MRS PROUDIE TAKES A FALL
It was hardly an hour since Mrs Proudie had left her husband's
apartment victorious, and yet so indomitable was her courage that
she now returned thither panting for another combat. She was
greatly angry with what she thought was his duplicity. He had so
clearly given her a promise on this matter of the hospital. He had
been already so absolutely vanquished on that point. Mrs Proudie
began to feel that if every affair was to be thus discussed and
battled about twice and even thrice, the work of the diocese would
be too much even for her.
Without knocking at the door she walked quickly into her husband's
room and found him seated at his office table, with Mr Slope
opposite to him. Between his fingers was the very note which he had
written to the archbishop in her presence--and it was open! Yes, he
had absolutely violated the seal which had been made sacred by her
approval. They were sitting in deep conclave, and it was too clear
that the purport of the archbishop's invitation had been absolutely
canvassed again, after it had been already debated and decided on
in obedience to her behests! Mr Slope rose from his chair, and
bowed slightly. The two opposing spirits looked each other fully in
the face, and they knew that they were looking each at an enemy.
'What is this, bishop, about Mr Quiverful?' said she, coming to the
end of the table and standing there.
Mr Slope did not allow the bishop to answer, but replied himself.
'I have been out to Puddingdale this morning, ma'am, and have seen
Mr Quiverful. Mr Quiverful has abandoned his claim to the hospital,
because he is now aware that Mr Harding is desirous to fill his old
place. Under these circumstances I have strongly advised his
lordship to nominate Mr Harding.'
'Mr Quiverful has not abandoned anything,' said the lady, with a
very imperious voice. 'His lordship's word has been pledged to him,
and it must be respected.'
The bishop still remained silent. He was anxiously desirous of
making his old enemy bite the dust beneath his feet. His new ally
had told him that nothing was more easy for him than to do so. The
ally was there now at his elbow to help him, and yet his courage
failed him. It is so hard to conquer when the prestige of the
former victories is all against one. It is so hard for the cock who
has once been beaten out of his yard to resume his courage and
again take a proud place upon a dunghill.
'Perhaps I ought not to interfere,' said Mr Slope, 'but yet--'
'Certainly you ought not,' said the infuriated dame.
'But yet,' continued Mr Slope, not regarding the interruption, 'I
have thought it my imperative duty to recommend to the bishop not
to slight Mr Harding's claims.'
'Mr Harding should have known his own mind,' said the lady.
'If Mr Harding be not replaced at the hospital, his lordship will
have to encounter much ill will, not only in the diocese, but in
the world at large. Besides, taking a higher ground, his lordship,
as I understood, feels it to be his duty to gratify, in this
matter, so very worthy a man and so good a clergyman as Mr
Harding.'
'And what is to become of the Sabbath-day school, and of the Sunday
services in the hospital?' said Mrs Proudie, with something very
nearly approaching to a sneer on her face.
'I understand that Mr Harding makes no objection to the Sabbath-day
school,' said Mr Slope. 'And as to the hospital services, that
matter will be best discussed after his appointment. If he has any
personal objection, then, I fear, the matter must rest.'
'You have a very easy conscience in such matters, Mr Slope,' said
she.
'I should not have an easy conscience,' he rejoined, 'but a
conscience very far from being easy, if anything said or done by me
should lead the bishop to act unadvisedly on this matter. It is
clear that in the interview I had with Mr Harding, I misunderstood
him--'
'And it is equally clear that you have misunderstood Mr Quiverful,'
said she, not at the top of her wrath. 'What business have you at
all with these interviews? Who desired you to go to Mr Quiverful
this morning? Who commissioned you to manage this affair? Will you
answer me, sir?--who sent you to Mr Quiverful this morning?'
There was a dead pause in the room. Mr Slope had risen from his
chair, and was standing with his hand on the back of it, looking at
first very solemn and now very black. Mrs Proudie was standing as
she had at first placed herself, at the end of the table, and as
she interrogated her foe she struck her hand upon it with almost
more than feminine vigour. The bishop was sitting in his easy chair
twiddling his thumbs, turning his eyes now to his wife, and now to
his chaplain, as each took up the cudgels. How comfortable it would
be if they could fight it out between them without the necessity of
any interference on his part; fight it out so that one should kill
the other utterly, as far as the diocesan life was concerned, so
that he, the bishop, might know clearly by whom it behoved him to
be led. There would be the comfort of quiet in either case; but if
the bishop had a wish as to which might prove the victor, that wish
was certainly not antagonistic to Mr Slope.
'Better the devil you know than the devil you don't know', is an
old saying, and perhaps a true one; but the bishop had not yet
realised the truth of it.
'Will you answer me, sir?' she repeated. 'Who instructed you to
call on Mr Quiverful this morning?' There was another pause. 'Do
you intend to answer me, sir?'
