CHAPTER XVII.
MR. CRAWLEY IS SUMMONED TO BARCHESTER.
The scene which occurred in Hogglestock church on the Sunday afterMr. Thumble's first visit to that parish had not been described withabsolute accuracy either by the archdeacon in his letter to his son,or by Mrs. Thorne. There had been no footman from the palace inattendance on Mr. Thumble, nor had there been a battle with thebrickmakers; neither had Mr. Thumble been put under the pump. But Mr.Thumble had gone over, taking his gown and surplice with him, on theSunday morning, and had intimated to Mr. Crawley his intention ofperforming the service. Mr. Crawley, in answer to this, had assuredMr. Thumble that he would not be allowed to open his mouth in thechurch; and Mr. Thumble, not seeing his way to any further successfulaction, had contented himself with attending the services in hissurplice, making thereby a silent protest that he, and not Mr.Crawley, ought to have been in the reading-desk and the pulpit.
When Mr. Thumble reported himself and his failure at the palace,he strove hard to avoid seeing Mrs. Proudie, but not successfully.He knew something of the palace habits, and did manage to reachthe bishop alone on the Sunday evening, justifying himself to hislordship for such an interview by the remarkable circumstances ofthe case and the importance of his late mission. Mrs. Proudie alwayswent to church on Sunday evenings, making a point of hearing threeservices and three sermons every Sunday of her life. On week-daysshe seldom heard any, having an idea that week-day services were aninvention of the High Church enemy, and that they should therefore bevehemently discouraged. Services on saints' days she regarded as rankpapacy, and had been known to accuse a clergyman's wife, to her face,of idolatry, because the poor lady had dated a letter, St. John'sEve. Mr. Thumble, on this Sunday evening, was successful in findingthe bishop at home, and alone, but he was not lucky enough to getaway before Mrs. Proudie returned. The bishop, perhaps, thought thatthe story of the failure had better reach his wife's ears from Mr.Thumble's lips than from his own.
"Well, Mr. Thumble?" said Mrs. Proudie, walking into the study, armedin her full Sunday-evening winter panoply, in which she had justdescended from her carriage. The church which Mrs. Proudie attendedin the evening was nearly half a mile from the palace, and thecoachman and groom never got a holiday on Sunday night. She wasgorgeous in a dark brown silk dress of awful stiffness and terribledimensions; and on her shoulders she wore a short cloak of velvet andfur, very handsome withal, but so swelling in its proportions on allsides as necessarily to create more of dismay than of admiration inthe mind of any ordinary man. And her bonnet was a monstrous helmetwith the beaver up, displaying the awful face of the warrior, alwaysready for combat, and careless to guard itself from attack. The largecontorted bows which she bore were as a grisly crest upon her casque,beautiful, doubtless, but majestic and fear-compelling. In her handshe carried her armour all complete, a prayer-book, a bible, and abook of hymns. These the footman had brought for her to the studydoor, but she had thought fit to enter her husband's room with themin her own custody.
"Well, Mr. Thumble!" she said.
Mr. Thumble did not answer at once, thinking, probably, that thebishop might choose to explain the circumstances. But, neither didthe bishop say any thing.
"Well, Mr. Thumble?" she said again; and then she stood looking atthe man who had failed so disastrously.
"I have explained to the bishop," said he. "Mr. Crawley has beencontumacious,--very contumacious indeed."
"But you preached at Hogglestock?"
"No, indeed, Mrs. Proudie. Nor would it have been possible, unlessI had had the police to assist me."
"Then you should have had the police. I never heard of anything somismanaged in all my life,--never in all my life." And she put herbooks down on the study table, and turned herself round from Mr.Thumble towards the bishop. "If things go on like this, my lord," shesaid, "your authority in the diocese will very soon be worth nothingat all." It was not often that Mrs. Proudie called her husband mylord, but when she did do so, it was a sign that terrible times hadcome;--times so terrible that the bishop would know that he musteither fight or fly. He would almost endure anything rather thandescend into the arena for the purpose of doing battle with his wife,but occasions would come now and again when even the alternative offlight was hardly left to him.
