CHAPTER XLVII.
DR. TEMPEST AT THE PALACE.
Intimation had been sent from the palace to Dr. Tempest ofSilverbridge of the bishop's intention that a commission shouldbe held by him, as rural dean, with other neighbouring clergymen,as assessors with him, that inquiry might be made on the part ofthe Church into the question of Mr. Crawley's guilt. It must beunderstood that by this time the opinion had become very general thatMr. Crawley had been guilty,--that he had found the cheque in hishouse, and that he had, after holding it for many months, succumbedto temptation, and applied it to his own purposes. But variousexcuses were made for him by those who so believed. In the firstplace it was felt by all who really knew anything of the man'scharacter, that the very fact of his committing such a crime provedhim to be hardly responsible for his actions. He must have known, hadnot all judgment in such matters been taken from him, that the chequewould certainly be traced back to his hands. No attempt had been madein the disposing of it to dispose of it in such a way that the traceshould be obliterated. He had simply given it to a neighbour with adirection to have it cashed, and had written his own name on the backof it. And therefore, though there could be no doubt as to the theftin the mind of those who supposed that he had found the cheque in hisown house, yet the guilt of the theft seemed to be almost annihilatedby the folly of the thief. And then his poverty, and his struggles,and the sufferings of his wife, were remembered; and stories weretold from mouth to mouth of his industry in his profession, ofhis great zeal among those brickmakers of Hoggle End, of acts ofcharity done by him which startled the people of the district intoadmiration--how he had worked with his own hands for the sick poorto whom he could not give relief in money, turning a woman's manglefor a couple of hours, and carrying a boy's load along the lanes. Dr.Tempest and others declared that he had derogated from the dignityof his position as an English parish clergyman by such acts; but,nevertheless, the stories of these deeds acted strongly on the mindsof both men and women, creating an admiration for Mr. Crawley whichwas much stronger than the condemnation of his guilt.
Even Mrs. Walker and her daughter, and the Miss Prettymans, had sofar given way that they had ceased to asseverate their belief inMr. Crawley's innocence. They contented themselves now with simplyexpressing a hope that he would be acquitted by a jury, and that whenhe should be so acquitted the thing might be allowed to rest. If hehad sinned, no doubt he had repented. And then there were seriousdebates whether he might not have stolen the money without much sin,being mad or half-mad,--touched with madness when he took it; andwhether he might not, in spite of such temporary touch of madness,be well fitted for his parish duties. Sorrow had afflicted himgrievously; but that sorrow, though it had incapacitated him for themanagement of his own affairs, had not rendered him unfit for theministrations of his parish. Such were the arguments now used inhis favour by the women around him; and the men were not keen tocontradict them. The wish that he should be acquitted and allowed toremain in his parsonage was very general.
When therefore it became known that the bishop had decided to put onfoot another investigation, with the view of bringing Mr. Crawley'sconduct under ecclesiastical condemnation, almost everybody accusedthe bishop of persecution. The world of the diocese declared thatMrs. Proudie was at work, and that the bishop himself was no betterthan a puppet. It was in vain that certain clear-headed men among theclergy, of whom Dr. Tempest himself was one, pointed out that thebishop after all might perhaps be right;--that if Mr. Crawley wereguilty, and if he should be found to have been so by a jury, it mightbe absolutely necessary that an ecclesiastical court should take somecognizance of the crime beyond that taken by the civil law. "Thejury," said Dr. Tempest, discussing the case with Mr. Robarts andother clerical neighbours,--"the jury may probably find him guiltyand recommend him to mercy. The judge will have heard his character,and will have been made acquainted with his manner of life, and willdeal as lightly with the case as the law will allow him. For aughtI know he may be imprisoned for a month. I wish it might be forno more than a day,--or an hour. But when he comes out from hismonth's imprisonment,--how then? Surely it should be a case forecclesiastical inquiry, whether a clergyman who has committed a theftshould be allowed to go into his pulpit directly he comes out ofprison?" But the answer to this was that Mr. Crawley always had beena good clergyman, was a good clergyman at this moment, and would be agood clergyman when he did come out of prison.
