Barchester Towers - Anthony Trollope (ebook reader below 3000 .txt) 📗

if he would but fight, himself. But what was such a person as Dr. Grantly to do when such another person as Mr. Slope was put forward as his antagonist?

If he, our archdeacon, refused the combat, Mr. Slope would walk triumphant over the field, and have the diocese of Barchester under his heel.

If, on the other hand, the archdeacon accepted as his enemy the man whom the new puppet bishop put before him as such, he would have to talk about Mr. Slope, and write about Mr. Slope, and in all matters treat with Mr. Slope, as a being standing, in some degree, on ground similar to his own. He would have to meet Mr. Slope, to⁠—Bah! the idea was sickening. He could not bring himself to have to do with Mr. Slope.

“He is the most thoroughly bestial creature that ever I set my eyes upon,” said the archdeacon.

“Who⁠—the bishop?” asked the other innocently.

“Bishop! no⁠—I’m not talking about the bishop. How on earth such a creature got ordained!⁠—they’ll ordain anybody now, I know, but he’s been in the church these ten years, and they used to be a little careful ten years ago.”

“Oh! You mean Mr. Slope.”

“Did you ever see any animal less like a gentleman?” asked Dr. Grantly.

“I can’t say I felt myself much disposed to like him.”

“Like him!” again shouted the doctor, and the assenting ravens again cawed an echo; “of course, you don’t like him: it’s not a question of liking. But what are we to do with him?”

“Do with him?” asked Mr. Harding.

“Yes⁠—what are we to do with him? How are we to treat him? There he is, and there he’ll stay. He has put his foot in that palace, and he’ll never take it out again till he’s driven. How are we to get rid of him?”

“I don’t suppose he can do us much harm.”

“Not do harm!⁠—Well, I think you’ll find yourself of a different opinion before a month is gone. What would you say now, if he got himself put into the hospital? Would that be harm?”

Mr. Harding mused awhile and then said he didn’t think the new bishop would put Mr. Slope into the hospital.

“If he doesn’t put him there, he’ll put him somewhere else where he’ll be as bad. I tell you that that man, to all intents and purposes, will be Bishop of Barchester!” And again Dr. Grantly raised his hat and rubbed his hand thoughtfully and sadly over his head.

“Impudent scoundrel!” he continued after a while. “To dare to cross-examine me about the Sunday-schools in the diocese, and Sunday travelling too: I never in my life met his equal for sheer impudence. Why, he must have thought we were two candidates for ordination!”

“I declare I thought Mrs. Proudie was the worst of the two,” said Mr. Harding.

“When a woman is impertinent, one must only put up with it, and keep out of her way in future, but I am not inclined to put up with Mr. Slope. ‘Sabbath travelling!’ ” and the doctor attempted to imitate the peculiar drawl of the man he so much disliked: “ ‘Sabbath travelling!’ Those are the sort of men who will ruin the Church of England and make the profession of a clergyman disreputable. It is not the dissenters or the papists that we should fear, but the set of canting, lowbred hypocrites who are wriggling their way in among us; men who have no fixed principle, no standard ideas of religion or doctrine, but who take up some popular cry, as this fellow has done about ‘Sabbath travelling.’ ”

Dr. Grantly did not again repeat the question aloud, but he did so constantly to himself: “What were they to do with Mr. Slope?” How was he openly, before the world, to show that he utterly disapproved of and abhorred such a man?

Hitherto Barchester had escaped the taint of any extreme rigour of church doctrine. The clergymen of the city and neighbourhood, though very well inclined to promote High Church principles, privileges, and prerogatives, had never committed themselves to tendencies which are somewhat too loosely called Puseyite practices. They all preached in their black gowns, as their fathers had done before them; they wore ordinary black cloth waistcoats; they had no candles on their altars, either lighted or unlighted; they made no private genuflections, and were contented to confine themselves to such ceremonial observances as had been in vogue for the last hundred years. The services were decently and demurely read in their parish churches, chanting was confined to the cathedral, and the science of intoning was unknown. One young man who had come direct from Oxford as a curate to Plumstead had, after the lapse of two or three Sundays, made a faint attempt, much to the bewilderment of the poorer part of the congregation. Dr. Grantly had not been present on the occasion, but Mrs. Grantly, who had her own opinion on the subject, immediately after the service expressed a hope that the young gentleman had not been taken ill, and offered to send him all kinds of condiments supposed to be good for a sore throat. After that there had been no more intoning at Plumstead Episcopi.

But now the archdeacon began to meditate on some strong measures of absolute opposition. Dr. Proudie and his crew were of the lowest possible order of Church of England clergymen, and therefore it behoved him, Dr. Grantly, to be of the very highest. Dr. Proudie would abolish all forms and ceremonies, and therefore Dr. Grantly felt the sudden necessity of multiplying them. Dr. Proudie would consent to deprive the church of all collective authority and rule, and therefore Dr. Grantly would stand up for the full power of convocation and the renewal of all its ancient privileges.

It was true that he could not himself intone the service, but he could procure the cooperation of any number of gentlemanlike curates well trained in the mystery of doing so. He would not willingly alter his own fashion of dress, but he could people Barchester with young clergymen dressed in the longest frocks and in the highest-breasted silk waistcoats. He certainly was not prepared to cross himself, or to