The Rev. Septimus Harding was, a few years since, a beneficed
clergyman residing in the cathedral town of ––––; let us call it
Barchester. Were we to name Wells or Salisbury, Exeter, Hereford,
or Gloucester, it might be presumed that something personal was
intended; and as this tale will refer mainly to the cathedral
dignitaries of the town in question, we are anxious that no
personality may be suspected. Let us presume that Barchester is a
quiet town in the West of England, more remarkable for the beauty
of its cathedral and the antiquity of its monuments than for any
commercial prosperity; that the west end of Barchester is the
cathedral close, and that the aristocracy of Barchester are the
bishop, dean, and canons, with their respective wives and
daughters.
Early in life Mr Harding found himself located at Barchester.
A fine voice and a taste for sacred music had decided the position
in which he was to exercise his calling, and for many years he
performed the easy but not highly paid duties of a minor canon. At
the age of forty a small living in the close vicinity of the town
increased both his work and his income, and at the age of fifty he
became precentor of the cathedral.
Mr Harding had married early in life, and was the father of
two daughters. The eldest, Susan, was born soon after his marriage;
the other, Eleanor, not till ten years later.
At the time at which we introduce him to our readers he was
living as precentor at Barchester with his youngest daughter, then
twenty-four years of age; having been many years a widower, and
having married his eldest daughter to a son of the bishop a very
short time before his installation to the office of
precentor.
Scandal at Barchester affirmed that had it not been for the
beauty of his daughter, Mr Harding would have remained a minor
canon; but here probably Scandal lied, as she so often does; for
even as a minor canon no one had been more popular among his
reverend brethren in the close than Mr Harding; and Scandal, before
she had reprobated Mr Harding for being made precentor by his
friend the bishop, had loudly blamed the bishop for having so long
omitted to do something for his friend Mr Harding. Be this as it
may, Susan Harding, some twelve years since, had married the Rev.
Dr Theophilus Grantly, son of the bishop, archdeacon of Barchester,
and rector of Plumstead Episcopi, and her father became, a few
months later, precentor of Barchester Cathedral, that office being,
as is not unusual, in the bishop's gift.
Now there are peculiar circumstances connected with the
precentorship which must be explained. In the year 1434 there died
at Barchester one John Hiram, who had made money in the town as a
wool-stapler, and in his will he left the house in which he died
and certain meadows and closes near the town, still called Hiram's
Butts, and Hiram's Patch, for the support of twelve superannuated
wool-carders, all of whom should have been born and bred and spent
their days in Barchester; he also appointed that an alms-house
should be built for their abode, with a fitting residence for a
warden, which warden was also to receive a certain sum annually out
of the rents of the said butts and patches. He, moreover, willed,
having had a soul alive to harmony, that the precentor of the
cathedral should have the option of being also warden of the
almshouses, if the bishop in each case approved.
From that day to this the charity had gone on and
prospered—at least, the charity had gone on, and the estates had
prospered. Wool-carding in Barchester there was no longer any; so
the bishop, dean, and warden, who took it in turn to put in the old
men, generally appointed some hangers-on of their own; worn-out
gardeners, decrepit grave-diggers, or octogenarian sextons, who
thankfully received a comfortable lodging and one shilling and
fourpence a day, such being the stipend to which, under the will of
John Hiram, they were declared to be entitled. Formerly,
indeed,—that is, till within some fifty years of the present
time,—they received but sixpence a day, and their breakfast and
dinner was found them at a common table by the warden, such an
arrangement being in stricter conformity with the absolute wording
of old Hiram's will: but this was thought to be inconvenient, and
to suit the tastes of neither warden nor bedesmen, and the daily
one shilling and fourpence was substituted with the common consent
of all parties, including the bishop and the corporation of
Barchester.
