The Complete Chronicles of Barsetshire: (The Warden + Barchester Towers + Doctor Thorne + Framley Parsonage + The Small House at Allington + The Last Chronicle of Barset). Anthony Trollope
on the table, Mr. Harding made for himself an opportunity of speaking. It was, however, with much inward 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 hand upon the table, and the start he made was so great as to make his wife jump up from her chair. Not accept the deanship! If it really ended in this, there would be no longer any doubt that his father-inlaw was demented. The question now was whether a clergyman with low rank and preferment amounting to less than £200 a year should accept high rank, £1,200 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 than what a dean has to do. Surely you are more active than Dr. Trefoil.”
“He won’t have half as much to do as he has 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-inlaw 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 that I am too old for it.”
“Good heavens! People! 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 are 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 recent poverty, he did fully recognize 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 appeared 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, 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, but 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.
CHAPTER XLVIII
Miss Thorne Shows Her Talent at Match-Making
On Mr. Harding’s return to Barchester from Plumstead, which was effected by him in due course in company with the archdeacon, more tidings of a surprising nature met him. He was, during the journey, subjected to such a weight of unanswerable argument, all of which went to prove that it was his bounden duty not to interfere with the paternal Government that was so anxious to make him a dean, that when he arrived at the chemist’s door in High Street, he hardly knew which way to turn himself in the matter. But, perplexed as he was, he was doomed to further perplexity. He found a note there from his daughter begging him most urgently to come to her immediately. But we must again go back a little in our story.
Miss Thorne had not been slow to hear the rumours respecting Mr. Arabin which had so much disturbed the happiness of Mrs. Grantly. And she, also, was unhappy to think that her parish clergyman should be accused of worshipping a strange goddess. She, also, was of opinion that rectors and vicars should all be married, and with that good-natured energy which was characteristic of her she put her wits to work to find a fitting match for Mr. Arabin. Mrs. Grantly, in this difficulty, could think of no better remedy than a lecture from the archdeacon. Miss Thorne thought that a young lady, marriageable and with a dowry, might be of more efficacy. In looking through the catalogue of her unmarried friends who might possibly be in want of a husband and might also be fit for such promotion as a country parsonage affords, she could think of no one more eligible than Mrs. Bold; consequently, losing no time, she went into Barchester on the day of Mr. Slope’s discomfiture, the same day that her brother had had his interesting interview with the last of the Neros, and invited Mrs. Bold to bring her nurse and baby to Ullathorne and make them a protracted visit.
Miss Thorne suggested a month or two, intending to use her influence afterwards in prolonging it so as to last out the winter, in order that Mr. Arabin might have an opportunity of becoming fairly intimate with his intended bride. “We’ll have Mr. Arabin, too,” said Miss Thorne to herself; “and before the spring they’ll know each other; and in twelve or eighteen months’ time, if all goes well, Mrs. Bold will be domiciled at St. Ewold’s;” and then the kind-hearted lady gave herself some not undeserved praise for her match-making genius.
Eleanor was taken a little by surprise, but the matter ended in