CHAPTER LXXXIV.
CONCLUSION.
It now only remains for me to gather together a few loose strings,and tie them together in a knot, so that my work may not becomeuntwisted. Early in July, Henry Grantly and Grace Crawley weremarried in the parish church of Plumstead,--a great impropriety, asto which neither Archdeacon Grantly nor Mr. Crawley could be got toassent for a long time, but which was at last carried, not simply bya union of Mrs. Grantly and Mrs. Crawley, nor even by the assistanceof Mrs. Arabin, but by the strong intervention of old Lady Luftonherself. "Of course Miss Crawley ought to be married from St. Ewoldsvicarage; but when the furniture has only half been got in, how isit possible?" When Lady Lufton thus spoke, the archdeacon gave way,and Mr. Crawley hadn't a leg to stand upon. Henry Grantly had not anopinion upon the matter. He told his father that he expected thatthey would marry him among them, and that that would be enough forhim. As for Grace, nobody even thought of asking her; and I doubtwhether she would have heard anything about the contest, had notsome tidings of it reached her from her lover. Married they were atPlumstead,--and the breakfast was given with all that luxuriance ofplenty which was so dear to the archdeacon's mind. Mr. Crawley wasthe officiating priest. With his hands dropping before him, foldedhumbly, he told the archdeacon,--when that Plumstead question hadbeen finally settled in opposition to his wishes,--that he would fainhimself perform the ceremony by which his dearest daughter wouldbe bound to her marriage duties. "And who else should?" said thearchdeacon. Mr. Crawley muttered that he had not known how far hisreverend brother might have been willing to waive his rights. Butthe archdeacon, who was in high good humour,--having just bestoweda little pony carriage on his new daughter-in-law,--only laughedat him; and, if the rumour which was handed about the families betrue, the archdeacon, before the interview was over, had poked Mr.Crawley in the ribs. Mr. Crawley married them; but the archdeaconassisted,--and the dean gave away the bride. The Rev. Charles Grantlywas there also; and as there was, as a matter of course, a cloud ofcurates floating in the distance, Henry Grantly was perhaps to beexcused for declaring to his wife, when the pair had escaped, thatsurely no couple had ever been so tightly buckled since marriage hadfirst become a Church ceremony.
Soon after that, Mr. and Mrs. Crawley became quiet at St. Ewolds,and, as I think, contented. Her happiness began very quickly. Thoughshe had been greatly broken by her troubles, the first sight she hadof her husband in his new long frock-coat went far to restore her,and while he was declaring himself to be a cock so daubed with mud asto be incapable of crowing, she was congratulating herself on seeingher husband once more clothed as became his position. And they werelucky, too, as regarded the squire's house; for Mr. Thorne was old,and quiet, and old-fashioned; and Miss Thorne was older, and thoughshe was not exactly quiet, she was very old-fashioned indeed. So thatthere grew to be a pleasant friendship between Miss Thorne and Mrs.Crawley.
Johnny Eames, when last I heard of him, was still a bachelor, and, asI think, likely to remain so. At last he had utterly thrown over SirRaffle Buffle, declaring to his friends that the special duties ofprivate secretaryship were not exactly to his taste. "You get so sickat the thirteenth private note," he said, "that you find yourselfunable to carry on the humbug any farther." But he did not leave hisoffice. "I'm the head of a room, you know," he told Lady Julia DeGuest; "and there's nothing to trouble me,--and a fellow, you know,ought to have something to do." Lady Julia told him, with a greatdeal of energy, that she would never forgive him if he gave up hisoffice. After that eventful night when he escaped ignominiously fromthe house of Lady Demolines under the protection of the policeman'slantern, he did hear more than once from Porchester Terrace, andfrom allies employed by the enemy who was there resident. "My cousin,the serjeant," proved to be a myth. Johnny found out all about thatSerjeant Runter, who was distantly connected, indeed, with the latehusband of Lady Demolines, but had always persistently declined tohave any intercourse whatever with her ladyship. For the serjeant wasa rising man, and Lady Demolines was not exactly progressing in theworld. Johnny heard nothing from the serjeant; but from Madalina hegot letter after letter. In the first she asked him not to thinktoo much of the little joke that had occurred. In her second shedescribed the vehemence of her love. In her third the bitternessof her wrath. Her fourth she simply invited him to come anddine in Porchester Terrace. Her fifth was the outpouring ofinjured innocence. And then came letters from an attorney. Johnnyanswered not a word to any of them, and gradually the letters werediscontinued. Within six months of the receipt of the last, he wasdelighted by reading among the marriages in the newspapers a noticethat Peter Bangles, Esq., of the firm of Burton and Bangles, winemerchants, of Hook Court, had been united to Madalina, daughter ofthe late Sir Confucius Demolines, at the church of Peter the Martyr."Most appropriate," said Johnny, as he read the notice to ConwayDalrymple, who was then back from his wedding tour; "for mostassuredly there will be now another Peter the Martyr."
"I'm not so sure of that," said Conway, who had heard something ofMr. Peter Bangles. "There are men who have strong wills of their own,and strong hands of their own."
