CHAPTER IV

The Bishop's Chaplain

Of the Rev. Mr. Slope's parentage I am not able to say much. I have

heard it asserted that he is lineally descended from that eminent

physician who assisted at the birth of Mr. T. Shandy, and that in

early years he added an "e" to his name, for the sake of euphony, as

other great men have done before him. If this be so, I presume he

was christened Obadiah, for that is his name, in commemoration of

the conflict in which his ancestor so distinguished himself. All my

researches on the subject have, however, failed in enabling me to

fix the date on which the family changed its religion.

He had been a sizar at Cambridge, and had there conducted himself

at any rate successfully, for in due process of time he was an

M.A., having university pupils under his care. From thence he was

transferred to London, and became preacher at a new district church

built on the confines of Baker Street. He was in this position

when congenial ideas on religious subjects recommended him to Mrs.

Proudie, and the intercourse had become close and confidential.

Having been thus familiarly thrown among the Misses Proudie, it was

no more than natural that some softer feeling than friendship should

be engendered. There have been some passages of love between him

and the eldest hope, Olivia, but they have hitherto resulted in

no favourable arrangement. In truth, Mr. Slope, having made a

declaration of affection, afterwards withdrew it on finding that the

doctor had no immediate worldly funds with which to endow his child,

and it may easily be conceived that Miss Proudie, after such an

announcement on his part, was not readily disposed to receive any

further show of affection. On the appointment of Dr. Proudie to the

bishopric of Barchester, Mr. Slope's views were in truth somewhat

altered. Bishops, even though they be poor, can provide for clerical

children, and Mr. Slope began to regret that he had not been more

disinterested. He no sooner heard the tidings of the doctor's

elevation than he recommenced his siege, not violently, indeed, but

respectfully, and at a distance. Olivia Proudie, however, was a girl

of spirit: she had the blood of two peers in her veins, and better

still she had another lover on her books, so Mr. Slope sighed in

vain, and the pair soon found it convenient to establish a mutual

bond of inveterate hatred.

It may be thought singular that Mrs. Proudie's friendship for the

young clergyman should remain firm after such an affair, but, to

tell the truth, she had known nothing of it. Though very fond of Mr.

Slope herself, she had never conceived the idea that either of her

daughters would become so, and remembering their high birth and

social advantages, expected for them matches of a different sort.

Neither the gentleman nor the lady found it necessary to enlighten

her. Olivia's two sisters had each known of the affair, as had all

the servants, as had all the people living in the adjoining houses

on either side, but Mrs. Proudie had been kept in the dark.

Mr. Slope soon comforted himself with the reflexion that, as he had

been selected as chaplain to the bishop, it would probably be in his

power to get the good things in the bishop's gift without troubling

himself with the bishop's daughter, and he found himself able to

endure the pangs of rejected love. As he sat himself down in the

railway carriage, confronting the bishop and Mrs. Proudie as they

started on their first journey to Barchester, he began to form in his

own mind a plan of his future life. He knew well his patron's strong

points, but he knew the weak ones as well. He understood correctly

enough to what attempts the new bishop's high spirit would soar, and

he rightly guessed that public life would better suit the great man's

taste than the small details of diocesan duty.

He, therefore,--he, Mr. Slope,--would in effect be Bishop of

Barchester. Such was his resolve, and to give Mr. Slope his due,

he had both courage and spirit to bear him out in his resolution.

He knew that he should have a hard battle to fight, for the power

and patronage of the see would be equally coveted by another great

mind--Mrs. Proudie would also choose to be Bishop of Barchester. Mr.

Slope, however, flattered himself that he could outmanoeuvre the

lady. She must live much in London, while he would always be on the

spot. She would necessarily remain ignorant of much, while he would

know everything belonging to the diocese. At first, doubtless, he

must flatter and cajole, perhaps yield in some things, but he did not

doubt of ultimate triumph. If all other means failed, he could join

the bishop against his wife, inspire courage into the unhappy man,

lay an axe to the root of the woman's power, and emancipate the

husband.

