The Last Chronicle of Barset

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER LXIII.

  TWO VISITORS TO HOGGLESTOCK.

  The cross-grainedness of men is so great that things will oftenbe forced to go wrong, even when they have the strongest possiblenatural tendency of their own to go right. It was so now in theseaffairs between the archdeacon and his son. The original difficultywas solved by the good feeling of the young lady,--by that and bythe real kindness of the archdeacon's nature. They had come to termswhich were satisfactory to both of them, and those terms admitted ofperfect reconciliation between the father and his son. Whether themajor did marry the lady or whether he did not, his allowance was tobe continued to him, the archdeacon being perfectly willing to trusthimself in the matter to the pledge which he had received from MissCrawley. All that he required from his son was simply this,--that heshould pull down the bills advertising the sale of his effects. Wasany desire ever more rational? The sale had been advertised for a dayjust one week in advance of the assizes, and the time must have beenselected,--so thought the archdeacon,--with a malicious intention.Why, at any rate, should the things be sold before any one knewwhether the father of the young lady was or was not to be regardedas a thief? And why should the things be sold at all, when thearchdeacon had tacitly withdrawn his threats,--when he had given hisson to understand that the allowance would still be paid quarterlywith the customary archidiaconal regularity, and that no alterationwas intended in those settlements under which the Plumstead foxeswould, in the ripeness of time, become the property of the majorhimself. It was thus that the archdeacon looked at it, and as he didso, he thought that his son was the most cross-grained of men.

  But the major had his own way of looking at the matter. He had, heflattered himself, dealt very fairly with his father. When he hadfirst made up his mind to make Miss Crawley his wife, he had toldhis father of his intention. The archdeacon had declared that, if hedid so, such and such results would follow,--results which, as wasapparent to every one, would make it indispensable that the majorshould leave Cosby Lodge. The major had never complained. So hetold himself. He had simply said to his father,--"I shall do as Ihave said. You can do as you have said. Therefore, I shall prepareto leave Cosby Lodge." He had so prepared; and as a part of thatpreparation, the auctioneer's bills had been stuck up on the postsand walls. Then the archdeacon had gone to work surreptitiously withthe lady,--the reader will understand that we are still followingthe workings of the major's mind,--and having succeeded in obtaininga pledge which he had been wrong to demand, came forward verygraciously to withdraw his threats. He withdrew his threats becausehe had succeeded in his object by other means. The major knew nothingof the kiss that had been given, of the two tears that had trickleddown his father's nose, of the generous epithets which the archdeaconhad applied to Grace. He did not guess how nearly his father hadyielded altogether beneath the pressure of Grace's charms,--howwilling he was to yield altogether at the first decent opportunity.His father had obtained a pledge from Grace that she would not marryin certain circumstances,--as to which circumstances the major wasstrongly resolved that they should form no bar to his marriage,--andthen came forward with his eager demand that the sale should bestopped! The major could not submit to so much indignity. He hadresolved that his father should have nothing to do with his marriageone way or the other. He would not accept anything from his fatheron the understanding that his father had any such right. His fatherhad asserted such right with threats, and he, the major, taking suchthreats as meaning something, had seen that he must leave CosbyLodge. Let his father come forward, and say that they meant nothing,that he abandoned all right to any interference as to his son'smarriage, and then the son--would dutifully consent to accept hisfather's bounty! They were both cross-grained, as Mrs. Grantlydeclared; but I think that the major was the most cross-grained ofthe two.

  Something of the truth made its way into Henry Grantly's mind as hedrove himself home from Barchester after seeing his grandfather. Itwas not that he began to think that his father was right, but thathe almost perceived that it might be becoming in him to forgive somefault in his father. He had been implored to honour his father, andhe was willing to do so, understanding that such honour must, to acertain degree, imply obedience,--if it could be done at no more thana moderate expense to his feelings. The threatened auctioneer was thecause of offence to his father, and he might see whether it would notbe possible to have the sale postponed. There would, of course, be apecuniary loss, and that in his diminished circumstances,--he wouldstill talk to himself of his diminished circumstances,--might beinconvenient. But so much he thought himself bound to endure on hisfather's behalf. At any rate, he would consult the auctioneer atSilverbridge.

