Framley Parsonage (13 page)

And then on the Saturday afternoon they all went over to Barchester. Harold Smith during the last forty-eight hours had become crammed to overflowing with Sarawak, Labuan, New Guinea, and
the Solomon Islands. As is the case with all men labouring under temporary specialities, he for the time had faith in nothing else, and was not content that any one near him should have any other faith. They called him Viscount Papua and Baron Borneo; and his wife, who headed the joke against him, insisted on having her title. Miss Dunstable swore that she would wed none but a South Sea islander;
and to Mark was offered the income and duties of Bishop of Spices. Nor did the Proudie family set themselves against these little sarcastic quips with any overwhelming severity. It is sweet to unbend oneself at the proper opportunity, and this was the proper opportunity for Mrs Proudie’s unbending. No mortal can be seriously wise at all hours; and in these happy hours did that usually wise mortal,
the bishop, lay aside for a while his serious wisdom.

‘We think of dining at five to-morrow, my Lady Papua,’ said the facetious bishop; ‘will that suit his lordship and the affairs of State? he! he! he!’ And the good prelate laughed at the fun.

How pleasantly young men and women of fifty or thereabouts can joke and flirt and poke their fun about, laughing and holding their sides, dealing in
little innuendoes and rejoicing in nicknames when they have no Mentors of twenty-five or thirty near them to keep them in order. The Vicar of Framley might perhaps have been regarded as such a Mentor, were it not for that capability of adapting himself to the company immediately around him on which he so much piqued himself. He therefore also talked to my Lady Papua, and was jocose about the Baron,
– not altogether to the satisfaction of Mr Harold Smith himself.

For Mr Harold Smith was in earnest and did not quite relish these jocundities. He had an idea that he could in about three months talk the British world into civilizing New Guinea, and that the world of Barsetshire would be made to go with him by one night’s efforts. He did not understand why others should be less serious, and was
inclined to resent somewhat stiffly the amenities of our friend Mark.

‘We must not keep the Baron waiting,’ said Mark, as they were preparing to start for Barchester.

‘I don’t know what you mean by the Baron, sir,’ said Harold Smith. ‘But perhaps the joke will be against you, when you are getting up into your pulpit to-morrow and sending the hat round among the clodhoppers of Chaldicotes.’

‘Those who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones; eh, Baron?’ said Miss Dunstable. ‘Mr Robarts’ sermon will be too near akin to your lecture to allow of his laughing.’

‘If we can do nothing towards instructing the outer world till it’s done by the parsons,’ said Harold Smith, ‘the outer world will have to wait a long time, I fear.’

‘Nobody can do anything of that kind short of a member
of Parliament and a would-be minister,’ whispered Mrs Harold.

And so they were all very pleasant together, in spite of a little fencing with edge-tools; and at three o’clock the
cortège
of carriages started for Barchester, that of the bishop, of course, leading the way. His lordship, however, was not in it.

‘Mrs Proudie, I’m sure you’ll let me go with you,’ said Miss Dunstable, at the last moment,
as she came down the big stone steps. ‘I want to hear the rest of that story about Mr Slope.’

Now this upset everything. The bishop was to have gone with his wife, Mrs Smith, and Mark Robarts; and Mr Sowerby had so arranged matters that he could have accompanied Miss Dunstable in his phaeton. But no one ever dreamed of denying Miss Dunstable anything. Of course Mark gave way; but it ended in
the bishop declaring that he had no special predilection for his own carriage, which he did in compliance with a glance from his wife’s eye. Then other changes of course followed, and, at last, Mr Sowerby and Harold Smith were the joint occupants of the phaeton.

The poor lecturer, as he seated himself, made some remark such as those he had been making for the last two days – for out of a full
heart the mouth speaketh. But he spoke to an impatient listener. ‘D— the South Sea islanders,’ said Mr Sowerby. ‘You’ll have it all your own way in a few minutes, like a bull in a china-shop; but for heaven’s sake let us have a little peace till that time comes.’ It appeared that Mr Sowerby’s little plan of having Miss
Dunstable for his companion was not quite insignificant; and, indeed, it may
be said that but few of his little plans were so. At the present moment he flung himself back in the carriage and prepared for sleep. He could further no plan of his by a
tête-à-tête
conversation with his brother-in-law.

