Framley Parsonage: Chapter 18

Chapter 18

The New Minister's Patronage

At that time, just as Lady Lufton was about to leave Framley for
London, Mark Robarts received a pressing letter, inviting him also to
go up to the metropolis for a day or two--not for pleasure, but on
business. The letter was from his indefatigable friend Sowerby. "My
dear Robarts," the letter ran:--"I have just heard that poor little
Burslem, the Barsetshire prebendary, is dead. We must all die some
day, you know,--as you have told your parishioners from the Framley
pulpit more than once, no doubt. The stall must be filled up, and
why should not you have it as well as another? It is six hundred a
year and a house. Little Burslem had nine, but the good old times
are gone. Whether the house is letable or not under the present
ecclesiastical r�gime, I do not know. It used to be so, for I
remember Mrs. Wiggins, the tallow-chandler's widow, living in old
Stanhope's house.

"Harold Smith has just joined the Government as Lord Petty Bag, and
could, I think, at the present moment, get this for asking. He cannot
well refuse me, and, if you will say the word, I will speak to him.
You had better come up yourself; but say the word 'Yes,' or 'No,' by
the wires.

"If you say 'Yes,' as of course you will, do not fail to come up.
You will find me at the 'Travellers,' or at the House. The stall
will just suit you,--will give you no trouble, improve your position,
and give some little assistance towards bed and board, and rack and
manger.--Yours ever faithfully, N. SOWERBY.

"Singularly enough, I hear that your brother is private secretary to
the new Lord Petty Bag. I am told that his chief duty will consist in
desiring the servants to call my sister's carriage. I have only seen
Harold once since he accepted office; but my Lady Petty Bag says that
he has certainly grown an inch since that occurrence."

This was certainly very good-natured on the part of Mr. Sowerby, and
showed that he had a feeling within his bosom that he owed something
to his friend the parson for the injury he had done him. And such
was in truth the case. A more reckless being than the member for
West Barsetshire could not exist. He was reckless for himself, and
reckless for all others with whom he might be concerned. He could
ruin his friends with as little remorse as he had ruined himself. All
was fair game that came in the way of his net. But, nevertheless,
he was good-natured, and willing to move heaven and earth to do a
friend a good turn, if it came in his way to do so. He did really
love Mark Robarts as much as it was given him to love any among
his acquaintance. He knew that he had already done him an almost
irreparable injury, and might very probably injure him still deeper
before he had done with him. That he would undoubtedly do so, if it
came in his way, was very certain. But then, if it also came in his
way to repay his friend by any side blow, he would also undoubtedly
do that. Such an occasion had now come, and he had desired his sister
to give the new Lord Petty Bag no rest till he should have promised
to use all his influence in getting the vacant prebend for Mark
Robarts.

This letter of Sowerby's Mark immediately showed to his wife. How
lucky, thought he to himself, that not a word was said in it about
those accursed money transactions! Had he understood Sowerby better
he would have known that that gentleman never said anything about
money transactions until it became absolutely necessary. "I know you
don't like Mr. Sowerby," he said; "but you must own that this is very
good-natured."

"It is the character I hear of him that I don't like," said Mrs.
Robarts.

"But what shall I do now, Fanny? As he says, why should not I have
the stall as well as another?"

"I suppose it would not interfere with your parish?" she asked.

"Not in the least, at the distance at which we are. I did think of
giving up old Jones; but if I take this, of course I must keep a
curate." His wife could not find it in her heart to dissuade him from
accepting promotion when it came in his way--what vicar's wife would
have so persuaded her husband? But yet she did not altogether like
it. She feared that Greek from Chaldicotes, even when he came with
the present of a prebendal stall in his hands. And then what would
Lady Lufton say?

"And do you think that you must go up to London, Mark?"

"Oh, certainly; that is, if I intend to accept Harold Smith's kind
offices in the matter."

"I suppose it will be better to accept them," said Fanny, feeling
perhaps that it would be useless in her to hope that they should not
be accepted.