  But he would not make any pause in the measures which he had proposedto himself as likely to be conducive to his marriage. As for Grace'spledge, such pledges from young ladies never went for anything. Itwas out of the question that she should be sacrificed, even thoughher father had taken the money. And, moreover, the very gist of themajor's generosity was to consist in his marrying her whether thefather were guilty or innocent. He understood that perfectly, andunderstood also that it was his duty to make his purpose in thisrespect known to Grace's family. He determined, therefore, that hewould go over to Hogglestock, and see Mr. Crawley before he saw theauctioneer.

  Hitherto Major Grantly had never even spoken to Mr. Crawley. It maybe remembered that the major was at the present moment one of thebailsmen for the due appearance of Mr. Crawley before the judge,and that he had been present when the magistrates sat at the innin Silverbridge. He therefore knew the man's presence, but excepton that occasion he had never even seen his intended futurefather-in-law. From the moment when he had first allowed himselfto think of Grace, he had desired, yet almost feared, to makeacquaintance with the father; but had been debarred from doing so bythe peculiar position in which Mr. Crawley was placed. He had feltthat it would be impossible to speak to the father of his affectionfor the daughter without any allusion to the coming trial; and he didnot know how such allusion could be made. Thinking of this, he had atdifferent times almost resolved not to call at Hogglestock till thetrial should be over. Then he would go there, let the result of thetrial have been what it might. But it had now become necessary forhim to go on at once. His father had precipitated matters by hisappeal to Grace. He would appeal to Grace's father, and reach Gracethrough his influence.

  He drove over to Hogglestock, feeling himself to be anything butcomfortable as he came near to the house. And when he did reach thespot he was somewhat disconcerted to find that another visitor wasin the house before him. He presumed this to be the case, becausethere stood a little pony horse,--an animal which did not stronglyrecommend itself to his instructed eye,--attached by its rein tothe palings. It was a poor humble-looking beast, whose knees hadvery lately become acquainted with the hard and sharp stones of anewly-mended highway. The blood was even now red upon the wounds.

  "He'll never be much good again," said the major to his servant.

  "That he won't, sir," said the man. "But I don't think he's been verymuch good for some time back."

  "I shouldn't like to have to ride him into Silverbridge," said themajor, descending from the gig, and instructing his servant to movethe horse and gig about as long as he might remain within the house.Then he walked across the little garden and knocked at the door.The door was immediately opened, and in the passage he found Mr.Crawley, and another clergyman whom the reader will recognize as Mr.Thumble. Mr. Thumble had come over to make arrangements as to theSunday services and the parochial work, and had been very urgent inimpressing on Mr. Crawley that the duties were to be left entirelyto himself. Hence had come some bitter words, in which Mr. Crawley,though no doubt he said the sharper things of the two, had not beenable to vanquish his enemy so completely as he had done on formeroccasions.

  "There must be no interference, my dear sir,--none whatever, if youplease," Mr. Thumble had said.

  "There shall be none of which the bishop shall have reason toco
mplain," Mr. Crawley had replied.

  "There must be none at all, Mr. Crawley, if you please. It is onlyon that understanding that I have consented to take the parishtemporarily into my hands. Mrs. Crawley, I hope that there may beno mistake about the schools. It must be exactly as though I wereresiding on the spot."

  "Sir," said Mr. Crawley, very irate at this appeal to his wife, andspeaking in a loud voice, "do you misdoubt my word; or do you thinkthat if I were minded to be false to you, that I should be correctedin my falsehood by the firmer faith of my wife?"

  "I meant nothing about falsehood, Mr. Crawley."

  "Having resigned this benefice for certain reasons of my own, withwhich I shall not trouble you, and acknowledging as I do,--and havedone in writing under my hand to the bishop,--the propriety of hislordship's interference in providing for the services of the parishtill my successor shall have been instituted, I shall, with whatfeelings of regret I need not say, leave you to the performance ofyour temporary duties."

  "That is all that I require, Mr. Crawley."

  "But it is wholly unnecessary that you should instruct me in mine."