And then Mrs Proudie began her story about Mr Slope, or rather recommenced it. She was very fond of talking about this gentleman, who had once been her pet chaplain but was now
her bitterest foe; and in telling the story, she had sometimes to whisper to Miss Dunstable, for there were one or two fie-fie little anecdotes about a married lady, not altogether fit for young Mr Robarts’ ears. But Mrs Harold Smith insisted on having them out loud, and Miss Dunstable would gratify that lady in spite of Mrs Proudie’s winks.

‘What, kissing her hand, and he a clergyman!’ said
Miss Dunstable. ‘I did not think they ever did such things, Mr Robarts.’

‘Still waters run deepest,’ said Mrs Harold Smith.

‘Hush-h-h,’ looked, rather than spoke, Mrs Proudie. ‘The grief of spirit which that bad man caused me nearly broke my heart, and all the while, you know, he was courting – ’ and then Mrs Proudie whispered a name.

‘What, the dean’s wife!’ shouted Miss Dunstable, in a voice
which made the coachman of the next carriage give a chuck to his horses as he overheard her.

‘The archdeacon’s sister-in-law!’ screamed Mrs Harold Smith.

‘What might he not have attempted next?’ said Miss Dunstable.

‘She wasn’t the dean’s wife then, you know,’ said Mrs Proudie, explaining.

‘Well, you’ve a gay set in the chapter, I must say,’ said Miss Dunstable. ‘You ought to make one of them
in Barchester, Mr Robarts.’

‘Only perhaps Mrs Robarts might not like it,’ said Mrs Harold Smith.

‘And then the schemes which he tried on with the bishop!’ said Mrs Proudie.

‘It’s all fair in love and war, you know,’ said Miss Dunstable.

‘But he little knew whom he had to deal with when he began that,’ said Mrs Proudie.

‘The bishop was too many for him,’ suggested Mrs Harold Smith, very maliciously.

‘If the bishop was not, somebody else was; and he was obliged to leave Barchester in utter disgrace. He has since married the wife of some tallow-chandler.’

‘The wife!’ said Miss Dunstable. ‘What a man!’

‘Widow, I mean; but it’s all one to him.’

‘The gentleman was clearly born when Venus was in the ascendant,’ said Mrs Smith. ‘You clergymen usually are, I believe, Mr Robarts.’ So that Mrs Proudie’s
carriage was by no means the dullest as they drove into Barchester that day; and by degrees our friend Mark became accustomed to his companions, and before they reached the palace he acknowledged to himself that Miss Dunstable was very good fun.

We cannot linger over the bishop’s dinner, though it was very good of its kind; and as Mr Sowerby contrived to sit next to Miss Dunstable, thereby overturning
a little scheme made by Mr Supplehouse, he again shone forth in unclouded good humour. But Mr Harold Smith became impatient immediately on the withdrawal of the cloth. The lecture was to begin at seven, and according to his watch that hour had already come. He declared that Sowerby and Supplehouse were endeavouring to delay matters in order that the Barchesterians might become vexed and
impatient; and so the bishop was not allowed to exercise his hospitality in true episcopal fashion.

‘You forget, Sowerby,’ said Supplehouse, ‘that the world here for the last fortnight has been looking forward to nothing else.’

‘The world shall be gratified at once,’ said Mrs Harold, obeying a little nod from Mrs Proudie. ‘Come, my dear,’ and she took hold of Miss Dunstable’s arm, ‘don’t let
us keep Barchester waiting. We shall be ready in a quarter-of-an-hour, shall we not, Mrs Proudie?’ and so they sailed off.

‘And we shall have time for one glass of claret,’ said the bishop.

‘There; that’s seven by the cathedral,’ said Harold Smith, jumping up from his chair as he heard the clock. ‘If the people have come it would not be right in me to keep them waiting, and I shall go.’

‘Just
one glass of claret, Mr Smith; and we’ll be off,’ said the bishop.

‘Those women will keep me an hour,’ said Harold, filling his glass, and drinking it standing. ‘They do it on purpose.’ He was thinking of his wife, but it seemed to the bishop as though his guest were actually speaking of Mrs Proudiel

It was rather late when they all found themselves in the big room of the Mechanics’ Institute;
but I do not know whether this on the whole did them any harm. Most of Mr Smith’s hearers, excepting the party from the palace, were Barchester tradesmen with their wives and families; and they waited, not impatiently, for the big people. And then the lecture was gratis, a fact which is always borne in mind by an Englishman when he comes to reckon up and calculate the way in which he is treated.
When he pays his money, then he takes his choice; he may be impatient or not as he likes. His sense of justice teaches him so much, and in accordance with that sense he usually acts.

