Barchester Towers

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The bishop professed himself delighted to hear it; Mr Harding might
be quite sure that no other man would get it. There were some few
circumstances which would in a slight degree change the nature of
the duties. Mr Harding was probably aware of this, and would,
perhaps, not object to discuss the matter with Mr Slope. It was a
subject to which Mr Slope had given a good deal of attention.

Mr Harding felt, he knew not why, oppressed and annoyed. What could
Mr Slope do to him? He knew that there were to be changes. The
nature of them must be communicated to the warden through somebody,
and through whom so naturally as the bishop's chaplain. 'Twas thus
that he tried to argue himself back to an easy mind, but in vain.

Mr Slope in the mean time had taken the seat which the bishop had
vacated on the signora's sofa, and remained with that lady till it
was time to marshal the folk to supper. Not with contented eyes had
Mrs Proudie seen this. Had not this woman laughed at her distress,
and had not Mr Slope heard it? Was she not an intriguing Italian
woman, half wife and half not, full of affectation, airs, and
impudence? Was she not horribly bedizened with velvet and pearls,
with velvet and pearls, too, which had been torn off her back?
Above all, did she not pretend to be more beautiful than her
neighbours? To say that Mrs Proudie was jealous would give a wrong
idea of her feelings. She had not the slightest desire that Mr
Slope should be in love with herself. But she desired the incense
of Mr Slope's spiritual and temporal services, and did not choose
that they should be turned out of their course to such an object as
Signora Neroni. She considered also that Mr Slope ought in duty to
hate the signora; and it appeared from his manner that he was very
far from hating her.

'Come, Mr Slope,' she said, sweeping by, and looking all that she
felt; 'can't you make yourself useful? Do pray take Mrs Grantly
down to supper.'

Mrs Grantly heard and escaped. The words were hardly out of Mrs
Proudie's mouth, before the intended victim had stuck her hand
through the arm of one of her husband's curates, and saved herself.
What would the archdeacon have said had he seen her walking down
stairs with Mr Slope?

Mr Slope heard also, but was by no means so obedient as was
expected. Indeed, the period of Mr Slope's obedience to Mrs Proudie
was drawing to a close. He did not wish yet to break with her, nor
to break with her at all, if it could be avoided. But he intended
to be master in that palace, and as she had made the same
resolution, it was not improbable that they might come to blows.

Before leaving the signora he arranged a little table before her,
and begged to know what he should bring her. She was quite
indifferent, she said--nothing--anything. It was now she felt the
misery of her position, now that she must be left alone. Well, a
little chicken, some ham, and a glass of champagne.

Mr Slope had to explain, not without blushing for his patron, that
there was no champagne.

Sherry would do just as well. And then Mr Slope descended with the
learned Miss Trefoil on his arm. Could she tell him, he asked,
whether the ferns of Barsetshire were equal to those of Cumberland?
His strongest worldly passion was for ferns--and before she could
answer him he left her wedged between the door and the sideboard.
It was fifty minutes before she escaped, and even then unfed.

'You are not leaving us, Mr Slope,' said the watchful lady of the
house, seeing her slave escaping towards the door, with stores of
provisions held high above the heads of the guests.

Mr Slope explained that the Signora Neroni was in want of her
supper.

'Pray, Mr Slope, let her brother take it to her,' said Mrs Proudie,
quite out loud. 'It is out of the question that you should be so
employed. Pray, Mr Slope, oblige me; I am sure Mr Stanhope will
wait upon his sister.'

Ethelbert was most agreeably occupied in the furthest corner of the
room, making himself both useful and agreeable to Mrs Proudie's
youngest daughter.

'I couldn't get out, madam, if Madeline were starving for her
supper,' said he; 'I'm physically fixed, unless I could fly.'

The lady's anger was increased by seeing that her daughter had gone
over to the enemy; and when she saw, that in spite of her
remonstrances, in the teeth of her positive orders, Mr Slope went
off to the drawing-room, the cup of her indignation ran over, and
she could not restrain herself. 'Such manners I never saw,' she
said, muttering. 'I cannot, and will not permit it;' and then,
after fussing and fuming for a few minutes, she pushed her way
through the crowd, and followed Mr Slope.

When she reached the room above, she found it absolutely deserted,
except for the guilty pair. The signora was sitting very
comfortably up for her supper, and Mr Slope was leaning over her
and administering to her wants. They had been discussing the merits
of Sabbath-day schools, and the lady suggested that as she could
not possibly go to the children, she might be indulged in the wish
of her heart by having the children brought to her.