"Poor Madalina!" said Johnny. "If he does beat her, I hope he willdo it tenderly. It may be that a little of it will suit her feveredtemperament."
Before the summer was over Conway Dalrymple had been married toClara Van Siever, and by a singular arrangement of circumstanceshad married her with the full approval of old Mrs. Van. Mr.Musselboro,--whose name I hope has not been altogether forgotten,though the part played by him has been subordinate,--had opposedDalrymple in the efforts made by the artist to get something out ofBroughton's estate for the benefit of the widow. From circumstancesof which Dalrymple learned the particulars with the aid of anattorney, it seemed to him that certain facts were wilfully kept inthe dark by Musselboro, and he went with his complaint to Mrs. VanSiever, declaring that he would bring the whole affair into court,unless all the workings of the firm were made clear to him. Mrs. Vanwas very insolent to him,--and even turned him out of the house. But,nevertheless, she did not allow Mr. Musselboro to escape. Whoever wasto be left in the dark she did not wish to be there herself;--andit began to dawn upon her that her dear Musselboro was deceivingher. Then she sent for Dalrymple, and without a word of apology forher former conduct, put him upon the right track. As he was pushinghis inquiries, and working heaven and earth for the unfortunatewidow,--as to whom he swore daily that when this matter was settledhe would never see her again, so terrible was she to him with hermock affection and pretended hysterics, and false moralities,--hewas told one day that she had gone off with Mr. Musselboro! Mr.Musselboro, finding that this was the surest plan of obtaining forhimself the little business in Hook Court, married the widow of hislate partner, and is at this moment probably carrying on a law-suitwith Mrs. Van. For the law-suit Conway Dalrymple cared nothing. Whenthe quarrel had become hot between Mrs. Van and her late myrmidon,Clara fell into Conway's hands without opposition and, let thelaw-suit go as it may, there will be enough left of Mrs. Van's moneyto make the house of Mr. and Mrs. Conway Dalrymple very comfortable.The picture of Jael and Sisera was stitched up without anydifficulty, and I daresay most of my readers will remember it hangingon the walls of the exhibition.
Before I take my leave of the diocese of Barchester for ever, whichI purpose to do in the succeeding paragraph, I desire to be allowedto say one word of apology for myself, in answer to those whohave accused me,--always without bitterness, and generally withtenderness,--of having forgotten, in writing of clergymen, the firstand most prominent characteristic of the ordinary English clergyman'slife. I have described many clergymen, they say, but have spoken ofthem all as though their professional duties, their high calling,their daily workings for the good of those around them, were mattersof no moment, either to me, or, in my opinion, to themselves. I wouldplead, in answer to this, that my object has been to paint the socialand not the professional lives of clergymen; and that I have been ledto do so, firstly, by a feeling that as no
men affect more strongly,by their own character, the society of those around than do countryclergymen, so, therefore, their social habits have been worth thelabour necessary for painting them; and secondly, by a feelingthat though I, as a novelist, may feel myself entitled to write ofclergymen out of their pulpits, as I may also write of lawyers anddoctors, I have no such liberty to write of them in their pulpits.When I have done so, if I have done so, I have so far transgressed.There are those who have told me that I have made all my clergymenbad, and none good. I must venture to hint to such judges thatthey have taught their eyes to love a colouring higher than naturejustifies. We are, most of us, apt to love Raphael's madonnasbetter than Rembrandt's matrons. But, though we do so, we know thatRembrandt's matrons existed; but we have a strong belief that nosuch woman as Raphael painted ever did exist. In that he painted,as he may be surmised to have done, for pious purposes,--at leastfor Church purposes,--Raphael was justified; but had he painted sofor family portraiture he would have been false. Had I written anepic about clergymen, I would have taken St. Paul for my model; butdescribing, as I have endeavoured to do, such clergymen as I seearound me, I could not venture to be transcendental. For myself I canonly say that I shall always be happy to sit, when allowed to do so,at the table of Archdeacon Grantly, to walk through the High Streetof Barchester arm in arm with Mr. Robarts of Framley, and to standalone and shed a tear beneath the modest black stone in the northtransept of the cathedral on which is inscribed the name of SeptimusHarding.
And now, if the reader will allow me to seize him affectionately bythe arm, we will together take our last farewell of Barset and of thetowers of Barchester. I may not venture to say to him that, in thiscountry, he and I together have wandered often through the countrylanes, and have ridden together over the too-well wooded fields, orhave stood together in the cathedral nave listening to the pealsof the organ, or have together sat at good men's tables, or haveconfronted together the angry pride of men who were not good. I maynot boast that any beside myself have so realized the place, andthe people, and the facts, as to make such reminiscences possibleas those which I should attempt to evoke by an appeal to perfectfellowship. But to me Barset has been a real county, and its city areal city, and the spires and towers have been before my eyes, andthe voices of the people are known to my ears, and the pavement ofthe city ways are familiar to my footsteps. To them all I now sayfarewell. That I have been induced to wander among them too long bymy love of old friendships, and by the sweetness of old faces, isa fault for which I may perhaps be more readily forgiven, when Irepeat, with some solemnity of assurance, the promise made in mytitle, that this shall be the last chronicle of Barset.
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