THE DEAN ELECT
During the entire next week Barchester was ignorant who was to be
its new dean on Sunday morning. Mr Slope was decidedly the
favourite; but he did not show himself in the cathedral, and then
he sank a point or two in the betting. On Monday, he got a scolding
from the bishop in the hearing of the servants, and down he went
till nobody would have him at any price; but on Tuesday he received
a letter, in an official cover, marked private, by which he fully
recovered his place in the public favour. On Wednesday, he was said
to be ill, and that did not look well; but on Thursday morning he
went down to the railway station, with a very jaunty air; and when
it was ascertained that he had taken a first-class ticket for
London, there was no longer any room for doubt on the matter.
While matters were in this state of ferment at Barchester, there
was not much mental comfort at Plumstead. Our friend the archdeacon
had many grounds for inward grief. He was much displeased at the
result of Dr Gwynne's diplomatic mission to the palace, and did not
even scruple to say to his wife that had he gone himself he would
have managed the affair much better. His wife did not agree with
him, but that did not mend the matter.
Mr Quiverful's appointment to the hospital was, however, a fait
accompli, and Mr Harding's acquiescence in that appointment was not
less so. Nothing would induce Mr Harding to make a public appeal
against the bishop; and the Master of Lazarus quite approved of his
not doing so.
'I don't know what has come to the Master,' said the archdeacon
over and over again. 'He used to be ready enough to stand up for
his order.'
'My dear archdeacon,' Mrs Grantly would say in reply, 'what is the
use of always fighting? I really think the Master is right.' The
Master, however, had taken steps of his own, of which neither the
archdeacon nor his wife knew anything.
'Then Mr Slope's successes were henbane to Dr Grantly; and Mrs
Bold's improprieties were as bad. What would be all the world to
Archdeacon Grantly if Mr Slope should become the Dean of Barchester
and marry his wife's sister! He talked of it, and talked of it till
he was nearly ill. Mrs Grantly almost wished that the marriage was
done and over, so that she might hear no more about it.
And there was yet another ground of misery which cut him to the
quick, nearly as closely as either of the two others. That paragon
of a clergyman, whom he had bestowed upon St Ewold's, that college
friend of whom he had boasted so loudly, that ecclesiastical knight
before whose lance Mr Slope was to fall and bite the dust, that
worthy bulwark of the church as it should be, that honoured
representative of Oxford's best spirit, was--so at least his wife
had told him half a dozen times--misconducting himself!
Nothing had been seen of Mr Arabin at Plumstead for the last week,
but a good deal had, unfortunately, been heard of him.
As soon as Mrs Grantly had found herself alone with the
archdeacon, on the evening of the Ullathorne party, she had
expressed herself very forcibly as to Mr Arabin's conduct on that
occasion. He had, she declared, looked and acted and talked very
unlike a decent parish clergyman. At first the archdeacon had
laughed at this, and assured her that she need not trouble herself;
that Mr Arabin would be found to be quite safe. But by degrees he
began to find out that his wife's eyes had been sharper than his
own. Other people coupled the signora's name with that of Mr
Arabin. The meagre little prebendary who lived in the close, told
him to a nicety how often Mr Arabin had visited at Dr Stanhope's,
and how long he had remained on the occasion of each visit. He had
asked after Mr Arabin at the cathedral library, and an officious
little vicar choral had offered to go and see whether he could be
found at Dr Stanhope's. Rumour, when she has contrived to sound the
first note on her trumpet, soon makes a loud peal audible enough.
It was too clear that Mr Arabin had succumbed to the Italian woman,
and that the archdeacon's credit would suffer fearfully if
something were not done to rescue the brand from the burning.
Besides, to give the archdeacon his due, he was really attached to
Mr Arabin, and grieved greatly at his backsliding.
They were sitting talking over their sorrows, in the drawing-room
before dinner on that day after Mr Slope's departure for London;
and on this occasion Mrs Grantly spoke her mind freely. She had
opinions of her own about parish clergymen, and now thought it
right to give vent to them.