"But, my dear,--" began the bishop.
"Am I to understand that this man has professed himself to bealtogether indifferent to the bishop's prohibition?" said Mrs.Proudie, interrupting her husband and addressing Mr. Thumble.
"Quite so. He seemed to think that the bishop had no lawful power inthe matter at all," said Mr. Thumble.
"Do you hear that, my lord?" said Mrs. Proudie.
"Nor have I any," said the bishop, almost weeping as he spoke.
"No authority in your own diocese!"
"None to silence a man merely by my own judgment. I thought, andstill think, that it was for this gentleman's own interest, as wellas for the credit of the Church, that some provision should be madefor his duties during his present,--present--difficulties."
"Difficulties indeed! Everybody knows that the man has been a thief."
"No, my dear; I do not know it."
"You never know anything, bishop."
"I mean to say that I do not know it officially. Of course I haveheard the sad story; and, though I hope it may not be the--"
"There is no doubt about its truth. All the world knows it. He hasstolen twenty pounds, and yet he is to be allowed to desecrate theChurch, and imperil the souls of the people!" The bishop got up fromhis chair and began to walk backwards and forwards through the roomwith short quick steps. "It only wants five days to Christmas Day,"continued Mrs. Proudie, "and something must be done at once. I saynothing as to the propriety or impropriety of his being out on bail,as it is no affair of ours. When I heard that he had been bailed by abeneficed clergyman of this diocese, of course I knew where to lookfor the man who would act with so much impropriety. Of course I wasnot surprised when I found that that person belonged to Framley.But, as I have said before, that is no business of ours. I hope, Mr.Thumble, that the bishop will never be found interfering with theordinary laws of the land. I am very sure that he will never do so bymy advice. But when there comes a question of inhibiting a clergymanwho has committed himself as this clergyman unfortunately has done,then I say that that clergyman ought to be inhibited." The bishopwalked up and down the room throughout the whole of this speech, butgradually his steps became quicker, and his turns became shorter."And now here is Christmas Day upon us, and what is to be done?" Withthese words Mrs. Proudie finished her speech.
"Mr. Thumble," said the bishop, "perhaps you had better now retire.I am very sorry that you should have had so thankless and sodisagreeable a task."
"Why should Mr. Thumble retire?" asked Mrs. Proudie.
"I think it better," said the bishop. "Mr. Thumble, good night." ThenMr. Thumble did retire, and Mrs. Proudie stood forth in her fullpanoply of armour, silent and awful, with her helmet erect, andvouchsafed no recognition whatever of the parting salutation withwhich Mr. Thumble greeted her. "My dear, the truth is, you do notunderstand the matter," said the bishop as soon as the door wasclosed. "You do not know how limited is my power."
"Bishop, I understand it a great deal better than some people; and Iunderstand also what is due to myself and the manner in which I oughtto be treated by you in the presence of the subordinate clergy of thediocese. I shall not, however, remain here to be insulted either inthe presence or in the absence of any one." Then the conquered amazoncollected together the weapons which she had laid upon the table, andtook her departure with majestic step, and not without the clang ofarms. The bishop, when he was left alone, enjoyed for a few momentsthe triumph of his victory.
But then he was left so very much alone! When he looked round abouthim upon his solitude after the departure of his wife, and rememberedthat he should not see her again till he should encounter her onground that was all her own, he regretted his own success, and wast
empted to follow her and to apologize. He was unable to do anythingalone. He would not even know how to get his tea, as the veryservants would ask questions, if he were to do so unaccustomeda thing as to order it to be brought up to him in his solitude.They would tell him that Mrs. Proudie was having tea in her littlesitting-room upstairs, or else that the things were laid in thedrawing-room. He did wander forth to the latter apartment, hopingthat he might find his wife there; but the drawing-room was darkand deserted, and so he wandered back again. It was a grand thingcertainly to have triumphed over his wife, and there was a crumbof comfort in the thought that he had vindicated himself before Mr.Thumble; but the general result was not comforting, and he knew fromof old how short-lived his triumph would be.