'I think, Mrs Proudie, that under all the circumstances it will be
better for me not to answer such a question,' said Mr Slope. Mr
Slope had many tones in his voice, all duly under his command;
among them was a sanctified low tone, and a sanctified loud tone;
and he now used the former.
'Did anyone send you, sir?'
'Mrs Proudie,' said Mr Slope, 'I am quite aware how much I owe to
your kindness. I am aware also what is due by courtesy from a
gentleman to a lady. But there are higher considerations than
either of those, and I hope I shall be forgiven if I now allow
myself to be actuated solely by them. My duty in this matter is to
his lordship, and I can admit of no questioning but from him. He
has approved of what I have done, and you must excuse me if I say,
that having that approval and my own, I want none other.'
What horrid words were these which greeted the ear of Mrs Proudie?
The matter was indeed too clear. There was premeditated mutiny in
the camp. Not only had ill-conditioned minds become insubordinate
by the fruition of a little power. The bishop had not yet been
twelve months in this chair, and rebellion had already reared her
hideous head within the palace. Anarchy and misrule would quickly
follow, unless she took immediate and strong measures to put down
the conspiracy which she had detected.
'Mr Slope,' she said, with slow and dignified voice, differing much
from that which she had hitherto used, 'Mr Slope, I will trouble
you, if you please, to leave the apartment. I wish to speak to my
lord alone.'
Mr Slope also felt that everything depended on the present
interview. Should the bishop now be repetticoated, his thraldom
would be complete and for ever. The present moment was peculiarly
propitious for rebellion. The bishop had clearly committed himself
by breaking the seal of the answer to the archbishop; he had
therefore fear to influence him. Mr Slope had told him that no
consideration ought to induce him to refuse the archbishop's
invitation; he had therefore hoped to influence him. He had
accepted Mr Quiverful's resignation, and therefore dreaded having
to renew that matter with his wife. He had been screwed up to the
pitch of asserting a will of his own, and might possibly be carried
on till by an absolute success he should have been taught how
possible it was to succeed. Now was the moment for victory or rout.
It was now that Mr Slope must make himself master of the diocese,
or else resign his place and begin his search for fortune again. He
saw all this plainly. After what had taken place any compromise
between him and the lady was impossible. Let him once leave the
room at her bidding, and leave the bishop in her hands, and he
might at once pack up his portmanteau and bid adieu to episcopal
honours, Mrs Bold, and the Signora Neroni.
And yet it was not so easy to keep his ground when he was bidden by
a lady to go; or to continue to make a third in a party between
husband and wife when the wife expressed a wish for a tete-a-tete
with her husband.
'Mr Slope,' she repeated, 'I wish to be alone with my lord.'
'His lordship has summoned me on most important diocesan business,'
said Mr Slope, glancing with uneasy eye at Dr Proudie. He felt that
he must trust something to the bishop, and yet that trust was so
woefully misplaced. 'My leaving him at the present moment is, I
fear, impossible.'
'Do you bandy words with me, you ungrateful man?' said she. 'My
lord, will you do me the favour to beg Mr Slope to leave the room?'
My lord scratched his head, but for the moment said nothing. This
was as much as Mr Slope expected from him, and was on the whole,
for him, an active exercise of marital rights.
'My lord,' said the lady, 'is Mr Slope to leave this room, or am
I?'
Here Mrs Proudie made a false step. She should not have alluded to
the possibility of retreat on her part. She should not have
expressed the idea that her order for Mr Slope's expulsion could be
treated otherwise than by immediate obedience. In answer to such a
question the bishop naturally said in his own mind, that it was
necessary that one should leave the room, perhaps it might be as
well that Mrs Proudie did so. He did say so in his own mind, but
externally he again scratched his head and again twiddled his
thumbs.
Mrs Proudie was boiling over with wrath. Alas, alas! could she but
have kept her temper as her enemy did, she would have conquered as
she had ever conquered. But divine anger got the better of her, as
it has done of other heroines, and she fell.
'My lord,' said she, 'am I to be vouchsafed an answer or am I not?'
At last he broke his deep silence and proclaimed himself a
Slopeite. 'Why, my dear,' said he, 'Mr Slope and I are very busy.'
That was all. There was nothing more necessary. He had gone to the
battle-field, stood the dust and heat of the day, encountered the
fury of the foe, and won the victory. How easy is success to those
who will only be true to themselves!
