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Burroughs - "At the Earth's Core, by Edgar Rice Burroughs"

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Barchester Towers

A >> Anthony Trollope >> Barchester Towers



BARCHESTER TOWERS

TABLE OF CONTENTS

I Who will be the new Bishop?
II Hiram's Hospital, according to Act of Parliament
III Dr and Mrs Proudie
IV The Bishop's Chaplain
V A Morning Visit
VI War
VII The Dean and Chapter take Counsel
VIII The Ex-Warden rejoices at his probable Return to the Hospital
IX The Stanhope Family
X Mrs Proudie's Reception--Commenced
XI Mrs Proudie's Reception--Concluded
XII Slope versus Harding
XIII The Rubbish Cart
XIV The New Champion
XV The Widow's Suitors
XVI Baby Worship
XVII Who shall be Cock of the Walk?
XVIII The Widow's Persecution
XIX Barchester by Moonlight
XX Mr Arabin
XXI St Ewold's Parsonage
XXII The Thornes of Ullathorne
XXIII Mr Arabin reads himself in at St Ewold's
XXIV Mr Slope manages matters very well at Puddingdale
XXV Fourteen Arguments in favour of Mr Quiverful's Claims
XXVI Mrs Proudie wrestles and gets a Fall
XXVII A Love Scene
XXVIII Mrs Bold is entertained by Dr and Mrs Grantly at Plumstead
XXIX A serious Interview
XXX Another Love Scene
XXXI The Bishop's Library
XXXII A New Candidate for Ecclesiastical Honours
XXXIII Mrs Proudie Victrix
XXXIV Oxford--The Master and Tutor of Lazarus
XXXV Miss Thorne's Fete Champetre
XXXVI Ullathorne Sports--Act I
XXXVII The Signora Neroni, the Countess De Courcy, and
Mrs Proudie meet each other at Ullathorne
XXXVIII The Bishop sits down to Breakfast and the Dean dies
XXXIX The Lookalofts and the Greenacres
XL Ullathorne Sports--Act II
XLI Mrs Bold confides her Sorrow to her Friend Miss Stanhope
XLII Ullathorne Sports--Act III
XLIII Mrs and Mrs Quiverful are made happy.
Mr Slope is encouraged by the Press
XLIV Mrs Bold at Home
XLV The Stanhopes at Home
XLVI Mr Slope's parting Interview with the Signora

XLVII The Dean Elect
XLVIII Miss Thorne shows her Talent at Match-making
XLIX The Belzebub Colt
L The Archdeacon is satisfied with the State of Affairs
LI Mr Slope's Farewell to the Palace and its Inhabitants
LII The new Dean takes Possession of the Deanery,
and the New Warden of the Hospital
LIII Conclusion




CHAPTER I

WHO WILL BE THE NEW BISHOP?

In the latter days of July in the year 185-, a most important
question was for ten days hourly asked in the cathedral city of
Barchester, and answered every hour in various ways--Who was to be
the new Bishop?

The death of old Dr Grantly, who had for many years filled the
chair with meek authority, took place exactly as the ministry of
Lord - was going to give place to that Lord -. The illness of the
good old man was long and lingering, and it became at last a matter
of intense interest to those concerned whether the new appointment
should be made by a conservative or liberal government.

Bishop Grantly died as he had lived, peaceably, slowly, without
pain and without excitement. The breath ebbed from him almost
imperceptibly, and for a month before his death, it was a question
whether he was alive or dead.

A trying time was this for the archdeacon, for whom was designed
the reversion of his father's see by those who then had the giving
away of episcopal thrones. I would not be understood to say that
the prime minister had in so many words promised the bishopric to
Dr Grantly. He was too discreet a man for that. There is a proverb
with reference to the killing of cats, and those who know anything
either of high or low government places, will be well aware that a
promise may be made without positive words, and that an expectant
may be put into the highest state of encouragement, though the
great man on whose breath he hangs may have done no more than
whisper that 'Mr So-and-so is certainly a rising man.'

Such a whisper had been made, and was known by those who heard it
to signify that the cures of the diocese of Barchester should not
be taken out of the hands of the archdeacon. The then prime
minister was all in all at Oxford, and had lately passed a night at
the house of the master of Lazarus. Now the master of
Lazarus--which is, by the bye, in many respects the most
comfortable, as well as the richest college at Oxford,--was the
archdeacon's most intimate friend and most trusted counsellor. On
the occasion of the prime minister's visit, Dr Grantly was of
course present, and the meeting was very gracious. On the following
morning Dr Gwynne, the master, told the archdeacon that in his
opinion the matter was settled.