But wretched as he was during that evening he did employ himself withsome energy. After much thought he resolved that he would again writeto Mr. Crawley, and summon him to appear at the palace. In doing thishe would at any rate be doing something. There would be action. Andthough Mr. Crawley would, as he thought, decline to obey the order,something would be gained even by that disobedience. So he wrotehis summons,--sitting very comfortless and all alone on that Sundayevening,--dating his letter, however, for the following day:--
Palace, December 20, 186--.
REVEREND SIR,
I have just heard from Mr. Thumble that you have declined to accede to the advice which I thought it my duty to tender to you as the bishop who has been set over you by the Church, and that you yesterday insisted on what you believed to be your right, to administer the services in the parish church of Hogglestock. This has occasioned me the deepest regret. It is, I think, unavailing that I should further write to you my mind upon the subject, as I possess such strong evidence that my written word will not be respected by you. I have, therefore, no alternative now but to invite you to come to me here; and this I do, hoping that I may induce you to listen to that authority which I cannot but suppose you acknowledge to be vested in the office which I hold.
I shall be glad to see you on to-morrow, Tuesday, as near the hour of two as you can make it convenient to yourself to be here, and I will take care to order that refreshment shall be provided for yourself and your horse.
I am, Reverend Sir, &c. &c. &c.,
THOS. BARNUM.
"My dear," he said, when he did again encounter his wife that night,"I have written to Mr. Crawley, and I thought I might as well bringup the copy of my letter."
"I wash my hands of the whole affair," said Mrs. Proudie--"of thewhole affair!"
"But you will look at the letter?"
"Certainly not. Why should I look at the letter? My word goes fornothing. I have done what I could, but in vain. Now let us see howyou will manage it yourself."
The bishop did not pass a comfortable night; but in the morninghis wife did read his letter, and after that things went a littlesmoother with him. She was pleased to say that, considering allthings; seeing, as she could not help seeing, that the matterhad been dreadfully mismanaged, and that great weakness had beendisplayed;--seeing that these faults had already been committed,perhaps no better step could now be taken than that proposed in theletter.
"I suppose he will not come," said the bishop.
"I think he will," said Mrs. Proudie, "and I trust that we may beable to convince him that obedience will be his best course. He willbe more humble-minded here than at Hogglestock." In saying this thelady showed some knowledge of the general nature of clergymen and ofthe world at large. She understood how much louder a cock can crow inits own farmyard than elsewhere, and knew that episcopal authority,backed by all the solemn awe of palatial grandeur, goes much furtherthan it will do when sent under the folds of an ordinary envelope.But though she understood ordinary human nature, it may be that shedid not understand Mr. Crawley's nature.
But she was at any rate right in her idea as to Mr. Crawley'simmediate reply. The palace groom who rode over to Hogglestockreturned with an immediate answer.
"MY LORD"--said Mr. Crawley.
I will obey your lordship's summons, and, unless impediments should arise, I will wait upon your lordship at the hour you name to-morrow. I will not trespass on your hospitality. For myself, I rarely break bread in any house but my own; and as to the horse, I have none.
I have the honour to be, My lord, &c. &c.,
JOSIAH CRAWLEY.
"Of course I shall go," he had said to his wife as soon as he had hadtime to read the letter, and make known to her the contents. "I shallgo if it be possible for me to get there. I think that I am bound tocomply with the bishop's wishes in so much as that."
"But how will you get there, Josiah?"
"I will walk,--with the Lord's aid."
