Barchester Towers

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But it was incumbent on Mr. Slope first to secure the bishop. He
specially felt that it behoved him to do this before the visit to the
archbishop was made. It was really quite providential that the dean
should have fallen ill just at the very nick of time. If Dr. Proudie
could be instigated to take the matter up warmly, he might manage
a good deal while staying at the archbishop's palace. Feeling this
very strongly, Mr. Slope determined to sound the bishop that very
afternoon. He was to start on the following morning to London, and
therefore not a moment could be lost with safety.

He went into the bishop's study about five o'clock and found him
still sitting alone. It might have been supposed that he had hardly
moved since the little excitement occasioned by his walk to the
dean's door. He still wore on his face that dull, dead look of
half-unconscious suffering. He was doing nothing, reading nothing,
thinking of nothing, but simply gazing on vacancy when Mr. Slope for
the second time that day entered his room.

"Well, Slope," said he somewhat impatiently, for, to tell the truth,
he was not anxious just at present to have much conversation with Mr.
Slope.

"Your lordship will be sorry to hear that as yet the poor dean has
shown no sign of amendment."

"Oh--ah--hasn't he? Poor man! I'm sure I'm very sorry. I suppose
Sir Omicron has not arrived yet?"

"No, not till the 9.15 P.M. train."

"I wonder they didn't have a special. They say Dr. Trefoil is very
rich."

"Very rich, I believe," said Mr. Slope. "But the truth is, all the
doctors in London can do no good--no other good than to show that
every possible care has been taken. Poor Dr. Trefoil is not long for
this world, my lord."

"I suppose not--I suppose not."

"Oh, no; indeed, his best friends could not wish that he should
outlive such a shock, for his intellects cannot possibly survive it."

"Poor man! Poor man!" said the bishop.

"It will naturally be a matter of much moment to your lordship who
is to succeed him," said Mr. Slope. "It would be a great thing if
you could secure the appointment for some person of your own way
of thinking on important points. The party hostile to us are very
strong here in Barchester--much too strong."

"Yes, yes. If poor Dr. Trefoil is to go, it will be a great thing to
get a good man in his place."

"It will be everything to your lordship to get a man on whose
co-operation you can reckon. Only think what trouble we might have if
Dr. Grantly, or Dr. Hyandry, or any of that way of thinking were to
get it."

"It is not very probable that Lord ---- will give it to any of that
school; why should he?"

"No. Not probable; certainly not; but it's possible. Great interest
will probably be made. If I might venture to advise your lordship, I
would suggest that you should discuss the matter with his grace next
week. I have no doubt that your wishes, if made known and backed by
his grace, would be paramount with Lord ----."

"Well, I don't know that; Lord ---- has always been very kind to me,
very kind. But I am unwilling to interfere in such matters unless
asked. And indeed if asked, I don't know whom, at this moment, I
should recommend."

Mr. Slope, even Mr. Slope, felt at the present rather abashed. He
hardly knew how to frame his little request in language sufficiently
modest. He had recognized and acknowledged to himself the necessity
of shocking the bishop in the first instance by the temerity of his
application, and his difficulty was how best to remedy that by his
adroitness and eloquence. "I doubted myself," said he, "whether your
lordship would have anyone immediately in your eye, and it is on this
account that I venture to submit to you an idea that I have been
turning over in my own mind. If poor Dr. Trefoil must go, I really
do not see why, with your lordship's assistance, I should not hold
the preferment myself."

"You!" exclaimed the bishop in a manner that Mr. Slope could hardly
have considered complimentary.

The ice was now broken, and Mr. Slope became fluent enough. "I have
been thinking of looking for it. If your lordship will press the
matter on the archbishop, I do not doubt but I shall succeed. You
see I shall be the first to move, which is a great matter. Then I
can count upon assistance from the public press: my name is known,
I may say, somewhat favourably known, to that portion of the press
which is now most influential with the government; and I have friends
also in the government. But nevertheless it is to you, my lord,
that I look for assistance. It is from your hands that I would most
willingly receive the benefit. And, which should ever be the chief
consideration in such matters, you must know better than any other
person whatsoever what qualifications I possess."

