PALACE BLESSINGS.
And now, at this period, terrible rumours found their way into
Barchester, and flew about the cathedral towers and round the
cathedral door; ay, and into the canons’ houses and the humbler
sitting-rooms of the vicars choral. Whether they made their way from
thence up to the bishop’s palace, or whether they descended from
the palace to the close, I will not pretend to say. But they were
shocking, unnatural, and no doubt grievous to all those excellent
ecclesiastical hearts which cluster so thickly in those quarters.
The first of these had reference to the new prebendary, and to the
disgrace which he had brought on the chapter; a disgrace, as some of
them boasted, which Barchester had never known before. This, however,
like most other boasts, was hardly true; for within but a very few
years there had been an execution in the house of a late prebendary,
old Dr. Stanhope; and on that occasion the doctor himself had been
forced to fly away to Italy, starting in the night, lest he also
should fall into the hands of the Philistines, as well as his chairs
and tables.
“It is a scandalous shame,” said Mrs. Proudie, speaking not of the
old doctor, but of the new offender; “a scandalous shame: and it
would only serve him right if the gown were stripped from his back.”
“I suppose his living will be sequestrated,” said a young minor canon
who attended much to the ecclesiastical injunctions of the lady of
the diocese, and was deservedly held in high favour. If Framley were
sequestrated, why should not he, as well as another, undertake the
duty—with such stipend as the bishop might award?
“I am told that he is over head and ears in debt,” said the future
Mrs. Tickler, “and chiefly for horses which he has bought and not
paid for.”
“I see him riding very splendid animals when he comes over for the
cathedral duties,” said the minor canon.
“The sheriff’s officers are in the house at present, I am told,” said
Mrs. Proudie.
“And is not he in jail?” said Mrs. Tickler.
“If not, he ought to be,” said Mrs. Tickler’s mother.
“And no doubt soon will be,” said the minor canon; “for I hear that
he is linked up with a most discreditable gang of persons.”
This was what was said in the palace on that heading; and though,
no doubt, more spirit and poetry was displayed there than in the
houses of the less gifted clergy, this shows the manner in which the
misfortune of Mr. Robarts was generally discussed. Nor, indeed, had
he deserved any better treatment at their hands. But his name did
not run the gauntlet for the usual nine days; nor, indeed, did his
fame endure at its height for more than two. This sudden fall was
occasioned by other tidings of a still more distressing nature; by
a rumour which so affected Mrs. Proudie that it caused, as she said,
her blood to creep. And she was very careful that the blood of others
should creep also, if the blood of others was equally sensitive. It
was said that Lord Dumbello had jilted Miss Grantly.
From what adverse spot in the world these cruel tidings fell upon
Barchester I have never been able to discover. We know how quickly
rumour flies, making herself common through all the cities. That
Mrs. Proudie should have known more of the facts connected with the
Hartletop family than any one else in Barchester was not surprising,
seeing that she was so much more conversant with the great world in
which such people lived. She knew, and was therefore correct enough
in declaring, that Lord Dumbello had already jilted one other young
lady—the Lady Julia Mac Mull, to whom he had been engaged three
seasons back, and that therefore his character in such matters was
not to be trusted. That Lady Julia had been a terrible flirt and
greatly given to waltzing with a certain German count, with whom
she had since gone off—that, I suppose, Mrs. Proudie did not know,
much as she was conversant with the great world,—seeing that she
said nothing about it to any of her ecclesiastical listeners on the
present occasion.
“It will be a terrible warning, Mrs. Quiverful, to us all; a most
useful warning to us—not to trust to the things of this world.
I fear they made no inquiry about this young nobleman before they
agreed that his name should be linked with that of their daughter.”
This she said to the wife of the present warden of Hiram’s Hospital,
a lady who had received favours from her, and was therefore bound to
listen attentively to her voice.
“But I hope it may not be true,” said Mrs. Quiverful, who, in spite
of the allegiance due by her to Mrs. Proudie, had reasons of her own
for wishing well to the Grantly family.
“I hope so, indeed,” said Mrs. Proudie, with a slight tinge of anger
in her voice; “but I fear that there is no doubt. And I must confess
that it is no more than we had a right to expect. I hope that it may
be taken by all of us as a lesson, and an ensample, and a teaching
of the Lord’s mercy. And I wish you would request your husband—from
me, Mrs. Quiverful—to dwell on this subject in morning and evening
lecture at the hospital on Sabbath next, showing how false is the
trust which we put in the good things of this world;” which behest,
to a certain extent, Mr. Quiverful did obey, feeling that a quiet
life in Barchester was of great value to him; but he did not go so
far as to caution his hearers, who consisted of the aged bedesmen of
the hospital, against matrimonial projects of an ambitious nature.
