MR SLOPE'S PARTING INTERVIEW WITH THE SIGNORA
On the following day the signora was in her pride. She was dressed
in her brightest of morning dresses, and had quite a levee round
her couch. It was a beautifully bright October afternoon; all the
gentlemen of the neighbourhood were in Barchester, and those who
had the entry of Dr Stanhope's house were in the signora's back
drawing-room. Charlotte and Mrs Stanhope were in the front room,
and such of the lady's squires as could not for the moment get near
the centre of attraction had to waste their fragrance on the mother
and sister.
The first who came and the last to leave was Mr Arabin. This was
the second visit he had paid to Madame Neroni since he had met her
at Ullathorne. He came he knew not why, to talk about he knew not
what. But, in truth, the feelings which now troubled him were new
to him, and he could not analyse them. It may seem strange that he
should thus come dangling about Madame Neroni because he was in
love with Mrs Bold; but it was nevertheless the fact; and though he
could not understand why he did so, Madame Neroni understood it
well enough.
She had been gentle and kind to him, and had encouraged his
staying. Therefore he stayed on. She pressed his hand when he first
greeted her; and whispered to him little nothings. And then her
eye, brilliant and bright, now mirthful, now melancholy, and
invincible in either way! What man with warm feelings, blood
unchilled, and a heat not guarded by a triple steel of experience
could have withstood those eyes! The lady, it is true, intended to
do no mortal injury; she merely chose to inhale a slight breath of
incense before she handed the casket over to another. Whether Mrs
Bold would willingly have spared even so much is another question.
And then came Mr Slope. All the world now knew that Mr Slope was a
candidate for the deanery, and that he was generally considered to
be the favourite. Mr Slope, therefore, walked rather largely upon
the earth. He gave to himself a portly air, such as might become a
dean, spoke but little to other clergymen, and shunned the bishop
as much as possible. How the meagre little prebendary, and the
burly chancellor, and all the minor canons and vicars choral, ay,
and all the choristers too, cowered and shook and walked about with
long faces when they read or heard of that article of the Jupiter.
Now were coming the days when nothing would avail to keep the
impure spirit from the cathedral pulpit. That pulpit would indeed
be his own. Precentors, vicars, and choristers might hang up their
harps on the willows. Ichabod! Ichabod! The glory of their house
was departing from them.
Mr Slope, great as he was with embryo grandeur, still came to see
the signora. Indeed, he could not keep himself away. He dreamed of
that soft hand which had kissed so often, and of the imperial brow
which his lips had once pressed, and he then dreamed also of
further favours.
And Mr Thorne was there also. It was the first visit he had ever
paid to the signora, and he made it not without due preparation. Mr
Thorne was a gentleman usually precise in his dress, and prone to
make the most of himself in an unpretending way. The grey hairs in
his whiskers were eliminated perhaps once a month; those on his
head were softened by a mixture which we will not call a dye; it
was only a wash. His tailor lived in St James's Street, and his
bootmaker at the corner of that street and Piccadilly. He was
particular in the article of gloves, and the getting up of his
shirts was a matter not lightly thought of in the Ullathorne
laundry. On the occasion of the present visit he had rather
overdone his usual efforts, and caused some little uneasiness to
his sister, who had not hitherto received very cordially the
proposition for a lengthened visit from the signora at Ullathorne.
There were others also there--young men about the city who had not
much to do, and who were induced by the lady's charms to neglect
that little; but all gave way to Mr Thorne, who was somewhat of a
grand signor, as a country gentleman always is in a provincial
city.
'Oh, Mr Thorne, this is so kind of you!' said the signora. 'You
promised to come; but I really did not expect it. I thought you
country gentlemen never kept your pledges.'
'Oh, yea, sometimes,' said Mr Thorne, looking rather sheepish, and
making salutations a little too much in the style of the last
century.
'You deceive none but your consti-stit-stit; what do you call the
people that carry you about in chairs and pelt you with eggs and
apples when they make you a member of parliament?'
'One another also, sometimes, signora,' said Mr Slope, with a
deanish sort of smirk on his face. 'Country gentlemen do deceive
one another sometimes, don't they, Mr Thorne?'
Mr Thorne gave him a look which undressed him completely for the
moment; but he soon remembered his high hopes, and recovering
himself quickly, sustained his probable coming dignity by a laugh
at Mr Thorne's expense.
'I never deceive a lady, at any rate,' said Mr Thorne; 'especially
when the gratification of my own wishes is so strong an inducement
to keep me true, as it now is.'
Mr Thorne went on thus awhile, with antediluvian grimaces and
compliments which he had picked up from Sir Charles Grandison, and
the signora at every grimace and at every bow smiled a little smile
and bowed a little bow. Mr Thorne, however, was kept standing at
the foot of the couch, for the new dean sat in the seat of honour
near the table. Mr Arabin the while was standing with his back to
the fire, his coat tails under his arms, gazing at her with all his
eyes--not quite in vain, for every now and again a glance came up
at him, bright as a meteor out of heaven.
