Strictly Books: Trollope, Brontë, Pepys and The Chronicles

Good afternoon and happy Tuesday.  We meet the curious Stanhopes in Anthony Trollope’s Barchester Towers: ‘Their conduct to each other was the same as to the world; they bore and forebore’.  We progress (not far) with Pepys (won’t it be good to get to 1664?).  We progress too with the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles but fall foul of the fact we are reading a version that combined them so that dates and events repeat; in this example the Lady of the Mercians died on two different dates.  We chat about ‘beating the bounds’.  Does your village or town beat the bounds?  If not, when did it stop?  Let me know and I’ll read your reply out on a future episode.  Finally we read our second chapter of Villette.  It will take a few chapters to settle into it. Don’t give up on it - or me! 

Finally, if you think what I do here is ok, I would love for you to forward the episode or podcast to a few people who might like it.  I suppose people who have open minds about how podcasts should be presented and open minds too about their interests.  I would be hugely grateful. 

Very finally, thank you, because if no one listened, or if the listeners reduced too much, I would of course have to stop this mad enterprise.  My children would then breathe a sigh of relief and hope I get a real job that could pay for better holidays than Cornwall 😁 Lots of love and thank you xx 🌳🎈🦔

PS Hedgehog comes every night, so I will try to bring her/him back into the episodes.  Life is so puppy-dominated at the mo, but praying it’ll get easier soon.  

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:39

Hello, good morning. It's Tuesday and welcome to a literary episode this morning. We're going first to Samuel Peeps' Diaries, and it's the twenty eighth of November sixteen sixty three. Up and at the office sat all morning and at noon by Mr Coventry's coach to the change, and after a little while there, where I met with Mr Pierce the surgeon, who tells me for good news that my lord sandwich is resolved to go no more to Chelsea, and told me he believed that I had been giving my lord some counsel, which I neither denied nor affirmed, but seemed glad with him that he went thither no more. And so I home to dinner and thence abroad to Paul's churchyard, and there looked upon the second part of Hoodibras, which I buy not but borrow to read, to see if it be as good as the first, which the world cries so most mightily up, though it hath not a good liking in me, though I had tried by twice or three times reading, to bring myself to think it witty back again home and to my office and there late doing businesses, and so home to supper and to bed. I have been told it two or three times, but today for certain I am told how in Holland publicly they have pictured our king with reproach. One way is with his pockets turned the wrong side outwards, hanging out empty, another with two courtiers picking out of his pocket, and a third leading of two ladies, while others abuse him, which amounts to great contempt. That's interesting, isn't it? Apologies again for those who might not have heard yesterday's episode. I still don't have my microphone, so the quality still isn't as it should be. But I hope it's good enough. In terms of Holland, it'd be interesting to know if the uh those pictures still exist. But also, you know, when it's uh people are looking at the origins of wars and stuff, and uh the uh although this uh the origin wouldn't be this point at the time, you could at least say it was the point at which uh Holland uh started uh uh uh uh publicly showing no respect to England, and so therefore, if anyone would be writing about the w the the Dutch walls, this would be an interesting thing to include. I'm sure they have included it. 29th of October, Lord's Day. This morning I put on my best black cloth suit trimmed with scarlet ribbon, very neat, with my cloak lined with velvet, and a new beaver, which altogether is very noble. Of course, once the Americas were colonized, then beavers became all the rage, with my black silk knit cannons that I bought a month ago. I to church alone, my wife not going, and there I find my Lady Batten in a velvet gown, which vexed me that she should be in it before my wife, or that I am able to put her into one. But what cannot be cannot be. That's the equivalent of the modern it is what it is, which I hate so much. However, when I came home I told my wife of it, and to see my weakness, I could on a sudden have found my heart to have offered her one, but second thoughts put it by, and indeed it would undo me to think of doing, as Sir William Batten and his lady do, who have a good estate besides his office. A good dinner we had of birth a la mode, but not dressed so well as my wife used to do it. So after dinner I to the French church, but that being far too begun, I came back to St. Dunstan's by us and heard a good sermon, and so home. And the next time we'll start with December, and December the second is my wife troubled all last night with the toothache. I like the comment he made about Sir B Sir William Batten's wife with a with a silk dress because a bit like the reason why Chips Channan's diaries were so brilliant and so successful. Everyone talked about uh it's common for you