  "The bishop especially desires--" began Mr. Thumble. But Mr. Crawleyinterrupted him instantly.--

  "If the bishop has directed you to give me such instruction, thebishop has been much in error. I will submit to receive none from himthrough you, sir. If you please, sir, let there be an end of it;" andMr. Crawley waved his hand. I hope that the reader will conceive thetone of Mr. Crawley's voice, and will appreciate the aspect of hisface, and will see the motion of his hand, as he spoke these latterwords. Mr. Thumble felt the power of the man so sensibly that he wasunable to carry on the contest. Though Mr. Crawley was now but abroken reed, and was beneath his feet, yet Mr. Thumble acknowledgedto himself that he could not hold his own in debate with this brokenreed. But the words had been spoken, and the tone of the voice haddied away, and the fire in the eyes had burned itself out before themoment of the major's arrival. Mr. Thumble was now returning to hishorse, and having enjoyed,--if he did enjoy,--his little triumphabout the parish, was becoming unhappy at the future dangersthat awaited him. Perhaps he was the more unhappy because it hadbeen proposed to him by authorities at the palace that he shouldrepeatedly ride on the same animal from Barchester to Hogglestockand back. Mr. Crawley was in the act of replying to lamentations onthis subject, with his hand on the latch, when the major arrived--"Iregret to say, sir, that I cannot assist you by supplying any othersteed." Then the major had knocked, and Mr. Crawley had at onceopened the door.

  "You probably do not remember me, Mr. Crawley?" said the major. "I amMajor Grantly." Mrs. Crawley, who heard these words inside the room,sprang up from her chair, and could hardly resist the temptation torush into the passage. She too had barely seen Major Grantly; andnow the only bright gleam which appeared on her horizon depended onhis constancy under circumstances which would have justified hisinconstancy. But had he meant to be inconstant, surely he would neverhave come to Hogglestock!

  "I remember you well, sir," said Mr. Crawley. "I am under no commonobligation to you. You are at present one of my bailsmen."

  "There's nothing in that," said the major.

  Mr. Thumble, who had caught the name of Grantly, took off his hat,which he had put on his head. He had not been particular in keepingoff his hat before Mr. Crawley. But he knew very well that ArchdeaconGrantly was a big man in the diocese; and though the Grantlys andthe Proudies were opposed to each other, still it might be well totake off his hat before any one who had to do with the big ones ofthe diocese. "I hope your respected father is well, sir?" said Mr.Thumble.

  "Pretty well, I thank you." The major stood close up against the wallof the passage, so as to allow room for Mr. Thumble to pass out. Hisbusiness was one on which he could hardly begin to speak until theother visitor should have gone. Mr. Crawley was standing with thedoor wide open in his hand. He also was anxious to be rid of Mr.Thumble,--and was perhaps not so solicitous as a brother clergymanshould have been touching the future fate of Mr. Thumble in thematter of the bishop's old cob.

  "Really I don't know what to do as to getting upon him again," saidMr. Thumble.

  "If you will allow him to progress slowly," said Mr. Crawley, "hewill probably travel with the greater safety."

  "I don't know what you call slow, Mr. Crawley. I was ever so muchover two hours coming here from Barchester. He stumbled almost atevery step."

  "Did he fall while you were on him?" asked the major.

  "Indeed he did, sir. You never saw such a thing, Major Grantly. Lookhere." Then Mr. Thumble, turning round, showed that the rear portionof his clothes had not escaped without injury.

  "It was well he was not going fast, or you would have come on to yourhead," said Grantly.

  "It was a mercy," said Thumble. "But, sir, as it was, I came to theground with much violence. It was on Spigglewick Hill, where the roadis covered with loose stones. I see, sir, you have a gig and horsehere, with a servant. Perhaps, as the circumstances are so verypeculiar,--" Then Mr. Thumble stopped, and looked up into the major'sface with imploring eyes. But the major had no tenderness for suchsufferings. "I'm sorry to say that I am going quite the other way,"he said. "I am returning to Silverbridge."

  Mr. Thumble hesitated, and then made a renewed request. "If you wouldnot mind taking me to Silverbridge, I could get home from thence byrailway; and perhaps you would allow your servant to take the horseto Barchester."

  Major Grantly was for a moment dumfounded. "The request is mostunreasonable, sir," said Mr. Crawley.

  "That is as Major Grantly pleases to look at it," said Mr. Thumble.

  "I am sorry to say that it is quite out of my power," said the major.

