CHAPTER LXVI.
REQUIESCAT IN PACE.
Things were very gloomy at the palace. It has been already said thatfor many days after Dr. Tempest's visit to Barchester the intercoursebetween the bishop and Mrs. Proudie had not been of a pleasantnature. He had become so silent, so sullen, and so solitary in hisways, that even her courage had been almost cowed, and for a whileshe had condescended to use gentler measures, with the hope thatshe might thus bring her lord round to his usual state of activesubmission or perhaps, if we strive to do her full justice, we maysay of her that her effort was made conscientiously, with the idea ofinducing him to do his duty with proper activity. For she was a womannot without a conscience, and by no means indifferent to the realservice which her husband, as bishop of the diocese, was bound torender to the affairs of the Church around her. Of her own strugglesafter personal dominion she was herself unconscious; and no doubtthey gave her, when recognized and acknowledged by herself, manystabs to her inner self, of which no single being in the world knewanything. And now, as after a while she failed in producing anyamelioration in the bishop's mood, her temper also gave way, andthings were becoming very gloomy and very unpleasant.
The bishop and his wife were at present alone in the palace. Theirmarried daughter and her husband had left them, and their unmarrieddaughter was also away. How far the bishop's mood may have producedthis solitude in the vast house I will not say. Probably Mrs.Proudie's state of mind may have prevented her from having otherguests in the place of those who were gone. She felt herself to bealmost disgraced in the eyes of all those around her by her husband'slong absence from the common rooms of the house and by his doggedsilence at meals. It was better, she thought, that they two should bealone in the palace.
Her own efforts to bring him back to something like life, to someactivity of mind if not of body, were made constantly; and when shefailed, as she did fail day after day, she would go slowly to her ownroom, and lock her door, and look back in her solitude at all thedays of her life. She had agonies in these minutes of which no onenear her knew anything. She would seize with her arm the part ofthe bed near which she would stand, and hold by it, grasping it, asthough she were afraid to fall; and then, when it was at the worstwith her, she would go to her closet,--a closet that no eyes ever sawunlocked but her own,--and fill for herself and swallow some draught;and then she would sit down with the Bible before her, and read itsedulously. She spent hours every day with her Bible before her,repeating to herself whole chapters, which she almost knew by heart.
It cannot be said that she was a bad woman, though she had in hertime done an indescribable amount of evil. She had endeavoured todo good, failing partly by ignorance and partly from the effects ofan unbridled, ambitious temper. And now, even amidst her keenestsufferings, her ambition was by no means dead. She still longed torule the diocese by means of her husband,--but was made to pause andhesitate by the unwonted mood that had fallen upon him. Before this,on more than one occasion, and on one very memorable occasion, hehad endeavoured to combat her. He had fought with her, striving toput her down. He had failed, and given up the hope of any escape forhimself in that direction. On those occasions her courage had neverquailed for a moment. While he openly struggled to be master, shecould openly struggle to be mistress,--and could enjoy the struggle.But nothing like this moodiness had ever come upon him before.
She had yielded to it for many days, striving to coax him by littlesoftnesses of which she herself had been ashamed as she practisedthem. They had served her nothing, and at last she determined thatsomething else must be done. If only for his sake, to keep some lifein him, something else must be done. Were he to continue as he wasnow, he must give up his diocese, or, at any rate, declare himselftoo ill to keep the working of it in his own hands. How she hatedMr. Crawley for all the sorrow that he had brought upon her and herhouse!
And it was still the affair of Mr. Crawley which urged her on tofurther action. When the bishop received Mr. Crawley's letter he saidnothing of it to her; but he handed it over to his chaplain. Thechaplain, fearing to act upon it himself, handed it to Mr. Thumble,whom he knew to be one of the bishop's commission, and Mr. Thumble,equally fearing responsibility in the present state of affairs at thepalace, found himself obliged to consult Mrs. Proudie. Mrs. Proudiehad no doubt as to what should be done. The man had abdicated hisliving, and of course some provision must be made for the services.She would again make an attempt upon her husband, and therefore shewent into his room holding Mr. Crawley's letter in her hand.
"My dear," she said, "here is Mr. Crawley's letter. I suppose youhave read it?"
"Yes," said the bishop; "I have read it."
"And what will you do about it? Something must be done."
"I don't know," said he. He did not even look at her as he spoke. Hehad not turned his eyes upon her since she had entered the room.
"But, bishop, it is a letter that requires to be acted upon at once.We cannot doubt that the man is doing right at last. He is submittinghimself where his submission is due; but his submission will be of noavail unless you take some action upon his letter. Do you not thinkthat Mr. Thumble had better go over?"