'And when shall it be, Mr Slope?' said she.

Mr Slope was saved the necessity of committing himself to a promise
by the entry of Mrs Proudie. She swept close up to the sofa so as
to confront the guilty pair, stared full at them for a moment, and
then said as she passed on to the next room, 'Mr Slope, his
lordship is especially desirous of your attendance below; you will
greatly oblige me if you will join him.' And so she stalked on.

Mr Slope muttered something in reply, and prepared to go down
stairs. As for the bishop's wanting him, he knew his lady patroness
well enough to take that assertion at what it was worth; but he did
not wish to make himself the hero of a scene, or to become
conspicuous for more gallantry than the occasion required.

'Is she always like this?' said the signora.

'Yes--always--madam,' said Mrs Proudie, returning; 'always the
same--always equally adverse to the impropriety of conduct of every
description;' and she stalked back through the room again,
following Mr Slope out of the door.

The signora couldn't follow her, or she certainly would have done
so. But she laughed loud, and sent the sound of it ringing through
the lobby and down the stairs after Mrs Proudie's feet. Had she
been as active as Grimaldi, she could probably have taken no better
revenge.

'But she's lame, Mrs Proudie, and cannot move. Somebody must have
waited upon her.'

'Lame,' said Mrs Proudie; 'I'd lame her if she belonged to me. What
business had she here at all?--such impertinence--such
affectation.'

In the hall and adjacent rooms all manner of cloaking and shawling
was going on, and the Barchester folk were getting themselves gone.
Mrs Proudie did her best to smirk at each and every one, as they
made their adieux, but she was hardly successful. Her temper had
been tried fearfully. By slow degrees, the guests went.

'Send back the carriage quick,' said Ethelbert, as Dr and Mrs
Stanhope took their departure.

The younger Stanhopes were left to the very last, and an
uncomfortable party they made with the bishop's family. They all
went into the dining-room, and then the bishop observing that the
'lady' was alone in the drawing-room, they followed him up. Mrs
Proudie kept Mr Slope and her daughters in close conversation,
resolving that he should not be indulged, nor they polluted. The
bishop, in mortal dread of Bertie and the Jews, tried to converse
with Charlotte Stanhope about the climate of Italy. Bertie and the
signora had not resource but in each other.

'Did you get your supper at last, Madeline?' said the impudent or
else mischievous young man.

'Oh, yes,' said Madeline; 'Mr Slope was so very kind to bring it
me. I fear, however, he put himself to more inconvenience than I
wished.'

Mrs Proudie looked at her, but said nothing. The meaning of her
look might have been translated: 'If ever you find yourself within
these walls again, I'll give you leave to be as impudent and
affected, and as mischievous as you please.'

At last the carriage returned with the three Italian servants, and
la Signora Madeline Vesey Neroni was carried out, as she had been
carried in.

The lady of the palace retired to her chamber by no means contented
with the result of her first grand party at Barchester.

CHAPTER XII

SLOPE VERSUS HARDING

Two or three days after the party, Mr Harding received a note,
begging him to call on Mr Slope, at the palace, at an early hour
the following morning. There was nothing uncivil in the
communication, and yet the tone of it was thoroughly displeasing.
It was as follows:

"My dear Mr Harding, Will you favour me by calling on me at the
palace to-morrow morning at 9.30am. The bishop wishes me to speak
to you touching the hospital. I hope you will excuse my naming so
early an hour. I do so as my time is greatly occupied. If, however,
it is positively inconvenient to you, I will change it to 10. You
will, perhaps, be kind enough to give me a note in reply.

"Believe me to be, My dear Mr Harding,
Your assured friend, OBH. SLOPE

"The Palace, Monday morning, "20th August, 185-"

Mr Harding neither could nor would believe anything of the sort;
and he thought, moreover, that Mr Slope was rather impertinent to
call himself by such a name. His assured friend, indeed! How many
assured friends generally fall to the lot of a man in this world?
And by what process are they made? And how much of such process had
taken place as yet between Mr Harding and Mr Slope? Mr Harding
could not help asking himself these questions as he read and
re-read the note before him. He answered it, as follows:

"Dear Sir,--I will call at the palace to-morrow at 9.30 AM as you
desire.