But Dr. Tempest, though he had argued in this way, was by no meanseager for the commencement of the commission over which he was tobe called upon to preside. In spite of such arguments as the above,which came from the man's head when his head was brought to bearupon the matter, there was a thorough desire within his heart tooppose the bishop. He had no strong sympathy with Mr. Crawley, ashad others. He would have had Mr. Crawley silenced without regret,presuming Mr. Crawley to have been guilty. But he had a much strongerfeeling with regard to the bishop. Had there been any question ofsilencing the bishop,--could it have been possible to take any stepsin that direction,--he would have been very active. It may thereforebe understood that in spite of his defence of the bishop's presentproceedings as to the commission, he was anxious that the bishopshould fail, and anxious to put impediments in the bishop's way,should it appear to him that he could do so with justice. Dr. Tempestwas well known among his parishioners to be hard and unsympathetic,some said unfeeling also, and cruel; but it was admitted by those whodisliked him the most that he was both practical and just, and thathe cared for the welfare of many, though he was rarely touched by themisery of one. Such was the man who was rector of Silverbridge andrural dean in the district, and who was now called upon by the bishopto assist him in making further inquiry as to this wretched chequefor twenty pounds.
Once at this period Archdeacon Grantly and Dr. Tempest met each otherand discussed the question of Mr. Crawley's guilt. Both these menwere inimical to the present bishop of the diocese, and both hadperhaps respected the old bishop beyond all other men. But theywere different in this, that the archdeacon hated Dr. Proudie asa partisan,--whereas Dr. Tempest opposed the bishop on certainprinciples which he endeavoured to make clear, at any rate tohimself. "Wrong!" said the archdeacon, speaking of the bishop'sintention of issuing a commission--"of course he is wrong. How couldanything right come from him or from her? I should be sorry to haveto do his bidding."
"I think you are a little hard upon Bishop Proudie," said Dr.Tempest.
"One cannot be hard upon him," said the archdeacon. "He is soscandalously weak, and she is so radically vicious, that they cannotbut be wrong together. The very fact that such a man should be abishop among us is to me terribly strong evidence of evil dayscoming."
"You are more impulsive than I am," said Dr. Tempest. "In this case Iam sorry for the poor man, who is, I am sure, honest in the main. ButI believe that in such a case your father would have done just whatthe present bishop is doing;--that he could have done nothing else;and as I think that Dr. Proudie is right I shall do all that I can toassist him in the commission."
The bishop's secretary had written to Dr. Tempest, telling him ofthe bishop's purpose; and now, in one of the last days of March, thebishop himself wrote to Dr. Tempest, asking him to come over to thepalace. The letter was worded most courteously, and expressed veryfeelingly the great regret which the writer felt at being obliged totake these proceedings against a clergyman in his diocese. BishopProudie knew how to write such a letter. By the writing of suchletters, and by the making of speeches in the same strain, he hadbecome Bishop of Barchester. Now, in this letter, he begged Dr.Tempest to come over to him, saying how delighted Mrs. Proudie wouldbe to see him at the palace. Then he went on to explain the greatdifficulty which he felt, and great sorrow also, in dealing withthis matter of Mr. Crawley. He looked, therefore, confidently for Dr.Tempest's assistance. Thinking to do the best for Mr. Crawley, andanxious to enable Mr. Crawley to remain in quiet retirement till thetrial should be over, he had sent a clergyman over to Hogglestock,wh
o would have relieved Mr. Crawley from the burden of thechurch-services;--but Mr. Crawley would have none of this relief.Mr. Crawley had been obstinate and overbearing, and had persistedin claiming his right to his own pulpit. Therefore was the bishopobliged to interfere legally, and therefore was he under thenecessity of asking Dr. Tempest to assist him. Would Dr. Tempest comeover on the Monday, and stay till the Wednesday?
The letter was a very good letter, and Dr. Tempest was obliged to doas he was asked. He so far modified the bishop's proposition that hereduced the sojourn at the palace by one night. He wrote to say thathe would have the pleasure of dining with the bishop and Mrs. Proudieon the Monday, but would return home on the Tuesday, as soon as thebusiness in hand would permit him. "I shall get on very well withhim," he said to his wife before he started; "but I am afraid of thewoman. If she interferes, there will be a row." "Then, my dear,"said his wife, "there will be a row, for I am told that she alwaysinterferes." On reaching the palace about half-an-hour beforedinner-time, Dr. Tempest found that other guests were expected, andon descending to the great yellow drawing-room, which was used onlyon state occasions, he encountered Mrs. Proudie and two of herdaughters arrayed in a full panoply of female armour. She receivedhim with her sweetest smiles, and if there had been any former enmitybetween Silverbridge and the palace, it was now all forgotten.She regretted greatly that Mrs. Tempest had not accompanied thedoctor;--for Mrs. Tempest also had been invited. But Mrs. Tempest wasnot quite as well as she might have been, the doctor had said, andvery rarely slept away from home. And then the bishop came in andgreeted his guest with his pleasantest good-humour. It was quitea sorrow to him that Silverbridge was so distant, and that he sawso little of Dr. Tempest; but he hoped that that might be somewhatmended now, and that leisure might be found for social delights;--toall which Dr. Tempest said but little, bowing to the bishop at eachseparate expression of his lordship's kindness.