'It you would have been led by me, archdeacon, you would never have
put a bachelor into St Ewold's.'
'But, my dear, you don't mean to say that all bachelor clergymen
misbehave themselves.'
'I don't know that clergymen are so much better than other men,'
said Mrs Grantly. 'It's all very well with a curate whom you have
under your own eye, and whom you can get rid of if he persists in
improprieties.'
'But Mr Arabin was a fellow, and couldn't have had a wife.'
'Then I would have found some one who could.'
'But, my dear, are fellows never to get livings?'
'Yes, to be sure they are, when they got engaged. I never would put
a young man into a living unless he were married, or engaged to be
married. Now here is Mr Arabin. The whole responsibility lies upon
you.'
'There is not at this moment a clergyman in all Oxford more
respected for morals and conduct than Arabin.'
'Oh, Oxford!' said the lady, with a sneer. 'What men choose to do
at Oxford, nobody ever hears of. A man may do very well at Oxford
who would bring disgrace on a parish; and, to tell you the truth,
it seems to me that Mr Arabin is just such a man.'
The archdeacon groaned deeply, but he had no further answer to
make.
'You really must speak to him, archdeacon. Only think what the
Thornes will say if they hear that their parish clergyman spends
his whole time philandering with this woman.'
The archdeacon groaned again. He was a courageous man, and knew
well enough how to rebuke the younger clergymen of the diocese when
necessary. But there was that about Mr Arabin which made the doctor
feel that it would be very difficult to rebuke him with good
effect.
'You can advise him to find a wife for himself, and he will
understand well enough what that means,' said Mrs Grantly.
The archdeacon had nothing for it but groaning. There was Mr Slope;
he was going to be made dean; he was going to take a wife; he was
bout to achieve respectability and wealth; and excellent family
mansion, and a family carriage; he would soon be among the
comfortable elite of the ecclesiastical world of Barchester;
whereas his own protege, the true scion of the true church, by whom
he had sworn, would still be a poor vicar, and that with a very
indifferent character for moral conduct! It might be all very well
recommending Mr Arabin to marry, but how would Mr Arabin when
married support a wife?
Things were ordering themselves thus at Plumstead drawing-room when
Dr and Mrs Grantly were disturbed in their sweet discourse by the
quick rattle of a carriage and a pair of horses on the gravel
sweep. The sound was not that of visitors, whose private carriages
are generally brought up to country-house doors with demure
propriety, but belonged rather to some person or persons who were
in a hurry to reach the house, and had not intention of immediately
leaving it. Guests invited to stay a week, and who were conscious
of arriving after the first dinner bell, would probably approach in
such a manner. So might arrive an attorney with the news of a
granduncle's death, or a son from college with all the fresh
honours of a double first. No one would have had himself driven to
the door of a country house in such a manner who had the slightest
doubt of his own right to force an entry.
'Who is it?' said Mrs Grantly, looking at her husband.
'Who on earth can it be?' said the archdeacon to his wife. He then
quietly got up and stood with the drawing-room door open in his
hand. 'Why, it is your father!'
It was indeed Mr Harding, and Mr Harding alone. He had come by
himself in a post-chaise with a couple of horses from Barchester,
arriving almost after dark, and evidently full of news. His visits
had usually been made in the quietest manner; he had rarely
presumed to come without notice, and had always been driven up in a
modest old green fly, with one horse, that hardly made itself heard
as it crawled up to the hall door.
'Good gracious, Warden, is it you?' said the archdeacon, forgetting
in his surprise the events of the last few years. 'But come in;
nothing is the matter, I hope?'
'We are very glad you are come, papa,' said his daughter. 'I'll go
and get your room ready at once.'
'I an't warden, archdeacon,' said Mr Harding. 'Mr Quiverful is
warden.'
Oh, I know, I know,' said the archdeacon, petulantly. 'I forgot all
about it at the moment. Is anything the matter?'
'Don't go at the moment, Susan,' said Mr Harding; 'I have something
to tell you.'
'The dinner bell will ring in five minutes,' said she.
