Barchester Towers

by Anthony Trollope

  Why, moreover, should the Barchester clergy have looked coldly on Mr Quiverful? Had they not all shown that they regarded with complacency the loaves and fishes of their mother church? Had they not all, by some hook or crook, done better for themselves than he had done? They were not burdened as he was burdened. Dr Grantly had five children, and nearly as many thousands a year on which to feed them. It was very well for him to turn up his nose at a new bishop who could do nothing for him, and a chaplain who was beneath his notice; but it was cruel in a man so circumstanced to set the world against the father of fourteen children because he was anxious to obtain for them an honourable support! He, Mr Quiverful, had not asked for the wardenship; he had not even accepted it till he had been assured that Mr Harding had refused it. How hard then that he should be blamed for doing that which not to have done would have argued a most insane imprudence!

  Thus in this matter of the hospital poor Mr Quiverful had his trials; and he had also his consolations. On the whole the consolations were the more vivid of the two. The stern draper heard of the coming promotion, and the wealth of his warehouse was at Mr Quiverful’s disposal. Coming events cast their shadows before, and the coming event of Mr Quiverful’s transference to Barchester produced a delicious shadow in the shape of a new outfit for Mrs Quiverful and her three elder daughters. Such consolations come home to the heart of a man, and quite home to the heart of a woman. Whatever the husband might feel, the wife cared nothing for frowns of dean, archdeacon, or prebendary. To her the outsides and insides of her husband and fourteen children were everything. In her bosom every other ambition had been swallowed up in that maternal ambition of seeing them and him and herself duly clad and properly fed. It had come to that with her that life had now no other purpose. She recked nothing of the imaginary rights of others. She had no patience with her husband when he declared to her that he could not accept the hospital unless he knew that Mr Harding had refused it. Her husband had no right to be Quixotic at the expense of fourteen children. The narrow escape of throwing away his good fortune which her lord had had, almost paralysed her. Now, indeed, they had received a full promise, not only from Mr Slope, but also from Mrs Proudie. Now, indeed, they might reckon with safety on their good fortune. But what if all had been lost? What if her fourteen bairns had been resteeped to the hips in poverty by the morbid sentimentality of their father? Mrs Quiverful was just at present a happy woman, but yet it nearly took her breath away when she thought of the risk they had run.

  ‘I don’t know what your father means when he talks so much of what is due to Mr Harding,’ she said to her eldest daughter. ‘Does he think that Mr Harding would give him £450 a year out of fine feeling? And what signifies it whom he offends, as long as he gets the place? He does not expect anything better. It passes me to think how your father can be so soft, while everybody around him is so griping.’

  Thus, while the outer world was accusing Mr Quiverful of rapacity for promotion and of disregard to his honour, the inner world of his own household was falling foul of him, with equal vehemence, for his willingness to sacrifice their interests to a false feeling of sentimental pride. It is astonishing how much difference the point of view makes in the aspect of all that we look at!

  Such were the feelings of the different members of the family at Puddingdale on the occasion of Mr Slope’s second visit. Mrs Quiverful, as soon as she saw his horse coining up the avenue from the vicarage gate, hastily packed up her huge basket of needlework, and hurried herself and her daughter out of the room in which she was sitting with her husband. ‘It’s Mr Slope,’ she said. ‘He’s come to settle with you about the hospital. I do hope we shall now be able to move at once.’ And she hastened to bid the maid-of-all-work go to the door, so that the welcome great man might not be kept waiting.

  Mr Slope thus found Mr Quiverful alone. Mrs Quiverful went off to her kitchen and back settlements with anxious beating heart, almost dreading that there might be some slip between the cup of her happiness and the lip of her fruition, but yet comforting herself with the reflection that after what had taken place, any such slip could hardly be possible.

  Mr Slope was all smiles as he shook his brother clergyman’s hand, and said that he had ridden over because he thought it right at once to put Mr Quiverful in possession of the facts of the matter regarding the wardenship of the hospital. As he spoke, the poor expectant husband and father saw at a glance that his brilliant hopes were to be dashed to the ground, and that his visitor was now there for the purpose of unsaying what on his former visit he had said. There was something in the tone of the voice, something in the glance of the eye, which told the tale. Mr Quiverful knew it all at once. He maintained his self-possession, however, smiled with a slight unmeaning smile, and merely said that he was obliged to Mr Slope for the trouble he was taking.