There were guests there that evening who did not often sit at thebishop's table. The archdeacon and Mrs. Grantly had been summonedfrom Plumstead, and had obeyed the summons. Great as was the enmitybetween the bishop and the archdeacon, it had never quite taken theform of open palpable hostility. Each, therefore, asked the other todinner perhaps once every year; and each went to the other, perhaps,once in two years. And Dr. Thorne from Chaldicotes was there, butwithout his wife, who in these days was up in London. Mrs. Proudiealways expressed a warm friendship for Mrs. Thorne, and on thisoccasion loudly regretted her absence. "You must tell her, Dr.Thorne, how exceedingly much we miss her." Dr. Thorne, who wasaccustomed to hear his wife speak of her dear friend Mrs. Proudiewith almost unmeasured ridicule, promised that he would do so."We are so sorry the Luftons couldn't come to us," said Mrs.Proudie,--not alluding to the dowager, of whom it was well known thatno earthly inducement would have sufficed to make her put her footwithin Mrs. Proudie's room;--"but one of the children is ill, and shecould not leave him." But the Greshams were there from Boxall Hill,and the Thornes from Ullathorne, and, with the exception of a singlechaplain, who pretended to carve, Dr. Tempest and the archdeaconwere the only clerical guests at the table. From all which Dr.Tempest knew that the bishop was anxious to treat him with specialconsideration on the present occasion.
The dinner was rather long and ponderous, and occasionally almostdull. The archdeacon talked a good deal, but a bystander with anacute ear might have understood from the tone of his voice that hewas not talking as he would have talked among friends. Mrs. Proudiefelt this, and understood it, and was angry. She could never findherself in the presence of the archdeacon without becoming angry.Her accurate ear would always appreciate the defiance of episcopalauthority, as now existing in Barchester, which was concealed, oronly half concealed, by all the archdeacon's words. But the bishopwas not so keen, nor so easily roused to wrath; and though thepresence of his enemy did to a certain degree cow him, he strove tofight against the feeling with renewed good-humour.
"You have improved so upon the old days," said the archdeacon,speaking of some small matter with reference to the cathedral, "thatone hardly knows the old place."
"I hope we have not fallen off," said the bishop, with a smile.
"We have improved, Dr. Grantly," said Mrs. Proudie, with greatemphasis on her words. "What you say is true. We have improved."
"Not a doubt about that," said the archdeacon. Then Mrs. Grantlyinterposed, strove to change the subject, and threw oil upon thewaters.
"Talking of improvements," said Mrs. Grantly, "what an excellent rowof houses they have built at the bottom of High Street. I wonder whois to live in them?"
"I remember when that was the very worst part of the town," said Dr.Thorne.
"And now they're asking seventy pounds apiece for houses whichdid not cost above six hundred each to build," said Mr. Thorne ofUllathorne, with that seeming dislike of modern success which isevinced by most of the elders of the world.
"And who is to live in them?" asked Mrs. Grantly.
"Two of them have been already taken by clergymen," said the bishop,in a tone of triumph.
"Yes," said the archdeacon, "and the houses in the Close which usedto be the residences of the prebendaries have been leased out totallow-chandlers and retired brewers. That comes of the working ofthe Ecclesiastical Commission."
"And why not?" demanded Mrs. Proudie.
"Why not, indeed, if you like to have tallow-chandlers next door toyou?" said the archdeacon. "In the old days, we would sooner have hadour brethren near to us."
"There is nothing, Dr. Grantly, so objectionable in a cathedral townas a lot of idle clergymen," said Mrs. Proudie.
"It is beginning to be a question to me," said the archdeacon,"whether there is any use in clergymen at all for the presentgeneration."