you hear of people talk about Chips Channel's diaries and and you hear them saying things like, Yes, but he was so he was so snobby and he was so shallow and he but I I think that's the point, isn't it? I'm not saying I mean I'm sure well not I'm sure, I mean he admitted it himself that he was snobby and and I think he admitted at one point that he was shallow in his tastes and so on. But I think the point is we surely have all, surely all of us, if we all looked into our hearts, and I would say for myself, on many occasions have had moments of envy and I mean many, hundreds of thousands of occasions of envy or shallowness or silliness, and but it it it takes real courage to put put your thoughts down, even in a diary you never think is going to be published. Most people I think even when writing our own diaries, we we do it in a we would do it in a slightly performative way of this is this is what looks good, this is what sounds good. And it shows that so few of us can be uh really uh uh honest even to ourselves. So and that and therein lies the the the root of all evil in some ways, doesn't it? It's that the root of all evil is uh us as human beings not being able to be honest and better to be honest and say, yeah, you know, we have all have those had those moments. I think the problem is that we all admit that those moments are foolish moments. So then what do you do? Do you just accept that you've got foolishness within you? Or do you say, yes, but I must fix that? Well, I suppose, like Peeps, maybe like Channon, you just accept it's within you because there's other stuff within you as well. So let the foolishness lie. And now the Anglo Saxon Chronicles, and I've received my microphone back, so hopefully you'll hear a difference. AD nine one eight, Lady of the Mercians, Ethel Flader, died at Tamworth twelve days before midsummer, the eighth year of her having rule and right lordship over the Mercians, and her body lies at Gloucester, within the east porch of St. Peter's Church. nine hundred one nine. This year King Edward went with his army to Bedford before Martin Mass and conquered the town, and almost all the Burgesses who obeyed before him, returned to him, and he sat there four weeks and ordered the town to be repaired on the south side of the water, ere he departed thence. AD nine one nine this year also the daughter of Ethelred, Lord of the Mercians, was deprived of all dominion over the Mercians, and carried into Wessex three weeks before midwinter. She was called Elfwina. nine hundred twenty. This year before midsummer went King Edward to Malden and repaired and fortified the town, ere he departed thence, and the same year went Earl Thorkitel oversea to Frankland with the men who would adhere to him under the protection and assistance of King Edward. This year Ethelflader got into her power. Oh this is an amalgamation of all the uh chronicles. We've said this before, but the trouble is there's a bit of a there's a there's an anomaly here because this one has that she's still alive in nine twenty because it says Ethel Flader, it says very soon after she had done this, she departed twelve nights before midsummer at Tamworth. And then it says, and her body lieth at Gloucester in the East Port of St. Peter's Church. So it's very difficult, I suppose, for you to try and work out what's going on, other than I don't know, are you able to just to enjoy it as a general gist as it goes along? I mean I could i if I were disciplined and uh diligent, I would go through making sure it was all coherent for you. But I'm just not doing that. I'm reading reason reading it is as it comes, and I'm hoping that that's okay to do that. In other words, I'm leaving you to have to make the effort and making it easy for me, which I'm sure you'd have noticed about my character before. So let's carry on. AD ninety-one. This year before Easter, King Edward ordered his men to go to the town of Tousta, and for the Americans listening it's spelt Tausesta, say Touster, and to rebuild it. Then again after that, in the same year. During the gang days, that's interesting, gang days. I might just look that up for you. So it means that the recession days where people went round the boundaries of the parish, and they happened the three days before Ascension Day, known in Latin as rogation days. The priest and villagers would walk, i.e. gang, the barish poundaries, boundaries. Now that's something I've only discovered about discovered about 15 years ago, and I became intrigued. And I learnt that that now it happens, and it it's been rejuvenated as a thing, because it's done to help people help the next generation remember where the boundaries are in order that they can protect them, and particularly important for the young boys to join in so that they would know if any neighbourhood people decided to well, not invade, but you know, transgress, then they would be able to say, no, that's our boundary. But doing it, they would say prayers, bless the fields, and ask for a good harvest. And it's the origin, there we go, of beating the bounds. I was trying to think of the phrase for it, I can't remember. It mattered, but why why very Chat GPT? It mattered because in a world without maps, it fixed the memory of the boundaries, it reinforced community identity, and it linked land, agriculture, and