The Last Chronicle of Barset (5 page)
Read The Last Chronicle of Barset Online
Authors: Anthony Trollope
The Last Chronicle of Barset
was published in thirty-two weekly parts between 1 December 1866 and 6 July 1867. As Trollope relates in
An Autobiography
, the sixpenny weekly serialization was an experiment which the publisher George Smith wished to try, in an attempt to combat the growing popularity of the shilling magazines:
Indeed the shilling magazines had interfered greatly with the success of novels published in numbers without other accompanying matter. The public, finding that so much might be had for a shilling, in which a portion of one or more novels was always included, were unwilling to spend their money on the novel alone (p.
176
).
Despite the great popularity of the novel, Trollope admitted that, while Smith âpaid me £3000 for the use of my manuscript, the loss, if any, did not fall upon me. If I remember right, the enterprise was not altogether successful.'
The text of the Penguin edition, as established by Peter Fairclough (Penguin, 1967),
is basically that of the first edition of 1867. I have, however, occasionally departed from 1867 in some matters of orthography (âgood-bye', not âgood-by'; âtrousers', not âtrowsers'; âsometimes', not âsome times'; âanything', not âany thing'; and âshowed', not âshewed'); for the sake of consistency (printing âconnexion' and âdaresay' throughout); and in the matter of clearing up errors of both grammar and spelling which have appeared in many editions.
I have also, on perhaps a dozen occasions, abandoned the use of a mark of punctuation which seemed to me to be incorrect or inserted one which seemed correct whether this is authorized by subsequent editions or not, and have throughout deleted Trollope's printer's use of the comma and semi-colon before the dash. The breaks between the original weekly parts have been indicated by an asterisk in the text.
.
CONTENTS
2 By Heavens, He Had Better Not!
4 The Clergyman's House at Hogglestock
5 What the World thought about it
7 Miss Prettyman's Private Room
8 Mr Crawley is Taken to Silverbridge
9 Grace Crawley Goes to Allington
11 The Bishop Sends his Inhibition
12 Mr Crawley Seeks for Sympathy
14 Major Grantly Consults a Friend
17 Mr Crawley is Summoned to Barchester
18 The Bishop of Barchester is Crushed
20 What Mr Walker Thought about it
23 Miss Lily Dale's Resolution
24 Mrs Dobbs Broughton's Dinner-Party
28 Showing how Major Grantly took a Walk
30 Showing what Major Grantly did after his Walk
31 Showing how Major Grantly Returned 297 to Guestwick 32 Mr Toogood
34 Mrs Proudie Sends for her Lawyer
35 Lily Dale Writes Two Words in her Book
40 Mr Toogood's Ideas about Society
42 Mr Toogood Travels Professionally
43 Mr Crosbie Goes into the City
44 âI Suppose I Must Let You Have It'
48 The Softness of Sir Raffle Buffle
51 Mrs Dobbs Broughton Piles her Fagots
52 Why Don't you Have an âIt' for Yourself?
56 The Archdeacon Goes to Framley
58 The Cross-grainedness of Men
59 A Lady Presents her Compliments to Miss L. D.
62 Mr Crawley's Letter to the Dean
63 Two Visitors to Hogglestock
65 Miss Van Siever Makes her Choice
68 The Obstinacy of Mr Crawley
69 Mr Crawley's Last Appearance in his own Pulpit
72 Mr Toogood at âThe Dragon of Wantly'
73 There is Comfort at Plumstead
75 Madalina's Heart is Bleeding
76 I Think he is Light of Heart
78 The Arabins Return to Barchester
79 Mr Crawley Speaks of his Coat
80 Miss Demolines Desires to Become a Finger-post
82 The Last Scene at Hogglestock
1
How Did He Get It?