"Dr. Grantly, those cannot be your real sentiments," said Mrs.Proudie. Then Mrs. Grantly, working hard in her vocation as apeacemaker, changed the conversation again, and began to talk of theAmerican war. But even that was made matter of discord on churchmatters,--the archdeacon professing an opinion that the Southernerswere Christian gentlemen, and the Northerners infidel snobs; whereasMrs. Proudie had an idea that the Gospel was preached with genuinezeal in the Northern States. And at each such outbreak the poorbishop would laugh uneasily, and say a word or two to which noone paid much attention. And so the dinner went on, not always inthe most pleasant manner for those who preferred continued socialgood-humour to the occasional excitement of a half-suppressed battle.
Not a word was said about Mr. Crawley. When Mrs. Proudie and theladies had left the dining-room, the bishop strove to get up a littlelay conversation. He spoke to Mr. Thorne about his game, and to Dr.Thorne about his timber, and even to Mr. Gresham about his hounds."It is not so very many years, Mr. Gresham," said he, "since theBishop of Barchester was expected to keep hounds himself," and thebishop laughed at his own joke.
"Your lordship shall have them back at the palace next season," saidyoung Frank Gresham, "if you will promise to do the county justice."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the bishop. "What do you say, Mr. Tozer?" Mr.Tozer was the chaplain on duty.
"I have not the least objection in the world, my lord," said Mr.Tozer, "to act as second whip."
"I'm afraid you'll find them an expensive adjunct to the episcopate,"said the archdeacon. And then the joke was over; for there had beena rumour, now for some years prevalent in Barchester, that BishopProudie was not liberal in his expenditure. As Mr. Thorne saidafterwards to his cousin the doctor, the archdeacon might have sparedthat sneer. "The archdeacon will never spare the man who sits in hisfather's seat," said the doctor. "The pity of it is that men whoare so thoroughly different in all their sympathies should ever bebrought into contact." "Dear, dear," said the archdeacon, as he stoodafterwards on the rug before the drawing-room fire, "how many rubbersof whist I have seen played in this room." "I sincerely hope that youwill never see another played here," said Mrs. Proudie. "I'm quitesure that I shall not," said the archdeacon. For this last sally his
wife scolded him bitterly on their way home. "You know very well,"she said, "that the times are changed, and that if you were Bishop ofBarchester yourself you would not have whist played in the palace.""I only know," said he, "that when we had the whist we had some truereligion along with it, and some good sense and good feeling also.""You cannot be right to sneer at others for doing what you would doyourself," said his wife. Then the archdeacon threw himself sulkilyinto the corner of his carriage, and nothing more was said betweenhim and his wife about the bishop's dinner-party.
Not a word was spoken that night at the palace about Mr. Crawley;and when that obnoxious guest from Plumstead was gone, Mrs. Proudieresumed her good-humour towards Dr. Tempest. So intent was she onconciliating him that she refrained even from abusing the archdeacon,whom she knew to have been intimate for very many years with therector of Silverbridge. In her accustomed moods she would have brokenforth in loud anger, caring nothing for old friendships; but atpresent she was thoughtful of the morrow, and desirous that Dr.Tempest should, if possible, meet her in a friendly humour when thegreat discussion as to Hogglestock should be opened between them. ButDr. Tempest understood her bearing, and as he pulled on his nightcapmade certain resolutions of his own as to the morrow's proceedings."I don't suppose she will dare to interfere," he had said to hiswife; "but if she does, I shall certainly tell the bishop that Icannot speak on the subject in her presence."
At breakfast on the following morning there was no one present butthe bishop, Mrs. Proudie, and Dr. Tempest. Very little was said atthe meal. Mr. Crawley's name was not mentioned, but there seemed tobe a general feeling among them that there was a task hanging overthem which prevented any general conversation. The eggs were eatenand the coffee was drunk, but the eggs and the coffee disappearedalmost in silence. When these ceremonies had been altogethercompleted, and it was clearly necessary that something further shouldbe done, the bishop spoke: "Dr. Tempest," he said, "perhaps you willjoin me in my study at eleven. We can then say a few words to eachother about the unfortunate matter on which I shall have to troubleyou." Dr. Tempest said he would be punctual to his appointment, andthen the bishop withdrew, muttering something as to the necessityof looking at his letters. Dr. Tempest took a newspaper in his hand,which had been brought in by a servant, but Mrs. Proudie did notallow him to read it. "Dr. Tempest," she said, "this is a matter ofmost vital importance. I am quite sure that you feel that it is so."
"What matter, madam?" said the doctor.