Such was the condition of Hiram's twelve old men when Mr
Harding was appointed warden; but if they may be considered as
well-to-do in the world according to their condition, the happy
warden was much more so. The patches and butts which, in John
Hiram's time, produced hay or fed cows, were now covered with rows
of houses; the value of the property had gradually increased from
year to year and century to century, and was now presumed by those
who knew anything about it, to bring in a very nice income; and by
some who knew nothing about it, to have increased to an almost
fabulous extent.
The property was farmed by a gentleman in Barchester, who
also acted as the bishop's steward,—a man whose father and
grandfather had been stewards to the bishops of Barchester, and
farmers of John Hiram's estate. The Chadwicks had earned a good
name in Barchester; they had lived respected by bishops, deans,
canons, and precentors; they had been buried in the precincts of
the cathedral; they had never been known as griping, hard men, but
had always lived comfortably, maintained a good house, and held a
high position in Barchester society. The present Mr Chadwick was a
worthy scion of a worthy stock, and the tenants living on the butts
and patches, as well as those on the wide episcopal domains of the
see, were well pleased to have to do with so worthy and liberal a
steward.
For many, many years,—records hardly tell how many, probably
from the time when Hiram's wishes had been first fully carried
out,—the proceeds of the estate had been paid by the steward or
farmer to the warden, and by him divided among the bedesmen; after
which division he paid himself such sums as became his due. Times
had been when the poor warden got nothing but his bare house, for
the patches had been subject to floods, and the land of Barchester
butts was said to be unproductive; and in these hard times the
warden was hardly able to make out the daily dole for his twelve
dependents. But by degrees things mended; the patches were drained,
and cottages began to rise upon the butts, and the wardens, with
fairness enough, repaid themselves for the evil days gone by. In
bad times the poor men had had their due, and therefore in good
times they could expect no more. In this manner the income of the
warden had increased; the picturesque house attached to the
hospital had been enlarged and adorned, and the office had become
one of the most coveted of the snug clerical sinecures attached to
our church. It was now wholly in the bishop's gift, and though the
dean and chapter, in former days, made a stand on the subject, they
had thought it more conducive to their honour to have a rich
precentor appointed by the bishop, than a poor one appointed by
themselves. The stipend of the precentor of Barchester was eighty
pounds a year. The income arising from the wardenship of the
hospital was eight hundred, besides the value of the
house.
Murmurs, very slight murmurs, had been heard in
Barchester,—few indeed, and far between,—that the proceeds of John
Hiram's property had not been fairly divided: but they can hardly
be said to have been of such a nature as to have caused uneasiness
to anyone: still the thing had been whispered, and Mr Harding had
heard it. Such was his character in Barchester, so universal was
his popularity, that the very fact of his appointment would have
quieted louder whispers than those which had been heard; but Mr
Harding was an open-handed, just-minded man, and feeling that there
might be truth in what had been said, he had, on his instalment,
declared his intention of adding twopence a day to each man's
pittance, making a sum of sixty-two pounds eleven shillings and
fourpence, which he was to pay out of his own pocket. In doing so,
however, he distinctly and repeatedly observed to the men, that
though he promised for himself, he could not promise for his
successors, and that the extra twopence could only be looked on as
a gift from himself, and not from the trust. The bedesmen, however,
were most of them older than Mr Harding, and were quite satisfied
with the security on which their extra income was
based.
This munificence on the part of Mr Harding had not been
unopposed. Mr Chadwick had mildly but seriously dissuaded him from
it; and his strong-minded son-in-law, the archdeacon, the man of
whom alone Mr Harding stood in awe, had urgently, nay, vehemently,
opposed so impolitic a concession: but the warden had made known
his intention to the hospital before the archdeacon had been able
to interfere, and the deed was done.
