of the mother. The baby, as +a baby, was all that was delightful, and I cannot foresee that it +will be necessary for us to inquire into the facts of his after-life. +Our present business at Barchester will not occupy us above a year or +two at the furthest, and I will leave it to some other pen to +produce, if necessary, the biography of John Bold the Younger.</p> + +<p>But, as a baby, this baby was all that could be desired. This fact +no one attempted to deny. "Is he not delightful?" she would say to +her father, looking up into his face from her knees, her lustrous +eyes overflowing with soft tears, her young face encircled by her +close widow's cap, and her hands on each side of the cradle in which +her treasure was sleeping. The grandfather would gladly admit that +the treasure was delightful, and the uncle archdeacon himself would +agree, and Mrs. Grantly, Eleanor's sister, would re-echo the word +with true sisterly energy; and Mary Bold—but Mary Bold +was a second worshipper at the same shrine.</p> + +<p>The baby was really delightful; he took his food with a will, struck +out his toes merrily whenever his legs were uncovered, and did not +have fits. These are supposed to be the strongest points of baby +perfection, and in all these our baby excelled.</p> + +<p>And thus the widow's deep grief was softened, and a sweet balm was +poured into the wound which she had thought nothing but death could +heal. How much kinder is God to us than we are willing to be to +ourselves! At the loss of every dear face, at the last going of +every well-beloved one, we all doom ourselves to an eternity of +sorrow, and look to waste ourselves away in an ever-running fountain +of tears. How seldom does such grief endure! How blessed is the +goodness which forbids it to do so! "Let me ever remember my living +friends, but forget them as soon as dead," was the prayer of a wise +man who understood the mercy of God. Few perhaps would have the +courage to express such a wish, and yet to do so would only be to ask +for that release from sorrow which a kind Creator almost always +extends to us.</p> + +<p>I would not, however, have it imagined that Mrs. Bold forgot her +husband. She daily thought of him with all conjugal love, and +enshrined his memory in the innermost centre of her heart. But yet +she was happy in her baby. It was so sweet to press the living toy +to her breast, and feel that a human being existed who did owe, and +was to owe, everything to her; whose daily food was drawn from +herself; whose little wants could all be satisfied by her; whose +little heart would first love her and her only; whose infant tongue +would make its first effort in calling her by the sweetest name a +woman can hear. And so Eleanor's bosom became tranquil, and she set +about her new duties eagerly and gratefully.</p> + +<p>As regards the concerns of the world, John Bold had left his widow +in prosperous circumstances. He had bequeathed to her all that he +possessed, and that comprised an income much exceeding what she or her +friends thought necessary for her. It amounted to nearly a thousand a +year; when she reflected on its extent, her dearest hope was to hand it +over, not only unimpaired but increased, to her husband's son, to her +own darling, to the little man who now lay sleeping on her knee, +happily ignorant of the cares which were to be accumulated in his +behalf.</p> + +<p>When John Bold died, she earnestly implored her father to come and +live with her, but this Mr. Harding declined, though for some weeks +he remained with her as a visitor. He could not be prevailed upon to +forego the possession of some small home of his own, and so remained +in the lodgings he had first selected over a chemist's shop in the +High Street of Barchester.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3" id="c3"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> +<h3>Dr. and Mrs. Proudie<br /> </h3> + + +<p>This narrative is supposed to commence immediately after the +installation of Dr. Proudie. I will not describe the ceremony, as I +do not precisely understand its nature. I am ignorant whether a +bishop be chaired like a member of Parliament, or carried in a gilt +coach like a lord mayor, or sworn like a justice of peace, or +introduced like a peer to the upper house, or led between two +brethren like a knight of the garter; but I do know that everything +was properly done, and that nothing fit or becoming to a young bishop +was omitted on the occasion.</p> + +<p>Dr. Proudie was not the man to allow anything to be omitted that +might be becoming to his new dignity. He understood well the value +of forms, and knew that the due observance of rank could not be +maintained unless the exterior trappings belonging to it were held in +proper esteem. He was a man born to move in high circles; at least +so he thought himself, and circumstances had certainly sustained him +in this view. He was the nephew of an Irish baron by his mother's +side, and his wife was the niece of a Scotch earl. He had for years +held some clerical office appertaining to courtly matters, which had +enabled him to live in London, and to entrust his parish to his +curate. He had been preacher to the royal beefeaters, curator of +theological manuscripts in the Ecclesiastical Courts, chaplain to the +Queen's yeomanry guard, and almoner to his Royal Highness the Prince +of Rappe-Blankenberg.</p> + +<p>His residence in the metropolis, rendered necessary by duties thus +entrusted to him, his high connexions, and the peculiar talents and +nature of the man, recommended him to persons in power, and Dr. +Proudie became known as a useful and rising clergyman.</p> + +<p>Some few years since, even within the memory of many who are not yet +willing to call themselves old, a liberal clergyman was a person not +frequently to be met. Sydney Smith was such and was looked on as +little better than an infidel; a few others also might be named, but +they were <i>rarae aves</i> and were regarded with doubt and distrust +by their brethren. No man was so surely a Tory as a country +rector—nowhere were the powers that be so cherished +as at Oxford.</p> + +<p>When, however, Dr. Whately was made an archbishop, and Dr. Hampden +some years afterwards regius professor, many wise divines saw that a +change was taking place in men's minds, and that more liberal ideas +would henceforward be suitable to the priests as well as to the +laity. Clergymen began to be heard of who had ceased to anathematize +papists on the one hand, or vilify dissenters on the other. It +appeared clear that High Church principles, as they are called, were +no longer to be surest claims to promotion with at any rate one +section of statesmen, and Dr. Proudie was one among those who early +in life adapted himself to the views held by the Whigs on most +theological and religious subjects. He bore with the idolatry of +Rome, tolerated even the infidelity of Socinianism, and was hand and +glove with the Presbyterian Synods of Scotland and Ulster.</p> + +<p>Such a man at such a time was found to be useful, and Dr. Proudie's +name began to appear in the newspapers. He was made one of a +commission who went over to Ireland to arrange matters preparative to +the working of the national board; he became honorary secretary to +another commission nominated to inquire into the revenues of +cathedral chapters; he had had something to do with both the <i>regium +donum</i> and the Maynooth grant.</p> + +<p>It must not on this account be taken as proved that Dr. Proudie was +a man of great mental powers, or even of much capacity for business, +for such qualities had not been required in him. In the arrangement of +those church reforms with which he was connected, the ideas and +original conception of the work to be done were generally furnished by +the liberal statesmen of the day, and the labour of the details was +borne by officials of a lower rank. It was, however, thought expedient +that the name of some clergyman should appear in such matters, and as +Dr. Proudie had become known as a tolerating divine, great use of this +sort was made of his name. If he did not do much active good, he never +did any harm; he was amenable to those who were really in authority +and, at the sittings of the various boards to which he belonged, +maintained a kind of dignity which had its value.</p> + +<p>He was certainly possessed of sufficient tact to answer the purpose +for which he was required without making himself troublesome; but it +must not therefore be surmised that he doubted his own power, or +failed to believe that he could himself take a high part in high +affairs when his own turn came. He was biding his time, and patiently +looking forward to the days when he himself would sit authoritative +at some board, and talk and direct, and rule the roost, while lesser +stars sat round and obeyed, as he had so well accustomed himself to +do.</p> + +<p>His reward and his time had now come. He was selected for the vacant +bishopric and, on the next vacancy which might occur in any diocese, +would take his place in the House of Lords, prepared to give not a +silent vote in all matters concerning the weal of the church +establishment. Toleration was to be the basis on which he was to +fight his battles, and in the honest courage of his heart he thought +no evil would come to him in encountering even such foes as his +brethren of Exeter and Oxford.</p> + +<p>Dr. Proudie was an ambitious man, and before he was well consecrated +Bishop of Barchester, he had begun to look up to archiepiscopal +splendour, and the glories of Lambeth, or at any rate of +Bishopsthorpe. He was comparatively young, and had, as he fondly +flattered himself, been selected as possessing such gifts, natural +and acquired, as must be sure to recommend him to a yet higher +notice, now that a higher sphere was opened to him. Dr. Proudie was, +therefore, quite prepared to take a conspicuous part in all +theological affairs appertaining to these realms; and having such +views, by no means intended to bury himself at Barchester as his +predecessor had done. No! London should still be his ground: a +comfortable mansion in a provincial city might be well enough for the +dead months of the year. Indeed, Dr. Proudie had always felt it +necessary to his position to retire from London when other great and +fashionable people did so; but London should still be his fixed +residence, and it was in London that he resolved to exercise that +hospitality so peculiarly recommended to all bishops by St. Paul. +How otherwise could he keep himself before the world? How else give +to the government, in matters theological, the full benefit of his +weight and talents?</p> + +<p>This resolution was no doubt a salutary one as regarded the world at +large, but was not likely to make him popular either with the clergy +or people of Barchester. Dr. Grantly had always lived there—in +truth, it was hard for a bishop to be popular after Dr. Grantly. His +income had averaged £9,000 a year; his successor was to be rigidly +limited to £5,000. He had but one child on whom to spend his money; +Dr. Proudie had seven or eight. He had been a man of few personal +expenses, and they had been confined to the tastes of a moderate +gentleman; but Dr. Proudie had to maintain a position in fashionable +society, and had that to do with comparatively small means. Dr. +Grantly had certainly kept his carriage as became a bishop, but his +carriage, horses, and coachman, though they did very well for +Barchester, would have been almost ridiculous at Westminster. +Mrs. Proudie determined that her husband's equipage should not shame +her, and things on which Mrs. Proudie resolved were generally +accomplished.</p> + +<p>From all this it was likely to result that Dr. Proudie would not +spend much money at Barchester, whereas his predecessor had dealt +with the tradesmen of the city in a manner very much to their +satisfaction. The Grantlys, father and son, had spent their money +like gentlemen, but it soon became whispered in Barchester that Dr. +Proudie was not unacquainted with those prudent devices by which the +utmost show of wealth is produced from limited means.</p> + +<p>In person Dr. Proudie is a good-looking man; spruce and dapper, and +very tidy. He is somewhat below middle height, being about five feet +four; but he makes up for the inches which he wants by the dignity +with which he carries those which he has. It is no fault of his own +if he has not a commanding eye, for he studies hard to assume it. +His features are well formed, though perhaps the sharpness of his +nose may give to his face in the eyes of some people an air of +insignificance. If so, it is greatly redeemed by his mouth and chin, +of which he is justly proud.</p> + +<p>Dr. Proudie may well be said to have been a fortunate man, for he +was not born to wealth, and he is now Bishop of Barchester; +nevertheless, he has his cares. He has a large family, of whom the +three eldest are daughters, now all grown up and fit for fashionable +life;—and he has a wife. It is not my intention to breathe a word +against the character of Mrs. Proudie, but still I cannot think that +with all her virtues she adds much to her husband's happiness. The +truth is that in matters domestic she rules supreme over her titular +lord, and rules with a rod of iron. Nor is this all. Things domestic +Dr. Proudie might have abandoned to her, if not voluntarily, yet +willingly. But Mrs. Proudie is not satisfied with such home dominion, +and stretches her power over all his movements, and will not even +abstain from things spiritual. In fact, the bishop is hen-pecked.</p> + +<p>The archdeacon's wife, in her happy home at Plumstead, knows how to +assume the full privileges of her rank and express her own mind in +becoming tone and place. But Mrs. Grantly's sway, if sway she has, +is easy and beneficent. She never shames her husband; before the +world she is a pattern of obedience; her voice is never loud, nor her +looks sharp: doubtless she values power, and has not unsuccessfully +striven to acquire it; but she knows what should be the limits of a +woman's rule.</p> + +<p>Not so Mrs. Proudie. This lady is habitually authoritative to all, +but to her poor husband she is despotic. Successful as has been his +career in the eyes of the world, it would seem that in the eyes of +his wife he is never right. All hope of defending himself has long +passed from him; indeed he rarely even attempts self-justification, +and is aware that submission produces the nearest approach to peace +which his own house can ever attain.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie has not been able to sit at the boards and committees +to which her husband has been called by the State, nor, as he often +reflects, can she make her voice heard in the House of Lords. It may be +that she will refuse to him permission to attend to this branch of a +bishop's duties; it may be that she will insist on his close attendance +to his own closet. He has never whispered a word on the subject to +living ears, but he has already made his fixed resolve. Should such +attempt be made he will rebel. Dogs have turned against their masters, +and even Neapolitans against their rulers, when oppression has been too +severe. And Dr. Proudie feels within himself that if the cord be drawn +too tight, he also can muster courage and resist.</p> + +<p>The state of vassalage in which our bishop has been kept by his wife +has not tended to exalt his character in the eyes of his daughters, +who assume in addressing their father too much of that authority +which is not properly belonging, at any rate, to them. They are, on +the whole, fine engaging young ladies. They are tall and robust like +their mother, whose high cheek-bones, and—we may say auburn +hair they all inherit. They think somewhat too much of their +grand-uncles, who have not hitherto returned the compliment by thinking +much of them. But now that their father is a bishop, it is probable +that family ties will be drawn closer. Considering their connexion with +the church, they entertain but few prejudices against the pleasures of +the world, and have certainly not distressed their parents, as too many +English girls have lately done, by any enthusiastic wish to devote +themselves to the seclusion of a Protestant nunnery. Dr. Proudie's sons +are still at school.</p> + +<p>One other marked peculiarity in the character of the bishop's wife +must be mentioned. Though not averse to the society and manners of +the world, she is in her own way a religious woman; and the form in +which this tendency shows itself in her is by a strict observance of +Sabbatarian rule. Dissipation and low dresses during the week are, +under her control, atoned for by three services, an evening sermon +read by herself, and a perfect abstinence from any cheering +employment on the Sunday. Unfortunately for those under her roof to +whom the dissipation and low dresses are not extended, her servants +namely and her husband, the compensating strictness of the Sabbath +includes all. Woe betide the recreant housemaid who is found to have +been listening to the honey of a sweetheart in the Regent's park +instead of the soul-stirring evening discourse of Mr. Slope. Not +only is she sent adrift, but she is so sent with a character which +leaves her little hope of a decent place. Woe betide the six-foot +hero who escorts Mrs. Proudie to her pew in red plush breeches, if he +slips away to the neighbouring beer-shop, instead of falling into the +back seat appropriated to his use. Mrs. Proudie has the eyes of +Argus for such offenders. Occasional drunkenness in the week may be +overlooked, for six feet on low wages are hardly to be procured if +the morals are always kept at a high pitch, but not even for grandeur +or economy will Mrs. Proudie forgive a desecration of the Sabbath.</p> + +<p>In such matters Mrs. Proudie allows herself to be often guided by +that eloquent preacher, the Rev. Mr. Slope, and as Dr. Proudie is +guided by his wife, it necessarily follows that the eminent man we +have named has obtained a good deal of control over Dr. Proudie in +matters concerning religion. Mr. Slope's only preferment has +hitherto been that of reader and preacher in a London district +church; and on the consecration of his friend the new bishop, he +readily gave this up to undertake the onerous but congenial duties of +domestic chaplain to his lordship.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope, however, on his first introduction must not be brought +before the public at the tail of a chapter.</p> + + +<p><a name="c4" id="c4"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> +<h3>The Bishop's Chaplain<br /> </h3> + + +<p>Of the Rev. Mr. Slope's parentage I am not able to say much. I have +heard it asserted that he is lineally descended from that eminent +physician who assisted at the birth of Mr. T. Shandy, and that in +early years he added an "e" to his name, for the sake of euphony, as +other great men have done before him. If this be so, I presume he +was christened Obadiah, for that is his name, in commemoration of the +conflict in which his ancestor so distinguished himself. All my +researches on the subject have, however, failed in enabling me to fix +the date on which the family changed its religion.</p> + +<p>He had been a sizar at Cambridge, and had there conducted himself at +any rate successfully, for in due process of time he was an M.A., +having university pupils under his care. From thence he was +transferred to London, and became preacher at a new district church +built on the confines of Baker Street. He was in this position when +congenial ideas on religious subjects recommended him to Mrs. +Proudie, and the intercourse had become close and confidential.</p> + +<p>Having been thus familiarly thrown among the Misses Proudie, it was +no more than natural that some softer feeling than friendship should +be engendered. There have been some passages of love between him and +the eldest hope, Olivia, but they have hitherto resulted in no +favourable arrangement. In truth, Mr. Slope, having made a +declaration of affection, afterwards withdrew it on finding that the +doctor had no immediate worldly funds with which to endow his child, +and it may easily be conceived that Miss Proudie, after such an +announcement on his part, was not readily disposed to receive any +further show of affection. On the appointment of Dr. Proudie to the +bishopric of Barchester, Mr. Slope's views were in truth somewhat +altered. Bishops, even though they be poor, can provide for clerical +children, and Mr. Slope began to regret that he had not been more +disinterested. He no sooner heard the tidings of the doctor's +elevation than he recommenced his siege, not violently, indeed, but +respectfully, and at a distance. Olivia Proudie, however, was a girl +of spirit: she had the blood of two peers in her veins, and better +still she had another lover on her books, so Mr. Slope sighed in +vain, and the pair soon found it convenient to establish a mutual +bond of inveterate hatred.</p> + +<p>It may be thought singular that Mrs. Proudie's friendship for the +young clergyman should remain firm after such an affair, but, to tell +the truth, she had known nothing of it. Though very fond of Mr. +Slope herself, she had never conceived the idea that either of her +daughters would become so, and remembering their high birth and +social advantages, expected for them matches of a different sort. +Neither the gentleman nor the lady found it necessary to enlighten +her. Olivia's two sisters had each known of the affair, as had all +the servants, as had all the people living in the adjoining houses on +either side, but Mrs. Proudie had been kept in the dark.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope soon comforted himself with the reflexion that, as he had +been selected as chaplain to the bishop, it would probably be in his +power to get the good things in the bishop's gift without troubling +himself with the bishop's daughter, and he found himself able to +endure the pangs of rejected love. As he sat himself down in the +railway carriage, confronting the bishop and Mrs. Proudie as they +started on their first journey to Barchester, he began to form in his +own mind a plan of his future life. He knew well his patron's strong +points, but he knew the weak ones as well. He understood correctly +enough to what attempts the new bishop's high spirit would soar, and +he rightly guessed that public life would better suit the great man's +taste than the small details of diocesan duty.</p> + +<p>He, therefore,—he, Mr. Slope,—would in effect be Bishop of +Barchester. Such was his resolve, and to give Mr. Slope his due, he +had both courage and spirit to bear him out in his resolution. He +knew that he should have a hard battle to fight, for the power and +patronage of the see would be equally coveted by another great +mind—Mrs. Proudie would also choose to be Bishop of Barchester. Mr. +Slope, however, flattered himself that he could outmanoeuvre the +lady. She must live much in London, while he would always be on the +spot. She would necessarily remain ignorant of much, while he would +know everything belonging to the diocese. At first, doubtless, he +must flatter and cajole, perhaps yield in some things, but he did not +doubt of ultimate triumph. If all other means failed, he could join +the bishop against his wife, inspire courage into the unhappy man, +lay an axe to the root of the woman's power, and emancipate the +husband.</p> + +<p>Such were his thoughts as he sat looking at the sleeping pair in the +railway carriage, and Mr. Slope is not the man to trouble himself +with such thoughts for nothing. He is possessed of more than average +abilities, and is of good courage. Though he can stoop to fawn, and +stoop low indeed, if need be, he has still within him the power to +assume the tyrant;—and with the power he has certainly the wish. His +acquirements are not of the highest order, but such as they are, they +are completely under control, and he knows the use of them. He is +gifted with a certain kind of pulpit eloquence, not likely indeed to +be persuasive with men, but powerful with the softer sex. In his +sermons he deals greatly in denunciations, excites the minds of his +weaker hearers with a not unpleasant terror, and leaves an impression +on their minds that all mankind are in a perilous state, and all +womankind, too, except those who attend regularly to the evening +lectures in Baker Street. His looks and tones are extremely severe, +so much so that one cannot but fancy that he regards the greater part +of the world as being infinitely too bad for his care. As he walks +through the streets his very face denotes his horror of the world's +wickedness, and there is always an anathema lurking in the corner of +his eye.</p> + +<p>In doctrine he, like his patron, is tolerant of dissent, if so +strict a mind can be called tolerant of anything. With +Wesleyan-Methodists he has something in common, but his soul trembles +in agony at the iniquities of the Puseyites. His aversion is carried to +things outward as well as inward. His gall rises at a new church with a +high-pitched roof; a full-breasted black silk waistcoat is with him a +symbol of Satan; and a profane jest-book would not, in his view, more +foully desecrate the church seat of a Christian than a book of prayer +printed with red letters and ornamented with a cross on the back. Most +active clergymen have their hobby, and Sunday observances are his. +Sunday, however, is a word which never pollutes his mouth—it is always +"the Sabbath." The "desecration of the Sabbath," as he delights to call +it, is to him meat and drink: he thrives upon that as policemen do on +the general evil habits of the community. It is the loved subject of +all his evening discourses, the source of all his eloquence, the secret +of all his power over the female heart. To him the revelation of God +appears only in that one law given for Jewish observance. To him the +mercies of our Saviour speak in vain, to him in vain has been preached +that sermon which fell from divine lips on the mountain—"Blessed are +the meek, for they shall inherit the earth"—"Blessed are the merciful, +for they shall obtain mercy." To him the New Testament is comparatively +of little moment, for from it can he draw no fresh authority for that +dominion which he loves to exercise over at least a seventh part of +man's allotted time here below.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope is tall, and not ill-made. His feet and hands are large, +as has ever been the case with all his family, but he has a broad chest +and wide shoulders to carry off these excrescences, and on the whole +his figure is good. His countenance, however, is not specially +prepossessing. His hair is lank and of a dull pale reddish hue. It is +always formed into three straight, lumpy masses, each brushed with +admirable precision and cemented with much grease; two of them adhere +closely to the sides of his face, and the other lies at right angles +above them. He wears no whiskers, and is always punctiliously shaven. +His face is nearly of the same colour as his hair, though perhaps a +little redder: it is not unlike beef—beef, however, one would say, of +a bad quality. His forehead is capacious and high, but square and heavy +and unpleasantly shining. His mouth is large, though his lips are thin +and bloodless; and his big, prominent, pale-brown eyes inspire anything +but confidence. His nose, however, is his redeeming feature: it is +pronounced, straight and well-formed; though I myself should have liked +it better did it not possess a somewhat spongy, porous appearance, as +though it had been cleverly formed out of a red-coloured cork.</p> + +<p>I never could endure to shake hands with Mr. Slope. A cold, clammy +perspiration always exudes from him, the small drops are ever to be +seen standing on his brow, and his friendly grasp is unpleasant.</p> + +<p>Such is Mr. Slope—such is the man who has suddenly fallen into the +midst of Barchester Close, and is destined there to assume the +station which has heretofore been filled by the son of the late +bishop. Think, oh, my meditative reader, what an associate we have +here for those comfortable prebendaries, those gentlemanlike clerical +doctors, those happy, well-used, well-fed minor canons who have grown +into existence at Barchester under the kindly wings of Bishop +Grantly!</p> + +<p>But not as a mere associate for these does Mr. Slope travel down to +Barchester with the bishop and his wife. He intends to be, if not +their master, at least the chief among them. He intends to lead and +to have followers; he intends to hold the purse-strings of the +diocese and draw round him an obedient herd of his poor and hungry +brethren.</p> + +<p>And here we can hardly fail to draw a comparison between the +archdeacon and our new private chaplain, and despite the manifold +faults of the former, one can hardly fail to make it much to his +advantage.</p> + +<p>Both men are eager, much too eager, to support and increase the +power of their order. Both are anxious that the world should be +priest-governed, though they have probably never confessed so much, +even to themselves. Both begrudge any other kind of dominion held by +man over man. Dr. Grantly, if he admits the Queen's supremacy in things +spiritual, only admits it as being due to the quasi-priesthood conveyed +in the consecrating qualities of her coronation, and he regards things +temporal as being by their nature subject to those which are spiritual. +Mr. Slope's ideas of sacerdotal rule are of quite a different class. He +cares nothing, one way or the other, for the Queen's supremacy; these +to his ears are empty words, meaning nothing. Forms he regards but +little, and such titular expressions as supremacy, consecration, +ordination, and the like convey of themselves no significance to him. +Let him be supreme who can. The temporal king, judge, or gaoler can +work but on the body. The spiritual master, if he have the necessary +gifts and can duly use them, has a wider field of empire. He works upon +the soul. If he can make himself be believed, he can be all powerful +over those who listen. If he be careful to meddle with none who are too +strong in intellect, or too weak in flesh, he may indeed be supreme. +And such was the ambition of Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>Dr. Grantly interfered very little with the worldly doings of those +who were in any way subject to him. I do not mean to say that he +omitted to notice misconduct among his clergy, immorality in his +parish, or omissions in his family, but he was not anxious to do so +where the necessity could be avoided. He was not troubled with a +propensity to be curious, and as long as those around him were +tainted with no heretical leaning towards dissent, as long as they +fully and freely admitted the efficacy of Mother Church, he was +willing that that mother should be merciful and affectionate, prone +to indulgence, and unwilling to chastise. He himself enjoyed the +good things of this world and liked to let it be known that he did +so. He cordially despised any brother rector who thought harm of +dinner-parties, or dreaded the dangers of a moderate claret-jug; +consequently, dinner-parties and claret-jugs were common in the +diocese. He liked to give laws and to be obeyed in them implicitly, +but he endeavoured that his ordinances should be within the compass +of the man and not unpalatable to the gentleman. He had ruled among +his clerical neighbours now for sundry years, and as he had +maintained his power without becoming unpopular, it may be presumed +that he had exercised some wisdom.</p> + +<p>Of Mr. Slope's conduct much cannot be said, as his grand career is +yet to commence, but it may be premised that his tastes will be very +different from those of the archdeacon. He conceives it to be his +duty to know all the private doings and desires of the flock +entrusted to his care. From the poorer classes he exacts an +unconditional obedience to set rules of conduct, and if disobeyed he +has recourse, like his great ancestor, to the fulminations of an +Ernulfus: "Thou shalt be damned in thy going in and in thy coming +out—in thy eating and thy drinking," &c. &c. &c. With the +rich, experience has already taught him that a different line of action +is necessary. Men in the upper walks of life do not mind being cursed, +and the women, presuming that it be done in delicate phrase, rather +like it. But he has not, therefore, given up so important a portion of +believing Christians. With the men, indeed, he is generally at +variance; they are hardened sinners, on whom the voice of the priestly +charmer too often falls in vain; but with the ladies, old and young, +firm and frail, devout and dissipated, he is, as he conceives, all +powerful. He can reprove faults with so much flattery and utter censure +in so caressing a manner that the female heart, if it glow with a spark +of Low Church susceptibility, cannot withstand him. In many houses he +is thus an admired guest: the husbands, for their wives' sake, are fain +to admit him; and when once admitted it is not easy to shake him off. +He has, however, a pawing, greasy way with him, which does not endear +him to those who do not value him for their souls' sake, and he is not +a man to make himself at once popular in a large circle such as is now +likely to surround him at Barchester.</p> + + +<p><a name="c5" id="c5"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> +<h3>A Morning Visit<br /> </h3> + + +<p>It was known that Dr. Proudie would immediately have to reappoint to +the wardenship of the hospital under the act of Parliament to which +allusion has been made; no one imagined that any choice was left to +him—no one for a moment thought that he could appoint any other than +Mr. Harding. Mr. Harding himself, when he heard how the matter had +been settled, without troubling himself much on the subject, +considered it as certain that he would go back to his pleasant house +and garden. And though there would be much that was melancholy, nay, +almost heartrending, in such a return, he still was glad that it was +to be so. His daughter might probably be persuaded to return there +with him. She had, indeed, all but promised to do so, though she +still entertained an idea that that greatest of mortals, that +important atom of humanity, that little god upon earth, Johnny Bold +her baby, ought to have a house of his own over his head.</p> + +<p>Such being the state of Mr. Harding's mind in the matter, he did not +feel any peculiar personal interest in the appointment of Dr. Proudie +to the bishopric. He, as well as others at Barchester, regretted +that a man should be sent among them who, they were aware, was not of +their way of thinking; but Mr. Harding himself was not a bigoted man +on points of church doctrine, and he was quite prepared to welcome +Dr. Proudie to Barchester in a graceful and becoming manner. He had +nothing to seek and nothing to fear; he felt that it behoved him to +be on good terms with his bishop, and he did not anticipate any +obstacle that would prevent it.</p> + +<p>In such a frame of mind he proceeded to pay his respects at the +palace the second day after the arrival of the bishop and his +chaplain. But he did not go alone. Dr. Grantly proposed to +accompany him, and Mr. Harding was not sorry to have a companion, who +would remove from his shoulders the burden of the conversation in +such an interview. In the affair of the consecration Dr. Grantly had +been introduced to the bishop, and Mr. Harding had also been there. +He had, however, kept himself in the background, and he was now to be +presented to the great man for the first time.</p> + +<p>The archdeacon's feelings were of a much stronger nature. He was not +exactly the man to overlook his own slighted claims, or to forgive +the preference shown to another. Dr. Proudie was playing Venus to +his Juno, and he was prepared to wage an internecine war against the +owner of the wished-for apple, and all his satellites, private +chaplains, and others.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, it behoved him also to conduct himself towards the +intruder as an old archdeacon should conduct himself to an incoming +bishop; and though he was well aware of all Dr. Proudie's abominable +opinions as regarded dissenters, church reform, the hebdomadal +council, and such like; though he disliked the man, and hated the +doctrines, still he was prepared to show respect to the station of +the bishop. So he and Mr. Harding called together at the palace.</p> + +<p>His lordship was at home, and the two visitors were shown through +the accustomed hall into the well-known room where the good old bishop +used to sit. The furniture had been bought at a valuation, and every +chair and table, every bookshelf against the wall, and every square in +the carpet was as well known to each of them as their own bedrooms. +Nevertheless they at once felt that they were strangers there. The +furniture was for the most part the same, yet the place had been +metamorphosed. A new sofa had been introduced, a horrid chintz affair, +most unprelatical and almost irreligious; such a sofa as never yet +stood in the study of any decent High Church clergyman of the Church of +England. The old curtains had also given way. They had, to be sure, +become dingy, and that which had been originally a rich and goodly ruby +had degenerated into a reddish brown. Mr. Harding, however, thought the +old reddish-brown much preferable to the gaudy buff-coloured trumpery +moreen which Mrs. Proudie had deemed good enough for her husband's own +room in the provincial city of Barchester.</p> + +<p>Our friends found Dr. Proudie sitting on the old bishop's chair, +looking very nice in his new apron; they found, too, Mr. Slope +standing on the hearth-rug, persuasive and eager, just as the +archdeacon used to stand; but on the sofa they also found Mrs. +Proudie, an innovation for which a precedent might in vain be sought +in all the annals of the Barchester bishopric!</p> + +<p>There she was, however, and they could only make the best of her. +The introductions were gone through in much form. The archdeacon +shook hands with the bishop, and named Mr. Harding, who received such +an amount of greeting as was due from a bishop to a precentor. His +lordship then presented them to his lady wife; the archdeacon first, +with archidiaconal honours, and then the precentor with diminished +parade. After this Mr. Slope presented himself. The bishop, it is +true, did mention his name, and so did Mrs. Proudie too, in a louder +tone, but Mr. Slope took upon himself the chief burden of his own +introduction. He had great pleasure in making himself acquainted +with Dr. Grantly; he had heard much of the archdeacon's good works in +that part of the diocese in which his duties as archdeacon had been +exercised (thus purposely ignoring the archdeacon's hitherto +unlimited dominion over the diocese at large). He was aware that his +lordship depended greatly on the assistance which Dr. Grantly would +be able to give him in that portion of his diocese. He then thrust +out his hand and, grasping that of his new foe, bedewed it +unmercifully. Dr. Grantly in return bowed, looked stiff, contracted +his eyebrows, and wiped his hand with his pocket-handkerchief. +Nothing abashed, Mr. Slope then noticed the precentor and descended +to the grade of the lower clergy. He gave him a squeeze of the hand, +damp indeed, but affectionate, and was very glad to make the +acquaintance of Mr.—oh yes, Mr. Harding; he had not exactly caught +the name. "Precentor in the cathedral," surmised Mr. Slope. Mr. +Harding confessed that such was the humble sphere of his work. "Some +parish duty as well," suggested Mr. Slope. Mr. Harding acknowledged +the diminutive incumbency of St. Cuthbert's. Mr. Slope then left him +alone, having condescended sufficiently, and joined the conversation +among the higher powers.</p> + +<p>There were four persons there, each of whom considered himself the +most important personage in the diocese—himself, indeed, or herself, +as Mrs. Proudie was one of them—and with such a difference of +opinion it was not probable that they would get on pleasantly +together. The bishop himself actually wore the visible apron, and +trusted mainly to that—to that and his title, both being facts which +could not be overlooked. The archdeacon knew his subject and really +understood the business of bishoping, which the others did not, and +this was his strong ground. Mrs. Proudie had her sex to back her, +and her habit of command, and was nothing daunted by the high tone of +Dr. Grantly's face and figure. Mr. Slope had only himself and his +own courage and tact to depend on, but he nevertheless was perfectly +self-assured, and did not doubt but that he should soon get the better +of weak men who trusted so much to externals, as both bishop and +archdeacon appeared to do.</p> + +<p>"Do you reside in Barchester, Dr. Grantly?" asked the lady with her +sweetest smile.</p> + +<p>Dr. Grantly explained that he lived in his own parish of Plumstead +Episcopi, a few miles out of the city. Whereupon the lady hoped that +the distance was not too great for country visiting, as she would be +so glad to make the acquaintance of Mrs. Grantly. She would take the +earliest opportunity, after the arrival of her horses at Barchester; +their horses were at present in London; their horses were not +immediately coming down, as the bishop would be obliged, in a few +days, to return to town. Dr. Grantly was no doubt aware that the +bishop was at present much called upon by the "University Improvement +Committee:" indeed, the committee could not well proceed without him, +as their final report had now to be drawn up. The bishop had also to +prepare a scheme for the "Manufacturing Towns Morning and Evening +Sunday School Society," of which he was a patron, or president, or +director, and therefore the horses would not come down to Barchester +at present; but whenever the horses did come down, she would take the +earliest opportunity of calling at Plumstead Episcopi, providing the +distance was not too great for country visiting.</p> + +<p>The archdeacon made his fifth bow—he had made one at each mention +of the horses—and promised that Mrs. Grantly would do herself the +honour of calling at the palace on an early day. Mrs. Proudie declared +that she would be delighted: she hadn't liked to ask, not being quite +sure whether Mrs. Grantly had horses; besides, the distance might have +been, &c. &c.</p> + +<p>Dr. Grantly again bowed but said nothing. He could have bought every +individual possession of the whole family of the Proudies and have +restored them as a gift, without much feeling the loss; and had kept +a separate pair of horses for the exclusive use of his wife since the +day of his marriage, whereas Mrs. Proudie had been hitherto jobbed +about the streets of London at so much a month, during the season, +and at other times had managed to walk, or hire a smart fly from the +livery stables.</p> + +<p>"Are the arrangements with reference to the Sabbath-day schools +generally pretty good in your archdeaconry?" asked Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"Sabbath-day schools!" repeated the archdeacon with an affectation +of surprise. "Upon my word, I can't tell; it depends mainly on the +parson's wife and daughters. There is none at Plumstead."</p> + +<p>This was almost a fib on the part of the archdeacon, for Mrs. +Grantly has a very nice school. To be sure it is not a Sunday-school +exclusively, and is not so designated, but that exemplary lady always +attends there for an hour before church, and hears the children say +their catechism, and sees that they are clean and tidy for church, with +their hands washed and their shoes tied; and Grisel and Florinda, her +daughters, carry thither a basket of large buns, baked on the Saturday +afternoon, and distribute them to all the children not especially under +disgrace, which buns are carried home after church with considerable +content, and eaten hot at tea, being then split and toasted. The +children of Plumstead would indeed open their eyes if they heard their +venerated pastor declare that there was no Sunday-school in his parish.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope merely opened his wide eyes wider and slightly shrugged +his shoulders. He was not, however, prepared to give up his darling +project.</p> + +<p>"I fear there is a great deal of Sabbath travelling here," said he. +"On looking at the 'Bradshaw,' I see that there are three trains in +and three out every Sabbath. Could nothing be done to induce the +company to withdraw them? Don't you think, Dr. Grantly, that a +little energy might diminish the evil?"</p> + +<p>"Not being a director, I really can't say. But if you can withdraw +the passengers, the company I dare say will withdraw the trains," +said the doctor. "It's merely a question of dividends."</p> + +<p>"But surely, Dr. Grantly," said the lady; "surely we should look at +it differently. You and I, for instance, in our position: surely we +should do all that we can to control so grievous a sin. Don't you +think so, Mr. Harding?" and she turned to the precentor, who was +sitting mute and unhappy.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding thought that all porters and stokers, guards, brakesmen, +and pointsmen ought to have an opportunity of going to church, and he +hoped that they all had.</p> + +<p>"But surely, surely," continued Mrs. Proudie, "surely that is not +enough. Surely that will not secure such an observance of the +Sabbath as we are taught to conceive is not only expedient but +indispensable; surely—"</p> + +<p>Come what come might, Dr. Grantly was not to be forced into a +dissertation on a point of doctrine with Mrs. Proudie, nor yet with +Mr. Slope, so without much ceremony he turned his back upon the sofa +and began to hope that Dr. Proudie had found that the palace repairs +had been such as to meet his wishes.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said his lordship; upon the whole he thought so—upon +the whole, he didn't know that there was much ground for complaint; the +architect, perhaps, might have—but his double, Mr. Slope, who had +sidled over to the bishop's chair, would not allow his lordship to +finish his ambiguous speech.</p> + +<p>"There is one point I would like to mention, Mr. Archdeacon. His +lordship asked me to step through the premises, and I see that the +stalls in the second stable are not perfect."</p> + +<p>"Why—there's standing there for a dozen horses," said the +archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so," said the other; "indeed, I've no doubt of it; but +visitors, you know, often require so much accommodation. There are +so many of the bishop's relatives who always bring their own horses."</p> + +<p>Dr. Grantly promised that due provision for the relatives' horses +should be made, as far at least as the extent of the original stable +building would allow. He would himself communicate with the +architect.</p> + +<p>"And the coach-house, Dr. Grantly," continued Mr. Slope; "there is +really hardly room for a second carriage in the large coach-house, +and the smaller one, of course, holds only one."</p> + +<p>"And the gas," chimed in the lady; "there is no gas through the +house, none whatever, but in the kitchen and passages. Surely the +palace should have been fitted through with pipes for gas, and hot +water too. There is no hot water laid on anywhere above the +ground-floor; surely there should be the means of getting hot water in +the bedrooms without having it brought in jugs from the kitchen."</p> + +<p>The bishop had a decided opinion that there should be pipes for hot +water. Hot water was very essential for the comfort of the palace. +It was, indeed, a requisite in any decent gentleman's house.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope had remarked that the coping on the garden wall was in +many places imperfect.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie had discovered a large hole, evidently the work of +rats, in the servants' hall.</p> + +<p>The bishop expressed an utter detestation of rats. There was +nothing, he believed, in this world that he so much hated as a rat.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope had, moreover, observed that the locks of the outhouses +were very imperfect: he might specify the coal-cellar and the +woodhouse.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie had also seen that those on the doors of the servants' +bedrooms were in an-equally bad condition; indeed, the locks all +through the house were old-fashioned and unserviceable.</p> + +<p>The bishop thought that a great deal depended on a good lock and +quite as much on the key. He had observed that the fault very often +lay with the key, especially if the wards were in any way twisted.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope was going on with his catalogue of grievances, when he was +somewhat loudly interrupted by the archdeacon, who succeeded in +explaining that the diocesan architect, or rather his foreman, was the +person to be addressed on such subjects, and that he, Dr. Grantly, had +inquired as to the comfort of the palace merely as a point of +compliment. He was sorry, however, that so many things had been found +amiss: and then he rose from his chair to escape.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie, though she had contrived to lend her assistance in +recapitulating the palatial dilapidations, had not on that account +given up her hold of Mr. Harding, nor ceased from her +cross-examinations as to the iniquity of Sabbatical amusements. Over +and over again had she thrown out her "Surely, surely," at Mr. +Harding's devoted head, and ill had that gentleman been able to parry +the attack.</p> + +<p>He had never before found himself subjected to such a nuisance. +Ladies hitherto, when they had consulted him on religious subjects, +had listened to what he might choose to say with some deference, and +had differed, if they differed, in silence. But Mrs. Proudie +interrogated him and then lectured. "Neither thou, nor thy son, nor +thy daughter, thy manservant, nor thy maidservant," said she +impressively, and more than once, as though Mr. Harding had forgotten +the words. She shook her finger at him as she quoted the favourite +law, as though menacing him with punishment, and then called upon him +categorically to state whether he did not think that travelling on +the Sabbath was an abomination and a desecration.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding had never been so hard pressed in his life. He felt that +he ought to rebuke the lady for presuming so to talk to a gentleman +and a clergyman many years her senior, but he recoiled from the idea +of scolding the bishop's wife, in the bishop's presence, on his first +visit to the palace; moreover, to tell the truth, he was somewhat +afraid of her. She, seeing him sit silent and absorbed, by no means +refrained from the attack.</p> + +<p>"I hope, Mr. Harding," said she, shaking her head slowly and +solemnly, "I hope you will not leave me to think that you approve of +Sabbath travelling," and she looked a look of unutterable meaning +into his eyes.</p> + +<p>There was no standing this, for Mr. Slope was now looking at him, +and so was the bishop, and so was the archdeacon, who had completed his +adieux on that side of the room. Mr. Harding therefore got up also and, +putting out his hand to Mrs. Proudie, said: "If you will come to St. +Cuthbert's some Sunday, I will preach you a sermon on that subject."</p> + +<p>And so the archdeacon and the precentor took their departure, bowing +low to the lady, shaking hands with the lord, and escaping from Mr. +Slope in the best manner each could. Mr. Harding was again +maltreated, but Dr. Grantly swore deeply in the bottom of his heart, +that no earthly consideration should ever again induce him to touch +the paw of that impure and filthy animal.</p> + +<p>And now, had I the pen of a mighty poet, would I sing in epic verse +the noble wrath of the archdeacon. The palace steps descend to a +broad gravel sweep, from whence a small gate opens out into the +street, very near the covered gateway leading into the close. The +road from the palace door turns to the left, through the spacious +gardens, and terminates on the London road, half a mile from the +cathedral.</p> + +<p>Till they had both passed this small gate and entered the close, +neither of them spoke a word, but the precentor clearly saw from his +companion's face that a tornado was to be expected, nor was he +himself inclined to stop it. Though by nature far less irritable +than the archdeacon, even he was angry: he even—that mild and +courteous man—was inclined to express himself in anything but +courteous terms.</p> + + +<p><a name="c6" id="c6"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> +<h3>War<br /> </h3> + + +<p>"Good heavens!" exclaimed the archdeacon, as he placed his foot on +the gravel walk of the close, and raising his hat with one hand, passed +the other somewhat violently over his now grizzled locks; smoke issued +forth from the uplifted beaver as it were a cloud of wrath, and the +safety valve of his anger opened, and emitted a visible steam, +preventing positive explosion and probable apoplexy. "Good +heavens!"—and the archdeacon looked up to the gray pinnacles of the +cathedral tower, making a mute appeal to that still living witness +which had looked down on the doings of so many bishops of Barchester.</p> + +<p>"I don't think I shall ever like that Mr. Slope," said Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"Like him!" roared the archdeacon, standing still for a moment to +give more force to his voice; "like him!" All the ravens of the +close cawed their assent. The old bells of the tower, in chiming the +hour, echoed the words, and the swallows flying out from their nests +mutely expressed a similar opinion. Like Mr. Slope! Why no, it was +not very probable that any Barchester-bred living thing should like +Mr. Slope!</p> + +<p>"Nor Mrs. Proudie either," said Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>The archdeacon hereupon forgot himself. I will not follow his +example, nor shock my readers by transcribing the term in which he +expressed his feeling as to the lady who had been named. The ravens +and the last lingering notes of the clock bells were less scrupulous +and repeated in correspondent echoes the very improper exclamation. +The archdeacon again raised his hat, and another salutary escape of +steam was effected.</p> + +<p>There was a pause, during which the precentor tried to realize the +fact that the wife of a Bishop of Barchester had been thus +designated, in the close of the cathedral, by the lips of its own +archdeacon; but he could not do it.</p> + +<p>"The bishop seems to be a quiet man enough," suggested Mr. Harding, +having acknowledged to himself his own failure.</p> + +<p>"Idiot!" exclaimed the doctor, who for the nonce was not capable of +more than such spasmodic attempts at utterance.</p> + +<p>"Well, he did not seem very bright," said Mr. Harding, "and yet he +has always had the reputation of a clever man. I suppose he's +cautious and not inclined to express himself very freely."</p> + +<p>The new Bishop of Barchester was already so contemptible a creature +in Dr. Grantly's eyes that he could not condescend to discuss his +character. He was a puppet to be played by others; a mere wax doll, +done up in an apron and a shovel hat, to be stuck on a throne or +elsewhere, and pulled about by wires as others chose. Dr. Grantly did +not choose to let himself down low enough to talk about Dr. Proudie, +but he saw that he would have to talk about the other members of his +household, the coadjutor bishops, who had brought his lordship down, +as it were, in a box, and were about to handle the wires as they +willed. This in itself was a terrible vexation to the archdeacon. +Could he have ignored the chaplain and have fought the bishop, there +would have been, at any rate, nothing degrading in such a contest. +Let the Queen make whom she would Bishop of Barchester; a man, or +even an ape, when once a bishop, would be a respectable adversary, if +he would but fight, himself. But what was such a person as Dr. +Grantly to do when such another person as Mr. Slope was put forward +as his antagonist?</p> + +<p>If he, our archdeacon, refused the combat, Mr. Slope would walk +triumphant over the field, and have the diocese of Barchester under +his heel.</p> + +<p>If, on the other hand, the archdeacon accepted as his enemy the man +whom the new puppet bishop put before him as such, he would have to +talk about Mr. Slope, and write about Mr. Slope, and in all matters +treat with Mr. Slope, as a being standing, in some degree, on ground +similar to his own. He would have to meet Mr. Slope, to—Bah! the +idea was sickening. He could not bring himself to have to do with +Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"He is the most thoroughly bestial creature that ever I set my eyes +upon," said the archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"Who—the bishop?" asked the other innocently.</p> + +<p>"Bishop! no—I'm not talking about the bishop. How on earth such a +creature got ordained!—they'll ordain anybody now, I know, but he's +been in the church these ten years, and they used to be a little +careful ten years ago."</p> + +<p>"Oh! You mean Mr. Slope."</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see any animal less like a gentleman?" asked Dr. +Grantly.</p> + +<p>"I can't say I felt myself much disposed to like him."</p> + +<p>"Like him!" again shouted the doctor, and the assenting ravens again +cawed an echo; "of course, you don't like him: it's not a question of +liking. But what are we to do with him?"</p> + +<p>"Do with him?" asked Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"Yes—what are we to do with him? How are we to treat him? There he +is, and there he'll stay. He has put his foot in that palace, and +he'll never take it out again till he's driven. How are we to get +rid of him?"</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose he can do us much harm."</p> + +<p>"Not do harm!—Well, I think you'll find yourself of a different +opinion before a month is gone. What would you say now, if he got +himself put into the hospital? Would that be harm?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding mused awhile and then said he didn't think the new +bishop would put Mr. Slope into the hospital.</p> + +<p>"If he doesn't put him there, he'll put him somewhere else where +he'll be as bad. I tell you that that man, to all intents and +purposes, will be Bishop of Barchester!" And again Dr. Grantly +raised his hat and rubbed his hand thoughtfully and sadly over his +head.</p> + +<p>"Impudent scoundrel!" he continued after a while. "To dare to +cross-examine me about the Sunday-schools in the diocese, and Sunday +travelling too: I never in my life met his equal for sheer impudence. +Why, he must have thought we were two candidates for ordination!"</p> + +<p>"I declare I thought Mrs. Proudie was the worst of the two," said +Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"When a woman is impertinent, one must only put up with it, and keep +out of her way in future, but I am not inclined to put up with Mr. +Slope. 'Sabbath travelling!'" and the doctor attempted to imitate +the peculiar drawl of the man he so much disliked: "'Sabbath +travelling!' Those are the sort of men who will ruin the Church of +England and make the profession of a clergyman disreputable. It is +not the dissenters or the papists that we should fear, but the set of +canting, low-bred hypocrites who are wriggling their way in among us; +men who have no fixed principle, no standard ideas of religion or +doctrine, but who take up some popular cry, as this fellow has done +about 'Sabbath travelling.'"</p> + +<p>Dr. Grantly did not again repeat the question aloud, but he did so +constantly to himself: "What were they to do with Mr. Slope?" How was +he openly, before the world, to show that he utterly disapproved of +and abhorred such a man?</p> + +<p>Hitherto Barchester had escaped the taint of any extreme rigour of +church doctrine. The clergymen of the city and neighbourhood, though +very well inclined to promote High Church principles, privileges, and +prerogatives, had never committed themselves to tendencies which are +somewhat too loosely called Puseyite practices. They all preached in +their black gowns, as their fathers had done before them; they wore +ordinary black cloth waistcoats; they had no candles on their altars, +either lighted or unlighted; they made no private genuflexions, and +were contented to confine themselves to such ceremonial observances +as had been in vogue for the last hundred years. The services were +decently and demurely read in their parish churches, chanting was +confined to the cathedral, and the science of intoning was unknown. +One young man who had come direct from Oxford as a curate to +Plumstead had, after the lapse of two or three Sundays, made a faint +attempt, much to the bewilderment of the poorer part of the +congregation. Dr. Grantly had not been present on the occasion, but +Mrs. Grantly, who had her own opinion on the subject, immediately +after the service expressed a hope that the young gentleman had not +been taken ill, and offered to send him all kinds of condiments +supposed to be good for a sore throat. After that there had been no +more intoning at Plumstead Episcopi.</p> + +<p>But now the archdeacon began to meditate on some strong measures of +absolute opposition. Dr. Proudie and his crew were of the lowest +possible order of Church of England clergymen, and therefore it +behoved him, Dr. Grantly, to be of the very highest. Dr. Proudie +would abolish all forms and ceremonies, and therefore Dr. Grantly +felt the sudden necessity of multiplying them. Dr. Proudie would +consent to deprive the church of all collective authority and rule, +and therefore Dr. Grantly would stand up for the full power of +convocation and the renewal of all its ancient privileges.</p> + +<p>It was true that he could not himself intone the service, but he +could procure the co-operation of any number of gentlemanlike curates +well trained in the mystery of doing so. He would not willingly +alter his own fashion of dress, but he could people Barchester with +young clergymen dressed in the longest frocks and in the +highest-breasted silk waistcoats. He certainly was not prepared to +cross himself, or to advocate the real presence, but without going this +length there were various observances, by adopting which he could +plainly show his antipathy to such men as Dr. Proudie and Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>All these things passed through his mind as he paced up and down the +close with Mr. Harding. War, war, internecine war was in his heart. +He felt that, as regarded himself and Mr. Slope, one of the two must +be annihilated as far as the city of Barchester was concerned, and he +did not intend to give way until there was not left to him an inch of +ground on which he could stand. He still flattered himself that he +could make Barchester too hot to hold Mr. Slope, and he had no +weakness of spirit to prevent his bringing about such a consummation +if it were in his power.</p> + +<p>"I suppose Susan must call at the palace," said Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"Yes, she shall call there, but it shall be once and once only. +I dare say 'the horses' won't find it convenient to come out to +Plumstead very soon, and when that once is done the matter may drop."</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose Eleanor need call. I don't think Eleanor would get +on at all well with Mrs. Proudie."</p> + +<p>"Not the least necessity in life," replied the archdeacon, not +without the reflexion that a ceremony which was necessary for his +wife might not be at all binding on the widow of John Bold. "Not the +slightest reason on earth why she should do so, if she doesn't like +it. For myself, I don't think that any decent young woman should be +subjected to the nuisance of being in the same room with that man."</p> + +<p>And so the two clergymen parted, Mr. Harding going to his daughter's +house, and the archdeacon seeking the seclusion of his brougham.</p> + +<p>The new inhabitants of the palace did not express any higher opinion +of their visitors than their visitors had expressed of them. Though +they did not use quite such strong language as Dr. Grantly had done, +they felt as much personal aversion, and were quite as well aware as +he was that there would be a battle to be fought, and that there was +hardly room for Proudieism in Barchester as long as Grantlyism was +predominant.</p> + +<p>Indeed, it may be doubted whether Mr. Slope had not already within +his breast a better prepared system of strategy, a more accurately +defined line of hostile conduct than the archdeacon. Dr. Grantly was +going to fight because he found that he hated the man. Mr. Slope had +predetermined to hate the man because he foresaw the necessity of +fighting him. When he had first reviewed the <i>carte du pays</i> +previous to his entry into Barchester, the idea had occurred to him of +conciliating the archdeacon, of cajoling and flattering him into +submission, and of obtaining the upper hand by cunning instead of +courage. A little inquiry, however, sufficed to convince him that all +his cunning would fail to win over such a man as Dr. Grantly to such a +mode of action as that to be adopted by Mr. Slope, and then he +determined to fall back upon his courage. He at once saw that open +battle against Dr. Grantly and all Dr. Grantly's adherents was a +necessity of his position, and he deliberately planned the most +expedient methods of giving offence.</p> + +<p>Soon after his arrival the bishop had intimated to the dean that, +with the permission of the canon then in residence, his chaplain +would preach in the cathedral on the next Sunday. The canon in +residence happened to be the Hon. and Rev. Dr. Vesey Stanhope, who at +this time was very busy on the shores of the Lake of Como, adding to +that unique collection of butterflies for which he is so famous. +Or rather, he would have been in residence but for the butterflies +and other such summer-day considerations; and the vicar-choral, who +was to take his place in the pulpit, by no means objected to having +his work done for him by Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope accordingly preached, and if a preacher can have +satisfaction in being listened to, Mr. Slope ought to have been +gratified. I have reason to think that he was gratified, and that he +left the pulpit with the conviction that he had done what he intended +to do when he entered it.</p> + +<p>On this occasion the new bishop took his seat for the first time in +the throne alloted to him. New scarlet cushions and drapery had been +prepared, with new gilt binding and new fringe. The old carved +oak-wood of the throne, ascending with its numerous grotesque pinnacles +half-way up to the roof of the choir, had been washed, and dusted, +and rubbed, and it all looked very smart. Ah! how often sitting +there, in happy early days, on those lowly benches in front of the +altar, have I whiled away the tedium of a sermon in considering how +best I might thread my way up amidst those wooden towers and climb +safely to the topmost pinnacle!</p> + +<p>All Barchester went to hear Mr. Slope; either for that or to gaze at +the new bishop. All the best bonnets of the city were there, and +moreover all the best glossy clerical hats. Not a stall but had its +fitting occupant, for though some of the prebendaries might be away +in Italy or elsewhere, their places were filled by brethren who +flocked into Barchester on the occasion. The dean was there, a heavy +old man, now too old, indeed, to attend frequently in his place, and +so was the archdeacon. So also were the chancellor, the treasurer, +the precentor, sundry canons and minor canons, and every lay member +of the choir, prepared to sing the new bishop in with due melody and +harmonious expression of sacred welcome.</p> + +<p>The service was certainly very well performed. Such was always the +case at Barchester, as the musical education of the choir had been +good, and the voices had been carefully selected. The psalms were +beautifully chanted; the Te Deum was magnificently sung; and the +litany was given in a manner which is still to be found at Barchester, +but, if my taste be correct, is to be found nowhere else. The litany +in Barchester cathedral has long been the special task to which Mr. +Harding's skill and voice have been devoted. Crowded audiences +generally make good performers, and though Mr. Harding was not aware +of any extraordinary exertion on his part, yet probably he rather +exceeded his usual mark. Others were doing their best, and it was +natural that he should emulate his brethren. So the service went on, +and at last Mr. Slope got into the pulpit.</p> + +<p>He chose for his text a verse from the precepts addressed by St. +Paul to Timothy, as to the conduct necessary in a spiritual pastor and +guide, and it was immediately evident that the good clergy of +Barchester were to have a lesson.</p> + +<p>"Study to show thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not +to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth." These were the +words of his text, and with such a subject in such a place, it may be +supposed that such a preacher would be listened to by such an +audience. He was listened to with breathless attention and not +without considerable surprise. Whatever opinion of Mr. Slope might +have been held in Barchester before he commenced his discourse, none +of his hearers, when it was over, could mistake him either for a fool +or a coward.</p> + +<p>It would not be becoming were I to travesty a sermon, or even to +repeat the language of it in the pages of a novel. In endeavouring +to depict the characters of the persons of whom I write, I am to a +certain extent forced to speak of sacred things. I trust, however, +that I shall not be thought to scoff at the pulpit, though some may +imagine that I do not feel all the reverence that is due to the +cloth. I may question the infallibility of the teachers, but I hope +that I shall not therefore be accused of doubt as to the thing to be +taught.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope, in commencing his sermon, showed no slight tact in his +ambiguous manner of hinting that, humble as he was himself, he stood +there as the mouth-piece of the illustrious divine who sat opposite +to him; and having premised so much, he gave forth a very accurate +definition of the conduct which that prelate would rejoice to see in +the clergymen now brought under his jurisdiction. It is only +necessary to say that the peculiar points insisted upon were exactly +those which were most distasteful to the clergy of the diocese, and +most averse to their practice and opinions, and that all those +peculiar habits and privileges which have always been dear to High +Church priests, to that party which is now scandalously called the +"high and dry church," were ridiculed, abused, and anathematized. +Now, the clergymen of the diocese of Barchester are all of the high +and dry church.</p> + +<p>Having thus, according to his own opinion, explained how a clergyman +should show himself approved unto God, as a workman that needeth not +to be ashamed, he went on to explain how the word of truth should be +divided; and here he took a rather narrow view of the question and +fetched his arguments from afar. His object was to express his +abomination of all ceremonious modes of utterance, to cry down any +religious feeling which might be excited, not by the sense, but by +the sound of words, and in fact to insult cathedral practices. Had +St. Paul spoken of rightly pronouncing, instead of rightly dividing +the word of truth, this part of his sermon would have been more to +the purpose, but the preacher's immediate object was to preach Mr. +Slope's doctrine, and not St. Paul's, and he contrived to give the +necessary twist to the text with some skill.</p> + +<p>He could not exactly say, preaching from a cathedral pulpit, that +chanting should be abandoned in cathedral services. By such an +assertion he would have overshot his mark and rendered himself +absurd, to the delight of his hearers. He could, however, and did, +allude with heavy denunciations to the practice of intoning in parish +churches, although the practice was all but unknown in the diocese; +and from thence he came round to the undue preponderance which, he +asserted, music had over meaning in the beautiful service which they +had just heard. He was aware, he said, that the practices of our +ancestors could not be abandoned at a moment's notice; the feelings +of the aged would be outraged, and the minds of respectable men would +be shocked. There were many, he was aware, of not sufficient calibre +of thought to perceive, of not sufficient education to know, that a +mode of service which was effective when outward ceremonies were of +more moment than inward feelings, had become all but barbarous at a +time when inward conviction was everything, when each word of the +minister's lips should fall intelligibly into the listener's heart. +Formerly the religion of the multitude had been an affair of the +imagination: now, in these latter days, it had become necessary that +a Christian should have a reason for his faith—should not only +believe, but digest—not only hear, but understand. The words of our +morning service, how beautiful, how apposite, how intelligible they +were, when read with simple and distinct decorum! But how much of +the meaning of the words was lost when they were produced with all +the meretricious charms of melody! &c. &c.</p> + +<p>Here was a sermon to be preached before Mr. Archdeacon Grantly, Mr. +Precentor Harding, and the rest of them! Before a whole dean and +chapter assembled in their own cathedral! Before men who had grown +old in the exercise of their peculiar services, with a full +conviction of their excellence for all intended purposes! This too +from such a man, a clerical <i>parvenu</i>, a man without a cure, a +mere chaplain, an intruder among them; a fellow raked up, so said Dr. +Grantly, from the gutters of Marylebone! They had to sit through it! +None of them, not even Dr. Grantly, could close his ears, nor leave the +house of God during the hours of service. They were under an obligation +of listening, and that too without any immediate power of reply.</p> + +<p>There is, perhaps, no greater hardship at present inflicted on +mankind in civilized and free countries than the necessity of +listening to sermons. No one but a preaching clergyman has, in these +realms, the power of compelling an audience to sit silent and be +tormented. No one but a preaching clergyman can revel in platitudes, +truisms, and untruisms, and yet receive, as his undisputed privilege, +the same respectful demeanour as though words of impassioned +eloquence, or persuasive logic, fell from his lips. Let a professor +of law or physics find his place in a lecture-room, and there pour +forth jejune words and useless empty phrases, and he will pour them +forth to empty benches. Let a barrister attempt to talk without +talking well, and he will talk but seldom. A judge's charge need be +listened to perforce by none but the jury, prisoner, and gaoler. +A member of Parliament can be coughed down or counted out. +Town-councillors can be tabooed. But no one can rid himself of the +preaching clergyman. He is the bore of the age, the old man whom we +Sindbads cannot shake off, the nightmare that disturbs our Sunday's +rest, the incubus that overloads our religion and makes God's service +distasteful. We are not forced into church! No: but we desire more than +that. We desire not to be forced to stay away. We desire, nay, we are +resolute, to enjoy the comfort of public worship, but we desire also +that we may do so without an amount of tedium which ordinary human +nature cannot endure with patience; that we may be able to leave the +house of God without that anxious longing for escape which is the +common consequence of common sermons.</p> + +<p>With what complacency will a young parson deduce false conclusions +from misunderstood texts, and then threaten us with all the penalties +of Hades if we neglect to comply with the injunctions he has given +us! Yes, my too self-confident juvenile friend, I do believe in +those mysteries which are so common in your mouth; I do believe in +the unadulterated word which you hold there in your hand; but you +must pardon me if, in some things, I doubt your interpretation. The +Bible is good, the prayer-book is good, nay, you yourself would be +acceptable, if you would read to me some portion of those time-honoured +discourses which our great divines have elaborated in the full maturity +of their powers. But you must excuse me, my insufficient young +lecturer, if I yawn over your imperfect sentences, your repeated +phrases, your false pathos, your drawlings and denouncings, your +humming and hawing, your oh-ing and ah-ing, your black gloves and your +white handkerchief. To me, it all means nothing; and hours are too +precious to be so wasted—if one could only avoid it.</p> + +<p>And here I must make a protest against the pretence, so often put +forward by the working clergy, that they are overburdened by the +multitude of sermons to be preached. We are all too fond of our own +voices, and a preacher is encouraged in the vanity of making his +heard by the privilege of a compelled audience. His sermon is the +pleasant morsel of his life, his delicious moment of self-exaltation. +"I have preached nine sermons this week," said a young friend to me +the other day, with hand languidly raised to his brow, the picture of +an overburdened martyr. "Nine this week, seven last week, four the +week before. I have preached twenty-three sermons this month. It is +really too much."</p> + +<p>"Too much, indeed," said I, shuddering; "too much for the strength +of any one."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered meekly, "indeed it is; I am beginning to feel it +painfully."</p> + +<p>"Would," said I, "you could feel it—would that you could be made to +feel it." But he never guessed that my heart was wrung for the poor +listeners.</p> + +<p>There was, at any rate, no tedium felt in listening to Mr. Slope on +the occasion in question. His subject came too home to his audience +to be dull, and, to tell the truth, Mr. Slope had the gift of using +words forcibly. He was heard through his thirty minutes of eloquence +with mute attention and open ears, but with angry eyes, which glared +round from one enraged parson to another, with wide-spread nostrils +from which already burst forth fumes of indignation, and with many +shufflings of the feet and uneasy motions of the body, which +betokened minds disturbed, and hearts not at peace with all the world.</p> + +<p>At last the bishop, who, of all the congregation, had been most +surprised, and whose hair almost stood on end with terror, gave the +blessing in a manner not at all equal to that in which he had long +been practising it in his own study, and the congregation was free to +go their way.</p> + + +<p><a name="c7" id="c7"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> +<h3>The Dean and Chapter Take Counsel<br /> </h3> + + +<p>All Barchester was in a tumult. Dr. Grantly could hardly get himself +out of the cathedral porch before he exploded in his wrath. The old +dean betook himself silently to his deanery, afraid to speak, and +there sat, half-stupefied, pondering many things in vain. Mr. +Harding crept forth solitary and unhappy; and, slowly passing beneath +the elms of the close, could scarcely bring himself to believe that +the words which he had heard had proceeded from the pulpit of +Barchester cathedral. Was he again to be disturbed? Was his whole +life to be shown up as a useless sham a second time? Would he have +to abdicate his precentorship, as he had his wardenship, and to give +up chanting, as he had given up his twelve old bedesmen? And what if +he did! Some other Jupiter, some other Mr. Slope, would come and +turn him out of St. Cuthbert's. Surely he could not have been wrong +all his life in chanting the litany as he had done! He began, +however, to have his doubts. Doubting himself was Mr. Harding's +weakness. It is not, however, the usual fault of his order.</p> + +<p>Yes! All Barchester was in a tumult. It was not only the clergy who +were affected. The laity also had listened to Mr. Slope's new +doctrine, all with surprise, some with indignation, and some with a +mixed feeling, in which dislike of the preacher was not so strongly +blended. The old bishop and his chaplains, the dean and his canons +and minor canons, the old choir, and especially Mr. Harding who was +at the head of it, had all been popular in Barchester. They had +spent their money and done good; the poor had not been ground down; +the clergy in society had neither been overbearing nor austere; and +the whole repute of the city was due to its ecclesiastical +importance. Yet there were those who had heard Mr. Slope with +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>It is so pleasant to receive a fillip of excitement when suffering +from the dull routine of everyday life! The anthems and Te Deums +were in themselves delightful, but they had been heard so often! Mr. +Slope was certainly not delightful, but he was new, and, moreover, +clever. They had long thought it slow, so said now many of the +Barchesterians, to go on as they had done in their old humdrum way, +giving ear to none of the religious changes which were moving the +world without. People in advance of the age now had new ideas, and +it was quite time that Barchester should go in advance. Mr. Slope +might be right. Sunday had certainly not been strictly kept in +Barchester, except as regarded the cathedral services. Indeed the +two hours between services had long been appropriated to morning +calls and hot luncheons. Then, Sunday-schools! Really more ought to +have been done as to Sunday-schools—Sabbath-day schools Mr. Slope +had called them. The late bishop had really not thought of +Sunday-schools as he should have done. (These people probably did not +reflect that catechisms and collects are quite as hard work to the +young mind as bookkeeping is to the elderly, and that quite as little +feeling of worship enters into the one task as the other.) And then, +as regarded that great question of musical services, there might be +much to be said on Mr. Slope's side of the question. It certainly +was the fact that people went to the cathedral to hear the music, +&c. &c.</p> + +<p>And so a party absolutely formed itself in Barchester on Mr. Slope's +side of the question! This consisted, among the upper classes, +chiefly of ladies. No man—that is, no gentleman—could possibly be +attracted by Mr. Slope, or consent to sit at the feet of so abhorrent +a Gamaliel. Ladies are sometimes less nice in their appreciation of +physical disqualification; provided that a man speak to them well, +they will listen, though he speak from a mouth never so deformed and +hideous. Wilkes was most fortunate as a lover, and the damp, +sandy-haired, saucer-eyed, red-fisted Mr. Slope was powerful only +over the female breast.</p> + +<p>There were, however, one or two of the neighbouring clergy who +thought it not quite safe to neglect the baskets in which for the +nonce were stored the loaves and fishes of the diocese of Barchester. +They, and they only, came to call on Mr. Slope after his performance +in the cathedral pulpit. Among these Mr. Quiverful, the rector of +Puddingdale, whose wife still continued to present him from year to +year with fresh pledges of her love, and so to increase his cares +and, it is to be hoped, his happiness equally. Who can wonder that a +gentleman with fourteen living children and a bare income of £400 a +year should look after the loaves and fishes, even when they are +under the thumb of a Mr. Slope?</p> + +<p>Very soon after the Sunday on which the sermon was preached, the +leading clergy of the neighbourhood held high debate together as to +how Mr. Slope should be put down. In the first place, he should +never again preach from the pulpit of Barchester cathedral. This was +Dr. Grantly's earliest dictum, and they all agreed, providing only +that they had the power to exclude him. Dr. Grantly declared that +the power rested with the dean and chapter, observing that no +clergyman out of the chapter had a claim to preach there, saving only +the bishop himself. To this the dean assented, but alleged that +contests on such a subject would be unseemly; to which rejoined a +meagre little doctor, one of the cathedral prebendaries, that the +contest must be all on the side of Mr. Slope if every prebendary were +always there ready to take his own place in the pulpit. Cunning +little meagre doctor, whom it suits well to live in his own cosy +house within Barchester close, and who is well content to have his +little fling at Dr. Vesey Stanhope and other absentees, whose Italian +villas, or enticing London homes, are more tempting than cathedral +stalls and residences!</p> + +<p>To this answered the burly chancellor, a man rather silent indeed, +but very sensible, that absent prebendaries had their vicars, and +that in such case the vicar's right to the pulpit was the same as +that of the higher order. To which the dean assented, groaning +deeply at these truths. Thereupon, however, the meagre doctor +remarked that they would be in the hands of their minor canons, one +of whom might at any hour betray his trust. Whereon was heard from +the burly chancellor an ejaculation sounding somewhat like "Pooh, +pooh, pooh!" but it might be that the worthy man was but blowing out +the heavy breath from his windpipe. Why silence him at all? +suggested Mr. Harding. Let them not be ashamed to hear what any man +might have to preach to them, unless he preached false doctrine; in +which case, let the bishop silence him. So spoke our friend; vainly; +for human ends must be attained by human means. But the dean saw a +ray of hope out of those purblind old eyes of his. Yes, let them +tell the bishop how distasteful to them was this Mr. Slope: a new +bishop just come to his seat could not wish to insult his clergy +while the gloss was yet fresh on his first apron.</p> + +<p>Then up rose Dr. Grantly and, having thus collected the scattered +wisdom of his associates, spoke forth with words of deep authority. +When I say up rose the archdeacon, I speak of the inner man, which +then sprang up to more immediate action, for the doctor had bodily +been standing all along with his back to the dean's empty fire-grate, +and the tails of his frock coat supported over his two arms. His +hands were in his breeches pockets.</p> + +<p>"It is quite clear that this man must not be allowed to preach again +in this cathedral. We all see that, except our dear friend here, the +milk of whose nature runs so softly that he would not have the heart +to refuse the Pope the loan of his pulpit, if the Pope would come and +ask it. We must not, however, allow the man to preach again here. +It is not because his opinion on church matters may be different from +ours—with that one would not quarrel. It is because he has +purposely insulted us. When he went up into that pulpit last Sunday, +his studied object was to give offence to men who had grown old in +reverence of those things of which he dared to speak so slightingly. +What! To come here a stranger, a young, unknown, and unfriended +stranger, and tell us, in the name of the bishop his master, that we +are ignorant of our duties, old-fashioned, and useless! I don't know +whether most to admire his courage or his impudence! And one thing I +will tell you: that sermon originated solely with the man himself. +The bishop was no more a party to it than was the dean here. You all +know how grieved I am to see a bishop in this diocese holding the +latitudinarian ideas by which Dr. Proudie has made himself +conspicuous. You all know how greatly I should distrust the opinion +of such a man. But in this matter I hold him to be blameless. I +believe Dr. Proudie has lived too long among gentlemen to be guilty, +or to instigate another to be guilty, of so gross an outrage. No! +That man uttered what was untrue when he hinted that he was speaking +as the mouthpiece of the bishop. It suited his ambitious views at +once to throw down the gauntlet to us—at once to defy us here in the +quiet of our own religious duties—here within the walls of our own +loved cathedral—here where we have for so many years exercised our +ministry without schism and with good repute. Such an attack upon +us, coming from such a quarter, is abominable."</p> + +<p>"Abominable," groaned the dean. "Abominable," muttered the meagre +doctor. "Abominable," re-echoed the chancellor, uttering the sound +from the bottom of his deep chest. "I really think it was," said Mr. +Harding.</p> + +<p>"Most abominable and most unjustifiable," continued the archdeacon. +"But, Mr. Dean, thank God, that pulpit is still our own: your own, I +should say. That pulpit belongs solely to the dean and chapter of +Barchester Cathedral, and as yet Mr. Slope is no part of that +chapter. You, Mr. Dean, have suggested that we should appeal to the +bishop to abstain from forcing this man on us; but what if the bishop +allow himself to be ruled by his chaplain? In my opinion the matter +is in our own hands. Mr. Slope cannot preach there without +permission asked and obtained, and let that permission be invariably +refused. Let all participation in the ministry of the cathedral +service be refused to him. Then, if the bishop choose to interfere, +we shall know what answer to make to the bishop. My friend here has +suggested that this man may again find his way into the pulpit by +undertaking the duty of some of your minor canons, but I am sure that +we may fully trust to these gentlemen to support us, when it is known +that the dean objects to any such transfer."</p> + +<p>"Of course you may," said the chancellor.</p> + +<p>There was much more discussion among the learned conclave, all of +which, of course, ended in obedience to the archdeacon's commands. +They had too long been accustomed to his rule to shake it off so +soon, and in this particular case they had none of them a wish to +abet the man whom he was so anxious to put down.</p> + +<p>Such a meeting as that we have just recorded is not held in such a +city as Barchester unknown and untold of. Not only was the fact of +the meeting talked of in every respectable house, including the +palace, but the very speeches of the dean, the archdeacon, and +chancellor were repeated; not without many additions and imaginary +circumstances, according to the tastes and opinions of the relaters.</p> + +<p>All, however, agreed in saying that Mr. Slope was to be debarred +from opening his mouth in the cathedral of Barchester; many believed +that the vergers were to be ordered to refuse him even the +accommodation of a seat; and some of the most far-going advocates for +strong measures declared that his sermon was looked upon as an +indictable offence, and that proceedings were to be taken against him +for brawling.</p> + +<p>The party who were inclined to defend him—the enthusiastically +religious young ladies and the middle-aged spinsters desirous of a +move—of course took up his defence the more warmly on account of +this attack. If they could not hear Mr. Slope in the cathedral, they +would hear him elsewhere; they would leave the dull dean, the dull +old prebendaries, and the scarcely less dull young minor canons to +preach to each other; they would work slippers and cushions and hem +bands for Mr. Slope, make him a happy martyr, and stick him up in +some new Sion or Bethesda, and put the cathedral quite out of +fashion.</p> + +<p>Dr. and Mrs. Proudie at once returned to London. They thought it +expedient not to have to encounter any personal application from the +dean and chapter respecting the sermon till the violence of the storm +had expended itself; but they left Mr. Slope behind them nothing +daunted, and he went about his work zealously, flattering such as +would listen to his flattery, whispering religious twaddle into the +ears of foolish women, ingratiating himself with the few clergy who +would receive him, visiting the houses of the poor, inquiring into +all people, prying into everything, and searching with his minutest +eye into all palatial dilapidations. He did not, however, make any +immediate attempt to preach again in the cathedral.</p> + +<p>And so all Barchester was by the ears.</p> + + +<p><a name="c8" id="c8"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII</h3> +<h3>The Ex-Warden Rejoices in His Probable Return to +the Hospital<br /> </h3> + + +<p>Among the ladies in Barchester who have hitherto acknowledged Mr. +Slope as their spiritual director must not be reckoned either the +Widow Bold or her sister-in-law. On the first outbreak of the wrath +of the denizens of the close, none had been more animated against the +intruder than these two ladies. And this was natural. Who could be +so proud of the musical distinction of their own cathedral as the +favourite daughter of the precentor? Who would be so likely to +resent an insult offered to the old choir? And in such matters Miss +Bold and her sister-in-law had but one opinion.</p> + +<p>This wrath, however, has in some degree been mitigated, and I regret +to say that these ladies allowed Mr. Slope to be his own apologist. +About a fortnight after the sermon had been preached, they were both +of them not a little surprised by hearing Mr. Slope announced, as the +page in buttons opened Mrs. Bold's drawing-room door. Indeed, what +living man could, by a mere morning visit, have surprised them more? +Here was the great enemy of all that was good in Barchester coming +into their own drawing-room, and they had no strong arm, no ready +tongue, near at hand for their protection. The widow snatched her +baby out of its cradle into her lap, and Mary Bold stood up ready to +die manfully in that baby's behalf, should, under any circumstances, +such a sacrifice become necessary.</p> + +<p>In this manner was Mr. Slope received. But when he left, he was +allowed by each lady to take her hand and to make his adieux as +gentlemen do who have been graciously entertained! Yes, he shook +hands with them, and was curtseyed out courteously, the buttoned page +opening the door as he would have done for the best canon of them +all. He had touched the baby's little hand and blessed him with a +fervid blessing; he had spoken to the widow of her early sorrows, and +Eleanor's silent tears had not rebuked him; he had told Mary Bold +that her devotion would be rewarded, and Mary Bold had heard the +praise without disgust. And how had he done all this? How had he so +quickly turned aversion into, at any rate, acquaintance? How had he +over-come the enmity with which these ladies had been ready to +receive him, and made his peace with them so easily?</p> + +<p>My readers will guess from what I have written that I myself do not +like Mr. Slope, but I am constrained to admit that he is a man of +parts. He knows how to say a soft word in the proper place; he knows +how to adapt his flattery to the ears of his hearers; he knows the +wiles of the serpent, and he uses them. Could Mr. Slope have adapted +his manners to men as well as to women, could he ever have learnt the +ways of a gentleman, he might have risen to great things.</p> + +<p>He commenced his acquaintance with Eleanor by praising her father. +He had, he said, become aware that he had unfortunately offended the +feelings of a man of whom he could not speak too highly; he would not +now allude to a subject which was probably too serious for +drawing-room conversation, but he would say that it had been very far +from him to utter a word in disparagement of a man of whom all the +world, at least the clerical world, spoke so highly as it did of Mr. +Harding. And so he went on, unsaying a great deal of his sermon, +expressing his highest admiration for the precentor's musical talents, +eulogizing the father and the daughter and the sister-in-law, speaking +in that low silky whisper which he always had specially prepared for +feminine ears, and, ultimately, gaining his object. When he left, he +expressed a hope that he might again be allowed to call; and though +Eleanor gave no verbal assent to this, she did not express dissent: and +so Mr. Slope's right to visit at the widow's house was established.</p> + +<p>The day after this visit Eleanor told her father of it and expressed +an opinion that Mr. Slope was not quite so black as he had been +painted. Mr. Harding opened his eyes rather wider than usual when he +heard what had occurred, but he said little; he could not agree in +any praise of Mr. Slope, and it was not his practice to say much evil +of anyone. He did not, however, like the visit, and simple-minded as +he was, he felt sure that Mr. Slope had some deeper motive than the +mere pleasure of making soft speeches to two ladies.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding, however, had come to see his daughter with other +purpose than that of speaking either good or evil of Mr. Slope. He had +come to tell her that the place of warden in Hiram's Hospital was again +to be filled up, and that in all probability he would once more return +to his old home and his twelve bedesmen.</p> + +<p>"But," said he, laughing, "I shall be greatly shorn of my ancient +glory."</p> + +<p>"Why so, Papa?"</p> + +<p>"This new act of Parliament that is to put us all on our feet +again," continued he, "settles my income at four hundred and fifty +pounds per annum."</p> + +<p>"Four hundred and fifty," said she, "instead of eight hundred! Well, +that is rather shabby. But still, Papa, you'll have the dear old +house and the garden?"</p> + +<p>"My dear," said he, "it's worth twice the money;" and as he spoke he +showed a jaunty kind of satisfaction in his tone and manner and in +the quick, pleasant way in which he paced Eleanor's drawing-room. +"It's worth twice the money. I shall have the house and the garden +and a larger income than I can possibly want."</p> + +<p>"At any rate, you'll have no extravagant daughter to provide for;" +and as she spoke, the young widow put her arm within his, and made +him sit on the sofa beside her; "at any rate, you'll not have that +expense."</p> + +<p>"No, my dear, and I shall be rather lonely without her; but we won't +think of that now. As regards income, I shall have plenty for all I +want. I shall have my old house, and I don't mind owning now that I +have felt sometimes the inconvenience of living in a lodging. +Lodgings are very nice for young men, but at my time of life there is +a want of—I hardly know what to call it, perhaps not +respectability—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa! I'm sure there's been nothing like that. Nobody has +thought it; nobody in all Barchester has been more respected than you +have been since you took those rooms in High Street. Nobody! Not +the dean in his deanery, or the archdeacon out at Plumstead."</p> + +<p>"The archdeacon would not be much obliged to you if he heard you," +said he, smiling somewhat at the exclusive manner in which his +daughter confined her illustration to the church dignitaries of the +chapter of Barchester; "but at any rate I shall be glad to get back +to the old house. Since I heard that it was all settled, I have +begun to fancy that I can't be comfortable without my two +sitting-rooms."</p> + +<p>"Come and stay with me, Papa, till it is settled—there's a dear +Papa."</p> + +<p>"Thank ye, Nelly. But no, I won't do that. It would make two +movings. I shall be very glad to get back to my old men again. +Alas! alas! There have six of them gone in these few last years. +Six out of twelve! And the others I fear have had but a sorry life +of it there. Poor Bunce, poor old Bunce!"</p> + +<p>Bunce was one of the surviving recipients of Hiram's charity, an old +man, now over ninety, who had long been a favourite of Mr. Harding's.</p> + +<p>"How happy old Bunce will be," said Mrs. Bold, clapping her soft +hands softly. "How happy they all will be to have you back again. +You may be sure there will soon be friendship among them again when +you are there."</p> + +<p>"But," said he, half-laughing, "I am to have new troubles, which +will be terrible to me. There are to be twelve old women, and a matron. +How shall I manage twelve women and a matron!"</p> + +<p>"The matron will manage the women, of course."</p> + +<p>"And who'll manage the matron?" said he.</p> + +<p>"She won't want to be managed. She'll be a great lady herself, I +suppose. But, Papa, where will the matron live? She is not to live +in the warden's house with you, is she?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope not, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa, I tell you fairly, I won't have a matron for a new +stepmother."</p> + +<p>"You shan't, my dear; that is, if I can help it. But they are going +to build another house for the matron and the women, and I believe +they haven't even fixed yet on the site of the building."</p> + +<p>"And have they appointed the matron?" said Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"They haven't appointed the warden yet," replied he.</p> + +<p>"But there's no doubt about that, I suppose," said his daughter.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding explained that he thought there was no doubt; that the +archdeacon had declared as much, saying that the bishop and his +chaplain between them had not the power to appoint anyone else, even +if they had the will to do so, and sufficient impudence to carry out +such a will. The archdeacon was of opinion that, though Mr. Harding +had resigned his wardenship, and had done so unconditionally, he had +done so under circumstances which left the bishop no choice as to his +reappointment, now that the affair of the hospital had been settled +on a new basis by act of Parliament. Such was the archdeacon's +opinion, and his father-in-law received it without a shadow of doubt.</p> + +<p>Dr. Grantly had always been strongly opposed to Mr. Harding's +resignation of the place. He had done all in his power to dissuade +him from it. He had considered that Mr. Harding was bound to +withstand the popular clamour with which he was attacked for +receiving so large an income as eight hundred a year from such a +charity, and was not even yet satisfied that his father-in-law's +conduct had not been pusillanimous and undignified. He looked also +on this reduction of the warden's income as a shabby, paltry scheme +on the part of government for escaping from a difficulty into which +it had been brought by the public press. Dr. Grantly observed that +the government had no more right to dispose of a sum of four hundred +and fifty pounds a year out of the income of Hiram's legacy than of +nine hundred; whereas, as he said, the bishop, dean, and chapter +clearly had a right to settle what sum should be paid. He also +declared that the government had no more right to saddle the charity +with twelve old women than with twelve hundred; and he was, +therefore, very indignant on the matter. He probably forgot when so +talking that government had done nothing of the kind, and had never +assumed any such might or any such right. He made the common mistake +of attributing to the government, which in such matters is powerless, +the doings of Parliament, which in such matters is omnipotent.</p> + +<p>But though he felt that the glory and honour of the situation of +warden of Barchester Hospital were indeed curtailed by the new +arrangement; that the whole establishment had to a certain degree +been made vile by the touch of Whig commissioners; that the place, +with its lessened income, its old women, and other innovations, was +very different from the hospital of former days; still the archdeacon +was too practical a man of the world to wish that his father-in-law, +who had at present little more than £200 per annum for all his wants, +should refuse the situation, defiled, undignified, and +commission-ridden as it was.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding had, accordingly, made up his mind that he would return +to his old home at the hospital, and, to tell the truth, had +experienced almost a childish pleasure in the idea of doing so. The +diminished income was to him not even the source of momentary regret. +The matron and the old women did rather go against the grain, but he +was able to console himself with the reflection that, after all, such +an arrangement might be of real service to the poor of the city. The +thought that he must receive his reappointment as the gift of the new +bishop, and probably through the hands of Mr. Slope, annoyed him a +little, but his mind was set at rest by the assurance of the +archdeacon that there would be no favour in such a presentation. The +reappointment of the old warden would be regarded by all the world as +a matter of course. Mr. Harding, therefore, felt no hesitation in +telling his daughter that they might look upon his return to his old +quarters as a settled matter.</p> + +<p>"And you won't have to ask for it, Papa?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not, my dear. There is no ground on which I could ask for +any favour from the bishop, whom, indeed, I hardly know. Nor would I +ask a favour, the granting of which might possibly be made a question +to be settled by Mr. Slope. No," said he, moved for a moment by a +spirit very unlike his own, "I certainly shall be very glad to go +back to the hospital; but I should never go there if it were +necessary that my doing so should be the subject of a request to Mr. +Slope."</p> + +<p>This little outbreak of her father's anger jarred on the present +tone of Eleanor's mind. She had not learnt to like Mr. Slope, but she +had learnt to think that he had much respect for her father; and she +would, therefore, willingly use her efforts to induce something like +good feeling between them.</p> + +<p>"Papa," said she, "I think you somewhat mistake Mr. Slope's +character."</p> + +<p>"Do I?" said he placidly.</p> + +<p>"I think you do, Papa. I think he intended no personal disrespect to +you when he preached the sermon which made the archdeacon and the +dean so angry!"</p> + +<p>"I never supposed he did, my dear. I hope I never inquired within +myself whether he did or no. Such a matter would be unworthy of any +inquiry, and very unworthy of the consideration of the chapter. But I +fear he intended disrespect to the ministration of God's services, as +conducted in conformity with the rules of the Church of England."</p> + +<p>"But might it not be that he thought it his duty to express his +dissent from that which you, and the dean, and all of us here so much +approve?"</p> + +<p>"It can hardly be the duty of a young man rudely to assail the +religious convictions of his elders in the church. Courtesy should +have kept him silent, even if neither charity nor modesty could do +so."</p> + +<p>"But Mr. Slope would say that on such a subject the commands of his +heavenly Master do not admit of his being silent."</p> + +<p>"Nor of his being courteous, Eleanor?"</p> + +<p>"He did not say that, Papa."</p> + +<p>"Believe me, my child, that Christian ministers are never called on +by God's word to insult the convictions, or even the prejudices of +their brethren, and that religion is at any rate not less susceptible +of urbane and courteous conduct among men than any other study which +men may take up. I am sorry to say that I cannot defend Mr. Slope's +sermon in the cathedral. But come, my dear, put on your bonnet and +let us walk round the dear old gardens at the hospital. I have never +yet had the heart to go beyond the courtyard since we left the place. +Now I think I can venture to enter."</p> + +<p>Eleanor rang the bell and gave a variety of imperative charges as to +the welfare of the precious baby, whom, all but unwillingly, she was +about to leave for an hour or so, and then sauntered forth with her +father to revisit the old hospital. It had been forbidden ground to +her as well as to him since the day on which they had walked forth +together from its walls.</p> + + +<p><a name="c9" id="c9"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER IX</h3> +<h3>The Stanhope Family<br /> </h3> + + +<p>It is now three months since Dr. Proudie began his reign, and +changes have already been effected in the diocese which show at least +the energy of an active mind. Among other things absentee clergymen +have been favoured with hints much too strong to be overlooked. Poor +dear old Bishop Grantly had on this matter been too lenient, and the +archdeacon had never been inclined to be severe with those who were +absent on reputable pretences, and who provided for their duties in a +liberal way.</p> + +<p>Among the greatest of the diocesan sinners in this respect was Dr. +Vesey Stanhope. Years had now passed since he had done a day's duty, +and yet there was no reason against his doing duty except a want of +inclination on his own part. He held a prebendal stall in the +diocese, one of the best residences in the close, and the two large +rectories of Crabtree Canonicorum and Stogpingum. Indeed, he had the +cure of three parishes, for that of Eiderdown was joined to +Stogpingum. He had resided in Italy for twelve years. His first +going there had been attributed to a sore throat, and that sore +throat, though never repeated in any violent manner, had stood him in +such stead that it had enabled him to live in easy idleness ever +since.</p> + +<p>He had now been summoned home—not, indeed, with rough violence, or +by any peremptory command, but by a mandate which he found himself +unable to disregard. Mr. Slope had written to him by the bishop's +desire. In the first place, the bishop much wanted the valuable +co-operation of Dr. Vesey Stanhope in the diocese; in the next, the +bishop thought it his imperative duty to become personally acquainted +with the most conspicuous of his diocesan clergy; then the bishop +thought it essentially necessary for Dr. Stanhope's own interests +that Dr. Stanhope should, at any rate for a time, return to +Barchester; and lastly, it was said that so strong a feeling was at +the present moment evinced by the hierarchs of the church with +reference to the absence of its clerical members, that it behoved Dr. +Vesey Stanhope not to allow his name to stand among those which would +probably in a few months be submitted to the councils of the nation.</p> + +<p>There was something so ambiguously frightful in this last threat +that Dr. Stanhope determined to spend two or three summer months at +his residence in Barchester. His rectories were inhabited by his +curates, and he felt himself from disuse to be unfit for parochial +duty; but his prebendal home was kept empty for him, and he thought +it probable that he might be able now and again to preach a prebendal +sermon. He arrived, therefore, with all his family at Barchester, and +he and they must be introduced to my readers.</p> + +<p>The great family characteristic of the Stanhopes might probably be +said to be heartlessness, but this want of feeling was, in most of +them, accompanied by so great an amount of good nature as to make +itself but little noticeable to the world. They were so prone to +oblige their neighbours that their neighbours failed to perceive how +indifferent to them was the happiness and well-being of those around +them. The Stanhopes would visit you in your sickness (provided it +were not contagious), would bring you oranges, French novels, and the +last new bit of scandal, and then hear of your death or your recovery +with an equally indifferent composure. Their conduct to each other +was the same as to the world; they bore and forbore; and there was +sometimes, as will be seen, much necessity for forbearing; but their +love among themselves rarely reached above this. It is astonishing +how much each of the family was able to do, and how much each did, to +prevent the well-being of the other four.</p> + +<p>For there were five in all; the doctor, namely, and Mrs. Stanhope, +two daughters, and one son. The doctor, perhaps, was the least +singular and most estimable of them all, and yet such good qualities +as he possessed were all negative. He was a good-looking rather +plethoric gentleman of about sixty years of age. His hair was +snow-white, very plentiful, and somewhat like wool of the finest +description. His whiskers were very large and very white, and gave to +his face the appearance of a benevolent, sleepy old lion. His dress +was always unexceptionable. Although he had lived so many years in +Italy it was invariably of a decent clerical hue, but it never was +hyperclerical. He was a man not given to much talking, but what +little he did say was generally well said. His reading seldom went +beyond romances and poetry of the lightest and not always most moral +description. He was thoroughly a <i>bon vivant</i>; an accomplished +judge of wine, though he never drank to excess; and a most inexorable +critic in all affairs touching the kitchen. He had had much to +forgive in his own family, since a family had grown up around him, +and had forgiven everything—except inattention to his dinner. His +weakness in that respect was now fully understood, and his temper but +seldom tried. As Dr. Stanhope was a clergyman, it may be supposed +that his religious convictions made up a considerable part of his +character, but this was not so. That he had religious convictions +must be believed, but he rarely obtruded them, even on his children. +This abstinence on his part was not systematic, but very +characteristic of the man. It was not that he had predetermined never +to influence their thoughts, but he was so habitually idle that his +time for doing so had never come till the opportunity for doing so +was gone forever. Whatever conviction the father may have had, the +children were at any rate but indifferent members of the church from +which he drew his income.</p> + +<p>Such was Dr. Stanhope. The features of Mrs. Stanhope's character +were even less plainly marked than those of her lord. The <i>far +niente</i> of her Italian life had entered into her very soul, and +brought her to regard a state of inactivity as the only earthly good. +In manner and appearance she was exceedingly prepossessing. She had +been a beauty, and even now, at fifty-five, she was a handsome woman. +Her dress was always perfect: she never dressed but once in the day, +and never appeared till between three and four; but when she did +appear, she appeared at her best. Whether the toil rested partly with +her, or wholly with her handmaid, it is not for such a one as the +author even to imagine. The structure of her attire was always +elaborate and yet never over-laboured. She was rich in apparel but +not bedizened with finery; her ornaments were costly, rare, and such +as could not fail to attract notice, but they did not look as though +worn with that purpose. She well knew the great architectural secret +of decorating her constructions, and never descended to construct a +decoration. But when we have said that Mrs. Stanhope knew how to +dress and used her knowledge daily, we have said all. Other purpose +in life she had none. It was something, indeed, that she did not +interfere with the purposes of others. In early life she had +undergone great trials with reference to the doctor's dinners, but +for the last ten or twelve years her elder daughter Charlotte had +taken that labour off her hands, and she had had little to trouble +her—little, that is, till the edict for this terrible English +journey had gone forth: since then, indeed, her life had been +laborious enough. For such a one, the toil of being carried from the +shores of Como to the city of Barchester is more than labour enough, +let the care of the carriers be ever so vigilant. Mrs. Stanhope had +been obliged to have every one of her dresses taken in from the +effects of the journey.</p> + +<p>Charlotte Stanhope was at this time about thirty-five years old, +and whatever may have been her faults, she had none of those which +belong particularly to old young ladies. She neither dressed young, +nor talked young, nor indeed looked young. She appeared to be +perfectly content with her time of life, and in no way affected the +graces of youth. She was a fine young woman, and had she been a man, +would have been a very fine young man. All that was done in the +house, and that was not done by servants, was done by her. She gave +the orders, paid the bills, hired and dismissed the domestics, made +the tea, carved the meat, and managed everything in the Stanhope +household. She, and she alone, could ever induce her father to look +into the state of his worldly concerns. She, and she alone, could in +any degree control the absurdities of her sister. She, and she alone, +prevented the whole family from falling into utter disrepute and +beggary. It was by her advice that they now found themselves very +unpleasantly situated in Barchester.</p> + +<p>So far, the character of Charlotte Stanhope is not unprepossessing. +But it remains to be said that the influence which she had in her +family, though it had been used to a certain extent for their worldly +well-being, had not been used to their real benefit, as it might have +been. She had aided her father in his indifference to his +professional duties, counselling him that his livings were as much +his individual property as the estates of his elder brother were the +property of that worthy peer. She had for years past stifled every +little rising wish for a return to England which the doctor had from +time to time expressed. She had encouraged her mother in her +idleness, in order that she herself might be mistress and manager of +the Stanhope household. She had encouraged and fostered the follies +of her sister, though she was always willing, and often able, to +protect her from their probable result. She had done her best, and +had thoroughly succeeded in spoiling her brother, and turning him +loose upon the world an idle man without a profession and without a +shilling that he could call his own.</p> + +<p>Miss Stanhope was a clever woman, able to talk on most subjects, +and quite indifferent as to what the subject was. She prided herself +on her freedom from English prejudice, and, she might have added, +from feminine delicacy. On religion she was a pure free-thinker, and +with much want of true affection, delighted to throw out her own +views before the troubled mind of her father. To have shaken what +remained of his Church of England faith would have gratified her +much, but the idea of his abandoning his preferment in the church had +never once presented itself to her mind. How could he indeed, when he +had no income from any other source?</p> + +<p>But the two most prominent members of the family still remain to +be described. The second child had been christened Madeline and had +been a great beauty. We need not say had been, for she was never +more beautiful than at the time of which we write, though her person +for many years had been disfigured by an accident. It is unnecessary +that we should give in detail the early history of Madeline Stanhope. +She had gone to Italy when about seventeen years of age, and had been +allowed to make the most of her surpassing beauty in the salons of +Milan and among the crowded villas along the shores of the Lake of +Como. She had become famous for adventures in which her character +was just not lost, and had destroyed the hearts of a dozen cavaliers +without once being touched in her own. Blood had flowed in quarrels +about her charms, and she had heard of these encounters with +pleasurable excitement. It had been told of her that on one occasion +she had stood by in the disguise of a page and had seen her lover +fall.</p> + +<p>As is so often the case, she had married the very worst of those +who sought her hand. Why she had chosen Paulo Neroni, a man of no +birth and no property, a mere captain in the Pope's guard, one who +had come up to Milan either simply as an adventurer or else as a spy, +a man of harsh temper and oily manners, mean in figure, swarthy in +face, and so false in words as to be hourly detected, need not now be +told. When the moment for doing so came, she had probably no +alternative. He, at any rate, had become her husband, and after a +prolonged honeymoon among the lakes, they had gone together to Rome, +the papal captain having vainly endeavoured to induce his wife to +remain behind him.</p> + +<p>Six months afterwards she arrived at her father's house a cripple, +and a mother. She had arrived without even notice, with hardly +clothes to cover her, and without one of those many ornaments which +had graced her bridal trousseau. Her baby was in the arms of a poor +girl from Milan, whom she had taken in exchange for the Roman maid +who had accompanied her thus far, and who had then, as her mistress +said, become homesick and had returned. It was clear that the lady +had determined that there should be no witness to tell stories of her +life in Rome.</p> + +<p>She had fallen, she said, in ascending a ruin, and had fatally +injured the sinews of her knee; so fatally that when she stood, she +lost eight inches of her accustomed height; so fatally that when she +essayed to move, she could only drag herself painfully along, with +protruded hip and extended foot, in a manner less graceful than that +of a hunchback. She had consequently made up her mind, once and +forever, that she would never stand and never attempt to move +herself.</p> + +<p>Stories were not slow to follow her, averring that she had been +cruelly ill-used by Neroni, and that to his violence had she owed her +accident. Be that as it may, little had been said about her husband, +but that little had made it clearly intelligible to the family that +Signor Neroni was to be seen and heard of no more. There was no +question as to readmitting the poor, ill-used beauty to her old +family rights, no question as to adopting her infant daughter beneath +the Stanhope roof-tree. Though heartless, the Stanhopes were not +selfish. The two were taken in, petted, made much of, for a time all +but adored, and then felt by the two parents to be great nuisances in +the house. But in the house the lady was, and there she remained, +having her own way, though that way was not very conformable with the +customary usages of an English clergyman.</p> + +<p>Madame Neroni, though forced to give up all motion in the world, +had no intention whatever of giving up the world itself. The beauty +of her face was uninjured, and that beauty was of a peculiar kind. +Her copious rich brown hair was worn in Grecian bandeaux round her +head, displaying as much as possible of her forehead and cheeks. Her +forehead, though rather low, was very beautiful from its perfect +contour and pearly whiteness. Her eyes were long and large, and +marvellously bright; might I venture to say bright as Lucifer's, I +should perhaps best express the depth of their brilliancy. They were +dreadful eyes to look at, such as would absolutely deter any man of +quiet mind and easy spirit from attempting a passage of arms with +such foes. There was talent in them, and the fire of passion and the +play of wit, but there was no love. Cruelty was there instead, and +courage, a desire of masterhood, cunning, and a wish for mischief. +And yet, as eyes, they were very beautiful. The eyelashes were long +and perfect, and the long, steady, unabashed gaze with which she +would look into the face of her admirer fascinated while it +frightened him. She was a basilisk from whom an ardent lover of +beauty could make no escape. Her nose and mouth and teeth and chin +and neck and bust were perfect, much more so at twenty-eight than +they had been at eighteen. What wonder that with such charms still +glowing in her face, and with such deformity destroying her figure, +she should resolve to be seen, but only to be seen reclining on a +sofa.</p> + +<p>Her resolve had not been carried out without difficulty. She had +still frequented the opera at Milan; she had still been seen +occasionally in the salons of the noblesse; she had caused herself to +be carried in and out from her carriage, and that in such a manner as +in no wise to disturb her charms, disarrange her dress, or expose her +deformities. Her sister always accompanied her and a maid, a +manservant also, and on state occasions, two. It was impossible that +her purpose could have been achieved with less; and yet, poor as she +was, she had achieved her purpose. And then again the more dissolute +Italian youths of Milan frequented the Stanhope villa and surrounded +her couch, not greatly to her father's satisfaction. Sometimes his +spirit would rise, a dark spot would show itself on his cheek, and he +would rebel, but Charlotte would assuage him with some peculiar +triumph of her culinary art and all again would be smooth for awhile.</p> + +<p>Madeline affected all manner of rich and quaint devices in the +garniture of her room, her person, and her feminine belongings. In +nothing was this more apparent than in the visiting card which she +had prepared for her use. For such an article one would say that +she, in her present state, could have but small need, seeing how +improbable it was that she should make a morning call: but not such +was her own opinion. Her card was surrounded by a deep border of +gilding; on this she had imprinted, in three lines<br /> </p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto"><tr><td align="center"> +La Signora Madeline<br /> +Vesey Neroni.<br /> +—Nata Stanhope.<br /> +</td></tr></table> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">And over the name +she had a bright gilt coronet, which certainly +looked very magnificent. How she had come to concoct such a name for +herself it would be difficult to explain. Her father had been +christened Vesey as another man is christened Thomas, and she had no +more right to assume it than would have the daughter of a Mr. Josiah +Jones to call herself Mrs. Josiah Smith, on marrying a man of the +latter name. The gold coronet was equally out of place, and perhaps +inserted with even less excuse. Paulo Neroni had had not the +faintest title to call himself a scion of even Italian nobility. Had +the pair met in England Neroni would probably have been a count, but +they had met in Italy, and any such pretence on his part would have +been simply ridiculous. A coronet, however, was a pretty ornament, +and if it could solace a poor cripple to have such on her card, who +would begrudge it to her?</p> + +<p>Of her husband, or of his individual family, she never spoke, but +with her admirers she would often allude in a mysterious way to her +married life and isolated state, and, pointing to her daughter, would +call her the last of the blood of the emperors, thus referring +Neroni's extraction to the old Roman family from which the worst of +the Caesars sprang.</p> + +<p>The "signora" was not without talent and not without a certain +sort of industry; she was an indomitable letter-writer, and her +letters were worth the postage: they were full of wit, mischief, +satire, love, latitudinarian philosophy, free religion, and, +sometimes, alas, loose ribaldry. The subject, however, depended +entirely on the recipient, and she was prepared to correspond with +anyone but moral young ladies or stiff old women. She wrote also a +kind of poetry, generally in Italian, and short romances, generally +in French. She read much of a desultory sort of literature, and as a +modern linguist had really made great proficiency. Such was the lady +who had now come to wound the hearts of the men of Barchester.</p> + +<p>Ethelbert Stanhope was in some respects like his younger sister, +but he was less inestimable as a man than she as a woman. His great +fault was an entire absence of that principle which should have +induced him, as the son of a man without fortune, to earn his own +bread. Many attempts had been made to get him to do so, but these had +all been frustrated, not so much by idleness on his part as by a +disinclination to exert himself in any way not to his taste. He had +been educated at Eton and had been intended for the Church, but he +had left Cambridge in disgust after a single term, and notified to +his father his intention to study for the bar. Preparatory to that, +he thought it well that he should attend a German university, and +consequently went to Leipzig. There he remained two years and brought +away a knowledge of German and a taste for the fine arts. He still, +however, intended himself for the bar, took chambers, engaged himself +to sit at the feet of a learned pundit, and spent a season in London. +He there found that all his aptitudes inclined him to the life of an +artist, and he determined to live by painting. With this object he +returned to Milan, and had himself rigged out for Rome. As a painter +he might have earned his bread, for he wanted only diligence to +excel, but when at Rome his mind was carried away by other things: he +soon wrote home for money, saying that he had been converted to the +Mother Church, that he was already an acolyte of the Jesuits, and +that he was about to start with others to Palestine on a mission for +converting Jews. He did go to Judea, but being unable to convert the +Jews, was converted by them. He again wrote home, to say that Moses +was the only giver of perfect laws to the world, that the coming of +the true Messiah was at hand, that great things were doing in +Palestine, and that he had met one of the family of Sidonia, a most +remarkable man, who was now on his way to western Europe, and whom he +had induced to deviate from his route with the object of calling at +the Stanhope villa. Ethelbert then expressed his hope that his mother +and sisters would listen to this wonderful prophet. His father he +knew could not do so from pecuniary considerations. This Sidonia, +however, did not take so strong a fancy to him as another of that +family once did to a young English nobleman. At least he provided him +with no heaps of gold as large as lions, so that the Judaized +Ethelbert was again obliged to draw on the revenues of the Christian +Church.</p> + +<p>It is needless to tell how the father swore that he would send no +more money and receive no Jew, nor how Charlotte declared that +Ethelbert could not be left penniless in Jerusalem, and how "La +Signora Neroni" resolved to have Sidonia at her feet. The money was +sent, and the Jew did come. The Jew did come, but he was not at all +to the taste of "La Signora." He was a dirty little old man, and +though he had provided no golden lions, he had, it seems, relieved +young Stanhope's necessities. He positively refused to leave the +villa till he had got a bill from the doctor on his London bankers.</p> + +<p>Ethelbert did not long remain a Jew. He soon reappeared at the +villa without prejudices on the subject of his religion, and with a +firm resolve to achieve fame and fortune as a sculptor. He brought +with him some models which he had originated at Rome and which really +gave such fair promise that his father was induced to go to further +expense in furthering these views. Ethelbert opened an establishment, +or rather took lodgings and a workshop, at Carrara, and there spoilt +much marble and made some few pretty images. Since that period, now +four years ago, he had alternated between Carrara and the villa, but +his sojourns at the workshop became shorter and shorter and those at +the villa longer and longer. 'Twas no wonder, for Carrara is not a +spot in which an Englishman would like to dwell.</p> + +<p>When the family started for England, he had resolved not to be +left behind, and, with the assistance of his elder sister, had +carried his point against his father's wishes. It was necessary, he +said, that he should come to England for orders. How otherwise was he +to bring his profession to account?</p> + +<p>In personal appearance Ethelbert Stanhope was the most singular of +beings. He was certainly very handsome. He had his sister +Madeline's eyes, without their stare and without their hard, cunning, +cruel firmness. They were also very much lighter, and of so light and +clear a blue as to make his face remarkable, if nothing else did so. +On entering a room with him, Ethelbert's blue eyes would be the first +thing you would see, and on leaving it almost the last you would +forget. His light hair was very long and silky, coming down over his +coat. His beard had been prepared in holy land, and was patriarchal. +He never shaved and rarely trimmed it. It was glossy, soft, clean, +and altogether not unprepossessing. It was such that ladies might +desire to reel it off and work it into their patterns in lieu of +floss silk. His complexion was fair and almost pink; he was small in +height and slender in limb, but well-made; and his voice was of +peculiar sweetness.</p> + +<p>In manner and dress he was equally remarkable. He had none of the +<i>mauvaise honte</i> of an Englishman. He required no introduction +to make himself agreeable to any person. He habitually addressed +strangers, ladies as well as men, without any such formality, and in +doing so never seemed to meet with rebuke. His costume cannot be +described because it was so various, but it was always totally +opposed in every principle of colour and construction to the dress of +those with whom he for the time consorted.</p> + +<p>He was habitually addicted to making love to ladies, and did so +without any scruples of conscience, or any idea that such a practice +was amiss. He had no heart to touch himself, and was literally +unaware that humanity was subject to such an infliction. He had not +thought much about it, but, had he been asked, would have said that +ill-treating a lady's heart meant injuring her promotion in the +world. His principles therefore forbade him to pay attention to a +girl if he thought any man was present whom it might suit her to +marry. In this manner his good nature frequently interfered with his +amusement, but he had no other motive in abstaining from the fullest +declarations of love to every girl that pleased his eye.</p> + +<p>Bertie Stanhope, as he was generally called, was, however, popular +with both sexes—and with Italians as well as English. His +circle of acquaintance was very large and embraced people of all +sorts. He had no respect for rank, and no aversion to those below him. +He had lived on familiar terms with English peers, German +shopkeepers, and Roman priests. All people were nearly alike to him. +He was above, or rather below, all prejudices. No virtue could charm +him, no vice shock him. He had about him a natural good manner, which +seemed to qualify him for the highest circles, and yet he was never +out of place in the lowest. He had no principle, no regard for +others, no self-respect, no desire to be other than a drone in the +hive, if only he could, as a drone, get what honey was sufficient for +him. Of honey, in his latter days, it may probably be presaged, that +he will have but short allowance.</p> + +<p>Such was the family of the Stanhopes, who, at this period, +suddenly joined themselves to the ecclesiastical circle of Barchester +close. Any stranger union it would be impossible perhaps to conceive. +And it was not as though they all fell down into the cathedral +precincts hitherto unknown and untalked of. In such case, no +amalgamation would have been at all probable between the new-comers +and either the Proudie set or the Grantly set. But such was far from +being the case. The Stanhopes were all known by name in Barchester, +and Barchester was prepared to receive them with open arms. The +doctor was one of her prebendaries, one of her rectors, one of her +pillars of strength; and was, moreover, counted on as a sure ally +both by Proudies and Grantlys.</p> + +<p>He himself was the brother of one peer, and his wife was the +sister of another—and both these peers were lords of +Whiggish tendency, with whom the new bishop had some sort of +alliance. This was sufficient to give to Mr. Slope high hope that he +might enlist Dr. Stanhope on his side, before his enemies could +outmanoeuvre him. On the other hand, the old dean had many many years +ago, in the days of the doctor's clerical energies, been instrumental +in assisting him in his views as to preferment; and many many years +ago also, the two doctors, Stanhope and Grantly, had, as young +parsons, been joyous together in the common-rooms of Oxford. Dr. +Grantly, consequently, did not doubt but that the newcomer would +range himself under his banners.</p> + +<p>Little did any of them dream of what ingredients the Stanhope +family was now composed.</p> + + +<p><a name="c10" id="c10"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER X</h3> +<h3>Mrs. Proudie's Reception—Commenced<br /> </h3> + + +<p>The bishop and his wife had spent only three or four days in +Barchester on the occasion of their first visit. His lordship had, +as we have seen, taken his seat on his throne, but his demeanour +there, into which it had been his intention to infuse much hierarchal +dignity, had been a good deal disarranged by the audacity of his +chaplain's sermon. He had hardly dared to look his clergy in the +face, and to declare by the severity of his countenance that in truth +he meant all that his factotum was saying on his behalf; nor yet did +he dare to throw Mr. Slope over, and show to those around him that he +was no party to the sermon, and would resent it.</p> + +<p>He had accordingly blessed his people in a shambling manner, not at +all to his own satisfaction, and had walked back to his palace with +his mind very doubtful as to what he would say to his chaplain on the +subject. He did not remain long in doubt. He had hardly doffed his +lawn when the partner of all his toils entered his study and +exclaimed even before she had seated herself:</p> + +<p>"Bishop, did you ever hear a more sublime, more spirit-moving, more +appropriate discourse than that?"</p> + +<p>"Well, my love; ha—hum—he!" The bishop did not know what to +say.</p> + +<p>"I hope, my lord, you don't mean to say you disapprove?"</p> + +<p>There was a look about the lady's eye which did not admit of my +lord's disapproving at that moment. He felt that if he intended to +disapprove, it must be now or never; but he also felt that it could +not be now. It was not in him to say to the wife of his bosom that +Mr. Slope's sermon was ill-timed, impertinent, and vexatious.</p> + +<p>"No, no," replied the bishop. "No, I can't say I disapprove—a very +clever sermon and very well intended, and I dare say will do a great +deal of good." This last praise was added, seeing that what he had +already said by no means satisfied Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>"I hope it will," said she. "And I am sure it was well deserved. +Did you ever in your life, bishop, hear anything so like play-acting +as the way in which Mr. Harding sings the litany? I shall beg Mr. +Slope to continue a course of sermons on the subject till all that is +altered. We will have at any rate, in our cathedral, a decent, godly, +modest morning service. There must be no more play-acting here now;" +and so the lady rang for lunch.