"This terrible affair of Mr. Crawley's. If something be not done thewhole diocese will be disgraced." Then she waited for an answer, butreceiving none she was obliged to continue. "Of the poor man's guiltthere can, I fear, be no doubt." Then there was another pause, butstill the doctor made no answer. "And if he be guilty," said Mrs.Proudie, resolving that she would ask a question that must bringforth some reply, "can any experienced clergyman think that he can befit to preach from the pulpit of a parish church? I am sure that youmust agree with me, Dr. Tempest? Consider the souls of the people!"
"Mrs. Proudie," said he, "I think that we had better not discuss thematter."
"Not discuss it?"
"I think that we had better not do so. If I understand the bishoparight, he wishes that I should take some step in the matter."
"Of course he does."
"And therefore I must decline to make it a matter of commonconversation."
"Common conversation, Dr. Tempest! I should be the last person in theworld to make it a matter of common conversation. I regard this as byno means a common conversation. God forbid that it should be a commonconversation. I am speaking now very seriously with reference to theinterests of the Church, which I think will be endangered by havingamong her active servants a man who has been guilty of so base acrime as theft. Think of it, Dr. Tempest. Theft! Stealing money!Appropriating to his own use a cheque for twenty pounds which didnot belong to him! And then telling such terrible falsehoods aboutit! Can anything be worse, anything more scandalous, anything moredangerous? Indeed, Dr. Tempest, I do not regard this as any commonconversation." The whole of this speech was not made at once,fluently, or without a break. From stop to stop Mrs. Proudie paused,waiting for her companion's words; but as he would not speak she wasobliged to continue. "I am sure that you cannot but agree with me,Dr. Tempest?" she said.
"I am quite sure that I shall not discuss it with you," said thedoctor, very brusquely.
"And why not? Are you not here to discuss it?"
"Not with you, Mrs. Proudie. You must excuse me for saying so, but Iam not here to discuss any such matter with you. Were I to do so, Ishould be guilty of a very great impropriety."
"All these things are in common between me and the bishop," said Mrs.Proudie, with an air that was intended to be dignified, but whichnevertheless displayed her rising anger.
"As to that I know nothing, but they cannot be in common between youand me. It grieves me much that I should have to speak to you insuch a strain, but my duty allows me no alternative. I think, if youwill permit me, I will take a turn round the garden before I keep myappointment with his lordship." And so saying he escaped from thelady without hearing her further remonstrance.
It still wanted nearly an hour to the time named by the bishop, andDr. Tempest used it in preparing for his withdrawal from the palaceas soon as his interview with the bishop should be over. After whathad passed he thought that he would be justified in taking hisdeparture without bidding adieu formally to Mrs. Proudie. He wouldsay a word or two, explaining his haste, to the bishop; and then,if he could get out of the house at once, it might be that he wouldnever see Mrs. Proudie again. He was rather proud of his successin their late battle, but he felt that, having been so completelyvictorious, it would be foolish in him to risk his laurels in thechance of another encounter. He would say not a word of what hadhappened to the bishop, and he thought it probable that neitherwould Mrs. Proudie speak of it,--at any rate till after he was gone.Generals who are beaten out of the field are not quick to talk oftheir own repulses. He, indeed, had not beaten Mrs. Proudie out ofthe field. He had, in fact, himself run away. But he had left hisfoe silenced; and with such a foe, and in such a contest, that waseverything. He put up his portmanteau, therefore, and prepared forhis final retreat. Then he rang his bell and desired the servantto show him to the bishop's study. The servant did so, and when heentered the room the first thing he saw was Mrs. Proudie sittingin an arm-chair near the window. The bishop was also in the room,sitting with his arms upon the writing-table, and his head upon hishands. It was very evident that Mrs. Proudie did not consider herselfto have been beaten, and that she was prepared to fight anotherbattle. "Will you sit down, Dr. Tempest?" she said, motioning himwith her hand to a chair opposite to that occupied by the bishop. Dr.Tempest sat down. He felt that at the moment he had nothing else todo, and that he must restrain any remonstrance that he might maketill Mr. Crawley's name should be mentioned. He was almost lost inadmiration of the woman. He had left her, as he thought, utterlyvanquished and prostrated by his determined but uncourteous usageof her; and here she was, present again upon the field of battle asthough she had never been even wounded. He could see that there hadbeen words between her and the bishop, and that she had carried apoint on which the bishop had been very anxious to have his own way.He could perceive at once that the bishop had begged her to absentherself and was greatly chagrined that he should not have prevailedwith her. There she was,--and as Dr. Tempest was resolved that hewould neither give advice nor receive instructions respecting Mr.Crawley in her presence, he could only draw upon his courage andhis strategy for the coming warfare. For a few moments no one saida word. The bishop felt that if Dr. Tempest would only begin, thework on hand might be got through, even in his wife's presence. Mrs.Proudie was aware that her husband should begin. If he would do so,and if Dr. Tempest would listen and then reply, she might graduallymake her way into the conversation and if her words were onceaccepted then she could say all that she desired to say; then shecould play
her part and become somebody in the episcopal work. Whenonce she should have been allowed liberty of speech, the enemy wouldbe powerless to stop her. But all this Dr. Tempest understood quiteas well as she understood it, and had they waited till night he wouldnot have been the first to mention Mr. Crawley's name.