Such were his thoughts as he sat looking at the sleeping pair in the

railway carriage, and Mr. Slope is not the man to trouble himself

with such thoughts for nothing. He is possessed of more than average

abilities, and is of good courage. Though he can stoop to fawn, and

stoop low indeed, if need be, he has still within him the power to

assume the tyrant;--and with the power he has certainly the wish. His

acquirements are not of the highest order, but such as they are, they

are completely under control, and he knows the use of them. He is

gifted with a certain kind of pulpit eloquence, not likely indeed

to be persuasive with men, but powerful with the softer sex. In his

sermons he deals greatly in denunciations, excites the minds of his

weaker hearers with a not unpleasant terror, and leaves an impression

on their minds that all mankind are in a perilous state, and all

womankind, too, except those who attend regularly to the evening

lectures in Baker Street. His looks and tones are extremely severe,

so much so that one cannot but fancy that he regards the greater part

of the world as being infinitely too bad for his care. As he walks

through the streets his very face denotes his horror of the world's

wickedness, and there is always an anathema lurking in the corner of

his eye.

In doctrine he, like his patron, is tolerant of dissent, if so strict

a mind can be called tolerant of anything. With Wesleyan-Methodists

he has something in common, but his soul trembles in agony at the

iniquities of the Puseyites. His aversion is carried to things

outward as well as inward. His gall rises at a new church with a

high-pitched roof; a full-breasted black silk waistcoat is with him a

symbol of Satan; and a profane jest-book would not, in his view, more

foully desecrate the church seat of a Christian than a book of prayer

printed with red letters and ornamented with a cross on the back.

Most active clergymen have their hobby, and Sunday observances are

his. Sunday, however, is a word which never pollutes his mouth--it

is always "the Sabbath." The "desecration of the Sabbath," as he

delights to call it, is to him meat and drink: he thrives upon that

as policemen do on the general evil habits of the community. It is

the loved subject of all his evening discourses, the source of all

his eloquence, the secret of all his power over the female heart.

To him the revelation of God appears only in that one law given for

Jewish observance. To him the mercies of our Saviour speak in vain,

to him in vain has been preached that sermon which fell from divine

lips on the mountain--"Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit

the earth"--"Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy."

To him the New Testament is comparatively of little moment, for from

it can he draw no fresh authority for that dominion which he loves

to exercise over at least a seventh part of man's allotted time here

below.

Mr. Slope is tall, and not ill-made. His feet and hands are large,

as has ever been the case with all his family, but he has a broad

chest and wide shoulders to carry off these excrescences, and on the

whole his figure is good. His countenance, however, is not specially

prepossessing. His hair is lank and of a dull pale reddish hue. It

is always formed into three straight, lumpy masses, each brushed with

admirable precision and cemented with much grease; two of them adhere

closely to the sides of his face, and the other lies at right angles

above them. He wears no whiskers, and is always punctiliously shaven.

His face is nearly of the same colour as his hair, though perhaps a

little redder: it is not unlike beef--beef, however, one would say,

of a bad quality. His forehead is capacious and high, but square and

heavy and unpleasantly shining. His mouth is large, though his lips

are thin and bloodless; and his big, prominent, pale-brown eyes

inspire anything but confidence. His nose, however, is his redeeming

feature: it is pronounced, straight and well-formed; though I myself

should have liked it better did it not possess a somewhat spongy,

porous appearance, as though it had been cleverly formed out of a

red-coloured cork.

I never could endure to shake hands with Mr. Slope. A cold, clammy

perspiration always exudes from him, the small drops are ever to be

seen standing on his brow, and his friendly grasp is unpleasant.

Such is Mr. Slope--such is the man who has suddenly fallen into

the midst of Barchester Close, and is destined there to assume the

station which has heretofore been filled by the son of the late

bishop. Think, oh, my meditative reader, what an associate we have

here for those comfortable prebendaries, those gentlemanlike clerical

doctors, those happy, well-used, well-fed minor canons who have grown

into existence at Barchester under the kindly wings of Bishop

Grantly!

But not as a mere associate for these does Mr. Slope travel down to

Barchester with the bishop and his wife. He intends to be, if not

their master, at least the chief among them. He intends to lead

and to have followers; he intends to hold the purse-strings of the

diocese and draw round him an obedient herd of his poor and hungry

brethren.

And here we can hardly fail to draw a comparison between the

archdeacon and our new private chaplain, and despite the manifold

faults of the former, one can hardly fail to make it much to his

advantage.

Both men are eager, much too eager, to support and increase the

power of their order. Both are anxious that the world should be

priest-governed, though they have probably never confessed so much,

even to themselves. Both begrudge any other kind of dominion held

by man over man. Dr. Grantly, if he admits the Queen's supremacy in

things spiritual, only admits it as being due to the quasi-priesthood

conveyed in the consecrating qualities of her coronation, and he

regards things temporal as being by their nature subject to those

which are spiritual. Mr. Slope's ideas of sacerdotal rule are of

quite a different class. He cares nothing, one way or the other, for

the Queen's supremacy; these to his ears are empty words, meaning

nothing. Forms he regards but little, and such titular expressions

as supremacy, consecration, ordination, and the like convey of

themselves no significance to him. Let him be supreme who can.

The temporal king, judge, or gaoler can work but on the body. The

spiritual master, if he have the necessary gifts and can duly use

them, has a wider field of empire. He works upon the soul. If he

can make himself be believed, he can be all powerful over those who

listen. If he be careful to meddle with none who are too strong in

intellect, or too weak in flesh, he may indeed be supreme. And such

was the ambition of Mr. Slope.

Dr. Grantly interfered very little with the worldly doings of those

who were in any way subject to him. I do not mean to say that he

omitted to notice misconduct among his clergy, immorality in his

parish, or omissions in his family, but he was not anxious to do

so where the necessity could be avoided. He was not troubled with

a propensity to be curious, and as long as those around him were

tainted with no heretical leaning towards dissent, as long as they

fully and freely admitted the efficacy of Mother Church, he was

willing that that mother should be merciful and affectionate, prone

to indulgence, and unwilling to chastise. He himself enjoyed the

good things of this world and liked to let it be known that he did

so. He cordially despised any brother rector who thought harm of

dinner-parties, or dreaded the dangers of a moderate claret-jug;

consequently, dinner-parties and claret-jugs were common in the

diocese. He liked to give laws and to be obeyed in them implicitly,

but he endeavoured that his ordinances should be within the compass

of the man and not unpalatable to the gentleman. He had ruled

among his clerical neighbours now for sundry years, and as he had

maintained his power without becoming unpopular, it may be presumed

that he had exercised some wisdom.

Of Mr. Slope's conduct much cannot be said, as his grand career is

yet to commence, but it may be premised that his tastes will be

very different from those of the archdeacon. He conceives it to be

his duty to know all the private doings and desires of the flock

entrusted to his care. From the poorer classes he exacts an

unconditional obedience to set rules of conduct, and if disobeyed

he has recourse, like his great ancestor, to the fulminations of an

Ernulfus: "Thou shalt be damned in thy going in and in thy coming

out--in thy eating and thy drinking," &c. &c. &c. With the rich,

experience has already taught him that a different line of action is

necessary. Men in the upper walks of life do not mind being cursed,

and the women, presuming that it be done in delicate phrase, rather

like it. But he has not, therefore, given up so important a portion

of believing Christians. With the men, indeed, he is generally

at variance; they are hardened sinners, on whom the voice of the

priestly charmer too often falls in vain; but with the ladies, old

and young, firm and frail, devout and dissipated, he is, as he

conceives, all powerful. He can reprove faults with so much flattery

and utter censure in so caressing a manner that the female heart, if

it glow with a spark of Low Church susceptibility, cannot withstand

him. In many houses he is thus an admired guest: the husbands, for

their wives' sake, are fain to admit him; and when once admitted it

is not easy to shake him off. He has, however, a pawing, greasy way

with him, which does not endear him to those who do not value him

for their souls' sake, and he is not a man to make himself at once

popular in a large circle such as is now likely to surround him at

Barchester.