</p> + +<p>The bishop knew more about cathedrals and deans and precentors and +church services than his wife did, and also more of a bishop's +powers. But he thought it better at present to let the subject drop.</p> + +<p>"My dear," said he, "I think we must go back to London on Tuesday. +I find my staying here will be very inconvenient to the Government."</p> + +<p>The bishop knew that to this proposal his wife would not object, and +he also felt that by thus retreating from the ground of battle the +heat of the fight might be got over in his absence.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Slope will remain here, of course?" said the lady.</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course," said the bishop.</p> + +<p>Thus, after less than a week's sojourn in his palace, did the bishop +fly from Barchester; nor did he return to it for two months, the +London season being then over. During that time Mr. Slope was not +idle, but he did not again essay to preach in the cathedral. In +answer to Mrs. Proudie's letters advising a course of sermons, he had +pleaded that he would at any rate wish to put off such an undertaking +till she was there to hear them.</p> + +<p>He had employed his time in consolidating a Proudie and Slope +party—or rather a Slope and Proudie party, and he had not employed his +time in vain. He did not meddle with the dean and chapter, except by +giving them little teasing intimations of the bishop's wishes about +this and the bishop's feelings about that, in a manner which was to +them sufficiently annoying, but which they could not resent. He +preached once or twice in a distant church in the suburbs of the city, +but made no allusion to the cathedral service. He commenced the +establishment of two "Bishop's Barchester Sabbath-day schools," gave +notice of a proposed "Bishop's Barchester Young Men's Sabbath Evening +Lecture Room," and wrote three or four letters to the manager of the +Barchester branch railway, informing him how anxious the bishop was +that the Sunday trains should be discontinued.</p> + +<p>At the end of two months, however, the bishop and the lady +reappeared, and as a happy harbinger of their return, heralded their +advent by the promise of an evening party on the largest scale. The +tickets of invitation were sent out from London—they were dated from +Bruton Street, and were dispatched by the odious Sabbath-breaking +railway, in a huge brown paper parcel to Mr. Slope. Everybody +calling himself a gentleman, or herself a lady, within the city of +Barchester, and a circle of two miles round it, was included. +Tickets were sent to all the diocesan clergy, and also to many other +persons of priestly note, of whose absence the bishop, or at least +the bishop's wife, felt tolerably confident. It was intended, +however, to be a thronged and noticeable affair, and preparations +were made for receiving some hundreds.</p> + +<p>And now there arose considerable agitation among the Grantlyites +whether or no they would attend the episcopal bidding. The first +feeling with them all was to send the briefest excuses both for +themselves and their wives and daughters. But by degrees policy +prevailed over passion. The archdeacon perceived that he would be +making a false step if he allowed the cathedral clergy to give the +bishop just ground of umbrage. They all met in conclave and agreed +to go. They would show that they were willing to respect the office, +much as they might dislike the man. They agreed to go. The old dean +would crawl in, if it were but for half an hour. The chancellor, +treasurer, archdeacon, prebendaries, and minor canons would all go, +and would all take their wives. Mr. Harding was especially bidden to +do so, resolving in his heart to keep himself far removed from Mrs. +Proudie. And Mrs. Bold was determined to go, though assured by her +father that there was no necessity for such a sacrifice on her part. +When all Barchester was to be there, neither Eleanor nor Mary Bold +understood why they should stay away. Had they not been invited +separately? And had not a separate little note from the chaplain, +couched in the most respectful language, been enclosed with the huge +episcopal card?</p> + +<p>And the Stanhopes would be there, one and all. Even the lethargic +mother would so far bestir herself on such an occasion. They had +only just arrived. The card was at the residence waiting for them. +No one in Barchester had seen them. What better opportunity could +they have of showing themselves to the Barchester world? Some few +old friends, such as the archdeacon and his wife, had called and had +found the doctor and his eldest daughter, but the <i>élite</i> +of the family were not yet known.</p> + +<p>The doctor indeed wished in his heart to prevent the signora from +accepting the bishop's invitation, but she herself had fully +determined that she would accept it. If her father was ashamed of +having his daughter carried into a bishop's palace, she had no such +feeling.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I shall," she had said to her sister who had gently +endeavoured to dissuade her, by saying that the company would consist +wholly of parsons and parsons' wives. "Parsons, I suppose, are much +the same as other men, if you strip them of their black coats; and as +to their wives, I dare say they won't trouble me. You may tell Papa +I don't at all mean to be left at home."</p> + +<p>Papa was told, and felt that he could do nothing but yield. He also +felt that it was useless for him now to be ashamed of his children. +Such as they were, they had become such under his auspices; as he had +made his bed, so he must lie upon it; as he had sown his seed, so +must he reap his corn. He did not indeed utter such reflexions in +such language, but such was the gist of his thought. It was not +because Madeline was a cripple that he shrank from seeing her made +one of the bishop's guests, but because he knew that she would +practise her accustomed lures, and behave herself in a way that could +not fail of being distasteful to the propriety of Englishwomen. +These things had annoyed but not shocked him in Italy. There they +had shocked no one; but here in Barchester, here among his fellow +parsons, he was ashamed that they should be seen. Such had been his +feelings, but he repressed them. What if his brother clergymen were +shocked! They could not take from him his preferment because the +manners of his married daughter were too free.</p> + +<p>La Signora Neroni had, at any rate, no fear that she would shock +anybody. Her ambition was to create a sensation, to have parsons at +her feet, seeing that the manhood of Barchester consisted mainly of +parsons, and to send, if possible, every parson's wife home with a +green fit of jealousy. None could be too old for her, and hardly any +too young. None too sanctified, and none too worldly. She was quite +prepared to entrap the bishop himself, and then to turn up her nose at +the bishop's wife. She did not doubt of success, for she had always +succeeded; but one thing was absolutely necessary; she must secure +the entire use of a sofa.</p> + +<p>The card sent to Dr. and Mrs. Stanhope and family had been so sent +in an envelope having on the cover Mr. Slope's name. The signora soon +learnt that Mrs. Proudie was not yet at the palace and that the +chaplain was managing everything. It was much more in her line to apply +to him than to the lady, and she accordingly wrote him the prettiest +little billet in the world. In five lines she explained everything, +declared how impossible it was for her not to be desirous to make the +acquaintance of such persons as the Bishop of Barchester and his wife, +and she might add also of Mr. Slope, depicted her own grievous state, +and concluded by being assured that Mrs. Proudie would forgive her +extreme hardihood in petitioning to be allowed to be carried to a sofa. +She then enclosed one of her beautiful cards. In return she received as +polite an answer from Mr. Slope—a sofa should be kept in the +large drawing-room, immediately at the top of the grand stairs, +especially for her use.</p> + +<p>And now the day of the party had arrived. The bishop and his wife +came down from town only on the morning of the eventful day, as +behoved such great people to do, but Mr. Slope had toiled day and +night to see that everything should be in right order. There had +been much to do. No company had been seen in the palace since heaven +knows when. New furniture had been required, new pots and pans, new +cups and saucers, new dishes and plates. Mrs. Proudie had at first +declared that she would condescend to nothing so vulgar as eating and +drinking, but Mr. Slope had talked, or rather written her out of +economy. Bishops should be given to hospitality, and hospitality +meant eating and drinking. So the supper was conceded; the guests, +however, were to stand as they consumed it.</p> + +<p>There were four rooms opening into each other on the first floor of +the house, which were denominated the drawing-rooms, the +reception-room, and Mrs. Proudie's boudoir. In olden days one of these +had been Bishop Grantly's bedroom, and another his common sitting-room +and study. The present bishop, however, had been moved down into a back +parlour and had been given to understand that he could very well +receive his clergy in the dining-room, should they arrive in too large +a flock to be admitted into his small sanctum. He had been unwilling to +yield, but after a short debate had yielded.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie's heart beat high as she inspected her suite of rooms. +They were really very magnificent, or at least would be so by +candlelight, and they had nevertheless been got up with commendable +economy. Large rooms when full of people and full of light look +well, because they are large, and are full, and are light. Small +rooms are those which require costly fittings and rich furniture. +Mrs. Proudie knew this, and made the most of it; she had therefore a +huge gas lamp with a dozen burners hanging from each of the ceilings.</p> + +<p>People were to arrive at ten, supper was to last from twelve till +one, and at half-past one everybody was to be gone. Carriages were +to come in at the gate in the town and depart at the gate outside. +They were desired to take up at a quarter before one. It was managed +excellently, and Mr. Slope was invaluable.</p> + +<p>At half-past nine the bishop and his wife and their three daughters +entered the great reception-room, and very grand and very solemn they +were. Mr. Slope was downstairs giving the last orders about the +wine. He well understood that curates and country vicars with their +belongings did not require so generous an article as the dignitaries +of the close. There is a useful gradation in such things, and +Marsala at 20s. a dozen did very well for the exterior supplementary +tables in the corner.</p> + +<p>"Bishop," said the lady, as his lordship sat himself down, "don't +sit on that sofa, if you please; it is to be kept separate for a lady."</p> + +<p>The bishop jumped up and seated himself on a cane-bottomed chair. +"A lady?" he inquired meekly; "do you mean one particular lady, my +dear?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Bishop, one particular lady," said his wife, disdaining to +explain.</p> + +<p>"She has got no legs, Papa," said the youngest daughter, tittering.</p> + +<p>"No legs!" said the bishop, opening his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Netta, what stuff you talk," said Olivia. "She has got +legs, but she can't use them. She has always to be kept lying down, +and three or four men carry her about everywhere."</p> + +<p>"Laws, how odd!" said Augusta. "Always carried about by four men! +I'm sure I shouldn't like it. Am I right behind, Mamma? I feel as +if I was open;" and she turned her back to her anxious parent.</p> + +<p>"Open! To be sure you are," said she, "and a yard of petticoat +strings hanging out. I don't know why I pay such high wages to Mrs. +Richards if she can't take the trouble to see whether or no you are +fit to be looked at," and Mrs. Proudie poked the strings here, and +twitched the dress there, and gave her daughter a shove and a shake, +and then pronounced it all right.</p> + +<p>"But," rejoined the bishop, who was dying with curiosity about the +mysterious lady and her legs, "who is it that is to have the sofa? +What's her name, Netta?"</p> + +<p>A thundering rap at the front door interrupted the conversation. +Mrs. Proudie stood up and shook herself gently, and touched her cap on +each side as she looked in the mirror. Each of the girls stood on +tiptoe and rearranged the bows on their bosoms, and Mr. Slope rushed +upstairs three steps at a time.</p> + +<p>"But who is it, Netta?" whispered the bishop to his youngest +daughter.</p> + +<p>"La Signora Madeline Vesey Neroni," whispered back the daughter; +"and mind you don't let anyone sit upon the sofa."</p> + +<p>"La Signora Madeline Vicinironi!" muttered to himself the bewildered +prelate. Had he been told that the Begum of Oude was to be there, or +Queen Pomara of the Western Isles, he could not have been more +astonished. La Signora Madeline Vicinironi, who, having no legs to +stand on, had bespoken a sofa in his drawing-room! Who could she be? +He however could now make no further inquiry, as Dr. and Mrs. +Stanhope were announced. They had been sent on out of the way a +little before the time, in order that the signora might have plenty +of time to get herself conveniently packed into the carriage.</p> + +<p>The bishop was all smiles for the prebendary's wife, and the +bishop's wife was all smiles for the prebendary. Mr. Slope was +presented and was delighted to make the acquaintance of one of whom he +had heard so much. The doctor bowed very low, and then looked as though +he could not return the compliment as regarded Mr. Slope, of whom, +indeed, he had heard nothing. The doctor, in spite of his long absence, +knew an English gentleman when he saw him.</p> + +<p>And then the guests came in shoals: Mr. and Mrs. Quiverful and their +three grown daughters. Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick and their three +daughters. The burly chancellor and his wife and clerical son from +Oxford. The meagre little doctor without incumbrance. Mr. Harding +with Eleanor and Miss Bold. The dean leaning on a gaunt spinster, +his only child now living with him, a lady very learned in stones, +ferns, plants, and vermin, and who had written a book about petals. +A wonderful woman in her way was Miss Trefoil. Mr. Finnie, the +attorney, with his wife, was to be seen, much to the dismay of many +who had never met him in a drawing-room before. The five Barchester +doctors were all there, and old Scalpen, the retired apothecary and +tooth-drawer, who was first taught to consider himself as belonging +to the higher orders by the receipt of the bishop's card. Then came +the archdeacon and his wife with their elder daughter Griselda, a +slim, pale, retiring girl of seventeen who kept close to her mother, +and looked out on the world with quiet watchful eyes, one who gave +promise of much beauty when time should have ripened it.</p> + +<p>And so the rooms became full, and knots were formed, and every +newcomer paid his respects to my lord and passed on, not presuming to +occupy too much of the great man's attention. The archdeacon shook +hands very heartily with Dr. Stanhope, and Mrs. Grantly seated +herself by the doctor's wife. And Mrs. Proudie moved about with +well-regulated grace, measuring out the quantity of her favours to +the quality of her guests, just as Mr. Slope had been doing with the +wine. But the sofa was still empty, and five-and-twenty ladies and +five gentlemen had been courteously warned off it by the mindful +chaplain.</p> + +<p>"Why doesn't she come?" said the bishop to himself. His mind was so +preoccupied with the signora that he hardly remembered how to behave +himself <i>en bishop</i>.</p> + +<p>At last a carriage dashed up to the hall steps with a very different +manner of approach from that of any other vehicle that had been there +that evening. A perfect commotion took place. The doctor, who heard +it as he was standing in the drawing-room, knew that his daughter was +coming, and retired into the furthest corner, where he might not see +her entrance. Mrs. Proudie perked herself up, feeling that some +important piece of business was in hand. The bishop was +instinctively aware that La Signora Vicinironi was come at last, and +Mr. Slope hurried into the hall to give his assistance.</p> + +<p>He was, however, nearly knocked down and trampled on by the +cortège that he encountered on the hall steps. He got himself +picked up, as well as he could, and followed the cortège +upstairs. The signora was carried head foremost, her head being the +care of her brother and an Italian manservant who was accustomed to the +work; her feet were in the care of the lady's maid and the lady's +Italian page; and Charlotte Stanhope followed to see that all was done +with due grace and decorum. In this manner they climbed easily into the +drawing-room, and a broad way through the crowd having been opened, +the signora rested safely on her couch. She had sent a servant +beforehand to learn whether it was a right- or a left-hand sofa, for it +required that she should dress accordingly, particularly as regarded +her bracelets.</p> + +<p>And very becoming her dress was. It was white velvet, without any +other garniture than rich white lace worked with pearls across her +bosom, and the same round the armlets of her dress. Across her brow +she wore a band of red velvet, on the centre of which shone a +magnificent Cupid in mosaic, the tints of whose wings were of the +most lovely azure, and the colour of his chubby cheeks the clearest +pink. On the one arm which her position required her to expose she +wore three magnificent bracelets, each of different stones. Beneath +her on the sofa, and over the cushion and head of it, was spread a +crimson silk mantle or shawl, which went under her whole body and +concealed her feet. Dressed as she was and looking as she did, so +beautiful and yet so motionless, with the pure brilliancy of her +white dress brought out and strengthened by the colour beneath it, +with that lovely head, and those large, bold, bright, staring eyes, +it was impossible that either man or woman should do other than look +at her.</p> + +<p>Neither man nor woman for some minutes did do other.</p> + +<p>Her bearers too were worthy of note. The three servants were +Italian, and though perhaps not peculiar in their own country, were +very much so in the palace at Barchester. The man especially attracted +notice and created a doubt in the mind of some whether he were a friend +or a domestic. The same doubt was felt as to Ethelbert. The man was +attired in a loose-fitting, common, black-cloth morning-coat. He had a +jaunty, fat, well-pleased, clean face on which no atom of beard +appeared, and he wore round his neck a loose, black silk +neck-handkerchief. The bishop essayed to make him a bow, but the man, +who was well trained, took no notice of him and walked out of the room +quite at his ease, followed by the woman and the boy.</p> + +<p>Ethelbert Stanhope was dressed in light blue from head to foot. He +had on the loosest possible blue coat, cut square like a shooting +coat, and very short. It was lined with silk of azure blue. He had +on a blue satin waistcoat, a blue neck-handkerchief which was +fastened beneath his throat with a coral ring, and very loose blue +trousers which almost concealed his feet. His soft, glossy beard was +softer and more glossy than ever.</p> + +<p>The bishop, who had made one mistake, thought that he also was a +servant and therefore tried to make way for him to pass. But +Ethelbert soon corrected the error.</p> + + +<p><a name="c11" id="c11"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XI</h3> +<h3>Mrs. Proudie's Reception—Concluded<br /> </h3> + + +<p>"Bishop of Barchester, I presume?" said Bertie Stanhope, putting out +his hand frankly; "I am delighted to make your acquaintance. We are +in rather close quarters here, a'nt we?"</p> + +<p>In truth they were. They had been crowded up behind the head of the +sofa—the bishop in waiting to receive his guest, and the +other in carrying her—and they now had hardly room to move +themselves.</p> + +<p>The bishop gave his hand quickly, made his little studied bow, and +was delighted to make—He couldn't go on, for he did not +know whether his friend was a signor, or a count or a prince.</p> + +<p>"My sister really puts you all to great trouble," said Bertie.</p> + +<p>"Not at all!" The bishop was delighted to have the opportunity of +welcoming La Signora Vicinironi—so at least he +said—and attempted to force his way round to the front of +the sofa. He had, at any rate, learnt that his strange guests were +brother and sister. The man, he presumed, must be Signor +Vicinironi—or count, or prince, as it might be. It was +wonderful what good English he spoke. There was just a twang of foreign +accent, and no more.</p> + +<p>"Do you like Barchester, on the whole?" asked Bertie.</p> + +<p>The bishop, looking dignified, said that he did like Barchester.</p> + +<p>"You've not been here very long, I believe," said Bertie.</p> + +<p>"No—not long," said the bishop and tried again to make +his way between the back of the sofa and a heavy rector, who was +staring over it at the grimaces of the signora.</p> + +<p>"You weren't a bishop before, were you?"</p> + +<p>Dr. Proudie explained that this was the first diocese he had held.</p> + +<p>"Ah—I thought so," said Bertie, "but you are changed +about sometimes, a'nt you?"</p> + +<p>"Translations are occasionally made," said Dr. Proudie, "but not so +frequently as in former days."</p> + +<p>"They've cut them all down to pretty nearly the same figure, haven't +they?" said Bertie.</p> + +<p>To this the bishop could not bring himself to make any answer, but +again attempted to move the rector.</p> + +<p>"But the work, I suppose, is different?" continued Bertie. "Is there +much to do here, at Barchester?" This was said exactly in the tone +that a young Admiralty clerk might use in asking the same question of +a brother acolyte at the Treasury.</p> + +<p>"The work of a bishop of the Church of England," said Dr. Proudie +with considerable dignity, "is not easy. The responsibility which he +has to bear is very great indeed."</p> + +<p>"Is it?" said Bertie, opening wide his wonderful blue eyes. "Well, I +never was afraid of responsibility. I once had thoughts of being a +bishop, myself."</p> + +<p>"Had thoughts of being a bishop!" said Dr. Proudie, much amazed.</p> + +<p>"That is, a parson—a parson first, you know, and a +bishop afterwards. If I had once begun, I'd have stuck to it. But, on +the whole, I like the Church of Rome the best."</p> + +<p>The bishop could not discuss the point, so he remained silent.</p> + +<p>"Now, there's my father," continued Bertie; "he hasn't stuck to it. +I fancy he didn't like saying the same thing over so often. By the +by, Bishop, have you seen my father?"</p> + +<p>The bishop was more amazed than ever. Had he seen his father? "No," +he replied; he had not yet had the pleasure: he hoped he might; and, +as he said so, he resolved to bear heavy on that fat, immovable +rector, if ever he had the power of doing so.</p> + +<p>"He's in the room somewhere," said Bertie, "and he'll turn up soon. +By the by, do you know much about the Jews?"</p> + +<p>At last the bishop saw a way out. "I beg your pardon," said he, "but +I'm forced to go round the room."</p> + +<p>"Well—I believe I'll follow in your wake," said Bertie. +"Terribly hot—isn't it?" This he addressed to the fat +rector with whom he had brought himself into the closest contact. +"They've got this sofa into the worst possible part of the room; +suppose we move it. Take care, Madeline."</p> + +<p>The sofa had certainly been so placed that those who were behind it +found great difficulty in getting out; there was but a narrow +gangway, which one person could stop. This was a bad arrangement, +and one which Bertie thought it might be well to improve.</p> + +<p>"Take care, Madeline," said he, and turning to the fat rector, +added, "Just help me with a slight push."</p> + +<p>The rector's weight was resting on the sofa and unwittingly lent all +its impetus to accelerate and increase the motion which Bertie +intentionally originated. The sofa rushed from its moorings and ran +half-way into the middle of the room. Mrs. Proudie was standing with +Mr. Slope in front of the signora, and had been trying to be +condescending and sociable; but she was not in the very best of +tempers, for she found that, whenever she spoke to the lady, the lady +replied by speaking to Mr. Slope. Mr. Slope was a favourite, no +doubt, but Mrs. Proudie had no idea of being less thought of than the +chaplain. She was beginning to be stately, stiff, and offended, when +unfortunately the castor of the sofa caught itself in her lace train, +and carried away there is no saying how much of her garniture. +Gathers were heard to go, stitches to crack, plaits to fly open, +flounces were seen to fall, and breadths to expose themselves; a long +ruin of rent lace disfigured the carpet, and still clung to the vile +wheel on which the sofa moved.</p> + +<p>So, when a granite battery is raised, excellent to the eyes of +warfaring men, is its strength and symmetry admired. It is the work +of years. Its neat embrasures, its finished parapets, its casemated +stories show all the skill of modern science. But, anon, a small +spark is applied to the treacherous fusee—a cloud of dust +arises to the heavens—and then nothing is to be seen but +dirt and dust and ugly fragments.</p> + +<p>We know what was the wrath of Juno when her beauty was despised. We +know to what storms of passion even celestial minds can yield. As +Juno may have looked at Paris on Mount Ida, so did Mrs. Proudie look +on Ethelbert Stanhope when he pushed the leg of the sofa into her +lace train.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you idiot, Bertie!" said the signora, seeing what had been +done, and what were to be the consequences.</p> + +<p>"Idiot!" re-echoed Mrs. Proudie, as though the word were not half +strong enough to express the required meaning; "I'll let him +know—" and then looking round to learn, at a glance, the +worst, she saw that at present it behoved her to collect the scattered +<i>débris</i> of her dress.</p> + +<p>Bertie, when he saw what he had done, rushed over the sofa and threw +himself on one knee before the offended lady. His object, doubtless, +was to liberate the torn lace from the castor, but he looked as +though he were imploring pardon from a goddess.</p> + +<p>"Unhand it, sir!" said Mrs. Proudie. From what scrap of dramatic +poetry she had extracted the word cannot be said, but it must have +rested on her memory, and now seemed opportunely dignified for the +occasion.</p> + +<p>"I'll fly to the looms of the fairies to repair the damage, if +you'll only forgive me," said Ethelbert, still on his knees.</p> + +<p>"Unhand it, sir!" said Mrs. Proudie with redoubled emphasis, and all +but furious wrath. This allusion to the fairies was a direct mockery +and intended to turn her into ridicule. So at least it seemed to +her. "Unhand it, sir!" she almost screamed.</p> + +<p>"It's not me; it's the cursed sofa," said Bertie, looking +imploringly in her face and holding up both his hands to show that he +was not touching her belongings, but still remaining on his knees.</p> + +<p>Hereupon the Signora laughed; not loud, indeed, but yet audibly. And +as the tigress bereft of her young will turn with equal anger on any +within reach, so did Mrs. Proudie turn upon her female guest.</p> + +<p>"Madam!" she said—and it is beyond the power of prose +to tell of the fire which flashed from her eyes.</p> + +<p>The signora stared her full in the face for a moment, and then +turning to her brother said playfully, "Bertie, you idiot, get up."</p> + +<p>By this time the bishop, and Mr. Slope, and her three daughters were +around her, and had collected together the wide ruins of her +magnificence. The girls fell into circular rank behind their mother, +and thus following her and carrying out the fragments, they left the +reception-rooms in a manner not altogether devoid of dignity. Mrs. +Proudie had to retire and re-array herself.</p> + +<p>As soon as the constellation had swept by, Ethelbert rose from his +knees and, turning with mock anger to the fat rector, said: "After +all it was your doing, sir—not mine. But perhaps you are +waiting for preferment, and so I bore it."</p> + +<p>Whereupon there was a laugh against the fat rector, in which both +the bishop and the chaplain joined, and thus things got themselves +again into order.</p> + +<p>"Oh! my lord, I am so sorry for this accident," said the signora, +putting out her hand so as to force the bishop to take it. "My +brother is so thoughtless. Pray sit down, and let me have the +pleasure of making your acquaintance. Though I am so poor a creature +as to want a sofa, I am not so selfish as to require it all." +Madeline could always dispose herself so as to make room for a +gentleman, though, as she declared, the crinoline of her lady friends +was much too bulky to be so accommodated.</p> + +<p>"It was solely for the pleasure of meeting you that I have had +myself dragged here," she continued. "Of course, with your occupation, +one cannot even hope that you should have time to come to us, that is, +in the way of calling. And at your English dinner-parties all is so +dull and so stately. Do you know, my lord, that in coming to England my +only consolation has been the thought that I should know you;" and she +looked at him with the look of a she-devil.</p> + +<p>The bishop, however, thought that she looked very like an angel and, +accepting the proffered seat, sat down beside her. He uttered some +platitude as to his deep obligation for the trouble she had taken, and +wondered more and more who she was.</p> + +<p>"Of course you know my sad story?" she continued.</p> + +<p>The bishop didn't know a word of it. He knew, however, or thought he +knew, that she couldn't walk into a room like other people, and so +made the most of that. He put on a look of ineffable distress and +said that he was aware how God had afflicted her.</p> + +<p>The signora just touched the corner of her eyes with the most lovely +of pocket-handkerchiefs. Yes, she said—she had been sorely +tried—tried, she thought, beyond the common endurance of +humanity; but while her child was left to her, everything was left. +"Oh! my lord," she exclaimed, "you must see that infant—the +last bud of a wondrous tree: you must let a mother hope that you will +lay your holy hands on her innocent head and consecrate her for female +virtues. May I hope it?" said she, looking into the bishop's eye and +touching the bishop's arm with her hand.</p> + +<p>The bishop was but a man and said she might. After all, what was it +but a request that he would confirm her daughter?—a +request, indeed, very unnecessary to make, as he should do so as a +matter of course if the young lady came forward in the usual way.</p> + +<p>"The blood of Tiberius," said the signora in all but a whisper; "the +blood of Tiberius flows in her veins. She is the last of the Neros!"</p> + +<p>The bishop had heard of the last of the Visigoths, and had floating +in his brain some indistinct idea of the last of the Mohicans, but to +have the last of the Neros thus brought before him for a blessing was +very staggering. Still he liked the lady: she had a proper way of +thinking and talked with more propriety than her brother. But who +were they? It was now quite clear that that blue madman with the +silky beard was not a Prince Vicinironi. The lady was married and +was of course one of the Vicinironi's by right of the husband. So +the bishop went on learning.</p> + +<p>"When will you see her? said the signora with a start.</p> + +<p>"See whom?" said the bishop.</p> + +<p>"My child," said the mother.</p> + +<p>"What is the young lady's age?" asked the bishop.</p> + +<p>"She is just seven," said the signora.</p> + +<p>"Oh," said the bishop, shaking his head; "she is much too +young—very much too young."</p> + +<p>"But in sunny Italy, you know, we do not count by years," and the +signora gave the bishop one of her very sweetest smiles.</p> + +<p>"But indeed, she is a great deal too young," persisted the bishop; +"we never confirm before—"</p> + +<p>"But you might speak to her; you might let her hear from your +consecrated lips that she is not a castaway because she is a Roman; +that she may be a Nero and yet a Christian; that she may owe her +black locks and dark cheeks to the blood of the pagan Caesars, and yet +herself be a child of grace; you will tell her this, won't you, my +friend?"</p> + +<p>The friend said he would, and asked if the child could say her +catechism.</p> + +<p>"No," said the signora, "I would not allow her to learn lessons such +as those in a land ridden over by priests and polluted by the +idolatry of Rome. It is here, here in Barchester, that she must +first be taught to lisp those holy words. Oh, that you could be her +instructor!"</p> + +<p>Now, Dr. Proudie certainly liked the lady, but, seeing that he was a +bishop, it was not probable that he was going to instruct a little +girl in the first rudiments of her catechism; so he said he'd send a +teacher.</p> + +<p>"But you'll see her yourself, my lord?"</p> + +<p>The bishop said he would, but where should he call.</p> + +<p>"At Papa's house," said the Signora with an air of some little +surprise at the question.</p> + +<p>The bishop actually wanted the courage to ask her who was her papa, +so he was forced at last to leave her without fathoming the +mystery. Mrs. Proudie, in her second best, had now returned to the +rooms, and her husband thought it as well that he should not remain +in too close conversation with the lady whom his wife appeared to +hold in such slight esteem. Presently he came across his youngest +daughter.</p> + +<p>"Netta," said he, "do you know who is the father of that Signora +Vicinironi?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't Vicinironi, Papa," said Netta; "but Vesey Neroni, and +she's Doctor Stanhope's daughter. But I must go and do the civil to +Griselda Grantly; I declare nobody has spoken a word to the poor girl +this evening."</p> + +<p>Dr. Stanhope! Dr. Vesey Stanhope! Dr. Vesey Stanhope's daughter, of +whose marriage with a dissolute Italian scamp he now remembered to +have heard something! And that impertinent blue cub who had examined +him as to his episcopal bearings was old Stanhope's son, and the lady +who had entreated him to come and teach her child the catechism was +old Stanhope's daughter! The daughter of one of his own +prebendaries! As these things flashed across his mind, he was nearly +as angry as his wife had been. Nevertheless, he could not but own +that the mother of the last of the Neros was an agreeable woman.</p> + +<p>Dr. Proudie tripped out into the adjoining room, in which were +congregated a crowd of Grantlyite clergymen, among whom the +archdeacon was standing pre-eminent, while the old dean was sitting +nearly buried in a huge arm chair by the fire-place. The bishop was +very anxious to be gracious, and, if possible, to diminish the +bitterness which his chaplain had occasioned. Let Mr. Slope do the +<i>fortiter in re</i>, he himself would pour in the <i>suaviter in +modo</i>.</p> + +<p>"Pray don't stir, Mr. Dean, pray don't stir," he said as the old man +essayed to get up; "I take it as a great kindness, your coming to +such an <i>omnium gatherum</i> as this. But we have hardly got settled +yet, and Mrs. Proudie has not been able to see her friends as she would +wish to do. Well, Mr. Archdeacon, after all, we have not been so hard +upon you at Oxford."</p> + +<p>"No," said the archdeacon, "you've only drawn our teeth and cut out +our tongues; you've allowed us still to breathe and swallow."</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the bishop; "it's not quite so easy to cut out +the tongue of an Oxford magnate—and as for teeth—ha, +ha, ha! Why, in the way we've left the matter, it's very odd if the +heads of colleges don't have their own way quite as fully as when the +hebdomadal board was in all its glory; what do you say, Mr. Dean?"</p> + +<p>"An old man, my lord, never likes changes," said the dean.</p> + +<p>"You must have been sad bunglers if it is so," said the archdeacon; +"and indeed, to tell the truth, I think you have bungled it. At any +rate, you must own this; you have not done the half what you boasted +you would do."</p> + +<p>"Now, as regards your system of professors—" began the +chancellor slowly. He was never destined to get beyond such beginning.</p> + +<p>"Talking of professors," said a soft clear voice, close behind the +chancellor's elbow; "how much you Englishmen might learn from +Germany; only you are all too proud."</p> + +<p>The bishop, looking round, perceived that that abominable young +Stanhope had pursued him. The dean stared at him as though he were +some unearthly apparition; so also did two or three prebendaries and +minor canons. The archdeacon laughed.</p> + +<p>"The German professors are men of learning," said Mr. Harding, +"but—"</p> + +<p>"German professors!" groaned out the chancellor, as though his +nervous system had received a shock which nothing but a week of Oxford +air could cure.</p> + +<p>"Yes," continued Ethelbert, not at all understanding why a German +professor should be contemptible in the eyes of an Oxford don. "Not +but what the name is best earned at Oxford. In Germany the +professors do teach; at Oxford, I believe, they only profess to do +so, and sometimes not even that. You'll have those universities of +yours about your ears soon, if you don't consent to take a lesson +from Germany."</p> + +<p>There was no answering this. Dignified clergymen of sixty years of +age could not condescend to discuss such a matter with a young man +with such clothes and such a beard.</p> + +<p>"Have you got good water out at Plumstead, Mr. Archdeacon?" said the +bishop by way of changing the conversation.</p> + +<p>"Pretty good," said Dr. Grantly.</p> + +<p>"But by no means so good as his wine, my lord," said a witty minor +canon.</p> + +<p>"Nor so generally used," said another; "that is, for inward +application."</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the bishop, "a good cellar of wine is a very +comfortable thing in a house."</p> + +<p>"Your German professors, Sir, prefer beer, I believe," said the +sarcastic little meagre prebendary.</p> + +<p>"They don't think much of either," said Ethelbert, "and that perhaps +accounts for their superiority. Now the Jewish professor—"</p> + +<p>The insult was becoming too deep for the spirit of Oxford to endure, +so the archdeacon walked off one way and the chancellor another, +followed by their disciples, and the bishop and the young reformer +were left together on the hearth-rug.</p> + +<p>"I was a Jew once myself," began Bertie.</p> + +<p>The bishop was determined not to stand another examination, or be +led on any terms into Palestine, so he again remembered that he had to +do something very particular, and left young Stanhope with the dean. +The dean did not get the worst of it for Ethelbert gave him a true +account of his remarkable doings in the Holy Land.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Harding," said the bishop, overtaking the <i>ci-devant</i> +warden; "I wanted to say one word about the hospital. You know, of +course, that it is to be filled up."</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding's heart beat a little, and he said that he had heard so.</p> + +<p>"Of course," continued the bishop; "there can be only one man whom I +could wish to see in that situation. I don't know what your own +views may be, Mr. Harding—"</p> + +<p>"They are very simply told, my lord," said the other; "to take the +place if it be offered me, and to put up with the want of it should +another man get it."</p> + +<p>The bishop professed himself delighted to hear it; Mr. Harding might +be quite sure that no other man would get it. There were some few +circumstances which would in a slight degree change the nature of the +duties. Mr. Harding was probably aware of this, and would, perhaps, +not object to discuss the matter with Mr. Slope. It was a subject to +which Mr. Slope had given a good deal of attention.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding felt, he knew not why, oppressed and annoyed. What could +Mr. Slope do to him? He knew that there were to be changes. The +nature of them must be communicated to the warden through somebody, +and through whom so naturally as the bishop's chaplain? 'Twas thus he +tried to argue himself back to an easy mind, but in vain.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope in the meantime had taken the seat which the bishop had +vacated on the signora's sofa, and remained with that lady till it was +time to marshal the folk to supper. Not with contented eyes had Mrs. +Proudie seen this. Had not this woman laughed at her distress, and +had not Mr. Slope heard it? Was she not an intriguing Italian woman, +half wife and half not, full of affectation, airs, and impudence? +Was she not horribly bedizened with velvet and pearls, with velvet +and pearls, too, which had not been torn off her back? Above all, +did she not pretend to be more beautiful than her neighbours? To say +that Mrs. Proudie was jealous would give a wrong idea of her +feelings. She had not the slightest desire that Mr. Slope should be +in love with herself. But she desired the incense of Mr. Slope's +spiritual and temporal services, and did not choose that they should +be turned out of their course to such an object as Signora Neroni. +She considered also that Mr. Slope ought in duty to hate the signora, +and it appeared from his manner that he was very far from hating her.</p> + +<p>"Come, Mr. Slope," she said, sweeping by and looking all that she +felt, "can't you make yourself useful? Do pray take Mrs. Grantly +down to supper."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grantly heard and escaped. The words were hardly out of Mrs. +Proudie's mouth before the intended victim had stuck her hand through +the arm of one of her husband's curates and saved herself. What +would the archdeacon have said had he seen her walking downstairs +with Mr. Slope?</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope heard also, but was by no means so obedient as was +expected. Indeed, the period of Mr. Slope's obedience to Mrs. Proudie +was drawing to a close. He did not wish yet to break with her, nor to +break with her at all, if it could be avoided. But he intended to be +master in that palace, and as she had made the same resolution it was +not improbable that they might come to blows.</p> + +<p>Before leaving the signora he arranged a little table before her and +begged to know what he should bring her. She was quite indifferent, +she said—nothing—anything. It was now she felt +the misery of her position, now that she must be left alone. Well, a +little chicken, some ham, and a glass of champagne.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope had to explain, not without blushing for his patron, that +there was no champagne.</p> + +<p>Sherry would do just as well. And then Mr. Slope descended with the +learned Miss Trefoil on his arm. Could she tell him, he asked, +whether the ferns of Barsetshire were equal to those of Cumberland? +His strongest worldly passion was for ferns—and before +she could answer him he left her wedged between the door and the +sideboard. It was fifty minutes before she escaped, and even then +unfed.</p> + +<p>"You are not leaving us, Mr. Slope," said the watchful lady of the +house, seeing her slave escaping towards the door, with stores of +provisions held high above the heads of the guests.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope explained that the Signora Neroni was in want of her +supper.</p> + +<p>"Pray, Mr. Slope, let her brother take it to her," said Mrs. +Proudie, quite out loud. "It is out of the question that you should be +so employed. Pray, Mr. Slope, oblige me; I am sure Mr. Stanhope will +wait upon his sister."</p> + +<p>Ethelbert was most agreeably occupied in the furthest corner of the +room, making himself both useful and agreeable to Mrs. Proudie's +youngest daughter.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't get out, madam, if Madeline were starving for her +supper," said he; "I'm physically fixed, unless I could fly."</p> + +<p>The lady's anger was increased by seeing that her daughter also had +gone over to the enemy, and when she saw, that in spite of her +remonstrances, in the teeth of her positive orders, Mr. Slope went +off to the drawing-room, the cup of her indignation ran over, and she +could not restrain herself. "Such manners I never saw," she said, +muttering. "I cannot and will not permit it;" and then, after +fussing and fuming for a few minutes, she pushed her way through the +crowd and followed Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>When she reached the room above, she found it absolutely deserted, +except by the guilty pair. The signora was sitting very comfortably +up to her supper, and Mr. Slope was leaning over her and +administering to her wants. They had been discussing the merits of +Sabbath-day schools, and the lady had suggested that as she could not +possibly go to the children, she might be indulged in the wish of her +heart by having the children brought to her.</p> + +<p>"And when shall it be, Mr. Slope?" said she.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope was saved the necessity of committing himself to a promise +by the entry of Mrs. Proudie. She swept close up to the sofa so as +to confront the guilty pair, stared full at them for a moment, and +then said, as she passed on to the next room, "Mr. Slope, his +lordship is especially desirous of your attendance below; you will +greatly oblige me if you will join him." And so she stalked on.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope muttered something in reply, and prepared to go +downstairs. As for the bishop's wanting him, he knew his lady patroness +well enough to take that assertion at what it was worth; but he did not +wish to make himself the hero of a scene, or to become conspicuous for +more gallantry than the occasion required.</p> + +<p>"Is she always like this?" said the signora.</p> + +<p>"Yes—always—madam," said Mrs. Proudie, returning; +"always the same—always equally adverse to impropriety of +conduct of every description;" and she stalked back through the room +again, following Mr. Slope out of the door.</p> + +<p>The signora couldn't follow her, or she certainly would have done so. +But she laughed loud, and sent the sound of it ringing through the +lobby and down the stairs after Mrs. Proudie's feet. Had she been as +active as Grimaldi, she could probably have taken no better revenge.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Slope," said Mrs. Proudie, catching the delinquent at the door, +"I am surprised you should leave my company to attend on such a +painted Jezebel as that."</p> + +<p>"But she's lame, Mrs. Proudie, and cannot move. Somebody must have +waited upon her."</p> + +<p>"Lame," said Mrs. Proudie; "I'd lame her if she belonged to me. What +business had she here at all?—such impertinence—such +affectation."</p> + +<p>In the hall and adjacent rooms all manner of cloaking and shawling +was going on, and the Barchester folk were getting themselves gone. +Mrs. Proudie did her best to smirk at each and every one as they made +their adieux, but she was hardly successful. Her temper had been +tried fearfully. By slow degrees the guests went.</p> + +<p>"Send back the carriage quick," said Ethelbert, as Dr. and Mrs. +Stanhope took their departure.</p> + +<p>The younger Stanhopes were left to the very last, and an +uncomfortable party they made with the bishop's family. They all +went into the dining-room, and then the bishop observing that "the +lady" was alone in the drawing-room, they followed him up. Mrs. +Proudie kept Mr. Slope and her daughters in close conversation, +resolving that he should not be indulged, nor they polluted. The +bishop, in mortal dread of Bertie and the Jews, tried to converse +with Charlotte Stanhope about the climate of Italy. Bertie and the +signora had no resource but in each other.</p> + +<p>"Did you get your supper at last, Madeline?" said the impudent or +else mischievous young man.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Madeline; "Mr. Slope was so very kind as to bring it +me. I fear, however, he put himself to more inconvenience than I +wished."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie looked at her but said nothing. The meaning of her look +might have been thus translated; "If ever you find yourself within +these walls again, I'll give you leave to be as impudent and affected +and as mischievous as you please."</p> + +<p>At last the carriage returned with the three Italian servants, and +La Signora Madeline Vesey Neroni was carried out, as she had been +carried in.</p> + +<p>The lady of the palace retired to her chamber by no means contented +with the result of her first grand party at Barchester.</p> + + +<p><a name="c12" id="c12"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XII</h3> +<h3>Slope versus Harding<br /> </h3> + + +<p>Two or three days after the party, Mr. Harding received a note +begging him to call on Mr. Slope, at the palace, at an early hour on +the following morning. There was nothing uncivil in the +communication, and yet the tone of it was thoroughly displeasing. It +was as follows:<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear +Mr. Harding</span>,</p> + +<p>Will you favour me by calling on me at the palace to-morrow morning at +9:30 <span class="smallcaps">a.m.</span> The bishop wishes me to +speak to you touching the hospital. I hope you will excuse my naming so +early an hour. I do so as my time is greatly occupied. If, however, it +is positively inconvenient to you, I will change it to 10. You will, +perhaps, be kind enough to let me have a note in reply.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="ind8">Believe me to be,</span><br /> +<span class="ind10">My dear Mr. Harding,</span><br /> +<span class="ind12">Your assured friend,</span><br /> +<span class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Obh. Slope</span></span></p> + +<p class="noindent">The Palace, Monday morning,<br /> +20th August, 185––<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Mr. Harding neither could nor would believe anything of the sort, +and he thought, moreover, that Mr. Slope was rather impertinent to call +himself by such a name. His assured friend, indeed! How many assured +friends generally fall to the lot of a man in this world? And by what +process are they made? And how much of such process had taken place as +yet between Mr. Harding and Mr. Slope? Mr. Harding could not help +asking himself these questions as he read and re-read the note before +him. He answered it, however, as follows:<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Sir</span>,</p> + +<p>I will call at the palace to-morrow at 9:30 +<span class="smallcaps">a.m.</span> as you desire.</p> + +<p class="ind10">Truly yours,</p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">S. Harding</span></p> + +<p class="noindent">High Street, Barchester, Monday<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">And on the following morning, +punctually at half-past nine, he +knocked at the palace door and asked for Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>The bishop had one small room allotted to him on the ground-floor, +and Mr. Slope had another. Into this latter Mr. Harding was shown +and asked to sit down. Mr. Slope was not yet there. The ex-warden +stood up at the window looking into the garden, and could not help +thinking how very short a time had passed since the whole of that +house had been open to him, as though he had been a child of the +family, born and bred in it. He remembered how the old servants used +to smile as they opened the door to him; how the familiar butler +would say, when he had been absent a few hours longer than usual, +"A sight of you, Mr. Harding, is good for sore eyes;" how the fussy +housekeeper would swear that he couldn't have dined, or couldn't have +breakfasted, or couldn't have lunched. And then, above all, he +remembered the pleasant gleam of inward satisfaction which always +spread itself over the old bishop's face whenever his friend entered +his room.</p> + +<p>A tear came into each eye as he reflected that all this was gone. +What use would the hospital be to him now? He was alone in the +world, and getting old; he would soon, very soon have to go and leave +it all, as his dear old friend had gone; go, and leave the hospital, +and his accustomed place in the cathedral, and his haunts and +pleasures, to younger and perhaps wiser men. That chanting of his! +Perhaps, in truth, the time for it was gone by. He felt as though +the world were sinking from his feet; as though this, this was the +time for him to turn with confidence to those hopes which he had +preached with confidence to others. "What," said he to himself, "can +a man's religion be worth if it does not support him against the +natural melancholy of declining years?" And as he looked out through +his dimmed eyes into the bright parterres of the bishop's garden, he +felt that he had the support which he wanted.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, he did not like to be thus kept waiting. If Mr. Slope +did not really wish to see him at half-past nine o'clock, why force +him to come away from his lodgings with his breakfast in his throat? +To tell the truth, it was policy on the part of Mr. Slope. Mr. Slope +had made up his mind that Mr. Harding should either accept the +hospital with abject submission, or else refuse it altogether, and +had calculated that he would probably be more quick to do the latter, +if he could be got to enter upon the subject in an ill-humour. +Perhaps Mr. Slope was not altogether wrong in his calculation.</p> + +<p>It was nearly ten when Mr. Slope hurried into the room and, +muttering something about the bishop and diocesan duties, shook Mr. +Harding's hand ruthlessly and begged him to be seated.</p> + +<p>Now the air of superiority which this man assumed did go against the +grain with Mr. Harding, and yet he did not know how to resent it. +The whole tendency of his mind and disposition was opposed to any +contra-assumption of grandeur on his own part, and he hadn't the +worldly spirit or quickness necessary to put down insolent +pretensions by downright and open rebuke, as the archdeacon would +have done. There was nothing for Mr. Harding but to submit, and he +accordingly did so.</p> + +<p>"About the hospital, Mr. Harding?" began Mr. Slope, speaking of it +as the head of a college at Cambridge might speak of some sizarship +which had to be disposed of.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding crossed one leg over another, and then one hand over the +other on the top of them, and looked Mr. Slope in the face; but he +said nothing.</p> + +<p>"It's to be filled up again," said Mr. Slope. Mr. Harding said that +he had understood so.</p> + +<p>"Of course, you know, the income will be very much reduced," +continued Mr. Slope. "The bishop wished to be liberal, and he +therefore told the government that he thought it ought to be put at +not less than £450. I think on the whole the bishop was right, for +though the services required will not be of a very onerous nature, +they will be more so than they were before. And it is, perhaps, well +that the clergy immediately attached to the cathedral town should be +made as comfortable as the extent of the ecclesiastical means at our +disposal will allow. Those are the bishop's ideas, and I must say +mine also."</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding sat rubbing one hand on the other, but said not a word.</p> + +<p>"So much for the income, Mr. Harding. The house will, of course, +remain to the warden, as before. It should, however, I think, be +stipulated that he should paint inside every seven years, and outside +every three years, and be subject to dilapidations, in the event of +vacating, either by death or otherwise. But this is a matter on +which the bishop must yet be consulted."</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding still rubbed his hands and still sat silent, gazing up +into Mr. Slope's unprepossessing face.</p> + +<p>"Then, as to the duties," continued he, "I believe, if I am rightly +informed, there can hardly be said to have been any duties hitherto," +and he gave a sort of half-laugh, as though to pass off the +accusation in the guise of a pleasantry.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding thought of the happy, easy years he had passed in his +old home; of the worn-out, aged men whom he had succoured; of his good +intentions; and of his work, which had certainly been of the lightest. +He thought of these things, doubting for a moment whether he did or did +not deserve the sarcasm. He gave his enemy the benefit of the doubt, +and did not rebuke him. He merely observed, very tranquilly, and +perhaps with too much humility, that the duties of the situation, such +as they were, had, he believed, been done to the satisfaction of the +late bishop.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope again smiled, and this time the smile was intended to +operate against the memory of the late bishop rather than against the +energy of the ex-warden; so it was understood by Mr. Harding. The +colour rose to his cheeks, and he began to feel very angry.</p> + +<p>"You must be aware, Mr. Harding, that things are a good deal changed +in Barchester," said Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding said that he was aware of it. "And not only in +Barchester, Mr. Harding, but in the world at large. It is not only +in Barchester that a new man is carrying out new measures and casting +away the useless rubbish of past centuries. The same thing is going +on throughout the country. Work is now required from every man who +receives wages, and they who have to superintend the doing of work, +and the paying of wages, are bound to see that this rule is carried +out. New men, Mr. Harding, are now needed and are now forthcoming in +the church, as well as in other professions."</p> + +<p>All this was wormwood to our old friend. He had never rated very +high his own abilities or activity, but all the feelings of his heart +were with the old clergy, and any antipathies of which his heart was +susceptible were directed against those new, busy, uncharitable, +self-lauding men, of whom Mr. Slope was so good an example.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," said he, "the bishop will prefer a new man at the +hospital?"</p> + +<p>"By no means," said Mr. Slope. "The bishop is very anxious that you +should accept the appointment, but he wishes you should understand +beforehand what will be the required duties. In the first place, a +Sabbath-day school will be attached to the hospital."</p> + +<p>"What! For the old men?" asked Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"No, Mr. Harding, not for the old men, but for the benefit of the +children of such of the poor of Barchester as it may suit. The +bishop will expect that you shall attend this school, and that the +teachers shall be under your inspection and care."</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding slipped his topmost hand off the other and began to rub +the calf of the leg which was supported.</p> + +<p>"As to the old men," continued Mr. Slope, "and the old women who are +to form a part of the hospital, the bishop is desirous that you shall +have morning and evening service on the premises every Sabbath, and +one weekday service; that you shall preach to them once at least on +Sundays; and that the whole hospital be always collected for morning +and evening prayer. The bishop thinks that this will render it +unnecessary that any separate seats in the cathedral should be +reserved for the hospital inmates."</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope paused, but Mr. Harding still said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, it would be difficult to find seats for the women; on the +whole, Mr. Harding, I may as well say at once, that for people of that +class the cathedral service does not appear to me the most +useful—even if it be so for any class of people."</p> + +<p>"We will not discuss that, if you please," said Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"I am not desirous of doing so; at least, not at the present moment. +I hope, however, you fully understand the bishop's wishes about the +new establishment of the hospital; and if, as I do not doubt, I shall +receive from you an assurance that you accord with his lordship's +views, it will give me very great pleasure to be the bearer from his +lordship to you of the presentation to the appointment."</p> + +<p>"But if I disagree with his lordship's views?" asked Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"But I hope you do not," said Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"But if I do?" again asked the other.</p> + +<p>"If such unfortunately should be the case, which I can hardly +conceive, I presume your own feelings will dictate to you the +propriety of declining the appointment."</p> + +<p>"But if I accept the appointment and yet disagree with the bishop, +what then?"</p> + +<p>This question rather bothered Mr. Slope. It was true that he had +talked the matter over with the bishop and had received a sort of +authority for suggesting to Mr. Harding the propriety of a Sunday +school and certain hospital services, but he had no authority for +saying that these propositions were to be made peremptory conditions +attached to the appointment. The bishop's idea had been that Mr. +Harding would of course consent and that the school would become, +like the rest of those new establishments in the city, under the +control of his wife and his chaplain. Mr. Slope's idea had been more +correct. He intended that Mr. Harding should refuse the situation, +and that an ally of his own should get it, but he had not conceived +the possibility of Mr. Harding openly accepting the appointment and +as openly rejecting the conditions.</p> + +<p>"It is not, I presume, probable," said he, "that you will accept +from the hands of the bishop a piece of preferment with a fixed +predetermination to disacknowledge the duties attached to it."</p> + +<p>"If I become warden," said Mr. Harding, "and neglect my duty, the +bishop has means by which he can remedy the grievance."</p> + +<p>"I hardly expected such an argument from you, or I may say the +suggestion of such a line of conduct," said Mr. Slope with a great +look of injured virtue.</p> + +<p>"Nor did I expect such a proposition."</p> + +<p>"I shall be glad at any rate to know what answer I am to make to his +lordship," said Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"I will take an early opportunity of seeing his lordship myself," +said Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"Such an arrangement," said Mr. Slope, "will hardly give his +lordship satisfaction. Indeed, it is impossible that the bishop should +himself see every clergyman in the diocese on every subject of +patronage that may arise. The bishop, I believe, did see you on the +matter, and I really cannot see why he should be troubled to do so +again."</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Mr. Slope, how long I have been officiating as a +clergyman in this city?" Mr. Slope's wish was now nearly fulfilled. +Mr. Harding had become angry, and it was probable that he might +commit himself.</p> + +<p>"I really do not see what that has to do with the question. You +cannot think the bishop would be justified in allowing you to regard +as a sinecure a situation that requires an active man, merely because +you have been employed for many years in the cathedral."</p> + +<p>"But it might induce the bishop to see me, if I asked him to do so. +I shall consult my friends in this matter, Mr. Slope; but I mean to +be guilty of no subterfuge—you may tell the bishop that +as I altogether disagree with his views about the hospital, I shall +decline the situation if I find that any such conditions are attached +to it as those you have suggested;" and so saying, Mr. Harding took his +hat and went his way.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope was contented. He considered himself at liberty to accept +Mr. Harding's last speech as an absolute refusal of the appointment. +At least, he so represented it to the bishop and to Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>"That is very surprising," said the bishop.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said Mrs. Proudie; "you little know how determined the +whole set of them are to withstand your authority."</p> + +<p>"But Mr. Harding was so anxious for it," said the bishop.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mr. Slope, "if he can hold it without the slightest +acknowledgement of your lordship's jurisdiction."</p> + +<p>"That is out of the question," said the bishop.</p> + +<p>"I should imagine it to be quite so," said the chaplain.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I should think so," said the lady.</p> + +<p>"I really am sorry for it," said the bishop.</p> + +<p>"I don't know that there is much cause for sorrow," said the lady. +"Mr. Quiverful is a much more deserving man, more in need of it, and +one who will make himself much more useful in the close neighbourhood +of the palace."</p> + +<p>"I suppose I had better see Quiverful?" said the chaplain.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you had," said the bishop.</p> + + +<p><a name="c13" id="c13"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIII</h3> +<h3>The Rubbish Cart<br /> </h3> + + +<p>Mr. Harding was not a happy man as he walked down the palace pathway +and stepped out into the close. His preferment and pleasant house +were a second time gone from him, but that he could endure. He had +been schooled and insulted by a man young enough to be his son, but +that he could put up with. He could even draw from the very injuries +which had been inflicted on him some of that consolation which we may +believe martyrs always receive from the injustice of their own +sufferings, and which is generally proportioned in its strength to +the extent of cruelty with which martyrs are treated. He had +admitted to his daughter that he wanted the comfort of his old home, +and yet he could have returned to his lodgings in the High Street, if +not with exaltation, at least with satisfaction, had that been all. +But the venom of the chaplain's harangue had worked into his blood, +and sapped the life of his sweet contentment.</p> + +<p>"New men are carrying out new measures and are carting away the +useless rubbish of past centuries!" What cruel words these had been; +and how often are they now used with all the heartless cruelty of a +Slope! A man is sufficiently condemned if it can only be shown that +either in politics or religion he does not belong to some new school +established within the last score of years. He may then regard +himself as rubbish and expect to be carted away. A man is nothing +now unless he has within him a full appreciation of the new era, an +era in which it would seem that neither honesty nor truth is very +desirable, but in which success is the only touchstone of merit. We +must laugh at everything that is established. Let the joke be ever +so bad, ever so untrue to the real principles of joking; nevertheless +we must laugh—or else beware the cart. We must talk, +think, and live up to the spirit of the times, and write up to it too, +if that cacoethes be upon us, or else we are nought. New men and new +measures, long credit and few scruples, great success or wonderful +ruin, such are now the tastes of Englishmen who know how to live. Alas, +alas! Under such circumstances Mr. Harding could not but feel that he +was an Englishman who did not know how to live. This new doctrine of +Mr. Slope and the rubbish cart, new at least at Barchester, sadly +disturbed his equanimity.</p> + +<p>"The same thing is going on throughout the whole country! Work +is now required from every man who receives wages!" And had he been +living all his life receiving wages and doing no work? Had he in +truth so lived as to be now in his old age justly reckoned as rubbish +fit only to be hidden away in some huge dust-hole? The school of men +to whom he professes to belong, the Grantlys, the Gwynnes, and the +old high set of Oxford divines, are afflicted with no such +self-accusations as these which troubled Mr. Harding. They, as a rule, +are as satisfied with the wisdom and propriety of their own conduct as +can be any Mr. Slope, or any Dr. Proudie, with his own. But +unfortunately for himself Mr. Harding had little of this +self-reliance. When he heard himself designated as rubbish by the +Slopes of the world, he had no other resource than to make inquiry +within his own bosom as to the truth of the designation. Alas, alas! +The evidence seemed generally to go against him.</p> + +<p>He had professed to himself in the bishop's parlour that in these +coming sources of the sorrow of age, in these fits of sad regret from +which the latter years of few reflecting men can be free, religion +would suffice to comfort him. Yes, religion could console him for +the loss of any worldly good, but was his religion of that active +sort which would enable him so to repent of misspent years as to pass +those that were left to him in a spirit of hope for the future? And +such repentance itself, is it not a work of agony and of tears? It +is very easy to talk of repentance, but a man has to walk over hot +ploughshares before he can complete it; to be skinned alive as was +St. Bartholomew; to be stuck full of arrows as was St. Sebastian; to +lie broiling on a gridiron like St. Lorenzo! How if his past life +required such repentance as this? Had he the energy to go through +with it?</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding, after leaving the palace, walked slowly for an hour or +so beneath the shady elms of the close and then betook himself to his +daughter's house. He had at any rate made up his mind that he would +go out to Plumstead to consult Dr. Grantly, and that he would in the +first instance tell Eleanor what had occurred.</p> + +<p>And now he was doomed to undergo another misery. Mr. Slope had +forestalled him at the widow's house. He had called there on the +preceding afternoon. He could not, he had said, deny himself the +pleasure of telling Mrs. Bold that her father was about to return to +the pretty house at Hiram's Hospital. He had been instructed by the +bishop to inform Mr. Harding that the appointment would now be made +at once. The bishop was of course only too happy to be able to be +the means of restoring to Mr. Harding the preferment which he had so +long adorned. And then by degrees Mr. Slope had introduced the +subject of the pretty school which he hoped before long to see +attached to the hospital. He had quite fascinated Mrs. Bold by his +description of this picturesque, useful, and charitable appendage, +and she had gone so far as to say that she had no doubt her father +would approve, and that she herself would gladly undertake a class.</p> + +<p>Anyone who had heard the entirely different tone and seen the +entirely different manner in which Mr. Slope had spoken of this +projected institution to the daughter and to the father could not +have failed to own that Mr. Slope was a man of genius. He said +nothing to Mrs. Bold about the hospital sermons and services, nothing +about the exclusion of the old men from the cathedral, nothing about +dilapidation and painting, nothing about carting away the rubbish. +Eleanor had said to herself that certainly she did not like Mr. Slope +personally, but that he was a very active, zealous clergyman and +would no doubt be useful in Barchester. All this paved the way for +much additional misery to Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>Eleanor put on her happiest face as she heard her father on the +stairs, for she thought she had only to congratulate him; but +directly she saw his face she knew that there was but little matter +for congratulation. She had seen him with the same weary look of +sorrow on one or two occasions before, and remembered it well. She +had seen him when he first read that attack upon himself in "The +Jupiter" which had ultimately caused him to resign the hospital, and +she had seen him also when the archdeacon had persuaded him to remain +there against his own sense of propriety and honour. She knew at a +glance that his spirit was in deep trouble.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa, what is it?" said she, putting down her boy to crawl upon +the floor.</p> + +<p>"I came to tell you, my dear," said he, "that I am going out to +Plumstead: you won't come with me, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"To Plumstead, Papa? Shall you stay there?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose I shall, to-night: I must consult the archdeacon about +this weary hospital. Ah me! I wish I had never thought of it +again."</p> + +<p>"Why, Papa, what is the matter?"</p> + +<p>"I've been with Mr. Slope, my dear, and he isn't the pleasantest +companion in the world, at least not to me." Eleanor gave a sort of +half-blush, but she was wrong if she imagined that her father in any +way alluded to her acquaintance with Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"Well, Papa."</p> + +<p>"He wants to turn the hospital into a Sunday-school and a +preaching-house, and I suppose he will have his way. I do not feel +myself adapted for such an establishment, and therefore, I suppose, +I must refuse the appointment."</p> + +<p>"What would be the harm of the school, Papa?"</p> + +<p>"The want of a proper schoolmaster, my dear."</p> + +<p>"But that would of course be supplied."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Slope wishes to supply it by making me his schoolmaster. But as +I am hardly fit for such work, I intend to decline."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa! Mr. Slope doesn't intend that. He was here yesterday, and +what he intends—"</p> + +<p>"He was here yesterday, was he?" asked Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Papa."</p> + +<p>"And talking about the hospital?"</p> + +<p>"He was saying how glad he would be, and the bishop too, to see you +back there again. And then he spoke about the Sunday-school; and to +tell the truth I agreed with him; and I thought you would have done +so too. Mr. Slope spoke of a school, not inside the hospital, but +just connected with it, of which you would be the patron and visitor; +and I thought you would have liked such a school as that; and I +promised to look after it and to take a class—and it all +seemed so very—. But, oh, Papa! I shall be so miserable +if I find I have done wrong."</p> + +<p>"Nothing wrong at all, my dear," said he gently, very gently +rejecting his daughter's caress. "There can be nothing wrong in your +wishing to make yourself useful; indeed, you ought to do so by all +means. Everyone must now exert himself who would not choose to go to +the wall." Poor Mr. Harding thus attempted in his misery to preach +the new doctrine to his child. "Himself or herself, it's all the +same," he continued; "you will be quite right, my dear, to do +something of this sort; but—"</p> + +<p>"Well, Papa."</p> + +<p>"I am not quite sure that if I were you I would select Mr. Slope for +my guide."</p> + +<p>"But I never have done so and never shall."</p> + +<p>"It would be very wicked of me to speak evil of him, for to tell the +truth I know no evil of him; but I am not quite sure that he is +honest. That he is not gentlemanlike in his manners, of that I am +quite sure."</p> + +<p>"I never thought of taking him for my guide, Papa."</p> + +<p>"As for myself, my dear," continued he, "we know the old +proverb—'It's bad teaching an old dog tricks.' I must +decline the Sunday-school, and shall therefore probably decline the +hospital also. But I will first see your brother-in-law." So he took up +his hat, kissed the baby, and withdrew, leaving Eleanor in as low +spirits as himself.</p> + +<p>All this was a great aggravation to his misery. He had so few with +whom to sympathize that he could not afford to be cut off from the +one whose sympathy was of the most value to him. And yet it seemed +probable that this would be the case. He did not own to himself that +he wished his daughter to hate Mr. Slope, yet had she expressed such +a feeling there would have been very little bitterness in the rebuke +he would have given her for so uncharitable a state of mind. The +fact, however, was that she was on friendly terms with Mr. Slope, +that she coincided with his views, adhered at once to his plans, and +listened with delight to his teaching. Mr. Harding hardly wished his +daughter to hate the man, but he would have preferred that to her +loving him.</p> + +<p>He walked away to the inn to order a fly, went home to put up his +carpet-bag, and then started for Plumstead. There was, at any rate, +no danger that the archdeacon would fraternize with Mr. Slope; but +then he would recommend internecine war, public appeals, loud +reproaches, and all the paraphernalia of open battle. Now that +alternative was hardly more to Mr. Harding's taste than the other.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Harding reached the parsonage, he found that the archdeacon +was out, and would not be home till dinnertime, so he began his +complaint to his elder daughter. Mrs. Grantly entertained quite as +strong an antagonism to Mr. Slope as did her husband; she was also +quite as alive to the necessity of combating the Proudie faction, of +supporting the old church interest of the close, of keeping in her +own set such of the loaves and fishes as duly belonged to it; and was +quite as well prepared as her lord to carry on the battle without +giving or taking quarter. Not that she was a woman prone to +quarrelling, or ill-inclined to live at peace with her clerical +neighbours; but she felt, as did the archdeacon, that the presence of +Mr. Slope in Barchester was an insult to everyone connected with the +late bishop, and that his assumed dominion in the diocese was a +spiritual injury to her husband. Hitherto people had little guessed +how bitter Mrs. Grantly could be. She lived on the best of terms +with all the rectors' wives around her. She had been popular with +all the ladies connected with the close. Though much the wealthiest +of the ecclesiastical matrons of the county, she had so managed her +affairs that her carriage and horses had given umbrage to none. She +had never thrown herself among the county grandees so as to excite +the envy of other clergymen's wives. She never talked too loudly of +earls and countesses, or boasted that she gave her governess sixty +pounds a year, or her cook seventy. Mrs. Grantly had lived the life +of a wise, discreet, peace-making woman, and the people of Barchester +were surprised at the amount of military vigour she displayed as +general of the feminine Grantlyite forces.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grantly soon learned that her sister Eleanor had promised to +assist Mr. Slope in the affairs of the hospital school, and it was on +this point that her attention first fixed itself.</p> + +<p>"How can Eleanor endure him?" said she.</p> + +<p>"He is a very crafty man," said her father, "and his craft has been +successful in making Eleanor think that he is a meek, charitable, +good clergyman. God forgive me, if I wrong him, but such is not his +true character in my opinion."</p> + +<p>"His true character, indeed!" said she, with something approaching +scorn for her father's moderation. "I only hope he won't have craft +enough to make Eleanor forget herself and her position."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean marry him?" said he, startled out of his usual +demeanour by the abruptness and horror of so dreadful a proposition.</p> + +<p>"What is there so improbable in it? Of course that would be his own +object if he thought he had any chance of success. Eleanor has a +thousand a year entirely at her own disposal, and what better fortune +could fall to Mr. Slope's lot than the transferring of the disposal +of such a fortune to himself?"</p> + +<p>"But you can't think she likes him, Susan?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?" said Susan. "Why shouldn't she like him? He's just the +sort of man to get on with a woman left, as she is, with no one to +look after her."</p> + +<p>"Look after her!" said the unhappy father; "don't we look after her?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, Papa, how innocent you are! Of course it was to be expected +that Eleanor should marry again. I should be the last to advise her +against it, if she would only wait the proper time, and then marry at +least a gentleman."</p> + +<p>"But you don't really mean to say that you suppose Eleanor has ever +thought of marrying Mr. Slope? Why, Mr. Bold has only been dead a +year."</p> + +<p>"Eighteen months," said his daughter. "But I don't suppose Eleanor +has ever thought about it. It is very probable, though, that he has; +and that he will try and make her do so; and that he will succeed +too, if we don't take care what we are about."</p> + +<p>This was quite a new phase of the affair to poor Mr. Harding. To +have thrust upon him as his son-in-law, as the husband of his +favourite child, the only man in the world whom he really positively +disliked, would be a misfortune which he felt he would not know how to +endure patiently. But then, could there be any ground for so +dreadful a surmise? In all worldly matters he was apt to look upon +the opinion of his eldest daughter as one generally sound and +trustworthy. In her appreciation of character, of motives, and the +probable conduct both of men and women, she was usually not far wrong. +She had early foreseen the marriage of Eleanor and John Bold; she had +at a glance deciphered the character of the new bishop and his +chaplain; could it possibly be that her present surmise should ever +come forth as true?</p> + +<p>"But you don't think that she likes him?" said Mr. Harding again.</p> + +<p>"Well, Papa, I can't say that I think she dislikes him as she ought +to do. Why is he visiting there as a confidential friend, when he +never ought to have been admitted inside the house? Why is it that +she speaks to him about your welfare and your position, as she clearly +has done? At the bishop's party the other night I saw her talking to +him for half an hour at the stretch."</p> + +<p>"I thought Mr. Slope seemed to talk to nobody there but that +daughter of Stanhope's," said Mr. Harding, wishing to defend his child.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Slope is a cleverer man than you think of, Papa, and keeps +more than one iron in the fire."</p> + +<p>To give Eleanor her due, any suspicion as to the slightest +inclination on her part towards Mr. Slope was a wrong to her. She +had no more idea of marrying Mr. Slope than she had of marrying the +bishop, and the idea that Mr. Slope would present himself as a suitor +had never occurred to her. Indeed, to give her her due again, she +had never thought about suitors since her husband's death. But +nevertheless it was true that she had overcome all that repugnance to +the man which was so strongly felt for him by the rest of the Grantly +faction. She had forgiven him his sermon. She had forgiven him his +Low Church tendencies, his Sabbath-schools, and puritanical +observances. She had forgiven his pharisaical arrogance, and even his +greasy face and oily, vulgar manners. Having agreed to overlook such +offences as these, why should she not in time be taught to regard Mr. +Slope as a suitor?</p> + +<p>And as to him, it must also be affirmed that he was hitherto equally +innocent of the crime imputed to him. How it had come to pass that a +man whose eyes were generally so widely open to everything around him +had not perceived that this young widow was rich as well as beautiful, +cannot probably now be explained. But such was the fact. Mr. Slope +had ingratiated himself with Mrs. Bold, merely as he had done with +other ladies, in order to strengthen his party in the city. He +subsequently amended his error, but it was not till after the +interview between him and Mr. Harding.</p> + + +<p><a name="c14" id="c14"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIV</h3> +<h3>The New Champion<br /> </h3> + + +<p>The archdeacon did not return to the parsonage till close upon the +hour of dinner, and there was therefore no time to discuss matters +before that important ceremony. He seemed to be in an especial good +humour, and welcomed his father-in-law with a sort of jovial +earnestness that was usual with him when things on which he was +intent were going on as he would have them.</p> + +<p>"It's all settled, my dear," said he to his wife as he washed his +hands in his dressing-room, while she, according to her wont, sat +listening in the bedroom; "Arabin has agreed to accept the living. +He'll be here next week." And the archdeacon scrubbed his hands and +rubbed his face with a violent alacrity, which showed that Arabin's +coming was a great point gained.</p> + +<p>"Will he come here to Plumstead?" said the wife.</p> + +<p>"He has promised to stay a month with us," said the archdeacon, "so +that he may see what his parish is like. You'll like Arabin very +much. He's a gentleman in every respect, and full of humour."</p> + +<p>"He's very queer, isn't he?" asked the lady.</p> + +<p>"Well—he is a little odd in some of his fancies, but there's +nothing about him you won't like. He is as staunch a churchman as there +is at Oxford. I really don't know what we should do without Arabin. +It's a great thing for me to have him so near me, and if anything can +put Slope down, Arabin will do it."</p> + +<p>The Reverend Francis Arabin was a fellow of Lazarus, the favoured +disciple of the great Dr. Gwynne, a High Churchman at all points—so +high, indeed, that at one period of his career he had all but toppled +over into the cesspool of Rome—a poet and also a polemical writer, a +great pet in the common-rooms at Oxford, an eloquent clergyman, a +droll, odd, humorous, energetic, conscientious man, and, as the +archdeacon had boasted of him, a thorough gentleman. As he will +hereafter be brought more closely to our notice, it is now only +necessary to add that he had just been presented to the vicarage of +St. Ewold by Dr. Grantly, in whose gift as archdeacon the living lay. +St. Ewold is a parish lying just without the city of Barchester. The +suburbs of the new town, indeed, are partly within its precincts, and +the pretty church and parsonage are not much above a mile distant +from the city gate.</p> + +<p>St. Ewold is not a rich piece of preferment—it is worth some three +or four hundred a year at most, and has generally been held by a +clergyman attached to the cathedral choir. The archdeacon, however, +felt, when the living on this occasion became vacant, that it +imperatively behoved him to aid the force of his party with some tower +of strength, if any such tower could be got to occupy St. Ewold's. He +had discussed the matter with his brethren in Barchester, not in any +weak spirit as the holder of patronage to be used for his own or his +family's benefit, but as one to whom was committed a trust on the due +administration of which much of the church's welfare might depend. He +had submitted to them the name of Mr. Arabin, as though the choice had +rested with them all in conclave, and they had unanimously admitted +that, if Mr. Arabin would accept St. Ewold's, no better choice could +possibly be made.</p> + +<p>If Mr. Arabin would accept St. Ewold's! There lay the difficulty. +Mr. Arabin was a man standing somewhat prominently before the world, +that is, before the Church of England world. He was not a rich man, +it is true, for he held no preferment but his fellowship; but he was +a man not over-anxious for riches, not married of course, and one +whose time was greatly taken up in discussing, both in print and on +platforms, the privileges and practices of the church to which he +belonged. As the archdeacon had done battle for its temporalities, +so did Mr. Arabin do battle for its spiritualities, and both had done +so conscientiously; that is, not so much each for his own benefit as +for that of others.</p> + +<p>Holding such a position as Mr. Arabin did, there was much reason to +doubt whether he would consent to become the parson of St. Ewold's, +and Dr. Grantly had taken the trouble to go himself to Oxford on the +matter. Dr. Gwynne and Dr. Grantly together had succeeded in +persuading this eminent divine that duty required him to go to +Barchester. There were wheels within wheels in this affair. For +some time past Mr. Arabin had been engaged in a tremendous +controversy with no less a person than Mr. Slope, respecting the +apostolic succession. These two gentlemen had never seen each other, +but they had been extremely bitter in print. Mr. Slope had +endeavoured to strengthen his cause by calling Mr. Arabin an owl, and +Mr. Arabin had retaliated by hinting that Mr. Slope was an infidel. +This battle had been commenced in the columns of "The Jupiter," a +powerful newspaper, the manager of which was very friendly to Mr. +Slope's view of the case. The matter, however, had become too +tedious for the readers of "The Jupiter," and a little note had +therefore been appended to one of Mr. Slope's most telling +rejoinders, in which it had been stated that no further letters from +the reverend gentlemen could be inserted except as advertisements.</p> + +<p>Other methods of publication were, however, found, less expensive +than advertisements in "The Jupiter," and the war went on merrily. Mr. +Slope declared that the main part of the consecration of a clergyman +was the self-devotion of the inner man to the duties of the ministry. +Mr. Arabin contended that a man was not consecrated at all, had, +indeed, no single attribute of a clergyman, unless he became so +through the imposition of some bishop's hands, who had become a +bishop through the imposition of other hands, and so on in a direct +line to one of the apostles. Each had repeatedly hung the other on +the horns of a dilemma, but neither seemed to be a whit the worse for +the hanging; and so the war went on merrily.</p> + +<p>Whether or no the near neighbourhood of the foe may have acted in +any way as an inducement to Mr. Arabin to accept the living of St. +Ewold, we will not pretend to say; but it had at any rate been settled +in Dr. Gwynne's library, at Lazarus, that he would accept it, and that +he would lend his assistance towards driving the enemy out of +Barchester, or, at any rate, silencing him while he remained there. Mr. +Arabin intended to keep his rooms at Oxford and to have the assistance +of a curate at St. Ewold, but he promised to give as much time as +possible to the neighbourhood of Barchester, and from so great a man +Dr. Grantly was quite satisfied with such a promise. It was no small +part of the satisfaction derivable from such an arrangement that Bishop +Proudie would be forced to institute into a living immediately under +his own nose the enemy of his favourite chaplain.</p> + +<p>All through dinner the archdeacon's good humour shone brightly in +his face. He ate of the good things heartily, he drank wine with his +wife and daughter, he talked pleasantly of his doings at Oxford, told +his father-in-law that he ought to visit Dr. Gwynne at Lazarus, and +launched out again in praise of Mr. Arabin.</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Arabin married, Papa?" asked Griselda.</p> + +<p>"No, my dear, the fellow of a college is never married."</p> + +<p>"Is he a young man, Papa?"</p> + +<p>"About forty, I believe," said the archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Griselda. Had her father said eighty, Mr. Arabin would +not have appeared to her to be very much older.</p> + +<p>When the two gentlemen were left alone over their wine, Mr. Harding +told his tale of woe. But even this, sad as it was, did not much +diminish the archdeacon's good humour, though it greatly added to his +pugnacity.</p> + +<p>"He can't do it," said Dr. Grantly over and over again, as his +father-in-law explained to him the terms on which the new warden of the +hospital was to be appointed; "he can't do it. What he says is not +worth the trouble of listening to. He can't alter the duties of the +place."</p> + +<p>"Who can't?" asked the ex-warden.</p> + +<p>"Neither the bishop nor the chaplain, nor yet the bishop's wife, +who, I take it, has really more to say to such matters than either of +the other two. The whole body corporate of the palace together have no +power to turn the warden of the hospital into a Sunday-schoolmaster."</p> + +<p>"But the bishop has the power to appoint whom he pleases, and—"</p> + +<p>"I don't know that; I rather think he'll find he has no such power. +Let him try it, and see what the press will say. For once we shall +have the popular cry on our side. But Proudie, ass as he is, knows +the world too well to get such a hornet's nest about his ears."</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding winced at the idea of the press. He had had enough of +that sort of publicity, and was unwilling to be shown up a second +time either as a monster or as a martyr. He gently remarked that he +hoped the newspapers would not get hold of his name again, and then +suggested that perhaps it would be better that he should abandon his +object. "I am getting old," said he, "and after all I doubt whether +I am fit to undertake new duties."</p> + +<p>"New duties?" said the archdeacon; "don't I tell you there shall be +no new duties?"</p> + +<p>"Or perhaps old duties either," said Mr. Harding; "I think I will +remain content as I am." The picture of Mr. Slope carting away the +rubbish was still present to his mind.</p> + +<p>The archdeacon drank off his glass of claret and prepared himself to +be energetic. "I do hope," said he, "that you are not going to be so +weak as to allow such a man as Mr. Slope to deter you from doing what +you know it is your duty to do. You know it is your duty to resume +your place at the hospital now that parliament has so settled the +stipend as to remove those difficulties which induced you to resign +it. You cannot deny this, and should your timidity now prevent you +from doing so, your conscience will hereafter never forgive you," and +as he finished this clause of his speech, he pushed over the bottle +to his companion.</p> + +<p>"Your conscience will never forgive you," he continued. "You +resigned the place from conscientious scruples, scruples which I +greatly respected, though I did not share them. All your friends +respected them, and you left your old house as rich in reputation as +you were ruined in fortune. It is now expected that you will return. +Dr. Gwynne was saying only the other day—"</p> + +<p>"Dr. Gwynne does not reflect how much older a man I am now than when +he last saw me."</p> + +<p>"Old—nonsense," said the archdeacon; "you never thought +yourself old till you listened to the impudent trash of that coxcomb at +the palace."</p> + +<p>"I shall be sixty-five if I live till November," said Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"And seventy-five, if you live till November ten years," said the +archdeacon. "And you bid fair to be as efficient then as you were +ten years ago. But for heaven's sake let us have no pretence in this +matter. Your plea of old age is a pretence. But you're not drinking +your wine. It is only a pretence. The fact is, you are half-afraid +of this Slope, and would rather subject yourself to comparative +poverty and discomfort than come to blows with a man who will trample +on you, if you let him."</p> + +<p>"I certainly don't like coming to blows, if I can help it."</p> + +<p>"Nor I neither—but sometimes we can't help it. This +man's object is to induce you to refuse the hospital, that he may put +some creature of his own into it; that he may show his power and insult +us all by insulting you, whose cause and character are so intimately +bound up with that of the chapter. You owe it to us all to resist him +in this, even if you have no solicitude for yourself. But surely, for +your own sake, you will not be so lily-livered as to fall into this +trap which he has baited for you and let him take the very bread out of +your mouth without a struggle."</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding did not like being called lily-livered, and was rather +inclined to resent it. "I doubt there is any true courage," said he, +"in squabbling for money."</p> + +<p>"If honest men did not squabble for money, in this wicked world of +ours, the dishonest men would get it all, and I do not see that the +cause of virtue would be much improved. No—we must use +the means which we have. If we were to carry your argument home, we +might give away every shilling of revenue which the church has, and I +presume you are not prepared to say that the church would be +strengthened by such a sacrifice." The archdeacon filled his glass and +then emptied it, drinking with much reverence a silent toast to the +well-being and permanent security of those temporalities which were so +dear to his soul.</p> + +<p>"I think all quarrels between a clergyman and his bishop should be +avoided," said Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"I think so too, but it is quite as much the duty of the bishop to +look to that as of his inferior. I tell you what, my friend; I'll +see the bishop in this matter—that is, if you will allow +me—and you may be sure I will not compromise you. My opinion is that +all this trash about the Sunday-schools and the sermons has originated +wholly with Slope and Mrs. Proudie, and that the bishop knows nothing +about it. The bishop can't very well refuse to see me, and I'll come +upon him when he has neither his wife nor his chaplain by him. I think +you'll find that it will end in his sending you the appointment without +any condition whatever. And as to the seats in the cathedral, we may +safely leave that to Mr. Dean. I believe the fool positively thinks +that the bishop could walk away with the cathedral if he pleased."</p> + +<p>And so the matter was arranged between them. Mr. Harding had come +expressly for advice, and therefore felt himself bound to take the +advice given him. He had known, moreover, beforehand that the +archdeacon would not hear of his giving the matter up, and +accordingly, though he had in perfect good faith put forward his own +views, he was prepared to yield.</p> + +<p>They therefore went into the drawing-room in good humour with each +other, and the evening passed pleasantly in prophetic discussions on +the future wars of Arabin and Slope. The frogs and the mice would be +nothing to them, nor the angers of Agamemnon and Achilles. How the +archdeacon rubbed his hands and plumed himself on the success of his +last move. He could not himself descend into the arena with Slope, +but Arabin would have no such scruples. Arabin was exactly the man +for such work, and the only man whom he knew that was fit for it.</p> + +<p>The archdeacon's good humour and high buoyancy continued till, when +reclining on his pillow, Mrs. Grantly commenced to give him her view +of the state of affairs at Barchester. And then certainly he was +startled. The last words he said that night were as follows:—</p> + +<p>"If she does, by heaven I'll never speak to her again. She dragged +me into the mire once, but I'll not pollute myself with such filth as +that—" And the archdeacon gave a shudder which shook the +whole room, so violently was he convulsed with the thought which then +agitated his mind.</p> + +<p>Now in this matter the widow Bold was scandalously ill-treated by +her relatives. She had spoken to the man three or four times, and had +expressed her willingness to teach in a Sunday-school. Such was the +full extent of her sins in the matter of Mr. Slope. Poor Eleanor! But +time will show.</p> + +<p>The next morning Mr. Harding returned to Barchester, no further word +having been spoken in his hearing respecting Mr. Slope's acquaintance +with his younger daughter. But he observed that the archdeacon at +breakfast was less cordial than he had been on the preceding evening.</p> + + +<p><a name="c15" id="c15"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XV</h3> +<h3>The Widow's Suitors<br /> </h3> + + +<p>Mr. Slope lost no time in availing himself of the bishop's +permission to see Mr. Quiverful, and it was in his interview with this +worthy pastor that he first learned that Mrs. Bold was worth the +wooing. He rode out to Puddingdale to communicate to the embryo warden +the goodwill of the bishop in his favour, and during the discussion on +the matter it was not unnatural that the pecuniary resources of Mr. +Harding and his family should become the subject of remark.</p> + +<p>Mr. Quiverful, with his fourteen children and his four hundred a +year, was a very poor man, and the prospect of this new preferment, +which was to be held together with his living, was very grateful to +him. To what clergyman so circumstanced would not such a prospect be +very grateful? But Mr. Quiverful had long been acquainted with Mr. +Harding, and had received kindness at his hands, so that his heart +misgave him as he thought of supplanting a friend at the hospital. +Nevertheless, he was extremely civil, cringingly civil, to Mr. Slope; +treated him quite as the great man; entreated this great man to do him +the honour to drink a glass of sherry, at which, as it was very poor +Marsala, the now pampered Slope turned up his nose; and ended by +declaring his extreme obligation to the bishop and Mr. Slope and his +great desire to accept the hospital, if—if it were certainly +the case that Mr. Harding had refused it.</p> + +<p>What man as needy as Mr. Quiverful would have been more +disinterested?</p> + +<p>"Mr. Harding did positively refuse it," said Mr. Slope with a +certain air of offended dignity, "when he heard of the conditions to +which the appointment is now subjected. Of course you understand, Mr. +Quiverful, that the same conditions will be imposed on yourself."</p> + +<p>Mr. Quiverful cared nothing for the conditions. He would have +undertaken to preach any number of sermons Mr. Slope might have +chosen to dictate, and to pass every remaining hour of his Sundays +within the walls of a Sunday-school. What sacrifices, or at any +rate, what promises would have been too much to make for such an +addition to his income, and for such a house! But his mind still +recurred to Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"To be sure," said he; "Mr. Harding's daughter is very rich, and why +should he trouble himself with the hospital?"</p> + +<p>"You mean Mrs. Grantly," said Slope.</p> + +<p>"I meant his widowed daughter," said the other. "Mrs. Bold has +twelve hundred a year of her own, and I suppose Mr. Harding means to +live with her."</p> + +<p>"Twelve hundred a year of her own!" said Slope, and very shortly +afterwards took his leave, avoiding, as far as it was possible for +him to do, any further allusion to the hospital. "Twelve hundred a +year!" said he to himself as he rode slowly home. If it were the fact +that Mrs. Bold had twelve hundred a year of her own, what a fool +would he be to oppose her father's return to his old place. The +train of Mr. Slope's ideas will probably be plain to all my readers. +Why should he not make the twelve hundred a year his own? And if he +did so, would it not be well for him to have a father-in-law +comfortably provided with the good things of this world? Would it +not, moreover, be much more easy for him to gain the daughter if he +did all in his power to forward the father's views?</p> + +<p>These questions presented themselves to him in a very forcible way, +and yet there were many points of doubt. If he resolved to restore +to Mr. Harding his former place, he must take the necessary steps for +doing so at once; he must immediately talk over the bishop, quarrel +on the matter with Mrs. Proudie, whom he knew he could not talk over, +and let Mr. Quiverful know that he had been a little too precipitate +as to Mr. Harding's positive refusal. That he could effect all this +he did not doubt, but he did not wish to effect it for nothing. He +did not wish to give way to Mr. Harding and then be rejected by the +daughter. He did not wish to lose one influential friend before he +had gained another.</p> + +<p>And thus he rode home, meditating many things in his mind. It +occurred to him that Mrs. Bold was sister-in-law to the archdeacon, +and that not even for twelve hundred a year would he submit to that +imperious man. A rich wife was a great desideratum to him, but +success in his profession was still greater; there were, moreover, +other rich women who might be willing to become wives; and after all, +this twelve hundred a year might, when inquired into, melt away into +some small sum utterly beneath his notice. Then also he remembered +that Mrs. Bold had a son.</p> + +<p>Another circumstance also much influenced him, though it was one +which may almost be said to have influenced him against his will. +The vision of the Signora Neroni was perpetually before his eyes. It +would be too much to say that Mr. Slope was lost in love, but yet he +thought, and kept continually thinking, that he had never seen so +beautiful a woman. He was a man whose nature was open to such +impulses, and the wiles of the Italianized charmer had been +thoroughly successful in imposing upon his thoughts. We will not +talk about his heart: not that he had no heart, but because his heart +had little to do with his present feelings. His taste had been +pleased, his eyes charmed, and his vanity gratified. He had been +dazzled by a sort of loveliness which he had never before seen, and +had been caught by an easy, free, voluptuous manner which was +perfectly new to him. He had never been so tempted before, and the +temptation was now irresistible. He had not owned to himself that he +cared for this woman more than for others around him, but yet he +thought often of the time when he might see her next, and made, almost +unconsciously, little cunning plans for seeing her frequently.</p> + +<p>He had called at Dr. Stanhope's house the day after the bishop's +party, and then the warmth of his admiration had been fed with fresh +fuel. If the signora had been kind in her manner and flattering in +her speech when lying upon the bishop's sofa, with the eyes of so +many on her, she had been much more so in her mother's drawing-room, +with no one present but her sister to repress either her nature or +her art. Mr. Slope had thus left her quite bewildered, and could not +willingly admit into his brain any scheme a part of which would be +the necessity of his abandoning all further special friendship with +this lady.</p> + +<p>And so he slowly rode along, very meditative.</p> + +<p>And here the author must beg it to be remembered that Mr. Slope was +not in all things a bad man. His motives, like those of most men, +were mixed, and though his conduct was generally very different from +that which we would wish to praise, it was actuated perhaps as often +as that of the majority of the world by a desire to do his duty. He +believed in the religion which he taught, harsh, unpalatable, +uncharitable as that religion was. He believed those whom he wished +to get under his hoof, the Grantlys and Gwynnes of the church, to be +the enemies of that religion. He believed himself to be a pillar of +strength, destined to do great things, and with that subtle, selfish, +ambiguous sophistry to which the minds of all men are so subject, he +had taught himself to think that in doing much for the promotion of +his own interests, he was doing much also for the promotion of +religion. But Mr. Slope had never been an immoral man. Indeed, he +had resisted temptations to immorality with a strength of purpose +that was creditable to him. He had early in life devoted himself to +works which were not compatible with the ordinary pleasures of youth, +and he had abandoned such pleasures not without a struggle. It must +therefore be conceived that he did not admit to himself that he +warmly admired the beauty of a married woman without heart-felt +stings of conscience; and to pacify that conscience he had to teach +himself that the nature of his admiration was innocent.</p> + +<p>And thus he rode along meditative and ill at ease. His conscience +had not a word to say against his choosing the widow and her fortune. +That he looked upon as a godly work rather than otherwise; as a deed +which, if carried through, would redound to his credit as a +Christian. On that side lay no future remorse, no conduct which he +might probably have to forget, no inward stings. If it should turn +out to be really the fact that Mrs. Bold had twelve hundred a year at +her own disposal, Mr. Slope would rather look upon it as a duty which +he owed his religion to make himself the master of the wife and the +money; as a duty too, in which some amount of self-sacrifice would be +necessary. He would have to give up his friendship with the signora, +his resistance to Mr. Harding, his antipathy—no, he found +on mature self-examination that he could not bring himself to give up +his antipathy to Dr. Grantly. He would marry the lady as the enemy of +her brother-in-law if such an arrangement suited her; if not, she must +look elsewhere for a husband.</p> + +<p>It was with such resolve as this that he reached Barchester. He +would at once ascertain what the truth might be as to the lady's +wealth, and having done this he would be ruled by circumstances in +his conduct respecting the hospital. If he found that he could turn +round and secure the place for Mr. Harding without much +self-sacrifice, he would do so; but if not, he would woo the daughter +in opposition to the father. But in no case would he succumb to the +archdeacon.</p> + +<p>He saw his horse taken round to the stable, and immediately went +forth to commence his inquiries. To give Mr. Slope his due, he was not +a man who ever let much grass grow under his feet.</p> + +<p>Poor Eleanor! She was doomed to be the intended victim of more +schemes than one.</p> + +<p>About the time that Mr. Slope was visiting the vicar of Puddingdale, +a discussion took place respecting her charms and wealth at Dr. +Stanhope's house in the close. There had been morning callers there, +and people had told some truth and also some falsehood respecting the +property which John Bold had left behind him. By degrees the visitors +went, and as the doctor went with them, and as the doctor's wife had +not made her appearance, Charlotte Stanhope and her brother were left +together. He was sitting idly at the table, scrawling caricatures of +Barchester notables, then yawning, then turning over a book or two, and +evidently at a loss how to kill his time without much labour.</p> + +<p>"You haven't done much, Bertie, about getting any orders," said his +sister.</p> + +<p>"Orders!" said he; "who on earth is there at Barchester to give one +orders? Who among the people here could possibly think it worth his +while to have his head done into marble?"</p> + +<p>"Then you mean to give up your profession," said she.</p> + +<p>"No, I don't," said he, going on with some absurd portrait of the +bishop. "Look at that, Lotte; isn't it the little man all over, +apron and all? I'd go on with my profession at once, as you call it, +if the governor would set me up with a studio in London; but as to +sculpture at Barchester—I suppose half the people here +don't know what a torso means."</p> + +<p>"The governor will not give you a shilling to start you in London," +said Lotte. "Indeed, he can't give you what would be sufficient, for +he has not got it. But you might start yourself very well, if you +pleased."</p> + +<p>"How the deuce am I to do it?" said he.</p> + +<p>"To tell you the truth, Bertie, you'll never make a penny by any +profession."</p> + +<p>"That's what I often think myself," said he, not in the least +offended. "Some men have a great gift of making money, but they +can't spend it. Others can't put two shillings together, but they +have a great talent for all sorts of outlay. I begin to think that +my genius is wholly in the latter line."</p> + +<p>"How do you mean to live then?" asked the sister.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I must regard myself as a young raven and look for +heavenly manna; besides, we have all got something when the governor +goes."</p> + +<p>"Yes—you'll have enough to supply yourself with gloves +and boots; that is, if the Jews have not got the possession of it all. +I believe they have the most of it already. I wonder, Bertie, at your +indifference; that you, with your talents and personal advantages, +should never try to settle yourself in life. I look forward with dread +to the time when the governor must go. Mother, and Madeline, and +I—we shall be poor enough, but you will have absolutely +nothing."</p> + +<p>"Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof," said Bertie.</p> + +<p>"Will you take my advice?" said his sister.</p> + +<p>"<i>Cela dépend</i>," said the brother.</p> + +<p>"Will you marry a wife with money?"</p> + +<p>"At any rate," said he, "I won't marry one without; wives with money +a'nt so easy to get now-a-days; the parsons pick them all up."</p> + +<p>"And a parson will pick up the wife I mean for you, if you do not +look quickly about it; the wife I mean is Mrs. Bold."</p> + +<p>"Whew-w-w-w!" whistled Bertie, "a widow!"</p> + +<p>"She is very beautiful," said Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"With a son and heir all ready to my hand," said Bertie.</p> + +<p>"A baby that will very likely die," said Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"I don't see that," said Bertie. "But however, he may live for +me—I don't wish to kill him; only, it must be owned that +a ready-made family is a drawback."</p> + +<p>"There is only one after all," pleaded Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"And that a very little one, as the maidservant said," rejoined +Bertie.</p> + +<p>"Beggars mustn't be choosers, Bertie; you can't have everything."</p> + +<p>"God knows I am not unreasonable," said he, "nor yet opinionated, +and if you'll arrange it all for me, Lotte, I'll marry the lady. Only +mark this: the money must be sure, and the income at my own disposal, +at any rate for the lady's life."</p> + +<p>Charlotte was explaining to her brother that he must make love for +himself if he meant to carry on the matter, and was encouraging him +to do so by warm eulogiums on Eleanor's beauty, when the signora was +brought into the drawing-room. When at home, and subject to the gaze +of none but her own family, she allowed herself to be dragged about +by two persons, and her two bearers now deposited her on her sofa. +She was not quite so grand in her apparel as she had been at the +bishop's party, but yet she was dressed with much care, and though +there was a look of care and pain about her eyes, she was, even by +daylight, extremely beautiful.</p> + +<p>"Well, Madeline, so I'm going to be married," Bertie began as soon +as the servants had withdrawn.</p> + +<p>"There's no other foolish thing left that you haven't done," said +Madeline, "and therefore you are quite right to try that."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you think it's a foolish thing, do you?" said he. "There's +Lotte advising me to marry by all means. But on such a subject your +opinion ought to be the best; you have experience to guide you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have," said Madeline with a sort of harsh sadness in her +tone, which seemed to say—"What is it to you if I am sad? +I have never asked your sympathy."</p> + +<p>Bertie was sorry when he saw that she was hurt by what he said, and +he came and squatted on the floor close before her face to make his +peace with her.</p> + +<p>"Come, Mad, I was only joking; you know that. But in sober earnest, +Lotte is advising me to marry. She wants me to marry this Mrs. Bold. +She's a widow with lots of tin, a fine baby, a beautiful complexion, +and the George and Dragon hotel up in the High Street. By Jove, +Lotte, if I marry her, I'll keep the public-house +myself—it's just the life to suit me."</p> + +<p>"What," said Madeline, "that vapid, swarthy creature in the widow's +cap, who looked as though her clothes had been stuck on her back with +a pitchfork!" The signora never allowed any woman to be beautiful.</p> + +<p>"Instead of being vapid," said Lotte, "I call her a very lovely +woman. She was by far the loveliest woman in the rooms the other +night; that is, excepting you, Madeline."</p> + +<p>Even the compliment did not soften the asperity of the maimed +beauty. "Every woman is charming according to Lotte," she said; "I +never knew an eye with so little true appreciation. In the first place, +what woman on earth could look well in such a thing as that she had on +her head."</p> + +<p>"Of course she wears a widow's cap, but she'll put that off when +Bertie marries her."</p> + +<p>"I don't see any of course in it," said Madeline. "The death of +twenty husbands should not make me undergo such a penance. It is as +much a relic of paganism as the sacrifice of a Hindu woman at the +burning of her husband's body. If not so bloody, it is quite as +barbarous, and quite as useless."</p> + +<p>"But you don't blame her for that," said Bertie. "She does it +because it's the custom of the country. People would think ill of +her if she didn't do it."</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said Madeline. "She is just one of those English +nonentities who would tie her head up in a bag for three months every +summer, if her mother and her grandmother had tied up their heads +before her. It would never occur to her to think whether there was +any use in submitting to such a nuisance."</p> + +<p>"It's very hard in a country like England, for a young woman to set +herself in opposition to prejudices of that sort," said the prudent +Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"What you mean is that it's very hard for a fool not to be a fool," +said Madeline.</p> + +<p>Bertie Stanhope had been so much knocked about the world from his +earliest years that he had not retained much respect for the gravity +of English customs; but even to his mind an idea presented itself +that, perhaps in a wife, true British prejudice would not in the long +run be less agreeable than Anglo-Italian freedom from restraint. He +did not exactly say so, but he expressed the idea in another way.</p> + +<p>"I fancy," said he, "that if I were to die, and then walk, I should +think that my widow looked better in one of those caps than any other +kind of head-dress."</p> + +<p>"Yes—and you'd fancy also that she could do nothing +better than shut herself up and cry for you, or else burn herself. But +she would think differently. She'd probably wear one of those horrid +she-helmets, because she'd want the courage not to do so; but she'd +wear it with a heart longing for the time when she might be allowed to +throw it off. I hate such shallow false pretences. For my part I would +let the world say what it pleased, and show no grief if I felt +none—and perhaps not, if I did."</p> + +<p>"But wearing a widow's cap won't lessen her fortune," said +Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"Or increase it," said Madeline. "Then why on earth does she do it?"</p> + +<p>"But Lotte's object is to make her put it off," said Bertie.</p> + +<p>"If it be true that she has got twelve hundred a year quite at her +own disposal, and she be not utterly vulgar in her manners, I would +advise you to marry her. I dare say she's to be had for the asking: +and as you are not going to marry her for love, it doesn't much +matter whether she is good-looking or not. As to your really +marrying a woman for love, I don't believe you are fool enough for +that."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Madeline!" exclaimed her sister.</p> + +<p>"And oh, Charlotte!" said the other.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to say that no man can love a woman unless he be a +fool?"</p> + +<p>"I mean very much the same thing—that any man who is +willing to sacrifice his interest to get possession of a pretty face is +a fool. Pretty faces are to be had cheaper than that. I hate your +mawkish sentimentality, Lotte. You know as well as I do in what way +husbands and wives generally live together; you know how far the warmth +of conjugal affection can withstand the trial of a bad dinner, of a +rainy day, or of the least privation which poverty brings with it; you +know what freedom a man claims for himself, what slavery he would exact +from his wife if he could! And you know also how wives generally obey. +Marriage means tyranny on one side and deceit on the other. I say that +a man is a fool to sacrifice his interests for such a bargain. A woman, +too generally, has no other way of living."</p> + +<p>"But Bertie has no other way of living," said Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"Then, in God's name, let him marry Mrs. Bold," said Madeline. And +so it was settled between them.</p> + +<p>But let the gentle-hearted reader be under no apprehension +whatsoever. It is not destined that Eleanor shall marry Mr. Slope or +Bertie Stanhope. And here perhaps it may be allowed to the novelist +to explain his views on a very important point in the art of telling +tales. He ventures to reprobate that system which goes so far to +violate all proper confidence between the author and his readers by +maintaining nearly to the end of the third volume a mystery as to the +fate of their favourite personage. Nay, more, and worse than this, is +too frequently done. Have not often the profoundest efforts of +genius been used to baffle the aspirations of the reader, to raise +false hopes and false fears, and to give rise to expectations which +are never to be realized? Are not promises all but made of +delightful horrors, in lieu of which the writer produces nothing but +most commonplace realities in his final chapter? And is there not a +species of deceit in this to which the honesty of the present age +should lend no countenance?</p> + +<p>And what can be the worth of that solicitude which a peep into the +third volume can utterly dissipate? What the value of those literary +charms which are absolutely destroyed by their enjoyment? When we +have once learnt what was that picture before which was hung Mrs. +Ratcliffe's solemn curtain, we feel no further interest about either +the frame or the veil. They are to us merely a receptacle for old +bones, an inappropriate coffin, which we would wish to have decently +buried out of our sight.</p> + +<p>And then how grievous a thing it is to have the pleasure of your +novel destroyed by the ill-considered triumph of a previous reader. +"Oh, you needn't be alarmed for Augusta; of course she accepts +Gustavus in the end." "How very ill-natured you are, Susan," says +Kitty with tears in her eyes: "I don't care a bit about it now." +Dear Kitty, if you will read my book, you may defy the ill-nature of +your sister. There shall be no secret that she can tell you. Nay, +take the third volume if you please—learn from the last +pages all the results of our troubled story, and the story shall have +lost none of its interest, if indeed there be any interest in it to +lose.</p> + +<p>Our doctrine is that the author and the reader should move along +together in full confidence with each other. Let the personages of +the drama undergo ever so complete a comedy of errors among +themselves, but let the spectator never mistake the Syracusan for the +Ephesian; otherwise he is one of the dupes, and the part of a dupe is +never dignified.</p> + +<p>I would not for the value of this chapter have it believed by a +single reader that my Eleanor could bring herself to marry Mr. Slope, +or that she should be sacrificed to a Bertie Stanhope. But among the +good folk of Barchester many believed both the one and the other.</p> + + +<p><a name="c16" id="c16"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVI</h3> +<h3>Baby Worship<br /> </h3> + + +<p>"Diddle, diddle, diddle, diddle, dum, dum, dum," said or sung +Eleanor Bold.</p> + +<p>"Diddle, diddle, diddle, diddle, dum, dum, dum," continued Mary +Bold, taking up the second part in this concerted piece.</p> + +<p>The only audience at the concert was the baby, who however gave such +vociferous applause that the performers, presuming it to amount to an +encore, commenced again.</p> + +<p>"Diddle, diddle, diddle, diddle, dum, dum, dum: hasn't he got lovely +legs?" said the rapturous mother.</p> + +<p>"H'm 'm 'm 'm 'm," simmered Mary, burying her lips in the little +fellow's fat neck, by way of kissing him.</p> + +<p>"H'm 'm 'm 'm 'm," simmered the mamma, burying her lips also in his +fat, round, short legs. "He's a dawty little bold darling, so he is; +and he has the nicest little pink legs in all the world, so he has;" +and the simmering and the kissing went on over again, as though the +ladies were very hungry and determined to eat him.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, he's his own mother's own darling: well, he +shall—oh, oh—Mary, Mary—did you ever +see? What am I to do? My naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty little +Johnny." All these energetic exclamations were elicited by the delight +of the mother in finding that her son was strong enough and mischievous +enough to pull all her hair out from under her cap. "He's been and +pulled down all Mamma's hair, and he's the naughtiest, naughtiest, +naughtiest little man that ever, ever, ever, ever, ever—"</p> + +<p>A regular service of baby worship was going on. Mary Bold was +sitting on a low easy chair, with the boy in her lap, and Eleanor was +kneeling before the object of her idolatry. As she tried to cover up +the little fellow's face with her long, glossy, dark brown locks, and +permitted him to pull them hither and thither as he would, she looked +very beautiful in spite of the widow's cap which she still wore. +There was a quiet, enduring, grateful sweetness about her face which +grew so strongly upon those who knew her, as to make the great praise +of her beauty which came from her old friends appear marvellously +exaggerated to those who were only slightly acquainted with her. Her +loveliness was like that of many landscapes, which require to be +often seen to be fully enjoyed. There was a depth of dark clear +brightness in her eyes which was lost upon a quick observer, a +character about her mouth which only showed itself to those with whom +she familiarly conversed, a glorious form of head the perfect +symmetry of which required the eye of an artist for its appreciation. +She had none of that dazzling brilliancy, of that voluptuous Rubens +beauty, of that pearly whiteness, and those vermilion tints which +immediately entranced with the power of a basilisk men who came +within reach of Madeline Neroni. It was all but impossible to resist +the signora, but no one was called upon for any resistance towards +Eleanor. You might begin to talk to her as though she were your +sister, and it would not be till your head was on your pillow that +the truth and intensity of her beauty would flash upon you, that the +sweetness of her voice would come upon your ear. A sudden half-hour +with the Neroni was like falling into a pit, an evening spent with +Eleanor like an unexpected ramble in some quiet fields of asphodel.</p> + +<p>"We'll cover him up till there shan't be a morsel of his little +'ittle 'ittle 'ittle nose to be seen," said the mother, stretching +her streaming locks over the infant's face. The child screamed with +delight, and kicked till Mary Bold was hardly able to hold him.</p> + +<p>At this moment the door opened, and Mr. Slope was announced. Up +jumped Eleanor and, with a sudden quick motion of her hands, pushed +back her hair over her shoulders. It would have been perhaps better +for her that she had not, for she thus showed more of her confusion +than she would have done had she remained as she was. Mr. Slope, +however, immediately recognized her loveliness and thought to himself +that, irrespective of her fortune, she would be an inmate that a man +might well desire for his house, a partner for his bosom's care very +well qualified to make care lie easy. Eleanor hurried out of the +room to readjust her cap, muttering some unnecessary apology about +her baby. And while she is gone, we will briefly go back and state +what had been hitherto the results of Mr. Slope's meditations on his +scheme of matrimony.</p> + +<p>His inquiries as to the widow's income had at any rate been so far +successful as to induce him to determine to go on with the +speculation. As regarded Mr. Harding, he had also resolved to do +what he could without injury to himself. To Mrs. Proudie he +determined not to speak on the matter, at least not at present. His +object was to instigate a little rebellion on the part of the bishop. +He thought that such a state of things would be advisable, not only +in respect to Messrs. Harding and Quiverful, but also in the affairs +of the diocese generally. Mr. Slope was by no means of opinion that +Dr. Proudie was fit to rule, but he conscientiously thought it wrong +that his brother clergy should be subjected to petticoat government. +He therefore made up his mind to infuse a little of his spirit into +the bishop, sufficient to induce him to oppose his wife, though not +enough to make him altogether insubordinate.</p> + +<p>He had therefore taken an opportunity of again speaking to his +lordship about the hospital, and had endeavoured to make it appear +that after all it would be unwise to exclude Mr. Harding from the +appointment. Mr. Slope, however, had a harder task than he had +imagined. Mrs. Proudie, anxious to assume to herself as much as +possible of the merit of patronage, had written to Mrs. Quiverful, +requesting her to call at the palace, and had then explained to that +matron, with much mystery, condescension, and dignity, the good that +was in store for her and her progeny. Indeed, Mrs. Proudie had been +so engaged at the very time that Mr. Slope had been doing the same +with the husband at Puddingdale Vicarage, and had thus in a measure +committed herself. The thanks, the humility, the gratitude, the +surprise of Mrs. Quiverful had been very overpowering; she had all +but embraced the knees of her patroness, and had promised that the +prayers of fourteen unprovided babes (so Mrs. Quiverful had described +her own family, the eldest of which was a stout young woman of +three-and-twenty) should be put up to heaven morning and evening for +the munificent friend whom God had sent to them. Such incense as this +was not unpleasing to Mrs. Proudie, and she made the most of it. She +offered her general assistance to the fourteen unprovided babes, if, as +she had no doubt, she should find them worthy; expressed a hope that +the eldest of them would be fit to undertake tuition in her +Sabbath-schools; and altogether made herself a very great lady in the +estimation of Mrs. Quiverful.</p> + +<p>Having done this, she thought it prudent to drop a few words before +the bishop, letting him know that she had acquainted the Puddingdale +family with their good fortune; so that he might perceive that he +stood committed to the appointment. The husband well understood the +ruse of his wife, but he did not resent it. He knew that she was +taking the patronage out of his hands; he was resolved to put an end +to her interference and reassume his powers. But then he thought +this was not the best time to do it. He put off the evil hour, as +many a man in similar circumstances has done before him.</p> + +<p>Such having been the case, Mr. Slope naturally encountered a +difficulty in talking over the bishop, a difficulty indeed which he +found could not be overcome except at the cost of a general outbreak +at the palace. A general outbreak at the present moment might be +good policy, but it also might not. It was at any rate not a step to +be lightly taken. He began by whispering to the bishop that he +feared that public opinion would be against him if Mr. Harding did +not reappear at the hospital. The bishop answered with some warmth +that Mr. Quiverful had been promised the appointment on Mr. Slope's +advice. "Not promised?" said Mr. Slope. "Yes, promised," replied +the bishop, "and Mrs. Proudie has seen Mrs. Quiverful on the +subject." This was quite unexpected on the part of Mr. Slope, but +his presence of mind did not fail him, and he turned the statement to +his own account.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my lord," said he, "we shall all be in scrapes if the ladies +interfere."</p> + +<p>This was too much in unison with my lord's feelings to be altogether +unpalatable, and yet such an allusion to interference demanded a +rebuke. My lord was somewhat astounded also, though not altogether +made miserable, by finding that there was a point of difference +between his wife and his chaplain.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean by interference," said the bishop +mildly. "When Mrs. Proudie heard that Mr. Quiverful was to be +appointed, it was not unnatural that she should wish to see Mrs. +Quiverful about the schools. I really cannot say that I see any +interference."</p> + +<p>"I only speak, my lord, for your own comfort," said Slope; "for your +own comfort and dignity in the diocese. I can have no other motive. +As far as personal feelings go, Mrs. Proudie is the best friend I +have. I must always remember that. But still, in my present +position, my first duty is to your lordship."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure of that, Mr. Slope; I am quite sure of that;" said the +bishop, mollified: "and you really think that Mr. Harding should have +the hospital?"</p> + +<p>"Upon my word, I'm inclined to think so. I am quite prepared to take +upon myself the blame of first suggesting Mr. Quiverful's name. But +since doing so, I have found that there is so strong a feeling in the +diocese in favour of Mr. Harding that I think your lordship should +give way. I hear also that Mr. Harding has modified the objections +he first felt to your lordship's propositions. And as to what has +passed between Mrs. Proudie and Mrs. Quiverful, the circumstance may +be a little inconvenient, but I really do not think that that should +weigh in a matter of so much moment."</p> + +<p>And thus the poor bishop was left in a dreadfully undecided step as +to what he should do. His mind, however, slightly inclined itself to +the appointment of Mr. Harding, seeing that by such a step he should +have the assistance of Mr. Slope in opposing Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>Such was the state of affairs at the palace, when Mr. Slope called +at Mrs. Bold's house and found her playing with her baby. When she ran +out of the room, Mr. Slope began praising the weather to Mary Bold, +then he praised the baby and kissed him, and then he praised the +mother, and then he praised Miss Bold herself. Mrs. Bold, however, was +not long before she came back.</p> + +<p>"I have to apologize for calling at so very early an hour," began +Mr. Slope, "but I was really so anxious to speak to you that I hope you +and Miss Bold will excuse me."</p> + +<p>Eleanor muttered something in which the words "certainly," and "of +course," and "not early at all," were just audible, and then +apologized for her own appearance, declaring, with a smile, that her +baby was becoming such a big boy that he was quite unmanageable.</p> + +<p>"He's a great big naughty boy," said she to the child, "and we must +send him away to a great big rough romping school, where they have +great big rods and do terrible things to naughty boys who don't do +what their own mammas tell them;" and she then commenced another +course of kissing, being actuated thereto by the terrible idea of +sending her child away which her own imagination had depicted.</p> + +<p>"And where the masters don't have such beautiful long hair to be +dishevelled," said Mr. Slope, taking up the joke and paying a +compliment at the same time.</p> + +<p>Eleanor thought he might as well have left the compliment alone, but +she said nothing and looked nothing, being occupied as she was with +the baby.</p> + +<p>"Let me take him," said Mary. "His clothes are nearly off his back +with his romping," and so saying she left the room with the child. +Miss Bold had heard Mr. Slope say he had something pressing to say to +Eleanor, and thinking that she might be <i>de trop</i>, took this +opportunity of getting herself out of the room.</p> + +<p>"Don't be long, Mary," said Eleanor as Miss Bold shut the door.</p> + +<p>"I am glad, Mrs. Bold, to have the opportunity of having ten +minutes' conversation with you alone," began Mr. Slope. "Will you let +me openly ask you a plain question?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said she.</p> + +<p>"And I am sure you will give me a plain and open answer."</p> + +<p>"Either that, or none at all," said she, laughing.</p> + +<p>"My question is this, Mrs. Bold: is your father really anxious to go +back to the hospital?"</p> + +<p>"Why do you ask me?" said she. "Why don't you ask himself?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Mrs. Bold, I'll tell you why. There are wheels within +wheels, all of which I would explain to you, only I fear that there +is not time. It is essentially necessary that I should have an +answer to this question, otherwise I cannot know how to advance your +father's wishes; and it is quite impossible that I should ask +himself. No one can esteem your father more than I do, but I doubt +if this feeling is reciprocal." It certainly was not. "I must be +candid with you as the only means of avoiding ultimate consequences, +which may be most injurious to Mr. Harding. I fear there is a +feeling—I will not even call it a prejudice—with +regard to myself in Barchester, which is not in my favour. You remember +that sermon—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Slope, we need not go back to that," said Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"For one moment, Mrs. Bold. It is not that I may talk of myself, but +because it is so essential that you should understand how matters +stand. That sermon may have been ill-judged—it was certainly +misunderstood; but I will say nothing about that now; only this, that +it did give rise to a feeling against myself which your father shares +with others. It may be that he has proper cause, but the result is +that he is not inclined to meet me on friendly terms. I put it to +yourself whether you do not know this to be the case."</p> + +<p>Eleanor made no answer, and Mr. Slope, in the eagerness of his +address, edged his chair a little nearer to the widow's seat, +unperceived by her.