religion. You see, this is why I do think AI is quite good, because very quickly it can come up with an answer that I don't have to worry about reading because of copyright, and it's reasonably accurate. But I think they're right. I mean, that's a great three-point why do you do beating of the bounds, to fix the memory of boundaries, to reinforce community identity, and to link land, agriculture and religion. And I wonder if that did take place in places like um Australia, South Africa, America, and well, in any countries, but I was thinking of the New World where there would have been there would have been maps and writing and so on, but actually most people would be illiterate and they most people wouldn't have a access to to to maps and books and histories and so on. But to get us back where we were, basically in 921, before Easter, King Edward ordered his men to go to the town of Touster and rebuild it, and then after that, in the same year, during gang days, he ordered the town of Wigmore to be repaired. So obviously it's a good time to do reparations, is when you go round and reinforce the boundaries. The same summer betwixt Lamus and Midsummer, the army broke their parole from Northampton and from Leicester, and went thence northward to Touster, and fought against the town all day, and thought that they should break into it, but that the people were therein defended it till more aid came to them, and the enemy then abandoned the town and went away. Then again, very soon after this they went out at night for plunder, and came upon men unaware, and seized not a little, both in men and cattle, betwixt Burnham Wood and Aylesbury. This kind of thing written just so you know, seemingly casually, would have been absolutely terrifying. You know, night going people going out in the night for plunder, and then it says coming across people unaware and seizing plunder, cattle and men. And in doing that, you know, there there obviously people would have tried to defend themselves, so people would have been killed, people would have been, you know, you'd have had sons wrenched from fathers or grandfathers being killed in an attempt to protect their sons, and it would have been absolutely horrific, and the f feuding that would have it it would have instigated, no matter what government or or the equivalent, you know, thereof rules that came down to say no feuds, you know, it just would have instigated such hatred and anger and the desire for revenge. And you know, it's no wonder that until you have really strong power, that this sort of thing can the the feuds that emanate from this sort of thing that went on all the time at all of the boundaries everywhere, I mean all over the world in the history of humans really, but you know, that went on all the time. Unless you had really strong government, then this is the way that it always would be, which would be lots of local spats continually going on, with men uh uh you know eventually seeing it part of their right of passage to prove that they can defend their territories by incur incursions into other territories, by showing therefore showing off to the women they want to marry, showing off to the men that they want to recruit to their side, or showing off to the men that they want to join forces with, or to the men whose daughters they want to marry? You know, it's just I know it's all very obvious what I'm saying, but you know, when people say, Oh, when will there be peace in our world? It's it's it's not natural within us as human beings, and it's not that within us individually we're not peaceful. We we might be, but but but you can just I mean how how else could societies ever exist without this sort of thing? I mean, people say things like it in times of abundance there would be no warfare because there would be no need, but that's not the way humans are, you know. We if okay, so imagine you're in a society, uh try and imagine perhaps you're in a village society, I don't know, 1500 years ago, so 500, something like that, and you've your village has had abundant food, everyone's full, everyone's you've got plenty. But but but but you discover through, I don't know, some child that's gone on a adventure and has spent a few days with local villages, and they've come back and they've said that but the villages over there, they they've got an abundance in something you don't have an abundance of. So even though your village isn't hungry. Then you know, people are gonna say we the the young advent one adventurous b the the kind of males in the who are 14 years old who want to show off, and the even you know, the females even are gonna say, Well, we want a bit of that, let's get a few of us together, let's go and see if we can trade it, and if you couldn't trade it, then what are you gonna do? You're gonna take it. And I don't know that there is anything that is an answer to that. So yeah, I'm I'm afraid I think that there's no possible way for human beings to live on earth in peace. And that's a sad conclusion to come to at the age of 54, isn't it? But I don't want to consider myself a pessimist, because I don't think I'm a pessimist at all. It's more that as I've as I look at it from a factual point of view, I I can't see any other any other way. And in fact, you might say the only way the world could