In this case, as in all others of the kind, the report was known to
all the chapter before it had been heard by the archdeacon or his
wife. The dean heard it, and disregarded it; as did also the dean’s
wife—at first; and those who generally sided with the Grantlys in
the diocesan battles pooh-poohed the tidings, saying to each other
that both the archdeacon and Mrs. Grantly were very well able to take
care of their own affairs. But dripping water hollows a stone; and at
last it was admitted on all sides that there was ground for fear,—on
all sides, except at Plumstead.
“I am sure there is nothing in it; I really am sure of it,” said Mrs.
Arabin, whispering to her sister; “but after turning it over in my
mind, I thought it right to tell you. And yet I don’t know now but I
am wrong.”
“Quite right, dearest Eleanor,” said Mrs. Grantly. “And I am much
obliged to you. But we understand it, you know. It comes, of course,
like all other Christian blessings, from the palace.” And then there
was nothing more said about it between Mrs. Grantly and her sister.
But on the following morning there arrived a letter by post,
addressed to Mrs. Grantly, bearing the postmark of Littlebath. The
letter ran:—
MADAM,
It is known to the writer that Lord Dumbello has arranged
with certain friends how he may escape from his present
engagement. I think, therefore, that it is my duty as a
Christian to warn you of this.
Yours truly,
A WELLWISHER.
Now it had happened that the embryo Mrs. Tickler’s most intimate
bosom friend and confidante was known at Plumstead to live at
Littlebath, and it had also happened—most unfortunately—that
the embryo Mrs. Tickler, in the warmth of her neighbourly regard,
had written a friendly line to her friend Griselda Grantly,
congratulating her with all female sincerity on her splendid nuptials
with the Lord Dumbello.
“It is not her natural hand,” said Mrs. Grantly, talking the matter
over with her husband, “but you may be sure it has come from her. It
is a part of the new Christianity which we learn day by day from the
palace teaching.”
But these things had some effect on the archdeacon’s mind. He had
learned lately the story of Lady Julia Mac Mull, and was not sure
that his son-in-law—as ought to be about to be—had been entirely
blameless in that matter. And then in these days Lord Dumbello made
no great sign. Immediately on Griselda’s return to Plumstead he had
sent her a magnificent present of emeralds, which, however, had come
to her direct from the jewellers, and might have been—and probably
was—ordered by his man of business. Since that he had neither come,
nor sent, nor written. Griselda did not seem to be in any way annoyed
by this absence of the usual sign of love, and went on steadily
with her great duties. “Nothing,” as she told her mother, “had been
said about writing, and, therefore, she did not expect it.” But the
archdeacon was not quite at his ease. “Keep Dumbello up to his P’s
and Q’s, you know,” a friend of his had whispered to him at his
club. By heavens, yes. The archdeacon was not a man to bear with
indifference a wrong in such a quarter. In spite of his clerical
profession, few men were more inclined to fight against personal
wrongs—and few men more able.
“Can there be anything wrong, I wonder?” said he to his wife. “Is
it worth while that I should go up to London?” But Mrs. Grantly
attributed it all to the palace doctrine. What could be more natural,
looking at all the circumstances of the Tickler engagement? She
therefore gave her voice against any steps being taken by the
archdeacon.
A day or two after that Mrs. Proudie met Mrs. Arabin in the close
and condoled with her openly on the termination of the marriage
treaty;—quite openly, for Mrs. Tickler—as she was to be—was with
her mother, and Mrs. Arabin was accompanied by her sister-in-law,
Mary Bold.
“It must be very grievous to Mrs. Grantly, very grievous indeed,”
said Mrs. Proudie, “and I sincerely feel for her. But, Mrs. Arabin,
all these lessons are sent to us for our eternal welfare.”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Arabin. “But as to this special lesson, I am
inclined to doubt that it—”
“Ah-h! I fear it is too true. I fear there is no room for doubt. Of
course you are aware that Lord Dumbello is off for the Continent.”
Mrs. Arabin was not aware of it, and she was obliged to admit as
much.
“He started four days ago, by way of Boulogne,” said Mrs. Tickler,
who seemed to be very well up in the whole affair. “I am so sorry for
poor dear Griselda. I am told she has got all her things. It is such
a pity, you know.”
“But why should not Lord Dumbello come back from the Continent?” said
Miss Bold, very quietly.
