BARCHESTER BY MOONLIGHT
There was much cause for grief and occasional perturbation of
spirits in the Stanhope family, but yet they rarely seemed to be
grieved or to be disturbed. It was the peculiar gift of each of
them that each was able to bear his or her own burden without
complaint, and perhaps without sympathy. They habitually looked on
the sunny side of the wall, if there was a gleam on the either side
for them to look at; and, if there was none, they endured the shade
with an indifference which, if not stoical, answered the end at
which the Stoics aimed. Old Stanhope could not but feel that he had
ill-performed his duties as a father and a clergyman; and could
hardly look forward to his own death without grief at the position
in which he would leave his family. His income for many years had
been as high as L 3000 a year, and yet they had among them no other
provision than their mother's fortune of L 10,000. He had not only
spent his income, but was in debt. Yet, with all this, he seldom
showed much outward sign of trouble.
It was the same with the mother. If she added little to the
pleasures of her children she detracted still less: she neither
grumbled at her lot, nor spoke much of her past or future
sufferings; as long as she had a maid to adjust her dress, and had
those dresses well made, nature with her was satisfied. It was the
same with her children. Charlotte never rebuked her father with the
prospect of their future poverty, nor did it seem to grieve her
that she was becoming an old maid so quickly; her temper was rarely
ruffled, and, if we might judge by her appearance, she was always
happy. The signora was not so sweet-tempered, but she possessed
much enduring courage; she seldom complained--never, indeed, to her
family. Though she had a cause for affliction which would have
utterly broken down the heart of most women as beautiful as she and
as devoid of all religious support, yet, she bore her suffering in
silence, or alluded to it only to elicit the sympathy and stimulate
the admiration of the men with whom she flirted. As to Bertie, one
would have imagined from the sound of his voice and the gleam of
his eye that he had not a sorrow nor a care in the world. Nor had
he. He was incapable of anticipating tomorrow's griefs. The
prospect of future want no more disturbed his appetite than does
that of the butcher's knife disturb the appetite of the sheep.
Such was the usual tenor of their way; but there were rare
exceptions. Occasionally the father would allow an angry glance to
fall from his eye, and the lion would send forth a low dangerous
roar as though he meditated some deed of blood. Occasionally also
Madame Neroni would become bitter against mankind, more than
usually antagonistic to the world's decencies, and would seem as
though she was about to break from her moorings and allow herself
to be carried forth by the tide of her feelings to utter ruin and
shipwreck. She, however, like the rest of them, had no real
feelings, could feel no true passion. In that was her security.
Before she resolved on any contemplated escapade she would make a
small calculation, and generally summed up that the Stanhope villa
or even Barchester close was better than the world at large.
They were most irregular in their hours. The father was generally
the earliest in the breakfast-parlour, and Charlotte would soon
follow and give him coffee; but the others breakfasted anywhere
anyhow, and at any time. On the morning after the archdeacon's
futile visit to the palace, Dr Stanhope came down stairs with an
ominously dark look about his eyebrows; his white locks were
rougher than usual, and he breathed thickly and loudly as he took
his seat in his arm-chair. He had open letters in his hand, and
when Charlotte came into the room he was still reading them. She
went up and kissed him as was her wont, but he hardly noticed her
as she did so, and she knew at once that something was the matter.
'What's the meaning of that?' said he, throwing over the table a
letter with a Milan post-mark. Charlotte was a little frightened as
she took it up, but her mind was relieved when she saw that it was
merely the bill of their Italian milliner. The sum total was
certainly large, but not so large as to create an important row.
'It's for our clothes, papa, for six months before we came here.
The three of us can't dress for nothing you know.'
'Nothing, indeed!' said he, looking at the figures, which in
Milanese denominations were certainly monstrous.
'The man should have sent it to me,' said Charlotte.
'I wish he had with all my heart--if you would have paid it. I see
enough in it, to know that three quarters of it are for Madeline.'
'She has little else to amuse her, sir,' said Charlotte with true
good nature.
'And I suppose he has nothing to amuse him,' said the doctor,
throwing over another letter to his daughter. It was from some
member of the family of Sidonia, and politely requested the father
to pay a small trifle of L 700, being the amount of a bill
discounted in favour of Mr Ethelbert Stanhope, and now overdue for
a period of nine months.
Charlotte read the letter, slowly folded it up, and put it under
the edge of the tea-tray.
'I suppose he has nothing to amuse him but discounting bills with
Jews. Does he think I'll pay that?'
'I am sure he thinks no such thing,' said she.
'And who does he think will pay it?'
'As far as honesty goes, I suppose it won't much matter if it is
never paid,' said she. 'I dare say he got very little of it.'
'I suppose it won't much matter either,' said the father, 'if he
goes to prison and rots there. It seems to me that that's the other
alternative.'