The bishop sat for awhile dumbfounded. Mr. Slope Dean of Barchester!
The idea of such a transformation of character would never have
occurred to his own unaided intellect. At first he went on thinking
why, for what reasons, on what account, Mr. Slope should be Dean of
Barchester. But by degrees the direction of his thoughts changed,
and he began to think why, for what reasons, on what account, Mr.
Slope should not be Dean of Barchester. As far as he himself, the
bishop, was concerned, he could well spare the services of his
chaplain. That little idea of using Mr. Slope as a counterpoise
to his wife had well nigh evaporated. He had all but acknowledged
the futility of the scheme. If indeed he could have slept in his
chaplain's bedroom instead of his wife's, there might have been
something in it. But--. And thus as Mr. Slope was speaking, the
bishop began to recognize the idea that that gentleman might become
Dean of Barchester without impropriety--not moved, indeed, by Mr.
Slope's eloquence, for he did not follow the tenor of his speech, but
led thereto by his own cogitations.

"I need not say," continued Mr. Slope, "that it would be my chief
desire to act in all matters connected with the cathedral as far as
possible in accordance with your views. I know your lordship so well
(and I hope you know me well enough to have the same feelings) that I
am satisfied that my being in that position would add materially to
your own comfort, and enable you to extend the sphere of your useful
influence. As I said before, it is most desirable that there should
be but one opinion among the dignitaries of the same diocese. I
doubt much whether I would accept such an appointment in any diocese
in which I should be constrained to differ much from the bishop. In
this case there would be a delightful uniformity of opinion."

Mr. Slope perfectly well perceived that the bishop did not follow a
word that he said, but nevertheless he went on talking. He knew it
was necessary that Dr. Proudie should recover from his surprise,
and he knew also that he must give him the opportunity of appearing
to have been persuaded by argument. So he went on and produced a
multitude of fitting reasons all tending to show that no one on
earth could make so good a Dean of Barchester as himself, that the
government and the public would assuredly coincide in desiring that
he, Mr. Slope, should be Dean of Barchester, but that for high
considerations of ecclesiastical polity it would be especially
desirable that this piece of preferment should be so bestowed through
the instrumentality of the bishop of the diocese.

"But I really don't know what I could do in the matter," said the
bishop.

"If you would mention it to the archbishop; if you could tell his
grace that you consider such an appointment very desirable, that you
have it much at heart with a view to putting an end to schism in the
diocese; if you did this with your usual energy, you would probably
find no difficulty in inducing his grace to promise that he would
mention it to Lord ----. Of course you would let the archbishop
know that I am not looking for the preferment solely through his
intervention; that you do not exactly require him to ask it as a
favour; that you expect that I shall get it through other sources,
as is indeed the case; but that you are very anxious that his grace
should express his approval of such an arrangement to Lord ----."

It ended in the bishop promising to do as he was bid. Not that he
so promised without a stipulation. "About that hospital," he said
in the middle of the conference. "I was never so troubled in my
life"--which was about the truth. "You haven't spoken to Mr. Harding
since I saw you?"

Mr. Slope assured his patron that he had not.

"Ah well, then--I think upon the whole it will be better to let
Quiverful have it. It has been half-promised to him, and he has
a large family and is very poor. I think on the whole it will be
better to make out the nomination for Mr. Quiverful."

"But, my lord," said Mr. Slope, still thinking that he was bound to
make a fight for his own view on this matter, and remembering that it
still behoved him to maintain his lately acquired supremacy over Mrs.
Proudie, lest he should fail in his views regarding the deanery,
"but, my lord, I am really much afraid--"

"Remember, Mr. Slope," said the bishop, "I can hold out no sort of
hope to you in this matter of succeeding poor Dr. Trefoil. I will
certainly speak to the archbishop, as you wish it, but I cannot
think--"

"Well, my lord," said Mr. Slope, fully understanding the bishop and
in his turn interrupting him, "perhaps your lordship is right about
Mr. Quiverful. I have no doubt I can easily arrange matters with Mr.
Harding, and I will make out the nomination for your signature as you
direct."

"Yes, Slope, I think that will be best; and you may be sure that any
little that I can do to forward your views shall be done."

And so they parted.