"Truly yours, S. HARDING"

And on the following morning, punctually at half-past nine, he
knocked at the palace door, and asked for Mr Slope.

The bishop had one small room allotted to him on the ground-floor,
and Mr Slope had another. Into this latter Mr Harding was shown,
and asked to sit down. Mr Slope was not yet there. The ex-warden
stood up at the window looking into the garden, and could not help
thinking how very short a time had passed since the whole of that
house had been open to him, as though he had been a child of the
family, born and bred in it. He remembered how the old servants
used to smile as they opened the door to him; how the familiar
butler would say, when he had been absent for a few hours longer
than usual: 'A sight of you, Mr Harding, is good for sore eyes;'
how the fussy housekeeper would swear that he couldn't have dined,
or couldn't have breakfasted, or couldn't have lunched. And then,
above all, he remembered the pleasant gleam of inward satisfaction
which always spread itself over the old bishop's face, whenever his
friend entered his room.

A tear came into his eyes as he reflected that all this was gone.
What use would the hospital be to him now? He was alone in the
world, and getting old; he would soon, very soon, have to go, and
leave it all, as his dear old friend had gone;--go, and leave the
hospital, and his accustomed place in the cathedral, and his haunts
and pleasures, to younger and perhaps wiser men, in truth, the time for it
had gone by. He felt as though the world were sinking from his
feet; as though this, this was the time for him to turn with
confidence to others. 'What,' said he to himself, 'can a man's
religion be worth, if it does not support him against the natural
melancholy of declining years?' and, as he looked out through his
dimmed eyes into the bright parterres of the bishop's garden, he
felt that he had the support which he wanted.

Nevertheless, he did not like to be thus kept waiting. If Mr Slope
did not really wish to see him at half-past nine o'clock, why force
him to come away from his lodgings with his breakfast in his
throat? To tell the truth, it was policy on the part of Mr Slope.
Mr Slope had made up his mind that Mr Harding should either accept
the hospital with abject submission, or else refuse it altogether;
and had calculated that he would probably be more quick to do the
latter, if he could be got to enter upon the subject in all
ill-humour. Perhaps Mr Slope was not altogether wrong in his
calculation.

It was nearly ten when Mr Slope hurried into the room, and,
muttering something about the bishop and diocesan duties, shook Mr
Harding's hand ruthlessly, and begged him to be seated.

Now the airy superiority which this man assumed, did go against the
grain of Mr Harding; and yet he did not know how to resent it. The
whole tendency of his mind and disposition was opposed to any
contra-assumption of grandeur on his own part, and he hadn't the
worldly spirit or quickness necessary to put down insolent
pretensions by downright and open rebuke, as the archdeacon would
have done. There was nothing for Mr Harding but to submit and he
accordingly did so.

'About the hospital, Mr Harding,' began Mr Slope, speaking of it as
the head of college at Cambridge might speak of some sizarship
which had to be disposed of.

Mr Harding crossed one leg over the other, and then one hand over
the other on the top of them, and looked Mr Slope in the face; but
he said nothing.

'It's to be filled up again,' said Mr Slope. Mr Harding said that
he had understood so.

'Of course, you know, the income is very much reduced,' continued
Mr Slope. 'The bishop wished to be liberal, and he therefore told
the government that he thought it ought to be put at not less than
L 450. I think on the whole the bishop was right; for though the
service required will not be of a very onerous nature, they will be
more so than they were before. And it is, perhaps, well that the
clergy immediately attached to the cathedral town should be made
comfortable to the extent of the ecclesiastical means at our
disposal will allow. Those are the bishop's ideas, and I must say
mine also.'

Mr Harding sat rubbing one hand on the other, but said not a word.

'So much for the income, Mr Harding. The house will, of course,
remain to the warden as before. It should, however, I think be
stipulated that he should paint inside every seven years, and
outside every three years, and be subject to dilapidations, in the
event of vacating either by death or otherwise. But this is a
matter on which the bishop must yet be consulted.'

Mr Harding still rubbed his hands, and still sat silent, gazing up
into Mr Slope's unprepossessing face.

'Then, as to duties,' continued he, 'I believe, if I am rightly
informed, there can hardly be said to have been any duties
hitherto,' and he gave a sort of half laugh, as though to pass off
the accusation in the guise of a pleasantry.

