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 bishop1?
The death of old Dr. Grantly, who had for many years filled that chair with meek2 authority, took place exactly as the ministry3 of Lord —— was going to give place to that of Lord ——. The illness of the good old man was long and lingering, and it became at last a matter of intense interest to those concerned whether the new appointment should be made by a conservative or liberal government.
It was pretty well understood that the outgoing premier4 had made his selection and that if the question rested with him, the mitre would descend5 on the head of Archdeacon Grantly, the old bishop’s son. The archdeacon had long managed the affairs of the diocese, and for some months previous to the demise7 of his father rumour8 had confidently assigned to him the reversion of his father’s honours.
Bishop Grantly died as he had lived, peaceably, slowly, without pain and without excitement. The breath ebbed9 from him almost imperceptibly, and for a month before his death it was a question whether he were alive or dead.
A trying time was this for the archdeacon, for whom was designed the reversion of his father’s see by those who then had the giving away of episcopal thrones. I would not be understood to say that the prime minister had in so many words promised the bishopric to Dr. Grantly. He was too discreet10 a man for that. There is a proverb with reference to the killing11 of cats, and those who know anything either of high or low government places will be well aware that a promise may be made without positive words and that an expectant may be put into the highest state of encouragement, though the great man on whose breath he hangs may have done no more than whisper that “Mr. So-and-So is certainly a rising man.”
Such a whisper had been made, and was known by those who heard it to signify that the cures of the diocese of Barchester should not be taken out of the hands of the archdeacon. The then prime minister was all in all at Oxford12, and had lately passed a night at the house of the Master of Lazarus. Now the Master of Lazarus — which is, by the by, in many respects the most comfortable as well as the richest college at Oxford — was the archdeacon’s most intimate friend and most trusted counsellor. On the occasion of the prime minister’s visit, Dr. Grantly was of course present, and the meeting was very gracious. On the following morning Dr. Gwynne, the master, told the archdeacon that in his opinion the thing was settled.
At this time the bishop was quite on his last legs; but the ministry also were tottering13. Dr. Grantly returned from Oxford, happy and elated, to resume his place in the palace and to continue 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 to be expected from his usual somewhat worldly manners.
A month since, the physicians had named four weeks as the outside period during which breath could be supported within the body of the dying man. At the end of the month the physicians wondered, and named another fortnight. The old man lived on wine alone, but at the end of the fortnight he still lived, and the tidings of the fall of the ministry became more frequent. Sir Lamda Mewnew and Sir Omicron Pie, the two great London doctors, now came down for the fifth time and declared, shaking their learned heads, that another week of life was impossible; and as they sat down to lunch in the episcopal dining-room, whispered to the archdeacon their own private knowledge that the ministry must fall with five days. The son returned to his father’s room and, after administering with his own hands the sustaining modicum14 of madeira, sat down by the bedside to calculate his chances.
The ministry were to be out within five days: his father was to be dead within — no, he rejected that view of the subject. The ministry were to be out, and the diocese might probably be vacant at the same period. There was much doubt as to the names of the men who were to succeed to power, and a week must elapse before a cabinet was formed. Would not vacancies15 be filled by the outgoing men during this week? Dr. Grantly had a kind of idea that such would be the case but did not know, and then he wondered at his own ignorance on such a question.
He tried to keep his mind away from the subject, but he could not. The race was so very close, and the stakes were so very high. He then looked at the dying man’s impassive, placid16 face. There was no sign there of death or disease; it was something thinner than of yore, somewhat grayer, and the deep lines of age more marked; but, as far as he could judge, life might yet hang there for weeks to come. Sir Lamda Mewnew and Sir Omicron Pie had thrice been wrong, and might yet be wrong thrice again. The old bishop slept during twenty of the twenty-four hours, but during the short periods of his waking moments, he knew both his son and his dear old friend, Mr. Harding, the archdeacon’s father-inlaw, and would thank them tenderly for their care and love. Now he lay sleeping like a baby, resting easily on his back, his mouth just open, and his few gray hairs straggling from beneath his cap; his breath was perfectly17 noiseless, and his thin, wan18 hand, which lay above the coverlid, never moved. Nothing could be easier than the old man’s passage from this world to the next.