"Prebendal stalls, Fanny, don't generally go begging long among
parish clergymen. How could I reconcile it to the duty I owe to my
children to refuse such an increase to my income?" And so it was
settled that he should at once drive to Silverbridge and send off a
message by telegraph, and that he should himself proceed to London on
the following day. "But you must see Lady Lufton first, of course,"
said Fanny, as soon as all this was settled. Mark would have avoided
this if he could have decently done so, but he felt that it would be
impolitic, as well as indecent. And why should he be afraid to tell
Lady Lufton that he hoped to receive this piece of promotion from
the present Government? There was nothing disgraceful in a clergyman
becoming a prebendary of Barchester. Lady Lufton herself had always
been very civil to the prebendaries, and especially to little Dr.
Burslem, the meagre little man who had just now paid the debt of
nature. She had always been very fond of the chapter, and her
original dislike to Bishop Proudie had been chiefly founded on his
interference with the cathedral clergy,--on his interference, or on
that of his wife or chaplain. Considering these things Mark Robarts
tried to make himself believe that Lady Lufton would be delighted
at his good fortune. But yet he did not believe it. She at any rate
would revolt from the gift of the Greek of Chaldicotes. "Oh, indeed,"
she said, when the vicar had with some difficulty explained to her
all the circumstances of the case. "Well, I congratulate you, Mr.
Robarts, on your powerful new patron."

"You will probably feel with me, Lady Lufton, that the benefice is
one which I can hold without any detriment to me in my position here
at Framley," said he, prudently resolving to let the slur upon his
friends pass by unheeded.

"Well, I hope so. Of course, you are a very young man, Mr. Robarts,
and these things have generally been given to clergymen more advanced
in life."

"But you do not mean to say that you think I ought to refuse it?"

"What my advice to you might be if you really came to me for advice,
I am hardly prepared to say at so very short a notice. You seem to
have made up your mind, and therefore I need not consider it. As it
is, I wish you joy, and hope that it may turn out to your advantage
in every way."

"You understand, Lady Lufton, that I have by no means got it as yet."

"Oh, I thought it had been offered to you: I thought you spoke of
this new minister as having all that in his own hand."

"Oh dear, no. What may be the amount of his influence in that respect
I do not at all know. But my correspondent assures me--"

"Mr. Sowerby, you mean. Why don't you call him by his name?"

"Mr. Sowerby assures me that Mr. Smith will ask for it; and thinks it
most probable that his request will be successful."

"Oh, of course. Mr. Sowerby and Mr. Harold Smith together would no
doubt be successful in anything. They are the sort of men who are
successful nowadays. Well, Mr. Robarts, I wish you joy." And she gave
him her hand in token of her sincerity. Mark took her hand, resolving
to say nothing further on that occasion. That Lady Lufton was not now
cordial with him, as she used to be, he was well aware; and sooner or
later he was determined to have the matter out with her. He would ask
her why she now so constantly met him with a taunt, and so seldom
greeted him with that kind old affectionate smile which he knew and
appreciated so well. That she was honest and true he was quite sure.
If he asked her the question plainly, she would answer him openly.
And if he could induce her to say that she would return to her old
ways, return to them she would in a hearty manner. But he could not
do this just at present. It was but a day or two since Mr. Crawley
had been with him; and was it not probable that Mr. Crawley had been
sent thither by Lady Lufton? His own hands were not clean enough for
a remonstrance at the present moment. He would cleanse them, and then
he would remonstrate. "Would you like to live part of the year in
Barchester?" he said to his wife and sister that evening.

"I think that two houses are only a trouble," said his wife. "And we
have been very happy here."

"I have always liked a cathedral town," said Lucy; "and I am
particularly fond of the close."

"And Barchester Close is the closest of all closes," said Mark.
"There is not a single house within the gateways that does not belong
to the chapter."

"But if we are to keep up two houses, the additional income will soon
be wasted," said Fanny, prudently.

"The thing would be to let the house furnished every summer," said
Lucy.

"But I must take my residence as the terms come," said the vicar;
"and I certainly should not like to be away from Framley all the
winter; I should never see anything of Lufton." And perhaps he
thought of his hunting, and then thought again of that cleansing of
his hands.

"I should not a bit mind being away during the winter," said Lucy,
thinking of what the last winter had done for her.