Mr Slope saw at once the full amount of his gain, and turned on the
vanquished lady a look of triumph which she never forgot and never
forgave. Here he was wrong. He should have looked humbly at her,
and with meek entreating eye had deprecated her anger. He should
have said by his glance that he asked pardon for his success, and
that he hoped forgiveness for the stand which he had been forced to
make in the cause of duty. So might he perchance have somewhat
mollified that imperious bosom, and prepared the way for future
terms. But Mr Slope meant to rule without terms. Ah, forgetful,
inexperienced man! Can you cause that little trembling victim to be
divorced from the woman who possesses him? Can you provide that
they shall be separated at bed and board? Is he not flesh of her
flesh and bone of her bone, and must he not so continue? It is very
well now for you to stand your ground, and triumph as she is driven
ignominiously from the room; but can you be present when those
curtains are drawn, when that awful helmet of proof has been tied
beneath the chin, when the small remnants of the bishop's prowess
shall be cowed by the tassel above his head? Can you then intrude
yourself when the wife wishes 'to speak to my lord alone?'
But for the moment Mr Slope's triumph was complete; for Mrs Proudie
without further parley left the room, and did not forget to shut
the door after her. Then followed a close conference between the
new allies, to which was said much which it astonished Mr Slope to
say and the bishop to hear. And yet the one said it and the other
heard it without ill will. There was no mincing of matters now. The
chaplain plainly told the bishop that the world gave him credit for
being under the governance of his wife; that his credit and
character in the diocese was suffering; that he would surely get
himself into hot water if he allowed Mrs Proudie to interfere in
matters which were not suitable for a woman's powers; and in fact
that he would become contemptible if he did not throw off the yoke
under which he groaned. The bishop at first hummed and hawed, and
affected to deny the truth of what was said. But his denial was by
silence and quickly broke down. He soon admitted by silence his
state of vassalage, and pledged himself with Mr Slope's assistance,
to change his courses. Mr Slope did not make out a bad case for
himself. He explained how it grieved him to run counter to a lady
who had always been his patroness, who had befriended him in so
many ways, who had, in fact, recommended him to the bishop's
notice; but, as he stated, his duty was now imperative; he held a
situation of peculiar confidence, and was immediately and
especially attached to the bishop's person. In such a situation his
conscience required that he should regard solely the bishop's
interests, and therefore he had ventured to speak out.
The bishop took this for what it was worth, and Mr Slope only
intended that he should do so. It gilded the pill which Mr Slope
had to administer, and which the bishop thought would be less
bitter than that other pill which he had been so long taking.
'My lord,' had his immediate reward, like a good child. He was
instructed to write and at once did write another note to the
archbishop accepting his grace's invitation. This note Mr Slope,
more prudent than the lady, himself took away and posted with his
own hands. Thus he made sure that this act of self-jurisdiction
should be as nearly as possible a fait accompli. He begged, and
coaxed, and threatened the bishop with a view of making him also
write at once to Mr Harding; but the bishop, though temporarily
emancipated from his wife, was not yet enthralled to Mr Slope. He
said, and probably said truly, that such an offer must be made in
some official form; that he was not yet prepared to sign the form;
and that he should prefer seeing Mr Harding before he did so. Mr
Slope, might, however, beg Mr Harding to call upon him. Not
disappointed with his achievement Mr Slope went his way. He first
posted the precious note which he had in his pocket, and then
pursued other enterprises in which we must follow him in other
chapters.
Mrs Proudie, having received such satisfaction as was to be derived
from slamming her husband's door, did not at once betake herself to
Mrs Quiverful. Indeed for the first few moments after her repulse
she felt that she could not again see that lady. She would have to
own that she had been beaten, to confess that the diadem had passed
from her brow, and the sceptre from her hand! No, she would send a
message to her with the promise of a letter on the next day or the
day after. Thus resolving, she betook herself to her bed-room; but
here she again changed her mind. The air of that sacred enclosure
restored her courage, and gave her some heart. As Achilles warmed
at the sight of his armour, as Don Quixote's heart grew strong when
he grasped his lance, so did Mrs Proudie look forward to fresh
laurels, as her hey fell on her husband's pillow. She would not
despair. Having so resolved, she descended with dignified mien and
refreshed countenance to Mrs Quiverful.
This scene in the bishop's study took longer in the acting than in
the telling. We have not, perhaps, had the whole of the
conversation. At any rate Mrs Quiverful was beginning to be very
impatient, and was thinking that farmer Subsoil would be tired of
waiting for her, when Mrs Proudie returned. Oh! Who can tell the
palpitations of that maternal heart, as the suppliant looked into
the face of the great lady to see written there either a promise of
a house, income, comfort, and future competence, or else the doom
of continued and ever increasing poverty. Poor mother! Poor wife!
There was little there to comfort you!
'Mrs Quiverful,' thus spoke the lady with considerable austerity,
and without sitting down herself. 'I find that your husband has
behaved in this matter in a very weak and foolish manner.'
Mrs Quiverful immediately rose upon her feet, thinking it
disrespectful to remain sitting while the wife of the bishop stood.