</p> + +<p>"Such being so," continued Mr. Slope, "I cannot ask him this +question as I can ask it of you. In spite of my delinquencies since I +came to Barchester you have allowed me to regard you as a friend." +Eleanor made a little motion with her head which was hardly +confirmatory, but Mr. Slope if he noticed it, did not appear to do so. +"To you I can speak openly and explain the feelings of my heart. This +your father would not allow. Unfortunately, the bishop has thought it +right that this matter of the hospital should pass through my hands. +There have been some details to get up with which he would not trouble +himself, and thus it has come to pass that I was forced to have an +interview with your father on the matter."</p> + +<p>"I am aware of that," said Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said he. "In that interview Mr. Harding left the +impression on my mind that he did not wish to return to the +hospital."</p> + +<p>"How could that be?" said Eleanor, at last stirred up to forget the +cold propriety of demeanour which she had determined to maintain.</p> + +<p>"My dear Mrs. Bold, I give you my word that such was the case," said +he, again getting a little nearer to her. "And what is more than +that, before my interview with Mr. Harding, certain persons at the +palace—I do not mean the bishop—had told me that +such was the fact. I own, I hardly believed it; I own, I thought that +your father would wish on every account, for conscience' sake, for the +sake of those old men, for old association and the memory of dear days +long gone by, on every account I thought that he would wish to resume +his duties. But I was told that such was not his wish, and he certainly +left me with the impression that I had been told the truth."</p> + +<p>"Well!" said Eleanor, now sufficiently roused on the matter.</p> + +<p>"I hear Miss Bold's step," said Mr. Slope; "would it be asking too +great a favour to beg you to—I know you can manage anything +with Miss Bold."</p> + +<p>Eleanor did not like the word manage, but still she went out and +asked Mary to leave them alone for another quarter of an hour.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mrs. Bold—I am so very grateful for this +confidence. Well, I left your father with this impression. Indeed, I +may say that he made me understand that he declined the appointment."</p> + +<p>"Not the appointment," said Eleanor. "I am sure he did not decline +the appointment. But he said that he would not agree—that +is, that he did not like the scheme about the schools and the services +and all that. I am quite sure he never said that he wished to refuse +the place."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Bold!" said Mr. Slope in a manner almost impassioned. "I +would not for the world say to so good a daughter a word against so +good a father. But you must, for his sake, let me show you exactly +how the matter stands at present. Mr. Harding was a little flurried +when I told him of the bishop's wishes about the school. I did so +perhaps with the less caution because you yourself had so perfectly +agreed with me on the same subject. He was a little put out and +spoke warmly. 'Tell the bishop,' said he, 'that I quite disagree +with him—and shall not return to the hospital as such +conditions are attached to it.' What he said was to that effect; +indeed, his words were, if anything, stronger than those. I had no +alternative but to repeat them to his lordship, who said that he could +look on them in no other light than a refusal. He also had heard the +report that your father did not wish for the appointment, and putting +all these things together, he thought he had no choice but to look for +someone else. He has consequently offered the place to Mr. Quiverful."</p> + +<p>"Offered the place to Mr. Quiverful!" repeated Eleanor, her eyes +suffused with tears. "Then, Mr. Slope, there is an end of it."</p> + +<p>"No, my friend—not so," said he. "It is to prevent such +being the end of it that I am now here. I may at any rate presume that +I have got an answer to my question, and that Mr. Harding is desirous of +returning."</p> + +<p>"Desirous of returning—of course he is," said Eleanor; +"of course he wishes to have back his house and his income and his +place in the world; to have back what he gave up with such self-denying +honesty, if he can have them without restraints on his conduct to which +at his age it would be impossible that he should submit. How can the +bishop ask a man of his age to turn schoolmaster to a pack of +children?"</p> + +<p>"Out of the question," said Mr. Slope, laughing slightly; "of course +no such demand shall be made on your father. I can at any rate +promise you that I will not be the medium of any so absurd a +requisition. We wished your father to preach in the hospital, as the +inmates may naturally be too old to leave it, but even that shall not +be insisted on. We wished also to attach a Sabbath-day school to the +hospital, thinking that such an establishment could not but be useful +under the surveillance of so good a clergyman as Mr. Harding, and +also under your own. But, dear Mrs. Bold, we won't talk of these +things now. One thing is clear: we must do what we can to annul this +rash offer the bishop has made to Mr. Quiverful. Your father +wouldn't see Quiverful, would he? Quiverful is an honourable man, +and would not for a moment stand in your father's way."</p> + +<p>"What?" said Eleanor. "Ask a man with fourteen children to give up +his preferment! I am quite sure he will do no such thing."</p> + +<p>"I suppose not," said Slope, and he again drew near to Mrs. Bold, so +that now they were very close to each other. Eleanor did not think +much about it but instinctively moved away a little. How greatly +would she have increased the distance could she have guessed what had +been said about her at Plumstead! "I suppose not. But it is out of +the question that Quiverful should supersede your father—quite +out of the question. The bishop has been too rash. An idea occurs to me +which may perhaps, with God's blessing, put us right. My dear Mrs. +Bold, would you object to seeing the bishop yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Why should not my father see him?" said Eleanor. She had once +before in her life interfered in her father's affairs, and then not +to much advantage. She was older now and felt that she should take +no step in a matter so vital to him without his consent.</p> + +<p>"Why, to tell the truth," said Mr. Slope with a look of sorrow, as +though he greatly bewailed the want of charity in his patron, "the +bishop fancies that he has cause of anger against your father. I +fear an interview would lead to further ill-will."</p> + +<p>"Why," said Eleanor, "my father is the mildest, the gentlest man +living."</p> + +<p>"I only know," said Slope, "that he has the best of daughters. So +you would not see the bishop? As to getting an interview, I could +manage that for you without the slightest annoyance to yourself."</p> + +<p>"I could do nothing, Mr. Slope, without consulting my father."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said he, "that would be useless; you would then only be your +father's messenger. Does anything occur to yourself? Something must +be done. Your father shall not be ruined by so ridiculous a +misunderstanding."</p> + +<p>Eleanor said that nothing occurred to her, but that it was very +hard; the tears came to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Mr. Slope +would have given much to have had the privilege of drying them, but he +had tact enough to know that he had still a great deal to do before he +could even hope for any privilege with Mrs. Bold.</p> + +<p>"It cuts me to the heart to see you so grieved," said he. "But pray +let me assure you that your father's interests shall not be +sacrificed if it be possible for me to protect them. I will tell the +bishop openly what are the facts. I will explain to him that he has +hardly the right to appoint any other than your father, and will show +him that if he does so he will be guilty of great +injustice—and you, Mrs. Bold, you will have the charity +at any rate to believe this of me, that I am truly anxious for your +father's welfare—for his and for your own."</p> + +<p>The widow hardly knew what answer to make. She was quite aware that +her father would not be at all thankful to Mr. Slope; she had a +strong wish to share her father's feelings; and yet she could not but +acknowledge that Mr. Slope was very kind. Her father, who was +generally so charitable to all men, who seldom spoke ill of anyone, +had warned her against Mr. Slope, and yet she did not know how to +abstain from thanking him. What interest could he have in the matter +but that which he professed? Nevertheless there was that in his +manner which even she distrusted. She felt, she did not know why, +that there was something about him which ought to put her on her +guard.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope read all this in her hesitating manner just as plainly as +though she had opened her heart to him. It was the talent of the man +that he could so read the inward feelings of women with whom he +conversed. He knew that Eleanor was doubting him, and that, if she +thanked him, she would only do so because she could not help it, but +yet this did not make him angry or even annoy him. Rome was not +built in a day.</p> + +<p>"I did not come for thanks," continued he, seeing her hesitation, +"and do not want them—at any rate before they are merited. +But this I do want, Mrs. Bold, that I may make to myself friends in +this fold to which it has pleased God to call me as one of the humblest +of his shepherds. If I cannot do so, my task here must indeed be a sad +one. I will at any rate endeavour to deserve them."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure," said she, "you will soon make plenty of friends." She +felt herself obliged to say something.</p> + +<p>"That will be nothing unless they are such as will sympathize with +my feelings; unless they are such as I can reverence and +admire—and love. If the best and purest turn away from me, +I cannot bring myself to be satisfied with the friendship of the less +estimable. In such case I must live alone."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm sure you will not do that, Mr. Slope." Eleanor meant +nothing, but it suited him to appear to think some special allusion +had been intended.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, Mrs. Bold, I shall live alone, quite alone as far as the +heart is concerned, if those with whom I yearn to ally myself turn +away from me. But enough of this; I have called you my friend, and I +hope you will not contradict me. I trust the time may come when I +may also call your father so. May God bless you, Mrs. Bold, you and +your darling boy. And tell your father from me that what can be done +for his interest shall be done."</p> + +<p>And so he took his leave, pressing the widow's hand rather more +closely than usual. Circumstances, however, seemed just then to make +this intelligible, and the lady did not feel called on to resent it.</p> + +<p>"I cannot understand him," said Eleanor to Mary Bold a few minutes +afterwards. "I do not know whether he is a good man or a bad +man—whether he is true or false."</p> + +<p>"Then give him the benefit of the doubt," said Mary, "and believe +the best."</p> + +<p>"On the whole, I think I do," said Eleanor. "I think I do believe +that he means well—and if so, it is a shame that we should +revile him and make him miserable while he is among us. But, oh, Mary, +I fear Papa will be disappointed in the hospital."</p> + + +<p><a name="c17" id="c17"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVII</h3> +<h3>Who Shall Be Cock of the Walk?<br /> </h3> + + +<p>All this time things were going somewhat uneasily at the palace. The +hint or two which Mr. Slope had given was by no means thrown away +upon the bishop. He had a feeling that if he ever meant to oppose +the now almost unendurable despotism of his wife, he must lose no +further time in doing so; that if he ever meant to be himself master +in his own diocese, let alone his own house, he should begin at once. +It would have been easier to have done so from the day of his +consecration than now, but easier now than when Mrs. Proudie should +have succeeded in thoroughly mastering the diocesan details. Then +the proffered assistance of Mr. Slope was a great thing for him, a +most unexpected and invaluable aid. Hitherto he had looked on the +two as allied forces and had considered that, as allies, they were +impregnable. He had begun to believe that his only chance of escape +would be by the advancement of Mr. Slope to some distant and rich +preferment. But now it seemed that one of his enemies, certainly the +least potent of them, but nevertheless one very important, was +willing to desert his own camp. Assisted by Mr. Slope what might he +not do? He walked up and down his little study, almost thinking that +the time might come when he would be able to appropriate to his own +use the big room upstairs in which his predecessor had always sat.</p> + +<p>As he revolved these things in his mind a note was brought to him +from Archdeacon Grantly, in which that divine begged his lordship to +do him the honour of seeing him on the morrow—would his +lordship have the kindness to name an hour? Dr. Grantly's proposed +visit would have reference to the reappointment of Mr. Harding to the +wardenship of Barchester Hospital. The bishop having read his note was +informed that the archdeacon's servant was waiting for an answer.</p> + +<p>Here at once a great opportunity offered itself to the bishop of +acting on his own responsibility. He bethought himself however of +his new ally and rang the bell for Mr. Slope. It turned out that Mr. +Slope was not in the house, and then, greatly daring, the bishop with +his own unassisted spirit wrote a note to the archdeacon saying that +he would see him, and naming an hour for doing so. Having watched +from his study-window that the messenger got safely off from the +premises with this dispatch, he began to turn over in his mind what +step he should next take.</p> + +<p>To-morrow he would have to declare to the archdeacon either that Mr. +Harding should have the appointment, or that he should not have it. +The bishop felt that he could not honestly throw over the Quiverfuls +without informing Mrs. Proudie, and he resolved at last to brave the +lioness in her den and tell her that circumstances were such that it +behoved him to reappoint Mr. Harding. He did not feel that he should +at all derogate from his new courage by promising Mrs. Proudie that +the very first piece of available preferment at his disposal should +be given to Quiverful to atone for the injury done to him. If he +could mollify the lioness with such a sop, how happy would he think +his first efforts to have been!</p> + +<p>Not without many misgivings did he find himself in Mrs. Proudie's +boudoir. He had at first thought of sending for her. But it was not +at all impossible that she might choose to take such a message amiss, +and then also it might be some protection to him to have his +daughters present at the interview. He found her sitting with her +account-books before her, nibbling the end of her pencil, evidently +immersed in pecuniary difficulties, and harassed in mind by the +multiplicity of palatial expenses and the heavy cost of episcopal +grandeur. Her daughters were around her. Olivia was reading a +novel, Augusta was crossing a note to her bosom friend in Baker +Street, and Netta was working diminutive coach wheels for the bottom +of a petticoat. If the bishop could get the better of his wife in +her present mood, he would be a man indeed. He might then consider +the victory his own forever. After all, in such cases the matter +between husband and wife stands much the same as it does between two +boys at the same school, two cocks in the same yard, or two armies on +the same continent. The conqueror once is generally the conqueror +forever after. The prestige of victory is everything.</p> + +<p>"Ahem—my dear," began the bishop, "if you are disengaged, +I wished to speak to you." Mrs. Proudie put her pencil down carefully +at the point to which she had totted her figures, marked down in her +memory the sum she had arrived at, and then looked up, sourly enough, +into her helpmate's face. "If you are busy, another time will do as +well," continued the bishop, whose courage, like Bob Acres', had oozed +out now that he found himself on the ground of battle.</p> + +<p>"What is it about, Bishop?" asked the lady.</p> + +<p>"Well—it was about those Quiverfuls—but I see you +are engaged. Another time will do just as well for me."</p> + +<p>"What about the Quiverfuls? It is quite understood, I believe, that +they are to come to the hospital. There is to be no doubt about +that, is there?" and as she spoke she kept her pencil sternly and +vigorously fixed on the column of figures before her.</p> + +<p>"Why, my dear, there is a difficulty," said the bishop.</p> + +<p>"A difficulty!" said Mrs. Proudie, "what difficulty? The place has +been promised to Mr. Quiverful, and of course he must have it. He +has made all his arrangements. He has written for a curate for +Puddingdale, he has spoken to the auctioneer about selling his farm, +horses, and cows, and in all respects considers the place as his own. +Of course he must have it."</p> + +<p>Now, Bishop, look well to thyself and call up all the manhood that +is in thee. Think how much is at stake. If now thou art not true to thy +guns, no Slope can hereafter aid thee. How can he who deserts his own +colours at the first smell of gunpowder expect faith in any ally? Thou +thyself hast sought the battle-field: fight out the battle manfully now +thou art there. Courage, Bishop, courage! Frowns cannot kill, nor can +sharp words break any bones. After all, the apron is thine own. She can +appoint no wardens, give away no benefices, nominate no chaplains, an' +thou art but true to thyself. Up, man, and at her with a constant +heart.</p> + +<p>Some little monitor within the bishop's breast so addressed him. But +then there was another monitor there which advised him differently, +and as follows. Remember, Bishop, she is a woman, and such a woman +too as thou well knowest: a battle of words with such a woman is the +very mischief. Were it not better for thee to carry on this war, if +it must be waged, from behind thine own table in thine own study? +Does not every cock fight best on his own dunghill? Thy daughters +also are here, the pledges of thy love, the fruits of thy loins: is +it well that they should see thee in the hour of thy victory over +their mother? Nay, is it well that they should see thee in the +possible hour of thy defeat? Besides, hast thou not chosen thy +opportunity with wonderful little skill, indeed with no touch of that +sagacity for which thou art famous? Will it not turn out that thou +art wrong in this matter and thine enemy right; that thou hast +actually pledged thyself in this matter of the hospital, and that now +thou wouldest turn upon thy wife because she requires from thee but +the fulfilment of thy promise? Art thou not a Christian bishop, and +is not thy word to be held sacred whatever be the result? Return, +Bishop, to thy sanctum on the lower floor and postpone thy combative +propensities for some occasion in which at least thou mayest fight +the battle against odds less tremendously against thee.</p> + +<p>All this passed within the bishop's bosom while Mrs. Proudie still +sat with her fixed pencil, and the figures of her sum still enduring +on the tablets of her memory. "£4 17s. 7d." she said to herself. +"Of course Mr. Quiverful must have the hospital," she said out loud +to her lord.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear, I merely wanted to suggest to you that Mr. Slope +seems to think that if Mr. Harding be not appointed, public feeling +in the matter would be against us, and that the press might perhaps +take it up."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Slope seems to think!" said Mrs. Proudie in a tone of voice +which plainly showed the bishop that he was right in looking for a +breach in that quarter. "And what has Mr. Slope to do with it? I +hope, my lord, you are not going to allow yourself to be governed by +a chaplain." And now in her eagerness the lady lost her place in her +account.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not, my dear. Nothing I can assure you is less probable. +But still, Mr. Slope may be useful in finding how the wind blows, and +I really thought that if we could give something else as good to the +Quiverfuls—"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," said Mrs. Proudie; "it would be years before you could +give them anything else that could suit them half as well, and as for +the press and the public and all that, remember there are two ways of +telling a story. If Mr. Harding is fool enough to tell his tale, we +can also tell ours. The place was offered to him, and he refused it. +It has now been given to someone else, and there's an end of it. At +least I should think so."</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear, I rather believe you are right," said the bishop, +and sneaking out of the room, he went downstairs, troubled in his mind +as to how he should receive the archdeacon on the morrow. He felt +himself not very well just at present, and began to consider that he +might, not improbably, be detained in his room the next morning by an +attack of bile. He was, unfortunately, very subject to bilious +annoyances.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Slope, indeed! I'll Slope him," said the indignant matron to +her listening progeny. "I don't know what has come to Mr. Slope. +I believe he thinks he is to be Bishop of Barchester himself, because +I've taken him by the hand and got your father to make him his +domestic chaplain."</p> + +<p>"He was always full of impudence," said Olivia; "I told you so once +before, Mamma." Olivia, however, had not thought him too impudent +when once before he had proposed to make her Mrs. Slope.</p> + +<p>"Well, Olivia, I always thought you liked him," said Augusta, who at +that moment had some grudge against her sister. "I always disliked +the man, because I think him thoroughly vulgar."</p> + +<p>"There you're wrong," said Mrs. Proudie; "he's not vulgar at all; +and what is more, he is a soul-stirring, eloquent preacher; but he must +be taught to know his place if he is to remain in this house."</p> + +<p>"He has the horridest eyes I ever saw in a man's head," said Netta; +"and I tell you what, he's terribly greedy; did you see all the +currant pie he ate yesterday?"</p> + +<p>When Mr. Slope got home he soon learnt from the bishop, as much from +his manner as his words, that Mrs. Proudie's behests in the matter of +the hospital were to be obeyed. Dr. Proudie let fall something as to +"this occasion only" and "keeping all affairs about patronage +exclusively in his own hands." But he was quite decided about Mr. +Harding; and as Mr. Slope did not wish to have both the prelate and +the prelatess against him, he did not at present see that he could do +anything but yield.</p> + +<p>He merely remarked that he would of course carry out the bishop's +views and that he was quite sure that if the bishop trusted to his +own judgement things in the diocese would certainly be well ordered. +Mr. Slope knew that if you hit a nail on the head often enough, it +will penetrate at last.</p> + +<p>He was sitting alone in his room on the same evening when a light +knock was made on his door, and before he could answer it the door +was opened, and his patroness appeared. He was all smiles in a +moment, but so was not she also. She took, however, the chair that +was offered to her, and thus began her expostulation:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Slope, I did not at all approve your conduct the other night +with that Italian woman. Anyone would have thought that you were her +lover."</p> + +<p>"Good gracious, my dear madam," said Mr. Slope with a look of +horror. "Why, she is a married woman."</p> + +<p>"That's more than I know," said Mrs. Proudie; "however she chooses +to pass for such. But married or not married, such attention as you +paid to her was improper. I cannot believe that you would wish to give +offence in my drawing-room, Mr. Slope, but I owe it to myself and my +daughters to tell you that I disapprove of your conduct."</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope opened wide his huge protruding eyes and stared out of +them with a look of well-feigned surprise. "Why, Mrs. Proudie," said +he, "I did but fetch her something to eat when she said she was +hungry."</p> + +<p>"And you have called on her since," continued she, looking at the +culprit with the stern look of a detective policeman in the act of +declaring himself.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope turned over in his mind whether it would be well for him +to tell this termagant at once that he should call on whom he liked and +do what he liked, but he remembered that his footing in Barchester was +not yet sufficiently firm, and that it would be better for him to +pacify her.</p> + +<p>"I certainly called since at Dr. Stanhope's house, and certainly saw +Madame Neroni."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and you saw her alone," said the episcopal Argus.</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly, I did," said Mr. Slope, "but that was because nobody +else happened to be in the room. Surely it was no fault of mine if +the rest of the family were out."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not, but I assure you, Mr. Slope, you will fall greatly in +my estimation if I find that you allow yourself to be caught by the +lures of that woman. I know women better than you do, Mr. Slope, and +you may believe me that that signora, as she calls herself, is not a +fitting companion for a strict evangelical unmarried young +clergyman."</p> + +<p>How Mr. Slope would have liked to laugh at her, had he dared! But he +did not dare. So he merely said, "I can assure you, Mrs. Proudie, +the lady in question is nothing to me."</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope not, Mr. Slope. But I have considered it my duty to +give you this caution. And now there is another thing I feel myself +called on to speak about: it is your conduct to the bishop, Mr. +Slope."</p> + +<p>"My conduct to the bishop," said he, now truly surprised and +ignorant what the lady alluded to.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Slope, your conduct to the bishop. It is by no means what +I would wish to see it."</p> + +<p>"Has the bishop said anything, Mrs. Proudie?"</p> + +<p>"No, the bishop has said nothing. He probably thinks that any +remarks on the matter will come better from me, who first introduced +you to his lordship's notice. The fact is, Mr. Slope, you are a +little inclined to take too much upon yourself."</p> + +<p>An angry spot showed itself on Mr. Slope's cheeks, and it was with +difficulty that he controlled himself. But he did do so, and sat +quite silent while the lady went on.</p> + +<p>"It is the fault of many young men in your position, and therefore +the bishop is not inclined at present to resent it. You will, no +doubt, soon learn what is required from you and what is not. If you +will take my advice, however, you will be careful not to obtrude +advice upon the bishop in any matter touching patronage. If his +lordship wants advice, he knows where to look for it." And then +having added to her counsel a string of platitudes as to what was +desirable and what not desirable in the conduct of a strictly +evangelical unmarried young clergyman, Mrs. Proudie retreated, +leaving the chaplain to his thoughts.</p> + +<p>The upshot of his thoughts was this, that there certainly was not +room in the diocese for the energies of both himself and Mrs. +Proudie, and that it behoved him quickly to ascertain whether his +energies or hers were to prevail.</p> + + +<p><a name="c18" id="c18"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVIII</h3> +<h3>The Widow's Persecution<br /> </h3> + + +<p>Early on the following morning Mr. Slope was summoned to the +bishop's dressing-room, and went there fully expecting that he should +find his lordship very indignant and spirited up by his wife to repeat +the rebuke which she had administered on the previous day. Mr. Slope +had resolved that at any rate from him he would not stand it, and +entered the dressing-room in rather a combative disposition; but he +found the bishop in the most placid and gentlest of humours. His +lordship complained of being rather unwell, had a slight headache, and +was not quite the thing in his stomach; but there was nothing the +matter with his temper.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Slope," said he, taking the chaplain's proffered hand, +"Archdeacon Grantly is to call on me this morning, and I really am +not fit to see him. I fear I must trouble you to see him for me;" +and then Dr. Proudie proceeded to explain what it was that must be +said to Dr. Grantly. He was to be told in fact, in the civilest words +in which the tidings could be conveyed, that Mr. Harding having +refused the wardenship, the appointment had been offered to Mr. +Quiverful and accepted by him.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope again pointed out to his patron that he thought he was +perhaps not quite wise in his decision, and this he did <i>sotto +voce</i>. But even with this precaution it was not safe to say much, +and during the little that he did say, the bishop made a very slight, +but still a very ominous gesture with his thumb towards the door which +opened from his dressing-room to some inner sanctuary. Mr. Slope at +once took the hint and said no more, but he perceived that there was to +be confidence between him and his patron, that the league desired by +him was to be made, and that this appointment of Mr. Quiverful was to +be the last sacrifice offered on the altar of conjugal obedience. All +this Mr. Slope read in the slight motion of the bishop's thumb, and he +read it correctly. There was no need of parchments and seals, of +attestations, explanations, and professions. The bargain was understood +between them, and Mr. Slope gave the bishop his hand upon it. The +bishop understood the little extra squeeze, and an intelligible gleam +of assent twinkled in his eye.</p> + +<p>"Pray be civil to the archdeacon, Mr. Slope," said he out loud, "but +make him quite understand that in this matter Mr. Harding has put it +out of my power to oblige him."</p> + +<p>It would be a calumny on Mrs. Proudie to suggest that she was +sitting in her bedroom with her ear at the keyhole during this +interview. She had within her a spirit of decorum which prevented her +from descending to such baseness. To put her ear to a keyhole, or to +listen at a chink, was a trick for a housemaid. Mrs. Proudie knew this, +and therefore did not do it; but she stationed herself as near to the +door as she well could, that she might, if possible, get the advantage +which the housemaid would have had, without descending to the +housemaid's artifice.</p> + +<p>It was little, however, that she heard, and that little was only +sufficient to deceive her. She saw nothing of that friendly +pressure, perceived nothing of that concluded bargain; she did not +even dream of the treacherous resolves which those two false men had +made together to upset her in the pride of her station, to dash the +cup from her lip before she had drunk of it, to sweep away all her +power before she had tasted its sweets! Traitors that they were, the +husband of her bosom and the outcast whom she had fostered and +brought to the warmth of the world's brightest fireside! But neither +of them had the magnanimity of this woman. Though two men have thus +leagued themselves together against her, even yet the battle is not +lost.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope felt pretty sure that Dr. Grantly would decline the honour +of seeing him, and such turned out to be the case. The archdeacon, when +the palace door was opened to him, was greeted by a note. Mr. Slope +presented his compliments, &c. &c. The bishop was ill in his +room and very greatly regretted, &c. &c. Mr. Slope had been +charged with the bishop's views, and if agreeable to the archdeacon, +would do himself the honour, &c. &c. The archdeacon, however, +was not agreeable, and having read his note in the hall, crumpled it up +in his hand, and muttering something about sorrow for his lordship's +illness, took his leave, without sending as much as a verbal message in +answer to Mr. Slope's note.</p> + +<p>"Ill!" said the archdeacon to himself as he flung himself into his +brougham. "The man is absolutely a coward. He is afraid to see me. +Ill, indeed!" The archdeacon was never ill himself, and did not +therefore understand that anyone else could in truth be prevented by +illness from keeping an appointment. He regarded all such excuses as +subterfuges, and in the present instance he was not far wrong.</p> + +<p>Dr. Grantly desired to be driven to his father-in-law's lodgings in +the High Street, and hearing from the servant that Mr. Harding was at +his daughter's, followed him to Mrs. Bold's house, and there found +him. The archdeacon was fuming with rage when he got into the +drawing-room, and had by this time nearly forgotten the pusillanimity +of the bishop in the villainy of the chaplain.</p> + +<p>"Look at that," said he, throwing Mr. Slope's crumpled note to Mr. +Harding. "I am to be told that if I choose I may have the honour of +seeing Mr. Slope, and that too after a positive engagement with the +bishop."</p> + +<p>"But he says the bishop is ill," said Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"Pshaw! You don't mean to say that you are deceived by such an +excuse as that. He was well enough yesterday. Now I tell you what, +I will see the bishop, and I will tell him also very plainly what I +think of his conduct. I will see him, or else Barchester will soon +be too hot to hold him."</p> + +<p>Eleanor was sitting in the room, but Dr. Grantly had hardly noticed +her in his anger. Eleanor now said to him with the greatest +innocence, "I wish you had seen Mr. Slope, Dr. Grantly, because I +think perhaps it might have done good."</p> + +<p>The archdeacon turned on her with almost brutal wrath. Had she at +once owned that she had accepted Mr. Slope for her second husband, he +could hardly have felt more convinced of her belonging body and soul +to the Slope and Proudie party than he now did on hearing her express +such a wish as this. Poor Eleanor!</p> + +<p>"See him!" said the archdeacon glaring at her. "And why am I to be +called on to lower myself in the world's esteem and my own by coming +in contact with such a man as that? I have hitherto lived among +gentlemen, and do not mean to be dragged into other company by +anybody."</p> + +<p>Poor Mr. Harding well knew what the archdeacon meant, but Eleanor +was as innocent as her own baby. She could not understand how the +archdeacon could consider himself to be dragged into bad company by +condescending to speak to Mr. Slope for a few minutes when the +interests of her father might be served by his doing so.</p> + +<p>"I was talking for a full hour yesterday to Mr. Slope," said she +with some little assumption of dignity, "and I did not find myself +lowered by it."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not," said he. "But if you'll be good enough to allow me, I +shall judge for myself in such matters. And I tell you what, Eleanor; +it will be much better for you if you will allow yourself to be guided +also by the advice of those who are your friends. If you do not, you +will be apt to find that you have no friends left who can advise you."</p> + +<p>Eleanor blushed up to the roots of her hair. But even now she had +not the slightest idea of what was passing in the archdeacon's mind. +No thought of love-making or love-receiving had yet found its way to +her heart since the death of poor John Bold, and if it were possible +that such a thought should spring there, the man must be far +different from Mr. Slope that could give it birth.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless Eleanor blushed deeply, for she felt she was charged +with improper conduct, and she did so with the more inward pain +because her father did not instantly rally to her side—that +father for whose sake and love she had submitted to be the receptacle +of Mr. Slope's confidence. She had given a detailed account of all that +had passed to her father, and though he had not absolutely agreed with +her about Mr. Slope's views touching the hospital, yet he had said +nothing to make her think that she had been wrong in talking to him.</p> + +<p>She was far too angry to humble herself before her brother-in-law. +Indeed, she had never accustomed herself to be very abject before +him, and they had never been confidential allies. "I do not the +least understand what you mean, Dr. Grantly," said she. "I do not +know that I can accuse myself of doing anything that my friends +should disapprove. Mr. Slope called here expressly to ask what +Papa's wishes were about the hospital, and as I believe he called +with friendly intentions, I told him."</p> + +<p>"Friendly intentions!" sneered the archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"I believe you greatly wrong Mr. Slope," continued Eleanor, "but I +have explained this to Papa already; and as you do not seem to +approve of what I say, Dr. Grantly, I will with your permission leave +you and Papa together;" so saying, she walked slowly out of the room.</p> + +<p>All this made Mr. Harding very unhappy. It was quite clear that the +archdeacon and his wife had made up their minds that Eleanor was +going to marry Mr. Slope. Mr. Harding could not really bring himself +to think that she would do so, but yet he could not deny that +circumstances made it appear that the man's company was not +disagreeable to her. She was now constantly seeing him, and yet she +received visits from no other unmarried gentleman. She always took +his part when his conduct was canvassed, although she was aware how +personally objectionable he was to her friends. Then, again, Mr. +Harding felt that if she should choose to become Mrs. Slope, he had +nothing that he could justly urge against her doing so. She had full +right to please herself, and he, as a father, could not say that she +would disgrace herself by marrying a clergyman who stood so well +before the world as Mr. Slope did. As for quarrelling with his +daughter on account of such a marriage, and separating himself from +her as the archdeacon had threatened to do, that, with Mr. Harding, +would be out of the question. If she should determine to marry this +man, he must get over his aversion as best he could. His Eleanor, +his own old companion in their old happy home, must still be the +friend of his bosom, the child of his heart. Let who would cast her +off, he would not. If it were fated that he should have to sit in +his old age at the same table with that man whom of all men he +disliked the most, he would meet his fate as best he might. Anything +to him would be preferable to the loss of his daughter.</p> + +<p>Such being his feelings, he hardly knew how to take part with +Eleanor against the archdeacon, or with the archdeacon against Eleanor. +It will be said that he should never have suspected her.—Alas! +he never should have done so. But Mr. Harding was by no means a perfect +character. In his indecision, his weakness, his proneness to be led by +others, his want of self-confidence, he was very far from being +perfect. And then it must be remembered that such a marriage as that +which the archdeacon contemplated with disgust, which we who know Mr. +Slope so well would regard with equal disgust, did not appear so +monstrous to Mr. Harding because in his charity he did not hate the +chaplain as the archdeacon did, and as we do.</p> + +<p>He was, however, very unhappy when his daughter left the room, and +he had recourse to an old trick of his that was customary to him in his +times of sadness. He began playing some slow tune upon an imaginary +violoncello, drawing one hand slowly backwards and forwards as though +he held a bow in it, and modulating the unreal chords with the other.</p> + +<p>"She'll marry that man as sure as two and two make four," said the +practical archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"I hope not, I hope not," said the father. "But if she does, what +can I say to her? I have no right to object to him."</p> + +<p>"No right!" exclaimed Dr. Grantly.</p> + +<p>"No right as her father. He is in my own profession and, for aught +we know, a good man."</p> + +<p>To this the archdeacon would by no means assent. It was not well, +however, to argue the case against Eleanor in her own drawing-room, +and so they both walked forth and discussed the matter in all its +bearings under the elm-trees of the close. Mr. Harding also +explained to his son-in-law what had been the purport, at any rate +the alleged purport, of Mr. Slope's last visit to the widow. He, +however, stated that he could not bring himself to believe that Mr. +Slope had any real anxiety such as that he had pretended. "I cannot +forget his demeanour to myself," said Mr. Harding, "and it is not +possible that his ideas should have changed so soon."</p> + +<p>"I see it all," said the archdeacon. "The sly <i>tartuffe</i>! He +thinks to buy the daughter by providing for the father. He means to +show how powerful he is, how good he is, and how much he is willing to +do for her <i>beaux yeux</i>; yes, I see it all now. But we'll be too +many for him yet, Mr. Harding;" he said, turning to his companion with +some gravity and pressing his hand upon the other's arm. "It would, +perhaps, be better for you to lose the hospital than get it on such +terms."</p> + +<p>"Lose it!" said Mr. Harding; "why I've lost it already. I don't want +it. I've made up my mind to do without it. I'll withdraw +altogether. I'll just go and write a line to the bishop and tell him +that I withdraw my claim altogether."</p> + +<p>Nothing would have pleased him better than to be allowed to escape +from the trouble and difficulty in such a manner. But he was now +going too fast for the archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"No—no—no! We'll do no such thing," said Dr. +Grantly. "We'll still have the hospital. I hardly doubt but that we'll +have it. But not by Mr. Slope's assistance. If that be necessary, we'll +lose it; but we'll have it, spite of his teeth, if we can. Arabin will +be at Plumstead to-morrow; you must come over and talk to him."</p> + +<p>The two now turned into the cathedral library, which was used by the +clergymen of the close as a sort of ecclesiastical club-room, for +writing sermons and sometimes letters; also for reading theological +works and sometimes magazines and newspapers. The theological works +were not disturbed, perhaps, quite as often as from the appearance of +the building the outside public might have been led to expect. Here +the two allies settled on their course of action. The archdeacon +wrote a letter to the bishop, strongly worded, but still respectful, +in which he put forward his father-in-law's claim to the appointment +and expressed his own regret that he had not been able to see his +lordship when he called. Of Mr. Slope he made no mention whatsoever. +It was then settled that Mr. Harding should go out to Plumstead on +the following day, and after considerable discussion on the matter +the archdeacon proposed to ask Eleanor there also, so as to withdraw +her, if possible, from Mr. Slope's attentions. "A week or two," said +he, "may teach her what he is, and while she is there she will be out +of harm's way. Mr. Slope won't come there after her."</p> + +<p>Eleanor was not a little surprised when her brother-in-law came back +and very civilly pressed her to go out to Plumstead with her father. +She instantly perceived that her father had been fighting her battles +for her behind her back. She felt thankful to him, and for his sake +she would not show her resentment to the archdeacon by refusing his +invitation. But she could not, she said, go on the morrow; she had +an invitation to drink tea at the Stanhopes, which she had promised +to accept. She would, she added, go with her father on the next day, +if he would wait; or she would follow him.</p> + +<p>"The Stanhopes!" said Dr. Grantly. "I did not know you were so +intimate with them."</p> + +<p>"I did not know it myself," said she, "till Miss Stanhope called +yesterday. However, I like her very much, and I have promised to go +and play chess with some of them."</p> + +<p>"Have they a party there?" said the archdeacon, still fearful of Mr. +Slope.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said Eleanor; "Miss Stanhope said there was to be nobody +at all. But she had heard that Mary had left me for a few weeks, and +she had learnt from someone that I play chess, and so she came over on +purpose to ask me to go in."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's very friendly," said the ex-warden. "They certainly do +look more like foreigners than English people, but I dare say they +are none the worse for that."</p> + +<p>The archdeacon was inclined to look upon the Stanhopes with +favourable eyes, and had nothing to object on the matter. It was +therefore arranged that Mr. Harding should postpone his visit to +Plumstead for one day and then take with him Eleanor, the baby, and +the nurse.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope is certainly becoming of some importance in Barchester.</p> + + +<p><a name="c19" id="c19"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIX</h3> +<h3>Barchester by Moonlight<br /> </h3> + + +<p>There was much cause for grief and occasional perturbation of spirits +in the Stanhope family, but yet they rarely seemed to be grieved or +to be disturbed. It was the peculiar gift of each of them that each +was able to bear his or her own burden without complaint, and perhaps +without sympathy. They habitually looked on the sunny side of the +wall, if there was a gleam on either side for them to look at; if +there was none, they endured the shade with an indifference which, if +not stoical, answered the end at which the Stoics aimed. Old +Stanhope could not but feel that he had ill-performed his duties as a +father and a clergyman, and could hardly look forward to his own death +without grief at the position in which he would leave his family. +His income for many years had been as high as £3,000 a year, and yet +they had among them no other provision than their mother's fortune of +£10,000. He had not only spent his income, but was in debt. Yet +with all this he seldom showed much outward sign of trouble.</p> + +<p>It was the same with the mother. If she added little to the +pleasures of her children, she detracted still less: she neither +grumbled at her lot, nor spoke much of her past or future sufferings; +as long as she had a maid to adjust her dress, and had those dresses +well made, nature with her was satisfied. It was the same with the +children. Charlotte never rebuked her father with the prospect of +their future poverty, nor did it seem to grieve her that she was +becoming an old maid so quickly; her temper was rarely ruffled, and, +if we might judge by her appearance, she was always happy. The +signora was not so sweet-tempered, but she possessed much enduring +courage; she seldom complained—never, indeed, to her +family. Though she had a cause for affliction which would have utterly +broken down the heart of most women as beautiful as she and as devoid +of all religious support, yet she bore her suffering in silence, or +alluded to it only to elicit the sympathy and stimulate the admiration +of the men with whom she flirted. As to Bertie, one would have imagined +from the sound of his voice and the gleam of his eye that he had not a +sorrow nor a care in the world. Nor had he. He was incapable of +anticipating to-morrow's griefs. The prospect of future want no more +disturbed his appetite than does that of the butcher's knife disturb +the appetite of the sheep.</p> + +<p>Such was the usual tenor of their way; but there were rare +exceptions. Occasionally the father would allow an angry glance to +fall from his eye, and the lion would send forth a low dangerous roar +as though he meditated some deed of blood. Occasionally also Madame +Neroni would become bitter against mankind, more than usually +antagonistic to the world's decencies, and would seem as though she +was about to break from her moorings and allow herself to be carried +forth by the tide of her feelings to utter ruin and shipwreck. She, +however, like the rest of them, had no real feelings, could feel no +true passion. In that was her security. Before she resolved on any +contemplated escapade she would make a small calculation, and +generally summed up that the Stanhope villa or even Barchester close +was better than the world at large.</p> + +<p>They were most irregular in their hours. The father was generally +the earliest in the breakfast-parlour, and Charlotte would soon +follow and give him his coffee, but the others breakfasted anywhere, +anyhow, and at any time. On the morning after the archdeacon's +futile visit to the palace, Dr. Stanhope came downstairs with an +ominously dark look about his eyebrows; his white locks were rougher +than usual, and he breathed thickly and loudly as he took his seat in +his armchair. He had open letters in his hand, and when Charlotte +came into the room, he was still reading them. She went up and +kissed him as was her wont, but he hardly noticed her as she did so, +and she knew at once that something was the matter.</p> + +<p>"What's the meaning of that?" said he, throwing over the table a +letter with a Milan postmark. Charlotte was a little frightened as +she took it up, but her mind was relieved when she saw that it was +merely the bill of their Italian milliner. The sum total was +certainly large, but not so large as to create an important row.</p> + +<p>"It's for our clothes, Papa, for six months before we came here. The +three of us can't dress for nothing, you know."</p> + +<p>"Nothing, indeed!" said he, looking at the figures which, in +Milanese denominations, were certainly monstrous.</p> + +<p>"The man should have sent it to me," said Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"I wish he had with all my heart—if you would have paid +it. I see enough in it to know that three quarters of it are for +Madeline."</p> + +<p>"She has little else to amuse her, sir," said Charlotte with true +good nature.</p> + +<p>"And I suppose he has nothing else to amuse him," said the doctor, +throwing over another letter to his daughter. It was from some +member of the family of Sidonia, and politely requested the father to +pay a small trifle of £700, being the amount of a bill discounted in +favour of Mr. Ethelbert Stanhope and now overdue for a period of nine +months.</p> + +<p>Charlotte read the letter, slowly folded it up, and put it under the +edge of the tea-tray.</p> + +<p>"I suppose he has nothing to amuse him but discounting bills with +Jews. Does he think I'll pay that?"</p> + +<p>"I am sure he thinks no such thing," said she.</p> + +<p>"And who does he think will pay it?"</p> + +<p>"As far as honesty goes I suppose it won't much matter if it is +never paid," said she. "I dare say he got very little of it."</p> + +<p>"I suppose it won't much matter either," said the father, "if he +goes to prison and rots there. It seems to me that that's the other +alternative."</p> + +<p>Dr. Stanhope spoke of the custom of his youth. But his daughter, +though she had lived so long abroad, was much more completely versed +in the ways of the English world. "If the man arrests him," said +she, "he must go through the court."</p> + +<p>It is thus, thou great family of Sidonia—it is thus +that we Gentiles treat thee, when, in our extremest need, thou and +thine have aided us with mountains of gold as big as +lions—and occasionally with wine-warrants and orders for +dozens of dressing-cases.</p> + +<p>"What, and become an insolvent?" said the doctor.</p> + +<p>"He's that already," said Charlotte, wishing always to get over a +difficulty.</p> + +<p>"What a condition," said the doctor, "for the son of a clergyman of +the Church of England."</p> + +<p>"I don't see why clergymen's sons should pay their debts more than +other young men," said Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"He's had as much from me since he left school as is held sufficient +for the eldest son of many a nobleman," said the angry father.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," said Charlotte, "give him another chance."</p> + +<p>"What!" said the doctor, "do you mean that I am to pay that Jew?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! I wouldn't pay him, he must take his chance; and if the +worst comes to the worst, Bertie must go abroad. But I want you to +be civil to Bertie and let him remain here as long as we stop. +He has a plan in his head that may put him on his feet after all."</p> + +<p>"Has he any plan for following up his profession?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he'll do that too; but that must follow. He's thinking of +getting married."</p> + +<p>Just at that moment the door opened, and Bertie came in whistling. +The doctor immediately devoted himself to his egg and allowed Bertie +to whistle himself round to his sister's side without noticing him.</p> + +<p>Charlotte gave a sign to him with her eye, first glancing at her +father, and then at the letter, the corner of which peeped out from +under the tea-tray. Bertie saw and understood, and with the quiet +motion of a cat he abstracted the letter and made himself acquainted +with its contents. The doctor, however, had seen him, deep as he +appeared to be mersed in his egg-shell, and said in his harshest +voice, "Well, sir, do you know that gentleman?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Bertie. "I have a sort of acquaintance with him, +but none that can justify him in troubling you. If you will allow +me, sir, I will answer this."</p> + +<p>"At any rate I shan't," said the father, and then he added, after a +pause, "Is it true, sir, that you owe the man £700?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Bertie, "I think I should be inclined to dispute the +amount, if I were in a condition to pay him such of it as I really do +owe him."</p> + +<p>"Has he your bill for £700?" said the father, speaking very loudly +and very angrily.</p> + +<p>"Well, I believe he has," said Bertie, "but all the money I ever got +from him was £150."</p> + +<p>"And what became of the £550?"</p> + +<p>"Why, sir, the commission was £100 or so, and I took the remainder +in paving-stones and rocking-horses."</p> + +<p>"Paving-stones and rocking-horses!" said the doctor. "Where are +they?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, I suppose they are in London somewhere—but +I'll inquire if you wish for them."</p> + +<p>"He's an idiot," said the doctor, "and it's sheer folly to waste +more money on him. Nothing can save him from ruin," and so saying, the +unhappy father walked out of the room.</p> + +<p>"Would the governor like to have the paving-stones?" said Bertie to +his sister.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what," said she. "If you don't take care, you will +find yourself loose upon the world without even a house over your +head; you don't know him as well as I do. He's very angry."</p> + +<p>Bertie stroked his big beard, sipped his tea, chatted over his +misfortunes in a half-comic, half-serious tone, and ended by +promising his sister that he would do his very best to make himself +agreeable to the Widow Bold. Then Charlotte followed her father to +his own room, softened down his wrath, and persuaded him to say +nothing more about the Jew bill discounter, at any rate for a few +weeks. He even went so far as to say he would pay the £700, or at +any rate settle the bill, if he saw a certainty of his son's securing +for himself anything like a decent provision in life. Nothing was +said openly between them about poor Eleanor, but the father and the +daughter understood each other.</p> + +<p>They all met together in the drawing-room at nine o'clock, in +perfect good humour with each other, and about that hour Mrs. Bold was +announced. She had never been in the house before, though she had of +course called, and now she felt it strange to find herself there in her +usual evening dress, entering the drawing-room of these strangers in +this friendly, unceremonious way, as though she had known them all her +life. But in three minutes they made her at home. Charlotte tripped +downstairs and took her bonnet from her, and Bertie came to relieve her +from her shawl, and the signora smiled on her as she could smile when +she chose to be gracious, and the old doctor shook hands with her in a +kind benedictory manner that went to her heart at once and made her +feel that he must be a good man.</p> + +<p>She had not been seated for above five minutes when the door again +opened and Mr. Slope was announced. She felt rather surprised, +because she was told that nobody was to be there, and it was very +evident from the manner of some of them that Mr. Slope was not +unexpected. But still there was not much in it. In such invitations +a bachelor or two more or less are always spoken of as nobodies, and +there was no reason why Mr. Slope should not drink tea at Dr. +Stanhope's as well as Eleanor herself. He, however, was very much +surprised and not very much gratified at finding that his own embryo +spouse made one of the party. He had come there to gratify himself +by gazing on Madame Neroni's beauty and listening to and returning +her flattery: and though he had not owned as much to himself, he +still felt that if he spent the evening as he had intended to do, he +might probably not thereby advance his suit with Mrs. Bold.</p> + +<p>The signora, who had no idea of a rival, received Mr. Slope with her +usual marks of distinction. As he took her hand, she made some +confidential communication to him in a low voice, declaring that she +had a plan to communicate to him after tea, and was evidently +prepared to go on with her work of reducing the chaplain to a state +of captivity. Poor Mr. Slope was rather beside himself. He thought +that Eleanor could not but have learnt from his demeanour that he was +an admirer of her own, and he had also flattered himself that the +idea was not unacceptable to her. What would she think of him if he +now devoted himself to a married woman!</p> + +<p>But Eleanor was not inclined to be severe in her criticisms on him +in this respect, and felt no annoyance of any kind, when she found +herself seated between Bertie and Charlotte Stanhope. She had no +suspicion of Mr. Slope's intentions; she had no suspicion even of the +suspicion of other people; but still she felt well-pleased not to have +Mr. Slope too near to her.</p> + +<p>And she was not ill-pleased to have Bertie Stanhope near her. It was +rarely indeed that he failed to make an agreeable impression on +strangers. With a bishop indeed who thought much of his own dignity +it was possible that he might fail, but hardly with a young and +pretty woman. He possessed the tact of becoming instantly intimate +with women without giving rise to any fear of impertinence. He had +about him somewhat of the propensities of a tame cat. It seemed +quite natural that he should be petted, caressed, and treated with +familiar good nature, and that in return he should purr, and be sleek +and graceful, and above all never show his claws. Like other tame +cats, however, he had his claws, and sometimes made them dangerous.</p> + +<p>When tea was over, Charlotte went to the open window and declared +loudly that the full harvest moon was much too beautiful to be +disregarded, and called them all to look at it. To tell the truth +there was but one there who cared much about the moon's beauty, and +that one was not Charlotte, but she knew how valuable an aid to her +purpose the chaste goddess might become, and could easily create a +little enthusiasm for the purpose of the moment. Eleanor and Bertie +were soon with her. The doctor was now quiet in his armchair, and +Mrs. Stanhope in hers, both prepared for slumber.</p> + +<p>"Are you a Whewellite or a Brewsterite, or a t'othermanite, Mrs. +Bold?" said Charlotte, who knew a little about everything, and had +read about a third of each of the books to which she alluded.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Eleanor; "I have not read any of the books, but I feel +sure that there is one man in the moon at least, if not more."</p> + +<p>"You don't believe in the pulpy gelatinous matter?" said Bertie.</p> + +<p>"I heard about that," said Eleanor, "and I really think it's almost +wicked to talk in such a manner. How can we argue about God's power +in the other stars from the laws which he has given for our rule in +this one?"</p> + +<p>"How indeed!" said Bertie. "Why shouldn't there be a race of +salamanders in Venus? And even if there be nothing but fish in +Jupiter, why shouldn't the fish there be as wide awake as the men and +women here?"</p> + +<p>"That would be saying very little for them," said Charlotte. "I am +for Dr. Whewell myself, for I do not think that men and women are +worth being repeated in such countless worlds. There may be souls in +other stars, but I doubt their having any bodies attached to them. +But come, Mrs. Bold, let us put our bonnets on and walk round the +close. If we are to discuss sidereal questions, we shall do so much +better under the towers of the cathedral than stuck in this narrow +window."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bold made no objection, and a party was made to walk out. +Charlotte Stanhope well knew the rule as to three being no company, +and she had therefore to induce her sister to allow Mr. Slope to +accompany them.</p> + +<p>"Come, Mr. Slope," she said, "I'm sure you'll join us. We shall be +in again in a quarter of an hour, Madeline."</p> + +<p>Madeline read in her eye all that she had to say, knew her object, +and as she had to depend on her sister for so many of her amusements, +she felt that she must yield. It was hard to be left alone while +others of her own age walked out to feel the soft influence of the +bright night, but it would be harder still to be without the sort of +sanction which Charlotte gave to all her flirtations and intrigues. +Charlotte's eye told her that she must give up just at present for +the good of the family, and so Madeline obeyed.</p> + +<p>But Charlotte's eyes said nothing of the sort to Mr. Slope. He had +no objection at all to the <i>tête-à-tête</i> with +the signora which the departure of the other three would allow him, and +gently whispered to her, "I shall not leave you alone."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said she; "go—pray go, pray go, for my sake. +Do not think that I am so selfish. It is understood that nobody is kept +within for me. You will understand this too when you know me better. +Pray join them, Mr. Slope, but when you come in speak to me for five +minutes before you leave us."</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope understood that he was to go, and he therefore joined the +party in the hall. He would have had no objection at all to this +arrangement, if he could have secured Mrs. Bold's arm; but this of +course was out of the question. Indeed, his fate was very soon +settled, for no sooner had he reached the hall-door than Miss +Stanhope put her hand within his arm, and Bertie walked off with +Eleanor just as naturally as though she were already his own +property.</p> + +<p>And so they sauntered forth: first they walked round the close, +according to their avowed intent; then they went under the old arched +gateway below St. Cuthbert's little church, and then they turned +behind the grounds of the bishop's palace, and so on till they came +to the bridge just at the edge of the town, from which passers-by can +look down into the gardens of Hiram's Hospital; and here Charlotte +and Mr. Slope, who were in advance, stopped till the other two came +up to them. Mr. Slope knew that the gable-ends and old brick +chimneys which stood up so prettily in the moonlight were those of +Mr. Harding's late abode, and would not have stopped on such a spot, +in such company, if he could have avoided it; but Miss Stanhope would +not take the hint which he tried to give.</p> + +<p>"This is a very pretty place, Mrs. Bold," said Charlotte; "by far +the prettiest place near Barchester. I wonder your father gave it up."</p> + +<p>It was a very pretty place, and now by the deceitful light of the +moon looked twice larger, twice prettier, twice more antiquely +picturesque than it would have done in truth-telling daylight. Who +does not know the air of complex multiplicity and the mysterious +interesting grace which the moon always lends to old gabled buildings +half-surrounded, as was the hospital, by fine trees! As seen from +the bridge on the night of which we are speaking, Mr. Harding's late +abode did look very lovely, and though Eleanor did not grieve at her +father's having left it, she felt at the moment an intense wish that +he might be allowed to return.</p> + +<p>"He is going to return to it almost immediately, is he not?" asked +Bertie.</p> + +<p>Eleanor made no immediate reply. Many such a question passes +unanswered without the notice of the questioner, but such was not now +the case. They all remained silent as though expecting her to reply, +and after a moment or two, Charlotte said, "I believe it is settled +that Mr. Harding returns to the hospital, is it not?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think anything about it is settled yet," said Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"But it must be a matter of course," said Bertie; "that is, if your +father wishes it. Who else on earth could hold it after what has +occurred?"</p> + +<p>Eleanor quietly made her companion understand that the matter was +one which she could not discuss in the present company, and then they +passed on. Charlotte said she would go a short way up the hill out of +the town so as to look back upon the towers of the cathedral, and as +Eleanor leant upon Bertie's arm for assistance in the walk, she told +him how the matter stood between her father and the bishop.</p> + +<p>"And, he," said Bertie, pointing on to Mr. Slope, "what part does he +take in it?"</p> + +<p>Eleanor explained how Mr. Slope had at first endeavoured to +tyrannize over her father, but how he had latterly come round and done +all he could to talk the bishop over in Mr. Harding's favour. "But my +father," she said, "is hardly inclined to trust him; they all say he is +so arrogant to the old clergymen of the city."</p> + +<p>"Take my word for it," said Bertie, "your father is right. If I am +not very much mistaken, that man is both arrogant and false."</p> + +<p>They strolled up to the top of the hill and then returned through +the fields by a foot-path which leads by a small wooden bridge, or +rather a plank with a rustic rail to it, over the river to the other +side of the cathedral from that at which they had started. They had +thus walked round the bishop's grounds, through which the river runs, +and round the cathedral and adjacent fields, and it was past eleven +before they reached the doctor's door.</p> + +<p>"It is very late," said Eleanor; "it will be a shame to disturb your +mother again at such an hour."</p> + +<p>"Oh"' said Charlotte, laughing, "you won't disturb Mamma; I dare say +she is in bed by this time, and Madeline would be furious if you did +not come in and see her. Come, Bertie, take Mrs. Bold's bonnet from +her."</p> + +<p>They went upstairs and found the signora alone, reading. She looked +somewhat sad and melancholy, but not more so perhaps than was +sufficient to excite additional interest in the bosom of Mr. Slope; +and she was soon deep in whispered intercourse with that happy +gentleman, who was allowed to find a resting-place on her sofa. The +signora had a way of whispering that was peculiarly her own, and was +exactly the reverse of that which prevails among great tragedians. +The great tragedian hisses out a positive whisper, made with bated +breath, and produced by inarticulated tongue-formed sounds, but yet +he is audible through the whole house. The signora, however, used no +hisses and produced all her words in a clear, silver tone, but they +could only be heard by the ear into which they were poured.</p> + +<p>Charlotte hurried and scurried about the room hither and thither, +doing, or pretending to do many things; then, saying something about +seeing her mother, ran upstairs. Eleanor was thus left alone with +Bertie, and she hardly felt an hour fly by her. To give Bertie his +due credit, he could not have played his cards better. He did not +make love to her, nor sigh, nor look languishing, but he was amusing +and familiar, yet respectful; and when he left Eleanor at her own +door at one o'clock, which he did by the by with the assistance of +the now jealous Slope, she thought that he was one of the most +agreeable men and the Stanhopes decidedly the most agreeable family +that she had ever met.</p> + + +<p><a name="c20" id="c20"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XX</h3> +<h3>Mr. Arabin<br /> </h3> + + +<p>The Rev. Francis Arabin, fellow of Lazarus, late professor of poetry +at Oxford, and present vicar of St. Ewold, in the diocese of +Barchester, must now be introduced personally to the reader. He is +worthy of a new volume, and as he will fill a conspicuous place in +it, it is desirable that he should be made to stand before the +reader's eye by the aid of such portraiture as the author is able to +produce.</p> + +<p>It is to be regretted that no mental method of daguerreotype or +photography has yet been discovered by which the characters of men +can be reduced to writing and put into grammatical language with an +unerring precision of truthful description. How often does the +novelist feel, ay, and the historian also and the biographer, that he +has conceived within his mind and accurately depicted on the tablet +of his brain the full character and personage of a man, and that +nevertheless, when he flies to pen and ink to perpetuate the +portrait, his words forsake, elude, disappoint, and play the deuce +with him, till at the end of a dozen pages the man described has no +more resemblance to the man conceived than the sign-board at the +corner of the street has to the Duke of Cambridge.</p> + +<p>And yet such mechanical descriptive skill would hardly give more +satisfaction to the reader than the skill of the photographer does to +the anxious mother desirous to possess an absolute duplicate of her +beloved child. The likeness is indeed true, but it is a dull, dead, +unfeeling, inauspicious likeness. The face is indeed there, and +those looking at it will know at once whose image it is, but the +owner of the face will not be proud of the resemblance.</p> + +<p>There is no royal road to learning, no short cut to the acquirement +of any valuable art. Let photographers and daguerreotypers do what +they will, and improve as they may with further skill on that which +skill has already done, they will never achieve a portrait of the +human face divine. Let biographers, novelists, and the rest of us +groan as we may under the burdens which we so often feel too heavy +for our shoulders; we must either bear them up like men, or own +ourselves too weak for the work we have undertaken. There is no way +of writing well and also of writing easily.</p> + +<p><i>Labor omnia vincit improbus</i>. Such should be the chosen motto +of every labourer, and it may be that labour, if adequately enduring, +may suffice at last to produce even some not untrue resemblance of the +Rev. Francis Arabin.</p> + +<p>Of his doings in the world, and of the sort of fame which he has +achieved, enough has been already said. It has also been said that he +is forty years of age, and still unmarried. He was the younger son of +a country gentleman of small fortune in the north of England. At an +early age he went to Winchester, and was intended by his father for +New College; but though studious as a boy, he was not studious within +the prescribed limits, and at the age of eighteen he left school with +a character for talent, but without a scholarship. All that he had +obtained, over and above the advantage of his character, was a gold +medal for English verse, and hence was derived a strong presumption +on the part of his friends that he was destined to add another name +to the imperishable list of English poets.</p> + +<p>From Winchester he went to Oxford, and was entered as a commoner at +Balliol. Here his special career very soon commenced. He utterly +eschewed the society of fast men, gave no wine-parties, kept no +horses, rowed no boats, joined no rows, and was the pride of his +college tutor. Such at least was his career till he had taken his +little go, and then he commenced a course of action which, though not +less creditable to himself as a man, was hardly so much to the taste +of the tutor. He became a member of a vigorous debating society, and +rendered himself remarkable there for humorous energy. Though always +in earnest, yet his earnestness was always droll. To be true in his +ideas, unanswerable in his syllogisms, and just in his aspirations +was not enough for him. He had failed, failed in his own opinion as +well as that of others when others came to know him, if he could not +reduce the arguments of his opponents to an absurdity and conquer +both by wit and reason. To say that his object was ever to raise a +laugh would be most untrue. He hated such common and unnecessary +evidence of satisfaction on the part of his hearers. A joke that +required to be laughed at was, with him, not worth uttering. He +could appreciate by a keener sense than that of his ears the success +of his wit, and would see in the eyes of his auditors whether or no +he was understood and appreciated.</p> + +<p>He had been a religious lad before he left school. That is, he had +addicted himself to a party in religion, and having done so had +received that benefit which most men do who become partisans in such +a cause. We are much too apt to look at schism in our church as an +unmitigated evil. Moderate schism, if there may be such a thing, at +any rate calls attention to the subject, draws in supporters who +would otherwise have been inattentive to the matter, and teaches men +to think upon religion. How great an amount of good of this +description has followed that movement in the Church of England which +commenced with the publication of Froude's Remains!</p> + +<p>As a boy young Arabin took up the cudgels on the side of the +Tractarians, and at Oxford he sat for a while at the feet of the +great Newman. To this cause he lent all his faculties. For it he +concocted verses, for it he made speeches, for it he scintillated the +brightest sparks of his quiet wit. For it he ate and drank and +dressed and had his being. In due process of time he took his degree +and wrote himself B.A., but he did not do so with any remarkable +amount of academical éclat. He had occupied himself too much +with High Church matters and the polemics, politics, and outward +demonstrations usually concurrent with High Churchmanship to devote +himself with sufficient vigour to the acquisition of a double first. He +was not a double first, nor even a first class man, but he revenged +himself on the university by putting firsts and double firsts out of +fashion for the year and laughing down a species of pedantry which, at +the age of twenty-three, leaves no room in a man's mind for graver +subjects than conic sections or Greek accents.</p> + +<p>Greek accents, however, and conic sections were esteemed necessaries +at Balliol, and there was no admittance there for Mr. Arabin within +the list of its fellows. Lazarus, however, the richest and most +comfortable abode of Oxford dons, opened its bosom to the young +champion of a church militant. Mr. Arabin was ordained, and became a +fellow soon after taking his degree, and shortly after that was +chosen professor of poetry.</p> + +<p>And now came the moment of his great danger. After many mental +struggles, and an agony of doubt which may be well surmised, the +great prophet of the Tractarians confessed himself a Roman Catholic. +Mr. Newman left the Church of England and with him carried many a +waverer. He did not carry off Mr. Arabin, but the escape which that +gentleman had was a very narrow one. He left Oxford for awhile that +he might meditate in complete peace on the step which appeared to him +to be all but unavoidable, and shut himself up in a little village on +the sea-shore of one of our remotest counties, that he might learn by +communing with his own soul whether or no he could with a safe +conscience remain within the pale of his mother church.</p> + +<p>Things would have gone badly with him there had he been left +entirely to himself. Everything was against him: all his worldly +interests required him to remain a Protestant, and he looked on his +worldly interests as a legion of foes, to get the better of whom was a +point of extremest honour. In his then state of ecstatic agony such a +conquest would have cost him little; he could easily have thrown away +all his livelihood; but it cost him much to get over the idea that by +choosing the Church of England he should be open in his own mind to the +charge that he had been led to such a choice by unworthy motives. Then +his heart was against him: he loved with a strong and eager love the +man who had hitherto been his guide, and yearned to follow his +footsteps. His tastes were against him: the ceremonies and pomps of the +Church of Rome, their august feasts and solemn fasts, invited his +imagination and pleased his eye. His flesh was against him: how great +an aid would it be to a poor, weak, wavering man to be constrained to +high moral duties, self-denial, obedience, and chastity by laws which +were certain in their enactments, and not to be broken without loud, +palpable, unmistakable sin! Then his faith was against him: he required +to believe so much; panted so eagerly to give signs of his belief; +deemed it so insufficient to wash himself simply in the waters of +Jordan; that some great deed, such as that of forsaking everything for +a true Church, had for him allurements almost past withstanding.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin was at this time a very young man, and when he left +Oxford for his far retreat was much too confident in his powers of +fence, and too apt to look down on the ordinary sense of ordinary +people, to expect aid in the battle that he had to fight from any +chance inhabitants of the spot which he had selected. But Providence +was good to him; there, in that all but desolate place, on the +storm-beat shore of that distant sea, he met one who gradually calmed +his mind, quieted his imagination, and taught him something of a +Christian's duty. When Mr. Arabin left Oxford, he was inclined to look +upon the rural clergymen of most English parishes almost with contempt. +It was his ambition, should he remain within the fold of their church, +to do somewhat towards redeeming and rectifying their inferiority and +to assist in infusing energy and faith into the hearts of Christian +ministers, who were, as he thought, too often satisfied to go through +life without much show of either.</p> + +<p>And yet it was from such a one that Mr. Arabin in his extremest need +received that aid which he so much required. It was from the poor +curate of a small Cornish parish that he first learnt to know that +the highest laws for the governance of a Christian's duty must act +from within and not from without; that no man can become a +serviceable servant solely by obedience to written edicts; and that +the safety which he was about to seek within the gates of Rome was no +other than the selfish freedom from personal danger which the bad +soldier attempts to gain who counterfeits illness on the eve of +battle.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin returned to Oxford a humbler but a better and a happier +man, and from that time forth he put his shoulder to the wheel as a +clergyman of the Church for which he had been educated. The +intercourse of those among whom he familiarly lived kept him staunch +to the principles of that system of the Church to which he had always +belonged. Since his severance from Mr. Newman, no one had had so +strong an influence over him as the head of his college. During the +time of his expected apostasy Dr. Gwynne had not felt much +predisposition in favour of the young fellow. Though a High +Churchman himself within moderate limits, Dr. Gwynne felt no sympathy +with men who could not satisfy their faiths with the Thirty-nine +Articles. He regarded the enthusiasm of such as Newman as a state of +mind more nearly allied to madness than to religion, and when he saw +it evinced by very young men, he was inclined to attribute a good +deal of it to vanity. Dr. Gwynne himself, though a religious man, +was also a thoroughly practical man of the world, and he regarded +with no favourable eye the tenets of anyone who looked on the two +things as incompatible. When he found that Mr. Arabin was a half +Roman, he began to regret all he had done towards bestowing a +fellowship on so unworthy a recipient; and when again he learnt that +Mr. Arabin would probably complete his journey to Rome, he regarded +with some satisfaction the fact that in such case the fellowship +would be again vacant.</p> + +<p>When, however, Mr. Arabin returned and professed himself a confirmed +Protestant, the Master of Lazarus again opened his arms to him, and +gradually he became the pet of the college. For some little time he +was saturnine, silent, and unwilling to take any prominent part in +university broils, but gradually his mind recovered, or rather made +its tone, and he became known as a man always ready at a moment's +notice to take up the cudgels in opposition to anything that savoured +of an evangelical bearing. He was great in sermons, great on +platforms, great at after-dinner conversations, and always pleasant +as well as great. He took delight in elections, served on +committees, opposed tooth and nail all projects of university reform, +and talked jovially over his glass of port of the ruin to be +anticipated by the Church and of the sacrilege daily committed by the +Whigs. The ordeal through which he had gone in resisting the +blandishments of the lady of Rome had certainly done much towards the +strengthening of his character. Although in small and outward +matters he was self-confident enough, nevertheless in things +affecting the inner man he aimed at a humility of spirit which would +never have been attractive to him but for that visit to the coast of +Cornwall. This visit he now repeated every year.</p> + +<p>Such is an interior view of Mr. Arabin at the time when he accepted +the living of St. Ewold. Exteriorly, he was not a remarkable person. +He was above the middle height, well-made, and very active. His +hair, which had been jet black, was now tinged with gray, but his +face bore no sign of years. It would perhaps be wrong to say that he +was handsome, but his face was nevertheless pleasant to look upon. +The cheek-bones were rather too high for beauty, and the formation of +the forehead too massive and heavy: but the eyes, nose, and mouth +were perfect. There was a continual play of lambent fire about his +eyes, which gave promise of either pathos or humour whenever he +essayed to speak, and that promise was rarely broken. There was a +gentle play about his mouth which declared that his wit never +descended to sarcasm, and that there was no ill-nature in his +repartee.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin was a popular man among women, but more so as a general +than a special favourite. Living as a fellow at Oxford, marriage +with him had been out of the question, and it may be doubted whether +he had ever allowed his heart to be touched. Though belonging to a +church in which celibacy is not the required lot of its ministers, he +had come to regard himself as one of those clergymen to whom to be a +bachelor is almost a necessity. He had never looked for parochial +duty, and his career at Oxford was utterly incompatible with such +domestic joys as a wife and nursery. He looked on women, therefore, +in the same light that one sees them regarded by many Romish priests. +He liked to have near him that which was pretty and amusing, but +women generally were little more to him than children. He talked to +them without putting out all his powers, and listened to them without +any idea that what he should hear from them could either actuate his +conduct or influence his opinion.</p> + +<p>Such was Mr. Arabin, the new vicar of St. Ewold, who is going to +stay with the Grantlys at Plumstead Episcopi.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin reached Plumstead the day before Mr. Harding and Eleanor, +and the Grantly family were thus enabled to make his acquaintance and +discuss his qualifications before the arrival of the other guests. +Griselda was surprised to find that he looked so young, but she told +Florinda her younger sister, when they had retired for the night, +that he did not talk at all like a young man: and she decided with +the authority that seventeen has over sixteen that he was not at all +nice, although his eyes were lovely. As usual, sixteen implicitly +acceded to the dictum of seventeen in such a matter, and said that he +certainly was not nice. They then branched off on the relative +merits of other clerical bachelors in the vicinity, and both +determined without any feeling of jealousy between them that a +certain Rev. Augustus Green was by many degrees the most estimable of +the lot. The gentleman in question had certainly much in his favour, +as, having a comfortable allowance from his father, he could devote +the whole proceeds of his curacy to violet gloves and unexceptionable +neck ties. Having thus fixedly resolved that the new-comer had +nothing about him to shake the pre-eminence of the exalted Green, the +two girls went to sleep in each other's arms, contented with +themselves and the world.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grantly at first sight came to much the same conclusion about +her husband's favourite as her daughters had done, though, in seeking +to measure his relative value, she did not compare him to Mr. Green; +indeed, she made no comparison by name between him and anyone else; +but she remarked to her husband that one person's swans were very +often another person's geese, thereby clearly showing that Mr. Arabin +had not yet proved his qualifications in swanhood to her +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"Well, Susan," said he, rather offended at hearing his friend spoken +of so disrespectfully, "if you take Mr. Arabin for a goose, I cannot +say that I think very highly of your discrimination."</p> + +<p>"A goose! No, of course, he's not a goose. I've no doubt he's a +very clever man. But you're so matter-of-fact, Archdeacon, when it +suits your purpose, that one can't trust oneself to any +<i>façon de parler</i>. I've no doubt Mr. Arabin is a very +valuable man—at Oxford—and that he'll be a good +vicar at St. Ewold. All I mean is that, having passed one evening with +him, I don't find him to be absolutely a paragon. In the first place, +if I am not mistaken, he is a little inclined to be conceited."</p> + +<p>"Of all the men that I know intimately," said the archdeacon, +"Arabin is, in my opinion, the most free from any taint of +self-conceit. His fault is that he's too diffident."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so," said the lady; "only I must own I did not find it out +this evening."</p> + +<p>Nothing further was said about him. Dr. Grantly thought that his +wife was abusing Mr. Arabin merely because he had praised him, and +Mrs. Grantly knew that it was useless arguing for or against any +person in favour of or in opposition to whom the archdeacon had +already pronounced a strong opinion.</p> + +<p>In truth, they were both right. Mr. Arabin was a diffident man in +social intercourse with those whom he did not intimately know; when +placed in situations which it was his business to fill, and +discussing matters with which it was his duty to be conversant, Mr. +Arabin was from habit brazen-faced enough. When standing on a +platform in Exeter Hall, no man would be less mazed than he by the +eyes of the crowd before him, for such was the work which his +profession had called on him to perform; but he shrank from a strong +expression of opinion in general society, and his doing so not +uncommonly made it appear that he considered the company not worth +the trouble of his energy. He was averse to dictate when the place +did not seem to him to justify dictation, and as those subjects on +which people wished to hear him speak were such as he was accustomed +to treat with decision, he generally shunned the traps there were +laid to allure him into discussion, and, by doing so, not +infrequently subjected himself to such charges as those brought +against him by Mrs. Grantly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin, as he sat at his open window, enjoying the delicious +moonlight and gazing at the gray towers of the church, which stood +almost within the rectory grounds, little dreamed that he was the +subject of so many friendly or unfriendly criticisms. Considering +how much we are all given to discuss the characters of others, and +discuss them often not in the strictest spirit of charity, it is +singular how little we are inclined to think that others can speak +ill-naturedly of us, and how angry and hurt we are when proof reaches +us that they have done so. It is hardly too much to say that we all +of us occasionally speak of our dearest friends in a manner in which +those dearest friends would very little like to hear themselves +mentioned, and that we nevertheless expect that our dearest friends +shall invariably speak of us as though they were blind to all our +faults, but keenly alive to every shade of our virtues.</p> + +<p>It did not occur to Mr. Arabin that he was spoken of at all. It +seemed to him, when he compared himself with his host, that he was a +person of so little consequence to any, that he was worth no one's +words or thoughts. He was utterly alone in the world as regarded +domestic ties and those inner familiar relations which are hardly +possible between others than husbands and wives, parents and +children, or brothers and sisters. He had often discussed with +himself the necessity of such bonds for a man's happiness in this +world, and had generally satisfied himself with the answer that +happiness in this world is not a necessity. Herein he deceived +himself, or rather tried to do so. He, like others, yearned for the +enjoyment of whatever he saw enjoyable, and though he attempted, with +the modern stoicism of so many Christians, to make himself believe +that joy and sorrow were matters which here should be held as +perfectly indifferent, these things were not indifferent to him. He +was tired of his Oxford rooms and his college life. He regarded the +wife and children of his friend with something like envy; he all but +coveted the pleasant drawing-room, with its pretty windows opening on +to lawns and flower-beds, the apparel of the comfortable house, +and—above all—the air of home which encompassed it all.</p> + +<p>It will be said that no time can have been so fitted for such +desires on his part as this, when he had just possessed himself of a +country parish, of a living among fields and gardens, of a house which +a wife would grace. It is true there was a difference between the +opulence of Plumstead and the modest economy of St. Ewold, but surely +Mr. Arabin was not a man to sigh after wealth! Of all men, his friends +would have unanimously declared he was the last to do so. But how +little our friends know us! In his period of stoical rejection of this +world's happiness, he had cast from him as utter dross all anxiety as +to fortune. He had, as it were, proclaimed himself to be indifferent to +promotion, and those who chiefly admired his talents, and would mainly +have exerted themselves to secure to them their deserved reward, had +taken him at his word. And now, if the truth must out, he felt himself +disappointed—disappointed not by them but by himself. The +daydream of his youth was over, and at the age of forty he felt that he +was not fit to work in the spirit of an apostle. He had mistaken +himself, and learned his mistake when it was past remedy. He had +professed himself indifferent to mitres and diaconal residences, to +rich livings and pleasant glebes, and now he had to own to himself that +he was sighing for the good things of other men on whom, in his pride, +he had ventured to look down.</p> + +<p>Not for wealth, in its vulgar sense, had he ever sighed; not for the +enjoyment of rich things had he ever longed; but for the allotted +share of worldly bliss which a wife, and children, and happy home +could give him, for that usual amount of comfort which he had +ventured to reject as unnecessary for him, he did now feel that he +would have been wiser to have searched.</p> + +<p>He knew that his talents, his position, and his friends would have +won for him promotion, had he put himself in the way of winning it. +Instead of doing so, he had allowed himself to be persuaded to +accept a living which would give him an income of some £300 a year +should he, by marrying, throw up his fellowship. Such, at the age of +forty, was the worldly result of labour which the world had chosen to +regard as successful. The world also thought that Mr. Arabin was, in +his own estimation, sufficiently paid. Alas! Alas! The world was +mistaken, and Mr. Arabin was beginning to ascertain that such was the +case.</p> + +<p>And here may I beg the reader not to be hard in his judgement upon +this man. Is not the state at which he has arrived the natural result +of efforts to reach that which is not the condition of humanity? Is not +modern stoicism, built though it be on Christianity, as great an +outrage on human nature as was the stoicism of the ancients? The +philosophy of Zeno was built on true laws, but on true laws +misunderstood and therefore misapplied. It is the same with our Stoics +here, who would teach us that wealth and worldly comfort and happiness +on earth are not worth the search. Alas, for a doctrine which can find +no believing pupils and no true teachers!</p> + +<p>The case of Mr. Arabin was the more singular, as he belonged to a +branch of the Church of England well inclined to regard its +temporalities with avowed favour, and had habitually lived with men +who were accustomed to much worldly comfort. But such was his +idiosyncrasy that these very facts had produced within him, in early +life, a state of mind that was not natural to him. He was content to +be a High Churchman, if he could be so on principles of his own and +could strike out a course showing a marked difference from those with +whom he consorted. He was ready to be a partisan as long as he was +allowed to have a course of action and of thought unlike that of his +party. His party had indulged him, and he began to feel that his +party was right and himself wrong, just when such a conviction was +too late to be of service to him. He discovered, when such discovery +was no longer serviceable, that it would have been worth his while to +have worked for the usual pay assigned to work in this world and have +earned a wife and children, with a carriage for them to sit in; to +have earned a pleasant dining-room, in which his friends could drink +his wine, and the power of walking up the high street of his country +town, with the knowledge that all its tradesmen would have gladly +welcomed him within their doors. Other men arrived at those +convictions in their start in life and so worked up to them. To him +they had come when they were too late to be of use.</p> + +<p>It has been said that Mr. Arabin was a man of pleasantry, and it may +be thought that such a state of mind as that described would be +antagonistic to humour. But surely such is not the case. Wit is the +outward mental casing of the man, and has no more to do with the inner +mind of thoughts and feelings than have the rich brocaded garments of +the priest at the altar with the asceticism of the anchorite below +them, whose skin is tormented with sackcloth and whose body is +half-flayed with rods. Nay, will not such a one often rejoice more than +any other in the rich show of his outer apparel? Will it not be food +for his pride to feel that he groans inwardly while he shines +outwardly? So it is with the mental efforts which men make. Those which +they show forth daily to the world are often the opposites of the inner +workings of the spirit.</p> + +<p>In the archdeacon's drawing-room, Mr. Arabin had sparkled with his +usual unaffected brilliancy, but when he retired to his bedroom, he +sat there sad, at his open window, repining within himself that he +also had no wife, no bairns, no soft sward of lawn duly mown for him +to lie on, no herd of attendant curates, no bowings from the banker's +clerks, no rich rectory. That apostleship that he had thought of had +evaded his grasp, and he was now only vicar of St. Ewold's, with a +taste for a mitre. Truly he had fallen between two stools.</p> + + +<p><a name="c21" id="c21"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXI</h3> +<h3>St. Ewold's Parsonage<br /> </h3> + + +<p>When Mr. Harding and Mrs. Bold reached the rectory on the following +morning, the archdeacon and his friend were at St. Ewold's. They had +gone over that the new vicar might inspect his church and be +introduced to the squire, and were not expected back before dinner. +Mr. Harding rambled out by himself and strolled, as was his wont at +Plumstead, about the lawn and round the church; and as he did so, the +two sisters naturally fell into conversation about Barchester.</p> + +<p>There was not much sisterly confidence between them. Mrs. Grantly +was ten years older than Eleanor, and had been married while Eleanor +was yet a child. They had never, therefore, poured into each other's +ears their hopes and loves; and now that one was a wife and the other +a widow, it was not probable that they would begin to do so. They +lived too much asunder to be able to fall into that kind of +intercourse which makes confidence between sisters almost a +necessity; moreover, that which is so easy at eighteen is often very +difficult at twenty-eight. Mrs. Grantly knew this, and did not, +therefore, expect confidence from her sister; yet she longed to ask +her whether in real truth Mr. Slope was agreeable to her.</p> + +<p>It was by no means difficult to turn the conversation to Mr. Slope. +That gentleman had become so famous at Barchester, had so much to do +with all clergymen connected with the city, and was so specially +concerned in the affairs of Mr. Harding, that it would have been odd +if Mr. Harding's daughters had not talked about him. Mrs. Grantly +was soon abusing him, which she did with her whole heart, and Mrs. +Bold was nearly as eager to defend him. She positively disliked the +man, would have been delighted to learn that he had taken himself off +so that she should never see him again, had indeed almost a fear of +him, and yet she constantly found herself taking his part. The abuse +of other people, and abuse of a nature that she felt to be unjust, +imposed this necessity on her, and at last made Mr. Slope's defence an +habitual course of argument with her.</p> + +<p>From Mr. Slope the conversation turned to the Stanhopes, and Mrs. +Grantly was listening with some interest to Eleanor's account of the +family, when it dropped out that Mr. Slope made one of the party.</p> + +<p>"What!" said the lady of the rectory. "Was Mr. Slope there too?"</p> + +<p>Eleanor merely replied that such had been the case.</p> + +<p>"Why, Eleanor, he must be very fond of you, I think; he seems to +follow you everywhere."</p> + +<p>Even this did not open Eleanor's eyes. She merely laughed, and said +that she imagined Mr. Slope found other attraction at Dr. Stanhope's. +And so they parted. Mrs. Grantly felt quite convinced that the +odious match would take place, and Mrs. Bold as convinced that that +unfortunate chaplain, disagreeable as he must be allowed to be, was +more sinned against than sinning.</p> + +<p>The archdeacon of course heard before dinner that Eleanor had +remained the day before in Barchester with the view of meeting Mr. +Slope, and that she had so met him. He remembered how she had +positively stated that there were to be no guests at the Stanhopes, +and he did not hesitate to accuse her of deceit. Moreover, the fact, +or rather presumed fact, of her being deceitful on such a matter +spoke but too plainly in evidence against her as to her imputed crime +of receiving Mr. Slope as a lover.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid that anything we can do will be too late," said the +archdeacon. "I own I am fairly surprised. I never liked your +sister's taste with regard to men, but still I did not give her +credit for—ugh!"</p> + +<p>"And so soon, too," said Mrs. Grantly, who thought more, perhaps, of +her sister's indecorum in having a lover before she had put off her +weeds than her bad taste in having such a lover as Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear, I shall be sorry to be harsh, or to do anything that +can hurt your father; but, positively, neither that man nor his wife +shall come within my doors."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grantly sighed, and then attempted to console herself and her +lord by remarking that, after all, the thing was not accomplished +yet. Now that Eleanor was at Plumstead, much might be done to wean +her from her fatal passion. Poor Eleanor!</p> + +<p>The evening passed off without anything to make it remarkable. Mr. +Arabin discussed the parish of St. Ewold with the archdeacon, and +Mrs. Grantly and Mr. Harding, who knew the personages of the parish, +joined in. Eleanor also knew them, but she said little. Mr. Arabin +did not apparently take much notice of her, and she was not in a +humour to receive at that time with any special grace any special +favourite of her brother-in-law. Her first idea on reaching her +bedroom was that a much pleasanter family party might be met at Dr. +Stanhope's than at the rectory. She began to think that she was +getting tired of clergymen and their respectable, humdrum, wearisome +mode of living, and that after all, people in the outer world, who +had lived in Italy, London, or elsewhere, need not necessarily be +regarded as atrocious and abominable. The Stanhopes, she had +thought, were a giddy, thoughtless, extravagant set of people, but +she had seen nothing wrong about them and had, on the other hand, +found that they thoroughly knew how to make their house agreeable. +It was a thousand pities, she thought, that the archdeacon should not +have a little of the same <i>savoir vivre</i>. Mr. Arabin, as we have +said, did not apparently take much notice of her, but yet he did not go +to bed without feeling that he had been in company with a very pretty +woman; and as is the case with most bachelors, and some married men, +regarded the prospect of his month's visit at Plumstead in a pleasanter +light when he learnt that a very pretty woman was to share it with him.</p> + +<p>Before they all retired it was settled that the whole party should +drive over on the following day to inspect the parsonage at St. +Ewold. The three clergymen were to discuss dilapidations, and the +two ladies were to lend their assistance in suggesting such changes +as might be necessary for a bachelor's abode.</p> + +<p>Accordingly, soon after breakfast the carriage was at the door. +There was only room for four inside, and the archdeacon got upon the +box. Eleanor found herself opposite to Mr. Arabin, and was, +therefore, in a manner forced into conversation with him. They were +soon on comfortable terms together, and had she thought about it, she +would have thought that, in spite of his black cloth, Mr. Arabin +would not have been a bad addition to the Stanhope family party.</p> + +<p>Now that the archdeacon was away they could all trifle. Mr. Harding +began by telling them in the most innocent manner imaginable an old +legend about Mr. Arabin's new parish. There was, he said, in days of +yore an illustrious priestess of St. Ewold, famed through the whole +country for curing all manner of diseases. She had a well, as all +priestesses have ever had, which well was extant to this day, and +shared in the minds of many of the people the sanctity which belonged +to the consecrated ground of the parish church. Mr. Arabin declared +that he should look on such tenets on the part of his parishioners as +anything but orthodox. And Mrs. Grantly replied that she so entirely +disagreed with him as to think that no parish was in a proper state +that had not its priestess as well as its priest. "The duties are +never well done," said she, "unless they are so divided."</p> + +<p>"I suppose, Papa," said Eleanor, "that in the olden times the +priestess bore all the sway herself. Mr. Arabin, perhaps, thinks +that such might be too much the case now if a sacred lady were +admitted within the parish."</p> + +<p>"I think, at any rate," said he, "that it is safer to run no such +risk. No priestly pride has ever exceeded that of sacerdotal +females. A very lowly curate I might, perhaps, essay to rule, but a +curatess would be sure to get the better of me."</p> + +<p>"There are certainly examples of such accidents happening," said +Mrs. Grantly. "They do say that there is a priestess at Barchester who +is very imperious in all things touching the altar. Perhaps the fear of +such a fate as that is before your eyes."</p> + +<p>When they were joined by the archdeacon on the gravel before the +vicarage, they descended again to grave dullness. Not that +Archdeacon Grantly was a dull man, but his frolic humours were of a +cumbrous kind, and his wit, when he was witty, did not generally +extend itself to his auditors. On the present occasion he was soon +making speeches about wounded roofs and walls, which he declared to +be in want of some surgeon's art. There was not a partition that he +did not tap, nor a block of chimneys that he did not narrowly +examine; all water-pipes, flues, cisterns, and sewers underwent an +investigation; he even descended, in the care of his friend, so far +as to bore sundry boards in the floors with a bradawl.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin accompanied him through the rooms, trying to look wise in +such domestic matters, and the other three also followed. Mrs. +Grantly showed that she had not herself been priestess of a parish +twenty years for nothing, and examined the bells and window-panes in a +very knowing way.</p> + +<p>"You will, at any rate, have a beautiful prospect out of your own +window, if this is to be your private sanctum," said Eleanor. She +was standing at the lattice of a little room upstairs, from which the +view certainly was very lovely. It was from the back of the +vicarage, and there was nothing to interrupt the eye between the +house and the glorious gray pile of the cathedral. The intermediate +ground, however, was beautifully studded with timber. In the +immediate foreground ran the little river which afterwards skirted +the city, and, just to the right of the cathedral, the pointed gables +and chimneys of Hiram's Hospital peeped out of the elms which +encompass it.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said he, joining her. "I shall have a beautifully complete +view of my adversaries. I shall sit down before the hostile town and +fire away at them at a very pleasant distance. I shall just be able +to lodge a shot in the hospital, should the enemy ever get possession +of it, and as for the palace, I have it within full range."</p> + +<p>"I never saw anything like you clergymen," said Eleanor; "You are +always thinking of fighting each other."</p> + +<p>"Either that," said he, "or else supporting each other. The pity is +that we cannot do the one without the other. But are we not here to +fight? Is not ours a church militant? What is all our work but +fighting, and hard fighting, if it be well done?"</p> + +<p>"But not with each other."</p> + +<p>"That's as it may be. The same complaint which you make of me for +battling with another clergyman of our own church, the Mohammedan +would make against me for battling with the error of a priest of +Rome. Yet, surely, you would not be inclined to say that I should be +wrong to do battle with such as him. A pagan, too, with his +multiplicity of gods, would think it equally odd that the Christian +and the Mohammedan should disagree."</p> + +<p>"Ah! But you wage your wars about trifles so bitterly."</p> + +<p>"Wars about trifles," said he, "are always bitter, especially among +neighbours. When the differences are great, and the parties +comparative strangers, men quarrel with courtesy. What combatants +are ever so eager as two brothers?"</p> + +<p>"But do not such contentions bring scandal on the church?"</p> + +<p>"More scandal would fall on the church if there were no such +contentions. We have but one way to avoid them—by that of +acknowledging a common head of our church, whose word on all points +of doctrine shall be authoritative. Such a termination of our +difficulties is alluring enough. It has charms which are +irresistible to many, and all but irresistible, I own, to me."</p> + +<p>"You speak now of the Church of Rome?" said Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"No," said he, "not necessarily of the Church of Rome; but of a +church with a head. Had it pleased God to vouchsafe to us such a +church our path would have been easy. But easy paths have not been +thought good for us." He paused and stood silent for awhile, +thinking of the time when he had so nearly sacrificed all he had, his +powers of mind, his free agency, the fresh running waters of his +mind's fountain, his very inner self, for an easy path in which no +fighting would be needed; and then he continued: "What you say is +partly true: our contentions do bring on us some scandal. The outer +world, though it constantly reviles us for our human infirmities and +throws in our teeth the fact that being clergymen we are still no +more than men, demands of us that we should do our work with godlike +perfection. There is nothing god-like about us: we differ from each +other with the acerbity common to man; we triumph over each other +with human frailty; we allow differences on subjects of divine origin +to produce among us antipathies and enmities which are anything but +divine. This is all true. But what would you have in place of it? +There is no infallible head for a church on earth. This dream of +believing man has been tried, and we see in Italy and in Spain what +has come of it. Grant that there are and have been no bickerings +within the pale of the Pope's Church. Such an assumption would be +utterly untrue, but let us grant it, and then let us say which church +has incurred the heavier scandals."</p> + +<p>There was a quiet earnestness about Mr. Arabin, as he +half-acknowledged and half-defended himself from the charge brought +against him, which surprised Eleanor. She had been used all her life +to listen to clerical discussion, but the points at issue between the +disputants had so seldom been of more than temporal significance as +to have left on her mind no feeling of reverence for such subjects. +There had always been a hard worldly leaven of the love either of +income or of power in the strains she had heard; there had been no +panting for the truth; no aspirations after religious purity. It had +always been taken for granted by those around her that they were +indubitably right; that there was no ground for doubt; that the hard +uphill work of ascertaining what the duty of a clergyman should be +had been already accomplished in full; and that what remained for an +active militant parson to do was to hold his own against all comers. +Her father, it is true, was an exception to this, but then he was so +essentially anti-militant in all things that she classed him in her +own mind apart from all others. She had never argued the matter +within herself, or considered whether this common tone was or was not +faulty; but she was sick of it without knowing that she was so. And +now she found to her surprise, and not without a certain pleasurable +excitement, that this new-comer among them spoke in a manner very +different from that to which she was accustomed.</p> + +<p>"It is so easy to condemn," said he, continuing the thread of his +thoughts. "I know no life that must be so delicious as that of a +writer for newspapers, or a leading member of the +opposition—to thunder forth accusations against men in power; to show +up the worst side of everything that is produced; to pick holes in +every coat; to be indignant, sarcastic, jocose, moral, or supercilious; +to damn with faint praise, or crush with open calumny! What can be so +easy as this when the critic has to be responsible for nothing? You +condemn what I do, but put yourself in my position and do the reverse, +and then see if I cannot condemn you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Arabin, I do not condemn you."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, you do, Mrs. Bold—you as one of the world; +you are now the opposition member; you are now composing your leading +article, and well and bitterly you do it. 'Let dogs delight to bark and +bite'—you fitly begin with an elegant +quotation—'but if we are to have a church at all, in +heaven's name let the pastors who preside over it keep their hands from +each other's throats. Lawyers can live without befouling each other's +names; doctors do not fight duels. Why is it that clergymen alone +should indulge themselves in such unrestrained liberty of abuse against +each other?' and so you go on reviling us for our ungodly quarrels, our +sectarian propensities, and scandalous differences. It will, however, +give you no trouble to write another article next week in which we, or +some of us, shall be twitted with an unseemly apathy in matters of our +vocation. It will not fall on you to reconcile the discrepancy; your +readers will never ask you how the poor parson is to be urgent in +season and out of season and yet never come in contact with men who +think widely differently from him. You, when you condemn this foreign +treaty, or that official arrangement, will have to incur no blame for +the graver faults of any different measure. It is so easy to +condemn—and so pleasant too, for eulogy charms no listeners as +detraction does."</p> + +<p>Eleanor only half-followed him in his raillery, but she caught his +meaning. "I know I ought to apologize for presuming to criticize +you," she said, "but I was thinking with sorrow of the ill-will that +has lately come among us at Barchester, and I spoke more freely than +I should have done."</p> + +<p>"Peace on earth and goodwill among men, are, like heaven, promises +for the future;" said he, following rather his own thoughts than +hers. "When that prophecy is accomplished, there will no longer be +any need for clergymen."</p> + +<p>Here they were interrupted by the archdeacon, whose voice was heard +from the cellar shouting to the vicar.</p> + +<p>"Arabin, Arabin,"—and then, turning to his wife, who was apparently +at his elbow—"where has he gone to? This cellar is perfectly +abominable. It would be murder to put a bottle of wine into it till +it has been roofed, walled, and floored. How on earth old Goodenough +ever got on with it I cannot guess. But then Goodenough never had a +glass of wine that any man could drink."</p> + +<p>"What is it, Archdeacon?" said the vicar, running downstairs and +leaving Eleanor above to her meditations.</p> + +<p>"This cellar must be roofed, walled, and floored," repeated the +archdeacon. "Now mind what I say, and don't let the architect +persuade you that it will do; half of these fellows know nothing +about wine. This place as it is now would be damp and cold in winter +and hot and muggy in summer. I wouldn't give a straw for the best +wine that ever was vinted, after it had lain here a couple of years."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin assented and promised that the cellar should be +reconstructed according to the archdeacon's receipt.</p> + +<p>"And, Arabin, look here; was such an attempt at a kitchen grate ever +seen?"</p> + +<p>"The grate is really very bad," said Mrs. Grantly. "I am sure the +priestess won't approve of it, when she is brought home to the scene +of her future duties. Really, Mr. Arabin, no priestess accustomed to +such an excellent well as that above could put up with such a grate +as this."</p> + +<p>"If there must be a priestess at St. Ewold's at all, Mrs. Grantly, I +think we will leave her to her well and not call down her divine +wrath on any of the imperfections rising from our human poverty. +However, I own I am amenable to the attractions of a well-cooked +dinner, and the grate shall certainly be changed."</p> + +<p>By this time the archdeacon had again ascended, and was now in the +dining-room. "Arabin," said he, speaking in his usual loud, clear +voice and with that tone of dictation which was so common to him, +"you must positively alter this dining-room—that is, +remodel it altogether. Look here, it is just sixteen feet by fifteen; +did any man ever hear of a dining-room of such proportions!" The +archdeacon stepped the room long-ways and cross-ways with ponderous +steps, as though a certain amount of ecclesiastical dignity could be +imparted even to such an occupation as that by the manner of doing it. +"Barely sixteen; you may call it a square."</p> + +<p>"It would do very well for a round table," suggested the ex-warden.</p> + +<p>Now there was something peculiarly unorthodox, in the archdeacon's +estimation, in the idea of a round table. He had always been +accustomed to a goodly board of decent length, comfortably elongating +itself according to the number of the guests, nearly black with +perpetual rubbing, and as bright as a mirror. Now round +dinner-tables are generally of oak, or else of such new construction as +not to have acquired the peculiar hue which was so pleasing to him. He +connected them with what he called the nasty newfangled method of +leaving a cloth on the table, as though to warn people that they were +not to sit long. In his eyes there was something democratic and parvenu +in a round table. He imagined that dissenters and calico-printers +chiefly used them, and perhaps a few literary lions more conspicuous +for their wit than their gentility. He was a little flurried at the +idea of such an article being introduced into the diocese by a +protégé of his own, and at the instigation of his +father-in-law.</p> + +<p>"A round dinner-table," said he with some heat, "is the most +abominable article of furniture that ever was invented. I hope that +Arabin has more taste than to allow such a thing in his house."</p> + +<p>Poor Mr. Harding felt himself completely snubbed, and of course said +nothing further; but Mr. Arabin, who had yielded submissively in the +small matters of the cellar and kitchen grate, found himself obliged +to oppose reforms which might be of a nature too expensive for his +pocket.</p> + +<p>"But it seems to me, Archdeacon, that I can't very well lengthen the +room without pulling down the wall, and if I pull down the wall, I +must build it up again; then if I throw out a bow on this side, I +must do the same on the other, and if I do it for the ground floor, I +must carry it up to the floor above. That will be putting a new +front to the house and will cost, I suppose, a couple of hundred +pounds. The ecclesiastical commissioners will hardly assist me when +they hear that my grievance consists in having a dining-room only +sixteen feet long."</p> + +<p>The archdeacon proceeded to explain that nothing would be easier +than adding six feet to the front of the dining-room without touching +any other room in the house. Such irregularities of construction in +small country-houses were, he said, rather graceful than otherwise, and +he offered to pay for the whole thing out of his own pocket if it cost +more than forty pounds. Mr. Arabin, however, was firm, and, although +the archdeacon fussed and fumed about it, would not give way. Forty +pounds, he said, was a matter of serious moment to him, and his +friends, if under such circumstances they would be good-natured enough +to come to him at all, must put up with the misery of a square room. He +was willing to compromise matters by disclaiming any intention of +having a round table.</p> + +<p>"But," said Mrs. Grantly, "what if the priestess insists on having +both the rooms enlarged?"</p> + +<p>"The priestess in that case must do it for herself, Mrs. Grantly."</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt she will be well able to do so," replied the lady; +"to do that and many more wonderful things. I am quite sure that the +priestess of St. Ewold, when she does come, won't come empty-handed."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin, however, did not appear well inclined to enter into +speculative expenses on such a chance as this, and therefore any +material alterations in the house, the cost of which could not fairly +be made to lie at the door either of the ecclesiastical commissioners +or of the estate of the late incumbent, were tabooed. With this +essential exception, the archdeacon ordered, suggested, and carried +all points before him in a manner very much to his own satisfaction. +A close observer, had there been one there, might have seen that his +wife had been quite as useful in the matter as himself. No one knew +better than Mrs. Grantly the appurtenances necessary to a comfortable +house. She did not, however, think it necessary to lay claim to any +of the glory which her lord and master was so ready to appropriate as +his own.</p> + +<p>Having gone through their work effectually and systematically, the +party returned to Plumstead well satisfied with their expedition.</p> + + +<p><a name="c22" id="c22"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXII</h3> +<h3>The Thornes of Ullathorne<br /> </h3> + + +<p>On the following Sunday Mr. Arabin was to read himself in at his new +church. It was agreed at the rectory that the archdeacon should go +over with him and assist at the reading desk, and that Mr. Harding +should take the archdeacon's duty at Plumstead Church. Mrs. Grantly +had her school and her buns to attend to, and professed that she could +not be spared, but Mrs. Bold was to accompany them. It was further +agreed also that they would lunch at the squire's house and return +home after the afternoon service.</p> + +<p>Wilfred Thorne, Esq., of Ullathorne, was the squire of St. +Ewold's—or, rather, the squire of Ullathorne, for the domain of the +modern landlord was of wider notoriety than the fame of the ancient +saint. He was a fair specimen of what that race has come to in our days +which, a century ago, was, as we are told, fairly represented by Squire +Western. If that representation be a true one, few classes of men can +have made faster strides in improvement. Mr. Thorne, however, was a man +possessed of quite a sufficient number of foibles to lay him open to +much ridicule. He was still a bachelor, being about fifty, and was not +a little proud of his person. When living at home at Ullathorne, there +was not much room for such pride, and there therefore he always looked +like a gentleman and like that which he certainly was, the first man in +his parish. But during the month or six weeks which he annually spent +in London, he tried so hard to look like a great man there also, which +he certainly was not, that he was put down as a fool by many at his +club. He was a man of considerable literary attainment in a certain way +and on certain subjects. His favourite authors were Montaigne and +Burton, and he knew more perhaps than any other man in his own county +and the next to it of the English essayists of the two last centuries. +He possessed complete sets of the Idler, the Spectator, the Tatler, the +Guardian, and the Rambler, and would discourse by hours together on the +superiority of such publications to anything which has since been +produced in our Edinburghs and Quarterlies. He was proficient in all +questions of genealogy, and knew enough of almost every gentleman's +family in England to say of what blood and lineage were descended all +those who had any claim to be considered as possessors of any such +luxuries. For blood and lineage he himself had a most profound respect. +He counted back his own ancestors to some period long antecedent to the +Conquest, and could tell you, if you would listen to him, how it had +come to pass that they, like Cedric the Saxon, had been permitted to +hold their own among the Norman barons. It was not, according to his +showing, on account of any weak complaisance on the part of his family +towards their Norman neighbours. Some Ealfried of Ullathorne once +fortified his own castle and held out, not only that, but the then +existing cathedral of Barchester also, against one Geoffrey De Burgh, +in the time of King John; and Mr. Thorne possessed the whole history of +the siege written on vellum and illuminated in a most costly manner. It +little signified that no one could read the writing, as, had that been +possible, no one could have understood the language. Mr. Thorne could, +however, give you all the particulars in good English, and had no +objection to do so.</p> + +<p>It would be unjust to say that he looked down on men whose families +were of recent date. He did not do so. He frequently consorted with +such, and had chosen many of his friends from among them. But he +looked on them as great millionaires are apt to look on those who +have small incomes; as men who have Sophocles at their fingers' ends +regard those who know nothing of Greek. They might doubtless be good +sort of people, entitled to much praise for virtue, very admirable +for talent, highly respectable in every way, but they were without +the one great good gift. Such was Mr. Thorne's way of thinking on +this matter; nothing could atone for the loss of good blood; nothing +could neutralize its good effects. Few indeed were now possessed of +it, but the possession was on that account the more precious. It +was very pleasant to hear Mr. Thorne descant on this matter. Were +you in your ignorance to surmise that such a one was of a good family +because the head of his family was a baronet of an old date, he would +open his eyes with a delightful look of affected surprise, and +modestly remind you that baronetcies only dated from James I. He +would gently sigh if you spoke of the blood of the Fitzgeralds and De +Burghs; would hardly allow the claims of the Howards and Lowthers; +and has before now alluded to the Talbots as a family who had hardly +yet achieved the full honours of a pedigree.</p> + +<p>In speaking once of a wide-spread race whose name had received the +honours of three coronets, scions from which sat for various +constituencies, some one of whose members had been in almost every +cabinet formed during the present century, a brilliant race such as +there are few in England, Mr. Thorne had called them all "dirt." He +had not intended any disrespect to these men. He admired them in +many senses, and allowed them their privileges without envy. He had +merely meant to express his feeling that the streams which ran +through their veins were not yet purified by time to that perfection, +had not become so genuine an ichor, as to be worthy of being called +blood in the genealogical sense.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Arabin was first introduced to him, Mr. Thorne had +immediately suggested that he was one of the Arabins of Uphill +Stanton. Mr. Arabin replied that he was a very distant relative of +the family alluded to. To this Mr. Thorne surmised that the +relationship could not be very distant. Mr. Arabin assured him that +it was so distant that the families knew nothing of each other. Mr. +Thorne laughed his gentle laugh at this and told Mr. Arabin that +there was now existing no branch of his family separated from the +parent stock at an earlier date than the reign of Elizabeth, and that +therefore Mr. Arabin could not call himself distant. Mr. Arabin +himself was quite clearly an Arabin of Uphill Stanton.</p> + +<p>"But," said the vicar, "Uphill Stanton has been sold to the De Greys +and has been in their hands for the last fifty years."</p> + +<p>"And when it has been there one hundred and fifty, if it unluckily +remain there so long," said Mr. Thorne, "your descendants will not be +a whit the less entitled to describe themselves as being of the +family of Uphill Stanton. Thank God no De Grey can buy +that—and thank God no Arabin, and no Thorne, can sell it."</p> + +<p>In politics Mr. Thorne was an unflinching conservative. He looked on +those fifty-three Trojans who, as Mr. Dod tells us, censured free +trade in November, 1852, as the only patriots left among the public +men of England. When that terrible crisis of free trade had arrived, +when the repeal of the Corn Laws was carried by those very men whom +Mr. Thorne had hitherto regarded as the only possible saviours of his +country, he was for a time paralysed. His country was lost; but that +was comparatively a small thing. Other countries had flourished and +fallen, and the human race still went on improving under God's +providence. But now all trust in human faith must forever be at an +end. Not only must ruin come, but it must come through the apostasy +of those who had been regarded as the truest of true believers. +Politics in England, as a pursuit for gentlemen, must be at an end. +Had Mr. Thorne been trodden under foot by a Whig, he could have borne +it as a Tory and a martyr, but to be so utterly thrown over and +deceived by those he had so earnestly supported, so thoroughly +trusted, was more than he could endure and live. He therefore ceased +to live as a politician, and refused to hold any converse with the +world at large on the state of the country.</p> + +<p>Such were Mr. Thorne's impressions for the first two or three years +after Sir Robert Peel's apostasy, but by degrees his temper, as did +that of others, cooled down. He began once more to move about, to +frequent the bench and the market, and to be seen at dinners shoulder +to shoulder with some of those who had so cruelly betrayed him. It +was a necessity for him to live, and that plan of his for avoiding +the world did not answer. He, however, and others around him who +still maintained the same staunch principles of +protection—men like himself who were too true to flinch at the cry of +a mob—had their own way of consoling themselves. They were, +and felt themselves to be, the only true depositaries left of certain +Eleusinian mysteries, of certain deep and wondrous services of worship +by which alone the gods could be rightly approached. To them and them +only was it now given to know these things and to perpetuate them, if +that might still be done, by the careful and secret education of their +children.</p> + +<p>We have read how private and peculiar forms of worship have been +carried on from age to age in families which, to the outer world, +have apparently adhered to the services of some ordinary church. And +so by degrees it was with Mr. Thorne. He learnt at length to listen +calmly while protection was talked of as a thing dead, although he +knew within himself that it was still quick with a mystic life. Nor +was he without a certain pleasure that such knowledge, though given +to him, should be debarred from the multitude. He became accustomed +to hear even among country gentlemen that free trade was after all +not so bad, and to hear this without dispute, although conscious +within himself that everything good in England had gone with his old +palladium. He had within him something of the feeling of Cato, who +gloried that he could kill himself because Romans were no longer +worthy of their name. Mr. Thorne had no thought of killing himself, +being a Christian and still possessing his £4000 a year, but the +feeling was not on that account the less comfortable.</p> + +<p>Mr. Thorne was a sportsman, and had been active though not +outrageous in his sports. Previous to the great downfall of politics in +his county, he had supported the hunt by every means in his power. He +had preserved game till no goose or turkey could show a tail in the +parish of St. Ewold's. He had planted gorse covers with more care than +oaks and larches. He had been more anxious for the comfort of his foxes +than of his ewes and lambs. No meet had been more popular than +Ullathorne; no man's stables had been more liberally open to the horses +of distant men than Mr. Thorne's; no man had said more, written more, +or done more to keep the club up. The theory of protection could expand +itself so thoroughly in the practices of a county hunt! But when the +great ruin came; when the noble master of the Barsetshire hounds +supported the recreant minister in the House of Lords and basely +surrendered his truth, his manhood, his friends, and his honour for the +hope of a garter, then Mr. Thorne gave up the hunt. He did not cut his +covers, for that would not have been the act of a gentleman. He did not +kill his foxes, for that according to his light would have been murder. +He did not say that his covers should not be drawn, or his earths +stopped, for that would have been illegal according to the by-laws +prevailing among country gentlemen. But he absented himself from home +on the occasion of every meet at Ullathorne, left the covers to their +fate, and could not be persuaded to take his pink coat out of his +press, or his hunters out of his stable. This lasted for two years, and +then by degrees he came round. He first appeared at a neighbouring meet +on a pony, dressed in his shooting-coat, as though he had trotted in by +accident; then he walked up one morning on foot to see his favourite +gorse drawn, and when his groom brought his mare out by chance, he did +not refuse to mount her. He was next persuaded, by one of the immortal +fifty-three, to bring his hunting materials over to the other side of +the county and take a fortnight with the hounds there; and so gradually +he returned to his old life. But in hunting as in other things he was +only supported by an inward feeling of mystic superiority to those with +whom he shared the common breath of outer life.</p> + +<p>Mr. Thorne did not live in solitude at Ullathorne. He had a sister, +who was ten years older than himself and who participated in his +prejudices and feelings so strongly that she was a living caricature +of all his foibles. She would not open a modern quarterly, did not +choose to see a magazine in her drawing-room, and would not have +polluted her fingers with a shred of the Times for any consideration. +She spoke of Addison, Swift, and Steele as though they were still +living, regarded Defoe as the best known novelist of his country, and +thought of Fielding as a young but meritorious novice in the fields +of romance. In poetry, she was familiar with names as late as +Dryden, and had once been seduced into reading "The Rape of the +Lock;" but she regarded Spenser as the purest type of her country's +literature in this line. Genealogy was her favourite insanity. +Those things which are the pride of most genealogists were to her +contemptible. Arms and mottoes set her beside herself. Ealfried of +Ullathorne had wanted no motto to assist him in cleaving to the +brisket Geoffrey De Burgh, and Ealfried's great grandfather, the +gigantic Ullafrid, had required no other arms than those which nature +gave him to hurl from the top of his own castle a cousin of the base +invading Norman. To her all modern English names were equally +insignificant: Hengist, Horsa, and such like had for her ears the +only true savour of nobility. She was not contented unless she could +go beyond the Saxons, and would certainly have christened her +children, had she had children, by the names of the ancient Britons. +In some respects she was not unlike Scott's Ulrica, and had she been +given to cursing, she would certainly have done so in the names of +Mista, Skogula, and Zernebock. Not having submitted to the embraces +of any polluting Norman, as poor Ulrica had done, and having assisted +no parricide, the milk of human kindness was not curdled in her +bosom. She never cursed therefore, but blessed rather. This, +however, she did in a strange uncouth Saxon manner that would have +been unintelligible to any peasants but her own.</p> + +<p>As a politician, Miss Thorne had been so thoroughly disgusted with +public life by base deeds long antecedent to the Corn Law question +that that had but little moved her. In her estimation her brother +had been a fast young man, hurried away by a too ardent temperament +into democratic tendencies. Now happily he was brought to sounder +views by seeing the iniquity of the world. She had not yet +reconciled herself to the Reform Bill, and still groaned in spirit +over the defalcations of the Duke as touching the Catholic +Emancipation. If asked whom she thought the Queen should take as her +counsellor, she would probably have named Lord Eldon, and when +reminded that that venerable man was no longer present in the flesh +to assist us, she would probably have answered with a sigh that none +now could help us but the dead.</p> + +<p>In religion Miss Thorne was a pure Druidess. We would not have it +understood by that that she did actually in these latter days assist +at any human sacrifices, or that she was in fact hostile to the +Church of Christ. She had adopted the Christian religion as a milder +form of the worship of her ancestors, and always appealed to her +doing so as evidence that she had no prejudices against reform, when +it could be shown that reform was salutary. This reform was the most +modern of any to which she had as yet acceded, it being presumed that +British ladies had given up their paint and taken to some sort of +petticoats before the days of St. Augustine. That further feminine +step in advance which combines paint and petticoats together had not +found a votary in Miss Thorne.</p> + +<p>But she was a Druidess in this, that she regretted she knew not what +in the usages and practices of her Church. She sometimes talked and +constantly thought of good things gone by, though she had but the +faintest idea of what those good things had been. She imagined that +a purity had existed which was now gone, that a piety had adorned our +pastors and a simple docility our people, for which it may be feared +history gave her but little true warrant. She was accustomed to +speak of Cranmer as though he had been the firmest and most +simple-minded of martyrs, and of Elizabeth as though the pure +Protestant faith of her people had been the one anxiety of her life. It +would have been cruel to undeceive her, had it been possible; but it +would have been impossible to make her believe that the one was a +time-serving priest, willing to go any length to keep his place, and +that the other was in heart a papist, with this sole proviso, that she +should be her own pope.