Mr. Slope had now much business on his hands. He had to make his
daily visit to the signora. This common prudence should have now
induced him to omit, but he was infatuated, and could not bring
himself to be commonly prudent. He determined therefore that he
would drink tea at the Stanhopes', and he determined also, or thought
that he determined, that having done so he would go thither no more.
He had also to arrange his matters with Mrs. Bold. He was of opinion
that Eleanor would grace the deanery as perfectly as she would the
chaplain's cottage, and he thought, moreover, that Eleanor's fortune
would excellently repair any dilapidations and curtailments in
the dean's stipend which might have been made by that ruthless
ecclesiastical commission.

Touching Mrs. Bold his hopes now soared high. Mr. Slope was one of
that numerous multitude of swains who think that all is fair in love,
and he had accordingly not refrained from using the services of Mrs.
Bold's own maid. From her he had learnt much of what had taken place
at Plumstead--not exactly with truth, for "the own maid" had not been
able to divine the exact truth, but with some sort of similitude to
it. He had been told that the archdeacon and Mrs. Grantly and Mr.
Harding and Mr. Arabin had all quarrelled with "missus" for having
received a letter from Mr. Slope; that "missus" had positively
refused to give the letter up; that she had received from the
archdeacon the option of giving up either Mr. Slope and his letter,
or else the society of Plumstead Rectory; and that "missus" had
declared, with much indignation, that "she didn't care a straw for
the society of Plumstead Rectory," and that she wouldn't give up Mr.
Slope for any of them.

Considering the source from whence this came, it was not quite so
untrue as might have been expected. It showed pretty plainly what
had been the nature of the conversation in the servants' hall; and,
coupled as it was with the certainty of Eleanor's sudden return, it
appeared to Mr. Slope to be so far worthy of credit as to justify him
in thinking that the fair widow would in all human probability accept
his offer.

All this work was therefore to be done. It was desirable, he
thought, that he should make his offer before it was known that
Mr. Quiverful was finally appointed to the hospital. In his letter
to Eleanor he had plainly declared that Mr. Harding was to have the
appointment. It would be very difficult to explain this away, and
were he to write another letter to Eleanor, telling the truth and
throwing the blame on the bishop, it would naturally injure him in
her estimation. He determined therefore to let that matter disclose
itself as it would, and to lose no time in throwing himself at her
feet.

Then he had to solicit the assistance of Sir Nicholas Fitzwhiggin and
Mr. Towers, and he went directly from the bishop's presence to
compose his letters to those gentlemen. As Mr. Slope was esteemed an
adept at letter writing, they shall be given in full.


(Private) Palace, Barchester, Sept. 185--

MY DEAR SIR NICHOLAS,

I hope that the intercourse which has been between us will
preclude you from regarding my present application as an
intrusion. You cannot, I imagine, have yet heard that poor
old Dr. Trefoil has been seized with apoplexy. It is a
subject of profound grief to everyone in Barchester, for
he has always been an excellent man--excellent as a man
and as a clergyman. He is, however, full of years, and
his life could not under any circumstances have been much
longer spared. You may probably have known him.

There is, it appears, no probable chance of his recovery.
Sir Omicron Pie is, I believe, at present with him. At
any rate the medical men here have declared that one or
two days more must limit the tether of his mortal coil.
I sincerely trust that his soul may wing its flight to
that haven where it may forever be at rest and forever be
happy.

The bishop has been speaking to me about the preferment,
and he is anxious that it should be conferred on me. I
confess that I can hardly venture, at my age, to look
for such advancement, but I am so far encouraged by his
lordship that I believe I shall be induced to do so.
His lordship goes to ---- to-morrow and is intent on
mentioning the subject to the archbishop.

I know well how deservedly great is your weight with
the present government. In any matter touching church
preferment you would of course be listened to. Now that
the matter has been put into my head, I am of course
anxious to be successful. If you can assist me by your
good word, you will confer on me one additional favour.

I had better add, that Lord ---- cannot as yet know of
this piece of preferment having fallen in, or rather of
its certainty of falling (for poor dear Dr. Trefoil is
past hope). Should Lord ---- first hear it from you, that
might probably be thought to give you a fair claim to
express your opinion.