But she was desired to sit down again, and made to do so, so that
Mrs Proudie might stand and preach over her. It is generally
considered an offensive thing for a gentleman to keep his seat
while another is kept standing before him, and we presume the same
law holds with regard to ladies. It often is so felt; but we are
inclined to say that it never produces half the discomfort or half
the feeling of implied inferiority that is shown by a great man who
desires his visitor to be seated while he himself speaks from his
legs. Such a solecism in good breeding, when construed into English
means this: "The accepted rule of courtesy in the world require
that I should offer you a seat; if I did not do so, you would bring
a charge against me in the world of being arrogant and
ill-mannered; I will obey the world; but, nevertheless, I will not
put myself on an equality with you. You may sit down, but I won't
sit with you. Sit, therefore, at my bidding, and I'll stand and
talk to you."
This was just what Mrs Proudie meant to say; and Mrs Quiverful,
though she was too anxious and too flurried thus to translate the
full meaning of the manoeuvre, did not fail to feel its effect. She
was cowed and uncomfortable, and a second time essayed to rise from
her chair.
'Pray be seated, Mrs Quiverful, pray keep your seat. Your husband,
I say, has been most weak and most foolish. It is impossible, Mrs
Quiverful, to help people who will not help themselves. I much fear
that I can now do nothing for you in this matter.'
'Oh! Mrs Proudie--don't say so,' said the poor woman, again jumping
up.
'Pray be seated, Mrs Quiverful. I much fear that I can do nothing
further for you in this matter. Your husband has, in a most
unaccountable manner, taken upon himself to resign that which I was
empowered to offer him. As a matter of course, the bishop expects
that his clergy shall know their own minds. What he may ultimately
do--what we may finally decide on doing--I cannot say. Knowing the
extent of your family--'
'Fourteen children, Mrs Proudie, fourteen of them! and hardly
bread--barely bread! It's hard for the children of a clergyman,
it's hard for one who has always done his duty respectably!' Not a
word fell from her about herself; but the tears came running down
her big coarse cheeks, on which the dust of the August road had
left its traces.
Mrs Proudie has not been portrayed in these pages as an agreeable
or amiable lady. There has been no intention to impress the reader
much in her favour. It is ordained that all novels should have a
male and female angel, and a male and female devil. If it be
considered that this rule is obeyed in these pages, the latter
character must be supposed to have fallen to the lot of Mrs
Proudie. But she was not all devil. There was a heart inside that
stiff-ribbed bodice, though not, perhaps, of large dimensions, and
certainly not easily accessible. Mrs Quiverful, however, did gain
access, and Mrs Proudie proved herself a woman. Whether it was the
fourteen children with their probable bare bread and the possible
bare backs, or the respectability of the father's work, or the
mingled dust and tears on the mother's face, we will not pretend to
say. But Mrs Proudie was touched.
She did not show it as other women might have done. She did not
give Mrs Quiverful eau-de-Cologne, or order her a glass of wine.
She did not take her to her toilet table, and offer her the use of
brushes and combs, towels and water. She did not say soft little
speeches and coax her kindly with equanimity. Mrs Quiverful,
despite her rough appearance, would have been as amenable to such
little tender cares as any lady in the land. But none such was
forthcoming. Instead of that, Mrs Proudie slapped one hand upon the
other, and declared--not with an oath; for as a lady and a
Sabbatarian and a she-bishop, she could not swear,--but with an
adjuration, that 'she wouldn't have it done.'
The meaning of this was that she wouldn't have Mr Quiverful's
promised appointment cozened away by the treachery of Mr Slope and
the weakness of her husband. This meaning she very soon explained
to Mrs Quiverful.
'Why was your husband such a fool,' said she, now dismounted from
her high horse and sitting confidentially down close to her
visitor, 'as to take the bait which that man threw to him? If he
had not been so utterly foolish, nothing could have prevented your
going to the hospital.'
Poor Mrs Quiverful was ready enough with her own tongue in accusing
her husband to his face of being soft, and perhaps she did not
always speak of him to her children quite so respectfully as she
might have done. But she did not like to hear him abused by others,
and began to vindicate him, and to explain that of course he had
taken Mr Slope to be an emissary of Mrs Proudie herself; that Mr
Slope was thought to be peculiarly her friend; and that, therefore,
Mr Quiverful would have been failing in respect to her had he
assumed to doubt what Mr Slope had said.
Thus mollified Mrs Proudie again declared that she 'would not have
it done,' and at last sent Mrs Quiverful home with an assurance
that, to the furthest stretch of her power and influence in the
palace, the appointment of Mr Quiverful should be insisted upon. As
she repeated that word 'insisted', she thought of the bishop in his
night-cap, and with compressed lips slightly shook her head. Oh! my
aspiring pastors, divines to whose ears nolo episcopari are the
sweetest of words, which of you would be a bishop on such terms as
these?
Mrs Quiverful got home in the farmer's cart, not indeed with a
light heart, but satisfied that she had done right in making her
visit.