Now Hogglestock was fifteen miles from Barchester, and Mr. Crawleywas, as his wife well knew, by no means fitted in his present statefor great physical exertion. But from the tone in which he hadreplied to her, she well knew that it would not avail for her toremonstrate at the moment. He had walked more than thirty miles in aday since they had been living at Hogglestock, and she did not doubtbut that it might be possible for him to do it again. Any scheme,which she might be able to devise for saving him from so terriblea journey in the middle of winter, must be pondered over silently,and brought to bear, if not slyly, at least deftly, and withoutdiscussion. She made no reply therefore when he declared that onthe following day he would walk to Barchester and back,--with theLord's aid; nor did she see, or ask to see the note which he sentto the bishop. When the messenger was gone, Mr. Crawley was allalert, looking forward with evident glee to his encounter with thebishop,--snorting like a racehorse at the expected triumph of thecoming struggle. And he read much Greek with Jane on that afternoon,pouring into her young ears, almost with joyous rapture, hisappreciation of the glory and the pathos and the humanity, as also ofthe awful tragedy, of the story of Oedipus. His very soul was on fireat the idea of clutching the weak bishop in his hand, and crushinghim with his strong grasp.
In the afternoon Mrs. Crawley slipped out to a neighbouring farmer'swife, and returned in an hour's time with a little story which shedid not tell with any appearance of eager satisfaction. She hadlearned well what were the little tricks necessary to the carryingof such a matter as that which she had now in hand. Mr. Mangle, thefarmer, as it happened, was going to-morrow morning in his tax-cartas far as Framley Mill, and would be delighted if Mr. Crawleywould take a seat. He must remain at Framley the best part ofthe afternoon, and hoped that Mr. Crawley would take a seat backagain. Now Framley Mill was only half a mile off the direct road toBarchester, and was almost half way from Hogglestock parsonage to thecity. This would, at any rate, bring the walk within a practicabledistance. Mr. Crawley was instantly placed upon his guard, like ananimal that sees the bait and suspects the trap. Had he been toldthat farmer Mangle was going all the way to Barchester, nothing wouldhave induced him to get into the cart. He would have felt sure thatfarmer Mangle had been persuaded to pity him in his poverty and hisstrait, and he would sooner have started to walk to London than haveput a foot upon the step of the cart. But this lift half way did lookto him as though it were really fortuitous. His wife could hardlyhave been cunning enough to persuade the farmer to go to Framley,conscious that the trap would have been suspected had the bait beenmade more full. But I fear,--I fear the dear good woman had been thuscunning,--had understood how far the trap might be baited, and hadthus succeeded in catching her prey.
On the following morning he consented to get into farmer Mangle'scart, and was driven as far as Framley Mill. "I wouldn't thinknowt, your reverence, of running you over into Barchester,--that Iwouldn't. The powny is so mortial good," said farmer Mangle in hisfoolish good-nature.
Farmer Mangle and Mr. Crawley.]
"And how about your business here?" said Mr. Crawley. The farmerscratched his head, remembering all Mrs. Crawley's injunctions, andawkwardly acknowledged that to be sure his own business with themiller was very
pressing. Then Mr. Crawley descended, terriblysuspicious, and went on his journey.
"Anyways, your reverence will call for me coming back?" said farmerMangle. But Mr. Crawley would make no promise. He bade the farmer notwait for him. If they chanced to meet together on the road he mightget up again. If the man really had business at Framley, how couldhe have offered to go on to Barchester? Were they deceiving him? Thewife of his bosom had deceived him in such matters before now. Buthis trouble in this respect was soon dissipated by the pride of hisanticipated triumph over the bishop. He took great glory from thethought that he would go before the bishop with dirty boots,--withboots necessarily dirty,--with rusty pantaloons, that he would be hotand mud-stained with his walk, hungry, and an object to be wonderedat by all who should see him, because of the misfortunes which hadbeen unworthily heaped upon his head; whereas the bishop would besleek and clean and well-fed,--pretty with all the prettinesses thatare becoming to a bishop's outward man. And he, Mr. Crawley, would behumble, whereas the bishop would be very proud. And the bishop wouldbe in his own arm-chair,--the cock in his own farmyard, while he, Mr.Crawley, would be seated afar off, in the cold extremity of the room,with nothing of outward circumstances to assist him,--a man calledthither to undergo censure. And yet he would take the bishop in hisgrasp and crush him,--crush him,--crush him! As he thought of thishe walked quickly through the mud, and put out his long arm and hisgreat hand, far before him out into the air, and, there and then, hecrushed the bishop in his imagination. Yes, indeed! He thought itvery doubtful whether the bishop would ever send for him a secondtime. As all this passed through his mind, he forgot his wife'scunning, and farmer Mangle's sin, and for the moment he was happy.
