The Last Chronicle of Barset Part 120

Grantly.

"The proverb of De mortuis is founded on humbug. Humbug out of doors is necessary. It would not do for you and me to go into the High Street just now and say what we think about Mrs. Proudie; but I don't suppose that kind of thing need be kept up in here, between you and me. She was an uncomfortable woman,--so uncomfortable that I cannot believe that any one will regret her. Dear me! Only to think that she has gone! You may as well give me my tea."

I do not think that Mrs. Grantly's opinion differed much from that expressed by her husband, or that she was, in truth, the least offended by the archdeacon's plain speech. But it must be remembered that there was probably no house in the diocese in which Mrs. Proudie had been so thoroughly hated as she had been at the Plumstead rectory. There had been hatred at the deanery; but the hatred at the deanery had been mild in comparison with the hatred at Plumstead. The archdeacon was a sound friend; but he was also a sound enemy. From the very first arrival of the Proudies at Barchester, Mrs. Proudie had thrown down her gauntlet to him, and he had not been slow in picking it up. The war had been internecine, and each had given the other terrible wounds. It had been understood that there should be no quarter, and there had been none. His enemy was now dead, and the archdeacon could not bring himself to adopt before his wife the namby-pamby every-day decency of speaking well of one of whom he had ever thought ill, or of expressing regret when no regret could be felt. "May all her sins be forgiven her," said Mrs. Grantly.

"Amen," said the archdeacon. There was something in the tone of his Amen which thoroughly implied that it was uttered only on the understanding that her departure from the existing world was to be regarded as an unmitigated good, and that she should, at any rate, never come back again to Barchester.

When Lady Lufton heard the tidings, she was not so bold in speaking of it as was her friend the archdeacon. "Mrs. Proudie dead!" she said to her daughter-in-law. This was some hours after the news had reached the house, and when the fact of the poor lady's death had been fully recognized. "What will he do without her?"

"The same as other men do," said young Lady Lufton.

"But, my dear, he is not the same as other men. He is not at all like other men. He is so weak that he cannot walk without a stick to lean upon. No doubt she was a virago, a woman who could not control her temper for a moment! No doubt she had led him a terrible life! I have often pitied him with all my heart. But, nevertheless, she was useful to him. I suppose she was useful to him. I can hardly believe that Mrs. Proudie is dead. Had he gone, it would have seemed so much more natural. Poor woman. I daresay she had her good points." The reader will be pleased to remember that the Luftons had ever been strong partisans on the side of the Grantlys.

The news made its way even to Hogglestock on the same day. Mrs.

Crawley, when she heard it, went out after her husband, who was in the school. "Dead!" said he, in answer to her whisper. "Do you tell me that the woman is dead?" Then Mrs. Crawley explained that the tidings were credible. "May G.o.d forgive her all her sins," said Mr.

Crawley. "She was a violent woman, certainly, and I think that she misunderstood her duties; but I do not say that she was a bad woman.

I am inclined to think that she was earnest in her endeavours to do good." It never occurred to Mr. Crawley that he and his affair had, in truth, been the cause of her death.

It was thus that she was spoken of for a few days; and then men and women ceased to speak much of her, and began to talk of the bishop instead. A month had not pa.s.sed before it was surmised that a man so long accustomed to the comforts of married life would marry again; and even then one lady connected with low-church clergymen in and around the city was named as a probable successor to the great lady who was gone. For myself, I am inclined to think that the bishop will for the future be content to lean upon his chaplain.

The monument that was put up to our old friend's memory in one of the side aisles of the choir of the cathedral was supposed to be designed and executed in good taste. There was a broken column, and on the column simply the words, "My beloved wife!" Then there was a slab by the column, bearing Mrs. Proudie's name, with the date of her life and death. Beneath this was the common inscription,--

"_Requiescat in pace._"

CHAPTER LXVIII.

THE OBSTINACY OF MR. CRAWLEY.

Dr. Tempest, when he heard the news, sent immediately to Mr. Robarts, begging him to come over to Silverbridge. But this message was not occasioned solely by the death of Mrs. Proudie. Dr. Tempest had also heard that Mr. Crawley had submitted himself to the bishop, that instant advantage,--and as Dr. Tempest thought, unfair advantage,--had been taken of Mr. Crawley's submission, and that the pernicious Thumble had been at once sent over to Hogglestock. Had these palace doings with reference to Mr. Crawley been unaccompanied by the catastrophe which had happened, the doctor, much as he might have regretted them, would probably have felt that there was nothing to be done. He could not in such case have prevented Thumble's journey to Hogglestock on the next Sunday, and certainly he could not have softened the heart of the presiding genius at the palace.