At this time the bishop was quite on his last legs; but the
ministry was also tottering. Dr Grantly returned from Oxford happy
and elated, to resume his place in the palace, and to continue to
perform for the father the last duties of a son; which, to give him
his due, he performed with more tender care than was to be expected
from his usual somewhat worldly manners.

A month since the physicians had named four weeks as the outside
period during which breath could be supported within the body of
the dying man. At the end of the month the physicians wondered, and
named another fortnight. The old man lived on wine alone, but at
the end of the fortnight he still lived; and the tidings of the
fall of the ministry became more frequent. Sir Lamda Mewnew and Sir
Omicron Pie, the two great London doctors, now came down for the
fifth time, and declared, shaking their learned heads, that another
week of life was impossible; and as they sat down to lunch in the
episcopal dining-room, whispered to the archdeacon their own
private knowledge that the ministry must fall within five days. The
son returned to his father's room, and after administering with his
own hands the sustaining modicum of madeira, sat down by the
bedside to calculate his chances.

The ministry were to be out within five days: his father was to be
dead within--No, he rejected that view of the subject. The ministry
were to be out, and the diocese might probably be vacant at the
same period. There was much doubt as to the names of the men who
were to succeed to power, and a week must elapse before a Cabinet
was formed. Would not vacancies be filled by the out-going men
during that week? Dr Grantly had a kind of idea that such would be
the case, but did not know; and then he wondered at his own
ignorance of such a question.

He tried to keep his mind away from the subject, but he could not.
The race was so very close, and the stakes were so very high. He
then looked at the dying man's impassive, placid face. There was no
sign there of death or disease; it was something thinner than of
yore, somewhat grayer, and the deep lines of age more marked; but,
as far as he could judge, life might yet hang there for weeks to
come. Sir Lamda Mewnew and Sir Omicron Pie had thrice been wrong,
and might yet be wrong thrice again. The old bishop slept during
twenty of the twenty-four hours, but during the short periods of
his waking moments, he knew both his son and his dear friend Mr
Harding, the archdeacon's father-in-law, and would thank them
tenderly for their care and love. Now he lay sleeping like a baby,
resting easily on his back, his mouth just open, and his few gray
hairs straggling from beneath his cap; his breath was perfectly
noiseless, and his thin, wan hand, which lay above the coverlid,
never moved. Nothing could be easier than the old man's passage
from this world to the next.

But by no means easy were the emotions of him who sat there
watching. He knew it must be now or never. He was already over
fifty, and there was little chance that his friends who were now
leaving office would soon return to it. No probable British prime
minister but he who was now in, he who was so soon to be out, would
think of making a bishop of Dr Grantly. Thus he thought long and
sadly, in deep silence, and then gazed at that still living face,
and then at last dared to ask himself whether he really longed for
his father's death.

The effort was a salutary one, and the question was answered in a
moment. The proud, wishful, worldly man, sank on his knees by the
bedside, and taking the bishop's hand within his own, prayed
eagerly that his sins might be forgiven him.

His face was still buried in the clothes when the door of the
bed-room opened noiselessly, and Mr Harding entered with a velvet
step. Mr Harding's attendance at that bedside had been nearly as
constant as that of the archdeacon, and his ingress and egress was
as much a matter of course as that of his son-in-law. He was
standing close beside the archdeacon before he was perceived, and
would have also knelt in prayer had he not feared that his doing so
might have caused some sudden start, and have disturbed the dying
man. Dr Grantly, however, instantly perceived him, and rose from
his knees. As he did so Mr Harding took both his hands, and pressed
them warmly. There was more fellowship between them at that moment
than there had ever been before, and it so happened that after
circumstances greatly preserved the feeling. As they stood there
pressing each other's hands, the tears rolled freely down their
cheeks.

'God bless you, my dears,'--said the bishop with feeble voice as he
woke--'God bless you--may God bless you both, my dear children:'
and so he died.

There was no loud rattle in the throat, no dreadful struggle, no
palpable sign of death; but the lower jaw fell a little from its
place, and the eyes, which had been so constantly closed in sleep,
now remained fixed and open. Neither Mr Harding nor Dr Grantly knew
that life was gone, though both suspected it.

'I believe it's all over,' said Mr Harding, still pressing the
other's hands. 'I think--nay, I hope it is.'

'I will ring the bell,' said the other, speaking all but in a
whisper. 'Mrs Phillips should be here.'

