Barchester Towers, Anthony Trollope [top business books of all time .txt] 📗

care of the lady’s maid and the lady’s Italian page; and Charlotte Stanhope followed to see that all was done with due grace and decorum. In this manner they climbed easily into the drawing-room, and a broad way through the crowd having been opened, the signora rested safely on her couch. She had sent a servant beforehand to learn whether it was a right- or a left-hand sofa, for it required that she should dress accordingly, particularly as regarded her bracelets.

And very becoming her dress was. It was white velvet, without any other garniture than rich white lace worked with pearls across her bosom, and the same round the armlets of her dress. Across her brow she wore a band of red velvet, on the centre of which shone a magnificent Cupid in mosaic, the tints of whose wings were of the most lovely azure, and the colour of his chubby cheeks the clearest pink. On the one arm which her position required her to expose she wore three magnificent bracelets, each of different stones. Beneath her on the sofa, and over the cushion and head of it, was spread a crimson silk mantle or shawl, which went under her whole body and concealed her feet. Dressed as she was and looking as she did, so beautiful and yet so motionless, with the pure brilliancy of her white dress brought out and strengthened by the colour beneath it, with that lovely head, and those large, bold, bright, staring eyes, it was impossible that either man or woman should do other than look at her.

Neither man nor woman for some minutes did do other.

Her bearers too were worthy of note. The three servants were Italian, and though perhaps not peculiar in their own country, were very much so in the palace at Barchester. The man especially attracted notice and created a doubt in the mind of some whether he were a friend or a domestic. The same doubt was felt as to Ethelbert. The man was attired in a loose-fitting, common, black-cloth morning-coat. He had a jaunty, fat, well-pleased, clean face on which no atom of beard appeared, and he wore round his neck a loose, black silk neck-handkerchief. The bishop essayed to make him a bow, but the man, who was well trained, took no notice of him and walked out of the room quite at his ease, followed by the woman and the boy.

Ethelbert Stanhope was dressed in light blue from head to foot. He had on the loosest possible blue coat, cut square like a shooting coat, and very short. It was lined with silk of azure blue. He had on a blue satin waistcoat, a blue neck-handkerchief which was fastened beneath his throat with a coral ring, and very loose blue trousers which almost concealed his feet. His soft, glossy beard was softer and more glossy than ever.

The bishop, who had made one mistake, thought that he also was a servant and therefore tried to make way for him to pass. But Ethelbert soon corrected the error.

XI Mrs. Proudie’s Reception⁠—Concluded

“Bishop of Barchester, I presume?” said Bertie Stanhope, putting out his hand frankly; “I am delighted to make your acquaintance. We are in rather close quarters here, a’nt we?”

In truth they were. They had been crowded up behind the head of the sofa⁠—the bishop in waiting to receive his guest, and the other in carrying her⁠—and they now had hardly room to move themselves.

The bishop gave his hand quickly, made his little studied bow, and was delighted to make⁠—He couldn’t go on, for he did not know whether his friend was a signor, or a count or a prince.

“My sister really puts you all to great trouble,” said Bertie.

“Not at all!” The bishop was delighted to have the opportunity of welcoming La Signora Vicinironi⁠—so at least he said⁠—and attempted to force his way round to the front of the sofa. He had, at any rate, learnt that his strange guests were brother and sister. The man, he presumed, must be Signor Vicinironi⁠—or count, or prince, as it might be. It was wonderful what good English he spoke. There was just a twang of foreign accent, and no more.

“Do you like Barchester, on the whole?” asked Bertie.

The bishop, looking dignified, said that he did like Barchester.

“You’ve not been here very long, I believe,” said Bertie.

“No⁠—not long,” said the bishop and tried again to make his way between the back of the sofa and a heavy rector, who was staring over it at the grimaces of the signora.

“You weren’t a bishop before, were you?”

Dr. Proudie explained that this was the first diocese he had held.

“Ah⁠—I thought so,” said Bertie, “but you are changed about sometimes, a’nt you?”

“Translations are occasionally made,” said Dr. Proudie, “but not so frequently as in former days.”

“They’ve cut them all down to pretty nearly the same figure, haven’t they?” said Bertie.

To this the bishop could not bring himself to make any answer, but again attempted to move the rector.

“But the work, I suppose, is different?” continued Bertie. “Is there much to do here, at Barchester?” This was said exactly in the tone that a young Admiralty clerk might use in asking the same question of a brother acolyte at the Treasury.

“The work of a bishop of the Church of England,” said Dr. Proudie with considerable dignity, “is not easy. The responsibility which he has to bear is very great indeed.”

“Is it?” said Bertie, opening wide his wonderful blue eyes. “Well, I never was afraid of responsibility. I once had thoughts of being a bishop, myself.”

“Had thoughts of being a bishop!” said Dr. Proudie, much amazed.

“That is, a parson⁠—a parson first, you know, and a bishop afterwards. If I had once begun, I’d have stuck to it. But, on the whole, I like the Church of Rome the best.”

The bishop could not discuss the point, so he remained silent.

“Now, there’s my father,” continued Bertie; “he hasn’t stuck to it. I fancy he didn’t like saying the