“Why not, indeed? I’m sure I hope he may,” said Mrs. Proudie. “And no
doubt he will, some day. But if he be such a man as they say he is,
it is really well for Griselda that she should be relieved from such
a marriage. For, after all, Mrs. Arabin, what are the things of this
world?—dust beneath our feet, ashes between our teeth, grass cut for
the oven, vanity, vexation, and nothing more!”—well pleased with
which variety of Christian metaphors Mrs. Proudie walked on, still
muttering, however, something about worms and grubs, by which she
intended to signify her own species and the Dumbello and Grantly
sects of it in particular.
This now had gone so far that Mrs. Arabin conceived herself bound in
duty to see her sister, and it was then settled in consultation at
Plumstead that the archdeacon should call officially at the palace
and beg that the rumour might be contradicted. This he did early on
the next morning and was shown into the bishop’s study, in which he
found both his lordship and Mrs. Proudie. The bishop rose to greet
him with special civility, smiling his very sweetest on him, as
though of all his clergy the archdeacon were the favourite; but Mrs.
Proudie wore something of a gloomy aspect, as though she knew that
such a visit at such an hour must have reference to some special
business. The morning calls made by the archdeacon at the palace in
the way of ordinary civility were not numerous.
On the present occasion he dashed at once into his subject. “I have
called this morning, Mrs. Proudie,” said he, “because I wish to ask
a favour from you.” Whereupon Mrs. Proudie bowed.
“Mrs. Proudie will be most happy, I am sure,” said the bishop.
“I find that some foolish people have been talking in Barchester
about my daughter,” said the archdeacon; “and I wish to ask Mrs.
Proudie—”
Most women under such circumstances would have felt the awkwardness
of their situation, and would have prepared to eat their past
words with wry faces. But not so Mrs. Proudie. Mrs. Grantly had had
the imprudence to throw Mr. Slope in her face—there, in her own
drawing-room, and she was resolved to be revenged. Mrs. Grantly, too,
had ridiculed the Tickler match, and no too great niceness should now
prevent Mrs. Proudie from speaking her mind about the Dumbello match.
“A great many people are talking about her, I am sorry to say,” said
Mrs. Proudie; “but, poor dear, it is not her fault. It might have
happened to any girl; only, perhaps, a little more care—; you’ll
excuse me, Dr. Grantly.”
“I have come here to allude to a report which has been spread about
in Barchester, that the match between Lord Dumbello and my daughter
has been broken off; and—”
“Everybody in Barchester knows it, I believe,” said Mrs. Proudie.
—“and,” continued the archdeacon, “to request that that report may
be contradicted.”
“Contradicted! Why, he has gone right away,—out of the country!”
“Never mind where he has gone to, Mrs. Proudie; I beg that the report
may be contradicted.”
“You’ll have to go round to every house in Barchester then,” said
she.
“By no means,” replied the archdeacon. “And perhaps it may be right
that I should explain to the bishop that I came here because—”
“The bishop knows nothing about it,” said Mrs. Proudie.
“Nothing in the world,” said his lordship. “And I am sure I hope that
the young lady may not be disappointed.”
—“because the matter was so distinctly mentioned to Mrs. Arabin by
yourself yesterday.”
“Distinctly mentioned! Of course it was distinctly mentioned. There
are some things which can’t be kept under a bushel, Dr. Grantly; and
this seems to be one of them. Your going about in this way won’t make
Lord Dumbello marry the young lady.”
That was true; nor would it make Mrs. Proudie hold her tongue.
Perhaps the archdeacon was wrong in his present errand, and so he now
began to bethink himself. “At any rate,” said he, “when I tell you
that there is no ground whatever for such a report you will do me the
kindness to say that, as far as you are concerned, it shall go no
further. I think, my lord, I am not asking too much in asking that.”
“The bishop knows nothing about it,” said Mrs. Proudie again.
“Nothing at all,” said the bishop.
“And as I must protest that I believe the information which has
reached me on this head,” said Mrs. Proudie, “I do not see how it is
possible that I should contradict it. I can easily understand your
feelings, Dr. Grantly. Considering your daughter’s position the match
was, as regards earthly wealth, a very great one. I do not wonder
that you should be grieved at its being broken off; but I trust that
this sorrow may eventuate in a blessing to you and to Miss Griselda.
These worldly disappointments are precious balms, and I trust you
know how to accept them as such.”