'Oh, Mr Thorne, you promised to let me introduce my little girl to
you. Can you spare a moment?--will you see her now?'
Mr Thorne assured her that he could, and would see the young lady
with the greatest pleasure in life. 'Mr Slope, might I trouble you
to ring the bell?' said she; and when Mr Slope got up she looked at
Mr Thorne and pointed to the chair. Mr Thorne, however, was much
too slow to understand her, and Mr Slope would have recovered his
seat had not the signora, who never chose to be unsuccessful,
somewhat summarily ordered him out of it.
'Oh, Mr Slope, I must ask you to let Mr Thorne sit here just for a
moment or two. I am sure you will pardon me. We can take a liberty
with you this week. Next week, you know, when you move into the
dean's house, we shall all be afraid of you.'
Mr Slope, with an air of much indifference, rose from his seat,
and, walking into the next room, became greatly interested in Mrs
Stanhope's worsted work.
And then the child was brought in. She was a little girl, about
eight years of age, like her mother, only that her enormous eyes
were black, and her hair quite jet. Her complexion too was very
dark, and bespoke her foreign blood. She was dressed in the most
outlandish and extravagant way in which clothes could be put on a
child's back. She had great bracelets on her naked little arms, a
crimson fillet braided with gold round her head, and scarlet shoes
with high heels. Her dress was all flounces, and stuck out from
her as though the object were to make it lie off horizontally from
her little hips. It did not nearly cover her knees; but this was
atoned for by a loose pair of drawers which seemed made throughout
of lace; then she had on pink silk stockings. It was thus that the
last of the Neros was habitually dressed at the hour when visitors
were wont to call.
'Julia, my love,' said the mother,--Julia was ever a favourite name
with the ladies of the family, 'Julia, my love, come here. I was
telling you about the beautiful party poor mamma went to. This is
Mr Thorne; will you give him a kiss, dearest?'
Julia put up her face to be kissed, as she did to all her mother's
visitors; and then Mr Thorne found that he had got her, and, which
was much more terrible to him, all her finery, into his arms. The
lace and starch crumpled against his waistcoat and trousers, the
greasy black curls hung upon his cheek, and one of the bracelet
clasps scratched his ear. He did not at all know how to hold her.
However, he had on other occasions been compelled to fondle little
nieces and nephews, and now set about the task in the mode he always
used.
'Diddle, diddle, diddle, diddle,' said he, putting the child on one
knee, and working away with it as though he were turning a
knife-grinder's wheel with his foot.
'Mamma, mamma,' said Julia, crossly. 'I don't want to be diddle
diddled. Let me go, you naughty old man, you.'
Poor Mr Thorne put the child down quietly on the ground, and drew
back his chair; Mr Slope, who had returned to the pole star that
attracted him, laughed aloud; Mr Arabin winced and shut his eyes;
and the signora pretended not to hear her daughter.
'Go to Aunt Charlotte, lovey,' said the mamma, 'and ask her it if
is not time for you to go out.'
But little Julia, though she had not exactly liked the nature of Mr
Thorne's attention, was accustomed to be played with by gentlemen,
and did not relish the idea of being sent so soon to her aunt.
'Julia, go when I tell you, my dear.' But Julia still went pouting
about the room. 'Charlotte, do come and take her,' said the
signora. 'She must go out; and the days get so short now.' And thus
ended the much-talked of interview between Mr Thorne and the last
of the Neros.
Mr Thorne recovered from the child's crossness sooner than from Mr
Slope's laughter. He could put up with being called an old man by
an infant, but he did not like to be laughed at by the bishop's
chaplain, even though that chaplain was about to become a dean. He
said nothing, but he showed plainly enough that he was angry.
The signora was ready enough to avenge him. 'Mr Slope,' said she,
'I hear that you are triumphing on all sides.'
'How so,' said he smiling. He did not dislike being talked to about
the deanery, though, of course, he strongly denied the imputation.
'You carry the day both in love and war.' Mr Slope hereupon did not
look quite so satisfied as he had done.
'Mr Arabin,' continued the signora, 'don't you think Mr Slope is a
very lucky man?'
'Not more than he deserves, I am sure,' said Mr Arabin.
'Only think, Mr Thorne, he is to be our new dean; of course we all
know that.'
'Indeed, signora,' said Mr Slope, 'we all know nothing about it. I
can assure you I myself--'
'He is to be the new dean--there is no manner of doubt of it, Mr
Thorne.'
'Hum,' said Mr Thorne.
'Passing over the heads of old men like my father and Archdeacon
Grantly--'
'Oh--oh!' said Mr Slope.
'The archdeacon would not accept it,' said Mr Arabin; whereupon Mr
Slope smiled abominably, and said, as plainly as a look could
speak, that the grapes were sour.
'Going over all our heads,' continued the signora; 'for, of course,
I consider myself one of the chapter.'
'If I am ever dean,' said Mr Slope--'that is, were I ever to become
so, I should glory in such a canoness.'
'Oh, Mr Slope, stop; I haven't half done. There is another canoness
for you to glory in. Mr Slope is not only to have the deanery, but
a wife to put in it.'