have peace would be if every country is ruled very strongly. Now that doesn't have to be by a parliament, of course, it could be ruled by a tyrant or you know, a sort of Tito figure or Saddam Hussein figure, whatever. But I'm just talking about peace now, so I'm not saying, you know, how could the rule the world be ruled effectively or well or humanely? So we're just talking about peace. So every country to have a strong person or strong system in place, and but also crucially for for countries to get together to agree to a set of rules like the League of Nations or the UN or whatever it is, something like that, whereby they say all for one and one for all. And unless you have the all for one, one for all system, then you're not gonna have world peace, I don't think. What do you think? Am I missing something blindingly obvious? Like love God's love. It hasn't worked so far, has it, folks? Charlotte Bronte Villette Chapter two Paulina Some days elapsed, and it appeared she was not likely to take much of a fancy to anybody in the house. She was not exactly naughty or willful. She was far from disobedient, but an object less conducive to comfort, to tranquility even than she presented it was scarcely possible to have before one's eyes. She moped. No grown person could have performed that uncheering business better. No furrowed face of adult exile, longing for Europe at Europe's antipodes, ever bore more legibly the signs of homesickness than did our infant visage visage or visage. She seemed growing old and unearthly. I, Lucy Snow, plead guiltless of that curse, an overheated and discursive imagination, but whenever opening a room door I found her seated in a corner alone, her head on her pygmy hand, that room seemed to me not inhabited, but haunted, and again when, of moonlight nights on waking, I beheld her figure white and conspicuous in its night dress, kneeling upright in bed and praying like some Catholic or Methodist enthusiast, some precocious fanatic or untimely saint, I scarcely know what thoughts I had, but they ran risk of hardly being more rational and healthy. Then that child's mind must have been. I seldom caught a word of her prayers, for they were whispered low, sometimes indeed they were not whispered at all, but put up unuttered. Such rare sentences as reached my ear still bore the burden papa, my dear papa this I perceived, was a one idea nature, betraying that monomaniac tendency I have ever thought the most unfortunate with which man or woman can be cursed. What might have been the end of this fretting had it continued unchecked, can only be conjectured. It received, however, a sudden turn. One afternoon Mrs. Bratton, coaxing her from the usual station in a corner, had lifted her into the window seat, and by way of occupying her attention, told her to watch the passengers and count how many ladies should go down the street in a given time. She had sat listlessly, hardly looking and not counting, when my eyes, being fixed on hers, I witnessed in its iris and pupil a startling transfiguration. These sudden, dangerous natures, sensitive as they are called, offer many a curious spectacle to those whom a cooler temperament has secured from participation in their angular vagaries. The fixed and heavy gaze swum, trembled, then glittered in fire, the small overcast brow cleared, the trivial and dejected features lit up, the sad countenance vanished, and in its place appeared a sudden eagerness, an intense expectancy. It is were her words. Like a bird or a shaft or any other swift thing, she was gone from the room. How she got the house door open, I cannot tell. Probably it might be ajar, perhaps Warren was in the way and obeyed her behest, which would be impetuous enough. I, watching calmly from the window, saw her in her black frock and Tiny braided apron, to pinafore she had an anti antipathy, dart half the length of the street, and as I was on the point of turning and quietly announcing to Mrs. Breton that the child was run out mad and ought instantly to be pursued, I saw her caught up and rapt at once from my cool observation and from the wondering stare of the passengers. A gentleman had done this good turn, and now, covering her with his cloak, advanced to restore her to the house whence he had seen her issue. I concluded he would leave her in the servant's charge and withdraw, but he entered, having tarried a little while below, and he came upstairs. His reception immediately explained that he was known to Mrs. Breton. She recognised him, she greeted him, and yet she was fluttered, surprised, taken unawares. Her look and manner were even expostulary, and in a reply to these, rather than her words, he said I could not help it, madame, I found it impossible to leave the country without seeing with my own eyes how she settled. But you will unsettle her. I hope not. And how is papa's little Polly? This question he addressed to Paulina as he sat down and placed her gently on the ground before him. How is Polly's papa? was the answer, as she relieved on his knee and gazed up into his face. It was not a noisy nor a wordy scene, for that I was thankful, but it was a scene of feeling too brimful. And which, because the cup did not foam up high or furiously overflow, only oppressed one the more. It was a scene of feeling too brimful, and which