Mrs Phillips, the nurse, was soon in the room, and immediately,
with practised hand, closed those staring eyes.

'It's all over, Mrs Phillips?' asked Mr Harding.

'My lord's no more,' said Mrs Phillips, turning round and
curtseying with a solemn face; 'His lordship's gone more like a
sleeping baby than any that I ever saw.'

'It's a great relief, archdeacon,' said Mr Harding, 'A great
relief--dear good, excellent old man. Oh that our last moments may
be as innocent and peaceful as his!'

'Surely,' said Mrs Phillips. 'The Lord be praised for all his
mercies; but, for a meek, mild, gentle-spoken Christian, his
lordship was--' and Mrs Phillips, with unaffected but easy grief,
put up her white apron to her flowing eyes.

'You cannot but rejoice that it is over,' said Mr Harding, still
counselling his friend. The archdeacon's mind, however, had already
travelled from the death chamber to the closet of the prime
minister. He had brought himself to pray for his father's life, but
now that that life was done, to dally with the fact of the bishop's
death--useless to lose perhaps everything for the pretence of a
foolish sentiment.

But how was he to act while his father-in-law stood there holding
his hand? How, without appearing unfeeling, was he to forget his
father in the bishop--to overlook what he had lost, and think only
of what he might possibly gain?

'No; I suppose not,' said he, at last, in answer to Mr Harding. 'We
have all expected it for so long.'

Mr Harding took him by the arm and led him from the room. 'We will
see him again to-morrow morning,' said he; 'We had better leave the
room now to the woman.' And so they went downstairs.

It was already evening and nearly dark. It was most important that
the prime minister should know that night that the diocese was
vacant. Everything might depend on it; and so, in answer to Mr
Harding's further consolation, the archdeacon suggested that a
telegraph message should be immediately sent off to London. Mr
Harding who had really been somewhat surprised to find Dr Grantly,
as he thought, so much affected, was rather taken aback; but he
made no objection. He knew that the archdeacon had some hope of
succeeding to his father's place, though he by no means knew how
highly raised that hope had been.

'Yes,' said Dr Grantly, collecting himself and shaking off his
weakness, 'We must send a message at once; we don't know what might
be the consequences of delay. Will you do it?'

'I! Oh yes; certainly: I'll do it, only I don't know exactly what
it is you want.'

Dr Grantly sat down before a writing table, and taking pen and ink,
wrote on a slip of paper as follows:-

By Electric Telegraph,
For the Earl of -, Downing Street, or elsewhere.
'The Bishop of Barchester is dead.'
Message sent by the Rev. Septimus Harding.

'There,' said he. 'Just take that to the telegraph office at the
railway station, and give it as it is; they'll probably make you
copy it on to one of their own slips; that's all you'll have to do:
then you'll have to pay them half-a-crown.' And the archdeacon put
his hand in his pocket and pulled out the necessary sum.

Mr Harding felt very much like an errand-boy, and also felt that he
was called on to perform his duties as such at rather an unseemly
time; but he said nothing, and took the slip of paper and the
proffered coin.

'But you've put my name into it, archdeacon.'

'Yes,' said the other, 'There should be the name of some clergyman,
you know, and what name so proper as that of so old a friend as
yourself? The Earl won't look at the name you may be sure of that;
but my dear Mr Harding, pray don't lose any time.'

Mr Harding got as far as the library door on his way to the
station, when he suddenly remembered the news with which he was
fraught when he entered to poor bishop's bedroom. He had found the
moment so inopportune for any mundane tidings, that he had
repressed the words which were on his tongue, and immediately
afterwards all recollection of the circumstance was for the time
banished by the scene which had occurred.

'But, archdeacon,' said, he turning back, 'I forgot to tell
you--the ministry are out.'

'Out!' ejaculated the archdeacon, in a tone which too plainly
showed the anxiety of his dismay, although under the circumstances
of the moment he endeavoured to control himself: 'Out! Who told you
so?'

Mr Harding explained that news to this effect had come down by
electric telegraph, and that the tidings had been left at the
palace door by Mr Chadwick.

The archdeacon sat silent for awhile, meditating, and Mr Harding
stood looking at him. 'Never mind,' said the archdeacon at last;
'Send the message all the same. The news must be sent to some one,
and there is at present no one else in a position to receive it. Do
it at once, my dear friend; you know I would not trouble you, were
I in a state to do it myself. A few minutes' time is of the
greatest importance.'