"No, I don't. I think Mr. Thumble had better stay where he is," saidthe irritated bishop.
"What, then, would you wish to have done?"
"Never mind," said he.
"But, bishop, that is nonsense," said Mrs. Proudie, adding somethingof severity to the tone of her voice.
"No, it isn't nonsense," said he. Still he did not look at her, norhad he done so for a moment since she had entered the room. Mrs.Proudie could not bear this, and as her anger became strong withinher breast, she told herself that she would be wrong to bear it. Shehad tried what gentleness would do, and she had failed. It was nowimperatively necessary that she should resort to sterner measures.She must make him understand that he must give her authority to sendMr. Thumble to Hogglestock.
"Why do you not turn round and speak to me properly?" she said.
"I do not want to speak to you at all," the bishop answered.
This was very bad;--almost anything would be better than this. He wassitting now over the fire, with his elbows on his knees, and his faceburied in his hands. She had gone round the room so as to face him,and was now standing almost over him, but still she could not see hiscountenance. "This will not do at all," she said. "My dear, do youknow that you are forgetting yourself altogether?"
"I wish I could forget myself."
"That might be all very well if you were in a position in which youowed no service to any one; or, rather, it would not be well then,but the evil would not be so manifest. You cannot do your duty in thediocese if you continue to sit there doing nothing, with your headupon your hands. Why do you not rally, and get to your work like aman?"
"I wish you would go away and leave me," he said.
"No, bishop, I will not go away and leave you. You have broughtyourself to such a condition that it is my duty as your wife to stayby you; and if you neglect your duty, I will not neglect mine."
"It was you that brought me to it."
"No, sir, that is not true. I did not bring you to it."
"It is the truth." And now he got up and looked at her. For a momenthe stood upon his legs, and then again he sat down with his faceturned towards her. "It is the truth. You have brought on me suchdisgrace that I cannot hold up my head. You have ruined me. I wish Iwere dead; and it is all through you that I am driven to wish it."
Of all that she had suffered in her life this was the worst. Sheclasped both her hands to her side as she listened to him, and fora minute or two she made no reply. When he ceased from speaking heagain put his elbows on his knees and again buried his face in hishands. What had she better do, or how was it expedient that sheshould treat him? At this crisis the whole thing was so important toher that she would have postponed her own ambition and would havecurbed her temper had she thought that by doing so she might in anydegree have benefited him. But it seemed to he
r that she could notrouse him by conciliation. Neither could she leave him as he was.Something must be done. "Bishop," she said, "the words that you speakare sinful, very sinful."
"You have made them sinful," he replied.
"I will not hear that from you. I will not indeed. I have endeavouredto do my duty by you, and I do not deserve it. I am endeavouring todo my duty now, and you must know that it would ill become me toremain quiescent while you are in such a state. The world around youis observing you, and knows that you are not doing your work. All Iwant of you is that you should arouse yourself, and go to your work."
"I could do my work very well," he said, "if you were not here."
"I suppose, then, you wish that I were dead?" said Mrs. Proudie.To this he made no reply, nor did he stir himself. How could fleshand blood bear this,--female flesh and blood,--Mrs. Proudie's fleshand blood? Now, at last, her temper once more got the better of herjudgment, probably much to her immediate satisfaction, and she spokeout. "I'll tell you what it is, my lord; if you are imbecile, Imust be active. It is very sad that I should have to assume yourauthority--"
"I will not allow you to assume my authority."
"I must do so, or must else obtain a medical certificate as to yourincapacity, and beg that some neighbouring bishop may administerthe diocese. Things shall not go on as they are now. I, at any rate,will do my duty. I shall tell Mr. Thumble that he must go over toHogglestock, and arrange for the duties of the parish."
"I desire that you will do no such thing," said the bishop, now againlooking up at her.
"You may be sure that I shall," said Mrs. Proudie, and then she leftthe room.
He did not even yet suppose that she would go about this work atonce. The condition of his mind was in truth bad, and was becomingworse, probably, from day to day; but still he did make hiscalculations about things, and now reflected that it would besufficient if he spoke to his chaplain to-morrow about Mr. Crawley'sletter. Since the terrible scene that Dr. Tempest had witnessed, hehad never been able to make up his mind as to what great step hewould take, but he had made up his mind that some great step wasnecessary. There were moments in which he thought that he wouldresign his bishopric. For such resignation, without acknowledgedincompetence on the score of infirmity, the precedents were very few;but even if there were no precedents, it would be better to do thatthan to remain where he was. Of course there would be disgrace. Butthen it would be disgrace from which he could hide himself. Now therewas equal disgrace; and he could not hide himself. And then such ameasure as that would bring punishment where punishment was due. Itwould bring his wife to the ground,--her who had brought him to theground. The suffering should not be all his own. When she found thather income, and her palace, and her position were all gone, thenperhaps she might repent the evil that she had done him. Now, when hewas left alone, his mind went back to this, and he did not think oftaking immediate measures,--measures on that very day,--to preventthe action of Mr. Thumble.