The bishop sighed aloud. The sigh might be taken as expressing griefover the sin of the erring brother whose conduct they were then todiscuss, and was not amiss. But when the sigh with its attendantmurmurs had passed away it was necessary that some initiative stepshould be taken. "Dr. Tempest," said the bishop, "what are we to doabout this poor stiff-necked gentleman?" Still Dr. Tempest did notspeak. "There is no clergyman in the diocese," continued the bishop,"in whose prudence and wisdom I have more confidence than in yours.And I know, too, that you are by no means disposed to severity wheresevere measures are not necessary. What ought we to do? If he hasbeen guilty, he should not surely return to his pulpit after theexpiration of such punishment as the law of his country may award tohim."
Dr. Tempest looked at Mrs. Proudie, thinking that she might perhapssay a word now; but Mrs. Proudie knew her part better and was silent.Angry as she was, she contrived to hold her peace. Let the debateonce begin and she would be able to creep into it, and then to leadit,--and so she would hold her own. But she had met a foe as waryas herself. "My lord," said the doctor, "it will perhaps be wellthat you should communicate your wishes to me in writing. If it bepossible for me to comply with them I will do so."
"Yes;--exactly; no doubt;--but I thought that perhaps we might betterunderstand each other if we had a few words of quiet conversationupon the subject. I believe you know the steps that I have--"
But here the bishop was interrupted. Dr. Tempest rose from his chair,and advancing to the table put both his hands upon it. "My lord," hesaid, "I feel myself compelled to say that which I would very muchrather leave unsaid, were it possible. I feel the difficulty, andI may say delicacy, of my position but I should be untrue to myconscience and to my feeling of what is right in such matters, if Iwere to take any part in a discussion on this matter in the presenceof--a lady."
"Dr. Tempest, what is your objection?" said Mrs. Proudie, rising fromher chair, and coming also to the table, so that from thence shemight confront her opponent; and as she stood opposite to Dr. Tempestshe also put both her hands upon the table.
"My dear, perhaps you will leave us for a few moments," said thebishop. Poor bishop! Poor weak bishop! As the words came from hismouth he knew that they would be spoken in vain, and that, if so, itwould have been better for him to have left them unspoken.
"Why should I be dismissed from your room without a reason?" saidMrs. Proudie. "Cannot Dr. Tempest understand that a wife may shareher husband's counsels,--as she must share his troubles? If hecannot, I pity him very much as to his own household."
"Dr. Tempest," said the bishop, "Mrs. Proudie takes the greatestpossible interest in everything concerning the diocese."
"I am sure, my lord," said the doctor, "that you will see howunseemly it would be that I should interfere in any way between youand Mrs. Proudie. I certainly will not do so. I can only say againthat if you will communicate to me your wishes in writing, I willattend to them,--if it be possible."
"You mean to be stubborn," said Mrs. Proudie, whose prudence wasbeginning to give way under the great provocation to which her temperwas being subjected.
"Yes, madam; if it is to be called stubbornness, I must bestubborn. My lord, Mrs. Proudie spoke to me on this subject in thebreakfast-room after you had left it, and I then ventured to explainto her that in accordance with such light as I have on the matter, Icould not discuss it in her presence. I greatly grieve that I failedto make myself understood by her,--as, otherwise, this unpleasantnessmight have been spared."
"I understood you very well, Dr. Tempest, and I think you to be amost unreasonable man. Indeed, I might use a much harsher word."
"You may use any word you please, Mrs. Proudie," said the doctor.
"My dear, I really think you had better leave us for a few minutes,"said the bishop.