As he turned a corner round by Lord Lufton's park paling, who shouldhe meet but his old friend Mr. Robarts, the parson of Framley,--theparson who had committed the sin of being bail for him,--the sin,that is, according to Mrs. Proudie's view of the matter. He waswalking with his hand still stretched out,--still crushing thebishop, when Mr. Robarts was close upon him.
"What, Crawley! upon my word I am very glad to see you; you arecoming up to me, of course?"
"Thank you, Mr. Robarts; no, not to-day. The bishop has summoned meto his presence, and I am on my road to Barchester."
"But how are you going?"
"I shall walk."
"Walk to Barchester. Impossible!"
"I hope not quite impossible, Mr. Robarts. I trust I shall get asfar before two o'clock; but to do so I must be on my road." Thenhe showed signs of a desire to go on upon his way without furtherparley.
"But, Crawley, do let me send you over. There is the horse and gigdoing nothing."
"Thank you, Mr. Robarts; no. I should prefer the walk to-day."
"And you have walked from Hogglestock?"
"No;--not so. A neighbour coming hither, who happened to havebusiness at your mill,--he brought me so far in his cart. The walkhome will be nothing,--nothing. I shall enjoy it. Good morning, Mr.Robarts."
But Mr. Robarts thought of the dirty road, and of the bishop'spresence, and of his own ideas of what would be becoming for aclergyman,--and persevered. "You will find the lanes so very muddy;and our bishop, you know, is apt to notice such things. Do bepersuaded."
"Notice what things?" demanded Mr. Crawley, in an indignant tone.
"He, or perhaps she rather, will say how dirty your shoes were whenyou came to the palace."
"If he, or she, can find nothing unclean about me but my shoes,let them say their worst. I shall be very indifferent. I have longceased, Mr. Robarts, to care much what any man or woman may sayabout my shoes. Good morning." Then he stalked on, clutching andcrushing in his hand the bishop, and the bishop's wife, and the wholediocese,--and all the Church of England. Dirty shoes, indeed! Whosewas the fault that there were in the church so many feet soiled byunmerited poverty, and so many hands soiled by undeserved wealth? Ifthe bishop did not like his shoes, let the bishop dare to tell himso! So he walked on through the thick of the mud, by no means pickinghis way.
He walked fast, and he found himself in the close half an hour beforethe time named by the bishop. But on no account would he have rungthe palace bell one minute before two o'clock. So he walked up anddown under the towers of the cathedral, and cooled himself, andlooked up at the pleasant plate-glass in the windows of the house ofhis friend the dean, and told himself how, in their college days, heand the dean had been quite equal,--quite equal, except that by thevoices of all qualified judges in the university, he, Mr. Crawley,had been acknowledged to be the riper scholar. And now the Mr. Arabinof those days was Dean of Barchester,--travelling abroad luxuriouslyat this moment for his delight, while he, Crawley, was perpetualcurate at Hogglestock, and had now walked into Barchester at thecommand of the bishop, because he was suspected of having stolentwenty pounds! When he had fully imbued his mind with the injusticeof all this, his time was up, and he walked boldly to the bishop'sgate, and boldly rang the bishop's bell.
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