</p> + +<p>And so Miss Thorne went on sighing and regretting, looking back to +the divine right of kings as the ruling axiom of a golden age, and +cherishing, low down in the bottom of her heart of hearts, a dear +unmentioned wish for the restoration of some exiled Stuart. Who +would deny her the luxury of her sighs, or the sweetness of her soft +regrets!</p> + +<p>In her person and her dress she was perfect, and well she knew her +own perfection. She was a small, elegantly made old woman, with a +face from which the glow of her youth had not departed without +leaving some streaks of a roseate hue. She was proud of her colour, +proud of her grey hair which she wore in short crisp curls peering +out all around her face from her dainty white lace cap. To think of +all the money that she spent in lace used to break the heart of poor +Mrs. Quiverful with her seven daughters. She was proud of her teeth, +which were still white and numerous, proud of her bright cheery eye, +proud of her short jaunty step; and very proud of the neat, precise, +small feet with which those steps were taken. She was proud also, +ay, very proud, of the rich brocaded silk in which it was her custom +to ruffle through her drawing-room.</p> + +<p>We know what was the custom of the lady of Branksome—<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p class="noindent">Nine-and-twenty knights of fame<br /> +Hung their shields in Branksome Hall.<br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">The lady of Ullathorne +was not so martial in her habits, but hardly +less costly. She might have boasted that nine-and-twenty silken +skirts might have been produced in her chamber, each fit to stand +alone. The nine-and-twenty shields of the Scottish heroes were less +independent and hardly more potent to withstand any attack that might +be made on them. Miss Thorne when fully dressed might be said to +have been armed cap-a-pie, and she was always fully dressed, as far +as was ever known to mortal man.</p> + +<p>For all this rich attire Miss Thorne was not indebted to the +generosity of her brother. She had a very comfortable independence +of her own, which she divided among juvenile relatives, the +milliners, and the poor, giving much the largest share to the latter. +It may be imagined, therefore, that with all her little follies she +was not unpopular. All her follies have, we believe, been told. Her +virtues were too numerous to describe, and not sufficiently +interesting to deserve description.</p> + +<p>While we are on the subject of the Thornes, one word must be said of +the house they lived in. It was not a large house, nor a fine house, +nor perhaps to modern ideas a very commodious house, but by those who +love the peculiar colour and peculiar ornaments of genuine Tudor +architecture it was considered a perfect gem. We beg to own +ourselves among the number, and therefore take this opportunity to +express our surprise that so little is known by English men and women +of the beauties of English architecture. The ruins of the Colosseum, +the Campanile at Florence, St. Mark's, Cologne, the Bourse and Notre +Dame are with our tourists as familiar as household words; but they +know nothing of the glories of Wiltshire, Dorsetshire, and +Somersetshire. Nay, we much question whether many noted travellers, +men who have pitched their tents perhaps under Mount Sinai, are not +still ignorant that there are glories in Wiltshire, Dorsetshire, and +Somersetshire. We beg that they will go and see.</p> + +<p>Mr. Thorne's house was called Ullathorne Court—and was +properly so called, for the house itself formed two sides of a +quadrangle, which was completed on the other two sides by a wall about +twenty feet high. This wall was built of cut stone, rudely cut indeed, +and now much worn, but of a beautiful, rich, tawny yellow colour, the +effect of that stonecrop of minute growth which it had taken three +centuries to produce. The top of this wall was ornamented by huge, +round stone balls of the same colour as the wall itself. Entrance into +the court was had through a pair of iron gates so massive that no one +could comfortably open or close them—consequently, they were +rarely disturbed. From the gateway two paths led obliquely across the +court: that to the left reaching the hall-door, which was in the corner +made by the angle of the house, and that to the right leading to the +back entrance, which was at the further end of the longer portion of +the building.</p> + +<p>With those who are now adepts in contriving house accommodation, it +will militate much against Ullathorne Court that no carriage could be +brought to the hall-door. If you enter Ullathorne at all, you must +do so, fair reader, on foot, or at least in a bath-chair. No vehicle +drawn by horses ever comes within that iron gate. But this is +nothing to the next horror that will encounter you. On entering the +front door, which you do by no very grand portal, you find yourself +immediately in the dining-room. What, no hall? exclaims my luxurious +friend, accustomed to all the comfortable appurtenances of modern +life. Yes, kind sir, a noble hall, if you will but observe it; a +true old English hall of excellent dimensions for a country +gentleman's family; but, if you please, no dining-parlour.</p> + +<p>Both Mr. and Miss Thorne were proud of this peculiarity of their +dwelling, though the brother was once all but tempted by his friends +to alter it. They delighted in the knowledge that they, like Cedric, +positively dined in their true hall, even though they so dined +<i>tête-à-tête</i>. But though they had never owned, +they had felt and endeavoured to remedy the discomfort of such an +arrangement. A huge screen partitioned off the front door and a portion +of the hall, and from the angle so screened off a second door led into +a passage which ran along the larger side of the house next to the +courtyard. Either my reader or I must be a bad hand at topography, if +it be not clear that the great hall forms the ground-floor of the +smaller portion of the mansion, that which was to your left as you +entered the iron gate, and that it occupies the whole of this wing of +the building. It must be equally clear that it looks out on a trim mown +lawn, through three quadrangular windows with stone mullions, each +window divided into a larger portion at the bottom, and a smaller +portion at the top, and each portion again divided into five by +perpendicular stone supporters. There may be windows which give a +better light than such as these, and it may be, as my utilitarian +friend observes, that the giving of light is the desired object of a +window. I will not argue the point with him. Indeed I cannot. But I +shall not the less die in the assured conviction that no sort or +description of window is capable of imparting half so much happiness to +mankind as that which had been adopted at Ullathorne Court. What, not +an oriel? says Miss Diana de Midellage. No, Miss Diana, not even an +oriel, beautiful as is an oriel window. It has not about it so perfect +a feeling of quiet English homely comfort. Let oriel windows grace a +college, or the half-public mansion of a potent peer, but for the +sitting room of quiet country ladies, of ordinary homely folk, nothing +can equal the square, mullioned windows of the Tudor architects.</p> + +<p>The hall was hung round with family female insipidities by Lely and +unprepossessing male Thornes in red coats by Kneller, each Thorne +having been let into a panel in the wainscoting, in the proper +manner. At the further end of the room was a huge fire-place, which +afforded much ground of difference between the brother and sister. +An antiquated grate that would hold about a hundredweight of coal, +had been stuck on to the hearth by Mr. Thorne's father. This hearth +had of course been intended for the consumption of wood faggots, and +the iron dogs for the purpose were still standing, though half-buried +in the masonry of the grate. Miss Thorne was very anxious to revert +to the dogs. The dear good old creature was always glad to revert to +anything, and had she been systematically indulged, would doubtless +in time have reflected that fingers were made before forks and have +reverted accordingly. But in the affairs of the fire-place Mr. +Thorne would not revert. Country gentlemen around him all had +comfortable grates in their dining-rooms. He was not exactly the man +to have suggested a modern usage, but he was not so far prejudiced as +to banish those which his father had prepared for his use. Mr. +Thorne had indeed once suggested that with very little contrivance +the front door might have been so altered as to open at least into +the passage, but on hearing this, his sister Monica—such +was Miss Thorne's name—had been taken ill and had remained +so for a week. Before she came downstairs she received a pledge from +her brother that the entrance should never be changed in her lifetime.</p> + +<p>At the end of the hall opposite to the fire-place a door led into +the drawing-room, which was of equal size, and lighted with precisely +similar windows. But yet the aspect of the room was very different. It +was papered, and the ceiling, which in the hall showed the old rafters, +was whitened and finished with a modern cornice. Miss Thorne's +drawing-room, or, as she always called it, withdrawing-room, was a +beautiful apartment. The windows opened on to the full extent of the +lovely trim garden; immediately before the windows were plots of +flowers in stiff, stately, stubborn little beds, each bed surrounded by +a stone coping of its own; beyond, there was a low parapet wall on +which stood urns and images, fawns, nymphs, satyrs, and a whole tribe +of Pan's followers; and then again, beyond that, a beautiful lawn +sloped away to a sunk fence which divided the garden from the park. Mr. +Thorne's study was at the end of the drawing-room, and beyond that +were the kitchen and the offices. Doors opened into both Miss Thorne's +withdrawing-room and Mr. Thorne's sanctum from the passage above +alluded to, which, as it came to the latter room, widened itself so as +to make space for the huge black oak stairs which led to the upper +regions.</p> + +<p>Such was the interior of Ullathorne Court. But having thus described +it, perhaps somewhat too tediously, we beg to say that it is not the +interior to which we wish to call the English tourist's attention, +though we advise him to lose no legitimate opportunity of becoming +acquainted with it in a friendly manner. It is the outside of +Ullathorne that is so lovely. Let the tourist get admission at least +into the garden and fling himself on that soft sward just opposite to +the exterior angle of the house. He will there get the double +frontage and enjoy that which is so lovely—the expanse of +architectural beauty without the formal dullness of one long line.</p> + +<p>It is the colour of Ullathorne that is so remarkable. It is of that +delicious tawny hue which no stone can give, unless it has on it the +vegetable richness of centuries. Strike the wall with your hand, and +you will think that the stone has on it no covering, but rub it +carefully, and you will find that the colour comes off upon your +finger. No colourist that ever yet worked from a palette has been +able to come up to this rich colouring of years crowding themselves +on years.</p> + +<p>Ullathorne is a high building for a country-house, for it possesses +three stories, and in each story the windows are of the same sort as +that described, though varying in size and varying also in their +lines athwart the house. Those of the ground floor are all uniform +in size and position. But those above are irregular both in size and +place, and this irregularity gives a bizarre and not unpicturesque +appearance to the building. Along the top, on every side, runs a low +parapet, which nearly hides the roof, and at the corners are more +figures of fawns and satyrs.</p> + +<p>Such is Ullathorne House. But we must say one word of the approach +to it, which shall include all the description which we mean to give +of the church also. The picturesque old church of St. Ewold's stands +immediately opposite to the iron gates which open into the court, and +is all but surrounded by the branches of the lime-trees which form +the avenue leading up to the house from both sides. This avenue is +magnificent, but it would lose much of its value in the eyes of many +proprietors by the fact that the road through it is not private +property. It is a public lane between hedgerows, with a broad grass +margin on each side of the road, from which the lime-trees spring. +Ullathorne Court, therefore, does not stand absolutely surrounded by +its own grounds, though Mr. Thorne is owner of all the adjacent land. +This, however, is the source of very little annoyance to him. Men, +when they are acquiring property, think much of such things, but they +who live where their ancestors have lived for years do not feel the +misfortune. It never occurred either to Mr. or Miss Thorne that they +were not sufficiently private because the world at large might, if it +so wished, walk or drive by their iron gates. That part of the world +which availed itself of the privilege was however very small.</p> + +<p>Such a year or two since were the Thornes of Ullathorne. Such, we +believe, are the inhabitants of many an English country-home. May it +be long before their number diminishes.</p> + + +<p><a name="c23" id="c23"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXIII</h3> +<h3>Mr. Arabin Reads Himself in at St. Ewold's<br /> </h3> + + +<p>On the Sunday morning the archdeacon with his sister-in-law and Mr. +Arabin drove over to Ullathorne, as had been arranged. On their way +thither the new vicar declared himself to be considerably disturbed +in his mind at the idea of thus facing his parishioners for the first +time. He had, he said, been always subject to <i>mauvaise honte</i> and +an annoying degree of bashfulness, which often unfitted him for any +work of a novel description; and now he felt this so strongly that he +feared he should acquit himself badly in St. Ewold's reading-desk. +He knew, he said, that those sharp little eyes of Miss Thorne would +be on him, and that they would not approve. All this the archdeacon +greatly ridiculed. He himself knew not, and had never known, what it +was to be shy. He could not conceive that Miss Thorne, surrounded as +she would be by the peasants of Ullathorne and a few of the poorer +inhabitants of the suburbs of Barchester, could in any way affect the +composure of a man well accustomed to address the learned +congregation of St. Mary's at Oxford, and he laughed accordingly at +the idea of Mr. Arabin's modesty.</p> + +<p>Thereupon Mr. Arabin commenced to subtilize. The change, he said, +from St. Mary's to St. Ewold's was quite as powerful on the spirits +as would be that from St. Ewold's to St. Mary's. Would not a peer +who, by chance of fortune, might suddenly be driven to herd among +navvies be as afraid of the jeers of his companions as would any +navvy suddenly exalted to a seat among the peers? Whereupon the +archdeacon declared with a loud laugh that he would tell Miss Thorne +that her new minister had likened her to a navvy. Eleanor, however, +pronounced such a conclusion to be unfair; a comparison might be very +just in its proportions which did not at all assimilate the things +compared. But Mr. Arabin went on subtilizing, regarding neither the +archdeacon's raillery nor Eleanor's defence. A young lady, he said, +would execute with most perfect self-possession a difficult piece of +music in a room crowded with strangers, who would not be able to +express herself in intelligible language, even on any ordinary +subject and among her most intimate friends, if she were required to +do so standing on a box somewhat elevated among them. It was all an +affair of education, and he at forty found it difficult to educate +himself anew.</p> + +<p>Eleanor dissented on the matter of the box, and averred she could +speak very well about dresses, or babies, or legs of mutton from any +box, provided it were big enough for her to stand upon without fear, +even though all her friends were listening to her. The archdeacon +was sure she would not be able to say a word, but this proved nothing +in favour of Mr. Arabin. Mr. Arabin said that he would try the +question out with Mrs. Bold, and get her on a box some day when the +rectory might be full of visitors. To this Eleanor assented, making +condition that the visitors should be of their own set, and the +archdeacon cogitated in his mind whether by such a condition it was +intended that Mr. Slope should be included, resolving also that, if +so, the trial would certainly never take place in the rectory +drawing-room at Plumstead.</p> + +<p>And so arguing, they drove up to the iron gates of Ullathorne Court.</p> + +<p>Mr. and Miss Thorne were standing ready dressed for church in the +hall, and greeted their clerical visitors with cordiality. The +archdeacon was an old favourite. He was a clergyman of the old +school, and this recommended him to the lady. He had always been an +opponent of free trade as long as free trade was an open question, +and now that it was no longer so, he, being a clergyman, had not been +obliged, like most of his lay Tory companions, to read his +recantation. He could therefore be regarded as a supporter of the +immaculate fifty-three, and was on this account a favourite with Mr. +Thorne. The little bell was tinkling, and the rural population of +the parish were standing about the lane, leaning on the church-stile +and against the walls of the old court, anxious to get a look at +their new minister as he passed from the house to the rectory. The +archdeacon's servant had already preceded them thither with the +vestments.</p> + +<p>They all went forth together, and when the ladies passed into the +church, the three gentlemen tarried a moment in the lane, that Mr. +Thorne might name to the vicar with some kind of one-sided +introduction the most leading among his parishioners.</p> + +<p>"Here are our churchwardens, Mr. Arabin—Farmer Greenacre +and Mr. Stiles. Mr. Stiles has the mill as you go into Barchester; and +very good churchwardens they are."</p> + +<p>"Not very severe, I hope," said Mr. Arabin. The two ecclesiastical +officers touched their hats, and each made a leg in the approved rural +fashion, assuring the vicar that they were very glad to have the +honour of seeing him, and adding that the weather was very good for +the harvest. Mr. Stiles, being a man somewhat versed in town life, +had an impression of his own dignity, and did not quite like leaving +his pastor under the erroneous idea that he being a churchwarden kept +the children in order during church time. 'Twas thus he understood +Mr. Arabin's allusion to his severity and hastened to put matters +right by observing that "Sexton Clodheve looked to the younguns, and +perhaps sometimes there may be a thought too much stick going on +during sermon." Mr. Arabin's bright eye twinkled as he caught that +of the archdeacon, and he smiled to himself as he observed how +ignorant his officers were of the nature of their authority and of +the surveillance which it was their duty to keep even over himself.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin read the lessons and preached. It was enough to put a man +a little out, let him have been ever so used to pulpit reading, to +see the knowing way in which the farmers cocked their ears and set +about a mental criticism as to whether their new minister did or did +not fall short of the excellence of him who had lately departed from +them. A mental and silent criticism it was for the existing moment, +but soon to be made public among the elders of St. Ewold's over the +green graves of their children and forefathers. The excellence, +however, of poor old Mr. Goodenough had not been wonderful, and there +were few there who did not deem that Mr. Arabin did his work +sufficiently well, in spite of the slightly nervous affliction which +at first impeded him, and which nearly drove the archdeacon beside +himself.</p> + +<p>But the sermon was the thing to try the man. It often surprises us +that very young men can muster courage to preach for the first time +to a strange congregation. Men who are as yet but little more than +boys, who have but just left what indeed we may not call a school, +but a seminary intended for their tuition as scholars, whose thoughts +have been mostly of boating, cricketing, and wine-parties, ascend a +rostrum high above the heads of the submissive crowd, not that they +may read God's word to those below, but that they may preach their +own word for the edification of their hearers. It seems strange to +us that they are not stricken dumb by the new and awful solemnity of +their position. "How am I, just turned twenty-three, who have never +yet passed ten thoughtful days since the power of thought first came +to me, how am I to instruct these greybeards who, with the weary +thinking of so many years, have approached so near the grave? Can I +teach them their duty? Can I explain to them that which I so +imperfectly understand, that which years of study may have made so +plain to them? Has my newly acquired privilege as one of God's +ministers imparted to me as yet any fitness for the wonderful work of +a preacher?"</p> + +<p>It must be supposed that such ideas do occur to young clergymen, and +yet they overcome, apparently with ease, this difficulty which to us +appears to be all but insurmountable. We have never been subjected +in the way of ordination to the power of a bishop's hands. It may be +that there is in them something that sustains the spirit and banishes +the natural modesty of youth. But for ourselves we must own that the +deep affection which Dominie Sampson felt for his young pupils has +not more endeared him to us than the bashful spirit which sent him +mute and inglorious from the pulpit when he rose there with the +futile attempt to preach God's gospel.</p> + +<p>There is a rule in our church which forbids the younger order of our +clergymen to perform a certain portion of the service. The +absolution must be read by a minister in priest's orders. If there +be no such minister present, the congregation can have the benefit of +no absolution but that which each may succeed in administering to +himself. The rule may be a good one, though the necessity for it +hardly comes home to the general understanding. But this forbearance +on the part of youth would be much more appreciated if it were +extended likewise to sermons. The only danger would be that +congregations would be too anxious to prevent their young clergymen +from advancing themselves in the ranks of the ministry. Clergymen +who could not preach would be such blessings that they would be +bribed to adhere to their incompetence.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin, however, had not the modesty of youth to impede him, and +he succeeded with his sermon even better than with the lessons. He +took for his text two verses out of the second epistle of St. John, +"Whosoever transgresseth, and abideth not in the doctrine of Christ, +hath not God. He that abideth in the doctrine of Christ, he hath +both the Father and the Son. If there come any unto you, and bring +not this doctrine, receive him not into your house, neither bid him +God-speed." He told them that the house of theirs to which he +alluded was this their church, in which he now addressed them for the +first time; that their most welcome and proper manner of bidding him +God-speed would be their patient obedience to his teaching of the +gospel; but that he could put forward no claim to such conduct on +their part unless he taught them the great Christian doctrine of +works and faith combined. On this he enlarged, but not very amply, +and after twenty minutes succeeded in sending his new friends home to +their baked mutton and pudding well pleased with their new minister.</p> + +<p>Then came the lunch at Ullathorne. As soon as they were in the hall +Miss Thorne took Mr. Arabin's hand and assured him that she received +him into her house, into the temple, she said, in which she +worshipped, and bade him God-speed with all her heart. Mr. Arabin +was touched and squeezed the spinster's hand without uttering a word +in reply. Then Mr. Thorne expressed a hope that Mr. Arabin found the +church well adapted for articulation, and Mr. Arabin having replied +that he had no doubt he should as soon as he had learnt to pitch his +voice to the building, they all sat down to the good things before +them.</p> + +<p>Miss Thorne took special care of Mrs. Bold. Eleanor still wore her +widow's weeds, and therefore had about her that air of grave and sad +maternity which is the lot of recent widows. This opened the soft +heart of Miss Thorne, and made her look on her young guest as though +too much could not be done for her. She heaped chicken and ham upon +her plate and poured out for her a full bumper of port wine. When +Eleanor, who was not sorry to get it, had drunk a little of it, Miss +Thorne at once essayed to fill it again. To this Eleanor objected, +but in vain. Miss Thorne winked and nodded and whispered, saying +that it was the proper thing and must be done, and that she knew all +about it; and so she desired Mrs. Bold to drink it up and not mind +anybody.</p> + +<p>"It is your duty, you know, to support yourself," she said into the +ear of the young mother; "there's more than yourself depending on +it;" and thus she coshered up Eleanor with cold fowl and port wine. +How it is that poor men's wives, who have no cold fowl and port wine +on which to be coshered up, nurse their children without difficulty, +whereas the wives of rich men, who eat and drink everything that is +good, cannot do so, we will for the present leave to the doctors and +the mothers to settle between them.</p> + +<p>And then Miss Thorne was great about teeth. Little Johnny Bold had +been troubled for the last few days with his first incipient +masticator, and with that freemasonry which exists among ladies, Miss +Thorne became aware of the fact before Eleanor had half-finished her +wing. The old lady prescribed at once a receipt which had been much +in vogue in the young days of her grandmother, and warned Eleanor with +solemn voice against the fallacies of modern medicine.</p> + +<p>"Take his coral, my dear," said she, "and rub it well with +carrot-juice; rub it till the juice dries on it, and then give it him +to play with—"</p> + +<p>"But he hasn't got a coral," said Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"Not got a coral!" said Miss Thorne with almost angry vehemence. +"Not got a coral—how can you expect that he should cut his teeth? +Have you got Daffy's Elixir?"</p> + +<p>Eleanor explained that she had not. It had not been ordered by Mr. +Rerechild, the Barchester doctor whom she employed; and then the +young mother mentioned some shockingly modern succedaneum which Mr. +Rerechild's new lights had taught him to recommend.</p> + +<p>Miss Thorne looked awfully severe. "Take care, my dear," said she, +"that the man knows what he's about; take care he doesn't destroy +your little boy. But"—and she softened into sorrow, as she +said it, and spoke more in pity than in anger—"but I don't +know who there is in Barchester now that you can trust. Poor dear old +Doctor Bumpwell, indeed—"</p> + +<p>"Why, Miss Thorne, he died when I was a little girl."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear, he did, and an unfortunate day it was for Barchester. +As to those young men that have come up since"—Mr. +Rerechild, by the by, was quite as old as Miss Thorne +herself—"one doesn't know where they came from or who they +are, or whether they know anything about their business or not."</p> + +<p>"I think there are very clever men in Barchester," said Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps there may be; only I don't know them: and it's admitted on +all sides that medical men aren't now what they used to be. They +used to be talented, observing, educated men. But now any +whipper-snapper out of an apothecary's shop can call himself a doctor. +I believe no kind of education is now thought necessary."</p> + +<p>Eleanor was herself the widow of a medical man and felt a little +inclined to resent all these hard sayings. But Miss Thorne was so +essentially good-natured that it was impossible to resent anything +she said. She therefore sipped her wine and finished her chicken.</p> + +<p>"At any rate, my dear, don't forget the carrot-juice, and by all +means get him a coral at once. My grandmother Thorne had the best +teeth in the county and carried them to the grave with her at eighty. +I have heard her say it was all the carrot-juice. She couldn't bear +the Barchester doctors. Even poor old Dr. Bumpwell didn't please +her." It clearly never occurred to Miss Thorne that some fifty years +ago Dr. Bumpwell was only a rising man and therefore as much in need +of character in the eyes of the then ladies of Ullathorne as the +present doctors were in her own.</p> + +<p>The archdeacon made a very good lunch, and talked to his host about +turnip-drillers and new machines for reaping, while the host, +thinking it only polite to attend to a stranger, and fearing that +perhaps he might not care about turnip crops on a Sunday, mooted all +manner of ecclesiastical subjects.</p> + +<p>"I never saw a heavier lot of wheat, Thorne, than you've got there +in that field beyond the copse. I suppose that's guano," said the +archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"Yes, guano. I get it from Bristol myself. You'll find you often +have a tolerable congregation of Barchester people out here, Mr. +Arabin. They are very fond of St. Ewold's, particularly of an +afternoon when the weather is not too hot for the walk."</p> + +<p>"I am under an obligation to them for staying away to-day, at any +rate," said the vicar. "The congregation can never be too small for +a maiden sermon."</p> + +<p>"I got a ton and a half at Bradley's in High Street," said the +archdeacon, "and it was a complete take in. I don't believe there +was five hundredweight of guano in it."</p> + +<p>"That Bradley never has anything good," said Miss Thorne, who had +just caught the name during her whisperings with Eleanor. "And such +a nice shop as there used to be in that very house before he came. +Wilfred, don't you remember what good things old Ambleoff used to +have?"</p> + +<p>"There have been three men since Ambleoff's time," said the +archdeacon, "and each as bad as the other. But who gets it for you +at Bristol, Thorne?"</p> + +<p>"I ran up myself this year and bought it out of the ship. I am +afraid as the evenings get shorter, Mr. Arabin, you'll find the +reading-desk too dark. I must send a fellow with an axe and make him +lop off some of those branches."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin declared that the morning light at any rate was perfect, +and deprecated any interference with the lime-trees. And then they +took a stroll out among the trim parterres, and Mr. Arabin explained +to Mrs. Bold the difference between a naiad and a dryad, and dilated +on vases and the shapes of urns. Miss Thorne busied herself among +her pansies, and her brother, finding it quite impracticable to give +anything of a peculiarly Sunday tone to the conversation, abandoned +the attempt and had it out with the archdeacon about the Bristol +guano.</p> + +<p>At three o'clock they again went into church, and now Mr. Arabin +read the service and the archdeacon preached. Nearly the same +congregation was present, with some adventurous pedestrians from the +city, who had not thought the heat of the midday August sun too great +to deter them. The archdeacon took his text from the epistle to +Philemon. "I beseech thee for my son Onesimus, whom I have begotten in +my bonds." From such a text it may be imagined the kind of sermon which +Dr. Grantly preached, and on the whole it was neither dull, nor bad, +nor out of place.</p> + +<p>He told them that it had become his duty to look about for a pastor +for them, to supply the place of one who had been long among them, +and that in this manner he regarded as a son him whom he had +selected, as St. Paul had regarded the young disciple whom he sent +forth. Then he took a little merit to himself for having studiously +provided the best man he could without reference to patronage or +favour; but he did not say that the best man according to his views +was he who was best able to subdue Mr. Slope, and make that +gentleman's situation in Barchester too hot to be comfortable. As to +the bonds, they had consisted in the exceeding struggle which he had +made to get a good clergyman for them. He deprecated any comparison +between himself and St. Paul, but said that he was entitled to beseech +them for their goodwill towards Mr. Arabin, in the same manner that +the apostle had besought Philemon and his household with regard to +Onesimus.</p> + +<p>The archdeacon's sermon—text, blessing, and all—was +concluded within the half-hour. Then they shook hands with their +Ullathorne friends and returned to Plumstead. 'Twas thus that Mr. +Arabin read himself in at St. Ewold's.</p> + + +<p><a name="c24" id="c24"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXIV</h3> +<h3>Mr. Slope Manages Matters Very Cleverly at Puddingdale<br /> </h3> + + +<p>The next two weeks passed pleasantly enough at Plumstead. The whole +party there assembled seemed to get on well together. Eleanor made +the house agreeable, and the archdeacon and Mr. Grantly seemed to +have forgotten her iniquity as regarded Mr. Slope. Mr. Harding had +his violoncello, and played to them while his daughters accompanied +him. Johnny Bold, by the help either of Mr. Rerechild or else by +that of his coral and carrot-juice, got through his teething +troubles. There had been gaieties, too, of all sorts. They had +dined at Ullathorne, and the Thornes had dined at the rectory. +Eleanor had been duly put to stand on her box, and in that position +had found herself quite unable to express her opinion on the merits +of flounces, such having been the subject given to try her elocution. +Mr. Arabin had of course been much in his own parish, looking to the +doings at his vicarage, calling on his parishioners, and taking on +himself the duties of his new calling. But still he had been every +evening at Plumstead, and Mrs. Grantly was partly willing to agree +with her husband that he was a pleasant inmate in a house.</p> + +<p>They had also been at a dinner-party at Dr. Stanhope's, of which Mr. +Arabin had made one. He also, mothlike, burnt his wings in the +flames of the signora's candle. Mrs. Bold, too, had been there, and +had felt somewhat displeased with the taste—want of taste +she called it—shown by Mr. Arabin in paying so much +attention to Madame Neroni. It was as infallible that Madeline should +displease and irritate the women as that she should charm and captivate +the men. The one result followed naturally on the other. It was quite +true that Mr. Arabin had been charmed. He thought her a very clever and +a very handsome woman; he thought also that her peculiar affliction +entitled her to the sympathy of all. He had never, he said, met so much +suffering joined to such perfect beauty and so clear a mind. 'Twas thus +he spoke of the signora, coming home in the archdeacon's carriage, and +Eleanor by no means liked to hear the praise. It was, however, +exceedingly unjust of her to be angry with Mr. Arabin, as she had +herself spent a very pleasant evening with Bertie Stanhope, who had +taken her down to dinner and had not left her side for one moment after +the gentlemen came out of the dining-room. It was unfair that she +should amuse herself with Bertie and yet begrudge her new friend his +license of amusing himself with Bertie's sister. And yet she did so. +She was half-angry with him in the carriage, and said something about +meretricious manners. Mr. Arabin did not understand the ways of women +very well, or else he might have flattered himself that Eleanor was in +love with him.</p> + +<p>But Eleanor was not in love with him. How many shades there are +between love and indifference, and how little the graduated scale is +understood! She had now been nearly three weeks in the same house +with Mr. Arabin, and had received much of his attention and listened +daily to his conversation. He had usually devoted at least some +portion of his evening to her exclusively. At Dr. Stanhope's he had +devoted himself exclusively to another. It does not require that a +woman should be in love to be irritated at this; it does not require +that she should even acknowledge to herself that it is unpleasant to +her. Eleanor had no such self-knowledge. She thought in her own +heart that it was only on Mr. Arabin's account that she regretted +that he could condescend to be amused by the signora. "I thought he +had more mind," she said to herself as she sat watching her baby's +cradle on her return from the party. "After all, I believe Mr. +Stanhope is the pleasanter man of the two." Alas for the memory of +poor John Bold! Eleanor was not in love with Bertie Stanhope, nor +was she in love with Mr. Arabin. But her devotion to her late +husband was fast fading when she could revolve in her mind, over the +cradle of his infant, the faults and failings of other aspirants to +her favour.</p> + +<p>Will anyone blame my heroine for this? Let him or her rather thank +God for all His goodness—for His mercy endureth forever.</p> + +<p>Eleanor, in truth, was not in love; neither was Mr. Arabin. Neither +indeed was Bertie Stanhope, though he had already found occasion to +say nearly as much as that he was. The widow's cap had prevented him +from making a positive declaration, when otherwise he would have +considered himself entitled to do so on a third or fourth interview. +It was, after all, but a small cap now, and had but little of the +weeping willow left in its construction. It is singular how these +emblems of grief fade away by unseen gradations. Each pretends to be +the counterpart of the forerunner, and yet the last little bit of +crimped white crape that sits so jauntily on the back of the head is +as dissimilar to the first huge mountain of woe which disfigured the +face of the weeper as the state of the Hindu is to the jointure of +the English dowager.</p> + +<p>But let it be clearly understood that Eleanor was in love with no +one, and that no one was in love with Eleanor. Under these circumstances +her anger against Mr. Arabin did not last long, and before two days +were over they were both as good friends as ever. She could not but +like him, for every hour spent in his company was spent pleasantly. And +yet she could not quite like him, for there was always apparent in his +conversation a certain feeling on his part that he hardly thought it +worth his while to be in earnest. It was almost as though he were +playing with a child. She knew well enough that he was in truth a +sober, thoughtful man who, in some matters and on some occasions, could +endure an agony of earnestness. And yet to her he was always gently +playful. Could she have seen his brow once clouded, she might have +learnt to love him.</p> + +<p>So things went on at Plumstead, and on the whole not unpleasantly, +till a huge storm darkened the horizon and came down upon the +inhabitants of the rectory with all the fury of a water-spout. It +was astonishing how in a few minutes the whole face of the heavens +was changed. The party broke up from breakfast in perfect harmony, +but fierce passions had arisen before the evening which did not admit +of their sitting at the same board for dinner. To explain this it +will be necessary to go back a little.</p> + +<p>It will be remembered that the bishop expressed to Mr. Slope in his +dressing-room his determination that Mr. Quiverful should be +confirmed in his appointment to the hospital, and that his lordship +requested Mr. Slope to communicate this decision to the archdeacon. +It will also be remembered that the archdeacon had indignantly +declined seeing Mr. Slope, and had instead written a strong letter to +the bishop in which he all but demanded the situation of warden for +Mr. Harding. To this letter the archdeacon received an immediate +formal reply from Mr. Slope, in which it was stated that the bishop +had received and would give his best consideration to the +archdeacon's letter.</p> + +<p>The archdeacon felt himself somewhat checkmated by this reply. What +could he do with a man who would neither see him, nor argue with him +by letter, and who had undoubtedly the power of appointing any +clergyman he pleased? He had consulted with Mr. Arabin, who had +suggested the propriety of calling in the aid of the Master of +Lazarus. "If," said he, "you and Dr. Gwynne formally declare your +intention of waiting upon the bishop, the bishop will not dare to +refuse to see you; and if two such men as you are see him together, +you will probably not leave him without carrying your point."</p> + +<p>The archdeacon did not quite like admitting the necessity of his +being backed by the Master of Lazarus before he could obtain +admission into the episcopal palace of Barchester, but still he felt +that the advice was good, and he resolved to take it. He wrote again +to the bishop, expressing a hope that nothing further would be done +in the matter of the hospital till the consideration promised by his +lordship had been given, and then sent off a warm appeal to his +friend the master, imploring him to come to Plumstead and assist in +driving the bishop into compliance. The master had rejoined, +raising some difficulty, but not declining, and the archdeacon had +again pressed his point, insisting on the necessity for immediate +action. Dr. Gwynne unfortunately had the gout, and could therefore +name no immediate day, but still agreed to come, if it should be +finally found necessary. So the matter stood, as regarded the party +at Plumstead.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Harding had another friend fighting his battle for him, +quite as powerful as the Master of Lazarus, and this was Mr. Slope. +Though the bishop had so pertinaciously insisted on giving way to his +wife in the matter of the hospital, Mr. Slope did not think it +necessary to abandon his object. He had, he thought, daily more and +more reason to imagine that the widow would receive his overtures +favourably, and he could not but feel that Mr. Harding at the hospital, +and placed there by his means, would be more likely to receive him as a +son-in-law than Mr. Harding growling in opposition and disappointment +under the archdeacon's wing at Plumstead. Moreover, to give Mr. Slope +due credit, he was actuated by greater motives even than these. He +wanted a wife, and he wanted money, but he wanted power more than +either. He had fully realized the fact that he must come to blows with +Mrs. Proudie. He had no desire to remain in Barchester as her chaplain. +Sooner than do so, he would risk the loss of his whole connexion with +the diocese. What! Was he to feel within him the possession of no +ordinary talents—was he to know himself to be courageous, +firm, and, in matters where his conscience did not interfere, +unscrupulous—and yet he contented to be the working factotum +of a woman prelate? Mr. Slope had higher ideas of his own destiny. +Either he or Mrs. Proudie must go to the wall, and now had come the +time when he would try which it should be.</p> + +<p>The bishop had declared that Mr. Quiverful should be the new warden. +As Mr. Slope went downstairs, prepared to see the archdeacon, if +necessary, but fully satisfied that no such necessity would arise, he +declared to himself that Mr. Harding should be warden. With the +object of carrying this point, he rode over to Puddingdale and had a +further interview with the worthy expectant of clerical good things. +Mr. Quiverful was on the whole a worthy man. The impossible task of +bringing up as ladies and gentlemen fourteen children on an income +which was insufficient to give them with decency the common +necessaries of life, had had an effect upon him not beneficial either +to his spirit or his keen sense of honour. Who can boast that he +would have supported such a burden with a different result? Mr. +Quiverful was an honest, painstaking, drudging man, anxious indeed +for bread and meat, anxious for means to quiet his butcher and cover +with returning smiles the now sour countenance of the baker's wife; +but anxious also to be right with his own conscience. He was not +careful, as another might be who sat on an easier worldly seat, to +stand well with those around him, to shun a breath which might sully +his name or a rumour which might affect his honour. He could not +afford such niceties of conduct, such moral luxuries. It must +suffice for him to be ordinarily honest according to the ordinary +honesty of the world's ways, and to let men's tongues wag as they +would.</p> + +<p>He had felt that his brother clergymen, men whom he had known for +the last twenty years, looked coldly on him from the first moment that +he had shown himself willing to sit at the feet of Mr. Slope; he had +seen that their looks grew colder still when it became bruited about +that he was to be the bishop's new warden at Hiram's Hospital. This was +painful enough, but it was the cross which he was doomed to bear. He +thought of his wife, whose last new silk dress was six years in wear. +He thought of all his young flock, whom he could hardly take to church +with him on Sundays, for there were not decent shoes and stockings for +them all to wear. He thought of the well-worn sleeves of his own black +coat and of the stern face of the draper, from whom he would fain ask +for cloth to make another, did he not know that the credit would be +refused him. Then he thought of the comfortable house in Barchester, of +the comfortable income, of his boys sent to school, of his girls with +books in their hands instead of darning needles, of his wife's face +again covered with smiles, and of his daily board again covered with +plenty. He thought of these things; and do thou also, reader, think of +them, and then wonder, if thou canst, that Mr. Slope had appeared to +him to possess all those good gifts which could grace a bishop's +chaplain. "How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that +bringeth good tidings."</p> + +<p>Why, moreover, should the Barchester clergy have looked coldly on +Mr. Quiverful? Had they not all shown that they regarded with +complacency the loaves and fishes of their mother church? Had they not +all, by some hook or crook, done better for themselves than he had +done? They were not burdened as he was burdened. Dr. Grantly had five +children and nearly as many thousands a year on which to feed them. It +was very well for him to turn up his nose at a new bishop who could do +nothing for him, and a chaplain who was beneath his notice; but it was +cruel in a man so circumstanced to set the world against the father of +fourteen children because he was anxious to obtain for them an +honourable support! He, Mr. Quiverful, had not asked for the +wardenship; he had not even accepted it till he had been assured that +Mr. Harding had refused it. How hard then that he should be blamed for +doing that which not to have done would have argued a most insane +imprudence!</p> + +<p>Thus in this matter of the hospital poor Mr. Quiverful had his +trials, and he had also his consolations. On the whole the +consolations were the more vivid of the two. The stern draper heard +of the coming promotion, and the wealth of his warehouse was at Mr. +Quiverful's disposal. Coming events cast their shadows before, and +the coming event of Mr. Quiverful's transference to Barchester +produced a delicious shadow in the shape of a new outfit for Mrs. +Quiverful and her three elder daughters. Such consolations come home +to the heart of a man, and quite home to the heart of a woman. +Whatever the husband might feel, the wife cared nothing for frowns of +dean, archdeacon, or prebendary. To her the outsides and insides of +her husband and fourteen children were everything. In her bosom +every other ambition had been swallowed up in that maternal ambition +of seeing them and him and herself duly clad and properly fed. It +had come to that with her that life had now no other purpose. She +recked nothing of the imaginary rights of others. She had no +patience with her husband when he declared to her that he could not +accept the hospital unless he knew that Mr. Harding had refused it. +Her husband had no right to be quixotic at the expense of fourteen +children. The narrow escape of throwing away his good fortune which +her lord had had, almost paralysed her. Now, indeed, they had +received a full promise, not only from Mr. Slope, but also from Mrs. +Proudie. Now, indeed, they might reckon with safety on their good +fortune. But what if all had been lost? What if her fourteen bairns +had been resteeped to the hips in poverty by the morbid +sentimentality of their father? Mrs. Quiverful was just at present a +happy woman, but yet it nearly took her breath away when she thought +of the risk they had run.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what your father means when he talks so much of what +is due to Mr. Harding," she said to her eldest daughter. "Does he think +that Mr. Harding would give him £450 a year out of fine feeling? And +what signifies it whom he offends, as long as he gets the place? He +does not expect anything better. It passes me to think how your father +can be so soft, while everybody around him is so griping."</p> + +<p>Thus, while the outer world was accusing Mr. Quiverful of rapacity +for promotion and of disregard to his honour, the inner world of his +own household was falling foul of him, with equal vehemence, for his +willingness to sacrifice their interests to a false feeling of +sentimental pride. It is astonishing how much difference the point +of view makes in the aspect of all that we look at!</p> + +<p>Such were the feelings of the different members of the family at +Puddingdale on the occasion of Mr. Slope's second visit. Mrs. +Quiverful, as soon as she saw his horse coming up the avenue from the +vicarage gate, hastily packed up her huge basket of needlework and +hurried herself and her daughter out of the room in which she was +sitting with her husband. "It's Mr. Slope," she said. "He's come to +settle with you about the hospital. I do hope we shall now be able +to move at once." And she hastened to bid the maid of all work go to +the door, so that the welcome great man might not be kept waiting.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope thus found Mr. Quiverful alone. Mrs. Quiverful went off to +her kitchen and back settlements with anxious beating heart, almost +dreading that there might be some slip between the cup of her +happiness and the lip of her fruition, but yet comforting herself +with the reflexion that after what had taken place, any such slip +could hardly be possible.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope was all smiles as he shook his brother clergyman's hand +and said that he had ridden over because he thought it right at once to +put Mr. Quiverful in possession of the facts of the matter regarding +the wardenship of the hospital. As he spoke, the poor expectant husband +and father saw at a glance that his brilliant hopes were to be dashed +to the ground, and that his visitor was now there for the purpose of +unsaying what on his former visit he had said. There was something in +the tone of the voice, something in the glance of the eye, which told +the tale. Mr. Quiverful knew it all at once. He maintained his +self-possession, however, smiled with a slight unmeaning smile, and +merely said that he was obliged to Mr. Slope for the trouble he was +taking.</p> + +<p>"It has been a troublesome matter from first to last," said Mr. +Slope, "and the bishop has hardly known how to act. Between +ourselves—but mind this of course must go no further, Mr. +Quiverful."</p> + +<p>Mr. Quiverful said that of course it should not. "The truth is that +poor Mr. Harding has hardly known his own mind. You remember our +last conversation, no doubt."</p> + +<p>Mr. Quiverful assured him that he remembered it very well indeed.</p> + +<p>"You will remember that I told you that Mr. Harding had refused to +return to the hospital."</p> + +<p>Mr. Quiverful declared that nothing could be more distinct on his +memory.</p> + +<p>"And acting on this refusal, I suggested that you should take the +hospital," continued Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"I understood you to say that the bishop had authorised you to offer +it to me."</p> + +<p>"Did I? Did I go so far as that? Well, perhaps it may be that in my +anxiety in your behalf I did commit myself further than I should have +done. So far as my own memory serves me, I don't think I did go +quite so far as that. But I own I was very anxious that you should +get it, and I may have said more than was quite prudent."</p> + +<p>"But," said Mr. Quiverful in his deep anxiety to prove his case, "my +wife received as distinct a promise from Mrs. Proudie as one human +being could give to another."</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope smiled and gently shook his head. He meant the smile for a +pleasant smile, but it was diabolical in the eyes of the man he was +speaking to. "Mrs. Proudie!" he said. "If we are to go to what +passes between the ladies in these matters, we shall really be in a +nest of troubles from which we shall never extricate ourselves. Mrs. +Proudie is a most excellent lady, kind-hearted, charitable, pious, +and in every way estimable. But, my dear Mr. Quiverful, the +patronage of the diocese is not in her hands."</p> + +<p>Mr. Quiverful for a moment sat panic-stricken and silent. "Am I to +understand, then, that I have received no promise?" he said as soon +as he had sufficiently collected his thoughts.</p> + +<p>"If you will allow me, I will tell you exactly how the matter rests. +You certainly did receive a promise conditional on Mr. Harding's +refusal. I am sure you will do me the justice to remember that you +yourself declared that you could accept the appointment on no other +condition than the knowledge that Mr. Harding had declined it."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mr. Quiverful; "I did say that, certainly."</p> + +<p>"Well, it now appears that he did not refuse it."</p> + +<p>"But surely you told me, and repeated it more than once, that he had +done so in your own hearing."</p> + +<p>"So I understood him. But it seems I was in error. But don't for a +moment, Mr. Quiverful, suppose that I mean to throw you over. No. +Having held out my hand to a man in your position, with your large +family and pressing claims, I am not now going to draw it back again. +I only want you to act with me fairly and honestly."</p> + +<p>"Whatever I do I shall endeavour at any rate to act fairly," said +the poor man, feeling that he had to fall back for support on the +spirit of martyrdom within him.</p> + +<p>"I am sure you will," said the other. "I am sure you have no wish to +obtain possession of an income which belongs by all right to another. +No man knows better than you do Mr. Harding's history, or can better +appreciate his character. Mr. Harding is very desirous of returning +to his old position, and the bishop feels that he is at the present +moment somewhat hampered, though of course he is not bound, by the +conversation which took place on the matter between you and me."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Mr. Quiverful, dreadfully doubtful as to what his +conduct under such circumstances should be, and fruitlessly striving +to harden his nerves with some of that instinct of self-preservation +which made his wife so bold.</p> + +<p>"The wardenship of this little hospital is not the only thing in the +bishop's gift, Mr. Quiverful, nor is it by many degrees the best. +And his lordship is not the man to forget anyone whom he has once +marked with approval. If you would allow me to advise you as a +friend—"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I shall be most grateful to you," said the poor vicar of +Puddingdale.</p> + +<p>"I should advise you to withdraw from any opposition to Mr. +Harding's claims. If you persist in your demand, I do not think you +will ultimately succeed. Mr. Harding has all but a positive right to +the place. But if you will allow me to inform the bishop that you +decline to stand in Mr. Harding's way, I think I may promise +you—though, by the by, it must not be taken as a formal +promise—that the bishop will not allow you to be a poorer +man than you would have been had you become warden."</p> + +<p>Mr. Quiverful sat in his armchair, silent, gazing at vacancy. What +was he to say? All this that came from Mr. Slope was so true. Mr. +Harding had a right to the hospital. The bishop had a great many +good things to give away. Both the bishop and Mr. Slope would be +excellent friends and terrible enemies to a man in his position. And +then he had no proof of any promise; he could not force the bishop to +appoint him.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Quiverful, what do you say about it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course, whatever you think fit, Mr. Slope. It's a great +disappointment, a very great disappointment. I won't deny that I am +a very poor man, Mr. Slope."</p> + +<p>"In the end, Mr. Quiverful, you will find that it will have been +better for you."</p> + +<p>The interview ended in Mr. Slope receiving a full renunciation from +Mr. Quiverful of any claim he might have to the appointment in +question. It was only given verbally and without witnesses, but then +the original promise was made in the same way.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope again assured him that he should not be forgotten, and +then rode back to Barchester, satisfied that he would now be able to +mould the bishop to his wishes.</p> + + +<p><a name="c25" id="c25"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXV</h3> +<h3>Fourteen Arguments in Favour of Mr. Quiverful's Claims<br /> </h3> + + +<p>We have most of us heard of the terrible anger of a lioness when, +surrounded by her cubs, she guards her prey. Few of us wish to +disturb the mother of a litter of puppies when mouthing a bone in the +midst of her young family. Medea and her children are familiar to +us, and so is the grief of Constance. Mrs. Quiverful, when she first +heard from her husband the news which he had to impart, felt within +her bosom all the rage of the lioness, the rapacity of the hound, the +fury of the tragic queen, and the deep despair of the bereaved +mother.</p> + +<p>Doubting, but yet hardly fearing, what might have been the tenor of +Mr. Slope's discourse, she rushed back to her husband as soon as the +front door was closed behind the visitor. It was well for Mr. Slope +that he so escaped—the anger of such a woman, at such a +moment, would have cowed even him. As a general rule, it is highly +desirable that ladies should keep their temper: a woman when she storms +always makes herself ugly, and usually ridiculous also. There is +nothing so odious to man as a virago. Though Theseus loved an Amazon, +he showed his love but roughly, and from the time of Theseus downward, +no man ever wished to have his wife remarkable rather for forward +prowess than retiring gentleness. A low voice "is an excellent thing in +woman."</p> + +<p>Such may be laid down as a very general rule; and few women should +allow themselves to deviate from it, and then only on rare occasions. +But if there be a time when a woman may let her hair to the winds, +when she may loose her arms, and scream out trumpet-tongued to the +ears of men, it is when nature calls out within her not for her own +wants, but for the wants of those whom her womb has borne, whom her +breasts have suckled, for those who look to her for their daily bread +as naturally as man looks to his Creator.</p> + +<p>There was nothing poetic in the nature of Mrs. Quiverful. She was +neither a Medea nor a Constance. When angry, she spoke out her anger +in plain words, and in a tone which might have been modulated with +advantage; but she did so, at any rate, without affectation. Now, +without knowing it, she rose to a tragic vein.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear, we are not to have it." Such were the words with +which her ears were greeted when she entered the parlour, still hot +from the kitchen fire. And the face of her husband spoke even more +plainly than his words:—<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p class="noindent">E'en such a man, so faint, so spiritless,<br /> + So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,<br /> + Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night.<br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p>"What!" said she—and Mrs. Siddons could not have put +more passion into a single syllable—"What! Not have it? +Who says so?" And she sat opposite to her husband, with her elbows on +the table, her hands clasped together, and her coarse, solid, but once +handsome face stretched over it towards him.</p> + +<p>She sat as silent as death while he told his story, and very +dreadful to him her silence was. He told it very lamely and badly but +still in such a manner that she soon understood the whole of it.</p> + +<p>"And so you have resigned it?" said she.</p> + +<p>"I have had no opportunity of accepting it," he replied. "I had no +witnesses to Mr. Slope's offer, even if that offer would bind the +bishop. It was better for me, on the whole, to keep on good terms +with such men than to fight for what I should never get!"</p> + +<p>"Witnesses!" she screamed, rising quickly to her feet and walking up +and down the room. "Do clergymen require witnesses to their words? +He made the promise in the bishop's name, and if it is to be broken, +I'll know the reason why. Did he not positively say that the bishop +had sent him to offer you the place?"</p> + +<p>"He did, my dear. But that is now nothing to the purpose."</p> + +<p>"It is everything to the purpose, Mr. Quiverful. Witnesses indeed! +And then to talk of your honour being questioned because you wish to +provide for fourteen children. It is everything to the purpose; and +so they shall know, if I scream it into their ears from the town +cross of Barchester."</p> + +<p>"You forget, Letitia, that the bishop has so many things in his +gift. We must wait a little longer. That is all."</p> + +<p>"Wait! Shall we feed the children by waiting? Will waiting put +George, and Tom, and Sam out into the world? Will it enable my poor +girls to give up some of their drudgery? Will waiting make Bessy and +Jane fit even to be governesses? Will waiting pay for the things we +got in Barchester last week?"</p> + +<p>"It is all we can do, my dear. The disappointment is as much to me +as to you; and yet, God knows, I feel it more for your sake than my +own."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Quiverful was looking full into her husband's face, and saw a +small hot tear appear on each of those furrowed cheeks. This was too +much for her woman's heart. He also had risen, and was standing with +his back to the empty grate. She rushed towards him and, seizing him +in her arms, sobbed aloud upon his bosom.</p> + +<p>"You are too good, too soft, too yielding," she said at last. "These +men, when they want you, they use you like a cat's paw; and when they +want you no longer, they throw you aside like an old shoe. This is +twice they have treated you so."</p> + +<p>"In one way this will be all for the better," argued he. "It will +make the bishop feel that he is bound to do something for me."</p> + +<p>"At any rate he shall hear of it," said the lady, again reverting to +her more angry mood. "At any rate he shall hear of it, and that +loudly; and so shall she. She little knows Letitia Quiverful, if she +thinks I will sit down quietly with the loss after all that passed +between us at the palace. If there's any feeling within her, I'll +make her ashamed of herself,"—and she paced the room again, stamping +the floor as she went with her fat, heavy foot. "Good heavens! What +a heart she must have within her to treat in such a way as this the +father of fourteen unprovided children!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Quiverful proceeded to explain that he didn't think that Mrs. +Proudie had had anything to do with it.</p> + +<p>"Don't tell me," said Mrs. Quiverful; "I know more about it than +that. Doesn't all the world know that Mrs. Proudie is bishop of +Barchester and that Mr. Slope is merely her creature? Wasn't it she +that made me the promise, just as though the thing was in her own +particular gift? I tell you, it was that woman who sent him over +here to-day, because, for some reason of her own, she wants to go +back from her word."</p> + +<p>"My dear, you're wrong—"</p> + +<p>"Now, Q., don't be so soft," she continued. "Take my word for it, +the bishop knows no more about it than Jemima does." Jemima was the +two-year-old. "And if you'll take my advice, you'll lose no time in +going over and seeing him yourself."</p> + +<p>Soft, however, as Mr. Quiverful might be, he would not allow himself +to be talked out of his opinion on this occasion, and proceeded with +much minuteness to explain to his wife the tone in which Mr. Slope +had spoken of Mrs. Proudie's interference in diocesan matters. As he +did so, a new idea gradually instilled itself into the matron's head, +and a new course of conduct presented itself to her judgement. What +if, after all, Mrs. Proudie knew nothing of this visit of Mr. +Slope's? In that case, might it not be possible that that lady would +still be staunch to her in this matter, still stand her friend, and, +perhaps, possibly carry her through in opposition to Mr. Slope? +Mrs. Quiverful said nothing as this vague hope occurred to her, but +listened with more than ordinary patience to what her husband had to +say. While he was still explaining that in all probability the world +was wrong in its estimation of Mrs. Proudie's power and authority, +she had fully made up her mind as to her course of action. She did +not, however, proclaim her intention. She shook her head ominously +as he continued his narration, and when he had completed, she rose to +go, merely observing that it was cruel, cruel treatment. She then +asked him if he would mind waiting for a late dinner instead of +dining at their usual hour of three; and, having received from him a +concession on this point, she proceeded to carry her purpose into +execution.</p> + +<p>She determined that she would at once go to the palace, that she +would do so, if possible, before Mrs. Proudie could have had an +interview with Mr. Slope, and that she would be either submissive, +piteous, and pathetic, or else indignant, violent, and exacting, +according to the manner in which she was received.</p> + +<p>She was quite confident in her own power. Strengthened as she was by +the pressing wants of fourteen children, she felt that she could make +her way through legions of episcopal servants and force herself, if +need be, into the presence of the lady who had so wronged her. She +had no shame about it, no <i>mauvaise honte</i>, no dread of +archdeacons. She would, as she declared to her husband, make her wail +heard in the market-place if she did not get redress and justice. It +might be very well for an unmarried young curate to be shamefaced in +such matters; it might be all right that a snug rector, really in want +of nothing, but still looking for better preferment, should carry on +his affairs decently under the rose. But Mrs. Quiverful, with fourteen +children, had given over being shamefaced and, in some things, had +given over being decent. If it were intended that she should be +ill-used in the manner proposed by Mr. Slope, it should not be done +under the rose. All the world should know of it.</p> + +<p>In her present mood, Mrs. Quiverful was not over-careful about her +attire. She tied her bonnet under her chin, threw her shawl over her +shoulders, armed herself with the old family cotton umbrella, and +started for Barchester. A journey to the palace was not quite so +easy a thing for Mrs. Quiverful as for our friend at Plumstead. +Plumstead is nine miles from Barchester, and Puddingdale is but four. +But the archdeacon could order round his brougham, and his +high-trotting fast bay gelding would take him into the city within the +hour. There was no brougham in the coach-house of Puddingdale Vicarage, +no bay horse in the stables. There was no method of locomotion for its +inhabitants but that which nature has assigned to man.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Quiverful was a broad, heavy woman, not young, nor given to +walking. In her kitchen, and in the family dormitories, she was +active enough, but her pace and gait were not adapted for the road. +A walk into Barchester and back in the middle of an August day would +be to her a terrible task, if not altogether impracticable. There +was living in the parish, about half a mile from the vicarage on the +road to the city, a decent, kindly farmer, well to do as regards this +world and so far mindful of the next that he attended his parish +church with decent regularity. To him Mrs. Quiverful had before now +appealed in some of her more pressing family troubles, and had not +appealed in vain. At his door she now presented herself, and, having +explained to his wife that most urgent business required her to go at +once to Barchester, begged that Farmer Subsoil would take her thither +in his tax-cart. The farmer did not reject her plan, and, as soon as +Prince could be got into his collar, they started on their journey.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Quiverful did not mention the purpose of her business, nor did +the farmer alloy his kindness by any unseemly questions. She merely +begged to be put down at the bridge going into the city and to be +taken up again at the same place in the course of two hours. The +farmer promised to be punctual to his appointment, and the lady, +supported by her umbrella, took the short cut to the close and, in a +few minutes, was at the bishop's door.</p> + +<p>Hitherto she had felt no dread with regard to the coming interview. +She had felt nothing but an indignant longing to pour forth her +claims, and declare her wrongs, if those claims were not fully +admitted. But now the difficulty of her situation touched her a +little. She had been at the palace once before, but then she went to +give grateful thanks. Those who have thanks to return for favours +received find easy admittance to the halls of the great. Such is not +always the case with men, or even with women, who have favours to +beg. Still less easy is access for those who demand the fulfilment +of promises already made.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Quiverful had not been slow to learn the ways of the world. She +knew all this, and she knew also that her cotton umbrella and all but +ragged shawl would not command respect in the eyes of the palatial +servants. If she were too humble, she knew well that she would never +succeed. To overcome by imperious overbearing with such a shawl as +hers upon her shoulders and such a bonnet on her head would have +required a personal bearing very superior to that with which nature +had endowed her. Of this also Mrs. Quiverful was aware. She must +make it known that she was the wife of a gentleman and a clergyman, +and must yet condescend to conciliate.</p> + +<p>The poor lady knew but one way to overcome these difficulties at the +very threshold of her enterprise, and to this she resorted. Low as +were the domestic funds at Puddingdale, she still retained possession +of half a crown, and this she sacrificed to the avarice of Mrs. +Proudie's metropolitan sesquipedalian serving-man. She was, she +said, Mrs. Quiverful of Puddingdale, the wife of the Rev. Mr. +Quiverful. She wished to see Mrs. Proudie. It was indeed quite +indispensable that she should see Mrs. Proudie. James Fitzplush +looked worse than dubious, did not know whether his lady were out, or +engaged, or in her bedroom; thought it most probable she was subject +to one of these or to some other cause that would make her invisible; +but Mrs. Quiverful could sit down in the waiting-room while inquiry +was being made of Mrs. Proudie's maid.</p> + +<p>"Look here, my man," said Mrs. Quiverful; "I must see her;" and she +put her card and half-crown—think of it, my reader, think +of it; her last half-crown—into the man's hand and sat +herself down on a chair in the waiting-room.</p> + +<p>Whether the bribe carried the day, or whether the bishop's wife +really chose to see the vicar's wife, it boots not now to inquire. +The man returned and, begging Mrs. Quiverful to follow him, ushered +her into the presence of the mistress of the diocese.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Quiverful at once saw that her patroness was in a smiling +humour. Triumph sat throned upon her brow, and all the joys of +dominion hovered about her curls. Her lord had that morning +contested with her a great point. He had received an invitation to +spend a couple of days with the archbishop. His soul longed for the +gratification. Not a word, however, in his grace's note alluded to +the fact of his being a married man; if he went at all, he must go +alone. This necessity would have presented no insurmountable bar to +the visit, or have militated much against the pleasure, had he been +able to go without any reference to Mrs. Proudie. But this he could +not do. He could not order his portmanteau to be packed and start +with his own man, merely telling the lady of his heart that he would +probably be back on Saturday. There are men—may we not +rather say monsters?—who do such things, and there are +wives—may we not rather say slaves?—who put up with such +usage. But Dr. and Mrs. Proudie were not among the number.</p> + +<p>The bishop, with some beating about the bush, made the lady +understand that he very much wished to go. The lady, without any +beating about the bush, made the bishop understand that she wouldn't +hear of it. It would be useless here to repeat the arguments that +were used on each side, and needless to record the result. Those who +are married will understand very well how the battle was lost and +won, and those who are single will never understand it till they +learn the lesson which experience alone can give. When Mrs. +Quiverful was shown into Mrs. Proudie's room, that lady had only +returned a few minutes from her lord. But before she left him she +had seen the answer to the archbishop's note written and sealed. No +wonder that her face was wreathed with smiles as she received Mrs. +Quiverful.</p> + +<p>She instantly spoke of the subject which was so near the heart of +her visitor. "Well, Mrs. Quiverful," said she, "is it decided yet when +you are to move into Barchester?"</p> + +<p>"That woman," as she had an hour or two since been called, became +instantly re-endowed with all the graces that can adorn a bishop's +wife. Mrs. Quiverful immediately saw that her business was to be +piteous, and that nothing was to be gained by +indignation—nothing, indeed, unless she could be indignant in company +with her patroness.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Proudie," she began, "I fear we are not to move to +Barchester at all."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" said that lady sharply, dropping at a moment's notice her +smiles and condescension, and turning with her sharp quick way to +business which she saw at a glance was important.</p> + +<p>And then Mrs. Quiverful told her tale. As she progressed in the +history of her wrongs she perceived that the heavier she leant upon +Mr. Slope the blacker became Mrs. Proudie's brow, but that such +blackness was not injurious to her own case. When Mr. Slope was at +Puddingdale Vicarage that morning she had regarded him as the +creature of the lady-bishop; now she perceived that they were +enemies. She admitted her mistake to herself without any pain or +humiliation. She had but one feeling, and that was confined to her +family. She cared little how she twisted and turned among these +new-comers at the bishop's palace so long as she could twist her +husband into the warden's house. She cared not which was her friend or +which was her enemy, if only she could get this preferment which she so +sorely wanted.</p> + +<p>She told her tale, and Mrs. Proudie listened to it almost in +silence. She told how Mr. Slope had cozened her husband into resigning +his claim, and had declared that it was the bishop's will that none but +Mr. Harding should be warden. Mrs. Proudie's brow became blacker and +blacker. At last she started from her chair and, begging Mrs. Quiverful +to sit and wait for her return, marched out of the room.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Proudie, it's for fourteen children—for fourteen +children." Such was the burden that fell on her ear as she closed +the door behind her.</p> + + +<p><a name="c26" id="c26"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXVI</h3> +<h3>Mrs. Proudie Wrestles and Gets a Fall<br /> </h3> + + +<p>It was hardly an hour since Mrs. Proudie had left her husband's +apartment victorious, and yet so indomitable was her courage that she +now returned thither panting for another combat. She was greatly +angry with what she thought was his duplicity. He had so clearly +given her a promise on this matter of the hospital. He had been +already so absolutely vanquished on that point. Mrs. Proudie began +to feel that if every affair was to be thus discussed and battled +about twice and even thrice, the work of the diocese would be too +much even for her.</p> + +<p>Without knocking at the door, she walked quickly into her husband's +room and found him seated at his office table, with Mr. Slope +opposite to him. Between his fingers was the very note which he had +written to the archbishop in her presence—and it was open! Yes, he +had absolutely violated the seal which had been made sacred by her +approval. They were sitting in deep conclave, and it was too clear +that the purport of the archbishop's invitation had been absolutely +canvassed again, after it had been already debated and decided on in +obedience to her behests! Mr. Slope rose from his chair and bowed +slightly. The two opposing spirits looked each other fully in the +face, and they knew that they were looking each at an enemy.</p> + +<p>"What is this, Bishop, about Mr. Quiverful?" said she, coming to the +end of the table and standing there.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope did not allow the bishop to answer but replied himself. +"I have been out to Puddingdale this morning, ma'am, and have seen +Mr. Quiverful. Mr. Quiverful has abandoned his claim to the hospital +because he is now aware that Mr. Harding is desirous to fill his old +place. Under these circumstances I have strongly advised his +lordship to nominate Mr. Harding."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Quiverful has not abandoned anything," said the lady, with a +very imperious voice. "His lordship's word has been pledged to him, +and it must be respected."</p> + +<p>The bishop still remained silent. He was anxiously desirous of +making his old enemy bite the dust beneath his feet. His new ally +had told him that nothing was more easy for him than to do so. The +ally was there now at his elbow to help him, and yet his courage +failed him. It is so hard to conquer when the prestige of former +victories is all against one. It is so hard for the cock who has +once been beaten out of his yard to resume his courage and again take +a proud place upon a dunghill.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I ought not to interfere," said Mr. Slope, "but yet—"</p> + +<p>"Certainly you ought not," said the infuriated dame.</p> + +<p>"But yet," continued Mr. Slope, not regarding the interruption, +"I have thought it my imperative duty to recommend the bishop not to +slight Mr. Harding's claims."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Harding should have known his own mind," said the lady.</p> + +<p>"If Mr. Harding be not replaced at the hospital, his lordship will +have to encounter much ill-will, not only in the diocese, but in the +world at large. Besides, taking a higher ground, his lordship, as I +understand, feels it to be his duty to gratify, in this matter, so +very worthy a man and so good a clergyman as Mr. Harding."</p> + +<p>"And what is to become of the Sabbath-day school and of the Sunday +services in the hospital?" said Mrs. Proudie, with something very +nearly approaching to a sneer on her face.</p> + +<p>"I understand that Mr. Harding makes no objection to the Sabbath-day +school," said Mr. Slope. "And as to the hospital services, that +matter will be best discussed after his appointment. If he has any +permanent objection, then, I fear, the matter must rest."</p> + +<p>"You have a very easy conscience in such matters, Mr. Slope," said +she.</p> + +<p>"I should not have an easy conscience," he rejoined, "but a +conscience very far from being easy, if anything said or done by me +should lead the bishop to act unadvisedly in this matter. It is +clear that in the interview I had with Mr. Harding I misunderstood +him—"</p> + +<p>"And it is equally clear that you have misunderstood Mr. Quiverful," +said she, now at the top of her wrath. "What business have you at +all with these interviews? Who desired you to go to Mr. Quiverful +this morning? Who commissioned you to manage this affair? Will you +answer me, sir? Who sent you to Mr. Quiverful this morning?"</p> + +<p>There was a dead pause in the room. Mr. Slope had risen from his +chair, and was standing with his hand on the back of it, looking at +first very solemn and now very black. Mrs. Proudie was standing as +she had at first placed herself, at the end of the table, and as she +interrogated her foe she struck her hand upon it with almost more +than feminine vigour. The bishop was sitting in his easy chair +twiddling his thumbs, turning his eyes now to his wife, and now to +his chaplain, as each took up the cudgels. How comfortable it would +be if they could fight it out between them without the necessity of +any interference on his part; fight it out so that one should kill +the other utterly, as far as diocesan life was concerned, so that he, +the bishop, might know clearly by whom it behoved him to be led. +There would be the comfort of quiet in either case; but if the bishop +had a wish as to which might prove the victor, that wish was +certainly not antagonistic to Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"Better the d–––– you know than the +d–––– you don't know," is an old +saying, and perhaps a true one; but the bishop had not yet realized +the truth of it.</p> + +<p>"Will you answer me, sir?" she repeated. "Who instructed you to call +on Mr. Quiverful this morning?" There was another pause. "Do you +intend to answer me, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I think, Mrs. Proudie, that under all the circumstances it will be +better for me not to answer such a question," said Mr. Slope. Mr. +Slope had many tones in his voice, all duly under his command; among +them was a sanctified low tone and a sanctified loud tone—he now +used the former.</p> + +<p>"Did anyone send you, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Proudie," said Mr. Slope, "I am quite aware how much I owe to +your kindness. I am aware also what is due by courtesy from a +gentleman to a lady. But there are higher considerations than either +of those, and I hope I shall be forgiven if I now allow myself to be +actuated solely by them. My duty in this matter is to his lordship, +and I can admit of no questioning but from him. He has approved of +what I have done, and you must excuse me if I say that, having that +approval and my own, I want none other."</p> + +<p>What horrid words were these which greeted the ear of Mrs. Proudie? +The matter was indeed too clear. There was premeditated mutiny in +the camp. Not only had ill-conditioned minds become insubordinate by +the fruition of a little power, but sedition had been overtly taught +and preached. The bishop had not yet been twelve months in his chair, +and rebellion had already reared her hideous head within the palace. +Anarchy and misrule would quickly follow unless she took immediate +and strong measures to put down the conspiracy which she had +detected.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Slope," she said with slow and dignified voice, differing much +from that which she had hitherto used, "Mr. Slope, I will trouble +you, if you please, to leave the apartment. I wish to speak to my +lord alone."</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope also felt that everything depended on the present +interview. Should the bishop now be re-petticoated, his thraldom +would be complete and forever. The present moment was peculiarly +propitious for rebellion. The bishop had clearly committed himself +by breaking the seal of the answer to the archbishop; he had +therefore fear to influence him. Mr. Slope had told him that no +consideration ought to induce him to refuse the archbishop's +invitation; he had therefore hope to influence him. He had accepted +Mr. Quiverful's resignation and therefore dreaded having to renew +that matter with his wife. He had been screwed up to the pitch of +asserting a will of his own, and might possibly be carried on till by +an absolute success he should have been taught how possible it was to +succeed. Now was the moment for victory or rout. It was now that +Mr. Slope must make himself master of the diocese, or else resign his +place and begin his search for fortune again. He saw all this +plainly. After what had taken place any compromise between him and +the lady was impossible. Let him once leave the room at her bidding +and leave the bishop in her hands, and he might at once pack up his +portmanteau and bid adieu to episcopal honours, Mrs. Bold, and the +Signora Neroni.</p> + +<p>And yet it was not so easy to keep his ground when he was bidden by +a lady to go, or to continue to make a third in a party between a +husband and wife when the wife expressed a wish for a +<i>tête-à-tête</i> with her husband.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Slope," she repeated, "I wish to be alone with my lord."</p> + +<p>"His lordship has summoned me on most important diocesan business," +said Mr. Slope, glancing with uneasy eye at Dr. Proudie. He felt +that he must trust something to the bishop, and yet that that trust +was so woefully ill-placed. "My leaving him at the present moment +is, I fear, impossible."</p> + +<p>"Do you bandy words with me, you ungrateful man?" said she. "My +lord, will you do me the favour to beg Mr. Slope to leave the room?"</p> + +<p>My lord scratched his head, but for the moment said nothing. This +was as much as Mr. Slope expected from him, and was on the whole, for +him, an active exercise of marital rights.</p> + +<p>"My lord," said the lady, "is Mr. Slope to leave this room, or am +I?"</p> + +<p>Here Mrs. Proudie made a false step. She should not have alluded to +the possibility of retreat on her part. She should not have +expressed the idea that her order for Mr. Slope's expulsion could be +treated otherwise than by immediate obedience. In answer to such a +question the bishop naturally said in his own mind that, as it was +necessary that one should leave the room, perhaps it might be as well +that Mrs. Proudie did so. He did say so in his own mind, but +externally he again scratched his head and again twiddled his thumbs.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie was boiling over with wrath. Alas, alas! Could she but +have kept her temper as her enemy did, she would have conquered as +she had ever conquered. But divine anger got the better of her, as +it has done of other heroines, and she fell.</p> + +<p>"My lord," said she, "am I to be vouchsafed an answer or am I not?"</p> + +<p>At last he broke his deep silence and proclaimed himself a Slopeite. +"Why, my dear," said he, "Mr. Slope and I are very busy."</p> + +<p>That was all. There was nothing more necessary. He had gone to the +battlefield, stood the dust and heat of the day, encountered the fury +of the foe, and won the victory. How easy is success to those who +will only be true to themselves!</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope saw at once the full amount of his gain, and turned on the +vanquished lady a look of triumph which she never forgot and never +forgave. Here he was wrong. He should have looked humbly at her +and, with meek entreating eye, have deprecated her anger. He should +have said by his glance that he asked pardon for his success, and that +he hoped forgiveness for the stand which he had been forced to make +in the cause of duty. So might he perchance have somewhat mollified +that imperious bosom and prepared the way for future terms. But Mr. +Slope meant to rule without terms. Ah, forgetful, inexperienced man! +Can you cause that little trembling victim to be divorced from the +woman that possesses him? Can you provide that they shall be +separated at bed and board? Is he not flesh of her flesh and bone of +her bone, and must he not so continue? It is very well now for you +to stand your ground and triumph as she is driven ignominiously from +the room, but can you be present when those curtains are drawn, when +that awful helmet of proof has been tied beneath the chin, when the +small remnants of the bishop's prowess shall be cowed by the tassel +above his head? Can you then intrude yourself when the wife wishes +"to speak to my lord alone?"</p> + +<p>But for the moment Mr. Slope's triumph was complete, for Mrs. +Proudie without further parley left the room and did not forget to shut +the door after her. Then followed a close conference between the new +allies, in which was said much which it astonished Mr. Slope to say and +the bishop to hear. And yet the one said it and the other heard it +without ill-will. There was no mincing of matters now. The chaplain +plainly told the bishop that the world gave him credit for being under +the governance of his wife; that his credit and character in the +diocese were suffering; that he would surely get himself in hot water +if he allowed Mrs. Proudie to interfere in matters which were not +suitable for a woman's powers; and in fact that he would become +contemptible if he did not throw off the yoke under which he groaned. +The bishop at first hummed and hawed and affected to deny the truth of +what was said. But his denial was not stout and quickly broke down. He +soon admitted by silence his state of vassalage and pledged himself, +with Mr. Slope's assistance, to change his courses. Mr. Slope also did +not make out a bad case for himself. He explained how it grieved him to +run counter to a lady who had always been his patroness, who had +befriended him in so many ways, who had, in fact, recommended him to +the bishop's notice; but, as he stated, his duty was now imperative; he +held a situation of peculiar confidence, and was immediately and +especially attached to the bishop's person. In such a situation his +conscience required that he should regard solely the bishop's +interests, and therefore he had ventured to speak out.</p> + +<p>The bishop took this for what it was worth, and Mr. Slope only +intended that he should do so. It gilded the pill which Mr. Slope +had to administer, and which the bishop thought would be less bitter +than that other pill which he had so long been taking.</p> + +<p>"My lord," had his immediate reward, like a good child. He was +instructed to write and at once did write another note to the +archbishop accepting his grace's invitation. This note Mr. Slope, +more prudent than the lady, himself took away and posted with his own +hands. Thus he made sure that this act of self-jurisdiction should +be as nearly as possible a <i>fait accompli</i>. He begged, and coaxed, +and threatened the bishop with a view of making him also write at once +to Mr. Harding, but the bishop, though temporally emancipated from his +wife, was not yet enthralled to Mr. Slope. He said, and probably said +truly, that such an offer must be made in some official form; that he +was not yet prepared to sign the form; and that he should prefer seeing +Mr. Harding before he did so. Mr. Slope might, however, beg Mr. Harding +to call upon him. Not disappointed with his achievement Mr. Slope went +his way. He first posted the precious note which he had in his pocket, +and then pursued other enterprises in which we must follow him in other +chapters.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie, having received such satisfaction as was to be derived +from slamming her husband's door, did not at once betake herself to +Mrs. Quiverful. Indeed, for the first few moments after her repulse +she felt that she could not again see that lady. She would have to +own that she had been beaten, to confess that the diadem had passed +from her brow, and the sceptre from her hand! No, she would send a +message to her with a promise of a letter on the next day or the day +after. Thus resolving, she betook herself to her bedroom, but here +she again changed her mind. The air of that sacred enclosure +somewhat restored her courage and gave her more heart. As Achilles +warmed at the sight of his armour, as Don Quixote's heart grew strong +when he grasped his lance, so did Mrs. Proudie look forward to fresh +laurels, as her eye fell on her husband's pillow. She would not +despair. Having so resolved, she descended with dignified mien and +refreshed countenance to Mrs. Quiverful.</p> + +<p>This scene in the bishop's study took longer in the acting than in +the telling. We have not, perhaps, had the whole of the +conversation. At any rate Mrs. Quiverful was beginning to be very +impatient, and was thinking that Farmer Subsoil would be tired of +waiting for her, when Mrs. Proudie returned. Oh, who can tell the +palpitations of that maternal heart, as the suppliant looked into the +face of the great lady to see written there either a promise of +house, income, comfort and future competence, or else the doom of +continued and ever-increasing poverty! Poor mother! Poor wife! +There was little there to comfort you!</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Quiverful," thus spoke the lady with considerable austerity, +and without sitting down herself, "I find that your husband has behaved +in this matter in a very weak and foolish manner."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Quiverful immediately rose upon her feet, thinking it +disrespectful to remain sitting while the wife of the bishop stood. +But she was desired to sit down again, and made to do so, so that +Mrs. Proudie might stand and preach over her. It is generally +considered an offensive thing for a gentleman to keep his seat while +another is kept standing before him, and we presume the same law +holds with regard to ladies. It often is so felt, but we are +inclined to say that it never produces half the discomfort or half +the feeling of implied inferiority that is shown by a great man who +desires his visitor to be seated while he himself speaks from his +legs. Such a solecism in good breeding, when construed into English, +means this: "The accepted rules of courtesy in the world require that +I should offer you a seat; if I did not do so, you would bring a +charge against me in the world of being arrogant and ill-mannered; I +will obey the world, but, nevertheless, I will not put myself on an +equality with you. You may sit down, but I won't sit with you. Sit, +therefore, at my bidding, and I'll stand and talk at you!"</p> + +<p>This was just what Mrs. Proudie meant to say, and Mrs. Quiverful, +though she was too anxious and too flurried thus to translate the +full meaning of the manoeuvre, did not fail to feel its effect. She +was cowed and uncomfortable, and a second time essayed to rise from +her chair.</p> + +<p>"Pray be seated, Mrs. Quiverful, pray keep your seat. Your husband, +I say, has been most weak and most foolish. It is impossible, Mrs. +Quiverful, to help people who will not help themselves. I much fear +that I can now do nothing for you in this matter."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Proudie, don't say so," said the poor woman, again jumping +up.</p> + +<p>"<i>Pray</i> be seated, Mrs. Quiverful. I must fear that I can do +nothing further for you in this matter. Your husband has, in a most +unaccountable manner, taken upon himself to resign that which I was +empowered to offer him. As a matter of course, the bishop expects +that his clergy shall know their own minds. What he may ultimately +do—what we may finally decide on doing—I cannot +now say. Knowing the extent of your family—"</p> + +<p>"Fourteen children, Mrs. Proudie, fourteen of them! And barely +bread—barely bread? It's hard for the children of a +clergyman, it's hard for one who has always done his duty respectably!" +Not a word fell from her about herself, but the tears came streaming +down her big, coarse cheeks, on which the dust of the August road had +left its traces.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie has not been portrayed in these pages as an agreeable +or an amiable lady. There has been no intention to impress the reader +much in her favour. It is ordained that all novels should have a male +and a female angel and a male and a female devil. If it be considered +that this rule is obeyed in these pages, the latter character must be +supposed to have fallen to the lot of Mrs. Proudie. But she was not all +devil. There was a heart inside that stiff-ribbed bodice, though not, +perhaps, of large dimensions, and certainly not easily accessible. Mrs. +Quiverful, however, did gain access, and Mrs. Proudie proved herself a +woman. Whether it was the fourteen children with their probable bare +bread and their possible bare backs, or the respectability of the +father's work, or the mingled dust and tears on the mother's face, we +will not pretend to say. But Mrs. Proudie was touched.</p> + +<p>She did not show it as other women might have done. She did not give +Mrs. Quiverful eau-de-Cologne, or order her a glass of wine. She did +not take her to her toilet table and offer her the use of brushes and +combs, towels and water. She did not say soft little speeches and +coax her kindly back to equanimity. Mrs. Quiverful, despite her +rough appearance, would have been as amenable to such little tender +cares as any lady in the land. But none such were forthcoming. +Instead of this, Mrs. Proudie slapped one hand upon the other and +declared—not with an oath, for, as a lady and a Sabbatarian +and a she-bishop, she could not swear, but with an +adjuration—that she "wouldn't have it done."</p> + +<p>The meaning of this was that she wouldn't have Mr. Quiverful's +promised appointment cozened away by the treachery of Mr. Slope and +the weakness of her husband. This meaning she very soon explained to +Mrs. Quiverful.</p> + +<p>"Why was your husband such a fool," said she, now dismounted from +her high horse and sitting confidentially down close to her visitor, +"as to take the bait which that man threw to him? If he had not been so +utterly foolish, nothing could have prevented your going to the +hospital."</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Quiverful was ready enough with her own tongue in accusing +her husband to his face of being soft, and perhaps did not always +speak of him to her children quite so respectfully as she might have +done. But she did not at all like to hear him abused by others, and +began to vindicate him and to explain that of course he had taken Mr. +Slope to be an emissary from Mrs. Proudie herself; that Mr. Slope was +thought to be peculiarly her friend; and that, therefore, Mr. +Quiverful would have been failing in respect to her had he assumed to +doubt what Mr. Slope had said.</p> + +<p>Thus mollified, Mrs. Proudie again declared that she "would not have +it done," and at last sent Mrs. Quiverful home with an assurance +that, to the furthest stretch of her power and influence in the +palace, the appointment of Mr. Quiverful should be insisted on. As +she repeated the word "insisted," she thought of the bishop in his +night-cap and, with compressed lips, slightly shook her head. Oh, my +aspiring pastors, divines to whose ears <i>nolo episcopari</i> are the +sweetest of words, which of you would be a bishop on such terms as +these?</p> + +<p>Mrs. Quiverful got home in the farmer's cart, not indeed with a +light heart, but satisfied that she had done right in making her visit.</p> + + +<p><a name="c27" id="c27"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXVII</h3> +<h3>A Love Scene<br /> </h3> + + +<p>Mr. Slope, as we have said, left the palace with a feeling of +considerable triumph. Not that he thought that his difficulties were +all over—he did not so deceive himself—but he +felt that he had played his first move well, as well as the pieces on +the board would allow, and that he had nothing with which to reproach +himself. He first of all posted the letter to the archbishop and, +having made that sure, proceeded to push the advantage which he had +gained. Had Mrs. Bold been at home, he would have called on her, but he +knew that she was at Plumstead, so he wrote the following note. It was +the beginning of what, he trusted, might be a long and tender series of +epistles.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear +Mrs. Bold</span>,</p> + +<p>You will understand perfectly that I cannot at present correspond +with your father. I heartily wish that I could, and hope the day may +be not long distant when mists shall have been cleared away, and we +may know each other. But I cannot preclude myself from the pleasure +of sending you these few lines to say that Mr. Q. has to-day, in my +presence, resigned any title that he ever had to the wardenship of +the hospital, and that the bishop has assured me that it is his +intention to offer it to your esteemed father.</p> + +<p>Will you, with my respectful compliments, ask him, who I believe is +now a fellow-visitor with you, to call on the bishop either on +Wednesday or Thursday, between ten and one. <i>This is by the bishop's +desire</i>. If you will so far oblige me as to let me have a line +naming either day, and the hour which will suit Mr. Harding, I will +take care that the servants shall have orders to show him in without +delay. Perhaps I should say no more—but still I wish you +could make your father understand that no subject will be mooted +between his lordship and him which will refer at all to the method in +which he may choose to perform his duty. I for one am persuaded that no +clergyman could perform it more satisfactorily than he did, or than he +will do again.</p> + +<p>On a former occasion I was indiscreet and much too impatient, +considering your father's age and my own. I hope he will not now +refuse my apology. I still hope also that with your aid and sweet +pious labours we may live to attach such a Sabbath-school to the old +endowment as may, by God's grace and furtherance, be a blessing to +the poor of this city.</p> + +<p>You will see at once that this letter is confidential. The subject, +of course, makes it so. But, equally, of course, it is for your +parent's eye as well as for your own, should you think proper to show +it to him.</p> + +<p>I hope my darling little friend Johnny is as strong as +ever—dear little fellow. Does he still continue his rude +assaults on those beautiful long silken tresses?</p> +<p>I can assure you your friends miss you from Barchester sorely, but it +would be cruel to begrudge you your sojourn among flowers and fields +during this truly sultry weather.</p> + +<p class="ind5">Pray believe me, my dear Mrs. Bold,</p> + +<p class="ind10">Yours most sincerely,</p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Obadiah Slope</span></p> + +<p class="noindent">Barchester, Friday.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Now this letter, taken as a whole, and with the consideration that +Mr. Slope wished to assume a great degree of intimacy with Eleanor, +would not have been bad but for the allusion to the tresses. +Gentlemen do not write to ladies about their tresses unless they are +on very intimate terms indeed. But Mr. Slope could not be expected +to be aware of this. He longed to put a little affection into his +epistle, and yet he thought it injudicious, as the letter would, he +knew, be shown to Mr. Harding. He would have insisted that the +letter should be strictly private and seen by no eyes but Eleanor's +own, had he not felt that such an injunction would have been +disobeyed. He therefore restrained his passion, did not sign himself +"yours affectionately," and contented himself instead with the +compliment to the tresses.</p> + +<p>Having finished his letter, he took it to Mrs. Bold's house and, +learning there, from the servant, that things were to be sent out to +Plumstead that afternoon, left it, with many injunctions, in her +hands.</p> + +<p>We will now follow Mr. Slope so as to complete the day with him and +then return to his letter and its momentous fate in the next chapter.</p> + +<p>There is an old song which gives us some very good advice about +courting:—<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p class="noindent">It's gude to be off with the auld luve<br /> +<span class="ind2">Before ye be on wi' the new.</span><br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">Of the wisdom of +this maxim Mr. Slope was ignorant, and accordingly, +having written his letter to Mrs. Bold, he proceeded to call upon the +Signora Neroni. Indeed, it was hard to say which was the old love +and which the new, Mr. Slope having been smitten with both so nearly +at the same time. Perhaps he thought it not amiss to have two +strings to his bow. But two strings to Cupid's bow are always +dangerous to him on whose behalf they are to be used. A man should +remember that between two stools he may fall to the ground.</p> + +<p>But in sooth Mr. Slope was pursuing Mrs. Bold in obedience to his +better instincts, and the signora in obedience to his worser. Had he +won the widow and worn her, no one could have blamed him. You, +O reader, and I, and Eleanor's other friends would have received the +story of such a winning with much disgust and disappointment, but we +should have been angry with Eleanor, not with Mr. Slope. Bishop, +male and female, dean and chapter and diocesan clergy in full +congress could have found nothing to disapprove of in such an +alliance. Convocation itself, that mysterious and mighty synod, +could in no wise have fallen foul of it. The possession of £1000 a +year and a beautiful wife would not at all have hurt the voice of the +pulpit charmer, or lessened the grace and piety of the exemplary +clergyman.</p> + +<p>But not of such a nature were likely to be his dealings with the +Signora Neroni. In the first place he knew that her husband was +living, and therefore he could not woo her honestly. Then again she +had nothing to recommend her to his honest wooing, had such been +possible. She was not only portionless, but also from misfortune +unfitted to be chosen as the wife of any man who wanted a useful +mate. Mr. Slope was aware that she was a helpless, hopeless cripple.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Slope could not help himself. He knew that he was wrong in +devoting his time to the back drawing-room in Dr. Stanhope's house. +He knew that what took place there would, if divulged, utterly ruin +him with Mrs. Bold. He knew that scandal would soon come upon his +heels and spread abroad among the black coats of Barchester some +tidings, exaggerated tidings, of the sighs which he poured into the +lady's ears. He knew that he was acting against the recognized +principles of his life, against those laws of conduct by which he +hoped to achieve much higher success. But, as we have said, he could +not help himself. Passion, for the first time in his life, passion +was too strong for him.</p> + +<p>As for the signora, no such plea can be put forward for her, for in +truth she cared no more for Mr. Slope than she did for twenty others +who had been at her feet before him. She willingly, nay greedily, +accepted his homage. He was the finest fly that Barchester had +hitherto afforded to her web, and the signora was a powerful spider +that made wondrous webs, and could in no way live without catching +flies. Her taste in this respect was abominable, for she had no use +for the victims when caught. She could not eat them matrimonially, +as young lady flies do whose webs are most frequently of their +mothers' weaving. Nor could she devour them by any escapade of a +less legitimate description. Her unfortunate affliction precluded +her from all hope of levanting with a lover. It would be impossible +to run away with a lady who required three servants to move her from +a sofa.</p> + +<p>The signora was subdued by no passion. Her time for love was gone. +She had lived out her heart, such heart as she had ever had, in her +early years, at an age when Mr. Slope was thinking of the second book +of Euclid and his unpaid bill at the buttery hatch. In age the lady +was younger than the gentleman, but in feelings, in knowledge of the +affairs of love, in intrigue, he was immeasurably her junior. It was +necessary to her to have some man at her feet. It was the one +customary excitement of her life. She delighted in the exercise of +power which this gave her; it was now nearly the only food for her +ambition; she would boast to her sister that she could make a fool of +any man, and the sister, as little imbued with feminine delicacy as +herself, good-naturedly thought it but fair that such amusement +should be afforded to a poor invalid who was debarred from the +ordinary pleasures of life.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope was madly in love but hardly knew it. The Signora spitted +him, as a boy does a cockchafer on a cork, that she might enjoy the +energetic agony of his gyrations. And she knew very well what she +was doing.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope having added to his person all such adornments as are +possible to a clergyman making a morning visit—such as a +clean necktie, clean handkerchief, new gloves, and a +<i>soupçon</i> of not unnecessary scent—called about +three o'clock at the doctor's door. At about this hour the signora was +almost always alone in the back drawing-room. The mother had not come +down. The doctor was out or in his own room. Bertie was out, and +Charlotte at any rate left the room if anyone called whose object was +specially with her sister. Such was her idea of being charitable and +sisterly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope, as was his custom, asked for Mr. Stanhope, and was told, +as was the servant's custom, that the signora was in the +drawing-room. Upstairs he accordingly went. He found her, as he always +did, lying on her sofa with a French volume before her and a beautiful +little inlaid writing-case open on her table. At the moment of his +entrance she was in the act of writing.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my friend," said she, putting out her left hand to him across +her desk, "I did not expect you to-day and was this very instant +writing to you—"</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope, taking the soft, fair, delicate hand in his—and +very soft and fair and delicate it was—bowed over it his huge +red head and kissed it. It was a sight to see, a deed to record if the +author could fitly do it, a picture to put on canvas. Mr. Slope was +big, awkward, cumbrous, and, having his heart in his pursuit, was ill +at ease. The lady was fair, as we have said, and delicate; everything +about her was fine and refined; her hand in his looked like a rose +lying among carrots, and when he kissed it, he looked as a cow might do +on finding such a flower among her food. She was graceful as a couchant +goddess and, moreover, as self-possessed as Venus must have been when +courting Adonis.</p> + +<p>Oh, that such grace and such beauty should have condescended to +waste itself on such a pursuit!</p> + +<p>"I was in the act of writing to you," said she, "but now my scrawl +may go into the basket;" and she raised the sheet of gilded +note-paper from off her desk as though to tear it.</p> + +<p>"Indeed it shall not," said he, laying the embargo of half a stone +weight of human flesh and blood upon the devoted paper. "Nothing +that you write for my eyes, signora, shall be so desecrated," and he +took up the letter, put that also among the carrots and fed on it, +and then proceeded to read it.</p> + +<p>"Gracious me! Mr. Slope," said she, "I hope you don't mean to say +you keep all the trash I write to you. Half my time I don't know +what I write, and when I do, I know it is only fit for the back of +the fire. I hope you have not that ugly trick of keeping letters."</p> + +<p>"At any rate, I don't throw them into a waste-paper basket. If +destruction is their doomed lot, they perish worthily, and are burnt +on a pyre, as Dido was of old."</p> + +<p>"With a steel pen stuck through them, of course," said she, "to make +the simile more complete. Of all the ladies of my acquaintance I +think Lady Dido was the most absurd. Why did she not do as Cleopatra +did? Why did she not take out her ships and insist on going with +him? She could not bear to lose the land she had got by a swindle, +and then she could not bear the loss of her lover. So she fell +between two stools. Mr. Slope, whatever you do, never mingle love +and business."</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope blushed up to his eyes and over his mottled forehead to +the very roots of his hair. He felt sure that the signora knew all +about his intentions with reference to Mrs Bold. His conscience told +him that he was detected. His doom was to be spoken; he was to be +punished for his duplicity, and rejected by the beautiful creature +before him. Poor man. He little dreamt that had all his intentions with +reference to Mrs. Bold been known to the signora, it would only have +added zest to that lady's amusement. It was all very well to have Mr. +Slope at her feet, to show her power by making an utter fool of a +clergyman, to gratify her own infidelity by thus proving the little +strength which religion had in controlling the passions even of a +religious man; but it would be an increased gratification if she could +be made to understand that she was at the same time alluring her victim +away from another, whose love if secured would be in every way +beneficent and salutary.</p> + +<p>The Signora had indeed discovered, with the keen instinct of such a +woman, that Mr. Slope was bent on matrimony with Mrs. Bold, but in +alluding to Dido she had not thought of it. She instantly perceived, +however, from her lover's blushes, what was on his mind and was not +slow in taking advantage of it.</p> + +<p>She looked him full in the face, not angrily, nor yet with a smile, +but with an intense and overpowering gaze; then, holding up her +forefinger and slightly shaking her head, she said:—</p> + +<p>"Whatever you do, my friend, do not mingle love and business. Either +stick to your treasure and your city of wealth, or else follow your +love like a true man. But never attempt both. If you do, you'll +have to die with a broken heart as did poor Dido. Which is it to be +with you, Mr. Slope, love or money?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope was not so ready with a pathetic answer as he usually was +with touching episodes in his extempore sermons. He felt that he +ought to say something pretty, something also that should remove the +impression on the mind of his lady-love. But he was rather put about +how to do it.</p> + +<p>"Love," said he, "true overpowering love, must be the strongest +passion a man can feel; it must control every other wish, and put +aside every other pursuit. But with me love will never act in that +way unless it be returned;" and he threw upon the signora a look of +tenderness which was intended to make up for all the deficiencies of +his speech.</p> + +<p>"Take my advice," said she. "Never mind love. After all, what is it? +The dream of a few weeks. That is all its joy. The disappointment of +a life is its Nemesis. Who was ever successful in true love? Success +in love argues that the love is false. True love is always despondent +or tragical. Juliet loved, Haidee loved, Dido loved, and what came of +it? Troilus loved and ceased to be a man."</p> + +<p>"Troilus loved and was fooled," said the more manly chaplain. "A man +may love and yet not be a Troilus. All women are not Cressidas."</p> + +<p>"No, all women are not Cressidas. The falsehood is not always on the +woman's side. Imogen was true, but how was she rewarded? Her lord +believed her to be the paramour of the first he who came near her in +his absence. Desdemona was true and was smothered. Ophelia was true +and went mad. There is no happiness in love, except at the end of an +English novel. But in wealth, money, houses, lands, goods, and +chattels, in the good things of this world, yes, in them there is +something tangible, something that can be retained and enjoyed."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said Mr. Slope, feeling himself bound to enter some +protest against so very unorthodox a doctrine, "this world's wealth +will make no one happy."</p> + +<p>"And what will make you happy—you—you?" said +she, raising herself up and speaking to him with energy across the +table. "From what source do you look for happiness? Do not say that you +look for none. I shall not believe you. It is a search in which every +human being spends an existence."</p> + +<p>"And the search is always in vain," said Mr. Slope. "We look for +happiness on earth, while we ought to be content to hope for it in +heaven."</p> + +<p>"Pshaw! You preach a doctrine which you know you don't believe. +It is the way with you all. If you know that there is no earthly +happiness, why do you long to be a bishop or a dean? Why do you +want lands and income?"</p> + +<p>"I have the natural ambition of a man," said he.</p> + +<p>"Of course you have, and the natural passions; and therefore I say +that you don't believe the doctrine you preach. St. Paul was an +enthusiast. He believed so that his ambition and passions did not +war against his creed. So does the Eastern fanatic who passes half +his life erect upon a pillar. As for me, I will believe in no belief +that does not make itself manifest by outward signs. I will think no +preaching sincere that is not recommended by the practice of the +preacher."</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope was startled and horrified, but he felt that he could not +answer. How could he stand up and preach the lessons of his Master, +being there, as he was, on the devil's business? He was a true +believer, otherwise this would have been nothing to him. He had +audacity for most things, but he had not audacity to make a plaything +of the Lord's word. All this the signora understood, and felt much +interest as she saw her cockchafer whirl round upon her pin.</p> + +<p>"Your wit delights in such arguments," said he, "but your heart and +your reason do not go along with them."</p> + +<p>"My heart!" said she; "you quite mistake the principles of my +composition if you imagine that there is such a thing about me." +After all, there was very little that was false in anything that the +signora said. If Mr. Slope allowed himself to be deceived, it was +his own fault. Nothing could have been more open than her +declarations about herself.</p> + +<p>The little writing-table with her desk was still standing before +her, a barrier, as it were, against the enemy. She was sitting as +nearly upright as she ever did, and he had brought a chair close to the +sofa, so that there was only the corner of the table between him and +her. It so happened that as she spoke her hand lay upon the table, and +as Mr. Slope answered her he put his hand upon hers.</p> + +<p>"No heart!" said he. "That is a heavy charge which you bring against +yourself, and one of which I cannot find you guilty—"</p> + +<p>She withdrew her hand, not quickly and angrily, as though insulted +by his touch, but gently and slowly.</p> + +<p>"You are in no condition to give a verdict on the matter," said she, +"as you have not tried me. No, don't say that you intend doing so, +for you know you have no intention of the kind; nor indeed have I, +either. As for you, you will take your vows where they will result +in something more substantial than the pursuit of such a ghostlike, +ghastly love as mine—"</p> + +<p>"Your love should be sufficient to satisfy the dream of a monarch," +said Mr. Slope, not quite clear as to the meaning of his words.</p> + +<p>"Say an archbishop, Mr. Slope," said she. Poor fellow! She was very +cruel to him. He went round again upon his cork on this allusion to +his profession. He tried, however, to smile and gently accused her +of joking on a matter, which was, he said, to him of such vital +moment.</p> + +<p>"Why—what gulls do you men make of us," she replied. +"How you fool us to the top of our bent; and of all men you clergymen +are the most fluent of your honeyed, caressing words. Now look me in +the face, Mr. Slope, boldly and openly."</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope did look at her with a languishing loving eye, and as he +did so he again put forth his hand to get hold of hers.</p> + +<p>"I told you to look at me boldly, Mr. Slope, but confine your +boldness to your eyes."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Madeline!" he sighed.</p> + +<p>"Well, my name is Madeline," said she, "but none except my own +family usually call me so. Now look me in the face, Mr. Slope. Am I to +understand that you say you love me?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope never had said so. If he had come there with any formed +plan at all, his intention was to make love to the lady without +uttering any such declaration. It was, however, quite impossible +that he should now deny his love. He had, therefore, nothing for it +but to go down on his knees distractedly against the sofa and swear +that he did love her with a love passing the love of man.</p> + +<p>The signora received the assurance with very little palpitation or +appearance of surprise. "And now answer me another question," said +she. "When are you to be married to my dear friend Eleanor Bold?"</p> + +<p>Poor Mr. Slope went round and round in mortal agony. In such a +condition as his it was really very hard for him to know what answer +to give. And yet no answer would be his surest condemnation. He +might as well at once plead guilty to the charge brought against him.</p> + +<p>"And why do you accuse me of such dissimulation?" said he.</p> + +<p>"Dissimulation! I said nothing of dissimulation. I made no charge +against you, and make none. Pray don't defend yourself to me. You +swear that you are devoted to my beauty, and yet you are on the eve of +matrimony with another. I feel this to be rather a compliment. It +is to Mrs. Bold that you must defend yourself. That you may find +difficult; unless, indeed, you can keep her in the dark. You +clergymen are cleverer than other men."</p> + +<p>"Signora, I have told you that I loved you, and now you rail at me."</p> + +<p>"Rail at you. God bless the man; what would he have? Come, answer +me this at your leisure—not without thinking now, but +leisurely and with consideration—are you not going to be +married to Mrs. Bold?"</p> + +<p>"I am not," said he. And as he said it he almost hated, with an +exquisite hatred, the woman whom he could not help loving with an +exquisite love.</p> + +<p>"But surely you are a worshipper of hers?"</p> + +<p>"I am not," said Mr. Slope, to whom the word worshipper was +peculiarly distasteful. The signora had conceived that it would be +so.</p> + +<p>"I wonder at that," said she. "Do you not admire her? To my eye she +is the perfection of English beauty. And then she is rich, too. I +should have thought she was just the person to attract you. Come, +Mr. Slope, let me give you advice on this matter. Marry the charming +widow; she will be a good mother to your children and an excellent +mistress of a clergyman's household."</p> + +<p>"Oh, signora, how can you be so cruel?"</p> + +<p>"Cruel," said she, changing the voice of banter which she had been +using for one which was expressively earnest in its tone; "is that +cruelty?"</p> + +<p>"How can I love another while my heart is entirely your own?"</p> + +<p>"If that were cruelty, Mr. Slope, what might you say of me if I were +to declare that I returned your passion? What would you think if I +bound you even by a lover's oath to do daily penance at this couch of +mine? What can I give in return for a man's love? Ah, dear friend, +you have not realized the conditions of my fate."</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope was not on his knees all this time. After his declaration +of love, he had risen from them as quickly as he thought consistent +with the new position which he now filled, and as he stood was +leaning on the back of his chair. This outburst of tenderness on the +signora's part quite overcame him and made him feel for the moment +that he could sacrifice everything to be assured of the love of the +beautiful creature before him, maimed, lame, and already married as +she was.</p> + +<p>"And can I not sympathize with your lot?" said he, now seating +himself on her sofa and pushing away the table with his foot.</p> + +<p>"Sympathy is so near to pity!" said she. "If you pity me, cripple as +I am, I shall spurn you from me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Madeline, I will only love you," and again he caught her hand +and devoured it with kisses. Now she did not draw it from him, but +sat there as he kissed it, looking at him with her great eyes, just +as a great spider would look at a great fly that was quite securely +caught.</p> + +<p>"Suppose Signor Neroni were to come to Barchester," said she. "Would +you make his acquaintance?"</p> + +<p>"Signor Neroni!" said he.</p> + +<p>"Would you introduce him to the bishop, and Mrs. Proudie, and the +young ladies?" said she, again having recourse to that horrid +quizzing voice which Mr. Slope so particularly hated.</p> + +<p>"Why do you ask such a question?" said he.</p> + +<p>"Because it is necessary that you should know that there is a Signor +Neroni. I think you had forgotten it."</p> + +<p>"If I thought that you retained for that wretch one particle of the +love of which he was never worthy, I would die before I would +distract you by telling you what I feel. No! Were your husband the +master of your heart, I might perhaps love you, but you should never +know it."</p> + +<p>"My heart again! How you talk. And you consider then that if a +husband be not master of his wife's heart, he has no right to her +fealty; if a wife ceases to love, she may cease to be true. Is that +your doctrine on this matter, as a minister of the Church of +England?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope tried hard within himself to cast off the pollution with +which he felt that he was defiling his soul. He strove to tear +himself away from the noxious siren that had bewitched him. But he +could not do it. He could not be again heart free. He had looked +for rapturous joy in loving this lovely creature, and he already +found that he met with little but disappointment and self-rebuke. He +had come across the fruit of the Dead Sea, so sweet and delicious to +the eye, so bitter and nauseous to the taste. He had put the apple +to his mouth, and it had turned to ashes between his teeth. Yet he +could not tear himself away. He knew, he could not but know, that +she jeered at him, ridiculed his love, and insulted the weakness of +his religion. But she half-permitted his adoration, and that +half-permission added such fuel to his fire that all the fountain of +his piety could not quench it. He began to feel savage, irritated, +and revengeful. He meditated some severity of speech, some taunt +that should cut her, as her taunts cut him. He reflected as he stood +there for a moment, silent before her, that if he desired to quell +her proud spirit, he should do so by being prouder even than herself; +that if he wished to have her at his feet suppliant for his love, it +behoved him to conquer her by indifference. All this passed through +his mind. As far as dead knowledge went, he knew, or thought he +knew, how a woman should be tamed. But when he essayed to bring his +tactics to bear, he failed like a child. What chance has dead +knowledge with experience in any of the transactions between man and +man? What possible chance between man and woman? Mr. Slope loved +furiously, insanely and truly, but he had never played the game of +love. The signora did not love at all, but she was up to every move +of the board. It was Philidor pitted against a schoolboy.</p> + +<p>And so she continued to insult him, and he continued to bear it.</p> + +<p>"Sacrifice the world for love!" she said in answer to some renewed +vapid declaration of his passion. "How often has the same thing been +said, and how invariably with the same falsehood!"</p> + +<p>"Falsehood," said he. "Do you say that I am false to you? Do you +say that my love is not real?"</p> + +<p>"False? Of course it is false, false as the father of +falsehood—if indeed falsehoods need a sire and are not +self-begotten since the world began. You are ready to sacrifice the +world for love? Come let us see what you will sacrifice. I care nothing +for nuptial vows. The wretch, I think you were kind enough to call him +so, whom I swore to love and obey is so base that he can only be +thought of with repulsive disgust. In the council chamber of my heart I +have divorced him. To me that is as good as though aged lords had +gloated for months over the details of his licentious life. I care +nothing for what the world can say. Will you be as frank? Will you take +me to your home as your wife? Will you call me Mrs. Slope before +bishop, dean, and prebendaries?" The poor tortured wretch stood silent, +not knowing what to say. "What! You won't do that. Tell me, then, what +part of the world is it that you will sacrifice for my charms?"</p> + +<p>"Were you free to marry, I would take you to my house to-morrow and +wish no higher privilege."</p> + +<p>"I am free," said she, almost starting up in her energy. For though +there was no truth in her pretended regard for her clerical admirer, +there was a mixture of real feeling in the scorn and satire with +which she spoke of love and marriage generally. "I am +free—free as the winds. Come, will you take me as I am? +Have your wish; sacrifice the world, and prove yourself a true man."</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope should have taken her at her word. She would have drawn +back, and he would have had the full advantage of the offer. But he +did not. Instead of doing so, he stood wrapt in astonishment, +passing his fingers through his lank red hair and thinking, as he +stared upon her animated countenance, that her wondrous beauty grew +more wonderful as he gazed on it. "Ha! ha! ha!" she laughed out +loud. "Come, Mr. Slope, don't talk of sacrificing the world again. +People beyond one-and-twenty should never dream of such a thing. You +and I, if we have the dregs of any love left in us, if we have the +remnants of a passion remaining in our hearts, should husband our +resources better. We are not in our première jeunesse. The world +is a very nice place. Your world, at any rate, is so. You have all +manner of fat rectories to get and possible bishoprics to enjoy. Come, +confess; on second thoughts you would not sacrifice such things for the +smiles of a lame lady?"</p> + +<p>It was impossible for him to answer this. In order to be in any way +dignified, he felt that he must be silent.</p> + +<p>"Come," said she, "don't boody with me: don't be angry because I +speak out some home truths. Alas, the world, as I have found it, has +taught me bitter truths. Come, tell me that I am forgiven. Are we +not to be friends?" and she again put out her hand to him.</p> + +<p>He sat himself down in the chair beside her, took her proffered +hand, and leant over her.</p> + +<p>"There," said she with her sweetest, softest smile—a +smile to withstand which a man should be cased in triple steel, "there; +seal your forgiveness on it," and she raised it towards his face. He +kissed it again and again, and stretched over her as though desirous of +extending the charity of his pardon beyond the hand that was offered to +him. She managed, however, to check his ardour. For one so easily +allured as this poor chaplain, her hand was surely enough.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Madeline!" said he, "tell me that you love +me—do you—do you love me?"</p> + +<p>"Hush," said she. "There is my mother's step. Our +<i>tête-à-tête</i> has been of monstrous length. Now +you had better go. But we shall see you soon again, shall we not?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope promised that he would call again on the following day.</p> + +<p>"And, Mr. Slope," she continued, "pray answer my note. You have it +in your hand, though I declare during these two hours you have not +been gracious enough to read it. It is about the Sabbath-school and +the children. You know how anxious I am to have them here. I have +been learning the catechism myself, on purpose. You must manage it +for me next week. I will teach them, at any rate, to submit +themselves to their spiritual pastors and masters."</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope said but little on the subject of Sabbath-schools, but he +made his adieu, and betook himself home with a sad heart, troubled +mind, and uneasy conscience.</p> + + +<p><a name="c28" id="c28"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXVIII</h3> +<h3>Mrs. Bold is Entertained by Dr. and Mrs. +Grantly at Plumstead<br /> </h3> + + +<p>It will be remembered that Mr. Slope, when leaving his +<i>billet-doux</i> at the house of Mrs. Bold, had been informed that it +would be sent out to her at Plumstead that afternoon. The archdeacon +and Mr. Harding had in fact come into town together in the brougham, +and it had been arranged that they should call for Eleanor's parcels as +they left on their way home. Accordingly they did so call, and the +maid, as she handed to the coachman a small basket and large bundle +carefully and neatly packed, gave in at the carriage window Mr. Slope's +epistle. The archdeacon, who was sitting next to the window, took it +and immediately recognized the hand-writing of his enemy.</p> + +<p>"Who left this?" said he.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Slope called with it himself, your Reverence," said the girl, +"and was very anxious that Missus should have it to-day."</p> + +<p>So the brougham drove off, and the letter was left in the +archdeacon's hand. He looked at it as though he held a basket of +adders. He could not have thought worse of the document had he read +it and discovered it to be licentious and atheistical. He did, +moreover, what so many wise people are accustomed to do in similar +circumstances; he immediately condemned the person to whom the letter +was written, as though she were necessarily a <i>particeps +criminis</i>.</p> + +<p>Poor Mr. Harding, though by no means inclined to forward Mr. Slope's +intimacy with his daughter, would have given anything to have kept +the letter from his son-in-law. But that was now impossible. There +it was in his hand, and he looked as thoroughly disgusted as though +he were quite sure that it contained all the rhapsodies of a favoured +lover.</p> + +<p>"It's very hard on me," said he after awhile, "that this should go +on under my roof."</p> + +<p>Now here the archdeacon was certainly most unreasonable. Having +invited his sister-in-law to his house, it was a natural consequence +that she should receive her letters there. And if Mr. Slope chose to +write to her, his letter would, as a matter of course, be sent after +her. Moreover, the very fact of an invitation to one's house implies +confidence on the part of the inviter. He had shown that he thought +Mrs. Bold to be a fit person to stay with him by his asking her to do +so, and it was most cruel to her that he should complain of her +violating the sanctity of his roof-tree, when the laches committed +were none of her committing.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding felt this, and felt also that when the archdeacon talked +thus about his roof, what he said was most offensive to himself as +Eleanor's father. If Eleanor did receive a letter from Mr. Slope, +what was there in that to pollute the purity of Dr. Grantly's +household? He was indignant that his daughter should be so judged +and so spoken of, and he made up his mind that even as Mrs. Slope she +must be dearer to him than any other creature on God's earth. He +almost broke out and said as much, but for the moment he restrained +himself.</p> + +<p>"Here," said the archdeacon, handing the offensive missile to his +father-in-law, "I am not going to be the bearer of his love-letters. +You are her father and may do as you think fit with it."</p> + +<p>By doing as he thought fit with it, the archdeacon certainly meant +that Mr. Harding would be justified in opening and reading the letter, +and taking any steps which might in consequence be necessary. To +tell the truth, Dr. Grantly did feel rather a stronger curiosity than +was justified by his outraged virtue to see the contents of the +letter. Of course he could not open it himself, but he wished to +make Mr. Harding understand that he, as Eleanor's father, would be +fully justified in doing so. The idea of such a proceeding never +occurred to Mr. Harding. His authority over Eleanor ceased when she +became the wife of John Bold. He had not the slightest wish to pry +into her correspondence. He consequently put the letter into his +pocket, and only wished that he had been able to do so without the +archdeacon's knowledge. They both sat silent during half the journey +home, and then Dr. Grantly said, "Perhaps Susan had better give it to +her. She can explain to her sister better than either you or I can +do how deep is the disgrace of such an acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"I think you are very hard upon Eleanor," replied Mr. Harding. "I +will not allow that she has disgraced herself, nor do I think it +likely that she will do so. She has a right to correspond with whom +she pleases, and I shall not take upon myself to blame her because +she gets a letter from Mr. Slope."</p> + +<p>"I suppose," said Dr. Grantly, "you don't wish her to marry the man. +I suppose you'll admit that she would disgrace herself if she did do +so."</p> + +<p>"I do not wish her to marry him," said the perplexed father. "I do +not like him, and do not think he would make a good husband. But if +Eleanor chooses to do so, I shall certainly not think that she +disgraces herself."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" exclaimed Dr. Grantly and threw himself back into +the corner of his brougham. Mr. Harding said nothing more, but commenced +playing a dirge with an imaginary fiddle bow upon an imaginary +violoncello, for which there did not appear to be quite room enough in +the carriage; he continued the tune, with sundry variations, till he +arrived at the rectory door.