Hiram's Hospital, as the retreat is called, is a picturesque
building enough, and shows the correct taste with which the
ecclesiastical architects of those days were imbued. It stands on
the banks of the little river, which flows nearly round the
cathedral close, being on the side furthest from the town. The
London road crosses the river by a pretty one-arched bridge, and,
looking from this bridge, the stranger will see the windows of the
old men's rooms, each pair of windows separated by a small
buttress. A broad gravel walk runs between the building and the
river, which is always trim and cared for; and at the end of the
walk, under the parapet of the approach to the bridge, is a large
and well-worn seat, on which, in mild weather, three or four of
Hiram's bedesmen are sure to be seen seated. Beyond this row of
buttresses, and further from the bridge, and also further from the
water which here suddenly bends, are the pretty oriel windows of Mr
Harding's house, and his well-mown lawn. The entrance to the
hospital is from the London road, and is made through a ponderous
gateway under a heavy stone arch, unnecessary, one would suppose,
at any time, for the protection of twelve old men, but greatly
conducive to the good appearance of Hiram's charity. On passing
through this portal, never closed to anyone from 6 a.m. till 10
p.m., and never open afterwards, except on application to a huge,
intricately hung mediæval bell, the handle of which no uninitiated
intruder can possibly find, the six doors of the old men's abodes
are seen, and beyond them is a slight iron screen, through which
the more happy portion of the Barchester elite pass into the
Elysium of Mr Harding's dwelling.
Mr Harding is a small man, now verging on sixty years, but
bearing few of the signs of age; his hair is rather grizzled,
though not gray; his eye is very mild, but clear and bright, though
the double glasses which are held swinging from his hand, unless
when fixed upon his nose, show that time has told upon his sight;
his hands are delicately white, and both hands and feet are small;
he always wears a black frock coat, black knee-breeches, and black
gaiters, and somewhat scandalises some of his more hyperclerical
brethren by a black neck-handkerchief.
Mr Harding's warmest admirers cannot say that he was ever an
industrious man; the circumstances of his life have not called on
him to be so; and yet he can hardly be called an idler. Since his
appointment to his precentorship, he has published, with all
possible additions of vellum, typography, and gilding, a collection
of our ancient church music, with some correct dissertations on
Purcell, Crotch, and Nares. He has greatly improved the choir of
Barchester, which, under his dominion, now rivals that of any
cathedral in England. He has taken something more than his fair
share in the cathedral services, and has played the violoncello
daily to such audiences as he could collect, or,
faute de mieux , to no audience at
all.
We must mention one other peculiarity of Mr Harding. As we
have before stated, he has an income of eight hundred a year, and
has no family but his one daughter; and yet he is never quite at
ease in money matters. The vellum and gilding of "Harding's Church
Music" cost more than any one knows, except the author, the
publisher, and the Rev. Theophilus Grantly, who allows none of his
father-in-law's extravagances to escape him. Then he is generous to
his daughter, for whose service he keeps a small carriage and pair
of ponies. He is, indeed, generous to all, but especially to the
twelve old men who are in a peculiar manner under his care. No
doubt with such an income Mr Harding should be above the world, as
the saying is; but, at any rate, he is not above Archdeacon
Theophilus Grantly, for he is always more or less in debt to his
son-in-law, who has, to a certain extent, assumed the arrangement
of the precentor's pecuniary affairs.
Mr Harding has been now precentor of Barchester for ten
years; and, alas, the murmurs respecting the proceeds of Hiram's
estate are again becoming audible. It is not that any one begrudges
to Mr Harding the income which he enjoys, and the comfortable place
which so well becomes him; but such matters have begun to be talked
of in various parts of England. Eager pushing politicians have
asserted in the House of Commons, with very telling indignation,
that the grasping priests of the Church of England are gorged with
the wealth which the charity of former times has left for the
solace of the aged, or the education of the young. The well-known
case of the Hospital of St Cross has even come before the law
courts of the country, and the struggles of Mr Whiston, at
Rochester, have met with sympathy and support. Men are beginning to
say that these things must be looked into.