Mr Slope again looked disconcerted.
'A wife with a large fortune, too. It never rains but it pours,
does it Mr Thorne?'
'No, never,' said Mr Thorne, who did not quite relish talking about
Mr Slope and his affairs.
'When will it be, Mr Slope?'
'When will what be?' said he.
'Oh! we know when the affair of the dean will be: a week will
settle that. The new hat, I have no doubt, has already been
ordered. But when will the marriage come off?'
'Do you mean mine or Mr Arabin's,' said he, striving to be
facetious.
'Well, just then I meant yours, though perhaps, after all, Mr
Arabin's may be first. But we know nothing of him. He is too close
for any of us. Now all is open and above board with you; which, by
the bye, Mr Arabin, I beg to tell you I like much the best. He who
runs can read that Mr Slope is a favoured lover. Come, Mr Slope,
when is the widow to be made Mrs Dean?'
To Mr Arabin this badinage was peculiarly painful; and yet he could
not tear himself away and leave it. He believed, still believed
with that sort of belief which the fear of a thing engenders, that
Mrs Bold would probably become the wife of Mr Slope. Of Mr Slope's
little adventure in the garden he knew nothing. For aught he knew,
Mr Slope might have had an adventure of quite a different
character. He might have thrown himself at the widow's feet, been
accepted, and then returned to town a jolly, thriving wooer. The
signora's jokes were bitter enough to Mr Slope, but they were quite
as bitter to Mr Arabin. He still stood leaning against the
fire-place, fumbling with his hands in his trouser's pockets.
'Come, come, Mr Slope, don't be so bashful,' continued the signora.
'We all know that you proposed to the lady the other day at
Ullathorne. Tell us with what words she accepted you. Was it with a
simple "yes", or with two "no, no's", which makes an affirmative?
or did silence give consent: or did she speak out with that spirit
which so well becomes a widow, and say openly, "By my troth, sir,
you shall make me Mrs Slope as soon as it is your pleasure to do
so"?'
Mr Slope had seldom in his life felt himself less at his case.
There sat Mr Thorne, laughing silently. There stood his old
antagonist, Mr Arabin, gazing at him with all his eyes. There round
the door between the two rooms were clustered a little group of
people, including Miss Stanhope and the Rev. Messrs. Gray and
Green, all listening to his discomfiture. He knew that it depended
solely on his own wit whether or no he could throw the joke back
upon the lady. He knew that it stood him to do so if he possibly
could; but he said not a word. ''Tis conscience that makes cowards
of us all.' He felt on his cheek the sharp points of Eleanor's
fingers, and did not know who might have seen the blow, who might
have told the tale to this pestilent woman who took such delight in
jeering him. He stood there, therefore, red as a carbuncle and mute
as a fish; grinning just sufficiently to show his teeth; an object
of pity.
But the signora had no pity; she knew nothing of mercy. Her present
object was to put Mr Slope down, and she was determined to do it
thoroughly, now that she had him in her power.
'What, Mr Slope, no answer? Why it can't possibly be that this
woman has been fool enough to refuse you? She surely can't be
looking out after a bishop. But I see how it is, Mr Slope. Widows
are proverbially cautious. You should have let her alone till the
new hat was on your head; till you could show her the key of the
deanery.'
'Signora,' said he at last, trying to speak in a tone of dignified
reproach, 'you really permit yourself to talk on such solemn
subjects in a very improper way.'
'Solemn subjects--what solemn subjects? Surely a dean's hat is not
such a solemn subject.'
'I have no aspirations such as those you impute to me. Perhaps you
will drop the subject.'
'Oh, certainly, Mr Slope; but one word first. Go to her again with
the prime minister's letter in your pocket. I'll wager my shawl to
your shovel she does not refuse you then.'
'I must say, signora, that I think you are speaking of the lady in
a very unjustifiable manner.'
'And one other piece of advice, Mr Slope; I'll only offer you one
other;' and then she commenced singing--
'It's gude to be merry and wise, Mr Slope, It's gude to be honest
and true; It's gude to be off with the old love, Mr Slope, Before
you are on with the new--
'Ha, ha, ha!'
And the signora, throwing herself back on her sofa, laughed
merrily. She little recked how those who heard her would, in their
own imagination, fill up the little history of Mr Slope's first
love. She little cared that some among them might attribute to her
the honour of his earlier admiration. She was tired of Mr Slope and
wanted to get rid of him; she had ground for anger with him, and
she chose to be revenged.
How Mr Slope got out of that room he never himself knew. He did
succeed ultimately, and probably with some assistance, in getting
him his had and escaping into the air. At last his love for the
signora was cured. Whenever he again thought of her in his dreams,
it was not as of an angel with azure wings. He connected her rather
with fire and brimstone, and though he could still believe her to
be a spirit, he banished her entirely out of heaven, and found a
place for her among the infernal gods. When he weighed in the
balance, as he not seldom did, the two women to whom he had
attached himself in Barchester, the pre-eminent place in his soul's
hatred was usually allotted to the signora.