  "You can surely walk, leading the beast, if you fear to mount him,"said Mr. Crawley.

  Mrs. Proudie's Emissary.]

  "I shall do as I please about that," said Mr. Thumble. "And, Mr.Crawley, if you will have the kindness to leave things in the parishjust as they are,--just as they are, I will be obliged to you. It isthe bishop's wish that you should touch nothing." Mr. Thumble was bythis time on the step, and Mr. Crawley instantly slammed the door."The gentleman is a clergyman from Barchester," said Mr. Crawley,modestly folding his hands upon his breast, "whom the bishop hassent over here to take upon himself temporarily the services of thechurch, and, as it appears, the duties also of the parish. I refrainfrom animadverting upon his lordship's choice."

  "And are you leaving Hogglestock?"

  "When I have found a shelter for my wife and children I shall do so;nay, peradventure, I must do so before any such shelter can be found.I shall proceed in that matter as I am bid. I am one who can regardmyself as no longer possessing the privilege of free action inanything. But while I have a room at your service, permit me to askyou to enter it." Then Mr. Crawley motioned him in with his hand, andMajor Grantly found himself in the presence of Mrs. Crawley and heryounger daughter.

  He looked at them both for a moment, and could trace much of thelines of that face which he loved so well. But the troubles of lifehad almost robbed the elder lady of her beauty; and with the younger,the awkward thinness of the last years of feminine childhood had notyet given place to the fulfilment of feminine grace. But the likenessin each was quite enough to make him feel that he ought to be at homein that room. He thought that he could love the woman as his mother,and the girl as his sister. He found it very difficult to begin anyconversation in their presence, and yet it seemed to be his duty tobegin. Mr. Crawley had marshalled him into the room, and having doneso, stood aside near the door. Mrs. Crawley had received him verygraciously, and having done so, seemed to be ashamed of her ownhospitality. Poor Jane had shrunk back into a distant corner, nearthe open standing desk at which she was accustomed to read Greekto her father, and, of course, could not be expected to speak. IfMajor Grantly could have found himself alone with any one of thethree,--nay, if he could have been there with any two, he could haveopened his budget at once; but, before all the
family, he felt thedifficulty of his situation. "Mrs. Crawley," said he, "I have beenmost anxious to make your acquaintance, and I trust you will excusethe liberty I have taken in calling."

  "I feel grateful to you, as I am sure does also my husband." So muchshe said, and then felt angry with herself for saying so much. Wasshe not expressing her strong hope that he might stand fast by herchild, whereby the whole Crawley family would gain so much,--and theGrantly family lose much, in the same proportion?

  "Sir," said Mr. Crawley, "I owe you thanks, still unexpressed, inthat you came forward, together with Mr. Robarts of Framley, tosatisfy the not unnatural requisition of the magistrates before whomI was called upon to appear in the early winter. I know not why anyone should have ventured into such jeopardy on my account."

  "There was no jeopardy, Mr. Crawley. Any one in the county would havedone it."

  "I know not that; nor can I see that there was no jeopardy. I trustthat I may assure you that there is no danger;--none, I mean, to you.The danger to myself and those belonging to me is, alas, very urgent.The facts of my position are pressing close upon me. Methinks Isuffer more from the visit of the gentleman who has just departedfrom me than from anything that has yet happened to me. And yet he isin his right;--he is altogether in his right."

  "No, papa; he is not," said Jane, from her standing ground near theupright desk.

  "My dear," said her father, "you should be silent on such a subject.It is a matter hard to be understood in all its bearings,--even bythose who are most conversant with them. But as to this we need nottrouble Major Grantly."

  After that there was silence among them, and for a while it seemed asthough there could be no approach to the subject on which Grantly hadcome thither to express himself. Mrs. Crawley, in her despair, saidsomething about the weather; and the major, trying to draw near thespecial subject, became bold enough to remark "that he had had thepleasure of seeing Miss Crawley at Framley." "Mrs. Robarts has beenvery kind," said Mrs. Crawley, "very kind indeed. You can understand,Major Grantly, that this must be a very sad house for any youngperson." "I don't think it is at all sad," said Jane, still standingin the corner by the upright desk.