Of course our grand object is that we should all be of
one opinion in church matters. This is most desirable at
Barchester; it is this that makes our good bishop so
anxious about it. You may probably think it expedient to
point this out to Lord ---- if it shall be in your power
to oblige me by mentioning the subject to his lordship.

Believe me,
My dear Sir Nicholas,
Your most faithful servant,

OBADIAH SLOPE


His letter to Mr. Towers was written in quite a different strain.
Mr. Slope conceived that he completely understood the difference in
character and position of the two men whom he addressed. He knew
that for such a man as Sir Nicholas Fitzwhiggin a little flummery was
necessary, and that it might be of the easy, everyday description.
Accordingly his letter to Sir Nicholas was written, _currente calamo_,
with very little trouble. But to such a man as Mr. Towers it was not
so easy to write a letter that should be effective and yet not
offensive, that should carry its point without undue interference.
It was not difficult to flatter Dr. Proudie or Sir Nicholas
Fitzwhiggin, but very difficult to flatter Mr. Towers without letting
the flattery declare itself. This, however, had to be done.
Moreover, this letter must, in appearance at least, be written
without effort, and be fluent, unconstrained, and demonstrative of no
doubt or fear on the part of the writer. Therefore the epistle to
Mr. Towers was studied, and re-copied, and elaborated at the cost of
so many minutes that Mr. Slope had hardly time to dress himself and
reach Dr. Stanhope's that evening.

When dispatched, it ran as follows:--


(Private.) Barchester. Sept. 185--


(He purposely omitted any allusion to the "palace," thinking that Mr.
Towers might not like it. A great man, he remembered, had been once
much condemned for dating a letter from Windsor Castle.)


MY DEAR SIR,

We were all a good deal shocked here this morning by
hearing that poor old Dean Trefoil had been stricken with
apoplexy. The fit took him about 9 A.M. I am writing now
to save the post, and he is still alive, but past all hope
or possibility, I believe, of living. Sir Omicron Pie
is here, or will be very shortly, but all that even Sir
Omicron can do is to ratify the sentence of his less
distinguished brethren that nothing can be done. Poor
Dr. Trefoil's race on this side the grave is run. I do
not know whether you knew him. He was a good, quiet,
charitable man, of the old school, of course, as any
clergyman over seventy years of age must necessarily be.

But I do not write merely with the object of sending you
such news as this: doubtless someone of your Mercuries
will have seen and heard and reported so much; I write, as
you usually do yourself, rather with a view to the future
than to the past.

Rumour is already rife here as to Dr. Trefoil's successor,
and among those named as possible future deans your humble
servant is, I believe, not the least frequently spoken
of; in short, I am looking for the preferment. You may
probably know that since Bishop Proudie came to the
diocese I have exerted myself here a good deal and, I may
certainly say, not without some success. He and I are
nearly always of the same opinion on points of doctrine
as well as church discipline, and therefore I have had,
as his confidential chaplain, very much in my own hands;
but I confess to you that I have a higher ambition than to
remain the chaplain of any bishop.

There are no positions in which more energy is now needed
than those of our deans. The whole of our enormous
cathedral establishments have been allowed to go to
sleep--nay, they are all but dead and ready for the
sepulchre! And yet of what prodigious moment they might be
made if, as was intended, they were so managed as to lead
the way and show an example for all our parochial clergy!

The bishop here is most anxious for my success; indeed, he
goes to-morrow to press the matter on the archbishop. I
believe also I may count on the support of at least one
most effective member of the government. But I confess
that the support of "The Jupiter," if I be thought worthy
of it, would be more gratifying to me than any other;
more gratifying if by it I should be successful, and more
gratifying also if, although so supported, I should be
unsuccessful.

The time has, in fact, come in which no government can
venture to fill up the high places of the Church in
defiance of the public press. The age of honourable
bishops and noble deans has gone by, and any clergyman
however humbly born can now hope for success if his
industry, talent, and character be sufficient to call
forth the manifest opinion of the public in his favour.

At the present moment we all feel that any counsel
given in such matters by "The Jupiter" has the greatest
weight--is, indeed, generally followed; and we feel
also--I am speaking of clergymen of my own age and
standing--that it should be so. There can be no patron
less interested than "The Jupiter," and none that more
thoroughly understands the wants of the people.