Dr Stanhope spoke the custom of his youth. But his daughter, though
she lived so long abroad, was much more completely versed in the
ways of the English world. 'If the man arrests him,' said she, 'he
must go through the court.'
It is thus, thou great family of Sidonia--it is thus that we
Gentiles treat thee, when, in our most extreme need, thou and thine
have aided us with mountains of gold as big as lions--and
occasionally with wine-warrants and orders for dozens of
dressing-cases.
'What, and become an insolvent?' said the doctor.
'He's that already,' said Charlotte, wishing always to get over a
difficulty.
'What a condition,' said the doctor, 'for the son of a clergyman of
the Church of England.'
'I don't see why clergymen's sons should pay their debts more than
other young men,' said Charlotte.
'He's had as much from me since he left school as is held
sufficient for the eldest son of many a nobleman,' said the angry
father.
'Well, sir,' said Charlotte, 'give him another chance.'
'What!' said the doctor, 'do you mean that I am to pay that Jew?'
'Oh, no! I wouldn't pay him, he must take his chance; and if the
worst comes to the worst, Bertie must go abroad. But I want you to
be civil to Bertie, and let him remain here as long as we stop. He
has a plan in his head, that may put him on his feet after all.'
Just at that moment the door opened, and Bertie came in whistling.
The doctor immediately devoted himself to his egg, and allowed
Bertie to whistle himself round to his sister's side without
noticing him.
Charlotte gave a little sign to him with her eye, first glancing at
her father, and then at the letter, the corner of which peeped out
from under the tea-tray. Bertie saw and understood, and with the
quiet motion of a cat abstracted the letter, and made himself
acquainted with its contents. The doctor, however, had seen him,
deep as he appeared to be mersed in his egg-shell, and said in his
harshest voice, 'Well, sir, do you know that gentleman?'
'Yes, sir,' said Bertie. 'I have a sort of acquaintance with him,
but none that can justify him in troubling you. If you will allow
me, sir, I will answer this.'
'At any rate I shan't,' said the father, and then he added, after a
pause, 'Is it true, sir, that you owe the man L 700?'
'Well,' said Bertie, 'I think I should be inclined to dispute the
amount, if I were in a condition to pay him such of it as I really
do owe him.'
'Has he your bill for L 700?' said the father, speaking very loudly
and very angrily.
'Well, I believe he has,' said Bertie; 'but all the money I ever
got from him was L 150.'
'And what became of the L 550?'
'Why, sir; the commission was L 100, or so, and I took the remainder
in paving-stones and rocking-horses.'
'Paving-stones and rocking-horses!' said the doctor, 'where are
they?'
'Oh, sir, I suppose they are in London somewhere--but I'll inquire
if you wish for them.'
'He's an idiot,' said the doctor, 'and it's sheer folly to waste
more money on him. Nothing can save him from ruin,' and so saying,
the unhappy father walked out of the room.
'Would the governor like to see the paving-stones?'
'I'll tell you what,' said she. 'If you don't take care, you will
find yourself loose upon the world without even a house over your
head: you don't know him as well as I do. He's very angry.'
Bertie stroked his big beard, sipped his tea, chatted over his
misfortunes in a half comic, half serious tone, and ended by
promising his sister that he would do his very best to make himself
agreeable to the widow Bold. Then Charlotte followed her father to
his own room and softened down his wrath, and persuaded him to say
nothing more about the Jew bill discounter, at any rate for a few
weeks. He even went so far as to say he would pay the L 700, or at
any rate settle the bill, if he saw a certainty of his son's
securing for himself anything like a decent provision in life.
Nothing was said openly between them about poor Eleanor: but the
father and the daughter understood each other.
They all met together in the drawing-room at nine o'clock, in
perfect good humour with each other; and about that hour Mrs Bold
was announced. She had never been in the house before, though she
had of course called: and now she felt it strange to find herself
there in her usual evening dress, entering the drawing-room of
these strangers in this friendly unceremonious way, as though she
had known them all her life. But in three minutes they made her at
home. Charlotte tripped downstairs and took her bonnet from her,
and Bertie came to relieve her from her shawl, and the signora
smiled on her as she could smile when she chose to be gracious, and
the old doctor shook hands with her in a kind and benedictory
manner that went to her heart at once, and made her feel that he
must be a good man.
She had not been seated for above five minutes when the door again
opened, and Mr Slope was announced. She felt rather surprised,
because she was told that nobody was to be there, and it was very
evident from the manner of some of them that Mr Slope was
unexpected. But still there was not much in it. In such invitations
a bachelor or two more or less are always spoken of as nobodies,
and there was no reason why Mr Slope should not drink tea at Dr
Stanhope's as well as Eleanor herself. He, however, was very much
surprised and not very much gratified at finding that his own
embryo spouse made one of the party. He had come there to gratify
himself by gazing on Madame Neroni's beauty, and listening to and
returning her flattery: and though he had not owned as much to
himself, he still felt that if he spent the evening as he had
intended to do, he might probably not thereby advance his suit with
Mrs Bold.
