Doctor Thorne

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XIX

  The Duke of Omnium

  The Duke of Omnium was, as we have said, a bachelor. Not the less onthat account did he on certain rare gala days entertain the beautyof the county at his magnificent rural seat, or the female fashionof London in Belgrave Square; but on this occasion the dinner atGatherum Castle--for such was the name of his mansion--was to beconfined to the lords of the creation. It was to be one of those dayson which he collected round his board all the notables of the county,in order that his popularity might not wane, or the established gloryof his hospitable house become dim.

  On such an occasion it was not probable that Lord de Courcy would beone of the guests. The party, indeed, who went from Courcy Castle wasnot large, and consisted of the Honourable George, Mr Moffat, andFrank Gresham. They went in a tax-cart, with a tandem horse, drivenvery knowingly by George de Courcy; and the fourth seat on the backof the vehicle was occupied by a servant, who was to look after thehorses at Gatherum.

  The Honourable George drove either well or luckily, for he reachedthe duke's house in safety; but he drove very fast. Poor MissDunstable! what would have been her lot had anything but goodhappened to that vehicle, so richly freighted with her three lovers!They did not quarrel as to the prize, and all reached Gatherum Castlein good humour with each other.

  The castle was a new building of white stone, lately erected at anenormous cost by one of the first architects of the day. It was animmense pile, and seemed to cover ground enough for a moderate-sizedtown. But, nevertheless, report said that when it was completed,the noble owner found that he had no rooms to live in; and that, onthis account, when disposed to study his own comfort, he resided ina house of perhaps one-tenth the size, built by his grandfather inanother county.

  Gatherum Castle would probably be called Italian in its style ofarchitecture; though it may, I think, be doubted whether any suchedifice, or anything like it, was ever seen in any part of Italy.It was a vast edifice; irregular in height--or it appeared to beso--having long wings on each side too high to be passed over by theeye as mere adjuncts to the mansion, and a portico so large as tomake the house behind it look like another building of a greateraltitude. This portico was supported by Ionic columns, and was initself doubtless a beautiful structure. It was approached by aflight of steps, very broad and very grand; but, as an approach by aflight of steps hardly suits an Englishman's house, to the immediateentrance of which it is necessary that his carriage should drive,there was another front door in one of the wings which was commonlyused. A carriage, however, could on very stupendously grandoccasions--the visits, for instance, of queens and kings, and royaldukes--be brought up under the portico; as the steps had been soconstructed as to admit of a road, with a rather stiff ascent, beingmade close in front of the wing up into the very porch.

  Opening from the porch was the grand hall, which extended up to thetop of the house. It was magnificent, indeed; being decorated withmany-coloured marbles, and hung round with various trophies of thehouse of Omnium; banners were there, and armour; the sculptured bustsof many noble progenitors; full-length figures in marble of thosewho had been especially prominent; and every monument of glory thatwealth, long years, and great achievements could bring together. Ifonly a man could but live in his hall and be for ever happy there!But the Duke of Omnium could not live happily in his hall; and thefact was, that the architect, in contriving this magnificent entrancefor his own honour and fame, had destroyed the duke's house asregards most of the ordinary purposes of residence.

  Nevertheless, Gatherum Castle is a very noble pile; and, standing asit does on an eminence, has a very fine effect when seen from many adistant knoll and verdant-wooded hill.

  At seven o'clock Mr de Courcy and his friends got down from theirdrag at the smaller door--for this was no day on which to mount upunder the portico; nor was that any suitable vehicle to have beenentitled to such honour. Frank felt some excitement a little strongerthan that usual to him at such moments, for he had never yet been incompany with the Duke of Omnium; and he rather puzzled himself tothink on what points he would talk to the man who was the largestlandowner in that county in which he himself had so great aninterest. He, however, made up his mind that he would allow the duketo choose his own subjects; merely reserving to himself the right ofpointing out how deficient in gorse covers was West Barsetshire--thatbeing the duke's division.

  They were soon divested of their coats and hats, and,without entering on the magnificence of the great hall, wereconducted through rather a narrow passage into rather a smalldrawing-room--small, that is, in proportion to the number ofgentlemen there assembled. There might be about thirty, and Frank wasinclined to think that they were almost crowded. A man came forwardto greet them when their names were announced; but our hero at onceknew that he was not the duke; for this man was fat and short,whereas the duke was thin and tall.

