The Last Chronicle of Barset

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER LXIX.

  MR. CRAWLEY'S LAST APPEARANCE IN HIS OWN PULPIT.

  No word or message from Mr. Crawley reached Barchester throughoutthe week, and on the Sunday morning Mr. Thumble was under a positiveengagement to go out to Hogglestock, and perform the services of thechurch. Dr. Tempest had been quite right in saying that Mr. Thumblewould be awed by the death of his patroness. Such was altogetherthe case, and he was very anxious to escape from the task he hadundertaken at her instance, if it were possible. In the first place,he had never been a favourite with the bishop himself, and had now,therefore, nothing to expect in the diocese. The crusts from bits ofloaves and the morsels of broken fishes which had come in his wayhad all come from the bounty of Mrs. Proudie. And then, as regardedthis special Hogglestock job, how was he to get paid for it? Whence,indeed, was he to seek repayment for the actual money which he wouldbe out of pocket in finding his way to Hogglestock and back again?But he could not get to speak to the bishop, nor could he induce anyone who had access to his lordship to touch upon the subject. Mr.Snapper avoided him as much as possible; and Mr. Snapper, when hewas caught and interrogated, declared that he regarded the matter assettled. Nothing could be in worse taste, Mr. Snapper thought, thanto undo, immediately after the poor lady's death, work in the diocesewhich had been arranged and done by her. Mr. Snapper expressed hisopinion that Mr. Thumble was bound to go out to Hogglestock; and,when Mr. Thumble declared petulantly that he would not stir a stepout of Barchester, Mr. Snapper protested that Mr. Thumble would haveto answer for it in this world and in the next if there were noservices at Hogglestock on that Sunday. On the Saturday evening Mr.Thumble made a desperate attempt to see the bishop, but was told byMrs. Draper that the bishop had positively declined to see him. Thebishop himself probably felt unwilling to interfere with his wife'sdoings so soon after her death! So Mr. Thumble, with a heavy heart,went across to "The Dragon of Wantly," and ordered a gig, resolvingthat the bill should be sent in to the palace. He was not going totrust himself again upon the bishop's cob!

  Up to Saturday evening Mr. Crawley did the work of his parish, andon the Saturday evening he made an address to his parishioners fromhis pulpit. He had given notice among the brickmakers and labourersthat he wished to say a few words to them in the school-room; but thefarmers also heard of this and came with their wives and daughters,and all the brickmakers came, and most of the labourers werethere, so that there was no room for them in the school-house. Thecongregation was much larger than was customary even in the church."They will come," he said to his wife, "to hear a ruined man declarehis own ruin, but they will not come to hear the word of God."When it was found that the persons assembled were too many for theschool-room, the meeting was adjourned to the church, and Mr. Crawleywas forced to get into his pulpit. He said a short prayer, and thenhe began his story.

  "They will come to hear a ruined mandeclare his own ruin."]

  His story as he told it then shall not be repeated now, as the samestory has been told too often already in these pages. Surely it was asingular story for a parish clergyman to tell of himself in so solemna manner. That he had applied the cheque to his own purposes, and wasunable to account for the possession of it, was certain. He did notknow when or how he had got it. Speaking to them then in God's househe told them that. He was to be tried by a jury, and all he coulddo was to tell the jury the same. He would not expect the jury tobelieve him. The jury would, of course, believe only that which wasproved to them. But he did expect his old friends at Hogglestock,who had known him so long, to take his word as true. That there wasno sufficient excuse for his conduct, even in his own sight, this,his voluntary resignation of his parish, was, he said, sufficientevidence. Then he explained to them, as clearly as he was able, whatthe bishop had done, what the commission had done, and what he haddone himself. That he spoke no word of Mrs. Proudie to that audienceneed hardly be mentioned here. "And now, dearest friends, I leaveyou," he said, with that weighty solemnity which was so peculiar tothe man, and which he was able to make singularly impressive even onsuch a congregation as that of Hogglestock, "and I trust that theheavy but pleasing burden of the charge which I have had over you mayfall into hands better fitted than mine have been for such work. Ihave always known my own unfitness, by reason of the worldly careswith which I have been laden. Poverty makes the spirit poor, and thehands weak, and the heart sore,--and too often makes the consciencedull. May the latter never be the case with any of you." Then heuttered another short prayer, and, stepping down from the pulpit,walked out of the church, with his weeping wife hanging on his arm,and his daughter following them, almost dissolved in tears. He neveragain entered that church as the pastor of the congregation.

  There was an old lame man from Hoggle End leaning on his stick nearthe door as Mr. Crawley went out, and with him was his old lame wife."He'll pull through yet," said the old man to his wife; "you'll seeelse. He'll pull through because he's so dogged. It's dogged as doesit."

  On that night the position of the members of Mr. Crawley's householdseemed to have been changed. There was something almost of elationin his mode of speaking, and he said soft loving words, strivingto comfort his wife. She, on the other hand, could say nothing tocomfort him. She had been averse to the step he was taking, buthad been unable to press her objection in opposition to his greatargument as to duty. Since he had spoken to her in that strain whichhe had used with Robarts, she also had felt that she must be silent.But she could not even feign to feel the pride which comes from theperformance of a duty. "What will he do when he comes out?" she saidto her daughter. The coming out spoken of by her was the coming outof prison. It was natural enough that she should feel no elation.