Mr Harding, whose conscience in the matter is clear, and who
has never felt that he had received a pound from Hiram's will to
which he was not entitled, has naturally taken the part of the
church in talking over these matters with his friend, the bishop,
and his son-in-law, the archdeacon. The archdeacon, indeed, Dr
Grantly, has been somewhat loud in the matter. He is a personal
friend of the dignitaries of the Rochester Chapter, and has written
letters in the public press on the subject of that turbulent Dr
Whiston, which, his admirers think, must well nigh set the question
at rest. It is also known at Oxford that he is the author of the
pamphlet signed "Sacerdos" on the subject of the Earl of Guildford
and St Cross, in which it is so clearly argued that the manners of
the present times do not admit of a literal adhesion to the very
words of the founder's will, but that the interests of the church
for which the founder was so deeply concerned are best consulted in
enabling its bishops to reward those shining lights whose services
have been most signally serviceable to Christianity. In answer to
this, it is asserted that Henry de Blois, founder of St Cross, was
not greatly interested in the welfare of the reformed church, and
that the masters of St Cross, for many years past, cannot be called
shining lights in the service of Christianity; it is, however,
stoutly maintained, and no doubt felt, by all the archdeacon's
friends, that his logic is conclusive, and has not, in fact, been
answered.
With such a tower of strength to back both his arguments and
his conscience, it may be imagined that Mr Harding has never felt
any compunction as to receiving his quarterly sum of two hundred
pounds. Indeed, the subject has never presented itself to his mind
in that shape. He has talked not unfrequently, and heard very much
about the wills of old founders and the incomes arising from their
estates, during the last year or two; he did even, at one moment,
feel a doubt (since expelled by his son-in-law's logic) as to
whether Lord Guildford was clearly entitled to receive so enormous
an income as he does from the revenues of St Cross; but that he
himself was overpaid with his modest eight hundred pounds,—he who,
out of that, voluntarily gave up sixty-two pounds eleven shillings
and fourpence a year to his twelve old neighbours,—he who, for the
money, does his precentor's work as no precentor has done it
before, since Barchester Cathedral was built,—such an idea has
never sullied his quiet, or disturbed his conscience.
Nevertheless, Mr Harding is becoming uneasy at the rumour
which he knows to prevail in Barchester on the subject. He is aware
that, at any rate, two of his old men have been heard to say, that
if everyone had his own, they might each have their hundred pounds
a year, and live like gentlemen, instead of a beggarly one shilling
and sixpence a day; and that they had slender cause to be thankful
for a miserable dole of twopence, when Mr Harding and Mr Chadwick,
between them, ran away with thousands of pounds which good old John
Hiram never intended for the like of them. It is the ingratitude of
this which stings Mr Harding. One of this discontented pair, Abel
Handy, was put into the hospital by himself; he had been a
stone-mason in Barchester, and had broken his thigh by a fall from
a scaffolding, while employed about the cathedral; and Mr Harding
had given him the first vacancy in the hospital after the
occurrence, although Dr Grantly had been very anxious to put into
it an insufferable clerk of his at Plumstead Episcopi, who had lost
all his teeth, and whom the archdeacon hardly knew how to get rid
of by other means. Dr Grantly has not forgotten to remind Mr
Harding how well satisfied with his one-and-sixpence a day old Joe
Mutters would have been, and how injudicious it was on the part of
Mr Harding to allow a radical from the town to get into the
concern. Probably Dr Grantly forgot, at the moment, that the
charity was intended for broken-down journeymen of
Barchester.
There is living at Barchester, a young man, a surgeon, named
John Bold, and both Mr Harding and Dr Grantly are well aware that
to him is owing the pestilent rebellious feeling which has shown
itself in the hospital; yes, and the renewal, too, of that
disagreeable talk about Hiram's estates which is now again
prevalent in Barchester. Nevertheless, Mr Harding and Mr Bold are
acquainted with each other; we may say, are friends, considering
the great disparity in their years. Dr Grantly, however, has a holy
horror of the impious demagogue, as on one occasion he called Bold,
when speaking of him to the precentor; and being a more prudent
far-seeing man than Mr Harding, and possessed of a stronger head,
he already perceives that this John Bold will work great trouble in
Barchester. He considers that he is to be regarded as an enemy, and
thinks that he should not be admitted into the camp on anything
like friendly terms. As John Bold will occupy much of our
attention, we must endeavour to explain who he is, and why he takes
the part of John Hiram's bedesmen.
