Barchester Towers [260]
gifted with his diocesan honours, was a man of much weight in the clerico-political world. He was, if not as pious, at any rate as wise as St Paul, and had been with so much effect all things to all men, that though he was great among the dons of Oxford, he had been selected for the most favourite seat on the bench by a Whig Prime Minister. To him Dr Gwynne had made known his wishes and his arguments, and the bishop had made them known to the Marquis of Kensington Gore. The marquis, who was Lord High Steward of the Pantry Board, and who by most men was supposed to hold the highest office out of the cabinet, trafficked much in affairs of this kind. He not only suggested the arrangement to the minister over a cup of coffee, standing on a drawing-room rug in Windsor Castle, but he also favourably mentioned Mr Arabin's name in the ear of a distinguished person.
And so the matter was arranged. The answer of the great man came, and Mr Arabin was made Dean of Barchester. The three clergymen who had come up to town on this important mission dined together with great glee on the day on which the news reached them. In a silent manner, they toasted Mr Arabin with full bumpers of claret. The satisfaction of all of them was supreme. The Master of Lazarus had been successful in his attempt, and success is dear to us all. The archdeacon had trampled upon Mr Slope, and had lifted to high honours the young clergyman whom he had induced to quit the retirement and comfort of the university. So at least the archdeacon thought; though, to speak sooth, not he, but circumstances had trampled on Mr Slope. But the satisfaction of Mr Harding was, of all perhaps, the most complete. He laid aside his usual melancholy manner, and brought forth little quiet jokes from the utmost mirth of his heart; he poked fun at the archdeacon about Mr Slope's marriage, and quizzed him for his improper love for Mrs Proudie. On the following day they all returned to Barchester.
It was arranged that Mr Arabin should know nothing of what had been done till he received the minister's letter from the hands of his embryo father-in-law. In order that no time be lost, a message had been sent to him by the preceding night's post, begging him to be at the deanery at the hour that the train from London arrived. There was nothing in this which surprised Mr Arabin. It had somehow got about through all bah that Mr Harding was the new dean, and all Barchester was prepared to welcome him with pealing bells and full hearts. Mr Slope had certainly had a party; there had certainly been those in Barchester who were prepared to congratulate him on his promotion with assumed sincerity, but even his own party were not broken-hearted by his failure. The inhabitants of the city, even the high-souled ecstatic young ladies of thirty-five, had begun to comprehend that their welfare and the welfare of the place, was connected in some mysterious manner with the daily chants of the bi-weekly anthems. The expenditure of the palace had not added greatly to the popularity of the bishop's side of the question; and, on the whole, there was a strong reaction. When it became known to all the world that Mr Harding was to be the new dean, all the world rejoiced heartily.
Mr Arabin, as we have said, was not surprised at the summons which called him to the deanery. He had not as yet seen Mr Harding since Eleanor had accepted him, nor had he seen him since he had learnt of his future father-in-law's preferment. There was nothing more natural, more necessary, than that they should meet each other at the earliest possible moment.
Mr Arabin was waiting at the deanery parlour when Mr Harding and Dr Grantly were driven up from the station.
There was some excitement in the bosoms of them all, as they met and shook hands; but far too much to enable either of them to begin his story and tell it in a proper equable style of narrative. Mr Harding was some minutes quite dumbfounded, and Mr Arabin could only talk in short, spasmodic sentences about his love and good fortune. He slipped in, as best he could,
And so the matter was arranged. The answer of the great man came, and Mr Arabin was made Dean of Barchester. The three clergymen who had come up to town on this important mission dined together with great glee on the day on which the news reached them. In a silent manner, they toasted Mr Arabin with full bumpers of claret. The satisfaction of all of them was supreme. The Master of Lazarus had been successful in his attempt, and success is dear to us all. The archdeacon had trampled upon Mr Slope, and had lifted to high honours the young clergyman whom he had induced to quit the retirement and comfort of the university. So at least the archdeacon thought; though, to speak sooth, not he, but circumstances had trampled on Mr Slope. But the satisfaction of Mr Harding was, of all perhaps, the most complete. He laid aside his usual melancholy manner, and brought forth little quiet jokes from the utmost mirth of his heart; he poked fun at the archdeacon about Mr Slope's marriage, and quizzed him for his improper love for Mrs Proudie. On the following day they all returned to Barchester.
It was arranged that Mr Arabin should know nothing of what had been done till he received the minister's letter from the hands of his embryo father-in-law. In order that no time be lost, a message had been sent to him by the preceding night's post, begging him to be at the deanery at the hour that the train from London arrived. There was nothing in this which surprised Mr Arabin. It had somehow got about through all bah that Mr Harding was the new dean, and all Barchester was prepared to welcome him with pealing bells and full hearts. Mr Slope had certainly had a party; there had certainly been those in Barchester who were prepared to congratulate him on his promotion with assumed sincerity, but even his own party were not broken-hearted by his failure. The inhabitants of the city, even the high-souled ecstatic young ladies of thirty-five, had begun to comprehend that their welfare and the welfare of the place, was connected in some mysterious manner with the daily chants of the bi-weekly anthems. The expenditure of the palace had not added greatly to the popularity of the bishop's side of the question; and, on the whole, there was a strong reaction. When it became known to all the world that Mr Harding was to be the new dean, all the world rejoiced heartily.
Mr Arabin, as we have said, was not surprised at the summons which called him to the deanery. He had not as yet seen Mr Harding since Eleanor had accepted him, nor had he seen him since he had learnt of his future father-in-law's preferment. There was nothing more natural, more necessary, than that they should meet each other at the earliest possible moment.
Mr Arabin was waiting at the deanery parlour when Mr Harding and Dr Grantly were driven up from the station.
There was some excitement in the bosoms of them all, as they met and shook hands; but far too much to enable either of them to begin his story and tell it in a proper equable style of narrative. Mr Harding was some minutes quite dumbfounded, and Mr Arabin could only talk in short, spasmodic sentences about his love and good fortune. He slipped in, as best he could,