Mr Harding went out and sent the message, and it may be as well
that we should follow it to its destination. Within thirty minutes
of its leaving Barchester it reached the Earl of - in his inner
library. What elaborate letters, what eloquent appeals, what
indignant remonstrances, he might there have to frame, at such a
moment, may be conceived, but not described! How he was preparing
his thunder for successful rivals, standing like a British peer
with his back to the sea-coal fire, and his hands in his breeches
pockets,--how his fine eye was lit up with anger, and his forehead
gleamed with patriotism,--how he stamped his foot as he thought of
his heavy associates,--how he all but swore as he remembered how
much too clever one of them had been,--my creative readers may
imagine. But was he so engaged? No; history and truth compel me to
deny it. He was sitting easily in a lounging chair, conning over a
Newmarket list, and by his elbow on the table was lying open an
uncut French novel on which he was engaged.

He opened the cover in which the message was enclosed, and having
read it, he took his pen and wrote on the back of it--

'For the Earl of -,
With the Earl of -'s compliments,'

and sent off again on its journey.

Thus terminated our unfortunate friend's chance of possessing the
glories of a bishopric.

The names of many divines were given in the papers as that of the
bishop elect. The British Grandmother declared that Dr Gwynne was
to be the man, in compliment to the late ministry.

This was a heavy blow to Dr Grantly, but he was not doomed to see
himself superseded by his friend. The Anglican Devotee put forward
confidently the claims of a great London preacher of austere
doctrines; and The Eastern Hemisphere, an evening paper supposed to
possess much official knowledge, declared in favour of an eminent
naturalist, a gentleman most completely versed in the knowledge of
rocks and minerals, but supposed by many to hold on religious
subjects no special doctrines whatever. The Jupiter, that daily
paper which, as we all know, is the only true source of infallibly
correct information on all subjects, for a while was silent, but at
last spoke out. The merits of all these candidates were discussed
and somewhat irreverently disposed of, and then The Jupiter
declared that Dr Proudie was to be the man.

Dr Proudie was the man. Just a month after the demise of the late
bishop, Dr Proudie kissed the Queen's hand as his successor elect.

We must beg to be allowed to draw a curtain over the sorrows of the
archdeacon as he sat, sombre and sad at heart, in the study of his
parsonage at Plumstead Episcopi. On the day subsequent to the
dispatch of the message he heard that the Earl of - had consented to
undertake the formation of a ministry, and from that moment he knew
that his chance was over. Many will think that he was wicked to
grieve for the loss of episcopal power, wicked to have coveted it,
nay, wicked even to have thought about it, in the way and at the
moment he had done so.

With such censures, I cannot profess that I completely agree. The
nolo episcopari, though still in use, is so directly at variance
with the tendency of all human aspirations of rising priests in the
Church of England. A lawyer does not sin in seeking to be a judge,
or in compassing his wishes by all honest means. A young diplomat
entertains a fair ambition when he looks forward to be the lord of
a first-rate embassy; and a poor novelist when he attempts to rival
Dickens or rise above Fitzjames, commits no fault, though he may be
foolish.

Sydney Smith truly said that in these recreant days we cannot
expect to find the majesty of St. Paul beneath the cassock of a
curate. If we look to our clergymen to be more than men, we shall
probably teach ourselves to think that they are less, and can
hardly hope to raise the character of the pastor by denying to him
the right to entertain the aspirations of a man.

Our archdeacon was worldly--who among us is not so? He was
ambitious--who among us is ashamed to own that 'last infirmity of
noble minds!' He was avaricious, my readers will say. No--it was
not for love of lucre that he wished to be bishop of Barchester. He
was his father's only child, and his father had left him great
wealth. His preferment brought him in nearly three thousand a year.
The bishopric, as cut down by the Ecclesiastical Commission, was
only five. He would be a richer man as archdeacon, than he could be
as a bishop. But he certainly did desire to play first fiddle; he
did desire to sit in full lawn sleeves amongst the peers of the
realm; and he did desire, if the truth must be out, to be called
'My Lord' by the reverend brethren.

His hopes, however, were they innocent or sinful, were not fated to
be realised; and Dr Proudie was consecrated Bishop of Barchester.