"But where on earth should we find money to furnish one of those
large, old-fashioned houses? Pray, Mark, do not do anything rash."
And the wife laid her hand affectionately on her husband's arm. In
this manner the question of the prebend was discussed between them
on the evening before he started for London. Success had at last
crowned the earnest effort with which Harold Smith had carried on the
political battle of his life for the last ten years. The late Lord
Petty Bag had resigned in disgust, having been unable to digest the
Prime Minister's ideas on Indian Reform, and Mr. Harold Smith, after
sundry hitches in the business, was installed in his place. It was
said that Harold Smith was not exactly the man whom the Premier would
himself have chosen for that high office; but the Premier's hands
were a good deal tied by circumstances. The last great appointment he
had made had been terribly unpopular,--so much so as to subject him,
popular as he undoubtedly was himself, to a screech from the whole
nation. The _Jupiter_, with withering scorn, had asked whether vice
of every kind was to be considered, in these days of Queen Victoria,
as a passport to the Cabinet. Adverse members of both Houses had
arrayed themselves in a pure panoply of morality, and thundered forth
their sarcasms with the indignant virtue and keen discontent of
political Juvenals; and even his own friends had held up their hands
in dismay. Under those circumstances he had thought himself obliged
in the present instance to select a man who would not be especially
objectionable to any party. Now Harold Smith lived with his wife, and
his circumstances were not more than ordinarily embarrassed. He kept
no race-horses; and, as Lord Brock now heard for the first time,
gave lectures in provincial towns on popular subjects. He had a seat
which was tolerably secure, and could talk to the House by the yard
if required to do so. Moreover, Lord Brock had a great idea that
the whole machinery of his own ministry would break to pieces very
speedily. His own reputation was not bad, but it was insufficient
for himself and that lately selected friend of his. Under all these
circumstances combined, he chose Harold Smith to fill the vacant
office of Lord Petty Bag. And very proud the Lord Petty Bag was.
For the last three or four months, he and Mr. Supplehouse had been
agreeing to consign the ministry to speedy perdition. "This sort
of dictatorship will never do," Harold Smith had himself said,
justifying that future vote of his as to want of confidence in the
Queen's Government. And Mr. Supplehouse in this matter had fully
agreed with him. He was a Juno whose form that wicked old Paris had
utterly despised, and he, too, had quite made up his mind as to the
lobby in which he would be found when that day of vengeance should
arrive. But now things were much altered in Harold Smith's views.
The Premier had shown his wisdom in seeking for new strength where
strength ought to be sought, and introducing new blood into the body
of his ministry. The people would now feel fresh confidence, and
probably the House also. As to Mr. Supplehouse--he would use all his
influence on Supplehouse. But, after all, Mr. Supplehouse was not
everything.

On the morning after our vicar's arrival in London he attended at
the Petty Bag Office. It was situated in the close neighbourhood of
Downing Street and the higher governmental gods; and though the
building itself was not much, seeing that it was shored up on one
side, that it bulged out in the front, was foul with smoke, dingy
with dirt, and was devoid of any single architectural grace or modern
scientific improvement, nevertheless its position gave it a status in
the world which made the clerks in the Lord Petty Bag's office quite
respectable in their walk in life. Mark had seen his friend Sowerby
on the previous evening, and had then made an appointment with him
for the following morning at the new minister's office. And now he
was there a little before his time, in order that he might have a
few moments' chat with his brother. When Mark found himself in the
private secretary's room he was quite astonished to see the change in
his brother's appearance which the change in his official rank had
produced. Jack Robarts had been a well-built, straight-legged, lissom
young fellow, pleasant to the eye because of his natural advantages,
but rather given to a harum-scarum style of gait, and occasionally
careless, not to say slovenly, in his dress. But now he was the very
pink of perfection. His jaunty frock-coat fitted him to perfection;
not a hair of his head was out of place; his waistcoat and
trousers were glossy and new, and his umbrella, which stood in the
umbrella-stand in the corner, was tight, and neat, and small, and
natty. "Well, John, you've become quite a great man," said his
brother.

"I don't know much about that," said John; "but I find that I have an
enormous deal of fagging to go through."

"Do you mean work? I thought you had about the easiest berth in the
whole Civil Service."

"Ah! that's just the mistake that people make. Because we don't cover
whole reams of foolscap paper at the rate of fifteen lines to a page,
and five words to a line, people think that we private secretaries
have got nothing to do. Look here," and he tossed over scornfully a
dozen or so of little notes. "I tell you what, Mark; it is no easy
matter to manage the patronage of a Cabinet minister. Now I am bound
to write to every one of these fellows a letter that will please him;
and yet I shall refuse to every one of them the request which he
asks."