But by no means easy were the emotions of him who sat there watching. He knew it must be now or never. He was already over fifty, and there was little chance that his friends who were now leaving office would soon return to it. No probable British prime 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 long and sadly, in deep silence, and then gazed at that still living face, and then at last dared to ask himself whether he really longed for his father’s death.
The effort was a salutary one, and the question was answered in a moment. The proud, wishful, worldly man sank on his knees 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 the door of the bedroom opened noiselessly and Mr. Harding entered with a velvet19 step. Mr. Harding’s attendance at that bedside had been nearly as constant as that of the archdeacon, and his ingress and egress20 was as much a matter of course as that of his son-inlaw. He was standing21 close beside the archdeacon before he was perceived, and would also have knelt in prayer had he not feared that his doing so might have caused some sudden start and have disturbed the dying man. Dr. Grantly, however, instantly perceived him and rose from his knees. As he did so Mr. Harding took both his hands and pressed them warmly. There was more fellowship between them at that moment than there had ever been before, and it so happened that after circumstances greatly preserved the feeling. As they stood there pressing each other’s hands, the tears rolled freely down their cheeks.
“God bless you, my dears,” said the bishop with feeble voice as he woke. “God bless you — may God bless you both, my dear children.” And so he died.
There was no loud rattle22 in the throat, no dreadful struggle, no palpable sign of death, but the lower jaw23 fell a little from its place, and the eyes which had been so constantly closed in sleep now remained fixed24 and open. Neither Mr. Harding nor Dr. Grantly knew that life was gone, though both suspected it
“I believe it’s all over,” said Mr. Harding, still pressing the other’s hands. “I think — nay25, I hope it is.”
“I will ring the bell,” said the other, speaking all but in a whisper. “Mrs. Phillips should be here.”
Mrs. Phillips, the nurse, was soon in the room, and immediately, with practised hand, closed those staring eyes.
“It’s all over, Mrs. Phillips?” asked Mr. Harding.
“My lord’s no more,” said Mrs. Phillips, turning round and curtseying low with solemn face; “his lordship’s gone more 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 that our last moments may be as innocent and as peaceful as his!”
“Surely,” said Mrs. Phillips. “The Lord be praised for all his mercies; but, for a meek, mild, gentle-spoken Christian27, his lordship was —-” and Mrs. Phillips, with unaffected but easy grief, put up her white apron29 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 chamber30 to the closet of the prime minister. He had brought himself to pray for his father’s life, but now that that life was done, minutes were too precious to be lost. It was now useless to dally31 with the fact of the bishop’s death — useless to lose perhaps everything for the pretence32 of a foolish sentiment.
But how was he to act while his father-inlaw stood there holding his hand? How, without appearing unfeeling, was he to forget his father in the bishop — to overlook what he had lost and think only of what he might possibly gain?
“No, I suppose not,” said he at last in answer to Mr. Harding. “We have all expected it so long.”
Mr. Harding took him by the arm and led him from the room. “We will see him again tomorrow morning,” said he; “we had better leave the room now to the women.” And so they went downstairs.
It was already evening and nearly dark. It was most important that the prime minister should know that night that the diocese was vacant. Everything might depend on it, and so, in answer to Mr. Harding’s further consolation33, the archdeacon suggested that a telegraph message should be immediately sent off to London. Mr. Harding, who had really been somewhat surprised to find Dr. Grantly, as he thought, so much affected28, was rather taken aback, but he made no objection. He knew that the archdeacon had some hope of succeeding to his father’s place, though he by no means knew how highly raised that hope had been.
“Yes,” said Dr. Grantly, collecting himself and shaking off his weakness, “we must send a message at once; we don’t know what might be the consequence of delay. Will you do it?’
“I! Oh, yes; certainly. I’ll do anything, only I don’t know exactly what it is you want.”
Dr. Grantly sat down before a writing-table and, taking pen and ink, wrote on a slip of paper as follows:
By Electric Telegraph.