But Mrs. Proudie did take immediate steps. Mr. Thumble was at thismoment in the palace waiting for instructions. It was he who hadbrought Mr. Crawley's letter to Mrs. Proudie, and she now returnedto him with that letter in her hand. The reader will know what wasthe result. Mr. Thumble was sent off to Hogglestock at once on thebishop's old cob, and,--as will be remembered,--fell into trouble onthe road. Late in the afternoon he entered the palace yard, havingled the cob by the bridle the whole way home from Hogglestock.
Some hour or two before Mr. Thumble's return Mrs. Proudie returned toher husband, thinking it better to let him know what she had done.She resolved to be very firm with him, but at the same time shedetermined not to use harsh language if it could be avoided. "Mydear," she said, "I have arranged with Mr. Thumble." She found himon this occasion sitting at his desk with papers before him, witha pen in his hand; and she could see at a glance that nothing hadbeen written on the paper. What would she have thought had she knownthat when he placed the sheet before him he was proposing to consultthe archbishop as to the propriety of his resignation! He had not,however, progressed so far as to write even the date of his letter.
"You have done what?" said he, throwing down the pen.
"I have arranged with Mr. Thumble as to going out to Hogglestock,"said she firmly. "Indeed he has gone already." Then the bishop jumpedup from his seat, and rang the bell with violence. "What are yougoing to do?" said Mrs. Proudie.
"I am going to depart from here," said he. "I will not stay hereto be the mark of scorn for all men's fingers. I will resign thediocese."
"You cannot do that," said his wife.
"I can try, at any rate," said he. Then the servant entered. "John,"said he, addressing the man, "let Mr. Thumble know the moment hereturns to the palace that I wish to see him here. Perhaps he may notcome to the palace. In that case let word be sent to his house."
Mrs. Proudie allowed the man to go before she addressed her husbandagain. "What do you mean to say to Mr. Thumble when you see him?"
"That is nothing to you."
She came up to him and put her hand upon his shoulder, and spoke tohim very gently. "Tom," she said, "is that the way in which you speakto your wife?"
"Yes, it is. You have driven me to it. Why have you taken uponyourself to send that man to Hogglestock?"
"Because it was right to do so. I came to you for instructions, andyou would give none."
"I should have given what instructions I pleased in proper time.Thumble shall not go to Hogglestock next Sunday."
"Who shall go, then?"
"Never mind. Nobody. It does not matter to you. If you will leave menow I shall be obliged to you. There will be an end of all this verysoon,--very soon."
Mrs. Proudie after this stood for a while thinking what she wouldsay; but she left the room without uttering another word. As shelooked at him a hundred different thoughts came into her mind. Shehad loved him dearly, and she loved him still; but she knew now,--atthis moment felt absolutely sure,--that by him she was hated! Inspite of all her roughness and temper, Mrs. Proudie was in thislike other women,--that she would fain have been loved had it beenpossible. She had always meant to serve him. She was consciousof that; conscious also in a way that, although she had beenindustrious, although she had been faithful, although she was clever,yet she had failed. At the bottom of her heart she knew that shehad been a bad wife. And yet she had meant to be a pattern wife!She had meant to be a good Christian; but she had so exercised herChristianity that not a soul in the world loved her, or would endureher presence if it could be avoided! She had sufficient insight tothe minds and feelings of those around her to be aware of this.And now her husband had told her that her tyranny to him was sooverbearing that he must throw up his great position, and retire toan obscurity that would be exceptionally disgraceful to them both,because he could no longer endure the public disgrace which herconduct brought upon him in his high place before the world! Herheart was too full for speech; and she left him, very quietly closingthe door behind her.
She was preparing to go up to her chamber, with her hand on thebanisters and with her foot on the stairs, when she saw the servantwho had answered the bishop's bell. "John," she said, "when Mr.Thumble comes to the palace, let me see him before he goes to mylord."
"Yes, ma'am," said John, who well understood the nature of thesequarrels between his master and his mistress. But the commands of themistress were still paramount among the servants, and John proceededon his mission with the view of accomplishing Mrs. Proudie's behests.Then Mrs. Proudie went upstairs to her chamber, and locked her door.
