The Last Chronicle of Barset (31 page)

‘Under these circumstances,' continued the bishop, ‘looking to the welfare of your parish, to the welfare of the diocese, and allow me to say, Mr Crawley, to the welfare of yourself also –'

‘And especially to the souls of the people,' said Mrs Proudie.

The bishop shook his head. It is hard to be impressively eloquent when one is interrupted at every best turned period, even by a supporting voice. ‘Yes – and looking of course to the religious interests of your people, Mr Crawley, I came to the conclusion that it would be expedient that you should cease your ministrations for a while.' The bishop paused, and Mr Crawley bowed his head. ‘I, therefore, sent over to you a gentleman with whom I am well acquainted, Mr Thumble, with a letter from myself, in which I endeavoured to impress upon you, without the use of any severe language, what my convictions were.'

‘Severe words are often the best mercy,' said Mrs Proudie. Mr Crawley had raised his hand, with his finger out, preparatory to answering the bishop. But as Mrs Proudie had spoken he dropped his finger and was silent.

‘Mr Thumble brought me back your written reply,' continued the bishop, ‘by which I was grieved to find that you were not willing to submit yourself to my counsel in the matter.'

‘I was most unwilling, my lord. Submission to authority is at times a duty – and at times opposition to authority is a duty also.'

‘Opposition to just authority cannot be a duty, Mr Crawley.'

‘Opposition to usurped authority is an imperative duty,' said Mr Crawley.

‘And who is to be the judge?' demanded Mrs Proudie. Then there was silence for a while; when, as Mr Crawley made no reply, the lady repeated her question. ‘Will you be pleased to answer my question, sir? Who, in such a case, is to be the judge?' But Mr Crawley did not
please to answer her question. ‘The man is obstinate,' said Mrs Proudie.

‘I had better proceed,' said the bishop. ‘Mr Thumble brought me back your reply, which grieved me greatly.'

‘It was contumacious and indecent,' said Mrs Proudie.

The bishop again shook his head and looked so unutterably miserable that a smile came across Mr Crawley's face. After all, others beside himself had their troubles and trials. Mrs Proudie saw and understood the smile, and became more angry than ever. She drew her chair closer to the table, and began to fidget with her fingers among the papers. She had never before encountered a clergyman so contumacious, so indecent, so unreverend – so upsetting. She had had to do with men difficult to manage – the archdeacon for instance; but the archdeacon had never been so impertinent to her as this man. She had quarrelled once openly with a chaplain of her husband's, a clergyman whom she herself had introduced to her husband, and who had treated her very badly
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– but not so badly, not with such an unscrupulous violence, as she was now encountering from this ill-clothed beggarly man, this perpetual curate, with his dirty broken boots, this already half-convicted thief ! Such was her idea of Mr Crawley's conduct to her, while she was fingering the papers – simply because Mr Crawley would not speak to her.

‘I forget where I was,' said the bishop. ‘Oh. Mr Thumble came back, and I received your letter – of course I received it. And I was surprised to learn from that, that in spite of what had occurred at Silverbridge, you were still anxious to continue the usual Sunday ministrations in your church.'

‘I was determined that I would do my duty at Hogglestock, as long as I might be left there to do it,' said Mr Crawley.

‘Duty!' said Mrs Proudie.

‘Just a moment, my dear,' said the bishop. ‘When Sunday came, I had no alternative but to send Mr Thumble over again to Hogglestock. It occurred to us – to me and Mrs Proudie –'

‘I will tell Mr Crawley just now what has occurred to me,' said Mrs Proudie.

‘Yes – just so. And I am sure that he will take it in good part. It occurred to me, Mr Crawley, that your first letter might have been written in haste.'

‘It was written in haste, my lord; your messenger was waiting.'

‘Yes – just so. Well; so I sent him again, hoping that he might be accepted as a messenger of peace. It was a most disagreeable mission for any gentleman, Mr Crawley.'

‘Most disagreeable, my lord.'

‘And you refused him permission to obey the instructions which I had given him! You would not let him read from your desk, or preach from your pulpit.'

‘Had I been Mr Thumble,' said Mrs Proudie, ‘I would have read from that desk and I would have preached from that pulpit.'