</p> + +<p>The archdeacon had been meditating sad things in his mind. Hitherto +he had always looked on his father-in-law as a true partisan, though +he knew him to be a man devoid of all the combative qualifications +for that character. He had felt no fear that Mr. Harding would go +over to the enemy, though he had never counted much on the +ex-warden's prowess in breaking the hostile ranks. Now, however, it +seemed that Eleanor, with her wiles, had completely trepanned and +bewildered her father, cheated him out of his judgement, robbed him +of the predilections and tastes of his life, and caused him to be +tolerant of a man whose arrogance and vulgarity would, a few years +since, have been unendurable to him. That the whole thing was as +good as arranged between Eleanor and Mr. Slope there was no longer +any room to doubt. That Mr. Harding knew that such was the case, +even this could hardly be doubted. It was too manifest that he at +any rate suspected it and was prepared to sanction it.</p> + +<p>And to tell the truth, such was the case. Mr. Harding disliked Mr. +Slope as much as it was in his nature to dislike any man. Had his +daughter wished to do her worst to displease him by a second +marriage, she could hardly have succeeded better than by marrying Mr. +Slope. But, as he said to himself now very often, what right had he +to condemn her if she did nothing that was really wrong? If she +liked Mr. Slope, it was her affair. It was indeed miraculous to him +that a woman with such a mind, so educated, so refined, so nice in +her tastes, should like such a man. Then he asked himself whether it +was possible that she did so.</p> + +<p>Ah, thou weak man; most charitable, most Christian, but weakest of +men! Why couldn't thou not have asked herself? Was she not the +daughter of thy loins, the child of thy heart, the best beloved to +thee of all humanity? Had she not proved to thee, by years of +closest affection, her truth and goodness and filial obedience? And +yet, knowing and feeling all this, thou couldst endure to go groping +in darkness, hearing her named in strains which wounded thy loving +heart, and being unable to defend her as thou shouldst have done!</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding had not believed, did not believe, that his daughter +meant to marry this man, but he feared to commit himself to such an +opinion. If she did do it there would be then no means of retreat. +The wishes of his heart were: first, that there should be no truth in +the archdeacon's surmises; and in this wish he would have fain +trusted entirely, had he dared so to do; secondly, that the match +might be prevented, if unfortunately, it had been contemplated by +Eleanor; thirdly, that should she be so infatuated as to marry this +man, he might justify his conduct and declare that no cause existed +for his separating himself from her.</p> + +<p>He wanted to believe her incapable of such a marriage; he wanted to +show that he so believed of her; but he wanted also to be able to say +hereafter that she had done nothing amiss, if she should +unfortunately prove herself to be different from what he thought her +to be.</p> + +<p>Nothing but affection could justify such fickleness, but affection +did justify it. There was but little of the Roman about Mr. Harding. +He could not sacrifice his Lucretia even though she should be +polluted by the accepted addresses of the clerical Tarquin at the +palace. If Tarquin could be prevented, well and good, but if not, +the father would still open his heart to his daughter and accept her +as she presented herself, Tarquin and all.</p> + +<p>Dr. Grantly's mind was of a stronger calibre, and he was by no means +deficient in heart. He loved with an honest genuine love his wife +and children and friends. He loved his father-in-law, and was quite +prepared to love Eleanor too, if she would be one of his party, if +she would be on his side, if she would regard the Slopes and the +Proudies as the enemies of mankind and acknowledge and feel the +comfortable merits of the Gwynnes and Arabins. He wished to be what +he called "safe" with all those whom he had admitted to the +penetralia of his house and heart. He could luxuriate in no society +that was deficient in a certain feeling of faithful, staunch High +Churchism, which to him was tantamount to freemasonry. He was not +strict in his lines of definition. He endured without impatience +many different shades of Anglo-church conservatism; but with the +Slopes and Proudies he could not go on all fours.</p> + +<p>He was wanting in, moreover, or perhaps it would be more correct to +say, he was not troubled by that womanly tenderness which was so +peculiar to Mr. Harding. His feelings towards his friends were that +while they stuck to him, he would stick to them; that he would work +with them shoulder and shoulder; that he would be faithful to the +faithful. He knew nothing of that beautiful love which can be true +to a false friend.</p> + +<p>And thus these two men, each miserable enough in his own way, +returned to Plumstead.</p> + +<p>It was getting late when they arrived there, and the ladies had +already gone up to dress. Nothing more was said as the two parted in +the hall. As Mr. Harding passed to his own room he knocked at +Eleanor's door and handed in the letter. The archdeacon hurried to +his own territory, there to unburden his heart to his faithful +partner.</p> + +<p>What colloquy took place between the marital chamber and the +adjoining dressing-room shall not be detailed. The reader, now +intimate with the persons concerned, can well imagine it. The whole +tenor of it also might be read in Mrs. Grantly's brow as she came +down to dinner.</p> + +<p>Eleanor, when she received the letter from her father's hand, had no +idea from whom it came. She had never seen Mr. Slope's handwriting, +or if so had forgotten it, and did not think of him as she twisted +the letter as people do twist letters when they do not immediately +recognize their correspondents either by the writing or the seal. +She was sitting at her glass, brushing her hair and rising every +other minute to play with her boy, who was sprawling on the bed and +who engaged pretty nearly the whole attention of the maid as well as +of his mother.</p> + +<p>At last, sitting before her toilet-table, she broke the seal and, +turning over the leaf, saw Mr. Slope's name. She first felt +surprised, and then annoyed, and then anxious. As she read it she +became interested. She was so delighted to find that all obstacles +to her father's return to the hospital were apparently removed that +she did not observe the fulsome language in which the tidings were +conveyed. She merely perceived that she was commissioned to tell her +father that such was the case, and she did not realize the fact that +such a communication should not have been made, in the first +instance, to her by an unmarried young clergyman. She felt, on the +whole, grateful to Mr. Slope and anxious to get on her dress that she +might run with the news to her father. Then she came to the allusion +to her own pious labours, and she said in her heart that Mr. Slope +was an affected ass. Then she went on again and was offended by her +boy being called Mr. Slope's darling—he was nobody's +darling but her own, or at any rate not the darling of a disagreeable +stranger like Mr. Slope. Lastly she arrived at the tresses and felt a +qualm of disgust. She looked up in the glass, and there they were +before her, long and silken, certainly, and very beautiful. I will not +say but that she knew them to be so, but she felt angry with them and +brushed them roughly and carelessly. She crumpled the letter up with +angry violence, and resolved, almost without thinking of it, that she +would not show it to her father. She would merely tell him the contents +of it. She then comforted herself again with her boy, had her dress +fastened, and went down to dinner.</p> + +<p>As she tripped down the stairs she began to ascertain that there was +some difficulty in her situation. She could not keep from her father +the news about the hospital, nor could she comfortably confess the +letter from Mr. Slope before the Grantlys. Her father had already +gone down. She had heard his step upon the lobby. She resolved +therefore to take him aside and tell him her little bit of news. +Poor girl! She had no idea how severely the unfortunate letter had +already been discussed.</p> + +<p>When she entered the drawing-room, the whole party were there, +including Mr. Arabin, and the whole party looked glum and sour. +The two girls sat silent and apart as though they were aware that +something was wrong. Even Mr. Arabin was solemn and silent. Eleanor +had not seen him since breakfast. He had been the whole day at St. +Ewold's, and such having been the case, it was natural that he should +tell how matters were going on there. He did nothing of the kind, +however, but remained solemn and silent. They were all solemn and +silent. Eleanor knew in her heart that they had been talking about +her, and her heart misgave her as she thought of Mr. Slope and his +letter. At any rate she felt it to be quite impossible to speak to +her father alone while matters were in this state.</p> + +<p>Dinner was soon announced, and Dr. Grantly, as was his wont, gave +Eleanor his arm. But he did so as though the doing it were an +outrage on his feelings rendered necessary by sternest necessity. +With quick sympathy Eleanor felt this, and hardly put her fingers on +his coat-sleeve. It may be guessed in what way the dinner-hour was +passed. Dr. Grantly said a few words to Mr. Arabin, Mr. Arabin said +a few words to Mrs. Grantly, she said a few words to her father, and +he tried to say a few words to Eleanor. She felt that she had been +tried and found guilty of something, though she knew not what. She +longed to say out to them all, "Well, what is it that I have done; +out with it, and let me know my crime; for heaven's sake let me hear +the worst of it;" but she could not. She could say nothing, but sat +there silent, half-feeling that she was guilty, and trying in vain to +pretend even to eat her dinner.</p> + +<p>At last the cloth was drawn, and the ladies were not long following +it. When they were gone, the gentlemen were somewhat more sociable +but not much so. They could not of course talk over Eleanor's sins. +The archdeacon had indeed so far betrayed his sister-in-law as to +whisper into Mr. Arabin's ear in the study, as they met there before +dinner, a hint of what he feared. He did so with the gravest and +saddest of fears, and Mr. Arabin became grave and apparently sad +enough as he heard it. He opened his eyes, and his mouth and said in +a sort of whisper "Mr. Slope!" in the same way as he might have said +"The Cholera!" had his friend told him that that horrid disease was +in his nursery. "I fear so, I fear so," said the archdeacon, and +then together they left the room.</p> + +<p>We will not accurately analyse Mr. Arabin's feelings on receipt of +such astounding tidings. It will suffice to say that he was +surprised, vexed, sorrowful, and ill at ease. He had not perhaps +thought very much about Eleanor, but he had appreciated her influence, +and had felt that close intimacy with her in a country-house was +pleasant to him, and also beneficial. He had spoken highly of her +intelligence to the archdeacon, and had walked about the shrubberies +with her, carrying her boy on his back. When Mr. Arabin had called +Johnny his darling, Eleanor was not angry.</p> + +<p>Thus the three men sat over their wine, all thinking of the same +subject, but unable to speak of it to each other. So we will leave +them and follow the ladies into the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grantly had received a commission from her husband, and had +undertaken it with some unwillingness. He had desired her to speak +gravely to Eleanor and to tell her that, if she persisted in her +adherence to Mr. Slope, she could no longer look for the countenance +of her present friends. Mrs. Grantly probably knew her sister better +than the doctor did, and assured him that it would be in vain to talk +to her. The only course likely to be of any service in her opinion +was to keep Eleanor away from Barchester. Perhaps she might have +added, for she had a very keen eye in such things, that there might +also be ground for hope in keeping Eleanor near Mr. Arabin. Of this, +however, she said nothing. But the archdeacon would not be talked +over; he spoke much of his conscience, and declared that, if Mrs. +Grantly would not do it, he would. So instigated, the lady undertook +the task, stating, however, her full conviction that her interference +would be worse than useless. And so it proved.</p> + +<p>As soon as they were in the drawing-room Mrs. Grantly found some +excuse for sending her girls away, and then began her task. She knew +well that she could exercise but very slight authority over her +sister. Their various modes of life, and the distance between their +residences, had prevented any very close confidence. They had hardly +lived together since Eleanor was a child. Eleanor had, moreover, +especially in latter years, resented in a quiet sort of way the +dictatorial authority which the archdeacon seemed to exercise over +her father, and on this account had been unwilling to allow the +archdeacon's wife to exercise authority over herself.</p> + +<p>"You got a note just before dinner, I believe," began the eldest +sister.</p> + +<p>Eleanor acknowledged that she had done so, and felt that she turned +red as she acknowledged it. She would have given anything to have +kept her colour, but the more she tried to do so the more signally +she failed.</p> + +<p>"Was it not from Mr. Slope?"</p> + +<p>Eleanor said that the letter was from Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"Is he a regular correspondent of yours, Eleanor?"</p> + +<p>"Not exactly," said she, already beginning to feel angry at the +cross-examination. She determined, and why it would be difficult to +say, that nothing should induce her to tell her sister Susan what was +the subject of the letter. Mrs. Grantly, she knew, was instigated by +the archdeacon, and she would not plead to any arraignment made +against her by him.</p> + +<p>"But, Eleanor dear, why do you get letters from Mr. Slope at all, +knowing, as you do, he is a person so distasteful to Papa, and to the +archdeacon, and indeed to all your friends?"</p> + +<p>"In the first place, Susan, I don't get letters from him; and in the +next place, as Mr. Slope wrote the one letter which I have got, and +as I only received it, which I could not very well help doing, as +Papa handed it to me, I think you had better ask Mr. Slope instead of +me."</p> + +<p>"What was his letter about, Eleanor?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell you," said she, "because it was confidential. It was +on business respecting a third person."</p> + +<p>"It was in no way personal to yourself then?"</p> + +<p>"I won't exactly say that, Susan," said she, getting more and more +angry at her sister's questions.</p> + +<p>"Well, I must say it's rather singular," said Mrs. Grantly, +affecting to laugh, "that a young lady in your position should receive +a letter from an unmarried gentleman of which she will not tell the +contents and which she is ashamed to show to her sister."</p> + +<p>"I am not ashamed," said Eleanor, blazing up. "I am not ashamed of +anything in the matter; only I do not choose to be cross-examined as +to my letters by anyone."</p> + +<p>"Well, dear," said the other, "I cannot but tell you that I do not +think Mr. Slope a proper correspondent for you."</p> + +<p>"If he be ever so improper, how can I help his having written to me? +But you are all prejudiced against him to such an extent that that +which would be kind and generous in another man is odious and +impudent in him. I hate a religion that teaches one to be so +one-sided in one's charity."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry, Eleanor, that you hate the religion you find here, but +surely you should remember that in such matters the archdeacon must +know more of the world than you do. I don't ask you to respect or +comply with me, although I am, unfortunately, so many years your +senior; but surely, in such a matter as this, you might consent to be +guided by the archdeacon. He is most anxious to be your friend, if +you will let him."</p> + +<p>"In such a matter as what?" said Eleanor very testily. "Upon my word +I don't know what this is all about."</p> + +<p>"We all want you to drop Mr. Slope."</p> + +<p>"You all want me to be as illiberal as yourselves. That I shall +never be. I see no harm in Mr. Slope's acquaintance, and I shall not +insult the man by telling him that I do. He has thought it necessary +to write to me, and I do not want the archdeacon's advice about the +letter. If I did, I would ask it."</p> + +<p>"Then, Eleanor, it is my duty to tell you," and now she spoke with a +tremendous gravity, "that the archdeacon thinks that such a +correspondence is disgraceful, and that he cannot allow it to go on in +his house."</p> + +<p>Eleanor's eyes flashed fire as she answered her sister, jumping up +from her seat as she did so. "You may tell the archdeacon that +wherever I am I shall receive what letters I please and from whom I +please. And as for the word 'disgraceful,' if Dr. Grantly has used +it of me, he has been unmanly and inhospitable," and she walked off +to the door. "When Papa comes from the dining-room I will thank you +to ask him to step up to my bedroom. I will show him Mr. Slope's +letter, but I will show it to no one else." And so saying, she +retreated to her baby.</p> + +<p>She had no conception of the crime with which she was charged. The +idea that she could be thought by her friends to regard Mr. Slope as +a lover had never flashed upon her. She conceived that they were all +prejudiced and illiberal in their persecution of him, and therefore +she would not join in the persecution, even though she greatly +disliked the man.</p> + +<p>Eleanor was very angry as she seated herself in a low chair by her +open window at the foot of her child's bed. "To dare to say I have +disgraced myself," she repeated to herself more than once. "How Papa +can put up with that man's arrogance! I will certainly not sit down +to dinner in his house again unless he begs my pardon for that word." +And then a thought struck her that Mr. Arabin might perchance hear of +her "disgraceful" correspondence with Mr. Slope, and she turned +crimson with pure vexation. Oh, if she had known the truth! If she +could have conceived that Mr. Arabin had been informed as a fact that +she was going to marry Mr. Slope!</p> + +<p>She had not been long in her room before her father joined her. As +he left the drawing-room Mrs. Grantly took her husband into the +recess of the window and told him how signally she had failed.</p> + +<p>"I will speak to her myself before I go to bed," said the +archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"Pray do no such thing," said she; "you can do no good and will only +make an unseemly quarrel in the house. You have no idea how +headstrong she can be."</p> + +<p>The archdeacon declared that as to that he was quite indifferent. He +knew his duty and would do it. Mr. Harding was weak in the extreme +in such matters. He would not have it hereafter on his conscience +that he had not done all that in him lay to prevent so disgraceful an +alliance. It was in vain that Mrs. Grantly assured him that speaking +to Eleanor angrily would only hasten such a crisis and render it +certain, if at present there were any doubt. He was angry, +self-willed, and sore. The fact that a lady of his household had +received a letter from Mr. Slope had wounded his pride in the sorest +place, and nothing could control him.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding looked worn and woe-begone as he entered his daughter's +room. These sorrows worried him sadly. He felt that if they were +continued, he must go to the wall in the manner so kindly prophesied +to him by the chaplain. He knocked gently at his daughter's door, +waited till he was distinctly bade to enter, and then appeared as +though he and not she were the suspected criminal.</p> + +<p>Eleanor's arm was soon within his, and she had soon kissed his +forehead and caressed him, not with joyous but with eager love. "Oh, +Papa," she said, "I do so want to speak to you. They have been +talking about me downstairs to-night—don't you know they have, +Papa?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding confessed with a sort of murmur that the archdeacon had +been speaking of her.</p> + +<p>"I shall hate Dr. Grantly soon—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I shall. I cannot help it. He is so uncharitable, so unkind, +so suspicious of everyone that does not worship himself: and then he +is so monstrously arrogant to other people who have a right to their +opinions as well as he has to his own."</p> + +<p>"He is an earnest, eager man, my dear, but he never means to be +unkind."</p> + +<p>"He is unkind, Papa, most unkind. There, I got that letter from Mr. +Slope before dinner. It was you yourself who gave it to me. There, +pray read it. It is all for you. It should have been addressed to +you. You know how they have been talking about it downstairs. You +know how they behaved to me at dinner. And since dinner Susan has +been preaching to me, till I could not remain in the room with her. +Read it, Papa, and then say whether that is a letter that need make +Dr. Grantly so outrageous."</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding took his arm from his daughter's waist and slowly read +the letter. She expected to see his countenance lit with joy as he +learnt that his path back to the hospital was made so smooth; but she +was doomed to disappointment, as had once been the case before on a +somewhat similar occasion. His first feeling was one of unmitigated +disgust that Mr. Slope should have chosen to interfere in his behalf. +He had been anxious to get back to the hospital, but he would have +infinitely sooner resigned all pretensions to the place than have +owed it in any manner to Mr. Slope's influence in his favour. Then +he thoroughly disliked the tone of Mr. Slope's letter; it was +unctuous, false, and unwholesome, like the man. He saw, which +Eleanor had failed to see, that much more had been intended than was +expressed. The appeal to Eleanor's pious labours as separate from +his own grated sadly against his feelings as a father. And then, +when he came to the "darling boy" and the "silken tresses," he slowly +closed and folded the letter in despair. It was impossible that Mr. +Slope should so write unless he had been encouraged. It was +impossible Eleanor should have received such a letter, and have +received it without annoyance, unless she were willing to encourage +him. So at least Mr. Harding argued to himself.</p> + +<p>How hard it is to judge accurately of the feelings of others. Mr. +Harding, as he came to the close of the letter, in his heart +condemned his daughter for indelicacy, and it made him miserable to +do so. She was not responsible for what Mr. Slope might write. +True. But then she expressed no disgust at it. She had rather +expressed approval of the letter as a whole. She had given it to him +to read, as a vindication for herself and also for him. The father's +spirits sank within him as he felt that he could not acquit her.</p> + +<p>And yet it was the true feminine delicacy of Eleanor's mind which +brought on her this condemnation. Listen to me, ladies, and I +beseech you to acquit her. She thought of this man, this lover of +whom she was so unconscious, exactly as her father did, exactly as +the Grantlys did. At least she esteemed him personally as they did. +But she believed him to be in the main an honest man, and one truly +inclined to assist her father. She felt herself bound, after what +had passed, to show this letter to Mr. Harding. She thought it +necessary that he should know what Mr. Slope had to say. But she did +not think it necessary to apologize for, or condemn, or even allude +to the vulgarity of the man's tone, which arose, as does all +vulgarity, from ignorance. It was nauseous to her to have a man like +Mr. Slope commenting on her personal attractions, and she did not +think it necessary to dilate with her father upon what was nauseous. +She never supposed they could disagree on such a subject. It would +have been painful for her to point it out, painful for her to speak +strongly against a man of whom, on the whole, she was anxious to +think and speak well. In encountering such a man she had encountered +what was disagreeable, as she might do in walking the streets. But +in such encounters she never thought it necessary to dwell on what +disgusted her.</p> + +<p>And he, foolish, weak, loving man, would not say one word, though +one word would have cleared up everything. There would have been a +deluge of tears, and in ten minutes everyone in the house would have +understood how matters really were. The father would have been +delighted. The sister would have kissed her sister and begged a +thousand pardons. The archdeacon would have apologized and wondered, +and raised his eyebrows, and gone to bed a happy man. And Mr. +Arabin—Mr. Arabin would have dreamt of Eleanor, have awoke +in the morning with ideas of love, and retired to rest the next evening +with schemes of marriage. But, alas, all this was not to be.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding slowly folded the letter, handed it back to her, kissed +her forehead, and bade God bless her. He then crept slowly away to +his own room.</p> + +<p>As soon as he had left the passage, another knock was given at +Eleanor's door, and Mrs. Grantly's very demure own maid, entering on +tiptoe, wanted to know would Mrs. Bold be so kind as to speak to the +archdeacon for two minutes in the archdeacon's study, if not +disagreeable. The archdeacon's compliments, and he wouldn't detain +her two minutes.</p> + +<p>Eleanor thought it was very disagreeable; she was tired and fagged +and sick at heart; her present feelings towards Dr. Grantly were +anything but those of affection. She was, however, no coward, and +therefore promised to be in the study in five minutes. So she +arranged her hair, tied on her cap, and went down with a palpitating +heart.</p> + + +<p><a name="c29" id="c29"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXIX</h3> +<h3>A Serious Interview<br /> </h3> + + +<p>There are people who delight in serious interviews, especially when +to them appertains the part of offering advice or administering +rebuke, and perhaps the archdeacon was one of these. Yet on this +occasion he did not prepare himself for the coming conversation with +much anticipation of pleasure. Whatever might be his faults he was +not an inhospitable man, and he almost felt that he was sinning +against hospitality in upbraiding Eleanor in his own house. Then, +also, he was not quite sure that he would get the best of it. His +wife had told him that he decidedly would not, and he usually gave +credit to what his wife said. He was, however, so convinced of what +he considered to be the impropriety of Eleanor's conduct, and so +assured also of his own duty in trying to check it, that his +conscience would not allow him to take his wife's advice and go to +bed quietly.</p> + +<p>Eleanor's face as she entered the room was not such as to reassure +him. As a rule she was always mild in manner and gentle in conduct; +but there was that in her eye which made it not an easy task to scold +her. In truth she had been little used to scolding. No one since +her childhood had tried it but the archdeacon, and he had generally +failed when he did try it. He had never done so since her marriage; +and now, when he saw her quiet, easy step as she entered his room, he +almost wished that he had taken his wife's advice.</p> + +<p>He began by apologizing for the trouble he was giving her. She +begged him not to mention it, assured him that walking downstairs was +no trouble to her at all, and then took a seat and waited patiently +for him to begin his attack.</p> + +<p>"My dear Eleanor," he said, "I hope you believe me when I assure you +that you have no sincerer friend than I am." To this Eleanor +answered nothing, and therefore he proceeded. "If you had a brother +of your own, I should not probably trouble you with what I am going +to say. But as it is I cannot but think that it must be a comfort to +you to know that you have near you one who is as anxious for your +welfare as any brother of your own could be."</p> + +<p>"I never had a brother," said she.</p> + +<p>"I know you never had, and it is therefore that I speak to you."</p> + +<p>"I never had a brother," she repeated, "but I have hardly felt the +want. Papa has been to me both father and brother."</p> + +<p>"Your father is the fondest and most affectionate of men. But—"</p> + +<p>"He is—the fondest and most affectionate of men, and +the best of counsellors. While he lives I can never want advice."</p> + +<p>This rather put the archdeacon out. He could not exactly contradict +what his sister-in-law said about her father, and yet he did not at +all agree with her. He wanted her to understand that he tendered his +assistance because her father was a soft, good-natured gentleman not +sufficiently knowing in the ways of the world; but he could not say +this to her. So he had to rush into the subject-matter of his +proffered counsel without any acknowledgement on her part that she +could need it, or would be grateful for it.</p> + +<p>"Susan tells me that you received a letter this evening from Mr. +Slope."</p> + +<p>"Yes; Papa brought it in the brougham. Did he not tell you?"</p> + +<p>"And Susan says that you objected to let her know what it was +about."</p> + +<p>"I don't think she asked me. But had she done so, I should not have +told her. I don't think it nice to be asked about one's letters. If +one wishes to show them, one does so without being asked."</p> + +<p>"True. Quite so. What you say is quite true. But is not the fact +of your receiving letters from Mr. Slope, which you do not wish to +show to your friends, a circumstance which must excite +some—some surprise—some suspicion—"</p> + +<p>"Suspicion!" said she, not speaking above her usual voice, speaking +still in a soft, womanly tone but yet with indignation. "Suspicion! +And who suspects me, and of what?" And then there was a pause, for +the archdeacon was not quite ready to explain the ground of his +suspicion. "No, Dr. Grantly, I did not choose to show Mr. Slope's +letter to Susan. I could not show it to anyone till Papa had seen +it. If you have any wish to read it now, you can do so," and she +handed the letter to him over the table.</p> + +<p>This was an amount of compliance which he had not at all expected, +and which rather upset him in his tactics. However, he took the letter, +perused it carefully, and then refolding it, kept it on the table under +his hand. To him it appeared to be in almost every respect the letter +of a declared lover; it seemed to corroborate his worst suspicions; and +the fact of Eleanor's showing it to him was all but tantamount to a +declaration on her part that it was her pleasure to receive +love-letters from Mr. Slope. He almost entirely overlooked the real +subject-matter of the epistle, so intent was he on the forthcoming +courtship and marriage.</p> + +<p>"I'll thank you to give it me back, if you please, Dr. Grantly."</p> + +<p>He took it in his hand and held it up, but made no immediate +overture to return it. "And Mr. Harding has seen this?" said he.</p> + +<p>"Of course he has," said she; "it was written that he might see it. +It refers solely to his business—of course I showed it to +him."</p> + +<p>"And, Eleanor, do you think that that is a proper letter for +you—for a person in your condition—to receive +from Mr. Slope?"</p> + +<p>"Quite a proper letter," said she, speaking, perhaps, a little out +of obstinacy, probably forgetting at the moment the objectionable +mention of her silken curls.</p> + +<p>"Then, Eleanor, it is my duty to tell you that I wholly differ from +you."</p> + +<p>"So I suppose," said she, instigated now by sheer opposition and +determination not to succumb. "You think Mr. Slope is a messenger +direct from Satan. I think he is an industrious, well-meaning +clergyman. It's a pity that we differ as we do. But, as we do +differ, we had probably better not talk about it."</p> + +<p>Here Eleanor undoubtedly put herself in the wrong. She might +probably have refused to talk to Dr. Grantly on the matter in dispute +without any impropriety, but, having consented to listen to him, she +had no business to tell him that he regarded Mr. Slope as an emissary +from the evil one; nor was she justified in praising Mr. Slope, +seeing that in her heart of hearts she did not think well of him. +She was, however, wounded in spirit, and angry, and bitter. She had +been subjected to contumely and cross-questioning and ill-usage +through the whole evening. No one, not even Mr. Arabin, not even her +father, had been kind to her. All this she attributed to the +prejudice and conceit of the archdeacon, and therefore she resolved +to set no bounds to her antagonism to him. She would neither give +nor take quarter. He had greatly presumed in daring to question her +about her correspondence, and she was determined to show that she +thought so.</p> + +<p>"Eleanor, you are forgetting yourself," said he, looking very +sternly at her. "Otherwise you would never tell me that I conceive any +man to be a messenger from Satan."</p> + +<p>"But you do," said she. "Nothing is too bad for him. Give me that +letter, if you please;" and she stretched out her hand and took it +from him. "He has been doing his best to serve Papa, doing more than +any of Papa's friends could do; and yet, because he is the chaplain +of a bishop whom you don't like, you speak of him as though he had no +right to the usage of a gentleman."</p> + +<p>"He has done nothing for your father."</p> + +<p>"I believe that he has done a great deal; and, as far as I am +concerned, I am grateful to him. Nothing that you can say can +prevent my being so. I judge people by their acts, and his, as far +as I can see them, are good." She then paused for a moment. "If you +have nothing further to say, I shall be obliged by being permitted to +say good night—I am very tired."</p> + +<p>Dr. Grantly had, as he thought, done his best to be gracious to his +sister-in-law. He had endeavoured not to be harsh to her, and had +striven to pluck the sting from his rebuke. But he did not intend +that she should leave him without hearing him.</p> + +<p>"I have something to say, Eleanor, and I fear I must trouble you to +hear it. You profess that it is quite proper that you should receive +from Mr. Slope such letters as that you have in your hand. Susan and +I think very differently. You are, of course, your own mistress, and +much as we both must grieve should anything separate you from us, we +have no power to prevent you from taking steps which may lead to such +a separation. If you are so wilful as to reject the counsel of your +friends, you must be allowed to cater for yourself. But, Eleanor, I +may at any rate ask you this. Is it worth your while to break away +from all those you have loved—from all who love +you—for the sake of Mr. Slope?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean, Dr. Grantly; I don't know what you're +talking about. I don't want to break away from anybody."</p> + +<p>"But you will do so if you connect yourself with Mr. Slope. Eleanor, +I must speak out to you. You must choose between your sister and +myself and our friends, and Mr. Slope and his friends. I say nothing +of your father, as you may probably understand his feelings better +than I do."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, Dr. Grantly? What am I to understand? I never +heard such wicked prejudice in my life."</p> + +<p>"It is no prejudice, Eleanor. I have known the world longer than you +have done. Mr. Slope is altogether beneath you. You ought to know +and feel that he is so. Pray—pray think of this before it +is too late."</p> + +<p>"Too late!"</p> + +<p>"Or if you will not believe me, ask Susan; you cannot think she is +prejudiced against you. Or even consult your father—he is +not prejudiced against you. Ask Mr. Arabin—"</p> + +<p>"You haven't spoken to Mr. Arabin about this!" said she, jumping up +and standing before him.</p> + +<p>"Eleanor, all the world in and about Barchester will be speaking of +it soon."</p> + +<p>"But have you spoken to Mr. Arabin about me and Mr. Slope?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I have, and he quite agrees with me."</p> + +<p>"Agrees with what?" said she. "I think you are trying to drive me +mad."</p> + +<p>"He agrees with me and Susan that it is quite impossible you should +be received at Plumstead as Mrs. Slope."</p> + +<p>Not being favourites with the tragic muse, we do not dare to attempt +any description of Eleanor's face when she first heard the name of +Mrs. Slope pronounced as that which would or should or might at some +time appertain to herself. The look, such as it was, Dr. Grantly did +not soon forget. For a moment or two she could find no words to +express her deep anger and deep disgust; indeed, at this conjuncture, +words did not come to her very freely.</p> + +<p>"How dare you be so impertinent?" at last she said, and then she +hurried out of the room without giving the archdeacon the opportunity +of uttering another word. It was with difficulty she contained +herself till she reached her own room; and then, locking the door, +she threw herself on her bed and sobbed as though her heart would +break.</p> + +<p>But even yet she had no conception of the truth. She had no idea +that her father and her sister had for days past conceived in sober +earnest the idea that she was going to marry this man. She did not +even then believe that the archdeacon thought that she would do so. +By some manoeuvre of her brain she attributed the origin of the +accusation to Mr. Arabin, and as she did so her anger against him was +excessive, and the vexation of her spirit almost unendurable. She +could not bring herself to think that the charge was made seriously. +It appeared to her most probable that the archdeacon and Mr. Arabin +had talked over her objectionable acquaintance with Mr. Slope; that +Mr. Arabin in his jeering, sarcastic way had suggested the odious +match as being the severest way of treating with contumely her +acquaintance with his enemy; and that the archdeacon, taking the idea +from him, thought proper to punish her by the allusion. The whole +night she lay awake thinking of what had been said, and this appeared +to be the most probable solution.</p> + +<p>But the reflexion that Mr. Arabin should have in any way mentioned +her name in connexion with that of Mr. Slope was overpowering; and +the spiteful ill-nature of the archdeacon in repeating the charge to +her made her wish to leave his house almost before the day had +broken. One thing was certain: nothing should make her stay there +beyond the following morning, and nothing should make her sit down to +breakfast in company with Dr. Grantly. When she thought of the man +whose name had been linked with her own, she cried from sheer +disgust. It was only because she would be thus disgusted, thus +pained and shocked and cut to the quick, that the archdeacon had +spoken the horrid word. He wanted to make her quarrel with Mr. +Slope, and therefore he had outraged her by his abominable vulgarity. +She determined that at any rate he should know that she appreciated +it.</p> + +<p>Nor was the archdeacon a bit better satisfied with the result of his +serious interview than was Eleanor. He gathered from it, as indeed +he could hardly fail to do, that she was very angry with him, but he +thought that she was thus angry, not because she was suspected of an +intention to marry Mr. Slope, but because such an intention was +imputed to her as a crime. Dr. Grantly regarded this supposed union +with disgust, but it never occurred to him that Eleanor was outraged +because she looked at it exactly in the same light.</p> + +<p>He returned to his wife, vexed and somewhat disconsolate, but +nevertheless confirmed in his wrath against his sister-in-law. +"Her whole behaviour," said he, "has been most objectionable. +She handed me his love-letter to read as though she were proud of it. +And she is proud of it. She is proud of having this slavering, +greedy man at her feet. She will throw herself and John Bold's money +into his lap; she will ruin her boy, disgrace her father and you, and +be a wretched miserable woman."</p> + +<p>His spouse, who was sitting at her toilet-table, continued her +avocations, making no answer to all this. She had known that the +archdeacon would gain nothing by interfering, but she was too +charitable to provoke him by saying so while he was in such deep +sorrow.</p> + +<p>"This comes of a man making such a will as that of Bold's," he +continued. "Eleanor is no more fitted to be trusted with such an +amount of money in her own hands than is a charity-school girl." +Still Mrs. Grantly made no reply. "But I have done my duty; I can do +nothing further. I have told her plainly that she cannot be allowed +to form a link of connexion between me and that man. From +henceforward it will not be in my power to make her welcome at +Plumstead. I cannot have Mr. Slope's love-letters coming here. +Susan, I think you had better let her understand that, as her mind on +this subject seems to be irrevocably fixed, it will be better for all +parties that she should return to Barchester."</p> + +<p>Now Mrs. Grantly was angry with Eleanor—nearly as angry +as her husband—but she had no idea of turning her sister +out of the house. She therefore at length spoke out and explained to +the archdeacon in her own mild, seducing way that he was fuming and +fussing and fretting himself very unnecessarily. She declared that +things, if left alone, would arrange themselves much better than he +could arrange them, and at last succeeded in inducing him to go to bed +in a somewhat less inhospitable state of mind.</p> + +<p>On the following morning Eleanor's maid was commissioned to send +word into the dining-room that her mistress was not well enough to +attend prayers and that she would breakfast in her own room. Here +she was visited by her father, and declared to him her intention of +returning immediately to Barchester. He was hardly surprised by the +announcement. All the household seemed to be aware that something +had gone wrong. Everyone walked about with subdued feet, and +people's shoes seemed to creak more than usual. There was a look of +conscious intelligence on the faces of the women, and the men +attempted, but in vain, to converse as though nothing were the +matter. All this had weighed heavily on the heart of Mr. Harding, +and when Eleanor told him that her immediate return to Barchester was +a necessity, he merely sighed piteously and said that he would be +ready to accompany her.</p> + +<p>But here she objected strenuously. She had a great wish, she said, +to go alone; a great desire that it might be seen that her father was +not implicated in her quarrel with Dr. Grantly. To this at last he +gave way; but not a word passed between them about Mr. +Slope—not a word was said, not a question asked as to the +serious interview on the preceding evening. There was, indeed, very +little confidence between them, though neither of them knew why it +should be so. Eleanor once asked him whether he would not call upon the +bishop, but he answered rather tartly that he did not know—he +did not think he should, but he could not say just at present. And so +they parted. Each was miserably anxious for some show of affection, for +some return of confidence, for some sign of the feeling that usually +bound them together. But none was given. The father could not bring +himself to question his daughter about her supposed lover, and the +daughter would not sully her mouth by repeating the odious word with +which Dr. Grantly had roused her wrath. And so they parted.</p> + +<p>There was some trouble in arranging the method of Eleanor's return. +She begged her father to send for a post-chaise, but when Mrs. +Grantly heard of this, she objected strongly. If Eleanor would go +away in dudgeon with the archdeacon, why should she let all the +servants and all the neighbourhood know that she had done so? So at +last Eleanor consented to make use of the Plumstead carriage, and as +the archdeacon had gone out immediately after breakfast and was not +to return till dinner-time, she also consented to postpone her +journey till after lunch, and to join the family at that time. As to +the subject of the quarrel not a word was said by anyone. The +affair of the carriage was arranged by Mr. Harding, who acted as +Mercury between the two ladies; they, when they met, kissed each +other very lovingly and then sat down each to her crochet work as +though nothing was amiss in all the world.</p> + + +<p><a name="c30" id="c30"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXX</h3> +<h3>Another Love Scene<br /> </h3> + + +<p>But there was another visitor at the rectory whose feelings in this +unfortunate matter must be somewhat strictly analysed. Mr. Arabin +had heard from his friend of the probability of Eleanor's marriage +with Mr. Slope with amazement, but not with incredulity. It has been +said that he was not in love with Eleanor, and up to this period this +certainly had been true. But as soon as he heard that she loved +someone else, he began to be very fond of her himself. He did not +make up his mind that he wished to have her for his wife; he had +never thought of her, and did not now think of her, in connexion with +himself; but he experienced an inward, indefinable feeling of deep +regret, a gnawing sorrow, an unconquerable depression of spirits, and +also a species of self-abasement that he—he, Mr. +Arabin—had not done something to prevent that other he, that +vile he whom he so thoroughly despised, from carrying off this sweet +prize.</p> + +<p>Whatever man may have reached the age of forty unmarried without +knowing something of such feelings must have been very successful or +else very cold-hearted.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin had never thought of trimming the sails of his bark so +that he might sail as convoy to this rich argosy. He had seen that +Mrs. Bold was beautiful, but he had not dreamt of making her beauty +his own. He knew that Mrs. Bold was rich, but he had had no more +idea of appropriating her wealth than that of Dr. Grantly. He had +discovered that Mrs. Bold was intelligent, warm-hearted, agreeable, +sensible, all in fact that a man could wish his wife to be; but the +higher were her attractions, the greater her claims to consideration, +the less had he imagined that he might possibly become the possessor +of them. Such had been his instinct rather than his thoughts, so +humble and so diffident. Now his diffidence was to be rewarded by +his seeing this woman, whose beauty was to his eyes perfect, whose +wealth was such as to have deterred him from thinking of her, whose +widowhood would have silenced him had he not been so deterred, by his +seeing her become the prey of—Obadiah Slope!</p> + +<p>On the morning of Mrs. Bold's departure he got on his horse to ride +over to St. Ewold's. As he rode he kept muttering to himself a line +from Van Artevelde,<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p class="noindent">How little flattering is woman's love.<br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">And then he strove +to recall his mind and to think of other +affairs—his parish, his college, his creed—but +his thoughts would revert to Mr. Slope and the Flemish chieftain.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="ind5">When we think upon it,</span><br /> +How little flattering is woman's love,<br /> +Given commonly to whosoe'er is nearest<br /> +And propped with most advantage.<br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">It was not that Mrs. Bold +should marry anyone but him—he +had not put himself forward as a suitor—but that +she should marry Mr. Slope; and so he repeated over again—<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="ind10">Outward grace</span><br/> +Nor inward light is needful—day by day<br /> +Men wanting both are mated with the best<br /> +And loftiest of God's feminine creation,<br /> +Whose love takes no distinction but of gender,<br /> +And ridicules the very name of choice.<br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">And so he went on, troubled much in his mind.</p> + +<p>He had but an uneasy ride of it that morning, and little good did he +do at St. Ewold's.</p> + +<p>The necessary alterations in his house were being fast completed, +and he walked through the rooms, and went up and down the stairs, and +rambled through the garden, but he could not wake himself to much +interest about them. He stood still at every window to look out and +think upon Mr. Slope. At almost every window he had before stood and +chatted with Eleanor. She and Mrs. Grantly had been there continually; +and while Mrs. Grantly had been giving orders, and seeing that orders +had been complied with, he and Eleanor had conversed on all things +appertaining to a clergyman's profession. He thought how often he had +laid down the law to her and how sweetly she had borne with his +somewhat dictatorial decrees. He remembered her listening intelligence, +her gentle but quick replies, her interest in all that concerned the +church, in all that concerned him; and then he struck his riding-whip +against the window-sill and declared to himself that it was impossible +that Eleanor Bold should marry Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>And yet he did not really believe, as he should have done, that it +was impossible. He should have known her well enough to feel that it +was truly impossible. He should have been aware that Eleanor had +that within her which would surely protect her from such degradation. +But he, like so many others, was deficient in confidence in woman. +He said to himself over and over again that it was impossible that +Eleanor Bold should become Mrs. Slope, and yet he believed that she +would do so. And so he rambled about, and could do and think of +nothing. He was thoroughly uncomfortable, thoroughly ill at ease, +cross with himself and everybody else, and feeding in his heart on +animosity towards Mr. Slope. This was not as it should be, as he +knew and felt, but he could not help himself. In truth Mr. Arabin +was now in love with Mrs. Bold, though ignorant of the fact himself. +He was in love and, though forty years old, was in love without being +aware of it. He fumed and fretted and did not know what was the +matter, as a youth might do at one-and-twenty. And so having done no +good at St. Ewold's, he rode back much earlier than was usual with +him, instigated by some inward, unacknowledged hope that he might see +Mrs. Bold before she left.</p> + +<p>Eleanor had not passed a pleasant morning. She was irritated with +everyone, and not least with herself. She felt that she had been +hardly used, but she felt also that she had not played her own cards +well. She should have held herself so far above suspicion as to have +received her sister's innuendoes and the archdeacon's lecture with +indifference. She had not done this, but had shown herself angry and +sore, and was now ashamed of her own petulance, yet unable to +discontinue it.</p> + +<p>The greater part of the morning she had spent alone, but after +awhile her father joined her. He had fully made up his mind that, come +what come might, nothing should separate him from his younger daughter. +It was a hard task for him to reconcile himself to the idea of seeing +her at the head of Mr. Slope's table, but he got through it. Mr. Slope, +as he argued to himself, was a respectable man and a clergyman, and he, +as Eleanor's father, had no right even to endeavour to prevent her from +marrying such a one. He longed to tell her how he had determined to +prefer her to all the world, how he was prepared to admit that she was +not wrong, how thoroughly he differed from Dr. Grantly; but he could +not bring himself to mention Mr. Slope's name. There was yet a chance +that they were all wrong in their surmise, and being thus in doubt, he +could not bring himself to speak openly to her on the subject.</p> + +<p>He was sitting with her in the drawing-room, with his arm round her +waist, saying every now and then some little soft words of affection +and working hard with his imaginary fiddle-bow, when Mr. Arabin +entered the room. He immediately got up, and the two made some trite +remarks to each other, neither thinking of what he was saying, while +Eleanor kept her seat on the sofa, mute and moody. Mr. Arabin was +included in the list of those against whom her anger was excited. +He, too, had dared to talk about her acquaintance with Mr. Slope; he, +too, had dared to blame her for not making an enemy of his enemy. +She had not intended to see him before her departure, and was now but +little inclined to be gracious.</p> + +<p>There was a feeling through the whole house that something was +wrong. Mr. Arabin, when he saw Eleanor, could not succeed in looking or +in speaking as though he knew nothing of all this. He could not be +cheerful and positive and contradictory with her, as was his wont. He +had not been two minutes in the room before he felt that he had done +wrong to return; and the moment he heard her voice, he thoroughly +wished himself back at St. Ewold's. Why, indeed, should he have wished +to have aught further to say to the future wife of Mr. Slope?</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to hear that you are to leave us so soon," said he, +striving in vain to use his ordinary voice. In answer to this she +muttered something about the necessity of her being in Barchester, and +betook herself most industriously to her crochet work.</p> + +<p>Then there was a little more trite conversation between Mr. Arabin +and Mr. Harding—trite, and hard, and vapid, and senseless. +Neither of them had anything to say to the other, and yet neither at +such a moment liked to remain silent. At last Mr. Harding, taking +advantage of a pause, escaped out of the room, and Eleanor and Mr. +Arabin were left together.</p> + +<p>"Your going will be a great break-up to our party," said he.</p> + +<p>She again muttered something which was all but inaudible, but kept +her eyes fixed upon her work.</p> + +<p>"We have had a very pleasant month here," said he; "at least I have; +and I am sorry it should be so soon over."</p> + +<p>"I have already been from home longer than I intended," said she, +"and it is time that I should return."</p> + +<p>"Well, pleasant hours and pleasant days must come to an end. It is a +pity that so few of them are pleasant; or perhaps, rather—"</p> + +<p>"It is a pity, certainly, that men and women do so much to destroy +the pleasantness of their days," said she, interrupting him. "It is +a pity that there should be so little charity abroad."</p> + +<p>"Charity should begin at home," said he, and he was proceeding to +explain that he as a clergyman could not be what she would call +charitable at the expense of those principles which he considered it +his duty to teach, when he remembered that it would be worse than vain +to argue on such a matter with the future wife of Mr. Slope. "But +you are just leaving us," he continued, "and I will not weary your +last hour with another lecture. As it is, I fear I have given you +too many."</p> + +<p>"You should practise as well as preach, Mr. Arabin."</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly I should. So should we all. All of us who presume to +teach are bound to do our utmost towards fulfilling our own lessons. +I thoroughly allow my deficiency in doing so, but I do not quite know +now to what you allude. Have you any special reason for telling me +now that I should practise as well as preach?"</p> + +<p>Eleanor made no answer. She longed to let him know the cause of her +anger, to upbraid him for speaking of her disrespectfully, and then +at last to forgive him, and so part friends. She felt that she would +be unhappy to leave him in her present frame of mind, but yet she +could hardly bring herself to speak to him of Mr. Slope. And how +could she allude to the innuendo thrown out by the archdeacon, and +thrown out, as she believed, at the instigation of Mr. Arabin? She +wanted to make him know that he was wrong, to make him aware that he +had ill-treated her, in order that the sweetness of her forgiveness +might be enhanced. She felt that she liked him too well to be +contented to part with him in displeasure, yet she could not get over +her deep displeasure without some explanation, some acknowledgement +on his part, some assurance that he would never again so sin against +her.</p> + +<p>"Why do you tell me that I should practise what I preach?" continued +he.</p> + +<p>"All men should do so."</p> + +<p>"Certainly. That is as it were understood and acknowledged. But you +do not say so to all men, or to all clergymen. The advice, good as +it is, is not given except in allusion to some special deficiency. +If you will tell me my special deficiency, I will endeavour to profit +by the advice."</p> + +<p>She paused for awhile and then, looking full in his face, she said, +"You are not bold enough, Mr. Arabin, to speak out to me openly and +plainly, and yet you expect me, a woman, to speak openly to you. Why +did you speak calumny of me to Dr. Grantly behind my back?"</p> + +<p>"Calumny!" said he, and his whole face became suffused with blood. +"What calumny? If I have spoken calumny of you, I will beg your +pardon, and his to whom I spoke it, and God's pardon also. But what +calumny have I spoken of you to Dr. Grantly?"</p> + +<p>She also blushed deeply. She could not bring herself to ask him +whether he had not spoken of her as another man's wife. "You know +that best yourself," said she. "But I ask you as a man of honour, if +you have not spoken of me as you would not have spoken of your own +sister—or rather I will not ask you," she continued, finding +that he did not immediately answer her. "I will not put you to the +necessity of answering such a question. Dr. Grantly has told me what +you said."</p> + +<p>"Dr. Grantly certainly asked me for my advice, and I gave it. He +asked me—"</p> + +<p>"I know he did, Mr. Arabin. He asked you whether he would be doing +right to receive me at Plumstead if I continued my acquaintance with +a gentleman who happens to be personally disagreeable to yourself and +to him."</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken, Mrs. Bold. I have no personal knowledge of Mr. +Slope; I never met him in my life."</p> + +<p>"You are not the less individually hostile to him. It is not for me +to question the propriety of your enmity, but I had a right to expect +that my name should not have been mixed up in your hostilities. This +has been done, and been done by you in a manner the most injurious and +the most distressing to me as a woman. I must confess, Mr. Arabin, +that from you I expected a different sort of usage."</p> + +<p>As she spoke she with difficulty restrained her tears—but +she did restrain them. Had she given way and sobbed aloud, as in such +cases a woman should do, he would have melted at once, implored her +pardon, perhaps knelt at her feet and declared his love. Everything +would have been explained, and Eleanor would have gone back to +Barchester with a contented mind. How easily would she have forgiven +and forgotten the archdeacon's suspicions had she but heard the whole +truth from Mr. Arabin. But then where would have been my novel? She did +not cry, and Mr. Arabin did not melt.</p> + +<p>"You do me an injustice," said he. "My advice was asked by Dr. +Grantly, and I was obliged to give it."</p> + +<p>"Dr. Grantly has been most officious, most impertinent. I have as +complete a right to form my acquaintance as he has to form his. What +would you have said had I consulted you as to the propriety of my +banishing Dr. Grantly from my house because he knows Lord Tattenham +Corner? I am sure Lord Tattenham is quite as objectionable an +acquaintance for a clergyman as Mr. Slope is for a clergyman's +daughter."</p> + +<p>"I do not know Lord Tattenham Corner."</p> + +<p>"No, but Dr. Grantly does. It is nothing to me if he knows all the +young lords on every race-course in England. I shall not interfere +with him, nor shall he with me."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to differ with you, Mrs. Bold, but as you have spoken to +me on this matter, and especially as you blame me for what little I +said on the subject, I must tell you that I do differ from you. Dr. +Grantly's position as a man in the world gives him a right to choose +his own acquaintances, subject to certain influences. If he chooses +them badly, those influences will be used. If he consorts with +persons unsuitable to him, his bishop will interfere. What the +bishop is to Dr. Grantly, Dr. Grantly is to you."</p> + +<p>"I deny it. I utterly deny it," said Eleanor, jumping from her seat +and literally flashing before Mr. Arabin, as she stood on the +drawing-room floor. He had never seen her so excited, he had never +seen her look half so beautiful.</p> + +<p>"I utterly deny it," said she. "Dr. Grantly has no sort of +jurisdiction over me whatsoever. Do you and he forget that I am not +altogether alone in the world? Do you forget that I have a father? +Dr. Grantly, I believe, always has forgotten it.</p> + +<p>"From you, Mr. Arabin," she continued, "I would have listened to +advice because I should have expected it to have been given as one +friend may advise another—not as a schoolmaster gives an +order to a pupil. I might have differed from you—on this +matter I should have done so—but had you spoken +to me in your usual manner and with your usual freedom, I should not +have been angry. But now—was it manly of you, Mr. Arabin, +to speak of me in this way—so +disrespectful—so—? I cannot bring myself to repeat +what you said. You must understand what I feel. Was it just of you to +speak of me in such a way and to advise my sister's husband to turn me +out of my sister's house because I chose to know a man of whose +doctrine you disapprove?"</p> + +<p>"I have no alternative left to me, Mrs. Bold," said he, standing +with his back to the fire-place, looking down intently at the carpet +pattern, and speaking with a slow, measured voice, "but to tell you +plainly what did take place between me and Dr. Grantly."</p> + +<p>"Well," said she, finding that he paused for a moment.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid that what I may say may pain you."</p> + +<p>"It cannot well do so more than what you have already done," said +she.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Grantly asked me whether I thought it would be prudent for him +to receive you in his house as the wife of Mr. Slope, and I told him +that I thought it would be imprudent. Believing it to be utterly +impossible that Mr. Slope and—"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mr. Arabin, that is sufficient. I do not want to know +your reasons," said she, speaking with a terribly calm voice. "I +have shown to this gentleman the commonplace civility of a neighbour; +and because I have done so, because I have not indulged against him +in all the rancour and hatred which you and Dr. Grantly consider due +to all clergymen who do not agree with yourselves, you conclude that +I am to marry him; or rather you do not conclude so—no +rational man could really come to such an outrageous conclusion without +better ground; you have not thought so, but, as I am in a position in +which such an accusation must be peculiarly painful, it is made in +order that I may be terrified into hostility against this enemy of +yours."</p> + +<p>As she finished speaking, she walked to the drawing-room window and +stepped out into the garden. Mr. Arabin was left in the room, still +occupied in counting the pattern on the carpet. He had, however, +distinctly heard and accurately marked every word that she had +spoken. Was it not clear from what she had said that the archdeacon +had been wrong in imputing to her any attachment to Mr. Slope? Was +it not clear that Eleanor was still free to make another choice? It +may seem strange that he should for a moment have had a doubt, and +yet he did doubt. She had not absolutely denied the charge; she had +not expressly said that it was untrue. Mr. Arabin understood little +of the nature of a woman's feelings, or he would have known how +improbable it was that she should make any clearer declaration than +she had done. Few men do understand the nature of a woman's heart, +till years have robbed such understanding of its value. And it is +well that it should be so, or men would triumph too easily.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin stood counting the carpet, unhappy, wretchedly unhappy, +at the hard words that had been spoken to him, and yet happy, +exquisitely happy, as he thought that after all the woman whom he so +regarded was not to become the wife of the man whom he so much +disliked. As he stood there he began to be aware that he was himself in +love. Forty years had passed over his head, and as yet woman's beauty +had never given him an uneasy hour. His present hour was very uneasy.</p> + +<p>Not that he remained there for half or a quarter of that time. In +spite of what Eleanor had said, Mr. Arabin was, in truth, a manly man. +Having ascertained that he loved this woman, and having now reason to +believe that she was free to receive his love, at least if she +pleased to do so, he followed her into the garden to make such wooing +as he could.</p> + +<p>He was not long in finding her. She was walking to and fro beneath +the avenue of elms that stood in the archdeacon's grounds, skirting +the churchyard. What had passed between her and Mr. Arabin had not, +alas, tended to lessen the acerbity of her spirit. She was very +angry—more angry with him than with anyone. How could he +have so misunderstood her? She had been so intimate with him, had +allowed him such latitude in what he had chosen to say to her, had +complied with his ideas, cherished his views, fostered his precepts, +cared for his comforts, made much of him in every way in which a pretty +woman can make much of an unmarried man without committing herself or +her feelings! She had been doing this, and while she had been doing it +he had regarded her as the affianced wife of another man.</p> + +<p>As she passed along the avenue, every now and then an unbidden tear +would force itself on her cheek, and as she raised her hand to brush +it away, she stamped with her little foot upon the sward with very +spite to think that she had been so treated.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin was very near to her when she first saw him, and she +turned short round and retraced her steps down the avenue, trying to +rid her cheeks of all trace of the tell-tale tears. It was a +needless endeavour, for Mr. Arabin was in a state of mind that hardly +allowed him to observe such trifles. He followed her down the walk +and overtook her just as she reached the end of it.</p> + +<p>He had not considered how he would address her; he had not thought +what he would say. He had only felt that it was wretchedness to him +to quarrel with her, and that it would be happiness to be allowed to +love her. And yet he could not lower himself by asking her pardon. +He had done her no wrong. He had not calumniated her, not injured +her, as she had accused him of doing. He could not confess sins of +which he had not been guilty. He could only let the past be past and +ask her as to her and his hopes for the future.</p> + +<p>"I hope we are not to part as enemies?" said he.</p> + +<p>"There shall be no enmity on my part," said Eleanor; "I endeavour to +avoid all enmities. It would be a hollow pretence were I to say that +there can be true friendship between us, after what has just passed. +People cannot make their friends of those whom they despise."</p> + +<p>"And am I despised?"</p> + +<p>"I must have been so before you could have spoken of me as you did. +And I was deceived, cruelly deceived. I believed that you thought +well of me; I believed that you esteemed me."</p> + +<p>"Thought well of you and esteemed you!" said he. "In justifying +myself before you, I must use stronger words than those." He paused +for a moment, and Eleanor's heart beat with painful violence within +her bosom as she waited for him to go on. "I have esteemed, do +esteem you, as I never yet esteemed any woman. Think well of you! +I never thought to think so well, so much of any human creature. +Speak calumny of you! Insult you! Wilfully injure you! I wish it +were my privilege to shield you from calumny, insult, and injury. +Calumny! Ah me! 'Twere almost better that it were so. Better than +to worship with a sinful worship; sinful and vain also." And then he +walked along beside her, with his hands clasped behind his back, +looking down on the grass beneath his feet and utterly at a loss how +to express his meaning. And Eleanor walked beside him determined at +least to give him no assistance.</p> + +<p>"Ah me!" he uttered at last, speaking rather to himself than to her. +"Ah me! These Plumstead walks were pleasant enough, if one could +have but heart's ease, but without that the dull, dead stones of +Oxford were far preferable—and St. Ewold's, too. Mrs. Bold, +I am beginning to think that I mistook myself when I came hither. A +Romish priest now would have escaped all this. Oh, Father of heaven, +how good for us would it be if thou couldest vouchsafe to us a certain +rule."</p> + +<p>"And have we not a certain rule, Mr. Arabin?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes, surely; 'Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from +evil.' But what is temptation? What is evil? Is this evil—is +this temptation?"</p> + +<p>Poor Mr. Arabin! It would not come out of him, that deep, true love +of his. He could not bring himself to utter it in plain language +that would require and demand an answer. He knew not how to say to +the woman by his side, "Since the fact is that you do not love that +other man, that you are not to be his wife, can you love me, will you +be my wife?" These were the words which were in his heart, but with +all his sighs he could not draw them to his lips. He would have +given anything, everything for power to ask this simple question, but +glib as was his tongue in pulpits and on platforms, now he could not +find a word wherewith to express the plain wish of his heart.</p> + +<p>And yet Eleanor understood him as thoroughly as though he had +declared his passion with all the elegant fluency of a practised +Lothario. With a woman's instinct, she followed every bend of his +mind as he spoke of the pleasantness of Plumstead and the stones of +Oxford, as he alluded to the safety of the Romish priest and the +hidden perils of temptation. She knew that it all meant love. She +knew that this man at her side, this accomplished scholar, this +practised orator, this great polemical combatant, was striving and +striving in vain to tell her that his heart was no longer his own.</p> + +<p>She knew this, and felt a sort of joy in knowing it; yet she would +not come to his aid. He had offended her deeply, had treated her +unworthily, the more unworthily seeing that he had learnt to love her, +and Eleanor could not bring herself to abandon her revenge. She did not +ask herself whether or no she would ultimately accept his love. She did +not even acknowledge to herself that she now perceived it with +pleasure. At the present moment it did not touch her heart; it merely +appeased her pride and flattered her vanity. Mr. Arabin had dared to +associate her name with that of Mr. Slope, and now her spirit was +soothed by finding that he would fain associate it with his own. And so +she walked on beside him, inhaling incense but giving out no sweetness +in return.</p> + +<p>"Answer me this," said Mr. Arabin, stopping suddenly in his walk and +stepping forward so that he faced his companion. "Answer me this one +question. You do not love Mr. Slope? You do not intend to be his +wife?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin certainly did not go the right way to win such a woman as +Eleanor Bold. Just as her wrath was evaporating, as it was +disappearing before the true warmth of his untold love, he rekindled +it by a most useless repetition of his original sin. Had he known +what he was about, he should never have mentioned Mr. Slope's name +before Eleanor Bold, till he had made her all his own. Then, and not +till then, he might have talked of Mr. Slope with as much triumph as +he chose.</p> + +<p>"I shall answer no such question," said she; "and what is more, +I must tell you that nothing can justify your asking it. Good +morning!"</p> + +<p>And so saying, she stepped proudly across the lawn and, passing +through the drawing-room window, joined her father and sister at +lunch in the dining-room. Half an hour afterwards she was in the +carriage, and so she left Plumstead without again seeing Mr. Arabin.</p> + +<p>His walk was long and sad among the sombre trees that overshadowed +the churchyard. He left the archdeacon's grounds that he might +escape attention, and sauntered among the green hillocks under which +lay at rest so many of the once loving swains and forgotten beauties +of Plumstead. To his ears Eleanor's last words sounded like a knell +never to be reversed. He could not comprehend that she might be +angry with him, indignant with him, remorseless with him, and yet +love him. He could not make up his mind whether or no Mr. Slope was +in truth a favoured rival. If not, why should she not have answered +his question?</p> + +<p>Poor Mr. Arabin—untaught, illiterate, boorish, ignorant +man! That at forty years of age you should know so little of the +workings of a woman's heart!</p> + + +<p><a name="c31" id="c31"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXI</h3> +<h3>The Bishop's Library<br /> </h3> + + +<p>And thus the pleasant party at Plumstead was broken up. It had been +a very pleasant party as long as they had all remained in good humour +with one another. Mrs. Grantly had felt her house to be gayer and +brighter than it had been for many a long day, and the archdeacon had +been aware that the month had passed pleasantly without attributing +the pleasure to any other special merits than those of his own +hospitality. Within three or four days of Eleanor's departure, Mr. +Harding had also returned, and Mr. Arabin had gone to Oxford to spend +one week there previous to his settling at the vicarage of St. +Ewold's. He had gone laden with many messages to Dr. Gwynne touching +the iniquity of the doings in Barchester palace and the peril in +which it was believed the hospital still stood in spite of the +assurances contained in Mr. Slope's inauspicious letter.</p> + +<p>During Eleanor's drive into Barchester she had not much opportunity +of reflecting on Mr. Arabin. She had been constrained to divert her +mind both from his sins and his love by the necessity of conversing +with her sister and maintaining the appearance of parting with her on +good terms. When the carriage reached her own door, and while she +was in the act of giving her last kiss to her sister and nieces, Mary +Bold ran out and exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eleanor, have you heard? Oh, Mrs. Grantly, have you heard what +has happened? The poor dean!"</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" said Mrs. Grantly. "What—what has happened?"</p> + +<p>"This morning at nine he had a fit of apoplexy, and he has not +spoken since. I very much fear that by this time he is no more."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grantly had been very intimate with the dean, and was therefore +much shocked. Eleanor had not known him so well; nevertheless, she +was sufficiently acquainted with his person and manners to feel +startled and grieved also at the tidings she now received. "I will +go at once to the deanery," said Mrs. Grantly; "the archdeacon, I am +sure, will be there. If there is any news to send you, I will let +Thomas call before he leaves town." And so the carriage drove off, +leaving Eleanor and her baby with Mary Bold.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grantly had been quite right. The archdeacon was at the +deanery. He had come into Barchester that morning by himself, not +caring to intrude himself upon Eleanor, and he also immediately on +his arrival had heard of the dean's fit. There was, as we have +before said, a library or reading-room connecting the cathedral with +the dean's house. This was generally called the bishop's library, +because a certain bishop of Barchester was supposed to have added it +to the cathedral. It was built immediately over a portion of the +cloisters, and a flight of stairs descended from it into the room in +which the cathedral clergymen put their surplices on and off. As it +also opened directly into the dean's house, it was the passage +through which that dignitary usually went to his public devotions. +Who had or had not the right of entry into it, it might be difficult +to say; but the people of Barchester believed that it belonged to the +dean, and the clergymen of Barchester believed that it belonged to the +chapter.</p> + +<p>On the morning in question most of the resident clergymen who +constituted the chapter, and some few others, were here assembled, +and among them as usual the archdeacon towered with high authority. +He had heard of the dean's fit before he was over the bridge which +led into the town, and had at once come to the well-known clerical +trysting place. He had been there by eleven o'clock, and had remained +ever since. From time to time the medical men who had been called in +came through from the deanery into the library, uttered little +bulletins, and then returned. There was, it appears, very little +hope of the old man's rallying, indeed no hope of anything like a +final recovery. The only question was whether he must die at once +speechless, unconscious, stricken to death by his first heavy fit, or +whether by due aid of medical skill he might not be so far brought +back to this world as to become conscious of his state and enabled to +address one prayer to his Maker before he was called to meet Him face +to face at the judgement seat.</p> + +<p>Sir Omicron Pie had been sent for from London. That great man had +shown himself a wonderful adept at keeping life still moving within +an old man's heart in the case of good old Bishop Grantly, and it +might be reasonably expected that he would be equally successful with +a dean. In the meantime Dr. Fillgrave and Mr. Rerechild were doing +their best, and poor Miss Trefoil sat at the head of her father's +bed, longing, as in such cases daughters do long, to be allowed to do +something to show her love—if it were only to chafe his feet with +her hands, or wait in menial offices on those autocratic +doctors—anything so that now in the time of need she might be of +use.</p> + +<p>The archdeacon alone of the attendant clergy had been admitted for a +moment into the sick man's chamber. He had crept in with creaking +shoes, had said with smothered voice a word of consolation to the +sorrowing daughter, had looked on the distorted face of his old +friend with solemn but yet eager scrutinising eye, as though he said +in his heart "and so some day it will probably be with me," and then, +having whispered an unmeaning word or two to the doctors, had creaked +his way back again into the library.</p> + +<p>"He'll never speak again, I fear," said the archdeacon as he +noiselessly closed the door, as though the unconscious dying man, +from whom all sense had fled, would have heard in his distant chamber +the spring of the lock which was now so carefully handled.</p> + +<p>"Indeed! Indeed! Is he so bad?" said the meagre little prebendary, +turning over in his own mind all the probable candidates for the +deanery and wondering whether the archdeacon would think it worth his +while to accept it. "The fit must have been very violent."</p> + +<p>"When a man over seventy has a stroke of apoplexy, it seldom comes +very lightly," said the burly chancellor.</p> + +<p>"He was an excellent, sweet-tempered man," said one of the vicars +choral. "Heaven knows how we shall repair his loss."</p> + +<p>"He was indeed," said a minor canon, "and a great blessing to all +those privileged to take a share in the services of our cathedral. +I suppose the government will appoint, Mr. Archdeacon. I trust we +may have no stranger."</p> + +<p>"We will not talk about his successor," said the archdeacon, "while +there is yet hope."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, of course not," said the minor canon. "It would be +exceedingly indecorous; but—"</p> + +<p>"I know of no man," said the meagre little prebendary, "who has +better interest with the present government than Mr. Slope."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Slope," said two or three at once almost sotto voce. "Mr. Slope +Dean of Barchester!"</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" exclaimed the burly chancellor.</p> + +<p>"The bishop would do anything for him," said the little prebendary.</p> + +<p>"And so would Mrs. Proudie," said the vicar choral.</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" said the chancellor.</p> + +<p>The archdeacon had almost turned pale at the idea. What if Mr. Slope +should become Dean of Barchester? To be sure there was no adequate +ground, indeed no ground at all, for presuming that such a +desecration could even be contemplated. But nevertheless it was on +the cards. Dr. Proudie had interest with the government, and the man +carried as it were Dr. Proudie in his pocket. How should they all +conduct themselves if Mr. Slope were to become Dean of Barchester? +The bare idea for a moment struck even Dr. Grantly dumb.</p> + +<p>"It would certainly not be very pleasant for us to have Mr. Slope at +the deanery," said the little prebendary, chuckling inwardly at the +evident consternation which his surmise had created.</p> + +<p>"About as pleasant and as probable as having you in the palace," +said the chancellor.</p> + +<p>"I should think such an appointment highly improbable," said the +minor canon, "and, moreover, extremely injudicious. Should not you, +Mr. Archdeacon?"</p> + +<p>"I should presume such a thing to be quite out of the question," +said the archdeacon, "but at the present moment I am thinking rather of +our poor friend who is lying so near us than of Mr. Slope."</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course," said the vicar choral with a very solemn +air; "of course you are. So are we all. Poor Dr. Trefoil; the best of +men, but—"</p> + +<p>"It's the most comfortable dean's residence in England," said a +second prebendary. "Fifteen acres in the grounds. It is better than +many of the bishops' palaces."</p> + +<p>"And full two thousand a year," said the meagre doctor.</p> + +<p>"It is cut down to £1,200," said the chancellor.</p> + +<p>"No," said the second prebendary. "It is to be fifteen. A special +case was made."</p> + +<p>"No such thing," said the chancellor.</p> + +<p>"You'll find I'm right," said the prebendary.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I read it in the report," said the minor canon.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," said the chancellor. "They couldn't do it. There were +to be no exceptions but London and Durham."</p> + +<p>"And Canterbury and York," said the vicar choral modestly.</p> + +<p>"What do you say, Grantly?" said the meagre little doctor.</p> + +<p>"Say about what?" said the archdeacon, who had been looking as +though he were thinking about his friend the dean, but who had in +reality been thinking about Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"What is the next dean to have, twelve or fifteen?"</p> + +<p>"Twelve," said the archdeacon authoritatively, thereby putting an +end at once to all doubt and dispute among his subordinates as far as +that subject was concerned.</p> + +<p>"Well, I certainly thought it was fifteen," said the minor canon.</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" said the burly chancellor. At this moment the door opened +and in came Dr. Fillgrave.</p> + +<p>"How is he?" "Is he conscious?" "Can he speak?" "I hope not dead?" +"No worse news, Doctor, I trust?" "I hope, I trust, something +better, Doctor?" said half a dozen voices all at once, each in a tone +of extremest anxiety. It was pleasant to see how popular the good +old dean was among his clergy.</p> + +<p>"No change, gentlemen; not the slightest change. But a telegraphic +message has arrived—Sir Omicron Pie will be here by the 9.15 P.M. +train. If any man can do anything, Sir Omicron Pie will do it. But +all that skill can do has been done."</p> + +<p>"We are sure of that, Dr. Fillgrave," said the archdeacon; "we are +quite sure of that. But yet you know—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, quite right," said the doctor, "quite right—I should +have done just the same—I advised it at once. I said to +Rerechild at once that with such a life and such a man, Sir Omicron +should be summoned—of course I knew expense was +nothing—so distinguished, you know, and so popular. +Nevertheless, all that human skill can do has been done."</p> + +<p>Just at this period Mrs. Grantly's carriage drove into the close, +and the archdeacon went down to confirm the news which she had heard +before.</p> + +<p>By the 9.15 P.M. train Sir Omicron Pie did arrive. And in the course +of the night a sort of consciousness returned to the poor old dean. +Whether this was due to Sir Omicron Pie is a question on which it may +be well not to offer an opinion. Dr. Fillgrave was very clear in his +own mind, but Sir Omicron himself is thought to have differed from +that learned doctor. At any rate Sir Omicron expressed an opinion +that the dean had yet some days to live.</p> + +<p>For the eight or ten next days, accordingly, the poor dean remained +in the same state, half-conscious and half-comatose; and the +attendant clergy began to think that no new appointment would be +necessary for some few months to come.</p> + + +<p><a name="c32" id="c32"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXII</h3> +<h3>A New Candidate for Ecclesiastical Honours<br /> </h3> + + +<p>The dean's illness occasioned much mental turmoil in other places +besides the deanery and adjoining library, and the idea which +occurred to the meagre little prebendary about Mr. Slope did not +occur to him alone.</p> + +<p>The bishop was sitting listlessly in his study when the news reached +him of the dean's illness. It was brought to him by Mr. Slope, who +of course was not the last person in Barchester to hear it. It was +also not slow in finding its way to Mrs. Proudie's ears. It may be +presumed that there was not just then much friendly intercourse +between these two rival claimants for his lordship's obedience. +Indeed, though living in the same house, they had not met since the +stormy interview between them in the bishop's study on the preceding +day.</p> + +<p>On that occasion Mrs. Proudie had been defeated. That the prestige +of continual victory should have been torn from her standards was a +subject of great sorrow to that militant lady; but, though defeated, +she was not overcome. She felt that she might yet recover her lost +ground, that she might yet hurl Mr. Slope down to the dust from which +she had picked him, and force her sinning lord to sue for pardon in +sackcloth and ashes.</p> + +<p>On that memorable day, memorable for his mutiny and rebellion +against her high behests, he had carried his way with a high hand, and +had really begun to think it possible that the days of his slavery were +counted. He had begun to hope that he was now about to enter into a +free land, a land delicious with milk which he himself might quaff and +honey which would not tantalize him by being only honey to the eye. +When Mrs. Proudie banged the door as she left his room, he felt himself +every inch a bishop. To be sure, his spirit had been a little cowed by +his chaplain's subsequent lecture, but on the whole he was highly +pleased with himself, and he flattered himself that the worst was over. +"<i>Ce n'est que le premier pas qui coûte</i>," he reflected, and +now that the first step had been so magnanimously taken, all the rest +would follow easily.</p> + +<p>He met his wife as a matter of course at dinner, where little or +nothing was said that could ruffle the bishop's happiness. His +daughters and the servants were present and protected him.</p> + +<p>He made one or two trifling remarks on the subject of his projected +visit to the archbishop, in order to show to all concerned that he +intended to have his own way; the very servants, perceiving the +change, transferred a little of their reverence from their mistress +to their master. All which the master perceived, and so also did the +mistress. But Mrs. Proudie bided her time.</p> + +<p>After dinner he returned to his study, where Mr. Slope soon found +him, and there they had tea together and planned many things. For +some few minutes the bishop was really happy; but as the clock on the +chimney-piece warned him that the stilly hours of night were drawing +on, as he looked at his chamber candlestick and knew that he must use +it, his heart sank within him again. He was as a ghost, all whose +power of wandering free through these upper regions ceases at +cock-crow; or, rather, he was the opposite of the ghost, for till +cock-crow he must again be a serf. And would that be all? Could he +trust himself to come down to breakfast a free man in the morning?</p> + +<p>He was nearly an hour later than usual when he betook himself to his +rest. Rest! What rest? However, he took a couple of glasses of +sherry and mounted the stairs. Far be it from us to follow him +thither. There are some things which no novelist, no historian, +should attempt; some few scenes in life's drama which even no poet +should dare to paint. Let that which passed between Dr. Proudie and +his wife on this night be understood to be among them.</p> + +<p>He came down the following morning a sad and thoughtful man. He was +attenuated in appearance—one might almost say emaciated. +I doubt whether his now grizzled locks had not palpably become more +grey than on the preceding evening. At any rate he had aged materially. +Years do not make a man old gradually and at an even pace. Look through +the world and see if this is not so always, except in those rare cases +in which the human being lives and dies without joys and without +sorrows, like a vegetable. A man shall be possessed of florid, youthful +blooming health till, it matters not what age—thirty; forty; +fifty—then comes some nipping frost, some period of agony, +that robs the fibres of the body of their succulence, and the hale and +hearty man is counted among the old.</p> + +<p>He came down and breakfasted alone; Mrs. Proudie, being indisposed, +took her coffee in her bedroom, and her daughters waited upon her +there. He ate his breakfast alone, and then, hardly knowing what he +did, he betook himself to his usual seat in his study. He tried to +solace himself with his coming visit to the archbishop. That effort +of his own free will at any rate remained to him as an enduring +triumph. But somehow, now that he had achieved it, he did not seem +to care so much about it. It was his ambition that had prompted him +to take his place at the archiepiscopal table, and his ambition was +now quite dead within him.</p> + +<p>He was thus seated when Mr. Slope made his appearance, with +breathless impatience.</p> + +<p>"My lord, the dean is dead."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" exclaimed the bishop, startled out of his apathy by +an announcement so sad and so sudden.</p> + +<p>"He is either dead or now dying. He has had an apoplectic fit, and I +am told that there is not the slightest hope; indeed, I do not doubt +that by this time he is no more."</p> + +<p>Bells were rung, and servants were immediately sent to inquire. In +the course of the morning the bishop, leaning on his chaplain's arm, +himself called at the deanery door. Mrs. Proudie sent to Miss +Trefoil all manner of offers of assistance. The Misses Proudie sent +also, and there was immense sympathy between the palace and the +deanery. The answer to all inquiries was unvaried. The dean was +just the same, and Sir Omicron Pie was expected down by the 9.15 P.M. +train.</p> + +<p>And then Mr. Slope began to meditate, as others also had done, as to +who might possibly be the new dean, and it occurred to him, as it had +also occurred to others, that it might be possible that he should be +the new dean himself. And then the question as to the twelve +hundred, or fifteen hundred, or two thousand ran in his mind, as it +had run through those of the other clergymen in the cathedral +library.</p> + +<p>Whether it might be two thousand, or fifteen, or twelve hundred, it +would in any case undoubtedly be a great thing for him, if he could +get it. The gratification to his ambition would be greater even than +that of his covetousness. How glorious to out-top the archdeacon in +his own cathedral city; to sit above prebendaries and canons and have +the cathedral pulpit and all the cathedral services altogether at his +own disposal!</p> + +<p>But it might be easier to wish for this than to obtain it. Mr. +Slope, however, was not without some means of forwarding his views, +and he at any rate did not let the grass grow under his feet. In the +first place, he thought—and not vainly—that he could count +upon what assistance the bishop could give him. He immediately changed +his views with regard to his patron; he made up his mind that if he +became dean, he would hand his lordship back again to his wife's +vassalage; and he thought it possible that his lordship might not be +sorry to rid himself of one of his mentors. Mr. Slope had also taken +some steps towards making his name known to other men in power. There +was a certain chief-commissioner of national schools, who at the +present moment was presumed to stand especially high in the good graces +of the government bigwigs, and with him Mr. Slope had contrived to +establish a sort of epistolary intimacy. He thought that he might +safely apply to Sir Nicholas Fitzwhiggin, and he felt sure that if Sir +Nicholas chose to exert himself, the promise of such a piece of +preferment would be had for the asking.</p> + +<p>Then he also had the press at his bidding, or flattered himself that +he had so. "The Daily Jupiter" had taken his part in a very thorough +manner in those polemical contests of his with Mr. Arabin; he had on +more than one occasion absolutely had an interview with a gentleman +on the staff of that paper who, if not the editor, was as good as the +editor; and he had long been in the habit of writing telling letters +on all manner of ecclesiastical abuses, which he signed with his +initials, and sent to his editorial friend with private notes signed +in his own name. Indeed, he and Mr. Towers—such was the name +of the powerful gentleman of the press with whom he was +connected—were generally very amiable with each other. Mr. +Slope's little productions were always printed and occasionally +commented upon; and thus, in a small sort of way, he had become a +literary celebrity. This public life had great charms for him, though +it certainly also had its drawbacks. On one occasion, when speaking in +the presence of reporters, he had failed to uphold and praise and swear +by that special line of conduct which had been upheld and praised and +sworn by in "The Jupiter," and then he had been much surprised and at +the moment not a little irritated to find himself lacerated most +unmercifully by his old ally. He was quizzed and bespattered and made a +fool of, just as though, or rather worse than if, he had been a +constant enemy instead of a constant friend. He had hitherto not learnt +that a man who aspires to be on the staff of "The Jupiter" must +surrender all individuality. But ultimately this little castigation had +broken no bones between him and his friend Mr. Towers. Mr. Slope was +one of those who understood the world too well to show himself angry +with such a potentate as "The Jupiter." He had kissed the rod that +scourged him, and now thought that he might fairly look for his reward. +He determined that he would at once let Mr. Towers know that he was a +candidate for the place which was about to become vacant. More than one +piece of preferment had lately been given away much in accordance with +advice tendered to the government in the columns of "The Jupiter."</p> + +<p>But it was incumbent on Mr. Slope first to secure the bishop. He +specially felt that it behoved him to do this before the visit to the +archbishop was made. It was really quite providential that the dean +should have fallen ill just at the very nick of time. If Dr. Proudie +could be instigated to take the matter up warmly, he might manage a +good deal while staying at the archbishop's palace. Feeling this +very strongly, Mr. Slope determined to sound the bishop that very +afternoon. He was to start on the following morning to London, and +therefore not a moment could be lost with safety.</p> + +<p>He went into the bishop's study about five o'clock and found him +still sitting alone. It might have been supposed that he had hardly +moved since the little excitement occasioned by his walk to the +dean's door. He still wore on his face that dull, dead look of +half-unconscious suffering. He was doing nothing, reading nothing, +thinking of nothing, but simply gazing on vacancy when Mr. Slope for +the second time that day entered his room.</p> + +<p>"Well, Slope," said he somewhat impatiently, for, to tell the truth, +he was not anxious just at present to have much conversation with Mr. +Slope.</p> + +<p>"Your lordship will be sorry to hear that as yet the poor dean has +shown no sign of amendment."</p> + +<p>"Oh—ah—hasn't he? Poor man! I'm sure I'm very +sorry. I suppose Sir Omicron has not arrived yet?"</p> + +<p>"No, not till the 9.15 P.M. train."</p> + +<p>"I wonder they didn't have a special. They say Dr. Trefoil is very +rich."</p> + +<p>"Very rich, I believe," said Mr. Slope. "But the truth is, all the +doctors in London can do no good—no other good than to show +that every possible care has been taken. Poor Dr. Trefoil is not long +for this world, my lord."</p> + +<p>"I suppose not—I suppose not."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; indeed, his best friends could not wish that he should +outlive such a shock, for his intellects cannot possibly survive it."</p> + +<p>"Poor man! Poor man!" said the bishop.</p> + +<p>"It will naturally be a matter of much moment to your lordship who +is to succeed him," said Mr. Slope. "It would be a great thing if you +could secure the appointment for some person of your own way of +thinking on important points. The party hostile to us are very strong +here in Barchester—much too strong."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes. If poor Dr. Trefoil is to go, it will be a great thing to +get a good man in his place."</p> + +<p>"It will be everything to your lordship to get a man on whose +co-operation you can reckon. Only think what trouble we might have if +Dr. Grantly, or Dr. Hyandry, or any of that way of thinking were to +get it."</p> + +<p>"It is not very probable that Lord –––– +will give it to any of that school; why should he?"</p> + +<p>"No. Not probable; certainly not; but it's possible. Great interest +will probably be made. If I might venture to advise your lordship, I +would suggest that you should discuss the matter with his grace next +week. I have no doubt that your wishes, if made known and backed by +his grace, would be paramount with Lord ––––."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know that; Lord –––– has +always been very kind to me, very kind. But I am unwilling to interfere +in such matters unless asked. And indeed if asked, I don't know whom, +at this moment, I should recommend."</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope, even Mr. Slope, felt at the present rather abashed. He +hardly knew how to frame his little request in language sufficiently +modest. He had recognized and acknowledged to himself the necessity +of shocking the bishop in the first instance by the temerity of his +application, and his difficulty was how best to remedy that by his +adroitness and eloquence. "I doubted myself," said he, "whether your +lordship would have anyone immediately in your eye, and it is on this +account that I venture to submit to you an idea that I have been +turning over in my own mind. If poor Dr. Trefoil must go, I really +do not see why, with your lordship's assistance, I should not hold +the preferment myself."</p> + +<p>"You!" exclaimed the bishop in a manner that Mr. Slope could hardly +have considered complimentary.</p> + +<p>The ice was now broken, and Mr. Slope became fluent enough. "I have +been thinking of looking for it. If your lordship will press the +matter on the archbishop, I do not doubt but I shall succeed. You +see I shall be the first to move, which is a great matter. Then I +can count upon assistance from the public press: my name is known, I +may say, somewhat favourably known, to that portion of the press +which is now most influential with the government; and I have friends +also in the government. But nevertheless it is to you, my lord, that +I look for assistance. It is from your hands that I would most +willingly receive the benefit. And, which should ever be the chief +consideration in such matters, you must know better than any other +person whatsoever what qualifications I possess."</p> + +<p>The bishop sat for awhile dumbfounded. Mr. Slope Dean of Barchester! +The idea of such a transformation of character would never have +occurred to his own unaided intellect. At first he went on thinking +why, for what reasons, on what account, Mr. Slope should be Dean of +Barchester. But by degrees the direction of his thoughts changed, +and he began to think why, for what reasons, on what account, Mr. +Slope should not be Dean of Barchester. As far as he himself, the +bishop, was concerned, he could well spare the services of his +chaplain. That little idea of using Mr. Slope as a counterpoise to +his wife had well nigh evaporated. He had all but acknowledged the +futility of the scheme. If indeed he could have slept in his +chaplain's bedroom instead of his wife's, there might have been +something in it. But—. And thus as Mr. Slope was speaking, the +bishop began to recognize the idea that that gentleman might become +Dean of Barchester without impropriety—not moved, indeed, +by Mr. Slope's eloquence, for he did not follow the tenor of his +speech, but led thereto by his own cogitations.</p> + +<p>"I need not say," continued Mr. Slope, "that it would be my chief +desire to act in all matters connected with the cathedral as far as +possible in accordance with your views. I know your lordship so well +(and I hope you know me well enough to have the same feelings) that I +am satisfied that my being in that position would add materially to +your own comfort, and enable you to extend the sphere of your useful +influence. As I said before, it is most desirable that there should +be but one opinion among the dignitaries of the same diocese. I +doubt much whether I would accept such an appointment in any diocese +in which I should be constrained to differ much from the bishop. In +this case there would be a delightful uniformity of opinion."</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope perfectly well perceived that the bishop did not follow a +word that he said, but nevertheless he went on talking. He knew it +was necessary that Dr. Proudie should recover from his surprise, and +he knew also that he must give him the opportunity of appearing to +have been persuaded by argument. So he went on and produced a +multitude of fitting reasons all tending to show that no one on earth +could make so good a Dean of Barchester as himself, that the +government and the public would assuredly coincide in desiring that +he, Mr. Slope, should be Dean of Barchester, but that for high +considerations of ecclesiastical polity it would be especially +desirable that this piece of preferment should be so bestowed through +the instrumentality of the bishop of the diocese.</p> + +<p>"But I really don't know what I could do in the matter," said the +bishop.</p> + +<p>"If you would mention it to the archbishop; if you could tell his +grace that you consider such an appointment very desirable, that you +have it much at heart with a view to putting an end to schism in the +diocese; if you did this with your usual energy, you would probably +find no difficulty in inducing his grace to promise that he would +mention it to Lord ––––. Of course you would +let the archbishop know that I am not looking for the preferment solely +through his intervention; that you do not exactly require him to ask it +as a favour; that you expect that I shall get it through other sources, +as is indeed the case; but that you are very anxious that his grace +should express his approval of such an arrangement to Lord +––––."</p> + +<p>It ended in the bishop promising to do as he was bid. Not that he so +promised without a stipulation. "About that hospital," he said in +the middle of the conference. "I was never so troubled in my +life"—which was about the truth. "You haven't spoken to +Mr. Harding since I saw you?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope assured his patron that he had not.</p> + +<p>"Ah well, then—I think upon the whole it will be better +to let Quiverful have it. It has been half-promised to him, and he has +a large family and is very poor. I think on the whole it will be better +to make out the nomination for Mr. Quiverful."</p> + +<p>"But, my lord," said Mr. Slope, still thinking that he was bound to +make a fight for his own view on this matter, and remembering that it +still behoved him to maintain his lately acquired supremacy over Mrs. +Proudie, lest he should fail in his views regarding the deanery, +"but, my lord, I am really much afraid—"</p> + +<p>"Remember, Mr. Slope," said the bishop, "I can hold out no sort of +hope to you in this matter of succeeding poor Dr. Trefoil. I will +certainly speak to the archbishop, as you wish it, but I cannot +think—"</p> + +<p>"Well, my lord," said Mr. Slope, fully understanding the bishop and +in his turn interrupting him, "perhaps your lordship is right about +Mr. Quiverful. I have no doubt I can easily arrange matters with Mr. +Harding, and I will make out the nomination for your signature as you +direct."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Slope, I think that will be best; and you may be sure that any +little that I can do to forward your views shall be done."</p> + +<p>And so they parted.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope had now much business on his hands. He had to make his +daily visit to the signora. This common prudence should have now +induced him to omit, but he was infatuated, and could not bring +himself to be commonly prudent. He determined therefore that he +would drink tea at the Stanhopes', and he determined also, or thought +that he determined, that having done so he would go thither no more. +He had also to arrange his matters with Mrs. Bold. He was of opinion +that Eleanor would grace the deanery as perfectly as she would the +chaplain's cottage, and he thought, moreover, that Eleanor's fortune +would excellently repair any dilapidations and curtailments in the +dean's stipend which might have been made by that ruthless +ecclesiastical commission.</p> + +<p>Touching Mrs. Bold his hopes now soared high. Mr. Slope was one of +that numerous multitude of swains who think that all is fair in love, +and he had accordingly not refrained from using the services of Mrs. +Bold's own maid. From her he had learnt much of what had taken place +at Plumstead—not exactly with truth, for "the own maid" +had not been able to divine the exact truth, but with some sort of +similitude to it. He had been told that the archdeacon and Mrs. Grantly +and Mr. Harding and Mr. Arabin had all quarrelled with "missus" for +having received a letter from Mr. Slope; that "missus" had positively +refused to give the letter up; that she had received from the +archdeacon the option of giving up either Mr. Slope and his letter, or +else the society of Plumstead Rectory; and that "missus" had declared, +with much indignation, that "she didn't care a straw for the society of +Plumstead Rectory," and that she wouldn't give up Mr. Slope for any of +them.</p> + +<p>Considering the source from whence this came, it was not quite so +untrue as might have been expected. It showed pretty plainly what +had been the nature of the conversation in the servants' hall; and, +coupled as it was with the certainty of Eleanor's sudden return, it +appeared to Mr. Slope to be so far worthy of credit as to justify him +in thinking that the fair widow would in all human probability accept +his offer.</p> + +<p>All this work was therefore to be done. It was desirable, he +thought, that he should make his offer before it was known that +Mr. Quiverful was finally appointed to the hospital. In his letter +to Eleanor he had plainly declared that Mr. Harding was to have the +appointment. It would be very difficult to explain this away, and +were he to write another letter to Eleanor, telling the truth and +throwing the blame on the bishop, it would naturally injure him in +her estimation. He determined therefore to let that matter disclose +itself as it would, and to lose no time in throwing himself at her +feet.</p> + +<p>Then he had to solicit the assistance of Sir Nicholas Fitzwhiggin +and Mr. Towers, and he went directly from the bishop's presence to +compose his letters to those gentlemen. As Mr. Slope was esteemed an +adept at letter writing, they shall be given in full.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent">(Private)<span class="ind8">Palace, Barchester, +Sept. 185––</span></p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Sir Nicholas</span>,</p> + +<p>I hope that the intercourse which has been between us will preclude +you from regarding my present application as an intrusion. You +cannot, I imagine, have yet heard that poor old Dr. Trefoil has been +seized with apoplexy. It is a subject of profound grief to everyone +in Barchester, for he has always been an excellent +man—excellent as a man and as a clergyman. He is, however, +full of years, and his life could not under any circumstances have been +much longer spared. You may probably have known him.</p> + +<p>There is, it appears, no probable chance of his recovery. Sir +Omicron Pie is, I believe, at present with him. At any rate the +medical men here have declared that one or two days more must limit +the tether of his mortal coil. I sincerely trust that his soul may +wing its flight to that haven where it may forever be at rest and +forever be happy.</p> + +<p>The bishop has been speaking to me about the preferment, and he is +anxious that it should be conferred on me. I confess that I can +hardly venture, at my age, to look for such advancement, but I am so +far encouraged by his lordship that I believe I shall be induced to +do so. His lordship goes to –––– to-morrow and +is intent on mentioning the subject to the archbishop.</p> + +<p>I know well how deservedly great is your weight with the present +government. In any matter touching church preferment you would of +course be listened to. Now that the matter has been put into my +head, I am of course anxious to be successful. If you can assist me +by your good word, you will confer on me one additional favour.</p> + +<p>I had better add, that Lord –––– cannot as yet +know of this piece of preferment having fallen in, or rather of its +certainty of falling (for poor dear Dr. Trefoil is past hope). Should +Lord –––– first hear it from you, that might +probably be thought to give you a fair claim to express your +opinion.</p> + +<p>Of course our grand object is that we should all be of one opinion in +church matters. This is most desirable at Barchester; it is this that +makes our good bishop so anxious about it. You may probably think it +expedient to point this out to Lord –––– if +it shall be in your power to oblige me by mentioning the subject to his +lordship.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="ind8">Believe me,</span><br /> +<span class="ind10">My dear Sir Nicholas,</span><br /> +<span class="ind12">Your most faithful servant,</span></p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Obadiah +Slope</span><br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>His letter to Mr. Towers was written in quite a different strain. +Mr. Slope conceived that he completely understood the difference in +character and position of the two men whom he addressed. He knew +that for such a man as Sir Nicholas Fitzwhiggin a little flummery was +necessary, and that it might be of the easy, everyday description. +Accordingly his letter to Sir Nicholas was written, <i>currente +calamo</i>, with very little trouble. But to such a man as Mr. Towers +it was not so easy to write a letter that should be effective and yet +not offensive, that should carry its point without undue interference. +It was not difficult to flatter Dr. Proudie or Sir Nicholas +Fitzwhiggin, but very difficult to flatter Mr. Towers without letting +the flattery declare itself. This, however, had to be done. Moreover, +this letter must, in appearance at least, be written without effort, +and be fluent, unconstrained, and demonstrative of no doubt or fear on +the part of the writer. Therefore the epistle to Mr. Towers was +studied, and re-copied, and elaborated at the cost of so many minutes +that Mr. Slope had hardly time to dress himself and reach Dr. +Stanhope's that evening.</p> + +<p>When dispatched, it ran as follows:—<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent">(Private)<span class="ind8">Barchester, +Sept. 185––</span><br /> </p> +</blockquote> + +<p>(He purposely omitted any allusion to the "palace," thinking that Mr. +Towers might not like it. A great man, he remembered, had been once +much condemned for dating a letter from Windsor Castle.)<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Sir</span>,</p> + +<p>We were all a good deal shocked here this morning by hearing that +poor old Dean Trefoil had been stricken with apoplexy. The fit took +him about 9 A.M. I am writing now to save the post, and he is still +alive, but past all hope or possibility, I believe, of living. Sir +Omicron Pie is here, or will be very shortly, but all that even Sir +Omicron can do is to ratify the sentence of his less distinguished +brethren that nothing can be done. Poor Dr. Trefoil's race on this +side the grave is run. I do not know whether you knew him. He was a +good, quiet, charitable man, of the old school, of course, as any +clergyman over seventy years of age must necessarily be.</p> + +<p>But I do not write merely with the object of sending you such news as +this: doubtless someone of your Mercuries will have seen and heard +and reported so much; I write, as you usually do yourself, rather +with a view to the future than to the past.</p> + +<p>Rumour is already rife here as to Dr. Trefoil's successor, and among +those named as possible future deans your humble servant is, I +believe, not the least frequently spoken of; in short, I am looking +for the preferment. You may probably know that since Bishop Proudie +came to the diocese I have exerted myself here a good deal and, I may +certainly say, not without some success. He and I are nearly always +of the same opinion on points of doctrine as well as church +discipline, and therefore I have had, as his confidential chaplain, +very much in my own hands; but I confess to you that I have a higher +ambition than to remain the chaplain of any bishop.</p> + +<p>There are no positions in which more energy is now needed than those +of our deans. The whole of our enormous cathedral establishments +have been allowed to go to sleep—nay, they are all but dead and +ready for the sepulchre! And yet of what prodigious moment they +might be made if, as was intended, they were so managed as to lead +the way and show an example for all our parochial clergy!</p> + +<p>The bishop here is most anxious for my success; indeed, he goes +to-morrow to press the matter on the archbishop. I believe also I +may count on the support of at least one most effective member of the +government. But I confess that the support of "The Jupiter," if I be +thought worthy of it, would be more gratifying to me than any other; +more gratifying if by it I should be successful, and more gratifying +also if, although so supported, I should be unsuccessful.</p> + +<p>The time has, in fact, come in which no government can venture to +fill up the high places of the Church in defiance of the public +press. The age of honourable bishops and noble deans has gone by, +and any clergyman however humbly born can now hope for success if his +industry, talent, and character be sufficient to call forth the +manifest opinion of the public in his favour.</p> + +<p>At the present moment we all feel that any counsel given in such +matters by "The Jupiter" has the greatest weight—is, +indeed, generally followed; and we feel also—I am speaking +of clergymen of my own age and standing—that it should be +so. There can be no patron less interested than "The Jupiter," and none +that more thoroughly understands the wants of the people.</p> + +<p>I am sure you will not suspect me of asking from you any support +which the paper with which you are connected cannot conscientiously +give me. My object in writing is to let you know that I am a +candidate for the appointment. It is for you to judge whether or no +you can assist my views. I should not, of course, have written to +you on such a matter had I not believed (and I have had good reason +so to believe) that "The Jupiter" approves of my views on +ecclesiastical polity.</p> + +<p>The bishop expresses a fear that I may be considered too young for +such a station, my age being thirty-six. I cannot think that at the +present day any hesitation need be felt on such a point. The public +has lost its love for antiquated servants. If a man will ever be fit +to do good work, he will be fit at thirty-six years of age.</p> + +<p class="ind8">Believe me very faithfully yours,</p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Obadiah Slope</span></p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">T. Towers, Esq.</span>,<br /> +–––– Court,<br /> +Middle Temple.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Having thus exerted himself, Mr. Slope posted his letters and passed +the remainder of the evening at the feet of his mistress.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope will be accused of deceit in his mode of canvassing. It +will be said that he lied in the application he made to each of his +three patrons. I believe it must be owned that he did so. He could +not hesitate on account of his youth and yet be quite assured that he +was not too young. He could not count chiefly on the bishop's +support and chiefly also on that of the newspaper. He did not think +that the bishop was going to –––– to press the +matter on the archbishop. It must be owned that in his canvassing Mr. +Slope was as false as he well could be.</p> + +<p>Let it, however, be asked of those who are conversant with such +matters, whether he was more false than men usually are on such +occasions. We English gentlemen hate the name of a lie, but how +often do we find public men who believe each other's words?</p> + + +<p><a name="c33" id="c33"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXIII</h3> +<h3>Mrs. Proudie Victrix<br /> </h3> + + +<p>The next week passed over at Barchester with much apparent +tranquillity. The hearts, however, of some of the inhabitants were +not so tranquil as the streets of the city. The poor old dean still +continued to live, just as Sir Omicron Pie had prophesied that he +would do, much to the amazement, and some thought disgust, of Dr. +Fillgrave. The bishop still remained away. He had stayed a day or +two in town and had also remained longer at the archbishop's than he +had intended. Mr. Slope had as yet received no line in answer to +either of his letters, but he had learnt the cause of this. Sir +Nicholas was stalking a deer, or attending the Queen, in the +Highlands, and even the indefatigable Mr. Towers had stolen an autumn +holiday, and had made one of the yearly tribe who now ascend Mont +Blanc. Mr. Slope learnt that he was not expected back till the last +day of September.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bold was thrown much with the Stanhopes, of whom she became +fonder and fonder. If asked, she would have said that Charlotte +Stanhope was her especial friend, and so she would have thought. +But, to tell the truth, she liked Bertie nearly as well; she had no +more idea of regarding him as a lover than she would have had of +looking at a big tame dog in such a light. Bertie had become very +intimate with her, and made little speeches to her, and said little +things of a sort very different from the speeches and sayings of +other men. But then this was almost always done before his sisters; +and he, with his long silken beard, his light blue eyes, and strange +dress, was so unlike other men. She admitted him to a kind of +familiarity which she had never known with anyone else, and of which +she by no means understood the danger. She blushed once at finding +that she had called him Bertie and, on the same day, only barely +remembered her position in time to check herself from playing upon +him some personal practical joke to which she was instigated by +Charlotte.</p> + +<p>In all this Eleanor was perfectly innocent, and Bertie Stanhope +could hardly be called guilty. But every familiarity into which Eleanor +was entrapped was deliberately planned by his sister. She knew well how +to play her game, and played it without mercy; she knew, none so well, +what was her brother's character, and she would have handed over to him +the young widow, and the young widow's money, and the money of the +widow's child, without remorse. With her pretended friendship and warm +cordiality, she strove to connect Eleanor so closely with her brother +as to make it impossible that she should go back even if she wished it. +But Charlotte Stanhope knew really nothing of Eleanor's character, did +not even understand that there were such characters. She did not +comprehend that a young and pretty woman could be playful and familiar +with a man such as Bertie Stanhope and yet have no idea in her head, no +feeling in her heart, that she would have been ashamed to own to all +the world. Charlotte Stanhope did not in the least conceive that her +new friend was a woman whom nothing could entrap into an inconsiderate +marriage, whose mind would have revolted from the slightest impropriety +had she been aware that any impropriety existed.</p> + +<p>Miss Stanhope, however, had tact enough to make herself and her +father's house very agreeable to Mrs. Bold. There was with them all +an absence of stiffness and formality which was peculiarly agreeable +to Eleanor after the great dose of clerical arrogance which she had +lately been constrained to take. She played chess with them, walked +with them, and drank tea with them; studied or pretended to study +astronomy; assisted them in writing stories in rhyme, in turning +prose tragedy into comic verse, or comic stories into would-be tragic +poetry. She had no idea before that she had any such talents. She +had not conceived the possibility of her doing such things as she now +did. She found with the Stanhopes new amusements and employments, +new pursuits, which in themselves could not be wrong, and which were +exceedingly alluring.</p> + +<p>Is it not a pity that people who are bright and clever should so +often be exceedingly improper, and that those who are never improper +should so often be dull and heavy? Now Charlotte Stanhope was always +bright and never heavy, but then her propriety was doubtful.</p> + +<p>But during all this time Eleanor by no means forgot Mr. Arabin, nor +did she forget Mr. Slope. She had parted from Mr. Arabin in her +anger. She was still angry at what she regarded as his impertinent +interference, but nevertheless she looked forward to meeting him +again, and also looked forward to forgiving him. The words that Mr. +Arabin had uttered still sounded in her ears. She knew that if not +intended for a declaration of love, they did signify that he loved +her, and she felt also that if he ever did make such a declaration, +it might be that she should not receive it unkindly. She was still +angry with him, very angry with him; so angry that she would bite her +lip and stamp her foot as she thought of what he had said and done. +Nevertheless, she yearned to let him know that he was forgiven; all +that she required was that he should own that he had sinned.</p> + +<p>She was to meet him at Ullathorne on the last day of the present +month. Miss Thorne had invited all the country round to a breakfast +on the lawn. There were to be tents, and archery, and dancing for +the ladies on the lawn and for the swains and girls in the paddock. +There were to be fiddlers and fifers, races for the boys, poles to be +climbed, ditches full of water to be jumped over, horse-collars to be +grinned through (this latter amusement was an addition of the +stewards, and not arranged by Miss Thorne in the original programme), +and every game to be played which, in a long course of reading, Miss +Thorne could ascertain to have been played in the good days of Queen +Elizabeth. Everything of more modern growth was to be tabooed, if +possible. On one subject Miss Thorne was very unhappy. She had been +turning in her mind the matter of a bull-ring, but could not succeed +in making anything of it. She would not for the world have done, or +allowed to be done, anything that was cruel; as to the promoting the +torture of a bull for the amusement of her young neighbours, it need +hardly be said that Miss Thorne would be the last to think of it. +And yet there was something so charming in the name. A bull-ring, +however, without a bull would only be a memento of the decadence of +the times, and she felt herself constrained to abandon the idea. +Quintains, however, she was determined to have, and had poles and +swivels and bags of flour prepared accordingly. She would no doubt +have been anxious for something small in the way of a tournament, +but, as she said to her brother, that had been tried, and the age had +proved itself too decidedly inferior to its forerunners to admit of +such a pastime. Mr. Thorne did not seem to participate much in her +regret, feeling perhaps that a full suit of chain-armour would have +added but little to his own personal comfort.</p> + +<p>This party at Ullathorne had been planned in the first place as a +sort of welcoming to Mr. Arabin on his entrance into St. Ewold's +parsonage; an intended harvest-home gala for the labourers and their +wives and children had subsequently been amalgamated with it, and +thus it had grown to its present dimensions. All the Plumstead party +had of course been asked, and at the time of the invitation Eleanor +had intended to have gone with her sister. Now her plans were +altered, and she was going with the Stanhopes. The Proudies were +also to be there, and, as Mr. Slope had not been included in the +invitation to the palace, the signora, whose impudence never deserted +her, asked permission of Miss Thorne to bring him.</p> + +<p>This permission Miss Thorne gave, having no other alternative; but +she did so with a trembling heart, fearing Mr. Arabin would be +offended. Immediately on his return she apologized, almost with +tears, so dire an enmity was presumed to rage between the two +gentlemen. But Mr. Arabin comforted her by an assurance that he +should meet Mr. Slope with the greatest pleasure imaginable and made +her promise that she would introduce them to each other.</p> + +<p>But this triumph of Mr. Slope's was not so agreeable to Eleanor, who +since her return to Barchester had done her best to avoid him. She +would not give way to the Plumstead folk when they so ungenerously +accused her of being in love with this odious man; but, nevertheless, +knowing that she was so accused, she was fully alive to the +expediency of keeping out of his way and dropping him by degrees. +She had seen very little of him since her return. Her servant had +been instructed to say to all visitors that she was out. She could +not bring herself to specify Mr. Slope particularly, and in order to +avoid him she had thus debarred herself from all her friends. She +had excepted Charlotte Stanhope and, by degrees, a few others also. +Once she had met him at the Stanhopes', but as a rule, Mr. Slope's +visits there were made in the morning and hers in the evening. On +that one occasion Charlotte had managed to preserve her from any +annoyance. This was very good-natured on the part of Charlotte, as +Eleanor thought, and also very sharp-witted, as Eleanor had told her +friend nothing of her reasons for wishing to avoid that gentleman. +The fact, however, was that Charlotte had learnt from her sister that +Mr. Slope would probably put himself forward as a suitor for the +widow's hand, and she was consequently sufficiently alive to the +expediency of guarding Bertie's future wife from any danger in that +quarter.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless the Stanhopes were pledged to take Mr. Slope with them +to Ullathorne. An arrangement was therefore necessarily made, which +was very disagreeable to Eleanor. Dr. Stanhope, with herself, +Charlotte, and Mr. Slope, were to go together, and Bertie was to +follow with his sister Madeline. It was clearly visible by Eleanor's +face that this assortment was very disagreeable to her, and +Charlotte, who was much encouraged thereby in her own little plan, +made a thousand apologies.</p> + +<p>"I see you don't like it, my dear," said she, "but we could not +manage otherwise. Bertie would give his eyes to go with you, but +Madeline cannot possibly go without him. Nor could we possibly put +Mr. Slope and Madeline in the same carriage without anyone else. +They'd both be ruined forever, you know, and not admitted inside +Ullathorne gates, I should imagine, after such an impropriety."</p> + +<p>"Of course that wouldn't do," said Eleanor, "but couldn't I go in +the carriage with the signora and your brother?"</p> + +<p>"Impossible!" said Charlotte. "When she is there, there is only room +for two." The Signora, in truth, did not care to do her travelling in +the presence of strangers.</p> + +<p>"Well, then," said Eleanor, "you are all so kind, Charlotte, and so +good to me that I am sure you won't be offended, but I think I'll not +go at all."</p> + +<p>"Not go at all!—what nonsense!—indeed you +shall." It had been absolutely determined in family counsel that Bertie +should propose on that very occasion.</p> + +<p>"Or I can take a fly," said Eleanor. "You know I am not embarrassed +by so many difficulties as you young ladies; I can go alone."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, my dear! Don't think of such a thing; after all, it is +only for an hour or so; and, to tell the truth, I don't know what it +is you dislike so. I thought you and Mr. Slope were great friends. +What is it you dislike?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing particular," said Eleanor; "only I thought it would be +a family party."</p> + +<p>"Of course it would be much nicer, much more snug, if Bertie could +go with us. It is he that is badly treated. I can assure you he is much +more afraid of Mr. Slope than you are. But you see Madeline cannot go +out without him—and she, poor creature, goes out so seldom! +I am sure you don't begrudge her this, though her vagary does knock +about our own party a little."</p> + +<p>Of course Eleanor made a thousand protestations and uttered a +thousand hopes that Madeline would enjoy herself. And of course she +had to give way and undertake to go in the carriage with Mr. Slope. +In fact, she was driven either to do this or to explain why she would +not do so. Now she could not bring herself to explain to Charlotte +Stanhope all that had passed at Plumstead.</p> + +<p>But it was to her a sore necessity. She thought of a thousand little +schemes for avoiding it; she would plead illness and not go at all; +she would persuade Mary Bold to go, although not asked, and then make +a necessity of having a carriage of her own to take her +sister-in-law; anything, in fact, she could do, rather than be seen by +Mr. Arabin getting out of the same carriage with Mr. Slope. However, +when the momentous morning came, she had no scheme matured, and then +Mr. Slope handed her into Dr. Stanhope's carriage and, following her +steps, sat opposite to her.</p> + +<p>The bishop returned on the eve of the Ullathorne party, and was +received at home with radiant smiles by the partner of all his cares. +On his arrival he crept up to his dressing-room with somewhat of a +palpitating heart; he had overstayed his alloted time by three days, +and was not without much fear of penalties. Nothing, however, could +be more affectionately cordial than the greeting he received; the +girls came out and kissed him in a manner that was quite soothing to +his spirit; and Mrs. Proudie, "albeit, unused to the melting mood," +squeezed him in her arms and almost in words called him her dear, +darling, good, pet, little bishop. All this was a very pleasant +surprise.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie had somewhat changed her tactics; not that she had seen +any cause to disapprove of her former line of conduct, but she had +now brought matters to such a point that she calculated that she +might safely do so. She had got the better of Mr. Slope, and she now +thought well to show her husband that when allowed to get the better +of everybody, when obeyed by him and permitted to rule over others, +she would take care that he should have his reward. Mr. Slope had +not a chance against her; not only could she stun the poor bishop by +her midnight anger, but she could assuage and soothe him, if she so +willed, by daily indulgences. She could furnish his room for him, +turn him out as smart a bishop as any on the bench, give him good +dinners, warm fires, and an easy life—all this she would +do if he would but be quietly obedient. But, if not,—! To +speak sooth, however, his sufferings on that dreadful night had been so +poignant as to leave him little spirit for further rebellion.</p> + +<p>As soon as he had dressed himself, she returned to his room. "I hope +you enjoyed yourself at ––––," said she, +seating herself on one side of the fire while he remained in his +armchair on the other, stroking the calves of his legs. It was the +first time he had had a fire in his room since the summer, and it +pleased him, for the good bishop loved to be warm and cosy. Yes, he +said, he had enjoyed himself very much. Nothing could be more polite +than the archbishop, and Mrs. Archbishop had been equally charming.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie was delighted to hear it; nothing, she declared, +pleased her so much as to think<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p class="noindent">Her bairn respectit like the lave.<br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">She did not put it precisely +in these words, but what she said came +to the same thing; and then, having petted and fondled her little man +sufficiently, she proceeded to business.</p> + +<p>"The poor dean is still alive," said she.</p> + +<p>"So I hear, so I hear," said the bishop. "I'll go to the deanery +directly after breakfast to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"We are going to this party at Ullathorne to-morrow morning, my +dear; we must be there early, you know—by twelve o'clock +I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Oh—ah!" said the bishop; "then I'll certainly call +the next day."</p> + +<p>"Was much said about it at ––––?" asked +Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>"About what?" said the bishop.</p> + +<p>"Filling up the dean's place," said Mrs. Proudie. As she spoke, a +spark of the wonted fire returned to her eye, and the bishop felt +himself to be a little less comfortable than before.</p> + +<p>"Filling up the dean's place; that is, if the dean dies? Very +little, my dear. It was mentioned, just mentioned."</p> + +<p>"And what did you say about it, Bishop?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I said that I thought that if, that is, should—should +the dean die, that is, I said I thought—" As he went on +stammering and floundering, he saw that his wife's eye was fixed +sternly on him. Why should he encounter such evil for a man whom he +loved so slightly as Mr. Slope? Why should he give up his enjoyments +and his ease and such dignity as might be allowed to him to fight a +losing battle for a chaplain? The chaplain, after all, if successful, +would be as great a tyrant as his wife. Why fight at all? Why contend? +Why be uneasy? From that moment he determined to fling Mr. Slope to the +winds and take the goods the gods provided.</p> + +<p>"I am told," said Mrs. Proudie, speaking very slowly, "that Mr. +Slope is looking to be the new dean."</p> + +<p>"Yes—certainly, I believe he is," said the bishop.</p> + +<p>"And what does the archbishop say about that?" asked Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear, to tell the truth, I promised Mr. Slope to speak to +the archbishop. Mr. Slope spoke to me about it. It is very arrogant +of him, I must say—but that is nothing to me."</p> + +<p>"Arrogant!" said Mrs. Proudie; "it is the most impudent piece of +pretension I ever heard of in my life. Mr. Slope Dean of Barchester, +indeed! And what did you do in the matter, Bishop?"</p> + +<p>"Why, my dear, I did speak to the archbishop."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to tell me," said Mrs. Proudie, "that you are going +to make yourself ridiculous by lending your name to such a +preposterous attempt as this? Mr. Slope Dean of Barchester, indeed!" +And she tossed her head and put her arms akimbo with an air of +confident defiance that made her husband quite sure that Mr. Slope +never would be Dean of Barchester. In truth, Mrs. Proudie was all +but invincible; had she married Petruchio, it may be doubted whether +that arch wife-tamer would have been able to keep her legs out of +those garments which are presumed by men to be peculiarly unfitted +for feminine use.</p> + +<p>"It is preposterous, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Then why have you endeavoured to assist him?"</p> + +<p>"Why—my dear, I haven't assisted him—much."