'Will it?' said Mr Harding. 'Then, perhaps I had better wait.' he
was big with news which he had come to tell, but which he knew
could not be told without much discussion. He had hurried away to
Plumstead as fast as two horses could bring him, and now, finding
himself there, he was willing to accept the reprieve which dinner
would give him.
'If you have anything of moment to tell us, said the archdeacon,
'pray let us hear it at once. Has Eleanor gone off?'
'No, she has not,' said Mr Harding, with a look of great
disclosure.
'Has Slope been made dean?'
'No, he has not; but--'
'But what?' said the archdeacon, who was becoming very impatient.
'They have--'
'They have what?' said the archdeacon.
'They have offered it to me,' said Mr Harding, with a modesty which
almost prevented his speaking.
'Good heavens!' said the archdeacon, and sank back exhausted in an
easy-chair.
'My dear, dear, father,' said Mrs Grantly, and threw her arms
around his neck.
'So I thought I had better come out and consult with you at once,'
said Mr Harding.
'Consult!' shouted the archdeacon. 'But, my dear Harding, I
congratulate you with my whole heart--with my whole heart. I do
indeed. I never heard anything in my life that gave me so much
pleasure;' and he got hold of both his father-in-law's hands, and
shook them as though he were going to shake them off, and walked
round and round the room, twirling a copy of the Jupiter over his
head, to show his extreme exultation.
'But--' began Mr Harding.
'But me no buts,' said the archdeacon. 'I never was so happy in my
life. It was just the proper thing to do. Upon my honour, I'll
never say another word against Lord--the longest day I have to
live.'
'That's Dr Gwynne's doing, you may be sure,' said Mrs Grantly, who
greatly liked the master of Lazarus, he being an orderly married
man with a large family.
'I suppose it is,' said the archdeacon.
'Oh, papa, I am so truly delighted,' said Mrs Grantly, getting up
and kissing her father.
'But, my dear,' said Mr Harding. It was all in vain that he strove
to speak; nobody would listen to him.
'Well, Mr Dean,' said the archdeacon, triumphing; 'the deanery
gardens will be some consolation for the hospital elms. Well, poor
Quiverful! I won't begrudge him his good fortune any longer.'
No, indeed,' said Mrs Grantly. 'Poor woman, she has fourteen
children. I am sure I am very glad they have got it.'
'So am I,' said Mr Harding.
'I would give twenty pounds,' said the archdeacon, 'to see how Mr
Slope will look when he hears it.' The idea of Mr Slope's
discomfiture formed no small part of the archdeacon's pleasure.
At last Mr Harding was allowed to go up-stairs and wash his hands,
having, in fact, said very little of all that he had come out to
Plumstead on purpose to say. Nor could anything more be said till
the servants were gone after dinner. The joy of Dr Grantly was so
uncontrollable that he could not refrain from calling his
father-in-law Mr Dean before the men; and therefore, it was soon
matter for discussion in the lower regions how Mr Harding, instead
of his daughter's future husband, was to be the new dean, and
various were the opinions on the matter. The cook and butler, who
were advanced in years, thought that it was just as it should be;
but the footman and lady's maid, who were younger, thought it was a
great shame that Mr Slope should lose his chance.
'He's a mean chap all the same,' said the footman; 'and it an't
along of him that I says so. But I always did admire the missus's
sister; and she'd well become the situation.'
While these were the ideas down-stairs, a very great difference of
opinion existed above. As soon as the cloth was drawn and the wine
on the table, Mr Harding made for himself the opportunity of
speaking. It was, however, with much troubling that he said--
'It's very kind of Lord--very kind, and I feel it deeply, most
deeply. I am, I must confess, gratified by the offer--'
'I should think so,' said the archdeacon.
'But, all the same, I am afraid that I can't accept it.'
The decanter almost fell from the archdeacon's had upon the table;
and the start he made was so great as to make his wife jump from
her chair. Not accept the deanship! If it really ended in this,
there would be no longer any doubt that his father-in-law was
demented. The question now was whether a clergyman with low rank,
and preferment amounting to less than 200 pounds a year, should
accept high rank, 1200 pounds a year, and one of the most desirable
positions which his profession had to afford!