For the —— Earl of ——, Downing Street, or elsewhere.
The Bishop of Barchester is dead.
Message sent by the Rev6. Septimus Harding.
“There,” said he. “Just take that to the telegraph office at the railway station and give it in as it is; they’ll probably make you copy it on to one of their own slips; that’s all you’ll have to do; then you’ll have to pay them half a crown.” And the archdeacon put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the necessary sum.
Mr. Harding felt very much like an errand-boy and also felt that he was called on to perform his duties as such at rather an unseemly time, but he said nothing and took the slip of paper and the proffered34 coin.
“But you’ve put my name into it”, Archdeacon.”
“Yes,” said the other, “there should be the name of some clergyman, you know, and what name so proper as that of so old a friend as yourself? The earl won’t look at the name, you may be sure of that; but my dear Mr. Harding, pray don’t lose any time.”
Mr. Harding got as far as the library door on his way to the station when he suddenly remembered the news with which he was fraught35 when he entered the poor bishop’s bedroom. He had found the moment so inopportune for any mundane36 tidings that he had repressed the words which were on his tongue, and immediately afterwards all recollection of the circumstance was for the time banished37 by the scene which had occurred.
“But, Archdeacon,” said he, turning back, “I forgot to tell you — the ministry are out.”
“Out!” ejaculated the archdeacon in a tone which too plainly showed his anxiety and dismay, although under the circumstances of the moment he endeavoured to control himself. “Out! Who told you so?”
Mr. Harding explained that news to this effect had come down by electric telegraph and that the tidings had been left at the palace door by Mr. Chadwick.
The archdeacon sat silent for awhile meditating38, and Mr. Harding stood looking at him. “Never mind,” said the archdeacon at last; “send the message all the same. The news must be sent to someone, and there is at present no one else in a position to receive it. Do it at once, my dear friend; you know I would not trouble you, were I in a state to do it myself. A few minutes’ time is of the greatest importance.”
Mr. Harding: went out and sent the message, and it may be as well that we should follow it to its destination. Within thirty minutes of its leaving Barchester it reached the Ear1 of —— in his inner library. What elaborate letters, what eloquent39 appeals, what indignant remonstrances40 he might there have to frame, at such a moment, may be conceived but not described! How he was preparing his thunder for successful rivals, standing like a British peer with his back to the sea-coal fire, and his hands in his breeches pockets — how his fine eye was lit up with anger, and his forehead gleamed with patriotism41 — how he stamped his foot as he thought of his heavy associates — how he all but swore as be remembered how much too clever one of them had been — my creative readers may imagine. But was he so engaged? No: history and truth compel me to deny it. He was sitting easily in a lounging chair, conning42 over a Newmarket list, and by his elbow on the table was lying open an uncut French novel on which he was engaged.
He opened the cover in which the message was enclosed and, having read it, he took his pen and wrote on the back of it —
For the Earl of ——,
With the Earl of ——‘s compliments,
and sent it off again on its journey.
Thus terminated our unfortunate friend’s chances of possessing the glories of a bishopric.
The names of many divines were given in the papers as that of the bishop-elect The British Grandmother declared that Dr. Gwynne was to be the man, in compliment to the late ministry. This was a heavy blow to Dr. Grantly, but he was not doomed43 to see himself superseded44 by his friend. The Anglican Devotee put forward confidently the claims of a great London preacher of austere45 doctrines46; and The Eastern Hemisphere, an evening paper supposed to possess much official knowledge, declared in favour of an eminent47 naturalist48, a gentleman most completely versed49 in the knowledge of rocks and minerals but supposed by many to hold on religious subjects no special doctrines whatever. The Jupiter, that daily paper which, as we all know, is the only true source of infallibly correct information on all subjects, for awhile was silent but at last spoke26 out. The merits of all these candidates were discussed and somewhat irreverently disposed of, and then The Jupiter declared that Dr. Proudie was to be the man.
Dr. Proudie was the man. Just a month after the demise of the late bishop, Dr. Proudie kissed the Queen’s hand as his successor-elect.