  There was a great hubbub going on for everybody seemed to be talkingto his neighbour; or, in default of a neighbour, to himself. Itwas clear that the exalted rank of their host had put very littleconstraint on his guests' tongues, for they chatted away with as muchfreedom as farmers at an ordinary.

  "Which is the duke?" at last Frank contrived to whisper to hiscousin.

  "Oh;--he's not here," said George; "I suppose he'll be in presently.I believe he never shows till just before dinner."

  Frank, of course, had nothing further to say; but he already began tofeel himself a little snubbed: he thought that the duke, duke thoughhe was, when he asked people to dinner should be there to tell themthat he was glad to see them.

  More people flashed into the room, and Frank found himself ratherclosely wedged in with a stout clergyman of his acquaintance. He wasnot badly off, for Mr Athill was a friend of his own, who had held aliving near Greshamsbury. Lately, however, at the lamented deceaseof Dr Stanhope--who had died of apoplexy at his villa in Italy--MrAthill had been presented with the better preferment of Eiderdown,and had, therefore, removed to another part of the county. He wassomewhat of a bon-vivant, and a man who thoroughly understooddinner-parties; and with much good nature he took Frank under hisspecial protection.

  "You stick to me, Mr Gresham," he said, "when we go into thedining-room. I'm an old hand at the duke's dinners, and know how tomake a friend comfortable as well as myself."

  "But why doesn't the duke come in?" demanded Frank.

  "He'll be here as soon as dinner is ready," said Mr Athill. "Or,rather, the dinner will be ready as soon as he is here. I don't care,therefore, how soon he comes."

  Frank did not understand this, but he had nothing to do but to waitand see how things went.

  He was beginning to be impatient, for the room was now nearly full,and it seemed evident that no other guests were coming; when suddenlya bell rang, and a gong was sounded, and at the same instant a doorthat had not yet been used flew open, and a very plainly dressed,plain, tall man entered the room. Frank at once knew that he was atlast in the presence of the Duke of Omnium.

  But his grace, late as he was in commencing the duties as host,seemed in no hurry to make up for lost time. He quietly stood on therug, with his back to the empty grate, and spoke one or two words ina very low voice to one or two gentlemen who stood nearest to him.The crowd, in the meanwhile, became suddenly silent. Frank, when hefound that the duke did not come and speak to him, felt that he oughtto go and speak to the duke; but no one else did so, and when hewhispered his surprise to Mr Athill, that gentleman told him thatthis was the duke's practice on all such occasions.

  "Fothergill," said the duke--and it was the only word he had yetspoken out loud--"I believe we are ready for dinner." Now MrFothergill was the duke's land-agent, and he it was who had greetedFrank and his friends at their entrance.

  Immediately the gong was again sounded, and another door leading outof the drawing-room into the dining-room was opened. The duke led theway, and then the guests followed. "Stick close to me, Mr Gresham,"said Athill, "we'll get about the middle of the table, wher
e we shallbe cosy--and on the other side of the room, out of this dreadfuldraught--I know the place well, Mr Gresham; stick to me."

  Mr Athill, who was a pleasant, chatty companion, had hardly seatedhimself, and was talking to Frank as quickly as he could, when MrFothergill, who sat at the bottom of the table, asked him to saygrace. It seemed to be quite out of the question that the duke shouldtake any trouble with his guests whatever. Mr Athill consequentlydropped the word he was speaking, and uttered a prayer--if it was aprayer--that they might all have grateful hearts for that which Godwas about to give them.

  If it was a prayer! As far as my own experience goes, such utterancesare seldom prayers, seldom can be prayers. And if not prayers, whatthen? To me it is unintelligible that the full tide of glibbestchatter can be stopped at a moment in the midst of profuse goodliving, and the Giver thanked becomingly in words of heartfeltpraise. Setting aside for the moment what one daily hears and sees,may not one declare that a change so sudden is not within the compassof the human mind? But then, to such reasoning one cannot but addwhat one does hear and see; one cannot but judge of the ceremony bythe manner in which one sees it performed--uttered, that is--andlistened to. Clergymen there are--one meets them now and then--whoendeavour to give to the dinner-table grace some of the solemnity ofa church ritual, and what is the effect? Much the same as though onewere to be interrupted for a minute in the midst of one of our churchliturgies to hear a drinking-song.