  ‘It has been a troublesome matter from first to last,’ said Mr Slope; ‘and the bishop has hardly known how to act. Between ourselves – but mind this of course must go no further, Mr Quiverful.’

  Mr Quiverful said that of course it should not. ‘The truth is, that poor Mr Harding has hardly known his own mind. You remember our last conversation, no doubt’

  Mr Quiverful assured him that he remembered it very well indeed.

  ‘You will remember that I told you that Mr Harding had refused to return to the hospital.’

  Mr Quiverful declared that nothing could be more distinct on his memory.

  ‘And acting on this refusal, I suggested that you should take the hospital,’ continued Mr Slope.

  ‘I understood you to say that the bishop had authorized you to offer it to me.’

  ‘Did I? did I go so far as that? Well, perhaps it may be, that in my anxiety in your behalf I did commit myself further than I should have done. So far as my own memory serves me, I don’t think I did go quite so far as that. But I own I was very anxious that you should get it; and I may have said more than was quite prudent.’

  ‘But,’ said Mr Quiverful, in his deep anxiety to prove his case, ‘my wife received as distinct a promise from Mrs Proudie as one human being could give to another.’

  Mr Slope smiled, and gently shook his head. He meant the smile for a pleasant smile, but it was diabolical in the eyes of the man he was speaking to. ‘Mrs Proudie!’ he said. ‘If we are to go to what passes between the ladies in these matters, we shall really be in a nest of troubles from which we shall never extricate ourselves. Mrs Proudie is a most excellent lady, kind-hearted, charitable, pious, and in every way estimable. But, my dear Mr Quiverful, the patronage of the diocese is not in her hands.’

  Mr Quiverful for a moment sat panic-stricken and silent. ‘Am I to understand, then, that I have received no promise?’ he said, as soon as he had sufficiently collected his thoughts.

  ‘If you will allow me, I will tell you exactly how the matter rests. You certainly did receive a promise conditional on Mr Harding’s refusal. I am sure you will do me the justice to remember that you yourself declared that you could accept the appointment on no other condition than the knowledge that Mr Harding had declined it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr Quiverful; ‘I did say that, certainly.’

  ‘Well; it now appears that he did not refuse it.’

  ‘But surely you told me, and repeated it more than once, that he had done so in your own hearing.’

  ‘So I understood him. But it seems I was in error. But don’t for a moment, Mr Quiverful, suppose that I mean to throw you over. No. Having held out my hand to a man in your position, with your large family and pressing claims, I am not now going to draw it back again. I only want you to act with me fairly and honestly.’

  ‘Whatever I do, I shall endeavour at any rate to act fairly,’ said the poor man, feeling that he had to fall back for support on the spirit of martyrdom within him.

  ‘I am sure you will,’ said the other. ‘I am sure you have no wish to obtain possession of an income which belongs by all right to another. No man knows better than you do M
r Harding’s history, or can better appreciate his character. Mr Harding is very desirous of returning to his old position, and the bishop feels that he is at the present moment somewhat hampered, though of course he is not bound, by the conversation which took place on the matter between you and me.’

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Quiverful, dreadfully doubtful as to what his conduct under such circumstances should be, and fruitlessly striving to harden his nerves with some of that instinct of self-preservation which made his wife so bold.

  ‘The wardenship of this little hospital is not the only thing in the bishop’s gift, Mr Quiverful, nor is it by many degrees the best. And his lordship is not the man to forget anyone whom he has once marked with approval. If you would allow me to advise you as a friend–’

  ‘Indeed I shall be most grateful to you,’ said the poor vicar of Puddingdale–

  ‘I should advise you to withdraw from any opposition to Mr Harding’s claims. If you persist in your demand, I do not think you will ultimately succeed. Mr Harding has all but a positive right to the place. But if you will allow me to inform the bishop that you decline to stand in Mr Harding’s way, I think I may promise you – though, by the by, it must not be taken as a formal promise – that the bishop will not allow you to be a poorer man than you would have been had you become warden.’