So the people on the benches rose graciously when the palace party entered the room. Seats for them had been kept in the front. There were three arm-chairs, which were filled, after some little hesitation, by the
bishop, Mrs Proudie, and Miss Dunstable – Mrs Smith positively declining to take one of them; though, as she admitted, her rank as Lady Papua of the islands did give her some claim. And this remark, as it was made quite out loud, reached Mr Smith’s ears as he stood behind a little table on a small raised dais, holding his white kid gloves; and it annoyed him and rather put him out. He did not like
that joke about Lady Papua.

And then the others of the party sat upon a front bench covered with red cloth. ‘We shall find this very hard and very narrow about the second hour,’ said Mr Sowerby, and Mr Smith on his dais again overheard the words, and dashed his gloves down to the table. He felt that all the room would hear it.

And there were one or two gentlemen on the second seat who shook
hands with some of our party. There was Mr Thorne of Ullathorne, a good-natured old bachelor, whose residence was near enough to Barchester to allow of his coming in without much personal inconvenience; and next to him was Mr Harding, an old clergyman of the chapter, with whom Mrs Proudie shook hands very graciously, making way for him to seat himself close behind her if he would so please. But Mr
Harding did not so please.
Having paid his respects to the bishop he returned quietly to the side of his old friend Mr Thorne, thereby angering Mrs Proudie, as might easily be seen by her face. And Mr Chadwick also was there, the episcopal man of business for the diocese; but he also adhered to the two gentlemen above named.

And now that the bishop and the ladies had taken their places, Mr Harold
Smith relifted his gloves and again laid them down, hummed three times distinctly, and then began.

‘It was,’ he said, ‘the most peculiar characteristic of the present era in the British islands that those who were high placed before the world in rank, wealth, and education were willing to come forward and give their time and knowledge without fee or reward, for the advantage and amelioration
of those who did not stand so high in the social scale.’ And then he paused for a moment, during which Mrs Smith remarked to Miss Dunstable that that was pretty well for a beginning; and Miss Dunstable replied, ‘that as for herself she felt very grateful to rank, wealth, and education.’ Mr Sowerby winked to Mr Supplehouse, who opened his eyes very wide and shrugged his shoulders. But the Barchesterians
took it all in good part and gave the lecturer the applause of their hands and feet.

And then, well pleased, he recommenced – ‘I do not make these remarks with reference to myself –’

‘I hope he’s not going to be modest,’ said Miss Dunstable.

‘It will be quite new if he is,’ replied Mrs Smith.

‘– so much as to many noble and talented lords and members of the Lower House who have lately from
time to time devoted themselves to this good work.’ And then he went through a long list of peers and members of Parliament, beginning, of course, with Lord Boanerges, and ending with Mr Green Walker, a young gentleman who had lately been returned by his uncle’s interest for the borough of Crewe Junction, and had immediately made his entrance into public life by giving a lecture on the grammarians
of the Latin language as exemplified at Eton school.
¹

‘On the present occasion,’ Mr Smith continued, ‘our object is to learn something as to those grand and magnificent islands which lie far away, beyond the Indies, in the Southern Ocean; the lands of which produce rich spices and glorious fruits, and
whose seas are embedded with pearls and corals – Papua and the Philippines, Borneo and the Moluccas.
My friends, you are familiar with your maps, and you know the track which the equator makes for itself through those distant oceans.’ And then many heads were turned down, and there was a rustle of leaves; for not a few of those ‘who stood not so high in the social scale’ had brought their maps with them, and refreshed their memories as to the whereabouts of these wondrous islands.

And then Mr
Smith also, with a map in his hand, and pointing occasionally to another large map which hung against the wall, went into the geography of the matter. ‘We might have found that out from our atlases, I think, without coming all the way to Barchester,’ said that unsympathizing helpmate Mrs Harold, very cruelly – most illogically too, for there be so many things which we could find out ourselves by
search, but which we never do find out unless they be specially told us; and why should not the latitude and longitude of Labuan be one – or rather two of these things?