But things were very different now. The presiding genius was gone.

Everybody at the palace would for a while be weak and vacillating.

Thumble would be then thoroughly cowed; and it might at any rate be possible to make some movement in Mr. Crawley's favour. Dr. Tempest, therefore, sent for Mr. Robarts.

"I'm giving you a great deal of trouble, Robarts," said the doctor; "but then you are so much younger than I am, and I've an idea that you would do more for this poor man than any one else in the diocese." Mr. Robarts of course declared that he did not begrudge his trouble, and that he would do anything in his power for the poor man.

"I think that you should see him again, and that you should then see Thumble also. I don't know whether you can condescend to be civil to Thumble. I could not."

"I am not quite sure that incivility would not be more efficacious,"

said Mr. Robarts.

"Very likely. There are men who are deaf as adders to courtesy, but who are compelled to obedience at once by ill-usage. Very likely Thumble is one of them; but of that you will be the best judge yourself. I would see Crawley first, and get his consent."

"That's the difficulty."

"Then I should go on without his consent, and I would see Thumble and the bishop's chaplain, Snapper. I think you might manage just at this moment, when they will all be a little abashed and perplexed by this woman's death, to arrange that simply nothing shall be done. The great thing will be that Crawley should go on with the duty till the a.s.sizes. If it should then happen that he goes into Barchester, is acquitted, and comes back again, the whole thing will be over, and there will be no further interference in the parish. If I were you, I think I would try it." Mr. Robarts said that he would try it. "I daresay Mr. Crawley will be a little stiff-necked with you."

"He will be very stiff-necked with me," said Mr. Robarts.

"But I can hardly think that he will throw away the only means he has of supporting his wife and children, when he finds that there can be no occasion for his doing so. I do not suppose that any person wishes him to throw up his work now that that poor woman has gone."

Mr. Crawley had been almost in good spirits since the last visit which Mr. Thumble had made to him. It seemed as though the loss of everything in the world was in some way satisfactory to him. He had now given up his living by his own doing, and had after a fas.h.i.+on acknowledged his guilt by this act. He had proclaimed to all around him that he did not think himself to be any longer fit to perform the sacred functions of his office. He spoke of his trial as though a verdict against him must be the result. He knew that in going into prison he would leave his wife and children dependent on the charity of their friends,--on charity which they must condescend to accept, though he could not condescend to ask it. And yet he was able to carry himself now with a greater show of fort.i.tude than had been within his power when the extent of his calamity was more doubtful.

I must not ask the reader to suppose that he was cheerful. To have been cheerful under such circ.u.mstances would have been inhuman.

But he carried his head on high, and walked firmly, and gave his orders at home with a clear voice. His wife, who was necessarily more despondent than ever, wondered at him,--but wondered in silence. It certainly seemed as though the very extremity of ill-fortune was good for him. And he was very diligent with his school, pa.s.sing the greater part of the morning with the children. Mr. Thumble had told him that he would come on Sunday, and that he would then take charge of the parish. Up to the coming of Mr. Thumble he would do everything in the parish that could be done by a clergyman with a clear spirit and a free heart. Mr. Thumble should not find that spiritual weeds had grown rank in the parish because of his misfortunes.

Mrs. Proudie had died on the Tuesday,--that having been the day of Mr. Thumble's visit to Hogglestock,--and Mr. Robarts had gone over to Silverbridge, in answer to Dr. Tempest's invitation, on the Thursday.

He had not, therefore, the command of much time, it being his express object to prevent the appearance of Mr. Thumble at Hogglestock on the next Sunday. He had gone to Silverbridge by railway, and had, therefore, been obliged to postpone his visit to Mr. Crawley till the next day; but early on the Friday morning he rode over to Hogglestock. That he did not arrive there with a broken-knee'd horse, the reader may be quite sure. In all matters of that sort, Mr.

Robarts was ever above reproach. He rode a good horse, and drove a neat gig, and was always well dressed. On this account Mr. Crawley, though he really liked Mr. Robarts, and was thankful to him for many kindnesses, could never bear his presence with perfect equanimity.