Mr Crawley waited a moment, thinking that the bishop might perhaps speak again; but as he did not, but sat expectant as though he had finished his discourse, and now expected a reply, Mr Crawley got up from his seat and drew near to the table. ‘My lord,' he began, ‘it has all been just as you have said. I did answer your first letter in haste.'

‘The more shame for you,' said Mrs Proudie.

‘And therefore, for aught I know, my letter to your lordship may be so worded as to need some apology.'

‘Of course it needs an apology,' said Mrs Proudie.

‘But for the matter of it, my lord, no apology can be made, nor is any needed. I did refuse to your messenger permission to perform the services of my church, and if you send twenty more, I shall refuse them all – till the time may come when it will be your lordship's duty, in accordance with the laws of the Church – as borne out and backed by the laws of the land, to provide during my constrained absence for the spiritual wants of those poor people at Hogglestock.'

‘Poor people, indeed,' said Mrs Proudie. ‘Poor wretches!'

‘And, my lord, it may well be, that it shall soon be your lordship's duty to take due and legal steps for depriving me of my benefice at Hogglestock – nay, probably, for silencing me altogether as to the exercise of my sacred profession!'

‘Of course it will, sir. Your gown will be taken from you,' said Mrs
Proudie. The bishop was looking with all his eyes up at the great forehead and great eyebrows of the man, and was so fascinated by the power that was exercised over him by the other man's strength that he hardly now noticed his wife.

‘It may well be so,' continued Mr Crawley. ‘The circumstances are strong against me; and, though your lordship has altogether misunderstood the nature of the duty performed by the magistrates in sending my case for trial – although, as it seems to me, you have come to conclusions in this matter in ignorance of the very theory of our laws –'

‘Sir!' said Mrs Proudie.

‘Yet I can foresee the probability that a jury may discover me to have been guilty of theft.'

‘Of course the jury will do so,' said Mrs Proudie.

‘Should such verdict be given, then, my lord, your interference will be legal, proper, and necessary. And you will find that, even if it be within my power to oppose obstacles to your lordship's authority, I will oppose no such obstacles. There is, I believe, no appeal in criminal cases.'

‘None at all,' said Mrs Proudie. ‘There is no appeal against your bishop. You should have learned that before.'

‘But till that time shall come, my lord, I shall hold my own at Hogglestock as you hold your own here at Barchester. Nor have you more power to turn me out of my pulpit by your mere voice, than I have to turn you out of your throne by mine. If you doubt me, my lord, your lordship's ecclesiastical court is open to you. Try it there.'

‘You defy us, then?' said Mrs Proudie.

‘My lord, I grant your authority as bishop to be great, but even a bishop can only act as the law allows him.'

‘God forbid that I should do more,' said the bishop.

‘Sir, you will find that your wicked threats will fall back upon your own head,' said Mrs Proudie.

‘Peace, woman,' Mr Crawley said, addressing her at last. The bishop jumped out of his chair at hearing the wife of his bosom called a woman. But he jumped rather in admiration than in anger. He had already begun to perceive that Mr Crawley was a man who had better
be left to take care of the souls at Hogglestock, at any rate till the trial should come on.

‘Woman!' said Mrs Proudie, rising to her feet as though she really intended some personal encounter.

‘Madam,' said Mr Crawley, ‘you should not interfere in these matters. You simply debase your husband's high office. The distaff were more fitting for you. My lord, good morning.' And before either of them could speak again, he was out of the room, and through the hall, and beyond the gate, and standing beneath the towers of the cathedral. Yes, he had, he thought, in truth crushed the bishop. He had succeeded in crumpling the bishop up within the clutch of his fist.