John Bold is a young surgeon, who passed many of his boyish
years at Barchester. His father was a physician in the city of
London, where he made a moderate fortune, which he invested in
houses in that city. The Dragon of Wantly inn and posting-house
belonged to him, also four shops in the High Street, and a moiety
of the new row of genteel villas (so called in the advertisements),
built outside the town just beyond Hiram's Hospital. To one of
these Dr Bold retired to spend the evening of his life, and to die;
and here his son John spent his holidays, and afterwards his
Christmas vacation when he went from school to study surgery in the
London hospitals. Just as John Bold was entitled to write himself
surgeon and apothecary, old Dr Bold died, leaving his Barchester
property to his son, and a certain sum in the three per cents. to
his daughter Mary, who is some four or five years older than her
brother.
John Bold determined to settle himself at Barchester, and
look after his own property, as well as the bones and bodies of
such of his neighbours as would call upon him for assistance in
their troubles. He therefore put up a large brass plate with "John
Bold, Surgeon" on it, to the great disgust of the nine
practitioners who were already trying to get a living out of the
bishop, dean, and canons; and began house-keeping with the aid of
his sister. At this time he was not more than twenty-four years
old; and though he has now been three years in Barchester, we have
not heard that he has done much harm to the nine worthy
practitioners. Indeed, their dread of him has died away; for in
three years he has not taken three fees.
Nevertheless, John Bold is a clever man, and would, with
practice, be a clever surgeon; but he has got quite into another
line of life. Having enough to live on, he has not been forced to
work for bread; he has declined to subject himself to what he calls
the drudgery of the profession, by which, I believe, he means the
general work of a practising surgeon; and has found other
employment. He frequently binds up the bruises and sets the limbs
of such of the poorer classes as profess his way of thinking,—but
this he does for love. Now I will not say that the archdeacon is
strictly correct in stigmatising John Bold as a demagogue, for I
hardly know how extreme must be a man's opinions before he can be
justly so called; but Bold is a strong reformer. His passion is the
reform of all abuses; state abuses, church abuses, corporation
abuses (he has got himself elected a town councillor of Barchester,
and has so worried three consecutive mayors, that it became
somewhat difficult to find a fourth), abuses in medical practice,
and general abuses in the world at large. Bold is thoroughly
sincere in his patriotic endeavours to mend mankind, and there is
something to be admired in the energy with which he devotes himself
to remedying evil and stopping injustice; but I fear that he is too
much imbued with the idea that he has a special mission for
reforming. It would be well if one so young had a little more
diffidence himself, and more trust in the honest purposes of
others,—if he could be brought to believe that old customs need not
necessarily be evil, and that changes may possibly be dangerous;
but no, Bold has all the ardour and all the self-assurance of a
Danton, and hurls his anathemas against time-honoured practices
with the violence of a French Jacobin.
No wonder that Dr Grantly should regard Bold as a firebrand,
falling, as he has done, almost in the centre of the quiet ancient
close of Barchester Cathedral. Dr Grantly would have him avoided as
the plague; but the old Doctor and Mr Harding were fast friends.
Young Johnny Bold used to play as a boy on Mr Harding's lawn; he
has many a time won the precentor's heart by listening with rapt
attention to his sacred strains; and since those days, to tell the
truth at once, he has nearly won another heart within the same
walls.
Eleanor Harding has not plighted her troth to John Bold, nor
has she, perhaps, owned to herself how dear to her the young
reformer is; but she cannot endure that anyone should speak harshly
of him. She does not dare to defend him when her brother-in-law is
so loud against him; for she, like her father, is somewhat afraid
of Dr Grantly; but she is beginning greatly to dislike the
archdeacon. She persuades her father that it would be both unjust
and injudicious to banish his young friend because of his politics;
she cares little to go to houses where she will not meet him, and,
in fact, she is in love.
