Part 33 (2/2)

Mr. Slope was not so ready with a pathetic answer as he usually was with touching episodes in his extempore sermons. He felt that he ought to say something pretty, something also that should remove the impression on the mind of his lady-love. But he was rather put about how to do it.

”Love,” said he, ”true overpowering love, must be the strongest pa.s.sion a man can feel; it must control every other wish, and put aside every other pursuit. But with me love will never act in that way unless it be returned;” and he threw upon the signora a look of tenderness which was intended to make up for all the deficiencies of his speech.

”Take my advice,” said she. ”Never mind love. After all, what is it?

The dream of a few weeks. That is all its joy. The disappointment of a life is its Nemesis. Who was ever successful in true love? Success in love argues that the love is false. True love is always despondent or tragical. Juliet loved, Haidee loved, Dido loved, and what came of it? Troilus loved and ceased to be a man.”

”Troilus loved and was fooled,” said the more manly chaplain. ”A man may love and yet not be a Troilus. All women are not Cressidas.”

”No, all women are not Cressidas. The falsehood is not always on the woman's side. Imogen was true, but how was she rewarded? Her lord believed her to be the paramour of the first he who came near her in his absence. Desdemona was true and was smothered. Ophelia was true and went mad. There is no happiness in love, except at the end of an English novel. But in wealth, money, houses, lands, goods, and chattels, in the good things of this world, yes, in them there is something tangible, something that can be retained and enjoyed.”

”Oh, no,” said Mr. Slope, feeling himself bound to enter some protest against so very unorthodox a doctrine, ”this world's wealth will make no one happy.”

”And what will make you happy--you--you?” said she, raising herself up and speaking to him with energy across the table. ”From what source do you look for happiness? Do not say that you look for none.

I shall not believe you. It is a search in which every human being spends an existence.”

”And the search is always in vain,” said Mr. Slope. ”We look for happiness on earth, while we ought to be content to hope for it in heaven.”

”Pshaw! You preach a doctrine which you know you don't believe.

It is the way with you all. If you know that there is no earthly happiness, why do you long to be a bishop or a dean? Why do you want lands and income?”

”I have the natural ambition of a man,” said he.

”Of course you have, and the natural pa.s.sions; and therefore I say that you don't believe the doctrine you preach. St. Paul was an enthusiast. He believed so that his ambition and pa.s.sions did not war against his creed. So does the Eastern fanatic who pa.s.ses half his life erect upon a pillar. As for me, I will believe in no belief that does not make itself manifest by outward signs. I will think no preaching sincere that is not recommended by the practice of the preacher.”

Mr. Slope was startled and horrified, but he felt that he could not answer. How could he stand up and preach the lessons of his Master, being there, as he was, on the devil's business? He was a true believer, otherwise this would have been nothing to him. He had audacity for most things, but he had not audacity to make a plaything of the Lord's word. All this the signora understood, and felt much interest as she saw her c.o.c.kchafer whirl round upon her pin.

”Your wit delights in such arguments,” said he, ”but your heart and your reason do not go along with them.”

”My heart!” said she; ”you quite mistake the principles of my composition if you imagine that there is such a thing about me.”

After all, there was very little that was false in anything that the signora said. If Mr. Slope allowed himself to be deceived, it was his own fault. Nothing could have been more open than her declarations about herself.

The little writing-table with her desk was still standing before her, a barrier, as it were, against the enemy. She was sitting as nearly upright as she ever did, and he had brought a chair close to the sofa, so that there was only the corner of the table between him and her. It so happened that as she spoke her hand lay upon the table, and as Mr. Slope answered her he put his hand upon hers.

”No heart!” said he. ”That is a heavy charge which you bring against yourself, and one of which I cannot find you guilty--”

She withdrew her hand, not quickly and angrily, as though insulted by his touch, but gently and slowly.

”You are in no condition to give a verdict on the matter,” said she, ”as you have not tried me. No, don't say that you intend doing so, for you know you have no intention of the kind; nor indeed have I, either. As for you, you will take your vows where they will result in something more substantial than the pursuit of such a ghostlike, ghastly love as mine--”

”Your love should be sufficient to satisfy the dream of a monarch,”

said Mr. Slope, not quite clear as to the meaning of his words.

”Say an archbishop, Mr. Slope,” said she. Poor fellow! She was very cruel to him. He went round again upon his cork on this allusion to his profession. He tried, however, to smile and gently accused her of joking on a matter, which was, he said, to him of such vital moment.

”Why--what gulls do you men make of us,” she replied. ”How you fool us to the top of our bent; and of all men you clergymen are the most fluent of your honeyed, caressing words. Now look me in the face, Mr. Slope, boldly and openly.”

Mr. Slope did look at her with a languis.h.i.+ng loving eye, and as he did so he again put forth his hand to get hold of hers.

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