</p> + +<p>"But why have you done it at all? Why have you mixed your name up in +anything so ridiculous? What was it you did say to the archbishop?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I just did mention it; I just did say that—that +in the event of the poor dean's death, Mr. Slope +would—would—"</p> + +<p>"Would what?"</p> + +<p>"I forget how I put it—would take it if he could get it; something +of that sort. I didn't say much more than that."</p> + +<p>"You shouldn't have said anything at all. And what did the +archbishop say?"</p> + +<p>"He didn't say anything; he just bowed and rubbed his hands. +Somebody else came up at the moment, and as we were discussing the +new parochial universal school committee, the matter of the new dean +dropped; after that I didn't think it wise to renew it."</p> + +<p>"Renew it! I am very sorry you ever mentioned it. What will the +archbishop think of you?"</p> + +<p>"You may be sure, my dear, the archbishop thought very little about +it."</p> + +<p>"But why did you think about it, Bishop? How could you think of +making such a creature as that Dean of Barchester? Dean of +Barchester! I suppose he'll be looking for a bishopric some of these +days—a man that hardly knows who his own father was; a +man that I found without bread to his mouth or a coat to his back. Dean +of Barchester, indeed! I'll dean him."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie considered herself to be in politics a pure Whig; all +her family belonged to the Whig party. Now, among all ranks of +Englishmen and Englishwomen (Mrs. Proudie should, I think, be ranked +among the former on the score of her great strength of mind), no one +is so hostile to lowly born pretenders to high station as the pure +Whig.</p> + +<p>The bishop thought it necessary to exculpate himself. "Why, my +dear," said he, "it appeared to me that you and Mr. Slope did not get +on quite so well as you used to do!"</p> + +<p>"Get on!" said Mrs. Proudie, moving her foot uneasily on the +hearth-rug and compressing her lips in a manner that betokened much +danger to the subject of their discourse.</p> + +<p>"I began to find that he was objectionable to you"—Mrs. +Proudie's foot worked on the hearth-rug with great +rapidity—"and that you would be more comfortable if he was +out of the palace"—Mrs. Proudie smiled, as a hyena may +probably smile before he begins his laugh—"and therefore I thought +that if he got this place, and so ceased to be my chaplain, you might +be pleased at such an arrangement."</p> + +<p>And then the hyena laughed out. Pleased at such an arrangement! +Pleased at having her enemy converted into a dean with twelve hundred +a year! Medea, when she describes the customs of her native country +(I am quoting from Robson's edition), assures her astonished auditor +that in her land captives, when taken, are eaten.</p> + +<p>"You pardon them?" says Medea.</p> + +<p>"We do indeed," says the mild Grecian.</p> + +<p>"We eat them!" says she of Colchis, with terrific energy.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie was the Medea of Barchester; she had no idea of not +eating Mr. Slope. Pardon him! Merely get rid of him! Make a dean +of him! It was not so they did with their captives in her country, +among people of her sort! Mr. Slope had no such mercy to expect; she +would pick him to the very last bone.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, my dear, of course he'll cease to be your chaplain," said +she. "After what has passed, that must be a matter of course. I +couldn't for a moment think of living in the same house with such a +man. Besides, he has shown himself quite unfit for such a situation; +making broils and quarrels among the clergy; getting you, my dear, +into scrapes; and taking upon himself as though he were as good as +bishop himself. Of course he'll go. But because he leaves the +palace, that is no reason why he should get into the deanery."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course not!" said the bishop; "but to save appearances, you +know, my dear—"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to save appearances; I want Mr. Slope to appear just +what he is—a false, designing, mean, intriguing man. +I have my eye on him; he little knows what I see. He is misconducting +himself in the most disgraceful way with that lame Italian woman. That +family is a disgrace to Barchester, and Mr. Slope is a disgrace to +Barchester. If he doesn't look well to it, he'll have his gown stripped +off his back instead of having a dean's hat on his head. Dean, indeed! +The man has gone mad with arrogance."</p> + +<p>The bishop said nothing further to excuse either himself or his +chaplain, and having shown himself passive and docile, was again +taken into favour. They soon went to dinner, and he spent the +pleasantest evening he had had in his own house for a long time. His +daughter played and sang to him as he sipped his coffee and read his +newspaper, and Mrs. Proudie asked good-natured little questions about +the archbishop; and then he went happily to bed and slept as quietly +as though Mrs. Proudie had been Griselda herself. While shaving +himself in the morning and preparing for the festivities of +Ullathorne, he fully resolved to run no more tilts against a warrior +so fully armed at all points as was Mrs. Proudie.</p> + + +<p><a name="c34" id="c34"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXIV</h3> +<h3>Oxford—The Master and Tutor of Lazarus<br /> </h3> + + +<p>Mr. Arabin, as we have said, had but a sad walk of it under the +trees of Plumstead churchyard. He did not appear to any of the family +till dinner-time, and then he seemed, as far as their judgement went, +to be quite himself. He had, as was his wont, asked himself a great +many questions and given himself a great many answers; and the upshot +of this was that he had sent himself down for an ass. He had +determined that he was much too old and much too rusty to commence +the manoeuvres of love-making; that he had let the time slip through +his hands which should have been used for such purposes; and that now +he must lie on his bed as he had made it. Then he asked himself +whether in truth he did love this woman; and he answered himself, not +without a long struggle, but at last honestly, that he certainly did +love her. He then asked himself whether he did not also love her +money, and he again answered himself that he did so. But here he did +not answer honestly. It was and ever had been his weakness to look +for impure motives for his own conduct. No doubt, circumstanced as +he was, with a small living and a fellowship, accustomed as he had +been to collegiate luxuries and expensive comforts, he might have +hesitated to marry a penniless woman had he felt ever so strong a +predilection for the woman herself; no doubt Eleanor's fortune put +all such difficulties out of the question; but it was equally without +doubt that his love for her had crept upon him without the slightest +idea on his part that he could ever benefit his own condition by +sharing her wealth.</p> + +<p>When he had stood on the hearth-rug, counting the pattern and +counting also the future chances of his own life, the remembrances of +Mrs. Bold's comfortable income had certainly not damped his first +assured feeling of love for her. And why should it have done so? +Need it have done so with the purest of men? Be that as it may, Mr. +Arabin decided against himself; he decided that it had done so in his +case, and that he was not the purest of men.</p> + +<p>He also decided, which was more to his purpose, that Eleanor did not +care a straw for him, and that very probably she did care a straw for +his rival. Then he made up his mind not to think of her any more, +and went on thinking of her till he was almost in a state to drown +himself in the little brook which ran at the bottom of the +archdeacon's grounds.</p> + +<p>And ever and again his mind would revert to the Signora Neroni, and +he would make comparisons between her and Eleanor Bold, not always in +favour of the latter. The signora had listened to him, and flattered +him, and believed in him; at least she had told him so. Mrs. Bold +had also listened to him, but had never flattered him; had not always +believed in him; and now had broken from him in violent rage. The +signora, too, was the more lovely woman of the two, and had also the +additional attraction of her affliction—for to him it was +an attraction.</p> + +<p>But he never could have loved the Signora Neroni as he felt that he +now loved Eleanor; and so he flung stones into the brook, instead of +flinging in himself, and sat down on its margin as sad a gentleman as +you shall meet in a summer's day.</p> + +<p>He heard the dinner-bell ring from the churchyard, and he knew that +it was time to recover his self-possession. He felt that he was +disgracing himself in his own eyes, that he had been idling his time +and neglecting the high duties which he had taken upon himself to +perform. He should have spent this afternoon among the poor at St. +Ewold's, instead of wandering about at Plumstead, an ancient, +love-lorn swain, dejected and sighing, full of imaginary sorrows and +Wertherian grief. He was thoroughly ashamed of himself, and +determined to lose no time in retrieving his character, so damaged in +his own eyes.</p> + +<p>Thus when he appeared at dinner he was as animated as ever and was +the author of most of the conversation which graced the archdeacon's +board on that evening. Mr. Harding was ill at ease and sick at heart, +and did not care to appear more comfortable than he really was; what +little he did say was said to his daughter. He thought that the +archdeacon and Mr. Arabin had leagued together against Eleanor's +comfort, and his wish now was to break away from the pair and undergo +in his Barchester lodgings whatever Fate had in store for him. He +hated the name of the hospital; his attempt to regain his lost +inheritance there had brought upon him so much suffering. As far as +he was concerned, Mr. Quiverful was now welcome to the place.</p> + +<p>And the archdeacon was not very lively. The poor dean's illness was +of course discussed in the first place. Dr. Grantly did not mention +Mr. Slope's name in connexion with the expected event of Dr. +Trefoil's death; he did not wish to say anything about Mr. Slope just +at present, nor did he wish to make known his sad surmises; but the +idea that his enemy might possibly become Dean of Barchester made him +very gloomy. Should such an event take place, such a dire +catastrophe come about, there would be an end to his life as far as +his life was connected with the city of Barchester. He must give up +all his old haunts, all his old habits, and live quietly as a retired +rector at Plumstead. It had been a severe trial for him to have Dr. +Proudie in the palace, but with Mr. Slope also in the deanery he felt +that he should be unable to draw his breath in Barchester close.</p> + +<p>Thus it came to pass that in spite of the sorrow at his heart, Mr. +Arabin was apparently the gayest of the party. Both Mr. Harding and +Mrs. Grantly were in a slight degree angry with him on account of his +want of gloom. To the one it appeared as though he were triumphing +at Eleanor's banishment, and to the other that he was not affected as +he should have been by all the sad circumstances of the +day—Eleanor's obstinacy, Mr. Slope's success, and the +poor dean's apoplexy. And so they were all at cross-purposes.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding left the room almost together with the ladies, and then +the archdeacon opened his heart to Mr. Arabin. He still harped upon +the hospital. "What did that fellow mean," said he, "by saying in +his letter to Mrs. Bold that if Mr. Harding would call on the bishop, +it would be all right? Of course I would not be guided by anything +he might say, but still it may be well that Mr. Harding should see +the bishop. It would be foolish to let the thing slip through our +fingers because Mrs. Bold is determined to make a fool of herself."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin hinted that he was not quite so sure that Mrs. Bold would +make a fool of herself. He said that he was not convinced that she +did regard Mr. Slope so warmly as she was supposed to do. The +archdeacon questioned and cross-questioned him about this, but +elicited nothing, and at last remained firm in his own conviction +that he was destined, <i>malgré lui</i>, to be the +brother-in-law of Mr. Slope. Mr. Arabin strongly advised that Mr. +Harding should take no step regarding the hospital in connexion with, +or in consequence of, Mr. Slope's letter. "If the bishop really means +to confer the appointment on Mr. Harding," argued Mr. Arabin, "he will +take care to let him have some other intimation than a message conveyed +through a letter to a lady. Were Mr. Harding to present himself at the +palace, he might merely be playing Mr. Slope's game;" and thus it was +settled that nothing should be done till the great Dr. Gwynne's +arrival, or at any rate without that potentate's sanction.</p> + +<p>It was droll to observe how these men talked of Mr. Harding as +though he were a puppet, and planned their intrigues and small +ecclesiastical manoeuvres in reference to Mr. Harding's future position +without dreaming of taking him into their confidence. There was a +comfortable house and income in question, and it was very desirable, +and certainly very just, that Mr. Harding should have them; but that at +present was not the main point; it was expedient to beat the bishop +and, if possible, to smash Mr. Slope. Mr. Slope had set up, or was +supposed to have set up, a rival candidate. Of all things the most +desirable would have been to have had Mr. Quiverful's appointment +published to the public and then annulled by the clamour of an +indignant world, loud in the defence of Mr. Harding's rights. But of +such an event the chance was small; a slight fraction only of the world +would be indignant, and that fraction would be one not accustomed to +loud speaking. And then the preferment had, in a sort of way, been +offered to Mr. Harding and had, in a sort of way, been refused by him.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope's wicked, cunning hand had been peculiarly conspicuous in +the way in which this had been brought to pass, and it was the +success of Mr. Slope's cunning which was so painfully grating to the +feelings of the archdeacon. That which of all things he most dreaded +was that he should be outgeneralled by Mr. Slope; and just at present +it appeared probable that Mr. Slope would turn his flank, steal a +march on him, cut off his provisions, carry his strong town by a +<i>coup de main</i>, and at last beat him thoroughly in a regular +pitched battle. The archdeacon felt that his flank had been turned when +desired to wait on Mr. Slope instead of the bishop, that a march had +been stolen when Mr. Harding was induced to refuse the bishop's offer, +that his provisions would be cut off when Mr. Quiverful got the +hospital, that Eleanor was the strong town doomed to be taken, and that +Mr. Slope, as Dean of Barchester, would be regarded by all the world as +conqueror in the final conflict.</p> + +<p>Dr. Gwynne was the <i>Deus ex machina</i> who was to come down upon +the Barchester stage and bring about deliverance from these terrible +evils. But how can melodramatic <i>dénouements</i> be properly +brought about, how can vice and Mr. Slope be punished, and virtue and +the archdeacon be rewarded, while the avenging god is laid up with the +gout? In the mean time evil may be triumphant, and poor innocence, +transfixed to the earth by an arrow from Dr. Proudie's quiver, may lie +dead upon the ground, not to be resuscitated even by Dr. Gwynne.</p> + +<p>Two or three days after Eleanor's departure, Mr. Arabin went to +Oxford and soon found himself closeted with the august head of his +college. It was quite clear that Dr. Gwynne was not very sanguine as +to the effects of his journey to Barchester, and not over-anxious to +interfere with the bishop. He had had the gout, but was very nearly +convalescent, and Mr. Arabin at once saw that had the mission been +one of which the master thoroughly approved, he would before this +have been at Plumstead.</p> + +<p>As it was, Dr. Gwynne was resolved on visiting his friend, and +willingly promised to return to Barchester with Mr. Arabin. He could +not bring himself to believe that there was any probability that Mr. +Slope would be made Dean of Barchester. Rumour, he said, had reached +even his ears, not at all favourable to that gentleman's character, +and he expressed himself strongly of opinion that any such +appointment was quite out of the question. At this stage of the +proceedings, the master's right-hand man, Tom Staple, was called in +to assist at the conference. Tom Staple was the Tutor of Lazarus +and, moreover, a great man at Oxford. Though universally known by a +species of nomenclature so very undignified, Tom Staple was one who +maintained a high dignity in the university. He was, as it were, the +leader of the Oxford tutors, a body of men who consider themselves +collectively as being by very little, if at all, second in importance +to the heads themselves. It is not always the case that the master, +or warden, or provost, or principal can hit it off exactly with his +tutor. A tutor is by no means indisposed to have a will of his own. +But at Lazarus they were great friends and firm allies at the time of +which we are writing.</p> + +<p>Tom Staple was a hale, strong man of about forty-five, short in +stature, swarthy in face, with strong, sturdy black hair and crisp +black beard of which very little was allowed to show itself in shape +of whiskers. He always wore a white neckcloth, clean indeed, but not +tied with that scrupulous care which now distinguishes some of our +younger clergy. He was, of course, always clothed in a seemly suit +of solemn black. Mr. Staple was a decent cleanly liver, not +over-addicted to any sensuality; but nevertheless a somewhat warmish +hue was beginning to adorn his nose, the peculiar effect, as his +friends averred, of a certain pipe of port introduced into the cellars +of Lazarus the very same year in which the tutor entered it as a +freshman. There was also, perhaps, a little redolence of port wine, as +it were the slightest possible twang, in Mr. Staple's voice.</p> + +<p>In these latter days Tom Staple was not a happy man; university +reform had long been his bugbear, and now was his bane. It was not +with him, as with most others, an affair of politics, respecting +which, when the need existed, he could, for parties' sake or on +behalf of principle, maintain a certain amount of necessary zeal; it +was not with him a subject for dilettante warfare and courteous, +commonplace opposition. To him it was life and death. The <i>status +quo</i> of the university was his only idea of life, and any +reformation was as bad to him as death. He would willingly have been a +martyr in the cause, had the cause admitted of martyrdom.</p> + +<p>At the present day, unfortunately, public affairs will allow of no +martyrs, and therefore it is that there is such a deficiency of zeal. +Could gentlemen of £10,000 a year have died on their own door-steps +in defence of protection, no doubt some half-dozen glorious old +baronets would have so fallen, and the school of protection would at +this day have been crowded with scholars. Who can fight strenuously +in any combat in which there is no danger? Tom Staple would have +willingly been impaled before a Committee of the House, could he by +such self-sacrifice have infused his own spirit into the component +members of the hebdomadal board.</p> + +<p>Tom Staple was one of those who in his heart approved of the credit +system which had of old been in vogue between the students and +tradesmen of the university. He knew and acknowledged to himself +that it was useless in these degenerate days publicly to contend with +"The Jupiter" on such a subject. "The Jupiter" had undertaken to rule +the university, and Tom Staple was well aware that "The Jupiter" was +too powerful for him. But in secret, and among his safe companions, +he would argue that the system of credit was an ordeal good for young +men to undergo.</p> + +<p>The bad men, said he, the weak and worthless, blunder into danger +and burn their feet; but the good men, they who have any character, +they who have that within them which can reflect credit on their alma +mater, they come through scatheless. What merit will there be to a +young man to get through safely, if he be guarded and protected and +restrained like a schoolboy? By so doing, the period of the ordeal is +only postponed, and the manhood of the man will be deferred from the +age of twenty to that of twenty-four. If you bind him with +leading-strings at college, he will break loose while eating for the +bar in London; bind him there, and he will break loose afterwards, when +he is a married man. The wild oats must be sown somewhere. 'Twas thus +that Tom Staple would argue of young men, not, indeed, with much +consistency, but still with some practical knowledge of the subject +gathered from long experience.</p> + +<p>And now Tom Staple proffered such wisdom as he had for the +assistance of Dr. Gwynne and Mr. Arabin.</p> + +<p>"Quite out of the question," said he, arguing that Mr. Slope could +not possibly be made the new Dean of Barchester.</p> + +<p>"So I think," said the master. "He has no standing, and, if all I +hear be true, very little character."</p> + +<p>"As to character," said Tom Staple, "I don't think much of that. +They rather like loose parsons for deans; a little fast living, or a +dash of infidelity, is no bad recommendation to a cathedral close. +But they couldn't make Mr. Slope; the last two deans have been +Cambridge men; you'll not show me an instance of their making three +men running from the same university. We don't get our share and +never shall, I suppose, but we must at least have one out of three."</p> + +<p>"Those sort of rules are all gone by now," said Mr. Arabin.</p> + +<p>"Everything has gone by, I believe," said Tom Staple. "The cigar has +been smoked out, and we are the ashes."</p> + +<p>"Speak for yourself, Staple," said the master.</p> + +<p>"I speak for all," said the tutor stoutly. "It is coming to that, +that there will be no life left anywhere in the country. No one is +any longer fit to rule himself, or those belonging to him. The +Government is to find us all in everything, and the press is to find +the Government. Nevertheless, Mr. Slope won't be Dean of +Barchester."</p> + +<p>"And who will be warden of the hospital?" said Mr. Arabin.</p> + +<p>"I hear that Mr. Quiverful is already appointed," said Tom Staple.</p> + +<p>"I think not," said the master. "And I think, moreover, that Dr. +Proudie will not be so short-sighted as to run against such a rock: +Mr. Slope should himself have sense enough to prevent it."</p> + +<p>"But perhaps Mr. Slope may have no objection to see his patron on a +rock," said the suspicious tutor.</p> + +<p>"What could he get by that?" asked Mr. Arabin.</p> + +<p>"It is impossible to see the doubles of such a man," said Mr. +Staple. "It seems quite clear that Bishop Proudie is altogether in his +hands, and it is equally clear that he has been moving heaven and earth +to get this Mr. Quiverful into the hospital, although he must know that +such an appointment would be most damaging to the bishop. It is +impossible to understand such a man, and dreadful to think," added Tom +Staple, sighing deeply, "that the welfare and fortunes of good men may +depend on his intrigues."</p> + +<p>Dr. Gwynne or Mr. Staple were not in the least aware, nor even was +Mr. Arabin, that this Mr. Slope, of whom they were talking, had been +using his utmost efforts to put their own candidate into the +hospital, and that in lieu of being permanent in the palace, his own +expulsion therefrom had been already decided on by the high powers of +the diocese.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what," said the tutor, "if this Quiverful is thrust +into the hospital and Dr. Trefoil does die, I should not wonder if +the Government were to make Mr. Harding Dean of Barchester. They +would feel bound to do something for him after all that was said when +he resigned."</p> + +<p>Dr. Gwynne at the moment made no reply to this suggestion, but it +did not the less impress itself on his mind. If Mr. Harding could not +be warden of the hospital, why should he not be Dean of Barchester?</p> + +<p>And so the conference ended without any very fixed resolution, and +Dr. Gwynne and Mr. Arabin prepared for their journey to Plumstead on +the morrow.</p> + + +<p><a name="c35" id="c35"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXV</h3> +<h3>Miss Thorne's Fête Champêtre<br /> </h3> + + +<p>The day of the Ullathorne party arrived, and all the world were +there—or at least so much of the world as had been included +in Miss Thorne's invitation. As we have said, the bishop returned home +on the previous evening, and on the same evening and by the same train +came Dr. Gwynne and Mr. Arabin from Oxford. The archdeacon with his +brougham was in waiting for the Master of Lazarus, so that there was a +goodly show of church dignitaries on the platform of the railway.</p> + +<p>The Stanhope party was finally arranged in the odious manner already +described, and Eleanor got into the doctor's carriage full of +apprehension and presentiment of further misfortune, whereas Mr. +Slope entered the vehicle elate with triumph.</p> + +<p>He had received that morning a very civil note from Sir Nicholas +Fitzwhiggin, not promising much, indeed, but then Mr. Slope knew, or +fancied that he knew, that it was not etiquette for government +officers to make promises. Though Sir Nicholas promised nothing he +implied a good deal, declared his conviction that Mr. Slope would +make an excellent dean, and wished him every kind of success. To be +sure he added that, not being in the cabinet, he was never consulted +on such matters, and that even if he spoke on the subject, his voice +would go for nothing. But all this Mr. Slope took for the prudent +reserve of official life. To complete his anticipated triumphs, +another letter was brought to him just as he was about to start to +Ullathorne.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope also enjoyed the idea of handing Mrs. Bold out of Dr. +Stanhope's carriage before the multitude at Ullathorne gate as much +as Eleanor dreaded the same ceremony. He had fully made up his mind +to throw himself and his fortune at the widow's feet, and had almost +determined to select the present propitious morning for doing so. +The signora had of late been less than civil to him. She had indeed +admitted his visits and listened, at any rate without anger, to his +love, but she had tortured him and reviled him, jeered at him and +ridiculed him, while she allowed him to call her the most beautiful +of living women, to kiss her hand, and to proclaim himself with +reiterated oaths her adorer, her slave and worshipper.</p> + +<p>Miss Thorne was in great perturbation, yet in great glory, on the +morning of the gala day. Mr. Thorne also, though the party was none +of his giving, had much heavy work on his hands. But perhaps the +most overtasked, the most anxious, and the most effective of all the +Ullathorne household was Mr. Plomacy, the steward. This last +personage had, in the time of Mr. Thorne's father, when the Directory +held dominion in France, gone over to Paris with letters in his +boot-heel for some of the royal party, and such had been his good luck +that he had returned safe. He had then been very young and was now very +old, but the exploit gave him a character for political enterprise and +secret discretion which still availed him as thoroughly as it had done +in its freshest gloss. Mr. Plomacy had been steward of Ullathorne for +more than fifty years, and a very easy life he had had of it. Who could +require much absolute work from a man who had carried safely at his +heel that which, if discovered, would have cost him his head? +Consequently Mr. Plomacy had never worked hard, and of latter years had +never worked at all. He had a taste for timber, and therefore he marked +the trees that were to be cut down; he had a taste for gardening, and +would therefore allow no shrub to be planted or bed to be made without +his express sanction. In these matters he was sometimes driven to run +counter to his mistress, but he rarely allowed his mistress to carry +the point against him.</p> + +<p>But on occasions such as the present Mr. Plomacy came out strong. He +had the honour of the family at heart; he thoroughly appreciated the +duties of hospitality; and therefore, when gala doings were going on, +he always took the management into his own hands and reigned supreme +over master and mistress.</p> + +<p>To give Mr. Plomacy his due, old as he was, he thoroughly understood +such work as he had in hand, and did it well.</p> + +<p>The order of the day was to be as follows. The quality, as the upper +classes in rural districts are designated by the lower with so much +true discrimination, were to eat a breakfast, and the non-quality +were to eat a dinner. Two marquees had been erected for these two +banquets: that for the quality on the esoteric or garden side of a +certain deep ha-ha; and that for the non-quality on the exoteric or +paddock side of the same. Both were of huge dimensions—that +on the outer side was, one may say, on an egregious scale—but +Mr. Plomacy declared that neither would be sufficient. To remedy this, +an auxiliary banquet was prepared in the dining-room, and a subsidiary +board was to be spread <i>sub dio</i> for the accommodation of the +lower class of yokels on the Ullathorne property.</p> + +<p>No one who has not had a hand in the preparation of such an affair +can understand the manifold difficulties which Miss Thorne +encountered in her project. Had she not been made throughout of the +very finest whalebone, riveted with the best Yorkshire steel, she +must have sunk under them. Had not Mr. Plomacy felt how much was +justly expected from a man who at one time carried the destinies of +Europe in his boot, he would have given way, and his mistress, so +deserted, must have perished among her poles and canvas.</p> + +<p>In the first place there was a dreadful line to be drawn. Who were +to dispose themselves within the ha-ha, and who without? To this the +unthinking will give an off-hand answer, as they will to every +ponderous question. Oh, the bishop and such-like within the ha-ha, +and Farmer Greenacre and such-like without. True, my unthinking +friend, but who shall define these such-likes? It is in such +definitions that the whole difficulty of society consists. To seat +the bishop on an arm-chair on the lawn and place Farmer Greenacre at +the end of a long table in the paddock is easy enough, but where will +you put Mrs. Lookaloft, whose husband, though a tenant on the estate, +hunts in a red coat, whose daughters go to a fashionable seminary in +Barchester, who calls her farm-house Rosebank, and who has a +pianoforte in her drawing-room? The Misses Lookaloft, as they call +themselves, won't sit contented among the bumpkins. Mrs. Lookaloft +won't squeeze her fine clothes on a bench and talk familiarly about +cream and ducklings to good Mrs. Greenacre. And yet Mrs. Lookaloft +is no fit companion and never has been the associate of the Thornes +and the Grantlys. And if Mrs. Lookaloft be admitted within the +sanctum of fashionable life, if she be allowed with her three +daughters to leap the ha-ha, why not the wives and daughters of other +families also? Mrs. Greenacre is at present well contented with the +paddock, but she might cease to be so if she saw Mrs. Lookaloft on +the lawn. And thus poor Miss Thorne had a hard time of it.</p> + +<p>And how was she to divide her guests between the marquee and the +parlour? She had a countess coming, an Honourable John and an +Honourable George, and a whole bevy of Ladies Amelia, Rosina, +Margaretta, &c; she had a leash of baronets with their baronettes; +and, as we all know, she had a bishop. If she put them on the lawn, +no one would go into the parlour; if she put them into the parlour, +no one would go into the tent. She thought of keeping the old people +in the house and leaving the lawn to the lovers. She might as well +have seated herself at once in a hornet's nest. Mr. Plomacy knew +better than this. "Bless your soul, ma'am," said he, "there won't be +no old ladies—not one, barring yourself and old Mrs. +Clantantram."</p> + +<p>Personally Miss Thorne accepted this distinction in her favour as a +compliment to her good sense, but nevertheless she had no desire to +be closeted on the coming occasion with Mrs. Clantantram. She gave +up all idea of any arbitrary division of her guests and determined if +possible to put the bishop on the lawn and the countess in the house, +to sprinkle the baronets, and thus divide the attractions. What to +do with the Lookalofts even Mr. Plomacy could not decide. They must +take their chance. They had been specially told in the invitation +that all the tenants had been invited, and they might probably have +the good sense to stay away if they objected to mix with the rest of +the tenantry.</p> + +<p>Then Mr. Plomacy declared his apprehension that the Honourable Johns +and Honourable Georges would come in a sort of amphibious costume, +half-morning, half-evening, satin neck-handkerchiefs, frock-coats, +primrose gloves, and polished boots; and that, being so dressed, they +would decline riding at the quintain, or taking part in any of the +athletic games which Miss Thorne had prepared with so much fond care. +If the Lord Johns and Lord Georges didn't ride at the quintain, Miss +Thorne might be sure that nobody else would.</p> + +<p>"But," said she in dolorous voice, all but overcome by her cares, +"it was specially signified that there were to be sports."</p> + +<p>"And so there will be, of course," said Mr. Plomacy. "They'll all be +sporting with the young ladies in the laurel walks. Them's the +sports they care most about now-a-days. If you gets the young men at +the quintain, you'll have all the young women in the pouts."</p> + +<p>"Can't they look on as their great grandmothers did before them?" +said Miss Thorne.</p> + +<p>"It seems to me that the ladies ain't contented with looking +now-a-days. Whatever the men do they'll do. If you'll have side-saddles +on the nags; and let them go at the quintain too, it'll answer capital, +no doubt."</p> + +<p>Miss Thorne made no reply. She felt that she had no good ground on +which to defend her sex of the present generation from the sarcasm of +Mr. Plomacy. She had once declared, in one of her warmer moments, +"that now-a-days the gentlemen were all women, and the ladies all +men." She could not alter the debased character of the age. But, +such being the case, why should she take on herself to cater for the +amusement of people of such degraded tastes? This question she asked +herself more than once, and she could only answer herself with a +sigh. There was her own brother Wilfred, on whose shoulders rested +all the ancient honours of Ullathorne house; it was very doubtful +whether even he would consent to "go at the quintain," as Mr. Plomacy +not injudiciously expressed it.</p> + +<p>And now the morning arrived. The Ullathorne household was early on +the move. Cooks were cooking in the kitchen long before daylight, +and men were dragging out tables and hammering red baize on to +benches at the earliest dawn. With what dread eagerness did Miss +Thorne look out at the weather as soon as the parting veil of night +permitted her to look at all! In this respect, at any rate, there +was nothing to grieve her. The glass had been rising for the last +three days, and the morning broke with that dull, chill, steady, grey +haze which in autumn generally presages a clear and dry day. By +seven she was dressed and down. Miss Thorne knew nothing of the +modern luxury of <i>déshabilles</i>. She would as soon have +thought of appearing before her brother without her stockings as +without her stays—and Miss Thorne's stays were no trifle.</p> + +<p>And yet there was nothing for her to do when down. She fidgeted out +to the lawn and then back into the kitchen. She put on her high-heeled +clogs and fidgeted out into the paddock. Then she went into the small +home park where the quintain was erected. The pole and cross-bar and +the swivel and the target and the bag of flour were all complete. She +got up on a carpenter's bench and touched the target with her hand; it +went round with beautiful ease; the swivel had been oiled to +perfection. She almost wished to take old Plomacy at his word, to get +on a side-saddle and have a tilt at it herself. What must a young man +be, thought she, who could prefer maundering among laurel trees with a +wishy-washy school-girl to such fun as this? "Well," said she aloud to +herself, "one man can take a horse to water, but a thousand can't make +him drink. There it is. If they haven't the spirit to enjoy it, the +fault shan't be mine;" and so she returned to the house.</p> + +<p>At a little after eight her brother came down, and they had a sort +of scrap breakfast in his study. The tea was made without the customary +urn, and they dispensed with the usual rolls and toast. Eggs also were +missing, for every egg in the parish had been whipped into custards, +baked into pies, or boiled into lobster salad. The allowance of fresh +butter was short, and Mr. Thorne was obliged to eat the leg of a fowl +without having it devilled in the manner he loved.</p> + +<p>"I have been looking at the quintain, Wilfred," said she, "and it +appears to be quite right."</p> + +<p>"Oh—ah, yes," said he. "It seemed to be so yesterday when +I saw it." Mr. Thorne was beginning to be rather bored by his sister's +love of sports, and had especially no affection for this quintain post.</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd just try it after breakfast," said she. "You could +have the saddle put on Mark Antony, and the pole is there all handy. +You can take the flour bag off, you know, if you think Mark Antony +won't be quick enough," added Miss Thorne, seeing that her brother's +countenance was not indicative of complete accordance with her little +proposition.</p> + +<p>Now Mark Antony was a valuable old hunter, excellently suited to Mr. +Thorne's usual requirements, steady indeed at his fences, but +extremely sure, very good in deep ground, and safe on the roads. But +he had never yet been ridden at a quintain, and Mr. Thorne was not +inclined to put him to the trial, either with or without the bag of +flour. He hummed and hawed and finally declared that he was afraid +Mark Antony would shy.</p> + +<p>"Then try the cob," said the indefatigable Miss Thorne.</p> + +<p>"He's in physic," said Wilfred.</p> + +<p>"There's the Beelzebub colt," said his sister. "I know he's in the +stable because I saw Peter exercising him just now."</p> + +<p>"My dear Monica, he's so wild that it's as much as I can do to +manage him at all. He'd destroy himself and me, too, if I attempted to +ride him at such a rattletrap as that."</p> + +<p>A rattletrap! The quintain that she had put up with so much anxious +care; the game that she had prepared for the amusement of the +stalwart yeomen of the country; the sport that had been honoured by +the affection of so many of their ancestors! It cut her to the heart +to hear it so denominated by her own brother. There were but the two +of them left together in the world, and it had ever been one of the +rules by which Miss Thorne had regulated her conduct through life to +say nothing that could provoke her brother. She had often had to +suffer from his indifference to time-honoured British customs, but +she had always suffered in silence. It was part of her creed that +the head of the family should never be upbraided in his own house, +and Miss Thorne had lived up to her creed. Now, however, she was +greatly tried. The colour mounted to her ancient cheek, and the fire +blazed in her still bright eyes; but yet she said nothing. She +resolved that, at any rate, to him nothing more should be said about +the quintain that day.</p> + +<p>She sipped her tea in silent sorrow and thought with painful regret +of the glorious days when her great ancestor Ealfried had +successfully held Ullathorne against a Norman invader. There was no +such spirit now left in her family except that small useless spark +which burnt in her own bosom. And she herself, was not she at this +moment intent on entertaining a descendant of those very Normans, a +vain proud countess with a Frenchified name who would only think that +she graced Ullathorne too highly by entering its portals? Was it +likely that an Honourable John, the son of an Earl De Courcy, should +ride at a quintain in company with Saxon yeomen? And why should she +expect her brother to do that which her brother's guests would +decline to do?</p> + +<p>Some dim faint idea of the impracticability of her own views flitted +across her brain. Perhaps it was necessary that races doomed to live +on the same soil should give way to each other and adopt each other's +pursuits. Perhaps it was impossible that after more than five +centuries of close intercourse, Normans should remain Normans, and +Saxons, Saxons. Perhaps, after all, her neighbours were wiser than +herself. Such ideas did occasionally present themselves to Miss +Thorne's mind and make her sad enough. But it never occurred to her +that her favourite quintain was but a modern copy of a Norman +knight's amusement, an adaptation of the noble tourney to the tastes +and habits of the Saxon yeomen. Of this she was ignorant, and it +would have been cruelty to instruct her.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Thorne saw the tear in her eye, he repented himself of his +contemptuous expression. By him also it was recognized as a binding +law that every whim of his sister was to be respected. He was not +perhaps so firm in his observances to her as she was in hers to him. +But his intentions were equally good, and whenever he found that he +had forgotten them, it was matter of grief to him.</p> + +<p>"My dear Monica," said he, "I beg your pardon. I don't in the least +mean to speak ill of the game. When I called it a rattletrap, I +merely meant that it was so for a man of my age. You know you always +forget that I an't a young man."</p> + +<p>"I am quite sure you are not an old man, Wilfred," said she, +accepting the apology in her heart and smiling at him with the tear +still on her cheek.</p> + +<p>"If I was five-and-twenty, or thirty," continued he, "I should like +nothing better than riding at the quintain all day."</p> + +<p>"But you are not too old to hunt or to shoot," said she. "If you can +jump over a ditch and hedge, I am sure you could turn the quintain +round."</p> + +<p>"But when I ride over the hedges, my dear—and it isn't +very often I do that—but when I do ride over the hedges, +there isn't any bag of flour coming after me. Think how I'd look taking +the countess out to breakfast with the back of my head all covered with +meal."</p> + +<p>Miss Thorne said nothing further. She didn't like the allusion to +the countess. She couldn't be satisfied with the reflection that the +sports at Ullathorne should be interfered with by the personal +attentions necessary for a Lady De Courcy. But she saw that it was +useless for her to push the matter further. It was conceded that Mr. +Thorne was to be spared the quintain, and Miss Thorne determined to +trust wholly to a youthful knight of hers, an immense favourite, who, +as she often declared, was a pattern to the young men of the age and +an excellent sample of an English yeoman.</p> + +<p>This was Farmer Greenacre's eldest son, who, to tell the truth, had +from his earliest years taken the exact measure of Miss Thorne's +foot. In his boyhood he had never failed to obtain from her apples, +pocket-money, and forgiveness for his numerous trespasses; and now in +his early manhood he got privileges and immunities which were equally +valuable. He was allowed a day or two's shooting in September; he +schooled the squire's horses; got slips of trees out of the orchard +and roots of flowers out of the garden; and had the fishing of the +little river altogether in his own hands. He had undertaken to come +mounted on a nag of his father's and show the way at the quintain +post. Whatever young Greenacre did the others would do after him. +The juvenile Lookalofts might stand aloof, but the rest of the youth +of Ullathorne would be sure to venture if Harry Greenacre showed the +way. And so Miss Thorne made up her mind to dispense with the noble +Johns and Georges and trust, as her ancestors had done before her, to +the thews and sinews of native Ullathorne growth.</p> + +<p>At about nine the lower orders began to congregate in the paddock +and park, under the surveillance of Mr. Plomacy and the head gardener +and head groom, who were sworn in as his deputies and were to assist +him in keeping the peace and promoting the sports. Many of the younger +inhabitants of the neighbourhood, thinking that they could not have too +much of a good thing, had come at a very early hour, and the road +between the house and the church had been thronged for some time before +the gates were thrown open.</p> + +<p>And then another difficulty of huge dimensions arose, a difficulty +which Mr. Plomacy had indeed foreseen and for which he was in some +sort provided. Some of those who wished to share Miss Thorne's +hospitality were not so particular as they should have been as to the +preliminary ceremony of an invitation. They doubtless conceived that +they had been overlooked by accident, and instead of taking this in +dudgeon, as their betters would have done, they good-naturedly put up +with the slight, and showed that they did so by presenting themselves +at the gate in their Sunday best.</p> + +<p>Mr. Plomacy, however, well-knew who were welcome and who were not. +To some, even though uninvited, he allowed ingress. "Don't be too +particular, Plomacy," his mistress had said, "especially with the +children. If they live anywhere near, let them in."</p> + +<p>Acting on this hint, Mr. Plomacy did let in many an eager urchin and +a few tidily dressed girls with their swains who in no way belonged +to the property. But to the denizens of the city he was inexorable. +Many a Barchester apprentice made his appearance there that day and +urged with piteous supplication that he had been working all the week +in making saddles and boots for the use of Ullathorne, in compounding +doses for the horses, or cutting up carcasses for the kitchen. No +such claim was allowed. Mr. Plomacy knew nothing about the city +apprentices; he was to admit the tenants and labourers on the estate; +Miss Thorne wasn't going to take in the whole city of Barchester; and +so on.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, before the day was half over, all this was found to be +useless. Almost anybody who chose to come made his way into the +park, and the care of the guardians was transferred to the tables on +which the banquet was spread. Even here there was many an +unauthorised claimant for a place, of whom it was impossible to get +quit without more commotion than the place and food were worth.</p> + + +<p><a name="c36" id="c36"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXVI</h3> +<h3>Ullathorne Sports—Act I<br /> </h3> + + +<p>The trouble in civilized life of entertaining company, as it is +called too generally without much regard to strict veracity, is so +great that it cannot but be matter of wonder that people are so fond +of attempting it. It is difficult to ascertain what is the <i>quid pro +quo</i>. If they who give such laborious parties, and who endure such +toil and turmoil in the vain hope of giving them successfully, really +enjoyed the parties given by others, the matter could be understood. +A sense of justice would induce men and women to undergo, in behalf +of others, those miseries which others had undergone in their behalf. +But they all profess that going out is as great a bore as receiving, +and to look at them when they are out, one cannot but believe them.</p> + +<p>Entertain! Who shall have sufficient self-assurance, who shall feel +sufficient confidence in his own powers to dare to boast that he can +entertain his company? A clown can sometimes do so, and sometimes a +dancer in short petticoats and stuffed pink legs; occasionally, +perhaps, a singer. But beyond these, success in this art of +entertaining is not often achieved. Young men and girls linking +themselves kind with kind, pairing like birds in spring because +nature wills it, they, after a simple fashion, do entertain each +other. Few others even try.</p> + +<p>Ladies, when they open their houses, modestly confessing, it may be +presumed, their own incapacity, mainly trust to wax candles and +upholstery. Gentlemen seem to rely on their white waistcoats. To +these are added, for the delight of the more sensual, champagne and +such good things of the table as fashion allows to be still +considered as comestible. Even in this respect the world is +deteriorating. All the good soups are now tabooed, and at the houses +of one's accustomed friends—small barristers, doctors, +government clerks, and such-like (for we cannot all of us always live +as grandees, surrounded by an elysium of livery servants)—one +gets a cold potato handed to one as a sort of finale to one's slice of +mutton. Alas for those happy days when one could say to one's +neighbour, "Jones, shall I give you some mashed turnip? May I trouble +you for a little cabbage?" And then the pleasure of drinking wine with +Mrs. Jones and Miss Smith—with all the Joneses and all the +Smiths! These latter-day habits are certainly more economical.</p> + +<p>Miss Thorne, however, boldly attempted to leave the modern, beaten +track, and made a positive effort to entertain her guests. Alas! She +did so with but moderate success. They had all their own way of +going, and would not go her way. She piped to them, but they would +not dance. She offered to them good, honest household cake made of +currants and flour and eggs and sweetmeat, but they would feed +themselves on trashy wafers from the shop of the Barchester +pastry-cook, on chalk and gum and adulterated sugar. Poor Miss Thorne! +Yours is not the first honest soul that has vainly striven to recall +the glories of happy days gone by! If fashion suggests to a Lady De +Courcy that, when invited to a <i>déjeuner</i> at twelve she +ought to come at three, no eloquence of thine will teach her the +advantage of a nearer approach to punctuality.</p> + +<p>She had fondly thought that when she called on her friends to come +at twelve, and specially begged them to believe that she meant it, she +would be able to see them comfortably seated in their tents at two. +Vain woman—or rather ignorant woman—ignorant of +the advances of that civilization which the world had witnessed while +she was growing old. At twelve she found herself alone, dressed in all +the glory of the newest of her many suits of raiment—with +strong shoes however, and a serviceable bonnet on her head, and a warm, +rich shawl on her shoulders. Thus clad, she peered out into the tent, +went to the ha-ha, and satisfied herself that at any rate the +youngsters were amusing themselves, spoke a word to Mrs. Greenacre over +the ditch, and took one look at the quintain. Three or four young +farmers were turning the machine round and round and poking at the bag +of flour in a manner not at all intended by the inventor of the game; +but no mounted sportsmen were there. Miss Thorne looked at her watch. +It was only fifteen minutes past twelve, and it was understood that +Harry Greenacre was not to begin till the half-hour.</p> + +<p>Miss Thorne returned to her drawing-room rather quicker than was her +wont, fearing that the countess might come and find none to welcome +her. She need not have hurried, for no one was there. At half-past +twelve she peeped into the kitchen; at a quarter to one she was +joined by her brother; and just then the first fashionable arrival +took place. Mrs. Clantantram was announced.</p> + +<p>No announcement was necessary, indeed, for the good lady's voice was +heard as she walked across the courtyard to the house, scolding the +unfortunate postilion who had driven her from Barchester. At the +moment Miss Thorne could not but be thankful that the other guests +were more fashionable and were thus spared the fury of Mrs. +Clantantram's indignation.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Thorne, look here!" said she as soon as she found herself +in the drawing-room; "do look at my roque-laure. It's clean spoilt, +and forever. I wouldn't but wear it because I knew you wished us all +to be grand to-day, and yet I had my misgivings. Oh dear, oh dear! +It was five-and-twenty shillings a yard."</p> + +<p>The Barchester post-horses had misbehaved in some unfortunate manner +just as Mrs. Clantantram was getting out of the chaise and had nearly +thrown her under the wheel.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clantantram belonged to other days, and therefore, though she +had but little else to recommend her, Miss Thorne was to a certain +extent fond of her. She sent the roque-laure away to be cleaned, and +lent her one of her best shawls out of her own wardrobe.</p> + +<p>The next comer was Mr. Arabin, who was immediately informed of Mrs. +Clantantram's misfortune and of her determination to pay neither +master nor post-boy, although, as she remarked, she intended to get +her lift home before she made known her mind upon that matter. Then +a good deal of rustling was heard in the sort of lobby that was used +for the ladies' outside cloaks, and the door having been thrown wide +open, the servant announced, not in the most confident of voices, +Mrs. Lookaloft, and the Miss Lookalofts, and Mr. Augustus Lookaloft.</p> + +<p>Poor man!—we mean the footman. He knew, none better, that +Mrs. Lookaloft had no business there, that she was not wanted there, +and would not be welcome. But he had not the courage to tell a stout +lady with a low dress, short sleeves, and satin at eight shillings a +yard that she had come to the wrong tent; he had not dared to hint to +young ladies with white dancing shoes and long gloves that there was a +place ready for them in the paddock. And thus Mrs. Lookaloft carried +her point, broke through the guards, and made her way into the citadel. +That she would have to pass an uncomfortable time there she had +surmised before. But nothing now could rob her of the power of boasting +that she had consorted on the lawn with the squire and Miss Thorne, +with a countess, a bishop, and the county grandees, while Mrs. +Greenacre and such-like were walking about with the ploughboys in the +park. It was a great point gained by Mrs. Lookaloft, and it might be +fairly expected that from this time forward the tradesmen of Barchester +would, with undoubting pens, address her husband as T. Lookaloft, +Esquire.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lookaloft's pluck carried her through everything, and she +walked triumphant into the Ullathorne drawing-room; but her children +did feel a little abashed at the sort of reception they met with. It +was not in Miss Thorne's heart to insult her own guests, but neither +was it in her disposition to overlook such effrontery.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Lookaloft, is this you?" said she. "And your daughters and +son? Well, we're very glad to see you, but I'm sorry you've come in +such low dresses, as we are all going out of doors. Could we lend +you anything?"</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, no thank ye, Miss Thorne," said the mother; "the girls and +myself are quite used to low dresses, when we're out."</p> + +<p>"Are you, indeed?" said Miss Thorne shuddering—but the +shudder was lost on Mrs. Lookaloft.</p> + +<p>"And where's Lookaloft?" said the master of the house, coming up to +welcome his tenant's wife. Let the faults of the family be what they +would, he could not but remember that their rent was well paid; he +was therefore not willing to give them a cold shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Such a headache, Mr. Thorne!" said Mrs. Lookaloft. "In fact he +couldn't stir, or you may be certain on such a day he would not have +absented hisself."</p> + +<p>"Dear me," said Miss Thorne. "If he is so ill, I'm sure you'd wish +to be with him."</p> + +<p>"Not at all!" said Mrs. Lookaloft. "Not at all, Miss Thorne. It is +only bilious you know, and when he's that way, he can bear nobody +nigh him."</p> + +<p>The fact, however, was that Mr. Lookaloft, having either more sense +or less courage than his wife, had not chosen to intrude on Miss +Thorne's drawing-room, and as he could not very well have gone among +the plebeians while his wife was with the patricians, he thought it +most expedient to remain at Rosebank.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lookaloft soon found herself on a sofa, and the Miss Lookalofts +on two chairs, while Mr. Augustus stood near the door; and here they +remained till in due time they were seated, all four together, at the +bottom of the dining-room table.</p> + +<p>Then the Grantlys came—the archdeacon and Mrs. Grantly +and the two girls, and Dr. Gwynne and Mr. Harding. As ill-luck would +have it, they were closely followed by Dr. Stanhope's carriage. As +Eleanor looked out of the carriage window, she saw her brother-in-law +helping the ladies out and threw herself back into her seat, dreading +to be discovered. She had had an odious journey. Mr. Slope's civility +had been more than ordinarily greasy; and now, though he had not in +fact said anything which she could notice, she had for the first time +entertained a suspicion that he was intending to make love to her. Was +it after all true that she had been conducting herself in a way that +justified the world in thinking that she liked the man? After all, +could it be possible that the archdeacon and Mr. Arabin were right, and +that she was wrong? Charlotte Stanhope had also been watching Mr. Slope +and had come to the conclusion that it behoved her brother to lose no +further time, if he meant to gain the widow. She almost regretted that +it had not been contrived that Bertie should be at Ullathorne before +them.</p> + +<p>Dr. Grantly did not see his sister-in-law in company with Mr. Slope, +but Mr. Arabin did. Mr. Arabin came out with Mr. Thorne to the front +door to welcome Mrs. Grantly, and he remained in the courtyard till +all their party had passed on. Eleanor hung back in the carriage as +long as she well could, but she was nearest to the door, and when Mr. +Slope, having alighted, offered her his hand, she had no alternative +but to take it. Mr. Arabin, standing at the open door while Mrs. +Grantly was shaking hands with someone within, saw a clergyman alight +from the carriage whom he at once knew to be Mr. Slope, and then he +saw this clergyman hand out Mrs. Bold. Having seen so much, Mr. +Arabin, rather sick at heart, followed Mrs. Grantly into the house.</p> + +<p>Eleanor was, however, spared any further immediate degradation, for +Dr. Stanhope gave her his arm across the courtyard, and Mr. Slope was +fain to throw away his attention upon Charlotte.</p> + +<p>They had hardly passed into the house, and from the house to the +lawn, when, with a loud rattle and such noise as great men and great +women are entitled to make in their passage through the world, the +Proudies drove up. It was soon apparent that no everyday comer was at +the door. One servant whispered to another that it was the bishop, and +the word soon ran through all the hangers-on and strange grooms and +coachmen about the place. There was quite a little cortège to +see the bishop and his "lady" walk across the courtyard, and the good +man was pleased to see that the church was held in such respect in the +parish of St. Ewold's.</p> + +<p>And now the guests came fast and thick, and the lawn began to be +crowded, and the room to be full. Voices buzzed, silk rustled +against silk, and muslin crumpled against muslin. Miss Thorne became +more happy than she had been, and again bethought her of her sports. +There were targets and bows and arrows prepared at the further end of +the lawn. Here the gardens of the place encroached with a somewhat +wide sweep upon the paddock and gave ample room for the doings of the +toxophilites. Miss Thorne got together such daughters of Diana as +could bend a bow and marshalled them to the targets. There were the +Grantly girls and the Proudie girls and the Chadwick girls, and the +two daughters of the burly chancellor, and Miss Knowle; and with them +went Frederick and Augustus Chadwick, and young Knowle of Knowle +Park, and Frank Foster of the Elms, and Mr. Vellem Deeds, the dashing +attorney of the High Street, and the Rev. Mr. Green, and the Rev. Mr. +Brown, and the Rev. Mr. White, all of whom, as in duty bound, +attended the steps of the three Miss Proudies.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever ride at the quintain, Mr. Foster?" said Miss Thorne as +she walked with her party across the lawn.</p> + +<p>"The quintain?" said young Foster, who considered himself a dab at +horsemanship. "Is it a sort of gate, Miss Thorne?"</p> + +<p>Miss Thorne had to explain the noble game she spoke of, and Frank +Foster had to own that he never had ridden at the quintain.</p> + +<p>"Would you like to come and see?" said Miss Thorne. "There'll be +plenty here you know without you, if you like it."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't mind," said Frank. "I suppose the ladies can come +too."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Miss Thorne; "those who like it. I have no doubt +they'll go to see your prowess, if you'll ride, Mr. Foster."</p> + +<p>Mr. Foster looked down at a most unexceptionable pair of pantaloons, +which had arrived from London only the day before. They were the +very things, at least he thought so, for a picnic or fête +champêtre, but he was not prepared to ride in them. Nor was he +more encouraged than had been Mr. Thorne by the idea of being attacked +from behind by the bag of flour, which Miss Thorne had graphically +described to him.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know about riding, Miss Thorne," said he; "I fear I'm +not quite prepared."</p> + +<p>Miss Thorne sighed but said nothing further. She left the +toxophilites to their bows and arrows and returned towards the house. +But as she passed by the entrance to the small park, she thought that +she might at any rate encourage the yeomen by her presence, as she +could not induce her more fashionable guests to mix with them in +their manly amusements. Accordingly she once more betook herself to +the quintain post.</p> + +<p>Here to her great delight she found Harry Greenacre ready mounted, +with his pole in his hand, and a lot of comrades standing round him, +encouraging him to the assault. She stood at a little distance and +nodded to him in token of her good pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Shall I begin, ma'am?" said Harry, fingering his long staff in a +rather awkward way, while his horse moved uneasily beneath him, not +accustomed to a rider armed with such a weapon.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said Miss Thorne, standing triumphant as the queen of +beauty on an inverted tub which some chance had brought thither from +the farmyard.</p> + +<p>"Here goes then," said Harry as he wheeled his horse round to get +the necessary momentum of a sharp gallop. The quintain post stood right +before him, and the square board at which he was to tilt was fairly in +his way. If he hit that duly in the middle, and maintained his pace as +he did so, it was calculated that he would be carried out of reach of +the flour bag, which, suspended at the other end of the cross-bar on +the post, would swing round when the board was struck. It was also +calculated that if the rider did not maintain his pace, he would get a +blow from the flour bag just at the back of his head, and bear about +him the signs of his awkwardness to the great amusement of the +lookers-on.</p> + +<p>Harry Greenacre did not object to being powdered with flour in the +service of his mistress and therefore gallantly touched his steed +with his spur, having laid his lance in rest to the best of his +ability. But his ability in this respect was not great, and his +appurtenances probably not very good; consequently, he struck his +horse with his pole unintentionally on the side of the head as he +started. The animal swerved and shied and galloped off wide of the +quintain. Harry, well-accustomed to manage a horse, but not to do so +with a twelve-foot rod on his arm, lowered his right hand to the +bridle, and thus the end of the lance came to the ground and got +between the legs of the steed. Down came rider and steed and staff. +Young Greenacre was thrown some six feet over the horse's head, and +poor Miss Thorne almost fell off her tub in a swoon.</p> + +<p>"Oh, gracious, he's killed," shrieked a woman who was near him when +he fell.</p> + +<p>"The Lord be good to him! His poor mother, his poor mother!" said +another.</p> + +<p>"Well, drat them dangerous plays all the world over," said an old +crone.</p> + +<p>"He has broke his neck sure enough, if ever man did," said a fourth.</p> + +<p>Poor Miss Thorne. She heard all this and yet did not quite swoon. +She made her way through the crowd as best she could, sick herself +almost to death. Oh, his mother—his poor mother! How could +she ever forgive herself. The agony of that moment was terrific. She +could hardly get to the place where the poor lad was lying, as three or +four men in front were about the horse, which had risen with some +difficulty, but at last she found herself close to the young farmer.</p> + +<p>"Has he marked himself? For heaven's sake tell me that: has he +marked his knees?" said Harry, slowly rising and rubbing his left +shoulder with his right hand and thinking only of his horse's legs. +Miss Thorne soon found that he had not broken his neck, nor any of +his bones, nor been injured in any essential way. But from that time +forth she never instigated anyone to ride at a quintain.</p> + +<p>Eleanor left Dr. Stanhope as soon as she could do so civilly and +went in quest of her father, whom she found on the lawn in company with +Mr. Arabin. She was not sorry to find them together. She was anxious to +disabuse at any rate her father's mind as to this report which had got +abroad respecting her, and would have been well pleased to have been +able to do the same with regard to Mr. Arabin. She put her own through +her father's arm, coming up behind his back, and then tendered her hand +also to the vicar of St. Ewold's.</p> + +<p>"And how did you come?" said Mr. Harding, when the first greeting +was over.</p> + +<p>"The Stanhopes brought me," said she; "their carriage was obliged to +come twice, and has now gone back for the signora." As she spoke she +caught Mr. Arabin's eye and saw that he was looking pointedly at her +with a severe expression. She understood at once the accusation +contained in his glance. It said as plainly as an eye could speak, +"Yes, you came with the Stanhopes, but you did so in order that you +might be in company with Mr. Slope."</p> + +<p>"Our party," said she, still addressing her father, "consisted of +the doctor and Charlotte Stanhope, myself, and Mr. Slope." As she +mentioned the last name she felt her father's arm quiver slightly +beneath her touch. At the same moment Mr. Arabin turned away from them +and, joining his hands behind his back, strolled slowly away by one of +the paths.</p> + +<p>"Papa," said she, "it was impossible to help coming in the same +carriage with Mr. Slope; it was quite impossible. I had promised to +come with them before I dreamt of his coming, and afterwards I could +not get out of it without explaining and giving rise to talk. You +weren't at home, you know. I couldn't possibly help it." She said +all this so quickly that by the time her apology was spoken she was +quite out of breath.</p> + +<p>"I don't know why you should have wished to help it, my dear," said +her father.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Papa, you do. You must know, you do know all the things they +said at Plumstead. I am sure you do. You know all the archdeacon +said. How unjust he was; and Mr. Arabin too. He's a horrid man, a +horrid odious man, but—"</p> + +<p>"Who is an odious man, my dear? Mr. Arabin?"</p> + +<p>"No; but Mr. Slope. You know I mean Mr. Slope. He's the most odious +man I ever met in my life, and it was most unfortunate my having to +come here in the same carriage with him. But how could I help it?"</p> + +<p>A great weight began to move itself off Mr. Harding's mind. So, +after all, the archdeacon with all his wisdom, and Mrs. Grantly with +all her tact, and Mr. Arabin with all his talent, were in the wrong. +His own child, his Eleanor, the daughter of whom he was so proud, was +not to become the wife of a Mr. Slope. He had been about to give his +sanction to the marriage, so certified had he been of the fact, and +now he learnt that this imputed lover of Eleanor's was at any rate as +much disliked by her as by any one of the family. Mr. Harding, +however, was by no means sufficiently a man of the world to conceal +the blunder he had made. He could not pretend that he had +entertained no suspicion; he could not make believe that he had never +joined the archdeacon in his surmises. He was greatly surprised, and +gratified beyond measure, and he could not help showing that such was +the case.</p> + +<p>"My darling girl," said he, "I am so delighted, so overjoyed. My own +child; you have taken such a weight off my mind."</p> + +<p>"But surely, Papa, <i>you</i> didn't think—"</p> + +<p>"I didn't know what to think, my dear. The archdeacon told me +that—"</p> + +<p>"The archdeacon!" said Eleanor, her face lighting up with passion. +"A man like the archdeacon might, one would think, be better employed +than in traducing his sister-in-law and creating bitterness between a +father and his daughter!"</p> + +<p>"He didn't mean to do that, Eleanor."</p> + +<p>"What did he mean then? Why did he interfere with me and fill your +mind with such falsehood?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind it now, my child; never mind it now. We shall all know +you better now."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa, that you should have thought it! That you should have +suspected me!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean by suspicion, Eleanor. There would be +nothing disgraceful, you know, nothing wrong in such a marriage. +Nothing that could have justified my interfering as your father." +And Mr. Harding would have proceeded in his own defence to make out +that Mr. Slope after all was a very good sort of man and a very +fitting second husband for a young widow, had he not been interrupted +by Eleanor's greater energy.</p> + +<p>"It would be disgraceful," said she; "it would be wrong; it would be +abominable. Could I do such a horrid thing, I should expect no one +to speak to me. Ugh—" and she shuddered as she thought of the +matrimonial torch which her friends had been so ready to light on her +behalf. "I don't wonder at Dr. Grantly; I don't wonder at Susan; +but, oh, Papa, I do wonder at you. How could you, how could you +believe it?" Poor Eleanor, as she thought of her father's +defalcation, could resist her tears no longer, and was forced to +cover her face with her handkerchief.</p> + +<p>The place was not very opportune for her grief. They were walking +through the shrubberies, and there were many people near them. Poor +Mr. Harding stammered out his excuse as best he could, and Eleanor +with an effort controlled her tears and returned her handkerchief to +her pocket. She did not find it difficult to forgive her father, nor +could she altogether refuse to join him in the returning gaiety of +spirit to which her present avowal gave rise. It was such a load off +his heart to think that he should not be called on to welcome Mr. +Slope as his son-in-law. It was such a relief to him to find that +his daughter's feelings and his own were now, as they ever had been, +in unison. He had been so unhappy for the last six weeks about this +wretched Mr. Slope! He was so indifferent as to the loss of the +hospital, so thankful for the recovery of his daughter, that, strong +as was the ground for Eleanor's anger, she could not find it in her +heart to be long angry with him.</p> + +<p>"Dear Papa," she said, hanging closely to his arm, "never suspect me +again: promise me that you never will. Whatever I do you may be sure +I shall tell you first; you may be sure I shall consult you."</p> + +<p>And Mr. Harding did promise, and owned his sin, and promised again. +And so, while he promised amendment and she uttered forgiveness, they +returned together to the drawing-room windows.</p> + +<p>And what had Eleanor meant when she declared that <i>whatever she +did</i>, she would tell her father first? What was she thinking of +doing?</p> + +<p>So ended the first act of the melodrama which Eleanor was called on +to perform this day at Ullathorne.</p> + + +<p><a name="c37" id="c37"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXVII</h3> +<h3>The Signora Neroni, the Countess De Courcy,<br /> +and Mrs. Proudie Meet Each Other at Ullathorne<br /> </h3> + + +<p>And now there were new arrivals. Just as Eleanor reached the +drawing-room the signora was being wheeled into it. She had been +brought out of the carriage into the dining-room and there placed on +a sofa, and was now in the act of entering the other room, by the +joint aid of her brother and sister, Mr. Arabin, and two servants in +livery. She was all in her glory, and looked so pathetically happy, +so full of affliction and grace, was so beautiful, so pitiable, and +so charming that it was almost impossible not to be glad she was +there.</p> + +<p>Miss Thorne was unaffectedly glad to welcome her. In fact, the +signora was a sort of lion; and though there was no drop of the +Leohunter blood in Miss Thorne's veins, she nevertheless did like to +see attractive people at her house. The signora was attractive, and +on her first settlement in the dining-room she had whispered two or +three soft feminine words into Miss Thorne's ear which, at the +moment, had quite touched that lady's heart.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Thorne; where is Miss Thorne?" she said as soon as her +attendants had placed her in her position just before one of the +windows, from whence she could see all that was going on upon the +lawn. "How am I to thank you for permitting a creature like me to be +here? But if you knew the pleasure you give me, I am sure you would +excuse the trouble I bring with me." And as she spoke she squeezed +the spinster's little hand between her own.</p> + +<p>"We are delighted to see you here," said Miss Thorne; "you give us +no trouble at all, and we think it a great favour conferred by you to +come and see us—don't we, Wilfred?"</p> + +<p>"A very great favour indeed," said Mr. Thorne with a gallant bow but +of a somewhat less cordial welcome than that conceded by his sister. +Mr. Thorne had heard perhaps more of the antecedents of his guest +than his sister had done, and had not as yet undergone the power of +the signora's charms.</p> + +<p>But while the mother of the last of the Neros was thus in her full +splendour, with crowds of people gazing at her and the élite of +the company standing round her couch, her glory was paled by the +arrival of the Countess De Courcy. Miss Thorne had now been waiting +three hours for the countess, and could not therefore but show very +evident gratification when the arrival at last took place. She and her +brother of course went off to welcome the titled grandees, and with +them, alas, went many of the signora's admirers.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Thorne," said the countess, while in the act of being +disrobed of her fur cloaks and rerobed in her gauze shawls, "what +dreadful roads you have; perfectly frightful."</p> + +<p>It happened that Mr. Thorne was waywarden for the district and, not +liking the attack, began to excuse his roads.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, indeed they are," said the countess not minding him in the +least; "perfectly dreadful—are they not, Margaretta? Why, +my dear Miss Thorne, we left Courcy Castle just at eleven; it was only +just past eleven, was it not, George? And—"</p> + +<p>"Just past one I think you mean," said the Honourable George, +turning from the group and eyeing the signora through his glass. The +signora gave him back his own, as the saying is, and more with it, so +that the young nobleman was forced to avert his glance and drop his +glass.</p> + +<p>"I say, Thorne," whispered he, "who the deuce is that on the sofa?"</p> + +<p>"Dr. Stanhope's daughter," whispered back Mr. Thorne. "Signora +Neroni, she calls herself."</p> + +<p>"Whew—ew—ew!" whistled the Honourable George. +"The devil she is. I have heard no end of stories about that filly. You +must positively introduce me, Thorne; you positively must."</p> + +<p>Mr. Thorne, who was respectability itself, did not quite like having +a guest about whom the Honourable George De Courcy had heard no end +of stories, but he couldn't help himself. He merely resolved that +before he went to bed he would let his sister know somewhat of the +history of the lady she was so willing to welcome. The innocence of +Miss Thorne at her time of life was perfectly charming, but even +innocence may be dangerous.</p> + +<p>"George may say what he likes," continued the countess, urging her +excuses to Miss Thorne; "I am sure we were past the castle gate +before twelve—weren't we, Margaretta?"</p> + +<p>"Upon my word I don't know," said the Lady Margaretta, "for I was +half-asleep. But I do know that I was called some time in the middle +of the night and was dressing myself before daylight."</p> + +<p>Wise people, when they are in the wrong, always put themselves right +by finding fault with the people against whom they have sinned. Lady +De Courcy was a wise woman, and therefore, having treated Miss Thorne +very badly by staying away till three o'clock, she assumed the +offensive and attacked Mr. Thorne's roads. Her daughter, not less +wise, attacked Miss Thorne's early hours. The art of doing this is +among the most precious of those usually cultivated by persons who +know how to live. There is no withstanding it. Who can go +systematically to work and, having done battle with the primary +accusation and settled that, then bring forward a countercharge and +support that also? Life is not long enough for such labours. A man +in the right relies easily on his rectitude and therefore goes about +unarmed. His very strength is his weakness. A man in the wrong +knows that he must look to his weapons; his very weakness is his +strength. The one is never prepared for combat, the other is always +ready. Therefore it is that in this world the man that is in the +wrong almost invariably conquers the man that is in the right, and +invariably despises him.</p> + +<p>A man must be an idiot or else an angel who, after the age of forty, +shall attempt to be just to his neighbours. Many like the Lady +Margaretta have learnt their lesson at a much earlier age. But this +of course depends on the school in which they have been taught.</p> + +<p>Poor Miss Thorne was altogether overcome. She knew very well that +she had been ill-treated, and yet she found herself making apologies +to Lady De Courcy. To do her ladyship justice, she received them +very graciously, and allowed herself, with her train of daughters, to +be led towards the lawn.</p> + +<p>There were two windows in the drawing-room wide open for the +countess to pass through, but she saw that there was a woman on a sofa, +at the third window, and that that woman had, as it were, a following +attached to her. Her ladyship therefore determined to investigate the +woman. The De Courcy's were hereditarily shortsighted, and had been so +for thirty centuries at least. So Lady De Courcy, who when she entered +the family had adopted the family habits, did as her son had done +before her and, taking her glass to investigate the Signora Neroni, +pressed in among the gentlemen who surrounded the couch, and bowed +slightly to those whom she chose to honour by her acquaintance.</p> + +<p>In order to get to the window she had to pass close to the front of +the couch, and as she did so she stared hard at the occupant. The +occupant, in return, stared hard at the countess. The countess, who, +since her countess-ship commenced, had been accustomed to see all +eyes not royal, ducal, or marquesal fall before her own, paused as +she went on, raised her eyebrows, and stared even harder than before. +But she had now to do with one who cared little for countesses. It +was, one may say, impossible for mortal man or woman to abash +Madeline Neroni. She opened her large, bright, lustrous eyes wider +and wider, till she seemed to be all eyes. She gazed up into the +lady's face, not as though she did it with an effort, but as if she +delighted in doing it. She used no glass to assist her effrontery, +and needed none. The faintest possible smile of derision played +round her mouth, and her nostrils were slightly dilated, as if in +sure anticipation of her triumph. And it was sure. The Countess De +Courcy, in spite of her thirty centuries and De Courcy Castle, and the +fact that Lord De Courcy was grand master of the ponies to the Prince +of Wales, had not a chance with her. At first the little circlet of +gold wavered in the countess's hand, then the hand shook, then the +circlet fell, the countess's head tossed itself into the air, and the +countess's feet shambled out to the lawn. She did not, however, go +so fast but what she heard the signora's voice, asking:</p> + +<p>"Who on earth is that woman, Mr. Slope?"</p> + +<p>"That is Lady De Courcy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, ah. I might have supposed so. Ha, ha, ha. Well, that's as +good as a play."</p> + +<p>It was as good as a play to any there who had eyes to observe it and +wit to comment on what they observed.</p> + +<p>But the Lady De Courcy soon found a congenial spirit on the lawn. +There she encountered Mrs. Proudie, and as Mrs. Proudie was not only +the wife of a bishop but was also the cousin of an earl, Lady De +Courcy considered her to be the fittest companion she was likely to +meet in that assemblage. They were accordingly delighted to see each +other. Mrs. Proudie by no means despised a countess, and as this +countess lived in the county and within a sort of extensive visiting +distance of Barchester, she was glad to have this opportunity of +ingratiating herself.</p> + +<p>"My dear Lady De Courcy, I am so delighted," said she, looking as +little grim as it was in her nature to do. "I hardly expected to see +you here. It is such a distance, and then, you know, such a crowd."</p> + +<p>"And such roads, Mrs. Proudie! I really wonder how the people ever +get about. But I don't suppose they ever do."</p> + +<p>"Well, I really don't know, but I suppose not. The Thornes don't, I +know," said Mrs. Proudie. "Very nice person, Miss Thorne, isn't +she?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, delightful, and so queer; I've known her these twenty years. A +great pet of mine is dear Miss Thorne. She is so very strange, you +know. She always makes me think of the Eskimos and the Indians. +Isn't her dress quite delightful?"</p> + +<p>"Delightful," said Mrs. Proudie. "I wonder now whether she paints. +Did you ever see such colour?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course," said Lady De Courcy; "that is, I have no doubt she +does. But, Mrs. Proudie, who is that woman on the sofa by the +window? Just step this way and you'll see her, there—" and the +countess led her to a spot where she could plainly see the signora's +well-remembered face and figure.</p> + +<p>She did not however do so without being equally well seen by the +signora. "Look, look," said that lady to Mr. Slope, who was still +standing near to her; "see the high spiritualities and temporalities +of the land in league together, and all against poor me. I'll wager +my bracelet, Mr. Slope, against your next sermon that they've taken +up their position there on purpose to pull me to pieces. Well, I +can't rush to the combat, but I know how to protect myself if the +enemy come near me."</p> + +<p>But the enemy knew better. They could gain nothing by contact with +the Signora Neroni, and they could abuse her as they pleased at a +distance from her on the lawn.</p> + +<p>"She's that horrid Italian woman, Lady De Courcy; you must have +heard of her."</p> + +<p>"What Italian woman?" said her ladyship, quite alive to the coming +story. "I don't think I've heard of any Italian woman coming into +the country. She doesn't look Italian, either."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you must have heard of her," said Mrs. Proudie. "No, she's not +absolutely Italian. She is Dr. Stanhope's daughter—Dr. +Stanhope the prebendary—and she calls herself the Signora +Neroni."</p> + +<p>"Oh-h-h-h!" exclaimed the countess.</p> + +<p>"I was sure you had heard of her," continued Mrs. Proudie. "I don't +know anything about her husband. They do say that some man named +Neroni is still alive. I believe she did marry such a man abroad, +but I do not at all know who or what he was."</p> + +<p>"Oh-h-h-h!" exclaimed the countess, shaking her head with much +intelligence, as every additional "h" fell from her lips. "I know +all about it now. I have heard George mention her. George knows all +about her. George heard about her in Rome."</p> + +<p>"She's an abominable woman, at any rate," said Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>"Insufferable," said the countess.</p> + +<p>"She made her way into the palace once, before I knew anything about +her, and I cannot tell you how dreadfully indecent her conduct was."</p> + +<p>"Was it?" said the delighted countess.</p> + +<p>"Insufferable," said the prelatess.</p> + +<p>"But why does she lie on a sofa?" asked Lady De Courcy.</p> + +<p>"She has only one leg," replied Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>"Only one leg!" said Lady De Courcy, who felt to a certain degree +dissatisfied that the signora was thus incapacitated. "Was she born +so?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said Mrs. Proudie—and her ladyship felt some +what recomforted by the assurance—"she had two. But that +Signor Neroni beat her, I believe, till she was obliged to have one +amputated. At any rate, she entirely lost the use of it."</p> + +<p>"Unfortunate creature!" said the countess, who herself knew +something of matrimonial trials.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mrs. Proudie, "one would pity her in spite of her past +bad conduct, if she now knew how to behave herself. But she does +not. She is the most insolent creature I ever put my eyes on."</p> + +<p>"Indeed she is," said Lady De Courcy.</p> + +<p>"And her conduct with men is so abominable that she is not fit to be +admitted into any lady's drawing-room."</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" said the countess, becoming again excited, happy and +merciless.</p> + +<p>"You saw that man standing near her—the clergyman with the +red hair?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes."</p> + +<p>"She has absolutely ruined that man. The bishop—or I +should rather take the blame on myself, for it was I—I +brought him down from London to Barchester. He is a tolerable preacher, +an active young man, and I therefore introduced him to the bishop. That +woman, Lady De Courcy, has got hold of him and has so disgraced him +that I am forced to require that he shall leave the palace; and I doubt +very much whether he won't lose his gown!"</p> + +<p>"Why, what an idiot the man must be!" said the countess.</p> + +<p>"You don't know the intriguing villainy of that woman," said Mrs. +Proudie, remembering her torn flounces.</p> + +<p>"But you say she has only got one leg!"</p> + +<p>"She is as full of mischief as tho' she had ten. Look at her eyes, +Lady De Courcy. Did you ever see such eyes in a decent woman's +head?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I never did, Mrs. Proudie."</p> + +<p>"And her effrontery, and her voice! I quite pity her poor father, +who is really a good sort of man."</p> + +<p>"Dr. Stanhope, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Dr. Stanhope. He is one of our prebendaries—a good, +quiet sort of man himself. But I am surprised that he should let his +daughter conduct herself as she does."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he can't help it," said the countess.</p> + +<p>"But a clergyman, you know, Lady De Courcy! He should at any rate +prevent her from exhibiting in public, if he cannot induce her to +behave at home. But he is to be pitied. I believe he has a +desperate life of it with the lot of them. That apish-looking man +there, with the long beard and the loose trousers—he is +the woman's brother. He is nearly as bad as she is. They are both of +them infidels."</p> + +<p>"Infidels!" said Lady De Courcy, "and their father a prebendary!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and likely to be the new dean, too," said Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, poor dear Dr. Trefoil!" said the countess, who had once in +her life spoken to that gentleman. "I was so distressed to hear it, +Mrs. Proudie. And so Dr. Stanhope is to be the new dean! He comes of an +excellent family, and I wish him success in spite of his daughter. +Perhaps, Mrs. Proudie, when he is dean, they'll be better able to see +the error of their ways."</p> + +<p>To this Mrs. Proudie said nothing. Her dislike of the Signora Neroni +was too deep to admit of her even hoping that that lady should see the +error of her ways. Mrs. Proudie looked on the signora as one of the +lost—one of those beyond the reach of Christian +charity—and was therefore able to enjoy the luxury of hating +her without the drawback of wishing her eventually well out of her +sins.</p> + +<p>Any further conversation between these congenial souls was prevented +by the advent of Mr. Thorne, who came to lead the countess to the +tent. Indeed, he had been desired to do so some ten minutes since, +but he had been delayed in the drawing-room by the signora. She had +contrived to detain him, to get him near to her sofa, and at last to +make him seat himself on a chair close to her beautiful arm. The +fish took the bait, was hooked, and caught, and landed. Within that +ten minutes he had heard the whole of the signora's history in such +strains as she chose to use in telling it. He learnt from the lady's +own lips the whole of that mysterious tale to which the Honourable +George had merely alluded. He discovered that the beautiful creature +lying before him had been more sinned against than sinning. She had +owned to him that she had been weak, confiding, and indifferent to +the world's opinion, and that she had therefore been ill-used, +deceived, and evil spoken of. She had spoken to him of her mutilated +limb, her youth destroyed in fullest bloom, her beauty robbed of its +every charm, her life blighted, her hopes withered, and as she did so +a tear dropped from her eye to her cheek. She had told him of these +things and asked for his sympathy.</p> + +<p>What could a good-natured, genial, Anglo-Saxon Squire Thorne do but +promise to sympathize with her? Mr. Thorne did promise to +sympathize; promised also to come and see the last of the Neros, to +hear more of those fearful Roman days, of those light and innocent +but dangerous hours which flitted by so fast on the shores of Como, +and to make himself the confidant of the signora's sorrows.</p> + +<p>We need hardly say that he dropped all idea of warning his sister +against the dangerous lady. He had been mistaken—never so +much mistaken in his life. He had always regarded that Honourable +George as a coarse, brutal-minded young man; now he was more convinced +than ever that he was so. It was by such men as the Honourable George +that the reputations of such women as Madeline Neroni were imperilled +and damaged. He would go and see the lady in her own house; he was +fully sure in his own mind of the soundness of his own judgement; if he +found her, as he believed he should do, an injured, well-disposed, +warm-hearted woman, he would get his sister Monica to invite her out to +Ullathorne.</p> + +<p>"No," said she, as at her instance he got up to leave her and +declared that he himself would attend upon her wants; "no, no, my +friend; I positively put a veto upon your doing so. What, in your +own house, with an assemblage round you such as there is here! Do +you wish to make every woman hate me and every man stare at me? I +lay a positive order on you not to come near me again to-day. Come +and see me at home. It is only at home that I can talk, it is only +at home that I really can live and enjoy myself. My days of going +out, days such as these, are rare indeed. Come and see me at home, +Mr. Thorne, and then I will not bid you to leave me."</p> + +<p>It is, we believe, common with young men of five-and-twenty to look +on their seniors—on men of, say, double their own +age—as so many stocks and stones—stocks and +stones, that is, in regard to feminine beauty. There never was a +greater mistake. Women, indeed, generally know better, but on this +subject men of one age are thoroughly ignorant of what is the very +nature of mankind of other ages. No experience of what goes on in the +world, no reading of history, no observation of life, has any effect in +teaching the truth. Men of fifty don't dance mazurkas, being generally +too fat and wheezy; nor do they sit for the hour together on +river-banks at their mistresses' feet, being somewhat afraid of +rheumatism. But for real true love—love at first sight, love to +devotion, love that robs a man of his sleep, love that "will gaze an +eagle blind," love that "will hear the lowest sound when the suspicious +tread of theft is stopped," love that is "like a Hercules, still +climbing trees in the Hesperides"—we believe the best age is from +forty-five to seventy; up to that, men are generally given to mere +flirting.</p> + +<p>At the present moment Mr. Thorne, <i>ætat</i>. fifty, was over +head and ears in love at first sight with the Signora Madeline Vesey +Neroni, nata Stanhope.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, he was sufficiently master of himself to offer his arm +with all propriety to Lady De Courcy, and the countess graciously +permitted herself to be led to the tent. Such had been Miss +Thorne's orders, as she had succeeded in inducing the bishop to lead +old Lady Knowle to the top of the dining-room. One of the baronets +was sent off in quest of Mrs. Proudie and found that lady on the lawn +not in the best of humours. Mr. Thorne and the countess had left her +too abruptly; she had in vain looked about for an attendant chaplain, +or even a stray curate; they were all drawing long bows with the +young ladies at the bottom of the lawn, or finding places for their +graceful co-toxophilites in some snug corner of the tent. In such +position Mrs. Proudie had been wont in earlier days to fall back upon +Mr. Slope, but now she could never fall back upon him again. She +gave her head one shake as she thought of her lone position, and that +shake was as good as a week deducted from Mr. Slope's longer sojourn +in Barchester. Sir Harkaway Gorse, however, relieved her present +misery, though his doing so by no means mitigated the sinning +chaplain's doom.</p> + +<p>And now the eating and drinking began in earnest. Dr. Grantly, to +his great horror, found himself leagued to Mrs. Clantantram. Mrs. +Clantantram had a great regard for the archdeacon, which was not +cordially returned, and when she, coming up to him, whispered in his +ear, "Come, Archdeacon, I'm sure you won't begrudge an old friend the +favour of your arm," and then proceeded to tell him the whole history +of her roquelaure, he resolved that he would shake her off before he +was fifteen minutes older. But latterly the archdeacon had not been +successful in his resolutions, and on the present occasion Mrs. +Clantantram stuck to him till the banquet was over.</p> + +<p>Dr. Gwynne got a baronet's wife, and Mrs. Grantly fell to the lot of +a baronet. Charlotte Stanhope attached herself to Mr. Harding in +order to make room for Bertie, who succeeded in sitting down in the +dining-room next to Mrs. Bold. To speak sooth, now that he had love +in earnest to make, his heart almost failed him.</p> + +<p>Eleanor had been right glad to avail herself of his arm, seeing that +Mr. Slope was hovering nigh her. In striving to avoid that terrible +Charybdis of a Slope she was in great danger of falling into an +unseen Scylla on the other hand, that Scylla being Bertie Stanhope. +Nothing could be more gracious than she was to Bertie. She almost +jumped at his proffered arm. Charlotte perceived this from a +distance and triumphed in her heart; Bertie felt it and was +encouraged; Mr. Slope saw it and glowered with jealousy. Eleanor and +Bertie sat down to table in the dining-room, and as she took her seat +at his right hand she found that Mr. Slope was already in possession +of the chair at her own.</p> + +<p>As these things were going on in the dining-room, Mr. Arabin was +hanging enraptured and alone over the signora's sofa, and Eleanor +from her seat could look through the open door and see that he was +doing so.</p> + + +<p><a name="c38" id="c38"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h3> +<h3>The Bishop Sits Down to Breakfast, and the Dean Dies<br /> </h3> + + +<p>The Bishop of Barchester said grace over the well-spread board in +the Ullathorne dining-room; while he did so, the last breath was flying +from the Dean of Barchester as he lay in his sick room in the deanery. +When the Bishop of Barchester raised his first glass of champagne to +his lips, the deanship of Barchester was a good thing in the gift of +the prime minister. Before the Bishop of Barchester had left the table, +the minister of the day was made aware of the fact at his country-seat +in Hampshire, and had already turned over in his mind the names of five +very respectable aspirants for the preferment. It is at present only +necessary to say that Mr. Slope's name was not among the five.</p> + +<p>"'Twas merry in the hall when the beards wagged all," and the +clerical beards wagged merrily in the hall of Ullathorne that day. +It was not till after the last cork had been drawn, the last speech +made, the last nut cracked, that tidings reached and were whispered +about that the poor dean was no more. It was well for the happiness +of the clerical beards that this little delay took place, as +otherwise decency would have forbidden them to wag at all.</p> + +<p>But there was one sad man among them that day. Mr. Arabin's beard +did not wag as it should have done. He had come there hoping the +best, striving to think the best, about Eleanor; turning over in his +mind all the words he remembered to have fallen from her about Mr. +Slope, and trying to gather from them a conviction unfavourable to +his rival. He had not exactly resolved to come that day to some +decisive proof as to the widow's intention, but he had meant, if +possible, to recultivate his friendship with Eleanor, and in his +present frame of mind any such recultivation must have ended in a +declaration of love.</p> + +<p>He had passed the previous night alone at his new parsonage, and it +was the first night that he had so passed. It had been dull and +sombre enough. Mrs. Grantly had been right in saying that a +priestess would be wanting at St. Ewold's. He had sat there alone +with his glass before him, and then with his tea-pot, thinking about +Eleanor Bold. As is usual in such meditations, he did little but +blame her; blame her for liking Mr. Slope, and blame her for not +liking him; blame her for her cordiality to himself, and blame her +for her want of cordiality; blame her for being stubborn, headstrong, +and passionate; and yet the more he thought of her the higher she +rose in his affection. If only it should turn out, if only it could +be made to turn out, that she had defended Mr. Slope, not from love, +but on principle, all would be right. Such principle in itself would +be admirable, lovable, womanly; he felt that he could be pleased to +allow Mr. Slope just so much favour as that. But if—And then +Mr. Arabin poked his fire most unnecessarily, spoke crossly to his new +parlour-maid who came in for the tea-things, and threw himself back in +his chair determined to go to sleep. Why had she been so stiff-necked +when asked a plain question? She could not but have known in what light +he regarded her. Why had she not answered a plain question and so put +an end to his misery? Then, instead of going to sleep in his armchair, +Mr. Arabin walked about the room as though he had been possessed.</p> + +<p>On the following morning, when he attended Miss Thorne's behests, he +was still in a somewhat confused state. His first duty had been to +converse with Mrs. Clantantram, and that lady had found it impossible +to elicit the slightest sympathy from him on the subject of her +roquelaure. Miss Thorne had asked him whether Mrs. Bold was coming +with the Grantlys, and the two names of Bold and Grantly together had +nearly made him jump from his seat.</p> + +<p>He was in this state of confused uncertainty, hope, and doubt, when +he saw Mr. Slope, with his most polished smile, handing Eleanor out of +her carriage. He thought of nothing more. He never considered whether +the carriage belonged to her or to Mr. Slope, or to anyone else to whom +they might both be mutually obliged without any concert between +themselves. This sight in his present state of mind was quite enough to +upset him and his resolves. It was clear as noon-day. Had he seen her +handed into a carriage by Mr. Slope at a church door with a white veil +over her head, the truth could not be more manifest. He went into the +house and, as we have seen, soon found himself walking with Mr. +Harding. Shortly afterwards Eleanor came up, and then he had to leave +his companion and either go about alone or find another. While in this +state he was encountered by the archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," said Dr. Grantly, "if it be true that Mr. Slope and Mrs. +Bold came here together. Susan says she is almost sure she saw their +faces in the same carriage as she got out of her own."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin had nothing for it but to bear his testimony to the +correctness of Mrs. Grantly's eyesight.</p> + +<p>"It is perfectly shameful," said the archdeacon; "or, I should +rather say, shameless. She was asked here as my guest, and if she be +determined to disgrace herself, she should have feeling enough not to +do so before my immediate friends. I wonder how that man got himself +invited. I wonder whether she had the face to bring him."</p> + +<p>To this Mr. Arabin could answer nothing, nor did he wish to answer +anything. Though he abused Eleanor to himself, he did not choose to +abuse her to anyone else, nor was he well-pleased to hear anyone else +speak ill of her. Dr. Grantly, however, was very angry and did not +spare his sister-in-law. Mr. Arabin therefore left him as soon as he +could and wandered back into the house.</p> + +<p>He had not been there long when the signora was brought in. For some +time he kept himself out of temptation, and merely hovered round her +at a distance; but as soon as Mr. Thorne had left her, he yielded +himself up to the basilisk and allowed himself to be made prey of.</p> + +<p>It is impossible to say how the knowledge had been acquired, but the +signora had a sort of instinctive knowledge that Mr. Arabin was an +admirer of Mrs. Bold. Men hunt foxes by the aid of dogs, and are +aware that they do so by the strong organ of smell with which the dog +is endowed. They do not, however, in the least comprehend how such a +sense can work with such acuteness. The organ by which women +instinctively, as it were, know and feel how other women are regarded +by men, and how also men are regarded by other women, is equally +strong, and equally incomprehensible. A glance, a word, a motion, +suffices: by some such acute exercise of her feminine senses the +signora was aware that Mr. Arabin loved Eleanor Bold; therefore, by a +further exercise of her peculiar feminine propensities, it was quite +natural for her to entrap Mr. Arabin into her net.</p> + +<p>The work was half-done before she came to Ullathorne, and when could +she have a better opportunity of completing it? She had had almost +enough of Mr. Slope, though she could not quite resist the fun of +driving a very sanctimonious clergyman to madness by a desperate and +ruinous passion. Mr. Thorne had fallen too easily to give much +pleasure in the chase. His position as a man of wealth might make +his alliance of value, but as a lover he was very second-rate. We +may say that she regarded him somewhat as a sportsman does a +pheasant. The bird is so easily shot that he would not be worth the +shooting were it not for the very respectable appearance that he +makes in a larder. The signora would not waste much time in shooting +Mr. Thorne, but still he was worth bagging for family uses.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Arabin was game of another sort. The signora was herself +possessed of quite sufficient intelligence to know that Mr. Arabin +was a man more than usually intellectual. She knew also that, as a +clergyman, he was of a much higher stamp than Mr. Slope and that, as +a gentleman, he was better educated than Mr. Thorne. She would never +have attempted to drive Mr. Arabin into ridiculous misery as she did +Mr. Slope, nor would she think it possible to dispose of him in ten +minutes as she had done with Mr. Thorne.</p> + +<p>Such were her reflexions about Mr. Arabin. As to Mr. Arabin, it +cannot be said that he reflected at all about the signora. He knew +that she was beautiful, and he felt that she was able to charm him. +He required charming in his present misery, and therefore he went and +stood at the head of her couch. She knew all about it. Such were +her peculiar gifts. It was her nature to see that he required +charming, and it was her province to charm him. As the Eastern idler +swallows his dose of opium, as the London reprobate swallows his dose +of gin, so with similar desires and for similar reasons did Mr. +Arabin prepare to swallow the charms of the Signora Neroni.</p> + +<p>"Why an't you shooting with bows and arrows, Mr. Arabin?" said she, +when they were nearly alone together in the drawing-room, "or talking +with young ladies in shady bowers, or turning your talents to account +in some way? What was a bachelor like you asked here for? Don't you +mean to earn your cold chicken and champagne? Were I you, I should +be ashamed to be so idle."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin murmured some sort of answer. Though he wished to be +charmed, he was hardly yet in a mood to be playful in return.</p> + +<p>"Why what ails you, Mr. Arabin?" said she. "Here you are in your own +parish—Miss Thorne tells me that her party is given expressly +in your honour—and yet you are the only dull man at it. Your +friend Mr. Slope was with me a few minutes since, full of life and +spirits; why don't you rival him?"</p> + +<p>It was not difficult for so acute an observer as Madeline Neroni to +see that she had hit the nail on the head and driven the bolt home. +Mr. Arabin winced visibly before her attack, and she knew at once +that he was jealous of Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"But I look on you and Mr. Slope as the very antipodes of men," said +she. "There is nothing in which you are not each the reverse of the +other, except in belonging to the same profession—and even in +that you are so unlike as perfectly to maintain the rule. He is +gregarious; you are given to solitude. He is active; you are passive. +He works; you think. He likes women; you despise them. He is fond of +position and power; and so are you, but for directly different reasons. +He loves to be praised; you very foolishly abhor it. He will gain his +rewards, which will be an insipid, useful wife, a comfortable income, +and a reputation for sanctimony; you will also gain yours."</p> + +<p>"Well, and what will they be?" said Mr. Arabin, who knew that he was +being flattered and yet suffered himself to put up with it. "What +will be my rewards?"</p> + +<p>"The heart of some woman whom you will be too austere to own that +you love, and the respect of some few friends which you will be too +proud to own that you value."</p> + +<p>"Rich rewards," said he; "but of little worth, if they are to be so +treated."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are not to look for such success as awaits Mr. Slope. He is +born to be a successful man. He suggests to himself an object and +then starts for it with eager intention. Nothing will deter him from +his pursuit. He will have no scruples, no fears, no hesitation. His +desire is to be a bishop with a rising family—the wife will +come first, and in due time the apron. You will see all this, and +then—"</p> + +<p>"Well, and what then?"</p> + +<p>"Then you will begin to wish that you had done the same."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin looked placidly out at the lawn and, resting his shoulder +on the head of the sofa, rubbed his chin with his hand. It was a +trick he had when he was thinking deeply, and what the signora said +made him think. Was it not all true? Would he not hereafter look +back, if not at Mr. Slope, at some others, perhaps not equally gifted +with himself, who had risen in the world while he had lagged behind, +and then wish that he had done the same?</p> + +<p>"Is not such the doom of all speculative men of talent?" said she. +"Do they not all sit wrapt as you now are, cutting imaginary silken +cords with their fine edges, while those not so highly tempered sever +the everyday Gordian knots of the world's struggle and win wealth and +renown? Steel too highly polished, edges too sharp, do not do for +this world's work, Mr. Arabin."</p> + +<p>Who was this woman that thus read the secrets of his heart and +re-uttered to him the unwelcome bodings of his own soul? He looked +full into her face when she had done speaking and said, "Am I one of +those foolish blades, too sharp and too fine to do a useful day's +work?"</p> + +<p>"Why do you let the Slopes of the world outdistance you?" said she. +"Is not the blood in your veins as warm as his? Does not your pulse +beat as fast? Has not God made you a man and intended you to do a +man's work here, ay, and to take a man's wages also?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin sat ruminating, rubbing his face, and wondering why these +things were said to him, but he replied nothing. The signora went +on:</p> + +<p>"The greatest mistake any man ever made is to suppose that the good +things of the world are not worth the winning. And it is a mistake +so opposed to the religion which you preach! Why does God permit his +bishops one after another to have their five thousands and ten +thousands a year if such wealth be bad and not worth having? Why are +beautiful things given to us, and luxuries and pleasant enjoyments, +if they be not intended to be used? They must be meant for someone, +and what is good for a layman surely cannot be bad for a clerk. You +try to despise these good things, but you only try—you don't +succeed."</p> + +<p>"Don't I?" said Mr. Arabin, still musing, not knowing what he said.</p> + +<p>"I ask you the question: do you succeed?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin looked at her piteously. It seemed to him as though he +were being interrogated by some inner spirit of his own, to whom he +could not refuse an answer, and to whom he did not dare to give a +false reply.</p> + +<p>"Come, Mr. Arabin, confess; do you succeed? Is money so +contemptible? Is worldly power so worthless? Is feminine beauty a +trifle to be so slightly regarded by a wise man?"</p> + +<p>"Feminine beauty!" said he, gazing into her face, as though all the +feminine beauty in the world were concentrated there. "Why do you +say I do not regard it?"</p> + +<p>"If you look at me like that, Mr. Arabin, I shall alter my +opinion—or should do so, were I not of course aware that I +have no beauty of my own worth regarding."</p> + +<p>The gentleman blushed crimson, but the lady did not blush at all. A +slightly increased colour animated her face, just so much so as to +give her an air of special interest. She expected a compliment from +her admirer, but she was rather gratified than otherwise by finding +that he did not pay it to her. Messrs. Slope and Thorne, Messrs. +Brown, Jones, and Robinson, they all paid her compliments. She was +rather in hopes that she would ultimately succeed in inducing Mr. +Arabin to abuse her.</p> + +<p>"But your gaze," said she, "is one of wonder, not of admiration. You +wonder at my audacity in asking you such questions about yourself."</p> + +<p>"Well, I do rather," said he.</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless, I expect an answer, Mr. Arabin. Why were women made +beautiful if men are not to regard them?"</p> + +<p>"But men do regard them," he replied.</p> + +<p>"And why not you?"</p> + +<p>"You are begging the question, Madame Neroni."</p> + +<p>"I am sure I shall beg nothing, Mr. Arabin, which you will not +grant, and I do beg for an answer. Do you not as a rule think women +below your notice as companions? Let us see. There is the Widow Bold +looking round at you from her chair this minute. What would you say to +her as a companion for life?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin, rising from his position, leaned over the sofa and +looked through the drawing-room door to the place where Eleanor was +seated between Bertie Stanhope and Mr. Slope. She at once caught his +glance and averted her own. She was not pleasantly placed in her +present position. Mr. Slope was doing his best to attract her +attention, and she was striving to prevent his doing so by talking to +Mr. Stanhope, while her mind was intently fixed on Mr. Arabin and +Madame Neroni. Bertie Stanhope endeavoured to take advantage of her +favours, but he was thinking more of the manner in which he would by +and by throw himself at her feet than of amusing her at the present +moment.</p> + +<p>"There," said the signora. "She was stretching her beautiful neck to +look at you, and now you have disturbed her. Well, I declare I +believe I am wrong about you; I believe that you do think Mrs. Bold a +charming woman. Your looks seem to say so, and by her looks I should +say that she is jealous of me. Come, Mr. Arabin, confide in me, and +if it is so, I'll do all in my power to make up the match."</p> + +<p>It is needless to say that the signora was not very sincere in her +offer. She was never sincere on such subjects. She never expected +others to be so, nor did she expect others to think her so. Such +matters were her playthings, her billiard table, her hounds and +hunters, her waltzes and polkas, her picnics and summer-day +excursions. She had little else to amuse her, and therefore played at +love-making in all its forms. She was now playing at it with Mr. +Arabin, and did not at all expect the earnestness and truth of his +answer.</p> + +<p>"All in your power would be nothing," said he, "for Mrs. Bold is, I +imagine, already engaged to another."</p> + +<p>"Then you own the impeachment yourself."</p> + +<p>"You cross-question me rather unfairly," he replied, "and I do not +know why I answer you at all. Mrs. Bold is a very beautiful woman, +and as intelligent as beautiful. It is impossible to know her +without admiring her."</p> + +<p>"So you think the widow a very beautiful woman?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed I do."</p> + +<p>"And one that would grace the parsonage of St. Ewold's."</p> + +<p>"One that would well grace any man's house."</p> + +<p>"And you really have the effrontery to tell me this," said she; "to +tell me, who, as you very well know, set up to be a beauty myself, +and who am at this very moment taking such an interest in your +affairs, you really have the effrontery to tell me that Mrs. Bold is +the most beautiful woman you know."</p> + +<p>"I did not say so," said Mr. Arabin; "you are more +beautiful—"</p> + +<p>"Ah, come now, that is something like. I thought you could not be so +unfeeling."</p> + +<p>"You are more beautiful, perhaps more clever."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, thank you, Mr. Arabin. I knew that you and I should be +friends."</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>"Not a word further. I will not hear a word further. If you talk +till midnight you cannot improve what you have said."</p> + +<p>"But Madame Neroni, Mrs. Bold—"</p> + +<p>"I will not hear a word about Mrs. Bold. Dread thoughts of +strychnine did pass across my brain, but she is welcome to the second +place."</p> + +<p>"Her place—"</p> + +<p>"I won't hear anything about her or her place. I am satisfied, and +that is enough. But Mr. Arabin, I am dying with hunger; beautiful +and clever as I am, you know I cannot go to my food, and yet you do +not bring it to me."</p> + +<p>This at any rate was so true as to make it necessary that Mr. Arabin +should act upon it, and he accordingly went into the dining-room and +supplied the signora's wants.</p> + +<p>"And yourself?" said she.</p> + +<p>"Oh," said he, "I am not hungry. I never eat at this hour."</p> + +<p>"Come, come, Mr. Arabin, don't let love interfere with your +appetite. It never does with mine. Give me half a glass more champagne +and then go to the table. Mrs. Bold will do me an injury if you stay +talking to me any longer."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin did as he was bid. He took her plate and glass from her +and, going into the dining-room, helped himself to a sandwich from +the crowded table and began munching it in a corner.</p> + +<p>As he was doing so Miss Thorne, who had hardly sat down for a +moment, came into the room and, seeing him standing, was greatly +distressed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear Mr. Arabin," said she, "have you never sat down yet? +I am so distressed. You of all men, too."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin assured her that he had only just come into the room.</p> + +<p>"That is the very reason why you should lose no more time. Come, +I'll make room for you. Thank'ee, my dear," she said, seeing that +Mrs. Bold was making an attempt to move from her chair, "but I would +not for worlds see you stir, for all the ladies would think it +necessary to follow. But, perhaps, if Mr. Stanhope has +done—just for a minute, Mr. Stanhope, till I can get +another chair."</p> + +<p>And so Bertie had to rise to make way for his rival. This he did, as +he did everything, with an air of good-humoured pleasantry which made +it impossible for Mr. Arabin to refuse the proffered seat.</p> + +<p>"His bishopric let another take," said Bertie, the quotation being +certainly not very appropriate either for the occasion or the person +spoken to. "I have eaten and am satisfied; Mr. Arabin, pray take my +chair. I wish for your sake that it really was a bishop's seat."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin did sit down, and as he did so Mrs. Bold got up as though +to follow her neighbour.</p> + +<p>"Pray, pray don't move," said Miss Thorne, almost forcing Eleanor +back into her chair. "Mr. Stanhope is not going to leave us. He +will stand behind you like a true knight as he is. And now I think +of it, Mr. Arabin, let me introduce you to Mr. Slope. Mr. Slope, Mr. +Arabin." And the two gentlemen bowed stiffly to each other across +the lady whom they both intended to marry, while the other gentleman +who also intended to marry her stood behind, watching them.</p> + +<p>The two had never met each other before, and the present was +certainly not a good opportunity for much cordial conversation, even +if cordial conversation between them had been possible. As it was, +the whole four who formed the party seemed as though their tongues +were tied. Mr. Slope, who was wide awake to what he hoped was his +coming opportunity, was not much concerned in the interest of the +moment. His wish was to see Eleanor move, that he might pursue her. +Bertie was not exactly in the same frame of mind; the evil day was +near enough; there was no reason why he should precipitate it. He +had made up his mind to marry Eleanor Bold if he could, and was +resolved to-day to take the first preliminary step towards doing so. +But there was time enough before him. He was not going to make an +offer of marriage over the table-cloth. Having thus good-naturedly +made way for Mr. Arabin, he was willing also to let him talk to the +future Mrs. Stanhope as long as they remained in their present +position.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin, having bowed to Mr. Slope, began eating his food without +saying a word further. He was full of thought, and though he ate he +did so unconsciously.</p> + +<p>But poor Eleanor was the most to be pitied. The only friend on whom +she thought she could rely was Bertie Stanhope, and he, it seemed, +was determined to desert her. Mr. Arabin did not attempt to address +her. She said a few words in reply to some remarks from Mr. Slope +and then, feeling the situation too much for her, started from her +chair in spite of Miss Thorne and hurried from the room. Mr. Slope +followed her, and young Stanhope lost the occasion.</p> + +<p>Madeline Neroni, when she was left alone, could not help pondering +much on the singular interview she had had with this singular man. +Not a word that she had spoken to him had been intended by her to be +received as true, and yet he had answered her in the very spirit of +truth. He had done so, and she had been aware that he had so done. +She had wormed from him his secret, and he, debarred as it would seem +from man's usual privilege of lying, had innocently laid bare his +whole soul to her. He loved Eleanor Bold, but Eleanor was not in his +eye so beautiful as herself. He would fain have Eleanor for his +wife, but yet he had acknowledged that she was the less gifted of the +two. The man had literally been unable to falsify his thoughts when +questioned, and had been compelled to be true <i>malgré lui</i>, +even when truth must have been so disagreeable to him.</p> + +<p>This teacher of men, this Oxford pundit, this double-distilled +quintessence of university perfection, this writer of religious +treatises, this speaker of ecclesiastical speeches, had been like a +little child in her hands; she had turned him inside out and read his +very heart as she might have done that of a young girl. She could +not but despise him for his facile openness, and yet she liked him +for it, too. It was a novelty to her, a new trait in a man's +character. She felt also that she could never so completely make a +fool of him as she did of the Slopes and Thornes. She felt that she +never could induce Mr. Arabin to make protestations to her that were +not true, or to listen to nonsense that was mere nonsense.</p> + +<p>It was quite clear that Mr. Arabin was heartily in love with Mrs. +Bold; and the signora, with very unwonted good nature, began to turn +it over in her mind whether she could not do him a good turn. Of +course Bertie was to have the first chance. It was an understood +family arrangement that her brother was, if possible, to marry the +Widow Bold. Madeline knew too well his necessities and what was due +to her sister to interfere with so excellent a plan, as long as it +might be feasible. But she had strong suspicion that it was not +feasible. She did not think it likely that Mrs. Bold would accept a +man in her brother's position, and she had frequently said so to +Charlotte. She was inclined to believe that Mr. Slope had more +chance of success, and with her it would be a labour of love to rob +Mr. Slope of his wife.</p> + +<p>And so the signora resolved, should Bertie fail, to do a +good-natured act for once in her life and give up Mr. Arabin to the +woman whom he loved.</p> + + +<p><a name="c39" id="c39"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXIX</h3> +<h3>The Lookalofts and the Greenacres<br /> </h3> + + +<p>On the whole, Miss Thorne's provision for the amusement and feeding +of the outer classes in the exoteric paddock was not unsuccessful.</p> + +<p>Two little drawbacks to the general happiness did take place, but +they were of a temporary nature, and apparent rather than real. The +first was the downfall of young Harry Greenacre, and the other the +uprise of Mrs. Lookaloft and her family.</p> + +<p>As to the quintain, it became more popular among the boys on foot +than it would ever have been among the men on horseback, even had +young Greenacre been more successful. It was twirled round and round +till it was nearly twirled out of the ground, and the bag of flour +was used with great gusto in powdering the backs and heads of all who +could be coaxed within its vicinity.</p> + +<p>Of course it was reported all through the assemblage that Harry was +dead, and there was a pathetic scene between him and his mother when +it was found that he had escaped scatheless from the fall. A good +deal of beer was drunk on the occasion, and the quintain was +"dratted" and "bothered," and very generally anathematized by all the +mothers who had young sons likely to be placed in similar jeopardy. +But the affair of Mrs. Lookaloft was of a more serious nature.</p> + +<p>"I do tell 'ee plainly—face to face—she be there +in madam's drawing-room; herself and Gussy, and them two walloping +gals, dressed up to their very eyeses." This was said by a very +positive, very indignant, and very fat farmer's wife, who was sitting +on the end of a bench leaning on the handle of a huge, cotton umbrella.</p> + +<p>"But: you didn't zee her, Dame Guffern?" said Mrs. Greenacre, whom +this information, joined to the recent peril undergone by her son, +almost overpowered. Mr. Greenacre held just as much land as Mr. +Lookaloft, paid his rent quite as punctually, and his opinion in the +vestry room was reckoned to be every whit as good. Mrs. Lookaloft's +rise in the world had been wormwood to Mrs. Greenacre. She had no +taste herself for the sort of finery which had converted Barleystubb +farm into Rosebank and which had occasionally graced Mr. Lookaloft's +letters with the dignity of esquirehood. She had no wish to convert +her own homestead into Violet Villa, or to see her goodman go about +with a new-fangled handle to his name. But it was a mortal injury to +her that Mrs. Lookaloft should be successful in her hunt after such +honours. She had abused and ridiculed Mrs. Lookaloft to the extent +of her little power. She had pushed against her going out of church, +and had excused herself with all the easiness of equality. "Ah, +dame, I axes pardon, but you be grown so mortal stout these times." +She had inquired with apparent cordiality of Mr. Lookaloft after "the +woman that owned him," and had, as she thought, been on the whole +able to hold her own pretty well against her aspiring neighbour. +Now, however, she found herself distinctly put into a separate and +inferior class. Mrs. Lookaloft was asked into the Ullathorne +drawing-room merely because she called her house Rosebank and had +talked over her husband into buying pianos and silk dresses instead +of putting his money by to stock farms for his sons.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Greenacre, much as she reverenced Miss Thorne, and highly as +she respected her husband's landlord, could not but look on this as an +act of injustice done to her and hers. Hitherto the Lookalofts had +never been recognized as being of a different class from the +Greenacres. Their pretensions were all self-pretensions, their finery +was all paid for by themselves and not granted to them by others. The +local sovereigns of the vicinity, the district fountains of honour, had +hitherto conferred on them the stamp of no rank. Hitherto their +crinoline petticoats, late hours, and mincing gait had been a fair +subject of Mrs. Greenacre's raillery, and this raillery had been a +safety-valve for her envy. Now, however, and from henceforward, the +case would be very different. Now the Lookalofts would boast that their +aspirations had been sanctioned by the gentry of the country; now they +would declare with some show of truth that their claims to peculiar +consideration had been recognized. They had sat as equal guests in the +presence of bishops and baronets; they had been curtseyed to by Miss +Thorne on her own drawing-room carpet; they were about to sit down to +table in company with a live countess! Bab Lookaloft, as she had always +been called by the young Greenacres in the days of their juvenile +equality, might possibly sit next to the Honourable George, and that +wretched Gussy might be permitted to hand a custard to the Lady +Margaretta De Courcy.</p> + +<p>The fruition of those honours, or such of them as fell to the lot of +the envied family, was not such as should have caused much envy. The +attention paid to the Lookalofts by the De Courcys was very limited, +and the amount of entertainment which they received from the bishop's +society was hardly in itself a recompense for the dull monotony of +their day. But of what they endured Mrs. Greenacre took no account; +she thought only of what she considered they must enjoy, and of the +dreadfully exalted tone of living which would be manifested by the +Rosebank family, as the consequence of their present distinction.</p> + +<p>"But did 'ee zee 'em there, dame, did 'ee zee 'em there with your +own eyes?" asked poor Mrs. Greenacre, still hoping that there might be +some ground for doubt.</p> + +<p>"And how could I do that, unless so be I was there myself?" asked +Mrs. Guffern. "I didn't zet eyes on none of them this blessed +morning, but I zee'd them as did. You know our John; well, he will +be for keeping company with Betsey Rusk, madam's own maid, you know. +And Betsey isn't none of your common kitchen wenches. So Betsey, she +come out to our John, you know, and she's always vastly polite to me, +is Betsey Rusk, I must say. So before she took so much as one turn +with John she told me every ha'porth that was going on up in the +house."</p> + +<p>"Did she now?" said Mrs. Greenacre.</p> + +<p>"Indeed she did," said Mrs. Guffern.</p> + +<p>"And she told you them people was up there in the drawing-room?"</p> + +<p>"She told me she zee'd 'em come in—that they was dressed +finer by half nor any of the family, with all their neckses and buzoms +stark naked as a born babby."</p> + +<p>"The minxes!" exclaimed Mrs. Greenacre, who felt herself more put +about by this than any other mark of aristocratic distinction which +her enemies had assumed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed," continued Mrs. Guffern, "as naked as you please, +while all the quality was dressed just as you and I be, Mrs. +Greenacre."</p> + +<p>"Drat their impudence," said Mrs. Greenacre, from whose well-covered +bosom all milk of human kindness was receding, as far as the family +of the Lookalofts were concerned.</p> + +<p>"So says I," said Mrs. Guffern; "and so says my goodman, Thomas +Guffern, when he hear'd it. 'Molly,' says he to me, 'if ever you +takes to going about o' mornings with yourself all naked in them +ways, I begs you won't come back no more to the old house.' So says +I, 'Thomas, no more I wull.' 'But,' says he, 'drat it, how the deuce +does she manage with her rheumatiz, and she not a rag on her;'" and +Mrs. Guffern laughed loudly as she thought of Mrs. Lookaloft's +probable sufferings from rheumatic attacks.</p> + +<p>"But to liken herself that way to folk that ha' blood in their +veins," said Mrs. Greenacre.</p> + +<p>"Well, but that warn't all neither that Betsey told. There they all +swelled into madam's drawing-room, like so many turkey cocks, as much +as to say, 'and who dare say no to us?' and Gregory was thinking of +telling of 'em to come down here, only his heart failed him 'cause of +the grand way they was dressed. So in they went, but madam looked at +them as glum as death."</p> + +<p>"Well, now," said Mrs. Greenacre, greatly relieved, "so they wasn't +axed different from us at all then?"</p> + +<p>"Betsey says that Gregory says that madam wasn't a bit too well +pleased to see them where they was, and that to his believing they +was expected to come here just like the rest of us."</p> + +<p>There was great consolation in this. Not that Mrs. Greenacre was +altogether satisfied. She felt that justice to herself demanded that +Mrs. Lookaloft should not only not be encouraged, but that she should +also be absolutely punished. What had been done at that scriptural +banquet, of which Mrs. Greenacre so often read the account to her +family? Why had not Miss Thorne boldly gone to the intruder and +said, "Friend, thou hast come up hither to high places not fitted to +thee. Go down lower, and thou wilt find thy mates." Let the +Lookalofts be treated at the present moment with ever so cold a +shoulder, they would still be enabled to boast hereafter of their +position, their aspirations, and their honour.</p> + +<p>"Well, with all her grandeur, I do wonder that she be so mean," +continued Mrs. Greenacre, unable to dismiss the subject. "Did you +hear, goodman?" she went on, about to repeat the whole story to her +husband who then came up. "There's Dame Lookaloft and Bab and Gussy +and the lot of 'em all sitting as grand as fivepence in madam's +drawing-room, and they not axed no more nor you nor me. Did you ever +hear tell the like o' that?"</p> + +<p>"Well, and what for shouldn't they?" said Farmer Greenacre.</p> + +<p>"Likening theyselves to the quality, as though they was estated +folk, or the like o' that!" said Mrs. Guffern.</p> + +<p>"Well, if they likes it, and madam likes it, they's welcome for me," +said the farmer. "Now I likes this place better, 'cause I be more at +home-like, and don't have to pay for them fine clothes for the +missus. Everyone to his taste, Mrs. Guffern, and if neighbour +Lookaloft thinks that he has the best of it, he's welcome."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Greenacre sat down by her husband's side to begin the heavy +work of the banquet, and she did so in some measure with restored +tranquillity, but nevertheless she shook her head at her gossip to show +that in this instance she did not quite approve of her husband's +doctrine.</p> + +<p>"And I'll tell 'ee what, dames," continued he; "if so be that we +cannot enjoy the dinner that madam gives us because Mother Lookaloft +is sitting up there on a grand sofa, I think we ought all to go home. +If we greet at that, what'll we do when true sorrow comes across us? +How would you be now, Dame, if the boy there had broke his neck when +he got the tumble?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Greenacre was humbled and said nothing further on the matter. +But let prudent men such as Mr. Greenacre preach as they will, the +family of the Lookalofts certainly does occasion a good deal of +heart-burning in the world at large.</p> + +<p>It was pleasant to see Mr. Plomacy as, leaning on his stout stick, +he went about among the rural guests, acting as a sort of head +constable as well as master of the revels. "Now, young'un, if you can't +manage to get along without that screeching, you'd better go to the +other side of the twelve-acre field and take your dinner with you. +Come, girls, what do you stand there for, twirling of your thumbs? Come +out, and let the lads see you; you've no need to be so ashamed of your +faces. Hollo there, who are you? How did you make your way in here?"</p> + +<p>This last disagreeable question was put to a young man of about +twenty-four who did not, in Mr. Plomacy's eye, bear sufficient +vestiges of a rural education and residence.</p> + +<p>"If you please, your Worship, Master Barrell the coachman let me in +at the church wicket, 'cause I do be working mostly al'ays for the +family."</p> + +<p>"Then Master Barrell the coachman may let you out again," said Mr. +Plomacy, not even conciliated by the magisterial dignity which had +been conceded to him. "What's your name? And what trade are you? +And who do you work for?"</p> + +<p>"I'm Stubbs, your worship, Bob Stubbs; +and—and—and—"</p> + +<p>"And what's your trade, Stubbs?"</p> + +<p>"Plasterer, please your worship."</p> + +<p>"I'll plaster you, and Barrell too; you'll just walk out of this +'ere field as quick as you walked in. We don't want no plasterers; when +we do, we'll send for 'em. Come my buck, walk."</p> + +<p>Stubbs the plasterer was much downcast at this dreadful edict. He +was a sprightly fellow, and had contrived since his ingress into the +Ullathorne elysium to attract to himself a forest nymph, to whom he +was whispering a plasterer's usual soft nothings, when he was +encountered by the great Mr. Plomacy. It was dreadful to be thus +dissevered from his dryad and sent howling back to a Barchester +pandemonium just as the nectar and ambrosia were about to descend on +the fields of asphodel. He began to try what prayers would do, but +city prayers were vain against the great rural potentate. Not only +did Mr. Plomacy order his exit but, raising his stick to show the way +which led to the gate that had been left in the custody of that false +Cerberus Barrell, proceeded himself to see the edict of banishment +carried out.</p> + +<p>The goddess Mercy, however, the sweetest goddess that ever sat upon +a cloud, and the dearest to poor, frail, erring man, appeared on the +field in the person of Mr. Greenacre. Never was interceding goddess +more welcome.</p> + +<p>"Come, man," said Mr. Greenacre, "never stick at trifles such a day +as this. I know the lad well. Let him bide at my axing. Madam +won't miss what he can eat and drink, I know."</p> + +<p>Now Mr. Plomacy and Mr. Greenacre were sworn friends. Mr. Plomacy +had at his own disposal as comfortable a room as there was in +Ullathorne House, but he was a bachelor, and alone there, and, +moreover, smoking in the house was not allowed even to Mr. Plomacy. +His moments of truest happiness were spent in a huge armchair in the +warmest corner of Mrs. Greenacre's beautifully clean front kitchen. +'Twas there that the inner man dissolved itself and poured itself out +in streams of pleasant chat; 'twas there that he was respected and +yet at his ease; 'twas there, and perhaps there only, that he could +unburden himself from the ceremonies of life without offending the +dignity of those above him, or incurring the familiarity of those +below. 'Twas there that his long pipe was always to be found on the +accustomed chimney-board, not only permitted but encouraged.</p> + +<p>Such being the state of the case, it was not to be supposed that Mr. +Plomacy could refuse such a favour to Mr. Greenacre; but nevertheless +he did not grant it without some further show of austere authority.</p> + +<p>"Eat and drink, Mr. Greenacre! No. It's not what he eats and +drinks, but the example such a chap shows, coming in where he's not +invited—a chap of his age, too. He too that never did a +day's work about Ullathorne since he was born. Plasterer! I'll plaster +him!"