He started in a spirit of triumph to walk back on his road towards Hogglestock. He did not think of the long distance before him for the first hour of his journey. He had had his victory, and the remembrance of that braced his nerves and gave elasticity to his sinews, and he went stalking along the road with rapid strides, muttering to himself from time to time as he went along some word about Mrs Proudie and her distaff. Mr Thumble would not, he thought, come to him again – not, at any rate, till the assizes were drawing near. And he had resolved what he would do then. When the day of his trial was near, he would himself write to the bishop, and beg that provision might be made for his church, in the event of the verdict going against him. His friend, Dean Arabin, was to be home before that time, and the idea had occurred to him of asking the dean to see to this; but now the other would be the more independent course, and the better. And there was a matter as to which he was not altogether well pleased with the dean, although he was so conscious of his own peculiarities as to know that he could hardly trust himself for a judgment. But, at any rate, he would apply to the bishop – to the bishop whom he had just left prostrate in his palace – when the time of his trial should be close at hand.

Full of such thoughts as these he went along almost gaily, nor felt the fatigue of the road till he had covered the first five miles out of Barchester. It was nearly four o'clock, and the thick gloom of the winter evening was making itself felt. And then he began to be
fatigued. He had not as yet eaten since he had left his home in the morning, and he now pulled a crust out of his pocket and leaned against a gate as he crunched it. There were still ten miles before him, and he knew that such an addition to the work he had already done would task him very severely. Farmer Mangle had told him that he would not leave Framley Mill till five, and he had got time to reach Framley Mill by that time. But he had said that he would not return to Framley Mill, and he remembered his suspicion that his wife and farmer Mangle between them had cozened him. No; he would persevere and walk – walk, though he should drop upon the road. He was now nearer fifty than forty years of age, and hardships as well as time had told upon him. He knew that though his strength was good for the commencement of a hard day's work, it would not hold out for him as it used to do. He knew that the last four miles in the dark night would be very sad with him. But still he persevered, endeavouring, as he went, to cherish himself with the remembrance of his triumph.

He passed the turning going down to Framley with courage, but when he came to the further turning, by which the cart would return from Framley to the Hogglestock road, he looked wistfully down the road for farmer Mangle. But farmer Mangle was still at the Mill, waiting in expectation that Mr Crawley might come to him. But the poor traveller paused here barely for a minute, and then went on, stumbling through the mud, striking his ill-covered feet against the rough stones in the dark, sweating in his weakness, almost tottering at times, and calculating whether his remaining strength would serve to carry him home. He had almost forgotten the bishop and his wife before at last he grasped the wicket gate leading to his own door.

‘Oh, mamma, here is papa!'

‘But where is the cart? I did not hear the wheels,' said Mrs Crawley.

‘Oh, mamma, I think papa is ill.' Then the wife took her drooping husband by both arms and strove to look him in the face. ‘He has walked all the way, and he is ill,' said Jane.

‘No, my dear, I am very tired, but not ill. Let me sit down, and give me some bread and tea, and I shall recover myself.' Then Mrs
Crawley, from some secret hoard, got him a small modicum of spirits, and gave him meat and tea, and he was docile; and, obeying her behests, allowed himself to be taken to his bed.

‘I do not think the bishop will send for me again,' he said, as she tucked the clothes around him.

When Christmas morning came no emissary from the bishop appeared at Hogglestock to interfere with the ordinary performance of the day's services. ‘I think we need fear no further disturbance,' Mr Crawley said to his wife – and there was no further disturbance.

On the day after his walk from Framley to Barchester, and from Barchester back to Hogglestock, Mr Crawley had risen not much the worse for his labour, and had gradually given to his wife a full account of what had taken place. ‘A poor weak man,' he said, speaking of the bishop. ‘A poor weak creature, and much to be pitied.'

‘I have always heard that she is a violent woman.'

‘Very violent, and very ignorant; and most intrusive withal.'

‘And you did not answer her a word?'

‘At last my forbearance with her broke down, and I bade her mind her distaff.'

‘What – really? Did you say those words to her?'

‘Nay; as for my exact words I cannot remember them. I was thinking more of the words with which it might be fitting that I should answer the bishop. But I certainly told her that she had better mind her distaff.'

‘And how did she behave then?'

‘I did not wait to see. The bishop had spoken, and I had replied; and why should I tarry to behold the woman's violence? I had told him that he was wrong in law, and that I at least would not submit to
usurped authority. There was nothing to keep me longer, and so I went without much ceremony of leave-taking. There had been little ceremony of greeting on their part, and there was less in the making of adieux on mine. They had told me that I was a thief –'