because the cup did not foam up high or furiously overflow, only oppressed one the more. It's brilliant. On all occasions of vehement, unrestrained expansion, a sense of disdain or ridicule comes to the weary spectator's relief, whereas I have ever felt most burdensome that sort of sensibility which bends of its own will, a giant slave under the sway of good sense. Mr Hol was a stern featured, perhaps I should rather say, a hard featured man. His forehead was knotty, and his cheekbones were marked and prominent. The character of his face was quite scotch, but there was a feeling in his eye and emotion in his now agitated countenance. His northern accent in speaking harmonized with his physiognomy. He was at once proud looking and homely looking. Right, I'm I obviously gave him the wrong voice. I think I'm just going to give him a new voice now. Is that all right with you? He laid his hand on the child's uplifted head, and she said Kiss Polly he kissed her. I wish she would utter some hysterical cry so that I might get relief and be at ease. She made wonderfully little noise. She seemed to have got what she wanted, all she wanted, and to be in a trance of content. Neither in mean nor features was this creature like her sire, and yet she was of his strain. Her mind had been filled from his as the cup from the flagon. Indisputably Mr Holme owned manly self control, however he might secretly feel on some matters. Polly, he said, looking down on his little girl, I'm sorry I can't do the Scottish accent, I'm going to try and do a sort of northern Yorkshire one. Go into the hall and you'll see papa's great court lying on a chair. Put your hands in the pockets and you'll find a pocket handkerchief. Bring it to me. She obeyed, went, and returned deftly and nimbly. He was talking to Mrs. Breton when she came back, and she waited with a handkerchief in her hand. It was a picture in its way to see her with her tiny stature and trim, neat shape standing at his knee. Seeing that he continued to talk, apparently unconscious of her return, she took his hand, opened the unresisting fingers, insinuated into them the handkerchief, and closed them upon it, one by one. He still seemed not to see or feel her, but by and by he lifted her to his knee. She nestled against him, and though neither looked at or spoke to the other for an hour following, I suppose both were satisfied. During tea, the minute thing's movements and behaviour gave, as usual, full occupation to the eye. First she directed Warren as he placed the chairs put papa's chair here, and mine near it. Between papa and Mrs. Breton, I must hand his tea. She took her own seat and beckoned with her hand to her father. Be near me as if you were at home, papa. And again as she intercepted his cup in passing, and would stir the sugar and put in the cream herself, I always did it for you at home, papa. Nobody could do it as well, not even your own self. Throughout the meal she continued her attentions, rather absurd they were. The sugar tongs were too wide for one of her hands, and she had to use both in wielding them. The weight of the silver cream ewer, and the bread and butter plates, the very cup and saucer, tasked her insufficient strength and dexterity, but she would lift this, hand that, and luckily contrived through it all to break nothing. Candidly speaking, I thought her a little busybody, but her father, blind, like other parents, seemed perfectly content to let her wait on him, and even wonderfully soothed by her offices. She is my comfort, he couldn't help saying to Mrs. Breton. That lady had her own comfort and nomper on a much larger scale, and for the moment absent, so she sympathized with his foibble. This second comfort came on the stage in the course of the evening. I knew this day had been fixed for his return, and was aware that Mrs. Breton had been expecting him through all its hours. We were seated around the fire after tea when Graham joined our circle, I should rather say broke it up. For of course his arrival made a bustle, and then as Mr Graham was fasting, there was refreshment to be provided, he and Mr Holme met as an old acquaintance, of the little girl he took no notice for a time. His meal over and numerous questions from his mother answered, he turned from the table to the hearth. Opposite where he had placed himself was seated Mr Holm, and at his elbow the child. When I say child I use an inappropriate and undescriptive term, a term suggesting any picture rather than that of the demure little person in a morning frock and white chemisette that might just have fitted a good sized doll, perched now on a high chair beside a sand, whereon was her toy work box of white varnished wood, and holding in her hands a shred of a handkerchief, which she was professing to hem and at which she bored perseveringly with a needle that in her fingers seemed almost obscure, pricking herself ever and anon, marking the cambric with a track of minute red dots, occasionally starting when the perverse weapon, swerving from her control, inflicted a deeper stab than usual, but still silent, diligent, absorbed, womanly. Graham was at that time a handsome, faithless looking youth of sixteen. I say faithless looking not because he was really of a very perfidious disposition, but because the epithet strikes me as proper to describe the fair, Celtic, not Saxon, character of his good looks, his waved, light auburn hair, his supple symmetry, his smile frequent, and destitute neither of fascination nor of subtlety in no bad sense, a spoiled, whimsical boy he was in those days. Mother, he said, after eyeing the little figure before him in silence for some time, and when the temporary absence of Mr Holmes from the room relieved him from the half laughing bashfulness which was all he knew of timidity. Mother, I see a young lady in the present society to whom I've not been introduced. Mr Holmes little girl, I suppose you mean, said his mother. Indeed, ma'am, replied her son, I consider your expression of the least ceremonious. Miss Holme I should certainly have said, in venturing to speak of the gentlewoman to whom I allude. Now, Graham, I will not have that child teased. Don't flatter yourself that I shall suffer you to make her your butt. Miss Holm, pursued Graham, undeterred by his mother's remonstrance, might I have the honour to introduce myself since no one else seems willing to render you and me that service your slave, John Graham Breton. She looked at him. He rose and bowed quite gravely. She deliberately put down thimble, scissors, work, descended with precaution from her perch, and curtsying with unspeakable seriousness, said How'd you do? I have the honour to be in fair health, only in some measure fatigued with a hurried journey. I hope, ma'am, I see you well. Torribly well, was the ambitious reply of the little woman, and she now essayed to regain her former elevation, but finding this could not be done without some climbing and straining, a sacrifice of decorum not to be thought of, and being utterly disdainful of aid in the presence of a strange, strange young gentleman, she relinquished the high chair for a low stool. Towards that low stool Graham drew his chair. I hope, ma'am, the present present residence, my mother's house, appears to you a convenient place of abode. Not particularly I'd like to go home. A natural and laudable desire, ma'am, but one which, notwithstanding, I shall do my best to oppose. I reckon on being able to get out of you a little of that precious commodity called amusement which mamma and Mistress Snow there failed to yield me. I shall have to go with papa soon. I shall not stay long at your mother's Yes, yes, you will stay with me, I'm sure. I have a pony on which you shall ride and no end of books with pictures to show you. Are you going to live here now? I am. Does that please you? Do you like me? No Why? I think you're queer. My face, ma'am? Your face and all about you. You have long red hair. Auburn hair, if you please. Mamma calls it auban or golden, and so do all her friends. But even with my long red hair, and he waved his mane with a sort of triumph. Tawny he himself well knew that it was, and he was proud of the Leonine hue. I cannot possibly be queerer than is your ladyship. You call me queer? Certainly. After a pause. I think I shall go to bed. A little thing like you ought to have been in bed many hours since, but you probably sat up in expectation of seeing me. No indeed. You certainly wish to enjoy the pleasure of my society. You knew I was coming home and would wait to have a look at me. I sat up for papa, and not for you. Very good, Miss Holme I am going to be a favourite, preferred before papa soon, I dare say. She wished Mrs. Braton and myself good night. She seemed hesitating whether Graham's desserts entitled him to the same attention, when he caught her up with one hand and with that one hand held her poised aloft above his head. She saw herself thus lifted up on high, in the glass over the fireplace. The suddenness, the freedom, the disrespect of the action were too much. For shame, Mr Graham was her indignant cry. But put me down and when again on her feet, I wonder what you would think of me if I were to treat you in that way, lifting you with my hand, raising that mighty member, as Warren lifts the little cat. So saying, she departed. And next is chapter three The Playmates, and it starts Mr Holmes stayed two days. And now rather than read another chapter and rush it by, I'm going to read chapter nine of Barchester Towers, and I'm falling in love with Barchester Towers, so thank you to whoever it was that reminded me to read it, the Stanhope family. It is now three months since doctor Proudie began his reign, and changes have already been effected in the diocese which show at least the energy of an active mind. Among other things absentee church clergymen have been favoured with hints much too strong to be overlooked. Poor dear old Bishop Grantly had on this matter been too lenient, and the archdeacon had never been inclined to be severe with those who were absent on reputable pretences, and who provided for their duties in a liberal way. Among the greatest of the diocesan sinners in this respect was Dr. Vazy Stanhope. Years had now passed since he had done a day's duty, and yet there was no reason against his doing duty except a want of inclination on his own part. He held a prebendal stall in the diocese, one of the best residences in the close, and the two large rectories of Crabtree, Canicanicorium and Stoppingum. Indeed he had the cure of three parishes, for that of Iderdown was joined to Stoppingum. He