We must beg to be allowed to draw a curtain over the sorrows of the archdeacon as he sat, sombre and sad at heart, in the study of his parsonage at Plumstead Episcopi. On the day subsequent to the dispatch of the message he heard that the Earl of —— had consented to undertake the formation of a ministry, and from that moment he knew that his chance was over. Many will think that he was wicked to grieve for the loss of episcopal power, wicked to have coveted50 it, nay, wicked even to have thought about it, in the way and at the moments he had done so.
With such censures51 I cannot profess52 that I completely agree. The nolo episcopari, though still in use, is so directly at variance53 with the tendency of all human wishes that it cannot be thought to express the true aspirations54 of rising priests in the Church of England. A lawyer does not sin in seeking to be a judge, or in compassing his wishes by all honest means. A young diplomat55 entertains a fair ambition when he looks forward to be the lord of a first-rate embassy, and a poor novelist, when he attempts to rival Dickens or rise above Fitzjeames, commits no fault, though he may be foolish. Sydney Smith truly said that in these recreant56 days we cannot expect to find the majesty57 of St. Paul beneath the cassock of a curate. If we look to our clergymen to be more than men, we shall probably teach ourselves to think that they are less, and can hardly hope to raise the character of the pastor58 by denying to him the right to entertain the aspirations of a man.
Our archdeacon was worldly — who among us is not so? He was ambitious — who among us is ashamed to own that “last infirmity of noble minds!” He was avaricious59, my readers will say. No — it was for no love of lucre60 that he wished to be Bishop of Barchester. He was his father’s only child, and his father had left him great wealth. His preferment brought him in nearly three thousand a year. The bishopric, as cut down by the Ecclesiastical Commission, was only five. He would be a richer man as archdeacon than he could be as bishop. But he certainly did desire to play first fiddle61; he did desire to sit in full lawn sleeves among the peers of the realm; and he did desire, if the truth must out, to be called “My lord” by his reverend brethren.
His hopes, however, were they innocent or sinful, were not fated to be realized, and Dr. Proudie was consecrated62 Bishop of Barchester.
收听单词发音 |
1
bishop
|
|
| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
meek
|
|
| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
ministry
|
|
| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
premier
|
|
| adj.首要的；n.总理，首相 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
descend
|
|
| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
rev
|
|
| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
demise
|
|
| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
rumour
|
|
| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
ebbed
|
|
| （指潮水）退( ebb的过去式和过去分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
discreet
|
|
| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
killing
|
|
| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
Oxford
|
|
| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
tottering
|
|
| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
modicum
|
|
| n.少量，一小份 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
vacancies
|
|
| n.空房间( vacancy的名词复数 )；空虚；空白；空缺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
placid
|
|
| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
wan
|
|
| (wide area network)广域网 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
egress
|
|
| n.出去；出口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
rattle
|
|
| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
jaw
|
|
| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
apron
|
|
| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
dally
|
|
| v.荒废(时日)，调情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
pretence
|
|
| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
proffered
|
|
| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
fraught
|
|
| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
mundane
|
|
| adj.平凡的；尘世的；宇宙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
banished
|
|
| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
meditating
|
|
| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
eloquent
|
|
| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
remonstrances
|
|
| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
patriotism
|
|
| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
conning
|
|
| v.诈骗，哄骗( con的现在分词 )；指挥操舵( conn的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
doomed
|
|
| 命定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
superseded
|
|
| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
austere
|
|
| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
doctrines
|
|
| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
eminent
|
|
| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
naturalist
|
|
| n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
versed
|
|
| adj. 精通，熟练 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
coveted
|
|
| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
censures
|
|
| v.指责，非难，谴责( censure的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
profess
|
|
| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
variance
|
|
| n.矛盾，不同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
aspirations
|
|
| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
diplomat
|
|
| n.外交官，外交家；能交际的人，圆滑的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
recreant
|
|
| n.懦夫；adj.胆怯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
majesty
|
|
| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
pastor
|
|
| n.牧师，牧人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
avaricious
|
|
| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
lucre
|
|
| n.金钱，财富 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
fiddle
|
|
| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
consecrated
|
|
| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |