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pubOne.info present you this new edition. 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?

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819948292
Langue	English

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BARCHESTER TOWERS
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
First published in 1857
CHAPTER I
Who Will Be the New Bishop?
In the latter days of July in the year 185— , a mostimportant question was for ten days hourly asked in the cathedralcity of Barchester, and answered every hour in various ways— Whowas to be the new bishop?
The death of old Dr. Grantly, who had for many yearsfilled that chair with meek authority, took place exactly as theministry of Lord — — was going to give place to that of Lord — — .The illness of the good old man was long and lingering, and itbecame at last a matter of intense interest to those concernedwhether the new appointment should be made by a conservative orliberal government.
It was pretty well understood that the outgoingpremier had made his selection and that if the question rested withhim, the mitre would descend on the head of Archdeacon Grantly, theold bishop's son. The archdeacon had long managed the affairs ofthe diocese, and for some months previous to the demise of hisfather rumour had confidently assigned to him the reversion of hisfather's honours.
Bishop Grantly died as he had lived, peaceably,slowly, without pain and without excitement. The breath ebbed fromhim almost imperceptibly, and for a month before his death it was aquestion whether he were alive or dead.
A trying time was this for the archdeacon, for whomwas designed the reversion of his father's see by those who thenhad the giving away of episcopal thrones. I would not be understoodto say that the prime minister had in so many words promised thebishopric to Dr. Grantly. He was too discreet a man for that. Thereis a proverb with reference to the killing of cats, and those whoknow anything either of high or low government places will be wellaware that a promise may be made without positive words and that anexpectant may be put into the highest state of encouragement,though the great man on whose breath he hangs may have done no morethan whisper that “Mr. So-and-So is certainly a rising man. ”
Such a whisper had been made, and was known by thosewho heard it to signify that the cures of the diocese of Barchestershould not be taken out of the hands of the archdeacon. The thenprime minister was all in all at Oxford, and had lately passed anight at the house of the Master of Lazarus. Now the Master ofLazarus— which is, by the by, in many respects the most comfortableas well as the richest college at Oxford— was the archdeacon's mostintimate friend and most trusted counsellor. On the occasion of theprime minister's visit, Dr. Grantly was of course present, and themeeting was very gracious. On the following morning Dr. Gwynne, themaster, told the archdeacon that in his opinion the thing wassettled.
At this time the bishop was quite on his last legs;but the ministry also were tottering. Dr. Grantly returned fromOxford, happy and elated, to resume his place in the palace and tocontinue 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 tobe expected from his usual somewhat worldly manners.
A month since, the physicians had named four weeksas the outside period during which breath could be supported withinthe body of the dying man. At the end of the month the physicianswondered, and named another fortnight. The old man lived on winealone, but at the end of the fortnight he still lived, and thetidings of the fall of the ministry became more frequent. Sir LamdaMewnew and Sir Omicron Pie, the two great London doctors, now camedown for the fifth time and declared, shaking their learned heads,that another week of life was impossible; and as they sat down tolunch in the episcopal dining-room, whispered to the archdeacontheir own private knowledge that the ministry must fall within fivedays. The son returned to his father's room and, afteradministering 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: hisfather was to be dead within— no, he rejected that view of thesubject. The ministry were to be out, and the diocese mightprobably be vacant at the same period. There was much doubt as tothe names of the men who were to succeed to power, and a week mustelapse before a cabinet was formed. Would not vacancies be filledby the outgoing men during this week? Dr. Grantly had a kind ofidea that such would be the case but did not know, and then hewondered at his own ignorance on such a question.
He tried to keep his mind away from the subject, buthe could not. The race was so very close, and the stakes were sovery high. He then looked at the dying man's impassive, placidface. There was no sign there of death or disease; it was somethingthinner than of yore, somewhat grayer, and the deep lines of agemore marked; but, as far as he could judge, life might yet hangthere for weeks to come. Sir Lamda Mewnew and Sir Omicron Pie hadthrice been wrong, and might yet be wrong thrice again. The oldbishop slept during twenty of the twenty-four hours, but during theshort periods of his waking moments, he knew both his son and hisdear old friend, Mr. Harding, the archdeacon's father-in-law, andwould thank them tenderly for their care and love. Now he laysleeping like a baby, resting easily on his back, his mouth justopen, and his few gray hairs straggling from beneath his cap; hisbreath was perfectly noiseless, and his thin, wan hand, which layabove the coverlid, never moved. Nothing could be easier than theold man's passage from this world to the next.