  The breakfast on Sunday morning was to her, perhaps, the saddestscene of her life. They sat down, the three together, at the usualhour,--nine o'clock,--but the morning had not been passed as wascustomary on Sundays. It had been Mr. Crawley's practice to go intothe school from eight to nine; but on this Sunday he felt, as hetold his wife, that his presence would be an intrusion there. Buthe requested Jane to go and perform her usual task. "If Mr. Thumbleshould come," he said to her, "be submissive to him in all things."Then he stood at his door, watching to see at what hour Mr. Thumblewould reach the school. But Mr. Thumble did not attend the school onthat morning. "And yet he was very express to me in his desire thatI would not myself meddle with the duties," said Mr. Crawley to hiswife as he stood at the door,--"unnecessarily urgent, as I must sayI thought at the time." If Mrs. Crawley could have spoken out herthoughts about Mr. Thumble at that moment, her words would, I think,have surprised her husband.

  At breakfast there was hardly a word spoken. Mr. Crawley took hiscrust and eat it mournfully,--almost ostentatiously. Jane tried andfailed, and tried to hide her failure, failing in that also. Mrs.Crawley made no attempt. She sat behind her old teapot, with herhands clasped and her eyes fixed. It was as though some last day hadcome upon her,--this, the first Sunday of her husband's degradation."Mary," he said to her, "why do you not eat?"

  "I cannot," she replied, speaking not in a whisper, but in wordswhich would hardly get themselves articulated. "I cannot. Do not askme."

  "For the honour of the Lord you will want the strength which breadalone can give you," he said, intimating to her that he wished her toattend the service.

  "Do not ask me to be there, Josiah. I cannot. It is too much for me."

  "Nay; I will not press it," he said. "I can go alone." He uttered noword expressive of a wish that his daughter should attend the church;but when the moment came, Jane accompanied him. "What shall I do,mamma," she said, "if I find I cannot bear it?" "Try to bear it," themother said. "Try, for his sake. You are stronger now than I am."

  The tinkle of the church bell was heard at the usual time, and Mr.Crawley, hat in hand, stood ready to go forth. He had heard nothingof Mr. Thumble, but had made up his mind that Mr. Thumble would nottrouble him. He had taken the precaution to request his churchwardento be early at the church, so that M
r. Thumble might encounter nodifficulty. The church was very near to the house, and any vehiclearriving might have been seen had Mr. Crawley watched closely. But noone had cared to watch Mr. Thumble's arrival at the church. He didnot doubt that Mr. Thumble would be at the church. With reference tothe school, he had had some doubt.

  But just as he was about to start he heard the clatter of a gig. Upcame Mr. Thumble to the door of the parsonage, and having come downfrom his gig was about to enter the house as though it were his own.Mr. Crawley greeted him in the pathway, raising his hat from hishead, and expressing a wish that Mr. Thumble might not feel himselffatigued with his drive. "I will not ask you into my poor house," hesaid, standing in the middle of the pathway; "for that my wife isill."

  "Nothing catching, I hope?" said Mr. Thumble.

  "Her malady is of the spirit rather than of the flesh," said Mr.Crawley. "Shall we go on to the church?"

  "Certainly,--by all means. How about the surplice?"

  "You will find, I trust, that the churchwarden has everything inreadiness. I have notified to him expressly your coming, with thepurport that it may be so."

  "You'll take a part in the service, I suppose?" said Mr. Thumble.

  "No part,--no part whatever," said Mr. Crawley, standing still for amoment as he spoke, and showing plainly by the tone of his voice howdismayed he was, how indignant he had been made, by so indecent aproposition. Was he giving up his pulpit to a stranger for any reasonless cogent than one which made it absolutely imperative on him to besilent in that church which had so long been his own?

  "Just as you please," said Mr. Thumble. "Only it's rather hard linesto have to do it all myself after coming all the way from Barchesterthis morning." To this Mr. Crawley condescended to make no replywhatever.

  In the porch of the church, which was the only entrance, Mr. Crawleyintroduced Mr. Thumble to the churchwarden, simply by a wave of thehand, and then passed on with his daughter to a seat which openedupon the aisle. Jane was going on to that which she had hithertoalways occupied with her mother in the little chancel; but Mr.Crawley would not allow this. Neither to him nor to any of his familywas there attached any longer the privilege of using the chancel ofthe church of Hogglestock.

  Mr. Thumble scrambled into the reading-desk some ten minutes afterthe proper time, and went through the morning service under, whatmust be admitted to be, serious difficulties. There were the eyesof Mr. Crawley fixed upon him throughout the work, and a feelingpervaded him that everybody there regarded him as an intruder. Atfirst this was so strong upon him that Mr. Crawley pitied him, andwould have encouraged him had it been possible. But as the workprogressed, and as custom and the sound of his own voice emboldenedhim, there came to the man some touches of the arrogance which sogenerally accompanies cowardice, and Mr. Crawley's acute ear detectedthe moment when it was so. An observer might have seen that themotion of his hands was altered as they were lifted in prayer. Thoughhe was praying, even in prayer he could not forget the man who wasoccupying his desk.

  Then came the sermon, preached very often before, lasting exactlyhalf-an-hour, and then Mr. Thumble's work was done. Itinerantclergymen, who preach now here and now there, as it had been the lotof Mr. Thumble to do, have at any rate this relief,--that they canpreach their sermons often. From the communion-table Mr. Thumble hadstated that, in the present peculiar circumstances of the parish,there would be no second service at Hogglestock for the present; andthis was all he said or did peculiar to the occasion. The momentthe service was over he got into his gig, and was driven back toBarchester.

  "Mamma," said Jane, as they sat at their dinner, "such a sermon I amsure was never heard in Hogglestock before. Indeed, you can hardlycall it a sermon. It was downright nonsense."

  "My dear," said Mr. Crawley, energetically, "keep your criticisms formatters that are profane; then, though they be childish and silly,they may at least be innocent. Be critical on Euripides, if you mustbe critical." But when Jane kissed her father after dinner, she,knowing his humour well, felt assured that her remarks had not beentaken altogether in ill part.

  Mr. Thumble was neither seen nor heard of again in the parish duringthe entire week.