</p> + +<p>"He worked long enough for me, then, Mr. Plomacy. And a good hand he +is at setting tiles as any in Barchester," said the other, not +sticking quite to veracity, as indeed mercy never should. "Come, +come, let him alone to-day and quarrel with him to-morrow. You +wouldn't shame him before his lass there?"</p> + +<p>"It goes against the grain with me, then," said Mr. Plomacy. "And +take care, you Stubbs, and behave yourself. If I hear a row, I shall +know where it comes from. I'm up to you Barchester journeymen; I +know what stuff you're made of."</p> + +<p>And so Stubbs went off happy, pulling at the forelock of his shock +head of hair in honour of the steward's clemency and giving another +double pull at it in honour of the farmer's kindness. And as he went +he swore within his grateful heart that if ever Farmer Greenacre +wanted a day's work done for nothing, he was the lad to do it for +him. Which promise it was not probable that he would ever be called +on to perform.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Plomacy was not quite happy in his mind, for he thought of +the unjust steward and began to reflect whether he had not made for +himself friends of the mammon of unrighteousness. This, however, did +not interfere with the manner in which he performed his duties at the +bottom of the long board; nor did Mr. Greenacre perform his the worse +at the top on account of the good wishes of Stubbs the plasterer. +Moreover the guests did not think it anything amiss when Mr. Plomacy, +rising to say grace, prayed that God would make them all truly +thankful for the good things which Madame Thorne in her great +liberality had set before them!</p> + +<p>All this time the quality in the tent on the lawn were getting on +swimmingly—that is, if champagne without restriction can +enable quality folk to swim. Sir Harkaway Gorse proposed the health of +Miss Thorne, and likened her to a blood race-horse, always in condition +and not to be tired down by any amount of work. Mr. Thorne returned +thanks, saying he hoped his sister would always be found able to run +when called upon, and then gave the health and prosperity of the De +Courcy family. His sister was very much honoured by seeing so many of +them at her poor board. They were all aware that important avocations +made the absence of the earl necessary. As his duty to his prince had +called him from his family hearth, he, Mr. Thorne, could not venture to +regret that he did not see him at Ullathorne; but nevertheless he would +venture to say—that was, to express a wish—an +opinion, he meant to say—And so Mr. Thorne became somewhat +gravelled, as country gentlemen in similar circumstances usually do; +but he ultimately sat down, declaring that he had much satisfaction in +drinking the noble earl's health, together with that of the countess, +and all the family of De Courcy Castle.</p> + +<p>And then the Honourable George returned thanks. We will not follow +him through the different periods of his somewhat irregular +eloquence. Those immediately in his neighbourhood found it at first +rather difficult to get him on his legs, but much greater difficulty +was soon experienced in inducing him to resume his seat. One of two +arrangements should certainly be made in these days: either let all +speech-making on festive occasions be utterly tabooed and made as it +were impossible; or else let those who are to exercise the privilege +be first subjected to a competing examination before the +civil-service examining commissioners. As it is now, the Honourable +Georges do but little honour to our exertions in favour of British +education.</p> + +<p>In the dining-room the bishop went through the honours of the day +with much more neatness and propriety. He also drank Miss Thorne's +health, and did it in a manner becoming the bench which he adorned. +The party there was perhaps a little more dull, a shade less lively +than that in the tent. But what was lost in mirth was fully made up +in decorum.</p> + +<p>And so the banquets passed off at the various tables with great +éclat and universal delight.</p> + + +<p><a name="c40" id="c40"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XL</h3> +<h3>Ullathorne Sports—Act II<br /> </h3> + + +<p>"That which has made them drunk has made me bold." 'Twas thus that +Mr. Slope encouraged himself, as he left the dining-room in pursuit +of Eleanor. He had not indeed seen in that room any person really +intoxicated, but there had been a good deal of wine drunk, and Mr. +Slope had not hesitated to take his share, in order to screw himself +up to the undertaking which he had in hand. He is not the first man +who has thought it expedient to call in the assistance of Bacchus on +such an occasion.</p> + +<p>Eleanor was out through the window and on the grass before she +perceived that she was followed. Just at that moment the guests were +nearly all occupied at the tables. Here and there were to be seen a +constant couple or two, who preferred their own sweet discourse to +the jingle of glasses or the charms of rhetoric which fell from the +mouths of the Honourable George and the Bishop of Barchester; but the +grounds were as nearly vacant as Mr. Slope could wish them to be.</p> + +<p>Eleanor saw that she was pursued, and as a deer, when escape is no +longer possible, will turn to bay and attack the hounds, so did she +turn upon Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"Pray don't let me take you from the room," said she, speaking with +all the stiffness which she knew how to use. "I have come out to +look for a friend. I must beg of you, Mr. Slope, to go back."</p> + +<p>But Mr. Slope would not be thus entreated. He had observed all day +that Mrs. Bold was not cordial to him, and this had to a certain +extent oppressed him. But he did not deduce from this any assurance +that his aspirations were in vain. He saw that she was angry with +him. Might she not be so because he had so long tampered with her +feelings—might it not arise from his having, as he knew was +the case, caused her name to be bruited about in conjunction with his +own without having given her the opportunity of confessing to the world +that henceforth their names were to be one and the same? Poor lady. He +had within him a certain Christian conscience-stricken feeling of +remorse on this head. It might be that he had wronged her by his +tardiness. He had, however, at the present moment imbibed too much of +Mr. Thorne's champagne to have any inward misgivings. He was right in +repeating the boast of Lady Macbeth: he was not drunk, but he was bold +enough for anything. It was a pity that in such a state he could not +have encountered Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>"You must permit me to attend you," said he; "I could not think of +allowing you to go alone."</p> + +<p>"Indeed you must, Mr. Slope," said Eleanor still very stiffly, "for +it is my special wish to be alone."</p> + +<p>The time for letting the great secret escape him had already come. +Mr. Slope saw that it must be now or never, and he was determined +that it should be now. This was not his first attempt at winning a +fair lady. He had been on his knees, looked unutterable things with +his eyes, and whispered honeyed words before this. Indeed, he was +somewhat an adept at these things, and had only to adapt to the +perhaps different taste of Mrs. Bold the well-remembered rhapsodies +which had once so much gratified Olivia Proudie.</p> + +<p>"Do not ask me to leave you, Mrs. Bold," said he with an impassioned +look, impassioned and sanctified as well, with that sort of look +which is not uncommon with gentlemen of Mr. Slope's school and which +may perhaps be called the tender-pious. "Do not ask me to leave you +till I have spoken a few words with which my heart is +full—which I have come hither purposely to say."</p> + +<p>Eleanor saw how it was now. She knew directly what it was she was +about to go through, and very miserable the knowledge made her. Of +course she could refuse Mr. Slope, and there would be an end of that, +one might say. But there would not be an end of it, as far as +Eleanor was concerned. The very fact of Mr. Slope's making an offer +to her would be a triumph to the archdeacon and, in a great measure, +a vindication of Mr. Arabin's conduct. The widow could not bring +herself to endure with patience the idea that she had been in the +wrong. She had defended Mr. Slope, she had declared herself quite +justified in admitting him among her acquaintance, had ridiculed the +idea of his considering himself as more than an acquaintance, and had +resented the archdeacon's caution in her behalf: now it was about to +be proved to her in a manner sufficiently disagreeable that the +archdeacon had been right, and she herself had been entirely wrong.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you can have to say to me, Mr. Slope, that you +could not have said when we were sitting at table just now;" and she +closed her lips, and steadied her eyeballs, and looked at him in a +manner that ought to have frozen him.</p> + +<p>But gentlemen are not easily frozen when they are full of champagne, +and it would not at any time have been easy to freeze Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"There are things, Mrs. Bold, which a man cannot well say before a +crowd; which perhaps he cannot well say at any time; which indeed he +may most fervently desire to get spoken, and which he may yet find it +almost impossible to utter. It is such things as these that I now +wish to say to you;" and then the tender-pious look was repeated, +with a little more emphasis even than before.</p> + +<p>Eleanor had not found it practicable to stand stock still before the +dining-room window, there receive his offer in full view of Miss +Thorne's guests. She had therefore in self-defence walked on, and +thus Mr. Slope had gained his object of walking with her. He now +offered her his arm.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mr. Slope, I am much obliged to you; but for the very +short time that I shall remain with you I shall prefer walking +alone."</p> + +<p>"And must it be so short?" said he. "Must it be—"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Eleanor, interrupting him, "as short as possible, if you +please, sir."</p> + +<p>"I had hoped, Mrs. Bold—I had hoped—"</p> + +<p>"Pray hope nothing, Mr. Slope, as far as I am concerned; pray do +not; I do not know and need not know what hope you mean. Our +acquaintance is very slight, and will probably remain so. Pray, pray +let that be enough; there is at any rate no necessity for us to +quarrel."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bold was certainly treating Mr. Slope rather cavalierly, and he +felt it so. She was rejecting him before he had offered himself, and +informing him at the same time that he was taking a great deal too +much on himself to be so familiar. She did not even make an +attempt<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p class="noindent">From such a sharp and waspish word as "no"<br /> +To pluck the sting.<br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p>He was still determined to be very tender and very pious, seeing +that, in spite of all Mrs. Bold had said to him, he had not yet +abandoned hope; but he was inclined also to be somewhat angry. The +widow was bearing herself, as he thought, with too high a hand, was +speaking of herself in much too imperious a tone. She had clearly no +idea that an honour was being conferred on her. Mr. Slope would be +tender as long as he could, but he began to think if that failed it +would not be amiss if he also mounted himself for awhile on his high +horse. Mr. Slope could undoubtedly be very tender, but he could be +very savage also, and he knew his own abilities.</p> + +<p>"That is cruel," said he, "and unchristian, too. The worst of us are +still bidden to hope. What have I done that you should pass on me so +severe a sentence?" And then he paused a moment, during which the +widow walked steadily on with measured steps, saying nothing further.</p> + +<p>"Beautiful woman," at last he burst forth, "beautiful woman, you +cannot pretend to be ignorant that I adore you. Yes, Eleanor, yes, I +love you. I love you with the truest affection which man can bear to +woman. Next to my hopes of heaven are my hopes of possessing you." +(Mr. Slope's memory here played him false, or he would not have +omitted the deanery.) "How sweet to walk to heaven with you by my +side, with you for my guide, mutual guides. Say, Eleanor, dearest +Eleanor, shall we walk that sweet path together?"</p> + +<p>Eleanor had no intention of ever walking together with Mr. Slope on +any other path than that special one of Miss Thorne's which they now +occupied, but as she had been unable to prevent the expression of Mr. +Slope's wishes and aspirations, she resolved to hear him out to the +end before she answered him.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Eleanor," he continued, and it seemed to be his idea that as he +had once found courage to pronounce her Christian name, he could not +utter it often enough. "Ah, Eleanor, will it not be sweet, with the +Lord's assistance, to travel hand in hand through this mortal valley +which His mercies will make pleasant to us, till hereafter we shall +dwell together at the foot of His throne?" And then a more tenderly +pious glance than ever beamed from the lover's eyes. "Ah, +Eleanor—"</p> + +<p>"My name, Mr. Slope, is Mrs. Bold," said Eleanor, who, though +determined to hear out the tale of his love, was too much disgusted +by his blasphemy to be able to bear much more of it.</p> + +<p>"Sweetest angel, be not so cold," said he, and as he said it the +champagne broke forth, and he contrived to pass his arm round her +waist. He did this with considerable cleverness, for up to this +point Eleanor had contrived with tolerable success to keep her +distance from him. They had got into a walk nearly enveloped by +shrubs, and Mr. Slope therefore no doubt considered that as they were +now alone it was fitting that he should give her some outward +demonstration of that affection of which he talked so much. It may +perhaps be presumed that the same stamp of measures had been found to +succeed with Olivia Proudie. Be this as it may, it was not +successful with Eleanor Bold.</p> + +<p>She sprang from him as she would have jumped from an adder, but she +did not spring far—not, indeed, beyond arm's +length—and then, quick as thought, she raised her little +hand and dealt him a box on the ear with such right goodwill that it +sounded among the trees like a miniature thunderclap.</p> + +<p>And now it is to be feared that every well-bred reader of these +pages will lay down the book with disgust, feeling that, after all, the +heroine is unworthy of sympathy. She is a hoyden, one will say. At any +rate she is not a lady, another will exclaim. I have suspected her all +through, a third will declare; she has no idea of the dignity of a +matron, or of the peculiar propriety which her position demands. At one +moment she is romping with young Stanhope; then she is making eyes at +Mr. Arabin; anon she comes to fisticuffs with a third +lover—and all before she is yet a widow of two years' +standing.</p> + +<p>She cannot altogether be defended, and yet it may be averred that +she is not a hoyden, not given to romping nor prone to boxing. It were +to be wished devoutly that she had not struck Mr. Slope in the face. In +doing so she derogated from her dignity and committed herself. Had she +been educated in Belgravia, had she been brought up by any sterner +mentor than that fond father, had she lived longer under the rule of a +husband, she might, perhaps, have saved herself from this great fault. +As it was, the provocation was too much for her, the temptation to +instant resentment of the insult too strong. She was too keen in the +feeling of independence, a feeling dangerous for a young woman, but one +in which her position peculiarly tempted her to indulge. And then Mr. +Slope's face, tinted with a deeper dye than usual by the wine he had +drunk, simpering and puckering itself with pseudo-pity and tender +grimaces, seemed specially to call for such punishment. She had, too, a +true instinct as to the man; he was capable of rebuke in this way and +in no other. To him the blow from her little hand was as much an insult +as a blow from a man would have been to another. It went directly to +his pride. He conceived himself lowered in his dignity and personally +outraged. He could almost have struck at her again in his rage. Even +the pain was a great annoyance to him, and the feeling that his +clerical character had been wholly disregarded sorely vexed him.</p> + +<p>There are such men: men who can endure no taint on their personal +self-respect, even from a woman; men whose bodies are to themselves +such sacred temples that a joke against them is desecration, and a +rough touch downright sacrilege. Mr. Slope was such a man, and +therefore the slap on the face that he got from Eleanor was, as far +as he was concerned, the fittest rebuke which could have been +administered to him.</p> + +<p>But nevertheless, she should not have raised her hand against the +man. Ladies' hands, so soft, so sweet, so delicious to the touch, so +graceful to the eye, so gracious in their gentle doings, were not +made to belabour men's faces. The moment the deed was done Eleanor +felt that she had sinned against all propriety, and would have given +little worlds to recall the blow. In her first agony of sorrow she +all but begged the man's pardon. Her next impulse, however, and the +one which she obeyed, was to run away.</p> + +<p>"I never, never will speak another word to you," she said, gasping +with emotion and the loss of breath which her exertion and violent +feelings occasioned her, and so saying she put foot to the ground and +ran quickly back along the path to the house.</p> + +<p>But how shall I sing the divine wrath of Mr. Slope, or how invoke +the tragic muse to describe the rage which swelled the celestial bosom +of the bishop's chaplain? Such an undertaking by no means befits the +low-heeled buskin of modern fiction. The painter put a veil over +Agamemnon's face when called on to depict the father's grief at the +early doom of his devoted daughter. The god, when he resolved to punish +the rebellious winds, abstained from mouthing empty threats. We will +not attempt to tell with what mighty surgings of the inner heart Mr. +Slope swore to revenge himself on the woman who had disgraced him, nor +will we vainly strive to depict his deep agony of soul.</p> + +<p>There he is, however, alone in the garden walk, and we must contrive +to bring him out of it. He was not willing to come forth quite at +once. His cheek was stinging with the weight of Eleanor's fingers, +and he fancied that everyone who looked at him would be able to see +on his face the traces of what he had endured. He stood awhile, +becoming redder and redder with rage. He stood motionless, +undecided, glaring with his eyes, thinking of the pains and penalties +of Hades, and meditating how he might best devote his enemy to the +infernal gods with all the passion of his accustomed eloquence. He +longed in his heart to be preaching at her. 'Twas thus that he was +ordinarily avenged of sinning mortal men and women. Could he at once +have ascended his Sunday rostrum and fulminated at her such +denunciations as his spirit delighted in, his bosom would have been +greatly eased.</p> + +<p>But how preach to Mr. Thorne's laurels, or how preach indeed at all +in such a vanity fair as this now going on at Ullathorne? And then +he began to feel a righteous disgust at the wickedness of the doings +around him. He had been justly chastised for lending, by his +presence, a sanction to such worldly lures. The gaiety of society, +the mirth of banquets, the laughter of the young, and the eating and +drinking of the elders were, for awhile, without excuse in his sight. +What had he now brought down upon himself by sojourning thus in the +tents of the heathen? He had consorted with idolaters round the +altars of Baal, and therefore a sore punishment had come upon him. +He then thought of the Signora Neroni, and his soul within him was +full of sorrow. He had an inkling—a true inkling—that +he was a wicked, sinful man, but it led him in no right direction; he +could admit no charity in his heart. He felt debasement coming on him, +and he longed to shake it off, to rise up in his stirrup, to mount to +high places and great power, that he might get up into a mighty pulpit +and preach to the world a loud sermon against Mrs. Bold.</p> + +<p>There he stood fixed to the gravel for about ten minutes. Fortune +favoured him so far that no prying eyes came to look upon him in his +misery. Then a shudder passed over his whole frame; he collected +himself and slowly wound his way round to the lawn, advancing along +the path and not returning in the direction which Eleanor had taken. +When he reached the tent, he found the bishop standing there in +conversation with the Master of Lazarus. His lordship had come out +to air himself after the exertion of his speech.</p> + +<p>"This is very pleasant—very pleasant, my lord, is it +not?" said Mr. Slope with his most gracious smile, pointing to the +tent; "very pleasant. It is delightful to see so many persons enjoying +themselves so thoroughly."</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope thought he might force the bishop to introduce him to Dr. +Gwynne. A very great example had declared and practised the wisdom +of being everything to everybody, and Mr. Slope was desirous of +following it. His maxim was never to lose a chance. The bishop, +however, at the present moment was not very anxious to increase Mr. +Slope's circle of acquaintance among his clerical brethren. He had +his own reasons for dropping any marked allusion to his domestic +chaplain, and he therefore made his shoulder rather cold for the +occasion.</p> + +<p>"Very, very," said he without turning round, or even deigning to +look at Mr. Slope. "And therefore, Dr. Gwynne, I really think that you +will find that the hebdomadal board will exercise as wide and as +general an authority as at the present moment. I, for one, Dr. +Gwynne—"</p> + +<p>"Dr. Gwynne," said Mr. Slope, raising his hat and resolving not to +be outwitted by such an insignificant little goose as the Bishop of +Barchester.</p> + +<p>The Master of Lazarus also raised his hat and bowed very politely to +Mr. Slope. There is not a more courteous gentleman in the queen's +dominions than the Master of Lazarus.</p> + +<p>"My lord," said Mr. Slope, "pray do me the honour of introducing me +to Dr. Gwynne. The opportunity is too much in my favour to be lost."</p> + +<p>The bishop had no help for it. "My chaplain, Dr. Gwynne," said he, +"my present chaplain, Mr. Slope." He certainly made the introduction +as unsatisfactory to the chaplain as possible, and by the use of the +word "present" seemed to indicate that Mr. Slope might probably not +long enjoy the honour which he now held. But Mr. Slope cared nothing +for this. He understood the innuendo, and disregarded it. It might +probably come to pass that he would be in a situation to resign his +chaplaincy before the bishop was in a situation to dismiss him from +it. What need the future Dean of Barchester care for the bishop, or +for the bishop's wife? Had not Mr. Slope, just as he was entering +Dr. Stanhope's carriage, received an all-important note from Tom +Towers of "The Jupiter"? Had he not that note this moment in his +pocket?</p> + +<p>So disregarding the bishop, he began to open out a conversation with +the Master of Lazarus.</p> + +<p>But suddenly an interruption came, not altogether unwelcome to Mr. +Slope. One of the bishop's servants came up to his master's shoulder +with a long, grave face and whispered into the bishop's ear.</p> + +<p>"What is it, John?" said the bishop.</p> + +<p>"The dean, my lord; he is dead."</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope had no further desire to converse with the Master of +Lazarus, and was very soon on his road back to Barchester.</p> + +<p>Eleanor, as we have said, having declared her intention of never +holding further communication with Mr. Slope, ran hurriedly back +towards the house. The thought, however, of what she had done +grieved her greatly, and she could not abstain from bursting into +tears. 'Twas thus she played the second act in that day's melodrama.</p> + + +<p><a name="c41" id="c41"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLI</h3> +<h3>Mrs. Bold Confides Her Sorrow to Her Friend Miss Stanhope<br /> </h3> + + +<p>When Mrs. Bold came to the end of the walk and faced the lawn, she +began to bethink herself what she should do. Was she to wait there +till Mr. Slope caught her, or was she to go in among the crowd with +tears in her eyes and passion in her face? She might in truth have +stood there long enough without any reasonable fear of further +immediate persecution from Mr. Slope, but we are all inclined to +magnify the bugbears which frighten us. In her present state of +dread she did not know of what atrocity he might venture to be +guilty. Had anyone told her a week ago that he would have put his +arm round her waist at this party of Miss Thorne's, she would have +been utterly incredulous. Had she been informed that he would be +seen on the following Sunday walking down the High Street in a +scarlet coat and top boots, she would not have thought such a +phenomenon more improbable.</p> + +<p>But this improbable iniquity he had committed, and now there was +nothing she could not believe of him. In the first place it was +quite manifest that he was tipsy; in the next place it was to be +taken as proved that all his religion was sheer hypocrisy; and +finally the man was utterly shameless. She therefore stood watching +for the sound of his footfall, not without some fear that he might +creep out at her suddenly from among the bushes.</p> + +<p>As she thus stood she saw Charlotte Stanhope at a little distance +from her, walking quickly across the grass. Eleanor's handkerchief +was in her hand, and putting it to her face so as to conceal her +tears, she ran across the lawn and joined her friend.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Charlotte," she said, almost too much out of breath to speak +very plainly; "I am so glad I have found you."</p> + +<p>"Glad you have found me!" said Charlotte, laughing; "that's a good +joke. Why Bertie and I have been looking for you everywhere. He +swears that you have gone off with Mr. Slope, and is now on the point +of hanging himself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Charlotte, don't," said Mrs. Bold.</p> + +<p>"Why, my child, what on earth is the matter with you?" said Miss +Stanhope, perceiving that Eleanor's hand trembled on her own arm, and +finding also that her companion was still half-choked by tears. +"Goodness heaven! Something has distressed you. What is it? What +can I do for you?"</p> + +<p>Eleanor answered her only by a sort of spasmodic gurgle in her +throat. She was a good deal upset, as people say, and could not at +the moment collect herself.</p> + +<p>"Come here, this way, Mrs. Bold; come this way, and we shall not be +seen. What has happened to vex you so? What can I do for you? Can +Bertie do anything?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, no, no, no," said Eleanor. "There is nothing to be done. +Only that horrid man—"</p> + +<p>"What horrid man?" asked Charlotte.</p> + +<p>There are some moments in life in which both men and women feel +themselves imperatively called on to make a confidence, in which not +to do so requires a disagreeable resolution and also a disagreeable +suspicion. There are people of both sexes who never make +confidences, who are never tempted by momentary circumstances to +disclose their secrets, but such are generally dull, close, +unimpassioned spirits, "gloomy gnomes, who live in cold dark mines." +There was nothing of the gnome about Eleanor, and she therefore +resolved to tell Charlotte Stanhope the whole story about Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"That horrid man; that Mr. Slope," said she. "Did you not see that +he followed me out of the dining-room?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I did, and was sorry enough, but I could not help it. +I knew you would be annoyed. But you and Bertie managed it badly +between you."</p> + +<p>"It was not his fault nor mine either. You know how I disliked the +idea of coming in the carriage with that man."</p> + +<p>"I am sure I am very sorry if that has led to it."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what has led to it," said Eleanor, almost crying +again. "But it has not been my fault."</p> + +<p>"But what has he done, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"He's an abominable, horrid, hypocritical man, and it would serve +him right to tell the bishop all about it."</p> + +<p>"Believe me, if you want to do him an injury, you had far better +tell Mrs. Proudie. But what did he do, Mrs. Bold?"</p> + +<p>"Ugh!" exclaimed Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"Well, I must confess he's not very nice," said Charlotte Stanhope.</p> + +<p>"Nice!" said Eleanor. "He is the most fulsome, fawning, abominable +man I ever saw. What business had he to come to me?—I that +never gave him the slightest tittle of encouragement—I that +always hated him, though I did take his part when others ran him down."</p> + +<p>"That's just where it is, my dear. He has heard that and therefore +fancied that of course you were in love with him."</p> + +<p>This was wormwood to Eleanor. It was in fact the very thing which +all her friends had been saying for the last month past—and +which experience now proved to be true. Eleanor resolved within herself +that she would never again take any man's part. The world, with all its +villainy and all its ill-nature, might wag as it liked: she would not +again attempt to set crooked things straight.</p> + +<p>"But what did he do, my dear?" said Charlotte, who was really rather +interested in the subject.</p> + +<p>"He—he—he—"</p> + +<p>"Well—come, it can't have been anything so very horrid, +for the man was not tipsy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am sure he was" said Eleanor. "I am sure he must have been +tipsy."</p> + +<p>"Well, I declare I didn't observe it. But what was it, my love?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I believe I can hardly tell you. He talked such horrid stuff +that you never heard the like: about religion, and heaven, and love. +Oh, dear—he is such a nasty man."</p> + +<p>"I can easily imagine the sort of stuff he would talk. +Well—and then—?"</p> + +<p>"And then—he took hold of me."</p> + +<p>"Took hold of you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—he somehow got close to me and took hold of me—"</p> + +<p>"By the waist?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Eleanor shuddering.</p> + +<p>"And then—"</p> + +<p>"Then I jumped away from him, and gave him a slap on the face, and +ran away along the path till I saw you."</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha, ha!" Charlotte Stanhope laughed heartily at the finale to +the tragedy. It was delightful to her to think that Mr. Slope had +had his ears boxed. She did not quite appreciate the feeling which +made her friend so unhappy at the result of the interview. To her +thinking the matter had ended happily enough as regarded the widow, +who indeed was entitled to some sort of triumph among her friends. +Whereas to Mr. Slope would be due all those gibes and jeers which +would naturally follow such an affair. His friends would ask him +whether his ears tingled whenever he saw a widow, and he would be +cautioned that beautiful things were made to be looked at and not to +be touched.</p> + +<p>Such were Charlotte Stanhope's views on such matters, but she did +not at the present moment clearly explain them to Mrs. Bold. Her object +was to endear herself to her friend, and therefore, having had her +laugh, she was ready enough to offer sympathy. Could Bertie do +anything? Should Bertie speak to the man and warn him that in future he +must behave with more decorum? Bertie indeed, she declared, would be +more angry than anyone else when he heard to what insult Mrs. Bold had +been subjected.</p> + +<p>"But you won't tell him?" said Mrs. Bold with a look of horror.</p> + +<p>"Not if you don't like it," said Charlotte; "but considering +everything, I would strongly advise it. If you had a brother, you +know, it would be unnecessary. But it is very right that Mr. Slope +should know that you have somebody by you that will and can protect +you."</p> + +<p>"But my father is here."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but it is so disagreeable for clergymen to have to quarrel +with each other; and circumstanced as your father is just at this +moment, it would be very inexpedient that there should be anything +unpleasant between him and Mr. Slope. Surely you and Bertie are +intimate enough for you to permit him to take your part."</p> + +<p>Charlotte Stanhope was very anxious that her brother should at once +on that very day settle matters with his future wife. Things had now +come to that point between him and his father, and between him and +his creditors, that he must either do so, or leave Barchester; either +do that, or go back to his unwashed associates, dirty lodgings, and +poor living at Carrara. Unless he could provide himself with an +income, he must go to Carrara, or to ––––. +His father the prebendary had not said this in so many words, but had +he done so, he could not have signified it more plainly.</p> + +<p>Such being the state of the case it was very necessary that no more +time should be lost. Charlotte had seen her brother's apathy, when +he neglected to follow Mrs. Bold out of the room, with anger which +she could hardly suppress. It was grievous to think that Mr. Slope +should have so distanced him. Charlotte felt that she had played her +part with sufficient skill. She had brought them together and +induced such a degree of intimacy that her brother was really +relieved from all trouble and labour in the matter. And moreover it +was quite plain that Mrs. Bold was very fond of Bertie. And now it +was plain enough also that he had nothing to fear from his rival, Mr. +Slope.</p> + +<p>There was certainly an awkwardness in subjecting Mrs. Bold to a +second offer on the same day. It would have been well perhaps to +have put the matter off for a week, could a week have been spared. +But circumstances are frequently too peremptory to be arranged as we +would wish to arrange them, and such was the case now. This being +so, could not this affair of Mr. Slope's be turned to advantage? +Could it not be made the excuse for bringing Bertie and Mrs. Bold +into still closer connexion—into such close connexion that +they could not fail to throw themselves into each other's arms? Such +was the game which Miss Stanhope now at a moment's notice resolved to +play.</p> + +<p>And very well she played it. In the first place it was arranged that +Mr. Slope should not return in the Stanhopes' carriage to Barchester. +It so happened that Mr. Slope was already gone, but of that of course +they knew nothing. The signora should be induced to go first, with +only the servants and her sister, and Bertie should take Mr. Slope's +place in the second journey. Bertie was to be told in confidence of +the whole affair, and when the carriage was gone off with its first +load, Eleanor was to be left under Bertie's special protection, so as +to insure her from any further aggression from Mr. Slope. While the +carriage was getting ready, Bertie was to seek out that gentleman and +make him understand that he must provide himself with another +conveyance back to Barchester. Their immediate object should be to +walk about together in search of Bertie. Bertie in short was to be +the Pegasus on whose wings they were to ride out of their present +dilemma.</p> + +<p>There was a warmth of friendship and cordial kindliness in all this +that was very soothing to the widow; but yet, though she gave way to +it, she was hardly reconciled to doing so. It never occurred to her +that, now that she had killed one dragon, another was about to spring +up in her path; she had no remote idea that she would have to +encounter another suitor in her proposed protector, but she hardly +liked the thought of putting herself so much into the hands of young +Stanhope. She felt that if she wanted protection, she should go to +her father. She felt that she should ask him to provide a carriage +for her back to Barchester. Mrs. Clantantram she knew would give her +a seat. She knew that she should not throw herself entirely upon +friends whose friendship dated, as it were, but from yesterday. But +yet she could not say no to one who was so sisterly in her kindness, +so eager in her good nature, so comfortably sympathetic as Charlotte +Stanhope. And thus she gave way to all the propositions made to her.</p> + +<p>They first went into the dining-room, looking for their champion, +and from thence to the drawing-room. Here they found Mr. Arabin, still +hanging over the signora's sofa; or rather they found him sitting near +her head, as a physician might have sat had the lady been his patient. +There was no other person in the room. The guests were some in the +tent, some few still in the dining room, some at the bows and arrows, +but most of them walking with Miss Thorne through the park and looking +at the games that were going on.</p> + +<p>All that had passed, and was passing between Mr. Arabin and the +lady, it is unnecessary to give in detail. She was doing with him as +she did with all others. It was her mission to make fools of men, and +she was pursuing her mission with Mr. Arabin. She had almost got him to +own his love for Mrs. Bold and had subsequently almost induced him to +acknowledge a passion for herself. He, poor man, was hardly aware what +he was doing or saying, hardly conscious whether he was in heaven or in +hell. So little had he known of female attractions of that peculiar +class which the signora owned, that he became affected with a kind of +temporary delirium when first subjected to its power. He lost his head +rather than this heart, and toppled about mentally, reeling in his +ideas as a drunken man does on his legs. She had whispered to him words +that really meant nothing but which, coming from such beautiful lips +and accompanied by such lustrous glances, seemed to have a mysterious +significance, which he felt though he could not understand.</p> + +<p>In being thus besirened, Mr. Arabin behaved himself very differently +from Mr. Slope. The signora had said truly that the two men were the +contrasts of each other—that the one was all for action, +the other all for thought. Mr. Slope, when this lady laid upon his +senses the overpowering breath of her charms, immediately attempted to +obtain some fruition, to achieve some mighty triumph. He began by +catching at her hand and progressed by kissing it. He made vows of love +and asked for vows in return. He promised everlasting devotion, knelt +before her, and swore that had she been on Mount Ida, Juno would have +had no cause to hate the offspring of Venus. But Mr. Arabin uttered no +oaths, kept his hand mostly in his trousers pocket, and had no more +thought of kissing Madame Neroni than of kissing the Countess De +Courcy.</p> + +<p>As soon as Mr. Arabin saw Mrs. Bold enter the room he blushed and +rose from his chair; then he sat down again, and then again got up. +The signora saw the blush at once and smiled at the poor victim, but +Eleanor was too much confused to see anything.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Madeline," said Charlotte, "I want to speak to you +particularly; we must arrange about the carriage, you know," and she +stooped down to whisper to her sister. Mr. Arabin immediately withdrew +to a little distance, and as Charlotte had in fact much to explain +before she could make the new carriage arrangement intelligible, he had +nothing to do but to talk to Mrs. Bold.</p> + +<p>"We have had a very pleasant party," said he, using the tone he +would have used had he declared that the sun was shining very brightly, +or the rain falling very fast.</p> + +<p>"Very," said Eleanor, who never in her life had passed a more +unpleasant day.</p> + +<p>"I hope Mr. Harding has enjoyed himself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, very much," said Eleanor, who had not seen her father +since she parted from him soon after her arrival.</p> + +<p>"He returns to Barchester to-night, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I believe so—that is, I think he is staying at +Plumstead."</p> + +<p>"Oh, staying at Plumstead," said Mr. Arabin.</p> + +<p>"He came from there this morning. I believe he is going back, he +didn't exactly say, however."</p> + +<p>"I hope Mrs. Grantly is quite well."</p> + +<p>"She seemed to be quite well. She is here; that is, unless she has +gone away."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, to be sure. I was talking to her. Looking very well +indeed." Then there was a considerable pause; for Charlotte could +not at once make Madeline understand why she was to be sent home in a +hurry without her brother.</p> + +<p>"Are you returning to Plumstead, Mrs. Bold?" Mr. Arabin merely asked +this by way of making conversation, but he immediately perceived that +he was approaching dangerous ground.</p> + +<p>"No," said Mrs. Bold very quietly; "I am going home to Barchester."</p> + +<p>"Oh, ah, yes. I had forgotten that you had returned." And then Mr. +Arabin, finding it impossible to say anything further, stood silent +till Charlotte had completed her plans, and Mrs. Bold stood equally +silent, intently occupied as it appeared in the arrangement of her +rings.</p> + +<p>And yet these two people were thoroughly in love with each other; +and though one was a middle-aged clergyman, and the other a lady at any +rate past the wishy-washy bread-and-butter period of life, they were as +unable to tell their own minds to each other as any Damon and Phillis, +whose united ages would not make up that to which Mr. Arabin had +already attained.</p> + +<p>Madeline Neroni consented to her sister's proposal, and then the two +ladies again went off in quest of Bertie Stanhope.</p> + + +<p><a name="c42" id="c42"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLII</h3> +<h3>Ullathorne Sports—Act III<br /> </h3> + + +<p>And now Miss Thorne's guests were beginning to take their departure, +and the amusement of those who remained was becoming slack. It was +getting dark, and ladies in morning costumes were thinking that, if +they were to appear by candlelight, they ought to readjust +themselves. Some young gentlemen had been heard to talk so loud that +prudent mammas determined to retire judiciously, and the more +discreet of the male sex, whose libations had been moderate, felt +that there was not much more left for them to do.</p> + +<p>Morning parties, as a rule, are failures. People never know how to +get away from them gracefully. A picnic on an island or a mountain +or in a wood may perhaps be permitted. There is no master of the +mountain bound by courtesy to bid you stay while in his heart he is +longing for your departure. But in a private house or in private +grounds a morning party is a bore. One is called on to eat and drink +at unnatural hours. One is obliged to give up the day, which is +useful, and is then left without resource for the evening, which is +useless. One gets home fagged and <i>désoeuvré</i>, and +yet at an hour too early for bed. There is no comfortable resource +left. Cards in these genteel days are among the things tabooed, and a +rubber of whist is impracticable.</p> + +<p>All this began now to be felt. Some young people had come with some +amount of hope that they might get up a dance in the evening, and +were unwilling to leave till all such hope was at an end. Others, +fearful of staying longer than was expected, had ordered their +carriages early, and were doing their best to go, solicitous for +their servants and horses. The countess and her noble brood were +among the first to leave, and as regarded the Hon. George, it was +certainly time that he did so. Her ladyship was in a great fret and +fume. Those horrid roads would, she was sure, be the death of her if +unhappily she were caught in them by the dark night. The lamps she +was assured were good, but no lamp could withstand the jolting of the +roads of East Barsetshire. The De Courcy property lay in the western +division of the county.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie could not stay when the countess was gone. So the +bishop was searched for by the Revs. Messrs. Grey and Green and found +in one corner of the tent enjoying himself thoroughly in a +disquisition on the hebdomadal board. He obeyed, however, the +behests of his lady without finishing the sentence in which he was +promising to Dr. Gwynne that his authority at Oxford should remain +unimpaired, and the episcopal horses turned their noses towards the +palatial stables. Then the Grantlys went. Before they did so, Mr. +Harding managed to whisper a word into his daughter's ear. Of +course, he said, he would undeceive the Grantlys as to that foolish +rumour about Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"No, no, no," said Eleanor; "pray do not—pray wait till +I see you. You will be home in a day or two, and then I will explain +to you everything."</p> + +<p>"I shall be home to-morrow," said he.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad," said Eleanor. "You will come and dine with me, and +then we shall be so comfortable."</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding promised. He did not exactly know what there was to be +explained, or why Dr. Grantly's mind should not be disabused of the +mistake into which he had fallen, but nevertheless he promised. He +owed some reparation to his daughter, and he thought that he might +best make it by obedience.</p> + +<p>And thus the people were thinning off by degrees as Charlotte and +Eleanor walked about in quest of Bertie. Their search might have +been long had they not happened to hear his voice. He was +comfortably ensconced in the ha-ha, with his back to the sloping +side, smoking a cigar, and eagerly engaged in conversation with some +youngster from the further side of the county, whom he had never met +before, who was also smoking under Bertie's pupilage and listening +with open ears to an account given by his companion of some of the +pastimes of Eastern clime.</p> + +<p>"Bertie, I am seeking you everywhere," said Charlotte. "Come up here +at once."</p> + +<p>Bertie looked up out of the ha-ha and saw the two ladies before him. +As there was nothing for him but to obey, he got up and threw away +his cigar. From the first moment of his acquaintance with her he had +liked Eleanor Bold. Had he been left to his own devices, had she +been penniless, and had it then been quite out of the question that +he should marry her, he would most probably have fallen violently in +love with her. But now he could not help regarding her somewhat as +he did the marble workshops at Carrara, as he had done his easel and +palette, as he had done the lawyer's chambers in London—in +fact, as he had invariably regarded everything by which it had been +proposed to him to obtain the means of living. Eleanor Bold appeared +before him, no longer as a beautiful woman, but as a new profession +called matrimony. It was a profession indeed requiring but little +labour, and one in which an income was insured to him. But nevertheless +he had been as it were goaded on to it; his sister had talked to him of +Eleanor, just as she had talked of busts and portraits. Bertie did not +dislike money, but he hated the very thought of earning it. He was now +called away from his pleasant cigar to earn it, by offering himself as +a husband to Mrs. Bold. The work indeed was made easy enough, for in +lieu of his having to seek the widow, the widow had apparently come to +seek him.</p> + +<p>He made some sudden absurd excuse to his auditor and then, throwing +away his cigar, climbed up the wall of the ha-ha and joined the +ladies on the lawn.</p> + +<p>"Come and give Mrs. Bold an arm," said Charlotte, "while I set you +on a piece of duty which, as a <i>preux chevalier</i>, you must +immediately perform. Your personal danger will, I fear, be +insignificant, as your antagonist is a clergyman."</p> + +<p>Bertie immediately gave his arm to Eleanor, walking between her and +his sister. He had lived too long abroad to fall into the +Englishman's habit of offering each an arm to two ladies at the same +time—a habit, by the by, which foreigners regard as an +approach to bigamy, or a sort of incipient Mormonism.</p> + +<p>The little history of Mr. Slope's misconduct was then told to Bertie +by his sister, Eleanor's ears tingling the while. And well they +might tingle. If it were necessary to speak of the outrage at all, +why should it be spoken of to such a person as Mr. Stanhope, and why +in her own hearing? She knew she was wrong, and was unhappy and +dispirited, yet she could think of no way to extricate herself, no +way to set herself right. Charlotte spared her as much as she +possibly could, spoke of the whole thing as though Mr. Slope had +taken a glass of wine too much, said that of course there would be +nothing more about it, but that steps must be taken to exclude Mr. +Slope from the carriage.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Bold need be under no alarm about that," said Bertie, "for Mr. +Slope has gone this hour past. He told me that business made it +necessary that he should start at once for Barchester."</p> + +<p>"He is not so tipsy, at any rate, but what he knows his fault," said +Charlotte. "Well, my dear, that is one difficulty over. Now I'll +leave you with your true knight and get Madeline off as quickly as I +can. The carriage is here, I suppose, Bertie?"</p> + +<p>"It has been here for the last hour."</p> + +<p>"That's well. Good-bye, my dear. Of course you'll come in to tea. +I shall trust to you to bring her, Bertie, even by force if +necessary." And so saying, Charlotte ran off across the lawn, +leaving her brother alone with the widow.</p> + +<p>As Miss Stanhope went off, Eleanor bethought herself that, as Mr. +Slope had taken his departure, there no longer existed any necessity +for separating Mr. Stanhope from his sister Madeline, who so much +needed his aid. It had been arranged that he should remain so as to +preoccupy Mr. Slope's place in the carriage, and act as a social +policeman to effect the exclusion of that disagreeable gentleman. +But Mr. Slope had effected his own exclusion, and there was no +possible reason now why Bertie should not go with his +sister—at least Eleanor saw none, and she said as much.</p> + +<p>"Oh, let Charlotte have her own way," said he. "She has arranged it, +and there will be no end of confusion if we make another change. +Charlotte always arranges everything in our house and rules us like a +despot."</p> + +<p>"But the signora?" said Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the signora can do very well without me. Indeed, she will have +to do without me," he added, thinking rather of his studies in +Carrara than of his Barchester hymeneals.</p> + +<p>"Why, you are not going to leave us?" asked Eleanor.</p> + +<p>It has been said that Bertie Stanhope was a man without principle. +He certainly was so. He had no power of using active mental exertion +to keep himself from doing evil. Evil had no ugliness in his eyes; +virtue no beauty. He was void of any of these feelings which actuate +men to do good. But he was perhaps equally void of those which +actuate men to do evil. He got into debt with utter recklessness, +thinking nothing as to whether the tradesmen would ever be paid or +not. But he did not invent active schemes of deceit for the sake of +extracting the goods of others. If a man gave him credit, that was +the man's look-out; Bertie Stanhope troubled himself nothing further. +In borrowing money he did the same; he gave people references to "his +governor;" told them that the "old chap" had a good income; and +agreed to pay sixty per cent for the accommodation. All this he did +without a scruple of conscience; but then he never contrived active +villainy.</p> + +<p>In this affair of his marriage it had been represented to him as a +matter of duty that he ought to put himself in possession of Mrs. +Bold's hand and fortune, and at first he had so regarded it. About +her he had thought but little. It was the customary thing for men +situated as he was to marry for money, and there was no reason why he +should not do what others around him did. And so he consented. But +now he began to see the matter in another light. He was setting +himself down to catch this woman, as a cat sits to catch a mouse. He +was to catch her, and swallow her up, her and her child, and her +houses and land, in order that he might live on her instead of on his +father. There was a cold, calculating, cautious cunning about this +quite at variance with Bertie's character. The prudence of the +measure was quite as antagonistic to his feelings as the iniquity.</p> + +<p>And then, should he be successful, what would be the reward? Having +satisfied his creditors with half of the widow's fortune, he would be +allowed to sit down quietly at Barchester, keeping economical house +with the remainder. His duty would be to rock the cradle of the late +Mr. Bold's child, and his highest excitement a demure party at +Plumstead Rectory, should it ultimately turn out that the archdeacon +would be sufficiently reconciled to receive him.</p> + +<p>There was very little in the programme to allure such a man as +Bertie Stanhope. Would not the Carrara workshop, or whatever worldly +career fortune might have in store for him, would not almost anything +be better than this? The lady herself was undoubtedly all that was +desirable, but the most desirable lady becomes nauseous when she has to +be taken as a pill. He was pledged to his sister, however, and let him +quarrel with whom he would, it behoved him not to quarrel with her. If +she were lost to him, all would be lost that he could ever hope to +derive henceforward from the paternal roof-tree. His mother was +apparently indifferent to his weal or woe, to his wants or his warfare. +His father's brow got blacker and blacker from day to day, as the old +man looked at his hopeless son. And as for Madeline—poor +Madeline, whom of all of them he liked the best—she had +enough to do to shift for herself. No; come what might, he must cling +to his sister and obey her behests, let them be ever so +stern—or at the very least seem to obey them. Could not some +happy deceit bring him through in this matter, so that he might save +appearances with his sister and yet not betray the widow to her ruin? +What if he made a confederate of Eleanor? 'Twas in this spirit that +Bertie Stanhope set about his wooing.</p> + +<p>"But you are not going to leave Barchester?" asked Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"I do not know," he replied; "I hardly know yet what I am going to +do. But it is at any rate certain that I must do something."</p> + +<p>"You mean about your profession?" said she.</p> + +<p>"Yes, about my profession, if you can call it one."</p> + +<p>"And is it not one?" said Eleanor. "Were I a man, I know none I +should prefer to it, except painting. And I believe the one is as +much in your power as the other."</p> + +<p>"Yes, just about equally so," said Bertie with a little touch of +inward satire directed at himself. He knew in his heart that he +would never make a penny by either.</p> + +<p>"I have often wondered, Mr. Stanhope, why you do not exert yourself +more," said Eleanor, who felt a friendly fondness for the man with +whom she was walking. "But I know it is very impertinent in me to +say so."</p> + +<p>"Impertinent!" said he. "Not so, but much too kind. It is much too +kind in you to take any interest in so idle a scamp."</p> + +<p>"But you are not a scamp, though you are perhaps idle. And I do take +an interest in you, a very great interest," she added in a voice +which almost made him resolve to change his mind. "And when I call +you idle, I know you are only so for the present moment. Why can't +you settle steadily to work here in Barchester?"</p> + +<p>"And make busts of the bishop, dean, and chapter? Or perhaps, if I +achieve a great success, obtain a commission to put up an elaborate +tombstone over a prebendary's widow, a dead lady with a Grecian nose, +a bandeau, and an intricate lace veil; lying of course on a marble +sofa from among the legs of which death will be creeping out and +poking at his victim with a small toasting-fork."</p> + +<p>Eleanor laughed, but yet she thought that if the surviving +prebendary paid the bill, the object of the artist as a professional +man would in a great measure be obtained.</p> + +<p>"I don't know about the dean and chapter and the prebendary's +widow," said Eleanor. "Of course you must take them as they come. But +the fact of your having a great cathedral in which such ornaments are +required could not but be in your favour."</p> + +<p>"No real artist could descend to the ornamentation of a cathedral," +said Bertie, who had his ideas of the high ecstatic ambition of art, +as indeed all artists have who are not in receipt of a good income. +"Buildings should be fitted to grace the sculpture, not the sculpture +to grace the building."</p> + +<p>"Yes, when the work of art is good enough to merit it. Do you, Mr. +Stanhope, do something sufficiently excellent and we ladies of +Barchester will erect for it a fitting receptacle. Come, what shall +the subject be?"</p> + +<p>"I'll put you in your pony chair, Mrs. Bold, as Dannecker put +Ariadne on her lion. Only you must promise to sit for me."</p> + +<p>"My ponies are too tame, I fear, and my broad-brimmed straw hat will +not look so well in marble as the lace veil of the prebendary's +wife."</p> + +<p>"If you will not consent to that, Mrs. Bold, I will consent to try +no other subject in Barchester."</p> + +<p>"You are determined then to push your fortune in other lands?"</p> + +<p>"I am determined," said Bertie slowly and significantly, as he tried +to bring up his mind to a great resolve; "I am determined in this +matter to be guided wholly by you."</p> + +<p>"Wholly by me?" said Eleanor, astonished at, and not quite liking, +his altered manner.</p> + +<p>"Wholly by you," said Bertie, dropping his companion's arm and +standing before her on the path. In their walk they had come exactly +to the spot in which Eleanor had been provoked into slapping Mr. +Slope's face. Could it be possible that this place was peculiarly +unpropitious to her comfort? Could it be possible that she should +here have to encounter yet another amorous swain?</p> + +<p>"If you will be guided by me, Mr. Stanhope, you will set yourself +down to steady and persevering work, and you will be ruled by your +father as to the place in which it will be most advisable for you to +do so."</p> + +<p>"Nothing could be more prudent, if only it were practicable. But +now, if you will let me, I will tell you how it is that I will be +guided by you, and why. Will you let me tell you?"</p> + +<p>"I really do not know what you can have to tell."</p> + +<p>"No, you cannot know. It is impossible that you should. But we have +been very good friends, Mrs. Bold, have we not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think we have," said she, observing in his demeanour an +earnestness very unusual with him.</p> + +<p>"You were kind enough to say just now that you took an interest in +me, and I was perhaps vain enough to believe you."</p> + +<p>"There is no vanity in that; I do so as your sister's +brother—and as my own friend also."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't deserve that you should feel so kindly towards me," +said Bertie, "but upon my word I am very grateful for it," and he +paused awhile, hardly knowing how to introduce the subject that he +had in hand.</p> + +<p>And it was no wonder that he found it difficult. He had to make +known to his companion the scheme that had been prepared to rob her +of her wealth, he had to tell her that he had intended to marry her +without loving her, or else that he loved her without intending to +marry her; and he had also to bespeak from her not only his own +pardon, but also that of his sister, and induce Mrs. Bold to protest +in her future communion with Charlotte that an offer had been duly +made to her and duly rejected.</p> + +<p>Bertie Stanhope was not prone to be very diffident of his own +conversational powers, but it did seem to him that he was about to +tax them almost too far. He hardly knew where to begin, and he +hardly knew where he should end.</p> + +<p>By this time Eleanor was again walking on slowly by his side, not +taking his arm as she had heretofore done but listening very intently +for whatever Bertie might have to say to her.</p> + +<p>"I wish to be guided by you," said he; "indeed, in this matter there +is no one else who can set me right."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that must be nonsense," said she.</p> + +<p>"Well, listen to me now, Mrs. Bold, and if you can help it, pray +don't be angry with me."</p> + +<p>"Angry!" said she.</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed you will have cause to be so. You know how very much +attached to you my sister Charlotte is."</p> + +<p>Eleanor acknowledged that she did.</p> + +<p>"Indeed she is; I never knew her to love anyone so warmly on so +short an acquaintance. You know also how well she loves me?"</p> + +<p>Eleanor now made no answer, but she felt the blood tingle in her +cheek as she gathered from what he said the probable result of this +double-barrelled love on the part of Miss Stanhope.</p> + +<p>"I am her only brother, Mrs. Bold, and it is not to be wondered at +that she should love me. But you do not yet know +Charlotte—you do not know how entirely the well-being of +our family hangs on her. Without her to manage for us, I do not know +how we should get on from day to day. You cannot yet have observed all +this."</p> + +<p>Eleanor had indeed observed a good deal of this; she did not, +however, now say so, but allowed him to proceed with his story.</p> + +<p>"You cannot therefore be surprised that Charlotte should be most +anxious to do the best for us all."</p> + +<p>Eleanor said that she was not at all surprised.</p> + +<p>"And she has had a very difficult game to play, Mrs. +Bold—a very difficult game. Poor Madeline's unfortunate +marriage and terrible accident, my mother's ill-health, my father's +absence from England, and last, and worse perhaps, my own roving, idle +spirit have almost been too much for her. You cannot wonder if among +all her cares one of the foremost is to see me settled in the world."</p> + +<p>Eleanor on this occasion expressed no acquiescence. She certainly +supposed that a formal offer was to be made and could not but think +that so singular an exordium was never before made by a gentleman in +a similar position. Mr. Slope had annoyed her by the excess of his +ardour. It was quite clear that no such danger was to be feared from +Mr. Stanhope. Prudential motives alone actuated him. Not only was +he about to make love because his sister told him, but he also took +the precaution of explaining all this before he began. 'Twas thus, +we may presume, that the matter presented itself to Mrs. Bold.</p> + +<p>When he had got so far, Bertie began poking the gravel with a little +cane which he carried. He still kept moving on, but very slowly, and +his companion moved slowly by his side, not inclined to assist him in +the task the performance of which appeared to be difficult to him.</p> + +<p>"Knowing how fond she is of yourself, Mrs. Bold, cannot you imagine +what scheme should have occurred to her?"</p> + +<p>"I can imagine no better scheme, Mr. Stanhope, than the one I +proposed to you just now."</p> + +<p>"No," said he somewhat lackadaisically; "I suppose that would be the +best, but Charlotte thinks another plan might be joined with it. She +wants me to marry you."</p> + +<p>A thousand remembrances flashed across Eleanor's mind all in a +moment—how Charlotte had talked about and praised her +brother, how she had continually contrived to throw the two of them +together, how she had encouraged all manner of little intimacies, how +she had with singular cordiality persisted in treating Eleanor as one +of the family. All this had been done to secure her comfortable income +for the benefit of one of the family!</p> + +<p>Such a feeling as this is very bitter when it first impresses itself +on a young mind. To the old, such plots and plans, such matured +schemes for obtaining the goods of this world without the trouble of +earning them, such long-headed attempts to convert "tuum" into "meum" +are the ways of life to which they are accustomed. 'Tis thus that +many live, and it therefore behoves all those who are well-to-do in +the world to be on their guard against those who are not. With them +it is the success that disgusts, not the attempt. But Eleanor had +not yet learnt to look on her money as a source of danger; she had +not begun to regard herself as fair game to be hunted down by hungry +gentlemen. She had enjoyed the society of the Stanhopes, she had +greatly liked the cordiality of Charlotte, and had been happy in her +new friends. Now she saw the cause of all this kindness, and her +mind was opened to a new phase of human life.</p> + +<p>"Miss Stanhope," said she haughtily, "has been contriving for me a +great deal of honour, but she might have saved herself the trouble. +I am not sufficiently ambitious."</p> + +<p>"Pray don't be angry with her, Mrs. Bold," said he, "or with me +either."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not with you, Mr. Stanhope," said she with considerable +sarcasm in her tone. "Certainly not with you."</p> + +<p>"No—nor with her," said he imploringly.</p> + +<p>"And why, may I ask you, Mr. Stanhope, have you told me this +singular story? For I may presume I may judge by your manner of telling +it that—that—that you and your sister are not +exactly of one mind on the subject."</p> + +<p>"No, we are not."</p> + +<p>"And if so," said Mrs. Bold, who was now really angry with the +unnecessary insult which she thought had been offered to her. +"And if so, why has it been worth your while to tell me all this?"</p> + +<p>"I did once think, Mrs. Bold—that you—that +you—"</p> + +<p>The widow now again became entirely impassive, and would not lend +the slightest assistance to her companion.</p> + +<p>"I did once think that you perhaps might—might have been +taught to regard me as more than a friend."</p> + +<p>"Never!" said Mrs. Bold, "never. If I have ever allowed myself to do +anything to encourage such an idea, I have been very much to +blame—very much to blame indeed."</p> + +<p>"You never have," said Bertie, who really had a good-natured anxiety +to make what he said as little unpleasant as possible. "You never +have, and I have seen for some time that I had no chance—but +my sister's hopes ran higher. I have not mistaken you, Mrs. Bold, +though perhaps she has."</p> + +<p>"Then why have you said all this to me?"</p> + +<p>"Because I must not anger her."</p> + +<p>"And will not this anger her? Upon my word, Mr. Stanhope, I do not +understand the policy of your family. Oh, how I wish I was at home!" +And as she expressed the wish she could restrain herself no longer +and burst out into a flood of tears.</p> + +<p>Poor Bertie was greatly moved. "You shall have the carriage to +yourself going home," said he; "at least you and my father. As for +me, I can walk, or for the matter of that it does not much signify +what I do." He perfectly understood that part of Eleanor's grief +arose from the apparent necessity of her going back to Barchester in +the carriage with her second suitor.</p> + +<p>This somewhat mollified her. "Oh, Mr. Stanhope," said she, "why +should you have made me so miserable? What will you have gained by +telling me all this?"</p> + +<p>He had not even yet explained to her the most difficult part of his +proposition; he had not told her that she was to be a party to the +little deception which he intended to play off upon his sister. This +suggestion had still to be made, and as it was absolutely necessary, +he proceeded to make it.</p> + +<p>We need not follow him through the whole of his statement. At last, +and not without considerable difficulty, he made Eleanor understand +why he had let her into his confidence, seeing that he no longer +intended her the honour of a formal offer. At last he made her +comprehend the part which she was destined to play in this little +family comedy.</p> + +<p>But when she did understand it, she was only more angry with him +than ever; more angry, not only with him, but with Charlotte also. Her +fair name was to be bandied about between them in different senses, and +each sense false. She was to be played off by the sister against the +father, and then by the brother against the sister. Her dear friend +Charlotte, with all her agreeable sympathy and affection, was striving +to sacrifice her for the Stanhope family welfare; and Bertie, who, as +he now proclaimed himself, was over head and ears in debt, completed +the compliment of owning that he did not care to have his debts paid at +so great a sacrifice of himself. Then she was asked to conspire +together with this unwilling suitor for the sake of making the family +believe that he had in obedience to their commands done his best to +throw himself thus away!</p> + +<p>She lifted up her face when he had finished, and looking at him with +much dignity, even through her tears, she said:</p> + +<p>"I regret to say it, Mr. Stanhope, but after what has passed I +believe that all intercourse between your family and myself had +better cease."</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps it had," said Bertie naïvely; "perhaps that will +be better at any rate for a time; and then Charlotte will think you are +offended at what I have done."</p> + +<p>"And now I will go back to the house, if you please," said Eleanor. +"I can find my way by myself, Mr. Stanhope: after what has passed," +she added, "I would rather go alone."</p> + +<p>"But I must find the carriage for you, Mrs. Bold; and I must tell my +father that you will return with him alone; and I must make some +excuse to him for not going with you; and I must bid the servant put +you down at your own house, for I suppose you will not now choose to +see them again in the close."</p> + +<p>There was a truth about this, and a perspicuity in making +arrangements for lessening her immediate embarrassment, which had +some effect in softening Eleanor's anger. So she suffered herself to +walk by his side over the now deserted lawn, till they came to the +drawing-room window. There was something about Bertie Stanhope which +gave him, in the estimation of everyone, a different standing from +that which any other man would occupy under similar circumstances. +Angry as Eleanor was, and great as was her cause for anger, she was +not half as angry with him as she would have been with anyone else. +He was apparently so simple, so good-natured, so unaffected and easy +to talk to, that she had already half-forgiven him before he was at +the drawing-room window.</p> + +<p>When they arrived there, Dr. Stanhope was sitting nearly alone with +Mr. and Miss Thorne; one or two other unfortunates were there, who +from one cause or another were still delayed in getting away, but +they were every moment getting fewer in number.</p> + +<p>As soon as he had handed Eleanor over to his father, Bertie started +off to the front gate in search of the carriage, and there he waited +leaning patiently against the front wall, comfortably smoking a +cigar, till it came up. When he returned to the room, Dr. Stanhope +and Eleanor were alone with their hosts.</p> + +<p>"At last, Miss Thorne," said he cheerily, "I have come to relieve +you. Mrs. Bold and my father are the last roses of the very +delightful summer you have given us, and desirable as Mrs. Bold's +society always is, now at least you must be glad to see the last +flowers plucked from the tree."</p> + +<p>Miss Thorne declared that she was delighted to have Mrs. Bold and +Dr. Stanhope still with her, and Mr. Thorne would have said the same, +had he not been checked by a yawn, which he could not suppress.</p> + +<p>"Father, will you give your arm to Mrs. Bold?" said Bertie: and so +the last adieux were made, and the prebendary led out Mrs. Bold, +followed by his son.</p> + +<p>"I shall be home soon after you," said he as the two got into the +carriage.</p> + +<p>"Are you not coming in the carriage?" said the father.</p> + +<p>"No, no; I have someone to see on the road, and shall walk. John, +mind you drive to Mrs. Bold's house first."</p> + +<p>Eleanor, looking out of the window, saw him with his hat in his +hand, bowing to her with his usual gay smile, as though nothing had +happened to mar the tranquillity of the day. It was many a long year +before she saw him again. Dr. Stanhope hardly spoke to her on her way +home, and she was safely deposited by John at her own hall-door before +the carriage drove into the close.</p> + +<p>And thus our heroine played the last act of that day's melodrama.</p> + + +<p><a name="c43" id="c43"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLIII</h3> +<h3>Mr. and Mrs. Quiverful Are Made Happy.<br /> +Mr. Slope is Encouraged by the Press<br /> </h3> + + +<p>Before she started for Ullathorne, Mrs. Proudie, careful soul, caused +two letters to be written, one by herself and one by her lord, to the +inhabitants of Puddingdale vicarage, which made happy the hearth of +those within it.</p> + +<p>As soon as the departure of the horses left the bishop's +stable-groom free for other services, that humble denizen of the +diocese started on the bishop's own pony with the two dispatches. We +have had so many letters lately that we will spare ourselves these. +That from the bishop was simply a request that Mr. Quiverful would wait +upon his lordship the next morning at 11 A.M.; that from the lady was +as simply a request that Mrs. Quiverful would do the same by her, +though it was couched in somewhat longer and more grandiloquent +phraseology.</p> + +<p>It had become a point of conscience with Mrs. Proudie to urge the +settlement of this great hospital question. She was resolved that +Mr. Quiverful should have it. She was resolved that there should be +no more doubt or delay, no more refusals and resignations, no more +secret negotiations carried on by Mr. Slope on his own account in +opposition to her behests.</p> + +<p>"Bishop," she said immediately after breakfast on the morning of +that eventful day, "have you signed the appointment yet?"</p> + +<p>"No, my dear, not yet; it is not exactly signed as yet."</p> + +<p>"Then do it," said the lady.</p> + +<p>The bishop did it, and a very pleasant day indeed he spent at +Ullathorne. And when he got home, he had a glass of hot negus in his +wife's sitting-room, and read the last number of the Little Dorrit of +the day with great inward satisfaction. Oh, husbands, oh, my marital +friends, what great comfort is there to be derived from a wife well +obeyed!</p> + +<p>Much perturbation and flutter, high expectation and renewed hopes, +were occasioned at Puddingdale, by the receipt of these episcopal +dispatches. Mrs. Quiverful, whose careful ear caught the sound of +the pony's feet as he trotted up to the vicarage kitchen door, +brought them in hurriedly to her husband. She was at the moment +concocting the Irish stew destined to satisfy the noonday wants of +fourteen young birds, let alone the parent couple. She had taken the +letters from the man's hands between the folds of her capacious apron +so as to save them from the contamination of the stew, and in this +guise she brought them to her husband's desk.</p> + +<p>They at once divided the spoil, each taking that addressed to the +other. "Quiverful," said she with impressive voice, "you are to be +at the palace at eleven to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"And so are you, my dear," said he, almost gasping with the +importance of the tidings—and then they exchanged letters.</p> + +<p>"She'd never have sent for me again," said the lady, "if it wasn't +all right."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear, don't be too certain," said the gentleman, "Only think +if it should be wrong."</p> + +<p>"She'd never have sent for me, Q., if it wasn't all right," again +argued the lady. "She's stiff and hard and proud as piecrust, but I +think she's right at bottom." Such was Mrs. Quiverful's verdict about +Mrs. Proudie, to which in after times she always adhered. People +when they get their income doubled usually think that those through +whose instrumentality this little ceremony is performed are right at +bottom.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Letty!" said Mr. Quiverful, rising from his well-worn seat.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Q.!" said Mrs. Quiverful, and then the two, unmindful of the +kitchen apron, the greasy fingers, and the adherent Irish stew, threw +themselves warmly into each other's arms.</p> + +<p>"For heaven's sake, don't let anyone cajole you out of it again," +said the wife.</p> + +<p>"Let me alone for that," said the husband with a look of almost +fierce determination, pressing his fist as he spoke rigidly on his +desk, as though he had Mr. Slope's head below his knuckles and meant +to keep it there.</p> + +<p>"I wonder how soon it will be?" said she.</p> + +<p>"I wonder whether it will be at all?" said he, still doubtful.</p> + +<p>"Well, I won't say too much," said the lady. "The cup has slipped +twice before, and it may fall altogether this time, but I'll not +believe it. He'll give you the appointment to-morrow. You'll find +he will."</p> + +<p>"Heaven send he may," said Mr. Quiverful solemnly. And who that +considers the weight of the burden on this man's back will say that +the prayer was an improper one? There were fourteen of +them—fourteen of them living—as Mrs. Quiverful +had so powerfully urged in the presence of the bishop's wife. As long +as promotion cometh from any human source, whether north or south, east +or west, will not such a claim as this hold good, in spite of all our +examination tests, <i>detur digniori's</i>, and optimist tendencies? It +is fervently to be hoped that it may. Till we can become divine, we +must be content to be human, lest in our hurry for a change we sink to +something lower.</p> + +<p>And then the pair, sitting down lovingly together, talked over all +their difficulties, as they so often did, and all their hopes, as they +so seldom were enabled to do.</p> + +<p>"You had better call on that man, Q., as you come away from the +palace," said Mrs. Quiverful, pointing to an angry call for money +from the Barchester draper, which the postman had left at the +vicarage that morning. Cormorant that he was, unjust, hungry +cormorant! When rumour first got abroad that the Quiverfuls were to +go to the hospital, this fellow with fawning eagerness had pressed +his goods upon the wants of the poor clergyman. He had done so, +feeling that he should be paid from the hospital funds, and +flattering himself that a man with fourteen children, and money +wherewithal to clothe them, could not but be an excellent customer. +As soon as the second rumour reached him, he applied for his money +angrily.</p> + +<p>And "the fourteen"—or such of them as were old enough to +hope and discuss their hopes—talked over their golden +future. The tall grown girls whispered to each other of possible +Barchester parties, of possible allowances for dress, of a possible +piano—the one they had in the vicarage was so +weather-beaten with the storms of years and children as to be no longer +worthy of the name—of the pretty garden, and the pretty +house. 'Twas of such things it most behoved them to whisper.</p> + +<p>And the younger fry, they did not content themselves with whispers, +but shouted to each other of their new playground beneath our dear +ex-warden's well-loved elms, of their future own gardens, of marbles +to be procured in the wished-for city, and of the rumour which had +reached them of a Barchester school.</p> + +<p>'Twas in vain that their cautious mother tried to instil into their +breasts the very feeling she had striven to banish from that of their +father; 'twas in vain that she repeated to the girls that "there's +many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip;" 'twas in vain she attempted +to make the children believe that they were to live at Puddingdale +all their lives. Hopes mounted high, and would not have themselves +quelled. The neighbouring farmers heard the news and came in to +congratulate them. 'Twas Mrs. Quiverful herself who had kindled the +fire, and in the first outbreak of her renewed expectations she did +it so thoroughly that it was quite past her power to put it out +again.</p> + +<p>Poor matron! Good, honest matron, doing thy duty in the state to +which thou hast been called, heartily if not contentedly; let the +fire burn on; on this occasion the flames will not scorch; they shall +warm thee and thine. 'Tis ordained that that husband of thine, that +Q. of thy bosom, shall reign supreme for years to come over the +bedesmen of Hiram's Hospital.</p> + +<p>And the last in all Barchester to mar their hopes, had he heard and +seen all that passed at Puddingdale that day, would have been Mr. +Harding. What wants had he to set in opposition to those of such a +regiment of young ravens? There are fourteen of them living! With +him, at any rate, let us say that that argument would have been +sufficient for the appointment of Mr. Quiverful.</p> + +<p>In the morning Q. and his wife kept their appointments with that +punctuality which bespeaks an expectant mind. The friendly farmer's +gig was borrowed, and in that they went, discussing many things by +the way. They had instructed the household to expect them back by +one, and injunctions were given to the eldest pledge to have ready by +that accustomed hour the remainder of the huge stew which the +provident mother had prepared on the previous day. The hands of the +kitchen clock came round to two, three, four, before the farmer's gig +wheels were again heard at the vicarage gate. With what palpitating +hearts were the returning wanderers greeted!</p> + +<p>"I suppose, children, you all thought we were never coming back any +more?" said the mother as she slowly let down her solid foot till it +rested on the step of the gig. "Well, such a day as we've had!" and +then leaning heavily on a big boy's shoulder, she stepped once more +on terra firma.</p> + +<p>There was no need for more than the tone of her voice to tell them +that all was right. The Irish stew might burn itself to cinders now.</p> + +<p>Then there was such kissing and hugging, such crying and laughing. +Mr. Quiverful could not sit still at all, but kept walking from room +to room, then out into the garden, then down the avenue into the +road, and then back again to his wife. She, however, lost no time so +idly.</p> + +<p>"We must go to work at once, girls, and that in earnest. Mrs. +Proudie expects us to be in the hospital house on the 15th of +October."</p> + +<p>Had Mrs. Proudie expressed a wish that they should all be there on +the next morning, the girls would have had nothing to say against it.</p> + +<p>"And when will the pay begin?" asked the eldest boy.</p> + +<p>"To-day, my dear," said the gratified mother.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that is jolly," said the boy.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Proudie insisted on our going down to the house," continued +the mother, "and when there, I thought I might save a journey by +measuring some of the rooms and windows; so I got a knot of tape from +Bobbins. Bobbins is as civil as you please, now."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't thank him," said Letty the younger.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's the way of the world, my dear. They all do just the same. +You might just as well be angry with the turkey cock for gobbling at +you. It's the bird's nature." And as she enunciated to her bairns +the upshot of her practical experience, she pulled from her pocket +the portions of tape which showed the length and breadth of the +various rooms at the hospital house.</p> + +<p>And so we will leave her happy in her toils.</p> + +<p>The Quiverfuls had hardly left the palace, and Mrs. Proudie was +still holding forth on the matter to her husband, when another visitor +was announced in the person of Dr. Gwynne. The Master of Lazarus had +asked for the bishop and not for Mrs. Proudie, and therefore when he +was shown into the study, he was surprised rather than rejoiced to find +the lady there.</p> + +<p>But we must go back a little, and it shall be but a little, for a +difficulty begins to make itself manifest in the necessity of +disposing of all our friends in the small remainder of this one +volume. Oh, that Mr. Longman would allow me a fourth! It should +transcend the other three as the seventh heaven transcends all the +lower stages of celestial bliss.</p> + +<p>Going home in the carriage that evening from Ullathorne, Dr. Gwynne +had not without difficulty brought round his friend the archdeacon to +a line of tactics much less bellicose than that which his own taste +would have preferred. "It will be unseemly in us to show ourselves +in a bad humour; moreover, we have no power in this matter, and it +will therefore be bad policy to act as though we had." 'Twas thus +the Master of Lazarus argued. "If," he continued, "the bishop be +determined to appoint another to the hospital, threats will not +prevent him, and threats should not be lightly used by an archdeacon +to his bishop. If he will place a stranger in the hospital, we can +only leave him to the indignation of others. It is probable that +such a step may not eventually injure your father-in-law. I will see +the bishop, if you will allow me—alone." At this the +archdeacon winced visibly. "Yes, alone; for so I shall be calmer; and +then I shall at any rate learn what he does mean to do in the matter."</p> + +<p>The archdeacon puffed and blew, put up the carriage window and then +put it down again, argued the matter up to his own gate, and at last +gave way. Everybody was against him, his own wife, Mr. Harding, and +Dr. Gwynne.</p> + +<p>"Pray keep him out of hot water, Dr. Gwynne," Mrs. Grantly had said +to her guest.</p> + +<p>"My dearest madam, I'll do my best," the courteous master had +replied. 'Twas thus he did it and earned for himself the gratitude +of Mrs. Grantly.</p> + +<p>And now we may return to the bishop's study.</p> + +<p>Dr. Gwynne had certainly not foreseen the difficulty which here +presented itself. He—together with all the clerical world +of England—had heard it rumoured about that Mrs. Proudie +did not confine herself to her wardrobes, still-rooms, and laundries; +but yet it had never occurred to him that if he called on a bishop at +one o'clock in the day, he could by any possibility find him closeted +with his wife; or that if he did so, the wife would remain longer than +necessary to make her curtsey. It appeared, however, as though in the +present case Mrs. Proudie had no idea of retreating.</p> + +<p>The bishop had been very much pleased with Dr. Gwynne on the +preceding day, and of course thought that Dr. Gwynne had been as much +pleased with him. He attributed the visit solely to compliment, and +thought it an extremely gracious and proper thing for the Master of +Lazarus to drive over from Plumstead specially to call at the palace +so soon after his arrival in the country. The fact that they were +not on the same side either in politics or doctrines made the +compliment the greater. The bishop, therefore, was all smiles. And +Mrs. Proudie, who liked people with good handles to their names, was +also very well disposed to welcome the Master of Lazarus.</p> + +<p>"We had a charming party at Ullathorne, Master, had we not?" said +she. "I hope Mrs. Grantly got home without fatigue."</p> + +<p>Dr. Gwynne said that they had all been a little tired, but were none +the worse this morning.</p> + +<p>"An excellent person, Miss Thorne," suggested the bishop.</p> + +<p>"And an exemplary Christian, I am told," said Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>Dr. Gwynne declared that he was very glad to hear it.</p> + +<p>"I have not seen her Sabbath-day schools yet," continued the lady, +"but I shall make a point of doing so before long."</p> + +<p>Dr. Gwynne merely bowed at this intimation. He had heard something +of Mrs. Proudie and her Sunday-schools, both from Dr. Grantly and +Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"By the by, Master," continued the lady, "I wonder whether Mrs. +Grantly would like me to drive over and inspect her Sabbath-day +school. I hear that it is most excellently kept."</p> + +<p>Dr. Gwynne really could not say. He had no doubt Mrs. Grantly would +be most happy to see Mrs. Proudie any day Mrs. Proudie would do her +the honour of calling: that was, of course, if Mrs. Grantly should +happen to be at home.</p> + +<p>A slight cloud darkened the lady's brow. She saw that her offer was +not taken in good part. This generation of unregenerated vipers was +still perverse, stiff-necked, and hardened in their iniquity. "The +archdeacon, I know," said she, "sets his face against these +institutions."</p> + +<p>At this Dr. Gwynne laughed slightly. It was but a smile. Had he +given his cap for it he could not have helped it.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie frowned again. "'Suffer little children, and forbid +them not,'" she said. "Are we not to remember that, Dr. Gwynne? +'Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones.' Are we not +to remember that, Dr. Gwynne?" And at each of these questions she +raised at him her menacing forefinger.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, madam, certainly," said the master, "and so does the +archdeacon, I am sure, on weekdays as well as on Sundays."</p> + +<p>"On weekdays you can't take heed not to despise them," said Mrs. +Proudie, "because then they are out in the fields. On weekdays they +belong to their parents, but on Sundays they ought to belong to the +clergyman." And the finger was again raised.</p> + +<p>The master began to understand and to share the intense disgust +which the archdeacon always expressed when Mrs. Proudie's name was +mentioned. What was he to do with such a woman as this? To take his hat +and go would have been his natural resource, but then he did not wish +to be foiled in his object.</p> + +<p>"My lord," said he, "I wanted to ask you a question on business, if +you could spare me one moment's leisure. I know I must apologize for +so disturbing you, but in truth I will not detain you five minutes."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Master, certainly," said the bishop; "my time is quite +yours—pray make no apology, pray make no apology."</p> + +<p>"You have a great deal to do just at the present moment, Bishop. Do +not forget how extremely busy you are at present," said Mrs. Proudie, +whose spirit was now up, for she was angry with her visitor.</p> + +<p>"I will not delay his lordship much above a minute," said the Master +of Lazarus, rising from his chair and expecting that Mrs. Proudie +would now go, or else that the bishop would lead the way into another +room.</p> + +<p>But neither event seemed likely to occur, and Dr. Gwynne stood for a +moment silent in the middle of the room.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it's about Hiram's Hospital?" suggested Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>Dr. Gwynne, lost in astonishment, and not knowing what else on earth +to do, confessed that his business with the bishop was connected with +Hiram's Hospital.</p> + +<p>"His lordship has finally conferred the appointment on Mr. Quiverful +this morning," said the lady.</p> + +<p>Dr. Gwynne made a simple reference to the bishop, and finding that +the lady's statement was formally confirmed, he took his leave. +"That comes of the reform bill," he said to himself as he walked down +the bishop's avenue. "Well, at any rate the Greek play bishops were +not so bad as that."</p> + +<p>It has been said that Mr. Slope, as he started for Ullathorne, +received a dispatch from his friend Mr. Towers, which had the effect +of putting him in that high good humour which subsequent events +somewhat untowardly damped. It ran as follows. Its shortness will +be its sufficient apology.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Sir</span>,</p> + +<p>I wish you every success. I don't know that I can help you, but if I +can, I will.</p> + +<p class="ind8">Yours ever,</p> + +<p class="ind12">T. T.</p> + +<p class="ind15">30/9/185––<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>There was more in this than in all Sir Nicholas Fitzwhiggin's +flummery; more than in all the bishop's promises, even had they been +ever so sincere; more than in any archbishop's good word, even had it +been possible to obtain it. Tom Towers would do for him what he +could.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope had from his youth upwards been a firm believer in the +public press. He had dabbled in it himself ever since he had taken +his degree, and he regarded it as the great arranger and distributor +of all future British terrestrial affairs whatever. He had not yet +arrived at the age, an age which sooner or later comes to most of us, +which dissipates the golden dreams of youth. He delighted in the +idea of wresting power from the hands of his country's magnates and +placing it in a custody which was at any rate nearer to his own +reach. Sixty thousand broadsheets dispersing themselves daily among +his reading fellow citizens formed in his eyes a better depot for +supremacy than a throne at Windsor, a cabinet in Downing Street, or +even an assembly at Westminster. And on this subject we must not +quarrel with Mr. Slope, for the feeling is too general to be met with +disrespect.</p> + +<p>Tom Towers was as good, if not better, than his promise. On the +following morning "The Jupiter," spouting forth public opinion with +sixty thousand loud clarions, did proclaim to the world that Mr. +Slope was the fitting man for the vacant post. It was pleasant for +Mr. Slope to read the following lines in the Barchester news-room, +which he did within thirty minutes after the morning train from +London had reached the city.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>It is just now five years since we called the attention of our +readers to the quiet city of Barchester. From that day to this, we +have in no way meddled with the affairs of that happy ecclesiastical +community. Since then, an old bishop has died there, and a young +bishop has been installed; but we believe we did not do more than +give some customary record of the interesting event. Nor are we now +about to meddle very deeply in the affairs of the diocese. If any of +the chapter feel a qualm of conscience on reading thus far, let it be +quieted. Above all, let the mind of the new bishop be at rest. We +are now not armed for war, but approach the reverend towers of the +old cathedral with an olive branch in our hands.</p> + +<p>It will be remembered that at the time alluded to, now five years +past, we had occasion to remark on the state of a charity in +Barchester called Hiram's Hospital. We thought that it was +maladministered, and that the very estimable and reverend gentleman +who held the office of warden was somewhat too highly paid for duties +which were somewhat too easily performed. This gentleman—and +we say it in all sincerity and with no touch of sarcasm—had +never looked on the matter in this light before. We do not wish to take +praise to ourselves whether praise be due to us or not. But the +consequence of our remark was that the warden did look into the matter, +and finding on so doing that he himself could come to no other opinion +than that expressed by us, he very creditably threw up the appointment. +The then bishop as creditably declined to fill the vacancy till the +affair was put on a better footing. Parliament then took it up, and we +have now the satisfaction of informing our readers that Hiram's +Hospital will be immediately reopened under new auspices. Heretofore, +provision was made for the maintenance of twelve old men. This will now +be extended to the fair sex, and twelve elderly women, if any such can +be found in Barchester, will be added to the establishment. There will +be a matron; there will, it is hoped, be schools attached for the +poorest of the children of the poor, and there will be a steward. The +warden, for there will still be a warden, will receive an income more +in keeping with the extent of the charity than that heretofore paid. +The stipend we believe will be £450. We may add that the excellent +house which the former warden inhabited will still be attached to the +situation.</p> + +<p>Barchester Hospital cannot perhaps boast a world-wide reputation, but +as we adverted to its state of decadence, we think it right also to +advert to its renaissance. May it go on and prosper. Whether the +salutary reform which has been introduced within its walls has been +carried as far as could have been desired may be doubtful. The +important question of the school appears to be somewhat left to the +discretion of the new warden. This might have been made the most +important part of the establishment, and the new warden, whom we +trust we shall not offend by the freedom of our remarks, might have +been selected with some view to his fitness as schoolmaster. But we +will not now look a gift-horse in the mouth. May the hospital go on +and prosper! The situation of warden has of course been offered to +the gentleman who so honourably vacated it five years since, but we +are given to understand that he has declined it. Whether the ladies +who have been introduced be in his estimation too much for his powers +of control, whether it be that the diminished income does not offer +to him sufficient temptation to resume his old place, or that he has +in the meantime assumed other clerical duties, we do not know. We +are, however, informed that he has refused the offer and that the +situation has been accepted by Mr. Quiverful, the vicar of +Puddingdale.</p> + +<p>So much we think is due to Hiram redivivus. But while we are on the +subject of Barchester, we will venture with all respectful humility +to express our opinion on another matter connected with the +ecclesiastical polity of that ancient city. Dr. Trefoil, the dean, +died yesterday. A short record of his death, giving his age and the +various pieces of preferment which he has at different times held, +will be found in another column of this paper. The only fault we +knew in him was his age, and as that is a crime of which we all hope +to be guilty, we will not bear heavily on it. May he rest in peace! +But though the great age of an expiring dean cannot be made matter of +reproach, we are not inclined to look on such a fault as at all +pardonable in a dean just brought to the birth. We do hope that the +days of sexagenarian appointments are past. If we want deans, we +must want them for some purpose. That purpose will necessarily be +better fulfilled by a man of forty than by a man of sixty. If we are +to pay deans at all, we are to pay them for some sort of work. That +work, be it what it may, will be best performed by a workman in the +prime of life. Dr. Trefoil, we see, was eighty when he died. As we +have as yet completed no plan for pensioning superannuated clergymen, +we do not wish to get rid of any existing deans of that age. But we +prefer having as few such as possible. If a man of seventy be now +appointed, we beg to point out to Lord –––– +that he will be past all use in a year or two, if indeed he be not so +at the present moment. His lordship will allow us to remind him that +all men are not evergreens like himself.</p> + +<p>We hear that Mr. Slope's name has been mentioned for this preferment. +Mr. Slope is at present chaplain to the bishop. A better man could +hardly be selected. He is a man of talent, young, active, and +conversant with the affairs of the cathedral; he is moreover, we +conscientiously believe, a truly pious clergyman. We know that his +services in the city of Barchester have been highly appreciated. He +is an eloquent preacher and a ripe scholar. Such a selection as this +would go far to raise the confidence of the public in the present +administration of church patronage and would teach men to believe +that from henceforth the establishment of our church will not afford +easy couches to worn-out clerical voluptuaries.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Standing at a reading-desk in the Barchester news-room, Mr. Slope +digested this article with considerable satisfaction. What was +therein said as to the hospital was now comparatively a matter of +indifference to him. He was certainly glad that he had not succeeded +in restoring to the place the father of that virago who had so +audaciously outraged all decency in his person, and was so far +satisfied. But Mrs. Proudie's nominee was appointed, and he was so +far dissatisfied. His mind, however, was now soaring above Mrs. Bold +or Mrs. Proudie. He was sufficiently conversant with the tactics of +"The Jupiter" to know that the pith of the article would lie in the +last paragraph. The place of honour was given to him, and it was +indeed as honourable as even he could have wished. He was very +grateful to his friend Mr. Towers, and with full heart looked forward +to the day when he might entertain him in princely style at his own +full-spread board in the deanery dining-room.</p> + +<p>It had been well for Mr. Slope that Dr. Trefoil had died in the +autumn. Those caterers for our morning repast, the staff of "The +Jupiter," had been sorely put to it for the last month to find a +sufficiency of proper pabulum. Just then there was no talk of a new +American president. No wonderful tragedies had occurred on railway +trains in Georgia, or elsewhere. There was a dearth of broken banks, +and a dead dean with the necessity for a live one was a godsend. Had +Dr. Trefoil died in June, Mr. Towers would probably not have known so +much about the piety of Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>And here we will leave Mr. Slope for awhile in his triumph, +explaining, however, that his feelings were not altogether of a +triumphant nature. His rejection by the widow, or rather the method +of his rejection, galled him terribly. For days to come he +positively felt the sting upon his cheek whenever he thought of what +had been done to him. He could not refrain from calling her by harsh +names, speaking to himself as he walked through the streets of +Barchester. When he said his prayers, he could not bring himself to +forgive her. When he strove to do so, his mind recoiled from the +attempt, and in lieu of forgiving ran off in a double spirit of +vindictiveness, dwelling on the extent of the injury he had received. +And so his prayers dropped senseless from his lips.</p> + +<p>And then the signora—what would he not have given to be +able to hate her also? As it was, he worshipped the very sofa on which +she was ever lying.</p> + +<p>And thus it was not all rose colour with Mr. Slope, although his +hopes ran high.</p> + + +<p><a name="c44" id="c44"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLIV</h3> +<h3>Mrs. Bold at Home<br /> </h3> + + +<p>Poor Mrs. Bold, when she got home from Ullathorne on the evening of +Miss Thorne's party, was very unhappy and, moreover, very tired. +Nothing fatigues the body so much as weariness of spirit, and +Eleanor's spirit was indeed weary.</p> + +<p>Dr. Stanhope had civilly but not very cordially asked her in to tea, +and her manner of refusal convinced the worthy doctor that he need +not repeat the invitation. He had not exactly made himself a party +to the intrigue which was to convert the late Mr. Bold's patrimony +into an income for his hopeful son, but he had been well aware what +was going on. And he was well aware also, when he perceived that +Bertie declined accompanying them home in the carriage, that the +affair had gone off.</p> + +<p>Eleanor was very much afraid that Charlotte would have darted out +upon her, as the prebendary got out at his own door, but Bertie had +thoughtfully saved her from this by causing the carriage to go round +by her own house. This also Dr. Stanhope understood and allowed to +pass by without remark.</p> + +<p>When she got home, she found Mary Bold in the drawing-room with the +child in her lap. She rushed forward and, throwing herself on her +knees, kissed the little fellow till she almost frightened him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mary, I am so glad you did not go. It was an odious party."</p> + +<p>Now the question of Mary's going had been one greatly mooted between +them. Mrs. Bold, when invited, had been the guest of the Grantlys, +and Miss Thorne, who had chiefly known Eleanor at the hospital or at +Plumstead Rectory, had forgotten all about Mary Bold. Her +sister-in-law had implored her to go under her wing and had offered to +write to Miss Thorne, or to call on her. But Miss Bold had declined. In +fact, Mr. Bold had not been very popular with such people as the +Thornes, and his sister would not go among them unless she were +specially asked to do so.</p> + +<p>"Well, then," said Mary cheerfully, "I have the less to regret."</p> + +<p>"You have nothing to regret; but oh! Mary, I have—so +much—so much;" and then she began kissing her boy, whom her +caresses had roused from his slumbers. When she raised her head, Mary +saw that the tears were running down her cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, Eleanor, what is the matter? What has happened to +you—Eleanor—dearest Eleanor—what is the +matter?" and Mary got up with the boy still in her arms.</p> + +<p>"Give him to me—give him to me," said the young mother. +"Give him to me, Mary," and she almost tore the child out of her +sister's arms. The poor little fellow murmured somewhat at the +disturbance but nevertheless nestled himself close into his mother's +bosom.</p> + +<p>"Here, Mary, take the cloak from me. My own, own darling, darling, +darling jewel. You are not false to me. Everybody else is false; +everybody else is cruel. Mamma will care for nobody, nobody, nobody, +but her own, own, own little man;" and she again kissed and pressed +the baby and cried till the tears ran down over the child's face.</p> + +<p>"Who has been cruel to you, Eleanor?" said Mary. "I hope I have +not."</p> + +<p>Now in this matter Eleanor had great cause for mental uneasiness. +She could not certainly accuse her loving sister-in-law of cruelty; +but she had to do that which was more galling: she had to accuse +herself of imprudence against which her sister-in-law had warned +her. Miss Bold had never encouraged Eleanor's acquaintance with Mr. +Slope, and she had positively discouraged the friendship of the +Stanhopes, as far as her usual gentle mode of speaking had permitted. +Eleanor had only laughed at her, however, when she said that she +disapproved of married women who lived apart from their husbands and +suggested that Charlotte Stanhope never went to church. Now, +however, Eleanor must either hold her tongue, which was quite +impossible, or confess herself to have been utterly wrong, which was +nearly equally so. So she staved off the evil day by more tears, and +consoled herself by inducing little Johnny to rouse himself +sufficiently to return her caresses.</p> + +<p>"He is a darling—as true as gold. What would mamma do +without him? Mamma would lie down and die if she had not her own Johnny +Bold to give her comfort." This and much more she said of the same +kind, and for a time made no other answer to Mary's inquiries.</p> + +<p>This kind of consolation from the world's deceit is very common. +Mothers obtain it from their children, and men from their dogs. Some +men even do so from their walking-sticks, which is just as rational. +How is it that we can take joy to ourselves in that we are not +deceived by those who have not attained the art to deceive us? In a +true man, if such can be found, or a true woman, much consolation may +indeed be taken.</p> + +<p>In the caresses of her child, however, Eleanor did receive +consolation, and may ill befall the man who would begrudge it to her. +The evil day, however, was only postponed. She had to tell her +disagreeable tale to Mary, and she had also to tell it to her father. +Must it not, indeed, be told to the whole circle of her acquaintance +before she could be made to stand all right with them? At the +present moment there was no one to whom she could turn for comfort. +She hated Mr. Slope; that was a matter of course; in that feeling she +revelled. She hated and despised the Stanhopes; but that feeling +distressed her greatly. She had, as it were, separated herself from +her old friends to throw herself into the arms of this family; and +then how had they intended to use her? She could hardly reconcile +herself to her own father, who had believed ill of her. Mary Bold +had turned Mentor. That she could have forgiven had the Mentor +turned out to be in the wrong, but Mentors in the right are not to be +pardoned. She could not but hate the archdeacon, and now she hated +him worse than ever, for she must in some sort humble herself before +him. She hated her sister, for she was part and parcel of the +archdeacon. And she would have hated Mr. Arabin if she could. He +had pretended to regard her, and yet before her face he had hung over +that Italian woman as though there had been no beauty in the world +but hers—no other woman worth a moment's attention. And +Mr. Arabin would have to learn all this about Mr. Slope! She told +herself that she hated him, and she knew that she was lying to herself +as she did so. She had no consolation but her baby, and of that she +made the most. Mary, though she could not surmise what it was that had +so violently affected her sister-in-law, saw at once that her grief was +too great to be kept under control and waited patiently till the child +should be in his cradle.</p> + +<p>"You'll have some tea, Eleanor," she said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't care," said she, though in fact she must have been very +hungry, for she had eaten nothing at Ullathorne.</p> + +<p>Mary quietly made the tea, and buttered the bread, laid aside the +cloak, and made things look comfortable.</p> + +<p>"He's fast asleep," said she; "you're very tired; let me take him up +to bed."</p> + +<p>But Eleanor would not let her sister touch him. She looked wistfully +at her baby's eyes, saw that they were lost in the deepest slumber, +and then made a sort of couch for him on the sofa. She was +determined that nothing should prevail upon her to let him out of her +sight that night.</p> + +<p>"Come, Nelly," said Mary, "don't be cross with me. I at least have +done nothing to offend you."</p> + +<p>"I an't cross," said Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"Are you angry then? Surely you can't be angry with me."</p> + +<p>"No, I an't angry—at least not with you."</p> + +<p>"If you are not, drink the tea I have made for you. I am sure you +must want it."</p> + +<p>Eleanor did drink it, and allowed herself to be persuaded. She ate +and drank, and as the inner woman was recruited she felt a little +more charitable towards the world at large. At last she found words +to begin her story, and before she went to bed she had made a clean +breast of it and told everything—everything, that is, as +to the lovers she had rejected; of Mr. Arabin she said not a word.</p> + +<p>"I know I was wrong," said she, speaking of the blow she had given +to Mr. Slope; "but I didn't know what he might do, and I had to protect +myself."</p> + +<p>"He richly deserved it," said Mary.</p> + +<p>"Deserved it!" said Eleanor, whose mind as regarded Mr. Slope was +almost bloodthirsty. "Had I stabbed him with a dagger, he would have +deserved it. But what will they say about it at Plumstead?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think I should tell them," said Mary. Eleanor began to +think that she would not.</p> + +<p>There could have been no kinder comforter than Mary Bold. There was +not the slightest dash of triumph about her when she heard of the +Stanhope scheme, nor did she allude to her former opinion when +Eleanor called her late friend Charlotte a base, designing woman. +She re-echoed all the abuse that was heaped on Mr. Slope's head and +never hinted that she had said as much before. "I told you so, I +told you so!" is the croak of a true Job's comforter. But Mary, when +she found her friend lying in her sorrow and scraping herself with +potsherds, forbore to argue and to exult. Eleanor acknowledged the +merit of the forbearance, and at length allowed herself to be +tranquilised.</p> + +<p>On the next day she did not go out of the house. Barchester she +thought would be crowded with Stanhopes and Slopes; perhaps also with +Arabins and Grantlys. Indeed, there was hardly anyone among her +friends whom she could have met without some cause of uneasiness.</p> + +<p>In the course of the afternoon she heard that the dean was dead, and +she also heard that Mr. Quiverful had been finally appointed to the +hospital.</p> + +<p>In the evening her father came to her, and then the story, or as +much of it as she could bring herself to tell him, had to be repeated. +He was not in truth much surprised at Mr. Slope's effrontery, but he +was obliged to act as though he had been to save his daughter's +feelings. He was, however, anything but skilful in his deceit, and she +saw through it.</p> + +<p>"I see," said she, "that you think it only in the common course of +things that Mr. Slope should have treated me in this way." She had +said nothing to him about the embrace, nor yet of the way in which it +had been met.</p> + +<p>"I do not think it at all strange," said he, "that anyone should +admire my Eleanor."</p> + +<p>"It is strange to me," said she, "that any man should have so much +audacity, without ever having received the slightest encouragement."</p> + +<p>To this Mr. Harding answered nothing. With the archdeacon it would +have been the text for a rejoinder which would not have disgraced +Bildad the Shuhite.</p> + +<p>"But you'll tell the archdeacon?" asked Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"Tell him what?" said she sharply.</p> + +<p>"Or Susan?" continued Mr. Harding. "You'll tell Susan; you'll let +them know that they wronged you in supposing that this man's +addresses would be agreeable to you."</p> + +<p>"They may find that out their own way," said she; "I shall not ever +willingly mention Mr. Slope's name to either of them."</p> + +<p>"But I may."</p> + +<p>"I have no right to hinder you from doing anything that may be +necessary to your own comfort, but pray do not do it for my sake. +Dr. Grantly never thought well of me, and never will. I don't know +now that I am even anxious that he should do so."</p> + +<p>And then they went to the affair of the hospital. "But is it true, +Papa?"</p> + +<p>"What, my dear?" said he. "About the dean? Yes, I fear quite true. +Indeed I know there is no doubt about it."</p> + +<p>"Poor Miss Trefoil, I am so sorry for her. But I did not mean that," +said Eleanor. "But about the hospital, Papa?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear. I believe it is true that Mr. Quiverful is to have +it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a shame."</p> + +<p>"No, my dear, not at all, not at all a shame: I am sure I hope it +will suit him."</p> + +<p>"But, Papa, you know it is a shame. After all your hopes, all your +expectations to get back to your old house, to see it given away in +this way to a perfect stranger!"</p> + +<p>"My dear, the bishop had a right to give it to whom he pleased."</p> + +<p>"I deny that, Papa. He had no such right. It is not as though you +were a candidate for a new piece of preferment. If the bishop has a +grain of justice—"</p> + +<p>"The bishop offered it to me on his terms, and as I did not like the +terms, I refused it. After that, I cannot complain."</p> + +<p>"Terms! He had no right to make terms."</p> + +<p>"I don't know about that; but it seems he had the power. But to tell +you the truth, Nelly, I am as well satisfied as it is. When the +affair became the subject of angry discussion, I thoroughly wished to +be rid of it altogether."</p> + +<p>"But you did want to go back to the old house, Papa. You told me so +yourself."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear, I did. For a short time I did wish it. And I was +foolish in doing so. I am getting old now, and my chief worldly wish +is for peace and rest. Had I gone back to the hospital, I should +have had endless contentions with the bishop, contentions with his +chaplain, and contentions with the archdeacon. I am not up to this +now; I am not able to meet such troubles; and therefore I am not +ill-pleased to find myself left to the little church of St. Cuthbert's. +I shall never starve," added he, laughing, "as long as you are here."</p> + +<p>"But will you come and live with me, Papa?" she said earnestly, +taking him by both his hands. "If you will do that, if you will +promise that, I will own that you are right."</p> + +<p>"I will dine with you to-day at any rate."</p> + +<p>"No, but live here altogether. Give up that close, odious little +room in High Street."</p> + +<p>"My dear, it's a very nice little room, and you are really quite +uncivil."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa, don't joke. It's not a nice place for you. You say you +are growing old, though I am sure you are not."</p> + +<p>"Am not I, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"No, Papa, not old—not to say old. But you are quite old enough to +feel the want of a decent room to sit in. You know how lonely Mary +and I are here. You know nobody ever sleeps in the big front +bedroom. It is really unkind of you to remain up there alone, when +you are so much wanted here."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Nelly—thank you. But, my dear—"</p> + +<p>"If you had been living here, Papa, with us, as I really think you +ought to have done, considering how lonely we are, there would have +been none of all this dreadful affair about Mr. Slope."</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding, however, did not allow himself to be talked over into +giving up his own and only little <i>pied à terre</i> in the +High Street. He promised to come and dine with his daughter, and stay +with her, and visit her, and do everything but absolutely live with +her. It did not suit the peculiar feelings of the man to tell his +daughter that though she had rejected Mr. Slope, and been ready to +reject Mr. Stanhope, some other more favoured suitor would probably +soon appear, and that on the appearance of such a suitor the big front +bedroom might perhaps be more frequently in requisition than at +present. But doubtless such an idea crossed his mind, and added its +weight to the other reasons which made him decide on still keeping the +close, odious little room in High Street.</p> + +<p>The evening passed over quietly and in comfort. Eleanor was always +happier with her father than with anyone else. He had not, perhaps, +any natural taste for baby-worship, but he was always ready to +sacrifice himself, and therefore made an excellent third in a trio +with his daughter and Mary Bold in singing the praises of the +wonderful child.</p> + +<p>They were standing together over their music in the evening, the +baby having again been put to bed upon the sofa, when the servant +brought in a very small note in a beautiful pink envelope. It quite +filled the room with perfume as it lay upon the small salver. Mary Bold +and Mrs. Bold were both at the piano, and Mr. Harding was sitting close +to them, with the violoncello between his legs, so that the elegancy of +the epistle was visible to them all.</p> + +<p>"Please ma'am, Dr. Stanhope's coachman says he is to wait for an +answer," said the servant.</p> + +<p>Eleanor got very red in the face as she took the note in her hand. +She had never seen the writing before. Charlotte's epistles, to +which she was well accustomed, were of a very different style and +kind. She generally wrote on large note-paper; she twisted up her +letters into the shape and sometimes into the size of cocked hats; +she addressed them in a sprawling, manly hand, and not unusually added +a blot or a smudge, as though such were her own peculiar sign-manual. +The address of this note was written in a beautiful female hand, and +the gummed wafer bore on it an impress of a gilt coronet. Though +Eleanor had never seen such a one before, she guessed that it came +from the signora. Such epistles were very numerously sent out from +any house in which the signora might happen to be dwelling, but they +were rarely addressed to ladies. When the coachman was told by the +lady's maid to take the letter to Mrs. Bold, he openly expressed his +opinion that there was some mistake about it. Whereupon the lady's +maid boxed the coachman's ears. Had Mr. Slope seen in how meek a +spirit the coachman took the rebuke, he might have learnt a useful +lesson, both in philosophy and religion.</p> + +<p>The note was as follows. It may be taken as a faithful promise that +no further letter whatever shall be transcribed at length in these +pages.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Mrs. Bold</span>,</p> + +<p>May I ask you, as a great favour, to call on me to-morrow. You can +say what hour will best suit you, but quite early, if you can. I +need hardly say that if I could call upon you, I should not take this +liberty with you.</p> + +<p>I partly know what occurred the other day, and I promise you that you +shall meet with no annoyance if you will come to me. My brother +leaves us for London to-day; from thence he goes to Italy.</p> + +<p>It will probably occur to you that I should not thus intrude on you, +unless I had that to say to you which may be of considerable moment. +Pray therefore excuse me, even if you do not grant my request.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="ind5">And believe me,</span><br /> +<span class="ind10">Very sincerely yours,</span></p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">M. Vesey Neroni</span>.</p> + +<p class="noindent">Thursday Evening<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>The three of them sat in consultation on this epistle for some ten +or fifteen minutes, and then decided that Eleanor should write a line +saying that she would see the signora the next morning at twelve +o'clock.</p> + + +<p><a name="c45" id="c45"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLV</h3> +<h3>The Stanhopes at Home<br /> </h3> + + +<p>We must now return to the Stanhopes and see how they behaved +themselves on their return from Ullathorne.</p> + +<p>Charlotte, who came back in the first homeward journey with her +sister, waited in palpitating expectation till the carriage drove up +to the door a second time. She did not run down, or stand at the +window, or show in any outward manner that she looked for anything +wonderful to occur; but when she heard the carriage wheels, she stood +up with erect ears, listening for Eleanor's footfall on the pavement, +or the cheery sound of Bertie's voice welcoming her in. Had she +heard either, she would have felt that all was right; but neither +sound was there for her to hear. She heard only her father's slow +step as he ponderously let himself down from the carriage and slowly +walked along the hall, till he got into his own private room on the +ground floor. "Send Miss Stanhope to me," he said to the servant.</p> + +<p>"There's something wrong now," said Madeline, who was lying on her +sofa in the back drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"It's all up with Bertie," replied Charlotte. "I know, I know," she +said to the servant as he brought up the message. "Tell my father I +will be with him immediately."</p> + +<p>"Bertie's wooing has gone astray," said Madeline. "I knew it would."</p> + +<p>"It has been his own fault then. She was ready enough, I am quite +sure," said Charlotte with that sort of ill-nature which is not +uncommon when one woman speaks of another.</p> + +<p>"What will you say to him now?" By "him," the signora meant their +father.</p> + +<p>"That will be as I find him. He was ready to pay two hundred pounds +for Bertie to stave off the worst of his creditors, if this marriage +had gone on. Bertie must now have the money instead and go and take +his chance."</p> + +<p>"Where is he now?"</p> + +<p>"Heaven knows! Smoking in the bottom of Mr. Thorne's ha-ha, or +philandering with some of those Miss Chadwicks. Nothing will ever +make an impression on him. But he'll be furious if I don't go down."</p> + +<p>"No, nothing ever will. But don't be long, Charlotte, for I want my +tea."</p> + +<p>And so Charlotte went down to her father. There was a very black +cloud on the old man's brow—blacker than his daughter could +ever yet remember to have seen there. He was sitting in his own +armchair, not comfortably over the fire, but in the middle of the room, +waiting till she should come and listen to him.</p> + +<p>"What has become of your brother?" he said as soon as the door was +shut.</p> + +<p>"I should rather ask you," said Charlotte. "I left you both at +Ullathorne when I came away. What have you done with Mrs. Bold?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Bold! Nonsense. The woman has gone home as she ought to do. +And heartily glad I am that she should not be sacrificed to so +heartless a reprobate."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa!"</p> + +<p>"A heartless reprobate! Tell me now where he is and what he is going +to do. I have allowed myself to be fooled between you. Marriage, +indeed! Who on earth that has money, or credit, or respect in the +world to lose would marry him?"</p> + +<p>"It is no use your scolding me, Papa. I have done the best I could +for him and you."</p> + +<p>"And Madeline is nearly as bad," said the prebendary, who was in +truth very, very angry.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I suppose we are all bad," replied Charlotte.</p> + +<p>The old man emitted a huge, leonine sigh. If they were all bad, who +had made them so? If they were unprincipled, selfish, and +disreputable, who was to be blamed for the education which had had so +injurious an effect?</p> + +<p>"I know you'll ruin me among you," said he.</p> + +<p>"Why, Papa, what nonsense that is. You are living within your income +this minute, and if there are any new debts, I don't know of them. +I am sure there ought to be none, for we are dull enough here."</p> + +<p>"Are those bills of Madeline's paid?"</p> + +<p>"No, they are not. Who was to pay them?"</p> + +<p>"Her husband may pay them."</p> + +<p>"Her husband! Would you wish me to tell her you say so? Do you wish +to turn her out of your house?"</p> + +<p>"I wish she would know how to behave herself."</p> + +<p>"Why, what on earth has she done now? Poor Madeline! To-day is only +the second time she has gone out since we came to this vile town."</p> + +<p>He then sat silent for a time, thinking in what shape he would +declare his resolve. "Well, Papa," said Charlotte, "shall I stay +here, or may I go upstairs and give Mamma her tea?"</p> + +<p>"You are in your brother's confidence. Tell me what he is going to +do."</p> + +<p>"Nothing, that I am aware of."</p> + +<p>"Nothing—nothing! Nothing but eat and drink and spend every +shilling of my money he can lay his hands upon. I have made up my +mind, Charlotte. He shall eat and drink no more in this house."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Then I suppose he must go back to Italy."</p> + +<p>"He may go where he pleases."</p> + +<p>"That's easily said, Papa, but what does it mean? You can't let +him—"</p> + +<p>"It means this?" said the doctor, speaking more loudly than was his +wont and with wrath flashing from his eyes; "that as sure as God +rules in heaven I will not maintain him any longer in idleness."</p> + +<p>"Oh, ruling in heaven!" said Charlotte. "It is no use talking about +that. You must rule him here on earth; and the question is, how can +you do it. You can't turn him out of the house penniless, to beg +about the street."</p> + +<p>"He may beg where he likes."</p> + +<p>"He must go back to Carrara. That is the cheapest place he can live +at, and nobody there will give him credit for above two or three +hundred pauls. But you must let him have the means of going."</p> + +<p>"As sure as—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa, don't swear. You know you must do it. You were ready to +pay two hundred pounds for him if this marriage came off. Half that +will start him to Carrara."</p> + +<p>"What? Give him a hundred pounds?"</p> + +<p>"You know we are all in the dark, Papa," said she, thinking it +expedient to change the conversation. "For anything we know he may +be at this moment engaged to Mrs. Bold."</p> + +<p>"Fiddlestick," said the father, who had seen the way in which Mrs. +Bold had got into the carriage while his son stood apart without even +offering her his hand.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, he must go to Carrara," said Charlotte.</p> + +<p>Just at this moment the lock of the front door was heard, and +Charlotte's quick ears detected her brother's catlike step in the +hall. She said nothing, feeling that for the present Bertie had +better keep out of her father's way. But Dr. Stanhope also heard the +sound of the lock.</p> + +<p>"Who's that?" he demanded. Charlotte made no reply, and he asked +again, "Who is that that has just come in? Open the door. Who is +it?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose it is Bertie."</p> + +<p>"Bid him come here," said the father. But Bertie, who was close to +the door and heard the call, required no further bidding, but walked +in with a perfectly unconcerned and cheerful air. It was this +peculiar <i>insouciance</i> which angered Dr. Stanhope, even more than +his son's extravagance.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir?" said the doctor.</p> + +<p>"And how did you get home, sir, with your fair companion?" said +Bertie. "I suppose she is not upstairs, Charlotte?"</p> + +<p>"Bertie," said Charlotte, "Papa is in no humour for joking. He is +very angry with you."</p> + +<p>"Angry!" said Bertie, raising his eyebrows as though he had never +yet given his parent cause for a single moment's uneasiness.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, if you please, sir," said Dr. Stanhope very sternly but +not now very loudly. "And I'll trouble you to sit down, too, +Charlotte. Your mother can wait for her tea a few minutes."</p> + +<p>Charlotte sat down on the chair nearest to the door in somewhat of a +perverse sort of manner, as much as though she would say—"Well, +here I am; you shan't say I don't do what I am bid; but I'll be whipped +if I give way to you." And she was determined not to give way. She too +was angry with Bertie, but she was not the less ready on that account +to defend him from his father. Bertie also sat down. He drew his chair +close to the library-table, upon which he put his elbow, and then +resting his face comfortably on one hand, he began drawing little +pictures on a sheet of paper with the other. Before the scene was over +he had completed admirable figures of Miss Thorne, Mrs. Proudie, and +Lady De Courcy, and begun a family piece to comprise the whole set of +the Lookalofts.</p> + +<p>"Would it suit you, sir," said the father, "to give me some idea as +to what your present intentions are? What way of living you propose +to yourself?"</p> + +<p>"I'll do anything you can suggest, sir," replied Bertie.</p> + +<p>"No, I shall suggest nothing further. My time for suggesting has +gone by. I have only one order to give, and that is that you leave +my house."</p> + +<p>"To-night?" said Bertie, and the simple tone of the question left +the doctor without any adequately dignified method of reply.</p> + +<p>"Papa does not quite mean to-night," said Charlotte; "at least I +suppose not."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow, perhaps," suggested Bertie.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, to-morrow," said the doctor. "You shall leave this +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir. Will the 4.30 P.M. train be soon enough?" and +Bertie, as he asked, put the finishing touch to Miss Thorne's +high-heeled boots.</p> + +<p>"You may go how and when and where you please, so that you leave my +house to-morrow. You have disgraced me, sir; you have disgraced +yourself, and me, and your sisters."</p> + +<p>"I am glad at least, sir, that I have not disgraced my mother," said +Bertie.</p> + +<p>Charlotte could hardly keep her countenance, but the doctor's brow +grew still blacker than ever. Bertie was executing his <i>chef +d'oeuvre</i> in the delineation of Mrs. Proudie's nose and mouth.</p> + +<p>"You are a heartless reprobate, sir; a heartless, thankless, +good-for-nothing reprobate. I have done with you. You are my +son—that I cannot help—but you shall have no more part or +parcel in me as my child, nor I in you as your father."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa, Papa! You must not, shall not say so," said Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"I will say so, and do say so," said the father, rising from his +chair. "And now leave the room, sir."</p> + +<p>"Stop, stop," said Charlotte. "Why don't you speak, Bertie? Why +don't you look up and speak? It is your manner that makes Papa so +angry."</p> + +<p>"He is perfectly indifferent to all decency, to all propriety," said +the doctor; then he shouted out, "Leave the room, sir! Do you hear +what I say?"</p> + +<p>"Papa, Papa, I will not let you part so. I know you will be sorry +for it." And then she added, getting up and whispering into his ear, +"Is he only to blame? Think of that. We have made our own bed, and, +such as it is, we must lie on it. It is no use for us to quarrel +among ourselves," and as she finished her whisper, Bertie finished +off the countess's bustle, which was so well done that it absolutely +seemed to be swaying to and fro on the paper with its usual lateral +motion.</p> + +<p>"My father is angry at the present time," said Bertie, looking up +for a moment from his sketches, "because I am not going to marry Mrs. +Bold. What can I say on the matter? It is true that I am not going to +marry her. In the first place—"</p> + +<p>"That is not true, sir," said Dr. Stanhope, "but I will not argue +with you."</p> + +<p>"You were angry just this moment because I would not speak," said +Bertie, going on with a young Lookaloft.</p> + +<p>"Give over drawing," said Charlotte, going up to him and taking the +paper from under his hand. The caricatures, however, she preserved +and showed them afterwards to the friends of the Thornes, the +Proudies, and De Courcys. Bertie, deprived of his occupation, threw +himself back in his chair and waited further orders.</p> + +<p>"I think it will certainly be for the best that Bertie should leave +this at once; perhaps to-morrow," said Charlotte; "but pray, Papa, +let us arrange some scheme together."</p> + +<p>"If he will leave this to-morrow, I will give him £10, and he shall +be paid £5 a month by the banker at Carrara as long as he stays +permanently in that place."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, it won't be long," said Bertie, "for I shall be starved +to death in about three months."</p> + +<p>"He must have marble to work with," said Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"I have plenty there in the studio to last me three months," said +Bertie. "It will be no use attempting anything large in so limited a +time—unless I do my own tombstone."</p> + +<p>Terms, however, were ultimately come to somewhat more liberal than +those proposed, and the doctor was induced to shake hands with his +son and bid him good night. Dr. Stanhope would not go up to tea, but +had it brought to him in his study by his daughter.</p> + +<p>But Bertie went upstairs and spent a pleasant evening. He finished +the Lookalofts, greatly to the delight of his sisters, though the +manner of portraying their <i>décolleté</i> dresses was +not the most refined. Finding how matters were going, he by degrees +allowed it to escape from him that he had not pressed his suit upon the +widow in a very urgent way.</p> + +<p>"I suppose, in point of fact, you never proposed at all?" said +Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"Oh, she understood that she might have me if she wished," said he.</p> + +<p>"And she didn't wish," said the Signora.</p> + +<p>"You have thrown me over in the most shameful manner," said +Charlotte. "I suppose you told her all about my little plan?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it came out somehow—at least the most of it."</p> + +<p>"There's an end of that alliance," said Charlotte, "but it doesn't +matter much. I suppose we shall all be back at Como soon."</p> + +<p>"I am sure I hope so," said the signora. "I'm sick of the sight of +black coats. If that Mr. Slope comes here any more, he'll be the +death of me."</p> + +<p>"You've been the ruin of him, I think," said Charlotte.</p> + +<p>"And as for a second black-coated lover of mine, I am going to make +a present of him to another lady with most singular disinterestedness."</p> + +<p>The next day, true to his promise, Bertie packed up and went off by +the 4.30 P.M. train, with £20 in his pocket, bound for the marble +quarries of Carrara. And so he disappears from our scene.</p> + +<p>At twelve o'clock on the day following that on which Bertie went, +Mrs. Bold, true also to her word, knocked at Dr. Stanhope's door with +a timid hand and palpitating heart. She was at once shown up to the +back drawing-room, the folding doors of which were closed, so that in +visiting the signora Eleanor was not necessarily thrown into any +communion with those in the front room. As she went up the stairs, +she saw none of the family and was so far saved much of the annoyance +which she had dreaded.</p> + +<p>"This is very kind of you, Mrs. Bold; very kind, after what has +happened," said the lady on the sofa with her sweetest smile.</p> + +<p>"You wrote in such a strain that I could not but come to you."</p> + +<p>"I did, I did; I wanted to force you to see me."</p> + +<p>"Well, signora, I am here."</p> + +<p>"How cold you are to me. But I suppose I must put up with that. +I know you think you have reason to be displeased with us all. +Poor Bertie; if you knew all, you would not be angry with him."</p> + +<p>"I am not angry with your brother—not in the least. But +I hope you did not send for me here to talk about him."</p> + +<p>"If you are angry with Charlotte, that is worse, for you have no +warmer friend in all Barchester. But I did not send for you to talk +about this—pray bring your chair nearer, Mrs. Bold, so +that I may look at you. It is so unnatural to see you keeping so far +off from me."