All this did not break down Mr. Slope’s spirit because he had other hopes. But, alas, at last there came to him a note from his friend Sir Nicholas, informing him that the deanship was disposed of. Let us give Mr. Slope his due. He did not lie prostrate under this blow, or give himself up to vain lamentations; he did not henceforward despair of life and call upon gods above and gods below to carry him off. He sat himself down in his chair, counted out what monies he had in hand for present purposes and what others were coming in to him, bethought himself as to the best sphere for his future exertions, and at once wrote off a letter to a rich sugar-refiner’s wife in Baker Street, who, as he well knew, was much given to the entertainment and encouragement of serious young evangelical clergymen. He was again, he said, “upon the world, having found the air of a cathedral town, and the very nature of cathedral services, uncongenial to his spirit;” and then he sat awhile, making firm resolves as to his manner of parting from the bishop and also as to his future conduct,
At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue (black), To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.
Having received a formal command to wait upon the bishop, he rose and proceeded to obey it. He rang the bell and desired the servant to inform his master that, if it suited his lordship, he, Mr. Slope, was ready to wait upon him. The servant, who well understood that Mr. Slope was no longer in the ascendant, brought back a message saying that “his lordship desired that Mr. Slope would attend him immediately in his study.” Mr. Slope waited about ten minutes more to prove his independence, and then he went into the bishop’s room. There, as he had expected, he found Mrs. Proudie, together with her husband.
“Hum, ha — Mr. Slope, pray take a chair,” said the gentleman bishop.
“Pray be seated, Mr. Slope,” said the lady bishop.
“Thank ye, thank ye,” said Mr. Slope, and walking round to the fire, he threw himself into one of the armchairs that graced the hearth-rug.
“Mr. Slope,” said the bishop, “it has become necessary that I should speak to you definitively on a matter that has for some time been pressing itself on my attention.”
“May I ask whether the subject is in any way connected with myself?” said Mr. Slope.
“It is so — certainly — yes, it certainly is connected with yourself, Mr. Slope.”
“Then, my lord, if I may be allowed to express a wish, I would prefer that no discussion on the subject should take place between us in the presence of a third person.”
“Don’t alarm yourself, Mr. Slope,” said Mrs. Proudie “no discussion is at all necessary. The bishop merely intends to express his own wishes.”
“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