But by no means easy were the emotions of him whosat there watching. He knew it must be now or never. He was alreadyover fifty, and there was little chance that his friends who werenow leaving office would soon return to it. No probable Britishprime 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 longand sadly, in deep silence, and then gazed at that still livingface, and then at last dared to ask himself whether he reallylonged for his father's death.
The effort was a salutary one, and the question wasanswered in a moment. The proud, wishful, worldly man sank on hisknees 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 thedoor of the bedroom opened noiselessly and Mr. Harding entered witha velvet step. Mr. Harding's attendance at that bedside had beennearly as constant as that of the archdeacon, and his ingress andegress was as much a matter of course as that of his son-in-law. Hewas standing close beside the archdeacon before he was perceived,and would also have knelt in prayer had he not feared that hisdoing so might have caused some sudden start and have disturbed thedying man. Dr. Grantly, however, instantly perceived him and rosefrom his knees. As he did so Mr. Harding took both his hands andpressed them warmly. There was more fellowship between them at thatmoment than there had ever been before, and it so happened thatafter circumstances greatly preserved the feeling. As they stoodthere pressing each other's hands, the tears rolled freely downtheir cheeks.
“God bless you, my dears, ” said the bishop withfeeble voice as he woke. “God bless you— may God bless you both, mydear children. ” And so he died.
There was no loud rattle in the throat, no dreadfulstruggle, no palpable sign of death, but the lower jaw fell alittle from its place, and the eyes which had been so constantlyclosed in sleep now remained fixed and open. Neither Mr. Hardingnor Dr. Grantly knew that life was gone, though both suspectedit.
“I believe it's all over, ” said Mr. Harding, stillpressing the other's hands. “I think— nay, I hope it is. ”
“I will ring the bell, ” said the other, speakingall but in a whisper. “Mrs. Phillips should be here. ”
Mrs. Phillips, the nurse, was soon in the room, andimmediately, with practised hand, closed those staring eyes.
“It's all over, Mrs. Phillips? ” asked Mr.Harding.
“My lord's no more, ” said Mrs. Phillips, turninground and curtseying low with solemn face; “his lordship's gonemore like a sleeping babby than any that I ever saw. ”
“It's a great relief, Archdeacon, ” said Mr.Harding, “a great relief— dear, good, excellent old man. Oh thatour last moments may be as innocent and as peaceful as his! ”
“Surely, ” said Mrs. Phillips. “The Lord be praisedfor all his mercies; but, for a meek, mild, gentle-spokenChristian, his lordship was— ” and Mrs. Phillips, with unaffectedbut easy grief, put up her white apron to her flowing eyes.
“You cannot but rejoice that it is over, ” said Mr.Harding, still consoling his friend. The archdeacon's mind,however, had already travelled from the death chamber to the closetof the prime minister. He had brought himself to pray for hisfather's life, but now that that life was done, minutes were tooprecious to be lost. It was now useless to dally with the fact ofthe bishop's death— useless to lose perhaps everything for thepretence of a foolish sentiment.
But how was he to act while his father-in-law stoodthere holding his hand? How, without appearing unfeeling, was he toforget his father in the bishop— to overlook what he had lost, andthink only of what he might possibly gain?
“No, I suppose not, ” said he, at last, in answer toMr. Harding. “We have all expected it so long. ”
Mr. Harding took him by the arm and led him from theroom. “We will see him again to-morrow morning, ” said he; “we hadbetter leave the room now to the women. ” And so they wentdownstairs.
It was already evening and nearly dark. It was mostimportant that the prime minister should know that night that thediocese was vacant. Everything might depend on it; and so, inanswer to Mr. Harding's further consolation, the archdeaconsuggested that a telegraph message should be immediately sent offto London. Mr. Harding,