"That must be difficult."

"Difficult is no word for it. But, after all, it consists chiefly
in the knack of the thing. One must have the wit 'from such a sharp
and waspish word as No to pluck the sting.' I do it every day, and I
really think that the people like it."

"Perhaps your refusals are better than other people's acquiescences."

"I don't mean that at all. We private secretaries have all to do the
same thing. Now, would you believe it? I have used up three lifts of
notepaper already in telling people that there is no vacancy for a
lobby messenger in the Petty Bag Office. Seven peeresses have asked
for it for their favourite footmen. But there--there's the Lord Petty
Bag!" A bell rang and the private secretary, jumping up from his
notepaper, tripped away quickly to the great man's room. "He'll
see you at once," said he, returning. "Buggins, show the Reverend
Mr. Robarts to the Lord Petty Bag." Buggins was the messenger for
whose not vacant place all the peeresses were striving with so much
animation. And then Mark, following Buggins for two steps, was
ushered into the next room.

If a man be altered by becoming a private secretary, he is much more
altered by being made a Cabinet minister. Robarts, as he entered the
room, could hardly believe that this was the same Harold Smith whom
Mrs. Proudie bothered so cruelly in the lecture-room at Barchester.
Then he was cross, and touchy, and uneasy, and insignificant. Now,
as he stood smiling on the hearth-rug of his official fireplace, it
was quite pleasant to see the kind, patronizing smile which lighted
up his features. He delighted to stand there, with his hands in
his trousers' pocket, the great man of the place, conscious of his
lordship, and feeling himself every inch a minister. Sowerby had come
with him, and was standing a little in the background, from which
position he winked occasionally at the parson over the minister's
shoulder. "Ah, Robarts, delighted to see you. How odd, by the by,
that your brother should be my private secretary!" Mark said that it
was a singular coincidence.

"A very smart young fellow, and, if he minds himself, he'll do well."

"I'm quite sure he'll do well," said Mark.

"Ah! well, yes; I think he will. And now, what can I do for you,
Robarts?" Hereupon Mr. Sowerby struck in, making it apparent by his
explanation that Mr. Robarts himself by no means intended to ask for
anything; but that, as his friends had thought that this stall at
Barchester might be put into his hands with more fitness than in
those of any other clergyman of the day, he was willing to accept the
piece of preferment from a man whom he respected so much as he did
the new Lord Petty Bag. The minister did not quite like this, as it
restricted him from much of his condescension, and robbed him of
the incense of a petition which he had expected Mark Roberts would
make to him. But, nevertheless, he was very gracious. "He could not
take upon himself to declare," he said, "what might be Lord Brock's
pleasure with reference to the preferment at Barchester which was
vacant. He had certainly already spoken to his lordship on the
subject, and had perhaps some reason to believe that his own wishes
would be consulted. No distinct promise had been made, but he might
perhaps go so far as to say that he expected such result. If so, it
would give him the greatest pleasure in the world to congratulate Mr.
Robarts on the possession of the stall--a stall which he was sure
Mr. Robarts would fill with dignity, piety, and brotherly love." And
then, when he had finished, Mr. Sowerby gave a final wink, and said
that he regarded the matter as settled.

"No, not settled, Nathaniel," said the cautious minister.

"It's the same thing," rejoined Sowerby. "We all know what all
that flummery means. Men in office, Mark, never do make a distinct
promise,--not even to themselves of the leg of mutton which is
roasting before their kitchen fires. It is so necessary in these days
to be safe; is it not, Harold?

"Most expedient," said Harold Smith, shaking his head wisely. "Well,
Robarts, who is it now?" This he said to his private secretary,
who came to notice the arrival of some bigwig. "Well, yes. I will
say good morning, with your leave, for I am a little hurried. And
remember, Mr. Robarts, I will do what I can for you; but you must
distinctly understand that there is no promise."

"Oh, no promise at all," said Sowerby--"of course not." And then, as
he sauntered up Whitehall towards Charing Cross, with Robarts on his
arm, he again pressed upon him the sale of that invaluable hunter,
who was eating his head off his shoulders in the stable at
Chaldicotes.

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