Mr Harding thought of the happy, easy years he had passed in his
old house; of the worn-out, aged men whom he had succoured; of his
good intentions; and of his work, which had certainly been of the
lightest. He thought of those things, doubting for a moment whether
he did or did not deserve the sarcasm. He gave his enemy the
benefit of the doubt, and did not rebuke him. He merely observed,
very tranquilly, and perhaps with too much humility, that the
duties of the situation, such as they were, had, he believed, been
done to the satisfaction of the late bishop.

Mr Slope again smiled, and this time the smile was intended to
operate against the memory of the late bishop, rather than against
the energy of the ex-warden; and so it was understood by Mr
Harding. The colour rose in his cheeks, and he began to feel very
angry.

'You should be aware, Mr Harding, that things are a good deal
changed in Barchester,' said Mr Slope.

Mr Harding said that he was aware of it. 'And not only in
Barchester, Mr Harding, but in the world at large. It is not only
in Barchester that a new man is carrying out new measures and
casting away the useless rubbish of past centuries. The same thing
is going on throughout the country. Work is now required from every
man who receives wages; and they who have superintended the doing
of the work, and the paying of the wages, are bound to see that
this rule is carried out. New men, Mr Harding, are now needed, and
are now forthcoming in the church, as well as in other
professions.'

All this was wormwood to our old friend. He had never rated very
high his own abilities or activity; but all the feelings of his
heart were with the old clergy, and any antipathies of which his
heart was susceptible, were directed against those new, busy
uncharitable, self-lauding men, of whom Mr Slope was so good an
example.

'By no means,' said Mr Slope. 'The bishop is very anxious that you
should accept the appointment; but he wishes you should understand
beforehand what will be the required duties. In the first place, a
Sabbath-day school will be attached to the hospital.'

'What! For the old men?' asked Mr Harding.

'No, Mr Harding, not for the old men, but for the benefit of the
children of such of the poor of Barchester as it may suit. The
bishop will expect that you shall attend this school, and the
teachers shall be under your inspection and care.'

Mr Harding slipped his topmost hand off the other, and began to rub
the calf of the leg which was supported.

'As to the old men,' continued Mr Slope, 'and the old women who are
to form part of the hospital, the bishop is desirous that you shall
have morning and evening service on the premises every Sabbath, and
one week-day service; that you shall preach to them once at least
on Sundays; and that the whole hospital be always collected for
morning and evening prayer. The bishop thinks that this will render
it unnecessary that any separate seats in the cathedral should be
reserved for the hospital inmates.'

Mr Slope paused, but Mr Harding still said nothing.

'Indeed, it would be difficult to find seats for the women; and, on
the whole, Mr Harding, I may as well say at once, that for people
of that class the cathedral service does not appear to me to be the
most useful,--even if it be so for any class of people.'

'We will not discuss that, if you please,' said Mr Harding.

'I am not desirous of doing so; at least, not at the present
moment. I hope, however, you fully understand the bishop's wishes
about the new establishment of the hospital; and if, as I do not
doubt, I shall receive from you an assurance that you will accord
with his lordship's views, it will give me very great pleasure to
be the bearer from his lordship to you of the presentation of the
appointment.'

'But if I disagree with his lordship's views?' asked Mr Harding.

'But I hope you do not,' said Mr Slope.

'But if I do?' again asked the other.

'If such unfortunately should be the case, which I can hardly
conceive, I presume your own feelings will dictate to you the
propriety of declining the appointment.'

'But if I accept the appointment, and yet disagree with the bishop,
what then?'

This question rather bothered Mr Slope. It was true that he had
talked the matter over with the bishop, and had received a sort of
authority for suggesting to Mr Harding the propriety of a Sunday
school, and certain hospital services; but he had no authority for
saying that those propositions were to be made peremptory
conditions attached to the appointment. The bishop's idea had been
that Mr Harding would of course consent, and that the school would
become, like the rest of those new establishments in the city,
under the control of his wife and his chaplain. Mr Slope's idea had
been more correct. He intended that Mr Harding should refuse the
situation, and that an ally of his own should get it; but he had
not conceived the possibility of Mr Harding openly accepting the
appointment, and as openly rejecting the condition.

'It is not, I presume, probable,' said he, 'that you will accept
from the hands of the bishop a piece of preferment, with a fixed
predetermination to disacknowledge the duties attached to it.'

'If I become warden,' said Mr Harding, 'and neglect my duty, the
bishop has means by which he can remedy the grievance.'

