Framley Parsonage (Unabridged). Anthony Trollope
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of that kind when I get it. You clergymen like to keep those long subjects for your sermons, when no one can answer you. Now if I have a longing heart’s desire for anything at all in this world, it is to be able to get up into a pulpit, and preach a sermon.”
“You can’t conceive how soon that appetite would pall upon you, after its first indulgence.”
“That would depend upon whether I could get people to listen to me. It does not pall upon Mr. Spurgeon, I suppose.” Then her attention was called away by some question from Mr. Sowerby, and Mark Robarts found himself bound to address his conversation to Miss Proudie. Miss Proudie, however, was not thankful, and gave him little but monosyllables for his pains.
“Of course you know Harold Smith is going to give us a lecture about these islanders,” Mr. Sowerby said to him, as they sat round the fire over their wine after dinner. Mark said that he had been so informed, and should be delighted to be one of the listeners.
“You are bound to do that, as he is going to listen to you the day afterwards—or, at any rate, to pretend to do so, which is as much as you will do for him. It’ll be a terrible bore—the lecture, I mean, not the sermon.” And he spoke very low into his friend’s ear. “Fancy having to drive ten miles after dusk, and ten miles back, to hear Harold Smith talk for two hours about Borneo! One must do it, you know.”
“I dare say it will be very interesting.”
“My dear fellow, you haven’t undergone so many of these things as I have. But he’s right to do it. It’s his line of life; and when a man begins a thing he ought to go on with it. Where’s Lufton all this time?”
“In Scotland, when I last heard from him; but he’s probably at Melton now.”
“It’s deuced shabby of him, not hunting here in his own county. He escapes all the bore of going to lectures, and giving feeds to the neighbours; that’s why he treats us so. He has no idea of his duty, has he?”
“Lady Lufton does all that, you know.”
“I wish I’d a Mrs. Sowerby mère to do it for me. But then Lufton has no constituents to look after—lucky dog! By the by, has he spoken to you about selling that outlying bit of land of his in Oxfordshire? It belongs to the Lufton property, and yet it doesn’t. In my mind it gives more trouble than it’s worth.” Lord Lufton had spoken to Mark about this sale, and had explained to him that such a sacrifice was absolutely necessary, in consequence of certain pecuniary transactions between him, Lord Lufton, and Mr. Sowerby. But it was found impracticable to complete the business without Lady Lufton’s knowledge, and her son had commissioned Mr. Robarts not only to inform her ladyship, but to talk her over, and to appease her wrath. This commission he had not yet attempted to execute, and it was probable that this visit to Chaldicotes would not do much to facilitate the business.
“They are the most magnificent islands under the sun,” said Harold Smith to the bishop.
“Are they, indeed!” said the bishop, opening his eyes wide, and assuming a look of intense interest.
“And the most intelligent people.”
“Dear me!” said the bishop.
“All they want is guidance, encouragement, instruction—”
“And Christianity,” suggested the bishop.
“And Christianity, of course,” said Mr. Smith, remembering that he was speaking to a dignitary of the Church. It was well to humour such people, Mr. Smith thought. But the Christianity was to be done in the Sunday sermon, and was not part of his work.
“And how do you intend to begin with them?” asked Mr. Supplehouse, the business of whose life it had been to suggest difficulties.
“Begin with them—oh—why—it’s very easy to begin with them. The difficulty is to go on with them, after the money is all spent. We’ll begin by explaining to them the benefits of civilization.”
“Capital plan!” said Mr. Supplehouse. “But how do you set about it, Smith?”
“How do we set about it? How did we set about it with Australia and America? It is very easy to criticize; but in such matters the great thing is to put one’s shoulder to the wheel.”
“We sent our felons to Australia,” said Supplehouse, “and they began the work for us. And as to America, we exterminated the people instead of civilizing them.”
“We did not exterminate the inhabitants of India,” said Harold Smith, angrily.
“Nor have we attempted to Christianize them, as the bishop so properly wishes to do with your islanders.”
“Supplehouse, you are not fair,” said Mr. Sowerby, “neither to Harold Smith nor to us;—you are making him rehearse his lecture, which is bad for him; and making us hear the rehearsal, which is bad for us.”
“Supplehouse belongs to a clique which monopolizes the wisdom of England,” said Harold Smith, “or, at any rate, thinks that it does. But the worst of them is that they are given to talk leading articles.”
“Better that, than talk articles which are not leading,” said Mr. Supplehouse. “Some first-class official men do that.”
“Shall I meet you at the duke’s next week, Mr. Robarts?” said the bishop to him, soon after they had gone into the drawing-room. Meet him at the duke’s!—the established enemy of Barsetshire mankind, as Lady Lufton regarded his grace! No idea of going to the duke’s had ever entered our hero’s mind; nor had he been aware that the duke was about to entertain any one.
“No, my lord; I think not. Indeed, I have no acquaintance with his grace.”
“Oh—ah! I did not know. Because Mr. Sowerby is going; and so are the Harold Smiths, and, I think, Mr. Supplehouse. An excellent man is the duke;—that is, as regards all the county interests,” added the bishop, remembering that the moral character of his bachelor grace was not the very best in the world. And then his lordship began to ask some questions about the church affairs of Framley, in which a little interest as to Framley Court was also mixed up, when he was interrupted by a rather sharp voice, to which he instantly attended.
“Bishop,” said the rather sharp voice; and the bishop trotted across the room to the back of the sofa, on which his wife was sitting. “Miss Dunstable thinks that she will be able to come to us for a couple of days, after we leave the duke’s.”
“I shall be delighted above all things,” said the bishop, bowing low to the dominant lady of the day. For be it known to all men, that Miss Dunstable was the great heiress of that name.
“Mrs. Proudie is so very kind as to say that she will take me in, with my poodle, parrot, and pet old woman.”
“I tell Miss Dunstable that we shall have quite room for any of her suite,” said Mrs. Proudie. “And that it will give us no trouble.”
“‘The labour we delight in physics pain,’“ said the gallant bishop, bowing low, and putting his hand upon his heart. In the meantime Mr. Fothergill had got hold of Mark Robarts. Mr. Fothergill was a gentleman and a magistrate of the county, but he occupied the position of managing man on the Duke of Omnium’s estates. He was not exactly his agent; that is to say, he did not receive his rents; but he “managed” for him, saw people, went about the county, wrote letters, supported the electioneering interest, did popularity when it was too much trouble for the duke to do it himself, and was, in fact, invaluable. People in West Barsetshire would often say that they did not know what on earth the duke would do, if it were not for Mr. Fothergill. Indeed, Mr. Fothergill was useful to the duke.
“Mr. Robarts,” he said, “I am very happy to have the pleasure of meeting you—very happy indeed. I have often heard of you from our friend Sowerby.” Mark bowed, and said that he was delighted to have the honour of making Mr. Fothergill’s acquaintance. “I am commissioned by the Duke of Omnium,” continued Mr. Fothergill, “to say how glad he will be if you will join his grace’s party at Gatherum