Nor is there any good reason why Eleanor Harding should not
love John Bold. He has all those qualities which are likely to
touch a girl's heart. He is brave, eager, and amusing; well-made
and good-looking; young and enterprising; his character is in all
respects good; he has sufficient income to support a wife; he is
her father's friend; and, above all, he is in love with her: then
why should not Eleanor Harding be attached to John
Bold?
Dr Grantly, who has as many eyes as Argus, and has long seen
how the wind blows in that direction, thinks there are various
strong reasons why this should not be so. He has not thought it
wise as yet to speak to his father-in-law on the subject, for he
knows how foolishly indulgent is Mr Harding in everything that
concerns his daughter; but he has discussed the matter with his
all-trusted helpmate, within that sacred recess formed by the
clerical bed-curtains at Plumstead Episcopi.
How much sweet solace, how much valued counsel has our
archdeacon received within that sainted enclosure! 'Tis there alone
that he unbends, and comes down from his high church pedestal to
the level of a mortal man. In the world Dr Grantly never lays aside
that demeanour which so well becomes him. He has all the dignity of
an ancient saint with the sleekness of a modern bishop; he is
always the same; he is always the archdeacon; unlike Homer, he
never nods. Even with his father-in-law, even with the bishop and
dean, he maintains that sonorous tone and lofty deportment which
strikes awe into the young hearts of Barchester, and absolutely
cows the whole parish of Plumstead Episcopi. 'Tis only when he has
exchanged that ever-new shovel hat for a tasselled nightcap, and
those shining black habiliments for his accustomed
robe de nuit , that Dr Grantly talks,
and looks, and thinks like an ordinary man.
Many of us have often thought how severe a trial of faith
must this be to the wives of our great church dignitaries. To us
these men are personifications of St Paul; their very gait is a
speaking sermon; their clean and sombre apparel exacts from us
faith and submission, and the cardinal virtues seem to hover round
their sacred hats. A dean or archbishop, in the garb of his order,
is sure of our reverence, and a well-got-up bishop fills our very
souls with awe. But how can this feeling be perpetuated in the
bosoms of those who see the bishops without their aprons, and the
archdeacons even in a lower state of dishabille?
Do we not all know some reverend, all but sacred, personage
before whom our tongue ceases to be loud and our step to be
elastic? But were we once to see him stretch himself beneath the
bed-clothes, yawn widely, and bury his face upon his pillow, we
could chatter before him as glibly as before a doctor or a lawyer.
From some such cause, doubtless, it arose that our archdeacon
listened to the counsels of his wife, though he considered himself
entitled to give counsel to every other being whom he
met.
"My dear," he said, as he adjusted the copious folds of his
nightcap, "there was that John Bold at your father's again to-day.
I must say your father is very imprudent."
"He is imprudent;—he always was," replied Mrs Grantly,
speaking from under the comfortable bed-clothes. "There's nothing
new in that."
"No, my dear, there's nothing new;—I know that; but, at the
present juncture of affairs, such imprudence is—is—I'll tell you
what, my dear, if he does not take care what he's about, John Bold
will be off with Eleanor."
"I think he will, whether papa takes care or no; and why
not?"
"Why not!" almost screamed the archdeacon, giving so rough a
pull at his nightcap as almost to bring it over his nose; "why
not!—that pestilent, interfering upstart, John Bold;—the most
vulgar young person I ever met! Do you know that he is meddling
with your father's affairs in a most uncalled-for—most—" And being
at a loss for an epithet sufficiently injurious, he finished his
expressions of horror by muttering, "Good heavens!" in a manner
that had been found very efficacious in clerical meetings of the
diocese. He must for the moment have forgotten where he
was.