  And it will be argued, that a man need be less thankful because, atthe moment of receiving, he utters no thanksgiving? or will it bethought that a man is made thankful because what is called a grace isuttered after dinner? It can hardly be imagined that any one will soargue, or so think.

  Dinner-graces are, probably, the last remaining relic of certaindaily services [1] which the Church in olden days enjoined: nones,complines, and vespers were others. Of the nones and complines wehave happily got quit; and it might be well if we could get rid ofthe dinner-graces also. Let any man ask himself whether, on his ownpart, they are acts of prayer and thanksgiving--and if not that, whatthen?

  [Footnote 1: It is, I know, alleged that graces are said before dinner, because our Saviour uttered a blessing before his last supper. I cannot say that the idea of such analogy is pleasing to me.]

  When the large party entered the dining-room one or two gentlemenmight be seen to come in from some other door and set themselves atthe table near to the duke's chair. These were guests of his own, whowere staying in the house, his particular friends, the men with whomhe lived: the others were strangers whom he fed, perhaps once a year,in order that his name might be known in the land as that of one whodistributed food and wine hospitably through the county. The foodand wine, the attendance also, and the view of the vast repositoryof plate he vouchsafed willingly to his county neighbours;--but itwas beyond his good nature to talk to them. To judge by the presentappearance of most of them, they were quite as well satisfied to beleft alone.

  Frank was altogether a stranger there, but Mr Athill knew every oneat the table.

  "That's Apjohn," said he: "don't you know, Mr Apjohn, the attorneyfrom Barchester? he's always here; he does some of Fothergill's lawbusiness, and makes himself useful. If any fellow knows the value ofa good dinner, he does. You'll see that the duke's hospitality willnot be thrown away on him."

  "It's very much thrown away upon me, I know," said Frank, who couldnot at all put up with the idea of sitting down to dinner withouthaving been spoken to by his host.

  "Oh, nonsense!" said his clerical friend; "you'll enjoy yourselfamazingly by and by. There is not such champagne in any other housein Barsetshire; and then the claret--" And Mr Athill pressed his lipstogether, and gently shook his head, meaning to signify by the motionthat the claret of Gatherum Castle was sufficient atonement for anypenance which a man might have to go through in his mode of obtainingit.

  "Who's that funny little man sitting there, next but one to Mr deCourcy? I never saw such a queer fellow in my life."

  "Don't you know old Bolus? Well, I thought every one in Barsetshireknew Bolus; you especially should do so, as he is such a dear friendof Dr Thorne."

  "A dear friend of Dr Thorne?"

  "Yes; he was apothecary at Scarington in the old days, before DrFillgrave came into vogue. I remember when Bolus was thought to be avery good sort of doctor."

  "Is he--is he--" whispered Frank, "is he by way of a gentleman?"

  "Ha! ha! ha! Well, I suppose we must be charitable, and say that heis quite as good, at any rate, as many others there are here--" andMr Athill, as he spoke, whispered into Frank's ear, "You see there'sFinnie here, another Barchester attorney. Now, I really think whereFinnie goes Bolus may go too."

  "The more the merrier, I suppose," said Frank.

  "Well, something a little like that. I wonder why Thorne is not here?I'm sure he was asked."

  "Perhaps he did not particularly wish to meet Finnie and Bolus. Doyou know, Mr Athill, I think he was quite right not to come. As formyself, I wish I was anywhere else."

  "Ha! ha! ha! You don't know the duke's ways yet; and what's more,you're young, you happy fellow! But Thorne should have more sense; heought to show himself here."

  The gormandizing was now going on at a tremendous rate. Though thevolubility of their tongues had been for a while stopped by the firstshock of the duke's presence, the guests seemed to feel no suchconstraint upon their teeth. They fed, one may almost say, rabidly,and gave their orders to the servants in an eager manner; much moreimpressive than that usual at smaller parties. Mr Apjohn, who satimmediately opposite to Frank, had, by some well-planned manoeuvre,contrived to get before him the jowl of a salmon but, unfortunately,he was not for a while equally successful in the article of sauce. Avery limited portion--so at least thought Mr Apjohn--had been put onhis plate; and a servant, with a huge sauce tureen, absolutely passedbehind his back inattentive to his audible requests. Poor Mr Apjohnin his despair turned round to arrest the man by his coat-tails; buthe was a moment too late, and all but fell backwards on the floor. Ashe righted himself he muttered an anathema, and looked with a face ofanguish at his plate.