'I hardly expected such an argument from you, or I may say the
suggestion of such a line of conduct,' said Mr Slope, with a great
look of injured virtue.

'Nor did I expect such a proposition.'

'I shall be glad at any rate to know what answer I am to make to
his lordship,' said Mr Slope.

'I will take an early opportunity of seeing his lordship myself,'
said Mr Harding.

'Such an arrangement,' said Mr Slope, 'will hardly give his
lordship satisfaction. Indeed, it is impossible that the bishop
should himself see every clergyman in the diocese on every subject
of patronage that may arise. The bishop, I believe, did see you on
the matter, and I really cannot see why he should be troubled to do
so again.'

'Do you know, Mr Slope, how long I have been officiating as a
clergyman in this city?' Mr Slope's wish was now nearly fulfilled.
Mr Harding had become very angry, and it was probable that he might
commit himself.

'I really do not see what that has to do with the question. You
cannot think that the bishop would be justified in allowing you to
regard as a sinecure a situation that requires an active man,
merely because you have been employed for many years in the
cathedral.'

'But it might induce the bishop to see me, if I asked him to do so.
I shall consult my friends in this matter, Mr Slope; but I mean to
be guilty of no subterfuge,--you may tell the bishop that as I
altogether disagree with his views about the hospital, I shall
decline the situation if I find that any such conditions are
attached to it as those you have suggested;' and so saying, Mr
Harding took his hat and went his way.

Mr Slope was contented. He considered himself at liberty to accept
Mr Harding's last speech as an absolute refusal of the appointment.
At least, he so represented it to the bishop and to Mrs Proudie.

'That is very surprising,' said the bishop.

'Not at all,' said Mrs Proudie; 'you little know how determined the
whole set of them are to withstand your authority.'

'But Mr Harding was so anxious for it,' said the bishop.

'Yes,' said Mr Slope, 'if he can hold it without the slightest
acknowledgement of your lordship's jurisdiction.'

'That is out of the question,' said the bishop.

'I should imagine it to be quite so,'said the chaplain.

'Indeed, I should think so,' said the lady.

'I really am sorry for it,' said the bishop.

'I don't know that there is much cause for sorrow,' said the lady.
'Mr Quiverful is a much more deserving man, more in need of it, and
one who will make himself much more useful in the close
neighbourhood of the palace.'

'I suppose I had better see Quiverful?' said the chaplain.

'I suppose you had,' said the bishop.

CHAPTER XIII

THE RUBBISH CART

Mr Harding was not a happy man as he walked down the palace
pathway, and stepped out into the close. His preferment and
pleasant house were a second time gone from him; but that he could
endure. He had been schooled and insulted by a man young enough to
be his son; but that he could put up with. He could even draw from
the very injuries, which had been inflicted on him, some of that
consolation, which we may believe martyrs always receive from the
injuries of their own sufferings, and which is generally
proportioned in it strength to the extent of cruelty with which
martyrs are treated. He had admitted to his daughter that he wanted
the comfort of his old home, and yet he could have returned to his
lodgings in the High Street, if not with exultation, at least with
satisfaction, had that been all. But the venom of the chaplain's
harangue had worked into his blood, and had sapped the life of his
sweet contentment.

'New men are carrying out new measures, and are eating away the
useless rubbish of past centuries.' What cruel words these had
been; and how often are they now used with all the heartless
cruelty of a Slope! A man is sufficiently condemned if it can only
be shown that either in politics or religion he does not belong to
some new school established within the last score of years. He may
then regard himself as rubbish and expect to be carted away. A man
is nothing now unless he has within him a full appreciation of the
new era; an ear in which it would seem that neither honesty nor
truth is very desirable, but in which success is the only
touchstone of merit. We must laugh at every thing that is
established. Let the joke be ever so bad, ever so untrue to the
real principles of joking; nevertheless we must laugh--or else
beware the cart. We must talk, think, and live up to the spirit of
the times, and write up to it too, if that cacoethes be upon us, or
else we are nought. New men and now measures, long credit and few
scruples, great success and wonderful ruin, such are now the tastes
of Englishmen who know how to live. Alas, alas! under the
circumstances Mr Harding could not but feel that he was an
Englishman who did not know how to live. This new doctrine of Mr
Slope and the rubbish cart, new at least at Barchester, sadly
disturbed his equanimity.