  Mr Quiverful sat in his armchair silent, gazing at vacancy. What was he to say? All this that came from Mr Slope was so true. Mr Harding had a right to the hospital. The bishop had a great many good things to give away. Both the bishop and Mr Slope would be excellent friends and terrible enemies to a man in his position. And then he had no proof of any promise; he could not force the bishop to appoint him.

  ‘Well, Mr Quiverful, what do you say about it?’

  ‘Oh, of course, whatever you think fit Mr Slope. It’s a great disappointment a very great disappointment I won’t deny that I am a very poor man, Mr Slope.’

  ‘In the end, Mr Quiverful, you will find that it will have been better for you.’

  The interview ended in Mr Slope receiving a full renunciation from Mr Quiverful of any claim he might have to the appointment in question. It was only given verbally and without witnesses; but then the original promise was made in the same way.

  Mr Slope again assured him that he should not be forgotten, and then rode back to Barchester, satisfied that’ he would now be able to mould the bishop to his wishes.

  CHAPTER 6

  Fourteen Arguments in Favour of Mr Quiverful’s Claims

  WE have most of us heard of the terrible anger of a lioness when, surrounded by her cubs, she guards her prey. Few of us wish to disturb the mother of a litter of puppies when mouthing a bone in the midst of her young family. Medea and her children are familiar to us, and so is the grief of Constance.1 Mrs Quiverful, when she first heard from her husband the news which he had to impart, felt within her bosom all the rage of the lioness, the rapacity of the hound, the fury of the tragic queen, and the deep despair of the bereaved mother.

  Doubting, but yet hardly fearing, what might have been the tenor of Mr Slope’s discourse, she rushed back to her husband as soon as the front door was closed behind the visitor. It was well for Mr Slope that he so escaped – the anger of such a woman, at such a moment, would have cowed even him. As a general rule, it is highly desirable that ladies should keep their temper: a woman when she storms always makes herself ugly, and usually ridiculous also. There is nothing so odious to man as a virago. Though Theseus loved an Amazon, 2 he showed his love but roughly; and from the time of Theseus downward, no man ever wished to have his wife remarkable rather for forward prowess than retiring gentleness. A low voice ‘is an excellent thing in woman’. 3

  Such may be laid down as a very general rule; and few women should allow themselves to deviate from it, and then only on rare occasions. But if there be a time when a woman may let her hair to the winds, when she may loose her arms, and scream out trumpet-tongued to the ears of men, 4 it is when nature calls out within her not for her own wants, but for the wants of those whom her womb has borne, whom her breasts have suckled, for those who look to her for their daily bread as naturally as man looks to his Creator.

  There was nothing poetic in the nature of Mrs Quiverful. She was neither a Medea nor a Constance. When angry, she spoke out her anger in plain words, and in a tone which might have been modulated with advantage; but she did so, at any rate, without affectation. Now, without knowing it, she rose to a tragic vein.

  ‘Well, my dear; we are not to have it.’ Such were the words with which her ears were greeted when she entered the parlour, still hot from the kitchen fire. And the face of her husband spoke even more plainly than his words:

  E’en such a man, so faint, so spiritless,

  So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,

  Drew Priam’s curtain in the dead of night.5

  ‘What!’ said she – and Mrs Siddons 6 could not have put more passion into a single syllable – ‘What! not have it? who says so?’ And she sat opposite to her husband, with her elbows on the table, her hands clasped together, and her coarse, solid, but once handsome face stretched over it towards him.

  She sat as silent as death while he told his story, and very dreadful to him her silence was. He told it very lamely and badly, but still in such a manner that she soon understood the whole of it

  ‘And so you have resigned it?’ said she.

  ‘I have had no opportunity of accepting it,’ he replied. ‘I had no witnesses to Mr Slope’s offer, even if that offer would bind the bishop. It was better for me, on the whole, to keep on good terms with such men than to fight for what I should never get!’