The signora, who had no idea of a rival, received Mr Slope with her
usual marks of distinction. As he took her hand, she made some
confidential communication to him in a low voice, declaring that
she had a plan to communicate to him after tea, and was evidently
prepared to go on with her work of reducing the chaplain to a state
of captivity. Poor Mr Slope was rather beside himself. He thought
that Eleanor could not but have learnt from his demeanour that he
was an admirer of her own, and he had also flattered himself that
the idea was not unacceptable to her. What would she think of him
if he now devoted himself to a married woman?
But Eleanor was not inclined to be severe in her criticism on him
in that respect, and felt no annoyance of any kind, when she found
herself seated between Bertie and Charlotte Stanhope. She had not
suspicion of Mr Slope's intentions; she had no suspicion even of
the suspicion of other people; but still she felt well pleased not
to have Mr Slope too near to her.
And she was not ill-pleased to have Bertie Stanhope near her. It
was rarely indeed that he failed to make an agreeable impression on
strangers. With a bishop indeed who thought much of his own dignity
it was possible that he might fail, but hardly with a young lady
and pretty woman. He possessed the tact of becoming instantly
intimate with women without giving rise to any fear of
impertinence. He had about him somewhat of the propensities of a
tame cat. It seemed quite natural that he should be petted,
caressed, and treated with familiar good nature, and that in return
he should purr, and be sleek and graceful, and above all never show
his claws. Like other tame cats, however, he had his claws, and
sometimes, made them dangerous.
When tea was over Charlotte went to the open window and declared
loudly that the full harvest moon was much too beautiful to be
disregarded, and called them to look at it. To tell the truth,
there was but one there who cared much about the moon's beauty, and
that one was not Charlotte; but she knew how valuable an aid to her
purpose the chaste goddess might become, and could easily create a
little enthusiasm for the purpose of the moment. Eleanor and Bertie
were soon with her. The doctor was now quiet in his arm- chair, and
Mrs Stanhope in hers, both prepared for slumber.
'Are you a Whewellite or a Brewsterite, or a t'othermanite, Mrs
Bold?' said Charlotte, who knew a little about everything, and had
read about a third of each of the books to which she alluded.
'Oh!' said Eleanor; 'I have not read any of the books, but I feel
sure that there is one man in the moon at least, if not more.'
'You don't believe in the pulpy gelatinous matter?' said Bertie.
'I heard about that,' said Eleanor; 'and I really think it's almost
wicked to talk in such a manner. How can we argue about God's power
in the other stars from the laws which he has given for our role in
this one?'
'How indeed!' said Bertie. 'Why shouldn't there be a race of
salamanders in Venus? And even if there be nothing but fish in
Jupiter, why shouldn't the fish there be as wide awake as the men
and women here?'
'That would be saying very little for them,' said Charlotte. 'I am
for Dr Whewell myself; for I do not think that men and woman are
worth being repeated in such countless worlds. There may be souls
in other stars, but I doubt their having any bodies attached to
them. But come, Mrs Bold, let us put our bonnets on and walk round
the close. If we are to discuss sidereal questions, we shall do so
much better under the towers of the cathedral, than stuck in this
narrow window.
Mrs Bold made no objection, and a party was made to walk out.
Charlotte Stanhope well knew the rule as to three being no company,
and she had therefore to induce her sister to allow Mr Slope to
accompany them.
'Come, Mr Slope,' she said; 'I'm sure you'll join us. We shall be
in again in quarter of an hour, Madeline.'
Madeline read in her eye all that she had to say, knew her object,
and as she had to depend on her sister for so many of her
amusements, she felt that she must yield. It was hard to be left
alone while others of her own age walked out to feel the soft
influence of the bright night, but it would be harder still without
the sort of sanction which Charlotte gave to all her flirtations
and intrigues. Charlotte's eye told her that she must give up just
at present for the good of the family, and so Madeline obeyed.
But Charlotte's eyes said nothing of the sort to Mr Slope. He had
no objection at all to the tete-a-tete with the signora, which the
departure of the other three would allow him, and gently whispered
to her, 'I shall not leave you alone.'
'Oh, yes,' said she; 'go--pray go, pray go, for my sake. Do not
think that I am so selfish. It is understood that nobody is kept
within for me. You will understand this too when you know me
better. Pray join them, Mr Slope, but when you come in speak to me
for five minutes before you leave us.'