</p> + +<p>Eleanor did as she was bid and brought her chair close to the sofa.</p> + +<p>"And now, Mrs. Bold, I am going to tell you something which you may +perhaps think indelicate, but yet I know that I am right in doing +so."</p> + +<p>Hereupon Mrs. Bold said nothing but felt inclined to shake in her +chair. The signora, she knew, was not very particular, and that +which to her appeared to be indelicate might to Mrs. Bold appear to +be extremely indecent.</p> + +<p>"I believe you know Mr. Arabin?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bold would have given the world not to blush, but her blood was +not at her own command. She did blush up to her forehead, and the +signora, who had made her sit in a special light in order that she +might watch her, saw that she did so.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am acquainted with him. That is, slightly. He is an intimate +friend of Dr. Grantly, and Dr. Grantly is my brother-in-law."</p> + +<p>"Well, if you know Mr. Arabin, I am sure you must like him. I know +and like him much. Everybody that knows him must like him."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bold felt it quite impossible to say anything in reply to this. +Her blood was rushing about her body she knew not how or why. She +felt as though she were swinging in her chair, and she knew that she +was not only red in the face but also almost suffocated with heat. +However, she sat still and said nothing.</p> + +<p>"How stiff you are with me, Mrs. Bold," said the signora; "and I the +while am doing for you all that one woman can do to serve another."</p> + +<p>A kind of thought came over the widow's mind that perhaps the +signora's friendship was real, and that at any rate it could not hurt +her; and another kind of thought, a glimmering of a thought, came to +her also—that Mr. Arabin was too precious to be lost. She +despised the signora, but might she not stoop to conquer? It should be +but the smallest fraction of a stoop!</p> + +<p>"I don't want to be stiff," she said, "but your questions are so +very singular."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I will ask you one more singular still," said Madeline +Neroni, raising herself on her elbow and turning her own face full +upon her companion's. "Do you love him, love him with all your heart +and soul, with all the love your bosom can feel? For I can tell you +that he loves you, adores you, worships you, thinks of you and +nothing else, is now thinking of you as he attempts to write his +sermon for next Sunday's preaching. What would I not give to be +loved in such a way by such a man, that is, if I were an object fit +for any man to love!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bold got up from her seat and stood speechless before the woman +who was now addressing her in this impassioned way. When the signora +thus alluded to herself, the widow's heart was softened, and she put +her own hand, as though caressingly, on that of her companion, which +was resting on the table. The signora grasped it and went on +speaking.</p> + +<p>"What I tell you is God's own truth; and it is for you to use it as +may be best for your own happiness. But you must not betray me. He +knows nothing of this. He knows nothing of my knowing his inmost +heart. He is simple as a child in these matters. He told me his +secret in a thousand ways because he could not dissemble, but he does +not dream that he has told it. You know it now, and I advise you to +use it."</p> + +<p>Eleanor returned the pressure of the other's hand with an +infinitesimal <i>soupçon</i> of a squeeze.</p> + +<p>"And remember," continued the signora, "he is not like other men. +You must not expect him to come to you with vows and oaths and pretty +presents, to kneel at your feet, and kiss your shoe-strings. If you +want that, there are plenty to do it, but he won't be one of them." +Eleanor's bosom nearly burst with a sigh, but Madeline, not heeding +her, went on. "With him, yea will stand for yea, and nay for nay. +Though his heart should break for it, the woman who shall reject him +once will have rejected him once and for all. Remember that. And +now, Mrs. Bold, I will not keep you, for you are fluttered. I partly +guess what use you will make of what I have said to you. If ever you +are a happy wife in that man's house, we shall be far away, but I +shall expect you to write me one line to say that you have forgiven +the sins of the family."</p> + +<p>Eleanor half-whispered that she would, and then, without uttering +another word, crept out of the room and down the stairs, opened the +front door for herself without hearing or seeing anyone, and found +herself in the close.</p> + +<p>It would be difficult to analyse Eleanor's feelings as she walked +home. She was nearly stupefied by the things that had been said to +her. She felt sore that her heart should have been so searched and +riddled by a comparative stranger, by a woman whom she had never +liked and never could like. She was mortified that the man whom she +owned to herself that she loved should have concealed his love from +her and shown it to another. There was much to vex her proud spirit. +But there was, nevertheless, an under stratum of joy in all this +which buoyed her up wondrously. She tried if she could disbelieve +what Madame Neroni had said to her, but she found that she could not. +It was true; it must be true. She could not, would not, did not +doubt it.</p> + +<p>On one point she fully resolved to follow the advice given her. If +it should ever please Mr. Arabin to put such a question to her as +that suggested, her "yea" should be "yea." Would not all her +miseries be at an end if she could talk of them to him openly, with +her head resting on his shoulder?</p> + + +<p><a name="c46" id="c46"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLVI</h3> +<h3>Mr. Slope's Parting Interview with the Signora<br /> </h3> + + +<p>On the following day the signora was in her pride. She was dressed +in her brightest of morning dresses, and had quite a levée round +her couch. It was a beautifully bright October afternoon; all the +gentlemen of the neighbourhood were in Barchester, and those who had +the entry of Dr. Stanhope's house were in the signora's back +drawing-room. Charlotte and Mrs. Stanhope were in the front room, and +such of the lady's squires as could not for the moment get near the +centre of attraction had to waste their fragrance on the mother and +sister.</p> + +<p>The first who came and the last to leave was Mr. Arabin. This was +the second visit he had paid to Madame Neroni since he had met her at +Ullathorne. He came, he knew not why, to talk about, he knew not +what. But, in truth, the feelings which now troubled him were new to +him, and he could not analyse them. It may seem strange that he +should thus come dangling about Madame Neroni because he was in love +with Mrs. Bold; but it was nevertheless the fact; and though he could +not understand why he did so, Madame Neroni understood it well enough.</p> + +<p>She had been gentle and kind to him and had encouraged his staying. +Therefore he stayed on. She pressed his hand when he first greeted +her; she made him remain near her and whispered to him little +nothings. And then her eye, brilliant and bright, now mirthful, now +melancholy, and invincible in either way! What man with warm +feelings, blood unchilled, and a heart not guarded by a triple steel +of experience could have withstood those eyes! The lady, it is true, +intended to do him no mortal injury; she merely chose to inhale a +slight breath of incense before she handed the casket over to +another. Whether Mrs. Bold would willingly have spared even so much +is another question.</p> + +<p>And then came Mr. Slope. All the world now knew that Mr. Slope was a +candidate for the deanery and that he was generally considered to be +the favourite. Mr. Slope, therefore, walked rather largely upon the +earth. He gave to himself a portly air, such as might become a dean, +spoke but little to other clergymen, and shunned the bishop as much +as possible. How the meagre little prebendary, and the burly +chancellor, and all the minor canons and vicars choral, ay, and all +the choristers, too, cowered and shook and walked about with long +faces when they read or heard of that article in "The Jupiter." Now +were coming the days when nothing would avail to keep the impure +spirit from the cathedral pulpit. That pulpit would indeed be his +own. Precentors, vicars, and choristers might hang up their harps on +the willows. Ichabod! Ichabod! The glory of their house was +departing from them.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope, great as he was with embryo grandeur, still came to see +the signora. Indeed, he could not keep himself away. He dreamed of +that soft hand which he had kissed so often, and of that imperial brow +which his lips had once pressed; and he then dreamed also of further +favours.</p> + +<p>And Mr. Thorne was there also. It was the first visit he had ever +paid to the signora, and he made it not without due preparation. Mr. +Thorne was a gentleman usually precise in his dress and prone to make +the most of himself in an unpretending way. The grey hairs in his +whiskers were eliminated perhaps once a month; those on his head were +softened by a mixture which we will not call a dye—it was +only a wash. His tailor lived in St. James's Street, and his bootmaker +at the corner of that street and Piccadilly. He was particular in the +article of gloves, and the getting up of his shirts was a matter not +lightly thought of in the Ullathorne laundry. On the occasion of the +present visit he had rather overdone his usual efforts, and caused some +little uneasiness to his sister, who had not hitherto received very +cordially the proposition for a lengthened visit from the signora at +Ullathorne.</p> + +<p>There were others also there—young men about the city +who had not much to do and who were induced by the lady's charms to +neglect that little—but all gave way to Mr. Thorne, who was +somewhat of a grand signor, as a country gentleman always is in a +provincial city.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Thorne, this is so kind of you!" said the signora. "You +promised to come, but I really did not expect it. I thought you +country gentlemen never kept your pledges."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, sometimes," said Mr. Thorne, looking rather sheepish and +making his salutations a little too much in the style of the last +century.</p> + +<p>"You deceive none but your +consti—stit—stit—what do you call the +people that carry you about in chairs and pelt you with eggs and +apples when they make you a member of Parliament?"</p> + +<p>"One another also, sometimes, signora," said Mr. Slope, with a very +deanish sort of smirk on his face. "Country gentlemen do deceive one +another sometimes, don't they, Mr. Thorne?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Thorne gave him a look which undeaned him completely for the +moment, but he soon remembered his high hopes and, recovering himself +quickly, sustained his probable coming dignity by a laugh at Mr. +Thorne's expense.</p> + +<p>"I never deceive a lady, at any rate," said Mr. Thorne, "especially +when the gratification of my own wishes is so strong an inducement to +keep me true, as it now is."</p> + +<p>Mr. Thorne went on thus awhile with antediluvian grimaces and +compliments which he had picked up from Sir Charles Grandison, and +the signora at every grimace and at every bow smiled a little smile +and bowed a little bow. Mr. Thorne, however, was kept standing at +the foot of the couch, for the new dean sat in the seat of honour +near the table. Mr. Arabin the while was standing with his back to +the fire, his coat-tails under his arms, gazing at her with all his +eyes—not quite in vain, for every now and again a glance +came up at him, bright as a meteor out of heaven.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Thorne, you promised to let me introduce my little girl to +you. Can you spare a moment—will you see her now?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Thorne assured her that he could and would see the young lady +with the greatest pleasure in life. "Mr. Slope, might I trouble you +to ring the bell?" said she, and when Mr. Slope got up, she looked at +Mr. Thorne and pointed to the chair. Mr. Thorne, however, was much +too slow to understand her, and Mr. Slope would have recovered his +seat had not the signora, who never chose to be unsuccessful, +somewhat summarily ordered him out of it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Slope, I must ask you to let Mr. Thorne sit here just for a +moment or two. I am sure you will pardon me. We can take a liberty +with you this week. Next week, you know, when you move into the +dean's house, we shall all be afraid of you."</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope, with an air of much indifference, rose from his seat and, +walking into the next room, became greatly interested in Mrs. +Stanhope's worsted work.</p> + +<p>And then the child was brought in. She was a little girl, about +eight years of age, like her mother, only that her enormous eyes were +black, and her hair quite jet. Her complexion, too, was very dark +and bespoke her foreign blood. She was dressed in the most +outlandish and extravagant way in which clothes could be put on a +child's back. She had great bracelets on her naked little arms, a +crimson fillet braided with gold round her head, and scarlet shoes +with high heels. Her dress was all flounces and stuck out from her +as though the object were to make it lie off horizontally from her +little hips. It did not nearly cover her knees, but this was atoned +for by a loose pair of drawers, which seemed made throughout of lace; +then she had on pink silk stockings. It was thus that the last of +the Neros was habitually dressed at the hour when visitors were wont +to call.</p> + +<p>"Julia, my love," said the mother—Julia was ever a +favourite name with the ladies of that family. "Julia, my love, come +here. I was telling you about the beautiful party poor Mamma went to. +This is Mr. Thorne; will you give him a kiss, dearest?"</p> + +<p>Julia put up her face to be kissed, as she did to all her mother's +visitors, and then Mr. Thorne found that he had got her and, what was +much more terrific to him, all her finery, into his arms. The lace +and starch crumpled against his waistcoat and trousers, the greasy +black curls hung upon his cheek, and one of the bracelet clasps +scratched his ear. He did not at all know how to hold so magnificent +a lady, nor holding her what to do with her. However, he had on +other occasions been compelled to fondle little nieces and nephews, +and now set about the task in the mode he always had used.</p> + +<p>"Diddle, diddle, diddle, diddle," said he, putting the child on one +knee and working away with it as though he were turning a +knife-grinder's wheel with his foot.</p> + +<p>"Mamma, Mamma," said Julia crossly, "I don't want to be diddle +diddled. Let me go, you naughty old man, you."</p> + +<p>Poor Mr. Thorne put the child down quietly on the ground and drew +back his chair; Mr. Slope, who had returned to the pole star that +attracted him, laughed aloud; Mr. Arabin winced and shut his eyes; +and the signora pretended not to hear her daughter.</p> + +<p>"Go to Aunt Charlotte, lovey," said the mamma, "and ask her if it is +not time for you to go out."</p> + +<p>But little Miss Julia, though she had not exactly liked the nature +of Mr. Thorne's attention, was accustomed to be played with by +gentlemen, and did not relish the idea of being sent so soon to her +aunt.</p> + +<p>"Julia, go when I tell you, my dear." But Julia still went pouting +about the room. "Charlotte, do come and take her," said the signora. +"She must go out, and the days get so short now." And thus ended the +much-talked-of interview between Mr. Thorne and the last of the +Neros.</p> + +<p>Mr. Thorne recovered from the child's crossness sooner than from Mr. +Slope's laughter. He could put up with being called an old man by an +infant, but he did not like to be laughed at by the bishop's +chaplain, even though that chaplain was about to become a dean. He +said nothing, but he showed plainly enough that he was angry.</p> + +<p>The signora was ready enough to avenge him. "Mr. Slope," said she, +"I hear that you are triumphing on all sides."</p> + +<p>"How so?" said he, smiling. He did not dislike being talked to about +the deanery, though, of course, he strongly denied the imputation.</p> + +<p>"You carry the day both in love and war." Mr. Slope hereupon did not +look quite so satisfied as he had done.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Arabin," continued the signora, "don't you think Mr. Slope is a +very lucky man?"</p> + +<p>"Not more so than he deserves, I am sure," said Mr. Arabin.</p> + +<p>"Only think, Mr. Thorne, he is to be our new dean; of course we all +know that."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, signora," said Mr. Slope, "we all know nothing about it. +I can assure you I myself—"</p> + +<p>"He is to be the new dean—there is no manner of doubt +of it, Mr. Thorne."</p> + +<p>"Hum!" said Mr. Thorne.</p> + +<p>"Passing over the heads of old men like my father and Archdeacon +Grantly—"</p> + +<p>"Oh—oh!" said Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"The archdeacon would not accept it," said Mr. Arabin, whereupon Mr. +Slope smiled abominably and said, as plainly as a look could speak, +that the grapes were sour.</p> + +<p>"Going over all our heads," continued the signora, "for of course I +consider myself one of the chapter."</p> + +<p>"If I am ever dean," said Mr. Slope, "that is, were I ever to become +so, I should glory in such a canoness."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Slope, stop; I haven't half done. There is another canoness +for you to glory in. Mr. Slope is not only to have the deanery but a +wife to put in it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope again looked disconcerted.</p> + +<p>"A wife with a large fortune, too. It never rains but it pours, does +it, Mr. Thorne?"</p> + +<p>"No, never," said Mr. Thorne, who did not quite relish talking about +Mr. Slope and his affairs.</p> + +<p>"When will it be, Mr. Slope?"</p> + +<p>"When will what be?" said he.</p> + +<p>"Oh, we know when the affair of the dean will be: a week will settle +that. The new hat, I have no doubt, has been already ordered. But +when will the marriage come off?"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean mine or Mr. Arabin's?" said he, striving to be +facetious.</p> + +<p>"Well, just then I meant yours, though, perhaps, after all, Mr. +Arabin's may be first. But we know nothing of him. He is too close +for any of us. Now all is open and above board with +you—which, by the by, Mr. Arabin, I beg to tell you I like +much the best. He who runs can read that Mr. Slope is a favoured lover. +Come, Mr. Slope, when is the widow to be made Mrs. Dean?"</p> + +<p>To Mr. Arabin this badinage was peculiarly painful, and yet he could +not tear himself away and leave it. He believed, still believed with +that sort of belief which the fear of a thing engenders, that Mrs. +Bold would probably become the wife of Mr. Slope. Of Mr. Slope's +little adventure in the garden he knew nothing. For aught he knew, +Mr. Slope might have had an adventure of quite a different character. +He might have thrown himself at the widow's feet, been accepted, and +then returned to town a jolly, thriving wooer. The signora's jokes +were bitter enough to Mr. Slope, but they were quite as bitter to Mr. +Arabin. He still stood leaning against the fire-place, fumbling with +his hands in his trousers pockets.</p> + +<p>"Come, come, Mr. Slope, don't be so bashful," continued the signora. +"We all know that you proposed to the lady the other day at +Ullathorne. Tell us with what words she accepted you. Was it with a +simple 'yes,' or with the two 'no no's' which make an affirmative? +Or did silence give consent? Or did she speak out with that spirit +which so well becomes a widow and say openly, 'By my troth, sir, you +shall make me Mrs. Slope as soon as it is your pleasure to do so.'"</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope had seldom in his life felt himself less at his ease. +There sat Mr. Thorne, laughing silently. There stood his old +antagonist, Mr. Arabin, gazing at him with all his eyes. There round +the door between the two rooms were clustered a little group of +people, including Miss Stanhope and the Revs. Messrs. Grey and Green, +all listening to his discomfiture. He knew that it depended solely +on his own wit whether or no he could throw the joke back upon the +lady. He knew that it stood him to do so if he possibly could, but +he had not a word. "'Tis conscience that makes cowards of us all." +He felt on his cheek the sharp points of Eleanor's fingers, and did +not know who might have seen the blow, who might have told the tale +to this pestilent woman who took such delight in jeering him. He +stood there, therefore, red as a carbuncle and mute as a fish; +grinning sufficiently to show his teeth; an object of pity.</p> + +<p>But the signora had no pity; she knew nothing of mercy. Her present +object was to put Mr. Slope down, and she was determined to do it +thoroughly, now that she had him in her power.</p> + +<p>"What, Mr. Slope, no answer? Why it can't possibly be that the woman +has been fool enough to refuse you? She can't surely be looking out +after a bishop. But I see how it is, Mr. Slope. Widows are +proverbially cautious. You should have let her alone till the new +hat was on your head, till you could show her the key of the +deanery."</p> + +<p>"Signora," said he at last, trying to speak in a tone of dignified +reproach, "you really permit yourself to talk on solemn subjects in a +very improper way."</p> + +<p>"Solemn subjects—what solemn subject? Surely a dean's +hat is not such a solemn subject."</p> + +<p>"I have no aspirations such as those you impute to me. Perhaps you +will drop the subject."</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly, Mr. Slope; but one word first. Go to her again with +the prime minister's letter in your pocket. I'll wager my shawl to +your shovel she does not refuse you then."</p> + +<p>"I must say, signora, that I think you are speaking of the lady in a +very unjustifiable manner."</p> + +<p>"And one other piece of advice, Mr. Slope; I'll only offer you one +other;" and then she commenced singing—<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p class="noindent">"It's gude to be merry and wise, Mr. Slope;<br /> +<span class="ind2">It's gude to be honest and true;</span><br /> + It's gude to be off with the old love—Mr. Slope,<br /> +<span class="ind2">Before you are on with the new.</span><br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p>"Ha, ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>And the signora, throwing herself back on her sofa, +laughed merrily. She little recked how those who heard her would, in +their own imaginations, fill up the little history of Mr. Slope's +first love. She little cared that some among them might attribute to +her the honour of his earlier admiration. She was tired of Mr. Slope +and wanted to get rid of him; she had ground for anger with him, and +she chose to be revenged.</p> + +<p>How Mr. Slope got out of that room he never himself knew. He did +succeed ultimately, and probably with some assistance, in getting his +hat and escaping into the air. At last his love for the signora was +cured. Whenever he again thought of her in his dreams, it was not as +of an angel with azure wings. He connected her rather with fire and +brimstone, and though he could still believe her to be a spirit, he +banished her entirely out of heaven and found a place for her among +the infernal gods. When he weighed in the balance, as he not seldom +did, the two women to whom he had attached himself in Barchester, the +pre-eminent place in his soul's hatred was usually allotted to the +signora.</p> + + +<p><a name="c47" id="c47"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLVII</h3> +<h3>The Dean Elect<br /> </h3> + + +<p>During the entire next week Barchester was ignorant who was to be +its new dean. On Sunday morning Mr. Slope was decidedly the favourite, +but he did not show himself in the cathedral, and then he sank a +point or two in the betting. On Monday he got a scolding from the +bishop in the hearing of the servants, and down he went till nobody +would have him at any price; but on Tuesday he received a letter, in +an official cover, marked private, by which he fully recovered his +place in the public favour. On Wednesday he was said to be ill, and +that did not look well; but on Thursday morning he went down to the +railway station with a very jaunty air; and when it was ascertained +that he had taken a first-class ticket for London, there was no +longer any room for doubt on the matter.</p> + +<p>While matters were in this state of ferment at Barchester, there was +not much mental comfort at Plumstead. Our friend the archdeacon had +many grounds for inward grief. He was much displeased at the result +of Dr. Gwynne's diplomatic mission to the palace, and did not even +scruple to say to his wife that had he gone himself, he would have +managed the affair much better. His wife did not agree with him, but +that did not mend the matter.</p> + +<p>Mr. Quiverful's appointment to the hospital was, however, a <i>fait +accompli</i>, and Mr. Harding's acquiescence in that appointment was +not less so. Nothing would induce Mr. Harding to make a public appeal +against the bishop, and the Master of Lazarus quite approved of his not +doing so.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what has come to the master," said the archdeacon over +and over again. "He used to be ready enough to stand up for his +order."</p> + +<p>"My dear Archdeacon," Mrs. Grantly would say in reply, "what is the +use of always fighting? I really think the master is right." The +master, however, had taken steps of his own of which neither the +archdeacon nor his wife knew anything.</p> + +<p>Then Mr. Slope's successes were henbane to Dr. Grantly, and Mrs. +Bold's improprieties were as bad. What would be all the world to +Archdeacon Grantly if Mr. Slope should become Dean of Barchester and +marry his wife's sister! He talked of it and talked of it till he +was nearly ill. Mrs. Grantly almost wished that the marriage were +done and over, so that she might hear no more about it.</p> + +<p>And there was yet another ground of misery which cut him to the +quick nearly as closely as either of the others. That paragon of a +clergyman whom he had bestowed upon St. Ewold's, that college friend of +whom he had boasted so loudly, that ecclesiastical knight before whose +lance Mr. Slope was to fall and bite the dust, that worthy bulwark of +the church as it should be, that honoured representative of Oxford's +best spirit, was—so at least his wife had told him half a +dozen times—misconducting himself!</p> + +<p>Nothing had been seen of Mr. Arabin at Plumstead for the last week, +but a good deal had, unfortunately, been heard of him. As soon as +Mrs. Grantly had found herself alone with the archdeacon, on the +evening of the Ullathorne party, she had expressed herself very +forcibly as to Mr. Arabin's conduct on that occasion. He had, she +declared, looked and acted and talked very unlike a decent parish +clergyman. At first the archdeacon had laughed at this, and assured +her that she need not trouble herself—that Mr. Arabin would +be found to be quite safe. But by degrees he began to find that his +wife's eyes had been sharper than his own. Other people coupled the +signora's name with that of Mr. Arabin. The meagre little prebendary +who lived in the close told him to a nicety how often Mr. Arabin had +visited at Dr. Stanhope's, and how long he had remained on the occasion +of each visit. He had asked after Mr. Arabin at the cathedral library, +and an officious little vicar choral had offered to go and see whether +he could be found at Dr. Stanhope's. Rumour, when she has contrived to +sound the first note on her trumpet, soon makes a loud peal audible +enough. It was too clear that Mr. Arabin had succumbed to the Italian +woman, and that the archdeacon's credit would suffer fearfully if +something were not done to rescue the brand from the burning. Besides, +to give the archdeacon his due, he was really attached to Mr. Arabin, +and grieved greatly at his backsliding.</p> + +<p>They were sitting, talking over their sorrows, in the drawing-room +before dinner on the day after Mr. Slope's departure for London, and +on this occasion Mrs. Grantly spoke out her mind freely. She had +opinions of her own about parish clergymen, and now thought it right +to give vent to them.</p> + +<p>"If you would have been led by me, Archdeacon, you would never have +put a bachelor into St. Ewold's."</p> + +<p>"But my dear, you don't meant to say that all bachelor clergymen +misbehave themselves."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that clergymen are so much better than other men," +said Mrs. Grantly. "It's all very well with a curate, whom you have +under your own eye and whom you can get rid of if he persists in +improprieties."</p> + +<p>"But Mr. Arabin was a fellow, and couldn't have had a wife."</p> + +<p>"Then I would have found someone who could."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear, are fellows never to get livings?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, to be sure they are, when they get engaged. I never would put +a young man into a living unless he were married, or engaged to be +married. Now, here is Mr. Arabin. The whole responsibility lies +upon you."</p> + +<p>"There is not at this moment a clergyman in all Oxford more +respected for morals and conduct than Arabin."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Oxford!" said the lady, with a sneer. "What men choose to do at +Oxford nobody ever hears of. A man may do very well at Oxford who +would bring disgrace on a parish; and to tell you the truth, it seems +to me that Mr. Arabin is just such a man."</p> + +<p>The archdeacon groaned deeply, but he had no further answer to make.</p> + +<p>"You really must speak to him, Archdeacon. Only think what the +Thornes will say if they hear that their parish clergyman spends his +whole time philandering with this woman."</p> + +<p>The archdeacon groaned again. He was a courageous man, and knew well +enough how to rebuke the younger clergymen of the diocese, when +necessary. But there was that about Mr. Arabin which made the doctor +feel that it would be very difficult to rebuke him with good effect.</p> + +<p>"You can advise him to find a wife for himself, and he will +understand well enough what that means," said Mrs. Grantly.</p> + +<p>The archdeacon had nothing for it but groaning. There was Mr. Slope: +he was going to be made dean; he was going to take a wife; he was +about to achieve respectability and wealth, an excellent family +mansion, and a family carriage; he would soon be among the +comfortable <i>élite</i> of the ecclesiastical world of +Barchester; whereas his own <i>protégé</i>, the true +scion of the true church, by whom he had sworn, would be still but a +poor vicar, and that with a very indifferent character for moral +conduct! It might be all very well recommending Mr. Arabin to marry, +but how would Mr. Arabin, when married, support a wife?</p> + +<p>Things were ordering themselves thus in Plumstead drawing-room when +Dr. and Mrs. Grantly were disturbed in their sweet discourse by the +quick rattle of a carriage and pair of horses on the gravel sweep. +The sound was not that of visitors, whose private carriages are +generally brought up to country-house doors with demure propriety, +but betokened rather the advent of some person or persons who were in +a hurry to reach the house, and had no intention of immediately +leaving it. Guests invited to stay a week, and who were conscious of +arriving after the first dinner-bell, would probably approach in such +a manner. So might arrive an attorney with the news of a +granduncle's death, or a son from college with all the fresh honours +of a double first. No one would have had himself driven up to the +door of a country-house in such a manner who had the slightest doubt +of his own right to force an entry.</p> + +<p>"Who is it?" said Mrs. Grantly, looking at her husband.</p> + +<p>"Who on earth can it be?" said the archdeacon to his wife. He then +quietly got up and stood with the drawing-room door open in his hand. +"Why, it's your father!"</p> + +<p>It was indeed Mr. Harding, and Mr. Harding alone. He had come by +himself in a post-chaise with a couple of horses from Barchester, +arriving almost after dark, and evidently full of news. His visits +had usually been made in the quietest manner; he had rarely presumed +to come without notice, and had always been driven up in a modest old +green fly, with one horse, that hardly made itself heard as it +crawled up to the hall-door.</p> + +<p>"Good gracious, Warden, is it you?" said the archdeacon, forgetting +in his surprise the events of the last few years. "But come in; +nothing the matter, I hope."</p> + +<p>"We are very glad you are come, Papa," said his daughter. "I'll go +and get your room ready at once."</p> + +<p>"I an't warden, Archdeacon," said Mr. Harding; "Mr. Quiverful is +warden."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know, I know," said the archdeacon petulantly. "I forgot all +about it at the moment. Is anything the matter?"</p> + +<p>"Don't go this moment, Susan," said Mr. Harding. "I have something +to tell you."</p> + +<p>"The dinner-bell will ring in five minutes," said she.</p> + +<p>"Will it?" said Mr. Harding. "Then perhaps I had better wait." He +was big with news which he had come to tell, but which he knew could +not be told without much discussion. He had hurried away to +Plumstead as fast as two horses could bring him, and now, finding +himself there, he was willing to accept the reprieve which dinner +would give him.</p> + +<p>"If you have anything of moment to tell us," said the archdeacon, +"pray let us hear it at once. Has Eleanor gone off?"</p> + +<p>"No, she has not," said Mr. Harding with a look of great +displeasure.</p> + +<p>"Has Slope been made dean?"</p> + +<p>"No, he has not, but—"</p> + +<p>"But what?" said the archdeacon, who was becoming very impatient.</p> + +<p>"They have—"</p> + +<p>"They have what?" said the archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"They have offered it to me," said Mr. Harding, with a modesty which +almost prevented his speaking.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" said the archdeacon, and sunk back exhausted in an +easy chair.</p> + +<p>"My dear, dear father," said Mrs. Grantly, and threw her arms round +her father's neck.</p> + +<p>"So I thought I had better come out and consult with you at once," +said Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"Consult!" shouted the archdeacon. "But, my dear Harding, I +congratulate you with my whole heart—with my whole heart; I +do indeed. I never heard anything in my life that gave me so much +pleasure;" and he got hold of both his father-in-law's hands, and shook +them as though he were going to shake them off, and walked round and +round the room, twirling a copy of "The Jupiter" over his head to show +his extreme exultation.</p> + +<p>"But—" began Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"But me no buts," said the archdeacon. "I never was so happy in my +life. It was just the proper thing to do. Upon my honour I'll never +say another word against Lord –––– the longest +day I have to live."</p> + +<p>"That's Dr. Gwynne's doing, you may be sure," said Mrs. Grantly, who +greatly liked the Master of Lazarus, he being an orderly married man +with a large family.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it is," said the archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa, I am so truly delighted!" said Mrs. Grantly, getting up +and kissing her father.</p> + +<p>"But, my dear," said Mr. Harding. It was all in vain that he strove +to speak; nobody would listen to him.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Dean," said the archdeacon, triumphing, "the deanery +gardens will be some consolation for the hospital elms. Well, poor +Quiverful! I won't begrudge him his good fortune any longer."</p> + +<p>"No, indeed," said Mrs. Grantly. "Poor woman, she has fourteen +children. I am sure I am very glad they have got it."</p> + +<p>"So am I," said Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"I would give twenty pounds," said the archdeacon, "to see how +Mr. Slope will look when he hears it." The idea of Mr. Slope's +discomfiture formed no small part of the archdeacon's pleasure.</p> + +<p>At last Mr. Harding was allowed to go upstairs and wash his hands, +having, in fact, said very little of all that he had come out to +Plumstead on purpose to say. Nor could anything more be said till +the servants were gone after dinner. The joy of Dr. Grantly was so +uncontrollable that he could not refrain from calling his +father-in-law Mr. Dean before the men, and therefore it was soon matter +of discussion in the lower regions how Mr. Harding, instead of his +daughter's future husband, was to be the new dean, and various were the +opinions on the matter. The cook and butler, who were advanced in +years, thought that it was just as it should be; but the footman and +lady's maid, who were younger, thought it was a great shame that Mr. +Slope should lose his chance.</p> + +<p>"He's a mean chap all the same," said the footman, "and it an't +along of him that I says so. But I always did admire the missus's +sister; and she'd well become the situation."</p> + +<p>While these were the ideas downstairs, a very great difference of +opinion existed above. As soon as the cloth was drawn and the wine +on the table, Mr. Harding made for himself an opportunity of +speaking. It was, however, with much inward troubling that he said:</p> + +<p>"It's very kind of Lord ––––, very kind, and +I feel it deeply, most deeply. I am, I must confess, gratified by the +offer—"</p> + +<p>"I should think so," said the archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"But all the same I am afraid that I can't accept it."</p> + +<p>The decanter almost fell from the archdeacon's hand upon the table, +and the start he made was so great as to make his wife jump up from +her chair. Not accept the deanship! If it really ended in this, +there would be no longer any doubt that his father-in-law was +demented. The question now was whether a clergyman with low rank and +preferment amounting to less than £200 a year should accept high +rank, £1,200 a year, and one of the most desirable positions which +his profession had to afford!</p> + +<p>"What!" said the archdeacon, gasping for breath and staring at his +guest as though the violence of his emotion had almost thrown him +into a fit. "What!"</p> + +<p>"I do not find myself fit for new duties," urged Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"New duties! What duties?" said the archdeacon with unintended +sarcasm.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa," said Mrs. Grantly, "nothing can be easier than what a +dean has to do. Surely you are more active than Dr. Trefoil."</p> + +<p>"He won't have half as much to do as he has at present," said Dr. +Grantly.</p> + +<p>"Did you see what 'The Jupiter' said the other day about young men?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I saw that 'The Jupiter' said all that it could to induce +the appointment of Mr. Slope. Perhaps you would wish to see Mr. Slope +made dean."</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding made no reply to this rebuke, though he felt it +strongly. He had not come over to Plumstead to have further contention +with his son-in-law about Mr. Slope, so he allowed it to pass by.</p> + +<p>"I know I cannot make you understand my feeling," he said, "for we +have been cast in different moulds. I may wish that I had your +spirit and energy and power of combatting; but I have not. Every day +that is added to my life increases my wish for peace and rest."</p> + +<p>"And where on earth can a man have peace and rest if not in a +deanery!" said the archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"People will say that I am too old for it."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens! People! What people? What need you care for any +people?"</p> + +<p>"But I think myself I am too old for any new place."</p> + +<p>"Dear Papa," said Mrs. Grantly, "men ten years older than you are +appointed to new situations day after day."</p> + +<p>"My dear," said he, "it is impossible that I should make you +understand my feelings, nor do I pretend to any great virtue in the +matter. The truth is, I want the force of character which might +enable me to stand against the spirit of the times. The call on all +sides now is for young men, and I have not the nerve to put myself in +opposition to the demand. Were 'The Jupiter,' when it hears of my +appointment, to write article after article setting forth my +incompetency, I am sure it would cost me my reason. I ought to be +able to bear with such things, you will say. Well, my dear, I own +that I ought. But I feel my weakness, and I know that I can't. And +to tell you the truth, I know no more than a child what the dean has +to do."</p> + +<p>"Pshaw!" exclaimed the archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"Don't be angry with me, Archdeacon: don't let us quarrel about it, +Susan. If you knew how keenly I feel the necessity of having to +disoblige you in this matter, you would not be angry with me."</p> + +<p>This was a dreadful blow to Dr. Grantly. Nothing could possibly have +suited him better than having Mr. Harding in the deanery. Though he +had never looked down on Mr. Harding on account of his recent +poverty, he did fully recognize the satisfaction of having those +belonging to him in comfortable positions. It would be much more +suitable that Mr. Harding should be Dean of Barchester than vicar of +St. Cuthbert's and precentor to boot. And then the great +discomfiture of that arch-enemy of all that was respectable in +Barchester, of that new Low Church clerical parvenu that had fallen +amongst them, that alone would be worth more, almost, than the +situation itself. It was frightful to think that such unhoped-for +good fortune should be marred by the absurd crotchets and unwholesome +hallucinations by which Mr. Harding allowed himself to be led astray. +To have the cup so near his lips and then to lose the drinking of it +was more than Dr. Grantly could endure.</p> + +<p>And yet it appeared as though he would have to endure it. In vain he +threatened and in vain he coaxed. Mr. Harding did not indeed speak +with perfect decision of refusing the proffered glory, but he would +not speak with anything like decision of accepting it. When pressed +again and again, he would again and again allege that he was wholly +unfitted to new duties. It was in vain that the archdeacon tried to +insinuate, though he could not plainly declare, that there were no +new duties to perform. It was in vain he hinted that in all cases of +difficulty he, he the archdeacon, was willing and able to guide a +weak-minded dean. Mr. Harding seemed to have a foolish idea, not +only that there were new duties to do, but that no one should accept +the place who was not himself prepared to do them.</p> + +<p>The conference ended in an understanding that Mr. Harding should at +once acknowledge the letter he had received from the minister's +private secretary, and should beg that he might be allowed two days to +make up his mind; and that during those two days the matter should be +considered.</p> + +<p>On the following morning the archdeacon was to drive Mr. Harding +back to Barchester.</p> + + +<p><a name="c48" id="c48"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLVIII</h3> +<h3>Miss Thorne Shows Her Talent at Match-Making<br /> </h3> + + +<p>On Mr. Harding's return to Barchester from Plumstead, which was +effected by him in due course in company with the archdeacon, more +tidings of a surprising nature met him. He was, during the journey, +subjected to such a weight of unanswerable argument, all of which +went to prove that it was his bounden duty not to interfere with the +paternal Government that was so anxious to make him a dean, that when +he arrived at the chemist's door in High Street, he hardly knew which +way to turn himself in the matter. But, perplexed as he was, he was +doomed to further perplexity. He found a note there from his +daughter begging him most urgently to come to her immediately. But +we must again go back a little in our story.</p> + +<p>Miss Thorne had not been slow to hear the rumours respecting Mr. +Arabin which had so much disturbed the happiness of Mrs. Grantly. +And she, also, was unhappy to think that her parish clergyman should +be accused of worshipping a strange goddess. She, also, was of +opinion that rectors and vicars should all be married, and with that +good-natured energy which was characteristic of her, she put her wits +to work to find a fitting match for Mr. Arabin. Mrs. Grantly, in +this difficulty, could think of no better remedy than a lecture from +the archdeacon. Miss Thorne thought that a young lady, marriageable +and with a dowry, might be of more efficacy. In looking through the +catalogue of her unmarried friends who might possibly be in want of a +husband, and might also be fit for such promotion as a country +parsonage affords, she could think of no one more eligible than Mrs. +Bold; consequently, losing no time, she went into Barchester on the +day of Mr. Slope's discomfiture, the same day that her brother had +had his interesting interview with the last of the Neros, and invited +Mrs. Bold to bring her nurse and baby to Ullathorne and make them a +protracted visit.</p> + +<p>Miss Thorne suggested a month or two, intending to use her influence +afterwards in prolonging it so as to last out the winter, in order +that Mr. Arabin might have an opportunity of becoming fairly intimate +with his intended bride. "We'll have Mr. Arabin, too," said Miss +Thorne to herself; "and before the spring they'll know each other; +and in twelve or eighteen months' time, if all goes well, Mrs. Bold +will be domiciled at St. Ewold's;" and then the kind-hearted lady +gave herself some not undeserved praise for her match-making genius.</p> + +<p>Eleanor was taken a little by surprise, but the matter ended in her +promising to go to Ullathorne for at any rate a week or two; on the +day previous to that on which her father drove out to Plumstead, she +had had herself driven out to Ullathorne.</p> + +<p>Miss Thorne would not perplex her with her embryo lord on that same +evening, thinking that she would allow her a few hours to make +herself at home; but on the following morning Mr. Arabin arrived. +"And now," said Miss Thorne to herself, "I must contrive to throw +them in each other's way." That same day, after dinner, Eleanor, with +an assumed air of dignity which she could not maintain, with tears +which she could not suppress, with a flutter which she could not +conquer, and a joy which she could not hide, told Miss Thorne that +she was engaged to marry Mr. Arabin and that it behoved her to get +back home to Barchester as quick as she could.</p> + +<p>To say simply that Miss Thorne was rejoiced at the success of the +scheme would give a very faint idea of her feelings on the occasion. +My readers may probably have dreamt before now that they have had +before them some terribly long walk to accomplish, some journey of +twenty or thirty miles, an amount of labour frightful to anticipate, +and that immediately on starting they have ingeniously found some +accommodating short cut which has brought them without fatigue to +their work's end in five minutes. Miss Thorne's waking feelings were +somewhat of the same nature. My readers may perhaps have had to do +with children, and may on some occasion have promised to their young +charges some great gratification intended to come off, perhaps at the +end of the winter, or at the beginning of summer. The impatient +juveniles, however, will not wait, and clamorously demand their treat +before they go to bed. Miss Thorne had a sort of feeling that her +children were equally unreasonable. She was like an inexperienced +gunner, who has ill-calculated the length of the train that he has +laid. The gun-powder exploded much too soon, and poor Miss Thorne +felt that she was blown up by the strength of her own petard.</p> + +<p>Miss Thorne had had lovers of her own, but they had been gentlemen +of old-fashioned and deliberate habits. Miss Thorne's heart also had +not always been hard, though she was still a virgin spinster; but it +had never yielded in this way at the first assault. She had intended to +bring together a middle-aged, studious clergyman and a discreet matron +who might possibly be induced to marry again, and in doing so she had +thrown fire among tinder. Well, it was all as it should be, but she did +feel perhaps a little put out by the precipitancy of her own success, +and perhaps a little vexed at the readiness of Mrs. Bold to be wooed.</p> + +<p>She said, however, nothing about it to anyone, and ascribed it all +to the altered manners of the new age. Their mothers and grandmothers +were perhaps a little more deliberate, but it was admitted on all sides +that things were conducted very differently now than in former times. +For aught Miss Thorne knew of the matter, a couple of hours might be +quite sufficient under the new régime to complete that for which +she in her ignorance had allotted twelve months.</p> + +<p>But we must not pass over the wooing so cavalierly. It has been +told, with perhaps tedious accuracy, how Eleanor disposed of two of +her lovers at Ullathorne; and it must also be told with equal +accuracy, and if possible with less tedium, how she encountered Mr. +Arabin.</p> + +<p>It cannot be denied that when Eleanor accepted Miss Thorne's +invitation she remembered that Ullathorne was in the parish of St. +Ewold's. Since her interview with the signora she had done little +else than think about Mr. Arabin and the appeal that had been made to +her. She could not bring herself to believe, or try to bring herself +to believe, that what she had been told was untrue. Think of it how +she would, she could not but accept it as a fact that Mr. Arabin was +fond of her; and then when she went further and asked herself the +question, she could not but accept it as a fact also that she was +fond of him. If it were destined for her to be the partner of his +hopes and sorrows, to whom could she look for friendship so properly +as to Miss Thorne? This invitation was like an ordained step towards +the fulfilment of her destiny, and when she also heard that Mr. +Arabin was expected to be at Ullathorne on the following day, it +seemed as though all the world were conspiring in her favour. Well, +did she not deserve it? In that affair of Mr. Slope had not all the +world conspired against her?</p> + +<p>She could not, however, make herself easy and at home. When, in the +evening after dinner, Miss Thorne expatiated on the excellence of Mr. +Arabin's qualities, and hinted that any little rumour which might be +ill-naturedly spread abroad concerning him really meant nothing, Mrs. +Bold found herself unable to answer. When Miss Thorne went a little +further and declared that she did not know a prettier vicarage-house +in the county than St. Ewold's, Mrs. Bold, remembering the projected +bow-window and the projected priestess, still held her tongue, though +her ears tingled with the conviction that all the world knew that she +was in love with Mr. Arabin. Well, what would that matter if they +could only meet and tell each other what each now longed to tell?</p> + +<p>And they did meet. Mr. Arabin came early in the day and found the +two ladies together at work in the drawing-room. Miss Thorne, who, +had she known all the truth, would have vanished into air at once, had +no conception that her immediate absence would be a blessing, and +remained chatting with them till luncheon-time. Mr. Arabin could +talk about nothing but the Signora Neroni's beauty, would discuss no +people but the Stanhopes. This was very distressing to Eleanor and +not very satisfactory to Miss Thorne. But yet there was evidence of +innocence in his open avowal of admiration.</p> + +<p>And then they had lunch, and then Mr. Arabin went out on parish +duty, and Eleanor and Miss Thorne were left to take a walk together.</p> + +<p>"Do you think the Signora Neroni is so lovely as people say?" +Eleanor asked as they were coming home.</p> + +<p>"She is very beautiful, certainly, very beautiful," Miss Thorne +answered; "but I do not know that anyone considers her lovely. She +is a woman all men would like to look at, but few, I imagine, would +be glad to take her to their hearths, even were she unmarried and not +afflicted as she is."</p> + +<p>There was some little comfort in this. Eleanor made the most of it +till she got back to the house. She was then left alone in the +drawing-room, and just as it was getting dark Mr. Arabin came in.</p> + +<p>It was a beautiful afternoon in the beginning of October, and +Eleanor was sitting in the window to get the advantage of the last +daylight for her novel. There was a fire in the comfortable room, but +the weather was not cold enough to make it attractive; and as she could +see the sun set from where she sat, she was not very attentive to her +book.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin, when he entered, stood awhile with his back to the fire +in his usual way, merely uttering a few commonplace remarks about the +beauty of the weather, while he plucked up courage for more +interesting converse. It cannot probably be said that he had +resolved then and there to make an offer to Eleanor. Men, we +believe, seldom make such resolves. Mr. Slope and Mr. Stanhope had +done so, it is true, but gentlemen generally propose without any +absolutely defined determination as to their doing so. Such was now +the case with Mr. Arabin.</p> + +<p>"It is a lovely sunset," said Eleanor, answering him on the +dreadfully trite subject which he had chosen.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin could not see the sunset from the hearth-rug, so he had +to go close to her.</p> + +<p>"Very lovely," said he, standing modestly so far away from her as to +avoid touching the flounces of her dress. Then it appeared that he +had nothing further to say; so, after gazing for a moment in silence +at the brightness of the setting sun, he returned to the fire.</p> + +<p>Eleanor found that it was quite impossible for herself to commence a +conversation. In the first place she could find nothing to say; +words, which were generally plenty enough with her, would not come to +her relief. And moreover, do what she would, she could hardly +prevent herself from crying.</p> + +<p>"Do you like Ullathorne?" said Mr. Arabin, speaking from the safely +distant position which he had assumed on the hearth-rug.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, very much!"</p> + +<p>"I don't mean Mr. and Miss Thorne—I know you like +them—but the style of the house. There is something about +old-fashioned mansions, built as this is, and old-fashioned gardens, +that to me is especially delightful."</p> + +<p>"I like everything old-fashioned," said Eleanor; "old-fashioned +things are so much the honestest."</p> + +<p>"I don't know about that," said Mr. Arabin, gently laughing. "That +is an opinion on which very much may be said on either side. It is +strange how widely the world is divided on a subject which so nearly +concerns us all, and which is so close beneath our eyes. Some think +that we are quickly progressing towards perfection, while others +imagine that virtue is disappearing from the earth."</p> + +<p>"And you, Mr. Arabin, what do you think?" said Eleanor. She felt +somewhat surprised at the tone which his conversation was taking, and +yet she was relieved at his saying something which enabled herself to +speak without showing her own emotion.</p> + +<p>"What do I think, Mrs. Bold?" and then he rumbled his money with his +hands in his trousers pockets, and looked and spoke very little like a +thriving lover. "It is the bane of my life that on important +subjects I acquire no fixed opinion. I think, and think, and go on +thinking, and yet my thoughts are running ever in different +directions. I hardly know whether or no we do lean more confidently +than our fathers did on those high hopes to which we profess to +aspire."</p> + +<p>"I think the world grows more worldly every day," said Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"That is because you see more of it than when you were younger. But +we should hardly judge by what we see—we see so very, very +little." There was then a pause for awhile, during which Mr. Arabin +continued to turn over his shillings and half-crowns. "If we believe in +Scripture, we can hardly think that mankind in general will now be +allowed to retrograde."</p> + +<p>Eleanor, whose mind was certainly engaged otherwise than on the +general state of mankind, made no answer to this. She felt +thoroughly dissatisfied with herself. She could not force her +thoughts away from the topic on which the signora had spoken to her +in so strange a way, and yet she knew that she could not converse +with Mr. Arabin in an unrestrained, natural tone till she did so. +She was most anxious not to show to him any special emotion, and yet +she felt that if he looked at her, he would at once see that she was +not at ease.</p> + +<p>But he did not look at her. Instead of doing so, he left the +fire-place and began walking up and down the room. Eleanor took up her +book resolutely, but she could not read, for there was a tear in her +eye, and do what she would, it fell on her cheek. When Mr. Arabin's +back was turned to her, she wiped it away; but another was soon +coursing down her face in its place. They would come—not a +deluge of tears that would have betrayed her at once, but one by one, +single monitors. Mr. Arabin did not observe her closely, and they +passed unseen.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin, thus pacing up and down the room, took four or five +turns before he spoke another word, and Eleanor sat equally silent with +her face bent over her book. She was afraid that her tears would get +the better of her, and was preparing for an escape from the room, when +Mr. Arabin in his walk stood opposite to her. He did not come close up +but stood exactly on the spot to which his course brought him, and +then, with his hands under his coat-tails, thus made his confession.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Bold," said he, "I owe you retribution for a great offence of +which I have been guilty towards you." Eleanor's heart beat so that +she could not trust herself to say that he had never been guilty of +any offence. So Mr. Arabin thus went on.</p> + +<p>"I have thought much of it since, and I am now aware that I was +wholly unwarranted in putting to you a question which I once asked +you. It was indelicate on my part, and perhaps unmanly. No intimacy +which may exist between myself and your connexion, Dr. Grantly, could +justify it. Nor could the acquaintance which existed between +ourselves." This word acquaintance struck cold on Eleanor's heart. +Was this to be her doom after all? "I therefore think it right to +beg your pardon in a humble spirit, and I now do so."</p> + +<p>What was Eleanor to say to him? She could not say much because she +was crying, and yet she must say something. She was most anxious to +say that something graciously, kindly, and yet not in such a manner +as to betray herself. She had never felt herself so much at a loss +for words.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I took no offence, Mr. Arabin."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but you did! And had you not done so, you would not have been +yourself. You were as right to be offended as I was wrong so to +offend you. I have not forgiven myself, but I hope to hear that you +forgive me."</p> + +<p>She was now past speaking calmly, though she still continued to hide +her tears; and Mr. Arabin, after pausing a moment in vain for her +reply, was walking off towards the door. She felt that she could not +allow him to go unanswered without grievously sinning against all +charity; so, rising from her seat, she gently touched his arm and +said, "Oh, Mr. Arabin, do not go till I speak to you! I do forgive +you. You know that I forgive you."</p> + +<p>He took the hand that had so gently touched his arm and then gazed +into her face as if he would peruse there, as though written in a +book, the whole future destiny of his life; as he did so, there was a +sober, sad seriousness in his own countenance which Eleanor found +herself unable to sustain. She could only look down upon the carpet, +let her tears trickle as they would, and leave her hand within his.</p> + +<p>It was but for a minute that they stood so, but the duration of that +minute was sufficient to make it ever memorable to them both. +Eleanor was sure now that she was loved. No words, be their +eloquence what it might, could be more impressive than that eager, +melancholy gaze.</p> + +<p>Why did he look so into her eyes? Why did he not speak to her? +Could it be that he looked for her to make the first sign?</p> + +<p>And he, though he knew but little of women, even he knew that he was +loved. He had only to ask, and it would be all his own, that +inexpressible loveliness, those ever-speaking but yet now mute eyes, +that feminine brightness and eager, loving spirit which had so +attracted him since first he had encountered it at St. Ewold's. It +might, must, all be his own now. On no other supposition was it +possible that she should allow her hand to remain thus clasped within +his own. He had only to ask. Ah, but that was the difficulty. Did +a minute suffice for all this? Nay, perhaps it might be more than a +minute.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Bold—" at last he said and then stopped himself.</p> + +<p>If he could not speak, how was she to do so? He had called her by +her name, the same name that any merest stranger would have used! +She withdrew her hand from his and moved as though to return to her +seat. "Eleanor!" he then said in his softest tone, as though the +courage of a lover were as yet but half-assumed, as though he were +still afraid of giving offence by the freedom which he took. She +looked slowly, gently, almost piteously up into his face. There was +at any rate no anger there to deter him.</p> + +<p>"Eleanor!" he again exclaimed, and in a moment he had her clasped to +his bosom. How this was done, whether the doing was with him or her, +whether she had flown thither conquered by the tenderness of his +voice, or he with a violence not likely to give offence had drawn her +to his breast, neither of them knew; nor can I declare. There was +now that sympathy between them which hardly admitted of individual +motion. They were one and the same—one flesh—one +spirit—one life.</p> + +<p>"Eleanor, my own Eleanor, my own, my wife!" She ventured to look up +at him through her tears, and he, bowing his face down over hers, +pressed his lips upon her brow—his virgin lips, which, since +a beard first grew upon his chin, had never yet tasted the luxury of a +woman's cheek.</p> + +<p>She had been told that her yea must be yea, or her nay, nay, but she +was called on for neither the one nor the other. She told Miss +Thorne that she was engaged to Mr. Arabin, but no such words had +passed between them, no promises had been asked or given.</p> + +<p>"Oh, let me go," said she, "let me go now. I am too happy to +remain—let me go, that I may be alone." He did not try to +hinder her; he did not repeat the kiss; he did not press another on her +lips. He might have done so, had he been so minded. She was now all his +own. He took his arm from round her waist, his arm that was trembling +with a new delight, and let her go. She fled like a roe to her own +chamber, and then, having turned the bolt, she enjoyed the full luxury +of her love. She idolised, almost worshipped this man who had so meekly +begged her pardon. And he was now her own. Oh, how she wept and cried +and laughed as the hopes and fears and miseries of the last few weeks +passed in remembrance through her mind.</p> + +<p>Mr. Slope! That anyone should have dared to think that she who had +been chosen by him could possibly have mated herself with Mr. Slope! +That they should have dared to tell him, also, and subject her bright +happiness to such needless risk! And then she smiled with joy as she +thought of all the comforts that she could give him—not that +he cared for comforts, but that it would be so delicious for her to +give.</p> + +<p>She got up and rang for her maid that she might tell her little boy +of his new father, and in her own way she did tell him. She desired +her maid to leave her, in order that she might be alone with her +child; and then, while he lay sprawling on the bed, she poured forth +the praises, all unmeaning to him, of the man she had selected to +guard his infancy.</p> + +<p>She could not be happy, however, till she had made Mr. Arabin take +the child to himself and thus, as it were, adopt him as his own. The +moment the idea struck her she took the baby up in her arms and, +opening her door, ran quickly down to the drawing-room. She at once +found, by his step still pacing on the floor, that he was there, and +a glance within the room told her that he was alone. She hesitated a +moment and then hurried in with her precious charge.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin met her in the middle of the room. "There," said she, +breathless with her haste; "there, take him—take him, and +love him."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin took the little fellow from her and, kissing him again +and again, prayed God to bless him. "He shall be all as my +own—all as my own," said he. Eleanor, as she stooped to +take back her child, kissed the hand that held him and then rushed back +with her treasure to her chamber.</p> + +<p>It was thus that Mr. Harding's younger daughter was won for the +second time. At dinner neither she nor Mr. Arabin were very bright, +but their silence occasioned no remark. In the drawing-room, as we +have before said, she told Miss Thorne what had occurred. The next +morning she returned to Barchester, and Mr. Arabin went over with his +budget of news to the archdeacon. As Doctor Grantly was not there, +he could only satisfy himself by telling Mrs. Grantly how that he +intended himself the honour of becoming her brother-in-law. In the +ecstasy of her joy at hearing such tidings Mrs. Grantly vouchsafed +him a warmer welcome than any he had yet received from Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" she exclaimed—it was the general +exclamation of the rectory. "Poor Eleanor! Dear Eleanor! What a +monstrous injustice has been done her! Well, it shall all be made up +now." And then she thought of the signora. "What lies people tell," she +said to herself.</p> + +<p>But people in this matter had told no lies at all.</p> + + +<p><a name="c49" id="c49"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLIX</h3> +<h3>The Beelzebub Colt<br /> </h3> + + +<p>When Miss Thorne left the dining-room, Eleanor had formed no +intention of revealing to her what had occurred, but when she was +seated beside her hostess on the sofa, the secret dropped from her +almost unawares. Eleanor was but a bad hypocrite, and she found +herself quite unable to continue talking about Mr. Arabin as though +he were a stranger while her heart was full of him. When Miss +Thorne, pursuing her own scheme with discreet zeal, asked the young +widow whether, in her opinion, it would not be a good thing for Mr. +Arabin to get married, she had nothing for it but to confess the +truth. "I suppose it would," said Eleanor rather sheepishly. +Whereupon Miss Thorne amplified on the idea. "Oh, Miss Thorne," said +Eleanor, "he is going to be married: I am engaged to him."</p> + +<p>Now Miss Thorne knew very well that there had been no such +engagement when she had been walking with Mrs. Bold in the morning. She +had also heard enough to be tolerably sure that there had been no +preliminaries to such an engagement. She was, therefore, as we have +before described, taken a little by surprise. But nevertheless, she +embraced her guest and cordially congratulated her.</p> + +<p>Eleanor had no opportunity of speaking another word to Mr. Arabin +that evening, except such words as all the world might hear; and +these, as may be supposed, were few enough. Miss Thorne did her best +to leave them in privacy, but Mr. Thorne, who knew nothing of what +had occurred, and another guest, a friend of his, entirely interfered +with her good intentions. So poor Eleanor had to go to bed without +one sign of affection. Her state, nevertheless, was not to be +pitied.</p> + +<p>The next morning she was up early. It was probable, she thought, +that by going down a little before the usual hour of breakfast she +might find Mr. Arabin alone in the dining-room. Might it not be that +he also would calculate that an interview would thus be possible? +Thus thinking, Eleanor was dressed a full hour before the time fixed +in the Ullathorne household for morning prayers. She did not at once +go down. She was afraid to seem to be too anxious to meet her lover, +though heaven knows her anxiety was intense enough. She therefore +sat herself down at her window, and repeatedly looking at her watch, +nursed her child till she thought she might venture forth.</p> + +<p>When she found herself at the dining-room door, she stood a moment, +hesitating to turn the handle; but when she heard Mr. Thorne's voice +inside she hesitated no longer. Her object was defeated, and she +might now go in as soon as she liked without the slightest imputation +on her delicacy. Mr. Thorne and Mr. Arabin were standing on the +hearth-rug, discussing the merits of the Beelzebub colt; or rather, +Mr. Thorne was discussing, and Mr. Arabin was listening. That +interesting animal had rubbed the stump of his tail against the wall +of his stable and occasioned much uneasiness to the Ullathorne master +of the horse. Had Eleanor but waited another minute, Mr. Thorne +would have been in the stables.</p> + +<p>Mr. Thorne, when he saw his lady guest, repressed his anxiety. The +Beelzebub colt must do without him. And so the three stood, saying +little or nothing to each other, till at last the master of the +house, finding that he could no longer bear his present state of +suspense respecting his favourite young steed, made an elaborate +apology to Mrs. Bold and escaped. As he shut the door behind him +Eleanor almost wished that he had remained. It was not that she was +afraid of Mr. Arabin, but she hardly yet knew how to address him.</p> + +<p>He, however, soon relieved her from her embarrassment. He came up to +her, and taking both her hands in his, he said, "So, Eleanor, you and +I are to be man and wife. Is it so?"</p> + +<p>She looked up into his face, and her lips formed themselves into a +single syllable. She uttered no sound, but he could read the +affirmative plainly in her face.</p> + +<p>"It is a great trust," said he, "a very great trust."</p> + +<p>"It is—it is," said Eleanor, not exactly taking what he +had said in the sense that he had meant. "It is a very, very great +trust, and I will do my utmost to deserve it."</p> + +<p>"And I also will do my utmost to deserve it," said Mr. Arabin very +solemnly. And then, winding his arm round her waist, he stood there +gazing at the fire, and she, with her head leaning on his shoulder, +stood by him, well satisfied with her position. They neither of them +spoke, or found any want of speaking. All that was needful for them +to say had been said. The yea, yea, had been spoken by Eleanor in +her own way—and that way had been perfectly satisfactory +to Mr. Arabin.</p> + +<p>And now it remained to them each to enjoy the assurance of the +other's love. And how great that luxury is! How far it surpasses +any other pleasure which God has allowed to his creatures! And to a +woman's heart how doubly delightful!</p> + +<p>When the ivy has found its tower, when the delicate creeper has +found its strong wall, we know how the parasite plants grow and +prosper. They were not created to stretch forth their branches alone, +and endure without protection the summer's sun and the winter's storm. +Alone they but spread themselves on the ground and cower unseen in the +dingy shade. But when they have found their firm supporters, how +wonderful is their beauty; how all-pervading and victorious! What is +the turret without its ivy, or the high garden wall without the jasmine +which gives it its beauty and fragrance? The hedge without the +honeysuckle is but a hedge.</p> + +<p>There is a feeling still half-existing, but now half-conquered by +the force of human nature, that a woman should be ashamed of her love +till the husband's right to her compels her to acknowledge it. We would +fain preach a different doctrine. A woman should glory in her love, but +on that account let her take the more care that it be such as to +justify her glory.</p> + +<p>Eleanor did glory in hers, and she felt, and had cause to feel, that +it deserved to be held as glorious. She could have stood there for +hours with his arm round her, had fate and Mr. Thorne permitted it. +Each moment she crept nearer to his bosom and felt more and more +certain that there was her home. What now to her was the +archdeacon's arrogance, her sister's coldness, or her dear father's +weakness? What need she care for the duplicity of such friends as +Charlotte Stanhope? She had found the strong shield that should +guard her from all wrongs, the trusty pilot that should henceforward +guide her through the shoals and rocks. She would give up the heavy +burden of her independence, and once more assume the position of a +woman and the duties of a trusting and loving wife.</p> + +<p>And he, too, stood there fully satisfied with his place. They were +both looking intently on the fire, as though they could read there +their future fate, till at last Eleanor turned her face towards his. +"How sad you are," she said, smiling; and indeed his face was, if not +sad, at least serious. "How sad you are, love!"</p> + +<p>"Sad," said he, looking down at her; "no, certainly not sad." Her +sweet, loving eyes were turned towards him, and she smiled softly as +he answered her. The temptation was too strong even for the demure +propriety of Mr. Arabin, and bending over her, he pressed his lips to +hers.</p> + +<p>Immediately after this Mr. Thorne appeared, and they were both +delighted to hear that the tail of the Beelzebub colt was not +materially injured.</p> + +<p>It had been Mr. Harding's intention to hurry over to Ullathorne as +soon as possible after his return to Barchester, in order to secure +the support of his daughter in his meditated revolt against the +archdeacon as touching the deanery; but he was spared the additional +journey by hearing that Mrs. Bold had returned unexpectedly home. As +soon as he had read her note he started off, and found her waiting +for him in her own house.</p> + +<p>How much each of them had to tell the other, and how certain each +was that the story which he or she had to tell would astonish the +other!</p> + +<p>"My dear, I am so anxious to see you," said Mr. Harding, kissing his +daughter.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa, I have so much to tell you!" said the daughter, returning +the embrace.</p> + +<p>"My dear, they have offered me the deanery!" said Mr. Harding, +anticipating by the suddenness of the revelation the tidings which +Eleanor had to give him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa," said she, forgetting her own love and happiness in her +joy at the surprising news. "Oh, Papa, can it be possible? Dear +Papa, how thoroughly, thoroughly happy that makes me!"</p> + +<p>"But, my dear, I think it best to refuse it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa!"</p> + +<p>"I am sure you will agree with me, Eleanor, when I explain it to +you. You know, my dear, how old I am. If I live I—"</p> + +<p>"But, Papa, I must tell you about myself."</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear."</p> + +<p>"I do so wonder how you'll take it."</p> + +<p>"Take what?"</p> + +<p>"If you don't rejoice at it, if it doesn't make you happy, if you +don't encourage me, I shall break my heart."</p> + +<p>"If that be the case, Nelly, I certainly will encourage you."</p> + +<p>"But I fear you won't. I do so fear you won't. And yet you can't +but think I am the most fortunate woman living on God's earth."</p> + +<p>"Are you, dearest? Then I certainly will rejoice with you. Come, +Nelly, come to me and tell me what it is."</p> + +<p>"I am going—"</p> + +<p>He led her to the sofa and, seating himself beside her, took both +her hands in his. "You are going to be married, Nelly. Is not that it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said faintly. "That is, if you will approve;" and then +she blushed as she remembered the promise which she had so lately +volunteered to him and which she had so utterly forgotten in making +her engagement with Mr. Arabin.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding thought for a moment who the man could be whom he was to +be called upon to welcome as his son-in-law. A week since he would +have had no doubt whom to name. In that case he would have been +prepared to give his sanction, although he would have done so with a +heavy heart. Now he knew that at any rate it would not be Mr. Slope, +though he was perfectly at a loss to guess who could possibly have +filled the place. For a moment he thought that the man might be +Bertie Stanhope, and his very soul sank within him.</p> + +<p>"Well, Nelly?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa, promise to me that, for my sake, you will love him."</p> + +<p>"Come, Nelly, come; tell me who it is."</p> + +<p>"But will you love him, Papa?"</p> + +<p>"Dearest, I must love anyone that you love." Then she turned her +face to his and whispered into his ear the name of Mr. Arabin.</p> + +<p>No man that she could have named could have more surprised or more +delighted him. Had he looked round the world for a son-in-law to his +taste, he could have selected no one whom he would have preferred to +Mr. Arabin. He was a clergyman; he held a living in the +neighbourhood; he was of a set to which all Mr. Harding's own +partialities most closely adhered; he was the great friend of Dr. +Grantly; and he was, moreover, a man of whom Mr. Harding knew nothing +but what he approved. Nevertheless, his surprise was so great as to +prevent the immediate expression of his joy. He had never thought of +Mr. Arabin in connexion with his daughter; he had never imagined that +they had any feeling in common. He had feared that his daughter had +been made hostile to clergymen of Mr. Arabin's stamp by her +intolerance of the archdeacon's pretensions. Had he been put to +wish, he might have wished for Mr. Arabin for a son-in-law; but had +he been put to guess, the name would never have occurred to him.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Arabin!" he exclaimed; "impossible!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa, for heaven's sake don't say anything against him! If you +love me, don't say anything against him. Oh, Papa, it's done and +mustn't be undone—oh, Papa!"</p> + +<p>Fickle Eleanor! Where was the promise that she would make no choice +for herself without her father's approval? She had chosen, and now +demanded his acquiescence. "Oh, Papa, isn't he good? Isn't he +noble? Isn't he religious, high-minded, everything that a good man +possibly can be?" She clung to her father, beseeching him for his +consent.</p> + +<p>"My Nelly, my child, my own daughter! He is; he is noble and good +and high-minded; he is all that a woman can love and a man admire. +He shall be my son, my own son. He shall be as close to my heart as +you are. My Nelly, my child, my happy, happy child!"</p> + +<p>We need not pursue the interview any further. By degrees they +returned to the subject of the new promotion. Eleanor tried to prove +to him, as the Grantlys had done, that his age could be no bar to his +being a very excellent dean, but those arguments had now even less +weight on him than before. He said little or nothing but sat, +meditative. Every now and then he would kiss his daughter and say +"yes," or "no," or "very true," or "well, my dear, I can't quite +agree with you there," but he could not be got to enter sharply into +the question of "to be, or not to be" Dean of Barchester. Of her and +her happiness, of Mr. Arabin and his virtues, he would talk as much +as Eleanor desired—and to tell the truth, that was not a +little—but about the deanery he would now say nothing +further. He had got a new idea into his head—why should not +Mr. Arabin be the new dean?</p> + + +<p><a name="c50" id="c50"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER L</h3> +<h3>The Archdeacon Is Satisfied with the State of Affairs<br /> </h3> + + +<p>The archdeacon, in his journey into Barchester, had been assured by +Mr. Harding that all their prognostications about Mr. Slope and +Eleanor were groundless. Mr. Harding, however, had found it very +difficult to shake his son-in-law's faith in his own acuteness. The +matter had, to Dr. Grantly, been so plainly corroborated by such +patent evidence, borne out by such endless circumstances, that he at +first refused to take as true the positive statement which Mr. +Harding made to him of Eleanor's own disavowal of the impeachment. +But at last he yielded in a qualified way. He brought himself to +admit that he would at the present regard his past convictions as a +mistake, but in doing this he so guarded himself that if, at any +future time, Eleanor should come forth to the world as Mrs. Slope, he +might still be able to say: "There, I told you so. Remember what you +said and what I said; and remember also for coming years, that I was +right in this matter—as in all others."</p> + +<p>He carried, however, his concession so far as to bring himself to +undertake to call at Eleanor's house, and he did call accordingly, +while the father and daughter were yet in the middle of their +conference. Mr. Harding had had so much to hear and to say that he +had forgotten to advise Eleanor of the honour that awaited her, and +she heard her brother-in-law's voice in the hall while she was quite +unprepared to see him.</p> + +<p>"There's the archdeacon," she said, springing up.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear. He told me to tell you that he would come and see +you; but to tell the truth I had forgotten all about it."</p> + +<p>Eleanor fled away, regardless of all her father's entreaties. She +could not now, in the first hours of her joy, bring herself to bear +all the archdeacon's retractions, apologies, and congratulations. He +would have so much to say, and would be so tedious in saying it; +consequently, the archdeacon, when he was shown into the +drawing-room, found no one there but Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"You must excuse Eleanor," said Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"Is anything the matter?" asked the doctor, who at once anticipated +that the whole truth about Mr. Slope had at last come out.</p> + +<p>"Well, something is the matter. I wonder now whether you will be +much surprised."</p> + +<p>The archdeacon saw by his father-in-law's manner that after all he +had nothing to tell him about Mr. Slope. "No," said he, "certainly +not—nothing will ever surprise me again." Very many men +now-a-days besides the archdeacon adopt or affect to adopt the <i>nil +admirari</i> doctrine; but nevertheless, to judge from their +appearance, they are just as subject to sudden emotions as their +grandfathers and grandmothers were before them.</p> + +<p>"What do you think Mr. Arabin has done?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Arabin! It's nothing about that daughter of Stanhope's, I +hope?"</p> + +<p>"No, not that woman," said Mr. Harding, enjoying his joke in his +sleeve.</p> + +<p>"Not that woman! Is he going to do anything about any woman? Why +can't you speak out, if you have anything to say? There is nothing I +hate so much as these sort of mysteries."</p> + +<p>"There shall be no mystery with you, Archdeacon, though of course it +must go no further at present."</p> + +<p>"Well."</p> + +<p>"Except Susan. You must promise me you'll tell no one else."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" exclaimed the archdeacon, who was becoming angry in his +suspense. "You can't have any secret about Mr. Arabin."</p> + +<p>"Only this—that he and Eleanor are engaged."</p> + +<p>It was quite clear to see, by the archdeacon's face, that he did not +believe a word of it. "Mr. Arabin! It's impossible!"</p> + +<p>"Eleanor, at any rate, has just now told me so."</p> + +<p>"It's impossible," repeated the archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"Well, I can't say I think it impossible. It certainly took me by +surprise, but that does not make it impossible."</p> + +<p>"She must be mistaken."</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding assured him that there was no mistake; that he would +find, on returning home, that Mr. Arabin had been at Plumstead with +the express object of making the same declaration; that even Miss +Thorne knew all about it; and that, in fact, the thing was as clearly +settled as any such arrangement between a lady and a gentleman could +well be.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" said the archdeacon, walking up and down Eleanor's +drawing-room. "Good heavens! Good heavens!"</p> + +<p>Now these exclamations certainly betokened faith. Mr. Harding +properly gathered from it that, at last, Dr. Grantly did believe the +fact. The first utterance clearly evinced a certain amount of +distaste at the information he had received; the second simply +indicated surprise; in the tone of the third Mr. Harding fancied that +he could catch a certain gleam of satisfaction.</p> + +<p>The archdeacon had truly expressed the workings of his mind. He +could not but be disgusted to find how utterly astray he had been in +all his anticipations. Had he only been lucky enough to have +suggested this marriage himself when he first brought Mr. Arabin into +the country, his character for judgement and wisdom would have +received an addition which would have classed him at any rate next to +Solomon. And why had he not done so? Might he not have foreseen +that Mr. Arabin would want a wife in his parsonage? He had foreseen +that Eleanor would want a husband, but should he not also have +perceived that Mr. Arabin was a man much more likely to attract her +than Mr. Slope? The archdeacon found that he had been at fault and, +of course, could not immediately get over his discomfiture.</p> + +<p>Then his surprise was intense. How sly this pair of young +turtle-doves had been with him. How egregiously they had hoaxed him. He +had preached to Eleanor against her fancied attachment to Mr. Slope at +the very time that she was in love with his own protégé, +Mr. Arabin, and had absolutely taken that same Mr. Arabin into his +confidence with reference to his dread of Mr. Slope's alliance. It was +very natural that the archdeacon should feel surprise.</p> + +<p>But there was also great ground for satisfaction. Looking at the +match by itself, it was the very thing to help the doctor out of his +difficulties. In the first place, the assurance that he should never +have Mr. Slope for his brother-in-law was in itself a great comfort. +Then Mr. Arabin was, of all men, the one with whom it would best suit +him to be so intimately connected. But the crowning comfort was the +blow which this marriage would give to Mr. Slope. He had now +certainly lost his wife; rumour was beginning to whisper that he +might possibly lose his position in the palace; and if Mr. Harding +would only be true, the great danger of all would be surmounted. In +such case it might be expected that Mr. Slope would own himself +vanquished, and take himself altogether away from Barchester. And so +the archdeacon would again be able to breathe pure air.</p> + +<p>"Well, well," said he. "Good heavens! Good heavens!" and the tone +of the fifth exclamation made Mr. Harding fully aware that content +was reigning in the archdeacon's bosom.</p> + +<p>And then slowly, gradually, and craftily Mr. Harding propounded his +own new scheme. Why should not Mr. Arabin be the new dean?</p> + +<p>Slowly, gradually, and thoughtfully Dr. Grantly fell into his +father-in-law's views. Much as he liked Mr. Arabin, sincere as was his +admiration for that gentleman's ecclesiastical abilities, he would not +have sanctioned a measure which would rob his father-in-law of his +fairly earned promotion, were it at all practicable to induce his +father-in-law to accept the promotion which he had earned. But the +archdeacon had, on a former occasion, received proof of the obstinacy +with which Mr. Harding could adhere to his own views in opposition to +the advice of all his friends. He knew tolerably well that nothing +would induce the meek, mild man before him to take the high place +offered to him, if he thought it wrong to do so. Knowing this, he also +said to himself more than once: "Why should not Mr. Arabin be Dean of +Barchester?" It was at last arranged between them that they would +together start to London by the earliest train on the following +morning, making a little detour to Oxford on their journey. Dr. +Gwynne's counsels, they imagined, might perhaps be of assistance to +them.</p> + +<p>These matters settled, the archdeacon hurried off, that he might +return to Plumstead and prepare for his journey. The day was +extremely fine, and he came into the city in an open gig. As he was +driving up the High Street he encountered Mr. Slope at a crossing. +Had he not pulled up rather sharply, he would have run over him. The +two had never spoken to each other since they had met on a memorable +occasion in the bishop's study. They did not speak now, but they +looked each other full in the face, and Mr. Slope's countenance was +as impudent, as triumphant, as defiant as ever. Had Dr. Grantly not +known to the contrary, he would have imagined that his enemy had won +the deanship, the wife, and all the rich honours for which he had +been striving. As it was, he had lost everything that he had in the +world, and had just received his <i>congé</i> from the bishop.</p> + +<p>In leaving the town the archdeacon drove by the well-remembered +entrance of Hiram's Hospital. There, at the gate, was a large, +untidy farmer's wagon, laden with untidy-looking furniture; and +there, inspecting the arrival, was good Mrs. Quiverful—not +dressed in her Sunday best, not very clean in her apparel, not graceful +as to her bonnet and shawl, or, indeed, with many feminine charms as to +her whole appearance. She was busy at domestic work in her new house, +and had just ventured out, expecting to see no one on the arrival of +the family chattels. The archdeacon was down upon her before she knew +where she was.</p> + +<p>Her acquaintance with Dr. Grantly or his family was very slight +indeed. The archdeacon, as a matter of course, knew every clergyman +in the archdeaconry—it may almost be said in the +diocese—and had some acquaintance, more or less intimate, +with their wives and families. With Mr. Quiverful he had been concerned +on various matters of business, but of Mrs. Q. he had seen very little. +Now, however, he was in too gracious a mood to pass her by unnoticed. +The Quiverfuls, one and all, had looked for the bitterest hostility +from Dr. Grantly; they knew his anxiety that Mr. Harding should return +to his old home at the hospital, and they did not know that a new home +had been offered to him at the deanery. Mrs. Quiverful was therefore +not a little surprised, and not a little rejoiced also, at the tone in +which she was addressed.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Mrs. Quiverful, how do you do?" said he, stretching +his left hand out of the gig as he spoke to her. "I am very glad to +see you employed in so pleasant and useful a manner; very glad +indeed."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Quiverful thanked him, and shook hands with him, and looked +into his face suspiciously. She was not sure whether the +congratulations and kindness were or were not ironical.</p> + +<p>"Pray tell Mr. Quiverful from me," he continued, "that I am rejoiced +at his appointment. It's a comfortable place, Mrs. Quiverful, and a +comfortable house, and I am very glad to see you in it. +Good-bye—good-bye." And he drove on, leaving the lady well +pleased and astonished at his good nature. On the whole things were +going well with the archdeacon, and he could afford to be charitable to +Mrs. Quiverful. He looked forth from his gig smilingly on all the +world, and forgave everyone in Barchester their sins, excepting only +Mrs. Proudie and Mr. Slope. Had he seen the bishop, he would have felt +inclined to pat even him kindly on the head.</p> + +<p>He determined to go home by St. Ewold's. This would take him some +three miles out of his way, but he felt that he could not leave +Plumstead comfortably without saying one word of good-fellowship to +Mr. Arabin. When he reached the parsonage, the vicar was still out, +but from what he had heard, he did not doubt but that he would meet +him on the road between their two houses. He was right in this, for +about half-way home, at a narrow turn, he came upon Mr. Arabin, who +was on horseback.</p> + +<p>"Well, well, well, well," said the archdeacon loudly, joyously, and +with supreme good humour; "well, well, well, well; so, after all, we +have no further cause to fear Mr. Slope."</p> + +<p>"I hear from Mrs. Grantly that they have offered the deanery to Mr. +Harding," said the other.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Slope has lost more than the deanery I find," and then the +archdeacon laughed jocosely. "Come, come, Arabin, you have kept your +secret well enough. I know all about it now."</p> + +<p>"I have had no secret, Archdeacon," said the other with a quiet +smile. "None at all—not for a day. It was only yesterday +that I knew my own good fortune, and to-day I went over to Plumstead to +ask your approval. From what Mrs. Grantly has said to me, I am led to +hope that I shall have it."</p> + +<p>"With all my heart, with all my heart," said the archdeacon +cordially, holding his friend fast by the hand. "It's just as I +would have it. She is an excellent young woman; she will not come to +you empty-handed; and I think she will make you a good wife. If she +does her duty by you as her sister does by me, you'll be a happy man; +that's all I can say." And as he finished speaking a tear might have +been observed in each of the doctor's eyes.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin warmly returned the archdeacon's grasp, but he said +little. His heart was too full for speaking, and he could not +express the gratitude which he felt. Dr. Grantly understood him as +well as though he had spoken for an hour.</p> + +<p>"And mind, Arabin," said he, "no one but myself shall tie the knot. +We'll get Eleanor out to Plumstead, and it shall come off there. +I'll make Susan stir herself, and we'll do it in style. I must be +off to London to-morrow on special business. Harding goes with me. +But I'll be back before your bride has got her wedding-dress ready." +And so they parted.</p> + +<p>On his journey home the archdeacon occupied his mind with +preparations for the marriage festivities. He made a great resolve +that he would atone to Eleanor for all the injury he had done her by +the munificence of his future treatment. He would show her what was +the difference in his eyes between a Slope and an Arabin. On one +other thing also he decided with a firm mind: if the affair of the +dean should not be settled in Mr. Arabin's favour, nothing should +prevent him putting a new front and bow-window to the dining-room at +St. Ewold's parsonage.</p> + +<p>"So we're sold after all, Sue," said he to his wife, accosting her +with a kiss as soon as he entered his house. He did not call his +wife Sue above twice or thrice in a year, and these occasions were +great high days.</p> + +<p>"Eleanor has had more sense than we gave her credit for," said +Mrs. Grantly.</p> + +<p>And there was great content in Plumstead Rectory that evening. +Mrs. Grantly promised her husband that she would now open her heart +and take Mr. Arabin into it. Hitherto she had declined to do so.</p> + + +<p><a name="c51" id="c51"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LI</h3> +<h3>Mr. Slope Bids Farewell to the Palace and Its Inhabitants<br /> </h3> + + +<p>We must now take leave of Mr. Slope, and of the bishop also, and of +Mrs. Proudie. These leave-takings in novels are as disagreeable as +they are in real life; not so sad, indeed, for they want the reality +of sadness; but quite as perplexing, and generally less satisfactory. +What novelist, what Fielding, what Scott, what George Sand, or Sue, +or Dumas, can impart an interest to the last chapter of his +fictitious history? Promises of two children and superhuman +happiness are of no avail, nor assurance of extreme respectability +carried to an age far exceeding that usually allotted to mortals. +The sorrows of our heroes and heroines, they are your delight, oh +public!—their sorrows, or their sins, or their absurdities; +not their virtues, good sense, and consequent rewards. When we begin to +tint our final pages with <i>couleur de rose</i>, as in accordance with +fixed rule we must do, we altogether extinguish our own powers of +pleasing. When we become dull, we offend your intellect; and we must +become dull or we should offend your taste. A late writer, wishing to +sustain his interest to the last page, hung his hero at the end of the +third volume. The consequence was that no one would read his novel. And +who can apportion out and dovetail his incidents, dialogues, +characters, and descriptive morsels so as to fit them all exactly into +930 pages, without either compressing them unnaturally, or extending +them artificially at the end of his labour? Do I not myself know that I +am at this moment in want of a dozen pages, and that I am sick with +cudgelling my brains to find them? And then, when everything is done, +the kindest-hearted critic of them all invariably twits us with the +incompetency and lameness of our conclusion. We have either become idle +and neglected it, or tedious and overlaboured it. It is insipid or +unnatural, overstrained or imbecile. It means nothing, or attempts too +much. The last scene of all, as all last scenes we fear must be,<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p class="noindent">Is second childishness, and mere oblivion,<br /> +Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.<br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p>I can only say that if some critic who thoroughly knows his work, +and has laboured on it till experience has made him perfect, will write +the last fifty pages of a novel in the way they should be written, I, +for one, will in future do my best to copy the example. Guided by my +own lights only, I confess that I despair of success.</p> + +<p>For the last week or ten days Mr. Slope had seen nothing of Mrs. +Proudie, and very little of the bishop. He still lived in the palace, +and still went through his usual routine work; but the confidential +doings of the diocese had passed into other hands. He had seen this +clearly and marked it well, but it had not much disturbed him. He +had indulged in other hopes till the bishop's affairs had become dull +to him, and he was moreover aware that, as regarded the diocese, Mrs. +Proudie had checkmated him. It has been explained, in the beginning +of these pages, how three or four were contending together as to who, +in fact, should be Bishop of Barchester. Each of these had now +admitted to himself (or boasted to herself) that Mrs. Proudie was +victorious in the struggle. They had gone through a competitive +examination of considerable severity, and she had come forth the +winner, <i>facile princeps</i>. Mr. Slope had for a moment run her +hard, but it was only for a moment. It had become, as it were, +acknowledged that Hiram's Hospital should be the testing-point between +them, and now Mr. Quiverful was already in the hospital, the proof of +Mrs. Proudie's skill and courage.</p> + +<p>All this did not break down Mr. Slope's spirit, because he had other +hopes. But, alas, at last there came to him a note from his friend +Sir Nicholas, informing him that the deanship was disposed of. Let +us give Mr. Slope his due. He did not lie prostrate under this blow, +or give himself up to vain lamentations; he did not henceforward +despair of life and call upon gods above and gods below to carry him +off. He sat himself down in his chair, counted out what monies he +had in hand for present purposes and what others were coming in to +him, bethought himself as to the best sphere for his future +exertions, and at once wrote off a letter to a rich sugar-refiner's +wife in Baker Street, who, as he well knew, was much given to the +entertainment and encouragement of serious young evangelical +clergymen. He was again, he said, "upon the world, having found the +air of a cathedral town, and the very nature of cathedral services, +uncongenial to his spirit;" and then he sat awhile, making firm +resolves as to his manner of parting from the bishop, and also as to +his future conduct.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p class="noindent">At last he rose, and twitched his +mantle blue (black),<br /> +To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.<br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p>Having received a formal command to wait upon the bishop, he rose +and proceeded to obey it. He rang the bell and desired the servant to +inform his master that, if it suited his lordship, he, Mr. Slope, was +ready to wait upon him. The servant, who well understood that Mr. Slope +was no longer in the ascendant, brought back a message saying that "his +lordship desired that Mr. Slope would attend him immediately in his +study." Mr. Slope waited about ten minutes more to prove his +independence, and then he went into the bishop's room. There, as he had +expected, he found Mrs. Proudie, together with her husband.</p> + +<p>"Hum, ha—Mr. Slope, pray take a chair," said the +gentleman bishop.</p> + +<p>"Pray be seated, Mr. Slope," said the lady bishop.</p> + +<p>"Thank ye, thank ye," said Mr. Slope, and walking round to the fire, +he threw himself into one of the armchairs that graced the hearth-rug.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Slope," said the bishop, "it has become necessary that I should +speak to you definitively on a matter that has for some time been +pressing itself on my attention."</p> + +<p>"May I ask whether the subject is in any way connected with myself?" +said Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"It is so—certainly—yes, it certainly is +connected with yourself, Mr. Slope."</p> + +<p>"Then, my lord, if I may be allowed to express a wish, I would +prefer that no discussion on the subject should take place between us +in the presence of a third person."</p> + +<p>"Don't alarm yourself, Mr. Slope," said Mrs. Proudie, "no discussion +is at all necessary. The bishop merely intends to express his own +wishes."</p> + +<p>"I merely intend, Mr. Slope, to express my own wishes—no +discussion will be at all necessary," said the bishop, reiterating his +wife's words.</p> + +<p>"That is more, my lord, than we any of us can be sure of," said Mr. +Slope; "I cannot, however, force Mrs. Proudie to leave the room; nor +can I refuse to remain here if it be your lordship's wish that I +should do so."</p> + +<p>"It is his lordship's wish, certainly," said Mrs. Proudie.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Slope," began the bishop in a solemn, serious voice, "it +grieves me to have to find fault. It grieves me much to have to find +fault with a clergyman—but especially so with a clergyman +in your position."</p> + +<p>"Why, what have I done amiss, my lord?" demanded Mr. Slope boldly.</p> + +<p>"What have you done amiss, Mr. Slope?" said Mrs. Proudie, standing +erect before the culprit and raising that terrible forefinger. "Do +you dare to ask the bishop what you have done amiss? Does not your +conscience—"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Proudie, pray let it be understood, once for all, that I will +have no words with you."</p> + +<p>"Ah, sir, but you will have words," said she; "you must have words. +Why have you had so many words with that Signora Neroni? Why have +you disgraced yourself, you a clergyman, too, by constantly +consorting with such a woman as that—with a married +woman—with one altogether unfit for a clergyman's +society?"</p> + +<p>"At any rate I was introduced to her in your drawing-room," retorted +Mr. Slope.</p> + +<p>"And shamefully you behaved there," said Mrs. Proudie; "most +shamefully. I was wrong to allow you to remain in the house a day +after what I then saw. I should have insisted on your instant +dismissal."</p> + +<p>"I have yet to learn, Mrs. Proudie, that you have the power to +insist either on my going from hence or on my staying here."</p> + +<p>"What!" said the lady. "I am not to have the privilege of saying who +shall and who shall not frequent my own drawing-room! I am not to +save my servants and dependants from having their morals corrupted by +improper conduct! I am not to save my own daughters from impurity! +I will let you see, Mr. Slope, whether I have the power or whether I +have not. You will have the goodness to understand that you no +longer fill any situation about the bishop, and as your room will be +immediately wanted in the palace for another chaplain, I must ask you +to provide yourself with apartments as soon as may be convenient to +you."</p> + +<p>"My lord," said Mr. Slope, appealing to the bishop, and so turning +his back completely on the lady, "will you permit me to ask that I may +have from your own lips any decision that you may have come to on this +matter?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Mr. Slope, certainly," said the bishop; "that is but +reasonable. Well, my decision is that you had better look for some +other preferment. For the situation which you have lately held I do +not think that you are well suited."</p> + +<p>"And what, my lord, has been my fault?"</p> + +<p>"That Signora Neroni is one fault," said Mrs. Proudie; "and a very +abominable fault she is; very abominable and very disgraceful. Fie, +Mr. Slope, fie! You an evangelical clergyman indeed!"</p> + +<p>"My lord, I desire to know for what fault I am turned out of your +lordship's house."</p> + +<p>"You hear what Mrs. Proudie says," said the bishop.</p> + +<p>"When I publish the history of this transaction, my lord, as I +decidedly shall do in my own vindication, I presume you will not wish +me to state that you have discarded me at your wife's +bidding—because she has objected to my being acquainted +with another lady, the daughter of one of the prebendaries of the +chapter?"</p> + +<p>"You may publish what you please, sir," said Mrs. Proudie. "But you +will not be insane enough to publish any of your doings in +Barchester. Do you think I have not heard of your kneelings at that +creature's feet—that is, if she has any feet—and +of your constant slobbering over her hand? I advise you to beware, Mr. +Slope, of what you do and say. Clergymen have been unfrocked for less +than what you have been guilty of."</p> + +<p>"My lord, if this goes on I shall be obliged to indict this +woman—Mrs. Proudie I mean—for defamation of +character."</p> + +<p>"I think, Mr. Slope, you had better now retire," said the bishop. "I +will enclose to you a cheque for any balance that may be due to you; +under the present circumstances, it will of course be better for all +parties that you should leave the palace at the earliest possible +moment. I will allow you for your journey back to London and for +your maintenance in Barchester for a week from this date."</p> + +<p>"If, however, you wish to remain in this neighbourhood;" said Mrs. +Proudie, "and will solemnly pledge yourself never again to see that +woman, and will promise also to be more circumspect in your conduct, +the bishop will mention your name to Mr. Quiverful, who now wants a +curate at Puddingdale. The house is, I imagine, quite sufficient for +your requirements, and there will moreover be a stipend of fifty +pounds a year."</p> + +<p>"May God forgive you, madam, for the manner in which you have +treated me," said Mr. Slope, looking at her with a very heavenly look; +"and remember this, madam, that you yourself may still have a fall;" +and he looked at her with a very worldly look. "As to the bishop, I +pity him!" And so saying, Mr. Slope left the room. Thus ended the +intimacy of the Bishop of Barchester with his first confidential +chaplain.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Proudie was right in this; namely, that Mr. Slope was not +insane enough to publish to the world any of his doings in Barchester. +He did not trouble his friend Mr. Towers with any written statement of +the iniquity of Mrs. Proudie, or the imbecility of her husband. He was +aware that it would be wise in him to drop for the future all allusion +to his doings in the cathedral city. Soon after the interview just +recorded he left Barchester, shaking the dust off his feet as he +entered the railway carriage; and he gave no longing, lingering look +after the cathedral towers as the train hurried him quickly out of their +sight.</p> + +<p>It is well known that the family of the Slopes never starve: they +always fall on their feet, like cats; and let them fall where they +will, they live on the fat of the land. Our Mr. Slope did so. On +his return to town he found that the sugar-refiner had died and that +his widow was inconsolable—in other words, in want of +consolation. Mr. Slope consoled her, and soon found himself settled +with much comfort in the house in Baker Street. He possessed himself, +also, before long, of a church in the vicinity of the Red Road, and +became known to fame as one of the most eloquent preachers and pious +clergymen in that part of the metropolis. There let us leave him.</p> + +<p>Of the bishop and his wife very little further need be said. From +that time forth nothing material occurred to interrupt the even +course of their domestic harmony. Very speedily, a further vacancy +on the bench of bishops gave to Dr. Proudie the seat in the House of +Lords, which he at first so anxiously longed for. But by this time +he had become a wiser man. He did certainly take his seat, and +occasionally registered a vote in favour of Government views on +ecclesiastical matters. But he had thoroughly learnt that his proper +sphere of action lay in close contiguity with Mrs. Proudie's +wardrobe. He never again aspired to disobey, or seemed even to wish +for autocratic diocesan authority. If ever he thought of freedom, he +did so as men think of the millennium, as of a good time which may be +coming, but which nobody expects to come in their day. Mrs. Proudie +might be said still to bloom, and was, at any rate, strong, and the +bishop had no reason to apprehend that he would be speedily visited +with the sorrows of a widower's life.</p> + +<p>He is still Bishop of Barchester. He has so graced that throne that +the Government has been averse to translate him, even to higher +dignities. There may he remain, under safe pupilage, till the +newfangled manners of the age have discovered him to be superannuated +and bestowed on him a pension. As for Mrs. Proudie, our prayers for +her are that she may live forever.</p> + + +<p><a name="c52" id="c52"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LII</h3> +<h3>The New Dean Takes Possession of the Deanery,<br /> +and the New Warden of the Hospital<br /> </h3> + + +<p>Mr. Harding and the archdeacon together made their way to Oxford, +and there, by dint of cunning argument, they induced the Master of +Lazarus also to ask himself this momentous question: "Why should not +Mr. Arabin be Dean of Barchester?" He, of course, for awhile tried +his hand at persuading Mr. Harding that he was foolish, +overscrupulous, self-willed, and weak-minded; but he tried in vain. +If Mr. Harding would not give way to Dr. Grantly, it was not likely +that he would give way to Dr. Gwynne, more especially now that so +admirable a scheme as that of inducting Mr. Arabin into the deanery +had been set on foot. When the master found that his eloquence was +vain, and heard also that Mr. Arabin was about to become Mr. +Harding's son-in-law, he confessed that he also would, under such +circumstances, be glad to see his old friend and +protégé, the fellow of his college, placed in the +comfortable position that was going a-begging.</p> + +<p>"It might be the means you know, Master, of keeping Mr. Slope out," +said the archdeacon with grave caution.</p> + +<p>"He has no more chance of it," said the master, "than our college +chaplain. I know more about it than that."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grantly had been right in her surmise. It was the Master of +Lazarus who had been instrumental in representing in high places the +claims which Mr. Harding had upon the Government, and he now +consented to use his best endeavours towards getting the offer +transferred to Mr. Arabin. The three of them went on to London +together, and there they remained a week, to the great disgust of +Mrs. Grantly, and most probably also of Mrs. Gwynne. The minister +was out of town in one direction, and his private secretary in +another. The clerks who remained could do nothing in such a matter +as this, and all was difficulty and confusion. The two doctors +seemed to have plenty to do; they bustled here and they bustled there, +and complained at their club in the evenings that they had been +driven off their legs; but Mr. Harding had no occupation. Once or +twice he suggested that he might perhaps return to Barchester. His +request, however, was peremptorily refused, and he had nothing for it +but to while away his time in Westminster Abbey.</p> + +<p>At length an answer from the great man came. The Master of Lazarus +had made his proposition through the Bishop of Belgravia. Now this +bishop, though but newly gifted with his diocesan honours, was a man +of much weight in the clerico-political world. He was, if not as +pious, at any rate as wise as St. Paul, and had been with so much +effect all things to all men that, though he was great among the dons +of Oxford, he had been selected for the most favourite seat on the +bench by a Whig prime minister. To him Dr. Gwynne had made known his +wishes and his arguments, and the bishop had made them known to the +Marquis of Kensington-Gore. The marquis, who was Lord High Steward +of the Pantry Board, and who by most men was supposed to hold the +highest office out of the cabinet, trafficked much in affairs of this +kind. He not only suggested the arrangement to the minister over a +cup of coffee, standing on a drawing-room rug in Windsor Castle, but +he also favourably mentioned Mr. Arabin's name in the ear of a +distinguished person.</p> + +<p>And so the matter was arranged. The answer of the great man came, +and Mr. Arabin was made Dean of Barchester. The three clergymen who +had come up to town on this important mission dined together with +great glee on the day on which the news reached them. In a silent, +decent, clerical manner they toasted Mr. Arabin with full bumpers of +claret. The satisfaction of all of them was supreme. The Master of +Lazarus had been successful in his attempt, and success is dear to us +all. The archdeacon had trampled upon Mr. Slope, and had lifted to +high honours the young clergyman whom he had induced to quit the +retirement and comfort of the university. So at least the archdeacon +thought; though, to speak sooth, not he, but circumstances, had +trampled on Mr. Slope. But the satisfaction of Mr. Harding was, of +all, perhaps, the most complete. He laid aside his usual melancholy +manner and brought forth little quiet jokes from the inmost mirth of +his heart; he poked his fun at the archdeacon about Mr. Slope's +marriage, and quizzed him for his improper love for Mrs. Proudie. On +the following day they all returned to Barchester.</p> + +<p>It was arranged that Mr. Arabin should know nothing of what had been +done till he received the minister's letter from the hands of his +embryo father-in-law. In order that no time might be lost, a message +had been sent to him by the preceding night's post, begging him to be +at the deanery at the hour that the train from London arrived. There +was nothing in this which surprised Mr. Arabin. It had somehow got +about through all Barchester that Mr. Harding was the new dean, and +all Barchester was prepared to welcome him with pealing bells and +full hearts. Mr. Slope had certainly had a party; there had +certainly been those in Barchester who were prepared to congratulate +him on his promotion with assumed sincerity, but even his own party +was not broken-hearted by his failure. The inhabitants of the city, +even the high-souled, ecstatic young ladies of thirty-five, had begun +to comprehend that their welfare, and the welfare of the place, was +connected in some mysterious manner with daily chants and bi-weekly +anthems. The expenditure of the palace had not added much to the +popularity of the bishop's side of the question; and, on the whole, +there was a strong reaction. When it became known to all the world +that Mr. Harding was to be the new dean, all the world rejoiced +heartily.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin, we have said, was not surprised at the summons which +called him to the deanery. He had not as yet seen Mr. Harding since +Eleanor had accepted him, nor had he seen him since he had learnt his +future father-in-law's preferment. There was nothing more natural, +more necessary, than that they should meet each other at the earliest +possible moment. Mr. Arabin was waiting in the deanery parlour when +Mr. Harding and Dr. Grantly were driven up from the station.</p> + +<p>There was some excitement in the bosoms of them all, as they met and +shook hands; by far too much to enable either of them to begin his +story and tell it in a proper equable style of narrative. Mr. +Harding was some minutes quite dumbfounded, and Mr. Arabin could only +talk in short, spasmodic sentences about his love and good fortune. +He slipped in, as best he could, some sort of congratulation about +the deanship, and then went on with his hopes and fears—hopes +that he might be received as a son, and fears that he hardly deserved +such good fortune. Then he went back to the dean; it was the most +thoroughly satisfactory appointment, he said, of which he had ever +heard.</p> + +<p>"But! But! But—" said Mr. Harding, and then, failing +to get any further, he looked imploringly at the archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"The truth is, Arabin," said the doctor, "that, after all you are +not destined to be son-in-law to a dean. Nor am I either: more's the +pity."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin looked at him for explanation. "Is not Mr. Harding to be +the new dean?"</p> + +<p>"It appears not," said the archdeacon. Mr. Arabin's face fell a +little, and he looked from one to the other. It was plainly to be +seen from them both that there was no cause of unhappiness in the +matter, at least not of unhappiness to them; but there was as yet no +elucidation of the mystery.</p> + +<p>"Think how old I am," said Mr. Harding imploringly.</p> + +<p>"Fiddlestick!" said the archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"That's all very well, but it won't make a young man of me," said +Mr. Harding.</p> + +<p>"And who is to be dean?" asked Mr. Arabin.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's the question," said the archdeacon. "Come, Mr. +Precentor, since you obstinately refuse to be anything else, let us +know who is to be the man. He has got the nomination in his pocket."</p> + +<p>With eyes brim full of tears, Mr. Harding pulled out the letter and +handed it to his future son-in-law. He tried to make a little speech +but failed altogether. Having given up the document, he turned round +to the wall, feigning to blow his nose, and then sat himself down on +the old dean's dingy horsehair sofa. And here we find it necessary +to bring our account of the interview to an end.</p> + +<p>Nor can we pretend to describe the rapture with which Mr. Harding +was received by his daughter. She wept with grief and wept with +joy—with grief that her father should, in his old age, +still be without that rank and worldly position which, according to her +ideas, he had so well earned; and with joy in that he, her darling +father, should have bestowed on that other dear one the good things of +which he himself would not open his hand to take possession. And here +Mr. Harding again showed his weakness. In the <i>mêlée</i> +of this exposal of their loves and reciprocal affection, he found +himself unable to resist the entreaties of all parties that the +lodgings in the High Street should be given up. Eleanor would not live +in the deanery, she said, unless her father lived there also. Mr. +Arabin would not be dean, unless Mr. Harding would be co-dean with him. +The archdeacon declared that his father-in-law should not have his own +way in everything, and Mrs. Grantly carried him off to Plumstead, that +he might remain there till Mr. and Mrs. Arabin were in a state to +receive him in their own mansion.</p> + +<p>Pressed by such arguments as these, what could a weak old man do but +yield?</p> + +<p>But there was yet another task which it behoved Mr. Harding to do +before he could allow himself to be at rest. Little has been said in +these pages of the state of those remaining old men who had lived +under his sway at the hospital. But not on this account must it be +presumed that he had forgotten them, or that in their state of +anarchy and in their want of due government he had omitted to visit +them. He visited them constantly, and had latterly given them to +understand that they would soon be required to subscribe their +adherence to a new master. There were now but five of them, one of +them having been but quite lately carried to his rest—but +five of the full number, which had hitherto been twelve, and which was +now to be raised to twenty-four, including women. Of these, old Bunce, +who for many years had been the favourite of the late warden, was one; +and Abel Handy, who had been the humble means of driving that warden +from his home, was another.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harding now resolved that he himself would introduce the new +warden to the hospital. He felt that many circumstances might +conspire to make the men receive Mr. Quiverful with aversion and +disrespect; he felt also that Mr. Quiverful might himself feel some +qualms of conscience if he entered the hospital with an idea that he +did so in hostility to his predecessor. Mr. Harding therefore +determined to walk in, arm in arm with Mr. Quiverful, and to ask from +these men their respectful obedience to their new master.</p> + +<p>On returning to Barchester, he found that Mr. Quiverful had not yet +slept in the hospital house, or entered on his new duties. He +accordingly made known to that gentleman his wishes, and his +proposition was not rejected.</p> + +<p>It was a bright, clear morning, though in November, that Mr. Harding +and Mr. Quiverful, arm in arm, walked through the hospital gate. It +was one trait in our old friend's character that he did nothing with +parade. He omitted, even in the more important doings of his life, +that sort of parade by which most of us deem it necessary to grace +our important doings. We have house-warmings, christenings, and gala +days; we keep, if not our own birthdays, those of our children; we +are apt to fuss ourselves if called upon to change our residences and +have, almost all of us, our little state occasions. Mr. Harding had +no state occasions. When he left his old house, he went forth from +it with the same quiet composure as though he were merely taking his +daily walk; now that he re-entered it with another warden under his +wing, he did so with the same quiet step and calm demeanour. He was +a little less upright than he had been five years, nay, it was now +nearly six years ago; he walked perhaps a little slower; his footfall +was perhaps a thought less firm; otherwise one might have said that +he was merely returning with a friend under his arm.</p> + +<p>This friendliness was everything to Mr. Quiverful. To him, even in +his poverty, the thought that he was supplanting a brother clergyman +so kind and courteous as Mr. Harding had been very bitter. Under his +circumstances it had been impossible for him to refuse the proffered +boon; he could not reject the bread that was offered to his children, +or refuse to ease the heavy burden that had so long oppressed that +poor wife of his; nevertheless, it had been very grievous to him to +think that in going to the hospital he might encounter the ill-will +of his brethren in the diocese. All this Mr. Harding had fully +comprehended. It was for such feelings as these, for the nice +comprehension of such motives, that his heart and intellect were +peculiarly fitted. In most matters of worldly import the archdeacon +set down his father-in-law as little better than a fool. And perhaps +he was right. But in some other matters, equally important if they +be rightly judged, Mr. Harding, had he been so minded, might with as +much propriety have set down his son-in-law for a fool. Few men, +however, are constituted as was Mr. Harding. He had that nice +appreciation of the feelings of others which belongs of right +exclusively to women.</p> + +<p>Arm in arm they walked into the inner quadrangle of the building, +and there the five old men met them. Mr. Harding shook hands with them +all, and then Mr. Quiverful did the same. With Bunce Mr. Harding shook +hands twice, and Mr. Quiverful was about to repeat the same ceremony, +but the old man gave him no encouragement.</p> + +<p>"I am very glad to know that at last you have a new warden," said +Mr. Harding in a very cheery voice.</p> + +<p>"We be very old for any change," said one of them, "but we do +suppose it be all for the best."</p> + +<p>"Certainly—certainly it is for the best," said Mr. +Harding. "You will again have a clergyman of your own church under the +same roof with you, and a very excellent clergyman you will have. It is +a great satisfaction to me to know that so good a man is coming to take +care of you, and that it is no stranger, but a friend of my own who +will allow me from time to time to come in and see you."</p> + +<p>"We be very thankful to your Reverence," said another of them.</p> + +<p>"I need not tell you, my good friends," said Mr. Quiverful, "how +extremely grateful I am to Mr. Harding for his kindness to +me—I must say his uncalled-for, unexpected kindness."</p> + +<p>"He be always very kind," said a third.</p> + +<p>"What I can do to fill the void which he left here I will do. For +your sake and my own I will do so, and especially for his sake. But +to you who have known him, I can never be the same well-loved friend +and father that he has been."</p> + +<p>"No, sir, no," said old Bunce, who hitherto had held his peace; "no +one can be that. Not if the new bishop sent a hangel to us out of +heaven. We doesn't doubt you'll do your best, sir, but you'll not be +like the old master—not to us old ones."</p> + +<p>"Fie, Bunce, fie; how dare you talk in that way?" said Mr. Harding; +but as he scolded the old man he still held him by his arm and +pressed it with warm affection.</p> + +<p>There was no getting up any enthusiasm in the matter. How could five +old men tottering away to their final resting place be enthusiastic +on the reception of a stranger? What could Mr. Quiverful be to them, +or they to Mr. Quiverful? Had Mr. Harding indeed come back to them, +some last flicker of joyous light might have shone forth on their +aged cheeks; but it was in vain to bid them rejoice because Mr. +Quiverful was about to move his fourteen children from Puddingdale +into the hospital house. In reality they did no doubt receive +advantage, spiritual as well as corporal, but this they could neither +anticipate nor acknowledge.</p> + +<p>It was a dull affair enough, this introduction of Mr. Quiverful, but +still it had its effect. The good which Mr. Harding intended did not +fall to the ground. All the Barchester world, including the five old +bedesmen, treated Mr. Quiverful with the more respect because Mr. +Harding had thus walked in, arm in arm with him, on his first +entrance to his duties.</p> + +<p>And here in their new abode we will leave Mr. and Mrs. Quiverful and +their fourteen children. May they enjoy the good things which +Providence has at length given to them!</p> + + +<p><a name="c53" id="c53"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LIII</h3> +<h3>Conclusion<br /> </h3> + + +<p>The end of a novel, like the end of a children's dinner party, must +be made up of sweetmeats and sugar-plums. There is now nothing else +to be told but the gala doings of Mr. Arabin's marriage, nothing more +to be described than the wedding-dresses, no further dialogue to be +recorded than that which took place between the archdeacon, who +married them, and Mr. Arabin and Eleanor, who were married.</p> + +<p>"Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife," and "wilt thou have +this man to thy wedded husband, to live together according to God's +ordinance?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Arabin and Eleanor each answered, "I will."</p> + +<p>We have no doubt that they will keep their promises, the more +especially as the Signora Neroni had left Barchester before the +ceremony was performed.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bold had been somewhat more than two years a widow before she +was married to her second husband, and little Johnny was then able +with due assistance to walk on his own legs into the drawing-room to +receive the salutations of the assembled guests. Mr. Harding gave +away the bride, the archdeacon performed the service, and the two +Miss Grantlys, who were joined in their labours by other young ladies +of the neighbourhood, performed the duties of bridesmaids with equal +diligence and grace. Mrs. Grantly superintended the breakfast and +bouquets, and Mary Bold distributed the cards and cake. The +archdeacon's three sons had also come home for the occasion. The +elder was great with learning, being regarded by all who knew him as +a certain future double first. The second, however, bore the palm on +this occasion, being resplendent in a new uniform. The third was +just entering the university, and was probably the proudest of the +three.</p> + +<p>But the most remarkable feature in the whole occasion was the +excessive liberality of the archdeacon. He literally made presents +to everybody. As Mr. Arabin had already moved out of the parsonage +of St. Ewold's, that scheme of elongating the dining-room was of +course abandoned; but he would have refurnished the whole deanery had +he been allowed. He sent down a magnificent piano by Erard, gave Mr. +Arabin a cob which any dean in the land might have been proud to +bestride, and made a special present to Eleanor of a new pony chair +that had gained a prize in the Exhibition. Nor did he even stay his +hand here; he bought a set of cameos for his wife and a sapphire +bracelet for Miss Bold; showered pearls and work-boxes on his +daughters; and to each of his sons he presented a check for £20. On +Mr. Harding he bestowed a magnificent violoncello with all the +new-fashioned arrangements and expensive additions, which on account of +these novelties that gentleman could never use with satisfaction to his +audience or pleasure to himself.</p> + +<p>Those who knew the archdeacon well perfectly understood the causes +of his extravagance. 'Twas thus that he sang his song of triumph over +Mr. Slope. This was his pæan, his hymn of thanksgiving, his loud +oration. He had girded himself with his sword and gone forth to the +war; now he was returning from the field laden with the spoils of the +foe. The cob and the cameos, the violoncello and the pianoforte, were +all as it were trophies reft from the tent of his now-conquered enemy.</p> + +<p>The Arabins after their marriage went abroad for a couple of months, +according to the custom in such matters now duly established, and +then commenced their deanery life under good auspices. And nothing +can be more pleasant than the present arrangement of ecclesiastical +affairs in Barchester. The titular bishop never interfered, and Mrs. +Proudie not often. Her sphere is more extended, more noble, and more +suited to her ambition than that of a cathedral city. As long as she +can do what she pleases with the diocese, she is willing to leave the +dean and chapter to themselves. Mr. Slope tried his hand at +subverting the old-established customs of the close, and from his +failure she had learnt experience. The burly chancellor and the +meagre little prebendary are not teased by any application respecting +Sabbath-day schools, the dean is left to his own dominions, and the +intercourse between Mrs. Proudie and Mrs. Arabin is confined to a +yearly dinner given by each to the other. At these dinners Dr. +Grantly will not take a part, but he never fails to ask for and +receive a full account of all that Mrs. Proudie either does or says.</p> + +<p>His ecclesiastical authority has been greatly shorn since the palmy +days in which he reigned supreme as mayor of the palace to his +father, but nevertheless such authority as is now left to him he can +enjoy without interference. He can walk down the High Street of +Barchester without feeling that those who see him are comparing his +claims with those of Mr. Slope. The intercourse between Plumstead +and the deanery is of the most constant and familiar description. +Since Eleanor has been married to a clergyman, and especially to a +dignitary of the church, Mrs. Grantly has found many more points of +sympathy with her sister; and on a coming occasion, which is much +looked forward to by all parties, she intends to spend a month or two +at the deanery. She never thought of spending a month in Barchester +when little Johnny Bold was born!</p> + +<p>The two sisters do not quite agree on matters of church doctrine, +though their differences are of the most amicable description. Mrs. +Arabin's church is two degrees higher than that of Mrs. Grantly. +This may seem strange to those who will remember that Eleanor was +once accused of partiality to Mr. Slope, but it is no less the fact. +She likes her husband's silken vest, she likes his adherence to the +rubric, she specially likes the eloquent philosophy of his sermons, +and she likes the red letters in her own prayer-book. It must not be +presumed that she has a taste for candles, or that she is at all +astray about the real presence, but she has an inkling that way. She +sent a handsome subscription towards certain very heavy +ecclesiastical legal expenses which have lately been incurred in +Bath, her name of course not appearing; she assumes a smile of gentle +ridicule when the Archbishop of Canterbury is named; and she has put +up a memorial window in the cathedral.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grantly, who belongs to the high and dry church, the High +Church as it was some fifty years since, before tracts were written and +young clergymen took upon themselves the highly meritorious duty of +cleaning churches, rather laughs at her sister. She shrugs her +shoulders and tells Miss Thorne that she supposes Eleanor will have an +oratory in the deanery before she has done. But she is not on that +account a whit displeased. A few High Church vagaries do not, she +thinks, sit amiss on the shoulders of a young dean's wife. It shows at +any rate that her heart is in the subject, and it shows moreover that +she is removed, wide as the poles asunder, from that cesspool of +abomination in which it was once suspected that she would wallow and +grovel. Anathema maranatha! Let anything else be held as blessed, so +that that be well cursed. Welcome kneelings and bowings, welcome matins +and complines, welcome bell, book, and candle, so that Mr. Slope's +dirty surplices and ceremonial Sabbaths be held in due execration!</p> + +<p>If it be essentially and absolutely necessary to choose between the +two, we are inclined to agree with Mrs. Grantly that the bell, book, +and candle are the lesser evil of the two. Let it however be +understood that no such necessity is admitted in these pages.</p> + +<p>Dr. Arabin (we suppose he must have become a doctor when he became a +dean) is more moderate and less outspoken on doctrinal points than +his wife, as indeed in his station it behoves him to be. He is a +studious, thoughtful, hard-working man. He lives constantly at the +deanery and preaches nearly every Sunday. His time is spent in +sifting and editing old ecclesiastical literature and in producing +the same articles new. At Oxford he is generally regarded as the +most promising clerical ornament of the age. He and his wife live +together in perfect mutual confidence. There is but one secret in +her bosom which he has not shared. He has never yet learned how Mr. +Slope had his ears boxed.</p> + +<p>The Stanhopes soon found that Mr. Slope's power need no longer +operate to keep them from the delight of their Italian villa. Before +Eleanor's marriage they had all migrated back to the shores of Como. +They had not been resettled long before the signora received from +Mrs. Arabin a very pretty though very short epistle, in which she was +informed of the fate of the writer. This letter was answered by +another—bright, charming, and witty, as the signora's +letters always were—and so ended the friendship between +Eleanor and the Stanhopes.</p> + +<p>One word of Mr. Harding, and we have done. He is still precentor of +Barchester and still pastor of the little church of St. Cuthbert's. +In spite of what he has so often said himself, he is not even yet an +old man. He does such duties as fall to his lot well and +conscientiously, and is thankful that he has never been tempted to +assume others for which he might be less fitted.</p> + +<p>The author now leaves him in the hands of his readers: not as a +hero, not as a man to be admired and talked of, not as a man who should +be toasted at public dinners and spoken of with conventional absurdity +as a perfect divine, but as a good man, without guile, believing humbly +in the religion which he has striven to teach, and guided by the +precepts which he has striven to learn.</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 3409 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + |