CHAPTER XVII

Who Shall Be Cock of the Walk?

All this time things were going somewhat uneasily at the palace. The

hint or two which Mr. Slope had given was by no means thrown away upon

the bishop. He had a feeling that if he ever meant to oppose the now

almost unendurable despotism of his wife, he must lose no further time

in doing so; that if he ever meant to be himself master in his own

diocese, let alone his own house, he should begin at once. It would

have been easier to have done so from the day of his consecration

than now, but easier now than when Mrs. Proudie should have succeeded

in thoroughly mastering the diocesan details. Then the proffered

assistance of Mr. Slope was a great thing for him, a most unexpected

and invaluable aid. Hitherto he had looked on the two as allied forces

and had considered that, as allies, they were impregnable. He had begun

to believe that his only chance of escape would be by the advancement

of Mr. Slope to some distant and rich preferment. But now it seemed

that one of his enemies, certainly the least potent of them, but

nevertheless one very important, was willing to desert his own camp.

Assisted by Mr. Slope what might he not do? He walked up and down his

little study, almost thinking that the time might come when he would be

able to appropriate to his own use the big room upstairs in which his

predecessor had always sat.

As he revolved these things in his mind a note was brought to him

from Archdeacon Grantly, in which that divine begged his lordship to

do him the honour of seeing him on the morrow--would his lordship

have the kindness to name an hour? Dr. Grantly's proposed visit

would have reference to the reappointment of Mr. Harding to the

wardenship of Barchester Hospital. The bishop having read his note

was informed that the archdeacon's servant was waiting for an answer.

Here at once a great opportunity offered itself to the bishop of

acting on his own responsibility. He bethought himself however of

his new ally and rang the bell for Mr. Slope. It turned out that Mr.

Slope was not in the house, and then, greatly daring, the bishop with

his own unassisted spirit wrote a note to the archdeacon saying that

he would see him, and naming an hour for doing so. Having watched

from his study-window that the messenger got safely off from the

premises with this dispatch, he began to turn over in his mind what

step he should next take.

To-morrow he would have to declare to the archdeacon either that Mr.

Harding should have the appointment, or that he should not have it.

The bishop felt that he could not honestly throw over the Quiverfuls

without informing Mrs. Proudie, and he resolved at last to brave the

lioness in her den and tell her that circumstances were such that it

behoved him to reappoint Mr. Harding. He did not feel that he should

at all derogate from his new courage by promising Mrs. Proudie that

the very first piece of available preferment at his disposal should

be given to Quiverful to atone for the injury done to him. If he

could mollify the lioness with such a sop, how happy would he think

his first efforts to have been!

Not without many misgivings did he find himself in Mrs. Proudie's

boudoir. He had at first thought of sending for her. But it was not at

all impossible that she might choose to take such a message amiss, and

then also it might be some protection to him to have his daughters

present at the interview. He found her sitting with her account-books

before her, nibbling the end of her pencil, evidently immersed in

pecuniary difficulties, and harassed in mind by the multiplicity

of palatial expenses and the heavy cost of episcopal grandeur. Her

daughters were around her. Olivia was reading a novel, Augusta was

crossing a note to her bosom friend in Baker Street, and Netta was

working diminutive coach wheels for the bottom of a petticoat. If the

bishop could get the better of his wife in her present mood, he would

be a man indeed. He might then consider the victory his own forever.

After all, in such cases the matter between husband and wife stands

much the same as it does between two boys at the same school, two cocks

in the same yard, or two armies on the same continent. The conqueror

once is generally the conqueror forever after. The prestige of victory

is everything.

"Ahem--my dear," began the bishop, "if you are disengaged, I wished

to speak to you." Mrs. Proudie put her pencil down carefully at the

point to which she had totted her figures, marked down in her memory

the sum she had arrived at, and then looked up, sourly enough, into

her helpmate's face. "If you are busy, another time will do as

well," continued the bishop, whose courage, like Bob Acres', had

oozed out now that he found himself on the ground of battle.

"What is it about, Bishop?" asked the lady.

"Well--it was about those Quiverfuls--but I see you are engaged.

Another time will do just as well for me."

"What about the Quiverfuls? It is quite understood, I believe, that

they are to come to the hospital. There is to be no doubt about that,

is there?" and as she spoke she kept her pencil sternly and vigorously

fixed on the column of figures before her.

"Why, my dear, there is a difficulty," said the bishop.

"A difficulty!" said Mrs. Proudie, "what difficulty? The place has

been promised to Mr. Quiverful, and of course he must have it. He has

made all his arrangements. He has written for a curate for Puddingdale,

he has spoken to the auctioneer about selling his farm, horses, and

cows, and in all respects considers the place as his own. Of course

he must have it."

Now, Bishop, look well to thyself and call up all the manhood that is

in thee. Think how much is at stake. If now thou art not true to thy

guns, no Slope can hereafter aid thee. How can he who deserts his own

colours at the first smell of gunpowder expect faith in any ally? Thou

thyself hast sought the battle-field: fight out the battle manfully

now thou art there. Courage, Bishop, courage! Frowns cannot kill, nor

can sharp words break any bones. After all, the apron is thine own. She

can appoint no wardens, give away no benefices, nominate no chaplains,

an' thou art but true to thyself. Up, man, and at her with a constant

heart.

Some little monitor within the bishop's breast so addressed him. But

then there was another monitor there which advised him differently,

and as follows. Remember, Bishop, she is a woman, and such a woman

too as thou well knowest: a battle of words with such a woman is the

very mischief. Were it not better for thee to carry on this war, if

it must be waged, from behind thine own table in thine own study?

Does not every cock fight best on his own dunghill? Thy daughters

also are here, the pledges of thy love, the fruits of thy loins: is

it well that they should see thee in the hour of thy victory over

their mother? Nay, is it well that they should see thee in the

possible hour of thy defeat? Besides, hast thou not chosen thy

opportunity with wonderful little skill, indeed with no touch of

that sagacity for which thou art famous? Will it not turn out that

thou art wrong in this matter and thine enemy right; that thou hast

actually pledged thyself in this matter of the hospital, and that now

thou wouldest turn upon thy wife because she requires from thee but

the fulfilment of thy promise? Art thou not a Christian bishop, and

is not thy word to be held sacred whatever be the result? Return,

Bishop, to thy sanctum on the lower floor and postpone thy combative

propensities for some occasion in which at least thou mayest fight

the battle against odds less tremendously against thee.

All this passed within the bishop's bosom while Mrs. Proudie still

sat with her fixed pencil, and the figures of her sum still enduring

on the tablets of her memory. "£4 17s. 7d." she said to herself.

"Of course Mr. Quiverful must have the hospital," she said out loud

to her lord.

"Well, my dear, I merely wanted to suggest to you that Mr. Slope

seems to think that if Mr. Harding be not appointed, public feeling

in the matter would be against us, and that the press might perhaps

take it up."

"Mr. Slope seems to think!" said Mrs. Proudie in a tone of voice

which plainly showed the bishop that he was right in looking for a

breach in that quarter. "And what has Mr. Slope to do with it? I

hope, my lord, you are not going to allow yourself to be governed by

a chaplain." And now in her eagerness the lady lost her place in her

account.

"Certainly not, my dear. Nothing I can assure you is less probable.

But still, Mr. Slope may be useful in finding how the wind blows, and

I really thought that if we could give something else as good to the

Quiverfuls--"

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Proudie; "it would be years before you could

give them anything else that could suit them half as well, and as for

the press and the public and all that, remember there are two ways of

telling a story. If Mr. Harding is fool enough to tell his tale, we

can also tell ours. The place was offered to him, and he refused it.

It has now been given to someone else, and there's an end of it. At

least I should think so."

"Well, my dear, I rather believe you are right," said the bishop, and

sneaking out of the room, he went downstairs, troubled in his mind as

to how he should receive the archdeacon on the morrow. He felt himself

not very well just at present, and began to consider that he might,

not improbably, be detained in his room the next morning by an attack

of bile. He was, unfortunately, very subject to bilious annoyances.

"Mr. Slope, indeed! I'll Slope him," said the indignant matron to

her listening progeny. "I don't know what has come to Mr. Slope.

I believe he thinks he is to be Bishop of Barchester himself, because

I've taken him by the hand and got your father to make him his

domestic chaplain."

"He was always full of impudence," said Olivia; "I told you so once

before, Mamma." Olivia, however, had not thought him too impudent

when once before he had proposed to make her Mrs. Slope.

"Well, Olivia, I always thought you liked him," said Augusta, who at

that moment had some grudge against her sister. "I always disliked

the man, because I think him thoroughly vulgar."

"There you're wrong," said Mrs. Proudie; "he's not vulgar at all; and

what is more, he is a soul-stirring, eloquent preacher; but he must

be taught to know his place if he is to remain in this house."

"He has the horridest eyes I ever saw in a man's head," said Netta;

"and I tell you what, he's terribly greedy; did you see all the

currant pie he ate yesterday?"

When Mr. Slope got home he soon learnt from the bishop, as much from

his manner as his words, that Mrs. Proudie's behests in the matter

of the hospital were to be obeyed. Dr. Proudie let fall something

as to "this occasion only" and "keeping all affairs about patronage

exclusively in his own hands." But he was quite decided about Mr.

Harding; and as Mr. Slope did not wish to have both the prelate and

the prelatess against him, he did not at present see that he could

do anything but yield.

He merely remarked that he would of course carry out the bishop's

views and that he was quite sure that if the bishop trusted to his

own judgement things in the diocese would certainly be well ordered.

Mr. Slope knew that if you hit a nail on the head often enough, it

will penetrate at last.

He was sitting alone in his room on the same evening when a light

knock was made on his door, and before he could answer it the door

was opened, and his patroness appeared. He was all smiles in a

moment, but so was not she also. She took, however, the chair that

was offered to her, and thus began her expostulation:

"Mr. Slope, I did not at all approve your conduct the other night

with that Italian woman. Anyone would have thought that you were her

lover."

"Good gracious, my dear madam," said Mr. Slope with a look of horror.

"Why, she is a married woman."

"That's more than I know," said Mrs. Proudie; "however she chooses to

pass for such. But married or not married, such attention as you paid

to her was improper. I cannot believe that you would wish to give

offence in my drawing-room, Mr. Slope, but I owe it to myself and my

daughters to tell you that I disapprove of your conduct."

Mr. Slope opened wide his huge protruding eyes and stared out of them

with a look of well-feigned surprise. "Why, Mrs. Proudie," said he,

"I did but fetch her something to eat when she said she was hungry."

"And you have called on her since," continued she, looking at the

culprit with the stern look of a detective policeman in the act of

declaring himself.

Mr. Slope turned over in his mind whether it would be well for him to

tell this termagant at once that he should call on whom he liked and

do what he liked, but he remembered that his footing in Barchester

was not yet sufficiently firm, and that it would be better for him to

pacify her.

"I certainly called since at Dr. Stanhope's house, and certainly saw

Madame Neroni."

"Yes, and you saw her alone," said the episcopal Argus.

"Undoubtedly, I did," said Mr. Slope, "but that was because nobody

else happened to be in the room. Surely it was no fault of mine if

the rest of the family were out."

"Perhaps not, but I assure you, Mr. Slope, you will fall greatly in

my estimation if I find that you allow yourself to be caught by the

lures of that woman. I know women better than you do, Mr. Slope,

and you may believe me that that signora, as she calls herself, is

not a fitting companion for a strict evangelical unmarried young

clergyman."

How Mr. Slope would have liked to laugh at her, had he dared! But he

did not dare. So he merely said, "I can assure you, Mrs. Proudie,

the lady in question is nothing to me."

"Well, I hope not, Mr. Slope. But I have considered it my duty to

give you this caution. And now there is another thing I feel myself

called on to speak about: it is your conduct to the bishop, Mr.

Slope."

"My conduct to the bishop," said he, now truly surprised and ignorant

what the lady alluded to.

"Yes, Mr. Slope, your conduct to the bishop. It is by no means what

I would wish to see it."

"Has the bishop said anything, Mrs. Proudie?"

"No, the bishop has said nothing. He probably thinks that any remarks

on the matter will come better from me, who first introduced you

to his lordship's notice. The fact is, Mr. Slope, you are a little

inclined to take too much upon yourself."

An angry spot showed itself on Mr. Slope's cheeks, and it was with

difficulty that he controlled himself. But he did do so, and sat

quite silent while the lady went on.

"It is the fault of many young men in your position, and therefore

the bishop is not inclined at present to resent it. You will, no

doubt, soon learn what is required from you and what is not. If you

will take my advice, however, you will be careful not to obtrude

advice upon the bishop in any matter touching patronage. If his

lordship wants advice, he knows where to look for it." And then

having added to her counsel a string of platitudes as to what was

desirable and what not desirable in the conduct of a strictly

evangelical unmarried young clergyman, Mrs. Proudie retreated,

leaving the chaplain to his thoughts.

The upshot of his thoughts was this, that there certainly was not

room in the diocese for the energies of both himself and Mrs.

Proudie, and that it behoved him quickly to ascertain whether his

energies or hers were to prevail.