"As to his vulgarity, archdeacon" (Mrs Grantly had never
assumed a more familiar term than this in addressing her husband),
"I don't agree with you. Not that I like Mr Bold;—he is a great
deal too conceited for me; but then Eleanor does, and it would be
the best thing in the world for papa if they were to marry. Bold
would never trouble himself about Hiram's Hospital if he were
papa's son-in-law." And the lady turned herself round under the
bed-clothes, in a manner to which the doctor was well accustomed,
and which told him, as plainly as words, that as far as she was
concerned the subject was over for that night.
"Good heavens!" murmured the doctor again;—he was evidently
much put beside himself.
Dr Grantly is by no means a bad man; he is exactly the man
which such an education as his was most likely to form; his
intellect being sufficient for such a place in the world, but not
sufficient to put him in advance of it. He performs with a rigid
constancy such of the duties of a parish clergyman as are, to his
thinking, above the sphere of his curate, but it is as an
archdeacon that he shines.
We believe, as a general rule, that either a bishop or his
archdeacons have sinecures: where a bishop works, archdeacons have
but little to do, and vice versa
. In the diocese of Barchester the Archdeacon of Barchester
does the work. In that capacity he is diligent, authoritative, and,
as his friends particularly boast, judicious. His great fault is an
overbearing assurance of the virtues and claims of his order, and
his great foible is an equally strong confidence in the dignity of
his own manner and the eloquence of his own words. He is a moral
man, believing the precepts which he teaches, and believing also
that he acts up to them; though we cannot say that he would give
his coat to the man who took his cloak, or that he is prepared to
forgive his brother even seven times. He is severe enough in
exacting his dues, considering that any laxity in this respect
would endanger the security of the church; and, could he have his
way, he would consign to darkness and perdition, not only every
individual reformer, but every committee and every commission that
would even dare to ask a question respecting the appropriation of
church revenues.
"They are church revenues: the laity admit it. Surely the
church is able to administer her own revenues." 'Twas thus he was
accustomed to argue, when the sacrilegious doings of Lord John
Russell and others were discussed either at Barchester or at
Oxford.
It was no wonder that Dr Grantly did not like John Bold, and
that his wife's suggestion that he should become closely connected
with such a man dismayed him. To give him his due, the archdeacon
never wanted courage; he was quite willing to meet his enemy on any
field and with any weapon. He had that belief in his own arguments
that he felt sure of success, could he only be sure of a fair fight
on the part of his adversary. He had no idea that John Bold could
really prove that the income of the hospital was malappropriated;
why, then, should peace be sought for on such base terms? What!
bribe an unbelieving enemy of the church with the sister-in-law of
one dignitary and the daughter of another—with a young lady whose
connections with the diocese and chapter of Barchester were so
close as to give her an undeniable claim to a husband endowed with
some of its sacred wealth! When Dr Grantly talks of unbelieving
enemies, he does not mean to imply want of belief in the doctrines
of the church, but an equally dangerous scepticism as to its purity
in money matters.
Mrs Grantly is not usually deaf to the claims of the high
order to which she belongs. She and her husband rarely disagree as
to the tone with which the church should be defended; how singular,
then, that in such a case as this she should be willing to succumb!
The archdeacon again murmurs "Good heavens!" as he lays himself
beside her, but he does so in a voice audible only to himself, and
he repeats it till sleep relieves him from deep
thought.
Mr Harding himself has seen no reason why his daughter should
not love John Bold. He has not been unobservant of her feelings,
and perhaps his deepest regret at the part which he fears Bold is
about to take regarding the hospital arises from the dread that he
may be separated from his daughter, or that she may be separated
from the man she loves. He has never spoken to Eleanor about her
lover; he is the last man in the world to allude to such a subject
unconsulted, even with his own daughter; and had he considered that
he had ground to disapprove of Bold, he would have removed her, or
forbidden him his house; but he saw no such ground. He would
probably have preferred a second clerical son-in-law, for Mr
Harding, also, is attached to his order; and, failing in that, he
would at any rate have wished that so near a connection should have
thought alike with him on church matters. He would not, however,
reject the man his daughter loved because he differed on such
subjects with himself.
