The archdeacon had again recourse to his drawer, and twice read through the essence of Sir Abraham Haphazard’s law-enlightened and law-bewildered brains. It was very clear that to Sir Abraham, the justice of the old men’s claim or the justice of Mr Harding’s defence were ideas that had never presented themselves. A legal victory over an opposing party was the service for which Sir Abraham was, as he imagined, to be paid; and that he, according to his lights, had diligently laboured to achieve, and with probable hope of success. Of the intense desire which Mr Harding felt to be assured on fit authority that he was wronging no man, that he was entitled in true equity to his income, that he might sleep at night without pangs of conscience, that he was no robber, no spoiler of the poor; that he and all the world might be openly convinced that he was not the man which The Jupiter had described him to be; of such longings on the part of Mr Harding, Sir Abraham was entirely ignorant; nor, indeed, could it be looked on as part of his business to gratify such desires. Such was not the system on which his battles were fought, and victories gained. Success was his object, and he was generally successful. He conquered his enemies by their weakness rather than by his own strength, and it had been found almost impossible to make up a case in which Sir Abraham, as an antagonist, would not find a flaw.
The archdeacon was delighted with the closeness of the reasoning. To do him justice, it was not a selfish triumph that he desired; he would personally lose nothing by defeat, or at least what he might lose did not actuate him; but neither was it love of justice which made him so anxious, nor even mainly solicitude for his father-in-law. He was fighting a part of a never-ending battle against a never-conquered foe—that of the church against its enemies.
He knew Mr Harding could not pay all the expense of these doings: for these long opinions of Sir Abraham’s, these causes to be pleaded, these speeches to be made, these various courts through which the case was, he presumed, to be dragged. He knew that he and his father must at least bear the heavier portion of this tremendous cost; but to do the archdeacon justice, he did not recoil from this. He was a man fond of obtaining money, greedy of a large income, but open-handed enough in expending it, and it was a triumph to him to foresee the success of this measure, although he might be called on to pay so dearly for it himself.
CHAPTER IX The Conference
On the following morning the archdeacon was with his father betimes, and a note was sent down to the warden begging his attendance at the palace. Dr Grantly, as he cogitated on the matter, leaning back in his brougham as he journeyed into Barchester, felt that it would be difficult to communicate his own satisfaction either to his father or his father-in-law. He wanted success on his own side and discomfiture on that of his enemies. The bishop wanted peace on the subject; a settled peace if possible, but peace at any rate till the short remainder of his own days had spun itself out. Mr Harding required not only success and peace, but he also demanded that he might stand justified before the world.
The bishop, however, was comparatively easy to deal with; and before the arrival of the other, the dutiful son had persuaded his father that all was going on well, and then the warden arrived.
It was Mr Harding’s wont, whenever he spent a morning at the palace, to seat himself immediately at the bishop’s elbow, the bishop occupying a huge arm-chair fitted up with candle-sticks, a reading table, a drawer, and other paraphernalia, the position of which chair was never moved, summer or winter; and when, as was usual, the archdeacon was there also, he confronted the two elders, who thus were enabled to fight the battle against him together; and together submit to defeat, for such was their constant fate.
Our warden now took his accustomed place, having greeted his son-in-law as he entered, and then affectionately inquired after his friend’s health. There was a gentleness about the bishop to which the soft womanly affection of Mr Harding particularly endeared itself, and it was quaint to see how the two mild old priests pressed each other’s hand, and smiled and made little signs of love.
‘Sir Abraham’s opinion has come at last,’ began the archdeacon. Mr Harding had heard so much, and was most anxious to know the result.
‘It is quite favourable,’ said the bishop, pressing his friend’s arm. ‘I am so glad.’
Mr Harding looked at the mighty bearer of the important news for confirmation of these glad tidings.
‘Yes,’ said the archdeacon; ‘Sir Abraham has given most minute attention to the case; indeed, I knew he would—most minute attention; and his opinion is—and as to his opinion on such a subject being correct, no one who knows Sir Abraham’s character can doubt—his opinion is, that they hav’n’t got a leg to stand on.’
‘But as how, archdeacon?’
‘Why, in the first place:—but you’re no lawyer, warden, and I doubt you won’t understand it; the gist of the matter is this:—under Hiram’s will two paid guardians have been selected for the hospital; the law will say two paid servants, and you and I won’t quarrel with the name.’
‘At any rate I will not if I am one of the servants,’ said Mr Harding. ‘A rose, you know—’
‘Yes, yes,’ said the archdeacon, impatient of poetry at such a time. ‘Well, two paid servants, we’ll say; one to look after the men, and the other to look after the money. You and Chadwick are these two servants, and whether either of you be paid too much, or too little, more or less in fact than the founder willed, it’s as clear as daylight that no one can fall foul of either of you for receiving an allotted stipend.’
‘That does seem clear,’ said the bishop, who had winced visibly at the words servants and stipend, which, however, appeared to have caused no uneasiness to the archdeacon.
‘Quite clear,’ said he, ‘and very satisfactory. In point of fact, it being necessary to select such servants for the use of the hospital, the pay to be given to them must depend on the rate of pay for such services, according to their market value at the period in question; and those who manage the hospital must be the only judges of this.’
‘And who does manage the hospital?’ asked the warden. ‘Oh, let them find that out; that’s another question: the action is brought against you and Chadwick; that’s your defence, and a perfect and full defence it is. Now that I think very satisfactory.’
‘Well,’ said the bishop, looking inquiringly up into his friend’s face, who sat silent awhile, and apparently not so well satisfied.
‘And conclusive,’ continued the archdeacon; ‘if they press it to a jury, which they won’t do, no twelve men in England will take five minutes to decide against them.’
‘But according to that’ said Mr Harding, ‘I might as well have sixteen hundred a year as eight, if the managers choose to allot it to me; and as I am one of the managers, if not the chief manager, myself, that can hardly be a just arrangement.’
‘Oh, well; all that’s nothing to the question. The question is, whether this intruding fellow, and a lot of cheating attorneys and pestilent dissenters, are to interfere with an arrangement which everyone knows is essentially just and serviceable to the church. Pray don’t let us be splitting hairs, and that amongst ourselves, or there’ll never be an end of the cause or the cost.’
Mr Harding again sat silent for a while, during which the bishop once and again pressed his arm, and looked in his face to see if he could catch a gleam of a contented and eased mind; but there was no such gleam, and the poor warden continued playing sad dirges on invisible stringed instruments in all manner of positions; he was ruminating in his mind on this opinion of Sir Abraham, looking to it wearily and earnestly for satisfaction, but finding none. At last he said, ‘Did you see the opinion, archdeacon?’
The archdeacon said he had not—that was to say, he -had-that was, he had not seen the opinion itself; he had seen what had been called a copy, but he could not say whether of a whole or part; nor could he say that what he had seen were the ipsissima verba of the great man himself; but what he had seen contained exactly the decision which he had announced, and which he again declared to be to his mind extremely satisfactory.