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

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 displeasure.

      “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 sunk back exhausted in an easy chair.

      “My dear, dear father,” said Mrs. Grantly and threw her arms round her father’s 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-inlaw’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 upstairs 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-inlaw Mr. Dean before the men, and therefore it was soon matter of 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 downstairs, 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 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 СКАЧАТЬ