“I merely intend, Mr. Slope, to express my own wishes—no discussion will be at all necessary,” said the bishop, reiterating his wife’s words.
“That is more, my lord, than we any of us can be sure of,” said Mr. Slope; “I cannot, however, force Mrs. Proudie to leave the room; nor can I refuse to remain here if it be your lordship’s wish that I should do so.”
“It is his lordship’s wish, certainly,” said Mrs. Proudie.
“Mr. Slope,” began the bishop in a solemn, serious voice, “it grieves me to have to find fault. It grieves me much to have to find fault with a clergyman—but especially so with a clergyman in your position.”
“Why, what have I done amiss, my lord?” demanded Mr. Slope boldly.
“What have you done amiss, Mr. Slope?” said Mrs. Proudie, standing erect before the culprit and raising that terrible forefinger. “Do you dare to ask the bishop what you have done amiss? Does not your conscience—”
“Mrs. Proudie, pray let it be understood, once for all, that I will have no words with you.”
“Ah, sir, but you will have words,” said she; “you must have words. Why have you had so many words with that Signora Neroni? Why have you disgraced yourself, you a clergyman, too, by constantly consorting with such a woman as that—with a married woman—with one altogether unfit for a clergyman’s society?”
“At any rate I was introduced to her in your drawing-room,” retorted Mr. Slope.
“And shamefully you behaved there,” said Mrs. Proudie; “most shamefully. I was wrong to allow you to remain in the house a day after what I then saw. I should have insisted on your instant dismissal.”
“I have yet to learn, Mrs. Proudie, that you have the power to insist either on my going from hence or on my staying here.”
“What!” said the lady. “I am not to have the privilege of saying who shall and who shall not frequent my own drawing-room! I am not to save my servants and dependants from having their morals corrupted by improper conduct! I am not to save my own daughters from impurity! I will let you see, Mr. Slope, whether I have the power or whether I have not. You will have the goodness to understand that you no longer fill any situation about the bishop, and as your room will be immediately wanted in the palace for another chaplain, I must ask you to provide yourself with apartments as soon as may be convenient to you.”
“My lord,” said Mr. Slope, appealing to the bishop, and so turning his back completely on the lady, “will you permit me to ask that I may have from your own lips any decision that you may have come to on this matter?”
“Certainly, Mr. Slope, certainly,” said the bishop; “that is but reasonable. Well, my decision is that you had better look for some other preferment. For the situation which you have lately held I do not think that you are well suited.”
“And what, my lord, has been my fault?”
“That Signora Neroni is one fault,” said Mrs. Proudie; “and a very abominable fault she is; very abominable and very disgraceful. Fie, Mr. Slope, fie! You an evangelical clergyman indeed!”
“My lord, I desire to know for what fault I am turned out of your lordship’s house.”
“You hear what Mrs. Proudie says,” said the bishop.
“When I publish the history of this transaction, my lord, as I decidedly shall do in my own vindication, I presume you will not wish me to state that you have discarded me at your wife’s bidding—because she has objected to my being acquainted with another lady, the daughter of one of the prebendaries of the chapter?”
“You may publish what you please, sir,” said Mrs. Proudie. “But you will not be insane enough to publish any of your doings in Barchester. Do you think I have not heard of your kneelings at that creature’s feet—that is, if she has any feet—and of your constant slobbering over her hand? I advise you to beware, Mr. Slope, of what you do and say. Clergymen have been unfrocked for less than what you have been guilty of.”
“My lord, if this goes on I shall be obliged to indict this woman—Mrs. Proudie I mean—for defamation of character.”
“I think, Mr. Slope, you had better now retire,” said the bishop. “I will enclose to you a cheque for any balance that may be due to you; under the present circumstances, it will of course be better for all parties that you should leave the palace at the earliest possible moment. I will allow you for your journey back to London and for your maintenance in Barchester for a week from this date.”
“If, however, you wish to remain in this neighbourhood;” said Mrs. Proudie, “and will solemnly pledge yourself never again to see that woman, and will promise also to be more circumspect in your conduct, the bishop will mention your name to Mr. Quiverful, who now wants a curate at Puddingdale. The house is, I imagine, quite sufficient for your requirements, and there will moreover be a stipend of fifty pounds a year.”
“May God forgive you, madam, for the manner in which you have treated me,” said Mr. Slope, looking at her with a very heavenly look; “and remember this, madam, that you yourself may still have a fall;” and he looked at her with a very worldly look. “As to the bishop, I pity him!” And so saying, Mr. Slope left the room. Thus ended the intimacy of the Bishop of Barchester with his first confidential chaplain.
Mrs. Proudie was right in this; namely, that Mr. Slope was not insane enough to publish to the world any of his doings in Barchester. He did not trouble his friend Mr. Towers with any written statement of the iniquity of Mrs. Proudie, or the imbecility of her husband. He was aware that it would be wise in him to drop for the future all allusion to his doings in the cathedral city. Soon after the interview just recorded he left Barchester, shaking the dust off his feet as he entered the railway carriage; and he gave no longing, lingering look after the cathedral towers as the tram hurried him quickly out of their sight.
It is well known that the family of the Slopes never starve: they always fall on their feet, like cats; and let them fall where they will, they live on the fat of the land. Our Mr. Slope did so. On his return to town he found that the sugar-refiner had died and that his widow was inconsolable—in other words, in want of consolation. Mr. Slope consoled her, and soon found himself settled with much comfort in the house in Baker Street. He possessed himself, also, before long, of a church in the vicinity of the Red Road, and became known to fame as one of the most eloquent preachers and pious clergymen in that part of the metropolis. There let us leave him.
Of the bishop and his wife very little further need be said. From that time forth nothing material occurred to interrupt the even course of their domestic harmony. Very speedily, a further vacancy on the bench of bishops gave to Dr. Proudie the seat in the House of Lords, which he at first so anxiously longed for. But by this time he had become a wiser man. He did certainly take his seat, and occasionally registered a vote in favour of Government