  ‘Witnesses!’ she screamed, rising quickly to her feet, and walking up and down the room. ‘Do clergymen require witnesses to their words? He made the promise in the bishop’s name, and if it is to be broken, I’ll know the reason why. Did he not positively say that the bishop had sent him to offer you the place?’

  ‘He did, my dear. But that is now nothing to the purpose.’

  ‘It is everything to the purpose, Mr Quiverful. Witnesses indeed! and then to talk of your honour being questioned, because you wish to provide for fourteen children. It is everything to the purpose; and so they shall know, if I scream it into their ears from the town cross of Barchester.’

  ‘You forget, Letitia, that the bishop has so many things in his gift. We must wait a little longer. That is all.’

  ‘Wait! Shall we feed the children by waiting? Will waiting put George, and Tom, and Sam out into the world? Will it enable my poor girls to give up some of their drudgery? Will waiting make Bessy and Jane fit even to be governesses? Will waiting pay for the things we got in Barchester last week?’

  ‘It is all we can do, my dear. The disappointment is as much to me as to you; and yet, God knows, I feel it more for your sake than my own.’

  Mrs Quiverful was looking full into her husband’s face, and saw a small hot tear appear on each of those furrowed cheeks. This was too much for her woman’s heart. He also had risen, and was standing with his back to the empty grate. She rushed towards him, and, seizing him in her arms, sobbed aloud upon his bosom.

  ‘You are too good, too soft, too yielding,’ she said at last. ‘These men, when they want you, they use you like a cat’s-paw; and when they want you no longer, they throw you aside like an old shoe. This is twice they have treated you so.’

  ‘In one way this will be all for the better,’ argued he. ‘It will make the bishop feel that he is bound to do something for me.’

  ‘At any rate, he shall hear of it,’ said the lady, again reverting to her more angry mood. ‘At any rate he shall hear of it, and that loudly; and so shall she. She little knows Letitia Quiverful, if she thinks I will sit down quietly with the loss after all that passed between us at the palace. If there’s any feeling within her, I’ll make her ashamed of herself,’ – and she paced the room again, stamping the floor as she went with her fat heavy foot. ‘Good heavens!
what a heart she must have within her to treat in such a way as this the father of fourteen unprovided children!’

  Mr Quiverful proceeded to explain that he didn’t think that Mrs Proudie had had anything to do with it.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ said Mrs Quiverful; ‘I know more about it than that. Doesn’t all the world know that Mrs Proudie is Bishop of Barchester, and that Mr Slope is merely her creature? Wasn’t it she that made me the promise, just as though the thing was in her own particular gift? I tell you, it was that woman who sent him over here today, because, for some reason of her own, she wants to go back from her word.’

  ‘My dear, you’re wrong –’

  ‘Now, Q., don’t be so soft,’ she continued. ‘Take my word for it, the bishop knows no more about it than Jemima does.’ Jemima was the two-year-old. ‘And if you’ll take my advice, you’ll lose no time in going over and seeing him yourself.’

  Soft, however, as Mr Quiverful might be, he would not allow himself to be talked out of his opinion on this occasion; and proceeded with much minuteness to explain to his wife the tone in which Mr Slope had spoken of Mrs Proudie’s interference in diocesan matters. As he did so, a new idea gradually instilled itself into the matron’s head, and a new course of conduct presented itself to her judgement. What if, after all, Mrs Proudie knew nothing of this visit of Mr Slope’s? In that case, might it not be possible that that lady would still be staunch to her in this matter, still stand her friend, and, perhaps, possibly carry her through in opposition to Mr Slope? Mrs Quiverful said nothing as this vague hope occurred to her, but listened with more than ordinary patience to what her husband had to say. While he was still explaining that in all probability the world was wrong in its estimation of Mrs Proudie’s power and authority, she had fully made up her mind as to her course of action. She did not, however, proclaim her intention. She shook her head ominously as he continued his narration; and when he had completed she rose to go, merely observing that it was cruel, cruel treatment. She then asked him if he would mind waiting for a late dinner instead of dining at their usual hour of three, and, having received from him a concession on this point, she proceeded to carry her purpose into execution.