'What!' said the archdeacon, gasping for breath, and staring at his
guest as though the violence of his emotion had almost thrown him
into a fit.
'What!'
'I do not find myself fit for new duties,' urged Mr Harding.
'New duties! what duties?' said the archdeacon, with unintended
sarcasm.
'Oh, papa,' said Mrs Grantly, 'nothing can be easier that what a
dean has to do. Surely you are more active than Dr Trefoil.'
'He won't have half as much to do as at present,' said Dr Grantly.
'Did you see what the Jupiter said the other day about young men?'
'Yes; and I saw that the Jupiter said all that it could to induce
the appointment of Mr Slope. Perhaps you would wish to see Mr Slope
made dean.'
Mr Harding made no reply to this rebuke, though he felt it
strongly. He had not come over to Plumstead to have further
contention with his son-in-law about Mr Slope, so he allowed it to
pass by.
'I know I cannot make you understand my feeling,' he said, 'for we
have been cast in different moulds. I may wish that I had your
spirit and energy and power of combatting; but I have not. Every
day that is added to my life increases my wish for peace and rest.'
'And where on earth can a man have peace and rest if not in a
deanery?' said the archdeacon.
'People will say I am too old for it.'
'Good heavens! What people? What need you care for any people?'
'But I think myself I am too old for any new place.'
'Dear papa,' said Mrs Grantly, 'men ten years older than you have
been appointed to new situations day after day.'
'My dear,' said he, 'it is impossible that I should make you
understand my feelings, nor do I pretend to any great virtue in the
matter. The truth is, I want the force of character which might
enable me to stand against the spirit of the times. The call on all
sides now is for young men, and I have not the nerve to put myself
in opposition to the demand. Were the Jupiter, when it hears of my
appointment, to write article after article, setting forth my
incompetency, I am sure it would cost me my reason. I ought to be
able to bear with such things, you will say. Well, my dear, I own
that I ought. But I feel my weakness and I know that I can't. And,
to tell you the truth, I know no more than a child what the dean
has to do.'
'Pshaw!' exclaimed the archdeacon.
'Don't be angry with me, archdeacon; don't let us quarrel about it,
Susan. If you knew how keenly I feel the necessity of having to
disoblige you in this matter, you would not be angry with me.'
This was a dreadful blow to Dr Grantly. Nothing could possibly have
suited him better than having Mr Harding in the deanery. Though he
had never looked down on Mr Harding on account of his great
poverty, he did fully recognise the satisfaction of having those
belonging to him in comfortable positions. It would be much more
suitable that Mr Harding should be dean of Barchester than vicar of
St Cuthbert's and precentor to boot. And then the great
discomfiture of that arch enemy of all that was respectable in
Barchester, of that new low church clerical parvenu that had fallen
amongst them, that alone would be worth more, almost than the
situation itself. It was frightful to think that such unhoped for
good fortune should be marred by the absurd crotchets and
unwholesome hallucinations by which Mr Harding allowed himself to
be led astray. To have the cup so near his lips and then to lose
the drinking of it, was more than Dr Grantly could endure.
And yet it appears as though he would have to endure it. In vain he
threatened and in vain he coaxed. Mr Harding did not indeed speak
with perfect decision of refusing the proffered glory, but he would
not speak with anything like decision of accepting it. When pressed
again and again, he would again and again allege that he was wholly
unfitted to new duties. It was in vain that the archdeacon tried to
insinuate, though he could not plainly declare, that there were no
new duties to perform. It was in vain he hinted that in all cases
of difficulty he, the archdeacon, was willing and able to guide a
weak-minded dean. Mr Harding seemed to have a foolish idea, not
only that there were new duties to do, and that no one should
accept the place who was not himself prepared to do them.
The conference ended in an understanding that Mr Harding should at
once acknowledge the letter he had received from the minister's
private secretary, and should beg that he might be allowed two days
to make up his mind; and that during those two days the matter
should be considered.
On the following morning the archdeacon was to drive Mr Harding
back to Barchester.