The fact was that Dr. Grantly had done altogether wrong in coming to
the palace. His wife might have some chance with Mrs. Proudie, but
he had none. Since she had come to Barchester he had had only two or
three encounters with her, and in all of these he had gone to the
wall. His visits to the palace always resulted in his leaving the
presence of the inhabitants in a frame of mind by no means desirable,
and he now found that he had to do so once again. He could not
compel Mrs. Proudie to say that the report was untrue; nor could he
condescend to make counter hits at her about her own daughter, as his
wife would have done. And thus, having utterly failed, he got up and
took his leave.
But the worst of the matter was, that, in going home, he could not
divest his mind of the idea that there might be some truth in the
report. What if Lord Dumbello had gone to the Continent resolved
to send back from thence some reason why it was impossible that he
should make Miss Grantly his wife? Such things had been done before
now by men in his rank. Whether or no Mrs. Tickler had been the
letter-writing wellwisher from Littlebath, or had induced her friend
to be so, it did seem manifest to him, Dr. Grantly, that Mrs. Proudie
absolutely believed the report which she promulgated so diligently.
The wish might be father to the thought, no doubt; but that the
thought was truly there, Dr. Grantly could not induce himself to
disbelieve.
His wife was less credulous, and to a certain degree comforted him;
but that evening he received a letter which greatly confirmed the
suspicions set on foot by Mrs. Proudie, and even shook his wife’s
faith in Lord Dumbello. It was from a mere acquaintance, who in the
ordinary course of things would not have written to him. And the bulk
of the letter referred to ordinary things, as to which the gentleman
in question would hardly have thought of giving himself the trouble
to write a letter. But at the end of the note he said,—
“Of course you are aware that Dumbello is off to Paris; I have not
heard whether the exact day of his return is fixed.”
“It is true then,” said the archdeacon, striking the library table
with his hand, and becoming absolutely white about the mouth and
jaws.
“It cannot be,” said Mrs. Grantly; but even she was now trembling.
“If it be so I’ll drag him back to England by the collar of his coat,
and disgrace him before the steps of his father’s hall.”
And the archdeacon as he uttered the threat looked his character as
an irate British father much better than he did his other character
as a clergyman of the Church of England. The archdeacon had been
greatly worsted by Mrs. Proudie, but he was a man who knew how to
fight his battles among men,—sometimes without too close a regard to
his cloth.
“Had Lord Dumbello intended any such thing he would have written, or
got some friend to write by this time,” said Mrs. Grantly. “It is
quite possible that he might wish to be off, but he would be too
chary of his name not to endeavour to do so with decency.”
Thus the matter was discussed, and it appeared to them both to be so
serious that the archdeacon resolved to go at once to London. That
Lord Dumbello had gone to France he did not doubt; but he would find
some one in town acquainted with the young man’s intentions, and
he would, no doubt, be able to hear when his return was expected.
If there were real reason for apprehension he would follow the
runagate to the Continent, but he would not do this without absolute
knowledge. According to Lord Dumbello’s present engagements he was
bound to present himself in August next at Plumstead Episcopi, with
the view of then and there taking Griselda Grantly in marriage;
but if he kept his word in this respect no one had a right to
quarrel with him for going to Paris in the meantime. Most expectant
bridegrooms would, no doubt, under such circumstances have declared
their intentions to their future brides; but if Lord Dumbello
were different from others, who had a right on that account to be
indignant with him? He was unlike other men in other things; and
especially unlike other men in being the eldest son of the Marquis
of Hartletop. It would be all very well for Tickler to proclaim his
whereabouts from week to week; but the eldest son of a marquis might
find it inconvenient to be so precise! Nevertheless the archdeacon
thought it only prudent to go up to London.
“Susan,” said the archdeacon to his wife, just as he was
starting;—at this moment neither of them were in the happiest
spirits,—“I think I would say a word of caution to Griselda.”
“Do you feel so much doubt about it as that?” said Mrs. Grantly. But
even she did not dare to put a direct negative to this proposal, so
much had she been moved by what she had heard!
“I think I would do so, not frightening her more than I could help.
It will lessen the blow if it be that the blow is to fall.”
“It will kill me,” said Mrs. Grantly; “but I think that she will be
able to bear it.”
On the next morning Mrs. Grantly, with much cunning preparation, went
about the task which her husband had left her to perform. It took her
long to do, for she was very cunning in the doing of it; but at last
it dropped from her in words that there was a possibility—a bare
possibility—that some disappointment might even yet be in store for
them.
“Do you mean, mamma, that the marriage will be put off?”
“I don’t mean to say that I think it will; God forbid! but it is just
possible. I daresay that I am very wrong to tell you of this, but I
know that you have sense enough to bear it. Papa has gone to London
and we shall hear from him soon.”
“Then, mamma, I had better give them orders not to go on with the
marking.”