  "Anything the matter, Apjohn?" said Mr Fothergill, kindly, seeingthe utter despair written on the poor man's countenance; "can I getanything for you?"

  "The sauce!" said Mr Apjohn, in a voice that would have melted ahermit; and as he looked at Mr Fothergill, he pointed at the nowdistant sinner, who was dispensing his melted ambrosia at least tenheads upwards, away from the unfortunate supplicant.

  Mr Fothergill, however, knew where to look for balm for such wounds,and in a minute or two, Mr Apjohn was employed quite to his heart'scontent.

  "Well," said Frank to his neighbour, "it may be very well once in away; but I think that on the whole Dr Thorne is right."

  "My dear Mr Gresham, see the world on all sides," said Mr Athill,who had also been somewhat intent on the gratification of his ownappetite, though with an energy less evident than that of thegentleman opposite. "See the world on all sides if you have anopportunity; and, believe me, a good dinner now and then is a verygood thing."

  "Yes; but I don't like eating it with hogs."

  "Whish-h! softly, softly, Mr Gresham, or you'll disturb Mr Apjohn'sdigestion. Upon my word, he'll want it all before he has done. Now, Ilike this kind of thing once in a way."

  "Do you?" said Frank, in a tone that was almost savage.

  "Yes; indeed I do. One sees so much character. And after all, whatharm does it do?"

  "My idea is that people should live with those whose society ispleasant to them."

  "Live--yes, Mr Gresham--I agree with you there. It wouldn't do for meto live with the Duke of Omnium; I shouldn't understand, or probablyapprove, his ways. Nor should I, perhaps, much like the constantpresence of Mr Apjohn. But now and then--once in a year or so--I doown I like to see them both. Here's the cup; now, whatever you do, MrGresham, don't pass the cup without tasting it."

  And so the dinner passed on, slowly e
nough as Frank thought, butall too quickly for Mr Apjohn. It passed away, and the wine camecirculating freely. The tongues again were loosed, the teeth beingreleased from their labours, and under the influence of the claretthe duke's presence was forgotten.

  But very speedily the coffee was brought. "This will soon be overnow," said Frank, to himself, thankfully; for, though he be no meansdespised good claret, he had lost his temper too completely to enjoyit at the present moment. But he was much mistaken; the farce as yetwas only at its commencement. The duke took his cup of coffee, and sodid the few friends who sat close to him; but the beverage did notseem to be in great request with the majority of the guests. When theduke had taken his modicum, he rose up and silently retired, sayingno word and making no sign. And then the farce commenced.

  "Now, gentlemen," said Mr Fothergill, cheerily, "we are all right.Apjohn, is there claret there? Mr Bolus, I know you stick to theMadeira; you are quite right, for there isn't much of it left, and mybelief is there'll never be more like it."

  And so the duke's hospitality went on, and the duke's guests drankmerrily for the next two hours.

  "Shan't we see any more of him?" asked Frank.

  "Any more of whom?" said Mr Athill.

  "Of the duke?"

  "Oh, no; you'll see no more of him. He always goes when the coffeecomes. It's brought in as an excuse. We've had enough of the light ofhis countenance to last till next year. The duke and I are excellentfriends; and have been so these fifteen years; but I never see moreof him than that."

  "I shall go away," said Frank.

  "Nonsense. Mr de Courcy and your other friend won't stir for thishour yet."

  "I don't care. I shall walk on, and they may catch me. I may bewrong; but it seems to me that a man insults me when he asks me todine with him and never speaks to me. I don't care if he be ten timesDuke of Omnium; he can't be more than a gentleman, and as such Iam his equal." And then, having thus given vent to his feelings insomewhat high-flown language, he walked forth and trudged away alongthe road towards Courcy.

  Frank Gresham had been born and bred a Conservative, whereas theDuke of Omnium was well known as a consistent Whig. There is no oneso devoutly resolved to admit of no superior as your Conservative,born and bred, no one so inclined to high domestic despotism as yourthoroughgoing consistent old Whig.

  When he had proceeded about six miles, Frank was picked up by hisfriends; but even then his anger had hardly cooled.

  "Was the duke as civil as ever when you took your leave of him?" saidhe to his cousin George, as he took his seat on the drag.

  "The juke was jeuced jude wine--lem me tell you that, old fella,"hiccupped out the Honourable George, as he touched up the leaderunder the flank.