Robarts was no scholar, was not a great preacher, had obtained no celebrity as a churchman,--had, in fact, done nothing to merit great reward; and yet everything had been given to him with an abundant hand. Within the last twelvemonth his wife had inherited Mr. Crawley did not care to know how many thousand pounds. And yet Mr. Robarts had won all that he possessed by being a clergyman. Was it possible that Mr. Crawley should regard such a man with equanimity? Robarts rode over with a groom behind him,--really taking the groom because he knew that Mr. Crawley would have no one to hold his horse for him;--and the groom was the source of great offence. He came upon Mr.

Crawley standing at the school door, and stopping at once, jumped off his nag. There was something in the way in which he sprang out of the saddle and threw the reins to the man, which was not clerical in Mr.

Crawley's eyes. No man could be so quick in the matter of a horse who spent as many hours with the poor and with the children as should be spent by a parish clergyman. It might be probable that Mr.

Robarts had never stolen twenty pounds,--might never be accused of so disgraceful a crime,--but, nevertheless, Mr. Crawley had his own ideas, and made his own comparisons.

"Crawley," said Robarts, "I am so glad to find you at home."

"I am generally to be found in the parish," said the perpetual curate of Hogglestock.

"I know you are," said Robarts, who knew the man well, and cared nothing for his friend's peculiarities when he felt his own withers to be unwrung. "But you might have been down at Hoggle End with the brickmakers, and then I should have had to go after you."

"I should have grieved--," began Crawley; but Robarts interrupted him at once.

"Let us go for a walk, and I'll leave the man with the horses. I've something special to say to you, and I can say it better out here than in the house. Grace is quite well, and sends her love. She is growing to look so beautiful!"

"I hope she may grow in grace with G.o.d," said Mr. Crawley.

"She's as good a girl as I ever knew. By-the-by, you had Henry Grantly over here the other day?"

"Major Grantly, whom I cannot name without expressing my esteem for him, did do us the honour of calling upon us not very long since. If it be with reference to him that you have taken this trouble--"

"No, no; not at all. I'll allow him and the ladies to fight out that battle. I've not the least doubt in the world how that will go. When I'm told that she made a complete conquest of the archdeacon, there cannot be a doubt about that."

"A conquest of the archdeacon!"

But Mr. Robarts did not wish to have to explain anything further about the archdeacon. "Were you not terribly shocked, Crawley," he asked, "when you heard of the death of Mrs. Proudie?"

"It was sudden and very awful," said Mr. Crawley. "Such deaths are always shocking. Not more so, perhaps, as regards the wife of a bishop, than with any other woman."

"Only we happened to know her."

"No doubt the finite and meagre nature of our feelings does prevent us from extending our sympathies to those whom we have not seen in the flesh. It should not be so, and would not with one who had nurtured his heart with proper care. And we are p.r.o.ne to permit an evil worse than that to canker our regards and to foster and to mar our solicitudes. Those who are high in station strike us more by their joys and sorrows than do the poor and lowly. Were some young duke's wife, wedded but the other day, to die, all England would put on some show of mourning,--nay, would feel some true gleam of pity; but n.o.body cares for the widowed brickmaker seated with his starving infant on his cold hearth."

"Of course we hear more of the big people," said Robarts.

"Ay; and think more of them. But do not suppose, sir, that I complain of this man or that woman because his sympathies, or hers, run out of that course which my reason tells me they should hold. The man with whom it would not be so would simply be a G.o.d among men. It is in his perfection as a man that we recognize the divinity of Christ. It is in the imperfection of men that we recognize our necessity for a Christ. Yes, sir, the death of the poor lady at Barchester was very sudden. I hope that my lord the bishop bears with becoming fort.i.tude the heavy misfortune. They say that he was a man much beholden to his wife,--p.r.o.ne to lean upon her in his goings out and comings in. For such a man such a loss is more dreadful perhaps than for another."

"They say she led him a terrible life, you know."

"I am not p.r.o.ne, sir, to believe much of what I hear about the domesticities of other men, knowing how little any other man can know of my own. And I have, methinks, observed a p.r.o.neness in the world to ridicule that dependence on a woman which every married man should acknowledge in regard to the wife of his bosom, if he can trust her as well as love her. When I hear jocose proverbs spoken as to men, such as that in this house the gray mare is the better horse, or that in that house the wife wears that garment which is supposed to denote virile command, knowing that the joke is easy, and that meekness in a man is more truly n.o.ble than a habit of stern authority, I do not allow them to go far with me in influencing my judgment."