âI can never bring myself to believe it, John,' said Mary Walker, the pretty daughter of Mr George Walker, attorney of Silverbridge. Walker and Winthrop was the name of the firm, and they were respectable people, who did all the solicitors' business that had to be done in that part of Barsetshire on behalf of the Crown, were employed on the local business of the Duke of Omnium who is great in those parts, and altogether held their heads up high, as provincial lawyers often do. They â the Walkers â lived in a great brick house in the middle of the town, gave dinners, to which the county gentlemen not unfrequently condescended to come, and in a mild way led the fashion in Silverbridge. âI can never bring myself to believe it, John,' said Miss Walker.
âYou'll have to bring yourself to believe it,' said John, without taking his eyes from his book.
âA clergyman â and such a clergyman too!'
âI don't see that that has anything to do with it.' And as he now spoke, John did take his eyes off his book. âWhy should not a clergyman turn thief as well as anybody else? You girls always seem to forget that clergymen are only men after all.'
âTheir conduct is likely to be better than that of other men, I think.'
âI deny it utterly,' said John Walker. âI'll undertake to say that at this moment there are more clergymen in debt in Barsetshire than there are either lawyers or doctors. This man has always been in debt. Since he has been in the county I don't think he has ever been able to show his face in the High Street of Silverbridge.'
âJohn, that is saying more than you have a right to say,' said Mrs Walker.
âWhy, mother, this very cheque was given to a butcher who had threatened a few days before to post bills all about the county, giving an account of the debt that was due to him, if the money was not paid at once.'
âMore shame for Mr Fletcher,' said Mary. âHe has made a fortune as butcher in Silverbridge.'
âWhat has that to do with it? Of course a man likes to have his money. He had written three times to the bishop, and he had sent a man over to Hogglestock to get his little bill settled six days running. You see he got it at last. Of course, a tradesman must look for his money.'
âMamma, do you think that Mr Crawley stole the cheque?' Mary, as she asked the question, came and stood over her mother, looking at her with anxious eyes.
âI would rather give no opinion, my dear.'
âBut you must think something when everybody is talking about it, mamma.'
âOf course my mother thinks he did,' said John, going back to his book. âIt is impossible that she should think otherwise.'
âThat is not fair, John,' said Mrs Walker; âand I won't have you fabricate thoughts for me, or put the expression of them into my mouth. The whole affair is very painful, and as your father is engaged in the inquiry, I think that the less said about the matter in this house the better. I am sure that that would have been your father's feeling.'
âOf course I should say nothing about it before him,' said Mary. âI know that papa does not wish to have it talked about. But how is one to help thinking about such a thing? It would be so terrible for all of us who belong to the Church.'
âI do not see that at all,' said John. âMr Crawley is not more than any other man just because he's a clergyman. I hate all that kind of clap-trap. There are a lot of people here in Silverbridge who think the matter shouldn't be followed up, just because the man is in a position which makes the crime more criminal in him than it would be in another.'
âBut I feel sure that Mr Crawley has committed no crime at all,' said Mary.
âMy dear,' said Mrs Walker, âI have just said that I would rather you would not talk about it. Papa will be in directly.'
âI won't, mamma â only â'
âOnly! yes; just only!' said John. âShe'd go on till dinner if anyone would stay to hear her.'
âYou've said twice as much as I have, John.' But John had left the room before his sister's last words could reach him.
âYou know, mamma, it is quite impossible not to help thinking of it,' said Mary.
âI daresay it is, my dear.'
âAnd when one knows the people it does make it so dreadful.'
âBut do you know them? I never spoke to Mr Crawley in my life, and I do not think I ever saw her.'
âI knew Grace very well â when she used to come first to Miss Prettyman's school.'
âPoor girl. I pity her.'
âPity her! Pity is no word for it, mamma. My heart bleeds for them. And yet I do not believe for a moment that he stole the cheque. How can it be possible? For though he may have been in debt because they have been so very, very poor; yet we all know that he has been an excellent clergyman. When the Robartses were dining here last, I heard Mrs Robarts say that for piety and devotion to his duties she had hardly ever seen anyone to equal him. And the Robartses know more of them than anybody.'