had resided in Italy for twelve years, his first going there had been attributed to a sore throat, and that sore throat, though never repeated in any violent manner, had stood him in such stead that it had enabled him to live in easy idleness ever since. He had now been summoned home, not indeed with rough violence or by any peremptory command, but by a mandate which he found himself unable to disregard. Mr Slope had written to him by the bishop's desire. In the first place the bishop much wanted the valuable cooperation of Dr. Vazy Stanhope in the diocese. In the next the bishop thought it his imperative duty to become personally acquainted with the most conspicuous of his diocesan clergy. Then the bishop thought it essentially necessary for Dr. Stanhope's own interests that Dr. Stanhope should at any rate for a time return to Barchester, and lastly it was said that so strong a feeling was at the present moment evinced by the hierarchs of the church with reverence to the absence of its clerical members that it behoved Dr. Vazy Stanhope not to allow his name to stand among those which would probably in a few months be submitted to the councils of the nation. There was something so ambiguously frightful in this last threat that Dr. Stanhope determined to spend two or three summer months at his residence in Barchester. His rectories were inhabited by his curates, and he felt himself from disuse to be unfit for parochial duty, but his prebendal home was kept empty for him, and he thought it probable that he might be able now and then to preach a prebendal sermon. He arrived therefore with all his family at Barchester, and he and they must be introduced to my readers. The great family characteristic of the Stanhopes might probably be said to be heartlessness, but this want of feeling was in most of them accompanied by so great an amount of good nature as to make itself but little noticeable to the world. They were so prone to oblige their neighbours that their neighbours failed to perceive how indifferent to them was the happiness and well being of those around them. The Stanhopes would visit you in your sickness, provided it was not contagious, would bring you oranges, French novels, and the last new bit of scandal, and then hear of your death or your recovery with an equally indifferent composure. Their conduct to each other was the same as to the world. They bore and forebore. I think that's a great philosophy to have. And there was sometimes, as will be seen, much necessity for forbearing, but their love among themselves rarely reached above this. It is astonishing how much each of the family was able to do and how much each did to prevent the well being of the other four, for there were five in all, the doctor, namely, and Mrs. Stanhope, two daughters and one son. The doctor perhaps was the least singular and the most estimable of them all, and yet such good qualities as he possessed were all negative. He was a good looking, rather pletharic gentleman of around sixty years of age. His hair was snowy white, very plentiful, and somewhat like wool, sorry puppies wriggling up against me. Aren't you, darling? I'm on I'm sitting on my bed and she's next to me like a little devotee. Whereas in actual fact she's just here 'cause I'm the warm person who feeds her and cuddles her. To repeat, his hair was snow white, very plentiful, and somewhat like wool of the finest description. His whiskers were very large and very white, and gave to his face the appearance of a benevolent, sleepy old lion. His dress was always unexceptional. Although he had lived many years in Italy it was invariably of a decent clerical hue, but it never was hyperclerical. He was a man not given to much talking, but what little he did say was generally well said. His readings seldom went beyond romances and poetry of the lightest and not always most moral description. He was thoroughly a bon vivant, an accomplished judge of wine, though he never drank to excess, and a most inexorable critic in all affairs touching the kitchen. He had had much to forgive in his own family since a family had grown up around him, and had forgiven everything, except inattention to his dinner. His weakness in that respect was now fully understood, and his temper but seldom tried. As doctor Stanhope was a clergyman, it may be supposed that his religious convictions made up a considerable part of his character, but this was not so. He had religious convictions and that must be believed, but he rarely obtruded them even on his children. This abstinence on his part was not systematic, but very cat characteristic of the man. It was not that he had predetermined never to influence their thoughts, but he was so habitually idle that his time for doing so had never come till the opportunity for doing so was gone for ever. Whatever conviction the father may have had, the children were at any rate but indifferent members of the church from which he drew his income. Such was Dr. Stanhope. The features of Mrs. Stanhope's character were even less plainly marked. than those of her lord. The far niente of her niente, maybe, of her Italian life, had entered her into her very soul and brought her to regard a state of inactivity as the only earthly good. In manner and appearance she was exceedingly prepossessing. She had