CHAPTER II

HIRAM'S HOSPITAL ACCORDING TO ACT OF PARLIAMENT

It is hardly necessary that I should here give to the public any
lengthened biography of Mr Harding, up to the period of the
commencement of this tale. The public cannot have forgotten how ill
that sensitive gentleman bore the attack that was made upon him in
the columns of the Jupiter, with reference to the income which he
received as warden of Hiram's Hospital, in the city of Barchester.
Nor can it be forgotten that a law-suit was instituted against him
on the matter of that charity by Mr John Bold, who afterwards
married his, Mr Harding's, younger and then only unmarried
daughter. Under the pressure of these attacks, Mr Harding had
resigned his wardenship, though strongly recommended to abstain
from doing so, both by his friends and his lawyers. He did,
however, resign it, and betook himself manfully to the duties of
the small parish of St. Cuthbert's, in the city, of which he was
vicar, continuing also to perform those of precentor of the
cathedral, a situation of small emoluments which had hitherto been
supposed to be joined, as a matter of course, to the wardenship of
the hospital above spoken of.

When he left the hospital from which he had been so ruthlessly
driven, and settled himself down in his own modest manner in the
High Street of Barchester, he had not expected that others would
make more fuss about it than he was inclined to do himself; and the
extent of his hope was, that the movement might have been made in
time to prevent any further paragraphs in the Jupiter. His affairs,
however, were not allowed to subside thus quietly, and people were
quite as much inclined to talk about the disinterested sacrifice he
had made, as they had before been to upbraid him for his cupidity.

The most remarkable thing that occurred, was the receipt of an
autographed letter from the Archbishop of Canterbury, in which the
primate very warmly praised his conduct, and begged to know what
his intentions were for the future. Mr Harding replied that he
intended to be rector of St. Cuthbert's in Barchester; and so that
matter dropped. Then the newspapers took up his case, the Jupiter
among the rest, and wafted his name in eulogistic strains through
every reading-room in the nation. It was discovered also, that he
was the author of that great musical work, Harding's Church
Music,--and a new edition was spoken of, though, I believe, never
printed. It is, however, certain that the work was introduced into
the Royal Chapel at St James's, and that a long criticism appeared
in the Musical Scrutator, declaring that in no previous work of its
kind had so much research been joined with such exalted musical
ability, and asserting that the name of Harding would henceforward
be known wherever the Arts were cultivated, or Religion valued.

This was high praise, and I will not deny that Mr Harding was
gratified by such flattery; for if Mr Harding was vain on any
subject, it was on that of music. But here the matter rested. The
second edition, if printed, was never purchased; the copies which
had been introduced into the Royal Chapel disappeared again, and
were laid by in peace, with a load of similar literature. Mr
Towers, of the Jupiter, and his brethren occupied themselves with
other names, and the underlying fame promised to our friend was
clearly intended to be posthumous.

Mr Harding had spent much of his time with his friend the bishop,
much with his daughter Mrs Bold, now, alas, a widow; and had almost
daily visited the wretched remnants of his former subjects, the few
surviving bedesmen now left at Hiram's Hospital. Six of them were
still living. The number, according to old Hiram's will, should
always have been twelve. But after the abdication of their warden,
the bishop had appointed no successor to him, and it appeared as
though the hospital at Barchester would fall into abeyance, unless
the powers that be should take some steps towards putting it once
more into working order.

During the past five years the powers that be had not overlooked
Barchester Hospital, and sundry political doctors had taken the
matter in hand. Shortly after Mr Harding's resignation, the Jupiter
had very clearly shown what ought to be done. In about half a
column it had distributed the income, rebuilt the building, put an
end to all bickerings, regenerated kindly feeling, provided for Mr
Harding, and placed the whole thing on a footing which could not
but be satisfactory to the city and Bishop of Barchester, and to
the nation at large. The wisdom of this scheme was testified by the
number of letters which "Common Sense", "Veritas", and "One that
loves fair play," sent to the Jupiter, all expressing admiration
and amplifying on the details given. It is singular enough that no
adverse letter appeared at all, and, therefore, none of course was
written.

But Cassandra was not believed, and even the wisdom of the Jupiter
sometimes falls on deaf ears. Though other plans did not put
themselves forward in the columns of the Jupiter, reformers of
church charities were not slack to make known in various places
their different nostrums for setting Hiram's Hospital on its feet
again. A learned bishop took occasion, in the Upper House, to
allude to the matter, intimating that he had communicated on the
subject with his right reverend brother of Barchester. The radical
member for Staleybridge had suggested that the funds should be
alienated for the education of the agricultural poor of the
country, and he amused the House by some anecdotes touching the
superstition and habits of the agriculturists in question. A
political pamphleteer had produced a few dozen pages, which he
called 'Who are Hiram's heirs?' intending to give an infallible
rule for the governance of such establishments; and, at last, a
member of the government promised that in the next session a short
bill should be introduced for regulating the affairs of Barchester,
and other kindred concerns.

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