  Then Major Grantly rose from his seat and walked across to the girland took her hand. "You are so like your sister," said he. "Yoursister is a great friend of mine. She has often spoken to me of you.I hope we shall be friends some day." But Jane could make no answerto this, though she had been able to vindicate the general characterof the house while she was left in her corner by herself. "I wonderwhether you would be angry with me," continued the major, "if I toldyou that I wanted to speak a word to your father and mother alone?"To this Jane made no reply, but was out of the room almost beforethe words had reached the ears of her father and mother. Thoughshe was only sixteen, and had as yet read nothing but Latin andGreek,--unless we are to count the twelve books of Euclid and Wood'sAlgebra, and sundry smaller exercises of the same description,--sheunderstood, as well as any one then present, the reason why herabsence was required.

  As she closed the door the major paused for a moment, expecting, orperhaps hoping, that the father or the mother would say a word. Butneither of them had a word to say. They sat silent, and as thoughconscience-stricken. Here was a rich man come, of whom they had heardthat he might probably wish to wed their daughter. It was manifestenough to both of them that no man could marry into their familywithout subjecting himself to a heavy portion of that reproach anddisgrace which was attached to them. But how was it possible thatthey should not care more for their daughter,--for their own fleshand blood, than for the incidental welfare of this rich man? Asregarded the man himself they had heard everything that was good.Such a marriage was like the opening of paradise to their child. "Nilconscire sibi," said the father to himself, as he buckled on hisarmour for the fight.

  When he had waited for a moment or two the major began. "Mrs.Crawley," he said, addressing himself to the mother, "I do not quiteknow how far you may be aware that I,--that I have for some timebeen,--been acquainted with your eldest daughter."

  "I have heard from her that she is acquainted with you," said Mrs.Crawley, almost panting with anxiety.

  "I may as well make a clean breast of it at once," said the major,smiling, "and say outright that I have come here to request yourpermission and her father's to ask her to be my wife." Then he wassilent, and for a few moments neither Mr. nor Mrs. Crawley repliedto him. She looked at her husband, and he gazed at the fire, and thesmile died away from the major's face, as he watched the solemnityof them both. There was something almost forbidding in the peculiargravity of Mr. Crawley's countenance when, as at present, somethingoperated within him to cause him to express dissent from anyproposition that was made to him. "I do not know how far this may bealtogether new to you, Mrs. Crawley," said the major, waiting for areply.

  "It is not new to us," said Mrs. Crawley.

  "May I hope, then, that you will not disapprove?"

  "Sir," said Mr. Crawley, "I am so placed by the untowardcircumstances of my life that I can hardly claim to exercise over myown daughter that authority which should belong to a parent."

  "My dear, do not say that," exclaimed Mrs. Crawley.

  "But I do say it. Within three weeks of this time I may be aprisoner, subject to the criminal laws of my country. At this momentI am without the power of earning bread for myself, or for my wife,or for my children. Major Grantly, you have even now seen thedeparture of the gentleman who has been sent here to take my place inthis parish. I am, as it were, an outlaw here, and entitled neitherto obedience nor respect from those who under other circumstanceswould be bound to give me both."

  "Major Grantly," said the poor woman, "no husband or father in thecounty is more closely obeyed or more thoroughly respected andloved."

  "I am sure of it," said the major.

  "All this, however, matters nothing," continued Mr. Crawley, "and allspeech on such homely matters would amount to an impertinence beforeyou, sir, were it not that you have hinted at a purpose of connectingyourself at some future time with this unfortunate family."

  "I meant to be plain-spoken, Mr. Crawley."

  "I did not mean to insinuate, sir, that there was aught of reticencein your words, so contrived that you might fall back upon thevagueness of your expression for protection, should you hereafter seefit to change your purpose. I should have wronged you much by such asuggestion. I rather was minded to make known to you that I,--or, Ishould rather say, we," and Mr. Crawley pointed to his wife,--"shallnot accept your plainness of speech as betokening aught beyond aconceived idea in furtherance of which you have thought it expedientto make certain inquiries."

  "I don't quite follow you," said the major. "But what I want you todo is to give me your consent to visit your daughter; and I want Mrs.Crawley to write to Grace and tell her that it's all right." Mrs.Crawley was quite sure that it was all right, and was ready to sitdown and write the letter that moment, if her husband would permither to do so.