Hitherto Bold had taken no steps in the matter in any way
annoying to Mr Harding personally. Some months since, after a
severe battle, which cost him not a little money, he gained a
victory over a certain old turnpike woman in the neighbourhood, of
whose charges another old woman had complained to him. He got the
Act of Parliament relating to the trust, found that his
protégée had been wrongly taxed, rode
through the gate himself, paying the toll, then brought an action
against the gate-keeper, and proved that all people coming up a
certain by-lane, and going down a certain other by-lane, were
toll-free. The fame of his success spread widely abroad, and he
began to be looked on as the upholder of the rights of the poor of
Barchester. Not long after this success, he heard from different
quarters that Hiram's bedesmen were treated as paupers, whereas the
property to which they were, in effect, heirs was very large; and
he was instigated by the lawyer whom he had employed in the case of
the turnpike to call upon Mr Chadwick for a statement as to the
funds of the estate.
Bold had often expressed his indignation at the
malappropriation of church funds in general, in the hearing of his
friend the precentor; but the conversation had never referred to
anything at Barchester; and when Finney, the attorney, induced him
to interfere with the affairs of the hospital, it was against Mr
Chadwick that his efforts were to be directed. Bold soon found that
if he interfered with Mr Chadwick as steward, he must also
interfere with Mr Harding as warden; and though he regretted the
situation in which this would place him, he was not the man to
flinch from his undertaking from personal motives.
As soon as he had determined to take the matter in hand, he
set about his work with his usual energy. He got a copy of John
Hiram's will, of the wording of which he made himself perfectly
master. He ascertained the extent of the property, and as nearly as
he could the value of it; and made out a schedule of what he was
informed was the present distribution of its income. Armed with
these particulars, he called on Mr Chadwick, having given that
gentleman notice of his visit; and asked him for a statement of the
income and expenditure of the hospital for the last twenty-five
years.
This was of course refused, Mr Chadwick alleging that he had
no authority for making public the concerns of a property in
managing which he was only a paid servant.
"And who is competent to give you that authority, Mr
Chadwick?" asked Bold.
"Only those who employ me, Mr Bold," said the
steward.
"And who are those, Mr Chadwick?" demanded Bold.
Mr Chadwick begged to say that if these inquiries were made
merely out of curiosity, he must decline answering them: if Mr Bold
had any ulterior proceeding in view, perhaps it would be desirable
that any necessary information should be sought for in a
professional way by a professional man. Mr Chadwick's attorneys
were Messrs Cox and Cummins, of Lincoln's Inn. Mr Bold took down
the address of Cox and Cummins, remarked that the weather was cold
for the time of the year, and wished Mr Chadwick good-morning. Mr
Chadwick said it was cold for June, and bowed him out.
He at once went to his lawyer, Finney. Now, Bold was not very
fond of his attorney, but, as he said, he merely wanted a man who
knew the forms of law, and who would do what he was told for his
money. He had no idea of putting himself in the hands of a lawyer.
He wanted law from a lawyer as he did a coat from a tailor, because
he could not make it so well himself; and he thought Finney the
fittest man in Barchester for his purpose. In one respect, at any
rate, he was right: Finney was humility itself.
Finney advised an instant letter to Cox and Cummins, mindful
of his six-and-eightpence. "Slap at them at once, Mr Bold. Demand
categorically and explicitly a full statement of the affairs of the
hospital."
"Suppose I were to see Mr Harding first," suggested
Bold.
"Yes, yes, by all means," said the acquiescing Finney;
"though, perhaps, as Mr Harding is no man of business, it may
lead—lead to some little difficulties; but perhaps you're right. Mr
Bold, I don't think seeing Mr Harding can do any harm." Finney saw
from the expression of his client's face that he intended to have
his own way.