âThey say that the dean is his great friend.'
âWhat a pity it is that the Arabins should be away just now when he is in such trouble.' And in this way the mother and daughter went on discussing the question of the clergyman's guilt in spite of Mrs Walker's previously expressed desire that nothing more might be said about it. But Mrs Walker, like many other mothers, was apt to be more free in converse with her daughter than she was with her son. While they were thus talking the father came in from his office, and then the subject was dropped. He was a man between fifty and sixty years of age, with grey hair, rather short, and somewhat corpulent, but still gifted with that amount of personal comeliness which comfortable position and the respect of others will generally seem to give. A man rarely carries himself meanly, whom the world holds high in esteem.
âI am very tired, my dear,' said Mr Walker.
âYou look tired. Come and sit down for a few minutes before you dress. Mary, get your father's slippers.' Mary instantly ran to the door.
âThanks, my darling,' said the father. And then he whispered to his wife, as soon as Mary was out of hearing, âI fear that unfortunate man is guilty. I fear he is! I fear he is!'
âOh, heavens! what will become of them?'
âWhat indeed? She has been with me to-day.'
âHas she? And what could you say to her?'
âI told her at first that I could not see her, and begged her not to speak to me about it. I tried to make her understand that she should go to someone else. But it was of no use.'
âAnd how did it end?'
âI asked her to go in to you, but she declined. She said you could do nothing for her.'
âAnd does she think her husband guilty?'
âNo, indeed. She think him guilty! Nothing on earth â or from heaven either, as I take it, would make her suppose it to be possible. She came to me simply to tell me how good he was.'
âI love her for that,' said Mrs Walker.
âSo did I. But what is the good of loving her? Thank you, dearest. I'll get your slippers for you some day, perhaps.'
The whole county was astir in this matter of this alleged guilt of the Reverend Josiah Crawley â the whole county, almost as keenly as the family of Mr Walker, of Silverbridge. The crime laid to his charge was the theft of a cheque for twenty pounds, which he was said to have stolen out of a pocket-book left or dropped in his house, and to have passed as money into the hands of one Fletcher, a butcher of Silverbridge, to whom he was indebted. Mr Crawley was in those days the perpetual curate
1
of Hogglestock, a parish in the northern extremity of East Barsetshire; a man known by all who knew anything of him to be very poor â an unhappy, moody, disappointed man, upon whom the troubles of the world always seemed to come with a double weight. But he had ever been respected as a clergyman, since his old friend Mr Arabin, the dean of Barchester, had given him the small incumbency which he now held. Though moody, unhappy, and disappointed, he was a hard-working, conscientious pastor among the
poor people with whom his lot was cast; for in the parish of Hogglestock there resided only a few farmers higher in degree than field labourers, brickmakers, and such like. Mr Crawley had now passed some ten years of his life at Hogglestock; and during those years he had worked very hard to do his duty, struggling to teach the people around him perhaps too much of the mystery, but something also of the comfort, of religion. That he had become popular in his parish cannot be said of him. He was not a man to make himself popular in any position. I have said that he was moody and disappointed. He was even worse than this; he was morose, sometimes almost to insanity. There had been days in which even his wife had found it impossible to deal with him otherwise than as with an acknowledged lunatic. And this was known among the farmers, who talked about their clergyman among themselves as though he were a madman. But among the very poor, among the brickmakers of Hoggle End â a lawless, drunken, terribly rough lot of humanity â he was held in high respect; for they knew that he lived hardly, as they lived; that he worked hard, as they worked; and that the outside world was hard to him, as it was to them; and there had been an apparent sincerity of godliness about the man, and a manifest struggle to do his duty in spite of the world's ill-usage, which had won its way even with the rough; so that Mr Crawley's name had stood high with many in his parish, in spite of the unfortunate peculiarity of his disposition. This was the man who was now accused of stealing a cheque for twenty pounds.