been a beauty, and even now at fifty five she was a handsome woman, just like Gretel. Her dress was always perfect. She never dressed but once in the day and never appeared between three and four, but when she did appear she appeared at her best. Whether the toil rested partly with her or wholly with her handmaid, it is not for such as the author even to imagine. The structure of her attire was always elaborate, and yet never over laboured. She was rich in apparel, but not what north that bedizened bedizened Bedizened means showy or over elaborate there we are. So she was not bedizened with finery. Her ornaments were costly, rare and such as could not fail to attract notice, but they did not look as though worn with that purpose. She well knew the great architectural secret of decorating her constructions and never descended to construct a decoration that's wonderful, never descended to construct a decoration. But when we have said that Mrs Stanhope knew how to dress and used her knowledge daily, we have said all other purpose in life she had none. It was something indeed that she did not interfere with the great purposes of others. In early life she had undergone great trials with reference to the doctor's dinners, but for the last ten or twelve years her eldest daughter Charlotte had taken that labour off her hands, and she had little to trouble her, little that is, till the edict for this terrible English journey had gone forth since then indeed her life had been laborious enough. For such a one the toil of being carried from the shores of Como to the city of Barchester is more than labour enough, let the care of the carriers be ever so vigilant. Mrs Stanhope had been obliged to have every one of her dresses taken in from the effects of the journey. Charlotte Stanhope was at this time about thirty five years old, and whatever may have been her faults, she had none of those which belong particularly to old young ladies she neither dressed young nor talked young and nor indeed looked young. She appeared to be perfectly content with her time of life and in no way affected the graces of youth. She was a fine young woman and had she been a man would have been a very fine young man. All that was done in the house and that was not done by servants was done by her. She gave the orders, paid the bills, hired and dismissed the domestics, made the tea, carved the meat, and managed everything in the Stanhope household she and she alone could ever induce her father to look into the state of his worldly concerns. She and she alone could in any degree control the absurdities of her sister. She and she alone prevented the whole family from falling into utter disrepute and beggary. It was by her advice that they now found themselves very unpleasantly situated in Barchester. So far the character of Charlotte Stanhope is not unpreposessing, but it remains to be said that the influence which she had in her family, though it had been used to a certain extent for their worldly well being, had not been used to their real benefit as it might have been. She had aided her father in his indifference to his professional duties, counselling him that his livings were as much his individual property as the estates of his elder brother were the property of that worthy peer. She had for years past stifled every little rising wish for a return to England, which the doctor had from time to time expressed. She had encouraged her mother in her idleness in that order that she herself might be mistress and manager of the Stanhope household. She had encouraged and fostered the follies of her sister, though she was always willing and often able to protect her from their probable result. She had done her best and had thoroughly succeeded in spoiling her brother and turning him loose upon the world an idle man without a profession and without a shilling that he could call his own. Miss Stanhope was a clever woman, able to talk on most subjects and quite indifferent as to what subject the subject was she prided herself on her freedom from English prejudice and might have added that from feminine delicacy. On religion she was a pure free thinker and with much want of true affection delighted to throw out her own views before the troubled mind of her father. To have shaken what remained of his Church of England faith would have gratified her much, but the idea of his abandoning his preferment in the church had never once presented itself to her mind. How could he indeed when he had no income from any other source? But the two most prominent members of the family still remain to be described and so on that note I'm going to say goodbye for now although I hope it sounded reasonably smooth there was actually a lot of stopping and starting because of dogs and my son he's here revising for his A levels and cups of tea being made, doors shut, doors opened dogs to separate, bites to the hand, lots going on but hopefully you heard a smooth, professional, polished output that made you think gosh I'm gonna record that recommend that to a million of my friends. I'm hoping that that's the only way that this podcast will grow if people recommend it to friends but if it doesn't grow then so be it. So thank you so much for joining me and all my love to you this Tuesday morning best wishes and have a lovely day.