  "I am sorry that I have not been explicit," said Mr. Crawley, "but Iwill endeavour to make myself more plainly intelligible. My daughter,sir, is so circumstanced in reference to her father, that I, as herfather and as a gentleman, cannot encourage any man to make a tenderto her of his hand."

  "But I have made up my mind about all that."

  "And I, sir, have made up mine. I dare not tell my girl that I thinkshe will do well to place her hand in yours. A lady, when she doesthat, should feel at least that her hand is clean."

  "It is the cleanest and the sweetest and the fairest hand inBarsetshire," said the major. Mrs. Crawley could not restrainherself, but running up to him, took his hand in hers and kissed it.

  "There is unfortunately a stain, which is vicarial," beganMr. Crawley, sustaining up to that point his voice with Romanfortitude,--with a fortitude which would have been Roman had it notat that moment broken down under the pressure of human feeling. Hecould keep it up no longer, but continued his speech with brokensobs, and with a vo
ice altogether changed in its tone,--rapid now,whereas it had before been slow,--natural, whereas it had hithertobeen affected,--human, whereas it had hitherto been Roman. "MajorGrantly," he said, "I am sore beset; but what can I say to you? Mydarling is as pure as the light of day,--only that she is soiled withmy impurity. She is fit to grace the house of the best gentleman inEngland, had I not made her unfit."

  "She shall grace mine," said the major. "By God, sheshall!--to-morrow, if she'll have me." Mrs. Crawley, who was standingbeside him, again raised his hand and kissed it.

  "It may not be so. As I began by saying,--or rather strove to say,for I have been overtaken by weakness, and cannot speak my mind,--Icannot claim authority over my child as would another man. How can Iexercise authority from between a prison's bars?"

  "She would obey your slightest wish," said Mrs. Crawley.

  "I could express no wish," said he. "But I know my girl, and I amsure that she will not consent to take infamy with her into the houseof the man who loves her."

  "There will be no infamy," said the major. "Infamy! I tell you thatI shall be proud of the connexion."

  "You, sir, are generous in your prosperity. We will strive to beat least just in our adversity. My wife and children are to bepitied,--because of the husband and the father."

  "No!" said Mrs. Crawley. "I will not hear that said without denyingit."

  "But they must take their lot as it has been given to them,"continued he. "Such a position in life as that which you haveproposed to bestow upon my child would be to her, as regardshuman affairs, great elevation. And from what I have heard,--Imay be permitted to add also from what I now learn by personalexperience,--such a marriage would be laden with fair promise offuture happiness. But if you ask my mind, I think that my child isnot free to make it. You, sir, have many relatives, who are not inlove, as you are, all of whom would be affected by the stain of mydisgrace. You have a daughter, to whom all your solicitude is due.No one should go to your house as your second wife who cannot feelthat she will serve your child. My daughter would feel that she wasbringing an injury upon the babe. I cannot bid her do this,--and Iwill not. Nor do I believe that she would do so if I bade her." Thenhe turned his chair round, and sat with his face to the wall, wipingaway the tears with a tattered handkerchief.

  Mrs. Crawley led the major away to the further window, and therestood looking up into his face. It need hardly be said that they alsowere crying. Whose eyes could have been dry after such a scene,--uponhearing such words? "You had better go," said Mrs. Crawley. "I knowhim so well. You had better go."

  "Mrs. Crawley," he said, whispering to her, "if I ever desert her,may all that I love desert me! But you will help me?"

  "You would want no help, were it not for this trouble."

  "But you will help me?"

  Then she paused a moment. "I can do nothing," she said, "but what hebids me."

  "You will trust me, at any rate?" said the major.

  "I do trust you," she replied. Then he went without saying a wordfurther to Mr. Crawley. As soon as he was gone, the wife went over toher husband, and put her arm gently round his neck as he was sitting.For a while the husband took no notice of his wife's caress, but satmotionless, with his face still turned to the wall. Then she spoketo him a word or two, telling him that their visitor was gone. "Mychild!" he said. "My poor child! my darling! She has found grace inthis man's sight; but even of that has her father robbed her! TheLord has visited upon the children the sins of the father, and willdo so to the third and fourth generation."