"No, my lord,--no," said Mrs. Proudie, turning round upon herhusband. "Not so. It would be most unbecoming that I should be turnedout of a room in this palace by an uncourteous word from a parishclergyman. It would be unseemly. If Dr. Tempest forgets his duty,I will not forget mine. There are other clergymen in the diocesebesides Dr. Tempest who can undertake the very easy task of thiscommission. As for his having been appointed rural dean I don't knowhow many years ago, it is a matter of no consequence whatever. Insuch a preliminary inquiry any three clergymen will suffice. It neednot be done by the rural dean at all."
"My dear!"
"I will not be turned out of this room by Dr. Tempest;--and that isenough."
"My lord," said the doctor, "you had better write to me as I proposedto you just now."
"His lordship will not write. His lordship will do nothing of thekind," said Mrs. Proudie.
"My dear!" said the bishop, driven in his perplexity beyond allcarefulness of reticence. "My dear, I do wish you wouldn't,--I doindeed. If you would only go away!"
"I will not go away, my lord," said Mrs. Proudie.
"But I will," said Dr. Tempest, feeling true compassion for theunfortunate man whom he saw writhing in agony before him. "It willmanifestly be for the best that I should retire. My lord, I wish yougood morning. Mrs. Proudie, good morning." And so he left the room.
"A most stubborn and a most ungentlemanlike man," said Mrs. Proudie,as soon as the door was closed behind the retreating rural dean."I do not think that in the whole course of my life I ever met withany one so insubordinate and so ill-mannered. He is worse than thearchdeacon." As she uttered these words she paced about the room. Thebishop said nothing; and when she herself had been silent for a fewminutes she turned upon him. "Bishop," she said, "I hope that youagree with me. I expect that you will agree with me in a matter thatis of so much moment to my comfort, and I may say to my positiongenerally in the diocese. Bishop, why do you not speak?"
"You have behaved in such a way that I do not know that I shall everspeak again," said the bishop.
"What is this that you say?"
"I say that I do not know how I shall ever speak again. You havedisgraced me."
"Disgraced you! I disgrace you! It is you that disgrace yourself bysaying such words."
"Very well. Let it be so. Perhaps you will go away now and leave meto myself. I have got a bad headache, and I can't talk any more. Ohdear, oh dear, what will he think of it!"
"And you mean to tell me that I have been wrong!"
"Yes, you have been wrong,--very wrong. Why didn't you go away whenI asked you? You are always being wrong. I wish I had never come toBarchester. In any other position I should not have felt it so much.As it is I do not know how I can ever show my face again."
"Not have felt what so much, Mr. Proudie?" said the wife, going backin the excitement of her anger to the nomenclature of old days. "Andthis is to be my return for all my care in your behalf! Allow me totell you, sir, that in any position in which you may be placed I knowwhat is due to you, and that your dignity will never lose anythingin my hands. I wish that you were as well able to take care of ityourself." Then she stalked out of the room, and left the poor manalone.
Bishop Proudie sat alone in his study throughout the whole day. Onceor twice in the course of the morning his chaplain came to him onsome matter of business, and was answered with a smile,--the peculiarsoftness of which the chaplain did not fail to attribute to the rightcause. For it was soon known throughout the household that there hadbeen a quarrel. Could he quite have made up his mind to do so,--couldhe have resolved that it would be altogether better to quarrel withhis wife,--the bishop would have appealed to the chaplain, and haveasked at any rate for sympathy. But even yet he could not bringhimself to confess his misery, and to own himself to another to bethe wretch that he was. Then during the long hours of the day he satthinking of it all. How happy could h
e be if it were only possiblefor him to go away, and become even a curate in a parish, without hiswife! Would there ever come to him a time of freedom? Would she everdie? He was older than she, and of course he would die first. Wouldit not be a fine thing if he could die at once, and thus escape fromhis misery?
What could he do, even supposing himself strong enough to fight thebattle? He could not lock her up. He could not even very well lockher out of his room. She was his wife, and must have the run ofhis house. He could not altogether debar her from the society ofthe diocesan clergymen. He had, on this very morning, taken strongmeasures with her. More than once or twice he had desired her toleave the room. What was there to be done with a woman who would notobey her husband,--who would not even leave him to the performance ofhis own work? What a blessed thing it would be if a bishop could goaway from his home to his work every day like a clerk in a publicoffice,--as a stone-mason does! But there was no such escape for him.He could not go away. And how was he to meet her again on this veryday?