I am sure you will not suspect me of asking from you any
support which the paper with which you are connected
cannot conscientiously give me. My object in writing is to
let you know that I am a candidate for the appointment. It
is for you to judge whether or no you can assist my views.
I should not, of course, have written to you on such a
matter had I not believed (and I have had good reason so
to believe) that "The Jupiter" approves of my views on
ecclesiastical polity.

The bishop expresses a fear that I may be considered too
young for such a station, my age being thirty-six. I
cannot think that at the present day any hesitation need
be felt on such a point. The public has lost its love for
antiquated servants. If a man will ever be fit to do good
work, he will be fit at thirty-six years of age.

Believe me very faithfully yours,
OBADIAH SLOPE

T. TOWERS, ESQ.,
---- Court,
Middle Temple.


Having thus exerted himself, Mr. Slope posted his letters and passed
the remainder of the evening at the feet of his mistress.

Mr. Slope will be accused of deceit in his mode of canvassing. It
will be said that he lied in the application he made to each of his
three patrons. I believe it must be owned that he did so. He could
not hesitate on account of his youth and yet be quite assured that
he was not too young. He could not count chiefly on the bishop's
support and chiefly also on that of the newspaper. He did not
think that the bishop was going to ---- to press the matter on the
archbishop. It must be owned that in his canvassing Mr. Slope was as
false as he well could be.

Let it, however, be asked of those who are conversant with such
matters, whether he was more false than men usually are on such
occasions. We English gentlemen hate the name of a lie, but how
often do we find public men who believe each other's words?




CHAPTER XXXIII

Mrs. Proudie Victrix


The next week passed over at Barchester with much apparent
tranquillity. The hearts, however, of some of the inhabitants were
not so tranquil as the streets of the city. The poor old dean still
continued to live, just as Sir Omicron Pie had prophesied that he
would do, much to the amazement, and some thought disgust, of Dr.
Fillgrave. The bishop still remained away. He had stayed a day or
two in town and had also remained longer at the archbishop's than
he had intended. Mr. Slope had as yet received no line in answer
to either of his letters, but he had learnt the cause of this.
Sir Nicholas was stalking a deer, or attending the Queen, in the
Highlands, and even the indefatigable Mr. Towers had stolen an autumn
holiday, and had made one of the yearly tribe who now ascend Mont
Blanc. Mr. Slope learnt that he was not expected back till the last
day of September.

Mrs. Bold was thrown much with the Stanhopes, of whom she became
fonder and fonder. If asked, she would have said that Charlotte
Stanhope was her especial friend, and so she would have thought.
But, to tell the truth, she liked Bertie nearly as well; she had no
more idea of regarding him as a lover than she would have had of
looking at a big tame dog in such a light. Bertie had become very
intimate with her, and made little speeches to her, and said little
things of a sort very different from the speeches and sayings of
other men. But then this was almost always done before his sisters;
and he, with his long silken beard, his light blue eyes, and strange
dress, was so unlike other men. She admitted him to a kind of
familiarity which she had never known with anyone else, and of which
she by no means understood the danger. She blushed once at finding
that she had called him Bertie and, on the same day, only barely
remembered her position in time to check herself from playing upon
him some personal practical joke to which she was instigated by
Charlotte.

In all this Eleanor was perfectly innocent, and Bertie Stanhope could
hardly be called guilty. But every familiarity into which Eleanor
was entrapped was deliberately planned by his sister. She knew well
how to play her game, and played it without mercy; she knew, none so
well, what was her brother's character, and she would have handed
over to him the young widow, and the young widow's money, and the
money of the widow's child, without remorse. With her pretended
friendship and warm cordiality, she strove to connect Eleanor so
closely with her brother as to make it impossible that she should
go back even if she wished it. But Charlotte Stanhope knew really
nothing of Eleanor's character, did not even understand that there
were such characters. She did not comprehend that a young and pretty
woman could be playful and familiar with a man such as Bertie
Stanhope and yet have no idea in her head, no feeling in her heart,
that she would have been ashamed to own to all the world. Charlotte
Stanhope did not in the least conceive that her new friend was a
woman whom nothing could entrap into an inconsiderate marriage, whose
mind would have revolted from the slightest impropriety had she been
aware that any impropriety existed.