Mr Slope understood that he was to go, and he therefore joined the
party in the hall. He would have had no objection at all to this
arrangement, if he could have secured Mrs Bold's arm; but this was
of course out of the question. Indeed, his fate was very soon
settled, for no sooner had he reached the hall-door, than Miss
Stanhope put her hand within his arm, and Bertie walked off with
Eleanor just as naturally as though she were already his own
property.
And so they sauntered forth: first they walked round the close,
according to their avowed intent; then they went under the old
arched gateway below St Cuthbert's little church, and then they
turned behind the grounds of the bishop's palace, and so on till
they came to the bridge just at the edge of the town, from which
passers-by can look down into the gardens of Hiram's hospital; and
her Charlotte and Mr Slope, who were in advance, stopped till the
other two came up to them. Mr Slope knew that the gable-ends and
old brick chimneys which stood up so prettily in the moonlight,
were those of Mr Harding's late abode, and would not have stopped
on such a spot, in such company, if he could have avoided it; but
Miss Stanhope would not take the hint which he tried to give.
'This is a very pretty place, Mrs Bold,' said Charlotte; 'by far
the prettiest place near Barchester. I wonder your father gave it
up.'
It was a very pretty place, and now by the deceitful light of the
moon looked twice larger, twice prettier, twice more antiquely
picturesque than it would have done in truth-telling daylight. Who
does not know the air of complex multiplicity and the mysterious
interesting grace which the moon always lends to old gabled
buildings half surrounded, as was the hospital, by fine trees! As
seen from the bridge on the night of which we are speaking, Mr
Harding's late abode did look very lovely; and though Eleanor did
not grieve at her father's having left it, she felt at the moment
an intense wish that he might be allowed to return.
'He is going to return to it immediately, is he not?' asked Bertie.
Eleanor made no immediate reply. Much such a question passed
unanswered, without the notice of the questioner; but such was not
now the case. They all remained silent as though expecting her to
reply, and after a moment or two, Charlotte said, 'I believe it is
settled that Mr Harding returns to the hospital, is it not?'
'I don't think anything about it is settled yet,' said Eleanor.
'But it must be a matter of course,' said Bertie; 'that is, if your
father wishes it; who else on earth could hold it after what has
occurred?'
Eleanor quietly made her companion to understand that the matter
was one which she could not discuss in the present company; and
then they passed on; Charlotte said she would go a short way up the
hill out of the town so as to look back on the towers of the
cathedral, and as Eleanor leant upon Bertie's arm for assistance in
the walk, she told him how the matter stood between her father and
the bishop.
'And, he,' said Bertie, pointing on to Mr Slope, 'what part does he
take in it?'
Eleanor explained how Mr Slope had at first endeavoured to
tyrannize over her father, but how he had latterly come round, and
done all he could to talk the bishop over in Mr Harding's favour.
'But my father,' said she, 'is hardly inclined to trust him; they
all say he is so arrogant to the old clergyman of the city.'
'Take my word for it,' said Bertie, 'your father is right. If I am
not very much mistaken, that man is both arrogant and false.'
They strolled up the top of the hill, and then returned through the
fields by a footpath which leads by a small wooden bridge, or
rather a plank with a rustic rail to it, over the river to the
other side of the cathedral from that at which they had started.
They had thus walked round the bishop's grounds, through which the
river runs, and round the cathedral and adjacent fields, and it was
past eleven before they reached the doctor's door.
'It is very late,' said Eleanor, 'it will be a shame to disturb
your mother at such an hour.'
'Oh,' said Charlotte, laughing, 'you won't disturb mamma; I dare
say she is in bed by this time, and Madeline would be furious if
you do not come in and see her. Come, Bertie, take Mrs Bold's
bonnet from her.'
They went up stairs, and found the signora alone, reading. She
looked somewhat sad and melancholy, but not more so perhaps than
was sufficient to excite additional interest in the bosom of Mr
Slope; and she was soon deep in whispered intercourse with that
happy gentleman, who was allowed to find a resting-place on her
sofa. The signora had a way of whispering that was peculiarly her
own, and was exactly the reverse of that which prevails among great
tragedians. The great tragedian hisses out a positive whisper, made
with bated breath, and produced by inarticulate tongue-formed
sounds, but yet he is audible through the whole house. The signora
however used no hisses, and produced all her words in a clear
silver tone, but they could only be heard by the ear into which
they were poured.
Charlotte hurried and skurried about the room hither and thither,
doing, or pretending to do many things; and then saying something
about seeing her mother, ran up stairs. Eleanor was then left alone
with Bertie, and she hardly felt and hour fly by her. To give
Bertie his due credit, he could not have played his cards better.
He did not make love to her, nor sigh, nor look languishing; but he
was amusing and familiar, yet respectful; and when he left Eleanor
at her own door at one o'clock, which he did by the bye with the
assistance of the now jealous Slope, she thought he was one of the
most agreeable men, and the Stanhopes decidedly the most agreeable
family, that she had ever met.