And then for hours he thought of Dr. Tempest and Mr. Crawley,considering what he had better do to repair the shipwreck of themorning. At last he resolved that he would write to the doctor; andbefore he had again seen his wife, he did write his letter, andhe sent it off. In this letter he made no direct allusion to theoccurrence of the morning, but wrote as though there had not been anyfixed intention of a personal discussion between them. "I think itwill be better that there should be a commission," he said, "and Iwould suggest that you should have four other clergymen with you.Perhaps you will select two yourself out of your rural deanery; and,if you do not object, I will name as the other two Mr. Thumble andMr. Quiverful, who are both resident in the city." As he wrote thesetwo names he felt ashamed of himself, knowing that he had chosenthe two men as being special friends of his wife, and feeling thathe should have been brave enough to throw aside all considerationsof his wife's favour,--especially at this moment, in which he wasputting on his armour to do battle against her. "It is not probable,"he continued to say in his letter, "that you will be able to makeyour report until after the trial of this unfortunate gentleman shallhave taken place, and a verdict shall have been given. Should he beacquitted, that, I imagine, should end the matter. There can be noreason why we should attempt to go beyond the verdict of a jury.But should he be found guilty, I think we ought to be ready withsuch steps as it will be becoming for us to take at the expirationof any sentence which may be pronounced. It will be, at any rate,expedient that in such case the matter should be brought before anecclesiastical court." He knew well as he wrote this, that he wasproposing something much milder than the course intended by his wifewhen she had instigated him to take proceedings in the matter; buthe did not much regard that now. Though he had been weak enough toname certain clergymen as assessors with the rural dean, because hethought that by doing so he would to a certain degree conciliate hiswife,--though he had been so far a coward, yet he was resolved thathe would not sacrifice to her his own judgment and his own consciencein his manner of proceeding. He kept no copy of his letter, so thathe might be unable to show her his very words when she should askto see them. Of course he would tell her what he had done; but intelling her he would keep to himself what he had said as to theresult of an acquittal in a civil court. She need not yet be toldthat he had promised to take such a verdict as sufficing also for anecclesiastical acquittal. In this spirit his letter was written andsent off before he again saw his wife.
He did not meet her till they came together in the drawing-roombefore dinner. In explaining the whole truth as to circumstances asthey existed at the palace at that moment, it must be acknowledgedthat Mrs. Proudie herself, great as was her courage, and wide aswere the resources which she possessed within herself, was somewhatappalled by the position of affairs. I fear that it may now be toolate for me to excite much sympathy in the mind of any reader onbehalf of Mrs. Proudie. I shall never be able to make her virtuespopular. But she had virtues, and their existence now made herunhappy. She did regard the dignity of her husband, and she felt atthe present moment that she had almost compromised it. She did alsoregard the welfare of the clergymen around her, thinking of coursein a general way that certain of them who agreed with her were theclergymen whose welfare should be studied, and that certain of themwho disagreed with her were the clergymen whose welfare should bepostponed. But now an idea made its way into her bosom that she wasnot perhaps doing the best for the welfare of the diocese generally.What if it should come to pass that all the clergymen of the dioceseshould refuse to open their mouths in her presence on ecclesiasticalsubjects, as Dr. Tempest had done? This special day was not one onwhich she was well contented with herself, though by no means on thataccount was her anger mitigated against the offending rural dean.
During dinner she struggled to say a word or two to her husband, asthough there had been no quarrel between them. With him the matterhad gone so deep that he could not answer her in the same spirit.There were sundry members of the family present,--daughters, and ason-in-law, and a daughter's friend who was staying with them; buteven in the hope of appearing to be serene before them he could notstruggle through his deep despondence. He was very silent, and to hiswife's words he answered hardly anything. He was courteous and gentlewith them all, but he spoke as little as was possible, and duringthe evening he sat alone, with his head leaning on his hand,--notpretending even to read. He was aware that it was too late to makeeven an attempt to conceal his misery and his disgrace from his ownfamily.
His wife came to him that night in his dressing-room in a spirit offeminine softness that was very unusual with her. "My dear," saidshe, "let us forget what occurred this morning. If there has been anyanger we are bound as Christians to forget it." She stood over him asshe spoke, and put her hand upon his shoulder almost caressingly.
"When a man's heart is broken, he cannot forget it," was his reply.She still stood by him, and still kept her hand upon him; but shecould think of no other words of comfort to say. "I will go to bed,"he said. "It is the best place for me." Then she left him, and hewent to bed.