Mr. Thumble returned to Barchester that day, leading the broken-downcob; and a dreadful walk he had. He was not good at walking, andbefore he came near Barchester had come to entertain a violent hatredfor the beast he was leading. The leading of a horse that is tired,or in pain, or lame, or even stiff in his limbs, is not pleasantwork. The brute will not accommodate his paces to the man, and willcontrive to make his head very heavy on the bridle. And he will notwalk
on the part of the road which the man intends for him, butwill lean against the man, and will make himself altogether verydisagreeable. It may be understood, therefore, that Mr. Thumble wasnot in a good humour when he entered the palace yard. Nor was healtogether quiet in his mind as to the injury which he had done tothe animal. "It was the brute's fault," said Mr. Thumble. "It comesgenerally of not knowing how to ride 'em," said the groom. For Mr.Thumble, though he often had a horse out of the episcopal stables,was not ready with his shillings to the man who waited upon him withthe steed.
He had not, however, come to any satisfactory understandingrespecting the broken knees when the footman from the palace toldhim he was wanted. It was in vain that Mr. Thumble pleaded thathe was nearly dead with fatigue, that he had walked all the wayfrom Hogglestock and must go home to change his clothes. John wasperemptory with him, insisting that he must wait first upon Mrs.Proudie and then upon the bishop. Mr. Thumble might perhaps haveturned a deaf ear to the latter command, but the former was one whichhe felt himself bound to obey. So he entered the palace, rathercross, very much soiled as to his outer man; and in this conditionwent up a certain small staircase which was familiar to him, to asmall parlour which adjoined Mrs. Proudie's room, and there awaitedthe arrival of the lady. That he should be required to wait somequarter of an hour was not surprising to him; but when half an hourwas gone, and he remembered himself of his own wife at home, and ofthe dinner which he had not yet eaten, he ventured to ring the bell.Mrs. Proudie's own maid, Mrs. Draper by name, came to him and saidthat she had knocked twice at Mrs. Proudie's door and would knockagain. Two minutes after that she returned, running into the roomwith her arms extended, and exclaiming, "Oh, heavens, sir; mistressis dead!" Mr. Thumble, hardly knowing what he was about, followed thewoman into the bedroom, and there he found himself standing awestruckbefore the corpse of her who had so lately been the presiding spiritof the palace.
The body was still resting on its legs, leaning against the end ofthe side of the bed, while one of the arms was close clasped roundthe bed-post. The mouth was rigidly closed, but the eyes were open asthough staring at him. Nevertheless there could be no doubt from thefirst glance that the woman was dead. He went up close to it, but didnot dare to touch it. There was no one as yet there but he and Mrs.Draper;--no one else knew what had happened.
"It's her heart," said Mrs. Draper.
"Did she suffer from heart complaint?" he asked.
"We suspected it, sir, though nobody knew it. She was very shy oftalking about herself."
"We must send for the doctor at once," said Mr. Thumble. "We hadbetter touch nothing till he is here." Then they retreated and thedoor was locked.
In ten minutes everybody in the house knew it except the bishop; andin twenty minutes the nearest apothecary with his assistant were inthe room, and the body had been properly laid upon the bed. Even thenthe husband had not been told,--did not know either his relief or hisloss. It was now past seven, which was the usual hour for dinner atthe palace, and it was probable that he would come out of his roomamong the servants, if he were not summoned. When it was proposed toMr. Thumble that he should go in to him and tell him, he positivelydeclined, saying that the sight which he had just seen and theexertions of the day together, had so unnerved him, that he had notphysical strength for the task. The apothecary, who had been summonedin a hurry, had escaped, probably being equally unwilling to bethe bearer of such a communication. The duty therefore fell to Mrs.Draper, and under the pressing instance of the other servants shedescended to her master's room. Had it not been that the hour ofdinner had come, so that the bishop could not have been left muchlonger to himself, the evil time would have been still postponed.
She went very slowly along the passage, and was just going to pauseere she reached the room, when the door was opened and the bishopstood close before her. It was easy to be seen that he was cross. Hishands and face were unwashed and his face was haggard. In these dayshe would not even go through the ceremony of dressing himself beforedinner. "Mrs. Draper," he said, "why don't they tell me that dinneris ready? Are they going to give me any dinner?" She stood a momentwithout answering him, while the tears streamed down her face. "Whatis the matter?" said he. "Has your mistress sent you here?"
"Oh, laws!" said Mrs. Draper,--and she put out her hands to supporthim if such support should be necessary.
"What is the matter?" he demanded angrily.
"Oh, my lord;--bear it like a Christian. Mistress isn't no more." Heleaned back against the door-post, and she took hold of him by thearm. "It was the heart, my lord. Dr. Filgrave hisself has not beenyet; but that's what it was." The bishop did not say a word, butwalked back to his chair before the fire.